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ch0k3herwithaseaview · 2 months ago

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hi guys, it’s been a minute since i’ve written anything, but here we go! i hope y’all like it :3

purring in your lap, ‘cuse I love you

Regulus has always been perceived as a cold and collected man, completely opposite to his loud and obnoxious brother. People always thought the only thing they had in common was their looks and last name.

The truth was different, though—they were both scared little kids trying to survive in the world that they weren’t sure accepted them; they just had different coping mechanisms. While Regulus tried to hide his pain behind a mask of ignorance and reservation, Sirius pretended to be the happiest, coolest person alive, so no one could notice his scars.

They handled everything this way: their classes, friendships, and love lives. And because the older brother decided to make himself appear as the star he was named after—always the brightest in the room—he had it easier to become friends with someone or ask someone else on a date.

So, while Sirius kept walking around Hogwarts with Lupin’s arm thrown around his shoulders, or Lupin’s hand in his hair, or sat on Lupin’s lap, Regulus was trying his hardest to make his crush at least look at him.

He started off with things that were supposed to be simple and effective, like staring at the boy longingly (‘Reg, why are you trying to burn a hole in Potter's forehead?’), interacting with him in the school’s corridors (‘Watch how you walk, Potter!’), and even trying to leave little gifts for him in Quidditch locker rooms (‘WHO THE FUCK PUT VENUS FLYTRAP IN MY COAT?!’). For some reason, neither one of them worked, so he decided to go a step further.

The whole process started in October and was finished halfway through November. It was honestly perfect timing, he thought.

When Regulus told about it to his friends, they presented a whole spectrum of different reactions.

“You’re fucking mad,” Barty laughed in his face.

“Couldn’t you just come up to him and ask him out like a regular human being?” Asked Evan, shaking his head.

“He’s not a regular human being,” Dorcas added. “He’s a Black; there is nothing regular about him.”

“Hey!”

“I think it’s sweet; you will impress him. I’m sure about that,” Pandora said in her dreamy voice, smiling delicately at Regulus. And that was all he needed—though he loved all of his friends the same, Pandora’s validation was the most important to him.

***

At the beginning of December, Regulus started going out every evening to wander around the castle, hoping he'd meet James somewhere, anywhere. After a week or so of his little escapades, he finally found who he was looking for.

James must’ve been going back to his dormitory after some detention, judging by his muggle clothes, tired expression, and the late hour. He didn’t look like his usual, happy, and shiny self—more like he was on the verge of tears. Seeing the boy like that made Regulus’ guts twist with pity, because why would James look like that?

In that moment the younger boy decided to draw the other’s attention. He made just one little sound, and the Gryffindor looked in his direction immediately. His eyes shone with delight as he spotted Regulus, crouching beside him in an instant.

“Hey, little buddy,” James said gently, offering his hand for the kitten to smell. Regulus started rubbing against it straight away, purring happily at the constant. The older boy just giggled at his actions.

“What are you doing here alone at night? Did you run from your owner?” In response, Reg meowed like he was trying to disagree. Another giggle escaped James’ mouth. “I wish I could stay with you, but I’m afraid if Minnie spots me, I might get in trouble.” This time, the sound Regulus made was sad. James just smiled at him apologetically and stood up, waving goodbye.

Oh no, Regulus thought. I’m not giving up that easily.

He started meowing loudly, almost hysterically, and ran after the Gryffindor. When he got to him, Regulus started manoeuvring between James’ legs.

The older boy chuckled, crouching again. “Oh, come on,” he whispered. “I really have to go, mate.” That didn’t stop Reg from acting dramatically, though. He kept on crying, hoping James would understand that he wants to be taken with him. And, to his utter surprise, James actually lifted him up and cradled him to his chest. “You’re a stubborn little guy, aren’t you?” he cooed while stroking Regulus’ back. He only purred quietly, satisfied with his achievement.

***

The next morning Regulus woke up in a place he didn’t recognise. Everything was in different shades of red—the curtains on the bed he lay on, the quilt he was partially covered with, the walls, even the shoes beneath him were red.

Oh fuck, he thought as realisation hit him—he was in James’ dormitory.

After taking a quick look around and checking if he was still in his animagus form, Regulus jumped off the bed and walked to the door. Unfortunately, they were closed. He shouldn’t be surprised, really.

There were just two ways out, he decided: somehow opening the door by himself or waking up one of the boys in the room.

Regulus started with trying to do it by himself, putting his little paws in the small space between the doorframe and the door itself—it didn’t work.

His second attempt included casting a nonverbal Alohomora, which, unfortunately, also didn’t work.

Third, and last, try was risky, very risky. Regulus took another look around to make sure none of the boys woke up in the last few minutes and very quietly transformed back to his human form. As soon as he was himself again, he snuck out, trying to shut the door without making any sounds. Somehow, this time it worked out for him.

Releasing a deep breath, Regulus turned back into the little kitten and made his way out of Gryffindor’s common room.

***

He kept this going for the rest of December, until it was time to return home for Christmas. Regulus was hoping for a miracle; he wished something would happen to save him from going back to Walburga and Orion.

He couldn’t stay at Evan and Pandora’s house—his aunt would take him home in an instant. I could go to Andy, he thought, but quickly decided it wasn’t the best idea—the two of them were never close, and probably neither one would feel comfortable.

There was one more option, though.

Three days before the break, Regulus walked up to his brother. Sirius was surrounded by his stupid friends, which wasn’t ideal, but he decided it was now or never.

Bracing himself, Regulus walked up to the group of Gryffindors, and after taking a deep breath in, he cleared his throat.

The first to turn at the sound was no other than James fucking Potter. When their eyes met, the older boy gave Regulus the brightest, most earnest smile he’s ever seen. Merlin, he’s beautiful, he thought to himself.

“Hi, Regulus,” James said cheerfully, making others turn their heads in his direction.

Putting on his stone-cold mask, Regulus nodded, muttering a quiet ‘Potter’ in response, and turned to his brother. “Can we talk?” he asked Sirius without any preamble.

The older Black looked at him with a confused expression but nodded anyway. They left the group, walking into the first opened classroom they found.

“What is it?” Sirius asked urgently, as if Regulus walking up to him meant the end of the world.

The Slytherin looked down at his fingernails, swallowed loudly, and only then looked back up at his brother. “I need help,” he started, trying to appear as cool and collected. Unfortunately, the tremble in his voice gave away the nervousness he felt.

Taking a deep breath, he continued, “I need help; I don’t want to go back to Maman and Papa.” The last words were barely above a whisper.

Sirius looked at him, pain and pride mixing on his face. “Wait here,” he said gently, instantly leaving the room, but as quickly as he disappeared, his older brother was back. He wasn’t alone, though.

“Why is Potter here?” Regulus asked, trying to cover his surprise with an offended tone. He knew James and his brother were close, but why would Sirius bring the other guy into a situation like this one?

The black-haired Gryffindor cleared his throat. “You know how I always say I’ll escape from them one day, right?” Regulus nodded in answer. “So, for the last couple of months, I’ve been sending my things, like records and shit, to James’ parents so I could… so I could move in with them.” Sirius looked in his brother’s eyes—they were getting wet and red. “And I was thinking that maybe, if you wanted to, you could come with me?” With his final word, a single tear rolled down his face.

Regulus stared at him with wide eyes. Yes, he was aware of Sirius’ plan of running away, but he never expected to be a part of that plan. Why would he? Since he started at Hogwarts, Regulus felt like his brother hated him more and more with each day. He was convinced that when Sirius finally leaves the prison that was their family house, he would be left alone there to rot in loneliness. Hearing that his brother wanted him to run with him, to have Regulus still by his side, made his heart ache with love and happiness. He could feel warm tears falling from his eyes, could feel his lips turn into a wobbly smile.

Nodding, Regulus whispered, “J'aimerais m'enfuir avec toi, Siri.”

Now full-on sobbing, Sirius ran up to him, embracing him in a tight hug, quietly repeating over and over, “Thank you, thank you so much.”

After some time in the empty room, a third cry could be heard. Both brothers turned in the direction of the sound, noticing James subtly shedding tears, although his looked more like happy ones. Regulus couldn’t help but chuckle lightly.

#jegulus #dead gay wizards #regulus black #james potter #the marauders #harry potter fandom #gay #animagus #animagus!regulus #both black brothers run away #james is having a hard day

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therandompagesblog · 1 month ago

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Her Soul for His Soul Chapter 14 🌞Y/N🌞

Trigger Warnings: Death, Shackles, Mentions of suicide, Vulnerability

The Grim Realm was surprisingly warm. Not hot as Hell was perceived to be, but it was not cold neither. The Reaper did not put up much of a fuss as It came to greet me from my suicide. It seemed to have expected me to not go willingly to the Underworld without a visit from Death himself. The walk to Death was long, but not tiring. It was a beautiful walk through the caverns of trees. The trees were exquisite. They were talk, long willow trees that held blue wisps. They were different to the ones Seungmin described. They were more mesmerising. Occasionally we would stop to take rest at a pond or a river. Each stop was met with a log that was purposely put there for those who defied death and wanted to challenge Death on rebirth. The Reaper said nothing through out the journey. Except reminding me to take rest when I was huffing and puffing along the way. I noticed this Reaper was different to the stories. Its cloak was grey and the colour of oak moss in the middle. A lighter grey, but more green. It didn't have many chains of bones that I had expected. Only a skull dangling from a metal chain that too connected Its book of souls or book of kills. Either or. I wasn't sure. We eventually reached a mansion at the end of our walk where we were greeted by a superior Reaper. A Reaper who did have skull ornaments wrapped around It. There was also a slight gold tint on his robes. I thought It was the Grim Reaper until I saw Death.

A faceless figure. Ghosting across Deaths world. Deaths Robes were black. Fearsome. Deaths book of souls dangling before It with intricacies of woven bones. Skulls. Hands. It was scarily beautiful. Death looked beautiful. The Reaper that greeted me spoke in a hush whisper to them. The Grim Reaper and the Superior Reaper nodded at every other word. Occasionally the Grim Reaper would look at me and then checked Deaths book. "Come with me Y/N." Grim Reaper called. Its voice held the power of a drum as It spoke. I followed the Grim Reaper into the mansion. We passed other Reapers of all status. Each time the Grim Reaper would nod Its head. When we reached a grand room. That appeared to be an office, but more spectacular. I noticed someone. "Lisa!" I called out. Lisa placed her book down and ran towards me laughing. She hugged me tightly. The sound of a booming door shut made me and Lisa pull away. The Grim Reaper floated across the room with Its arms crossed as It came towards me. "My name is the Grim Reaper, Y/N L/N and you are in the Realm of Death as you wish to bargain for a life that is already set free." The Grim Reaper spoke elegantly. Its voice made Lisa smirk. I wasn't understanding. "Your friend Lisa has been fine and is returning back to the Mortal Realm as her life was unnecessarily taken by the entities of the Neverworld Realm. A realm created by a young obnoxious demon." The Grim Reaper clarified. Its arms waved around musically. "You have a solemn choice to make young Y/N. You can join the Reapers and become one or I can personally escort you to the Underworld personally."

"The-the Underworld.? I said. Everything had sunk in. I was dead. Lisa was fine. I was not returning back. "I-I am dead.? I muttered. "You did take your life irrationally, young Y/N, but I do not blame you. You had not known Lisa was fine." The Grim Reaper spoke softly as if he knew the reaction was coming. I gasped and felt like I wanted to be sick. All of a sudden a black mystical bucket was presented in front of me. I was sick. "You daft sod you killed yourself." Lisa laughed as she rushed to the glasses and gave me one. "What is that?" I asked. "Whatever your soul needs right now.” Lisa told me. "I will give you two some time to talk. Young Y/N. Lisa." Grim Reaper bid us goodbye, leaving me and Lisa alone. I noticed something. The way Lisa was already in the Grim Reaper's office alone. The way Lisa knew about the goblet glasses. The young Y/N but no young Lisa comment. "Yes. I'm with the Grim Reaper." Lisa explained leaving me stunned. "Let me explain. The night we summoned Seungmin. I died. The entity caught me. The Grim Reaper found me. He took me in and told me he would return me to the mortal realm. He promised he would protect me which he did. Reapers. Some of them. The elder ones have premonitions. Dreams. The Grim. Himself had a premonition of me being his lover. He never thought it was real. I haunted him for five thousand years until I died. He refused to let me die unless I wanted to join him. In his world. I wasn't ready. I barely knew him. He respected that of course and came to visit me often. Until I died again." "Damn. Have you seen his, you, know face?" I asked. Making a circular motion with my hand around my face. Lisa nodded. She explained she had seen his face and knew his real name. She wouldn't tell me of course. It was sacred to her and that was special. We chatted about the Death realm and how peaceful it was. It was a realm where Reapers worked around the clock to collect souls and walk them to the Underworld. Only very few got passed the Reapers and where automatically sent to Heaven or Hell. According to what Lisa heard it was those who where fed on by entities that ended up with their souls lost in the Neverworld. The world that was owned by Seungmin. I wondered how Seungmin was. He was probably angry at me for taking my life to save a friend, until I realised he must have known about Lisa and the Grim Reaper. Before I could think about Seungmin, I heard him.

"Where is she!?" Seungmin hissed as he was dragged into the room angrily. Me and Lisa stood up. Not saying a word as we watched the Reapers dragged a chained up demon. Seungmin had chains wrapped tightly around him. His ankles and wrists were cuffed and his eyes bulged yellow. "Y/N? Oh, Y/N." Seungmin sung out like a prayer. "What have you done to her." "Nothing. I have only given her a choice. To stay here or go to the Underworld." The Grim Reaper sung out, yet his voice was harsh. Seungmin glared. His eyes were frantic. That was the worst thing he could think of to happen. "She is mine. My soul mate." Seungmin growled out. Thrashing around aggressively as the Reapers held him. "Does she know? Does she know about your sentencing?" The Grim Reaper asked. "You do not meddle. Death!" Seungmin spat. "Y/N do not listen to him." "Tell me." I demanded. "I am sure this Archdemon has told you all about the Neverworld, but did Seungmin tell you, he was going to damn you in that place. Seungmin did not care about you, Y/N. He left you alone pretending he was helping you while he waltzed around Hell with the youngen, Jeongin. He was going to give you an early death so he could consume your soul. Take it early. He was not even going to grant you the wall to the Underworld. From what my Reapers told me. Seungmin was still in contact with an old Kim. The youngest woman. Jennifer Kim. He cared for her. Slightly. He visited her as he promised to protect her, while you suffered. While you allowed him freedom. It was only due to Lucifer reminding him he had a soul mate and it was you, that he changed. You deserve better than a reckless fiend." My heart shattered at the Grims words as Death told no lie. Seungmin did not even object. Nor did he feel guilt either. He knew it was true. He, just hadn't expected it to come out so soon. "Is that true? Did you care for another?" I asked. My throat developing a rock that prevented me from speaking. "Yes. I did. I was going to damn you to my realm selfishly. Yes I cared for another but I never touched her. I never bedded her. Only you. I do not feel guilty for my actions but know this I care for you. You are my soul mate–" "Is that a lie?" I challenged. "He is your soul mate. Lucifer gives and grants freedom of unremarkable choice. If you reject him that is fine. He makes you find the right person. Your good side as he is your bad side." Grim Reaper explained as he tightened the shackles with the flick of his fist. Seungmin dropped out in pain. His eyes burned as did his body. I could see he didn't even know how to form the right words. I watched him crawl to me shackled. His wings were bruised and burnt as he traveled towards me.

He dropped towards me like a servant feeling remorse for their actions. He coward as if he was in front of his master. "I-I love you. I love you as if you were my Lucifer. I will always bow to you. I will always repent my actions as I have done now. I wanted you to be strong. Not weak. I might be a selfish Archdemon but I am not a youngen. I am older. I do not abandon those that command me and love me back. I know you love me despite those unwritten said words. You will give me a chance. All I beg is you not let them prison me here. Please, my love. My Mistress. My God. Do not let the Grim punish me. Do not let them use those shackles." Seungmin begged. I was confused. I did not understand him. At all. I did not want him punished in a torturous way. Only mentally. I did not want him shackled he seemed afraid of those shackles. "No I do not want you shackled any further. I want Lucifer to see a punishment fit. You can be punished or imprisoned in your realm. Locked away." I stated frantically. The Grim Reaper retracted the barbed shackles and asked a Reaper to summon Lucifer. Seungmin fell on his side in pain at my feet. Not afraid. Just weak. He had given up. He had truly failed at being a demon. "I never lied to you about how I feel." Seungmin murmured, making me crouch towards him. His hands grabbing at my ankles. "Then tell me what you want from me." I begged. Tears streaming from my eyes. "You want me to be strong. Tell. Me." "You punish me. You make me your servant and for Lucifer I shall be yours–"

"Get up. Archdemon Seungmin. You are embarrassing the Seven Hells." A booming voice called out. A winged creature. Dark as ice. Wings perfectly white and fluffy. The horns on his head were painted divinely. He was faultless. Pure. Untouchable. He was the perfect divine creature. Outcasted from the Heavens and here he was. Shining brightly in front of everyone. "Archdemon Seungmin. I gave you an order to get up." Lucifer demanded. Seungmin crawled up from the floor like a toddler and crossed his legs but the shackles made it difficult. "You are better than this but overturning another's realms for someone who you know was safe. I know you are angry but attacking three Reapers is despicable." Lucifer chided but his authority was there. "I apologise Reaper of Death for the breach in your realm. I will return with Seungmin for a few days for punishment." "There will be no need. I can see Seungmin is very fond of the human soul and should not be separated. I will pardon this. Once and only once Lucifer. Do not make me regret it. If Archdemon Seungmin enters my realm again I will not be so kind." Grim Reaper stated. "Y/N's soul. Please." Seungmin pleaded. "I am sure Lucifer will walk her to Hell and introduce her to everyone." Grim Reaper stated. "No!" Seungmin shouted. The mansion shook and everyone moved. The Grim Reaper moved elegantly to hold Lisa from the sudden demonic earthquake. I on the other hand tried to calm Seungmin as he growled and hissed. Lucifer with a flick of his wrist made Seungmin disappear. "Do not panic, my child. He is only going into confinement to calm down. I will return your soul to your body as you are not ready for Hell yet. Human life is much more sacred than you deem" Lucifer promised as he took my hand into his. "I shall walk you back."

Taglist for the iconic readers:

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#stray kids #Skz #stray kids supernatural #skz seungmin demon au #skz seungmin #stray kids seungmin #stray kids seungmin demon #skz dark romance #skz demon au #Skz seungmin smut #stray kids seungmin smut #Skz seungmin angst #stray kids seungmin angst #stays

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donutwatches · 2 years ago

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MHA 2.8 - Battle on, Challengers - part 1

This is my first watch of MHA, so no spoilers past this episode.

This is super relatable, I also see sparkly bubblegum pink bubbles whenever an attractive person walks by me.

Pikachu’s silly mode face is so cute. It is even cuter with him wrapped up like a little lettuce wrap. I enjoyed his swift defeat after hitting on his opponent.

This petty troll is obnoxious and I love him.

I wonder if he gets on most people in the fandom’s nerves, or is he liked? I am hesitant of interacting with the fandom since I am scared of spoilers.

There is a bird-head kid and a lil’ red dinosaur in this picture and somehow they are not the weird ones here. Deku’s nerd intensity is just that powerful.

Imagine being so out of pocket that a bird is judging you. Kirishima looks low-key concerned for him.

The gremlin is not amused. To be fair he has probably been hearing Izuku mutter obsessively his entire life. Bakugo has a right to be over it.

The image of the words bouncing off of his face has to be one of my favorite visual gags this show has ever done. I snort-laughed.

This is a sweet small character moment. Where everyone else is weirded out or annoyed by Deku, Uraraka perceives him in such a positive and supportive way. She see’s his detailed note taking and thinks it is an amazing quality. She is right, he has passion and intelligence!

Oh no. Iida, you poor sweet summer child. He is such an earnest person it hurts my heart to see him get played like this. His precious dork energy is off the charts.

She just turned this tournament into a commercial. This is so dark-sided yet so genius. I could critique how materialistic this is for an aspiring hero, but I have to respect her game.

Also, why does her hair look like a bushel of uncooked hot dogs?

He is like a tiny puppet dancing in the palm of her hand. I love that she came prepared with her own microphone. This brings up a question. Can the audience hear the fighters talking, or are they watching silent fights? None of the other students were shown to have mics.

You got got, son, you got got. It was a humiliating win, but still a win. If he had lost from being tricked I would have flipped shit.

click for part 2

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blow-me-a-kis · 2 years ago

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Piracy in ofmd is actually already a culture departed from cis het neurotypical society and Izzy is actually a representation of that. I think if ppl would stop treating Stede like he's injecting neurodiversity and queerness into piracy, and instead as the beneficiary of that society, they could see it, too.

I just feel like ppl who don't perceive Izzy as autistic don't really have close friendships with a lot of autistic or neurodiverse ppl IRL. That or they are still doing a lot of masking in relationships and expecting others to masks. But some of us can't.

Most ppl who interact with me IRL probably think I'm mean or rude or even stupid. I'm partially non verbal, I can't smile at strangers/on command, I can't laugh at jokes I don't find funny, I get snippy and irritable if I'm overstimulated. If you ask me how I'm doing, know that me asking you back is like pushing a boulder up a hill for me.

When I do speak it may come out slowly or come off as crytic/weird/inappropriate, and also I may say it too loud or too quiet or too late or with an inappropriate inflection or with a facial expression that doesn't match. My most embarrassing trait is that I get shouty when I'm having a meltdown and I cant help it.

On top of all that I'm Black, so ppl read me as aggressive/negative no matter how I present

I also have autistic and neurodiverse friends who are very similar to me. I have friends who are downright grating in personality, real Izzy's, who I take comfort in because I know its okay if they find me grating. They don't care if I take a long time to respond or don't respond at all when asked a question, they don't mind if I get snippy or they'll tell me directly if I hurt their feelings instead of holding it against me.

I am actually at a point in my life where I am reevaluating friendships where masking has been a requirement, where I feel the need to perform to be liked. I just want to be allowed to be boring or in a bad mood or tired or slow and inflexible, or a Bitch, because I am, and being Pleasant is just not accessible to me. I'll be 33 this year, and I'm exhausted of trying to be anything but myself.

Even the ways a lot of folks like Stede leave out his less palatable autistic traits. Like the fact that almost everyone who meets him in canon does not like him and he has to grow on most ppl. He's hard headed, annoying, presumptuous, obnoxious. This is apart of his autism as well, and why piracy suits him, FREES him.

Izzy is right at home as a pirate because of these very things also. He doesn't have to mask as a neurodiverse person or as a queer man.

I think it's safe to say a lot of ppl's classist views on piracy are reflected in their negative/unfair views of Izzy. The idea that pirates should be softer or nicer or more pleasant or even that a failure to take on these values is Toxic Masculinity (taking this phrase from fandom and putting it on a high shelf until you learn that upperclass white cis het neurotypical masculinity is not the norm and white women learn to question their motivation in normalizing the idea of systemic harm they can't participate in) neglects what Oluwande spoke about in episode one, that piracy is a culture built by people who did not have a choice to do anything but survive.

I hope in s2 we will see Stede get a taste of what that struggle is really like and abandon his classist, romantic notions of piracy.

#Ive said it before #so much discourse hinges on the failure to interpret piracy as an inherently queer culture #which also hinges on the misinterpretation of what queerness even Is #izzy hands #actually autistic #classism

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helioclematis · 1 year ago

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Damn coffee shop AU curse

Eddie is trying to take care of the rest of the line, even longer than usual due to some crafts fair nearby, but that means Chrissy is, unfortunately, stuck with Brad.

Brad is pretty much everything Eddie hates in a human being and a customer, and today Brad's brand of bullshit involved his cappuccino, that he insisted on weighing.

Not that a drink that was two grams 'off' from whatever standard Brad pulled out of his ass this week was different in any way that could be perceived by a human being, but Brad probably huffs his own farts.

Chrissy looks like she's about to cry, there are at least six people in line desperate for their caffeine of choice, and Eddie is making three drinks at once and closing the milk fridge with his foot.

The dilemma: Eddie still isn't allowed to kick Brad's stupid Oakley shades and plaid pants wearing ass out, nor is he allowed to rip him a new asshole, which is tragic and would probably do him good. So Brad just freely continues to be the worst-

"Hey, dude, I realize that you have severe limp dick and nothing helps you get it up like harassing service workers, but can you not make it their problem? I want coffee, as does everyone else here, so can you take your two hundred and fifty-eight-gram cappuccino and shove it up your ass so the rest of us can get on with our fucking day?"

For a second Eddie thinks his inner monologue is suddenly audible to the entire coffee shop, but no. That came from Preppy Hottie, who is sort of obnoxiously hot and has never said anything before today other than 'Can I please get X' and 'thanks,' and Eddie is having entirely inappropriate thoughts about him.

Like, ‘hey do you want me to just bend over right here’ level of inappropriate.

Brad starts to say something, but Chrissy giggles. The girl with Preppy Hottie (Steve, says some part of his brain that must have read it off his cup some weeks before the quagmire of the holidays, associated Beverage Hell, and now gross winter) laughs, as do the rest of the people in line. And he deflates, because a guy who is hotter and less of a douche has gotten women to laugh at him, and thus Brad's entire sense of self is ruined. He takes the cappuccino off the counter, says something about a Yelp review but splashes milky espresso out of the top of the cup, curses, and walks out.

Chrissy smiles at Steve-slash-Preppy Hottie. "Whatever you're getting, it's on the house."

"Nah, that's okay. He's a dick."

"I insist." Steve smiles and Eddie almost drops the latte he's finishing. Damn. That’s…the man really looks like he escaped from the nearest modeling agency.

"Okay, just a medium skim latte with an extra shot and...Rob, what do you want?"

"A dirty vanilla chai, please." The girl, Rob, smiles at Chrissy too, and oh she's pretty, and Chrissy's type of pretty. Eddie’s gonna be subjected to the glacial pace of watching queer girls flirt.

But they put money in the tip jar, so what the heck, they can live here if they want after all that.

It's Steve who comes to get their drinks, and he smiles again.

Red Alert. Red Alert. Eddie is too gay for this, Red Alert.

"Uh. Thanks man. For getting rid of Brad."

"Oh, I've been holding back on that for years. I did food service all through college. Nightmares, man, nightmares. It's practically therapeutic to be bitchy to assholes now." Steve smiles again, like he’s licking something sweet off his lips, tucking a bit of hair behind his ear.

Eddie is lucky the world doesn't operate on cartoon rules because right now he'd go full wolf, awhooooooooga! “Well, any time you need the catharsis, feel free to work that out here. We’ve got plenty.” Steve takes a sip from his latte. “Well, if it means you making my drinks, how can I pass that up? Later.” Eddie is only fifty percent sure he actually says something human-ish as Steve walks away and walks into the tiny ‘back’ of the shop to slap himself. Focus, he can’t be horny gay mush while on the clock. That’s how you get burned.

He gets steamed milk all down his apron anyway.

(Am I gonna do anything with this? No idea, but it exists in the universe now anyway, and I thought it was cute.)

(Brad is based on a real customer, who I still hope is walking on a moist carpet.)

#ao3 #fanfic #steddie #coffee shop au #fan fic stuff

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whatyourusherthinks · 4 months ago

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Terrifier 3 Review

The theater I work at had no trailers or poster for this PIECE OF HUMAN EXCREMENT DRIPPING FROM THE SCREEN INTO MY EYES AND EARS! Way to bury the lea- NO SHUT THE FUCK UP BUGGNUTZ I WANT NOTHING FROM YOU FOR THIS ONE. This movie already has 7.1 from IMBD and a 61% on Metacritic I don't need a two-bit devil's advocate for this cinematic equivalent of an actual mass murder! I never watched Terrifier or Terrifier 2. Reading the plot description on Wikipedia is like looking at the manifesto of someone who gets angry when women won't let him sniff them on public transportation. And yes, I read the part in the article where the writer/director promised to fix the "underdevelopment of the lead characters and the perceived lack of plot". But the read is less "I recognize my short-comings and plan to do better" and more "Oh shit, I got caught sneaking a wannabe snuff film into theaters and don't want to get blacklisted from releasing future movies". At least to me anyway. And my final prerelease experience is being told that this movie is "so gross that people have been running from the theater vomiting" and that made the movie "good". *Knock knock* Hey everyone who said that. THAT'S NOT A SELLING POINT! "This movie is so good it'll make you not want to watch it."

What's The Movie About?

Art the Clown, a slasher who is a fantasy of someone who regrets not going postal in high school, returns to stalk the final girl from the last movie BECAUSE... he's a demon. That's it. Art is a demon and Sienna is an Angel and they are prophesied to fight forever and ever and ever because the franchise will go on forever and ever and ever because clearly humanity has done something horrible to make God punish us forever and ever and ever...

What I Like.

The guy playing Art is a funny physical performer. When he wasn't killing people I had a laugh at some of his scenes. He kinda reminded me of the Mask, but not CGI and he doesn't talk, so he's better. I really want to reiterate that my issues with the Art character have nothing to do with David Howard Thornton. He was just hired to play the character that was written for him, and he did a good job. The effects, costuming, and setting were also well done and lend itself well to a horror Christmas atmosphere. And there's a couple scenes where characters interact that I thought was interesting.

What I Didn't Like.

Too bad those interactions don't MATTER FOR SHIT. The movie ends with everyone except for Sienna and Art dead. Nothing is resolved. No plot point in the movie finishes. Just the two characters surviving for the sequel because of literal Deus Ex Machina and Diabolus Ex Machina. It was all for nothing. Similar to Civil War, I noticed, but at least the BAD GUY died in that one. Hopefully you came over those overly gratuitous gore effects earlier, because Terrifier 3 has NOTHING ELSE. Why do any of the characters matter? They all just die. The story is stupid. For some fucking reason it's Christmas, five years after the last movie, and I think it's just because they wanted Art to run around in a Santa Suit. It makes less sense that people just tolerate Art for any amount of time instead of immediately throwing out or calling the police on the CREEPIEST LOOKING CLOWN EVER. There is literally a part where kids are running over to him excitedly. Like I know he's giving away toys, but fuck off movie. I GUARENTEE that any kid wouldn't go within ten feet of Pennywise but the pedophile dial is cranked from 6 to 9.

Every event in this movie is just obnoxious. The kills are way to pleased with themselves for how boring they are, and the only one that isn't boring is one of the grossest things I've ever seen. And almost all of them drag themselves out for as loooooong aaaaaaaas fuuuuuuuuucking pooooooooooooooooooosible. When tension is built it needs a quick release for the fear factor to work. To watch Art jump a guy, the guy start yelling in anger, then Art stabs a railroad spike through his hand, then the guy starts screaming in pain, then we have to see Art reach over and grab a hammer, then the victim is begging for mercy, then Art whacks the guy with the hammer, then the guy goes "NONONONONONO!", then Art tears his head off, and MY FUCKING GOD. I know what's gonna happen as soon as Art grabs his victim. Dragging out the kill is not scary. It's watching a trench coat mafioso jerk off over his switchblade collection. But hey, at least that preferable to seeing a disfigured woman jill herself off with a broken piece of glass. Which is something that happens in this godforsaken I-hesitate-to-call-it-a-film.

Maybe it's hedonistic enjoyment. Maybe I'm getting to high-minded about the serial killer movie. That's what you're thinking right now, right? Well you're wrong and I can prove it with two scenes. First is the sex scene. It's one of the blandest sex scenes ever, because there is no explicit nudity. This movie is Not Rated. They had no restrictions, and could have totally could have gone completely full X-Rated nudity if they wanted to. So the fact that there is none means they must not have wanted to. Actually, I lied. There's one shot of explicit nudity, when Art is using a chainsaw to carve up the guy's taint. So the movie is okay with showing nudity when it is being mutilated. But again, maybe that's the statement, the hedonism is just for violent imagery? Well, no. I keep harping on the kills being boring, because they are, but the gore is lame too. Much like the characters being too stupid to be realistic and too sensible for the movie to be a parody, the gore is too tame to be splat-stick and too unrealistic to give tragic catharsis. They throw around blood so vibrant it would make a Hammer Horror tell them to turn down the saturation, but everyone seems to bleed realistically, no excess spray or gallons fall from victims. A couple people get disemboweled, but all Art seems to pull out of them is large intestines. People get faces eaten and decapitated, or have their limbs chopped off with axes and chainsaws, but I am not positive if I saw a bone even once. It's all so bland and the various mauling scenes blend together. And I can't stress enough, they mean fucking nothing. No character who get's killed by Art has a satisfying story arc or contribute to a plot line. Maybe it's tragic catharsis? Like look at all these characters we built up, not say goodbye because we are gonna unceremoniously and graphically kill all of them! Except the brother from the last movie get's killed off screen. Yeah. No warning. No hint that it's coming. Off. Fucking. Screen.

I keep thinking back to that sentence I read on Wikipedia. "[The writer/director] has expressed regret for leaving the protagonists underdeveloped." Well whatever you think is developed is man, this ain't it. Sienna is where most of the character lies, and her whole thing is this stupid quasi-biblical prophecy thing along with being traumatized from the last movie. Fair, if I lived through that I'd be messed up too. But the PTSD writing is as subtle as a mortar bombing. Sienna literally sees the disgusting mangled corpse of her friend screaming at her. I was liking the flashbacks with her dad until it transitioned into this bizarre origin for her sword. A sword, which for all the build up of it's appearance and how much they bang on how cool and important it is, looks like a plastic prop you can buy at Walgreens for 10 bucks. Actually, it looks worse than that, because the plastic sword I got at Walgreens has a shiny blade and comes with a sheath. And the scene where we see it forged I swear to Beelzebub is 5 decibels louder than the rest of the movie. Because it'll be really scary if we make the audience's eardrums burst, right? The only other characters who gets a modicum of development are the brother, who once again is killed OFF SCREEN, and Sienna's cousin who looks up to her. And she falls into hell! It's for a promise of a sequel, but a) it's less of a promise and more a threat, and b) given the track record of these movies, I would bet when Sienna finds her cousin in hell she'll be completely broken from being barbed wire-skull fucked by Adolf Hitler and Henry Kissinger over the last 8 years or whatever.

All of this comes to my conclusion that Terrifier 3 was not made to be scary, or tell an actual story, or even for hedonistic enjoyment. And the smoking gun is the first thing I though when the movie itself started proper. Why did this movie release in October? Sure, the other two movies did (Kinda sorta if you squint.), but those movies take place on Halloween. Because of Halloween, October is the spooky month so that's when all the Horror movies come out, right? Except not only do horror movies come out all year, ESPECIALLY this year, but this is a holiday horror movie. The whole point of those is to take a ubiquitous cultural moment of fun and enjoyment and make it scary and taboo by breaching social norms. It's an honored tradition that goes back over 400 years if you want to count Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale as the first example. So when you release these movies matter. The cultural context matters. What cultural does Christmas in October bring? It brings the thought of Christmas overtaking all other holidays. The thought of corporations pushing the winter holidays earlier and earlier so they can sell their novelty goods earlier. The thought of retailers pushing seasonal product to sucker in consumers to spend even more money. The pressure of average people to start their gift shopping earlier. Christmas doesn't mean any high minded "peace on Earth" spiritual ideals until December itself. People HATE that Christmas seems to come earlier and earlier every year. (At least the ones who are self-aware enough to distinguish themselves as more that a consumer.) And I think the guy who both wrote and directed this celluloid massacre knows this.

Final Summation.

I am sorry The Substance. I did not enjoy sitting through you, but at least you had a reason. At least their was a message you were conveying to the audience. I am fully prepared to admit that you are a good movie that I just didn't like, although I still hang on to my criticisms about you. But it's true. The Substance is a good movie that just wasn't for me.

Terrifier 3 is edgelord bullshit. Anyone actually well served by this crock of feces would find greater enjoyment from a real snuff film because they are a goddamn psychopath. Everyone else just thinks they'll get big boy brave points for sticking it out, but it's not an endurance test to watch this movie. No, watching this movie is akin to getting cosmetic surgery with no anesthesia. Unnecessarily painful, completely optional, a waste of time, and at the end you're just worse off.

God. Let's talk about something good. Like Donald Trump.

#Terrifier 3 #Rejected Movies

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shotorozu · 4 years ago

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hello !! I'd rlly like to request Monoma if that's alright! I've had a huge soft spot for him for a while now and I'd love to see more content of him ;v;

anyway! we all know that superiority complex of his is definitely hiding some insecurities, but I also feel like he'd be quite touchstarved too bc of his peers seldom physically interacting with him due to his quirk, yknow?

with that in mind, I'd love to see how he'd handle an s/o who has "physical touch" as their main love language. they can give verbal praise/comfort, but they always get so shy abt it that they prefer giving physical affection to show their love. and maybe combining that with "quality time" being their second love language, they love to just cuddle him or toy with his hands/hair during quiet moments uwu

if you wanna do multiple characters, I'd love to request Shinsou, Midoriya, and Amajiki (separately) for the same idea, but if you'd rather do this with just Monoma then I'm okay with that !! no worries if you don't wanna do all four ♡

thank you if you do this request, and make sure to take care of yourself !! ♡

physically affectionate s/o

character(s) : monoma neito, shinsou hitoshi, midoriya izuku (i cut out tamaki for this one, sorry :[ but i’ll do another part if anyone wants it)

legend : [Y/N = your name] they/them pronouns used, strong quirk but the details aren’t specific, reader is a part of 1-A

headcanon type : fluff (and if you squint, then crack)

note(s) : yes i do agree :,) monoma should be getting a little bit more content, and i’m sorry that this came out so late! i was multitasking with other requests (because i took a 2 day absence,,) but this doesn’t mean i don’t read people’s requests

»»————-　♡　————-««

monoma neito

monoma 🤝 bakugou “the pros at sending mixed signals”

if there’s one thing he’s known for— then it’s for the persistent teasing, and his quite obnoxious attitude (especially at 1-A)

but he’s not a terrible person, he sure does have his reasons. and by now, people either choose to ignore him, or they simply knock the wind out of him

so, he was not prepared to encounter someone that was tolerant of him, AND also his type— like.. huh. that’s.. odd

and he was even more surprised when they accepted his wild love confession. there must be some catch to it, right?

so like i’ve said— monoma sends a lot of mixed signals. it’s either he’s complimenting your existence, or teasing you in various ways.

so— it’s just another normal day of monoma mouthing off to you, teasing you in a playful way, while you guys are hanging out this is way of making you remember him

but then, you just.. leaned forward and placed your hand on his head— not exchanging any words at all.

monoma’s first reaction is (・・?) because what?? someone is touching him right now.. wait.. someone is touching him!

honestly really shook, and at a lost for words— because everyone has refrained from coming into any physical contact with him? what a surprise! what even is this?

after said incident, you decide to speak “you had something in your hair.” and for once, monoma is the one that’s sitting in silence

“R-REALLY, Y/N? DID YOU REALLY THINK THAT WAS GOING TO W-WORK ON ME OR SOMETHING?” he questions in his usual mocking tone, but his cheeks are accompanied in a flushed red

he’d only experience field day when he realized that touch was basically your love language, with quality time in the second lead

so whenever you guys are spending time together, you’d,, actually go closer to him! this has never happened before, let him be

he doesn’t really like the idea of getting his hair touched, so you usually choose to fiddle with his hands— sometimes observing his details, and other times you’ll be comparing hand sizes

he’ll ridicule you for being so touchy— but he’ll ask if he’s “that irresistable?” while also moving you closer to him. he loves it a lot, okay?

don’t let class 1-b see this, he will flex on them because when he starts getting annoying again, they’ll use you as blackmail.

“monoma, i swear— if you do that, we’ll tell Y/N-”

“HAHA— ok, i’m sorry.”

shinsou hitoshi

he probably has the most chill reaction out of the bunch

again— another person that has been antagonized because of their quirk. he’s been perceived as villanious ever since his middle school days

kids have been told to keep their distance away from him at a young age so.. you’d bet that he’d be really touch starved

he never had any serious experiences with dating, and he never had any real friends— that weren’t cautious of his quirk

that was until he met you, which he just assumed you were another highkey stuck up person in the hero course

but, you were basically the opposite, and you were a real pleasure to have around. one thing lead to another, and now you guys are dating

he thought it was really cute whenever you got too shy to just sit in silence during dates, or to even give out words of affirmations

but hitoshi was surprised at first when he felt you pull yourself closer to him— resting your head on his shoulder. the concept of someone wanting to be in his presence is still sinking in for him

lucky for you! shinsou knows how to adapt to situations quickly, immediately slinging an arm around your shoulder, as he listens to you talk

he’ll be surprised when you start touching his hair, because golly!! are you guys close

but do it more pls, he loves it a lot— it sometimes makes him really drowsy.

if you play with his hands omg, his heart will do somersaults. he’s lucky that he’s able to keep himself composed.

loves watching you choosing to cuddle him, after briefly giving up on trying to form coherent words of affirmations.

it’s something he brings up quite often, but not in a teasing manner!

sometimes he’ll pat the free spot beside him, basically begging you to come closer to him.

eventually, denki notices on how touchy he’ll get whenever you’re around— but hitoshi will just shrug it off

“it’s always been that way.” he simply says, but he’ll turn around with this big ass grin on his face 💀

he’s whipped for your touch. so please, do it more

midoriya izuku

he’s also touchstarved. actually, all of them are really touchstarved, and for different reasons 💀

well.. it’s not like he had a choice from the getgo. he was born quirkless, and that lead to him becoming an outcase— and also the victim of bullying i wanna hug him

and being told constantly that he won’t ever be enough, or he won’t ever be a hero— it’s obvious that he doesn’t have any dating experience

but he didn’t think he’d be dating anytime soon— especially since he was ‘just’ pinning over you. he was convinced it was going nowhere

until you confessed. he’s surprised that he didn’t pass out

ever since you guys started dating, he noticed that you’ve been a little timid— not in the way that you feel awkward, more like,, you wanted to say something

or do something, because when you guys were studying together, you just suddenly sat closer to him— and started counting his freckles

he short circuited for a second.

he was reduced to a stuttering, and blushy mess— and you just laughed, telling him “you should continue what you’re doing!” as you ran your other hand across his shoulders

that night, he was wide awake in his bed— recalling your gentle and loving touch, running his hands along the parts of his hair, that you’ve touched

he loves quality time, because while he does like to ramble a lot— he does enjoy spending time with you in silence, but it’s the touches that makes him flustered

despite him being quite shy to initiate any sort of touch, you— on the other hand, were shy with saying praises. so you coped with physical touch, and quality time

man, izuku never gets used to it. no matter how much he tries to— he’s just.. needy, touchstarved.

he doesn’t realize how lost he looks when you’re sitting beside him, and not touching his hair or hands for once. please feel free to do so

oh, and since we’re on the topic of hands— he’ll tear up if you start playing/fiddling with his hands, and especially when you start tracing his scars. it makes him feel so warm.

okay but,, please give him a heads up if you’re going to act touchy in public. he’ll start stammering and blushing hard you might have to put him in rice or smth

the dekusquad talks about that quite a lot, especially when they accidentally witnessed it in the common room (for the first time)

in short— he adores it. sometimes he’ll initiate it, by asking you if you want to sit beside him, to play with his hair. he’s so inlove

»»————-　♡　————-««

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!

i do not own bnha/mha and it’s characters. boku no hero academia/my hero academia belongs to horikoshi kohei. i only own the writing, and i do not profit off of my hobby

do not plagiarize, repost, translate, or use my works for audio readings without my permission :))

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blzzrdstryr · 4 years ago

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Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

#Yandere Genshin impact #Yandere genshin #Yandere Childe #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere childe x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #my writing

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hrina · 4 years ago

Text

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #spookrry #harry writing #ok here it is 🙃 i lowkey feel like its gonna flop but w/e

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gnflorida · 4 years ago

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still not over the whole ‘hey there delilah’ concept

honestly i’m shocked that i never realized how well it fits dnf, just from the song itself. i mean, cocky white boy with ambitious pursuits is basically dream’s entire brand. but the lyrics themselves are just something else:

the “thousand miles away” lines. in their case, 4,000 miles away.

“listen to my voice, it’s my disguise”. because he hides what he looks like, but reveals so much with his words and inflections and mannerisms, dream’s voice essentially is his entire appearance.

then there’s “someday i’ll pay the bills with this guitar” (mentally replace guitar with yt lmao) and “we’ll have the life we knew we would”. i cannot help but think of “i’m gonna blow up, come with me george”, of the trust they had in each other that allowed them to create incredibly successful careers together and with all their friends. this is echoed again later with “by the time that we get through, the world will never ever be the same, and you’re to blame” which again goes perfectly with dream’s leo ass and his sense of over-confidence, which can be sometimes endearing and sometimes just obnoxious. i especially like the last phrase, i think it’s fitting with how he largely attributes his successes to those around him.

“if every simple song i wrote to you would take your breath away, i’d write it all” obv the actual concept of writing songs is not that applicable, but dream most certainly embodies the general sentiment of going out of one’s way to impress or please someone they care about.

and then, of course “our friends would all make fun of us and we’ll just laugh along because we know that none of them have felt this way” is the line that has been making my head spin since the moment i heard it on karl’s stream. obviously very relevant to dream and george, who get teased for dnf constantly. in the moments that are clearly not baiting, but rather genuine displays of their dynamic, they can’t back out of the joke because it’s not meant to be a joke. there’s not much they can do in response to their friends’ little remarks but laugh.

and that line more than any other ties into the final factor that just absolutely destroyed me, which was hearing them all actually sing the song. after karl’s occasional dnf jokes the entire night, plus dream’s personal insistence about how good the song was, plus the fact that they lyrics focus on a long distance relationship, there was literally nothing dream and george could do to prevent the lyrics from being perceived as about themselves. by the time they reach the bridge of the song, and the lines start to hit very close to home, dream becomes incredibly hesitant to sing. and i honestly don’t think this implies much about his own feelings, but it definitely shows that he is hyperaware of his actions being interpreted through a dnf-lens of sorts. the fact that he backs off after that realization, in a moment that could have easily been a perfect bait opportunity a few months ago, speaks volumes to me.

#full disclosure this is all dumb! and overanalyzing too!#but i cannot get that stupid song out of my head #and as a result i have been thinking over this nonstop and i need a place to put my thoughts #when this gets a grand total of 8 notes i’ll consider condensing it and making an actual good post #but for right now i desperately need to finish my schoolwork #so goodbye again #dnf #analysis #my post

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waywardwrestlewritingwaif · 3 years ago

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Death Match

Well, here it is, my first attempt at a GCW fanfic. (Second one is probably coming very shortly.) Thanks to the lovely anon who iencouraged me to try this. Hope you like.

Pairing: Atticus Cogar x OFC

Word count: 3,678

Content advisory: graphic violence, sexual content, language

The crowd is so hot for you, which helps quell your nerves a little. You’ve done deathmatches before. You’ve fought men before. You’re on a hot streak right now, so there’s more attention on you but you’ve got the smarts and experience to deliver. You take a few moments to pose and get the crowd even more behind you as your music swells and fades. The sound of the cheering is more powerful than any drug you’ve ever tried.

Of course, you couldn’t be the beloved baby face that you are tonight without the heel to balance you. The second his music hits, it’s like the crowd doubles in size. The boos rise up like a swarm of locusts and just hang in the air. Man, do they hate him. They hate him like he burned their city to the ground.

The second Atticus Cogar shows his face, the noise gets so loud you can’t even hear his music anymore. He glances around with contempt, looking every but the snot-nosed punk he really is, and heads straight to the ring. You could kill him tonight and every single person in this audience would cover for you. You’d kind of like to kill him.

The ring is already littered with some weapons: chairs, mostly, a couple of thick curtain rods, some lighting tubes, and an ominous-looking toolbox. You can’t help wondering if that’s an actual box of tools that someone left there by accident. It would be pretty hilarious if the night ended with some poor guy washing blood and god knows what else off the items he literally needs to do his job. You just hope it’s not all your blood.

You pace a little, stretching out your arms as he takes his sweet ass time getting into the ring. It helps with the nervous knots. You’ve got this. You know you can do this. Done it before and done it well.

He’s in his own corner now, slowly removing the stiff collared shirt he always wears to the ring. Pretentious, uptight little shit. Finally, he turns around, sneering at the audience that is already screaming for you to fuck him up. You grin and raise your arms but you know better than to take your eyes off him.

The ring announcer starts to do the honors.

“The following match is scheduled for one fall. There is no time limit and no disqualifications…”

The two of you approach each other as both of your stats are called.

“Finally found a way to get your hands on me,” he smirks.

And therein lies the problem.

Yes, he’s an egotistical bastard with a sadistic streak but he’s also right. You do want him and not just in the ring. You have for months as the two of you have been moving through the same indie circuit together, always on the same shows but never facing off. You suspect that the lust is mutual but he’s good at hiding whatever he’s thinking behind that obnoxious front, so you can never be sure. His attitude makes you want to break his back. But then you’d want to roll him over and climb on top.

The bell rings but he makes no attempt to approach you. He stands still with his head tilted and that infuriating sneer on his irritatingly attractive face.

“Try not to give up too quickly,” he teases. “We want to give these assholes a bit of a show.”

You pretend to laugh shuffling around a little. He outweighs you by twenty-five pounds, give or take, and has five or six inches of height on you. If you try to overpower him, you’re doomed. No, you’re going to have to rely on your brains and speed. You move just a little, enough that your body hides what you’re doing with your hand. He’s so convinced that he’s going to win that he’s not watching you carefully enough, doesn’t perceive your hand curling around the metal chair that’s leaning against the ropes behind you.

You even give him a little smile just before you make one quick move and hurl the chair right into his face. It doesn’t hit him hard but it does the trick. He throws his arms up to block and that gives you the chance to hit a running kick right into his solar plexus, knocking him back into the corner and off his feet so you can jump in for the kill.

You land on him, raining down as many forearm strikes as you can. What you lack in power you make up for in quantity. If you can hit him enough, he’s going to be too punch-drunk to counter you. At a point, you have to stop just because swinging your arm at full strength is taking the air out of you and hurting your arm. It’s just a second but you glance down and see his hateful eyes staring up at you. And even though you’ve been in this position with dozens of opponents, this is the first time you realize that it’s a perspective you normally only get in bed, straddling someone and watching them underneath you. His nostrils flare a little as if he’s thinking the same thing but you’ve given him a crucial break and when you pull your arm back to hit him again, he grabs a fistful of your hair and slams your head into the corner post.

Now you’re the one who’s dazed and he slithers out from under you, locking his arms around your waist and flipping you backwards without even standing up. Immediately, you feel a blunt pain in your back and it takes you a moment to realize you’ve landed on the stupid chair that’s still lying in the middle of the ring. You roll just enough to dodge his boot as he tries to stomp down on you but he recovers enough to give you a sharp kick to the ribs.

After a strong start, this has gotten away from you, so you roll out of the ring to regroup, looking up just in time to sidestep as he dives right through the ropes at you, crashing and burning as the audience separates like the red sea, cheering as he hits the floor. No point in waiting, so even though your side still hurts a lot you grab him by his shirt and pull him to his feet to get him back in the ring.

He has enough in him to hit one blow, nowhere near full strength but enough that he can overpower you and push you hard against the ring apron, your aching ribs absorbing most of the impact. He barges into you to injure them further, crushing you into the edge of the ring. Your eyes meet again as your bodies grind together and you’re almost certain you see a flicker of lust pass over him.

At the exact same moment, you both rake each other’s eyes and spring apart, yelping like dogs. You’re able to get one hand on the bottom rope, which allows you to pull yourself back in the ring. Son of a bitch scratched you right on the eyeball so you can barely see, but it’s enough for you to make out his form crawling back into the ring. He charges at you but he’s clearly not able to see either, so you’re able to pick up the chair and slam it into what you hope is his head.

Regardless, he drops and it gives you the chance to rub your eyes a little so you can get a handle on what’s going on. He's on the ground, trying to push himself up and as you approach, you’re pleased to see that you’ve opened up a cut above his left eyebrow. Grinning, you grab a handful of his hair and pull him up so that he’s forced to look at you from his knees.

“You look good like that,” you taunt.

He punches you in the thigh, not enough to knock you over but you know right away you’re going to have a nasty bruise there in the morning. The slight wobble in your stance allows him to grab your arm and snap it behind your back, twisting it painfully as he pushes you face-first into the canvas and lands on top of you.

“Why don’t you just tap out so we can go back to the hotel and I can give you what you really want,” he whispers harshly.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you gasp, the air getting pressed out of you as you writhe, trying to force your way out from under him by bucking your hips back into his.

He thrusts back against you just a little, but it’s enough for you to get some leverage and force him back. He gets an arm around your neck but you roll over so that it’s his shoulders pinned to the mat. The ref counts two and he’s forced to release you to avoid the loss.

The two of you scramble backwards, away from each other but still staring, panting. The crowd is making a ton of noise but it all kind of blends together. There’s no one else here right now, just you and him. He gives a devilish smile as he unfolds one of the chairs and stands it up in the center of the ring. What the hell is he up to? You see him get to his feet and move towards you so you lunge at him.

You realize just a split second too late that you’ve fallen into a trap as he intercepts you and locks an arm around your neck, slamming your head into the chair so hard you bounce right off it.

“Oh you’re dead,” you snarl at him, barely able to register that it’s you talking.

“You fight like a little girl.”

Once again, you slide outside the ring and lift the apron to see what you can find there, a couple of doors that always seem to be on hand for these matches. You grab one but you have to keep an eye on what he’s doing, so it’s awkward and you know you’re wasting precious time.

He jumps down on the floor and grabs the other side of the door. You struggle to get it away from him but it’s useless. If he lets go too quickly you’ll fall over under your own momentum.

“Bitch, we both want the same thing!” he yells.

You’re about to retort but he cuts you off.

“We both want to use these things.” He shakes the wooden plank a little. “Let’s just get them in the ring and we’ll figure out how to fuck each other up after.”

“Still thinking about fucking me?” you gloat.

However, you have to admit he’s right, so you work together to throw one door and then another into the ring. As you grab the second one, you both see something else under there. The glint along its edges is unmistakable. Cutting a quick, excited glance at each other, you make the decision at the same time. Hell yeah, let’s do this. You reach under the ring and take out the pristine sheet of glass, lifting it with surprising delicacy and pushing it onto the canvas. This is going to be grotesque.

You slide back in under the bottom rope, both on your stomachs, eyes locked, breathing rapid. The crowd is roaring. They want blood. Together, you place the glass in one corner, then each of you takes a door to lean against other corners. You glance away for just a second to steady the panel and out of the corner of your eye you see him drop what he’s doing and run for you at top speed. You notice just in time to move and he crashes right through the wood, landing in a heap.

“Too eager,” you grunt, dragging him back enough that you can roll him up, your upper body between his legs, dangerously close.

One… two… the fucker kicks out, smacking his crotch right into your face.

He moves quickly to get to his feet, which puts you in an awkward position. if he jumps at you, he’ll flatten you. If you swing at him, there’s a good chance you’re too gassed to exert the force you’d need to take him off his feet. It’s still the better option, so you run forward and drive your forearm into his head, dragging it with all your might against the cut on his face, making it wider and bloodier. Red drops roll onto your arm.

“That all you got?” he hisses, pushing his face so close that you can’t see anything else.

“All you’re getting.”

“Keep pretending. You’re not worth the effort to take my dick out.”

You give him a push because you have to get him away from you or you really are going to have a meltdown and try to tear his clothes off. It’s a hard push but you’re surprised when he drops down to one knee. You take one step forward and are clocked right upside the head with the goddamn toolbox. It’s empty, thankfully, but it’s still more than enough to knock you senseless and he tackles you to the ground, trapping your legs between his and pinning your wrists to the mat.

It’s an awkward hold because while his grip is painful, it’s not effective. Every time the ref goes to count, you’re able to lift a shoulder. He’s too strong and too heavy for you to escape and if he leaned down on your shoulders, you’d be done for. But he’s just staring at you like a wild animal, as if the match isn’t happening at all.

“I’m gonna break you in half,” he whispers.

You strain and push your head up a little, moving your lips as if you’re about to speak. He moves a little closer, just close enough for you to sink your teeth into his bottom lip. He roars and jumps back but you’re still dazed and he’s able to grab you by the hair and propel you forward into the second door, head first.

The fucking thing doesn’t break. You absorb every bit of the impact and you literally see stars. Instinct forces you up to your feet but you’re way too disoriented to mount any sort of offense. Atticus locks his arms around your stomach from behind, holding you so tight you can barely get any breath in. He pushes one fist up into the ribs you’d injured at the beginning of the match and the pain is so much you can barely move. You’re desperately trying to get free but even with the voices of the crowd willing you on, you can barely move. He keeps constricting, pulling you back against him.

As you struggle in vain, you realize, even in your dazed state, that you can feel the outline of his hardened cock against your ass. The more you fight, the more you can feel him getting turned on and you inadvertently let out a very sexual moan. He presses his head close and kisses your cheek.

“I love you too, babe,” he jeers.

He drags you over to the ropes, flinging you over the bottom one. You try to crawl over it but he grabs your head and presses it down so that your throat is getting crushed against the cable. You move as best you can but he straddles your back, pinning you in position with his legs so that your arms are strung, useless, over the rope. He keeps his hand knotted in your hair and out of the corner of your eye you see his free hand go to his pocket. Your heart sinks. You know exactly what’s about to happen.

He presses a handful of sharpened skewers against your scalp and removes his hand from your hair. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before he hammers down on the skewers, driving them into your scalp. It takes you a minute to realize that the noise you hear is your own voice screaming in pain. he steps back to enjoy his handiwork, a cruel smile on his lips as you turn around, streams of blood already trickling down your face and neck as you try desperately to get the tiny spears out of your head.

Some fall out on their own and you’re able to swat others loose but you’re in no position to defend yourself as he grabs you from behind once again and lifts you up, throwing you back with a massive suplex, right through the pane of glass you’d helped him put in place.

You know you’ve lost. You’ve got shards of glass all over you, inside your gear and covering your skin. There are still skewers in your head. There’s blood coming out of about eight different parts of you. Instinctively, you cover your face with your hands, partly wanting to protect your eyes and partly because you don’t want to see what’s about to happen. And then…

Nothing.

You lower your hands a little, wondering if he hurt himself on that last move but he’s already getting to his feet, a little unsteadily, yes, but he’s not bleeding any more than he was before and he isn’t showing any signs of injury. He’s just standing there, staring at you with an expression you can’t read, somewhere between surprise and confusion. This staredown seems to go on for a long time, long enough that a hush falls over the crowd. They don’t know what’s happening either.

Your right arm drops. You have a gash on your bicep that’s bleeding profusely. As your hand hits the ground, you feel something there. One of the curtain rods that’s been in the ring the whole time. Atticus looks down and shakes his head a little, like he’s trying to clear the cobwebs. Unbelievable.

You grab hold of the curtain rod and struggle to your feet. You aren’t too quick but when he looks up, he doesn’t move. This is it. One shot. You get that crazy burst of adrenaline that only comes when you feel like your life is literally in danger and god knows that with this guy, it could be. You swing the pole with all your might, crashing it into his stomach and dropping him with a sick thud.

He’s on his hands and knees, struggling not to vomit from the force. You doubt he has much idea what’s going on and take your chance, grabbing him by the arm and hoping you have enough adrenaline left to lift him up just enough to drop him on his smug face in the pool of broken glass behind you.

It’s at the last minute that you see his other hand grab hold of one of the light tubes and immediately you panic. You cannot take another faceful of glass. You can’t. You drop his arm and without thinking, you stomp down on his hand, shattering the tube and driving his palm down into it.

He shrieks in pain and immediately you see a red stain spreading all around his hand. You know you need to act, you need to pin him or choke him or something but you can’t. For the first time in your career, you’re horrified at something you’ve done. It’s not until he glares back at you that you even come to your senses.

“Don’t pussy out now,” he mutters.

You drop to your knees behind him, locking one arm over his face and the other under his arm so that you’re wrenching his neck back. Once again, he screams from the pain and you think he’s done but then he bites down on the inside of your arm with all his force. You can feel his incisors tearing into your flesh. You know you can’t hold on much longer so you crank back on his neck, driving your knee into his back so that he can’t get air in but the bastard won’t let up on your arm. If he can roll himself over a little, it’s going to be your shoulders on the mat.

“Fuck you!” you holler. “I fucking hate you!”

But you don’t mean it. And you stupidly hope he knows that.

You can feel yourself getting dizzy from blood loss, your strength draining out along with it. The angle you have him trapped, he must be in agony, but the pain from that bite is quickly growing unbearable. And just as you’re about to break, you see it. He pounds his hand repeatedly on the mat, leaving a bloody stain with every strike. He’s tapping out.

“That’s it! It’s over!” The ref calls and you hear the metal ring of the bell just as you collapse onto your back.

You’re supposed to stand up, take in the adulation of the crowd, but you can’t move. The sound of your breath going in and out is alarmingly loud. Your curtain call can wait.

Likewise, it’s customary for the loser to just roll out of the ring and slink backstage but Atticus isn’t moving either. He’s flat on his stomach and as you tilt your head to look, he’s staring right back at you. For a second, you’re not even sure that he’s conscious.

Your hands are so close, close enough that just relaxing your fingers a little bridges almost the entire distance. Straightening his fingers slightly, he’s able to bridge the rest. You’re barely touching, just the tips of your trembling hands. You’re both covered in rapidly drying blood, your own and each other’s, just trying to get enough air to stay conscious.

“Stupid asshole,” you murmur, barely able to summon the strength to move your lips, “you could have pinned me.”

He exhales heavily and gives the faintest of smiles. “I’d had enough foreplay. Figured we should move on to the good stuff.”

#wrestling fanfiction #atticus cogar imagine #atticus cogar fanfiction #gcw fanfiction #wayward wrestle writing

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castthy-nightedcolour · 4 years ago

Text

One- Shot: A Different Side (written as part of my series ‘don’t worry about a thing’ on AO3, link can be found at the bottom of the post as it won’t let me embed it)

Fandom: Good Omens

Characters: GN Reader, Crowley, a very annoying mouse

Warnings and Tags: snakes, animal death/ harm, swearing, uh oh we have a pest control problem, snake crowley, comfort , are they aren’t they

Summary: mouse traps, a skip full of rubbish and a broken down bus. not exactly your dream day, but your favourite demonic entity has a trick up his sleeve and behind his glasses to help you.

Word Count: 2778

Link to original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31055930/chapters/81050182

If there was one word to describe your mood, that word would be vile. Tiny little irritants throughout the day had built to a simmering anger:

-Firstly, your bus into town had broken down about ten minutes away from your stop, meaning that you were forced to trek your way to the shops.

-Secondly, your trip to said shops wasn’t for any kind of retail therapy, but was instead to buy mouse traps. Your usually serene flat had been taken over by a little grey rodent who despite any humane efforts, was refusing to leave. You weren’t usually one for violence towards any living thing, but the little shit was out staying its welcome and had most recently been seen taking a bite out of a loaf of bread.

-When you did eventually get into town, it seemed to be the day for the world’s slowest walkers to take to the streets. Everyone was moving at about two steps per minute and you, being naturally speedy, were constantly waiting for gaps on the pavement to overtake. When you did manage to do this, there would be a whole new couple walking side by side, plodding along at a snail’s pace. You weren’t getting anywhere quick.

All in all, not your finest hour. This all came to a head on Oxford Street, or as you liked to call it, hell.

Your brain felt as though it were made of jelly, your temperature was rising, and someone stopped right in the middle of the street to check their phone. Slamming right into the back of them, you immediately let out something resembling a howl before running to your side off down Old Cavendish Street, somewhere slightly quieter. You leaned against the nearest wall, hot anger bubbling within you for what at the time, seemed like a life or death scenario of you getting out of town with the mousetraps, but in retrospect was just the culmination of various shitty things.

The last thing which you wanted to hear was any sign that you were being perceived, but a teenage boy riding past you on a bike shouting an obnoxious ‘WAHEYYYY’ at you was enough to tip you over the edge. You bashed your head back on the wall, feeling acid tears of anger falling, pedalled down your face by your short temper. Then, another shout came towards you from across the street.

‘Y/N? Is that you?’

You were ready to push yourself off the wall to lunge at this person until your brain caught up with recognition. Tilting your head forwards, your suspicions were confirmed when you saw floppy, ginger hair bouncing over the street atop a leather-clad frame. The sunglasses perched on his nose brought you a feeling somewhere between relief and fear.

You and Crowley had a relationship which can only be described as ‘are they? Aren’t they?’

You sure as hell couldn’t tell if he had any romantic feelings for you, and he gave off vibes so mixed that they were jumbled by this point. People always commented on the electricity between the two of you whenever you were together, but you tried not to get your hopes up and usually just put this down to his magnetising nature.

He’d told you about himself, and you thought that he must have trusted you somewhat to be able to disclose that he was a demon to you.

Then again, maybe he was just overly confident.

In the state you were currently in, you couldn’t decide whether to run into his arms to scream, or run as quickly away from him as was physically possible.

Your body chose neither and just stood there, open mouthed and gawking as the tears continued to fall with no effort from your eyelids. Crowley examined you, peering over the top of his sunglasses to try and decipher the scene before him.

‘Don’t tell me someone’s upset you, because I will find them for you, Y/N’ he started, rearing himself up as he spoke. You jumped in.

‘No, no. Not upset. I swear. Just… pissed off. Massively, massively pissed off. Short fuse today, y’see.’

‘Oh. Well, I know all about that. I’m quick to anger at any given moment but then again, ‘s in my nature. What exactly are you doing down here?’

You looked to your side at the gigantic skip full of building waste, then down to your feet where someone’s puke sat. You looked back up to the demon.

‘It was a quick escape, one that was made before I slapped someone in the face.’

Crowley looked slightly taken aback, not expecting any expression of violence from you considering your usually placid nature.

‘Ooookay. Well, I won’t ask for details but, here.’ He leaned over slightly and brushed away some of the tears which were still running down your face. You could swear that you both stopped breathing for a moment as he touched you but then again, you weren’t in a fit state for rational thinking.

‘Thank you,’ you breathed out. ‘I’m all good, I promise. Just need to breathe.’ You gave a reassuring smile to the demon and noticed him looking down to your hand, holding a flimsy plastic bag containing the mouse traps.

‘What you got there? Looks interesting.’ He said, tilting his head to try and get a closer look. You brought the bag up to your chest.

‘Oh, mouse traps. There’s a little shit thinking that he owns my flat who’s probably currently in my bread bin. Thought I’d stop the problem while I could, considering there’s that saying about seeing mice. Y’know, for every mouse you see, there’s always another one somewhere. Can’t wait to clean that up!’ Your words had somewhat of a bite, being spat like venom.

‘Woah. You really are pissed, aren’t you?’ Crowley responded, half smirking. For some reason, this set you off again.

‘Yes. Yes, actually I am. Because y’know what? This day has been fucking horrific! I genuinely don’t think that I’ve had two consecutive minutes of peace since the second I woke up. I can’t relax because of the mouse, then there was the bus, and the walking, and the pain in my feet, and the twat who decided to check his phone in the middle of Oxford Street. Sorry, who the hell does that? I just feel like I’ve been left out of any plans that the universe had to let people go about their day without a care in the world. So yes, I’m fuming.’ You gave a huff before realising that you were now crying again. Crowley stood slightly dumbstruck, shifting his weight between his feet. You glanced off to the side, watching the shoppers propel themselves down Oxford Street.

The demon then spoke, his voice low and sincere.

‘Can I give you a lift?’

—

After what felt like a windswept journey in the Bentley, Crowley screeched to a halt outside your flat. Jolting forwards slightly, the plastic bag containing the mouse traps crinkled between your legs.

You’d calmed down quite significantly, but now felt a combination of complete embarrassment that you’d had such an outburst in front of the being that you completely adored, and absolute excitement that he’d even offered you a lift. This wasn’t helped when you heard him say,

‘Let me walk you upstairs. Check that you’re okay.’

You felt fizzy, and as the two of you trudged up to your flat, you felt as though you could lift off any second. As you unlocked your front door, Crowley leaned on the doorframe, peering in to the hallway as you threw your bag on the floor. You suddenly regretted this as when the bag hit the floor, there was a scuttle from under your bedroom door, and the little mouse took one giant sprint off towards the kitchen. You screamed in shock as the little bastard took itself away, and Crowley grabbed onto your arm. This made you jump for a second time.

‘Woah woah there, calm down. It’s just a little mouse, we’ll sort this,’ Crowley sweetly spoke, lulling your heart back to a slightly normal rate. You looked down to his arm resting on yours and couldn’t help but smile slightly.

Crowley had a look on his face which would have read from ten miles away as one with a scheme brewing.

‘Look Y/N, I’m going to do something here which I don’t do very often, and all I’m asking is that you don’t freak out,’ the demon announced.

You couldn’t help but make a sarcastic joke.

‘What’s that then, the housework?’ Smirking, you looked up at Crowley who glared at you through his sunglasses.

‘Fine, you don’t need my help!’ He huffed, obviously taking the piss but you couldn’t help but tease him back into good spirits.

‘No no, sorry Crowley. What have you got for me?’

‘Snake.’

You stood there for a second, trying to make any sense of what he just said and burning up slightly as you wondered if this was perhaps his way of flirting.

‘A… a snake? You have a snake?’

‘Yes. Well, no. Well… yes. Look it’s complicated, can I just show you?’

Uh oh. Maybe this was him flirting.

You thought for a second before hearing an almighty crash from the kitchen, and from down the hallway you saw an entire loaf of bread fall to the ground, followed by a small army of mice. Again, you let out a scream as Crowley slammed the door shut behind the both of you.

‘How fucking many are there now?!’ You exclaimed, turning to face Crowley who was now quickly shifting between his feet. He suddenly grabbed your shoulders.

‘Look Y/N, tell me quick, do you have a phobia?’

‘Of mice? I think that’s pretty evident Crow-‘

‘No, of snakes. Are you scared of snakes?’

‘What is it with you and these snakes?’ You laughed. The demon then stood dead still and stared right at you.

‘Stay still. Don’t freak out please. I promise this will help.’

Before you knew it, Crowley’s hands had disappeared off your shoulders and he seemed to disappear entirely from before you. Confused, you looked down at the floor.

What you saw took your breath away for what felt like forever.

Rows and rows of black scales suddenly lined your hallway, flowing from side to side as the form made its way towards the kitchen. This didn’t take long, considering the snake’s body seemed to run on forever, there must have been at least 10 metres of the creature occupying your apartment.

You’d never really considered Crowley’s powers before. While you were aware that he was a demon, this thought didn’t control your every interaction with him. He was just Crowley- your friend Crowley- your possibly more than a friend Crowley- your Crowley. Shapeshifting had never been part of the picture.

But it was so, so beautiful.

Moving.

And snakes were never your favourite but this was just something else.

Squeals of mouse terror came from the kitchen as a massive shadow rose up throughout the whole apartment. Crowley was sitting up on his body, his head pointed towards any mouse that he could detect and a razor sharp stare in his luminescent eyes.

Your favourite part of this whole scenario was laying on the floor in front of you- Crowley’s sunglasses, sans Crowley for the first time ever. You smiled as you bent down to pick them up, your feet planted to the spot due to the inherently overwhelming nature of what was happening. You ran your fingers over the frames feeling the heat that was stored in them.

There was something so human about the lingering warmth to the metal, but that thing that made it so distinctively Crowley was the fact that the heat never seemed to fade.

The floor seemed to move as the scales once again shifted, with Crowley turning round to come back towards you. Cold fear seized your entire body, despite the oddly comforting and protective energy of this gigantic creature. His yellow eyes were right in front of your face before you’d even managed to properly react to him moving towards you.

You blinked and the Crowley that you knew and … ahem… was standing in front you, a live mouse swinging from his hand by the tail.

‘Consider those rodents dispatched.’

The mouse in his hand was thrashing wildly from side to side and while you hated the little shits, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. You went to protest but no words came out of your mouth.

You’d just witnessed something- something that couldn’t exactly be described as a miracle but to you- maybe?

Crowley noticed the panic in your eyes directed towards the mouse and realised what he needed to do. The mouse disappeared in another of your blinks.

There were so many pressing questions on your mind, but you only managed to actually articulate one of them.

‘Please tell me you didn’t eat those mice, Crowley?’ Your tone was somewhere between intrigue and massive concern.

The demon scoffed, ‘I prefer oysters normally, Y/N. No, I didn’t eat them. I can assure you though, they won’t be back any time soon.’

Palpable silence hung between the two of you. You naturally seemed to hold out Crowley’s sunglasses to him, staring directly into the eyes which served as a reminder of his other form as you did so.

Crowley went to slowly take the glasses off you, but in a snap decision, you snatched them back. Crowley wasn’t exactly thrilled by this.

‘Hey, don’t play games with those. They’re my-‘

He didn’t stand a chance of finishing his sentence before you jumped in, with your subconscious mind taking a grasp on your mouth. Maybe this was a trick of Crowley’s, but at least some of it came from your heart.

‘Do it again. Turn back.’

The two of you stared at each other as a smirk took over the demon’s face.

‘Really? It seemed to terrify you, dearest.’

The cockiness in his voice only persuaded you to carry on pushing.

‘Not at all! No no, it was just... well it was a shock at first. Obviously. Like who the hell else can do that? But no, not terror. It’s intrigue. I swear.’

You made sure to assert yourself in your voice as your brain convinced you that you would never rest again unless Crowley turned back into a snake. It was almost like the sheer shock had morphed into utter obsession in a matter of seconds.

And maybe you just adored every part of Crowley and him being vulnerable in showing a new side to you? Well...

Again, you blinked and he was gone for a moment, before the black reptile rose up to meet your gaze. He hadn’t continued to question you.

The presence was unexplainable, physically so big in the space but even just the idea of him just seemed to fill up every corner of the place. Moving the sunglasses into your right hand, you tentatively raised up your left.

‘Can... may I? Can I touch?’ You softly asked, mimicking a petting action in the air. Somehow, Crowley let you know that it was okay, pulling your hand towards him with some kind of magnetising energy.

Your fingers lightly brushed the scales on his head and you took a breath so deep you almost triggered hiccups. The texture was confusing, it almost seemed like it was shifting forms by the second- smooth then rough, hard then feather soft, but still always cool as marble. You fully rested your hand down as you glanced along the entire body, once again filling up the entire hallway.

‘Crowley, this is beautiful. I mean that.’ You whispered, transfixed on what you were seeing.

Then, the unimaginable happened. Your hand which had ended up resting on the snake’s head suddenly felt warm.

Was... was he blushing? You decided to test the water slightly more.

‘I didn’t even imagine that anything could be so magnificent but, well. Here you are. So gorgeous.’

Sure enough, another flush felt through your hand.

‘Crowley, are you blushing?’ You giggled. The heat on his face then took another rise, this time enough to hurt you slightly. You drew your hand away instinctually, but with a smile still on your face.

This was now a day worth noting. The day that started with a mouse in a bread bin and some unfortunately placed anger, and ended as the day that you made a snake blush.

And of course, he made you blush too.

A new side of Crowley. One that you couldn’t help but adore.

#good omens one shot #good omens #good omens x reader #crowley x reader #snake crowley #good omens fanfic #reader insert

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