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highdramas · 27 days ago

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soft descent | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!reader

warnings: language, age gap (reader is 30, abbot is 48), SMUT! (MDNI!), character death (off page prior to fic beginning), zombie apocalypse typical gore and violence

word count: 5588

summary: (zombie apocalypse au) the emergency team did everything you could to save PTMC when a new virus brought on the undead, but it simply wasn't enough. so, you set out for where you may be useful-- fort knox. you find something to live for as you do in the first month of the apocalypse.

notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. you guysssss i am SO proud of this one! this is definitely the longest fic that i've ever written! it's romantic and sad and tender and sexyyyy! i'm heavily inspired by the first two seasons of the walking dead <3 this is really to give back story for some interconnected one shots in the soft descent series, so if you have requests, PLEASE i would love them <3

if there was anyone that you felt was capable of walking by your side through the end of the world, you think that dr. jack abbot is the one.

it’s not just that he’s capable– it’s more than that. you think that he’s built for this new life, in a way that you aren’t. he thinks with more practicality than you’ve ever been able to muster. you’d worked with him for years and barely knew him. you knew that he was intense. you knew that he could pin you down with a look that you would think about for weeks. you knew that his praise meant the world to you and that when you could feel the weight of his disappointment, you wanted to shuck it off instantly. you knew that he was a veteran and that it colored every part of his life and his work. you knew that he felt deeply for every person that he could not save. well, you didn’t know that. but you felt it.

and jack, as good as he is, could not save the pittsburgh trauma medical center.

it started with one or two sick patients. it ended three days later with the majority of the staff dead in the span of one shift.

and when it was becoming clear that there was no way out, no way to save everyone, no way to heal those who had been scratched or bitten… you all should’ve heeded the warning that had gone out days prior. leave the city. but he hadn’t. none of you had, because you felt the obligation to this city and this work and saving as many lives as possible.

it was a ragtag group of you that left PTMC that night. the roads were full of abandoned cars, so there was no choice but to go by foot. you. robby and abbot. dana. collins. langdon. samira. about six nurses. but there was so many you couldn’t save– their faces flash behind your eyes when you lay down to sleep at night. mel. whitaker. javadi. mckay. you’re still not over mckay. you don’t know if you ever will be.

you packed up all of the medical supplies that you could under the circumstances and began towards fort knox. having spent three days by foot, aiming for 25 miles each day, but at the same time stopping and gathering supplies wherever and whenever you can… you feel a level of exhaustion that beats out even a double in the pitt.

you’ve never known jack to be… sympathetic. he became your fearless leader in these first days, and you noted that being inspiring wasn’t exactly his strong suit. if he needed someone to give a speech, he oftentime left that to robby. but he said something that stuck with you, just as you left city limits, narrowly escaping with your lives. “we’re going to be needed now more than ever. most healthcare workers across this country have likely died. we have a purpose. that’s the only thing that’s keeping me going through this hell hole.”

you repeated that in your head, day over day– when you wanted to find a creek and lay in it and let the water wash over you. get to fort knox. save lives. make this all matter. but today was hard. it was your birthday.

it was so stupid. who cares about birthdays, anymore? you don’t know where your family is. you don’t know where your friends are. cell service went down before you even left PTMC. you don’t know if any of them are even alive anymore. you have no home, no place in this world– your apartment a forgotten relic to your past. your feet burn and your hands are dry. your stomach growls at you more often than not.

but you loved your birthday, back then. you even had tickets this year to see your favorite band. you remember thinking it as fate that they were going to be in town on your actual birthday.

the tears prick at your eyes. you set up camp for the night, the hot sun finally setting into the curve of the earth. you’re right by the water, allowing you to stick your feet in the river and feel peace, if only for a moment. you had been figuring out that the majority of walkers were still in cities. the disease had hardly touched the more rural areas, which made west virginia safer than most other places. “fuck,” you whisper to yourself, hanging your head, finally letting the tears fall.

you feel him beside you before you hear him. you start, your heart nearly jumping out of your mouth. his face doesn’t move a muscle. “sorry.” he groans as he sits beside you. he doesn’t say anything, but he looks at you. he notes the tears on your face, and for a moment, you think he might berate you for them. you feel like you should be berated. you’re so lucky to be alive– aren’t you? or are the dead the lucky ones? you’re not sure if you know anymore, but you feel like you should be fortunate for… something. “please. don’t let me stop you.”

face screwed up in disbelief, you look back out to the water. “i shouldn’t be crying.”

“and why not?”

“because i’m not even crying for that good of a reason.” you bring your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees.

“let me be the judge of that.”

you look over at him with skeptical eyes. before and after everything that had happened, you hadn’t been precisely vulnerable with jack before. he must sense your hesitation, because he leans back. “you know, despite my reputation…” he stares at you with that same intensity. “i’m not as emotionless as everyone seems to believe.”

“i don’t think you’re emotionless,” you say instantly. “the opposite. you’re full of it.”

“oh yeah?”

“yeah,” you say, chuckling. “you’re… intense.”

jack hums at your examination of him, but doesn’t say anything else, leaving the floor open for you. looking back out at the water, you say, “i turned 30 today.” you press your lips into a thin line. “and i had all these plans– some friends and i got a hotel room for the night. we got a reservation at that nice new thai food place. my favorite band was going to be playing. it all was set up to be so… perfect. and then it wasn’t. and i just–” you blow a breath out, willing yourself to keep your emotions under control. “i’m fucking angry.”

your face goes slightly red, and something flashes behind jack’s eyes at that. “i’m so angry of what was taken from all of us. i’m angry that mckay died on my watch. i’m angry that we had to–” you wince. “that we had to kill patients. i know they weren’t there anymore, but–” you suck in a gasp of air. “i think i’ve been pushing it down, you know? focusing on what needed to be done. who we could save. getting somewhere that we can be useful. but what’s the point of being useful anymore? why save people when there’s hardly a world worth coming back to?”

“be angry,” jack says, resolutely. “i’m angry. and i don’t know if i’ve got anything encouraging to say to you other than that. that i know. and i feel it too.” a piece of hair has fallen into your face, and you flinch when jack moves to push it back behind your ear. this amuses him; the corner of his mouth turns up. “am i that bad?”

“no,” you say immediately, shaking your head. you use the back of your hand to brush away your tears, sending him an inquisitive look. “i just appreciate you checking on me.”

“don’t like seeing you upset,” he says. “you look like someone just stepped on a puppy in front of you.”

you gape at him and you again get that hint of a smile on his face. you don’t know if you’ll ever get him to grin, but you think you could live with what he gives you. you think a half smile from jack abbot is worth more than a belly laugh from anyone else. “wow.”

“i’m kiddin’,” he leans into you, brushing your shoulder with his. you settle into comfortable silence, staring out into the water. the sound of it comforts you, as does the chirping of crickets nestled in the brush. for as horrific as this all is– it’s beautiful here. as much as your back hurts from carrying your pack day over day, when you lay down and stare up at a sky full of stars… maybe there is something to hope for.

“does this remind you of being out on the field?” you ask. the question had been rattling around in your head for awhile– you’d heard some of the stories of jack’s days in the military. he was unstoppable. the intensity that he carries with him is well earned, if all the stories are true. you’d probably be intense and stoic, too.

sighing, he hangs his head. “yeah.” he swings his head over towards you. “it does. being stretched thin. never knowing what you’re going to see next. not knowing if you’re going to wake up and everyone you’ve gotten close to is dead.” he pauses. “or undead.”

you can’t help it. you laugh. “i’m sorry, i’m not laughing at you, i just–” he furrows his brows as you grab your stomach, falling back into the grass. “it’s crazy. this is all so fucking crazy. undead. fucking undead.” you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye. “oh my god, my stomach hurts.”

you continue to giggle, eyes shut, and jack hovers slightly over you. when you open your eyes, it’s not a half smile that you’re greeted with. he’s smiling at you full on, no holds barred. “you’re gonna be alright, kid.” he touches your chin. “you’re gonna be alright if you keep laughing.”

with nothing more, he pushes himself up, groaning as his knees creak, and walks back to camp.

rolling over onto your stomach, you watch as he walks off, resting your chin in the palm of your hand. and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, you watch him chuckle to himself.

–

there’s not a big shift that comes for you and dr. abbot. not yet, anyway– that doesn’t happen until he finds you with the walkers a week later.

you did run into other survivors on the road. since so many were fleeing pittsburgh, it was inevitable. you provided medical services as you went. there was this thought always in the back of your mind– what happens when you run across someone not so nice? that’s how these things always go isn’t it? you’d read enough books to know that typically, the biggest monster was humanity.

jack must’ve had the same thought when he diverted your group onto a path that he hoped would be less traveled, if slightly longer to get to the base. “no lives to save if we all die on the way there,” he smartly observed.

you loved to walk. the others often scolded you for going out by yourself, but it was not easy to deter you. the wind against your face and the sun on your arms was sometimes the only thing that reminded you that you were alive, that there were still simple pleasures in this world. you told robby, not asked for his permission, that you were going on an evening walk. he looked skeptically, but nodded. and you didn’t go too far– but it didn’t matter. there was a figure just off in the distance. at first, you think it’s a survivor. being this far out of the city, you didn’t run into walkers much. if you did, jack or collins typically took care of it with the guns they had looted days ago.

selfishly, you were thankful to not be tasked with defending anyone. you weren’t fighters. you’re healthcare workers. you were a resident doctor. your responsibility was to heal, not to harm. and you had witnessed enough of that harm in pittsburgh. you had your fill when you screwed your eyes up tight and screamed while you drove a knife into mckay’s chest while she, entirely gone, her eyes vacant and her mouth gaping, trying to gnash at your neck. that was still the thing that kept you up at night. you didn’t want to add to the list.

but when the head perked up, and you shielded your eyes from the burning sun, you realized how wrong you were. your heart sank and you took a stumbling step backwards. you piqued the intrigued of the walker, or it caught your scent, because it began a steady walk towards you. and then another one appeared behind it, cresting the hill. and a third. all ready to plummet down this hill towards you.

they’re fast. and with the downwards slope, they can only gain momentum. you begin to run back towards camp, but then you wonder if it’s better to lead them away from camp– what if there are others? but if you lead them away, they may not hear you… “help!” your cry is full of desperation as you begin to veer left from camp, trying to stay close enough.

the three walkers have gained on you. but for as fast as they are, jack is faster– he runs up and captures you in his arms, a pistol in his hand– three shots rings out, right next to your ear, and you lower yourself to try and escape the jarring noise. “they didn’t get you? no bites, no scratches?” you shake your head no, and the silence that follows is heavy. you continue to cover your ears with your hands. you can feel your blood pumping through you, the adrenaline of near death. every limb trembles and you sink even lower, until your hands are splayed on the still warm asphalt.

the others must have approached, because you hear jack say, “go on. we’re good.” he lowers himself to your level like a true doctor, his hand rubbing, up and down, on your back. “we’re good.”

the others heed his words and tentatively walk off, leaving you two alone. “you’re good,” he repeats. he gathers your hair off of your neck to relieve some of the heat, holding it up with one big hand. “what were you doing walking by yourself?”

“i told robby,” you say around a gasping breath. “i– i didn’t–” you look over at the bodies. one of them is a woman, certainly not much older or younger than you. “i saw her, but she was still far off. i didn’t know she was…”

from a career of working with people at their most vulnerable, jack must sense what is about to break within you. it was close at the river, but then you were mourning the loss of what your life could be. this felt bigger than that. this was coming to terms with what your life now was.

and you swiftly fall apart.

you don’t expect him to hold you, at first. you begin to sink into yourself, the tears and the cries coming like the flood. but jack swoops in, his hand to the back of your head and his other arm circling your waist. you sit on the dirty road and he holds you, despite the humidity and the heat and everything else. you should’ve known that this side of abbot existed. the side that could be steady as a rock, unyielding and ready to protect.

you’re there for so long the sun begins to sink. you look up from where you’d hidden your face in his chest. a technicolor sunset is in front of you. your red rimmed eyes take it in, and jack pulls away enough to watch your face, gauge your reaction. when he sees the wonder in your eyes, he cranes his neck to follow your line of vision. he says, softly, “think mother nature knew you needed some cheering up.”

with a wet laugh, you lean back, but jack doesn’t release you from his hold that easily. “i guess so.” you look at him through your lashes, feeling embarrassed and grateful and reckless and warmed. “thank you. i won’t– i won’t go out walking.”

he scoffs. “nah. you will. we just need to go in pairs.” he looks like he might leave it at that, but then he says, “and i’ll go wherever you want.”

–

two more weeks go by and now it’s august and the days burn orange and you’re in the heart of west virginia.

from that sunset on the road on, where you go, he’s often not too far behind. the others are not oblivious to his trained eye watching you. they’re not stupid– they notice when he is the first one to pair with you for scavenging.

seeing walkers doesn’t have the same jarring affect that it did, even days ago. it’s still not regular, but you certainly see them more than when you first got into west virginia. you still don’t carry a gun, but jack, collins, robby, and dana now do. wherever you all go, one of them goes with you. and for you… that’s jack. if not by choice, by default. everyone seems to have their pair, natural duos from your time in the emergency room. you didn’t have that then, and jack didn’t, either. he has robby, of course, and that hasn’t change– but you think something in his mindset changed when you fell apart before him.

you don’t call him dr. abbot anymore. none of you use such formalities now. what’s the use?

the group moves through west virginia terrain towards fort knox. over time, you’d gotten more and more in the way of supplies. you found an abandoned RV in good shape with the keys still in the ignition. you all held a thought for the owner before you took it. dana was driving a pick up that she spotted back near weston. it made all of you laugh when you saw her behind the wheel. most of the places out here weren’t so looted– sometimes, you hit a goldmine still. jack’s clever thinking to take the road less traveled was proving useful, indeed. that felt like good enough reason to take your time. but winter was going to be coming sooner rather than later. your slowness wasn’t going to last forever. a thought lingers in the back of your mind, and you’re sure everyone else’s, too– this world needs doctors. and maybe you’re all being selfish. maybe you’re all okay with that, for the time being. you don’t know. you’re only human.

you liked to walk to clear your head. sometimes you missed it being a solitary activity, but jack was often quiet enough that you really didn’t have much of a change. honestly, you never minded when it was jack. sometimes dana would offer to walk with you, and for as much as you love her, she has the ability to talk your ear off– but jack picked up on your cues. when he thought there might be something on your mind, he would nudge your arm. when you shook your head, he dropped it. when you would begin to talk through whatever it was that you were thinking about, he would listen, rapt.

and, you think you provide him support, too. there was so much that you’ve learned about him– you know how he takes his coffee. well, in this world, at least. he likes it black but with two of those sugar packets that you got from a starbucks. not the artificial stuff, either. he wakes before you, but you always make his second cup. you’ll approach him in his seat– he always sits in the RV in the morning, working on one of the crossword books you’d taken from the hospital. you come up to him and take his empty cup. most mornings, he says, “you don’t gotta do that.”

you reply each time with, “but i wanna.”

and, over time, you get more and more of those small smiles.

for what it’s worth, the two of you get by for awhile pretending that whatever is happening simply isn’t. you roll your eyes when langdon calls you mrs. abbot. you simply nod when robby mentions jack looking for you.

it was a long day, and a storm was brewing. you had been camped in the same spot for nearly a week, spending time scavenging the area, which was largely untouched by other survivors. you take what you need, leave what you don’t– making sure that there’s enough for anyone else who might need it in the future. your body is sore from so many night of sleeping on the ground, but that’s everyone. “alright– we need to reduce the amount of tents so that we can get everyone out of the rainfall and under the trees.” dana says, hands on her hips. she starts rattling off sleeping arrangements, pointing at you and finishing with, “you’ll be in jack’s tent.”

you look at each other from across the circle, and you have to make a true effort to keep your face neutral. jack doesn’t even flinch. “yes, ma’am.”

your stomach twists in knots as you begin tearing down your tent. jack comes up from behind you and helps, making quick work of it. you glance over at him and murmur, “sorry you’re stuck with me. i’ll keep to my side of the sleeping bag.”

there’s a glint in his eye. “i don’t know. princess has told me you hog the blankets.”

“i do not!”

he smirks to himself, satisfied with getting a small rise out of you. “guess i’ll just have to be the judge of that, kid.”

–

it’s been a long time since you laid beside a man and it meant something.

you’d been single for the better part of five years– your ex was the kind of piece of work that would make anyone swear off dating for half of a decade. you had meaningless hookups and endless first dates, but nothing that stuck. nothing that gave you butterflies.

now, there’s a swarm of them in your stomach, threatening to dislodge. you brush your teeth and your eyes trail over towards jack, smirking at something that robby said. you glance away and finish up, proceeding to change in the RV. you’re not sure how you’re supposed to dress– sweats is most appropriate, right? you run warm, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable. big shirt? little shirt?

zombies could come up and kill you at any point, and your concern is how much or how little you should wear while lying next to jack. the ridiculousness is not lost on you. but, there’s a shred of you that’s thankful for a feeling that’s normal amidst everything else. feelings-induced trepidation is something that you can handle.

you opt for the little shirt– a gas station t shirt you had cropped haphazardly with a knife– and sweatpants. when you come back out from the RV, jack is no where to be seen, but there is a light on in his tent.

unzipping slowly, you’re greeted by his face looking at you. you watch his eyes zero in on the strip of exposed skin on your stomach. you watch his adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows.

the tent is generous when it says that two people can fit. you can see that jack prepped your side of the bed– two pillows, and your water bottle. “you left it outside.”

“thank you.” you kick your shoes off and climb under the blanket. jack huffs a laugh. “what’s so funny?”

“you wear pants to bed?”

your face heats. “not typically.”

“don’t do it for my comfort.” he reaches at the back of his shirt, tugging it over his head. “i will be sleeping comfortably. and cool.” he halts before he says, “and a gentleman.”

you roll your eyes, but you lift your hips and shimmy the sweats off, tossing them towards your feet. settling back into the pillow, you watch jack as he does the same, eventually rolling over to face you. he has the fly trap off of the tent, so you stare up at the stars. he never looks away from you.

“dana did this on purpose,” you whisper, and it’s the closest you’ve gotten to pure admission. “you realize that, right?”

“yeah,” he puts one hand behind his head, following the line of your sight to the stars, too. “she’s been on my case since we set up camp here.”

curious, you peer over at him. “how so?”

jack shrugs one shoulder. “telling me not to fuck around with your feelings.” his neck turns towards you. “told her i’m doing my best.”

you screw your face up. “you’re not fucking around with my feelings.”

“good.” there’s such a practicality to his words. he’s not barred by fear or by unease; he’s confident. “but, for the record…” he sinks his teeth into his lower lip. “yeah, i’m not trying to fuck around with your feelings. i’ve been trying to…”

“trying to what?”

“will you let me spit it out?” jack asks with a smirk. “patience is not always your strong suit.”

you turn your chin down, indignant. “you didn’t mind when we were in the emergency room.”

“i wouldn’t go that far,” jack counters. “i think i told you to slow down on multiple occasions.”

“now you’re just deflecting.”

a clap of lightning and thunder rings out in the open air. the rain begins just after.

“i think you just proved my point.”

disgruntled now, you move to simply roll over and go to bed and pretend the entire conversation never happened. but jack laughs again and he gently wraps his hand around your arm, pulling you back. not controlling. guiding. “don’t do that,” he says. “not when i’m trying to tell you i care about you. at least give me the opportunity to say it before you shoot me down and go to bed.”

brows furrowing, you roll over to face him. “i don’t understand.”

over the course of the month or so that you’ve gotten to learn jack intimately, know the corners of his mind and the stories that weren’t often shared, you’d resolutely pushed away the notion of you not being anything but in over your head. a woman with a crush on your authority figure. broken by circumstance and clinging to the one person who moves you feel unequivocally safe.

there wasn’t a part of you the stopped to think that maybe jack was doing the same. but that he was, perhaps, more brave than you.

“i’m not good at any of this,” he says quietly. “but if we’re going to die before the new year, i want to be selfish. and if i’ve– misread, tell me, and i’ll never bring this up again.”

silence fills the tent. your mouth forms a slight o, trying to wrap your head around the string of words that he just confessed to you. “you said before, that the only thing keeping you going was the fact that the world needs us. needs doctors.” your eyes flicker down then back up. “is that still true? is that the only reason?”

“if that was the only reason, i’d be in fort knox right now.” his hand flexes where it rests on his pillow. he’s holding back– you feel the tension pulled taut within him.

“tell me,” you say with absolution.

“tell you what?”

“tell me you want me. not just because of circumstance. but because of… me.” you are growing smaller before him. “i don’t want to just be a body to keep your bed warm until we die gruesomely.”

he laughs like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard. your name falls off his lips and he extends that hand to you. you take it. he tugs you closer. you push him, he pushes you. he makes you patient, you make him articulate. “i remember, once, walking by the family room. you were sitting with a little girl who had just lost her mom in a car accident. she… i couldn’t save her. and i was dreading sitting that little girl down, looking her in the eye, and telling her. but you stayed with me.” he swallows, thinking. “i’ve watched you work on the fly and save lives without thinking twice. you’re a horrible singer, but a great dancer. you love crosswords.” he pauses. “this didn’t start last week. not even last month.” last month, when you were still a resident and he was still your attending.

“wow.”

“yeah,” jack nods his head. “wow.”

you don’t know what to say. you feel shy under his gaze, and you think he knows it. he eyes you with that cocky smirk, like he knows that you want him, but that something still holds you back. “you don’t gotta say anything right now,” he shrugs. “we’ve got time. that is, long as i’m still alive.”

you gasp and hit his chest and he keeps your hand in his and then you’re looking at each other and slowly, surely, patiently– you begin to lean in. you don’t kiss him yet. you know that he’ll leave that ball in your court. but there’s something fun about your nose bumping his and feeling his breath on your cheek and feeling the way that his hand tightens around yours. “you’re not being very patient,” you murmur, and he all but growls, and you feel it all the way down to your belly. you laugh and your hand slides to the back of his head.

his hand lands on your waist. he begins pulling you closer. “say you want me,” he asks.

“i want you.”

a shuddering breath leaves him, and it settles into your brain how affected he is. he’s drunk on you, and you on him, and your leg drags up his. you finally decide to stop your cruelty, and you close the distance. your mouth rolls against his and his tongue opens you up, and you feel like something has just split your heart, and your fondness for him is spilling out of you.

you didn’t suspect jack to be a tender lover. you and mckay used to joke that he probably fucked like a jackhammer. but you should’ve known that his patience, his sheer determination, extends here, too.

he rolls you until he’s hovering above you, hand sliding to the back of your neck and squeezes the sides, just barely. you gasp into his mouth and his knee parts your legs and every part of you feels like warm honey, sliding between his fingers. there’s a restraint when he pulls back and looks at you. “you’re trouble.”

“i thought you knew that.”

“i did,” his hand runs from the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach. it travels further to the waistband of your underwear. “now, trouble,” you flush at the way that nickname makes you press your thighs together. “do you know how to be quiet?”

“yes, i know how to be quiet, you ass–” you’re cut off with a gasping sound leaving your throat as his fingers dip into your underwear. he leans in closer and chuckles in your ear and your hips roll to meet his hand.

“do you?” he asks as his hand begins to work its magic.

“yes.”

lowering until his mouth finds the juncture of your neck and shoulder, he kisses, sucks a mark into the skin. your hand finds a fistful of his hair and you want to let go, you want to moan so loud you bring every walker in a three mile radius to find you. it would be worth it to release, to feel freely and let the world know it. your hips keep moving on their own, chasing pleasure, and jack sits up to use his free hand to grip your hip and presses you down. “i’ll take care of you, doc. don’t worry.” he leans in and kisses beneath your ear. “and you can be as loud as you want when there’s thunder.”

your eyes roll back into your head and within moments, everything is shooting stars.

–

when the morning comes, you’re smug, and glowing. jack wakes you slowly. the mourning doves are just beginning to sing their song and he pulls you closer, hungry. “think the plan is to leave soon,” he says into the back of your neck, pressing a kiss there. “but not too soon.”

it takes another thirty minutes for you to leave the tent. jack helps you back into your clothes with pride, looking you up and down. you scoff and push his face away, but then come back for a kiss. it’s easy to settle into familiarity when you spend so much time wondering where your life is going, what the point is of any of it– this. maybe this is the point. maybe this has to be the point.

holding the flap of his tent open for you, you clamber out, and the two of you are faced with… well, everyone. everyone smirking.

and without a word from either of you, dana looks at collins and says. “i told you that’s all it would take.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott x reader #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot fanfic #jack abbot au #the pitt fanfiction #my writing #soft descent #i'm sooo proud wow

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persevereforahappyending · 7 months ago

Text

No Man's Land |2|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: Talks of Murder and Killing

Word Count: 3k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Sam had her head thrown back, trying to calm her nerves as she and Tara waited for Detective Bailey to arrive. When Quinn called her father, he had said he wanted to speak with Sam. He wouldn’t confirm or deny whether the killings on the news were the work of Ghostface, but he wanted her to come down to the station. Tara had refused to let her go alone and Bailey even agreed that he’d like to see Tara as well. They arrived at the police station first thing in the morning and were immediately escorted to an interrogation room, without anyone telling them anything.

Sam finally looked up when she heard the door open, seeing Bailey enter. “Sorry about the wait,” Bailey said, giving them an awkward chuckle.

“What’s this about?” Tara asked, tapping her fingers on the table.

“The killings,” Sam cut in. “Was it Ghostface?”

“We found this,” Bailey said, tossing an evidence bag containing a bloody card onto the table, ignoring both the girls’ questions. “At the crime scene,” Bailey sat in the chair opposite of them. “In which two of your,” he pointed at Tara. “Classmates were murdered. Care to explain?” he shrugged.

Tara leaned forward, her eyes widening at what was in the baggy before she looked back at Sam. Sam furrowed her brow as she took a look as well, her face instantly going white at seeing her ID, covered in blood, and in the evidence bag. “I lost my ID months ago,” Sam mumbled, shaking her head. “I had to get a new one.”

“Why didn’t you report your ID as stolen?”

“I didn’t know it was stolen,” Sam glared at Bailey.

Sam didn’t know detective Bailey too well. She knew he was a homicide detective and when Quinn decided to go to college at Blackmore, he transferred to New York so he could keep an eye on her. Quinn complained about him occasionally, usually saying how overprotective he was, though he did allow Quinn to live on her own with Sam and Tara, even though it would be much cheaper for her to live with him. Bailey always seemed like the typical dad, but Sam wasn’t sure, she saw danger around every corner but the majority of the time it was just her being paranoid.

“Where were you last night?” Bailey asked, getting back to his questioning.

“You can’t seriously think she’s a suspect,” Tara said. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” Bailey held his hands up in defense. “Do you have an alibi?” He looked at Sam.

Sam sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I was at work,” Sam answered. “Then when I came home Chad and I went to the gym, then back to the apartment.”

“And someone can verify this?”

“Lots of people probably,” Sam shrugged. “Your daughter being one of them, she was at the apartment last night.”

“It’s true,” Tara said, crossing her arms. “We were all with someone the entire day. Anything else?”

“Your classmates,” Bailey said, pointing at Tara. “Had a Ghostface shrine, it seems they killed their professor a Ms. Crane.” Tara sucked in a breath, Sam didn’t know her personally, but she had heard Tara and Mindy mention her a few times. “Earlier this evening. Know anything about that?”

“Why would we? I barely talked to them.”

“Are you familiar with a,” Bailey flipped open a file, squinting his eyes at something in the file, “Richie Kirsch?”

Sam couldn’t help the way she shifted in her seat, trying not to react. “He’s my ex,” she answered with a tight-lipped smile. “And he’s dead.”

“Yeah, he and my best friend tried to kill us last year,” Tara snapped. “What’s this got to do with anything?”

“Well, it seems these boys,” Bailey said, tapping his fingers on the photos of the two guys killed. “Intended to finish his movie.” Sam and Tara’s faces both fell at those words. “It seems they were working on a plan to kill you two.”

“We don’t know anything about that,” Sam said.

“Right, right,” Bailey mumbled to himself. “So, it’s just a coincidence these two boys end up dead?”

“There are no coincidences when Ghostface is involved.”

“Look,” Tara cut in, seeming frustrated and tired. “Are we under arrest or can we go?”

Bailey looked between the two sisters then down at the photos and evidence bag. Sam held her breath as she waited for his response. She wasn’t sure what was going through his mind, he still never confirmed if Ghostface was back, and she didn’t know if Bailey suspected her or thought she and Tara were in danger.

“You’re free to go,” Bailey said. “Just don’t leave town,” he gave Sam a look, like he knew she wanted to run.

Tara didn’t hesitate to get up, nearly knocking over her chair in the process. Sam gave Bailey one last glance before following after Tara. They flagged down a cab and Tara gave the guy directions to Blackmore. When Sam furrowed her brow Tara showed her Mindy’s text saying to meet at the school so they could go over suspects before class.

Before she knew it Sam had her head thrown back again, this time as she sat on a bench outside Blackmore College. Everyone was already there when Sam and Tara arrived and since then Mindy had been standing in front of everyone pacing back and forth. Sam just wanted her to get to the point already, she wanted to try and get some sleep before she had to go to work. She knew she wouldn’t get any sleep though; she wasn’t able to sleep last night and there was no way she’d be able to before her shift, not with Ghostface out there.

“Suspects!” Mindy said, finally seeming to get to the point. “With Ghostface, most likely, back we should go over potential people who might want to kill us! Because Bailey clearly won’t be of any help.”

Sam couldn’t help but glance at Quinn. The girl frowned at Mindy’s words but didn’t move to argue with her. Mindy also didn’t bother sparing Quinn a glance, let alone an apology. Sam couldn’t help but frown at Quinn’s reaction, or her lack of reaction. Detective Bailey was Quinn’s father, and she wasn’t saying anything to stick up for him or defend him. Sam wasn’t sure if that alone was suspicious or if Quinn just knew by now there was no point in arguing with Mindy.

“First!” Mindy continued, holding up a finger. “Ethan! The shy, dorky guy who no one suspects because he’s just so shy and dorky.”

“I’m a suspect because I’m randomly Chad’s roommate?” Ethan questioned, gesturing at Chad awkwardly.

“Roommate lotteries can be fixed,” Mindy rolled her eyes as if it was the easiest thing in the world to do. “And second, Quinn!” Mindy turned, smiling at Quinn. “Tara and Sam’s slutty roommate, a horror movie classic.”

“Sex positive,” Quinn corrected. Though she didn’t seem offended by Mindy’s accusation like Ethan had.

“How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?”

“I answered their ad online.”

“No need to say more, you’ve implicated yourself enough!”

“It was an anonymous ad,” Tara said. “And we vetted her.” Sam nodded, she had done incredibly thorough questioning to both Quinn and Bailey when they were interviewing potential roommates. “Plus, her dads a cop.”

“And that makes it more likely!” Mindy gestured wildly. “Cop dad is a great cover! Besides, what are the odds, your dad, would get this case?” Mindy crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow at Quinn.

“How the hell would I know?” Quinn crossed her arms, finally seeming to get annoyed by Mindy.

“And lastly, Anika,” she smiled at her girlfriend. “You aren’t clear either.”

Anika’s face fell. “Are you kidding me?” she asked.

“Sorry babe,” Mindy shrugged. Anika just scoffed, crossing her arms and turning her head away as she refused to look at Mindy.

“I think that’s all the suspects,” Mindy said, giving herself a little nod of approval.

“And Y/N,” Sam added. Everyone turned to her with raised eyebrows. “What?” Sam shoved her hands in her pockets. “I just think they should be on the list.”

“I thought you said you haven’t ever spoken to them?” Mindy narrowed her eyes.

“I haven’t.”

“Then why would they be a suspect?” Tara questioned, crossing her arms.

“Because we have the same schedule!” Sam tried to reason. “No matter when I go, no matter what day, or what time, they’re there.”

“Suspicious,” Mindy admitted. “Anything else?”

“They have fighting experience. Not sure how much but I’ve seen them train, they definitely know what they’re doing.”

Sam continued to ramble on about you. She told them once again about how similar your schedules seemed, even when it was well after midnight and there was no one else there you’d show up. She talked all about the kind of people you did talk to and how you were otherwise reserved. Then she got into your workout and mentioned how much you lift and how much you focus on either sparring with someone or hitting the punching bag. When Sam was finished revealing all her observations about you, she looked around at the others. Everyone was looking back at her with raised eyebrows, she was going to assume they were just shocked by her keen observation skills.

“They are pretty badass,” Chad added, holding a finger up. “I hate to admit it because they seem so cool,” he let out a little chuckle. “But the way they fought that dude in the ring,” he let out an impressed whistle. “I’d hate to see what they’d do to an enemy.”

Everyone’s face slowly morphed into one of worry. Ethan and Quinn gave each other a look of concern and Tara looked at Sam as if Sam would have a solution to their problem. Sam could only offer her sister a comforting smile, she didn’t know who this new Ghostface was, but she wouldn’t let him hurt Tara.

“Okay, we’ll add them to the list,” Mindy agreed.

Sam nodded. A part of her felt a little guilty for suspecting you of such heinous things when you’ve only ever been nice, but she couldn’t take the risk. She dated Richie for months and he betrayed and used her, she hadn’t even spoken a single word to you. Sam didn’t have a real reason to suspect you, besides the fact that you went to the same gym, which a lot of people went to, but none of them had even close to the same random schedule she did, and she had never seen any of them fight like you could. She hoped you were just the cute stranger from her gym though, and not some psychopath. But she knew her life, there was no way her first crush since Richie was just a normal person that went to her gym, and all the other stuff, the stuff that drew her to you, was just coincidence, she wasn’t that lucky.

After being satisfied with their suspect list everyone went their separate ways with most of them going to class, while Sam went to work. Sam managed to get home and change but didn’t have time for a nap before having to head to her job. She managed to make it to the diner she worked at, just before she had to clock in.

Sam tried to focus on work and not let her mind wander to Ghostface and what was happening. She ignored the way people kept glancing at her, she ignored the articles she saw on their phones when she came to fill their coffee cups, she ignored the way customers bumped into her, spilling their milkshakes, ketchup, and syrup all over her. She ignored it all, she put on her fake smile and apologized to the next person who bumped into her.

Sam glanced at her phone every time she had a spare moment, when she knew, she wouldn’t get caught by her boss. She ordered everyone to text her throughout the day, so she’d know they were okay. She ordered her sister though to text her every fifteen minutes, Tara had rolled her eyes, but she had been doing it, if Sam didn’t hear from Tara within the time frame she would try calling first and then head off to wherever Tara was supposed to be.

When Sam’s shift finally finished, she rushed home, ignoring the way everyone was lounging in the living room once again as she ran to her bedroom. She didn’t have long before she needed to be at her therapy appointment, and she needed to shower and change first. She moved as quick as she could, showering long enough to get rid of the diner smell but not long enough to actually enjoy having the water rain down on her.

“I have therapy tonight,” Sam said as she rushed around the living room, ignoring her still damp hair. “I’ll be back later.” Tara nodded. “Be careful, stay inside, and don’t unlock the door for anyone.” Sam gave all of them a pointed look.

“We know,” Tara sighed. “You be careful too,” she whispered.

Sam smiled at her sister, giving everyone a quick wave goodbye before making her way out the door. She made sure to lock all the locks and double check herself before walking down the stairs. Her neighbor Danny offered her a kind smile, holding the door open for her as he was coming, and she was going. Sam did a quick check of her surroundings before shoving her hands in her pocket and began making her way to her therapy appointment.

Before Sam knew it, she was sitting in her therapist’s office, pulling at her sweater as she refused to look her therapist in the eye. She hadn’t been seeing the woman very long, she was seeing a guy for a while but when he learned her dad was Billy Loomis, he basically stopped being helpful. When Sam found Doctor Williams, Sam had started the first session by telling her all about her father, if this therapist wasn’t going to be helpful either Sam figured she might as well figure it out right away instead of wasting all her time and money.

“We’ve been sitting in silence for twenty minutes,” Doctor Williams said, not looking up from her notepad as she continued to write something down. Sam wasn’t sure what the doctor could be writing considering she had yet to speak. “Your session is only an hour long, if you want to talk,” she glanced at her watch. “You might want to think about starting soon.”

Sam frowned and flicked a glare at Williams. “I met someone,” Sam said, breaking the ice.

“That’s good,” Williams smiled, setting down her notepad and pen. “How has that been?”

“Well, I haven’t exactly talked to them yet.”

“How-How does that work?” Williams furrowed her brow.

“We go to the same gym,” Sam nodded along with her words. She was sure this was probably making her sound even crazier than she already seemed. “We’ve shared looks and a few nods,” Sam smiled to herself

She didn’t miss the small smile still on Williams’s face. “And what’s stopping you from talking to them?”

Sam’s eyes drifted down to the carpet, she pursed her lips, nodding to herself. “I think someone is trying to kill me and my sister again.” She looked up to see William’s staring at her with wide eyes. “And they’re on the suspect list,” Sam gave a little shrug.

Williams opened and closed her mouth a few times, clearly trying to process her words. “You think the person you like is trying to kill you?” Williams said slowly.

“Well, not just them, everyone’s a suspect.” Williams nodded unsurely. “I’m not being paranoid,” Sam tried to assure. “At least I don’t think I am,” she shook her head. “Tara always says I’m too paranoid but this time there’s a legitimate reason.”

Sam’s words slowly died down as Doctor Williams raised her hand. “Let’s start from the beginning,” Williams said softly.

Sam swallowed, ringing her hands as she tried to calm her nerves. “There was a murder last night. Two boys in Tara’s class killed their professor.” Williams furrowed her brow. “Then someone murdered them in their apartment.” Williams opened her mouth, but Sam wasn’t done yet. “There’s no proof, but the killings might have been committed by Ghostface.”

“And what makes you think this is Ghostface? Are you sure he’s not just on your mind, it’s around that time of year, no?”

Sam clenched her hands together. “The two students, they were fanatics,” she rolled her eyes. “Fans of Richie apparently. They were planning on killing me and my sister, but someone killed them first.”

“And you think that someone is Ghostface?”

Sam nodded. “Ghostface would never let two kids,” she scoffed. “Take out me and my sister. Not that they could,” she ran a hand through her hair.

Before Doctor Williams could say anything else the timer went off, signaling the end of their session. “See, you next week, I guess.” Sam gave a shy smile as she got up from the couch.

“Wait, I don’t want you to do anything rash,” Williams rushed, following behind her but Sam was already out the door.

Sam checked her surroundings once again as she exited the building. She began her walk back to the apartment. When she got back to the apartment, she saw everyone still in the living room. “We got pizza,” Tara said, nodding to the box on the table. Sam snapped a glare at her sister as she dropped her keys into the bowl by the door. “Anika went to pick it up,” Tara held up her hands, but Sam didn’t miss the eyeroll.

Sam sighed, shaking her head at her sister as she made her way to her room. She got ready for bed, but her mind wouldn’t stop. She kept thinking about the killings, about Ghostface potentially being back, and who they could trust.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998

#sam carpenter #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x you #sam carpenter x fem!reader #sam carpenter imagine #samantha carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #melissa barrera #scream #scream vi #scream 6 #no man's land

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vivwritescrappythings · 1 year ago

Text

late night visits

eddie munson x harrington!virgin!f!reader

Eddie catches you dropping Max off and invites you over, he teaches you how to smoke weed and smut ensues.

an: Second fanfic is smut? Not proofread because this is an adapted excerpt from a much longer fanfic that I've been writing for a long time.

tw: smut, marijuana use, dubcon? (they are both high so take that as you will), p in v sex, fingering, loss of virginity, afab reader, she/her pronouns.

word count: 6.8k

masterlist

MDNI!

You turned your car into the trailer park, Kate Bush blasting in the car as you took Max Mayfield home. Your older brother, Steve, had asked you to give her a ride after his band of high school freshmen had come over for a movie night, Max was singing along, closing her eyes as she drummed her hands on her thighs. You could feel yourself smiling as you looked at her out of the corner of your eye. She was vibrant, glowing under every streetlamp you passed.

The lights in her trailer were still on when you parked out front, grabbing the mixtape out of the stereo. Max was already out of the car and snatching her bag out of the backseat by the time you got out, leaning on the driver side door as you waited for her. You made it a rule to always watch anyone you dropped off go inside, especially after what happened with Will.

“Max?” Sue called, leaning out the front door. You couldn’t quite make out her face, but the tension in her tone was obvious.

“Hey Mrs. Mayfield!” you yelled back, waving. Her sigh of relief was loud enough to be heard down the street. She went back inside without saying anything else, leaving the front door open for Max to follow. The lights from the TV lit her up as she settled back into the couch, crossing her ankles as she grabbed her beer off the side table.

“Don’t forget this.” You tossed the mixtape to Max as she passed. She called back a thanks and a quick goodnight as she ran up to her front door, slamming it behind her. You huffed, letting your head roll back and rest on the roof of the car as you looked at the stars.

Life had felt off lately, your parents were still gone a majority of the time and you were a senior in high school. You’d been getting nightmares, strange dreams of your parents screaming at you that you were a disappointment in comparison to Steve and how they were ashamed you were their daughter. Their mouths would end up sewn shut, blood dripping down their chins. You hadn’t slept right in weeks.

“What are you doing aaaaall the way out here, prom queen?” The way Eddie Munson stretched his vowels was unmistakable. You looked over your shoulder at the trailer across the way, seeing him toss a bag in the trash can out front by the curb. If you didn’t recognize him instantly, the beat-up van out front was a dead give-away.

There was something about Eddie that ignited a flare of excitement in your spine, it was a thrill that he was even talking to you. You’d had classes together, seen him in the halls, but never really acknowledged one another more than a simple nod of greeting.

“Just dropping off a friend,” you called back, spinning the rest of the way around to get a better look at him. You pressed your stomach against the driver side window as you crossed your arms on the roof. The metal was warm as you rested your chin on your forearms. He was backlit by the floodlight, his frizzy hair glowing gold.

Eddie cocked his head to the side. “You feelin’ okay to drive?” he yelled, you felt yourself stiffen. There was a rumor flying around the high school that you were showing up drunk. It turns out that you were just exhausted beyond belief. You looked back at Max’s trailer to see if there was any movement inside. “Just with your new habits and all.”

You’d been going through a confrontational streak lately. You marched around the car and right up to him, your fists balled at your sides. Eddie was grinning like an idiot as he watched you approach, crossing his arms over his chest like it was a challenge. You’d never seen him look so casual before, wearing only a black tank top and tattered plaid pajama pants. Usually he was decked to the nines, trying to look like a member of Motley Crue on their day off.

“Will you shut up!” you seethed, watching his eyes sparkle as you came to a halt in front of him. He opened his mouth and sucked in a deep breath, raising his head to the sky like he was getting ready to shout. Oh my god he’s just fucking with you now. You pressed your hand across his mouth, whatever he was trying to say muffled by your palm. You couldn’t help the smile that was spreading across your face as you looked back over your shoulder at Max’s. “Seriously, Sue knows my mom! And I wasn’t even drinking!”

He made a noise to get your attention, your hand still smacked across the bottom part of his face as you felt him smile. Then you felt his warm, wet tongue lick a stripe across your palm. Your face twisted into a grimace as you pulled your hand away, wiping the spit on your sweater as a smile twitched the edges of your mouth.

“Alright, alright. Just didn’t expect to see you on this side of the tracks.” You cocked your head, what did he mean? He gasped dramatically, raising a hand to fan his face as he batted his lashes. “Oh Mr. Munson, I could never be caught dead in a trailer park. What would my loyal subjects at Hawkins High say?” His voice was high pitched and aloof, mocking you.

You laughed, a flush heating your cheeks as you were caught off guard. “Shut up! I don’t sound like that.” He dropped the act, smiling as he looked you up and down.

“What are you doing the rest of tonight?” he asked, scratching his cheek with his pointer finger. Your eyes narrowed slightly, was he trying to make a move? “Hey, not trying to steal your virtue or anything,” Eddie laughed, looking sheepishly down at his bare feet, “just wanted to see if you wanted to hang out or something.”

You appraised him for one more moment, nodding solidly. “Sure, but we are keeping it platonic with a capital P, Munson.” The smile that bloomed on his face could have lit up the whole block as he nodded enthusiastically. He crossed his fingers over his heart with a flourish as he turned to lead you inside the quaint trailer.

The aroma of cologne and weed hit you first as you walked up the porch, Eddie opening the door wider. You stepped inside carefully, looking around as you toed your shoes off in the corner. It was cozy inside, maybe a little cluttered and messy. The carpet in the living room was squishing under my socks. The black loveseat and mismatched recliner took up most of the space, minimal furniture along the walls otherwise. There was a small kitchen off to the side and some stools at a breakfast bar.

“Yeah, it’s no White House.” Eddie shut the door and locked it. Was he… self conscious? “It’s nice,” you said, looking over your shoulder at him. His eyebrows shot up in a ‘whatever you say’ vibe as he shrugged and walked inside. “Is this your place?”

He was shutting the door at the end of the hall, his bedroom? “No, my uncle lives here with me–works nights at the plant. Makes the big bucks.”

Eddie sat in the recliner with a groan, stretching his legs out under the coffee table. He gestured to the loveseat next to him with a ringed hand, a clear sign to join him. Of course he’d wear all his jewelry in his pajamas. You sat down, crossing your legs beneath you as you sank into the well-loved couch. “What are we watching?” you asked, resting your cheek on the rough fabric.

He held out a stack of movies: “I just got these from Family Video.” You pressed your lips together, taking them out of his hands.

You shuffled through, mostly horror titles. “Wow, no Grease?” You giggled at his expression before continuing through the selection. “What about Return of the Jedi?” You were way too skittish to watch horror movies anymore, you already couldn’t sleep as it was–you didn’t need anything to help with that.

You pushed the movie in his hands before he had time to protest, placing the rest on the coffee table. “Really, Return of the Jedi?” Eddie asked, getting up from his seat to put the movie in the VHS player.

You nodded matter-of-factly, crossing your arms over your chest. “You’re the one who rented it,” you argued, watching the commercials begin to play on the TV. A blue light cast over the living room as he sat back down. The lamp next to you clicked as he switched it off with a twist of his fingers.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d have to call you a geek, prom queen.” His voice strained as he reached over the far side of the recliner for something. He produced a bong with a flourish, the glass glimmering in the low light. The slightly murky water sloshed around inside as he set it on the end table between you, pulling the bowl out. You tried not to stare, you’d only ever seen bongs in passing at parties.

You watched out of the corner of your eye as he dumped the contents into an ashtray on the end table, scraping the inside of it clean with a pocket knife. He produced a metal cylinder out of what seemed like nowhere, pulling the top half of it off carefully. His movements were delicate and methodical, clearly he’d done this a thousand times.

“You want some?” he asked as he put the bowl back in it, holding the glass piece out to you by its neck. He held a zippo lighter in the other hand. You watched him spin the square of metal between his forefinger and thumb, thinking of an answer.

The truth was better than anything else. “Oh, uh, I’ve never smoked before,” you muttered, glancing down at your hands. Your nail polish was horrendously chipped, a nervous habit you’d picked up over the summer.

“Well if you want to try, on the house.” His voice was gentle as he held it out to you again. An offering. You shifted slightly to face him, your gaze bouncing between the bong and his soft brown eyes.

Hesitantly, you took it from his hand. Your fingers bumped his as you grabbed the neck of it, the glass cool to the touch. Your other hand had to support the base—it was heavier than you expected. “I uh, I don’t know how to do this,” you admitted, a nervous grin pulling at your lips.

“Don’t worry it’s easy, I’ll help you,” he murmured, getting up to sit on the coffee table in front of you. His knees bracketed yours, the soft fabric of his pajama pants rubbing against your jeans. The minty smell of his shampoo was thick in your nose. “Alright, so, put your mouth on the top. You should feel the rim of the mouthpiece on the outside of your lips.” He watched you do it, your hand still holding the neck. You already felt self conscious.

“Okay good, now I’ll help you with the rest. Pretty girls should never light their own bowls—got it?” You fought the urge to protest, just rolling your eyes instead.

“So just do what I tell you.” You gave him a brief nod, barely lifting your head. He was grinning mischievously. You looked at him through your lashes as he flicked the lighter on, putting the flame to the bowl. “Okay suck in.” God, you must be as red as a tomato by now.

His other hand came up to hold the bottom of the bong, his calloused fingers overlapping yours. You resisted shying away from his touch. His hands were warm as he lifted it a little, letting you straighten your spine. You could hear the water bubbling as the bong filled with a thick white smoke. It was a few seconds before he plucked the smoldering bowl out, letting you suck the contents into your lungs.

You sat up abruptly, tears in your eyes as you fought to keep the smoke in. The bong was thrust back to him clumsily in your haste to get away from it. You managed to last a few seconds before you coughed it out, blowing smoke over his living room. “Jesus Christ,” you grunted between coughs. It felt like your chest was on fire. Eddie was chuckling, going to the kitchen. You could hear the sink running before a mason jar full of water was set on the coffee table.

“That was pretty good for your first time.” He repeated the same motions with himself, exhaling the smoke slowly as he settled back into the recliner. You couldn’t stop coughing, your throat feeling like you tried to swallow steel wool. “You’ll cough less the more you get used to it, everyone coughs their first time,” he said encouragingly, motioning for you to drink water.

You finally were able to breathe again, taking deep gulps of air. You wiped the last of the tears out of the corners of your eyes on the back of your hand. Thankfully you hadn’t bothered to put on makeup tonight.

“Now’s time for the fun to begin,” he whispered, grinning as he rubbed his hands together. You watched the tattoos on his arms flex as the muscle under them moved–slightly surprised by how many he had.

“When am I supposed to feel it?” you asked, the beginning credits of the movie starting. You watched the yellow text fly across the screen, your fingers nervously twisting a loose thread of your sweater.

“Oh, you’ll know when you feel it.” You nodded, tucking your feet back under your thighs as you leaned against the arm of the loveseat.

It must have been a mere ten minutes later when you realized your face was buzzing and your head was full of air. Your eyes moved slower than you thought they would, taking snapshots of the room before settling back on the screen. At some point you’d slid off the couch and onto the floor, contorting yourself in the small space between it and the coffee table.

“How you feelin’, prom queen?” Eddie was still in the recliner, leaning back but not fully stretched out yet. His pajama pants looked soft, you fought the urge to touch the fabric.

You laughed—like, really laughed rather than your practiced soft giggle—your head rolling back so you could look at him. He was grinning broadly, watching you with his arms stretched over the back of the chair. “M’feeling pretty good,” you said, trying to stifle your giggles. What was so funny?

Eddie giggled along with you, running a hand through his messy hair. “Yeah, you’re definitely feeling it.” He looked goofy upside down. His hair was curling in all directions as he shook it back out, turning his attention to the movie. You lifted your head, feeling like you were fighting the full weight of earth’s gravity to look at the TV again.

It felt like you had blinders on, your peripheral vision swirling dizzily. You barely moved as Eddie got up from the recliner to disappear somewhere. Your breath was shallow, you could feel every fiber of the carpet rubbing against your socks. The sweater you wore was warm, practically making you melt into the shape of the furniture. Your limbs were heavy, everytime you moved it was like fighting molasses. Was this how being stoned always was?

The smell of food brought you back to the present as Eddie settled back down, a big plate in his hands. You watched him pick up a piece of food and put it in his mouth, immediately hissing as he burned his tongue. “Shit are those pizza rolls?” Your stomach rumbled, were you always this hungry?

He laughed, “If you want some, you gotta come sit up here with me, pretty girl.” You scrambled, feeling progressively more uncoordinated as you pulled yourself to a standing position. Your joints cracked as you stretched, feeling a little dizzy as the blood rushed to your head. You slumped into the couch, leaning far over the arm of it and the end table as you reached for one. “They’re hot,” he warned, sounding like a babysitter.

You rolled your eyes, biting the corner off it carefully and letting the steam billow out. “You’re a freak, no one eats pizza rolls like that,” Eddie said, but his smile gave him away. You watched the steam swirl in your breath, disappearing quickly.

You stuck yourr tongue out, eating the pizza roll in one mouthful after it cooled. You chewed thoroughly, swallowing with a gulp of water. “At least I didn’t burn my tongue.” Not to mention, it was the most delicious thing you’d ever tasted.

The pizza rolls were long gone and the movie had ended a while ago. The Twilight Zone played on the TV, but neither of you were paying attention. “So like, am I a stoner now?” you asked, laughing quietly. The question even sounded stupid when it tumbled out of your mouth.

“I’d say you are a hopeless drug-addict,” he joked. He had taken another hit only moments before, letting you have the remnants. It reinvigorated the goofy haze. Your head was buzzing again and you just let thoughts tumble out of your mouth.

You scoffed, shoving his shoulder lightly. “You wish, Munson.” You were smiling as you ran your hands through your hair, tossing it against the part. You were sure it was sticking up in a million places, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Eddie’s umber colored eyes darted to look at you, dragging up you in a way that set you on fire. You felt yourself squirm under his heavy gaze, your lips parting a bit. “Thanks for asking me to hang out,” you blurted. You cracked your knuckles as you shifted around, trying to find a new comfortable position.

The seam of your jeans kept pressing in all the right places, making you wiggle your hips in an attempt to get it to stop. You’d never felt this sensitive before, but now every sensation seemed to send a tingle up your spine and heat in your belly. A flush covered your cheeks, your gaze tracking back to the television.

“You okay? You seem awfully… squirmy there, prom queen,” Eddie murmured, his gaze still focused on you. His eyes were softened at the edges with concern, the whites of them bloodshot.

“Yeah, um, just trying to get comfortable,” you said, stilling into a position despite your heart pounding in your chest. A rumor had been flying around Hawkins High that Eddie was… well endowed. All of a sudden you were curious to see if it was true. “S’just getting to my head, I guess.”

One of his eyebrows lifted enough to disappear under his bangs. Eddie stood from the recliner, moving to sit next to you on the small couch. His arm looped behind you, bat tattoos printed into the pale skin as he stooped to make eye contact. “You alright? Don’t want you getting overwhelmed, prom queen. Some people get anxious when they’re stoned.”

You couldn’t help the overwhelming heat that consumed your whole face and neck. “I-I’m not anxious, I promise,” you mumbled, your tongue darting out to wet your lower lip on its own volition. Eddie was sitting close to you, his knee pressing into your thigh. You could smell mint, tobacco, and weed on him, the combination making your stomach flip.

“You sure? I really can’t let Harrington’s little sister have a heart attack on my couch,” he murmured, moving a little closer. You giggled half-heartedly, glancing at the television for a moment to give yourself a second to not think about the way Eddie is crowding you against the arm of the couch.

“M’sure,” you said, your voice soft and a bit airy. You didn’t look back at Eddie, your face still hot. You pressed your thighs together a bit, the friction helping relieve some of the pressure building between your legs.

Eddie’s calloused thumb hooked under your chin, directing your gaze back to him. He had a gentle smile on his face, leaning forward toward you. “What’s going on in your brain, pretty girl?” he asked, his eyes crinkling warmly at the corners. Your breath was shallow in your throat, your chest tightening as you looked at the metalhead in front of you.

“I dunno,” you said, his fingers pinching your chin between his thumb and forefinger keeping your head in place. His eyes flickered between your lips and eye contact with you. It made your mind short-circuit, clumsily trying to work toward an answer for his question that wasn’t the honest answer. “Does, uh, weed ever make you feel… weird?” you asked, wanting to smack yourself as the words left your lips.

“Weird how?” Eddie asked, his fingers finally left your chin. His large hand curled around your shoulder, squeezing lightly. Every touch kept sidetracking you–you’d done some things with guys before. Kissing and making out and touching weren’t new to you, but you hadn’t really ever gone farther than that. You never wanted to–but you did now.

You didn’t stop to think about it, not even considering whether or not you should ask Eddie if he was okay with it before you leaned forward and twisted your head up to capture his lips in a kiss as you shut your eyes. You could feel him smile against your mouth, the hand curled around your shoulder continuing on its path to press between your shoulder blades. Eddie leaned forward, the small of your back hitting the armrest of the love seat.

It went from hesitant and tentative to needy, your lips slotting together and noses mashing against one another as you both got more into the kiss. Eddie’s other hand found the back of your neck, his fingers slotting into your hair as he tilted your head just the way he wanted it. His lips parted, his tongue slicking along your bottom lip before you let it lick into your mouth.

You only parted when your lungs were on fire, your mouths separating with a soft click and a gossamer string of saliva illuminated by the warm light of the lamp behind you. Your eyes fluttered open, already finding Eddie looking down at you as he smoothed a hand down your back and around your waist. Chests heaving and foreheads bumping together, you both smiled and giggled sheepishly,

“Weird like that,” you whispered, a tinge of a joke in your tone. Your body was twisted, both of your feet on the carpet as you twisted at the waist to face Eddie. His knees were pointed toward you, one leg bent beneath him as his other pressed into the floor to get leverage.

He smiled, his hand dipping to run his fingertips along the hem of your sweater. “Good weird, then,” Eddie mumbled, stamping his lips over yours with an urgency you didn’t expect. You twisted your body in a comfortable position, slotting your legs around his slim waist as you returned his fervent kisses.

His hand slipped beneath your sweater, ghosting along the soft skin on your belly. The sensation of Eddie’s fingers on your skin made your breath hitch. You could feel the clench in your lower abdomen, need burrowing deep within you as his hand continued to travel upward. He cupped over the fabric of your bra, his thumb pressing the swell of your breast just along the edge of it.

“Eddie,” you whimpered against his mouth, the press of his index finger through the thin padding of your bra to tease your stiffened nipple making you keen. He smirked, repeating the motion by circling the hardened nub with the pad of his index finger over the slippery polyester. Your breath stuttered in your throat, desperation clouding along the edges of your eyes as he tilts you even further over the arm of the couch.

“Feelin’ okay, princess?” he asked, rubbing turning into heavy petting as he pinched your nipple between his index and middle fingers. Your brows were pinched together, your back arching as you chased the sensation. You nodded, eyelids partially obscuring your gaze as you met Eddie’s.

His hand slipped beneath the underwire band of your bra, his knuckles pressing against the squishy cup of it as he finally felt your bare breast. Your eyelids fluttered as you softly moaned his name beneath him. Your sweater was bunched up on Eddie’s forearm, the backs of your thighs pressing against the top of his as he bent to lave his tongue over your throat.

“Jesus, Eddie,” you sighed, tilting your head to expose more of your throat to him. Each swipe of his thumb over your nipple sent a jolt of sensation to your clit. You could feel yourself get more turned on with every touch, your hands winding around his exposed biceps to keep him close.

He sat back on his heels, pulling your sweater over your head to expose your plain, black bra. A dopey smile came over his face as his gaze focused on your breasts like a kid opening presents on Christmas morning. You took initiative, your arms twisting behind you to unlatch your bra at your spine and shed it onto the living room floor.

“When is your uncle supposed to get back?” you asked, that bit of information springing forward in your mind as something that could be important. Eddie was too distracted, his ringed hands finding your breasts and squeezing the soft flesh beneath the stretch of his fingers. “Eddie,” you said, your voice somewhere between scolding him and moaning.

“Not ‘till morning, princess. We’re okay,” he mumbled, his tone airy as he licked his lower lip. You gasped as he teased both of your nipples, your spine arching toward the sensation as he massaged your chest. Your hips jolted, the seam of your jeans pressing against your clit and practically punching the air from your lungs.

A smirk found its way to Eddie’s face, his brown eyes darkening as he left one of your breasts unattended to unbutton your jeans with swift fingers. He let out a soft groan when he saw your baby pink underwear as he tugged the zipper down, his fingers gently pulling at the little white bow along the waistband. He bit his lower lip, his brows pinching together as he looked at you beneath him.

“This okay, princess?” he finally asked, his voice deep and raspy as he spoke.

“Yeah, more than okay.” You desperately wanted him to continue, already so soaked that you could feel the gusset of your panties sticking.

Eddie dipped his fingers below the waistband of your panties, leaning forward so he didn’t have to twist his arm that much. It still looked like he was halfway dislocating his shoulder as he did it, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyelids fluttered over his soft, chocolate-brown irises as the pads of his fingers finally dipped into the wet heat of your soaked cunt.

“You always this wet?” he asked, his voice ragged as his forearm pressed against the arm of the couch to keep himself aloft. His fingers sought out your clit immediately, rubbing slow circles around it that made you see stars.

You blushed, embarrassment curling around your ribs. “No, not really,” you said, sheepish at how flustered Eddie had gotten you. He just smirked, watching your face as he experimented with pressures and speeds. Finally, he must have gotten a reaction he liked, one of your wines eliciting a wicked smile from him as he repeated the motion.

“C’mon, let’s get these off,” Eddie said, pulling away from you. You whined at the sudden lack of contact, your brows furrowing in frustration as he grabbed the waistband of your jeans and panties and started to pull both off of you. You lifted your hips and then curled your legs toward your stomach so he could discard your clothes carelessly.

You moaned loudly as his fingers messily traced up the seam of your cunt, finally able to touch you properly as your legs settled on either side of him. You could feel him smearing the sticky, clear wetness that has practically been pouring out of you, his thumb pressing against your clit with agonizingly soft pressure.

Eddie was good with his hands, unsurprising for someone who was well-practiced in guitar. You’d seen him play once in the guitar class you both had signed up for as an elective, watched the way his fingers expertly moved over the strings while you fumbled pathetically.

You weren’t really aware of Eddie slipping his heavy rings off, putting them on the coffee table with soft thumps. Even knowing how good he is with his hands, nothing prepared you for the way your mind turned upside down when he slid his middle and ring fingers inside of you.

“Oh,” you exhaled, his thumb still steadily rubbing over the swollen bump of your clit. You were so wound up, arousal forming a knot in the pit of your stomach. Your back curved to desperately grind your hips against his hand, any embarrassment forgotten as your eyes practically roll back in your head. Eddie’s fingers pressed into the squishy spot on the front wall of your pussy, his gaze focused on the way his fingers plunged inside of you.

“Doing great, princess,” he hummed as you grabbed at him to ground yourself. Your fingers twisted into the strap of his black tank top, stretching the fabric in your pleasure-filled haze. It was impossible to keep still, your hips humping against the movement of his hand as you tossed your head back against the cushioned armrest of the couch.

“Eddie…” you panted, starting to feel that familiar bliss of a climax coming. He’d gotten you there embarrassingly fast, your legs trembling around him as your chest heaves with each breath. He smiled, shushing you gently as his free hand caressed your cheek on its way to clasp around the back of your neck. The squelching noises filling the living room were ungodly, almost drowning out the sounds of the television altogether.

Eddie let out a soft chuckle. “It’s okay, just let it happen,” he said, his tone soft despite the undeniable rasp in his voice. It was like permission was all you needed to make the coil in your stomach snap with the harshness of a rubber band stretched too tight. You let out a soft sob as your cunt pulsed around his fingers, sucking at them greedily. You’d never cum so hard before in your life, your ears ringing as you squeezed your eyes shut. You were vaguely aware of the way you were chanting Eddie’s name like a broken record, your nails digging into his arm with no mercy.

Eddie slowed his fingers down, still working you through your orgasm until you were limp against the couch. You came back to reality with a sob, the sound thick and wet as overwhelmed tears form at the edges of your eyes. You felt weak as his fingers finally slow to a stop, your focus narrowing to just Eddie.

“That was so pretty,” he murmured, pulling his fingers from inside you. They were shiny, strings of your cum shining in the low light as he spread them. Eddie sucked them into his mouth with a grin, his eyes rolling back before he curled himself back over you to pull you into a needy kiss.

You could taste yourself on his tongue, the tang of your own pussy distinct as Eddie smeared his wet fingers on your ribcage. His hard cock pressed against the back of your thigh, warm and pulsing through his pajama pants and boxers as he rutted it against your soft flesh.

“Wanna fuck you, princess,” Eddie said between kisses, almost sounding drunk with the way his voice dropped into a low rumble. He kissed the corner of your mouth before his lips fluttered up your soft jawline. He paused to suckle behind your ear, his plush lips making you whine pathetically again.

You realized you wanted to have sex with him. The way he said it made you clench around nothing, desperation rising in you again. “Eddie, I’m a virgin,” you mumbled, embarrassed and worried about his response.

He pulled back to look you in the eyes, seriousness and lust mixing in his expression as he looked down at you. His hips slowed, still pressing his erection against your thigh and slowly rocking. He bit his lip, one hand smoothing some hair off your face. “What do you want to do? Don’t want you to feel like you gotta do anything.”

The pressure lifted from your chest, the worry dissipating as quickly as it had arrived. “I want to,” you said, lifting your head to kiss him quickly. For some reason you felt comfortable with Eddie, that panic that you have had before with previous guys nonexistent.

His eyes widened as though he didn’t expect that response, a grin stretching across his face and making his eyes wrinkle at the corners. “Okay,” he breathed, unable to keep the excitement out of his tone. He lifted himself off of you in a stiff motion, palming at the front of his pants as he looked down at you. “You just stay here, I’ll be right back.”

He disappeared down the hall to his room, shutting the door behind him to hide it from your view. When he came back he had a silver foil in his hand, the other one pulling off his tank top and dropping it to the floor.

“Seems like you’re hiding something in your room,” you said, a soft joke to ease the tension as Eddie settled himself between your legs again. He was ripping the condom wrapper open when he cracked a smile, his gaze flicking back up to yours.

“I didn’t know such a beautiful girl would be over or I would’ve cleaned my room,” he said in explanation. “You’re sure about this?” he asked, discarding the wrapper on the table.

“Yeah, I am,” you said, biting your lower lip as you nodded.

Eddie accepted your confirmation, pushing his pants and boxers down just enough to free himself. You propped yourself up on your elbows as you looked at his cock, not sure if it was big or average sized–but there was no way it could be considered small. The tip was red and engorged as his dick curved up and slightly to the left from a thatch of curly brown hair. There were prominent veins on the underside of it, the ridges visible in the skin as he took himself in his fist to roll the condom on.

“Lay down,” he said as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your clit a few times, making you gasp. Even through the condom it was hot to the touch. Eddie’s eyes were dark as he looked at you, still rubbing his cock along your cunt. “If you want to stop, you just tell me, princess. Okay?”

You exhaled as the head of his cock caught at your entrance, making your pussy clench needily. “Uh huh, I’ll tell you, Eddie,” you agreed frantically.

The press of the crown of his cock into your dripping cunt coaxed a gasp out of you. It was a burning stretch despite how slow he was going, your hips wiggling to find a comfortable position. It didn’t hurt, but it was different, the sensation of fullness making you let out little huffs of air as he pushed into you. He kissed any part of you his mouth could reach, peppering his lips over your face and neck as he slotted himself inside you.

Eddie caged you to the couch, his hand stroking your hair and your neck and your waist. He just kept going and going, your back arching and your pussy fluttering around him as you adjusted to the new sensation. Your huffs turned into whines, your head spinning as you started to feel overwhelmed.

“Shh,” Eddie hummed into your ear, an attempt to soothe you. “Relax, you’re doing so good for me, princess. Deep breath.”

The breath you took in at his instruction was rough and ragged, rattling in your lungs. He snorted a soft chuckle in response.

He drove the rest of his cock into you in one smooth motion, punching all the air from your body with a soft yelp. Your hands found his shoulders, holding onto him has you hooked your legs around his waist. You felt full and vulnerable beneath him, your walls stretched tight around him as the two of you breathed together for a moment.

Eddie decided you were adjusted enough, pulling out and thrusting back in. Your hips lurched with nowhere to go, a quiet ah pulling itself from your throat.

He leaned forward to press his lips to yours as he slid rhythmically in and out of you, making you mewl pathetically against his mouth. Eddie was relentless, fucking you smoothly as he mashed his lips against yours. You could hardly think straight, clinging to him as he pressed you into the cushions of the couch.

The wet, squelching noises of your pussy were loud, your tight walls sucking at Eddie’s cock greedily each time he pulled back from you. His fingers dug into the fat of your thighs, keeping you where he wanted you as you took every inch of him inside of you. His teeth nipped softly at your jaw, making your head spin as you felt yourself slipping closer and closer to brainlessness.

“You’ve got the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen, you know that, princess?” Eddie groaned into your ear, his pace picking up. “She’s so fucking hot and tight around me, poor thing just needed my cock so bad.”

His voice makes you moan, the way he’s talking to you makes delight bubble in your chest. You got lost in the feeling of the head of his cock rubbing against the spongy spot on the inside of your pussy. Your brow was furrowed, lips pouting as it started to feel like you’d snap again.

Eddie lifted himself off of you, his gaze fixed on where his cock kept sinking into you over and over again. His hand smoothed over the hinge where your thigh met your hip, his thumb stretching out to swipe over your swollen clit. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment as you clenched around him like a vise, a punched-out groan rumbling from his chest as his free hand dug into your waist to keep leverage.

You were trembling beneath him, your skin started to feel like it was stretched too tight over your body. “Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you gasped, his pace grinding a second orgasm out of you like it was his job.

You were almost delirious from being stuffed full of his cock, your legs trembling around him as your back arched off the cushions of the couch. Eddie kept his pace, his own resolve starting to crumble as his thrusts got increasingly sloppy. His hands both found your waist, his thrusts becoming quick and shallow as his long, curly hair fell in his face. His eyes fluttered shut as soft grunts and whimpers pulled from his throat.

Watching Eddie cum made your heart twist, the way he stopped thrusting to grind into you as he crumpled down to press his chest to yours is almost tender. Your legs wrapped around his waist, everywhere that your skin was pressed together was sticky with sweat. Eddie spilled into the condom, part of you wishing he hadn’t worn it at all so you could get the full sensation. The sound he made was breathless and sultry, his mouth open and head tucking into the curve of your neck as he kept his hips tightly pressed to yours.

Your eyes slipped closed, your hands curling into the damp curls at the nape of his neck as you both caught your breath. You pressed kisses to the shell of Eddie’s ear, a bit delighted that the night had turned out this way. The muscles of your thighs were starting to burn from being bent in an unfamiliar angle, but you weren’t about to protest.

After a few moments Eddie pulled out of you with a hiss, pressing a wet kiss to your forehead. There was a look of affection in his eyes as he regarded you with a goofy smile that matched your own. Your heart fluttered in your chest as you looked up at him.

“I think you should start coming over more often.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x virgin!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x afab!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x reader smut #Eddie Munson x Harrington!reader #eddie munson x female reader

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messylustt · 2 years ago

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౨ৎ ‧˚

𝐞𝐥 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐥) — 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐲?

miguel o’hara x fem!reader. 3.4K words

fic masterlist previous part pt three next part

miguel unwillingly pining after reader; fantasies about you in miguel’s head; a massage (pg); a hint of jealous miguel; spanish wise—I hope I wrote everything correctly, I asked for some opinions and check ups from a spanish speaker <3 big thanks to you — after an interesting morning with miguel, you learnt a few more spanish words, not to be late, and having him in close proximity might give you a heart attack. your mind certainly wandered when you were monitoring a mission, the spider peoples’ bickering making you feel annoyed, an emotion miguel unwillingly likes the look of on you. but how does he feel when he makes his request… asking you to follow him to a door you didn’t think you’d ever pass through?

“Checking the location now.” You said through your ear piece, tapping away at the keyboard. Your back was straightened as you stayed focused. You were working with a group of spider variants, who were assigned to get rid of a misplaced “villain” as they liked to put it. It just makes their job sound much more important, resulting in then coming back with a proud sway to their hips.

“Bro, why are you breathing so hard?” Hissed one of the spider variants to another.

“I’m settling into my hero act.” His tone is full of pronounced muscle—most likely standing with his arms by his side like some macho man. He takes a deep sigh. “It can be tough being such a incredible hero.”

The others just stare, clearly used to this from him, before a screech meets everyone’s ears.

“Where is it?!” One of them exclaims, frantically looking around.

“It would’ve blended into one of the buildings’ walls.” You say, scanning the area on your computer.

“I’m sorry, did you just say ‘blended in’?” A spider-man asks. “What is this monster—a chameleon?”

You’re silent for a moment. “Please tell you me reviewed the mission.”

There’s silence through the earpiece. You blink a few times, then close your eyes taking a deep breath. “Why not?”

“Look, I was going to but…Parker distracted me!”

“I distracted you?!” Parker exclaimed.

“Guys.” You try, but they either can’t hear you or are choosing not to.

“You were the one who was so eager to just defeat this villain!”

In your annoyed state, you can’t help but let your mind wander somewhere that had held your attention for majority of the day…

—this morning—

You rushed down the stairs, while simultaneously fixing your hair. Shit, you were gonna be late. All because of these extensive stairs.

When you reached the bottom, your hair had become a mess again, making you place your flat palms against your head as you tried to soothe the stray hairs.

You reach the door to your office, pausing to take a breath. Twisting the handle, you walked inside.

You instantly noticed Miguel, spider suit back on, as he swiped necessary and unnecessary screens back and forth by the large spider.

You tried to stay quiet as you walked to your desk, but your luck seems to plainly not exist as Miguel’s voice greets you—rather gruffly.

“Would it be cliché to say ‘you’re late’?”

You press your lips together as he jumps down. You seem to forget how tall he is until he’s towering over you, with a look that states ‘you should be worried’.

You gulp, before forcing a smile. Miguel’s expression stays dead as he waits for you to speak, most likely to explain yourself.

When you say nothing your mouth opening and closing like a stupid fish, Miguel speaks. “I said six.”

You nod. “I heard you.”

“Did you?” His clicks his jaw, a slight tilt to his head, as he observed your quickly fixed hair and slight heave of your chest. You clearly rushed. “You just woke up.”

“No.” You say indignantly. “I’ve been awake since six, I just didn’t like the idea of walking down those stairs, so…I began working in my room.”

“Uh huh.” He sarcastically nods. “Right.”

You press your lips together, thinking you should have stitched them shut. You weren’t helping yourself.

“You keep saying you want to prove that you belong here.” Miguel begins. He leans forward, his red eyes gleaming, his fangs becoming more visible as he snarls. “If you don’t start getting here at six, then I’ll be happy to drag you out at four.”

He leans back, stalking back towards the big spider, as he webs himself up to the top. You let out a sigh, turning to your desk and swivel chair.

;;

After an hour or so of working, and going over the mission scheduled in a few hours, you feel a breath by your neck. With wide eyes you spin around to see Miguel staring down at you.

When he meets your gaze, you’re placing your hand over your heart. “Can you not scare me like that?” You mutter out.

He leans forward…and forward… and forward, until his large hands are caging you in by resting them on the chair’s armrests. “Scare?” He almost whispers in question to himself.

You’re utterly frozen as his breath tickles your nose and cheeks, which you are sure to be an embarrassing red by now.

“O’hara?” You slowly question, it comes out quieter than you had intended.

His eyes stay focused on your own, as your pulse beats rapidly in your chest. Stop it— you want to say. But you’re not sure what ‘it’ is exactly.

“…did you need something?” It’s the only thing you can think to say.

“What do you mean by scare?” He asks.

You lightly shift in your chair, unsure what to do in this situation. “Um…I just mean that you’re…you are kinda scary, O’hara.” You force a chuckle, trying to ease tension you are sure is the annoyance radiating off of him.

“Is it the fangs?” He asks, his eyes strangely showing genuine interest—or what you think to be genuine.

“Kind of?” You say more so as a question. “But also how you never, well…smile.”

“Why should I smile at people I don’t want to smile at?” He asks, his eyes finally dropping away from the entrapment of your own, but to a much worser place.

You self consciously lick your lips, feeling your nerves turning them dry. His gaze doesn’t shift from your mouth for an abnormally long time.

“O’hara.”

His brows then begin to furrow, his eyes finally leaving your lips, making you unintentionally sigh.

“Why do you refer to me by my last name?”

“What does ‘chaparrita’ mean?” You counter.

He narrows his eyes, leaning away from you and back to his full height. “You ready for your lesson?” He suddenly asks, grabbing a swivel chair and leaning back.

You stare at him for a moment. So that was what he was supposed to ask this whole time? “Okay, if you tell me—“

“No.” He says monotonously. “Ahora deja de hacer preguntas y siéntate y escucha.” (Now stop asking questions and sit and listen.)

You didn’t understand what he just said but you can understand his tone, so you readjust yourself on your chair and stay silent.

“Now…what do you say when you want help?” Miguel inquires, his tone now almost babying.

You narrow your eyes, but answer anyway. “¿Me puede ayudar, por favor?”

“Mm.” He hums, letting his gaze drop. “Bien.”

Miguel notices the slight curve of your lips at his praise. He shifts in his seat. “I hope you know what that means.”

Your small smile falls, before a fake one replaces it. “Yes, O’hara, I do know what that one means.”

“You should loose the attitude, chaparrita. Si es que quieres mi ayuda” (If you want my help, that is.) He says, running his tongue along one of his fangs.

“I understood “my help”.” You say. “And the one with the attitude here is you.”

“How so?”

You raise your brows. “Do I need to answer that? I thought you were observant?” Okay, now you were just pushing his buttons for fun. He seemed to get riled up so easily.

A scowl forms on his face. “Si no fueras tan pinche bonita, creo que me gustaría verte arañada” (If you weren’t so annoyingly pretty, I think I’d like to see you clawed up.) He mutters under his breath, his gaze slightly venomous.

“¿Cómo estás?” Miguel says. “Repeat it.”

“¿Cómo estás?” You repeat.

“That means “how are you?”. And what could you reply with?” He inquires.

“Bien.” You answer.

“Mejor.”

“‘Better’?” You say with a scoff. “I feel like I should get a bit more credit…Spanish is hard.”

“First of all—it’s not.” Miguel states. “Second…you know what ‘mejor’ means?”

“It was one of the words I learnt on my phone.” You shrug.

“Any other words I should I know about?” He sounds annoyed, and you can’t fathom why.

“You’re annoyed at that? To be honest I thought you’d be grateful.”

He doesn’t say anything. Mainly because he can’t say the first reason that popped into his head. He wanted you to learn Spanish—all of it—from him, and only him. He also can’t tell you because he doesn’t know why he feels that way. It was stupid, feeling resentful to a phone, utterly stupid, but Miguel can’t ignore the nagging feeling in his stomach.

—present—

“Shut up!” You exclaim, massaging your temples.

There’s finally silence on the other end.

“The invisible monster is moving your way, on the left wall. You’ll be able to spot a slight glimmering shimmer over him. If you look close enough.”

You finally see the spider variants pick up into action, spotting the monster and beginning to attack.

Miguel watched from afar, leant by the open door to the main tech room, arms crossed as he watched you lean back in annoyance. When you were mad your eyes would hood over, narrowing to show only half of your pupils.

You would aways grow hot, occasionally fanning yourself as you unbuttoned the first button of your shirt. And Miguel would always stare, his chest picking up to a quicker beat. But the scowl would be set, Miguel hating the way he reacted. He shouldn’t be reacting at all. He felt pathetic, as he tried to look away.

Every time he’d fail, his gaze only shifting further down your body. Your legs were yet again…spread. An obviously comfortable position for you, but certainly not Miguel.

He’s embarrassed to admit—not that he’s ever actually—that he’s fantasised about being close to your spread legs, his hands being able to spread them further. You were a reactive girl, very hyper aware for a human. He hoped you’d stay the same when he’d touch you.

Your chest heaving, your mouth opening, as goosebumps littered your skin. Skin he’d be able to see a lot more of.

And to all these fantasies he would hate himself, and you. Sure, he was projecting. But he’d rather project anger then any of his hidden thoughts.

“Is it my turn now?” He asks, making you spin in your chair to face the exit and Miguel.

You had finally taken out your headpiece, the mission clearly completed. The spider-men would get back soon. A look of confusion flashed across your features before realisation hits. ‘His turn’. His side of the deal.

You stand, straightening your slightly crumpled shirt—you had been fisting the material in your annoyed state. Miguel ignores the thoughts of instead a crumpled sheet. Your fists clenching around, preferably, his—no. Not preferably his. He clears his head, biting his inside cheek, the metallic taste of blood now tangible.

“Follow me.” He turns, expecting you to do so.

And you do, walking past all the different spider variants in an effort to stay at Miguel’s heels.

Through the journey up the stairs, Miguel—who doesn’t know why he’s walking with you—has been having thoughts. Very…interesting thoughts. Some seeming very similar to those of ‘finding you annoyed kinda hot’ type of thoughts. It also fell back to the thoughts swirling in his head when he was looking at your lips.

He hadn’t meant to do that, his body seeming to have had a mind of its own when he leant over, caging you in.

He’s annoyed to admit—to himself—that he had wanted to kiss you. See what it felt like. Maybe he’d hate it and his strange, annoying crush on you would go.

He’s soon stopped by his room, finally glancing at you, to see that you look confused. “I thought I was doing what you asked…or whatever.” You say, slowing your breathing.

“You are.” He opens his door, walking in.

You watch him, brows still furrowed. You stay rooted to the hallway floor. “In your room?” You look around like you’ve done something terrible, and you’re gonna get caught.

“Maybe you aren’t as committed as you claim to be.”

Your eyes narrow at his blatancy. You edge closer to his cracked open door, him now fully inside. You take a deep breath before pushing it further open, then quickly shutting it behind you.

“You know, I probably shouldn’t be in here.” You mutter, staying pressed to the door, as you took in the large looking bed, messed up from his sleep, along with a window, and plain walls. There wasn’t much character and you could tell that that was very intentional.

You then shift your gaze to Miguel who had found himself a seat, relaxing back into it as he clicked his jaw. He finally met your gaze, and in the dim-ish lighting his hair looked messier, his hand most likely having ran through it.

“So…” you drift off, not meaning to come across so awkward.

He tilted his head to the side, silently asking you to come to him, as his legs spread a fraction. You ignored the want to hitch your breath, gulping it down instead.

You stare at him, not moving.

He raised a brow. “You look worried.”

“I’m not worried…just…confused.” You again force a chuckle, a forming coping mechanism around Miguel.

“I think my direction was pretty obvious. I did say it in English.” He again made himself out to be all superior.

You sigh. “I heard you. I’m just confused as to why you asked that.”

“What—did you think I asked you in here so that you’d stay plastered to my door, chaparrita?” He asked sarcastically.

You wet your lips. “Why did you ask me in here?”

“I want a massage.” He says it just so…simply.

You blink, maybe one time too many. “What?”

“A massage, y/l/n.” He says, lowering his head slightly, looking up at you through his lashes.

“Why?” You haven’t moved from the door, so, Miguel swiftly shoots a web out to attach to your shirt, yanking you forward.

You gasp, nearly tripping over your feet, as you get pulled towards him. Miguel stabilises you with a hand to your stomach, making you come to a stop in front of him. “What the hell?” You stare at him, your chest heaving in shock.

You rip the web from your shirt, quickly brushing it off. “You gave Gwen one. I heard you were good. That’s all.” Miguel says.

Your brows furrowed. “Gwen?” Then you remember. “Oh, well that’s because she just got back from a really hard mission…she was sore and I…dunno, I was bored.”

“And you don’t think I am? Sore, I mean. You do realise I take care of the multi—“

“The multiverse, yes. I haven’t forgotten. I’m just a little shocked, is all.”

“You can say no.”

You sigh. “If I want to lose my job.” You mutter, walking around him. Miguel twists his head to follow you slightly, until you stood out of his gaze, directly behind him. You pause, before gingerly placing your hands on his shoulders. Jeez, he was broad.

You closed your eyes, taking a breath. To be honest you thought his requests would be hardcore, asking you to practically run around ramped. But instead here you were alone in his room giving him a massage.

You began to add pressure. Working your fingers into the instant knots you felt.

Miguel’s eyes involuntarily rolled closed, as he accidentally leaned more into your touch. You don’t seem to notice the shift as you continue massaging by his neck and along his shoulder, veering a slightly onto the top of his back.

“I forgot to ask: where did you want the massage? I just assumed the shoulders.”

“Mm?” Miguel hums in question, sounding far away, a small heavy breath leaving his lips after.

“O’hara?” You ask, stopping your hands’ movements.

A small growl of disapproval fell from Miguel’s lips involuntarily. “Just—“ he takes a breath. “What you were doing is fine.”

You place your hands back where they were, making Miguel relax back into your fingers. You were good—Miguel thought to himself. He can’t remember the last time he released so much tension.

You lean down to Miguel’s ear, your tickling breath making him gulp. “Is there a time requirement? Because I had plans tonight.”

Miguel’s brows furrowed. “Plans? What plans?” He didn’t mean to sound so disappointed and borderline desperate, but he’s thankful you barely heard his tone as your attitude didn’t shift.

You worked your fingers closer to his chest, doing your normal routine. Your grandmother was a masseuse, and of course she had to give you some tips. It was fun being able to practice on Gwen, but with Miguel you felt nervous every time you would press down hard on a knot.

But his responses seemed to be good, considering all the quiet groans and heavy breaths.

“I made plans with spider-man—“

“That’s very descriptive.” Miguel comments, his head slightly rolling to the side.

You scoff, your fingers moving to the base of his neck, where no spider suit material could intervene. The pads of your fingers rubbing his bare skin. Miguel noticed the difference a lot quicker than you did, sounds and words of approval he really didn’t want you to hear threatening to spill.

“Dios, ¿por qué tus manos tienen que sentirse tan bien?” (God, why do your hands have to feel so good?) He muttered under his breath, not really meaning for you to catch a word, but of course you pick up ‘bien’.

“Good?” You asked. “Well, then you should put in a good word for me.” You chuckle. “Maybe I should start a small business and massage all the spider-men and woman. I think I’d do well—“

“No.” Miguel says instantly, still sounding slightly breathless. “If you want to prove yourself you can’t get distracted.” Of course that’s the reason he dislikes the idea. Definitely not because he doesn’t want your hands making others feel like this…definitely not.

“Don’t worry, it was just a hypothetical.” You say, going back to his shoulders. “Now, I hope that’s okay. Because I do need to go.” You bring your hands away, and it takes everything in Miguel not to spin around in the chair, grab your hands and ask you to massage somewhere else.

The tense knots in his shoulders were gone, his neck felt light, and he wanted to feel your fingers run along his abs. This was bad. Why was the lighting so dim, why was your scent so strong?

He spun around in his chair, meeting your gaze. “You didn’t fully answer me before. Who are meeting?”

“It was gonna be spider-man, the one with the cartoonish attitude, and now it’s just Hobie. I dunno. something about an important—“

“Hobie?” Miguel interrupts. He displayed indifference, though inside he was burning.

A weird tension began to fill the room. “Yeah, so I’ll just…go.” You say quickly passing him and opening the door, before Miguel had the (bad) mind to stop you.

You rushed out into the hallway which instantly felt lighter, letting you breathe.

You head to the main communion area, paths leading everywhere along the walls to along the roof, making it easy for a spider person to navigate but not someone who can’t stick to walls.

So you stay on the simple path, skimming through talking suited spiders until someone called your name. You spin catching sight of Peter, Mayday in his grasp.

“Hey.” You smile.

“Hey. Sorry, Hobie wanted me to tell you that he can’t catch up for that song session thing, something about getting called in for business.” Peter said, his hands going everywhere as Mayday tried to escape over the edge.

“Also picture that in an over pronounced British accent.” He gave you a thumbs up to which you chuckled.

“No worries, thanks Peter.”

“Mayday!” He suddenly yelled, to which you pointed to the left, displaying her climbing onto a spider-man’s back.

Peter rushes off. And you sigh, thinking you hurried for no reason. Though you are grateful that you could use that as an excuse to get out of Miguel’s room.

As you head to your own, you begin to wonder what this last minute mission could be about and why Hobie had been called in now. Usually the only person who calls people in, especially this last minute would be Miguel.

I guess crime never sleeps—you think to yourself—or something like that.

ahhh here’s part three!—I hope this one wasn’t too boring or not what you expected x part four is gonna be more SeXuAl, I promise

I actually don’t know how many parts I should do, coz atm it’s feeling like a slow burn, but I don’t want to drag you guys along a long ass fic so I’m not sure.

taglist: @dangerousdreamkitty @ale-maral @inosukesweirdwife @flooftoof @cynicallyaestetic @silassinclair @mariiyoushi @ilovedilfjake @toastlover21 @wlellsl @k1rbb @bitchotine @guacam011y @blnk338 @wolfiepirate @kurxxmi @corpsebridenightamare @ohantonia @yunonaneko @irenered-20 @z3r0art @sunflowercandie @perilous-pasta @gloriouskryptonitecrown @whyamistillhere78 @ritzzzsblog @mm1sta @tealcoloured-murder @aweebsimp101 @livelaughlaurv @s0dium @roguepancake @sunshiines-stuff @internal-soundtrack @oscarisdaddy69 @clairacassidy @captainquake42 @nanaloverz @ilyless @sindulgent666 @shine101 @thebadasssass @hibeejibees @nirishin @ily2lia @lillunna @cinnamoncattie @futuristicpandakid @maroonobserver @thatsopanu @edgyficuselastica @kittekat420 @stararctic @maxi-ride @renn-pumkin-head @scaraza @justanotherkpopstanlol @fauxizs @cloudsandrenoswife @ilmovor @larissa-lolll @elliemm @httpkiyoomi @j2warren @arquiiva @ilovemiguelohara @a-monster-can-filled-with-cum @fandom-gal44 @elwyn7 @albiebright @pix-stuff

#2 taglist

#the miguel effect #miguel o’hara across the spider verse #miguel o’hara one shot #miguel o’hara fic #miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x reader #atsv #across the spiderverse #across the spider verse #across the spider-verse #atsv x reader

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blueteller · 3 months ago

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The "Scent of Arm", according to Ron

There was that bit early on in the TCF series that I didn't get for a really long time.

Ron, on sight, recognized a certain scent "lingering" on Choi Han, which made him and his son Beacrox believe that he was a member of Arm. He recognized it from many years ago when the Molan residence was attacked by the members of the secret organization.

The thing is, the scent disappeared after Choi Han washed up at the Henituse mansion, thanks to Cale's hospitality, causing a major divergence. In TBOAH, Choi Han would not get the chance to "freshen up", and the Molans would follow him out of the city, abandoning their jobs as servants of the Henituse family solely because they suspected him of being from Arm. Later on, that suspicion would get cleared up and they would stay because they got actual trace of the organization.

However, in TCF, after Choi Han got cleaned up a bit, Ron instantly changed his mind and decided "no, it couldn't have been Arm after all, there is no way those guys could have come here all the way from the Eastern Continent".

So, that begs the question... what was the "scent of Arm", exactly?

My first thought, on my first time reading, was "of course, it was the scent of blood and murder, because Choi Han just came from a massacre". But that.... doesn't make much sense, does it? Ron is an assassin. He used to deal with murder and blood on a regular basis, it was literally his job. Why would such a generic scent would immediately make him think "it has to be Arm"? Even if we think of it as trauma because Arm destroyed his home, that still doesn't really add up. Especially when after Choi Han cleaned up, he instantly changed his mind. Just because the guy washed up that didn't make him any less dangerous or strong. So blood and murder as the scent of Arm, that's out.

My thoughts on the second re-read went into a slightly different direciton. Maybe it had something to do with the scent of the Forest of Darkness? Specifically, the dead mana from that forest? We know it's special, since dead Dragon mana is basically non-existent in the natural world, due to the fact that Dragons who died a natural death would turn into dust, not decay and create dead mana. The swamp with the Dominating Aura also acted as a container and let it thicken up over time in the poisoned water. That kind of rare, specific smell would make more sense as something that Ron could recognize on sight, right?

However, after thinking it over, I realized that also did not make that much sense either. Even if we accept the fact that ordinary mooks from Arm could have dead mana smell just because they traded some of it to the mermaids to help them fight against the Whales... all of that happened MUCH later than the fall of the Molan family. Why would Arm lackeys in the Eastern Continent smell like the forbidden region of the Western Continent? We can't even assume it was the extremely general dead mana smell that Ron confused as the scent of the organization, because Ron isn't an idiot; even if he doesn't know any dark creatures personally at this point, he KNOWS what dead mana is. And that's still too common thing to see Choi Han smell of it and instantly decide: yes, this guy must be related to Arm! Like, come on. That's such a farfetched conclusion. Ron wouldn't be that dumb.

My third take, was Black Despair, which is something that is EXTREMELY specific and directly related to Arm. Think about it: it does not occur naturally, Arm mass-produces it for demonic purposes, and the lackeys can all smell of it on both continents regardless of the timeline, since the White Star has been doing this stuff for a 1000 years. Also, Ron would not realize what it is, being a regular human and all, just know the smell of it and have a very averse reaction to it due to the traumatic memory it was tied to, as well as the nature of Black Despair itself. Now, I finally felt like I was getting somewhere!

There was still that lingering doubt in my mind, however. Would regular Arm assassins really smell of Black Despair? Like, all of them? Really? There's no way the Red Stars let their disposable foot soldiers anywhere near the stuff. Of course, there was the possibility that they were using it for some brainwashing black magic ritual, that let them "create" those type of suicidal pawns. But, still. I was a bit uncertain. Would Choi Han really smell of the same stuff simply because he killed a bunch of people who smelled of it??

That's when it hit me.

The smell wasn't Black Despair specifically... it was simply despair!!!

Think about it! All Arm forces SHOULD smell of despair. Either because they cause it, they feel it themselves, they spread it, and the black magic they use is fueled by it!! With despair being a literal force one can sense, of course it would have a powerful, lingering stench.

And most importantly? Choi Han's attribute is also despair!

It you think about it this way, it all becomes clear now! Choi Han was soaked both in despair from the Arm assassins he killed, the despair of the Harris Villagers that were murdered, AND his own lingering despair that radiated from him because of his trauma and the attribute he developed!!! So when he came to the Henituse mansion, of course he was a huge red flag for the Molans! They recognized the exact same despair and instantly decided to get rid of the threat!

HOWEVER. What happens the next day in TCF? Choi Han washes up. Choi Han's clothes are new, clean, his attribute is safely tucked away due to lack of danger, and most importantly? His despair starts to disappear because of CALE! Choi Han has hope, a new objective – paying Cale back – a goal in his mind, and he shows a softer, vulnerable side when he tells Cale "but you don't even know who I am". Choi Han's despair isn't all gone of course, not even close. But he isn't soaked in it anymore.

And Ron SEES all of this, sees this guy who was just REEKING of despair the day prior but has a whole new vibe today, and begins to doubt. Because of course he does!! If Choi Han was really a member of Arm, there's no way all that scent of despair could have disappeared after a single bath. So he comes to the very reasonable conclusion that he was wrong, and stops worrying about Arm's return.

Of course, later on he catches onto the scent again as he travels with Cale, so he follows the trail, separates from the group as early on as the Plaza Terror Incident, and after getting the very public confirmation that Arm is, indeed, on the Western Continent, he goes off to track Redika down all the way to Hais Island 5.

And that's why, my friends, I believe that the "scent of Arm" that Ron was talking about was Despair. Not Black Despair specifically, just the scent of Despair that Arm causes all around the world. A bit different from Choi Han's own despair, but similar enough to be confused with it.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of count's family #tcf meta #tcf analysis #tcf theory #ron molan #choi han #black despair

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bahablastplz · 1 year ago

Text

Cosmic Love: Chan x Reader x Felix

A night at the club turns into a lot more than you anticipated, all thanks to a stupid text that you don't even remember sending. The next day, Chan and Felix invite you over for dinner. That's all it is, right? Content: Smut, minor angst, fluff Warnings: Use of petnames 'love,' and 'babygirl,' threesome, fingering, oral (f! and m! receiving), p in v sex, lots of praise, spanking (barely), humiliation/second hand embarrassment WC: 4700

It starts like this:

Chan texts you the morning after you go to the club. Of course, you’re hungover out of your mind, but that’s to be expected. On Saturday morning, or afternoon you suppose, you roll out of bed with a loud groan, a pulsing headache making its way behind your eyes.

You notice that your makeup has been removed and you’re now sporting clothes much comfier than your dress and heels that were suffocating you last night at the club. Your phone is also plugged in, and you have been notorious for waking up with a dead phone the morning after waking up from a night out.

You have half the mind to wonder, how the hell were you cognizant enough last night to do all of this? You certainly don’t remember it. It all makes sense when you check your notifications, screen a little too bright for your liking, and see that Chan had texted you an hour ago.

Channie: Hey babygirl I don’t know if you remember, but Felix and I brought you home last night~ You were pretty fucked up haha If you’re feeling up to it, you want to join us for dinner tonight at my place? Me you and Lix Hope you’re feeling okay this morning. Let us know if you need anything, yeah?

You groan. Of course Chan and Felix brought you home last night, that makes so much more sense. Chan has always been a natural caretaker, and if he was at the club last night and you tried to go home with some random guy or even take an Uber, he surely would have become overprotective and offered to take you home himself.

Your heart pangs when you read the text again. Babygirl. The pet name makes it easy to remember the major crush you’ve been harboring for him for forever. Him and Felix both, honestly. You really really hope you didn’t say anything embarrassing last night that you can’t remember. That would be just your luck, honestly. Taking a deep breath, you make a note to take some Advil as you text him back.

Y/N: Thanks so much I’ll be there! Can’t wait

He texts you back almost instantly:

Channie: Sick We’re super excited

A red flag should have raised over the fact that, though him and Felix were your closest friends, they almost never invited you over to their place. They almost always come over to yours when you hang out, and hangouts usually happen more organically. You brush the thought aside, chalking it up to Chan’s protective nature and need to make sure you’re okay after what was likely a rough night out.

That’s all it is, right?

You’re only giddy because of this stupid crush on your friends you can’t quite push away. There’s not anything more going on and there’s no lines to read between. You repeat this like a mantra as you get ready tonight, putting on just a little bit of makeup (for no reason in particular!!!), and repeat it once more as you knock on Chan’s door, bottle of wine in hand.

He opens the door with a large smile, all teeth, that makes your heart beat a little faster. When you hand him the bottle of wine you’re met with a hearty laugh. “You sure you didn’t have enough of this last night?” he teases. You shove his chest lightly, giving him a devilish grin.

“What if I brought it for you?” You quip back.

“I think we were imagining a type of fun that didn’t involve alcohol.” You give him a smile at his words, brows furrowing for a second before brushing off his words. He probably just means they intend to stay sober tonight. You’ve had plenty of nights that were fun that didn’t involve alcohol, so that’s all he meant by his words! Shrugging, you put the wine in the fridge instead of cracking it open, taking his advice to save the drink for another day.

Dinner is amazing. Chan made it with Felix’s observation, as according to Chan the other shouldn’t be allowed in the kitchen ever again. You laugh as he dives into several stories of baking incidents gone wrong, including a time that Felix and Seungmin ended up burning everything they made. You defend your friend, telling Chan that Felix ‘does make killer brownies,’ which the other can’t argue with. It’s decided that Felix should do most of his cooking alone, as anytime he cooks with anybody else it ends up in a minor disaster. Felix looks thoroughly flushed and embarrassed by the end of your conversation so the two of you relent on your teasing.

You decide on a movie. It’s not even really that entertaining and you’re barely paying attention if you’re being honest. It’s some movie you’d seen a hundred times before. You find your place between Chan and Felix, your body squished between your two friends. You nuzzle your head into Chan’s shoulder and prop your legs up onto Felix. You’re comfortable, very much so, though you tense for a second when you feel Felix’s hand rest on your thigh. You can also feel Chan’s breath on your neck, and you suddenly feel hot. Very hot.

You hope they can’t feel how warm to the touch you’ve become, and at such a simple action at that. Are you really that pathetic? God, your crush on them has gotten out of hand, you think, but when Felix’s hand raises further up your thigh and starts rubbing teasing circles you’re not so sure this is all in your head anymore. Chan has always been touchy with you and Felix moreso, but this is just a little bit out of character for them. You’re worried to speak up for a second, scared that your words would make Felix retract his hand. When he looks up at you with an inquisitorial gaze, however, you can’t help the words that spill from your mouth. “Lix–”

You’re not prepared for the words that come from the man behind you.

“Tell me, Y/N,” Chan says lowly. “Do you want me to fuck you nice and hard?” He punctuates his words and your body physically tenses. Your world has come to a full stop.

“What?”

“Do you want me to–”

“I… I heard you,” you interrupt. “I’m just… I’m not quite sure what you mean.” You feel afraid to look up at Chan from behind you, and you certainly don’t look at Felix; though his hand has stilled, it still rests firmly on your thigh.

“I don’t know if you remember this,” Chan says. His demeanor has changed, and you’re met with a chuckle and a deep breath. He seems very shy compared to the man just seconds ago speaking into your ear. “Last night when you were at the club, you texted me and Lix in a group chat.”

Fuck.

That makes so much more sense, you think. No way would you have gotten that fucked up without doing something you would regret. You reach for your phone but a hand rests on top of yours, stilling your movement.

“No, it’s okay,” he says in response to your panic. “I already have it pulled up. I was thinking I could read it to you.”

“Chan, I’m sorry, I’m sure I didn’t–”

He shushes you. For some reason sparks shoot up your spine at the action. You purse your lips shut, an action that implies your silence and you wait for him to continue.

“Last night you were dancing with us,” he starts. “You were drunk out of your mind. I think you knew that already. But you texted Lix and I, and we could just tell you had enough to drink so we offered to take you home. But while we were in the car,” he laughs lightly. You don’t feel like laughing back, “While we were in the car, you texted us. It wasn’t meant for us, but you told us some things that you wanted us to, um, do to you.”

“That’s not the worst part,” Felix provides unhelpfully. You glare at the man and he smiles sweetly. “Chris’ phone was connected to bluetooth and it read your texts out loud in the car.”

You groan. Thank God you were drunk enough last night to not remember that because you’re not sure you can even relive the memory. In fact, even now you wish for the world to split open and swallow you whole.

“Emmaaaaa,” Chan starts, reading your texts out loud in a voice that is obviously meant to resemble your own. You realize now that the text was meant for your best friend, the one that you use to hopelessly rant to about your strong unrequited crush for the two boys in question.

“God they’re so finee I want Channie and Lixie so bad fr I just want them to ruin me You know I’ve never been fucked right but I want Chan to just fuck me nice and hard ughhshh I know you’re so tired of hearing me talk about this But he’s so perfect I just know he could fuck me up sooo good And Felix? I just want him to whisper filthy things in my ears With his perfect voice He looks like such an angel I just want to see what he’s really like, if he’ll fuck me soft or nice and hard like Channie I need them both to ruin me!!!! You don’t understand If I don’t get someone’s cock in my mouth–”

“Oh my god that’s enough,” you interrupt. You’re not sure you can listen to another second of past-you embarrassing yourself, and you tell him as much when you shoot out of his grasp and turn around to look at him. He has a sly fucking grin on his mouth and you can’t help but feel like you’re the butt of a joke you didn’t ask to be a part of. “I… I can’t listen to you embarrass me anymore. I’m so sorry about what I said and I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Hell, you know I don’t even remember it, and I know that really doesn’t excuse it but I hope you know I never wanted to ruin our friendship. I know you guys don’t feel the same way so if you want, I can go and–”

Chan puts his hands around your shoulders, halting your movements when you try to stand.

“Woah woah woah, babygirl,” he says, trying to interrupt your sad attempt at salvaging your relationship. “It’s not what you think, actually. You could never ruin your friendship with us, okay?” You feel tears prick at your eyes, truly humiliated with how the night has progressed. Even now, Chan is here trying to be nice to you so you won’t feel bad about what happened which is somehow even more humiliating.

“Did you really mean what you said?” Felix says, finally.

“Can I even take it back now?” you say, laughing sardonically. “You know, drunk actions are sober thoughts, or whatever they say? I’m so sorry, again. Like I said, if you want me to leave I can.” Your eyes flit between Felix and Chan, gauging for a reaction, any sense that they may be uncomfortable with your actions. You’re surprised to find none.

“If you really meant it,” Chan says, inhaling through his teeth and clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, “Then we kind of had a proposal for you.”

“What kind of proposal?” you ask suspiciously.

“The kind where maybe we have sex? All three of us,” he suggests.

What.

What?

“What!?” Your brain supplies the only word it can think of. This is a joke, right? Your feelings that have been unrequited for so long are being reciprocated this casually? You stare blankly at the two men who are waiting for some sort of response.

“I… I’m not sure if I can,” you answer finally. Though everything in your body is telling you yes yes yes, the arousal already pooling in between your legs, your brain finally seems to be the one in the forefront making the decisions. “I can’t do that, have ‘just sex’ with you. Either of you. And maybe I’m about to make a fool of myself even more tonight, but I have to admit that my feelings for you both run a lot deeper than just… sexual.” You let out a heavy sigh when you finally admit the truth. “I’m scared that I won’t be able to detach my emotions from it all, and I really don’t want to ruin what we have going on.”

You’re met with silence and you open your eyes but don’t look at either of them, instead opting to look at the floor. Did Chan get a new carpet? It looks really nice–

“I don’t think it would be ‘just sex,’ babygirl.” Chan and that goddamned pet name that makes your heart flutter. “We’ve, uh, both liked you for a very long time. And we want this to go further, if you’re interested of course.”

For the second time in one night, you feel as if the world has tilted on its axis. Maybe it has, because you feel a little bit dizzier now and your heart beats a little bit faster than it did just seconds ago.

“Are you sure?” you ask, worrying your lip between your teeth. Felix takes his thumb and pulls your lip out from between your teeth, his thumb lingering for a second before pushing into your mouth. Your eyes close and your tongue swirls around the appendage.

“Do you want this, love?” The deep timbre of his voice sends shivers down your spine and your eyes open, meeting his gaze. For a second, it feels as if nothing but you and Felix exist in this entire world, and you ponder his words for a second. If they really mean it and they have both liked you for a while now, you don’t have to worry about separating feelings from sex. You ponder what this means for your relationships going forward for a second but the pulsing need between your legs and the way your breath hitches when his thumb pushes further into your mouth tells you all you need to know. You want this. You nod your head and know it’s the right choice when you’re met with a reassuring smile.

“If you’re sure, then we’re sure,” Chan says from beside you. You feel his fingers on your leg, veiny hands rubbing small circles on the expanse of your thigh. When he grips the plush of your thigh hard you can’t help the gasp that comes from your mouth, and Felix’s thumb releases from your mouth, wet with your saliva. You feel his hand come to rest on your face as he caresses you softly, brushing a stray hair away from your face as he leans in to kiss you.

You breathe into the kiss but let him take the lead, soft and plush lips delicate against your own. When his tongue barely brushes your bottom lip you’re already opening your mouth for him eagerly, letting his tongue come into contact with yours. The kiss is passionate but almost too romantic for what you’re about to let him do to you. When you moan into the kiss he deepens it, hands pulling your face even closer to his own.

You note the movement on the couch next to you and Chan taps your shoulder. When you turn your head to look at him he’s crashing his lips into yours in a bruising kiss, messy and desperate and it catches you off guard but you return his advances eagerly, lips and tongue moving expertly against one anothers.

Felix’s hand comes and snakes around your waist, stopping your kiss just long enough to lift your shirt over your head. His warm breath hits your neck and it’s all you can focus on besides Chan’s wet tongue against yours, but then Felix’s fingers rub your nipples over the fabric of your bra and you’re keening backwards into his touch, running away while simultaneously trying to get more at the same time.

When Chan finally breaks the kiss it’s with a groan and a long string of saliva connects you, wet and dirty. He sits back and admires the work that Felix is doing, having you come completely undone for him with just his fingers against your still clothed breasts. It’s Chan that reaches and unclasps your bra, leaving you utterly exposed in front of the two men in front of you and he wastes no time before joining Felix in his ministrations.

The teasing becomes too much, tongue and teeth and pinching over your abused breasts, and at this point you’re not sure how much more squeezing of your thighs together you can do before it comes to much.

“Please,” you breathe, and you’re not even quite sure what you’re asking for.

“Please what, babygirl?” Chan coos at you, words laced with a teasing lilt. You reach forward and grab his hand and it’s like your breath stops when you place his hand right between your legs where you need him the most. “Want me to touch you?” He asks. His breathing is heavy and you admire his attempt at trying to keep his composure.

“Yes, please,” you nod, eyes never leaving his. Not even when his hand cups your clothed pussy and you buck up into him with a cry. Felix shifts from behind you and pulls your back into his chest as Chan reaches down to pull down your shorts with one swift motion.

You’re completely bare for them now, and you have little time to dwell on this fact before Felix grabs your legs and spreads them open, hooking them over his own. His hands rest on your thighs, holding you into place and giving Chan access to your sopping core.

“God, babygirl you’re soaked,” Chan notes, two fingers swiping in between your folds. You can hear it, the wetness pooled between your legs, but when he leans his face forward and meets his tongue with your clit you can’t help the surprise that creeps from your throat.

He’s relentless, his tongue flicking and circling your clit mercilessly. Your legs shake and try to close but are held open by Felix’s own.

You look up at the man behind you with teary eyes and open mouth, thinking about asking him to give you mercy but the expression on his face tells you all you need to know. He’s enjoying this just as much as Chan is.

“Does that feel good?” he asks into your ear.

“Yes, oh my god,” you tell him as his lips come down to meet yours in a short peck. They ultimately land on your neck, nipping at the junction between your neck and ear.

“Tell me how good,” he instructs. “Tell me how good he’s making you feel.”

“So good, Felix, oh,” you moan. Two of Chan’s fingers thrust into you, in motion with the way that his tongue abuses your clit and it’s already too much. “God, Felix, he’s making me feel so good. He’s… He’s eating me out so good, his tongue feels…oh my–” you know you’re babbling but you can’t help the moan that interrupts your words. Felix shushes you, and you think his hands are going to find place in your hair to soothe you but instead they make way to your breasts, still sensitive from just minutes prior.

His thumb and pointer finger pinch your nipples between his fingers, tugging and twisting them. Your back arches at his touch and your skin prickles at his low voice in your ear.

“You’re doing so, so good for us, love. Fuck, you’re being so good letting Channie eat your pussy like that,” he says. One hand comes to grab the flesh at your hip, kneading it as he continues to tease your pebbled nipple between his fingers. “Do you like being good for us?”

“Yes, fuck, fuck, I like being good for you,” you cry out. “Love it so much, oh my god–” and as Chan’s fingers curl up inside of you, you find your orgasm being ripped out of you with no warning. You’re cumming hard around his fingers, pulsing tightly as he lets you ride out your high on his face. Behind you Felix takes to setting a slow pace in rubbing his hands up and down your body, grounding you with his touch as he whispers praises in your ears.

When you finally open your eyes again, you truly feel like you have woken up in a different dimension.

“Holy fuck–” you rasp, noting when Felix wipes a tear from your eyes you hadn’t realized you had shed.

“Do you think you can take us, babygirl?” Chan asks as he pulls his fingers from your center. He reaches across your body to offer his soaking fingers to Felix, who eagerly takes them in his mouth for the chance to taste you. You don’t miss the way he moans around Chan’s fingers.

“Yes,” you say softly. “Want you both.”

Felix reaches down and kisses you, much more comfortable this time with the way that he allows himself to be rougher with you, pushing his tongue into your mouth with a boldness that was lacking earlier. When you pull apart you notice the large hands on your waist that aren’t his and you’re being flipped around by Chan before you can process it. Your ass is up in the air and you’re on all fours now, squeaking when Chan lands a quick hit to your ass and kneads the flesh.

When you tilt your head up to look at Felix you notice him pulling his pants and boxers down past his thighs, letting his cock spring free and resting at your face. He taps it against your cheek and he looks down at you, silently checking to make sure you’re okay. Looking up at him with bright wide eyes you blink, asking him for permission as you open your mouth wide for him.

He pushes in with a groan, letting his cock rest on your tongue for a second. You suckle on his tip and let your tongue swirl around his head, watching how reactive he is with amusement. Even though you haven’t fully started sucking him off yet he is breathy, eyes dark in the way he looks at you and strokes your hair.

He pushes his length further into your mouth and you groan, taking him fully. He sets the pace, slow and languid, pulling his cock fully out of your mouth before shoving it back in with expertise.

You barely register the hands behind you that grab your ass until you feel Chan’s tip prodding at your entrance, barely pushing inside you. You let out a shaky breath around Felix and Chan takes that as a sign to push into you fully.

The stretch is welcoming. Your jaw goes slack as you take a moment to process the protrusion, clenching tightly around him as he stills. Felix uses your mouth now, setting the rhythm for the man behind you as well. Relaxing, you let yourself be used by both of the men. You feel Chan’s thighs smack the back of yours, wet and messy and relentless. This causes you to jerk forward, pushing you back and forth onto Felix’s cock. Chan’s hands press into your hips, desperate and harsh and sure to leave bruises in its wake.

“God, love, your mouth,” Felix moans. His hand in your hair is soft in its caresses, contradictory from the way his hips snap into your face ruthlessly. “You’re doing so fucking good for us, baby. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For Chan to fuck you nice and hard, yeah? For me to whisper filthy things in your ear?”

You do what you can to nod your head, though it’s pathetic with the way your mouth is full of him. You know you look utterly debauched, absolutely used from the two men you’ve found yourself in between. The mascara you applied before is running down your face along with tears of pleasure, and you find yourself continuously blinking them away to look up at Felix. Your hands find place on the bed beside you, fingers curling into the sheets. You’re close, incredibly so, and you know it’s not much longer until you come over the edge.

Felix lets out a low groan and you feel his cock twitch in your mouth. With a sharp grasp on your hair he spills into your mouth, right down your throat in hot spurts. You swallow around him thickly and he pulls out, wiping a bit of spit off of your mouth with his thumb.

You fall forward into Felix’s lap, arching your back in order to give Chan full access to your dripping hole. He takes full advantage of it, fucking into you with reckless abandon. Now that your mouth is free, you have full opportunity to speak–though, the only thing that comes out of your mouth now are loud moans and broken, choked sobs.

“Chan, fuck, oh my, I’m gonna cum, fuck I’m gonna come–” you babble.

“Sweet girl, is he fucking you stupid?” Felix asks, wrapping his arms around you and making you look into his eyes. When you meet his gaze you nod your head sporadically.

Chan grunts from behind you, his hips starting to stutter. “Fuck, Lix. I’m close,” he warns. “Touch her pretty clit for me, make her cum for us.” Felix does as instructed, snaking his hand down to where Chan pushes in and out between your bodies. “So good, love. Cum for us,” he says into your ear.

His fingers barely brush your clit when you’re cumming hard around Chan’s cock, squeezing around his length hard. He rocks his hips into yours, helping you ride out your release before he pulls out and cums all over your ass. You’re whining and clutching onto Felix, though you don’t realize it; his hand runs small circles onto your back. When he looks down at you it’s as if you hung the stars, gaze so full of adoration that your heart batters against your chest in response loud enough that he very well might hear it.

Somewhere behind you, Chan leaves and then returns with something to clean you up. You only know this when you feel the soft material on your back and you let out a grunt of appreciation. Chan sits next to you now, spooning you from the side where you lay across Felix’s body.

“Are you okay?” Chan speaks softly.

You scoff. “I just fucked the two people I’ve been in love with for years. You think I’m not okay?”

“Love. You love us?” Felix asks.

You laugh. You can’t help it, because how the fuck do you keep on embarrasing yourself like this? It’s as if they can read your mind, because before you can backtrack or word-vomit they’re already speaking.

“I don’t know if I made this clear,” Chan starts. “But my feelings for you, they’re strong. I love you too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Same here, love. We’ve wanted this for forever. If you’ll let us have you, we want you to be ours.” He whispers a soft ‘I love you’ into your hair and you find yourself overcome with emotion.

The movie is still playing on the TV. It makes you laugh when you realize something.

“Did you both seriously invite me over for dinner just so you could seduce me?”

“Hey hey!” Chan laughs, tickling your side for a moment. “You’re the one that begged for us to ruin you, babygirl. Did you get what you wanted?”

“I don’t know,” you say, pretending to be in thought. “I’m not feeling super ruined at the moment.”

“That can be arranged.”

*** Last installment of the threesome series <3 Thank you everyone for reading. If you want to check out the other three chapters, you can find them in my masterlist.

Taglist: @lolareadsimagines @elizalabs3 @chvn-max

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hhimring · 2 months ago

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Not sure whether this works for @maedhrosmaglorweek, really, but that is what I had in mind, when I wrote some more context for a previously existing snippet about Narsil.

(Teens, no major warnings)

It was Maglor who taught Elros sword-fighting, along will all other regular lessons. Maedhros, as on other occasions, would occasionally appear on the sidelines with additional hints, encouragement, and sometimes decide to take on a specific session, not always sharing his reasoning, and then leave the rest to Maglor again. This, Elros eventually concluded, was all to the good. Maglor was better with a sword than Elros was ever likely to be—or so it often seemed to him—and while Maedhros was even more brilliant, sessions with him were intense.

It was not that Elros feared that Maedhros would lose himself during a session, forgetting what he was doing or even attacking him. That slip of the mind into past pain seemed to happen only, at times, when Maedhros was not focussing on a task at hand. The grip of a sword in his hand had a way of steadying him, especially; it must be all those daily exercise routines. Even fully present, Maedhros could be nerve-racking in ways Elros preferred not to think too closely about, right below the surface. Elrond understood all that better, so Elros did not need to.

This, today, was just an unexpected trip to a storage room, though, although Elros would have liked to have some idea why they were here. He saw Maedhros lifting something long, narrow, and wrapped from the wall.

‘This blade should come to you,’ said Maedhros, thoughtfully.

‘Should?’ Elros asked, his voice brittle. ‘Is it from Sirion, then?’

Maedhros seemed taken aback.

‘No,’ he said after a pause. ‘It was originally commissioned by my uncle for the House of Hador. That is, it was intended for Gundor, Hador’s son. But it was just before the Dagor Bragollach and, by the time Telchar had finished the blade, Fingolfin, Hador and Gundor were all dead and the road to Hithlum was hazardous. My brother Caranthir stood surety and paid for the sword so that Telchar’s contract should not be breached.

Since then, the sword has sometimes been used in defence, at need, but it has never had an owner. It was crafted for someone of Hadorian height and stature.’ Maedhros looked meaningfully at Elros. ‘Like you.’

Elros realized, all at once, that what had brought this on was his recent, slightly embarrassing rapid spurt of growth—hence the measuring look that Maedhros had given him before taking him here. It was the first time Elros had been given a sword of his own; his previous practice sword had been from the common store.

Thrilled, he drew the sword and gazed in awe at its blade. Forged by the famous Telchar, the same smith that had made Angrist, the knife that cut the Silmaril from Morgoth’s Iron Crown! And Maedhros had guessed aright; the way the sword instantly felt like a better fit for his grip and his sword arm than any he had wielded before. He tried out some practice moves where he stood. Elros was in love.

Maedhros picked up a birch broom, slipped neatly past Elros’s guard and tapped him on the shoulder with the twiggy end, drawing Elros’s attention back to him.

‘The work of a master craftsman should be respected!’ he said, ‘But, mind you, it is not an heirloom.’

Elros blinked, puzzled. How could the sword not be an heirloom, with its storied history?

‘You need to be able to lay it aside or give it away.’

Elros understood. Reduced to near-destitution by the ineluctable claim to that one set of heirlooms, the last Sons of Feanor had come to value possessions the more if no claim attached to them.

‘By the way,’ said Maedhros, as if it was an afterthought, ‘it was intended to be called Narsil.’

From a letter by Queen Inzilbeth in Armenelos to her mother Lindorie of Andunie, originally in cipher.

In a chest in a forgotten recess in the Treasury I found an ancient sword carefully put aside and in perfect condition. A scrap of writing with it and comparison with records elsewhere has led me to conclude that this must be the sword our forefather Tar-Minyatur wielded before he took up Aranruth, given to him by the Sons of Feanor. I do not know why this historic weapon was almost hidden in this way, when Aranruth and Dramborleg are displayed proudly in glass cases in the centre of the main hall. Perhaps the association with the Sons of Feanor seemed politically less opportune than the sword of Thingol that the survivors of Sirion had saved for the return of Elwing’s sons?

In any case, I resolved to seize the chance the situation offered me. There is no risk now that Narsil will be wielded by the King’s Men against the Faithful, ever. I managed to take it to Noirinan, hidden inside one of the hooped skirts that are so fashionable this season. I can hardly be said to have stolen it, since I was taking it back to its original bearer! But I am also letting you know that Narsil is concealed inside Tar-Minyatur’s sarcophagus—please pass on that knowledge to our cousins of Andunie as you see fit.

#maedhros #elros #narsil #maglor teaches the sword #numenor #first age

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cocogum · 2 months ago

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The Great Wave - Chapter 17 Review

‼️SPOILERS FOR THE CHAPTER‼️

Nothing too major happens in this chapter which I think is a good way to relax a bit from all the serious stuff (and doppelgangers) that we've had to see in older chapters. But sadly, we don't get to see Amalia freaking out over the orphan ouginaks like a customer at a pet smart store (sorry @kirichux looks like it'll just stay a fantasy 😭) Too bad that didn't happen (for now 👹). Either way, it's at least nice to know that Yugo was actually not personally angry at Joris but rather just had a very serious while thinking about daddy Rasalar's face in the last chapter.

OMG LUIS STILL KEEPS CALLING HIM JOJO ‼️‼️‼️

I mean I know that he still does call him 'Jojo' since we also saw him in season 4 calling Joris like that, but I'm just happy to see him addressing him like that even in the Great Wave 💕💕💕💕

And yeah Luis is right, relax you're not acting as Bonta's representative/messenger right now lol Even your shushu has a point which is honestly saying A LOT. You can call them your besties here Joris don't be shy 🥰🥰🥰

And speaking of Yugo, I'm semi glad that the face he made last chapter wasn't meant for Joris. Cuz not only would he have confused the living hell out of Joris but he would have also scared the crap out of these kids.

JORIS IS WORRIED FOR HIS DEMIGOD BESTIE ‼️‼️‼️ OMG RASALAR IS GONNA GET HIS SEXY ASS KICKED ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

(sidenote: I personally see Lilotte as Joris's mortal bestie while Yugo is his demigod bestie. Yeah that's how I think i know it's clever ✨️✨️)

(yeah @geekgirles ur right, these two look so good in that panel 💗💗)

Like Joris is literally hearing that his demigod bestie got poisoned by the dragon who was meant to use him as a vessel. Shit was always personal but Joris knows that he crossed a line when he went for Yugo 🩷🩷

This must be such a weird day for Joris to visit memory lane again. First, he catches a thief who looks way too much like his past best friend. Then, he learns from Yugo and Amalia that the dragon who was meant to use him as a vessel poisoned Yugo.

Who's next on the list that would resurface from the dead and punch his childhood in the dick? His mom??

HAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAHHAHAAHHAAHHAHAAHAHAHHA-

So uh Atcham really doesn't remember...either he sucks at remembering past faces or he's genuinely tweaking.

No cuz like wtf is going on in his head?? Same with Kerubim. Aren't they aware that they're standing face to face with Lilotte's doppelganger??? Come on, they literally look THE SAME. Fine, maybe Atcham kinda forgot since he had only seen Lilotte a few times BUT KERUBIM DOESN'T HAVE ANY EXCUSES TO NOT REMEMBER!?!?

He literally watched Joris GROW UP WITH LILOTTE. She was literally his best friend! After she died, can you honestly tell me how many more mortals Joris has gotten this close with??? Exactly. Atcham may be dumb for not remembering one of Joris' friends, sure, but Kerubim is the true dumbass here.

Speaking of Lilotte actually, Thirteen is clearly her doppelganger but it would be super ironic if her number (aka name 💀) was meant to be a bad omen for Harigue lol (if you forgot who that was, I don't blame you. It was that disgusting old man's name who slaved these precious kids)

Like her number name literally meant 'bad luck'. And you're telling me that she ended up being the one to bring Joris to his base? Yeah, if that isn't shit luck for that old bastard, then i don't know what is. It's especially ironic for her because that ended up being her lucky number 💕💕💕

ALSO PUPUCE IS ALIVE ‼️‼️‼️ WTF ‼️‼️

She's such a fighter, look at her still moving around with her little stubs 💕💕 It's nice to know that she survived 500 years with Joris and can still manage to run around...Pupuce is a real fighter lol

Also fun fact about her kind, they kinda work like bees: when they attack the player, they instantly die afterwards. So one attack equals immediate death. Looks like Pupuce is a pacifist....💀💀

These two bozos forgot that their asses got handed to them and are now Joris's kids. Yet they don't wanna share their stuff with OTHER orphans 😭😭😭

I swear to god it doesn't matter how old they get they are still lazy morons in each life.

I missed Luis's house magic 💕💕 The dofus movie made his skills look so smooth and satisfying like the motion and the way the bowls would just appear out of thin air, I loved it!!

AND THE CHILDREN‼️‼️‼️‼️

LOOK AT HOW THOSE LITTLE PUPS ARE OGGLING THE TABLE!!! That fucking old man never fed them right, he literally lashed out at them that they should be grateful that he feeds them every once and a while. So for them, seeing as table filled with food without anyone pushing them away or sneering at them is literally like seeing a miracle happening right in front of their eyes.

I bet that some of them still can't believe that they're out of the sewers. Those poor kids must be thinking they probably died or something because ever since Thirteen came back to the sewers, they got saved by a strong important guy that managed to scare the shit out of 'their master', got taken out of the sewers, got told they could just call their rescuer by his first name, got told they could stay at their rescuer's house, got told they could eat his food and sleep at his place, AND got told by their rescuer that he would give them normal names.

LIKE PLEASE YOU CAN'T TELL ME THAT SOME OF THEM ARE AT LEAST DOUBTING THEIR OWN EXISTENCE RIGHT ABOUT NOW!!!

All I can say is please let Yugo's wave not annihilate them and shred them into more pieces than they're already missing 😭😭

I can't tell if they're purposely being petty assholes while having the mental age of a kid. Cuz wtf bro this is like being a mom and showing off your new baby to your other kids only for them to hate the newborn because they'll have to start sharing everything with them 💀💀

I'll smack these two 😃😃

TWENTY-SEVEN STOP YOU DON'T HAVE TO GIVE HIM ANYTHING 😫😫😫😫

Don't get me wrong, it's so cute that he gave his (make-shift 😭) teddy to Joris but the fact that he was thinking about giving him anything at all, especially his TEDDY, was as if he gave him some sort of payment rather than a gift. Because why would he give him his teddy of all things? He's still so incredibly young, he obviously uses it all the time. So to give it away would mean that he's so incredibly grateful, he would see it as his payment to Joris so that he and his siblings would be able to stay here 😭😭😭

STOP IT WOULD MAKE TOO MUCH SENSE!!!! 😫😫😫😫

FIVE HUNDRED YEARS WTF MAN 😭😭😭

He says it way too casually too 💀💀

"Yeah no, he's been a pain in my ass for like 500 years now 🙄🙄 urgh I can't stand him sometimes i swear 😒😒" like excuse me????

I'm waiting for the Joris fans to use this face as their pfps lol

And into the abyss they go...

#not much to say about this chapter #other than to say it was nice #the smiles 🩷🩷🩷#calm before the storm 💀💀💀#im starting to have a bad feeling....#wakfu #ankama #krosmoz #wakfu manga #wakfu the great wave #the great wave #the great wave volume 2 #wakfu the great wave volume 2 #wakfu the great wave manga #the great wave manga #wakfu review #wakfu reviews

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wroetominter · 5 months ago

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Charity Match - George Clarke

Oh shocker, I rise from the writing dead because I have the feels again and need to release them somehow. I hope everyone else feels the same as I do in saying, George better be in the sidemen charity match this spring!

Pairing: George Clarke X FemReader

Warnings: none, fluff.

———

I had been a long time fan of the Sidemen and their friends for many years. I loved to watch their videos and support wherever I could. Merch drops, their random trading card drops, the like. When they announced they were doing yet another charity event, I jumped at the opportunity to finally attend.

Sat at my laptop, poised and ready to purchase a ticket when they dropped, I felt nerves creeping in, hoping I would get lucky enough to get the seat of my choosing.

Hearing the boys in a ChrisMD video playing in the background, my focus was temporarily drawn to them hiking a mountain. I couldn’t help be distracted by the words they were saying, soon snapping back to my computer as my options for Wembley stadium finally appeared. I panicked, searching for something that was close to where the players come on and off the pitch.

I purchased myself a ticket, feeling relieved that the pressure was over. Shutting my laptop, I was finally able to focus on the video in front of me.

In the months leading up to the game, the players had finally been announced. I wasn’t shocked to find that ChrisMD, and his channels frequent visitors the Arthur’s, George, and Isaac had also been selected to play. As a promotion, and probably to make the stands look like an authentic football match, they listed new merch on the Sidemen clothing website. This included mock football kit tops, sporting the different players so you could show your support. I was excited by this, wanting to differentiate other fans in the audience and build some friendships with like minded individuals around us.

Scrolling through the list of players, I knew pretty instantly the kit I was looking for. Selecting the YouTube all stars kit, personalized to the player “Clarkeey” as listed on the website. I completed my order and smiled, satisfied I would be well dressed for the game coming up so quickly.

—

I finished my outfit with the new football top, tucking it into my jeans slightly to show off my belt. I decided rather casual outfit, seeing as I would be sitting in the stands for a good majority of the game I wanted to ensure I was comfortable. I had dressed in a black jean, with a matching black and gold belt, and some white Nike sneakers with my new football top. I had pulled my hair up, knowing a football match could get quite warm.

Pulling a few loose hairs down to frame my face, and popping my wallet, and lip balm into my pocket I was ready for the match.

The tube to Wembley ended up being extremely packed, as expected. I scoured social media to pass the time, watching story after story. I paused on George’s for a few extra moments, admiring how well he suited his football kit in the photo he took with Chris before the match.

I was quite drawn to the man, finding both his looks and his humor alluring. The type of person that draws you in just by looking at a camera. I stopped my swoon as the train stopped, and we all filed out to get to the stadium.

I quickly found my seat, deciding to grab a drink before the match as well. I settled on a pint, taking it back to my seat and admiring the view of the pitch, and the group of men practicing in front of me. Although I do enjoy the actual football aspect of the matches, you can’t blame a girl for also finding pleasure in watching a pitch full of attractive men run around for 90 minutes.

Locking my eyes to the area in front of me, where I quickly spotted #3, “Clarkeey”. He was practicing between him and ArthurTV, looking incredibly focused. From their videos, George’s competitive side had always been apparent to me. He was quite good at the majority of challenges they had done, finishing in the top three ranks on most occasions. It was no surprise to me that he likely had been practicing his match skills for weeks, or months prior to the match.

I realized I had been staring, but I could have sworn that he looked back up to me. I felt a blush creeping to my cheeks, realizing that he likely had not looked at me, but into the crowd of thousands of people. I brushed it off and snapped a few photos of myself and the pitch, posting them to my stories and socials to show off that I was indeed at the match that day. If it didn’t end up on social media, did it really even happen?

Looking around me, I decided to check out who had been sitting near me as the crowds began to settle in with the match starting soon. To my left, was only three empty seats remaining, whereas to my right, there seemed to be a group of older school age boys cheering on the sidemen as they warmed up. I was roughly three rows from the front, happy I had paid the extra amount to have such close seats as I could see the players ready to begin the match with precise detail from my seats.

The three people needing their seats to my left finally showed, and I recognized them pretty quickly. It ended up being none other than the parents and sister of Chris. I smiled at them politely as they took their seats, Kelly next to me.

“I’m glad I’m sat next to another girl, and not the screaming boys just down there” she said to me, “I’m Kelly, what’s your name?”

I giggled slightly at her remarks to the boys to my right. “I’m Y/n, nice to meet you. You’re Chris’ family, right?” She nodded.

“Yes, the few unlucky enough to call that weirdo family” we laughed together and spent the next few minutes chit chatting. I found myself relaxing more with her, knowing I had someone to talk to helped ease my nerves of coming here alone.

The match started, and the excitement and fun made the time fly by. Cheering as goals came and went, jumping up with his family when Chris scored a goal, and cheering everyone on when the game was over and the winners announced. This year, the YouTube Allstars had taken the trophy! They raised Chris up, holding the trophy and I stood there clapping like a proud mom, watching the group of lads I frequently watched with so much joy between them.

Snapped from my trance, I felt one of the boys to my right tap my arm. Turning to face him to see what he wanted. “Are you George’s girlfriend?” He asked. I was a little taken aback by this, wondering where he could have gotten that impression.

“No, just a fan. Sorry” was all I could think of in response. I clocked one of his friends filming this interaction on his phone.

“Oh, seemed like it from the kit, my bad.” He walked away with his mates, clearly trying to make their way to the front to get closer to the lads. Strange, I thought to myself.

I told Kelly about the interaction and she laughed with me. She pulled me in a little closer, wanting to whisper her next statement to me. “I’m going to bring you down to the pitch with us when we go see Chris” she said. My mouth agape I stared at her, which made her start to laugh.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” I asked her. I was of course excited, but equally nervous for this.

“Yea, absolutely! I was given a plus one and didn’t use it. And I like hanging out with you, you make these events fun. I hope we can do something together soon after this as well. It’s tough to find a friend that both knows this weird world I’m attached to, but simultaneously doesn’t just use me for information about my brother.” I smiled at her kind words.

“Yes, let’s absolutely hang out more. I agree, finding friends in general living alone in London has been difficult for me as well.”

We sat in our seats, waiting for the crowds to die down a bit before security was to come grab us and bring us down to the pitch for family and friend celebrations.

Scrolling through instagram, I found myself on the export page seeing different posts from the match. I saw one in particular that caught my eye. It was a photo of the back of Kelly and I, standing and cheering. With my hair tied up you could clearly see the “Clarkeey” written across my back as we cheered.

The caption read “Chris’ sister and apparently George’s secret girl cheer YTAS on.” I was dumbfounded. This was the second time in the last fifteen minutes I had been told I was George’s supposed secret girl. Looking through the comments I found many people commenting that they thought the same thing after seeing me at the match. A few comments didn’t seem shocked by seeing me, quoting “she is his type after all”. I turned my phone off, trying to shake this from my head as we were led from the stands down to the pitch.

We went to Chris first, obviously so his parents could congratulate them. I was introduced as Kelly’s friend, which although true felt funny as we were incredibly recently friends.

“Congratulations Chris, your goal was so fun to watch!” I told him.

“Thanks Y/n, I’m glad you enjoyed it. I heard we broke last years record for money raised as well, overall I would call this a pretty successful day.” I agreed with Chris’ words.

An arm was soon brought around Chris’ shoulders as we stood around talking. I looked at the new addition to the group, finding George now standing with us.

His hair was slightly stuck down to his forehead from sweat, and he smiled at the group, clearly on cloud 9 from the days events.

“Hello Chris and family” he said, acknowledging the rest of us. His family politely said hello, and Chris’ mom came to give him a hug. I assumed they were well acquainted from how long him and Chris had been friends.

With George stood next to me, it felt rude between the two of us not to introduce ourselves as Chris and his family had become distracted in their conversation.

George turned slightly towards me, sparking the conversation.

“I don’t think we’ve met properly, I’m George Clarke.” He said extending a hand to me. I shook his hand.

“I’m Y/n, supposedly your secret girlfriend.” I mentally face palmed at my awkward conversation starter.

His eyes raised and I rolled mine, pulling out my phone to show him the numerous posts I had found. He laughed at a few of the fanboy comments, cheering him on.

“What sparked this debate online?” He asked with a seriously charming smirk on his face.

I turned my back towards him, showing off the kit I was sporting. He laughed,

“Ahh, yes. That makes sense.” We laughed together.

“And apparently I’m your type, so the people around me sort of assumed, since I was with Chris’ family.” I said.

I was happy that this conversation didn’t feel awkward. It felt light and filled with banter. Knowing my usual track record with men, this conversation was 10 times better than my usual interactions.

“To be fair to them, you are my type.” He said. I felt myself freeze slightly, just staring back at him. I could tell he felt nervous about my reaction to his words based on the words he had just spit out. I nudged him slightly, playing into his flirtatious nature.

“Well if the kit wasn’t obvious enough, you’re my type as well so I suppose they aren’t far off of their assumptions.” George agreed with me and we had a laugh together. Our moment being spoiled by the other lads, ArthurTV, Arthur Hill, Bach, Reev, and a few others joining the group and talking about the major after party celebration they were planning.

“You need to come, pleaseeeee” Kelly dragged out grabbing my arm. Of course, I was secretly praying I was going to be invited. Wanting to continue the conversation George and I were having.

“Of course, I’ll be there.” I said to Kelly, catching George looking at me from the side, a smile forming on his lips. I couldn’t help but blush to myself. Immediately wanting to tell Kelly about the entire interaction I pulled her to the side, filling her in on the details.

“Oh my god, yes! I am making it my personal mission to make sure you talk tonight!” She squealed. It felt so nice to have a wing woman on my side for this.

With this being a party, I wanted to go home and freshen up a bit. Kelly asked to tag along so she could get a rest from the big crowd. I agreed of course, as we made our way back to my flat.

I showed her a couple different outfit choices. Bring it was March and still a bit chilly outside, I settled on a nice but casual sweater top, and some new jeans to compliment. I felt put together but casual so I would still be comfortable.

We talked endlessly about the party, as Kelly begged me to tell her again about the conversation I had with George.

“I don’t know, he told me I was his type, he was definitely flirting, right?” I questioned.

“From everything Chris has told me he’s normally not good at talking to women. I would say yes absolutely. He had the balls to come out directly and say it, he was totally into you!” She divulged that she didn’t have many friends to share this kind of stuff with, so she was really excited to see how this night played out.

Entering the event, she let me know she was going to make herself scarce and go find some other people to converse with while I essentially shoot my shot, as she put it.

I searched the crowd, not finding George anywhere. I settled myself for a moment, realizing he had to be around somewhere.

“What will you have to drink?” His voice rang from behind me, scaring me slightly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he lightly led me by the small of my back a little closer to him so I could hear him better. My heart fluttering at his small action. The room was crowded after all.

“Umm, I think I’ll have a vodka redbull and pineapple please” I said to him.

“Coming up,” he walked away towards the bar and I felt myself let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. He looked insanely good after the match. Dressed in jeans, a white tshirt and a flannel top pulled over it, I found myself unable to take my eyes off of him. “Here you are” he handed me the glass, keeping his pint close by him.

We were stood at a bar height table, drinks going by quickly and conversation flowing. It felt natural to be talking to him. It was almost as if we had known each other forever.

“What brought you to the match alone anyway?” He asked as I told him the story of how I ended up here. “No boyfriend?” He added taking a drink of his pint.

“Well, I have been a long time fan, so I figured it was time to come out and support in person, plus, with it being for charity it was a good opportunity overall.” I said, taking a sip of my drink as well. He kept staring at me, and I realized I completely glazed over his addition. “Oh, no, no boyfriend.” His eyes softened a little at my confession.

“Good, I’m glad to hear.” He smiled and I could feel my cheeks heating up. “I don’t often find someone I connect with this well. I was really hoping you’d come tonight.” He confessed. If I thought my cheeks were red before. “I’m sorry I feel like I keep rambling, I’m not good with these situations, really.” I couldn’t quite find the right words in response, causing him to continue his nervous ramble. “If you don’t feel the same connection it’s no worries, really. I just wanted to get to know you a little more I guess and I-”

“George” I cut him off. He pulled his eyes to mine. I placed a hand on his on the table, sensing his nerves. “I want to know you more as well. Believe me, the connection you’re feeling is reciprocated.” He sighed, looking down at our hands together and laughed.

“Thank god, otherwise I look like an idiot here.” I laughed with him.

“You look really cute, not like an idiot at all.” It was his turn to blush at my words.

“You look amazing as well, indeed still my type.” I laughed at his callback to our earlier conversation.

I was thankful for my fangirl antics, which now led me to George.

We spent the rest of the night together, laughing together and with his friends. I could tell his friends were not used to him hanging out with a girl, based on their comments non stop about it. It was funny to see George so flustered by their comments, normally seeing him so confident and casual on the screen.

I heard my name, turning to find Kelly sneaking into our group.

“Was the plan successful?” She quietly said to me. I tilted my head down a little, to show her George’s arm had been wrapped around my waist and rested on my side for the majority of the night. She smiled massively at me, giving me two thumbs up and running off. I laughed which caught George’s attention.

“What’s funny?” He asked.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” I slid closer to him, reciprocating the arm around the waist and rejoining the group conversation.

This was a very successful night.

#george clarkey #george clarke fics #george clarke fluff #George Clarke #George Clarkeey #wroetominterimagines #chrismd #arthurtv

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thepersonperson · 6 months ago

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Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (The unique way Sukuna is damned to eternal miscommunication and existentialism in the modern era.)

Notes before we start.

1) I will be mainly using the TCB scans for the manga because of their accessibility.

2) I need professional help.

(Click images for captions/citations.)

Preface

I want to get one thing out of the way. This is going to be a weird write-up because I'm hardly going to cite the manga.

I'm basically posting this as a reference for myself. All of this occurred so I could properly lean into the old man aspect of Sukuna for a fic I'm writing. (Aka I read too much on actual Heian Era history and now you all have to suffer.)

People often joke that Sukuna is an old man, but I'm here to tell you he is so out of touch and out of time that he might as well be existing in a never-ending Lovecraftian nightmare where time has stopped being real.

It's going to take a while to explain why this is the case so hear me out, maybe?

Fundamental Measurements

What is a unit of measurement? And where did these units come from? If you've taken an entry level physics class, you've already been through the existential crisis answering these questions caused.

But for the uninitiated, have you ever sat down and asked yourself why you know what a foot/meter is? Everyone has kind of agreed they represent a specific distance, and depending on where you were raised, you'll prefer one over the other.

I'm an American. I'm also an engineer. I have to use SI Units and Freedom Units all the time. Differing distance units are things I can easily conceptualize. I understand what a meter is. It's like 3.3 feet.

Every time I hear meter, my brain does the conversion to 3.3 feet because I was raised with feet as my base unit of measurement. But oddly enough, when I hear 100 meters, I instantly know how far that is. This is because I was a sprinter for all of Jr. High and High School. When someone says 100 meters, I picture the got danged torture stretch of the 300 meter hurdles.

The point of this is to establish that early life experiences become a reference point when thinking about things as an adult. If I didn't run track or do engineering, I would be a "What the fuck is a kilometer?" type American.

Measurements of Miscommunication

If you couldn't tell, I wrote the previous section with Non-Americans in mind. I specified the units of measurement I was using for distance because I understand people outside of the US could be reading my post.

But what happens if I don't do that? What happens when people assume everyone's units of measurement are the same as theirs? Allow me to recall a conversation I'm sure most of you Non-Americans have had with an American on the internet and vice versa.

Friend, Non-American: Ugh it's 40 degrees out today.

Me, American: Dang that sounds pretty cold, don't forget to wear a jacket.

Friend, Non-American: What the hell do you meant that's cold???

Me, American and remembering where they live: OH YOU MEAN CELSIUS. That's 104 in Freedom Units.

Friend, Non-American: 104 IS SUPER DEAD IN CELSIUS.

(40°F is 4.4°C btw.)

As you can see, these kind of assumptions relay drastically different information. 40 degrees without a unit is read as cold or hot depending on where a person is from. It also doesn't help that the conversion between these units is nonsense. The vast majority of people can't do °C = (°F − 32) × 5/9 off the top of their head.

I, for the life of me, cannot comprehend Celsius. Temperature is too abstract a concept for my brain to swap systems. I think there's a reason for this.

Unlike distance, you can't see the temperature with your body. You can feel it, sure, but sometimes you step into a walk-in freezer and come out feeling like everything is warmer than it is. Relativity like that won't affect how you see distance. A foot is a foot, a meter is a meter, and they will always look those distances. You can check them easily.

Temperature? You need a thermometer to check. Or you assume the generalized data on a weather app is accurate. And things like humidity can fudge with your perception it.

This is all to say that my brain assigned the number 40 as cold. It being a hot number is barely comprehensible because my foundation is it being cold.

(If you were wondering, yes this is why I write out dates like Month DD, YYYY. It's so no one has to look at 3/4/YYYY and guess if they're supposed to be reading it as March 4th or April 3rd because they can't tell what country I'm from.)

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Well my dear reader, my question to you is: What units of measurement were used in the Heian Era?

Forget about distance and temperature. How was time measured in the Heian era?

Heian Era Timekeeping

Ancient Japan ran on something called a Lunisolar Calendar. This is a type of calendar based around moon phases and sun positioning hence, lunisolar.

Taken directly from Wikipedia:

"A lunisolar calendar is a calendar in many cultures, incorporating lunar calendars and solar calendars. The date of lunisolar calendars therefore indicates both the Moon phase and the time of the solar year, that is the position of the Sun in the Earth's sky. If the sidereal year (such as in a sidereal solar calendar) is used instead of the solar year, then the calendar will predict the constellation near which the full moon may occur. As with all calendars which divide the year into months there is an additional requirement that the year have a whole number of months. In some cases ordinary years consist of twelve months but every second or third year is an embolismic year, which adds a thirteenth intercalary, embolismic, or leap month.

Their months are based on the regular cycle of the Moon's phases. So lunisolar calendars are lunar calendars with – in contrast to them – additional intercalation rules being used to bring them into a rough agreement with the solar year and thus with the seasons."

Did you notice something funky? A leap month has to be accounted for with this calendar. And it gets worse. The duration between leap months vary because the earth's path around the sun varies.

Under this calendar system, instead of a fixed interval of time always passing for a year, everything is variable. This means conversion to a modern date, which uses fixed time intervals, is not a one to one thing. It's kind of like trying to convert February 29th to non-leap years. Some people born on this day celebrate on February 28th and others will use March 1st. Legally speaking in the US, March 1st is used for tallying. (And if you've seen the Pirates of Penzance, this is an actual plot point when trying to determine a character's contract clause.) So imagine that but for months, years, and hours all the time.

I exclude days from this issue because Heian Japan agreed that a day was as day. They don't shrink or grow. The 12 hours a day always pass! And yes I mean 12 hours a day.

Heian Hours

For the rest of this discussion I'm referencing this lovely source by Katherine M. Lawrence. Everything quoted is from here.

So... let's get into that 12 hour day thing.

"Days consisted of 12 hours based on the 12 zodiac animals, each Heian hour being equal to about two modern hours. In a moment I will get to why I deliberately used the word “about.”

Days were divided into six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of darkness. Instead of midnight, the day started at daybreak. Only in the Meiji times, in 1867, did the day change at midnight.

What is fascinating is that there were always six “hours” of daylight and six “hours” of night irrespective of the time of year. In modern times, with mechanical and even atomic clocks, we accept that more daylight falls in summer than in winter. We might turn back or move our clocks forward twice a year. In Japan it was done 24 times a year—approximately every 14 to 16 days—so that the first light would always come during the first “hour” of the day, which was known as the Hour of the Rabbit, sometimes called the Hour of the Hare. Dusk would come at the Hour of the Bird, sometimes called the Hour of the Rooster.

If we were to measure the actual length of winter days using a modern timepiece, the Hour of the Rabbit would be shorter than two hours because the relatively shorter total daylight in winter would still be distributed into six parts.

The six nighttime hours in winter would absorb the extra darkness and be proportionately longer than the nominal two hours of our 24-hour clock.

All this kept the astrologers and priests busy, because every 14 to 16 days, the clocks had to be adjusted. “More on that in a minute,” which by the way, is an idiom the Japanese of the era would not have used, because our modern concept of sixty minutes to an hour and sixty seconds to a minute is highly tied to mechanical clocks."

In summary, Heian Hours quite literally grow and shorten depending on the season. That 1 Heian Hour=2 Modern Hours conversion only works when daylight hours are the exact same as nighttime hours.

But it gets even weirder than that. Rather than counting from 1 to 12 for daytime and nighttime like we might on our modern clocks, Heian Japan counted down from 9 to 4 twice. This results in a clock conversion that looks like this.

And remember, this is only accurate when daylight hours are equal to nighttime hours!

It should also be noted that these hours were announced by the ringing of temple bells throughout the day and the night. Everyone relied on these temples to keep the time at all times.

But wait, there's more! (Heian Months and Solar Stems)

This is where timekeeping really starts to fall apart in terms of my understanding of it so Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence is going to explain it.

"In the Heian period (and until 1867), each month began on the dark moon, also know as the new moon. The full moon would come on the 15th day and the month would end approximately on the 28th, sometimes the 29th, and even the 30th day of the month.

Japanese did not have the western concept of the seven-day week, though they certainly could count to seven. What they had instead was the concept of the solar stem, of which there were 24."

"The first solar stem of the Japanese year starts on the first day of the year: Start of Spring, which, unlike the Western calendar, is not in March. The Last Solar Stem (the 24th) ends on the last day of Major Cold. The beginning of the year in Japan, as measured by the Western calendar, would start somewhere between mid-January and mid-February, the variation resulting from aligning the solar stems with the lunar months."

In summary, Heian Months may be about the same length as Modern Months, but they are strictly based on the moon phases and the 24 Solar Stems are anchored around them.

This leaves us with a conversion calendar that looks like this. (Edited to number the Solar Stems.)

And remember, this is approximate. The Solar Stems do not always align with these exact Georgian calendar dates.

The lunar months, of course, do not use our calendar date names. I present a summary table based on several people's documentation (Source 1, Source 2, Source 3) since sadly the other blogger didn't include them:

(Jan-Feb) Mutsuki (睦月) Month of Harmony/Affection

(Feb-Mar) Kisaragi (如月) Month of Changing of Clothes

(Mar-Apr) Yayoi (弥生) Month of Plant Growth/New Life

(Apr-May) Uzuki (卯月) Month of Deutzia Flowers

(May-Jun) Satsuki (皐月) Month of Planting Rice

(Jun-Jul) Minazuki (水無月) Month of Water/No Gods

(Jul-Aug) Fumizuki (文月) Month of Literature

(Aug-Sep) Hazuki (葉月) Month of Leaves

(Sep-Oct) Nagatsuki (長月) The Long Month

(Oct-Nov) Kannazuki (神無月) Month of Gods

(Nov-Dec) Shimotsuki (霜月) Month of Frost

(Dec-Jan) Shiwasu (師走) Month of Running Priests

This table merges multiple sources because the translations of Kanji differ and it's good to see how/why these differences occur. There's also the issue of the bloggers presenting the months like 1-to-1 conversions.

I want to stress that these Lunar Months start and end anywhere from the middle to the late parts of Georgian Months. This is why Source 1 claims Mutsuki=Feb while Sources 2 & 3 claim Mutsuki=Jan. Source 1 chose Feb because the majority of Mutsuki occurs in Feb while Sources 2 & 3 chose Jan because Mutsuki technically starts in late Jan.

Now that I've laid all this out, I'm sure you have the following burning question:

How the hell do you convert modern time to Heian time???

I turn to Ms. Katherine M. Lawrence again for guidance.

"If this post gets some interest, I will continue and explain how the author calculates..."

There's no guidance.

However! There is an example of a conversion without the explanation.

"Thus, we know as Yamabuki and Tomoe ride up to the Shayō Tōge, the Sunset Pass, at Sunset on May 11, 1172, in the middle of a freak snowstorm, the author can say with some assurance that it happened at the Hour of the Bird on the 13th day of the 7th solar stem, two days past the full moon of the Flower Month."

So I'm going to try to figure out how this occurred using the information I've been given.

Hour of the Bird: This one is easy! The bird hour is the official sunset hour.

7th Solar Stem: According to the chart that's between late April and early May.

13th Day: Since Solar Stems are about 14-16 days this means it's almost the 8th Solar Stem which starts around May 21st.

2 days past the full moon of the Flower Month: "Flower Month" is not on my chart. From what I know about kanji, I think this is a simplification of Uzuki (卯月) or the the Month of Deutzia Flowers. This aligns with the month of May.

This is where I give up. I legitimately do not know where to go from here. ...And that's my point.

What does this have to do with Sukuna?

Before I completely lose you, my dearest most patient reader, please consider the following:

You wake up in a place where time is counted backwards and the hours pass faster than you've ever known them to. The things you use to tell the time don't exist or are in a form you no longer can recognize.

You see a clock face that counts in the wrong direction to numbers you've never seen used for time. The sounds it makes are familiar and foreign all at once. When you try to use the times and dates everyone you ever knew understood instantly, you're met with complete confusion. No one except a few dedicated scholars know how to convert your concept of time to theirs.

This is how Sukuna experiences time in the modern era.

Sukuna Can't Tell the Time (Sukuna almost fumbled his date with Gojo.)

Remember all my rambling about my own experiences with trying to understand SI Units as a Freedom Units user and my complete and utter failure to convert Heian Time to Modern Time? This is to establish that on a fundamental level, it does not matter that Sukuna has access to his vessel's memories. These foreign units mean nothing without a conversion reference.

Yuta in Gojo's body showed us how the memory recollection process works. You see them like movie and must draw your understandings from them.

We also learn from Sukuna that he tends to ignore memories that aren't relevant to his sorcery. So something mundane like telling the time isn't his priority. (I often think about how Sukuna has been watching Yuji and everyone around him use a cell phone but he still calls it a photography device.)

(He's lying about the flowers though.)

So this leads us to Sukuna and Gojo setting the date for their battle...

When Sukuna heard Kenjaku say November 19th and Gojo say December 24th his brain was the equivalent of TV static. It's very likely that Sukuna had to rely on Kenjaku to ensure he showed up at the right day. (Kenjaku, of course, is an exception here because instead of drawing from memories, Kenny got to live through the transitional period of the Lunisolar Calendar to the Georgian Calendar and had 100+ years to adjust to it. And now that I think about it, the Culling Game using days to count time is probably Kenjaku being considerate of this generational difference.)

It's a really good thing that Gojo didn't specify the time because that would've made things worse. See the following examples using the handy dandy conversion chart as a reference...

Gojo: Let's do this at 10.

Sukuna: ???

Gojo: Let's do this at 9.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 2 hours late at 11 am.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 8.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 5 hours late at 1 pm.*

Gojo: Let's do this at 7.

Sukuna: *Shows up approximately 8 hours late at 3 pm*

Gojo: Let's do this at 6.

Sukuna: *Shows up on time?* (It’s December in the northern hemisphere so the sun comes up after 6. Sukuna might still show up a bit late.)

These examples also assume that Sukuna can still gauge Heian Hours accurately. That too is up in the air because the hourly bells that sounded the Heian Hours no longer exist. The temples and bells may remain, but their use for timekeeping has changed entirely.

Since it's likely he spent a large portion of his early life in a temple, there's a chance Sukuna has a strong internalized sense of Heian Hours. But how many people do you know that can accurately feel an hour pass on vibes alone?

There isn't any point in the manga where Sukuna indicates he knows what Georgian Month is, let alone a Modern Hour. I think that's why he's just waiting on top of the building for Gojo to show up. The day starts for him when the sun comes up, not midnight. He probably figured that as long as he was out there by dawn, eventually his date would show up.

There's something strangely adorable about that. Sukuna didn't go out massacring others for funsies or wreak havoc after Gojo was unsealed. He just waited a whole month and gambled on their connection starting the death date on time.

How Sukuna Might Tell the Time

When Sukuna uses time units, he only uses minutes or seconds.

Well...the narrator implies he's able to use seconds.

This makes sense despite the Heian Era not having minutes or seconds. They're foundational units rather than a unit he needs to convert to something mentally. Because they are so drastically smaller than other Heian units of time, it's easier for the brain to calibrate itself to them.

This means that if one wanted to communicate a duration of time to Sukuna, it would be better to use minutes or seconds.

For example, rather than saying "see you in an hour", "see you in 60 minutes" would be better. Otherwise Sukuna is going to default to 1 Heian Hour and show up approximately 2 hours late.

Another example, telling Sukuna you'll "be gone for a few hours" means to him that you'll be gone for most of the day. At this point it would be better to reference a duration of an activity he's familiar with than use minutes. Sukuna watched some of those movies with Yuji. "I'll be gone for 1-2 movies" will make a little more sense to him.

Funnily enough though, telling Sukuna that you work a 9-5 wouldn't cause a miscommunication for duration. That's 4 Heian Hours or about 8 Modern Hours. He probably thinks it's weird you start working in the middle of the day and into the night though.

How Sukuna tells time for himself is likely similar to someone lost in the wilderness. He'll mostly be relying on environmental cues like moon phase, sun position, constellations, and flora growth. (Which ironically, climate change affecting flora growth patterns would throw him off even more. I can't even imagine how he'd feel about light pollution stealing away the stars on top of that. But at least the moon is still there!)

But as you can see, the normal methods of precise timekeeping are next to impossible for Sukuna to use and this discrepancy is ripe for miscommunication. This has a lot of comedy and horror potential in fanworks. (Hence me writing this as a resource.)

How Sukuna Used to Tell the Time

After doing all this research, I found myself viewing Sukuna's theme Malevolent Shrine a little differently. I always found it to be a quite sad sounding song for his character. Villains as violent and fierce as Sukuna tend to get battle themes that reflect that. In comparison to high energy bangers like One-Winged Angel (Sephiroth Final Fantasy), Avalon (Ultimate Lifeform Kars Jojo), or The Last Mission (Murem vs Netero Hunter x Hunter), Malevolent Shrine is rather somber and unfocused.

This theme opens and closes with bells. The opening in particular feels chaotic with how the different bells seem to overlap and overwhelm each other. But if you listen closely, you'll hear the gong of a temple bell that keeps rhythm by marking the start of a new measure. Using this bell, it becomes easier to count the beats, even when it eventually disappears in the middle section.

His theme to me now feels like an echo of what Sukuna used to know before he was thrust into a world that is no longer in sync with his very concept of time.

"Interestingly, the Japanese “witching hour” is not at midnight, but at nominally 2 AM (1 AM–3 AM) and is known as the Hour of the Ox."

I don't really know where else to put this. Sukuna on his throne of ox skulls, a representation of the witching hour where reality falls apart and spirits come out to play.

How all this might look in action. (Defending my questionable writing choices.)

Though everything I've given is plenty enough for people to run wild with in fanworks, I would like to give examples of it in my own. My type of autism is one where it's easier for me have something to use as a direct reference. (Clear and concise instructions please.) So I want to provide that for anyone else wired similarly.

Context: The fic I'm writing is from Sukuna's POV so I've taken great care to avoid him using modern timekeeping terms. I have a timeline for everything outlined, but I refuse to make that clear to the reader so they can get the Sukuna Experience™.

Other characters will reference the time and give the reader little windows into what date it possibly is, but otherwise they have to infer it themselves.

But because I myself use modern time, I caught mistakes I made in an early chapter... (Aka before I realized Heian Timekeeping is Extremely Different.)

Old Sentence: The year is 2019.

Revised Sentence: The year is 2019 for the Common Era.

(Heian Japan was mimicking China so I'm assuming that the numbered years restarted with each era since I couldn't find how years were kept.)

Old Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten for the past 5 hours and 38 minutes.

Revised Sentence: It’s reminding him he has not eaten since the hour of the dragon—338 minutes and counting.

(This one is self evident I think.)

But even within this chapter, I obscured the date by having Sukuna observe his surroundings. I don't think it's a good example so I'll use a different one.

...it occurs under the same wisteria and same midday sun. The branches and buds have begun to green and sag before the Flowering Moon has reached its full, an indication that the bloom will come early.

Wisterias bloom in late April around the time of full moon. April aligns with Yayoi or the Month of Plant Growth/New Life. I worked under the assumption that the moons can be called by their month names kind of like Native American moon names. But Plant Growth/New Life Moon didn't sound good to me so I changed it to Flowering.

So I do have a very specific date for when this scene occurs, but Sukuna doesn't know so the reader doesn't know. The best you can guess is sometime in April but you have to know when Wisterias typically bloom and what a Flowering Moon might be. (I'm hoping this kind of vague timekeeping disorients the reader and causes frustration. I used sun, moon, and star positioning charts for this got dang it.)

Tools to Use for Weird Timekeeping

Chinese Calendar Conversions

Solar Stem Converter

(This one is annoying to use because they don't use the translated names but there is a definitions table.)

Lunar Calendar Converter

(Unfortunately it only allows for 1901-2100. You can probably infer the lunar month via the Solar Stem Converter for older dates.)

Celestial Bodies

For star/constellation positions in the night sky use this:

Sky & Telescope Interactive Sky Chart

(Yes you can even change the location and time to get the exact night sky the characters might be looking at.)

For sun positions and sunrise/sunset times use this:

SunCalc

For moon positions and moonrise/moonset times use this:

MoonCalc

(If you want to see a summary of moon phases by month this tool is helpful.)

This tool gives celestial body-specific rise and set times along with positions:

In-The-Sky

(The site is a bit unintuitive so here is an example of it being used for a star cluster at a specific location and toggleable date.)

Extra Info

Here’s a document on how the Subaru/Pleiades star cluster was used for timekeeping in historical Japan: The Inspiration of Subaru as a Symbol of Cultural Values and Traditions in Japan

There’s also this website that briefly goes over historical Japanese astrology with a focus on the Orion’s Belt constellation: Astronomy and Mythology in Ancient Japan

Wiki links for celestial body festivals that have been around since the Heian:

Star Festival (Tanabata)

Moon Festival (Tsumiki)

Why have you done this?

I don't know. Please enjoy my perverse obsession with the little details.

#cactus yaps #Erikaposting with this one. Need to get my brain examined.#I almost included a rant about changing floral language confusing Sukuna even more but I stopped myself.#This is Sukugo in the vaguest way possible so I won't tag it I think.#The things I do for this fic... This is much worse than my Ace Combat one.#ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen #jjk spoilers #jjk meta #writing ref

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cookie-lore-keeper · 4 months ago

Text

A lot of humans are confused as to the time period Earthbread is in (time is weird, so while we witches and humans can be in modern times, cookies might not be)

Here's what I think: Earthbread is in modern times, but since the kingdoms and other civilizations were so segregated from each other geographically, it was harder to make contact with other kingdoms, so they developed in their own ways without any outside influence, leading to different areas of development. It's like how humans have secluded tribes away from other civilizations, and their lives and technology end up being drastically different from ours.

The Hollyberry Kingdom is across a large mountain that's surrounded by a rainforest, so the only way to get there is through boat over a peninsula.

The Dark Cacao Kingdom is in cold and snowy mountains, and the climate is known for being too harsh for cookies who aren't used to it. There's also the Licorice Sea, which is the most dangerous part of the kingdom. There's also a lot of dangerous beasts in the forest, which can crumble a cookie instantly.

The Pure Vanilla Kingdom is, excuse my language, in the fucking sky. But, before that, it might've been one of the most diverse kingdoms in Earthbread. Too bad irs in the sky now and not many cookies know how to get there :(

The Golden Cheese Kingdom has crumbled, and all of the cookies there are dead; only bring "alive" through queen Golden Cheese Cookie's souljam magic. But even before it crumbled, it was in a DESERT. The WORST environment. While providing natural protection for them and their treasures, its very difficult for other cookies to get there. So, they just don't. (Rip messenger pigeons. You're our only hope). Though, now it's still a bit difficult to visit. I hope Golden Chees Cookie finds a way to restore her kingdom soon...

The Créme Republic is becoming more open, but the geography still makes it a bit difficult. In the map I have on Earthbread (which may be a little outdated...), it shows that the Créme Republic is protected by a mountain and a rainforest, so the only way to get there would be through airship or a boat.

Most cookie civilizations dont have airships, and the seas by the Republic can be pretty rough, so there's not many outside visitors. But, the Republic is trying to attract tourists and allies for the fight against Dark Enchantress Cookie! So, if you can, it would be safe to visit.

The only way to get to the City of Wizards is through dream. It was also made for wizards, not cookies, so imma just skip that whole place.

Then there are the non-major kingdoms. Places like the Snowfall Village are on snowy mountains, and we've already established that colder places and mountains are harder to visit.

We haven't seen Flower City on a map, since it's not on Earthbread, but we do know there's a giant mountain surrounding the city.

The Faerie Kingdom is on the dangerous continent of Beast-Yeast, and is purposely hidden from any outside cookies.

The spices are also in Beast Yeast, and have dangerous spice storms and a violent dictator... Not really a spot many would want to go to.

The civilizations in Dragon's Valley are LITERALLY in a place called Dragon's Valley, and it's noted to be dangerous BECAUSE of the dragons. They also have volcanoes and mountains there, and it can get really hot. So the tribe's and villages and all of that tend to stick to themselves as it's easier.

You get the point. Most places in Earthbread are secluded or protected geographically, which makes it difficult for contact with other cookies. So, they developed with their own technology they had. It's why the time period feels weird; every kingdom is so drastically different bcuz they had no contact with other kingdoms.

Now what's REALLY confusing is the timeline. I'm trying my best for that one, yall.

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everdreamofme · 1 year ago

Text

it's a boy, girl thing

Chapter 3

mattheo riddle x reader

Making her way through the halls of Hogwarts to Mattheo's classes, Y/N couldn't help but notice the reactions of her peers. They seemed to move instantly out of his path, shooting nervous glances as 'he' passed them by, almost scared of what he would do. Mattheo had always been a torment; he and his friends didn't seem to let up for anyone in the halls, and one could only wonder what suffering they inflicted within the walls of their common room.

The revelation of who exactly Mattheo's father was came at the end of the previous school year. Up until that moment, he was just another Slytherin bad boy who was somehow related to the Malfoys - Y/N had always assumed they were cousins or such; to be honest, she was never really interested. Now, the whole school was terrified he would somehow follow in his father's footsteps. But if Dumbledore trusted him enough to let him continue to be a student here, then there was no need for the student body to worry, right?

Thankfully, Y/N and Mattheo shared the majority of the same classes and had only had to endure double potions class so far, meaning they could keep an eye on each other. Luckily, they had a single lesson of charms together next.

Y/N flopped onto the charms desk and let out a huff. Just get through the day, and you'll be fine. Feeling someone occupy the seat next to her, she turned to find her own frame, throwing her school bag onto the floor. She had planned to avoid Mattheo today, opting to spend her study periods and lunch time holed up in the library.

'What are you doing?' She hissed at him. 'We can't sit next to each other - people will think something's wrong!'

'Relax.' Mattheo rolled his eyes as Y/N stared at him, appalled. 'Your seat was already taken, had to find another.' He explained as he nodded towards the front of the classroom. Her usual seat next to Cho Chang was currently occupied by Harry Potter, and they were happily chatting away.

'Oh.'

'Jeez, take the stick out of your ass, will you?'

Y/N gasped. 'I do not have a stick up my ass!'

'Then quit acting like it!' Mattheo scoffed back.

'You know, you think you're so smart-'

'Me think I'm smart? You're the one who corrects people every sentence!'

'Well, if people used the correct grammar, then I wouldn't need-'

'Miss Y/L/N, Mr Riddle.' Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. 'Do I have your attention?'

Y/N immediately turned from the argument to the front of the class and straightened her back. Mattheo simply rolled his eyes and slouched in his chair.

'Of course! Apologies, Professor.' Flitwick's brows furrowed as 'Mattheo' answered attentively and 'Y/N' lounged in her seat, looking bored. The lesson continued as normal from there, with Y/N taking extremely detailed notes and Mattheo staring uninterestedly at Professor Flitwick, both ignoring each other.

As the Hogwarts bells rang to signal the end of the lesson, Y/N began to pack her parchment away into Mattheo's bag when she felt a hand clamping on her shoulder.

'Hope you've been practicing those swings Malfoy instructed; otherwise, we're both dead meat.' Turning in her seat, she found Theodore Nott waiting behind her with his own bag ready to go. Letting out a nervous chuckle, she nodded.

'Y-yeah... you bet!'

Theo's brow quirked as she made no move to stand from her table, staring wide-eyed at the boy before her. 'Okay, well, are you coming, then?'

'Uh, can I just borrow Mattheo for a moment, Theo?' Mattheo interjected, peeping over the shoulder of the 'boy' in front of him. Theo nodded and backed away slowly, shooting a confused glance at the pair before disappearing outside of the classroom.

Y/N rounded on Mattheo with panic in her eyes. 'Swings?!'

'Fuck! I forgot about quidditch practice!' He exclaimed, smacking his hand against the table.

'Riddle, what do I do?! I can't play quidditch!' She hissed.

'You're going to fucking have to!'

'I think I'm about to throw up...' She muttered after a moment. Looking up, Mattheo could see the panic across his face and he huffed.

'Alright, fine. I can come and-'

'Oh, no you don't! You have a herbology lesson!'

Mattheo screwed his face up in disgust. 'Fucking herbology?'

'Yes!'

'I'll just skip herbology.'

'No, you will not!' Y/N gasped. 'You are me, remember? Don't you dare go tarnishing my studies!'

'Fucking hell, you're so dramatic.' He rolled his eyes as she narrowed hers, jabbing a finger at his chest.

'Don't start with me, Riddle. You get to my herbology class on time, you take well-written and detailed notes, and you pass them to me immediately afterwards. Understood?'

Mattheo looked almost bored at the intimidation tactic. 'Listen here, princess; don't fuck up my quidditch practice, and I won't fuck up your herbology lesson, deal?'

'Deal.' Y/N muttered. Making their way out of the now empty charms classroom, Y/N grabbed Mattheo's arm as they reached the corridor to part ways.

'Wait! What position do you play in quidditch?'

Mattheo stared blankly back at her. 'Beater.' He said before leaving through the door.

Hiding behind a bush, Y/N waited for the Slytherin quidditch team to exit the changing rooms before making her way in. Quickly changing into some quidditch training gear, she grabbed the bat from Mattheo's locker and took a deep breath.

Get it together, Y/L/N. You can do this.

As she made her way outside, she could spot Blaise, Enzo, Adrian, and Cassius doing some flying drills in the air above. Draco and Theo stood talking near a trunk on the floor in the middle of the quidditch pitch.

'There he is!'

'Oi, where the fuck have you been?' Malfoy demanded, storming over to him as Theo crossed his arms behind the blonde boy.

'S-sorry, I got caught up after charms.' Y/N stuttered out, already feeling nervous. Malfoy merely quirked a brow before shaking his head.

'Whatever. I want you and Nott to practice those hard swings today; we need to beat those Gryffindor bastards this weekend.'

'Right.' Y/N nodded curtly and stared at Draco. When the blonde boy pulled a confused face and mounted his broom, Y/N knew there were no further instructions to be heard.

'I'll get them then, shall I?' She heard Theo ask from behind her. Turning around, she saw Theo had made his way over to the trunk in the field and began to unbuckle the clasps. Releasing the practice snitch, she watched as Draco began to speed around the pitch after it.

'Matt, you ready?' When Y/N didn't answer, still engrossed in watching the other players zoom about above her, Theo shouted again. 'Mattheo!'

'Wha-what? Oh, yes! I'm ready!' She responded, giving the bat a small wave for good measure.

Theo furrowed his brows. 'Are you going to mount your broom, then?'

Looking down at the fancy broom on the ground, Y/N gulped. 'I thought, maybe... since we're trying new swings and all... maybe we could practice on-on the ground today? Maybe?'

Hopefully that makes some sense... She thought to herself.

'Are you alright?' Theo asked, standing from his crouching position near the trunk. She forced a smile and a nod, confusing the boy in front of her further.

'Uh, okay... We can practice grounded. You can explain that one to Draco later.'

Theo released the two aggressive balls from their buckles, and they instantly flew upwards. Theo impressively swung his bat and hit one far across the quidditch field as Y/N gaped in awe, unaware of the bludger hurling towards her. Noticing with a split second to spare, she let out a squeak and dove to the ground.

'Matt, what the hell are you doing?' Theo shouted, beginning to make his way over to where Y/N was. Standing abruptly, she straightened the quidditch uniform, brushing off pieces of grass.

'I, uh, noticed the ball too late.'

'That's what your bat's for—you do know that, right? Being on the team for over a year?'

Y/N didn't have time to respond. Instead, she stared with wide eyes as the same bludger from before came flying back towards her, hitting her square in the stomach and completely winding her. Falling to all fours, she coughed and spluttered as she tried to catch her breath, her stomach in absolute agony.

'What the fuck!' She had heard someone shout. Theo had his wand out in an instant, casting 'arresto momentum' on the balls and making his way over to Y/N.

'What the fuck are you doing?!' Y/N spotted another pair of boots stomping into her view.

Great, Malfoy.

'Why didn't you use your fucking bat?!' He seethed. Y/N couldn't answer, still wheezing for breath.

'Malfoy, take it easy-' Theo began before Draco interrupted, fuming about how if the team wasn't in top shape by the weekend, then they had no chance of beating the Gryffindors, and if that was to be the case, they should just give up now.

Once some oxygen had returned to her lungs, she stood and faced Draco, who looked pissed. Oh, Rowena, save me.

'What the bloody hell are you playing at Mattheo?!'

'Malfoy, it's fine; it's just quidditch. Don't you have any other aspirations in life you ought to be focusing on, rather than a silly wizarding sport?' At this, Theo and Draco shared a strange glance as Blaise, Enzo, Adrian, and Cassius landed their brooms near.

'What's wrong?' Enzo shouted over.

'He's lost the fucking plot,' Draco mumbled, rubbing a hand over his face.

'Alright,' Blaise interjected, clapping his hands together. 'How about we practice some of those fitness routines you planned out last week? Yeah, Draco?' Malfoy seemed satisfied with Blaise's attempt to diffuse the situation and conjured the training board, beginning to explain the training.

When Draco finally announced that practice was over and the team could hit the showers, Y/N thought she might actually kiss him. Practice had gone terribly; she had been knocked over, she had slipped in the mud when doing laps, and she wouldn't even begin to tell you how embarrassed she had been when Draco had instructed them to do pull-ups on their brooms.

Entering the changing rooms, she averted her gaze to the ceiling so as not to see more than she bargained for with the Slytherin quidditch team, until someone clicked their fingers in front of her face, bringing her attention towards them.

'What the fuck were you doing out there, Mattheo? You played like a damn muggle!' Draco seethed.

'I-I'm sorry, I'm feeling a little peaky.'

Draco blinked back at her. 'Peaky?'

'Yeah, it means off-colour,' She explained.

'I know what peaky means!' He shouted, making Adrian grimace in the background.

'Now you listen here, and you listen good. You know the importance of winning this weekend's match, so you'd better get your shit together before then because, Salazar, help me; if you don't, you'll be hearing about the game from the fucking hospital wing!' Y/N rapidly blinked the tears forming in her waterline away as Draco stomped into the showers.

Do not let these boys see you cry, especially not in Riddle's body; he will kill me!

'Don't worry, dude,' Someone patted her on the shoulder, 'You know what he gets like when we play against Potter; don't take it personal.'

Turning, she came face to face with a very naked Blaise. Sucking in a breath, her eyes shot back to the ceiling as he continued to talk to her. 'You just hit a slump today, no biggie. Probably still feeling a little off from last night's headache, right? I am surprised you didn't argue back with Draco, though. Good for you for not lashing out this time.'

Y/N managed to force out a grin when Blaise patted her on the back once more and made way for the showers. She huffed, letting her head hit the lockers.

I have never been happier for the school day to come to an end.

After showering (ew!) and changing clothes, Y/N made her way to dinner. As she was about to enter the great hall, she felt someone pull her back by her arm.

'Hey! I heard about quidditch practice.' Mattheo said, a look of annoyance across her features.

'Yeah, that game is really rough! I'm covered in bruises.'

'I don't care about your bruises!'

'Well, you don't have to be so rud—oh my gosh!'

Mattheo's brows furrowed in confusion. 'What?'

'Sh!' She hissed.

'No, what's the problem?'

'Cormac is heading this way!' She whispered to Mattheo, trying to hide her face behind her hand.

'Okay, and? Wait, don't tell me you've got a crush on fucking McLaggen.' Mattheo pulled a face as the boy approached.

'Talk to him.' She whispered.

'No.' He crossed his arms as he looked the Gryffindor boy up and down.

'Be nice!'

'No!'

'Do it or I'll quit the Quidditch team.' She hissed back at him.

'Y/N, hi. How are you today?' Cormac said, reaching the two with a bright smile.

'Alright.' Mattheo shurgged, staring up at the boy.

'Oh, sorry. Am I interrupting something?' He asked, his eyes shooting at who he thought was Mattheo.

'Not at all!' Y/N answered. 'I was just asking Y/N here if I could have some help with school work, considering she is one of the brightest witches in our year.'

'That she is,' Cormac laughed, looking back at the girl before him. 'Can I have a quick word, Y/N?'

'Of course you can! Please, excuse me.' Y/N said, backing away from the two, mouthing a 'be nice' to Mattheo behind Cormac's back and making him roll his eyes.

'What do you want?' Mattheo asked, crossing his arms.

'Uh, right. I was just wondering, did you get a chance to look over that herbology essay for me?' He asked, taking a step closer to Mattheo. Mattheo pulled a face and took a step back from the boy.

'What essay?'

'You know, the one you said you would be able to give me a hand with? It's just, it's due pretty soon, so I kind of need it...' He trailed off, staring at the girl before him, who frowned. 'Have... have you managed to-'

'Not yet.' Mattheo cut the boy off and turned swiftly on his heel, making his way into the great hall and leaving the Gryffindor boy confused in the hallway.

What a dick.

As Mattheo swung the door open, ready to finally devour some food, his view was immediately obstructed by a Slytherin tie. Rolling his eyes, he looked up at the figure before him.

'Yes?'

'What did Cormac say?' Y/N asked in a whisper.

'He was just going on about some herbology essay.' This made Y/N's eyes widen.

'Oh my gosh, his assignment! I completely forgot about it!' She gasped, snatching her bag from Mattheo's shoulder and beginning to rummage through the contents.

Mattheo furrowed his brows as he grabbed her wrist to stop her frantic searching. 'Hang on—you didn't agree to do his fucking homework, did you?'

'I-I just offered him some help; he's always so busy with Quidditch-'

'Busy with Quidditch?' He repeated. 'He's a bloody reserve!'

'Yeah... But if I helped with his assignments, then he would have way more time to put into practicing!' She defended, making Mattheo pull a face again.

'Seriously?'

'Stop judging me, Riddle!' Y/N snapped. 'Eat your dinner, then head straight back to my dorm; you better pray that we wake up in our own bodies tomorrow morning!' That was the last Mattheo saw of her as she stormed away that fine Tuesday evening.

i actually hate this so chapter much omg

taglist;

@xxrougefangxx @lovelyygirl8 @mayamonroem @bxcndd @dracoslovergirl @helendeath

#harry potter #harry potter universe #slytherin #slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #fanfic #mattheo riddle fic #matteo riddle #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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