#and his friend offed himself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

deadsetobsessions · 5 months

Text

Summonings

Ever since Danny Phantom became the Ghost King, he’s had to deal with an endless amount of crap. An eternity of it, actually, and it was constantly causing him unending amount of existential crises and stress.

First, there was the paperwork. Pariah Dark, the incompetent asshole, had left him decades worth of bureaucracy to painfully sift through. He ended up hiring some ghosts with paperwork obsessions to sort some of that out. Who knew ruling the infinite realms would require this much paperwork? He’s lucky each section of the underworld had their own systems to report to their own rulers who, in turn, report to him.

Secondly, there were the Observers. And other ghosts, like his own rogues, but they were the main issues. Eyeball menaces. They protested his appointment, something he actually agreed with. Putting a fifteen year old on the throne is rarely a smart decision. But the Infinite Realm values strength, the only type of currency that matters in the land of the gods and the dead. Danny? Phantom? He’s got strength in spades. With only a few months of being a ghost, Danny had managed to defeat Pariah Dark, who had cowered gods and struck fear into the hearts of ghost heroes.

But Danny hasn’t quite realized the significance of that yet, too focused on the realization that he was about to be in charge of the infinite realms. The Observants, since his reluctant and extremely limited coronation, has been up his ass about doing things the “proper way.”

Danny’s main problem lies with the ridiculous amount of paperwork though. It’s fine. Tedious. But fine.

But if he gets one more fifteen page essay style complaint form about some guy named Constantine, Danny might seriously reconsider donning Dan’s ruthlessness and offing the guy himself. Perhaps grab the man by his shoulders and shake him like a rag doll and ask who the fuck told him it was a good idea to sell his soul out like that? Danny eventually just sent out Skulker to hunt down the contracts and trade minor services for them. He owns most of the soul now, and perhaps he’ll hunt this guy down and force him to do paperwork.

Regardless, paperwork was just often tedious. He’s worked out a system for himself. The halfa, true to his teenage form, had better things to be doing. His homework, for one. Hanging out with his friends and logging in hours for Doomed 2 would be another. But no, he’s here, twirling a pen as he glared down at a stack of forms for a zone expansion. What the fuck does Zeus want to expand his zone for? The current share space of the sky domain is literally a perfect balance with respect towards the other gods. For the love of- Danny slams down a red ‘REJECTED’ stamp on top of the stack. His hair flickers wildly in annoyance, the iced over Crown floating above his head emitting concerning levels of frost. To anyone else but himself, of course.

He then feels a soft tug on his core.

Right. The third most annoying thing about becoming King: the fucking summoning. Danny taps his pen against his lips, clicking it against his fangs, as he considers the summoning circle that calls him. Huh. Desperation. Mildly bloody. Fear. Resignation- ah, fuck it, it’s not like he’s too enthusiastic about staying to do work with the Observers poking around. He takes the summoning, allowing his regalia to overtake his normal hazmat-clad form, and approves the summoning.

Oh hey, Danny thinks he recognizes that ugly ass trenchcoat.

—-

John Constantine has had more than enough practice summoning things that would give people nightmares. But there are things he normally refuses to touch, refuses to even entertain the idea of trying. As usual, desperation made John its bitch and the Justice League’s battered and bruised faces tugged on his shriveled heart.

He’s going to summon something from the Infinite Realms. Oh, but he wasn’t just summoning any old ghost. No, he thought, I’m just going to summon the one being that’s guaranteed to be able to crush our universe without breaking a sweat. Bollocks.

“Is it ready?”

“Untwist your pants, spooky,” John snaps, wishing he had a crate of whiskey he could down. “We’re trying to summon the Ghost King, not your average demon.”

“What do we know about him?” Batman’s gravelly voice demanded.

“Powerful enough to take us all out without even breaking a sweat. Defeated the bloody tyrant who ruled over the Realms last I heard.”

“That’s it?”

“You could ask Deadman, but I heard he’s on the outs with the Infinite Realms on the fact that he’s made of pure magic, not ectoplasm.”

“There’s no guarantee the king will work with us.” Zatanna says, pressing her fingertips together tiredly. She had been at the forefront of the battle and had paid the price for it. “But he’s supposedly more benevolent than his predecessor… and we’re out of options.”

“Hm.”

“Just make sure to shut up and let me do the talking.”

“Hn.”

John rolls his eyes and takes a fortifying breath, something that does not go unnoticed by the League. They all tense up, preparing themselves for a battle. Another one, seeing as they all got their ass kicked by a ghost only ten hours ago. The League is spread thin, running interference to distract the ghost in question and evacuating civilians.

John Constantine started chanting, the glow of his magic lighting up the circle as he spills his blood into the circle.

He waits, heart in his throat, for the summoning to work.

“Is it supposed to take-” Red Robin asks, only to cut himself off as the circle flares once more. Power pulsates outwards from the circle. Frost crackles on the frost resistant floors, spreading outwards as a green portal rips open the fabric of time and space. Long, spindly imitations of a hand grabs the edges of space and pulls, heaving the rest of his celestial body out of the tear in reality. John does not look away. He can not look away, not from the eerie green pallor of the King, not from his torrential white wisps of hair, not from the black-hole like material of his outfit, not from the nebulas and beginnings and endings tailored onto the King’s cape. John could not look away from the ice crown that floated like a bastion of power above the king’s head.

His mouth is dry. What price will he have to pay to save the world? What price will this being demand of him, of the Justice League, to save the world?

John desperately needs that drink.

—-

Oh! He’s in his home dimension! His core purrs at coming home, at the close proximity to his first haunt.

He was expecting cultists, or even the Winchesters again, but this is nice.

The Justice League- summoning him. Sam and Tucker are going to flip when they hear about this.

They’ve been staring at him in silence for a bit now. It was getting awkward.

“Why have you summoned me?” He asks, softening his tone. By their winces, he didn’t get it as well as he thought. Danny grimaces. At the first sign of discomfort though, the man in the trenchcoat- is that fucking Constantine?!- launches into a nerve filled tirade.

“Your, uh, Majesty.” He starts. “One of… One of your subjects is wreaking havoc on the world. We would be extremely grateful if… if you could reign him in?”

Danny’s face sours, only to quickly clear his expression as he realized how much even a small hint of displeasure causes the jumpiness in Constantine and the others.

“To do that, I will have to make a contract with you, seeing as you’ve summoned me.” Danny drawls, letting his overly long digits wave at the summoning circle in question. He could break it, of course, but Danny’s bored and trying to draw this out. He’s not saying he’d take a batch of cookies as payment but that’s exactly what he’s saying.

“The price… you could always have my soul?”

Danny pauses. “Your… soul?”

Oh, he did not say what he just said.

“Yes. My soul.”

Oh, he did.

Fuck it. Danny’s flashbacks of suffering through the reports pushes green into his irises and urgency to his action.

He breaks out of the circle, hands lunging and gripping Constantine’s jaw tightly. Danny ignores the shouts of alarm as he allows the thrown weapons to pass through him.

John Constantine is panicking now, struggling in the air as Danny lifts him an inch off the floor in agitation.

Good.

“Your soul, little wizard? The one you’ve split eight ways till the thirtieth of February? The one that caused,” he tightens his grip, no doubt bruising the man. “An insane amount of paperwork that I’ve had to suffer through. Your soul, John Constantine?”

Danny hisses his name. The man makes a warbling noise that Danny takes as acknowledgement. Danny bats away the weak spell Zatanna sends at him with a hand.

“You’ll find that I am in the possession of most of your soul contracts. To simply put,” he grins, teeth made of dying stars on display. “I own your soul. My soul, now.”

He drops the wizard who collapses onto his knees to stare up at him in horror, eyes flicking between the circle that was meant to contain him and Danny, who is very much not contained. He crouches down- something necessary but disjointed as he’s not used to this taller form- and speaks to Constantine in a slow, dead serious, drawl.

“If you ever sell your soul again, you and I are going to have issues. Is that clear, John Constantine?”

“Uh- yeah, yes, yes, your majesty.”

Patting his cheek condescendingly, Danny gets up and sighs, stress relieved. He’s starting to feel bad, though, so he allows his form to ripple back to his normal teenage Phantom self.

“Well, it’s not like anyone will buy it, since they know they’ll have to go against me.” He chirps, flipping 180 from his terror inducing eldritch voice. “So, what’ll you pay me to get rid of whatever ghost you’ve got?”

“…. Nothing?”

Red Robin holds out a bag, eyebags betraying his exhaustion. “I’ve got fifty dollars and a bag of cookies.”

Phantom beams at him. “Throw in a couple of autographs and you’ve got a deal.”

“That’s- yeah, okay.” Red Robin says, inching forward cautiously to hand him the bag.

“Great. I’ll be back for them later. You can call me Phantom. ‘Your Majesty’ gets annoying after a while.”

“Thank- thank you for your mercy, Your- Phantom.” Wonder Woman says.

“Sure. Make sure this idiot doesn’t make any more deals with demons while I’m out, yeah?”

With that, Danny Phantom grabs the bag of cookies and fifty dollars and flies through the wall to do his job.

John slams his head onto the space station floor.

“Fuck.”

—-

Danny: lol I’ll do it for the shits and giggles

Constantine and the League: he’s terrifying, a bastion of pure power and authority

Red Robin, Young “we commit war crimes bc it gets shit done” Justice leader and fellow gremlin: he’d probably do it for cookies. I would.

#dc x dp #danny phantom #john constantine #batman #Bruce Wayne being tired af #ghostly shenanigans #bamf Danny phantom #ghost king danny

3K notes · View notes

thatfreshi · 8 months

Note

Could I request an Astarion/GN!reader(Tav) where reader has trauma around their throat being touched and stuff but bears through the panic attacks just so Astarion can feed and Astarion only finds out after they make camp and confronts reader/Tav about their mental breakdown after a battle they had prior in the day?(reader got grabbed forcefully by the neck?) Essentially a bit of angst and comfort?

Set in act 2!!

TW - choking, panic attack, disordered eating behaviors

Recommended Song: Don't Invest In Me - Adam Melchor

Battle is horrifying, something Astarion never truly quite realized until he fell in love you with. He's talented, especially at killing people. He's never had to worry in a fight, because it was always just him. Now he has to worry about you, and it's painful, not being able to be by your side constantly, watching you in perilous situations, looking death right in the eye. When your group ran into a few violent adventurers yesterday, you weren't expecting any trouble. Suddenly, metal clashing, magic moving through the trees. Astarion moved quickly, offing one of the offenders almost immediately. When he turned to see who was next, bloodlust in his eyes, he saw you being held by the throat. You were frozen, running out of oxygen, tears welling at your eyes. He ran through the trees, running his blade through your captor's back.

"Tav? My dear, are you alright?"

You can't speak, utterly shocked. No one had ever tried to choke you in the throes of battle, and it reminded you of awful things, things that were better left unsaid. He checks you for any other wounds as you're trapped in your own mind. The fighting continues, but he doesn't care. All that matters is you, the others can handle themselves just fine. And if not, that's their loss, not his.

After thoroughly checking you over, he can't find anything else of concern. The bruising on your neck though, it's black and blue already. Racing thoughts, wondering if there's been any lasting damage. He can't decide if he should be more concerned about the fact that you're practically frozen in place or if your windpipe is destroyed.

"The fuck are you doing? We have shit to deal with!"

Karlach silences her complaints when she sees you lying on the ground. Astarion doesn't even look up at her, afraid. He's only ever truly had one thing, one thing that was his, and that's you. Everything else feels so impermanent, but you? You're constant.

"Astarion! Astarion!"

She yells out his name until he finally snaps back to look at your tiefling friend.

"Take Tav back to camp, we've got it covered."

Karlach then runs off, back to assist Wyll with a shadow-covered half-elf. You groan in pain, your neck on fire. As you start to come back to reality, you realize you're in the vampire's arms, a vampire currently moving through the dark as quickly as possible. Neither of you have lights on you, but he knows there are still torches lit at camp, he just has to get there before the shadow curse starts to take hold. You're light-headed, both from lack of oxygen and the panic attack.

"Where...?"

"Hush darling, it's alright. We're almost there, almost to camp."

Through a couple more feet of trees, the two of you make it, bathing in the warm light of the torches posted behind the brush. He takes you back to your tent, where your bedrolls lie side by side. He silently curses himself for not knowing any healing magic, promising himself he'll finally learn after this.

"Aster?"

You call out groggily.

"Yes my love, I'm right here."

Ceasing the nervous pacing, he sits by your side.

"What... what happened?"

He almost doesn't want to say, worried about how you reacted while it was happening.

"One of the shadow-cursed, they... they had you in a nasty chokehold, and I killed them."

You shift, wishing he didn't have to know about all of this.

"Sorry."

"About what darling? You've done nothing wrong."

"About not telling you- not telling you about it."

You're gasping to get your words out, your throat clearly damaged. He furrows his brow in concerned confusion.

"I- I really don't like people touching my neck, doing anything to it to be honest. Wasn't expecting one of them to grab me like that."

Coughing at the end of your sentence, you don't see Astarion's eyes travel through his thoughts, realizing what that means.

"Darling... you let me feed off of you almost every evening."

You smile a little.

"I know."

He grabs one of your hands, clasping it in both of his.

"I'll never do it again. I'm so sorry, I had no idea."

Frantic, worried he's done something irreversibly wrong.

"No, no Aster it's okay. Does it suck sometimes? Yeah, but I need you to be healthy. Besides, what's a better way to work through your trauma than exposure therapy?"

"That's not fair. I can find something else, some other way."

"And what, go back to forest animals? You know there's nothing for you out here, in the darkness."

"Then I'll simply starve! Done it before, I'll do it again."

Gods, he's stubborn. You don't blame him, he would never want to cross anyone's boundaries after his have been trampled a million times.

"My love, come here."

You reach out, beckoning to pull him down beside you.

"If I didn't want to do it, I wouldn't. You need to feed, and I can provide that. You do plenty for me, let me do this one thing for you."

"But, but you hate it."

"Yeah. Those two things can coexist, my hate for people touching my neck, and my love for you. I can put up with the anxiety if it means you're okay."

"I would be okay though."

You cup his face in your hand, making sure he's looking at you.

"I'm telling you I'm okay, and that you deserve more than rats. Okay?"

You've been around him long enough, you know his logic. If he survived for two hundred years living off of flies and rats, he certainly doesn't need blood like yours. If he had starved for an entire year, he could take a few months before getting to Baldur's Gate. Sometimes you have to remind him that survival mode isn't living, that he's allowed to have nice things. Tears fall from his eyes.

"Are you sure my sweet? Absolutely certain?"

"Of course, and if I ever needed you to stop I would tell you, promise."

You put your pinky out, and he stares at it.

"What... what are you doing? Is this you offering me to feed off a singular finger? Because if so, that's uh-"

"No, gods! It's a pinky promise."

"A... a what?"

You start laughing, so hard that you start coughing again, tears falling down your face.

"You've never heard of a pinky promise?"

It pulls at your heart a little, realizing he probably never had anyone teach him.

"I guess I haven't."

You put your pinky out, and he does the same, and then you hook yours, interlacing the small finger with his.

"There, I pinky promise that I'll tell you if you need to stop feeding on me."

As you pull your hand away, he looks confused.

"And that's what, some non-verbal contract?"

"I guess so Mr. Magistrate."

You start laughing again.

"Okay, you have thoroughly scared me, and made me cry, and teased me, in one night! I'm not sure how much more I can take."

There's a hint of humor in his tone. Honestly, he also thinks it's ridiculous that he was a magistrate, considering he was terrible at it, at least from the small things he remembers.

"Well, it's over now. I'm okay, and we're safe."

He narrows his eyes.

"I'm still going to have Shadowheart look over you when the rest return."

"Well, that's your fault for not learning healing magic."

"Okay, you don't know any magic, so I don't want to hear it!"

The two of you stay up for hours, laughing at stupid jokes, hysterical from the tragedy that evening. Sometimes after something horrible, you just need a good laugh, especially with your easily provoked lover.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #fluff #comfort #angst

1K notes · View notes

starboyshoyo · 1 year

Text

Crush Headcanons

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Ace Trappola, Leona Kingscholar, Floyd Leech

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Genre: Fluff

How the NRC boys act when they have a crush, and how they try to win your heart over!

Riddle Rosehearts

Ah, yes. Our favorite emotionally-stunted dormwarden, Riddle Rosehearts. There’s not much of a precursor to him realizing he has feelings for you. One night, a few months into your friendship, Riddle will notice that he enjoys your company even more so than Trey or Cater. And then it hits him. Oh, he has a crush.

His demeanor around you will do a complete 180 after that. While before, he would talk casually with you about any and all subject matter, he’s not so sure how to approach it anymore. He’ll go up to you in the hallways between classes and during free periods, back stiff as a board, and ask you to accompany him to the library to run some errands, or he’ll extend a gracious invitation to an unbirthday party next week. Yes, those are his exact words.

You’ll be left wondering why Riddle’s demeanor has changed so much around you until you realize that he’s following all the steps to initiating a relationship from the NRC Gentleman’s Club Guide to Courting, 3rd Edition. Either that, or Trey will tell you outright to your face that Riddle is trying his best to win you over, he knows you like Riddle too, please just take him off of Trey’s hands for a while.

Speaking of pawning Riddle off to be someone else’s problem, that’s exactly what most of Heartslabyul dorm will be doing once they catch onto Riddle’s feelings for you. They’ll keep you around as much as possible, because when you’re around, Riddle will try his best to keep himself contained. He could be right in the middle of shouting off with your head to a group of freshmen, but the moment you enter he stops dead in his tracks and lets them off with a warning. The first years scramble out of the room, silently thanking a higher power for sending them a guardian angel in their time of need.

Cater is the best wingman Riddle could ask for, except that he didn’t ask for him. Regardless of how many times Riddle tells him that he wants to court you himself like a proper romantic candidate, Cater will insist that he needs to be more flashy about it! He can still be a classic man and be a bit more modern! Why doesn’t Riddle take you on a fancy dinner date to Mostro Lounge, instead of another boring ol’ tea party? (Cater definitely gets his head offed for that one).

Riddle does take one piece of advice to heart, though. Cater suggests that spending time together and doing new things is the best way to get someone to like you, and Riddle thinks that’s reasonable enough. He’ll try to vary the things he invites you to do with him. One day you’ll be helping him paint the roses in the Rose Maze, and other days he’ll take you on a ride on his horse, Vorpal, around the racing track.

Riddle will slowly lose the awkward formality that he held around you when he realized he liked you as more than a friend. His posture will relax and he’ll begin to talk to you normally again. One thing that won’t change though is the gentlemanly ways he treats you on these ‘trial dates.’ If you’re at dinner he’ll pull out your chair for you and hold the door. When strolling the campus he’ll link his arm in yours. If you’re trying to get a leg up on Vorpal’s back, he’ll hold your hand until you can steady yourself. It’s all very sweet really, and he’ll have a small smile on his face every time he does so.

Ace Trappola

Ace is another case where you’d definitely be friends before he falls for you, but instead of establishing a formal ‘courting period’ like Riddle does, Ace will just… not change. He’s still the same roughish, loveable idiot to you, messing with you at the most inopportune moments and pulling tricks to steal your food. But somehow, he gets a bit softer whenever you’re around. Instead of just calling you a dumbass, he’ll call you my dumbass. That’s just how he shows his affections.

Ace has had a few encounters with romance before, but he’s never once thought so much about how he must have looked to them. With you, he wants to look cool. He wants to be your number one, your first and best choice! If you’re watching him at basketball practice, he’ll throw you a wink whenever he scores a basket.

Deuce is now his rival, end of story. Whether or not Deuce knows it or even likes you in the first place, Ace will always be trying to one-up him in front of you. Deuce got 79 on his last potionology test? Expect Ace to be studying nonstop for the next week, and return to you with a 79.5. 0.5 points more than Deuce! You can tell who the better man is now, right?

He’s not shy about his feelings, but he may not confirm them right away either. He’ll call you cute, mess with you, and playfully push you around a bit, letting you know that he likes you. But truth be told he’s a little afraid of the idea that you might not want to be with a troublemaker like him, so he’ll wait to see how you react to his advances.

If you’re welcoming to them, then expect Ace to step up his game tenfold from then on. He’ll walk you to and from every class of the day, beg you to study with him in his dorm room, even show up at your door in the middle of the night with an armload of your favorite snacks. He’ll grin at you when you open the door, quickly shoving past you and inviting himself in to dump his successful ‘hunt’ on the table. Pick whichever ones you like, he got them all for you!

The best thing about Ace having a crush on you is that no matter what, he will always be your friend, first and foremost. He wants to have fun with you and enjoy life by your side. Laughter is common when you’re around him, and he’ll always be looking for new ways to make you smile.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is an odd one. Upon first glance it seems like he doesn’t spare you one look. Sure, you might make friendly conversation with him while in passing, but he’s not showering you with attention at every opportunity like some others. It’s only when you notice that he’s a little more courteous around you than he is with others do you understand his true feelings towards you.

Leona’s hints are subtle. Whenever you enter a room his ear will twitch as if he has just heard the most interesting tidbit of conversation. If your name is mentioned he might even raise his head to see what’s going on. He’ll keep an eye on you subtly from afar, especially when walking at night, to keep you safe. And a few choice orders from Ruggie later, and Leona will have your favorite food on the plate in front of him. He wants to know what it tastes like, so he can understand the subtlety of your character a bit better.

This boy feels no need to show off in front of you. He knows he’s strong, you know he’s strong, and so does everyone else. While he wouldn’t mind you seeing him score a goal or two during Spelldrive, he doesn’t feel the need to prove it. If he’s really the game that day though, he’ll look up after scoring, and point directly towards you in the stands. Out of thousands of spectators, he knew exactly where you’ve been the whole time, and though no one else knows who he’s pointing to, he knows you’ll get the message.

Many people are scared of him, sometimes for good reason. No one sets foot on Savanaclaw dorm territory without him knowing, and usually, it’ll end in a beatdown or a forceful eviction from the premises. With you though, you can wander through the entrance without so much as a comment from the students. Some of them are even friendly to you, waving and shouting greetings. It’s Leona’s orders that they treat you well, after all.

The housewarden of Savanaclaw dorm is not ashamed of his feelings for you. Why should he be? Does caring about someone he holds in high esteem bring shame upon him? You’re a perfectly suitable romantic option. He’s not going to make a big show of his affection towards you, but he’s not going to hide it. He just lets it be.

If you notice and take an interest in him too, great. He’ll see you next weekend for a date in the Botanical Gardens.

Floyd Leech

Floyd is eccentric at times and that carries over to his romantic life. He’s got a pretty face and unique look, so he’s used to getting attention from admirers here and there. Every so often, he’ll flirt back if the mood suits him. But most of the time they’re nothing more than passing flings or amusements. Something about you is different, though. Floyd trusts his intuition.

Even if he has a fondness for you, you’re not safe from Floyd’s teasing. No one is, not even Azul or Jade. Floyd finds it’s a surefire way to get your attention- poke at you until you swat him away, then grab your hand in his and squeeze- but gently.

You may not pick up on Floyd’s feelings towards you right away. He’s physically touchy with many people, not just you, and he generally gets a kick out of ‘playing’ with them. When you’re involved though, he’s a bit more amiable. He’ll lay off on the taunts and divert his focus to gifting you unusual compliments. If no one’s ever complimented you on the comparison of your shoes to a deep sea anchor, then Floyd will do it.

Floyd’s mood swings are a point of contingency for most people, and he knows this. For that reason he’s all the more appreciative of the empathy you show him- you try to understand how he’s feeling and why he feels that way. He won’t say it out loud but the gratitude shows- he’ll follow through with an action, even if his initial thought on it is negative. Sometimes, it’ll lead to him actually enjoying the activity you’ve roped him into.

His nicknames for you vary at times, but he’ll always have one favorite one. Sometimes you’re his clamshell, sometimes you’re starfish or pearl. But at the end of the day, you’ll always be his little Shrimpy.

Even though Floyd can be seen as lazy sometimes, he makes a consistent effort when it comes to spending time with you. It’s not uncommon to walk out of class and get swept up in his wake, then suddenly end up at a new restaurant that opened up in the commercial district to do chocolate-tasting with you. How did you even get there? Who knows.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst #riddle x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle rosehearts #ace trappola x reader #ace x reader #ace trappola #leona kingscholar #leona kingscholar x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #twisted wonderland headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines

3K notes · View notes

throneofsapphics · 4 months

Note

I figured I should ask before requesting but here goes nothing, again, ‼️TW‼️;

Can I request more angst with Az? Like uhmm.... Maybe the reader has extreme trust issues and she finally has opened up to Az but now that Elaine is here, she finds Ax drifting (not much but they don't do their normal dinners together as much as they used to, they don't bathe together as much, etc, small things she needs to that stability) and it starts to eat away at her but she doesn't want to tell Az about her feelings because she feels like a burden but then maybe Mor or someone convinces her to talk to him but he's had a long day so he snaps at her and leaves and she ends up... Offing herself..... Uhm.. and then Az's finding her body the next morning and his reaction and everyone else's too...... 👁️👁️

It only takes three

Azriel x Reader

Summary: “There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you.”

Warnings: suicide, pills & alcohol, suicidal ideation, angst

A/N: I appreciate you asking, thank you for the request! & what’s a little more trauma for the inner circle? know your triggers y'all, this is heavy

Azriel dedicated himself to gaining your trust. The one person who managed to knock those walls down, and it took decades before you’d opened up to him. Mor was a close second. Maybe it was a cliche, but he understood you, more than anyone else. He’d listened through everything, listened as you broke, and helped you put the pieces back together.

All these years, you’d been waiting and hoping he’d see it, hoping he’d feel the same bond you did. You were somewhere between friends and lovers, nothing ever clear or defined. But, you knew he was the one person you could rely on.

Resentment was ugly, and so was jealousy, but you couldn’t help those emotions as you watched his infatuation with the middle Archeron sister grow. It was nothing against her, she truly was a lovely person, and you could see why Azriel took an interest in her. The nasty little voice told you he’d grown tired of you, that you were too much, that he’d found someone less burdensome - as you’d always feared.

At first, you wrote it off as him being busy. That’s what he said - and he’d never lied to you. After the war with Hybern, things hadn’t quite settled and his workload was high. You tried to be understanding, to be respectful of the boundaries he’d subtly set. But you craved your old routine. Wednesday morning breakfasts, him slipping into your bed when he couldn’t sleep, bringing him tea when you knew he was working a late night. He used to always leave his door cracked, but recently it had been locked. Any knocks went unanswered, even though you could hear him inside. Instead, you’d leave the cup outside of his door, only to find it there in the mornings - untouched.

It really began to fall apart, to you, when you went to visit Feyre at the River House. Azriel said he had some kind of work mission, that he’d be out for the day, and as Feyre led you around, he was in the gardens, with Elain. You didn’t let him see you, instead you stuck out the rest of the tour with a smile, saving your tears for home.

It was a different type of torture, watching the one person destined for you fall in love with someone else. You tortured yourself too, holding on to hope he’d realize and he’d come back to you.

Finally, you built the courage to tell Mor. You needed a sounding board, someone to give some advice, someone outside of your head.

“Tell him,” Mor encouraged you, “he’ll understand.”

“He’s been pulling away, I don’t want him to think I’m trying to … I don't know, trap him.”

“Az,” she sighed, “he’s wanted to find his mate for … well maybe even for centuries. For a shadowsinger, he’s too stubborn to see what’s right in front of him,” her mouth curved up at one corner. “If you don’t tell him, he might never know. I imagine you’re tired of waiting.”

“You have no idea,” you laughed, but stood. Brave. Three words; I’m your mate, and at least the weight would be off your chest. Whatever happened next, whatever his reaction was, you could figure that out as it came. Despite the growing distance, he was still the person you trusted above all, and you knew he wouldn’t hurt you.

For once, his door was open. This felt like a good sign.

“Az,” you called, peeking your head inside the room. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Tomorrow,” a clipped one word answer, not even bothering to look up from his desk.

“It really is important.”

“It can wait.” there was such a finality in his tone. Almost like he thought nothing regarding you could be important. But you wanted to give it one more shot.

“Please-”

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.”

Well, he’d finally looked up at you, like you were some obnoxious fly he was trying to get rid of. Swallowing your tears, you nodded and turned away. Part of you knew you couldn’t promise tomorrow.

There were three words you came to say, three little syllables, and it only took three to shatter you. To shatter the fragile self he’d helped you build.

Maybe it was intentional. You knew exactly what this cocktail could do to you, and you wanted that sweet release to drag you under. When every breath felt like a chore, every word like an ache tearing out of you, it felt like the only option.

One hand clutched the bottle of pills, the other the bottle of wine.

Pills from a friend, who warned you taking too many could kill you. That warning was a siren call now.

You were already drunk when you poured the entire bottle into your hands, throwing them back without a second thought, wine washing them down. It would take you into sweet, sweet oblivion, and only the mother knew whether you’d wake up on this earth or not.

Maybe your soul could become one of those pretty little spirits, migrating on starfall. Or maybe you’d end up in another universe, like the ones you studied in the library. You giggled to yourself. Anywhere else felt like a better option now.

You were definitely hallucinating, because three little butterflies floated in front of you, reaching out you felt them touch your fingers. Was it welcoming? Or an omen? The butterflies faded, bursting into dust, and the tears began. A few minutes later, you knew nothing.

“Where’s y/n?” Mor asked Azriel as he stalked into the room. He was still in a piss-poor mood, and this was the last thing he wanted to do this morning. Going to a court meeting.

“Do I look like her keeper?”

Mor seemed a bit confused by his response. “Can you get her?”

He wanted to ask; why not you, but it felt a bit too childish. Besides, he needed to talk about last night anyway. Too late, a shadow whispered in his ear. It’s never too late, he could fix this. Taking the stairs two at a time, he headed for your bedroom. Shadows swirled around him, in front of him, searching and … storming the room. They unlocked the door before he could, gone, gone, gone, they whispered to him. Had you left in the middle of the night? He couldn’t hear you in there, but your scent was still fresh.

And alcohol. A pit settled in his stomach. Gone. Too late.

Azriel pushed the door open. Not in your room. A small click and his shadows opened the door to your bathing room. There were sweet and tender memories from that room. Him washing your hair, delicately working through the strands that always seemed tangled, you washing his wings.

He didn’t think this would be one of those memories.

Pushing the door open, he fell to his knees.

Mor heard the guttural scream, one of pain and sorrow. Something she’d never heard from Az. Mor didn’t bother taking the stairs, and winnowed to your door. Directly across from her, another door was swung open, offering her a clear view. Azriel on his knees in front of … your body. Lips blue, skin white. His hands pressed down on your chest, up and down, up and down.

“You’re late,” Rhys said, echoing through her mind. She only cast the image to him. Within a minute, more voices and footsteps sounded inside the house. Mor had already crossed the room, kneeling next to Azriel, her magic searching desperately for a sign of life.

Minutes later, Madja was there, crowding in behind her. Cassian pulled a thrashing Azriel away from your body.

Mor could only stand by the door, mouth parted and body still in shock.

An empty pill bottle, one blue pill laying next to your hand, as if it had fallen out. An empty bottle of wine on the floor, dregs of red liquid still gathering in the bottle.

Today was supposed to be good. Last night, you’d told Azriel you were his mate. She was prepared for the two of you to miss today entirely.

Something had gone terribly wrong. Whirling around, she took one step closer to the shadowsinger, each movement laced with fury, entire body trembling.

“Did you reject her?” Mor had skipped the earthly and deadly quiet, and screamed at Az, power rumbling through the room.

“What do you mean reject?”

“She is - was - your mate.”

Azriel felt like his world stopped. Each word sliced into his chest. Mate.

That’s what you wanted to tell him, and he told you, unequivocally, that he didn’t care. He was the person you trusted above all others, at one point. The one who spent decades breaking down those walls, slowly and carefully gaining your trust. Decades working towards that goal, and a year to throw it away.

This was his fault.

He could imagine the hopeful look on your face as you peeked into his door. If he’d seen that … if he’d just looked.

“Az, can I talk to you about something?” Fuck, he’d forgotten to lock his door. Papers obscured his entire vision. Today had been too damn much, and he didn’t want to talk to anyone. It wasn’t specifically you.

“Tomorrow,”

“It really is important.” Desperation, but he knew there wasn’t much going on in your life. A shadow swirled angrily at the callous thoughts.

“It can wait.”

“Please-”

He looked at you, your face had fallen. The beginnings of tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Listen, listen, listen, his shadows were nearly begging. Tomorrow, he told them.

“I don’t care, whatever it is, I. Don’t. Care.”

You finally left. A small tinge of guilt, but he’d make it up to you tomorrow, or maybe the next day - that would be Wednesday, and he’d get up early to bring you breakfast, the old tradition you’d fallen out of habit with. Something easily revived.

Tomorrow, however, would be chock full of meetings. Meetings you’d be at too, and he’d make the time to hear you out, to apologize.

Now, a shadow curled next to his ear, pleading. He ignored it. They’d always favored you, and now he’d even say they were fussing. You were strong enough.

Azriel had ignored everything. Ignored each warning sign, ignored the desperate pleas of his shadows and the tears on your face. You cried, but it was never often.

“It’s my fault,” he said - more to himself. “My fault.”

He felt himself crumble, felt everything he used to keep himself in check slip away, his magic threatening to burst from him, to turn this house to rubble. He didn’t fight as Rhys grabbed him, as he winnowed him out to somewhere far out in the mountains. His brother released him as soon as they landed, but didn’t leave, he didn’t abandon him. Rhys should’ve, should’ve left him out here to bury himself. That’s what he deserved.

The ground shook, parts of the mountains surrounding him faded into dust, snow flooded down the sides, birds squawked as they fled. He spent hours, hours and hours up there - until his siphons dulled, until he felt his magic start to protest, until Rhys had to knock him unconscious before he let it tear him apart.

#azriel x y/n #azriel x reader #acotar drabble #acotar x reader

744 notes · View notes

oepionie · 1 year

Text

—"GOTTA ESCAPE THE VOID." overblot mc!

SYNOPSIS: The Ramshackle prefect has a reputation for frequently encountering fatal magical mishaps. And when a magical accident involving Crowley almost kills them, Crewel resolves to take matters into his own hands. But it appears that his impulsive decisions cause the prefect to reach their limit and go off the rails.

⊹ [ cw ] — heavy warnings, please read before you proceed. arguments with father, self-depricating thoughts, mentions of blood, protective parent, thoughts of offing self (only once), overblot mc!, miscommunication w friends, crying, physical fights ◞

⊹ [ tags ] — angst! gender neutral reader, crewel really embodies the 'cruel' in 'cruella', ace gets mad at you :(, deuce tries to comfort you through it all, crowley feels guilt (wow), crewel is vry vry angry and punches crowley, crewel has a mother gothel moment<3◞

⊹ [ w.c ] — 2.5k+◞ | 🦇masterlist◞

YOUR VISION WAS NOTHING, but a myriad of colorful blurs and shapes. Muffled voices spoke to you, but everything was practically just incomprehensible, panicked babbling. The heavy pressure of metal was pressed up against your windpipe, restraining your breath as it wound tighter and tighter. Though, a few seconds later, it vanished as if it had never existed, bursting into bright magical sparks.

The gush and pool of blood surrounds your dirtied, tangled mess of hair, a dark scarlet seeping into the knotted strands. Kneeling before your body, Crowley felt his heart skid to a stop. The sight of your fatigued form writhing around the ground tore at his chest, claws of guilt digging in deep and dragging across thick tissue.

"Prefect…Can you hear me?" The crow murmurs, clawed hands pressing against the side of your pounding head as he guides it to rest atop his lap. Vibrant blooms of red stain the dark fabric of his pants, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dad…it hurts s'much." You slur in hushed tones, your eyes wringing shut from the pain. That was enough for Crowley to put his arms around you.

He shielded your body with his torso, hands clawing at your back as he wracks his mind of what to do next. Hastily turning round, he shifts his gaze to the surrounding students, all of them looking equally mortified.

"What are you standing around there for?! Call the nurse!"

"Y-Yes, sir!"

Drip. Drip

The pungent smell of alcohol and medication fill your senses as you groggily blink awake.

The familiar creaky wood of Ramshackle's ceiling greets you as you pull yourself from dreamland. Looking over both sides of your bed, you smile once you see both Deuce and Ace seated on a nearby couch. Both of them were quick to jump up and approach you, fussing over your bedridden form.

"Thank Sevens." Deuce murmurs, tenderly combing your damp hair back. You roll your head to the side to face him, but wince at the sudden throb of pain in your spine. Ace darts over and hushes you, gently repositioning your head to face front once more, making sure your neck was supported by a pillow. "Hey…It'd be great if you don't move so much…"

“Right. Makes sense. 'Nways…how bad was my injury?” You mutter, your recollections of the past event still foggy. All you could remember was that Crowley had fired a spell, and you somehow got into the crossfire.

“Fucking horrible.” Ace scoffs, looking at you sternly.

"Yeah, take it easy for a bit. The injury was…pretty serious. It was a miracle that the spell missed your head by a thread…" Deuce murmurs as he presses a gentle hand on your bandaged forehead.

Strands of blueberry hair fall loosely at the sides of his face as he stares down at you with worry. "You were out for three days."

"Ah…well—you know, me and my dumb non-magical ass. Always getting into trouble," you giggle, a cheery grin stretching over your cracked lips. Though it rapidly drops when you realize your two friends aren't laughing with you.

Ace shifts his gaze to the floor, hands clasped into a fist. "You're not dumb, prefect…"

"Well—I kinda am," You snort, tugging the blanket closer to your chilly form. "I really have to stop being around the old man's magic shows."

Unconvinced, Ace only shakes his head and scoffs at your jokes. The ginger reclines back into his chair, hands vigorously tugging and pulling at his hair. "You aren't. The real issue here is that deadbeat crow. I mean...hasn't he learnt anythin' from last time? What kind of idiot treats his child—"

"It wasn't his fault, Ace." Pushing yourself off the bed, you immediately interrupt him, voice stern as you rush to defend Crowley. "He didn't mean it. I got in the path of his magic. And—I'm pretty sure he's already beating himself up over this."

Sinking back into the bed, you clasp both your hands together. "It wasn't his fault. Sure, he's reckless and all but…but he's still my dad."

Silence washes over your room.

Ace was visibly frustrated, the blunt tips of his nails dug deep into his skin, nearly piercing past skin. With a final scoff, he stands from his chair and quietly excuses himself from the room.

The door slams shut with a blaring bang as both you and Deuce were left alone.

Sighing, the freshman takes your trembling hand in his, clasping it tight as his body temperature warms the cool skin. He draws your right arm up to press your palm against his cheek, eyes looking deep into yours.

"Professor Crewel is pissed," Deuce whispers as you trace gentle circles on his skin. A pair of shaky cyan eyes meets your concerned ones. "He was planning to—"

Deuce's mouth parted open and close and yet he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. You cast a questioning glance his way, but Deuce shakes his head, disregarding your questions.

"…nothing."

Surprise washes over you as you stare down at Deuce's hunched over form. It…wasn't like your friends to be so dismissive.

You, Ace, and Deuce had always been good friends. Sure you had your differences but you always communicated openly with one another. Nobody has ever been this...secretive.

Just…what was happening?

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sickening crack of a bone echoes through the faculty room as the rough knuckle of Crewel's fist connects with Crowley's face. The headmaster reels, mask flying off as his hands fly to his bloodied nose.

Everyone in the vicinity quieted as the only noise heard was the potionology professor's labored breathing.

Then, without hesitation, Crewel surges forward. Loud commotion and screaming could be heard in the meeting room as everyone quickly circles around the two. A couple of hands seize Crewel by the arms, but the professor only grows more agitated, attempting to fight past the herd.

"Let me go!" Crewel roars, tugging his arm free as he attempts to swing a fist at the headmaster. "Dire! This is your fucking fault!"

"Divus! Calm yourself!" Trein scolds, arms locked tight around the man's torso. A few more pairs of hands restrain the professor as he is forcibly pushed down onto a couch.

His face was the epitome of unrepressed rage: With his cheeks drawn back in a deep sneer, eyes bloodshot red, and hair a knotted mess.

Trein stands before the younger man, looking down at him with disgust. "Have you no shame? What will the prefect think once they hear of this?"

Across the room, Crowley spits out a little blood, blinking fresh tears out of his eyes. For the last three days, the crow has been suppressing all of its emotions; however, all of a sudden, he is overcome with an unfettered and unhindered flood of shame and rage.

When the headmaster finally turned around, he fixed Crewel with an expression so scathing that the potionology professor felt compelled to charge at him again.

Once, coldly, sharply, and bitterly, Crowley laughed. "It's my fault, you say? You think I don't know that?"

"Oh please—Dire. I couldn't care less about what you think." Crewel seethes, venom practically dripping from his lips. The alchemy professor strides forward, heels clicking against the floor as he grabs Crowley by the collar.

"You're a failure of a father. All you've ever brought their way is danger." The professor cackles kicking the crow's skin.

Digging deep into his red handbag, Crewel snatches out papers and jams it into Crowley's chest. The crow unravels the creased pages to read the text on the document, eyes ripping wide open as he realizes what it was.

"You…can't possibly." The headmaster sputters, hands shaking as he reads the texts again and again.

"Oh, but I can." Crewel sneers, taking pleasure in the look of fear Crowley sends his way. He snaps around, coat billowing up behind him as he briskly walks towards the entryway. "I expect those papers to be signed by tonight."

Before walking out of the room, Crewel spares the headmaster one final glance. "The prefect departs this Monday."

Days after the event were all followed by violent storms that appeared to go on forever. Every night and day, the rain endlessly poured down from the bitter grey skies and roars of thunder echoed through the dewy clouds. Some days, it was nearly impossible to go to school.

It was almost as though Mother Nature herself was upset.

Just like how everyone was.

Crowley and your other friends shunned you like you had the plague. Even bright Kalim greeted you with a deep frown, a flimsy excuse slipping off his lips as he ran away. Only Deuce stayed by your side through it all.

The blueberry had told you everything was alright—that everything was normal and fine— but you couldn't help but be skeptical.

So when Crewel came to visit, you welcomed him right in. Eager to hear what he has to say.

The clatter and click of your father's heeled boots echoed through the walls of the dormitory as he examined the premises, comparing it to his own much more lavish flat back home in the city.

Finally, after an excruciating 5 minutes. his gaze flitted over to your bedridden form.

And the words he utters out next shatter your entire being.

"I'm withdrawing you from NRC."

What.

The glass clasped in your bandaged hands slips from your grip, smashing onto the oak wood of Ramshackle's flooring. You raise your mortified gaze to scowl at your professor, jaw dropped open in shock.

"What?" you breathlessly utter. "What do you mean?!"

"I'm transferring you to another school." Crewel replies, pushing himself off the fireplace and slipping his thick fur coat off his shoulders. The scant light emitted by the candles atop your study table did nothing to help you navigate his form as he strode around your bedroom.

"Now. You might be asking why? For one, look at the…accommodations Dire provided you with."

Crewel kicks a piece of splintered bark aside while making a gesture towards the disorder and wreckage all around you.

In the evenings, you had to use candles because the ceiling lights seldom ever functioned. The flooring had so many tears and holes that they were virtually falling apart. On occasion, you could even see the scuffle of rats beneath. The roof leaked, horribly; You had no money to fix it so you placed a bucket below instead. The front door was broken, barely hanging on its hinges, evidence of all the times your friends visited and never bothered to knock.

All of these problems and so many more were present, but this dorm was with you since the very start. It provided you with a roof over your head…it helped you survive.

"So what?" You retort, leaning back into your bed and sinking deep into the scratchy yet familiar pillows. "I don't mind it!"

"A foolish decision." Crewel sneers, running a hand into his hair. "Your accommodations aren't the only problem. Your self-destructive habits endanger you as well!"

There it was.

Groaning, you wring your hands through your hair, tangling it up. "When are you gonna stop saying that I'm self-destructive!?"

"When you start acting like somebody that actually cares about their life!" Crewel barks out, hands grasping your shoulders. The sudden increase in volume makes you recoil, but you were stubborn and refused to give in just yet.

"But I do care about my life!" You sputter out. "Why can't you just—"

"Remember what happened when Rosehearts overblotted?" He reminds you, "You charged towards a bloodthirsty tyrant with no protection, no magic, and no plan." Crewel then crosses his arms over his chest, addressing you with a pointed glare. "And you have the nerve to tell me you're not self destructive?"

"Riddle is not a tyrant!" Crying out, you slam your hand against your bedsheets, face twisting into an unsightly sneer. "I was trying to save my friend!"

Crewel gets right in your face, returning the expression of anger you sent his way. "Those friends of yours only care about you when you're useful!" he thundered, jabbing a finger into your chest.

That comment immediately silenced you.

Your hand was clasped over your mouth, jaw dropped wide open in disbelief as a sharp gasp escapes your dry throat.

A poisonous and dangerously harmful feeling gripped at whatever remnant the professor had of a heart. It colored his thoughts with regret as he began to feel a twinge of guilt, the weight of words sinking in.

There was a deep sigh of resignation from Crewel before he put a hand on your shoulder and looked you deep in the eyes, voice lowering to a softer lilt. "Why is it that every other person in that dorm had the sense to run away from the blots, but you didn't?"

Kneeling down, your father gazed at you with such vulnerability in his eyes as he murmurs, "Do you know how terrified I was every time I'd get the same message from Dire that you were out fighting overblots again? Putting your life at risk for those rabid dogs?"

The recognition of your destructive habits hit you like a splash of ice cold water. With a guilty and uncomfortable grimace on your face, you averted your attention to the floor. "I just wanted to help."

Slowly rising to his feet again, Crewel casts a deep frown your way. "I know you do, but you're careless with your life and if you're not careful…one of these days, you're gonna die."

"I will not hear anymore disagreements about this, do you hear? I've allowed you to run rampant around these past few months. You will so as I say and I'll have you transferred by the end of this week." He says simply, dropping a pristine sheet of paper clasped in a clipboard before you. Your dull eyes flicker across the title as you grudgingly reach for the pen he offers you.

TRANSFER APPLICATION.

That blank line at the end of the page is swiftly covered by your shaky red signature and Crewel is powerless to stop the relieved sigh that heaves past his lips.

A surge of victory, certainty, and an intense sense of relief overpowers the tangled and conflicting sentiments of guilt that were swimming through his chest.

You were safe, that's all that matters.

With a grieving heart, you nudge the pen and page back to your father dismissively, placing them both atop the bed. Crewel re-rolled the page and tucked it back into his handbag along with the pen.

The professor raises a hand to gently pat your shoulders as he bends down, pressing a kiss atop your head. "Father knows best."

As Crewel quietly takes his leave, he is none the wiser to the formation of impure, tainted tar-like blot dripping from your tears. Curling in yourself, you tuck your head into your knees, a broken sob spilling from your lips.

A sick and twisted feeling arises in your heart as you replay the argument you had with Crewel, and you start to wish that maybe, just maybe, Crowley's spell had succeeded in striking you.

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

"Oi…Henchhuman?"

Drip.

—TAGLIST:

꒰ ♡🧷: if you want to be tagged for ALL of my works, comment here!

@keedas @spadecentral @crypticbibliophile @pastellepastary @cassidycampfire @cocomollo @poisonioushearts @kawaiipotatoghost@ramvuda @sweeneyblue1 @the-lost-anime-dad @kyraxiyn @mayaaaeo @fluffimemes @awkwardspontaneity @gussuri @lunavixia @heatofmyexoheart @pianopuppygirl @cross-crye @cerisescherries @teenage-discomfort @cecilebutcher @savanaclaw1996 @msykaroly @a-bit-late @imdevotedtoyou @syl-lithy @solomonslostsock @noidonothavetimeforthis @driftaway27 @supernovaicloud @yevenle @senpaiofotomeome

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twst x you #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #reader insert #y/n #disney twst #divus crewel #twst divus crewel #twisted wonderland divus #twst crewel #twisted wonderland crewel #overblot yuu #overblot mc #yuu overblot

2K notes · View notes

manicpixiefelix · 4 months

Text

never wanted anything from you (except everything you had)

{ One-Shot AU for head, heart, hand. }

@saintbeau asked: I know you said in the Canon ending, up until a certain point, Oliver was planning to let the reader live. If he'd never decided to kill them, do you think they'd suffer a similar fate as Farleigh and be forced out? Or do you think there's ever a possibility of 'the pet coming with the house' so to speak? I think to a degree Oliver's yearning to take Felix's place could lead him to essentially slotting himself alongside the reader if they'd allow it.

Summary: After the death of your best friend and his sister, you can't bring yourself to stay at Saltburn, even when their grieving mother wishes you would. However, after several years away to process and grow, you find yourself back in touch with Oliver Quick, who's changed so much in the time you've spent apart. Fate certainly has a funny was of working out, so you're not entirely surprised to end up back at the place you'd once called home.

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons. Oliver/Reader are endgame here.

Warnings: Very poor relationship with reader's parents. SALTBURN-CANON ENDING; Felix & Venetia are still dead, but we get a happy ending this time. Also not sure if it needs a warning but Oliver does admit to killing Felix.

A/N: 4162 words. This got away from me. this ends up being so painfully fluffy. it's VERY Oliver/Reader, Oliver's less of a bastardman and he doesn't kill Elspeth but her health is failing significantly like it does in the movie. i think i might have made him a better person as compared to the film, but it's still canon compliant mostly. it ends so fluffy and happy tho, i love it omg. AGAIN THIS IS NOT CANON TO head, heart, hand.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

There is no world where you stay where Oliver wins.

But there's a world where you leave, heart too heavy with grief, where you transfer from Oxford and spend time as an adult reconnecting with your own family, where he finds you again. Your parents don't respect you as family, but you're granted access to their lives, to be in their line of sight; you become almost like a live-in assistant who takes meals with them but for whom they show no outward affection.

It's all you have left.

You tell yourself it's enough.

"That Catton fellow offed himself," your father says it with such idleness, as if reporting the weather.

"Sir James?" You almost choke on your breakfast, and father peers down his nose at you over his morning paper, giving you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Yes, sorry, I forgot you knew him -"

"Surely it doesn't say that he offed himself," your mother frowned, tugging at the corner of the paper to try and get a look at the article. They bicker lightly, charmingly, in the middle of this cafe about the death of your best friend's father, and what the article is saying or implying, but you just wonder about Elspeth.

Later, when you search through old papers and memories and notebooks, you find the number for Saltburn and call. Duncan's voice is familiar, as is yours to him.

"Captain," the old nickname is so gentle on his tongue, the most gentle you'd ever heard him be about anything. Then, as quickly as you'd heard it, the gentleness is replaced with apology, letting you know that Elspeth is unavailable, but that you'd be welcome to attend Sir James' funeral. You know you'd never be able to bring yourself to attend.

It's Oliver who reaches out, deliberate, in the months that follow. It's slow going, too formal for how intimately, how messily you knew each other for those few months in the Spring and Summer. He apologises, says he saw you on the cover of a tabloid trailing a pair of aging socialites and looked further into it.

"You looked -" he tells you over dinner in the city, beautiful, settled, no more of his youthful awkwardness; it had only been a few years, but how glad you were to see him, "fucking miserable," he says so gently, taking your face in his hands. Oh fuck, you'd missed him, missed his touch, missed how clearly he could see you - you burst into tears in the restaurant.

Dating Oliver makes you feel like a whole new person, raw, relearning yourself, realising you'd been living like a ghost since you'd left Saltburn. Your hyper competency had needed an outlet and your parents had provided that, but you were barely a person, to them or to yourself. Now you were learning who you were, alone.

Quieter. More focused and driven in your professional endeavours. As dangerously charming as Farleigh ever was. The memory of Venetia peeking through in your wickedly sharp wit. An echo of Felix in the affection you carried with you, in your smile, in your laugh. A living ghost, learning to love and embrace the ways in which you were haunted, rather than grieving for them.

You spend nights in his little flat, take refuge from your own life in his, and Oliver's the one who informs you that Elspeth has moved into town, leaving Saltburn echoing and empty, if not for the skeleton crew that maintains it.

"She wants to see you," there's a strange look in his eyes when he says it, something conflicted, almost dark, but when you smile, he too lights up.

Elspeth holds you for a very long time. In the middle of a cafe in walking distance for your both it turns out, there's tears in her eyes, and a joyful smile, and she doesn't let you go even as Oliver goes and order you all drinks.

"So beautiful, you've always been so beautiful," she murmurs, long, elegant fingers feather light against your features, no care for propriety here, "you're so grown up." It's like she's trying to connect the person you are now with the memory she has of you. Tears are welling in your own eyes.

"I'm sorry I left, mum." There's a lump in your throat and her tears start to fall as she takes your face gently, cradling you against her, laughing through her bittersweet memories.

"I never blamed you, pet, never," she assures, voice wet with tears but reassuring nonetheless. Oliver sits down on your other side, wordlessly leaning into you both, resting his head on your shoulder. The three of you stay like that for a long moment. You can hear Elspeth sniffling quietly.

The moment breaks, she lets you go, and when you sit back up, Oliver takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and resting your joined hands on the table. Immediately Elspeth's eyes focus upon them, and she gives a warm smile to your both.

"I cannot believe you've found each other again," and she sounds so genuinely joyful, "it's funny how the universe works out." Oliver gives a faint, bashful smile, leaning into you, bumping your shoulder for a bit.

"I'm a lucky man," there's something wonderfully, desperately loving in his eyes when he looks at you in this moment. It is, to him, the total and complete truth. Before you're overwhelmed by your urge to kiss him, however, Elspeth continues.

"After all that's happened, I am glad luck, and life, have brought you both back to me; I was just saying to dear Ollie the other day," Elspeth rests her cool, well manicured hand on your free hand, sitting on the table, "the two of you should come stay at Saltburn again."

Something constricts in your throat, grip on Oliver's hand tightening momentarily.

"I know," Elspeth is quick to move her hand to your shoulder, seeing the way your expression changes, drops, "but that house still holds so much love for you, my dear pet," and she takes a deep, shaky breath, finally admitting, "and I can't bring myself to be there alone."

Looking to Oliver, he gives you a gentle smile, nothing but sweet warmth and reassurance; he's changed so much since Saltburn, so sweet, so sublime. That version of Oliver didn't know how to love you or Felix in a way that was good for any of you, you came to realise, but this Oliver, oh this Oliver had crafted himself a home in your heart with love you didn't think anyone other than Felix had been capable of.

"It can be our home again," he murmurs, a sentiment Elspeth echoes like she hadn't even realised that was what she had wanted from you both;

"It can be your home again."

The drive to Saltburn feels like a memory, of young laughter and loud music and Summer sweat whipped away by the wind in Felix's convertible. The car you'd chosen to take with you is far more sensible, but still relatively ostentatious, and when you ask Oliver to drive, he of course obliges you. Still, the music is loud, and the day is warm, and even if the two of you are quiet, there's still a warm hand on your knee.

And you still feel loved.

Saltburn creaks and echoes with familiarity.

The doors open, and though you don't recognise the footmen either side of the entrance, you certainly recognise Duncan. He's older, of course, as are you. There's a touch of grey by his temples, and he's paler than you remember, but still prim, still gaunt and haunting -

"Mister Quick," until his eyes fall on you, and he softens almost imperceptibly, but you see it, you hear it in his voice, "and Captain Y/N," almost like it's an in-joke between you both by now.

"It's good to see you, Duncan," you tell him sincerely, and for the briefest moment he actually smiles.

"And you as well."

Everything's the same, just as Elspeth had assured you both. Everything's the same, just as when you'd left. Fled. Alone all those years ago.

Coming back, hand in hand with Oliver, it feels surreal.

Grand foyer, red staircase, secluded alcove that you and Venetia used to tease Felix about regarding his 'accidental' bout of cousin fingering, Henry Seventh's cabinet, the arch Felix claimed his grandmother haunted, the Green Room, gardens through the windows, Rubens that Felix never cared for but you had always appreciated. Still broken piano. Blue Room; still blue. The King's bedroom, not that you cared for Henry the Eighth, but Felix always liked to bring it up. The long gallery. Portraits of Cattons you had never cared for. Shakespeare's folios that you and Felix had spent a Winter going through, just to brag that you had, without realising how few people would care.

Sir James' teddy was absent from it's usual chair. Something about that makes something ache in your chest, just a little. So you look away, to the maze beyond the windows that you never want to go in again.

You know this house, this route, like the back of your hand even now. Oliver holds your hand tightly as you rest your hand on the intricate doorknob of the midnight blue door that you both remember so well.

"Are you okay?" Oliver's voice is quiet, is reverential, as you hesitate. Nodding once, you push open the door.

It still smells like Felix. His things are still here, still a bit of a mess. Books and knickknacks and photos. His wardrobe door is still ajar, the way you know you left it when you'd been scrambling to pack your own garments when you'd last been here, and his clothes still hang there, frozen, a moment in time.

It aches, but it doesn't... hurt. Not like you thought it would. It almost seems silly, to have this preserved for so long.

"Can we stay in here, Duncan?" You call out, knowing he must be around somewhere, he always was.

"I thought you might," Elspeth's gentle voice from the doorway makes you and Oliver both jump. But she's smiling at you both, and once the shock has worn off, you can't help but laugh. It sets you all off, laughing warmly, fondly, all three in Felix's perfectly untouched room.

Elspeth does, however, let you know that they've had the bathroom redone. She doesn't say it's because of Venetia, but you're quietly grateful nonetheless. You don't know if you could bring yourself to bath in there if all you could think about was Venetia's blood across the bathroom floor. It's different now.

When you try out the new tub, still claw-footed, still deep and soothing, there comes a knock at the door you'd left ajar out of habit.

"Mind if I join you?" It's Oliver, with a teasing little smile and hope in his eyes. He does not wait at the door like you know he once had, he is bold, he is unapologetic, he is confident in his love. Enthusiastically you wave him over, delighted to create new, better memories in this bathroom that no longer resembles the one you know.

There's still this strange kind of divide; Oliver, at times, still acts like a guest. Saltburn's been your home for too long for you to feel uncomfortable within it's walls, but Oliver's still always asking permission. For everything. He asks if he can borrow some of Felix's old clothes and looks relieved when you look at him like it's an absurd request.

"He's not going to be wearing them."

Elspeth gets this look in her eyes whenever she recognises any of Felix's clothes on Oliver, fond and nostalgic as she tells him she's glad they're no longer gathering dust.

"Beautiful clothes for a beautiful boy," she liked to say.

It takes you a few weeks to realise Elspeth's ulterior motives. Her health is failing. She has no family left. She needs people. As Oliver had pointed out so long ago, you were both desperate to be needed. Much like when you were younger, your own parents had no qualms about you living your life at Saltburn without them; they'd hire another assistant. The email they'd sent back to you did however note that you had been the best assistant either of them had ever had. It's the nicest thing they'd ever said to you.

Elspeth speaks to you alone one morning during the fall, the grounds turning all shades of golds and oranges.

"I..." your thoughts are moving too fast, her offer was so simple yet so overwhelming, "can't take Saltburn." A deep sigh escapes her, and she looks out over the grounds, but pets your knee, "I won't leave," you try to placate her, "you, or Saltburn, if you'd like me to stay; I'll be like Duncan -" this gets her to laugh, fond and bright, "but I think it will complicate things with my own family."

She tells you she understands. Her voice is getting weaker by the day. Then, after another long moment of gentle silence and contemplation, she speaks carefully.

"And Oliver?"

Part of you kind of knew this was coming.

"He might love Saltburn more than me," you admitted with a chuckle, "and he loves you dearly, you know that right?"

"He's such a strange, beautiful creature," Elspeth muses fondly, "I don't know if James even looked at me the way he looks at you," she smiles at you, expression turning soft and nostalgic for just a moment, "Felix used to look at you like that, didn't he?"

"In his own way," you agreed, unable to look her in the eyes while knowing exactly what she meant, exactly what she could see in this moment.

"They say we have more than one soulmate in our lives, pet," she says softly, reassuringly, and you look up once more. There's gentle hope and fragments of old grief that wrap around your heart as she continues, giving your knee a faint squeeze, "I think you're one of the lucky ones."

And your mind settles back on Oliver, how good, how kind, how loving he's been in the year since you'd reconnected. Finally, you're able to smile.

"I think so too."

Oliver seems genuinely surprised when you and Elspeth approach him with the offer. He keeps looking at you, confused. All you can do is smile, assure him that you want Saltburn to be in his name.

"I'm not abandoning you," you laugh, "I'll be here as long as you'll have me, help take care of any paperwork or maintenance or, well, calling people to take care of those things."

"They're a good house pet," Elspeth actually teases, while Oliver is still silent, looking at you in awe. He stutters through a verbal agreement, and Elspeth delightedly says she'll get the contract drawn up in the next few days.

"Why me?" Oliver finally asks, and Elspeth stands, wrapping her arms around him in a hug.

"You've worked hard all your life, Ollie, I can see that in you," she murmurs, "and you loved the ones so dear to me. I know you will love this home, and my darling Y/N, and one day I know it will be a family home again."

Oliver is quiet during supper, he keeps looking at you with this unreadable expression, almost grateful, but somehow intrigued. There's something lighter about him now, less tension carried in his shoulders, a small smile he can't quite get rid of. After you all eat, he offers you his arm and asks you to stroll the grounds in the moonlight.

"I thought it'd be you," his voice is so soft. The moon makes him glow. He's wearing the pale, linen shirt of Felix's that catches the light so beautifully.

"I could tell," you can't help but smirk, gently ribbing him. When he laughs, it almost sounds disbelieving.

"Saltburn was your home first."

"Saltburn is a place," you tell him, "my home was always the people in it."

"Felix was your home," he remembers when you'd told him that, how wide Felix had smiled when he'd heard it.

"And now," you're surprised by how your voice catches as you realise what you're about to say, "it's you."

"You love me," Oliver turns with wide, adoring eyes, while you can't help your shy smile.

"Of course I love you, you know I love you -"

"You love me-love me," he sounds like he's discovered the meaning of life, like he can see it in your eyes. Then, very suddenly, a whole new realisation seemed to wash over him, "I think I actually want to spend the rest of my life with you."

Oh! Is this -?

"I don't have a ring, fuck-!" Before he can get any further, you're kissing him, wrapping your arms around him, desperate to make him taste how much you fucking love him. Giddy and burning with desire, you feel like a teenager again, overwhelmed with delight and affection in this old house you call a home.

When you suggest that you meet his parents, properly this time, Oliver makes a face like he's bitten a lemon. It's a beautiful, cool mid-morning at the beginning of Winter, grey light reaching through the curtains to caress you and your fiancé, wrapped up in Egyptian cotton sheets.

"I've met them before," you remind him gently, hand splayed out across his chest as he looks at the ceiling, "I don't hold that Summer against you."

"Felix stopped... trusting me," his voice barely breaks a whisper, "he stopped loving me because of them," it trembles, catching, and you see tears in his eyes. A flush was rising up his cheeks, grief and a strange kind of fury overwhelming him it seemed, much to your surprise, "you should hold that Summer against me, should hate me, should -" it's spilling from him now, with such speed, such anger that it's almost frightening.

"Ollie, love -"

"I wasn't in my right mind, I was sick and obsessed and- and- and I can't believe I hurt you like that -"

"What are you talking about?"

Through his tears, his grief, his outburst, Oliver threw his arm over his face, unable to look at you, unable to look at anything in this room he now seemed to regret being in.

"I just wanted him to love me too," Oliver choked out, "I know you tried to help me - I can't believe I hurt you, I know you loved him - but I didn't want him to love anyone if he didn't love me."

"Oliver."

"I put the cocaine in his wine. I gave him the bottle. I left him there."

To your surprise, as much as the news hurts, it comes in a dull wave of grief, not the sharp, stinging kind you were braced for. What you don't expect is the sympathy that wells up inside of you for the man who just admitted to killing your best friend.

But you had spent years grieving for Felix, had come to terms with it, made peace with it. It's a shock to the system, of course, to learn he was murdered, but you can see the hurt, the guilt that Oliver had been carrying with him, and knows how it feels to be overwhelmed with love for Felix Catton to the point where you'd do unspeakable things with him in your heart. You'd ruined lived over one-word insults spat in his direction because that was who you were, that was what you did.

And you knew Oliver Quick, who he was, how he operated, the kind of desperate jealousy and need to be needed that became dangerous or perverse when they went unsated. Neither of you were the people you once were.

Carefully, you drape yourself over Oliver as he wept, wrapping him up tightly in a hug with one arm, other reaching up to brush through his dark, messy hair.

"Loving Felix makes us do terrible things," you murmur softly, fingers carding through his hair, "you took someone special from this world, but we can't change that."

"Why the fuck are you being so nice right now?" Oliver groans, voice full of disbelief, "I just told you -"

"You loved Felix and he stopped loving you back; you were drunk, and obsessive, and out of your mind with some psychosexual desire. You killed the man you loved, that we loved," you recount firmly, and he quiets down, still sniffling, "do you regret it?"

"Yes," he whispers.

"Are you lying?"

A long pause follows.

"I don't know."

"Did you ever stop loving him?"

"I don't think I ever will," then, moving his arm, he reaches out for your face, gently cupping your jaw. His eyes are bright red, smudged tear tracks shining on his cheeks, "I don't think you will either." You shake your head, confirming as much, before you turn your face and press a kiss to his palm.

"You're not that same person, Oliver, neither am I. The version of me from that Summer might never forgive the Ollie that killed Fi, but I know you now, and I know you love me, and you'll love this house, and the memory of Felix, just like I will."

"Why are you so good to me?"

"Because you're not a saint, and you're not a devil. You can't change the past. You're just a human, full of flaws, but you're better than you used to be, I know."

"I love you." He coaxes you forward, bringing you in for a passionate, messy kiss, murmuring against your lips, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Still, you keep this revelation between the two of you. Elspeth never needed to know.

It was a small ceremony at the beginning of Spring on the grounds of the Saltburn Estate. Elspeth was barely able to get out of bed anymore, so the location was more for her sake than anything else. She'd insisted on taking the reigns for planning the wedding though, looking through folders and magazines with you and Oliver at her bedside.

A beautiful flower archway, Duncan officiating, and only your families as guests. At your suggestion and reassurance, Oliver had worked hard to repair his relationship with his family.

"You don't have to lie about being important anymore," you'd smirked at him, "you're inheriting the Saltburn Estate, you're marrying into my family; you're Oliver Quick, that means something."

Oliver's family had marvelled at the estate the minute they arrived at the property; his sisters and their partners seemed shocked and delighted.

"Is this your place?" One had asked you, eyes bright and incredulous as you and Oliver were giving them all the tour.

"Ollie's actually," you give him arm a squeeze as you give him a proud smile, watching as he ducks his head, flush with embarrassment.

"This is you house, Ollie?! What the fuck!?" Another shouted, even as her own partner laughed while asking her to tone it down.

Before the wedding even begins, his oldest sister has talked him into letting she and her children visit in the Summer.

It comes as a surprise when your own parents show up, though you suspect it's because Elspeth personally called to invite them, not because of you. They too are impressed by the house, but less so than the Quicks; they'd been there for gatherings in years past, after all.

When your grandmother arrives, however, that's when it all becomes real for you. Unlike your parents, she dotes on you. Your grandfather had been the head of the business when he'd been alive; your grandmother was a dedicated professional, but always a romantic at heart, which is where your mother claimed to have gotten her artistic proclivities from.

Oliver says you have the same, beautiful eyes, and she chuckles.

"He's a charmer, I see," she teases, but wraps him up in a hug. "You be good to them, Mister Quick," your grandmother tells him in a faux-stern voice as she leans out of the hug, "we're the kind of family you don't want to get on the wrong side of." Despite how she's waving a finger at him and doing her best angry glare, Oliver can't help but cast you a fond smile, wrapping an arm around you.

"I'm aware, ma'am; every day I feel lucky to have Y/N by my side."

This seems to sate your grandmother, who pets his cheek fondly, and tells you that you've got a good one.

"I think so too."

It's a beautiful, perfect day, the best day of your life so far, where the worst day is now but a mere memory. All that matters is Oliver Quick, and the love in his eyes as he looks at you, as he promises you;

"This house will be full of people who love you for the rest of your life."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #saltburn imagine #head heart hand fic #manic writer

282 notes · View notes

famwhy · 9 months

Text

"You always were too smart..."

"...for your own good."

Scream 1996

Yandere! Billy Loomis X F!Reader

Synopsis: The Woodsboro massacre was a case that had been announced to be closed as soon as it was opened. The answer was obvious, right? There were two witnesses after all. Mr Prescott snapped, killed a bunch of kids, then shot himself in the head as a result of the nearing anniversary of his wife's death—two of your close friends confirmed it. Why, then, did you feel the need to meddle? Why couldn't you just mind your own goddamn business?!

Warnings: Mentions of death, Gore, Manipulation, Threat/Violence

"It just doesn't make any sense!"

None of it did. The witnesses, the evidence, the murders—it was just too big of a headache to deal with.

You didn't know why you were still doing it; still looking into this case even in the depths of midnight. It was closed, the chief said so himself—your two best friends were there, they saw what happened and recalled the events as such, their stories had even been perfectly aligned...

...almost too perfectly.

It was dumb—and you were probably being paranoid but—nothing felt right. If this was all Sidney's dad's doing then... why kill Casey Becker and Steve Orth? What did they have to do with him? You would've understood if they had attended Stu's party and were just caught in the crossfire but that wasn't the case, they were killed before the massacre—days before, in fact. Why? Why target them?

And—why would a murderer, who made sure all of his victims were dead, stab both Billy and Stu just perfectly so that he missed their vitals and didn't dig deep enough for them to actually be able to die of blood loss?—or, at least, not for a long while. Wouldn't he want to also make sure they were dead before offing himself?

The weapon too—why the hell did you only find a gun at the scene of the crime when there was evidence of a knife being used as well? If he didn't care enough to dispose of the gun he used to kill himself and others, why dispose of the knife?

None of it added up. None of it was making any sense.

"Fuck!"

Frustration coursed through you, crawling through your skin to visibly cause the bulging of your veins and urge your brows down further than ever before. The deep bags under your eyes weren't doing you any wonders either.

You were struggling and it showed.

Papers sat haphazardly strewn across the desk in front of you, each one depicting different inked up versions of the crime scene—from the body of Tatum Riley hanging by the driveway door, to the very gun that brought about the end of the accused 'murderer' himself. To the normal civilian, it would be hard to stomach—to you, it was just another Tuesday.

Except, this Tuesday seemed to really want to bash your head in.

With another aggravated huff through your lips, your hand shot out to the messy pile before sifting through it, trying to find something—anything—that would satisfy this god-awful itch in the back of your mind.

Then—a creak.

Your eyes shot up, muscles tensing as you scanned the shadows leaking through the corners of the room for the cause of the noise. One hand kept hovering above the sheets and the other slowly inched towards the drawer beneath you, fingers steadily winding around the knob before—

"Kid, what are you doing here?"

The flick of a switch came with the familiar voice that asked you that question; a voice that instantly caused your optics to widen and your back to suddenly go from lax to rigid as you clumsily fumbled around in your seat. "Sheriff!"

He grunted, voice gruff as he continued, "It's almost one, you have school tomorrow, why the hell are you still here?"

You parted your lips—ready to respond—when he squinted and scanned the desk, opening his own mouth to speak again before you could.

"Are those all from the casefile of the Woodsboro Massacre? Kid, that case is solved. It's done. The hell are you doing still in the station this late with those files?"

Your lips tugged down as your gaze trailed his own. "It just... it doesn't feel right, chief."

When he didn't respond, you chose to keep going.

"I mean, why would he kill his own daughter? I was close with Sid, I knew her and I knew how much her dad adored her—"

"That's the thing with psychos, Y/N, they—"

"He isn't just a psycho though!" That came out unnecessarily loud, and the chief seemed to think so too with the way his brow rose pointedly as soon as the words fell out, "Sorry, I... this case has been killing me all night. It just... it doesn't line up. If he really did snap, why target Casey Becker and Steve Orth days before the anniversary of his wife's death? Why specifically them? And why leave Billy and Stu with non-lethal wounds before killing himself?

"I know I should be grateful that they're still alive considering they're my best friends and all..." you continued, tone solemn, "and I am! I really am! I just... I can't help but find this all too strange."

And as you hung your head down, your ears soon perked up to the sound of several more creaks slowly growing louder as they made their way over to your seated form.

Then, a warmth blanketed your shoulder, causing your head to tilt up and your eyes to meet with a pair that seemed to slowly soften the longer you spent looking at them.

"Look, kid, you're a genius. That's why you work at this station. That's what you worked hard to prove to everyone here. Every cop in this town respects you—including me. If you say you think something's up with this case, then I believe you."

Your eyes lit up.

"Just... promise me you won't stay up this late investigating it. You can come down to the station as soon as school is over tomorrow but let me give you a ride home today."

You could do nothing but nod vigorously, too elated to form words as of that current moment. The nodding was enough though, and soon, you found yourself situated in the chief's car, buildings passing by in a flurry of colours as he drove over the bumps of the rocky road beneath you, gaze focused ahead.

With the incessant chatter of the radio echoing in the background, you almost couldn't hear your own thoughts. But, they were there. And they were just as unyielding in their fight for your attention.

Your skin crawled at the thought of Billy's expression if he ever found out about your doubt in his eye-witness account. Stu could brush it off easily but Billy... he was troubled, to say the least. He had a lot going on and you were one of the only people he trusted enough to share it all with; so to hear that you found him suspicious in any way would... well, it would crush him.

But, justice was justice. You pursued being a detective because it needed someone to deliver it with an iron fist. If that meant having to doubt the words of someone close to you then so be it. You worked so hard to get to where you were, you would be sure to honour it wholeheartedly.

"Here we are, kid." You blinked, turning to the officer beside you. "Get some rest, alright? See you tomorrow."

With a nod, you stepped out of the vehicle, and it didn't move an inch until you made it inside the house—staying there for a couple more seconds after the door closed before the wheels turned again as he started off once more.

And you didn't know if it was just because he was gone—his presence always being able to make you feel so much more safe than you did on a daily basis—but... a sudden chill ran down your spine, pricking your skin with a feeling you couldn't quite place your finger on but an unsettling one nonetheless.

You didn't quite get enough sleep that night.

But then again, when did you ever? Perhaps your paranoia was at an all time high because of insomnia—but, you digressed.

Besides, it was a new day and you had just arrived at school. You should focus—

—that was a lot easier said than done, though. Almost mindlessly staring into your open locker, you let your thoughts drift to the nefarious case for the umpteenth time.

Stop it, Y/N. Save it for the station.

With a sigh, you slammed the door shut and almost jumped when you caught view of what seemed to suddenly appear by your side.

There, stood one of the very boys your mind couldn't seem to hold off on thinking about recently—leaning against the locker with his defined arms crossed over his chest and his parted bangs falling over his face to frame it perfectly, basically forcing you to notice the way his lips were slightly twitched up as he gazed back at you.

"Billy," you whispered.

"Y/N," he responded, lips twitching up just a bit more, "I was wondering if you wanted to come over later? Watch a movie with me? I was gonna watch with Stu but then his family had that last minute trip thing."

Instantly, you were brought back to your conversation with the chief yesterday and your gaze drifted off to the side as you spoke—albeit a bit hesitantly—"I don't know... I should really get down to the station..."

He frowned at that, one arm unfolding to reach for your own, landing on your bicep before his fingertips slowly trailed down, ghosting over the exposed skin to send tingles down your spine as his palm finally found yours, fingers interweaving not too long after.

"C'mon, you spend so much time at the station now—it's like you're more hung up on this case than me. I barely ever get to see you. I miss my favourite girl."

That was true. Not the part about him barely seeing you (well, that was true too but—), the part about you being more hung up on the case than him—and he was actually there in person. It had only been a few days but Billy and Stu had seemed to move on just fine—which was strange considering the fact that, y'know, both of their girlfriends were dead.

Maybe, if you said yes, you'd be able to ask some specific questions to Billy; see if he was hiding any details from you.

"Okay," slowly, you nodded, "Yeah, sure, I'll come over."

At that, his lids fell halfway down his eyes before he purred out—voice borderline seductive—"Perfect."

To any girl who was none the wiser, that would send pleasant shivers down their spine—the shivers running down your spine, though, were anything but pleasant.

The rest of the school day breezed by and all you could find yourself thinking about was the case and Billy—he was practically living rent-free in your head. Even as he showed up at your last class—leaning against the wall in that way that just screamed Billy Loomis—you found yourself too stuck in your thoughts about him to be able to pay attention to the real him.

And he noticed.

"Y/N? You good?"

You blinked, tilting your head to his form as he walked beside you, the light breeze blowing slightly against his beautiful brown locks. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He frowned, reaching the hand that had been brushing against your own this whole time further towards you before asking, "You sure?"

Lightly, and as subtly as you could, you pulled your hand away. "Yeah, I'm sure."

He tilted his head down towards where your hands would've met and you watched as his lips pulled taut, expression almost appearing... blank as he stared at the empty space before his gaze flitted back up and he stuffed his hands into his pockets, muttering out a gruff 'okay' as he did so.

The rest of the walk to his house was silent—the wind and mindless chatter of other teenagers being the only thing your ears could pick up on.

And as you made it to his door, your heart constricted a little—thoughts wandering back to the look on his face after you rejected his seek for touch. Billy wasn't usually a physical person, at least, not with anyone but you and his now-dead girlfriend.

Though, even with Sid, his touch seemed a little more tense and uncertain than with you. You noticed the way he barely hesitated to hold you; the way he almost seemed relieved when he did finally get to feel you—be it against him or just your presence in the room.

If you didn't know any better, you'd say he had a crush on you. But he had a girlfriend already—one he asked out, no less—so that couldn't be the case. The only explanation was that he really valued you as a friend. And that thought pricked you so much more than it should've.

Perhaps... perhaps you were being too paranoid with your thinking. The case was done. Over. You should just lay it to rest before you ended up really hurting one of your best friends.

Yeah... yeah. You'd do just that. You were going to enjoy this day with Billy. No more getting caught up in cases that were already solved. Nope. It was time to be there for your best friend.

With that thought in mind, you reached out your hand, slowly intertwining your fingers with the tall boy's own as he opened the doors of his home—pausing for a moment to glance back at you with wide eyes before his lips stretched up more than you had ever seen before and he tugged on your arm.

It was the littlest of force but it was sudden enough to send you tumbling into his chest as his arms engulfed you wholy; entirely. You could practically feel that familiar sense of relief radiating off his form and you couldn't help the laugh that echoed off yours.

"God, I missed you," he mumbled into your hair and a small, gentle smile graced your lips.

"I missed you too."

You stood there for a few more moments, basking in each others presence for just a little longer before you decided to pull away—albeit being met with a little resistance from Billy's end but, you were eventually successful.

"Alright, c'mon, you big sap, let's go in and watch your favourite scary movie."

He grinned at that, instantly moving to grab your hand again as he led you to his room—rushing through the clear, monotone halls before he arrived at his wooden door and opened it with a wide swing of his arm.

Soon, you found yourself seated on his bed, feet kicking back and forth as you awaited his presence. He had gone to go retrieve the VHS containing his movie from the ground floor so it was just you sat in the confines of the room riddled to the brim with horror posters from all sorts of media.

For a jock, he sure was a nerd.

One particular thing stood out to you, though—a small, rectangular bit of paper clipped to a string. It illustrated a smaller version of both yourself and Billy, stood beside each other with large grins on your faces—carefree and bright in their nature; loving and tender.

He still had that?

Unable to stop yourself, you moved to get a closer look—

—only to almost stumble when your foot caught the edge of something that certainly wasn't the ground.

A box—dull and beaten up. It was made up purely of cardboard which definitely wasn't doing it any wonders when it came to durability, that was for sure. The brown colour was quite unsightly to look at and the way some parts seemed almost... maroon was strange, to say the least.

Ever the investigator, you almost couldn't help the way your fingers naturally curved around the lid, slowly lifting the rough material up before shifting it to the side just in time to catch a familiar mask staring right back at you.

Mouth opened wide in an endless scream as soulless black eyes glared into your form—the sharp silver of a cutting blade coated in crimson laying beside it. It was almost too much to process at once.

And as you picked up the leather notepad sat beneath the dark robe under the mask, the gears slowly started turning in your head.

Flicking through the pages only further solidified your conclusion.

That mask belonged to Ghostface. That knife laying next to it was coated in blood. Unless there was some other murder that happened between now and the massacre, this was definitely the missing evidence from the crime scene.

And it was all in Billy Loomis' room.

You had an inkling, but this... this was on a whole other level.

The notebook detailed different ways to rid yourself of evidence when committing a murder, each one being linked back to a particular horror movie—even going as far as to have quotes obsessively scribbled near them with timestamps and everything. It was insane.

But, by far, the craziest thing was that Billy—your Billy—committed all of this. And if Billy was in on it, then so was Stu.

They both had murdered your whole friendship group that night.

Your fingers shook as you slowly stood up, legs barely able to hold your weight with how weak that realisation rendered you. It was like a bucket of ice cold water had been splashed onto you, drenching you from head to toe with the cruelty of the world.

Then—a click.

Slowly, you turned, book slipping from between your fingers as your eyes landed on the figure at the doorway.

Instantly, your hands shot up.

Billy stood there—expression blank as his eyes seemed almost... lifeless—with one hand raised and fingers wrapped around a black L-shaped object.

Your muscles grew tense. "Billy..."

"Stu's a fucking idiot," scoffed he, "I told him to burn all that stuff but he insisted we keep it as some sort of memento mori—something to remember our success with."

He took a step forward. You took a step back.

"But let's be honest, Y/N, you would've found out eventually, right?" As he spoke, your gaze stayed trained onto the gun, watching as he flailed it around—pupils shaking and hysteria slowly but surely clouding his eyes. "You always were too smart for your own good."

Your heart was beating ten miles a minute, practically playing drums in your ears with how loud it was as you continued to back away. "Billy, put the gun down."

"Y'know, Stu wanted to kill you... but I said no. Wanna know why?" He was now grinning from ear-to-ear. "'Cause I love you. I always have. Even as I was fucking that stupid whore Sidney that night, all I could think of was you."

You were running out of room to move back to. "Billy..."

"There! I confessed!" He suddenly rose his volume, and you winced a little. "Isn't that what you want?! A confession?! There's your fucking confession, Y/N!"

Getting kind of sick of all the ignoring, you spat back, "You know damn well that isn't the type of confession I want!"

"Well, maybe if your hadn't been such a snooping whore I wouldn't have to give you it!"

Here. There. Everywhere. He kept pointing that thing around so carelessly while his finger stayed hovering over the trigger, just one jerk away from a misfire; one jerk away from your possible end.

"Oh, baby, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I promise."

"Billy! Be careful with that damn thing!"

A slam.

"You know, Y/N, I wouldn't even have to use this if you minded your own goddamn business!"

Your back hit the wall, and the barrel was now pointing directly. at. you.

"So pretty for me," he whispered, voice having mellowed out so suddenly—so dementedly—you almost couldn't believe your ears as he closed in on you, practically pressing his body right up against yours, "My pretty girl."

The barrel of the gun was directly under your chin now, being used to tilt your head and lock your gaze with his own, crazed one.

"Such a clever girl, aren't you, dollface?" His praises came out steadily, voice low and husky as he continued to coo, "My clever little detective."

And as the world went black around you, you caught one more voice enter the room.

"Took ya long enough."

#x reader #female reader #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male x female reader #yandere male #scream 1996 #billy loomis #billy loomis x reader #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #yandere billy loomis #yandere billy loomis x reader #scream x you #scream x reader #scream 1996 x reader #ghostface x reader

966 notes · View notes

weebsinstash · 3 months

Note

Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hellaverse #yandere x reader #hh #sinprompts

202 notes · View notes

radiance1 · 3 months

Text

So, I have a thought.

Sam is a witch, one with a lot of magically raw power and a thirst for knowledge of the Occult.

Dan Phantom, is the fusion between her best friend and his godfather who destroyed the world and is just an overall evil son of a bitch and the only survivor of his erased timeline.

Now, here is the idea.

Sam has lost everything. Her friends, her family, her home and everyone and thing she knew.

How?

Dan Phantom.

He escaped his containment, offed Danny, offed Tucker, offed Jazz, offed the Fentons, etc, etc. He didn't kill Sam, couldn't kill her actually. He underestimated her, thinking that no amount of petty little magic tricks she could come up with would ever hope to stop him.

Which is funny, because that confidence led him to being sealed away by her. Never underestimate the power of an emotionally desperate witch it seems!

Where has he been sealed? Weeell, I'mma take a lil design from some of my previous posts and say that he's sealed in the Philosopher's Stone sitting nice and pretty in the middle of her chest. Which is, admittedly, not the best place but she wasn't picky when someone who destroyed the world in his timeline was trying to, you know, kill her like he killed her friends.

So, after Amity Park has been, mostly, wiped off the map and only her castle left standing she uh. Well, she became a hermit basically. She didn't leave her castle, consumed with grief and hatred for the entity that caused her so much harm and Dan?

Well, Dan is straight up trying to free him, either by killing or taking control of her.

Luckily, he has had no success with doing anything of that sort. So, he could only grumble in her mind, either taunting her or raging at her whichever he feels like in the moment.

About 1 or 2 months after all of this Sam decides to leave the ruins of Amity Park and go... well. Who actually knows where really, she doesn't, like, at all.

I'm also thinking that Dan can like, manifest himself out of the Philosopher's Stone kinda? Like, either chibi or adult is up to you but I like to think that invisible chains bind him to Sam and whenever he steps out of line, she just tightens those chains or something.

Now I'm thinking about combining this with that one au where a speedster or somebody comes back to the past to either stop Danny from turning to Dan or stop Dan before he could destroy the entire world an allat.

I wonder how they would feel knowing that they were too late, Amity Park was destroyed, Dan is nowhere to be found, no on seemed to have survived and very obvious signs of a struggle.

Only to then find out, sometime later, that said world destroying threat from the future is there, they couldn't stop him from forming, but he's bound to a teenage witch who lost everything because of Dan and is basically his 'vessel' now.

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dcxdp #dc x dp crossover #Dan isn't reformed here #He probably won't ever be reformed actually.#Villain through and through.#I would think it's like Sukuna and Yuji really

202 notes · View notes

leonskennedysfavoritewife · 4 months

Text

Sobriety - Part 2

DILF!Leon Kennedy x fem!reader

Word Count: 4.5k PART 1

MINORS DNI! 18+

WARNINGS: depressive themes, creampie, praise kink, age gap relationship, slight mention of su*cide.

Other: No use of Y/N, aftercare, Leon is acting like a boomer that he is- surprise (not), him and Chris being my favorite pair of friends that definitely have had experimental sex at some point (I consider this canon but it’s not apart of this story)

The sun shone through the blinds- Leon’s head pounding harshly as soon as his eyes fluttered open.

“Fuck.” He grumbled- shifting in his bed- wait. This wasn’t his bed. It smelled of perfume, floral fabric softener- and the sheets were silky on his naked form. He had slept so well he had forgotten he had even… shit.

You laid on your stomach- peacefully sleeping with your hair in your face- naked.

Cute. Is what Leon had thought before realizing everything that happened last night. You two hadn’t been drunk- but definitely tipsy and equally horny. It slipped his mind that the two of you had even fucked twice.

‘Cuddle with me?’ you had asked lightheartedly after everything. Leon already knew that- 1: You were up to no good. And 2: He too was up to no good. It was hard to not be hard around you.

Though- the two of you did get a nice cuddle session in. He both loved and enjoyed affectionate things like that.

Before he could move or snap from his thoughts on his own- you grumbled something and lifted your head- hair a mess and your body halfway uncovered as the sheet slid off of you.

“I’m leaving the whiskey to you ‘old farts’ from now on…” you murmured- Leon smiling at your jest. He put a hand on your back- rubbing soothingly.

“Sleep okay?” He asked, taking a moment to admire how pretty you were even in this state.

You mumbled a soft mhm, enjoying the feeling of his hand on your back. He slowly removed his hand after a few moments, leaning over to check his phone on the nightstand. 10:23 am, along with missed calls that must have been silenced.

Fuck! he had forgotten he had work today.

He jumped up, getting into his boxers and looking for his jeans- frantic.

“Woah, what is it?” You asked, sitting up now.

“Late for work.” He responded, throwing the rest of his clothes on.

“You can’t shower first?” You asked facetiously.

“This kind of job doesn’t exactly allow much room to be this late.” His tone was a bit harsh- but you just tried to assure yourself he was just stressed right now.

He grabbed his keys and his phone, walking towards the door of your bedroom.

“I’ll text you, okay? I’m sorry to leave like this.”

You smiled, your reply lying within your face. He smiled back for a moment, before going down the hallway and letting himself out.

“Leon. Where the hell have you been? We tried calling you. The damned D.S.O. Was ready to come knock down your door.” Chris whisper-yelled, walking alongside Leon.

“I was busy.” Is all he replied, settling himself in front of the office’s coffee machine- pouring himself a steamy black cup.

“Busy? What the hell can you be busy with that you don’t answer your phone for once. I almost thought-“

“That I had offed myself? Yeah- as much as I’ve worried you and Claire before, I’m fine. It’s just life stuff.”

Chris scanned Leon’s face, looking him over. He didn’t smell like alcohol, which was a constant recently, and his clothes weren’t straightened and presentable like they always were.

“Oh.” Is all he said, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Leon knew Chris well enough to turn when he said that- practically hearing his smirk loud and clear.

“What’s that look for?”

“You know- you’re never usually this calm. Normally you’d be arguing back with me. That’s all.” Chris chuckled, amused.

“No- what’s so funny?” Leon pressed the issue further.

“You got laid, then?” He asked, tilting his head to the side.

Leon could swear he felt visible heat coming off of his face and he turned back to the counter, sipping his coffee.

“You fucking did! Well- that explains a lot recently.” Chris added.

“Keep your voice down. Jeez.” He muttered, shaking his head.

“Who is it?”

Leon sighed- realizing he wasn’t exactly in a bad mood- even with Chris grilling him.

“She lives in my apartment building.”

Chris’s face turned somehow even more intrigued.

“Well I’ll be damned.” He uncrossed his arms and patted Leon on the back, walking off.

“I’ll come finish pestering you later, buddy.” He teased, his voice a little too loud for Leon’s liking.

Idiot.

Finally- the last few reports were out of the way and he could relax. Leon had a few interns around to help manage his workload anyways- being the D.S.O. ‘Golden Boy’ (he hated that nickname), it was a given.

He closed the door to his office, sitting down at his desk and pulling his phone out. No text from you. He assumed the worst, and figured you probably hated him for leaving so abruptly.

No. Stop that.

Yeah. His abandonment issues ran deep.

He sighed, typing up a message for you. He hated spilling his feelings over text- which he barely knew how to text in the first place- but it felt so… in-personable.

“Hey- sorry to leave so suddenly. I can’t exactly disclose my work but I just hope you know last night meant a lot to me.”

Send.

He leaned back in his chair- anxious. He didn’t care about how mushy it was- he just wishes he could give a better explanation. To tell you about everything. This job. The bullshit. But he’d rather be sure he can safely tell you without getting a bullet to the back of the head for saying it.

Buzz.

He picked up his phone from his lap, quick.

“I understand. It meant a lot to me too- but I wouldn’t be mad at you for having work. I just hope you’re doing alright, is all. 💕 “

Leon’s heart fluttered for a moment, relief flooding his veins. You were understanding and actually giving a shit- despite most people doing the opposite.

He smiled wide to himself- his fingers typing.

“Yeah. I’m perfect- thanks to you, anyways.”

You both sent a few more back and forths- Leon so invested he didn’t even realize Chris had entered his office and was standing behind him- watching him text.

“Damn- look at you being all tech savvy. You two are cute.” Chris interrupted.

“Redfield. Get out.”

“Woah- your best friend comes to tell you that you can leave early and this is how you treat him?”

Leon cocked his head.

“Leave early? Why?”

Chris walked around the office- looking at the decor briefly.

“Oh, nothing much. I just might have.. put in a word that you needed a short vacation.. pulled some strings here or there.” He mumbled the last part, turning to Leon again.

What?

“Vacation?” Leon stood up, pushing his chair back.

“What did you say? Do you know how fucking long I’ve been trying to get a damned vacation- and they just listen to you over m-“

“Woah- woah. All I said was… well.. mentioned your little girlfriend. That’s all.”

God dammit.

“Chris. Her and I are not dating, and you can’t just go around-“

“Leon. Just take the damned leave and go home.”

Leon went straight back to his apartment- needing some time to himself. Apparently, before- he hadn’t been a priority for a vacation, being a single man and all. But now that they suspected he had a relationship- they were more willing to give him time away. After all- the single men at the D.S.O. were always the ones picking up the toughest, dirtiest jobs and heavy workloads. It also helped that Chris was oh-so-convincing.

Asshole.

He shrugged off his leather jacket- tossing it on the back of the couch.

The more he thought about it- the more a relationship didn’t sound bad after all. Then again- his previously mentioned abandonment issues ran too deep.

On top of all of that- you guys only fucked after getting tipsy. Sure, it was obvious why you invited him, but was it really all that romantic and a calling for commitment? He did like you. A lot. More than a lot. Otherwise he wouldn’t have slept with you. His mind flooded with overwhelming thoughts about everything going on right now.

A date!

He wanted to properly take you out. Make up for this morning a little, too. If he was being honest- he’d buy or do whatever for you at this point.

He grabbed his phone from his pocket, sending you a text.

He placed a hand on his chin- hoping that the text was okay. He was still getting used to the whole dating thing- especially with someone who was younger than him and more… caught up on things. He might as well live under a rock.

You looked over the last bit of your report before hitting save- your phone buzzing and bringing you from your school-work induced trance.

Glancing over Leon’s text- you couldn’t help but giggle.

He’s such a boomer.

You respond back with how much you’d love to- another text chain continuing for a bit.

It’s settled. Tonight Leon plans on taking you out for a date, details and time left secret to you as a surprise.

Leon feels the wave of excitement radiating through his nerves- barely able to contain it. He was happy to finally be able to get to know you a little more. Being friends- he knew plenty about you already- but now he could find out the personal details. Things the two of you wouldn’t tell most people. Maybe he was getting ahead of himself- but he hadn’t connected with someone in so long.. or ever. So he wanted it to go smoothly.

He showered- spending his usual 30 minutes after to style his hair. He wore a navy-blue suit and a white button up underneath, not bothering with a tie (He didn’t know how to tie one). He secured his watch back onto his wrist before spritzing on his cologne- going all out.

Not giving you a specific time- he decided to wait a while before showing up- figuring you might be ready by now. When he finally knocked on your door, you got up from the edge of your bed- nervous- wondering if you had dressed appropriately for this mystery date. You chose a short, simple but form-fitting black dress, heels to match, and your hair styled nicely to go along with your dark makeup.

You pulled the door open- the two of you equally blown away by the other.

Fuck. I want to tear that suit right off of-

“You look beautiful.” He murmurs, almost entranced.

“And you look… handsome.” You say- almost feeling guilty by how horny looking at him made you. But if it was any constellation- he felt the same about you.

“Something wrong?” He hummed, gesturing for you to step out into the hallway with him.

“No- it’s just. You look really good.” You smile- hiding the fact you think he looks a lot more than just ‘good’.

He grins, smile lines and all.

“Shall we?” He asked- holding out his elbow for you to hook with his.

You respond by doing so- Leon leading you down the hallway and helping you carefully down each step of the stairs. The trek to the parking lot was almost too long- the two of you now outside his car. and boy, was it nice.

“I thought you had a motorcycle?” You inquired, cocking your head.

He chuckled.

“Yeah- well it’s just for when I’m out on my own. I’d rather not risk something happening to you- especially since neither of us are dressed for the off chance we encounter road rash.”

“Ah- you’re right.” You hadn’t thought about that- then again you weren’t the most educated on motorcycles and riding as a passenger on one.

He pulls his keys from his suit pants, unlocking the vehicle and opening the door for you. You stepped in- sitting down on the shockingly comfortable leather seat.

Leon himself gets into the driver’s side- pressing the push to start button- roaring the smooth, quiet engine to life. You’re pretty sure you’ve heard people breathe louder than this car makes noise.

“So…. Mind me asking what you do for work? Drug lord? Pimp?” You tease- already figuring he won’t want to talk about it. Though, you still have some unease about his mystery job.

He sighs, a hand on your seat as he looks back to reverse the car.

“You’re cute. It’s quite the opposite, actually. Well- I can’t exactly give you details. Let’s just say I work for the government. At the most- all I can tell you is I work alongside the president.” He tries his best to give you as much as he can. He knows how unnerving it might be to go on a date and screw around with someone who you don’t even know where they work or how they get all of the money that they have.

Plus- he figures he owes you that much

“I see- so… if you work for the president- why are you living here? Wouldn’t a nice house or somewhere in Washington suffice?”

“Yeah- I suppose it may seem that way. But considering what I do, I’m always on the move. Not to mention- I don’t have time to be a homeowner. Repairs, upkeep. It’s a hassle. And sure- maybe I could hire someone to look after it- but again- with what I do, I can’t ever bring myself to feel comfortable with a complete stranger in my home. I like to keep things under my watch in the places I sleep. That- and I feel less unnerved on high ground.” He explains- every bit of it makes sense. Whatever he works with must be awful.

“What about me- I’m a stranger.” You add- mostly teasing but a little serious.

“Not… entirely. I trust you.” He says- turning to look at you for a moment before focusing back onto the road

You smile.

“I trust you too.”

The night continues- full of banter and you learning more about Leon- and vice versa. He had taken you to dinner in the city’s nicest restaurant- managing to score a last minute reservation thanks to, once again, his job title. It really did make you more and more curious now- but you knew better than to pry- especially after getting that much detail from him earlier. After dinner, the two of you were back in his car- satisfied after an expensive, filling meal.

“So…” he says, turning to look at you.

“Did you have a good time?” He asks, this not being the question you expected.

“No.” You start, his eyes widening for a moment.

“I had a great time.” He leans his head back on the seat with a thud, sighing

“You know- I’m practically a fossil. My heart could easily give out at this rate when you scare me like that.”

“Sorry- sorry. Maybe I should be carrying around a defibrillator?”

He chuckles, pushing his hair back for a second with relief.

You both make eye contact- silence strong.

Leon clears his throat, once again starting the car with a press of a button. A few minutes down the road and with soft rock music- courtesy of one of the ‘dad rock’ CD’s you had given him, an idea crossed your mind. Fuck. Maybe you should just go for it.

“I’m really glad you invited me out. I was starting to think I scared you off with the whole riding thing.”

You saw him visibly perk up, shifting in the drivers seat.

“Well- if that scared me off, I’d have to be a little fucked up in the head. I mean, it was-“ you interrupted him, a hand on his thigh- the fabric of his suit pants soft on your fingers.

He glanced at you, your face full of that usual mischievous look you gave before doing most anything at all. He knew it well at this point.

“Shit-“ he mumbled, feeling your fingers creep up his leg. He kept driving- his blue eyes scanning for somewhere to pull off. It didn’t take long.

You’re a little surprised by this- but the idea of fucking him in his car isn’t the worst idea. It actually starting to turn you on a lot.

He parks the car, one hand on the steering wheel.

“I can see what you’re doing, you know.” He chuckles, the sound sending a shiver down your spine and a throb to your pussy

“Yeah?” You ask, a slight bite to you lip.

“All I’m going to say is…” He leans in, just a tad.

“I wanted tonight to be special. So, when we get back to mine, I’ll give you exactly what you want. We can fog up the windows another time.” He smirks, knowing he had misled you indefinitely.

You go to stammer something- but the car is already back on the road. But now- the anticipation and horniness are tenfold.

He shuts the door apartment door, turning to you. Without a word, he leads you off to his bedroom.

“Why don’t you go ahead and sit down for me, hm?” He asks, going to the bathroom and returning with two matching candles. He sets them both on the nightstand- lighter in hand as he ignites each wick. Then, he cuts off the light- leaving the room flickering with a sunset glow.

Leon kneels down in front of you, slipping off your heels and setting them aside- his hands trailing up your bare legs.

“You’re beautiful- you know it?” He asks- huffing a quiet breath as he says it.

“Stand up for me, baby.” You waste no time- letting him guide you up before he gently turns you around with his hands on your shoulders, moving his fingers to pull the zipper of your dress. Leon gently tugs the fabric down your body, letting it fall before you step out of it.

You feel his lips make contact on the back of your neck, hair brushed aside as he lavishes the area with care.

“So… so beautiful.” He mumbles against your soft skin. He again turns you back to face him- eying you over. “God…” is all he can say- urging you to lay down on the bed. He unbuttons his suit jacket- laying it in a nearby chair, his white button up joining it. His muscles tense as he moves, his hands finding their way to hook around your thighs and pull your butt to the edge of the bed. He sinks to his knees in front of your clothes pussy- the fabric of your black underwear hugging your puffy lips in a way that makes him let out a low groan.

Leon’s rough digits glide over your hips and descend to your waistband- tugging the lace garment down those pretty legs and off into the corner of his room.

“God- I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He murmurs- his breath now fanning your bare pussy. He takes two fingers- spreading you out and exposing your clit perfectly- swollen and aching to have any contact.

He trails kisses along your thighs, the present stubble tickling you before he makes his connection with your pussy- his tongue dragging flat against your clit- making you buck your hips suddenly. He takes the liberty to snake his arms around your thighs to keep you still while his mouth sucks at your clit for a moment- alternating between those gentle suckles and licks. Leon tries his best to apply his memorization from how you liked him touching you last night.

Your moans quickly pick up in pace and volume from his ministrations- never having felt something this pleasurable before. It’s almost too much- along with the vibrations as he hums in delight against your throbbing center.

Or, well, moans against you- his cock strained in his layer of boxers and tight suit pants created a delicious friction for him as he ate you out- his hips moving lightly to situate the ache.

His right hand creeps from around its place on your thigh- loosening the hold on your flesh and moving to your already soaked cunt. His index finger gathers some of your wetness before pushing in- curling gently after letting you adjust to the feeling.

He pumps his finger in and out- adding a second which gives a nice stretch- being that his fingers aren’t exactly small.

Your back arches against the bed, hands clutching his sheets and perfect, genuine moans escaping your lips which only spur more reverberated noises from Leon against your clit. He more than eagerly laps at you- still flicking his tongue against your puffy, overstimulated bud.

You prop up on your elbows, watching him go at you like he’ll never get another chance to do so. His eyes flicker up for a moment- a sort of grin on his face without stopping what he’s doing. His other hand on your thigh creeps along your stomach to your chest now- pushing you to lie back- a silent agreement that he wants you to relax and enjoy it. (Which would be impossible not to)

You can barely get any other thoughts in- your orgasm so, so close. And it takes just a few more precise licks and a curl of his fingers and you’re in heaven- moaning and whining out for him while tugging on his soft hair.

But he doesn’t stop just yet- he runs his tongue along all of you- tasting every bit that he may have even missed before giving a last gentle suck to your overwhelmed bundle.

Now- here he was positioned on top of you, your thighs on either side of his hips as he stared down at you and unhooked your bra. He set it aside- his hands gliding over your stomach.

“God- where do I even start..?” He murmured, raising up on his knees a bit- his cock already poking at your puffy lips. You could feel him twitch slightly- his face conveying that he was thinking.

“Hope you don’t mind, but I enjoy looking at that pretty face when I’m in you.” The butterflies in your stomach soar with glee.

He reached one hand down- guiding himself against your entrance and pushing in slightly.

“Fuck-“ He looked down at himself sliding into you- his face proud and his cheeks tinged red while his hair covered his face.

“This what you wanted, baby?” He asked, bottoming out with his hips flush against your butt- his hands moving your legs onto his shoulders. The nickname is still making your head feel light and airy- it’s almost absurd how endearing he is despite the two of you still not being official.

You nod, a small ‘yes’ escaping quietly.

“Oh, I know. You’re cute. Thinking I couldn’t tell how badly who wanted it in the car. If I’m honest- I almost caved right there.” He huffed towards the end of his sentence, pulling out and slamming back into you with a good bit of force but not roughly. He wanted to keep things a tad bit sensual- unless you begged otherwise.

He began moving in and out slowly- your walls dragging along his cock.

“Jesus…” he mumbled, his hands coming up and caressing your thighs gently as he moved his hips- no guidance from his hands.

“Leon-“

“Hm? What is it, baby?” His voice is so low and gravely that you swear it even travels through you- striking every chord of pleasure.

“Faster- please.”

A soft smile played on his lips- and he stopped for a moment's time, turning to kiss gently on the leg that rested on his left shoulder- the familiar tickle of his stubble making you squirm a little.

“You know… I think I might be able to do that. Maybe hearing a ‘pretty please’ might help me decide, though.” .

“Pretty please.”

“Pretty please what?” He grins, his brown strands feathered messily across one side of his face.

“Pretty please… fuck me faster.” You muster- any embarrassment fading.

He turns, letting out a low laugh of amusement.

“When you ask like that- I’ll give you what-“ he slams back into you fast, punctuating his words. “-ever you want.” He warbles the end of his sentence, and his movements are fast now. Leon bites his lip- his own hushed noises coming out louder than he intends. Grunts and low, throaty moans.

“God, baby.” He gently guides your legs off of his shoulders, leaning forward onto his palms by either side of your head so he can be closer. Your lower limbs lock around him eagerly, making him chuckle.

He keeps his weight on his palms, bending his arms a bit so we can lower down enough to kiss you while his cock plunges in and out of your wetness.

The kiss itself is slow and sensual- for a moment he bites your lower lip gently before pulling away.

“You feel so fucking good…” he picks up one palm and trails a finger over your lower lip- puffy and swollen from his earlier nibble. “So pretty… You like when I fuck you deep like this?”

You nod.

“Yes- Leon. ‘Ts so good…” you mumble hazily, drunk off of him.

He’s eating up everything about this- your face, your noises, the way your body reacts. Even better is how infatuated he is with you.

“Glad to hear it, pretty girl. Fuck- you want me to cum in you again?” A broken ‘yes’ escapes you- barely- and he thrusts a little harder, clearly trying to give you exactly what you want.

“Oh my god…fuck- you feel so…so good.” He groans, clashing his lips to yours as he cums in you- buried as deep as he can possibly be with one arm hooked under you to keep you close. His body is tense for a moment and he gives you a soft, lingering kiss before pulling out and sighing.

He rolls onto his back and pulls you on top of him- his muscular arms wrapped around you. He brushes some of your hair out of your face- appreciating the afterglow and crimson flush on your face.

“I really like you.” He says- out of nowhere.

“Mmm… I could kind of tell. But I really like you too.” You respond, the way he looks at you makes you melt.

“Good, because uh.. that leads me into my next proposition. I’d like you to be my girlfriend.”

You’re taken aback for a second- you had figured with his job he wouldn’t exactly be open to a relationship- but your heart flutters.

You return his earlier gesture- brushing his hair out of his face.

“Well- consider me your girlfriend.” He smiles- pulling you closer to him to kiss you once more, before patting your back. You groan, not wanting to leave your spot on top of him, but you know he wants you to pee and clean up. And you know better than to not do so for your own sake.

He helps you to the bathroom just like he had the night before, sitting you down on the toilet. He walks out, pulling the sheets off of the bed and putting them in the hamper- and you can’t lie- you take a moment to appreciate his ass. It’s…really nice. Probably better than mine.

You giggle internally, finishing up in the bathroom. Leon’s already putting on new sheets- spreading the comforter back over the bed.

He looks over at you, smiling.

“Hey- uh… maybe you’d want to stay over? I can make us breakfast tomorrow.” He asks, saying it carefully as if you’d decline.

You smile. Once again- your answer lying within your expression.

#Leon Kennedy #Leon Kennedy x Reader #leon Kennedy x Reader smut #dilf Leon Kennedy #Leon Kennedy death Island #Leon Kennedy dilf #resident evil #resident evil smut #Leon s Kennedy

220 notes · View notes

dsudis · 11 months

Text

A Worthy Gift

Another Dreamling @domaystic story! Today's prompt was "Handmade Gift."

Especially since naming him a friend and accepting his invitation to visit more often, Dream was careful not to intrude upon Hob's dreams, including his daydreams. Still, it was impossible not to know when he personally was dreamed or daydreamed about--a rare occurrence, for few dreamers knew him so well, and none but Hob Gadling took such an interest in him.

Hob had been daydreaming about him particularly intensely for the last several days, and while Dream did not let himself be aware of the content of those daydreams, he recognized the pattern. This was the anxious circling and re-circling of some sort of intense dilemma.

Dream... could imagine what the dilemma might be, but it was altogether too likely that he was projecting his own wishes onto Hob. Probably it was something else altogether, something Dream had never thought of. Humans in general and Hob Gadling in particular had an infinite capacity to surprise, and Dream told himself again and again not to try to guess.

Still, when Hob descended into a very intense bout of this circling, repetitive daydreaming at a time when Dream could tell he was at home alone in his flat, Dream decided to put them both out of their misery. He stepped out of the Dreaming and into Hob's flat, just inside the front door.

It was morning, and there was no immediate sign of Hob.

Dream took another step inside and realized the shower was running.

He ought to have known; showers had become their own field of concentrated daydreaming during his absence from the Dreaming. He had had to create a whole brigade of dreams and nightmares to guide such activities more fruitfully than they were prone to be when dreamers were left to their own devices.

Dream took another step inside. He had to exert a particular effort not to sense the content of Hob's frantically spinning daydreams at such close range when they were so loud.

It was, he thought, not the shape of a sexual fantasy; it didn't have that rhythm.

It was something much more... material. Dream glanced around and realized that the threads of the daydreams of the last several day were echoing in the space around a particular object, one almost hidden from him by that intense daydream energy.

Dream walked over to it, irresistibly curious to know what item could have been inspiring such a flurry of daydreams from Hob, and discovered...

A black bag, with tufts of black tissue paper rising from it.

A gift.

There was no special occasion in the offing; they had never exchanged gifts before. Hob was punctilious in offering food and drink every time Dream called upon him now, and Dream generally accepted them in accordance with the ancient customs of hospitality. He almost never actually ate or drank what he was given beyond a token nibble or sip.

He had never thought of Hob wanting to offer him something beyond the customary. If he did...

There were simply too many possibilities to guess at, and Dream stood there, absorbed in his own daydreams, until he heard Hob say, "Oh, bugger."

Dream looked up to see Hob dressed only in boxer shorts, his hair still sleekly wet, looking rueful but not unhappy.

"Have I come at a bad time?" Dream asked.

Hob heaved a sigh and came toward him. "No, now's as good a time as any, and I suppose the 'pretend I never had this idea' option is off the table now."

"I am... quite intrigued," Dream admitted, looking toward the little black bag again.

"It was just... a thought I had. I was a bit drunk and... well, you'll see. If you hate it you can just bin it and we can pretend I never--"

Hob's nervous flow of words cut off as Dream tugged the tissue paper out of the bag and reached inside to draw out...

A mug.

It was a very pretty mug, as mugs went, glazed in a deep glittering black.

Dream turned the mug to see if there was some witty slogan on the other side--World's Okayest Friend, perhaps, to match the mug he had seen Hob use emblazoned with World's Okayest Professor--and instead nearly dropped the mug at the sight of his ruby, deep liquid-shining red and swimming with dreams.

He blinked a few times and realized that it was, of course, not his ruby at all, but a representation of it composed of layers of beautifully translucent red glaze. The dreams he could feel in it were Hob's.

Hob had painted this mug, while thinking of him. Wishing to give him a gift that would represent something important, something so powerful within him that it could not help being captured by this mere physical object.

Dream dragged his gaze from the mug to Hob, who had wrapped his arms around his middle and was biting his lip in obvious anxiety. "I... I was out with some friends at this ceramic-painting thing, and I wanted you to have a mug for when I make you tea. Not that I've found any you'll actually drink, but I... I want you to know that you belong here, that the tea's not just politeness. I just... want to give you something, and I was thinking of you and how to represent you and I know you don't even have that ruby anymore, but--"

There were limits even to Dream's powers, and he could not keep himself from knowing, while he held the mug in his hands, while Hob was right there radiating fantasies and fears, what dreams had been poured into this object.

Dream set it down with all the care it deserved, and took the two steps required to be face-to-face with Hob, who had to look up at him a bit at close range. He was barefoot, of course, and Dream had his boots on, his coat, a number of layers that felt absurd in this moment.

Hob looked up at him, saying nothing at all, his lips parted, hope just beginning to dawn in his eyes before Dream closed the last of the distance and kissed him.

Hob yielded sweetly to the kiss, his hands coming up to rest on Dream's arms, and when Dream pulled back Hob just looked up at him, as bright and beaming as the first night they'd met, but better. Hob knew who he was looking at now, and still he had that expression of wondering joy.

"Anything will taste sweet to me," Dream said, "when served in a vessel suffused with such dreams of love. And I am partial to white teas, so long as they are not scalded in the steeping."

"Right," Hob said. "Time to buy a fancy kettle right after I--" Hob pushed up onto his tiptoes to kiss Dream again, and neither of them said another word about tea for some time after that.

[This fic is also on Ao3!]

#fic #dreamling #the sandman #domaystic2023 #fluff

507 notes · View notes