#you must come to your own conclusions of course

[ja3yun]

The Doll House | Sim Jaeyun

doll!jake x fem!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), subby!jake, oral (m. rec), creampie, slight throat fucking, whimpering and whining, pet names (baby doll, pup), begging, anything else lmk! wc: 7.7k synopsis: it's your first week at your new job and you make a shocking revelation that puts your world in a spin and lets you experience something you never knew was possible masterlist | sunghoon a/n: hi! this is the first part of a 4-part series! again, i need to thank the requester for this because i am having so much fun writing it <3 the plot and everything will be gradually laced within each chapter so, while they can stand alone, it's best to read them all. thank you for everything and as always, likes, reblogs, feeback is all welcome!

p.s, please read the intro it sets up the whole story so you guys know how y/n got there and who soonyeol is.

You've been inside this home for exactly 42 hours and 51 minutes and surprisingly nothing significant has happened.

The silence surrounding the mansion is unexpectedly comforting, providing a much-needed respite from the hectic city life you've despised. The constant noise - whether it's the cries of babies, the grumbles of angry men, or the blasting car horns powered by thoughtless road rage - has progressively worn on your tolerance. No one talks about how exhausting it all is.

Maybe this is why people go on holiday, you wonder. Even though you're here for work, there's a sense of relaxation in the air that leaves you feeling peaceful. 

Before Soonyeol went on her ominous business trip, she left you a binder full of strict instructions on how to mind her house. It’s packed to the brim with dos and don'ts such as; cooking exactly 4 meals for the dolls at 5.30pm, placing them around the dining table, and never entering their rooms unless transporting them to their recreational activities. 

Each doll had their own rigorous routine, with some reading, some playing the guitar, and so on. Soonyeol made it clear that sticking to these routines is a must, which included the difficult chore of physically changing the towering dolls in the morning and before bed. They weren’t exactly hollow or porcelain, they were super realistic, their skin had some form of heat to it, and they had some weight to them but not as heavy as they first appeared. You had asked Soonyeol what they were made of but she brushed your question off, leaving you even more curious, the only conclusion you could come up with was sandbags or clay.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, cooking up a meal that none of them will touch. Of course, you didn’t expect them to chow down on your homemade lasagna considering they couldn’t even move their mouths, but seeing everything laid out and untouched after you give them exactly 35 minutes to eat (a rule in that godforsaken binder), it fills you with a sense of unease.

Within the mansion's walls, time seems to grind to a halt unless you make it move, you as the sole animate presence amidst the silence. 

You bring the plated food into the dining room, placing a dish in front of each doll. Despite the absurdity of the situation, you play along dutifully, conscious of Mia's warning that the dolls may be rigged with hidden cameras. To be fair, their eyes do seem to follow you, or perhaps that was just your imagination.

“This is such a waste of food,” you scoff, placing the last plate down to the doll with freckles on his face who is labelled in the binder as Sunghoon. You can’t help but think about all the food that is being wasted when there are people still relying on food banks, it makes you bubble with anger, yet, you’re the one doing it. You could easily just not feed them and just pretend to Soonyeol you did, but again, the eyes that surround the castle could be the difference between you keeping this job and going back home with nothing.

Soonyeol could easily fire you if it got back to her you starved her precious babies while she was gone, and that £5,000 is enough money to get you by while you look for another job, so you’ll do as you’re told for now.

With a resigned sigh, you wipe your hands on your apron and offer a forced smile to the lifeless dolls, "Enjoy," you mutter sarcastically, before turning on your heel and retreating from the room, leaving them to their silent feast.

“Thank you!” 

The words catch you off guard, freezing you mid-step. Did you actually just hear that? Slowly, you spin on your heel, astonishment written over your face. There they sit, precisely as you left them, their expressions the same as before. Yet, undoubtedly, the voice came from their direction.

Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you examine them closely, your fingers poking Sunghoon’s shoulder to try and elicit any response, but one never comes. 

You could have sworn you heard a voice, a soft accent drifting into your ears. It’s not like it could have been the TV or radio, Soonyeol was lacking in the entertainment department, opting for more classic ways to entertain herself like board games and books.

"This place is making me lose my mind," you scoff, disbelief mingling with a nervous laugh. You are officially losing the plot, thinking the dolls can suddenly speak. What’s next, they’ll suddenly get up and help you with the dishes?

Maybe you just need to go for a walk around the mansion, touch some grass or whatever. Your mind needs some nature to set itself straight. With a final incredulous glance at the dolls, you shake your head, dismissing your fanciful worries. 

Stepping into the garden, you're greeted by the warmth of the summer sun kissing your skin. The sprawling lawn stretches for acres, overgrown yet hinting at hidden beauty beneath the tangled vines and moss-covered statues.

The pathway is clear, giving you a chance to wander further into the field. With some TLC and a green thumb, you ponder whether you could turn this landscape into a true garden, it’s not like there is much else to do, but would Soonyeol be okay with that? Everything else in this house is seemingly stuck in a different century; the large gold-framed portraits, the scatter of porcelain dolls that look like something straight from a horror movie, and the furnishings scream Renaissance. Maybe she prefers it that way.

You are perplexed by the mystery surrounding Soonyeol and her isolated living. A lack of information about her and this home has you grasping at straws. The mansion has no internet or even a good phone service which raises your suspicions about her more. There is only a landline phone that is set to make local calls. All you've learned from this information is why she resorted to placing a job advertisement in the newspaper.

Questions swirl in your mind. Why choose such isolation? Living alone, devoid of company or modern comforts, seems unimaginable. Two months might be tolerable, but for someone to endure years in solitude, it's perplexing. But then again, who are you to judge? She might prefer her own company and God knows there must be a lot less drama.

Lost in thought, you reach out to touch a thorn from a withered rosebush, only to recoil in pain as it pricks your index finger, "Shit!" you shout, instinctively sucking on the wound as blood wells up. Why you felt driven to touch such an obviously dangerous plant escapes you completely.

Sulking back inside the house, you walk directly to the kitchen, the sight of familiar surroundings provides some consolation as you go towards the sink, your injured finger throbbing with each step. Who knew a thorn could cause so much damage?

You reach for the basin and turn on the cold tap, hoping for a little relief. As chilled water falls over your wound, you sigh with relief, the coolness relieving the pain immensely, with a sudden sensation of peace flowing over you. 

The clock's chime breaks through the quiet, jolting you back into reality. It's 6pm so it's time to tend to the dolls again. You reach to get a plaster from the first aid kit, only to find it empty except for a single bandage and some foil blankets. Panic sets in as you examine the seriousness of your bleeding finger; it’s a neverending flow of crimson which only makes you pout, sucking on it once again.

Desperately searching the kitchen cupboards, you find bits of kitchen roll and sellotape. It's not ideal, but you have no other choice. You gently wrap the kitchen roll around your wound, securing it with sticky tape. The improvised dressing will have to suffice; the thought of spilling your blood on Soonyeol's cherished dolls sends chills down your spine. You don't want to think about what she would do.

Stepping into the dining room, you're greeted by the familiar sight: cold food arranged neatly before the four unyielding dolls. Their impassive stares seem to pierce through you, sending a chill down your spine.

With a theatrical pout and arms crossed, you address the silent company, "Didn't quite hit the mark with my culinary masterpiece, huh?" you jest, met only with the silence of inanimate figures. Chuckling to yourself, you gather the untouched plates onto the cart, contemplating a pragmatic solution, "Well, I suppose I could just freeze these and give them to you tomorrow," you quip. Soonyeol said to feed them, she didn’t say it couldn't be the same meal over and over again.

After clearing up the dining hall and putting the meals in the freezer, you make your way to retrieve the rusty wheelchair you are convinced will give you tetanus from the hallway closet. It’s the easiest way to transport the boys from A to B, and you daren’t carry them anywhere in case you drop and smash them. 

As you unfold the chair, a creak reverberates from behind you, causing your muscles to tense involuntarily. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as a chill courses through your veins. While the old house has its usual symphony of creaks and groans, this sound feels different, more sinister, as if someone - or something - is lurking in the shadows.

“Hello?” you say whispering yet not daring to look behind you. If you have learned anything from the multitude of horror movies you’ve watched over the tears, it’s that as soon as you look back, all shit breaks loose.

You stand there with your heart pounding in your chest and you scold yourself inwardly for succumbing to irrational fear, "Come on, Y/N, pull yourself together," you mutter, attempting to rally your nerves. But the silence that follows your whispered reassurance only amplifies the unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for whatever may lie behind you, “Fuck, Y/N, just turn around. If you’re going to die, you might as well get it over with,” you chide yourself, voice tinged with frustration.

Thinking it’s best to just face whatever your demise is, you swiftly turn around, half-expecting to come face-to-face with some unseen terror. Yet, all that greets you is the empty hallway, bathed in the dim glow of the flickering lights. There's no sign of an intruder, no lurking threat—just the same mundane surroundings you've grown accustomed to.

You never thought you’d think this, but you’re happy to see the tiny collector dolls that line the hallway.

A mixture of relief and embarrassment floods over you as you realize the absurdity of your fears. "God, I'm losing it," you mutter, a manic laugh bubbling up from deep within. With a self-deprecating shake of your head, you lightly slap your forehead with the base of your palm, chastising yourself for letting your imagination run wild.

First, the talking dolls, now this unfounded paranoia—it's becoming increasingly clear that the isolation of this mansion is taking its toll on your sanity. 

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you shake off the lingering unease and embarrassment to focus on your duties. 

With a determined stride, you make your way back to the dining room, the memory of your brief bout of hysteria fading into the recesses of your mind. You push the wheelchair over to the table to retrieve one of the dolls, however, a glint of blue catches your eye.

A plaster - suddenly, inexplicably there, resting in front of the doll named Jongseong.

Your brow furrows in confusion, disbelief coursing through you. "How... was that there the whole time?" you mutter, disbelief colouring your tone as you glance between your injured finger and the God-sent plaster.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you reach out to pick up the plaster, examining it closely as if searching for any sign of trickery. But it appears to be nothing more than an ordinary adhesive plaster.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, unable to suppress a nervous chuckle. The rational part of your mind insists there must be a logical explanation for the plaster's sudden appearance, but logic seems to have taken a backseat in this peculiar mansion. 

Surely you would have noticed it on the table when you were serving the food…right?

Deciding to set aside your questions for the moment, you carefully retrieve the plaster and apply it to your injured finger, the soothing sensation providing a small measure of comfort.

As you finish tending to your wound, you cast a wary glance at the dolls, half-expecting them to spring to life and offer an explanation. But they remain as silent and motionless as ever, their enigmatic presence only adding to the mystery of this place.

With a resigned sigh, you focus once again on getting the dolls to their rooms. Maybe if they’re out of your sight, you’ll stop conjuring up these ridiculous notions that are swirling in your mind.

“C’mon Jaeyun, let’s get you to bed,” you say softly as you pick him up with a strong heave. The weight of him in your arms is a humbling realisation that you need to start going to the gym more because lifting a doll shouldn’t be this taxing.

Plonking him onto the wheelchair, you begin to make your way to his room. The corridors grow longer each time you make the journey to their respective bedrooms and with the house being the size that it is, transporting them is the equivalent of taking a quick nip to your big Tesco and back.

Finally reaching Jaeyun's room, you turn the ornate handle and push the wheelchair inside. The room is bathed in a soft, amber glow, casting a warm hue over the plush furnishings and intricate decor. With careful precision, you guide Jaeyun onto the bed, taking a moment to study his features up close.

The doll's face, once unsettling in its hyper-realistic detail, now holds a curious fascination. Despite the initial unease you felt in their presence, you can't help but admire the craftsmanship that went into their creation.

Jaeyun's eyes, a rich shade of brown, hold a mesmerising depth that seems to draw you in and they glimmer with an almost golden hue when touched by sunlight, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to his already captivating features. His lips, full and luscious and they evoke sense of envy into you, marvelling at their perfection. His nose, a graceful arc that sits harmoniously amidst his features, only adds to the beauty.

With gentle admiration, you touch his bottom lip with your thumb, amazed at its softness. If Jaeyun were a living, breathing being, you can't help but imagine how irresistible those lips would be, how you would find any excuse to steal a kiss. The feel of his lip beneath your thumb is uncannily real, its texture mirroring your own, and as you release it, it springs back into place as if alive.

Your eyes dart over his face, drinking him in as you fix his long, dark hair, “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, the words leave your lips almost unintentionally, spoken in peaceful tones as if frightened to disrupt the calm tranquillity of the moment. 

“Thank you.”

Your entire body goes rigid as you hear the same words from the dining table, mirroring the exact accent you had heard before. The hand that had been gently brushing aside the stray strand of hair now drops to your side, your eyes fixed on Jaeyun's mouth as it forms into a bright smile.

As if gasping for air, you stare at him in disbelief, pointing a trembling finger in his direction. "Y-you just spoke!" you manage to exclaim, your words choked with bated breaths. Panic threatens to engulf you as you try to understsnd what is happening.

Your mind races, grasping for something, anything to hold onto as the world spins around you but there's nothing, and your body betrays you, collapsing to the ground in a desperate attempt to escape the surreal nightmare unfolding before you.

With wide, terrified eyes, you watch as Jaeyun moves slightly, preparing yourself for the inevitable scream that threatens to tear from your throat. But before you can utter a sound, he rushes towards you with a look of panic etched on his features.

Jaeyun's eyes are filled with concern as he gazes down at you, his hand covering your mouth to stifle any outcry. With a gentle yet urgent expression, he leans in closer, his lips forming almost silent words as he implores you to remain quiet, “Please. Shhh, I’m sorry!” he says with urgency, trying to stop you from bellowing out and causing alarm.

Your chest rises and falls with the rapid beat of your heart, your head suddenly feels faint and conflicting emotions wash over you. Fear, confusion, disbelief - all vie for dominance as you struggle to make sense of the impossible situation unfolding before you.

With wide, frightened eyes, you stare up at Jaeyun, searching his face for any sign of explanation or reassurance. But all you find is the same look of concern mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for understanding.

“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you,” he utters, his body now relaxing as he feels your mouth close under his palm, “If I take my hand away, please don’t scream, okay?” 

His words are filled with panic, a frantic attempt to prevent more concern. When you look into his eyes, you can sense the sincerity in his plea, a glimpse of humanity you didn't think was possible.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the air thick with tension and uncertainty on both of your parts. But then, with a shaky breath, you nod in silent acquiescence, willing yourself to trust the doll before you. 

Jaeyun’s hand slowly withdraws from your mouth but is still armed in case you fall through on your promise to stay quiet. Once he's satisfied that you won't scream, Jaeyun rises to his feet, offering you a shaky hand. You accept, noting the slight tremor in his grip, evidence that he's just as affected by this inexplicable turn of events as you are.

Standing before him, you can't shake the feeling of disbelief that washes over you. None of this makes sense - talking dolls, moving on their own accord - it's all so implausible, so surreal. And yet, here you are, faced with the undeniable reality of Jaeyun's existence.

"What are you?" you ask tentatively, withdrawing your hand from his as you study him intently, searching for any clues to unravel the mystery.

Jaeyun tilts his head in confusion, his expression mirroring your own bewilderment. "I'm a doll, you know that," he replies matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but how are you moving? How are you speaking? Are you possessed? Alive? Am I dreaming this?" you barrage him with questions, your mind racing with a million possibilities, each more absurd than the last.

“I’m Sim Jaeyun, manufactured in 2002,” Jaeyun says as though it’s so obvious, which to his defence, it is - the stamp on his back that you’ve caught sight of while changing him is proof, "I'm the model made for Australia. G'day mate!" he adds, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation with an exaggerated Australian accent. But his efforts fall flat in the face of your mounting terror and confusion.

"I don't understand," you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty, "How is this possible?"

Jaeyun's expression softens, sympathy flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze, "I wish I had all the answers," he admits, his voice gentle yet tinged with resignation, "But the truth is, even I don't fully understand what's happening to me. I ended up here one day. The others just tell me not to ask questions.”

As Jaeyun's words sink in, a surge of disbelief sweeps over you, threatening to overwhelm you in a sea of bewilderment and despair, "Others? You mean..."

"My brothers, the ones you've been looking after for Soonyeol," Jaeyun says, his voice calm.

The realisation hits you like a tonne of bricks: all four dolls, like Jaeyun, are somehow alive. You've spent the last two days living under the same roof as these living dolls, entirely oblivious of their true selves. The idea of it sends shivers down your spine, and a dreadful feeling rises in the pit of your stomach.

Every creak in the floorboards, every echo in the halls - you had chalked them up to the ageing mansion itself. But now, you realise that they were caused by these living dolls moving about, silently watching and listening to your every move.

You contemplate the idea that you're going insane because the stress and isolation of the mansion have finally taken their toll on your sanity. But deep down, you know that this is far too real to be a figment of your imagination.

Sensing your distress, Jaeyun guides you to sit beside him on the bed, his touch gentle yet strangely disconcerting. A doll is offering you comfort while your mind is in a whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. In what world is any of this normal?

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as you sit in silence. A small smile creeps on his face and a blush somehow paints itself on the apples of his cheeks as he remembers your earlier comments.

“You think I’m beautiful?” he asks gently, drawing you back into reality from the maze of your mind.

“What?”

"You said I was beautiful," he repeats, his tone gentle yet earnest, his eyes filled with a quiet joy. Jaeyun's smile widens slightly, his body shifting to fully face you.

As you finally meet his gaze, the weight of his words settles upon you, and you see just how much your earlier compliment meant to him. The twinkle in his eye reflects a depth of emotion that mirrors that of a human, his happiness evident in the way his features soften and his eyes light up with warmth. If he was beautiful before, he is otherworldly now.

“Yeah…you are,” you confess, now reciprocating his blush.

Jaeyun's hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine and you can't help but feel something blossom within you. His palm, slightly cool against your flushed skin, serves as a reminder of the surreal reality in which you find yourself.

Jaeyun's lips suddenly meet yours, enveloping you with his gentle kiss. Touching his lips earlier paled in comparison to the sensation of his soft, plump mouth moving against yours, and it sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through your veins; for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to be swept away by the intensity of the moment.

But as reality crashes back down upon you, the weight of what you're doing comes crashing down.

This is a doll, not a real person.

You push Jaeyun away and your mind suddenly clears, “What are you doing, Jaeyun?” you ask both perplexed by his actions and a little disgruntled by yours.

His wide eyes only serve to make you feel guilty, there’s a tinge of hurt in them along with confusion. His hand removes itself from your face, leaving your cheek cold and craving his touch again.

"Soonyeol says I should kiss when I want to show my appreciation," Jaeyun explains, his voice tinged with confusion and a defeated tone that tugs at your heartstrings. It's clear that he's not accustomed to being rejected like this, his owner obviously giving him what he wants.

Now that you think about it, Soonyeol must know they’re real, meaning she has relationships with these dolls. Granted, you figured that out when you were undressing them and saw they are anatomically correct, but now this is a whole new layer. She has formed connections with them that go beyond using the dolls for her pleasure. 

"Isn't it cheating?" you ask, locking eyes with Jaeyun, ignoring your swift realisation of the risk. Those beautiful brown eyes seem to draw you in, inviting you to forget all reason and succumb to the burning need between you.

He shakes his head slowly, a tinge of hesitation in his eyes as he chews his lip, "No. Soonyeol shares us, which means I can be shared. It's how it works," he says, his words laced with desperation as he tries to defend his actions. He knows Soonyeol won’t see it that way, but he needs you for his own selfish pleasure; he can’t wait two months until his minder comes back.

However, the rational half of your mind perks up one last time, refusing to be influenced by Jaeyun's words, forcing you to express the painfully evident reality that lies between you, "You're a doll, Jaeyun," you say, the words thick with reality.

However, as if feeling your wavering resolve, Jaeyun's demeanour changes, his puppy-like appearance giving way to one of mischief and longing. With a sudden boldness, he comes in closer, your noses touching as your breath hits his lips.

"I'm a doll with everything you need," he says seductively, sending shivers down your spine as his luscious lips brush against yours with each syllable. 

Your heart races as Jaeyun's proximity overwhelms your senses. Despite the nagging voice of reason in the back of your mind, you find yourself unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence.

As Jaeyun leans in for another kiss, his persistence and gentle touch send a rush of heat coursing through your body. You find yourself melting into his embrace once more, unable to resist his lips on yours. His smile against your mouth fills you with something beautiful.

His hand finds your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive as he deepens the kiss, sending your senses reeling. The surreal sensation of his tongue, colder than any other person's you’ve had the pleasure to kiss, intertwining with yours only adds to the intensity of the moment.

But as the kiss grows more passionate, you feel Jaeyun's hands begin to roam, his touch becoming more urgent and insistent. The way he impatiently tugs at the hem of your t-shirt and his hips practically humping the air through desperation, heightens your own arousal.

You draw back, taking your shirt off, giving him what he wants. Jaeyun's eyes light up in delight at the sight before him, his gaze raking over your exposed skin with hunger. Without hesitation, his hand instinctively reaches out to touch you, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your bra as he seeks to explore every inch of your body.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, as he stares up at you. You understand why he’s so used to getting his way, that face of his could start wars if he asked. 

With a soft smile, your fingers continuing to thread through his hair with a gentle touch, "Nothing in comparison to you," you confess, your words spoken with genuine admiration.

Jaeyun's response is a soft whimper, his body trembling slightly under your touch as he leans into your caress. It's clear that he thrives on the affection and validation you offer him, cherishing every compliment and sweet gesture. He isn’t going to take control of this situation, he wants you to lead him, to make him feel like he is yours.

And he looks so fuckable right now.

Feeling emboldened by the rush of desire coursing through your veins, you seize the opportunity to take control of the situation. With a newfound confidence, you gently push Jaeyun back onto the bed, straddling him as you hover above.

His eyes widen in surprise, a mix of anticipation and excitement flickering in their depths as he watches you with rapt attention. With a playful glint in your eyes, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your hands trailing down his chest and exploring every contour of his body.

Jaeyun responds eagerly, his hands roaming over your back as he returns your kiss with equal fervour. But as the heat between you intensifies, you can sense his longing for more, his desire for you palpable in every touch and caress.

You plaster on a mischievous smile and lean back slightly, teasingly tracing your fingers along the waistband of his pants. He hitches in anticipation, his eyes darkening with desire as he silently urges you to continue.

With deliberate slowness, you begin to unbutton his pants, savouring the feeling of power that courses through you with each movement. As the fabric falls away, you're met with the sight of his cock outline, his arousal evident in the way he strains against the confines of his underwear.

You lean down to press your lips against his neck, trailing soft kisses along his jawline as you whisper in his ear, "Do you want me to look after you, baby doll?"

He mewls out and nods quickly, knowing that is the only thing he needs right now. Your touch is different to Soonyeol’s, yours is filled with a new fire that you’re discovering, while Soonyeol’s is experienced and knows of Jaeyun’s wants and needs. He can’t deny that he feels even more alive than before right now.

Trailing one finger over his clothed cock, you apply pressure as you reach his tip, causing him to whine out. You aren’t typically in charge in the bedroom but you can’t deny how easy it is when Jaeyun is underneath you, silently begging for you to claim him.

You pull down his boxers, seeing his cock in a new light. Honestly, you tried not to stare at it too long when you changed him but you knew whatever Soonyeol had ordered, she ordered it with herself in mind. He was average-sized but curved to the right, meaning he could hit places some others couldn’t; even the thought made your mouth water.

There’s a desire to know how his cock is standing to attention considering there isn’t any blood in his body, but this whole situation defies logic so what’s one more question to add to the pile? All you can really think about is how good having him inside you will feel.

Grabbing his length, you begin to pump him gently, still trying to navigate how fragile he is and how far you can take this. He isn’t made of glass but you still need to be careful. 

His reaction is immediate, his jaw slackening as you pick up the pace, your movements becoming more assured. Jaeyun’s legs kick slightly as his body involuntarily moves under your touch, desperate for more than you’re offering him.

Sensing his need, you lean in and give his cock a teasing lick before spitting on it, slickening the surface to make your motions even smoother. His breath hitches at the sensation, a low groan escaping his lips as he arches into your touch, craving more of the pleasure you're giving him.

With a hunger that matches his own, you release him from your grip and lean down, taking him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. His gasp fills the air as you envelop him, the wet heat of your mouth sending shivers down his spine.

"Y/N..." Jaeyun's voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mix of disbelief and pleasure.

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a smouldering intensity before returning your focus to the task at hand. With practiced skill, you move your lips and tongue in tandem, exploring every inch of him with a fervour that leaves him trembling. 

There is an urge to look after him, with each whine and whimper he screeches out in response to your tongue flicking over his tip, you want to cherish him as your own. You carefully watch his face to make sure he is enjoying himself which clearly he is, his eyes screwed shut and chest heaving despite the lack of air.

Pushing his length further into your mouth, you feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat, piercing your tonsils as they involuntarily try to swallow around him. You switch between bobbing your mouth and enveloping his whole cock down your throat, staying there for a moment as you nuzzle your nose against his lower abdomen.

His fingers thread through your hair, a silent plea for more as you continue to lavish attention on him, each suck and swirl of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Oh god, Y/N," he groans, his voice thick with need. "I-I can't... I'm gonna..."

Can he cum? Like physically, is your mouth about to be filled with doll cum? You’re going to find out eventually.

But who says he can get everything he wants just at the bat of an eyelid?

You pull back slightly, your lips glistening with saliva as you gaze up at him with a wicked grin. "Not yet," you tease, your voice husky from the beating your throat has just taken, "I want to hear you beg for it.”

His eyes widen with anticipation, a need burning in their depths as he watches you, “But Soonyeol always lets me cum,” he pouts, the edges of his mouth drooping down.

“I’m not Soonyeol though, am I?” you retort, your hand stroking him again, “I can stop completely if you want?” 

Jaeyun doesn’t like that idea, shaking his head manically and chanting ‘no’ as he looks at you with pleading eyes. His minder is kind, always giving him the pleasure he needs when he wants it, so this is new to him, yet, he can’t help but find some pleasure in the prolonging of his orgasm.

“Come on, baby doll, beg for it,” you murmur against his tip, looking up at him through hooded eyes as you tease the tip of his cock.

His breath catches in his throat at your words, his mind a haze of desire as he struggles to find his voice, "Please, Y/N," he gasps, his voice thick with need, "Please let me cum. I need it, I need you so bad."

The desperation in his voice and his tiny weeps send a shiver down your spine, and with a satisfied smirk, you relent, taking him fully into your mouth again. 

You aren’t like this in bed but he just manages to bring out this side of you and you can’t complain about it. 

As Jaeyun's fingers tangle in your hair, a shiver of anticipation courses through you, heightened by the primal instinct driving his actions. You feel the tension building in his body, his movements becoming more urgent as he approaches the brink of release.

With a final tug at your roots, he tightens, his balls drawing up as he releases into your mouth with a guttural groan of pleasure. His hips buck uncontrollably, driving himself deeper into your throat as he rides the waves of ecstasy coursing through him.

You surrender to the moment, allowing him to take control as he thrusts into your mouth, his movements are rough yet achingly intimate. Each sensation sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, mingling with the taste of him on your tongue as he spurts his essence. It’s not exactly cum, it doesn’t taste like it, but it’s filling your mouth up, some of it dripping out onto the bed below you.

And as he finally reaches the peak of his pleasure, his body trembling with the force of his release, you swallow him down, accepting him completely. You lap up the last few drops before giving a gentle kiss on his bell, smiling slightly as you relish in your work.

Jaeyun’s face exhibits one of pure bliss, his grin wide and his eyes closed. He looks so ethereal right now, your only wish is to cater to him. Soonyeol must have her hands full if she does this with all of them, no wonder she would need two months off.

Sitting up, his hands pull at your jeans, unbuttoning them with determination but you stop him, “Jaeyun, what are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m going to fuck you, is that not okay?” Jaeyun’s eyes have that spark in them just like before but more intense, like he’s bursting to the brim with happiness.

You can see the determination in Jaeyun's eyes, the fire of desire burning bright despite the recent climax. His eagerness to please you matches your own desire to cater to him, but you can't help but feel a twinge of apprehension.

"Are you not tired, Jaeyun?" you reply gently, placing a hand on his cheek to capture his attention, “I don't want to push you too far."

Jaeyun's expression softens at your words, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity, “I’m a doll, Y/N, I don’t get tired.”

Damn, maybe you should invest in one of these unalive-alive dolls with the £5,000 you’ll get from this job.

He sees your astonishment and laughs softly, his teeth on full display, “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re confused, Y/N,” his voice is back down to a whisper, his hand enclosing yours on his cheek as he nuzzles into it. Jaeyun knows how to use his charm to get what he wants but it’s significantly easier when the person he is trying to persuade wants it just as much as he does.

You find yourself nodding in agreement, unable to resist his enticement. With a shared understanding, you move in to capture his lips in yours, sealing the moment with a delicate kiss.

His hands go back to work, pulling at your jeans to take them off of your hot body. You help him out, pulling away from his mouth to undress yourself, leaving you both naked and wanting nothing more than to be entangled in one another.

“Wow,” he utters as his eyes trail your body from head to toe. His owner is beautiful but you have something about you that is sucking him in, the curve of your hips and the stretch marks on your thighs; you’re a vision he never wants to forget.

You turn scarlet as you see him staring at you, suddenly feeling less confident than before. But he quickly eases your mind as he licks his lips and pulls you into his lap, placing you to sit right on his cock, “I think you were wrong earlier,” he mutters into your shoulder as he places kisses along your chest.

“What do you mean?” Confusion lingers in your mind as you process his words, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair as you look down at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“When you said you weren’t as beautiful compared to me. I think you’re so wrong,” he admits in a hushed tone, hands roaming along your waist and down to your thighs, feeling every inch of you.

Leaning down, you kiss him again except this time, you grind your hips, letting his cock slide between your folds and his tip brush against your clit teasingly. The action makes you both groan out in lust, wanting nothing more than to be tangled in one another. 

Jaeyun lightly slaps your ass to signal you to hover slightly, ready to dive into you. He hasn’t had sex with anyone other than Soonyeol so his eagerness is palpable, his mouth fighting a bright smile akin to a puppy.

Once you’re above him, he guides his cock to your hole and sharply pushes into you, causing you to fall forward onto his chest.

He enthusiastically bucks his hips up into you, ensuring that he is catering to every inch of your pleasure. Although he enjoys being looked after and cared for, he will always reciprocate; your enjoyment is as important to him as his own.

It's funny how different he is with you than with his owner; with you, he wants nothing more than to impress you, evident by the way he's focused on fucking into you, but with Soonyeol, he does whatever he wants to give her pleasure but there's no need to put in massive amounts of effort.

You feel his dick pressing deep into you, that curve that you noticed earlier is now doing wonders against your walls. Meeting his thrusts, you bounce on him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pick up your pace. 

The sound of your skin slapping against Jaeyun is like music to his ears, the smile he was trying to fight off now splitting his face, the joy of fucking you so obvious from his expression. He wants to do this forever.

Looking down, you see him lost in glee and lust as he continues to thrust up into you at a fast pace, his gaze down at where you’re pussy is sucking him in. Gently, you lift his face to look at you, his wide gleaming eyes now staring into yours.

“You’re doing so good, pup,” you assure him, kissing the tip of his nose. He feels his non-existant heart soar at your words, his face radiant with your praise. And you weren’t just saying it, he truly was sensational, probably the best you’ve had in a long time. 

Jaeyun takes your words of appraisal and uses them to fuck into you harder, his mouth now attached to your nipple and he sucks and licks at it like a man starved.

You can feel that familiar coil in your stomach that signifies you’re close to release. Snaking your hand down to your clit you begin to rub circles on it quickly, but as soon as Jaeyun notices, he nudges your hand away and takes care of it himself, rubbing and pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger.

Throwing your head back, your breathing stops momentarily as you push out your orgasm, your wetness coating your inner thighs and his cock as you cum harshly around him, “Jaeyun, fuck!” you cry, hands gripping any part of Jaeyun they can.

Jaeyun shudders as you clench around him, spilling himself into your heat along with you. He rubs his face desperately against your tits, relishing in the feeling of you against him. He has this aching need to be as close to you as possible.

Both of you are in complete and utter bliss as you hold one another, coming down from your highs.

As Jaeyun peppers open-mouthed kisses along your neck, he savours the sensation of your heartbeat, saddened slightly by his lack of. If he had one, he wished you could hear how loudly it was beating from pure satisfaction and tenderness.

"That was incredible, Y/N," he murmurs against the curve of your nape, his smile pressing warmly against your skin.

You tenderly kiss the top of his head and linger there for a moment, your fingers tracing light strokes along his back. But as the clock chimes once again, signalling the passage of time, reality intrudes upon your blissful moment.

"Fuck, I need to get the others to bed," you say regretfully, reluctantly withdrawing yourself from Jaeyun's embrace. The air feels colder now that night is settling in, and the absence of his touch leaves you longing for his warmth.

Jaeyun watches you with a mixture of understanding and longing as you get dressed, his gaze following your movements with a hint of reluctance, he wants you to stay beside him the way Soonyeol does, to look after him a little longer.

Before you part ways, Jaeyun reaches out to gently grasp your hand, "Y/N," he begins, his voice soft yet filled with urgency, "Please, don't tell the others. We aren’t supposed to tell you, and they already think I’m incapable of keeping a secret,” he says disheartened, the last sentence laced with vulnerability.

His plea catches you off guard, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Kneeling beside the bed, you take his hand into yours and kiss it softly, “I promise, I will not tell anyone, okay?” you reassure him, punctuating your sentiment with a smile, “This stays between us.”

It’s a promise not only to him but also to yourself. At the end of the day, no matter how good it was, you fucked a doll - an alive one, but still a doll. 

With a grateful smile, Jaeyun leans in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, a silent gesture of gratitude for your understanding, “Thank you, Y/N. This won’t be the last time, will it?” he asks tentatively, trying to seek out how you might feel about the entirety of the situation.

You weigh up the question in your mind. On one hand, you would have someone to talk to and indulge in, but on the other, it’s risky and if Soonyeol found out, you know there would be hell to pay.

“Let’s just see how it goes, pup,” you say vaguely, kissing his forehead one more time.

This mansion is filled with secrets that you need to uncover, and you have two months to do it.

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @ui11iane @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @belowbun @emikotakayami @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #jake smut #jake sim smut #sim jaeyun smut #aj writes #enhypen fic #the doll house

[ashfae]

The thing about romance is, it makes a good story.

As soon as Neil described season 2 as "quiet, gentle, romantic" I figured we'd be in for it, because as he's the first to point out, writers are liars. And the best way to deceive is with truth.

Season 2 is romantic. The trappings of romance are everywhere. Crowley tries to set up Nina and Maggie by trapping them under an awning during a rainstorm, a classic cinematic bonding technique. Aziraphale's chosen method comes from his beloved books: the ball, the dancing, appearing as a pair in public, hands held as you twirl gracefully with your heart thrilled and racing. If they can set up a sensational kiss that will unlock the happy ever after. They've lived on earth, they've studied the tropes, they know how romance works.

The problem is a story is only a story.

Nina and Maggie had the classic romantic setup completely by accident before Aziraphale and Crowley ever began trying to interfere with them. They get locked in Nina's coffeeshop. They can't escape or communicate with anyone else, they end up talking by candlelight because there's no electricity, Nina offers wine. Maggie mentions how she'd hoped for a chance to talk to Nina, and now here they are. It's every bit as much a standard as what Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to arrange. Blanket scenarios galore exist because of that starting point. We love that story. And there's nothing wrong with that.

But it's still only a story, it's not enough. Because once that moment of connection is over, however lovely it was, all the rest of the world comes flooding back in in the form of dozens of angry text messages. Nina's messy entrapping relationship hasn't magically gone away just because she and Maggie shared a romantic encounter.

And it's so tempting think oh well, that's easy. We'll just give them more romantic encounters and eventually those will overwhelm the rest of the baggage. Must do, because it'll make them fall in love, and once they realize they're in love that trumps all other considerations, right? So it'll be fine. Love Conquers All.

Neil also mentioned Pride and Prejudice.

Darcy knows he's in love early on and makes a disasterous proposal that shows that he has no understanding of Elizabeth's perspective, possibly hasn't even thought about it. They've been meeting in forest lanes for walks, conversing, had tete-a-tetes in the sitting room, danced at a ball. And while his turn of phrase isn't as flattering as he thinks, he's still offering her everything he thinks she wants and needs: affection, security, his good name, wealth, an escape from the embarrassments of her situation, the world. How can there be anything to object to? Why would anyone ever refuse so much of value?

Elizabeth quite rightly cuts him to pieces. He lashes back with a few hard truths of his own and they separate. During that separation, he thinks and he learns. He takes to heart the criticisms she offered, re-examines his assumptions, opens his eyes. Thinks about her perspective and how sometimes the only difference between pride and arrogance is where you're standing. He does the work. When they meet again he tries to demonstrate that he's learned--not in order to court her again (yet), but because the only real apology he can offer, the only one that would have weight, is to show that he's grown, he listened to her. He changed.

Elizabeth of course has her own journey, accepting that many of her own conclusions about Darcy were erroneous because they were formed without her having the full picture to hand, and once she's done that she has to apply it to her own situation as well. She loves her family, but they do place her at a disadvantage on a number of levels, leading eventually to full-out disaster as her younger sister carelessly ruins all of their reputations. It's hard to admit, it's mortifying, but Darcy was offering her a great deal she needs. His offer did have worth for all that she dismissed it as an insult. And as she learns to value his own character more highly, and then as she sees that he did listen to her even though she insulted him so thoroughly...well, she grows too. And when they do eventually come together it's not because of courting and balls. There's a big romantic gesture in his rescue of her sister but even that isn't why they'll get their happy ever after. It was just the catalyst for the conversation. They win because they've learned how to understand each other and how to communicate for the future. How they can strengthen and support each other, how to balance their strengths and weaknesses. The films leave them at the wedding, but the book shows a bit of their marriage too, and during it they keep learning from each other. Their relationship is held up as a superior love story for good reasons.

The end of season one was romantic too. Crowley stopped time rather than face a world where Aziraphale would never speak to him again, Aziraphale walked into hell to protect Crowley, they dined at the Ritz and toasted the world. But then they stopped. Sure they spent time together, talked, enjoyed each other's company. But if they were talking about important things would Crowley still be living in his car? They had a bit of respite but all that real world baggage that exists outside of the romantic moment hasn't been faced, none of it. Four or five years sounds like a long while but for beings who are quite literally older than the earth? That's just an intermission.

Nina's relationship ends, leaving her with a tangled mess; Maggie realises the sweet dream of love she's been longing for isn't as important as the real Nina. They talk. They plan. Nina will sort through her life, get closure, figure out what went wrong with Lindsay and what she wants from a relationship, learn how to ask for respect instead of just bending under her partner's demands. Maggie will support Nina the way Nina needs, which sometimes means helping her get oat milk for the shop and sometimes means giving her processing space. They're on the same page; they're going to do the work. That's why most likely they'll succeed. To quote one of my favourite fanfics: it's not happily ever after, but it's a chance. It's all going to be okay. (The Profane Comedy by Mussimm, who absolutely nailed this theme)

The romance is nice, it's lovely. We need it to keep ourselves going. To give ourselves the dreams that help us get through the days and nights. But it's not the relationship. It's not enough on its own. The wedding can be the grandest most beautiful ceremony ever with doves flying and sweeping music and bells ringing, but that doesn't guarantee the marriage will last.

Crowley and Aziraphale have had their romantic gestures, oodles of them. One wing raised to protect the other from falling stars, another from rain. Shared ground, shared interests, hands offered in friendship and held on a bus. They've tried to get to the same page, they really have. They just aren't there yet. The biggest most important things still haven't been talked about, and season 2 showed there are even more of those big important things than we'd realised.

The show paints Maggie as Aziraphale's foil and Nina as Crowley's, even to the point of Nina casually calling Maggie 'angel'. But Aziraphale's baggage is Nina's. The toxic relationship has to be processed and understood and closed, and it hasn't been, despite season one. Lindsay never really liked Nina very much, for all that they tried to keep her trapped; Heaven never really liked Aziraphale very much for all that he believed in it. They both let themselves be used. But Lindsay left Nina and went to their sister's, whereas now the head of Heaven has reached out to Aziraphale and said here, we can fix this, you can fix this, don't you want to fix this? Others are already writing about that and maybe I'll add to it later, not sure. And Crowley, like Maggie, has had a sweet dream that he has to set aside. Maybe he'll be able to pick it up again eventually, maybe not. But sometimes you offer support by buying oat milk or rescuing your beloved from the legions of hell, and sometimes you do it by standing back while they sort through their shit.

Quiet, gentle, romantic. It was.

But that's only part of the story. Now they have to do the work. They thought they had, but they were wrong, because there's so much they just hadn't touched yet and tried to cover over with relief and sleight of hand and alcohol and forgiveness. The apology dance doesn't mean much without showing that you listened and learned. They've faced so much trauma already and that should have been enough, we wanted it to be enough and so did they and it's such a blow for it to turn out that there's still more to do, that the baggage hasn't just gone away and can't be hidden under blankets or soothed with cocoa. The texts are still coming in and demanding answers.

But it'll be okay. It will. It's still a chance. And one that in the long run makes them better, builds something real that lasts.

The best stories, the ones that last longest and become classics, are the ones that don't end with the kiss under the awning or the blanket scenario or the wedding. They're the ones that heal us while the characters heal themselves. It's hard to accept that there's still more to do. Harder to imagine how it can possibly work out. And yes, bloody frustrating to wait and see.

And we'll get through that interim by telling even more stories. Because the story is never just a story. It's how we get through the work, it's what we tell ourselves so we can do the damn work. Stories are what we cling to and how we remind ourselves we're human and connect. A book is a person you can carry with you. We're not alone, none of us, stories connect us because we love them and see ourselves in them, which means we see each other.

Aziraphale's back up in Heaven to deal with his unfinished baggage; Crowley left his behind long ago and it's clearly going to come back and bite him in the arse however much he tries to go his own way. And they can't help each other with that. Not yet.

But they'll get there. So will we.

#good omens #good omens season 2 #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 spoilers #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #nina #maggie #nina and maggie #stories #romance #relationships #am I projecting here #of course I am isn't that the whole point? #pride and prejudice #elizabeth and darcy #quiet gentle romantic #good omens meta

[morgana-ren]

I DONT KNOW IF YOU WRITE FULL FICS BUT IF YOU DO PLEASE WIRTE ONE ABOUT TGAT LAST ASK.

Just about Astarion sitting in his throne of sorts, in the palace, with tav sitting in his lap. He’s bored, tav sits there- dissociating and wishing they were anywhere else. He asks them if they’d like to do something fun and they say something like “Only if you do my lord” and he saddens some, expecting them to come up with something fun like they used to but they can’t think of anything that he would approve of them doing after so many years of breaking them down and he realizes it’s gotten so dull because tav was the person that brightened his life

"Awfully dull today, hmm? How would you like to do something fun, my love?"

It's an oh-so rare quiet day in the Crimson Palace, and his favorite source of amusement sits placidly on his lap, silent as the grave and still atop him. Content as he is in the peaceful quiet with solely her company, he'd spend the day with her doing– well, something, surely. It’s been a while since they’ve had any time to themselves to truly enjoy each other’s company alone. In fact, he cannot recall the last time with any distinct accuracy.

It seems so terribly long since they've had any time to themselves. Being a Lord keeps you awfully busy.

In a tender moment, he reaches forward to brush a stray strand of hair out of her face and behind her ear with a long, pale finger. She doesn’t react save a slight instinctual flicker of her lashes. Not a hint of expression on her face. He expects her to lean into his touch as she used to and is almost shocked when she does not.

Odd, he thinks. She hardly even seems to notice anything at all.

It’s almost like she isn’t entirely present.

Still, before he can chastise her, she responds to his bid for her attention.

"If that is your wish, my lord,” She responds to his question, lifeless and monotone. Perfectly obedient, just as befits her, and yet—

He frowns, just a little. It irks him, but now that he thinks about it, he cannot recall the last time he saw enthusiasm on her face– or much of anything at all aside from the blank, hollow mask she has now. Completely impassive and unresponsive in a cruel sort of practiced indifference. 

He studies her for a moment and comes to the conclusion that it reminds him of the robots they found in that strange tower in the Underdark so long ago. Programmed to respond to the right things and make the right moves, but utterly incapable of acting on her own whims. Eternally awaiting instruction. 

Empty. Robotic. Precise and yet disingenuous somehow. Eerily so.

Has she been like this before? Has he simply not noticed?

Perhaps she just needs to awaken a little more. It was such a long night, and he had kept her remarkably busy. She must be exhausted, but surely, she will perk up. She always does. 

Doesn’t she?

“Come, darling. What would you like to do?” He jostles his knees, dandling her on his legs like one might a small, particularly grumpy child. She bumps up and down, only reaching to steady herself on the sides of his throne. 

“Whatever would please you would please me, my lord.”

He groans, rolling his red eyes, a very sudden burst of irritation bubbling in his gut. Always with the My lord, My lord, scraping and bowing like some sort of indentured serf. Proper respect is important, of course, but for the first time in a while— longer than he can honestly think back on, to be honest— they are entirely alone. He is her Lord, yes, but she knew him by another name once– did know him by another name. She knows better than to tease him in front of his vassals but surely—

He can’t remember the last time she said his name. 

His real name. 

How long since he has truly sat by her side and talked with her? Spent time with her? He's been so busy, laying plans and waste, conquering and shedding blood of those who oppose him. The Lord Tyrant, come to rule over his dominion of Eternal Night. She is always by his side, never straying and yet— 

(“I love you, Little Star,” She’d laugh, planting a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose, which would promptly crinkle in annoyance. 

“I’m not ‘Little Star,’ and I’ll never understand why you insist on calling me that.” 

“That’s what your name means, doesn’t it? Little Star? Or perhaps Little Starlight– I don’t really remember.”

“Then why make that my pet name?" He rolls his eyes, annoyed at the use of his own childish moniker that follows him like a shadow to anyone who speaks even a lick of his native language. "Of all the things your brilliant little mind can concoct, you give me a child’s handle? I’m strong, dashing, capable, handsome, fearsome– but instead you choose that absurdity” 

“Because you’re my little star!” And she would smile so brightly that it seemed impossible in the darkness, and he could not help but smile himself. “My light in the darkness. My Astarion, for as long as you want to be. And I love you.” 

His expression would soften once again and he would simply sigh, pulling her close to kiss her temple. The night was cold, but she was so impossibly warm against him, somehow fitting perfectly in his lap and into his heart, where she’d wormed her way in against his own will. The dim firelight reflects in her eyes as she tells him again that she loves him forever if he’ll have her, and he can think of nothing he’d desire more than to ride out the endless night of eternity with her here on his lap, cradled close.)

Something gnaws at him. Something raw and edged with a vicious sort of misery he’d done so well to avoid in ages. He cannot place it but as he looks at her, his stomach is as a dark, abyssal pit, circling and swelling like a maelstrom. 

Something is wrong.

He cannot place the negative emotion, and so he does as he always does now, making the strange yearning her responsibility to soothe. 

He lashes out at her. 

“I’m growing bored,” He says with a cold, cruel edge to his voice. “You know how much I dislike boredom, don't you, darling?"

What he seeks is a reaction. A sudden spark of life from within her. For her to grab his hand and take him to do— to do something. Surely—

And yet, with a motion so fluid that it implies an aged and practiced skill, she slides from his lap down to her knees before him, reaching towards the laces of his breeches. There is nothing behind her eyes as she extends her hand forward to unlace him, hardly even seeing him. Nothing at all. 

“What are you doing?” He slaps her hands away, scowling down at her, taken back by her brashness. 

“You said you were bored, my Lord.”

“And why would you think–” 

Because that is what he’d taught her. 

That her body was built for his amusement; his temple to defile at will. Because of the cold nights in the castle after so many years where he would reach for her, and she would quiver and shake her head with eyes rimmed red and puffy and beg to be left untouched and yet he would speak the words without thinking and she would bend for him any way he wished. 

Because even as she would obey, she would cry and turn away, and he would give it little thought until one night the crying and protesting simply stopped. He thought she had learned. Made peace with her duties and loyalty to him and what it entailed. Mayhaps she had come to realize that her theatrics had little impact on him and surely, he wasn’t so wretched to her now that these waterworks were necessary. His touch could not repulse her so that her weeping was remotely acceptable. She loves him, surely she—

Because he would command her until she would kneel, and so now, she kneels without command.

He sighs, breathing the fire from his lungs, reaching down to pull her back up into his lap. She does not respond, only obeys in kind to his guiding instruction as he settles her back down on his legs. He finds a semblance of patience from within himself which is a strange and unusual feeling, mustering it up to once again ask:

“My dear, what is it that you would like to do?” 

Her head cocks. She does not understand. 

"What would you enjoy? If you had the freedom to do anything, what might it be?"

It takes a moment, but for the first time, a reaction: Confusion. It is slow to take hold but becomes blaringly apparent as it does. It is not as if she doesn’t know the answer, but almost as if she doesn’t understand the question. 

“Whatever you would like to do, my Lo–”

“No, no, darling. What is it you would like to do?” He impresses, harsher this time, and she flinches, recoiling from… something. 

From him.  

If her heart was still capable of beating, he'd be able to hear the way it pumps into overdrive. As it stands, he cannot, but he is aware no less. Her scent changes entirely around him to something that has his brows furrowing. Shortness of breath, dilating pupils, hands beginning to quake— Adrenaline. Steel-edged anxiety. As if this is not a question at all, but rather a test and she does not know the answer, and failure means his displeasure and his displeasure means–

"I— What would you—" She hard-swallows, harrowed by the open-endedness of the question. "—I want what—"

("Come to the meadow with me, Asto," She would grab his hand with a mischievous smile when their compatriots were fast asleep, tugging him up from the comfort of his bedroll. "I want you to come with me."

"It's late, darling. Wouldn't you rather come here and lie with me?" He would try to tug her back down playfully, but would fall against her aggressive temerity, being pulled to his feet through her sheer will. She would stifle her giggling with a hand as she guided him past their slumbering companions, through the tree line and deep into the forest. 

"Come on, lazy boy, come! Come with me!"

"Well, I'm trying to—"

She would hush him and yank him by the wrist, out into the field where he'd first had her, down once more into a bed of wildflowers and long grass. Her melodic laugh like a strange song as she yanks him to the ground despite his weak protests until she would lie her head on his chest and trace gentle patterns on his white shirt against his flexed chest. 

"We don't have to come all the way out here to make love, darling—" He would move to try to kiss her, but she would adamantly press her head against his torso, insisting he stay down in the dirt with her. 

"I'm not trying to seduce you," She would giggle, pointing at the star-spangled sky. "I want to lie under the stars with you." 

"But… why?"

"Because I know we'll have eternity to do it, but it's my favorite moon tonight and it reminded me of you."

He squints, struggling to find anything different about it at all. "I don't notice anything, darling. It looks very much like the moon we see every night." 

"It's so full and bright! Look at the rays!" She holds her hand out as if to cradle a silvery moonbeam in her palm. "It reminds me of the color of your hair." 

She reaches over him to delicately pluck something from the grass, tucking it gingerly behind his ear after she does so. "These poppies are the same beautiful deep red of your eyes in the moonlight. I feel safe here; home, with you. I just wanted to enjoy it for a moment. Just the two of us."

He would wrap his arms around her waist, squeezing so tightly that she would gasp and worm about, trying to return the favor, and yet he would not relent. 

"I want you to feel safe with me," he would whisper into her hair, desperately trying to memorize the scent of it, as if expecting Bhaal himself to come and steal her from his frantic embrace. "Now and forever, I want to feel home in your arms, with you.")

He thinks, for a moment, to return to that meadow, and that perhaps his love— the one he remembers— will return to him. As if her ghost still lingers there, trapped and waiting to be rescued. 

He can’t. 

It is not a meadow any longer, but a battlefield, not unlike the vile destruction left in Ketheric's wake at Raithewait; another one in a million places sacrificed in his conquest for glory, littered with bodies and bones. A graveyard tribute to his power, scorched soil and dead grass. No flowers bloom there anymore— there is nowhere for them to bloom between the suffocating aura of death. 

All that is left is a beautiful memory buried beneath a river of dried blood, and you cannot water flowers with dried blood or wean them on bone dust. That meadow is one moment suspended in time as trapped in amber, impossible to claw free from its temporal prison. He cannot remember the last time he saw that jovial smile she had saved just for him in that damned meadow. 

He cannot recall the last time she said the words "I love you" and cried his name as a preternaturally beautiful siren song without being commanded. 

He frowns, feeling something strange and haunting in his chest. Something viciously clawing up his throat as he looks at her: at her empty red eyes that were once the most beautiful color, full of love and life when she looked upon him; at her contorted expression that used to be as radiant as the sun and he could have sworn that her light could have sustained him through the dark, miserable nights of his eternal curse if only she was by his side; at the frailty of her body that almost seems to creak and break beneath his weight. 

"My love, look at me."

And she does, if not by command, then by instinct. 

"Smile for me, will you? Can you do that for me?" 

And she does, her lips turning upward and raising to reveal two sharp teeth— and nothing more. It's uncanny and revolting and wrong. There is nothing behind her eyes, nothing at all. No light, no life, and certainly no love. 

He used to be able to see himself in her eyes. How her heart sang for him, cheeks blossoming with blood at the sight of him. He could hear her heart rabbit behind her ribs, her hands quaking with excitement to touch him even in the most innocent of ways. Through her eyes, he found his own value— his own worth— and finally began to understand that he deserved love; he deserved happiness. She had healed him, giving almost all of herself to do it, selflessly and without asking for anything in return even as he despised himself and refused his own agency—

And she stares at him now with soulless eyes, he is left to wonder if he has taken too much from her in his quest to take everything. Wonders if she will ever be that lovestruck, moon-eyed girl again, wanting nothing more than to lie under the moonlit meadow with him. If she will ever kiss his eyelids as a delicate butterfly and whisper eternity in his ear. If she will ever feel safe and home and loved around him again in his embrace–

Save she is no longer quaking with anticipation at his touch, but trembling from fear, lost and terrified at the posing of a simple question. Her scent is foreign even as it is familiar and he cannot recall when it began to change. There is something in her eyes that haunts him, and though he can see himself within him, what stares back is not him. A terrible realization rakes knives down his soul, a gaping maw threatening to swallow him whole. A tightening in his lungs, and even as he does not breathe, he does not believe he could even if he tried. 

“Darling?” 

“Yes, my Lord?” 

Her face is impassive once more. Perfect porcelain expression. Not a crack in the mask. Not a wrinkle in the facade. Practiced day in and day out until it becomes real. He remembers it well.

How long has it been? How long since he has looked at her? Truly looked at her? Spoken to her? Told her he loved her? 

Showed her he loves her?

When was the last day he did not command from her that which she begged not to willingly give?

He cannot remember. He cannot recall. 

He demanded and she had no choice but to give. More and more and more. He drained her dry and now where was once his sacred oasis, there is nothing at all. No matter how long he looks, there is never a flicker of anything in her glassy eyes. 

He wonders if even as he has gotten everything he has ever wanted, he lost the one thing he needed. 

It paralyzes him. For the first time in an ageless eternity, he feels something: Panic. 

Even his endless power cannot bring her back. His beloved is dead, and he has killed her. Upon him sits a pretty corpse, empty and devoid of all that made her her. A doll with her face. A doll with barely even that. 

Her laugh, her smile. Her passion and desire and love. The tenderness inside of her and the warmth she once held. Everything that pulled him from his shell and showed him how to love once more. He bloomed in her light– and then snuffed it out entirely. 

How long has it been? How long has she been gone?

Though she may be undying, he realizes with horror akin to a dawning sun that she is gone– and has been for some time. 

“You seem stressed, my Lord? How can I make you happy again?”

Second part of the story HERE

#morgana and friends #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #literally whatever you want it to be #very bad implications here do not read if sensitive #bad mean astarion #sort of #lots of mistakes here fellas #i TOLD yall i was having a tough time writing #this needed more time and work but man I just CANNOT focus #you get the gist right #this needed more detail and to be longer but i was struggling here #god i need medicine or something #one down about 399 more to go lmao

[thealogie]

picture this. you're michael sheen, beloved queer-friendly welsh actor and recent twilight saga vampire. you want your favorite book to become a tv show, and you want to be the lead. so what do you do? you befriend the author. he wines and dines you, you become a confidant in the scriptwriting phase. and in the process of the GO script you decide you don't want to be crowley, actually, you want to be aziraphale. you put in the work for months to influence the author to the same conclusion. so when neil gaiman comes to you one day saying, "i know you joined on to be crowley... but how would you feel about playing aziraphale?" you say, what a novel idea! i was feeling the same way, i just didn't want to say anything! let's do it.

you're michael sheen, the lead in the adaptation of your favorite book. you meet david tennant as your leading man, a rising star (and vocal fan of yours) you've had a few vague interactions with in the past. on set you immediately find the closest friend you have ever and will ever find in your life, and you know this. the romance you have in your (yes, your) show is ambiguous, but you're michael sheen. you think that romance needs to be explicit. so what do you do? you become a nightmare on set. you get really hands-on; you make costume choices, you make story decisions, you tell your author friend at the very end of filming: aziraphale is in love with crowley and realizes it in 1941. now go do it again.

so the author goes and does it again. you get a season 2. you get 1941 part 2. you're michael sheen, and you are the lead of the adaptation of your favorite book, and the romance you littered into the character you built from the ground up has become unambiguous. everything goes according to plan. but, you see, you have a problem: the author you have baby trapped is acting a FIEND on twitter and tumblr. he's saying everything he can to imply aziraphale and crowley aren't sexually attracted to each other. he's getting a bit too bold with his character assumptions, is all i'm saying. so here's what you're going to do: you play it up with your pal david tennant. you made a show with him during lockdown. you're going to depict your lives as even more intertwined and homoerotically codependent as previously possible. you grow even closer. your wives become best friends, too, because how could they not? this has been the plan since the beginning, too. your lockdown show ends. it wasn't enough.

so you, michael sheen, of course you put in the work. if david tennant's there, you're damn sure you're there physically, spiritually, biblically, in whatever capacity you can be. it's not hard. david tennant is a big fan of yours, after all, so he MAKES SURE you're always in the conversation. you have him wrapped around your little finger, this lovely little boy, and so you know what you do next? you become neighbors. you make your directorial debut casting your best friend's wife watching her husband and male neighbor initiate sex with each other. you play into the swinging rumors (that you, michael sheen, had started). you create a narrative that you and david tennant are two homoerotic besties, and is there more going on in the background there? any deeper conspiracy? who really knows, but what you do know is that the world is talking about it.

and you, michael sheen, your entire acting career has led to this moment, your gay quips, your oscar wilde sex scene (and the interviews following), all of your queer roles, EVERYTHING has brought us to this conclusion. you have created the lab perfect conditions where season 3 must have an explicit gay sex scene. i'm sorry neil, my hands are tied! the people are clamoring for me and david tennant to have sex-- i mean aziraphale and crowley to have sex, the public decided this all on their own! i really don't think you have much choice. but of course, i would never deign to tell an author how to practice his veritable craft. i concede to whatever version of series 3 you create, and i will happy to bring this beloved character to his deserved ending.

and why do you say this? because you're michael sheen. you're just an actor who incidentally stumbled his way into leading the queer romance adaptation of your favorite book that wasn't a romance, and you just read the script the way that it was given to you. and if series 3 means an explicit sex scene between you and your best friend david tennant, then what a lovely coincidence that you had absolutely no part in making happen. because what power do you really have?

This is my favorite book I’ve read so far this year. A rare occasion where the author pulls off use of the second person pov. I really felt like I was a beloved welsh actor crossed with Machiavelli when I read this

#michael sheen

[amamisa]

SIXTY-FOUR EQUALS SIXTY-FIVE!

RANPO EDOGAWA ⋮ BUNGO STRAY DOGS

premise. ranpo loves to give you all sorts of little riddles, but this one might have you stumped the most out of all of them.

story notes! fem!reader. fluff! reader works as part of the ADA office staff. animated dividers by @/cafekitsune!

love, misa ‹3 if you know what the title is referencing, ily! also, reblogs, comments and interactions are vrie appreciated!

“. . . Pardon?”

Ranpo looks to you with a pointedly smug grin playing on his face, hands relaxedly folded behind his head as he leans back in the ADA office’s chair. It creaks beneath him as he plants his feet atop the mahogany desk and swivels around slowly, a sign that you should probably get the seat oiled soon.

“It’s simple, is it not?” He asks and you slowly shake your head no, mouth slightly agape when he starts to sigh, repeating his prior statement.

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five, and that’s that!”

You blink a few times, hoping that the information sinks in a little more inside of your beain just long enough that you can even begin to process whatever he means.

The words play back in your mind like an old VHS tape, abruptly coming to a halt when you can’t fall into a proper, conclusive or logical answer that would make sense in any normal situation.

“That’s . . . false,” you begin to argue, albeit a bit unsurely as you have no idea what to even say in the moment. Your mouth moves faster than your brain as you tell him the only logical thing you can think of.

“If sixty-four equalled sixty-five than it would be sixty-five and not sixty-four.”

Ranpo lets out a laugh, only telling you that “You’re wrong,” and for a second you look around the ADA office wondering if there were any cameras filming the two of you. You find that the other office clerks are merely seated at their own desks though, watching the spectacle between you and Ranpo go down, and a little amused at your bewilderment.

You’d think that for a man who is labelled as the greatest detective in all of Yokohama (and quite possibly the entire world once you took into account his inherent genius and lack of an ability), that much would make sende for someone like him.

Surely he couldn’t have said a more incorrect statement than that with such confidence in himself.

But no, of course not.

It’s Ranpo you’re dealing with, and he says a lot of odd little phrases and sayings just to mess with your head sometimes. It started since your first day with the ADA, it’s been years now and he’s still going too.

He doesn’t show any signs of stopping soon either.

(“You just look so funny with your face all scrunched up in thought!” He once told you after a particularly difficult riddle that had you stumped for hours on end until the end of the work day, afterwhich you realized the answer was unfathomably easy once he had revealed it to you.

Nobody else in the ADA could’ve gotten it though, so it saved you at least some of your dignity.)

You assume that this must be another one of those cryptic riddles he’s thrown your way, maybe a test to see if you’ve somehow managed to improve from last time. An inkling of hope swells inside your chest, hoping that today is the day you finally manage to answer correctly to one of Ranpo’s mysterious riddles.

Setting down the bowl of candies in your hands on his desk, you stand in thought for a moment, scouring your brain for anything that could relate to the riddle as Ranpo delightedly digs into the newfound treats, appearing blissful to the mental agony he loves to put you through sometimes.

The little dish clinks against his fingernails as he searches through the pile of sweets for his favourites at the bottom, the sound of the plastic unwrapping in tune with the beat of the ticking in your brain while you think over his words from earlier.

He gave no set up, no punch line, no nothing at all. There wasn’t any indistinguishable context to the riddle-like words that you could recall, it was only—

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five . . .” Ranpo hears you mutter underneath your breath, and his lips curl up in delight as he munches on a decadent chocolate truffle, filled with sticky caramel and generous bits of toffee.

The caramel sticks to his teeth, with the toffee clinging to the sides of his tongue and the roof of his mouth as he chews away at the treat, patiently watching while you continue to talk to yourself, still thinking over his words from earlier.

“Could it be a math riddle? No, that’s not possible though if we’re going by technical math terms and rules . . . Maybe something to do with physics? But how could anything simultaneously be sixty-four and sixty-five?”

Ranpo’s mischievous grin only continues to grow as you remain oblivious to his watchful eyes, and his gaze scans over your features, wordlessly taking in your appearance.

Your knitted brows, the way you subconsciously pout your lips whenever you’re in deep thought, your crossed arms, all while unknowingly talking to yourself as you piece together the clues.

Ranpo sees it all as clear as day. And he finds it unbelievably cute.

“Maybe it’s about hex codes from the colour wheel, since one colour can look different depending on the background it’s placed over. It could have less to do with the numbers themselves than the meaning or history behind them—”

“Are you done yet?” You’re brought back to reality by the sound of Ranpo’s voice interrupting your thoughts, head perking up as you’re met with the sight of his nougat stuffed cheeks. All puffed out and full of sugar as he holds back a laugh once he sees how quickly your face softened from it’s previously hardened features.

“You were taking forever to solve that one! And it’s really not that hard to begin with!”

“Speak for yourself,” you scoff, taking one of the chocolates from the bowl and unwrapping it for yourself. The plastic crinkles beneath your fingertips, you stuff the wrapper in your pocket before popping it into your mouth.

The caramel sauce encased in the hard chocolate shell explodes when you crunch down on it, a sweet little victory to make up for the quizzical hurdles you’re put through on a regular basis, courtesy of the man sitting right across from you.

“You’re Yokohama’s greatest detective, it’s obvious that these sorts of riddles come naturally to you,” you wholeheartedly confess, savouring the light cocoa and sweet, subtly coconut flavours that coat your tongue. “I’m not like you, Ranpo. Nobody in the ADA is, what takes us twelve weeks to solve you can answer in twelve seconds.”

“Awee, really?” He giggles, swiping more of the little candies from the bowl on his desk. He seems to have missed the original point entirely by now, as he motions for you to continue, “Go on, tell me more about how great I am!”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him, maybe you shouldn’t have gassed him up so much during your little acknowledgement speech. Though with the cases he’s solved in his repertoire, you really can’t argue against that title of his.

“No, you’ve had enough of that from Kunikida and Atsushi just this morning alone.”

A small pout graces Ranpo’s lips as you sigh, ignoring the kicked puppy eyes he gives you while walking back to your desk, continuing to mutter underneath your breath the same words that will probably leave you stumped for the next few days on end.

“Sixty-four equals sixty-five?”

Ranpo cranes his head as he eats away at the rest of his candy stash, watching you immediately turn to one of your co-workers from his own work space to ask them the same question Ranpo gave you, inquiring about any clues they might have as to the answer.

“No, there’s gotta be an answer,” he overhears when your colleague shrugs their shoulders, simply telling you that whatever Ranpo says is probably just a load of gibberish meant to mess with your mind.

“Just— just give me anything you can think of, okay? I’ll solve one of his riddles one day.”

The sight has Ranpo smiling behind the back of his hand, eyes crinkling at the corners with glowing cheeks when you sees you bring out one of your notepads from the desk drawer’s, clicking your pen as you begin to write down any guesses you might have to tell him later.

Truth be told, unlike the rest of the spontaneous mind games Ranpo pulls on you— this one has no actual meaningful answer. At least, not one that you’d understand at the moment if he were to tell you it’s solution.

But despite that looming factor always casting it’s dark shadow onto you, the thought of Ranpo giving you a riddle truly impossible to solve has never really crossed your mind.

Otherwise, you would very easily give up solving them after just a moment of contemplation.

Ranpo’s noticed though that you tend to wallow on them for days at a time unless he comes clean and tells you the answer in it’s entirety, letting his silly and easily misconstrued words stew inside your head during your lunch breaks and slow times at the ADA where you’ll maybe sometimes bound up to him excitedly with a guess as to what you think the answer is.

It’s charming how much thought you put into your solutions, and admittedly you’ve gotten quite close a few times to figuring them out all on your own. Ranpo’s always impressed with whatever you come up with, even if it’s outlandishly ridiculous or nowhere even close to the actual answer itself.

It’s really your explanations and logic behind them that he likes, with some of the ideas you bring up for splutions are those that he hasn’t even thought of beforehand until you ask him if they’re right.

(Sometimes he wants to cut your little game short and just give you the win for once if your guess is creative enough.

But where’s the fun in that?)

He’ll give you more of these up until the day you leave the ADA (though he hopes that’s not anytime soon) if it means he gets to see that delightful little confused but hopeful expression you make while deep in thought.

Your persistence in finding out the answer on your own until you’ve been truly worn out by him is also admirable.

Because while you’re always just a bit confused by all the different riddles, puzzles and play-on-words he hounds on you each day, he finds that you’ve yet to actually reject his proposal to solving them, never even considering walking away from his absurdity unlike with most people he knows if he asked them the same.

He prays it’ll stay that way too.

Otherwise, who else would he have to fawn over in secret?

Ranpo deduces that while you may be clever (anyone who works at the ADA is, it’s basically a requirement when working with ability users such as them), he’s always just a few steps ahead of you.

It’s not an insult towards you on his end in any way either. Your way of thinking is totally different from his own, but he reasons out that he can make arrangements to improving your logical deduction abilities once he finally figures out how to convey his feelings for you.

Properly, and not through a series of complex paradoxes and logic puzzles.

The most complex riddle of them all though that the ADA office staff asks themselves each day while witnessing the two of you has to be:

Whose logical reasoning is really being tested here again? Yours, or Ranpo’s?

The ADA believes that Ranpo should use less of his time giving you intrinsically methodical puzzles and focus more of his energy on realizing his blooming, lovesick crush.

works © amamisa 2024. no copying or stealing, please!

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo x reader #ranpo edogawa x reader #ranpo edogawa fluff #ranpo fluff #bungo stray dogs ranpo #bsd ranpo #bsd fluff #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bsd fanfic #bsd scenarios #bsd x female reader #signed by misa ৻ꪆ

[ashotofogdensoldfirewhiskey]

Conclusions

Ginny's run out of her good parchment and has been reduced to using something she dug out of the bottom of her trunk, hating the way her quill scratches over the rough surface. As though it isn’t punishment enough to be writing about History of Magic, she’s got to do it on this piece of rubbish. 

“Bloody, buggering fu–” she swears as the point of her quill pierces a hole straight through her conclusion. Apt, probably - it had been flimsy at best. There’s a metaphor here, somewhere.

“Revision going well, then?”

The wry voice startles her so much that she nearly upends her bottle of ink all over her weak – in more ways than one – essay. “Fuck, Harry, I’d no idea you were there.”

She blinks up at him in surprise and finds him smirking, standing at the table she’s claimed in a corner of the library, looking adorably entertained by her plight. His bookbag is slung carelessly over his shoulder, his hair mussed, his stupid face made more handsome by the teasing lilt of his smile. Her heart flutters a bit, because that’s just what it always does with him. She ignores it valiantly, and hates him for it, a little. 

“Sorry,” he says, though he sounds more amused than anything. “Mind if I sit?”

“Course,” she says, gesturing to the seat opposite. “Can’t guarantee there won’t be more swearing, though.” 

He eyes her holey essay as he sits, jerking his head questioningly toward the parchment. “What’re you working on?”

“Something for Binns.”

“Ah, I’d be swearing, too.”

“Fucking hell, eh?”

They share a smile, and Ginny reckons she’d be better off writing an essay about that - the way she knows exactly when he’ll find something funny; the way jokes fall a bit flat when the punchline isn’t his eyes seeking her out, green and piercing and flickering with amusement. She’d fill the parchment with ease. 

It’s easy to write about something you can’t stop reading into. 

Just like she’s madly reading into the way he’s shown up here - no Ron, no Hermione - and sought her out, like it’s normal, like they’ve been doing this for years even though they haven’t. It feels like they have, though. That’s the worst part of it.

“What’re you doing here?” she asks, like he might just come right out and say it - to see you.

He doesn’t. She pretends that she can’t be disappointed by what she expects. 

“Transfiguration,” he says darkly. 

“Where’re Ron and Hermione, then?” she prods, picking at it like a scab, like a masochist. I wanted to get you alone, she urges him to say. I’ve been trying to all week and I haven’t even been subtle about it.

“Dunno,” he shrugs. Scabs bleed when you pick them, incidentally. “I can survive an evening without them, you know.”

“Can you? I don’t reckon your track record is all that spectacular on that front, if I’m honest.”

“Hey, I haven’t died even once.”

“Right,” she jokes. “Angling for a new nickname? ‘The Boy Who Hasn’t Died, Even Once’?”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Rolls right off the tongue, that.”

“I’ll owl Rita for you. We can workshop something”

They smile.

She wants to shake him until he admits to it, confesses, like this thing brewing between them is a crime. She wants to lay all the evidence out in front of him, the aspiring Auror, and see what he makes of it. He can’t quip his way around the smiles and the banter and the looks he gives her. See, she’ll say, don’t you see?

He’s got shit vision. 

They sit together for far longer than she’d planned to stay. At some point he adjusts in his seat, and his foot winds up touching hers, and he doesn’t even have the decency to move it. She fancies she can feel his warmth through their trainers, but no - it must be her own traitorous heart, frantically pumping warm blood to her foot like it’s the only part of her body that needs it, like the parts of her that aren’t touching him have ceased to matter because maybe they have. 

Maybe she’s been distilled to the edge of her foot.

They talk about strategies for the Quidditch final, and OWLs, and argue playfully about which of her mum’s mince pies is the best. Ginny’s always fancied herself good at impressions, but she surprises even herself with her impression of easy nonchalance. All the while it’s building - each look, each smile, each easy joke they set each other up for feels like a firework she’s adding to the heap in her chest, ready to explode with the slightest spark. 

You’ve got me alone, she tells him. Do something about it.

It’s nearly curfew. They start gathering their things, and still he hasn’t done anything. If he were any other boy, Ginny would cut through the bullshit herself, but something holds her back. She can’t fully articulate, unravel, why, but she needs him to be the one to admit it. She needs him to decide she’s worth the risk. He’s meant to be brave, isn’t he?

As she’s packing it away, Ginny remembers her abandoned essay, still punctured pathetically. She sighs, holds it up for Harry’s evaluation. “Think Binns’ll even notice?”

“Give it here,” he says, and she hands it over. He pulls his wand from his robes and waves it wordlessly, the gaping tear sewing itself together so it might never have been there. Ginny doesn’t know why she hadn’t thought to do that herself. 

“Thanks. Only now, I’ve actually got to write a damn conclusion.”

He laughs and holds it back out to her. “You’re on your own.”

“Aren’t you meant to have a hero complex?” she quips, pushing the parchment back toward him. “Some useful saving-people thing? Have a go.”

To her immense surprise, he shoots her a wry smirk that sends a tingle through her stomach. “Alright.” He pulls out the quill he’d only just packed away, scrawls something at the bottom of her parchment, shielding it from view.  

She’s gone utterly daft. Her heart is hammering in her chest, beating a tattoo on her ribcage; she wonders if her fingers are trembling as they reach across to take her essay back, fully convinced she’ll find the words Go out with me scribbled there. 

In conclusion, he’d written, this essay is over.

She snorts, mostly at herself. She’s officially deluded. Cracked. What is wrong with her?

“Wow. Thanks for that,” she says drily. “How would Binns have known otherwise?”

He grins. “Anytime.”

“Totally unrelated, but do you offer refunds? Perhaps a voucher for another Harry Potter rescue at a later date?”

“Non-refundable. Sorry.”

“I’m going to be honest,” she lies. “I expected a better rescue than that.”

He shrugs. “You expect too much from The Boy Who Hasn’t Died, Even Once.”

She can’t help herself; she laughs. His eyes seek hers out - green, so green, twinkling with amusement and something that looks so fond. She’s going to set fire to the heap of fireworks in her chest, just to get it over with. She’ll explode in color, driven to madness by the boy who hadn’t died even once but who’d killed her, slowly, with smiles. 

In conclusion, she thinks, I’m utterly fucked.

#hinny #canon compliant #hbp missing moment #it's still valentine's day somewhere #not here #but somewhere

[walliedarling]

You are transported into an unfamiliar, colour-soaked world, with nothing except the clothes covering your skin and a pounding headache. When you stray into the first village you find, you look nothing like the people there. But though you think your body and your ways must seem monstrous to them, they take you in with nothing except acceptance. 

Or: You are transported to Home as a human, and the rest of the inhabitants are puppets. 

Frank is always frustrated when he’s as stumped by something as the rest of his neighbours. He’s supposed to be the one with the answers, after all. But no matter how hard he tries, he simply cannot classify you into a single genus existing in this world. Your bodies are, at least in general shapes, similar enough. And yet, the texture of your skins are entirely different, and you have things in your mouth you refer to as ‘teeth’ that he is entirely unfamiliar with. The fact that you call yourself an adult, and yet have parts of your body that are still growing, is strange to him as well. Even if it’s just your hair and ‘nails’, none of their bodies do anything similar. After the realization that your closest match would be a tree, rather than anything talking, he simply gives up on coming up with a conclusive answer. You deserve a category of your own. 

The first noticeable difference is, of course, the differing amount of fingers. Julie decides, lightheartedly, that this gives you an unfair advantage in arts and crafts! So many things are easier... She’d like to have an extra finger to crochet with as well, really!! Besides that, she’s absolutely fascinated with your hair and how it feels- She’ll want to try doing all kinds of different things with it.

You’re going to be glomped by Sally more times than you can count. It’s much easier for her to do so with you, you’re one of the few who doesn’t immediately topple over! There might have been the risk of one of the points of her stars poking you but, fortunately, they aren’t sharp at all. She tells everyone about how squishy you are and, soon enough, you’ve given almost everyone a hug. 

Barnaby, for a day or two, makes it his life’s mission to try and lift you up. But though he towers over you in height, he simply can’t lift you off of the ground at all! (It doesn’t matter how much you weigh. It’s simply impossible for people made out of fleece, stuffing and foam to lift a person of flesh and blood.) He asks you whether you’re filled with rocks or not, and while you say that you aren’t, you’re not sure if he entirely believes you. Every resident has their own theory of what’s ‘inside’ of you, you think. 

Wally is the one of who is most curious about you, though. He asks you lots and lots of questions, and is especially fascinated by the way you eat. He won’t stop staring. One of the first few things that he’ll ask you if he can draw you. He’s more intrigued by the sound of your heartbeat than he’ll ever directly tell you, and he tries to press his ear to your chest when he gives you a hug. After seeing you get a minor cut once, Wally has become convinced that one of the things that makes up your body is red paint. Perhaps he’ll ask you if he can use some to draw with, one day.

#i have more specific ideas abt wally with this scenario specifically i might make a seperate post abt that <3 #welcome home x reader #welcome home arg x reader #welcome home #welcome home arg #wally darling #sally starlet #barnaby b beagle #julie joyful #frank frankly

[tumbleweed-run]

Request for reader finding some of Gale's erotica and, based off said literature, getting taken in a most ungentlemanly fashion? 👉👈

Oh nonny, I love this idea terribly! Conveniently this also fits for today's kinktober theme.

A Novel Idea

(18+, Explicit)

You hadn’t lived in Waterdeep long, but it didn’t take long to realize wandering about the Dock Ward at night wasn’t your best idea. Tonight ‘night’ seemed like an understatement, even the moon and stars had retreated behind heavy clouds. You relied solely on the lights streaming from various taverns and home windows to keep your path.

You weren’t far from home when the hairs on your neck stood on end. Someone was following you. Pulling up the hood on your cloak, you quickened your pace, not to an outright run but enough that it might make a difference. You thought it did. Thought it would. 

You’d been wrong before. 

It wasn’t so much a push as it was being barreled into and shoved down an alley. You dig your feet in trying to slow the momentum of your body but to no avail. The brick wall before you was as unforgiving as the force at your back as you’re pressed into it. 

“Well, well, there aren’t many brave enough to be wandering around here in the dark,” a voice hums into your ear. 

“Brave is just one of the many things I am,” you bite back trying to gain purchase on the wall before you, trying to push back. 

The body that flattens against you is larger than your own. It pins you against the brick, you’re unable to get your arms underneath you. You still your struggles, no use in wasting your energy. 

“I’ll leave you be if you’ll be so kind as to hand me your coin purse,” He’s not moving now, just pinning you to the wall with his body. 

Gale is staring at you with a look of shock. The book (his book might you add) is held loosely in his hand. 

“You, want this?” He asks again gesturing at you with the book now.

You nodded, lip worried between your teeth. You hadn’t meant to bring it up, at least not without a solid plan. But he’d teased you for how your cheeks had heated as you read a particularly scandalous part of that very same novel. 

Gale’s eyes go distant, and you’re convinced he’ll tell you no, that this is beyond his willingness to indulge you in your fantasies. You wait him out, though, let him come to his conclusion on his own. 

“I won't hurt you,” he says finally.

It’s not a no, so you take your chance. “Of course not, and neither does he… not really,” you remind him. The villain turned seducer in the story had only frightened his maiden, never truly hurt her. 

“We’ll need some way for you to tell me you’re done,” Gale admits, still not meeting your gaze. 

It’s your turn to be hesitant now. “Gale, if this isn’t something you want. Say it and I swear I’ll never bring it up again,” you promise grabbing for his hand. 

He laces his fingers through yours and finally looks at you. “As strange as it is, I must admit I can see the appeal.” The words are spoken low, as if he’s revealing a secret to you. 

He might as well be. 

“If I give you my coin purse, or even mention coins that will be my cue that I want it to end.” You assure him. 

“You promise?” he squeezes your hand before pressing a kiss to the back of it. 

“Yes,” you grin.

“No,” you growl.

You begin trying to twist your body away from him once more but he simply leans into you. It’s taken almost no effort for him to subdue you. You swallow harshly against that realization. 

The lips are back at your ear. “If not your coin then, my lady, I shall have to take something.”

“I have nothing else for you.” You’d meant to sound defiant, strong, but instead the works came out half-whispered. 

He chuckles and then shifts so his weight is off of you, not gone though. He’s caging you in still with his arms and his body at your back. One of those arms moves now and skillfully undoes the broach holding your cloak closed. 

You shiver as the material falls to your feet, the cool night air already pushing in through your clothes. 

“I think you have plenty for me.” His lips are so close to your neck that you can feel them brush your skin as he speaks. 

His hand returns, resting atop your collarbone. Not quite at your neck but there, like a warning. You swallow harshly once again. 

“Perhaps that’s what you want,” he say mockingly, finally letting his lips drop to your neck with a kiss. 

His hand trails lower on your chest until he’s cupping your breast through your shirt. The fabric seems impossibly thinner now than it had less than an hour ago. 

“After all what lady goes walking alone at this hour except those looking for trouble,” he continues. His fingers are seeking out your nipple now with teasing brushes against it. 

The kisses he’s pressing against your neck will certainly bruise by morning but you can’t help but to arch your neck more. 

He pinches your nipple and you whimper. He chuckles against your neck.

His hand shifts, seeking your other breast. His thumb brushes up against your already hard nipple. He pinches it again without warning. This time when you moan you can’t help but roll your hips back into him. He’s hard against your ass. 

“So that is what you were after,” he’s teasing again, both with his words and his fingers. “Willing to risk your life just to be touched.”

“No,” you argue, “I was just going home.”

“With no protection? No strong husband to keep you safe?”  His hand abandons your breast to begin a decent downward. 

His hips are grinding against you freely now and you can feel just how hard he is with each roll. You bite your lip to hold back another whimper. He chooses this moment to gather your skirt in his fist and press it between your legs. With another roll of his hips he sends you grinding against the fabric, sweet friction against your already throbbing clit. 

“No,” it’s less of a word and more of a moan. You shake your head, hair undoubtedly smacking his face. “No husband, I can protect myself.”

“Perhaps you can,” he groans against your skin, “but this situation tells me otherwise.” 

He’s still thrusting against you, forcing you to grind against his hand and the fabric balled inside of it. You’re up on your tiptoes now trying to change the angle, unabashedly seeking more friction. 

“You can’t have it both ways, my lady. You can’t both be on an innocent evening stroll and able to protect yourself, given the position I have you in,” he reminds you of exactly what positon he’s talking about with another firm roll of his hips. 

Before you can argue against his words he’s begun hiking the skirt of your dress up until he can slide his hand beneath it. His fingers, cooled by the night air, immediately seek out your cunt. You cry out as he slips them between your folds to press firmly against your clit, the cool air a shock to your nerves. 

“There’s no denying this,” he teases, fingers rubbing against you. The wet sounds betraying whatever words you’d meant to say. “Admit it,” he growls lips pressed to your ear. 

“Please,” you whimper, hips chasing after his touch.

You almost lose balance and crash forward into the wall but his other arm comes around your waist to catch you. 

“Admit it,” he says again fingers now touching everywhere but where you want them. 

“I want you,” you admit but it’s apparently not what he’s looking for because he still refuses to touch you. “Please,” you cry out, “I want you to fuck me.”

“That's not so hard, is it,” he presses a kiss to the side of your head. 

His fingers leave you even though you’ve said what he wanted to hear. Before you can morn their loss the arm around your waist lifts you into the air a second before swinging you down towards the ground. You’re forced to brace your arms out in front of you as you make contact roughly with the alley floor. 

“Ow,” You cry out despite not meaning to, there will be scrapes on your palms now. 

Just as quickly as you’d been tossed to the floor you’re lifted up onto your knees again, back against his chest. Somehow he’d knelt with you. 

“All you have to do is give me your coin,” he reminds you, “and I’ll leave. No harm done to you or your reputation.”

You shake your head vigorously, “I won’t give it to you.”

You barely feel his lips against the side of your head before he’s pushing you back down onto your hands. 

He flips up your skirt, exposing you to the alley and the night air. You’re not sure which one makes you shiver more. He runs his hands down your ass to your thighs before spreading the lips of your cunt with his thumbs. You only realize you’re shaking when he presses one of those thumbs inside you. 

You fight the urge to press back into it. 

He slicks his thumb back out and runs it up and down until he bumps into your clit. You whimper and aren’t able to keep your body from chasing after his touch. His hands leave you then but you hear the sounds of his pants being undone. 

“Such a pretty thing,” he says reverently and then you feel the warmth of his cock resting against your entrance, “waiting to be taken in an alley like a whore.”

“Please,” you whine trying to push back onto him. 

He won't let you and instead leans away to keep you from touching him. You cry out in frustration, head dropping down. 

Suddenly there’s a hand tangled through your hair, drawing your head back up. Its a firm tug but only painful if you resist. And you do, but only for a moment before allowing him to pull you so you’re forced to look ahead. Forcing you to look around at the barely visible alley around you. 

Only then does it press into you. There’s no teasing now, no waiting, no soft touches. He thrusts into you until you’re pressed back against his hips. Your cunt flutters around him at the sudden intrusion. It's a stinging sensation, not pleasurable really, but you don’t mind because he’s finally inside of you. 

He sits that way for a few heartbeats before drawing out only to thrust back in against. It’s a firm rhythm he finds, hand still woven in your hair to keep you from drifting away with each thrust. You can feel small stones biting into your knees, undoubtedly they’ll be bruised and bloody by the time he’s finished. 

He begins grunting with each thrust and you realize he’s getting close. 

Your hair is released without warning and you can barely stop it from falling forward. 

“Touch yourself,” he orders, both hands grabbing your hips, “I want you to come on my cock in this alley.”

You find yourself only too eager to obey. Fingers finding a rhythm that matches the near brutal pace he’s now fucking into you. You’re so close you can’t breathe. The grip on your hips becomes almost painful. 

“I need you to come,” he growls, fingertips digging into your flesh. 

And you do with a cry. Hips slamming back to meet his so the only thing you can hear aside from your own cries is the sound of your skin slapping against one another. He grunts as he comes, pulling you back against him so you can’t move away as he spills inside of you. 

You remain like that until your heartbeat has approached a more normal rhythm. As he slides out of you he pulls you back onto his lap. Hands smoothing out your skirts so you’re hidden once more from the night.

“My mad, beautiful, love,” Gale whispers pressing kisses against the side of your head. 

You laugh as you lean into his kisses. After a moment you’re shifted onto the ground once more, but so much gentler this time you feel your heart near bursting. 

With a groan that you absolutely don’t grin at, Gale stands and tucks himself back into his pants. But before you can even think of trying to join him he’s lifted you into his arms, one hand producing your long-forgotten cloak. 

You drop the cloak into your lap before draping your arms around his neck. “My noble wizard,” you mumble against his lips before pressing a kiss to them. 

He leads you further into the alley and to a door hidden deep in shadows. As he pushes it open, you realize this is the alley alongside your own home. The door swings open into your warmly lit kitchen, the smell of dinner from earlier still lingering heavily in the room. 

You bury your face in Gale’s neck to hide the smile painted across your lips. 

#gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #gale x tav #kinktober 2023 #kinktober prompt roleplaying

[azrielwingspan]

THE STRINGS OF FATE (AZRIEL X READER)

A/N: I've wanted to write a series based on a dark , mystery themed vibe for so long and I thought this would be a good way to start it off. I get to write about my favourite characters and transform it into something a bit darker and mystery fuelled. So I'm hoping you guys enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed imagining it.

!! The image below does not belong to the author !!

Genre: Suspense thriller, Romance

Summary : The Prophecy. A band of words that incited terror in people but you had long since learnt that the fear of the unknown strikes deeper.

The prophecy was just the beginning of the end.

Warnings : Mentions of violence

PROLOGUE

"You would be a fool to not involve your cousin, Rhysand." Amren said coldly for the umpteenth time that night. "There is a reason the prophecy refers to the both of you. Don't try to change the course of fate boy. Not even a Lord of the Night can cross the Mother."

"I would be a fool to lead her into the arms of a certain death. If ignoring a prophecy is what must be done to keep her safe, I will do it." Rhys was growing more agitated as the conversation turned south.

"Saving one girl is worth the lives of millions?"

Silence prevailed at Amren's question. The office in the River House enclosed a dark and gloomy atmosphere as if detecting the undertone of the conversation and the issue at hand. The faelights flickered casting deep shadows across the Fae and Illyrians that had gathered in the room.

Hands clenched on the table, Rhysand took in deep breaths appearing to fight an internal battle. He had too much to lose. Too many to fight for. What was the purpose of being the most powerful high lord the world had ever seen if he couldn't keep his own family safe? He was tired of losing people, tired of fighting, tired of wondering if tomorrow would be someone's last.

"I promised her that no harm would come to her as long as I live." He said softly, seeming to speak to himself. "I made sure she was safe from Amarantha, from Hybern and mostly from myself. If it were to become public knowledge that we are related, they will hunt her down. They will torture her, use her and kill her mercilessly."

Amren's eyes softened at the agony in his voice. "The world is a cruel place, Rhysand. We do not have say in the destiny that has been chosen for us. We must simply walk, trudge and crawl along the path."

He let out scornful laugh, running his hands through his hair agitatedly. "It has been especially cruel to us I think."

Feyre's eyes lined with tears at her mate's heartache. She'd known about the things he had done to keep his cousin far away even if it hurt him. To see him unravel now because of a Cauldron damned prophecy was distressing to watch.

"Rhys." Cassian spoke into the silence that had claimed the room yet again. "I promise you, I'll keep her safe. No matter what comes her way."

"So will I." Azriel stepped up, his shadows stirring over his shoulders.

"All of us will." Feyre declared, her hand coming to rest on her mates shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. Her touch seemed to relax Rhysand immediately, his shoulders drooping underneath her hand.

Placing his head in his hands, Rhysand took in a deep breath, the battle within his mind coming to a conclusion. Feyre's grip tightened lightly, giving him the energy to push through yet another decision that would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

"I'll go visit her myself. Explain the situation. The Prophecy. All of it. Whether she comes or not , is upto her." The others nodded in agreement.

"That is the least I can do for her. Give her a choice..... live or die."

A/N : Comment below if you want to be added to the tag list !

#azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #shadowsinger x reader #rhys acotar #rhysand #cassian acotar #cassian #feyre archeron #amren #amren acotar #acotar fanfiction #fanfic #acotar imagine #acotar fic #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #azriel x female!reader

[starstruckwillows]

dad!headcanons — harry potter ♡

requested by @inthehoneymoonwithconnorrk800 <3

harry potter x fem!reader, dad!harry, headcanons, fluff, headcanons for biological and adopted children

harry potter as a dad

biological children

•harry wasn’t sure if he wanted kids. he hadn’t had the best examples of parenting, he was never around young children or babies

•but when you came to him, pregnant, it felt like (almost) all of his worries fizzled. they weren’t as important as you, and the child you’d created together

•he visited his parents’ graves when he found out. to say hi, to ask for advice, to maybe just tell them they were going to be grandparents

•goes to see andromeda tonks too, where she’s raising teddy lupin. realises how much this child is something he wants

•when the time comes, he’s an amazing father

•splits responsibilities with you, never lets you end up doing everything

•has such a bond with his kid, and it’s not long before he’s tentatively bringing up the subject of more

•toys everywhere, he’s not a must-be-tidy-at-all-times dad. we’re talking magical train sets, muggle rubber ducks, doll houses, push cars, everything he passes in a shop somewhere

•naturally such a girl dad, but he is so happy with a little boy too. anything he can love

•makes such a big deal out of birthdays, really goes overboard

•raised around so many cousins and friends, massive family times, so many game nights gone wrong

•sincerely apologizing for the attention being a potter will bring his family, but they don’t really mind. at least he’s famous for a good thing

•as they get older, and they’re off to hogwarts, of course he’s missing them. he doesn’t want to stifle them, but the letters are twice a week, at least

•and your kids were raised well, with love, so they have no problem writing back to them all, and they know their home is always a safe place

•harry sleeps well at night knowing he created the home he wanted

•will cry at their weddings, if they happen

adopted children

•three scenarios — you’ve had a biological child, you want more, and for whatever reason that is, you two decide to adopt (harry’s fully supportive of this)

•or, for whatever personal reasons, you can’t or don’t want a biological child (harry’s fully supportive of this)

•or, not long after the war, the wizarding world is still overrun with orphans. there are leaflets everywhere begging couples to adopt. you wanted to expand your family as it was, and harry’s worries were overcome both by his previously mentioned visits, and his desire to not let voldemort ruin the lives of any more children

•whatever it is, he loves them like his own. because they are his own.

•all the prior headcanons, because nothing changes for either of you. your family may not be nuclear, but why should it have to be?

•if anyone pokes fun at their adoption, you best believe harry is up there like a flash to get someone seriously scolded, and you aren’t far behind him

•when the time comes to tell your kids, harry is perfect with it. he knows what to say. you don’t leave it too long either, harry knows what it is to feel lied to about your family

•if any relationships struggle around that time, the strain is physically clear on harry. but he waits for them to be ready, knowing how personal it is

in conclusion

•in any situation, harry loves his children

•he’s a good dad. nobody is perfect, he’ll maks mistakes, but not with the gravity of the one’s he feared

🏷️ — @faeriieblush @poppet05 @it-be-me-ella @juneberrie @ell0ra-br3kk3r @meredarling

#starstruckwillows #lightning era #golden trio era #harry potter #harry potter fluff #harry potter hurt/comfort #dad!harry #dad!harry potter #harry potter x reader #dad!harry potter x reader #headcanons #harry potter htc #harry potter headcanons #harry james potter #harry james potter x reader

[papayatori]

Lose it all

MV1 x fém!reader

Warnings: none, just severely sweet fluff

Intro: this is inspired by the song Lose It All by Sam Tompkins.. (wonderful song) Max and his girlfriend y/n have grown incredibly close in the last few years of your relationship, and Max is thinking about taking the next step.

A/n: This one is incredibly cheesy and relatively short, this is just something I was thinking about writing for a while now and just decided to go ahead with it. Enjoy mates!

You and Max had been friends for as long as you could remember; playing in the same streets as kids, having dinner at each other's houses, karting together, you did everything together. From the moment you could both walk, you were inseparable. Max's parents were family friends that lived right across the street from you. Both of them joked that you would grow up to marry one day, and to their expectations, you had both been dating for the last three years.

Recently, however, your mother had been pushing the topic a bit harder You weren't sure if you and Max were ready for marriage yet. Of course, you wanted to marry him eventually, but what if that wasn't mutual?

"You've been together for three years now," you recalled her saying. "don't you think it's time to take the next step? I'm not getting any younger, you know."

She insisted that you'd have children in the next few years, insisted that we needed to start planning a wedding.

While all of that was all well and good, you couldn't help but ask yourself if Max really wanted to marry you or not. Your mother was right, it had been three years, and he hadn't made a move to propose yet. In your mind, this equated to the conclusion that Max must not want you after all.

You sat on the bed that the two of you shared, a tear threatening to fall from your eye. You felt stupid for even thinking about this, you knew Max loved you, but you couldn't help but shake the doubt away.

You had started to reel through your memories with him, feeling heartbroken already. On your first date, Max had been trying to impress you with his athletic ability. What better way to do that than with Wii Bowling? You had been playing together for only twenty minutes before Max, who had insisted the strap on the remote was unnecessary and refused to put it on, launched the remote into your television.

After profusely apologizing, your first official date was spent shopping for another TV that Max insisted on buying you.

You felt the tears pouring now, reliving the memories of your first kiss.

Max's weekend at home had finally come after months of waiting. He had been talking for months about how he couldn't wait to celebrate with his grid mates and introduce me to them all after he had finally won his own grand prix; but instead, he had spent it playing nurse and watching over you.

"The only thing I could think about the entirety of that race was getting back to you to make sure you were okay.."

You had grown ill before the race weekend, causing your own discouragement. This was going to be your first race watching Max in person, and you couldn't have been more excited. Though, you had been bed-ridden by the doctors an forced to watch from your apartment once again.

Max sped back here as soon as he could, hoping not to be gone too long away from you. The thought alone made your cheeks redden, even though there was the biggest knot of guilt forming in your stomach.

"Go celebrate, Max. This is your first home win!" He smiled widely, cupping my cheek.

"I'd rather be sick with you." He pressed his lips to mine gently, not caring about the consequences that might come along with it.

The door to your bedroom swung open, revealing a clearly concerned Max behind it.

"Schatje, what's wrong? In a second you were in his arms, so tightly you were worried you might've suffocated. "Why are you crying?" He kissed your head tenderly.

You hadn't even realized you were crying as hard as you were until you were practically sobbing into Max's chest.

"I can't lose you Max." You could barely even get your words to form from your quivering lips. He laughed a little, sending you into a confused state. "I'm serious!" You gave him a hurt glance. "Why would I being going anywhere, y/n?" He cupped your cheek, forcing you to look up at him. His eyes were full of nothing but worry for you, that alone made you start crying again.

"It's been three years, Mum says she's starting to worry we won't make it. She says you would have proposed by now."

Max gave you a knowing glance, heaving a sigh.

"Your mother isn't the one to make that call, Schatje." He gave me a smile, standing from our position on the bed. "Come on, lets get you cleaned up."

He pulled you into the bathroom, sitting you on the sink counter. He opened the drawers, grabbed the makeup wipes and started wiping the remnants of your tears and mascara off of your face. Afterwards, he took a damp towel and wiped the residue away.

"Stay here, I'll be right back." He gave your hand a little squeeze before disappearing back into the bedroom. After a few long moments, he came back with one of your favorite, blue sundresses. You were a little confused at first, but took the dress nonetheless. You were sure Max was planning something, but you didn't know how this was going to aid the question at hand.

He couldn't be avoiding it, could he?

With that newfound doubt as you looked in the mirror, you refused to cry again, already seeing the sadness growing in your eyes as Max walked back into the bathroom to check on you. This time, he had a pair of your favorite heels that he handed you eagerly. You put them on, still eyeing him skeptically.

...

...

...

After a few hours of driving and every attempt at asking Max where the two of you were going, you eventually pulled into a beautiful grass field.

A beautiful grass field in the middle of nowhere.

You looked over at Max, praying that he wasn't some serial killer in disguise the entirety of your life. Though, if he was, props to him, he had played the part exceedingly well.

"Wait here, y/n." So you did.

You sat in the car for about ten minutes, hearing Max messing around in the boot before finally coming around to the passenger side door and opening it for you. He offered his hand to help you out of the car.

"M'lady." He grinned at you, the biggest grin you've ever seen. You couldn't help but give a small smile back regardless of the worry that had manifested itself inside of your heart. You let him pull out of the car, revealing a beautiful landscape all around you.

"Ahem." You heard Max clear his throat from behind you. You turned around, revealing a picnic basket and a blanket under one of the trees behind where you had parked. You smiled broadly at Max.

"You took me all the way out here just to make me feel better?" You felt your heart swell with joy. How had you ever doubted this man..

He took your hand tenderly, leading you over the blanket.

You both ate together, talking every so often, sipping on wine that made you feel so elegant you could hardly stand it. Though, after a while, you eventually both sat in a comfortable silence, holding each others' hand in peace. Then, Max's voice broke through the silence.

"You asked me earlier if I had only brought you out here to make you feel better.." He started, looking over at me as if to ask if he could continue. You hummed in agreement before he continued, pulse quickening as you had started to question how this would fix your worries once again. "I'd actually been planning this for a while now. I wanted to get you out somewhere nicer but, after what you had said earlier..." His voice trailed off, his eyes falling to the ground.

You felt that twinge of guilt swell back up in your gut.

"I figured being away from people and their opinions would be good for us." To my surprise, he looked at you with another one of his beautiful smiles. You could feel the ice melting from your heart. Max had started to look a little nervous.

"When I look into your eyes, the only thing that I can see is perfection. I'd thank whatever God was out there that you were mine this moment, and I'd beg the same God to allow you to stay mine for the next. You've been on my mind for the last three years, giving me nightmares every night that you'd walk away if I kept prolonging this. After hearing the reason you were upset this afternoon, I knew I couldn't wait any longer, because if I were to lose you, I'd lose it all." He wiped a tear from his eye, pulling a small box from his pocket. "Will you marry me. y/n"

You barely even gave him time to finish his question before you tackled him in a hug.

"Yes, a million times yes!" You were both emotional, giggling messes before Max pulled away for long enough to slip the ring on your finger, causing more tears to escape your eyes.

"Now you know why I never answered your question." He whispered, kissing you softly as you both watched the sun disappear behind the horizon. "I'm sorry that I worried you further, if I had. I just didn't want to give anything away."

"I'm just glad that I was only overthinking and it wasn't a reality." He chuckled.

"Like I said, Schatje, we're the ones that determine whether or not we are going to make it and how far we go. Let's not listen to anyone else about that, yeah?" You smiled up at him, a tear falling once more as you leaned in to kiss him.

"Yeah."

... I won't grow up missing a piece of my heart that you hold

... I won't have these nightmares because I let you know

... That if I ever lose you, I lose it all

~Sam Tompkins

#f1 fic #formula 1 #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #max verstappen #mv1 x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #mv1 imagine #mv1 #mv1 fic #mv1 x you #mv1 x y/n #max verstappen x y/n #formula one #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen fic

[max1461]

I've said this before, but: many political discussions are heavily informed by who the person speaking identifies as the relevant agent in some situation. For instance, consider this dialogue:

Person 1: The US needs to institute policy X.

Person 2: That's impossible, all the Republicans in congress would just vote against it. What we really need is for the Democrats to push for policy Y, which they might be able to get bipartisan agreement on.

Person 3: That's not possible either, the Democrats are too beholden to corporate interests to support policy Y. What we really need is for the president to institute executive order Z.

Person 2: Oh come on, the president would never issue execute order Z, policy Y is much more feasible than that.

And so on and so forth ad nauseam.

I don't think these people are really arguing about politics, and I don't know if they even have any substantive disagreement with each other.

In general, when people talk about "what should be done", they are always implicitly thinking of some agent, they are speaking of "what should be done by someone". And of course when we speak about different agents, we will come to different conclusions about what they should do. This is not least because different agents have different options in front of them. For instance, if you were to give me suggestions about what I could do to make the world better, they would probably not be the same as the suggestions you would give to Bill Gates about what he could do to make the world better, or the suggestions you would give to Vladimir Putin.

Normative claims presuppose an agent, and the content of normative claims will vary by the agent that is supposed. It would be useless to suggest to me "end the war in Ukraine", or to suggest to Putin "be more selective about the discourse posts you reblog", or whatever.

The problem is that when we are discussing politics, there are many different agents that we can identify with and whose behavior we can present normative claims about, and we often do not specify which one we are referring to. Furthermore, political agents can be institutions instead of just individuals, making possible the existence of sub-agents with varying agendas, and so on. Individuals might conceivably be modeled as having these too, but that's a philosophical can of worms I won't open.

Anyway, this imprecision about what agents we are prescribing actions to leads to scenarios like the discourse above, where people who substantively disagree about very little might argue vociferously against each other because in truth they are prescribing behavior for different agents altogether. Person 1 is prescribing behavior for the US government as a whole, Person 2 for the Democratic party, and Person 3 for the president. They only disagree in that each imagines the other's agent as an object of nature governed by mechanistic processes and their own agent as possessing (practically speaking) free will. None of them are really per se correct or incorrect, I don't think.

My suggested solution to this is: specify clearly the agent you are referring to, and admit that for normative discussion to make sense at all you must model that agent as "being able to choose its action" even if deeper analysis of its internal processes reveals it to in fact be deterministic. When in doubt, recall that the only agent whose actions you can really chose (if you can choose any actions at all) are your own, and thus in a certain sense any discussion of what an agent other than you yourself should do is idle philosophizing.

Ethics (I claim) are in and of themselves only a system for selecting your own actions; their use in evaluating the actions of others is secondary at best.

#society #navel gazing

[katsu28]

Hi! For the flower ask could I request lily of the valley with Jamie x f!reader? I was thinking something like reader revealing to Jamie that they are pregnant? If you’re not feeling that I always love a seemingly sad prompt turned happy! I also loved this prompt list and could request 100 more if you want 😂😂♥️♥️

i had such a great time with this pls request as much as you want, i would be honored to write them <3

lily of the valley: a tear, followed by a sob, jamie tartt x reader, mentions of pregnancy ofc, 1.6k

You were trying so hard not to freak out right now. 

You’d been feeling like absolute shit the past week or so, but just chalked it up to having some bad takeout, or that you’d finally caught that pesky flu that’d been going around this time of year. It wasn’t until your period hadn’t come when it was supposed to that the idea you could possibly be pregnant dawned upon you, but when it finally did, you rushed to the nearest pharmacy to buy a boatload of pregnancy tests. 

Now you were here, sat on the closed toilet lid in your bathroom, waiting until the agonizingly long five minutes were up. 

It was hard not to jump to conclusions, but god, you really were doing your best. Having a baby would change every aspect of your lives. You didn't know if you were ready for that. But you also didn't know if you weren’t ready for it. You wouldn't know unless it actually happened but if you really were pregnant, there was no taking that back. Having a baby was a forever thing. With Jamie. 

Yeah, the whole not jumping to conclusions thing really wasn’t working out very well for you this far. 

Your phone timer went off before you could dig yourself into a deeper hole and you squeezed your eyes shut when you’d made your way to the counter where the blue and white test sat, looking seemingly innocent. It seemed strange how such a tiny stick would tell you whether or not your life and Jamie’s would change forever. 

Exhaling a long, calming breath, you peeked at it with one eye, then both. 

Three lines, clear as day. Positive.

You took two more in quick succession right after just to be sure—different brands too, just to make double sure. Two more positives. You were definitely pregnant. 

How were you going to tell Jamie? He was at the height of his football career, and even though you’d been together a long while, you hadn’t even really had that huge next step conversation about starting a family. Hell, you weren’t even sure if he wanted kids—not with what he’d been through with his own father. Of course, Jamie would never turn out like his dickhead dad, but you knew he’d be worried about it. 

On the other hand, starting a family with Jamie sounded amazing. You’d get to have a kid that was a perfect blend of him and yourself, someone to love and nurture and watch grow into their own person. They’d have the best parts of Jamie, the best parts of you, and every time you’d look at them you’d get to cherish this human being you’d created together. 

The sound of the front door closing in the distance pulled you from your spiraling thoughts and you quickly hid the tests in the cupboard, splashing some water on your face. You didn’t feel normal by a long shot, but planned to act like so until you could truly process the new information. It still felt unreal. 

Jamie was rummaging around in the fridge when you finally gathered the confidence to leave the bathroom, humming to himself until he heard you enter the kitchen. “Hey, d’you know if we have any more eggs, or are we out? I could run to the shops really quick if we need stuff.” 

“Um, we should still have a few, I think,” You mumbled, trying your best to keep your voice as level as you could. You must not have done as good of a job as you wanted, because he straightened up immediately, swinging the door shut to look at you. When he saw you standing there looking less than happy, he was across the room in an instant, holding you at arms’ length to scan you for any injuries or differences in your appearance, anything that could tell him why you looked like you’d seen a ghost. 

“Whoa. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, inhaling a deep breath before trying to force a smile. “Nothing, I’m fine, I promise I’m fine.” 

“Don’t look fine to me.” He frowned, rubbing his hands down your arms. “Looks like you’ve got something on your mind. C’mon, lemme have it. Talk to me, love.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the way he knew you so well he could tell something was off with just one look, or if it was the pregnancy hormones already kicking in (did they even kick in this early??? You couldn’t have been more than a couple weeks pregnant at this point), but you couldn’t help it. 

A tear rolled down your cheek, and before you knew it you were sobbing, burying yourself against Jamie’s chest. He mumbled a soft ‘oh fuck’ but wrapped his arms around you despite his total confusion, pressing his nose into your hair and shuffling over to the sofa so he could hold you as tight as he could. He didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he knew whatever it was, you’d deal with it together. 

“Sorry, I just—god, I’m sorry, you’re probably tired and I’m—I’m…I don’t know.” You sniffled, wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your jumper. You pulled away from him with a shaky sigh, putting your head in your hands. 

Jamie shook his head profusely, scrambling to kneel down in front of you. “Fuck that, why’re you cryin’?” He asked, concerned etched into his features. He took hold of your elbows, gently prying your arms away from your face so he could see you properly. “Did that cranky old sod from a few houses over come over to yell at you about the garden again? I swear to fuckin’ god—” 

“I’m pregnant.” You blurted, deciding to just rip the bandaid off and get it over with. 

Jamie’s mouth snapped shut instantly. He blinked owlishly at you. “You—wait, wait. You’re…” 

“Pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant.” He repeated, wide eyes darting down to your midriff, then back up to your gaze. “Right now? How—how long?” 

“I don’t know. Four, five weeks, maybe? I just—I know it’s not something we planned for, and—and Richmond’s doing super well and you’ve got your whole career ahead of you and I get it if you don’t wanna be saddled with a kid—” Jamie took hold of your fidgeting hands, although his were quite shaky as well. He didn’t say anything for a while, but you suspected it was more for utter shock and a lack of words rather than disappointment like the fear you’d had in the back of your head this whole time. 

“Don’t even think like that. M’not going anywhere—wouldn’t even dream about it.” He said finally, looking you right in the eye. He looked determined. Steadfast. “Whatever I have to do, whatever we have to do, I’ll do it. We’ll do it. Everything’s gonna go just fine.” 

“How are you so calm right now?” You asked quietly, running a hand through his hair. 

Jamie leaned into your touch on instinct, turning his head to kiss your palm gently. “M’not calm. Feels like my heart’s about to burst out me chest, I’m so happy. But it don't really seem like I should be yellin’ and shit right now—not til you’ve wiped those tears from your eyes.” He replied, reaching out to swipe away the tear tracks from your cheeks on his own. “Can I—can I talk to them? The baby.” 

“Sure, love.” You smiled at him warmly and he nodded, suddenly looking a little nervous as he settled himself right next to your stomach. You were pretty sure the baby was only the size of a seed right now, but the thought of Jamie wanting to talk to them made your own heart swell. You suspected it would be something he’d do throughout your entire pregnancy. 

“Erm…hi, I guess. I’m your dad. I don’t—I don’t really know what to say to you because I don’t think you’ve quite got any ears yet, but…I want you to know that I promise to always be here for you and to love you no matter what,” He murmured, rubbing his fingers against your skin. He hesitated for a few beats, and you knew he was thinking about his own father. How he never wanted to become like James. How he would never want to put your child through what he went through.

How he wanted to break the cycle and create a better one—a life filled with love and joy, never fear and resentment. 

You felt another tear roll down your cheek, and another, and then you were sniffling back another round of sobs, making Jamie’s eyes fly to your face. “Oh shit, I made your mum cry again—fuck, I ain’t supposed to say shit, ain’t I? I’ll get better at this once you get here, yeah? But until then, have fun inside your mum. I know I did.” 

That earned him a shove to the side of the head, but he still grinned, dropping a kiss to your stomach before pushing himself back to sit cross-legged next to you. “Was that good? I think I smashed it.” 

You let out a watery chuckle, dabbing at your waterline with your sleeve again. “It was perfect.” 

“Can I yell ‘bout it now?” 

“Have a go.” 

“We’re havin’ a baby! We’re havin’ a fuckin’ baby!!!” He cheered, jumping onto the couch next to you. You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips at his antics. He was happy and you’d never been so relieved to see him that way. 

Jamie pumped his fist into the air a few times before dropping to his knees and leaning in to kiss you, nearly missing your mouth in his now unleashed excitement. “I love you, darlin’. I love you with everythin’ I’ve got, and I love our kid just as much. Even if they are just a clump of cells right now. And everything that comes next, we’ll figure it out. The season, the training, all that shit, we’ll figure it out together.” 

“Together.” You echoed, giving his hand a tight squeeze.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post new fics :) and if you've gotten this far, feel free to take a look at the prompt lists in my nav to request something!

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt x y/n #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt one shot #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso

[yuri-is-online]

I feel like Octavinelle would all respond pretty well to you being lonely tbh

Azul: Bullied, lonely child? Only two friends made because he was "fun" enough and felt at risk of losing them? If you talk about being lonely he MIGHT bring up a contract, but I could also see your honesty being met by the most clumsy olive branch of him stammering that HE could be your friend... since hes so generous, of course (liar he wants a friend too)

Floyd: What?! That's no fun! Being lonely almost as bad as being bored! He kind of thrives on attention/entertainment so I feel like his solution is just to drag you wherever he goes. YOU have to be the one to say that no, you have to go to your own class not his.

Jade: While I do think he would be most manipulative if you told him you're lonely, I think it would be tame - akin to "hey eat this weird mushroom" or dragging you on a hike you are NOT experienced enough for as his "requirements" for companionship. He wouldn't stop hanging out if you refused, he really just likes seeing your reactions. I also don't think he'd ever kick you out of a room he's in, and he'd do his own thing while you do yours

I'm so glad you sent this because I was just thinking while I was settling to sleep that I had a lot more to say but was worried a separate post might be too much.

All Three

If there is one thing Twisted Wonderland does really well it's acknowledging the inhuman aspects of its characters. Malleus has so much magic he fails to solve problems without it, Ruggie has really sensitive hearing, Leona talks about smell a lot etc.

Point being the trio has a bunch of things they find weird about life on land. They're not really going to make fun of Yuu for feeling out of place. Assuming they don't trip and fall a whole bunch, that's just too easy.

They're technically new up here too yeah? Let them show you the ropes.

Azul

He's surprisingly soft with Yuu during events. Especially if you pick dialogue options that show intelligence or planning.

^ this happens if you get why he's selling salad cups I think?

^ and this one is if you assume you'll be using the bell of salvation to destroy the flowers

My one amendment to your idea is that I don't think he'd be shy about it at all. He'd be putting forward a show of confidence because of how he was slighted in the past. He would think your friendship was the most natural conclusion in the whole world.

Your smart. He's smarter. Together you could make some real magic! And maybe play some board games. He could use some time to relax.

Floyd

Completely right. I already talked a lot about him in my original answer, but I do think he enjoys hanging out with Yuu when he's in the mood to be social.

He's got all of that extrovert energy Idia's so afraid of, and if you start indulging him, you won't get to stop. I think he'd be really happy to have someone go along with what it is he wants to do no matter how outlandish it gets. Even better if you look like you're having fun!

I could see him say that you "owe him" for hanging out with you when he wants some of your food though.

Jade

Oh? You're lonely? What a shame. How horrible. Terrible really.

That must mean you'll have no problem signing up for his club right? Because that's very much what I could see him doing. He really wants another member to order arou- I mean enjoy the mountains with.

^ If you tell Epel you will be "Here for whatever [the team] needs." When he asks you to help run the Pit Stop, Jade immediately decides this means you will commit a crime for him. Which to be fair-

I would object to the bit about taking you on a hike you're unqualified for though. He tells you not to try climbing Mount Moln until you've done an easier one first.

Obviously I agree about the sketchy mushrooms. If he's brave enough to walk into the Culinary Crucible with them, what's Ramshackle?

Him coming to the Ramshackle guest room to sit quietly while you both do your own thing is something he'd really enjoy. You make much more interesting faces when he gives you a break from his teasing.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader

[circeyoru]

The Boy & The Witch _ Part 2

[Human!Alastor x Witch!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 (here)

The boy, now named Alastor, came often to your little home in the forest. His attitude could be described as excited, eager, and twisted. You’d say that it was near your level and perhaps over as time goes by. You weren’t wrong

Alastor was more adapt in learning darker arts. While you can heal, Alastor shows no talent in such. Though as if to make up for it, he was extremely talented in shadows. A form of magic you have trouble with due to your abilities in the purer magic. Soon, his shadow came to life with glowing eyes and a crescent moon as its smile

You told him that he needs to control his shadow as it started doing it own thing when it came to life. It was harmless to you, but if anyone were to find out, there’d be hell to pay. It took a while but Alastor and his shadow got used to each other. When dealing with sentile beings, it takes time, you told him while he mediated, if he wants more control, he must be of sound mind and body first

Once, you were in town again, gathering on some supplies to stock up and saw Alastor. You were going to greet him, but you saw a women step into the frame. You figured it was his mother, but you were conflicted, his smile was genuine, familiar to how happy you saw him when he was learning and mastering the darker arts of voodoo magic

Thinking back, he never mentioned his mother to you, only his father that he loathed and seeked revenge on. The conclusion you came to was that he was doing it for his mother too, the mistreatment included her

You left, reminding yourself to talk with Alastor the next time he visited

“You know you can’t go to Heaven now that you meddle in voodoo magic, right?” You leaned against the door frame of your little experiment room, your arms crossed over your chest while you looked at the back of Alastor’s form. You noticed his shadow’s smile turned to a frown and shivered, but Alastor reminded focus on his task “What brought this along?” Alastor questioned as he grind down some animal bones accounting to one of your many books “The other day, I saw you with your mother I presume. She’s a nice lady that will go to Heaven and you’re damned for Hell.” You continued “You’ll be there with me, right?”  “Well, of course, I’m the one that brought you into this, so naturally. I think my family and relatives made some sort of clan down there. They living the life ther.” You chuckled, “And Hell is supposed to be a punishment too.” “If you’ll be in Hell as well, I can live without my mother there, she belongs in Heaven. I’ll treasure my time here now while I’m alive.” Alastor spoke softly Your eyes narrowed, a small frown on your face, you turned to leave but not before saying, “Then you shouldn’t be there with me. Go back home, boy.”

Like Alastor was listening to you, he didn’t come back the next day, or the day after. For a while, your home was void of the apprentice you took in and given the name of Alastor to. You’ll admit that you felt lonely and thought if you were being too cruel to him

You waited for a week longer to see if there was any change in Alastor’s visit to the forest. Oddly enough, there was no sighting of him. Why you say that because when he was younger, he’d play disappearance for a few days to catch your attention. You found him hiding within the tree branches when you went to look for him

But now it was a teenager, nearly adult. Some can say you two grow up together, you’re not shy to admit that he has grown to be quite the lady’s killer. He has gonna popular in school and town. Getting a nice internship at the radio station to prepare him for his future career

You knew that under his perfect front, how painful and cruel his life behind closed doors was. Not to mention his cruelty and heinous thoughts he habour to those that do him wrong. So you left your home when the sun was about to set to where Alastor’s home was. You peeked inside from one of the uncovered windows. It was all quiet. Too quiet

Securing your cloak and the deep hood over head, you went to the back door. Using your own shorted staff, you tapped the lock and unlocked the door as it opened on its own and closed when you entered into the house

You wandered around, coming to a stop when you passed the living room with a body laid on the carpet and another on the couch. You cautiously stepped forward, checking the mother to see if she was breathing, when she was, despite the blood from her head. You turned to the man, father of Alastor’s due to the resemblance, and checked his breathing. He was sleeping

Kneeling down, you hovered your hand over the mother’s injured head and healed her a bit. Then you turned your attention to the staircase and slowly made your way up. When you made it up, you scanned the doors that were all opened, except one. You stood before it, trying the handle first, locked. You did the same thing to the back door and unlocked it with ease

The door creeked with a whine, you eyes pierced into the room, bathed in the light from the setting sun. You noticed the motionless body on the bed and made your way over. You sat on the edge of the head, facing away from Alastor. “You know, your mother’s in a dying state. But I healed her enough to get through the night.”

Alastor merely flinched, enough of a sign to show you he was awake and listening

“I wonder though, still you let this father, this man, to rule over your life any longer. You’re not the only one suffering.” You spoke

You sat there playing with your shortened staff when you left Alastor get up and left the room. You waited for a while before you followed suit and went down. You weren’t surprised to see Alastor standing over the now dead body of his father and the blood staff in his hands

With a snap of your fingers, the living room was in a worst wreck. You walked over to Alastor, pausing to let him lean over you. “Don’t worry, this would be like your family was attacked by armed robbers. You’re going to sleep for a while and your neighbours will find out then alert the police. I honoured your revenge, now let me handle the aftermath.”

As if your words were what he needed, his eyes closed shut and his full weight crashed into yours. You carefully kneeled down to set him on the floor. Making sure he was just sleeping. You eyed his shadow and pushed the staff to it so that it was hidden when the neighbours and officers come

You stood on the branch of a nearby tree, its leaves hiding you while you watched concerned and nosy individuals crowd around Alastor’s house. The police set up the perimeter and medical officers brought Alastor and his mother’s unconscious bodies to the hospital

“Glad it wasn’t the young boy or the mother that’s killed.” “Yeah, would have been unjust.” “Now they can live peacefully.” “That’s good.”

So the father wasn’t well-liked already. You thought to yourself, your staff elongated to its original form. You tapped the end of it to the tree branch. All the better. You stared down as the deceased body was brought out. Makes for an easier target. I have to ask my family to catch his soul.

Note: Long overdue part 2. Since things have slowed down, I'm working on the requests meant for longer writing. The ones where I can rant or is just a short answers will be posted quicker~

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron@mistpurpl3

#alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #human alastor #The Boy & The Witch

[politemenacephd]

Arachnophilia (Part One)

Drider!Miguel O'Hara x Reader (+18)

Chapter Masterlist 🕷️

You're a new recruit to the spider society, and you've just been sent on your first mission on one condition: Do not contact Miguel's variant in this universe. When your mission goes wrong you break that rule very quickly, desperate for help, only to find that Miguel's variant here is not what you expected. He's stoic but kind, awkward but sincere, and he's also an enormous human-spider hybrid: A drider, both human and arachnid. You decide to continue seeing Miguel in secret, with the rest of the society unaware. You really want to stay friends after all. That is, until Miguel suddenly goes into a rut. Word count: 2457 Notes: fun little thing i cooked up while ill and after being inspired by a mutuals work. chap 1 + 2 set up and characters meeting, chap 3 and onward is the smut, enjoy x

‘Hey! You got a mission!’

You glanced up from your desk and peeped around your holographic screen, curiously perusing for whoever had called. A mission? Who was it this time?

You spotted Jess making her way down the opposite hall to you, her eyes scanning the other desks. Ah, of course, you knew her voice anywhere. So this was an elite mission. With your curiosity now fully peeked you slyly leaned your chair even further out into the corridor, eyes peeled to try and see who she went towards.

One of the new Peters, perhaps? They were always clambering for a mission. Or perhaps the new Gwen? She certainly thought she deserved a solo mission, and she wasn’t even wrong.

You became so enraptured with your own office snooping that you entirely missed Jess as she walked up behind you.

‘You okay there?’

You jumped in your chair and nearly fell to the floor, only barely catching yourself on the rim of your desk. ‘AH- Oh, hi! Yes! Yes, all good. All- fine. What is up, boss?’

Jess flatly squared her hands on her hips. ‘I was literally calling you with exactly what is up’ she noted drolly. ‘You got a mission.’

You felt your shoulders tense as your stomach dropped. Your fear must have been clear because Jess immediately raised a brow.

You were getting sent out? Finally? You?

You swallowed down the growing lump in your throat. It was a justified fear, at least in your mind, as if this was true this would be your first big mission for the Spider Society. No more fighting minor crime in your own home city, now you were patrolling the multiverse.

‘Well?’

You jumped a second time as Jess interrupted your thoughts. It was very clear that you were wasting her time.

‘Oh! Ah, shit- yes, sorry.’ In a hurry you pushed your chair back and hopped to your feet, struggling to look as professional as you could. Jess’s face hardly moved. She seemed to be eyeing you up, making tiny little conclusions in her mind that you couldn’t see.

Luckily that didn’t last. Her face quickly changed back to that casual smile, and with a wave of her hand she beckoned you to follow. ‘My god you’re tightly wound. They were right. Come on!’

You quickly powered down the PC you’d been doing busywork on and rushed to follow her.

‘I thought Miguel was the only Spider who didn’t have senses. I've never seen another spider surprised like that’ Jess noted over her shoulder as you followed. You opened your mouth to reply but were cut off as you both exited the research block, with the sliding doors revealing a bright and blinding midday sun beaming down through the glass walls above. You shielded your eyes and hurried to catch up.

‘I do have senses, sorry, just- I’m still getting used to being here. I thought I lost it, actually, funny story, but uh- no, see I don’t know if you ever got told this, but apparently, I heard from one of the older Peter’s there’s this unofficial but pretty established thing called sense fatigue.’

‘Ahuh.’ Jess was obviously just trying to get to Miguel’s office as quickly as possible at this point, but you didn’t notice. You continued rambling.

‘It’s like whisker fatigue on cats, did you know cats got that? So spiders, we’re so used to being the only ones with senses, that when you first join the society it kinda exhausts your senses being around SO many other people that it stops working as well. I think that’s what’s happening to me. Did that ever happen to you?’

‘Nope.’

Jess’s curt response didn’t dampen your spirits. You eagerly jogged along the final main beam towards the go-home machine, jumping and dodging the other spiders as they went by.

‘Huh! Well that’s why you’re an elite, probably, right? Along with other reasons, I’m sure.’

‘Many other reasons’ Jess said.

‘But uh- I’m sure it’s fine. It’s better at home so, won’t affect me on the mission.’

‘Let’s hope not.’

With that being the final word Jess led you down the corridor towards Miguel’s office. It was darker there than the rest of the HQ, down in these tight-knit spaces covered in half-made junk and unfinished tech. You had to jump over multiple loose wires and metal plates to get to the door.

‘Miguel! I got who you asked for!’

You scurried up to Jess’s back as you both entered into Miguel’s domain. It was enormous in scope, dark and shadowed with jagged metal spires reaching so far up that you couldn’t see where they ended. In the centre of the room was that signature floating desk, and on that signature floating desk was the man himself.

Miguel O’Hara, slouched over his desk with his hackles raised and his neck bent.

‘Miguel! I brought ‘em over.’

Jess’s call caused him to pause. He was midway through typing something.

‘The new one?’

His voice was smooth, gruff and cold. It sent a shiver down your spine.

‘Yep. The new one.’

With a grunt Miguel finished typing and turned to face you. You jumped as he dropped down from his desk to the floor.

God he was pretty. You felt your heart thud a little harder as he stared down at you, hands carefully placed on his hips to highlight his shoulders.

No, not pretty. He was beautiful. You struggled to stand up a little taller.

‘Hi! Hello, ah- sir, you wanted me for a mission?’

Miguel looked you up and down like he could see through to your very soul. It was very strangely violating to be stared at by those cold red eyes. After giving you the up and down he turned and manifested a new screen at his back.

‘You’re going to E-298. There’s a vulture anomaly.’

‘Ah! Alright. Sounds, do-able. Who am I with?’

‘No one.’

You blanked. Your mouth moved but no words came out. ‘No- no one? Sir?’

Miguel grunted. ‘Somethings up. Almost everyone right now is busy, there’s anomalies everywhere, which is why I’m sending you to clear this up.’

‘Uh- I mean, Jess, is—’

‘Jess is coming with me to deal with an anomaly hole in E-345’ Miguel barked, quickly cutting you off. You pursed your lips on any further complaints.

‘Just subdue and cage the bad guy, then send him back here. Lyla will deal with any larger anomalies. Can you handle that?’

You shuffled your feet to hide how hot you felt. You shouldn’t be indulging this, but your body was reacting quite strangely to being ordered around by the larger man.

‘Ah- yes, sir’ you replied. Miguel nodded his approval, and you ate it up.

‘Good. I’ll need you to head out immediately.’

When Miguel failed to say anything else you assumed that it was time to go, and quickly turned to leave. Short and brief, you thought, what more could you expect though? He was a busy man after all.

But then Miguel spoke again.

‘Wait!’

You paused and turned to see Miguel holding up a single claw. His eyes were narrowed, his brows knotted in a way that was unusually intense even for him. You hated the way you cowered under his shadow.

‘I- I don’t usually bring this up, but, you’re… new, so I want to warn you’ he said, his voice going low. You noticed his nose flaring as he came closer, almost like he was breathing something in. You stood rigid beneath his enormous body. ‘This universe you’re going to, is- home to one of my variants.’

Your eyes widened a little, your mouth forming a soft ‘oh’. ‘Ah! Okay! Is, will you- or, he, I guess- will he be helping—’

‘Stay away from him’ Miguel barked. ‘My variations are not to be trusted. Understood?’

You slowly closed your mouth, giving a short nod.

‘Yes, sir. Of course.’ You pursed your lips as Miguel returned the nod. He slunk back to his office without a second word, and you followed Jess out of the office.

….

Later that day

...

‘God- damn it!’

You stumbled across the street floor, hand clutched to your side. You were hiding in a back alley of a smoking building, your body covered in dust and debris. The muted, muffled screams of a frustrated vulture filled the otherwise empty street.  

With a grunt you pressed your back to the wall of the opposing building. It was dark here and the bricks were wet against your suit. You forcefully and awkwardly pulled your mask aside to breath.

Your fight with the vulture hadn’t gone as planned. You’d started out well enough, but that’d just made you cocky. In an attempt to do your best you’d overstretched your web mechanism to the point of jamming it, and you’d soon been overpowered by your feathery opponent.

A few tosses into the wall had bruised at least one rib, and your muscles were straining to even stand.

‘I need… back up…’

It hurt to admit, but you had no other choice. You raised your portal watch and began scanning for anyone you could call for help.

You scrolled, and scanned, and scrolled and scanned until your finger hurt from scrolling. Your movements grew more frantic as your gut began to sink. No, no, no. You could feel your panic rising. Every spider you brought up had an X beside them, meaning they were out of reach for contact.

‘Shit- Shit! Everyone?! It’s really everyone?!’

X after X after X. there was no one who could help you now.

With a soft whine you sank back against the wall, gripping its sides for stability. This was bad, this was REALLY bad. Really, REALLY bad.

You gently cracked your knuckle against the damp bricks at your back. Idiot, you thought. Why had Miguel thought you were worthy to be in this society? Why had you taken the position at all?

In that moment, you felt very much alone.

But, wait. You weren’t the only spider in this universe, right?

Your eyes trailed down to your watch where it’d fallen on Miguel. His symbol for availability was red like the others, but it reminded you of what he’d said. He had a variant here.

Miguel said his variants weren’t to be trusted, but, why? It was strange for him to be so cagey with information like that. Miguel was famously too honest, too blunt, often to his detriment. He only left stuff out if it was inconvenient.

So, what was the issue? Your mind had, at first, gone to the worst possibilities. That he was a mad scientist, or a venom variation, or was so messed up by the DNA splicing that he was incapable of reason.

That didn’t have to be the case though, did it? Perhaps it was something else.

You unceremoniously scrambled to check your things. You had your weapons. You had your watch. Surely if he was dangerous you could just escape, and you could apologize to Miguel later for not listening to him.

Besides, what choice did you have? Either you failed to get the vulture and went back in disgrace, or it turned out Miguel’s variant is a bad guy and you go home in disgrace again. The only good option was the reveal that Miguel’s variant was just, weird, or made him feel inadequate, or wanted $10 for helping out. Thing’s that Miguel could conceivably view as making him unworthy to be a spider society member.

With that desperate cope you made up your mind. You drew your watch to your lips and whispered.

‘Lyla? Hey, Lyla?’

‘What’s up, newbie.’

The snazzy little AI appeared on your wrist, eagerly pacing back and forth as she waited for orders. You swallowed hard; it was now or never.

‘Ah- you, can trace people in this universe, right?’

‘Yep.’

‘You could, theoretically, trace any spiders here?’

‘Yeeeppp.’

‘Could… could you uh, please, trace the Miguel O’Hara in this universe, for me?’

At that Lyla paused. She spun on her heel with dramatic flair, her glasses falling down her nose without her even touching them. She looked surprised.

‘Wow! Didn’t take you for a risky little sneak.’

‘I’m not! I’m just- I need some help and everyone else is busy.’

‘Ahuh. Whatever you say, I don’t care. Honestly I’m just excited someone asked me. I’ve wanted to see his freaky variants for years, but he won’t ever let me look it up. Since you asked though, I got immunity.’

You tried not to think too much about the implications of what she’d said. You lay back and waited for Lyla to complete her scan, all while very aware of the vulture’s continued destruction going on in the building beside you. For now he was contained in there, as you’d put up a light shield, but that wouldn’t last forever.

Please let this work, you pleaded internally. Please.

‘Aha! Got ‘im.’

You let out a sigh of relief as Lyla re-appeared. ‘Great! Where is he?’

‘He’s close’ Lyla cooed, waving a fake document in front of you that was too small to read. You gestured with your hand for her to hurry up.

‘Yes! Okay! Where?’

‘The pine forest park just beyond the city line, to the north. Looks like he’s pretty deep in there.’

You felt your enthusiasm die just a little. He was in a forest? Why? You felt a little pang of anxiety in your gut about this whole thing, but you quickly shut it down as the vulture’s rampage grew louder. No, it was probably fine. Maybe he just had a hidden base in the woods, that was normal, right?

Besides, you didn’t have time to spare. Either he helped or didn’t, and if he didn’t want to help you needed to know that sooner than later.

‘Okay. Thanks Lyla, I owe you.’

‘Everyone does.’

Lyla zipped out of existence as you swung yourself back into the open air, flinging your body way above the city skyline. Up here, with the clear sky and wide-open city scape, you immediately spotted what Lyla had been talking about: an enormous pine forest way off in the distance, hugging the cities edge like a sleeping bear. It looked thick, untamed, and its edges were dark beneath the clouds of an oncoming storm.

You swung your way through the streets and watched the trees grow closer.

‘Alright’ you whispered, your body soaring through the sky. ‘Let’s meet the new Mr O’Hara.' Link to part two!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #smut fanfiction #drider #read on ao3 #smut with plot #smut