#me around like a marionette doll | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burnyouwithacigarettelighter · 7 months

Text

IT’S YOU, HAPPY ALL THE TIME ─── jonathan breech ✧☾𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else." — ‘Jessica gives me a chill pill’, Angie Sijun Lou.

pairing. jonathan breech x reader

summary. you’ve bared your heart to your bestfriend, jonathan, more times than you can count, whilst knowing practically nothing at all about him. what is friendship if it is not equal… what is love if it is not returned? can your relationship survive such one-sidedness?

warnings. swearing, TW mention & description of suicide/attempts & depression, very introspective/kind of a character study???, alcohol & drug use, pining, ANGST!!!!, crying, fluff, smut with feelings, p in v, unprotected sex, oral sex (f), SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 10k (WTF??!?!!??)

a/n. the title is from “she won’t go away” by faye webster:) btw this is… rly angsty (and SO long omg im still in shock) so beware🫡 ALSO IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING IN WHILE!! SCHOOL IS KICKING MY BUTT & THIS FIC WAS AN ABSOLUTE MONSTER TO WRITE LMAO

There are very few words in your vocabulary you can use to accurately describe Jonathan Breech.

The boy is an enigma, a matryoshka doll that never ends: he is witty and lighthearted and sarcastic, but you’ll always catch that edge, the air of malaise he carries around himself, the unspoken elephant in the room that screams WHO ARE YOU REALLY?

He had always been more of a figure, a landscape; something to witness, observe-- experience without letting it do the same to you. You don’t know if that’s something you want, either: there’s an imbalance in his hilarity, and he always takes things a step too far. Jonathan lights matches and lets them burn all the way down to his fingertips; he shaves and lets the blade leave stinging little nicks, rivulets of blood running down his neck; he chainsmokes cigarettes in his room and only opens the window when he feels his heart hammering in his chest, desperate for air.

You meet him — or, first experience him in a similar fashion: he had been in the university library, standing on top of a creaky, old bookshelf, shouting something you couldn’t understand over the music blasting through your headphones. You could certainly see him though, gesturing animatedly, dressed eccentrically in his signature winter trapper hat and a velvet blazer. That thin, effeminate figure of his was making winding, marionette-ish steps along the wood, an action that had everyone readying themselves to catch his inevitable fall.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere and catching you completely off guard, you caught his eye. He began stepping from one shaky shelf to the next, a complete miracle none of them toppled over, before stopping on one close enough for you to read his lips.

“Hi,” he mouthed, shifting uneasily on his left foot before regaining a steady balance, “you’re in my class, right?”

You nodded, hesitantly— yes, truthfully, you’d seen him in your Introduction to Literary Studies course a couple of weeks ago, sporting the same outfit as he did now, but you thought nothing of him. He’d been generally well-behaved then, asking slightly odd but in-tune questions that more or less answered all your inquiries, so you didn’t think the guy would have a penchant for, well… book-shelf hopping.

He grinned, about to say something else, before something — or someone, made him flinch. A professor, probably, considering the unintelligibly muffled, booming voice behind you. However, Jonathan made quick work of the situation, sneakily climbing down and escaping out the door.

The next time you see him, he’s sidled up beside you in your shared class. “Mind if I sit here?” a familiar voice had asked, to which you murmured a non-committal knock y’self out, before realizing with wide eyes. His presence had caught you off-guard, as he so often did, and you sensed a pattern blooming.

Jonathan certainly made for an odd desk-partner; his personality warped the environment around you, and it was suddenly so much easier to tear your eyes away from the lecture and land on Jonathan’s own. It’s something you never thought you’d ever do, because you adore the material being taught.

At the end of class, he asks you out for a drink: he’s just found the best Irish stout in the entire city, and what better way to make it known than to take anyone and everyone he knows there?

Rejection is written on your face clear as day— you have class tomorrow, an essay that needs to be finished, and honestly, pubs just aren’t really your scene.

But in the end… you still bite. You can’t help it: he’s disarming and warm and looks like he should smell like a bonfire. Somehow, that just does it for your brain; it’s here you learn of the charm that is Jonathan Breech.

That night goes everything and nothing like you expected: you expected not to be able to predict his actions, and that’s exactly what happens. When you meet Jonathan at the aforementioned pub, it’s not actually the one he’s meaning to take you to— it’s just the closest public place to the on-campus dorm, which is where he says he’s rooming.

“‘ve got a neighbor m’pretty sure is trying to sleep with me,” he says absently, ushering you onto the back of his bike, which had been leaning against a NO PARKING sign. “He’s always toget’er wit’ our dorm advisor, so I should l reject him before I get kicked out, if y’get what I mean.”

Now, you honestly should’ve expected this from a guy who jumped from six-foot book shelves, but Jonathan’s biking is all swift turns and jilted stops, mere milliseconds from repeatedly running red lights. You want to ask if he just learned how to ride the thing yesterday, but can’t, not with how utterly reckless and shameless he is about it, his terrible steering making you instinctively wrap your arms around his chest.

You clutch him tightly, making him hum in approval, and you feel your ears burn flusteredly. You would’ve pulled away, but then he cut from the right lane to the left in one swift move, barely missing several cars, and you practically shrieked instead. “Oh my god!”

“Sorry,” he apologizes quickly. You can’t see his face, having shut your eyes in fear, but after hearing the blatant cheekiness in his tone, you can imagine clear as day how gleefully it contorts. You want to slap him somewhere, anywhere, but that’d defeat the point of being mad at his recklessness, so you squeeze him tighter instead, and he chokes on his breath. “Jesus-- m’sorry, really!”

When the two of you make it to the pub — alive and uninjured! — annoyingly all the way across town, your first few steps off his bike are stuttered, dizzy: “We are-- not going by bike next time,” you gasp, leaning against a random brick wall.

“Next time, eh?” He grins, and this time you really do slap him— just on the arm, bless your self-control and niceties not to beat this oddly comfortable-to-be-around near-stranger to death.

The pub, with its forgettable name and dingy stools, has a minimal, lackluster crowd. A kitschy neon sign flickers and dies as you walk in, making you raise a brow, but Jonathan merely drags you by the arm to a cozy corner table, then disappearing deeper within the venue before returning moments later with two pints of black beer in tow.

“Go on, then,” he gestures, setting the tall glass on the table, sitting down in the chair in front of you and taking a hearty sip of his own drink.

You let out a little hesitant sigh at his words, before relenting and taking in a long gulp of the liquid. “…Huh,” you remark, impressed. Jonathan smiled knowingly behind his glass, letting out a smug little ah, you see?

“Worth the long ride?” he inquired innocently, as if that was the only thing wrong with the night.

“Worth the ride, but not worth almost dying for,” you rolled your eyes goodheartedly, knocking back the rest of the bitter drink and making him whistle.

The rest of the night goes like this: Jonathan orders two more rounds of the quality Irish stout before the two’ve you are stumbling out of the pub, exploring all the nightlife there is to offer, like the crowd surrounding an out-door live comedy group performing down the street that has you and Jonathan giggling for hours after, or the underground speakeasy you accidentally find yourselves shoved into, a nasally guitarist singing on a smoky stage, several more drinks finding themselves in your system despite how nauseous you already feel.

“You-- d’you fancy him?” Jonathan slurs behind you, steadying himself by pressing his hands to your waist.

“F-fancy who?” you blink blearily, leaning into his warm touch.

“Who else m’I talkin’ about, girl? The singer!”

You shake your head no numbly, practically collapsing into his arms now, your head lulling on his chest. You’re so close you can smell the distinct scent of his skin, that unique musk everyone has, and it’s strangely familiar, like those smells that evoke old, nostalgic memories. It’s like how sunscreen summons the smell of the sun after a childhood beach day, or how vanilla extract takes you back to the smell of your mother’s baked goods on a specific winter evening.

“Reckoned you wouldn’t,” he assumes, hands coming away from your waist to wrap his arms around your shoulders, swaying to the music slightly in the crowded club, “looks like a -- right bleedin’ dope… wit’ that mop of hair.”

You giggle, alcohol riddled beyond belief, unable to formulate a response with the conflicting blurry thoughts in your head: it’s telling you Jonathan Breech isn’t the crowd you want, that you need to go home and work, that you let loose too easily— but it also tells you that you can see yourself becoming friends with him very, very quickly.

It’s there, in that club, Jonathan Breech moves into your life and fills a gaping hole you didn’t know existed, like a hole in your stockings you only notice when you get home. You have friends, certainly, more than you can count on both hands, but they never get as close as Jonathan does. After that night, an unknown force pulls the two of you together, making you run into him everywhere, and a tight friendship blooms like a lilypad in a raging storm; beauty within the chaos. In the multitude of close friendships you’ve harbored, he is the first to see so many sides of you. The last thing that did was your mother; it had only ever been your mother.

He is an endearing, amazing friend, both the intent listener and the charismatic speaker all at once; he knows his friends like the back of his hand, can recount their life like he can count the number of moles on his face-- but you, and everyone else, know absolutely nothing about him.

At least, close to nothing-- you know he likes ice cream and hanging out and going to the pub; you know he likes biking and doing drugs and women; you know he hates the sea and his brother and his father, but you don’t know him. All you’ve ever seen him do is smile or laugh or shout in mock anger; there is a carefully glued mask on his face he takes meticulous caution in preserving-- he is terrified to let go, despite the blasé persona he lets on.

Or maybe the mysterious matter of your bestfriend is tripping you up for no reason; maybe you’re psychoanalyzing something that doesn’t need to be psychoanalyzed, reading between lines that don’t exist. But if you were asked to answer honestly, there’s just something about Jonathan you don’t get. There is a split seam in the tapestry of his life, missing pieces in the story he pretends to tell with utmost accuracy. There are things that he never talks about, that he recoils when asked like you’ve poked a tender wound.

“So, what were you doing before… all this?” You ask him once, laying on his messy bed in his dorm-room and scanning the water-damage constellations dotted along his popcorn ceiling. By all this you mean going to university, being the resident party boy, aimlessly pursuing a degree you’re 99% sure he picked blindfolded (culinary science) and standing here, with you, snorting a line of something on his creaky wooden desk.

Jonathan freezes, still hunched over. “What d’you-- what d’you mean?” he says, tone breezy but, uncharacteristically tense… jilted and preoccupied. You could’ve brushed it off as him being seriously focussed on his drugs, but the way he shifts, how his shoulders curl in like he wants to disappear, tells you otherwise.

“I mean, before going to school here… y’know, what were you like as a dumb teenager?”

You two’re twenty, barely not-teenagers, but it still makes a world of a difference: you’re living away from home, doing what you want, experiencing (a juvenile, naive version of) freedom and adulthood.

“I dunno… kind of a tool, that's f’sure,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose roughly. He’s being funny on purpose, a jester’s distraction: he doesn’t want you to realize his answers’ not really one at all.

You shifted on his bed, now leaning against his headboard. His answer strikes you as odd and uncharacteristic despite his attempts to evade suspicion: usually, Jonathan pounces at the chance to yap on and on. “What, the great Jonathan Breech doesn’t have any wild stories to tell? No bones broken, girls dumped, houses trashed?”

He snorted at that, like some inside joke you weren’t privy to was brought up in your words, and he descended back down on a carefully partitioned line of white. “I broke my baby finger once,” he relented vaguely when he finished, dusting off the table and licking the remains off his hand. “I cried and I cried and I cried.”

“Did it hurt that much?” you grinned, mind trailing off to imagine a baby-faced Jonathan Breech, a juvenile highschool boy, doing something silly to break that finger. Maybe he accidentally flung off his bike, broke it because of a dare, or maybe it happened just by slipping and falling.

“It - uh… didn’t hurt enough,” Jonathan smiled, tight-lipped and paltry. All at once the air in the room had changed, like someone attached a vacuum to the window and sucked everything out.

Your grin fell, and you watched him carefully: perhaps, had you not been as close to him as you were, he’d have let something show. A twitch in the smile, a break in the facade. But you were, and his face stayed the same, and your thoughts ran circles around themselves. This was… something else, something belonging to the part of his life he didn’t talk about.

The atmosphere had grown tense, taut, a rubber band twisted ‘round and round, threatening to burst, so you leave the matter of his injury alone; of his life alone. You go back to staring at his ceiling, he goes back to his drugs; Jonathan collapses within himself, and you don’t notice how badly he suffocates… how suffering in silence is also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found.

ii.

Sometimes, despite his self-imposed distance, Jonathan lets someone look inside his head.

You are both the sometimes and the someone; you don’t know why it’s always you, but you chalk it up to the fact that beneath his unpredictable demeanor, the murky and unreadable feelings he holds for others, is this uncharacteristic constant: he holds a softness for you. It’s what lets you know there’s something haunted lurking beneath his happy-go-lucky surface.

You don’t know where this softness comes from, either. But you know you see it, in lingering touches, tender duchenne smiles unlike the devilish tilt his lips usually hold, how he clasps his hand around yours after a night at the pub and walks you home because he knows you get paranoid. You see it in how he comes over to your apartment when you don’t answer anyone's calls during exam season, how he remembers what your mother’s name is and what your childhood pet was and what your favorite flowers are. How his lips brush past your cheek when he pulls away from hugs, his hands shuddering around your shoulders, like he’s afraid he’ll crush you.

You only wish you could do the same. You want to sit by his side and mend his heart, lend an ear to his most mundane fears, you want to take his hand into your own and kiss it softly, return all that he has done for you, take the same as you have given to him: what is friendship if it is not equal, what is love if it is not returned? It is something broken, unable; split halves of one heart, an imbalance in the scale, Bonnie without her Clyde, a fish out of water.

Jonathan pours his heart into your own, filling holes you know you don’t have, and you think he may be overcompensating for something else, seeing things in you that really belong to him. It is maddening, and you just want to beg and plead he lets you in.

But you settle for the gentle pokes, the prodding, and try to decipher the vague answers he gives you. Most days, you can’t really make sense of it.

“Sorry,” you apologize, about to leave the outing you planned with Jonathan — studying, or, trying to study, at an intimate coffeebar the two of you frequented — “my dad’s gotten drunk with his lads and my mum needs help dragging him home.”

“Hey, hey, don’t worry. I get it: my dad used to do that all the time,” he waves your words off casually, but you don’t miss how jilted he says used to and the pain in his tone at all the time.

“Oh, surely she was fit to go to the madhouse?” you laughed once, responding to Jonathan’s complaints about an eccentric classmate in his agricultural studies. He laughs back, he always does, but this one is hollow, forced; barely stopping a grimace from coloring his tone.

You notice these things like it’s a shadow following someone in the sun. He is lying, hiding; about something you don’t know but it is happening. It is happening, and you are so very curious: you pick up on the littlest tendrils of him, fed wholly on any information you can squeeze out. He is a mystery you want to delve within completely; answer that question of WHO ARE YOU REALLY? and leave no room for error.

You’d give yourself to him the very same if he merely asked; you’d whisper childhood fears and tell the origin stories of faded scars on your knees and why you check under your bed before sleeping. You’d detail your entire life from sunset birth to starry night end if he even made a passing comment about knowing; you would trust your love, your heart, your entire life in his beautiful, shaky hands. This is the relationship you have built around yourselves, and it is beginning to feel terribly one-sided.

Alas, your curiosity overwhelms him, and you take it too far, just once. Only once.

“Where’d this come from?” you murmur, brushing your fingers over a scar above his eyebrow. It’s something you see only now, his hair mussed and wild from the various blankets and pillows on your dinky couch.

He’s crashing at your apartment tonight, an invited event, because you often miss him like you miss home; the boy is sneaky— he slinks away like a street cat and only comes back for food. It’s only fair he lets you wrangle him back like this, making him stay by your side at least once a week.

Your words make him freeze, like he often does; it reminds you of hikers, who freeze when they see mountain lions— he thinks if he stops and stares and pretends to disappear you’ll look the other way, drop the question, forget him completely.

But you don’t. You don’t know what’s affecting him -- not that he wants you to -- so you just stare back into his cornflower blue eyes. You stop and stare and see right through him; you hold the question like a knife to his neck, and commit him to memory.

“The scar?” Jonathan pales, shuddering despite it having long since been healed over. The aftershocks of an earthquake.

You simply nod, fingers pulling away. You’re still closer than ever though, the two of you being the only things in your cramped concrete apartment, the chosen movie on your telly still running and long forgotten.

Your attention remains on him, brandished into something dangerous, like you’ll carve the answer out of him if you have to— but the moment passes. He doesn’t say anything and you accept that as the answer. Gone is your razor-sharp focus, and there is nothing more to the matter.

But Jonathan doesn’t register this, no, he’s thinking, gears in his head turning and creaking. His tongue grazes against the backs of his teeth, jaw chattering like it was as cold as it was when… as cold as it was back then, and he doesn’t want to tell anyone— but it’s you. You’re not just anyone.

You’re the one he holds a certain softness for. The one he equally bares his heart to and holds the most secrets from. The one he’s most terrified to know. The only one he wants to know.

So, he decides to tell a partial truth— something digestible. People adore that which can easily slide down the gullet: news headlines don’t detail the goriness of a murder, they give the “insider” scoop of the scared neighbor. To be able to digest information is what makes the world go round, and he does not think you could digest the full truth-- he does not think he wants you to.

He feels ill at the thought of anything between you changing— oh, how ruined he’d feel if you began treating him like fucking glass.

This abhorrent social pressure is what makes Jonathan grit this sentence through his teeth: “I got into a car accident,” he gulps dry, “when I was nineteen. Was drunk… went fer a spin. I skidded off a -- um, an empty highway. The tall sorts; high up, y’know. Fell.”

His voice makes you look back up at him, and your eyes are beautiful and tense— it breaks his heart. He knows you’re probably thinking it was in-character, how expected that is of Jonathan Breech, how you’ll easily take this partial truth, how you’ll never know the full one until it comes in a letter under your door and he’s long gone.

“Tell me,” you ask him, lips falling into a near-frown instead of laughing or grinning wider. It’s hushed, whispered like a secret, “What did it feel like? Falling, I mean.”

Jonathan licks his lips, bores his shaking gaze into your own, and tells you not everything feels like something else. That the word connotes all you need to know. Falling meant he was falling; his arms raised and the air took him and that was it.

It makes your brows twist and your lips press into a thin line: his nonchalance is worrying, no more his signature characteristic— there is something wrong about this apathy toward injury, toward the potential death.

“Is that how you broke your finger?” You murmur, and it startles him. How you pieced the two things together, how you weaved a web from what little you knew about him; how futile his attempts to hide could be.

“What?” he responds, hoarse. There is a lurking shadow in his bones telling him he’ll taint you, telling him to be ashamed, telling him how badly you will never be his. It is such a damning reality, that no matter how much he may yearn for you, he is too incomplete to meet your needs; he is too hurt not to hurt you too.

“The car accident. Is that how you broke your pinkie?” you repeat, and you gripped his hand resting at your side, bringing it up to present the finger to him like he forgot where his pinkie was.

Jonathan’s gaze darts from you to the finger, and he feels his insides quiver; so badly does he want to spill his entire soul to you. But that internal reminder -- hurt people hurt people hurt people -- makes him settle for nodding, parted lips locking closed.

Nothing special happens that night, no shocking revelation or bombarded confession; Jonathan nods, keeps his lips sealed, and gets up from the couch, figure dreary and fatigued. He murmurs an incomplete excuse, something half-baked and blatantly unconvincing that he has to leave, and you let him go. You think you’re imagining the shudder in his shoulders, the shake in his voice as he says goodbye, and you let him go.

It’s there, like that club so long ago, you discover another thing about Jonathan Breech: push too far and he shuts down, closes shop and puts up his guard forever. It’s the mere fact of how attentive you are to his words; you remember how he broke his finger, and he realizes he cannot hide from you any longer.

You’re reaching a point in your friendship -- your relationship, no matter platonic or romantic for all lines have been crossed; nobody is so raw to one another with love not involved -- where you’ll bare your hearts on your sleeves, share your every thought and dream and fear. But Jonathan won’t be able to reciprocate, and the very thought of rejecting you, betraying you, makes his stomach twist in knots. That crestfallen face of yours would haunt him for all time, your every melancholy feature burning into his memory like the scars left by cigarettes on skin.

So he leaves, hurt people hurt people hurt people echoes in his ears all the way home; he turns into an alleyway shortcut and prays death swoops down and takes him right there. He leaves his consciousness curled lovingly in your arms; his shell walks home and prays you’re none the wiser. But you’ve already reached that point in your relationship; you already know.

When people die, or friendships do, sometimes they end with just a goodbye, a mild, casual goodbye because you think there’ll be dozens, hundreds more-- but there won’t be. Suddenly, alone in that cramped apartment, the buzzing from the tv filling your ears, your couch still warm from someone long gone, you know.

You know you startled him, that he’s left your apartment and he’ll never come back. Your heart cools, and she whispers that you took it too far, that you crossed a line you were never made aware of, that when you see him in class tomorrow he might not sit next to you, he might not talk to you, that you might lose him forever because he is too stubborn to open up and you are too stubborn to let him go.

Well, you were too stubborn to let him go.

It’s three weeks before you speak to Jonathan again. Three long, dragging weeks, moments in time where he avoided your gaze, evaded your presence, slipped past you before you got too close. You certainly try, of course— you seek him out every chance you get, trying to get an I’m sorry, please talk to me out before he runs off, but it’s virtually impossible.

Once, after class, you’d caught him in the middle of a flurry of exiting students by the velvet blazer, your hands curled around the lapel. “Jonathan,” you panted, trying to drag him off to the side to escape the bustling activity around you, ��please, we need to talk--“

But then Jonathan had faced you, eyes widened and spooked like he’d seen a ghost, a never-before-seen-by-you fear covering his gracefully cut features, before he tugged off the black blazer and escaped into the crowd. He had seen you, widened his eyes, left. Such a simple action tore your heart in two; it had confirmed your suspicions— you’d gone too far, he was never coming back, and you were all alone. There you stood, fingers wrapped around one of his favorite articles of clothing starkly without its beloved owner, completely alone.

In three measly weeks, he has put up a biting winter of distance between you two.

Your feelings are unable to comprehend themselves— they fight and sob and run circles around your mind, they make you doubt, crumble, devour yourself from the inside out; they make you ask yourself what you can do to salvage this, what can you do to fix this? What is there to make of him, of his behavior; what do you do with yourself and this guilt?

If you could imagine time was a construct, you were certain you could convince yourself this stretch of time was nothing… propel yourself into a present where Jonathan does not afflict your mind, take over your every thought— does not ruin you like so. If only you could do that, you could close your eyes and reopen them when you’ve let go. But you were always too stubborn to let him go, weren’t you?

It’s three weeks to the day before you speak to Jonathan again, and it happens through the crack of his dorm door, your arm wedged through it because you know he is not cruel; he will let you in without a doubt.

“Please,” you plead to Jonathan, “just— I just want to talk. Please?”

He stares at you straight, expression cold and reserved, before he breaks and pulls away; bites his lip, lets you in his room, doesn’t look you in the eye. Looking around, you sense something in his dorm has changed; it had gained a bereft quality, like it was attuned to Jonathan’s state of mind and felt depressed beyond your comprehension. There was a cold air to the place, an utmost frigid demeanor to a room incredibly warm just weeks prior. In your absence, the dorm had been neglected, gutted, abandoned.

“I’m sorry,” are the first words that tumble out of your mouth. “I- I know you don’t like… talking about -- about your life before here, and I’m sorry. But please, Jonathan, just talk to me. Tell me what I can do to make it up to you.”

He sits down on the edge of his weak bedframe, pulling his knees up and pressing his face into them. “You don’t need to-- don’t… don’t apologize. You don’t need t’make it better, either. All’s grand.” he promises, words muffled and shaky. It’s a weeping kind of tone; you could just as easily imagine him sobbing with that voice.

Your brows knit. Your emotions are wavering, treading brutally between disbelief, despair and rancor. “Then -- then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you avoid me? Why did you - why did we spend these last three weeks playing cat and mouse, if you weren’t mad at me? Is this your sick idea of a joke?”

“No! I-- jesus christ,” Jonathan looked up from his hands before immediately pressing two fingers between his eyes, “I wasn’t … avoiding you.”

“I haven’t seen you in weeks!” you point out painfully, exasperated. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me for longer than this. You— you push me away any chance you get. You’re afraid. I don’t know of what, but you’re- so fucking secretive, and it’s tearing me apart.”

“I’m not - afraid of anything. I’m just a private person— you know this. Would you, if I ‘pushed you away?!’”

At his denying deflection, something within you snaps: “Why won’t you - fucking let me in? I’ve — I’ve bared my soul to you; you know me from the inside out. I trust you with my life— why, why can’t you do the same?”

“I didn’t ask you to do that! And I didn’t — I didn’t mean t’get so close to you, okay?!” He bursts, and you flinch. His hands shakily come up to his face once more; he wipes roughly but it’s no use— you’ve already seen his delicate tears threatening to spill, and it burns more holes in your heart than you thought his suffering would.

“What are you talking about?” you pry, now without any cautious reservations about his demeanor.

“I didn’t mean to get so fucking attached, because - ‘cause I…” Jonathan’s hands clenched into fists at his sides, “fuck.”

“What?” you repeat, but it’s softer, concerned; how quickly his body language shifted from irritated to terrified has you scrambling to support him. “Talk to me,” you ask, taking nervous steps closer, like you were approaching a wounded animal.

He sucks in a sharp breath, and holds it, like he did cigarette smoke, before exhaling heavily. “Okay- okay. When I was - nineteen, I drove a car… I drove off a cliff and tried t’kill myself. I was-- admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a year, and when I got out I moved here f’school. I- I… promised m’self I wouldn’t let anyone get too close.”

The confession hangs in the air, a lonely little thing; it’s a bleeding piece of his own heart he’s plucked and placed in your palms. He shudders, and you want to nurture it like nothing else. This is a culmination of a year’s worth of evasion coming to a close; you’re seeing him completely, rawly, for the first time.

“But- but why? You don’t have to— Jonathan, you don’t need to do that just because you - you… y’know.”

“I’m- I know that,” he starts brashly, defensively. “It’s b’cause I am very, very aware of my - of m’own self destructiveness…” His words taper off into something of grief; the Sisyphean struggle of wanting to live, while that depressive boulder pushes him back, colors him completely. “I just… I didn’t want to - t’hurt anyone in case I -- in case next time I succeeded.”

“Next time?” you repeat, and your voice broke in a way you wish was less vulnerable, less blatantly miserable.

“This is why I didn’t want to—“ Jonathan sighs, deflates, “I’m not telling you this because I want you to - t’fucking save me, okay? I’m telling you this because you wanted to know, and I couldn’t hide from you anymore. Because you asked.”

“You didn’t need t’hide it in the first place!” you exclaimed, coming closer to him. “You’ve never had to hide a fucking ‘ting from me.”

“You wouldn’t have understood!” He said back, volume nearing a shout. “You’ll treat me differently now, you see, you’ll look at me fuckin’ different—“

It made your heart sink-- how sure his words were, how certain he was of your rejection. How little trust did he have in you?

(You remember he wanted to sink, too-- lose himself in the baby blue sea; let it swallow him whole and never be seen again.)

“You - you really think I’ll treat y’differently because of this? You know my every crevice, my every thought-- I have never once doubted that you’ll accept me.”

“I-I… why should I - expect any of this to stay the same?”

Suddenly, you took his face into your hands. “Because I-- I fucking love you, okay? And it’s not just friendly, or romantic, even if it’s both— I’m… I love you like nothing I’ve ever loved before. I accept and adore your every skill and flaw and antic; you wormed your way into my heart and I want to worm my way into yours.”

“That doesn’t mean—“ Jonathan tried to interject, a noise all utter disbelief. You cut him off, though, continuing your sudden confession; you hadn’t been privy to these own romantic feelings of yours till moments prior, but everything being said just felt right.

“Jonathan, I don’t care if you drove a car off a cliff or cyanide-poisoned our professor or blew something up, because I love you. You, with all your problems and great, big, beautiful life. All I want is for you to want that life; I want you to want me in it. I feel it in my bones that I’m meant to love you; you are meant to be my home, you are everything I am supposed to know. It won’t fix you or fix anything at all but I just need you to know-- I need you to know the why to my every action. It’s because I love you.”

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, head resting in your gentle hold. “I - don’t know what to say… are you - for real?”

“As real as can be,” you smiled back at him, tracing circles along his smooth skin; you could’ve drank in that attentive stare of his for hours upon hours. “I love you, and nothing and no-one, not even you, can change that.” An aching grip had clenched around your heart at his words, that blatant disbelief: are you for real? God, had you ever been-- had you ever fucking been.

Jonathan’s mouth opened to speak, but instead, he let out an agonizing sort of cry; an exclamation of utter surprise at the loving acceptance. Then, he hesitantly leaned into your touch, as if he’d never hugged before, wrapping his arms around your waist to snatch you as close to him as possible. He held you tighter and tighter as the seconds went by, like this was all a mocking dream his yearning mind had made up; that if he closed his eyes now he’d wake up desolate, alone, without you for eternity. His worst nightmare.

“…God, I’m so - fucking stupid,” he grumbled, sounding angry, but you could feel vulnerable, hot tears soaking into the fabric of your shirt. “To assume you, of all people, would act that way… you of all people.” He said that tenderly; you of all people certainly meant miles more things you weren’t explicitly aware of, but you still felt the sentiment. “I’m not -- poetic or anything like that… but I love you, too.”

You chuckled a beautiful, wet laugh. “You don’t hafta’ say anything sweet or special. You’re everything to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, before wrapping his fingers around your wrist and pulling you onto the mattress with him. He flipped you beneath him, and held himself up by the forearms laying on either side of your head. “Fuck, I love you. I love you.” Jonathan repeated the words several more times, strange and foreign but right at home being said to you. Like his mouth was made to only ever say I love you to you.

Suddenly, you pressed your lips to his, shutting him up momentarily. You could still feel the vibrations of I love you rumbling in his throat as you kissed him. Your tongues danced along one another, an all consuming waltz; you wanted to know everything about him, down to the taste of his tongue, memorize how sweet his mouth felt on yours. Oh, how you longed for this moment; how could you ever think about love again, and yearn for it, without thinking of Jonathan?

You reckoned that’s what this had been the whole time; your love started as a little flame, something under the guise of friendship, but the two of you had fanned it, nurtured it-- all of a sudden the miniature warmth of platonic love burst into a raging, adoring fire. You’d fed this flame with tenderness, and it responded in kind; you could never again look at Jonathan without a certain intimate reverie. Perhaps that’d been why Jonathan found it so hard to cut off this relationship as he had dozens others: something primal and unconscious within him had begged him not to let you go— some higher being knew his home was only ever in your arms.

Jonathan deepened the kiss hungrily, pressing his weight onto you and pushing you into the mattress. Your head was spinning from the lack of air, and one of your hands had to sneak beneath his hat and tug at his hair to get him to stop. “Hey,” you panted, looking worriedly into his eyes, “what’s up?”

“Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, hanging his head lowly for a moment before meeting your gaze once more, batting his long lashes. “Jus’ missed you. Thas’ all.”

“Missed y’too,” you murmured, pulling him back down to kiss you again. Your hands left the crown of his head and trailed down his backside, tracing over the curves and bumps of his frumpy yellow v-neck sweater.

That touch of yours seemed to spur him on even more, and his kisses began to travel; along your jaw, to your pulse, down the long ravine of your neck, tongue darting out to lick the hollow of your collarbone, making you squeal. He chuckled against your skin, a genuine amusement rather than the mocking one you two so frequently practiced, and it all went downhill from there. His hands skillfully tugged off your tank top, knee between your clenched thighs, more teasing kisses being planted along your now bare -- save for your bra -- chest.

You didn’t mean to come over, profess your love and suddenly jump into a steamy, yearning makeout session (which, you were pretty sure was venturing off into sex…) but you supposed that apologizing— arguing, whatever —meant your relationship went back on track to wherever it was heading… which may have been set to end with an ardor romance anyway. This love of yours would’ve bursted at the seams of friendship; it could not be confined by such mere things as labels.

“Fuck,” you groaned, arching into his teasing kisses along the peaks of your breasts, his hands ghosting around your clothed chest but never touching. “Please, Jon.”

You could feel his cheeky grin on your skin, “Tell me what you want, love.”

“…Take this off,” you demanded gently, referring to Jonathan’s sweater.

“Your wish is my command.” he snickered, obliging and removing the yellow knit-- as well as his white undershirt and pajama bottoms. He was left in a pair of boxer-shorts and that silly, silly winter-trapper hat, his fingers sneaking up to your supple thighs and tickling the edges of your jean-shorts; a silent plea.

“Eager,” you mumbled, noticing his over-compliance in completely stripping, smiling and guiding his hands to the waistband of your shorts to tug the tight article off.

When he did so, you shivered, both at the feeling of being only in your underwear, as well as Jonathan’s sharp, attentive gaze. “You’re so beautiful,” he panted, eyes exploring your every sweet feature.

He was enamored with your bare body, not in a sexual way despite the blatantly sexual situation, but rather in a worshiping, religiously devoted way. It may’ve been blasphemous to think so, but Jonathan’s sudden chaste kisses along the curve of waist only seemed to prove you right; his mouth on you was gentle, like he’d held you before, except now without any guilt or hesitation. It was a holy way of loving you; something all-consuming, becoming the epicenter of a life, becoming the purpose, motivation, and belief all at once.

That familiar broiling in your gut occurred as he made his way closer to the pulsing, lace-covered place between your legs; your hands were gripping the sheets tightly in pure anticipation, his hot breath on your sensitive skin. “Don’t be such a tease,” you pouted, legs fumbling for purchase along his body, trying to pull him closer to you.

“We’ve got all the time in the world,” he hummed, but his fingers still curled into the band of your baby-blue panties and dragged them down in one desperate go, “but I do wanna taste you….”

Jonathan’s veiny hands pried your quivering thighs apart, murmuring an offhand already stole y’panties, don’t get all shy on me now when you whimpered flusteredly, before he descended on your dripping lips, licking a flat-tongued stripe up to your clit.

You gasped at the sudden action, but it quickly morphed into a choked moan when he pressed himself further and parted your lips, nose to your pelvic bone; he made quick work of you, artfully curling his long tongue into your hole and slurping your slick.

“So sweet,” he praised, the vibrations of his voice making your thighs clench around his head. He hummed in amusement at your reaction, lapping you up quicker; he kitten-licked and slobbered, feeding on your sticky cunt, tongue darting in every direction, feeling your walls and prying deeper into your hot hole, which ached for the cock straining against the mattress now. The bottom half of Jonathan’s face was now positively soaked, glistening with his own drool and your needy wetness, all of it mixing dirtily and sliding down the length of his neck.

“Jon!” you mewled, hands tearing off his trapper hat and flinging it elsewhere before curling your hands into his mousy brown hair and pushing his face deeper into your pussy, desperate to come. You were riding his face now — or, attempting to, more accurately bucking up into him — adoring his unceasing ministrations. He was basically fucking you with his tongue, overstimulating your clit with teasing licks then pulling away, feeling along the ridges of your walls.

“Pick m’hat up later, love,” he tutted, pulling away slightly to see where you’d haphazardly thrown it, and your desperate whine neared a sob. He breathed in sharply, taking in how quickly he’d undone you: in a matter of minutes, your expression had grown wanton, eyes blown out, drooling, hair askew, bra riding up your tits and revealing your sweet, puffy nipples.

Jonathan quickly forgot about the state of his beloved hat, and went back down on you, mouth devouring in full force once again. You rolled your hips forward, and when he pulled his tongue out of your wet hole to suckle softly on your fleshy nub, your eyes rolled back into your head and your legs shook around his face, toes curling tightly. A choked moan left you alongside the sudden climax, sounding a hundred percent pornographic and all for him.

You panted, silent and unmoving for a moment, and Jonathan began moving to get up and let you take a breather before continuing, absolutely terrified to push you too far or do anything you didn’t want to do— he was the spontaneous one, and you were the responsible one, but that didn’t mean he ever wanted to force anything upon you. His simultaneous decisions were made mostly in part with your interests in mind; he made the decisions you were too nervous and over-thinking to choose quicker.

However, you took a long breath, then trailed your hand over the painfully noticeable bulge within his soft boxers. “Wan’… make you feel good,” you murmured, flattening your hand against his erection.

Jonathan inhaled sharply, pitifully affected by the minor touch but holding back with an incredible amount of self restraint. “I can wait,” he offered sweetly, one of his hands coming up to your flattened hand’s forearm to rub the skin.

You shook your head foggily, cupping him through the fabric, slowly adding friction by sliding your hand up and down.

“S-shit,” he bit his lip, “you want this now, baby?”

You nodded vehemently with a whimper, and to make more of a point, you reached behind and unclasped your bra, tossing it elsewhere on his dirty dorm floor, before beginning to slip off his underwear.

The hand on your arm stopped you, though, in favor of doing it himself and pressing his weight further onto you, your chests flush with one another. You were only able to take in thin breaths, making your head spin, but it also amplified the arousal blooming in your cunt when Jonathan slotted himself at your soaking entrance, collecting his saliva and your slick on his tip.

Before he pushed in, however, his head dipped into the hollow of your neck, plush lips brushing past the shell of your ear. “Is this okay?” he murmured, pressing a wet kiss to your temple.

“Please,” you whined, hands pushing flat on his back to bring him closer to you.

With that, Jonathan slowly buried his length within your cunt, making your breath hitch. “I love you,” he groaned, entering you inch by inch, relishing how your warmth swallowed him whole. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

Your hole was stuffed beyond belief, but Jonathan was gentle with you, caressing your waist with the rough pads of his fingers and massaging you, trying to ease his entrance into something painless. Obviously, with that length and thickness it couldn’t be painless at all, but his attempts helped your mind drift off elsewhere and take some of the attention off the stinging stretch.

After a long moment of ragged breathing, Jonathan cooing words of praise into your neck as he kissed you without moving, you dug your fingers into the skin of his back: “More,” you choked out, the fullness in your cunt now feeling delicious rather than cringeworthy.

He smirked against your skin, “Looks like you’re t’eager one now.”

“Oh, get on with it,” you rasped and he let out a low chuckle, sliding out of your hole before thrusting back in. That first movement already made your hips jerk up into him, back arching. It was like all the warmth in your body had collected in your cunt, leaving you freezing from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, but still with a needy, burning fire in your insides.

Jonathan’s pace was affectionate and rhythmic: you could feel the tenderness in his each and every gentle roll of the hips. It made you feel like the sun, how attentive he was, but he was also so fucking slow. If anything, that had your walls clenching onto him harder than if he hammered into you— that slow build-up of friction was dizzying. You squirmed, cunt clenching and contracting around his smooth thrusts— you wanted to take him within you completely, cause more friction for you were going stir-crazy with this lazy speed.

“F-fuck! Faster, please,” you cried out, unable to take his sensual movements any longer. Your legs were twitching with his patient movements, and you could’ve sworn you saw a cheeky grin on his lips. The bastard— even in sex was he teasing you, wanting to torture you until you gave in to the pleasure and begged him to ruin you.

Sure, this was your first time together, and was going extremely pleasantly and sweetly, but you were actually pretty fond of the idea of letting him pound into you like there was no tomorrow…

At the lewd thought, your walls pulsed around his cock, making him buck up unintentionally, hitting that sweet spot within you. He grunted at the feeling of your tightened cunt, while you cried out his name, pleasure running like a current through your body. Your face was on fire, reminiscent of a raging fever, and your insides were coiling— god, how did his cock just feel so perfect within you?

“Oh,” he grinned in a pant, “found y’spot, didn’t I?”

Jonathan didn’t give you a chance to speak before he pulled out so far his tip was the only thing in your hole, before slamming back in and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Props to him-- he hit your g-spot with utmost accuracy, and you let out a long, stuttered mewl, scratching at his freckled back, legs twitching. Your wail was almost catatonic, loud and cock-drunk, dripping unabashed, filthy pleasure.

“Makin’ such sweet noises f’me,” he praised huskily, hair sticking to the sweat on his forehead, “fuck, ‘ve gotta hear that again.”

He must’ve noticed your neediness earlier, when he was slow and languid, for the new speed he set was double- no, triple that: his hips were snapping against yours, balls smacking filthily against your lips, left hand pinning your hips down and letting him sink into you faster. Shocks of pleasure tore through you at the sudden increase in speed- he’d inured you so well to the torturously slow pace from earlier that this new frenzied one felt like getting hit by a bullet train. You were overstimulated and needing more of him all at once, practically vibrating with need under his touch.

“I’ve- hnngh- wanted this…” you gasped between moans, “f-for so long…”

“Wanted m’cock?” Jonathan questioned in a hiss, feeling with his every inch how your walls absolutely soaked him. His tone was, obviously, sarcastic, but it still made you feel incredibly lewd.

You shook your head numbly, “Wanted you… I love you, Jon!”

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he purred, fucking you faster and making you writhe beneath him, “love you s’much.”

Jonathan targeted the spongy, swollen spot deep within your cunt, suddenly filled with a renewed vigor and motivation to make you come as quickly as possible, and he pounded into that one, specific spot, watching how you twitched and squirmed, heavy moans exiting you. He was relentless, hands reaching to hook under your knees and spread you wider.

At the new angle, his cock penetrated you even deeper, fuller, which you thought wasn’t possible with how goddamn full you already felt, but when his thick cockhead brushed up against your cervix you thought you were going to burst. Then, one of his hands came up to your tits to knead the flesh, and you squeaked when he tweaked your soft nipples. He was pawing at your sweet tits, fondling you in a needy, boyish way, like yours were the first pair of boobs he’d ever felt.

“M’close!” you gasped, mind going fuzzy with pure ecstacy. Your skin prickled with goosebumps, cold sweat running down your spine, a terribly stark in contrast feeling to the warmth buzzing under your skin.

“C-can’t last much longer either,” he choked, still pumping in and out of your sticky hole and savoring the feeling of your tight warmness on his long length. He looked absolutely exquisite above you, and you lost yourself in the ethereal picture. Maybe you were in love, or maybe he really was just an empyrean beauty; you took in the sight of his focussed iceberg blue eyes, the cute flush spreading along his pale cheeks and bare chest, how he bit his pink lips to muffle his needy grunts and moans.

Then, you mewled and convulsed around him, your walls spasming and contracting as you came undone, reaching the precipice of your pleasure. That made him fall off the edge— you had tensed all over- all over, and Jonathan couldn’t help how his hips stuttered, knees buckled, cock twitched; he only gave one last, powerful thrust into you before spilling himself inside of you. He painted your soft walls white, and you felt that familiar heat spreading within you; you welcomed it completely, and wanted such warmth to be there forever.

You milked him for every last drop, cunt like a vice grip, and Jonathan gave you another wet kiss, this time on your lips, and your hands wrapped around his neck, allowing you to kiss him back. Your brows knitted at the sour taste of yourself on his lips, but it just made everything feel so real— Jonathan and you had “made love”. It was a phrase you always wrinkled your nose at, feeling uncomfortable and juvenile at the intimacy it entailed, but now you understood it completely.

“I love you,” you repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to say anything else that conveyed what you felt for him.

Honestly, you weren’t sure anything could accurately do so— you felt infinitely about him, your love touching all edges of your mind, heart and soul, filling you completely. You supposed you felt about Jonathan how the sun felt about the moon— without one, there could not be the other.

“I love you-- too,” he responded, pausing in the middle at the aftershocks of your orgasm, which had caused you to tighten around his softening, sensitive cock for a second.

You peered deep into his baby-blue eyes, watching the utter love that coloured them; it was like submerging yourself in a great blue ocean, except you didn’t want to come out, because you knew you wouldn’t drown in those eyes. No, you knew Jonathan would always be there to pull you out.

Speaking of pulling out… Jonathan slipped himself out of you softly, careful not to agitate that first stretch any more than necessary, before collapsing back into your arms. The two of you tangled yourselves in a messy flurry of limbs on his cushy mattress, sweaty and breathy, something that should’ve been terribly uncomfortable but just wasn’t— you swore you could fall asleep anywhere, no matter your own state or the circumstance, as long as you were with him.

Blearily, both your eyes began to droop, until you gave into the familiar presence of deep, dark sleep. It was a dreamless sleep for you, but you had an ever present comfort at his weight on yours, something you could feel even in unconsciousness.

Hours later, in a brisk, shuddering early-morning that you felt all over due to Jonathan’s unruly habit of opening his window at the peak of the day’s hottest weather and forgetting to close it before cold nightfall fell, you awoke to Jonathan watching you carefully, so close you could feel his warm exhales of breath on your cheek.

There was no goodmorning or anything like that, just pure, uninhibited being, reveling in the space you two occupied together. Like you two were the only things left in the world.

When Jonathan noticed you woke up, he shifted, presumably to extract himself from your grip. You stopped him, though, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and bringing him closer to you.

“What did it feel like?” you asked instead, for the last time. You brushed your fingers over his scar, and, knowing exactly what you were asking, this time Jonathan doesn’t flinch away. This time, he leans into your touch: it doesn’t burn, not anymore, and he wants your tenderness to swallow him whole.

You didn’t mean what it actually felt like, of course. You meant, what were you thinking? What have you done, and what will you do to yourself? You meant, I love you.

“It felt like,” falling; not everything feels like something else; I raised my arms and the air took me and that was it-- “it felt like… giving in. Letting my desperation find its purpose. It felt like I’d reached a point of peace… gained clarity after a long stretching, wounded moment came to an end. It felt like becoming something only meant to be talked about in past tense.”

You don’t say anything to that; you know he doesn’t want you to. There’s no need for you to hush or plead or make better, you just need to listen, and love him. He knows you accept him for everything he is, all his flaws and his strengths; he knows your love is all accepting- it veers on saintly.

At your silence, he melts into your arms and you can finally relax; there is an admission in the action, a release, an acknowledgement -- is suffering in silence not also accompanied by the overwhelming desire to be found? -- you have found him, at last, and you will never, ever let go.

You take it too far, just once. Only once. And you let him go just once, only once; never again.

#cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #jonathan breech #on the edge #jonathan breech x reader #jonathan breech x reader smut #jonathan breech smut #cillian murphy x reader smut

724 notes · View notes

alicenpai · 9 months

Text

the shadow and her living doll 🌹🌼 print for montreal otakuthon! come see me at next week from aug 11-13 ✌

you can grab it as a print here if you so wish ! WIPs & other thoughts under the cut

shadows house is such a fantastic series & i wholeheartedly recommend it... the story delves into super dark horror elements but doesn't present itself as a story with no hope. hope must be found and then tenaciously gripped with all one's heart, much like pandora's box. it tickles the victorian gothic part of my brain forever imprinted on me since i was 14 haha...

in the first draft i had marionette strings hanging above the characters (kinda reminds me of Erased.. since I just finished rewatching that ahaha...) & shadow puppet hands on the sides, almost as if gripping each character. i decided against it in the end, to let the characters shine in the spotlight (literally).

i also wanted a more active or lively pose, but kept in line with the stiff victorian portrait style, caused by long camera exposure times. i'm not sure if that worked out better bc i'm unsure if this drawing is interesting to people wahahaha.

initially i also wanted more of a dollhouse theme, but each draft got more and more muddy, so i decided to save it for another day (i'm around ch 90 in the manga, so probably a good call to save a more complex idea until i'm all caught up)

^ quick 5 min style test i posted recently! in that post i stated that i wanted to streamline and simplify my art style more, especially after the recent bunch of illustrations i did in the past winter that took way too long to complete, at the sake of my health.

im continually looking for areas to simplify more in my art, but one of the areas i will NOT skimp on is depicting fabric!!!!!

what also helped was working on my sense of structure in my spare time, so that i could be better at depicting form without relying so much on shading to show 3d forms. i love colouring, but i need to be working smarter, not harder from now on. using 100000 shades and highlights is just not feasible anymore wahaha.

in this drawing i loosened up with the bg and kept it rough, inspired by the wonderful xeroxed bgs of 101 dalmatians, and only implied details, rather than actually rendering all of them.

the tldr is that i draw too slowly i just would like to be able to make more drawings more often!!

#shadows house #my art #otakuthon 2023 #kate shadows house #emilico shadows house #emilyko shadows house

886 notes · View notes

heartfullofleeches · 3 months

Text

Mime Darling's Imaginary Friend Yan is a blind marionette. Their sight had been lost to them long ago for reasons even they don't seem to remember. Their eyes, what happened to them? All that remains where they rested in their skull is charred wood. For what feels like centuries, the puppet remains alone. Every once in a while, it hears something - the faint whistle of an instrument of some kind. It calls to them yet they fear making themselves known. They wouldn't want to disrupt the creative process such a melody, but soon comes a day when it's disturbed by other means as soft cries replace the sounds they once knew. This was not something they could allow.

"Hello? Is there someone there?... Can you speak to me? My eyes.... They're not what they used to be."

The other presence in the room doesn't reply for they cannot. Mime Reader reaches out - tapping the wooden figure on their arm. They're moreso embarrassed someone heard them cry - or listened to their harmonica practice than terrified of the creature before them.

"Can you not speak?... That's alright... Please, don't cry, dear. I love this other "voice" of yours so and it pains me to hear your sorrow. May I stay at your side and dry your tears so that I may hear it more often?"

The mime throws their arms around the marionette's husk. They themselves have been alone for some time and in need of companionship. If this doll was willing to be with them as they claimed, what was the harm in saying no?

"Thank you, my dear. I promise that as long as I am near nothing will ever hurt you again. This I swear to you. Is there any way you could tell me your name?"

The Mime traces their name on the back of the puppets hand.

"That is a beautiful name. It is a pleasure to meet you, Y/n."

#yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere oc #Yandere imaginary friend #mime reader

354 notes · View notes

hanafubukki · 6 months

Text

Twst Playful Land Scenarios with OT3 [Knight of Dawn x Reader x Lilia Vanrouge]:

Dawn and Lilia being controlled and forced to fight.

No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Not this, not again.

You watched as Lilia and Dawn clashed swords. They weren’t in their right minds.

Like marionettes, their actions weren’t their own.

As if possessed, their eyes reflected none of the emotions you adored.

“No! Please!”

Your scream was met with laughter as the sound of swords continued to clash.

“Poor thing, you should have just played along. But you didn’t, did you? Had to stick your nose in where it wasn’t supposed to, now look what you’ve done. Watching those you Iove fight each other.”

You saw red.

It was all a game to him.

You took a deep breath.

I’ve stopped this once before. I’ll do it again.

And then…

Then you’re going after Honest Fellow.

YN being controlled and forced to fight them.

Lilia jumped away, missing the sword aimed at his head.

“YN, stop!”

You blankly stare back at them. Your body controlled like a puppet.

The NRC students were restricted in how they could free you.

If they tried using magic against you or Fellow, he would have you pointing your sword at your throat.

“Look at your faces! You all are weak when it comes to this one huh? How revolting. Allowing one person such power over you.”

Fellow gestured and you moved.

Dawn blocked the blow aimed at Ace, “YN! Beloved! Snap out of it!”

YN jumped back swiftly, like a lifeless doll pulled back but it’s owner.

“Ah ah ah, it’s not that easy. You should worry about yourself. You never know when you might end up at the end of their blade. Just like Mr. Asim right here.”

YN flew towards Kalim, easily bypassing Cater, sword aimed at his chest.

Kalim froze, closing his eyes, waiting for the pain.

“YN! Kalim!”

Kalim opened his eyes, only to see you.

You had grabbed the blade with your other hand, blood dripping to the floor.

“Please…stop…me…”

There was light in your eyes before the magic binds pulled you back.

“Hm~ Seems my toy needs some tinkering~”

Lilia and Dawn watched as your fearful eyes became clouded once again, watched as blood dripped from your hand.

Blood had been spilt, your blood.

Fellow tilted your head towards him.

“Though I’m starting to see why you all care so much for this one, their-”

“SHAAAAA!”

Most of the room jumped as the foreign sound bounced off the walls, heads swerving towards its’ origins.

The aura Lilia gave off had all but Dawn stepping back from him, even the look on Dawn’s face sent feelings of terror to the rooms’ inhabitants.

“Everyone stand back.”

“We will handle this.”

Everyone watched as the General and Knight walked towards Fellow, their steps that of predators.

Ready to maul and protect what is theirs.

YN bound and hanging by ribbons:

Dawn couldn’t help but wonder, was it the peace and happiness he felt that led to this?

You hung high above them, delicate ribbons keeping you from falling.

He had let his guard down, and you suffered for it.

You were taken from them.

How could he let someone he loved so dearly come into danger?

“Dawn.”

The hand at his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts.

He turned to see Lilia, whose eyes reflected the same emotions his held: worry, frustration, and anger.

“Let’s rescue YN, we can deal with him after.”

Dawn clasped the hand on his shoulder, nodded, before turning back to you.

They would rescue you, and then Honest Fellow would wish he never incurred the wrath of the Sun and Moon.

It’s done 🥳💞 I’m so happy I could finish these scenarios before the next twst playful land update.

I wanted to play around with perspective a bit so that was really fun to do with the various scenarios. ☺️💚

#twst knight of dawn x reader x lilia vanrouge #twst playful land #fellow honest #twst fellow honest #twst ferro honest #twst the stage in playful land the dancing puppets and the fabled amusement park #other twst characters mentioned #twst knight of dawn x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

321 notes · View notes

jammed-out · 7 months

Text

Invisible Strings

“Hey check it out. There’s a weird puppet over here!” May called out to her friend from across the antique shop. She hoped that he heard her, it was a pretty big shop and the puppet was just to weird to not share.

It looked like some kind of marionette but as if it was never finished. It’s wooden body had no discernible features to it. As if it was a children’s doll, fresh out of the box, no clothes, just a plain smooth surface. Except for it’s face which seemed to be just a generic looking face. It was pretty creepy, the way it was strung up, strings holding it up loosely, tied to some handle up above.

May reached out and grabbed its body pulling it closer to take a look. She ran her thumb over the bare stomach, recoiling quickly, letting it fall back against the shelf with a thud as something sharp pricked her finger. She raised it to her mouth, sucking on it, trying to remove the splinter that had caught her.

“Stupid fucking doll.” She mumbled around her finger.

“I’m not a doll. I’m a puppet.”

May stopped and froze. She turned back to the puppet slowly and looked at it. It didn’t move. She sighed in relief. Must be losing it.

She turned back around intending to walk away but suddenly felt stuck. It was as if her legs wouldn’t move. She tried to step forward but couldn’t even bend her knee to lift her foot. May tried, her face squeezing together tightly in effort to no luck.

“Puppets don’t get to control themselves. You should know that.”

May turned to the sound of the voice. Back over her shoulder, the puppet hung there, staring at her, hand outstretched. From it invisible strings seemed to connect to May’s body. She could see them shimmer in the air.

The puppet pulled and May’s body spun around, pivoting on one foot. She stomped down, heavy feet dragging her back towards the puppet. She couldn’t fight it. Her whole body moved like a marionette, invisible strings holding her upright.

The closer she got the more the puppet looked like her. It��s face had the unmissable angles and curves of hers but in puppet form. Long red hair fell from the top of its head, cascading over its shoulders. Gone was the template body, instead, it’s nude form looked exactly like her body. Even down to its pussy and the tattoo she had right above it.

May tried to scream but the only thing that happened was her jaw went slack, falling down leaving her mouth open. She tried to close it. To move, to do anything, but she was stuck in place. She felt her knees buckle and dropped to the ground, legs spread out under her.

May watcher as around the corner Charlie peaked his head. He smiled and crossed over to her. “Hey May. Finally found you. This place is a maze.” He stopped just in front of her kneeling body. “What’re you doing?”

“Hey hot stuff. May’s not in control anymore. She’s my puppet.” The puppet said on the shelf. It’s hand twitched forcing her to wave as if to prove a point.

“Wait what? So what are you? Some kind of magical puppet?” He asked looking between May and the puppet. May felt so small and useless being talked over like that.

“Something like that. May down there is now stuck with me controlling her for life. The more we’re connected, the more she’ll become the puppet. Want to take her for a test ride? I’ll feel everything she does and I’m starving for cock.”

There was no way Charlie was going to do this. He wouldn’t. He’d help May out. She was sure of it. Or at least she was up until the moment she was staring at his cock.

She felt herself be forced to smile. Her hands moved, gripping his hips as her mouth wrapped around the head. She swirled her tongue over the tip feeling it start to harden in her mouth. She was so embarrassed. She was in public. Anyone could see her.

“That’s a good puppet May. We’re going to have so much fun together.”

May nodded and felt her eyes droop. Drool poured out of her mouth onto her shirt as she worked more and more of the cock into her throat.

Her hand stuffed itself under her skirt, rubbing her drenched pussy through her underwear. She wanted to stop, to cry out, to beg for help, but she was nothing more than a puppet now.

Charlie grunted, cumming in her throat. His cock twitching with each time he thrusted. He slowly pulled backwards, dragging his wet cock from her mouth. She followed it. Eyes wide, hungry for more.

“Great job May. Now come on Charlie and finish your part of the deal. Get me out of this shop and I’ll keep May here your perfect little fuck puppet.”

May tried to turn to look up at Charlie but instead her body went limp crumpling onto the floor. Charlie had done this to her. But why?

“Sorry May. But when I saw this puppet I just knew you’d be so much better as a living doll. Don’t worry though.” May felt the strings grip her, dragging her limbs, pulling her body back up into a standing position. Her head rolled across her shoulders. She could see Charlie holding the puppet in his arms. It smiled at May waving its hand. May found herself waving too. “I’ll take good care of you puppet.”

May wanted to scream and curse at him. But all she Magee to say was “I’ll be your perfect fuck puppet!”

#hypnosis #hypnotism #mind control #my writings #puppet master #puppet #puppet transformation #living puppet

229 notes · View notes

short-honey-badger · 2 months

Text

Puppet Master

Summary: Doflamingo doesn't like how his subjects seem to keep forgetting just who you belong to. He puts on a show to give them a reminder, and you are his star.

Pairing: Donquixote Doflamingo x Reader

Warnings! Not many? Doffy is a manipulative bastard and the reader has some sad thoughts.

Oh! The pet name is "My Life" in Spanish. Google and reddit told me that Doffy is Spanish, so that's what I'm rolling with!

Masterlist

The coliseum is alive with sound, patrons talking amongst themselves while they find their seats before the show starts. The King, Doflamingo, had announced a special performance just a week ago and bid all who could make it welcome. Today would be the day that he would show off his favorite puppet. You.

The idea had sprung when Doflamingo spotted you speaking to the low-life citizens of his kingdom, and the young man had thought to touch you. He watched you politely decline, and step away, but the boy had not taken the hint and had continued his pursuit, following you into the café you'd chosen for the day and sitting at your table. By that point, your pretty face had been flushed in annoyance, and your eyes flicked to the sky out the window, looking for him.

Doflamingo had swooped in not two seconds later, the smile on his face wide in delight as he stepped into the café, long legs eating up the space to your table. He'd hooked your chin with one long finger and brought you up for a quick kiss, just enough to get the point across.

“Having a good day out, mi vida?”

You had proceeded to gush about what all you've done today, though Doflamingo was only half listening. He was too busy watching the boy tremble in fright at having his king so close by. The two of you left at some point after you'd fetched a tea, of course, and Doflamingo had swept you up in his arms before pulling himself into the sky to swing back to the palace.

The warlord proceeded to make it clear that only he was allowed to touch such a treasure. Afterward, he watched you sleep in his big bed, curled up in his sheets, and had come to the conclusion that everyone should know just who you belonged to. Thus, the coliseum would be used to put on his show, a warning to others to stay away.

You had been reluctant at first, preferring to keep that part of your relationship with the King to yourself, but Doffy quickly reminded you that after his performance, you would be left alone, free to do your business as you pleased. The tune had changed after that, and you'd posed in outfits later that day for him, content to let Doffy do as he pleased with you as his marionette doll.

The warlord could recall your fear the first time he had taken control of your body, stopping you from marching away from him after a discussion went bad. You had immediately tried to fight back, but he had only tightened his grip on you, stringing your arms up in the air, your feet dangling just above the floor. Beautiful panic was written all over your face. He had prowled around you, circling your suspended body like a big cat on the hunt.

He had left you like that for a long time, enjoying the way you struggled and cried for him to let you down. Doflamingo had eventually lowered you to the floor, arm wrapping around your waist to keep you from falling on asleep feet. You'd clutched at his pink jacket, sobbing into his chest, apologies falling from your lips, and pleads to never string you up like that again.

Doflamingo had shushed you and pulled away enough that he could look at your tear streaked face. One big hand cradled your cheek, and your king pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“You belong to me now, Mi Vida. You are my favorite puppet, so I will do what I please.”

It had taken his little dancer longer than he liked for you to get over that pesky sense of self-worth. You were his, and he was too greedy to let you think you could be without him. But he could be patient, and eventually, his strings felt like a second skin whenever he decided to play.

Doflamingo stood atop the walls, looking down at the hoards of people that had stuffed themselves inside to watch the show. It wasn't often that their king graced them with such an announcement, and many were excited to see just what the young master had planned for them.

The jeering crowd quieted when the overhead lights suddenly shut off, bathing the area in darkness. Up above, the stars twinkled, and the full moon shined bright, giving the area a surreal feeling. You stand beside Doflamingo, painted up exactly how your king likes and dressed in the outfit he had picked for you the other day.

You felt even less like yourself all the way up here. The citizens of Dressrosa looked more like ants than human, and you wondered if they would see you as a toy. A play thing that the warlord had created just for himself. You were nothing but a puppet, and Doflamingo your master.

“Ready?” Your king murmurs, and you give a shaky nod. You are tugged close, lips finding your own for a quick kiss before the bird releases you.

You paint a grin on your face and nod, “Yes, Doffy. Make me dance.”

His grin matches your own and then those sinful fingers of his flick, and you feel familiar restraints lash around your wrists and ankles. Doflamingo suspends you up in the air, careful to keep your weight adjusted, and then lowers you down to the arena floor. A single flood light flashes on, illuminating where you stand, and the crowd oohs and awes.

A slow tune begins to play, and you feel weightless as Doflamingo begins to puppeteer you. Smooth and nimble, you are marionetted around the arena, movements slow and sensual, catching the eye of all of the King's subjects. Each subtle change is an extension of your lover's will. You flick your eyes up and catch sight of Doflamingo staring down at you, and even covered, his gaze burns.

The atmosphere of the coliseum is charged with electrifying tension, the show far more intimate than any of the subjects had expected, but nobody can take their eyes away from the spectacle that you make. The song begins to speed up, and your king easily keeps pace, fingers crooked as he leads you through the motions perfectly.

You look stunning down there, worshiped by the common droll, and Doflamingo aches to squander you away from their prying eyes. His greed reared its ugly head and made him lick his lips in want. Just a little longer, and then he would spirit you away.

You are sweating by the end of the performance, face flushed and body aching even though you've done nothing. It is still your body, your muscles protesting when Doflamingo has you dip lower than you usually would, before slowly bringing you up to face the audience and finally stop. The music fades away, and with it, so do the strings.

The patrons begin to clap, one by one, and soon the coliseum has erupted into noise, people jeering and complimenting what an amazing experience their King had let them witness. It wasn't hard for them to understand that this was a message from their King, one that they would heed.

You struggle not to fall, knowing that Doflamingo would be more than a bit disappointed if you did. Thankfully, the man in question appears now within seconds, crouching behind you and leaning you back into his chest. He hooks his chin over your shoulder and kisses your neck, making you shiver in delight.

“Look at them, fawning over something they can only dream to obtain,” your King whispers, lips ghosting over your cheek. He winds an arm around your waist, securing you to his chest. His free hand twists and his strings attach themselves to the walls of the arena. People are still cheering, overjoyed at seeing their King and who they now see as his consort.

You hum quietly, showing that you hear your lover and turn to kiss his cheek back.

“You've made your point. Take my home, Doffy.”

Doflamingo doesn't need to be told twice. With a flex of his fingers, he propels himself into the air, the wind whipping your hair until he lands at his palace. He keeps you close, taking you back to his room when he strips off the outfit he'd chosen with careful hands. The bird lays you on the sheets and crawls over his treasure, his smile mischievous.

“Let me reward you, Mi Vita, for putting on such a charming performance.”

#one piece #reader insert #fanfic #fluff #doflamingo one piece #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #op doflamingo #doflamingo x y/n #doflamingo x you #dancing #inappropriate use of devil fruit #one piece x reader

69 notes · View notes

0maisie0 · 4 months

Text

Rainy Christmas Eve - The toymaker x fem!reader

(Merry Christmas Eve (I'm so ready for Ncuti's first ep)

The deep red building stared at you from across the road. It illuminated the foggy street around you. The rain cut into your skin under the cheap umbrella you kept in your bag for moments like this. The toy-filled windows watched as you walked up to the door. Their heads seemed to turn as you approached. Teeth catering as the bell signalled your arrival.

Inside, the shop was filled with toys and games. A row of perfect marionette puppets stared, glassy eyed at you as you walked towards the wooden counter. A dripping trail of water left a mark of your presence.

A grey haired man leant over a broken doll. His hands worked quietly to fix the young porcelain child on his desk. As you took a step closer his head snapped up, his dark eyes piercing through you.

“Oh! Ein new customer, terrible wetter für Weihnachten eve, ja?”

His distorted German accent cut through the hum of toys. His speech jumped between English and German, all you could do was nod in agreement as he continued to speak and become more animated.

“What brings schöne Dame to mein store, maybe eine puppe oder bear for the little kinder oder train going rund und rund und rund?”

You stared at him, mesmerised as he spoke and moved. His hands lead the conversation more than his speech. The toymaker looked down at you with a grin and sneaky wink. Your coat still dripping onto the worn carpet.

“My sister chose to tell me she was pregnant a week ago, I haven't had much time to get her anything for the new baby,” you explained.

The toymaker's face lit up at the mention of a child. “Ein baby! Are du thinking von einem little Teddybär or blocks? Es gibt viel choice. Here, ich will helfen you.”

He guided you over to the right side of his counter where a small christmas tree sat undecorated. A wide eyed teddy bear sat with his head resting against the tree. His fur was brown and felt soft to the touch as your hand combed through. Beside it was a smaller blue bear. Its ocean blue skin and shorter fur made the body feel squishier. You gently felt both.

“I like the blue,” you muttered mostly to yourself but the toymaker interrupted quickly after.

“Ah, ja, the Blauer bär. ich machte her myself, beautiful fur, ja?”

He picked up the bear, showing it off to you. A red ribbon wrapped around its neck and held together with a tight bow. The toymaker smiled and winked again.

“Sie will be perfekt for your neffe or nichte.”

“Yes, I think she will.” you smiled back out of politeness, the toymaker already starting to wrap up the little bear in paper.

“Das wetter is zu bad for you, kommen, stay bis clear.” he placed the wrapped bear onto the desk. Its soft head poked out of the top, making it seem like the teddy had been wrapped up in a blanket.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother. I mean you must be preparing for christmas.”

“Nothing das kippen wait.” his voice suddenly changed. His broken German became smooth English and his accent disappeared.

“let's play a game.”

#the toymaker #doctor who #doctor who x reader #the toymaker x reader #celestial toymaker #the celestial toymaker #toymaker #merry christmas #why is he kinda hot

94 notes · View notes

forgottendolly · 9 months

Text

Things I loved in Station Theatre’s RTC because I can’t stop thinking about it and I don’t think I ever will😔😔 (in no particular order whatsoever😇🙏)

- JANES REACTIONS TO HER BIRTHDAY SONG

- Virgil the rat chewing the power cable and his little ears and head just bobbed 😭😭

- JANES PIGTAILS

- The whole pre jawbreaker monologue (yes, I cried… sobbed more accurately)

- Mischa blowing a party blower at Jane and her getting scared x2

- Constance’s cotton Candy earrings 😞💗 I need them for myself!!!!!

- Ocean and Constance doing their little “improv” skit was done so perfectly I laughed so hard 💀

- Jane running and hugging Ocean during her “i love you guys” speech and just not letting her go LIKE FULL ON HOLDING ONTO HER AND DRAGGING ALONG AS OCEAN BACKED AWAY

- CONSTANCE RECORDER SOLO SLAYED I THINK I BURST MY LUNG SCREAMING

- Ricky and Jane ARE REAL

- Ricky coming out in all black with his head down at the start and half doing the choreo

- Noel laughing when Karnak tells Ocean that the person who wins will be decided by a unanimous vote

- Jane saying “for me? 🥺” when Constance offers her the hello Kitty cupcake

- Her proceeding to squish said cupcake in her hand and try to eat the paper decoration on top leading to the others having to stop her

- Mischa offering Jane a sip of vodka and she drinks like half the bottle 💀💀

- Jane making her doll dance

- NOEL APPLYING LIPSTICK BY A MIRROR HELD UP BY JANE (ICONIC ALONG WITH THE STAINED CIGARETTE)

- SBM COSTUME CHANGEEE 2012 FLASHBACKS

- Ricky teaching Jane how to ballroom dance after TNBS

- RICKY SLAYING THE ACCORDIANN

- Janes headless pose at the start and end of the show

- Janes little neck ribbon

- “Do you want to know what I find really super hurts?” DEATH STARE

- Mischa throwing money into the audience (yes I kept one sorry not sorry)

- Jane picking up two of the pieces of money and handing them to people in the audience

- someone getting picked up and spun around more than once??? YES. You heard me, more than once. I almost got knocked out by Janes shoe and honestly would have thanked her

- Monique ate the whole time

- Seriously OBSESSED with Noel’s Lament

- Spacedolls I repeat SPACEDOLLS

- Janes little bottom eyelashes

- Oceans cute little hair bow I LOVER HERR

- Mischa flipping everyone and everything off every 3 seconds

- Jane trying to bring Ricky with her to the other side

- Jane giving Ricky her doll before she leaves to the other side

- The group going over to hug Mischa after Talia, including Constance Jane and ofc Noel

- Ricky ASL 💗💗💗💗

- Clip on earrings (ifykyk)

- JANE GETTING THE HAT

- Penny lamb life compilation (I was in tears) AND THEN WITH THE BEAUTIFUL ITS NOT A GAME VOCALS?!! HEART SHATTERED!

- Having to hold back Jane from biting ocean after the “and she’s a freaky monster” line

- Noel saying hello to Jane and Jane moving her little dolls arm say hi back

- The ropes they used to make Jane look like a marionette doll during TBOJD

- Constance bring the puppet master during TBOJD

- The headless doll being on the side of the wall and the kid sitting next to me pointing it out cause my blind ass didn’t see it at first

- Talia skirts 💗💗

- The way Jane goes limp after her introduction song

- FORNICATION… UNDER CONSENT OF THE KINGGGG!!!! *holding long ass sword above her head*

169 notes · View notes

piss-pumpkin · 16 days

Text

🌓 waking nightmares⚡️

(Older) Dipper pines x reader, Douce amere chapter 15 ~3.6k words, masterlist Prev

“Y/n!” Dipper hollered, one hand on the car door, the other on the centre armrest, all for balance. “Did you fucking forget how to drive since this morning?!”

Bill laughed, and it sounded maniacal in your voice. “Maybe!” He said.

Mabel was, maybe for the first time, dead silent. Eyes wide and sitting straight up, she too held into the car door handle for dear life. Don’t hurt them, please.

And you were reeling. If it was possible, given your condition. Bill kept your eyes on the road, at least. It seemed he didn’t have the intention to kill all of you at the current moment, since he had plenty the opportunity.

Bill nearly rammed into the mystery shack when he parked, and Dipper and Mabel sighed in relief when they finally opened the doors. Dipper practically fell out. “Y/n, what the fuck was that?” He asked, shooting you crazy eyes.

…You’re not being subtle with them, you thought tiredly. They know I wouldn’t drive like that. They’ll figure you out.

“The sun was going crazy,” Bill said, stepping out of the car. As he turned you caught a glimpse at Mabel, who was leaning on the trunk for support, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. “I was half blind that whole time.” He gestured at your sunglasses, tapping the sides of them.

Dipper shott you a more than quizzical look, his brow furrowed in exaggerated distain. He leaned down, resting his arms on the car roof and poking his head in the open door. “You know,” he started, rolling his eyes. He seemed to lose the will to fight you, and pushed off the car. “Come on,” he said, gesturing for you to come.

Bill shook your head. “Nah, I gotta get back home,” he said.

Dipper looked disappointed, his face falling slightly, despite your nearly killing him today. You were almost brought to smile by it, his sadness at the thought of you leaving. It was cute. “Okay, text me when you’re coming next,” he said.

Bill, nodded, put it in reverse, and pull out of the driveway. “You’re too sappy, it makes me sick,” Bill said, speeding down the road.

…Fuck you.

“Oh, don’t be so sullen,” He laughed, swerving across the yellow lines. “I like having somebody to talk to.”

A deer jumped in front of the car, and Bill swerved nearly into the ditch. The bottom of the car scraped the dirt as Bill got back on the road.

Wonder if the car is gonna be okay. You watched at the trees melted into the small town scene as you approached your aunts house. Wait a second. Did we just steal Stans car?

“Sure did!” Bill sang.

He’s never letting me take that car again, is he?

”You won’t have to worry about that,” Bill casually hand waved. What? He was coming up on Susan’s house now, and you weren’t trying to think about anything at all.

Luckily she was working. Bill parked messily across the driveway, blocking any other car that could try to pull in. He didn’t bother locking the door behind you, and he tore through the halls walking like marionette doll, bouncing between the walls as he crashed around as if on misguided puppet strings. Ouch. That might hurt later.

“No matter how many time I try it, I’ll never get used to human pain,” Bill laughed, coming to the kitchen. “It’s so neat!” He went through all the cupboards, eating several strange and old foods Susan had in the very back. The standout was a can of maple beans from the fifties. That could hurt later too.

He went through all the drawers, running your fingers over the serrated edges of butter knives and at the prongs of forks. His eyes lingered on a meat cleaver for longer than you’d have liked. But he didn’t grab for it.

He ran your hands under cold water for a minute, then hot, seemingly taking in all the sensations. Your hand was red and tender by the end of it.

When he got to your room, he went through all your things that he hadn’t yet seen through your eyes. All the clothes you hadn’t worn yet, everything on your laptop you hadn’t opened while he was with you. This is excessive.

“I want to know everything I can about my little host body,” he laughed. “And anything here that could kill Pine tree.”

Oh. Kill him? I don’t think I have anything that could do that, you thought dejectedly.

“Better to be sure!” He chirped, scrolling through all your messages, apparently looking for some confession or secret that could destroy your boyfriend. It’s not like I talk shit about him, or something. This is fucking stupid.

“Hey, it’s worth a try,” he said, putting your hands up in the air in defeat. “You seem clean, good for you!”

Fuck off. Bill laughed. The fucker.

He sat on your bed invading your privacy for a while. You hadn’t even realized it was dark out, and had been dark for hours. The mental exhaustion had already blended your brain into mush. But Bill was slowing down. Long blinks that lingered on the dark, sluggish hands as he typed through your documents. “I’m not a fan of this part,” he muttered quietly.

Going to sleep?

“No,” he said, nearly nodding off hunched over.

Please lay down or something, you’ll give me back problems. It’ll just hurt you tomorrow.

He hummed. “You might have a point, little host,” he said, leaning back, laptop still on your legs. He laid your head back on the pillow, and your vision went dark as he closed his eyes.

You could at least move my computer, so you don’t break it. Silence. For once Bill didn’t have a comment, and sluggishly put your laptop on the floor beside the bed.

Hello? You asked, seemingly into the void. No answer. Just dark. Your eyes were still closed. This is probably the closest to being dead that I’ll ever feel. Until the real thing. No sight, just dark, the sensation of laying, but without the ability to move. Yes, this did seem a lot like being dead. Billy? Hello?

To no response again. Okay. Workable, now you could formulate a working theory, take stock of your situation. Maybe he was asleep. If Bill had control of your body, maybe he was subject to its limits. He finally made you pass out. But you’re still awake, as tired as you are. So maybe when he sleeps, the body sleeps? Or he’s in pre-sleep, where the brain is still technically active?

Even if you were alone with your thoughts for the first time in what felt like forever, you still had no idea what to do. Like you were living a puzzle, and you couldn’t seem to find all the pieces.

“I’m still…” Bill muttered, covering your ears. “…Here.”

Shut up and go to bed. Dipper always said Bill made deals by shaking hands. You did shake his hand… sort of. Fuck, that was dumb. Your statue friend Billy, you did shake his hand way back then. That’s when the nightmares started. Fuck he was totally doing that. Could you give him nightmares? You didn’t know how, if it was possible.

”You can’t, little host,” Bill mumbled, waving your hand in the air as best he could.

Bill said something about the shack. The nightmares stopped in the shack. There was something there, you could tell. But your brain was foggy enough to miss the punchline. Fuck, you were exhausted. Even without a body, just mentally, you felt more than dead.

Dipper said that when he was possessed, he was like a ghost out of his body. That’s not what you’re on, clearly. Ugh, it would have been nicer, you’d at least be able to move.

Sleep was odd when you didn’t have a body. You were alone in the universe, completely in the dark, and as exhausted as you felt, there was nothing you could do. Mental tiredness be damned, you were still thinking. Until you weren’t, when the body fell asleep completely, you and Bill were knocked out.

…

Bill was mortified by the human bodies tiredness upon waking, complaining how many years it’s been since he inhabited Ford, and even his body was better at waking up. That’s rather rude. But Bill didn’t think much of it.

If you could have, you would have shuddered as you saw Bill pull out your phone, and text Dipper. Would have froze when he responded right away, and would have died when they made plans to meet in the woods and go on a ‘mystery hunt,’ suggested by Bill. Alone together in the woods. That’s not good.

He laughed, slipping your phone in a pocket and putting on a sweater. “You’re observant!” He chirped, jingling Stan’s car keys. At least he was returning them. “Eh,” he shrugged, not bothering to lock the door behind him. “If I feel like it.” Your sunglasses were all he carried in your back pack. Well shit.

Hmm. Bill drove a little more careful this time, and parked a few blocks away from the shack. Like hiding? Why? He didn’t answer, wordlessly walking to the tree line where Dipper was waiting, slipping the glasses on.

Your lovely boyfriend. Dipper waved happily at Bill as you got close, and wrote a note in his journal. Maybe he was writing all his suspicions and reservations about you, and he already knew you weren’t yourself. Bill snickered as he jogged up to him. It wasn’t that much to hope for, don’t laugh, you thought sadly.

“Hey,” Dipper said, closing the book to devote all his attention. He’s too nice for this. You can’t do this to him. “You said you found something good?” He asked, starting to walk.

Bill smiled, mimicking the way you spoke and moved with precision. He’s been watching a while, huh. Studying. Your hands swung at your sides the way they always did, and your feet hopped over roots with the same spring you always had. The disguise was perfect. “Yes!” Bill proclaimed, walking ahead of him. “It’s a little ways in though, we’ll get there when we get there, I guess.”

He talked like you, laughed like you, held Dippers hand like you did, raising no suspicion at all. You watched like a film how the two of you hiked around, noting and taking photos of all the oddities and silly creatures you found. And you could almost pretend you were in control with how good of a job Bill was doing. Hearing all your thoughts does that, you supposed.

Your camera roll would be cursed with pictures from before Dipper knew. Or his last moments, that he spent with his killer. That thought got a laugh out of Bill. Unfortunately.

He led Dipper through the woods, teasing you with the way to your special clearing, where you first met Bill. That had to be the final destination. Bill laughed under your breath a moment, confirming your suspicions. This dumb fuck was edging you.

Bill laughed, much to Dippers confusion. And he was quick to recover, pointing down the path you’d walked alone before, and down it you could see the sunlight of the clearing. The weather always turned sour when I went there before. Why’s it have to be sunny for you? “Down that way,” Bill said, starting the trail. “We’ve found it!”

Dipper followed, smile on his face as he idly clicked at his pen. “Okay, you’ve led me on enough, what the fuck did you find, Y/n,” he laughed, not a hint of distaste in his voice.

Bill grinned, almost manically, just for you and him. Dipper couldn’t see from behind. “Oh,” he said dramatically, “you’ll see.” You’re a dramatic cunt.

You heard dipper scoff, with a little smile on his lips, you could tell. Even with your back to him. The clearing was growing closer each step. You couldn’t yet see the stature, your little Billy. If Dipper saw it first, maybe he could get away…

Bill shook your head, and stopped just short of the little field. The grass was tall, brushing up against your ankles, and a few daisies poked through the blades. “Okay, it’s here,” Bill said enthusiastically, spinning around to face Dipper. “And I’m gonna have to ask you to close your eyes.”

Dipper raised his brow. “Alright, if this isn’t like, the coolest thing I’ve ever seen I’m gonna be disappointed, you’re hyping this up too much,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “Fine.”

Dipper closed his eyes. Dude. Come on. Bill snickered, and took Dippers hand, pulling him. “Okay, don’t open your eyes until I tell you, okay?”

You could see the statue, its familiar outstretched hand beckoning you closer. And you could feel Dippers hand too. Too many hands. All around you. Dipper laughed, “yeah, yeah, I get it.”

Bill just smiled and nodded, maybe forgetting that Dipper couldn’t see. He stopped in front of his stone self, smiling down at it happily. Maniacally. Maliciously. Dipper still had his eyes closed as your hand slipped out of his, and suddenly there wasn’t enough hands.

Bill stood behind him, hands on his shoulders. “Okay, don’t open your eyes, but we’re here.”

”Dude, my balls are blue enough,” he snickered. “Can I just see?”

”Wait wait, not yet.” Bill savoured the moment. A gentle breeze ran through Dippers and your hair, a few birds chirped. It was a nice summer day, all things considered. Bill pulled out your phone, and took a selfie with Dipper, the statue, and you behind his back. That’s just cruel.

“I know,” Bill said.

Dipper didn’t know he was talking to you, “What?”

“Okay, you can open them,” Bill said, words cutting through the air like knives. And you had to watch, a little glad you that his back was turned. That way you didn’t have to see his face.

“Alright, here goes nothing,” Dipper laughed. But he stopped fairly quickly, freezing in place. The birds didn’t stop chirping, and you could even hear a few crickets. Dipper was silent enough for a lot of forest sounds to come through. You couldn’t even hear his breathing. If he even was.

He stood for a few beats of your heart, hands frozen at his sides, until you noticed the subtle way his fingers rubbed and scratched at his thumb. Please don’t turn around.

Dipper started to turn around. Very slowly. There was a slight move of his head to the right, and then a stop. And when he started again his hands were fidgeting with his pockets.

Bill, I’ll kill you for this.

You didn’t want to see his face, but it was the first thing to turn. And you couldn’t avert your eyes if you wanted to. Bill wasn’t nice enough to let you look away. Dippers brow was furrowed in concentration, his jaw clenched but lips parted. More confused them anything, at a glance. “Y/n, what-“

And then he saw your face, the way Bill was grinning. And you saw each stage of grief pass on your boyfriends features. He was frozen for a moment, just a single one, and then he stepped back. It was an awkward, shaky step, but it was better than you could do. He grimaced, one hand touching his backpack as if to check it was still there. “Y/n?” He asked, voice laced with concern first, suspicions second. He took another step back, and his foot knocked the statue.

”Nope,” Bill grinned gleefully, shaking your head. He took a step forward, cornering Dipper against the statue. “Try again.”

And then, if you had to guess, is when you’d say Dippers blood ran cold, maybe stopped in his veins, and his heart stopped pumping. His breath caught in his throat, and he tried to step back, but caught on the outstretched hand. “You’re not-“ he said, stumbling to regain balance.

”That’s not a guess.” Fuck you. Fuck you.

”Dude. He’s dead,” Dipper said, starting confident but losing it partway through. “This is kind of fucked up, Y/n, take those off,” he hissed, pointing at your sunglasses. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Bill stepped closer again, “Will do, Pinetree!” And then he did. He flipped them on top of your head, and it seemed like Dippers heart stopped a second time. He went pale. Your pupils didn’t look right. Suppose that was the giveaway. Isn’t that what he asked you when you first met? That was the telltale sign? Dipper scrambled backwards, putting the statue between him and Bill. Dipper… if you had any control… better not to think about what you would do.

Dippers eyes were wide like that of a prey animal, darting to different holes in the tree line for a potential escape. His voice was too level, giving away too much. Everything he was doing to keep calm, and you knew how panicked he really was. “Where-“ he started, stepping back. “Where’s Y/n?”

Right here, Dip. “Right here, Pine tree,” Bill said, tapping your head. “Been a real complainer this whole time.”

Fuck you. Fuck you.

“W-what?” Dipper said, brow furrowing. He clutched his back, swinging it off his shoulder and digging around in it while he kept his eyes trained on you.

“They’re still here, not in the mindscape or anything,” Bill shrugged. “Y/n, you can say hi if you want, anything you wanna tell him?”

Fuck you. Tell him… what was there to say? I guess that I’m sorry. Yeah. Fuck you. I’ll kill you.

“They say they’re sorry,” Bill laughed, shaking your head. “Among other things.”

“I-“ he started. He quickly lost the track, but pulled his journal out of his bag. Maybe he had a solution in there. “Y/n…”

Yes? I’m right here. Right here. Still here. Bill kept getting closer, side stepping his statue, and giving it a flick on the hat. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Pine tree,” he started as Dipper stumbled back. He was flipping through his journal aggressively, searching desperately for something, anything. Please find it. “And this time you don’t have that memory gun, do ya?”

Please do something. Dipper, please. But you were begging to the void. Bill was done letting you talk, and Dipper was as worlds away. As trapped as you were in your mind, he seemed to be locked in his, frantic and running out of places to go, nearly the edge of the clearing as he kept walking backwards, and Bill kept closing in. If you leave me here you’ll be okay, you wanted to say. Or if you fight me off.

But did he have it in him? There was a thin sheen of sweet on Dippers forehead. He wasn’t finding whatever he was looking for, and Bill was closing fast. And Dippers legs were shaking. And his hands. Please fight me.

And maybe he heard your prayers. Dippers hands clutched the journal with white knuckles, the pages bending under his fingers. Heavy and ragged were his breaths, but his jaw was tight in a sneer and glare. The stance of prey, but the teeth of a predator. Fight or flight. Yes. Yes Dipper. Don’t hesitate.

Suddenly there was hope. A sliver of it, anyway, because Dipper still stumbled back and tripped to the ground when Bill lunged forward. And you were given the Birds Eye view looking over him as he scrambled back, hanging onto his journal like a lifeline. Don’t hesitate. Fight. Choose fight. You could feel Bills grin on your lips.

Dipper held his book to his chest, and with one hand frantically grabbed at the grass behind him, trying to pull himself away.

Bill snickered, and raised his knee. Don’t you fucking hurt him. Don’t you fucking do it. I’ll kill you for this. You’re gonna be dead. If you could, you’d be sobbing blind with rage, it’d stop you from seeing this. Bill stomped down on his wrist, and Dipper winced, groaning in pain.

“You’re not gonna hurt this body, are you,” Bill gloated. Fuck you. Fight him off. I’d forgive you. I’d hate you if you didn’t, you have to know that. Dipper, he’ll kill you. “Only way to get rid of me now is to get rid of them,” he laughed. “And you’re not gonna do that.”

Dipper gritted his teeth, but he had no objections besides a breath sucked in hastily and laced with pain as Bill pressed your foot down harder on his wrist. Just pick fight. Before you get hurt, you pleaded. Appealing to Bill was a scream into the void, but in some sense, Dipper might hear you. Across the universe. Right in front of you. You could practically feel his pulse pounding through your shoe. His hand was starting to blue.

“That’s what I thought,” Bill said smugly, leaning down your head close to his, and you could feel his shaky breath on your face. What, you read fucking yaoi or something? The fuck is this?

The hand clutching the journal was shaking. He tried to clench the hand Bill was suffocating, but all that happened was a twitch of the fingers.

“I’m going to kill you now,” Bill said, raising a hand tediously slowly.

But before it could clamp around his throat, punch his face, dig into his chest, or whatever else Bill had planned, Dippers journal was flying towards your face. Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah. His eyes were wild, but he was doing it. One clean hit to the jaw, and you were out.

I wrote this one while so sick lmao. Ig I did my first proofread while sick too cuz I caught some horrible errors 💀

Anyway I got war flashbacks to dipper x bill shit from the 2010s, can you tell?

Taglist: @dead-esque @cipheress-to-k-pop

#x reader #my writing #dipper pines x reader #douce amere #gravity falls x reader #dipper pines #dipper x reader #gravity falls

21 notes · View notes

calummss · 2 years

Text

Thomas Shelby Hogwarts Professor Short Story

masterlist other chapters

Last Chapter: Fucking in Sin

summary: having problems with your essay, you pay a visit to professor shelby’s office

pairing: professor! thomas shelby x fem student! reader

words: 3.2k

sexual content! and this is my first time writing smut so i apologise

You were lounging around in the common room one evening about a month later besides the warming fire, catching up on Defense Against the Dark Arts homework. You were supposed to write an essay on Chameleon Ghouls but you had so many questions and you were the type of person that couldn’t continue their work unless they had all the answers they needed. Penny and Oliver were scattered across the room scribbling away whilst you were dangling your feet off the sofa.

‘Do you know if Chameleon Ghouls have a timeframe of how long they can stay transformed. Or is it like until they feel like it?’ You asked into the room hoping for an answer in return.

‘No idea, but then again, you always ask questions no one would even think about.’ Penny slid down the wall until she was sprawled out on the floor. ‘I hate this.’ She said. ‘Maybe you should go to Shelby? It’s 9 o’clock but maybe he’ll give you an answer.’

‘I’m afraid I might have to.’ You placed your pen between your lips. Pondering hard if you should go.

‘I’ll go ask the Professor.’ You stood up a minute later. ‘Otherwise I’ll never finish your homework.’

‘Have fun.’ You heard Oliver poke fun at me just as you were about to climb through the portrait hole.

Only a few students were in the halls most likely back to their dormitories as the evening came to an end. On your way to the classroom you saw Percy which ruined your mood, but before you could let out a joke you had arrived at the door.

With shaking hands you grabbed the cold, rusty door handle and slowly swung the door open to reveal Professor Shelby sitting at his wooden desk, grading some papers.

‘What can I do for you?’ Professor Shelby flashed you a smile. Good lord in heaven for I have sinned.

You returned the smile, shutting the door and walked to the front of his desk.

‘Sorry, I know it's rather late to ask questions,’ You admitted. ‘But if I don’t have answers to your questions I find it hard to continue with your work, and I’m having that problem with the essay you gave us, Sir.’

‘If you're having trouble, Miss Granger, you can always come to me— I don't bite." He said, smiling. ‘Nevertheless, it is a little late.’ He placed his quill into the wooden desk. ‘However I’ll make an exception tonight. Just this once, after tonight I’d prefer it if you showed up before.’

‘Of course, Sir. I’m sorry.’

He awaited your next words as you stood in front of him, feet rolling up and down.

‘Ehm, in the book I found nothing on the transformation of the Chameleon Ghouls.’ You placed the book you’d brought with you on the table. ‘When they transform, do they stay like that until they want to or is it limited?’ You lifted your head to look at him.

Professor Shelby continued to listen to your questions and helped you get your answers to all of them. It was nice having a teacher that dedicated his time to his student and actually wanted to help. Unlike Professor Snape who couldn’t give a shit less.

‘By the way Miss Granger, I’d advise you to not give me ‘fuck-me’ eyes during class.’ He nodded. ‘It’s a bit of a distraction to everyone else.’

Your eyes felt like they had popped out of your eye sockets. Your grip tightened around your book not knowing what to do. You were about to leave but it felt like someone was playing around with you like a marionette doll.

He looked at you with lust in his eyes, jaw clenched, inches away from you, nostrils picking up the scent of his cologne.

Seconds later the gap was closed. His hands cupped your face as his lips crashed into yours, lips plump and smooth against your own. Shelby’s arms found themselves to your back, pulling you closer than was possible—you wanted to be closer to him.

Your hands had found his hair that you had secretly been dreaming of tugging on since the moment you saw him in Diagon Alley.

You parted your lips, urging him to open his, moaning into his mouth. Dragging his lips against your cheek up to your ear, his hand found your face, his thumb pulling down your bottom lip.

‘And for the eye-fucking, Miss Granger,’

Your eyes found his; chest rising and falling heavily waiting for him to finish his sentence.

‘I’m just as guilty of that.’ Professor Shelby smirked, pulling you in for one more heated kiss before he pulled away. His breath sent shivers down your spine, raising goosebumps on every available patch of skin that was naked to the open.

Suddenly you felt two fingers mark their touch at your ear, tracing down to your chest.Your nipples poked through the light fabric, earning a chuckle.

‘You’ve been wanting this haven’t you,’ Professor Shelby muttered. ‘So so eager for me to touch you.’

Your breathing hitched. You couldn’t believe what was happening.

Was this truly your reality? Was this actually happening? Were you about to sleep with your Professor?

Professor Shelby stood in front of you again, raising his hand to your head, softly caressing your cheeks. ‘God, you’re so beautiful.’ His thumb inched over your lips, softly touching them. His stare was intense. You knew what he wanted. It was as if a hunter was looking at its prey.

You looked up through your eyelashes to catch a glimpse of his face. Looking up, his thumb pulled down your bottom lip. Your hands were clamped to your side, too awkward to move.

He pushed his thumb into your mouth, slightly catching you off guard.

‘Suck.’

Harsh words left his pursed lips.

Parting your lips, you started to suck on his digit like he ordered. Curious to see his reaction, you stared into his eyes, immediately knowing he was enjoying this view.

‘I didn’t know you were such a horny little thing, let alone for me.’ He finally snickered, pulling his finger out.

‘Do you want this?’ He raised an eyebrow at you. ‘I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’

‘I—I want this.’ You breathed heavily.

Professor Shelby cupped your face and forcefully kissed you again. Your arms found their way to his neck, to make sure you wouldn’t fall from the force he was impacting you with. His arms were around your lower back, pulling you towards his body.

Suddenly he broke the kiss and stared down at you before muttering a cold, ‘Undress.’ And you did;

You pulled your shirt over your head, exposing your bare chest before you took off your jeans and underwear.

‘God, you are so beautiful.’ He stepped towards you, lowering his head to your chest. Shivers went down your spine when Professor Shelby’s tongue made contact with your hard nipple, gently blowing onto it. His tongue glided on the outskirts of your areola. His right hand found its way to your other breast, massaging it thoroughly and pinching your hardened nipple from time to time. You hissed at the pleasure you were receiving, not ever having experienced anything like this. His teeth found their way to your nipple gently nibbling, before playing with it again.

A moan escaped your mouth making him stop. You could feel your cheeks glow red from embarrassment.

‘You like this don’t you?’

You nodded.

‘You like the way I touch you?’

You nodded again, feeling his hand make its way down to your cunt.

‘Can I?’ He asked for approval, not sure if you really wanted this.

‘Yes.’ You breathed out.

His finger went along your slit, earning a twitch from your body, that was very touch deprived. He parted your lips with his index and middle finger and started to explore your already wet pussy.

‘We haven’t even started and you're soaked? Just for me,’ he chuckled. ‘Are you wet for me?’

You closed your eyes and turned to the side, not being able to answer him.

‘Hey…,’ he softly said, turning your head back to him. ‘Answer my question.’

‘Yes.’

‘Yes, what?’

‘Yes, I am wet for you.’

‘That’s it. You’re this wet only for me.’ He pushed his fingers inside of me, making you arch your back.

‘Does this feel good? Do you like your fingers inside of your wet cunt.’ Professor Shelby mumbled into your stomach.

‘Yes, yes it feels s-so good.’ You moaned.

His lips kept him busy at your neck and collar, leaving dark marks. He began to pump his fingers out of you slowly, too slow for your liking. Your hands grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, asking for more.

‘Not satisfied darling?’ He cocked at you in a way like never before. But you could only think of the pleasure you were receiving, and whimpered out a no. You barely had time to take another breath before he picked you up, sat you on his desk, and attached his mouth to your aching cunt.

‘Fuck!’ You yelled out, grabbing a fistful of his dark hair. A deep moan escaped his lips, sending vibrations through your body. He added another finger going even faster than his previous pace, curling his fingers, hitting your spot perfectly, making you lose it.

He continued to pump his fingers in and out of you, making you cry out in euphoria. With every forceful hit you felt your orgasm draw nearer and nearer. It felt like a knot inside of your stomach was going to explode any second and Professor Shelby noticed this.

Just before you could release your screams, he pulled out his digits and grinned. But before you could argue with him, he re-attached his mouth to your clit and started to swirl his tongue in every direction possible, gathering more moans that left your lips.

This was a feeling you had never experienced before. Your hands were grasping his hair, whilst your toes were crinkling and your back was arched.

‘Please make me cum,’ You whimpered out desperately.

Professor Shelby’s hand shot up and grabbed your neck, forcing you to look at him. He put slightpressure onto your throat. The second he held your jaw you shut up. It wasn’t uncomfortable. You like it.

‘What did you just say to me?’

‘Can you please make me cum.’

‘From the moment you let me touch that wet little cunt of yours, you were mine. My girl. So I get to decide when you cum. Understood?’ He growled.

He was anything but a nice teacher in private. He was like a beast, but you liked this side of him, you couldn’t lie.

You nodded, signaling you understood.

‘Speak up when I ask you a question, darling.’ He got up on his feet and towered over you, dark eyes staring into your soul.

‘Yes Professor, I understand.’

Taking a huge gulp, you watched him take off his pants and jumper. His chest swelled with air as he trailed his finger down to the base of his cock, twitching under his own touch. Your breath hitched, trying to get as much oxygen into your lungs as I you watched him come towards you. His hand stroked over his hardened shaft, collecting a small speck of pre cum.

‘On your knees.’ He commanded, and like a well trained dog you obliged. He grabbed your jaw, thumb gently rubbing over your lips. You were at eye level with his cock and he was bigger than expected.

‘There we go.’

‘Do you want this?’ He asked.

‘Yes’ You answered very quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up.

‘What did I just say?’

‘Yes, Professor, I want your cock.’ You corrected yourself.

Growling, he pushed the head of the shaft past your lips, hitting the back of your throat. Professor Shelby tangled his fingers into your messy hair, eager to push in deeper. You swallowed around his throbbing member, earning a huffed moan.

‘You like that don’t you,’ he thrusted in and out of your aching mouth. ‘You like the feeling of my cock down your throat.’

You nodded, not being able to speak, but he didn’t like your non verbal communication. He pulled out his cock giving you time to breathe.

‘I said, don’t you?’

‘Yes Professor, yes! I love being used for your cock.’ You gasped out for air, before he slid back inside of you.

You pressed your tongue against his shaft trying to satisfy him. Your cunt was throbbing with lust. After dreaming of Professor Shelby for longer than you should have, you were now taking his cock in what felt like every hole.

‘So, so eager for me, aren’t you?’ He groaned.

His hands found their way to your hair, pulling your head back, allowing him further access to your throat. A mixture of tears, saliva and cum were streaming down your face, but he didn’t seem to mind, deep groans continuing to escape his deep-pink lips.

‘Such a nasty whore. Look at you. Pathetic.’ He glanced down, staring into your eyes. ‘You look so good taking your cock. Maybe this will teach you to not give your professor fuck-me-eyes.’

A pool of cum was now dripping below you. You couldn’t help it, you was so turned on. You needed him. Before you could register, your head was yanked up by your hair.

‘Look at me,’

Your eyes shot up and stared into his.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck.’ He moaned loudly before releasing into your mouth, slowly pulling his cock out of your aching mouth.

‘Swallow like the good little girl you are.’ Professor Shelby ordered.

You swallowed his load, which tasted bitter and sweet, with a hint of saltiness. You opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue, showing him that you obeyed.

‘What a good little fuck toy you are.’ He smirked at you before ordering you to lay back on the desk.

‘Do you deserve to cum?’ He asked

‘Please Professor, please let me cum.’ You begged him, ‘I need to cum.’

Professor Shelby laughed, tracing his fingers along his cock. ‘And what will you do if I let you cum?’ He snickered, clearly finding the sight of you amusing.

‘Anything!’ You cried out, realising how bad you needed him.

‘So desperate for me.’ He trailed on. ‘Lets see if I can make an excuse.’

He climbed on top of you and moved to your neck where he started placing wet, sloppy kisses below your earlobe. His tongue drew down to your stomach.

You were speechless. Beginning to become annoyed you breathed out, ‘Just make me cum!’

Immediately regretting your words, your eyes shot wide as he stopped and retrieved his head from your stomach.

‘Watch that filthy little mouth of yours or do I have to fuck it again.’ His thumb swiped over your lips, his bright blue eyes coming in closer. Despite him saying all those dirty words they were spoken more softly than someone would think if you retold this story. It felt nice…good.

Thomas’ lips brushed against yours, soft, yet rough, like you were the air he breathed. You could only focus on how soft he felt against your mouth, how addictively he invaded all your senses. He kissed you long enough that he could inhale your breath, feel the warmth of your skin, and the taste of your chapstick that would linger far after you had gone. His lips were soft like butter and his tongue as wet as the pool that started to grow between your legs.

‘Now tell me, what do you want me to do?’ He pulled away from you, watching your eyes trail to his cock.

‘I want you to fuck me.’, You said, not being able to withstand it anymore. ‘I need you.’

‘Of course you want me to, darling.’ He pumped his shaft faster, groaning.

Professor Shelby brushed the tip of his cock against your opening, teasing you. You wanted to roll your eyes and swear at him, but you couldn’t. Instead you bucked your hips forward, trying to give him a better reach.

He grinned, placing his knee between your legs, before thrusting into your core, making you yelp out.

‘Fuck!’ You shakily whispered. That one thrust was able to stretch out your wet cunt.

Your face was held in his hand, making you look at him again.

‘God.’ He whispered. ‘Your moans are the prettiest sounds I have ever heard.’

You moaned in response. He felt too good.

‘All I can think about in class is you. Everything you do drives me crazy.’ He continued to pump in and out of you, moans muffling into his chest. The room filled with the loud slaps of your bodies colliding. ‘Every second you’re not near me I feel myself craving for you’

You grabbed him bis his face and pulled him in for another kiss.

‘You’re so fucking tight.’ He grunted into your neck, his hot breath raising goosebumps on your skin. ‘It’s like you were made to make your cock. Look at you, taking your cock like the good little girl you are.’

Those words felt like fireworks started exploding inside of you.

‘Come on.’ He slapped against your skin. ‘Come.’

You cried out in ecstasy, as he pulled you into a climax, sending your body over the edge. He kept on thrusting, overstimulating you, until moments later, he reached his high as well, and filled you up with his cum.

Professor Shelby slid his cock out of you and stared down at the sight of you.

Panting, you laid on the desk not being able to move.

‘Such a good girl.’ He said, as he slid two fingers up your throbbing cunt, collecting your juices. ‘Taste yourself.’

As he commanded, you opened your mouth, letting the fingers slide into your mouth, tongue wrapping around his digits, sucking off all your cum.

‘Such a pretty girl.’

He pulled away from your exhausted body and walked around the desk.

There you were, laying on his desk. Broken and bruised, just like he wanted. You would lie if this didn’t make you realise your feelings for the Professor.

He walked back in front of you holding a small wet towel. ‘Can you sit up?’ He asked deep and soft.

You placed your hands beside your lower back and tried to prop yourself up but your body was a little too weak.

Professor Shelby noticed and placed one of his hands behind your back and brought you to the edge of the desk.

He took the towel and started to clean around your mouth, collecting a mixture of cum and blood. You held your breath not knowing how to react and because of the stinging pain he had caused. Professor Shelby brought the fabric down to your chest and cunt, wiping up all the excess liquids. Once he was done he grabbed your clothes off the floor and told you to get dressed.

‘It’s late, Miss Granger.’ He said looking at the clock. ‘Be careful on your way back. It’s past 10.’

You nodded quickly gathering your things and walking towards the exit.

‘Good night, Professor.’

‘Until next time.’ Professor Shelby said nonchalantly.

Next time.

You nodded, giving him one last smile before stepping into the hallway. You thought about the experience you just had with him. Your body was certainly sensing it. The man that eye-fucked you at the store turned out to be your teacher, and fucked you he definitely did.

BONUS SCENCE

‘Now, since I’m no longer your teacher, I feel no guilt whatsoever for you to know that I love you more than I ever loved anyone. And I will always love you.’ Thomas’ hand cupped your face, his eyes reflecting his heart’s desire. ‘We will no longer hide. I want to be seen with you. I want to kiss you whenever I want to. Hold your hand whilst we walk through the streets.’

‘I love you,’ you leaned into his shoulder, your grip on his hand growing tighter. ‘I’ll love you until my last breath.’

‘Good,’ he smiled down at you. ‘Because I don’t plan to stop loving you until I cease to exist.’

689 notes · View notes

indianamoonshine · 1 year

Text

baptism | father paul x reader | one shot

summary: this is a really, really quick one-shot i wrote last night while feeling witchy. john talks you through it.

warnings: lots of smut. use of biblical passages during sex. typical priest stuff.

a gentle purr.

“jesus,” he murmurs. “creator of such lovely things…”

you arch against his chest as he holds you beneath the steady stream of the shower. the only light illuminating the bathroom were the sparse candles behind the curtain, highlighting the contours of your bodies.

soaked. baptism in motion.

pure blasphemy.

he takes your chin between two fingers, his lips just inches from yours as he breathes, “you’re a delicate sin, darling girl.”

you whimper, trying to kiss him - to feel his lips upon yours like a salve - but he teases you, moving just a hairsbreadth away before sliding his hand down your belly.

it burns. it burns like hellfire. you’re soaked, both by shower and by seduction. he’s smug, grinning the entire time his fingers dance around where you need him the most.

“please, john…” you whisper. “please. touch me.”

take away the pain.

your hands slide up to his hair, the angle slightly awkward but rewarding; his locks are long and vulnerable to your grip. you tug just slightly when his thumb ghosts over your clit.

finally you moan out, “father.”

and he gives in.

your sensitivity - between the hot shower and the anticipation - is heightened. your clit quivers as he rubs softly, watching from over your shoulder as you shudder in his arms.

he’s always fascinated by your body - by how it works and responds to him. “it’s like watching a work of art come alive,” he once said.

“your thighs shelter a paradise of pomegranates…” he quotes breathily.

you almost crumble in his arms when he gently prods a finger inside; the fit is snug - warm. it takes you a moment to adjust but you do with a groan that sounds both neolithic and angelic at once.

“that’s it, darling girl.” he crooks the finger, hitting a spongey part of you. you keen, bending a little in his grasp. “oh, yes. right there.”

one finger is followed by another until he’s three fingers deep. and despite how many times the two of you have had sex - have intertwined your bodies before god - you’re never prepared for his cock.

he kisses the side of your neck, slowly pulling out his fingers from you. “part your legs more, sweetheart…” you do, still gripping the back of his neck for support. “that’s perfect. you’re perfect.”

you snuggle into his shoulder, murmuring sweet nothings and blessings while he prepares you.

“you’re gonna grab onto the bar,” he gently untangles your arm from him and positions your hand onto the bar that was convenient for him when he was elderly - when his body was retired from such experiences.

he’ll use it for different purposes now.

john kisses your spine, hand caressing your thigh before he has you place your leg on the lip of the tub. having sex in the shower is no small feat; you were prepared for the positioning like a marionette doll. but now you were so desperate - so ready for him - that you were more than willing to do with as he pleased.

“john…” you whine.

he tsks softly, hands wrapping around your waist. “patience is a virtue; a fruit of the spirit.”

you can’t help but smile in your lust driven haze, especially when you feel the firmness of his cock nudging at your entrance.

“ame-“

you squeak, cut off by the harsh — but delicious — feel of his cock pushing in so slowly. every inch. every ridge. your limbs become like jello the further he goes. it’s heavenly. it’s sacred. it’s…

so goddamned hot.

you lean over in his arms, his hands gripping your hips so firmly you’re sure they’ll be blossomed with purple in the morning; a frank reminder of your blatant blasphemy against the church. john groans low at your ear and it sounds uneven.

“i have entered my garden, my treasure…” he pauses, pushing one more inch in and prodding at your womb. you gasp, white knuckling the bar. “…-my bride.”

a whine, pathetic and impatient, escapes your lips. your free hand grabs at his on your hip, searching for any inch of him to touch - to feel.

he intertwines his fingers with yours and begins to move.

it’s slow, at first, but then his movements are more forcible - precise - rather than gentle.

john’s length is more impressive than his girth but he makes up for it with each and every thrust. soon, your grip on the bar isn’t enough and your hitched leg is becoming like a limp noodle.

“john, oh my god.”

he’s crazed, like an animal in heat. he presses his face to your neck, sucking an impressive bruise beneath the skin. you cry out, all too aware of the hidden canines, but he doesn’t cut flesh. he wouldn’t.

unless you asked.

“that’s a good girl,” he grunts, one hand laying on your lower abdomen and the other fondling your tit. “best little pussy god ever created…”

your eyes roll back. “i am my beloved and my beloved is mine,” you gasp, each movement of his hips knocking each syllable from you.

john growls, which he usually does when he’s close. the crude sound of wet skin slapping against one another betwixt the exchanging of biblical passages can only be described as hedonistic, but he doesn’t care. he can’t bring himself to when your cunt is so tight and wet around him - when you’re so pliable and feminine.

when he comes, you do too. it’s a divine blessing, the two of you completely strung out on one another’s essence. he finishes inside of you, pushing his spend back in with each lazy thrust nearing the end. the noise you make when you come is his guilty pleasure - his pride. it’s a stark contrast against the state of the world, a breathy whine that rings hot with euphoria.

john gives you a moment before helping you step down from the ledge of the bath; apparently your limbs seemed to have stopped working. the two of you catch your breath, pressing against one another under the shower that slowly turns tepid.

you press a delicate kiss to his naked chest and then to his shoulder blade. “thank you.”

john finds you staring at him, the reflection of the candles’ light dancing in your pupils. he kisses the tip of your nose.

“for what, my love?” he asks in a soft voice. he’s always so gentle afterwards.

you smile, hand cupping his cheek. “for something so beautiful.”

#father paul x reader #midnight mass #john pruitt x reader #inklings #mw1

320 notes · View notes

marcmarcmomarc · 2 months

Text

After the news of Rooster Teeth’s death, I decided to remake this post of Ruby telling the tale of RWBY+J’s time in the Ever After to the Remnant Alliance as another dose of RWBY positivity, once again inspired by this post by @pmpknsoup.

———————————————————————————

(In Theodore’s office in Shade Academy at early evening, Team RWBY and Jaune face the main members of the Remnant Alliance.)

RUBY: Listen. Thanks, everyone, for your patience. It took a while to figure out how to tell you, and I know being left in the dark about our whereabouts over the remainder of the winter, the whole spring, and the summer has left you anxious, but now, I’ve decided it’s time to reveal what’s been going on. Miss Robyn Hill, I’ll need your Semblance to prove all of this correct.

ROBYN: Uh, okay.

(Robyn steps away from the group, removes her glove, and joins hands with Ruby. Her Semblance turns on and glows green with every piece of information Ruby gives.)

ROBYN: So what happened in the pocket dimension?

RUBY: Well, after I fell, I regained consciousness on a beach surrounded by giant seashells. I tried to hone in on a giant tree, but just ended up looping in circles. Eventually, I had to stop, then found a mouse trying to pull a plant out of the ground. I pulled the plant out for the mouse and fed them a cheese. After the mouse revealed that they could talk, I named them Little, and they decided to stay by my side as I tried to get home. Then we found Weiss and Blake captured in vines by a whole village of talking mice. It didn’t take much convincing to get them to let them go. Then we went to look for Yang and found a creepy Grimm-looking creature moving jerkily. And I mean very creepy. Then Yang came barreling out, already fighting the creature while missing her arm. Then Blake realized we were in our favorite childhood fairy tale, The Girl Who Fell Through the World.

(Confusion and wonder all around. “That fairy tale?” “The Ever After?” “It’s real?”)

OSCAR: That fairy tale actually happened? And the Ever After is real?

RUBY: Which meant the creepy Grimm-like creature was the Jabberwalker from that story. Also, Weiss had a very hard time wrapping her head around the Ever After’s absurdities.

(Weiss blushes with embarrassment.)

WEISS: Did not.

RUBY: Our hands are glowing green, Weiss. Robyn’s Semblance never fails. Then we went to the village in the Crimson Acre to barter with the Jinxy Peddler, who had stolen Yang’s arm, or “took something we weren’t looking at”, according to Little.

EMERALD: You met the Jinxy Peddler?

VELVET: Was he cute?

WEISS: Yeah.

RUBY: And, despite being older than he was in the book, his strategy was the same, selling treasures that are really other items in disguise. If my memory serves me right, he had a yellow scepter, a pink rabbit statue, and a marionette-like doll. Toy soldiers won the scepter, and we only got it back from them because Little tried stealing the marionette, exposing Jinxy’s treasures as fakes. The rabbit statue was another mouse, the scepter was Yang’s arm, and the marionette was one of Penny’s Floating Array swords. The soldiers followed us to arrest us for stealing Yang’s arm, or “royal property”, before I traded Penny’s sword, with a story of her being the greatest warrior to ever live. “She was touched by magic, and she gave her life for thousands. She took a message of hope to the stars, and she saw the world through better eyes.”

(The gang gets emotional, especially Winter and Pietro, who are comforted by their loved ones.)

RUBY: The soldiers escorted us to the Crimson Castle for the birthday of who we thought was the Red King, but turned out to be the Red Prince, who was more of a spoiled brat than Weiss was at Beacon.

YANG: (nudging Weiss) Heh-heh.

RUBY: We challenged him to a game of chess, where he shrunk the girls to the size of chess pawns. Not that it hindered their performance against the Prince’s pawns. When we revealed that we’re humans and beat him, he threw a tantrum and wanted us beheaded, and the Curious Cat rescued us.

(More interested chatter. Nora gets giddy.)

NORA: The Curious Kitty?!

REN: Were they as chatty as the book made them out to be?

RUBY: Mm-hm. Not to mention easily distracted. Anyway, they took us to look for ingredients for a Growgurt Parfait in the Garden Acre, and we told them our life story, then they briefly distracted me with questions about how I’m supposed to save the world now that Salem has two out of four Relics and that Atlas is gone, making me lose them over and over again. After the third time, we met an herbalist, a caterpillar named Herb who seemed to be asking us questions to figure out what medicine he needed to make to help us. Reasonable, as too little medicine is useless, but too much medicine is toxic. Eventually Herb just decided to smoke a hookah for a bit and drugged us with leaves that made us see our past selves tempting us to “go back”. To be free. To be simple. To be whole. To be different. The other girls rejected and had already accepted their failures as something to learn from, but I almost gave in, before the Cat stopped me, then got Herb swallowed by a hole in the ground.

TAI: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back up. You guys did drugs?

QROW: Don’t let alcoholism be next, girls.

RUBY: Anyway, the Cat led us to a market to keep looking for the Parfait ingredients. Along the way, they told us about a process that occurs when an Afteran is no longer doing the assigned role that they are supposed to be, triggered by them losing their ways, wearing out, doubting themselves, or even just finishing their assigned tasks, upon which they are taken to the Great Tree and repurposed into someone or something else with a new identity, personality, and role. Their memories are erased in the process, but the heart very rarely forgets. They don’t die. They ascend.

(Such a concept catches the interest of the gang.)

REMNANT ALLIANCE: Ooh.

RUBY: And then, the market was attacked by Jabberwalkers using Neopolitan’s Semblance. Yeah, Neopolitan fell with us, too.

(The members of the Alliance who know who Neo was grow worried.)

REN: Uh-oh.

TAI: Neopolitan? Who’s that?

RUBY: Roman Torchwick’s parter. She’s held me responsible for his death at the Fall of Beacon and wanted me dead to avenge him.

RAVEN: Was she that chick I saved Yang from on the train on Mountain Glenn?

RUBY: Yep. Then I disposed of her by opening her umbrella on an Atlas airship in the sky during the Fall of Beacon. Apparently she survived that fall without any of those Grimm surrounding us eating her.

OSCAR: Team JNPR and I last fought her right after Ironwood declared us fugitives.

RUBY: Then she fought us in the pocket dimension between here and Solitas. Heck, she was the reason Yang, Blake, and I fell. Anyway, we had all of the ingredients for the Parfait, and the girls grew back to normal size just as we got assistance from the Rusted Knight riding his white rabbit.

WHITLEY: Did Weiss go goo-goo eyes the second she laid eyes on him? She had a crush on him when she was younger.

BLAKE: I think everyone had a crush on the Rusted Knight at some point.

RUBY: Well, things didn’t help when he turned out to be a grown-up Jaune with longer hair and a beard, who grabbed a fruit that sent him back in time twenty years right after he landed.

(The gang gasps at the new knowledge of the Rusted Knight being not only Jaune, of all people, but Jaune thrown backwards in time, grown older, and living without his friends for so long.)

NORA: Oh, my Gods, Jaune!

JAUNE: I was stuck there isolated from other human contact, too.

YANG: Weiss certainly loved how mature he was.

RUBY: And the white rabbit was a jackalope Jaune named Juniper.

NORA: After his team? Aww!

RUBY: Then Jaune told us his perspective on the Tree, that he believed it was death, that Alyx backstabbed her brother Lewis, the author of the fairy tale, who wrote the story the way he wished it happened, and that the Cat couldn’t be trusted. Before long, we got caught in a “punderstorm”, which creates a physical manifestation of a mental or emotional problem. Jaune, Weiss, Juniper, and I were sent to metaphorical and literal crossroads, while Yang and Blake were sent to two broken, wooden, rickety bridges connected to a giant pillar that they could only make more planks to advance toward if they were honest about their feelings for each other. Yeah, Yang and Blake are girlfriends now.

(Everyone’s hearts melt, all proud for the Bees.)

REMNANT ALLIANCE: Aww!

NORA: See, Ren? I told you there was more going on!

KALI: Our baby girl found love?

TAI: With my sunny little dragon?

RAVEN: Wow. She really is your daughter, Tai.

RUBY: Then the Cat bailed on us after mistaking us for selfishly using them to get home, and once the storm passed, Jaune let us spend the night in his house in the Origami Acre, then he introduced us the next morning to a village of paper stars called the Paper Pleasers whose purpose was finished and kept trying to go to the Tree to gain a new purpose, but Jaune had been stopping them for as long as he knew them. He also named them after all of us. On Jaune’s to-do list, I saw Ren, Ruby, Oscar, Nora, Neptune, and Pyrrha. Anyway, a Paper Pleaser told us that Jaune had nothing to worry about, that the Tree isn’t death, it’s rebirth. They were just listening to Jaune so as to not hurt his feelings. Then Neo’s Jabberwalkers attacked, and while we were distracted, the Paper Pleasers finally managed to off themselves via destroying the koi pond dam, then when the girls asked me to help comfort Jaune, I blew up at them for caring more about everyone else’s feelings or getting home, taking my mental health for granted and ignoring my problems…

(Everyone leans in anxiously. Things are getting even more interesting, but not in a good way.)

(Weiss, Blake, Yang, and Jaune exchange looks of guilt.)

RUBY: …then I ran away, came across the Abandoned Acre, and entered a random mansion, where Neo had made clone illusions of Roman Torchwick, Penny, Pyrrha, Professor Lionheart, Clover, Ozpin, and Ironwood, and used them to physically and psychologically abuse me, beating me up ruthlessly and blaming me for their deaths, and when the chaos was over, I felt no will to live or be myself anymore, not helped by Torchwick’s question: “Do you really think you can stand to watch more of your friends fall? Or are you ready to admit the truth, that the world would just be better off without you?”

(The gang regards Ruby with sorrow over her being trampled by her trauma. Ozpin can be heard sniffling.)

RUBY: Then Neo offered me tea made from leaves from the Tree intended to wipe me from existence, then the Cat blasted her away, but then turned out to be evil and tried to possess me, while revealing that they had been trying to wear me down, then Neo fought them off and stomped Little to death, then I finally gave in, drank the tea, offing myself, and got swallowed by the Tree.

YANG: (tearing up) Oh, Rubes.

RUBY: Then I met a Blacksmith, who I also found at the market, or, rather, she found me, and then she presented me with a choice to either change my identity or be myself. I saw my mom’s weapon and was treated to a vision of the night she left with Raven on another one of Ozpin’s secret missions and never came back.

(Tai turns accusingly at Raven.)

TAI: Raven?

YANG: She lied? She left with you?

RAVEN: Yeah… Hey, like I said to her, “First time for everything.”

(The gang gives her a look.)

RAVEN: Really? Sheesh. Tough crowd.

HARE: (to Ruby) Wait. What did you say your mother’s name was again?

RUBY: Summer.

HARE: (muttering) So, her uncle is Qrow, her father is Taiyang, and her sister’s mother is Raven. All are members of Team STRQ. Summer, Summer, Summer… (out loud) Summer Rose, the leader of Team STRQ, was your mother?

REMNANT ALLIANCE (walla): Summer?…Summer Rose?…The previous silver-eyed Huntress?…That’s Summer Rose’s daughter?

RUBY: Yeah. And then, I finally remembered my mom’s words, “I love you just the way you are,” and chose to be myself. And I. Came. Back, and helped the girls fight the Cat. And we won.

(Cheers and applause all around.)

RUBY: And then Neo killed the Cat with the Jabberwalkers, who, by the way, are the only creatures to prevent Ascension if they eat Afterans.

BLAKE: On my count, there were a whopping five of them.

REMNANT ALLIANCE (walla): Five?…Five of them?…Five Jabberwalkers?

SUN: Talk about overkill.

ELM: (after doing the multiplication math in her head) That’s gotta be over ninety teeth!

RUBY: And, according to the girls, Neo was possessed by the Cat, and she chose to accept Torchwick’s death and undergo her own Ascension. Oh, and Little ascended, too, into who we called Somewhat, and succeeded Jaune as the protector of the Ever After. By then, we had made it to the Tree by coming to terms with the truth, we’ll never be perfect, that even the most skilled Huntsmen and Huntresses have failed, and we walked through the door back home, landed inside the plane of the Tree, and met the Blacksmith again at her workshop. When we noticed two statues of the Brother Gods, she told us their backstory. That the Ever After was overfilled with plants and dangerous wildlife in its primordial years, but the Brothers were created to clear it out. Then they created the Afterans as well as the different acres for them to live in. They designed new creations that would replace them in maintaining the Ever After. This was how the Cat was created. They later created the Jabberwalker as a form of destruction. However, the two disagreed on whether it disrupted the balance or not and began to wage war.

OSCAR AND OZPIN: (both scoff) What else is new?

RUBY: The Blacksmith told us how balance isn’t supposed to be two opposing forces locked in battle; balance is an ecosystem, an organism, and a living thing, thus balance isn’t restored with force or manipulation, it’s restored naturally, requiring love and patience to see it through to the end. The Gods got to Remnant because the Ever After created a door to a “greater beyond” for them, so they can leave and experiment in creating new worlds as much as they like.

NORA: (snickering) So the Tree basically said, “You think you have life sorted out? Then get out of my house”?

RUBY: Pretty much.

(Everyone laughs at the Brother Gods basically being kicked out of the house by their “mommy”. Some Gods they are.)

YANG: (wiping a tear) Oh, my Gods, that’s such a hilarious way of looking at it. Thanks, Nora.

RUBY: Anyway, the Blacksmith told us that we have impacted the Ever After significantly; just like Somewhat, Alyx, and Lewis, and that the Cat caused a bad impact. Then she de-aged Jaune, but let him keep his memories, which explains the white streak in his hair, and made us a portal in the desert on the outskirts of the city, and now you’re all caught up.

(Ruby lets go of Robyn’s hand. The freedom fighter rejoins the rest of the Alliance.)

RUBY: So, I’m happy to announce that I’m not giving up the fight to save the world anytime soon. No longer will we be putting the entire burden of the world’s safety on one individual, for we are Team Remnant, led by us, Team RWBY!

REMNANT ALLIANCE (walla): Yes!…Great!…Alright!…Thank goodness…Welcome back, Ruby…Good to have you back, kid…Way to go, Ruby!…That’s my girl!

YANG: We’re so proud of you, Ruby.

RUBY: Thanks, guys. You and your support mean the world to me. And I’m just as proud to call you guys family. All of you.

(Everyone looks at Ruby with warmed hearts.)

———————————————————————————

Starring the voices of:

Lindsay Jones as Ruby Rose

Cristina Vee as Robyn Hill

Aaron Dismuke as Oscar Pine

Kara Eberle as Weiss Schnee

Katie Newville as Emerald Sustrai

Caiti Ward as Velvet Scarlatina

Barbara Dunkelman as Yang Xiao Long

Samantha Ireland as Nora Valkyrie

Neath Oum as Lie Ren

Burnie Burns as Taiyang Xiao Long

Jason Liebrecht as Qrow Branwen

Anna Hullum as Raven Branwen

Howard Wang as Whitley Schnee

Arryn Zech as Blake Belladonna

Miles Luna as Jaune Arc

Tara Platt as Kali Belladonna

Anairis Quiñones as Harriet Bree

Michael Jones as Sun Wukong

Dawn M. Bennett as Elm Ederne

Shannon McCormick as Professor Ozpin

Additional Voices:

Sena Bryer as May Marigold

Ashley Burns as Coco Adel

Tiana Camacho as Glynda Goodwitch

Cam Clarke as Bartholomew Oobleck

Michele Everheart as Fiona Thyme

Dave Fennoy as Dr. Pietro Polendina

Gavin Free as Scarlet David

Caitlin Glass as Willow Schnee

Lauren Landa as Carmella Lindt

Mick Lauer as Marrow Amin

Cherami Leigh as Ilia Amitola

Marissa Lenti as Joanna Greenleaf

Joe MacDonald as Yatsuhashi Daichi

Aaron Marquis as Nolan Porfirio

Elizabeth Maxwell as Winter Schnee

Lani Minella as Rowena Sunnybrook

Max Mittelman as Fox Alistair

Josh Ornelas as Sage Ayana

Anthony Sardinha as Peter Port

Kerry Shawcross as Neptune Vasilias

Keith Silverstein as Professor Theodore

Melissa Sternenberg as Maria Calavera

J. Michael Tatum as Klein Sieben

Kent Williams as Ghira Belladonna

Anne Yatco as Xanthe Rumpole

“One Day More” section here.

Moodboard index here.

20 notes · View notes