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good-chimes · 8 months

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Operational Log from the Government Institute for Ghost Supervision (G.I.G.S.):

AGENTS: “ImpulseSV”, “Skizzleman”, “Grian”, “GoodTimesWithScar”

SUPERVISOR: [Redacted]

[Impulse has submitted a request for ‘$2000’ for reason ‘Van’]

SUPERVISOR: Hi boys. Pleasure to be working with you. Can you give a better reason than ‘van’ for why you need two fucking thousand American dollars?

IMPULSE: Oh, sorry sir. We just need to replace some things in the van.

GRIAN: By which he means everything in the van.

SUPERVISOR: You lost ALL YOUR EQUIPMENT?

IMPULSE: You’re new, aren’t you, sir. Have you…met Scar?

SUPERVISOR: I have your personnel files. What does this have to do with Scar?

GRIAN: Oh, you’ll find out.

IMPULSE: Our last supervisor just sort of, uh, approved things. I’ve got receipts.

SKIZZ: We’re at the school, guys! Stop chatting and get in there!

IMPULSE: Gotta go!

[crackle]

GRIAN: Okay, so Scar, Impulse and Skizz are in the building. So far we’ve got the power turned on but no clues. There’s a spooky sort of bonfire in the main hall. Got skulls on it.

SCAR: I lit the bonfire!

GRIAN: Breaking news, Scar has lit the bonfire.

SUPERVISOR: Why did you light the bonfire!? You could draw the attention of a ghost!

GRIAN: Yeah, Skizz, why did you let Scar set something on fire? Pretty irresponsible.

SKIZZ: [noise of incoherent outrage] You try stopping him, buddy.

GRIAN: Can’t, I’m in the van. [further noise of outrage from Skizz]. Impulse is reporting EMF Level 5—didn’t anyone set up cameras? What kind of team doesn’t set up cameras? We’ve got a new supervisor to impress.

SUPERVISOR: Cameras should not be set up during a mission! You should have set them up in the daytime!

IMPULSE: We could use some cameras.

SKIZZ: GRIAN, YOU GET IN HERE, BUDDY.

GRIAN: Okay, okay, fine! I’ll get the cameras.

SUPERVISOR: Why are you risking the whole team in the building at the same—

[Scar has submitted request for ‘$5’ for reason ‘glowsticks’]

SUPERVISOR: Why on god’s green earth do you need glowsticks!?

SKIZZ: Scar, those don’t do anything.

SCAR: They keeps you safe from ghosts!

SKIZZ: What, because they’re too cool for raves?

SCAR: I want glowsticks or I’m resigning.

SUPERVISOR: You can’t resign in the middle of mission!

IMPULSE: Haunt! Everyone quiet!

SUPERVISOR: Wait, a real haunt? That’s highly dangerous! Get out!

[crackle]

IMPULSE: False alarm, that noise was Skizz and Scar frying hot dogs.

[Scar has submitted request for ‘$1’ for reason ‘needs salt’]

SUPERVISOR: Not approved! You’re not supposed to fry hotdogs on an eldritch bonfire!

SKIZZ: We were hungry!

GRIAN: Wait, you guys have hotdogs in there? I’m coming in.

IMPULSE: Oh, wait—wait—yep, there’s the haunt.

[crackle]

GRIAN: Well, Scar’s dead.

SUPERVISOR: Oh god! What!

IMPULSE: I was wondering why they didn’t get attacked. Just a slow ghost, I guess.

SUPERVISOR: An agent is dead and you’re joking!?

GRIAN: Oh, he’ll be fine.

SKIZZ: I got some tarot cards here.

SUPERVISOR: Don’t touch the cursed items! Find your colleague’s body!

[crackle]

SCAR: I hate all of you. You left me to die.

SUPERVISOR: What? Just a goddamn minute. That was a joke? Agent Scar is alive?

IMPULSE: Scar, buddy, cheer up.

SCAR: Grian shut a door in my face!

SUPERVISOR: One agent impeded another’s investigation?

SCAR: Yeah! I was impuded!

GRIAN: What! How is this my fault! A ghost was coming at me and I shut a door!

SCAR: And killed me!

GRIAN: That sounds like a you problem.

SCAR: Sir, I want to file a complaint. About Grian.

SUPERVISOR: Well, put in a placeholder and we’ll—

[Scar has submitted file ‘grain Complaint’]

[Grian has submitted file ‘Grian’s Official Resignation Letter’]

SUPERVISOR: Boys, this sounds like it’s gotten heated, let’s take it offline. Agent Scar, we’ll look into this later. Agent Grian, put your resignation on hold.

IMPULSE: They do this a lot.

SKIZZ: It’s affection. You love each other.

SCAR: I love Grian not murdering me.

GRIAN: I love Scar saving me some hot dogs. Oh wait, he didn’t.

SKIZZ: C’mon, fellas, where’s this ghost?

IMPULSE: We gotta use some of these cursed items.

GRIAN: I vote Scar looks in the haunted mirror. Anyone else want to volunteer? No? See, vote carried.

[Scar has submitted file ‘Im Resigning’]

[Grian has submitted file ‘I’m Resigning HARDER’]

[Scar has submitted file ‘No your not’]

[Last 3 requests have been denied]

SUPERVISOR: How on earth do you work with them?

[Grian has submitted file ‘Turbo Resignation Letter’]

IMPULSE: Oh, me and Skizz have got a knack for it, sir. You just have to let them work it out. Or shut one of them up for the ghost to get.

[Last 1 request has been denied]

SUPERVISOR: Boys, this is sounding like a really dangerous situation and I think you should get out of there. I’m calling a retreat.

SKIZZ: Gimme the mirror, I’ll try saying the ghost’s name.

SUPERVISOR: Did you hear me? Is this thing on? Saying the name is EXPLICITLY the one thing that is unsafe to do on missions!

GRIAN: Huh. Maybe we should have read the manual.

SKIZZ: Just let me do it, sir, we get results.

SUPERVISOR: Are you four always like this?

IMPULSE: Oh, no. Usually these missions go much worse.

SUPERVISOR: No! No, nobody is looking in any cursed mirrors! I have eighty successful mission supervisions under my belt—

SCAR: Sounds uncomfortable.

SUPERVISOR: Our department has a clean record of no agent deaths—

GRIAN: Oh damn, I knew I should have submitted our reports.

SUPERVISOR: And I—What reports?

IMPULSE: Don’t tell him about the reports!

SUPERVISOR: Is this data right? You haven’t sent in a report in… five YEARS?

GRIAN: One thing and another, you know.

SUPERVISOR: No! Enough! You are the WORST team I have ever worked with and every practice you have is UNSAFE and I bet one of you is looking in the cursed mirror RIGHT NOW—

[crackle]

GRIAN: Scar’s dead again.

SUPERVISOR: [calming breath] Okay, you lot clearly have your jokes, like last time, but I need you to know that’s not funny.

GRIAN: I can get a picture of how he ragdolled. His head’s on backwards. It’s hilarious.

[Grian has submitted photo file lol.jpg]

SUPERVISOR: … That … that is a man who has been killed by a malevolent spirit! That spirit is deadly!

SKIZZ: Funny, the ones they send us on are always deadly.

IMPULSE: Get him back to the van.

SUPERVISOR: LEAVE IMMEDIATELY! I AM CALLING AN AMBULANCE!

IMPULSE: You don’t need to do that—

GRIAN: Hey! Dots! I just saw dots!

SKIZZ: Yes! Mark off dots!

IMPULSE: Sweet, we’ve got it! It’s a White Lady! Let’s go, guys!

SUPERVISOR: Is anyone listening? Is anyone listening to me?

[crackle]

SUPERVISOR: Come in. Come in.

SUPERVISOR: I know you’re driving back. Answer your goddamn radio.

SCAR: Well, hello there.

SUPERVISOR: This is very serious. I have to report Agent Scar’s death—Agent Scar? Is that you?

SCAR: The one, the only!

SUPERVISOR: You were dead!

SCAR: Oh, yeah, but then they brought me into the van and we left.

SUPERVISOR: How—what—

SCAR: I dunno, ask Impulse! I’m usually dead by this point.

SUPERVISOR: Agent Impulse! How!

IMPULSE: Me and Skizz have been doing this a long time, sir. Guess we’ve just got a knack.

SUPERVISOR: A knack for—a knack for—I’m going to get a drink.

SCAR: Toast our great success. Hey, hey, Grian, that’s my hot dog. I died for that hot dog!

GRIAN: You weren’t looking! Finder’s keepers!

IMPULSE: Careful of the wheel, guys, careful of the wheel—

SUPERVISOR: I’m never working with your team again!

SKIZZ: Yeah? I get ya, buddy. See you next week.

#team gigs #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #grian #impulsesv #skizzleman #gigs phasmo #fic #glossywrites

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yippeecahier · 2 years

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Just had a fire alarm go off

Fuck why does this happen to me every time I leave home

I'm shaking so bad

It's the sensory and the trauma

I can't sleep now

I feel like I can't even breathe

I hear fire trucks outside

Why the fuck does it sound like they're getting closer

#its fine #how the fuck #do i just casually explain #hey yeah i have trauma #from an apartment fire in college #so a false alarm is gonna fuck me up #vent #vent post #yip speaks #and now the sirens are making everything worse #and im crying and scared and alone #in my terror

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nouvxllev · 4 months

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closed-door policy || p3

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

Words: 5.2k

Warning: slight angst???

a/n: just a little update before i get kicked in the ass with assignments and exams

part 1 || part 2 || masterlist

You open your eyes, a blaring alarm clock from your phone blasting in your ears, only to wake up to an empty bed. Your empty bed. You look off to the side, where Wednesday was usually supposed to be, but none. No one.

A headache started to form, but it was fine, you'd think. It was one of the many post-party clarities you'd have. It wasn't even the worst one out of the many. Leaving only you to blame, and a groan to escape your lips as you massaged your temple.

You could almost throw up if not drinking a cup of water sitting next to your bedside table, wondering if it was even drinkable to begin with because of the aftertaste you experienced.

With a sigh, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Trying to stand up but kept grounded by whatever the fuck you were feeling now.

It was only so early in the morning. 6:30 displayed on your phone, the brightness overwhelming. Wednesday was always someone who got up in the earliest parts of the day. But you'd always find her sitting perfectly still at her desk, typing away whatever idea she had on her typewriter. It was the usual, the everyday thing. Until now. You don't know what changed her mind.

You closed your eyes, desperately hoping the nauseating headache would pass soon. You sit there, still as a board, your fists clenching around the fabric of your bedsheets. Until Thing, an appendage you once found horrifying to the point you locked yourself out of the dorm, approached you with a sticky note attached to his… fingers, body?

Reaching out for the sticky note, Thing signed. 'Wednesday left it. For you, I could only think.'

With heavy eyes, you read what was on the page.

"Forget what happened yesterday, everything."

Of course, you thought to yourself. Atleast she wrote it with her pure coherent handwriting. That's a plus.

Wednesday was always like this the night before. Acting as if the both of you weren't in love. Or atleast, had something going on in between. You didn't know anymore.

"Thanks, Thing." You replied before throwing the note into the trashcan.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Love had a way of wrenching itself into people's hearts; completely tearing them apart, limb by limb as they succumb to the fatal reality of unrequited love. If not death, it'll be love.

Day and night, her living wake, she shouldn't fall in love with someone. Again. Even in a million years, she'd rather be left alone with the reaper instead of someone by her side. Yet, she couldn't erase what she willingly felt for you. Though, unwillingly or willingly, she was in love. With you. Of all people. In and of itself felt terrifying.

She knew you wanted something more. Your eyes said it all, every time you talked to her you'd say words that should've been left unsaid, your presence itself made her know you wanted something more of the relationship she gave you. It was written all over you, etched in everything you do.

But that was the problem.

You were too in love with her.

Wednesday was afraid she couldn't love you as much as you loved her.

It was unforgiving, she knew, how she was leading you onto a label that meant nothing but quiet sighs amongst closed doors. It wasn't false hope that she offered, nor was it a mere hoax, Wednesday herself is still madly in love with you. She just denies it over and over.

She didn't mean to take it too far. To continuously bring you over to her side, kiss your worries away and the hefty pain that lingered on your soul, whispering whatever you wanted to hear. She didn't mean to be so vulnerable that it led her to a situation of long nights. Acting as if everything is fine, normal as it is. As if nothing ever happened, you never happened.

As much as she wants to get rid of you, get rid of whatever she was feeling about you, she needs you.

Your voice lingered. Echoing somewhere in her brain, in her heart dare she say. Your kisses remained on her stained lips, your touch persisted their warmth on her body, everything. Everything about you stayed, you stayed.

Wednesday needed you more than she could ever need someone in her life, she needed you more than she needed air to keep on living. You were her heartbeat that kept her alive all this time. It's confusing, even for her, how you were a paradox that Wednesday loved and hated how she knew you loved her back.

The many times you've mistakenly said 'i love you.' And the many times your eyes shimmered with hope that Wednesday would say it back. Of course, she never did. Instead, she wished that you'd take it back, take your undying love for her back and stuff it away deep into your heart where no one can reach it.

Wednesday wanted to erase it. Forget, forget, forget, repeats inside her brain, dawning on her. But she couldn't. She wouldn't.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You don't know how many seconds had passed when Wednesday walked by you, ignoring the simple hi and wave you offered to her. Of course, you kept on walking. Same old chatter surrounded your being, your four friends laughing along with the stride of your feet. But your mind wandered off to somewhere else, not really tuning in to whatever your friends had to say.

You could hear Enid asking her from the distance, asking her why she wasn't more friendly with you as if she didn't just go out of her way to rescue you from whoever the fuck that girl was yesterday. Truth be told, you could ask her the same question. Would you though? 'Course not.

It's not unusual for Wednesday to completely ignore you, or to glare at you like you've cursed her entire family bloodline with a single greeting. What is usual is for Wednesday to carefully drop a note into your bag.

'Quad. After class.

Signed, Wednesday Addams.'

Signed, Wednesday Addams, she writes. As if she wasn't the only person who makes out with you in secluded areas.

You read every stroke she wrote. Every word, every note that graces the pocket of your bag you always made sure to open whenever you pass by Wednesday, every time she turns around just slightly to read your expression when you open her note. You couldn't help but wonder if Wednesday will ever, one day, stop to think about adding more than just the location and what time will it be.

But you'd have better luck at dying first.

"Hey. . . Party. . . y/n!"

Words start to blur as you think to yourself even more. Would Wednesday ever give you something more than just a loose piece of paper she found lying across her trashcan? Would Wednesday ever think of you as someone she enjoys being with instead of the whole friends-with-benefits thing? Would Wednesday ever love you as much as you love her? Does Wednesday even give two shits about you?

"Y/n!"

You turned your head around, the note in your hands immediately being crumpled and stuffed into your pockets. Damn, why was everyone yelling your name all of a sudden this week?

"Yeah, hey," You started, stopping in your tracks when your friends stopped too.

"The party? The one that fur guy sent out?" Your friend asked, their arms crossed and leaning against a wall. "Calling all furs! Or some lame invitation." Right. You almost forgot the reason you went to an outcast among outcasts school.

'God, it's only been a day since the last party. Don't you guys get tired of doing this shit and doing the same fucking people?' You almost say. You were glad you caught yourself before words came flying out of your mouth. But you weren't wrong, parties were becoming consistent, and you couldn't attend them like usual without having to sit in bed for atleast 20 minutes to question your self-worth.

Maybe Wednesday's constant refusal did rub off on you.

"Can't go." You randomly blurted out, too quick for your friends to start noticing something's different about you.

"And why?" The other chimed in, immediately asking of you, you can sum up that all four of them were suspicious. "You always go with us every time! What happened?"

"I have homework. From Ms. Cadie. I really need to submit it by tomorrow. I can't fail her class this time."

All of them laughed. "Since when did you care about homework and Ms. Cadie?"

Your other friend agreed, slightly nodding their head. "The last time I've heard Ms. Cadie's name come out of your mouth is when you started talking about how fucked up it was for her to give you a low grade and how you would've torn up the exam paper if given the chance."

You shrugged it off. "I'm a changed person."

"Bullshit!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It's amazing how somebody could ramble about so many at once, yet ramble about absolutely nothing or just something that literally has no sense whatsoever.

It was unfair. Sure, you loved Wednesday, you shouldn't be at the quad after class pretending to fawn over some guy on the bench with your palm resting on your chin, acting like he was the most important person in the world even though he probably doesn't know how to strike up something interesting as a conversation topic. But you would. Just for the small price of Wednesday glaring knives at him, and probably more at you too.

If having to meet death for the second time in a row to get an ounce of attention from Wednesday outside in terms of the closed-door policy, you would've been doing that ages ago if it weren't for her constantly locking you up in their dorm after night or after parties and something following you around.

Right now, you could've been enjoying your time with Wednesday. Letting her hands roam all over your body, kissing you as if you were the only person who mattered in this entire world. But no, you decided to see how early you'd face death. Or in short: You just wanted to see Wednesday jealous.

Childish, sure, you'd admit, but the way you would often sneak a glance over at her table with Enid, you could see how eager she was to snap the guy's head off. She could never be so gorgeous.

Your body leaned into him, your head tilting ever so slightly to get his attention, a sly smile gracing your lips even though you wanted to scowl at him for the 100th time.

"So..." The guy paused, anticipation waiting in his eyes as his leg rocked back and forth, "the Rave'Ns coming up and—"

"It is?" Your eyes locked onto his, eyebrows furrowed. A hint of surprise in your voice.

"Yeah, next week, and well," he continued, a smirk playing on his lips, "I was thinking we could go together. You know, on a date." He looked confident, you'd give him that. You almost felt pity for him for what you were about to say.

"I—"

"She'll be attending with me."

A sudden cold voice cut through the conversation, interrupting your soon-to-be-rejection. You turned to find Wednesday standing there, her eyes attempting to murder the guy in front of you.

Even if the sky were to fall under the three of you, you still couldn't believe that Wednesday Addams was standing right beside you, indirectly inviting you to a goddamn date in front of the entire student body.

You stayed silent, thanking whoever was up there for gracing you for this moment.

The guy scoffed, maybe too confident for your liking to scoff at The Wednesday Addams. "You don't even—"

"L/N owes me."

Her voice was stoic, collected even. But it carried so much intent that made his expression falter. Even you couldn't read what was inside her head, you could only hope it was an intricate 50-plan very gruesome murder of the guy.

"You have a ten-second window before I remind you that I have the physical and mental capacity to skin you alive to substitute your bones and follicles as a bow for my cello."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He put his hands up in surrender, carefully standing up and backing away. He muttered a half-assed apology, and you could hear his voice trembling. But even so, he still had the damn guts to meet your gaze. "I'll see you around, Y/n."

You turned to Wednesday, watching her face morph into a scowl. A twitch in her lips. Just how you liked it.

"See you around!" You yelled, waving goodbye while a smile was playing on your lips, knowing damn well Wednesday was regretting ever doing something remotely nice to you.

Wednesday's scowl deepened, you know of it. Just because she immediately grabbed your wrists, not caring once for the people who were staring bullets when she dragged your lovesick body around, leading you into a secluded area.

"So we're on a last-name basis now, Addams?" You teased as you stepped in front of Wednesday who was leaning against a wall, a grin appearing on your face even though your heart couldn't restrain your hands needily wrapping around her waist. "Thought you were better than that."

Wednesday looked you up and down, though you could see her façade falter at your simple touch. "You seem to have a hard time remembering anything beyond pathetically flirting with someone." Her eyes narrowed, crossing her arms. "You were supposed to meet with me."

"So what you're just spouting at me is that," you pause for a slight moment, relishing in the way Wednesday looked at you with that stoic expression. "You're jealous?" You whispered, a raspy voice coming out of your throat.

"I don't indulge in such an emotion. Let alone wear it."

You pushed her even further. "Oh, but you've tried it on so many times, Willa. I think you're getting used to it."

There was silence in the room. The confidence you were reflecting was starting to falter, you were about to say a thousand-word essay on the spot saying how you were so sorry for even talking back to her.

Wednesday let out a deep breath. "I didn't bring you here to argue." She leaned in, her lips almost in touch with yours. You could feel her breath on your skin, and you could see almost every feature she carried on her face. She didn't need to say anything more, you loved her as much as you loved kissing her.

---------------------------TIME SKIP----------------------------------

"Holy shit... Willa!"

You yelled, barging into the shared room the two of you lived in for the semester, dressed up and everything. It wasn't too fancy, nor was it too horrible up to your standards. It was just you overall, and you were comfortable with that.

"Get your shit together, we're gonna be late for the Rave'N!" You paced around the room, hoping to see an already dressed up and ready-to-go Wednesday Addams with that perfect scowl on her face and her go-to threat about how she'd rather do this instead of attending the Rave'N a second time.

But you had to remind her; she was the one who invited you.

You stopped over the vanity mirror you brought for the two of you, fixing the fabric of your clothes, trying to get it as neatly as possible.

You heard a turn of a doorknob behind you. "Damn, what took you so long? I was about toooohhhh…. holy shit."

You looked at Wednesday in the mirror, there she stood—looking absolutely gorgeous. It was truly unfair how she could steal your heart within mere seconds, and it was unfair how the world depicts heaven as something after death when it's right here in front of you.

Wednesday could've chosen not to do anything, and not to follow whatever the dress code was at the Rave'N, but here she was. The outfit complemented her style, her eyes, her soul, her everything—it suited her. More so than most. Of course, it was an all black gown just like her previous Rave'N attire, but it seemed she changed it up a bit, adding subtle details that captured the essence of her entire being.

You turned around, coughing whatever was magically stuck in your throat. Maybe the urge to make out with her the entire night.

"You—You look.." Fuck, you almost choked on your words. "You look, menacing. Yeah." Your last breath almost came out as a whisper of relief, a sigh of someone who’s been charmed till their dying moments. It wasn't the typical compliment you'd give to someone, but it was the compliment that always had Wednesday smirk.

"You're making quite the commotion about a stereotypical party amongst teenage adults," she remarked, walking towards you, her voice carrying that distinct calmness that bordered on some sort of intent.

"Didn't you attend this before?" You said, fixing her collar, "It's like a prom, Wednesday, think about it," you replied with a playful grin. Your hands firmly tugging the points of the collar to not immediately pull her into a crushing hug.

"People don't usually persuade someone by making it worse."

"You're the one who invited me." You pointed to Wednesday, then to yourself. You always loved the crease in Wednesday's eyebrows whenever you pointed out something correct.

Wednesday arched an eyebrow, crossing her arms while she looked at you up and down. "I invited you out of—"

"Jealousy?" You immediately chimed in, a huge smile tugging on your lips, already knowing what the answer was. Until it faltered because of Wednesday's dark gaze dawning on yours.

"—Necessity." She continued her own sentence. "This is not because I enjoy such affairs. Nor jealousy as you assume."

You laughed, a way to hide the creeping blush that was making their way to your cheeks. "Right, necessity. Because every person like you attends a prom as a need, not because they wanted to scare away a poor guy out of flirting with her girl."

The last two words slipped out almost accidentally and immediately, your bold confidence almost fading away as your throat slightly cracked. But it was fine; seeing how Wednesday had that perfect blush tinted on her face. You could almost paint every sunset that ever was to adore this world with the color of your soul whenever you see it.

She cleared her throat, her eyes averting yours. "Don't hold your breath."

"Just a bit of harmless teasing. Sorry, Wends." You power-walked your way over the door, a tinge of embarrassment coloring your cheeks and invading your brain. You turned the knob, opening the door for her as a silent gesture that the conversation should probably just stop and end.

Wednesday walked through the door, her usual stoic expression back in place, though the faint blush never wavered away. She never fails to make you smile like a complete fool.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Okay, I just have to lay a ground rule before we enter."

You stepped in front of Wednesday, meeting her gaze with your own serious or scowl expression. Music coming from the Rave'N was blasting in your ears as if it was a sonic boom, the bass coming alive as your body vibrated.

"Please do make it quick before I flee the scene with a decapitated head along my hands." Wednesday squinted, her tone almost disgusted. You could tell that the flashing lights and smoke machines surrounding the Rave'N wasn't really Wednesday's scene; that should've been obvious by now.

"I know you were upset at your last Rave'N because of the prank thing, and—"

"It was simply inane. Unforgivable, even."

"...Right," you nodded slowly, almost concerned with how passionate she was about the subject matter. "Buuut, please don't recorrect their doings. Even if it was 'unforgivable' as you say. You know, with real blood."

Wednesday's eyes narrowed slightly, a tilt in her head. "I make no promises, y/n."

You clicked your tongue, giving her a slight nod of acknowledgment, turning your heel, and letting Wednesday follow suit. "Good enough reassurance for my conscious about aiding and abetting your future crimes."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The two of you stepped into the life of the party, or rather the complete chaos was it all. You knew the Rave'N as some kind of formal event that Nevermore always held but couldn't be bothered to attend, but you did know that it was always held delicately with the hands of the teachers.

And, fuck, you were so wrong.

Ever since Weems died, and a new principal took her position, the event was nothing compared to a typical frat party you were always getting dragged into.

There were bodies on the floor, laid down and absolutely fucked out of their mind, standing up, hell there was even someone on the ceiling.

The air was completely occupied with the scent of alcohol terribly not-so-hidden by the mix of juices and something else that you couldn't quite identify and would rather stay that way for the rest of your life. There was that occasional harmonized (somehow) burst of laughter from the students who attended, the dance floor wasn't that filled with people but it was enough to get pushed around on.

Drinks and food were scattered on the sides, and you of all were surprisingly amazed that they weren't trampled to death and shattered into pieces.

"Oh, God." You muttered to yourself, already expecting Wednesday to have disappeared the moment you turned your head.

Until you were met with the same girl, looking like the perfect balance between chaos and tranquility with her presence.

"You do realize you have approximately five seconds to persuade me to continue further before I maim you from head to toe and taxidermy your flesh." She quipped while you gulped. The sentence alone made you feel like you were being maimed.

"I plead the fifth," you held your right hand up high as you faced Wednesday. "You don't have to enjoy it. Just stay with me, alright?" You lowered your hand, offering it to Wednesday, "I am your date after all. You can't just abandon a girl like that."

Wednesday could only look at you up and down, she has a habit of it doesn't she, giving you a bland look before walking down the steps and over to the drinks table. Completely ignoring your rather pathetic attempt at holding hands with her.

With a sigh, you followed her oddly fast-paced walk. "Oh, so you can fuck me sideways and back on our balcony but you draw the line at holding my hand?"

"I rather not use such vulgar terms, but precisely."

"Okay, Wednesday, I wasn't the one who was whispering how much you wanna bend me over and absolutely—"

She suddenly stopped, turning her body to face yours. "Should've stapled then skinned your mouth the time we stepped out of the dorm." You almost missed how Wednesday's cheeks had that slight red tint on them, and how her eyes softened just a tiny bit.

"But how else are you able to kiss me?" you teased, your hands going behind your back as you looked at Wednesday with a lopsided grin plastered on your face, just how Wednesday loathed it.

She looked up at you, crossing her arms while she lowered her voice down to something of a whisper, a sultry hint to it. "I'm sure there are other areas you want me to kiss."

"Well, aren't you a mind-reader?"

"Oh, aren't you insufferable?" Wednesday rolled her eyes, but she couldn't stop a subtle smile tugging at her lips.

The two of you enjoyed the party, somewhat. A little bit more than the other one, but it was nice to be in eachothers presence with everyone around you. Not just behind closed doors.

It was awkward just to be standing there, your hands clutching the edge of the table while Wednesday had hers perfectly placed in front of her. It was the dynamic that you always noticed; one neat, one... not so neat, but she tries.

It was peaceful, peaceful enough for the party scene going on around the two of you, until a certain someone showed up. Holding himself a drink and his hands digging in his pockets.

"Surprised to see you guys here." Ajax approached you, giving the both of you a slight nod of acknowledgment while you just smiled. You didn't know if Wednesday gave him a scowl or just plain-out ignored him.

"Hey, 'Jax. Not surprised you're here." you replied with the friendliest smile you could give to a guy like him. Not like you hated him, you just wanted to be with Wednesday without any company as of now.

Ajax shifted slightly under Wednesday's gaze, discomfort crossing his features before he recovered with a casual shrug. "Figured I'd join in before exams start," he said, taking a sip of his drink.

"I'm surprised Wednesday took you out instead of the other way round."

Your eyes lit up, finally having a topic you'd enjoy. "Well, she actually—"

"I have to prevent her from getting into trouble like the last very few times. A roommate is only someone with the same residence space, nothing more and nothing less. Far than a friend."

Oh, right.

"Right," you replied, pulling your lips to a thin line to mask the disappointment you felt. "Just roommates."

It stung, sure.

Yeah, that's it. It just stung. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Could've gone without the last few sentences." You mumbled to yourself, your voice brittle.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hearing the girl who you convinced yourself to be your forever and the love of your life dismiss your relationship with her as something no more than roommates and less than friends felt like shit. But it was fine. You weren't dealing with a fuck ton of relationship baggage and having to lie that all your 'I love you's' to her were just something to keep whatever you guys have going on light just for you to cry about something like that. Even when you could and would.

But having to stare from the sidelines at a guy flirting with said love of your life with a punch clenched around your palms a little bit too tight that you went over to just for her. Worst is, you knew the guy for being a stuck-up dickhead who has his own cock far up his head.

Oh, how you hated Xavier Thorpe.

Fuckzone is bad enough, but friendzoned? Completely-abolished-by-some-random-dudezoned? But for the record, you too were aimlessly flirting around with another guy for her attention instead of making out with her in some remote area. Maybe this was the karma everyone was talking about.

"People say if you stare at him for a while longer his head might start going in circles."

"Holy shit!" You turned around, a bit spooked, but it was just Enid. The bright bubbly sunshine you always needed in times when you were surrounded by whatever thoughts you were thinking about. "Hey, E."

Enid grinned, showing that infectious smile she carried. "You know Wednesday won't go after him. Especially him." The two of you looked at the guy, ruffling his hand in between the strands of hair while he talked to Wednesday. Who wasn't paying the slightest attention at all.

You let out a forced chuckle, appreciating Enid's attempt to lighten the mood. "I'm not—I'm not worried about that."

"Then why are you staring daggers at him like how Wednesday does to everybody?" She stood by you, side by side, her hands tight behind her back. But you couldn't really tell her that you and Wednesday are friends with benefits.

"It's just—"

You started, almost started. Until the words got stuck in your throat when you saw how Xavier led Wednesday to the dance floor, his eyes stuck on hers while she reluctantly followed him. How he tried to get Wednesday to dance along with him, his lips curving into an awkward grin.

"It's nothing." You nodded slowly, trying to tear your eyes away from the sight of Wednesday with Xavier, but your efforts were drained.

"I'll head back early, Enid. Sorry to bother your night with all this."You handed your cup to Enid, her hand hesitating to grab your cup. You could see how she offered a sympathetic look, her hand almost reaching out for your own.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I didn’t see you when I returned."

The door slowly closed behind Wednesday, and you could hear everything down from her steps to her breathing as she changed into her usual clothing.

You were slumped over a chair, pretending to do your homework for the first time, but it was just a ruse. You were just staring at a piece of paper, the words slowly starting to morph into Xavier and Wednesday's names side by side in your vision.

"Probably because you were seeing someone else." You muttered, bitterness leaving a trail of venom in your words as you turned around in your chair.

Sure it was childish, you knew Wednesday was never going to accept him as a love interest. But neither is she going to accept you.

Wednesday raised an eyebrow, her features scrunching up as she observed you.

"Nothing. I just wanted to...” Your jaw clenched. Think of a lie. Lie, lie, lie. “Just wanted to take a rest. I’ve been going to a lot of parties this month, you know? Also, the whole vibe wasn't really my thing."

Half true, half lie. Who even unironically says vibe anymore anyway? But you wouldn’t admit that you were jealous because Wednesday was just talking to some dude and Enid brings up some spur-of-the-moment bullshit that lead you to this situation. You don't blame her, though.

For a moment, you thought Wednesday saw through everything, Right through your soul by the way she walks towards you.

"I swear, I—" Your words got caught off as soon as Wednesday's lips touched yours. Her fingers tracing your jawline as she leaned towards you, pulling you in as her hand trailed along the back of your neck, pulling you closer.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wednesday regretted how she kissed you, once again. How she felt pity when your voice dwindled to a mumble, something she found unsettling considering how you were always someone who had joy written all over her face and her heart on her sleeve.

She kissed you, over and over again. Her lips onto yours, yours onto hers. She knew she had you wrapped around her finger, how you also had her wrapped around yours. How her bed always felt warm with you in it, how her world started to flicker with colors she never saw before, how her soul melted by the touch of your hand.

By the time you pulled away from the kiss, Wednesday was in awe of how you were something she'd cherish if it wasn't for her internal argument with herself when it comes to you. Her thoughts that consumed her till the very end.

"Wednesday," she heard you breathe, her body on top of yours, "Do you..."

Don't say it. Don't say it, don't say it, don't—

"Don't say it."

She murmured, by accident. She didn't mean to say it out loud. Her eyes went wide, while yours went dark. Almost like hers, even.

"Yeah, right." You whispered, she could tell you were disappointed. Or even angry, or upset.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.

She could almost say.

You don't know how much I love you.

But she didn't. She wouldn't.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday x y/n #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna marie ortega

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magics-neptunes-things · 8 months

Text

Adversity

Hello everyone!

Here you are with a new story, with my one and only Ona. I hope you liked it! Please tell me what you think about it ♥

TW : Dirty Talk, mention of lover fight and mention of possible smut.

(Of course according to logic some dialogues are supposed to be in Spanish, but by sheer laziness I will simply put everything in English without translation)

___________________________________________________________

With your face resting on your hand, you are sitting at a table in the refectory in which the team usually meets for breakfast before the big games. Your teammates seem in a good mood, but you must admit that you don't listen to what they can tell around you. You vaguely realized that Lucy, Salma and Claudia are sitting next to you, but that’s it. Playing with food and the tip of your fork, it's only when Alexia settles down on the vacant chair next to you that you leave your gloomy thoughts.

You see her looking at you with wrinkled eyes while gently placing her tray on the table.

"What?" you asked raising an eyebrow.

"That’s what I was going to ask you. What’s going on?"

You shrugs, taking a small piece of tortilla on your fork.

"Nothing"

"She had a fight with Ona last night and they both are moody in their corner of the room"

Lucy answer at the same time as you and Alexia eyes goes to the english girl. You glare at Lucy, who send you a big smile, chewing her toast with some disgusting happiness.

In fact, she was right. Ona, contrary to your habits, was not at your side but at another table with Aitana, Ingrid and Mapi. It was in reality you who had changed tables when you saw her installed with the three other girls. A very stupid moove since it made you even sadder than you were already.

You can’t even tell why you started arguing, probably because of a small thing like every rare time it happens. But you went to bed angry and when you woke up Ona was already gone. She had an appointment with your medical team for a vague story of aductors and the worst is that you don’t even know if she’s okay and able to play.

"You're ok?" Alexia ask, full of empathy.

"She will be, you know how they are. If they are not reconciled after the game and in each other’s arms, call me Lucia for the rest of my life."

Lucy raise her eyebrows with amusement, while you prefer to answer nothing and lean against the back of your chair, showing her your middle finger.

"Leave her alone Lucia" Salma smiles.

You take advantage that Claudia relaunches a conversation with Salma and Lucy to lean discreetly towards Alexia.

"You know what the doctors said about Ona?"

"Yes, false alarm, she has nothing at all. She will be able to play the game as planned."

You nod, despite everything relieved to learn that your girlfriend is fine. Alexia doesn't add anything and doesn't even point out that you could have gone to ask her yourself, preferring to place a reassuring hand on your arm. The blonde definitely has great captain qualities.

On Ona's side, the mood is also gloomy. If the Spaniard finished her plate at Aitana’s insistence, she can’t help but look at your back and try to guess the interactions you have with your teammates. She saw you raise your middle finger at Lucy and then lean towards Alexia. She obviously also noticed that you didn’t swallow anything.

"Ona for God’s sake go talk to her!"

Ona responds negatively at Mapi's sentence with a nod and biting her lip. In her eyes, the fact that you didn't come to sit next to her is a way to make her understand that you have no desire to see her at the moment. And even if it break her heart, she respects it.

"What was the fight about?" Ingrid ask full of concern.

"I... I can't ever remember"

"Oh god, you are a real lesbian couple cliché, both of you" Mapi wines, earning a knowing smile from Ingrid.

Even Ona must bite the inside of her cheeks to avoid smiling.

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

Like Ona, you're starting the game too. Striker, you will be next to Alexia as Ona is on the back with Mapi, Ingrid and Lucy. You have not yet exchanged a word, but the elusive looks of the beginning of the day have become longer and longer. You even get a little smile from her when you turn around in her direction, while you wait with the rest of the team in the tunnel to enter the field. You smile back, just before the signal is given to you.

You were playing the final of the Copa de la Reina, against Real Madrid. As the rivalry between the two clubs no longer has to be explained, you all expect it to be a physically difficult match.

And the firsts minutes of the match will show you that you were right to have prepared yourself for this. The opposing players don't hesitate to tackle the person with the ball, sometimes rather hard. It's only at the eighth minute that a shock leaves Ona on the ground, much longer than usual. Usually she's quick to get back on her feet and run to her post, willing to take all the shots without flinching. This is not currently the case and it lasts a little too long for your taste.

So you decide to take advantage of the game stop to approach her, while she is still sitting on the lawn.

It's only when she looks up at you that she realizes you have approached her, a mixture of surprise and relief passing briefly on her face.

"You ok?" you ask softly as she nods.

"Yeah. My head is hard"

"Tell me about it" you joke.

You give her a small smile before before reaching out to help her up. She gives you a smile back and with that you go back to your place with such relief that you almost feel like you’re flying. Finally maybe you will be able to reconcile, even if you can't bother Lucy aka Lucia.

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

After half-time, the score is 2-0 for Barcelona, thanks to a goal by Alexia and a free-kick rather well drawn on your part, in all modesty obviously. You sat next to Ona in the locker room without talking, looking like two collegians in love but you didn't care. You even managed to avoid Lucy’s goofy look.

Back on the field, the game is even more brutal and rough than before. Dirty talk is also added by the Real Madrid players.

And Ona is the first one to suffer. In the action of the game and after a battle for the ball, you find yourself unbalanced by the number 12 of the opposing team who simply falls on you. Lying on you while you find yourself on your back, the situation isn't really pleasant. You nervously clear your throat, realizing that it takes her a few seconds too long to get up, both of her hand on either side of your waist, her face only a few inches from yours.

It's only when Alexia takes her by the arm to lift her up that you are finally released.

"Don't kill my best striker. Thanks."

Your captain’s icy tone sends your opponent back to her place, but she can’t help but smile with a bad look at Ona.

"Your girlfriend is really hot Batlle. Maybe at the end of the game I’ll have the trophy and your girl screaming my name in my room, who knows?"

Of course your girlfriend attended the scene and she already felt her blood bubbling. Far from suspecting what is happening, you thank Alexia on your side with a simple look. Jaw clenched, Ona takes a few steps in her direction but is immediately stopped by Mapi. No need to say anything, a look exchanged between the two women makes Ona realize that it's indeed not necessary to enter into this kind of things.

"You seem very sure of yourself, Leon. Maybe I could give your girl a try too"

Badly for her, with all the teasing she didn't realise that the game started again. And it only took a few tens of seconds for Ona to express her frustration in her rush and go to score a goal at the other end of the field.

Sincerely proud of her, this time you can’t resist joining your teammates to congratulate her. Both of you aren't the type to exchange kisses in public, especially on football fields, but you enjoy this embrace perhaps a little longer than usual.

"My little dragster" you smile and the smile she give you back asks you to use all your self-control not to kiss her until your lungs scream for help to get oxygen again.

Instead you kiss her cheeks and go back again where you belong on the pitch. And this time Ona will be content to address a corner smile to number 12 who will throw her a new spade based on "It is not that which will prevent me from asking her her number"

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

35 minutes later, the referee whistles the end of the game, awarding the victory to your team. Cries of joy rise in the stands as you begin to celebrate this victory too. Salma happens to be the closest to faith to the whistle, she was the first you hug soon joined by Alexia and several other of your teammates.

After releasing her, your eyes begin to travel the field, eagerly looking for your small brown head. Lost in your contemplation, you don't notice the number 12 of the opposing team which makes its way in your direction of a decided step. But Mapi does and she runs to you, jumping on your body, turning you away from her new enemy number one.

"Great kick maestro" she smiles, dragging you to the middle of the field by your hand.

You were going to protest that you would like to see your girlfriend, but you barely opened your mouth when she magically appears next to you.

"Hi" she says with her supermagic smile.

"Hi" you say back, before opening your arms.

She doesn't hesitate a second before snuggling up, seeing over your shoulder Number 12 with an air of defeat that fills her with pleasure. You're hers, no matter what. Passing her two arms around your neck, she sighs with ease at the same moment you feel your body finally relax against her. Her happiness grows a little more when she hears you whisper in the hollow of her ear.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now"

She smiles and look at your eyes, biting her lips thoughtfully.

"Maybe later, if you are nice enough"

"I was born nice"

You fake a pout and Ona smile wider. As you remove some golden confetti that fell in her hair, you see Lucy two meters from you. She's looking at you, arms crossed over her chest with an air that seems to speak for him.

"What did I tell you?"

And, while you find yourself in a fiery makeout session in a corner of the stadium with Ona a few hours and glasses of sangria later, you have probably never been so happy that Lucy was right. Ona's lips on yours, your arms keeping her between you and the wall and the caresses she makes on your neck are the only reality you want to face right now.

She will talk to you about the statements of the unfamous Numero 12 opposing team once you get home, needing to talk to you anyway. Because despite your arguments, you tell yourself everything.

And if someone asks her, if there’s a name that was screamed by you that night, it’s definitely hers.

#ona batlle #ona batlle x reader #ona batlle imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine

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corollaservant · 1 month

Text

False Alarm // Kenjaku x f!reader (18+)

Synopsis: He never smoked. But then again, he lost himself along the way.

Warnings: noncon, smoking, signs of panic attack, degradation, violence, deception, humiliation... Kenny stuff.

A/N: don't hate me, Kenny is the perf man for dark concepts.

The last time you saw him was in 2007. He seemed sedated for some time, looking like he woke up and slept—if he ever slept—out of necessity, his lips on yours felt foreign and a burden would always accompany him. You hadn’t ever asked, what would you even say “Hey, is everything alright?’’ and what was he supposed to answer? ‘’Yes, everything’s fine’’. Not like it’d be the truth anyways. The last night you saw him was in 2007.

It was around 3 AM when he entered the bedroom, smoke filled the room as you looked at him. He never smoked, apart from some earlier mischief with his best friend as he sat next to you.

‘’Have you been smoking?’’ You quietly asked him as he sighed.

‘’Yes, had to give Shoko my lighter today and figured I might as well have one myself’’

He spoke so calmly, like everything was alright, like everything was like before.

The next day you woke up in an empty bed with a lighter to your nightstand. There was no letter or note as he exited your life and never came back.

It wasn’t like you didn’t know. He never intended to hide his actions, never once tried to stay undercover, intentions loud and clear and if you weren’t to find out from newspapers and various media outlets covering the crimes, a visit from his best friend would suffice. You hadn’t reacted much really, usually pain hit when you least expected it—not when Gojo would list you the heinous crimes but when you were in the snack aisle holding your groceries and saw his favorite crackers, silly things really. Ache was a funny thing.

10 years went by and your routine had not once diverted, home–work–home. Most of your friends stopped contacting you for a night out, seeing how you’d decline each and every time and you didn’t really blame them. They most likely wouldn’t understand. The door was unlocked when you entered the apartment floor and your heart sank. A domestic burglary was the last thing you wanted, shit, you didn’t even care about any belongings, his lighter was always with you and there were no prized possessions in the once shared apartment. But you were exhausted.

A figure stood facing the window next to the bed, wearing what seemed like a kimono over a robe that people 2500 years ago wore and sandals—enjoying a cigarette as you froze.

‘’W–what are you doing here?’’ You asked, stupid, yeah, who asks that? But fear stricken as you were and ready to dial the emergency number—your heart suddenly skipped a beat.

The figure had his hair, what was going on?

‘’Did you miss me?’’ A soft honeyed voice that made your skin crawl said as Suguru turned to look at you. Your eyes widened and you backtracked, colliding with the wall behind you as you dropped the bag you were holding and screamed. Loud.

‘’Who the fuck are you??’’ You yelled as you saw a line of stitches sloppily circle around what used to be your lover’s forehead. He had his hooded eyes and smile but you knew better. Whoever this freak was could never imitate the laced with care and love words that escaped Suguru’s mouth. Before he left. Before—

‘’What the fuck do you want? What the hell did you do to him?’’ You spat, the more you talked, the more a sardonic smile crept up his mouth, deforming what used to be the prettiest smile in the world.

‘’I wouldn’t call if I were you’.’ He inhaled the last puff and tossed the cigarette mindlessly out the window, as he approached you.

Your hands were frozen, you wouldn’t have been able to dial anyone either way, when he spoke again.

‘’Funny thing, the memories, aren’t they? I had this feeling today you know..’’

‘’Where is he?’’ You cried, as he sighed.

‘’Please don’t interrupt me, he’s dead, what do you mean 'where is he'? As I was saying..’’

His words made your knees sting, as you fell to the floor, choking on a cry—it wasn’t like you hadn't made a decent effort to register his death, but the spitting image ahead of you felt like you were atoning for sins you never committed. It was too much, too painful, too sadistic.

‘’I had this, let's call it.. instinct to smoke today.. and visit you. Matter of fact, my feet dragged me all the way here so I was curious to see what the..fuss was all about.’’ He spoke eyeing you up at 'fuss'. You didn’t understand a thing but wished for whatever this was to end as you closed your eyes. Please! You silently heard yourself say. Or maybe you didn't speak a word.

‘’Yeah.. I kind of get it now.. you look nice after all. Do you smoke?’’ He asked, bringing himself even closer, the apartment was small and he had you touching the wall, the shadow of his Kasaya casting a dark light in front of you.

‘’I- I don’t smoke’’...‘’P–please leave..’’ not bothering to look in his eyes, these eyes that used to make love to you, hug you and gently wash your hair, bring you tea in the morning, wrap around your waist—

‘’Oh, that’s too bad.’’ He spoke like he contemplated, smirking to himself once he noticed your bowed head.

‘’Mind looking up?’’ He came even closer, so close you could feel him on you—he didn’t really wait to bring his finger, a cold sensation against your chin and lift it to look at him.

‘’Be honest. Isn’t this my best work?’’ He moved...the face left and right, showing you horrible—pretty angles of your old boyfriend. Your eyes quivered, tears fell down your cheeks, down your chin, down the floor. A bile formed at the back of your throat.

‘’Would you kiss me?’’ He asked rhetorically, it wasn’t like he cared about your opinion, it was more as if he was asking himself, experimenting with a predetermined outcome as you sniffed and felt a strong hand travel down your neck, pinning you to the wall. No! Stop asking questions! Leave!

‘’Well.. it doesn’t matter really, cause you will now.’’ He said as his mouth touched yours. Soft lips. Same feeling. Memories. Your lips parted to cry and he squeezed the sides of your neck, blocking the air and sliding his tongue in your mouth.

This wasn’t Suguru and you weren’t supposed to be kissing him. This wasn’t his hair, his mouth, his eyes albeit your heart racing and a known sensation flooding your chest. His breath was hot as he growled and you squirmed, tears soaking him.

‘’S-stop..’’ You whined, thinking back to all the times you thought Suguru leaving you, abandoning you was the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. This couldn’t even be compared.

‘’P–please! I-I will not tell anyone, I—will do whatever you want—just—’’

‘’Then be silent cause you will be doing what I want regardless.’’ He smiled, the same sinister smile and you started breathing heavily, shit—this wasn’t good, this always signaled a panic attack. You had these more frequently than before. Ever since he left. You started sweating, feeling chills, particularly in your arms and like you'd die from asphyxiation, the more you failed to inhale properly. Don't think—breathe—don't think you can't breathe—don't—

Two strong arms cupped your face and turned it upwards.

‘’Shh..hey..hey..darling, I’m right here.’’ The idol of the man you used to love gently whispered as you looked in the dead eyes in front of you. The voice honeyed and soft as the words he purred soothed you and you closed your eyes.

‘’Come here.’’ He said and brought your body close to his, embracing your trembling limbs as you exhaled—you could at least breathe through your nose again, an unfamiliar cologne in your face.

‘’Good’’ He said as he took a deep breath.

His arms felt good.

‘’Now let’s continue.’’

A finger was brought up against your entrance as the intruder’s body hovered above you. You were moved (thrown) to the bed, begging in silent whispers for him to leave, but to no avail. He was kissing you with his tongue—leaving a saliva string each time you opened your mouth to protest, beg, promise to do anything except this but he’d had enough, he loved a good Shakespearean act but pretending to be him to calm you down—just so he could fuck you, had wasted a lot of his time. The play needed a climax.

He caressed your core through your panties, your dress was lifted up as he slid them to the side, trailing two fingers against the folds. You had been fighting for your body not to betray you, fighting for your eyes to not involuntarily close each time his disgusting mouth kissed you. Whenever you closed them, you thought of him, the mouth felt all too familiar and you couldn't help it. Fluids smudged the fabric and fell down his fingers as he smirked.

‘’Such a good girl, no need for me to help a lot here I see.’’ His wicked grin caused you to let out a scream, maybe if you cried for help someone would listen, someone could save—

A slap took the breath out your lungs, vicious and hard as your cheek burned from the pain.

‘’Be quiet, pretty, I don’t have all day.’’ He said toying your cunt and pushing his fingers inside you as you tried your best not to moan.

‘’Please! ugh—Stop!’’ You wailed but there was no remorse (or halt) in his movements—squelching sounds from the contact almost covered up the noise you made.

‘’So..so filthy and wet, fuck, what would your boyfriend say seeing you soaking someone else’s hand, huh? Disgusting..’’ He spoke with disdain as you cried and tried to not feel the guilty pleasure that took over your core.

‘’I think we’re good now, don’t you?’’ He said as he got off you, your eyes trying to look around for exits while trying to have him within your peripherals.

You could escape, you could leave, right?

The moment your body dared to stand up while he was taking off his kimono, you were thrown back to bed, head crashing against the steel of the bed frame—the pain was accute and you winced, your eyesight left for a second.

Yet, he continued.

‘’Don’t be that dumb, please.’’ He sighed as his cock was brought out, stiff and long, sitting upright on his abdomen. A revolting sight but his body reminiscent of Suguru’s made your heart flutter.

The paranoia of the predicament messed you up, it felt like a torture, a dichotomy between love and hate, you wanted to spit on him, kick him and escape, hell, you wanted to slash his throat but each time your gaze was brought to his sinister stitches, the reminiscent features made you ache, sob and long for the all too familiar face.

‘’Get off m–me, please.’’ You begged and begged as he parted your legs and brushed his slit against your cunt, tapping it on the tiny nub when a moan escaped your lips—embarrassed, you brought your hands to your mouth.

‘’Stop!’’ You pleaded, the feeling there not aligning with the disgust in your mind but he continued.

‘’I love it when you beg, you look prettier.’’ He softly whispered as his cockhead thrusted swiftly in your cunt, hard enough to make your body hurt in more parts. You hadn't been fucked in a while—it wasn't worth it after him.

The sensation was overwhelming—his weight fell on you, cock stayed within your walls for a couple of seconds before he grabbed your hands to get them off your mouth. Your head was banging against the frame, as whichever sobs fell from your lips were pitifully covered by your hands.

‘’Now, you don’t wanna be silent, do ya? This is the best part!’’ His eyes gleamed as his cock slid in and out of you fast and he groaned.

‘’Fuck, I can see why he loved you so much, taking me as if we're meant to be...’’ He hummed as and closed your eyes, trying to ignore the stinging pain, not in your core anymore but your chest.

‘’I want to hear you, come on girl, moan for me..agh.. I know you want it.’’ His ruts became harder and sloppier, as you let out a loud moan—teardrops spilled from your eyelids onto the sheets as he tilted his hips into you, it was too much.

‘’P-please! Please!’’ You begged, still hoping for an end and he continued, a finger found your swollen clit and rubbed around it in circular motions, you jerked but his pace never faltered, fuck, it wasn't right—your cunt squeezed him in, clenching tightly around him.

‘’Shit, little slut’s enjoying herself?’’ He hissed and you cried.

‘’S—Suguru.. s—stop, please agh I - I love you.’’ You called out your favorite name as he laughed. There was no other way to save yourself.

‘’Stop calling for your dead man, stupid, he’s not coming back..’’ He sounded like he lectured you, thrusting upwards and groping your chest as you withered under him, what felt like an orgasm slowly threatening to exit your tormented body. Your head hurt and your throat felt sore as you now only used broken syllables for help.

‘’S-st— I–I-ugh–..’’ Your cunt spasmed.

‘’Come on this cock– shit, be a good slut for your boyfriend, sweetheart, can you do it for Suguru?’’ He groaned, feeling himself close—the sight of your hands trying to throw him off aroused him even more, such a cute little thing you were, he didn’t wonder now why he liked you so much.

‘’S-suguru—’’ was all you said as you came undone, squeezing your eyes shut and biting your lip till you tasted metal. He continued; his predatory eyes made him look disfigured, melted even, reminding you of ice cream dripping down a cone.

‘’So filthy doll, he'd– agh.. be so proud..’’ He grunted and you felt a palm grab your neck and choke you with a firm grip, so not to moan or cry anymore. He came—looking in your eyes filled with terror shooting his cum deep within your walls as he praised you further. The foreign sensation stirred your insides.

You felt nothing; except maybe his cock soften and palm removed from your throat, allowing air back in your lungs. He got up.

He grabbed a cigarette pack from a tailored pocket in his kimono and moved to the window while you were left in a puddle of bodily fluids, trembling and tasting what must've been blood down your face.

‘’W—why...did you come?’’ You brokenly managed, as he turned around. It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair, it wasn't—

‘’I felt like having a smoke.’’ Cool and collected. Like Suguru. His face despite the wickedness looked serene, eyes crinkled similarly to his. He offered a smile.

‘’Could I have my lighter now, please?’’

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #kenjaku #kenjaku x reader #kenjaku x you #kenjaku smut #jjk fanfic #tw dark content #geto x reader #tw noncon #tw dubcon #tw violence #tw degradation

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ebdaydreamer · 14 days

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fuck it friday

tagged by @bidisasterevankinard

so ummmm I wrote a whole fic. here it is on ao3

tagging: @bigfootsmom @monsterrae1 @elvensorceress @honestlydarkprincess @wildlife4life

@spaceprincessem @bucksbiawakening

It's spec but not really spec the idea just wouldn't leave me alone enjoy:

“Well that was dramatic,” Buck said to break the awkward silence.

They had just got home from the hospital. It was a total false alarm, Eddie was fine, but whilst he was off getting every test under the sun done, his life blew up in the waiting room.

First his parents came, with Chris in tow. And everything was fine, Buck was chatting to them, everyone was just trying to remain calm. Until somehow the topic turned more sombre, and they were discussing what would happen if Eddie really was sick. And well, one thing led to another, and Eddie’s will was brought up, and Helena Diaz lost it.

Then Marisol rushed through the doors, asking them what happened.

Which was odd, because Eddie had been on a date when they all got the call that something had happened.

Then the ghost of Shannon Diaz walked in. The woman Eddie had been on a date with when he was rushed to the hospital.

All hell broke loose.

The group had marched to Eddie’s room, demanding explanations. Buck held on to Chris who was looking a little green himself. This was not his place. He could ask Eddie what the fuck he was thinking and why he didn’t talk to him later.

And this was that later.

Eddie gave a half laugh and sunk into the chair at his dining table. “That’s one word for it.” He rested his chin in his palm, but Buck could see he was shaking.

“What’s going on, Eddie?” Buck asked softly. “Talk to me, please.” He held up his hands, palms facing Eddie. “No judgement, I promise. I’m not exactly in the position to, anyway.”

Eddie shook his head. “You got drunk and kissed someone else once. I lied… to everyone I know, for weeks.”

“O-OK, but why?”

He took a deep breath, gaze pointed to the left of Buck’s head. He hadn’t looked him in the eyes since the hospital.

“I guess… I wanted to live in the delusion a little longer. That somehow I’d found Shannon again, that I had that magic back, instead-” He abruptly cut himself off.

And Buck guessed he could understand. Because cheating on his girlfriend aside, everyone would have told him what a bad idea dating Kim was. Because she wasn’t Shannon. She looked a creepy amount like her, but she acted nothing like her. And it wasn’t fair to her to just be a replacement.

Buck wondered if that was what Eddie had been doing with every relationship since Shannon died.

“Eddie, what you had with Shannon… you’re never going to have that again.” Eddie began to protest, and Buck cut him off. “But that’s OK. It’s supposed to be different. There’s no one right way for a relationship to be. That doesn’t take away from what you had with her.”

The chair screeched against the floor, and Eddie jumped up. “It has to be! My kid needs a mom and I need a wife and-”

“OK, we both know that’s B.S.” Buck stood up, and held out his hands to Eddie’s shaking ones. Just in case he needed steadying. “That’s what has been drilled into your head as a kid-”

Eddie huffed and began walking to the living room. Buck followed.

“about what families are supposed to be, but you and I know that isn’t true!”

Eddie stopped and spun around, panic flashing in his eyes. “What other choice do I have? Because there’s what I want and what I can have. I can want Shannon, but I can’t have her. I can have someone safe and easy like Marisol, even if that’s not what I really want. Because believe me, there’s a lot I want but can't have!”

“Like Shannon? Eddie, if… if you think Shannon was it for you… then stop torturing yourself. Stop forcing things you think you need to have. And who knows? Maybe one day you will find someone you want again. But it’s not fair to the people you date or yourself to keep forcing a relationship.”

“This isn’t about Shannon!”

Buck blinked. Eddie’s chest heaved. Chris snored from down the hall.

“W- what?”

“I mean… a part of it is. A part of it always will be. But there are other…” Eddie waved his hands as he searched for the words, “things that I’ve realised I want, that I can’t have. So sue me for trying to recreate the one good relationship I was actually allowed to have.”

Buck swallowed and nodded, trying to follow along.

“Right, so there’s something else you want. Why not go for it? What’s stopping you?”

“I told you, I can’t.”

“Eddie, you deserve to be happy.” He said it softly, gently, like approaching a wounded animal, because he knew that Eddie didn’t quite believe it. “You deserve to be a little selfish, for once.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, well, I just did the selfish thing, and I think it ruined everything in my life.”

“You screwed up. Big time. But you haven’t ruined everything. Your parents will get over the will thing. Chris will forgive you. And you’ve still got all of us. The 118.” Buck smiled at him. “You’ve still got me.”

“Do I?” Eddie snapped, finally meeting his eyes.

And Buck… Buck felt like he’d been pushed back by the force of his words.“Of- of course you have me! I’ve got your back, remember? You’ve been the one pushing me away these last few weeks. Which is what you do when you’re hiding something. Now I know and we can get back to normal.”

Eddie stepped towards him, until they were close enough that Buck had to tilt his chin down ever so slightly to fully meet his eyes. His eyes that were now storming with something Buck couldn’t recognise. “What if I don’t want to get back to normal?”

“What do you m-”

One hand on his neck. One hand in his shirt. Lips. Lips against his. Kissing. Eddie was kissing him. Why was Eddie kissing him? They don’t do this. Eddie wasn’t into men. But then again, Buck didn’t think he was into men until Tommy.

Tommy.

Buck pulled away and stepped back. “What the hell?”

“You asked what I wanted.” Eddie gestured between them. “There’s your answer.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Buck’s brain felt like static. He couldn’t even begin to process the amount of feelings and thoughts and questions bouncing around his brain. He tried to grab them as they flew past, and after a solid 30 seconds of spluttering, he managed to ask, “Since- since when?”

Eddie shrugged, lighter than before. “Not sure, really. I didn’t figure it out until I was bleeding out on that street, reaching for you. I fell. My eyes were so heavy. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay awake. So I looked for you, and I reached for you and I realised I was in love with you.”

“You’re-”

“Yeah.” Now Eddie’s started looking at him, he can’t seem to stop. Buck felt like he was suffocating under his stare. “I couldn’t have ever dreamt you up in my wildest dreams. You’re… everything I never allowed myself to want. And the life we’ve built? Our friendship? It means so much. I couldn’t ruin what we already had. So yeah, I dated Ana and Marisol and Kim because I can’t get over you or Shannon.” Eddie made an amused noise and briefly looked away from him. “Maybe if I could get over at least one of you I could be happy with someone else.”

The silence returned. Eddie was clearly waiting for Buck’s next reaction, but he still couldn’t think properly. He tried to process the last few minutes: Eddie kissed him; Eddie was in love with him; Eddie has known this since he got shot.

“Three years ago, Eddie. Why are you telling me now? I’m with Tommy! I’m happy with Tommy!”

There had been time. Maybe not right away, when he was still with Ana, and then Buck was with Taylor. But they were both single for months. Hell, Buck died and Eddie still didn’t think it was important enough to tell him. This is the time? Not when Buck was scrambling to find the secret to happiness? When he died? When he asked Eddie about being shot? Literally any of the countless days they had spent together?

“Because! Because I’ve already blown up everything else in my life! What do I have left to lose? Besides, would it have even made a difference?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know and I can’t know because I’m with Tommy.”

Because Buck could think all he liked about the opportunities Eddie had had before now, but he couldn’t begin to wonder what would have happened if he had taken them. Because then he wouldn’t have Tommy.

Tommy, who was so hot and cool and confident.

Tommy, who made Buck feel giddy and excited.

Tommy, who made him laugh and moan and scream.

Tommy, who changed his life.

(But didn’t Eddie do that too?)

“Look I can’t…” Buck ran a hand across his face. “I have to go. I can’t do this right now, and Tommy has been asking for an update about you, because he’s worried about you, because he’s your friend and-” Buck cut himself off, knowing he was probably driving the knife a little deep. Eddie knew how badly he’d fucked up. He knew it when he’d kissed him. Buck wondered if he even cared anymore.

“I’ll text you later, I just… I gotta go.”

He turned away before he could see Eddie’s reaction and walked out the door.

It was the last time he went through that door for a while.

#fuck it friday #tag games #911 #911 fic #buddie #evan buck buckely #eddie diaz #911 spoilers #ellie writes

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cherryjuiceblues · 1 year

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𝐕𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐀 𝐋𝐈𝐌𝐄 | 𝟏

➯ Y/N ACCIDENTALLY SUMMONS A DEMON AND HE WON’T LEAVE HER ALONE. ✰ demon!harry no warnings. 𝑤𝑐 7k ッ vanilla lime masterlist

Y/N has never been so mortified in her entire life. She thinks this might be it for her—that life should just end here—because there is no way in hell she is ever going to step foot outside ever again.

How can she after what has happened?

Worst of all (and there are many factors), the disastrous tragedy occurred at her workplace meaning she has no other choice but to find a new job and the thought only causes more hysteria, a fresh wave of tears soaking her skin as she sits hunched in the middle of her bed—hands over her face like they will hide her from the world.

And she had been so excited to wake up this morning; whispers about the new boss floating around the office all week had Y/N utterly intrigued about what she would be like (she’s struggled not to create an idyllic picture of what life at work could become; she often tends to get too deep inside her head and create false realities, and she knows she needs to find another coping mechanism but Y/N can’t help that her imagination is larger than her self-control!). So, when her alarm had gone off, she was up immediately, not even stopping to savour the warmth of her sheets, and getting ready.

And maybe now, looking back after the day she’s had, she may have recognised the signs of misfortune ahead of her, but in the moment nothing could have distracted her.

First it's her period starting, which is okay because she caught it without making a mess and she’d top up on painkillers before she left home. The second thing is entirely her fault because she always gets especially clumsy and jittery when she is excited or nervous, so of course she is going to trip and twist her ankle—but that is also not so bad because she is already taking painkillers for her period so there is no extra harm done. Y/N feels entirely unaffected by both of these things, still buzzing to get out of the door, until she goes to make breakfast and realises she has run out of her favourite cereal, which she’ll admit does put a bit of a frown on her face. (But a frown is nothing during that time of the month so she reacts considerably much better than she usually would!) So she’d had to have toast instead which was fine but undoubtedly interrupts the routine she has looked forward to since the night prior, and as it turns out it only spirals further.

The drive to work is standard, and Y/N has already forgotten about her minor inconveniences, refusing to wince as she gets out of the car—too stubborn to acknowledge that the painkillers have not effectively worked at numbing the pain in her ankle. She’d proudly forgone coffee, knowing she was probably a bit too wired already—and she absolutely could not entertain the possibility of accidentally spilling it on anyone, let alone her new boss—so as she enters the office as casually as possible on her throbbing ankle, she is relieved to see her favourite co-worker, Imogen, waiting for her by the elevator holding two cups of what Y/N hopes isn’t what she’d thought to avoid. Imogen sports a grin as soon as she spots her, enthusing Y/N to hurry up with a nod of her head.

“I got you a tea. Thought you might be a bit too on-edge for loads of caffeine,” She says, as soon as Y/N is near.

Smiling, Y/N hums, cradling the mug in her hands, “Thank you, Gen.” She sips, feeling the hot liquid trail down her throat, her brain given a moment to breathe.

Y/N thinks that was the last her brain (or lungs) has breathed in the last 5 hours. She’s a blubbering mess and her hormones have really kicked in now, along with the swelling of her ankle which makes moving so hard, and she’s feeling so sorry for herself she doesn’t know what to do. Everything is on replay in her head, and it gets worse every time, new consequences shouting at Y/N from the depths of her mind.

What if Imogen doesn’t want to be seen with you anymore because you’ve ruined her reputation by association? What if someone filmed the whole thing and it goes viral on Twitter? Then you won’t be employed ever again. What if your family refuses to talk to you, what if your boss sues you, what if you get kicked out of your apartment, what if—

“What’s happened to you then?”

Y/N shrieks, head whipping up so fast she’s lucky she doesn’t add a pulled neck muscle to her list of injuries. Across from her bed, sitting comfortably in her armchair that she likes to read in, is a man. She thinks she’s hallucinating for a moment because there is little explanation as to how or why there would be a man in her bedroom. And she’s still crying, but now she’s terrified, so words don’t exactly come easily.

“Who—What—How did you get in here?” She tries to shuffle back against her headboard, too shocked to be careful with her ankle and her arms buckle as the pain shoots up her foot, causing her eyes to well up again and she feels so useless at this moment. “Please get out of my house.” The words come out wet, fresh tears rolling down her face, the severity of the situation sinking in. She, hopelessly slowly, moves as far away from him as possible, keeping her legs deadly still until her back reaches the pillows and she pulls one onto her lap—maybe she can throw it at him.

The man leans forward, expression completely blank. He looks bored, if anything, as if she has inconvenienced him. “You’re the one that brought me here, sad thing. Why are you in such a tizzy, hm?” He looks her over, taking in the mess of hair on her head, her red, tearful eyes, wet cheeks and swollen mouth, and simply leans back in the chair again.

Y/N can’t even begin to process what he’s saying and knows she needs to get out, that this man can only be here for bad, and that she’ll have to pretend there is nothing wrong with her ankle. So she makes the effort—at least she’ll know she tried to help herself—as she swings her legs over the side of the bed, pillow in hand, ignoring the screaming pain. She’ll have to hop.

The wall welcomes her hand as she pitifully makes her way to the door, taking a glance behind her, checking to see the man sitting in her chair. But he’s gone and she gasps as she looks forward and he’s stood in the doorway, looking down at her. Y/N goes to throw the pillow at him (knowing it's embarrassingly futile and if she were watching herself in a movie would rightly feel she deserved to be killed; the humour of the situation fails to comfort her) but it doesn’t even leave her hands before he plucks it away and drops it on the floor.

“Why don’t you stop panicking and tell me why you summoned me?” He steps forward forcing Y/N to retreat clumsily, tripping backwards and landing against the side of her bed, face crumpling in pain as her ankle gets folded underneath her bum. He stares down, face hinting at an amused smirk as if her distress is entertaining. Maybe she really is hallucinating. This can’t be real, people can’t be summoned.

“I’m almost inclined to believe you actually don’t know what’s going on. I’ve truly never seen anyone so scared of a demon they’ve willingly invited in,” the man’s voice is slow and deep, nearly enough so to make sense but Y/N has a headache now along with everything else and she really just wants to go to sleep.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Y/N whimpers, pulling herself onto her bed. Her head is spinning but she feels mellow suddenly, eyelids drooping, inhaling a delicate scent of vanilla and lime. In the chaos, she realises she’s stopped crying, and even the attempt to recall the day’s events are blocked as if something is stopping her from thinking.

“I guess we’ll try again once you’ve slept,” she hears the man sigh and sit down, presumably in the chair she first saw him in. But her eyes are closed now and she feels herself drifting away into a blissful slumber.

When Y/N wakes up she thinks she’s just had the weirdest dream in the history of dreams. The sun is streaming through her open curtains, a gentle breeze from the window, and she can’t remember how long she’s been asleep but she must’ve gone through the whole night. She’s so disorientated that she nearly forgets that the work incident wasn’t contained in her sleep fantasy, but before she can start the loop inside her head again, her organs chirp up and Y/N hobbles to the bathroom.

Sitting on the toilet, she’s able to assess the damage to her ankle; the skin is bruising, a purple and green hue creeping over the swelling. Y/N is pretty sure it’s Friday, but she’s also pretty sure that she’s assumed to be sick after rushing out of the office building and into her car quicker than she has ever moved in her life. Maybe she’ll message Imogen and ask her to cover for her.

The only thing Y/N wants is to crawl back into bed and hug her pillow and maybe cry some more, so she finishes up in the bathroom, finds some painkillers in the cabinet and limps back to the comfort of her sheets. She climbs under and sits against her pillows, taking the pills with the two-day-old glass of water on her bedside table.

“Oh good, you’re awake.” The man from her dream appears in the doorway, sipping from her favourite mug.

Y/N jolts, spilling water all over her covers, and memories she assumed were a part of her dream materialise in front of her, along with a familiar vanilla and lime scent. And she’s too tired and fed up to move, a tiny part of her feeling as though he would’ve tried something by now if he was going to at all.

But she’s frowning at him. “That’s my favourite mug! I’d rather you didn’t use that.” Her voice is congested and croaky, but her annoyed tone isn’t missed—priorities clearly well in check.

The man tilts his head slightly as if caught off guard. “But I’m not finished.” He gestures with his hand that’s holding the mug. He seems mellow and suddenly so does Y/N and it would be so easy for her to lie down and close her eyes.

“How did you get into my house? Did you chloroform me last night?” She asks, head suddenly fuzzy. “Are you doing it right now?” Words coming out in mumbles.

“You summoned me. No. And no.” He doesn’t move from the doorway, only adjusting to lean against the frame.

“Stop saying that! I didn’t summon you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do I feel so foggy?” She clumsily puts the glass down, banging it about a couple of times before letting go.

“I’m trying to keep you calm so I can do my job properly, last night was a little intense, hm?”

“What do you mean? How did you get here?” Y/N is starting to get frustrated with the number of times she’s asked him that question. “Can you stop talking in riddles?”

“Sure, I’ll humour you,” he sighs. “Are you going to freak out if I sit down?” He nods to the chair he’d appeared in last night. She shakes her head faintly, eyes following him as he takes a seat. “I’m a demon. I spend my life catering to people. When somebody wants something done, very often a lazy human, they can summon a demon to do it for them. But not without some sort of price. So, you’ve clearly gone through something, oh so traumatic,” he pouts mockingly, “and you summoned me to make things better. Is that right, sad, little thing?”

Y/N is inclined to laugh right in his face, but the word demon is hanging over her head like a big, red DANGER sign and she second-guesses herself. So she shakes her head again. “No,” she sniffles, utterly overwhelmed. “Stop messing with my head.”

He stretches out in the chair, like a big cat who has just woken from a nap. “Are you gonna get all teary again if I do? I really can’t be bothered to wait for you to sleep it off a second time.”

She’s shaking her head vigorously this time, and it’s almost like she can see the sweet smell of vanilla and lime dancing away until all the tendrils have been sucked out the window. And the panic rises immediately, her chest constricting as she tries to breathe in and it gets stuck. The man rolls his eyes, drinking the rest of the cup’s contents before placing it on the floor.

“I’ve put your favourite mug down,” he pulls a mocking, tight-lipped smile, as if that would quell the anxiety of having him in her bedroom. “Now tell me why were you crying yesterday. Quickly.”

“I don’t want your help,” she says quietly, closing her eyes to block as much of him out as possible—trying to breathe. “You can go, I don’t need your help.”

“Ah, well, that’s not how it works, is it? I told you how it works. There’s a price. I can’t leave until I fulfil my job and you pay me.” He starts picking at his nails which Y/N notices are painted a pretty, blush colour. She looks at her own, a nude that she only recently put on, already chipping.

“I don’t care, I want you to go, please,” tears are brimming her eyes and she finds herself looking away so he doesn’t ridicule her for crying again. “I unsummon you, or whatever.”

“You said you weren’t going to cry,” she looks up, causing a drop to spill over and she wipes it away quickly. “If you don’t tell me what you were weeping over, I will force you to. And I don’t think you’ll enjoy that very much.”

Y/N doesn’t want to know how he would do that, so she gives in. “I just had a bad day,” she starts. She thinks once she says it all out loud it’ll get better… maybe. The man looks at her, expectantly. “It was the first day we were all meeting our new boss and I was so excited to get to work, but my period had started which meant my emotions were haywire, and I twisted my ankle, and my favourite cereal was all gone, and—”

“—Your favourite cereal was all gone? Really? That’s important to why you were crying?” He scoffs, “Humans are so odd.”

“Do you want me to tell you or not?” Y/N frowns at him, placing her arms around herself in a hug. He gives a dismissive look. “So I was restless, and my ankle hurt, and I hadn’t even got to work yet. And then I arrived and I met Gen, and she’d brought me a tea,” she breathes in, “and then we get in the elevator, and I’m trying to stay calm—I thought I was doing a pretty good job too, but then we get to our floor and we walk to our desks and—” She inhales shakily, bottom lip wobbling.

“Come on, you’re getting somewhere.” He somewhat encourages, mouth curled upwards derisively but eyes gentle.

“Well, I realise I’ve left my phone in my car and I’m rushing because the boss was arriving soon and I decided to run the stairs, as the lift takes too long and I hate standing still when I’m nervous.” Her words are nearly indecipherable. “So I start to go down the stairs and I’m thinking really loudly so I can’t hear anyone else coming up, plus my ankle is screaming. And—and I run straight into the boss and she falls down the stairs—” Y/N breaks off in a snivel, “I could’ve killed her! She could’ve broken her neck or something, and I didn’t know what to do, so I just ran to my car and I left! Who does that? I’m so embarrassed, and upset, and I feel so guilty that I just left her there because I freaked out and—”

“That’s it?” The man stands up, clear disbelief written all over his face.

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Some of Y/N’s upset is displaced by the imminent shock she feels as he stands up, and she watches as his eyes fill with a blackness as dark as ink, swirling in smoky tendrils, until the whites and pupils are completely cloaked. “You’re just a spoiled brat, aren’t you?” He tuts. “Sitting there, crying your eyes out because you tripped a woman up.

“You know people summon me to kill? To enact revenge on the most evil of injustices. And I’m here because you pushed a woman down the stairs.” He scoffs, eyes still void of colour as he walks to the window, opening it as much as possible, and leaning his palms against the frame.

“Are you going to kill me?” Y/N asks, unsurprised that a man who claims to be a demon is a murderer but aware once again that he is in her bedroom.

“For fuck’s sake, you don’t listen, do you? No, I’m not going to kill you,” he looks over his shoulder, glancing at her dishevelled state. “I very easily could though,” he steps to the foot of her bed. “You’re a delicate, little thing. And you’ve hurt yourself so you can’t run away. I could end it all so quickly you wouldn’t even feel it, or I could drag it out forever. I could suspend you in a permanent state of dying.” His words die out, ending in a whisper, hand reaching for her leg over the covers and Y/N jerks it back—watching a grin appear.

Y/N doesn’t know how to look at him, scared that if she stares into his eyes for too long her heart will slowly stop beating or that she’ll wither like a plant. Either way, it’s like she can’t blink. It’s as if she can feel her pupils dilating, brain struggling to catch up with what she’s seeing in front of her. The man only grins wider, trailing his finger across the patterns on her sheets.

“I suppose I better help you out then, hm? And then you can pledge your soul to me and all of this will be over.”

Y/N flinches, “Pledge my what?”

“Well, what else would you expect from a demon?” He’s still smiling but his eyes are clearing and through the ink, his green irises are revealed once again.

“I don’t know… Money? Why would anyone pledge their soul to a—” She catches herself and looks at him, cautiously. He’s staring at her, mouth upturned.

“A what? Careful, now.” He walks around to the side of her bed, peering down at her whilst fiddling with the glass on her bedside table. She’s never felt so naked in her entire life as she does right now.

“You know,” she blinks meekly, “you said you kill people—”

“—Bad people.” He interjects.

“Okay, well that still makes you a murderer… so pledging my soul to you, or whatever, just sounds like a really bad idea. I don’t get how this helps me at all—you can’t kill my boss.”

Sighing, he says, “I’m really losing my patience with you now. Get up,” authority in his voice as he grabs her upper arm and tugs, causing her legs to tangle with the sheets as she is torn from her position. Y/N yelps and instinctively shoots her other arm out for support, inadvertently punching him in the stomach. He lets out a disgruntled noise and pulls the hand off of his body immediately, dragging her with more force so she can stand upright.

“Ow!” Y/N cries, “I can’t stand on it.” Her face is crumpled, looking towards the floor and she feels his grip loosen as he recognises she’s hurt.

He sighs again and gets down on one knee, pulling her socked foot onto his thigh—albeit very gently. She wobbles and grips his shoulders.

The man rolls his eyes, “Should call you Bambi, can’t balance for the life of you.” He goads.

“W-what are you doing?”

He doesn’t reply, nudging her sock to reveal the swollen skin of her ankle and brushing his fingertips over it. Y/N feels an electric warmth spread up her leg and releases a breath as the pain slowly ebbs away.

“It’s not mended, but you won’t feel it anymore,” he says, standing up. Her eyes trail up to meet his, mouth agape as she puts her weight on her foot and registers the lack of strain.

“How did you do that?” She whispers.

He grins and wiggles his fingers, “Magic,” before he takes a hold of her elbow and they vanish.

They surface, and the building in which Y/N works looms over her ominously—the inevitable walk of shame taunting her and she can feel her brain start to whir; fight or flight program ready to boot up. Y/N spins, hoping to make a quick exit and return to her wallowing in self-pity, but there’s a hand on her elbow so she doesn’t get far at all.

“How did we get here?” She tries to shrug him off, “Let go.”

The man drops her elbow, “No please, Bambi?” He feigns hurt and tuts disapprovingly.

Y/N grumbles and rolls her eyes, “If you’re going to call me that, then I think it’s only fair that I get to call you something.”

“Call me Harry,” he says.

“That’s not what I meant!” Y/N grits, fighting the urge to stomp like a child.

“You didn’t specify.” Harry flashes a smug grin. She thinks the name is rather ordinary for a demon, but it’s pretty—like him, she supposes. He’s tall, and has tattoos, and paints his nails, and has soft-looking hair. Y/N catches herself and immediately feels silly.

Harry is watching her and suddenly the idea of going to work doesn’t feel so bad. “What are we doing here?” She sighs.

“We’re here to get rid of your problem. G’na glamour the building, make everyone forget, yeah? Take my arm.” He holds his forearm out and Y/N takes it unconvincingly.

“What do you mean, glamour? Is this dangerous? What if someone sees us?” She babbles, watching as Harry turns his full attention to the building. Y/N is too frazzled to notice the words he utters under his breath or that his eyes are cloaked in darkness once again, only vaguely picking up on the scent she’s quickly come to associate with the demon standing next to her. She can’t believe she’s actually referring to him as a demon; she wants to believe it’s all one, big, mean joke but he literally fucking teleported them here. Gosh—Y/N’s headache is debilitating at this point.

“As long as you keep holding on, no one will see us,” Harry assures, muttering a few more words before alerting Y/N, “I’m all done.”

“Done? But nothing happened.”

“Promise you, something happened,” he says. “Now everyone thinks you went home sick yesterday and are coming in late today. And the boss fell down the stairs of her own accord so she’ll be in bed for a couple of days, no lasting damage.”

“What about when they go home? Will they—”

Harry shakes his head vehemently, “What kind of help would that be, hm? Make them forget but only for a little bit, don’t be silly. No one will remember.”

She nods to herself, shaking her hands in front of her, “Okay,” breathing in slowly, deeply, trying to psyche herself up, “okay. What now?”

He nods at the building, “You’ve got work, no?”

Y/N splutters, “But I don’t have my stuff with me! I don’t even have my car, Harry, how will I get home? And I’m still in the clothes I wore yesterday, I’m a mess.” She looks down at herself, distressed, rubbing at her face which is still puffy from all the crying. Harry sighs, thinking that this human must be doing something wrong to be struggling in life this much.

“What time do you finish?”

“Five o’clock.”

He glances at the watch on his wrist. It’s twelve. “I guess I’ll meet you here, then. Try not to push anyone else down the stairs,” he mocks, a sickeningly sweet smile on his face.

Y/N scowls and starts to hesitantly walk into the office. She chances a look behind her just to see if he’s waving her off like a proud mother—but he has gone—and the only proof he was ever there hangs in the air, before the smell disappears too.

To say Y/N is overwhelmed would be an understatement. Walking into work being an easy task was exactly what she wanted and yet she can’t help but feel guilty, like she’s got this huge illegal secret. But what could she do about it anyway? It’s not like she’s going to phone the boss and say, Oh, by the way, I actually met you yesterday but I nearly killed you by pushing you down the stairs, so I went home crying, and I accidentally summoned a demon and he made you forget so there’s no harm done!

She would be fired on the spot. Or sent to an asylum.

But she can’t focus, and she thinks maybe she should be admitted to an asylum because now that she has time to think… What the fuck? Demons? Glamours? This was stuff from the TV, not real life. And yet Y/N had inadvertently brought it right to her doorstep, just by crying! It’s so silly but the anxiety is rising and Y/N’s palms are starting to sweat, and she hasn’t done a single thing since sitting at her desk (over half an hour ago) and, quite frankly, it’s pissing her off.

Imogen had brought her a tea which Y/N appreciates but only makes her more uneasy with the memory of yesterday. She can feel her eyes on her from across the office, concern clearly plastered over her usually bright face. Y/N meets her gaze and tries to give a reassuring smile that probably comes across as more of a grimace because Imogen is wheeling her way over on her office chair immediately.

“You okay, Y/N?” She asks, hesitantly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine!” Y/N says a little too enthusiastically. “I’m just a little out of it today, sorry,” she fiddles with her fingers. Imogen looks her over a couple of times.

“I think you’re still sick, maybe you should go home,” Imogen smiles softly, eyes filled with worry.

“Oh no, really, I’m fine, Gen!” Maybe if she says it enough, it’ll become the truth. But as she stares back at Imogen she’s only really focused on the fact that her eyes aren’t clouding with dark shadows.

“You’ve made your lip bleed,” she points out, and Y/N notices the tang of blood on her tongue. She’s eating away at herself, literally—she licks it away quickly, embarrassed at her inability to keep composed.

Imogen stands, “Come on, let’s go to the bathroom—take a break, yeah?”

Y/N can only nod, even though she has just arrived at work, wiping her palms on her thighs before following Imogen to the toilets. She holds the heavy door open for Y/N as they go inside and Y/N immediately stumbles, holding in a gasp as she sees Harry leaning against the counters with his arms folded across his chest.

“Are you feeling dizzy?” Imogen asks, gently placing a hand on her back for support. Y/N barely registers the question, eyes locked with Harry as he smirks at her, clearly enjoying the bewilderment and turmoil he’s putting her through.

“Uh, a little bit, I think I need to sit down,” Y/N breathes, eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and Imogen, checking that Imogen definitely couldn’t see him.

“Come on,” she leads her to a stall, pushing the door open and closing the toilet seat cover for Y/N to sit on.

“Thank you, Gen, I—I think I just need a minute and then I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not sure, babe, you look rough.” She touches her forehead, “You’re burning up, Y/N, will you be safe to drive home?”

Y/N is still staring at Harry, “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” she hates that he will have to take her home but she doesn’t want to explain to Imogen where her car is, “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll go and get you some nice, cold water,” she rubs Y/N’s knee comfortingly before leaving the bathroom. And Y/N is standing up instantly, albeit very wobbly.

“Harry!” She’s cross. “Why are you here?” He unfolds his arms and walks towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders and forcing her to sit back down. “Stop it! I didn’t even know demons existed twenty-four hours ago and now you’re fucking everywhere.”

“I know, Bambi. I’ll take you home,” he’s gentle, and it angers Y/N more but she’s exhausted—and when did she get so lightheaded? But she’s still aware enough to be agitated when she realises he called her Bambi despite Imogen saying her name in front of him.

“I don’t want you to,” she complains.

“I know.” He repeats.

Imogen comes back in suddenly and Y/N doesn’t think anything of it, assuming Harry is still invisible but she makes a confused noise, “Who are you?”

Harry only steps up to her and looks directly into her eyes, taking the bottle of water from her hand. “You don’t remember this. You escorted Y/N to her car because she wasn’t feeling well, and now you’re freshening up in the bathroom.”

And before Y/N can even try to shout at Harry for invading her friend’s head, he’s taking her wrist and they’re dissipating.

They reappear in her bedroom and Y/N stumbles her way into the bathroom, falling on her knees and resting her forehead on the toilet seat—she doesn’t think she’ll actually be sick but she needs to feel grounded. Trying to focus on her breathing and the cool feel of the plastic on her skin, Y/N closes her eyes and supposes she could fall asleep but then Harry (fucking Harry) steps around her and turns the shower on.

“Come on, Y/N, you’ll feel better,” he tries, his voice still disgustingly soft.

Y/N closes her eyes tighter, “I don’t need you here, Harry, go away.”

“Don’t be ungrateful,” he spits, immediately void of tenderness. “I didn’t have to bring you home, I could’ve left you stranded at work.”

“I’m only in this mess because of you! You’re the reason I didn’t have my car,” Y/N bites back.

Harry can’t be bothered to get into it now, “Get in the shower. I won’t tell you again.” He orders, before leaving the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. Y/N rolls her eyes but she stands up. Not because he told her to, but because she was going to shower anyway—she tells herself. There’s little energy left in her body and the thought of a bath is much nicer but she’d probably just fall asleep in it. So she takes off her nearly two-day-old clothing and lets out a little whine of relief before stepping under the hot stream and pulling across the shower curtain.

When she leaves the shower after fifteen—blissfully tranquil—minutes, she’s surprised to see one of her oversized sleep shirts and a towel on top of the toilet seat cover. Y/N grumbles under her breath at the nice gesture and scoffs at the lack of underwear he brought in with the shirt. “Pervert,” she mutters.

“I heard that,” Harry says from her bedroom, and she thinks she’d rather like to punch him. Quickly, she dries off and throws the shirt on before sitting on the toilet. It pools over her thighs. “You would’ve accused me of the same thing if I had gone through your drawers,” his voice is ice cold.

“I need underwear, I’m on my period, you dick,” Y/N says, patience worn thin. She hears him bang her drawers shut before the bathroom door is swung open and he throws the underwear in her general direction, eyes averted, “Oh please, I’m decent,” her voice is acidic and Harry’s anger is simmering as he looks at her, expression eerily unaffected.

“I preferred you when you were crying,” he hisses, before slamming the door closed.

Y/N is about ready to scream bloody murder and push Harry out of her window as she finishes up in the bathroom, grumbling away to herself. She’s grateful her tears have been replaced with rage, much less forlorn, she thinks. And she knows exactly what she’s going to say to him, and he’ll leave whether he likes it or not.

“Okay Harry, it’s been fun—” Y/N starts as she enters her bedroom, but she stops when she sees Harry lying on her bed, one arm behind his head with the other draped over his stomach. “Get up,” she grits, spotting the pillow Harry had first taken from her, lying by the door, before picking it up.

“What are you going to do with that?” He smirks, closing his eyes, looking ever so comfortable on her bed. Y/N climbs up next to him and brings the pillow down with as much force as she can muster. Harry barely releases a breath but his eyes shoot open. She hits him again, “Get out—” and again, “—of my—” and again, “—house! Get out!”

“You do that one more time…” Harry seethes, never moving a muscle. Y/N is rattled by just how rattled she feels by this man; sure that this anger is unmatched by anything she’s ever experienced, and her arms move before her brain does, whacking him again.

She barely sees him move but suddenly she’s on her back with her arms pinned above her head, nearly off the end of the bed. Harry is hovering over her, eyes pitch black, and Y/N’s own widen briefly in shock. She almost feels excitement bubble up in eliciting this reaction out of him, in winning their argument. Or so she thinks.

Y/N tries to kick at him, knee hitting his abdomen but he’s quick to sit on her thighs and she’s squirming desperately, an angry whine escaping her lips.

“Stop.” His voice is deep, authoritative. “Stop before I make you,” and Y/N’s breath catches as she stares, unblinking, up into his eyes. He leans down and grazes his lips over the shell of her ear. “This isn’t a game. Angering a demon on purpose is a very silly thing to do, Y/N.” She swallows, aware of the weight of his body on her legs and his mouth so close to her skin. “Assuming I won’t kill you just because I said I wouldn’t,” he whispers, the air hot against her neck. A noise gets caught in her throat.

She shakes her head, “Please don’t, I’m sorry.”

“Mmm, I thought so. You g’na stop being so petulant?”

Y/N nods, “Yes,” she exhales.

“Good. You gonna promise me your soul?”

Her head is so fuzzy she nearly agrees again but then her eyes shoot open, “No!” And she’s shaking her head violently. But he’s quick to grab her jaw. He forces her head to stop moving and he’s glaring at her so intensely that she thinks he might set her on fire.

“Calm down,” he removes his weight from her legs and sits to the side of her, bringing her arms down to rest on either side of her head. “You know, you didn’t even thank me for helping you. S’not very nice. And if you won’t pledge your soul to me then I suppose I’ll just have to take the glamour away.”

“Harry, No!” She gasps, all the anger she’d had completely dissipating and she wants so badly to be furious, but she can only panic. “Please don’t do that.”

“You’ll have to promise me something then.” She nods, “Never antagonise a demon like that ever again.”

Y/N sighs, relieved, “Like I’ll run into another one any time soon. I had managed to avoid them for over two decades.”

“We’re around more than you realise. I’m serious, Y/N. Promise me, or I’ll make everyone remember. It really doesn’t affect me.”

“I promise,” she huffs.

He slowly releases his grip from her wrists, seemingly satisfied. “Come on—into bed,” Harry pries her sheets back.

“But it’s like two p.m.”

“Yeah, and you’ve had a tough few days believing in demons and whatnot, so it’s time for bed.”

She finds herself doing what he says, sitting up and climbing under her sheets, “I can’t believe I’m actually listening to you.”

“I can.” He watches to make sure she lies down properly before making his way towards the door. “I’ll know if you break your promise,” he says, pausing in the doorway, broad back facing her. He’s gone before Y/N can ask how, but a deep-rooted sense of dread settles in her stomach as if she has made a deal with the devil. And she supposes that she very well might have done.

Y/N’s refusal to pledge her soul really doesn't affect Harry in the slightest; demons could survive on whatever they chose to. Harry has always chosen to reap souls after their pledgers have passed away, usually from natural causes. Or he’ll take them from whichever prick he deems evil enough to snuff out of existence. But if he decides tomorrow that he wants to suck every last drop of blood from his victims to sustain himself instead, then his body would cope just fine. Not that Harry would ever enjoy that. He could choose not to eat or drink at all if he really wanted to, but he’d tried that once when he’d had to take care of his mother as a child, and it was the most miserable week ever. He’d been far too wired to think about stopping for himself, but once she started feeling better he realised how much he’d missed food. Harry found, after years of experimenting, that culling souls is the most effective way of squashing the demon guilt he unnaturally feels, whilst also maintaining his demonic capacity.

He decides to walk, needing the fresh air. He admittedly feels a little silly for his behaviour, pinning Y/N down like that and causing her heart to nearly beat out of her chest. He just wasn’t expecting an outburst like that from her; she’d been so distraught when they’d first met—a weepy thing. And the next thing he knows, she's whacking him about with a pillow—not menacing in the slightest but he’ll admit it did take him by surprise. But she needed to be scared of him, scared of his species; it's easy to trust them in their human vessels but they are in no way similar other than visually. That’s how he justifies behaving the way he did. And maybe that’s why he feels the need to get outside, to let the cold breeze shock him. To really register what the fuck is going on.

Harry hasn’t given himself the time to question how he was summoned by someone who doesn’t know how to do it, and he’s tried hard to believe that she was lying but how could she be? How could she be when he’d appeared in that chair and she was sobbing with her head in her hands; no candles, no books, no incantations, nothing? It feels like the start of something Harry has no interest in being involved with, which is why looking back, he’s very relieved that the reason for her crying was so ridiculously simple, despite his reaction suggesting otherwise. He had felt inconvenienced and undervalued when she’d told him her problem; another job he was extremely overqualified to deal with, but now he thinks maybe it's a blessing that it wasn’t something worse. If she’d wanted someone dead then he might’ve been more concerned about her inadvertent summoning, but perhaps this is a one-off and he’ll never hear from her again.

He really hopes that will be the case.

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