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crystallizedkingdoms · 1 year ago

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all the posts youve tagged as igsi have created SUCH an interesting portrait!!! if you ever want to talk about him, please take this as an invitation!!

sending this ask is like hand-feeding me crack cocaine. I WILL utilize this invitation i will tell you this man’s fucking life now. under the cut because this gets extremely long but tl;dr for anyone else: Igsi is my angry dog coded character who hates authority and will NOT respect gods (even though he ends up dating one)

OKAY so to start off. Igsivalitaq “Igsi” Anderson is a guy from my original story Ittuatuq and I’ve written a few things for it but I never actually wrote anything with him, though I should Really Change That. he’s one of the main antagonists in the second book/season (I section off Ittuatuq into books/seasons cuz im insane), but over time he becomes part of the main protagonist cast instead.

so, backstory: Igsi grew up in Iqaluit, Nunavut. He lives with his mother and father, but also an anthropologist named Roland Lawrence who’s lived there most of Igsi’s life(not important now but later), and as he grew up he started getting into trouble with authority, even at a young age. at first it started with petty domestic stuff, like acting out for attention at home or teasing classmates, but over time it started really escalating into getting into trouble with the law with crimes like theft, trespassing, underage drinking cuz of good ol undiagnosed mental illness. he specifically starts running into trouble with one RCMP officer in particular, Officer Nakasuk.

so, Igsi obviously starts to form a grudge against him, and he starts to repeatedly antagonize the Officer specifically. in turn, the Officer and Igsi’s parents set him up with the Officer’s mother, who we just call Mentor. the Mentor starts Igsi on a very spiritual path towards healing and also lowkey teaching him about being a whole ass angakkuq in the hopes that this makes him stop being such a troubled kid. and while Igsi does actually get very, very interested in traditional spirituality and does end up liking the mentor and wanting to be a full-fledged angakkuq, his troubles with the law still get worse.

this all REALLY comes to a head just after he turns 18. the night Igsi gets released after a gruelling inpatient treatment that really left him frustrated, he and the Officer really come to a head. theyre alone and it’s a dark winter so they’re really saying like the shittiest things possible. one thing leads to another, Officer Nakasuk threatens Igsi with a stun gun, Igsi’s frustrations of being treated like shit for his entire life for things he never got Actual help for while being consistently incarcerated by the people who have authority over him finally overflows, and… oops! Igsi utilizes his angakkuq power andddd the Officer is dead.

THIS is where the dog coding really kicks in because it’s like. oh my god, he killed a person. he has fought and injured people, yes, but he has never actually killed someone. and he’s an adult, there is no juvie waiting for him, its Real Prison, and while he has hated the Officer for breaking his community apart, he’s still law enforcement. this shit is going to ruin him. so… he runs! he runs away with practically zero preparation, into the very dangerous tundra wilderness in the dead of winter. and he essentially just becomes a stray dog, living on scraps while a part of him desperately wishes he could return home and curl up in the lap of his parents, but he KNOWS he can’t do that.

but at the same time he refuses to believe that what he did was wrong. that he’s done what should have been done long ago, that he DESERVED to bite the way he did, because goddamn it, he was horribly oppressed by a system that was created to subjugate people like him, and he will never be the boy he was again, and isnt that enough to prove it was worth it? its during this exile that he really feels dejected by the entire world, from controlling human society and uncaring spiritual society, that he’s like Fuck it, whatever happens to me, i dont care, i will never follow anyone’s orders ever again.

anyway. hes about to die in the tundra due to hypothermia (lmao) when he encounters a spirit made of flame. this spirit is a tuurngaq, an auxiliary spirit that angakkuit can bond their souls to and gain extraordinary power, named Paliq. Paliq is a whole other can of worms lol but essentially, the two of them have very similar ideals in regards to authority and being controlled, so they make a deal: they can bond, Paliq will keep Igsi warm and protect him from then on, but in return Igsi cannot treat Paliq like a regular tuurngaq and they must act like a team, not with no orders or subordinates. which Igsi is like okay yeah perfect.

this however does Not solve the fact that Igsi is wanted and also starving OOPS. so one way or another, Igsi ends up returning to Iqaluit, and obviously he’s fucking arrested. and while Igsi and Paliq are planning to find a way to escape and leave the country (its a terrible plan), guess what. it’s that fucking anthropologist in the beginning didn’t expect THAT. and he’s like Listen Igsi. youre a good man if a bit misguided. I can get you out of this situation to the best of my ability, but in return you have to tell me about what your mentor has taught you, and also tell me about your new friend. because turns out, while this anthropologist joined Igsi’s family to study poverty and culture in Inuit families, he ended up getting really obsessed with the “lost” art of traditional angakkuit so now he wants access to it.

Igsi agrees, the court proceedings go surprisingly well bc Lawrence has the money to provide Igsi with a good lawyer, and Igsi gets off with manslaughter. so he still does time but like, better than second degree. and while Igsi has obviously lost the trust from his Mentor for killing her son, he still has a lot of angakkuit knowledge that he starts to provide for Lawrence, and while Lawrence is very careful to make the whole transaction seem very equal bc they’ve known each other for so long and he knows Igsi’s deal with authority, he basically has Igsi on a leash and is using him as a working dog isnt that FUCKED. I love it.

this goes on until “present day” in the story (which actually takes place in 2030 cuz im insane), where Igsi is finally off of prison. and Lawrence is like hey I’ve got word from two reputable angakkuuk (the protagonist’s, Piqati’s, parents) that theres actually a super small hamlet in the middle of buttfuck nowhere where a living god resides and is basically a bastion for power and spirits. come with me and we can go there and you can basically do whatever the fuck you want there forever and i get to pursue my studies (unlimited power but Igsi doesn’t know that). and Igsi is like Fuck Yeah let’s go.

SO. NOW HES LOOSE. he enters Ittuatuq and immediately starts antagonizing the fuck out of everyone in there, but especially Piqati and his friends. WHICH IS INSANE. BC THEYRE 18 YEARS OLDS WHO ARE STILL IN SCHOOL and at this point Igsi is 24 it’s like. he’s beefing with high schoolers and he’s very pathetic about that. But what i reallyyyy wanna focus on is his interaction with a certain character: Airaq, the VERY beloved bear deity of Ittuatuq.

HIS DYNAMIC WITH AIRAQ IS SOOO. RRAUURAGH if you love dog coding and religious doubt then this is it this is the place. at first Igsi starts pursuing Airaq because he’s kind of very into the whole challenge of getting with a deity and the fact that Airaq seems so pure and beloved on the outside. so it starts out with very casual flings and hook ups, but over time as the plot moves on Igsi starts getting really attached to Airaq and it’s like. oh shit. now all of a sudden he feels himself getting wrapped around a god’s finger, instinctively doing what Airaq says (the whole fucking “call your dog off” dynamic), and oh god, is this going against his ideals? what does it mean that he’s falling in love with a god?

so yeah. dog metaphors, religious metaphors, and crazy insane power dynamics all about. also stupid crazy faggot sex but thats not what you asked for and i wont embarrass myself elaborating here LMAO.

OKAY THIS GOT VERY LONG. and i could honestly do this for hours but this is, believe it or not, just a brief overview of him and i barely even got into the main plot. if you or anyone who is reading this wants anything more specific then please feel free to ask and ill go even deeper. god i really need to actually start writing him cuz im obsessed with him genuinely.

thank you for asking this if you read all of this my dear mutual sworcerie im kissing you square on the lips (or just high fiving you if that’s cooler)

(btw heres him all drawn by my gf)

#asks #sworcerie #mewfies #ittuatuq #i wrote so much that I legit have to rb this to my ittuatuq blog lol

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crimeronan · 2 years ago

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hi!!! do you have any writing or anything abt those characters nova, sol, devin, and ruby? im scrolling thru ur tags trying to figure out what their deal is lol

(also that luz + hunter qpr fic you wrote permanently changed my brain chemistry. thank you for putting it into the world. undoubtedly one of my fav owl house fics ive ever read)

oh thank you so much re: the owl house fic!! i love luz and hunter so Much and want to write like 100,000 more words about them

i don't have a whole lot of new snippets to post of the original fiction project but you can look thru my tag for it to see some notes and scenes drafted over the past ~3 years. granted, the project has evolved a lot since i started writing it, so plenty of stuff is no longer canon-accurate!

that said, it's been a while since i talked about these characters and the story they're in, so!

like most of my owl fics (and fics for other fandoms), it's a story that's largely about grief and chronic illness; it's also a story about power and what people do with it

without getting too heavily into plot spoilers, the main cast are:

sol (she/her): full name "winter solstice," certified loner bitch with very clear Issues. she has a stranglehold on the sex work industry in her fictional city in this fictional world & very little interest in ceding that power. she's originally from a place that has been blighted by famine & has a bunch of trauma from all kinds of sources, nowadays she only trusts two people in the entire world fully -- devin and ruby. also, she hates nova's guts and wants nova dead in the most grisly way possible.

ruby (she/her): full name "ruby sunrise," hails from the same place and cultural background as sol, shares her native language and her traditions. ruby cares more than sol about preserving both sides of her heritage & culture (she's biracial), and she's very invested in kindness and decency. what she wants more than anything is to leave a positive mark on the world, but she's lonely and lacks a lot of the support she needs. she loves both sol and devin fiercely.

devin (he/they/she): in pain pretty much constantly because of a chronic illness that's Supposed to be a "blessing"; they're a powerful magician who functions as the reincarnation of a god. this position comes with a lot of responsibilities and varying miseries. devin has made a lot of questionable choices in her quest for autonomy and for making the world better; nowadays she spends a lot of time helping sol do grisly crimes and trying to protect underprivileged people. all while knowing that their magic is a terminal autoimmune disease.

nova (she/her): like devin, she functions as the reincarnation/personification of a god. because of this, she and devin are fated soulmates, which she is determined to honor even though devin hates her and does not want to be her soulmate and has made no secret of that. she comes from a privileged background with an idyllic childhood, tons of adult support, and very little strife. she believes that the best thing that she can do is serve her purpose of preserving the status quo, and she's Extremely Vexed when people make this harder for her. also believes she can outrun the autoimmune part of her magic with yoga and jogging.

all four of them function in my usual sweet spot of "people who all kind of suck and are making kind of terrible terrible decisions, but who are also doing the best they can with what they have." and. i love them

#none of the characters have 1 to 1 analogues with fic characters But if i had to pick from my toh fic narration #ruby is most similar to luz; devin is most similar to darius probably; nova is most similar to... i think eda?? the flippancy and inability #to be serious. sol CERTAINLY doesn't have an analogue because she's decidedly worse than anyone in toh but i guess #she'd be most similar to hunter. except specifically defensive angry hunter saying the most vicious things possible #i've made jokes in the past about sol and belos having the same personality which. still holds up. thank god she doesnt have children #replies #they're all a lot more complex and have more complicated/messy relationships to each other than these summaries can cover #but this is the shape of it!#original fiction #original fiction triad

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go-to-the-mirror · 2 years ago

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headinhands

im not ready for threshold guys! im not! im really not! ive just woken up! oh god, whyyy why must i? it's not fair, it's not fair that i have to do this god damnit.

I'm in shambles and we haven't even started yet.

it's fine. it is fine. alright. lets just. go for it.

hi @a-mag-a-day, threshold time! Mostly rambling, always great words, if I tag it with meta, that means it's GREAT words. You know the drill.

I think it's really cool that this is a continuation/related to a season 1 statement. It really shows how much Jon's changed throughout the years.

He’s just a lonely old man looking for attention and trying to manipulate me into moving back in with him, even though I’ve told him so many times that that’s just not going to happen.

I just feel bad for both of them, both Paul and Marcus. How Paul's actually experiencing this, but Marcus is so... distrustful, for a good reason, that he doesn't believe Paul. That if it just happened a little sooner together then they'd have been able to help each other, but instead all they were able to do was make things worse.

Parallels to Jon and Helen or am I reading too much into it?

And I don’t like being manipulated. I don’t like being lied to.

The Spiral and The Web are pretty similar, you know. What with the whole gaslighting thing of The Spiral, make you doubt yourself, but that's also like manipulation, you know? Can I just gesture to Helen and Jon's whole thing as The Spiral also being a bit of a manipulation fear, because like... yea.

When I was thirteen, it was underneath a railway bridge. It was huge and metal this time, with solid iron bolts sealing it shut and a thick chain stretched across it. The warning stickers had long since peeled off, and someone had scrawled in chalk: ‘Warning: Danger of death.’ As I passed, something heavy began to bang on the other side, sending the chain dancing. It pounded again and again, and I didn’t know if it was trying to force its way out, or politely knocking, hoping to be let in.

Aaaa! Spooky! This statement is, yeah, it's scary, and really cool. I just nhhnhrnnh 10/10! it's so snazzy! This episode as a whole, mate, it's just great.

I was trying so hard to walk carefully, to seem like I wasn’t drunk, that I almost didn’t notice it until it was too late.

My drama teacher says that to act drunk you need to act like you aren't drunk. Like, act like you're acting like you're not drunk. You get it? I've never needed to act like I'm drunk so... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

He just wants me to move back in with him, and I can’t. I just can’t. Sometimes, you just have to leave, even if what’s on the other side scares you.

A mic-drop ending again, yay! God, the way the statements end are always so cool, this is one of the most cool ones.

I never thought I’d miss those days, when I could throw out some half-baked speculation about drug abuse or mental illness and, woosh, away all the statements went.

I'm fine okay, it's fucking fine. It's so fine, I'm so fine, like so fucking fine, so much fineness in me. It's like! For Paul MacKensie, he can say that, he can say there's too much that doesn't add up, and that he wants to believe it but can't, he can fucking say that.

But he can't say that about this, he's mag 41 too deep. PODDED CAST!

AAA

But no, almost every one of those statements, those people … That poor old man. Like I can talk. Like I’m in any position to mourn the suffering of the innocent.

So, I was looking through old dms to find my reactions to threshold, and I found something, not on a first listen but here it is:

Last night I was thinking about Jon's line in threshold "Like I can talk. Like I'm in any position to mourn the suffering of the innocent," and literally crying. And thinking about how yk none of the avatars see themselves as undeserving of what they got, right, none of them. And I'm sad about that. It is not only the innocent that suffer. I have so many feelings about Mike Crew now you don't even know girls when girls when (gender neutral) they have a years long villain arc and at the end of it they can't recognize their former self This is about Jon and Mike Crew and Helen and Jude Perry and Hh

(messages to mapleejay (follow it) on the 28th December, 2022)

But there is one thing I know an awful lot better now than I did when I read his father’s statement. I know an awful lot more about doors.

FUCK DUDE YOU SURE DO!

I love him so much.

HELEN You rang? ARCHIVIST Marcus MacKenzie. Why didn’t you tell me? HELEN Is that name supposed to mean something to me? ARCHIVIST No, I suppose it wouldn’t, would it? Just an old man and his son for you to terrorise and feast on.

AAAAAAA JSWDAESDAFIJA THIS THIS ALRIGHT LIKE-

Okay, Jon's fucked up, he has fucked up, but he remembers their names, right? He remembers them. Jess Tirrell. Floyd Matharu. The others that we don't know the names of. Absolutely not proportional, Jon why the fuck did you do that, but like, hey, at least they're still people to him.

Also... "why didn't you tell me?" This implies they've been talking enough for Helen to have told him, which does make sense, actually. I have headcanons post-131. Well, post-132, when Jon's not throwing himself in a coffin, you know?

HELEN Ah, well, the son I was pursuing long before I was even Michael. And technically, I didn’t eat the old man. He passed away from terror before I even got a chance to open properly. ARCHIVIST And his son? Marcus? He was fine when I found his father’s statement two years ago, but now, suddenly, I can’t get through to him. HELEN No, I imagine not. I decided it was time to finish that game a few months ago. ARCHIVIST You… Why?

He sounds so bloody frantic, and just... oh my god just the way he's speaking, frantic and horrified, should he have known that this is what he'd get when he befriended monsters.

Aaaaa threshold <333

HELEN Not sure. I suppose Helen didn’t have quite the same attachment to him as a project. I’m not quite as much for decades-long campaigns of subtle terror these days. ARCHIVIST That’s horrible. HELEN Is it? We do what we need to do when it comes to feeding, don’t we? … Don’t we, Archivist? ARCHIVIST (Softly) Yes.

SCRATCHING AT THE WALLS HNNHHNRNHR

OH MY GODD I DONT EVEN KNOW WHAT TO SAYYY IM JUST- AAAAAA SCREAMING CRYING SHAKING JON LIKE A CAT!

I had good words a while ago, again to @mapleejay

ME: To be fair the entire fandom's jon loosing their mind episodes are like the same (A Guest For Mr. Spider, Scrutiny, Can't even type scrutiny Uh the eye opens MAPLEEJAY: true ME: Feel like we as a society should be more obsessed with helen and jon MAPLEEJAY: relistening to the coming storm Again TRUEEE ME: And also whatever the hell eye contact was NO ONE TALKS ABOUT EITHER OF THEM AND HERE I AM ROTATING THEM IN MY BRAIN MAPLEEJAY: punching them beating them up /pos ME: Diversity loss! The distortion is a tory MAPLEEJAY: HAGAGDHQHD ME: But like also jokes aside oh my god them. Like hhhh - the new door where jon saw himself in helen and then helen IMMEDIATELY died - another twist where jon was about to die just like helen did and helen saved him (i actually never fucking saw- JUST LIKE HELEN DID [transcribers note: probably is drawing parallels between Jon almost dying to Michael, and Helen actually dying, and Helen being able to save Jon]) - taking stock where helen asks jon for help when SHE takes someone - threshold where JON goes to HELEN and HELEN (fuck why are they so similar) JON GOES TO HELEN BECAUSE SHE KILLED SOMEONE AND HELEN THROWS HIS VICTIMS BACK IN HIS FACE - a gravedigger's envy where theyRE BLOODY HHHHH WHY NO OK BECAUSE THE HELEN JON DAISY TRIO REFLECT OFF EACH OTHER AND I HATE THEM >:( - checking out WHICH IS IMMEDIATELY AFTER THE EPISODE WHERE MARTIN TALKS TO HIMSELF MIND AND IS LITERALLY THE MOST HONEST WE SEE HIM IN THE WHOLE SEASON LIKE NOT THAT HES LYING TO MARTIN BUT THAT HE'S NOT TRYING WITH HELEN *shaking them vigorously* fucking die

(10th January, 2023)

they. fuck them. god damnit, them <3

HELEN It would be better if you embraced it.

(MAG 146 - Threshold)

HELEN Oh Jon! This existence can be wonderful, if you just let it. ARCHIVIST (Sadly) I know.

(MAG 187 - Checking Out)

MARTIN Huh. She couldn’t help what she was, I guess. ARCHIVIST She didn’t even try.

(MAG 188 - Centre of Attention)

Jon and Helen ✨ feelings ✨

I have highlighted those specific lines together so much, like... they just fit. Throwing them at a wall.

ARCHIVIST Were you controlled? HELEN What a delightful thought. I don’t believe so, no, but the Spider’s strings are subtle, so I suppose it’s not impossible. Why? ARCHIVIST I want to know. Can The Web control another avatar, one that serves a different power? Make them do things they don’t want to. Make them find victims, feed. (Helen laughs.) HELEN Perhaps. Perhaps not. Would that make life easier for you? Are you so sure you didn’t want to? (Helen laughs again.)

[ID: CC!GoodTimesWithScar with his head in his hands. /End ID]

ARCHIVIST Been a while since you’ve all come to see me together. I assume it’s not good news.

It starts with him being all... sarcastic and stuff, and then he's like Oh Shit. Oh Fuck. Oh No.

ARCHIVIST And what exactly is on this t— Oh.

OH BOY! OH GOODIE!

oh boy...

BASIRA How many? ARCHIVIST Basira, I— BASIRA How many? ARCHIVIST Four. MELANIE Jesus. BASIRA Including the one on the boat? DAISY What one on the boat? ARCHIVIST Including Floyd, five. MELANIE Jesus.

Firstly, like great voice acting, all of them, all of them. Yeah... I'm not going to say the secondly :D

ARCHIVIST Jess Tirrell, the woman on the tape, she was the fourth. I’d just tried to… I was weak, ravenous. I didn’t feel… The first was a supermarket cleaner, ended up lost for a weak in an endless warehouse. I didn’t even… I just went in for some shopping and he was there and I just… asked. The second was… It was after I got stabbed by Melanie. MELANIE You are not putting this on me. ARCHIVIST No, that’s not what I meant. I was walking the streets; I thought I was trying to clear my head. DAISY But you were hunting. ARCHIVIST Apparently. And I found a woman who, every year on her birthday, wakes up in a fresh grave, just for her. DAISY And the third was after the coffin. ARCHIVIST A man rejected by all who knew him, searching ever darker places for love. When he told me his story, he started weeping maggots. BASIRA Enough. ARCHIVIST I hope so.

IM USUALLY PRETTY GOOD AT WORDING MY THOUGHTS OKAY JUST-

You know what, take a gander through annabelle--cane's tumblr, it has good words. I just sort of went through his tma tag for a while ajsjdjhfs.

BASIRA You’re a danger, Jon, a monster. You’re hurting innocent people. ARCHIVIST So did Daisy. BASIRA Shut up! It’s not the same thing at all!

Like, Basira what the fuck, she's just... she's all like oh wow daisy's better for resisting, meanwhile trying to get daisy to hunt again, enabling her when she did, making all these excuses for as to why daisy's actually better and what she did wasn't wrong and awful.

Yes, I get that that's the whole point of Daisy and Basira as characters.

BASIRA I’ll tell you all what I find. Don’t let him eat anyone’s brain while I’m gone. ARCHIVIST That’s not what I do.

HE SOUNDS LIKE HES SULKING, I LOVE HIM SO MUCH

I don't have a conclusion. Shaking Jon and Helen I love them so much. I still need a jon and helen tag. Threshold (starts fucking crying)

#the magnus archives #tma #mag 146 #jonathan sims #helen distortion #jonathan sims + helen distortion #a mag a day #tma meta #so many thoughts #landscaping-your-mind-chapter-one

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littleturtlefish · 1 year ago

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it is week #2 of my school year and if my brain isnt permanently fried from the 3 AP classes im taking (I literally failed my first one bUT IN MY DEFENSE, THERE WERE EXTERNAL FACTORS TO TAKE INTO CONSIDERATION—), ill make sure it is because

confession time: i may or may not, slightly, possibly, hypothetically, theoretically get into homestuck

LISTEN. When YouTube recommends you a 2021 Davekat Scrawny lyricstuck and you only know a single word from that phrase (I like the song), you'd be curious, too! And, see, I am a moth to a flame when it comes to art (confession time x2: it's why I know more about DSMP lore than I should,,,those SAD-IST animations really do be fire tho) and that lyricstuck HAD SOME REALLY GOOD ART I LIKE THE ART STYLE THE SHADING IS SO CLEAN THE COLOR PALETTE IS COOL PLEASE WATCH IT. And, of course, my curiosity was focused on who these 2 lil funky guys were and their relationship because I'm a sucker for character relationships of all kinds and the comments mentioned AO3 fanfics and I just was SO curious and now im on the 50th page of the dave/karkat tag.

It was really fun figuring out wtf quadrants were through context clues. Also this ship made me less intimidated by 100k/200k/300k/etc. word counts because wow these two specific characters talk a lot and are really into their metaphors. Trying to understand a media's canon through fanfics is so genuinely entertaining i am surprised by literally everything OBAMA??????

My YouTube recommendations really are to blame for this because they also introduced me to some Homestuck flashes and I really like the music. Then, I came to the sudden realization: I would've been OBSESSED with Homestuck when I was younger. Lots of characters? A caste system + a whole bunch of roles (idk the name for it) that will spawn a bunch of Quotev quizzes? Art being a major focus of the media? Lots of text to read through? Younger me would've LOVED that, oh my god. Warrior Cats got to me first (the fandom makes up for the lack of art in the books haha) but you have no idea how insane I would've been if I knew I could've been reading something longer than the Bible FOR FREE. Then again, the comic was still ongoing at that time and I wasn't a fan of things having no ending ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

If in 2025 you see homestuck fanart from me, just know that this was an inevitable doom. This post is simply a forewarning.

#littleturtle? more like littlethoughts #I am a bit concerned since I heard there's minigames and such in the webcomic #and i do everything on my phone #the flashes aren't gonna bother me since im sure i can just look all them up on youtube or something #i heard theres a whole voice-acted version of the comic though so maybe ill just switch to that for the unfriendly mobile parts #i need something to distract my brain as i get through this school year #thirty-third post

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whumpzone · 3 years ago

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everyone wants to see col broken, but i want to see linden broken. maybe sick with a fever so bad he's totally out of it, maybe with a broken bone, maybe with the kind of panic attack that takes you out of reality and leaves you completely drained. i want to see how col scrambles to care for him with his still-unfamiliar hands, when linden isn't even in the headspace to praise or thank him.

yes!!! CW for general illness & mentions of pills/medicine

Linden woke- rather, he was pulled forcibly from sleep- to a pounding headache. He kept his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, realising slowly that his whole body hurt, not just his head. He was on his back- when he tried to roll into the foetal position, his muscles complained as if he’d hiked up a mountain yesterday.

“Mmph,” he grunted. The small noise irritated his throat enough to set off a coughing fit. He finally opened his bleary eyes. He was definitively ill. He groaned, grinding his head weakly into the pillow.

Pet didn’t see Master all morning. The sun was in the middle of the sky, casting only slim shadows, when he gathered his courage and went to check on him. Every step felt like a mistake. He was disturbing him, he was attention seeking, Master was probably busy, he was doing something that didn’t concern the stupid little animal he kept around, and Pet was going to get ordered away at best and punished at worst.

Still, he gently knocked on Master’s bedroom door. The action hurt his knuckles. “Col,” he heard, just barely, from inside. “Come in, please.”

Master’s voice didn’t sound right. He didn’t look right, either, when Pet pushed open the door. He was still in bed, his long hair stuck to his face with sweat. His dark skin looked flushed-out and pallid, and his eyes were half-lidded. Two pupils slowly met his own.

Oh, god. Master was dying.

Pet rushed and collapsed to his knees at Master’s bedside, his mind racing to find a solution. He wanted to cry out, ask what is it, where does it hurt, what do I need to do?

But he couldn’t. He could only stare stupidly, his mouth parted with worry, eyes big and searching. Master saw his panic and slowly spoke. It looked like the words were painful.

“I’m okay, I’ve just-“ he coughed, turning his face away. “I think I’ve got the flu. It’s fine, it’s-“ another few seconds of coughing. “Okay, I’m quite badly ill.”

He half-groaned, half-laughed. Pet’s heart was still thumping out of his chest, but he made himself nod. Master pressed his face into the pillow, a pained look on his face. His eyebrows were drawn close, heavy over his eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. Pet stared, waiting, but Master didn’t speak anymore. He was tense, like he was trying to stave off an invisible pain.

A car rumbled past outside. Had… had Master fallen asleep? Pet wouldn’t dare touch him without permission, so instead he got up and looked down. It felt so wrong. Pet should be the one laid out, sweaty and barely conscious.

He had to help. What did Master need? Paracetamol? He knew that word, from somewhere. Had Master given him some, when he burnt his own hand? He went to the bathroom and retrieved the packet. Water. Pet would get him water, too. He’d be a good, useful dog.

Pet’s mind wandered as he completed the task. So often his thoughts were preoccupied with what Master could do, what he was capable of, all the ways he could hurt Pet in that moment. Constantly vigilant of any attack. Would he kick him? Whatever was in reach, would he smash it against his head? Would he reach out and slap him?

But right now, Master really couldn’t do anything. He was weak, he was tired. He could barely open his eyes- would he notice, say, if Pet failed to kneel quickly enough? If he didn’t cast his eyes down, or if he was slow? He wouldn’t do any of that, of course. Pet knew he shouldn’t be thinking this way, but he also knew he wasn’t considering anything disloyal. Just because Master was incapacitated didn’t mean Pet would let his own training slip, or- god forbid- try to hurt Master or slow his recovery. Never. It was just… an interesting thought, the fact that Pet wasn’t at risk of harm right now.

He also thought about how seeing Master this way, pained and exhausted, evoked a strange feeling he hadn’t felt for his old owner, even as he died. All Pet could feel back then was hopelessness, and fear. He had felt like a balloon cut loose and left to fly, unguided, into the abyss. Here, he could tell that the drive to help Master feel better was motivated by more than his obligation to serve, more than his fear of his owner dying. Seeing Master so reduced had created a strange sadness in Pet. He didn’t like it.

Master didn’t look much better when Pet returned, a glass of water in one hand and the pills in the other. He knew it was disgusting, to give his owner pills that had been handled by an animal, but he didn’t know how else to give them to him. He wasn’t sure Master would be able to open the packet by himself.

He was curled up, his face still taut, and breathing far too shallowly. It made Pet’s heart seize up. This was wrong wrong wrong.

Kneeling, he put the glass down and tried to gently wake Master. He knew he would get in trouble for touching his owner, for daring to disturb him, but he had to help. Master opened one eye and Pet proffered the glass.

It took both of Master’s hands gripping it, with Pet supporting the base of the glass, for him to drink enough to swallow the pills. Once he was done he immediately slumped back into bed with a groan, and shut his eyes.

By the third day, Master was improving a lot. But, naturally, he didn’t have any time for his Pet. He understood, he really did. Master had to focus on recovering and look after himself.

Still…

He was getting really hungry. He had no way of asking, and duh, it kept him dependent on his owner’s mercy, as he should be. But he worried that if Master didn’t grant him the privilege soon, he would be useless at helping fetch pills, water, warm blankets, anything. He was already starting to wobble a lot more as he walked. Once he thought he would actually fall onto his owner.

Pet tried to push the hunger away. He had to focus, this was important! He had to be perfect. He could hear Master’s voice in his head, once he was back to full health.

You just let me suffer in that bedroom, you fucking mongrel. No help, no care, I don’t know why I ever kept you in the first place. You can get out and never come back, you hear me?

So he ignored the void in his stomach. Tried to compensate for the way his limbs ached. If this was a test, he was going to pass. He had to.

tagging: @newbornwhumperfly @whumpadump1939 @firewheeesky @whump-me-all-night-long @captainseconds @grizzlie70 @unicornscotty @lave-whump @princessofonward @cupcakes-and-pain @bumbumbea @whumpfigure @yet-another-heathen @secretwhumplair @whumps-up @as-a-matter-of-whump @getyourwhumphere @itzagoodthing @whumpymirages @soapparentlyilikewhumpnow @zipadeedooda-drabbles @penny-for-your-whump @briars7 @legallylibra @angel-stars @loyds-of-registry @tears-and-lilies @badluck990 @rosesareviolentlyread @vickytokio @neuro-whump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @whumpsy-daisies @control-whumps @theydy-cringeworthy @starnight-whump @cursedandtired @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @justabitofwhump @glamrockgregory @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @genesissane @justbreakonme @addyez @httyd-chocolate @littlespacecastle @haro-whumps @extrabitterbrain @neverthelass @downrivergirl914

#pet whump #linden and colton #sickfic #asks #anon

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marveling-chrisevans · 4 years ago

Text

Emergency Room || Chris Evans x Reader

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader / Chris Evans x You

Warnings: Just some Cute fluffy stuff since I haven’t written in awhile

Words Count: 1183

Summary: Date night turned into a trip to the emergency room. sorry this is short.

Tag-List: @patzammit @torntaltos @smoothdogsgirl (tag list is also open so if you want to be tagged let me know, you can reply to this or send an ask) A/N: Hey guys sorry its been awhile this was my last term of school and it killed him. So here we are me trying to get back in the swing of writing. If you have a request let this girl know.

Sometimes date night was a series of two different thing. Sometimes it's hanging out in the house, skinny dipping, other times its lavish gala’s. Tonight it was the latter of the situations. A Lavish gala. It was actually the second one of the weekend. The first one was to raise money for Chris’s favorite charity, Christophers Haven. The second one was was just an event. You didn’t listen when he told you the morning before.

Chris went off to set, brining his tux with him. You met him that night at the gala. You were running late as always. You got there and he was waiting outside for you. You walked up and gave him a kiss “I'm so sorry I'm late the Uber guy got lost”. You mumbled to him basically because you hated being late and letting him stand there and await for you. Before he could reply someone stuck there head out of the door “Chris, y/n” One of Chris’s charity friends gestured for you to come inside. You took a deep breath as he looked at you “ready to do this?” He smiled and kissed your forehead “No do we have too?” You asked him with puppy dog eyes. He shook his head and un did his tie “thank god no, lets never do anything we don’t want to do, come on lets make a run for it” You smiled at him “running? We can really just not attend, let's do it” she smiled at him as he held out his hand and you took it as you both started jogging away from the event. You were not as coordinated as most people. At these events you were usually in heels. You. Guys made it about a block away before you started walking again. You quickly wrapped your arms around Chris and smiled laughing a little bit “running I n heals is harder than you think” you said back to him as the whole time you were running you were just thinking one step in-front of another, it wasn’t really till you stopped running when you stopped thinking about it. You let go of your dress so it wasn’t dragging on the ground “Can we get greasy burgers then go somewhere where the lights don’t hit the city and watch the stars?” You asked wondering if you could recreate one of your favorite dates. “Stop reading my mind” he said back to you as. He flagged down a cab. You took a step back and stepped o your dress causing you to roll your ankle. You tried to laugh it off as you fell on your butt on the streets of downtown LA. Chris quickly turned around hearing you laugh. “Babe are you okay?” You nodded as you took off your heals and got up taking a step and the pain that spread across your face. As he grabbed you. To support you, “okay come on lets get you to the emergency room” he said to you lifting you up butting you into the cab and you slide over letting him get in next to you. You turned so you elevated your ankle on his lap. “We don’t have to go to the emergency room we can go home, ill be fine” You said back to him. “Babe your ankle is already 2x larger than It was when you left home. We need to m make sure its not broken” He said back to you as he touched it slightly as you winced “see you won’t even be able to walk.. we are going to just go get it checked out” he said winning the battle as. You leaned back as you grabbed your shoes and the cab pulled into the parking lot area. Chris helped you out of the back of the cab. As you basically hopped in with him “we are way too over dressed to be in the emergency room Chris” You said back to him as he got you. Wheel chair and then checked you in. Chris smiled at you “well maybe don’t be clumsy, babe.” He said as he started to fill out the paperwork asa the two of you waited in the waiting room. About three hours later they took you back for an X-ray and into a room. “Babeeeee I'm bored” you said back to Chris. Was as you sat in this bed “come here let's watch a movie” now that a you were in a room you could actually had a tv.

Chris had taken off his jacket and given too you as you were cold from the ice they put on your ankle and took o ff his tie and unbuttoned the top few buttons of his dress shirt. “Okay lets see what’s on here” he said as he took the tv remote and hit the movies button. You shifted so you were laying on his shoulder as he turned on a random movie that Disney has made. Hours and hours had passed. It was a ER in a major city and a sprained ankle was low on the list of things they needed to worry. about. Here you were, best dressed in the ER, Fiancé of Chris Evans falling asleep on his shoulder as the doctor came in “Sorry. This took so long, our x ray tech was called into something serious. So good news it does not require surgery. But there is a hairline fracture in the bottom part of your Tibia. So, We are going to put you. In a boot, stay off of it for the next time being and no heels.” “Well thats a good thing I don’t like to wear them in the first place” You replied back to the doctor cutting him off “and you get to where this” A nurse in with a kit to make a soft cast on your foot till. You can go see a non emergency room doctor Chris smiled “do. You know what that means?” He asked looking at you “No it does not it does not mean that” you shook your head “don’t you even think about it” you replied as the nurse started to wrap your ankle “Oh but it does” Chris smiled as he watched them wrap your ankle and get you crutches so. You could go back to the house “Christopher Robert Evans” you smiled at him as the two of you had kinda silly fights over dumb. Stuff like taking care of each other when You are sick or hurt. “You are not I'm fine its not the first time nor the last time I can fend for myself. With these metal arms” you said back two him “Plus that nurse fantasy that I have. Not like a picture it but maybe I. Won’t rule it out. ” you said once you were back home with him He picked you up and brought you into the house and set you on the couch where dodger greeted you “carefully bubba mom’s hurt. So no running under her for awhile” He said to the puppy.

#chris evans fanfiction #chris evans story #chris evans imagines #chris evans drabble #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x original female character #chris evans x you #chris evans x ofc #chris evans x reader #Chris Evans #Captian America #Steve Rodgers #Marvel

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kythed · 4 years ago

Text

an age of miracles

synopsis: why do the most beautiful people always seem to get the short end of the stick?

tagged: atsumu miya x reader, mentions of illness, mentions of god.

commitment level: 3,617 words.

hospitals are liminal spaces. transitional, gateways between birth and death and the whole mess in between. (life.) they’re sites of both tragedy and miraculous recovery, and you’re not yet too old to stop praying for the latter.

his name is atsumu. you skim the documents pinned to his door — atsumu miya. age 21. cirrhosis.

cirrhosis is late stage liver scarring. nasty stuff. evidently, atsumu miya is in his third stage — portal hypertension. abdominal swelling. jaundice.

for a bedridden guy with a serious illness, he’s not as justifiably depressed as one might assume.

“hey, doc,” he says when you come in. he’s facing the window, letting the sunlight cast a saintly halo across his cheeks. blonde hair, an angular sort of face that’s been hollowed by illness. in another life, he might’ve been handsome.

you clear your throat, and he glances back, surprised. “ah. you’re not my doctor.”

“nope. nursing student.” you sit at the foot of his bed. “i’ll be monitoring you the next month or so as part of my studies.”

“monitoring,” he repeats drily. “you make it sound like i’m a lab specimen in a test tube.”

“means you’re special.”

“sure. ‘specially fucked up.” he’s younger than you are, but there’s an aged weariness in his gaze.

“aren’t we all, mr. miya?”

he cracks a grin. “touche. call me atsumu, though. mr. miya’s my dad.”

“as you wish, mr. miya,” you say, biting back a smile. (there are those who say sarcasm has no place in hospitals. you do not fall into this category.)

atsumu likes to play chess. the second day of your clinical, he’s got a travel sized chess board set up on his bedside table. “been dying from boredom the past few hours. think you could take a break from ‘monitoring’ me to play a game?”

you set your clipboard down. “i could. i’d advise against it, though. i’m a pretty good player.”

atsumu grins. “not better than me.”

he’s right. he beats you three games in a row before you finally snag a checkmate. (and you suspect this is only due to pity.)

“what’d i tell you, baby?” he crows, and you shake your head, raising your arms in surrender.

“it was an off day. if i’d been on my game i could’ve swept the floor with you.”

“prove it,” atsumu says, leaning forward. he’s pale from a lack of sunshine, but you notice a faint pink glow in his cheeks now. “come back tomorrow.”

tomorrow’s a saturday, and you don’t have clinical. “of course i will.”

you’re not one to back down from a challenge, no matter how trivial. plus, atsumu is fun. (and kind of cute.)

“hi. brought you something.” you set a tupperware of cubed fruit on atsumu’s lap before pulling up a chair next to the bed.

“did you make this?” he says, eyes wide.

“i just chopped up a few apples and stuff,” you say, plucking a blueberry from the container and popping it into your mouth.

atsumu shakes his head before biting into a chunk of pineapple. “you’d think it’d be hard to mess up fruit salad, but somehow this damn hospital can make a strawberry taste like cough medicine. everything they serve here tastes like cough medicine, actually.”

“delicious.”

“disgusting.” atsumu sets up the chess board. “so, like, thanks. for the fruit. can i keep the tupperware?”

you laugh. “why do you wanna keep the tupperware?”

“it’s a reminder of normality.” atsumu shrugs. “i only ever eat off chipped hospital dishes here.”

your chest throbs. “oh, atsumu.”

“don’t you ‘oh, atsumu’ me,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“sorry. yeah, you can keep it.”

(he wins at chess again.)

you’re only required to come in to the hospital three times a week, but you get into the habit of visiting atsumu every day. the first time you visit after class, you’re wearing a sweater and jeans. atsumu wolf whistles.

“damn. you look good when you’re not in scrubs.”

“are you saying i don’t rock scrubs?” you press a hand to your chest in mock offense.

“nobody looks good in scrubs,” atsumu says. “except for me, probably. i look good in anything.”

you laugh. “i believe it.”

“you’d better.” atsumu has a nice smile, you notice, wide and shiny.

you plop yourself down beside him on the bed. “hey, you wanna see a picture i took on the way here? i found a stray cat near the convenience store.”

“i’m a dog person,” atsumu says, but he nonetheless leans forward to get a look at your phone. “oh, cute.”

“isn’t he?” you say, zooming in on the little orange cat. “i think i’m gonna name him after you.”

“what?” atsumu huffs. “why?”

“because he’s good at chess,” you say.

atsumu furrows his brow. “you played chess with a cat?”

“no, i just have a feeling,” you hum, and atsumu rolls his eyes with a small smile.

“you’re stupid.”

you slip your phone back into your pocket. “in a cute way, though.”

“if you say so,” atsumu says, and you flick his shoulder. “ouch. way to bully a sick man.”

“you deserved it,” you laugh, and he joins in.

“yeah, i did.”

the next time you visit, atsumu’s family is there. his parents have kind, tired faces.

“nice to meet you,” his mom says, grasping your hand warmly. “i’m glad atsumu has a friend here.”

“mom,” complains atsumu. “i have friends.”

“none as cool as me, though,” you tease, and he smiles.

“you’re right,” he says, and his dad rumples his hair before turning to shake your hand.

“it’s great to meet you, mr. miya,” you say, returning the shake.

“the pleasure’s mine,” he says. he looks nearly identical to atsumu, just a little grayer. right next to him, there’s a boy who really does look exactly identical to atsumu, though his hair’s dyed dark and he’s a little more filled out. he has an air of begrudging maturity about him, the telltale sign of a young man who’s been forced to carry burdens that aren’t his.

“i’m osamu,” he says. he’s sitting on the chair near atsumu’s bed. “this little asshole’s brother.”

“i don’t know why you keep calling me little,” atsumu says, lightly punching osamu’s forearm. “i’m the older twin.”

“yeah, but you act like a baby.” osamu grins and leans out of reach when atsumu tries to swat at him. you chuckle behind a hand, leaning back against the wall as mr. and mrs. miya question you about your studies and hobbies.

on your way out of the hospital a half hour later, you run into osamu at the lobby coffee shop.

“so,” he says, sipping from a steaming cup. “you’re a nursing student?”

“mm,” you say, handing a fiver to the cashier to pay for your sandwich. “i’m in my fourth year at hyogo university. are you in college, too?”

“nah,” says osamu. “i play volleyball. professionally, i mean.”

“oh!” you notice the lettering on his sports jacket for the first time. msby black jackals. “that’s really cool.”

osamu shrugs. “sometimes it is. tsumu’s wanted to be a pro player since we were kids — but he won’t ever be able to do that now, of course. so that’s why i play. better to have one miya in the pro circuit than none at all.”

your heart sinks. “you’re a great brother, osamu.”

osamu shakes his head. “i’m really not. it should’ve been me in that hospital bed.”

“osamu…” you trail off as osamu just shakes his head, giving you a sad smile.

“it was nice meeting you,” he says before tossing his cup and heading back towards the elevators.

“no,” atsumu says staunchly, crossing his arms. “definitely not. i don’t read.”

“come on,” you wheedle, dangling the book in front of his face. “it’s one of my favorites, and i thought it might stave off some of that stifling boredom you always complain about.”

“i’m bored, but not that bored,” atsumu says, squinting at the book. “what is that about, anyways? the little prince? sounds lame.”

“it’s not lame,” you promise, bouncing slightly on the bed. atsumu sniffs. “okay, what if i read it to you? you don’t have to do anything but listen.”

“i’m not a child.”

“you’re acting like one.”

atsumu throws his hands up in defeat. “alright, fine. you win. we can read the little prince.”

“excellent.” you beam. “scoot over?”

“what?” atsumu says, but he scoots to the side of his bed as you kick your shoes off and curl up next to him. you feel his breath hitch as he lightly lets his arm curve around your waist.

you sigh, content, and flip to read the first page. “once when I was six years old I saw a magnificent picture in a book…”

it takes three visits to finish the entire story. atsumu sniffles when you read the last line, rubbing his eyes furiously.

“did he die?”

you trace a light circle on atsumu’s palm, smiling slightly. “i don’t know. i think it’s up to the reader to decide. he left his body, but is that really death? or is it just… moving on?”

“i think he just moved on,” insists atsumu. “he moved on and returned to the stars. he was just a kid. he was too young to have died.”

“look at you,” you tease, and atsumu flushes. “waxing on poetic.”

“it was good,” atsumu says gruffly. “thank you.”

“you’re welcome,” you breathe, and when atsumu buries his face in your neck, you realize he’s crying.

he kisses you for the first time a week later. it’s late in the afternoon, and both your faces are tinged with gold. he slips a hand beneath your jaw, and you let him slowly guide your lips to meet his. they’re soft, hesitant, and sweet, pressing against yours with an uncharacteristic shyness.

you sigh happily when he pulls you forward to straddle his lap, slipping your hands into his thick blonde hair, letting him press light kisses down the length of your neck.

“hey, beautiful,” he breathes into your collarbone, and you laugh.

“hey, pretty boy. nice to see you today.”

atsumu’s discovered a newfound love for reading ever since you read the little prince outloud to him. you’ve been bringing him secondhand books from the thrift store near your house, and now there’s a sizeable stack of novels out on the table.

“i think i’ve read more in the past couple months than i ever read in high school,” he admits, running a finger down the spine of treasure island. “you’ve turned me into a nerd.”

“you’re welcome,” you say, straightening his collar.

“it’s kind of nice, though,” he says thoughtfully, tossing the book back on the table. “to read about all these different people, all the things they do. all the stories i’m never gonna get to experience.”

“you’re getting to experience them through reading,” you correct. “that’s the beauty of fiction.”

atsumu laughs. “you’re such a sap.”

“it’s true,” you insist. “god knows life is too short to live through everything we’d like to. that’s why he gave us imagination.”

“do you believe in god?” atsumu asks softly. his stare grows distant.

you think for a moment. “sometimes i do. do you?”

“same. sometimes.” he fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “sometimes i wonder, though… like, if there’s a god, why does he hate me?”

you chew on your cheek. “why do you feel hated?”

atsumu laughs a laugh tinged with slight bitterness. “sweetheart… i’m not going to live past twenty-five, if even that.”

you swallow the knot in your throat, letting it sink deep into your stomach where it sits like a lump of copper. “well… the little prince is less than a hundred pages. sometimes the shortest books are the best reads.”

atsumu nods silently. he’s not convinced. you’re not sure if you are, either.

atsumu sleeps a lot these days. you spend as much time with him as you can, but more often than not, he’s in a half conscious daze, curled up beneath the white hospital comforter. during these times, you just set your backpack by the door the slip into bed next to him, wrapping yourself around his back and pressing your palms to his chest just to feel his heartbeat. it’s faint, but it’s steady and rhythmic. ba-dump. ba-dump. ba-dump.

sometimes, atsumu’s his usual, lively self, cracking bad jokes and poking fun at you. his smiling face has come to be your favorite picture. on these days, you bring him a hot chocolate from the coffee shop and split it with him, kissing off the whipped cream that finds its way onto his lips. he still likes to play chess, and, though he won’t admit it, you’ve been getting better. one day, you beat him, two games to one.

there are solemn, quiet times, and there are bright, cheerful times, but you savor all of them. every moment spent with atsumu is valuable in your book. occasionally, you’ll go with him out into the hospital garden, into the warmth of the sun. every so often he’ll stop, lean on you to catch his breath, but he never complains.

“look,” he’ll say instead, pointing at a vine of jasmine, or a single daisy swaying in the breeze. “almost as pretty as you.”

one day, as you’re leaving atsumu’s room, you run into his doctor in the hall.

“keep your chin up,” she says, straightening her glasses. “it’s possible he could still recover. strong young men often do.”

you nod slowly. “is he going to need a transplant?”

“well,” says the doctor, clicking on her pen absentmindedly. “if it gets any worse, yes. but i’m going to be honest with you — it’s unlikely we’ll find a donation with both a matching blood type and in good condition.”

“ah.”

“so just hope for the best.” she slips into his room before you can say another word, leaving you to lean heavily against the wall, staring at nothing in particular. miracles happen every day, you remind yourself. there’s no reason atsumu shouldn’t be the recipient of one.

“hey,” atsumu says. he whispers your name with an unusual tenderness. “i have to talk to you.”

it’s been five months since you first met atsumu on a clinical, and it’s been three months since he began to call you his girlfriend. you lace your fingers between his, giving his hand a light squeeze. “yeah, ‘tsumu?”

he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “i don’t think i’m going to… be here much longer.”

“no,” you say, chest tightening. “don’t say that. you’re gonna be fine.”

“sweetheart,” he says, voice low. he takes your chin and firmly turns your head to look at him. “i’m sorry. you know i am. i just… i’m sick. it’s hard to think straight sometimes, so i just wanted to tell you before i can’t anymore.”

“tell me what?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“tell you that i love you.”

“atsumu,” you breathe. a frustrated tear finds its way down your cheek. “i… i love you, too. but please… just hang on. they’ll find a donor. they have to.”

“they might not,” he says, and he smiles, pulling you close. you knot your hands in the front of his t-shirt, pressing your face to his chest. “don’t cry. i’m just going to go live in the stars, right? like the little prince.”

there’s so many things you want to say, like, you nerd, can’t believe you’re making literary allusions or shut up, asshole, or i’ll miss you if you do, but you say nothing, because if you open your mouth you’re sure you’ll just sob.

“don’t cry,” he says again, but he’s crying, and you lift your face to see the tears streaming. “i love you.”

your throat is too thick to say it back, but he sees it in your eyes. i love you, too.

you spend the rest of the night with him before leaving at a little past 2am, and the next morning, you get a text from osamu.

he’s gone.

you don’t cry at the funeral. it’s small, just his family, a group of close friends, and you. you don’t look in the casket, either, because you want to remember his smile, and empty bodies don’t. you sip on a paper cup of water and lean against a wall, where osamu finds you.

“hey,” he says, and you nod in return. “he left this for you.”

you take the letter from him, and after he gives your shoulder a squeeze and heads back to his parents, you tear it open.

hey, you. i’m writing this two months after you first came into my room in that god-awful set of scrubs. right now, you’re napping in the chair near my bed. you look cute. we had our first kiss last week, and i’m still walking on air. fuck, that sounds dorky. oh, well. guess i’m a dork. only for you, though.

anyways, if you’re reading this, it’s because i’ve died. whoop-dee-doo. i’ve moved on to the great beyond. i’ve fallen past the veil. whatever it is you nerds like to say. there are probably things i’m going to say to you in the next few months that are a little more… intimate, i guess? but i wanted to tell you this while it’s still fresh in my mind: you’ve honest-to-goodness saved my life. i mean, it might not go on for much longer, sure, but you really have, in a way. being sick is weird. it makes you a lot more sensitive to miracles.

you start. you don’t remember ever talking to atsumu about miracles.

someone from the outside might look at me and call me unlucky, but i feel pretty damn lucky right now. meeting you was without a doubt a miracle, and if i never got sick, it never would’ve happened. take that as you will, i guess. all i know is i’m not angry at god, even though maybe i should be. i mean, i’m still not sure he’s even out there. but there’s gotta be something, or someone, because how the fuck else could i have possibly recieved something so… great? i sure as hell never did something to deserve it. (god, i sound stupid. but it’s just hard to chalk up to coincidence.)

anyways, i love you. not sure i’ll ever get the guts to say that out loud, so i’m saying it here. i love you, and i hope you love me, too.

- atsumu

“i do,” you whisper. “i do.”

on your way home, you stop at the convenience store for a bottled water, and the little orange cat comes out and winds itself around your leg, purring.

“hey, ‘tsumu,” you say, squatting down to scratch its head. “fancy a game of chess?”

it meows back.

“yeah?” your eyes grow wet, and you wipe them on the sleeve of your sweater. “wanna come home with me?”

it meows again, and this time, you break out into full scale crying. you’re not sure if you’re imagining it, but you think you can see a tear in the cat’s eye, too.

he follows you home, and the next day, you purchase a water dish, a big bag of cat food, and a blue collar. (blue was atsumu’s favorite color.)

three years later.

“honey?”

“yeah?”

your husband comes out from the hall, buttoning up his shirt. “you almost ready to go?”

“almost, ‘samu,” you say, slipping on a bracelet. your hands are shaking, and he notices it, too. today’s the third anniversary of atsumu’s death, and it’s also the date of osamu’s first big press conference. “he’d be so proud of you, you know.”

osamu smiles. “he would. he’d be proud of you, too.”

you laugh. “what for? for marrying his little brother?”

“no, he’d probably be kind of pissed at me,” osamu jokes, before coming to stand behind you. he wraps his hands around your waist. “he’d be proud of you for finding happiness, i think.”

“i am happy,” you say, tilting your head as osamu presses a kiss to your temples. there’s a beat of silence. “but i miss him.”

“i do, too.” osamu rests his chin on your head. “he probably misses us.”

“mm,” you say. “i think he might be having too much fun for that, actually.”

“maybe,” says osamu, and he leans forward to grab the keys from the counter. “i’m gonna go heat up the car, okay?”

“sounds good,” you say, as the cat dashes into the room with a meow. a nameplate that reads ‘tsumu’ dangles from his collar. “oh, hey kitty. i forgot to feed you. i’ll be out in a minute!”

after you fill the cat’s dish and pull on a cardigan over your dress, you slip outside, shivering in the night air. the sky is clear and full of stars, and as you walk to the car, you crane your neck up to see.

“hope you’re doing well, ‘tsumu,” you whisper to the gleaming constellations.

you still have things you want to say to him, even after all these years. you want to ask him how the weather in the cosmos is, and if the fruit salad is better up there. you want to ask if he’s read any good books lately, or if he’s seen how great osamu’s serve has gotten recently. you want to laugh with him.

most of all, though, you want to let him know that he was your miracle, too.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fanfiction #atsumu #atsumu miya #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu miya x reader

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years ago

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I’d Rather Not

Day 28 of @themerrywhumpofmay

Tropes and CWs: referenced lab whump, some dehumanisation I guess? (not entirely sure how to tag that), swearing.

Jason tapped impatient fingers on the steering wheel as the car cleared another hill. He’d spent most of the journey so far looking out of the windows, his eyes not really on the road. The boss’s words, grainy with telephone-static, cycled endlessly in his head as he drove.

Find it. Bring it back. Five words. Two sentences. Two instructions. What had been left unsaid could have filled entire paragraphs. Jason had a four-word response in mind, one he had not dared give the boss. Needle in a haystack.

Seriously, though. The damn rat could be anywhere. Scampered off-road into the fields, just like a real rat. Jason turned the volume crank on the car stereo, the generic sound of some modern pop song drowning out unwelcome thoughts.

Fuck, he needed a cigarette. He flicked the indicator light to turn in to the side of the road, even though his was the only car. He left it in reverse to stop it rolling down the hill. Cranked the handbrake a little harder than was necessary.

The smoke and nicotine soothed his nerves. He stood by the grass verge, savouring the cigarette. Procrastinating the moment he’d have to get back in his car and hit the road again. The inevitable moment of report back to the boss—we lost it. Perhaps he could stop in a town on the way back and pick up another pack of cigarettes.

Something caught his eye.

There wasn’t much of a ditch along the road, but the neighbouring field bore deep furrows from a recent plough. In one of those furrows, a glimpse of white. For a second he thought it was another of those damn plastic bags that got everywhere—lazy motorists seeing the countryside as God’s own litter bin. Then he frowned. Squinched his eyes up behind his glasses. Cast the cigarette stub aside and trod out the smoulder.

If this was nothing, he was about to make a fool of himself.

The hedge was not difficult to traverse; a small, skinny waif could have done it. Jason still swore as thorns snagged his good shirt. He didn’t want to think about how much mud had collected in those furrows.

The rat did not move.

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me.” What had been the odds? Bad news for the boy, anyway. Jason squatted next to the bundled-up assortment of arms and legs, wrapped in a white hospital gown that was no longer white. “All right, game’s up. Time to go.”

Still no movement. Jason swore to himself. He’d expected a fight, some screaming or thrashing. He hadn’t expected—and didn’t know what to do with—a rat who was playing dead like a damn opossum. But when he reached for the boy’s shoulder, a doubt crept into his mind. That pale face looked a little too waxy to be a pretence.

Slowly, holding his own breath, he put an ear to the rat’s mouth.

Alive.

Alive, but with none of the ragged, shallow breathing that betrayed terror. The kid didn’t know he was there. Must have stumbled through the hedge and then passed out.

“Didn’t make it far, did you?” Jason murmured. He stooped to pick up the unresisting little form, belatedly remembering the whole lift-with-your-legs thing. For a second, holding this poor ill-fated lab rat in his arms, he almost felt pity for him. Like he’d rather not send him back for more fear, more experiments, more guaranteed death.

No, not him. It. He needed to stop being so soft. The boss had said that more than once during his last appraisal.

On the other hand…

The boss had also denied him the pay rise he’d asked for.

“Come on then, kiddo,” he said, already thinking about his next cigarette. “Let’s get you home.”

#whump #whump writing #the merry whump of may #i'd rather not #day 28 #lab whump #original post

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homosociallyyours · 3 years ago

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Snippet Smonday

Hello I have been tagged by a lot of very lovely people to share a snippet over the course of the last. uh. several months. And I've not done it for no particular reason other than ??? brain said it too hard

ANYWAY I'm sharing two now! HA! One is from my BHFF fic and the other is from one of the reverse bangs I'm writing for @becomeawendybird's art

below a cut because it'll be long!!

My BHFF fic is about a chronically ill Harry who doesn't think he could possibly be a good enough partner to anyone and Louis proving him wrong forever, and it's very close to my heart.

He nearly deleted the message as he read it over, the whole thing coming across as far more open and vulnerable than he usually felt like being, especially with someone he’d only just met. But something told him that if he wanted to move forward with Harry he might need to give a little more of himself than he was used to. He hit send and put his phone in his desk drawer so that he could focus for the rest of his planning period.

He didn’t come back to it until a few hours later at the end of the day. His mind was still on his Shakespearean drama class and the modern adaptation of Much Ado About Nothing that they were working on, so he almost didn’t think to check for new messages, but when he saw that there was something from Harry he quickly entered his passcode to unlock the screen, eager to read Harry’s response.

Harry: It’s nice you think I’m worth waiting for. Can you check back in a week? Might be up for something then.

Louis: Yeah, absolutely! Can we text a bit in the meantime?

The hope and warmth that bubbled up in Louis’ chest had him feeling bouncy and full of energy, so much so that when his phone buzzed in his hand to indicate a new message he nearly dropped it.

Harry: I’d like that :)

And then here's a bit from one of the girl direction reverse bangs I'm working on, an AU where Harry is a writer/cast member for SNL and Louis is the guest/musical host who she has a massive crush on.

“So? Spill it! What are you dying to tell me?”

“We’re having a duel host slash musical guest at the end of next month-- someone reaaaaally special.” His eyebrows twitched up, daring Harry to guess, and she stared back at him, trying to come up with someone who’d be exciting enough to merit this level of excitement.

“Lizzo?”

He shook his head.

“Uhh, oh! Sarah Pau-- no, she doesn’t sing. Shit!” Harry wracked her brain trying to think of queer women she loved who could act and sing. She was about to give up when it hit her. “Oh my god. Oh. My. God. It’s not--”

Bowen grinned, eyes sparkling with glee as he nodded vigorously.

“The. Louis. Tomlinson,” they said in unison, Harry squealing when she was done and Bowen breaking out into a delighted cackle that had a couple of people walking by stopping to look at them curiously before they kept moving, used to Harry and Bowen having moments like these.

I'm not finding as much time to write as I need lately but boy am I making an effort!! ANYWAY idk who to tag in this, but I'll definitely tag back @jacaranda-bloom and @kingsofeverything bc they tagged me recently. Also @disgruntledkittenface, @local-troubled-writer, @peggyschuylerbasically, @pocketsunshineharry, and, uh, damn it anyone who actually looked at this post?? Just spent too many brain tokens writing and don't have a single one left for remembering names.

#snippets #my fic #bhff #reverse bang #girl direction #and NOT girl direction literally can you BELIEVE????#i'm going to write-- le gasp --m/m smut!!!#it's been so long. i must be fireproof?#1d #i've started my other reverse bang too but i had to close the doc so i picked this one #yes to harry and bowen friendship and queer solidarity tho am i right???

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ibelongtowrath · 5 years ago

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I Forgot To Say “Goodnight” - MLQC Gavin (NSFW)

Summary: It's been a long day of investigating the mysterious illness that seems to be plaguing Loveland. Gavin brings you home, only to be stuck for the night from an impromptu quarantine. Rating: Explicit! 18+ NSFW Relationship: Gavin x Reader, Gavin x Female Reader (1st person) Tags: oral sex, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, fingerfucking, fluff and smut, eventual smut Word Count: 4,406

Read on AO3

Notes: This is my first ever fanfic, and I had to go big by writing a smut one! I hope you like it!

It’s late, almost midnight, so everything is quiet as Gavin and I walk through the door of my apartment; almost eerily so, adding to the already dismal mood I’ve been in for the past hour. A whole day spent investigating, only to end up with no answers as to the mysterious illness that’s been going around Loveland. People have been falling ill left and right, with seemingly no explanation as to why. Evol powers have been getting out of control lately in Loveland, the amount of incidents skyrocketing exponentially since last month.

Before I enter the door behind Gavin, I steal a quick glance across the hall, and just as quickly, look away and walk through the doorway. It’s been weeks, and not a single word from Lucien.

He might have an idea what’s going on. Lucien...

Suddenly, the memory of his betrayal flashes before me. Raw anger and sadness grip my heart for a split second, and I have to suppress a gasp. The thoughts weigh down on my mind, and I feel a sigh escape from my lips. I can’t think about this now. I can’t.

My eyelids suddenly feel heavy, as though they’re made of bricks, and I’m struggling to keep them open. Giving in to the fatigue, I allow myself a moment of sweet darkness as my lids close slowly. Gavin, sweet, sweet Gavin , catches my arm as I stumble forward.

“Are you okay?” he asks, studying me, his brow slightly furrowed.

“Yeah,” I answer, opening my eyes further. “I’m just...tired.” My eyes meet his, their honey-colored amber hue daring me to get lost in them. He squints slightly, then lets his eyes soften as he relaxes his brow. He releases my arm once I’m stable and standing up straight. I lean against the counter, studying him as he faces me.

“We’ve had a long day. That’s understandable. You’ve been working yourself to the bone.”

I nod in agreement. I take a second to admire the way his light brown hair falls messily, but carefully at the same time, across his handsome face. I know he has to leave soon, now that he knows I’m safe.

But... I kind of wish he doesn’t have to leave.

I shake my head furiously at the absurd thought, mentally picturing myself crumpling it into a ball, and throwing it away. I had been dealing with these confusing feelings for a while now; stowing them in the back of my mind, not quite sure how to sort them.

Gavin is always there for me, when I need him most. He’s always ready to rescue me, telling me that as long as I’m in the wind, he can find me. It was difficult trying to reason with myself as to why my heart pounded harder, harder every time I thought of him. I’m always the damsel in distress, and he’s always my knight in shining armor.

I realize Gavin’s still looking at me, and feel the heat of shame rush to my cheeks, even though he has no idea what I was thinking. The dimmer switch is on low, casting a hazy light over the kitchen. I silently pray that the lighting gods have blessed me, and Gavin can’t see the embarrassment written on my face. I wonder if he thinks these things about me ...I cough abruptly, then look up at him.

“Thank y-”

The shrill, ear-splitting sound of a siren suddenly interrupts my gratitude. I instinctively clap my hands over my ears, wincing at the sound. Gavin looks around, assessing the situation calmly. He’s so good at this, and I’m...not. He looks at me, then turns towards the door.

“Stay here,” he demands as he goes to leave the apartment. As he opens the door, the wail of the siren shrieks louder. He steps out the door, and the alarm ceases. I sag in relief. Glancing out the window, I see familiar red and blue lights, flashing brightly against the dim light of the apartment. Gavin turns back around to look at me again, stepping forward, and-

“Attention. Attention. ” A loud male voice stops us yet again. “ Please remain in your respective homes. We are enacting a temporary quarantine until further notice, effective immediately. There is no immediate cause for alarm. Please remain in your home, and do not leave under any circumstances. We anticipate opening the building back up again sometime tomorrow. Thank you.”

What is going on? Is it this serious ? I shake my head. I can’t help but wonder if Lucien is in his apartment, and secretly wish I could ask if he has any idea what’s happening.

I hear the click of a door being closed, my head turning towards the sound, and realize it’s Gavin. He reaches his arm behind his head, gazing towards the floor, an impassive look on his face. It finally hits me, the fact that he is unable to leave, and will have to spend the night. I feel myself blushing furiously again, silently cursing myself for my earlier wish.

Be careful what you wish for, dummy …

I inhale deeply, attempting to control the frenzied chaos of the varied emotions swirling around inside of me. My eyes meet his, and he gives me a reassuring smile.

“Looks like I’m not going anywhere, so I’ll be able to protect you a little bit longer,” Gavin says. I feel a wave of gratitude overtake all the other feelings, and I’m finally able to focus. “Everything will be okay.”

“Thank you,” I tell him, returning his smile. “I’m sorry, my couch probably isn’t all that comfortable…” I trail off, because my next extremely intrusive thought slams its way into my head: We could share my bed …

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” There’s that reassuring look again. The way his face softens when he looks at me just about does myself in. Afraid I’m going to suddenly collapse into a pile of bouncy Jell-O on the floor, I force my legs to move to the closet, where I grab a blanket and a spare pillow for Gavin to use. I fold the blanket gently over the couch, placing the pillow on one of the arm rests.

I must look nervous, and I do feel a bit shaky; suddenly Gavin crosses the room just then, and gives me a soft, reassuring squeeze of my shoulder. I startle a bit, then look up at him. A sense of calm comes over me. I truly feel safe whenever he’s with me.

Looking back at the couch, I cough again. “If you need anything else, just let me know. Oh, and, if you need to…,” I trail off again, trying to quell the heat threatening to betray my calm exterior, “you can use the shower. I have plenty of towels in the linen closet, and if you don’t mind smelling like lavender, the shampoo and conditioner are yours to use too. Oh, and there’s a spare toothbrush.”

He laughs, patting the top of my head. “You’re always thinking of everyone else before yourself,” he tells me. “Go to sleep. You need it.”

I look up at him, grinning. “Okay, Officer Gavin.” I salute him, and he laughs again as I walk away towards my bedroom. I open the door, close it gently, then run and collapse onto the bed, a deep sigh escaping me. I feel my eyelids grow heavy again. I’m exhausted, and ready to welcome the sweet, dark embrace of sleep.

A few minutes later, I hear the click of the bathroom door closing, and the swish sound of the shower turning on. Just then, I realize I never actually said “good night” to Gavin, and, being the way I am, it bothers me. I resolve to wait until he’s out of the shower, then tell him. It will make me feel better, especially since I barely got to say “thank you” for always being by my side.

About twenty minutes pass. The water shuts off, and a few minutes later, I hear the bathroom door open. I cross my room, open up the door and walk out. Cheerfully, I pad my way over to the living room.

“I forgot to say goodn-”

Immediately, the sight in front of me causes the part of my brain that controls my speech to fizz out. Gavin is standing in the living room, with only a grey plush towel wrapped around him, sitting low on his hips. His arms are raised, drying off his hair with another towel. The ripple of his strong, muscular shoulders flex with the movement of his arms. Several scars decorate his deltoids, tempting me into tracing their outlines; to feel the stories hidden deep within them. At the sound of my voice, he turns around. He looks surprised, but the look quickly turns into something else that I can’t quite place.

I am absolutely floored, and nearly have to grab the doorway to prevent myself from falling to the ground. The beautiful, intricate muscles I could see when his shirt had accidentally lifted, are finally on full display. His broad, strong shoulders and his chest are still slick with a slight sheen from the water.

His arms are perfectly sculpted, as are his chiseled six-pack abs; they, too, glisten with tiny beads of water, dripping over the taut ridges of his abdomen. Even the muscles around his clavicle are taut and defined; I want to bury myself in his neck and breathe him in.

For a split second, I let my eyes drift down to his low-hanging towel that shows off a delicious, tantalizing line of muscle by his hips; that perfect v-line, driving me crazy, and in the middle of it, I can see the happy trail of fine, light brown hairs that travel from his navel down to where I can’t see...but I wished, more than anything, that I could.

“I, uh, I...I forgot to say ‘goodnight,’” I stuttered. My face is so hot, it feels like it could burst into flames at any moment.

The impassive look on Gavin’s face quickly softens. He relaxes his arms, resting the towel around his neck. He smiles, taking a step towards me.

“You’re so cute.”

Okay, now my face is absolutely flaming . I can only imagine that my skin tone looks akin to a tomato at this point. Quickly, I turn around to retreat back into my bedroom. As I’m turning, I feel Gavin’s warm hand grip my arm, gently forcing me to turn back towards him. Up close, the sight of him is even more disorienting, and I can’t help but look down where the towel is hanging off of him.

Suddenly, his hand moves from my arm, tracing the curve of my neck. He cradles my face in his hand, gently moving my head from its downward position so that I’m looking straight up at him. Our eyes meet, and this close, I can’t help but to fall in deep; deep into those beautiful, honey-colored eyes that I never want to look away from. The only way I can describe the emotion in his eyes is...hungry.

His lips part slightly. His thumb traces over my lips, surprising me with how soft his skin feels. I can smell the relaxing lavender perfume of the shampoo in his hair. I feel myself compulsively leaning into him, our bodies now pressed together. I want nothing more than to kiss him, to feel his lips on mine.

Gavin leans in, lips soft on my neck. He kisses it gently. Slowly, methodically, he kisses my neck again, making his way to my jawline. He gently presses me forward, so that my back is leaning against the arm of the couch. Finally, he presses his mouth to my own, which I part slightly, ready for him. At the touch of his lips, I feel a burst of heat travel down my body, and it feels as though I am blooming under his touch. His lips are surprisingly soft, and I don’t want it to stop.

I bite down gently on his lower lip, and his tongue makes its way to meet mine. I hook my left leg around his waist and he pulls his tongue away, while a soft moan escapes his lips. My arms are around him, and I dig my nails into his shoulders, as if he’s anchoring me to that spot; I don’t want to move, or for him to stop, for that matter. Surely, he can feel the pounding thump, thump of my heart against his chest.

His mouth presses down on my neck again. I feel his hand gently reaching under my t-shirt, gliding along the curve of my waist; the touch sending shivers up my spine. Gavin’s hand travels further up, up, and he cups my left breast, causing a small moan to escape from my lips. I can feel his toweled erection between my legs. My own excitement starts to thrum, and I can feel the arousal drenching my underwear.

At that moment, Gavin pulls away. I feel suddenly cold, the absence of his body on mine almost like a shock to my system. I pant slightly, aching for his touch again. He holds his head in his hands, shaking it furiously.

“I can’t...I’m so sorry,” he says, walking towards the front of the couch. He sits down, still holding his head, which is hanging low. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I feel like I’m taking advantage of you. God, I…” he trails off.

My legs are a bit shaky, but I make my way over and stand in front of Gavin. He drops his hands into his lap, looking up at me. His eyes widen, and I know he’s drinking in the sight: my lips are pink and swollen, my hair messily falling around my shoulders, and eyes full of desire.

“Gavin...I want you. I need you,” I tell him. He doesn’t say anything as he watches me move towards him. “I don’t want you to stop. Please.” Feeling bold, I don’t let Gavin answer; instead, I straddle him, my legs on either side of his waist. He inhales sharply, then grins, his mood visibly shifting.

He presses himself against me again, and I feel his soft lips against the curve of my right breast through my t-shirt. Every touch feels like sparks igniting on my skin. I feel so powerful in that moment, so bold and sexy. I pull away from him briefly, cross my arms to grip the bottom of my shirt, then lift it above my head and off onto the floor. Gavin’s breath hitches, and I feel his arms reach around my back and onto the hook closure of my bra, undoing it so smoothly I barely feel it come loose.

I let the straps fall off my shoulders, and the bra drops to the floor, my breasts now completely exposed. Gavin puts his mouth to mine again, and I grind my hips against his legs, pushing closer, both our bare chests now pressed together.

The fire returns, shooting straight from my heart down to my hips, and landing between my legs. The desire I feel burns deep; all I can think about is Gavin and his body, and I feel his hardness pressing against me again, which only helps to stoke the fire within. His mouth travels downwards towards my breasts again, while he stops along the way with short, tender kisses against my hot skin.

His right hand caresses my left nipple gently as his lips make their way down, and I groan. Then, I feel his lips on my right nipple, his tongue flicking at it gently, and I shudder slightly with the pleasure of it, small goosebumps forming on my skin. I lose track of time, with no idea of how long we’ve been pressed together like this; eventually, Gavin pulls away from my breasts and makes his way back to my lips, his tongue meeting mine again, hot and heavy with lust, almost greedily.

Gavin leans back then, pulling our bodies apart, and I look at him. The yearning, raw desire written all over his face is so satisfying. I hold his amber gaze steadily, and he leans in towards me, mouth next to my ear. He nibbles lightly on the lobe, making me bite my lip to hold back a whimper. Suddenly, he picks me up, my legs wrapping around his waist, and he places me on the kitchen counter.

“How badly do you want me?” he whispers, his voice husky, leaning into me, asking the breathy question directly into my ear. His breath tickles deliciously. The throbbing heat and desire between my legs won’t stop growing, and I can feel how wet I am with the anticipation.

“I could tell you,” I purr, my voice dripping with honey, “but it would be much easier to show you.”

I take his hand and guide it under my soft shorts, letting his fingers hook gently underneath my underwear. Gavin’s breath hitches again, and his fingers venture in further, gently massaging me. The fire is now an inferno, impossible to put out. Then he slides two fingers inside of me, and I cry out in pleasure.

“Mph!” My moans are muffled by his tongue on mine. Gavin’s fingers curve upwards and down, in a come-hither motion, and I lean back on both my elbows onto the counter; my back arching, my body writhing in the thrill of it. I pull him closer to me, and he leans into my neck, biting the skin gently and sucking. I move my hips along with the rhythm of his fingers, and the delicious mix of pain and pleasure drives me to the edge. I cry out again as the orgasm shudders through me, my nails raking across the skin of Gavin’s shoulders.

I come back down, breathing heavily. Gavin removes his fingers from inside of me, and I grab his hand, sucking on his fingers with my tongue, tasting myself. I’m so hungry , hungry for more of him; more of his touch that sears my skin. At that moment, he tugs my shorts down my hips, taking my panties with them. They drop to the floor, and he looks at me then, taking in the sight. It’s a gaze filled with such raw desire, and he swallows, all thoughts of the self-control he was trying to have earlier completely erased at the sight of my pretty pussy on full display, the evidence of my arousal dripping down my thighs.

I let my hand trail the fine hairs of his lower abdomen, retreating into the towel still somehow wrapped around his hips. He’s rock hard, and I wrap my fingers around his dick gently, teasing them down the shaft until my thumb circles the head, caressing it lightly. I repeat this a few times, feeling the slick wetness of his pre-cum on my finger. I grin, and Gavin moans into my neck.

“Wait,” he groans, and backs away. “Not here.”

I can’t help but look at him in that moment, his breathing labored, desire wild in his eyes. I hop off the counter, my legs a little unsteady. I take Gavin’s hand in mine, and lead him into my bedroom, the lights still off. Out of habit, I pull the door closed, even though I live alone. The window is open slightly, a warm breeze caressing our bare skin as we walk towards the bed.

Gavin sits on the bed, grabbing my hips and pulling me onto his lap so that I’m straddling him again. He finally undoes the towel knotted around his hips, and his cock springs out as the fabric pools underneath him. I grab him again, stroking him gently, smiling devilishly at the delicious feeling, knowing I’m doing this to him. Suddenly, Gavin stands up, lifting me with him, and gently lowers me down onto the bed, spreading my legs with his knee.

“You came already, but I'm feeling generous, so I’m going to give it to you again,” Gavin coos. I wasn’t sure what he was going to do next, but all I know is that I want him, desire him in a way I’ve never felt about anyone else. He presses his mouth to my navel, planting kisses as he makes his way down the contours of my body. His lips leave a trail of fire down my abdomen.

His lips graze my inner thigh, and again on the other side. My pussy throbs with the anticipation. The feeling of it is so delicious, so tantalizing, I hunger for more. I feel Gavin’s tongue between my legs, licking and sucking my clit ever so slightly, driving me wild with the pleasure of it.

He pulls his tongue away, replacing it with his fingers. His thumb begins to circle my nub, and I cry out. His fingers find their way back into my pussy, and they plunge in and out of me. His tongue resumes its rightful place licking around my clit at the same time. I feel the orgasm start to crescendo, and instinctively buck my hips against Gavin’s face. He hooks an arm around my leg, holding me down, not missing a beat of pleasure. I relax my body, and as I reach the climax, I feel a gushing between my legs.

“Gavin!” I cry out. I lose control then; legs shaking, my body nearly spasming with the orgasm, arching my back, and then pitching my body forward. My legs still parted, Gavin comes up, then leans forward and presses his dick against me. My legs are still shaking, and I’m so, so wet. I can feel the fluid dripping down the bottom of my thighs.

“Good girl,” murmurs Gavin into my neck. His dick presses harder against me. He thrusts into me then, filling me up with himself, and I gasp at how big he is. I’m so wet, so ready to take him in, that it doesn’t hurt; just a slight pressure, and it feels so good. He begins to thrust back and forth, leaning over me, lips pressed against my neck, groaning softly. I arch my back and he lifts my hips up, making the angle deeper.

My arms are around Gavin’s neck, and I thread my fingers into his soft, still slightly damp hair. He continues slamming into me, moving his mouth down lower as he does, tonguing my nipple. The feeling has my blood thrumming with the pleasure of it, my entire body electrified; then, suddenly, he pulls out. He’s panting heavily, raking his eyes over my body as I’m in this compromised position. He leans over me, stroking my face gently; a gesture that doesn’t match the hungered, lustful look in his glistening amber eyes.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “you feel so good...I was about to bust and I’m not ready yet.”

I sit up on my knees, facing him. “Let me ride you, and I bet it’ll be even harder for you to not lose it.”

He grins, challenging me, and we switch positions: he lays on the bed, and, finally, straddling him, I’m in control. I lower myself onto his cock leaning over him to press my face into his neck, and begin rocking my hips back and forth in a hypnotic rhythm. He moves with me, our movements in sync, hands on my hips, guiding me up and down with the tempo of our own song. My head is in the clouds, filled with ecstasy; the feeling of power that comes with knowing that I’m in charge of his pleasure. I feel so amazing, so sexy; something I haven’t felt in months, and I’m relishing every second of it.

Gavin keeps his hands on my hips as I move up and down slowly, then a little faster. “Ugh, fuck, fuck …” I hear him murmur after a little while. I lean back, curving my body slightly, opening up the angle a bit. My breasts are bouncing with our in-sync movement. I feel Gavin move his hand from my hip, further down; taking advantage of the angle, he begins to circle my clit with his thumb again.

I’m still sensitive from the previous orgasm, and, mixed with the pleasure of his cock thrusting in and out of me, feeling my pussy tighten around him with anticipation. I dissolve into the pleasure, like a spring coiling tightly, and then releasing; the delicious wave of fire and lightning coursing from between my legs all the way up into my chest.

“Gavin,” I whimper, leaning over him once again, and he kisses me gently. We resume our previous rhythm, and I know he’s getting close. He grunts, deepening the kiss, then shudders slightly and moans against my lips as he emptied himself into me, filling me with his seed.

Gavin pulls out, and lays next to me on the bed, cradling my face in his hands. He cups my cheek, and I nuzzle my head into his hand.

“Gavin…,” I whisper, not quite sure what to say. He kisses the top of my head, stroking my hair gently.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into my hair. I bury my face into his chest, both of ours rising and falling with the same rhythm. It’s so late, and suddenly I feel so worn out, and so comfortable in his embrace, that I feel my eyelids flutter. I can’t keep them open anymore, and, with Gavin stroking my hair, fall into a deep sleep.

When I wake, it’s light out. I rise slowly, leaning on my arm, and notice the bed is empty next to me. Gavin ? He probably got called out on a mission, and had to leave. I walk out of my room and into the living room, glancing at the unused blanket and pillow still sitting on the couch. Smiling, I pick them up to put them back into the linen closet. On my way there, I see a small yellow note, decorated with gingko leaves, folded on the counter. Confused, I pick the note up and unfold it carefully.

Good morning , it says, in Gavin’s handwriting. I grin unabashedly, closing my eyes, remembering his touch. As though in answer, a warm breeze trickles through the open window, gently reminding me that Gavin is always with me, no matter where I am.

#mr love queen's choice #mr love gavin #bai qi #mlqc smut #mlqc gavin smut #mlqc fanfic #mlqc gavin #love and producer #mlqc bai qi #mr love dream date #fanfiction #smut

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drawlfoy · 4 years ago

Text

Faux Diplomacy P.3

masterlist (find parts 1 and 2 here!) request guidelines requests are open! but make sure to read my guidelines first :)

pairing: draco x reader

request: yes part 3 has been highly requested :)

summary: reader is a muggleborn ilvermorny exchange student taking a year in hogwarts. takes place in 6th year. but there’s a reason why all the students with her were placed into slytherin, and that very reason may completely backfire on them.

warnings: angsty, stressful, language, mentions of a dead mother

a/n: ahahahahaa so. over a year late in typical drawlfoy fashion. so sorry! idk if i’m going to continue this, but let me know if you’d really like me to! i’ve been sitting on this story for a long, long time and if this is requested to continue i’d like to actually outline it so i can figure out where it’s going. i kinda hated the first part of this so....we’ll see if this keeps coming out

music recs:

girls idk

word count: 2.2k

tags!! @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @icintliviinyiniilsiji

“Malfoy?”

Y/N was stunned still, watching as the boy scowled in her direction.

“It’d be in your best interest to leave now, you know.”

She swallowed, stepping forward a few more steps. “You look like you could use some company, though.”

His lips tightened, but he discreetly waved his hand in the direction of his face, dispelling all of the tears and blotchiness but leaving the nasty expression on his face. “Leave.” Malfoy’s voice was stronger now, void of the shakiness that had been present before.

Now, Y/N was never the most confrontational person. She’d even go as far to say that she did everything she could to avoid confrontation, but there was just something about the way Malfoy looked at her, something that twisted her insides and made her feel like she would be failing him if she left. So, she did the last thing she would’ve expected.

“No.”

His sour expression deepened as she strode over to him, plopping down about a foot away from him and tucking her legs up. His hair was ruffled--something that she had hardly ever seen before from him but found somewhat endearing. Malfoy didn’t look nearly as intimidating when his knees were to his chest.

“You said something to me,” she said softly, “at the beginning of the year. Something about how you knew why I was here. I know you probably don’t want to talk to me, but can you please tell me? I at least deserve to know.”

Malfoy slumped against the wall, turning his head up to the sky and sighing dramatically. “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?”

Y/N stayed silent. His eyes darted in her direction, raising an eyebrow expectantly. Instinctually, she scooted away a few inches. The way he was looking at her was so calculated that she almost felt violated.

He huffed again. “Just say you will.”

“Fine.”

“Fine what?”

“Fine, I will.”

Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he tilted his head back down and looked at her. “I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet, really. The entire lot of you are muggleborns, right?”

Y/N stiffened at the word, but as she thought about it, he was right.

“And do you really believe that there’s no room in the castle except for in Slytherin?”

“Well, I wouldn’t know,” she retorted. “It’s not like I know anything about Hogwarts. I didn’t even know that Hufflepuff was a thing until I got here.”

Malfoy snorted at that. “Do you get it now? They wanted to ease blood tensions by introducing you into Slytherin. It’s almost entirely pureblood, you know.”

“Well, that’s just ridiculous. It hasn’t even begun to work.”

He chuckled, making Y/N deeply uncomfortable. “You and Zabini seem to be plenty close.”

“We’re just acquaintances,” she defended. “I hardly think Blaise would consider us close.”

“Close enough to be on a first name basis, eh?”

“It’s different in America. Not as big of a deal.”

Instead of giving into her banter, Malfoy cast a disgusted look her way. “I told you. You’re done, you can go.”

In no hurry, Y/N stood up and began to brush herself off as she processed the information. It all made too much sense...

“Do you think it’s safe for us here?” The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them. Malfoy’s face adopted an expression that she couldn’t quite identify. Before she had a chance to think about it further, he ducked his head down to his hands.

“I think,” he carefully stated, “that you should be...mindful. I don’t care, but if I were you, I’d think of this trip as a very unwise choice.”

Y/N gulped. “Really? Do you think I should...try and go home?” Her voice dropped to a hushed tone, embarrassed that he was rattling her so much. But at the same time...she could tell that he was being honest with her.

Malfoy sighed again, rolling his wand around in his hands. “That would be a good decision.”

“Thank you.” Y/N’s words hung heavy between the two of them, and Malfoy’s head snapped up in surprise, his silvery eyes wide. “And...Malfoy...” She took another deep breath, already regretting the words about to come out of her mouth. “Are you going to be alright?”

He smiled then, a stomach twisting, sickeningly fake smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t need your pity. Go away now. I want to be alone.”

Y/N nodded briskly, turning her back and trotting down the stairs. As she reached the bottom of the staircase, she thought she could hear gasping sobs, muffled from the distance.

“Bella, no, he wasn’t just trying to scare me!” Y/N protested, rubbing her temples. “I could see it in his eyes. And what he said made sense!”

“Okay, you’re crazy,” her best friend told her, raising an eyebrow. “This is Malfoy we’re talking about. He probably went back to his room and reveled in the fact that his precious house would be purified in due time.”

Y/N huffed, flopping back onto her bed. “He was crying. I don’t think he’s that manipulative.”

“Oh, I certainly think so,” Bella retorted. “He totally planned the whole thing.”

“He couldn’t have known that I was coming!”

“You don’t know that. The dark magic or whatever he knows probably does more for him than we know.”

“You’re assuming so much about him!”

“And you’re defending him, Y/N! Have you ever thought about that?”

Her mouth suddenly dry, Y/N brought her hands to her face. “You’re right. But you can’t deny that something isn’t right here. Katie Bell being cursed, Ron Weasley being poisoned...”

Bella nodded. “You’re not wrong. But I wouldn’t be so quick to believe Malfoy. He’s a nutter. However, I will say that I see the motive behind sending us now.”

“Thank you.” Y/N suddenly giggled. “A nutter? I dare you to call him that to his face.”

Bella burst out laughing. clutching her stomach. “Oh, god, then we’d definitely be dead.”

Y/N savored the lightheartedness of the present. Something deep inside of her told her that as the year wore on, things were going to get worse. She might as well just enjoy it in the time being.

“I want to go talk to Blaise,” Y/N suddenly said. “He’s friends with Pansy and Malfoy, and I’m sure he’d tell me if he was lying to me.”

Bella pondered this for a moment. “I mean, I guess. There’s no pain in doing that.”

“Can you promise me something?” Y/N turned on her side, looking Bella directly in the eyes. “Promise me that you’ll believe us if he says Malfoy didn’t lie.”

“Well of course, dumbass,” she giggled. “Blaise is calm. I like him.”

Y/N was about to poke fun at her statement when their door flung open to reveal a very concerned looking Laurel.

“Hey Laurel, what’s up?”

The brunette was struggling to catch her breath, clearly having just ran from somewhere. “I..I just got a letter from Anna,” she wheezed. Anna was a halfblood Thunderbird who was rejected from the exchange program.

“And?” Y/N could sense that she wasn’t going to like what she was going to hear.

“And she said that America is going to completely close its borders!”

“What does that mean?”

“It means...” Laurel suddenly looked very ill. “It means that no more owling back home. And...we can’t go home. Effective next Monday.”

Y/N turned to Bella, watching as she turned a sickly white.

“Why on earth would they do that?”

The rest of the day was filled with chaotic letter writing addressed home and trips to Snape’s office. The grease ball simply recounted the following to Y/N and Bella: the threat of Death Eaters was far too strong to keep international travel open. Many other countries around the world had already done so, with their only mode of transport being muggle air travel.

He assured her that they’d still be able to send them home and would do so as soon as possible, but that at the present moment, they were unable to book any flights. After the various Death Eater attacks in London, even Muggles were feeling uneasy and trying to get out of the country for a bit. All of the upcoming flights to America were completely full, and there was nothing that they could do about it.

“However, may I remind you,” Snape had finished, “Hogwarts is the most secure place for muggleborns such as yourself. I don’t suggest any...plots... to escape.”

Y/N and Bella returned to the common room, each as concerned and freaked out as the other.

“What if I never see my parents again?” wailed Laurel from the other side of the room as she gazed out into the lake. Peter was by her side, comforting her and brushing her hair away from her face.

“I didn’t know that that was a development,” Y/N commented absentmindedly, her own thoughts preoccupied with the recent news.

“That’s probably the least of our worries.” Y/N couldn’t tell for sure, but she thought she could see an extra layer of shine over Bella’s hazel eyes.

“There’s nothing we can do,” Y/N said. “You heard what Snape said. This is the safest place for us right now until they figure out how to get us home. I’m sure that Dumbledore will make it happen as soon as he can. He seems to know what he’s doing.”

“Why isn’t our own administration doing something about this, though?” Bella responded, her eyes nervously flickering to the windows into the lake. “You’d think that they’d make sure that we’d be the first to know so we could make travel arrangements.”

“Haven’t you heard?”

A silky, male, unmistakably British drawl sounded from behind the two.

“Heard what now, Malfoy?” Bella scowl deepened once she saw Blaise step out of the shadows as well.

“The Ilvermorny administration is in big trouble for ignoring the Council’s wisdom and sending exchange students abroad anyways.” He leaned up against the dungeon wall and cocked an eyebrow. “Their hands are tied. There’s nothing they can do to take immediate action until they get the funding needed.”

“He’s not being serious, Blaise, right?” Bella prompted.

“No, he is,” he confirmed, his head resting against the window behind him. “I wish he wasn’t.”

“Fuuuck, dude. This is a mess,” Y/N uttered. “Now what are we gonna do?”

“Write our parents and tell them that we love them? For the last time?”

“Great idea, I’ll get right on that,” Y/N snorted. “But actually, though. We’re all being messy. We need to get everyone together and find out the best course of action.”

“You can feel free to do that on your own,” said Bella. “I’m going to go to my room and write heartfelt letters to my loved ones in case I never get to speak to them again. I’d suggest that you follow suit, but it’s totally your choice.”

Bella turned and made her way to their room, her brown hair swinging in the ponytail she had hastily put it up in. It was incredibly late already, late enough that the rest of the student body was tucked safely away in their dorms, but sleeping was out of question. Adrenaline was still running through Y/N’s veins, and out of everything, she just wanted to do something, something to make it better.

Blaise was watching her curiously at the side of Malfoy, who was also gazing at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s the plan, kid?” Blaise finally said.

“Start swimming.” Y/N’s lame attempt at cracking a joke fell completely flat. “Do you guys really think this is the safest place for us right now? With Katie Bell and...”

The dim dungeon lighting combined with the mention of Katie Bell’s name suddenly hit her with the realization that she had been on the brink of for weeks. Katie Bell’s necklace--the one that had cursed her--had been in Malfoy’s room the night that she played Truth or Dare. She had seen it.

Nervously, her eyes met Malfoy’s, and a wave of realization passed over his face as well. His already pale face seemed to become even more pasty as his silver eyes, illuminated by the dungeon lanterns, hardened.

“Y/N?” Blaise prompted, stepping forward to poke at her arm. “Is everything okay?”

“Uh...I gotta go find Snape, or Dumbledore, or someone,” Y/N managed, yanking her eyes away from Draco’s.

“Oh no, why?” Blaise asked, his face seeming to actually exhibit concern. “Would you like me to take you? You shouldn’t walk around the dungeons this late at night.”

“No, Blaise,” Malfoy interrupted, his composure regained. “No need. I can take her. You must be tired from practice.”

“Oh, no, that’s really okay,” Y/N said. “I’ll go alone.”

“No, really, I insist,” he said.

“Please, that’s unnecessary of you,” Y/N countered. “I can manage myself alone.”

“It would be an insult to my conscience to let a lady go alone at this hour,” Malfoy mused. “It’s really no bother.”

With that, he pushed off the wall and held out his arm for her to take.

“Lead the way,” he told her.

final a/n: okkkkkkk so. idk how to feel about this but it is a nice little return to my roots after the crazy AU that is wonders of ohio. let me know what you think! do you like it? do you want me to continue it?

#draco x reader #draco #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x female reader #draco x oc #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x female reader

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