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bonny-kookoo · 3 months

Text

Jungkook

YEARNING || Intro

Some meetings are nothing but fleeting coincidence- others are what we call fate.

Tags/Warnings: Dragonblood!Prince!Jungkook, Human!Reader, Angst, Some fluff if you squint?, Jungkook is emotionally constipated oops

Length: 4.8k Words

-> Masterlist

There is no taglist for this fic.

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It’s been a long time since you’ve been put in your cell, and yet, you don’t provide the castle guards with any answers they might seek.

The straw pinches and picks at your skin, but it’s warm and soft whenever you sleep. The food you receive is barely enough to fill you, but it keeps you alive, and gives you something to do during the day. The only sunlight you get is from a small, barred up opening far up on the back wall of your cell- one of many, placed in rows, but always with a wall in between each cage to separate the prisoners. Isolate them.

Today, it’s raining.

Two guards enter the hall underground you’re in, opening your cell. “looks like you’ll get a shower.” One chuckles, before he puts the shackles around your wrists, tugging you out by the chain that connects them to one another. This is also not new. Sometimes, they’ll put you out in the snow, or the wind, or today- the rain.

But you’ve got nothing to say.

The light stings your eyes as you can hardly see, stumbling more than walking after the guard who chains your hands to a large, wooden construct meant to hold onto the chain from your shackles. “Maybe it’ll wash the grime off.” The guard jokes to the one next to him, before he leaves your already shivering body behind.

As your eyes adjust to the brightness, you look up- finally able to see the flying dragons above clearly, their wings keeping them circling in the skies, colors mixing.

This is why you’re here.

Dragons are seen as dangerous, wild and violent creatures that humanity needs to be protected from. Therefore, dragon eggs and nests need to be reported, and any sightings too- so when you failed to do so, and even offered a once injured beast shelter, you’ve made yourself an enemy to the kingdom.

Especially because you refuse to reveal where it went after you’ve nursed it back to health.

And you will continue to stay quiet, because you know that dragons aren’t the vile beings they’re made out to be. No- the real beasts are the humans here, who enslave their own people just for choosing to help an injured creature that’s not of the same kind.

This isn’t fair.

And if that is what life is all about- you don’t want it.

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They throw a young man into the cell right next to yours, where you’re still laying on the floor, still recovering from the rain and cold from yesterday.

He can’t be just a normal human being- the jewelry he still wears on his face and ears distinctive, just like the ink beneath his skin. He’s probably one of the dragonblood people.

He watches you for a good while, before he actually speaks, quietly so. “what did you do?” He asks, and your eyes look at him from where you’re laying on the floor near the hay.

“…I hid a dragon from the kingdom.” You answer just as quietly, eyes closing again.

“Why?” the young man asks.

“Because it.. was hurt.” You simply offer the truth.

“Did they survive?” He questions further, and you nod, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Can you hear them?” the man asks, but you shake your head.

“I’m not one of them.” You answer. “I’m just.. human.” You tell him, and he falls quiet again.

Having nothing more to say.

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Today, they’ve taken you both out again. Him in the cage, you chained up near him, hands bound by shackles attached to a wooden post.

It’s nighttime, and they’ve not yet taken you back inside like usual.

“You cannot hear them..” Comes a voice from the side, the young man turned towards you, the fire of a nearby torch reflecting off of his dark eyes. You nod- he’s most likely been imprisoned for a reason regarding dragons as well. “and yet you helped them?”

You shrug, which is barely noticeable amongst your shaking body. “..it felt unfair t-to leave it and l-let it be captured.” You admit to him. “E-everything was fine.” You say, and he just watches you, only a few larger dragons now left in the skies above. “but- b-but then I fought with my brother. And so he wrote a letter t-to the court.” You giggle, remembering the poor writing of his. Frankly, you couldn’t write at all- but still. For someone who thinks so highly of himself such as your brother, he sure lacks in every task and talent.

“What did you fight about?” the young man wonders.

“H-he had told me I had t-to leave the house we inherited from our p-parents, because he’d found a potential woman for himself.” You say. “A-and I told him to at least let me stay in the c-cabin close by.” You explain, voice stammering due to the cold. “He said I couldn’t. So we fought. Because.. I had nowhere else to go.” You admit. “I was scared.”

The young man is silent at that.

“can you hear them?” You ask, eyes closed as you hear his own chains move around with him as he adjusts his sitting position.

“I can.” He tells you, and you smile.

“Do you think they know?” You wonder, an open question he interprets as you asking if they know of your past actions for them. “maybe t-that’s why they’re above..” you figure, and it’s quiet for a moment.

“They know.” He tells you, and you nod, accepting that answer. He’s most likely just trying to comfort you, and you appreciate that. Your shivering slowly stops, and you know it’s not a good sign.

“I’m glad.” You say to him, tension leaving your body as you open your eyes again- surprised to see him look at you still, but his gaze doesn’t unsettle you like it does the guards. Maybe because to you, he’s an equal. He’s just as much in this situation as you are.

“Hold on a bit longer.” He says, and you’re not sure what he means by that- when suddenly, something crashes down, sky darkening as it fills with dragons, fire filling up the ground for a moment as one of them shields the young man from the guards approaching. He’s saying something, you’re not sure what- as his cage is torn and bent apart, steel unable to hold it’s shape against the claws of the beasts claiming the skies and mountains as theirs.

A dark brown dragon approaches you, bites at the chains of your shackles, before they break and have you released- body falling to the wet ground, where it is picked up by hands to be placed on the back of the beast.

You’re not very aware what happens. You just feel cold- and oddly warm, all at the same time.

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When you wake up, you’re warm- and also, not alone.

There’s multiple little.. animals? All laying on the blankets that cover you- and as you look closer, you realize they’re young dragons. “Oh, you’re awake.” A man says, noticing your opened eyes. “I was worried you might need more time. My name is Seokjin.” He offers, before adjusting a pillow. “You’re.. somewhere safe. That’s all you need to know for now.” He kindly offers, when the door opens.

“Oh, she’s up.” The other man says, politely nodding towards you. “I’ll tell the kitchen that she’ll eat too?” He asks, and Seokjin nods.

“But only some soup for now, the same as the others we took in.” He explains. “and yes, that includes Jungkook. Make sure he doesn’t steal anything from the kitchen.” He says, as the man chuckles and leaves. “That was Taehyung, by the way. He’s mainly responsible for the young hatchlings- but he’s also in charge of handling the new Hiwerns we took in.”

“…Hiwern?” You wonder, and Seokjin nods.

“yes. Hiwerns- are you not one?” he wonders as be helps you sit up. “Jungkook didn’t tell us much about you, so I assumed you were- despite you being rather.. small.” He says, and only now do you notice how tall he is.

“Jungkook?” you ask, unsure. “the.. other prisoner?” You ask, and Seokjin smiles.

“Yes. He was taken after he got caught off guard.. but we all know what the prince is like.” He laughs, making your eyes widen. “Wait.. you.. seem confused.”

“I am.” You say. “I’m not.. I don’t know anything about a.. prince?” You question, when someone walks in-

The man you remember.

“Jin, why do I need to keep eating soup- oh.” He notices, looking at you before his face becomes more gentle. “Hello. It’s good to see you up.”

“She’s a bit confused.” Seokjin says, as Jungkook nods.

“I figured.” He simply sighs. “I’ll talk to you later. I’d like to talk to her alone right now.” He requests, and Seokjin leaves, while Jungkook stays behind to sit on the edge of your bed.

He looks different. Skin clean, and dressed in clearly well made clothes- fit for a prince, like Seokjin had mentioned. “ask away. You must have many questions judging by the way you look.” Jungkook says, and you look to the little dragon hatchling that curls up near your legs, continuing to sleep.

“Hiwern.” You begin. “What.. is that?” You wonder.

“I’m a Hiwern. So is he, and almost everyone else here.” He simply replies. “Hiwerns are.. people who have dragon blood inside of them. We’re like.. descendants of the more traditional dragons, so to say. That’s why we can hear them, and speak their language.” He offers as an explanation. “that’s a very simplified version of it all. But you don’t need to know much more than that.” Jungkook says.

“…and you’re a prince?” You ask a bit more hesitant, and he nods.

“I am. At least, for the Hiwern people.” He shrugs. “for your people I’m nothing more than a monster.” He says, and you shamefully look down.

“What.. what is going to happen to me?” You wonder, and he just smiles as he gets up, hissing a bit probably due to his injuries he sustained while captured.

“You’ll heal. After that, we’ll bring you back to your people.” He reassures you, as he opens the door to let Seokjin back inside-

Leaving you with a dark wish to never heal at all.

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The snow is deep, as you and Jungkook walk through the woods in the mountains together.

You’re humming a song that catches his attention, making him turn to look at you over his shoulder. “how do you know this song?” He questions.

“My mother hummed it often. I just.. picked it up.” You answer a bit hesitant. “I can stop if you want..” you say, but he shakes his head.

“its no problem.” He answers. “your voice is.. soothing to listen to.”

“What is.. the song about?” You ask, awkwardly asking your questions because you don’t want to overstep a line- but this is a unique opportunity to satisfy some curiosity you’ve always had.

“The song of the daughter.” He answers. “it’s.. a tale of the first Hiwern daughter of the mountains.” Jungkook explains. “according to.. tales, there were once four daughters born from a dragon mother. One in the mountains, one near the sea, one in the desert, and one in the woods.” He recites. “and they gave their gift of dragonblood to their children, and so on. That’s how.. we apparently came to be. Sons and daughter’s born and travelled, and we eventually formed our own society.” He shrugs.

“So.. there’s Hiwerns all over the world?” You ask, and he nods.

“But since the royal families have made the act of dragon-speech illegal, we have been hiding.” He explains. “where is.. your family?” Jungkook asks as he walks further down the mountains with you.

“My mother was hung a few years ago, for.. the same thing I was supposed to be hung for.” You say, walking next to him. “but.. they didn’t hang me, because they wanted me to tell them where the dragon went.” You explain. “so they could find the nest.”

Jungkook stays quiet for a while, before he speaks again. “You said you have a brother?” Jungkook asks, and you nod.

“I was living with him after my mother died. Until.. he sent a letter out that exposed what I’d done.” You say.

“He’s a human too, I assume?” Jungkook wonders, and you nod your head.

“though we are only somewhat blood related. We have the same father, but not the same mother.” You tell him. He nods, quietly, before he walks further.

“this is as far as I’ll take you.” He says, before offering the bag to you. “There’s rations in here, and something to help you on your way.”

“You didn’t have to do that.” You tell him, but he shakes his head.

“take it as.. me repaying the kindness you’ve shown before.” He offers. Under different circumstances, he would’ve let you stay with him- but he can’t simply trust a kind face and gentle hands in times like these.

You’re still human. And humans can’t be trusted.

So you nod your goodbye, quietly, as you walk away from him and towards an uncertain future-

Leaving the prince with a slightly bitter taste on his tongue.

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Jungkook knows what the dragons are doing just a few days after you left- but that doesn’t mean he quite understands their reasons for doing it.

Sure, you’ve helped a young dragon in the past. And sure, you’ve been very sweet to the hatchlings too for the very short time you’ve been here. But why do all dragons seem to have this.. strange interest in you?

“You seem in thought.” Namjoon asks, as he places his books back into their respective spots in his library.

“I am.” Jungkook’s responds, looking out the window. “There’s.. do the dragons seem to be acting.. strange to you?” He asks, and Namjoon turns around to face him.

“..You’re talking about her.” He says, and Jungkook nods.

“They’re not very clear in their reasoning as to why they seem so interested in her.” Jungkook says. “and it’s most certainly neither prey drive nor distrust.”

“Its curiosity.” Namjoon finishes, as he puts another book between two others to keep them all in order. “Maybe because she’s living out in the open. From what I’ve heard, she’s not gone to any villages yet.”

“No.” the prince denies. “they.. almost watch over her.” He shakes his head, arms crossed. “Feann keeps flying over the area she currently resides in. And Gowren apparently keeps her company at night.” He explains, remembering the things he’s heard from the wild dragons of the area. “But they refuse to tell me their reasons as to why.”

“protectiveness. Interesting, considering she’s got no Hiwern blood.” Namjoon agrees with the prince’s suspicion. “they should naturally be wary of her- but if you remember, the hatchlings didn’t mind her either.” He offers.

You definitely spoke the truth when claiming that you were human, that much he knows. So why this interest in you?

“Maybe you could send out someone to check up on her.” Namjoon says. “I know this is making you nervous.”

“I probably have to.” Jungkook agrees. “I don’t want them to become too friendly with a human. The younglings might misunderstand, and lose their natural fear of humans.” He worries, and Namjoon nods.

“How about you send out Hoseok? Yoongi might be human, but he would most likely just intimidate her.” He proposes. “and, Hoseok is faster.”

“You’re right.” Jungkook nods. “thank you.” He nods,

Walking out the library to find the man in question right away.

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“Oh.” You say, spotting Hoseok walking towards you. You’ve seen him before, fleetingly, but you can remember faces well.

“You’ve come fairly far.” The man tells you, before he nods politely, and sets down a small bag of things. “these are sent by Seokjin.” He informs you, and you accept the bag that’s filled with some foods for you to eat, as well as a blanket.

“I- I’ll be out of the area soon, I promise.” You tell Hoseok. “I’m just.. not that fast.”

“There’s no need to rush, really-“ He starts, when suddenly, a young but large dragon clumsily makes its way down to instead almost.. shield you from the man?

“Huh?” you’re caught off guard, and mostly confused.

“This is.. something else.” Hoseok says, before he says something in a language you don’t understand- and you take it as a message to leave, as you slowly get up from your spot, to bury the remnants of the little fire you made, so you don’t draw too much attention to your existence. “where are you going?” Hoseok asks.

“Away.” You answer. “I’m not sure where to.. but I really don’t want to cause any problems for you or anyone else, really.” You explain yourself. “Prince Jungkook gave me the chance to be set free and start over- it would be ungrateful not to take it.” You tell him, and he nods.

It's not his place to question your actions.

And so he makes his way back, returns to the safety of his home and hidden town hidden by the high up mountains, where Namjoon already informs him that the prince wants to hear what he’s found right away.

“She gives her thanks. For the supplies I’ve given her- though I did not reveal the actual sender, like you told me to.” Hoseok says as he sits down with Jungkook, who’s just finished eating in his room.

“..was she well?” He asks, and the older Hiwern nods.

“She seemed fairly good given her situation.” He offers. “she is leaving the area as we speak.”

“I did not tell you to send her away.” Jungkook growls a bit argumentative, and Hoseok shakes his head.

“I know. It’s her choice she made herself.” He instead answers, though it doesn’t seem to pacify the prince very much. “why? She’s right in saying that it is for the best.”

“Id argue against that. Its for our best- but not hers.” Jungkook mumbles, understanding very well that you can’t just waltz back into the human towns as if nothing happened. You’re still wanted after all- and this time they won’t be so lenient, he’s sure of it.

“How come you’re so concerned, yet you sent her away?” Hoseok asks, curious. “We’ve taken Yoongi in, years ago. So it’s not like what she is could be the problem.” He almost teases.

“I don’t know.” Jungkook answers, leaning his chin on his hand. “I don’t.. I’m not sure about her.”

“You’re scared of a human?” the older dragonblood laughs, but the prince just rolls his eyes.

“it’s not fear. But.. uncertainty.” He admits instead. “The dragons are awfully attached. And so is my blood.” He says, referring to his inner dragon. “I’ve been.. dreaming of her.”

“Oh no, I’d rather not know.” Hoseok jokes.

“Trust me, I’d rather have simple desire filled visions than.. whatever it is that’s going on. If it was just sexual dreams I’d at least have a proper explanation as to what I’m supposed to do about it.” Jungkook shakes his head. “But instead, I just.. hear her sing.”

“Sing?” Hoseok wonders, interested.

“Humming, to be precise. The song of the Daughter.” The prince explains. “it keeps echoing in my head, and it’s quite frankly starting to drive me crazy.”

“And you think sending her away will help?” the older man asks without needing an answer. “it’s what you think you need to do, but what you actually need-“ hoseok stands up to place a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “-is an answer.”

“..You’re right.” The prince runs a hand over his face. “I’ll send out someone to find her, and bring her here. I can’t go on like this.” He says with frustration, before getting up to talk to Namjoon.

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Maybe, sending Yoongi was not quite the brightest idea the prince has had.

Because Yoongi notices quickly, that despite being on horseback, there’s no catching you. He’s spotted you already, has called out to you- but just like a freshly hatched dragon youngling, you seem to have an ingrown fear of anything remotely human. And the distrust is also clear, as you do not seem to care about his explanation of being sent by the Hiwern prince himself.

He can’t blame you. A former slave himself, he knows that his own kind is never to be believed.

There’s no arguing with you, as you play a game of hide and seek it seems like, and in a way, it’s almost an exciting change of pace for the usual slow and steady life in the mountains. “Please stop-!” He calls out again as he spots you once more-

But you’re running. And by the dragons above, you’re fast.

His horse is trying to keep up, even through the trees and bushes, but you’re at an advantage as you jump and duck your way left and right, until you find yourself out in the open, a river flowing past in quick motion. You would’ve had to cross it either way. There’s no way around it.

“Don’t do that!” Yoongi warns, well aware of the slippery stones and strong current most likely becoming a death trap if underestimated- and you seem to do just that, as you make your way through, legs soaking up the cold water. “stop- you’ll get hurt!” He calls out once more, but you just glare at him-

A fire equal to a dragon’s breath in your eyes.

And then, you slip, and fall right into the water, making Yoongi lead his horse as fast as it can run next to the riverbed, to keep an eye on you as best as he can- but the moment you seem to lose consciousness, he knows he’s lost.

“fuck!” Yoongi curses, horse refusing to move m as a dragon dives down from above to help- body blocking the river for a moment to catch yours against it, giving Yoongi an opportunity to drag you out and into the nearby grass.

The silvery dragon watches intensely as Yoongi helps you cough up the water swallowed, while others swarm the skies as if they heard the commotion and came to see for themselves. “can you hear me? What hurts?” Yoongi asks, concerned but also annoyed- and you just shiver for the moment, seemingly accepting whatever fate might fall onto you.

The fellow human sighs, before he moves to his horse to fetch a blanket he packs for emergencies- wrapping it around you, before he helps you onto its back to bring you where Jungkook had requested you to.

He's holding onto you with one arm, your body leaning against his front as you sit in front of him. “…how will I die?” You ask with a hoarse voice.

He chuckles. “hopefully not at all.” He answers. “The prince will already scold me enough for having you fall into the river.”

You sleepily watch the dragons above follow hou both- and decide that you believe him.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize.

“no need.” The man denies. “I can understand. And I would’ve been just as wary if I was you.” He offers.

“Why.. do I have to go back?” You wonder. “did I do something wrong?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s nothing bad.” He reassures you, as he’s let through by the guards stationed a good while before the town begins. “you can sleep soon. Hold out a bit longer.” He requests, and you nod, trying hard to do just that.

But just as a concerned looking Hoseok and Seokjin help you down the horse, you can’t stay awake any longer.

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“She’s still asleep.” Seokjin says, as Jungkook stands in front of the door to your room, as he’s been told.

“It is almost noon. I need to see her-“ the prince argues, but the older man shakes his head as he takes the hand from the door.

“She needs to rest first.” He urges.

“Rest?” Jungkook questions. “What happened?”

“According to Yoongi, she was scared and did not believe him when he told her he was sent by your request.” Jin explains. “She ran off, and fell into the river close to the south border of the woods. Qen helped- if she didn’t block the river and catch her, we most likely would’ve lost her.” He says.

Jungkook stares at the door.

“I’d like to see her, still.” He says, unsure why he feels this urge. He really should let you rest, but he at least wants to look at you, for reasons he’s not sure of.

“But do be quiet.” Seokjin sighs, as he opens the door to the room you’re sleeping in, a hatchling having entered from the window, sleeping soundly on your legs.

Jungkook walks in with stealth, not wanting to disturb your rest.

He stays near the door, not walking any closer, and it helps his ache quite a bit already to just see you sleep there. Like his mind if finally reassured again that you’re close by and taken care of, his chest feels lighter, not as constricted as before.

This is wrong.

The signs all point to one simple answer, and he knows it, as does Namjoon, and most likely Seokjin and Hoseok as well. But a connection like that can’t be, isn’t meant to work and shouldn’t be condoned nor explored by himself. You do not belong in his world, and neither does he belong into yours.

He has to fulfill his own blood’s final task, after all- bring a Hiwern child into this world, to keep his people alive for another generation. Something that only a hiwern Mother can do for him, as dragonblood is only given to the child by the mother, not the father.

He would betray his entire kind if he was to give into whatever this sick and twisted joke of nature is.

And he can’t do that, especially not as a prince. He’s got a duty to fulfill, he’s viewed as a leader and example. Anyone else would most likely be looked past- but not him. All eyes are on him, at all times.

He can’t do this.

So he instead makes his way out the door again, to find Namjoon and cut this bond before it can get any tighter.

◇━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━◇

“I do not care.” Jungkook argues, pacing from side to side in front of the window of his study, Namjoon sitting down with a troubled expression on his face. “Yoongis situation is not the same as mine. He will bring a Hiwern child into this world, I will not of I let this happen.” The prince argues.

“You don’t even know if she has any emotional connection to you.” Namjoon tries to explain. “If you would just take some time and-“

“And what? Let this bond grow until we both get hurt when we inevitably have to sever it?” The prince scoffs. “I will not be the reason my kind fails to survive.”

“You’re acting as if we’re on the brink of extinction..” Namjoon tells him. “What are you so scared of?” He worries, and Jungkook falls silent, as he looks outside the window.

“Of setting a wrong example.” He mumbles. “Even if the people accept it, what if it sets off a chain reaction I can’t control? Humans aren’t to be trusted, let alone get close to. The fear we teach our children has to stay intact.”

“And it will. Yoongi still can’t get close to any of the younger-“ Namjoon starts, but Jungkook snaps his head around, still upset.

“And yet she seems to be considered as a surrogate mother for the hatchlings. Namjoon, you’ve seen it too- I don’t know what sick joke they’re playing on me right now, but I can’t let this continue.” The prince says. “she will leave, after we separate the bond. And that’s final.”

“I hope you know that you’re asking a lot of me.” Namjoon lowly says, and Jungkook nods, serious.

“and if you can’t do it,” Jungkook says, before turning around again-

“Then I’ll find someone else who will.”

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#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jungkook x reader

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wonysugar · 6 months

Text

skilled | kim minjeong

synopsis : you always, always did her homework. what changed today?

pairing : bully!winter x nerd!femreader

genre : smut, nothing else, they just fuck very roughly, the end

tags : exhibitionism, they’re seniors, they also fuck in the lockers, before p.e, so they end up skipping oops, lots of manhandling, heavy degradation, fingering, nipple play, cunnilingus

warnings : !!read these before reading!! heavy blackmail, dubcon, recording, minjeong uses the word ‘lesbian’ as an insult, so homophobia? implied studentxteacher relationships

word count : 1.9k

a/n : disclaimer, all of this is fiction and is written for entertainment purposes!! i do not romanticize any of this. if anything similar is happening to you please please PLEASE speak up about it and also DON’T DO THIS TO ANYONE?? PLEASE?? THIS IS HORRIBLE

but on another note, happy belated birthday present @wintersera!! i meant to post this yesterday but uhm! writer’s block was on my ass. anyways i sincerely hope you enjoy it!

also this is not proofread uhm. SORRY,,

“where’s my homework?”

you looked away from minjeong, stupidly blinking at the numerous lockers behind her, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were probably going to die today. to which, she groaned, annoyed.

her smooth hand grabbed your jaw in a swift motion and made you look at her properly, “i don’t have all fucking day y/n, it’s due next period. so, where is it?”

you felt your breathing get heavier by the second, your palms getting sweatier, your mouth suddenly producing more saliva, you knew how bad she got when things didn’t go her way, being a menace to everybody in school definitely got to her head. her poisonous stare piercing right through you as her grip on your jaw got tighter, you gathered up the courage to speak.

“i-i.. i don’t have it.”

..a scoff escapes her mouth, you always had the homework done and ready for her, what suddenly changed today?

“what do you mean you don’t have it? i told you to bring it today, didn’t i?” she responds, a mocking pout plastered on her face as you slightly shook under her touch.

“i didn’t do it, minjeong.” you confessed almost immediately. her eyes widened slightly as her eyebrows were upturned with condescension, surprised by your sudden boldness as she let go of you.

“it’s fine i’ll just- i’ll do it and give it to you after class. it’s about to be pe anyways—“ you added, stuttering and quickly closing your locker, convinced and hopeful that you could take the opportunity to walk away from the whole situation and get to the gym before she could do anything else.

boy, were you wrong.

in what felt like an incredibly short amount of seconds, she violently grabbed your collar and pinned you to the locker with full force, earning a yelp from you.

“who said i was done with you, bitch?” she leaned into you, staring at your visage like you were nothing but mere garbage to her, like laying her precious eyes on you was a chore. she giggled upon seeing your worried expression,

“i think you’re forgetting something, sweetheart. do i need to remind you that this whole arrangement started because i saw you, i watched you getting fingered by our teacher. i mean fuck, i always knew you were a weird desperate fucking lesbian, but our teacher?”

you clenched your jaw,

“i’m not a lesbian.” you snapped, to which she immediately started laughing.

“oh but you seem to be enjoying yourself soo much in that little video i recorded, don’t you think? how she was gripping your hair, how your eyes rolled back like a slut while she pumped her fingers in and out of you. be honest, you were loving it, y/n.” she hummed, then carried on,

“but then again, i might be totally blowing this out of proportion, so i could always show others and ask what they think–“

“goddamnit minjeong pleasepleaseplease don’t do that i’ll do anything i’m serious just– please.” you pleaded, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes now, like they always do when she’s pulling shit like this. if anyone were to find out that you gave your virginity up to your teacher for some grade, you’d be the talk of the entire school.

there you were, the y/n she knew and loved, the y/n who looked like a prey being hunted by its predator, the y/n who would sob so abundantly when she’d hurt you that it almost made her feel bad about it. the y/n that she got off on seeing.

thoroughly enjoying the sight of you shaking like a lost puppy under her, “so, why isn’t the homework done, baby?” she asked you in a mocking concerned voice, wearing a pout, being fully aware and amused by the fact that calling you by that cute and innocent pet name would make you quiver in even more fear.

she usually called you nicknames whenever she was planning to do something really bad.

upon seeing you avoid her gaze in shame, she gripped you tightly and pressed you harder into the locker. she was growing impatient, you knew it.

“i d-didn’t want to do it.” was the only thing you somehow managed to let out.

she stared at you some more, a smirk slowly cracking into place, progressively turning into a full-blown laugh as her grip on your collar loosened, before she let go of it completely once again. it took her a while to compose herself again, because it was just genuinely that hilarious to her.

“take off your clothes.”

what.

“w-what?” you immediately tensed up. thoughts filled with the possibilities of what she could do to you, your mind wandering in the dirtiest of places. you didn’t want to acknowledge it, but you felt insanely, extremely, very weirdly attracted to her.

“god, are you braindead or something? just shut the fuck up and take off your clothes, it’s not that hard. you’re better at being a fuckdoll than doing homework, anyway.” she groaned, snapping you back into reality.

“minjeong, the bell is about to rin-“

before you could even think about finishing your sentence, you felt a pair of lips roughly pressing against yours. letting out a surprised whimper, minjeong forcefully inserted her tongue into your mouth as she took it upon herself to get you out of your clothing, gliding her hands under the graphic tee you wore for your class, reaching for your tits and groping one of them before taking it off.

you quickly pulled away from the kiss, barely processing that it even happened in the first place. you suddenly remembered where you were at that moment, then proceeded to push her hands away.

“fuck - mmh - n-not here?? anybody could walk in and- and-“ you stuttered, completely ignoring the question reoccurring in your mind; why the fuck is she even wanting to do you in the first place?

obviously, as to be expected, she didn’t let you finish. instead, she just settled on grabbing both of your shoulders and turned you around, once again pushing you on the locker so your back would be facing her. you immediately felt your throbbing headache come back from the impact there was something else that was also throbbing, you just didn’t want to think about it.

you were getting ready to say something as you felt her stick her hand into your gym shorts, but she quickly used her other hand to shove two fingers inside your mouth.

“you’re way prettier when you stop talking.” she chuckled, whispering into your ear as she rubbed your embarrassingly wet cunt through the fabric of your underwear, making you whine against her fingers as you’re trying your hardest to be quiet and sucking on them to do so.

“my god baby you’re so wet for me.. and here i was, harassing you everyday, trying to annoy the shit out of you.. turns out you get off from this shit, hm? you probably play with your clit thinking about how mean i am to you all the time.” she sneered, “fucking lesbian.”

how the fuck did she expect you to stay quiet in this situation? the door was very much open, literally anyone could walk in at any moment, you were skipping class whether you liked it or not, and the way she was talking to you was not making it any better for you.

it’s not even like you could cover it up if someone did come in, due to the fact that you were, you know, slightly bent over in front of minjeong, her hands now inside of your shorts and on your clothed boobs as she manipulated your body to her liking.

it didn’t take long before her hands dug under your panties, sliding her middle and ring finger across your slit, feeling your slick immediately coat her digits. once again using her other hand to unhook your bra. your breathing hitched upon feeling her immediately grab ahold of your tit.

minjeong was quick to play with the bud, harshly twisting and pulling while attentively looking at your every move; her piercing gaze on you, observing and watching how your expression twists in one of euphoric pain, a wince whenever she dug her nails into your skin, mixed with a whine as she finally ended up inserting two digits inside you, slowly and gently curling them.

it was a sight to see.

“does my stupid little whore like that?” she asked you, taking in all of your reactions, one by one.

“f-fuck you.” was all you could let out in response, because while she was doing her thing, probably amused seeing you this powerless. you, on the other hand, were paranoid, throwing occasional glances at the door to make sure no one was near.

she chuckled when you threw your head back onto her shoulder, relieved from both nobody being near and the knot that was progressively tying in your stomach. you were getting close, she could feel it from the way your walls clenched around her, or the way your breathing got heavier and profanities started coming out of your mouth as you gripped her skirt tight. it was a myriad of things, really.

and that’s exactly why she completely stopped.

she knew it’d frustrate you to not finish, so she just completely ceased what she was doing. smirking while taking her fingers out of you and letting go of your chest.

“what the fuck??” is what you were gonna say if she wouldn’t have shoved the fingers she used to fuck you into your mouth, fake pout as she watched you. you made sure to glare at her before sucking on them thoroughly, also making sure that you licked them all clean.

“see how good you taste, baby?” she chuckled, taking her fingers out.

“i was close to finishing i was- i was about to cum.” you coldly told her.

she raised a mocking eyebrow, “first you don’t do my homework, now you wanna talk back? and here i was, trying to cut you some slack, fulfilling your weird disgusting fantasies and this how you thank me?”

she kicked on your leg, pushing you down to your knees and raised up her skirt to reveal her black lacy underwear, all in one swift motion.

she let out a theatrical sigh, “you know, you got me really worked up. so here’s what’s gonna happen,” she grabs your hair violently, making you look up at her. she laughed at the scene, at how ridiculous you looked, then continued.

“you’re gonna eat me out until i’m satisfied, got it? you wouldn’t want me to spread that video now, would you, y/n?” she tilted her head slightly, and.. here goes that fake motherfucking pout. oh how you hated seeing her treat you like an inferior.

is what you so desperately wish you could say.

but no, you actually obeyed. you proved her point, you showed her how obedient you can be, and ate her out like it was your last meal on earth.

her quiet moans, her grip on your hair, the grinding of her wet pussy onto your face, the way she was holding her phone and recording you, saying things like “you’re pretty - shit - skilled for someone who supposedly doesn’t like girls.” and “i know you’ve been wanting this, doll. it’s written all over your dumb fucking face when you glare at me.” while stroking your hair, before pulling on it right afterwards.

it was so dehumanizing, and for all you knew, she could use that as new material to blackmail you with next time, but you still did it. it was an indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

you took a mental note that day,

and reminded yourself to never do her homework again.

#kim minjeong #winter aespa #winter aespa smut #aespa winter smut #winter smut #smut #kpop gg #aespa smut #female reader #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong aespa #aespa minjeong #aespa minjeong smut #wlw #winter x female reader #kim minjeong x female reader

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porcelainseashore · 3 months

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Ghosts from the Past (2)

(Part 1 / Part 2: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7)

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: This chapter is a lot more dialogue-heavy to set up the scenes for the next ones. It was originally going to be angstier, but my heart wouldn’t let me. Oops. I hope you still like it though.

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Baptism

Outside the embassy, Leon hailed for a cab to get to the bar. The journey there was in complete awkward silence, except for the occasional question raised by the cab driver, who quizzed you on why you were headed to such an unsavory place. Somehow he could tell that Leon didn’t quite belong and cautioned about certain areas being unsafe for tourists. Leon just snorted in response, while you laughed inwardly at the irony of his cover story, where he was meant to be your American tourist friend embarking on a Eurotrip.

To be honest, it really wasn’t as bad as people made it out to be. Berlin was a smaller city and felt safer than New York. However, you still carried around that Swiss Army knife Leon had won and given to you back in the day wherever you went, just in case. You ran the tip of your finger along its metallic surface in your pocket. The world could be cruel to little girls after all.

As you exited from the cab, you were greeted by a lively, eclectic neighborhood, sprinkled with night markets, kebab and shisha shops, independent art spaces and late night bars. The buildings were noticeably more rundown than Mitte, the district you had traveled from, and the community a lot edgier. With both of you now dressed casually, you had no problem blending into the midnight crowd.

You swung open the doors of an unmarked establishment and found yourselves shrouded in thick wafts of cigarette smoke upon entering. Leon frowned, coughing as he swatted the air in front of him. Even though you were used to smoking being allowed pretty much everywhere in Germany, your eyes still watered as you pressed up against and squeezed past the mass of bodies in the dimly-lit, dingy bar. The smell on your clothes and hair would take days to get rid of later. It was noisy and chaotic, with nearly every inch of the space occupied by chatty, drunk customers, some more boisterous than the others. You were lucky to find a small, rickety table with two precarious-looking stools at the extreme corner of the room.

Setting your coat and day bag down on one of the stools to claim it, you folded your arms, turned to Leon and remarked, “So… an agent, huh?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Whiskey first. Then, we’ll talk.”

You rolled your eyes at his standoffish reply, wondering what his problem was. After all these years where he had led you to assume he was dead, and with the circumstances both of you had found each other in, this was the kind of attitude he took with you? A prickling feeling of agitation grew in your chest as you pushed past him, storming towards the bar in annoyance.

Upon approaching it, you breathed out a sigh of relief when you saw that you knew the bartender who was on shift tonight. He usually popped a little extra into your drinks whenever he sensed you had a shitty day. Tonight was no exception.

“Zwei doppelte Kurze Whiskey.” (Two double shots of whiskey.) You raised two fingers at him to spell out your order.

He grunted out an acknowledgement as he got to work, filling two empty glasses with the fiery amber liquor, one glass topped up significantly more than the other.

“Macht er dir Probleme?” (Is he giving you any trouble?) He asked, without looking up from pouring the shots. It seemed like he had noticed your little commotion with Leon from just before.

“Aktuell nicht,” (Not for now.) you answered guardedly.

At this point, Leon had caught up to you, watching as the bartender placed the glass with more whiskey on the counter top in front of you and the one with less before Leon.

Leon huffed at the slight and shook his head. “I’ll take the bottle too.”

The bartender eyed him suspiciously as he plonked the whiskey bottle on the counter loudly, like there was an unspoken competition going on between them.

“Here,” Leon mentioned coolly, sliding a couple of euro bills along the counter to pay for all the drinks. “Keep the change.”

You sighed at the childish display before you, giving the bartender an apologetic look as you took your glass without a word, and settled in at the small table you had informally reserved earlier. The people around you were far more interested in drinking than any conversation you were about to have. Occasionally a fight started, but those responsible were easily cleared out by the staff.

There should be no issues with privacy here, you thought, as you downed your first round of drinks simultaneously with Leon.

The sharp alcohol burned your throat, warming you from the inside. You noticed Leon wincing as he brought the glass to his cut lip, finishing its contents in one clean gulp and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Did he get hurt in the field? You wondered, but chose not to question it, instead pouring yourself another shot as Leon did likewise.

Frustrated by the ongoing silence between the two of you and Leon’s seeming reluctance to speak, you decided to break the dead air, stating sarcastically, “Anything else you need before we get started? Room service? A hot bath, perhaps?”

He threw back another shot, twisting his lips into a wry smile. “Hm, don’t tempt me.”

“Leon, what happened? All these years… I thought you had died.” You were getting tired of this game and wanted an honest exchange for once.

“I did,” he replied softly.

“Huh?”

Averting his gaze quickly, he shifted in his seat uncomfortably. “It doesn’t matter.”

But you wanted answers. You needed to know what had been haunting him too. “It does to me.”

You reached out to him cautiously, but just as your fingers ghosted the back of his hand, he moved it away, his voice turning cold as ice. “Look, I don’t know what you’re expecting, but it’s been a long time-”

His reaction took you by surprise as you interjected defensively, “Yeah, I can count.”

A long time? If anyone should be able to comprehend that, you were more than qualified.

“I’m not the same guy you used to know back then,” he continued, as if he hadn’t heard you.

“And I’m not the same girl you knew either,” you countered, in a mixture of anger and confusion. He was talking to you like he was blaming you for something. It wasn’t fair and you weren’t going to put up with it anymore. “Stop avoiding the question, Leon.”

“Still as stubborn as hell though,” he muttered.

Your blood boiled at his non-answer. “Is this some kind of joke to you?” You seethed, raising your voice. “I mourned you. The past 7 years. I heard nothing. Your parents heard nothing.” You emphasized each point, taking another shot afterwards to calm your nerves. Your face scrunched up in response to the harsh bite of the liquor. “And now this?”

He paused for a moment, fiddling with the empty glass in his hands, before hesitantly responding, “I got out of Raccoon City. Then, the government asked me to work for them.”

You caught the drift of what he was implying when he stressed the word ‘asked’, like it wasn’t by choice. But you didn’t understand what hold they had on him.

“That’s all you need to know.” Placing his glass back down on the table, he took a swig from the bottle itself this time. The few sentences he gave you had taken a toll on him.

“Why? How did they-”

“The rest is classified,” he snapped through gritted teeth, as a form of warning not to push it any further.

You slumped back in your chair in defeat, realizing that you weren’t much closer to understanding him and what he had gone through.

“Why did you join Silje’s company?” Leon questioned out of the blue, his tone filled with resentment, so much so that you bit your lip in reflex as guilt seeped into your heart.

“After you… die-disappeared, I-I didn’t know what else to do.” You cast your eyes downwards, your voice choking up with emotion as the memories you had suppressed came flooding back, like a gaping wound in your side.

“I had to leave. Everything just-” you paused, clenching your fists so hard that you could see the imprints of your fingernails against your palms. “-reminded me of you.”

At this, his stony gaze faltered slightly and a look of despondence slowly spread across his face.

“You could have gone anywhere else, but you just had to choose her, didn’t you?” He uttered somewhat accusingly. “You really shouldn’t get involved in this.”

“A bit too late for that,” you argued. Did he think you couldn’t hold your own?

“You can still walk away,” he offered.

Shaking your head, you peered back at him defiantly. “I’m not leaving you.”

“That’s what you said last time,” he retorted bitterly, his brows etched together in a frown. “Look at how that turned out.”

Your mouth ran dry, and it felt as if you had been given a tight slap across your cheek.

So this was what it was all about? He still faulted you for what happened in the past? The most troubling thing was that you had nothing to say to that. You truly held yourself accountable for whatever that had gone wrong.

“Is this why you want to get rid of me?” It came out as a bare whisper.

He shrugged impassively, unable to meet your eyes like he was hiding something. “It’s just better this way.”

Your mind was going round in circles as you were put on the spot. However, something inside you kept rebelling against what Leon had to say. You couldn’t abandon him again. Not like this, even though he claimed it was the better route to take. Didn’t he once tell you to trust him to make his own decisions? Then, he should offer you the same courtesy. You weren’t about to throw in the towel and give up now.

So instead of running away like he expected you to, you pushed back. “No.”

Leon narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I said no,” you repeated again resolutely. “We have a job to do. I’m helping you to infiltrate this base whether you like it or not.”

His lips were drawn into a thin line as he brooded quietly in the corner, but he continued to hear you out.

“Once that’s done, we can go back to our own separate lives if you want,” you stated. “Just like how it was.”

A fair compromise. Although deep down you hoped it wouldn’t mark the end of your interactions with Leon. Well, you’ll cross that bridge when you come to it.

After a while of considering your suggestion, he agreed warily, “Ok.”

His gaze was impenetrable while both of you drank in silence. At some point, you decided to call it a night, since you had an early start with him tomorrow to go over your next plan of action. It was drizzling when you came out of the bar, the water droplets falling on your face like a baptism of a new chapter. You had made your bed, now you had to lie in it.

As Leon called for another cab to take him back to where he was staying, you left without a word, walking on your own to the nearest U-Bahn station. He watched you until you were just a tiny speck in his vision, lost amongst the sea of people and glowing street lights.

━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Leon were standing in front of the dining table of his service apartment, a mess of papers sprawled across every surface. He rested his curled fingers under his chin, eyeing the diagrams and notes scribbled on the sheets like a hawk, analyzing them for any obvious patterns.

He picked up a report that you had drafted recently. “So Silje told you all of this?”

You yawned and sipped at the instant coffee Leon had offered you when you had arrived. It was a couple of hours earlier than when you were normally up, as you’d have to head over to the theater to train after this meeting. You had pushed away whatever thoughts you had resulting from the conversation with Leon last night to the back of your mind, in favor of professionalism. Afterall, it wasn’t your first rodeo pretending things were fine, and neither was it Leon’s.

“Some of it, yes. Though in her own way of speaking in riddles,” you explained. “The rest I had overheard or tailed her without her knowing.”

“Are you sure you weren’t spotted?” It sounded like a mixture of concern and him questioning your abilities, the latter of which irritated you a little.

“If I was, would I still be standing here?” You stated brusquely.

“Fair enough.”

You pointed at the blueprint map again, tracing the outlines of your markings with your fingers as you explained, “From what I gathered, the site has two main sections beyond the theater space. The upper levels are easily accessible, but shaped like a labyrinth. I haven’t explored everything yet, but if my gut feeling is right, I would say that the entrance leading further down might be all the way over here.” You tapped at the red circle with a question mark drawn on the map.

“The lower levels are only accessible via keycard. Obviously Silje has one, but there must be others too,” you reasoned.

“That said, I’ve seen her bringing in the same man more than once. Business type, probably in his 60s, speaking German with a Swiss accent.” Then, you proceeded to describe his outward appearance in further detail.

“Silje always passed him off as being part of the company board. I doubt it though,” you shrugged.

Leon hummed in response, and the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward, as if he was trying to hold back a smile. It was the first sign of approval he showed you since you had reconnected.

As he thumbed through the rest of the papers, he cocked his head to the side, tapping his fingers on the table absentmindedly. “One thing I don’t get from this is why she’s confided in you.”

You nipped your lip, swallowing anxiously, as you were afraid of disclosing what you might have committed yourself to.

“She wanted to offer me a gift,” you whispered.

“A gift?” He tensed up noticeably at the word. “Did you accept?”

“Um… yes?” You replied uneasily, but tried to persuade him that nothing else had happened yet. “She only told me it would come soon.”

The drumming of his fingers on the table stopped abruptly, as he gripped the edge of it, clenching his jaw as he spoke, “Why the fuck would you do something like that?”

“I-I thought it would help,” you stuttered, caught off-guard by the sudden shift in his mood.

“What exactly has Bergmann told you about this case?” He hissed.

“That Silje was suspected of harboring some bioterrorists.”

You flinched as he cursed a second time loudly, before muttering a quick, “Excuse me for a minute.” With that, he darted out of the room into the hallway to make a call.

So here you were, left alone without answers again. The secrecy surrounding the entire mission and Leon’s erratic behavior was starting to grate on you, but there wasn’t much you could do about it.

Past the hallway, out of sight and earshot, Leon had connected with Hunnigan on comms.

“Leon,” she greeted. “Any news?”

“Our old friend, the Plaga,” he stated. “Seems like our suspicions might be right.”

“You have the source to back that up?” She asked out of habit, even though she already knew the answer.

“I went through the documents. I’m not 100%, but it’s close.”

He detailed an abnormality that stood out during the investigations. “A few days ago, some people on site experienced temporary psychotic episodes where their veins turned black, but reverted back to normal after.”

“That’s aligning with whatever intel we’ve already picked up. It could be a new strain of the Plaga,” he concluded.

Hunnigan nodded. “We’ll require a sample for the labs when you’re in the base. Anything you need me to do?”

“Run some files on any surviving Los Iluminados members. Focus on trade routes with Germany,” he requested. “The informant mentioned Silje entertaining a particular ‘business partner’ on a regular basis.”

“On it.” She typed away furiously at a computer keyboard off-screen.

“Another thing,” Leon commented. “Why wasn’t the informant told about the real nature of this situation?”

“That was under Bergmann’s discretion.”

He scoffed derisively. “She’s putting her in danger. The informant has no idea what she’s risking here. Silje just offered her the ‘gift’ and you and I know what that means.”

“Leon, you know the rules,” Hunnigan sighed sympathetically. “We don’t really have much say in this jurisdiction.”

“What do you mean? She reports to HQ!”

“Yeah, and they’ve given her free reign,” she explained, without batting an eyelid.

“In-fucking-credible.” He rolled his eyes.

“You need to press on. The informant has the best chance of getting you in,” she reasoned, giving pause and contemplating her next choice of words before speaking. “I would suggest not getting too attached to her.”

“I’m not,” Leon deadpanned, despite the look on Hunnigan’s face, like she didn’t believe him.

“At the rate this is going, she may not be around long enough to do her job,” he clarified.

“You know we have a cure for that,” she rebutted. “The girl will be fine.”

He pursed his lips, changing the subject. “Hm, just send me the updates later.”

With that, he shut off his comms device and headed back into the living room, only to be accosted by your snide remark, “Let me guess, another convo that’s classified?”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “Not quite.”

“Whatever Bergmann has been feeding you is bullshit,” he began. “We’ve been suspecting that the theater is being used as a front for developing a new batch of bioweapons they’re about to ship into the US.”

Your eyes widened at the newfound information. The whole time you had assumed that Silje was just providing a safehouse, not a full-on experimentation chamber. But with the recent events that had occurred, you should have considered it earlier.

“So the labs must be underground.” He thumped the pad of his index finger on the sketchings of the lower levels of the site on the map. “And they’re not just hiding people down there.”

Casting over a solemn glance, he revealed, “I’m telling you this, because you need to be careful.”

“And stop making deals you shouldn’t be making,” he warned.

You let the words sink in. “I see,” you nodded slowly. “Thanks, I… appreciate that.”

“The minute you feel something is off, or your veins start to darken, you contact me straight away and get the hell outta there. Understood?”

“Ok, I will,” you promised.

On the one hand, you were grateful that Leon had the courtesy to inform you about what you were getting into, but on the other, you were scared of what was to come. You had heard about the Terragrigia Panic and the B.O.W.s that devastated the floating city a year ago. The gruesome scenes were splashed across the news for weeks. Would the same happen here?

As if he could read your mind, Leon placed a hand on your shoulder to reassure you. “I won’t let them get you.”

“I trust you.” You said it as if it was clear as day.

His eyes bore into yours and his hand made its way towards your cheek, but stopped short in midair, a hair’s breadth away from touching your skin. Then, it fell to the side as he turned away, like he was ashamed of what had just transpired.

You cleared your throat in awkwardness, trying to recall the next point on the meeting agenda. Ah yes, Till.

Till was a fence you got to know from the parties you frequented. He was a friend of a friend of a… you got the idea. At first, you bought your drugs from his minions in the clubs, but then became a regular client of his the moment you started your informant career.

“As requested, I’ve arranged a meeting with Till.” You grabbed your day bag from the seat you had left it on. “He operates out of a nightclub that has a pretty strict door policy. So you’ll have to look the part.”

Leon raised an eyebrow. “Which would be?”

You sighed, unsure of how this would go down. “Um, your usual black get-up will do,” you mentioned tentatively. Unzipping your bag, which unveiled a sneak peek of its contents, you peered back at him. Here goes nothing. “So are you a more of a latex or leather kind of guy?”

What you would have given to permanently capture the look of shock on Leon’s face.

“Are you fucking serious?” He blurted out.

Perhaps you should make the decision for him then. Giving him a once over, you identified a common theme with his casual leather jacket and fingerless gloves.

“I’m guessing leather,” you discerned, rummaging through your bag for a studded harness and tossing it over to him.

He caught the chunky material in his hands, looking at it with apprehension whilst shaking his head.

Fishing out a translucent, black crop top, you displayed it in front of Leon as you walked over to him. “Maybe over this and a pair of leather boxers.”

He grimaced. “No.”

Well, he sure wasn’t making your job easy. “I’ll be doing most of the ass-kissing at the door,” you argued. “You just have to wear this and keep your mouth shut.”

Please go along with it, you prayed. There was only so much magic you could pull to get him in at the club door.

Examining the outfit you had picked out for him gingerly, he muttered, “Jesus Christ, you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

At least he wasn’t protesting any further.

“I’ll meet you there at 4 in the morning on Sunday,” you reminded him. “You’d better have something substantial to trade with.”

“That’s the least of my concerns right now,” he grumbled, to which you snickered in amusement before departing for the theater.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #re4 leon #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

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froggibus · 1 year

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Stay A While - Jason Todd/Red Hood

Pairing: Jason Todd x reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff w a shot of angst

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: you’ve always been one to suffer in silence, shutting yourself in your apartment for the duration of your episodes. but Jason Todd doesn’t want to sit idly by and watch you suffer alone, even if it annoys you

CW: depressed! reader, mentions of depressive episodes, negative thoughts/self talk, Jason is overbearing, mentions of insomnia, reader struggles to eat, some violence (out on patrol), the rest of the family kinda sucks in this lmao

this is for the people who followed me expecting Batfam/DC content and didn’t unfollow when I didn’t post any for months 😭 I love y’all. also idk the idea of soft! Jason makes me so emotional. also I WOULD LOVE SOME DC OR BATFAM REQUESTS!!! if there’s anything you want me to write I will gladly do it 🫶🏼 (also let’s ignore the fact that this is like my 3rd angsty post in the past few days oops)

————

It was common knowledge around Wayne Manor that disappearing into your room (or apartment) for a few days meant something different for everyone. Usually, it wasn’t anything to worry about.

Sometimes it would be Tim finally sleeping when he’s pushed himself too far. Other times, it was Dick working a case and refusing to leave until he knew what to do. For Bruce, it usually meant he was injured and trying to hide it from everyone.

Jason was still finding these things out little by little, so when you suddenly disappeared into your apartment, he was worried.

“Honestly, it’s nothing to worry about,” Tim tried to ease his mind. “Y/n tends to retreat when things get bad.”

“And you guys are okay with that?”

Dick shrugged, adjusting the ice pack he had pressed to his forehead. “We tried the first time it happened. After a while, we realized that alone time is the only thing that really works. If y/n needs help, y/n will reach out.”

And the topic ended there. Or at least, it did for Dick and Tim. Jason couldn’t stop thinking about it though—did they really just let you suffer in your apartment all alone whenever you had an episode? The thought made his skin crawl.

He’s had a few bad episodes over the course of his life, and while he managed to deal with it alone, he didn’t think that you should have to.

Maybe that’s what led him to your apartment at four in the morning with a bag of takeout.

You open the door dressed in your pyjamas despite not having slept a wink. You're almost surprised to see Jason standing there with the paper bag. Didn’t everyone know to let you ride it out on your own? You thought they decided to stop bugging you ages ago.

Still, you don’t think it was fair to slam the door in his face, and instead welcome him inside. “What are you doing here, Jason?”

“Just thought I’d check on you,” he sets the bag on the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a while and wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

You squint at him. Did he really think you were that dumb? You figured he would have asked Dick or Bruce right away if you suddenly fell off the face of the earth, and they would have told him about your situation. Jason and you had never been particularly close, either, so why was he here?

He raises his hands in defeat. “I just want to make sure you’re taken care of somewhat. Alright? I’ll leave you alone after that.”

“I mean, I’m fine aren’t I?”

Your words come out harsher than you’d like, but you can’t help but be annoyed at the sudden intrusion. Not to mention the implication that you can’t take care of yourself.

“You clearly haven’t slept in a while so we both know that’s some bullshit.”

You sigh. He’s right, after all. You can’t remember the last time you slept, let alone for more than a few hours. Though used to staying up late on missions and patrols, you never went this long.

“I just have a lot on my mind, I guess,” you admit. “But I can take care of myself, Jason. So while I appreciate the concern, you can leave.”

He doesn’t protest, instead grumbling to himself while you show him to the door and effectively kick him out of your apartment. He stands outside the door for a while, wondering if he should try harder.

He decides against it, and thinks he’ll just have to check on you again tomorrow.

—

You almost feel guilty unpacking the takeout he got you, but then again, there weren’t many days lately where guilt and stress didn’t weigh heavily on you. As soon as you felt that familiar flood of negative thoughts and emotions, you knew it was time to withdraw. Still, through all of your episodes, you were yet to experience one quite this bad.

It’s nice that Jason checked on me, you think to yourself. At least someone thought of you. Sure, you’d told the others countless times over the years that solitude while you sort through your thoughts was imperative, and it was true. Regardless, it was nice to have someone check on you, even if it was annoying.

You dish yourself a plate of Chinese food and sit down on your couch, looking out at Gotham city through the window. It’s a dim, rainy night and the weather does nothing to help your mood. You find yourself picking at your food, having only a few bites before packing it up and leaving it in the fridge.

You didn’t eat much, but it’s a start.

—

Jason tries to push back the thoughts of you on patrol the next night, but he can’t. He just thinks of the bags that line your under eyes and the way your voice cracked when you said you were fine.

It’s only when he damn near loses an eye to a stray bullet that he realizes he can’t ignore it anymore. He ducks around a corner, ready to head back to his bike.

“Hood, where are you going?” Nightwing calls after him.

“I gotta go check on something!”

Red Robin scoffs, “y/n is a big kid, Todd. Just leave it alone.”

He shakes his head at the younger boy. He wants to argue with him but for once in his life, Jason Todd bites his tongue and turns the other cheek.

When you open the door, you’re unsurprised to see Jason Todd standing there in his Red Hood suit. “Jason?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, walking past you straight into your apartment. “I’m back.”

“I—welcome back?” You close the door behind him, spinning around on your heel and raising an eyebrow at the man in your living room.

“Look, I know I said I’d leave when I knew you were taken care of but I don’t—you’re not. Like, seriously, y/n, just talk to me.”

You sigh and take a seat on the couch. “Do you really want to listen?”

“Yes,” he says and sits down next to you, dropping his helmet on the cushion next to him. “If it helps you, I’ll listen til my damn ears bleed.”

His words are almost enough to bring a smile to your face, the muscles twitching almost painfully. You nod slowly, drawing your knees into your chest.

Jason analyzes your body language, seeing just how vulnerable and small you really are despite your usual front. He knows to tread lightly here.

“I—,” you tug on your hair slightly, trying to think of how to verbalise it. “Have you ever been so tired, like beyond tired, that you can’t sleep?”

He goes to speak, but thinks the better of it. You don’t need to hear about his own problems right now, but the truth is he has. He’s been where you are before—guilt and misery weighing so heavily on him that he can’t breathe.

“I don’t even know what triggered it. I was fine one day and then all of a sudden….” You gesture to your current state in hopes he gets the idea. “I really hate feeling like this,” tears prick at your eyes and your nose stings with every word, “but I’ve never really found a way to make it stop and—and—“

Jason is almost as surprised as you are when he sets a gloved hand on your shoulder. “Y/n,” his voice is soft, “it’s okay to feel this way.”

His touch helps ground you and you manage to take a deep, shaking breath. “I don’t want you to see me like this, Jason,” you say quietly, voice so soft he almost doesn’t hear.

“There’s no shame in the way you’re feeling.”

“I know that I just—can you just go? Please?”

He opens his mouth to speak, to argue with you, but thinks the better of it. You look so soft and sad and vulnerable. He doesn’t want to push his luck and push you further away from him.

He grabs his helmet and stands up. “Have a good night, y/n. I hope you manage to get some rest tonight.”

You watch Jason Todd walk out of your apartment door for the second night in a row.

—

Jason is surprised when his phone screen lights up with your picture while he’s on patrol. The last person he’d expect to call him at two in the morning was you, especially considering he hadn’t heard from you in a few days.

He tried to come and visit you the next night, but he couldn’t bring himself to knock at your door. Y/n’s tough, he thought to himself. You don’t need his help.

He can’t pick up the phone in the middle of a fight, though, and has to wait until the henchmen are in a pile on the ground. He doesn’t even retort to Damian’s comment on how long it took him to take them down—his mind too focused on you and what could possibly be wrong.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing redial on your number. Please be okay, he thinks.

You answer on the third ring, your voice sounding soft and defeated. “Jason?”

“Y/n? Is everything okay?”

“I-I just…” you sigh into the phone and Jason’s heart clenches at the sound. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”

Jason considers this for only a second. “Alright, I’ll be there in 10.”

He hangs up the call and shoves his phone back into his pocket, making the walk back to his bike.

“Todd?” Robin says in his earpiece.

“Pipe down, brat. I have more important things to deal with tonight.”

“More important than protecting the city?” Nightwing says over the comms.

You have no idea, he wants to say. But he doesn’t, opting to turn off the ear piece and focus on getting to you as quickly as he can. He said he’d be there in 10 minutes, but he’s at your apartment door in 7.

You’re waiting at the door when he knocks, a blanket over your shoulders, curled in on yourself. As soon as you open the door, you’re wrapping your arms around him.

His suit is damp from the rain, soaking into your pyjamas and making you shiver. Still, you don’t let go of him. It’s been a particularly rough day, and you needed some company to combat the thoughts filling your head.

“Miss me?” He jokes.

You say nothing, content to hold him as close to you as possible. He rubs your back gently before wrapping his arms around you and half carrying you back into your apartment.

He closes the door behind him, awkwardly adjusting to hold you up with one arm. Not that it’s much of a struggle for him, considering he’s a lot bigger than you are.

He’s torn, he doesn’t want to let go until you do, but he wants to talk to you and figure out why you needed him so badly. Lucky for him, he doesn’t have to make that choice because suddenly you’re pulling away from him and tucking your hair behind your ears.

You look anywhere but him. “Um, thanks for coming…”

“Anytime.”

You try to think of something to say after that, anything to break the ice and explain yourself and not make this a huge waste of time for him. Before you can speak, though, Jason goes first.

“You don’t have to explain it to me if you don’t want to,” he says. “I know it’s hard.”

You nod slowly, every movement of your body feels sluggish and heavy. You got a few hours of sleep the other day, but only out of sheer exhaustion. Now, it seems the exhaustion is catching up.

“I’m just gonna…sit down,” you plop onto the couch cushion and pull your knees into your chest. You pat the cushion next to you, inviting him closer.

Jason takes off his helmet and jacket, laying them on the kitchen island before sitting next to you. “Have you slept much?”

You shake your head, resting your cheek on the cushion and looking into his eyes. “A few hours the other day but…nothing since.”

“Did you want to try while I’m here?”

His eyes are soft, a jarring contrast from his other features. It’s almost as if he’s pleading with you.

“Y-yeah, okay,” you slowly rise from the couch, your damp pyjamas clinging to your body. You usher for Jason to follow you to your room.

You dig through your drawers, looking for a pair of clean pyjamas. You settle on a t-shirt you stole from Dick ages ago and a pair of sweats you used for training. Jason looks away while you change, trying his best to respect your privacy despite the way his face heats up.

You crawl into your bed, trying to rearrange the messy comforter to cover your body. “Do you…is it okay if you lay with me? It only has to be until I fall asleep.”

Jason knows he’s pushing his limits, his heart racing at the thought of being in bed with you. He shakes the thoughts away—this is completely innocent. He’s just taking care of you.

“Yeah, I can stay a while.”

Jason lays down next to you, his broad frame taking up more than half of your bed. Your breath catches in your throat at his proximity, and his warmth draws you in. Somehow, for the first time in days, his presence is enough to let you relax.

Jason lays with you for some time, just staring at the back of your head while you cuddle your pillow. You must have fallen asleep at some point, because your breathing is even and your body is relaxed.

He smiles, it’s the most calm he’s seen you in days. He knows you’re sleeping now and he can leave, but he doesn’t want to. What if you wake up and he’s gone? He doesn’t want to risk upsetting you.

You roll over in your sleep, your head landing perfectly under his arm and on his chest. His breath hitches in his throat at the contact. He tries to adjust his body to make it as comfortable as possible for you to lay on him.

He wraps an arm around your waist, cradling you within his own body. Jason can’t help but think to himself in this moment that he’ll take care of you no matter what, even if you can’t take care of yourself.

#dc #dc universe #jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #red hood #red hood x you #red hood x reader #jason todd angst #red hood angst #hurt/comfort #batfam #batman

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goldenempyrean · 1 year

Note

Maybe a slight au one where r and Nat are in college where they are dormmates and newly a couple. Nat hasn’t been at dorm for a few days but wouldn’t say why but R goes to their shared class and when natasha sits down it’s obvious shes sick and trying to push through it? “Don't come too close. You don’t wanna catch this.” And “I can see you staring at me. You’re not discreet y’know?”

Close Quarters

〚Notes - I thought this req was super cute :D enjoy, very unedited so excuse that :p I was meant to post this yesterday so oops 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Reader〛

〚 Summary - Nat had been avoiding you and when she turns up sick to lecture, you make sure to take the best care of her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1690 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

Going to the same university as your girlfriend, that was great but having the privilege of being dormmates? That was even better. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you want to see it) being in such close quarters meant when something was wrong, there was no hiding it.

But for the last day or so, you hadn’t seen your girlfriend at all. She’d stayed the night out at her friends and when you asked to meet up for breakfast Nat had claimed she wasn’t hungry and would make it up to you. Strange. But still, you allowed her the space she wanted. The day felt strange not having Nat by your side. Usually, the redhead wouldn’t leave you alone during the day, but you brushed it off. You both shared a class later in the afternoon anyway, you just made a mental note to speak to her about it then.

The rest of your day wasn’t that exciting, just your normal every-day lectures. Eventually though the time of your shared one crept closer and you headed off in the direction of the designated hall, scoring two seats somewhere near the back. Slowly people began to fill the hall, taking their seats and you patiently waited for Nat, feeling your heart flutter a little as you caught site of her distictive red hair enter the hall.

“Hi baby,” You smiled widely as you saw Natasha making her way to the seat you’d reserved for her, but as she got closer you couldn’t help but feel like something was off. You went to hug her which she accepted but she quickly pulled out of your hold rather after only a few seconds. Okay. Something was definitely off.

“What’s up my love?” You murmured quietly as the both of you sat back down, “I feel like I haven’t seen you for ages, is everything okay?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” she replied, trying to brush it off, but she couldn’t hide the congestion in her voice, and you quirked your eyebrow at her as she began searching in her bag for her notebook. Why was she congested?

You watched as Natasha dug through her bag, her shoulders hunching over slightly as she tried to get comfy in her seat – your lecture was a long one. You couldn’t help but notice how she was trying to discreetly sniffle and rub at her nose; she really wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding it though and could feel your worry increase when you heard her muffle a soft sneeze into her elbow followed by a rough cough. It sounded like it hurt her throat. Was that why she’d been avoiding you?

You blessed her quietly, "Are you sure you're okay, Natty?” Your voice laced with concern as you searched around in your bag for some tissues before finding a packet and sliding them over to her.

"Thanks.” She mumbled as she took a few, “I’m fine though, really. Just a little tired, that's all," She replied, her voice suspiciously scratchy.

You knew that she was lying. It was obvious. Upon closer inspection, you could see the red tinged edges of her nose and the light pink haze sitting on her cheeks. The ball finally dropped when she sneezed twice again. Nat hardly sneezed on a normal day, so this was definitely a sign something was off. You went to question her again but stopped, you knew how she could be so stubborn when it came to admitting that she was sick. So, with some reluctance, you decided to drop the subject for now, not wanting to push her too hard. She’d already felt anxious about it, she wouldn’t have slept at Wanda’s otherwise and you didn’t want her to feel any worst.

"Alright, if you say so. But if you need anything, just let me know, okay?" you said, giving her another reassuring smile.

Natasha smiled weakly back at you, clearly grateful for your concern. The two of you settled into the lecture, but you couldn't help but keep an eye on her, noticing every sniffle and cough that she tried to hide.

As the lecture went on, Natasha's sniffles became more frequent. Her breath hitched and you knew what came next. Yet after a few seconds there was nothing, you looked over to see her scrunching up her nose and fidgeting in her seat, trying to hold it in, but it was no use.

Her breath caught on an inhale and her head suddenly bopped forward as she let out a loud sneeze, her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle it, but it didn’t really work. You reached over and silently handed her another tissue, watching with worried eyes as she blew her nose.

“I can see you staring at me. You’re not discreet y’know?” She mumbled afterwards; her voice thick with congestion.

You chuckled softly, “Sorry, I can't help it. I just want to make sure you're okay.”

Natasha gave you a small smile, but it quickly faded as she sniffled again, her eyes starting to water. You could see the discomfort etched on her face, and you knew she was struggling to concentrate on the lecture. To your surprise, you felt her head come to rest against your shoulder as she leant against you, instinctively you brought your arm up to wrap around her.

With her this close, you could feel her body temperature rising as she snuggled closer to you, and you knew that she was feeling worse by the minute. You stole a quick glance at her face and saw that her eyes were closed, her breathing a little ragged, and her cheeks flushed with a fever. You knew she was sick, you just needed her to admit it.

But as you felt Natasha's body temperature rising, you knew that she needed to rest and take care of herself, and you weren’t willing to test how long she’d go without giving in. Instead, you gently nudged her shoulder and whispered, "Baby are you sure you're okay? You seem really warm to me."

Natasha let out a sigh and pulled away from you, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "It’s just a cold or something like that." She admitted before quickly turning away to catch a set of sneezes into her hands, groaning afterwards as she dosed herself in a generous blob of hand sanitiser.

You immediately feel a little guilty for not pressing her about it sooner. “Oh, sweetie,” you spoke softly, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “Why didn’t you tell me? You should be resting then, not sat in a lecture.” You sighed as you reached over to cup her warm cheek in your hand, disregarding the ongoing lecture entirely.

“I didn’t want to miss classes,” Natasha replied stubbornly as she sniffled miserably into an abused-looking tissue before adding, “You shouldn’t come too close, you don’t wanna catch this.” Slightly regretting her decision to lean against you earlier but tough, she wanted warmth. God that hall felt freezing, even with the jumper she’d taken from the back of your chair and wrapped around herself.

“No love, me catching this isn’t important,” You shook your head, easing her concerns a little, “What’s important is that you take care of yourself and get better. I’ll take you home and make sure you have everything you need to feel comfortable and rest.” You placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and she leaned into the touch with a small smile.

Natasha nodded, still looking a little hesitant. "Okay, but can we wait until the lecture's over? I don't want to cause a scene," she said quietly, and you nodded in agreement.

"Of course, we can wait. But if you start feeling worse, we're leaving. No arguments," you replied firmly, and she nodded, snuggling back into your side. You wrapped your arm around her once again, and the two of you settled back into the lecture, though your attention was now completely focused on Natasha.

As the lecture finally drew to a close, you helped Natasha gather her things and make her way out of the lecture hall. The cold air outside hit her like a ton of bricks, and she shivered, pulling the jumper around her tightly. You wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close to you as you made your way towards your car.

Once inside the car, you turned up the heat and handed her a blanket from the backseat, watching as she bundled up in it with a grateful smile. You started the car and made your way back to your apartment, where you immediately set about making her comfortable.

You led Natasha to the couch, fluffing up the pillows and pulling out a warm throw blanket. You made her a cup of hot tea with honey and lemon, knowing it would soothe her sore throat. You also retrieved some over-the-counter medicine and a thermometer, which she reluctantly took.

"You have a fever, love," you said gently, seeing the thermometer read 38.4, "Let's get you into some comfortable clothes, and you can rest for a bit."

She nodded, sniffling again, and you helped her change into some cosy pyjamas. You tucked her into the blanket, making sure she was warm enough. You sat down beside her, keeping a close eye on her.

"Do you need anything else baby?" you asked, stroking her hair gently.

Natasha shook her head, her eyes already drooping. "No, I'm good. Thank you for taking care of me."

You smiled, feeling a warm feeling in your chest at her words. "Always, love. Rest up and let me know if you need anything."

As Natasha drifted off to sleep, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the opportunity to take care of her. It was moments like these that made you realise how much you loved her and how important she was to you. You made a mental note to take care of her more often, even when she wasn't sick, because you knew that's what love was all about – taking care of each other, no matter what.

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kittyball23 · 4 months

Note

Hey, Kittyball23,

I was wondering if you could post part 2 of "Taking the News"? Though, I am waiting patiently for it to post, and I gave you time to write the fanfiction I was hoping that you will post it whenever you're finished.

After you post it, can you write another fanfiction of the very SPECIAL DAY when Poppy and Branch's baby was BORN?! (Or maybe include a baby shower scene and a BIG CELEBRATION of their FIRST NEWBORN CHILD?!?! 🥰😁🥳🎉👶🎉) If so, I would be very grateful. ☺️ (Don't forget to include their friends and families as well.) If not, that's okay. I understand you have like a few other requests from others for Trolls fanfiction stories. But, I gave you plenty of time you needed.

Thank you. Sincerely, Ceci-Butterfly 🦋

Part 2 👇

Taking the News - Branch Edition (a Trolls fanfic)

Branch scrunched his nose, considering the fact that there were a number of better things to be doing than willingly being in the presence of a vomiting individual.

But, when that said individual was Poppy, he put aside the feelings of distaste as best he could and focused on making sure none of the rainbow-colored, glittery substance got onto her hair.

He held back the pink strands delicately away from her face and grimaced more than a few times at the combination of her retching, and just how much she had heaved.

While it had felt like forever, Poppy finally was able to get herself under control, and sat back with an exhausted sigh. Branch eyed her with a raised brow, and the Pop Queen felt sheepish upon the question that he presented.

“So… the stomach bug is all gone, huh?”

She fiddled with her fingers and looked down. “Um, well…” A nervous titter came out, and then she gave up. “Oops.”

Branch sighed. “It's not ‘oops,’ Poppy. If you were still sick, you could've told me. It hardly takes anything for me to go get you something to treat it. Dr. Moonbloom has plenty of supplies!”

“I know, Branch,” she said meekly, “I just didn't want you to worry…”

“You don't want me to worry?” he repeated incredulously. ��Well, now I am. If this thing's not gone by now, it could be something serious!”

But to his surprise, Poppy was not as overly concerned as he would've figured. As a matter of fact, she got shy, and spoke her next words bashfully. “It's, um, not as serious as you might think…” Poppy almost wanted to laugh at the deadpanned expression he donned in that next second, but she knew better than to do so. He was clearly under the worst impressions of her health. Which meant it was finally time to come clean. “Look, Branch, there's something I have to tell you about… or, um, I guess I should say someone.”

Branch crossed his arms. “Okay, what exactly are you talking about, Poppy? What do you mean ‘someone’?”

“Oh, you know,” she said, attempting to sound matter-of-fact, “someone teeny and weeny, and cute as heck… assuming he or she comes out looking like you.”

Wait… what? Branch blinked, his brain making the connections it had to make in order to fully comprehend the situation and its full truth. The unexpected vomiting, the shyness in Poppy’s voice, the mentions of a mysterious ‘someone’ by themselves didn’t quite make as much sense as they did when he considered them all together. And, to add further confirmation for what he was coming to conclude, she slowly lifted a hand and allowed it to rest on her belly, her gaze shifting down at it first before it met his.

“Branch,” she whispered softly, “I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I guess I just wasn't sure how, but, uh... I'm... um..."

"Pregnant," he finished, the tone in his voice mystified.

Poppy nodded. "Yeah."

Silence settled between them for what seemed like an eternity as Branch processed this. He supposed it made sense, with how, er… active he and Poppy had been in the more intimate aspects of their relationship. But still, the idea of becoming a father was rather jarring; one that left him wondering if he was ready for that kind of responsibility and commitment that he never figured would be in the cards for him in the first place! And yet...

I'm going to be a dad...

His gaze softened, and without thinking he reached out a hand toward her belly, where it still lay quite flat. He lightly brushed his fingertips over the slight swell that was there, the Troll marveling at the fact that it would one day be the very life that they'd created, running around singing songs like his (or her!) mother or crazily preparing like his (or her!) father. A perfect product, a wondrous blend between him and her that could only result from something as strong as their love. It almost felt surreal, like a dream. Like he'd suddenly been thrust into a completely new reality in which things went beyond what he thought possible, in the best way possible.

A soft sound escaped him, akin to a breathy chuckle, and his eyes glistened with moisture. The hand withdrew from Poppy's stomach to rest on top of hers instead, as a smile - growing increasingly wider upon his lips - pulled at his cheeks. "Poppy, I-" He cut himself off abruptly, unsure exactly WHAT he could say in this circumstance that could voice everything he felt at the moment. How excited he was, how proud, how honored he was for having been given the opportunity to experience such joy, and most importantly, how he loved her with every fiber of his being, even more than he could possibly go on to explain. However, the only thing he could seem to articulate in a simple, and rather dumbfounded manner was…

“Poppy, you're PREGNANT!”

And, despite the telltale chime of their bracelets that was usually indicative of Hug Time not ringing, Branch swept Poppy in for an embrace, his arms wrapped snugly around her waist, careful not to press too firmly against the abdomen carrying their precious bundle. Poppy giggled joyfully and returned the hug with a great enthusiasm, the bubbly feeling within her heart overflowing and making itself known through laughter and tears, neither one being able to be kept in check. "Oh, Branch," she cooed, her voice sounding slightly choked with emotion, "this is just so.... so...."

He lifted his head from where he'd nuzzled it against the crook of her neck to give her smirk, blue eyes twinkling playfully. "Fantast-amazing?" he suggested.

The mention of her sister's favorite phrase made Poppy gasp. "Oh, Branch!" she said again, this time with more urgency and excitement. "Viva! And John Dory, and Bruce, and Clay, and Floyd!" she spewed, each name tumbling out in a rush. "Oh my goodness, we should tell them!!"

Branch's face lit. "Yeah!" he was quick to agree, the elated mood that gripped him too much for him to contain.

"Uh-huh!" Poppy agreed. "But first - "

She interrupted herself, by grabbing him by the vest and pulling him in for a sweet kiss. Branch melted, obliging happily to her and relishing the sensation. For once he couldn't bring himself to fret over the sudden change in their lives, and all the worrying over the crazy preparations he would go on to make in order to ensure everything went absolutely flawless with their parenting. Branch simply enjoyed his moment of bliss as he let it flow through his entire being, letting him revel in the feeling of his and Poppy's euphoria.

Their family was going to get bigger, and he was beyond thrilled for what wonderful surprises lay ahead!

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #broppy #branch trolls #poppy trolls #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes #kittyball answers #brodacious fanfiction

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softlyspector · 1 year

Text

Mothers

Summary: A year after his mother’s death, Marc travels back to Chicago to face his father. He doesn’t expect it to be easy but he also doesn’t expect it to be so hard. He especially doesn’t expect to find refuge from the hard moments in a little known witch’s shop a few blocks over. And definitely not in one keeping watch over the family’s piano.

This chapter: Marc is trying. Really, he is. But mothers are never an easy topic. Or, Marc attempts several difficult conversations.

Tales Untold; Part V - Series Masterlist

Pairing: eventual Marc Spector x Reader (eventual minor Steven Grant x Reader and Jake Lockley x Reader)

Word Count: 8.9k

Warnings (this chapter): angst, fluff, Marc Spector's terrible, oblivious flirting, lots of ✨touching✨, known menace Jake Lockley, mental health issues, feelings of guilt, tense relationship with a parent, mentions of past death, mentions of past child abuse

A/N: Hello! Here is the chapter a day early as promised! This part was originally 3k, oops.

I'm still unsure if anyone actually reads the author's notes, but I want to say thank you again. This chapter contains the scene that inspired the series! Memories and relationships are so complicated, especially when your perspective has to shift and you have competing views, and when other things like grief come into play it only makes things more complicated. This chapter tries to tackle that. I'm sure many of you can probably tell, I have issues with my own mother (mine is not like the reader's, or Marc's), and I just want to say thank you for letting me write something so cathartic. Moon Knight in general is really special to me but that facet in particular really hit home and made me question things about myself and my own childhood. I hope it resonates with you all as well and that I've done the topic justice.

Again, I want to give a big thank you to all of you who have been keeping up with this series. I love you so much, and thank you for all the continued love and support. It means everything to me. Comments and feedback are so appreciated! Please let me know if any additional warnings need to be added. For full series warnings, please check the series masterlist, which will be updated as parts are posted!

Tales Untold, Chicago 7:48 PM

Marc sighs loudly through his nose.

“Stop being a pussy about it.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jake.”

Jake promptly flips him off where he’s reflected in the shop’s front windows. Marc just huffs out another breath, irritated, and tunes out his muttering alter. He grips the cold steel rung of the ladder he’s standing on, both for support and to ground himself.

He misses Steven at that moment, because Steven would leave him alone about the date.

Probably.

“...said date -,” Jake continues. “Steven would agree with me. We definitely heard date.”

Or, maybe not.

Steven would probably harass him about it just as much.

“I also heard date, mate,” Steven chimes in agreement suddenly. “Definitely said date.”

Marc rolls his eyes.

So, he wouldn’t then. He would not leave Marc alone about it.

Marc grits his teeth and ignores both of them, reaching a hand out to finger one edge of the curling burnt orange wallpaper.

It’s true. You had said the word date to be sure.

It’s a date, is precisely what you’d said.

But people said that shit all the time. It was just an expression.

You hadn’t meant anything by it.

You couldn’t have.

It was just an expression.

It’s just something people say.

“Fuck off,” he snaps at both of them, when they continue muttering, trying and failing to refocus on the peeling wallpaper in front of him. “You’re distracting me.”

Jake snorts and Steven shushes him.

That little outpouring of emotion had been nearly a week ago, and Marc tries not to regret it. He tries not to let the shame that curls around his shoulders, that grows like a slow moving vine around his lungs and heart, strangle him.

But his heart beats like a caged bird whenever he thinks about it, like it would snap his ribs just to be free from his body. The nervous flutter of his pulse serves to remind him that he’s said too much to you.

That you did not deserve that kind of weight on your shoulders.

“I’ll just go on the fuckin’ date then.”

“You -,” he snarls, rounding on the glass, the ladder wobbling precariously, “- will not.”

Jake just smirks and crosses his arms, like he’s proud of himself for being able to get a reaction out of Marc.

Marc rolls his eyes again, so hard this time it hurts a little.

He’s still getting used to Jake, still trying to come to terms with having him around, especially when Jake seemed content to antagonize him most of the time.

It’s playful, really. Like the annoyance of a sibling that was intent on getting a rise out of him.

Even with Jake’s teasing, he’d much rather be here on the ladder staring at your wallpaper than upstairs.

He feels guilty, for leaving you alone with his father. But agreeing to have him over at your place for dinner at all had been more than enough of a challenge on its own.

It had been hard. To walk his father over to Tales Untold, his safe place, and meet you at the door. It had been hard to watch you smile and tilt your head, and lead them up the stairs. It had been hard to watch you turn your attention onto someone else.

They’d sat around your kitchen island, and you and Elias had done most of the talking while Marc sat silent and tense, not sure how to join a familial, familiar conversation.

You had set a beautiful spread, with candles and your good silverware and crystal, and a tablecloth laid haphazardly across the counter because it wasn’t the right size.

Although Marc hadn’t spoken for most of the meal, he had watched you, and followed the careful way you made your way through the conversation, the way your hands moved when you got excited about something.

He’d even learned things about you - like that you hadn’t finished college and were a server before you moved back to Chicago.

It hadn’t been as awkward or painful as he’d expected it to be. But he feels a large part of that is due to the fact that you were there. He was in your space, your domain, and by extension maybe his own. You’re safe there, and so is he.

He doesn’t like to think about what that means, that he’s become attached not only to you, but to your place. That he’s starting to feel at home there.

Home.

He’s starting to feel at home with you.

His father hadn’t commented on the piano, and Marc still isn’t sure how to feel about it. But when the plates were cleared away and you offered dessert, Marc hadn’t been able to sit still any longer. A strangely nervous energy had sizzled in his veins, washing away any sense of security he usually felt around you.

Family dinners weren’t exactly pleasant experiences for him, and it had been a long time since he was forced into that kind of box, especially with his father.

He shouldn’t have left you alone, but he thinks you probably understand. He’d helped you clear the dishes, before he leaned in next to you at the sink and said, “I’ll wash ‘em later for you. No, listen, please leave ‘em there. I need to go work on the wallpaper downstairs.”

He hadn’t needed to do anything. The wallpaper is your project and certainly not a pressing one.

Your mouth had still been parted, where you’d started to protest his insistence with the dishes, and it had been a struggle to maintain eye contact when all he wanted to do was stare at your mouth. “Okay,” you’d pressed your hand against his forearm, warmth jolting up his arm. You’d slid your thumb along his skin and nodded, “Okay. Go ahead.”

And, despite everything, you and his dad seem to get along fine. You found easy conversation with most people and his dad was no different.

The day before the dinner had been more stressful to you than anything else. You’d fretted over what to make for dinner, and Marc had helped you grocery shop and cook. “My dad keeps kosher,” he’d said while you pushed a shopping cart down an aisle, nervously chattering about what you could make.

You had paused, head tilting to the side. “He does?”

“He’s a rabbi.”

“Oh,” you’d continued pushing the cart before you turned to him with wide eyes. “Oh, my god. Marc, you’ve eaten at my place so many times…It wasn’t - I mean I don’t know if it was kosher -,”

He’d pressed a hand to the small of your back, urging you along, trying and failing to hide a smile. “I don’t keep kosher. My dad does. It’s okay, it would have been on me to tell you if I did.”

You still looked nervous despite his reassurance, anxiously consulting the list of ingredients on your phone as you chewed on your lower lip. “Look, a kinda shortcut is to make something vegetarian. It’s usually kosher that way. And I’ll make sure everything in your kitchen is kosher.”

“Oh! I’m vegetarian.”

Oh, Steven would love that.

“Great,” he had reassured you. “Then we don’t have anything to worry about. I’ll help you. I’ll make sure it’s all fine.”

And he had. And it was. And he’d liked cooking with you, even though it didn’t seem to be something you did all that often.

Marc likes all the little mundane things you do together. Home improvement and grocery shopping and going to the hardware store and cooking.

He shakes the memory away and looks at the wallpaper again, orange and patterned with gold leaf. It’s curling off the walls, peeling down in strips in other places where you’d torn at it with your hands.

You’ve yet to paint your flower boxes, and Marc still hasn’t built you a new sign or finished repointing the brickwork. The fucking bell is still rusted where it hangs above your door.

Only one of the warped glass panels in the wooden front door has been replaced so far. A single pane of colorless glass replaced by a red and yellow image of a bird that you and Steven had made together one evening.

Despite all of those uncompleted projects, he’d caught you on a ladder earlier in the day ripping down strips of wallpaper when there had been a lull in customers. You’d had an odd expression on your face as you did so, one Marc couldn’t read.

Marc stares at the peeling paper, and what lay beneath. He wishes you would have said something before ripping it down. He probably could have salvaged it. The design is pretty.

“Marc!” You call. “C’mere, honey.”

He gut lurches with that pleasant little nickname you’ve gifted him. It feels unfair, like something he should get to call you, not the other way around. You’d first called him that in the hardware store, your hand curled around his bicep when you saved him from the sales person.

“Honey,” Jake coos at him. “Aw.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles before calling out to you, “Comin’!”

Jake cackles, and Marc knows he thinks he’s slick, but it's hard not to notice how much Jake has been showing up lately compared to before.

Jake likes you too, and he’s really only half joking about being the one to take you on a date.

He steps down the ladder to weave through the shelves to the back of the shop.

You’re just stepping down the last few steps of the back staircase, his father in tow behind you.

Before he can reach you, you’ve turned to his father and taken his hands in yours. “Thank you for coming over, Elias. I hope my cooking wasn’t too bad.”

“It was delicious. Thank you…for everything.” Elias’s eyes cut to where Marc stands before flicking back to you, an unreadable look passes between the two of you and he’s left to wonder what Elias means by that, what the two of you talked about.

Marc’s hands curl into uncomfortable fists at his sides, but he makes an effort to smile.

By the snort you try to choke back he doesn’t do a very good job. “You’re very welcome,” you say to his father. “Marc will walk you home.”

Elias blinks over at him again. “You won’t be coming with us?”

“I’m afraid not,” you say apologetically. “I have a lot to do around here. You see how Marc has been terrorizing my wallpaper.”

Marc shifts his gaze to you, glaring. “Right, it’s me terrorizing the wallpaper.”

To Marc’s surprise, his father laughs. “Okay, maybe another time then. For tea or coffee, whatever you prefer.”

You nod, though Marc knows you have no intention of ever accepting an invitation. Not without him, at least.

The thought warms him, just a little, that you wouldn’t even walk over to the house with them, not if Marc didn’t want you to.

He ushers his father ahead of him through the crowded aisles.

But before he can follow, you reach out and cup one hand under his arm, your fingers hooking in the crease of his elbow. “Are you coming back?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” you smile, rub your thumb against the delicate ridge of bone in his arm. “Tonight went well.”

“Yeah,” he agrees.

It did.

Even if he’d had to escape a little early.

You laugh again, though he can’t fathom why. “Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” Your thumb traces over his skin again, before you release him and turn away.

Milwaukee Avenue, Chicago 8:15 PM

His father is talking about you, moving around the living room slowly, gathering up a book and his reading glasses.

Elias likes you a lot.

Since Marc’s breakdown, since he finally explained to his father how hard it is to be at home, things have been less strained between them. A certain tension still lingers in the air, but not as thick as it had. It’s possible to breathe now, possible to stand still.

His father seems to understand why it's hard for Marc to be in the house, why it's hard for him to be around Elias himself. And Marc supposes it's a good enough start.

Nothing between them is fixed and Marc isn’t sure it ever can be. He doesn’t know if he wants to try, if he wants to reconcile.

Is there anything to reconcile?

It’s the one question he consistently comes back to. He doesn’t know if what had been fractured between them can ever be fixed again, or overlooked.

“Are you heading back over to Tales Untold?” Elias asks as he settles in an armchair, his book on his knees.

“Yeah.”

Marc considers leaving then, just turning around and walking out the door without another word. But speaking with his father has become easier in the last week, like Marc broke the protective seal of cordiality that made both of them quiet.

He can do this. He can ask.

Elias looks surprised when Marc sits down in the opposite armchair and adjusts himself uncomfortably. “We gotta talk about the piano.”

His father slips his glasses on and then peers at Marc over the rim. “Okay, Marc.”

“We gotta talk about everything.” He swallows, remembering the way he’d broken the week before, dashed his heart on the rocks of the house.

For you. Because he was protective and worried about you.

But he doesn’t know if he can do all of that in one day. To ask about the alcoholism and the abuse and why his mother had hated him so much and why his father let her hate him.

“Not right now, though.” You’re waiting for him to come back, and he says as much.

His dad smiles at that, the twist of his mouth soft, and Marc can’t understand why it would garner that reaction. Marc doesn’t comment on it, decides he doesn’t want to know. “Why,” he starts, mouth dry suddenly, his tongue like sandpaper. “Why did you donate the piano?”

Elias’s shoulders relax, the tension bleeding out of them. “I know you think the worst of me, Marc. And I can’t really blame you. The two of us…we’re not good at talking. We never have been.”

Marc nods and waits, because it’s not an answer to his question.

The muscle along Marc’s spine pulls tight while he waits for an answer, like he’s on marionette strings about to be cut.

“Your mother never played the piano after Randall died, and neither did you. When you left, I still had hope that you’d come home. But when she died, that left me. Neither of you were ever going to play it again.” He glances away, “It reminded me too much of you. It was painful to look at.”

Marc goes still, trying to piece together what his father had just said.

Reminded him of Marc. Given away because it hurt, not because he was being erased, not because it reminded him of Wendy. It reminded him of Marc.

“I have to get back to Tales Untold,” Marc says abruptly, standing up sharply.

Elias nods, “You should just stay there. You’d probably sleep better.”

The suggestion catches Marc off guard. “I can’t just -,”

His father shrugs. “You could ask.” Before he cracks open the novel, he says, “We talked about Shabbat. You should both come to a service one Saturday. Together.”

“I…you did?”

“Yes,” he shrugs. “Seemed interested.”

He’s not sure why he says it, he should just turn and leave. “We had to go shopping for ingredients,” Marc says.

And then, before he can convince himself not to say anything more, tells his father about how you’d been nervous about cooking for him, and about the kosher incident at the grocery store.

Elias smiles and then laughs. “I think you’ve found a really good person.”

The words well up inside him, the urge to tell his father he doesn’t know what a good person is, not really. But the words die in his mouth, because it feels like an insult to you.

Because his father is right about that, at least.

You’re an inordinately good person.

“Goodnight, dad.”

His father doesn’t look up from his book, “Goodnight, son.”

Tales Untold, Chicago 8:58 PM

By the time he makes it back to Tales Untold, you’ve managed to rip down the wallpaper on an entire exposed wall.

“Well,” you plant your fist on your hip and examine the yellowed wall beneath, your other hand still tailing a strip of paper. “I suppose I’ll have to clean the wall.”

“Then what?” He leans back against one of the shelves, crossing his arms over his chest.

You purse your lips, humming under your breath. “Maybe I’ll paint a mural.”

“Oh yeah?” He watches your mouth twist, the flick of your eyes over the blank wall, like you’re seeing more than the empty space. “Why’d you want the wallpaper down anyways? We coulda fixed it back up.”

“Reminds me of my mom,” you say, suddenly bending down to gather up the paper left on the floor, bunching it up between your palms. “I mean,” your mouth twists to the side a little as you consider the wall. “This is all her. Not me.”

A sense of vertigo sweeps through Marc, because he associates everything here with you. “It is?”

You hum in confirmation but don’t look at him, your eyes firmly glued to the paper in your hands. “Upstairs. That’s my stuff. But everything else. The shop and everything out front was hers.”

And Marc becomes very suddenly aware of the fact that he’s never asked you. He knows nothing about your past, not really. In his mind, you’ve just always been there, standing in the sunlight at the back of the shop.

He almost bites down the question. But he’s already tried his hand at one hard conversation, maybe he could do it again.

“What…uh, what happened?”

You turn and smile at him. “You don’t have to ask,” you say before walking away.

Marc frowns after you before following. “Yeah well, I wanted to.”

You stuff the long ribbons of ruined wallpaper into the bin behind the counter, leaning into the wood with your head propped on your fist. “I lived with my dad out of state. Chicago isn’t really my home, but I spent every summer here with my mom. I think she - I think she was like me. I think she felt things from the stuff people donated.”

Marc leans opposite you, leaving one hand open and extended toward you. He hopes it's not too obvious, that he’s hoping you’ll reach out and fold your fingers between his.

He feels a spike of jealousy sometimes, for how easily Steven touched you and how easily you accepted his touch. He doesn’t know for sure if it’ll be the same with him as it is with Steven.

You don’t immediately take his hand, but that’s okay.

Jake is reflected in a nearby case, gesturing at you. “Just do it.”

He ignores him, giving the tiniest shake of his head.

“Maybe that’s why you thought you knew me,” you say, mouth quirking in a smile. “Maybe we saw each other in the summer around the neighborhood.”

He nods, “Yeah, maybe. You think this thing is hereditary?”

“Maybe. We never talked about it so maybe she was just intuitive.” You shrug and then reach to take his hand as Jake calls him a coward for waiting. “Anyways, she passed away last year.” You squeeze his hand, “It was right around the time your dad donated the piano.”

You slide your fingers over his wrist, and Jake has gone quiet in the reflection of the case, carefully watching you. “I was meant to clean this place out. Sell it. I’d already gone through most of her things in the apartment and I was just starting on the shop when your dad came by. Something about it…I dunno, I felt like I should stay. Not like I had a career anyways. I never finished college and this place was paid off a long time ago so,” you shrug. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed the rest of the street got gentrified. I wouldn’t be able to afford it otherwise.”

You’re rambling a little, your words nervous in a way they’re usually not.

You look up and meet his eyes. “It gave me peace. I kept it for you as much as I kept it for me. I should have told you that before.”

He remembers the way you’d went still when you realized what piano he’d been looking for the first day he stumbled into the shop, the guarded, watchful cut of your gaze before he explained who he was.

Marc watches you for a long time, trying and failing to grip at the emotions twisting and roiling inside him. He’s not sure what exactly he’s feeling.

Both your mothers’ deaths had brought you together. His father had. The piano had.

Without any of that, he would have never had cause to come over to Tales Untold. He would have never had cause to meet you at all.

“I just left everything alone after that. Well, I moved my things in and repainted upstairs. But now, thanks to you and your criticisms of my storefront,” you smile and roll your eyes, “I decided I should make it more me. Y’know? Like upstairs.” You fidget again, glancing away from him, your grin fading.

Marc nods, still not sure what to say, the weight of something unknowable setting on his lungs. He never really considered that he might be impacting your life in any way. This weight isn’t uncomfortable, not like it usually is.

Your hands are still stroking over his, the pressure of your fingers pleasant and warm, soothing, and he doesn’t know what to say.

“I liked the orange.”

You grin, the sudden beam of your smile blinding him. “I did too. It just needs an update. I don’t want to erase the character of the shop. And I don’t want to erase her.”

Marc doesn’t know how to respond to that, since he’s had days he wished he could erase his mother. “I’m sorry,” he says, even though you’ll have no idea what he’s apologizing for.

“Hey,” you press your fingertips to the pulse point in his wrist. “It doesn’t erase your feelings, honey. It doesn’t make -,” you stop and take a breath. “She wasn’t perfect either, y’know. She was only a good mom when it suited her, and only when I got older. It’s why I lived with my dad. Even though it was complicated, I still loved her.” Your voice is quiet, “I think you struggle with that too.”

He doesn’t want to admit that. It makes thinking about Wendy all the harder, thinking about his past all the harder. “I don’t -,” he stops, meeting your gaze.

The shop is usually flooded with natural light. Now, you stand cocooned together in the low overhead lights. It casts odd shadows across your face, and a sudden exhaustion hits him all at once.

You don’t pull away, waiting. “It’s okay,” you soothe, still working the tension out of his hands.

“I don’t want to miss her,” he shifts, cradling your hands between his, slowly sliding his touch along your palms and the falls and valleys of your fingers. “That’s…it’s fucked up. I shouldn’t fucking miss her. I shouldn’t remember anything good and the piano -,”

He stops again, not able to continue. “I understand,” you muse. “It’s obviously not the same. But sometimes, I’m mad at her. She didn’t want to change who she was to be my mom. At the same time, I had a lot of good times with her.”

Marc looks up from your twinned hands at the same time that you do.

You disentangle one hand to shift an errant curl back from his face. “It’s okay to miss her. It’s okay to mourn who she was before. It’s okay to miss and mourn the mother she should have been to you. It doesn’t make what she did to you any less terrible than it was. It just means things are complicated. It just means you’re human.”

Marc doesn’t look away from you, chasing the cut of your gaze. Your lashes lie thick against your cheek when you look down, like you’re embarrassed about all you’ve shared. He doesn’t want you to stop talking. He’d listen to you forever. He doesn’t want you to be embarrassed about sharing things with him.

Instead of saying any of that to you, he nods slowly and says, “How’d you figure all that out?”

“It’s all I’ve thought about for the last year,” you shrug. “I’ve spent a lot of time with myself. I mean, you’ve probably noticed that you’re kinda my only friend,” you joke lightly.

“That’s not true.”

“Name one other person.”

“That girl at Flour Up. The hardware guy.”

You smile. “Okay, Marc Spector, the hardware guy is definitely a better friend to me than you are.”

“He’d like to be though, wouldn’t he?” Marc mutters, thinking of the other times you’ve had to go to the hardware store with him. Your laugh breaks the tension, the edges of your eyes crinkling up before he adds, “Steven, too.”

You before he can stop you, you’re tugging your hand out of his grip.

His grief only lasts a second though, because a moment later you’ve rounded the counter and yourself fitted into his arms, hugging him tightly. “You’re safe here,” your mouth is by his ear, your voice soft, and he can feel the movement of your jaw where it’s tucked against his shoulder. “You can talk to me.”

“I know.” And he does. “My dad said to ask if I could stay here.”

“You can stay here,” you say, even though it wasn’t a question. “Always.”

Marc turns you gently in his arms, presses you back into the counter. Your hands fly up to press against his biceps, your hands warm through the fabric of his t-shirt. “What?” You smile at him when he doesn’t say anything.

“My dad told me that he got rid of the piano because it gave him hope I’d come home. When my mom died, that hope died. He was alone. The piano was hope for him. It reminded him too much of me. And before.”

You blink, “What’s the piano for you?”

Home. It’s home.

It reminds him of his mother and what should have been.

He doesn’t answer you.

But you nod anyway and stroke a careful hand across his shoulders, drawing him in closer. You’re warm against him, pliant and relaxed against his chest.

You smell like peace, like warmth and that signature lavender.

Marc decides to accept the moment for what it is, whether he should or not, gripping you back tight. He slides one hand up your spine until he can cup his palm against the back of your neck, the other winds around your waist.

For a moment, he thinks your breath stutters, before it rushes out of you in a sigh and you soften against him.

It’s a show of trust he didn’t know he needed.

You hold him just as tightly, adjusting your grip around his ribs.

“Ask.” It’s Steven this time. “You’re clearly flirting with each other. Go on, Marc, ask about the date.”

He closes his eyes to Steven’s reflection and shakes his head as subtly as he can.

Marc doesn’t let go of you.

He doesn’t ask you either.

Tales Untold, Chicago 11:24 PM

Marc does the dishes, just like he’d promised to.

Like always, he refuses your help but lets you watch.

You stand close to him, just so you can feel the heat rolling off his skin. And although you want to touch him again, you don’t.

He’s much quieter than usual, and for someone like Marc that means he’s practically nonverbal.

He doesn’t seem upset, merely introspective.

But it doesn’t stop anxiety from swimming in your belly, worried you’d overstepped yourself downstairs.

Your situation with your mother was very different to his, that much you know even if you don’t know the details.

When he’s done with the dishes and the water is draining away you decide to give him a bit of space. “I’m going to take a quick shower.” A knot of unease rests uncomfortably in your throat that you aren’t sure how to swallow down. You aren’t quite sure what it means.

Despite the worry rooting down in your veins, you manage to smile at him, showing him where the remote to your TV is. “If you’re still hungry, the leftovers are in the fridge and there are snacks pretty much in any cabinet you open. Okay?”

“Okay.” He only answers you when the door to the bathroom is nearly closed behind you.

You suck in a breath and try to put Marc out of your mind and how much you’d said.

Too much probably, considering what you had been talking about. Marc is already so closed up, you should have just left it. He didn’t need your shit weighing on him too.

A laugh escapes you and you press a hand over your mouth, stifling the laughter when you remember accusing Marc of being closed off.

Maybe you were the same, and overthinking it too.

You can’t find it in yourself to regret touching him though. The memory of the warmth of him against you fills you both with an odd peace and a giddy nervousness. You’d never wanted to move.

You stare at the crescents in the tile under your feet, remembering the heat of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the scent of him something heady and uniquely Marc, the way his palm felt both possessive and protective on the back of your neck.

You shake your head as you step in the shower, trying to clear away the wings of thought that closeness carried.

Marc trusts you with the pieces of himself as he works through something you only half understand. You can’t break that, you won’t.

The warmth of the water serves to wash away some of the tension lining your spine, ease the anxiety still bubbling inside you.

You don’t want to admit it, but you’re eager to be back with Marc.

You roll your eyes at yourself and flip off the water, annoyed.

It feels like a crush. It makes you feel stupid, like you’re a kid again, how much you like him.

It takes you a moment to hear it, over the sound of the bathroom fan and the still dripping water from the showerhead while you towel off.

Piano notes.

A song is being played slowly and deliberately, a little clumsily as though the person hasn’t played in a very long time.

You find yourself smiling as you listen. Still dripping water onto the floor, you wrap the towel around your body and step out of the shower to push your ear against the door.

Marc seems to pick up confidence the longer he plays, the notes faster and more sure, though he does make quite a few mistakes.

He plays beautifully, if a little inelegantly, the same song you usually play for him. You close your eyes and listen, not sure what it means that Marc is finally playing the piano. You pull away from the door and go through your after shower routine as quickly as you can before dressing, not able to wipe the smile off your face, worries forgotten.

You half expect the music to stop as soon as you have the door open, but it doesn’t.

Marc doesn’t even glance up as you creep closer and perch on the edge of the bench, like he isn’t entirely aware that you’re there.

You don’t touch him, just listen quietly for as long as he plays, itching to play alongside him but not daring to interrupt.

When the song eventually tapers off, Marc doesn’t turn to you, like he’s afraid to look at you.

You scoot closer to him on the bench then, until your shoulder bumps his.

His breath hitches when you pillow your head against his shoulder. “Beautiful,” you murmur. “Really.”

Marc carefully lies his cheek against the crown of your head. “Thanks. Little rusty.”

“Not too bad,” you hum. “I’m definitely the better player though.”

You think you feel his lips ghost against your temple, but you can’t be sure.

The feeling is so brief, you’re sure you imagined it. But you definitely feel the little huff of a laugh against your forehead. “Yeah, you are.”

He lifts his head away from yours, but his hand finds yours, the warmth of his palm enveloping yours.

You don’t try to hide your smile when you stand and attempt to tug him up from the bench. “C’mon. That’s enough emotional turmoil for one day.”

Marc manages a laugh but doesn’t follow the pull of your touch. “What?” you ask when he just looks at you.

For a moment, you think maybe you’re looking at Steven and you just hadn’t noticed the switch, before you realize Marc just has his guard down. His gaze is wide and gentle. The ease of trust makes him look younger, looser.

“What?” you repeat. “What’s wrong, honey?”

That word on your tongue seems to pull him out of his thoughts, whatever doubt was making him hesitate.

“C’mere,” he says, his eyes going soft and shaded. “There’s somethin’ I wanna show you.”

You tilt your head and watch curiously as Marc releases your hand and stands. He pushes the piano bench out of the way, and then folds himself to lie beneath the piano.

Intrigued, you bend at the waist and meet his eyes. “Is this your way of telling me you wanna sleep there?”

He rolls his eyes. “Just c’mere. I’m trying to show you something,” he grumbles.

You straighten and pluck a pillow off the sofa before returning to him.

It’s shadowed beneath the piano, the air cooler than the rest of the apartment. You tap Marc’s forehead so he lifts his head and you can fit the pillow beneath his head before you settle next to him.

He’s warm, his skin molten where it presses against yours, and that odd little flutter returns to your chest.

You don’t even consider looking up, tilting your chin in his direction instead. His lashes look impossibly long against the arch of his cheekbone, his skin golden brown in the soft lighting. The dusk of the little cocoon you’ve created in the shade of the piano feels strangely safe and peaceful.

You wonder how much of that is Marc’s presence, and how much is the piano’s energy.

Marc’s normally stormy expression breaks and he smiles at you suddenly, letting you watch him before he reaches out and taps two fingers under your chin. “I know I’m pretty, but you can stare at me some other time.”

You scoff, despite the prickle of embarrassment that itches under your skin. “Sure, flatter yourself, Marc.”

Marc just guides your head up, until you’re staring at the underside of the piano.

Etched into the wood are two sets of initials.

M.S. R.S.

“Oh,” you say, reaching up to trace the outline of letters clearly made by a child’s clumsy fingers. “M S, Marc Spector,” you whisper and trace the letters slowly. “Who’s R?”

Marc doesn’t immediately answer. When you hear him swallow loudly, you turn your head to look at him, hand settling atop your stomach when you lower it. “Marc?”

“My brother. Randall.”

“Randall,” you repeat. “Right. Your dad mentioned that when he dropped it off. Said you and your brother played it together.”

Marc nods, just the slightest dip of his chin. “Yep. We did.” He reaches up and traces the letters now, and you watch his face carefully. He’s nervous, but otherwise fine. “That was before he died.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “I didn’t know. I’m so sorry, Marc.”

He turns to you, eyes flicking over your face. “Look, I don’t wanna - we don’t gotta talk about it.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?” When he just stares at you, you tilt your face toward his. You turn on your side and tuck your knees up against the side of his. Something warm roots down in you when he presses his hand over your waist and helps you wriggle closer to him. “It’s not about me, honey.”

His brows furrow. “Why do you call me that?”

“‘Cause you’re sweet,” you tease and smirk when he rolls his eyes. He leaves his hand where it rests against your waist, his wrist draped casually on your hip. His fingers flex on the edge of your t-shirt, fiddling with the edge of it, when he turns fully toward you on his side.

“I don’t know how,” he admits, fingers tightening on you, like he’s afraid you might slip away.

You tilt forward carefully, until your forehead rests against his. Marc keeps his eyes open and on yours. His eyes are like amber, threads of coffee and umber darkening his irises. Pretty, expressive eyes dig into yours, rounded with something you can’t identify. “No one really does. It’s not easy.”

“Was it easy for you? Talking about your mom?” His nose touches yours, his breath warm where it fans over your lips and chin.

It’s a little hard to breathe, even harder to focus.

Really, you think, no person should be allowed to be so beautiful.

“No,” you manage to laugh. You hadn’t talked about your mother since she died, since her funeral. “I went in the bathroom and panicked about how much I said,” you admit, and Marc frowns at you, starts to open his mouth when you continue. “It took a lot of…of y’know, internal work, to make peace with it. Only really started to get past the grief and confusion when you showed up.”

You fold one of your hands into his chest, trying not to feel nervous about the closeness, the vulnerability. It would be so easy to roll into him, to press yourself into his chest and absorb the heat of him. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” you hum. “Reminded me that this place can still change, and so can I. I’ve been like a bug trapped in honey. Everyday was the same. Long shifts and terrible dates. And then you showed up.”

Marc blinks, like he’s confused, like he never considered that he might be impacting your life. At least not in a positive way.

It’s quiet for a long time, and you shift to tuck your head under his chin, so you were both more comfortable and the position was slightly less awkward.

Marc does tuck his arm fully around you then, dragging you closer.

You can feel his eyes on the underside of the piano, on his brother’s initials.

“He died when we were kids,” Marc swallows and the sound of it is like grief and mourning. “That’s when she changed. He wasn’t there and she was different. My dad didn’t know what to do. And I was…alone.”

You try to piece together what exactly Marc is trying to say. He has a way of speaking cryptically, saying one thing that was coded for something else. He always treads lightly, like he’s trying to lighten the load of whatever he’s passing on, making the smallest mark possible.

You think of the way he’d told you about what happened the night you met Steven. How he’d said he was stretched thin, a mild turn of phrase for what had clearly been mind numbing fear. The strength of his grief had been enough evidence, the tears and stress and those tiny broken blood vessels beneath his eyes.

“So,” you hazard a guess, “you only have nice memories of both of them with the piano?”

He relaxes against your hand when you press it up the length of his spine. “Yeah.”

“That’s why it’s so important.”

“Yes. And I don’t think -,” he struggles with the words for a long moment, clutching you tighter. “I don’t think I got to mourn. Either of them. I wasn’t allowed.”

You rub his back quietly and wait to see if he’ll say more.

You already knew, you could tell, that Marc just sits with pain, buries it, ignores it. But to hear him admit it shocks you a little.

When he stays quiet, hands drifting over your back and along your sides as though grounding himself in you and the fabric of your shirt, you say, “You have time now. I’m glad you came to get it. It’s okay. To have good memories, of both of them. It’s okay to want the chance to mourn.”

Marc’s arms tighten around you, and you burrow down into him, resting your face against his chest.

You consider asking him if he’d like to move somewhere more comfortable, but you’re already comfortable with him and sleep pulls you under too quickly.

When you wake, Marc’s arms are tight around you, your head pillowed on his chest where he’d turned onto his back.

The sun has long ago risen, and Marc is still asleep.

Halsted Street, Chicago 4:56 PM

Marc watches the hardware guy flirt with you again from the rearview mirror. This is your fifth trip to the store since the first one.

You had decided to layer neon lettering over the new sign Marc was making for you, smiling at him apologetically when he’d groaned. “Now we gotta go back to the hardware store.”

“Sorry,” you’d said. “I know you hate having to go out with me.”

His stomach had done a weird little somersault at your words. “That’s not - that isn’t why -,”

“Marc?”

“What?”

“I’m joking,” you’d winked at him. “I know you hate my hardware store friend.”

He’d just grumbled, “We should go to another fucking hardware store.”

But you are attached to this one now, the one Marc had dragged you to in the first place. It’s something he’s slowly come to realize about you, that you easily get attached to things and routines and people.

He hopes you’re a little more attached to him than that fucking sales associate with a crush.

At the end of the day, though, he’s just some guy with a crush too.

“Crush, eh?” Steven is watching you from the side mirror of the truck. “Me too, I think.”

Marc watches Steven for a moment, his eyes flicking back to where you laugh with the sales guy, still chatting about something in the afternoon sun. It’s hot, summer falling on the city with a vengeance. Your shoulders are partially bare to the sun, and you have one hand lifted to shield your eyes despite having sunglasses clutched in your other hand.

Steven is watching you too, his eyes round and big, like cartoon hearts are about to start floating around his head at any moment.

He’s put off telling Steven about the piano, and he’s been more than patient, even if he’s begun harassing Marc daily about the Cubs game that may or may not be an actual date.

It had only gotten worse since he slept with you in his arms, under the piano no less. He’d tried to stay awake that night, so he could have the memory of holding you that way, apparently completely at ease, relaxed enough with him to fall asleep.

The teasing from Jake had been brutal, while Steven had been delighted. “Nice innit?” he’d asked none too casually.

He told you about Randall and his mom. He asked his dad about the fucking piano.

Steven deserves to know, too.

He can do one more hard conversation, he’s done it twice already.

Besides, Steven always knew better than him anyways, was better at seeing up from down.

“Steven,” he says, catching his alter’s attention from where he’s staring at you with lovestruck eyes. “I wanna tell ya about the piano.”

“Bloody hell, Marc, right now?” He blinks away from you to Marc.

When Marc just stares, he nods. “Alright then. Go on,” he encourages quietly. “I’m all ears.”

Marc swallows, leans his head against the frame of the door. “Mom and me used to play the piano all the time.” He swallows, “All my - everything I remember is good.”

The image of the living room bathed in gold swirls back to the front of his memory. The dust motes, the laughter, the quiet of a Saturday morning.

For a moment, he can’t continue, his throat swelling closed with unshed tears. “That’s - that’s a good thing, innit?” Steven asks gently.

Marc swipes at his face even though no tears have escaped. “Yeah. I guess so. But it feels fucked up to - to miss her.” Steven sucks in a breath but Marc barrels on. “I can’t be angry at something that was good. When Randall - when he died, we stopped playing it. We never touched it again.” He presses his head back into the headrest and closes his eyes to Steven. “How am I supposed to hate her when I remember loving her so much?”

“Oh,” Steven whispers, his breath a rush, like he finally understands. “You can do both, I think. I do.”

“You do?”

Steven sounds meek when he answers, “Well, yes. It was hard. Knowing all the love I remembered, well, that it came from you. And knowing-knowing what she did to us. It was hard. It is hard.” Marc opens his eyes to meet Steven’s gaze. “She loved us. We’re allowed to love that part of her. No matter what came later.”

A tear does track down his cheek then, and Marc hastily swipes it away. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Well, that’s why the piano is so hard.” Steven nods, encouraging. “It’s not just about mom though, it's about Roro too.”

“Randall played the piano too?”

“I was just - I had just started teaching him. He wasn't good at it. It came naturally to me. One morning, we - instead of practicing, we scratched our initials into the bottom of it.” Marc stops and checks the rearview mirror, to make sure you’re okay, to make sure you’re still there but not approaching the truck yet.

You’re smiling, one hand still lifted to shade your eyes.

“Anyways,” Marc says, glancing back at Steven. “I don’t like having good feelings about any of it. It feels wrong. Like I’m forgiving her.”

The image comes unbidden again. The warmth of the living room, Wendy’s hands over his, the sound of prayer and breakfast being cooked, the dust motes hanging suspended in the air; Randall begging Marc to show him how to play, even though his hands were much too small.

He hates that he remembers laughter and love when his mom bent down to ask them what they were doing under the piano. She hadn’t even gotten mad when she discovered what they’d done, just smiled and held out a hand, beckoning them out.

“You can have both,” Steven says. “It’s alright, Marc. It doesn’t have to be all bad.”

It’s the same thing you’d said to him.

But it had been easier when it was all bad, simpler.

“I know,” he says. “I think I do.”

Steven starts to respond when the passenger side door opens suddenly and you climb into the cab. “Marc,” you say his name, huffing out a wild breath as you adjust yourself in the seat and yank your seatbelt into place. “We gotta go get some ice cream. It’s so fucking hot,” you swipe a hand over your sweaty brow. “It’s full of tourists, but do you wanna try Navy Pier?”

If it were all bad, he thinks suddenly, maybe he wouldn’t have met you. If it were all bad, he wouldn’t have found out that his father missed him, he wouldn’t have had a reason to hunt for the piano and visit Tales Untold.

Marc reaches over and takes your hand, folds your fingers between his. He says your name and when you meet his eyes, your smile disappears, replaced with a fretful expression. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he shakes his head.

You reach up with your other hand and touch his cheek, the corner of your mouth twitching upwards again. “Alright, go ahead and be cryptic and weird.”

“Hey,” he catches at your hand when you start to pull away. You look beautiful, your skin is glowing. Marc tries not to stare and fails. “We gotta get tickets. If you still wanna go to a Cubs game.”

You blink at him; long, slow blinks where your lashes kiss the space beneath your eyes. “Yeah? I thought you were getting them.” You tilt your head, “And then - pizza after? Isn’t that what we said?”

You’re close to him, your eyes wide as you lean closer to him over the center console. You smell like sunshine, like sun on skin, and beneath that like your usual lavender.

Marc presses your hand harder against his cheek, tipping his head towards yours. Your breath shakes when you inhale and your mouth parts gently when you glance down at his lips.

He wants to kiss you so bad there’s an ache in his chest. But he keeps his eyes on yours, your breath fanning across his lips, the scent of you like sweet mint.

When you meet his eyes, you look mildly confused, and Marc wonders for just a split second if you’re as unsure as he is.

Your eyes flick down again, and Marc watches your face curiously. There are no walls between you. He doesn’t feel like he has to hide anything from you. You’d already caught him at his very worst.

So, he should do this right - shouldn’t he?

He should wait. Do it properly. He’s never gotten the chance before, not really.

He clears his throat and inches back from you, pulling your hand away from his cheek as he goes, patting your fingers gently. The last thing he wants to do is let go of you, and so he doesn’t, folding your fingers between his instead. “Yeah, I can get us tickets. Just wanted to make sure you still wanted to go.”

You smile and then narrow your eyes. “Did you forget about it or something?”

Marc scoffs, feels the beat of the pulse in your wrist against his. Like he could fucking forget about it. “Of course not.”

“Not,” you repeat with the same inflection, a tease in your voice. “Listen to that accent.”

You glance over him, a strange fondness lodging in your eyes. “You alright? Looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.” You reach up when he doesn’t answer to push a lock of hair behind his ear, like you’ve done a million times before.

But this time you say, “You should let your curls out more.”

Your fingers brush along his temple, the pads of your fingers soft. Marc basks in the warmth of your attention, the feeling of your hand against his skin.

“You like the curls, huh?”

You huff out a laugh and ruffle his hair until it falls in loose rings around his forehead.

He glares at you, and you throw your head back and laugh. The sound is unbelievable in its joy and he’s surprised he managed to draw it out of you.

Marc’s breath catches somewhere in his lungs, and he finds it hard to swallow down the feelings welling up.

Should he wait? Should he do anything at all?

This can’t last, this happiness in you. It never does, not when he’s around.

He hates the uncertainty that snaps a steel trap around his heart. But it's true, it’s always been true that people are better off without him.

You smile and twist a curl around your finger. “Look how pretty,” you coo at him.

Marc finds himself leaning into your hand when you cup his jaw. He wants to close his eyes and melt into it because he can’t be sure how long it will last. Your fingertips are just brushing his cheek when -

“Stop it. We are not doing this again, Marc. Stop thinking like that, asshole,” Jake says from the rearview mirror so suddenly that Marc flinches away from your touch.

You suck in a hard breath, and unlike the other times, it’s not a pleasant sound. “Sorry,” you pull back from him, looking horrified as you drop your hand.

“No,” he reaches for you again. “No, it’s -,”

You lift a brow, move your hand out of his reach, “It’s what?”

“Not you,” he shakes his head. “It’s not you.” He glances at Jake, who has the gall to lift a brow at him though he does look guilty for startling him, and then back at you.

“Oh,” you murmur.

Your face is closed off now, your smile a little strained, and he can’t tell what you’re thinking. “Okay.” You swallow, “I wanna go. With you. Just to be clear.”

Marc isn’t really sure what to say as you tuck yourself back into the seat, practically against the door, readjusting the seat belt before you fiddle with the radio, not looking at him, like you’re trying to give him space he doesn’t want.

He sighs, glares at the rearview where only his own face stares back at him now. He should know by now to take the chances offered to him, because nothing ever goes right otherwise.

He wonders again, why he even tries.

And this time, Jake isn’t there to interrupt him.

Thank you for reading! A special thank you to those keeping up with the series, and for all the continued love and support.

Comments and feedback are so appreciated. New parts will be posted Saturdays at 3PM EST! You can add yourself to the tag list on the series masterlist.

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9w1ft · 5 months

Note

Hi 9, can I ask you something DNPy?

I am a baby kaylor so I am still gathering and processing info and lore; my question is, during 2017, do we know for sure kaylor were still together? I mean, is there any lore or coincidences that support this?

🤍 thanks

nothing dnp-y about this ☺️ there’s plenty of lore and coincidences. here are some things for you to consider:

karlie put out a celebratory valentine’s day vlog in 2/2017 where she does obvious visual copying of the vogue best best friend video, and taylor recorded the reputation at&t now promo sometime before rep release in 11/2017 which also copies parts of the vogue best best friends video.

reputation promo photography shows taylor wearing both the evil eye ring and the vsfs angel wing ring, which are both kaylor rings. here is one example but you can look up more, like the ups promo video or other at&t promo photos. because promo would have been done months before release date, this implies she was more than fine wearing kaylor symbols in the middle of 2017.

yes. vsfs angel wing ring is a kaylor ring through and through. go actually read the masterpost if you haven’t. i’ve put a lot of work into it!

taylor wears the vsfs angel wing ring and the evil eye ring when recording several rep songs, which can be seen in the behind the scenes making of a song clips (check youtube) and footage from miss americana

the J necklace made its first public appearance dec 26, 2016, and can be assumed that we’re supposed to assume it was a birthday or christmas present. and she’s wearing it during the filming of the recording of call it what you want, which also references the necklace. so assuming you don’t believe toe is real, her happily recording call it what you want after dec 13 2016, and then performing it with a huge smile on her face on SNL in nov 2017 are both hints

call it what you want is a song that is obviously meant to sound like she says karlie in several different ways. karlie what you want / call it what you want karlie / karlie would you want to?

there’s the whole business of the clip of taylor singing call it what you want acoustic while playing guitar, the idea that she’s debuting the song to karlie in this clip. it makes sense because as i mention above, the song is sung in a way that sneaks in ways for her to sing “karlie” and taylor is wearing the vsfs ring in the clip.

there’s also the point about how a lot of us who really know what karlie’s voice sounds like (since we have watched so much of her content) can hear karlie singing along to the song, when taylor points to the filmer for the line “i did one thing right” as well as the “yes” part

karlie posted from london in december 2016 and december 2017. and in between we also know she was in london throughout 2017 because she went to london fashion week, british fashion awards, several other events. just search the internet for “karlie kloss 2017 london” etc. this pokes holes in any argument that puts taylor running away to london as some sort of kaylor disqualifier. karlie was seen in london too. she was also posting from nice france over the summer in 2017, which is just a chunnel away from london if you think about it. she was plenty close more than several times to where people like to say taylor was.

derek tweeted what is basically an easter egg to call it what you want being about karlie, just about a week before it was released

also another big group of things is just how there’s an obvious reason for taylor and karlie not being seen together throughout 2017:

taylor and karlie disappeared only as the election results came in. they were literally seen together on the eve of the general election in 11/2016. its at this point, literally from this day, that taylor begins wearing the vsfs angel wing ring (read the masterpost linked above). by process of deduction you can prove she’s wearing it in the pic of her and karlie kissing lorde’s cheeks, because she was papped wearing it to the party. i just mean this to say that it makes sense that they stopped being seen for 2017, because they had a reason. the election results.

the glitch 2190 days of our love blackout line represents the amount of time between when they went dark in 2016 til midnights release

in the lavender haze explainer video taylor describe how she and her lover had to combat weird rumors for the past six years. this also neatly fits the time between when they went dark after the election and the release of midnights

miss americana and the heartbreak prince, which is about the 2016 election, includes the line “it’s you and me that’s my whole world”

call it what you want, again, is a song about running away with someone and nobody hearing about you for months, which fits the rep social media hiatus where taylor was not seen

this is more of an opinion i guess but i happen to think that taylor’s “darkest night” was sometime between 2016 and 2017 and i think that call it what you want’s “starry eyes sparking up my darkest night” connects to renegade’s “i tapped on your window on your darkest night” and the lover album prologue and this continued theming of karlie having been there for taylor when taylor was at her lowest.

i could go on and on with the lyric parallels that show the narrative post-election but it’s kind of never ending so anyways.. i’ll keep my list of things to everything right here. hope this all helps!

#just gonna tag this #masterpost #so i can look it up later 🤣

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o0o0thorn0o0o · 8 months

Text

I be back.

Images by themselves below the cut because I spent way too much time on them + text because I’ve been gone for a while—‘course I got a lotta say.

It’s certainly been a while, eh? I did this last cour, too, and I swear to God if I do this for the next cour… Worst part is, I haven’t even watched it yet this time, rip :,) Will definitely do sometime later today, for sure, for sure.

So, I meant to get this done for IchiHime week (and look at how that turned out, haha), but not only was July a month full of pleasure, but it was also full of pain work. I was bordering a D for Orgo, so I spent a good portion prioritizing that—and it wasn’t for naught! Not only did I pass, but I went from a C- to a B! A freaking B, not even a B-!!! I’m still so shocked… I also ended up with over a 100 for lab, but I honestly kinda expected that. I’m just so glad I graduated without failing Orgo 2. Was infinitely better than Orgo 1, but goodbye, will never see you again. If I ever do, it’ll be too soon… Had hella good professors, though. That, I will say.

I go from ranting about Orgo to raving, even though it’s almost been a month… Oops ^^” The grade just still makes me so giddy, haha. Anyway, been mainly prioritizing drawing this (plus a part two to this, which I do have done as well, but I will be posting that sometime later today), though I did spend a good portion of the first half of this month rebooting my personal writing club. Enough about where I’ve been—let’s talk about the piece, shall we?

So, this was originally just an art idea I knew I wanted to do later, and when I saw what the first prompt was, it automatically came to the forefront of my mind. That, plus with the idea I eventually got for the second prompt, I really just had to. I actually probably could’ve gotten this done in a more reasonable time, but, see, when things are just an idea, I don’t put too, too much thought into them—only enough to consider them neat or substantial or something.

When it actually came to it, I found myself at a dilemma of just how faithful I wanted to stick with Orihime’s confession. Originally, I thought about incorporating the five specific things she mentioned into different past lives, but then I realized the timelines wouldn’t really make sense with what I was going for, especially considering Soul Society and stuff, which I had not thought about. So I kinda had to choose between previous lives or parallel lives. I initially went with the latter, but… idk, last minute, like the week of, I decided after checking the prompt list one more time that, nah, I definitely wanted previous lives. So, uh… yeah… I might still end up making a parallel lives version of this in the future, ‘cause I did like those ideas, too. We’ll see.

Anyway, I did try to make them at least somewhat reminiscent of the five things: Orihime and Hikoboshi are related to the astronaut thing ‘cause of space and stars and stuff. Heian Period IchiHime, well, it’s a bit of stretch, but I couldn’t really fit donuts in here since the timeline between them and the introduction of ice cream and the current timeline would’ve made one/two of these lives tragically short without even factoring in Soul Society—nothing wrong with tragedy, but not for this post, haha. So I went with small Chinese cakes ‘cause they’re a sweet? And they’d definitely be a very rare and special treat, so… idk.

Shinigami IchiHime’s also a bit of a stretch? You’d think I’d have the easiest time with being a teacher sometime in history, but I ended up sticking it here, and I was adamant I wanted to draw them in their academy days. So, you’ve got Orihime teaching Ichigo some kido techniques or something, idk. Maybe there’s also a kido equivalent to the dummy Hollow thing? And Orihime has a similar/equivalent position to Shuuhei for that? Idk, am just spitballing here to justify myself even though I know I don’t have to.

Then finally, we got Edo Period IchiHime, with Ichigo introducing ice cream to Orihime for the first time ever. And then of course, I shouldn’t have to explain the last one, haha.

Oh, God, I have so much to catch up on… which I will do later. And hey, since my scheduled posts are all up, I guess I’ll just use my queue to reblog posts I’ve missed since Ik I definitely will be reblogging a lot—don’t wanna bombard you with a ton of posts, aha. I will be making them daily instead of weekly, though, so that I’m not stashing them for too long. Starting tomorrow.

#bleach #inoue orihime #kurosaki ichigo #ichihime #fanart #digital art #I hate backgrounds sooo much #made my wrist fricking hurt #and what? to look subpar? bah humbug…#also ew what’s with that new dashboard setup???

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thecapricunt1616 · 7 days

Text

Sunflower 🌻

Syd x Carmy one-shot

♡ Summary: A/U where after graduating from the CIA at the top of her class, Syd goes on a food tour in NYC & ends up hooking up with the most talented CDC, at the best restaurant in the world.

♡ W/C: 3,434

♡ Posted Date: 04/12/2024

♡ A/N: This is pure filth I tried adding some plot- I hope it turned out the way I saw it in my head. As always requests are open - for SydCarmy, CarmyxReader as usual! I hope you enjoy :)

♡ Warnings for BTC: Smutsmutsmut nsfw 18+ - Oral (m receiving) , Barely edited bc we die like men.

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Sydney Adamu had just graduated top of her class at the Culinary Institute of America. She’d been hunkering down with her dad, for a long four years, she was desperate to get out of there. She already had a plan all set up.

She’d take the last bit of money her grandfather had given her for college, and make a catering business of her very own. It would be dedicated to her parents, (of course) Syd’s hopeless romanticism was thanks to their perfect, beautiful love story of course. She’d known since sophomore year of culinary school - Sheridan Road would be her baby.

She’d settled on this idea - with any possible odd’s and ends money she’d made during her CIA training - she’d go out for as long as it would last her. She’d learn, study, and observe, then- create her catering business, with the confidence she’d gotten a taste of the very goal she had, a star. Well - three would be absolutely fucking insanity to her- but one? One she felt like if she had it? Her father would believe she was in a real line of work, instead of just happy she was perusing her own happiness.

It was the perfect plan in her mind. She’d already set aside the amount of money, with extra safety net, for all of the licensures, and documentation she’d need- as well as her commercial kitchen rental she’d make the food out of. Then - with the extra 5k she had left over, she booked a full food tour of the most prestigious, luxurious restaurants in NYC.

She’d planned the tour 6 months before she graduated, since the 3 restaurants wouldn’t even accept a reservation if it wasn’t made out any later then that, and when she walked the stage, 3 days later she was on the train into the city.

She’d be staying at a decent hotel for 12 days. Each day, she’d be having one large meal including an app, two main courses, 2 cocktails, and 1 dessert from a Michelin starred restaurant. She would be staying 4 days for 1 star, 4 for 2 stars, and 4 for 3 stars.

The schedule was as followed;

Monday - Hirohisa *

Tuesday - Dirt Candy *

Wednesday - The Musket Room *

Thursday - The Red Paper Clip *

Friday - Atera **

Saturday - Jungsik **

Monday - Saga **

Tuesday - Daniel **

Wednesday - Per Se ***

Thursday - Le Bernadin ***

Friday - Masa ***

Saturday - 11 Madison Park ***

When she’d got off at Penn station- she was nearly vibrating with excitement - she quickly brushed passed people grabbing their obnoxious suitcases in the overhead compartments.

“Sorry! ‘Scuse me! Fuck- shit sorry- exscuse me!!!- whoops! Sorry- scuse me- aah! Ugh- I Didn’t mean to- oop- oh- Jesus!! Excuse me!!” She rambled, frustration building in her chest. Getting off The L wasn’t this hard- why did Amtrak feel worse?!

She took a deep breath, her nose scrunching.

Mm. So instead of cow shit - smog, I feel at home already.

She’d thought to herself as she briskly walks with the crowd towards the exit she meant to take onto fifth.

She slipped her wired headphones into her ears, texting her father

‘made it!! Love you daddy!!’

Before opening her Spotify, hitting one of her comfort albums, Broken Clocks, as she walked briskly outside - the crisp city air hitting her like a ton of bricks.

She leaned against the brick of the McDonald’s next door, avoiding the streams of people going down and up the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. She’d not been to New York before, she’d grown up in Chicago- been to the city more times then she can count, but the suburbs were her home. Being in the city- and let alone- a city like Manhattan versus Chicago- she was looking around, trying to gather her wits - and quickly. She clicked the maps application on her iPhone 7, tugging her umbrella out of the water bottle pocket of her backpack and tucking it under her arm as she typed the address to her hotel and clicking for the walking directions.

It honestly kind of pissed her off that each day’s food was better than the last. She’d wanted to not give a shit about stars and just focus on giving people an experience to remember - but it was cut & dry that now that she’d tasted this kind of food - she was going to do whatever she could to become as talented as the chefs that made it.

But - she hadn’t even tried the best yet.

The best, the best, THE best.

She honestly couldn’t believe she was going to be trying the food from Eleven Madison Park - but she couldn’t help but be so nervous. Every other Michelin starred restaurant she’d been to - the dress code was Formal attire. But this one? THE best restaurant in the fucking world? Oh- they just say on their website ‘many of our guests dress up for the occasion, but we do not have a dress code’

Her entire trip, She’d been cycling through 2 very different floor length gowns. One of which she wore to her graduation, and the other she’d found at Windsor on sale but it did the job. She didn’t wear luxury attire often, okay? She was too busy being Culinary school for Christ sakes! And tonight she couldn’t for the life of her choose which one she’d wear.

This being because she was attending a main dining room tasting, which was ten courses. Easy, luxury dining courses were stupidly small. But- she was also trying their bar tasting menu which was an extra four courses. Sitting at a bar in that stupid fluffy dress for two hours would not be comfortable. But- again- best. restaurant. in. the. WORLD!!!

She knew for a fact that she would be mad at herself if she got there and everyone around was dressed to the nines, but - for comfortability sake she went with the simple silken red gown.

The front of house service was literally perfect. She was glad she’d brought a new notebook, because she’d never have had enough space to take all the notes she was taking tonight in the one she’d been using the majority of the trip. Their staff was very casually mannered, and they made it very easy to order. Everything was very calm and comfortable, the furniture felt very luxurious in the sense of comfortability.

After she just had the best meal of her entire life, she knew she had to speak with the person who made it. Her mind was blown for lack of a better word. The food was fucking incredible. She had a rule to keep herself able to taste as much as possible: she was only allowed one bite of each dish, but here- she couldn’t just limit herself to one. Each dish she was taking 2 even 3 bites- but when she got to the sunflower dish? It was brilliant. She finished every bite, she couldn’t not. It would be sinful to waste it. And the only thing on her mind was that she had to talk to the chef who’d made it.

Her waiter comes back to her table, giving her back her card and receipt.

“Thank you for dining with us this evening, have a wonderful night” he told her

“Thank you- Um- may I speak with the chef who made the sunflower plate please? I’d like to pay my compliments in person if possible.” She asked hopefully.

“Of course, that would be Chef Carmen- give me just a moment I’ll go get him for you” he nodded and headed back to the kitchen. She looked over her notes, remembering the questions she’d wanted to ask about the dish.

Carmen, she wondered if he’d been named after the saint. His talent was surely straight from the hands of the Mother of Christ.

Shes interrupted from writing in her notebook by a husky, silvery voice

“Excuse me- I was told you’d like to speak to me, I’m Chef Carmen, I made your sunflower dish this evening.”

“Hey- I’m Sydney - that dish was- ” she stood up to face him- and when she realized who was in front of her, her heart began to race. Of course, she’d thought, of course - only a JBA contestant could come up with a dish so ingenious.

“Oh- um…Hi.. Hello- you’re like -” she blinked a few times, in utter shock. “You’re Carmen Berzatto“ She swallowed thickly.

Sydney was obsessed with this industry- she stalked the JBA website every year to see who would be nominated, dreaming that some day she’d be on that list. Being even nominated would allow her to die happily feeling as if she’d won a fucking Nobel Prize. That was how much she respected those damn awards.

“I am” he said and cleared his throat nervously.

“Well- firstly congratulations on your nomination- you like- if it was up to me you’d win because that sunflower dish was-” they’re interrupted by one of the food runners coming over

“Chef Carmen- Chef Daemon requests you in back of house now.” she said urgently, the girl looked like she was on the brink of tears as she continued taking the tray of food over to the table it was meant for.

“So sorry, i’d love to hear what you have to say but uh…” he trailed off.

“Yeah- yeah- sorry, sorry I wont keep you-” she said and he shook his head a bit

“No- no- um… I mean -” he wouldnt usually be so bold, but his ass was going to literally be kicked if he didnt get back there in the next 5 seconds. “I’m gonna go out for a smoke at 11:15. If you wanted to keep talkin’ ill be there” he said before heading back to the kitchen.

Sydney was nearly shaking - there were so so many things she wanted to ask him. She also realized he was much - infinitely hotter in person - how that was even possible? She remained unsure. She had reapplied her lipgloss and her perfume, nervously pacing back and forth along the sidewalk.

She hears the back door open and she looked over, out emerging the greek god incarnate she somehow got so lucky as to run in to tonight. “Hey!” she said with her famous warm smile.

He didnt return it, actually- he looked pissed. She swallowed thickly, rubbing her lips together nervously “Hey - sorry again I uh- fuckin’ boss” he muttered, fishing his cigarettes out of his pocket.

“No- don’t apologize please, I totally get it. I mean, you're the CDC at literally the best restaurant in the world. I wouldn’t have bugged you if I knew, I mean- my table, like- I’m not a critic..I guess I should have clarified cause of the notebook thing but they usually are more…low key? I thought? Do they usually just come and whip out a notebook? That would make it easier I think… But nonetheless I’m so so grateful to have been able to eat a meal that-“ she rambled on anxiously but he stops her.

“You talk when y’nervous” he said with a small smirk, lighting the cigarette between his lips and inhaling, leaning against the brick.

“Uh-” she stuttered, her face feeling hot suddenly. “Sorry- I’ve uh… i’ve been told” she chuckled a bit, taking a few steps towards him and leaning on the brick only 2 feet or so between them.

“It’s charming, y’smoke?” he offered her the pack with a red top, she looked down at it.

“I don’t- not- not yet anyways” she joked, crossing a slim arm over her waist. He couldn't help but realize how the action made her breasts more prominent.

“You’re a chef?” he asked, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Yes! Yes- well.. Just graduated, not working anywhere yet- I’m going home soon to try and start my own catering thing…” she explained and he nodded.

“Where’d y’graduate from?” he asked, exhaling the smoke away from her direction.

“CIA - 2 weeks ago, Valedictorian actually, y’not the only chef around here with street cred” she joked and he chuckled.

“Really? Word. Thats sick, good job. Y’said y’re headed home? Where’s that?” he asked, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Chicago! Can’t wait to get back, Hudson life is… not for me- I forgot how convenient public transportation was” she said.

He raised his brows in surprise, “Chicago huh? Thats my old home base.” he said

“I know! You’re actually… really famous did you know that? Like- they talk all about you during lectures, you’re the new golden child of the culinary world” she teased and he rolled his eyes playfully.

They’d been inching closer and closer without realizing throughout the whole conversation, she was now so close that she could see the barely there scar on his cheek, her focus locked on it. His gaze was locked on her plump lips and he was imagining how they’d feel around his cock.

“I do unfortunately - you’ll learn soon enough that praise means being a target in this industry.” He said

She bit her lip, meeting his striking blue eyes once again. “I really meant to tell you earlier was that sunflower dish was the best meal i’ve ever had. And i’m not just…sucking your dick because you’re you - I knew that before I knew you made it” she laughed a bit.

He followed suit, “Well if you want to- i’m not gonna say no.” he said and her eyes widened a bit, feeling her core pooling with heat at the idea. Of course he was half joking. It was so sudden and out there he would have never expected her to indulge him.

“I mean- here? What if your boss comes out?” she asked, a bit quieter as if she was trying to assure they’d not be caught.

He nodded towards the row of 12-wheeler trucks parked 50 or so feet away. “Haven’t moved in 6 weeks” he shrugged casually “Lead the way Chef” she motioned with her hand, a frisky smirk on her lips.

“Holy fuuuck” Carmy groaned, pushing his cock deeper into her tight hot mouth. “Y’like takin cock like this mmm? Y’like bein’ my little fuckin slut?” he muttered, thumbing away the warm tear that was gathering in the corner of her right eye. “So fuckin’ good f’me-” he growled, moaning at the wet gurgling noises emitting from her.

She swallowed around him, looking up at him with tear-filled dark lustful brown eyes, widening her jaw further and tonguing over the pulsing vein on the underside of his length, gently squeezing his thighs to urge him further.

“Y’want me t’fuck y’throat? Mmm? Dirty fuckin girl” he gathered her braids into his fist, wrapping them around his palm and roughly tugging her off.

She whined hotly, the sensation of his rough hand sending waves of pleasure through her being. “Please” she said wantingly, tonguing over his slit before wrapping her lips around the tip of his head in a sensual kiss.

He took his thumb, pulling her jaw open wide and thrusting into her mouth with a satisfied grunt. “Y’know-shhhit y’know what? I think this is the only way t’shut y’ass up? Mmm?” he inhales sharply as she pushed his foreskin back and spit on his exposed sensitive tip.

“Jesus fuckin-” he sharply inhaled through his teeth as she gently grazed her teeth over the sensitive head, his abs clenching in pleasure and hips quivering from the overstimulation “fuckin-h-aaaa-ahhh-mm-shhhhit-jesus fuckin christ” he whimpered, his head falling back against the metal with a sharp bang as she took the flesh into her mouth, flicking her tongue sharply over the weeping tip before smoothly sucking over the buzzing stimulation. He knew if she kept up the act he’d be filling her mouth with his seed within seconds.

“S-sooo fuckin filthy - y’want my cum in y’throat? Mmm? Little fuckin whore- h-holy-oh god- i-” he nearly suffocated her as he buried his cock further down her throat. He reached down, his fingers rubbing along his thick length buried in her warm tight throat.

“F-fuuuuuck- ah- oh shhh- mmm- thats it- thaaaaaat’s it- good fuckin girl” he grumbled, roughly and sloppily guiding her head in such a way that the noises being made if it weren’t her he would think theyre overdramatic and disgusting. He also didn’t know where the hell all of this talking was coming from.

Normally in the bedroom, he was quiet. Very quiet. The only way the women he was with knew he’d enjoyed himself was if he even came at all. Sex usually wasn’t about his own pleasure since in the presence of another he found it so hard to get off - it was more about giving him imagery that would help him later in regards to finishing.

“You are so fuckin good at that huh? You take my cock so well such a good fuckin girl” his jaw goes slack as she put her hands on his hips to steady him and slowly sinks her mouth all the way down to the hilt, her eyes shut in focus.

She gently rubbed her thumbs over his hips, swallowing around his length in a way that made whimpers fall past his lips he didn’t know he could make himself. “Holy shit y’fuckin- oh- ohhh fuck” he grunts as she takes one of her hands and begins massaging his balls and looking directly into his eyes, pulling off his length to breathe and gently pushing the foreskin back, kissing over the sensitive flesh with her plump lips.

“You can fuck my face- but deepthroating after a meal like that is pretty hard, id love if I can keep it down” she said, even with spit running down her chin, teary eyes, and swollen lips - she still looked adorable to him.

“Sorry- sorry” he muttered, loosening his grip on her hair “keep doin’ that fuck yesss” he breathed out as she swirled her tongue around his head. He thrust in and out of her mouth, gradually moving faster but being careful as to not slam into the back of her throat.

She stroked the bottom half of his length with her other hand, eyes closing and doing her best to swallow around him all the excess saliva that was dripping down her throat. She hollowed out her cheeks, looking up at him as she slowly and carefully sunk down once again, keeping her eyes locked on his.

“Mmm-shhhit-I’m fuckin-“ he groaned, his knees nearly going weak and head falling back with a thud. Blood roared in his ears, his hands shook slightly from the tension rolling off him in waves.

She nearly choked at the amount rolling down her throat. She pulled off slightly, swallowing - more like gulping, assuring to hollow her cheeks and swirl her tongue as she pulled off with a pop as to not waste any of the sweet salty mess.

“You- you- you are fuckin crazy” he breathed, looking down at her.

She wiped off her mouth, chin, and neck with a tissue she’d kept in her purse before saying “I’d say you’re crazy, “ she got off her knees, picking up the chefs coat he had thrown down for her to kneel on, to which she insided it out before she did so it wouldn’t show any dirt. “If I had that coat? It would never touch the floor” she shook it off carefully.

He quickly fixed his pants “he’s a friend it doesn’t matter I can always get a new one” he countered, putting the coat back on and buttoning it.

Her eyes widened “friends?! How the hell did you run into him?!” She asked.

“You- y’re into fashion ‘n shit?” He asked and she nodded enthusiastically

“Are you fucking kidding me?! Thom Browne is insane all his shit Is absolute fire. I wish I could afford one of his jackets like- it’s totally a dream wishlist kinda thing” she took some gum out of her purse.

“When do you uh…go back?” He asked.

“Tomorrow. Headed to Chicago on Wednesday” she said and he nods.

“Oh- yeah okay..It was uh…it was nice t’meet you” he said awkwardly “I should probably um..” he trailed off, clearing his throat nervously.

“Totally- yeah great to um…great to meet you too chef.” She nodded

“Could I um…” he rubs the back of his neck anxiously “could I maybe get y’r…” he trails off, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

“My number?” She asked, grabbing her phone out of her purse.

He nodded, cheeks bright red with embarrassment “yeah sorry-“ he mumbled

“Yeah- if I can get yours” she teased, clicking open the blank contact screen

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anmiruzu · 7 months

Note

(anon who requested riddle for the event: i meant prompt 6. the trick-or-treating one. sorry.)

to skip and go trick-or-treating

a/n i like how in-character this would be for him especially since his mother was strict with him growing up so now let’s hope he’s in character (´･ω･`) …also i made this a little long oops

-472 words-

October second,

riddle rosehearts; prompt 06: “what do you mean you’ve never gone trick-or-treating before?!”

as someone from another world, you didn’t think that many of your holidays and traditions would be celebrated here, referring to halloween and many others. but what surprised you more was that there were actually people who did not go trick-or-treating when they were younger.

“what do you mean you’ve never gone trick-or-treating before?!” you exclaim loudly in shock not expecting this revelation.

“well, my mother had always told me that it was a worthless tradition and that candy and sweets in general are not good for my health-”

you interrupt him, “still! to never trick or treat? not even once?”

you never expected this but this was riddle, a hard worker who was strict on both himself and others. so it wasn’t too far-fetched of a story although if it was ace, you would’ve called bullshit on him.

“not even once” riddle repeats, shaking his head.

you ponder for a moment in thought before speaking up again, “then let’s go trick-or-treating”

“we’re in college, y/n, furthermore, we, more specifically heartslabyul still have to prepare the botanical garden for halloween week.” (i know it’s more of a high school kind of setting considering their ages but it’s called night raven college so just pretend)

“so?”

“‘so?’ we still have our responsibilities! as the housewarden of heartslabyul, i cannot just leave my upper and underclassmen by themselves!” riddle retorts back quite passionately despite knowing deep down he wants to try trick-or-treating, just once, despite knowing he’s much too old for it.

“hmm” you pause in thought once again, “then i’ll help you prepare; I did promise ace and deuce i’d help them… but… only if you skip the last day with me”

you reason with riddle wanting to show him what he missed out in his childhood.

“...thank you for your assistance, however, i’m afraid i cannot do that”

>>>

after a very long time of persuading the housewarden, riddle agrees; reluctantly but is he really being reluctant? He had always wanted to try trick-or-treating and was always jealous of the neighborhood kids who he saw happily go from house to house.

so when halloween comes around, riddle leaves his post early feeling a little guilty, to go find you.

“riddle! hey!” you wave to him feeling excited, after all, it’s been years since you last trick-or-treated with your friends.

“hello” riddle greets you, a bit ashamed for skipping even though he did tell everyone at heartslabyul that he would take off early for “personal reasons.”

after meeting up with riddle the two of you took off going on a bus to one the nearby neighborhoods.

>>>

you hadn’t anticipated how awkward it would be; two college students running around from house to house, clearly too old to be trick-or-treating. but in the end it was the most fun you two had in years.

{31 daydreams of halloween event lineup}

{twisted wonderland masterlist}

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x reader #riddle #riddle rosehearts #riddle rosehearts twisted wonderland #riddle rosehearts twst #riddle twst #riddle twisted wonderland #riddle x you #riddle rosehearts x you #riddle x y/n #riddle rosehearts x y/n #31 daydreams of halloween event

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redhairedwolfwitch · 1 year

Text

Sacrifices in Avoidance of Heartbreak - Leila Ouahabi x Reader

A/n: so i wanted to post a Leila fic on Leila's birthday but I ran out of time so it's a belated post... oops.

///

Leaving Barcelona wasn’t something you wanted to do, but you felt like you had to. Your teammates and friends, including your best friend were under the assumption that your contract was ending and you could not get a renewal organised with Barcelona. So you left after Barcelona won the Champions League, following Vicky to Manchester, but instead of going to City, you went to United. A choice that confused everyone, but Ona was happy to have you, the defender eventually finding out the real reason that you left Barcelona one night when you were missing Spain a little too much.

You’d only spent a few seasons at the Spanish club, but you fell in love with Barcelona, and your best friend at that club. But she would never love you back, and hearing about Leila being with someone else was enough for it to feel like your heart was being ripped out of your chest. So, you left, to avoid that heartbreak.

The problem is, avoidance behaviours do not solve the issues going on. The dwindling contact with your former teammates was concerning, and whilst they could see you were okay from your social media and WSL games, you missed Leila, your Barcelona teammates and Spain. The Mancunian weather was a lot to adjust to, and you drove to preserve your Spanish skills, plus it entertained Ona with conversations in Spanish that confused the rest of the team, minus Ivana.

United ended up fourth in the WSL in your first season, and whilst Ona spent her off-season heading back to Spain, your avoidance kicked in, determined to avoid the heartbreak you were still feeling a year later.

It was ridiculous, and you knew it, but you couldn’t handle seeing Leila and knowing you would never be good enough for her to look at you as more than a friend. Your self-sabotage having most likely wrecked the friendships you had with your Barcelona teammates.

“It is always weird when players leave.” Patri reminisced, reflecting on how many players were leaving Barcelona this summer, Leila included.

“They always have a reason, but they will always mean something to us. Contracts or not.” Alexia tried to comfort her teammates, but the group were slowly losing the happiness that the Spanish sun gave them earlier, sunbathing forgotten as Ona made a noise, her eyes closed but also hidden by sunglasses as she spoke.

“Not everyone leaves because of contracts. Y/n came to United to escape heartbreak.”

“Heartbreak? Who broke their heart?” Mapi frowned, sitting up and exchanging looks with Leila, who had no idea of what Ona was talking about.

“Hmm, Y/n was in love with Leila, I think they still are, but left instead of telling her…” Ona trailed off as she opened her eyes, realising Leila was staring at the ground, playing with her fingers.

“Ona…” Alexia murmured, wondering whether Ona even meant to disclose this information, but it was too late.

“Wait, you guys did not know?”

“Do they know Leila is going to Manchester City?”

Leila did not hear the response however, her mind drifting to the last few times she had seen you before you left Barcelona.

You’d been drifting away for a little while, being less touchy and affectionate, leaving rooms early and talking less when teaming up with Leila during practice.

There had always been something that had bothered the defender though, the way you held onto her longer than you held onto anyone else during your goodbye hugs, how your tears seemed to be caused by a deeper reason than leaving Barcelona, especially after something Leila had heard you say before.

You adored Spain, and would not leave unless you had no other choice, even admitting you’d love to settle somewhere there one day, after football. So to find out that you left the place you were in love with, because you fell in love with her, and she was just finding out now? It had been a year, and Ona admitted you were still in love with her?

“What was Y/n like?” Ingrid enquired to Mapi, having been silent for a majority of what was said, since she had never really met you, with the season Ingrid arrived being after you left during the summer.

“The sweetest person…” Leila murmured, getting out her phone to do who knows what, halfway between pressing your contact and calling you when an instagram notification caught her eye. A photo of you offering the camera a peony wasn’t something she expected, but the caption made her smile nonetheless.

‘roses are cliche, so i bought peonies’

“The sweetest?” Ingrid smiled, a knowing look on her face that left Mapi confused, but Leila was busy commenting an emoji on your instagram post.

“Sweet, unselfish, prefers to assist rather than score.”

“That was with Barcelona. With United, they score.” Ona countered Alexia’s point, leaving the midfielder to raise an eyebrow.

Leila’s focus drifted again as she opened her messages, finding her last message to you had been left on read, until the familiar speech bubble appeared. The Spaniard watched as one message finally came through.

‘Te echo de menos.’

You missed Leila. That was all she needed to know as a plan formed in her head for when she left to move to Manchester for the next two seasons.

///

You didn’t mean to hit send on that message, telling Leila you missed her. No doubt she would want to catch up when she arrived in Manchester now. Was that so bad, you asked yourself.

However, there was a slight issue, your still existent feelings for the Spanish defender, feelings that only a chosen few knew about because you were scared and insecure. Scared you’d be judged for leaving a top club because you fell in love, but insecure because you thought that you were not good enough for Leila.

Choosing to ignore your phone for the time being, you began to arrange the peonies you had bought, locating a vase and a spoonful of sugar to help the peonies last longer.

///

Your avoidance meant that after the euros, you didn’t hang out with your teammates outside of the training facility during pre-season. You wouldn’t admit it, not to Ona, not to anyone, but you were afraid Leila would be there. Seeing her again, after all this time… your feelings weren’t gone, your heart ached for her but she had no reason to love you back.

What you were doing wasn’t healthy, but you also uprooted your life from where you were happy in Spain and moved everything to England, and now Leila is here in Manchester too, reminding you of that pain in your chest every time you think of her.

You sacrificed your happiness to try to heal from heartbreak, or avoid it, but you sacrificed your happiness and broke your own heart leaving Leila and Spain behind.

You thought you had ruined everything as you fiddled with the paper straw in your cup, staring through the cloudy plastic lid to watch the ice cubes swirl around in your drink. An elbow in your side left you grimacing, about to elbow Millie back when she gestured to the scoreboard. You were next up to bowl.

Getting up to select the bowling ball you needed, you went to bowl, grinning and throwing your arms in the air when the ball didn’t go into the gutters and actually hit the pins.

You could hear laughter from your United teammates but you didn’t care, until you realised it wasn’t just your United teammates at the bowling alley. Your face fell, and you could feel how the goosebumps ran over your skin, stomach churning and heart fluttering. Some of Manchester City had joined, at the bowling lane next to where you and your United teammates were located.

Ona approached you, holding her bowling ball to bowl next but she paused, spotting the look on your face, and realising who you were looking at. She was yet to spot you, but Leila was in your close proximity for the first time in months.

“Are you okay?”

“I don’t feel well. Could you bring my stuff to the toilets please? I’m going to go there then head home.” You explained, barely getting a concerned nod from the Spaniard before you were hurrying to the toilets, not realising that your speed walking caught another Spaniard’s attention.

Staring into the mirror in the toilets after exiting the cubicle, you grimaced as you realised you were sweating, your heart rate not calming down even after splashing water on your face and trying to focus on your breathing.

“I have your things.” Ona announced as she walked into the toilets, holding out your bag to you after you dried your hands with the hand dryer.

“Gracias, Ona. I will see you tomorrow, hopefully…” you swallowed nervously, fiddling with your keys in your hand as you headed towards the door, opening it only to freeze.

Leila smiled softly, but her face fell as you all but scurried away and out of the bowling alley in general, disappearing into the car park and out of sight.

“They hate me.”

“They love you, but think you would not love them.” Ona replied, sending you a text asking for you to tell her when you were home safely, before taking Leila back to the bowling lanes, explaining that you had felt unwell and gone home, so someone else would take over your turns to bowl.

///

It kept Leila up at night, the look on your face, the pain in your eyes that you didn’t realise she could see. Pain and tears. She found out from Ona that you got home safely, and it was only through persuasion and reminding Ona that she was the reason Leila knew of your feelings that Ona gave her your address, but warned her that if things went south, she would leave you alone.

Leila knew your schedule from when the two of you were at Barcelona, she knew how you functioned before and after training, and before and after games. After anything, you’d shower, make food then fall asleep watching something either in bed or on your couch unless you’d been invited out, in which you’d shower, eat out somewhere or eat before heading out, and crash in your bed after.

Life got busy for a few days, but once Leila had the chance, and she knew you were home, she decided to take the chance and go talk to you. Maybe it was invasive, going to your home after getting the address from Ona, you’d probably kill the young Spaniard but you and Ona had almost a sibling relationship after all this time. You’d get your own back at Ona somehow.

It took longer than expected to find where you lived, tempted to call someone for help since google maps’ directions weren’t the most helpful, but eventually Leila’s hand hovered over the door before spotting the doorbell. A doorbell that she wasn’t sure worked, until the door opened, revealing you wearing an apron over your pyjamas.

You froze the moment the doorbell rang, putting down the wooden spoon and turning down the hob before hurrying over to the door, forgetting to look out the window to check who it was.

“Leila! What, what are you doing here?” Your voice shook slightly, hand tightening on the door handle as the temptation to slam the door in your crush’s face crept into your mind, but you didn’t do it. Instead you let Leila in, leaving her in the hallway as you hurried back to the kitchen to stop your dinner from sticking to the pan.

“Why are you here, Leila?” Your voice thick with sadness, Leila hesitated as she stood at the counter next to you, observing you stirring what she assumed was what you were making for your dinner.

You didn’t hear what Leila said at first, turning your head as she repeated it, but you just hummed, you missed talking in Spanish. You spoke in Spanish to Ona a lot, but the rest of your teammates usually looked confused after.

“We need to talk about what? It’s been months, I don’t see how we have much to talk about-” the wooden spoon fell from your hand into the pot, your fingers clinging to Leila’s zip up hoodie as she pulled you into a hug. She didn’t hold onto you tightly, expecting you to push her away, but your body betrayed you as you leaned into Leila, your face buried in her shoulder as you moved your arms to hug her back.

Only pulling away when your timer went off, signifying that your dinner was done, you couldn’t look Leila in the eye. Your focus stayed with your dinner and trying to get it served whilst still warm, and not make a mess in the process.

“I know why you left Barcelona.”

You hummed, gently tilting the pot to pour your dinner into the bowl you had out, hoping not to spill it but Leila’s lack of subtlety took you by surprise.

“You left because you are in love with me.”

Leila’s eyes widened at the clattering noise of the pot hitting the rim of the bowl, hurrying forwards to help you before you split your dinner on the counter.

“Who, who told you that?” Your lack of denial left Leila’s eyes softening, deciding to try not to get Ona in even more trouble by saying it was the younger Spaniard that told Leila and the others during the off-season.

Shaking her head, Leila sighed, “you left without telling me, you thought I did not love you back?”

Staring at the steam rising from the bowl of food, you let out a sigh in return of Leila’s sigh.

“Sí.”

Leila looked up from where she had been looking at the floor, realising what you had said, what you had finally admitted after leaving Spain so many months ago without really talking to Leila again.

“Idiota.”

“Excuse me?” Raising an eyebrow, you turned to the Spanish defender.

“Idiota.”

“Why am I an idiot? For sacrificing my love of Spain to protect myself against the heartbreak of falling in love with my best friend and her not feeling the same way.” You deadpanned, about to fold your arms but Leila reached out, her hands on your hips.

“Because she feels the same way, idiota.”

“She, you, you what?” You spluttered but Leila shook her head, pulling you towards her so you were within almost kissing distance.

“Te amo, idiota.”

“Yo también te amo, Leila.” Biting your lip, your gaze rested on Leila’s lips, returning to her eyes as she smirked, leaning forwards so her lips met yours, your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself. Dinner going cold and forgotten on the counter.

/// hopefully some accurate translations ///

Te echo de menos - i miss you

Gracias - thank you

Sí - yes

Idiota - idiot

Te amo - i love you

Yo también te amo - i love you too

#woso x reader #leila ouahabi x reader #woso imagine #leila ouahabi imagine #woso imagines #barcelona femeni x reader #then it's actually manchester united!R x manchester city!leila but that's too complicated to put in a tag lbr #leila ouahabi imagines

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apprenticestanheight · 4 months

Text

THE FIVE DAYS OF SMUTMAS QUEUE: DAY THREE

Somno - Peter Strahm x gn! reader

Allllllll right, we are on to day three of this event and despite the fact that I never really write this many fics in less than a week unless motivation has come around and hyped me to a point where I'm capable of doing it across two days, I am still chuggin on and to be honest, the concept for this fic is largely what's kept me from going down the demotivated slope.

I have had a very not great last two months of the year and so body worship with peter strahm and a touch of angst with hurt/comfort it is, because I needed to write this idea out and figured this event would be a good opportunity lol.

Last note before this fic begins, this fic is meant for audiences of 18+! Minors, do not interact.

Fic type- this is smut and hurt/comfort

Warnings- somnophilia, oral (afab recieving), there is one mention of trauma/anxiety induced insomnia, and the reader is gn for all intents and purposes, but I went with an AFAB reader as that's the anatomy I know best, and this is edited but barely bc I wanted to post oops.

Peter is all too aware of how rough the last few months have been for you.

Granted, you've not said a word of it because you'd sooner see hell than let anyone know when you're going through a rough spot, but since your relationship has begun, Peter has learned to look for the subtle tells you display whenever you feel like your life is about to start falling apart.

Peter is something of a chronic insomniac because of how the on-call schedule of his work with the Jigsaw case has impacted his sleeping capabilities, and so he's used to staying awake for hours on end in case he gets a phone call from someone at the Jersey precinct.

You, however, work a decent and consistent job as a cleaner that pays more than well. You have a set of routines—you wake up at six thirty every morning, make a steaming mug of chai from the K-Cups you adore, eat an easy breakfast and a cliff bar on your way out of the house.

You're at work from seven-thirty in the morning to six thirty most nights, come home and do whatever needs doing around the apartment that you and Peter share, and you watch TV or read until Peter comes home and the two of you order dinner.

You always go to bed sooner than Peter does, typically going to bed somewhere around eleven or midnight where the earliest Peter goes to sleep is one, and then you wake up the next morning and your cycle repeats.

However, since September, whenever Peter has come to bed, you've still been awake, even if it's three or four in the morning. The chai you made with the K-Cups you adore has turned into a steaming cup of coffee that you have to sweeten with brown sugar, honey, and sometimes maple syrup to be able to tolerate.

You're at work from seven am to nine or ten most nights now, and by the time you're home, the housework has been looked after because Peters hired a cleaning lady to come by the house and make sure the house stays clean once every four or five days.

You come home and Peter tries to get you to smile but nothing really does the trick. Peter finds that he misses you, wants to try to goad you into talking it out with him but knows from too many attempts to do so that it absolutely will not work.

But, when he comes home on the 22nd at 7:30, a rarely early time for him get home as the stuff with Jigsaw has progressed, he's completely and utterly shocked to see you sitting on the couch in your living room.

When he closes the door, your gaze snaps to his.

"I owe you an apology," you say. "I've been very terrible at being a spouse the past few months. I shouldn't've subjected you to that. I know I need to be better at communicating and I just feel awful because I've pretty much shut you out and I just—it's just not—it's not fair to you, Peter."

"It's all right, Y/N," he says. "I thought that something had happened, yeah? I figured you wanted space and I was going to give it to you until you decided you wanted closeness again. I know I get angry really quick and am frankly a little surprised I haven't snapped about it but I have worked on not snapping a lot since we started dating."

You've been married something like a decade. It took a lot of storming for Peter to reach the level of evenness, the level of calm, where he stood.

"Yeah, but I've been terrible," you laugh. Peter approaches, sits next to you on your couch. "I've not—it's not been fair, Pete. I haven't talked, I've worked myself almost to the bone, I don't eat breakfast like I used to—all of my routines have been thrown off by this, and I can't imagine how yours have been."

He wishes he could say that he was fine, completely unaffected by it, but to say that would be to lie right to your face, which is something he promised never to do in his wedding vows. He worried about you all the time, desperately wanted to ask you if you were okay and try to goad you into talking to him even though that had never, ever worked in his favor.

Peter grins at you. "I'm just glad you're okay, Y/N," he says. "Had me worried for a stretch, if I'm honest."

"I'm sorry to have worried you," you say. "I've just—work has been driving me mental. I took more hours to get a bit of a Christmas bonus on top of the bonus I get tomorrow to try to ease the mental stuff I've been dealing with and yeah, the cushy paycheck is great but fuck if I don't hate dealing with people during the holiday season. I have been yelled at about how spotless houses need to be more times than I can count."

Peter laughs. "You're the one who decided to go into the cleaning business," he says. You laugh a bit yourself, press your forehead against his shoulder.

"I know," you mumble sadly, a laugh trailing through your words. "But when I started, I'd really hoped I would spend less time talking to people, more time deep cleaning carpets while I had decent music playing through a Walkman. I do get to listen to music but the people are becoming more and more of an issue lately."

Peter presses a kiss to the top of your head. "You're gonna take a bit of time off, mm? You definitely seem like you could use it."

"I booked it last night," you nod. "Tomorrow through til valentines day. I need the time to settle back into routines and I've been drinking coffee religiously—it's more than the one I drink here. I drink at least three cups a day just in the name of keeping myself upright and that needs to stop. I am beyond caffeine overdose. I can drink 600 miligrams a day and not feel a thing."

"That is definitely cause for concern," Peter laughs. "But I'm glad you're okay and that you're trying to get better. I've booked up until the New Year off so that I could catch up on sleep, too, but if we're both home, it means a lot of us time after Christmas. Still goin' up to New York?"

"My mother will put us to death if we don't," you laugh. Peter laughs.

For a solid few minutes, things really do feel like they'll be okay.

For what is probably the first time since before he was so much as a cop, Peter Strahm is asleep, you also asleep next to him in the bed that you share, at nine o'clock. He wakes up at six thirty from an unfortunately kinky dream and all he wants to do is part your legs and eat you out until he can't breathe.

Granted—you've spoken extensively about it before, and you've given him the okay to do it several times just as he has you, but still. The part of Peter that's turned on by the idea is equally matched by the part that kind of feels gross about it.

But then, approximately five minutes into unbearably loud thoughts about pulling down the sweatpants you'd stolen from him and parting your legs and devouring you, and five minutes away from just running to the bathroom and rubbing one out to the idea, he watches you press your face against the pillow and moan loud enough for him to hear it.

"Peter," you moan. "Fuck, feels so good."

Peters eyes nearly roll to the back of his head and he bites down on his tongue to keep himself from floating.

He tries to shake out his hands, tries to think of anything else while your quiet, desperate moans fill the air.

He thrums through the Jigsaw victims that've popped up in recent weeks, tries to think about something like the weather or the baseball scores or something to focus on anything but the fact that you're in the midst of a sex dream, one involving him, and the fact that you're moaning your way through it in a way that makes Peter want to lose his mind.

And then, you moan Peters name in a way that you know in your lucid moments drives him crazy, and Peter can't stop himself.

You've discussed it before, and Peters done it before, and every single time he's woken you up with his tongue rubbing wildly against your clit, you've moaned out and started rutting against his face and made a comment about how much you liked waking up to Peter bringing you to orgasm.

Peter is careful to remove the sweatpants you've taken from his drawer, lifting up the shirt you also stole and exposing some of your waist.

He licks a stripe through your folds, not at all surprised to find you're wet if the way that you're moaning from the dream is of any indication, and almost moans against your cunt right then and there.

He starts off slowly, licking stripes against your folds and drinking your wetness down his throat like it's water. Every single time you moan something within him flutters, and he knows it's been too long since he's taken his time with eating you out.

And then, as his tongue attaches to your clit, he feels one of your hands move to his hair.

"Best way to wake up ever," you whisper. "Oh, Peter. Thank you."

You sound half-asleep, but Peter moans against you and you tug on his hair encouragingly, so he keeps going.

He runs his tongue in circles over your clit, sliding a digit into your wet hole without a thought in the world, fighting a smirk when you moan and tug on his hair again.

He starts thrusting, sets a pace that has you writhing within minutes, and takes his fingers out in the last split second before you release, replacing his fingers with his tongue and lapping up your cum without thought, care, or merit. You thrust against his face in the aftershocks, moan as he gets up from his position.

He pulls you in for a kiss while you use one arm to amble through your nightstand for a condom, feeling Marks half-hard, clothed-but-only-by-flannel-pajama-pants length against your bare thigh.

You pull away only so that he can take his pants off, and you slide the condom on with care for how hard his cock is. He peppers your neck and jawline with kisses as he slowly thrusts into your sensitive folds, moaning as he bottoms out.

"I love you," he says to fill the silence while he waits for you to adjust.

"Thank you for dealing with me when I'm at my worst," you press a kiss to his cheekbone. "And for waking me up in the best way ever. Love it when you eat me out, Pete. You're so fucking good at it."

Your legs are wrapped around his waist and you squeeze his hips to tell him to start moving, and when he does, he sets a slow pace. Despite his fervency when it came to oral, he did intend to actually make it known that he did love you and wasn't always in it just to get you or himself to orgasm as quickly as possible.

His pace is slow indeed, but not slow enough that you're pretty much begging him to pick it up a little, and his thrusts are languid in a way that's perfect.

Both of you start moaning after a bit, and Peter, the guy who never moans and usually just likes hearing how you sound when you do, is moaning lewdly and loudly into the nape of your neck while you moan quietly near his ear.

"Peter," you moan. "Peter, fuck. You're so fucking good at this, yeah? You're treating me so well, baby. You're amazing."

Peter moans, clearly enjoying the praise, and you rut your hips against him.

"Fuck," he moans, picking up the pace just a little. "Fuck, Y/N. I love getting you so slick. You were dreaming about me, yeah?"

"Yeah," you nod. "Yeah. We were fucking at the precinct, in one of the storage closets."

Peter moves a hand to rub your clit, loving the moan that it brings out of you.

Minutes pass by of the same, and your release triggers Peters. You moan each others names as you come, and while you go pee to make sure you don't end up with a UTI, Peter pulls the condom off and trashes it, gets a bath going for the two of you.

In the bath, you talk of plans for the day, which will consist entirely of going to the shops together, reading books and doing last-minute christmas shopping.

All in all, you're happy that Peter woke you up with oral and Peter is happy that you're feeling okay enough to want to be woken up that way again.

#peter strahm #peter strahm x reader #saw franchise

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