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rubra-wav · 2 months

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May I Request a part 2 to Dealbreaker!Reader (same characters) but it’s the characters reactions to the reader surprisingly breaking their deal? I loved what you wrote!

Angel, Husk and Alastor with a dealbreaker S/O pt. 2

[ Part 1 ] < > [ More lore on DBs ]

A/N Thank you so much, I'm glad you liked it, I loved writing this and the last one. Dealbreaker lore brainrot fr.

With how dealbreaking usually goes, it's not instantly a happy ending, unfortunately. These are all pretty happy endings, though.

Fairly long reads for all of these, but it's worth it, I promise 🙏

!(MY REQUESTS ARE NOT OPEN RN. THIS IS JUST LEFT OVER FROM WHEN THEY LAST WERE.)!

Cw: SFW, depictions of violence, mentions of murder, Husk and Angel's is romantic, Alastor's is platonic, gn reader, male reader in mind for Angel's (forgot to add this aaaages back omg)

**Alastor's is written under the assumption that the Lilith owning his soul theory is real + is making a great big assumptions about Lilith + the nature of her deal that will likely be disproven.

She's a great big mystery, I'm just heavily leaning into pure theory in that one.

Angel

- When you break his contract, Angel is overwhelmed with a potent mixture of relief and gratitude.

- The path this far had been fairly easy as far as the process of actually breaking the contract goes.

- The chains on him were poorly crafted and the format was extremely simple with a lot of loopholes to bust the contract wide open.

- It was honestly much harder to fully knock Angel out of the all-encompassing fear-rooted belief that he was doing something incredibly wrong after years of Val's manipulation and control over every part of him.

- It didn't take long to make the counter-contract, just a few minutes referencing the draft as you quickly wrote everything down upon the page pressed against the filthy bench you were sitting at. Angel hovered over you anxiously wringing his hands as he watched you work.

- The lock on his prison cell was quickly broken, along with the actual collar around his neck.

- You cheered as you threw your arms around the disbelieving man next to you. Angel cracked a smile, giddy as he realised that you had done it.

- This peace was short-lived, however.

- You now had to deal with the consequences of actually breaking Angel's deal. Valentino does not take kindly to people taking his toys away from him, especially not one of his top money-makers and favourite souls.

- You had, of course, crafted the counter-contract that was now clutched in your palm in some random location far away from the hotel so Val wouldn't be knocking at the front door knowing it was done then and there.

- However, you two still needed to run.

- Hand in hand, you run away from the approaching sound of distant but loudly approaching cars with the sound of gunshots echoing, legs and lungs burning with exertion.

- As a contrast to your very evident worry, Angel is laughing joyously and more boisterously then he thinks he ever has as the feeling of the heavy sensation of the collar that has been weighing on him is lifts alongside the inability to speak his real name without choking on it.

- The feeling of his newfound freedom and adrenaline mixes in his body, making his blood sing out in his veins like a symphony. An indescribably rich sensation of being alive that he thought he'd never be able to feel again while sober.

- "So long, you overly tall rat bastard! I've found something that's better then anything you could ever fucking give me!" Angel yells out into the warm air of the night as he flips off the general direction of the sound of the gunshots, laughing all the way as you get to the getaway car.

- You're panting as you crank the car into gear, speeding away and putting the glowing counter-contract on the back seat.

- As the distant sounds of gunshots fades into the distance behind you, you turn to the passenger side of the car to make absolutely sure Angel is really okay as he calms down from the high of the chase.

- Your boyfriend is absolutely beaming next to you, glowing with a sense of natural light you'd never before seen in your time being together. It's a beautiful contrast to the artificial sense of life you are so used to seeing broadcast within the studio and his films.

- He looks so different, and not only due to the disguise he had decided upon to lay low until shit calmed down a bit.

- As you make it to your destination - a small house youd been allowed to stay at courtesy of Charlie - you put the car into park and sit there for a for a few seconds.

- "Holy shit. I did it. I actually freed you. And we're not dead." You said, stunned.

- Angel snickered, unbuckling his seat belt and leaning over to you to kiss you on the cheek. "Never doubted you for a second, baby."

- You laugh, relieved, turning to him and gently pull his face close to yours, kissing him deeply. You chuckle at the feeling of the giant smile on Angel's face.

- As you move to settle in to live in the small house for a couple of weeks, you regret turning on the television.

- Angel's face flashes across the screen with text quickly scrolling past a smiling but seemingly close to tweaking Vox on the screen, the man looking like he's about to absolutely lose his shit if one more mild inconvenience happens. The Video Star's eye twitches sightly as if hearing something irritating as he speaks.

- "There is a hefty reward for anyone who can find Angel Dust and the dealbreaker who has interfered with his contract. Any useful information will be welcome. To give us tips, go to the website listed below or call-" You switch the TV off, unplugging it as well just in case.

- If Vox got well and truly involved in this situation to attempt to placate Valentino as soon as possible, this would be even more difficult of a situation. You hadn't much considered the rest of the vees getting involved, assuming they would stsy in their own lanes while Valentino stopped being pissy.

- You shake your head, and move to go to the room where Angel is unpacking. The outside world could wait until later. All that shit could wait until later.

- Angel smiles at you as you walk into the room, such a lightness in it that makes your heart burn.

- You hug him tightly and then fall down on your side into the bed, both of you laughing joyously and filling the empty house with life.

- The road ahead would not be easy, but you were finally on the road to starting your life with him.

- Your life with him as Anothony, not Angel Dust.

Husk

- The road to forming a counter-contract was hard as all hell.

- Alastor's deals are absolutely air tight, crafted with the uptmost skill and attention to detail, so you finding a vague clause to dig your claws into to get it rolling after weeks of arduously reviewing it again and again was a goddamn miracle.

- When he saw that you had made progress, he's shocked as can be. Has a 'well I'll be' moment as you point it out to him after another sleepless night as he wanders up to you.

- Feels bad for fully doubting you after that. He's still pessimistic about your chances of actually succeeding in the counter-contract, but the flame of hope inside of him sparks to embers as you manage to do what nobody has managed to even remotely succeed to do in centuries.

- When you make further progress, he becomes deeply afraid for your safety. If Alastor ever found out you'd been able to get this far, you'd be toast.

- Never in a million years would Alastor allow someone who's managed to undermine his skills to this degree to live. When you say that you've got it covered when he brings it up, he's incredibly skeptical and is even more concerned when you say you can't tell him 'just in case'.

- Is in utter disbelief when you insist you just stay in the hotel as you actually write the counter-contract to break the deal while Alastor is out doing some shenanigans.

- When you say that you don't, in fact, have a death wish, he's extremely stressed and sweating bullets as you begin to write what you'd been drafting for weeks.

- The lights flash and then go out as you're about halfway through writing the contract. Unnatural green light fills the room and Alastor casts a great big shadow on the wall as he materialises out of nowhere.

- Husk feels dread sink into every part of himself.

- The ground shakes as Alastor physically shows up, much larger then usual and snarling. "What do you think you're doing."

- His voice is dripping with malice and static which hurts your ears greatly, but the movement of your pen on the page doesn't stop even though you can feel your heart thudding in terror and your vision is becoming blurry.

- Husk feels nauseous as Alastor looks down at you, growing all the more aggressive the more he feels his hold on Husk slipping.

- Husk fights a panicked yell as Alastor's neck snaps to the side loudly, now looking directly at him with an absolutely vile grin on his face. He cannot make it in time as Alastor's hand moves to crush you, and he fears the absolute worst as you are no longer in his sights.

- His deep despair is interrupted however, as from underneath Alastor's palm great big rose briers grow from underneath and pry it backwards, revealing you still writing - albeit looking extremely stressed - and the figure of Rosie who looks rather angry at Al.

- Alastor's eyes widen in shock and disbelief that one of his oldest friends are currently blocking him from destroying the one trying to take his property.

- Husk hardly hears the back and forth and stalling that goes on between the two overlords as he's running to you to try and pull you the hell out of here.

- He stops in place as he feels it, and hears Alastor let out a terrifying frustrated growling noise. The green collar and chain around his throat appears, and then it breaks with a loud snapping sound. You've succeeded.

- You actually fucking did it.

- The next few moment are a blur as Husk is rendered motionless and speechless, eyes wide and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as if he's about to wake up from this moment.

- He slowly walks towards you, looking to the side blankly as Alastor shrinks back to his normal size and is escorted out of the hotel with a look of pure bewilderment on his face by a now smiling and laughing Rosie. The leader of the cannibals winks at you and gives you a thumbs up as she leaves.

- You turn to Husk and grin at him wearily, still sweating nervously with clear relief on your face. You literally could have just died.

- Husk sinks to his knees beside you from where you sit on the ground, having fallen from your chair as Alastor tried to crush you.

- Husk grips your face in his shaking hands as he looks up at you. He can now see that one of your eyes is black with a deal you've made yourself but for now he doesn't address it.

- "Thank you." His voice is hoarse, low. Tears stream down his face for the first time in a long long time.

- Your face crumples as you allow your brave face to fall to bits. Your heart is still racing and you are still getting over the fear you felt.

- Husk pulls your crying face to his, leaning his forehead against yours as he wraps his arms tightly around you. "Thank you so much." Husk says, closing his eyes and causing more tears to roll down his cheeks.

- "If you ever do something that fucking stupid again, I'll not be humouring you." He added after the wonderful moment stretched out for a couple of seconds.

- You laugh softly, and nuzzle into his cheek as you kiss it. "You're welcome, Husker my love."

- Husk hums in fake annoyance, but he cannot even hide how much lighter he feels.

- The bonds which had kept him trapped for decades had been broken down all at once, leaving him free.

- He had no idea what kind of deal you made with Rosie, but he sure hoped it kept Alastor the fuck away from you and him for the rest of your lives.

- And, for your sake, he desperately hopes it is not the type of deal you will regret making later.

Alastor

- The path to dealbreaking Alastor's is bar fucking none with difficulty, mostly because he doesn't want your help.

- Hurts his his ego so much to see that even though his consistent efforts to tell you to get lost have failed. He's opted to scaring you off multiple times and yet you're still relentless.

- After yet another time of him growing into that massive form and snarling down at you, you snap.

- "Maybe I'm 'overestimating my abilities', but what if I'm not? What if a fresh pair of eyes are what you need rather than you just pissing off to your radio tower and staring at everything until you have a mental breakdown over it!" You yell at him weakly as he turns his back to leave. Blood is dripping from the corner of your mouth, and you're only just regaining your vision from the former static, which blacked it out.

- Alastor stops in his tracks, startled that you know about that too.

- "Maybe I don't have as much experience as you, but I have a different mind and way of looking at things! What if that's exactly why you can't break it? What if whoever it is knows how you think so they've designed this thing so you can't do this alone?"

- You can't see Alastor's face, but he's standing there still not saying anything. One of his ears is pointed backwards in your direction. He's actually listening.

- You gulp, and stand up shakily. "What if they knew that you would never seek assistance, so they've done things which won't be visible to you and only you. If you just give me a chance." You're no longer shouting, rather speaking in a tone you're trying to keep even despite how afraid you are.

- Alastor grits his teeth, ears twitching as he considers it. He's pissed off because you're actually making a good point.

- It goes against every instinct in his body, but suddenly, he's right in front of you, holding out his hand to you as he glares menacingly at you. "A week, and if you find nothing, you will never fucking approach this with me again, or share what you have seen and heard about my deal with anybody."

- You gulp audibly. It's a ridiculously slim deadline for this kind of business, but it's more than nothing. As you accept the deal, he utters a single word you're shocked to hear.

- "Lilith."

- Without any further words, he disappears, leaving a glowing copy of the contract at your feet.

- The week of reviewing the contract was utter fucking hell.

- it's not just that the contract was super air tight, it's just that it was so ridiculously complicated and hard to understand that you could hardly fucking comprehend what you were reading most of the time. It was utterly maddening.

- Your breakthrough, however, came not through solely just reading the words, but from actually talking to Lucifer himself about Lilith when he came to visit the hotel while Alastor left.

- As per the deal, you didn't share anything about the contract, but you did ask about her in private with him and he was actually surprisingly happy to discuss her.

- So that's, how on the last day of the deadline, you cracked the contract wide open with a counter-contract draft you had written in a few hours.

- Alastor almost screams out in pure unadulterated fury when he sees what you've written and hears the explanation behind it.

- Lilith wasn't some skilled dealmaker hellbent on controlling demons. She was a broken down dreamer who had no idea what she was actually doing in the contract, but being Lilith, her words held so much weight that they'd chained him despite that.

- It actually takes every bone in your body to not burst out laughing with how utterly humiliated he looks.

- His ears are pressed forward on his head, and he's making an odd high-pitched audio feedback kind of sound as his face is hidden in his hands.

- He'd been stressing over this thing for years as a skilled dealmaker looking at it, and yet that was exactly why he couldn't do it.

- Couldn't do what you did in a fucking week.

- "So, do you want me to undo this thing now or-?"

- You startle as suddenly he's in front of you, both hands on either one of your shoulders.

- you try so hard to not snicker as you see his expression finally, but fail. He's pressing his still ever-smiling mouth into a crooked line, eyes squeezed shut and brow furrowed. Dark flush covers his cheeks and neck.

- "Yes. Please." He says those words as if they are poison in his mouth. "I'm.. Sorry. That I underestimated you." Alastor opens his eyes to look at you as he begins to regain his composure a bit more, the hard part of this interaction being over with.

- Fortunately, and also infuriatingly, Alastor had not had his soul contract used once. Lilith simply had him in her back pocket and didn't lift a finger whenever she felt him try to break it again and again. It's like she didn't even give a fuck that she literally owned him.

- This fact burnt hot embarrassment and frustration into him as it destroyed his ego, but now it was a relief as she would most likely not try and come after him. Or you for that matter.

- His claws grip painfully into your shoulders as you fail to stop snickering loudly in disbelief that he actually apologised. Admitted losing essentially.

- "S-sorry! I just can't believe I'm seeing you like this." You apologised.

- Alastor gritted his teeth. "Don't get used to it." He growls before his mask slips right back on like it never happened. "I'm simply admitting my mistake in assuming you could not do this, darling! It turns out you truly can't teach an old dog new tricks. Or deer, in this case." He clears his throat, straightening up.

- You smile up at him, heavy bags under your eyes from where you've barely slept for the past week pouring over this.

- "If it makes you feel any better, it makes sense why you couldn't solve this thing. It's utter bullshit nonsense." You shake your head at the contract.

- The deal was undone embarrassingly quickly after that using the draft you had written. No pushback at all on it.

- Alastor feels his collar slacken and break to bits as you write the counter-contract and sighs with extreme relief as he watches the other contract disintegrate, feeling the power which had been stolen coming back as it turns to dust. It doesn't cure the utter humiliation that still sits heavy upon his shoulders however.

- After everything, he would threaten to kill you if you tell anyone about what went on or how he had fallen apart. Though, it would be a lie to say you two don't grow significantly closer.

- Alastor is still hesitant to fully let his guard down around you, however the massive wake that existed between you two even as fairly good friends has now significantly closed.

- He's still a lying, scheming asshole, but he'll be much more inclined to not be so much with you considering you've kept multiple giant blows to his ego fully secret.

This was a lot longer than what I usually write for requests holy moly, but I absolutely loved writing these. I hope I fulfilled your vision anon 🙏

You get through Angel's and Husk's, which are really emotional and sweet, then you get to Alastor's 💀

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a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Ghost x Reader

NSFW, 18+, Shameless Smut, No Plot, Porn w/out Plot, Sex in the dark, Explicit, Graphic Language, Teasing, Touch-Starved Touching, Embarassing, First Time Together, Fingering, Sloppy Kisses, Somewhat Rough Sex, slightly Intimate, Ghost is a bit of a dom, Reader's a bit snarky, Slightly Proof Read, I'll fix what I miss later :)

First time writing a smut one-shot with zero plot sooooo here's my trial run. I'm a recovering former Catholic schoolgirl, bear with me. Enjoy. （。ˇ ⊖ˇ）♡

Word Count: 2.4k

Also I take requests, or I would like to, or I might just poll who I should write next. ヾ(´▽｀;)ゝ My other one-shot Soap | Price

You step into a dark bedroom, reaching over to flip on the light switch. That's when you feel Ghost's cold, gloved hand stop you halfway. Your hand, which is small in comparison to his own, can't help but be encompassed by his sudden grasp.

The door shuts behind you both, you and Ghost now standing in a nearly pitch-black bedroom. Alone.

"The lights stay off," Ghost orders.

The gravelly-like sound of his voice is deep in this empty room, soothing through your ears and sending a chill down your spine. You can just make out the large silhouette of his body, towering over you like a great, big shadow. Ready to devour you and leave you used.

And you wanted him to use you. To fill you with all he has to give. You've lusted for his touch since you first laid eyes on him. You longed to feel his strong grasp around your throat, his teeth against your skin, his cock buried deep in you. You always wondered what a man who brandishes a skull mask of all things would desire of you.

Your own hand could only suffice for so many nights. It was time for the real thing.

And you knew Ghost had wanted it too. He had wanted you bad. Not being able to have you until now only fueled his growing insatiable craving for you. His skin practically simmers from the rising arousal.

"No lights at all?" You pout.

"What's the matter?" The teasing tone to his voice lowers, as does his hand, as you feel his fingers trail up your arm. It leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake, before he's let it rest at the side of your jaw, taking a soft hold of your face. "You afraid of the dark?"

You feel his deep, olive eyes look you up and down hungrily through the darkness. Exploring every inch of your body. He could picture all the curves to you, his hands hardly able to keep away from reaching out. Envisioning your body shaking by the end of this, the anticipation having his blood rushing just thinking about it.

His thumb lightly trails over your lip, the glove of his thumb gently grazing it, faintly tugging. He parts them for himself, your tongue just slightly brushing against him. It makes a whimper leave your lips, as you start to playfully nip at the fabric of his glove with your teeth, coaxing something dark inside him.

"It's just us now, love," Ghost whispers. "I want these walls crumblin' down once I'm through with you."

You lift both your hands and let them dance delicately over his, your own hands so small it takes the two of them to even hold the entire thing. You tug at the fabric, removing the glove from his skin and revealing his bare knuckles to you. If not for the dark which surrounded them.

Unable to truly see him for youself, you let your touch fill that yearning to look upon him. You let the glove fall to the floor, as your hands take his again, your warmth clashing with the iciness of his own touch.

"Why don't you make that happen then," you taunt him.

You take his index finger and bring it to your lips, letting your tongue slowly swirl around it, as your saliva coats him, your breath making his skin shiver. You gently bob your head forward and suck his finger, taking your time getting it wet for him. Only just faintly being able to make out his mask in the dark.

You hear Ghost let out a heavy breath, before he's got you pressed flush against the door. He uses his large thigh between your legs and his other arm to box you in, his body pressing roughly against you, keeping you pinned against the door.

You were at a point of no return now. If this was what you wanted, then Ghost was prepared to give it to you, as he saw fit.

Ghost brings his free hand down, roughly pulling down the short little skirt you'd had your ass hanging out of all night, until you've felt the fabric hit your ankles below you. The second they hit the floor, Ghost plucks his finger from your lips, deciding to swap for a new pair to play with instead.

His fingers dip beneath your lace panties, letting those fall to your feet next, the chill of his hand making you jolt lightly, as you gasp. That's when he feels how dripping wet you had been this whole time. You coat the man's fingers in a matter of seconds, which he can't help but chuckle at.

"Fuckin' hell," he teases you. "Say less."

"Fuck you," you tease.

Ghost responds by bringing two wet fingers to your clit, massaging smooth circles against it, and sending a jolt of knee-wobbling pleasure through you. He gets the rhythm down damn near instantly, working a magic you should have only known he possessed. You can't help but moan to his touch, your head pressing back against the door as your body chases his fingers.

"You were saying?" Ghost teases you again. Only this time, before you've time to say something else, you feel his fingers make their way towards the entrance of your cunt, ghosting the hole purposefully, letting his hands grow damp with you. It makes the air catch in your throat.

His fingers slowly curve in, the warmth of your walls gripping tightly in retaliation. He pumps them in and out, going just a little deeper, each time they sank back in.

Pretty soon you've felt him go knuckle deep, his palm smacking roughly against your clit at each thrust. Each time left you throbbing with arousal, making you shake. The visceral, wet noises that came from your cunt paled in comparison to the moans you released alongside them.

The sensation was almost so overwhelming that your mind couldn't think straight. Tears welled at the corners of your eyes, as your voice took a mind of its own, letting Ghost know vocally just how much you enjoyed having his fingers roughly play with you like that.

Ghost would never forget these sweet sounds you made for him. They'll live in his mind 'til the day he dies, he's sure. As he'll be forever chasing after them now. Hearing you had been a newfound high

He eventually takes his hands from you, your fluids leaving a web-like trail on its exit out. In that brief moment, having found some composure over yourself, you let your hands raise up, until they've stopped at the edge of Ghost's balaclava.

You pause before attempting to lift it up, letting your fingers rest there, signaling to him what you wanted.

"Can I?" you ask.

Ghost pauses.

One of his hands meets your wrist, though it doesn't attempt to pull you away. Holding you there, instead. Hesitantly even.

Right now, he appeared but a dark figure you could only just make out, hellbent on seeing you at your most vulnerable. Ghost wouldn't let you see him. Not completely. And you would respect that. You could be happy with just the touch of him instead. The taste of him in your mouth could be enough.

Tonight at least.

When you see he won't stop you, you slowly begin to lift up his mask. You feel the fabric glide up the sides of his neck as he holds his breath. You bring it to the bridge of his nose, letting your fingers graze against his cheeks, and tracing the stubble of his defined jawline. Simply trying to feel a picture of him in to your mind.

The whole time, Ghost stands there frozen. Letting you touch him, not having let someone do so in such an intimate matter in quite some time now. Too long of a time. He's forgotten how bare it makes him feel. And yet, he didn't want you to stop.

You mirror his actions from before, letting your thumb brush against his bottom lip. You feel it quiver, and it makes you smile.

"Don't get shy now," you purr.

You flip that switch in him, and like a predator that's just caught its prey, his mouth is on yours, pressing against you so hard that his body nearly smashes you against the door. It releases a gasp out of you, one that Ghost uses to let his tongue take a quick swipe against yours, stealing a taste.

You chase his as it retreats, your lips following him organically. As though your mouths were two puzzle pieces; perfectly fitted for one another.

His kisses quickly turn starved, his tongue exploring every available inch your mouth provided to him, dominating you in every way. Letting you know that from here on out, your mouth belonged to him and him alone. Your lips. Your tongue. Your taste. You.

You belonged to him now.

You nip at his lip suddenly, giggling at the little gasp he lets out afterward. In response, Ghost brings his hands to the hem of your shirt and lifts it over your head, leaving you now bare before him, just as a silhouette in the dark to him as he were to you.

He brings his teeth to the groove between your neck, searing them deep and bringing a light hiss out of you. At the same time, his hands meet your breast, his finger gently rubbing against your nipples, as his palms massaged you gingerly.

His hands feel you as though he planned to sculpt a new woman out of you, and his lips trail down your neck as though they could help him memorize the taste your skin left lingering at every peck.

Your fingers grip at the back of his neck, pulling him in, clawing into what little skin he left bare for you to feel beneath his lifted mask. The sting your nails leave makes him throb almost painfully so.

Ghost pries his lips from you, letting his hands slide roughly down past your ass, before taking hold of your thighs. With one quick movement, he hoists you up, allowing your legs to straddle his waist. He then presses himself against you, grinding hard into you.

The sudden flood of ecstasy it washes over him brings a low, shaky breath out of him. One he wasn't too used to making. He continues grinding against you, keeping your back pressed against the wall and both his large hands gripped firmly beneath your ass, his hands moving you almost like you were his own personal doll.

And you submit.

You submit completely to him, keeping your hands wrapped around his neck, as the grinding of his hardening cock through his uniform re-erupts that lustful flood he'd pulled out of you only minutes ago.

Using the wall to help keep you upright, Ghost brings one of his hands down to the buckle of his pants, undoing them and allowing him to lower his them. Just enough for him to take hold of himself and uncover from his briefs.

It seems he's had enough of the teasing and the foreplay.

"You know we have a bed," you joke.

"I like to work on my feet," Ghost quips back.

You feel the head of his member begin to play at your folds, lightly spreading them apart, and preparing for what felt like would be something slightly larger than what you were used to. It makes the core of your groin quake with anticipation.

Ghost continues to tease himself against you, his breath growing shakier by the second, as precum began to slick between you. His hand on your ass tightens, and he brings himself to the center of your core once more.

You feel his eyes on you.

"Think you can take it?"

You swallow and then nod.

"Give it to me already."

As quickly as the words leave your mouth, Ghost lets himself thrust deeply into you, your walls just barely being able to take in the entire length of him. It sends a sharp sensation up your body, bubbling out into one of the loudest moans you've ever felt yourself let out. You feel it travel all the way up to your throat, making your heart race as though you'd just run a triathlon.

Once he saw you could take him, Ghost pumped deeper into you, pushing further and further in at every thrust, gliding in and out with ease. Soon you've taken him completely, feeling him smack against your cunt hard.

His lips find yours again, not wanting to waste another second away from you, as his fingers dig deep into your skin, forcing you to take all of him, as you willingly let him do what he wants with your body. He clearly knew what it wanted best.

He purposefully pulls back out slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him leave your pussy, and stopping just before his head can exit. He then comes back in sharply, earning that chilling moan from you every time. He could go all night listening to it.

"That's right, lovey," Ghost pants against your lips. "That's fuckin' beautiful."

Ghost picks up his speed, each pump growing faster. Eventually, the pace had increased so much that you stopped noticing the blood you were drawing at the back of his neck from digging into it so roughly. Just as you didn't notice the forming bruises on your ass from how hard Ghost had been holding you.

All you could feel was him inside you, giving you everything he had to give, and hitting that sweet spot every single time.

"I'm so close!" you gasp out. You slide your hands back over to his face, cradling his cheeks in your palms, letting him know you were looking him in his eyes. Somehow you felt you could see his right now. "Cum with me."

Ghost takes your lips one final time, getting one last good taste of you, as he feels your walls tighten around him, your body vibrating, as you moan into his lips.

The orgasm shakes you so hard that your body moved almost involuntarily. The mixture of warmth and tight compression is enough to finally get it out of him as well, as Ghost cums alongside you, his cock throbbing against the heat of your cunt.

He lets out a breathy moan, his forehead resting against yours, as you both fight to catch your breaths.

As the moments settled, and your heart rates began to rest, you both continued to let faint images of each other dance in your minds, as un-pronounced as when you first walked in.

"Maybe we can have a nightlight on next time," you joke.

Ghost is quiet for a second, still attempting to reassess himself. He clears his throat before speaking again.

"I'm up for that."

♡( •ॢ◡-ॢ)✧˖° ♡

#call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #call of duty modern warfare ii #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #mw2022 #smut #Spotify

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maiiruo · 4 months

Text

Serenity of Smoke

wc : 1.7k

next chapter !

So, is all countless suffering for my own good?

— [ I ] —

You always loved the idea of writing for a living. You were an avid reader in your childhood, books upon books surrounding your room so much you might as well have been swimming in them. The local library became your second home when home didn't feel like it, the librarian recommended books every time you finished another and giving the praise you never received.

Journalism was both a romanticised and underrated job. You wanted to give others the same feeling you did as a child, the ability to indulge in fictional worlds when the real one was too much. Growing up made you come to the reality that acting on your love for journalism proved to be harder than you expected. The side jobs, the money you constantly lacked—you only had a chance of winning if you were famous. Since you were a child you dreamed of this type of job, the type where you could be alone with your thoughts, the type where you could stay in the serenity of your home and isolate yourself with the excuse of your work. No forced interactions with shitty co-workers? You were immediately sold.

Today was slow, uneventful. You worked from home in your office which doubled as your bedroom on the frequent occasion you fell asleep at your desk, only going into the office on few instances. Writer's block came to you more often than you'd like to admit, your days consisting of a split screen with whatever show Netflix recommended to fill the silence and an unbelievable amount of procrastinating. At this point, time became blurred and you lost count of how long you had been staring at your blank screen, your eyes becoming low and heavy with fatigue. On the rare occurrences you were in the office, you felt close to nothing but envy. While you were told to be an exceptional writer, said to be "the next Sylvia Path of our generation", you wrote slower than your peers, the words finding their way to you harder than others. They were the "shitty co-workers" in your nightmares, belittling you on the speed at which you produced your work as if the quality of your writing didn't surpass theirs by lightyears.

You opened the door to the prettiest cats you ever met, being an exception to the "Closed!" sign on the door. Your eyes raced to look for your favourite—Mimi and Mars, Mimi being a calico with the most beautifully placed patches across her eyes and Mars a brown cat with heterochromia. Yoongi's café was one of the few places your mind felt at peace, especially after closing hours; he would always let you stay until he finished his last few tasks. Soft light poured through the windows, the sounds of purring cats and light traffic eliminating the overwhelming anxiety you felt prior. You swore you could have fallen asleep right there, on the floor with your back on the wall and the sun warming your face, Mars and Mimi laying on your lap.

Eventually, Yoongi walked out from the back room, carrying empty food platters and readying them for the day ahead. He smiled as he sat himself down next to you, "Said hi to the cats before me?" You leaned your head on his shoulder, the smell of cigarettes encompassing the air around you. "You're basically one of the cats yourself." Mimi rolled herself over onto Yoongi's lap, purring as he calmly pet her head. "If we're both not married by 60 we're getting married and becoming cat parents." You mumbled in agreement, your tiredness almost overpowering your ability to speak. Although he was making a comical remark, you both knew you would agree to being (platonic) cat parents without a second thought.

"Writer's block beating your ass?" At this point, you believed he was able to read your mind with how he read you so easily. "Yeah...today was long." He wrapped his arm around you, running his thumb back and forth across your shoulder before announcing it was time to put the cats in their cages so he could lock up.

You gave Mimi and Mars their last pets before they left, probably being the last time you saw them that week. "You guys don't wanna go do you? You should stay with me one day." Despite your words, both cats followed Yoongi with no sympathy for your yearning. While you were exaggerating your heartbreak, Min laughed as he carried Mars and Mimi to the back where the cages were.

"They definitely like me more."

"Ermm, fuck you too then."

"Swearing in front of the kids? No wonder they like me more. She's such a bad influence isn't she?" Turning his attention to the cats, he looked at you with a fake look of disappointment, as to make you feel bad for your 'bad language'. He broke character and laughed, his smile so contagious you laughed harder.

You got up to help Yoongi put all 13 cats back into their cages, matching each cat to the assigned name on their enclosures. You made sure to pet them before locking the gates, covering them with blankets and giving treats to each of them before you and Min left. Both the book and laptop in your tote bag remained untouched, as you expected. You crossed your legs and sat on one of the chairs while Yoongi vacuumed the cat hair that had been shed and it was finally time to leave. He grabbed his keys and walked you back to your house despite living the complete other way of LL. He watched as you walked through the door before leaving, walking back to where he was parked in front of his café and driving to his apartment in the other direction.

As you finally changed out of your 'outside' clothes, you made yourself your favourite strawberry tea and switched on every ambient lighting you had in your room—the big light was basically illegal in this house. You opened your phone to a message from Yoongi, saved as "luna :P" in your phone.

6:47pm

bar 520 tmrw?

6:48pm

u know i could never say no :3 what time?

6:48pm

7? u can get ready at my place, bring whatever

6:50pm

okay, see u tmrw :3

Seen, "luna :P" liked your message.

don’t steal, translate or repost my work

©maiiruo

#min yoongi #yoongi series #yoongi fanfic #ambw #ambw kpop #kpop fanfic #yoongi au #bangtan x reader #yoongi x reader #bangtan series #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #ꨄ︎ masterlist !#bangtan masterlist

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masterqwertster · 8 months

Note

Put That Guy in a Situation #36: Avalanche, with Ashton.

But with a twist! Instead of an avalanche, it's a cave-in/rock slide. 😉

Prompt

Ashton knows the ceiling is about to go. They can feel it. Whether a normal earthkin could feel it, or if it was the titan blood-

Didn't matter.

The point is, the cave's ceiling is about to collapse and he is in the danger zone, alongside Orym and Chetney.

Ashton can probably get free before it all comes down. He's fucking fast on his feet so his only real problem in escaping at this moment is that his rage magic is fucking with gravity. There's a more than decent chance his personal gravity field will drag the falling stones down to him faster than Exandria's gravity alone would.

And the little problem that Orym and Chetney may not be quick enough to get clear on their own. Short legs are a bitch like that.

So in the moment Ashton has to react as the ceiling cracks and rumbles, alerting everyone else to its imminent collapse, he pulls the two shorties close, leaning over them. He draws on his magic, strengthening the gravity that encompasses him until nothing can move him without his say so. He reaches out and does his best to wrap it around Orym and Chet like he did with Imogen and the crawler during the Deathwish.

Then the rocks come tumbling down, slamming into Ashton's back with enough force to send them to their knees if gravity wasn't making their stance immovable. The rocks pile on, heavier and heavier, and as the world shakes around them, Ashton has a brief moment to wonder what happens when the high-intensity gravity leaves them. Will they still be able to hold it all up, protect Chetney and Orym? Or have they only bought mere seconds before their weight and all the stone above them crushes the gnome and halfling? Would it crush them? Or was their stone body sturdy enough to resist crushing?

Well, they're about to fucking find out, aren't they?

The heavy-duty gravity slips through Ashton's grip, like it always does, going back to its usual weight, and the rocks press down, bowing his body even further as he tries to maintain that arched position over Orym and Chetney. They, thankfully, have the sense to crouch low at Ashton's feet, allowing him to get bracing hands on the ground as the collapsed ceiling keeps pushing him down. His knees touch down, spread wide so that small forms of his friends have as much room to curl under him as possible. Ashton's arms tremble as he refuses to collapse further, to deny Orym and Chet even an inch more of space.

It slowly turns to silence aside from all of their breathing. Chetney and Orym's quick little breaths, Ashton's own grit-toothed panting. And the low, rumbling growl in their chest from their determination to fall no further.

"Ash? How're you holding up?" Orym breathes into that silence, small hand brushing their thigh.

"If my arm... decides to... give out, we're fucked," Ashton grits out. His right arm is good at holding steady, with only a few gold cracks decorating the shoulder and bicep. But the left... well, anyone can see how fucked up his left side is. And sometimes that damage will make it give out at inopportune times.

"Let's not do that," Chetney says, as if Ashton has any fucking control over it.

And then the old gnome is pushing up against Ashton's chest, bracing them from below. Orym quickly follows suit.

It helps a little bit, but not a lot.

Chet's pretty strong from his werewolf shit, but it doesn't change the fact that he's about half Ashton's size and maybe a tenth of their weight. And Orym's in the same boat, except his toned physique is maximized for flexibility and speed, not raw strength.

Still, it's nice that they even thought to try. Even if Ashton doesn't think their support will grant more than a few extra seconds of time that he can hold the stone above up.

Gods fucking damnit.

This is not how he's going to die. And he's not going to let it be how Orym and Chetney die either.

As much as it scares the fuck out of them, Ashton has an idea.

None of their crazy brain shit is going to get them all out of here. But the brain shit isn't the only ridiculous power sleeping in their body. Ashton has titan blood, whatever the fuck that means, and if there was ever a time to discover new earth-based powers or magic or some shit, it's surely fucking now.

There's no fucking calm to be found in a situation where death quite literally looms over their heads, but Ashton doesn't need calm (he thinks), just focus. The focus to reach out into the stone around them, to feel its weight and strength, and tell it to back the fuck off and hold its own shit together.

With a soft grinding clatter, it does exactly that. The weight lifts off Ashton's back, which is still pressed to the stone, but he's not the one holding it all up anymore.

"Ashton?" Orym cautiously calls after the sound of scraping rock stops.

"We're good," Ashton pants, listing to the side so he can lay down in the shelter he has some-fucking-how created.

Chetney and Orym make concerned sounds of alarm until they notice that nothing bad is happening from Ashton slumping down onto his side, curled around them in the dark with only the lightshow in his head to offer a soft glow to the space now that he's done raging.

"Wha-? How?" Chetney breathes out, looking at the solid stonework arch now protecting them.

"Fuck if I know," Ashton murmurs, curling even tighter around his friends. He's exhausted from holding up the collapsed ceiling, and in a way he's never really been before, probably from bossing the rocks around. And all Ashton wants in that moment is to hold his people close, know they're still breathing 'cause he did good, and sleep.

"Titan shit?" Orym asks.

"Think so," he replies, eyes drifting shut, humming a little pleasure as the other two gingerly settle back against him, and trying to ignore how he can still feel the stone around him like an extension of himself, can feel their weight pressed to the ground as well.

Ashton drifts, barely aware of Orym and Chetney quietly talking next to him. Doesn't really move until there's the grinding of stone on stone as Fearne and Imogen finally excavate them. Until Bells Hells are all pushing into the little space he created.

It's scary as fuck to know that there's more power in him just waiting to be awakened.

But a little reassuring too, to know it's there to be found when he needs it to protect his people.

Essentially I gave Ashton free use of the spell Stone Shape as a titan blood ability, just to explain the mechanical idea of how he made the rocks self-support.

#MQ&A #MQfic #ashton greymoore #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #guy in a situation prompt

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blackjackkent · 5 months

Text

Took a break from exploring Last Light to go get some more infernal iron for Karlach's quest. ^_^

Once again, there was a very nebulous set of animations indicating Dammon hammering the iron about and Karlach "installing" it as insulation around her engine. (How does she do this without ripping her chest open? I know I'm harping on this but the game is weirdly coy about what is actually happening and I sort of feel like it wouldn't have been tonally out of place to have her undergoing some sort of surgery to make this happen. In a way it makes this feel too easy.)

When she is finished, she looks around eagerly.

"There. So did it...work?"

Dammon grins. "Only one way to find out." He glances at Hector.

Pull her into a hug.

As if he was going to do anything else the moment he was capable of it. One of the first things she told him, almost as soon as they met, was how desperately she wants a hug, and he has spent the intervening weeks realizing how desperately he does too - from her specifically.

He steps forward, reaches out his arms; for a moment she hesitates, as if uncertain that this is really happening. His arms settle on her shoulders, closing around her, pulling her tight into his body. There is no more of that deadly, obliterating heat; she feels warm and solid and real.

When was the last time he gave anyone a hug? He realizes abruptly that he can't remember...

He hears her breath catch next to his ear. Her arms come up around him, enfolding him; she's both taller and broader than he is and the sense of encompassing safety for a moment is entirely complete. She feels it too; sagging into him, she presses her face into his shoulder.

"Thank you," she whispers, muffled into the cloth of his shirt. Her voice trembles. He can feel her shaking with held-in tears. How alone must she have felt, all this time, unable to reach out...

How alone has he been, for so long...

They have to let go. There's so much more to be done. But he holds on, just slightly too long, and he feels her fingertips dig into his back as if unwilling to release him either.

Then it's over. The moment passes.

He draws back, lets his arms fall. The air around them feels monstrously cold after the heat of her body. But he meets her eyes and sees her smile and a shiver goes all through him that has nothing to do with the chill.

He smiles back shyly, then coughs, looks around abruptly. Shadowheart has turned and walked out of the stable. Gale is watching him with a heavy, regretful expression. Dammon, alone of their observers, seems quite pleased.

Karlach, too, seems to become abruptly aware that they are being watched, and turns to the blacksmith with that grin still wide across her face.

"I can't believe it. Thank you, Dammon. So much."

"It's the least I could do," Dammon says with a smile. Then the expression fades, and he looks more serious. "Before you go - there's something I need to tell you."

The bad news from earlier, Hector assumes. He feels anxiety pierce through the warm glow of contentment.

"That engine of yours," Dammon goes on. "It's contained for the moment, but it's just too hot to exist here in the material plane indefinitely. I know you know that, but the thing is...there's a cure."

His eyes flick to Hector, regretfully, apologetically, then back to Karlach. "I wasn't making any headway with the mechanics, none at all. The environment here is just too cold to sustain metals like the ones inside you. You have to return to Avernus - for good - or this thing is going to burn you up from the inside out. And sooner than you think."

Hector suddenly feels as if someone has punched into his chest and removed his heart. Emptiness slashes through him, the warmth gone completely in an instant. In this same moment of finally being able to reach out to her, he's being told that...what? That she will have to leave forever? Return to the hell plane? How can he follow her there?

How can he be without her here?

When did that start feeling like such an appalling thought?

Karlach's shoulders stiffen and she sets her jaw furiously. "The minute I set foot back in Avernus, Zariel will force me back into service. I'm not doing her bidding again. I'd rather die."

Dammon nods, smiles sadly. "I get that. But don't rule it out. The world just might be better with you in it - even in Avernus." He glances again to Hector, then back to her. "I won't stop trying to figure out a cure, but...at this point, I think we all have to face the inevitable."

Hector's fists are clenched at his sides with the effort not to let himself shake with this revelation. They will find a way to fix it, he promises himself. Karlach will not be forced back into that place. He is facing so many other challenges - this one, at least, he will face gladly, if it makes her happy. If it keeps her safe.

"We'll just have to make the inevitable evitable, then," he says firmly.

Karlach looks towards him, and her eyes brighten, seeing his determination matching her own. "You read my mind," she says.

Turning towards the blacksmith, she reaches out and takes his hands in both of hers. "Thanks, Dammon," she says, and her voice trembles again. "You've given me more than I could ever repay."

"It's been my pleasure." Dammon smiles. "Good luck - both of you. Look after yourself, all right?"

#bjk plays baldur's gate 3 #hector carlisle #karlach x tav #eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee progress!#drama also #but progress!

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flurrys-creativity · 6 months

Text

Alive

Pairing: Lee Hajoon (The Rose) x GN!Reader; Genre: Angel AU, angst; Rating: sfw, NC-17; Warnings: drunk driving, car accident, hints of being dead and resurrected; Wordcount: 786

Summary: After a near death experience Hajoon feels his world turning grey. Nothing excites him. You, his guardian angel, worry about his newly aquired habit of reckless behaviour to feel alive again.

A/N: Based on The Rose's song "Alive". Their music really sparks my inspiration!

Hajoon rubbed over his face with his hand, eyes barely able to stay open. He blinked several times, his sight focusing and unfocusing on the road ahead. The lights of the other cars flashed across his vision but his world still appeared colourless.

He didn’t even know where he was headed. After taking some pills and washing them down with a stale beer Hajoon decided to get into his car, driving aimlessly around.

Barely any cars drove at night, encompassing him mostly in darkness, if it weren’t for the lights of his own car.

A smirk played over his lips when he turned off the lights, immediately being engulfed in complete darkness. Usually he would feel a sense of fear or worry but right now he felt afloat - felt alive even.

“What are you doing?”

Hajoon turned his head to the seat beside him, grinning sluggishly when he saw your form sitting next to him now.

You clenched your jaw and stared pointedly at him, barely containing the vibration from your own anger. “Hajoon. Stop this.”

He contemplated your words for a moment, his heavy emotions telling him otherwise. “You’ll leave if I do”, he grinned, blinking towards the barely visible road.

“So will you if you continue.” You pressed, hoping to bring some sense back into his mind. The second you felt the tingling through your whole body as if dozens of little chimes went off at the same time you knew something wasn’t right.

“I feel so alive right now.”

You shook your head, placing one hand on his upper arm. “You don’t understand.”

“Baby, I’m alive”, he laughed, suddenly starting to swerve with the car.

You cried out his name when he hit the crash barrier. With your powers you removed yourself from the car, floating above it as it lost control and rolled over the street. After several metres it came to a halt - upside down.

Smoke started pouring out of it, wafting all over the street and clouding your own vision as well. You called out for Hajoon again and again but you didn’t receive an answer.

Even though you were his guardian you were not allowed to prevent his death. You worriedly paced across the sky. You could still feel his heartbeat inside you - though it became weaker with every minute.

With your limited possibilities you felt relief when another driver came down the road and noticed the smoke. You watched him set off an emergency call and prayed they would arrive in time.

Hajoon groaned and turned his head. You didn’t sit next to him anymore. Only secondarily did he notice the smoke filling the air around him, yet he had no urge to cough or choke because of it. Surprisingly Hajoon felt quite calm. He got out of the car, stumbling through the night without knowing where to go.

Deep in his mind he knew something was broken, something wasn’t right. He somehow felt how everything was fated to change now. If he told that to anyone they would call him crazy, that was for sure.

“You’re not supposed to be here”, you cried as you crossed your arms in front of your chest.

Hajoon turned around in surprise, yet a huge grin spread over his lips again when he realised it was you speaking to him.

“You’re supposed to be down there!” You now yelled at him, pointing down to the still smoking car. “Get back there and come out of that car for real!”

He followed your arm, noticing how he himself floated in the sky as well. Hajoon smirked. “That happened last time as well.”

You sighed and rolled your eyes. “This always happens when a person is on the verge of dying. The soul disconnects from the body. Last time was an accident but I can’t believe you’re now provoking this!”

Hajoon shrugged with his shoulders. “I’m not really provoking-”

“Yes, you are!”

“I’m feeling alive. For the first time since the accident.” He grabbed your upper arms, gently stroking them as if he tried to reassure you.

“But you barely are. This isn’t right.” You didn’t realise you cried until Hajoon wiped the tears from your cheeks.

He pulled you into his embrace, rubbing over your back. “It’s alright. I’m not even scared.” With that he stepped back, grinning at you like it’s nothing.

You gasped when he tilted backwards with outstretched arms, falling out of the sky and back down to the crash scene where emergency helpers pulled his limp body out of the car.

“He’s going to stay alive”, you murmured and rubbed your temples, “even if I have to break some rules for that. He is going to stay alive.”

Taglist: @xavi-in-kpopland

#kwritersworldnet #kdiarynet #wkcnet #kvanity #the rose #lee hajoon #the rose hajoon #drabble #the rose drabble #hajoon drabble #alive #angel au

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movedtodykedvonte · 1 year

Note

Spamvil, 4, 22 please)

4. What’s their favorite sleeping/cuddling positions?

I like to think Jevil likes to encompass Spamton when they cuddle but prefers Spamton to kinda fall asleep on top of him. For the cuddles it’s more wanting Spamton to feel secure and shielded when around him, like nothing can get to him and he doesn’t need care about what’s beyond Jevil’s embrace. It’s also the factor Spam is still somewhat apprehensive around Jevil and the clown believe close contact and exposure is the best solution. I HC that Jevil doesn’t actually sleep a lot or is a very light sleeper, so Spam being on top of them when they sleep is more to admire and stare at the puppet as he should be, content and without worry. Jevil also likes how grounding th e weight feels. As an entity that can literally float and teleport (with heavy limitations), you can feel a little spacey, not all there in body. Spam is like an odd security thing and a stabilizer.

Spam is adverse to cuddling. He doesn’t hate it but he doesn’t believe he’s the best thing to cuddle. He all edges and angles and plastic now, not the fluffy addison he used to be. He doesn’t want his partner to feel like cuddling is enjoyable to placate him, even if it’s Jevil. He gets confused that Jevil practically just lays on him when they cuddle but is very appreciative that someone thinks he’s still comforting. His favorite way to cuddle is sitting on Jevil’s lap actually. He’s compact and prefers to be able to see when cuddling, still paranoid after constantly having to be aware of his surroundings. Jevil is plush and nice to lean back on, like a bean bag or firmer memory foam. It’s nice to have arms wrapped around him and to feel supported. Sleeping he likes a similar position as the little spoon, i specially pictured their bed or whatever pile they sleep on is pushed against a corner per Spam’s request. He likes to sleep toward the wall and held. To sort of mimic the protection and being hidden away sleeping in the dumpster carried. Also I can’t imagine he’d want to stare into the darkness of an empty hall.

22. How do they apologize after arguments?

Jevil refuse’s apologies less they must. It’s not an issue that he never thinks he’s wrong but more it won’t matter as the issue is set and done with. I picture it takes a lot before Jevil sees the importance of a real apology, not minced words or riddles. Takes him realizing he does feel hurt by things and people and how he feels is not trivial mixed with realizing that’s the same for other people, especially the ever sensitive Spam. It shy and awkward, literally tail between his legs as he starts with attempts to joke his way out of it before just quietly telling Spamton he’s sorry. It’s short and direct and just sorta not him but it’s genuine, he means it as he looks into Spam’s eyes and waits for the permission to get closer. To say it again and promise to learn from it, wanting to become closer and more coherent because of it. Maybe he throws a magic trick in just to bring out a smile.

Spam is more open about his regrets and mistakes. Reflective of what went wrong but stubborn and not always ready to admit it. I feel like he mutually blames himself and Jevil even if it’s just him in the wrong, it’s anger and hurt and a protective tactic of himself for sake of his pride. He needs time to lick his wounds after an argument and then he’s ready to apologize. It always starts with him trying to make conversation before being shut down, Jevil can be pretty “pointed” when not in the mood for pleasantries. Spam likes to explain away at first, exscuses and outs before he just admits to his faults. It’s messy and rambling and it’s likely to become him apologizing for every little mistake. It’s not him trying to guilt trip more he needs to feel like he’s covered all the bases. After he either finishes or gets too overwhelmed I imagine Jevil is more amused by the display than angry or upset anymore, possibly marking communication as a skill they need to work on.

They probably just lay together after an argument is done. Drained but not wanting another persons interaction. Maybe the apology receiver gets the pick the position they cuddle in.

#Jevil is just as emotional as spam but he represses a lot #spam can’t help but wear his heart shaped object on his sleeve #utdr #spamton #ask #deltarune #anon #undertale #spamton g spamton #Jevil #Spamvil #dr funny business #ship asks

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overturie · 11 months

Text

It's been months since the last time Yuhui has spoken to his father, and the way it ended still leaves a metallic taste in his mouth. But he can’t lie to himself. He suspects maybe he’s built it all up in his head over these past few years - his mounting dislike for the person he’d disappointed the most in his life, emphasizing every monstrous detail until he’s become a caricature. It’s been easier to just ignore him and pretend there aren’t things that he misses. Maybe even delude yourself into believing they were never there at all.

But he still remembers every digit of his father’s phone number. It lives inside his head despite the number of times he’s deleted and blocked and deleted and blocked again, again, again.

Maybe some part of him is still that kid whose first instinct in important situations is to call their parents. But another part of him is utterly convinced he’ll hear nothing but terrible things. If he thinks about it too long, he’ll start equating the olive branch of communication as an act of self-flagellation and chastise himself for even going this far - you’ve been happy, why fuck it up now?

So, he centers his thoughts on his fiance. May had told him do it for you, but if he were thinking solely of himself he would have never reached this point. Getting close with May’s family comes with a measure of guilt, knowing that there’s never a guarantee he can offer the same. But he wants him to be able to cross that line badly. He wants to show him those parts of himself, the people and places that have shaped him, he wants to see them welcome him, see what May’s face might look like, if he’d be smiling, if he’d like the landmarks of his childhood, if he’d like the food.

It’s with that in the forefront of his mind that he finally dials the number and puts the phone to his ear. Disarmingly, it hardly rings once before somebody picks up.

喂？Hello?

It’s his father’s voice on the other side of the line, which means it’s too late to go back now. Yuhui sucks in a breath, trying not to let his voice shake.

爸… 是我。Dad, it’s me.

There’s a crackle of noise on the other end — and then recognition. 阿恢？A’Hui? 打电话干嘛？什么事发生了？Why did you call? Did something happen? …

… 是不是你缺钱？Are you low on money?

He flinches. 啊… 不像那样… Ah… no, it’s not like that…

那干嘛？我也是好忙。Then what is it? You know I’m busy.

Yuhui’s grip on the phone is slick and his hand feels encased in ice. Then it tumbles out of his mouth like the blade of a guillotine, quick and heavy.

爸，我要结婚了。Dad, I’m going to get married.

There’s silence on the other end. It strikes him that he has no idea whether or not his father has seen the articles, the photos, which still make him uncomfortable. He’s regained his footing since then, but sometimes he shivers wondering how far everything has reached. Thankfully, there’s distance between them, and his father is - as he’d said - busy. Maybe too busy to keep up with celebrity gossip and tabloids, which he’d never really given a shit about, either.

Yuhui wonders if he’ll ask who the girl is… no, he braces for the real possibility of the question, wondering wildly with a hint of fear if he’d even be able to correct him.

Silence. Silence. Silence. Something burns behind his eyes.

可以… 说些什么？It bursts from him; suddenly he doesn’t care if what comes out of his father’s mouth is a lecture, a tirade, or something worse. He can’t stand waiting any longer. He’s been waiting for months. Can you.. say something? Yuhui closes his eyes. 你忍不了的话，你… 你不用... If -- if you can’t bear it then you don’t have to --

Then finally comes his voice.

你高兴么？Are you happy? 那个人。他对你好么？

It’s Yuhui’s turn to be stunned quiet. There’s no gendered pronoun in spoken Chinese, just one ta that encompasses everything and everyone. But he’s sure his father is talking about a he, written in the dangerously level tone of his voice. That person - he says. Does he treat you well?

He swallows, the hard lump in his throat refusing to give way.

你… 看见了… You… saw the…

知道好久了。我是你的爸。I’ve known about it for a long time. I’m your father.

Yuhui can’t help it. There’s a rush in his head and he sobs quietly, trying to stifle it before it can be heard over the phone; probably unsuccessful. But those words batter down his dam, and for a moment he clasps a hand over his mouth and doesn’t dare to breathe, afraid to be berated.

But his father just listens to the tinny sounds of his son crying over the phone, months of anxiety and a sort of grief poured out all at once - he’s won this exchange in a way, prodded Yuhui with the least amount of speech to crumble his composure the most. Then Yuhui takes a gasping breath, feels his heart slow down enough to answer. Yes, yes, 我高兴… 我真的爱他… 人特好，对我特别好，爸，真的... yes, I love him, and he’s a very good person - he’s very good to me.

那祝你幸福。Then I wish you happiness.

There’s a beat. Enough time for Yuhui to say something - enough time for his father to add another thought. For a moment, the phone call hangs suspended in purgatory.

爸…

Then the line goes dead.

Yuhui lingers there for a while longer, phone still pressed to his ear. When he finally lets himself sit down again, he finds himself exhausted, but despite everything - the drying tears on his cheeks, his racing heart, the dull pain in his thumb where he’d pressed his index nail in too hard - his shoulders feel a little lighter.

Three hours later, he emails his father the invitation.

#cw: homophobia #needed to get this out (BRAINROT)#sorry for bad chinese at any point #*❦ ( 𝐦. ) ⋆ 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘵𝗏𝗈𝗂𝖼𝖾𝗈𝖿𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲!

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incubotwriting · 25 days

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A Most Unlikely Encounter

A little piece of Dislyte writing inspired by a doodle done by @1-800-daylon Heavily features their Traid/Yakuza concept for Drew that is expanded upon in With a Heavy Heart

In a quiet moment in a quiet spot, Drew tries to find solace against a racing mind. However, a thread of fate provides him with a most improbable encounter, providing the Jackal with the comfort he didn't realise he needed

Drew sat alone on the wooden walkway, looking out into the harbour. His eyes were set on the dark, moonlit water, but his mind was turned inwards.

This was a common spot for Drew when thoughts or anxieties kept him from sleep. The well-worn path along the harbour offering a friendly route to let his feet take him while his mind was elsewhere.

This particular night was warm enough that Drew had discarded his overcoat and bandages, allowing his fur to feel the breeze from the water. His bare torso allowed the encompassing marks of House Ramses tattooed on his body to show up proud in the moonlight. The entwining golden snakes glinting in the cold light from the moon amongst their bed of lotus and papyrus, constricting his arms and guarding his heart.

It was rare for Drew to be able to feel the air through his exposed fur, the isolated night providing a shield against prying or hostile eyes.

And so he sat, letting his thoughts run chaotic course, willing himself to find solace in the peaceful evening.

“Real pretty moon tonight, ey?”

Drew flinched, brought out of his thoughts by the voice. He whipped around on his perch and was met by the sight of a stout figure, broad shouldered with a shock of white hair and a long, thick beard with eyes hidden by extravagant pointed glasses. The man was as shirtless as Drew was, and like Drew his entire torso was covered in a sprawling mural of tattoos.

Drew fought back an ancient instinct, the training of his previous life setting off alarms at being surprised by such a decorated figure. He quickly scanned the designs, not recognising the clan the striking lines and floral motifs belonged to. Drew tried to bring his racing heart back into line.

“I do apologise, I’m not used to having company at this time” Drew replied.

“Fair ‘nuff, I’m not used to wandering out this way” The man said, “But I was on my way back home had the strangest pull towards this walk, and sure enough I stumbled on the most beautiful nighttime vista. Funny, hey?”

“Most convenient. I see you are enjoying your night appropriately” Drew said, nodding towards a bottle of spirits the man held in his hand.

“Oh this! Yeah, not my usual brew but something about this one called to me tonight so I’m giving it a shot. You don’t mind if I join you-“

“Not at all” Drew replied, trying to mask his cautiousness.

The man sat next to Drew on the pier, swinging his legs over the side to match Drew’s position.

“Unky Chai” said Unky Chai, introducing himself, holding out a hand.

Drew accepted the firm handshake.

“It’s a pleasure” he said in return.

Unky Chai didn’t miss a beat at Drew’s hesitation to give his name, choosing instead to follow his eyeline out to the ocean and take in the beautiful night.

The two sat quietly. Drew breathed deep to let the instinctual tension at being in the presence of someone from his old life ease. Neither of them needed to broach the subject, they both knew. The art was old fashioned, they were both a type of man from a bygone age, both left marked from a life they no longer lived. Drew felt the mutual understanding flow between them and felt his old guard start to ebb away.

“You look like you’re doing an awful lotta thinking. You waiting for someone? Got someone at home to go back to?” The man spoke up.

“No, just me, I’m afraid.” Drew replied.

Even through the glasses Drew could feel the man’s eyes light up, picking up an intent and energy in his tone and movements.

“Well now we can’t be having that now, can we?” Unky Chai exclaimed, pulling a long red cord from his pocket.

“Who are ya searching for, Girlfriend? Boyfriend? Fella as striking as you would have his pick from a whole host of Gyrate’s most eligible.”

Drew looked over at the man in surprise at the sudden interest in his love life. Unky Chai was thinking hard behind his glasses, playing a rapid game of solo Cat’s Cradle with a red cord stretched between his fingers.

“Don’t you worry, the beast man thing is a bonus, you’ve got a whole host of folks who are really into that. I heard of one tall fella who is way into exactly your type, but the whole situation is a little complicated. Hmmm. Nah, too much baggage. There’s another guy I know of who’s a real gem, real romantic type…”

Drew blinked, he was very unprepared for the turn this conversation had taken. He put his own thoughts to the side to catch up with the situation he found himself in.

“I appreciate the consideration, but I am not currently in need of such companionship.” He said, cutting off the stream of eligible bachelors Unky Chai was bombarding him with.

“Ahh…Figured as much, worth a shot.” Unky Chai conceded. “I’ve seen plenty of lonely guys, and you don’t hold yourself like a lonely guy.”

“And pray tell, how do I hold myself?”

Unky Chai placed his hands behind him and leant back. thoughtfully.

“Like a man with a lot on his shoulders.”

Drew couldn’t help but look over at the read.

“…Which is unfair, young fellas like you should be out frolicking and falling in love, not carrying a buncha weight on you. Leave the worrying to old men like me.”

“I’m hardly a young man anymore…”

Unky Chai gave a barking laugh.

“Then I must be a fossil. Wish someone had told me.”

Drew felt an embarrassed warmth come to his cheeks. He should have realised the potential for offense from that implication, he was fortunate that the man was taking it in good humour.

“Nah, you’re just getting started, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Unky Chai said, firmly.

Despite it all Drew couldn’t help but feel a small smile creep to the sides of his canine muzzle. They were simple affirmations, but no one had really thought to give them to him before. People rarely talked to him with such a tone, no one seemed to think he ever needed encouragement, or only affirmed his qualities as a leader and a superior. Receiving support from an elder figure was something he hadn’t experienced since the House fell.

“And sure, I know you’ve been through a lot, but there’s so much good stuff still ahead.” Unky Chai continued. "Take it from me, you’ve still got a whole ‘nother life to live before you even get close to catching up to me, and do I look like I’m done living yet?”

Drew looked over at the man, still in peak physical condition, despite his snow-white hair. His smile radiated into the night and his energy couldn’t help but pick away at the outer layers of Drew’s melancholy.

However, despite the affirmation an old instinct pulled at the back of Drew’s mind. Something in Unky Chai’s words that didn’t quite fit in with the story of finding a stranger on a moonlit night. Drew looked back out towards the water, trying to quiet his old mental guard but his old instincts had never failed him before.

“Tell me Master Chai…” Drew began, measuredly. “…At what point during this conversation did you realise who I was?”

The old man’s face didn’t show any surprise, still looking out over the water with the same contented smile that he had moments before.

“Since the first moment I saw those snakes, kid. Ain’t no one in our line of work from the old days who didn’t know about old man Ramses and his Reaper.”

Drew lowered his gaze from the horizon as his thoughts brought him inwards once more.

“And yet you came to speak to me anyway.” He said, quietly.

Unky Chai gently placed his bottle down between the two of them.

“Don’t know if you picked it up, but I’m not big on getting hung up on the past.”

Unky Chai picked himself up off the pier with a spryness completely ill befitting his age.

“…And if I found ya, it probably means I was meant to talk to ya. It’s best to trust these things.”

Unky Chai clapped Drew on the shoulder, and he was snapped back to the present. He let his gaze follow the man as he continued his jovial walk along the pier.

“And let me know if you change your mind about that fella. He likes walks on the beach. Real sweetheart.” Unky Chai called back over his shoulder.

Drew couldn’t help but chuckle. There was something comforting about the man’s candor and his whimsy. Drew looked back over the moonlit bay, and for the first time that evening he took in the smell of salt and the way the crisp white light was deformed by the gently rippling water.

He shifted himself to release some tension in his legs and accidentally nudged the glass bottle left behind by Unky Chai. He looked down at it to stabilise it and realised that it wasn’t a discarded bottle at all, but instead still sealed and completely untouched with red string tied around its neck in a masterful bow.

Drew picked it up and looked at the spirit. It was his favourite brand.

He flicked his head up to catch sight of the old man but found himself completely alone with the night.

#dislyte #dislyte fanfic #fanfic #dislyte drew #dislyte Unky Chai #Drew #Unky Chai

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hauntedpearl · 3 years

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fic that never got written has a scene where dean crawls up to cas after lucifer stabs him in all along the watchtower and he pulls him onto his lap and just holds him. he's not crying because he's in shock and his mind is just static and his ears are ringing and mary is here (because she didn't really need to get pulled into apocalypse world like that that was stupid) and she's just staring at her son and she always knew cas and dean were more than just friends but she gets it now so she sinks into the ground next to him and puts a hand on his elbow, but he doesn't move and he doesn't really acknowledge anything.

he's just staring up at the stars and back at cas' body with one hand pressed to his bloody wound on his chest and the other carefully cradling his head somehow hoping that this isn't real and it isn't happening. but it is. and there's nothing to do.

#like he would think the world is ending for a moment. he would think it's a bad dream or maybe if he waited for long enough cas would wake #because cas always wakes up!!! even as Emmanuel he walked out of that lake! in Dean's mind he probably walked away from that lake too soon.#so this time he's just glassy eyed and empty and staring and waiting and waiting and waiting until the chill sets in and when his mother #tries to get him to move he shrugs her off and carries cas into the house himself. as has been said. a cruel parody of the bridal carry etc #anyway i think dean's grief can be so powerful and not to sound sadistic but beautiful to write. because even there he is....So Much.#his feelings are so heavy and real and all encompassing and to be able to think about it them and secondhandedly experience them is just.#it's something. that's kind of why i love the widower arc so much. somehow his real emotions come through because he's too exhausted to hid #also. what is grief if not love persevering etc. which means grief is just love. and writing about love and watching it bloom in someone ca #be. so. intense and crazy. i do like that too.#as usual i am sorry for the mad tags #doe is talking again #fanfic #headcanon #dean #spn #widower arc #all along the watchtower #destiel

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memryse · 3 years

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The magic of 3rd Life, or why such a simple hardcore miniseries works as well as it does

For a series which only lasted for eight sessions, 3rd Life has had a profound impact on the MCYT fandom. While it did go comparatively unnoticed on Twitter (as is consistent with YouTube-based Minecraft content as a whole, admittedly), Tumblr and other platforms have fallen in love with this series, and it’s become a vector for many fans to familiarise themselves with Hermitcraft and Empires SMP as well. But at its core, 3rd Life is a simple vanilla survival series with a gimmick. What about it resonates so much with so many people?

I would argue that its simplicity, its small cast, its vanilla gameplay “with a twist” is certainly part of it. It’s an easy series to consume, with many POVs totalling four hours or less, and it doesn’t require any prior knowledge of any of the members. Its mechanics are easy to understand. As a standalone, it functions perfectly – it’s immersive and can be followed easily by anyone, regardless of any prior knowledge they may or may not have. However, these factors alone don’t quite encompass what makes 3rd Life so special. Its true charm point lies in the format of the series, and how well it utilises improv.

[more below the cut; this is a fairly long post about 3rd/Last Life meta and my love of its improv. I'm mostly talking about 3rd Life here as it's a completed series, but this most definitely does apply to Last Life as well]

3rd Life is an entirely improv-based series. Whilst members may have a brief concept of the direction they’d like to take their series in – how heavily they want to roleplay, for example – the actual content of each session is fully improvised. Each episode is recorded in one three-hour block, and members are not allowed to play on the server outside of the allotted time other than specifically to finish builds. This time constraint prevents any planning from going into each episode, and interactions between players are completely spontaneous. Players simply run around the map looking for others to interact with (which is significantly easier with the limited world border) and chat about various events on the server, form alliances or deals, etc.

By definition, this almost completely negates the possibility of bad writing. Each player’s reaction to any server event is spontaneous, a legitimate reaction; they aren’t trying to play any specific roles or shoehorn in any specific events (with the exception of the Red King/Hand of the King roles, who were still completely improvising). Even the finale – a distinctly heart-wrenching and tragic scene – was improvised without Grian or Scar attempting to tell any specific story. According to Martyn, they weren’t roleplaying, they didn’t have any aims with that scene. It just happened to turn out in the way that it did, and they were legitimately sorry to one another. The server progressed in this natural way, and every person’s perspective tells a completely different story. It’s hard to identify any specific heroes or villains – fans of the Dream SMP can surely relate to this feeling, but I would argue that 3rd Life takes this one step further. 3rd Life is a tragedy from all perspectives, a tragedy which tells one cohesive story in its entirety before stopping as abruptly as it began.

3rd Life hinges entirely on its interactions between its members. Whilst solo content does exist – base building, for example – the majority of each session is spent interacting with others. 3rd Life is carried by its dialogue; nothing else drives the story, and yet many episodes are between 30 minutes and an hour long. It’s that dialogue-heavy. Members of the server have expressed trouble with even editing their videos because there is so much key dialogue that they don’t want to cut. People don’t watch 3rd Life for the actual gameplay, at all – there’s so little of it! They watch it for how each member interacts with the people around them. This is something not found in any other SMP I’ve encountered. SMPs livestreamed on Twitch have plenty of downtime, and people will happily watch streams on that SMP no matter what’s occurring on the server; people often watch them for their interest in specific members. Other currently popular YouTube SMPs, namely Hermitcraft and Empires, are well-balanced between solo content and interactions, and all server content hinges on the members’ various skills like building and redstone. 3rd Life is, to my knowledge, the only SMP which does not rely on building or redstone skills (what’s the point, when they’ll be dead the next week?), it doesn’t rely on the creator doing solo work talking to their chat, it doesn’t rely on planned roleplay. People legitimately just want to hear various members talking to each other. It’s a fascinatingly unique series in this regard. This dialogue-heavy aspect of 3rd Life ties back to my earlier point about 3rd Life feeling like a completely different series from all perspectives; with all of this dialogue being conveyed through proximity chat, so many events are entirely left out of other POVs, or presented in very different lights.

The pure improv format also helps significantly with worldbuilding, whilst also leaving plenty to the imagination. MCYT fandoms always require a significant amount of imagination to become invested in them, let alone make fan content of them, and 3rd Life is no exception to this. As discussed in this post, which was incidentally the inspiration for me to write this one, 3rdLife is full of lines which flesh out the series, which illustrate what happened better than can be shown in Minecraft. These lines are improvised on the spot, and are often complete throwaway lines in the creators’ eyes. In the fans’ eyes, they make 3rd Life feel alive, they provide plenty of material on which to base headcanons. Again, this isn’t necessarily unique to 3rd Life, it’s a common aspect of all Minecraft series, but I think this is where the rather angsty nature of 3rd Life comes into play. A dramatic survival game, entirely unscripted, with all events hinging entirely on your interpretation of them? It’s not hard to see why 3rd Life fans are so creative with character designs and fanfiction – hell, a lot of 3rd Life fics simply narrate canon in their own more dramatic light. Canon-compliant fics are significantly more common for 3rd Life than other fandoms I've encountered, because people hear these simple lines and want to dramatise them, put their own spins on them. I don't feel that this would be possible with any other series, not to the extent that 3rd Life fans do it. Other series' canon is either already dramatic, and so rehashing it can feel repetitive, or so lighthearted that people write AUs/new storylines. 3rd Life strikes a brand-new balance.

The development of its characters is also bolstered by improv. As no events on the server are pre-planned, members have to react completely spontaneously to anything that occurs. They don’t get time to think – only to react as though they genuinely were in that situation. As I said at the start, 3rd Life inherently lacks bad writing, because it’s not written. Ren, for instance, began 3rd Life as a kind and harmless person, with others often walking right over him. His reaction to his death by Grian and Scar’s trap spurs him to become the Red King; he raises an army and goes to war, and ends the series having taken countless lives, becoming hardened by war. He begins Last Life by isolating himself from others, seeming jaded and unwilling to form alliances, ready for another war to break out. Being improvised, it’s impossible to say how much of this was deliberate, or if Ren just started building his base without thinking about continuity from the previous season. This improv is what makes it feel so natural. It isn’t planned beforehand. This is Ren’s natural reaction to starting Last Life. It makes his character feel so much more real than it would if this was all scripted beforehand.

3rd Life is, overall, a testament to the power of improv. It manages to be compelling and dramatic without any acting feeling forced or wooden. Its characters’ arcs feel natural, because they are natural. Placing such a heavy emphasis on dialogue, with the gimmick of the server being a vehicle for interactions to happen rather than the sole appeal of the series, makes it truly feel as though we’re getting a glimpse into the characters’ lives, rather than watching a story which has been written beforehand. We get to watch everything unfold in real time. 3rd Life has a magic to it that, to my knowledge, no other SMP has been able to recreate.

#3rd life smp #last life smp #trafficblr #mae analyses #THIS IS REALLY META BUT I JUST <3 I HAVE SO MUCH LOVE FOR HOW WELL 3RD LIFE DOES WHAT IT DOES #THERE'S A *REASON* IT'S SO COMPELLING #it has this different feel to it #one that i've never encountered before because there is NOTHING like 3rd life out there #ohh i love 3rd life a normal and reasonable amount

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looooooooomis · 2 years

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One More Time

a stu macher x fem!reader one shot

pairing: Stu Macher x fem!reader word count: 3.5k warnings: s m u t (18+!!!!!!!!) angst, longing, fleeting moments

masterlist here

a/n: I'm sorry I'm in the feels with this one. hope you like it x

He’d been preparing for today for three and a half months. That was roughly one hundred and six days, give or take a couple hours, that he had to digest the fact that you were leaving. In theory, it should have been more than enough time to prepare for it, but now that it was here, now that he was watching you pack up the last of your bags, it was as though he couldn’t breathe.

There was a weight on his chest, so heavy and all-encompassing that Stu Macher was sure he’d never be able to breathe right ever again. It hurt too fucking much, cut way too fucking deep, that just looking at you packing the last of your things into that goddamn suitcase was enough to kill him.

You’d been a constant in Woodsboro, a constant fixture by his side for years and years and now what? He was just supposed to wake up tomorrow knowing you were on the other side of the country? What the fuck was he supposed to do then? You’d become a part of his daily routine that the idea of not picking you up tomorrow morning felt asinine.

It didn’t feel real. None of it did.

But that fucking suitcase was real - too real - and it meant that you were really leaving.

Leaving him.

He couldn’t stomach the thought.

He was uncharacteristically quiet as he watched you through sad and tired eyes. He didn’t have it in him to laugh or poke fun at the fact that you still couldn’t pack a bag to save your life, all he could do was watch in stunned silence as you drew closer and closer to leaving him and every last person in Woodsboro behind.

A part of him knew this was a good thing. It was nearing the night of the party, the night that everything was meant to go down and the less likely you’d be there to witness everything, the better. But that didn’t make that pill any easier to swallow.

“You going to just sit there and act like you’ll never see me again?” You quipped with your back turned to him. All it took was a brief glance over your shoulder to make his heart feel like it was leaping out of his throat. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me those stupid sad eyes. You knew this day would come.”

“Yeah,” he grumbled, picking at the small lint rolls that had accumulated over your worn linens. “But I was hoping I’d have convinced you not to leave before it got to this point.”

You hummed but said nothing as you fixed your attention back on the pile of clothes you still needed to pack. A thick silence fell over the two of you as Stu continued to watch you, mesmerized. He was painting a picture of this in his head, of you, standing there in the room he knew better than his own at this point in your relationship.

By this time next week, a stranger would live here. A stranger would be in your house, in your bedroom. Some random fucking person would just be here, where you were standing right now. They’d have their furniture set up differently, different posters on the wall, different…everything.

Everything would be so fucking different come tomorrow afternoon and Stu hated it.

The first time the two of you kissed was in this room. The first time he’d touched you – truly touched you – was right here on this bed. He’d tasted you, kissed you, fucked you on every available surface your little bedroom had to offer and those memories, every last one of them, would be as good as gone come the morning.

Something that felt an awful lot like anger began to flood his chest but the betrayal of sorrow won over. He wanted nothing more than to cross the threshold of your room, hold you tight against his chest and hold you there for good.

But you wouldn’t let him, and he knew that much.

If you were anything, you were independent to a fault and when you’d told him three months back about the opportunity in New York City, he knew before you’d even got the words out of your mouth that he’d lost you.

In a single breath, New York City had stolen the only girl he’d ever really loved away from him. And for as much as he wanted to stop you, wanted to keep you right there in that room, in that house, with him and him alone, he knew he couldn’t.

Not when it came to you.

Girls like you weren’t made to stay in Woodsboro. You were this special thing, this butterfly in a town full of ants. You were made to fly. That was half of the reason he’d fallen in love with you all those years ago. You were that wisp of sunshine during a storm, the fleeting warmth after snow. You burned so fucking bright, but you blazed so fast.

Too fast.

He’d always known your relationship would be temporary. He’d known it from that first day all those years back, but that didn’t mean he was prepared for it now that it was here.

His blue eyes floated along every inch of your bedroom as the silence spawned. Everywhere he looked, he stole a memory with every glance. He needed to stow as many as he could away before you left him.

The shake of your bed sliced into his reverie, snapping him back to reality faster than he would have liked. But when it was your smiling face he saw staring back at him, bright as the sun itself, it was all he could do to wrap his arms around you and tug you against him.

“God, you’re so fucking depressing,” you laughed, pushing him down on your bed so that you were hovering above him. You kissed the tip of his nose and that gorgeous smile of yours never wavered for even a second. “Come on, Stewey Boy, don’t get all sad on me. We’ll see each other again.”

It was a hollow promise, he knew all too well that it was. The second you got a taste of life outside of Woodsboro, outside of the life you’d always known, you were as good as gone. Maybe you’d call him for the first few weeks, maybe you’d write, maybe the two of you could visit each other one day, but probably not.

Tonight was his last night with you. He’d resigned himself to that sad and depressing fact.

“Who’s depressed?” He asked, splaying his fingers along your back as he held you there. “You think I’mdepressed? Nah.”

You chuckled. “No? Not even a little bit?”

He pretended to think about it before shaking his head. “Nah,” he pushed out a muddled smile. “I just feel bad for you.”

“Oh, for me?” You folded your hands under your chin as you bat your eyelashes up at him from the comfort of his chest. “Pray tell.”

He sighed, long and heavy. “It has to suck leaving your boyfriend behind. Especially when he’s charming and hot and—”

“Modest,” you grinned. “Don’t forget modest.”

“Modest, right,” he mused quietly, playing with the ends of your hair. That pain gripped his chest again and strangled him from all angles. Every breath hurt as he scraped his eyes along your face. Memorizing your eyes; the shape of them, the colour, the curve of your lips, the feeling of your hair and your skin beneath his fingertips.

He wished like hell he’d thought of bringing his camera, but even that wouldn’t do you justice. Just how fucking pretty you managed to look at times, how gobsmacking you were as a whole, stunned him. How he’d gotten so lucky to even have this much of you, this fleeting version of you, was beyond him.

“You want to do something tonight?” You whispered, sensing the shift in the air. You’d been doing your best to keep him present, to keep him here, but you were failing miserably at it. Your bedroom was too familiar, this whole fucking town was too familiar to the both of you, every corner had a memory. “For old time’s sake?”

Stu’s hazy eyes came into focus again as his thumbnail traced your bottom lip. “What were you thinking?”

“Hmmm,” you tapped your fingers along his chest in thought. “We could go for a drive.”

Stu cracked a small grin. “Where to?”

“Who cares?” You simply said, slinking off of his chest to stand on your own two feet. When he remained still, shifting his focus from your hand down to your outstretched palm, you rolled your eyes and wriggled your fingers. “What do you say, lover boy? One last night of crazy for old time’s sake?”

His stomach might have fallen to the floor at your words, but that didn’t stop him from grabbing your hand. And as you lead him down the familiar hallway of your house and out the door and into your car, he tried like hell to savour just how perfectly your hand managed to fit into his own as he ghosted his lips across your knuckles.

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

The night continued on despite the pain in his chest and no matter how hard he tried to focus on the feeling of you here and now, that niggling feeling in the pit of his stomach was abrasive. Consuming.

But he was trying, god, was he trying to focus on you. Not on the somber reminder of tomorrow, not on your flight or on any other depressing factor that came come sun-up. Just on you. On the way your laugh seemed to fill the empty conclave of his chest, on the way your eyes lit up under the light of the moon in that random field you’d driven into. On the way those eyes seemed to flesh out every emotion that he was so desperate to bury as the two of you climbed to the top of that water tower.

You were perfect. He’d been convinced of that long ago, but sitting there with the hazy glow of distant city lights lighting up your every feature, Stu was floored. Suddenly every lame fucking poem he’d ever been forced to read made sense. You might have only been a temporary high for Stu Macher – granted, one of the best highs of his life, but even though you’d always been fleeting, the feeling of tonight, the feeling of you looking every bit as perfect as you did atop the water tower was perpetual.

Ten years from now, when you were both strangers to each other, simply two ships that passed in the night, he’d remember this feeling. This warmth that only you could provide him with.

“You keep looking at me like I’m going to disappear.” You mused with a tender smile on your lips.

“You are,” he breathed out a sad laugh. “Aren’t you?”

“Not tonight,” your eyes remained on the cityscape ahead. “I’m right here with you, Stu.”

Stu swallowed. “But tomorrow—”

“Yeah, well, tomorrow isn’t here yet.” You lulled your head to the side to face him and the sheen of tears that pooled in that gaze of yours was enough to kill him. “Focus on me, on tonight, okay?” Your voice trembled as you reached across the small divide to grab his hand. “Please?”

Thunder pounded inside of his chest as Stu pulled you close, kissing you with everything he had left. The neediness of his trembling hands, the way his lips burned as they moulded so perfectly against yours. It was as though his body had finally accepted the promise of your loss tonight because he needed you, in every way, in that moment.

In a scramble of limbs, the two of you carefully plodded down on the cold steel of the water tower and stripped down to nothing. A stitch of clothing between you was too much but even skin-on-skin wasn’t enough. He needed to taste you, to greedily breathe you in until he had this memory of you stashed away just like the others.

“Stu, baby,” you whispered into the night. “I need to feel you.”

It was as though you sensed his mind wandering again. Of course, you did. But, ever the grounding force, the lighthouse in the storm, you brought him back home with ease.

His hands squeezed your hips as he kissed his way down your body. He nipped at your neck, sucked and scraped his teeth along your nipples, swirled his tongue down the expanse of your stomach. No inch of you would go untouched tonight. It couldn’t. He’d never forgive himself if you left without knowing just how innately he needed you to stay.

Even when he knew you wouldn’t, he needed you to know that there was nothing in this life he wanted more than for you to stay with him. Even if he couldn’t say as much, he needed you to feel it.

His broad shoulders pushed your thighs further apart as he positioned himself between your legs. The tip of his nose pressed against your clit as he slowly ran his tongue from the base of your pussy all the way up to your mound where he placed a sloppy kiss. Your slick coated his chin and lips and he savoured the familiar feeling of you on his tongue.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered, lapping you up. “All for me.”

You leaned forward on your elbows as you watched him eat you out. His eyes, those penetrating blue eyes, were solely on your face. His mouth may have been filthy but those fucking eyes were clear, candid.

Reaching down, you smoothed his hair down and moaned as he swirled his tongue around your clit before giving it a long, slow suck. “Fuck,” you strained to keep your eyes open from the pleasure of his tongue. “You’re my favourite person,” you breathed out quietly.

He hummed against your clit, but said nothing. He couldn’t. Not yet. So, he buried his nose further into your cunt as he devoured you. As he drowned himself inside of you. Anything to keep you here with him for even a second longer.

“I love you a lot,” you said again, this time the emotion in your voice made him falter. “You know that, right?”

He released your clit with a sloppy sounding pop and looked up at you. The sheen of your slick was all over his nose, his mouth, his chin and your nipples hardened as he reached up to cup your breast in his capable hand. “I know.” But it’s not enough to make you stay.

He buried those unspoken words into your pussy, desperate to feel your body tremble rather than feel himself break down.

Your breathing was hard, your chest heaving, but you held his stare. His attack on your clit was slow and deliberate, but the fingers he’d now slipped inside of your aching cunt were anything but. Your entire body was on fire and he knew it.

“Stu,” you whined, pawing at his hair.

Stu’s cock ached as it strained against his pants the longer he ate you out. You were writhing there, naked and beautiful under the moonlight, beneath his tongue and he’d never seen anything more gorgeous in his life. You were coming undone before his very eyes on account of his ravening tongue and when he felt those perfect legs of yours begin to shake, rocking your entire body as an orgasm ripped through you, Stu held you there as he continued to consume you.

You were whining and crying out for him. Every inch of your body was shaking for him.

With your body not being able to take much more, it took all of you to grip his hair with enough strength to tear his mouth away from you. Anything to break the contact of his mouth on your pussy, to break the contact of his fingers still rubbing your throbbing clit.

“If your plan is to render me dead before my flight tomorrow, it’s working.” You griped playfully. “Fuck.”

Thankfully, sensing you were as limp as a noodle after that orgasm, Stu helped you to your feet as he licked your slick off of his lips. “I just wanted you to remember this tongue,” he teased hollowly. “And the promise of its pleasure you’re leaving behind.”

You grinned and slid your fingers down his face and neck before curling your fingernails into his broad shoulders. “Like I could forget,” you simply said, pushing him against the wall of the water tower. His back hit the wall with a thud, inciting a small dopey grin to envelope his features. “My turn, now.”

He raised a single eyebrow, but didn’t question it.

Reaching down for his hand, you raised one to gently skim over your bare tits as you began to slowly pump him, watching his every move with a small, lethal smirk on your face. He rolled the hardened bud between his fingers only briefly as you began to kiss your way down his jaw to his neck. You swirled your tongue along his collarbone and down his chest and stomach before following the trail of hair that led to that deliciously thick cock of his.

He was rock hard.

The veins in his length swelled to life in anticipation the closer your mouth and as you ran your tongue up the underside of that perfect dick, you locked eyes. He swallowed as your tongue slowly slithered up from the shaft of his cock to the head, swallowing back his precum with a gorgeous moan as cradled and massaged his balls.

“You taste so good, baby.”

Taking the head of his cock in your mouth, you abandoned his balls and dug your fingernails into the back of his naked thighs. Taking the length of him in your mouth, you felt his fingers tangle through your hair as he guided you further and further down his length. His cock hit the back of your throat and you heard him release a few breathy moans as you pulled back to continue face fucking him.

Stu’s head hit the wall behind him as he watched you choke and squirm on his cock. Fuck, he’d miss that mouth of yours especially.

Scraping your fingers from his thigh back to his balls, you began to massage them again, inciting a breathy moan from Stu as he began to push your head further down his cock. For only a moment, you allowed him to thread his fingers through your hair and pump into your mouth with abandon before those nails were back in full force in his thigh.

“I don’t want to come yet,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “Not until I’m buried inside of that sweet cunt.”

Beads of saliva and precum glistened as you pulled back from his cock. Through your lashes, you eyed Stu and cocked your head to the side as that pretty smile of yours pulled at your lips. “We have all night,” you reminded him.

“I know,” he simply said. Dropping to his knees in front of you, the two of you were nose to nose as he fell back on his bare ass only to greedily pull you onto his lap. “But I need this. I need to…feel you, too.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Please?”

You nodded slowly and kissed him again as you straddled his lap. He searched your eyes, desperate to tell you just how much he needed you to stay with him – because god, he needed you to stay. He didn’t want to think about tomorrow, about your empty house or the strangers living in it. All this time with you wasn’t long enough. It would never be long enough.

“Y/N,” he began, “I—”

You placed your finger on his mouth and gave him a small, sad smile. “Not now,” you whispered. Your voice cracked with emotion as your watery smile waivered. “We’ve still got time to steal, okay?” Reaching down, you guided the length of him inside of your wet folds and slithered it along your clit before lowering yourself onto him.

He hissed at the sensation of feeling you all around him. Your breasts heaved and bounced with every fluid bound, momentarily silencing him as he leaned forward and caught one of your nipples with his teeth.

His hands held your hips as you swiveled and bounced on top of him. He was going to come soon, he knew he was, but when he watched you reach down and begin to stroke your clit as he was buried inside of you, that was it for him.

A low moan tore out of his lips as he leaned forward to capture your mouth again, coming undone inside of you. Tears blurred behind his eyes, but he blinked them back before you could see them. He tasted yours, though. Tasted the saltiness of them on his lips as he desperately held you in place.

Tomorrow would come much too soon, he knew it would.

And it would take with it the only girl he’d ever really fully loved.

#stu scream #Stu Macher #stu macher x you #stu macher x reader #stu macher x fem!reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #Scream 1996 #scream x reader #billy loomis

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from-a-reckless-writer · 3 years

Text

Lena has two fingers pinching the bridge of her nose, eyes closed and hunched over an olden paper brick.

Her eyes were burning, and there’s a deep exhaustion settling in her bones and pushing down on her chest.

She inhales in deep through her nose, her mouth parting slightly to slowly let the air out.

She’s mid-exhale when—

CRACK!

Her head whips around quick to find the source of the noise. Her eyes land on Brainy.

Brainy has his fists clenched at his side, shoulders tense, chest heaving. Lena traces the shining bits and pieces on the ground. Fragments of his fifth-dimensional reading tablet crunching under his boot. A few feet away, what’s left of the gadget sits pathetically blinking on the ground.

Brainy meets her eyes for one second, before turning around again and kicking at the closest piece of broken glass. Cursing loudly, he begins to pace, muttering still under his breath.

Lena sits dumbstruck for a moment. The shock of the sound still ringing in her ears. Her brain trying to catch up with the rapid beats of her heart.

She tries to turn back to the table, attempting to leaf through the yellow pages of the book, when the distinct sound of a heavy fist hitting a table snaps her out of it.

Any other time she would have stood up, pat Brainy on the back, reached for his hand and made him do breathing exercises.

But there are tears forming in the corner of her eyes, and she bets if she tries to console Brainy she’d just hear things she’d rather not hear.

She needs to leave.

She needs to leave, now.

Without sparing Brainy a glance, she stands up and heads to the lift.

****

The doors open, and for a moment Lena wonders if she should’ve just stayed with an angry Brainy.

Alex Danvers is shouting, red-faced and feral. Supergirl is bracing her sister in an attempt to pacify her. J’onn seems to be taking the whole attack fairly well. He stands there with a stoic face and a calm voice.

It takes a minute before anybody notices Lena standing awkwardly by the door.

“Lena?” J’onn says, his voice prompting Alex to stop in her tirade. Both sisters turn in her direction.

The entire scene pauses, the air still, waiting for Lena to respond.

“Can I-” she clears her throat, “Can I borrow Superg- Kara, can I borrow Kara for a moment? There’s an update we need to discuss.”

Kara turns to look at J’onn behind her, he nods stiffly. Alex huffs out a frustrated breath, Kara lets go of her for a moment, the redhead quickly wrenches out of her grasp and stomps her way to the training room.

A feral scream echoes not three seconds later along with the sound of a heavy object clattering to the ground. She watches Kara sigh deeply and look up to the ceiling, closing her eyes briefly. Her and J’onn exchange a resigned look, before Kara’s eyes flash towards her.

The blonde tries to give her a small smile, albeit a bit tired, still a smile nonetheless. A tiny bit of sunshine seeping into Lena’s exhausted soul.

Lena turns towards the elevator again and she hears heavy boots follow her.

They ride, standing shoulder to shoulder. Once the doors close, and hides them from the rest of the world, Lena hits the stop button. The car thunks, stops to a sudden halt.

“Lena, what—” Kara tries to ask, but is immediately cut off.

Lena suddenly turns to Kara, wraps two arms tightly around her quickly, buries her face into Kara’s neck and finally, finally allows herself to cry.

Kara embraces her automatically, Lena’s tears hitting her skin seems to force her into a shock. Pressed close like this, she can feel Kara’s throat bob but no sound comes out.

“Please,” Lena whispers, “don’t say anything. Just- I just need to feel you.”

“Okay,” is the strangled reply Lena gets.

Her sobs reverberate louder than they are in the closed space.

Kara pulls her in deeper, buries her nose in Lena’s hair. Hands rub at her arms, her back, before wrapping tightly around her waist again.

Everything comes crashing on her all at once, and she feels if Kara lets go she’ll be swept up by the sheer magnitude of it all, and she won’t be able to come back to herself.

And so, she sobs.

She sobs out Nia’s name and Kelly’s. She cries about Brainy, how she left him all alone in his anger. She cries about Alex, she cries about how utterly helpless she is—how utterly helpless they all are.

She cries about how fucking ironic it is that she has everything; intellect, money, power, hell she even has magic at her fingertips, yet there’s nothing she can do.

There’s nothing she can do to fix this, doesn’t even know the first step in even trying to untangle it all.

Kara squeezes her shoulders, and just like that Lena is brought back. She lets Kara’s warmth encompass her, ground her.

She tries to memorize her smell, identifies the hint of soot, the odor of burnt metal on Kara, tries to detect the floral scent of her shampoo despite it all.

She presses her lips to Kara’s throat and she hears a quiet gasp above her. The contact leaves her lips tingling just enough for her to sober up.

Her eyes remain closed though, and she feels Kara kiss her temple, trace her hairline with her lips, press kisses at the crown of her head. Anything of Lena’s she could reach, really.

She breathes in deep through her nose, mouth parting slightly to let the air out. She attempts to loosen her hold, tries to extricate herself, but Kara tightens around her.

“No,” Kara whispers, “not yet.”

Lena nods minutely, her tears soaking through the Supersuit.

She doesn’t know how long they stay there inside the elevator. It must have been more than hours already. Lena always feels like forever is real when Kara holds her like this.

At some point she manages to find her voice again.

“Thank you,” she croaks out, a broken sound in the silence of it all.

“Always, Lena, always.”

#i dont know what this is so dont ask #was in an angst mood i guess?#havent written angst in quite a while so #here u go i guess #the reckless writer writes #a supercorp ficlet of sorts #if u see a typo no u didn't #happy supercorp sunday

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haus-seeblick · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 2: No Vacancy

Title: Backroad Romance

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3,119

Tags: First Kiss, Dean Winchester and Castiel are Alone in the Dark, Mild Angst With a Happy Ending, Sam Ships It, Making out in the Impala

On AO3 Here

“You’re shittin’ me, Sammy.” Dean groans and smacks the steering wheel with his palm. “There’s no room in the whole place?”

Sam’s voice floats into the Impala, high and tinny over the burner phone’s speakers. “No vacancy, Dean, I’m sorry, I checked with them three times--”

“--Nah, nah, it’s cool, we believe you,” Dean interrupts, cradling the phone between shoulder and ear so he can rub his face while steering around a bend. Cas reaches over and deftly slips the phone away, fingers pinched like he’s removing a block from a Jenga tower.

“Did you and Eileen find accommodations?” Cas asks, holding the phone out in front of him so Dean can listen in.

There’s a short pause, then: “Yeah… yeah, we did, but guys, the room is really small, like, a closet, I swear, and there’s only one bed, and--”

This time it’s Cas who interrupts. “--and you wish to engage in private romantic activities. Dean and I completely understand.”

They’re on a straight stretch of highway, but Dean still manages to swerve clumsily into the shoulder. He hastily course-corrects and bites down the urge to snap at Cas for-- for what? For talking like that? For using his deep, rough voice to say any words even vaguely related to--

No. It’s not Cas’ fault that everything he does steadily turns Dean into more and more of a creep. Dean shakes his head firmly and tunes back in to the conversation just in time to catch Sam awkwardly stumbling over his reply. Dean leans over, cutting him off with a whistle into the phone.

“We’ll be fine, little brother. Be a gentleman. Don’t hog the sheets. Girl like Eileen doesn’t come around every day.”

He can feel the bitchface radiating through the speaker and motions at Cas to hang up. Cas frowns and gravely says “Dean would like to end the conversation. Goodbye, Sam,” before flipping the phone shut. He drops it into the cupholder.

Dean makes a show of focusing on the road to avoid looking at Cas. He knows Cas is staring at him; it’s just something the guy does, sitting in the passenger seat and gazing at Dean as if the whole world isn’t flashing by outside.

Dean’s long stopped commenting on it. Let the dude stare.

He clears his throat. “We’ll probably have to find a logging road or something. Pull in and hole up for the night.”

“All right,” Cas replies. He opens the glovebox and pulls out the local map they picked up this afternoon when they rolled into Matlock, Washington, to investigate a haunted post office. It was a gray, dinky, bleak town and the poor ghost lurking around the mailroom seemed more melancholy than anything. She allowed them to dispatch her into the afterlife with very little struggle; that is, after some creative sweet-talking by Sam.

Eileen had teased Sam mercilessly about it before Dean had even gotten a chance. That’s how Dean knows she’s The One.

There was, of course, no motel in town. Sam and Eileen hit the road before Dean and Cas, because Dean insisted on getting a burger for dinner at the tiny diner on Main Street (a mistake). Now he’s staring down the barrel of a night alone with Cas, in cramped quarters, on a dark backroad. If they hadn’t already driven all day to get to Matlock, Dean would push on until they found a motel with vacancies, but he’s exhausted and Cas is just human enough these days to actually be tired too.

“There’s an access road nearby,” Cas says, tracing the map with his index finger. “In a quarter mile. Left.”

Dean follows his directions and sure enough, there’s a bumpy logging road branching off from the highway, stretching deep into the pitch-black trees. Dean pulls in about five hundred feet before turning off the lights and the ignition.

It’s silent. The darkness is all-encompassing, pressing in on Dean, so heavy it’s like he can feel it on his eyelids when he blinks. He takes a slightly shaky breath. Cas is utterly still, as usual, not a single rustle or exhale indicating his presence in the gloom, but Dean feels him there as intensely as he’d feel a roaring bonfire. His heart thuds in his ears.

Why is he freaking out? He’s slept in the car with Sam a million times. But even as he thinks that, he knows, he knows, that this is different. His brain starts whirling through logistics -- who’s gonna take the back seat? Is Cas even gonna sleep the whole night? Or will he wake up and just sit there, staring at Dean for hours, inches away?

Dean needs to shut off his brain. He taps the seat and says “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” comes the immediate response, measured and reassuring. “Would you like to talk?”

Relaxing against the seat and slinging an arm over the backrest, Dean peers over to the passenger side. “Sure.”

The moon’s out tonight, far above the trees, and the grayscale of nighttime slowly bleeds into view as Dean’s eyes adjust. He can just make out the sharp angle of Cas’ nose, the slope of his chest and the outline of his hands folded in his lap. He’s always so upright, so proper. Dean wonders what it would feel like to undo him.

“Are Sam and Eileen having sex?”

Dean chokes on air. Sputtering, he braces himself on the seat and coughs until his eyes stop watering. “What?” he wheezes. “Why-- Dude, why would you ask that?”

He sees Cas turn his head to regard him. Even in the dark, Dean can imagine the piercing gaze.

“It was unclear to me what you meant by ‘be a gentleman.’” Cas lifts his hands to shape the finger quotes. “I assumed the two of them would take advantage of their privacy to engage in physical intimacy. Was your comment meant to discourage Sam from having sex?”

Dean throws up his hands desperately. “Okay-- okay, first of all, quit talking about my brother doing it. And second, no, I wasn’t ‘discouraging’ him, just reminding him to treat Eileen like a lady. You know, romance her a little.”

The darkness is a godsend as Dean’s cheeks flush hotter with every word. He’s surprised they’re not glowing. He taps the seat in a random pattern as Cas sits quietly, seemingly digesting the information.

When he responds, it’s slow and thoughtful. “In the pornography I’ve watched, the participants always begin undressing one another rather quickly. And in my own experiences, there has been very little that I would label ‘romantic.’ What is classified as ‘romance,’ Dean?”

Well, shit. The last of Dean’s composure evaporates, sizzles away like a drop of water meeting his burning face. He drops his head into his hands and groans.

Cas leans forward, his knee brushing Dean’s. “Have I made you uncomfortable?” he asks, voice laden with concern.

Dean’s throat is tight, his fingers sweaty against his forehead. He forces himself to take a deep breath and to at least open his eyes against the shadow of his palms. “Uh-- no. No, Cas. You, uh-- you should be able to ask that kinda stuff. Human stuff. I get that it’s, uh-- it’s important to know. For, y’know. So you can--”

There’s a hand on his knee. A warm, strong hand. Long fingers. Weighty. Dean’s heart kicks into overdrive. He slowly, very slowly, lowers his hands to peek at Cas.

“How do you like to be romanced, Dean?”

There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing in Dean’s brain. It’s a chamber of silence. A void. He stares at the outline of Cas’ wild hair, mouth slightly open.

“...Dean?” The hand on his knee shifts slightly and Dean’s blank brain runs zero interference as his own hand darts out and stills the one threatening to leave his leg. As soon as his skin makes contact with Cas’, though, everything zings back online in a rushing roar.

Play it off, Winchester. Crack a joke. C’mon. “Hah, funny, buddy, you really got me there--”

“--Kissing’s nice.”

He snaps his mouth shut too late. The words float away, unrecoverable.

Cas tilts his head. Then, slowly, very slowly, as if he’s afraid of spooking Dean, he turns his hand around under Dean’s so that they’re palm to palm. An invitation.

With a pounding heart, Dean accepts it. He laces their fingers together. His palm feels even sweatier when it’s rubbing up against Cas’ dry, smooth skin.

Sexy, Dean. Way to go.

Somehow, even though it was Cas asking the questions, he’s the one leading now, shifting closer, laying his left arm along the backrest behind Dean’s shoulders. Their faces are so close that they’re sharing air, just two shadows suspended in a frozen moment.

“May I kiss you?” Cas murmurs gently, his breath washing over Dean’s lips. It smells like rain-refreshed air, like a promise of sunshine, alleviating the weight of the darkness. Dean tentatively chases it with his tongue, wetting his lips and leaving them parted.

“Yeah,” he whispers back. Because fuck, he wants this. He’s wanted this for so long.

And Cas wants it, too.

Dean always imagined that his first kiss with Cas would be an inferno, fireworks, showering sparks, all those cliches. That it would yank him from his body and send him floating through the ether.

It’s not like any of that. It’s better. It’s real.

Cas’ lips are just lips -- a little more chapped than Dean’s used to, perhaps, but they meet his in a familiar brush, followed by the typical tentative press, leading into a hesitant swipe of the tongue.

He’s kissing Cas. Cas, who he’s built up in his head for so long as this untouchable, impossible ideal, who stormed Hell to drag him out, who smote demons with his bare hands, who is so inconceivably old that Dean should be just a speck of sand under his eternal gaze.

Instead, that same Cas is busy dragging his fingers down the side of Dean’s neck. A crest of goosebumps follow, shivers trailing down Dean’s torso, and he gasps a quivery breath against Cas’ lips. He’s not used to being led. Normally he’s the one in charge, giving as good as he gets, focused on hitting the highlights, satisfying his partner. There’s a whole formula.

He’s never trembled like this before.

“Dean,” Cas whispers against his mouth, reverent, his voice somehow gravelly even as a breath. He suddenly pulls his hand free from Dean’s and grips his bicep, dropping his other arm from the backrest to wrap around Dean’s waist. Without preamble, he twists, tugging Dean across his lap. Dean yelps and hurriedly adjusts his legs, ending up with his knees on the seat, straddling Cas’ thighs. His fingers and toes are zinging in excitement.

Goddamn. Who knew being manhandled would do it for him?

The crown of his head presses against the roof of the car and he slouches forward until their foreheads are touching. He pushes his hands into Cas’ hair.

Cas surges forward again, nudging Dean’s head to the side and pressing his lips to Dean’s neck. Dean groans, low and shaky, as Cas parts his lips and sucks a trail up to Dean’s earlobe, his tongue soothing in the wake of his mouth, dragging over every mark that he coaxes to the surface. Dean knows his neck will be littered with bruises tomorrow, but he finds he can’t bring himself to care, not when Cas’ teeth are busy grazing the shell of his ear.

“Jeez, Cas,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to Cas’ shoulder. He's hard already, hips twitching a little, but he keeps his hands firmly in Cas’ hair, tugging the soft, thick strands, guiding Cas’ mouth back down to his neck. His pulse hammers under each press of chapped lips.

He pulls back and captures Cas’ mouth again, sliding his tongue into that wet heat. They trade open-mouthed kisses, a bit sloppy, while Cas’ hands glide up Dean’s back under his flannel. Dean’s absolutely flying, his pounding heart easily winning the battle against the tiny voice in his head dredging up reasons to stop, reasons to run.

He wants to stay .

Their kisses have escalated to a panting, frenzied give-and-take, and Dean’s tired of hunching over. He drops his hands onto Cas’ shoulders and starts leaning back over to the driver’s seat, trying to pull Cas on top of him. Cas whines when their lips separate, but he catches on quickly. A little too quickly. He grips Dean’s waist and shifts him along the bench seat with such force that Dean’s arm goes flying and his elbow smacks right into the middle of the steering wheel.

The horn blares, rending the night.

Both Dean and Cas jerk upright, instantly on high alert. Reality takes a moment to catch up with them.

Cas recovers first. “That startled me,” he says, voice wrecked.

Dean lets out a long breath. He’s still got one leg up on the seat, the other one cramped awkwardly next to the steering wheel. He drags a hand across his face and lets out a breathy laugh. The next thing he knows, he’s doubled over, laughing so hard his cheeks hurt and his eyes water.

He’s just so goddamn happy.

Cas watches him, head tilted in the shadows. Dean lets his laughter run its course, petering out with a sigh of mirth and hand slapped on Cas’ knee.

“What a night, huh?” he says.

Cas lifts a hand and strokes Dean’s cheek with his knuckles. Even after all that making out, this one gesture seems inordinately intimate. But Dean just smiles.

Cas swipes his thumb over Dean’s cheekbone one more time before slowly, almost reluctantly, letting his hand fall. “You need to sleep.”

Dean nods and glances into the backseat. “You do too, don’t you? At least a bit? Maybe we can both fit back there.”

They get out of the car -- the cool night air rushes into Dean’s lungs and fizzes through his chest, bringing the events of the past half hour into blood-rich focus in his brain. He steels himself for the freakout, for the doubt and the deflection, but it doesn’t come. He feels right.

They crawl into the backseat, awkwardly shuffling and shifting, ending up with Cas sitting mostly upright (insisting that he’s fine) and Dean laid out on the seat with his head in Cas’ lap.

He drops off to sleep faster than he has a long time, Cas’ long fingers carding through his hair.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s the light that wakes him, pale gray seeping under his lashes and rousing him from a blissfully dreamless sleep. He lifts his head and immediately winces -- his neck is stiff as a board and his back aches all the way down to his tailbone. He’s really getting too old to be sleeping in the car.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean twists around and peers blearily up at Cas, who’s gazing down at him with one of his rare enigmatic smiles. Dean yawns and stretches as best he can, his back popping. He pushes himself up until he’s sitting next to Cas.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

Cas leans over and, before Dean can react, presses a warm, dry kiss to Dean’s cheek.

Sore body or not, this is the best morning of Dean’s life.

They extract themselves from the backseat and stumble into the damp early-morning air. Dean pops the collar of his flannel after a single glance into the side mirror. He’s got a lot of hickies.

They take a second to stretch (Dean admires the way Cas’ pecs shift under his dress shirt as he reaches for the sky) before sliding into the front seat. Dean backs them out of the logging road, the verdant green pines on either side nearly overwhelming his night-accustomed eyes.

Cas calls Sam as they roar down the highway again. It’s only 5 a.m., but Dean handed Cas the phone and told him to give Sam a wakeup call. The kid deserves it after a good night’s sleep in a real bed.

They pull into the parking lot of the Cedar Crest Motel just past 5:30. Dean ends up having to park on the street, though, because the lot’s at capacity, not a single spot unoccupied. He pats Baby in apology as he leaves her, and he and Cas make their way to the room number that a very irritated, cranky Sam snapped at them over the phone.

They’ve almost reached it when Dean suddenly stops dead. He grabs Cas’ arm. Cas shoots him a questioning glance.

“Look." Dean points up at the motel sign. There, huge red letters, blinking through the pale morning light, spell out a clear VACANCY.

“It’s hardly been six hours," Dean says. "No one would’ve checked out in the middle of the night.”

Suspicion rising rapidly, he strides to Sam’s door and knocks as obnoxiously as he can. As soon as the door creaks open, he reaches through and grabs Sam’s shirt, yanking him outside. Sam protests and slaps at Dean with one hand, shoving his bird’s nest hair out of his face with the other.

“What the hell, Dean!”

Dean just throws one arm up at the sign, staring at Sam with raised eyebrows. As soon as Sam sees what he’s pointing at, he shrinks into what Dean immediately recognizes as guilty little brother posture. He’s not even trying to hide it.

Sam clears his throat awkwardly, eyes darting between Dean and Sam, before holding out a placating hand. “I just-- I just thought, maybe you could use some time alone,” he explains hastily, backing up a bit into the room. “If we all ended up here, Dean, you’d insist that we share, you know you would.”

Dean knows Sam’s right (he’s careful with their fake money, so sue him), but he keeps glaring regardless.

“I just wanted some time with Eileen,” Sam mumbles, deflating a bit. “And I thought, y’know, with how you and Cas have been acting lately, that you’d-- uh, that you’d want some time together, too.”

Dean sputters. “Acting? We-- what--”

“Thank you, Sam,” Cas says, deep voice cutting off Dean’s protests. “We had a very pleasant night.”

Sam’s eyes widen and he straightens up, a knowing grin stretching over his face. His eyes dart to Dean’s popped collar. “Oh yeah? Did you now?”

Dean shoves him into the room and slams the door shut. There. He turns to Cas, who looks amused.

“Give me at least a couple days before blabbing to my brother,” Dean says, but he finds himself smiling. Cas nods. He reaches out and takes Dean’s hand, just for a moment, squeezing before letting it fall again.

“Of course, Dean.”

#suptober21 #no vacancy #gotta love some cramped car kissing #scheming sam strikes again #destiel fanfic

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sapphixxx · 3 years

Text

Just finished Lain. Watched the last episode twice, which gently removed my heart from my chest and pulped it into a fine paste in a mortar and pestle. This hit much closer to home than I expected.

In my Lain epistemology post I somewhat flippantly made an aside that the series was only tangentially about Lain the actual character. By which I meant that my read on the series up until that point (around episode 8 or 9) was that each episode was teasing apart different aspects of the ambiguity of truth, knowledge, information, and communication, with the events of Lain's life being almost just a sort of example case study for how these concepts can impact someone on an individual level. Lain was framed in a kind of zoomed out way as an abstract avatar moving through these events without a whole lot of expression of her personal thoughts and feelings.

And then we get to the last three episodes.

It's in this space that Lain the 8th grade age girl with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs and fears comes into painfully sharp focus. The beginning of the final episode sums up and contextualizes what all of this has always been about.

Who am I? What is the real me? How can I tell what's real about me if everyone interprets it differently?

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

The flippant bravado that I expressed in that post is the same attitude that Lain has been applying to her own very sense of self throughout the series, as just another arbitrary and moldable piece of information subject to interpretation with no inherent truth.

She effectively commits suicide by removing herself from sight, mind, and memory, of everyone around her. After all, if they have no knowledge of her, then she no longer exists. But what is lurking in the subtext of this finale is that she fails to consider that everyone she is cutting off is equally subject to this process. She imagines that without her meddling they are able to be happy. But that's all it is, imagination.

She doesn't exist to them anymore because she erased their knowledge of her, but it goes both ways. In doing this, they cease to exist to her, too. The image of the happy lives of the people she knew don't come from real observation or fact. It is something that she is imposing upon her memory or imagination of those people, which is only possible because she's removed herself from the possibility of being reminded just how complex and occasionally painful their lives will be with her or without her. In those scenes nobody misses her except in these brief fleeting moments where they remember some fond association with her, before moving on to their happy lives.

But this isn't reality. She isn't seeing these people. This is how she comforts herself, by imagining that everything is for the best without her, and nobody has to feel the pain of missing her. But that's not something she can know or control. The pain they feel upon losing her doesn't exist only because she has removed herself from where she might see it and have to acknowledge it.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

This phrase is taken to its literal extreme in the finale. But I think it's important to take a step back and really think about what this means on a more human level, especially when it comes to the kinds of struggles that everyone, especially kids that age, are dealing with.

That is to say, even if you literally physically exist and go about the world talking to people going to school eating dinner and so on, if there are parts of you that people don't know about, if there are things inside you that you can't express, you quickly come to the painful realization that to other people, that stuff just doesn't exist. Which means that whole side of you doesn't exist, according to the outside world. And if that side of you encompasses something important about your identity or your experiences, it's hard to not come to the conclusion that the real you, the entirety of your being, doesn't exist to them either. And when you try to tell them about it, or when they notice on their own, but they don't understand or perhaps outright reject it, hasn't some fundamental part of your humanity been erased? In this kind of environment it's easy to start doubting that any of it exists at all. After all, if nobody else will recognize it, you've only got your own word to go on. And that isn't always enough to trust.

And again, keep in mind that this goes both ways. I think Lain's sister is the clearest example which is given by the series. One episode she begins as a character, someone who has thoughts and a personality and so on. By the end of the episode she is reduced to the state that she will stay in for the rest of the series, blank-eyed and senseless. That fully fledged self she had still exists though. Lain just stops being able to see it, so effectively her sister stops existing for her.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

When you are isolated you can say anything about yourself. You can say you're nobody, or you're God, or perhaps something even wiser and greater than God. It can feel powerful to start writing your own existence and rationalizing your own isolation, the perceptions of others be damned. You can say well, my parents don't understand me and I stopped being able to connect to my sister, but who cares! Family is just arbitrary biology anyway! What if they aren't even my family at all, and are just plants put in place by a secret organization. I'm not lonely, I'm just seeking a greater truth, a conspiracy that only I can see! I don't make social mistakes, I'm not afraid of hurting anyone, that's the fake me running around out there! But it's not sustainable. Eventually life comes crashing down, whether it be in the form of interference in the material world, or if that mental state with all of its attendant self-spun narratives just finally collapses.

As with most things in this series, Lain's interactions with "God" are written in a very abstract symbolic way. But, the pattern that it follows seems very familiar to me as one of a predatory adult grooming a vulnerable minor. He alternates between gassing Lane up as the most powerful and important being who has ever lived, and then in the next breath saying that she's nothing. In peddling his conspiracy theory narrative of humankind merging with The Wired, of Lain simply being a powerful piece of software meant for Grand Purpose, he feeds into her struggle for identity and the need to be seen and understood by at once validating these feelings and how confusing they are, while reinforcing her isolation and his own dominant grip over defining the shape of the world and society.

When Arisu finds Lain living in filth and comforts her, that is one of the rare moments that the raw, vulnerable, material world Lain, weighed down with no pretenses, pokes her head out. That moment of genuine intimacy that she has been so hungry for this whole time is enough to allow her to retaliate against "God" when he shows up in anger upon being doubted. When Arisu reacts poorly to this sight, though, is when Lain makes her final dive back into her own walled off reality. For as much as she wants to be seen and held and comforted by this girl she loves, it is far more painful for her to have to witness and live with the feeling of rejection and guilt that came from Arisu's fear in the aftermath.

The final image of her father finally expressing the real tenderness she has longed for. The imagined future of Arisu dating her former teacher well into adulthood, because it's the only model of a relationship Lain has ever seen someone want, because her parents certainly don't seem happy, and she herself didn't get anything out of the boy who kissed her. The final statement, "I will always be with you". As with everything in the series, these can be interpreted many ways. But to me it reads unmistakably as the final moments before suicide.

In any case though, after all that, it seems fairly starkly clear why Lain resonates so strongly with trans people. Contrary to the old saying that all happy people are happy the same way, but all miserable people suffer uniquely, this path to despondence is depressingly common. It is the way out that is unique to everyone who finds themselves there. I hate to say it, although I feel very lucky to say that I have survived being in that place many times--which I think is proof that it is possible to get to the other side and make a good life, despite everything-- I think if it had ended any more neatly or more positively, it just wouldn't feel as honest. It captures the depth of that state of being. That's just what it's like. And as heavy as it is to sit with, I get a lot from being able to see something painfully familiar to me reflected in such a raw way. After all that, a happy ending would just feel disingenuous. I mean, that's my life, and any happy ending they could have written just isn't how it went.

#writing #Serial Experiments Lain #Lain

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