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valiantvillain · 3 months

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WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @poetikat. and @arendaes

While I'm still working on chapter 2 of Duty, Diligence, Devotion, I can say that I am nearing the end of this rather long chapter so I got plenty of snippets to choose from this time.

Characters: (half-orc paladin Tav) Miraz x Astarion

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Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over to Astarion, who sat with his back to her, examining the thin line of red scouring the length of his forearm. One of the spiderlings had gotten in a good slice when it had phased right in front of him and struck out with its razor-edged mandibles. They had staunched the bleeding easily enough afterward, knit most of the flesh back together with only an utterance to cure minor wounds and leaving only a shallow groove of flesh behind. Something that the body would repair well enough on its own given time, but Astarion glowered at it all the same. As though its very existence confounded him.

Miraz recalled that vampires had formidable abilities of regeneration. Such benefits extended to the spawn as well. Yet since she’d met him, Astarion appeared to recover no faster than the rest of them. It seemed the tadpole had its drawbacks alongside its boons.

“In my experience, staring doesn’t make them go away,” she remarked as she approached. He might have also been sporting a sizable bruise across his back, given that the matriarch had sent both him and Karlach flying halfway through the fight.

At the sound of her voice, he momentarily went rigid before registering it was her and allowing the tension to ease from his limbs, though not without a small sound of discomfort. A large mottling splotch of red and purple undulated beneath the thin white silk of his shirt with each tiny motion. That confirmed the bruise then. Even so, he painted an impish grin onto his equally impish face.

“How very lucky that we have you and Shadowheart around then.” His head swiveled to look at her, gaze lingering a moment longer than could be considered platonic and bearing a dreamy expression. An elegant hand lazily interlaced with hers, entangling itself between the grooves of her fingers with an almost unconsciously intimate ease, tracing the tiny scars of battles past on her knuckles. “Especially you, darling.”

Miraz bit her tongue, then told herself not to fight it and just let him regret it later. Instead she placed her free hand gingerly upon his back, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as she touched the tender flesh. The delicate edges of his nails, meticulously manicured and maintained, grazed the hills and valleys on the back of her hand as he squeezed it. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t think he had it in him to actually hurt her in any regard save her patience.

“I suppose it pays to have someone knowledgeable in the fine points of the undead, though Wyll’s hardly without expertise himself.” The paladin pressed her lips into a thin line to prevent the small smile tugging at them as Astarion’s nostrils flared, pettily displeased at the mention of the Blade of Frontiers. Just as she had predicted, the pale elf had indeed lost to him in the long, arduous war of wits they had waged for the better part of a few days. His clever comebacks steadily whittled away by Wyll’s amicable perseverance.

Yet his bitterness fled just as swiftly as it had arrived, gone with the planting of a kiss upon her clasped hand. So lightly delivered that Miraz questioned whether it had happened at all. So gentle and tender that anyone less sensible could have mistaken it for a loving gesture. Of course, he made certain to catch her gaze, hoping to make her heart flutter through eyes half-lidded with the suggestion of desire.

“Your company is far more preferable, darling,” he asserted in the hushed tone of a sweetly shared secret.

Miraz rolled her eyes. “You needn’t flatter me. I was going to heal you anyway.”

“You know, a less persistent man would be thrown off by such hardheartedness.”

“That’s certainly one way to describe you. Now let me do my job, will you?”

Remarkably, he fell silent and kept still. Unnecessary but definitely better than a squirming patient. She had one last spell in her, one last spark of divine magic, and as his injuries were, they were minor. One incantation and it would be as if he hadn’t so much as scraped his knee. Closing her eyes, Miraz drew deep from the remaining drops in her well, felt the wellspring of her oath beneath its floor. The source would replenish, the well filled once more to the brim with a bit of rest come morning. Still, she managed one last pull from the pool of her oath, conviction made manifest, both warm and cool at the same time. Comforting balm and unrelenting invigoration in one flowing through her being, circulating through the chambers of her heart and all the way to her fingertips. Light emanated from her palm, shifting hypnotic hues of teal, turquoise, and cyan spreading wide and deep into the elf’s body. Loosening the knots of muscle, knitting flesh together with the delicate painstaking grace of a spider’s spinning, repairing the broken vessels beneath his skin like washing red wine from fine ivory silk. Miraz heard the sigh of relief leave his lungs before it reached his lips. Contentment bubbled within her. She had always liked this, using the same hands that wielded a weapon to soothe and settle, to watch the body put itself back together beneath her careful touch.

It was not tiredness she felt when she had drained the last drops of her reserves, but rather a faint hollowness deep in the recessed of her being. One that might have saddened her, and indeed it had made her quite lonely in the first days of her oath when its powers were new and yet somehow as though they had always been a part of her, were she not able to feel them but a short distance away. Long mollified by the knowledge granted by time and experience that the waters of faith would flow in her anew come dawn’s first light, ready and waiting to be unleashed just below her fingertips and beating with all the strength of her warrior’s heart.

All these years later, she still marvelled at it, though her doubts of whether or not she was deserving of such powers, such favor, had mostly abated. And when she looked upon her work, her heart swelled with pride.

“There, that should do it.”

“Mmm, much better,” purred Astarion, who rolled his shoulder to test the newfound range of movement now that it wouldn’t be plagued by twinging and throbbing. He suddenly appeared much more limber, refreshed.

Miraz also noted that he had yet to surrender her hand, nor had he lessened his hold upon it. Indeed it seemed to have leeched some of her own inner warmth.

“I should hope so,” Miraz said drily. “Because that’s the last you’re getting until tomorrow. And no, you will not be getting priority for asking nicely.”

“Not even for an acknowledgement of your exquisite beauty?”

“That will bump you to the back of the line.”

A chuckle sounded low and lush in his throat as he leaned back to take her in above him, squinting in mock scrutiny. A wry grin fought its way onto her face, an act for which she internally admonished herself and that prompted him to try and tug her closer. With very limited success, mind.

“There is something rather intriguing about that stern charm of yours. All those little walls and defenses. You only make it so much more tempting to peer through the cracks.”

Miraz raised a sardonic brow. “And you expect to find the tender heart of a romantic beating behind them, correct?”

That overconfident grin of his widened as he brought her their conjoined hands to rest over his clavicle. The bone was fine as a bird’s. Was this supposed to entice her? Coax her to lower her head to kiss him? He should have been grateful he was good at holding his breath. Still, her treacherous heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, I suspect I’ll find much more than that, my dear.”

What a charmingly vague prediction. So many words to say so little.

Sure enough, he made to kiss her, craning his neck to reach her lips only for her to pull back with the quickness of instinct.

“Not yet,” she hastily muttered, the tips of her ears burning hot at the prospect of being witnessed by their companions.

Even if Miraz had been taken with him, even if she had been madly in love with him (gods fucking forbid), she did not think she could ever warm up to the idea of displaying affection so publicly. Too used to shamefully stolen glances and couplings locked tightly behind closed doors, discouraged from so much as greeting her past partners with more familiarity than a passing acquaintance. It was bad enough his “intentions”, if they could even be called that, were so transparent. She didn't need their comrades watching them with any more curiosity than they already did.

To the credit of Astarion's performance, however, he seemed almost delighted at her prudishness. Like a rake with a maiden he believed to be putty in his hands, hanging onto fragile conventions of modesty lest she fall victim to his amorous overtures. How very literary. How very in the tradition of cads and lusty ne’er-do-wells and seductive charlatans. Yet there was that recognizable thread of strain to the way he held his smile, that thread of tension strung taut throughout his entire body that belied hesitation, an innate discomfort. And yet Astarion maintained the facade.

Why? What was so vital about ensnaring one of them? After all, Miraz had hardly been his first choice. Had he not struck out with the others, it would be one of them subjected to this foolish game. A reliable source of blood would have been the obvious answer. But then why continue when that access was now permitted and assured? She doubted he was so desperate for the haphazard excuse for companionship that could be afforded in their current predicament now that he had escaped this Cazador. Of course, sex had rarely ever been the first item on her list for seeking succor.

“A quiet evening, for once. Perfect for two people who’d like to take some time to themselves, if you catch my meaning.” His whispered words wrested her from her thoughts, each one more hushed than the last as if bidding her to come closer. “And I do mean sex, to be clear. We’ve been waiting long enough.”

Miraz’s mouth went dry for all the wrong reasons. Maybe if she were lucky he would run off before any clothes came off, primarily hers. Then she could tuck away the added slight of not having even gotten her out of her trousers for later as well. She swallowed, stubbornly setting her jaw to steady her resolve.

Just a little longer and it would be all over. Like ripping off bandages.

“All right, but where will we go?” It was a stiffly stated question if ever there was one.

A long slender finger pale as bone oh so fondly began to tangle itself in her hair, winding the black strands thick around it. This time when he tugged her nearer she reluctantly hunched over, making sure her ear was level to his mouth. Discreetly as she feasibly could of course.

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all about this madness.” He cooed and charmed so prettily that she could almost feel that slimy tongue of his flicking against the shell of her ear. “There’s a secluded place that should do nicely. Wait until the others are asleep, then come and find me there.”

“I’ll see you there,” was all she managed to say.

“Indeed you will, my love, I can’t wait.”

My love. My dear. Darling. Sweet nothings from a serpent’s mouth that made her skin crawl.

He scarcely left her side for the rest of that evening, practically glued to her in a way one could almost believe was genuine. The saccharine seeming of a new relationship where one sought any and every excuse to steal a clandestine touch, a suggestive bit of wordplay, a more than simply appreciative sideways glance. Likely done in as much of an effort to inflame her in preparation of their doomed rendezvous as to convince the rest of the party of his ardor. His supposedly undeniable desire of the paladin who had only spared his life but provided him with her blood.

Were they really fooled by this charade, Miraz wondered.

#tagging games #wip wednesday #bg3 fanfic #miraz #miraz cordaign #half orc tav #paladin tav #you know i don't think this is as cringy as i feared it was when i wrote it #play chicken and eat crow miraz #so help me i will finish this chapter before the month is out #i do enjoy writing her banter with astarion

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chaos-has-theories · 6 months

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Heaptober Day 15: Soulmates

7 connected drabbles about Soulmarks, + a list of headcanons.

Silas Heap had always been the kind to leave his mark wherever he went. His hands looked like a painter’s hands, covered in splatters of the brightest colours until there was barely a spot of skin left.

When Silas found himself staring into a pair of solemn purple eyes, he reached out without thought to brush the snowflakes from her lashes.

He wasn’t surprised, really, when he left behind a smear of bright grass green. He chuckled at the sight of the wine-red she’d given him in return.

Well.

He’d already known that he was going to take her home.

Sarah Heap had given birth to seven sons.

She’d marked each of them in gentle turquoise the first time they were placed into her arms, and they’d left their marks in return. She could count out her sons in the splotches on her left hand: Simon’s dark green. Sam’s muted teal. Erik’s sould was golden yellow where Edd was dusted rose. Jojo was orange, impossibly bright; Nicko the blue of a storybook sea.

And of course there was the green mark on the back of her hand. It had never faded, even years after she’d brushed it against Septimus’ jaw.

Every one of her boys Sarah marked the very first time she held them.

Not Jenna, though.

For months, Sarah would trace the rich blue handprint on Jenna’s shoulder; the purple mark at the back of her neck. “Someone misses you,” she’d whisper, and still there was no trace of turquoise.

After Sally left, Sarah couldn’t let go of Jenna. They won’t get you, she thought fiercely.

A tiny fist closed around her finger. Purple eyes looked up at her. I know, those eyes seemed to say.

When her daughter let go, she left five perfect rings of red behind.

Jenna had grown up knowing she was loved. It was written in her skin: green and turquoise and orange and blue. Tiny handprints on her back from when Nicko and Jo-jo had reached for her as a baby. The teasing brush of Simon’s finger like whiskers on her cheek. Bo’s lemon yellow ringed around her wrist.

The pale purple on her neck, and the blue on her shoulder.

Sometimes, Jenna would look at the stars and think: Someone with a soul like the night sky had loved her once.

And if they’d loved her so brightly - where were they now?

Boy 412 was not supposed to have soulmarks.

“A soldier doesn’t have attachments!,” Catchpole would roar at them whenever one of the boys had failed to cover up their colours.

So 412 wore sleeves over the green and sticky paste on the turquoise, and dutifully did not wonder who had touched him fondly, once.

After his capture, 412 did not take his scarf off for months. Not even once his fingertips were stained purple and his palm a deep red.

It was Sarah who finally untied it. When she touched the turquoise mark on his jaw, her hand fit perfectly.

When the Dragon Boat opened her eyes for the first time in ten long years, there was red on her neck and green on her tiller, and she was free.

Jenna stared breathlessly at the enormous boat before them. “Look. They painted soulmarks on her.”

There were handprints all over the carved dragon body. Coral and burgundy, scarlet and win, with only few other colours dotted between.

Yet far away from the rest of the prints, Boy 412 had seen a solitary spot of purple. It was so… so vivid.

Jenna reached for the hull. 412 reached for the tiller.

Septimus Heap had never had soulmarks.

He didn’t need any. Soulmarks made you weak: DomDaniel certainly didn’t have any.

So maybe he didn’t have the turquoise or the green that the Queenling and that Heap boy insisted he’d have. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need their soulmarks, or DomDaniel’s, or Zelda’s, or Simon’s. He could make it on his own. He would.

Three years into living as Merrin, his hand brushed his mother’s as they made dinner.

Nursie smiled so brightly at the pale, washed-out vermillion he left behind that he couldn’t help but feel happy about her greys, too.

+1:

Septimus does have a mark from Marwick, too. I just didn't have the space to fit in there; plus while 409 has to wear gloves to cover the green, 412 can just hold on to his pike, or pretend his hand got dirty. They got those marks when 412 pulled 409 out of a Wolverine's way as kids.

Dragons can get soulmarks! It's like the Imprinting. It's not quite the same thing as with humans; for example, they don't stain the humans back, but either way, the Dragon Boat and Spit Fyre both end up with Jenna and Sep's colours.

Rats also get soulmarks, but only from each other, and they're not as colorful and visible, so most people don't know about that. These days, Dawnie's mark has almost faded completely from Stanley's fur.

I just feel like Silas would, you know? He shakes a stranger's hand and comes back stained, laughs, and they're friends now. Which yes, means he absolutely has Marcia's purple somewhere.

Speaking of: The purple mark on Jenna is from when Marcia caught her during the attempt. The blue is her mother's, and OH RIGHT i meant to write a drabble about Milo getting his. Oh well.

I think it's important that some people have different colors than you might expect. Wotcher, Merrin.

This soulmate concept was shamelessly stolen from Coloring Inside the Lines; an absolutely and heartbreakingly fantastic Breath of the Wild fic. Can only recommend.

#septimus heap #heaptober 2023 #heaptober #this will also end up on my ao3 eventually but I don't make decisions like that while tired #also. I think 7+1 should be a thing in our fandom #chaos writes

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edupunkn00b · 7 months

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Where the Air is Sweet, Chapter 2

Photo by Rachel Martin on Unsplash

Prev - Ch. 2 - Next - Masterpost - [ AO3 ]

Logan comes home with exciting news. And a problem.

WC: 960 - Rated: G - CW: Patton says fudge, fluff -

Patton hummed, bopping his head to the rhythm of the bubbling marinara he stirred on the stove top. First tapping the wooden spoon on the edge of the saucepan, he then blew on the bit of sauce left behind and tasted it. Wobbling his head, he tapped the spices in the cabinet before landing on the cumin and shaking in a generous amount. After stirring the pot once more, he took another taste and grinned. "Perfect!"

The sound of footsteps and Logan's whistling drew Patton's attention and he dropped the spoon in the saucepan, not noticing the sizzle and splatter of red sauce. He'd just finished detangling the ties on his apron, pulling it off and over his head when Logan stepped inside. "Lo! You're home!"

"Good evening, Pat," Logan smiled, slipping off his shoes and hanging his jacket and keys on their hooks by the door. With a little chuckle, he picked up Patton's shoes where he'd kicked them off after he'd returned from work and tucked them neatly on the rack next to his own.

"Oops. Thanks," he giggled and pulled Logan into a bear hug. Logan squeezed back just as firmly and Patton sighed happily. "What's got you in such a good mood? I haven't seen you this happy after work in a long time."

"I have news," Logan began, his voice in an uncharacteristic sing-song.

Still gripping his arms, Patton pulled back, eyes wide. "You didn't!" he gasped.

"I did!"

"You got the interview!" Patton cheered and, both arms wrapped around him, lifted the taller man up off his feet.

"I got it," Logan laughed, a little strained and Patton squeezed and spun him around their tiny kitchen. "Wait, Pat—" Bubbling and the hiss of sauce hitting the hot burner pulled their attention. "I believe your spaghetti sauce is boiling over."

"Oh, fudge!" Patton let go and Logan dropped to his feet. As Patton clicked off the burner, Logan wet a kitchen towel and dabbed at the counter and cooler splotches on the stove top. "Thanks, Lo," he grinned and offered him a taste.

Humming his approval, Logan nodded and rinsed the towel before wringing it out and laying it to dry near the sink. His face soon turned somber.

"I… I must admit, while I am gratified to have passed the first round of screenings, I am a bit nervous about the interview process itself." Logan's voice was low, his words precise, and Patton listened carefully, nodding along but not staring at him as he spoke. "I devoted the majority of my preparations to assembling my c.v. and portfolio, developing my metaphorical 'elevator pitch.' I…" He pursed his lips, a not quite frown. "I have failed to properly prepare for the actual interview."

"I wouldn't call it a failure, Lo," Patton gently bumped his shoulder, then pulled plates and glasses from the cabinet. "You just haven't prepped for the interview yet." He grinned when Logan looked back at him with that half-frown. But his eyes sparkled with a bit of hope and Patton's grin grew. "I can help. I'll pretend to be the interviewer and ask you all the hard questions."

"That is very sweet, Pat, truly, it is." He squeezed Patton's shoulder, thumb rubbing gently over the curve of his deltoid. "I am interviewing with Mr. Wolf. His name is rather on the nose. He's known for a rather… harsh demeanor." Patton met his eyes and Logan's smile softened. "You are anything but harsh, Pat."

"I can pretend!" Patton nodded, setting down the plates and taking Logan's hand. He bounced on the balls of his feet, resembling a wolf pup more than a dangerous predator. "If it'll help you, I can do it." Logan tilted his head, still smiling. Patton bounced again. "Please?"

"Very well," Logan laughed. "Though the puppy dog eyes seem to prove my point, any assistance you can render will help."

Straightening to his full height, he looked up at Logan, brow furrowed and lips pressed together in a scowl. "You'll see. I can do it, Lo. Now, where's your resume, Mr.s Sanders?"

His attempt at a 'harsh' expression somehow looked even more adorable but Logan matched his seriousness. "Thank you, Mr. Hart." Patton simply raised an eyebrow, hand outstretched and Logan hurried to fetch a copy of his resume and portfolio from his satchel. "Right away, Mr. Hart."

Nodding curtly, Patton accepted the packet and wordlessly sat down at the counter. When Logan didn't immediately join him, he made a small tsk and looked pointedly at the dinner still on the stove before glaring. "I believe this is a dinner interview, Mr. Sanders. I hope you're not here to waste my time."

Blinking at the radical change, he stammered, "Yes, I mean, no, of course not. Sir," he added after Patton continued to stare at him. He filled two plates with pasta and salad and a bit of the garlic bread he was unsuprised to find Patton had been keeping warm in the oven and hurried to sit across from his suddenly stern interviewer.

"Hm," Patton said before frowning at the resume. Logan sat up straighter and arranged a napkin in his lap before lacing his fingers together under the table to hide his nervousness. Logan waited, alternating between flexing his hands under the table and twirling his pasta. Patton seemingly ignored him.

After a long moment, Patton looked up at him over the top of the resume, eyes twinkling. "How am I doing, Lo?" he whispered, mirth filling his voice.

"E—excellent," Logan nodded, the sudden break in character just as discombobulating as his sudden strictness had been.

Patton flashed him one more grin before the cold, stony mask once again fell over his features. "Then let's begin."

#Where the Air is Sweet #logicality #ts logan #ts patton #Logan Sanders #Patton Hart #fluff #Patton Sanders #(for the character tag)

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englishflagcumrag · 9 months

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arts fought

myusena and cats/raudha and family for @leatherdaddymoominpappa (and the various people who made the cats) daisy for @inkwell33 lovemail for @weedsmokingbf jude and vilhelm for Marisa_Eggs fennel for @creachurcritter

nudity and ids under cut

[image 1: myusena, a fat white man with a long black beard tied in two pink ribbons, wearing a patterned green sweater, pink knitted hat and grey trousers, sat on a kerb in front of and backlit by a nondescript shop, surrounded by cats. these cats include: a white cat with black and orange spots clinging to his arm with his eyes closed, wearing a red bandana; a dark teal cat with a sharks fins and tail and scars on his neck and haunch, lying on his thigh; a cat with a white left side and blue left eye and black right side and red right eye, sheltered under one knee; a white cat with blue, pink and green splotches including a pink heart around their eye, a green tongue, green claws and green spines on their tail rested around his shoulders; a little light yellow cat with green spots and a leaf on their head sitting on his hat; a tiny tuxedo cat wearing green ribbons on their neck and tail clinging to his beard, asleep; a small orange, brown tabby, and white cat resting her paws on his boot; a fluffy brown and tan cat sitting on his knee; a skinny cat with a pale beige spotty pattern and scars on her nose, front leg and back, scratching his leg; a brown-and-pink cat with a vine pattern eating his shoelace, and a tuxedo cat walking away from him with his wallet in her mouth]

[image 2: a brightly-coloured garden scene. in the foreground, raudha, a black girl with brown hair tied up in a puff with a frog on the hairband, wearing a teal shirt and blue shorts, lies on her stomach, legs kicked in the air, watching a frog in a pond. in the background, azhar, a young black man with a wide brown afro wearing a yellow tank top with a pink heart on it and a pink skirt carries lachlan, a little black boy with light brown dreads wearing one pink and one green croc, on his back. to their right and behind, orion, an elderly black man with moles and long, curly blond hair, wearing rectangular glasses, blue jeans and an orange button-up, smiles down softly at oleander, a black toddler with shorter, curly blond hair, wearing blue dungarees and a turquoise shirt, reaching up for him, faced away from the viewer. they are in the doorway of a shed painted blue - inside, behind orion, a shed is visible. to their right and in front, layla, an elderly black woman with long, curly black hair wearing a yellow dress with ruffled sleeves, and harry, a black teenage girl with lilac hair, blue shorts, and brown sandals, watch tilly, a black toddler with long black hair in a pink dress and red trainers draw on a red fence in chalk. harry is squatted down, with one of tilly's hands on her knee - both are faced away from the viewer.]

[image 3: a bright, cartoony drawing of a woman shaped like a daisy, skipping through a field, wearing a puffy orange shirt, green trousers, and white gloves, throwing up a peace sign]

[image 4: a drawing in a traditional-tattoo style of a robot with light brown skin, a pink hat with white wings and an antenna with a heart on it, a pink torso with a gold-framed heart-shaped window in the front with a heartbeat monitor in it, a pink skirt with a gold buckle and trouser chain with heart-shaped links, pink thigh-high boots with wings on the heels and hearts on the knees, and segmented silver sections on the arms, legs, neck and stomach. he's holding out an envelope with a heart on it and text in the background reads "you got mail".]

[image 5: a bust drawing of jude, a black man with slight wrinkles around his eyes, sharp cheekbones, and short dreads, wearing a black robe and an earring shaped like a dagger. he's depicted in profile on a bright yellow background with yellow lighting, while jude himself is purple-toned.]

[image 6: a half-body drawing of vilhelm, a very muscular light-skinned man with red eyes, stringy black hair, and big fangs, wearing a broken shackle around his neck and black trousers. he is hunched over in a dark forest, shirtless]

[image 7: a drawing of fennel, a blue lynx with black horns in a beige jacket and peach t-shirt, blue-grey trousers and brown boots. he's depicted in the style of an animal crossing character on a brown planet with a blue, starry sky in the background.]

ryohei for @peteradnan

[image 8: ryohei, an older east asian man with a small moustache and straight, shoulder-length brown hair, wearing rectangular glasses and a blue robe with white stripes but otherwise full-frontal nude. he has hair on his chest, arms, legs, and stomach, and is sitting in a relaxed pose on the vague impression of a surface. the background is made up of vague blue and green watercolour blotches.]

#art fight #oc tag #azhar #fart (finn art)

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catsoftheclowders · 1 year

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Arc 1: The Clowder of Crags

Starska: Cedartail, the Wrath of the Red Moon - tall, narrow, red and black tortoiseshell tom with red eyes. He has spiky fur, rounded ears, and a mane around his neck. He has a tufted tail. His Blessing of the Stars is two matching white marks on either hip. (8 years, 11 months)

Second: Pinepuddle - small, scrawny, black and white tuxedo tom with large ears. His eyes are orange and he has a short tail. (5 years, 4 months)

Bishop: Venomscream - large, droopy-furred black tom with a white underbelly. He has extremely dark blue eyes and a thick, fluffy tail. His Blessing of the Healer is pixie parasol mushrooms. (10 years, 5 months)

Seer: Specklepath - sleek, black tabby molly with white speckles across her pelt. She has a white muzzle, white paws, and a white tail tip. Her eyes are pink. (2 years, 5 months)

Priests

Opalnose - lean, white tabby molly with paler legs and muzzle. She has a heavily furred tail and long ear tufts. She has green eyes. Her Blessing of the Healer is tufted phlox. (3 years, 4 months)

Leafslip - lean, brown tabby molly with white forepaws and a white tail tip. She has a fluffy mane and tail. Her eyes are orange. Her Blessing of the Healer is dried oak leaves. (3 years, 4 months)

Grimals

Peakgaze - large, muscular, mottled grey molly with a hooked nose bridge. She has spiky fur around her scruff, and small tattered ears. Her eyes are yellow, and she has scars by her nose bridge, across her left shoulder, and across her lower back. (10 years, 10 months)

Sweetbristle - large, black tabby molly with pinkish-purple eyes. She has a long, thin tail and rounded ears. (9 years,11 months)

Ramhock - stocky, grey molly with black tabby stripes. She has a broad head and green eyes. She has a scar across the left side of her chest. (9 years, 2 months)

Rotjaw - fat, black tom with an underbite. He had yellow eyes, a thin tail, and round, chunky jowls. (9 years)

Snapstripe - large, broad, red tabby tom with black stripes. He has tattered ears, a scruffy beard, and a tufted tail. He has a scar across his stomach, and blue eyes. (8 years, 3 months)

Quillpelt - massive, blue tabby tom with a darker underbelly. He has a spiky ruff of fur at his scruff, and yellow eyes. He has a scar across his muzzle, his right shoulder, his back, his hip, and his right flank. (7 years, 9 months)

Thrushpetal - brawny, cream tom with red tabby spots. He has a pale face and fluffy tail. His eyes are green, and he has a scar on his right hip. (7 years, 6 months)

Arnicadust - sleek, dilute tortoiseshell molly. She has a broad, domed face, a fluffy tail and blue eyes, and a scar on her right shoulder. (7 years, 6 months)

Cardinalblood - small, fluffy, red mottled molly with a dark face mask. She has heavy ear fur and a thin, tufted tail. She has yellow eyes. (7 years, 5 months)

Shadownight - thin black molly with a white splotch on her chest, and white freckles on her hips. Her right hind foot is white, as is her tail tip. Her eyes are yellow. (6 years, 11 months)

Sprucesmoke - handsome, dense, rich brown colorpoint tom. He has a dark face and back, and a fluffy white tail tip. His eyes are green, and he has a scar on his lower back and lip. (6 years, 11 months)

Bearfall - massive, brawny, short-haired, light brown tom. He has rounded ears, a short tail and yellow eyes. (6 years, 10 months)

Kestrelmask - tiny, fluffy, cream and red colorpoint molly. She has a thick furred tail and mane, and her eyes are bright blue. She has large ears. (6 years, 9 months)

Vervainstrike - small, short, lilac tabby tom with a white underbelly. He has large ears and dramatic eyebrows. His eyes are yellow and his tail curls at the end. (5 years, 6 months)

Tigerspine - brawny, deep brown tabby molly with rounded ears. Her eyes are red, and her tail is tufted. (5 years, 5 months)

Elkfang - scruffy, yellow brown molly with blue eyes. She has a scruffy beard and a white under tail. (5 years, 3 months)

Fallenfox - large, dusty brown tabby tom. He has an overbite, heavy jowls, and a thick, round tail. He has green eyes. (5 years)

Crookedtail - large, cool grey tom with sparse tabby stripes and speckles on his shoulder and hips. He has teal eyes, heavy jowls and an underbite. His head is broad, and he has a crooked tufted tail. (5 years)

Sootsplash - lean, grey tom with black splattered patterns on his legs, tail tip and muzzle. His eyes are orange, and his tail is tapered at the end. (4 years, 8 months)

Flareheart - large, quiet, red tabby tom with mottled black splotches across his pelt. He has green eyes, and a fluffy tail. (4 years, 6 months)

Hollowlight - large, stoic black molly with a white mark across her face and a white tail tip. Her eyes are light blue. (4 years, 6 months)

Lichenpelt - fluffy, brown spotted molly with green eyes. She has a fluffy mane and tail, with fluffy feathering on her feet. (2 years, 5 months)

Alderspring - large red tabby tom with a dark face. He has heavy ear fluff, and a spiky scruff. His tail is fluffy and dark, and his eyes are yellow. (2 years, 1 month)

Eagletalon - massive, dark warm grey tabby tom. The fur at the scruff of his neck is long and bristled. He has heavy cheek fluff and tail fluff. His eyes are red. (2 years, 1 month)

Fawnreach - massive, dusty mottled fawn molly. She has a dramatic ridge of fur down her neck, and heavy ear fluff. She has yellowish green eyes. (2 years, 1 month)

Nettlethroat - brawny, lynx point tom. He has a thick neck and a short tail. He has crossed, blue eyes. (1 year, 11 months)

Lavenderjaw - a short, fluffy, lilac tabby tom. He has a fluffy tail and neck. His eyes are green and he has a cleft lip, exposing his tongue. (1 year, 8 months)

Greenpaws

Timberpebble - large, dark blue tom with sparse stripes. He has a hooked nose bridge, and a fluffy tail. His eyes are green. (7 months)

Queens

Salmonheart - tall, long, silvery mottled tabby molly. She has a red stripe down her side. She has a sloped nose and a fluffy tail. (5 years, 3 months)

Elders

Stonescream - ancient, scrawny mottled grey tom. He is extremely bony, and has splotchy fur. He has yellow eyes, with cataracts. (16 years, 9 months)

Owl - small, scarred brown tabby tom. He has a short nose bridge, and a snaggle tooth. His ears are tattered, and his eyes are orange. He has scars across his face, forearms and flanks. (12 years, 8 months)

Kendle

(Salmonheart) Antken - tall, grey speckled molly. She has a pale face and neck, with a dark blotch on her right eye. (3 months)

(Salmonheart) Adderken - tall, red tabby tom. He has dramatic eyebrows, and a fluffy tail that curls at the end. (3 months)

(Salmonheart) Maggotken - tall, fat, silvery tabby tom with dramatic eyebrows. He has a darker back. (3 months)

0 notes

mxchellesworld · 3 years

Text

punk rock princess

spencer reid x reader

synopsis; where spencer’s working on the final paper for his third phd meanwhile you take on the task of making sure he takes a break.

warnings; smut, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, sub!spence if you squint, nipple piercings;),

a/n; i’m not saying this is my fantasy but .. this is my fantasy,, inspired by this song, y’all know the drill. you don't have to listen while reading but i always love to set the vibe. lastly y/n doesn't have any mentioned features or looks besides piercings/tattoos,, the rest is all up to you:)

pls send in feedback!

***

A shiver crawled down your spine from the first squirt of dye hitting your scalp. The bubblegum pink shade being a change from the firey red which inhabited your head a mere 24 hours prior.

The process was muscle memory at this point. Brushing out your hair then parting and sectioning it off. However that was the only methodical part. The fun was in slapping on the dye, not a single worry about staining your hands or neck.

The sounds of heavy drums and bass guitar bounced off the walls in the bathroom of the small apartment. Even though the door was shut it wasn't enough to stop the sound from flowing into the living room where your boyfriend was working.

Spencer sat at the dining table, flipping through copious amounts of folders and books. His third thesis in the process of being written. The computer screen in front of him looking back with a mocking glow. Since apparently things had to be digital now.

Your feet padding on the wooden floor made him look up from the pages. Humming to the music as you walked into your bedroom. Then back out a few seconds later holding a towel and robe.

A small smile tugged across his face. Ever since you had moved in together he loved to watch your day to day actions. The way you played your music concerningly loud, your skincare routine which included cleaning your facial piercings. What fascinated him the most was that in the 13 months you’d been together he’d seen you dye your hair 7 times.

Not including any touch ups.

He stood from his place at the table, making his way to the bathroom. Two quick rasps on the door to check if you were decent. The action made you giggle.

“Come in!” you called, “I don’t know why you knock weirdo you’ve seen me naked plenty of times.”

A blush spread across his cheeks from both your words and your state of undress. His eyes tried to focus on the splotches of color on the counter, keeping the blood flowing to the head on his shoulders.

But it was hard when the sheer bralette you had on did very little to hide the metal bars in each of your breasts.

“Spence?” you said snapping a fingers in front of him.

He cleared his throat, eyes snapping to your face which held a smirk.

“Are uh those n-new?” he questioned, hand going to scratch the nape of his neck.

The usual silver balls at the end of the bars were now tiny jewell hearts. The color was a little hard to tell due to the material of your bra but from the change in your hair he could almost bet money they were also pink.

With swift hands you unclipped your bra and threw it on the closed toilet seat before turning to face him.

“Got them when I bought the dye yesterday,” you said pushing your boobs up with your hands, “You like?”

Spencer’s eyes were as big as saucers, frantically nodding, “Y-yeah they look nice.”

You dropped your hands to your hips, tugging off the shorts you had on. The wide brown eyes before you couldn’t get any bigger, trailing down your frame stopping to admire the bar in your belly button along with the ink which littered your ribs.

He watched as you got to your knees, turning on the bath faucet. You dipped your head under the water, a stream of pink filling the tub.

The slope of your spine bent over was a sight he'd seen more than enough times. He could pinpoint the beauty marks on your left shoulder, the small sun he sketched which ended up permanently on the back of your neck. But if he let his gaze drift a little further south he could see how deliciously the dark lace looked barley covering up your most intimate parts.

A smack to his calf got his attention.

“Earth to Spencer! Can you hand me the shampoo,” you asked which came out sounding a bit muffled.

He quickly scurried to the tub and reached over to grab the bottle, squeezing a bit of gel onto your open palm.

"I'm gonna go work on my thesis some more," Spencer said slowly shutting the door behind him.

Making his way back to the living room, he pulled a few files and sat down on the couch. Glasses sat on the bridge of his nose and red pen between his teeth and he stared in concentration.

They were the same words he had read over and over again. The lack of sleep causing a dull ache in his skull.

"You need to take a break love," you said walking over and sitting next to Spencer on the couch.

"I did take one," he argued back flipping through the file.

"Gawking at me before I shower for 2 minutes isn't a break," you said with a giggle, the warmth flooding back to his cheeks, "Cmon 25 minutes at least without a file in your hand. "

When he didn't respond you took matters into your own hands. Ripping the file from his grasp, earning a grumble of disapproval before you straddled his hips. Your arms circled his neck and your hands went straight to the back of his scalp, fingertips running in soothing motions.

"Isn't this so much better baby," you asked whispering in his ear.

He nodded quickly, staying silent as he let his actions speak louder. His large palms went right to your plush hips. Bucking up as he led you to grind yourself on his lap.

Letting his hands explore the material of your satin rope he could feel the lack of undergarments on your frame. Spencer dared to let his hands dip under the black fabric and take each one of your cheeks in the palm of your hand with a gentle squeeze.

You could feel his cock stiffening under you. If you looked down you'd probably be able to see a wet spot on his sweats, most likely a mix of your arousals.

Leaning forward you let your lips attack his neck, placing sloppy kisses sure to leave marks. The process of licking and biting making Spencer hold onto you tighter, almost as if he had his very own vampire to mark him up.

Trailing up to his ear you bit on the lobe before whispering, "Tell me what you need baby."

Lust filled brown orbs met your own as you each continued your steady grind.

"Please fuck me," he pleaded.

If only he knew how wrapped around his finger you were. As pretty as he sounded begging you'd give him anything.

You pulled the metal frames off his face, tossing them to the other side of the couch. He had complained one too many times about foggy glasses during sex. No matter how cute you thought he looked.

Your hands slid down his torso and reached to pull down his sweats. His precum soaked length was heavy in your hands. Pretty pink tip leaky and throbbing already. The first few pumps had whiny moans slipping from his lips, red from biting so hard.

"Unwrap me baby, it's all for you," you said tilting your head down, motioning to the strings holding your robe together.

Quickly he let his slender fingers go to the ends, a swift tug and it was like opening a gift on Christmas. Leaning forward he let his lips wrap around one of your nipples. A strangled moan leaving your mouth from the stimulation.

With a raise of your hips you lined his cock with your opening before sliding down. You both sighed at the same time, the feeling of him stretching you out and your warm walls hugging his length was just too good.

Slowly you rocked your hips testing the waters, soft gasps and curses left your lips. You could feel very vein and inch stuffed inside you.

Spencer on the other hand was having an out of body experience, there wasn't an inch of your skin which was left untouched. Unkissed. After you were settled he raised his hips meeting you halfway with each thrust.

"You're doing so well baby," you cooed down at him, "You love when I ride you hm? Best fucking seat in the house."

His eyes shut closed in pleasure as your pace quickened, "Love it so much. So so pretty," he mumbled out.

His arms pulled you close again. Chest to chest as you continued your movements. Your lips met in a lazy kiss, panting in each others mouths when you ran out of air.

You could feel him pulsating inside you. The iron grip he had on your hips as he helped drive you up and down on his cock was sure to feel sore the next day. His shoulders were sure to have corresponding crescent marks from your nails digging in.

"Touch me Spence m'so close love," you said breathlessly.

One of his hands fell down to the space where you both connected. Skilled fingers rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves in quick circular motions.

Loud moans escaped your lips. Your head fell back to the familiar junction of his neck and shoulder, biting the skin in order to stifle your noises of pleasure.

"Y/n I can't hold it any longer, please cum with me," he whimpered out.

Nodding your head you grabbed onto the back of his neck, "Right behind you baby. Let go for me, I got you."

With a few more upward thrusts you felt him pull you down onto his cock, warmth spreading in your tummy. The feeling of his seed filling you up and his euphoric groans sent you over the edge.

You both rode out your orgasms, swiveling hips and satisfactory sighs of release leaving your lips.

After a few minutes of content silence listening to the music still flowing through the hall you moved to get up, the sticky mess between your thighs less than comfortable.

Warm arms kept you in place, denying your movement.

"Spence I gotta clean up," you said trying to push yourself off his chest.

"If I remember correctly you said at least 25 minutes and from my calculations I have 3 minutes and 38 seconds left of cuddle time," the lanky man under you said matter of factly.

You rolled your eyes, sighing but resting your head back on his shoulder, "If I get a UTI thats 3 minutes and 38 seconds of me playing screamo in your ear at full volume."

With one last squeeze he kissed the side of your head, the scent of ammonia only sightly bothering him, "Worth it."

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fic #chellewrites

398 notes · View notes

mizunetzu · 3 years

Note

Can I request a Iida x male reader with a skin problem? Like every time they finish training or after a stressful event the reader's skin would inch then they would scratch it, red blotches would appear on their chest, stomach, back. The reader insecure about them and hate their body, so in the locker room Denki points them out which they realize and start to become insecure and the itching becomes unbearable. They make an excuse then Iida becomes worried about his classmate then hears quiet cries in their door, Iida asks to come in then sees them curled up on their bed scratches their skin harshly which Iida quickly stops them. Iida confronts them and tries to comfort them.

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰LOVE YOUR WRITING BYE THE WAY!!!!!!!!!!!

Aaaah thank you! This request was very fun, and I do love me some iida~ I feel bad for antagonizing kaminari once again in my fics tho 😅😅

——————

Iida x reader - Don’t Itch Your Neck

⚠️warnings - two (2) mentions of itch attacks, one in the beginning and one at the end (sorry, didn’t know the word for it) kaminari being insensitive to reader.

Pronouns - male, he/him

——————

‘Please don’t compare me to a villain.’

It should be common sense. Why would you ever compare someone to something as wickedly as a villain? It’s rude and distasteful, and you’re practically saying they’re just as bad as illegal thugs and murderer.

But as (Y/n) mindlessly scratched the itch on his neck, a normal itch, not one caused by his skin condition, a villain who terrorized their school at USJ suddenly popped up on the news channel he was watching on his phone.

“-Villain known as Shigaraki Tomura, the alleged ring leader of the League of Villains, has last been seen atop of a high building.” His phone buzzed. He stopped writing answers onto his notebook, as well as unconsciously scratching harder at his neck while turning his attention to the news channel on his phone propped up on Iida’s bed.

Iida would come back any second, telling him to get back to studying, but hey, he’s doing something productive like watching the news, right? Watching news is productive, right? Apparently, it was a special on Shigaraki, and knowing more about villains as a future hero is good, right?

“Shigaraki is estimated to be in his 20’s, and he is commonly seen in disputes against U.A, especially first-year hero class 1-A.” Yep, that was them alright. The news castor continued.

“It is also estimated that Shigaraki has some sort of skin condition, or due to his quirk his skin seems to be very dead and brittle.” The screen cut to some surveillance footage zoomed in on Shigaraki, clawing at dry blotches covering his neck.

His scratched-up, blotchy neck looked uncannily similar to (Y/n’s), especially with the way he was scratching it while being confronted by heroes. It must’ve been caused by stress too. (Y/n’s) skin would burn under the pressure of stress, and he couldn’t help but scratch all over.

(Y/n’s) neck decided to flare up at the sight of Shigaraki. Does that mean he was similar to a villain? He had some sort of trait that was identifiable with a villain? One that attacked his school, no doubt? He scratched his neck harder, bringing up his other hand to scratch the other burning side. Does that mean he was like Shigaraki?

(Y/n) let out a whimper. The itchiness would only scream more if he retracted his hands from his neck. He rubbed his skin raw, scratching so hard he could’ve swore there was blood starting to seep out from his neck.

The door to Iida’s dorm room clicked open silently. (Y/n) paid no mind to it, more focused on the unbearable itch on his neck and the tears clumping at his eyes.

“...(Y/n)-kun? Are you alright?” Iida’s voice broke through the small breaths and scratches of (Y/n), making him look up slightly with blurry eyes. When (Y/n) said nothing, Iida immediately dashed into his bathroom, looking for a small container of ointment.

Iida timped back into the room with a tiny white container in his hands, unscrewing the cap and placing it on under the container. He sat down on his bed, next to (Y/n).

“(Y/n)-kun...I need you to remove your hands, please.” (Y/n) whimpered out a weak, pained “No...” Iida pursed his lips.

“I promise it’s only for a second, it won’t itch.”

“It-it won’t stop-!” Blood was starting to drip down (Y/n’s) nails. Iida winced, quickly shuffling to the bedside table to grab a tissue from a half-filled tissue box. He returned calmly, sitting down next to (Y/n).

He gently set his hand on top of one of (Y/n’s), testing the waters and gently urging him to pull away. “It will only be for a second, love.” He said, with the tissue in his free-hand and the cream resting on a book laying on the bed.

(Y/n) let him pull away his hand, and Iida immediately went up to dabbing the tender, red area of his neck. There wasn’t much blood to begin with, only a few drops, but Iida didn’t want to take the risk of rubbing in the ointment while there was blood on his neck. He dipped his fingers into the white cream of the container, gently cupped (Y/n’s) cheek with his dry hand, and blotted the reddest parts of his neck as gently as he could.

(Y/n) eventually cooled down, the cold substance of the cream as well as the medicine inside it enough to soothe his nerves. Iida hummed.

“How are you feeling?” Iida earned a hum of satisfaction in reply. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

(Y/n) paused for a second, before patting the bed around for his phone. His hand eventually landed on it, and he turned on the newscast in hopes they were still playing the same topic they were on to show Iida. Iida bent over slightly to examine (Y/n’s) phone screen.

“...a villain? The one who attacked us at USJ?”

(Y/n) nodded. “He also probably has a skin condition that makes him all itchy too....the news said it and they played a video of him scratching his neck—and I don’t wanna be like that-“

“Ah...I understand. I understand how upsetting it must be to share something in common with a villain.”

“It’s not just that, though...” (Y/n) sighed. “Because of the scratching, I have all these ugly red blotches on my body...and it makes me look scary...I don’t want my skin to end up like his either...”

Iida hummed. He set a hand on (Y/n’s) shoulder. “I can assure you, you are nothing like a horrible villain such as him. I’m sure there are many heroes with conditions such as your own!”

(Y/n) bit back a smile. He downcast his head, trying to avoid touching his sensitive neck as much as he could.

“Thank you...”

——

Hero training.

(Y/n) dreaded hero training.

The class itself wasn’t so bad, no. No, it was before and after hero training. Where he’d have to change into his hero costume, and change out of it after class was done.

When he did that, everyone could see the ugly red splotches or red scratch marks that made it look like a cat attacked him nonstop. He always made it a point to get in and out of there as fast as he could so no one would ever bring up the rough skin plastered on his body.

But luck didn’t seem to be on his side today.

(Y/n) tore off his hero costume, eager to get out of there as soon as possible. Or at least have something covering him by the time every one else arrived. Of course, Iida was there—he could never beat him first to the locker rooms somehow—but he trusted his boyfriend enough to let him change in the locker room while his vulnerable, spotty body was exposed.

But just as he had every single article of his hero clothing off, leaving him in his underwear, he heard footsteps rattling closer, before the door to the changing room swung open. His stomach dropped.

“Yooo! (L/n)! What’s-oh?” Kaminari’s boisterous voice dug pits in (Y/n’s) guts. He slowly turned around, doing his best to cover his torso with his U.A button-up shirt as he did so. He saw Kaminari standing a few good feet away from him, as the boys of 1-A began filing into the locker room. (Y/n) glanced at Iida, his anchor in a situation like this, before catching his apologetic expression.

“Dude...did Tokoyami really fuck you up that bad in trainin’ today?” Kaminari pointed at the red marks nipping at (Y/n’s) forearms and legs. Sure enough, he sparred with Tokoyami today, but that wasn’t really the cause.

Tokoyami turned around. He shook his head. “Dark shadow cannot inflict such...scratches. And if he did he should be in Recovery Girl’s office instead of the locker rooms.”

(Y/n) silently wished Tokoyami would just take the bait and say it was Dark Shadow. Because Kaminari wouldn’t be rubbing his chin and saying,

“So then what’s all that?” While gesturing circles to the rough, red skin on (Y/n’s) body.

“S’nothin...that’s all...” (Y/n) quietly mumbled. He turned around swiftly, shrugging on the button-up of his uniform and trying to button it up with shaky fingers.

Hands reached down from behind (Y/n) and grabbed his wrists, lifting them high above his head and twirling him around.

“Duuuude! They’re all over your stomach too!”

“Please...lower your voice, Kaminari-kun.” Iida voiced as kindly as he could, not facing (Y/n) to at least spare him one less pair of eyes that were staring at his red-blotched body.

Kaminari’s eyes were plastered onto the red scratch marks and flaked skin on (Y/n’s) barely-buttoned shirt, while (Y/n) wriggled his hands free from his grasp. He completely ignored Iida’s request.

He unconsciously brought his hands up to his neck, still sensitive from yesterday’s...incident and certainly still itchy. The itch was coming back.

He started pawing at the growing itch on his neck, his back pressed against the locker door as he tried to reach for his pants with his free hand.

He started pulling them on the best he could with one hand, not hearing the growing voice of Kaminari asking about why he was itching his neck; or the quiet protests from Iida. Once his pants were sloppily hanging from his waist, his hand flew up to scratch another forming itch right under his eye.

Kaminari suddenly clapped his hands together, looking very appealed all of a sudden. “Dude! I just realized who you looked like!”

“Kaminari-kun, thats-“

“Remember that villain who attacked us at USJ? Shigaraki? The one who kept scratching at his neck and stuff? I think they did a special on him on the news yesterday!”

“Kamina-“

“You look exactly like him!” Kaminari chuckled. “The scratching-“

Iida abruptly slammed his locker door shut. The loud bang it produced shook waves across the locker room, loud enough to silence every one there. Kaminari flinched in surprise, along with everyone else in the changing room.

“...Shut the fuck up, Kaminari.”

Silence ensued the once talkative changing room. All eyes fixated on Iida, a dead scowl on his face that replaced the mighty rule-abiding gaze he wore. The use of no honorific for the first time was absurd, but hearing Iida tell Kaminari to ‘shut the fuck up’ really took the cake. Iida was glaring dull daggers at Kaminari, who was standing there staring back with awkward eyes.

(Y/n) took that opportunity to mumble a quiet “I have to use the bathroom..” and slip out from in front of Kaminari, and slink out of the changing room. He buttoned up his shirt as quickly as he could, not caring about his long forgotten tie or blazer with the burning, unbearable itch that pulsed from his entire body.

He figured he couldn’t last in class like this.

——

Iida sped-walked all the way to the U.A heights alliance. He was worried when (Y/n) didn’t show up to afternoon classes, but didn’t want to run in fear of immodesty on school grounds.

Though, he supposed it hardly mattered anymore, especially after his spiel in the locker room. He was so irritated he didn’t think to apologize until they got back to the classroom. And boy, did bowing hundreds of times, chittering “I apologize for my rude behavior!” Millions of times over again count as an apology.

Iida started sprinting, before ducking into the door and up the stairs.

He ran around the whole dorm building, in case (Y/n) was hiding in someone else’s room or the restrooms. No luck.

And he had no further luck until he passed by (Y/n’s) dorm room, hearing soft sobs and skritches from inside the room. Iida hummed, knocking on the door.

“(Y/n)-kun?”

The sobbing from inside (Y/n’s) room went silent. Iida set his hand on the doorknob.

“Please open the door. Or let me in, please.”

Iida was trying his best to keep his voice level, but inside he was probably just as panicked as (Y/n). Even though he knew (Y/n) kept his medicated cream in his room, Iida had grabbed the spare laying in his own just in case. The soft whimpers from inside the room resumed. Iida sighed.

“I’m coming in. Pardon the intrusion.”

The door the (Y/n’s) room softly clicked open, the light from the outside casting a strip of yellow light into the dark that was (Y/n’s) room. Iida took a moment to let his eyes adjust, before his red eyes fell onto the curled up ball of itching that was (Y/n).

Iida quietly sat down next to (Y/n) on his bed, who paid him no mind. He kept sobbing into the school uniform he never bothered to change out of, one hand under his button-up and the other scratching at the back of his arm. Eventually, his arms switched to scratch at his legs and his neck.

“It burns...it-it burns, Ten-“

“I know, I know,” Iida refrained himself from patting (Y/n’s) back, in fear he’d accidentally inflame that area. Instead, he calmly rose from the bed, walking briskly to (Y/n’s) closet. He opened it gently, shuffling through clothes and picking out a loose shirt and basketball shorts.

He laid them out on the bed. “Do you think you can put these on for me...? Oh, but before you put the shirt on, please allow me to apply your medication onto your stomach..”

(Y/n) briefly looked up to see Iida squatted down infront of him through his tucked-in knees. He looked from Iida to the clothes waiting for him on the bed.

Iida set a hand down on the mattress next to (Y/n). “I can turn around if you would like me to.”

(Y/n) nodded, and Iida stood up and faced the opposite side of his room. Waiting as he heard shuffles of clothes being removed and slipped on, accompanied by more itching, he alas heard the dry “m’done..” from (Y/n) he turned back around.

(Y/n) was scratching at his arms, his head turnt down and tears still cascading down his face. He was holding the shirt in in between one of his armpits. Red blotches and scratch-lines littered (Y/n’s) chest, arms, and legs. The irritated skin looked even more irritated as (Y/n) scratched and clawed at them even more.

“Thank you, handsome.” Iida cooed. “Are you comfortable with me applying it to your chest or would you like to do that on your own?”

“You can do it...I don’t...” (Y/n’s) voice died down, but Iida got the gist of what he was saying. He set (Y/n) back down to his bed, drawing the cream out from his possession and popping off the cap.

After smearing on a generous amount to his chest, his forearms, and his calves, (Y/n) was able to stop scratching for just a bit. It soothed the burning itch for only just a bit, though.

Iida brought his cream-covered fingertips to (Y/n’s) red neck. He tilted it up, giving Iida access, as he rubbed gentle circles around it.

“Would you like to talk about what happened?” Iida said, not taking his eyes off of his current task. (Y/n) sniffed.

“...Do you think I act like Shigaraki? I know you said I didn’t...but you were just being nice, weren’t you?” (Y/n’s) voice was barely audible over the sounds of his sniffles and hics. Iida pressed his lips into a fine line, making sure to coat every area of his neck before retracting his hand. “S’ok...you can tell me, I won’t be mad.”

“(Y/n)-kun...darling, you know that’s absurd.”

“But it isn’t!” (Y/n’s) voice cracked. “Y’know-my body’s already all ugly and disgusting, I might as well become a villain especially because I look like one.”

“Just because you have these splotches on your body doesn’t make you any less handsome.”

“Stop lying, Tenya.”

“You know me, I don’t lie.” Iida placed his hands on his lap as (Y/n) carefully slipped on his shirt. “What kind of class representative would I be if I were a liar? I’m just stating facts like a good civilian.”

“And it’s a fact that (L/n) (Y/n) is the most beautiful, handsome, alluring boy I have ever laid my eyes on. Kaminari-kun took his ‘joke’ too far, and I’m pretty sure it doesn’t qualify as a joke in the first place.”

Iida finally set his hand on (Y/n’s) shoulder. “Please don’t let his words get to your head. Your nothing like a villain, nor is your skin any less beautiful than you think it is. If you can’t love it yourself, I will just have to make sure to love you just as much to make up for it.”

(Y/n) stayed quiet for a second, before shifting closer to Iida and laying his head down against his shoulder. Iida smiled, reaching up to pat (Y/n) appreciatively on the head.

“Thank you, Tenya.”

‘Please don’t compare me to a villain.’

Because (L/n) (Y/n) was far from it.

——————

I apologize if I got any information wrong, I am not the best educated on topics such as skin conditions :((

#bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #mha x male reader #mha x reader #iida x reader #tenya iida x reader #iida imagine #iida tenya x reader #bnha iida #mha iida #iida x male reader #boku no hero academia tenya #boku no hero acadamia #my hero academia #my hero x reader #my hero x male reader

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

And you knew then, you were in for it.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

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m-y-fandoms · 3 years

Text

COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 2

Part 1

This is gonna be many more parts... I can already tell

Word Count: 2.2k

SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader!

- Admin Myah

You spent your entire free period up on that roof, hoping by some miracle that you weren’t crazy, that the group of second-year students that had seemingly vanished before your eyes were in fact pranking you, and upon seeing that you weren’t amused, would get tired of hiding and pop out, finishing the surprise. No such luck, however, and so you left, the second-period bell forcing your hand. Spending the first period of your day - a bit of free time meant for studying, finishing homework, or otherwise enriching yourself educationally - up on the roof and unaccounted for by any teachers was a bit risky already, and you were a decent enough student. There was no way you could just sit there all day, skipping the rest of your classes. Sighing, you resolved to just give up the hunt for your destined main character and by extension the group of potential new friends.

＊

Often after school, you headed to the library, which stayed open along with a select few other areas of Shujin for student use after the last bell rang. Today, however, you felt drawn back to that place, back to that rooftop where you’d seen Akira, Ryuji, and Ann disappear hours earlier. It just wasn’t sitting right with you; you felt a stirring in your soul, like a tiny voice in your head, a shimmering blue butterfly in your stomach. Lucky for you, the rooftop was also open, though you’d never really spent time there. Certain students, including another third-year you admired raised plants up there where the sun could reach them, while others simply came up there for the view or the breeze, some private space to study.

Today, the breeze was indeed blowing, and you sat there writing as it whistled past your ears, polishing up some plot points, scrawling down ideas for your protagonist straight from the imagination, since it seemed you wouldn’t be finding any real-life inspiration anytime soon. It was frustrating, writer’s block, and for the past month or so, it’s all you could do to write a single paragraph. You always found yourself lost in the pages of the novels you loved, and you could identify great writing, appreciate the artistry of another writer, but it was sometimes so hard to put your own thoughts down on the pages of your journal. Why was it so hard? You knew what real romance was. You knew which themes and cliches were overdone and unrealistic. You had a mature and healthy outlook on real relationships and could pick apart the stereotypical female protagonist who was strong and independent until she met the man who would break down her walls or the toxic bad boy who women loved on paper but would cry their eyes out over in real life. You’d read thousands of books and fan-fiction, listened to hundreds of audiobooks, watched tons of romance movies, so why, lately, was it not clicking?! Where was the disconnect between having thoughts and transcribing said thoughts down into your very own masterpiece? Fantasy came so easily to you, sci-fi, non-fiction essays for class, mysteries, research papers, but romance, the genre you loved the most, seemed to purposely elude you.

You were shaken out of your frazzled state when something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye. Shaking your head a bit to try and focus your vision, you looked over your shoulder to see that the black spot on the fringe of your blind spot was in fact actually there. You rubbed your eyes just to be sure, but there it was, a wavering black inky spot hovering in the air. Another appeared, then another, now red in color. You were beginning to feel insane for the second time that day, but rather safe than sorry, you quickly stood, shoving your work and pencils into your bag and shuffling away from the blobs, which were now oscillating and dancing around each other, phasing in and out of existence like a fisheye lens. This was a bit too freaky for your liking, and you were beginning to feel a frightening chill up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, and you elected to put some kind of barrier of safety between yourself and the floating bubbles. Like any rational person, your mind was screaming “unknown situation: possible threat: run!” but again, that little butterfly in the pit of your guts was saying there was something worth staying for. So, running to the door to the roof, you swung it open, a ringing in your ear starting to buzz and chime. You closed it frantically, pressing your nose up against the small glass windows that allowed a limited view of the roof. A small gasp escaped your lips, and you instinctively grabbed onto your bag a bit tighter.

The red and black splotches began to dissipate and fade like some kind of glitch in reality, and three figures appeared like mist, like ghosts before beginning to solidify and slowly become tangible silhouettes. Then, as if some kind of magic ritual was coming to a close, the figures poofed into existence, and your brain processed the scene before you.

“Holy shit…” you whispered. There, clear as day were Sakamoto, Takamaki, and the new kid. They were just standing adjusting their clothes, stretching their arms and legs, situating their personal items. It was just then that you saw a little furry head poke up out of Akira’s school bag. Your harsh, analytical gaze softened a bit upon seeing the small black cat that appeared. Had he been carrying that cat around all day? Surely not, right? How would he keep it quiet and still? “What the…?” The inquisitive glare returned to your features when they began… speaking to the cat. It wasn’t the cute baby talk people often use with their pets, either. It was a full-on, serious conversation, and the cat was meowing back, clearly, in response to their statements.

It was a bit muffled by the thick door, but you could make out bits and pieces.

Metaverse? Palace. Shadows... treasure? Kamoshida? Great, that asshole, but what could he have to do with this? What even was this?

You were questioning everything you knew. You were wondering if the juice you had this morning at breakfast was spiked. There was no winning in this scenario, either you were crazy, or these kids were. You looked downward, contemplating your navel as your mind tried to make sense of the events of today. You glanced up again, trying to eavesdrop a little better, get some more detail. You took a step closer, trying to will the sound of their voices through the door to be just a little louder, just a little clearer, when Sakamoto suddenly pivoted, stretching and cracking his spine with a sigh.

“Gah!” You shouted out. His eyes met yours through the window and widened like a kid caught in the cookie jar. You jumped with a start, taking a cautionary step back and nearly tumbling down the stairs. It was a miracle you caught yourself in time, but your little outburst had definitely caught the attention of the group. Your cover was thoroughly blown. “Oh, no…” You cursed under your breath, spotting both Ann and Akira’s eyes on you now as well.

“Shit! Do you think they saw?” Ryuji’s hands flew to his hair, mussing and working out his frustrations on the dyed strands while simultaneously, Akira was already in motion, rushing toward the door to apprehend the unwelcome listener.

Your heartbeat sped up, and like a gazelle spotted by a lion, a fire was lit under you and you began to sprint, clumsily fumbling down the stairwell and onto the flat platform where the stairs rotated 90 degrees and continued downward. Inhaling sharply, your foot, nervous and supporting jelly-like legs, missed the final step. Your belongings, along with your body, spilled across the square, flat platform, and the door behind you slammed open.

“Hey!” Akira’s yell echoed through the stairwell, and your thoughts bounced off the walls just like his voice. Scrambling, you scooped only the essentials into your hands: your journal, the phone of course, a few homework binders, ditching the easily replaceable items like chewing gum and pencils. Taking to one scraped-up knee and ready to bolt, you felt a hand close upon your bicep and clamp down firmly. “Hey, hey… slow down.” Akira again, now gentler with his tone, spun you around to face him. You stood clutching your things to your chest like a life preserver. “I’m not gonna like… kill you or anything.” A breathy chuckle, and now he was on the platform next to you, scanning you up and down for injuries with his hands in his pockets. “So, uh… so don’t kill yourself by fallin’ down these stairs, huh?” He played off the tense feeling in the air with humor, but the sheer proximity of him, standing there in front of you mere inches away in the cramped space, it was like you could hear your blood pounding in your ears.

What was he thinking right now? Did he think you were some weirdo stalker? I mean, you’d just met him this morning and now you were watching him through a small window like a creep after school… after following him there. Wait, that wasn’t important right now! Was he going to kill you? He didn’t seem like the type of guy to do that, but then again, he didn’t seem like the type to phase in and out of existence either… neither did Ryuji and Ann… what were people with powers like that capable of?

Right now, you were just going to mind your business, and play it safe. It wasn’t worth getting mixed up with people who warp through a “metaverse” and talk to animals just for some good writing material, not if it turned out to be dangerous.

“Well…” you hesitated, “it’s none of my business, what I just saw, and I won’t tell anyone.” You breathed a little easier, tried to regain your composure, to not look too weak.

“So they did see! Awww, shit!” Ryuji’s head popped through the door, interrupting the uncomfortable conversation, and the hot air of the enclosed space was cut through by a gust of wind from the now open rooftop door.

“Now, just hold on, Ryuji,” Akira held out one hand to placate his rather temperamental friend.

“No, no really it’s fine that you talk to your… cat and just… vanish... and I’m sure it’s all fine and multiverse-y and…”

“Metaverse.” Akira corrected you with a small smile, bending down to pick up the rest of your scattered objects.

“Dude!” Ryuji ran a hand down his face in defeat.

“They saw us, no point in being tight-lipped,” he stood, handing them to you.

“Metaverse… right,” you took them, watching every move he made carefully. “Sorry, I’m… a bit more... eloquent in my writing,” you moved to the side, ready to sneak past and descend the rest of the stairs. Anything to get on with your day and escape this unbelievable situation. Akira shuffled, mirroring you and completely blocking the stairwell. There was something clever about him, something sharp and charismatic. He knew exactly what he was doing, what he wanted to achieve, and he knew how to calmly and smoothly execute his plans, unlike Sakamoto, who was far less… organized.

“Writing…?” He was keeping you locked into this conversation, as gently and amiably as he could, and you were not leaving until he was sure he could trust your word.

“Uh… yeah, that’s why I was up…” your eyes met his, quickly recoiling and looking toward the floor again, “...up on the roof. I was just looking for a quiet place to write.”

“What, uh, what kind of stuff do you write?” Ann had now joined Ryuji at the top of the stairs, leaving you feeling completely caged in. Ann threw Akira - who seemed like the leader of the small band of misfits - a desperate glance, a sort of look that seemed to ask: “Where are you going with this? Are we screwed?”

“It’s… it’s kind of private. It’s just… romance stuff. I don’t know, I do all kinds of different stuff, whatever I’m in the mood for.” Akira nodded, more to his friends than you, something you had a feeling you weren’t supposed to pick up on. He stuck his hand out flat, gesturing toward the rooftop behind you. You took the hint, heading a bit anxiously back up the stairs, Ryuji and Ann making way for you.

“You any good?” Akira followed behind you, and now on the rooftop once again, the cool air felt freeing, less constricting, though his question felt a bit insulting, a bit nosey.

“I don’t know… I’ve been told I am…” The three friends took a seat in areas that seemed very familiar to them, like they’d been up here warping in and out of this realm many times before. Now settled into place, Ann spoke up, obviously as apprehensive as you were:

“Well do you… do you think…?” Her high-pitched voice seemed to be hesitant, not yet confident in her next words, not sure if they were all on the same page.

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly,” Akira smirked as if the three had one mind. He turned to you, trying to make eye contact that you vehemently avoided. “How would you feel about helping us out?”

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dottie-wan-kenobi · 3 years

Text

all you want and more Series, A Buddie Soulmate AU

where they share pain/injuries

chasing pain with an excuse | T | 4/4 chapters | 21k words

Evan is born under a bad sign.

Margaret won’t let herself believe it, but Philip knows. He sees it. A red splotch on his tiny, chubby leg that the nurses can’t wipe away. Younger than his soulmate, then, and already baring marks when he’s not even a few hours old. A bruise, probably, innocent enough on any other child. But Evan is not just any child.

Of course, he tries to keep his hopes up, his faith. God works in mysterious ways and maybe this is what Margaret says it is, a good sign, a show of the infant’s resilience. That’s what they need from him, after all, resilience. God is good and God is kind and He would not give Philip and Margaret, devout and God-fearing people, a defective child.

he is seeking (words to get off his chest) | T | 2/2 chapters | 12k words

“I know it’s not an excuse, man, but… they’re my family. And I don’t know, I guess I felt like… with you around, I wasn’t—wasn’t. Um. Worth it.”

“Worth it?” Eddie asks, watching Buck’s face turn pink. Obviously, he hadn’t meant to say that.

Or maybe he had and it’s just embarrassing.

Buck rubs at the back of his neck. “Worth keeping around. Like, look at you. You’re perfect. And I can’t compete wi-with—with military service and bomb experience and shit. Like, if you’re around, what am I even doing here?”

let me show you everything i know | T | 5/5 chapters | 27k words

It takes him a moment to gather himself and say, “Hey, Chris? There’s something I want to talk to you about.”

Christopher blinks at him, swallowing his bite for replying, “Okay?”

“You remember how we’ve talked about soulmates before?”

“Yeah.”

Eddie tries to smile. Fuck, he hopes this doesn’t backfire. He hopes it’s not too early. He should’ve Googled more, he should’ve— “Well, guess what? I met mine.”

walking on pins | T | 1/1 chapters | 4.5k

Maddie’s earliest memories are full of her brother.

#buddie #buddie fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #eddie x buck #my writing #this post will be edited once more fics are posted!#im not good at graphics rip this is literally the best i can do lol #m: all you want and more series #fic masterpost

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gazelessmenagerie · 2 years

Note

“ you’ve seen what i can do when i lose control… i can’t let that happen again. “ REVERSE (for Broly)

powerful prompts pt. 2

The trepidations of a smaller body quaked in the grasp of two larger hands holding him by the shoulders, scorched soil ran amok to a keen nose, tainted by the spilled crimson littered in arcs and splotches. Once great monuments of metal and concrete lay scattered in a ruinous aftermath of war as the pale visage of the twin moons ethereal grace loomed across the smoldering landscape. Brilliant tongues of oranges, reds and golds licked wolfishly along the verdant greenery, devouring without satisfaction as it spread further. Columns of smoke built their choking stairways to the celestial bodies above.

“ Son, do not be frightened by what you see. This isn’t a power to be feared, ” The elder Saiyan assured in a low voice, hardly phased at all by the desecration enacted by his own flesh and blood, “ Pay no mind to these lower creatures. They were foolish to attack us at night. ”

Tearful rivulets streamed down from worried eyes as they looked up, gawking into the sturdiness of veteran optics heralding a mixture of both relief and pride. The extent of a tail curled itself tightly around his leg, both hands firmly held around the larger wrists belonging to his father. It was one thing to kill an animal for food, or so a young mind would think at such a tender age, but to massacre a city settled atop a mighty plateau nestled at the heart of a jungle was--

“ This is natural to a Saiyan, Broly. We were once feared throughout the galaxy for we were a Warrior race but now it is only you and I who remain of our people. ” Paragus reassured the soft weeping of his only offspring, the extent of a thumb swept away a rolling tear, “ Don’t worry, I promise it will pass. There will always be enemies surrounding us so we must be vigilant and destroy them before they destroy us. ”

“ You’ll learn to relish the thrill of war in time... ”

It was an oddity, certainly, for a Saiyan child to be this timid over killing an enemy. Nothing spoke out of the boy, a slow nod trembling before he buried his face into the warm chest of his father. Worry planted itself at the back of the elder male’s head, thoughts winding their way back to how infants were sent off to conquer entire worlds on their own. Brows furrowed at the thought of his own son being incapable of such due to this streak of passivity, hardly wanting to cause harm unless there was no other way than to fight. With the latent power held within, there shouldn’t be any reason why the boy was averse towards displaying it in the face of danger. Could it be he simply could not control it..? That still didn’t explain the timidness.. There were hardly many times where Broly fussed during his infancy.. barely cried out with all the might tiny lungs could have and seemed more apt towards a quieter demeanor as opposed to a viciousness as he grew into a child.

Perhaps he needs only to learn from his father. Had he been raised among their people, well.. that meekness would undoubtedly been torn away and discarded. There was no place for such useless weakness in a savage universe such as this. It was unbecoming of any Saiyan warrior to shy away from their prowess. Paragus frowned, allowing a hand to settle itself atop the head of his son and gently rub in soothing motions. Was this due to his own actions..? The power Broly called upon during Planet Vegeta’s destruction replayed itself over and over, uncertainty welling deeper as to why it only seemed to appear when situations were dire. From that point, it was only a means to survive with his infant son on whatever planet they landed on. Being careful to hide what they were, staying towards the unforgiving wilderness as opposed to a well off civilization nestled on that floating rock. An utter disgrace to have to hide like rats.. clinging to shelter and whatever food that could be caught. Keeping his son close to him until they grew enough to know the laws of surviving in such inhospitable environments.

“ .. It is time you learn what it means to be a Warrior. ” Paragus declared quietly, watching as those tearful eyes looked up at him once more. Question hinged itself entirely on the worry of what was wrong with his son. Such thoughts remained shrouded to the depths of his own eyes, allowing a moment longer before he scooped up the smaller into the crook of an arm.

“ Broly, my son, take pride in being part of the Saiyan race. What you see now, you will learn to enjoy. You will learn to harness the indominable power you hold within and you will destroy all who try to harm you. These lower life forms attempted to kill us, why should we show them any mercy? I have protected you since you were an infant but now you must become stronger and unleash your power. ”

“ You will become the greatest warrior this universe has witnessed, control your power and you will one day rule it. ”

#Anonymous #|| Tag: Answered #|| Tag: Gazing over the Abyss of Stars { Broly }#|| Verse: For One so Small you seem so Strong #( afnsljg hope you like an attempted drabble at friggin.. 5;30 am. )#( i think its funny im trying to write from broly's pov but then i switched over to paragus'. aflgj might be interesting?? )#( ofc that song really gives me paragus vibes so tried to channel some of that but its always friggin hard to write )#( a character you haven't figured inside and outside from ahfsjgn but oh boy. do i have thoughts about how paragus and broly )#( survived and paragus amassed his small army. asfljg )#( its just the trial of writing it down and making it make sense. )#( HELL. i might redo this one if i feel like it. its just hella hard to make stuff up but hey. part of the creative writing process. )#( anyway.. i think im just gonna friggin go sleep now. )

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irishseeeker · 3 years

Link

i’ve been waiting for you

Summary: Each time Kate and Anthony meet their children.

read chapter one here

---

chapter 2: kate meets edmund

It started with eggs.

Kate had always loved eggs. Since she was a young girl, she had always had eggs for breakfast with two slices of bread. She sometimes had a boiled egg as a snack or one with some lunch.

She had carried that habit through to her marriage.

Until one morning, she joined her husband at the breakfast table with her stomach growling. She had slept well the night before, Anthony had worn her out after a few rounds, and she was absolutely famished when she woke up that morning. Anthony leaned in to kiss her when she sat down and once they broke apart she reached for the eggs.

She lifted the lid off the plate and all it took was the whiff of fresh eggs that hit her nostrils, and Kate vomited onto their lovely cream carpet.

Anthony had been horrified, carrying her straight back to bed and insisting she sip water while they waited for the doctor.

Kate’s head remained in their chamber pot until the doctor arrived.

She found out she was pregnant that morning.

She had been quite oblivious to the signs-she had missed her courses, but sometimes they did not come. Her breasts had become swollen and she had started more naps than usual. She had put that down to Anthony’s lunch time execurisons to the bedroom since he had started coming home everyday during lunchtime.

Her experience with pregnancy was practically non-existent, the only exposure she had had was watching her sister in law, Daphne, carry her two children. She had watched Daphne glow throughout her pregnancies.

Kate did not feel as if she was glowing.

She felt swollen and self conscious. She also felt incredibly nauseous. As the months passed, she began to stretch in areas she didn’t think would grow, but they did.

Anthony was particularly pleased about the growth in her chest.

Her sickness did not subside for most of her pregnancy. It wasn’t reserved for the mornings like for most women, either. Her stomach could only handle plain foods with little taste.

Anthony, of course, was a hovering mess. He worried about everything and anything. If Kate was on her feet, he would try to get her to sit down. If she lifted a book off a shelf, he would come running to do it for her.

She loved her husband and she knew his actions were out of affection, but the miracle was not the child she was carrying but the fact she did not murder her husband.

When she finally went into labour, it was a terrifying relief. She wanted to meet her baby and finally not be pregnant.

Her midwife, to be blunt, was a word Anthony had taught her-a bastard.

She had spent a considerable amount of time from the moment she arrived not focusing on Kate but insisting Anthony leave the room.

It may not be considered the proper thing for a man to witness birth, but Kate often wondered if the reasoning for it was simply because most men could not handle it.

Anthony Bridgerton was not most men.

A real man would hold his wife’s hand and support her through labor, which for Kate would go on for most of the night.

Anthony Bridgerton did exactly that.

Kate needed him. She needed her husband. From the moment she married him, her need for him had grown and scared her. He was her best friend. He was her comfort and joy. She needed him to hold her hand while she went through the worst pain of her life to bring their child into the world.

Anthony would have not left her side for anything.

There had been a particular afternoon, at around seven months pregnant, where Kate had joined Violet, Mary and Daphne for tea. The three women, having experienced child birth, were not shy with the details.

Kate had managed to keep her composure until she arrived home to Bridgerton House.

It had taken one look from her husband and for him to ask if she was alright for Kate to completely fall apart.

Kate had sobbed for hours. She had been completely distraught. All of her fears slipped out of her like a confession. She didn’t think she would be a good mother. She didn’t want to let Anthony and their baby down. She was terrified of giving birth and the things Violet, Daphne and Mary had said had horrified her. What if she couldn't do it?

She had said all of this to her husband. Anthony had held her for hours, rubbing her back and whispering soothing words into her ear. When she felt sick, he was her cure. He managed to calm her down eventually, running her a hot bath and sliding in with her. He helped her catch her breath, to breathe in and out with her as the warm water slowly calmed her.

They had come a long way in their relationship, learning to be more open and honest about their fears. Anthony still struggled with his mortality and his own fears of fatherhood and he had told her that night as well. He had made Kate's fears feel valid. He had made her feel safe. That she wasn't crazy.

He made her feel that she could do this.

That they could do this.

Despite the fear she felt, she knew it really would be okay. They would go through it together and they would be a family.

The actual birth itself, to put it plainly with another word Anthony had taught her, hurt like a bitch.

She didn’t know how she did it but she did. She groaned and held Anthony or Mary’s hand through each pain as the minutes turned into hours.

Kate knew she was close. The intense pressure she felt and the urgent need to push, which the midwife kept instructing her to do, along with Anthony and Mary at her side, meant she was nearly there.

Her baby was nearly here.

A piercing cry tore through the air and that intense pressure had dropped, the pain still tearing through her but the midwife announced her son was here.

Her son was here.

“Oh my, is he alright?” Kate sobbed, collapsing against the pillows but her eyes did not leave her son. She was so exhausted and happy, the tears and beads of sweat making their way down her face as her son was put on her chest. He was wriggling, slightly pink and purple and he was covered in a white substance and red splotches of blood.

He was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

“Oh, Anthony. Look,” Kate whispered, her eyes tearing off her baby’s face for a second to lock eyes with her husband’s teary ones. Anthony leaned down to kiss her softly and she felt everything he was feeling. They broke apart only to stare back down at their son.

Kate squeezed Mary’s hand once Anthony held the baby, looking at the woman who had become her mother when she had lost her own so young. She owed Mary everything.

Kate woke up a few hours later to Anthony rocking their son by the window. Kate’s exhaustion had led to her sleeping through most of the night and she fell back asleep after feeding Edmund and laying with Anthony for a while. Mary returned early in the morning, fussing over Kate and making sure her daughter was recovering as well as she could.

Mary lightly dabbed Kate’s forehead with a damp cloth.

“Hi,” She whispered, letting out a mixture between a sob and laugh as Edmund let out a small yawn, his entire face scrunching up as he stretched open his tiny mouth.

Kate was still processing the fact this tiny perfect baby was hers.

The first person Anthony had fetched was her sister, Edwina, who had been waiting eagerly downstairs.

“It is indescribable, is it not?” Mary murmured, lightly brushing Kate’s hair behind her ears. “The love you have for your children.”

“Oh Kate,” Edwina gasped, covering her gaping mouth as she carefully sat on the edge of the bed. “He is wonderful. You did amazing.” She pressed a kiss to her sister’s forehead.

They eventually left Kate to rest and Kate lay there in their bed, for the first time, completely alone with her son.

Her son.

She pulled her knees towards her chest as much as she could, still feeling quite sore everywhere. She carefully lay Edmund on her knees, taking his tiny hands in hers.

This had been the person who had kept her company the last nine months. Whenever Anthony had to work, or she could not sleep, Edmund had been there. He usually had been keeping her awake. It seemed bizarre but Kate stared at his tiny little face with his bright blue eyes, she felt like she already knew him. She had talked to him a lot, poking her bump and he would kick her back.

She was looking at her and Anthony. His round nose was all her, it was her father’s nose that Kate had inherited. Her heart panged for her father, who would never meet Anthony, who would never meet Edmund or any of their future children.

He was named after two great men and Kate would never forget the look on Anthony’s face when she suggested the name Edmund Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict had become a good friend to Kate, he had kept her company and taught her to paint through her confinement with her broken leg and limited mobility during pregnancy.

“You are absolutely wonderful,” She murmured, pressing a kiss to his little fingers. They were so adorable and tiny. “We love you so much.”

“I know you have already been acquainted, but let me tell you more about your father,” Kate whispered, her eyes darting to Anthony’s heavily snoring figure beside her. “We are so lucky, you and I. He is….he is everything, sweetheart. He is kind, caring, funny, incredibly arrogant-but absolutely perfect in every conceivable way. As are you,” Kate whispered, leaning forward to press a kiss to her son’s cheek. “We might keep the perfect part to ourselves. We can’t inflate your father’s ego much more, it’ll explode.”

She could not take her eyes off him.

Her perfect baby boy.

Edmund was so tiny for making Kate so large. She had been rather self conscious during her pregnancy, and when she had eventually expressed her fears to Anthony, he had spent every day putting in extra effort to tell her how gorgeous she was.

Then he would use his tongue, fingers and hips to show her.

What a man.

The door opened slowly and Anthony appeared, smiling softly at Kate as he closed the door behind him and joined her on the bed.

Kate insisted Anthony needed to rest which her stubborn husband finally agreed to, leaving Kate and Edmund with Mary and Edwina.

He looked refreshed despite the dark bags under his eyes, similar to Kates. She knew they would be a familiar feature of theirs for the rest of their lives.

Edmund Benedict Bridgerton already had a good set of lungs.

He wrapped his arms around them, his family, pressing a kiss to her temple and bridging his hand to Edmund’s small cheek to lightly brush it. “How are you?”

“We are good,” Kate said, running her finger through the wisps of hair on the top of Edmund’s head. “I’m absolutely starving.”

Anthony turned to smile softly at her, “What do you fancy?”

Kate grinned at her husband.

“I’m dying for some eggs.”

#bridgerton #my fic #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #fanfiction #this was so delayed apologies!#ao3 #canon #bridgerton fanfiction

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catsoftheclowders · 1 year

Text

Arc 1: The Clowder of Blooms

Starska: Hyacinthshine, the Tongue of Raza - extremely tall, slender tortoiseshell molly with a distinctive star-shaped mane around her head. She has purplish-red fur with black spots across it and narrow green eyes. Her blessing of the stars is a black marking on the top of her tail. (7 Years, 6 months)

Guide: Lostkin - tall, thick, pure white molly with an orange tail tip. She has scars across her green eyes, and her left shoulder and throat. Her Blessing of the Healer is bilberries and passionflower. (7 years, 3 months)

Altairs

Gingerfang - short, long legged grey molly with mottled ginger spots across her fur, a ginger muzzle and a vibrant ginger tail. She has green eyes. Her Altair is an African Grey Parrot. (9 years, 5 months)

Jaguartrot - tall, dense, spotted golden tabby tom with sleek, shiny fur and mottled black spots across his face and tail. He has a fluffy mane down his neck and his eyes are blue. His Altair is a Jay.(9 years, 4 months)

Manchineelstripe - long, greenish-grey spotted tabby tom with a long, thin tufted tail. He has large ears and bright green eyes. His Altair is a Magpie. (8 years, 2 months)

Nightshadeslip - narrow, tall, black molly with a long, slender muzzle. She has a long slender tail, and narrowed dark purple eyes with yellow marks underneath them. Her Altair is a Raven. (8 years)

Cottontail - large eared, mottled grey and brownish tom with a white underbelly and tail. He has a bobbed tail. He has protruding front fangs, and scruffy back fur. His Altair is a Hawk. (6 years, 1 month)

Grimals

Gladiates

Dartfrog - springy, small, splattered orange tabby tom with black spots and dark legs. He has an underbite and a bobbed tail, and his eyes are yellow. (9 years, 6 months)

Hemlockwhisker - short, slender black tom with white speckles across his pelt. He has tufted fur on his cheeks and his tail. His eyes are green. (8 years)

Hibiscussong - tall, elegant pinkish red tom with dark socks and speckles. He has a dramatic ruffed mane around his neck and rounded ears. His eyes are red. (8 years, 1 month)

Snappingturtle - small, mottled grey and tan molly with a bobbed tail and spiky fur. She has protruding fangs and spiky fur across her back. Her eyes are grey. (5 years, 4 months)

Pygmytrot - tiny, dappled grey tabby jack with ginger, gold and black streaks. They have a long tail and a fluffy mane down their neck. Their eyes are blue. (2 years, 4 months)

Asphodelheart - frazzled, mottled white and grey tom. He has purple eyes and a thick mane around his neck. His tail is short and has a large tuft at the end. (1 year, 7 months)

Artisan

Bromeliadbarb - confident, spiky, pinkish red tom with dark splotches across his flank. He has a dramatic, fluffy tail, tufted fur on his hackles, cheeks, and heels. His eyes are red. (9 years, 4 months)

Medinillapelt - flowy-furred white molly with a long beard, chest fur, ears tufts and tail tuft. She has drooping whiskers. She has grey mottling across her pelt and has pink eyes. (8 years, 2 months)

Cormorantbriar - sleek, black tom with a long, narrow muzzle. He has a thin tail and long, rounded ears. He has bright blue eyes. (2 years, 10 months)

Laburnumstripe - sleek, long furred black tom with a long narrow muzzle. He has a thin tail and long rounded ears, and fluffy cheeks. He has bright yellow eyes. (2 years, 10 months)

Gatorgust - brawny, greenish grey tom with darker points. He has spiky fur down his spine, and has very sharp teeth. He has yellow eyes. (2 years, 1 month)

Handypaws

Robinheart - small, wiry, black and orange tortoiseshell molly with fluffy cheeks. She has a grey face and feet and blue eyes. (7 years, 1 month)

Twitchstream - frenzied, scruffy plain grey tom with yellow eyes. He has a darker tail, and one darker sock. (4 years, 10 months)

Cranecall - stern, fluffy white and black molly with red spotting on her pelt. She has red eyes, and a ruffled red and black tail, as well as dramatic fluff on her neck and chest. (4 years, 6 months)

Rainchaser - sleek, curly furred grey and blue spotted molly with red eyes. The fur on her chest and tail is flowy and silky. Her ears are flopped over. (4 years, 6 months)

Cannacrawl - long-bodied plain brown molly with a scruffy tail. She has a light underbelly and brownish orange eyes. (3 years, 9 months)

Greenpaws

Mangrovesprout - scruffy, tan, black and red jack. Their eyes are fully covered with fluff, and their tail is heavy and drags on the floor. (7 months)

Lightsprout - scruffy, grey, black and blue jack. Their eyes are fully covered with fluff, and their tail is long and has a tuft at the end. (7 months)

Fumitorysprout - fluffy, small, mottled pinkish-white tabby molly. Her ears are pointed and she has a short tail with a large tail tuft. She has pinkish purple eyes. (6 months)

Orchidsprout - puffy, round, spotted pink and white molly. She has rounded ears and has a short tail with a large, poofy tail tuft. She has purple eyes. (6 months)

Queens

Jungletail - sleek, tan and white molly with a upwards turned muzzle. She has a heavily furred, flowy tail that drags behind her. Her tail is completely white and she has darker-greyish spots. Her eyes are a bright grey. Her Altair is a Rook. (9 years, 9 months)

Turtlespot - round, plump bob tailed molly with a scar over one eye. She is black and has a pale ruff around her neck. She has black and reddish spots down her back. Her eyes are green. (9 years, 4 months)

Castorfeather - small, slim black tom with a long, silky tail. His eyes are red, and his tail is very flowy. He has protruding fangs. (8 years, 7 months)

Oleanderpollen - tall, white molly with a pink nose and paws. She has wide, intense blue eyes and a long thin tail. (3 years, 1 month)

Elders

Sourbreath - skeletal grey tabby tom with scruffy, patchy fur. He has a large scar around his left eyes and his left flank. His left eye squints and he has snaggle teeth. His eyes are yellow. (15 years)

Marigoldshore - Tall, elegant tortoiseshell molly with long flowy fur and a lined face. Her tail is long and flowy, as is her neck fur. Her eyes are green. (14 years, 5 months)

Daturarasp - Large, brawny black tom with back turned, pointed ears. She has a large, dense, fluffy tail and red eyes. (14 years, 3 months)

Finchhail - Large, round, white mottled spotted tabby tom with small, round ears, and a bobbed tail. He has jade green eyes. (10 years, 4 months)

Kendle

(Jungletail) Jasmineken - small, fluffy molly with greyish white fur and grey spots. She has extremely heavy fur on her chest and tail, and her eyes are fully covered by her fluff. (2 months)

(Castorfeather) Chanterelleken - small, scruffy molly with yellow tabby fur and and orange underbelly. She has scruffy fur on her tail and chest. She has red eyes. (1 month)

(Castorfeather) Critterken - scruffy molly with blue grey fur, and red and purplish fur on her tail. She has a paler underbelly and red eyes. Her chest is dramatically flared, and her ears are droopy. (1 month)

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peterxwade24 · 4 years

Text

Safety Found in Red Sleeves

Chapter 2

This has been a long time coming, literally I wrote this in like four sittings so I hope everyone likes it!

Jason startled awake, his eyes opened wide as he listened for the noise which had startled him awake. The repeated knocking of the door to his apartment had him slowly springing out of bed, trying his hardest to not disturb his Little Nugget. He silently padded through his apartment, glancing into the room Dickiebird and Replacement had crashed in that night to check on them, before opening the door and freezing when he had a mess of blonde hair pressed against his chest.

The girl attached to the blonde hair was sobbing, that much he knew, but without seeing her face he didn’t know who she was.

“Hey. Hey. I’m not sure why you’re crying but I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” Jason rubbed her back and let her calm down at her own pace.

The girl pulled away enough to let Jason pull her into the apartment and close the door.

“I’m sorry to have just dropped in unexpectedly. I just,” her blue eyes filled with tears and at the moment Jason could see that she’d been one of the people who’d been backstage when Bruce had blown up at him, “he doesn’t really mean that, does he?”

“I don’t know.” Jason pulled her back against his chest and held her to let her finish crying. “Can you tell me your name? I don’t think we’ve been introduced since I returned.”

She sniffled and nodded. “Stephanie Brown, my dad’s the Cluemaster.” She looked up at Jason with tear-filled eyes and Jason knew he’d do anything to protect her.

“You’ll always be welcomed here. My little sister in all but blood is Mad Hatter’s daughter.”

Stephanie’s eyes widened and she nodded. “I never realized, I never thought he’d have kids.”

—

Jason had just gotten Stephanie settled in the last bedroom after her fit of crying and returned to the living room when a shadow darkened his living room windows. He watched the shadow open his window from outside and slide into his apartment before he strode across the living room and pulled the shadow to his chest. “You were there when Bruce made his proclamation, right?”

The shadow nodded and pulled away from his chest, just enough to allow a stray ray of light from a nearby streetlamp to stream across her face. The shadow turned out to be one of Bruce’s other kids, a girl named Cassandra Cain. Jason recognized her features from his time with the League, her mother was Lady Shiva.

“Oh Cassandra. You’ll always be welcomed here. My sister in all but blood is the daughter of one of Gotham’s rogues.” Jason smiled and brushed Cass’s hair away from her face. “Do you want to stay here tonight?”

Cass nodded and slumped against Jason’s chest.

Jason smiled and swung Cass up into his arms. “I hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Stephanie. She’s crashing here tonight too.” Jason carried Cass to the room Steph was sleeping in and smiled.

He was happy that his siblings trusted him enough to have their backs. But could he trust them to have his in his search for Pixie?

-*-*-*

Thana stared at Kim’s red sleeves, knowing her friends would give her the time she needed.

“Thana. Fragolina?” Chloé asked her friend. “Are you okay?”

Thana looked at her friends and felt her eyes fill with tears. “My big brother’s alive and I’m not there.”

Nino, always good at keeping Thana grounded, started humming a song he’d realized helped her focused over the years. “Isn’t there a contest held by Wayne Enterprises?”

Alix nodded before looking at Thana. “Isn’t it an essay contest? Where everyone mentioned in the essay gets to go?”

Thana looked at the two and tried to figure out what they were talking about.

Adrien smiled and nodded. “I’ll write the essay. Just get me a list of everyone’s achievements. We’ll have to ask someone here in Paris to hold the horse miraculous if we go on the trip.”

Kim laughed, a deep rumbling laugh that vibrated his chest, and rested his head atop Thana’s. “Who would have thought all those years ago when Mèo con arrived in Paris we would all have become friends and found ourselves with the opportunity to go back to the city she was born in to meet her big brother?”

Thana grabbed Chloé’s hand and whispered. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?” Thana’s blue grey eyes locked with Chloé’s blue eyes and Chloé saw the fear reflected back at her. “He’s got all these new siblings, better siblings, why would he want to see me?”

Chloé’s response was cut off by the Akuma siren outside. She sighed before standing and stretching her arms above her head. The white gold metal of her Miraculous glinted in the light before Trixx landed on her shoulder. “Duty calls.”

The team rose to their feet, their Miraculi glinting in the light.

Adrien let an easy smile spread on his face before he shook out his shoulders. His Miraculous, a pair of silver clip on earrings, shined in the light. “Tikki, spots on.” Adrien was engulfed in a dark red light and when the light vanished, he was no longer Adrein. He was dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt, dark red pants, a dark red jacket covered in black spots surrounded by light yellow rings with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of black combat boots with light yellow accents, black gloves, and a dark red almost black mask with light yellow spots. He had a dark red yoyo settled on his left hip with black spots surrounded by light yellow rings.

Chloé tossed her hair over her shoulder before smiling. “Trixx, let’s pounce.” Chloé was engulfed in a yellow-orange light and when the light vanished, she was no longer Chloé. She was dressed in a pale yellow bodysuit, a dark orange-brown skort, knee high light brown platform boots, a light brown jacket left unzipped and dark brown gloves that ended in claws. She had a fluffy light brown tail that was tipped in black. She had a pair of fluffy fox ears atop her head, the ears and her hair a light brown that darkened as it moved towards the tip. She had a pale yellow mask with dark orange paw prints outlined in brown. A dark brown flute rested on the small of her back.

Nino stretched his arms over his head and smiled. His Miraculous, a bronze snake wrapped around his wrist, twinkled in the light. “Sass, scales slither.” Nino was engulfed in a dark green-blue light and when the light vanished, he was no longer Nino. He was dressed in dark green pants with a black long-sleeved shirt, black combat boots with a dark blue bandana wrapped around his right ankle, a dark teal hooded jacket without sleeves zipped closed over his chest with the hood pulled up over his head, dark blue gloves covered his hands and wrists, and a dark green mask with a blue scale pattern concealed his identity. A bronze lyre was secured on his back.

Alix bounced on her toes before cupping Wayzz in her hands. Her Miraculous, a malachite turtle bracelet, gleamed in the light. “Wayzz, shell on.” Alix was engulfed in a dark pastel green light and when the light vanished, she was no longer Alix. She was dressed in a light brown bodysuit with black spots of various sizes on the ends of the sleeves, matching light brown leggings with black spots of various sizes on the ends of the legs, a slightly darker brown skater skirt, black gloves, matching black sneakers, a light brown mask with black splotches, and an oversized stiff leather jacket with a myriad of splotches in an array of shades of brown and yellow. Her normally puffy pink hair was slicked back under a dark brown swimmer’s cap, with an expandable circle throwing disk hidden under her jacket and a pair smaller throwing disks hidden under the heels of her sneakers.

Kim twitched his nose, a habit he picked up from Stompp, before letting a grin spread across his face. His Miraculous, a red nephrite septum ring, glimmered in the light. “Stompp, olé.” He was engulfed in a dark sienna light and when the light vanished, he was no longer Kim. He was dressed in dark jungle green cargo pants, a dark blue-green sleeveless shirt with light seaweed blue details, a dark sienna long-sleeved high neck shirt under the sleeveless shirt, a light seaweed blue sleeveless jacket, black combat boots with dark blue-green accents, black biker gloves, and a dark jungle green mask with dark sienna accents. He had a thin dark blue-green ox tail which whipped violently behind him, dark blue-green ox ears and light seaweed blue ox horns which curled up over his head. He had a black extendable bo staff strapped to his back.

Thana let out a sigh before letting a tiny smile grace her face. Her Miraculous, a gun-metal gray ring, shined with a hazy gray shine in the overhead light. “Plagg, claws out.” She was engulfed in a dark hazy gray light and when the light vanished, she was no longer Thana or Marinette. She was dressed in a smoky black spandex suit which was so high necked that it covered the lower half of her face and covered her hands with tiny, but sharp, claws. Over her suit was a deep black jacket with dark purple lining and baggy dark gray pants with dark purple detailing. She wore what appeared to be oversized olivine sneakers (but were actually Heelys) with dark purple cat paw detailing on the soles of her sneakers (and matching cat paw detailing on the palms of her hands). Her mask was a black domino mask just like her brother’s had been, except instead of white eye lenses her’s were the same blue her brother’s eyes had been. She had a deep black hood (not unlike the hood her brother’s mentor wears) topped with deep black cat ears, a fluffy deep black cat tail which waved lazily behind her. She had a black and olivine staff secured at the small of her back.

The six teen heroes exchanged grins before they dove out the closest window.

—

Madame Bustier stood in the front of the room with a smile on her face. “Okay kiddos. Listen up.” She waited for everyone to turn their attention to her before her smile grew even bigger. “Thanks to one of your classmates, who wishes to remain nameless, we’ve won a trip. The trip is being funded by Wayne Enterprises, although that doesn’t include souvenirs, and everyone will need to have a permission slip signed by their parents because the trip is taking us to Gotham.”

Thana shot Madame Bustier a look before raising her hand. “Technically my father is in Gotham, do I need his permission?”

Madame Bustier glanced at Thana before sighing. “Ms. Dupain-Cheng. I do not approve of this newfound snark.” She shook her head before turning back to the class at large. “Everyone take one and pass them back until everyone has one.”

—

Kim sat on the settee in Thana’s Parisian room, the smaller girl held against his chest. Nino was playing music in the background while Adrien and Alix were playing Ultra Mecha Strike 3 and Chloé was going through Thana’s closet trying to find clothes for them to wear while in Gotham.

“What is the fashion like in Gotham?” Chloé glanced over her shoulder at Thana. “Colour-wise and actual fashion wise.”

“Darker than here. Unless you’re one of the rogues.” Thana sat up and scrambled for her laptop before returning to Kim’s lap on the settee. She quickly unlocked her laptop and went to Skype. She waited all of a few minutes before the familiar noise of a Skype call filled the room. The four other teens crowded around the settee and waited to see who was on the other end of the line. Thana’s face brightened and she couldn’t seem to contain her excitement.

A tall man with short red hair and green eyes sat beside a tall man with long brown hair and hazel eyes. The tall man with short red hair and green eyes smiled, the smile bringing light to his green eyes. “Hello little Hood.”

“Mini Todd.” The tall man with long brown hair and hazel eyes smiled, allowing his hazel eyes to twinkle behind his thin wire frame glasses.

“Uncle Ed. Uncle John.” Thana’s face brightened further when she smiled at the two men. “These are my friends. Kim, Nino, Alix, Adrien and Chloé. Friends, these are my Uncles Ed and John.” The seven other people waved at one another.

“Fragolina. Why did they call you little Hood and Mini Todd?” Chloé asked with a single finger on her chin.

“Jay-Jay’s last name is Todd and I used to sign all of my assignments Thana Hood.” Thana shrugged before leaning back against Kim’s chest.

“Did you hear, Mini Todd?” John asked, a smile on his face.

“Big Todd is back on the streets.” Ed continued.

“I’ll be back on the streets soon enough.”

Taglist

@southamericangothamite @maribat-is-lifeblood @mystery-5-5 @our-preciousss @mochegato @chocolatecatstheron @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @2confused-2doanything @wannajointhecrabcult @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmymind @moonlightstar64 @justafanwarrior @mialuvscats @pheony1882 @pepelachanel @moongoddesskiana @abrx2002 @ladybug-182

Do you want to see shorts for this fic? If so, would you want to see Big Todd and Mini Todd’s adventures on the streets? Would you want to see how Ed Nygma and Johnathan Crane became Uncles Ed and John? Are there any characters from the DC Universe that you want to see interact with Thana and Co.?

#maribat #mlb crossover #ml crossover #ml x dc #mlb x dc #gothamite!Marinette #platonic sibling jasonette #Safety Found in Red Sleeves #SFiRS

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