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incessantwhine · 2 years

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idk im rly tired of spending my energy chasing the attention of a person who is so beyond unavailable it’s not even funny and not focusing on what’s right in front of me.

i know being poly is all abt communication and is actually what works for me and my relationships but i am still incredibly possessive (even tho I beat it back w/ a stick) and literally loathe the idea of my gf hooking up w/ other girls. that’s literally 100% me being insecure but ik there are so many better options for her out there than me and im still a little terrified she’s gonna wake up one day and realize that.

and like im a little resentful of the fact that the only person i am remotely intimate with besides her is because it’s entirely transactional. like I literally pay for it. because it’s their job. and my gf can just get out there and do it organically with ppl that are physically here and i…cant.

i just need to get over this stupid crush. idk what im expecting to happen. im expecting nothing to happen, actually, which is why it’s so stupid. i don’t want to date this person. i don’t want their services for free. idk what I want from them at all, actually. for them to what? come out and say they have a crush on me? and then what? just be smug abt it? fly out to the PNW, abandon my life, and be a live in service sub at their beck and call? lmfao. be their long distance bff who they also enjoy fucking when they eventually make it to my area?? what does that do for anyone???

and yet. it still stings just a little bit when im just ‘a sub who im close to’. im thinking too deeply about it, i know, and it’s not worth it. i was never ever going to be more than that and nor do i even rly want to be, at the end of the day. even that position is incredibly unique and more than i ever bargained for tbh. i know my place is to stand on the sidelines and applaud them as they live their life and thrive, and maybe cheer them up and be supportive when they’re not feeling so well. that’s all (and it’s significant!). cheerleader and fan. to celebrate their victories with them and to cry for them when they are hurt. from a distance, in the periphery, but present always. a true friend, with no ulterior motives or secret wishes. something purer, something genuine. and the world needs more of that. and this person deserves that and i know i can be that; so Im going to. always. i like that. i love it, even. that’s a big word but i do. i am capable of so much love and so much good. it would be selfish to be stingy with it. especially with those I am fond of. i rly do think they’re a beautiful person and flawed in such fascinating ways but so kind and so lovely at their core. they contain multitudes. it’s kindness and rage. it’s impulsiveness and careful curation. it’s severity and softness. i adore the humanity of it all, the very things that make them who they are. there’s so much to learn from it, the complexities. no more complex than anyone else really, but still…it is a blessing to learn and see it all. it just so happens it’s with them. i wouldn’t want anything i do to push them away; not because of something as silly and petty as jealousy or it not being reciprocated to the same extent.

but it’s also the anxiety of not knowing when im going to get too comfortable, too familiar, and cross a line. they’re no strangers to that happening w/ others. i rly do my best to be so careful and not do that but i fear if i let myself relax, i will, and it will be Bad. i don’t want to be another bad client. all ive ever wanted is to be good, at my core. to be worthy and impact people’s lives positively. but i have a big mouth. and im so sensitive. I cross lines; im short sighted. i let things build until it’s uncontrollable. and i can’t just not take things to heart. I care and i refuse to stop because that’s the worst thing a person can do to themselves, i think. but it gives me such trouble. it makes me so uneasy. especially because I worry i feel and will act like ik this person too well—but really, im not sure i do. i don’t know that I’m any closer or any different than other subs. (id place money on the opposite). i don’t know who else is speaking to them at 3am. and I don’t know if it’s just because they’re bored, and lonely, and im the only reliable option they’ve got. or if it’s because they truly want to speak to me out of their myriad of options. i mean, i know the former has happened before. who’s to say it’s not the same now? i can’t. idk if they can either. when they meet someone who can offer everything i can, what place is there left for me?

just…I haven’t been able to shake the feeling this is a bad idea since I met them. i dont want to be hurt in a true way but i am putting myself in a position where i seem like i might be regardless of the outcome.

they told me that it’s the really lonely people to watch out for, that end up being a problem for them. but that im different because i have a lot going for me.

and I do, in lots of ways. i have a fulfilling loving relationship w/ someone I want to marry. i love my career. but im still lonely at my core. i think im doomed to ache a little bit forever. and that’s my burden to bear and mine alone. but it feels inevitable that it’ll leak into everything and everyone I have any kind of relationship with. like a sickness. it filled me with dread when they said that. because it felt like they were seeing right thru everything i try so hard to keep at bay.

i don’t think anyone will ever understand me the way i want them to. and it’s my fault—i don’t like what’s rotting at my core, why would i show it to anyone else? i already live with disliking it. i don’t need anyone else to validate that for me. i know something about me is built wrong. i wouldn’t survive someone seeing me in my entirety and feeling the same way. it’s uncomfortable for everyone. but. but it’s still lonely. i want to show up as real. i want to be funny AND whatever this is. i want to be charming AND let ppl know what i rly think. but each thing is at odds with one another. i can’t positively impact and add value to people’s lives if I am openly this gutted with them. it’s too much. it’s nothing at all.

it’s all abandonment issues. rejection sensitivity. etc. whatever you like to call it. clear as day. i don’t need to read this outside to a therapist to know it. im very self aware, and besides that it’s obvious when I talk about my fears of being useless. being a burden. being picked second or not picked it all. it’s all so very transparent.

it’s just times like these I can’t tell if ive made progress and peace with those things or if i have just gotten good at lying to myself and everyone around me about it.

0 notes

obeiii-mee · 3 years

Note

MC had a bad day or they’re dealing with a bad loss from a loved one. So they decide to seek comfort from the Brothers! But they don’t do it in a normal way, they just barge in the room where the brothers are all relaxing or hanging out at before MC just busts in getting their attention and they go “I need a hug 🥺”. Let’s see the some fluffy hc’s of the brothers comforting MC 🥰

And how could they not want to hug their cute human that is literally 3 seconds away from breaking down into tears?

The Brothers Comforting MC After A Bad Day:

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You’re right, they wouldn’t be able to resist, they love their human too much 😌

*soBS* I want to hug one of them so bad rn

Thank you for the request, I love writing fluffy HCs, it’s my weak spot and it gives me serotonin. I hope you have a nice day/night!! Uh, it’s sort of implied that MC is slightly shorter than them so sorry if that’s a problem-

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Notes: Fluff, mentions of loss and dead family members/friends, mostly comfort though, short HCs

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beezlebub and Belphegor.

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Lucifer:

-He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t really need to because him just being there, arms wrapped around you and hands lightly running up and down your back, is worth more words than any sort of verbal consolation he could’ve given you and because of this, you feel at ease

-His touch is firm but gentle and you relax almost immediately, burying your head against his chest and feeling him press a kiss on top of your hairline, tightening your hold on him

-He already told his brothers to back off because the last thing he wanted was for you you to get overwhelmed by their insensitivity so you two were left in the living room by yourselves

-In a bit of an awkward position though, because you were both standing and after a while, it was clear a hug wasn’t going to be enough

-That’s his excuse as to why he picked you up bridal style five minutes later and carried you all the way to his bedroom, a place he knows his siblings won’t ever trespass without his permission and somewhere he can shield you from any prying eyes while you’re in this vulnerable state

-At this point, he was basically cradling you like a baby, having you sit on his lap and waiting for you to tire yourself out until you couldn’t cry anymore and watching you slip into that hiccuping stage you get after a breakdown

-Lucifer is obviously going to ask what happened, but whether you answer him or not is up to you because he’s not one to push matters if he sees you’re uncomfortable talking about it

-However, he might insist if he concludes that it’s affecting you and your well being and that’s how you know usually know he’s worried

-His voice is soft though and just listening to it makes you want to tell him everything, whether it’d be something as annoying as a small inconvenience you stumbled across that day or the death of a relative, you feel welcomed enough to spill everything

-Even if you decide not to, he’ll stay with you until you feel better, until you’re no longer crying or shaking or anything of the sort. He speaks occasionally, almost soothingly about how important you are to him and how capable you are of overcoming anything in your way. For the most part, however, he remains quiet and allows you to mull over your thoughts, willing to forget about his paperwork just to let you cling to him for a few hours

-Maybe later, when you’re no longer as distressed, he could get the full story out of you and help you overcome whatever problem you’re having trouble facing but for now, he understands all you need is for him to be there

“MC?” He calls your name out because he was thinking that maybe you had fallen asleep but he realised that was not the case when you looked up at him, streaks of tears still sliding down your cheeks. When you don’t respond, he sighs almost contently “A bit longer?” You don’t answer again but this time, he could feel you nod against him and he smiles despite himself as he leaned his head against yours “All right then, just a bit longer.”

Mammon:

-Truth be told, he’s never been the best at comforting someone and normally, he’s kind of awkward when he wants to show his support because it feels so out of his character

-But it’s not like he was going to refuse you anyway. Not when you specifically came to him and asked him for help and not when you looked like you were on the verge of crying. He’d be a monster to deny you >:(

-It upsets him too, you know. He’s meant to be your protector, guardian even, so the fact that he couldn’t keep you from getting hurt makes him feel like he failed at keeping his human safe. Actually, it takes a lot of convincing on your part just to tell him that you’re not actually physically hurt. Just a shitty day…

-Mammon, despite the walls he puts up ever now and then, is someone that genuinely cares for you. And he’s also the type that does almost everything in excess, especially when it comes to you or spending money. That’s just his personality; he’s loud and boisterous and even though he wants to deny this, completely transparent with his emotions

-You ask for a hug? He gives you plenty of hugs! He lets you lay on top of him while cuddling so he can hold you!!! He brings you snacks and drinks!!! Shit, he basically cradles you the whole night!!! And he’s blushing and acting annoyed the entire time, refusing to accept how much he’s actually enjoying this

-The point is, he tends to coddle you whenever you have a bad day or if you’re really affected by the loss of a dead loved one. This is probably because he, in turn, likes to be babied and cared for when he’s feeling down and he subconsciously does that to you because it’s the only means of comfort he knows how to execute well

-A hug would’ve sufficed, but you’re his human and let him be damned if he’s not gonna give you the world on a silver platter if you keep looking at him with those sad eyes of yours

-By now, if you need anything, you just need to ask because even with a bit of grumbling, he’ll get it for you. More snacks? Say less. Wanna watch TV with him for a while? Immediately reaches for the remote? You just want to cuddle? His body is naturally warm for a reason bby, dig in. You want his heart? Give him a moment to surgically get it out of his chest-

-No matter what, he’s so glad that you trust him enough to talk to him about this sort of stuff and that he’s the first person you think of when you need consolation

-It makes sense after all, right? He’s your first pact so your direct happiness is his responsibility while you’re in DevilDom! It’s his job to make sure you function again by tomorrow morning and that you’re no longer troubled by anything

“Hey! What’s with all the crying huh?” He cups your face in his hands and softly squishes the flesh between his fingers. His thumbs brush over the tears in your eyes and he let’s out a small ‘tsk’ as your foreheads touch and his hands drip to your shoulders to keep you steady “The Great Mammon is hugging ya right now, ya know? There’s no reason for you to be upset, not when I’ve got ya in my arms like this, OK? So you can stop with yer water works now.” As noisy as his voice is, there’s a gentle note behind it when he speaks and embraces you, his cologne spreading everywhere “I love you, ya big idiot. So please, stop cryin’ and lemme hold ya already! Yer making me worried, ya stupid human.”

Levi:

-You stopping by his room is not unusual. In fact, you do it every day and it’s just part of the routine you have with him. However, he’s wasn’t exactly expecting you to stand there, all shaken up and ask him for a hug!!!

-And he doesn’t process this request for a second but then he freaks out so badly-

-Yells incomprehensibly about how you’re ‘pulling your normie tricks on him again’ and how he’s ‘not going to be fooled by them anymore.’

-You raise your head to meet his eyes while he’s still rambling on though and he sees your teary expression and now he feels guilty because you look really upset. Levi’s kinda scared he made it worse-

-He’s the type to usher you in his room and lock the door as usual but instead of doing what the two of you always do, you literally stay attached to him because you need comfort damn it!

-Levi….is sort of clueless about these emotional outbursts since he himself doesn’t deal with them very well. However, he’s watched enough animes revolving around romance to conclude on the best course of action so-do not fear! (Spoiler, he still doesn’t know what he’s doing)

-He’s really stuck and can either stay as quiet as a nun or start babbling in a language you probably wouldn’t even understand because he’s so nervous

-Or actually, he might start crying with you if I’m being fair; he’s very in sync with his Henry and your emotions

-Once he calms down, he’s actually not all that bad at comforting. Levi is a bit stand offish with his hugs at first but he relaxes into them and by now, you’re both standing by the side of his bed, with you leaning onto him and him holding your hand. He then intertwines your fingers together but subconsciously because he wouldn’t have the gall otherwise

-Later, he tells you to help yourself with the snacks he has hidden in his room. I guarantee you he has a whole ass mini refrigerator hidden somewhere for his all night gaming session, in case he needs any boosts. No one knows how Beel hasn’t found the stash yet and there’s no need to tell him

-Then you watch re runs of old shows together and make fun of the shitty editing and dialogue. He’s still holding your hand though and he’s really flustered and wondering if it’s too sweaty for you but don’t mention it because he’ll get even more embarrassed

-He glances over to you, every once in a while, whilst you’re cuddled up against his arm, eyes glued on the TV, to make sure you’re OK. You almost gave him a seizure or at least that’s how he felt-so he made it his mission to make you feel better by any means necessary. Fuck today’s raids, his team can get them done without him!!

“I-I don’t know why you would want me of all people to hug you but…” he trailed off in a whisper, having to lean down so you could wrap your arms against his neck and bury your head in his shoulder. He pulled you in closer, a streak of protectiveness coursing through him as he shut the door to his room with his foot “Lord of the Shadows would never leave Henry all on his own, so I’m not going to do that either. This is an important character development arc and-just, please don’t cry. I’ll give you more hugs, OK? Seeing you like this is not good for my heart-“ stopped mid sentence after realising what he just said and now he’s the one burying his head in your shoulder, flushed beyond hell “Forget I just said that! Holy Lord Diavolo this is embarrassing, why am I like this????”

Satan:

-It troubles him greatly to see you like this and he can sort of feel the world shift out of place, seeing you with tears running down your face and hands balled into fists out of frustration almost immediately makes him fly into a fit of rage because who would dare to hurt you-

-Oh, a hug? If that’s all you need, he’s more than happy to oblige but if you’re as distraught as you seem to be, he wonders if just a small embrace from him would be enough

-Satan’s hugs are very intimate and even passionate at times. He has one hand on the back of your head and the other supporting your lower back while you bawl your eyes out into his shoulder and getting his uniform wet

-You can’t really seem to focus on what he’s trying to tell you because he’s so warm and welcoming and even though he’s someone as renowned as the Avatar of Wrath, he’s shockingly patient with you as you let out the overwhelming emotions that have been consuming you all day

-It’s hard to not relax when you’re in Satan’s presence because he’s calm and he smells like musty, old books and mahogany wood and cats, meaning he was most likely cuddling strays he found on the street the entire day. The first visual that comes to mind is fire crackling behind a grate in a chimney and someone reading a book while swinging back and forth on an old, rickety chair when you’re around him

-He will wait until you’re no longer crying and then, before you know it, you find yourself in the library with him, drinking tea and being handed a plate of biscuits he took from the kitchen to help you regain your strength after all that crying. You’re still feeling pretty miserable about the day you’ve had but you quickly lose yourself in a conversation with him over a cup of tea

-Sometimes, you two talk for hours on end about nothing important just to hear each other’s voices and finally have some quality time spent together. Even though he wishes the circumstances were better, he’s glad to have been able to snatch you away from his brothers for a while and he’s even happier you chose him to confide in

-Satan practically doesn’t even mention your outburst and keeps the small talk minimal but he wants you to know that if you do wish to tell him about it, he’s more than happy to listen and he’s not so bad at giving advice either

-The topic of the discussion you were having with him changed abruptly by the end of the night and now you’re reading together from this book he started a while ago, both of you covered with a blanket, your head on his chest and his leaning on yours. He’s holding the book with both of his hands, but still managed to get his left wrapped around you. And because of this feeling of safety and warmth, you don’t feel desperate anymore. Tomorrow, you’ll be able to sort out your feelings but now, you’re content to just listening to Satan read, in his clear, soft voice

“Ah MC, could you turn the page for me?” You do as he asked to and you could feel him smiling as he kissed your hairline, sighing before going back to the book and the story within “Thank you. You truly are amazing, did you know that? I’ve never met someone as caring and as kind as you. Well, I suppose Beel could compete for the title but unlike him, you don’t really leave us in debt whenever we visit the grocery store.” Hearing you laugh makes him smile even more and he lets you hold the other side of the book while he plays with your hair and now you join in reading with him, out loud and trying to act out voices for the characters. As everything unfolds, Satan feels the world click right back into place.

Asmo:

-It’s a known fact by now that Asmo is willing to give you any sort of affection at any point in time, whether it’d be a hug, a kiss, holding your hand-you name it! I mean, whenever he’s feeling down, you being there to encourage him helps a lot so it’s only natural it works the other way around too!

-If he notices that you’re genuinely upset by something, then he would have no problem whatsoever with lavishing you in attention and really, a hug or two from him is the bare minimum in situations like this

-In any case, he always enjoys fussing over you and you having a bad day is the perfect excuse for him to do so! After all, he can’t disappoint you since you came to him with your troubles and he will do anything in his power to make you feel better. Actually, if he could, he would keep hugging you forever but as miraculous as his charm can be, it’s not effective against someone with this low of a morale

-His first suggestion is to take a bath! It’s his way of taking care of you; you’re tired after such a long day and he feels like you’re neglecting yourself a little because of it. So you relax in his bathtub with him for a while, him actively trying to get your mind off any bad, lingering thoughts while you splash around in the bubbles

-And obviously after that, you need to have your mandatory spa sessions with him since you need to unwind and what’s a better way to do that than to let him paint your nails and apply lotion to your skin? Besides, it creates a great opportunity for you to take things off your chest

-He’s in need to hear gossip constantly so if you don’t feel like talking, he’s gonna be a bit bummed out but he still respects your wishes enough to not push you. If your problem is as sensitive as the death of a family member, you’re not obligated to talk to him about it and he will understand, since people grieve in different ways. He too shut down after the death of Lilith for a while after all

-A bad day is nothing Asmo can’t handle. He’s had plenty of those before, mostly because of Mammon and his thievery, they’re usually common factors. It’s only natural you experience those yourself and he’s more than willing to be your support system if you need one. He wants you to know that you can go to him if you need advice or help with anything, or even if you just need to someone to hear you out

-To give a more detailed explanation of his hugs, they are usually really light and you never feel suffocated when you’re in his arms. He never squeezes you too tight and he always smells amazing, so you feel inclined to stay near him for as long as possible. Despite his overtly loud nature, he gets incredibly soft spoken with you and he traces patterns on your back and arms as you stand there together

-It’s important to mention, he never pulls away from you first. He lets you decide when you’ve had enough and when you’re ready to move on or if you require some other means of comfort

-And even if you’re no longer disgruntled, he’s still going to pamper you as much as possible the next day with either a shopping spree or another few spa sessions, this time done at a professional institution rather than the privacy of his bedroom

-Asmo is in touch with your emotions and it’s kinda scary sometimes because of how well he can read you, since he almost always knows what you need

“Oh darling, how could I refuse a hug from you?” You can feel his arms embrace you, even with your eyes closed and for some reason, this makes you cry even harder, sobbing as he tries to comfort you. You’re aware he let go of you at some point and returned with a tissue to dab away at your tears, gently to not hurt your eyes and now he’s hugging you again, a wry smile on his face “You don’t have to worry about a thing, MC. Everything will get sorted out, I promise. In the meantime, come to me if anything troubles you again, OK? No more crying, darling-it’s bad for your eyes.”

Beel:

-The type to immediately lean in for a hug without even questioning why. As soon as you ask him, you barely have time to finish the question and you already find yourself in his arms. The only exception would be when he’s eating or maybe in the middle of a work out but the point is he doesn’t hesitate much when it comes to you. And I mean, he loves hugs just as much as his siblings do

-Beel is not the most observant and he may not realise you’re in a bad mood unless you tell him outright. It’s not even that he’s emotionally distant, it’s just that if you tell him that you’re fine, then he’s gonna take your word for it and believe you since he’s pretty straightforward with his feelings as well. However, as dense as he may be on occasion, even he’s bound to notice that you’re not being your usual self and this is especially true if you start crying out of nowhere while he’s nearby. Probably assumes the worst and is under the impression that he did something to upset you because shifting the blame onto himself whenever others suffer is his coping mechanism and we’ve seen him to do it before

-If you’ve just had a bad day, he understands that things could’ve been very overwhelming for you and he wishes he had known sooner so he could’ve helped back then, instead of letting it come to this. But he doesn’t hesitate all that much since he looks like he’s built for giving hugs on a daily basis. I’m not even sure this would classify as a hug since you’re not touching the floor. Rather, you are attached to him like a koala and he’s carrying you around as if you were a baby strapped to his chest. And he genuinely doesn’t mind. He’s been doing it with Belphie for centuries now

-Please, after a while he gets seriously concerned because are humans supposed to cry this much? What if you dehydrate or something? So he makes you stay in bed and just gives you plenty of water. You look so pale and sad, he shares his food with you too because his heart is aching just looking at you like this. He feels like besides being there, he can’t provide you with much help and he’s starting to think he’s hopeless at comforting

-If a family member died then…Beel is one of the best people you could’ve gone to. Honestly, having dealt with his sister’s situation, he knows how horrible it is to lose somebody you love dearly (I mean, all the brothers do but I’m making a point saying Beel, Belphie and Lucifer were especially affected). Now he’s sad himself since he’s aware that you’re going through something similar and his twin might walk in on the two of you being emotional on the floor

-For the most part, Beel makes sure you keep yourself healthy even when you’re tired and depressed. Continues to bring you food, even if he eats half of it on his way to your room, and just keeps you company in general in case you get lonely. Seeing you upset makes him even more considerate of your feelings and you don’t have the heart to tell him that he doesn’t need to stay with you all night. He thinks he does because you’ve always offered to stay with him whenever he’s had nightmares before so how he’s gotta return the favour

-Beel gives these bear hugs all the time, since he’s so big and his hand basically covers your entire back. So, more often than not, you end up cuddling while standing because he’s a lot taller than you, with him being a demon and all. Despite that, you feel so unbelievably complete when he holds you like this. It’s hard not to feel protected since his whole body is practically concealing yours so easily all the time and you feel sheltered from the world and it’s….nice

-And Beel enjoys hugging you too, because he knows that as long as he’s nearby, you’ll be safe and that’s really all he needs. He wants to be there for you the same way you were there for him when he needed it most and comforting you when you’re having a shitty day is like his full time job

-You could come to Beel with any problem and he would never judge you, no matter what. He’s just really unproblematic and he just wants you to go back to your normal self because it hurts him to see you cry your eyes out. Now, not only are hugs mandatory but holding your hand is too. It’s like hugging…but your hands are doing the hugging

-Definitely even goes to Belphie after a while if he really doesn’t know what to do and that’s how you know he’s desperate to do something. Since the Seventh Born isn’t exactly someone that yields great advice, more so when it comes to other…people….and his twin knows this-

-Beel’s best strategy at the moment is to just maintain some kind of physical contact because he discovered that makes you feel better and it calms you down more than him trying to verbally console you. He even invited you to sleep in his room if you’re comfortable doing so just so you’re not alone. After that one incident, he’s trying to coax you to tell him whenever something is wrong so he can jump in and help, because that’s all he really wants to do ahakenksms

“MC? Did something happen?” He’s honestly taken aback by how shaky you are and how you’re hands are trembling as they’re reaching to connect with his. Without much of a warning, he feels a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach and now he discovers that he doesn’t like seeing you with tears trailing down your face. And he feels worse the longer you wail in his chest and he doesn’t know what to do. So, he wraps his arms around you so tight you think you might explode, strangely comforted by the feeling as he speaks again “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to upset you. What can I do to help, MC? We can just stay like this for a while if you want” And when he sees you nod, he proceeds to not move an inch almost the entire night. Obviously, hunger overtook him eventually but he shared his stolen goods with you so can you really complain? Doubtful, not when he hasn’t let go of your hand the whole time.

Belphie:

- Hugging him is a gamble. Realistically speaking, you’re not going to catch him standing upright long enough for you to give him a hug. He’s laying on the floor somewhere, asleep so you shouldn’t expect much from him to begin with. Even if you were to get lucky and stumble upon him while he’s wide awake, he might slump over and succumb to sleep the moment you embrace him because you’re so warm

-Cuddling is a different story altogether. He’d rather shoot himself in the foot than not have you cuddle with him so if you need to be babied for once, he’s a pretty good option to consider

-As usual, he’s in the attic and you go to him because it’s really late and you didn’t want to wake up any of the other brothers. Actually, Belphie is normally awake by dusk so to see him sleep like a log past midnight was quite surprising. You didn’t exactly want to interrupt but if you stayed alone for any longer, you would’ve gone insane. So you shook him awake. And he was understandably confused and probably forgot what planet he was on for a minute when you did so

-Technically, he was half awake and from his point of view, everything must’ve been pretty blurry. He did see you; the problem was that because he was still feeling very sleepy, he was basically in a daze and could only squint at you to try and figure out if you were really there or if he was hallucinating. His suspicion was confirmed soon enough because he reached out after a few seconds and poked your cheek just to check. His face the entire time and the action itself was so amusing that, despite tittering on the edge of a breakdown, you burst out laughing

-Once he came to the conclusion that you were, in fact, real and he wasn’t dreaming, he sighed and opened his arms out for you; a direct invitation to cuddle with him. By now, he likely didn’t even noticed you looked sad because, as I said, he was all over the place but this little ritual you two have was common enough that it got engraved in his memory. Now he does it out of impulse whenever you’re around and he wants attention

-So you basically tackled him and threw yourself on top of him so hard, both of you toppled over on the bed and now you were used as a blanket, with his arms wrapped securely around you; preventing you from getting up. Not that you were planning on doing that anytime soon but moving on-

-You thought he had fallen back asleep, because he went really quiet and he stopped squirming to get comfortable. To be exact, the whole room was rather still and the only thing you could really hear was Belphie’s soft breathing and the rustle of the bedsheets every once in a while. And since it was extremely dark as well, you couldn’t see a thing either so it felt like the best place to let go of your stress

-It’s not like you were making much noise but as I said, the seventh born wasn’t sleeping just yet. And he wouldn’t be able to because it was obvious to him now that something was wrong. He believed that he was bearing witness to something that should’ve been a lot more private than this so he didn’t say anything. You should have your moment, let you have a chance to recollect your thoughts and the next day, he might ask you

-It was too much to handle. It’s not like he was gonna get any sleep unless he knew your problem was solved otherwise he might get nightmares all night. Besides, if you’re crying this much, then something terrible must’ve happened. You realised he was awake when he gave your entire body a small squeeze, as if to reassure you and you froze because did you just wake him up???? Or worse, did he hear all that sobbing you were doing????

-Hugging him is similar to hugging a pillow. He’s soft and squishy and warm and it’s impossible to resist him when rest at a time like this is so tempting. His fingers running over your pact mark once or twice, as if to remind you that he’s right there and low whispers describing the best dream he ever had about you, hoping to distract you for long enough to help you fall asleep

-To him, it doesn’t make a difference if a family member died or if you’re just having a bad day. All he knows is that you’re having a lot of emotional problems because of either one and as a result, you need a shoulder to lean on. He’s glad that you trust him enough to let him assist and if it was up to him, he would keep cuddling you forever. You’ve already suffered enough so let him take care of you this time around, OK?

“Dumbass, why are you crying?” The gentleness of his words was a clear contrast to that quick insult he shoved at the beginning of his statement, though you couldn’t hear any malice behind it and the fact that he really cared about what happened to cause you to struggle with your emotions so badly, would’ve made you wail even harder. However, he managed to silence you pretty well because he kept speaking and you wanted to listen; you wanted to hear what he had to say so you reduced your sobs and you sat quietly enough to do just that. Belphie flipped you over, now with him on top and you underneath and he laid there, cheek sloshed against yours as he sleepily mumbled out more praise for you, “MC, are you tired? You should go to bed, you need to get some sleep. Tomorrow, you can tell me what the problem is and I’ll help. I promise-I’ll even get up early for you. Just…please calm down. I don’t want to see you crying yourself to sleep ever again. I’ll stay here the entire time, alright? And I’ll make sure you have nice dreams tonight MC…just let me hold you…”

431 notes · View notes

skyeet-the-writer · 4 years

Note

okay i’m not sure if you are taking like open requests but corpse and reader are dating and nobody really knows but like the fans ship it and stuff, and they are playing among us with jack, felix, rae ect,, and someone invites somebody and it’s reader ex boyfriend and corpse notices that she’s acting really quiet and he texts her like “baby are you okay??” and she tells him that’s her toxic ex and during an emergency meeting, her ex suspects her and when she defends herself he says something along the lines of “don’t believe her she’s a fucking liar, she’s been one since the day i first met her” and everyone is like ??? but corpse flips out on him and just snaps telling him to leave his girlfriend alone which breaks his cover so everyone knows about you guys and just like really mad corpse and having to help him calm down and you get up from your seat to see him in his streaming room and just sit on his lap and he’s like “fuck that guy it’s okay baby we can just play minecraft or something” lmaooo 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i know that was so specific but the thought makes me so soft i would actually cry if you wrote this

This Is A Shout Out To My Ex

here’s my first request guys! so sorry they’re taking so long. i’m trying to get these done before i do anything else. hope you guys enjoy! x,

corpse x female!reader

summary: while paying a game with her friends, y/n’s toxic ex joins the game. when he calls her a liar, corpse snaps and defends his girlfriend

word count: ~4.4k

warnings: mentions of emotional abuse, gaslighting, near-death experiences, swearing, some angst but it has a super fluffy end!

Living with your boyfriend is, obviously, amazing in every way. You see each other all the time, you get to cuddle almost all the time, and you get to see his handsome face every morning.

Probably, the only downside is the fact that living together makes it nearly impossible to hide the fact that you’re dating.

But, somehow, you’ve managed to keep it a secret from you rabid fans for the past four months. You literally have no idea how because you’re pretty sure you accidentally got a glimpse of Corpse walking by while you were doing a vlog.

Miraculously, no one noticed it. Then again, none of your fans knew what he looked like, so there’s a plus. There were one or two comments asking who the person in the back was, but you lied and said it was a friend. Technically, you weren’t wrong.

And so you’ve been trying to keep your relationship with Corpse on the DL to avoid any stress or anxiety his way. You could deal with it, you’ve been doing Youtube for years and could handle almost anything. Corpse, bless his heart, might not be able to.

One morning, you’re awoken by some slight tugging on your hair. You crack your eyes open but the bright light makes you whine and close them again. There’s a soft laugh behind you and you roll over onto your back, scooting over closer to him. You stretch your legs and grin, still keeping your eyes closed.

“Did you sleep at all?” you ask in a quiet voice, your head resting on your lover’s chest.

“No,” he answers in his deep voice and you feel him play with your hair. “Anxiety, insomnia, the usual shit.”

You hum and open your eyes slowly, deciding to brave the light. You blink up at Corpse who is staring at the ceiling. “What were you thinking about?” Your own voice is a bit scratchy and rough.

He looks down at you and you take notice of how bloodshot his eyes are and the bags under his eyes. “How pretty you are when you sleep.” He grins.

“You watched me when I slept?” you ask and playfully narrow your eyes at him. “You creep.”

He laughs and you turn around onto your side, your back facing him. “Baby, no, I didn’t mean it that way.”

You smile. “You’re so creepy, Corpse.”

He doesn’t say anything but you hear him sit up in bed. You begin to ask what he’s doing but then he lifts up the back of your shirt to press a few kisses to your back. “You’re still here, though. With me.”

“Hm. Yeah.” You turn around and he gazes at you. “Because I love you.”

His eyes light up in the way that they always do when you tell him those three, simple words. You love seeing them light up that way and you grin. “I love you, too.” He leans in for a quick kiss.

“What time is it?” you ask when you pull away.

Corpse reaches over to his side of the bed and turns his phone on. “Noon.”

“Noon?” you shout and sit up so quickly you get a head rush. “We were supposed to be playing Among Us with Sean, Pewds, Toast, Rae, and them.”

“Oh. Yeah.” You turn and see him with his hands covering his face.

You walk over to him and kneel next to him. “Babe? What’s up?”

He just groans and you frown. He doesn’t feel good.

You push his hair from his forehead. “I can tell them that you’re not feeling up for it. They all know you, they’d understand.”

He shakes his head and runs his hands down his face before they rest on his chest. “No. No, it’s okay, I’ll be fine.” He gives you a smile.

You kiss his cheek. “Okay, then, babe. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.” You grab his hands and tug him up until he’s in a sitting position. He pulls you in for another kiss but you lean away.

“You have morning breath,” you tell him when he gives you his sad eyes. “Brush your teeth and then I’ll kiss you.”

That seems to get him out of bed and into the bathroom while you change clothes. You change out of your sweatpants and t-shirt and into jeans and a shirt. He walks out of the bathroom yawning and you walk past him to go to the bathroom.

I wish he’d sleep, you think to yourself while brushing your teeth. After brushing your teeth, you wash your face and do a little bit of makeup so you don’t look like you just rolled out of bed even though you did.

Corpse walks into the bathroom as you’re finishing your makeup and has a mug of coffee for you. You’re the only one in the house who drinks coffee since he can’t, so you always find it so sweet that he makes it for you.

“You made me coffee?” you ask and he nods. You take it from him and give him a peck. “Thank you, love.”

You take a sip and grab your phone from your nightstand and shove it into your pocket. You walk out of the bedroom the two of you share and into the kitchen to check on your cat.

Before you met him, Corpse had never really wanted a pet. He said that they die and he doesn’t want to deal with that, which you understand. But after the two of you had been dating for three months and you had been living with him for a month and a half, you begged him to let you get a cat. You knew he couldn’t say no to you.

“Where’s Inky?” you call out to your boyfriend after not finding your cat in the living room or the kitchen.

“In here,” he calls back and you follow his voice. Corpse is sitting in his chair getting ready to stream. You spot a black cat sitting on his table, licking at his hand. Corpse laughs and pets the animal on the head. “Stop licking me, girl. Your tongue feels weird.”

You smile and walk over to him, picking the cat up. “Come on, Inky, let’s leave dad to do his job, yeah?”

The young cat meows up at you and stares into your soul with her green eyes. You lock her gaze and have a staring contest. You lose, however, and blink away.

“Why is your cat so weird?” you ask, placing the cat back down and watch her run away.

“Probably gets it from her mom,” Corpse mumbles and you hear a smile.

You scoff and smack his hand away gently when he reaches out to you. “Fine, you don’t get a kiss before the stream.”

“No, wait!” he shouts and grabs your hand, pulling you towards him. “I was kidding, baby.”

You smile at him and cup his cheek. “I know.” You lean down and give him a long, deep kiss. You feel him smile against your lips and you pull away. He gives you a smile.

“I love you,” he mutters, brushing some hair away from your face.

“I love you more.” You grab his hand and press a kiss against his knuckles. You take a step back. “I’ll see you in the Discord chat, babe.”

“Okay. Also, don’t close the door all the way!” he calls to you and you look back at him, your hand on the doorknob.

“Why?” you ask, leaning on the doorframe.

He takes a second to respond. “Because I want Inky to come in here later.”

You laugh but smile. “Okay, fine.” You walk away from the door and across the hall into your own recording room.

Your room is a lot different than your boyfriend’s. His room is dark and doesn’t have a lot in it. Yours, on the other hand, probably has too much stuff. Most of it is gifts from fans like stuffed animals and other knickknacks. Your desk, monitors, and lights take up a lot of the already limited space. You turn both your ring lights on after closing the door and turn on the LED lights you have attached to the ceiling. You switch them to the f/c setting and put the remote next to your coffee mug. You sit down in your black and white gaming chair and set everything up after putting on your headset.

You join the Among Us game after beginning your stream and then the Discord call. You seem to join before Corpse because you can’t see him in the call.

“You’ve finally decided to join us, y/n!” Felix exclaims and you smile.

“Am I late?” you ask, taking another drink of your coffee.

“No,” Sean replies. “I mean, we played a couple of rounds to pass the time, but nothing interesting happened.”

You nod and glance at who all is in the chat. It seems to be you, Felix, Toast, Charlie, Rae, Sean, later Corpse, and someone else who’s tag sounds familiar.

“Oh! I invited someone new!” says Rae. “He’s a friend from college. y/n, this is Dallas.”

“Hey, y/n.”

Your eyes widen and your blood goes cold at the sound of his voice. You know him. You used to date him. In highschool before you moved away. You remember how toxic he was. He would always blow you off when you wanted to hang out and when you did hang out, he always played video games and never talked to you.

“Hi, Dallas,” you stutter out. “Uh, hey, didn’t you and I go to highschool together?”

You can practically hear his smirk. “Yeah. We did.”

“I didn’t know you two went to school together,” Rae says happily.

“Yep,” Dallas says. “We were friends, too.”

You want to throw up.

Suddenly, your loving and not toxic boyfriend joins the call and your spirits lift.

“Corpse!” you exclaim, almost letting another word slip out.

“You’re here,” says Rae. “Good noon!”

“Yeah, I’m not a morning person,” he says and you just now notice how deep his voice is. “I just woke up.”

“Oh my god,” Felix says.

“Jesus,” says Charlie, dragging out the ‘u’.

“You just woke up?” asks Toast.

He’s a liar, he didn’t sleep at all, you think but keep your mouth shut and laugh.

“It’s like a forty-hertz voice,” Sean says.

“It sounds like short wave radio,” Charlie adds.

You laugh. “You sound like spoken brown note.”

Corpse laughs. “This is me when I wake up, that’s what...” He cuts himself off and laughs again.

“I’m scared,” says Dallas.

“I didn’t know it could get any lower!” exclaims Sean.

“I didn’t know you could hit puberty twice.” Felix laughs.

After some more laughter, Corpse is introduced to Dallas.

“Hey, man,” Corpse says. “Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, you too,” Dallas replies.

“Can we start the game now?” Sean asks when everyone is in the waiting room. You take a sip of your coffee while Rae starts the game.

You mute yourself as your role is revealed and let out a sigh of relief. “Crewmate. Good, this makes this less stressful.” You go into the hallway, following Felix and Sean to go do wires. You clear the two of them and you three go up to admin. “Okay, so for those of you wondering about my reaction to Dallas joining the stream is that he’s my ex. Uh, we dating in highschool and broke up around the end of senior year. So this is pretty awkward for me.” You break away from Sean and Felix to go do a task in the greenhouse.

You leave out the part about Dallas where he was borderline abusive. You remember him shouting at you for asking for the littlest of things to him gaslighting you and guilt-tripping you into going skinny dipping with him.

Maybe that’s why you love Corpse so much. He’s the opposite of Dallas. He’s sweet and he’s caring. He’s never once raised his voice at you unless you were beating him in a game. Even then you both knew he wasn’t serious. And he had never once pressured you to do something you didn’t want to do.

You’re brought out of your thoughts when someone reports Rae’s dead body. You unmute yourself and take another drink of your coffee.

“I found her in decontamination,” Dallas says. “I opened the door and she was right there.”

“I was down by storage doing wires,” you tell them, putting your mug down. “And I was with Felix and Jack for the beginning and I’m pretty sure they’re cleared. So it has to be either you, Toast, or Corpse. Or Charlie.”

“You almost forgot about me,” he says and you laugh.

“We never vote on seven, right?” Toast says.

“Not if no one is sus, no,” Corpse answers.

“I’m skipping,” says Sean.

You nod and skip voting. “Same here.”

Everyone skips voting and you continue on. You do the rest of your wiring tasks and go out to the balcony where you notice Corpse standing out there. You smile and walk up to him and make your characters’ “eye” parts touch. “Look, Corpse. We’re touching eyeballs.”

You can just barely make out his laugh from the room across from yours and you grin before doing to do your task. You glance at your chat while you run to the reactor with Corpse. “How have you guys been doing? Hope you’re having a good day. Don’t forget to drink some water and eat something.” You smile at the camera and enter decontamination with Corpse and Toast.

When you enter reactor, Corpse and Toast each go to do it and you head to the sorting in the lab when suddenly a body is reported.

You decide to be quiet and drink from your coffee while everyone else discusses what happened. You zone out a little when Dallas talks and your mind flashes back to memories you’ve been trying to forget.

“Wait, who are we voting?” you ask when you suddenly snap back to reality.

“Felix,” Sean answers. “He vented right in front of me.”

You nod and vote for Felix and he gets ejected.

pEWds was ejected

1 imposter remains

You mute yourself once more and continue to do your tasks and stick with Corpse as much as you can. Your chat notices this and begins to blow up with the ship name they have for the two of you. You laugh at the chat as you scan yourself. “Why are you guys freaking out about Corpse and me? We’re literally just walking.”

Another body is reported and this time it’s Toast’s. You know who the imposter is. You unmute yourself and quickly say, “It’s fucking Dallas, it’s a self-report.”

“What?” Dallas exclaims and you immediately sense the hint of anger in his tone. He used to get so mad during video games and it seems like nothing has changed in the past few years. “How’s it me? It could be Charlie.”

“Charlie is dead, too,” Sean says.

“Yep. And I know both Corpse and Sean are cleared because I was with Sean for a long time and I just watched Corpse get scanned.”

Dallas scoffs. “Well, shit, you got me there.”

After Dallas is ejected, the crewmates win and you all start another round. You suddenly don’t feel like talking too much anymore and do your stream in mostly silence. Just Dallas being there and in the same call as you is making you anxious and bringing up memories you don’t want to remember.

Your chat asks you about this and you ignore it as you continue to do your tasks as a crewmate. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you pull it out, looking at who it is.

corpse 🖤

are you okay? you’re being really quiet

y/n

yeah, ig. just that dallas is my ex. toxic ex too

corpse 🖤

want me to kill him for you? im imposter

You smile and shake your head. “Oh, Corpse,” you whisper to yourself.

y/n

no dont kill him lol

You put your phone back down on the table and look back at the game.

You don’t pay too much attention to the game until the fourth round after you and Rae lost as the imposters. You’re a crewmate once again and you’re peacefully doing your tasks when suddenly something lays on your bare feet.

“What the?” You look down at your feet and see a little dark fuzzball on your feet. “Inky, get off my feet, baby.” You move your feet and pick her up. You hold her in your arms like a baby the way she likes and rub her belly. “Okay, go see your dad.” Inky jumps out of your arms and you watch her leave your recording room.

You turn back to your task and continue to do them without any interruptions. You notice, however, that Dallas has been following you for most of the round. You’re starting to get a little nervous and you run into the cafeteria to get away from him when he calls an emergency meeting.

You unmute yourself and Dallas says, “I think it’s y/n. I’m pretty sure she’s faking tasks.”

“Except I’m not,” you tell him. “You’re the one following me around, too, Dallas. What’s up with that, huh?”

“I’ve been following you because you’re acting sus.”

You glare at Dallas’s character on the screen, heat rushing to your face. “I’m literally doing my tasks, I know you saw me do the card swipe--”

“Don’t listen to her,” Dallas says and he sounds far too confident. “She’s a fucking liar. She has been since the first day I met her.”

By now your face is completely red from anger and you gasp. “Excuse me?”

“What are you talking about?” Sean asks. “I’ve known y/n for a long time, she’s never told a lie so long as I’ve known her.”

“That’s because she’s too good at it,” Dallas says in a snarky tone and you’ve never wanted to punch a screen more in your life. “Her and me used to date in highschool but I broke up with her because she lied to me about everything.”

“That’s not fucking true!” you shout and you can hear blood rushing to your ears. “I was the one who broke up with you after you gaslighted me about not hanging out with you enough when in reality you were always hanging out with your stupid football friends!”

“She’s lying--”

“The fuck are you saying about my girl?” Corpse demands.

The chat goes silent for a moment. Corpse just called you his girl. You look at your live chat and it’s exploding with “i knew it”s and lots of keyboard smashing.

“Your girl?” Dallas asks after a moment.

“Yes. My girl. As in my girlfriend.” He sounds so possessive and it’s kind of hot to you. “Why are you calling her a liar?”

Dallas stumbles on his words. “B--because she is one.”

“Right. And how long have you known her?”

“I knew her in highschool--“

“Nevermind, I literally don’t care,” Corpse interrupts him. “I’ve been living with her for the past five months and she’s never lied to me about anything.”

Dallas is quiet for once. Everyone is. No one is really even breathing but your heartbeat is rattling your brain and blood is rushing through your ears.

“I don’t wanna play anymore,” you whisper. You swallow thickly and glance at your chat. Luckily, they’re all defending you and yelling at Dallas. You turn back to the screen. “Dallas, I’m not the imposter. And stop making stupid ass accusations.”

“I--“

“Kick him,” says Felix and you can tell he sounds mad.

“No wait--“ Dallas begins to say.

“No!” Rae interrupts. “I knew there was something off about you.”

“You don’t get to come in here and talk shit about our friend,” Jack says.

“I was kidding,” Dallas tries to explain.

But then something inside you snaps. You forgot how much you hate Dallas. How he always turned the blame on you when he did something wrong. How you almost lost all of your friends because he convinced them that you were a bad person.

At first, you thought he had changed. You thought that he had actually grown up. Turns out that people don’t change.

“Like you were kidding when you almost got me kicked out of the house because you made me go out with you to go drinking?” you ask. “Or how you played a stupid trick on me when I was driving us to school and I almost fucking crashed the car and nearly killed us?”

“Jesus.” You can hear him roll his eyes. “You’re still on about that? It was April Fool’s, you should have expected it—“

“I shouldn’t have expected shit!” you yell and it comes out raw. The memory flashes in your mind and you cringe. “That wasn’t funny, Dallas! You weren’t funny! I fucking hated my life in high school. I was already stressed out because I thought I wasn’t smart enough and you being my boyfriend and ignoring me and manipulating me didn’t help.

“So fuck you. Fuck you for everything you did to me when we were teenagers. Fuck you for making me think that you changed and were actually nice and then ripping that away from me. But you know what? Thanks. Thanks for being my ex because you made me what I am today and you’re the reason I moved to California and met the love of my life.”

You suck a deep breath in and wipe at the tears that had fallen. You put your hand on your camera. “Speaking of which, I need a hug from him. Bye, guys.”

You stop streaming and disconnect from everything. You turn your computer off, unplug your headset, and turn your lights off. You sit in your chair trying not to cry in the dark.

Corpse, your mind says and you open your eyes. You really want a hug. His hugs are the best. You take your headset off and walk out of your recording room. Before you walk into Corpse’s recording room, you head to the living room and grab a fluffy gray blanket and wrap it around yourself.

You don’t even bother to knock on the door and just walk in. His room is still dark and it appears like he’s angry. You can tell by the way his voice is deeper and how he looks like he’s shaking.

But when you tap on his shoulder, he looks up at you with wide eyes. “Babe.”

You sniffle and he pushes away from his desk. You shake your head and pull his arms up above his head and settle yourself on his lap, your legs on either side of him, and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Baby,” he whispers and you lean your cheek on his shoulder. “Just fuck off, Dallas.”

Your eyes squeeze shut and you shift up a little, pushing your nose into his neck. He smells nice. “Stop talking to them.”

“What?” he looks down at you and asks what you’re doing when you take his headset off. You unplug them, thereby disconnecting him from the stream. “y/n, what are you doing?”

“I want to cuddle with you,” you mutter and bury your face into his neck.

You feel him wrap his arms around your back and he pulls you up, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Okay, baby. We can cuddle.”

The two of you sit like that for what feels like a long time. You hear Corpse’s phone buzz, but the two of you ignore it. He kisses the side of your head and you smile.

You sigh deeply as he tightens his hold against you. “Fuck that guy, baby. It’s okay.” He moves his shoulder and you look up at him. “Wanna go play Minecraft?”

A grin spreads across your face and you nod. Corpse smiles back and picks you up, bridal style, blanket and all. You squeal and laugh as he carries you to the living room. “Put me down, Corpse!”

“Alright.” He drops you into the couch and turns around to turn the Xbox on.

You huff and push your hair out of your face, keeping the blanket wrapped tight around your body. “I didn’t mean literally drop me, dummy.”

He shrugs and sits next to you, handing you a controller. “Should’ve been more specific, baby.”

You scoff but can’t hide the small smile creeping onto your lips. “Jerk.” You put the controller next to you on the couch and move the blanket so it’s over both of your laps and you lean into his side.

After playing Minecraft for the majority of the afternoon and evening, you finally drag Corpse to bed with you after ordering pizza for dinner.

His arms are wrapped tight around your waist as your back is pressed against his chest. Inky hops up onto the bed and nuzzles your hand until you begin to pet her. She lays down on her belly and you gently pat her.

“Am I really the love of your life?” Corpse asks after a long time of sitting in the quiet darkness

You nod against the pillow. “Yeah. You are.”

You can’t see him, but you know he’s smiling when he kisses the back of your neck.

Your phone on your nightstand lights up and you head Corpse’s phone buzz again as well. You think for just a moment about all of the texts, all of the messages, all of the DMs you’re getting about what happened. For a second, you panic. What if people don’t think that you’re worth to be dating Corpse? What if people are calling you a pussy for how you reacted to Dallas? What if everyone hates you?

But those thoughts immediately go away when Corpse mumbles something in that husky voice of his that makes the butterflies in your tummy come back. “You’re the love of my life, too.”

“Yeah?” you hum, your eyes slipping shut.

“Yeah,” he says and you can tell that he’s getting tired as well. “And I’m gonna marry you someday.”

An involuntary smile spreads across your face and your entire body overheats. You bite your lip in the darkness and whisper,

“And I’m gonna say yes.”

But he’s asleep. His breathing has evened out. He shouldn’t have heard you.

You know he heard you somehow, though, because his arms tighten around your waist. You wiggle backward so that you’re flush against his chest and his head drops down onto the top of your head.

You place your hands over his and close your eyes. Finally, he’s sleeping.

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marvelouslytrekking · 3 years

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The Code

Pairing: Din Djarin/gn!reader Summary: Mando leaves specific instructions not to leave the ship while he is out on a hunt. Disobey those instructions leads to very terrible consequences - will Mando make it back in time? Word Count: 3232 Warning: Mention of blood, pain, knife, torture, canon-typical violence A/N: I decided to see if the Whumptober prompts inspired anything and here this is.... days 1, 2, & 3 all in one! The specific prompts used were: 1: Bound 2: Gagged 3: “Who did this to you” I hope y'all enjoy! Also don’t forget Feedback Feeds my Soul

Main Masterlist | Other Din fics

You knew that you should have listened to him, he told you not to leave the ship but you wanted to find something other than the terrible rations to eat. You thought that you would be fine. You made sure that the kid was secure in the ship, and you made sure that the ship was in your line of sight, you’d be able to get back to it if you needed.

Everything had been going well, you had found some fruit that was growing and from what you could tell, was edible. You had begun picking the fruit, excited to see what all you could make with what you were finding.

You heard a branch snap, but it wasn’t from your own feet. You scanned the area, surely it was just an animal but you suddenly got a sick feeling in your gut, and knew you needed to get back to the ship. You would just need to engage ground security protocols once you were onboard and both you and the child would be safe.

You had turned to head back to the ship, but it was too late. You saw that they were closer than you, there was no way for you to make it onboard before they did. You didn’t even have to think, the decision had been an easy one, you used the remote controls to engage the protocols, locking the child in the ship when the hunters wouldn’t be able to get to him. It would buy him time until Mando could get back and kill them off.

You then tried to hunker down, they hadn’t seen you yet and you had hoped that it would stay that way. It had bought you some time. You watched from the foliage as they tried to get in the ship to no avail. You felt relief knowing the child was safe, though that relief was only short lived as you suddenly heard movement behind you.

You whipped around quickly, trying to get a blaster shot off but he was faster than you expected and managed to dodge the shot, which just meant that you had signaled the others to your location. You were luckily fast enough to rip your arm panel with the controls for the ship off your arm and shoot that. You got one good step on it too before a blaster shot hit your thigh.

You crumbled to the ground from the pain of the close range shot, you desperately tried to focus on getting out of the situation or fighting your way out of the 5 men, but before you could find your footing again, the man’s foot was on your shoulder, painfully pressing it into the ground. You still tried to get a shot off at him, but he was easily able to pry your blaster from your hand.

“He sure picked a feisty one.” The hunter chucked before grabbing you by the shoulder and pulling you upright. You were surrounded by 2 other men before you were fully upright, one on each side of you, dragging you back towards the ship.

“She destroyed her controls.” The first man told the others, lifting the destroyed band.

“That’s fine, her biometrics should open the ship using the panel at the door.” Another pointed out. You were never more thankful for how paranoid Mando was, while your biometrics were required to get to the controls, to undo something like ground protocols, or really anything, a 6 digit code was also needed. And only you knew your code.

You probably should have let them figure that out themselves but you couldn’t help but laugh at them.

“What the fuck are you laughing at?” He growled.

“Oh, just that even with a big ass head, you have a tiny fucking brain.” You chuckled. Your insult only earned you two fingers pushing into the wound on your leg, making you cry out.

“Not laughing now.” He smirked, happy with his work. He didn’t waste his time forcing you to the panel, pressing your hand to the reader. You could feel how smug he was when the light went green. There was a moment of anticipation, then the code boxes popped up and you felt the anger and annoyance that he felt realizing what had happened.

You felt the blaster pressed into the back of your head as he took a step away from you. “Open that door right now or I will shoot you.”

“If you kill me you’ll never get in.” You pointed out. You knew that the next few hours or days, depending on how long Mando took, wasn’t going to be pleasant, but you had no plans on giving them that code. You would rather be killed. “Go ahead and shoot me now, because it does not matter what you do, I will never give up that code.”

You turned around slowly, looking down the barrel of the gun, directly into the man’s eyes. You refused to let him think he had you scared, you wanted him to realize that he would fail, that you would die before even thinking about giving up Mando or the kid.

“We’ll see about that.” He locked eyes on you, lowering the gun only slightly. “Tie them up,” You were quickly grabbed and dragged over to a tree that was near the entrance of the ship, you were bound to the tree tightly, a little wiggling told you that you weren’t getting out very easily.

“Alimar! Can you get that damn door open?” The man you assumed was in charge asked the smallest man, who was beside the panel.

“I am trying sir, but the security is very tight and I am afraid that one wrong move and it will just lock down more.”

“Well don’t make a wrong move. I want that damn door open before The Mandalorian gets back here.”

“Now you, you’re going to make his job unneeded and you’re going to tell us your code.”

“Again, not happening.” You rolled your eyes at him. Your answer earned you a swift and strong fist to your gut. You groaned at the pain but straightened yourself.

“Fine, stop, the code is 654321.” You said, making yourself sound more out of breath then you were.

“Don’t enter that!” The man in front of you shouted to Alimar, who was about to enter it as if you would give up that easy.

“Is that the code you enter to warn your little mandalorian? You think I’m that stupid?”

“I guess you’ll never know if I ever even give you the right code or if what I say will do any number of things, from warn Mando, to locking it down further, to self destroying the ship.”

“You wouldn’t risk the kid’s life.” He glared at you, but you could tell the wheels in his brain were turning. He had to think of a way to get you to give him the code, but he had to be able to be sure it was the right one.

“Well I guess that just leaves the hard way. Can’t trust you until I can break you.”

He wasn’t lying, he had no intentions of going easy on you. He had started by changing your position, tying your hands on a branch that happened to be at the perfect height above your head. You knew this position left you much more vulnerable, and he took full advantage of that.

He started with his blaster, a shot to your shin, followed by asking for the code. You gave another random combination of 6 digits. He then walked away, towards the panel, he would examine it, then walk back. A shot to your forearm, followed by the same question. You gave another 6 numbers. He walked away, only to come back, this time with a knife.

He gave you a deep cut on the outside of the thigh that hadn’t been shot previously. You hadn’t been able to hold in the screamed pains you had been letting out after each infliction, which only seemed to make the man in front of you smile.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but you did notice the sun beginning to set. He started to leave you alone for longer periods, which was good. You weren’t sure how many more you were going to be able to take. You were just praying that Mando would be back soon.

Even if you didn’t last much longer, you also started to worry about their resident mechanic. You kept your eye on his progress and were scared that he could actually manage to get through the door.

It had quickly become dark, the only light coming from the lights on the ship. You could tell it was also cooling down as well. You tried to ignore the shivers that were running through your body but there was no use.

“Shit!” You heard the man who had been on watch utter. “Boss! We got a problem, he’s here.”

“Fuck!” The man in charge frantically looked around trying to figure something out. You were about to let out a scream, something to warm Mando, but right as you opened your mouth, one of them shoved a cloth into your mouth.

“Not gonna happen.” He tightened it around your head, making sure you weren’t able to spit it out to warn Mando.

“Good, all we need to do is hide, when he gets here, he’ll be distracted with them, and by the time they can even try to warn him, we’ll jump him.” Their leader told them. They were quickly to gather the little they had and find themselves spots that they would go unseen.

You just prayed that Mando would catch their body signatures through his visor first. If he noticed them before he noticed you, then he would have a chance of fighting them off. If their plan went their way, and he was distracted by you, there was a chance they could overpower him.

You heard your name being shouted, you turned your head to see Mando, his focus solely on you. His helmet never left you, even as you shook your head viciously, trying to get him to look anywhere else, but he was in front of you quickly.

Mando was looking you over, you could feel the anger and tension that was radiating from him. Though at the moment all you could think about was warning him. You were trying to yell through the gag, but it stopped anything comprehensible from coming out.

“Who did this to you!?” Mando asked, a sharp edge to his voice, one that sent a shiver down your spine. He was quick to untie to gag, realizing you were trying to say something.

“Behind you!” Was all you could manage to get out as soon as the gag was undone.

He only had a moment to turn around and realize that he was faced with exactly who did this. His blaster was fired off before he even fully had time to process what was transpiring. His shot landed, though you were sad to realize it took down the least threatening, the mechanic.

He begins to go for the other four men, but one manages to kick his blaster out of his hand, he is left trying to fight all of them with just his hands. You tried to get out of your ropes again, to no avail and were left to watch in panic and he tried to fight them all off. He had been knocked to the ground. Not one, but two of the men on top of him holding him down. You watched as he went to use his flame thrower on his arm to get them off him, when the leader was quick to step down hard on his wrist, stopping his ability to get the flames anywhere that would be helpful.

You watched in panic as he thrashed around, trying to gain any leverage but he was outnumbered. The leader got the third man to take over holding his arm down. The two men on top of him shifted slightly, just enough so that their leader could bend down in front of Mando.

“It looks like you aren’t as sharp as everyone says.” He taunted. “I was expecting more of a fight, I didn’t think that you cared about anything under all that metal. But looks like all it took to take down the great Mandalorian was capturing his favorite little companion.”

“Leave them out of this!” He seethed, thrashing more at the mention of you.

“Oh, but why would I, when we had so much fun today while you were gone.” He smiled disgustingly. “Honestly surprised they are even awake with all I put them through today.”

His attention flickered to you for a moment, he was quick to notice you looked more panicked now than you had all day and he realized he might have just hit the jackpot.

“You know, I always wondered what you looked like under that tin can. I bet you are hideous, it’s not some creed that keeps that helmet on, but more that you are just so ugly no one would want to look at you.” He began to bend down towards Mando. If he had been thrashing beforehand, now he was frantic.

“Stop!!” You screamed, grabbing the leader and Mando’s attention. “Stop! I will give you the code, please, just leave him alone,”

“Is that all it takes to break you? You don’t want to know what he looks like? Afraid he will have to kill you after you know?”

“I think I have made it pretty clear today that my life is not what matters here.” You sighed, “Just leave him alone and I will give you the code.”

“Don’t!” You heard him beg you, but your heart was shattering, you refused to allow these men to break Mando of his creed. A creed that you had witnessed how seriously he took. You would not be a part of that happening.

You locked your eyes with his visor, hoping that you were meeting his eyes. “I’m sorry, I can’t watch them hurt you.”

“Good.” The leader smiled, standing up over Mando. “Now no games. If the code you give me does not open that door, then I will take that helmet, kill your precious Mandalorian slowly, and make you watch. Then I will blow my way through this ship anyway and get the kid, and leave you to die. Do you understand?

“Yes. No games, just promise you won’t hurt him.” You pleaded.

“You have my word.” You knew the word of a hunter like him meant nothing, and when you noticed that Mando’s free hand was reaching slightly for a blade in the side of his pants, you realized you had a plan, one that gave Mando the time he needed to get the upper hand.

“Okay. My code is 827364.” You sighed, you gave the right number up until the last digit. The panel would light green for every correct digit, meaning that until the last moment, he would think that you were right. But you also knew he had to untie you because your bioscan would have timed out. This would hopefully allow you to give Mando some form of help, though you had minimal strength left in your body, you would try.

“Fuck.” He marched back over to you. “Don’t even think of trying anything.” He told you as he untied you from the tree. You realized just how weak you were when you nearly collapsed. You saw Mando twitch at seeing just how bad of shape you were in, but now neither of you had time to do anything about it.

“Looks like you won’t be doing anything even if you wanted to.” He smirked, practically dragging you to the ship panel. He pressed your hand to it, reading your signal. Once he was no longer in need of you, he threw you to the ground away from him.

You groaned as you hit the ground. Watching as he entered the numbers you had given him. You realized he had made a mistake when you saw a blaster that was in your reach.

You put all your effort into stretching just enough to grab it without signalling to him or the others what you were doing. You saw him tap the last number and as soon as the panel turned red you let your blaster shot go off.

The man whose foot had been holding Mando’s hand down was suddenly stumbling back, and hit the ground. Mando wasted no time, his arm coming up and the flames engulfing the two men holding him down.

They screamed in agony as they rolled off the mandalorian. He got to his feet in record time and before the leader could think to retaliate against you, a knife was plunged into his chest.

Mando marched over to him and was above him as he stumbled back into the ship. Without a word he rips the blade out and stabs it back in the other side. The knife is out of him again, this time finding a place in his stomach. Next his thigh, until finally he has enough and with a quick swipe, the man’s neck is sliced open. He tried to helplessly grab at his neck but within moments he was bleeding out on the ground.

You heard three more blaster shots before Mando was in your vision. “You’re okay, you’re going to be okay.”

You tried to nod, tried to stand up, but your body had given up on you. “I’m sorry.” You managed to get out. If you had only listened to him, you would have been in the ship and not put all of you in such danger.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” He told you softly as he wrapped his arms gingerly under you. “Let’s get you patched up.”

“I could have gotten us all killed.” You whined at the pain as he lifted you.

“But you didn’t.” He sighed. He was trying to hold in the worry and anger that was still coursing through his veins. The pain and anger he felt seeing you tied to that tree, the last thing he was worried about had been his creed, and yet, you had. You refused to let them take away something that you didn’t even fully understand and he couldn’t help but love you a little more for that.

While that anger and worry could lead him to taking it out on you, you had disobeyed him, but you also risked your life for him and the child, and he couldn’t be mad at you for that. Instead he left all his anger to the men that were dead outside the ship.

He was as careful as he could be with you as he finally unlocked the ship and walked you up the ramp and quickly laid you on a cot so he could begin to patch you up.

“You saved us.” He adds softly as he notices you slip into sleep. He hoped you would sleep through the worst of the treatments if he was being honest, once he was sure you couldn’t hear him he added, “You saved me.”

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causeiwanttoandican · 3 years

Text

Harry, Meghan and me: my truth as a royal reporter

I've covered elections and extremism, but nothing compares to the vitriol I've received since I started writing about the Sussexes

By Camilla Tominey, Associate Editor27 March 2021 • 6:00am

It is probably worth mentioning from the outset that I never, ever, planned to become a royal reporter. I mean, who does? It’s one of those ridiculous jobs most people fall into completely by accident.

I certainly wasn’t coveting the position when I first found out how bonkers the beat could be after covering Charles and Camilla’s wedding in 2005. Desperate for ‘a line’ on what went on at the reception, journalists were reduced to flagging down passing cars in Windsor High Street and interrogating the likes of Stephen Fry about whether they’d had the salmon or the chicken.

Watergate, this wasn’t.

Yet when my former editor called me into his office shortly afterwards and offered me the royal job ‘because you’re called Camilla and you dress nicely’, who was I to refuse?

Having planned to get married myself that summer, and start a family soon afterwards, I looked to the likes of Jennie Bond and Penny Junor and figured it would be a good patch for a working mother as well as being one I could grow old with. Unlike show business, when celebrities are ‘in’ one minute and ‘out’ the next, the royals would stay the same, making it easier to build – and keep – contacts.

So if you’d told me that 16 years later, I would find myself at the centre of a media storm over a royal interview with Oprah Winfrey, I’d have probably laughed in your face. First of all, only royals like Fergie do interviews with Oprah. And since when did journalists become the story?

Yet as I have experienced since the arrival of Meghan Markle on the royal scene in 2016 – a move that roughly coincided with Twitter doubling its 140-character limitation to 280 – royal reporters like me now find themselves in the line of fire like never before.

We are used to the likes of Kate Adie coming under attack in the Middle East, but now it is the correspondents who write up events like Trooping the Colour and the Royal Windsor Horse Show having to take cover from the keyboard warriors supposedly defending the Duke and Duchess of Sussex’s ‘truth’.

Accusations of racism have long been levelled against anyone who has dared to write less than undiluted praise of Harry and Meghan. But even I have been taken aback by the vitriol on social media in the wake of the couple’s televised two-hour talk-a-thon, in which they branded both the Royal family and the British press racist while complaining about their ‘almost unsurvivable’ multimillionaire lives at the hands of the evil monarchy. And all while the rest of the UK were losing their loved ones and livelihoods in a global pandemic.

Having covered Brexit, general elections and stories about Islamic extremism, I’ve grown used to being sprayed with viral vomit on a fairly regular basis, but when you’ve got complete strangers trolling your best friend’s Instagram feed by association? That’s Britney Spears levels of toxic.

Having a hind thicker than a rhino’s, it wasn’t the repeated references to my being ‘a total c—’ that particularly bothered me, nor even the suggestion that I should have my three children put up for adoption. At one point someone even said it would be a good idea for me to drink myself to death like my mother, about whose chronic alcoholism I have written extensively.

No, what really got me was the appalling spelling and grammar. I mean, if you’re going to hurl insults, at least have the decency to get my name right.

Yet in order to understand just how it has come to pass that so-called #SussexSquaders think nothing of branding all royal correspondents ‘white supremacists’ regardless of who they write for, or sending hate mail to our email addresses, offices – and in some cases, even our homes – it’s worth briefly going to back to when I first broke the story that Prince Harry was dating an American actor in the Sunday Express on 31 October 2016. Headlined: ‘Royal world exclusive: Harry’s secret romance with TV star’, the splash revealed how the popular prince was ‘secretly dating a stunning US actress, model and human rights campaigner’.

Despite my now apparently being on a par with the Ku Klux Klan for failing to acknowledge Meghan as the next messiah, it was actually not until the fifteenth paragraph of that original article that the ‘confident and intelligent’ Northwestern University graduate was described as ‘the daughter of an African-American mother and a father of Dutch and Irish descent’.

Call me superficial, but I was genuinely far more interested in the fact that Harry ‘I-come-with-baggage’ Wales was dating a former ‘briefcase girl’ from the US version of Deal or No Deal than the colour of her skin. A ginger prince punching well above his weight? This was the stuff of tabloid dreams. Little did I know then that covering the trials and tribulations of these two lovebirds would turn into such a nightmare.

The online hostility began bubbling up about eight days after that first story, when Harry’s then communications secretary Jason Knauf issued an ‘unprecedented’ statement accusing the media of ‘crossing a line’.

‘His girlfriend, Meghan Markle, has been subject to a wave of abuse and harassment’, it read, referencing a ‘smear on the front page of a national newspaper; the racial undertones of comment pieces; and the outright sexism and racism of social media trolls and web article comments’. Meghan’s mother, Doria Ragland, had apparently been besieged by photographers, while bribes had been offered to Meghan’s ex-boyfriend along with ‘the bombardment of nearly every friend, coworker, and loved one in her life’.

Suffice to say, I did feel a bit guilty. Although I hadn’t written anything remotely racist or sexist, I had started the ball rolling for headlines like the MailOnline’s ‘(Almost) straight outta Compton’ (referencing a song by hip-hop group NWA about gang violence and Meghan’s upbringing in the nearby LA district of Crenshaw), along with her ‘exotic’ DNA (which I subsequently called out, including on This Morning in the wake of ‘Megxit’ in January last year).

Omid Scobie, co-author of Finding Freedom, a highly favourable account of the Sussexes’ departure from the Royal family, written with their cooperation last summer, would later insist that the couple knew the story of their relationship was coming out and were well prepared for it.

I can tell you categorically that they weren’t, since I did not even put a call into Kensington Palace before we went to press for fear of it being leaked. (I did later discuss this with Harry, when I covered his trip to the Caribbean in November 2016, and to be fair he was pretty philosophical, agreeing it would have come out sooner or later. But that was before the former Army Captain decided to well and truly shoot the messenger, latterly telling journalists covering the newly-weds’ tax-payer-funded October 2018 tour of Australia and the south Pacific: ‘Thanks for coming, even though you weren’t invited.’)

The royal press pack is the group of dedicated writers who cover all the official engagements and tours on a rota system, in exchange for not bothering the royals as they go about their private business. It was a shame this ragtag bunch, of which I am an associate member, was never personally introduced to Meghan when the couple got engaged in November 2017.

I still have fond memories of a then Kate Middleton, upon her engagement to Prince William in November 2010, showing me her huge sapphire and diamond ring following a press conference at St James’s Palace with the words, ‘It was William’s mother’s so it is very special.’

I replied that she might want to consider buying ‘one of those expanding accordion style file holders’ to organise all her wedding paperwork. (Reader, I had given birth to my second child less than four months earlier and was still lactating.)

Not meeting Meghan did not stop royal commentators like me writing reams about her being ‘a breath of fresh air’ and telling practically every TV show I appeared on that she was the ‘best thing to have happened to the Royal Family in years’.

As the world followed the joyous news of the Windsors’ resident strip billiards star having finally found ‘the one’, the couple enjoyed overwhelmingly positive press culminating in their fairy-tale wedding in May 2018, which we headlined ‘So in love’ above a picture of the bride and groom kissing. I tweeted the wedding front page, along with the original story breaking the news of their relationship with the words, ‘Job done’. Yet, as Meghan would later point out in a glossy Santa Barbara garden, that was by far the end of the story.

According to the Duchess’s testimony before a global audience of millions, the seeds for their royal departure were actually sown by an article I wrote in November 2018 suggesting she made Kate cry during a bridesmaid’s dress fitting for Princess Charlotte.

Claiming the ‘reverse happened’, the former Suits star railed, ‘A few days before the wedding she was upset about something, pertaining to, yes, the issue was correct, about flower-girl dresses, and it made me cry, and it really hurt my feelings.’

She then went on to criticise the palace for failing to correct the story – suggesting that royal aides had hung her out to dry to protect the Duchess of Cambridge.

All of which left me in a bit of a sticky situation. As I told Phillip Schofield on This Morning the following day, ‘I don’t write things I don’t believe to be true and that haven’t been really well sourced.’

Having seemingly been completely bowled over by Meghan’s version of events, Schofe then went for the jugular: ‘I have to say, though, that’s all addressed in that interview, isn’t it, because she [Meghan] couldn’t understand why nobody stood up for her?’

Yet someone had stood up for her, on that very same This Morning sofa: me.

As I told Phil and Holly on 14 January 2019, as more reports of ‘Duchess Difficult’ started to emerge, ‘I think she [Meghan] is doing really well, she looks amazing, she speaks well. She has played a blinder.’

So you’ll forgive me if I can’t quite understand why Meghan didn’t feel the need to correct this supposedly glaring error once she had her own dedicated head of communications from March 2019 – or indeed when she ‘collaborated’ with Scobie, who concluded in his bestselling hagiography that ‘no one cried’?

Moreover, how did the Duchess know a postnatal Kate wasn’t ‘left in tears’? And if she doesn’t know, what hope has the average troll observing events through the prism of their own deep-rooted insecurities?

It appears the actual truth ceases to matter once sides have been taken in the unedifying Team Meghan versus Team Kate battle that has divided the internet.

Make no mistake, there are abject morons at both extremes spewing the sort of bile that, ironically, makes most of the media coverage of Harry and Meghan look like a 1970s edition of Jackie magazine.

It perhaps didn’t help my case that the day before the interview was aired in the US, I had written a lengthy piece carefully weighing up the evidence behind allegations of ‘outrageous bullying’ that had been levelled against Meghan during what proved to be a miserable 20 months in the Royal family for all concerned.

The messages – to my Twitter feed, my email, my website and official Facebook page – ranged from the threatening, to the typical tropes about media ‘scum’ and the downright bizarre. Some accused me of being in cahoots with Carole Middleton, with whom I have never interacted, unless you count a last-minute Party Pieces purchase in a desperate moment of poor parental planning.

Another frequent barb was questioning why the press wasn’t writing about that ‘pedo’ [sic] Prince Andrew instead – seemingly oblivious to the fact that no one would know about the Duke of York’s links to Jeffrey Epstein if it wasn’t for the acres of coverage devoted to the story by us royal hacks over recent years.

It didn’t matter that I had repeatedly torn the Queen’s second, and, some say, favourite son to pieces for everything from his propensity to take his golf clubs on foreign tours to that disastrous Newsnight interview.

Contrary to the ‘invisible contract’ Harry claims the palace has with the press, royal coverage works roughly like this: good royal deeds = good publicity. Bad royal deeds = bad publicity. We effectively act as a critical friend, working on behalf of a public that rightly expects the royals to take the work – but not themselves – seriously.

So when a royal couple preaches about climate change before taking four private jets in 11 days, it is par for the course for a royal scribe to point out the inconsistency of that message. None of it is ever personal, as evidenced by the fact that practically every member of the monarchy has come in for flak over the years.

If Oprah wasn’t willing to point out the discrepancies in Harry and Meghan’s testimony, surely it is beholden on royal reporters to question how the Duchess had managed to undertake four foreign holidays in the six months after her wedding, in addition to official tours to Italy, Canada, and Amsterdam, as well as embarking on a lengthy honeymoon, if she had ‘turned over’ her passport?

While no one would wish to undermine the extent of her mental health problems, could it really be true that she only left the house twice in four months when she managed to cram in 73 days’ worth of engagements, according to the Court Circular, in the 17 months between her wedding and the couple’s departure to Canada?

And what of the ‘racist’ headlines flashed up during the interview purporting to be from the British press, when more than a third were actually taken from independent blogs and the foreign media? The UK media abides by the Independent Press Standards Organisation’s Code of Conduct ‘to avoid prejudicial or pejorative reference to an individual’s race’, as well as by rigorous defamation laws. And rightly so – the British press doesn’t always get it right. But social media is the Wild West by comparison, publishing vile slurs on a daily basis with impunity.

Some therefore find it strange that such a litigious couple would claim to have been ‘silenced’ when they have made so many complaints, including resorting to legal action, over stories they claim not to have even read. There is something similarly contradictory about a couple accusing the tabloids of lacking self-reflection while refusing to take any blame at all – for anything.

In any normal world, informed writing on such matters would be classed as fair comment, but not, seemingly, on Twitter where those completely lacking any objectivity whatsoever are only too willing to virtue signal and manoeuvre.

As the trolling reached fever pitch in the aftermath of the interview, veteran royal reporter Robert Jobson of the Evening Standard called me. ‘Don’t respond to these freaks,’ he advised. ‘It’s getting nasty out there. Watch your back!’

Yet despite my general sense of bewilderment at the menacing Megbots, I can’t say it didn’t appal me to discover a close friend had received online abuse, purely by dint of being my mate. After discussing the lengths the troll must have gone to to track her down, she asked me, ‘Do you ever worry someone might do something awful to you?’ Er, not until now, no.

Of course it’s upsetting, even for a cynical old-timer like me. Worse still are people who actually know me casting aspersions on my profession on social media. Often these are the same charlatans who would think nothing of sidling up to me for the latest gossip on the Royal family, while publicly pretending that reading any such coverage is completely beneath them.

Most pernicious of all though – not least after Piers Morgan’s departure from Good Morning Britain following a complaint to ITV and Ofcom from the Duchess – is the corrosive effect this whole hullabaloo is having on freedom of speech. When you’ve got a former actor effectively editing a British breakfast show from an £11 million Montecito mansion, what next?

I cannot help but think we are in danger of setting race relations back 30 years if people are seriously suggesting that any criticism of Meghan is racially motivated. It’s the hypocrisy that gets me. When Priti Patel was accused of bullying, the very same people who willingly hung the Home Secretary out to dry are now the ones defending Meghan against such claims, saying they have been levelled at her simply because she is ‘a strong woman of colour’.

Of course journalists should take responsibility for everything they report and be held to account for it – but Harry and Meghan do not have a monopoly on the truth simply because the close friend and neighbour who interviewed them in return for £7 million from CBS took what they said as gospel.

If she isn’t willing to probe the disparity between Meghan saying someone questioned the colour of Archie’s skin when she was pregnant, and Harry suggesting it happened before they were even married, then someone must. There’s a name for such scrutiny. It’s called journalism.

The public reserves the right to make up its own mind – with the help of the watchful eye of a free and fair press. But that press can never be free or fair if journalists do not feel they can report without fear or favour. I’m lucky that a lot of the criticism I face is more than balanced out by hugely supportive members of the public and online community who either agree – or respect the right to disagree. Along with the hate mail, I have had many thoughtful and eloquent missives, including those that good naturedly challenge what I have written in the paper or said on TV, which have genuinely given me pause for thought.

I am more than happy to enter into constructive discourse with these correspondents, who are frankly sometimes the only people who keep me on Twitter. I mean, let’s face it, I wouldn’t be anywhere near the bloody thing if this wasn’t my day job.

With the National Union of Journalists this month declaring that harassment and abuse had ‘become normalised’ within the industry, never have members of Britain’s press needed more courage. As Winston Churchill famously said, ‘You have enemies? Good. That means you’ve stood up for something, sometime in your life.’

Who would have thought that the preservation of the fundamental freedoms that we hold so dear should partially rest on the shoulders of those who follow around a 94-year-old woman and her family for a living?

If I’d known then what I know now, would I still have written the bridesmaid’s dress story?

Yes – doubtlessly reflecting sisterly sobs all round. But after two decades in this business, I am clear-eyed enough to know this for certain: whatever I had written, it would still have ended in tears.

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official-weasley · 3 years

Text

Headcanon time (Part 5)

We all know how much Charlie Weasley loves dragons. Like it’s not how much I like ice cream or how I love to be cozy in Winter.

No, it’s much more and much deeper. He loves the beasts ever since he first saw one and I think that wasn’t him sitting on the sofa at the Burrow and reading a book. No, I think they were out – probably Diagon Alley – and they went shopping. Bill being a bit of a nerd already he wanted to go to Flourish and Blotts to look at books. Molly thought it was harmless to just look at the books as long as Bill and Charlie promise that they wouldn’t want to buy anything.

They nodded eagerly and went inside and Charlie immediately turned to the Nature Section to find a book or two with creature illustrations. What he stumbled upon, however, was much greater and much more beautiful.

Charlie heard of dragons before and was very disappointed when the family went to a Muggle zoo and they didn’t have one. They fascinated him because of their size and he made his goal to see one of them – even if just in a book.

That day in Diagon Alley, his wish came true. He saw an illustration of 5 different dragon species, the most beautiful to him being the Hebridean Black which immediately became his favorite breed. There was even a moving picture of a Chinese Fireball and a special edit from a Dragonologist about the fascinating feeding routine of Swedish-Short Snouts.

When Charlie heard his mother calling for him, he quickly went over the pictures one more time – his eyes lingering on each for a few seconds so he would never forget how they look like – and he promised himself that the second he can get his mother alone, he is going to ask her how can he get some money because he simply has to be educated on these fantastic beasts.

Charlie never questioned why the creatures fascinated him so much, why not any other, and why he was so drawn to them. He didn’t care – he just wanted to be around them.

Even though he was shy, he was brave enough to talk to all of his brothers (and one night to Ginny even though she was 3 at the time) about dragons and ask them if they had any more information about them.

After years of talking about nothing but dragons, Bill was the only one willing to listen to every new piece of information Charlie might’ve gathered either from library books or the old neighbor 3 houses away from theirs. Bill didn’t find dragons remotely as interesting as Charlie did but seeing the sparks in his little brother’s eyes, he couldn’t tell him that he already told him 17 times that week how fascinating it is that baby dragons only eat chicken blood and brandy.

The summer before Charlie started his first year at Hogwarts Molly and Arthur decided to start giving Charlie some money every time he does something at home. When they told him, Charlie was very grateful and even though his parents warned him that he should spare the money and perhaps wait until his third year to buy something nice for himself in Hogsmeade, Charlie already knew that he is going to spend every knut on books about dragons.

At this time, he knew that being a Dragonologist is a career and he was proud to announce to anyone who would listen that there are 4 big sanctuaries for dragons and 2 smaller ones. He also knew that the one having the biggest variety of dragons was the Romanian Sanctuary and Charlie was determined to make it his goal to study hard enough to get a job there.

Since Bill was nothing but brilliant at school, Molly and Arthur were a bit scared about how Charlie will do – they possibly can’t have two kids who will love books and studying in the library more than anything, can they?

After Charlie came home with more Os than other grades on his report card in his first year, his parents were over the roof that their two eldest are so responsible. Bill also told his mum and dad that Charlie is in the library more than him, but he left out the detail that he has his nose deep in books about dragons.

Hogwarts having one of the biggest libraries of the magical world was like a dream come true for Charlie. When he first went to see Madam Pince and asked her to take him to books about dragons, he expected her to give him a book or two. He did not expect 3 whole shelves of books on different breeds, behavioral studies, eating habits, mating, taming, finding and rescuing them, and how to train to become a great dragon listener.

After his first 3 years at Hogwarts, Charlie finished a shelf and a half and was determined that by the end of his time at school he will go through all the books at least once. In his nightstand drawer, he kept a special piece of parchment, where he wrote down titles of the books he simply has to read again.

It didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that Charlie was on top of his class in Care of Magical Creatures. He stayed with Professor Kettleburn after every class and while helping him tidy up and prepare for the next class he always asked him about dragons. And every time he had a chance, he went down to Hagrid’s so they could dream about dragons together.

The closer Charlie was to finishing school the bigger his wish to work in a Reserve got. He was so close yet so far away. He had perfect grades and he already got some contacts for the Romanian Sanctuary from Professor Kettleburn.

Everybody assured him that he will get the job and become a Dragonologist – Bill, his parents, Kettleburn, Hagrid, even his Head of House Professor McGonagall. And even though Charlie wasn’t big on compliments and rarely believed any nice thing someone said to him, he knew that they were right about his dream job.

In his seventh year, Charlie couldn’t stop thinking about it. He wanted to send them a letter in his sixth year but decided to wait even though the eagerness and the burning desire to see those magnificent creatures up close and work with them made him want to explode out of happiness.

It was May when Charlie sent the letter to the Romanian Sanctuary with 3 recommendation letters attached. He has never been so sure about anything in his entire life and he knew that if there is something he is going to be great at is being a Dragonologist.

He received a letter with a more than positive answer not even a week later. He smiled when he read that they were impressed by him and that they couldn’t wait to include him in their team of Dragonologists.

He only had a week with his family upon finishing school until he had to pack and say goodbye to his crying mother and a very supportive father.

He received an encouraging letter from Bill a day before his departure saying that he is going to do great and shouldn’t be nervous because all his dreams are finally going to come true. Charlie couldn’t help but agree with him and he couldn’t help but get a bit nervous as he couldn’t believe it will finally happen.

Even though he knew as much as one can about dragons he didn’t know what to expect once he gets there. Sure, he hoped that the people are nice but he couldn’t deny that he didn’t care as much for the co-workers as he did about the dragons accepting him.

Charlie arrived at the gate, ready as he will ever be to become what he wanted to be since the first day he found out that being around dragons is a profession. The hand with which he carried his suitcase was shaking and not because it was too heavy but because Charlie was so nervous and excited at the same time.

His boss greeted him with a big smile on his face and seeing how eager Charlie was to start, he took him on the tour before Charlie even got accommodated.

“In one of the recommendation letters, your professor told us that you wanted to work with dragons ever since you stepped inside their school.” The boss smirked at him.

“Even before that,” Charlie admitted, his cheeks slightly scarlet.

“Well, are you ready then?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Charlie clapped his hands together and hurried after the man that was about to open a whole new world for him.

The second Charlie laid his eyes on the first dragon – which, of course, was a Hebridean Black – he couldn’t help but shed a tear. Something moved inside of him and he couldn’t help but his heart beating fast against his rib cage.

This was it. His dream job. The creatures he adored and respected more than anything else in the world.

Everything around Charlie disappeared at that moment as he wiped his tears away, grinned as hard as he could, and took a step toward his favorite breed knowing his life has only just begun.

#charlie weasley #charles weasley #charlie weasley hc #weasley headcanon #charlie weasley headcanon #harry potter #charlie weasley fanfiction

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softomi · 3 years

Text

now accepting boyfriend applications.

based on my fic idea: you’ve just become newly single, in a drunken fit, you posted a status indicating you’re accepting applications for your next boyfriend. Oddly, three boys take you up on that; sending in their most professional resumes for the position. It seems there’s some fierce competitors.

next up: literature

It hurt, why wouldn’t it hurt. Your boyfriend of almost two years dumped you over text message with no warning and his reason? He just wasn’t feeling it anymore, what the fuck. Well, twenty phone calls, a hundred text messages sent to him, and a pretty nasty voicemail. The moment you realized just how crazy you were being was when you began pounding on his door at almost ten at night. His neighbors poking their head out to stare, and it really smacked you in the face how stupid you were being.

So you threw caution into the wind. it’s a Wednesday night, your first class tomorrow didn’t start until noon and you’re literature teacher was more of a lecturer so she probably won’t notice if you’re hung over. If anything, you could always ask the guy next to you for the notes.

Thus, you decide to throw back shots to your heart’s desire, sitting in the middle of your tiny studio apartment, on your bed to scream and cry at the romance movie. Love is dead. You groan loudly when your neighbor knocks against the wall, trying to tell you to promptly shut the fuck up.

Halfway through the movie, your mind is already swaying. Your throat stings just momentarily and you sip your cheap wine in hope it’ll dull the shots you had taken previously. When the male protagonist kisses the beautiful female of his dreams, you promptly chug the rest of the wine in your glass. Upset at their love, you wrap your lips around the tip of the wine bottle, drinking straight from it.

“I can find someone better.” You’ve reached a different point in your post break up sadness, you were mixed with anger, sadness, and an overall feeling of I’ll find someone with a better dick.

It’s never a good decision to post on social media while drunk, but it’s a great decision right now. You were going to post a ‘newly single’ status. Just to be nice and not spam everyone, you think you’ll just post it to your private account for your five friends to see. You’ve clearly neglected that step when you press post and it uploads to your public twitter account.

The urge to hurl takes priority over the sudden notifications on your phone. Your hair disheveled as you’re trying to hold onto the toilet, hold onto your hair, and throw up at the same time. The romance film comes to an end once you’ve fully emptied your stomach. You shove all the things off your bed, food falling onto the floor, empty bottle of wine rolled under your bed, remote lost somewhere. You fall asleep despite your cell phone going off.

The alarm jolts you, it causes you to scream, your palm slapping the snooze button and you aggressively pull the wire so that it comes out of the socket. Your head is throbbing and your cell phone is ringing at the same time. Annoyed, your hand stretches along the bed trying to find your cell. When you come emptyhanded, you sit up. Your hand steading the pulsing of your brain and you spot your phone ringing and vibrating on the ground.

“What?” You spit out, not bothering to look at the contact as you try to block out the sun.

“What do you mean what?” The voice snaps at you, “You post about boyfriend applications all of a sudden, did you guys break up?”

Of course he would be the one calling you, the person who loves gossip more than you do, “Tooru, can you like shut up for a second.” Your brain is dying and he’s over here trying to get the latest dish on your love life, “He dumped me okay.”

“That asshole.” He gasps, “Do you want me to come over?”

You look at the time on your cell briefly, “No. I have class all day. If you’re free later?”

“Of course!”

The phone call ends and rather than getting ready for the class you have in an hour, you’re checking your notifications. You have about twenty missed calls from Oikawa, another thirty text messages from him, he even left a voicemail; god he must have been desperate. Facebook is bland, you spent most of your time on Instagram deleting the photos of your now ex, and rarely do you ever get Twitter notifications. Oddly, you have fifteen notifications; all coming from your public account.

haha, boyfriend applications are official open. only taking serious apps lol

“No.” You sit up.

It wasn’t your post that freaked you out, it wasn’t that somehow it ended up on your public account, no you could delete it and pretend as if no one saw it but people saw it.

Is she serious?

If she is, I’m down.

What does serious applications mean?

Three comments, five likes, and four retweets.

And three unread messages.

Your finger rushes to delete the tweet before it can be retweeted even more by random classmates. All was good now. Your finger presses onto the message icon, you’re confronted with the icons of three of your classmates.

The most recent is from Miya Atsumu, a terrible flirt in your biology class. He chose the seat next to you in lab when his friends ditched him and hoarded their own table. He spun around in his chair, shooting you a cheeky grin when you briefly looked at him.

His first sentence was, “Hey you’re cute.”

And yours was, “I have a boyfriend.”.

You skip over his message upon spotting his use of sweetheart in the preview.

The next icon is of the guy in your intro to business class, Kuroo Tetsuro. The first time you saw him was outside of the classroom, you two ended up accidentally reaching the doors at the same time. He lets you go in first and the both of you chose the seats farthest from the board, and closest to the door. Despite his bed hair that made him look like he was going to sleep the entire class, he was a rather studious guy; chill but smart, he was a business major after all.

“Did you understand anything he was saying?” You murmur to him as you grab your bag.

“Of course!” He states, “I don’t look at twitter on my laptop when he’s lecturing.” Ah, he caught you.

Your eyes briefly scan the preview, he’s saying something about a resume and you think he’s talking about the homework assignment. You’re about to click on his first when the last catches your eye.

It’s from Akaashi Keiji. On the first day of class, you were late due to waiting in line for coffee. You awkwardly opened the door to the classroom, everyone turning to stare, and you lower your head, choosing a random seat that now you’re stuck with for the rest of the semester because that’s just how college works. The professor goes over the syllabus and suddenly announces that the person sitting to your right will be your revision partner for the semester.

“Hey.” You stop him and for a brief minute you feel your heart skip a beat because he was absolutely pretty, “Sorry, I’m Y/n. Since we’re going to be partners, do you want to exchange info?”.

“Uh. Sure. I’m Akaashi Keiji.”

“I’m going to be late for my business class. Do you have twitter?” You were never a fan of giving your phone number out. Before he can answer, you’re scribbling your username onto a piece of paper, placing it on his desk before running out to catch your next class.

His message is brief: Did you get my email?

You click his message first; it must have been urgent if he messaged and emailed you. There’s nothing else to his message, his previous one dates almost a week before his current one, telling you that he finished reading the book you recommended and that he enjoyed it.

The screen is pulled up with your finger, alternating apps to your personal email. The subject of his email simply reads Application.

Curiously, you click the attachment he’s sent with no body text. Your jaw dropped, hand placed over your open mouth and a small scream emitting.

“Is he fucking serious?”

His name is displayed at the top, along with his birthday, star sign, zodiac sign, age, even the pronouns he uses. There’s a short sentence under it. I am submitting an application for the position of Boyfriend. You’re internally screaming, blinking fast hoping that this was a joke but his ‘application’ reads like a resume. It lists his education from middle school to his current, his previous jobs, his skills, and his own personal goals for the future.

Your blushing profusely, you want to pull your hair, scream, even throw your phone but you shove down the feelings that want to have you die of embarrassment. You don’t have the energy to sadly explain to him that you were drunk and weren’t serious; ugh and you’re going to have to continue seeing him for the rest of the semester.

You revert back to twitter; your heart suddenly drops when you think about Kuroo’s message. Quickly, you pull up the messages, clicking his and suddenly you want dig yourself a grave because he’s sent a link to a pdf and it’s simply titled Resume. He probably used a resume template and never changed the title.

And sure enough, it’s a fucking professional resume declaring the certain skills he has to be your boyfriend. In fact, like the professional business major he is, he includes a letter of intent; indicating his reasons of interest for the position. It details the little quirks he finds cute about you. You want to break your phone in half with how red in the face you feel.

As you exit his message, you’re slowly praying that Atsumu’s message is just a random flirty comment that he occasionally likes to throw you once in a while or perhaps you’re hoping that he fell in a ditch and you won’t have to work with him for the rest of the semester since he almost blew up the lab station last time.

Nope, it’s a link to a google document. Oddly, you click it. Your heart has sunk to the pit of the earth because when you open the document, you see his fucking name in the upper right corner indicating he’s still on the stupid document.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re running away from the document, aggressively leaving the page but it doesn’t help that when you end up back at your twitter messages, you can see the three dots, telling you he’s typing.

Morning sweetheart hope you enjoy the app

He sends it with a flirty wink and you stare at it for five full minutes. Curiosity gets the best of you and you click back onto his link, he’s no longer on the same document and you sigh safely. For someone who’s barely passing biology, his document was rather professionally detailed. Damn, he’s on the school’s volleyball team? Weirdly the page cuts off halfway, you continue to scroll until the next title page boldly states: Bedroom skills.

It didn’t help that you were scrolling a little too fast and caught sight of an image showing off his toned upper body. There goes his professionalism.

Your phone suddenly blares low battery, your screen turns black and now your anxiety is through the roof. You jump on your bed, trying to plug in your phone and you’ve just now realized that it is thirty minutes until your first class starts and it is literature. You’re scrambling to find your laptop, you trip on the bag of chips from last night, awkwardly trying to stand as you reach for your school bag.

“Shit!” You scream. You suddenly remember letting your stupid ex-boyfriend borrow your laptop.

You fall to the floor, fingers pulling your hair as you suddenly think about the deep shit your in. First, your boyfriend dumped you, now you randomly have three guys who sent you applications to be your next boyfriend and you’re still going to have to see them for the rest of the semester if you reject them. Lastly, you’re going to have to go to your ex’s place to get your laptop after having made a scene yesterday, and your phone is dead so you can’t cry to Oikawa about the deep shit you’re in.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #atsumu x reader #akaashi x reader #haikyuu scenarios #atsumu scenarios #kuroo scenarios #akaashi scenarios #kuroo #atsumu #akaashi #kuroo tetsurou #atsumu miya #akaashi keiji #hq #hq scenarios

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strawbabysimp · 3 years

Text

A Massage and More || Dom!Hanamiya x Reader

Genre: Smut

Category: Dom!Hanamiya x GN!Reader

Warning(s): Dacryphilia, Degradation, Face Fucking With Feet, Masturbation, Pet Names, Rough Sex, Sensual Massages, Toe Sucking

A/N: I'm so sorry TT I had to do this~ Additional warning: Hanamiya

It had been a particularly grueling practice for the uncrowned king, not an enthusiast of the practice required to play his beloved blood-letting sport. His mind wasn't invested in it today, twisting of limbs and red-stained courts the only thing pushing him to do better. His body was sore as he sat beside you on the bus ride home, a deep scowl on his face despite finally getting to have you to himself for the night after being busy with being both the captain and coach of his team.

"What do you want to do?"

Your voice was pleasant despite having to put up with Hanamiya's unpredictable cruelty. This time wasn't like the usual, it wasn't as if he was out to hurt you - a common occurrence in your unconventional relationship - but rather he was genuinely having a bad day. He didn't acknowledge you as he walked into the house, your words meeting his back as he made his way to the living room. The boy didn't hesitate to plop himself down on the furniture, taking up the 3-seater couch placed across from the family's television.

Your boyfriend scoffed. His words brought a smirk to his lips, meeting your gaze with tired eyes despite his condescending demeanor. "I'm tired."

Your body stood still between him and the TV screen before you moved to sit beside him, Hanamiya scoffing despite moving back to sit up against the armrest, willingly moving his feet to rest in your lap to accommodate you.

"How was practice," you asked despite already knowing the answer. Hanamiya rolled his eyes at your inquiry.

"Shitty."

He sighed as his feet moved to pry off his shoes and socks, not caring for cleanliness as they dropped down onto the floor with two resounding thuds. You thought he would leave it at that but he continued on, "Hara wouldn't leave me alone, going on with his '-chan' bullshit like I'm his bitch or something."

You could picture the gum-enthusiast following his captain around, the smell of mint in the air as a repetitive popping noise sounded from behind the shorter man. A small smile made its way onto your face as you looked down at his legs laying in your lap, basketball shorts riding up slightly to show off his pale skin, thighs peeking out from the loose fabric. You felt a light pain in your own thigh, your boyfriend's foot coming down to collide with your flesh harshly.

"It's not funny." Your shoulders shook lightly from laughter at his fed-up expression. You apologized insincerely, fingers digging into one of his feet in an attempt to get him to settle down, massaging out any aches he has gained on the court. His shoulders lowered slightly, deciding to graciously let the matter slide if it meant you would continue with your service.

The screen of the television lit up, the brunet's thumb pressing down on the remote in silence as he searched for something that piqued his interest. You continued with your relaxing motions, focusing on the act as you heard the man partially in your lap finally settle on a movie.

You allowed your gaze to trail back up, settling on the show he had picked, a fight scene taking place on screen as the actors yelled out foreign obscenities. Hanamiya and his interest in American action movies was something you found endearing despite knowing he was mainly a fan to get his fix of violence without landing himself in a cell.

You could feel a gaze settle on you, shifting your head to make eye contact with the proud sadist. He looked away once you had noticed his staring. He shifted slightly, readjusting his position as he invested himself in the plot of the movie.

You heard a small breath leave the boy as your fingers worked into his joints silently. You were content with watching the movie in silence but when the noises came faster, increasing in volume until a small groan sounded between the two of you you couldn't help but look up with an exclamation of surprise at the sight before you, putting your massage on hold to stare at Makoto with wide eyes.

"Are you getting turned on by this?"

Hanamiya's shorts had ridden up, palm pressed into the crotch of his pants as the outline of his cock was made clear through the uniform. He thumbed at the tip as his eyes were shut in pleasure, mouth slightly agape to let the tell-tale signs of his actions out easier.

"What do you think," he said with an annoyed tone, unable to rid of the way his voice gave away his current state. He never paused, going as far as to dip his hand beneath the waistband of his shorts to get a firmer grip on his dick. "I never said to stop."

His eyelids fluttered open, eyes slightly unfocused as he urged you on. You took the other untouched foot in your grasp, repeating the same process as you followed the man's reactions. He freed his cock from the confines of the fabric, sliding his shirt up to reveal the expanse of his stomach as you watched it slowly get coated in white.

"Feels good," he spoke softly, "I guess you're not completely useless after all." Your lips twitched humorously at his words, knowing he thought higher of you than he let on but allowing him to keep up the act.

You watched as his hand sped up its pace, hips arching up into the tight space made by thin fingers as precum leaked out of him. Groans echoed off the walls of the room, the spacious house keeping in the moans, preserving the neighbors' peace despite Hanamiya not being able to care any less about their feelings of discomfort.

"Fuck," his voice rose further, moans varying in pitch but long and breaking following the exclamation. When he finally spilled out onto himself you slowed down your motions, hands stroking up and down the tops of his feet as he rode out his orgasm.

Fingers swiped across his stomach, collecting the cum with his digits before bringing his foot closer and off your lap for a moment. He smeared the salty substance onto his foot, the sight making you scrunch your nose in distaste.

"Well, aren't you going to clean me up?"

"Huh?" His request stupefied you, wide eyes unable to keep from staring down at the white slowly dripping down his foot.

"I know you heard me. Do you need more detailed instructions? ... Fine, I should have expected as much from you. Such a small brain in that little head of yours." He smiled at you darkly, a fond gleam in his eyes despite the look.

You slid off of the couch, your knees pressed against the wooden flooring that was found throughout most of the house. Hanamiya looked down at you, having moved to face you directly on the center cushion.

With cheeks flushed and chest burning from embarrassment, he gave you a moment, taking a few seconds to scan you over or give you a moment to stop it. He was wordless in his caring but it occurred nonetheless. The same thumb that had been rubbing against the underside of his dick was now rubbing across your cheek, a layer of cum now present on your skin. Without warning he slid his fingers to the back of your head, shoving you down roughly on the soiled toes.

The back of his foot remained steady with help from the edge of the couch, keeping it elevated to slide into your mouth easier. He watched you calmly as your cheeks stretched around his lower leg. He flexed in your mouth, cum coating your tongue as he pressed against the muscle, pleased by your willingness.

He began to pull out before stopping, you looked up at him through watery eyes before his other leg came to wrap around the back of your neck, bringing you further forward to gag on the other.

"You're crying but I bet you like it. You do know you're your prettiest when you're like this, don't you?"

He never stopped his brutal pace, continuing to spew out pure filth as his calf was secured around your head, forcing you to clean up the mess you had helped make. Once he deemed the job done thoroughly enough he removed himself from you, hunching forward to get a better view at your wrecked look. With a blank face, he pressed his lips to just above your brow bone, closing his eyes as he rested his forehead against yours for a moment in a rare show of weakness reserved only for you.

"You did a good job, dollface."

#Smut #Hanamiya #Hanamiya Smut #Hanamiya x Reader #Dom!Hanamiya #Dom Hanamiya #Kuroko's Basketball #KNB #Anime #Hanamiya Makoto #Gender Neutral Reader

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quietlyimplode · 3 years

Note

drugged + (Do you write Laura?). Maybe Clint and Nat came back from a mission and although Nat seemed okay, Laura finds her during the night not doing so well.

Hello Anon! Thanks for sending this one through. This was supposed to be a drabble that turned into 1800 words so uhh thanks?

Also @paperairplanesopenwindows this was completey written with you in mind. I hope the rest of the month is kinder.

Kind Words.

Laura drys her hands and smiles at the now familiar sounds of the quinjet landing. Clint’s home. And if she’s very lucky, Natasha will be here too. She stands at the door with Cooper in her arms, his squashy baby face outwards on the baby carrier, his arms and legs free. Clint has been trying to make it home more to see him grow, she knows he’ll be devastated if he misses milestones, but as she’d confessed to Natasha, he was missing them anyway.

She walks out on the driveway, and down the stairs, watching as Clint appears down the ramp, Natasha trailing behind him. They’re both smiling, which she takes as a good sign. She frowns in the sunlight and thinks it may have been the trick of the light to see Natasha suck in a big breath, because when she looks again, nothing is wrong.

They greet each other with hugs and kisses and she passes Cooper across to the two of them, stretching her back and sitting down for the first time that day.

It’s a quiet affair, their homecoming, and she thinks she likes it better that way. She ruffles Clint’s hair; tells him he needs a shower as he pouts and asks her to join him. Laura concedes as Natasha offers to take the baby, the first shower she’s had baby-less in almost six weeks. It’s bliss.

She’s quiet as she heads downstairs, and finds Natasha staring. Not just lost in her own world, but it takes three goes of her name to get her attention. Laura frowns again. That is not at all like Natasha, who always at least acknowledges her on the first. She’s been able to get Cooper to sleep, and Laura smiles, wiping the concern off her face, tells her she’s magic and offers her some tea.

Natasha watches and they lapse into easy conversation, the goings on of the farm, the chickens and horse, right down to the vegetables Laura has been growing. She hopes this is a safe place for Natasha, that she doesn’t have to hide anything, because Laura distinctly gets the feeling that’s what’s happening.

She presents Natasha with the tea, Clint checking in on them before heading out into the garden, there’s nothing like seeing the land rather than just hearing about it. She talks softly to Clint, asking him to much out the chicken coops even though it’s almost 5pm, it’s a small job that will help in the long run. He pouts and kisses her telling her he’ll be an hour.

Laura returns to her chair, finding Natasha gone but the steaming mug of tea still there. Laura sighs. Nothing like a ninja assassin in her midst. She picks up her phone and scrolls through it, losing time on stupid things but liking the abstract company whilst the baby sleeps.

When she realises it’s almost hit 6pm, concern for Natasha sends a cold shiver down her back, unsure whether to go look for her or let her be. She has no idea how long it’s been since she’s had time to herself, and she doesn’t want to ruin that if all she has had lately is people around her.

Making a decision to start dinner instead, she sets the mince on the stove and spaghetti in the saucepan and makes an easy dinner that she knows both of them love. Cooper wakes with a cry and snort and she pulls him into the high chair, feeding him like normal; just the two of them. Clint wanders in as the spaghetti finishes and they move around the kitchen with practiced ease, finishing cooking dinner and providing simple entertainment that only babies like.

They share a look when Natasha doesn’t appear for dinner and Laura asks if there’s anything she should know. Clint shrugs and shakes his head, making Laura frown. Twice in the six hours they’ve been back, she’s seen Natasha space out and that just when she’s been in the same room, now she’s been missing for almost three hours, she just wants to know she’s ok.

Stomping up the stairs and leaving Clint to have some floor time with Cooper, she checks the bedrooms and the upstairs space, not finding Natasha anywhere. Nervousness curls in her guts as she sends a message to her, and hears the vibration of a phone in Natasha’s room. Poking her head in again she sees the phone on the nightstand.

Laura hurries back down stairs and tells Clint she’s missing. She could be lost, cold or passed out from an untold injury, for all Laura knows. Clint laughs it off and says she’s fine, she probably just gone for a run. He maintains that nothing has happened in any mission over the past two weeks that would make Natasha on edge or even remotely triggered. He says it with such conviction that it makes Laura go from frantic to pissed off in a matter of seconds as she moves outside, the cold air hitting her making her wish she had a coat.

She tries the chickens first, and then the barn. With no luck she looks around the farm in twilight and spies the light of the quinjet door.

She calls out, hoping that it’s nothing like Clint said. She doesn’t think so though. Sometimes, he just doesn’t understand. Sometimes it needed to be Laura.

There’s no response as she makes her way inside, as she navigates to the cockpit, she finds Natasha curled in the seat, asleep.

Laura smiles. She sits down next to her on the other chair and sends Clint a message she’ll be here if he needs any help with Cooper. He sends a thumbs up back and she rolls her eyes.

A little after 9, Natasha shifts in her chair and looks over to Laura whos sharp eyes are watching her every movement.

“Hey.” She says, softly. Natasha lips curl up in a smile that doesn’t even touch any of her other features.

“What’s wrong Nat?” She asks, before anything else can be said.

Natasha turns away and has her face schooled when she turns again.

“Nothing.” She replies.

Laura looks at her, piecing eyes break through Natasha’s now glassy ones, unaccustomed to being the one under this much scrutiny.

“Did something happen?” Laura asks, ready to play twenty questions.

“No?” Laura’s eyesbrows raise around the negative answer that’s clearly positive. “Yes?”

Natasha drops her head into her hands.

“Nothing happened.” Natasha groans. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Laura doesn’t respond. There’s a sadness or maybe frustration that’s oozing from Natasha. She knows she’s asking the wrong questions.

“Did Clint do something?” She loves her husband but sometimes he is an idiot. She doesn’t think he’d do anything deliberately, but she knows that Natasha’s head can be a minefield, and so a small part of her wonders if this separation from him in the house is Natasha’s way of getting space from him and trying to work it out in her own. She knows she’s close to the mark as Natasha closes her eyes and tips her head back, pushing it against the headrest.

“What did he do?” She asks quietly.

Natasha doesn’t respond but keeps her eyes closed. A tear slips out to which she furiously wipes away.

“Nothing.” She gets out with a stuttering huff.

“Hey,” Laura reaches over and grabs Natasha hand. “If he’s done something, anything, you can say it. It’s ok,” she squeezes her hand. “Ok?”

Natasha shakes her head.

“It’s not him. It’s me. It’s always me.” The hand not holding Laura’s hand comes up and covers her face.

Laura’s heart breaks for her, she keeps hold of her hand and squeezes it again.

“Hey.”

When she doesn’t get a response, she gently pulls the arm away.

“Hey. This is not on you. If there’s something he did, he needs to know not to do it again, yeah? If it hurts, if it hits hard, it’s important?”

Natasha is silent, perhaps contemplating Laura’s words.

“It’s stupid.” She whispers. “Please don’t tell him.”

Laura rubs her her thumb over Natasha’s knuckles.

“It’s not stupid.” She assures.

“He yelled.” Natasha admits. “He was yelling at Peter and Wanda for doing something stupid, I don’t even know what,” she exhales deep, “and it just sent me back. Yelling always lead to pain, and I don’t… didn’t want that for them. I can’t stop thinking about it, and when I do I get stuck.” Natasha finally looks over to Laura.

“It’s not his fault. He wasn’t wrong.” And then quieter. “Please don’t tell him.”

Laura isn’t really sure what to do.

She’s not sure if Clint has realised. Feels that he would have said something if he felt she was off. He hadn’t known. Natasha is far too good at hiding her feelings and she never wants her to feel like she has to do that here. Whether it be with her or Clint, she wants her to be able to say something.

“I’m not going to say anything.” She whispers.

Natasha looks at her, face blanked.

Laura continues, “Nat, your triggers are nothing to be ashamed of, the fact that you’ve survived all that you have is a miracle and amazing in itself and I am so so glad you are here. Sometimes though, you need to say something, and not battle through yourself. If you don’t want to tell Clint, you can always come to me.” She squeezes her hand again.

“Ok?”

Natasha nods. Laura’s sure her words are lost, and shame is overriding everything, but the words bare saying.

“Do you wanna come in or do you wanna stay here?”

Natasha shrugs.

“I have to go out Cooper to bed, but if you choose to stay here I’ll come back with blankets and some food. If you wanna come in, the house is warm and there’s food ready.”

She kisses Natasha’s hand, and as she leaves, she feels Natasha follow behind her.

She slows her pace and they walk comfortably back to the house.

“Thanks.” Natasha says, over the crickets.

Laura opens the door for her and smiles.

“Hey. Sometimes you just need to talk it out right?”

Natasha nods, there’s still an air of sadness around her but she seems more out together than when she’d left Laura alone with the cup of tea.

They don’t say anything as they find Clint wrestling Cooper in his onesie. Laura laughs.

“I can help.” She says, relieving him and tag teaming out. She puts the TV on and points to the food on the table, giving Natasha something to do away from where Clint is.

She hands Cooper back to Clint and sends them off to bed. “Good luck,” she grins, hugging them both.

“She ok?” Clint whispers as he holds her close. Laura nods her head into him.

The night ends quietly, with Clint snoring on the couch, and Natasha watching television, some balance restored.

#blackwidowfest2021 #clint/nat/laura #natasha romanoff #black widow #clint barton #hawkeye #laura barton #my fic #ask away #marvel fic #prompt fic #to all the people who have sent in fic requests #thanks so much :)#heads up they’re probs not all gonna be this long #this has not been proof read #I just wanna go to bed #sooo I’ll reread it in the morning and correct from there

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peepeepotter · 4 years

Text

Hogwarts: New Girl AU

A/N: Warning, some canonical changes were made for plot reasons, the biggest being: Harry and Ginny never dated; Harry, Neville, and Draco are all professors; George has a new WWW store in Hogsmeade. Also, she starts off living with the four guys whereas in New Girl she only lived with all four for about a season. I just thought it would be fun!! Also, when I wrote this it felt a lot longer than it ended up being—so let me know if this is too long or too short or just right!! P.S.: I do NOT condone transphobia (I’m LGBT and will defend trans people until the day I die) and obviously I feel JKR is a shitty person, I write because I like writing and we’ll all agree that 5 year old Daniel Radcliffe wrote the HP series :)

Chapter 1: Who’s That Girl?

Pairing: George x Female Reader

Warnings: Cursing

Words: 3k

Series Masterlist

“So, you know in horror movies when the girls are like "Oh my god, there's something in the basement. Let me just run down there in my underwear and see what's going on in the dark", and you're like "What is your problem? Call the aurors!", and she's like "Okay" but it's too late because she's already getting avada kedavra’d. Well, my story's kind of like that.” y/n said, remembering the borderline traumatic moment that happened two weeks ago.

Y/N sat in the back of a muggle taxi, on her way to her shared apartment with her boyfriend Cormac McLaggen. Only, incredibly uncomfortably, she was completely naked under a trench coat.

“It’s a surprise for Cormac. I’m just gonna walk in and drop my coat, like BAM. There it all is. He said he has this fantasy that I’m a veela with a heart of gold.” Y/N attempted to whisper into the phone speaker.

“You added the ‘heart of gold’ thing, didn’t you?” Ginny asked, chuckling and knowing full well that McLaggen wasn’t exactly a thoughtful person, and wouldn’t have included that in a sexual fantasy.

“Yeah. I wanted to really get into the character, you know?” Y/N tried to get into the fantasy more, hoping it would make her less uncomfortable.

“Oh really? What’s your veela name?”

“Uh...Fleur?”

“That ones taken, Y/N.”

“Whatever, I don’t need a veela name.”

“Either way, I’m so proud of you for getting out of your comfort zone! Good luck babe.” Ginny encouraged.

As Y/N walked into the apartment, she was trying to position herself sexily in the living room. She laid on her side on the couch. Too cliché. She propped herself on the back of the couch. Too masculine. Eventually Cormac entered the living room from the bedroom wearing only his boxers, making Y/N panic about the fantasy.

“Y/N! You’re back early! I wasn’t expecting you—“

Y/N dropped the trench coat. Immediately after a girl, Pansy Parkinson she recognized, followed McLaggen out of the bedroom. Their bedroom. And she was only wearing her underwear.

“Oh.”

“So that’s what happened and why I really need a new place to live. Anyway...what was the question?” Y/N smiled at the four men in front of her. They all looked traumatized by her story.

“Um, do you have any pets?” George asked.

“Oh, no I don’t. Sorry,” She chuckled awkwardly.

“You know what’s funny? When I saw your ad on DumbledoresList I thought you were women.” Y/N laughed. “Crazy, right?”

“Hold up, why would you think that?” Draco spoke before the other two could.

“Just some of the vocabulary used. Like sun-soaked and exposed brick daydream.”

“Draco you wrote exposed brick daydream? Oh my god,” George was nearly in tears with laughter, Harry and Neville following quickly. “Jar, right now, dude.”

“Yeah, jar, seriously. Five galleons.” Harry agreed, pointing to a jar on the mantle of he fireplace with a neon green post-it note labeled “Prick Jar.”

Draco rolled his eyes, getting up and putting the galleons in the jar.

Y/N coughed, trying to refocus the attention. “Look, I really like this apartment. I also really don’t want to live with my friend anymore. She’s a quidditch player...all her friends and roommates are quidditch players. They get into some real weird shit.” Y/N felt like she was pleading with them. Just let me stay here!

“Look I still don’t feel like we know enough—” George was interrupted by Draco.

“Oh, quidditch players? When can you move in?” Y/N grinned, hoping the promise of these three men meeting hot quidditch players would help.

“No, no, loft meeting. Bathroom.” Harry ordered, leading the way down the long hall to the bathroom at the end. When Y/N heard the door shut she quickly and silently followed, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“Come ON guys, she’s friends with quidditch players. Next to veela’s and the girls at Beauxbaton, that’s like the hottest girls in existence.” Draco begged the other two.

“The fact that you’re a professor now and you said that is like...incredibly disturbing.” Harry glared at Draco, George and Neville shaking their heads.

“Yeah, and my sister is a quidditch player so I don’t know about that.” George shuddered.

“I’m not going to lie to you guys, I don’t want a girl living here. Sometimes, I get home from a long day of teaching and I just want to strip and lay on the couch. Let the boys chill.” Harry casually shared. Y/N gagged at the thought, but the other three men in the bathroom made noises of agreement, or at least understandment of his statement.

“I am...actually neutral on this one.” Neville shrugged, causing Draco to scoff.

“You would be neutral on this.” Draco rolled his eyes, but directed his attention toward their fourth roommate. “Alright George, tie-breaker. It’s up to you. Is she in or out?”

“You guys know I don’t do well under pressure like this. Just give me a minute let me think.”

Both Harry and Draco started arguing with each other, putting George under more pressure to make a decision. He slowly backed himself into the stall in the bathroom and locked it. Neville watched everything play out, arms crossed with a smile on his face.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done!” Draco said, gesturing to the hiding George.

“What I’ve done! You started it—” Harry replied.

“Whatever, executive decision—she’s in.” Draco announced.

“YAY! I’m in!” Y/N exclaimed, not able to contain her excitement on the other side of the bathroom door. Draco opened the bathroom door.

“Nobody decided putting a silencing charm on the door would be a good idea?” Harry asked the boys in the bathroom.

“Oh you guys have a stall and urinals? Like a public bathroom? Okay, yeah I guess I can get used to that.” Y/N said, looking around the bathroom that reminded her a little too much of the bathrooms at Hogwarts.

“What do you do for a living anyway? Why do you want to live out here in Hogsmeade?” Draco asked as the group of five made their way back to the living room.

“I just became a professor at Hogwarts! I spent a really long time in both the muggle world and the magical world studying creatures. So, I’m taking over for Hagrid.” Y/N smiled, very excited to be doing her two favorite things in the world: working with animals, and teaching bright young minds.

“Oh, Harry, Neville and I are professors at Hogwarts too. I teach potions, Neville teaches herbology, and Harry teaches...Harry what fucking subject do you teach?” Draco crooked an eyebrow at Harry, purposely acting like he didn’t know what Harry taught.

“Defense against the dark arts.” Harry glared at Draco. “And George here just opened a new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes shop in Hogsmeade.” Harry said, clapping George’s back. George sheepishly smiled at Y/N.

“Oh that’s awesome! I loved pranks at Ilvermorny. Cormac hated pranks.” Y/N started to tear up, staring off into space.

“George gets it, he was dumped, too.” Draco took his turn to clap his hand on George’s back this time.

“Yeah. Dumped,” George scoffed.

“George I just can’t do this anymore!” Angelina pleaded with George as he covered his ears, despite only the one really working.

“LALALA I CAN’T HEAR YOU! WE CAN’T BREAK UP IF I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” George yelled.

“Yeah, I was dumped.” George shrugged. “What about it? It was like eight months ago Draco! Move past it. Pfft, dumped.” George got very heated over...seemingly very little, Y/N noticed.

“Ignore him, he’s still fragile. Which, you aren’t too fragile, right?” Draco asked.

“Pfft. I’m so tough. Don’t even worry about it.”

“We’ll always have Paris. We didn’t have, we, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night. … And you never will. But I’ve got a job to do, too. Where I’m going, you can’t follow. What I’ve got to do, you can’t be any part of.” Y/N was screaming the words of the monologue from Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca at the television, the four men staring at her from the kitchen.

“Feel like we’ve made a mistake yet?” Harry asked Draco, who rolled his eyes and approached Y/N.

“Y/N, stop.” Draco turned the television off. “C’mon, you can’t be like this! You’re a strong woman! Strong women don’t cry over men who clearly didn’t deserve them in the first place! Strong women go out and hook up with strangers in the bar in Hogsmeade to get over their ain’t-shit exes.” Draco pulled Y/N up from off the couch. “Go take a shower. We’re going to the Three Broomsticks tonight and you’re hooking up with someone.” Draco pushed her in the direction of the bathroom.

“And that gentleman is how you take care of a crying woman. Not that any of you know how to handle women at all.” Draco snipped at the three men, who—to be fair—did not know how to deal with women at all.

At the Three Broomsticks, the four men watched Y/N absolutely fail at flirting with any even remotely viable man in the bar. Eventually Draco called her back over to the booth where the four men drank and talked about their days.

“Honey, you’ve got to stop doing whatever it is you were doing out there. In fact, you’re going to stop doing anything. You are going to go sit at the bar and look pretty until a man approaches you, and then you are going to smile and nod and agree to go out with him.” Draco nagged. The three other men were chuckling quietly as Y/N trudged to the bar, hoping for men to approach her.

“Anyway, what is this shit we’re chaperoning on Friday night?” Draco turned to Neville and Harry, hoping one of the two would know.

“I think it’s a school dance but like...not fun for the kids at all. Like I don’t think there’s actually any dancing at all.” Harry summed, confused as well. None of them had ever been to muggle high school, and did not understand what a “homecoming” dance was. The Muggle Studies professor suggested it might be fun for the first Friday back to school, and McGonagall agreed as long as the kids didn’t have too much contact on the dance floor. The Muggle Studies teacher explained to the three men that it was “middle school rules, no touching below the shoulders, room for Merlin in the middle.” if dancing were to be allowed. Neville, Harry, and Draco were clueless as to what that meant.

“Glad I won’t be in on that shit show.” George laughed, taking a sip of his drink.

“We actually signed you up.” Draco said nonchalantly, drinking his beer. George spat his beer out violently.

“Excuse me? I have to spend my Friday night watching a bunch of kids...do what? Drink butterbeer and sit on opposite ends of a room?!” George was clearly pissed off, wanting to have done literally anything else with his Friday night.

“I mean, you’ll see your brother.” Harry offered, which actually eased George’s tensions a bit. He smiled, missing his family.

“Oh, alright. Harry, you charmer, you always know how to get me.” George winked at Harry who waved him off.

“How are things going with you and uh...Loony?” Draco asked Neville. The three other men rolled their eyes, annoyed at how Draco still seemed to live in his own little world.

“Luna. And things are going...they’re going.” Neville shrugged, clueless to his own love life.

“Just as expected, he doesn’t know anything.” Draco shook his head at George and Harry, as if Neville’s cluelessness was their fault.

“Are you blaming—” Before Harry could finish accusing Draco of exactly what Draco was doing, Y/N came back from the bar, squealing about getting a date.

“What did you do?” Draco asked, smirking, just knowing he was right.

“I did what you said! I just smiled and nodded and said I wanted to hookup and he gave me his number and now we’re going out Friday night!” Y/N jumped up and down in tiny jumps, starting to fist-pump.

“This American is so weird sometimes.” Harry whispered.

“It’s endearing, I think.” Neville commented.

“Naive, maybe.” George rolled his eyes, the only one who seemed to notice that she blatantly told the man she would have sex with him.

When the night of her date rolled around, the four men found themselves with an unexpected floo guest.

“Ginny, what are you doing—” George stood.

“Who told her it was a good idea to get back out there again? That’s not your job, that’s my job. I’m her best friend, you guys are just some weird adult men living together. No offense brother, dear.” Ginny was in the living room, pointing an accusing finger at the men sat on the couch while Y/N was in her bedroom getting ready. Ginny was clearly ready to go out clubbing for the night, and was dressed in a short dress and very tall heels.

“None taken.” George rolled his eyes, plopping himself back on the couch.

“Now I’m going to go handle the mess you all created, thank you very much.” Ginny glared, walking over to Y/N’s room and walking in.

Y/N laid on the ground surrounded by clothes. Her hair and makeup was clearly done, but she seemed stumped on what to wear. She was currently wearing a witch hat, a crop top, sweatpants, and cowgirl boots.

“Y/N,” Ginny sighed. “What were you going for with this?” Ginny gestured up and down Y/N’s body.

“Witchy space cowgirl.” Y/N shrugged. “It seems like something you’d find in a porn anyway—”

“Here, let’s find you clothes that will actually get you laid.”

After about half an hour, Ginny emerged from Y/N’s room first, dressed in a crop top and sweatpants.

“Now presenting, the new but not improved, still absolutely perfect Y/N.” Ginny gestured towards Y/N’s bedroom, where Y/N emerged. She was wearing the short black sleeveless dress and tall heels Ginny had been wearing when she emerged from the floo. Draco let out a whistle, Harry and Neville started clapping, and George was sat, stunned. Well, until Y/N started fist pumping again, then they all started booing her.

“Don’t let me keep you guys, I know you have plans with a bunch of 11 to 17 year olds tonight.” Y/N giggled, watching as the men stood up at the reminder.

“Don’t worry, we’d rather be anywhere else. Even here watching your weird dancing.” Draco puffed, the other men agreeing.

“So yeah, that’s how we got a new roommate.” George explained to Fred, who’s hazy, ghostly form nodded.

“Believe it or not, I actually know her. I was her first friend here.” Fred grinned, pointing to himself. George wasn’t surprised. Ever since Fred died and became a ghost, Fred frequently felt lonely, and George knew that. Besides Peeves, he really didn’t have many friends. He couldn’t interrupt teachers while they were teaching, but since Care for Magical Creatures was not a required class, Y/N had a lot of free time. They bonded over pranks, baked goods, and George. “She’s so cute! You totally would’ve dated her a decade ago.” Fred teased his younger twin.

“Yeah, well, things change I guess.” George felt his phone vibrating in his pocket, and looked at the caller ID to find it as Madam Puddifoot’s store number. “One second.” He told his brother. “Madam Puddifoot?” George asked.

“George dearie, your friend Y/N here was stood up by her date. I figured someone should know, she’s in my shop crying and I have to close in,” she paused, clearly checking the time. “In a half hour. Do you think you could help?” George stood, already walking towards the school’s exit.

“Oh hello there.” Y/N sniffled, eyes red and puffy as she looked up to see George taking a seat in front of her. “Don’t you have a school dance you’re supposed to be chaperoning.” She furrowed her eyebrows, pointing a finger at him. She meant for it to be accusatory, but with red puffy eyes, George mostly found it (as Neville said) endearing.

“Some things are more important than watching boys and girls stand on opposite ends of a room.” He shrugged, reaching across the table and grabbing his friends hand. “Listen, real men don’t treat women the way you’ve been treated the past few weeks. I’m sorry you’re going through this. If it makes you feel better, sometimes I still call my ex and leave voicemails in a country accent.” George offered, making Y/N giggled, wiping lone tears.

“Well, you can always call me and talk to me in a country accent instead.” She shrugged, in an attempt to help him the way he’s come to help her. “Do you want to go home and watch—”

“Literally anything other than Casablanca, okay? I will watch whatever sad chick flick you want, but you have watched Casablanca like twenty times this week.” George puffed, standing up and reaching his hand out for Y/N. “Let’s go home and get drunk and cry.” He smiled. Y/N grinned, grabbing his hand and letting him walk her out of the shop. She was still embarrassed, but her heart felt a lot better knowing someone came to help her out of this feeling. She’d never admit it to George, but it was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her.

When Draco, Neville, and Harry returned home, their suit jackets thrown over their shoulders and looking rather tired from dealing with teenagers all night, they found quite the sight for their sore eyes. George and Y/N were stood in front of the TV, clearly drunk, singing along to Heath Ledger’s character serenading Julia Stiles character in 10 Things I Hate About You. Draco, Neville, and Harry all looked at each other, shrugging. They dropped their suit coats and joined in, feeding the fire that was drunken George and Y/N.

And that was the end to Y/N’s first week in the loft above the Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes store in Hogsmeade.

Taglist: @yllwtaxi @ememseay

Thank you for wanting to be tagged!! Let me know what you think, feel free to message me any mistakes I missed. If you want to be tagged, message me/comment!! Thanks y’all :)

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antipodeanpineapplelump · 3 years

Text

WIP... Tuesday?

Just in case anyone was wondering what useless novelty project I’m spending my time on now, may I introduce:

Or more accurately: “Shisui Uchiha and the Saga of the Overly Complex Movie Poster that’s Taking Up all of the Author’s Writing Time.”

Or: “Shisui Uchiha and the One-off Story that Accidentally Turned Into a Trilogy, much to the Author’s Total Lack of Surprise.”

So anyway, I have 30,000 words (3/9 chapters of the first part) so far and as usual, no timeline for completing this story. But I’m definitely in too deep to back out now! My new approach to stories is to write the whole thing, then post week by week. So this one is still probably several months away at least...

But here’s a quick preview:

The list of things Shisui Uchiha regrets in his life is pretty small.

A handful of ill-considered one night stands, several embarrassing bets with members of his family, the summer he decided to turn emo, oh—and one particularly notable fuck-up early in his career that very nearly ended it prematurely. But, for the most part, it’s been smooth-sailing.

Sure, maybe the odd rival takes a pot shot at him here or there. Ancient booby traps try to kill him, or the local wildlife steps in where they’ve left off. He and spiders are categorically never going to get along. But he’s never had cause to regret his career itself. He loves everything about treasure hunting—the adventure, the danger, the intellectual challenge of it all. The way his heart races when he finds some ancient artifact supposedly lost for good.

So, all in all, his current position—perched twenty feet up a silk cotton tree in India, surrounded by about two-dozen armed thugs personally out for his blood—well, that’s just another day at the office.

Two of the men walk below Shisui’s hiding place and he holds his breath, watching. They’re thick-built meat-heads; improbable amalgams of every jackbooted thug to ever grace a movie screen, with jawlines Chuck Norris could break a fist on, and brows that would make a Neanderthal proud. Supressing the snicker that threatens to escape him at the thought, Shisui wonders where Gato keeps finding these idiots. Some sort of steroid-fuelled body building conference maybe…

Comfortable they’re far too stupid to realise he’s here, he swings his legs back and forward, checking his bag to make sure his prize is still undamaged. Thankfully, despite having beaten a hasty retreat through the crowded city streets, the jewel-encrusted golden elephant winks up at him like a winning lottery ticket. One that’s going to pay for fancy canapes, champagne and extra leg room on Shisui’s flight home. Then a lot more afterwards.

But karma, as they say, is a bitch.

And karma, for Shisui, makes itself known in the form of a fluffy grey creature that plops down onto the branch beside him, joined in short order by half a dozen other partners in crime. At first, the macaque just fixes its intelligent gaze on Shisui, as though assessing what to do with him. Then, one very pregnant pause later, after the apparent realisation that no food is immediately forthcoming, the ringleader opens its mouth and screams. Loudly.

Shit.

“No, shhh…” Shisui orders in a loud whisper. “Oh come on, don’t be an asshole.”

The screaming continues, soon swelling to a cacophony as the others join in.

“Shoo!” he pleads, waving his arms around to try and scare them off. “I’ll buy you bag of bananas or something when I get down from here, just please shut up…”

But the little bastards don’t stop and, if anything, Shisui’s heated objection only seems to be pissing them off more. Which is fantastic, because truly the last thing he needs today is to catch rabies or—

From the bottom of the tree, someone clears their throat. “Ahem.”

Or that.

It’s smug, officious, and quite frankly, about the last voice Shisui wants to hear right now. Every part of him sinks. On reflection, maybe it was a bit arrogant to think he wouldn’t have been followed to the temple. To think he was just going to walk in, pilfer a several-centuries old treasure, and walk out again, a comfortable five-figure sum the richer for it.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time.

Sighing, he looks down to see his least-favourite human approximation of a turd. “Gato.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite globe-trotting Uchiha. Fancy seeing you here,” Gato says, appearing inordinately pleased. His trademark sunglasses sit awkwardly atop his bulbous nose, straddling a pencil moustache that looks like a worm met its unfortunate end on his face some years ago, and he never bothered to wipe it off.

For reasons he can’t currently articulate, it annoys the shit out of Shisui. Possibly because if there’s anything he hates more than someone getting the better of him, it’s someone who’s as much of a fucking waste of space as Gato getting the better of him.

“Yeah well, you know how it is,” he says, glancing around for a quick exit. “Ancient treasures to find, damsels in distress to rescue…”

But unfortunately, the crowd of highly armed men around Gato is growing by the second, and Shisui’s options are looking somewhat thin on the ground. At least, all the ones that don't end with him riddled in bullet holes. Damn macaques…

Gato grins. In the pre-monsoon heat, sweat rolls down his neck and spreads like an oily stain across his collar. “Oh, I’m well aware of how you operate... You’re a businessman, just like me. Always taking jobs for the highest bidder.” Before Shisui can open his mouth to disagree, Gato holds up a hand, adding, “I know, I know… you don’t see yourself that way. Moral code or whatever it is you like to call it. But in reality, the only difference between us is that you have the air of legitimacy that comes with an academic backing, whereas I’m willing to admit what I really want.”

“And what do you want, Gato?” Shisui asks flatly, already knowing the answer. The tired old game they’re playing here.

“That trinket you have in your bag.” Gato licks his lips, as though he can taste the champagne he’s going to be drinking once he returns the statue to whoever hired him, to disappear into some private collection, never to see the light of day again.

“What do I get in return?” Shisui asks, even though it’s obvious from Gato’s expression that he’s not going to like it, whatever it is.

A mirthless laugh assaults his ears. “I’ll let you live to cross paths with me another day.”

As offers go, it’s not very believable. But as much as Shisui hates to admit when his luck’s run out, even he can see the writing on the wall. Today really isn’t his day. Sure, he might trust Gato about as far as he could throw him, but even Gato isn’t stupid enough to shoot him on a main street, in broad daylight. Probably…

Retrieving the golden elephant from his bag, Shisui tosses it carefully down.

Turning the trinket over in his hands, Gato lets out a hum of appreciation. “Very nice. My client will be pleased.” He hands it off to one of his many thugs to box up, then peers back through the branches, looking more like a slug than Shisui would ever have thought possible. Reinforcing the impression, his lips twist with a slimy smile. “Well, as always, it’s been nice doing business with you Shisui. But I think, unfortunately, you’ve caused me trouble for the last time.”

Far too pleased for Shisui’s taste, Gato steps back, raising his hand in a gesture that looks awfully like it’s intended as a final farewell. Or a smug ‘fuck you.’ Either way, the message is perfectly clear.

Shisui rolls his eyes, mentally scratching off another predictable villainous turn on his treasure hunting bingo card. “All right,” he calls after Gato’s retreating back. “Nice doing business with you too! See you next time...” Under his breath he mutters, “Asshole…”

Truly, Gato doesn't have an original bone in his body. It's like he once read The Idiots Guide to Being a B-Grade Movie Villain, then internalised it on the spot to make up for a lack of anything remotely resembling a personality. But, pathetic imitation of a villain or not, his bullets are still effective.

The leaves around him shred beneath the pop, pop of gunfire as Shisui sucks in a rushed breath, bracing himself for what he’s about to do. The branch wobbles precariously beneath his feet as he races along it, pushing off into air that rushes past, disconcerting and empty. The slender gap to the building seems to widen to the span of a gaping abyss—

He hits the rail of the apartment with thud, clambering quickly over it to fall on his back on the balcony, winded, but mercifully unharmed. A macaque peers over the guttering at him, with a leering grin that clearly threatens more screaming.

“Don’t you start,” he warns, waggling a finger at it.

But there’s barely a moment to catch his breath before the sound of splintering wood below indicates another problem. Or an extension of the same one. Bounding to his feet, Shisui scoops up his hat, settles it back on his head, and checks over the railing. A bullet clips the plaster nearby—a pretty good indication that Gato’s men have every idea where he’s gone. That, combined with the way they’re currently pushing through the lower doors to the complex probably doesn’t mean anything good for him.

“Shit,” he announces to no one in particular. It’s times like these he really wishes he carried a gun…

Forcing his way into the mercifully empty apartment off the balcony, Shisui slips quickly through it. Cracking open the door on the far side, he checks the coast is clear. It is.

Of course, it doesn’t stay that way for long. Halfway along the open air corridor, there’s a cry of discovery from his pursuers, followed by more shooting. Seriously, why are the bad guys always bringing guns to Shisui’s knife fights?

Ducking, he runs faster, bursting into another apartment filled with hazy cigarette smoke and shocked faces before finally making it to an exterior stairwell on the far side. Looking at the next building over, it’s immediately apparent the gap is way too far for him to use the same trick he did before. But with Gato’s men advancing on him from below, maybe he can just make it to street level and bypass them altogether…

A thicket of power cables criss-crosses the span between the buildings, with one nearby running almost to the level of the shop awnings below. Sending a rash of silent prayers to whatever gods take care of Indian power line maintenance, Shisui detaches a length of rope from his belt and flings it over the wire, gripping each side like a makeshift zipline. Holding his breath, he pushes off into empty space. To his surprise and considerable delight, the line holds.

It sweeps him across the street, picking up more and more speed, until the side of the other building is rushing at him like—

Shit.

He impacts it with his shoulder, coming to an uncomfortable and jarring stop. Pain shoots down his arm and he lets go of the rope, crashing through a fabric awning and landing ungracefully in a huge stack of bagged flour. Dust floats down around him and Shisui groans, moving each of his limbs in turn. By some miracle, nothing seems broken. Not even his tantō in its leather holster at his back.

Oh well. Fall down seven times, stand up eight…

Apparently his exit was none too subtle though, because Gato’s men are leaning over the stairwell railing, yelling and pointing at the mess he’s made. Dragging himself to his feet, Shisui evades an angry store owner, brushes flour off of his clothes and resumes running for his life.

Never let anyone say archaeology is boring.

As he emerges back onto the main street, searching for quick and easy exit, the sound of screeching brakes and angry honking carries from the road. Cutting a wild path through traffic is an old open-top olive-drab Jeep with several gold charms dangling from its rear-view mirror. It jerks to a stop just before hitting Shisui, both side wheels riding up on the curb.

“Need a ride?” the female driver asks, grinning.

Her windswept hair hangs past the fashionable silk scarf tied at her neck. Unmanicured nails wrap around the slender metal of the steering wheel, like they couldn’t be more at home there. They’re a stark contrast with the cream suit linen she’s wearing, rolled up neatly to her elbows. Speckled with dirt, it looks like she’s probably travelled halfway across the country to be here, and been up to her elbows in the grease of the Jeep’s engine at some point to do it. She’s a walking contradiction—albeit one Shisui is delighted to see.

“Izumi!” he exclaims happily.

Eyes sparkling, she waves. “Hey.”

“I thought you were practicing on the course in Reno this weekend… What’re you doing here?”

A shot rings out, kicking up dust near one of the tyres. Glancing behind him, Izumi rolls her eyes, reaching across to throw open the door. “What am I always doing? Saving your ass, you idiot... Now get in before one of us gets shot, or I have to find out whether my rental insurance covers illegal firefight damage.”

#uchiha shisui #uchiha izumi #future shisuita #new story #my art #really having fun writing this one #I'm such a sucker for adventure movies #and snarky team banter #and this combines both #aaaaand we've just been thrown into another covid lockdown #so more writing time here I come!#Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura

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pixiedoodlein · 3 years

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I’m so fucking mad that a year and a half into this pandemic I am back to 11th hour debating another year of homeschool. The first stretch of homeschool, in NYC, when the toddler was a baby, and husband was home on unemployment, was good, nice even, a quiet piece of something good when the world outside was falling apart. The next stretch, the Oklahoma stretch, with a particularly climby toddler, husband working 10 hour days, me doing remote contract work, somewhere we had no family around to help w/ childcare, was challenging. I was not always my best self. Some days were delightful, muffins and math games. Other days I was more Miss Trunchbull than Miss Honey, fractions were squeezed in between crying (usually mine) and netflix (way too much of hers), and I held on to any shred of sanity by telling myself “just a little longer, just until the vaccines.”

Well here we are. Husband & I have been vaccinated for months, but the kids aren’t yet. The upstate NY town we moved to is a very small town (pop: 838), was mostly untouched by previous waves. When we got here, I couldn’t understand why everyone was so lax about it- no masks, no panic. Our first day here, when I came home from the market and saw through the window a gaggle of unmasked kids in my living room (the neighbors coming to welcome us, they heard a kid moved in) I almost had a heart attack. In fact, I was so tired from the drive from OKC that for a moment I actually thought I was at the wrong house, that I was hallucinating, because how in the world could there be unmasked bodies in my living room.

Then I started talking to people here. And I realized that the way I thought they were insane for not being deathly afraid of covid, they thought I was insane for being petrified. Because the disease hadn’t hit here; their businesses were destroyed and their kids were out of school (in a rural area with barely functional internet, remote school = a lost year) and their lives were totally fucked up, for a disease that never arrived at their doorstep. I came to understand why they weren’t worried, why here life looked (almost) normal. I told them about what it was like to live somewhere covid tore through, the freezer trucks of bodies on the FDR Drive and my previously healthy 27yld brother so sick with it the first spring he thought he was about to die (but too scared to go to a hospital), my dad’s relative in the next NYC wave on a vent for months and lucky to be alive but may never walk again, the doctors in OKC pleading on the news to please wear a fucking mask because the hospitals were fucking full, and the neighbors stopped thinking I was psycho when I carried extra masks for their kids, and made them put them on, when I took them to town for ice cream. I never stopped masking. But we did indoor dine here (once, BBQ, it wasn’t delicious enough for how anxious I felt) and I did bring all the kids, including my toddler, to a fairly crowded children’s museum in the big (small) city an hour away, where the rest of us were masked but the one with his hands in his mouth, who was all up in other kids’ faces, the one who really should be masked, wasn’t because he won’t leave it on for more than a minute.

Actually it’s a lie to say that I never stopped masking- I have dashed into little stores here, without one, because I’m vaxed! It’s safe here! Covid felt done. We had friends come here to visit this summer. Friends who are vaxed, but that doesn’t seem to really matter enough anymore. We had the neighbors over for meals, indoors (you see, more indoor dining! A minute ago I was just thinking restaurants, but why would plagues only spread in restaurants?). They had us for meals. The girls are a crew, new best friends, making my daughter’s life here so, so much happier, constant sleepovers (their kids were at our house this afternoon; my kid is at their house right now). The parents and grandparents are wonderful, making my life here, and husband’s life here, so much easier, so much better. We help them with stuff, they help us with stuff, there isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t see each other, unmasked. Some of the adults in their household are vaxed; some of the adults in their household are not. The kids are all too young to be vaxed. But it (living, doing shit again, seeing people again) really stopped feeling scary; it really felt like everything was fine, normal-ish, normal-er. The end of the pandemic felt in sight.

I signed my child up for school here. Real school, not mommy school, school with a school bus. She was a little anxious, I had to talk her into it, I sold it hard, I bought her whatever pair of new sneakers she wanted for her new school (she hasn’t had gym class in a year and a half; for a phase in Oklahoma she wore one boot and one sandal every day, why not). She wasn’t anxious about sneakers or covid; she was anxious that maybe she hadn’t learned enough in homeschool (I am not a teacher! I did not homeschool because I am good at it or love it or wanted to, I homeschooled because I was scared of her getting covid at school and dying), that she would be behind. She isn’t behind. I followed the real school curriculum as best I could (as in: sometimes totally and sometimes not at all), and somehow, when I gave her the standardized “real school” test “at the end of the year” (aka the day I couldn’t take it anymore, I had to focus on my work or I wasn’t going to have an income, the day I’d decided we’d done as much as we could and it was time to be done), she sailed through it, this kid is smart. Smart as in needs to be in actual real fucking school to stay smart and learn and reach her potential.

She got excited- one of the neighbor kids is in her grade. The other kid is older- but the school is small, she’d see her tons. She was excited; I was excited. I registered her for school. Her new teacher sent a nice note. We all were excited. She’s never taken the school bus before but the neighbors take it and she’d be fine on the bus with her besties, the bus would pick her up in front of their house since there’s nowhere to turn around up our hill (we are VERY rural), they’d all get on and off the bus together. She has been backpack shopping. We have been discussing what she’ll have for breakfast (honey nut Cheerios), what she wants me to pack for lunch (she says just Goldfish, I say turkey sandwich, we’re working on it).

But now, 18 days before school starts here, I am thisclose to pulling her out, to embarking on another lovely (not), gratifying (not) year of homeschool, because of covid, delta. When we got to our new home in our new tiny town in June, there was no covid here. Now, our county is listed by the CDC as a high transmission area (is there anywhere in the US that isn’t?). 80% of senior citizens here are vaxed; 50% of the total population is, well below the national average. 15 cases per 100,000, in a county of 100,000. I guess this is less rampant than our previous pandemic locales, NYC (currently 25/100K), OKC (49/100K). This is splitting hairs, everywhere is bad. This is what panic does to me: are we better or worse for every decision we’ve made in the past year and a half, every decision that got us here? There are fewer cases here but fewer people and fewer vaccinated people and fewer ICU beds. We aren’t safe even here, but at least we are happy (happy aside from fear of delta death).

I don’t know whether to send my kid to school in 18 days. There will be masks but masks aren’t enough (how many masks do I make her wear? two, ten, a thousand?). This choice feels crazy— in March 2020, when that covid was mostly sparing kids, I yanked her out of school. Now, this covid does hurt kids. How much longer, how many more years, can parents be in this position to make this nightmare choice? What will hurt her more: school or no school? There are vaccines, more than enough in America. We shouldn’t be having to make this choice.

As it is, because of toddler— not because of toddler, because of being a parent to children in a pandemic— my work life, and husband’s, will be severely impacted this year, again. I can’t send him to daycare because he’s too little to leave a mask on (he won’t even leave his pants on!) in a room full of other unmasked toddlers, whose families may or may not be vaxd, may or may not wear masks (there has been a noticeable increase in supermarket mask wearing since we got here, but still not enough, is any of it enough?), may or may not be going to parties and weddings and funerals, daycare providers who may or may not be doing all the same. This means I can only apply to remote jobs, so I can be home with him. Husband has some flexibility, more than he did in OKC, but god forbid he has to work while I have a work call or meeting or work due I didn’t manage to get done at 4am or 11pm when the house is quiet. He can’t bring toddler to work with him, his work is up on scaffold, stenciling ceilings. This will be another year of me muting myself on Zooms while toddler pulls his diaper off and hurls poop at the cat. Would it really be so much harder to also be trying to teach parts of speech to our daughter at the same time? Yes, it would, but I don’t know if I can send my kids back out into the world until they’re vaccinated. I am counting the days, holding my breath, until they can be.

I used to believe in personal choice. I don’t anymore. I want this shit to be mandated, I want the government to line us up and force mRNA into holdouts’ arms, I want it to be required, to be able to function in and interact with and benefit from society in any way, shape, or form. I have been very lucky in the pandemic. Privilege stacked on privilege on privilege, to be fussing over my Zooms in my hamlet. I had been pretty pandemic perky, baking my pies and playing with my pandemic pets and (thinking about) doing puzzles, but I’ve reached my breaking point. This shit could be done, but it’s not, and I’m scared it never will be.

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weirdcultstuff · 3 years

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My numbness Journey:

. I am told I cried a lot as a baby. This makes sense, I was a very sick baby. I don’t remember being a baby, of course, so I don’t know if I had any emotions or not then.

. I learned as a toddler to sit still without making noise or doing anything ‘distracting’ during church services and such that lasted the better part of the day. I remember most of that feeling ‘blank.’ Like someone had pointed a remote at me and pressed pause. I remember sitting on the folding chairs at church next to my mom, and my feet didn’t even hang over the edge of the chair yet because I was so small, and I remember my arms feeling “prickly” because I hadn’t moved them in so long. It became kind of a game to sit still long enough to make my limbs prickly before I changed position in my chair. My parents were not the kind of parents who gave their babies dry Cheerios to snack on, or old spice shakers with toothpicks in them to play with during church. We sat still and we listened, or we got taken out and punished and then brought back in to sit still and listen. There was no such thing as children’s church.

. Displays of emotion and expression were often harshly punished beginning before I turned one, judging by how soon I know it started for my younger siblings. E.g. 3 hour spanking/restraining sessions for crying, social shaming for laughing (“don’t be foolish. Be sober minded.”), I never attempted dancing it was considered so out of the question, etc. I got in trouble a lot, for all the normal kid stuff like being too loud with my sisters in bed at night or arguing over a toy or not finishing my food or not obeying instructions cheerfully and right away. My parents were just picking up a lot of child training techniques from ultra conservative fundamentalist literature, and trying out what they were reading on me and my siblings.

. I sometimes felt too emotional to maintain a calm exterior during really intense moments (I equated emotions with danger) like altar calls or punishments or questionings, and learned to distract myself as hard as I could until the emotions passed. I’d count things like nails in the boards on the walls, or I’d focus on my shoes, or I’d focus on my baby siblings and make sure they had their shoes tied etc. Eventually I got really good at just kind of zoning out, I remember very often feeling like I was floating in the corner of the room, looking down at all of us kneeling and praying. I wondered a lot if I was a robot or possessed, because my body didn’t feel familiar or as real as the people around me seemed. My body usually felt stiff and mechanical, like I was watching myself move from the outside. Maybe, I thought, that’s what dying to the flesh meant. When I broke down and felt emotions it was overwhelming and I would cry, which was punished, and shamed. Because of those times, I consider(ed) myself emotional in a sort of ‘hysterical/unreliable woman’ sense.

. I got good at autopilot when I had a lot of work to do, like from 9 years old or so. I remember waking up and relishing the hour or so of feeling ‘awake’ before I’d get tired and flip the switch to autopilot so I didn’t slow down. Working hard was the best thing a kid could do, really, the safest thing and the most encouraged virtue. I remember watching people who were considered hard workers and trying to copy them, I decided the trick to picking beans fast was to never let your hands stop moving. I really like watching my hands work, and wash dishes, pick beans, type. It’s kinda comforting, reassuring, safe, yknow? I can work through almost anything, pain and tiredness and nausea and emotions. I was always surprised by burnout. I also considered myself lazy, so it’s odd that objectively I was a hard worker. But today I’m not a hard worker, all my hard work was thanks to autopilot and numbing and dissociation.

. In my early teens, I got pretty good at just not having “negative” emotions. I’d never felt anger very strongly, but I began to feel less sadness or annoyance too. If I started feeling sad, I’d just stop. Distract. Numb. Life was not easy, so I was numb pretty much all the time. It was painful. Sometimes I couldn’t even get up to work, I’d just sit on my bed, which was punished of course but I had nothing in me to react to the punishment and nothing in me to give to my work so I just sat there and took it. I had a Bible study group that read this book which told of the author’s own experience with depression and how she found happiness via a combination of Christianity and gratitude journaling. I started looking for things to be thankful for. It was like a dam broke and I could finally FEEL something again: happiness. I found joy in everything. The sky, my work, the people around me, sounds, smells, trees, colors, banana muffins. Everything was still half awful, but I just decided that part wasn’t important. Go numb for the bad, experience the good. It let me function again. It worked for a while.

. Eventually, I had ✨ a meltdown ✨ I got diagnosed with ptsd. I hit a burnout point with my mission work + school + other job + multiple deaths of close loved ones + buried trauma beginning to resurface due to my coping skills wearing thin and my new relatively safe environment and supportive school friends. Covid was the last straw. I quit EVERYTHING. Mission work, school, other job, everything. And I finally felt anger, and sadness, and regret, and shame, and so much fear.

. All that bs in therapy about “let’s name the wall you’ve put up between you and your emotions, what would it be made of? Wood? Metal? Brick? Paper?” & “it’s safe to have emotions. Practice recognizing your emotions and telling them that it’s safe to be there.” didn’t seem like bs anymore. It actually helped make sense of the storm of emotions I was having. Because I hadn’t felt anger in so long, or at least not without it being kind of ‘intellectual’ or ‘in the distance’, I didn’t really recognize it. I just felt strongly and vaguely bad. But I started untangling it all and figuring out which emotion was which and different ways to recognize them and experience them and let them have their place. Making art helped, talking about it helped.

. The storm has died down now. I still numb regularly, often automatically, without thinking about it. But I do have all the emotions now, at least to some degree, and I know how to lean into them and process them a little better. I write down my emotions from the week and how it was, where it was, why it was, every week for therapy. Sometimes I have emotions at the right times and sometimes not. Usually I can mask them pretty well if I want to. I still can’t just cry, I can’t make noise when I cry, I haven’t been able to do that since I was very small. But at least I can cry again. My goal is no longer to Not Experience ‘Negative’ Emotions, it’s to give place to every emotion that I have. Wholeness, not Happiness. I feel more grounded. I have bad days, I have consecutive bad days.

And I am happy. I never really stopped being able to find joy in things, ever since that one Bible study book about gratitude. I’m really very lucky in that, I think. I have gone and can go through life enjoying it.

#numbness #abuse cw #cw child abuse #trauma recovery #long post #extremely long post #depression

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delicioussshame · 3 years

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Sugar daddy AU: new chapter. That’s it, that’s the fic.

The world has never stopped spinning for Shen Yuan before, so why would it now?

He’s sure Luo Binghe is thrilled with his current situation. If he really wanted to create a perfect bubble where he would be the center of Shen Yuan’s universe, he has succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He’s been all Shen Yuan has been able to think about. The moral conundrum of considering whether you’re attracted to your former student, and if so, whether you can and should accept his affection, has been dominating his every moment. Each time he thinks that yes, he could see himself allowing this, allowing Luo Binghe the more he has so visibly been craving, he falters. In a way, it seems like a culmination of all his failures; a failed career he’s a disgrace to and a return to values he’d sworn to leave behind with his family.

But maybe, just maybe, Binghe would be worth it. Shen Yuan thinks if anyone could make those concerns seem ridiculous with only the power of their presence by his side, it would be Luo Binghe.

All his hesitations don’t stop his heart from freezing in his chest where the school sends an email regarding his teaching plan for the upcoming term.

It takes him a few minutes to calm down, to ride the wave of anxiety that returning to the beat of regular employment brings. He hasn’t looked forward to returning to class for years, but after those sweet weeks spent doing nothing but relaxing? Facing coworkers that were at best indifferent, at worst downright abusive for the sake of disinterested students is such an unappealing prospect that it almost gives him nausea.

He’s been too spoiled. Shen Yuan normally spends the summer working part-time jobs to make ends meet. This year, Luo Binghe had swiped all those worries away. One of the first things he’d done was tell Shen Yuan that he’d be paying his rent for now, like he would be providing for all his other needs. Shen Yuan had protested, but he’d known it was pointless. How was he supposed to stop Luo Binghe from sending money to his landlord?

Without those preoccupations, Shen Yuan had permitted himself freedom from work in general. He had spared not a thought to that most unpleasant matter. His romantic life, if it could be called that, had demanded all his attention.

Now, enough was enough. This had been fun, but Shen Yuan had a job to do. No matter how much he dreads it, he has to review his lesson plan.

Such is life.

_________________

It takes Luo Binghe only one cursory look at Shen Yuan to notice something went very, very wrong. His dear teacher is tense, hunched over his desk, hand on his forehead as if he’s trying to hold a headache at bay. Shen Yuan hasn’t appeared this stressed since he set foot inside Luo Binghe’s home. He radiates distress like he did that day, when Luo Binghe went to visit him and found him on the verge of collapse.

Back then, all he wanted was to stop that collapse.

That conviction has never faltered.

Gently, Luo Binghe taps Shen Yuan’s shoulder. “Laoshi?”

Shen Yuan doesn’t turn. “Binghe, not now. I’m busy.”

Luo Binghe glances at the document he’s worked on, and swears inwardly. Is all it took to reverse all the progress they made a reminder of that dreaded job?

Shen Yuan isn’t going back, and that’s final. “Why is Laoshi wasting his valuable time on this? Doesn’t he trust his Binghe?”

Shen Yuan turns toward him, annoyance visible on his face. “What does trust have to do with this?”

He stays firm. “I told Laoshi all I wanted was for him to be happy and healthy. I promised I would do anything for this to happen. His job doesn’t make him happy. Why would he return to it? He still has a few days to send his notice in time. He can leave the school behind and stay with me instead.”

Shen Yuan rolls his eyes. “Binghe, don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. I see no reason why Laoshi should go back when he doesn’t need to work.”

“I do need to work. I can’t rely on Binghe’s good will for the rest of my life. Sooner or later, he’ll get tired of paying for an old man and will look to buy a younger, sweeter companion.”

There is so much wrong with this sentence Luo Binghe is struck silent. Shen Yuan knows better than this. He’s just in too fool a mood to act like it.

He regains control of himself. “First, Laoshi must never talk of himself like he’s a passing fancy I feel like throwing money at. It’s insulting both to yourself and to my love for you. Second, he can rely on me however he wants to. If he’s not secure with his current position, that can be dealt with. I will happily pay whatever lawyer he chooses to draft any arrangement he deems agreeable. I can transfer him a set amount of money each week that he can manage at his discretion. I can also give him a lump sum, significant enough that if something were to happen, he could live by himself, though he’s already my will’s sole beneficiary. Work is unnecessary.”

At this, Shen Yuan shakes. “I’m sorry? Did you just say that in the event of your death, you’re leaving me everything? Me?”

Luo Binghe doesn’t know why Shen Yuan is so surprised. “Who else? Laoshi knows I have no family. I have no plan to die before Laoshi, but if it were to happen, that’s no reason not to keep my promise.” It won’t, of course. Luo Binghe won’t allow it.

“Are you serious? That’s something you do for a spouse, not a dumb childhood crush.”

He genuinely thought they were over this. “Laoshi isn’t a crush. He’s someone I’ve been in love with for since I was a teenager. Didn’t I say I wanted him by my side at all times? I planned consequently.” If Shen Yuan wants children, modifications will be made to the will, but this won’t be happening anytime soon. For now, Luo Binghe wants him all to himself.

“I… We’re not even a couple yet! Binghe is being reckless! If he’s this open, what’s stopping me from fleecing him for all he’s got and leaving him destitute!”

Luo Binghe laughs, encouraged by the “yet”. “Laoshi would never. He’s too good a man to do such a thing.”

“I could! Binghe thinks he knows me so well, but the truth is he doesn’t. He’s got this image of me as a saint, as a person without flaws nor desires, but he’s wrong. Every day, I take advantage of Binghe’s kindness.”

Shen Yuan is the one who doesn’t know himself. “Taking what’s freely offered is not taking advantage.”

“It is when no sane person would make the offer!”

“Does Laoshi think me insane, then?”

“Well, no. I know Binghe is very smart.”

“Then why not trust I know what I’m doing?”

“Because you don’t!”

This is going nowhere. “I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m making Laoshi happy by keeping him from a job that is killing him.” He sighs. “If Laoshi absolutely feels like he needs to earn his own income, I will support him until he finds a decent job, or will pay for his continued education so that he can find something better, but I would much, much prefer he doesn’t bother. It’s stress he doesn’t need, for no reason. I just cannot accept his return to a school that has only one good point: him. It’s not good for him. As I said earlier, whatever he needs as collateral to feel safe, I’m willing to provide, as long as he does what’s best for himself.”

Shen Yuan looks speechless.

Luo Binghe doesn’t flinch.

“Every time I think Binghe must be fooling himself, or fooling me, he goes and does something like this, something that no one else would do, as if to prove his honesty. He makes me feel like an idiot.”

“That must be novel. I imagine someone as wonderful as Laoshi doesn’t feel that way often.”

“Just most days of my life.”

“Then his life must change. Laoshi should only feel good.” Which is something Luo Binghe would gladly help with, no matter when and where.

He takes Shen Yuan’s hand in his; presses a chaste kiss to the top of it. “Please. Don’t go.”

Silence rests heavy on his shoulders for a while, until Shen Yuan breaks. “I’ll consider it.”

Luo Binghe embraces him and decides to wait.

_________________

The notice is sent two days later.

_________________

One moment Luo Binghe is preparing to go to bed, the next Shen Yuan, still damp from the shower, sits on his lap and kisses him.

It takes Luo Binghe negative one second to respond in kind, to open his mouth and to kiss back, his arms snaking around Shen Yuan’s waist to pull him closer and keep him there. Laoshi is the one who initiated! Luo Binghe can’t allow him to take it back.

Not that it seems like he will. Shen Yuan doesn’t struggle at all as Luo Binghe deepens the kiss, as his hands find the buttons of Shen Yuan’s sleeping shirt and open a trail he follows with his mouth. His laoshi’s breath fastens as Luo Binghe acquaints himself with his chest, fingers dancing over his ribs and down the gentle curve of his back.

Such good behavior has to be rewarded.

He does lift his eyes to Shen Yuan’s before removing his pants.

His beloved doesn’t say a word as he turns his gaze away demurely, but the caress in Luo Binghe’s hair speaks volumes, as does the seductive way he opens his thighs. If Shen Yuan has finally accepted his advances, how could Luo Binghe refuse him?

There are so many things Luo Binghe dreamed of doing to his Laoshi. He wants to spend hours worshipping him, keeping him in a state of unforgiving arousal until he begs for release. He wants to prepare him carefully and take him gently, painlessly, until all of Shen Yuan’s stress has left him and he’s barely conscious. He wants to fuck him until he screams. He wants to ride him languorously, for hours on end, until his body has taken the shape of Shen Yuan and no one else’s. He wants to be tied to the bed and used until he’s crying for mercy, and then be denied that mercy. He wants to go to work wearing the mark of Shen Yuan’s teeth high on his neck proudly, knowing his laoshi is wearing the exact same mark at home. He wants to fill him up with a remote-controlled toy and bring him to ecstasy during those interminable board meetings that would at least have a purpose, for once.

But for now, all he wants is to get to know all of Shen Yuan.

Shen Yuan startles when Luo Binghe presses a kiss to his rapidly filling length, but he doesn’t protest. Good for him, because Luo Binghe isn’t sure he could have stopped. Not when he finally gets to find out how he tastes, how he sounds, how beautiful he looks when he flushes from pleasure.

He moans around him when Shen Yuan’s fingers twist into his hair. Shen Yuan could fuck his throat anytime, if he wanted to. Luo Binghe wouldn’t mind choking for him.

Maybe he could overcome that reflex with practice.

He would love to try.

It takes little time for Shen Yuan to groan and try to pull him off, which is a futile endeavor. Like Luo Binghe is going to waste any gift of Shen Yuan.

He greedily swallows it all down when Shen Yuan bites back his student’s name and digs his nails into Luo Binghe’s scalp.

Luo Binghe has never been this hard. “Laoshi, Shen Yuan, please.” He’d take anything. He’d rut against his leg if Shen Yuan would allow him to. “Please.”

Shen Yuan is bright red when his beautiful hand wraps around Luo Binghe’s cock, pulling and stroking in an awkward, unexperienced hold that Luo Binghe knows he’ll never get enough of. Just the sight of those white fingers on his feverish skin is enough to enthrall him. How is he going to last when they grow skilled? He’ll embarrass himself like the teenager he isn’t anymore! Even now, it takes all he has to last a few minutes.

He thought no sight could be fairer than Shen Yuan in pleasure, but the view of his fingers and chest covered in Luo Binghe’s come is so overwhelming Luo Binghe wishes his love was the type to allow for recording. If it were his face despoiled so… Luo Binghe would probably not soften at all.

Hopefully Shen Yuan will let him.

Another time. While Luo Binghe himself could easily keep on going for the rest of the night and the day after, what has happened tonight was probably a lot to ask of shy, proper Shen Yuan. Luo Binghe tries to soothe his exaltation, instead exploding in praises and endearments for his visibly embarrassed lover.

Luo Binghe ignores his attempts at distancing himself, instead holding him in his arm until Shen Yuan quiets and closes his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

_________________

Well, that happened.

It wasn’t… It was fine.

Okay, it was more than fine. One can only lie to themselves for so long. Luo Binghe is devastatingly handsome and convinced he loves Shen Yuan, for some reason. He’s not immune to that much charm!

He was kind. Shen Yuan had been as mentally prepared as he could be to find himself pushed on his back and taken, but Luo Binghe had waited.

Shen Yuan fully expects it will happen sooner or later. He’ll deal then. It will be hard on him, because quite honestly, he’s not sure anyone on Earth is built the right way to accommodate Luo Binghe, but he’ll do it. Binghe deserves it.

If he’s that serious about providing for Shen Yuan, he should get his money’s worth. Shen Yuan couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

#The Scum Villain Self Serving System #Scum Villain #BingQiu #That AU where LBH and SY fail to negociate their sugar relationship

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dulcechocochips · 3 years

Text

𝒜𝓉𝓎𝓅𝒾𝒸𝒶𝓁

Chapter 3 : ↫↫↫ Beach Day ↬↬↬

"Nendou, remind me why you have an inflatable whale? And why we're in front of Saiki's house?" Y/n asks him. She had run into him when she was running some errands. He asked her if she wanted to tag along with him to ask Saiki to hang out. She had nothing better to do that day. She had realized she hadn't asked him where they were going.

"I need to ask my bud if he wants to go to the beach with us!" He explains to her. Oh, the beach, haven't been there in a while. She hums.

"Well, I have to go to my apartment to get changed before we go, alright?" She says to him. He agrees just as he knocks on the door. The door opens and she sees a woman with short black hair. She seems to be quivering in fear. Nendou's face is kinda scary. Y/n couldn't help but think. She shook her head at her thoughts.

"K-Kusuo is this boy your friend?" The woman stuttered out. He's not my friend. Saiki tells his mother. She bursts into tears, crying about how her little boy finally has a friend. Y/n smiles at her.

"Saiki, you never said you had a sister!" Y/n turned to her.

"Oh dear, you think I look young enough to be Ku's sister." She says while more tears stream down her face. How many times are you gonna make her cry? Saiki asks.

"Wait, you're Saiki's mom?" Y/n asks with a bewildered expression. She looks so young. She has so much expression, wonder why Saiki doesn't. Saiki hears her thoughts and rolls his eyes.

"Guilty as charged." She says.

"Wow, you look so young! You're beautiful!" Y/n compliments.

"Oh, you flatter me too much." She says, smiling. "So what brought you two lovely rays of sunshine here?" She asks. Oh wow, she's so sweet, I could die. Y/n thinks. Saiki hears this and can't help but wonder if she's crazy or something.

"Nendou and I were going to the beach and wanted to know if Saiki wanted to come with!" Y/n said to her.

"Oh! That's so fun!" She exclaims.

"Uh, yeah, I'm not going. Sor-" "Your friends went out of their way to ask you in person. You're going to the beach, Kusuo." She cuts him off. Her voice suddenly dropping, sending shivers down Y/n's spine. She puts her hand up to her mouth to avoid making a sound. Oh, dear. Saiki's face drains of colour.

"Ok! We'll be leaving now, Mrs. Saiki! We'll have your son home before you know it!" Y/n says waving at her. "I have to stop by my apartment first, you guys can come with. You can make yourselves at home while I pack my stuff." She says taking her keys out of her pocket. "Welcome to my humble abode, gentlemen." She says, unlocking the door. She has a quaint apartment. "I don't usually have guests, so I only have one pair of sandals, so just take off your shoes." She says locking the door.

"Nice place you got here, Y/n," Nendou says walking around the living room. Saiki does take into account that the apartment is exceptionally clean. He can appreciate that.

"Oh, haha, thanks Nendou." She says. "Give me a couple of minutes, I need to get my stuff ready. Um, the TV remote is on the coffee table, feel free to turn it on." She smiles. She walks down the hall and into her room. Saiki couldn't care less about what's on TV right now. It's all reruns, so it doesn't matter. Instead, he walks around the living room, inspecting various pictures. In one he sees a little girl smiling. She's wearing glasses that appear to big for her face. Hm, she looks adorable. Saiki thinks, unwillingly. He suddenly stops himself. As he's questioning his life choices, Nendou walks up behind him.

"What ya doing, buddy?" He asks. He sees the picture of a young Y/n. "Oh, you're looking at her, gotta admit, she was a cute kid." Nendou states. For whatever reason, those words made his stomach drop.

"Well, I'm ready to leave, guys!" Y/n says walking out into the living room. They both turn to her and nod. "Alright gamers! To the beach!" She exclaims excitedly. Nendou also lets out a sound of approval.

So now we see all the students at the beach. Kaidou had somehow tagged along with them. Why he did, no one shall know. "Kaidou, can you swim?" Y/n asks the blue-haired boy. She had a sneaking suspicion that he couldn't.

"W-what? Of course, I can!" He exclaims nervously.

"It's ok if you can't, ya know?" She says reassuringly. He shakes his head rapidly. "Alright if you insist, I'm gonna go ask Saiki if he wants something from the ice cream shop. Do you want anything?" She asks him.

"N-no, I'm good!" He said. Kaidou wouldn't admit that he couldn't stomach anything at the moment. She gave him a thumbs up walked over to Saiki who was sitting under an umbrella with a book. Before she could even say anything, Kaidou started to drown. Drowning in one-inch deep water is impressive. She thinks. She hears the rumble of a stampede. Oh, it's just Hairo. Hairo dives in after Kaidou and his shorts slip.

"Oh my God." Y/n says turning away from the scene. "I did not need to see that." She says with an awkward smile. Her cheeks were a tad bit flushed. Saiki saw this, mentally taking a picture of it. "Uhm, anyway, I was gonna go get something from the ice cream shop, you wanna come with?" She asked Saiki. Nendou and Hairo with Kaidou in his arms. "Oh, is there anything you want from the ice cream shop, Nendou? Hairo?" She asked the boys.

"Nah, I can't have that when on the job," Hairo comments before hearing a scream from the water. He rushes off to their rescue. She looks at Nendou who's already left and trying to talk to the different girls at the beach.

"Well, if you wanna come with, I'll buy you whatever you want." She smiles at Saiki. He just stands up and starts walking.

"I just don't want people to think I'm with him." She beams and walks a little faster to catch up with him.

"What're you gonna get, Saiki?" She asks him. He shrugs and keeps walking. "Well, I'm gonna get a chocolate vanilla swirl, that's my favourite!" She exclaims. She's like a child. He thinks to himself as he sees her skip a couple of steps ahead. "I think they have coffee flavoured ice cream? I think I've seen it online. It looks pretty good." She said opening the door.

"That does sound kinda good." Saiki comments. His interest is peaked. He may be an all-knowing psychic, but you don't know what you don't know. They walk into the air-conditioned shop.

"Hey Saiki, does the menu say anything about a chocolate vanilla swirl?" Y/n asks, embarrassed.

"Do you not know how to read?" He asks her. She scrunches her face up in irritation.

"Of course I do!" For the most part. Saiki raises an eyebrow at that thought. "I just haven't been able to find my glasses!" She says in a stubborn tone.

"I'll just order for the both of us. Don't strain your vision." He says looking away from her. Y/n feels her heart flutter. She smiles brightly at him.

"Aw! Thanks, Saiki, you're so nice!" She comments. Don't make a big deal out of it. He thinks. They wait in line for their turn to order and Y/n pulls out her wallet and gives the bill to Saiki. Saiki looks at the bill. "Well, hurry up and give it to the cashier, Saiki!" She says, urging him on. Saiki doesn't bother to retort. Where does she get all this money from? He thinks. "Don't worry about that, Saiki!" She waves off his question. How does she keep hearing things that aren't meant for her to hear? They both walk out, ice creams in hand.

They sit under the umbrella until the sun goes down. Y/n is lying down on the sand, looking at her friends playing around with each other in the shallow water. Saiki sits beside her with a book in hand. She gets up and walks to the concrete sidewalk, phone in hand. Saiki doesn't bother asking where she's going. She makes it up to the sidewalk. She opens the camera app and positions it so that all her friends are in the shot, along with the setting sun. The phone lets out a quiet click. She looks over the picture with a cheery smile.

Saiki looks over at the girl, noticing the pleasant smile on her face. He can't help but realize how the setting sun projects a warm look about the girl.

---

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Masterlist

WORD COUNT : 1502

#saiki x reader #saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k #x reader #kusuo

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