#it’s incredible how she survived?? all that time??

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

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Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.9 K Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort (but also not?) Prompt: It was nice to be in Remus' arms, but now it's time to face the real world. Will you be able to do it? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Disclaimer: Vixen’s coping mechanisms are not healthy, please go to therapy and actually process your feelings instead <3

Chapter 47: Let Me Take You Home Tonight

You walked alongside Remus through the tunnel. The floor was cold against your bare feet, and the more you walked, the more you could feel the pain caused by the blisters in your soles. You wondered for a moment if that’s what ballerinas felt after wearing pointe shoes. 

Remus kept throwing glances at you as you walked, you thought you were good at hiding it, but he could hear your jaw clenching and your ragged breath as you moved, sometimes cutting short from stepping on something sharp. 

“Do you want to take my shoes?” he asked you. 

“What?” you asked confused as you turned to him. “No, I’m–” you wanted to say fine, you weren’t sure you could make it sound believable, “It’ll be better once Pomfrey gets a look, I’m sure.” 

“But until then, you’d be in pain.”

You sighed, “You know fae don’t normally wear shoes.” 

“You’re only a quarter fae,” he responded. “And they live in the woods, and fly.”  

You huffed in response to that, he wasn’t wrong. But still, you weren’t going to take his shoes. Your feet were already hurt, his weren’t. 

“Can I borrow your wand?” you asked as you turned to him, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. 

You took it in your hands and waved it over your feet “Episkey,” you whispered, the same spell you had used to fix Peter’s nose before his date. It didn’t completely heal your feet, but the blisters were gone and walking wasn’t as painful as before. 

You didn’t like using healing spells, they tended to be complicated and could go awfully wrong, especially without your actual wand, but you already knew Remus’ wand liked you since she had allowed you to use it in the past, so you decided to risk it, if only to bring Remus some peace of mind. 

“Thank you,” you added as you straightened back up and handed over his wand. 

“Are you sure you don’t want them?” he insisted, half pulling one and you just shook your head again in response. His offer was sweet, awfully sweet, but you wouldn’t have him feel pain at your stake, two people had done that for you in the last 24 hours, and neither of them had survived. 

Remus still wasn’t convinced, but he walked alongside you, nonetheless. He knew you were still in pain, and he wanted to do anything he could to help you, but he also knew what it was like to be in pain and be constantly reminded about it by people, so he decided to let you have it, he’d take care of you once you were with Pomfrey. 

By the time you arrived at the end of the hallway, you saw the small hole you’d have to climb, the one that was much easier to climb as Vixen than as yourself, and you wondered how Remus had gotten used to it. 

“Wait here,” he said as he climbed up the area with ease, placing his feet and hand on strategic places to make his ascent much easier. He was insanely good at it, almost like Spider-Man. A few seconds passed and then you saw his hand drop back inside, “All right, the Willow is calm now, come on up.” 

You used one of the spots he had used to propel yourself forward and grabbed onto his outstretched hand, your own closing around his forearm as he did the same to yours. And then he helped you up almost the rest of the way. Hauling you towards him like you weighed nothing. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you stepped outside, the light being a little harsh on your dark accustomed eyes, which had you narrow them as you looked ahead. The ground was still filled with snow, and you still didn’t have shoes. You looked at your bare feet for a second before turning to Remus. 

“May I borrow your wand again?” you asked with a sigh. 

“What are you going to do? Melt the snow?” he asked in disbelief. 

“I was planning to use a warming spell…” you admitted.

“Ridiculous.” 

“I’m still not going to take your shoes.”

“Yeah I know, you’re stubborn as hell,” he said with a huff as he crouched down in front of you, “Come on, hop in.” 

“You’re planning to piggyback ride me all the way to the castle? You are the ridiculous one!” 

“What? Like it would be hard,” he said as he turned his head towards you. You gave him a suspicious look in return. “Hello? The best friend who also happens to be a werewolf? Superhuman strength, and all that, ringing any bells?” 

You sighed, “But Remus–” 

“But Remus me one more time and I will carry you without consent, you have been warned.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

“Wanna test it?” he asked, as he raised one of his eyebrows. 

He just might, you thought as you shook your head and did what you were told. 

“See?” he said as he straightened up and started to walk, “Was it that hard?”

“Yes,” you said with a pout as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Remus was awfully comfortable, but you supposed he had always been, “I don’t want to be burdensome,” you mumbled, “the moon was just a couple of days ago, you must still be sore–”

“You are not burdensome,” he said almost instantly. Emphasising the “not” in the very articulated way he used to talk when he was in presentations. 

“You’re too nice,” you mumbled as you dug your head deeper into his shoulder, your lips brushing against his neck causing him to shiver. “You cold?” you asked. 

“No,” he responded. 

“Are you sure?” you insisted, you had felt him tremble, “I could cast a warming spell around the two of us,” you added as you extended your hand in an attempt to get a hold of his wand, but that just caused your lips to brush against his neck again. 

“I’m good,” he repeated as he shoved you back with his shoulder, not too sharp, but enough to drive your mouth away from his neck. That’s when you noticed. 

You frowned, and then a devious smile appeared on your lips, “Are you… ticklish?” you asked tentatively. 

“What? Why do you want to know?” Remus asked with a frown, his head turning your way. 

“Just curious,” you replied with an innocent shrug. Remus gave you a side glance and then turned back to the castle. You had already crossed the entrance archway and were a lot closer than you’d been before. You smiled, and leaned a little closer to him again, taking in a deep breath and blowing some warm air straight to his neck. 

Remus’ hair stood on end as you did that, and his step faltered as if he was about to trip, but he recovered, “What the–” he couldn’t even finish since you did it again. 

“Vixen!” he complained, you just laughed. It was torture, but there was something magical about your unabashed laugh that he wasn’t sure if he really wanted you to stop or not. When you did it again, this time blowing closer to his ear, he couldn’t hold back the cackle that escaped his lips.

“Oi! Please stop!” He managed to say in between chuckles. 

“But I’m trying to warm you,” you said innocently and blew again. 

Remus tried to use his shoulder to push you away from his neck but was unsuccessful, he didn’t want to let go of your legs since he knew then you’d slide off him so he continued moving his shoulders in an attempt to stop you. 

“Little Witch!” he whined. 

“What?” you asked, “You’re cold, I’m just trying to help.” 

“Such a vicious lie–” he couldn’t even finish, since you blew again, this time, he actually tripped and the two of you ended up spiralling down in the snow. 

Remus attempted to break the fall, but the way he tripped didn’t help him much, so you were the one to hit the snow first, and due to the way you were grabbing onto him, he ended up in between your legs with his head being cushioned by your stomach. 

There was a second of silence, in which you tried to breathe in some of the air that had escaped your lungs from the sharp fall, but you started to laugh right after. Remus raised his head from your stomach to look at you, to check if you were all right and was surprised to see you smiling so brightly. 

“Look at you,” you said as you grabbed his head with both of your hands. “You’re so red, I had no idea you were that ticklish! The mighty werewolf, who would have thought?”

“I thought you were hungry,” he said as he tried to shake your hands off. He hadn’t blushed just because you were blowing air in his neck, or perhaps it had been because it was you the one doing it. 

“I am, but messing with you is better than eating,” you replied with a smile and then shivered involuntarily. 

He noticed instantly and scrambled into a standing position. Pulling you up so fast it took you some time to regain balance, “Remus!” you argued at his harshness but he ignored you, pulling you up and slinging you across his shoulder. “Remus!” 

“I warned you, Sweetheart,” he said simply, starting a much quicker pace to the castle, even inside, he didn’t let go of you. 

“Remus, what are you–” you asked as you noticed the path he was taking, “I would have walked to the infirmary,” you said with a huff. 

“Rather not to risk it,” he said simply. 

When you reached the infirmary, he dropped you into one of the beds and went straight to talk to Pomfrey as you stretched and sat on the edge of the mattress.  

She looked at you with a worried sigh as she passed her wand over your body. “You were slightly hypothermic when he found you,” she said as she leaned down to check both of your feet. It felt weird, you had gotten hurt so often lately and you had avoided the infirmary like the plague most of the times that, being checked by a medic felt odd. Like you couldn’t deal with your pain by yourself, which was absolutely ridiculous, even Remus went to the infirmary and he was tougher than you.

You hummed in response to that, “Rem helped me warm up,” you added. She gave a side glance to the boy, he was blushing, and Remus didn’t blush often, she nodded. 

“Remus, darling, could you please leave us alone for a second?” He hesitated but nodded, and walked outside. “Darling, he did more than just warm you,” she said. “News fly fast here, I heard of everything that happened, how’s your magic?” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s… It’s all right,” you said honestly. “It was almost gone after the Fiendfyre but it’s much better today.” 

She nodded, she could feel it, you were pretty much refuelled, it would have taken any normal witch days to refuel after something like that, she had heard about you being mixed race but she suspected your speed recovery had a lot more to do with Remus than it did with you.  

“Please lay on the bed.” She was checking your knees and dabbing some potions on them with a small cotton ball. “Why did you come here?” 

“Here?” you asked with a frown. 

“Instead of Saint Mungo’s, instead of home?” 

“I don’t think I have one of those anymore,” you admitted as you avoided her gaze. “My father cannot be happy with what I did. Hogwarts was the safest place for me. And… I should probably speak to Dumbledore.” 

“You should rest first,” she corrected, “politics can wait.” 

You threw her a worried glance, and she gave you a “no-nonsense” sort of gaze, you had you hold back your argument. 

Still, it wasn’t politics, it was a matter of life and…

 You didn’t want to think much about it either. She checked your breathing, and your face, even pulling your sleeve up slightly to check the bite you had given yourself. 

“That’ll take a bit longer to heal,” she said, she easily noticed it hadn’t been a simple human tooth to tear through the skin, and while she wasn’t sure how exactly you had managed to do it, she knew it had to do with a transfiguration. 

“I assumed it would,” you agreed and covered your arm with your sleeve again. You were pretty sure Remus hadn’t seen it, and you didn’t need him to see yet another way in which you had been hurt. Seeing you bawl your eyes out last night was enough. Merlin, he must think I’m so weak. 

“I don’t know the full scope of the story, luv,” she said slowly as if she wasn’t sure if he should speak or not. “But… From what Dumbledore told me in his note, which he heard from someone who was also at the dinner, you ended up in the situation you did because you tried to help a muggle-born who was being tortured by the Dark Lord. That was very brave of you.” 

You turned to look at her, there was somewhat of a reverential tone in the way she was looking at you that made your throat knot. You weren’t a hero, you didn’t want to be perceived as one either, especially not with how things had ended up. 

Nina was gone and you would have diеd if Barty Crouch of all people hadn’t helped you get the fuck out. You would have cried over her until Lucius used a spell that wiped you off the map. You had tried to make justice and you had succeeded at nothing but making things worse and getting people killed. 

You tried and failed. You weren’t a hero, you were a failure. You hadn’t been brave, you had been reckless and stupid. But if things happened all over again, would you have allowed Nina to be tortured? Would you have allowed Bellatrix to kill her? 

Of course not. 

“She still diеd,” you said, avoiding her gaze entirely. 

Pomfrey placed her hand over yours, “I don’t know many that would have tried, darling,” she reassured. “She was lucky to have you as a friend.” 

You didn’t want to cry again, but her words had been enough to crack you up. She brought you close to her chest and rubbed your back as you sobbed. You hated it, the feeling of tears streaming down your face, it made you feel weak. 

After a few minutes, you sniffed and tried to wipe your face again. Pomfrey had been patient and kind and she even handed over a small, cloth handkerchief for you to wipe the tears away. “Here, take this, darling,” she said as she handed over a bottle of pepperup potion. “It’ll help the rest of the chills go away,” she explained. “One sip every two hours, It’s just for precautions.” 

She had cured your feet and knees, the bite you had given yourself didn’t hurt anymore and after taking a bit of the potion, the shivering was gone. 

“Will I have to stay the night?” you asked her. 

She gave you a long look, after what you’d been through, the last thing that you’d want was to stay at an infirmary. Would she rather have you stay? Sure she would. But while she was worried about your physical state, she also knew the emotional one was important, and you looked like you needed a bit of normalcy and quiet. She sighed, “You may go back to your common room.” 

You took a deep breath and nodded. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and then Remus walked inside. He had a backpack slung across his shoulder as he walked inside. “Will she stay the night?” he asked. 

“Just got cleared up,” you replied. He could see you had been crying again. 

“Really?” He asked Pomfrey with a frown. He had planned to stay at the infirmary overnight with you. 

“Really,” Pomfrey nodded. “But no walking around barefoot. A warm bath will probably do you good.” 

Remus gave you the “I told you so” look and pulled a pair of slippers you must have left in his room one of the nights you stayed over. 

You smiled and stood up while popping them on, then the two of you walked towards the exit. 

“Remus?” The Mediwitch called as he was about to step out. 

“Yes?” he asked, turning his head towards her.

“Keep taking care of her like you’ve been doing.” 

He smiled and nodded, “Will do!”

“I brought you some of Sirius’ clothes,” Remus said as he nodded to the backpack behind him, "I thought she’d have you stay the night.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “But it looks like I wasn’t that bad off to begin with. She said you helped a lot last night.” 

Remus shrugged in response. 

You got to the common room and it was completely empty, “No other Gryffindors stayed over?” You asked as you walked the stairs alongside him.

“A first year and a third year,” he said. “They must be in Hogsmeade with Minnie now,” he said with a shrug. 

“Oh,” you responded simply. He opened the door to his room and the two of you walked inside.

“Remus,” a voice said from the radio. “Remus, are you there?” 

You smiled, it was Sirius. You turned to Remus, questioning and he nodded. You walked straight to his bed, where the radio lay and sat down right in front of him, looking for the microphone. Once you got a hold of it, you pressed the side button like you had seen people do in movies. “Roger that soldier, the squad is on their way,” you said in a deeper voice. 

There was no answer from the other side, Remus pulled out the mirror to see what was happening. Sirius was looking at James with a confused face. 

“Soldier, do you copy?” you insisted. 

Remus barely kept a straight face. 

“…Starshine?!” Sirius asked, half doubtful. 

You smiled, debating whether to continue with the prank or not, “Indeed, Pups,” you replied, in your voice. 

Remus saw the instant relief of Sirius through the mirror, and James leaned a little bit closer to the radio as well. 

“How ARE you?” he asked. 

Right, Sirius had seen it all. 

“Well, Remus and Pomfrey took care of me,” you replied with a shrug, even if he couldn���t see it. Your demeanour had changed like rapid fire, it’s like you did everything you could to shove last night to a dark part and completely forget about it but people kept bringing it up. 

He saw Sirius sigh on the other side, and he turned to the mirror, spotting Remus looking at him attentively, he pressed the button. “Kit, that’s not what I–” He sent Remus a questioning look, Remus shook his head in response. He could talk to you about it later when you actually wanted to talk about it. “Did you like my gift?” 

“I loved it!” you said, happy he didn’t ask much more about last night. Remus walked next to you on the bed and handed the mirror over. 

You looked at both Sirius and James sitting on the bed, Sirius looked like he had slept about as well as you had, there were deep dark circles under his eyes. If he had seen what you had… He might be the only person besides Remus, who understood what you were feeling, or at least had a vague idea of it, and yet… you refused to talk about it. 

Not now, not through the damn radio, you tried to justify yourself. You were well aware ignoring your feelings wasn’t quite healthy, but you didn’t know a better way to cope either. Crying until you were tired wasn’t exactly a better option either, not now when you still had things to do. Maybe after the war was over, after your friends were safe, then you’d allow yourself to cry. 

“Yeah?” Sirius asked with a smile. You nodded in return, looking at him through the mirror. He was wearing one of the shirts you’d gotten him. “I loved what you sent me,” he responded. “I’ve already been practising some watercolour stuff.” 

Good, this was good, as if nothing had happened. 

“Me too,” James intervened by snatching the microphone away from Sirius. “I mean I haven’t been practising watercolour, but I loved your gifts.” 

You send him a wink through the mirror and spend about half an hour chatting with them about anything other than what had happened. 

At some point, the boys had to go for lunch and you said a quick goodbye to them before allowing yourself to recline back on Remus’ bed. You wanted to keep your mind entertained, “We should go to the library,” you said out of a sudden, “or to eat, you said I could eat after Pomfrey.” 

“You should bathe first, she said a warm bath should help you feel better,” Remus said as he placed his hand on your head to check your temperature. You were still borderline cold.  

You checked the clock and took a sip of the pepperup potion Pomfrey had given you. Smoke came out of your ears for a couple of seconds. You were thankful for the fact that you didn’t have to drink it all in one go, you didn’t like the smoke thing one bit. It wasn’t painful, but you didn’t find it exactly comfortable either. 

“Yes Mum,” you said as you let yourself sink deeper into the bed. 

“Well then?” 

“I don’t want to leave,” you whined, and you really didn’t. Being alone would only have you spiralling deep in your head, and in your thoughts, and nothing good could come from that. You turned to look at him, “Why don’t you read to me instead?” 

“Why don’t you get an audiobook?” he retorted almost without thinking, “Besides I thought you were hungry.” 

“Doesn’t sound as nice as you do, and I’m starving,” you said as you turned back to the ceiling with a sigh. Remus attempted to hide the blush that crept up his cheeks by turning to the side.

“I’ll read to you after you take a warm bath like Pomfrey instructed. I’ll even read while you eat if you want.”  

You pouted in return, but you did want to change into anything other than the black dress you still had on –even if Remus’ jumper over it was warm– so you decided the deal was fair. 

You stood up and walked towards the door. “What are you doing? Just use our bathroom,” Remus said as he pointed to said place’s door. 

“Clothes,” you said as if it were obvious. 

“Want me to get them for you?” 

“And you’ll pick my underwear?” you teased with a smile. Remus couldn’t help but blush at the thought and you laughed openly at him. “Ugh, you’re such a prude. I can barely believe you were fucking Alice for like 3 months.”

“Oi!” he complained with a frown. “She never asked me to pick out her underwear.” 

“Poor thing,” you said with a pout. 

“As if Sirius had ever picked your underwear.” 

“Oh, do you wanna know what else he got me for Christmas?” He hadn’t gotten you anything of the sort, but the more you spoke, the redder Remus became, and you thought it was adorable. 

“Get your clothes, I’ll run the bath for you,” he said as he pretty much pushed you out of the room. 

“Not too hot!” you said as he closed the door in your face. He heard you say a short “hmph” and walked down the stairs. He leaned his head against the door and had to breathe deeply for a couple of seconds to cool down. 

Had Sirius really gotten you underwear for Christmas? He didn’t tell him about it… And they had discussed presents rather often. Then again, would he even mention that sort of stuff to me? he wondered. He stayed at the door for a few more minutes and then he walked to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub as he opened the water tap, first hot, and then just a bit of cold. 

Remus was a hot water shower kind of guy, borderline scalding, so when he measured the temperature, he picked it a little hotter than the standard person would. But then again, he didn’t know how long you’d take, so the water might cool down by the time you came back. 

No such luck, you had been quick on your feet, as soon as you got to the room stripping the black dress you’d been wearing. It was a stunning piece at the beginning of the night, now it had been torn and worn out from the fall, there was dried bIood clinging to the skirt and to the edges of the sleeves, both yours and Nina’s. You didn’t want to see the dress again, so you threw it in the laundry with a note for the elves, asking them kindly to get rid of it. 

You would have done it yourself, but you still didn’t have a wand and attempting evanesco without one seemed like the recipe for disaster. 

After that, you grabbed a simple pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. You also took a jumper that you had swiped from Remus and then placed it all in your backpack along with some toiletries. You were thankful you hadn’t packed any of your clothes to take home, although there were some things there you would miss. The clothes you had been wearing on the trip –Remus’ brown jumper and Sirius’ shirt–, the cute stuffed animal you’d gotten from the Slytherins, the books, and… of course, Sirius’ lovely drawing.

You almost broke down to cry again, the realisation that you’d never be able to go back home, that you would never eat your mother’s soup, hitting you like a truck as you thought of the things left behind. But as your eyes watered and your breath started running short you stood up hastily. Tears wouldn’t come if you didn’t give them enough time. 

You took a bathrobe, wrapped it around yourself, and then took hold of the clothing assortment you’d picked, walking back to the boys’ room faster than you could process your feelings. You had to make sure the other students weren’t around as you crossed the common room, without a wand, there was no disillusionment charm, and without that, you could easily be spotted. 

You walked inside the boys’ room as fast as you could, and you heard the water running, you assumed Remus was still inside, so you knocked lightly on the door. 

“Come in,” Remus said softly. “You okay?” he asked the minute he saw your face.

“Totally,” you lied. However, could you be okay? “I got the clothes,” you added as you moved the heap up just a bit to call attention to it. Remus looked at you as he dipped his hand in the water, it was bubbly and it smelled really nice. 

“I added some pain reliever potions Pomfrey’s given me,” he said. You gave him a look. Last time you’d taken his medicine, things had been problematic. “I checked a book, it says they’re safe. And I didn’t use that much either.” 

“You know, I’m not really in pain,” you said, not physical, at least. 

“Yeah bet,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. You reached towards the tub and dug your hand in as well, pulling it out almost an instant later.

“Shit, it’s too hot.” 

“It’s just warm,” Remus argued. 

You shook your head in response. It was hot enough to be uncomfortable. You pulled his hand out of the water and took it in yours, “Have you already fried your heat receptors?” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and pulled his hand away from your grasp “Haha, very funny” -he stood- “Hurry up, I’m hungry too.” 

He was about to leave the bathroom when you stood up as well, “Wait, may I borrow your wand?” 

Remus handed it over without questioning and then exited the room. You turned back at the tub, it was scalding. 

“Relashio gelida,” you said, a stream of freezing cold water left Remus’ wand. After a couple of minutes, you stopped the stream and checked the water again. It was still warm but not scalding anymore. You stripped and got in. The smell and the potions relaxing you in an instant. You didn’t want to take too long, so you busied yourself rubbing off some of the dirt and cleaning the dried patches of bIood. You sank completely under the water, blinking as you looked up at the stone ceiling, a little blurry due to the bubbly water. I didn’t hurt your eyes though, whatever potions Remus had used, prevented the soap from actually sinking into them. 

Not that you would have minded the little sting, all you wanted was a little moment of quiet under the water. She had always been a calming force for you. You remembered once reading that mermaids couldn’t cry, since they were already inside the water. You liked the idea of being able to cry without people noticing. You stayed there until your lungs cried for air and you resurfaced enough to let your face out of the water, you took a deep breath and sighed, closing your eyes and figuring it was about time for you to finish up.

You changed quickly and found Remus sitting outside, a book in his hands. You were still drying your hair as you stepped into his room. Remus thought you looked adorable as you brushed the towel over your head. The crisp white shirt you’d chosen made you look angelic in his eyes. 

“Let’s get some food,” you said as you left your hair alone and brushed it with your fingers. You’d let it air dry as you ate. The castle was warm enough to not have to worry about drying it. 

Remus nodded and the two of you walked down to the Great Hall. It was almost empty, there were a few students cuddled up at some tables. Like 5 Slytherins sitting with Ravenclaws, and then there were 3 younger Hufflepuffs at their own table. 

“I guess they chose not to go to Hogsmeade,” you said as you sat down.

“Some of them didn’t get permission from their parents,” Remus explained. “Enid and Niall for example,” he said pointing at the Hufflepuffs, “they are half-bIoods, their parents forbade them from going because of all the incidents they’ve read in the papers, they were scared.” 

“And they should be,” you said, thinking back to the pile of dеad bodies back in Rosier Manor.  The feast wasn’t as big as it was normally, but a decent assortment of food appeared right in front of you as you sat. There were desserts, and fruits and pasta and even some pies, but most importantly for you at that moment, there was meat. 

You grabbed onto a few sausages bacon and a piece of steak and started munching on it the instant they appeared. Remus helpfully filled up a cup of your favourite juice for you and passed it over, before serving himself one. 

He, despite claiming he was hungry earlier, took his time preparing himself a sandwich before he placed anything in his mouth. You felt like you were devouring your food in comparison to the much calmer demeanour he kept as he munched on his sandwich and ate some chips. 

“I’m thinking about writing my parents,” he said after taking a sip from his juice. You turned to him and nodded. “But I’m not sure if… I mean would you rather stay here or do you wanna come with us?” 

“You mean come to your house?”

Remus shrugged in response “I mean, the change of scenery could help clear your mind… and we could visit James and Sirius at some point too…” He seemed slightly hesitant as he spoke. 

“Are you sure your parents would want me at their house, though?” 

He frowned, “why wouldn’t they?” 

“I mean… Pomfrey’d heard about the dinner, I pretty much openly opposed Voldemort, there’s probably a huge target for my head, that’s why I came straight to Hogwarts.” 

“Oh, they won’t care,” Remus said. “We can ask Dumbledore if he thinks it’s safe if you want. If not we can just stay here until the break is over–“

“–I can stay here,” you interrupted. “Remus, your mum must miss you a lot. She hasn’t seen you in months, you’re not going to stay just because of me.”

“Mum has Dad, she won’t be alone if I don’t go,” he said simply. “If you stay, I’ll stay.” 

“Talk to them first,” you insisted. “When were you supposed to leave?” 

“Tonight,” he admitted. “I’m meant to see Dumbledore after dinner, he’ll let me use his office’s floo network.”

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but the idea of spending tonight alone was unnerving. Of course, you couldn’t keep clinging onto Remus like a leech, no matter how comforting he might be. 

“I’m going to the owlery,” he said as he stood up, “I’ll write them, we’ll have an answer before then.” 

“I should speak to Dumbledore,” you said as you too stood up, you turned towards the teacher’s table, “you think he’ll be at his office?”

He shrugged, “I’ll come with, it’s on my way anyway.”

You nodded, secretly thankful that he’d offered to walk you there, since you weren’t sure how to get to Dumbledore’s office. Yes, you had been at the school and you knew your way around secret passageways and to and from classrooms as much as anyone, but you hadn’t been to his office since the very start of the year, you didn’t even remember ever seeing it again. 

Once the two of you were in front of the statue, Remus waited for you to ring the bell and for the statue to roll around revealing the set of stairs before nodding at you and continuing on his way. It was strangely reminiscent of that time you’d met him, the sexy pirate from the romance novels, you remembered. You had been through so much with him, that the initial meeting seemed to you like it had been years ago, instead of months. 

The statue behind you clicked into position and you took a deep breath and walked upstairs, ready to talk to Dumbledore, even if you weren’t eager to relive the night’s events.

“I was expecting you to come,” he said calmly, “please sit,” he added as he gestured towards his chair. You swallowed and did as told. “How are you?” 

“Surprisingly, still alive,” you responded. 

There was a faint smile on his face, almost imperceptible, but you had noticed the way the corner of his mouth curled, even if just for a second. “I wouldn’t say surprising,” he said, “I’ve been informed you’re a very capable witch.” 

You held back the amused scoff that threatened to leave your mouth by clenching your jaw before you decided to speak again, changing the drive of the conversation. “How much do you know?” He curled an eyebrow. “Of last night, I mean.” 

“There was a fire at the Christmas Party, people diеd, your mother, among them.” 

“It was a Deatheater Party,” you said coldly, “Voldemort was there, they called him Tom.” 

He nodded as if he was aware of that. “They were torturing people, you intervened to stop Mrs. Lestrange from using an unforgivable on Nina Blythe. Her mother had already passed, unfortunately. Nobody’s seen her since the disaster.” 

You struggled to say the next words, “She didn’t make it.” 

The man nodded, somberly, “I assumed as much when you arrived with Madam Pomfrey and she didn’t. You wouldn’t have left her behind.” 

He was right, you didn’t even want to leave her behind when she had passed. “Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier helped me escape.” 

“The same Slytherins that–” 

“–Yes,” you cut him off, you didn’t like being rude to your elders, but you didn’t want to hear from that moon either. The fact that the two boys had helped you still being hard to process. The same hands that had left you bruised one night had grabbed onto you to get you out of there alive, it didn’t make sense. “There were a lot of people there. I don’t know all of their names, but I tried to gather as many as I could. I’m sorry if I can no longer be of use.”

Dumbledore frowned, “No longer be of use?” 

“I can’t spy for you anymore.” 

“Ahhh,” he said, seeming to understand. “Nightshade didn’t ask to train you just because she thought you’d be a useful spy. Neither did I. We wanted you to join the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“The what?” 

Dumbledore explained to you what the Order was, that while your family connections had been initially a big reason for your recruitment, it had been your performance in classes, and the friendships you had formed that really got Nightshade to choose you. You had shown no bIood-based bias, you had openly defied pure-bIoods. 

“We think you’d be an incredible addition to our ranks,” he added. 

You gulped as you stared at his desk, trying to process everything he’d told you, “You… you want me to fight in the war,” you said, as if putting it into words made it any more real than it already was. 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as he stared at you and nodded, “Perhaps then you’ll be able to continue protecting those you love.” 

“But– there are much more experienced wizards, there– I almost diеd last night.” 

“Yes, and you were willing to risk your life to protect someone you love,” he said. “That makes you better for the task of fighting a war than most, no matter how qualified they might be.” 

You swallowed again, be it bravery or recklessness the reason that you had done what you did, you were now being offered…

“A chance to stop it from happening again,” he finished. 

You looked at him with a frown, you were sure your occlumency was up, and you instantly tested your mind shields. They were still up, Dumbledore gave you a long look, and you realised he hadn’t been reading your mind, but rather your reactions and your body language. The way your jaw clenched and your body tensed when he said certain things. You breathed, relaxing your body as much as you could before speaking again, “Okay,” you said simply. 

Dumbledore nodded, and you were about to stand, halfway up your chair before you sat down again and leaned a little closer, “I came here because it was the only safe place I could think of that Barty could help me apparate to.” 

“It was very wise,” he noted. 

“But… Remus will leave tonight. He asked his parents if I could come with them, but I won’t if my being with them puts them at risk.” 

“Do you want to go?” He asked calmly. 

You were taken aback by his question. Of course you did, you didn’t want to be left alone. “Not if it risks anyone’s life,” you repeated. 

He nodded and gave you a long look, “From what I gather, the deatheaters are not looking for you at the present moment. They think you’re too weak, and that you’ll return home by yourself. Your father will probably be there, waiting for you.” He took a deep breath and then continued, “Is there a way in which he can track you? A magic item or something he’s given you?” 

“No,” you responded. You had many magic items, but none by which he could track you. Not even the ring your mother had given you. 

“Then it should be safe for you to go, as long as you don’t call too much attention to yourself. The Lupins live in a cottage near the sea in Wales at the moment. Small muggle town, no wizards live there to my knowledge.” 

You nodded as he gave you all the information, “So, I wouldn’t put them in danger by going?” 

“You would not,” he reassured. 

“Okay, thank you,” you said as you stood up, something akin to a smile drawing itself on your lips.

Dumbledore merely nodded as he saw you walk towards his door and descend down the stairs, a mischievous look on his face, as if he was both amazed by and compassionate of you. 

You walked down and found Remus sitting on a nearby bench, writing some things down in a small notebook. His face lit up when he spotted you, “How did it go?” he asked. 

“He knew a lot of it already, I gave him the details and wrote a list of all the names I remembered. 

The two of you walked towards the common room by each other and sat near the fire. Remus had extended his legs over the table and you let your head fall over his lap, closing your eyes when he turned on the radio and played one of the tapes you had sent them. “You still want me to read?” he asked. 

You shrugged in response. “I’ve got this book,” he told you, pulling it out of his back, “or we could do one of yours?” 

“Your book,” you said, you hadn’t even opened your eyes.

“You really want me to read advanced arithmancy?” he asked. You frowned and opened your eyes, he gave you an amused look as you took the book from his hand to revise the title. 

“Your nose will grow,” you said as you read the title. It was not Advanced Arithmancy. 

“You weren’t even looking,” he said simply. “The book’s fine?” 

You nodded, and he started reading. Remus was an incredibly good reader, and you lost yourself on the story as he read, his hand had absentmindedly found your hair and he was carefully brushing his fingers over your scalp, like he often saw you do to comfort Sirius, you had done it to him a couple of times too, and he loved every minute of it. 

You were both so immersed in the story that neither of you realised there was an owl knocking on a window until a boy from 2nd year walked down the stairs and asked if anyone was expecting mail. 

You turned to look at Remus and he moved the book away to be able to see your face, you lifted yourself up while he stood and walked towards the window, opened it and retrieved a small letter from an owl’s beak. 

“Thank you,” you said to the boy with a polite smile. 

“You’re welcome,” he said before giving you a court nod and leaving, waving a polite goodbye. 

“They said you can come,” Remus said as he sat down next to you again, showing you the letter. You took a deep breath and smiled. You wouldn’t have to spend the night alone. “Want me to help you pack?” 

You nodded with a smile and the two of you walked to your room. Remus had been there before, back at the Halloween party, a soft smile played on his lips as he looked back at the memory. 

Meanwhile, you took the small bag from the party that you had somehow managed to keep slung across your shoulder during the entire ordeal and started dumping everything onto your bed. Remus looked at you surprised since he had no idea you had also charmed your bag to keep so many things inside. 

“Why would you take so many things to the party,” he asked as he pulled one of the three books inside the bag and started to inspect it. 

“I was originally planning to sit in a corner and read something,” you admitted, “was not expecting a bigotry celebration.” 

“I loved this, by the way,” you said as you pulled out the book of poems he’d made you and placed it on the desk carefully. 

“You took it as well?” 

You shrugged, “I wanted to read it, I haven’t gotten through all the pages,” you said honestly. Then you leaned down and picked out a small suitcase from under your bed. 

Remus smiled as he looked at you, you had been so talkative at Slughorn’s party, perfectly entertaining both adult guests and other kids your age, he could barely imagine you sitting in a corner with a book in your hand, you clearly hadn’t been eager to attend said party in the first place. 

“Do your parents celebrate an elegant New Year?” You asked as you pulled a few simpler clothes from your trunk, some jeans, a couple of jumpers, some thermal clothes and a couple of graphic tees. 

“No wonder I can’t find my jumpers,” he said as he grabbed three of the jumpers you had pulled out. 

“Sorry,” you said with a wince and a small shrug, they were all his. “So, elegant?” 

“Not really?” he said with a shrug. “I mean Mum wears something nice, but it’s not like elegant wizard stuff either.” 

“You think this would work?” You asked as you pulled out a simple blue dress. It had sleeves that would reach just past your elbows and a square neckline. 

Remus nodded with a shrug, “Just wear something comfortable,” he said as he sat on the bed and helped bend some of the clothes you’d picked out. 

“Oh, Rem, don’t worry about that, it’s–” 

“Shhh,” he interrupted, “just focus on finding the stuff, we should hurry.” 

You gave him a look but nodded, picking out some more stuff quickly and starting to bend it all. When you opened your suitcase he realised it had also been charmed, two rows of drawers pulled out and moved to the side, enough for you to place all you had picked and at least another 3 times that. Of course, you wouldn’t need that many clothes, so it didn’t matter if some parts of it stayed empty. 

“You’re taking pyjamas?” he asked. 

You hadn’t even thought about it, and quickly dug through your trunk to pull some shorts, fluffy socks, long sleeve shirts, and also some thick pants, in case it got too cold. You also walked towards the bathroom and got a toothbrush and a small set of toiletries. When you walked back, Remus was already placing all of your sleep clothes in one of the drawers. 

“Thanks,” you said with an awkward smile and pulled a brush from the vanity. 

Remus just shrugged in response, “No problem, luv.”

You heard a small tap on the window and walked towards it, a large black owl was leaning against the window seal. He carried a small square package in its claw, Narrow and long, wrapped in black fabric and with a letter tucked in the side. The owl waited for you to open, left the package with a small nod and flew away. 

Remus and you exchanged looks before you picked it up and walked over to the bed, sitting next to him. You pulled the green ribbon and found a small letter on top, it was more of a note than a letter, though. 

We attempted to retrieve your wand, unfortunately, and as you’ll see, we were late, Bella had already broken it in two. You’ll have to get a new one. Barty mentioned that you asked for the one that belonged to the girl. We had to dig through, but we found it. Hope it serves you for whatever purpose it is that you need it. 

-E

“They got it back,” you whispered as you took the box and pulled it open. Your wand, like Evan said, was there in two pieces, completely broken. You pulled out the pieces with a sigh, a sad look as you stared at them. 

“You’ve had it all your life?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, “I got it when I was 9 so I could study ahead.” Remus gave you an incredulous look, and you shrugged. “They wanted me to perform well in my first year. They wouldn’t let me use it all the time, but Mum taught me all the basic spells, and I pinched a book of duels from my father. I accidentally charred a tree before they realised.” 

Remus scoffed with a smile on his face. He shouldn’t have been surprised, you had always been a bit of a troublemaker, but imagining a little Vixen with a wand burning a tree down was certainly amusing. Either way, there was still another wand in the box. It was narrow and long, about as long as James’, perhaps a little longer, it was carved like Sirius’ but the insides had a tinge of blue, and seemed to shine as it caught the light. “Is that–”

“Nina’s wand,” you finished, swallowing thickly as you too looked inside the box. “They found it,” you added with a sad smile. 

“What will you do with it?” he asked. 

You shook your head, “I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I just knew I didn’t want it to be lost forever.” 

“Do you know what type of wand it is?” he asked. 

You shook your head in response, “Nina almost always kept her in her pocket, she tended to avoid the subject… I never asked her why.” That last part was a little harder to say, mostly because of the thought that came to your head after it, you’d never be able to ask why.

“Maybe we can give it back to a family member?” 

“Her mum was there too,” you responded. “Perhaps Sybil would know,” you added with a shrug.

“If–” Remus hesitated, “If I were her, I’d want you to keep it.” 

You gave him a look, and picked the wand up, shaking your head, “I doubt it.” 

“No, I’m sure,” Remus insisted. “She pushed you out of the way of a spell, she would want you to be protected. If her wand could protect you the same way you protected her–”

“Tried,” you corrected. “I tried to protect her.” 

Remus placed his arm over your shoulders and brought you closer to him, “Sometimes we do all that’s within our power and we still lose. It doesn’t make us any less worthy.” 

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder, “If I take it” –you took in a breath– “If I take it then I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.” Your eyes were watering again. “I’d have to face it, every time I do magic, I’ll have to–”

“Hey,” Remus said softly, as he rubbed his hand on your shoulder. “Breathe, luv. Let’s leave it here for now. You can borrow my wand whenever you need magic and we’ll go to Diagon sometime on the break so you can get a wand. How does that sound?” 

You blinked the tears away, quickly cleaning one that had slipped and nodded. “I’ll bring it, just in case,” you said, and gently placed the one on the drawer near the bottom. You didn’t want to see it when you looked for clothes. 

Remus didn’t think it was healthy to ignore your feelings, he knew what you were doing to yourself wasn’t any better than actually processing your loss, but he had been trying to ignore his feelings for you and Sirius the last few months, and he wasn’t hypocritical enough tell you how you should process things when he himself could barely do it. 

Eventually, you took a deep breath and pressed a button on the side of the suitcase. The drawers went back inside and the suitcase closed shut. You took some of the books and placed them inside the smaller bag you had taken to the party. “We’ve got books at home too,” Remus teased with a smile and you elbowed him gently. 

“You said after dinner, right?” He nodded, and you turned to the clock, “We should probably go see Dumbledore then… Perhaps we can get some snacks from the kitchen on our way.” 

Remus shook his head, “Mum will have dinner for us,” Remus said, "she used to be a chef, she’s always loved cooking.” 

“I had no idea,” you said as you grabbed the suitcase and the bag, you left them in the common room and walked with Remus to get his own suitcase and backpack and then the two of you walked towards Dumbledore’s office. 

“I see you’ve decided to go,” Dumbledore said as he saw you with the suitcase in hand. 

“Remus can be very persuasive,” you replied. 

He nodded and moved out of the way to let you walk towards his chimney. 

Dumbledore handed over a small piece of paper to you, in neat gold, you read: Lupin’s cottage, Wales. 

“Thank you,” you said as you walked over to the chimney.

“Mr. Lupin, perhaps you should go first,” Dumbledore suggested. 

Remus nodded in agreement and walked inside, taking some powder from the bag and then throwing it against the floor, “Lupin’s cottage, Wales,” he said, articulating every word carefully. 

“Ready?” Dumbledore asked as he offered the bag for you to take some of the green powder. You nodded and dug your hand into the bag, taking a good deal of powder and holding your fist closed tight. “Take care,” he said simply. 

“Thank you, Professor,” you said as you walked inside the chimney. “Happy New Year,” you added right before taking a deep breath and saying “Lupin’s cottage, Wales.” 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: I little bit of fluff so we can start processing all that's been going on in GC lately. I feel like it's much needed.

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[ohcorny]

i need to be a hater on main about scavenger's reign or i will explode. i cannot be alone in this.

now that it's being moved to netflix and people are talking about it again, all i'm seeing is glowing praise and absolutely no criticism of the writing. i will gladly agree with anyone that it's visually stunning. like, a+ in that regard no argument. great looking show, and the worldbuilding of the planet vesta is super cool and clearly considered. i like those parts! but that seems to be all anybody is responding to when they praise it.

the character writing is fucking ridiculous. i could point at any of them individually and go "what the fuck is this" but it's been months since i watched it and i don't like arguing a point i can't clearly remember. but it was the most egregious around ursula so i'm going to focus on her. her character seems to exist just to cause problems for no reason, to the point where she's also the only character we get no backstory on. we never see her in flashbacks on the ship, never learn what she did for it or why she was there, nothing about her at all. she is the only one.

and she is the #1 source of shattering my suspension of disbelief. you cannot tell me that she and sam were surviving together for a month on this incredibly hostile planet, working together every day to call the ship down, to figure out how the world worked and what was dangerous and what they could use.... and then tell me she would turn around and treat him the way she does.

spoilers below the cut

she is so hostile toward him all the time for no reason. she wanders off to go look at a weird plant in the middle of a bramble that crushes you if you don't get out the right way, leaving sam alone on the outside with no idea what she's doing or where she is or if she's alive. and when she comes out and he is VERY REASONABLY upset that she did that and isn't interested in hearing about the thing she saw, SHE gets mad at him and says she doesn't need him.

YOU DONT NEED HIM? THE GUY WHO HELPED YOU SURVIVE THIS ENTIRE TIME? THE ONLY OTHER LIVING HUMAN ON THE PLANET AS FAR AS YOU KNOW, WHO IS THE ONE WHO KNOWS WHERE YOU ARE GOING, AND HAS THE CREDENTIALS TO GET YOU INTO THE SHIP? you have been alone with him for a MONTH, he is your ONLY HUMAN COMPANION, and you think you DON'T NEED HIM?? BECAUSE HE WAS WORRIED ABOUT YOU IN A LOUD WAY?

this could be explainable if there was any real tension between them, or if we're given any reason to believe she actually could survive without him, but there isn't! she fucks up with the spores in the very first episode and would absolutely die if she was alone. sam is never anything but a good leader to her and keeps trying to look out for her, and any time he's "wrong" it's because he showed reasonable caution about the fuckplanet. he gets hurt by the egg parasite because he didn't want to climb into a giant animal's egg sac. reasonable thing to not want to do! when he and ursula get into that argument about her disappearing on him, he gets hauled off by the weird emu for the dramatic irony. because he was upset his only companion in the world disappeared. he never does anything wrong. it's never his actual character flaws that he gets punished for, it's only ursula's ~trusting your instincts~ shit that ever gets him hurt. she is ultimately responsible for his death but the show never acts like it.

so much of the show seemed to be drama for drama's sake. do not get me fucking started on kamen's creature. what was that thing's fucking problem. what was kris' fucking problem?

if i have to ask 'what is their PROBLEM' at every other character's choices, your writing is not good.

[raisedbythetv89]

*tw* mentions of sa throughout the btvs series:

Expanding on the thoughts in this post about fandom culture and etiquette for how to make this a safer and more enjoyable space for everyone no matter who you ship

If you are a fan of btvs or ats no matter who your favorite characters are or who you ship - you have suffered at the hands of joss whedon's narcissistic personality and the subsequent emotional abuse he not only put the actors and his characters through but the audience as well

He gave us characters and relationships we fell in love with and then always, without fail, something horrible happens to one of them or they do something horrific and we're forced to cope with the emotional whiplash that happens every time he does it and decide if we love the character or relationship enough to cope with what joss did to them or if that's it for us enjoying that character or relationship

Like Bangel? Surprise! He's gonna lose his soul and completely psychologically destroy Buffy! AND THEN he's gonna come back and turns out he's been lying to this whole time to Buffy and he actually loved Darla so much he tried to be evil even with the soul first and actually stalked Buffy for a year before he introduced himself and fell in love with the sight of her crying at 15 and we made her look SUPER childlike and innocent to really up the ick factor!

Like Spuffy? Here take the most traumatic depiction of attempted sexual assault we've ever seen in the series that comes out of absolutely nowhere and is specifically designed to punish women after Spike was the only person who could be there for Buffy besides Tara as she battles her severe depression!

Like Tillow? Well Willow goes from empowering Tara and standing up for her to yelling at her to shut the hell up and then magically drugging and sexually assaulting her! and then when Tara calls her out on in she uses the "I didn't mean to" line and then is gonna use magic on her in the exact same way! and then we're gonna rush tara forgiving her just to kill her off!

Like Fuffy? Well Faith is gonna steal Buffy's body and then sexually assault both buffy and riley simultaneously while trying to goad riley into violating buffy's body as much as possible!

The list is truly ENDLESS you either survive on btvs long enough to do something horrific or you're killed off in a brutal, shocking and senseless way (I'm not going to list every single relationship and horrific event as it seems unnecessary and I know I can expand on the above example even further but again it feels unnecessary so please don't freak out if you feel I missed something this is by no means an exhaustive list)

Joss hates people, he hates women, he hates people of color, he hates his audience. Doing horrible things to people you claim to love is incredibly normal for him and any abusive narcissist because they don't love people or even see them as fellow humans - they're just things they play with for entertainment or to make them feel good about themselves which is why this is so prevalent in the buffyverse in the first place

Liking a ship where something horrible happens, you're not condoning it - it happened TO YOU. You were going along loving a character or relationship and then the creator got bored or angry and decides to throw a narrative punch just because he can and he likes the control it gives him to make a bunch of people react in certain ways emotionally and he loves to ruin things people love that's a huge thing for narcissists - if they see someone else feeling good about themselves or experience joy they want it destroyed

We have all suffered at the hands of this man, everyone has their favorite characters for very specific and deeply personal reasons. Just because you can't move past or accept certain behaviors from a character doesn't mean you get to dictate that for everyone else. Truly loving or connecting to a character means you have more capacity for forgiveness than someone who just liked them - and loving a character also usually comes with a deeper understanding of that character in the first place that can give you perspective and understanding that helps you contextualize the bad things.

Loving even the worst fictional characters literally harms no one, but attacking, shaming, judging, feeling superior to real people for their fictional tastes does so don't come on here and "well actually" me with "well MY fav didn't do [x]" or "MY fav never did anything.." because that's not the point. The whole point of this post is other btvs or ats fans who like different characters or ship difference ships are not you enemy - JOSS WHEDON is the only enemy here - be mad at him and only him, hate on other characters all you want but being cruel to other fans who don't agree with you is exactly what joss wants and we all hate that fucker so stop playing his game and don't be a dick.

[vickyvicarious]

"[Dracula] certainly left me under the impression that he would have made a wonderful solicitor, for there was nothing that he did not think of or foresee. For a man who was never in the country, and who did not evidently do much in the way of business, his knowledge and acumen were wonderful."

More evidence that Dracula's later actions are results of planning!

Indeed! Dracula's preparations for this trip are very thorough. I think that it would probably be correct to assume that he has a whole long-term strategy that, luckily, never gets put into play. I get the feeling a lot of his plan is banking heavily on people not knowing him. Not just what he is, but also who he is. This is what makes Jonathan's survival and Mina's willingness to reach out to Van Helsing so crucial, actually. Because without Jonathan recognizing Dracula in the street, the most Van Helsing and the suitors would have ever been able to do is stop vampire!Lucy. They had no idea where to look for the one who did that to her. It was a total dead end. Jack had clues, yes, but he really hadn't put them together at all - even after he was convinced on vampires, he was surprised to hear Jonathan say Renfield's behavior was linked to Dracula's. Even if people knew what Dracula was, without knowing who he is and where to find him, they couldn't do anything to stop him.

Similarly, Jonathan (and thus Mina) knew who Dracula was, but it took that outside confirmation that Jonathan's experience of what he was, really happened and was trustworthy. In this case, they may have sought confirmation of their own eventually even without linking up with the others (I can't picture Mina outright dismissing Jonathan's experiences, either by denying them altogether or by putting him in an asylum or what-have-you; I could see her trying to look into it on her own without telling him until she had some kind of proof/confirmation to offer one way or the other) - but it would have been way more cautious and gradual, and thus Dracula would have had time to get his boxes scattered more. They also lacked the knowledge of how to fight him off, and so even if they became convinced very quickly, without the others they would have to start the research from the beginning which would slow them down. And even then, they lacked the resources and manpower that the suitor squad gave them. It would all take a lot more time. And if Dracula had more time to establish himself... He'd have multiple houses which no one person knew the location of, he'd have his dirt boxes in each one. He'd have, eventually, other vampires risen as well, who could potentially create more vampires in turn. He might have the time/inclination to infiltrate society more once his boltholes were established, creating social pressure not to go after him or consequences for doing so.

Going after him in such a rush was necessary, because he'd get exponentially harder to defeat or even drive off as more time passed. And if people weren't already prepared to do so with appropriate knowledge and resources... it might be too late. And that's exactly what was supposed to happen. Jonathan was supposed to be left in the Castle, either dead or undead, and all his knowledge with him. Mr. Hawkins may have been a target as well, possibly even his other lawyers. Lucy, and his other eventual victims (pretty girl in Piccadilly, etc.), were supposed to succumb to what seemed like a mysterious illness without anyone being the wiser about the true cause of death. And it probably would have worked, without the coincidence of Jack knowing Van Helsing who was willing to explore all avenues, and Jonathan's incredible survival leading to Mina acquiring his knowledge and putting it to use. No one else knew what was threatening them. No one else knew who was threatening them. And Dracula, as we see in this quote, took plenty of additional precautions to ensure that he wouldn't raise any red flags without that prior knowledge (or at least not any actionable ones).

[metagalacticx]

cora hale moodboard

[hella1975]

choked up in my room rn bc i was sat in the car with my mum completely lost in thought and she out of nowhere went 'are you okay?' and i was like 'yeah? why?' bc i was totally fine i was literally just thinking and she let it go and then five entire minutes later she goes 'are you sure? have i done something?' and she sounded so genuinely anxious and i could tell she'd been thinking about it the entire 5 minutes while id been completely oblivious and i spent so many years as a child letting everything bottle up until it all burst out in a messy and ugly breakdown that took her down with me and despite that she never hated me she only ever blamed herself for not seeing the signs and she's never been able to see my signs because i keep everything to myself and it terrifies her that she might miss something and she handles things poorly when she's scared and she gets too angry but fundamentally she's trying her absolute hardest to be a good mother and it wasn't always enough and i know i have to hold her at least partially accountable but also she's my mum and im her daughter and she always just wants to know if im okay and most of the time im not and somehow that feels like ive betrayed her

[piplupod]

mother: "theres this great job where you'd be on-call to come in!"

me: "ahhh i don't really want to be on-call, that would stress me out a lot because I'd always be on edge,,"

mother: "no you wouldn't, you could make it your thing!"

me: "...my thing?"

mother: "being on call! it'd be great! :)"

me: "i would probably be crying like... a lot ahaha. because I would always be on edge never knowing when to expect having to go into work, yknow?"

mother: "nooo, you could just make it a thing!"

me: "sorry, what do you mean by thing?"

AND I NEVER FOUND OUT !!

[jonny-b-meowborn]

I am genuinely so terrified of the fact that I have to find a job now. I'm trying to think of or look up a job that's suitable for my mentally ill autistic ass and I just. I don't know. Everything either requires some very specific qualifications that I don't have, or seems at best awfully exhausting, at worst literally putting me in danger. And I'm not even exaggerating, I genuinely think that working in retail, for example, could possibly kill me if I was forced to do that job for long enough. I sometimes get overwhelmed to the point of crying when there's too many other customers while I'm shopping, I can't imagine working in an environment like that. I suppose physical jobs could work, I've been to this blueberry plantation twice last week and mentally I was fine, but it was. So tiring. And you don't even make that much money a day, I don't think I could earn enough even if I did work there everyday, not to mention it's only a seasonal job. Right now it's fine for me to go there every now and then, but if I wanted to move out and become independent I'd have to get an actual day job. And that sounds impossible. The only job that sounds good to me is being an artist, it's not too mentally or physically difficult, and it's something I enjoy. But I'd have to get commissions constantly or start a small business or something like that to actually survive. And I'm not saying it's impossible, I know that people can live by being an artist, but it's so hard to get into that field. I wish I could do it but I dont know if it's possible for me. Makes me wanna cry. I hate this I hate that my brain isn't suited for this world and still I have to participate in all that shit that everyone has to do. My brain isn't made for working like that

[tvxcue]

killing carl really was one of the worst decisions ever made on twd.

[darewolfcreates]

Creature transformation from a dream I had one time.

When I was pillaging my sketchbooks I found a whole separate transformation I drew! Two for the price of one [second one under cut]

[smallsith]

sometimes i think of that phrase, "you're going to the hardware store for oranges," whenever my [relation] complains about her "friend" (shitty friend who is not good to her and whom i kind of hate for being so shitty to my [relation]) not being a good friend back to her and i'm like. you're going to the hardware store for oranges, mate. you are asking [friend] for something that [friend] is categorically incapable of giving you. if [friend] were a grocery store, she would be able to give you oranges (in this case, oranges are emotional support and reciprocity of kindness) but she's not. she's a hardware store. you can go to her for oranges all you want but she is never going to have them for you. maybe to other people she's a grocery store, but for you she's a hardware store and that's not your fault and there's nothing you can do to make her be a grocery store for you. after a while you have to accept that [friend] is never going to have oranges in stock, and you're just hurting yourself by asking her for oranges, and you being my [relation] it hurts me to see you get hurt like this over and over again. also [friend] fucking sucks and i wish you'd let me beat her up for you.

[autismserenity]

know someone who enjoys horror stories? share this one! it's true!

hahahahahahahahahaha aarrggghhhhhhhhhh 3,000,000 deaths due to COVID-19 last year. Globally. Three million. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. The reason people are still worried about COVID is because it has a way of quietly fucking up your body. And the risk is cumulative.

I'm going to say that again: the risk is cumulative.

It's not just that a lot of people get bad long-term effects from it. One in seven or so? Enough that it's kind of the Russian Roulette of diseases. It's also that the more times you get it, the higher that risk becomes. Like if each time you survived Russian Roulette, the empty chamber was removed from the gun entirely. The worst part is that, psychologically, we have the absolute opposite reaction. If we survive something with no ill effects, we assume it's pretty safe. It is really, really hard to override that sense of, "Ok, well, I got it and now I probably have a lot of immunity and also it wasn't that bad." It is not a respiratory disease. Airborne, yes. Respiratory disease, no: not a cold, not a flu, not RSV.

Like measles (or maybe chickenpox?), it starts with respiratory symptoms. And then it moves to other parts of your body. It seems to target the lungs, the digestive system, the heart, and the brain the most.

It also hits the immune system really hard - a lot of people are suddenly more susceptible to completely unrelated viruses. People get brain fog, migraines, forget things they used to know.

(I really, really hate that it can cross the blood-brain barrier. NOTHING SHOULD EVER CROSS THE BLOOD-BRAIN BARRIER IT IS THERE FOR A REASON.) Anecdotal examples of this shit are horrifying. I've seen people talk about coworkers who've had COVID five or more times, and now their work... just often doesn't make sense? They send emails that say things like, "Sorry, I didn't mean Los Angeles, I meant Los Angeles."

Or they insist they've never heard of some project that they were actually in charge of a year or two before.

Or their work is just kind of falling apart, and they don't seem to be aware of it.

People talk about how they don't want to get the person in trouble, so their team just works around it. Or they describe neighbors and relatives who had COVID repeatedly, were nearly hospitalized, talked about how incredibly sick they felt at the time... and now swear they've only had it once and it wasn't bad, they barely even noticed it.

(As someone who lived with severe dissociation for most of my life, this is a genuinely terrifying idea to me. I've already spent my whole life being like, "but what if I told them that already? but what if I did do that? what if that did happen to me and I just don't remember?") One of its known effects in the brain is to increase impulsivity and risk-taking, which is real fucking convenient honestly. What a fantastic fucking mutation. So happy for it on that one. Yes, please make it seem less important to wear a mask and get vaccinated. I'm not screaming internally at all now.

I saw a tweet from someone last year whose family hadn't had COVID yet, who were still masking in public, including school.

She said that her son was no kind of an athlete. Solidly bottom middle of the pack in gym.

And suddenly, this year, he was absolutely blowing past all the other kids who had to run the mile. He wasn't running any faster. His times weren't fantastic or anything. It's just that the rest of the kids were worse than him now. For some reason. I think about that a lot. (Like my incredibly active six-year-old getting a cold, and suddenly developing post-viral asthma that looked like pneumonia.

He went back to school the day before yesterday, after being home for a month and using preventative inhalers for almost week.

He told me that it was GREAT - except that he couldn't run as much at recess, because he immediately got really tired. Like how I went outside with him to do some yard work and felt like my body couldn't figure out how to increase breathing and heart rate.

I wasn't physically out of breath, but I felt like I was out of breath. That COVID feeling people describe, of "I'm not getting enough air." Except that I didn't have that problem when I had COVID.) Some people don't observe any long (or medium) term side effects after they have it.

But researchers have found viral reservoirs of COVID-19 in everyone they've studied who had it.

It just seems to hang out, dormant, for... well, longer than we've had an opportunity to observe it, so far.

(I definitely watched that literal horror movie. I think that's an entire genre. The alien dormant under ice in the Arctic.)

(oh hey I don't like that either!!!!!!!!!) All of which is to explain why we should still care about avoiding it, and how it manages to still cause excess deaths. Measuring excess deaths has been a standard tool in public health for a long time.

We know how many people usually die from all different causes, every year. So we can tell if, for example, deaths from heart disease have gone way up in the past three years, and look for reasons. Those are excess deaths: deaths that, four years ago, would not have happened. During the pandemic, excess death rates have been a really important tool. For all sorts of reasons. Like, sometimes people die from COVID without ever getting tested, and the official cause is listed as something else because nobody knows they had COVID. But also, people are dying from cardiovascular illness much younger now.

People are having strokes and heart attacks younger, and more often, than they did before the pandemic started. COVID causes a lot of problems. And some of those problems kill people. And some of them make it easier for other things to kill us. Lung damage from COVID leading to lungs collapsing, or to pneumonia, or to a pulmonary embolism, for example. The Economist built a machine-learning model with a 95% confidence interval that gauges excess death statistics around the world, to tell them what the true toll of the ongoing COVID pandemic has been so far.

Total excess deaths globally in 2023: Three million.

3,000,000.

Official COVID-19 deaths globally so far: Seven million. 7,000,000. Total excess deaths during COVID so far: Thirty-five point two million. 35,200,000.

Five times as many.

That's bad. I don't like that at all. I'm glad last year was less than a tenth of that. I'm not particularly confident about that continuing, though, because last year we started a period of really high COVID transmission. Case rates higher than 90% of the rest of the pandemic. Here's their data, and charts you can play with, and links to detailed information on how they did all of this:

Here's a non-paywalled link to it:

https://archive.vn/2024.01.26-012536/https://www.economist.com/graphic-detail/coronavirus-excess-deaths-estimates

Oh: here's a link to where you can buy comfy, effective N95 masks in all sizes:

Those ones are about a buck each after shipping - about $30 for a box of 30. They also have sample packs for a dollar, so you can try a couple of different sizes and styles.

You can wear an N95 mask for about 40 total hours before the effectiveness really drops, so that's like a dollar for a week of wear.

They're also family-owned and have cat-shaped masks and I really love them. These ones are cuter and in a much wider range of colors, prints, and styles, but they're also more expensive; they range from $1.80 to $3 for a mask. ($18-$30 for a box of ten.)

[sadandyetverysexy]

Dp x Dc au: Normal is Good

Okay so hear me out— i see lots of “you can’t control Danny he’s a wild child” premises and like, I agree, I love that, but JUST hear me out. Danny who is just entranced by being treated like a NORMAL KID.

I think for best results this should be done with de-aged Danny so he’s a bit younger, but it can def work with regular Danny too.

Danny winds up running around Gotham for one reason or another doing INSANE SHIT to try and help or just survive and his family is out of the way. The explosion, Bad Fentons, etc— and one of the bats picks up Danny. This can be a dad!Jason, or dad!Dick, or classic Bruce Adoption. But they see this little shit running around and are like “no fucking way, not on my watch you little maniac”

Now, a lot of people use the “Jazz practically raised Danny” card, and I love that card and fully support it, but she was also a kid. With no other parents to consult. Who was raised by the Fentons originally and def has no clue what normal parents are like. So she probably didn’t exactly measure up to how a kid is MEANT to be raised. So Danny still had an incredibly strange childhood that just was Not Normal, but I feel like we see Danny with a deep desire to be normal. He doesn’t even really like being a superhero that much, he just wanted to be a kid.

So he gets bat adopted, and Danny is just functioning how he did growing up with the Fentons, which is No Restrictions Do What You Want. And then his bat dad (using Jason for this) is like “No. It’s Bed Time.” And Danny. Danny is ALL for that. He’s bewildered. Mystified. He’s not grumpy about being told what to do at ALL, because he’s just so shocked.

“You’re serious? You’re fucking dead-ass serious? It’s bed time? Oh my god this is so cool. I’ve never had a bed time before! This is great!” Because this is the first time he’s EVER been treated like a normal child by a parental figure. He just got sent to bed. Wow.

Having a parent who is in charge of keeping him healthy and actually enforces Danny taking care of himself is kind of cool.

“Eat your vegetables, they’re good for you.” And they won’t try to eat him back? Fuck yeah, he’ll eat his vegetables!

“No you aren’t allowed to go out at 2 in the morning, go back to bed, you have a doctors appointment for your yearly checkup tomorrow.” oh ancients, Danny has always heard other kids complain about not being allowed out at night, but to have himself told he can’t? This is so weird. And he’s never been to a yearly check up before!

“Brush your teeth before bed” “I can’t get cavities, I’m dead!” “Ya know, for some reason I don’t believe you. When was the last time you went to the dentist? Are you sure you can’t get them?” Danny has 7 cavities.

The first time Danny gets to actually use the “my dad said No” excuse, he is ECSTATIC. Jack and Maddie have LITERALLY never told him he can’t go out somewhere. Ever. He’s in a whole new world where he doesn’t have to fight ghosts, or be a hero, or anything and he loves it. He has a normal kids room without deadly weapons in it and normal kid hobbies and a fridge full of normal food and a parent who enforces a bed time, and it’s weird as hell and it’s great. Normal is pretty damn good, he has no clue what Sam and Tucker were always complaining about. Shits sweet.

[forbidden-sunlight]

yandere!ceo with villainess!reader scenario [part one]

warnings: suicide attempt/implication, implication of obsessive thoughts or love, workplace toxicity.

There might be potential triggers in this piece. If you do not feel comfortable with reading it, please hit the 'back' button on your phone or laptop and find something much more pleasant to read than a potential series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your Internet consumption.

Reblog to support content creators! ❤️

Hey guys, and welcome to another original yandere oc x series, featuring the good-looking prick and CEO of his family's conglomerate, Yeo Jung-Hwa. This is a collaboration between me and the incredibly talented @deathmetalunicorn1. Special thanks to @pinkgoldweebgirl and @witch-of-the-writing-desk for their honest feedback on the earlier drafts of this project.

Part Two

Everyone has heard or watched the famous daily drama, Love and Fortune. Boasting over 124 episodes, it chronicles the romance between a cold-hearted CEO named Yeo Jung-Hwa and a hardworking, kind-hearted employee at his family’s conglomerate named Hyeong Mun-Hee. Of course, no drama is without conflict because that would be a very boring story to broadcast to the world.

 Including the male lead’s family opposing the idea that would marry someone beneath his social status, the villainous Park Seo-yun refuses to break off her engagement to him even when her feelings are completely one-sided. In retrospect, Park Seo-yun had been written as a vicious and incredibly stupid antagonist so that Heyong Mun-Hee’s perseverance through such bullying and her devotion towards Yeo Jung-Hwa were highlighted and touched the viewers with her kind heart. At least that is what you believe after being trapped in the world of this drama for…how long has it been? A year? Three years?

 It was hard to keep track of time when Being X -  that’s the name you gave to whatever is controlling this world like a goddamned puppeteer - would reset everything if you tried to act out of character such as amiably breaking up with male lead so he could be with Hyeong Mun-Hee or trying to overdose on sleeping meds in a desperate attempt to escape. Presently this was your fourth loop, and you were not going to let everything, the hard work you’ve put in, to be all for nothing.

You were going to move forward.

You were going to survive. 

You were going to have a peaceful life once this drama is over. 

Just say your lines and be ready for the next scene. Right?

According to the drama’s script, the reason that Park Seo-yun worked for the Yeo family’s conglomerate is because everyone thought it would be a brilliant idea for her to see how the business of her future in-laws operated and be prepared to step in if Yeo Jung-Hwa was incapacitated for any reason. In your humble opinion, it is honestly a bad idea for two reasons. One, it isn’t wise to mix business with a marriage, let alone an engagement that is written to be destroyed upon the arrival of the female lead. Two, it just doesn't make sense. Prosperous businesses are supposed to have a qualified Chief Operating Officer, otherwise known as a COO, to implement plans and the direction that the CEO wishes to follow as well as coordinating with other team managers. 

But this is common sense from the real world. You are stuck in a drama and currently the team manager of the conglomerate’s financial department. You might have a nice office in the back where you can see everything, but it barely alleviated your annoyance with Hyung Mun-Hee as she hunched over her desk, texting on her personal phone instead of correcting the mistakes she made on the documents you were supposed to hand out to everyone at today’s meeting; budget allocations, projected growths and downturns, including whether Team Leader Kim Dokja will be able to hire a few more employees that he really needs to help with the IT department’s neverending workflow. 

You know that this is a pivotal scene in both Heyong Mun-Hee’s character development and the beginning of your downfall. You know that after accusing the female lead of slacking off, forcing her to kneel and apologize for paralyzing your department because everyone worked overtime to cover her unexcused absences, this is when the male lead steps in and protects his darling from being bullied further.

To the writers of Love and Fortune: this example of lazy creativity is why your successful series eventually received backlash and everyone demanded a revamped version. In layman’s terms, fuck you assholes for making your job as the villainess a lot more difficult than it should be. 

You already made her kneel and all that jazz in the last two loops and it didn’t do shit. Not this time. You were going to go for a more subtle, professional approach. As long as it seems like you were antagonizing Hyung Mun-Hee because Love and Fortune is written from her point of view, you should be fine. Hopefully. God, you hoped so. 

If you actually got through this scene, you were definitely going to reward the team for their hard work with some baked goods for breakfast or a catered lunch. You haven’t used your infamous black credit card since this loop started. Rolling your shoulders back, you inhaled a slow, deep breath before leaning over towards the printer, grabbing the documents that the female lead emailed to you. You pretended to read them over, eyes narrowing and fingers thumbing through all of them until you reached the end. Rising from your seat, you walked out of the office and addressed the staff, calmly. 

“Excuse me everyone, but may I have a moment of your time?” Your slightly agitated voice caused all seven team members to stare at you with faces that ranged from confusion, fear, and curiosity. You respectfully incline your head. “Thank you.” You held up your little prop in the air for all to see. “Whoever emailed me the paperwork I am to present at this afternoon’s meeting, please come to my office. I have some questions about the context.”

An uneasy silence fell upon the office, making your heart stink. Shit. You needed to improvise and fast before Being X noticed. You sighed, pressing two fingers to the side of your temple to make it seem like you were starting to feel a headache coming on, which funnily enough you were. 

 “I’m not going to bite anyone’s head off, I promise. There are just a few things in here that do not make sense and I’d like to understand before I am to present them as the team leader.” Please take the bait, Heyong Mun-Hee. You thought pleadingly with your eyes closed. If you have any self-respect left or at least feel a little sorry for being lazy, stand up and admit your mistake so that your perseverance shines through in this scene. You’ve done it before, you can do it again. 

When you opened your eyes, she was still sitting at her desk with wide eyes and a flushed face, clutching her phone as if it were a lifeline. Your eyebrow twitched. You have got to be kidding me. You thought sourly. This isn’t how a female lead is supposed to act, let alone an actual employee of a multi-million won company.

 Fine. If she wasn’t going to come to you willingly, then you couldn’t play nice. 

You were about to call her out  when she suddenly stood up and made a beeline towards your office, passing by you and taking a seat in your office. Huh? Isn’t this a bit rude? Unfortunately your role isn’t to ponder why certain people like common decency. So you turned around, walking back inside your workspace and closing the door behind you. Once you sat down behind the dark mahogany desk that was at least twice the size of a normal cubicle, you booted up your desktop and logged into the company’s bookkeeping program before swiveling the monitor around so that Hyeung Mun-Hee could see where she made her mistakes.

“Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee, I noticed that there were some miscalculations here,” You moved your cursor over one column. “And here.” You moved it to the right. “Here as well.” You moved it back to the left, right in the middle. “The formula you imputed for Columns H to J is incorrect. I want you to refer to your department manual and make the necessary corrections before sending it out to the other departments. I trust you can handle this task?” 

She should be able to. After all, the female lead had a buffer for being extremely intelligent and a math whiz in the script. That’s why she was selected to work here instead of Human Resources, where her communication skills were also top notch. Hyeung Mun-Hee quickly nodded, standing up from her seat and almost bolting back to her desk, still holding onto her phone like a security blanket. Which was a little odd. You don’t remember her being so protective of it in the previous loops. 

You reclined back against your chair. Oh well, no matter. Time to see this house of cards come crashing down in five minutes. Too bad it can’t be longer. But the show must go on, right? She  might be scripted to fail, but you gave her a chance to correct her mistakes. So in the end, it was truly and solely all her fault, not yours. 

Sure enough the phones began ringing off of the hook, followed by shouting from a few of the senior employees. You got a frantic phone call  from Research/Development manager Choi Iseul, asking why the promised budget had been cut in half. Closing out the screens on your desktop, you reassured the poor girl that you would look into this matter immediately before hanging up. She really didn’t need the stress right now at four months pregnant. 

You stepped out of the office, demanding what was going on. All eyes turned to the leading lady herself, her head down and face pinkened in embarrassment. You blinked. “Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee, what happened? You did fix the report as I had asked, right?” You controlled the tone of your voice, careful to not show anger and annoyance, strictly professionalism. You were pretty sure that you didn’t sound like a vindictive bitch either. But somehow she took your question as her cue to shout at you, to stop bullying her before running out towards the elevator. And right into the arms of the male lead. 

You exhaled a deep breath, running a hand through [Hair Color] tresses before you turned your attention back towards the team. “I need to fix this report and send it off to the other departments or else things will get ugly. I know I’m asking a lot right now, but could you screen the incoming calls? If any of them asks, please let them know I am making the necessary corrections and will email it to them promptly. Disregard the one that they’ve received from Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee.” 

Everyone clamored in agreement before diving back into their work, some already answering the phones and reciting exactly what you asked them to say as you bolted towards your office, slamming the door behind you. Considering that this isn’t your first loop, you had already taken the liberty of creating the correct report this morning before clocking in at the office. The issues were the same, so it took you all but twenty minutes to adjust and send it out to the managers. 

The calamity that struck evaporated in an instant, and the phones had stopped ringing. To you, it only heralded the opening sequence of the next scenario. Looking up from your phone, you saw two people walk out of the elevator. The female lead was dabbing her puffy face with a checkered handkerchief, standing by Yeo Jung Hwa himself as he got off his own personal device, no doubt finishing his talk with the CFO about his darling’s little fuck up. 

Placing your phone face down on the desk, you watched them glide across the room before the CEO reached your office, opening the door with a frown stretched across his face. 

Yeo Jung Hwa. The male lead of Love and Fortune, blessed with good looks, riches, and has been in charge of the conglomerate since he was twenty years old. A classic tyrannical CEO that almost everyone loved to read or watch because they’d see how soft he was around his lover and wanted that same kind of treatment for themselves. You saw him as more of a cunning snake who knew what he wanted and would use any means necessary to get it.

But whatever. Time to get into character. You thought as you stood up, eyeing the male lead apathetically. “Good afternoon, sir. How can I help you?”

“Explain what happened.” He said, amethyst eyes narrowing at you. Yes, he has fucking purple eyes thank you goddamned screenwriters. 

You raised an eyebrow. “Explain what, sir?” You asked. “The incident that has everyone in a panic?” Receiving nothing but silence from him, you continued. “It’s been resolved. I’ve already emailed all of the department heads the correct report to refer to at today’s meeting. I did tell Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee to fix the mistakes I’ve shown her,” You glanced at your employee before averting your attention back to the prick. “But when I looked at what was sent out, she did make a few adjustments…just that it only made matters worse and could have cost the company a lot of money.” You crossed your arms, leaning back against your desk. “Her performance was unacceptable, and she is my responsibility as her team leader. Which is why I would like to have Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee participate in this month’s upcoming financial seminars. A little refresher for two weeks, using her vacation days, and pass the tests so that there will not be a repeat of this incident again and jeopardize the conglomerate. Or would you see this as unfair treatment of an employee, CEO Yeo Jung-Hwa?”

You watched as the male lead looked over his shoulder, glaring balefully at his lover before he turned back to face you. “So be it. I want to see the results of her tests once they are completed and the lecturers aren’t under your payroll, Team Leader Park Seo-yun.”

“With all due respect, they are under your payroll, not mine.” You said drolly. “I don’t care how long it will take for her to complete the classes or to do the coursework. I want results, same as you. I do want to keep the completion certificates. If she doesn’t do it or chooses not to for whatever reason beyond a medical emergency, suspension with pay. No ifs, ands, or buts. Are these acceptable terms, sir?”

He didn’t like it, you could tell. Any event that separated from Hyeung Mun-Hee would put him in a sour mood and become more of a grouch. Kind of like a child having his favorite toy being taken away because he did something bad. But in this situation he couldn’t afford to have a temper tantrum  for obvious reason:

1) Displaying an immature attitude in a professional environment will make him less appealing to the viewers.

2) As previously stated, it was the female lead’s fault that this whole mess happened. He saw the evidence of her major fuck up, the CFO saw it, everyone did. Trying to sweep it under the rug would only incite more rumors of nepotism. He has a reputation to maintain. 

“...Fine.” He spat out. You nodded, seeing him turn on the ball of his foot and stomp out of the room. Nope, he is not happy about this. Neither is the trembling female lead standing in front of you. She really was a pretty woman, with reddish-brown hair falling past her shoulders and hazel eyes glistening with tears. 

“You’re dismissed. I’ll let you know the seminar schedule once I hear back from HR. Please return to work, you still have two hours left on your shift.”  You said, expecting her to go running to the restroom and cry, have a mental dialogue about how things were unfair right now but she will come out on top and preserve as it was written in the script. Except…she didn’t leave right away. She was glaring at you as if you were the most despicable person in the entire world, which you guess holds some truth. 

“You said this is all my fault, but it isn’t because I wasn’t trained properly! Where do you get off, saying such horrible things like this?! Just because you are rich doesn’t mean you have a great personality!”

Your eyes widened in shock. Okay, this scene was definitely not part of the drama in the last three loops. And she’s smart enough to know to not say this, even if the door is closed! 

Let’s be serious. No one should ever talk to a supervisor like this, even if they are an absolute scumbag and you hate their guts. 

“Assistant Manager Hyeung Mun-Hee, you were trained to learn and carry out these tasks during the ninety day trial period after being hired by the conglomerate,” You said as you tried to calm your racing heart. “I showed you the mistakes you made, and it’s clear that you made almost no effort to fix them. If you had, then this incident would not have happened. That is why you are going to sit through those seminars and take notes, or you will be suspended without pay. This is not up for debate. And just because I am rich doesn’t mean you can talk down to people as if you are better than them, myself included. Now leave. And don’t let me hear such vulgar words in here again or I will punish you. Are we clear?” 

“You-“

“Are you going to make me pull up your file and show everyone your certificates of completion from those training programs, the proof that you were trained to do your job and you’ve chosen to let others do your work for you?” You asked. “It’s fine to ask for help from others when needed, but you have to take responsibility for your actions or else you’ll never be able to surpass me.”

You watched Hyeung Mun-Hee’s face turn a darker shade of magenta and the tremors in her petite frame increase greatly before she excused herself. You could see the steam coming out of her ears; whether it was from embarrassment or anger, you weren’t certain. So long as she got your message and you acted your part as the villainess, then that should have met almost all of the requirements needed to move onto the next episode. The remaining factors were  the viewership score and Being X’s approval. 

The viewership score is a daily simple rating system numbered from 1 to 5 golden stars. If the episode reaches 3 and above, you’re clear. If the score is a 2, and Being X did not like your acting or even how everything played out, the loop would start all over again from the first scene. Perhaps instead of puppeteer, it’s more like a perfectionist director whose opinion can also be swayed by the viewership score. If the audience watching this fucked up universe enjoyed what they were watching, they’ll make it known. 

After all, more ratings means more money, even if you’re not getting paid for this.

 The last two loops where this episode happened, you followed the script to the letter without making any improvs. It didn't work out in the end, as you recalled with a frown at the memory. After being forced to kneel on the floor as you had done to her, you watched the lovebirds embrace. Well, at least the male lead was trying to comfort his ‘pure-hearted’ lover when that bitch smiled down at you from over his shoulder. As if she had won the game and you were the loser. Being X didn’t like the viewership scores back then. Now? Well, that’ll depend on whether or not you’ll wake up to the setting of episode 25 tomorrow morning. It’s either that…or finding yourself in the interview room again with Hyeung Mun-Hee during the pilot episode, her job application in your hand. 

Fuck my life. You thought glumly. 

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Congratulations, Congratulations, Congratulations!

Important things must be said three times.

The viewership score on Episode 24 has arrived!

Taglist: @nunezs-stuff @imperfectbloodmoon @yandere-dark-cupid @justcressida @cassanderasblog @faesdreaming @faux-ecrivain @abelheilonwife @tired-of-life-86 @tonightwrites @ixchelhernandez4 @aiimee9 @swallowtail-lotus @diannaflight @sweetbatherodonkey @strangepoppy @mochinon-yah @classicdummy @lanxianschoenheit @aman3kkun @beardedblizzardexpert @reiivven @majestichugs

[aemondsbabe]

Taunt

obviously, i feel very normal and chill about ewan's new performance in saltburn. anyways lmao this is my version of michael gavey from the vibes i got from him in the 5 seconds he's in the trailer! i have no idea if this is accurate to how he is truly portrayed in the movie! if the movie comes out and i'm totally wrong, then i don't care bc i got to have fun writing about a cheeky lil oxford student!!

summary: you're nearly failing statistics and the student your professor asks to tutor you seems to gain a sick satisfaction from seeing you squirm; he hates you...or so think.

pairing: michael gavey x reader

warnings: mature, 18+ (minors, do not enter!!!) no use of Y/N, afab reader, profanity, smut, piv smut, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), dom/sub, brief daddy kink (literally one mention), dirty talk, dumbification, humiliation (only a bit), size kink if you squint, mild angst but happy ending, choking i guess (barely), public sex (they're alone but like it's still public lmao), brief discussions of math -- please let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 10.5k (dear lord)

a/n: baby's first fic omg! if you enjoy this one and want to see more from me, please feel free to send in requests! (GoT, HoTD, Stranger Things, Marvel, etc!)

PRAISE | Taunt Part 2

MAKING AMENDS | Bonus

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!🌟

“Right, so,” Professor Davies began, pulling a thick textbook off the shelf next to his desk, “Since we’ve only just returned from Easter holiday, I thought I’d go easy on you today.” 

A few quiet groans could be heard around the room, a couple students turning to look at one another with grimaces; in the few weeks you’ve been in Professor Davies’s class, he’s never once gone easy on you. With a small sigh, you shuffle through your spiral notebook until you come to a blank page. 

“D’you think you’ll go to the party this weekend?” Louise whispers, leaning over closer to you as she twirls a pen around in her fingers, “I heard this one is supposed to be fucking insane.”

“Like any of Felix’s parties aren’t insane?” You whisper back, smirking as you doodle a small flower on the corner of a page of paper, “Of course I’ll be there,” you murmur, watching as Professor Davies writes an intricate formula on the chalkboard, “I could really use a break, anyway…I’ve been so stressed recently.”

“Christ…” A boy, in the row of desks in front of you scoffs, just barely shaking his head as he copies down the formula, his handwriting sharp and choppy. You feel blood rush to your cheeks as you narrow your eyes, staring intently at his sandy hair. You didn’t really know him, this being your only class with him, but you’d seen him around campus, regularly passing by him in the halls. Oxford may be a large university, but when you’re on campus everyday, you begin recognizing familiar faces. 

He didn’t run in the same crowds as you at all, and you got the distinct impression that he looked down on you and the rest of your friends, but you knew his name – Michael and that he was incredibly smart, his hand promptly shooting into the air anytime Professor Davies asked a question. In the few weeks you’d been in the same statistics class, you had yet to see him get a question wrong, watching as he grinned, cocky, everytime he was praised for correctly solving even the most intricate of formulas. 

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more the opposite, always shying away and praying not to hear Professor Davies call your name in his deep, baritone voice every time his eyes scanned the crowd, looking for a volunteer, or victim, more like. While Michael clearly enjoyed the class, practically glowing with an arrogant confidence as soon as he walked into the wood paneled lecture hall, you were simply here to check it off as a requirement of your major, hoping to survive the class with a C and nothing more. 

It was annoying, you wouldn’t deny that, the way that smug smirk seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, how that stupid taunting glimmer was an ever-present fixture of his blue eyes — blue eyes which, seemingly, always managed to find their way to you, one way or another. 

His attention was intimidating at first, his cold stare leaving you unsure of what exactly his intention was. Was he trying to challenge you? Trying to determine if he knew you from somewhere else? A small part of you, a naive part, hoped that his staring was meant to be affectionate; he was cute, you’d admit it! Always showing up to class in cozy knit sweaters, his wavy hair still ruffled and untidy as if he’d just gotten out of bed, gold rimmed glasses perched atop a strong nose.

You quickly tear your gaze away from the back of Michael’s head, biting your bottom lip as you begin copying down the problem on the chalkboard, pausing briefly when you see, from the corner of your eye, his head turn as he glances at you over his shoulder. You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, that small, sanguine voice in the back of your head cheering. 

“Now, then,” Professor Davies booms, dropping the textbook down on his desk with a cacophonous thud before sweeping his eyes across the classroom, “A bit of review before we really dive in…” He continues, pacing around the front of the room as he explains the various parts and pieces of the equation on the board. 

“What do you think you’ll wear?” Louise asks, leaning over once more to whisper in your ear, you can smell her signature floral perfume on her hair, “I was thinking I’d do that new blue-ish dress I got, you know, the strappy one?”

“Might still be too cold for strappy,” you whisper back, half listening to the professor drone on as you continue doodling on your paper, pausing every few minutes to jot down a few haphazard notes, “I was just thinking I’d do a jumper, probably a skirt and tights–”

Suddenly, you hear Professor Davies call your name, your cheeks practically stinging as blood rushes to your face. Sitting up straighter, you finally find the courage to meet his stern gaze, “Since you seem all too eager to share your thoughts,” He continues slowly stalking towards you across wooden floorboards that softly creak beneath his feet, “Would you care to enlighten us with the solution to the quadratic equation on the board?” He comes to a stop, hands clasped behind his back as he patiently waits for you to answer, a small, knowing smile poised on his lips. 

“I– uhm, well,” you stutter, glancing back and forth between your barely there notes and the chalkboard, throat growing tighter as you feel everyone's eyes on you, “Don’t you need to solve for G first?”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Well, you would…” You trail off, desperately trying to remember the lessons you’d had before Easter holiday, absentmindedly picking at your cuticle as you pray to be anywhere but here or for a hole to open in the floor and swallow you whole, “I…I don’t recall, professor. I’m sorry.” You finally say, not being able to meet his gaze as you stare intently at your lap, desperately willing yourself not to cry, even as you feel your eyes stinging. 

“Perhaps, in the future, it would be of benefit to socialize with your friends outside of my classroom.” Professor Davies admonishes, giving a sharp glare to Louise as well, who manages an apologetic smile. “Yes, Professor.” You whisper, keeping your eyes downturned. 

Finally, you hear the floorboards softly creaking once more as Professor Davies makes his way back up to the podium at the front of the room and once again resumes his lecture. You can’t help but pause for a second when you hear a small snicker from the tall boy in front of you, sensing as he peers at you over his shoulder once again. 

“Would anyone else like to take a crack at the problem on the board?” Professor Davies asks, leaning against the old, worn podium at the front of the room. Like clockwork, Michael’s hand shoots into the air. Somehow, that makes you blush even harder.

Eventually, Professor Davies finishes his lecture and retrieves his dark leather briefcase from under the desk, pulling a thick stack of papers out and sitting them on the podium, leaning over it with a sigh, “I have your tests graded. Most of you did very well, you should be pleased with yourselves. Some of you, however,” He says pointedly, “Could benefit greatly from a closer study of the material.”

Slowly, he walks around the room passing back tests, throwing out a comment here and there as he did so. You already know you hadn't done well on that particular test and dread getting it back and confirming your suspicions, so you keep yourself busy, choosing to meticulously pack up your things instead. 

“Mr. Gavey,” he said a few feet away from you, papers rustling as he slid the test across the wooden surface of the long bench desks, “Once more, an outstanding job! Top of the class, keep it up.” 

“Thank you, Professor,” you glance up, watching as he takes the paper with a humble nod, that same, oh-so pleased smile gracing his angular face. He must sense you looking at him and quickly shifts his gaze in your direction, eyes glimmering with self-satisfaction behind his gold-rimmed glasses as his smile quickly turns into a smirk. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his with a small, bewildered huff. Why did he seem to get so much satisfaction from besting you, of all people? It’s not like you were exactly an academic threat. 

“Ms. Bickerstaff,” Professor Davies says, finally appearing next to the table you and Louise sat at, “Not bad, a bit more effort next time and you’re sure to be on track,” he remarks, sliding her paper across the desk. Louise thanks him with a small smile as she flips through her test, eyes scanning over his marks. 

Finally, Professor Davies stands before you once again, your paper the very last in his hands. You hear him mutter your last name before he slides the paper across the desk to you, and you can’t help but deflate as you see your grade; you knew it would be bad, but that? How on Earth were you going to recover your average? What if you had to retake the whole course? What if you failed out of Oxford entirely? Your parents had sacrificed so much to help you get here, spending years and untold amounts of money on private tutors and extracurricular materials, all to help you have an impressive application! Not to mention the money just for the course fees! Unlike most of your friends, you didn’t come from piles and piles of money and status – your family was alright, sure, but you were definitely several tax brackets below them. 

As your thoughts spiraled, you felt Louise elbow you in the side at the same time you heard Professor Davies address you again. Shaking your head to clear your scattered thoughts, you clear your throat and finally turn to look up at him, “Sorry, yes, Professor?” 

“As I was saying,” Professor Davies continues, tapping the papers in front of you, “I would like to discuss your performance with you today, after class. Please meet me at the front of the room before you go.”

“Yes, sir.” you mumble dejectedly, nodding as you quickly flip the test over, embarrassed at the thought of anyone else seeing your grade. 

“I’ll see you later, babes,” Louise says a few minutes later as everyone is clearing out of the room, “Good luck!” She whispers, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder before making her way to the door.

“Thanks!” you smile weakly, swallowing the lump in your throat before picking up your things and heading to the front of the room. The afternoon sun is already getting lower in the sky, beams of light shining into the room, bathing rectangular swaths of the floor in bright, golden light and highlighting motes of dust as they scatter in the air. Only a few students are left in the classroom, some of them finishing up notes while others type out quick texts. As you walk by his desk, you notice Michael scribbling down notes in his planner. 

You shuffle your feet nervously as you stand in front of the sizable oak desk that your professor sits at, watching as he adds a sticky note to the top of another stack of papers, “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

“Ah, yes!” He says, looking up at you over his glasses. He quickly caps his pen and stands, walking around the desk to stand in front of you, “I know this class has been quite the challenge,” he begins, leaning against the desk, “But, I think I’ve found a solution for you.” 

“You have?” You ask, tilting your head in confusion.

“I think you could benefit greatly from a tutor, perhaps a peer who could explain the material to you in a different way,” he continues, “And I have just the student in mind.” Instantly, you feel a pit beginning to form in your stomach, biting your bottom lip as you watch Professor Davies motion for someone behind you to come up to the desk, “Mr. Gavey, if you could join us up here, please.”

You freeze when you feel him saunter up beside you, eyeing him out of the corner of your eye. He was so much taller than you, your head barely grazing his shoulder, as he came to a stop next to you, standing casually with his backpack slung over one shoulder. 

Professor Davies once again turns his attention to you, motioning to Michael as he speaks, “Mr. Gavey here is one of my most capable students,” you can’t help but notice him stand up straighter at the comment, growing somehow even taller, “I’ve taken the liberty of asking him if he would be so kind as to assist you with some of the course work and he agreed.” You freeze a little at that, stunned that he would be so quick to help you when he seems to relish any opportunity to make you squirm. “I’ve given it some thought,” the professor continues, fixing you with a stern gaze, “And I’m willing to let you make corrections to your test and resubmit it for half credit.”

“Oh, thank you so much, prof–”

“However,” he adds, crossing his arms over his chest, “This will be the only time I do so. From now on, I suggest you see Mr. Gavey here on a regular basis; the material is only going to get more challenging as we begin this next unit.”

“Of course, professor. Thank you again.” You respond quietly, shifting uneasily as you stand between the two men. 

“Right, well, now that’s sorted,” Professor Davies says, clapping his hands together once as he turns and makes his way back over to the desk chair, sitting down with a tired sigh, “I trust the two of you can come to an agreement upon when and where to meet. I’ll see you again Monday, have a pleasant weekend.” He says, waving his hand dismissively as he goes back to organizing his papers. 

The two of you murmur your goodbyes before making your way into the hall, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as he follows you out of the classroom. Eventually, you come across a small alcove in the hallway; finally turning to face him, you let your eyes sweep up his body, finally coming to meet his blue eyes, slightly hidden behind the glare of the hallway lights on his glasses. 

“So,” you clear your throat and shift on your feet awkwardly, “Uh, what time works for you? I really can’t do Saturdays–” you begin, only to be cut off.

“Shame,” Michael sighs dismissively, a smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth, “Saturday is the only day that works for me.” 

The tone of his voice and the mirthful glint in his eyes makes you very much doubt that, your gaze narrowing, “Okay, well Saturday’s are the only day I have off,” you huff, only growing more annoyed as the stupid smirk on his face grows with satisfaction, no doubt pleased that he’s being a nuisance, “Besides, I super can’t tomorrow, anyway. I already promised my friends I’d come with them to this party tha–”

“Oh, I know about your little party,” Michael scoffs, “Trust me, love, the whole damn class heard about that stupid fucking party with the way you lot were running your mouths earlier,” he chuckles coldly, continuing in an exaggerated high-pitched voice, one hand coming up to mime twirling a lock of hair, “Oooooh, it’s so cold, can’t wear the fuckin’ strappy dress, gotta wear me jumper and little slutty skirt, la-dee-dah.” He finishes with a final huff of laughter. 

“What is your deal with me?!” You finally snap, glaring at him, even as you feel your face redden, “You’ve been a dick all semester and I haven’t done anything to you! I’ve never even talked to you!” Glancing around the empty hallway, you cross your arms over your chest, praying no one’s in earshot to hear your hissed tirade.

“I might not know you but I know plenty about your little friends,” he sneers, shaking his head like a disappointed father; the sight makes your blood boil.

“What does that even mean?” You demand, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. What did your friends have to do with any of this? None of them ever spoke about Michael, none of them even knew him as far as you were aware. 

His face softens, if only for a moment, as he registers the genuine confusion on your face, smirk faltering as his eyes narrow. He leans in closer to you as he begins speaking again and you can’t help but get a brief smell of the cologne he wears, something warm and woodsy that makes you think of a bookshop and the smell of the forest after it rains, “Come on,” he starts, blue eyes flitting between both of yours as he looks at you intently, “Felix Catton? You and your little friend, the one from class, you go around with him, yeah?”

You nod, giving him another puzzled look, confused as to what the hell Felix has to do with any of his disdain, “Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, “But, what does he have to do with anything?”

Michael huffs once more, almost laughing to himself as he shakes his head, burying his hands in the pockets of his jeans, “See, we went to school together, him and I – some of primary, all of secondary,” he shrugs, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he traps you in his gaze once again, “And I just don’t fucking like the guy. Can’t stand him, never could’ve.” 

You’re silent for a second, and now it’s your turn to flick your eyes back and forth, searching each of his for some sort of coherent answer and yet you come up empty. “But, what does that have to do with me?” You ask slowly, making sure to carefully enunciate each word.

“Don’t trust the people around him either,” he mutters, gazing down at his shoe, “Weirdos, the whole lot. There’s something…off about the guy. Can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something dark there, all around him. Like he’s putting on one big show. All his little gremlins do too, they all act the same.”

The two of you are silent for a moment, neither knowing quite what to say next. You chance a glance up at him, nearly gasping when you find him already gazing at you – an unreadable expression on his face. Yet a light blush still blooms on your cheeks as you quickly look away once again, your heart thudding so loudly you’re wondering if he can hear it – hell, you’re wondering why you’re reacting this way at all, why you’re so shy and skittish around him. 

“M’not like that,” you very nearly whisper, finally seeming to regain your voice. Only to lose it once again when he takes a half step toward you, suddenly crowding you further into the small alcove.

He makes a small noise, damn near cooing at you, tilting his head to the side when he notices you flinch as he raises an arm, gently raising your chin with one hand, angling your head up to meet his gaze, that signature smirk once again taking hold on his face as he looks at you curiously, “You’re not like that, are you?” He asks, his voice low and raspy. 

You quickly shake your head, blinking up at him, unsure of what exactly he wants from you. You feel your cheeks stinging for the umpteenth time today with how hard you’re blushing, a strange feeling taking root in your stomach the longer you stare at him, that small voice in your head positively cheering. 

But, as quickly as whatever spell he seems to have on you takes hold, it’s broken as he suddenly lets go of your chin and steps back, casually pursing his lips and nodding to himself, coming to some unknown decision in his head, “Meet me in Bodleian, tomorrow at five. There’s hardly anyone up on the third floor on the weekends, so we'll be able to focus.” He says simply, turning on his heel to leave without even giving you a second to answer.

“But I’m bus–”

“D’you want a good grade or do you want to go get drunk with your creepy gremlin friends?” He asks, peering over his shoulder as he saunters down the hallway, raising an eyebrow at you over the shiny gold rim of his glasses, “S’your call, love.” He finishes with a shrug, disappearing as he turns a corner and leaves you standing there alone, frowning and dumbstruck. 

“Bodleian at five it is,” you mutter to yourself, sighing as you turn and walk the opposite way, desperately trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach and the fog in your brain. 

Your shoes tap against the stone pavement as you walk up to the old library, backpack slung over one shoulder; reaching into a pocket of your backpack, you blindly grab for your phone as you pull open one of the heavy, old wooden doors and step into the atrium. Out of all of Oxford’s libraries, you had to admit that Bodleian was one of your favorites; it had such a soothing atmosphere – from the way the evening light trickled in through the old glass windows, to the intricate wooden decor, and the way the entire place smelled of the old, well-loved books that lined the countless rows of shelves. 

Stepping to the side of the entryway, you check the time, your hand shaking a bit as you unlock your phone – 4:53pm, a little early, still. Sighing, you crane your head, nervously looking for Michael. Not seeing him, you decide to bide your time examining one of the tall bookshelves near the entrance, eyes skimming over their titles as you fiddle with the strings of the hoodie you’d decided to wear. Smiling, you lean up on your tiptoes to grab a copy of The Two Towers, happy to see a familiar book. Just as your fingers graze over the embossed gold lettering on the spine of the book, a large pair of hands grab you by the shoulders.

“Boo!” Someone whispers, close enough that you feel the warmth of their breath on the side of your neck. 

You spin around with a small shriek, jerking your head to the side when a hand is suddenly clasped over your mouth.

“Shh! Hey, relax!” Finally managing to focus on the face in front of you, your breathing slows as your gaze meets a pair of round blue eyes. Michael’s face is only inches from yours, concern evident, even behind the mask of a smirk he wears. “It’s only me.” He says softly, smirk softening into a genuine smile that sends a frantic tingle down your spine, which you desperately try to ignore as you nod against his hand, gasping in a small breath as it lowers once again to rest on your shoulder. 

“Hi.” Blinking up at him, you breathe the word more so than say it as you settle back on your feet, cheeks flushing as you realize he has his other arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you forward ever so slightly, like he wanted to make sure your head didn’t hit the sharp edge of one of the shelves; the voice in your head purrs as the butterflies in your stomach summersalt. 

“Hi.” He answers and you feel the hand on your shoulder twitch, the ghost of a comforting squeeze or rub causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end as some strange, warm weight settles in the pit of your stomach. 

Suddenly, whatever spell the two of you seemed to be under broke and you quickly clambered away from one another. Michael cleared his throat, running a hand through his wheat colored hair as you tugged at the sleeves of your hoodie, trying to look anywhere but in his direction. “Should we–” He starts suddenly, nodding his head to a staircase at the other end of the room, “It’ll be quieter up there.”

“Sure!” You chirp, giving him a curt nod, “Lead the way, you seem to know the place better than I do.”

“Well,” he chuckles, keeping his voice low as he moves past you, “S’what happens when you don’t spend all your damn time at weirdo parties.” 

You roll your eyes behind him, huffing as you start following him up the staircase, one of your hands gliding across the smooth, polished wood of the bannister. 

“Sorry.” He says suddenly as you reach the third floor of the library, running a hand through his hair once again as he stands at the top of the staircase. 

“What?” You ask, coming to a stop on the last step and looking up at him, tilting your head to the side as you lean against the handrail. 

“For earlier,” he explains, gesturing for you to follow him as he starts making his way to the back corner of the large, open space, the one furthest from the stairs, “Scaring you, I mean. Didn’t mean to.”

You’re quiet for a moment, following him as the two of you walk past aisle after aisle of towering bookshelves. The area is definitely quieter than the main floor, nearly vacant aside from one or two lone students sitting at the long wooden study tables. It’s calm up here, evening light filtering in through large windows on either end of the long room, casting large shadows on the floor and vaulted ceilings.

Eventually, the two of you come to a stop at a table, the very last in its row, tucked away in a corner. “It’s alright,” you shrug, trying to keep your voice soft in the quiet space as you sit your backpack on the edge of the table, “I don’t know why I’m so jumpy today, maybe the tea from earlier.” You lie, hopefully smoothly, and quickly grab a pen and notebook as well, before sitting down.

Michael huffs to himself as he sits his things out on the table as well, like he’s laughing at a joke you can’t hear, “Maybe it’s all that tension.”

“Wh– tension?” You question, cringing at the urgency in your voice as you pray that he doesn’t pick up on it, shifting in your seat as he pulls out the chair next to you and plops down, completely relaxed as if he owns the place. 

“The stress? That you were meant to be working out at Catton’s?” He gives you an odd look, resting his head against his hand as he leans his elbow on the table, “Couldn’t help but overhear your little conversation yesterday.”

“Oh…” You breathe, a pink haze settling over your cheeks once more as you fidget with your pen, acutely aware of how easily he seems to be able to make you blush. 

The smirk on his face widens as he narrows his eyes, studying you in a way that makes your heart squeeze, your thighs clenching together as that heady weight from earlier makes itself known again in your stomach, “You can’t keep one thought in that head, can you, love?”

You blink, unsure of what to say, as two halves of your brain argue with one another. Why is he so mean? You wonder to yourself, eyes searching his, as you frown, And…God, why do I like it?

“Why don’t you like me?” You ask, finally breaking the silence with your small voice. 

He scoffs again, shaking his head as if the answer should be obvious to you, “You don’t take it seriously. You come to class and whisper and gossip with your damn friend or doodle in your little notebook, but you don’t fucking listen.” He sits back up, frowning, “I work hard every fucking day in there, for fuck’s sake, I only agreed to help you because I want to be Davies’s teaching assistant next year! Yet you and Catton and everyone like you can just pay their way in here, collecting a little diploma from Oxford just so their parents can brag about it with their stupid fucking rich friends.” He finally finishes, turning his head to stare out the window. 

“Told you, I’m not like that,” you whisper after a moment, voice wavering from the tightness in the back of your throat, “I’m here on scholarship, same as you.” 

His eyes flit back to you, his frown deepening, “How did you know ab–”

“Like I’m not going to ask around about the guy tutoring me?”

“Fair enough.” He concedes after a minute. 

Silence settles over the two of you again, like a stalemate, waiting to see who would crack first. Finally, you turn to him with a sigh, nodding to your test paper on the desk, “Can we just get this done? I don’t want to be here any more than you do.”

“Ah, of course,” he nods as he picks up your test, looking over the first incorrect problem, “Catton’s big important party. And you’re stuck here with a loser like me; must really be doing your head in, huh?” 

You want so badly to correct him, to tell him that no, actually, for once, you were kind of excited to not be at one of Felix’s parties. You wanted to tell him that you’d hoped things would be different, maybe if it was just the two of you he would drop the arrogant asshole bit, that you stupidly hoped it was just an act. 

Instead, you bite your lip, determined not to lash out and give him another reason to dislike you, “I don’t think you’re a loser, Michael,” you say, tiredly meeting his gaze, “Can we just focus on this now, please?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, frozen like you’d said something groundbreaking. Finally, he nods his head, almost imperceptibly like he’d come to a decision you weren’t privy to, “Sure,” he says gruffly, grabbing your test and reading over the first incorrect problem, “S’not like I’m the one failing.” He finishes, his voice tight and determined, like he knew it was something he’d regret saying even as the words left his mouth. 

See? You think silently, pointed words aimed at that stupid voice in your head, Told you so.

It’s barely an hour later and you already feel cross-eyed, groaning as Michael flips your test over to the next page and you see you’re only just now halfway done correcting the ones you’d gotten wrong. You hate to admit it to yourself, but his tutoring was helping — problems that you’d hardly been able to finish the first time seem far less daunting as he explains them to you. Even he seems less daunting as the hour goes on; shockingly, he doesn’t make anymore snide comments and you can tell that he genuinely enjoys talking about the subject, patiently helping you through each problem. 

“Can we take a break?” You grumble, laying your head down on top of your textbook. 

“What?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes as he checks his watch, “It’s hardly been an hour and you’re ready to give up?” 

“‘M not giving up,” you mumble, “I just think we could use a little break…” You say hopefully, looking at him with a small smile. When he doesn’t break, holding your gaze with a frown, you sigh, “Just, like, ten minutes, please?” 

You want to groan again when you see that formidable smirk make its home on his lips again, “Say please again.” He commands, his voice low. 

“Huh?” You balk, nearly dropping your phone as you retrieve it from your pocket. 

“Say please again,” he says slowly, his smirk only growing wider as he watches your cheeks redden, “Beg.” 

“W-why?” You question, face burning as you try your damndest to look unbothered by his request. 

He shrugs dismissively, “Makes you squirm,” he answers finally, leaning back in his chair, “I like that.”

“Why?” Your voice is so small you doubt he’d even know you spoke if his eyes weren’t fixed on you. 

He hums, a satisfied noise, like you’ve finally managed to meander into a trap he’d set ages ago, “S’fucking cute,” he huffs out a laugh when he sees your eyes widen, “Makes you blush and act all dumb.” 

You know you should be offended, but you can’t find it within yourself to care, “You think I’m cute?” 

He chuckles, sighing, “That’s what you choose to focus on?” 

“Do you?” 

“Fine, yes.” 

“Please, Michael,” you say suddenly, the words feeling practically punched from your throat, “Please, please can we have a break? Please, only ten minutes?” You beg, breathing hard as you quickly scan the room, shoulders relaxing when you don’t see anyone else sitting at the study tables. 

You see the way his eyes widen behind his glasses, like he can’t believe you actually did it, before they narrow once more, overtaken by a satisfied gleam, “Ten minutes.” He says simply, leaning back in his chair yet again, letting his head flop back, relaxed, and closes his eyes. 

You don’t move for a second, letting your eyes study the side of his face, looking over his sharp jawline and the curve of his nose. After a moment, you look away, deciding to pull out your phone. 

A few minutes go by as you answer a few texts from Louise, telling her that you miss her too and how you wish you were at the party — a lie, though you can’t find it within yourself to care. You busy yourself for a while longer, watching a few people's Instagram stories, the volume on your phone muted as you watch your friends dance under colorful strobe lights, blowing smoke at the camera and clinking drinks together. 

“I meant what I said.” You say finally, laying your phone on the table and picking at one of your cuticles. 

“Hm?” Michael questions, not bothering to open his eyes. 

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” you answer, fidgeting, “I never have. I think you’re…intriguing.”

“Intriguing?” He asks, finally sitting up and looking at you with a questioning stare, “How so?” 

You swallow, tucking your hair behind your ear with a shrug, “You’re smart…you know you’re smart,” you start, voice small and shaky, “I like that.”

“You like that or you like me?” He’s looking at you like a cat playing with a helpless mouse, looking at you like he knows he’s already won a game you don’t even know the two of you are playing. 

“You.” It comes out as a breath. 

He doesn’t answer and eventually you look away from him, choosing to stare out the window at the streetlights outside, the sky dark. 

Finally, the silence becomes overbearing and you break first again, “Thank you,” you smile at him, keeping your voice low even though you know the rest of the floor is vacant, even though the noise of the floors below has drastically faded over the last hour, “For helping me, I mean. You probably have a dozen things you’d rather do on a Saturday.” 

He stays quiet for a few seconds, “I didn’t really have anything better to do,” he smirks, “No parties.” 

“None?” 

“Never,” he shakes his head, shrugging, “Don’t get invited.” 

“Oh,” you answer simply, “Well, still, either way, thank you.” You smile again, but it falters when he leans forward suddenly, crowding into your space with a sly grin, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. 

“I know a way you could repay me, love,” he whispers lowly into your ear, your hair standing on end, “Only if you want to, of course.” He adds, his long fingers toying with a strand of your hair. 

Your eyes grow comically wide as you process what he just said, “H-how do you want me to repay you?” You whisper, your eyes finally meeting his. 

He laughs softly, letting go of the strand of your hair to rest his hand lightly against the side of your face, his thumb skimming over your cheek as he watches a rosy hue settle across it, “I can think,�� he starts, thumb moving lower to skate across your bottom lip, slightly tugging the skin with it, “Of one very fucking good way to put this mouth to use, love.” 

You part your lips slightly, letting the tip of his thumb into your mouth, just barely holding it between your teeth as you lightly run your tongue over it, heart skipping a beat at the way his lips just barely part in shock as you do. The voice in your head purrs again, roaring back to life, and you nod, smiling around his finger. 

“Yeah?” He questions, smirking as he watches your lips twitch around his thumb, “”Y’wanna?”

“Yes.” You reply around his thumb, your hands coming up to hold onto his forearm, the fabric of his rust colored sweater soft under your hands. 

“Beg.” He commands again, eyes twinkling. 

You take in a breath, eyes slipping shut as your thighs clench around nothing – missing the way Michael glances down at the movement, a knowing grin forming on his face, “Please, Michael.” You practically whine. 

“Ooh,” he coos, finally moving his thumb from your mouth, only to trail his hand down your neck, lightly resting it against your throat, “I think you can do better than that, pretty. Open your eyes and damn beg.” 

You follow his orders, a small whimper skirting past your lips at the new pet name as you open your eyes, “Please, Michael, please let me repay you, let me thank you, please.” The words tumble out, your eyes wide and pleading. 

“How’re you planning on doing that, empty headed little thing?” He taunts, the hand around your throat just barely tightening but it’s enough to make you let out a small, desperate whine. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, moving close enough to you that the front of his chest is plastered to your side, his heart beating against your shoulder, “Ask for what you want, beg properly.” His breath fans across the side of your face again, the feeling of his lips brushing over the side of your jaw making you jump. 

“Please, God, Michael,” you whine, squeezing your legs together so hard you’re surprised they haven’t fused together, “P-please let me suck your cock — to thank you, thank you for helping me.” You add quickly, breath shaky as you turn your head to look at him imploringly. 

He chuckles, but he looks pleased as he leans back momentarily, craning his neck to make sure there isn’t anyone around, “Alright, alright, love,” he soothes, coming back to face you, nodding his head to the empty space in front of his hair, below the table, “Not God, but I’ll give you what you want.” He teases.

Your breath catches in your throat as you look down at the floor beneath the desk, then back up at him before nodding, “Yes, sir.” You push yourself off your chair, sliding down beneath the desk. 

“Goddammit,” you hear him groan above you, running his palms over his thighs as he parts them, making room for you, “Keep that up, love, might even give you extra credit.” 

You rest your palms against the tops of his thighs as you move between his legs, getting comfortable on your knees, the old wooden floor cool against your skin, even through your black leggings. Finally, your eyes settle on the sizable bulge, covered by his dark jeans, and you can’t help the small whine that leaves your lips. Slowly, you move your hands up to the button of his pants, quickly popping it open and dragging the zipper down, smiling when Michael sighs above you as he pulls his sweater up out of the way, exposing the pale skin of his stomach. You let your eyes roam over him, warmth settling between your legs as you spot the dusting of light hair that starts beneath his belly button and leads downwards, disappearing under his plaid boxers.

You move closer to him, crowding in between his long legs, as you hook your fingers over the tops of his boxers, before finally looking up at him, “Can I…?” You ask, nodding to where his cock is straining against the fabric. 

“Don’t be shy now, princess,” he groans, running a hand through your hair as he stares down at you, “Get on with it.”

You keep your eyes on his as you pull his boxers down, just enough to free his cock, watching the way his chest heaves as he lets out another relieved sigh. Finally, you tear your gaze away from his as you look at his cock, gasping in a breath as you do. As far as dicks go, Michaels is impressive, beautiful even – long and thick with veins running up the underside, leading up to a flushed, leaking tip. 

You take him in your hand tentatively, squeezing him lightly around the base, your confidence growing when he grunts, breathing heavier. Finally, you lightly lick the tip, eyes sliding closed at the pleasant, salty taste of his pre-cum. You take the tip of him in your mouth, humming around him when his fingers tighten in your hair, lightly pushing on the back of your head, silently urging you to take more of him. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he roughly groans, managing to keep his voice low, “Knew that pretty fucking mouth was good for something.” He moves his hips, impatiently thrusting his cock an inch deeper into your mouth, breathily cursing under his breath. 

You start bobbing your head up and down over his length, taking more and more of him into your mouth, more of his pre-cum leaking onto your tongue as you feel his dick throb and twitch in your hand. After a moment, you take a deep breath through your nose and remove your hand, resting it on his thigh, as you take him all the way to the base, your nose nestled in the short patch of hair there as you breathe in his heady scent, your eyes glazing over as you savor the feeling of him at the back of your throat. 

“Jesus!” He grunts, louder than he meant to, keeping your head in place as he thrusts his hips up again, keeping you in place at the base of his cock, “Fuck, that’s it,” he praised lowly, your center throbbing, no doubt leaking onto the fabric of your leggings, “Look at me, wanna see your eyes while I fuck your throat.”

You whine, desperately blinking back tears as you look up at him, trying to keep your breathing even. You hold his gaze as you stick your tongue out, licking lower, down toward his balls, relishing the way his eyes roll back as you do, stomach muscles twitching as he continues thrusting his hips up into your mouth, soaking his boxers and jeans with your spit. 

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he groans, looking down at you, his eyelids heavy, “God, yeah, cry on my cock love. Fuck, you look so pretty crying on my cock.” He mumbles, talking to himself more so than you. 

His words send a shiver down your spine, adding to the heat in your center, and you whimper when he finally moves his hand from the back of your head, allowing you to come up for air. You do, with a gasp, thin strings of spit connecting your reddened lips with the flushed head of his cock. You keep your eyes on his as you wrap your lips around him once more, running your tongue along the thick vein on the underside before sucking at the swollen tip, relishing the way it makes him clench his jaw and gasp through his teeth as you stroke the rest of him with your hand. 

Above you, he smirks again, gently running his hand through your hair but making no move to press your head down again. He cocks his head to the side, studying you, grinning at the far-off, foggy look in your eyes, “Not a thought in that pretty head, is there?” He asks, bringing his hand down and gently patting your cheek; the ghost of a slap making your thighs clench, making your head dizzy with need. 

You nod around him, moving your head up and down along his length. You feel yourself throbbing with need, pulsing with heat; almost automatically, your hand starts to wander, a small sigh escaping you as your hand presses against your center through your leggings. You feel a warmth settle across your cheeks again as you feel your own wetness, leaking through the fabric just as you’d suspected. You whimper as you press down again, your eyes falling shut as you let your hips grind against your fingers, the wet fabric creating a delicious friction against your clit. 

Which you get to feel for all of five seconds before Michael is suddenly yanking your head from his length, causing you to yelp as he tugs your hair. “Did I say you could touch your cunt?” 

“N-no,” you whine pathetically, eyes watering from the harsh hold he has on your hair, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t think—“ You try to explain, only for him to cut you off with another harsh tug, making you mewl. 

“That’s a pattern with you, isn’t it?” He asks, looking at you with a condescending smirk, studying you again, “You were being such a good girl earlier, what happened? Hm?” He questions, pushing his chair back enough to pull you out from under the table. 

You get to your feet, suddenly feeling shy in front of him once again despite having his cock in your mouth mere moments ago. “I…got distracted.” You answer finally. 

“I got distracted….who?” He asks, looking up at you expectantly over the rims of his glasses. 

“I got distracted, sir,” you quickly correct yourself, eyes frantically scanning the still vacant floor of the library, “I’m sorry.”

“That’s much better, love,” he drawls, placing his hands on your hips, “Now, what could’ve been so fucking distracting, huh?” He starts moving his hands, slowly, toward your center, still looking up at you, his eyes questioning. You nod your head, just barely but enough for him to understand, and any hesitancy from him quickly disappeared. “Could it be this, I wonder?” He questions sardonically, suddenly cupping your heat in his large hand, the warmth of it nearly making your knees buckle, even through the thin fabric of your leggings. He hums, the sound low in his chest, when he feels how much you’ve soaked the fabric, 

“Oh,” you whimper, grabbing at his shoulders to keep yourself balanced as his fingers continue to tease you, rubbing circles into your clit, “Oh my God, fuck.”

“Christ,” he breathes, staring up at you with dark eyes, “So fucking wet, love, holy hell. Did you get this way just from sucking my cock?”

“Yeah,” you whine, nodding your head desperately as you try to swallow all the small noises you want to make in your throat, your hips rutting against his hand, “Please, sir!”

“Oh, so now that dumb brain has no trouble remembering damn instructions, huh?” He taunts, a wicked grin on his face as his fingers rub your clit in smaller, harsher circles, making you see stars, “Need your wet little cunt played with to be able to do as you're told?”

You nod your head frantically, tears nearly spilling from your eyes at the zaps of pleasure radiating from you, your walls clenching around nothing. Just as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, he stops, jerking his hand away from you with a knowing chuckle, “W-what?” You question, eyes blinking open, “I was so close!” You whine, nearly stamping your foot on the floor like a petulant child. 

“Told you,” Michael shrugs, pulling you to sit in his lap, your back against his chest as he wraps his arms around you. His breath tickles the side of your neck and face when he speaks again, “You’re so fun to tease, love, can’t help myself.”

You wiggle in his grasp, making him groan as your ass grinds against his hard length, desperately trying to get your hands free to touch your pussy again, nearly out of your mind with need. “P-please, sir, please touch me!” You finally gasp out, knowing he won’t give in until you do.

“Now there’s a good girl,” he says, voice pleased and cocky as he plants kisses along the side of your neck, “Since you asked so nicely…” He says, letting go of one of your arms, letting you grasp the arm still wrapped around you with your hands, as his free hand skirts down your stomach to the top of your leggings, pausing long enough for you to nod again, before he finally touches you. 

You whimper, jerking in his lap at the feel of his warm fingers directly on your heat for the first time, spreading your wet folds with a satisfied hum. His long fingers move down to your entrance, gathering some of the wetness there, “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels, dragging his fingers up to your aching clit, “Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He murmurs in your ear, nipping at the side of your neck and sending tingles down your spine as he starts rubbing tight, wet circles against your bud. 

You tilt your head back, resting it against his shoulder as your chest heaves. A moan leaves your mouth, louder than it should be, and Michaels free hand shoots up, wrapping around your mouth. “Gotta be quiet, love,” he whispers, not slowing down the movement of his fingers in the slightest, “Wouldn’t want someone to interrupt, hm? Make me stop again?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut, whining desperately against his hand as he moves his fingers against you, the coil in your belly winding tighter and tighter. Your whole body lurches atop his, making him suck a breath in through his teeth as you move against his cock, still hard and hot as it presses against your lower back, when he moves his hand lower, plunging two fingers into your tight heat with no warning. “Fuck!” You yelp, muffled against his hand; tears leak from the corners of your eyes as he moves his fingers, scissoring them into you relentlessly as his thumb circles your clit. 

“S’fucking tight,” he mumbles lowly, voice vibrating his chest against your back, “God, you’re tight.” He grunts between clenched teeth, repeatedly crooking his fingers inside you as he fucks his fingers in and out of your heat, letting out small, barely there groans every time your pussy squelches around his fingers as he punches muffled whines and whimpers from you. He crooks his fingers up suddenly in a way that makes you see stars as you writhe on his lap, your knees shooting up off the floor as you attempt to curl up on yourself, “That the spot?” He teases, relentlessly rubbing his fingers against it as his thumb quickens against your clit. He adds a third finger without warning, curling them up against that rough patch inside you as he bites down on your shoulder, muffling his own groan as he feels you clench down on his fingers. 

“You gonna come?” He mumbles, grinning like a cheshire cat when you frantically nod your head, tears leaking onto the hand still wrapped tightly around your mouth. “Open your eyes,” he commands, not stopping his movements, “Want you to watch what I’m doing to you when you fucking cum.”

At the promise of finally getting to come, your eyes shoot open as you pick your head up off his shoulder, looking down the length of your body to where his hand disappears under your leggings. You practically come undone at the sight, watching as his hand moves against you through the dark fabric, maintaining a careful rhythm. “Michael, please!” You whine against his hand, desperately trying to keep your eyes open. 

He chuckles lowly, clearly proud of how quickly he’s been able to reduce you into a begging mess, the sound reverberating off your back. “Fucking come,” he commands, doubling his efforts, “Soak my fucking hand, love.”

The coil in your stomach finally snaps and you sob, eyes snapping shut as your whole body clenches, shaking in his lap, as fireworks burst behind your eyelids. Your entire core clamps down so tight he has to fight to keep his fingers within you, muting the sounds of his groans against your neck and shoulder as he feels your cunt pulse against his fingers. He doesn’t let up, pressing incessantly against that spot within you as you come, until he finally gets what he wants – both of you groaning together, noises muffled, as a stream of fluid seems to erupt from your center, soaking his hand and the inside of your leggings, though you can’t think enough to care at the moment. 

“Goddammit,” he grunts, finally removing his hand from your leggings, running his fingers through your folds one last time just to make you squirm. Suddenly, he’s lifting you off his lap enough to turn you around, maneuvering you to face him. You’re practically boneless in his lap as he lifts you just enough to pull your leggings down over your ass, pressing his bare cock against your still throbbing center when he sets you back down, “Gonna let me fuck you, love? Hm? Want me to make you go dumb around my cock?” 

You nod your head weakly, not bothering to lift it from his shoulder as you straddle his lap. He doesn’t make you beg this time, too desperate to feel your wet heat around him, as he swiftly lifts you up again, just enough to align his length with your entrance. 

Both of you moan as he lets you sit back down, his hard length disappearing into your warmth. He holds the back of your head, pressing your mouth against his neck to muffle your cries; you can feel his jaw clench with the effort of keeping his own muted. He fills you deliciously, thick cock pressed against every part of you, as your clit presses against the small thatch of hair above his length. 

“Fuck,” he huffs, the word hissed between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the way your pussy pulses around his length, the way you desperately mouth and lick at his neck, “God, knew you’d feel good.” 

Somehow, that remark works it’s way through the fog in your brain, “Hm?” you hum against his neck, your hands coming up to tangle in his golden hair, “You thought about me?” You whimper, words whiny and breathy as he rocks you against him, spearing you on his length again and again, head kissing your cervix just enough to knock the air from your lungs every time he lowers you back down. 

He sighs, as if just now realizing what he’d said, and nods, swallowing down a moan before he speaks, “‘Course I did,” he admits, grinding you down against him, his hips pressed against yours. “Looked so damn pretty in class,” he continues, “So cute all, fuck, all flushed and embarrassed every time you got asked a question.” 

His admission makes you clench around him, heat flooding through your system as you process what he’d said. Your clit grinds against his body again, just as the head of his cock brushes against that spot in your center, and it’s like your brain has been whited out, all you can do is mewl against his neck as he rocks you up and down along his cock. 

“Fuck, I feel this sweet cunt getting tight, love,” he says, breathing heavily as he gets closer to his own release, “Y’gonna come?” 

“Yes!” You whimper, voice high-pitched and broken as you nod frantically against the skin of his neck, now wet with your spit and tears as you rock yourself against him, moving your clit against the hair at the base of his cock. 

“Hold it,” he commands softly, more breathing than speaking. He chuckles when he hears you whine, loving the way you mewl for him like a soft little kitten, and the hand still holding your head against him strokes your hair, soothing you. “Want us to come together,” he huffs, cursing under his breath as he feels you grow somehow tighter around him, “Fuck, I’m close just hold on.” The hand on your hip tightens, grinding you tightly against him, groaning as he feels your center milking his cock, your walls clenching around him desperately. 

“F-fuck, Michael,” you whine, breath hot against the column of his throat as you feel yourself tipping over, “Please! Please I can’t hold it, please!” You beg beautifully, weeping against his skin, trying so hard to keep it down to a whisper so you don’t draw attention, not this close to your release. 

“Where, fuck,” he curses, pulling your head up to look in your eyes, the blue in his nearly swallowed by blackness, “Tell me where.” He pants, his voice urgent.

“Inside me!” You breathe, cunt clenching around him as you feel him twitch inside you.

He groans, forehead resting against your shoulder for a second as he tries to maintain control, both of his hands gripping your ass hard enough to leave bruises, “Are you s–”

“Yes!” You nod, resting your forehead against his when he picks his head back up, “‘M on the pill.” You reassure him as you keep nodding. The two of you move together for a few more seconds, wildly grinding together, before the coil in your stomach is finally wound too tight, “Michael, oh, fuck!”

“Fuck,” he gasps, seeming to get somehow thicker inside you, “Come for daddy, fuck, be good and come.” He commands, his own voice low and frenzied.

Hearing him call himself that does you in, and you shatter around him, walls gripping him tightly. You open your mouth, unable to control a loud moan, which he quickly hushes by pressing his lips against yours, licking into your mouth as he thrusts up into your center harshly a few times, each rise of his hips accompanied by a grunt into your waiting mouth as you mewl at the heat of his cum filling you up, extending your own release. 

The two of you stay quiet for a moment, breathing heavily as you sweetly kiss, tiredly pressing your lips together. Finally, you pull away from him giggling shyly when you meet his eyes, blushing as you feel his length slowly softening inside you. “Getting shy on me now?” He teases, smiling at you as he gently plays with your hair. 

You smile back at him for a second before suddenly coming to your senses and remembering where you are, “Shit,” you whisper, hopping up off his lap, “I cannot believe we just did that!” You quickly scan the floor with wide eyes, shoulders visibly relaxing when you still don’t see anyone.

“Wasn’t in my plan,” Michael starts, tucking his member back into his boxers and zipping up his jeans, “But I’m certainly not complaining.” He finishes, smirking at you before standing. He leans down, helping you pull up your leggings. He doesn’t miss the way you grimace when the damp, now unpleasantly cool, fabric presses against you. “Sorry,” he apologizes, gesturing to them, “I should’ve…controlled myself better with that one.” He finishes, awkwardly scratching at his chin. 

You laugh quietly, trying to play it off although you’re dreading the half hour train ride back to your flat. That feeling doubles when you look down, eyes widening as you see the dark patch around your crotch, hardly visible on the dark fabric but enough that it makes you nervous, “Getting home is gonna be fun.” You joke, turning to begin gathering your things. 

You’ve gotten your textbook put back into your backpack when you feel a tap on your shoulder; turning your head, you look wide-eyed when you see him sheepishly smiling at you, holding his red sweater out as he stands in a band t-shirt, “Here,” he says softly, waving the sweater at you, “You need it more than I do and it’s my fucking fault anyway.”

You blush, taking the sweater from him with a small thank you, tying it around your waist as he busies himself with picking up his things, before putting the rest of yours into your backpack as well, “Oh, you didn’t have to do that!” You tell him as you finish situating his sweater around you, satisfied that the stain is covered.

He huffs out a laugh, “You sucked my cock on the floor of a library,” he jokes, eyes sparkling with mischief yet again, “S’the least I could do.” 

You laugh, playfully shoving at his shoulder as you put your backpack on. The floor is truly, blessedly, empty as the two of you leave and walk downstairs, not seeing anyone on the second floor either and only a few stragglers on the main floor at this hour on a Saturday evening. He pushes open one of the heavy wooden doors at the entrance, holding it open for you as you duck under his arm. The door thuds closed behind you as you both stand outside the library, the air cold now that the sun’s gone down. 

“I really like them, that band,” you say, nodding to his shirt, “Their last album’s really good.”

“Oh!” He says, eyebrows raising in surprise, “You know them?” He asks, smiling when you nod again, “Their new album is probably my favorite too, actually.” The two of you stand in a comfortable silence for a second later before he notices you shiver as a breeze blows through the stoney courtyard. “D’you live close to campus?”

“Half hour on the train,” you shrug, pulling your phone out to check the time, “I should probably go soon if I’m gonna catch the next one…”

“You could come to mine?” He asks, his voice hopeful, “It’s only a walk from here, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes?”

Your eyes widen, having not expected his invitation, but you nod nonetheless, “If you’re sure,” he nods, “Then, yeah! That would be great.” You smile, walking beside him as you start heading in the direction of his flat. 

“Would you maybe want to get lunch sometime?” He asks, glancing down at you.

“I would love that,” you smile, your hand brushing against his as you continue down the sidewalk, “I think I might need more tutoring, too…”

His hand catches yours, your fingers intertwining as he smirks, “Will you suck my cock every time?” He teases, grinning as you laugh, the sound echoing off the buildings and filtering into the night air. 

Told you so. The voice in the back of your mind echos as you lean your head on Michael’s shoulder.

tagged lovelies: @schniiipsel @arcielee @darlingofvalyria @aemshaircare @imaegontatgaryenwife0 @valeskafics @beautbuck @watercolorskyy @marysucks-blog @fan-goddess @drakonflames @helloworldiamnotarobot

(tags are based on your answers to my google form; if you were mistakenly tagged, please contact me & update your answers on the form! thank you!)

[jazjelspen]

scarlet and silver lining

(alastor w/ daughter reader)

(fem reader/notproofread!/apologies for anything ooc still trying to get used to writing fics again lol/possible part 1 after the epilogue)

[Prologue]

You never truly got along with your 'father', not even in life until the passing of his mother.. your grandmother.

Technically she wasn't exactly your grandmother, and Alastor wasn't your father.. at least not by blood but by adoption papers. Poor Nana, she just wanted a little grandbaby running around the house before her days started getting counted down.

Alastor knowing that he didn't want to go through the trouble of finding a wife nor did he want to deal with the issues that came with that let alone the process to conceive a kid, with a heart full yet a hesitant hand he then signed your papers.. adopted you for the kind old woman at the age of six.

Orphaned by your parents sudden passing, you never truly found out why or how they died. Only thing you knew was that it was sudden, unprovoked, unasked for. They were healthy yet from what you could hear from the cops that took you from your empty home was that there was blood, lots of it.

With no family to take care of poor little you, you got thrown in an orphanage and stayed there hoping to be rescued and loved someday.

Till one day a man with a large smile and clean-cut clothes walked in with a gentle old lady, both talking to one of the adults in charge of the place. Eventually while touring the building they managed to find you hidden in a corner reading a picture book, reading about a baby deer finding his way in the world without his mother, this intrigued the lady and she started to speak to you.

No matter how much the man tried to get the lady to start moving to look at more options she was so stuck to you, your innocent and your little voice attempting to use big words entranced her poor heart and in that moment she just knew you had to be her granddaughter. After she said the word, the adult responsible led them to talk more and sign papers and the rest is history.

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That was all you were willing to think far into when it came to your past, not wanting to remember what once was before falling into Hell.

You died around the 1940s, you followed in your fathers footsteps and created your own radio show before you died and being the daughter of Alastor in life had it's perks when he was famous in your home of New Orleans.

Although, you kept your secret deep in the ground when it came to your connection to Alastor. No way in hell would anyone know he was your adoptive father, you knew it'd only make you an even bigger target.

Especially to Vox, your boss and the demon that owned your soul.

Also the man that hated your father with his guts, but of course he didn't need to know any of that.

Your contract with him allowed you to be on his show, have a segment of it, get the royalties from it and be under his protection and his roof, in exchange you do any job he asks you to do no matter how hard or long it gets.

God did you hate transitioning from radio to TV, you were never fond of those color video boxes.. they lacked personality and were shallow in the content they produced. but hey, you needed to survive in hell somehow so why not just throw your soul to this TV guy to stay safe from the exterminations and other ruthless sinners.

You died around the time when the Radio Demon was barley getting the word out and showing his true power, the day you recognized his voice and heard his name blasted everywhere was when you knew he was worser than you thought, you didn't think he was this much of a sadist in life.. he must've hid it incredibly well from you then.

And you hated him for that.

Hated him for killing innocents, his sadistic tendencies, his power, his smile, his singing and his lies. His lies that he was your kind ol' dad that would do nothing wrong.

God.

But here you were now in present time being forced to be at the Hazbin Hotel by Vox.

Your hand currently leaning over to knock on the door ready to knock. You'd be warned that Alastor was here, and were warn to be more careful with your words and actions considering how badly Sir Pencious messed up before. This time bringing no technology with you but your head, memory, and a few things to sleep a few nights at this establishment. You were told that you would get more royalties and more perks like even getting your own show to rule over completely if you succeeded in this mission.. and god did you need your own place and studio so that Valentino didn't bother you any longer.

Your lips parted to let out a shaky sigh, a sweat bead running down your forehead down to the side of your face.

'c'mon ____, keep it together will ya?..' your thoughts scolded at you,

Your free hand wiped it away before finally knocking on the door of the hotel, hands shaky and your practiced smile of years

The door opening and being met with the princess of hell, Charlie Morningstar.

You could've sworn you felt the red eyes of a certain radio demon stare at you full force behind the princess's back.

Charlie gasped, seemingly more than ever excited to see someone new.

Your lips parted and started to move, you thoughts racing as you could feel more people stare from behind the royal.

You knew you'd regret doing this mission, Alastor being involved in it should've kept you away..

but if there was a chance to either get a solution to fully get away from the V's or to benefit from them if you did all this right, then so be it.

"Hello.. you must be Charlie right.. My name is ______ and I heard you are redeeming sinners? Your highness, I believe in your cause.. please help me relieve myself of my sins."

Your hands went from holding your luggage to clasping together with a face full of worry and a need to get better. Even you were unsure if you meant what you said, but you just knew that you knew what you had to do no matter what.. you would benefit from this somehow.

"Please, let me redeem yourself in your Hazbin Hotel, Princess Morningstar."

(hello readers!! thank you so much for taking a look at this epilogue of a possible new pic series! I actually made this fanfic almost three years ago on quotev but I want to bring it to life in a different fashion and new writing, so I hope you can stick around till the end of this series!!)