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thewomanwhoboughttheworld · 9 months

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I reckon it is widely accepted that Crowley and Freddie Mercury were, at the very least, besties, sometimes lovers, sometimes had a fling or dated. But I have feelings and headcanons nobody asked for that I have to share.

They met while Freddie was still in college. Freddie saw Crowley, drew a quick sketch of him and got up and gave it to Crowley. "I promise I will draw you a better one, dear." He never did, but Crowley still keeps the drawing and miracled it to always look like just made.

Crowley never really liked Mary Austin. He didn't like her when she was Freddie's girlfriend and always found a way to inconvenience her. He still doesn't like her, especially after she put Freddie's belongings up for auction. He liked Jim Hutton, however.

Freddie kissed Crowley first. It was after a rehearsal of one of Freddie's early bands, Crowley was giving him his feedback. Freddie just leaned in and kissed him. He avoided the demon for the following two weeks as he was confused (he still hadn't realised he liked boys) and felt embarrassed.

Even though they were both adamant that there were no feelings involved, they both deeply cared for each other. Neither would admit it, saying they were only friends who (more than) occasionally hooked up, but they both knew there was more. However, Freddie fell a bit harder even though he knew Crowley wasn't in love with him. It did hurt a bit, but he was eventually fine with it.

Freddie actually knew about Crowley and Aziraphale being a demon and an angel. Crowley told him one night while they were both drunk and then Freddie remembered and asked him. Crowley tried to deny it, but Freddie insisted so much that in the end, he decided to tell him everything as he knew Freddie wouldn't tell anybody. And he never did, he treated this like his own secret.

The first time Freddie saw Crowley's eyes, Crowley thought he would be scared. But Freddie just said: "I know they're snake eyes, but they remind me of my cats. And what a lovely colour, darling. Yellow's my favourite, you know?".

Crowley ranted A LOT about Aziraphale to Freddie. He was always going on about how much he hated his being a goody-two-shoes, how infuriating his constant reminding him that he was actually a good person and how the fuck can 6000 years be too fast? Freddie just smiled because he knew. He could see how much Crowley loved that angel. It broke his own heart, because he knew he could never be loved that much, but never said a word.

Freddie did write a lot of songs about Crowley and Aziraphale. Obviously Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy, but also Crazy Little Thing Called Love, Somebody to Love and many more. Spread Your Wings is specifically about Crowley and he knew. But what Freddie would never tell anyone, a secret that he brought to the tomb with him, is that he wrote Love of My Life and You Take my Breath Away for him. (told you that Freddie was in love, my poor baby suffered too much in his life).

Freddie taught Crowley how to play the piano.

Crowley auctioned for some of Freddie's belongings. He got some kimonos, some handwritten sheets and his piano. He couldn't let anyone else have it.

Crowley never really left Freddie's side. He was always that mysterious, dark and handsome man showing up especially when Freddie needed someone. People eventually accepted it as part of Freddie's charm as he was always so secretive about his personal life.

Freddie let himself be vulnerable only around Crowley. Just as Crowley took off his glasses with him, Freddie allowed himself to cry only those times in which they were alone. He cried in Crowley's arms so much when his illness was worsening, when he was scared of how much he would have suffered. One night it got so bad that Freddie was basically begging Crowley to end his suffering and Crowley had to perform a miracle so that he could sleep. Neither brought it up ever again.

When Freddie died, Crowley was there with him. He gave Freddie just enough life to allow him to say some words. "You promised me you wouldn't come," Freddie told him. "I'm a demon, I lied" replied Crowley with a broken voice. He then sat on the bed and stayed with him until the very last moment. Aziraphale was there too. He followed Crowley without telling him because he felt he needed him. Aziraphale took away Freddie's suffering so that he could go without pain.

That same night, Aziraphale tried to persuade Crowley to stay at his library because he thought Crowley needed a friend. Crowley refused, hopped on his Bentley and drove away. He parked in front of his apartment building and found a used packet of cigarettes and an old pair of sunglasses that belonged to Freddie in his car. As the radio passed Love of my life, he couldn't hold it anymore and burst into tears. He cried hard, really hard. He felt a familiar hand on his back but didn't look and didn't ask. Aziraphale never said anything either and didn't leave until Crowley stopped crying but before he could be seen. He remembered how much it hurt and didn't want Crowley to grieve alone.

Master post: here

#I am deeply sorry for the last ones #Or maybe I'm not that sorry #I just love the idea of them together for a while #I mean Freddie and Aziraphale have some things in common #And Aziraphale would be friends with Brian May #Good omens #good omens headcanons #crowley #good omens s2 #good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #ineffable idiots #ineffable husbands #freddie mercury #crowley angst #good omens season 2 #queen #good omens spoilers

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amethystpath-writes · 1 year

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The Sky Falls

(NOT A PR0MPT)

******

“I know the world is ending, but…at least we have each other, right? Is that too cliché to say?”

Hero’s eyes almost brimmed with tears at the sentiment behind his words. The sentiment, however, was less overpowering than the sadness which was starting to rupture her heart. “Villain, I can’t do this.”

“I know it’s scary, my love, but the sky will not fall on us. If it did, you know I would protect you.” He shifted on the plaid blanket, touching Hero’s hand. His fingers were stained with paint from the mailbox at home, and Hero couldn’t help but to smile.

So kind. So kind and thoughtful, but it wasn’t true. It wasn’t Villain. “I can’t die with this lie brewing endlessly.”

“Lie? What lie?” Villain didn’t seem concerned over Hero’s words. He never was. He was too in love to have caution when it came to Hero.

“Your love isn’t real. We captured you, Villain, and Other Hero charmed you. You don’t love me. I can’t let you think your love is real when the world is about to end.”

Villain stayed quiet for some moments, and then, it seemed as though something snapped. His once plump lips tightened into a harsh line, sharper than a pair a shears.

Other Hero said it would be that easy. ‘Never even hint at the charm existing. I’m not strong enough to make my will permanent.’ Hero didn’t want it to be permanent anyway. Something about taking another person’s freedom to love who they chose didn’t sit right with her, even if Villain would be unaware of it.

“How long?” Villain asked. Hero watched his fingers curl tightly in the woven grass, and heard the stalks pop from the ground. Her chest tightened.

Maybe taking a breath would make her feel better. “Four years.” Hero swallowed.

“I reckon that’s why you said ‘no’ when I proposed?” He chuckled, and it was a laugh Hero hadn’t heard in so long. The last time she did hear it…it was when Other Hero did the charm. Villain swore it wouldn’t work, that he wasn’t capable of love- ‘…especially not for any of you.’

His voice had become soft when he experienced love. He was polite, and his nose crinkled when he smiled. For a time, Hero forgot what his frown looked like.

“There was no other way to stop you, Villain. It had to be done.”

“So what!”

Hero was frightened. For four years, his voice never raised- only became louder when he was calling Hero from the kitchen.

“You take away my free will, and now look. The sky is red, Hero. I sure as hell didn’t do that. If I wasn’t under some uncontrollable gaze, I would have stopped this shit from even happening!”

“You knew about Supervillain?”

Villain ignored her and looked to his hands, plastered in a coat of lies. That paint wouldn’t be there if it weren’t for Hero. He shook his head. “It was all I ever wanted- to not die. To- to live long enough…I was fighting my own battles, Hero. Did your team ever think of that? I knew this”- he gestured to the sky- “was happening. I was trying to stop it, dammit.”

“You said you were sick. We…I guess we thought it was a terminal illness. The charm would fix the illness, and it would stop your crazed ruthlessness. You would only experience love. We thought it was the right thing…I’m sorry.”

“Sorry,” Villain repeated with a shake of his head. “Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

“You could have asked for our help,” Hero suggested softly.

“Your help? What makes you think I would have wanted to ask for it? All you have ever done is ridicule me.” Villain finally stood from the blanket and began pacing, like the ideas in his head pushed him to his feet, too full of energy. “I tell you there’s a villain- a real villain- and you turn me into this helpless, loving thing. I didn’t need love. I needed…I didn’t need anything. I was going to stop this from happening alone.”

“What about the sickness, then? Was it a lie, Villain? Something to make us feel bad for you so we’d let you go off killing again?” Villain killed. God, he killed everything. Humans and pets. Plants and fish in the ponds. Anything capable of a heartbeat was killed. For what? As far as Hero’s team was concerned, Villain was the end of the world.

“I was sick; it just wasn’t fucking cancer. I tried to tell you. Why did no one listen to me?” He sighed. “It was a disease, Hero. I don’t know where it came from, but it infected everything, and only the infected could see where it was. It was a curse- dark and evil and twisted. I watched it spread, and no one was going to stop it.”

Villain looked to the sky and a tear spring to his eye. “It used to tell me in my sleep, however seldom that was, that it was going to take over. I decided to kill it. I would kill every infected thing and then I would end it all with myself. I was going to save the world, Hero. Now there’s no hope for it at all.”

******

Tag list: @faeruine

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dogstarblues · 1 year

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had a conversation with friends today about a different conversation regarding my autism that had me thinking i should explore my sex repulsion and really reckon with it.

like in the original conversation i was talking to my friend who agreed that tongue kissing was, to put it gently, off-putting. and i expanded that into the convo of today by musing on the fact that tongue kissing feels like two wet muscles moving against each other. like its always been something i did because a sexual partner liked it. but now that im not romo-partnered and out of a fucked up relationship im like. putting my foot down? i dont have to do that ever again.

and i was thinking abt how i get positivity posts on here abt the animal of the human body and how the grossness of sex should be celebrated and im so happy for everyone but i hate it 😭. i dislike flesh being wet with anything unless its lotion or oil. i dislike being sticky. it feels bad. i dislike being overheated and i dislike touching another person's sweat and i dont even like being touched nonsexually!!!! bad texture terrible sensation. but i spent most of my sexual period just engaging with sweat and stickiness and flesh on flesh and sensation and ignoring my own feelings. because i didnt know i was allowed to be repulsed!!!!!!!!!!!

i think ive been exploring the limits of my sex repulsion with romance novels and ive been discovering i can tolerate it and even find it nice to read when its not. how do you say. when it has little or partial penetrative elements and when its deeply emotional or earthy or just fucking funny. i like reading sex where partners can laugh about how absurd bodies are or when the narrative frames it as funny. and i dont like a lot of fanfic that has sex in it because PWP elements is still PWP. unlike romance novels (even erotic romance and erotica which sex has narrative purpose but i cannot bring myself to read that much sex). sex has a narrative and emotional purpose. im thinking through this. hang on. maybe this is why im not engaging with fanfiction rn. hang on.

in my last relationship with Romantic-Platonic-Best Friend, i began with not being touched and doing the touching on my own terms and when i did allow touch it was limited. and like. i only engaged in sex to be close to her in more ways than emotional, when i wasnt very close to her emotionally bc she kept me at arm's length. but not with sex. so im thinking just how many partners ive had who i performed sex with just to be close when i wasnt given emotional closeness. and now im like. perhaps never again!!!! because i dont know if i want to engage with a relationship again. i have Eternal Roommate Best Friend and i have Spiritual Friend and Body Friend and ND-and-Having-Fun Supportive Friends and i have Childhood Friend and i have Art Friend and so many others and its like. a relief. that i dont have to do anything for them sexually to offer emotional closeness and grace. so its like. im fulfilled. im not begging for love. im not starving? im allowed to feel like its not pleasurable. like even when my body was compelled toward sensation did i like it??? no. no i dont think i did because im good with never having an orgasm again and no matter how hard anyone made my body orgasm i just felt nothing.

like was sex ever emotionally or psychologically pleasurable? i dont think so. maybe, maybe in the future, if i ever have a quasiplatonic relationship again, if i ever have the energy for romantic love again, i could pleasure a partner and not be touched. like i would need to negotiate the partner being a pillow princess or specific places i can be touched like my head or shoulders. but. im not sure. ill emotionally be in a place to derive emotional pleasure from giving sexual pleasure for. a long time. and tbh i dont want to be.

so im trying to detangle how my relationship with sex evolved from lack of emotional nutrience. much 2 think abt.

#dogstar speaking #under a readmore because its a LONG post

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turing-tested · 2 years

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sometimes it really really hits me that i was not going to survive my mom breaking her hip and that it was only via luck that i was in position to know my now partner and how i could have easily died. like it hits me sometimes i wouldn't have survived.

like i dont want to be dramatic. i know i would have maybe lived. giving it a 50/50 shot in that scenario. and yeah, that year and a half broke me and it carved me out and hollowed me and cut hunks out of who i was as a person and i will never be the same person again. i will never have those chunks of my life back and i will never live my life without it haunting me like it did.

but like. even if i survived sometimes i think about how it killed so many parts of me and how large parts of me DIDN'T survive.

that was the worst year of my life. i am missing so much of that year in so many ways and i dont think ill ever heal from it. not completely.

i am thankful i survived. but theres something within me that crawls and writhes and gapes and cracks when i think about how much i got taken from me that year and how so, so so close i came to dying. how much i lost.

i will never be able to explain the depths to which i lost. i will never be able to put into words what was taken from me during that year. i will never be capable of known what to do with what pain i do have, even if it is 400 pounds of it, i know that there is pain behind that and behind that and behind that. there is pain that i feel and remember and feel and do not and beyond that, there is pain that i will never even hope to understand.

i guess also i just. i dont know. i cant put it into words what i feel.

unimaginable loss. at the year, myself, at what i could have lost.

and with it, comes the unimaginable loss when i think about what i was given. because being loved and cared for by so many people and by my friends and my partner in a way that saved my life, like.

there's a grief in being loved when you have not been before. there's a grief about being given and supported and cared for when you never had that previously.

about what i went 20 years without. about what years 1-10 year old and 11-21 year old me went without. about what every single age of me felt like when he cried when he felt what he was living without, unable to put a finger to the pain he was feeling that made him curl up and ache so bad he could only describe it as agony.

absence takes its toll on you. a new lack of absence in a lot of ways is something harder to deal with.

no one ever talks about how it feels being given food when you are born starving. no one talks about how your body cannot digest it so easily. no one talks about what it feels like to finally feel and try to reckon with what you were living without.

#abuse mention #suicide mention #ok to give your thoughts or support on

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supercorpkid · 3 years

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Get the door, it’s depression.

Supercorp, Kara Danvers x Daughter!Reader, Lena Luthor x Daughter!Reader, Alex Danvers x Niece!Reader.

Word Count: 2850.

Warning: Yep, it’s depression. May cause some triggers, please do not read this if it could cause you any discomfort or pain.

You hear the knock on your door. Kara’s wake up call. You open your eyes, only for them to be filled with tears immediately. You can’t. Can’t get up from bed, can’t go to school, can’t face the world right now.

The knock comes with a weird tug in the stomach. You feel like throwing up. Your heart is racing, your palms are sweating, yet your mouth is completely dry.

Not another panic attack, not another panic attack.

You shut your eyes hard and pray to Rao they forget about your existence. You pray Lena doesn’t open your bedroom’s door with the same old wake up call. You can practically hear her saying, ‘come on, baby. School. Let’s go.’ The sentence makes your stomach twist and turn inside you.

“Babygirl.” You hear Lena’s voice and oh no, here it comes. You turn to the side of your bed. There’s no time to move her out of the way and run to the bathroom, so you vomit right there. “Baby!”

Lena rushes to your side, holding your hair out of the way, while you keep throwing up something that cannot be described as food. You haven’t eaten in more than 18 hours. This yellow thing coming out of you, is not food.

“KARA! Help, please!” Lena yells, stroking your back lightly, trying to calm you down.

“What’s wrong? What’s-?” Kara's face appears in the bedroom. By the time she walks in, you’re basically done leaving everything you had on your stomach on the floor. “Oh no.” She swopes you in, in bridal style, getting you out of your vomited bedroom and into theirs. “You’re ok. Mommy is here. It’s ok, little one.” She says while laying you down in their bed.

“What are you feeling, babygirl?” Lena asks and you think about it. What are you feeling?

You’re feeling sick, but you’re not sick. You’re feeling tired, but you can’t get physically tired so it’s obviously not it. There’s nothing left in your stomach still the tug is right there.There are no words to explain what you’re feeling. There’s no illness you can blame it on.

What if they tell you to go to school? What if they tell you that you must get out of bed? You can’t get up. Your body is not responding to movement.

“Just-” You think about it. Just what? What is this? Why can’t you find the words to describe it? “Sick.” You can’t believe you’re doing this, but you fake cough. Like Kara usually fakes cough. And it’s so obvious, it’s so ridiculously over the top, that you’re sure they’re going to yell at you about it.

They don’t yell. Instead, they share a look. They have one of their telepathic conversations that you are usually not a part of. But this time you can tell what they’re thinking. They know you’re lying. Maybe the fake cough was a little too much. But they also know you don’t lie. Well, almost never, anyways. And you did throw up, and you also skipped meals, and Lena is looking at you like that. So, she knows something is up, she just doesn’t know exactly what.

“Ok.” Lena lets it out, like a sigh. “So you’re sick.” She goes to the bed, sitting next to you and investigating you further. “That means you won’t go to school.”

“Thanks.” You’re immediately relieved about it. Maybe it shows because they look at each other again, no more puzzlement in their faces.

“Do you want to stay in bed today?” Kara asks, and you agree with your head weakly. Not because you’re faking being sick. What you wanted, right now, was to vividly agree with your head because staying in bed is all you want. But weak is all you can do, for some reason. “Do you want mommy to stay with you?”

“Ummm.” No. You don’t want Kara around. You can’t even fathom the thought of her trying to cheer you up or shoving food at your face like all of this can be solved with food. “It’s ok, you should go to work. Is nothing serious.”

“Ok.” She looks disappointed at your answer. “How about if Lena stays?”

No. You also don’t want Lena around. Just the thought of having Lena pressing you to tell her what’s wrong, or that she can look at your face and see all that you’re hiding, sends shivers down your spine.

“Guys, it’s ok. It’s just some stupid cold or something like that.” You can’t get a cold, moron. How is this a cold?

“I’ll bring something for you to eat.” Kara makes her way downstairs and you look at Lena, still looking too knowing next to you.

“I’m ok. I just need to sleep a little more.” You pat her leg to comfort her. Feels weird comforting her when you know you’re the one who needs it so bad. “Go to work, mom. There’s a lot to do before L Corp launches the new device.”

Lena’s hand goes to your cheek. Usually, you would try giving her a little smile, but there’s nothing inside you that would be able to fake a believable smile right now, and you don’t have to give her more reasons to worry.

“Go.” You pat her leg again.

She gives you the longest forehead kiss you’ve ever gotten in your life. “I love you.”

“I’m not dying, you know.” You complain a little, but Lena doesn’t move. Green eyes pleading you to say the same. “I love you too.”

“Rest, baby.” Another forehead kiss. “I’ll ask Kara to check in on you later.”

“Thanks mom.”

When Lena leaves the bedroom, you let out a relieved sigh. It’s ok. They don’t know. You don’t have to explain yourself; you don’t need to find words, you don’t even know, to describe how you’re feeling. You can try and find as many words as you would like but there’s only one that will do. You’re feeling empty.

There is this crushing feeling of worthlessness and hopelessness. There is a war inside your mind, and at the same time you feel like you’re underwater. And you don’t even know how this is possible. You keep hearing ‘you should die’, you keep thinking you hate the Luthor name, you keep wondering why you had to be born with super powers. But at the same time that’s all hard to understand, because your mind feels drowned in muffled noises. You are exhausted.

You hear when Kara walks back into the room with food. You pretend you’re asleep. She knows you’re faking. You know she knows. Yet, you don’t open your eyes, nor does she call you on your lie.

You feel Kara’s big warm hand stroking your arm. You hear a worried sigh. You hear her saying she loves you. And you fall asleep.

When you wake up, it’s because you hear Kara again. You don’t know how long it has been since she left, but you hear her on the phone, and still, you don’t open your eyes.

“Still asleep, love.” She says, right outside the bedroom door. If you wanted, you could use your super hearing and listen to what Lena is saying too, but it’s too much effort and you’re exhausted. “No, she hasn't eaten anything yet. I know, Lena! I’m worried too! Ok, fine. I’ll wake her up. Call you later.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, hold your breath, and wait for it. But Kara doesn’t come in, instead you hear a whoosh of air, and she flies out. You breathe out again. Great, you can go back to sleep.

“Little one. Hey.” You feel Kara’s hand on your hair. “Wake up baby, I brought you donuts.”

“No, thanks. I just want to sleep some more.” You shuffle in bed, turning to the other side and ignoring Kara’s loud sighs.

“You’ve been sleeping for eight hours straight. You’ve skipped dinner last night, breakfast and lunch today. I’m sorry, my heart, but you have to wake up and eat something.” She tries again, even more soft than she was talking before.

“I don’t want to.”

“Please baby, just eat a little bit. There’s donuts, pizza, and your mom sent your favorite pasta from that place you like so much.” Kara’s hand is stroking your back, and it feels nice. But her voice is annoying you. And you’re oh, so, so tired. Her hands move to your face, and she strokes your cheek. “There’s so much stuff you like, sweet girl.”

“Please leave.”

“Little one…”

“Momma, just leave.”

She does, you reckon. You can’t really tell. Your mind is foggy, and you think you’re asleep again. Or maybe you’re awake. Maybe this is a dream. Maybe it’s reality. Maybe-

“Hey kiddo. Can you hear me?” You can. You wish the world would just stop talking to you, though. You wish your phone would stop ringing. You wish there wasn’t a hot yellow sun lamp on top of your body right now. There’s really no reason for it. “It’s aunt Alex. Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

“I’m tired. Let me sleep.”

“Your body functions are normal. Heartbeat, oxygen, temperature. The yellow sun light is on. You’re not supposed to be tired.” She says again, touching the pulse point on your neck.

“Leave, please.” You beg, weakly. There’s no strength, there is no will power inside you.

You pray the world would just stop. The world doesn’t.

“Listen-” The mattress dips next to you when she sits. Alex easily turns your face to her. “Open your eyes and look at me. Please.”

“Why won’t you leave?” You whine, incapable of doing what she’s asking.

“Because I’m worried, your moms are worried, your cousin is worried, and we need to figure this out.” You feel her hands cupping your face, her two thumbs getting under your eyes and pulling the skin down. Your eyes unwittingly open. “Keep them open, please.” Reluctantly, you do. “Follow my finger.” She starts moving her finger in front of your face from one side to the other. “Good. Besides feeling tired, what else do you feel?”

“Annoyed at your presence.” It’s out of your mouth before you can think about it. It’s not a lie, but also not something you would just come out and say it like that. But you have no strength to take it back.

She sighs, loudly. “Just tell me what happened, kiddo. I’m sure I can help you.”

“You can’t.” Your jaw hardens at its own accord. The thought of ‘what happened’ keeps pulling the string around your neck tighter and tighter. The pit on your stomach feels infinite. “No one can, so just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Would you be willing to talk to anyone about this?” Alex doesn’t leave. You wish you were angry about it. You wish you could just tell her to go to hell. But tears find their way into your eyes and down your cheeks without your control. You hate not feeling in control of your own body. She cleans the tears with her thumb, softly. “If you don’t want to talk to me. Maybe to one of your moms?”

“No. Please, no.”

“Jamie?” You think about it. You think about anyone you would like to talk to right now. Not a single name comes to mind.

“Can I just sleep and talk to someone tomorrow?” You beg again. All that you’ve been doing is begging and whining and praying, still not a single soul responds to it. “Please, I’m-I’m exhausted. I can’t do any more talking today.”

“Ok.” Alex agrees. “You can talk tomorrow, but you have to eat today and that is non-negotiable.”

“Ok. I’ll eat.” But you close your eyes again, and before you know it, you’re drifting back to sleep.

It’s night, it’s day. Maybe night again.

Time passes, but it doesn’t.

You twist and turn, and sleep, and sleep-

Kara doesn’t let go of you. Lena sighs and whispers. They worry, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have no strength to do anything about it.

They sigh, you feel bad. Then worse. Then you don’t feel anything at all.

They cry, you feel shitty. Instead of making them stop crying, you cry too. Then it’s like you’ve never even knew tears in your life.

It’s a full circle.

And then maybe it’s day again.

“Please, little one, wake up.” You blink your eyes at the request. Kara is holding food, and Lena is holding water in front of your face. “It’s been two days, you have to eat or Alex will use the red sun lamp to do an IV rehydration, and it’s going to be so much worse.”

“Mommy.” You whine, closing your eyes again.

“I’m sorry, baby. But you need food.” She sets the food on the side of the bed and sits you up. “Come on, you eat a little and we’ll let you go back to sleep, how about that?”

“How about I just sleep?”

“Hey. No, no.” She holds you up, before you try to lay down again. You hear Kara whispering in your ear. “Remember that you are my heart, and I need my heart to be strong. So please.”

You whine one more time, like a hurt puppy, but you still eat. Anything they put in your mouth, really, you don’t even care what it is. You eat and drink, then sleep and sleep-

“Babygirl. Hey, mom is here with you, ok?” You feel Lena’s hand on your hair, scraping your scalp so softly; you want nothing but that for the rest of your life.

“Don’t stop.” You wail. You must be begging again. It’s all you do.

“Playing with your hair?” She asks and you hum in agreement. “Ok, I won’t. Can I hold you?”

“Yes. But no talking.”

Lena gets comfortable next to you. One arm is around your ribcage, the other one on your hair, scrapping, playing, stroking it.

Your heart is empty, your stomach is empty, now your mind feels the same. It’s almost nice to feel nothing at all.

“Your phone doesn’t stop buzzing.” Lena says a while later and again your words leave your mouth before you can even process them.

“Ignore it. It’s them.”

“Who’s them?”

“The bullies.” Lena’s hand stops moving on your hair, her body stiffens close to yours. But your mind is foggy. The string around your neck tightens harder. Your stomach is an endless void. “Don’t stop, please.”

Jamie comes, she leaves unnoticed.

Maya comes, she leaves unanswered.

You haven’t left your moms’ bed in so long. It’s day, it’s night. Is it day again?

Your therapist comes.

She is in a depressive episode, he says.

Your moms yell, our baby is depressed?

No. She is having a depressive episode. Those are different things, he answers.

You want to scoff. There’s no strength.

You’re not depressed, you’re tired. The world is an infinite pit of misery. He wouldn’t say that you’re depressed if he knew what you’ve been through. Oh, wait. He does.

You’re an infinite pit of despair. You wish people would just go on with their lives, everyone but you. You wish your life would just stopped until you’re not tired anymore and can deal with things.

Every time you’re awake, you hear a voice in your ear saying, ‘You should die. Your family will be better off without you’. And you’re so beaten down, you believe it. So you close your eyes, and sleep and sleep-

“Here, my love.” Lena holds a little pill in front of your face, with a bottle of water.

“What’s that?”

“This will help. I promise.” She asks, or is she begging? You don’t take it. “Please baby, you have to take it.”

“Here, little one.” Kara has to physically open your mouth and put the pill on your tongue. Water washes over it soon after. “You’re going to be fine, my heart. We promise.”

“What was that?” You try again. Their answers weren’t satisfactory.

They look at each other. Must be telepathic talking. You lay your head down on your pillow again. You’re exhausted. So, so fucking tired.

Why the fuck is the world still spinning? Why is the world still standing?

It’s night, it’s day. Is it night again?

“Are you reading this?” You hear far away. Like a dream. Like you might be imagining, projecting, or even hallucinating.

“I-I can’t read any more of that, Lena. Look at the things they are telling her.”

“All because of my stupid last name.”

“For how long? How long did we let this happen for? We should’ve-We-My God, Lena! How did we not notice this before?”

“Too long. But that’s enough. That’s it, Kara. I mean it.”

Is this really happening? Are you dreaming? You feel so disconnected from reality. But it matters not, if it’s real or hallucination. The pull tights around your neck, heart and stomach. There is no hope, no help. Anything they do, will make things worse. But your mind is foggy. By now, you’re just a shell of a person. So instead of screaming for them to stop, you sleep and sleep and sleep-

Notes:

@lilyduranhanna prompted me this and as painful as it was to write, I hope is still enjoyable somehow?

#supergirl #kara danvers #supercorp #supercorpfamily #lena luthor #supercorp daughter #kara x lena #kara x reader #supercorp fanfic #lena x reader #reader insert

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cursestothemoon · 3 years

Note

Hi Charly! Could you do a headcannon about Fred and his virgin girlfriend having sex for the first time? But she’s feeling self conscious because he’s more experienced and she’s worried about not being as good as his past partners not me projecting or anything 🙃

as a virgin who cant drive this request really resonates with me

welcome to the fred show pew pew

ill stop.

17+ IF YOU ARE TAGGED AND DON’T WANT TO BE TAGGED IN SMUT PLEASE LET ME KNOW

warnings:NSFW, vaginal penetration, loss of virginity, fingering

ok so

first i wanna get into fred before you came around

his sex life specifically

i think fred likes to have fun

nothing wrong with that

so yeah he's been around the block

a few times

so he knows what he's doing when it comes to sex

he takes pride in how good he is honestly

but i also think his first time wasn't all that

he probably lost his virginity rather young

14 maybe 15

the girl was 16 maybe 17

and he kind of pressured himself to lose his virginity after hearing his amazingly cool older brothers talking about 'this bird i shagged...'

it was bill

and fred loves bill

idolizes bill

so in his efforts to be just like him he had to lose his virginity

which he did

but he was beyond nervous and fidgety

he's almost certain the girl felt so bad she lied and said she finished when really he was in there for two minutes TOPS

but he got better over time

also he made sure that the person he was with finished first because he's still a little embarrassed abut that first time

george is the only person who knows about his first time, he didn't want anyone else to know

ESPECIALLY bill

anyway

so by the time you guys start dating fred is very experienced in the bedroom

you are not

you are a virgin

thats ok

😌

i feel like fred would just assume your not a virgin if you didn't tell him otherwise

because 1) you are drop dead gorgeous and could get it literally any time you wanted

and 2) he just assumes everyone does it unless told otherwise

you would be talking one day and somehow your first times would come up and fred would go beet red and admit how terrible it was for him

and then you'd kinda just 🙂

because you don't have a first time story

fred would not catch on at first

he would be very confused

then you'd go pink and come out with it

"...i'm a virgin, freddie."

he was honestly surprised

but once he noticed how genuinely uncomfortable you were admitting it, like it was something bad

he'd go into protective, comforting freddie mode

would go above and beyond to tell you that it wasn't a bad thing at ALL and he wishes he would've waited

and then he goes

"now that i know, i'm going to make sure your first time is amazing, love."

then he'd kinda just pause and go red again as he thought about what he said

"i mean, assuming you'd want your first time to be with me. totally cool if not, but i reckon that would be rather odd considering we are dating... unless you are breaking up with me...wait don't break up with me."

you'd just giggle and pull him into a kiss

"i want my first time to be with you, only you."

"i am so glad we are on the same page."

ok fred would go ALL OUT to make sure your first time was amazing

unforgettable

and you ARE finishing.

it would be over summer

you're staying at the burrow for the next month

and fred has it all planned out

you had told him you were ready a few weeks ago and he told you he wanted to surprise you for your first time

so you've just been waiting

he'd set up a cute little tent in the meadows of the burrow

string up some lights in the trees

plethora of blankets and pillows in said tent

wait i forgot their tents are like huge inside

aW WAIT IT WOULD BE LIKE A WHOLE CUTE LITTLE ROOM

STOP🥺

anyway

he'd have some food

some water

many condoms

he's so excited

oK so the sun would just be setting

and fred says he has something to show you outside

he also knows with a full house no one is going to come looking for you two, but just in case george knows the plan and is there for damage control just in case

so you go out with fred and hes practically skipping and hes all giggly

and you are starting to feel his giddiness so you guys are just this giggly mess together

then he gets to the spot

the sex tent

and it's beautiful

you are blown away

and he is just so happy seeing you happy

so you guys eat a little

talk

have some fun

he will feed you food to be romantic

you will get a grape dropped down your shirt

fun times all around

and then your eyes kinda lock

and his are all crinkly from laughing

his freckles just a bit more prominent in the summer season

you are suddenly hit with this intense feeling of love

how much you are in love with him

how much he's in love with you

and you're sure you've never been more ready than you are right now

fred is feeling floaty

you are looking at him with this look in your

and it makes him feel all warm and fuzzy

he'd reach out to cup your cheek, his thumb gently running across your cheek bone

then he'd pull you closer and rest his forehead against yours

your nose would brush and he'd run the tip of his nose along your nose before placing a kiss on it 🥺

you push forward and capture his lips in a kiss

and its on.

he pulls you into his lap

you guys are in heavy a make out

his hands are on your ass

your hands are in his hair

then he pushes you closer with his hands on your butt

the feeling of his hardening cock in his trousers against your clothed clit has you shuddering because jesus christ almighty

you've never felt anything like that before

you whimper into his mouth and fred is sure he's died and gone to heaven

so he does it again

after a few more times youre moving your hips on your own accord

you'd never admit to him that you'd fantasized about this very moment

in this very position

but instead of him it was a pillow you were grinding against

anyway

you guys moved to the bed in the tent

fred pulls away and he's holding your face in his hands so gently and looking at you with so much love

"I need to know that you are completely certain that you want this. I need you to be absolutely sure, love."

"I want this. I want you."

there was no hesitation in your voice

so he'd slowly take off both your clothes making sure that at any given moment he's got more off then you to make sure you never feel uncomfortable or embarrassed

so like if you've got your shirt off, fred has his off two and is working on his pants THEN he'd move your pants

now you are in your bra and underwear

he's in his briefs

and he can't help but take you all in

your skin

your curves

each dip and line

everything about you is just so beautiful

and he's just barely touching you as he's dragging the back of his fingers down from your neck to your belly button just watching as your skin erupts in goosebumps

he's never seen anything so beautiful

i think it was in that moment that he knew, no matter what, he would always be in love with you

all of you

he looks for your approval before reaching behind you and unhooking your bra

when your bra comes off thats when you get the butterflies in your belly

and lets be honest

on the inside

fred's a mess

like he might get choked up

regardless

the tiddies are out

fred leans down and starts to place slow, loving, kisses across the skin of your chest and in the crook of your neck before trailing them down to your breasts

you let out a shaky breath as he takes your pebbled nipple into his mouth

his hand moving to tease the other one

he's sucking and licking the sensitive nub making you breathless

then he'd drag his tongue down to your belly button then just below it before sucking a hickey onto your hip

he'd KISS IT AFTERWARDS TOO 🥺

he'd look up at you silently asking if you were ok and if he could remove your panties

you nod

youre nervous and excited and just ready

so he pulls off your underwear

and suddenly you feel very naked

but you also feel more comfortable than you ever thought you would

because it's fred

and he's your best friend

and he's just so

comforting

and you'd trust him with your life

so its a positive experience

his brings his thumb to rub gently circles on your clit before running two fingers up your slit to collect your juices

you let out a breathy moan as he slides a single digit into your entrance

his head is resting on your thigh placing sweet kisses on the skin as he adds in a second finger

his other arm is hooked around the thigh that his head is resting against, with his hand falling just close enough to your cunt that he can rub slowly, tight circles on your clit

you cum pretty quickly from fred's intense, intimate fingering

and he makes sure to make a show of putting his fingers in his mouth moaning at the taste of your release

he moves up to your lips, pulling you into a kiss

and you can taste yourself on his tongue

and there is something so erotic about it

that has your pussy clenching

ok so he pulls off his boxers and you audibly gulp

he's

l a r g e

and he notices your apprehension

he doesn't want to lie and say its not going to hurt

because in all honesty it might hurt

fred presses a calming kiss to your forehead as he lines himself up with your entrance

"im going to go slow, alright. if at you want me to stop tell me, ok, bunny?"

"ok, i might be bad at this."

"never"

aND HE'D SAY IT WITH SUCH A SWEET SMILE AND THIS LOVING TONE

BECAUSE YOU COULD NEVER BE BAD AT ANYTHING EVER IN FRED'S EYES

ESPECIALLY THIS

BECAUSE HE THINKS YOU ARE LITERALLY PERFECT

AND HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH

anyway

it does hurt a bit

its uncomfortable

you do get a little teary because of the dull burn of the stretch

and fred's heart aches seeing the way your face screws up in discomfort

but after a few minutes

and a few kisses from fred

youre ready for him to start moving

he starts off slow

the pain is starting to dissipate

and it begins to feel really good

like really good

i forgot to mention it earlier but fred IS wearing a condom

back to the story

so pretty soon you guys are enjoying yourselves

fred is kissing on your neck and lips

youre tugging on his hair and letting out breathy moans and whimpers into his ear

you cum a second time before fred spills into the condom

he slowly pulls out

and the feeling of emptiness after he does so is your new least favorite feeling

you are just craving to be near him, to be impossibly close

he pulls you into his side and starts peppering kisses along your hairline

and his fingers are running up and down your back

and hes just holding you so tight

stop🥺

"i love you, bug."

"love y'too, freddie."

your slurred words made it lear to him that you were starting to fall asleep

you guys would have to wake up super early the next morning and sneak back into the house

and you'd both be super giggly and cuddly and just hanging off each other

fred wouldn't want to let you go and would pull you back into him every time you tried to leave and go into ginny's room (where you were staying)

aW then for the next few days you guys just cant keep your hands off each other

and you both are so in love

sHUT UP I LOVE FRED WEASLEY

tags:

@siriusement

@amourtentiaa

@lifeofkaze

@theorangedrummer

@erinruby003

@famdomhideout

@an2402lths

@escapingrealitybyreading

@readyg0erge

@maybesandohnos

@therealhouseelvesofhogwarts

@onlyfreds

#fred weasley imagine #fred weasley #fred weasley headcanons #fred weasley smut

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thefanficmonster · 4 years

Text

You Call It A Mess, We Call It Baking

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Swearing

Genre: Tons of fluff

Summary: A friendly argument via Discord leads to a baking session. Said baking session leads to a kitchen looking like it was the victim of a tornado. The lesson here is: don’t leave Corpse and Y/N in the kitchen together.

Requested by Anon, thank you so much for your request, hope I captured what you wanted well and I hope you enjoy reading it.

Corpse’s POV

I’ve been sitting in a Discord call with Y/N for about three years now, keeping her company as she’s editing some footage Sean sent her earlier. In the meantime, I’m reviewing the recently submitted stories by my viewers, reading some lines I find funny or downright terrifying to her.

“When I went in the kitchen to check on the cake, it was already out of the oven, a sticky note next to it on the counter that read: ‘smells nice’. My blood ran cold.“ I read the eerie sentence that is suggesting one of my most frightening scenarios - a stalker getting inside your house. I get chills just imagining what was probably going on in the sender’s head when they saw that.

“Jeez, it’s been so long since I’ve cooked something other than omelet.“ I hear Y/N reply absentmindedly, completely neglecting the fear factor of what’s going on in the story.

“Good job missing the point.” I chuckle, my eyes continuing to scan the email until my brain actually comprehends what she said, “Wait, you mean to tell me you have baked anything ever?! No offense, Y/N, but I was honestly doubting your ability to make an omelet as well. In all the years we’ve been friends I can’t remember you ever not saying ‘I hade takeout’ when I asked you what you had for dinner.”

The scoff that comes through my headphones is the most adorable thing ever. She’s one to easily take a joke and never get offended by anything, but I know how heated she can get with her sarcasm. If I’m being honest, I’m always here for it.

“There are many things you don’t know about me, Corpsy. A girl’s gotta have some aces up her sleeve.“ I can just imagine the narrowing of here eyes and the tilting of her head as she says that. She has a very specific way of expressing her thoughts. When we first met I accidentally made the comparison to one of those children’s books that have pictures, stories and small buttons for audio. That comparison has stuck with me and I look back at it very often. To fully catch her point, you don’t just listen to her. No, no, no. You focus on every change in her face and body. The way she looks away during certain parts of her speech, the way her voice plays with several different tones at once. Her posture while speaking. Just like those books - you don’t just listen to the audio, you look at the pictures and read the text.

“Well you know how much I like playing poker, why don’t you come over and throw those aces down.“ The last thing you should ever give Y/N is a challenge. She won’t only homerun it, but will never let you forget it either. When we met she was a girl with self esteem in the negatives, so seeing her brag about her achievements to me always brings me joy.

The details I’ve listed are pretty in-depth, aren’t they? That’s because I don’t want to let anything slip when it comes to her. This realization hit me early in our friendship and it was only like two years in that I finally connected the dots - this investment in her of mine was not simple nor platonic. Come to think of it, I reckon it never was.

“No way, I’m not changing out of my pajamas just to come to your house.” She laughs, once again making me picture her full body reaction to her statement.

I smirk, knowing I’m about to bring out my main weapon, “Oh come on, I’ve seen you in pajamas countless times. You can just admit you don’t wanna embarrass yourself. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

I can sense her fuming even though she’s like two miles away. “I’ll be there in 15.”

She hangs up before getting the chance to hear me lose control of the laughter I’ve been suppressing.

Man, I love this girl.

Y/N’s POV

“It’s on.“ I say as soon as the door in front of me swings open to reveal the smug smirking face of my bestfriend. The foundation of my tough, unbothered act is shaken up by the outburst of butterflies in my stomach which occurs every time I see him. I can never look at this man and not turn at least a little red in the cheeks.

It’s been long since I self-diagnosed with the malicious ‘falling for someone who would never reciprocate my feelings’ illness. I’ve been living with it for a while. What medication do I take? Dating other guys. One bad relationship after another, scolding myself that every one of them has been a desperate attempt to get him to change his gaze on me from ‘best friend’ to something more. Hell, I don’t even know how to define that ‘something more’. I once even tried to admit my feelings, but I was so vague and so incoherent that I didn’t understand myself, so how was he supposed to grasp my downright sad excuse of a confession.

“No ‘hello’, no nothing?“ He moves aside to let me in. I walk right past him with a sassy flip of my hair to mask the nervousness of being aware that his eyes were on me, “Rude.“ He murmured with an obvious smile in his tone.

He looks as cute as ever, black sweatpants and a black tee, hair messy as though he has just rolled out of bed. I can say with the upmost certainty that he’s the only one who can pull of that hairstyle.

I hide mine as I throw on the apron that’s hanging by his fridge, ready to take over his kitchen and put those aces of mine to use. I can’t help but furrow my brows when I see him enter the kitchen behind me and lean against the counter. That’s when I notice the counter is lined with all the ingredients I’ll need for the cake I had in mind.

“OK, what do we do first?“ he claps his hands together, straightening his posture as he gives me a expectant look.

It takes all my brain cells to prevent me from freezing up completely. I’m not usually like this, mind you, I’m a lot better at keeping what’s going on inside my head camouflaged. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I don’t have much time to dwell on that. If I do, he’ll pick up on it right away.

“Um, we are not gonna do anything. I will be here baking, and you will remain outside the kitchen until I’m done. If you need something, ask and I’ll bring it to you. I can’t have you sabotaging my project, impostor.” I narrow my eyes at him like he’s the most dangerous of threats. And he is, for my mental sanity.

He fakes a hurt expression, clearly fighting to the best of his ability to hide how much he’s enjoying messing with me. “We’ve known each other for five years, Y/N. Don’t you trust me?”

I lean over the counter to where we’re about two feet apart and whisper, “Not. Even. A. Little. Bit.”

He smiles, “You’re just trying to get away with making this cake by watching a YouTube tutorial. Admit it, you can’t even crack an egg properly.” His eyes are now as narrowed as mine as we stare each other down at a proximity that’s rapidly raising my body temperature and heartbeat. It’s not fair. I’m a mess around him so he automatically has the upper hand.

As expected, I give in, “You better not mess around though.”

After I force him to give me several different oaths, we start. I’m working on the batter, he’s working on the frosting. We decided to decorate it with crimson and dark purple frosting. We’re both really pick about the color shades so he’s currently struggling to get the crimson perfect.

“Let’s make it a layer cake.“ He suggests out of the blue, “Two layers, nothing crazy.“

I think it over for a moment or two before shrugging, “OK, but then you better grab a bowl and help me with the second layer. You know how to make the batter, right?”

He confirms that he does and walks out of my line of sight. I hear him open the fridge as I whisk the eggs I have cracked with the sugar.

“You want something to drink?“ He asks while rummaging through the fridge.

I decline, try to focus on the recipe that I have somehow memorized to the smallest of details. As I’m reciting the it silently to make sure I didn’t skip any steps with the batter, I feel something cold run down my back causing me to scream.

“What the fuck was that?!“ I turn around and glare at him just as the ice cube slips out from under my hoodie and falls to the floor. The fucker’s laughing whole heartedly, not giving a damn that he just gave me a mini heart attack. Mainly cause I thought it was a roach or something, and he know I hate bugs.

“You do realize how boiling red you are, right? You look like a lobster. I thought you needed something to cool you down.“

Instead of being annoyed, I do a full 180 and decide to play his game, “Yeah, I know...” I trail off, reaching my hand back towards the bowl of flour. Grabbing a a handful of the white powder I throw it at him before he can even catch on. Needless, to say, his outfit and hair aren’t so black anymore. “Ah, I knew your hair would look good with snowflakes in it, but you can never be too sure.”

“This means war, Y/N.” His smile is borderline malicious, getting me excited for what’s to come.

Him and I have always had these so called wars, but never like you’d imagine. We are silent, strategic, subtle. Neither of us knows when the other will attack until it’s too late. That’s why instead of going for a counter-attack right away, he heads to complete his mission of making the batter for the second layer.

All is quiet except the noises of the utensils clinking together every now and then. I keep a close watch on him out of the corner of my eye and I notice no sus behavior. That is until I see him take a spoonful of his batter and eat it. I whirl around at the speed of a gust of wind, eyes wide, “Do you want to fuck up your guts.” He ignores me as he takes another spoonful, bringing it close to his mouth. This time, I grab onto his arm causing the contents of the spoon to spill on my hoodie.

I roll my eyes, unbothered by the brown stain that by some miracle missed the apron and fell on my grey hoodie, “Don’t. Eat. The. Batter. Copy?“

“Paste.“ He nods, smirking with pride as he puts the spoon aside.

I sigh and return to my side of the kitchen, focusing on the next task: poring the batter into the circular baking tray which he, for some reason, has two of. He repeats the task soon after me and we put the two trays in the oven. I help him with the frosting, getting the shades close enough to what we had in mind.

After about five minutes of the crusts baking, a wonderful smell spreads throughout the kitchen. At this point, all we have to do is wait for the oven to signal that our cinnamon crust is ready to be taken out, wait for it to cool down and then frost the cake.

“It smells really good.“ He comments, turning his head to look at me.

I’m sitting atop the kitchen counter and Corpse is standing next to me. This is the only time him and I are at approximately the same height. The realization brings a thought to my mind, one that makes me feel like an evil mastermind.

“Hey, remember earlier when you said I couldn’t crack an egg properly?“ He hums affirmatively, “Well...“

The carton of eggs is within arm’s reach. I grab an egg, chip it off the side of the counter and crack it apart above his head, its contents coating his hair. “How’s that for a proper egg crack?” I ask victoriously.

He lets out a surprised sound, something between a gasp and a laugh. Shaking his head to get the yoke to fall down, he says amusedly: “I don’t know...you tell me.”

Too late for me to do anything. There’s milk all over me.

The malicious smile on his face is replicated on mine and now it’s really on. However, as we reach for the items meant to be out weapons, the oven dings.

Frosting the cake goes about as well as you expect: there’s more frosting on us than the cake itself.

“Let’s make amends, please. I’m so not looking forward to taking three showers tonight.“ I say, raising a white napkin and waving it around.

“Fair enough.“ He shrugs and we shake hands.

As I’m about to pull my hand back, he holds onto it, making me look up at him. Our eyes lock and I suddenly regain that same shakiness and vulnerability I always have around him. It never leaves me, I just manage to ignore it. The sound of my panic is muffled by the sound of my heart thumping the loudest it has ever.

Expectedly, he is the bold one who makes the first and final move. The move to end one era of us and start another. His lips touch mine and all fades. It’s just him and I. The friends who were never just friends. The cowards who suck at dealing with emotions. The fearful little kids that are afraid of rejection because we both mean so much to each other, to the point of suffering to prevent the possibility of losing one another.

We embrace who we are, finally admitting that friends is not what we are meant to remain forever.

The kiss might’ve been brief, but the meaning it carries makes it the most valuable moment of my life. One I’ll cherish forever. Something in his eyes tells me he will too. That’s all I need. That’s all we need. No words are necessary.

Suddenly, our bubble bursts as a result of his ringing phone. He lets go of one of my hands and takes his phone from the counter.

“It’s Dave”, he smiles, picking up the call and turning to get me in the camera frame. “Hey Dave, look who’s here with me.“

I wave at the camera and at the baffled face of Dave. “Hi!”

“What, in the name of God, is that mess?“ He raises both his eyebrows as his eyes scan us and the kitchen behind us.

“You call it a mess, we call it baking.“ Corpse and I look at each other and smile, blushing as red as the streak in Dave’s hair.

“Am I missing something here? Did I call at a bad time?“ He asks, still struggling to rationalize what he is seeing.

“Yeah, you actually did. I’ll call you back.“ Corpse dead-ass hangs up on him, putting his phone away before turning to me, “We have more important matters at the moment.“

He kisses me again, this time more confidently. His arms wrap around me and prep me up on the counter, insinuating that this kiss won’t be as short as the last.

#corpse husband #corpse #husband #corpsehusband #corpse husband fanficiton #corpse husband fanfic #x reader #reader #fanfiction #fanfic #corpse simp #request #requests open #romance #friends to lovers #love

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lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

HC: Physically Strong MC

Hey I love your writing. I've been strength training recently and thought of something that made me giggle. If you haven't done something similar already, could you do a headcanon for shingen, and masamune with MC who could physically lift them. Thanks.

Hello, anon! Here I come!

Premise: Buff!MC Request: Anonymous Characters: Masamune, Shingen

Light Crack (?)

Content Warnings: none

Masamune

Never in his dreams did he expect to actually... Don’t mind it? Perhaps he even found it oddly... Nice? Attractive? He did lack a word, that was certain.

At first he only joked about it. He never expect for her to actually lift him.

They did arm-wrestle sometimes and she did joke about being stronger than him at times, sometimes even going as far as to prompt him to “challenge” her to a “duel” in lifting things.

True, he couldn’t deny her strength an he never did. He still was at an advantage in regards to that, but it couldn’t be denied he was born in the past and spent a huge part of his life training.

She kinda surprised him with it - just as if it was nothing, she offered a bet and he accepted, and the next thing he knew, he was carried bridal-style.

He was a bit glad there was nobody around, and perhaps (as nobody will ever know the truth) he blushed a little tiny bit... And then exploded in laughter, having realised what had just occurred.

He wouldn’t be too opposed to repeating the endeavour, although if she ever made an error in her stance at the beginning and strained her back, he’d scold her.

I also think that if it was to happen again, they’d work out some rules as for when it was appropriate and such. Only consensual sweeping other people off of their feet!

Shingen

He did know she was strong. After all, a build of a person starts to show after a certain amount of training. He did not know she was so strong.

To say it was unexpected would be an understatement.

To say he was confused would be an understatement.

To say he didn’t expect her threats of “dragging him off to bed unless he rests enough by himself” to be more than empty words is an understatement.

To say he managed to wrap his mind around it after he hit the futon would be an overstatement.

It’s not that he was opposed to it, it’s just that... He wasn’t exactly thin or light? And even when he was gravely ill, his height alone could prove problematic (or so he thought, and later learnt to be mistaken about)? He just didn’t expect it and, given how unusual it was overall, it stunned him.

However, he was aware that it could potentially hurt her back, and although he was certain she could do it well, he did not want to tire her out... At least not too often, as he did slip at times.

Overall, he found himself feeling relieved. True, strength was not everything, not in battle and such... But knowing she could manage just fine on her own, if anything was to happen? That she wouldn’t be a complete damsel in distress and wouldn’t have to rely on him for everything, even in daily situations? It was comforting.

He started to joke she indeed was a “Goddess to be reckoned with”.

Tag list: @datenoriko, @nad-zeta, @tsubaki3192, @missjudge-me, @ikemencrossedmyth, @nuttytani, @thesirenwashere, @milas-imaginarium, @kisara-16, @yukas-clover, @alerialumina , @cheese-ception , @iamryxx, @cottonfluffballofdoom, @ozziegrl71, @silhouette-of-a-dream If you want to be tagged under my future works, let me know (any way works)! ^^ Also, if you have some preferences (for example: you’d rather not be tagged under some series, etc.), please, tell me. If you don’t want to be tagged anymore - please, do not feel bad about it, just say so :)

#masamune date #ikesen masamune #ikemen sengoku masamune #ikesen #ikemen sengoku #ikemen series #shingen takeda #ikesen shingen #ikemen sengoku shingen

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 3 years

Text

Hello Sorrow [Chapter Five] Tomorrow Never Knows [Karl Heisenberg]

Tag List: @unlikelyllamanerd, @courtenbae

Irina came to on the floor, stirring plumes of dust every time she took a heavy breath. Where was she? The factory, she was sure. But where? The room she woke up in was dim; the only source of light coming from the bay shop panel above her.

Why wasn't she dead? Heisenberg spared her for some unknown reason; Irina wasn't sure she wanted to know. Her hopes of surviving this nightmare had been taken away from her; he made sure of this.

So why? He promised to kill her. Could he not strike her down while she lay unconscious? At least then she'd never wake up, having to look that bastard in the eye again.

Irina blinked away tears. She never had any chance of escaping. There was no cheese at the end of this winding metal labyrinth.

Easing into a sitting position, she moaned in pain. Her side and arms burned immensely. A warm tightening feeling washed over her and for a moment, Irina feared that she may pass out again.

The silver lining was that the shackles had been cut at the chain; the cuff remained on her wrists, but at least her hands were free.

Irina eased out of her torn coat, groaning as metal slivers in her hands brushed against the fabric. Beneath her coat, she wore a white blouse with short sleeves; a rust-colored stain bloomed across one side, torn to ribbons where the auger made contact.

Peeling strips of cloth from her skin where the blood had dried, she examined the wound in disgust. It looked as though she had gone through a meat grinder; chunks of bloody flesh hung from her side.

She nervously laughed, despite wanting to cry. At least the green herb she picked up would not go to waste.

But where was her bag? Heisenberg must have taken it.

Irina searched for it, but she couldn't see well enough to locate it. Standing on her feet, she became unsteady. Her brain sloshed inside her head like a bowl of soup. She leaned against a table to steady herself.

This room he put her in was small; a fraction larger than a living room. A pair of spring frames sat against the far wall, but the mattresses were gone. There were some tables and shelves placed around the open space, but nothing of importance. The only thing that caught her eye was a barred window – she doubted that the door would open for her.

Irina sighed. She eased towards the window and peered out; she was in the heart of the factory. How unfortunate. At this point, she hoped for nothing.

Backing away, she sat down on the floor and waited. Her mind was too tired to think.

For what seemed like hours she sat there, listening to the low roar of the machines. She considered resting, but before she closed her eyes, the lock on the door clicked; the gears rotated against the other until the door came open.

Heisenberg sauntered in.

His eyes wandered over to Irina, taking in her heated expression and unkempt appearance. Grinning, he ignored her and grabbed a grease rag from one of the tables, cleaning his hands with it.

Once he was done, he tossed the rag onto the floor and drug over a chair, sitting on it in front of her.

“Let's have a heart-to-heart talk,” he ordered.

Irina curled up her nose but agreed with a nod. There were some questions of her own she wanted to ask.

“Why are you here? You must have known how dangerous it was coming here.”

Duke warned her, but she didn't expect there to be monsters in the factory. She also never expected Heisenberg to attempt to murder her.

“I already told you,” Irina declared. “I came for the treasure.”

Heisenberg snorted. “The only thing worth anything here is in an ossuary on floor 4.”

“I saw, but there was a piece missing; a ball or round object to navigate the labyrinth.”

He hummed. “That sounds about right. I suppose there's a mold down there somewhere to make it.”

“You don't know?”

Irina thought he was the one who crafted the labyrinth.

“I have no damn clue,” he explained. “That fucking thing has been here since way before I inherited the factory and surrounding land.”

He witnessed her scowl and shake her head as if she were having an internal battle in her thoughts.

“I don't know how you found out about it, but I assume you planned to sell it. Say you did. What did you plan to do with the money?”

Irina narrowed her eyes. It mattered not – he was going to kill her – but she reckoned it wouldn't hurt to tell him.

“Leave this place... I planned to start a new life.”

Heisenberg laughed. “That bitch Miranda would never let you leave this place. But hey, I get it. You want to be free.”

“I do,” she agreed.

She wondered why he addressed Mother Miranda in such a manner; as though he loathed her. Weren't the lords supposed to be loyal to her? She was the divinity of the village and the surrounding territories. No one ever spoke ill of her.

And what did he mean by Mother Miranda would never let her leave? Residents up and moved from the village all the time. Perhaps Irina just misinterpreted him.

“Then you understand why I came here,” she mentioned with confidence. “I want more; much more than this prison can give me.”

Heisenberg scowled. “And you know about prisons? Don't fucking insult me.”

She didn't understand what he was indicating. Maybe she wasn't chained to this place, but since her brother died, leaving her alone, it sure felt as if she was.

“And you thought by stealing from me, you'd be free?”

He raised his arm and the air thinned as a screwdriver flew across the room and into his hand. Grabbing Irina by the head, Heisenberg pressed the flathead against her neck; she cried out in fear and pain.

“Open your damn eyes. No one can be free from this fucking place; not me and sure as hell not you.”

Irina dug her nails into his arm. “Let me go. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

He released her, humming. The flathead shot from his hand and hit the wall somewhere in the room. “My apologies, darling. Thinking about her and this place boils my fucking blood. You’d do well not to get on my bad side.”

Noted, she thought bitterly, rubbing her neck.

Irina scooted away from him.

Heisenberg laughed. “Where were we? – he paused to snap his fingers – oh yes. I meant to ask, but just how in the hell did you get into my territory? That gate you passed through has a special lock on it.”

“I used a lock pick to open the lock – though it wasn’t easy,” she explained.

He whistled in awe. “Now that’s some skill you have there. Shame you’re wasting it.”

“Wasting it? How else would I use it? I hate that I chose to come here, not knowing that I’d be killed before putting it to use, but I know of no other way to use it.”

Heisenberg hummed. “I knew there was something about you that I liked. That mouth can only get you so far.”

Her face heated up.

“Run some errands for me,” he suggested.

What?

Irina puckered a brow. “Errands?”

“I have projects to finish and limited resources,” he explained. “You can sneak into anywhere and get them for me.”

She was no pack mule.

“And if I say go fuck yourself?”

Heisenberg stared at her a minute, yellow eyes gleaming, then stood up, knocking the chair onto the floor with a loud bang.

“Then I will smash your fucking head in and toss your worthless ass into the river. There is no other option, darling. It’s do and live or don’t and die.”

Irina shivered in fear. She had no choice. Perhaps if she said no, then her death would be instant, however she did not want to die.

Bobbing her head, she held back tears.

“Whatever you need,” she made clear.

He grinned, taking a deep and uneasy breath. “That’s the answer I wanted to hear – I’ll have to make a list.”

But not the answer she felt was best. Not that she could do anything about it at this point. Her only option was to do as he ordered and if she played her cards right, maybe she could find a way to escape him.

But first.

“I got hurt down there,” Irina mentioned weakly. She eased up her shirt and showed him the nasty gash on her side. “I need medical aide – and perhaps some rest – if you want me to do my best There’s an herb in my bag … please, I need it.”

Heisenberg sauntered over to a cabinet across from her and took out her bag, retrieving the herb from it before tossing the bag into the cabinet again. He broke the stem into pieces and urged her to open her mouth, shoving them inside once she did so.

“Eat up,” he said with a grin.

Irina choked. His fingers tasted horrible. Why did he not just give her the herb? She could have done this by herself.

Her face heated up.

“Get some rest. You start as soon as you heal,” he ordered, looming over her.

Taking out a key, Irina recognized it as the one Heisenberg tried to offer her earlier. Was this the room it went to? She swallowed the last of the herb.

“If I had taken that ––

“I would have cornered you in here and killed you,” he answered easily.

She scowled at him. Leaving her alone and locking the door behind him, Irina contemplated using her lock pick on the door. She’d do best not to piss him off though. No telling how far she’d get.

Using her torn coat, Irina rested on the icy floor and shut her eyes. She doubted that she’d be able to fall asleep, not with the roar of the machines in her ears, but she was determined to try.

She may not ever get the chance again. Tomorrow never knows.

#karl heisenberg #resident evil village #heisenberg re8 #resident evil 8

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feysandfeels · 3 years

Note

Which TS songs remind you of the different couples in SJM’s books???

Boy do I ??

You are a blessed soul for asking me this, and know that I adore you.

There is now a part II to this.

Feysand:

Begin Again: “I've been spending the last eight months Thinking all love ever does Is break and burn, and end But on a Wednesday in a cafe I watched it begin again” Baby Feyre finding that love is not toxic, that love is supportive, that love can be wonderful. “You said you never met one girl who had As many James Taylor records as you But I do” but think of is as “he said he never met a girl who wasn’t afraid of his power, but i do”. Also also “Walked in expecting you'd be late But you got here early and you stand and wave I walk to you” because Feyre’s used to T*mlin’s mediocre ass but Rhys surprised her by being a decent human and treating her with respect, which makes her realize that she was starved for respect and that T*mlin was not giving her what every decent human being should get from the get go from their partner.

Ivy: Feyre slowly falling in love with Rhys, thinking about Rhys in the Spring Court between Night Court visits Also throughout ACOMAF how she battles with her ever growing feelings for the Lord of the Night, while feeling guilty about T*mlin, because they *just broke up*: “Oh, goddamn My pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand Taking mine, but it's been promised to another Oh, I can't Stop you putting roots in my dreamland My house of stone, your ivy grows And now I'm covered in you” and “I wish to know The fatal flaw that makes you long to be Magnificently cursed He's in the room Your opal eyes are all I wish to see He wants what's only yours”.

End game: I can practically see Rhys singing this in the shower thinking about Feyre, when she decided to work with him and him thinking like “YES THIS HAS TO BE A SIGN”. His reputation precedes him and in rumours he’s knee deep, him and Feyre would be a big conversation, he has enemies, he has heard about her and she has heard about him. He thinks “she’s so dope that he might overdose”. She’s been calling his bluff on all his usual tricks so here’s the truth from his red lips!!!!!

Dress: “Even in my worst times, you could see the best in me Flashback to my mistakes My rebounds, my earthquakes Even in my worst lies, you saw the truth in me And I woke up just in time Now I wake up by your side My one and only, my lifeline”. Need I say more? I think not your honor.

Call it what you want: “I said you don’t need to save me, but would you run away with me?” That’s Feyre’s whole arc, I rest my case.

Nessian: the happiness I feel about the fact that these two are together is just enough to make me smile on a Monday

False God - The song literally opens up saying “We were crazy to think Crazy to think that this could work Remember how I said I'd die for you” HELLOOOO?? NESTA THINKING ABOUT THAT SCENE IN ACOWAR?? but also feeling that she’s unworthy of Cassian and that there is no way in hell that he will love her with all that she is.

Don’t Blame Me - The power of this song lies in the I unapologetic- powerful-full on I give myself to you and I will do it over and over again energy it has. And this is the energy that Nesta has for Cassian (even when homegirl really tries to pretend otherwise lol boo you tried). The “through your love I found salvation” religious aspect of Don’t blame me is Nesta, because through Cassian’s love and presence she found the perspective she needed on herself. Also this book was a religious experience for me. Jesus fuck.

Sparks Fly: From Cassian to Nesta, with love. First of all Cassian would be a diehard swiftie (all of the bat boys for that matter, merch a the concert, what will we do if we get invited to the rep room?? fans. Az woud be like the quiet yet “no, speak one ill word of Taylor and that’s your end, she did nothing wrong she was framed and I have evidence”). Second of all “The way you move is like a full on rainstorm And I'm a house of cards You're the kind of reckless that should send me running But I kinda know that I won't get far” That’s him alright, that’s him knowing that Nesta is a force to be reckoned with and he wants nothing nothing but to be in that storm and live within the force of nature that she is. Thirdly “My mind forgets to remind me, your a bad idea You touch me once and it's really something You find I'm even better than you, imagined I would be I'm on my guard for the rest of the world But with you I know its no good And I could wait patiently But I really wish you would”

Elucien: This is an Elucien blog.

Lover - In all honesty wanted to give this song to Feysand, because they are my main otp and this song is the highest of the high from Taylor, but I can’t deny the fact that this song screams Elucien. “With every guitar string scar on my hand” I think is a beautiful parallel for Elain and gardening, “My heart’s been borrowed, and yours has been blue” this speaks of Gr*yson and Jesminda, “I loved you three summers now but I want them all” that’s Lucien speaking ma’am. “Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?”, both of them about the bond. “And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me and at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover” we all know Lucien has a mind for dirty jokes and sass and Elain would always save him the sit next to her because he is the one who truly saw her and, in his distance, was the presence she needed while she figured it all out. Finally, The fact that the song has very clear wedding tones I think fits the headcanon, that more than a mating ceremony, Elucien would have a wedding, because it feels like something Elain would feel more comfortable with.

Treacherous -“I can't decide if it's a choice Getting swept away I hear the sound of my own voice Asking you to stay”..... mmmmmm is this or isn’t it Elain getting closer to Lucien, but still wondering if it’s the bond or her, yet nonetheless surrendering to the fact that she wants him to stay. “This slope is treacherous This path is reckless This slope is treacherous And I, I, I like it” Elain doesn’t want an easy love, to simple do as the bond suggests she wants something that has twigs and branches and where she needs to question herself and truly ask what she wants out of life and this relationship. Also the softness of the melody juxtaposed with the vulnerability, brings a soft rawness that is Elain.

King of my heart: Neither of them expected to feel like they could love with all the hope and unapologetic free falling feel characteristic of first loves, yet here we are. They rule their kingdom inside the room because they are discovering their feelings for each other away from prying eyes and people that have expectations on how they should work with the mating bond and all that. “Late in the night, the city's asleep Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep Change my priorities The taste of your lips is my idea of luxury” Again, with the love away from everyone, feeling their world shift around what they are starting to feel for one another. “Is the end of all the endings? My broken bones are mending With all these nights we're spending” did we say healing arc through love and support an “not expecting anything to come off this, but I just want to see you well” à la sjm?? I THINK WE DID.

Emorie: I’m working with crumbs here, delicious crumbs that will make a delicious emorie cake, but crumbs nonetheless.. I need more and I need it now.

I think he knows - My girl Emerie crushing hard hard haaaaaaaaard on Mor.

Cruel Summer - “I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you And I snuck in through the garden gate Every night that summer just to seal my fate (oh) And I screamed for whatever it's worth "I love you, " ain't that the worst thing you ever heard” this is prime PRIME PRIME ANGST, we will get from these two.

Gwynriel: this is an edit because I'm not a hoe for these two (yet...trust me once I see Az heal this is the tag where you will find me) and I did not know which songs might fit them and then when I posted it I was like WAIT WAIT I KNOW.

Gold rush - Gwyn talking herself out of her crush on Az after finding out about the whole necklace and being like “I don’t want a gold rush”.

Daylight - Az is a Taylor hoe first, spymaster second. She just makes him feel things. But in all seriousness “Like daylight It's golden like daylight You gotta step into the daylight and let it go Just let it go, let it goI wanna be defined by the things that I love Not the things I hate Not the things that I'm afraid of, I'm afraid of Not the things that haunt me in the middle of the night I, I just think that You are what you love” this is Az healing and being in better place where he can reflect on how he used to relate to love and romantic relationships, he now understands that love is not black and white but golden. He stepped into this notion of love and through it he found a beautiful relationship with Gwyn, he wants to be defined by the love he feels for her and the love he feels for his family, not by the things that haunted him, not by his mistakes, not by his trauma. He is golden, he is daylight, shadows and all he is daylight.

Az + Elain: As a romantic end game they are not my ship, but I do stand by my pre-acosf position that these two would be really good friends

Out of the woods - Where we stand after acosf I say that it is not far fetched that they might hook up and then realize that it’s not for them and that experience helps them access a new part of their healing: “They lost each other, but they found themselves”. The anxiety that this song mirrors is the anxiety of them knowing something doesn’t quite *fit* right, that they are both in turbulent times emotionally and this relationship is not giving them the peace they thought it would. They are paper airplanes, because they know that it’s not the right call for where they are in their own journeys if they want to heal properly and that neither will get what they truly want from the other one. The monsters who turned out to be trees, they are in the woods in this relationship, they were built to fall apart.. are all images that speak of the dynamic we could see of them, they try it doesn’t work and then after, when they are in better places mentally they will look back and be like “we dodge a bullet there didn’t we”.

Bonus: His necklace hanging around her neck, the image is clear there and so is the commentary.

Az + Mor: formerly known as Moriel, the ship that used to reign my heart

Breath - This song is entirely from Az’s perspective once he and Mor talk about, well, everything. This is not how he had planned it, this is not how he wanted this to go, but “people are people and sometimes it doesn’t work out, but it’s killing me to see you go after all this time” referencing letting go of the romantic feelings he had for her. They were a crutch for him and now he has to face life and the things that torment him about it, without the protection and comfort his crush on her offered him. “And we know it's never simple, Never easy Never a clean break, no one here to save me You're the only thing I know like the back of my hand,” regardless of what you all want to think, they do love and know each other but shift in their dynamic will mean an adjustment for both of them... it’s not a clean break. “Never wanted this, never wanna see you hurt Every little bump in the road I tried to swerve”, also Idc about what you all think, Az never never never wanted to hurt Mor, if he knew his behavior was in someway affecting her he would have done something, and I think from the aftermath of him going after Eris on ACOWAR we can see that... also this might allude to him actually knowing that Mor is a lesbian and he has tried to make sure she feels safe around him and knows that he has her back agains the whole world if need be, regardless of her lack of romantic feelings for him.

Feyl*n: honestly who knew there would be so many songs that would fit these two. Such bops for a crappy dude like T*mlin.

Exile - “I never learned to read your mind (never learned to read my mind) I couldn't turn things around (you never turned things around) 'Cause you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)” He never even tried to learn to read her mind, he never turned things around and she gave so so many signs. The way he looks at Rhys like he’s his understudy, but no sugar he’s the principal actor and you got fired.

Getaway car - and I oop. Because that is essentially what they were both to each other. Feyre needed someone to give her security and financial stability, T*mlin needed someone to break the curse: “It was the best of times the worst of crimes”.

Bad blood - LOOOOOL. They used to be mad love and now they have bad blood.

Tell me why - Imma just leave a collection of quotes here that well allude to them through the first act of ACOMAF: “I took a chance, I took a shot And you might think I'm bulletproof but I'm not You took a swing, I took it hard And down here from the ground, I see who you are” Feyre seeing T*mlin for the abusive person that he is, from the ground.. where his behavior put her. Also “I'm sick and tired of your reasons I got no one to believe in You tell me that you want me, then push me around And I need you like a heartbeat But you know you got a mean streak Makes me run for cover when you're around Here's to you and your temper Yes, I remember what you said last night And I know that you see what you're doing to me Tell me why” The if he loved me, why did he do it and the “it’s not a question of if he loved you but how” conversation she has with Rhys.

I could go on and on forever placing all T-Swift songs around acotar characters, but I think this is getting longer than we all anticipated.. or did we? we all know I am not ✨concise✨. Anywho, thanks for sticking around.

Besos!!

BOOOONUUUUUUUUUSSSSSSS:

Obviously, Invisible String is for all my mated/soon to be mated boos, and I think Peace is a song that can apply to both Feysand and Nessian from Rhys’ and Nesta’s perspectives respectively.

#Feysandfeelsasks #Taylor Swift #Sarah J Maas #SJM #ACOTAR #ACOMAF #ACOWAR #ACOSF #Feysand #Nessian #Elucien #Emorie #not to toot my own horn but I think the Daylight one with Gwynriel is amazing #I will pat myself on the back.#Gwynriel #Moriel #and when I tag moriel i mean friendship moriel

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imagine-lcorp · 4 years

Text

Folie à Deux (One Shot)

A/N: Hello guys!!! HAPPY HALLOWEEN AND FELIZ DIA DE MUERTOS/HAPPY DAY OF THE DEAD to all of you wonderful people. Here I come once again to share a lil one shot to celebrate this already gone spooky season but i hope you can still enjoy it. Bear with me as I try to pull some hannibal vibes over here. Let me know what you think and thank y’all for sticking around!!

Lena Luthor x Killer R//Word Count: 1,653

Content Warnings: Blood, Death, Murder, Guns, Corpses, Graphic Descriptions of Violence.

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folie à deux. /fôˌlē ä ˈdœ/ French (n.) lit. madness for two; delusion or mental illness shared by two people in close association.

"I leave you my portrait so that you will have my presence all the days and nights that I am away from you." — Frida Kahlo.

Lena Luthor was no stranger to fear but never in her life had she faced such terror. She could feel it in the back of her head, making her afraid of every corner and shadow of her own house. She could feel it in her chest as she forced her lungs to take steady breaths to calm the erratic beating of her heart. She could feel it in her skin, tuning her fingers cold as she gripped her gun tighter, with every careful step she took to get behind you.

"You're home earlier." Your voice, as soothing as ever, made her stop dead in her tracks.

She saw you, turning around and looking at her with attentive eyes. When you noticed the gun in her hand, you tilted your head. You smiled softly, wondering how much time was left, either before the police and her friends arrived or before she pulled the trigger on you.

"Is that for me?" You asked and, in her shock, Lena managed a small nod. "Such peculiar gifts we come bearing, don't you think?"

Your smile never faltered. She could still notice it as you turned your attention at the painting that was now installed in the central wall of her living room. She stood a few steps behind you and observed. You had just finished it, that much she could tell by the faint smell of paint fume and bright tones of the oils.

It was wonderful, like nothing you had ever showed her before. A danse macabre done with a style so characteristic of you, in which two stark white skeletons seemed to dance and embrace each other. They were surrounded by a field of blood red poppies that, upon a closer look, resembled tiny skulls amidst an equal blood-red sunset...or was it a sunrise? She would have to ask you, just like whose blood was it.

"Is that blood?" She couldn't take her eyes off the painting. Not even after the question had left her lips and her instincts screamed at her to run for her life.

"Burnt sienna and a hint of Prussian blue. Although you know I prefer the real stuff, I wouldn't want anyone to take it away from you in search of evidence." You said, enjoying your own clever remarks. "What do you think?"

"I didn't think you cared about criticism in your work." Lena replied, unable to recall a time when you had ever asked someone else's opinion about your work.

"Art, like love, is the reflection in which we can see ourselves through other's eyes. So I care when it comes to you." You turned again to look at her. "Tell me, Lena, what do you see?"

Lena looked back at you and what she saw in your eyes made her catch her breath. Madness and love, all mixed up together. A look that seemed to reach within the darkest part of her soul and, instead of trying to give it light, you marveled at it.

"You." She said taking a deep, shaky breath. "And me."

With barely a hint of hesitation, she took the last steps forward, placing herself right beside you. She looked at the painting, both a love letter and an omen of death.

"When I saw the photos of the murders, all I could see was you. From the blood paintings hanging from walls to the bodies displayed in such surreal forms. The bullets and the knives, the wounds and the cuts. You were there, in every detail."

She could remember the first time she ever saw pictures from the crime scenes and feeling as if she had been seeing photos from a gallery exhibition. Each body they had found had been displayed in the most bizarre and beautiful shapes and poses. Bones, flesh and skin, all arranged in forms she didn't know were possible for the human body. She had been horrified at first about it all but, the more she looked, she hadn't been able to deny there was certain grace and elegance in the killer's doing. Whoever had done it, she had thought, was a genius of their own morbid talent.

"Then, when they gave me the list of victims, all I could see...was myself." She swallowed the lump in her throat.

Each crime scene had come along with a list of victims too. The police had identified them with varying degrees of difficulty. Some names had been hard to find while others had been too obvious to even pretend they hadn't recognized them the moment they had seen their twisted faces. However, as different those victims seemed to be between each other, what tied them together were their own crimes. Abusive husbands and wives, child molesters, unethical practitioners, corrupt officials and political leaders with their own dark intentions. People that, even Lena recognized, no one wanted wandering on the face of earth.

Your latest victim had been the judge that had let Edge go free on bail. All her efforts to put him behind bars for good had mean nothing. Then she heard the news. His body had been displayed on his own court, hanging from the ceiling in his black robes, with a band covering his eyes. His chest had been opened and in his hand he held a pair of scales. His heart laid there, weighed against a black feather, ready to be devoured.

The real shock of the murder, however, came after a single detail was revealed. Their blood. The judge and the rest of victims had been drained of their blood before exposing their bodies.

She had never thought too much about it, because there had been nothing to think about when you told her red was one of your favorite colors. It frustrated sometimes, as a painter, how hard it was to find a shade of red as bright and vivid as that of blood. Fortunately, you had learned a long time ago how to make your own red pigments and oils, using the blood of animals, usually pigs whose death was more meaningful than their lives anyway, you had said.

"I wanted to make something beautiful out of such grotesque people." You sighed and turned your head to look at her. "Turning lead into gold with every drop of blood and every stroke, each one an offering and an amend. Is my vision so different from yours? Is yours that different from mine if we want the same?"

"I wanted justice. This is not it." She said resolute, feeling again the metal of the gun against her fingers. "This is only the aftermath of your own judgment."

"Could you say then, in your judgement, if I was fair on my own?"

"If I say you were then every crime of yours is one I have performed too."

"And I recall, you would have wanted it a few times."

Were the deaths of those men and women justified? Had their own acts been so evil that you had to pay them in kind? She remembered how bad had she wanted it sometimes, to make justice by her own hand because it seemed more reliable than a justice court. That much she could understand about your deeds and maybe that was enough for her.

"It's all the same. If there is no justice, then let it be reckoning." You looked at the gun in her hand and raised a brow. "Isn't that why you have come?"

"I have to stop you." Lena said, and you would have expected her to be quick about it. For her to raise her hand and point her gun, to pull the trigger and be done with it in a heartbeat.

But she didn't move.

"Here." You moved your hand slowly towards hers. She didn't even flinch as she watched you hold her fingers against the gun and raise her hand towards your chest. The hand of an artist, the hand of a killer. "Turn my blood into gold. Let them have their reckoning."

Still, she didn't move.

It was the moment Lena understood it all and became truly afraid. Afraid, not about pulling the trigger, not about shooting you through the heart, but to have life and death dancing on her fingertips. To choose with no remorse but with a clear conscience and blood in her hands. So easy, she had thought, to end your life and watch it vanish through your eyes.

"I can't." She said, and you felt her fingers loosen up. "I do not have your talents for this."

You took the gun and looked at it for a moment before looking back at Lena. "You do. It just takes a little practice."

In the distance, the sound of sirens filled the streets. You had been left with no more time.

"Now, come. Justice is upon us, and we don't want them to think you have been making deals with the devil."

Without another word, Lena could fathom what would follow next.

"No." She said with nostalgia already brimming in her eyes. "We have just been dancing around each other for a while."

You offered her a hand, with the other still holding the gun. "Soon the music's over, so let's give it one last chance."

Lena took your hand and, in a confident move, you spun her around. She closed her eyes and felt the warmth of your body against her as you embraced her from behind. Then she felt too the barrel of the gun against her temple.

"Once I'm away, please, remember. I've only ever tried to show you beauty." Your soft breath tickled her ear as you whispered to her. "Can you see?"

When Lena opened her eyes, all she could see was red. The painting hung in front of you and it seemed to her as if you were both facing a mirror.

She felt no fear this time. "It's terrific."

234 notes · View notes

ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

placing bets

request from anon: A fluffy, soft, and pining George please? Like, he was really young when he fell in love with her upon first meeting—he made a joke that caused her to laugh, and he just found it to be the most beautiful sound and was smitten ever since. 😭❤️

word count: 3.9k

A/N: i love a pining, head over heels, irrevocably in love george with a girl who knows it and is totally going to make him work... bye i’m crying

tag list: @mintlibri @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @bobduncanlover @dreamer821 | message me if you’d like to be added!

Your laugh seems to echo across the entire Quidditch pitch. Okay, not really, but it’s both loud and soft at the same time in George’s ears, and it floats in the air between you both, and he’s desperately clinging to the sound of it—just like he does whenever you laugh. Just like he did when you were both eight years old and met for the first time in the village outside of Ottery St. Catchpole all those years ago, after having shown you a magic trick when you giggled yourself into oblivion.

In love with you right then, he was.

“You’re not allowed to laugh at me,” he teases you now. His voice is calm and steady in his ears and he’s thankful that he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. He rebalances himself on his broomstick after nearly falling off and peers at you with a smirk.

“I’m sorry—but you can’t expect me to not laugh when you do something as silly as try and surf on your broomstick, George.”

His feet finally touch the ground, and much to his dismay he sees the rest of the team emerging from the changing rooms, undoubtedly gearing up for tryouts. He swallows over a lump in his throat when both Harry and Fred nod at him from the other end of the pitch. He knows he’s a fantastic bloody beater, but the fact that you’re going to be watching tryouts with Ron, Ginny, and Hermione are making him feel less confident than before. He stands up straighter to try and push these feelings away. It doesn’t work. You seem to notice.

“Hey,” you say after a moment and place a hand on his shoulder, “you’ll be great. Just try not to fall off of your broom this time, okay?”

A laugh escapes his lips and he says to you as you make your way toward the stands, “Well I bloody hope I don’t fall, since I’ll be spending the majority of this tryout doing my very best to impress you, anyway.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, but he sees a rosy pink color flood your cheeks. “Best focus on the bludgers, Georgie, don’t want any of them to whack you, yeah?”

He laughs again, takes a deep breath, and turns toward his teammates. Fred is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a laugh so sweet it could cure an illness. Once he realizes that you’re now out of earshot, Fred teasingly slings an arm around his twin’s shoulders, turns to Harry and asks, “He’s been in love for the longest bloody time—how much longer d’you reckon before he finally does something about it?”

“I dunno, mate,” Harry says and kicks George playfully in the shin, “he’s been pining for what—eight, nine years now? Give it another five or so, I reckon he’ll be able to maybe ask her out then.”

“I’ll be sure to send bludgers toward the both of you today, then,” George replies with a mischievous grin as the other two fall into raucous laughter. He peers up at the stands, easily finding you sitting with his siblings and Hermione, and when you finally look up and meet his gaze, you wiggle your eyebrows at him, and wink.

Like George seriously needs to be sent into overdrive before what is arguably the most important Quidditch tryout of his entire life. He does his hardest to nudge Fred very hard in the ribs when all he can hear are snickers and kissing noises in his ear.

— -

George peers up at the very dark, cloudy gray ceiling in the Great Hall. He absolutely hates it when it rains. He’s looking particularly grumpy as he listens to the thunder clap outside the tall windows. He’s sipping rather moodily on his pumpkin juice when you plop down next to him and say, “Brighten up, would you, Weasley? Why the long face?”

“It’s raining,” Fred replies before George can catch his breath and answer you himself, “Georgie hates it when it rains.”

“Why?” you ask suddenly, scooping a bit of vegetables onto your dinner plate, “We’ve known each other for so long, how have I never known this about you? I love it when it‘s raining! The sound of the pitter-patter on the roof, the way the grounds smell right before a rainstorm—it’s absolutely beautiful.”

“Don’t ramble on too much, Y/N,” Fred says, again. George can’t seem to get a word in edgewise. “George might just try and make it rain all the bloody time if you love it so much.”

You turn to George, who’s rib cage is being flooded with butterflies. He tries to ignore it. He grins cheekily at you when you raise your eyebrows and inquire, “Is that so? Trying to impress me more, are you?”

“Can’t help myself,” he replies with a wink.

“I’ll get you to enjoy the rain one day—for real. You can count on it. You’ve got to find the beauty in everyday life.”

He wants to tell you, when he peers into your sparkling eyes and feels the nerves grow stronger, that he already does find the beauty in everyday life. Instead, he asks, “Mmm, is that a promise?”

“Most definitely.”

“If you don’t mind,” Fred stands up from his place across from you and looks in the direction of Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny and winks at his twin, “I’m going to go and have a chat with that lot while George continues to embarrass himself with his rubbish flirting.”

George is upset when he realizes that Fred is far enough away from him that he’s unable to kick him quite hard underneath the table. But then, much to his surprise—and delight—you respond to Fred with, “His flirting isn’t rubbish.” Then, you turn to George with a slight little smirk and continue, “it’s quite cute, actually.”

George finds himself biting down on his lip to keep from smiling too much as he watches you twirl your spoon carefully in your fingers. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I swear to Merlin,” Fred says under his breath, but both you and George are still able to hear him.

“Oi! Get over here, you three!” Ron calls from a few seats down. Hermione rolls her eyes when he continues, “We’re placing bets on how the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin match is going to go next week—first of the year!”

Fred jumps in between Ginny and Ron and begins animatedly discussing the first match. To you, George shrugs his shoulders and says, “We’ve been summoned.”

“Too bad,” you say, picking up your bag to take your spot next to Hermione before continuing with a bit of flirty sarcasm in your voice, “that little smirk of yours was getting me all flustered.”

The banter between you both hardly gets George all worked up anymore. In fact, it’s pretty normal for the two of you, and has been for years. But sometimes, he finds himself thinking now, you’ll say something, or do something, or bat those beautiful long eyelashes at him and he feels nothing but nervousness take him over. This is one of those times. You notice the tension rising between you both, alongside the cherry red color now flooding his face. You squeeze his arm and say playfully, “C’mon now, Georgie—we’ve got bets to place.”

Another bout of nervousness creeps up on him when you pull him by his arm and you place yourself down next to Hermione. Harry, Ginny and Fred are all discussing the upcoming matches very animatedly, Ron is pulling at his hair due to confusion and stress, Hermione is immersed in her spell book, but when George looks down, all he can focus on is the very small amount of space on the bench between his hand and yours.

— -

The sun is flooding the Hogwarts grounds, and it’s quite warm for an autumn afternoon. George, Fred, Lee, Harry, Ron, and Neville are all sitting beneath a tree near the water’s edge, certainly not working on the assignments they’d planned on doing, but instead, engaging in what could only be described as tomfoolery and a complete and utter waste of time.

Fred is laying in the grass, one hand behind his head, the other twirling his wand in between his fingers. He’s saying something to the others, there’s a bit of mock laughter floating through the air, but all George can do is watch you up near the castle, immersed in a conversation with Ginny and Luna and a few other students, and he can’t help but smile as he watches you place your bag gently on the ground and proceed to engage in some type of hopscotch-like jumps.

When Lee throws his hands up at the fact that George is completely ignoring him, Ron shoves his older brother playfully and says to the others, “You’ll have to excuse him.”

“You see,” Fred continues, “little Georgie here is quite in love—”

“—and he can’t seem to focus on anything,” Harry finishes.

“Shove off,” George retorts before sticking out his foot to trip Ron, which sends his younger brother into the grass while another roar of raucous laughter echoes across the grounds.

“So Georgie,” Ron says, getting to his feet and brushing the dirt off of his robes, “today the day then, mate? Finally going to tell her how you feel?”

Fred chimes in with his eyes closed, “He doesn’t need to tell her how he feels, he makes it rather obvious, doesn’t he? I reckon she’s known for years.” In his heart of hearts, George knows this, too. He doesn’t exactly hide the fact that he’s mad for you. But he wonders, now, as he watches you laugh at something Ginny says, if you know deep down how he truly feels. Do you just see it as him being playful, overly friendly—flirting just for the sake of it? Or can you really tell that he actually does have feelings for you?

It’s as if his thoughts alone call out like a signal to you, because he’s taken by surprise when you peer up at him when he’s not fully prepared, and you wink. And there they are. Those butterflies again. He smirks mischievously at you.

“Settle down, you lot,” Fred says rather politically to the crowd of rambunctious boys. George finds himself finally coming back to the conversation after being a bit distracted yet again. Always letting his mind wander, he is. “All in favor of placing bets on when Georgie, here, finally makes a move? Yes, Lee—I am planning on winning this one, actually, nobody knows my twin better than me.”

“I’d like in on these bets,” George says suddenly, taking the entire group by surprise.

“You can’t place a bet on yourself,” Ron says through laughter.

Harry and Neville say together, “I think he should be allowed.” Harry continues, “Would make for quite the adventure, don’t you reckon?”

Fred peers at George, who’s standing now, with his hands in his pockets, glimpsing back and forth between you and his friends, waiting patiently for his twin to make a decision. A very slow decision, George comes to realize.

“Alright then, George,” Fred finally agrees, sticking out his hand for a very professional, firm handshake, “you’re in. What’ve you got for us?”

“Give me a week,” George says. A week? There’s no denying that George Weasley’s a confident bloke, but when it comes to confessing his feelings to the girl he’s been pining over for years, well—even hearing himself say it now sends a bit of a chill down his spine. “Seven days. If I don’t do anything by Sunday evening’s feast, you lot win. Alright?”

George looks around the group, each and every one of the boys has raised eyebrows. But they all nod in agreement, and the feeling of dread suddenly looms over George—he can handle it though, can’t he? Fred notices his skittishness and says with a bit of a smirk, “See you on the other side, mate.”

— -

It’s been four and a half days since George stupidly decided to get involved in Fred’s antics, and the boys have absolutely no problem reminding him that less than seventy-two hours remain for him to finally “make a bloody move already.” This isn’t helping George’s nerves—nor are the winks you’re sending him from across classrooms, as your entire friend group is creating mischief right under your nose.

“Hey, wait up!” Your voice bounces off of the walls in the corridors as you frantically hurry through the sea of students to catch up with George, who’s heading to Potions with Fred, rather reluctantly, of course. Fred begins trying to poke George in the ribs, winks, and vanishes before you can even notice he’s there, leaving you and George alone near the entrance to the dungeons.

“Hey you,” he says and immediately regrets how cheesy it sounds in his own ears. Quick to hide the fact that he’s very embarrassed, he continues, “what’s going on?”

“What’s going on with all of you?” you ask curiously. “Fred keeps telling me that we’re all in for a rather exciting weekend, but as far as I’m concerned, I have absolutely nothing planned except to sit outside and read. Yes, a very wild few days, I know—” you say when George stifles a bit of laughter, “—so, you want to tell me what you have planned? Some sort of major prank, or something?”

You’re essentially giving him an opening and George isn’t sure why he’s not just asking you out right now. It’s the perfect opportunity! Not yet, he thinks. There’s still around seventy-something hours, or so. Instead, he opts to go for something different. “Oh, erm, there’s some—Gryffindor bloke who’s been mad for this girl for years and hasn’t told her yet, so we’ve all placed bets on when he’ll finally do something about it—next few days, apparently..”

“Really?” you ask, intrigued. You wiggle your eyebrows at him and clutch your books tighter in your arms. “Who is it?”

“Can’t tell you that, Y/N,” George replies with a smirk, “That’d be breaking the rules, wouldn’t it?”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, fine, I’m not even going to try and argue. How much time has he got left?”

George swallows thickly, thinking of the ticking clock, and says, “Til Sunday evening.” The words sound foreign in his mouth. He can feel his face flush and much to his dismay, you certainly seem to notice.

“Two and a half days, huh?” you ask, clicking your tongue. You inch forward to him and continue in a lower voice, “that’s not a lot of time, is it?”

George swallows again. He has a love, hate relationship with the effect you have on him. “No, certainly isn’t.”

“Think he’ll do it in time?”

“Well, he’s got too, hasn’t he?”

You send a mischievous grin his way, and he’s surprised he isn’t falling to the ground right now. He’s being supported by none other than caffeine and his own nerves. His heart is nearly pounding out of his chest when you look up at him with those sparkling eyes. He can tell now, by the look you’re giving him, that you’ve easily unraveled this. You know. You’ve got too. You’ve completely read him like a book and at this point you’re just teasing him mercilessly. He bites back a smile. “Certainly hope he does—can’t keep the poor girl waiting, can he?” you say now, taking one step closer to him, now just inches from one another. You place your hand on his arm, squeeze tightly, and shoot a teasing, cheeky grin in his direction. Then, you pull back, shrug your shoulders, take a deep breath, and leave George breathless before continuing down the corridor, “Anyway—see you later? Stay out of trouble, Weasley.”

You wink before vanishing completely. When you’re completely out of sight, George actually tightens the grip on his bag and falls back into the wall and to the ground in some sort of emotional, flustered chaos. He’s grinning from ear to ear and is feeling incredibly elated but also beyond frustrated at himself. He should be kissing you by now, but instead, he’s biting his lip in pain due to a sharp blow to his shin.

“You’re an idiot,” Fred says now, and George realizes he’s been hiding around a corner this entire time. “Like putty in her hands, you are. Pathetic. She just gave you an in, mate! And you didn’t even take it!” Ron and Harry are on the other end of the corridor, laughing at this exchange they’ve just witnessed, when they make their way over to the doubled-over George.

“Relax,” George tells them once he regains his balance. “I’ve got to lay the foundation, haven’t I? ‘M taking my time. Still have two and a half days, like she said.” Foundation. You two have known each other for years already.

Fred slings both arms around Ron and Harry and glances cheekily at his twin brother, shaking his head in utter disappointment. “Maybe so, Georgie. But I reckon you’re still an idiot.”

— -

George slumps into the Great Hall rather begrudgingly, not at all looking forward to this feast. At the Gryffindor table are Fred, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Lee, Neville and many others who look up and begin to clap sarcastically at the sight of him. George narrows his eyes at them and sits down on one of the benches and places his head directly onto the table.

“Why so glum, Georgie?” Ginny and Hermione ask teasingly.

As predicted by the others, George unfortunately had let time run out. Many opportunities had been handed to him, of course, but had he seized any? No. He absolutely hadn’t. Fred sticks out a hand and nods to the others to follow suit. “Cough it up, mate. One sickle each.”

“Oi, let the poor bloke wallow a bit first,” Ron jokes. George is already feeling poorly. He’d been so stressed about this stupid bet that he forgot to hand in his Herbology assignment, he had an absolutely rubbish Quidditch practice yesterday, and, on top of it all, the gloomy, rainy weather outside is not helping to lift his spirits at all. He groans. In a voice muffled by his face leaning directly on the table, he says to nobody in particular, “I’m an idiot. I’m an idiot who’s in love and I reckon I will be forever.” The others do their best to try and stifle some mock laughter, but George can’t help to let a small, pathetic laugh escape his lips, too.

“It’s alright, then,” Neville says in a low voice, “you don’t have to pay me. I know first hand just how scary it can be..” he glances in the direction of a shy looking Hufflepuff.

But then, when George looks up and rubs his eyes due to exhaustion, he notices a couple entering the entrance of the Great Hall. A Ravenclaw boy is draping his own robes over a tiny Slytherin girl who, by the looks of it, unfortunately has just been caught in that rainstorm outside. Together they huddle closer to one another, laughing at the sight of her drenched clothes and hair. George stands up, quickly throws a bunch of sickles onto the table in front of his friends and says to nobody in particular, “Reckon I can still win in the end!” He’s just got to get over himself.

“No,” Fred laughs through a mouthful of potatoes, looking down at the sickles on the table, “it’s quite obvious that you’ve definitely lost this one, mate.”

But George ignores this, and instead runs through the crowd of students and out of the Great Hall and straight out into the rain. The wind is rather blustery, he comes to realize. Two seconds outside and his clothes are already soaked through, but he’s not regretting his decision—not when he sees you splashing in a puddle a few feet away. He smiles genuinely at the sight of you.

“Hey!” you yell over the howling wind. Your voice continues to soften as he gets closer to you, “You told me you don’t like the rain! If you’ve been lying to me this entire time, then, I suppose you owe me a Butterbeer in Hogsmeade.”

You’re quite a sight to behold. Your white button down shirt is soaked through, tie askew, cardigan wet and dripping and shoes covered in mud. Your soaked hair is plastered to the sides of your face, and your cheeks are the natural rosy color they always are, but it seems to make your eyes sparkle even more so than usual. You’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You bite down on your lip as George walks over to you, his uniform completely drenched from the rain, and he brushes your hair out of your face and presses his lips to yours.

And first kisses are meant to be chaste, soft, innocent—but nothing George Weasley does is ever innocent. He smiles against you, biting on your bottom lip just a bit before melting into you again, his hands wrapped tightly around the back of your neck, his fingers getting entangled in your wet hair. It’s eager and hungry and desperate. He can feel your hands slip underneath his shirt, spread out over his ribs and abdomen and hip bones, and soft, small moans escape his lips in the surprise of the moment.

When the two of you finally pull apart, he peers closely at the droplets of water on your eyelashes, falling down your cheekbones every single time you blink, “It’s a date.”

You peer down at your watch, noting the time and peering inside the entrance to the castle in the direction of the Great Hall. With a sensual smirk, you ask him, “So—that bloke lose the bet then?”

“Yeah, he did,” George tells you now. The wind is picking up, the rain coming down sideways now. He swallows over a lump in his throat but lets out a small laugh, “but a few lost sickles isn’t a big deal—not compared to what he won, at least.”

You sling your arms around his neck and run your hands through his wet hair, teasing him slightly, “Well at least he finally did something about it.”

“Sorry it took me so long, darling.”

“No apologies needed,” you reply, leaving light kisses against his lips, “but you owe me, now.”

“Yeah, the Butterbeer in Hogsmeade.” he agrees, tightening his grip around your waist, eager to get his lips back on yours, “haven’t we established this?”

You throw your head back and let hearty laughter escape your lips. “You’re adorable. No, my love, you owe me for lost time. Best find a way to sneak up to the girls dormitory tonight—and don’t get caught.”

He laughs fully now, poking you in the ribs as nervousness and adrenaline course through his veins. He’s counting down the seconds until he can, undoubtedly, fly in through your open window tonight. You pull on his shirt to get him back into the castle; there’s no part of your bodies or clothing that are dry now. But he grabs your hands and pulls you back toward him, still standing directly in line of the rain and the wind, and he continues to move fat strands of wet hair out of your face. “What’re you doing, Georgie? Thought you didn’t like the rain?”

He wraps his hands around the back of your neck again and pulls you closer. Against your lips, he says through a cheeky grin, “I reckon I can get used to it now.”

reblogs & feedback are always greatly appreciated!

507 notes · View notes

be11atrixthestrange · 3 years

Text

Waking Up In Vegas Chapter 9

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN

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More Chapters

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[Ron]

"Okay. Let's talk," says Ron, throwing his arms down in defeat. "Go on, then."

"Not here!" exclaims Lavender, her eyes nervously scanning the restaurant where they're still drawing attention. "Not in front of people," she whispers.

"Where, then?"

'Your room."

Ron narrows her eyes at her. His room has to be the worst place for whatever conversation she wants to have. He has an inkling that her grievances will include 'don't you miss me?' and 'we're in Vegas, let's live a little' and being in a room alone with her and a king-sized bed is a very bad idea.

However, unlike her previous attempts to get him in bed, this time he has his eyes set on someone else, and her tricks won't work.

"Okay then," shrugs Ron. "Let's go to my room."

Lavender beams, and Ron reckons he should tell her to keep her pants on and her hopes down.

They leave the bar and continue up the stairs to his room, Lavender skipping by his side while her hand swings between them, almost begging for an accidental brush of his fingers. Ron crosses his arms in front of his body, wondering if his intentions were that obvious on the walk back to the hotel with Hermione, when he was painstakingly aware of how close his hand was to hers.

Panic sets in as they approach the door to his room. Did he ever clean up the whipped cream and champagne flutes from last night? Does he even care if Lavender sees?

His question answers itself when he opens the door to find that the room is spotless, thanks to the hotel's cleaning service, but his stomach sinks in disappointment. Maybe spotting the evidence that Ron really has moved on would have been a clear signal for Lavender to follow suit.

Immediately after entering the room, Lavender tumbles into his perfectly-made bed.

"Can you get off my bed?" he hisses.

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously. It's a bit weird, don't you think?"

She narrows her eyes, which are momentarily wet with tears, before making a dramatic show of getting up.

"Where can I sit, then?"

Instead of getting too comfortable, he'd rather she get straight to the point. "What do you need to talk about?"

"Nothing in particular," she says airily, taking a seat beside him on a barstool.

Ron rolls his eyes. "You just said—'

"I said, I want to talk. We never just talk anymore," Lavender says, as if that was a valid reason to drag him away from a very enjoyable afternoon at the bar.

"We never talk because we broke up."

"Right, and I want to make sure you have people to talk to. You know, confide in."

"Confide in?"

"Yes, Ron. Confide. I can tell you're stressed out. You're doing a lot for Harry and Ginny, planning this whole trip and everything. I just want you to know I'm here if you need a sounding board."

The way she bats her eyelashes at him and reaches her hand to his head to brush his fringe from his eyes sends tingles down his spine, and not the good kind. He sees right through this.

"I'm not stressed," he says, and it's true — he's not at all anxious about the trip. Hermione's done most of the planning, and thanks to her itinerary, things have been extremely smooth.

It's almost as if Lavender can see Hermione's name passing through his thoughts. "It looked like you were having a pretty intense conversation with Hermione Granger at the bar."

Ron doesn't like the sound of her full name in Lavender's voice. It makes Hermione sound like a stranger. Emphasizing the name instead of the person behind it sounds like an attempt to create distance, and Ron doesn't want to know what Lavender plans on justifying with that distance. Other than being a bully, of course.

He hopes his calculated response will get under her skin. "Yeah. 'Mione's great."

Ron's never used a nickname on Hermione before, but Lavender doesn't need to know that. Plus, he likes the way it sounds. Maybe he'll try it later, if she'll allow it, of course.

Without warning, his mind flashes to his bed, where his fingers are digging into her flesh as he grips her by the thighs to pull her writhing body hard against his erection. He's on his back, watching her ride him and freely calling her 'Mione' — moaning it, even. She bites her bottom lip and her breasts bounce with every thrust, her pleasure is evident by her arching back and hitching breath, and she doesn't seem to mind the nickname one bit.

Lavender's shrill voice pulls him from his ill-timed daydream. "I agree, she's great!" she says, her tone suddenly cheerful, like she's talking about a beloved college roommate. "I'm quite surprised by how much I like her. There's more to her than meets the eye, you know."

"Yeah, well, that goes for most people—" says Ron, now in two minds about diverting the conversation away from Hermione. What does she mean there's more to her than meets the eye?

There's not enough time to decide if it's worth humoring Lavender before she continues. "I'm just surprised that you two get along. You're like polar opposites."

He opens his mouth to respond but she interrupts.

"Oh of course! Football!"

"Football?"

"Yeah, she's a pretty big football fan, but you knew that, didn't you?"

He didn't know that, and as exciting as that news is, it makes him wonder how it didn't come up in conversation. She knows he's a football fan. Why has she never engaged him in a conversation about it? Ron shakes his head, refocusing on the present conversation. Lavender might be trying to get into his head.

"I'm sure most of it she picked up from Viktor, but still. She can probably carry on a sports conversation better than me."

Viktor. He knows that name. But it can't be… "Viktor?" he asks, unable to resist asking for more information.

"You know the one, that Bulgarian player."

He sure does. Viktor Krum. "Hermione knows Viktor Krum?"

Lavender scoffs. "Yeah. She dated him. For a long time," she says, reaching for his fringe again. Misreading the jealousy etched across Ron's face as confusion, she continues, "I was surprised too. He's hot. She might not look like much, but she clearly has no problem landing a really good football player."

To Ron's dismay, his daydream returns and he's back in his bed, pinned down by Hermione as she grinds on top of him. But this time, she answers to 'Mione' with a nickname of her own: Vicky. She screams that name when she reaches her climax, but it sucks the pleasure from the moment, and all Ron wants to do is fucking cry.

"Anyway, that's not really my tea to spill," says Lavender, shrugging innocently.

No it's not, he thinks. Although he wishes she didn't spill it, he's grateful she did.

"Are you sure you're okay?" asks Lavender, drawing her hand away and taking stock of his hollow expression.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he responds curtly.

"And we're good?" she asks.

Are they good? He doesn't know — he can't decide if she is manipulating him or not. All he knows is that he's suddenly self-conscious about having kissed Hermione, and curious how it compared to Vicky. He can't help but wonder if her disappointment in finding out she's married to Ron stems from the fact that she could have had anyone else — for example: an older, hotter, professional football player.

"We're good," he says. Lavender doesn't need to know any of it.

"Good."

An awkward silence encroaches as Ron waits for Lavender to leave, but she doesn't move. She looks like she wants to say something else.

"You know I still care about you, right?" she says eventually, breaking the tension.

"Of course," he adds, unwilling to say it back. He does care about Lavender, but he knows she wants to hear it too. It has to be a trap...

"I just miss my best friend. That's all." At that moment, she leans in so their shoulders are touching, and reaches her hand toward his exposed knee.

"Best friends don't sit this close," he says. His tone is colder than he anticipates, but that might be a good thing. It's probably necessary to get his message across at this point. "You should go, Lavender."

She lets out a shaky sigh, and Ron dares himself to look at her face. Her face is reddening, and her eyes water. She's not accustomed to rejection, especially not from him. "Walk me back?" she asks.

"Sorry, Lav. I really need a shower."

She opens her mouth to respond, but then snaps it shut, as if her automatic response was to flirt with him and invite herself to stay for the shower. Her face reddens and she looks away, his rejection fully catching up to her.

"Okay then. I'll see you at the bar later?"

"The bar?"

"Yeah, we're all getting together. Even Hermione," she adds icily.

Ron groans, shaking his head. He knew it. She fucking knows.

"Maybe," he says, avoiding her gaze. He then stands, stumbles into the bathroom, and slams the door.

She is so damn good at getting into his head. How does she know? And is that Viktor Krum stuff true?

There's only one way to find out...

He can vaguely hear Lavender huff as the bathroom door shuts, and he places his hands on the counter to gauge his reflection.

He looks like absolute hell. His skin is shiny and peeling, he has more freckles than he ever thought possible, and his hair is still dripping with sweat. Fuck the desert. How stupid was he, thinking that Hermione might have found him attractive in this state? She was probably relieved when Lavender settled into his lap at the bar; it was the perfect escape plan. Thanks to Lavender, Hermione didn't have to sit around and wave off unwanted advances from the weird sweaty guy she accidentally married — why would she want him when she was used to Viktor Fucking Krum? If it was true, that is.

He hears his hotel room door slam shut, and only then does he feel comfortable turning on the shower and stripping off his clothing, making a point not to look at his scrawny self in the mirror. Ron steps into the shower and groans as the cool water hits his sunburnt body, and forces his mind to wander far away from Hermione Granger.

When he's done, Ron steps out of the shower and towels off, still avoiding his reflection until he can't anymore. He ties the towel around his hips and stomps to his suitcase; maybe he owns something that can make him look somewhat desirable tonight.

He rummages through his clothing, settling on a royal blue button-down shirt and grey shorts. Lavender always says the blue brings out his eyes, and maybe she's right. He reluctantly makes his way back to the bathroom to check his reflection. The blue seems to distract from his reddened skin, and the structure of the shirt makes him look a little bit less lanky. Maybe he could catch Hermione's eye tonight, or, if she's truly not interested, he could attract the attention of someone else.

Someone else? The thought makes his stomach flip — he doesn't really want anyone else.

What would Hermione think if she knew that?

Ron leaves the bathroom, slips on his shoes, and after checking to make sure he has his phone, his wallet, and his room key, he turns out the lights and leaves.

Ron arrives at the hotel bar, and its new appearance leaves him momentarily confused. The bar has transformed from the quaint eatery where he and Hermione shared a round of drinks and appetizers just a short time ago to a bustling nightclub. The walls have come alive with flashy neon lights, which gives the portraits the illusion of movement. Just when he thinks this hotel can't get any more ridiculous, it seems he's proven wrong.

Previously an open-air eatery, the restaurant's doors are now blocked by a security guard standing his ground like a gargoyle. He checks Ron's I.D. then gestures to a sign on the door — something about no guns allowed on the premises.

"I'll have to pat you down."

"Uh, okay," says Ron, holding his arms out, while the security guard scans him for weapons. America's a strange place.

He enters the bar through a cloud of smoke, reminding him of a grade school stage production. People are everywhere, the music has shifted from acoustic tunes to electric pop remixes, and the place smells of cologne and alcohol.

Then he spots his sister at a large rectangular table across the dance floor. She waves him over and hands him a mystery cocktail.

"Drink this!"

Ron can almost smell the alcohol on her breath even though she's feet away. He glances over at Harry, slumped in a chair looking dazed and confused.

"You've gotten the party started quick, haven't you?" asks Ron as he brings the straw to his lips. The wave of guilt induced from the turtle-killing plastic straw is cut off by a slap of sugar and alcohol. "What is this?"

"Don't know!" says Ginny. "You're too sober!"

He decides her assessment is fair as he scans the crowd, looking for no one in particular, of course.

"Lavender's not here yet," croons Ginny, once she spots his eyes washing over the crowd. "If that's what you're wondering."

"It isn't," says Ron pointedly.

But then someone catches his eye. Hermione's at the bar, wearing a tight black dress that instantly makes Ron's shorts feel a size too small. Her hair is pulled back to display her gorgeous sun-kissed skin which looks shimmery and flawless, as if she's wearing a spot of make-up.

As far as he can remember, he's never seen her wear makeup before. Although she looks stunning all glammed up for the night, she didn't need to do any of it. It makes his heart swell and clench at the same time — there's something so vulnerable about Hermione doing hair and makeup for an evening out, and he even dares to wonder if he crossed her mind while getting ready.

If so, he hopes he will have the opportunity to tell her how beautiful she looks tonight. Maybe he'll even get a chance to say it again tomorrow, when all that makeup has been washed down his shower drain or even better — rubbed off by his bedsheets.

Ron gulps down the rest of the sugar-bomb masquerading as a cocktail, and makes his way toward Hermione. As he approaches her, his stomach clenches into knots at the memory of his conversation with Lavender. Viktor Fucking Krum. Is it true? Did they really date? Are they still shagging? It could be Lavender trying to get into his head, but he has to know.

"Hey, Hermione," he says as he reaches the bar. "Long time no see."

Hermione whips around and scowls at him. "What do you want?"

Ron takes a step back, baffled by her response. Did he say something wrong? Maybe she really was relieved to get rid of him earlier, and him approaching her now is the last thing she wants.

"Well, we were interrupted earlier, so I was hoping we could just pick up where we left off at the bar—"

"Oh really?" Her eyes are wide and suddenly angry — it almost wouldn't look out of place if they had turned crimson-red. "You want to pick up where we left off? And where exactly was that? With you staring down my shirt over a cocktail?" The rest of her words blend together, and it's then that Ron realizes she's had a bit much to drink.

Ron's face floods with color and his throat tightens. He steadies his voice to hide his hurt, but it only comes off as angry. "Hermione, are you okay? We should get you back to your room."

She opens her mouth to retort but is interrupted by a man's arm sliding over her shoulders. "Is there a problem here?"

The man is tall, muscular, and wears a smug smile that makes Ron want to punch him in the face. Although it's tempting, one glance at the man's ham-like hands stops him. Ron knows better than to start fights he can't finish.

"Who are you?" he asks instead.

"Cormac," says the man with a thick southern-American twang. "Who the fuck are you?"

Hermione leans into Cormac's arm as he slides a drink in front of her. Hermione immediately puts her mouth to the plastic straw and takes a long swig.

"Well listen, Cormac. I'm a friend of Hermione's," he begins, trying to emphasize 'friend' to convey how blurry their line really is. "She's had too much to drink, so I'm just going to take her back to her room safely now."

Ron reaches for her arm but is cut off by Cormac's hand. That's when he notices the large football tattoo on his forearm. Great. Another football player. Hermione has a type.

"I can do it," growls Cormac.

"No," says Ron. "I will."

"Can I have some water?" slurs Hermione toward the bartender, who instantly obliges.

"Mione," growls Cormac, and Ron's stomach sinks. He immediately wishes he could unhear the nickname slipping from Cormac's mouth — it sounds wrong in his seductive grumble, like he's appropriating a word from a language he knows nothing about. "Do you want to go back with this asshole, or with me? Remember, he lied to you."

"What are you talking abo—"

But Ron doesn't have time to finish his question before a wall of ice-water slams into his face, causing him to stumble back. Suddenly, he's alert, shell-shocked, and full of adrenaline. "What the FUCK?" he yells.

"You lied to me!" mumbles Hermione, now holding an empty glass of water, while Cormac watches on, wearing his smug but knowing grin.

"What are you talking about?" He turns to Cormac. "What did you tell her? And who the FUCK are you?" Ron's heart is pumping fast with anger, likely energized from the rush of ice water that when paired with the heat he's starting to grow accustomed to, has left him shivering from temperature-whiplash.

"Just a guy trying to get some action," says Cormac, quietly enough that Hermione, slurping away at the mystery cocktail that Cormac has so kindly purchased for her, can't hear.

Ron is seeing red. If Hermione's too far gone to care that she's drinking out of a plastic straw, she's too far gone to go home with this twat. The buzz from Ron's single but very strong cocktail is becoming apparent, and he feels like he can run a marathon. Instead, he channels his energy in the best place for it— Cormac's stupid face. Consequences be damned, Ron clenches his fist, winds up, and slams it right into his cheekbone, underneath his left eye.

Ron yelps — his buzzed and adrenaline-filled state isn't enough to mask the pain of his knuckles hitting hard bone, but luckily, his cry is drowned out by Cormac's, who clutches his head and stumbles a few feet back.

"What the hell?"

Before Cormac can retaliate, something, or someone, grabs Ron by the shoulders and shoves him away from the bar. "Get out."

It's the security guard from before, now clutching Ron's upper arm and leading him toward the bar's exit. "It's him that you have to worry about!" he says, trying to motion toward Cormac and Hermione, but he can't loosen the guard's grip on him to muster any gestures.

"Looked to me like you threw the punch," says the guard calmly, before pushing Ron out the door and slamming it shut behind him.

Well, fuck. Now what?

Ron rummages in his pocket for his phone, only to find that it won't turn on. How did he not think to charge it? He has to text Ginny, or even Harry, and warn them about Cormac. Who knows what that man is going to try with Hermione.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket and takes the stairs two at a time, with one goal in mind: find a way to keep Hermione safe.

#Ron Weasley #ronweasley #Hermione Granger #hermionegranger #Ron and Hermione #ron x hermione #ROMIONE #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #hpromione #muggle AU #muggle world #romionecom #be11a_vegas

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aclosetfan · 3 years

Note

(ask game) thank you so much for playing the game!! you’re the best (per usual)!!

Helllll yeahhhhh 21 is the DUMBEST STUPIDEST fic I’ve ever made and I lovvveee it 💚💙❤️ it’s the “Vampire Zombie” one i mentioned in the original ask game post 😂😂

So glad someone picked the number!! Background to keep in mind: do yall remember when there was just a shit ton of Vampire fics on FFN?? Idk about ao3, but for newer fandom members this was TOTALLY a trend in the early 2000s on ffn, and I was like why the fuck are all of these here??? And like, why is it constantly a predator-prey relationship between the rrb and ppg??? So I was like wait…okay, but this could be funny and decided to write a story making fun of these super cringey stereotypes.

The story would be a multi fic and I have zero idea how to explain it concisely, so basically below the cut is just me laying it all out for you srsly I’m just bearing my soul to you:

For the girls’ birthday, the Professor tricks out the simulation room they train in to be a VR game room b/c the girls had talked about VR once (and only once), but the Professor thought it was cool and ran with it. The Girls can create a world of their choosing and explore. They admit the idea is pretty cool and eventually start arguing where they should “go” first. Blossom suggests a historical era like the Victorian era/Bubbles suggests something romantic, where she hints at vampires/Buttercup doesn't like any of those ideas, but the vampires reminded her of all of her zombie videogames she plays and she ends up suggesting something like that instead/ To prevent arguing the Professors says he’ll combine all three ideas into one!

[[how does this machine work??? IDK in the spirit of early 2000 fanfics, anything complicated and confusing is only vaguely explained—which has in story effects that drive Blossom INSANE! Idk how it would work technically, but my choices as the writer on what is/is not describe and purposeful grammar mistakes has story implications] [ill explain this more later]]

The Professor loads up the “game,” but something malfunctions. He tells the girls (Buttercup) not to touch anything. She doesn't listen and ends up plugging something into an entirely different device against Blossom & Bubbles protest. The device is that old “time machine” thing the Professor made in one of the OG cartoon (the one where the girls meet the Young Professor). It turns out that whatever she does (again still don't ask me how) fuses the basic concept of the two machines together and creates a device that transports them to a parallel universe that matches the specifications of the “game” they wanted to create.

[[Throughout the story, i want to include little video game gags, like bottomless bags for storage, or random bullets laying around, little things like that. (they've lost their powers/ but BC keeps finding all these random guns/knifes so they're good) I also give the girls the “ability” to read the dialogue I write. So, when I mess up a comma (i.e. Let’s eat Grandma! vs Let’s eat, Grandma!), Blossom will look at the “character” they’re talking to and be like, “WELL, which is IT!?”] [I know it’s stupid, but I think its so fun!]]

So, because of the video game “glitch,” the girls think for the longest time they’re actually IN a video game, but when they “go to sleep” thinking that’ll save the game and they can quit, per Professor’s instruction, they find out they can’t. Cue freak out. After the calm down, Buttercup’s like okay, listen we probably just have to beat the game! Too bad they don’t know what the game’s objective is exactly. They just know they’re dressed in Victorian Era clothes and their “Professor” is the town’s doctor? Their mother died (tragically). It’s all a bit dramatic. They start searching for clues. Eventually, they find out that the Town has a zombie problem (THANKS BUTTERCUP!), and Blossom figures if they can cure that, they beat the game. Unbeknownst to them, they are actually stuck in a stupid vampire love plot there just happens to be zombies. [Like, you can’t have one supernatural creature without another and I wasn’t going to write about werewolves.] No one in town seems to care about the undead problem. Buttercup keeps “leveling up,” Blossom’s on the verge of a breakdown, and then, finally, Bubbles meets Boomer.

Boomer swears up and down Bubbles is his fated mate. Bubbles—who is definitely interested—is like ooo so you’re a vampire, cutie? He’s broody about it. She’s like so do you sparkle in the sun?? (I absolutely love sparkles, she says). He’s like, wut?? She’s like, do you sparkle???? He’s like, uh no, the sun kind of burns my energy tho. She’s like, oh. Okay. I see. You don’t sparkle. Sooo, well, haha, okay you seem like a really really sweet guy with the whole eternal devotion thing, but I don’t think this is really going to work out between us. He’s again like WUT. Boomer gets broken up with because he doesn’t sparkle.

Vampire Butch is flat out scared of Buttercup. Like he fully admits he’s sucked infants dry of their blood; he’s why people should fear the night; he’s not a “good guy”; but BC is a force to be reckoned with. In the Victorian era, I’m guessing they had little to no experience with the modern day “bro” and BC is full on bro. This doesn’t mesh well with Butch’s broody, dark, vampire thing he’s got going on. She’s too vulgar for a Victorian lady, she wears things called “Chacos,” and she has a gun??? Multiple guns. And He. Has. No. Fucking. Idea. What. She. Is. Saying!! No! He will not “dab her up!” No, he “doesn’t lift.” This wasn’t his mysterious, tough (but still a damsel, mind you) mate he met one fateful evening, this was some heathen creature (and this is coming from a vampire), so please, please, please, can he kill her?????

Blossom’s like I don’t like to be touched and I’m a lesbian, and Brick’s like one) I think I respect you more than the old Blossom; two) the zombies just appeared, stop asking; three) you need to now help us find our mates before their eighteenth birthday or we’re all screwed.

Ready to kick ass and fight sexist stereotypes with their new “bros,” the girls set out with their new objective, hoping beyond hope that once they find the missing girls they’ll be able to go home. The girls find out that their parallel alternatives went disappearing a few days ago, so their “return” had been a relief to the whole town. [[Blossom’s like why did no one question our clothing?!?! Why are there zombies?!?!]] ugh and then, I don’t know what happens :( really. I never really ended it. They girls just constantly shit on the boys being broody vampires and kick zombie ass, like idk what else a gal could want out of a story. I feel like they end up finding the other girls. And I think that I was going to bring HIM into the mix, but it’s still just regular HIM. It turns out that HIM likes jumping dimensions to make the Girls life hell in every lifetime and has cursed the three girls living in the vampire dimension. (“I’ve got a life outside of just you, ya know.” HIM huffed, “What are you three doing here?”) It also turns out that out of all the dimensions, our Girls as Superheroes are the best at beating HIM and saving the day, so he’s extra pissy that they’re ruining his carefully crafted “historical romance vampire soap opera.” Blossom loses her shit because the historical inaccuracies are too high to now ignore, Bubbles is pissed because HIM didn’t make good enough vampires, and Buttercup’s like honestly, not a bad game, ngl. Everyone ignores her.

[[They beat HIM, free the other girls, return home, and BC obsesses over their stats sheets. Back in Vampire land, the boys are like wait a second the relationships we are now stuck in suck.] [The zombies are still not explained]]

#21 #is such a good number #my outlines #my writing #outline ask game #ppg fic outline #this is so stupid but come on I miss early 2000 fanfics #also like i said I don't know how i would even write the gaming glitches #but it would be really fun to figure out #maybe i WILL write this one someday just for the fun of it!!#lemme kno what you think #this is my last one tonight but plz keep on asking lol

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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Text

“Losty Aone” / “Losty Mountain Man🏔” Series:

Outtake Collection #12:

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A/N: I miss you guys so much! Thank you for over 150 notes on my last outtake 🤯! If you haven’t read my life update already, please do and know that it’s hard for me to prioritize school and work before this blog. This outtake collection was originally supposed to be a multiple posting like the previous ones, but I reckon I was taking too long and thought to just post at least the part that was complete. Love y’all

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Songs for this outtake:

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8 Days After The Breakup ⛓🥀

💤 😴 💤

“Leave her be. She’s having fun.”

Aone watched as the class-snitch Tsume Lian handed in his paper and hurriedly left the classroom.

I didn’t mean to scare him, thought Mountain Man. He shrugged it off, looking down to concentrate on his own assignment, going through the questions easily. I only have 3 left now, and the answers are fairly simple because-

“Hi! Thanks so much for defending me a little while ago!”

An angelic voice startled Aone out of his academic train of thought. As soon as the sound vibrations reached his ear drums all the nerves in Aone’s body stood at attention.

Is that......?! he questioned, but received his answer when he felt the magnetic pull to the voice as he always did—his eyes having a mind of their own and following the sound. Aone felt his heart halt when he lifted his head from his paper to be graced with something much, much, more beautiful. His crush, you, were standing next to him. Aone’s entire body and brain went out of commission when he looked up to see you, standing so close he could feel your body heat, your beautiful manicured hands pressed on his desk. Your grateful eyes were staring into his for quite possibly the first time in his entire life.

The eyes he dreams about.

Your Apple scent invaded his nostrils and Aone breathed in as deeply as he could subconsciously. He never wanted to smell anything else.

The scent that he dreams about.

You reached over to touch Aone’s arm in his uniform, shooting him an endearing smile. Aone’s eyes widened. Y/N IS TOUCHING ME, he thought. His heart tightened and he really thought he was at risk for a heart attack. The only thing that kept him from having that heart attack, in fact, was seeing you smile a second later. He wouldn’t be graced with that smile if he fainted now🥵. To Aone, when you smiled, oh god, when you smiled—You weren’t just beautiful like he always found you: you were unreal. It was your smile on top of the cheerleading pyramid that made him initially lock onto you, and it was your smile with your friends at school that made Mountain Man stop in his tracks every time just to take it in. It is captivating.

Aone couldn’t help but stare at your lips when the vibrations of your melodic cheerful voice reached his ears again.

“I’m Y/N! It’s nice to meet you!”

Nice to.....? What? Losty Aone connected the dots a bit, realizing that you were introducing yourself to him. He wanted to laugh. It is almost a comical quiet-boy-meets-his-crush scene, right? The fact that the female he spends most of his day thinking about, the female outside of the Takanobu’s that he probably knows most about, the female that he has spent the better part of the last two years pining after, was introducing herself—that she deemed it necessary to make him aware of who she is—is comical.

Dark Comedy.

Honestly, Aone couldn’t even stop for too long to feel bad for how pathetic this seemed for him: as he was too busy basking in your light. Whether you were introducing yourself or reciting the Arabic alphabet to him— he’d want to hear you over and over, no matter what, unable to think of anything else he’d want more.

Aone wanted to say something back to you, he obviously did. But he was just too in shock that the girl he wishes he could marry, the girl that is so completely out of his league that she doesn’t even notice his existence, is speaking him unexpectedly. It was like a dream. Aone’s throat was drier than the Sahara desert.

It was TOO MUCH. Your simple greeting made him TOO HAPPY—he was unable to respond.

Aone felt severe loss of sweet tingling skin nerves when you removed your hand from his burning arm. If he was thinking clearly he might have pouted. He mentally kicked himself for being too star-struck by you to dedicate one part of his mind to memorize what it felt like to have you touch him.

“Sorry.”

You said shyly, gifting Aone’s eardrums again. You looked down sheepishly, then met his serious expression again, appearing God-sent with the thankful expression you gave him. If Aone could speak, he would bloody PROPOSE.

“Um....”

Still frozen, Aone couldn’t tear his eyes away from you as you spoke.

“You probably don’t know this but you getting that pervert to leave me alone is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has done for me. And you did it for a stranger, no less. And ummm.........”

You tucked your hair cutely behind your ear, obviously wanting to say something else. Aone was eager to hear it. He loved hearing your voice! After all, witnessing your usually bubbly cheerleader-self so demure and cute-looking made his heart skip a beat. Or dozens of beats. All he could think of when he watched you was:

She’s Unreal.

She’s Perfect.

She’s a Dream.

Long shot, but she’s my desired Future wife.

He wanted to beg you to keep speaking. Your voice was his favourite sound... it has been ever since he first heard it.

“Ummmm........ also I wanted to say.....”

Aone put an effort to mentally block out all the white noise of the chatty classroom so that he could hear your beautiful voice more clearly. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to memorize every second of this, since you approaching his desk has unpredictably turned today in to one of the best days of his life. Please keep talking to me Y/N. Please.

Aone’s heart tightened again as your expressive eyes pierced into his serious ones. You took a deep breath before saying what you wanted to say next.

......Yes? Aone wish he could say. You can tell me anything, Y/N.

“....and.....”

you pushed on, leaning in closer so that Aone had an even clearer close up of your gorgeous face and your scent was even stronger. Yep, absolutely the best day of my life.

And......? Aone wanted to hurry you, but then he saw you opening your mouth:

“And do you mind not doing that again? It’s obvious you have a really intense crush on me obviously—but I don’t feel the same way. I don’t even know who you are. It’ll never work out in the long run because I’m in this league and you’re...in that one.”

Aone hearing what you said was like a knife—no, A SWORD stabbing through his heart. He literally felt wounded. He looked at his beautiful crush—still putting you first even in a state of pain like this— feeling terrible for making you uncomfortable due to his romantic hopes.

“I’m s-sorry, Y/N...” Aone was about to stutter out,

💤😴💤

But his eyes opened before then, kicking him out of his dream.

Takanobu’s heart ached as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling in the dark. Aone checked with his hand to make sure that he really hadn’t been stabbed through the chest, because that’s what he felt right now. Breathing heavily through his nose when he felt his actual hard chest there like normal, he wondered how the pain there could be so insufferable then?

Takanobu hasn’t been able to avoid these terrible dreams since several nights ago, when you had broken up with him on the Ferris wheel. He knows you are not as cruel as you are in his dreams but his depressive state of mind obviously only knows how to make him feel worse about everything. He doesn’t really remember much after you had called him your friend in the Ferris Wheel lot; shattering what was left of his heart by that word combined with walking away. Though, he does remember hearing his mom at dinner 2 nights ago talking to him about how it was Futakuchi who had to come get him, but he wasn’t sure.

To be honest, ever since the night on the Ferris Wheel, Aone has become a shell of a man that lost a lot of care for things he used to care about.

He can’t recall what his mom said at dinner or what Kenji said in the car or what really happened the days after you decided to leave him: The only feeling he could register is the overbearing heavy feeling in his heart. The only thing that captured his attention is the aching in his chest. The sound of his heart’s continuous shattering whenever he thought of you was louder than any words he heard and the all encompassing gnawing of heartache, was more tangible than anything else he could possibly feel.

If Aone had to describe in words how he has felt since that moment 🎡 (but he wouldn’t because he has subconsciously retreated back to his mute lifestyle), he would say his heart feels like it is encompassed by the heaviest chains known to man with an anchor on the end, hanging low and weighing down his whole heart.

If that wasn’t bad enough, whenever you crossed his mind, the chains would tighten and squeeze his heart. Therefore, since you basically never left his mind, that means his heart is continuously being squeezed by hefty anchorage. It is an awful feeling to say the least.

Sitting up on the side of his bed, Aone checked his phone for the time and date.

8 days since the anniversary...? He stated to himself.

Had I attended school in between? He doesn’t even remember.

All that was clearly registered is the feeling of loss.

Aone sighed. Must have, because knowing Futakuchi, he likely wouldn’t let him skip. Aone can now recall going to school and not seeing you there....no wonder it’s deemed insignificant in his brain.

When Mountain Man had gotten too worried about your absence on the second day and was about to check on you, his friends had asked your friends, discovering that you were currently sick and on bed rest.

Mountain Man felt terrible. You probably got ill from walking in the snow after the Ferris Wheel ride. If he hadn’t brought you there you wouldn’t be sick. You’d only had on a thin jacket that night...

Should I text Y/N? Ask her if there’s anything I can bring her so she can feel better? What would Futakuchi say?

‘ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT.‘ Is what he would say, Aone thought, practically able to hear his friend’s voice.

In bed, Mountain Man sighed. Even if he did text you, you didn’t want to hear from him anymore. That’s the purpose of a breakup, no matter how much it gutted him. You were entitled to your space.

Through impenetrable mental torment, Aone rubbed his eyes and peeped at the time. While Aone would describe himself as a militant person, who always wakes up on time for school, leaves his house on time for everything; practically the most dependable human, and was very orderly his entire life—things have changed drastically as of 8 days ago. Not that he cared since time wasn’t really something he could focus on, but Aone now awoke several times a night, walked in late to class and cancelled his attendance to any and all social events he was going to go to.

He and Futakuchi were supposed to help Karasuno with blocking yesterday, but Aone just went straight home. He hasn’t even seen his friends for quite some time....or maybe he has, but the memory isn’t registering.

Broken-hearted Mountain Man would just avoid everyone in class (staring out of the window, looking incredibly unapproachable), and outside of class: opting to eat lunch alone (and by eating, it means just toying with whatever he was going to eat). Every lunch hour, this depresssed polar bear would find some corner outdoors to sit by himself: Sometimes it was at the bus stop down the street from the school where he’d sit and watch the passerbyers, his gaze staying a bit longer on the couples that passed by, wishing you still wanted that with him. Yesterday, he found a spot under a big tree and counted the grass patches. Even though you weren’t at school, as soon as the Date Teko cheerleaders came outside to practice a bit for the snowboarding team, Aone picked up his stuff and finished his lunch in an empty classroom...

6:38am.

So Aone had over 20 minutes till he needed to get up and get ready for school.

Usually, this white-haired man would use that time to do something productive: either review his homework, try to make breakfast for his mom or dad, read a book to his turtle, research new volleyball drills to help his team.............

But this morning was different. Of course it was. In the extra time he had this morning, all Aone could do in these minutes is sit up, propping his elbows on his knees and cradle his head in his hands, willing his heart to stop hurting so much. He had zero tears to cry, he isn’t a crier but they were probably all out after the first night that he tear stained his pillow...... So instead of crying, now Aone just spent his extra time in this position, thinking about you—the greatest girl he would ever know—and how he failed to make you happy enough that you’d choose to stay with him.

Aone:

He has no idea why he got his hopes up. Why did he think someone like you would want him? Of course you’d come to your senses eventually.

Faded beautiful black and white images of your moments together flashed through his depressed mind like a movie reel: triggering his heart to weigh his body down even more:

He saw you playing with Perdu on the floor of his room, trying to teach the reptile how to fetch.

He saw you cling onto his arm and hide your face in his shoulder when a jump scare hit the screen at the movie theatre.

In slow motion, He saw you waving and smiling at the supporters in the bleachers as you were cheerleading with your teammates, looking breathtaking

He saw you giving his best friends the middle finger and sticking your tongue out at them because they were teasing him

He saw you throw your head back and laugh as you sat next to him at the lunch table, leaning on him for support because you were laughing so hard

He saw you flip your hair back as you actually listening to his tutoring in his room... then he saw your face brighten, clapping when he told you your answer was correct

He saw you—

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The sound of Aone’s weekday alarm jolted him out of his heart wrenching slideshow... He rubbed his temples for a moment in his dark room before turning the alarm off. He stood up slowly and took a deep breath before forcing himself to go through the motions again— slipping on his house slippers and making his way to his bathroom. He flicked on the bathroom light and Aone dared to look at himself briefly in the mirror: though what greeted his eyes made him instinctively turn the fucking light off.

Pathetic, anguished Mountain thought.

I look even scarier now. He tore his eyes away from the mirror display of his tired eyes and overall broken demeanour.

No wonder Y/N doesn’t want me.

Hearing your name in his mind for the first time since he had promised himself he wouldn’t mention it, sent a wave of immense devastation through this man’s entire body. It was so strong it caused this middle blocker to hang his head and use both strong hands to grip his bathroom counter so he wouldn’t collapse under the metaphorical pain in his chest.

He never knew it was possible to feel such emotional pain so physically.

He deliberated staying home, but that would worry his parents and friends even more, which is the last thing he wanted.

It’s almost the end of the week. Just keep getting ready for school, he told himself. It is only 4 hours until lunch, when you can be alone again.

Aone brushed his teeth while sitting on the edge of his bathtub, finding it easier to avoid his reflection in the mirror this way. He spat and rinsed, then reached for his floss, but realized it was empty.

Sighing, baby boy dragged his feet from his ensuite to one of his house’s main bathrooms where his mom left the extra toiletries.

Aone began flossing in his quiet bathroom. He heard the faint sound of the front door closing and locking since his mother usually left for work at this time. Takanobu finished flossing and washed his hands. He took a few floss containers and exited the main bathroom, shutting off the light and briskly turning the corner—before running right into another man.

“Shit!” The other voice yelled as their body fell backwards from the impact.

Completely startled because he thought he was home alone, Aone’s eyes widened but his fast reflexes caught the man’s arm before he fell to the ground. Aone’s eyes went back to normal realizing who he caught.

“Dude! Are you a fucking ghost?! You make zero sound when you walk around the house! How is that even possible for a man your size!?!”

Takanobu looked down at his best friend dressed in pyjamas like: ⁉️

Not uttering a word, he gave Kenji a monotone look as to say: What are you doing here?

Kenji—understanding his best friend without him needing to use words like he always did, answered him.

“What am I doing here?” Kenji chuckled. “Well, it’s been days and you won’t answer my texts or calls, big guy! I have no idea where you go during lunch, it’s cold as shit outside and we spend the entire time looking for you.... and then you go straight home when the last bell rings! You seem dead at school: like a zombie. So fuck, you forced my lazy ass to get creative. 💥 Boom. Now I’m here. Your mom said I can move in stay for the time being, basically. I’m sleeping in the first guest room and—“

Aone turned on his heels to peek into the first guest room beside the bathroom. Sure enough, he saw one big suitcase Futakuchi had used when he had come on a vacation with his dads side 4 years ago.

Aone turned back to his friend, grunting as if to say: 🤨 this is a lot....

“—No, it is not a lot. I’m worried about my best friend, man. Either way, I’m not asking you permission.” Kenji crosses his arms in response to his friend’s silent communication. “I told you it’s me and you.”

Aone frowned at his friend. He was pretty astonished by everything Kenji just said. First, Kenji is right about his own self analysis: Kenji is lazy. Which made this all the more alarming, because was Aone really that bad that his best friend felt obligated to move in temporarily?! Futakuchi was always welcome here and stayed over often, but nothing this drastic.

Second, Aone knew he was possibly moving around like a shell of a man—that’s why he avoided people unless it was in class regarding group work—but to be described as a zombie by his brutally honest friend? Ouch. What would Y/N think? Aone doubted you would regret dumping a guy like that if you were in good health and saw him at school.

Hearing your name again in his mind; Aone’s heart panged.

Takanobu’s gaze fell and shoulders sunk and Futakuchi noticed the drop. He knew his middle blocker was going through it like crazy.... and it made him sick. Kenji knew right then and there that he was right to come here.

“I know you don’t want to talk about her, Aone-san. We don’t have to until you’re ready. But I’m here, alright? Just two doors down when you want advice or you just want to watch a movie or play some volleyball. Okay?”

Still looking at his turtle slippers, Aone nodded. In his state, he couldn’t help but feel a bit better because his best friend cared so much about him.

Just then, Aone felt a sharp slap on his back that couldn’t have come from Kenji and an excited voice next to his ear.

“MORNING!!!!!! WHERE CAN I FIND THE FLOSS— OH! BOTH OF YOU ARE AWAKE!”

Koganegawa‘s eyes were barely open as he joined the two boys in the hallway, yawning in the midst of his loud greeting.

Startled that Kogane was in his house too, Aone gave him the same alarmed expression he’d initially given Futakuchi.

Kanji looked confused, so he nudged Futakuchi. “I’m not as good as you yet, dad. What does that look on Aone-senpai mean?” He asked, stretching his arms in fatigue.

In response, Kenji reached up to pinch his ear, yanking it down.

“OI! ITAI!” The setter cried.

Kenji spoke calmly.

“Takanobu-san is wondering what you’re doing here. And I’m wondering why you’re so loud in the mornings!!” Futakuchi let go and Kogane rubbed his now red ear, fully awake now. He glared at Kenji for a moment😡before his eyes met the middle blocker’s and softened.

“Hey, Mom. That abusive parent 👈🏻 mentioned something about staying here for a few days or weeks, and I begged him to let me come. I worry about you, too, you’re like a big brother to me, and I’m here for you just as much as he is.” Kanji smiled brightly at his older friend.

For the first time since you’d broken up with him, Aone felt his heart tighten for a different reason other than heartache. For one brief moment, Aone felt a few links in the heavy chain wrapped around his heart fall off. Albeit minimally, his friend’s endearing actions made him feel lighter.

————————————

Outtake #13: CLICK HERE

Sneak Preview of the next dramatic Outtakes:

A pissed off Kenji Futakuchi confronts Y/N upon your return to school 👁👄👁

Aone and Y/N must work together for a school project....... 💔 awkward, or an opportunity? The answer may surprise you.

Taglist: @crushzone @galagcica @chaichai-the-weeb @nairobiisqueen @bisasterrr @juminly @simply-not-the-same

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