#you know too much. you don't remember enough
Note
MORE ANGST.
Like, okay, more angst for reader, but I need some angst for 141. Like PLEASE.
So, the reader, frustrated (mentally and physically), decides to take things onto their own hands. If they treat them as if they don't exist, so will they. It starts simple. They don't greet them good morning and goodbye anymore, when the team would only offer a grunt or nod of acknowledgment. Reader doesn't ask them to hang out, or to join into their plans. They start living for themselves, not quite leaving them, more like treating the four men like roommates. Whenever one would initiate intimacy, reader would slip away, offering some lame excuse. At the same time, just an hour later, they'd see a glimpse of reader, all dressed up and pretty, not bothering to let them know where they'd be going as they run out the front door, only to be heared from a couple of hours later. Stumbling through the front door with a second pair of footsteps following suit, and a hearty male laugh. The apartment was as much reader's as it was the boys' so it should be normal they brought someone home ... but was this what the task force 141 though?
changed it ever so slightly but I love this yes
c/w: poly!141, mentions of emotional neglect, alcohol, intoxication
you got the idea after scrolling through social media, rotting away in bed had become a common routine for you. an advertisement had popped up for a bar that opened up a few months ago, you remember asking johnny and kyle to go with you but they were too busy at the time
it looked like a nice enough place. not like the dive bars in camden that simon takes you to, or those annoying ass scotch bars in canary wharf that john insists on ‘introducing’ you to. as if you’ve never had a glass of scotch before. the memory makes you scoff to yourself
surprisingly, it doesn’t take much to convince yourself to just… go. if they won’t go with you, there’s no reason why you can’t convince yourself. they were too busy ignoring you to notice you’d be gone anyway. so, you drag yourself out of bed and rifle through the wardrobe for something to wear
looking good really does make you feel good, you say to yourself when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror once you were ready. you’d decided on a fitted black dress with a pair of black strapped heels. they wouldn’t notice but you added a bit of detail to the outfit
if they did notice that every piece of jewellery was a piece they had bought for you, it would fucking burn. the diamond skull-shaped studs that simon got you, the vintage locket that john had found for you when he was deployed, and the anklet that kyle had grabbed from some fancy jewellery store on oxford street paired with the stunning ring that johnny found at a local market in scotland
you took a deep breath and held your head high before grabbing your purse. when you entered the front room, all conversation stopped as usual. but only because they were too busy eyeing you up and down, “where’re you goin’ dressed like that?”
you roll your eyes when john speaks up, not even stopping to respond. a curt ‘out’ leaving your lips as you walk out the front door and slam it loudly. the boys all looked at each other, shifting in their seats uncomfortably at the interaction
john narrowed his eyes as he glared at the front door. he didn’t like not knowing where you were. even if you didn’t know it, john always knew about your whereabouts
the bar was nice, nice enough for you to drink your feelings away in. in your head, you imagined flirting with anyone just to make the boys jealous. but every time someone approached you, it just filled you with more sadness. perhaps a part of you just wanted the boys to grab you, persuade you to stay with sweet words and gentle kisses like they used to do when you looked this good
it was a few hours past midnight when you finally returned, simon awakened by the sounds of giggling outside and your keys jangling in the door. he didn’t plan on getting out of bed until he heard a male voice speaking along side yours
he stalked down the stairs, following the sounds of your heels stumbling until he found you in the front room. you were drunk out of your fucking mind with some random bloke holding you up. simon’s fists clenched at his side and he decided to make his presence known
“better take your hand off her before you fuckin’ lose it, mate.” he spits, taking a step closer to yank you from the man’s grip. you squeak and stumble from the harsh tug, landing right against simon’s bulky frame as he holds on to your arm to keep you steady
the man takes a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. “woah, i’m not here to cause any trouble. was just making sure she got home safe. my colleague over served her and she said her roommates were too busy to pick her up.”
simon clenches his jaw, keeping his gaze on the man and just waiting for him to step out of line. he doesn’t even notice that the others have climbed out of bed too, coming downstairs to hear what the commotion is about
he turns his head only to shove you into price’s arms, squaring his shoulders as he stares the bartender down. “well, our girl is home and safe now so you best be on your way.”
“relax, mate. she’s really not my type. that one there is more my type.” the bartender chuckles, nodding his head towards soap before turning around and walking out the door but not before giving you a goodbye
price steadies your body against him, already getting an idea of the kind of drunken state that you’re in. he lifts your basically limp body into his arms before carrying you up to bed but he doesn’t take you to the spare room. he takes you to what you have recently come to know as their room
“had a bit too much, princess?” he chuckles, placing you down on the bed. you look at him confused before letting your head fall to the pillow
“‘m still your princess?” you mumble into the fabric. price frowns slightly, turning his head to look at the boys before making work on taking your heels off
“course. you always have been.” he mumbles. you respond with a small hum before completely passing out against the sheets…
#mw2#cod mw2#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon riley x reader#captain john price#john price#john price x reader#ghost x reader#kyle gaz garrick x reader#kyle garrick x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#john soap mctavish x reader#soap mactavish#soap mactavish x reader#soap x reader
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Helpless to the bass and faded light
About when she bribes you and you dance with her like a filled stadium isn't looking
》 Leah Williamson x Reader
》 words count: +1k
》 she took my arm / I don't know how it happened / we took the floor and she said
You don’t like football.
It’s quite a boring game if you stop to think about it for a moment. Two dozen and counting people running around a ball trying to kick it into a huge net.
Not something you look forward to sit through for almost two hours.
Despite your father’s best efforts, you being his only kid and his only hope to pass down his passion, the sport never managed to interest you long enough to care.
You even found yourself in the stands of your dad’s favourite club’s home more times than you’re able to remember, going beyond yourself and cheering when the other people around you did.
The things you do to make your parents proud.
How you managed to have the English captain wrapped around your finger, regardless of your well-known dislike for her biggest passion and purpose in life, is still a mystery for your families and friends.
“Pretty please, just this one”
“Oh, shut up!”, you hit her arm and push her off you, both still naked.
You can’t believe your girlfriend is actually trying to bribe you with sex, not even waiting for you to fully recover before asking to go to the game.
“No, you ruined the mood”, you state as the blonde tries to kiss you again.
The huge grin of her beautiful face is quite dangerous, she can win you over so easily and you both know it.
Leah rises off the bed to retrieve a warm cloth from the bathroom and a clean shirt from the closet. You accept her attention, she’s always caring when it comes to you, but you’re pretty sure the extra effort has a not-so-subtle second purpose.
“You can’t buy me so easily, Williamson”
She can.
“It’s a really important game, my love”
“For who?”
“For me?”, she tries as she slots herself under your open arm, a grin hidden between your neck and the pillow.
“I barely bear you playing”
“You love watching me play”
“I love you, period”
Leah knows how much you think the sport is boring, going way out of your comfort zone just to cheer her. She feels immensely supported when she finds your big smile in the stands, wrapped in one of her jerseys.
It’s not that difficult for you to sit and admire your girlfriend in her element, focusing more on her movements and attitude than paying attention to the actual game.
What you find quite annoying is enduring Arsenal’s men’s team.
The defender’s fingers on your side are slowly soothing you in a compromising position, too relaxed and smitten to keep denying her anything. You know she doesn’t need much more to lure you into her trap and, unfortunately for you, she’s perfectly aware too.
When the blonde’s lips find the particularly sensitive spot on the base of your neck, you’re doomed.
~
You’re glad your father is already dead or you’d have killed him as you take your seat in the Emirates Stadium, surrounded by the Gunners’ colours. Your girlfriend’s name on your back could be the final nail.
The things you do to make your lover happy.
“You know I love you, right?”
“You better never forget this”, you quip back.
The English captain has been looking forward to this game for weeks now, you couldn’t have been able to turn her down in spite of it all.
She doesn’t need to know though, that you didn’t accept to spend one of your date nights watching the North West London derby for free.
“Maybe you will enjoy it at the end”
Nice try, you will not.
“You know, my dad was a West Ham supporter”
“Could have been worse”, she smiles at you, reaching for your hand.
Talking about your father is getting easier as time finally moves forward and your grief keeps changing its shape. Compared to the abyssal black hole it felt like the first year and a half, of its progress.
Leah didn’t meet him, crushing in your life a couple of months after his passing, but she managed to find a space in your heart that keeps growing despite all your fears.
They could have hit so well, bonding over their shared passion for the sport and their never-ending determination to make you happy.
You told her some stories about him, mostly memories to make your girlfriend understand how stubborn and passionate he was about the thing he cared about.
The one thing you all have in common.
“Yeah, he used to gift me a West Ham jersey every year on Bobby Moore’s birthday”
Leah’s laugh managed to overcome the buzzing atmosphere of the stadium, making you feel like she was the reason all the people around you were cheering. You sure think so.
“He sounds like an incredible father”
“Football obsession aside, he was good”
When you turn to look at her, the blonde’s eyes are already on you and the smile on her face is enough to warm your heart.
~
The first goal coming within five minutes has you quite engaged in what’s happening on the pitch, you even drag your girlfriend in a kiss as you both rise from your seats to celebrate.
Your commitment declined quite easily after that, more entertained by Leah’s reactions than the actual game. You nod in amusement every time she tries to talk you through one of her analyses, placing a hand on her thigh to stop her from standing up every time the ball is somehow close to the box.
The second half is more eventual, at least that’s what you can understand by the excitement the defender and the people in the stands around you seem to radiate.
You’re not clueless, you’re perfectly aware a five-nil win against Chelsea is quite the result. You care enough to think you can’t wait to go home - Leah is always in the mood for a private celebration when her team triumphs, especially over another London club.
“Can we go now?”, you ask as soon as the referee whistles three times, declaring the end of your and the Blues’ torture.
Leah’s happiness is contagious, so you’re not mad when she drags you in her arms to join her cheers and enthusiastic dance. It takes you less than a second to indulge her, letting the blonde spin you around and matching her excitement.
When she dips you and seals the move with a kiss the laugh that rises out of you is genuine and loud.
At first, neither of you notice the stadium’s camera pointed in your direction, recording your little moment of pure bliss in each other’s arms.
Looking back at it, as all your friends sent you the viral video, you know Leah saw you two on the big screen and went along with her little cocky display of affection and excitement for the victory.
You’re sure your father could be laughing at it too, despite the colors you’re wearing.
fine.
#woso x reader#leah williamson x reader#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso community#lw6#woso#here we are#short and sweet#i hope you enjoy it
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You made your choice
Gojo x fem!reader
Part 2
Previous part
Word count: 2.4K
Summary: you asked Gojo who is more important to him, you or his bestfriend. He indirectly chose and now he's experiencing consequences of his own action (probably for the first time in his life).
Warnings: bad grammar (possibly), typos, angst, very little comfort
Taglist: @ilovebattinson @catobsessedlady @abcdefghijklmmopqrstuvwxyz @nanao4k
A/N: I recomend listening to this song while reading (was listening to it while coming up with the story, the song and the story aren't exact copies of eachother but the vibe is about the same) and to those who know me THE LINK IS SAFE TO CLICK I DIDN'T LINK IT WITH WHAT YOU THINK I SWEAR. Enjoy the reading 😊
"Hey, can I come over?"
"Dude, you were just here!"
"I know, I know. But I need a shoulder to cry on."
"Damn, that bad? What happened? You and Y/N had a fight or...?"
"Can I just come over?"
"Yeah, sure. I'll leave the door unlocked."
Geto Suguru has had a lot of weird moments with his best friend, but that phone call certainly was...something. No explanation, no joking around, just straight to the point.
About fifteen minutes later he heard his front door open.
"Satoru, did you learn how to teleport or something? We live an hour away from eachother," Geto joked before he could even turn around and see the state his friend was in. Disheveled hair, dry lips, red eyes. Something terrible must've happened.
"It's Y/N," was all Gojo said before he sat down at the dining table.
"Figured that much," replied Geto and took a seat next to him and waited. He knew Gojo. That man can't shut his mouth to save his own life. He'll spill everything sooner or later.
Gojo let his head fall on top of Geto's and sighed. Geto patted his fluffy white hair and kept on waiting. Good thing was they both sat right across a big window. Geto could count pine cones on the nearby trees while he waited for Gojo to open up.
It didn't take long.
"Y/N left."
"WHAT?!" Geto pushed the white head off of his shoulder and took Gojo by the shoulders. "What happened? What did you do?" He stared him in the eye.
Gojo just blinked. "I don't know! I don't think I did anything wrong," he looked oit the window again. A squirell jumped from one branch to another.
Geto rolled his eyes and turned Gojo's face back to his. "Satoru, people don't just up and leave. You must've done or said something that hurt her feelings. What did I tell you about comunication being-"
"Being the cornerstone of a good relationship, I remember," he put his hands on Geto's cupping his face. "We did talk. And I thought we came to a mutual understanding. Then I offered to cuddle with her and went to shower but once I walked out she was gone. All her things too..."
"Wow," Geto let go of his friend's face, "what a bitch."
"Right?" Gojo agreed and leaned back on his chair so far it was threatening to fall. "I don't understand. She never complained before, never said anything, then all of a sudden she pulls a stunt like that, throws a scene, slips into her selfhating thing again-"
"Wait, she what?" Geto asked confused. He has met you enough times to know you were very cheerful and life-loving person. What was Gojo talking about? Selfhatred?
"She has these moments,"he explained, "thinks she's too fat, then not curvy enough, thinks she's too basic to be with a guy like me, so on. When it happened the first few times i comforted her but even after all those years she still thinks of herself as less than and I'm too damn tired of it. I thought all of those negative thoughts would go away the first time I assured her I love her no matter what," he crossed his arms on his chest and looked out the window again. "I'm starting to feel like she's doing it for attention."
"Listen Satoru, maybe she's just extremely selfconscious and people like her need reassurance like that. Besides if she was really doing that for attention she wouldn't leave withoit a word. She would leave hints for you to find her and come beg her on your knees or something."
Gojo chuckled. "Suguru, you've got to stop watching Shoko's telenovelas."
"I'm a slut for drama."
A phone rang.
In a speed of light Gojo pulled out his phone hoping to see your lovely face. The screen was black.
Geto pulled out his ringing phone and picked up. "Well well, speak of the devil," he smiled.
Gojo couldn't hear what him and Shoko were talking about. He could only take hints from Geto's facial expressions and his occasional answers.
"What do you mean you have to cancel it? Oh. Okay. I understand. And did she tell you what-" his eyes got wide. "But wait, that's not- I didn't- Actually he's right next to me."
Gojo tried to get closer to hear what they were talking about but Geto jumped up and walked across the room.
"Okay. Okay, i'll ask him. No, that's fine. Alright. Take care, both of you. Bye," he hung up. Then slowly turned around to face Gojo now standing opposite him.
"Now you'll tell me exactly what had happened between you two. You said she caused a scene, what was it about?"
His mouth turned into neutral line, just like when you started this whole mess. "She asked me to stop seeing you. Can you believe that? Trust me, if I told her to stop seeing her friends all hell would break lose."
"Isn't that what happened when she asked you?" Geto pointed out the obvious double standard but Gojo wasn't listening.
"Didn't you hear what I just said? She wanted me to spend more time with her. Like, what does she want me to do? Make me and her morph into one being?"
"It is true that you've been spending a lot of time with me," Geto held his chin between his fingers in a thought. "But I don't get one thing. If you being away from her this often was a problem for her then she must've shown signs, not encourage you to come and spend time with me when she was too busy herself."
"About that," Gojo nervously played with his shades. "I might've over-exagarated that."
"Don't tell me..." Geto pinched the bridge of his nose.
"She wasn't always busy when I came here."
"Satoru!" He half shouted. "You always told me she was too busy and couldn't come! Why would you lie?"
"Because i felt trapped!" He yelled back. "I felt like I couldn't even breathe. Yes, being around has brought me so much joy but I missed the thrill of being free. Just being with you and Shoko and doing whatever. Now I just feel like I'm chained to something that I kinda want away from but also not," the entire time he spoke he was pacing back and forth. "I just wanted to feel like the old times."
"So in other words you miss the feeling of being single but you also like the benefits relationship gives you," Geto concluded. "I thought you were better than this."
"And I thought you would understand," Gojo turned his anger against his best friend who was calmly standing in the living room. "But wait, I forgot, you have no one," he mocked.
"Damn right I don't. Which makes me even more pissed off when I see how you treat your own relationship! Have you got any idea how much I envied you for having someone waiting for you at home and welcome you after a long day? Or just someone to be there for you in general?"
Gojo got silent. He didn't know. Geto never showed it.
Geto took it as his chance to try speak some sense into Gojo. "Listen, you only feel like this because you've never been in a relationship. Feeling trapped is normal, I think. What's important is that you love her and you're capable of changing to get her back, right?"
Gojo was just looking at him.
"Right?" Geto said a bit more panicked.
"I don't know!" Gojo exclaimed and Geto facepalmed. "I don't know how to choose between her and you."
"Is that what she asked? For you to choose between her and me?"
Gojo shook his head. "No, I think she just wanted me to spend less time with you."
"So she didn't out right prohibit you from hanging out with me, she only asked for you to stay with her more often," Geto was slowly but surely getting the whole picture.
"Something like that," Gojo shrugged.
Geto sighed. "You royally fucked up Gojo Satoru."
"No, really?" sarcasm dripped from his words. "I still think I did nothing wrong. She has no right to aks me to spend less time with you."
"She does actually. She's your girlfriend of what, three years?"
Gojo nodded.
"Three years and yet you place her beneath a best friend. How would you feel like if she had to choose between her best friend and you and she went for the friend?"
Suddenly, Gojo looked like it finally hit him. "I'd feel...terrible," he sat down on the chair. "But... but I didn't tell her I would choose you. Both of you mean so much to me."
"On the same level or a different one? Satoru, understand that the love for a friend and a love for a lover are two separate kinds of love. You not being able to distinguish between them caused you to be in this mess."
Geto walked over to where Gojo sat and towere over him. He put a reassuring hand on his wide back. "Let me ask you this: what do you want right now? To be with her?"
Gojo stayed silent. He didn' know what he wanted. He hated the fact that he can't have both a friend and a lover. Choosing one would mean losing the other in Gojo's eyes. He can't afford that. Not when both of his most treasured people made him so happy.
Geto took his silence as a no. "You know what I think? You didn't want to have her. You just wanted others to see you have her."
His words cut like a knife. Why? Why do his loved ones have to be this cruel? He only looked up from the floor to his best friends almost black eyes. His own baby blues were watery. A lump took place in his throat. With a horror he realised how weak he feels. One half of him already packed her things and walked away, he can't let the other half do the same.
"Do you hate me now?" He whispered, affraid if he will speak any louder he would cry.
Geto took a while. Then shook his head. "No Satoru, just dissapointed."
Gojo nodded and looked back down to the floor.
Few minutes passed. None of them said anything. After Gojo was completely sure he won't fall apart he spoke up. "Do you think I can fix this?"
"Hmm," Geto hummed and pulled out a chair to sit opposite him. "Fixing means returning to its original state. I don't think things will go back to normal."
"But, I don't want to lose her. I know I don't!"
"Then you must set your priorities straight."
"But-" Gojo looked into Geto's eyes again. "That would mean I will loose you and that's equally as bad."
Geto shook his head. "You won't loose me. I'll still be here. You can still come over and we can still hang out. It just won't be like before."
"And that's what I don't want," Gojo mumbled and crossed his arms again while leaning into the backrest.
"Truthfully, if I had a girlfriend as amazing as Y/N I would spend a lot of time with her and not you."
Gojo swore he could feel his heart crack. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs, "that it's only natural to pick your lover over your friends. Not always, of course, but often enough."
Geto lifted his head to see his friend pale as a ghost, his skintone could now rival with his hair. He immediatelly regreted what he said. "But as I said, even if that was the case, even if you chose her as your top priority, which you should've as a good boyfriend, then it wouldn't mean I would cease to exist. And if I get someone in the future and I do the same you won't cease to exist to me either. You are my best friend, Satoru," he placed a hand on Gojo's shoulder, "and no girl will ever change that."
Gojo's ocean blue eyes let some tears slipped. He realized that his best friend is right, as always. Geto will always be there. And sure, even after he gets busy in his own life and won't have time for Gojo and his antics anymore, that wouldn't mean they would change into strangers to one another.
Gojo quickly wiped his tears and nodded. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't want tk fix this. I want to evolve this. I want her back. I want to learn to love her again. Properly this time."
"You sure about that?"
Gojo nodded.
"Even after she won't forgive you?"
"Why wouldn't she? She's smart. She will understand. Besides, how can you rehect the best man in the world?" He forced out a chuckle.
Geto shook his head. "Arrogant and full of yourself as always."
"Yeah, what can you do..."
Geto's phone buzzed again. But this time nkt from a phone call but a message. Geto took out his phone, gave it a short glance and put it back into his pocket.
"Was it Shoko?"
Geto shook his head. "Just my reminder. Me and Shoko planned to go see a movie."
"Oh, is that what you talked about canceling?"
Geto nodded. "Y/N knocked on her door and asked to stay a few days. From what Shoko told me she was a mess."
Gojo slumped forward on his chair and hid his face in his hands. "I never wanted any of this to happen."
Geto hummed. "Do you know what this is callled? Consequences. Hurts, doesn't it?"
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Shouldn't I want you?
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader
Summary: Spencer lets you break up with him, thinking he is not enough for you
Words: 2.1k
Warnings: angst, happy ending, arguments, mentions of ice-cream, lots of tears, swear words, use of y/n and pet names, mentions of Spencer being in prison
----------------------------------------------------
Spencer has been acting weird lately. And you don't know why. He's been so distant. Making different excuses on why he couldn't make it to the dates.
He's also started texting you less and less. And the calls just seem forced from your side, like he doesn't even want to speak with you while away on cases.
It's honestly breaking your heart, and maybe that's Spencer's plan. To just break your heart so you would break up with him.
It's making you so anxious that you wait everyday for the text from him that will say 'It's over. I'm breaking up with you.' But it doesn't come, and you don't know what to think of it. You don't even know why would he want to break up. You don't think that you've done anything wrong, and you are very certain that Spencer hasn't done anything wrong either. This whole thing is just so unusual.
On the one hand, Spencer is almost ghosting you, but on the other hand he doesn't want to break up? You are so confused about the whole situation.
You are crying over the break-up that hasn't even happened yet, watching your tv with a big bowl of ice cream in your lap. Spencer's supposed to come home today from a case, but you know he's not going to come to your apartment. He hasn't done that in the last few weeks, not since he's started being so distant.
So you sit in a pit of your tears, cheesy rom-coms and a bucket of ice cream. Suddenly, there's a knock on your door, and looking at the clock you know exactly who it is.
You panic, you didn't expect him to come. You quickly wipe your tears away, and hide the ice cream in the freezer. You know that you look puffy anyways as you open the door with a big sigh and a fake smile.
Spencer, of course, sees right through it.
"Hi- what's wrong?" Spencer immediately asks with a frown. He pushes you gently out of the doorway, and steps inside too as he closes the door.
"N-nothing," you lie, trying to force a smile on your face, "what...what are you doing here?"
A quick flash of hurt and confusion passes over Spencer's face, "I wanted to see you."
You suck in a shaky breath,"oh."
"Oh?" Spencer asks, baffled. "Seriously sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"Don't-Don't call me that," you whisper, eyes on the ground.
"What?" Spencer's eyes go wide, "I shouldn't call you sweetheart?"
You sigh, and look up at Spencer. He looks so lost by what you mean, and for a split of a second you think good, let him be confused. You've been confused for the last few weeks because of him. But then you remember that it's Spencer, still very much the Spencer you love.
"Yes, you shouldn't," you sniffle a little, "because it's only hurting me more."
"I-" Spencer starts.
"Spencer, just let me finish. I think that we both know that you don't want to be in a relationship with me anymore. So please Spencer, let's just not do this anymore. I can't keep going on like this, it's-it's just too much. It hurts too much," you say, your cheeks wet with tears yet again.
Spencer stays quiet, it's actually one of the rare times that he doesn't know what to say, and it just breaks your heart even more.
"Y-you won't even say anything? No reason why?" your voice breaks in the middle of the sentence. But looking at Spencer's teary eyes and completely shut mouth, you know, you two are done.
"I-It's over, Spencer. Please just go, you can come take your things some other day," you don't even wait for him to say anything. You go open the door and look anywhere, but him while he slowly leaves.
You don't have the courage to look at him. You hear him sniffle, but don't look. You can't see his broken face, it would be even worse than it already is.
Spencer leaves, and you slam the door shut behind him. It feels like your heart is being cut open by millions of tiny glass pieces as soon as the door closes.
You barely manage to walk towards the couch before you break down. Sobs violently shaking with your body.
-
A few days go by, and it's only when you don't pick up your phone on like the 20th try does Penelope march into your apartment.
You reluctantly open the door after she knocks, and knocks, insisting she's not leaving until you open the door.
"Hi," you greet her, and you immediately notice her slightly shocked face at the sight of you. And you get it. You haven't slept properly for the last few days, and the almost constant tears can't help either.
"Oh my gosh, honey, come here," Penelope instantly pulls you into an embrace, and you melt into it like a puddle.
She squeezes you tightly until you're ready to let go. "Pen, what...what are you doing here? Did Spencer send you?"
"Don't even say his name. He's in big, big trouble," she says in her own angry way. A small smile appears on your face when she says it.
"I can't believe he's done this. He can be such an idiot sometimes even if he really is a genius," you don't argue with that, but you don't want to talk about Spencer either. He's been on your mind enough as it is right now.
"Can we...can we not talk about it? I just want to get over it, and move on as soon as possible, "you sigh. You let Penelope in, and you want to make her go sit down to the living room while you make the tea, but she insists on staying in the kitchen with you.
"Believe me, honey, I wouldn't want to talk about Spencer if it wasn't important," she starts, and your mind immediately goes to the worst possible scenario.
Seeing your wide, worried eyes she adds, "he's okay. He's just stupid, that's all."
"Yeah," you agree quietly, even if you know that it's not true. Spencer maybe used to be clueless about things like relationships, but that has changed. He was never clueless in your relationship.
"Oh sweetheart, " Penelope rubs your shoulder in comfort, "I could beat him up for making you so sad."
Her very serious tone makes you let out a small chuckle. You and her both know that she wouldn't even hurt a fly let alone Spencer, her dear friend.
"Thanks, Penny, but it's okay, I'm okay. Spencer didn't want to be with me anymore, and i-i made my peace with that or-or at least i will eventually."
"But that's just it. That's what I came here to tell you. Spencer loves you, and he just let dumb people with dumb opinions get to his head," you almost burn yourself with the warm water for the tea when you hear her words.
"What do you mean?" you quizz. You forget about the tea, and turn to her.
"He'd heard some people talk about you and him. Some colleagues saw you two together somewhere, and started gossiping. He heard them say that you're too good for him with him being in prison and all-"
"What? That's just ridiculous," you exclaim, you've never heard such a bullshit before.
Of course, you know that Spencer was in prison, but you also know he was innocent. You knew Spencer even before he went to prison, and maybe he did change a bit, but he was still the same Spencer. The Spencer you've always been in love with.
"Exactly, I told him the same, but he wouldn't listen, " she looks sympathetically at you, "I think that Spencer just loves you so much that he's willing to let you go for better or worse."
You are stunned. You stand there absolutely baffled, and Penelope just looks at you with understanding. It takes you good few minutes to finally say something.
"You knew about this?" you question as you head towards the door with Penelope on your heels.
"No, I found out yesterday otherwise I would have told you sooner," you quickly put on your shoes as you listen to her.
"I know you would. Thank you for telling me this, Pen. You're the best," you give her a tight hug.
"He's at home right now," she tells you, you appreciatively smile at her, and basically run to your car with Spencer on your mind.
-
When Spencer opens his door, you instantly push yourself inside. You don't give him even a second to react, protest or say anything.
"Spencer Reid!" you start angrily. "I can't fucking believe you. You let us break up over some stupid gossip? And you didn't even tell me?" You say, hurt.
"It's not stupid, it's true-" Spencer starts calmly, a complete contrast to you. But on the inside he feels like he's going to pass out. It was already hard for him without seeing you, but now it feels like hundred times worse.
"Like hell it is!" you argue. "Spencer of course you're enough for me. I don't care what anyone says. It's not even true anyways. I don't care that you've been in prison, i don't care about any of it."
"But it is true. I'm no good for you. You can do so much better, sweetheart. Like look at me," he gestures towards himself, " I'm such a mess, my life is always messy. You don't deserve this kind of life, you deserve so so much better. You don't deserve to be waiting late at night for me to come home, wondering if i even come home. I can't let you have that kind of life. I'm not worth it."
Finally, Spencer lets the tears go down his cheeks freely. He knows what he is giving up by breaking up with you. He'd planned his whole life with you by his side. But it's better this way. Well that's at least what he is telling himself anyway.
"Don't you get it, Spencer?" you laugh dryly from the frustration, "I don't want better. I don't want anyone else. I just want you. I want you, Spence."
You sniffle slightly, and look at Spencer with hopeless eyes begging him to understand.
"You shouldn't, sweetheart, you shouldn't want me," Spencer tells you helplessly, running his hands through his hair.
You take a brave step towards him.
"Why shouldn't I?" you start. "Shouldn't I want the sweetest, the kindest person I know in my life? Shouldn't I want to be with the person that makes me smile, and makes my heart go fast? Shouldn't I want to be with somebody I completely trust? Shouldn't I want my best friend in my life forever? Shouldn't I want somebody who I feel safe with? Shouldn't I be with somebody I love the most?"
"So Spencer you tell me? Shouldn't i? Shouldn't i want you?" your cheeks are wet from the flowing tears, too.
Spencer shakes his head. You're impossible. How could he ever think that you'd just get over him without questioning why. He should have known better than that.
Spencer takes the final step that's between you two, and softly wipes away the tears from your puffy cheeks.
"I just want what's best for you," he whispers with a broken voice. Looking right into your watery eyes.
"Then let me have you!" You point at his chest with a sniffle. You see Spencer's face soften, like he finally understands.
Spencer's hands move from your cheeks to your hips, and he pulls you closer to him. "A-are you sure?"
"Spencer, you're unbelievable, " you say, vexed, "there's no one else for me Spence. No one."
Your words are the final thing for Spencer to breakdown, to allow himself to be with you. He pulls you towards him, hugging you oh so tightly. He hides his face into the space between your neck and shoulder. You feel the wetness of his tears run down your skin.
"There's no one else for me, too," he whispers into your shoulder. You hum in agreement, not ready to say anything yet.
After a few minutes you pull away, caressing Spencer's cheek you smile at him. "I love you," you mumble, "Please don't ever let people get to your head like this. At least not without telling me, yeah?"
"Yeah," Spencer says in hushed voice, leaning into your gentle touch. "I love you, thank you for not letting me be an idiot."
You both chuckle, sniffling, and it finally feels like it's all going to be okay. Like your worlds won't be ending after all.
You and Spencer go snuggle on his couch, content to be near each other again after the few days apart, and even if you know that there's still a conversation to be held tomorrow, you feel happy.
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#spencer reid
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Chapter 49 of human Bill Cipher being such a miserable prisoner even the Pines are starting to feel bad for him: The Eclipse: Epilogue.
####
"The heck did you do to that poor woman?" Tate asked, staring out the window. Bill was sitting on the pier, legs dangling in the water, staring blankly into the depths. He was still muddy and trembling. "She looks more traumatized than when y'all left."
Ford couldn't meet Tate's gaze under the brim of his hat, but he could feel Tate raising a brow when he spotted Dipper pacing back and forth on the pier behind Bill, muttering furiously.
"We've had a very bad day," Ford said.
"Uh-huh."
"Could I borrow your phone to call my brother?"
Outside, Dipper was oblivious to everything except the one line he'd managed to remember from the Axolotl, the words he'd picked out as they crossed the lake. "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,'" Dipper murmured. He knew that much. It was a poem. It was a rhyme. He couldn't remember the rest. What did it mean? He murmured it over and over to himself as he walked, trying to remember the next line, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes,' 'sixty degrees that come in threes'... breeze, freeze, ease, lease, knees—" He couldn't remember the rhyme.
Bill was considering grabbing Dipper by the ankle and dragging him off the pier just to shut him up when whatsisname, the younger McGucket came out of the shop. "Hello there? Miss Goldie?"
Human. Strange human. Human that Bill could get on his side. Be charming. He tried to remember how to be charming. He offered a feeble smile. "Yello?"
"I wanted to make sure you're all right," Tate said. "You look like you, uh... you've had a hard time."
Bill laughed ruefully. "Well, I've been dragged all over the mountain, I'm hungry, exhausted, and half-drowned, and I can barely walk—but I'm not currently dead. Allegedly. I'll take what I can get."
The corners of Tate's mouth twitched down in a concerned frown. "Is there anything you need? A..." He floundered for a moment, "A water, or...?"
"I've had enough water to last me a lifetime." He wondered idly whether he could claim he was too exhausted to make it all the way home—there was a sofa in the staff room, Tate would probably let the poor bedraggled "woman" take a nap, if Bill got that bit of distance between himself and the Pines maybe he could... maybe he could... do something with it? But he couldn't think of anything more definite than that and now Ford was coming back and the window of opportunity closed. He shrugged wearily. "Just need to get back to the shack. Thanks." He half heartedly used the lake water to wash the drying mud off his lower legs and knees.
"Stan will be here in about twenty minutes," Ford said, and tried to ignore the dirty look Tate gave him.
"I'll be just inside if you need anything else," Tate said. "Watching." He headed inside—and then, indeed, stood at the shop window and watched.
Ford was never going to get on Tate's good side. He suspected Tate would be a little less sympathetic to the poor woman on the pier if he knew who he really was; but it certainly wouldn't make Tate like Ford any better for keeping him around.
"Nothing to do now but wait." Ford unloaded the rest of their supplies from the borrowed motor boat. He dropped Soos's Monster-Mon backpack beside Bill—it was heavy, Bill must have just shoved his clothes and bedsheet straight in without bothering to wring out the water—and the plastic bag of snacks Dipper had bought. "You ought to eat more while we wait." Ford nudged the snack bag.
Bill sneered at it. "I don't want that trash."
"What?" Ford examined the bag's contents. Jerky, chips, candy, cups of marshmallow cereal... "This is ninety percent of what you eat."
"Ninety percent of what I eat is what I can scavenge from the counters."
Ford looked through the bag again. Ah. Right. So it was. "If you want something else, you know you can ask us to..."
"Mac and cheese."
Maybe Ford had better stop talking. He sighed and glanced at Dipper to see how he was doing.
It didn't look like Dipper had even registered Ford's return, too busy pacing and muttering to himself. Ford frowned. "Dipper?"
"Axolotl," Bill explained. "He's obsessing over him. Didn't I tell you that meeting that thing would drive him insane?" He tilted his head toward Dipper. "Look at that, he's already mumbling to himself. Don't suppose you have his therapist's number, do you? I doubt that would save him, but it might slow the process—"
Ford shushed him.
Dipper had briefly tuned back into the conversation when he heard Bill say Axolotl; and now he grit his teeth and stubbornly tuned it back out. No. He was not going insane. Dipper would figure this out. If he just remembered the rest he'd be fine. He tried to go through all the potential rhymes alphabetically, "—bees, cease, d—deez?" That wasn't a word. "Fees, geese, he's..." and on and on, "seas, tees, uh... vees? Wheeze..."
"I've had enough of you trying to convince that boy he's about to go mad," Ford muttered to Bill. "What do you get out saying that? Even if you do convince him he's insane, it won't make him start trusting anything else you say."
"I'm not lying," Bill said heatedly. "You ought to know that, you've been in the multiverse, you've seen plenty of maddening sights. You saw them before you even left the Nightmare Realm."
Ford hesitated before responding; was Bill trying to persuade Ford he was insane? But he could still remember those first few moments of terror in the Nightmare Realm: the creatures that had seemed to move and shift in impossible ways as they swam in and out of dimensions Ford couldn't see, the lights and colors that throbbed like an inverted migraine, Bill himself seemingly suspended a million light years away and a foot in front of Ford's face at the same time. Until Ford had latched onto his quest to destroy Bill and let that focus him, his mind had felt like an unraveling sock. "You were chief among those maddening sights."
"I was," Bill acknowledged neutrally.
"But I didn't go insane."
"Because you knew when to look away." He cast a sideways glance at Dipper, an implicit unlike him. "I know you used to read cosmic horror. Do you know why the narrator always goes mad just from looking at some giant beast? It's not because it's too ugly to take. It's because once you meet something, you try to understand it; but if you want to understand the reality something like that comes from," he rolled an eye up toward where the invisible Axolotl had hung in the sky, "you have to lose your understanding of your own reality. They're incompatible. Like the lunatics who escaped Plato's cave and came back ranting about nonsense like sunlight and colors."
It was a twisted interpretation of the cave allegory. Plato had meant it as a metaphor for education: that learning about the true nature of reality was enlightening, but alienated you from your peers.
Perhaps to Bill, enlightenment and insanity were the same thing.
Ford murmured, "Once your eyes have been too dazzled by the sunlight to see the dim shadows, you'll never be awed by a candle again."
"You have been there before."
Ford didn't answer.
"Once you've seen something like that, if you let yourself dwell on the significance of it all, you're doomed. Better to tell yourself it's unimportant and try to forget it ever happened."
Ford thought of Fiddleford.
Bill twisted around to snap tiredly at Dipper, "So stop staring at the sun before you go blind, moron."
"Shut up." Dipper had been trying to mentally drown out Bill's dire predictions by grasping for more rhymes—"disease, unease, Socrates"—but enough filtered through to make his stomach churn with nervousness. What if Bill was right? What if he never remembered what the Axolotl told him—what if he drove himself mad trying? What if this turned into a lifelong obsession—but he'd be fine and could let it go once he remembered—was that the trap? Was whatever it had told him impossible for a human to remember? Was it something so incomprehensible a human couldn't remember it without going crazy?
But he'd seen plenty of stuff last summer that was supposed to make humans go "insane." Bill had to be messing with him. He remembered the first line—surely that meant he could remember the rest—but was that part of the trap? "'Sixty degrees that come in threes'... come on, there's something else, I know it, what is it? 'Sixty degrees that come in threes'—"
Bill sighed irritably. "'Watches through the eyes in trees.'"
Dipper stopped pacing. He hadn't realized he'd raised his voice enough to be audible. "What?"
"What?" Bill said.
"What's the rest of it?"
"What rest of it? It's a couplet. That's all," Bill said. "Is that what he told you? He gets rhymey when he feels self-important, it's no big deal. Maybe you're lucky. Put it out of your head and you'll be fine."
Dipper turned the words over in his head. Sixty degrees that come in threes, watches through the eyes in trees... "That's not exactly right," he said slowly. "It was 'watches from within birch trees.'"
"Is that how he translated it? I've never heard it in English before. I got close, though, I knew it'd rhyme."
Ford echoed, "'Sixty degrees that come in threes.' Like a triangle?"
Dipper gave him a perplexed look. "What?"
"You're taking geometry next year, aren't you? The inner angles of polygons always have the same number of degrees; and a triangle has a hundred and eighty degrees. Three angles of sixty degrees forms... an equilateral triangle."
Dipper and Ford stared at Bill.
Bill gave them a tired, unreadable look. "What?" he said. "Don't look at me. I'm not the only equilateral triangle in the universe."
Well, now Dipper was sure there was more to the poem than just a couplet. "How many other equilateral triangles spy on people through birch trees?"
"Lay off," Bill said crabbily. "I didn't have to tell you that line. Don't make me regret it." He planted his elbows on his knees, laced his hands together, pressed his forehead to them, and massaged his eyelids with his thumbs.
He tilted slightly to the right, keeping the weight of his head off his left arm.
####
"Nice shirt," Stan said, eyeing Ford's anger management t-shirt.
"If you like it, you can have it."
"What happened to your coat?"
"Somewhere at the bottom of the lake," Ford sighed.
"How...?"
"I'll fill you in later."
Bill's trembling was almost unnoticeable by the time Stan arrived. Or, at least, it was slight enough that he could stand and make the short walk from the pier to the car without an obvious struggle.
He climbed into the back seat, slid across the bench, leaned against the door, wrapped his arms around his Monster-Mon backpack, fell asleep, and didn't wake up for the entire drive home.
Dipper and Ford fell silent when they noticed; and, sensing the heavy atmosphere, Stan followed suit.
####
The event organizers for Higher Dimensional Gate had arranged for the Magister Mentium's audience to surround him in a circle with as large a circumference as possible, so that as many shapes as possible could pack into the first few rows where they could see him. Even so, the crowd was much too large for everyone to be in the first few rows. Speakers had to be planted throughout the crowd so that they'd all be able to hear the Magister speak. Most of his audience couldn't see him.
But he, with his all-seeing eye, could see all of them.
The crowd extended back, row after row after row, in every direction like flecks of multicolor confetti filling the air all the way to the horizon. He'd never spoken to such a large crowd before. He didn't think he'd ever seen such a large crowd before.
Not all of them were his worshipers. He didn't have that many worshipers. The rest were drawn in by his boast—to be the first shape outside of legends to predict an eclipse, over six months ahead of schedule. They were here for a spectacle. He meant to give them one.
If he succeeded, all these spectators would become his worshipers, he was sure of it. If he didn't succeed, he lost everything. The whole nation knew about his bet. He'd be financially ruined. His worshipers would abandon him. There would be no fleeing to a new town and starting over; everyone everywhere knew who he was. His life would be over.
This would be only the third eclipse he could recall. There's no way to neatly map shape ages onto human ages. Different year lengths, different aging speeds, different mental and physical milestones. But approximately, compared to a human, he was scarcely over fifteen years old.
But he wouldn't fail. He pushed all his fears aside. He didn't even want to think about them. He wouldn't, because he couldn't, because he could see what nobody else saw. He could see the eclipse's approach.
It was traveling across the vast empty gulf outside the world.
The only other third dimensional objects he'd ever seen were the sun—which looked to him like a circle—and the stars—which seemed to be mere points. He assumed all third dimensional objects were fundamentally just second dimensional objects, moving on a strange plane. He had no capacity to model a 3D object in his mind.
But the eclipse was a beast that twirled and gyrated around impossible axes, moving and rotating in ways his eye couldn't even comprehend. To him, it looked as though the living creature—he assumed it was a living creature, sometimes it manifested a couple of limbs or an eye—was constantly shapeshifting, its perimeter moving and altering. Its uncanny undulations had haunted his nightmares for months after he first watched it, so young he'd barely started school. It wasn't any less nightmarish now.
But as incomprehensible and terrifying as it was, he could see it, and nobody else here could, and that was all that mattered. He could watch it on the horizon and publicly announce that it would cross the sun in two weeks—and then in about three days—and then, to his humiliation, not tomorrow but today, guaranteed, as the creature sped up and threw off his estimate. His worshipers and bemused spectators had taken over the square to while away the time. They'd quickly gathered around him to wait after he'd declared it would arrive within the hour
That had been almost an hour and a half ago. The stupid thing had slowed down.
The triangle was terrified.
In every direction, shapes were staring at him. Waiting. His father was watching him—his stare seemed to grow heavier by the minute. He could see reporters in the crowd taking notes.
He had to fight not to pace, not to cringe, not to show any nerves in front of the hundreds of eyes.
Now. It had to be now. It was so close. Please don't let him be wrong. Every cord in his body quivered in terror as he grabbed his microphone and announced: "Lines, bis, tris—quads, quints, and more! My dear students and beloved believers, and my—" he cut off the urge to say something nastier, "—curious visitors, who I hope will join our quest for enlightenment. This is the moment you've been waiting for! The eclipse is upon us! In less than a minute, it will begin!" He had to keep his gaze forward as he spoke, looking at his audience. (His mother had always said the way his eye went white when he was looking at the third dimension unnerved people.) "Soon—you won't have to take all my claims about the third dimension on faith. You'll be able to see for yourself the effect of the third dimension on the plane."
The crowd murmured excitedly. He could see his father relax. He stared up-but-not-north, gnawing nervously on his eyelid until he caught himself. The beast above glowed a warm pink in the light of the nearby sun.
And the stupid thing. Slowed. Again.
He stared in disbelief.
"Sixty seconds," his father whispered, out of range of the microphone.
His stomach flopped. He was dead.
"One minute, fifteen seconds. What's going—?"
He held his microphone away and hissed, "The eclipse decided to zigzag."
"Eclipses can zigzag?"
"Shhh!" He'd already failed. He'd already shown everyone he was wrong. He could hear the murmurs. His eye hurt from staring at the sun and from straining for so long to turn so far upward-not-northward, go faster faster faster—
There! The snout of the eclipse was this close to kissing the perimeter of the sun. He cried triumphantly, "Now!"
The wretched beast did a loop-the-loop around the sun and missed it entirely.
The triangle felt the last strands of his fraying self-composure snap.
He howled in rage.
He could hear laughs from the crowd. They felt like daggers in his sides.
"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!" He was bellowing into outer space as if he thought it might hear him, "Do your think this is a game?! Is this funny?! Are you trying to humiliate me in front of the whole world!" His father put a hand on his arm; the triangle shoved him away. "Get back here right now! You thick, brainless, blobby, pink, feeler-faced two-eyed freak of nature! GET BACK HERE and LOOK ME IN THE EYE!" He was a lunatic, everyone would know it, their leader raving in a direction no one could actually see about some big pink delusion, what did he care, no one would ever take him seriously again anyway—
And the thing in the sky.
Stopped.
And looped back.
And came closer, and closer, and bigger, and bigger—it just kept getting bigger, how far away had it been before, how large was it, how large was the sun?
He hardly noticed the crowd's gasp as the creature twirled between them and the sun—the light shone through its body, pink with blood—and then out of the way, and then in again, and out—until finally it was so close that its perimeter completely engulfed the sun. He'd taken a field trip to the planet's surface once—an enormous solid mass of stone and crystal. Until now, he'd never seen another solid objects so large. To his limited understanding of 3D objects, it looked as though there were no organs inside its perimeter—just a layer of solid, uninterrupted flesh. He didn't know how it could even move.
It stopped straight over him.
He was sure the two black circles embedded inside its body must be its eyes. His whole life he'd heard psychic powers—psychic powers like his own—described as having an "inner eye." But he'd thought the phrase was just a metaphor. An eye on the inside of a body instead of on its perimeter would be useless to most people. He'd never seen a creature with an eye literally on the inside of its body. But the eclipse had two.
And they were looking at him.
A giant ever-shapeshifting cosmic horror from outside of reality, staring through the veil separating the sane world from outerplanar space, and it was looking—at—him.
He was terrified.
He heard an alien voice in his head, vast and deep and slow as distant whale song:
"Hello there!" It was overjoyed. It was tickled pink. "I've never been spoken to by a shape on the wall before. I didn't know you could see off of it!"
Weakly, the triangle repeated, "'A shape on the'...?"
"Yes, this wall of yours." The eclipse gestured with its tail at—everything. A single sweep that took in an entire dimension. "I've probably commuted past this wall billions of times, and nothing's ever called to me before. I didn't know shadows could do that!"
"'Shadows'?" the triangle echoed again. That was all they were? An eclipse's shadows?
"I'm absolutely delighted," the eclipse said. "First contact from a lower-dimensional species! I've watched you for eons and never imagined. Isn't this exciting! How charming of you! Tell me who you are."
Him? "Me?"
"Of course. Who else?" It stared at him. Only him. A shapeshifting force of nature the size of a planet with two inner eyes, an eclipse that saw him as a shadow—and it was looking only at him.
Weakly, he said, "I'm... the Magister Mentium."
The eclipse thought that over. Its tone was a tad dubious and not terribly impressed (why should it be impressed? he was embarrassed at himself for giving his silly puffed-up title)—but it said, "Yes, I suppose that's true. I am the Axolotl. It's been a pleasure meeting you." It began to shapeshift again—its eyes slid sideways through its body, until one reached its perimeter and disappeared.
It dawned on the triangle, in its first immature understanding of third dimensional objects, that its eye had disappeared because the Axolotl was turning away. "Wait!" he cried. "Why..." Why answer him? Why focused on him so completely, if he was just a shadow? Why ask who he was like he mattered? He didn't even know how to put those questions to words in his own mind, much less out loud. "Why are you here so early?"
The Axolotl turned back to the triangle. "Oh! I had to go back for some documents I forgot at the office. Big case in the morning," it said. "You shadows know my schedule?"
"You... pass in front of the sun."
The Axolotl turned away, eyes disappearing and frills fluttering, to look at the sun. "So I do! How funny." It turned toward the triangle and gave him a strange, grotesque look that—by the tone of its psychic voice—he suspected was a smile. "I must get going. I'll be heading into the office a few hours late tomorrow, but perhaps I'll see you again then." And it turned away. It felt like it took forever for the enormous body to sail over-not-north-of the triangle—and pass, at last, out of the sun's path.
The triangle didn't look down-but-not-south until someone shook his side—his father. He lowered his dazed gaze to the crowd—the cheering, applauding crowd. Ma-gi-ster, Ma-gi-ster. A sea of multicolor confetti shapes that filled the air to the horizon.
Shadows.
His father shook him again—"Go on, say something. They're waiting"—and the triangle held up his mic as though he were in a dream. He tried to remember what he was supposed to say. "I was right," he said flatly. "Just like I always told you. I can see the third dimension. The realm of dreams—of colors, of light, and..." The lies left a sick taste in the back of his eye. He couldn't say them. Points of light in darkness and pink nightmares.
"I'm s— You'll all have to excuse me," he said, his voice childish and small. "I can't—I've had a... a... profound... spiritual experience. I must meditate on the revelations I've received." The words felt like woo-woo mumbo-jumbo. "The next eclipse will be a few months after the new year." It seemed important, for some reason, to pass that information on. Wasn't that what he always said he did? Share the wisdom of third dimensional spirits with his followers? "I... have to go now."
His father took his elbow. "This is your moment," he whispered. "Come on, son—you don't want to lose your chance to speak directly to them, do you?"
He shoved the microphone in his father's side. "You speak to them."
"But—"
"I can't," he said. "I can't."
He cut through the crowd as fast as it would part for him—if they were any slower, he'd have started stabbing his way through—haunted the whole way by their applause.
####
And that was it.
From the Axolotl's perspective, he had just had a brief pleasant exchange with a precocious tadpole in a sidewalk puddle.
From the triangle's perspective, he might as well have been standing on the boat deck watching as Cthulhu rose from his millennia of dead slumber at the bottom of the ocean, turned to the fragile vessel bobbing on the waves, and said, "Good morning! Glorious weather we're having, isn't it?"
And from the perspective of the Higher Dimensional Gate, their Magister Mentium had predicted an eclipse, been rightfully insulted when it didn't come the exact second he ordered it, and furiously summoned down an eclipse darker and swifter and longer than any in recorded history.
Up until then, he had been seen as, at best, an oracle. A prophet. A messenger to share the secrets of the third dimension, but that was all he could do. But now, he had commanded forces in an unseen dimension, creating an eclipse months before it was natural. He had made it flicker on and off like he had his finger on the sun's light switch. News reports and the most unimpeachable scientific authorities reported that the eclipse had centered on the location of the Higher Dimensional Gate rally, narrowed down to an inexplicably small radius around that point, and then remained unchanged for several long minutes, long enough for anyone in its shadow to grow fatigued from the missing sunshine. Nothing like that had ever happened before. It defied every known fact about the science of eclipses.
People around the gathering—even people who had known nothing about the Higher Dimensional Gate rally—reported that during the eclipse, they'd become inexplicably disoriented, unable to tell compass directions, and had felt themselves fall toward the darkness—as if gravity's pull had suddenly moved from the south to the epicenter of the eclipse. Public building inspections confirmed that somehow the entire town had shifted, ever so slightly, closer to the epicenter. Closer to the Magister.
Never mind prophecy; as far as the Magister's rapidly-increasing followers were concerned, he might have been a god.
It was the greatest triumph a baby cult leader could ask for.
He barely noticed.
####
For days, he could hardly sleep, speak, or think. He kept losing track of conversations to stare into space. Now, it awed his followers when his eye turned an empty white—he must have been communing with something in a higher dimension.
He didn't argue. It was better than letting them know he was losing his mind.
He spent his time alone locked in his room, pacing back and forth, trying not to look up-but-not-north and failing. Dwelling on the significance of it all. Feeling like he'd never figure it out.
He used to love cosmic horror stories, back when he had time to read. They followed a reliable pattern: the hero travels farther than any rational shape ever should, meets something big, and goes mad from the realization.
And what was it that the hero always realized? That he was a dust fleck in the firmament. That he was insignificant. That he didn't matter. That there were things out there he'd never seen before and would never truly understand, and that they cared not for mere shadows on the wall like him, and that in the grand scheme of the cosmos he was nothing. That he was utterly unimportant.
In moments of what felt like lucidity in between the shivering horror, the triangle wryly acknowledged that it was no surprise he'd ended up in a cosmic horror story. He could see into another dimension. In the stories he'd read, that made it all but inevitable.
But all the authors had gotten the maddening revelation wrong. He could have handled knowing he was nothing. It almost would have been a relief.
True horror was knowing he mattered.
He'd spent the majority of his young life selling the idea that he was oh-so-important, as part of a big con to trick gullible idiots into liking him and flinging cash at his rotten undeserving family—and he'd only been able to do it because when the guilt got to him, when his conscience asked what would become of the shapes forking over their life savings on false promises of divine secrets, he could look out into bleak black space and tell himself that nothing really mattered, nothing was important, nothing he'd ever do would really make a difference, and the people he manipulated didn't matter any more than he did. He meant everything to his worshipers, and nothing to the universe. He could do anything and it didn't matter.
For a moment, a vast mind-melting shape-shifting incomprehensible eldritch god had focused its full attention on him—of all the universe, of all the dimensions beyond the known universe, it had looked at him and only him—a mere shadow on the wall, and yet in that moment, it found him interesting. It found him worthy of notice. He had screamed into the cold uncaring void, and the void had cared. For a moment, he'd held cosmic importance. He mattered. His actions mattered.
He'd felt it see him as important, but why? What was so important about him? There had to have been something significant he'd done, something he showed it, something in what he said. He replayed their conversation in his mind over and over and over and over, trying to remember what he'd done that proved he mattered.
He didn't know what it was. He couldn't find it. All he could remember was just... being.
The writers were wrong. Cosmic horror wasn't when an elder god's eyes slid past you without noticing you existed. It was when the elder god gazed down at you at your lowest and bleakest, during your most petty and selfish act of mass swindling, from a dimension where not even slamming the door and shutting your eye could shield you from its gaze—and it decided you were worth caring about. Cosmic horror was when you encountered a colossal alien that planted the incomprehensibly alien idea in your head that you had an inherent worth just because you existed. Cosmic horror was when a force of nature asked the name of a shadow on the wall.
If it was true... if it all mattered... then what was he doing? How could he? What had he done?
####
He was lucky—he was lucky that his parents had raised him to think so clearly about issues like morality and money and easy marks. His only saving grace was that he was too rational to seriously entertain the Axolotl's mad ideas.
And yet, his mind boiled with mad regret. It blazed with insane guilt. The heat of it could burn him out. It was months before he could continue his public sermons without feeling sick—and even once he did, he could still feel the delusion that what he did mattered, festering in his mind.
It would fester for the next trillion years.
####
(And that concludes this plot arc! I hope y'all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what y'all thought of the whole thing—especially now that we've looped back to the original eclipse. 😁)
#bill cipher#the axolotl#(for the art)#human bill cipher#(for the fic)#gravity falls#gravity falls fic#gravity falls fanart#fanart#my art#my writing#bill goldilocks cipher
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🗒 ꒰⸝⸝₊ General Dating Headcanons ❛ ✧
Featuring: Astarion, Gale, Wyll & Halsin
# Note: content warning for very brief talk of abuse and general trauma
back to navigation ´ˎ˗
🌿┊ASTARION
Talk about touch and attention starved. This guy wouldn't know a healthy relationship if it hit him in the face. Whenever you're nice to him or touch him without any innuendo, he's on edge. You must want something from him. Why else would you be doing this? It doesn't make sense.
Speaking of which, touching him out of nowhere usually doesn't end well. He has a tendency to flinch. He cackles and says he just thought he saw a bug, "Silly me," but you both know better than that.
He grows used to it, however. It just takes some warming up to. Eventually, the discomfort fades, replaced by a yearning so strong he swore he felt his heart beat again. When his brain realizes you don't want to hurt him and it's safe to be around you, he starts craving more contact. He's too prideful to ask, but he's not good at hiding it, either.
He loves any kind of compliment, don't get him wrong, but the ones that have nothing to do with his appearance seem to stick more. He's heard every single little praise possible for his face and body — but for his personality? For his mannerisms? If it ever happened before, he can't remember it.
Insists he doesn't like cuddling and only does it because you want to. But the one night you didn't, you woke up to him clinging to you anyway. He said he must've done so in his sleep, completely ignoring the fact elves can't sleep. Deception: critical failure.
Surprisingly protective. If you get hurt during a fight he goes ham on the enemy while yelling for someone else to take care of your wounds right now. He lost everything he had after Cazador — lost even himself to the hands of that sick, wicked man. He can't afford to lose you too.
The relationship started with him trying to manipulate you, sure, but that's not the case anymore. He cares. He genuinely cares for something other than himself for the first time in two centuries, and he's scared you still think you're being tricked by his charms. Again, he's too prideful for constant displays of affection, but he does say "I love you" more often than ever. Maybe if he says it enough times, you'll believe it.
He stares a lot. There's just something so endearing about seeing you in your own little world, oblivious to everything else, or at least oblivious to his gawking. It's the most honest part of you, the most yourself you could be, and he enjoys it from afar.
🌿┊GALE
So needy. You leave him at camp for a few hours and you come back to him acting like he needs to be sent to the seaside for his health. A year of living as a hermit does things to a man's necessities for attention.
Loves your scent. He doesn't share his clothes with anyone (that fabric is expensive, dammit), but he insists you wear them so that they smell like you later.
Despite being a cat owner, he's very dog-coded. Will do things with the sole purpose of receiving praise or kisses from you and gets extremely pouty when he doesn't.
Speaking of kisses, he takes any excuse conceivable to kiss you. Good morning, good night and good luck kisses are very much mandatory. Doesn't even have to be on his lips, he's more than satisfied with a cheek or forehead kiss as well.
He enjoys being taken care of, even if he complains. When you scold him for not sleeping over some ancient tome, he can't help but feel loved. Will return the favour, of course — especially if it comes to food. He's very insistent with the "three meals a day" thing.
Will read to you, there's no way around it. It's relaxing for both of you, so he doesn't see why he shouldn't. He also says he can pay attention better to the text when he says it out loud, anyway. You having your head on his lap as he does it is merely a bonus.
🌿┊WYLL
If this man has any flaw, it's that he's always trying to make every moment you spend together perfect and forgets to just lay back and enjoy himself. Even then, he only does it because of how much he loves you.
The last romantic! Goes all out with dates and gifts — fancy restaurants and the biggest bouquets you've ever seen. Money is no object when it comes to you. Truly a good old-fashioned lover boy.
Definitely has a saviour complex — the type to say "I can fix them" unironically. He just loved you and wants you to be okay, and if he has to drag you there himself he will.
Will go on rants about how smitten he is with you and how perfect you are on a daily basis. If you have to leave for the day, he'll write it as a love letter instead.
Always holding you close, but there's no possessiveness to it. It's a display of affection, not ownership. He's yours as much as you are his.
Loves taking showers together. Not for any sexual reason (though he wouldn't complain if things ended up going down that path), he just finds it incredibly intimate and genuinely enjoys washing your hair for you.
You're not just another romance to him — you're the love of his life, the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, if the gods allow it.
🌿┊HALSIN
Despite the whole "Desire flourishes wherever it finds purchase" thing, he genuinely doesn't see himself falling for anyone else as he did for you. It's nice to know he could still indulge if he wanted, but for now, he doesn't.
Loves having his hair played with. There's just something so soothing about it. Or maybe it's his wild shape talking, asking for pets. We'll never know.
Always finds an excuse for you to sit on his lap. Again, not for sexual reasons, he just likes wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head or shoulder.
Even though he isn't one for commitment, he has a constant, extremely severe case of baby fever. He obviously wouldn't push you if you're not ready, but he does make his sentiments on the matter known.
Stepping dangerously close to smut territory with this one, but he loves how small you are compared to him. The way he engulfs you entirely when he hugs you or how your hand disappears under his as he holds it — it's endearing to him.
I cannot go without mentioning how good his hugs are. Like, seriously. He's so warm and gentle but still strong and it makes you feel safe. It's the best thing in Faerun.
Loves how you look like wearing his clothes. It ties into the size difference thing, since they just look huge on you. Also, much like Gale, he has a thing for your scent, so there's really no downsides.
#bg3#bg3 x reader#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate 3 x reader#astarion x reader#gale dekarios x reader#gale of waterdeep x reader#wyll ravengard x reader#halsin x reader#bg3 headcanons
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right where you left me
part: 1
pairing: paige bueckers x oc
word count: 2.6k
c/w: language
a/n: heyyyy everyone! my anons have been begging for another series like anyone else, so here's one i've been thinking about for a second and finally put to paper. i hope you like this just as much as 'anyone else'. btw, if you guys want to send in long ass asks live reacting to my writing (whoever @imaginespazzi 's anon is that does this, i LOVE it) it's such a great way to know what you do and don't like about my writing, and i'd so appreciate it. love you guys!
I blink as the sun hits my eyes, almost blinding me. I stretch at my front door, loosening my muscles that are still a little tight from sleep. I squint against the blaring sunlight, then push my AirPods in and start off down my street. It’s this quaint little neighborhood in Virginia, a not-too-far cry from my home state of Minnesota.
My run is peaceful, Kendrick Lamar blaring in my ears, the music a smooth symphony of artful lyrics backed by a spurring beat. I take down about three miles, reaching what looks to be an old basketball court before slowing to a jog, then a halt. I pant, placing my hands on my hips and allowing my chest to heave as I recover from the run. My sports bra and shorts are soaked with sweat, but the summer air is refreshing.
I tip my head back, soaking in the sun, when I hear a voice behind me. “Hey, you shooting or…” I whip my head around, the voice impossibly and frighteningly familiar.
No fucking way.
“Maya.”
“Paige,” I breathe.
She hesitates, a ball braced at her side, and it looks so natural, just as it always has. She’s wearing a white tee shirt and dark shorts, with blue, red, and white shoes on her feet. Her hair is parted down the middle, slung into a bun at the base of her neck. My breath catches when my eyes meet her stark, blue ones - pools of crystal that glimmer in the summer sun. Her limbs are long and she’s tan, her lips stuck in that damned half-smirk that used to drive me crazy. It fades from her face a little as she takes me in, and I cross my arms over my stomach self-consciously.
“What are you… what are you doing here?” I swallow hard as I stutter over my words.
She coughs awkwardly, tossing the ball back and forth between her hands. “My friend, Azzi - don’t know if you remember her, um… She lives here. In this neighborhood. But we also moved to Virginia when we- when I left for school.”
I remember Azzi. She was one of Paige’s basketball friends, a tall, pretty girl with dark hair and a kind smile. Paige clears her throat. “You… uh, what about you?” I blink. “Oh, um. Yeah, same, actually, my family moved here. Also.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
We’re quiet for a few more minutes. It’s my turn to clear my throat awkwardly.
“Still dancing?” She asks.
I laugh nervously. “Can’t seem to stop. Still hooping?”
She smiles a little more at that. “Can’t seem to stop,” she echoes back to me. Paige hesitates for a moment.
“You look good,” she admits after a few moments.
My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh! Thanks, um… you do, too. Look good, I mean. You look great!”
She raises an eyebrow at my rambling. “Great?” She muses.
I scoff. “No, good. You look good.”
“No, I got it the first time.” Her smirk is widening, her tone teasing.
“Good.”
“Not great?” She’s pushing my buttons now.
“Paige, stop,” I blurt out.
It hangs over us - my usage of her name, the undeniable tension that lingers in the air, nearly suffocating.
She looks down at the ground, kicking at it. “Sorry,” she mumbles.
I sigh. “No, you’re fine. I should- I should go.”
“Maya, don’t do that. Look, I’m sorry-”
“No, I should get home. It was good to see you.”
Stubbornly, I plug my headphones in, pretending not to hear her voice calling out my name, the sound of it echoing behind me, praying I can drown out the past if I just turn my music up loud enough.
************
“You’re doing it wrong. Put your foot down on the off beat.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” Paige demands, and I bite back a grin.
Patiently, I re-explain the 8 count to her. “It’s just a stupid TikTok. Bro, you’re so extra,” she whines. I hold my hands up. “You’re the one who said you wanted to learn it for real. Like, dancer-style.”
“I never said that.”
“I think those were actually your exact words. Okay, look-”
Paige groans. “Can we take a break?” She begs, grabbing her phone and tossing it onto her bed. She collapses onto it right after, shrugging her shirt off before falling back onto the pillows. I roll my eyes, grabbing my own phone. I sigh, looking at my notifications. Paige’s eyes flicker to mine. “What? Nicky again?” I shake my head. “It’s just… I need to break up with her.” Paige tries and fails to stifle a grin. “You think she knows?” She asks. There’s a hint of smugness to her tone that I don’t like.
I narrow my eyes as she eases off the bed and approaches me, slinging her arms around my waist. “Knows what?” I ask. Paige smirks. “You know what,” she smiles, dipping her head to mine. I shove at her chest, but she pulls me closer. “Knows what we’re really doing?” Paige teases. “Shut up, Paige,” I chide, but she moves in, anyway, slotting her lips against mine in a slow, meaningful kiss.
Her lips work against mine skillfully, and though I’ve only kissed Paige a few times by now, melting into her is only instinct. “Did you eat my Nerds?” She demands, pulling away and licking her lips. I crinkle my nose at her. “Maybe?” She shakes her head at me, mischief glinting in her eyes, before she hoists me up, tossing me onto the bed. “You’re gonna pay for that,” she warns playfully, before tackling me, fingers poking into my sides and eliciting raucous laughter from the both of us. “Okay, okay! I’ll buy you more, stop! Stop!” I shriek. She collapses on top of me, ignoring the way I push at her shoulders.
Paige stares down at me, then leans down to connect our lips again, mouth dancing languidly with mine. I sigh, pushing a hand into her hair and responding eagerly, winding my leg between hers. “Tell her,” she urges, pecking me once. I sigh. “I know. I feel awful about it.” She pushes her body slightly up and nudges my nose with hers. “Come on. She’s not stupid.” She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. “We’re… obvious. You know?” I raise my eyebrow. “If you mean that everyone can tell how bad you want me, then yeah,” I tell her. She sucks her teeth, hitting me on the shoulder. “Tch. You know what I mean. We… were gonna happen.”
I grin at her, though I don’t mean to. “You seem pretty confident about that,” I muse. She grins back at me, her mouth hovering over mine. “Good. I am.”
***************
My run home is more of a sprint, and I’m absolutely spent when I shove through my front door. “Maya!” My mom calls. “Come help with the groceries!” I oblige, unlacing my shoes and skidding into the kitchen. My mom’s head is stuck in the fridge, trying to make room for all the new produce she’s just bought, so I make myself busy storing away the pantry foods.
“You will not believe who I ran into at the store!” My mom exclaims, poking her head out from behind the fridge door. She’s still in her scrubs, probably just having finished off a shift at work. I raise an eyebrow. “Michelle Obama?” I ask. She frowns at me. “You’re not funny.” I shrug. “I beg to differ.”
My mom is definitely more of my best friend than my actual mom. I mean, she works so much, and I’ve had to practically raise my brother. Plus, with my dad out of the picture since… forever, she’s really all I had.
“Anyway,” she says pointedly, dusting off her hands. “I was at the store, and I ran into Bob Bueckers! Isn’t that crazy? I haven’t seen the Bueckers’ in years, and you and Paige were so close…” My mom continues speaking, I’m sure, but there’s a sudden muffled tone to it, like there’s water in my ears.
It’s just the mention of her name. I hadn’t heard it in years, had tried my best not to even think of her because I knew it would hurt. And seeing her today…
It isn’t fair. She does look great - better, somehow. Not the tall, lanky teenager I was used to. She’s a whole woman, now - muscled and lean, much more sure of herself. And yet… so much is the same - that damned perpetual half smile on her face, the way she tilts her head, the way her eyes glint. I can’t help but wonder if other things are the same, as well.
If her hands are as warm as they always used to be.
If she still picks her face when she’s nervous.
Fuck. Stop it.
“Did you hear what I said, sweetie?”
I shake my head out of my reverie, turning back to my mom. “Uh, no?”
“I invited them over for dinner tonight. Wear something nice.”
I splutter, processing what she’s just said. “I’m sorry. You what?”
*************************************
“Uh… here.”
I gingerly take the loaf of banana bread from Paige. I don’t meet her eyes as I let her, her brother, her dad, and her stepmom into the house. “Thanks,” I mumble. Drew stares up at me. “You look different,” he says matter of factly. I smile a little at him. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I tease. He narrows his eyes at me. “I’ll let you know,” he informs me, then skips past me. My little brother, Matthew, catches sight of him, and the two of them run off eagerly to play together.
My heart squeezes a bit at this. I hadn’t realized that Paige and I… growing apart, I suppose one could call it, would mean that our brothers would lose a friendship, too. “He’s, uh… He’s tall, now,” she tries, hesitantly. I glance up at her from the side of my eye, walking to place the dessert on the dining table. She follows me. I hate that she does. I hate that she still smells like herself, that the way she looms over me feels oh-so-familiar.
I toy with the sleeve of my top nervously. “Is that- is that mine?” Paige blurts out suddenly. I glance down at my navy blue top, and my eyes widen. She’s right. It is her shirt, and I hadn’t even realized. It’s a bit big on me, and I’d found it in a box after we’d moved to the new house. “Oh. I guess so, do you want it back? I can go change?” I yammer, and she shakes her head frantically. “No! You don’t have to- That’s not what I meant, you-” She clears her throat.
“It looks nice on you.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
I chance a glance at my feet, my hands, anywhere but her. She sighs. “Well, this is fucking awkward,” she mutters. I laugh hollowly. “Whose fault is that, hm?” I say, and I can’t keep the acrid taste of resentment out of my voice. I don’t miss the way her eyes flit to mine, mouth twisting with an unspoken response. “Maya-” she starts. “We should go help,” I interrupt, turning on my heel and walking quickly to the kitchen.
As though it couldn’t get any more awkward, Paige ends up right across from me at dinner. Our parents chatter away, our little brothers in some heated discussion about basketball, and all she and I can do is pick at our food. There are onions in the stir-fry my mom made.
Paige hates onions.
I stifle a grin, despite myself. She’ll eat them, anyway, but I see her pushing them around her plate, putting it off. “Problem, Paige?” I ask sweetly. She narrows her eyes at me. “Not at all,” she shoots back. My mom abruptly stops the conversation she’s having. “Are you alright, honey? Is the food okay?” Paige nods hastily.
“Yes, Ms. Jacobs! It’s so good,” she reassures her. My mom cocks her head, sharp as ever. “Well, you’ve hardly touched it!” I bite back a laugh as Paige shovels a huge scoop into her mouth. “Really good,” she says around the food, smiling as best as she can at my mom. My mom nods, satisfied, and turns away. Paige shoots me a look, kicking me under the table.
I’m shocked. So shocked that the action is natural for her, and shocked at what I do next: kick her back. She gasps, and I guess the huge bite she’s just taken goes down the wrong pipe. She begins coughing violently, and my eyes widen. “Paige? Maya, honey, take her to the kitchen! Get her some water,” she instructs, concerned. Paige thumps her chest, holding up a hand. “All good, I swear,” she tries to say, but her coughs swallow her words.
“Okay, get up. Come on,” I sigh, walking around the table to haul her to her feet by her elbow. I drag her to the kitchen, patting her on the back. I hand her a water bottle from the fridge and she accepts it gratefully. When she looks to the ceiling, her eyes are glassy with tears. “You’re such a little shit,” I sneer. “Me?” She demands indignantly. “Yes! I didn’t even kick you that hard,” I complain.
She raises an eyebrow. “What? You want me to show you?”
“You kicked me first!”
“You were instigating,” she hisses back.
“Spell ‘instigating’, Paige.”
“Kiss my ass.”
“Find someone else to do it. That’s what college is for, isn’t it?”
We both fall silent at that. Then, realizing how close we’ve gotten, we back away.
“Sorry,” I mumble.
She sighs. “No, it’s… I deserve that.”
I bite my lip, glancing at the ceiling. “It’s fine. It’s been… what, three years?”
“Still. I should’ve-”
“Look, dude, I’m over it. I’m just giving you a hard time,” I say. Lies. I’m not over it. Not even close.
She blinks. “Yeah, no. Of course. I’m- I’m over it, too.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
It’s so painfully awkward that I want to scream. This is someone who had seen me at my worst, who had held me sobbing when I hadn’t gotten into the school I wanted.
This is the person who sat with me when my dad died, and I had grappled with the grief of losing someone I had hardly ever known.
This is the person who had seen all of me, who had taken my virginity, who had kissed away all my fears and made me feel loved and safe and whole - and the person who had made all of that come crashing down in one fell swoop.
And now I look at her, standing in my kitchen, far from the Minnesota homes we both grew up in. The sharp pain of ‘I don’t fucking know you anymore’ stabs at my heart, nestles into my throat, and I feel tears pricking at my eyes.
I turn away from her and march back into the dining room.
I’m done letting her make me cry.
It’s later that night, long after Paige and her family have left, when I’m finishing up washing the dishes that I hear a knock on the door. I frown, wondering if my mom is expecting someone. Drying my hands off with a towel, I warily open the door.
It’s Paige. My breath catches.
“Hi,” she starts uneasily.
“Hey. Did you forget something?” I ask, keeping my distance.
“Huh? Oh, no. I just…” She swallows hard, looking at her feet.
She clears her throat. “Can we talk?”
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hands (p.sh)
pairing. stepdad!sunghoon x fem!reader
— 𖦹 warnings. taboo relationship (stepcest), pwp, choking, fingering, cunnilingus, degradation, hair pulling, multiple orgasms
authors note. don't like it, don't read
(18+) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
you're thinking about hands.
long, slim fingers and knuckles that are a little prominent, a little pinker than the pale skin it is against. rough but careful ministrations, cradling the back of your head even as they yank your hair, pulling your head around so your gaze meets his.
hands, hands, hands... thumb brushing your lower lip before pushing past to rest on your tongue. hands on your neck, just enough pressure to have you seeing stars. or maybe no pressure at all. maybe they sit loose around the base of your throat like a collar to remind you of your place. they dip just below the neckline and you hope they’ll go further.
hands that press forward, hands running along your body, along every tender place—neck, waist, thigh. hands that still at the slightest response from you, pausing in a way that you can feel the smugness through his fingertips.
he loves it when you beg, he demands it of you; not with his words, but with fingers curled just right, with your legs draped over his and his breath hot on your neck. the only thing he loves more than hearing you beg is knowing you’re too far gone to do so, too fucked out to form words. he can pinpoint the moment it happens, too... feels it in the skip of your pulse, the way you clench around him. he loves making you look at him with a hand on your jaw and another between your legs, watching as you struggle to pull your eyes back into focus. "c’mon, baby, look at me, you can do it, yes, good, so good for me..." you want to pull him closer after that. sloppy open-mouth kisses, his tongue sucking yours as you cry out and ankles locked around his waist and hands clutching at his shoulders desperately, and...
“class dismissed for today! remember to turn in your papers by..."
class is over already? but you could have sworn you’d just opened up your laptop and logged on but your professor seems very clearly to be wrapping things up. a quick glance at the clock confirms that yep, you’ve been checked out for the last half hour of the lecture.
you need to spend more time focusing on your schoolwork, and less time lusting over your stupid hot stepdad.
-
sunghoon isn’t an idiot. he knows hooking up with his own stepdaughter is a bad idea. it is probably the worst idea he's had. he knows his wife would kill him.
but you’re making it incredibly hard for him to remember that.
you, prancing around the apartment in ankle socks and tiny little shorts paired with oversized sweaters that hang off your shoulder and make it look as though you aren’t wearing any shorts at all. you and all your casual touches... a kiss on the cheek when you thank him for doing some chore for you, a head resting on his shoulder when you sit next to each other on the couch, a hand on his arm as you pass him in the hall. you, sweet-voiced and soft-eyed and blushing at everything he says... dirty or otherwise.
you, buying a vibrator.
he’s always been curious about your sex life yeah, but you haven’t given him much to work with. you weren’t really in the habit of bringing anyone home. there was that one asshole named jungwon or whatever you’d been dating long-term when sunghoon first married your mom, but you always slept over at his place. sunghoon met him a few times and seen the way he treated you. it didn’t take him much more than five minutes of knowing the guy to be pretty sure there were zero orgasms happening.
and now… you broke up with jungwon. now you spend your nights in your room. now you share a wall with... your mom and stepdad.
and now you own a vibrator.
he wonders if he’ll be able to hear you. he's been living here almost for a year. surely you must have gotten off in that time. he can just picture you biting down on your lip, brows slightly knit as you shake and tense and arch off the mattress.
he’s always liked his partners vocal but for some reason the thought of you in his bed trying so desperately to stay quiet just makes him want to rise to the challenge. already you make the prettiest noises whenever you’re startled or excited or shy. given the chance he could coax a fucking symphony out of you, he just knows it. he just doesn’t know when such an opportunity will ever come.
as it turns out, though, opportunity does knock... and sooner than either of you would have ever thought.
friday night. your mom is working late and you're eating dinner with your stepdad. he has that stern look on his face 24/7 so you suggest cracking open a bottle of wine to share. to your surprise... sunghoon agrees.
he's always been on the stricter side. he always frowns when you do anything... risky. so you didn't think he would say yes to drinking with you.
neither of you are drunk drunk yet but the combination of alcohol and being alone together makes you both start playing never have i ever in your room. you both have glasses of wine in your hands. his pretty hands.
"never have i ever... uh... gotten married." you smirked and your stepdad just rolled his eyes at you.
"very funny."
"okay you go."
"never have i ever gone my whole life without cumming even once."
you turned completely hot as you wondered if he meant that.
"what?! where did that come from?"
sunghoon nods at the box with your vibrator. you just now realize that it's sitting wide open on your nightstand and you blush.
"just assumed."
you sit up quickly. "i just got out of a yearlong relationship okay. what... you think i've never cum?"
"have you?"
"yes..." he tilts his head and you get flustered. "yes god, yes! yes, i've had an orgasm before!"
"but...?"
you aren't sure what it is about this night, this moment that makes you so honest with him. is it the alcohol? or his gaze? the clear and cruel behind his glasses? "only by myself," you whisper and cross your legs to hide the ache between them. "never because of someone else..."
to your surprise he doesn't laugh or mock you for your answer. he purses his lips and shrugs. sighs. "at least you can get off on your own."
"yeah i guess... i just," you look back at the box, "it's different having someone touching you. i'd rather have that... without the orgasms.... if i had to choose." you look up at him shyly and look away. the atmosphere grows serious, vulnerable, and intimate. and then your stepdad snickers. you look up at him. "what?"
"you don't have to choose."
you roll your eyes. "yeah right."
"i'm serious."
"pfft. aren't you confident? are you sure no one's faked it with you?"
"faked it? possibly. but unlikely."
"jungwon couldn't tell i was faking it."
your stepdad scoffs, "he's a boy. he doesn't know how to pleasure you like a man."
"like you can do any better."
he goes quiet. it's unlike him... so unexpected, and you almost ask him what's wrong. but he says "come here" in a low voice.
"what?"
"come here y/n."
you haven't had enough to drink to be drunk. but as you move across the mattress toward him, you kinda know what's coming and you want to jump into him. you've been touched before, cuddled, but there's something different tonight. something about the way he pulls you onto his lap so that you're straddlign him. something about the feeling of his hand on your thigh, his palm on your cheek, his warm chest against yours.
"was that a challenge dear?" he asks.
"what if it was?"
-
sunghoon isn’t sure which one of you makes the first move or who leans in first but it doesn’t matter, because how many times has he fantasized about exactly this? how many times has he sat there on the couch with your head on his lap as you watched some mind-numbing chick flick, run his hands through your hair and beat back the urge to yank?
he doesn’t hold back now. one hand curls into a fist and he pulls your head back, forcing you to look up at him. but that's his stepdaughter! he can't just... fuck your cheeks are flushed and lips slightly parted—
he wants to fucking ruin you.
your hands are still against his chest but they went slightly limp in surprise at having your hair pulled. when he slides his hand up the back of your shirt, you seem to come back to life, winding your arms around his neck. you’re breathing faster than usual and he can feel your nipples through your shirt and you’re tugging at the collar of his shirt and yeah, if he doesn’t get your clothes off sometime in the next thirty seconds he’s going to go insane.
he doesn’t tear your shirt in half... he has more self control than that. much easier to just pull it up and force your arms above your head, and then before you can bring them back down, push you gently so that you fall on the bed, legs still parted around his hips and eyes wide. he tugs off your shorts and underwear, and you grab a fistful of the front of his shirt to bring him crashing back into you for a desperate open-mouthed kiss. he catches the back of your neck with one hand mostly for support, his hand big enough in comparison to your neck that he’s able to rest his thumb just below your jaw. when he gives your neck an experimental squeeze you gasp into his mouth.
interesting.
you as quiet as he'd expected. just gasps and whimpers. it’s cute. it’s also infuriating. he wants to hear you. he wants to hear you moan, beg, scream. and he doesn’t need a vibrator to do it.
you’re playing with the hem of his shirt. your fingers are electric against his skin and the slight touch sending flickers of desire careening through his veins and it’s too much and not enough and he reaches around your back to snap open the hook of your bra a moment before he lets you pull his shirt over his head, and there are no words to explain how it feels to have his stepdaughter's bare chest flush against his... to reach down and feel how wet you are. you’re soft and warm and so so wet, it’s driving him crazy and he isn’t even inside you yet.
as he pulls away and backs up to stand once more by the edge of the bed, you get into as upright a position as you can manage, trying to brace yourself on your elbows. “what are you...?"
the mattress slips out from under you as he pulls you forward by the waist, positioning you so that your hips are in line with the end of the bed as he sinks to his knees and buries his face in your cunt.
he doesn’t move slowly and doesn’t ease you into it. one moment you’re lying there bewildered, and the next you’re trying to buck your hips up against his face. trying because he’s holding you down with enough force you half expect to find his fingerprints there tomorrow.
he listens to you, pausing until you whisper yes and please. he takes each twitch of your legs and sharp intake of breath into consideration as he finds each sweet spot and latches onto them with precision.
you scrabble for something to hold onto, grasping at the sheets. he takes enough pity on you to reach one hand up... the other on your hips keeping you firmly in place... his pretty fingers interlacing with yours. another lick has you arching off the bed with your head thrown back and it takes you a moment to realize he’s guided your hand to the back of his head.
you thread your fingers loosely through his hair careful not to pull. he can tell you’re holding back because he makes a frustrated noise against you and then he turns his head and bites your thigh, his free hand pushing your hand against his hair. when he sucks on your clit again it’s startling and sweet and so intense that you don’t think twice about tightening your grip... unconsciously guiding him exactly where you need him.
the first time you really let go and tug at his hair he lets out a growl, pleased and primal. sunghoon's hold on your hips loosens, allowing you to ride his face in earnest with all your shy manners gone and forgotten as the overwhelming wave of sensations narrows to a point of pure excruciating pleasure and you finally cum.
he doesn’t stop.
why would he? now that he finally has you where he wants you. and vice versa if the way you’re still writhing on the bed is any indication. you’re still frustratingly quiet but the sight of you so lost in sensation and twitching with the aftershocks is enough to sate him for now.
you’re overstimulated for sure with your hand weak against his temple but all your protests are replaced by whispered pleas for more, oh fuck, more, daddy, more please as he slips one finger inside you. slowly. wet as you are and relaxed from your first orgasm of the night.
did you really think he’d stop at one? the thought makes him chuckle against you. he's two knuckles deep and to his delight he gets something more than a gasp. he repeats the motion and adds another finger and oh, oh, you sound just as good as he’d imagined. better, so much better. he moves harder and faster, working you out until he feels you tensing, feels you right on the edge...
... and he stops.
you whine. you’re turning your head up to look at him. he’s pleased to see what a mess you look: flushed face, messy hair, your lips kiss-swollen. your eyes still clear and soft with the afterglow of your previous orgasm. “why did you stop?”
he lets out a low thoughtful hum before turning to face you. “what’s the matter?” you’re taken aback by his eagerness across his face. he licks his thumb and smirks and you bite your lip. “one isn’t enough?”
"ah... uh..."
he climbs up the bed to meet you in another bruising kiss, the taste of you still on his lips and your legs spreading further to allow his hips to slot between them. once you’ve helped him get off all clothing below the belt you melt into his touch only to be jolted back when he rolls over to pull you on top of him.
“i stopped,” your stepdad grunts, getting a good handful of thigh to squeeze and smirking when he hears your moans, “because this time you’re going to cum on my cock my pretty girl.”
he pulls you against him as if to demonstrate and you can’t help but let out another louder sigh at the feeling of him long and hard and throbbing against you. you sit up to align yourself and the first press of him inside you is so good that your head tips back and your lower lip caught between your teeth as you bite back another moan.
sunghoon's voice is mocking but he breaks as you slide down to be seated fully against him with the tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix. “fuck... such a cock hungry whore.... cum once already and you’re still so tight. is this what you needed?” he starts leading you in an achingly slow rhythm and relishing in the way you clench around him with every thrust. you nod as your eyes flutter shut. the sting of his hand on your ass makes you whimper. “c’mon little girl. want to hear you say it.”
“say... oh fuck, i, fuck, daddy." you moan.
“you act so innocent. i bet you think about me fucking your pretty pussy all the time huh? you think of your stepdad fucking you? behind your mom's back? huh? tell me.” he fucks up into you hard, his hands on your hips pinning your hips to the mattress. “convince me you deserve to cum.”
when you reach for your clit he catches your wrists in one hand. “please.”
“please what?”
“please let me cum daddy.“
he shakes his head. “not good enough. if you’re desperate enough to grind on my cock then your slutty enough to tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.”
desperate, slutty... you’d never realized until now that degradation was something that turned you on. you bite your lip one last time and your eyes fix on his. “i want to cum on your cock. please daddy, fuck."
"that so? you want your stepdad to fuck you? aren't you such a dirty whore?"
"y-yes... i want you to fuck me hard. want you to fuck me all night." he rewards you with a few fingers circling your clit and you almost choke on a moan. ”i want you to fuck me into the mattress until i can’t think straight.”
sunghoon can’t help but shudder at that... at the sound of you. you, his shy and not-so-innocent stepdaughter. such filthy words in your sugar-sweet voice.
it’s only a matter of seconds before he has you on your back with your legs draped over his shoulders and he's filling you up at an almost brutal pace. he’s rewarded with the shaking of your legs and the frantic drag of your nails across his back, and most of all the way you can’t help but moan with each thrust as you grow closer and closer to falling over the edge.
when you cum again you seem to melt into him, clenching and squelching around him with the prettiest cries he’s ever heard and that’s all it takes for him to pull out so that he can come on your stomach. you’re still twitching as he does and all he can think as he collapses next to you is that he’d give anything to see you like this, fucked out and hazy and covered in his seed every day for the rest of his life.
“two orgasms,” he finally says, once the two of you have spent a few minutes in silence. “easy. your ex must be even more of an idiot than i thought.”
without thinking you press a kiss to his shoulder. “thanks,” you whisper. he doesn’t answer... not at first. not out loud. but a moment later you feel him shift, reaching across you to grab something from the nightstand. then he’s above you and kissing you. it's soft, deep, sleepy in your mutual post-orgasmic haze and you sense some mischief behind it. when he pulls back you see it in his eyes as well.
you blink up at him. “what are you..."
“making you cum a third time.” you can do nothing but grab your stepdad's shoulder again as he reaches down to lower the vibrator to your clit and as you whine again at the sting. you feel his free hand on your cheek and take two of those long pretty fingers into your mouth. he smirks at you. “why don't we test your limits baby?”
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NCT Dream and how they will court you.
AN: To the filo-czennie who requested this, thank you! <3 to give more context. Courting is a tradition that Filipinos do wherein they do gestures, actions, and such to prove to a girl that they're worthy to be their significant other. (think of it as someone swooning a girl in order to win their heart.) I'm pretty sure some other countries also have courting tradition but it's common here in the Philippines! <3 (I wrote a filipino version for this one. this is for the filo-czennies hehe.)
Mark Lee
Let's be REAL. He'll do any music-related when it comes to courting you. He'll be the type to write lyrics or maybe compose a song that is dedicated only for you. If he's feeling it, he'll write a whole mixtape about you because that's just how he can show his love for you! If not, I feel like Mark would be the type to give you a playlist full of songs that reminds him of you!! He's also a family man so I bet that he'll also need to win your family's vote when he's courting you. And your family likes him because he's such a gentleman to begin with. <3
Huang Renjun
I feel like Renjun would be the type to give you gifts and what-nots if he's courting you. He's the type to spoil you because you deserve it and he loves your reactions whenever you open his gifts. It can be either expensive type of gifts like jewelries or cute trinkets that reminds him of you! Either way, you appreciate his efforts. Also! I think that Renjun's other love language is food, so I bet that he's the type to bring you to a lot of food dates, (hotpot of course!) or would send you food whenever you're craving food! It could be as simple like a cup of coffee when you're in the middle of your study, or a batch of cookies because you were craving for it!
Lee Jeno
Oh definitely a quality time type of man. Jeno wants to know you better and vice versa, so he makes sure that you two spend much time together! It can be either going out for a date, any type of date! (amusement park, food date, and maybe a mall date) or just you two staying indoor, doing mundane things, (watching movies, playing games, or just cuddling.) Even though you two are still in the courting stage, it already feels domestic whenever you two stay indoors. Also Jeno would be the type to use words, probably loves comforting you and gives you tons of compliments.
Lee Donghyuck
I believe in clingy Haechan so I feel like even during the courting stage, he's already clingy to you but not too much! He's just the type to hold hands with you, hug you before you two separate ways, and kisses you if you let him be. Just anything where he can hold onto you will be enough for him. He also loves endless calls too since he's talkative, I feel like if you two haven't seen each other in a while, calls will be his way to know what happened to you, and vice versa. He'll ask you how's your day and he'll be so into the dramas that's happening to you, probably knows your best friend's cheating boyfriend at some point that he wants to fight him.
Na Jaemin
BLUSHING RN but I'm sorry, Jaemin has to be the sweetest out of all Dreamies. He has too! He just knows how to swoon you and he's such a gentleman! He's an act of service guy, so I bet when he was still courting you, he'll be the type to pick you up from your place and walk you to school and vice versa. He never missed unless it's an emergency! He loves this mundane things, holding your hands, and also carries your bag on the way lol. Jaemin probably knows what you want and you don't like, so he takes notes of it everytime you two go out on a date. So you'll be surprise that he remembers while he'll be smug about it.
Zhong Chenle
Chenle thinks that courting you means taking you out to multiple dates and giving you gifts. It can be the former or the latter, and sometimes it can be both! You swear that Chenle's spoiling you too much but that's just how he show to you that he likes you and wants to be your boyfriend. Whenever you two go on a date, he take notes of what you want, like when you two are at the amusement park gift shop and he saw you staring at this cute capybara plushie, you'll be surprise that at the end of the date, he gives you a plastic bag that contains the plushie. He'll probably loves teasing you too but that's because he thinks you're cute when you're annoyed.
Park Jisung
Another guy who loves giving you gifts when he was courting you. Flowers. Mostly flowers, he'll be the type who thinks careful of what flowers to give you, and would be so happy explaining to you that the flowers that he gave you symbolizes love and happiness. You find his efforts sweet and cute. Aside from that, I feel like Jisung is good with words. He's VERY flirty with you that sometimes it caught you off-guard, knowing that he has a shy demeanor when he first started courting you. He'll probably cringe when he's all alone, remembering all the things he said to you. He'll curl up in a corner and thinks that you find him cringe but the truth is, you were very flustered!
#nct dream#nct imagines#nct dream fic#nct fic#nct x reader#nct#nct dream imagine#nct fluff#nct scenarios#nct dream reactions#nct dream imagines#nct drabbles#nct mark#nct jeno#nct renjun#nct haechan#nct jaemin#nct chenle#nct jisung
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for something as trivial and simple those feelings sure are hard to get rid of
also made a gif a version for fun + alt version with no tears under the cut
the gif is in very low resolution...this is a feature (i could make it bigger but that would require saving each frame individually and than glueing it all together. also i feel like low resolution suits it better. aesthetically and fits the mood)
#hs#homestuck#dirk strider#eye strain#probably? if you think i should tag something else let me know!!#anyway hooray its time for rambling in the tags#so uhhh heres the teæ i've been sick for like a week and you know how it is when suddenly your throat becomes the main gunk warehouse#and you can't breathe lol. wish i could just pull it out. anywaaayy this is basically a vent piece for me being sick lol#also i could draw remotively the same thing with kris deltarune. oh how easy it is to project having a cold#though i have been also experiencing troubles with feelings recently as well....how fitting for dirk#speaking of the man himself (enough of me) his relationship with his own Heart...is peculiar to say the least#the thing i love about alphakids is that despite being so feral they were. so relatable. i cannot stress this enough how unwell they are an#and how they represented being a teen so well. yeah being 15 years old makes that to you#imagine being an emotional mess and trying to fit the 'norm' and act normal about your friends so youre not offputting#and then you fall in love with you friend and your ai clone falls in love with him too looool noone makes out of this one alive#uhh literally. godtiering stuff and dying remember#and speaking of it. tw for suicidal talk for the rest of tags#do you ever think dirk was suicidal. of course the part of when he teleports his head to jake was totally planned and he knew he would ->#wake up as dreamself but. don't you think the moment he cut his head off was sort of. cathartic. how much did he hate his own guts#beheading himself not only for the plan...but also because he thought he 'deserved' it#also wow he is a Prince and was literally beheaded don't you think its funny hahaa#sigh poor thing#this has ended on a not the very pleasant note hm#also fckkkkkk i didn't draw anything with rose/mary for the lesbian visabilty week#(putting the slash because tumblr search system has a dumb gag with showing you posts that contain the tag inside the other tag.#and i don't want this post to show up for the ros/mary fans because it's not!!!! its rose's father emotional crisis post!!!!)#update YOOOO WHAT THE HELL THE GIF HAS EVEN LESS PIXELS THEN I PLANNED fantastic#this your breakfast now tumblr. enjoy your crunchy flakes of dirks meltdown. mwah
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Letters Never Sent (Yandere Malleus x Reader)
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A letter wrote by Malleus Draconia, never sent to the object of his desires. Why don't you open it up and see what's inside...
masterlist
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Dear My Child of Man,
I am writing this letter with no intention of you receiving it.
Maybe this is "silly" as you would describe it, but I find myself slowly losing the restraint on my emotions as the days go by. My heart fills with unfamiliar feelings as I think of you, mixing together into an ever present sense of desire that makes me near shameful.
I find myself thinking of you always, from the moment I wake, to the moment I fall asleep. You seep your way into my dreams, where for but a moment I can relish in the fantasy that is you. I dream of your soft voice, your comforting gaze, your addicting presence. You are so captivating that I often forget I'm dreaming, until I awake with an aching feeling I've come to know as longing.
I long for you, I've learned.
I long for your voice, for your gaze, for your presence. I long for every essence of your being to be directed towards me. Some may call me a fool, scoff my way and paint me a madman, but I am nothing without my love for you, so it bothers me none. I often wonder if you think of me as intensely as I do you. I have to admit it is exciting, the mere thought of you reciprocating my feelings warms me so. It is intoxicating, even as a fantasy, simply imagining a life with you is enough for me. Somedays, I imagine gifting you with an unending dream, one where it is just us, away from the rest of the world. Away from duty, and work, and anything else that could distract us from each other, from our love. We would be together and we would be happy until the end of your days, and even after you're gone, I would continue loving you.
You were always so opposed to the idea, immortality. I remember the look on your face when you realized just how long I had lived, the sadness, the remorse, the pain. At that moment, it was not something I feared, more accurately not something I thought much about. It was not until I met you that it dawned upon me that at some point, you would leave this world, and that it would keep moving. Time would progress, people would grieve, but they would move on, plants would sprout and grow and wilt and eventually grow again, but I would remain stuck. Stuck with my dreams and fantasies. Stuck with the memory of you so present it would be like you never left in the first place.
Even now, I fear what the world would be like without you. Not much fills me with fear, my Child of Man, but I've found myself scared lately. The thought of you leaving, of going back to your home, and never returning scares me. It is almost comical in a way, I find myself dreading the thought even while writing this. You should be proud, how easily you are able to terrify me is an excellent skill, one many would love to possess.
You were my first true friend, did you know that? I have Lilia and Silver and Sebek, but I've always been treated as above them, as something untouchable. You were the first person to treat me like an equal, to bless me with the wonderful feeling of friendship. I often find myself racked with guilt, why should I desire more from you when you've already given me so much already? It is selfish, to seek out your love so desperately when I've already taken so much from you. You are my friend, and I should value our friendship above all.
But that is why I fear, because my love for you goes beyond the boundaries of friendship. I would even say it goes beyond the boundaries of love. It is a longing so deep I wonder if I'll ever be the same again, all while knowing that I am too engrossed in the feeling that is you to ever go back. A longing so deep I yearn with desire unexplainable to man, desire so profound and raw that I am sure you have changed something within me. A longing so deep the closest word to describe it is obsession, but even obsession doesn't explain the hundreds of letters, all unset, pilling away, all centering you.
Fear, love, what do distinctions matter if every single one of my thoughts center you.
I have no desire to send this letter, my Child of Man, but I hope with every meeting, every passing day, every time we are together, you are able to feel the love I hold for you. I hope my longing, my devotion, my never ending, boundless obsession is clear to you, my love.
Because I fear what will happen when I run out of paper.
---
A/n: here's to me hoping that this will break my writers block.
#yandere x reader#soft yandere#platonic yandere#twisted wonderland x reader#yandere twisted wonderland#twisted wonderland#twst malleus#twst x reader#yandere twst#twst
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what do you think about the fact that al likes doodling?
i have a head canon that he has some sort of scrapbook or sketchbook full of little doodles of things going on at the hotel and just in his life, I feel like he would draw really stick-figureish (is that a word?) but I read a fic that depicted it as the same art style as an Invader-Zim obsessed scene girl and I could not stop cackling.
I also feel like he would either guard it with his life from everyone (exception to Rosie, of course) or just not bother to tell anyone and one day they just find him doodling schoolgirl style, kicking his legs in the air, LMAO NEW THOUGHT WHAT IF CHARLIE OR LUCIFER FOUND IT
OH! OH! Now that you mentioned it - i LOVE that about him! I just absolutely ADORE little thing he made for the add in the first episode. And i love this fact because 1) he's the first character i like that likes to draw canonically (okay maybe also toothless from httyd?) 2) Me and Alastor share so many similarities, and even drawing???? This just makes me love him even more (i'm sure we would hate each other irl tho AHAHHAHAHA or maybe not, idk)
SO, SINCE ME AND AL ARE SO SIMILAR, I'M GONNA PROJECT ON HIM MY DRAWING HABITS >:3c Forgive me this one, i usualy don't do that, i usualy project characters on myself haha
He DOES have sketchbooks just to draw, and they are ORGANISED. He's numbers every sketchbook and counts every drawing in them since the first one. He also has two numbers for each page - through one sketchbook and through them all. He has over 300 of sketchbooks by now (I have less, only 56). They are stashed somewhere in a very safe place.
Every sketchbook has a date of first and last drawing. Also amount of drawings. It looks like:
NOTEBOOK 253 (number of sketchbook, also he doesn't call them sketchbooks)
03.06.1978-05.07.1978 (dates while it was active)
119 (amount of drawings)
29961-30080 (which numbers of drawings are in this sketchbook)
He would cound something else, but he's just too busy to spend time on it. He can remember something thinking about what he was drawing in that period and vice versa
He used to draw at overlords meetings, pissing off Carmila and everyone else, because it looked like he hadn't listened to them, so Carmila banned drawing at overlords meetings (Alastor is still angry about it)
But he doesn't progress too much - most of his progress was made through first 10-20 sketchbooks, now he only has slight style changes sometimes when he feels like it
Tho he's really proud of his current skill and used to think that he's literally the best (used to get angry when reminded that it's not true) (now he kinda knows, but still likes his own drawings, doesn't accept criticism and doesn't try to purposely improve)
He likes showing his drawings to people, he knows and if he does, you have to say that it's literally So Cool, show enthusiasm turning pages and say that everything is just amazing. If you don't, he'll be OFFENDED. He also can leave a sketchbook opened on a page with a drawing he likes the most, and it's like a sign "NOTICE THAT I'M DRAWING AND SAY THAT YOU LIKE IT"
If he considers you a friend (well not like Rosie, but at least like Charlie), he'll be showing you his drawings regularly (and you have to be enthusiastic about it!!!!!!) He has showed it to Charlie, but somehow her enthusiasm is... too much. She's too patronising about it. He also shows his things to Husk, he knows that Husk is annoyed and doesn't give a shit, and he just enjoys his annoyance. He also shows his drawings to Niffty and she gives him Just Right amount and vibe of enthusiasm. (He sometimes draws something for her fanfiction if he likes something enough and enjoys Niffty's reaction (she explodes from happiness)). BUT!!!!! He never shows anything to Mimzy. Because she's like, person from the real life, and he feels like she would laugh at it. To Rosie he shows only things he considers his best and her opinion is the most important to him. He can even forgive her criticism (wouldn't take it tho) (she never critisizes him and absolutely ADORES his drawings). Angel kinda likes his drawings, but isn't enthusiastic about them enough
He doesn't take requests (Angel tried "draw me like one of your french girls" shit, Alastor never did (also his ass did not get the reference and he was like "i dont??? have??? any french girls????")) (Vox also tried to make Alastor draw something for him, Alastor was just "that's interesting, i'll think about it" and never thought of it again)
SOME OF HIS DRWINGS TURNED OUT TO BE PROPHECIES but he notices that only when something happens and then he goes back to his old sketchbooks and accidentally finds it. They are just coincidenses tho, but it's fun and Alastor makes a big deal from it and screams to Rosie like "I PREDICTED THAT SHIT 27 YEARS AGO" when finds out. (it's how i predicted many plot points from SU and literally TOH hunter's possession before the show even was a thing JHJDFJHFGJFDHKH i wonder if i predicted something from Hazbin, i need to look through my sketchbooks now)
If you dare to mess with his drawings and vandalise them... oh... you better pray to whatever god you belive in to make your sufferings be enough to redeem your sins and go to heven.
#hazbin#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#sudden ask lol#alastor hazbin hotel#alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#the radio demon#alastor the radio demon#radio demon#radiorose#platonic radiorose#hazbin headcanons#hazbin hotel text post
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binggeyuan modern!AU based on this prompt where shen yuan and luo binghe live in the same apartment building, but have never met each other. SY is more-or-less his regular shut-in self, and keeps very odd hours, which means that he happens to be wide awake the first time LBH gets back to the apartment building at 3 a.m. after some manner of illicit activity and realizes he doesn't have his fucking entrance key. LBH hits one apartment number after another into the intercom, fully prepared to dazzle his way into getting one of them to open the door for him, but the intercom is old, and people come and go from this building often enough that most people don't bother getting it set up, and he's having no luck.
finally, just as he's about to give up and bully his way onto mobei-jun or sha hualing's couch for the night, someone picks up. he doesn't even remember which specific apartment number it was, he was just entering them mechanically. immediately, LBH pulls on his smoothest affect (sure the intercom has no video, only shitty, garbled audio, but that's no reason to let the universe catch you slipping) and prepares to give the sob story performance of his life. before he can even get a single word out, however, there's a crackly, almost indiscernible "Open!" and he hears the click of the entrance door unlocking before the intercom call is ended. he stares at the intercom for a minute, somewhat wrong-footed, but then shakes himself out of it in time to catch the door before it locks again.
SY, for his part, was broken out of a binge-reading spiral by the intercom call, and fully did not realize how late it had gotten. he assumed he had ordered something that was arriving earlier than expected, and kept an ear out for a knock on his front door from the delivery person for a few minutes, but then got sucked back into the target of his current literary criticism.
the next time LBH gets locked out, he starts in the general number range he remembers striking on the last time, and pays closer attention to the numbers this time. he's curious if his little philanthropist will be so accommodating again. SY orders a lot of packages, okay! the one time he didn't pick up the intercom he had to wait an extra three days for his ultra-rare, limited edition merch, which he will not be going through again. this time, though, when the intercom picks up, LBH is prepared. he starts talking immediately, playing up his stress at being locked out, how sorry he is to be a bother, and how much he really, really appreciates it. SY fully blue screens at this unanticipated display of emotions, blurts something out about how it's not problem and of course he's happy to help out a neighbor in need, then hangs up (after unlocking the entrance, of course). it is perhaps fortunate that the intercom has no video, and thus he can not see the look on LBH's face.
LBH gets more and more consistent pushy with his calls, curious how far this little philanthropist will go for him. he knows his apartment number, of course, he could just knock and introduce himself, but he'd rather let him come to him. LBH starts interjecting little questions here and there, trying to glean any information about his mysterious benefactor. SY, meanwhile, is lighting a daily candle for this poor little bun somewhere in his building, who has truly the worst luck in the entire world! who ever heard of a gang of pickpockets stealing someone's keys not once, but twice in the same week!
LBH gets comfortable with the state of things — as ever, too comfortable. nothing good can last forever. one night, after a long and utterly shitty day, for the first time in ages, he loses his key for real. he's tried to avoid reaching out to SY at any time when he's not 100% in control of himself, but there's nothing for it. he punches in the numbers for the unit he knows by heart at this point, and when it picks up, he sighs tiredly, and waits for SY to speak first. after a moment of silence, the call drops, and the door remains locked. LBH is almost shaken entirely out of his malaise. not even a word? he puts SY's apartment number in again, but this time it doesn't even pick up. he stares at the intercom in unpleasant shock for a few minutes, then punches the wall next to it and leaves. he spends the night on mobei-jun's uncomfortably small couch, staring unseeing at the ceiling above him. at least the other man doesn't ask him any questions.
their easy rapport broken, SY starts to worry when he hasn't heard from his unfortunate little neighbor — maybe he's moved out? hopefully to a place with a more accommodating security system... after a full week, his worry ramps up even higher. he wants to believe his neighbor just found a system to keep track of his keys that works for him, but statistically, it seems unlikely. feeling like the most awkward, overstepping idiot on the planet, he scribbles off a few short notes, and sticks one by the the intercom, one by the mailboxes, and one in the laundry room. his neighbor will have to go at least one of those places, certainly?
to my keyless neighbor -
hope you're well! i was worried-
if you ever need me, you know where to reach me.
you weren't a bother-
- XX4
the next time LBH stops by the apartment (he's been avoiding it by couch-hopping as much as possible, to the great aggravation of his friends) he carefully avoids looking at the intercom. as such, it's actually sha hualing who spots the note first. (she bullied her way into an invite to make LBH actually go home.) she crows out a harsh laugh, snatching the note off the wall and holding it up dramatically, cackling about "rom-com shit". LBH isn't really paying attention, until he catches a glimpse of the apartment number at the bottom. eyes flashing, he snatches the note out of her hand, and reads it over once, and then again. after a moment, he turns to sha hualing, and tells her to go home, that he's got plans, actually. she gapes at him for a moment, then scoffs and turns on her heel, flipping him off as she goes. whatever! she didn't want to babysit his mopey ass any longer anyway!
LBH spends a few frozen moments running over his options, torn between calling right now just to see if his philanthropist will pick up this time, and giving himself a chance to freshen up, and maybe make a good enough showing for himself that whatever it was that caused him to be ignored before will never happen again. ultimately, he decides on the latter, but rushes through all his preparations as much as he can while maintaining sufficient attention to detail. he wishes he had the materials to make something truly spectacular, but his apartment is showing his absence over the past week. he settles on a meal that just barely feels sufficient, and finds himself more anxious than he can remember being in years at this point, staring at his philanthropist's apartment door, two levels below his.
he raises his fist to knock, tentatively at first, too quiet to hear, and then once more, louder. a muffled voice comes through the door, and a few moments later, it cracks open to reveal a man just a bit shorter than him, with a rumpled shirt that looks like it has just been haphazardly thrown on and hair that might not have been brushed in days. he's... really cute.
LBH and SY just kind of stare at each other, frozen, for a bit, until LBH proffers the food he's brought, and SY's archaic etiquette subroutines kick in, and he invites LBH in before he can even think about. his immediate wince makes it clear he had not meant to do that, but LBH is not above making a situation work to his advantage, and graciously accepts, stepping into the somewhat cluttered apartment before SY can recover from his slip-up. they still have not exchanged names.
ultimately, they get themselves figured out. LBH introduces himself, and SY follows suit. there's a beat of silence as they both realize that this does not actually clear up anything about how they know each other. LBH finds the words to explain his own part in this are slow to come, so he finally just hands the note, neatly folded, to SY. SY's face colors, but he overcomes it to fussily poke at LBH about how worried he was, when the other just disappeared! LBH stops for a second, hearing that, then slowly responds that it was SY who cut him off first. SY gapes at him, then demands to know when he did a thing like that! he set his intercom call sound to caramelldansen and max volume so he'd be sure not to miss it!
LBH gives him the date, and SY flushes again, then looks away, muttering something unflattering about a "qingge". LBH feels a wash of jealousy, that he's misread the situation and SY is already spoken for, but SY goes on to explain that he had been stuck overnight at the hospital - for nothing major! pretty routine actually! - and the friend that was staying with him must have picked up, then hung up when he couldn't figure out who was calling.
LBH sits back, somewhat at a loss. so it... wasn't because SY was tired of him? SY sputters, waving his hands about. absolutely not! he might be slightly forgetful, but binghe is clearly a wonderful young man and it's not like SY has much else going on in his life!
LBH determines to himself then and there that the only way to ensure such a thing does not happen again is to make sure that he is the one staying with SY the next time he's in the hospital.
#gods this got SO MUCH LONGER THAN I ANTICIPATED#anyway i like this prompt a lot it has a lot of flexibility#and yes lbh starts very bingge but then gets passively bingmei-ified#svsss#bingyuan#binggeyuan#shen yuan#luo binghe#luo bingge#svsss au#svsss fic#my writing#writing prompt
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The King's Men - Chapter Seventeen (19)
Day: Friday, April 26th / 27th*
Time: 9:33 PM EST
The only Raven making a second appearance on the court tonight is Riko. The other two filing on are brand new, another striker to balance Riko out and an offensive dealer Neil remembers from last October's game. The Ravens intend to tear the Foxes' defense wide open, and by this point it won't take a lot of work. They are almost halfway through the second half. Even though the Foxes are built for the long haul they are quickly running out of steam. It costs them too much to go up against a team like this.
"They're not fast enough," Andrew says.
He has to mean their defense line, so Neil says, "I know."
"Are you tired?" Andrew asks.
It isn't concern, Neil knows, but that doesn't make it a less confusing question. He hasn't gotten the ball often enough tonight to be tired, but he can't say that with Matt standing two feet away from him. "Not yet."
"Then I'm taking my turn. Matt," Andrew says, and Matt turns toward them immediately. Andrew lifts a finger from his racquet to point at Neil. "We're subbing Dan for Neil and Neil for you."
Matt stares. "We're what?"
"You're limping," Andrew returns. Neil hadn't even noticed, too focused on the ball and the Ravens. He shoots a startled look down at Matt's feet like he can somehow see the source of Matt's pain. "You're no use to me right now. Get Abby to put a brace on that. Neil can hold them in the meantime."
They've said all night that speed is the fatal weakness on their defense line. Neil is the fastest player in Class I Exy, but how Andrew thinks this is a feasible solution Neil doesn't know. Neil wants to point out every reason this is a bad idea, but he doesn't have the right to turn Andrew down.
"I started this game as a backliner, remember?" Neil says to Matt. "The Ravens put me up against Riko when I stayed with them in December. I know how he moves."
"Two weeks of practice don't make you ready to face the best striker in the game."
"Kevin's the best striker," Neil corrects him, "and I don't have to be the best backliner to counter Riko. I just have to be faster than he is. We both know I am. Trust me. I can keep him away from Andrew while you rest."
"Coach will never go for it," Matt says.
"Tell him he has to," Andrew says, like it was that simple.
Art used with permission by Ziegenking094. Thank you @ziegenkind094!
*Due to the Leap Year, I have opted to highlight the day rather than the date to keep the events in occurrence to the 2007 year. I will continue to mark both days accordingly.
#aftg#all for the game#neil josten#tkm#the kings men#the foxhole court#andrew minyard#palmetto state university#psu foxes#andreil#on this day in aftg#otdiaftg#palmetto state foxes#otdi all for the game#nora sakavic#the foxes#on this day in all for the game#kevin day#nicky hemmick#aaron minyard#coach wymack#betsy dobson#abby winfield#matt boyd#dan wilds#renee walker#allison reynolds#artists#ziegenkind094
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Top Secret!!!!!
A Group Chat Involving Everyone but MC and Luke
Solomon: It's nearly time for me to give MC their preliminary exam. How many stars is MC up to?
Mammon: you serious, bro????
Mammon: you haven't kept track of mc's stars????
Mammon: old man alert
Satan: Four.
Solomon: Thank you, Satan. What other three virtues have been rewarded?
Diavolo: Gratitude from me.
Simeon: Patience from me and generosity from Luke.
Solomon: So, chastity, diligence, and humility remain. I was thinking of having us play Tail Thieves.
Asmo: I love you, Solomon, but no.
Solomon: What's wrong with Tail Thieves?
Asmo: One, it's a childish game.
Lucifer: ^
Asmo: Two, do you not remember how MC behaved the last time you tested them? They were BORED OUT OF THEIR MIND, and it impacted their performance as a result.
Beel: That's true.
Asmo: Any twists you come up with are going to be too predictable.
Solomon: *glaring crow sticker*
Solomon: I'm SURE you have a better idea.
Asmo: I do, actually.
Asmo: It involves testing their chastity.
Solomon: Go on...
Asmo: We'll seduce them.
Mammon: that's a stupid idea!!!!
Levi: youre just saying that because youre jealous
Belphie: *laughing emoji*
Beel: *gif of someone doing a spit-take*
Asmo: I'm being serious.
Asmo: During their last stay in the Devildom, I managed to charm them, which gained me access to their deepest desires.
Asmo: They have fantasies involving all of us. Tempting them with those will be the ultimate test of their chastity. If they're able to resist, then they earn the star.
Lucifer: That's actually a well thought-out idea.
Barbatos: ^
Diavolo: ^^
Solomon: *glaring crow sticker*
Solomon: Fine.
Solomon: Who's participating?
Levi: mammon and i are out
Mammon: speak for yourself!!!! the fuck???
Levi: if this is meant to really test mc then everyone has to commit to the bit and you and i both know that youd tap out the minute mc looks at you sideways
Mammon: *glaring crow sticker*
Levi: while ive gained some confidence i still wouldnt be able to maintain my composure long enough to complete something like this
Asmo: I will provide the necessary information, but I myself will not be seducing MC, as much as it pains me to say.
Satan: Of course it would pain you to say that.
Asmo: *eye roll emoji*
Solomon: Do you want to judge with me?
Asmo: I mean, I kinda figured we would, so...
Barbatos: My participation will depend on what I'm meant to reenact.
Asmo: Are you afraid it would conflict with your duties?
Barbatos: Yes.
Diavolo: Well, if you're worried about me stopping you, don't. It wouldn't be fair of me to expect you to sit this out if I'm planning on participating.
Mammon: WHAT??????
Levi: bro
Levi: he literally jumped out a castle window to be with mc
Levi: he's THIRSTY
Belphie: Unfortunately.
Asmo: Not to be the bossy brother, but Lucifer, you aren't allowed to back out.
Lucifer: Wasn't planning on it. I know where I stand in MC's mind.
Satan: You know, I think I might chill with Mammon and Levi. I thought about joining in the fun, but I don't think I have it in me to see things through.
Satan: And before anyone chimes in, no, it's not because Lucifer confirmed his participation.
Belphie: We know. If it was, you'd be trying to one-up him.
Satan: Thank you, Belphie. I TOTALLY wanted that out there. *eye roll emoji*
Beel: I'm in.
Belphie: Quick question: would it be fair of me to participate?
Asmo: Actually, you'd be PERFECT for this. You can argue that you know MC more intimately than ANY of us. You'd know what buttons to push to make them really sweat.
Belphie: Okay, cool. I'll do it, then.
Simeon: Me too.
Levi: lol what
Mammon: ayo, do you even KNOW how to seduce someone, simeon?
Simeon: How do you think I'm able to write some of the scenes in TSL?
Levi: well okay then
Solomon: So, to confirm: Lucifer, Beel, Belphie, Diavolo, and Simeon are definite participants, Barbatos is a maybe, and Mammon, Levi, and Satan are sitting this out?
Nine people liked Solomon's message.
Mammon: the three of us can keep an eye on luke. we can either help him run the cafe or take him out someplace fun.
Levi: you know you seem awfully chummy towards luke lately
Mammon: we bonded during our fairy hunt.
Asmo: Then that settles it. Solomon and I will meet with the volunteers for further discussion.
#obey me shall we date#obey me lucifer#obey me mammon#obey me levi#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmo#obey me asmodeus#obey me beel#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphie#obey me diavolo#obey me lord diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me simeon#obey me solomon#obey me mc#obey me boys#so i took a peek at what the next couple of lessons entailed#and thought that they were pretty goofy#so i'm doing something a bit different with the chastity test#something that i feel makes a lot more sense than tail thieves or not opening a fake grimoire#plus the idea of demons weaponizing someone's fantasies makes total sense with their goal of obtaining souls#in my opinion at least
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cafe manager!taehyun x cafe worker!reader
warnings: smut, slightly public sex, swearing, spanking, not actually that much smut, barely edited 😭
a/n - I wanted to write something to try and get over my writers block c:
---♡
Working at a popular cafe is hard. So many customers rush in and out, there's barely enough room for anyone in the small room. And you, being a shy introvert, found it very hard to work as a full time cashier and talk to so many people in a day. But the job payed well so who are you to complain
You're fairly new to this job, so you're still not used to interacting with customers but you try your best. Today was particularly harsh on you though.
It was the usual morning rush. People lining up to get their morning coffee to help get them through the day. But for some reason you were so exhausted. So tired, so nervous, and there are so many people waiting for you to take their order. This felt like the hundredth customer you had just in the last hour.
"Could I have the weekly special?" The lady infront of you asked politely.
"Ah... sure. Whats the weekly special again?" You turn to look behind you at the drink menu while the lady looks at you with a confused but patient expression. "Oh right, that." You give the lady an apologetic look as you go to make her drink, stumbling over yourself out of embarrassment.
Your manager, your stupid annoying manger, laughed as he watched you. Taehyun. God, he was always on your case. Pointing out every little thing you did wrong and getting annoyed with you over the smallest things. So of course, what did you expect when he started scolding you for forgetting what this week's special was.
"God, y/n. You do this all the fucking time." Taehyun let's out an exasperated breath. "Look, I get you're new here but how could you mess up something as simple as that?"
"Like the name says, it changes every week. I'm bound to forget what it is at least once..." you grumble.
"You do this way too often. We need to do something about this otherwise you'll drive all of our customers away."
"That's a bit dramatic but ok.."
Taehyun asks you to stay for a bit after the Cafe closes. Apparently he knows a good method he wants to show you that will help you memorize orders better.
A few hours later you find yourself pinned against the cafes front counter, Taehyuns cock slamming harshly into you.
"What are the steps for making our strawberry lemonade?" He asks, sucking a mark onto your neck.
You whimper, tears of pleasure running down your face. "I-i don't know!" Your brain is turned to mush. You can't remember anything about any steps or recipe.
Taehyun asks you again, landing a hard smack to your ass. "What. Are. The steps?"
---♡
Lets just say after that night... you decided it would be better to just work in the back cleaning dishes instead.
#matcha writes!#matcha.mature#taehyun x you#taehyun x y/n#taehyun x reader#taehyun#taehyun hard hours#taehyun hard thoughts#taehyun smut#taehyun fic#txt#txt x y/n#txt x you#txt x reader#txt fanfic#txt smut#txt hard hours#txt hard thoughts
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