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circeyoru · 2 months

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Unwanted Soul _ Part 5 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 (here)

How you had such a depressing life was beyond Alastor. He didn’t understand it. Can’t comprehend it! But he pushed these questions back to tend to your sadden mood, tucking you in and lulling you to sleep

Alastor sat next to your sleeping form, the room pitch black save for his glowing red eyes that pierced through the darkness. His staff played soft music to calm you down and fill the silence of the room. The only tears you should be shredding are ones of joy and happiness

The people you’ve mentioned, surely they were in Hell as well. They can’t be in Heaven for causing you such torment. He can’t let you see them, any of them. He needs to get to them first. However, for now, he can’t leave you alone in such a state

His eyes closed as he thought out how he’d torture them. Perhaps skinning them till they beg for mercy and your forgiveness? Pulling out their limbs and draining their blood? Letting the cannibals partake in a feast? No, no, he had to enjoy this. They were your tormentors when you were alive, he’ll show you that he can and will be your protector, even a guarddog if he must

But his heinous thoughts were put to a hold when you shifted in your sleep. He pushed away his thoughts while he watched your serene form rest. He put away his monocle, laying beside you and gently pull you closer to him so he was hugging you to his chest. His eyes drooped close. Perhaps he should let those unfortunate souls enjoy Hell a bit longer. If they crossed his path or yours, their voice will be on his everlasting broadcast

When things got slow for you, you found yourself hanging out with the hotel residents at times. They were an interesting bunch to say the least

Charlie was always happy to see you and would invite you on her little activities and exercises to redeem sinners. Though you’d mostly decline unless it catches your interest in some way. On the rare chance you join, she was very appreciative of your presence and wasn’t shy to thank you for joining in front of everyone. Her cheerful attitude was a bit of a hit and miss for you

There was one exercise that got you sharing something you’ve almost forgot

“Okay! Last two to share! Who’s going first?” Charlie beamed

“I’ll go first, My Darling needs all the time to recall!” Alastor directed the attention to him. “My joy in my hay day is my murders. Oh how I felt the rush when chasing my victims, hunting them like prey in the woods. The warmth of their body fading the moment I repeated stabbed my trusty blade into their weak bodies. The—”

“Okay, okay, you can shut it with the creepy killing. Sheesh.” Vaggie interrupted with a groan. She turned to you who was still in a daze, completely unfazed with what Alastor said. “You ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh, okay.” You snapped out of your daydream, unconsciously, your hand patted on your book that was strapped to your hip. “My joy when I was alive… I barely remember it, but I loved going to the library and read all the books I can.”

“That’s surprisingly cute considering you’re with that freaky smil—” Angel’s mouth was immediately shut with the slap of Alastor’s staff

You continued without flinching, this was all a normal banter between the two already now that you were hanging out with the crew more. “I frequent the library, borrowing and finishing a stack of books everyday. The librarian would recommend me new books or save me my favourite corner. I can even eat and drink in the library just because.”

Charlie’s head tilted, “So you love reading.”

“Not just reading. I love books of all kinds. Sometimes I rad that book just cause I liked the texture or the shape of it. I collect books and keep it like treasures. I hate lending books to other because they don’t care for it like I do.” You fondly smiled at the memory, “Then I got a bunch of notebooks too, because I love the design or the cover.”

Lucifer leaned back into his chair, “No wonder your powers are centered around books.”

“Better call you bookworm now! Hahahaa—” Angel was hit by two cranes, one from Alastor and another from Lucifer. Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk flinched with a face twisted to pain as if they felt that. Niffty was living in the moment, wanting one too

Husk gulped some alcohol, “You better shut that loud mouth of yours if you know what’s good for you.”

Everyone laughed and chuckled, Charlie concluding that it was a good exercise and bonding time since everyone was in attendance. Alastor got up and offered you his hand, bringing you two back to your room. You stayed out of it, being in a daze again

When Alastor asked if you were fine, you smiled and said you were fine, if you needed anything, he would be the first you’d call for. So he left you alone

You didn’t tell them. You were that absorbed into reading that you didn’t realize you were being bullied, you were used. You shared your dream of wanting to be a writer that people would love to read what you wrote and share it with friends, to entertain others. You shared your ideas with your friend but your ideas were stolen from you

The moment you handed in your writing, the publishing company said they had one already and that yours was not up-to-date. They rejected your writing. Days later, you saw the newest novel on sell. The title was so similar to yours that you checked the summary at the back. That was your story idea. But your work was rejected so how was it published?

Your nightmare came to life. A betrayal so painful and chilling. Your friend’s name was on the cover. You remember your hands shaking. It wasn’t rage you felt, it was disbelief and sadness. The trust you gave, the care you gave, and the attention you gave. It was all to stab you in the back

You watched from behind the screens at the achievement and success that should have been yours. All of it, it should have been yours to smile upon. But then you were crying and shutting yourself behind the world of fantasy, an escape from reality

Why? Why? Why!

Closing your eyes for a moment, you locked up those memories. They don’t mean much to you now. Not when you had Alastor with you and an unlikely friendship with Lucifer the King of Hell himself, then there was the silly demons of this hotel. Ironic how you found true friends in demons

That’s why when you saw Mimzy again in the hotel, you were skeptical and burning with rage. She had someone as amazing and caring as Alastor to call as a friend, but she’s abusing it without a care. How she has the guts to come back and ask for Alastor, you have no idea, though you’ve seen her kind when you were alive

“You’re a new soul!” Mimzy’s voice made you want to throw glass or grip something until it broke. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“What do you want?” You eyed down at Mimzy with a bored expression

She let out a sound akin to ‘uww’ with a face of disgust. “You’re never gonna get your lucky someone with that attitude.”

Your eye twitched, “I never said I was.”

Mimzy gave you a fake shocked look, “Really? I thought you were going for Alastor!”

You groaned, heading over to the bar to ask Husk for something to drink (not alcohol) because you didn’t want this annoyance to follow you to your room

“Hey,” Mimzy sat next to you without asking, “You know what Alastor’s like when he’s upstairs?”

You ignored her, but your face of silent rage was enough to get her to continue

“You don’t know. He’s a realy lady’s killer! Not literally, but you get what I mean. Girls and ladies throw themselves at him and he doesn’t even bat them an eye. A nice wave and a dashing smile, then he leaves them high and dry! Oh, the broken hearts he had was definitely more than his body count and that’s something!” Mimzy laughed at the end

What’s that got to do with you? You thought to yourself as you aggressive sipped on your drink. Husk eyed you two while cleaning some glass to appear like he was busy. You’ll maybe admit, you were a bit envious of Mimzy that she got to see Alastor when he was alive, you wonder how he looked. Not like you were going to ask

Mimzy endlessly talked bad about Alastor behind his back. What happened to trying to apologise and wanting to make up? No idea, down the drain at this point. As the others around you wonder why you were still humouring the chatty demon, you were wondering the same. Why are you just sitting here and listening to all this?

“You should shut it, can’t you see you’re the only one talking here?” Husk spoke up, indirectly telling Mimzy to just leave you alone

“Aww, and you should do your job, bar cat.” Mimzy teased back. “I’m given this poor soul some attention cause Alastor’s too high of a standard to give some.”

“Ha! Jokes on you. This hot stu— I mean, cutie here’s always got smile’s attention.” Angel inserted himself into the conversation, climbing over the bar to stand next to Husk

You got up, “This is a waste of time.”

Mimzy faked another gasp, “No way. You poor poor thing. You actually fell for him of all people of this hellhole?” She got so close in your face and not to mention your personal space, “I understand why, but! Ha! That’s just bad luck! You’re bound to get your heart broken like all those poor ladies before you.”

Before you said anything, Husk’s wing separated Mimzy from you, “You really need to shut the hell up before you regret it.”

“You shut it fur ball! I ain’t talkin’ to you.” Mimzy snapped at Husk

Deciding that it was not worth your time, you started walking away. This was drama you didn’t want to be involved in and you didn’t want Alastor catching this happening since he sees Mimzy as a friend still

“The hotel won’t allow this.” Charlie tried to establish order and break things off

“Alastor will leave you in the dirt worse than whatever you were before once he’s had his fun with you! You might think you’re on cloud 9 now, but you’re going to be in a world of pain and hurt soon enough.” Mimzy continued, completely ignoring Charlie and Husk’s words

With each step you took, she continued as if singing a song, “Alastor only like things that entertains him. He never commits. He never cares. He doesn’t even have a heart to care! He’s so powerful because he has no room for ridicious things like love. The love he has is only for himself. Alastor is just a selfish heartless motherf—”

“Shut up!” You turned to her, a deep scowl on your face

“This is gonna be good.” Lucifer whispered to the others watching, “But bad for her. Yeah.”

“Shut you annoying f- mouth.” You snapped, unaware that your hair leviated a bit from your rage. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a friend like Alastor. Alive and dead. But what do you do? You use Alastor’s name just for the fun of it and for your benefit. You just use it! How can you use your friendship with him like this! What’s wrong with your stupid tiny head?! In Hell, you’re supposed to treasure what you have. Not abuse it.”

Mimzy scoffed, “You think you’re so good? So righteous. Well, you would have been up there, now wouldn’t you. Don’t think you’re any better.” She smirked, “In Hell, we use everything and anything to our advantage.” Another gasp came and she covered her mouth, “Oh wait, could it be?” She got close to you, “Haha, you being so defensive and triggered by all this. You really actually did fall for him.”

“I love him.”

“Wait? Couldn’t hear you, sugar—”

“I love Alastor.” You repeated firmly and loudly

“What was that?”

Getting annoyed, you turned to the direction where the question came from. Perhaps it was all this anger in your system that made you slow to realize, “I said,” That you were now face to face with Alastor. “I love you!”

Note: This part's major focus has been mentioned in an ask already. And since it's confirmed that you and Alastor are dating in the latest asks and requests, I'm putting this scene in more detail since asks are trivia for the story

P.S. There's something new planned for future chapters~ Remember that lover and friend mentioned? OCs might be appearing cause I can't do rando short forms. Still thinking... You're thoughts? Or should I just end this series?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

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@donustellaron

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#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

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Shirt Swap II

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: You get a package

When you and Momma get home from the park, there's a package outside of your door.

You scamper up the front steps and kick at it.

Momma sighs. "Princesse, what have I told you about kicking boxes?"

"Not to," You huff," Because they might be fragile. But! But, it's got my name on it! Is it stuff for the new house?"

Momma and Morsa have been busy packing a lot lately. They say it's because you're going back to Germany and they're getting stuff ready for the new house.

They've got the World Cup first though so the summer is going to be very stressful and busy, which is why they're packing everything now.

"If it was stuff for the new house," Momma says fondly as she picks up the package and opens the front door," Then it wouldn't be addressed to you."

"But it is for me!" You insist, pointing at the label," See, it's got my name!"

It has got your name but it's also got a bunch of other labels on it too.

Momma gets a box cutter and opens it. "It looks like it's come from abroad," She says, cutting through the layers of tape and pulling the flaps up.

"Ooh," You say, kneeling by the coffee table as you peak inside.

There's a little letter at the very top but you're more interested in the many jerseys underneath it.

You grab at them, pulling each out carefully. You recognise a lot of them as Barcelona jerseys - the blue and red design recognisable easily.

Momma reads the letter as you go through them.

Most of them are Barcelona shirts like you thought but there's a white shirt too with blue accents and the crest of three lions on it.

"Momma!" You gasp as you hold it between your hands," It's a Keira Walsh shirt! Momma, look!"

You hold it up triumphantly, a look of complete awe on your face.

Momma's smiling at you. "I can see that," She says, waving the letter at your face," It's signed too. Have you noticed?"

You hadn't at first but, as you look at your little pile, you notice that all of them are signed.

"Wow."

"They're from Aitana," Momma says as she reads you bits of the letter," She hopes that you're doing well and she's sorry that it took so long. Please enjoy the collection of club and national team jerseys she's gotten from her teammates."

You take little time to think before you're tearing through the box again, throwing jerseys around as you dig through it.

You've got two Keira Walsh jerseys - her England one and her Barcelona one.

You've got another Caro one too, her Norway shirt this time instead of an old Wolfsburg one. You get an Engen shirt too. You vaguely recall Engen in your memory, at your last year at Wolfsburg with her and Auntie Frido (who had also encased just her Barcelona jersey because you had so many of her Swedish ones).

You brush your fingers over the fabric of the red Caro and Ingrid Norway shirts. It's red. You like red. It's not quite Arsenal red but red is red and you think the Norway shirts are really cool.

You tell as much to Momma.

She laughs. "You know, technically, my Denmark jerseys are red too."

You roll your eyes. "They're red-pink," You tell her," This is proper red. Not Arsenal proper red but still more red than red-pink."

You close off that line of argument by digging through the box again. You stop at a Barcelona shirt. You run your finger over the number eleven on the back and the name too.

You're very good at reading in all four of your languages so you spell it out quickly.

"A-lex-ia," You sound out slowly," Alexia." You frown. You think you've met someone called Alexia a few times before but never someone with a surname like that. "That's a weird last name."

Momma laughs again. "It's her first name, princesse. Sometimes, when you get very good and very famous, you get to put just your first name on your shirt."

You think about your keeper gloves, hanging out on your desk. You haven't packed them yet, not when you still have time to go to practice with Zećira and Ann-Katrin.

You look back at the shirt in your hands.

"I want to have my first name on my jerseys," You say softly, not exactly to Momma but you know that she can hear you," I want to be really good like that someday too."

Pernille smiles at you, not saying anything as your stare down at Putellas' jersey with a little crinkle in your brow. You keep looking at it for a moment longer, completely in awe at the singular first name on it before grasping for your England Keira Walsh shirt.

Momma helps you put it on just as the front door opens again.

Morsa appears in the doorway, hopping on one foot as she lifts the other in the air to take off her shoe. She looks at the carnage with one brow raised.

"Did a bomb go off?" She jokes," I don't remember ordering any new jerseys."

"Aitana Bonmatí sent them," Momma replies," Remember, I told you that we met her during the friendly against Spain? She was quite taken with our princesse." She pulls the jersey over your head. "So much so that she rounded up enough jerseys for maybe two extra teams."

"I've got two Keira Walsh jerseys, Morsa!" You exclaim excitedly. "And-And Caro and Ingrid's red Norway jerseys! They're so cool! Norway's so cool!"

Morsa looks a bit horrified at that. It seems that she can take you wearing Denmark jerseys but a line has definitely been crossed when you start chattering on about how cool Norway is.

"Alright," Morsa cuts you off right before you launch into a tirade about how cool Caro's dribbling skills are," Well, you've got new jerseys. So, what does that mean?"

You gasp. It completely skipped your mind and you scamper over to the hallway wall to stand against it, smiling proudly as Morsa snaps a picture of you wearing every new jersey Aitana sent you.

"Alright," Momma says once she's helped you back into your Keira Walsh England shirt," Now, Aitana also attached her number so how about we send her a little video?"

You grin at the camera, little fingers tugging at the hem of your shirt. "Thank you, Aitana!"

"For?"

"For my new jerseys! Thank you!"

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

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the-dendrophile-bookdragon · 1 month

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Under the Cherry Tree

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warning: fluff, angst, mention of murder and death

Summary: A tree that once held happy memories, now was the cause of all his pain.

Aemond walked through the gardens at a slow pace. His mind was racing faster than the mice he was scaring with his steps. The war was raging, swallowing the guilty and the innocent.

His gaze cast down to the ground as he went on ignoring his surroundings. This walk was not for pleasure he told himself. To an outsider, it seemed like he was aimlessly walking around the gardens. Stomping through the blooming outdoors like Vhagar when she was creating a space to sleep. He needed to reflect on his actions from the past months. How his actions had affected his family.

He stopped in his tracks as he saw the pink petals of a cherry tree crushed underneath his boots. He looked up and came face to face with his dear wife’s favourite tree.

For the first time he had been outside in the fresh air, he looked up at the sky. His vision was filled with pink blossoms. Delicate yet so powerful in fragrance. His racing mind came to a screeching halt. All of a sudden it was empty. No guilt, no rage, no fear. It was filled with nothing but nostalgia.

This tree was the symbol of love, their love. His wife used to sit under the tree’s roots. Looking up into the crown, watching bees and birds swarm around it. Often humming to herself, or maybe humming with the birds and insects.

Aemond used to watch her. Sitting on a stone bench far enough and out of her sight so she couldn’t see him, yet close enough so he could watch her. They hadn’t been betrothed long at the time; their unbreakable bond had not yet formed.

She was the one who approached him one day. Inviting him to sit with her under the cherry tree. Softly taking his hand and leading him over to it. Telling him to sit on the ground, in the dirt, next to her. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t care if his clothes would get dirty. He wanted to be next to her. He wanted to feel the warmth he had longed for so long.

He had listened to her as she spoke about the different insects and birds making their home inside the tree. He recalled her warm smile spread across her delicate lips as she fondly spoke about the soft fragrance of the blossoms. How fond she was of it.

As a wedding gift, he had made it his mission to present her with the finest bottle of cherry blossom perfume. His wife had smiled so brightly as she saw it on her vanity. She had never worn a different perfume ever since. Always his. She once told Aemond, he had gifted her the scent of spring. He had laughed at her words, telling her he would bring her any season she desired.

Aemond was brought out of his thoughts by a single raindrop. Gone were the warm memories. His mind began to race again. His eyes hardened with every thought of betrayal and hatred. Slowly he unsheathed his sword. The steal glinting in the sun, reflecting the beauty of the pink blossoms.

With a roar, he drove his sword into the trunk of the tree. Over and over with brutal force until the mighty cherry tree gave way with a sick crack. It fell over to the cold stone ground. The petals of the fallen tree swaying in the stormy breeze.

Aemond let go of his sword and sank to the floor in shock at his actions. He gathered some petals from the floor and brought them to his nose. Tears gathered in his eyes as he smelled his dear wife’s scent.

How could he have betrayed her and their marriage? How had he neglected to protect her?

He could still see her body lying on their bed. She looked so beautiful lying on top of their bedding. He thought she was sleeping when he found her. He could feel the coldness of her beautiful skin.

He looked at the cut-down tree. His tears fell stronger as he realised he had dishonoured his wife again. He was a disappointment to her in life as in death. Cutting down her memory like it meant nothing to him.

His forehead rested against the trunk as he cried out. His pain was too much to bear. He needed to release it. It felt too painful to be left inside of him. He had to let it out.

He had killed the witch for what she had done to his dear wife. Bewitched him into sin, trying to lure him into her arms. He cried out again. Cursing the witch for destroying the only good thing in his life. She had looked so shocked as he drove his sword into her stomach. How he had cursed her and told her he did not care if she was a child. That she would feel the same pain he felt as he found his wife in their chamber. Poisoned by a cousin of her favourite tree. He should have known that a Strong bastard would destroy him eventually.

Aemond sat on the floor. The rain was pouring down on him. He did not care. He imagined his wife leaning over him, crying down on him as he sat before her dying tree.

If the opportunity came up, he would welcome death like a friend and ask the Stranger to let him see his beloved wife one last time before he fell into the pits of hell.

Main Masterlist

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This was inspired by the spring prompt from the picture challenge of @hotd-bigbang

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #prince aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd-bigbang

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leclsrc · 10 months

Note

hi audreeey!!! could i get a drabble where charles and reader are on a basic (not "basic" but u get me) dinner date and they're just all capital F Fond... like maybe even pretending theyre married bc they love the other's company sm... I LOVE U

begin again – cl16

Tonight is different. Tonight is special. title from this

auds here... my quasi-apology for being mia-ish. also i am writing a long form fic it's just taking agesss as i'm traveling rn (its nearly done) but know that I LOVE U ALL... like crazy. this is p long for a drabble but i missed writing them a lot! love u guys n i hope i did this adorable prompt justice

He says something in French, pointing at something on the menu. Then he flips the page and points at a bold red image of a bottle, mouthing its name in perfect fluency. Two glasses, he adds. One for the entree, another for dessert.

“Red wine?” You ask, smiling. Charles doesn’t usually order wine.

“Well,” he says, beaming at you and then the waiter, “tonight is special for us.”

You have to wrestle with the grin that fights its way onto your lips, but you admit valiant defeat. “Very special indeed.”

The waiter departs and you recline, mind still racing. It’s only halted by a polite voice from your left—the girl at the table beside yours, asking with meek timidity: wedding tomorrow? She has this giddy smile on her face, like it’s her wedding or her dinner; her husband-or-boyfriend across her just smiles sheepishly. Sorry. I’m curious.

“Oh,” you say quietly, humming. “I got promoted.”

“And…” Charles says, lookin at you like you share a lovely little inside joke.

Your lips grow. “And?”

“This lovely girl doesn’t remember, but I proposed to her this time last year.” He gestures to your left hand. A ring, blending in with the others you usually wear, sparkles in the low light of the restaurant.

Proposed. Your eyes stay on him even as he looks away, devoting his attention to the conversation at hand. Then you nod, a few times, soft bobs of your head. “We’re having a June wedding,” you say fondly to the girl at the table adjacent. You love the way she lights up at the mention of it, at the added detail—she asks for more in accented English.

“How did you propose?” She turns to the guy in front of her, who’s smiling dopily. “We’ve been together a year, so he could use some ideas for the future, if you know what I mean.” They both share a laugh.

Charles hums, recalling the plan he’s thought of a million times over. He conjures the images of it, the memories of mapping everything out, perfecting every last minute detail. “I did it at our house. We live in Monaco, in this, ah—this nice, wide place on a hill.” You remember seeing the house for the first time, from Charles’ car. “I did not want a big fuss around it. I knew I wanted it to be just us.”

“Just us,” you murmur along, nodding. You’ve always known it’s what he wanted for both of you. Just you two against the world.

“So I bought her flowers, lit some candles, and we sat on the couch.” He pauses, like the next few moments are so sacred and so lovely that they deserve to be heard by nobody but you two. But if Charles is anything, he’s loud—loud when he talks, yells; loud when he loves. “And I played our favorite song, Harvest Moon,and I sat next to her and just talked, and I said it. I know it doesn’t sound romantic—”

“—but I cried,” you cut in, looking right at him. Cut off, his eyes flit to you, softening when they see your smiling expression. “I cried like a baby. He was… he meant every word he said. And I was lucky, I guess, that he knows me well enough to, you know—know exactly what I want.” The conversation ebbs into quiet a little bit after that, but you catch bits of how adorable and a June wedding from their own talk.

You eat in relative peace afterward—he talks about a funny story involving Carlos and stolen underwear from the gym locker room. You laugh, bubbling up your champagne, and Charles zips through two glasses of his own drink. Tonight is special, and warm, and you’re in France, and wine seems to be synonymous with the country, and everything, if just for now, makes perfect sense.

In between finishing dessert and the bill’s arrival, when the couple beside you have said their goodbyes and congratulations, and the restaurant has begun to quell its general noise, he takes your idle hand on the table. You look up from where you’d been staring at the puddle of tiramisu filling on your plate.

He’s staring. Charles is always aware of how often and how long he stares, extended gazes of your beautiful features. The awareness does not, however, cause the frequency to wane in the slightest. He still finds himself constantly enthralled by you. And even when he’s away, in a car going a million miles a minute, he finds you in his daydreams. That smile.

Nothing, he says with a quaint smile. I love you.

The bill comes and he, of course, covers it—before you even get the chance to slide your card onto the table. You fuss over it. He stares at you like you’re worth everything and more and goes, with a little laugh, I just need a kiss.

His car is parked outside, valet this time, but the cobblestone is so inviting and quiet that he pays an extra few euros to let you both walk around first. You’re not the only couple along the Seine—in fact, you’re one of many, but your shared, hushed laughs make you both feel like you’re by yourselves. Charles knows all the detours, can pinpoint buildings from different vantage points, takes you on a voyage of Paris all his own. You will look back on this one day and think—your maps of cities, your maps of places, they’ve all been charted by him.

He keeps insisting tonight should be special, like he’s trying to convince you. But you know just as well how special tonight is, how different it is from all the nights previous. You’re just quiet, you suppose, because you’d prefer to bask in this specialty, in Charles. You’re quiet because if you open your mouth for more than ten seconds, you’re going to spill your entire self out to the city. Tomorrow night will not be tonight, just as yesterday night was not tonight. This is just tonight.

You’re guided through the cobblestone streets, arm around your waist. You’re so overcome with love you feel like hugging him, just now, just here in the middle of the street, breathe him in and sigh out little I love yous until somebody has to pass through, grunting about how PDA has gone too far.

“You know how…” he starts, and every time he starts a sentence that way, it’s almost always followed by something fairly nonsensical. You know how turtles can fly? You know how Van Gogh was in an affair with Mona Lisa? You know how the latest episode of The Kardashians had Kim and Kourtney fighting? You smile, laughing already, gesturing for him to proceed. “How we see the stars nearly every night?”

You hum.

“So sometimes, we forget they’re pretty. We think, oh, bah, stars. And then a few weeks, or months, later, we look up on a random evening and we’re shocked again. We go, wow, stars. They are beautiful.” He clutches at his heart to convey the emotion he’s describing.

“Yeah, what about?” You ask amusedly, turning slightly to him.

“That is how I feel when I see you. Every time. That feeling when you see the stars after weeks.”

You breathe one, slippery inhale and then it leaves you shaky, wet, trembling. Your eyes tack themselves onto the stars. A chill rolls through you at the knowledge that you remind him of something so confusing, so beautiful, so strange. “I—God. I love you, you know.”

“Did you like my story?” He asks. He maintains his smile, his attitude, his goofiness. His little attempt to make you feel better. Unfortunately, it works every time without fail. You sniffle and roll your eyes, thankful that you haven’t devolved into a sobbing mess.

Then for the first time tonight, he breaks the precarious, near-perfect illusion: “You know, that is how I would really propose to you if I did it. I did give you that ring, remember?”

“I know,” you whisper, trying to fight tears. “I remember.”

“Don’t cry,” he quells softly. You keep freezing to dab at the corners of your eyes. He responds by pulling you into a side street so you don’t block anyone’s walk, allowing you to lean against the lamppost so he towers above you, eyes etched dark, saturated with genuine concern. “Come on, darling.”

“Charles,” you say thinly, and you’ve gone from coherent sentences to weak pleads.

“Don’t cry.” It’s all he can say, gentle and loving and Charles. “It’s a special night.” It is a special night. It’s the night before your first day at your job across the globe.

It’s your last night in Europe, your last night before you leave, your last night before Charles becomes nothing but an apparition of your past. You’re beginning to realize how foolish this plan was, this wrecked and stupid plan, but God if you didn’t love how real it all felt. It felt like bliss, being a great big pretender.

It was—it should be a month ago now, give or take. You’d gotten the offer, accepted it, told Charles about it, and then you both had to sit with the idea of living across the world from each other. You’d wrestled with plans vis-a-vis your relationship, with timezones and the demand that came with the first year on the job. In the end it was something amicable.

In the end, it ended—but not without one last night together, stretching your dreams and future fantasies to their limit.

Charles will always love you like it’s his last chance to do so. He figures that means letting you fly, letting you pursue things that, if you didn’t, would keep you tethered to the same old things. So even if it rips him apart, and even if all he wants to do is drop everything and dance with you, to the quaint Paris traffic—he remains ever the reassuring one.

He remains, forever, the storyteller, the smiling figure that takes your hand across the table and squeezes once to say he loves you. The loud guy who would’ve, if he could, proposed in your now-sold house, surrounded by candles and music. You wish he could love you longer. You know he always will, in the same way you know the nature of his love will inevitably change when enough time passes.

“Things will change,” you say weakly.

“They will always change.”

“And will you remember me after all of it?”

“I will love you after all of it. I’ve loved you through everything else.” He says, pressing a gentle kiss to your eye. “You know that, right? I’ll just do it from afar this time.”

You swear, if love and hope and being young were ever enough to make things work, you swear—this would’ve worked. But the universe reminds you time and again that they are not.

So, when you kiss Charles for the last time, his eyes are twinkling with Paris moonlight, his lips taste like wine, and you get the special chance to relish in what once was, and what will never be again.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader #charles leclerc imagines

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prof-peach · 4 months

Text

Feeling like I need to put this stuff out into the world:

A little CANON thing we should take note of.

Peach’s face blindness was created, she didn’t use to have it up until age 12 where an accident occurred in regards to editing/removing memories with a pokemons skill. Because of the mistake and subsequent damage the process was never repeated, the risk of further issues too great. That same caution was not applied to her two cousins.

They do not recall her fondly, wether that’s because of truths or fabrications, they do not know.

She misses them dearly.

#man I’m just out here shouting into the abyss #thinking bout my sweet babygirl who didn’t need what happened #but she’s turned out ok #prof.peach #ooc

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blasphemecel · 4 months

Text

Michael Kaiser — On Your Knees

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 2.9k TYPE: Humor, Teasing, ERM I think y/n and kaiser might like each other 🤓 WARNING: Suggestive sorry (flirting is only verbal but explicit at times)

Kaiser always looks alright with his hair wet. Not, like, stunning or anything, but passable. Then you know it’ll start standing up in weird ways after it dries a little and he’ll ask Ness to help him with it — which, embarrassing, by the way.

But anyway. You wanted to check out the communal bath after you took a shower, figured you’d be alone because it was already bordering on late, and Kaiser followed you because why wouldn’t he. Not like you value your peace and solitude or anything. He can be such a pest sometimes.

You were telling him what Isagi told you — it’s called a sento and apparently it’s different from the more popular onsen — and he said you weren’t ‘worldly’ and that you weren’t ‘impressing him’ and then some more about how ‘everyone knows this.’ Shithead. You should spit in his breakfast tomorrow, if you remember.

Well, you like sitting in the bath, at least, so you’re not too sour right now. Even Kaiser being right next to you can’t ruin it.

“I like this Raichi guy,” you say.

Kaiser shakes his head a little to show you he disapproves. “Don’t tell me you mingle with them. Also, the guy’s always benched. He’s second-rate.”

“No, listen, he was telling me about this sexy soccer motto he has. I really wanna know what it’s about.”

“You’re embarrassing. If you’re in my entourage, you should act like it.”

“Dude, you’re just mad at Isagi ‘cause he was trending on football twitter more than you were that day,” you say.

“I’m not!”

Very persuasive argument coming from him here. It’ll take a lot out of you to take it apart. He’s fuming about it, too. Maybe it’s not so bad Kaiser came along if you can poke fun at him.

“I don’t know why you’re the favorite on the team, anyway,” you say. “They all die over your corny tattoo and not to mention how much you love showing it off. Not cool at all.”

“You wish you were me. Now you’re being jealous because no one likes you, and it’s making you look even uglier than usual,” says Kaiser, seeming to believe himself if the smug look on his face is anything to go by.

“I mean, I had a girlfriend till recently, you know.” Kaiser rolls his eyes, but you ignore him. He’s always doing this, pretending he doesn’t want to hear you. “She had this botched blue dye job and said things like ‘pussy power,’ with the crystals in her room and the tarot cards and all.”

“Yeah? Sounds great. Did you pick her up after a match, loser?”

You click your tongue and wag your finger at him just to be annoying. “No, I don’t fool around with fans. Seems more like your forte.”

He flicks the offending finger away. “I’ve never done that, you slanderous pig.”

“No, but listen, she didn’t care about football at all. She didn’t even know what a scissor kick is. Ooh, she drove me wild.” You sing the last part, looking up at the ceiling fondly as if you’re recalling a warm memory.

Kaiser narrows his eyes at you, frowning. “You’re one strange individual.” And what a pompous way to put it.

“But anyway, wanna know what kinda tattoo I’d get?”

“I seriously don’t care.”

“A skull with two guns. Hard as fuck.”

“You’re so lame. It’s appalling, and also probably why you got dumped.”

He’s taking the tattoo thing seriously. At least seriously enough to insult you over it. He’s even snickering at you in amusement. His face is always, how can you put it… snide, but he does look a touch more evil when he starts grinning and shit. What a hoot, though. Really.

“Nah, there was this guy. He wore suspenders with plaid polos and these little sweaters over them. They were sustainable. Sustainable. Can you believe it? Sustainable! I didn’t stand a chance.” You poke him on the neck, already distracted from what you were rambling about. Kaiser is going to bring up your low attention span soon, you can smell it on him. It doesn’t take any effort to reach out, though, what with him sitting so close next to you. “This isn’t such a bad spot for a tattoo, actually. I don’t know, maybe you were onto something.”

“Paws off,” he says, swatting you away like a bug. A pedestrian bug, probably, at least in his imagination. “You really wanna fondle me that badly, you’ll use any excuse to do so?”

“Paws!” you repeat, clapping. “You’re hysterical.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes again. He seems to like to do that a lot, at least in your presence. If there was such a thing as competitive eye-rolling, you wager he’d be good at it, maybe even better than he is at football.

“No, but listen-”

“God, I hate it when you say that,” he interrupts with a groan, then contradicts himself by also swinging an arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer just to yawn in your face with great exaggeration. The water is way too hot for this nonsense, so you push him away. “Because I never want to listen to you.”

“You’re crazy. Insane. It’s super clinical. Like, really.”

“Yes, I’m sure, unlike me, you’d pass a psychiatric evaluation because I’m crazy and you aren’t. Of course.”

“Imagine-”

“Can you stop topic-hopping?” Kaiser asks, annoyed. See, you knew he’d bring it up. “Does your head ever hurt with how much bullshit goes through it?”

You shush him. He scowls at you like you’re some mold growing in the bath, but you disregard his expression of disdain. “Imagine you’re having a nice day, I don’t know, at practice. Then I barge in with all of my asshole glory, right, and I walk up to you, and for no reason, I say, ‘On your knees,’ instead of greeting you. Isn’t that kinda deranged?”

Kaiser stares at you. To his credit, he’s decent at maintaining a poker face, but once he’s embarrassed, there’s no hiding it, no going back. Because no matter how much he does his usual male posturing or whatever it’s called, his face is all red, the blush even going up to his ears, mouth wavering the slightest bit. “W-What? In your dreams.”

“Oh, do you like getting bossed around or something?” you ask with the sensitivity of a numb toe. “That’s so pathetic.”

It’s quite the spectacle when his skin somehow becomes even more flush. Sick of your leering, maybe, Kaiser whips around, albeit not all the way, and covers his cheek with his hand while peering at you through his fingers. Finally, he decrees, “You suck,” with too much authority.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Forget about me, though. In that situation, do you spit or do you swallow?”

It’s unclear whether you’re getting any gratification out of this besides the satisfaction of flustering him, but you smile in amusement regardless. As if you care about Kaiser sitting there, looking all pretty and nervous because of some nonsense you’d been spewing. Not like you’re crazy about him or anything. That’d be ridiculous. You couldn’t be more unfazed if you tried.

You grab your towel with what you’d call impressive swiftness, then turn around and stand, covering yourself before preparing to go on your merry way. Kaiser pulls you back by the ankle, trying to trip you or something, the menace. Hilarious guy, really.

He is staring up at you in this petulant sort of way, grabbing onto his own towel with his other hand. “Why are you leaving so soon?” he asks, sounding peeved, as if you haven’t been here with him for an unreasonable amount of time already.

“I thought I should give you some privacy since you’re all hot and bothered now,” you say (with this douchebag laugh you have for situations like these, where you’re being a douchebag — self-explanatory), stepping out of his grip. Then you try to imitate his voice, but more high-pitched, accompanying your performance with a few vulgar hand gestures. “Oh, [Y/n], you slanderous pig! I think that’s what you’d sound like.”

“You’re such a lowlife,” he says, before all but leaping out of the bath and trying to maim you right here on the spot, and the only thing to save you from your demise is that he gets lightheaded and almost faints immediately after.

You reach out to pull him up and keep him steady, holding him by the arms. “You can’t be jumping out of the bath like that, man, come on.”

The lack of response concerns you, but after a while, Kaiser gathers his wits enough to say, “I’m going to make you slip, and I’ll be praying you split your head open.”

You burst out laughing. “Do it, then. You don’t have it in you, do you?”

Instead of doing as he promised to retaliate to your provocation, he settles for letting go of you and glaring, before clutching the side of his head and going still again. If there was any medical wing in this goddamn football contraption, maybe you would’ve taken him, but alas. At least you don’t need to worry about Kaiser too much since he eventually concedes and holds onto your arm for support.

The sight of you two stumbling around towards the changing room is probably comedic — uncoordinated as hell, covering yourselves with these flimsy little towels, using the hands not clutching at the other.

“You’re supposed to drink a lot of water before getting in,” you say.

“It’s your fault! You didn’t warn me we were going.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you weren’t invited. Jeez.”

“Oh, whatever.”

You return the tiny towel to the basket, swapping it for a bigger one and making quick work of drying yourself. You’re slipping on your shirt when you ask, “Is your head all right now?”

“I’m fine.”

When you turn around to judge whether he’s being truthful or not, he’s dabbing himself in a manner which is way more laborious, examining his reflection in the mirror as if he’s in some slow motion commercial where the camera will capture a conspicuous water droplet falling down his neck, admiring his jaw from different angles. He makes you sick sometimes.

“I’m not gonna wait for you to finish checking yourself out.”

He shoos you away with a dismissive wave of his hand. Unlike his, your actions most often align with your words, though, so you do walk out of the door. You’re not even ten steps in when Kaiser reappears, now magically dressed.

“Stop rushing,” he says, pushing you out of the way — and for no reason! There’s enough space for both of you in the hallway. You end up lagging a bit behind him. “I’m dizzy.”

“I thought you said-”

“Blah, blah,” he cuts you off, untying his hair and doing a bad job of smoothing it out with his fingers.

You’re rooming with him and Ness, so you’re already headed in the same direction. As much as this stinks, your other option was Gesner and Grim. God, is fucking Gesner obsessed with dick cheese. Of all things, that’s what he’s always talking about. Grim has your condolences, but the problem is out of your hands now.

“Your hairstyle’s ridiculous.”

Kaiser turns his nose up and smiles, coming off as pleased by the insult. “You can only wish to pull it off.” Always preening like a peacock. He’s entertaining. You swear he is.

You hook one of the ends, where it’s the bluest, around your finger, twirling it around and around. “I had a dream about you recently.”

“Aww, I’m on your mind even when you’re unconscious. I could vomit right now.”

“You were in the meditation position, but you were levitating, and the rat tails were holding you up.”

Maybe you’ve committed some kind of utmost offense, because he doesn’t even bother insisting they’re not rat tails this time. “Wow, those are the kinds of things you dream about me? Your brain is defective to the core.”

“What do you want me to dream about you, then? Are you implying something?”

He faces you, and he has this way of looking at you like you’re a blight on humanity. You have an urge to press your palms against his cheeks to check how warm they get when he blushes, but resist it. “You’re so delusional.”

He’s rolling his eyes again.

“Keep rolling them, see where it gets you.”

“What, are you implying something?” Kaiser asks, mocking you, but he seems kind of happy at the insinuation. You’re not about to point it out, though, having a semblance of self-preservation.

“But anyway, your hair,” you say. “It looks good for tugging on.”

He snorts, either at your audacity to speak such things out loud to him, or at the way you straight up ignored his question.

So you elaborate, just so he doesn’t get the wrong idea, “Yeah, like, I kinda wanna grab you and swing you around till you fly outta my grip.”

“What?! As if.”

“It’d be so funny, though.”

“Maybe to other stupid people like you. Dense people who always ruin the fucking moment, for example, that type of thing.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you say, stifling a laugh before entering the room.

The lights are still on when you come in. Ness seems to be reading some kind of book, sitting upright and all. “Hey, guys. You were gone for a while.”

“We were,” Kaiser says, you assume just because he likes hearing himself talk. “All that time I can’t get back.”

You crouch down to get him a water bottle in case he forgot how dehydrated he was (or more likely decides he’s above getting it by himself). It’s rare for you to do something out of the goodness of your heart, so when you turn around to pass it and find him draping himself over the solitary bed — the one you won dibs on in an honest round of rock, paper, scissors — you swear to never do anything nice for him ever again.

“Hey, get off! It’s mine.”

“But I want it,” he whines, as if his word holds more weight than the aforementioned game of rock, paper, scissors, which, as already established, you won.

You’re about to make an earnest attempt at throwing him out of the bed until Ness comes to his defense. “Come on, leave him alone.”

Saying no to Kaiser is exceptionally easy. But going against what Ness is asking? You can’t get a read on the guy. He’s either way too happy most of the time, or is secretly plotting your murders for all you know. You toss the water bottle at Kaiser, leaving him to smirk at your relenting.

“By the way, do you mind if I turn the lights off after I do my nighttime routine in the bathroom? I’m kind of tired,” Ness says.

“Sure,” allows Kaiser. So generous and charming with a winning personality to boot, this guy.

You lean against the bunk bed and ask, “Oh yeah, why are you still up?”

“I thought it might be rude if I went to bed before you both came back, so I decided to wait.”

Damn, now you feel kind of bad for dilly-dallying for so long. You clutch your chest with a tasteful sense of drama. “You’re so perfect. Hey, Ness, you wanna take the top bunk?”

“Wow, really?”

“Why not at this point,” you say. After all, Ness came in second in the game, but gave it up to Kaiser, and he ruined everything already.

“Thanks!” He grins at you before rushing off to do his business, almost blinding you with the sweetness he emits. Your gaze trails after him until he leaves the room.

Kaiser is looking at you with a mix between scorn and disgust when you walk over to his side to retrieve your phone from the bedside table, but you pretend not to notice.

Figuring you have nothing better to do, you take Ness’s previous spot, lying down on your stomach, ready to check your notifications. In your peripheral vision, you see Kaiser take his shirt off theatrically, then he has the fucking nerve to throw it at you. He makes such a big show out of existing.

It’s probably more painless to throw him a glance now than to be stubborn, so you exhale out of your nostril in resignation and turn your attention back to him. Kaiser props himself on his elbow while reclining on his side, posing on the bed, gracing you with a bastard smile. Almost presenting himself like a Renaissance painting you’re supposed to admire in some chaste, intellectual kind of way.

“Wanna know something?”

“What?” he asks, apparently irritated since you don’t seem so appreciative of him right now.

“I think shitty, obnoxious guys like you need to be put in their place,” you tell him.

It really is way too obvious on his complexion when he starts getting shy. He’s like a breathing mood ring. It’s almost fascinating. For a second, Kaiser is incredulous, but then he turns smug again, addressing you with a sense of challenge. “Don’t even joke. You’re not really about it like that. All you do is talk.”

You think you’re gonna start having even more fun together after today.

___

No homo I HATE HIM 😍

#michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 6 months

Text

It's Who We Have | Part One

Summary: Who knew the little girl in the green coat would change everything? | Word Count: 5.7k~ | Warnings below the cut!

General Taglist | Billy Washington Taglist | Series Masterlist

A/N: The coat story is based on a real story that happened to me when I was in primary school. Also the age of consent in the UK is 16, and this chapter does mention being intimate at that age. If this bothers you, you're welcome to click away. Primary School = Ages 7 to 11, Secondary School = Ages 11 to 16, Sixth Form = Ages 16 to 18

Warnings: bullying, underage drinking, angst, mentions of sexual intercourse (reader is of legal age), Billy being a general twat

It started with a rain cloud.

It was at a time when he was still excited to be in the passenger seat of his Mum's old Ford Focus. When his enthusiastic little feet still didn't touch the bottom of the footwell. His curious, wide blue eyes watched the world go by, following the shadow of the car as it zipped by the older kids, who were trusted enough to walk to school by themselves.

Year 4 was no particularly exciting year. At the tender age of 8, Billy was highly introverted, but a perpetual watcher of other people as well as his immediate surroundings.

He noticed the little things that other people didn't, like how electricity hummed in the walls of his bedroom, how the space between the grass was worn down into a man-made path and how, on the dot, every night at 8pm a man walked past his house grunting down the phone in a low baritone, swinging his suitcase at his side with every wide step.

His parents noticed how perceptive he was when he'd slip away upstairs as he heard the metal click of the gate with Lana's late return home. Knowing that an argument was about to ensue between his sister and his dad.

His mum, intent on breaking up and being the buffer between two extremely large personalities, often neglected her quiet little boy upstairs. But it wasn't entirely her fault.

Lana, a teenager through and through, intent on creating hardship wherever she happened to be with her actions and words, was incessantly butting heads with both of them.

He could hear the low rumble of thunder even over the revs of the car. His mum always drove in too low a gear.

His mum laughed lightly when Billy looked up at the dark, looming cloud hanging over his school as rain smacked against the windscreen.

"Ooh dear. Good job you've got your raincoat, eh?", she smiled, turning her steering wheel to slide into the school car park.

"What did Miss Warren say it was called?", she prodded.

Billy could barely see his mother over the high collar of his coat.

"Cum…ulo…nimbus", he recalled from memory sweetly and quietly, making his mum's crow's feet tick against her eyes as she smiled.

"There's nothing to be nervous about, darling. It's just a new school year".

His mum's soft pat on his head didn't comfort him.

Though the same people would be there, it would not be the same teacher.

Miss Warren had seen how quiet Billy was and nurtured the few words she could get out of him. He remembers her fondly. How she had curly chestnut hair that one might describe as unruly, and always had a floral scent about her when she'd kneel next to him and ask if he could recite the last sentence of his book to her.

It was the only good thing about school, he thought.

Year 3 had been difficult. He didn't do well when he was forced to socialise.

Other children had thrived in regularly seeing others. Forming friend groups, squealing with delight on the playground and the girls giggling and whispering to each other about who they were going to talk to that day.

He held his mum's hand loosely at the gate, where the headmaster was filing the children of all years and ages into the main part of the school.

She knelt beside him, zipping up his coat as the rain pelted against the concrete.

"I'll pick you up after your club, okay?"

Billy nodded once, disappearing past the threshold of the school with a downwards gaze and a comically large bag hunched high on his shoulders.

It started with a rain cloud.

He knows now that it was silly, the reason his now best friend entered his life.

When he first saw her, she was on the verge of tears, standing to her feet and looking down at herself completely covered in mud. Her lips quivered, looking at the group of established friends with horror as they rushed away, their shoes smacking on the wet ground.

He hadn't realised he'd stopped until she took a sharp breath in, clearly trying not to cry, looking down at herself.

Her small hands tried to push the mud off her green coat, but only served to smear it around. He could hear her shudder her breath, frustrated, and began to whine with increasing volume. Her book bag, once blue, was completely sodden.

And on top of all that, rain continued to hammer down on them, which only made her more upset.

Billy fiddled with his hands nervously, looking around immediately for an adult, to no avail. Thinking with terror, that he might have to approach her.

It wasn't even because she was a girl. For they were at that tender age where it didn't matter. That they were just children, trying to figure out how to exist in a world that seemed brand new everyday.

He hiccuped on her own breath with tears as he stood before her.

"Are you okay?", he asked nervously.

She could only shake her head, her eyes full of fear, her face and hair completely wet through.

"My mummy's going to be cross with me", she replied feebly, looking down at her coat, though waterproof, completely smeared with earth.

At the time, Billy thought, he couldn't argue with that logic that she was so upset at the thought of what her mum would think when she came home, covered in half-dried mud, having been pushed by the rowdy Year 6's.

He also thought, that he hadn't seen her last year, and that this was the first experience she'd had in her new school. And that he, if in her position, would be no different. Snivelling and crying before they'd even taken the register.

He grimaced as he picked up her book bag, slick with earth and without thinking twice, took her cold, wet hand and led her with him to the toilets before registration started.

Billy's big eyes flitted between the signs for 'boys' and 'girls' when presented with the toilets.

He decided to spare her the embarrassment, and took it upon himself to lead her into the girls toilets, despite the heavy blush on his face.

Seeing the inside of the girls toilet, while not much different, felt utterly forbidden.

But all he could think about right now, was the little girl he'd led in, and how to make her look presentable, and to get her to stop crying.

He used what felt like a tonne of blue hand towels, wetting some to get the majority of mud off her and the rest to dry her coat, seeing the rich green colour beneath again finally.

She still sniffed quietly, rubbing her tired face and choking on her breath every now and then. He gave her one blue paper towel to dry the remnants of her tears, the tissue rubbing painfully on her skin.

But ultimately she let him help her.

And Billy couldn't remember feeling as useful to someone as he did right now.

Once her book bag was clean, he gently handed it back to her. And she finally lifted her reddened eyes to him, her lips still quivering slightly, or perhaps she was cold from the onslaught of rain.

"That's better"

She nodded at him, looking down at herself to see her coat was now only slightly dirty.

It was almost unnoticeable, her tiny, meek 'thank you'.

He held her hand in solidarity as they entered the classroom together. Coming alight when he told her where she could hang her coat up and sitting beside her, in line with the girl, boy, girl boy rule their new teacher had put in place.

It took her a few hours to warm up to him. To everyone really.

But he saw her again the next day, his feet swinging excitedly in the passenger seat of his mum's car at the prospect of seeing her again. The clouds Billy was scarcely able to pronounce were now gone, a light grey overcast instead on the early September morning.

Her coat was clean, a bright green as it was the day before.

She still seemed nervous as he bounded up to her, his curious eyes searching hers.

"Was your mummy angry?" he asked.

She looked down at her shoes, shifting her weight, not wanting to reply.

And Billy had his answer.

He watched her lift her head to meet his eyes again, her hands wringing together nervously and her voice all quiet.

"Can I sit next to you again today?"

Billy had grown out of hand-holding by Year 6, realising that he, as a boy, and her, as a girl, were supposedly from different worlds.

But it never felt like it.

Secondary school was daunting for all Year 7's. But Billy, tall for his age and towering over everyone else, felt more self conscious than usual that he stuck out so much.

His sandy blonde hair flopped against his forehead. Another measly early September, confined to a classroom to be patronised and talked at for several hours, passing the time only by making colourful cover pages in their exercise books.

"Billy!"

He couldn't help but laugh as she ran through the school gates to him, looking quite different in the secondary school uniform than he saw her last, which now felt like a lifetime ago.

Realistically, he only saw her the other week as they walked home together from the corner shop. Then, she'd been in jeans and a jumper.

Now, in her school mandated skirt and blazer, he thought she looked more like a young lady now than ever. And briefly, it terrified him.

The prospect of getting older.

The idea that they might drift apart.

He brushed her waved tendrils from her face, exhausted from the effort of running with her cheeks all flushed, with that squishy appearance that many associated with Year 7's.

If anyone didn't know then both, they'd think they were in different years.

"Got 'em?", he asked with a lazy smile.

She rolled her eyes, rifling around in her bag, "Um, yes? When do I ever disappoint?"

He laughed as she ripped three Starbursts from her packet and piled them in his hand, "Only three? Thought we were mates".

She gave him a look, popping one into her mouth, "You are my mate, hence why I gave you three".

They walked together, collecting their timetables for the term ahead, rolling the sweets around in their mouths.

"I don't get these room numbers", she mused, "have you got science in S27?"

"Yeah, Mr White".

"That's alright then, I'll just follow you".

"Don't follow me, I've got no clue where I'm going either".

She smiled widely, "guess we'll get lost together then, eh?"

He let out a puff of air in laughter, tugging lightly on her ponytail in soft teasing, "bad luck to be late to your classes on the first day, ya know".

"Well then they should have a map", she pouts, smacking his arm lightly.

Looking back, he wasn't surprised how close to her he felt. For as pre-teens edging that fine line into puberty, when everything is confusing, new, scary and exciting all at the same time, he saw her more often at school everyday than he did his own parents.

She was a constant.

Most days they'd walk to school, spend break times, lunch times, and even the twilight hours after together. Always chatting mindlessly about whatever teenagers did talk about.

It was difficult to address though, that the older they became, the more the powers that be were intent on separating them.

Girls and boys weren't meant to be friends.

They were meant to like each other, hold hands, blush and kiss each other.

They were meant to have different classes, teaching different things. Boys were taught how to keep themselves safe from STIs, and the girls were taught about their monthly cycles, though many of them had started already, as well as how to prevent pregnancy when they were on the cusp of exploring their intimate, sexual selves. With hormones raging so hard that they couldn't think straight.

They were separated for PE. Even in the subjects they were offered to take.

It felt like everything was against them.

And in this forced separation, Billy was then forced to make friendships in other boys, as shallow and surface value as they were.

He felt as if he'd been missing out on this part of growing up, as he sat against the wall at lunch listening to his mates harp on about mindless teenage things. Like who was going to lose their virginity next, and if their parents would find out if they found out they'd swiped a packet of fags from their mum's handbags.

It wasn't like they didn't talk anymore.

There were the summer holidays, where more often than not, he found himself on her doorstep, asking her Mum if she could come out.

And she always delighted in seeing him. Even if it had barely been 24 hours since the last time.

But with the highest of highs, came the lowest of lows. And September would inevitably roll around again.

He sometimes saw her on school grounds between classes, having done the same thing and forced herself to make a group of friends. Though it was as clear to him that she didn't have anything in common with them, and just smiled and nodded at anything they said in an attempt to not show on her face how lonely she was.

She was solitary in nature.

And when he glanced at her across the assembly room, where the foldout chairs were lined up so everyone could eat, her eyes were distantly looking at her hands clasped in front of her, idly picking at her cuticles. Her friends were turned away from her, chatting with wide smiles and booming laughter to themselves. Making plans and giggling at inside jokes, all while her sandwich laid untouched rolled in cling film in front of her.

He thought, she must have been able to sense someone was watching her, as she moved her head. But never looked at him.

While Billy's friend group stayed with the usual characters, hers evolved. And every few months it was a new cast of people.

He saw she made the effort, and really tried, but that with every passing day, her energy wavered and eventually they'd grow bored of her and pretended as if she didn't exist other than to fill the empty seat beside them.

But he still walked her home, even if she said she didn't want him to. In silence if need be.

Eventually he began to notice, more so now than ever, that she was really a woman in disguise. That she was wiser than he thought she was, more grown up. That she thought about the future ahead of her and was careful to take calculated steps in order to get there.

At the fair age of 16, Billy, his features set into crisp lines, hardened by puberty, his muscles sitting wiry on his skin and taught without really having to try, realised that he had done her a huge disservice by merely accepting this forced separation with a stiff upper lip.

That she needed someone true and gentle, honest and no-frills. Something her girlfriends were unable to give her.

That she wanted someone to try for her friendship.

As he had all those years ago.

They began to take the long way home, through the gap in the hedges, into Cranstead Fields, the tall grass tickling their legs through their uniform.

"Are you embarrassed of me?" she asked suddenly, pulling her hair tie out. Billy's eyes ran over her loose hair for a moment before replying.

"No, why?"

"Because we barely talk to each other in school anymore", she replied, unable to hide the bitterness from her tone.

He had to accept that her words were true. They rarely crossed paths inside the school gates, and their conversations in between were shallow and empty, void of all authenticity and emotion.

It wasn't enough to have acceptance from one teenage girl, apparently.

But he didn't appreciate being called out so callously about it.

"Yeah, well I've got my mates".

She laughed through her nose, "Yeah, saw you smoking behind the bike sheds. Gonna get you killed one day, you know".

He furrowed his brows at her, "Smoking?"

"No, your mates"

She laughed at his confused expression, "course I meant smoking, you wolly".

There was a silence between them as they brushed past the white painted lines on the field, where a football pitch had been drawn.

"I don't mind you having mates Billy. I just miss you".

"Really, cos it seems like you do mind", he bit back. And he watched her raise her gaze to him quickly, "just cos you don't have mates doesn't mean I can't".

Her lips hung in shock that he could say something so cruel.

And that he carried on.

"Do yourself a favour and do what other girls do and get a boyfriend or somethin'. Save you hanging about with me moaning all the time".

He didn't feel bad about it until the moment she disappeared past her mum at the front door of her house, intent on being away from Billy's harsh words as quickly as possible.

"Tell your mum I said hello, love", her mum smiled.

But as soon as the door was shut, even the thick double glazing couldn't muffle the loud, destructible tirade of her mum's anger.

And he felt the hot whips of panic at his neck, that he'd done and said something wrong.

And yet, despite that, never said sorry for it.

Billy thinks now that he remembers the most from this part of their friendship because the most happened.

But he realises now that it's because of guilt.

It follows you, like a kind of trauma through your life, without the repercussions of the person you've hurt.

And god, he watched her get hurt a lot.

After that, she didn't even really try. She flourished in solitude, keeping herself company wherever she could while Billy and his mates reaped the benefits of being young and dumb.

It was also when he appeared. Like a fucking virus. Always finding people when they have their guard down and their hearts low.

Even though they were in the same year, he had this air of arrogance about him that he thought he was much older, more sensible, and could be taken more seriously.

And with the absence of Billy in her life, she accepted any chance of feeling wanted with open arms.

She wanted to feel important to someone.

Billy would never forgive himself for that.

He simply watched from afar, not realising how invested he was, more often than not from the bike sheds as the boy who was trying too hard wound his web so tightly around her it must have felt comforting for her to some degree.

To be choked by affection, to some, is a kind of affection.

After Easter break, having not spoken to her directly for some months now, Billy had realised something had changed.

The boy who had wound his web tight, seemed to do so with plenty of others too. As boys of his age were known to do.

She'd rush out of school so quickly, staring at her feet, that often she was the first one out the gates and Billy, even if he'd wanted to, couldn't keep up.

He knew where she was going anyway.

He was assured when he saw her leaning her head on her arms crossed over her knees, under the large chestnut tree at Cranstead Fields.

She heard him approach, and turned her head away, sniffling quietly.

He swallowed over the lump in his throat as he sat beside her, not speaking.

And a long, long moment passed. As if all that time apart had lessened that trust, and it would take more than a mere moment to patch it back up.

"Is it him?" he asked.

Her clothes rustled as she nodded. Her breath hiccuping in her chest the same way it did when he saw her all those years ago, covered in mud.

"What happened?"

She wiped her face with her sleeve, a bit of makeup coming loose.

"What do you think happened", she bit back, annoyed and heartbroken all at the same time.

He briefly forgot, that for girls it sometimes felt like more, like so much more, to give yourself to someone for the first time.

Only to have the trust squashed as quickly as it was to slam a book shut.

She sucked in a breath as he stroked her back comfortingly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

After a moment, she raised her eyes to him, all red and puffy, her face all hot from crying.

And he felt his heart break for her.

Behind this girl, who was suffering in heartbreak, believing that her first love and first time had now been entrenched in misery, he caught a glimpse of the girl she had been, when they were inseparable.

He tutted, "Come here".

He bought her head to his chest softly, his hand drifting to her shoulder to encourage her to hug him, to let it all out.

And she did.

She hugged him tighter than she ever had before.

A teenage boy part of him felt embarrassed. But another, fought to stay here like this with her.

Until eventually she said pitifully, "I don't want to go home".

And he realised that it wasn't just the boy she was upset about.

Luckily Billy's mum delighted in having her around at his, even offering that she could stay if she wanted to, as Lana was away at uni and wouldn't be using her bedroom til the summer holidays.

And though he could see his friend was tempted, she mostly refused, knowing that at some point she'd have to return home. To what version of her mum, she didn't know.

But it didn't mean she never took them up on the offer sometimes, when things were really bad.

Yes, he got teased endlessly by his mates.

But it didn't matter. Because he felt like he had her back.

Sixth Form proved to be a happier time for both of them.

It felt more free, laid back than the shackles of secondary school. Hindered by school uniform and calling the teachers 'sir' and 'miss', here it was all backwards they thought.

The prospect of free time to a bunch of excited teenagers, on the cusp of adulthood, was exciting.

He felt like it was just like old times.

They sat together in the common room in their free period, sharing the cheapest thing they could get from the canteen, which was four flimsy slices of toast. That and an orange Fanta from the vending machine.

They'd both somehow formed into new people over the summer holidays between Year 11 and Sixth Form, wearing different things every day and giving each other a glimpse into their truer personalities.

At first, it was just two of them.

And eventually four, then six.

A solid friend group.

She had two girls at her side most of the time, Libby and Ami. The first blossoming Billy would ever witness of his friend into womanhood would be the way she formed these friendships so naturally, in contrast to the shallow ones she'd had in secondary school. Which now seemed so long ago.

He had his own mates of his own sex. Ami's twin brother Abi, Harry (who's real name was Barry but never told anyone) and the most recent addition to the group, Paddy.

It was a friend group of the truest intentions. They laughed, joked, and were never far from one another. Many nights they spent at Cranstead Fields, huddled under a tree, passing bottles of WKD around and some horrendous smoky whiskey Paddy had managed to steal from his dad's liquor cabinet.

But there were special moments where Billy and her would just sit and observe, nursing a bottle between them.

"Bet you Libby and Abi are necking each other off by 1", she smirked, gesturing with her head to them as they sat together across the grass, Libby inching herself onto his lap with every swig of alcohol.

Billy laughed, "I don't think I need to bet on that", he replied, pushing the hair off his forehead as it touched his eyelashes.

"You need your hair cut", she smiled.

He gave her a look, "Who do you think I'm trying to impress?"

"I dunno", she shrugged, "you never tell me who you've got your eye on".

He pushed the WKD into her arm and she took it, smirking as she sipped it.

"I suppose…there's a girl a year up…", he murmured.

"See! I knew it!" She exclaimed, "Wait, Year 13? Who? Tell me".

He rolled his eyes at his friend's curiosity, "Rebecca".

He laughed when she scrunched her nose in disgust.

"Her? She's been out with a few Year 12's, hasn't she? Proper little cradle snatcher".

Billy laughed, louder than he anticipated, and when he opened his eyes again, his friend was already looking at him. Her eyes all glazed over with the amount of alcohol she'd had already.

"Leave off. You asked", he grins, blinking quickly once he feels his head clouded with dizziness.

"Well", she passes the drink to him, "I wish you luck, you'll need it".

They briefly look back to Libby and Abi, who are now embroiled quite blatantly in kissing one another, Libby nestled in his lap and her hand at his jaw.

In the distance Paddy kicked a ball around with Harry, as Ami watched between them, not an ounce of sexual tension between them.

Their knees touched and both quickly looked at each other, as if horrified that they hadn't realised how close they were.

It was dark in Cranstead Fields, but she felt she could see the way his eyes reflected the distant street lamps, how they seemed to fit over her face, and how he pressed his lips together and swallowed nervously as he moved a piece of her hair from her face to tuck safely behind her ear.

Was is the alcohol? This weird feeling in both of their stomachs? The airiness in their heads?

Was it only now that he saw that she had nice eyes? That he could see the contours of her collarbone, and the curves against her skinny jeans?

That his friend, was a young woman.

He only remembered sighing against her lips, turning his head to the side as he pressed against hers. How small she seemed compared to him.

She tasted of cheap vodka, but then again, so did he. And he wasn't entirely paying attention to the taste of her, but to the feeling of her.

It wasn't either of their first kisses. But it certainly felt like it.

He felt his chest go tight as her hand moved to the front of his hoodie, holding the fabric in her palm, as his tongue parted her lips.

When they pulled away, he still felt her presence on him.

Her hand slowly slipped from his chest, her eyes looking at him with trepidation, her lips kiss-bruised and swollen. Both of them looked at one another, unsure what to say, and trying form words over the whirring and melting feeling of drunkenness in their brains.

"I, uh…I should be getting home", she said quietly. And Billy nodded, now drunk on another feeling that had taken root deep in his chest.

He saw her off at her doorstep, hands deep in his pockets, not knowing whether what they'd done should be addressed or not. Or whether their brief kiss was the result of simply having too much to drink too quickly.

She had her answer though, when Billy turned up to Sixth Form the Monday after, hair trimmed, with his arm loosely around Rebecca's shoulders. He spoke to her closely, making her laugh and stroking her hair behind her ear, as he had done to her the Saturday before.

Though they remained close. Remained friends. There was an air of something unsaid.

Something that appeared whenever she saw him with her. Pressing his lips against hers, threading his fingers into her long, perfect hair and keeping one hand perpetually around her thigh.

When Rebecca, or Becky as Billy lovingly called her, finished her A-Levels to move onto Middlesex University to do Psychology, she felt horrible that she was relieved she was gone.

Felt that she had him back, even if it was only sometimes.

She knows now, that nothing good lasts forever.

She thought he'd be happy for her, when she got her UCAS email that she'd gotten into her first choice of university in Manchester.

But he always managed to surprise her.

"The fuck are you going to uni for? And so far away as well, you don't even know anyone there", he almost barked the words at her, not wanting to admit that his heart was hurting at the way she looked so wounded at him.

"So what? It's the course I wanted to do and-"

"And what? You just gonna leave me here doing fuck all, are you?"

"You can do what you like, Billy!", she shouted back, matching him now in frustration, "I'm sorry that I am pursuing what I want to do!"

Don't leave me behind.

Please.

"What about your mum? Hm? You just gonna leave her on her own?"

She scoffed, "my mum doesn't give a fuck where I am half the time, you know that".

"Yeah, I'm feeling like I don't really know you at all lately", Billy muttered under his breath.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean? I wasn't going to just forget about you. I'd come visit and-"

"You know what, forget it. Do what you like, I don't give a shit".

She stood there, taking his words like hits. Each one hurting more than the last, opening the hole inside her wider.

She thought, he must not know what he's saying. She never knew Billy to be this cruel, apart from in secondary school.

But he was young then, he was smarter than that.

Wasn't he?

Her eyes filled with tears, blinking quickly, taking a step back from him like he'd burned her.

She tried her best to remain strong on her face.

"Just because I don't want the same things as you, Billy, doesn't mean it's pointless".

When Billy just stood there, mouth half agape, like everything had just caught up with him, she shook her head.

"Keep in touch, if you can be bothered".

She said it as coldly as she could, not looking back as she walked away from him, quickly wiping her cheeks. With each step, the pit widened in her chest. Feeling as if the string that had inextricably connected them since that fated day in Year 4, was prone to snapping irreparably.

His words rattled around in her head the entire journey to Manchester. How horrible they were. And how a person she'd considered a friend, could speak to her like that.

After everything that had happened between them.

Moving to a new city didn't feel like starting over. It merely felt like burying something at the bottom of the garden, the grass disturbed, and having to look at the patch of earth as a reminder of what once was.

It was hot again in London.

Billy stared at his phone for most of the evening, waiting for a text from Becky, to tell him that she was moving back in, or that she'd thought things through and decided not to move out.

No such text arrived.

"Put your fucking phone away or I swear to god I am funnelling this pint down you, like it or not", Paddy laughed as he slid into the booth, sliding one pint over to Harry and the other to Billy.

"He's still moping", Harry smirked, which earned a glare.

"Becky again?" Paddy prodded.

Billy sighed, clicking off his phone and turning it face down, "None of your fucking business".

"Woahh! No need for that, is there? C'mon, get it down ya"

Each of them took a healthy sip of their pint.

"You too, don't be on your phone!" Paddy nudged Harry, trying to get a peek at his phone.

"Fuck off"

Paddy grinned, "Aw, is it a girl?"

"No, it's fucking Abi, you twat".

"S'alright, we don't judge, do we Billy?"

Billy grinned over the rim of his glass in response.

"He coming?" Billy asked.

"Yeah, apparently with Libby", Harry replied, thumbs moving quickly over his screen, "we'll facetime Ami later, when she's awake".

Both Billy and Paddy's eyebrows raised as they looked at each other.

"Together?" Paddy prodded, but Harry only shrugged.

The local pub was mostly empty, with most people outside trying to catch the last bits of sunlight, and getting mauled by mosquitos in the process.

For the most part, Billy watched Paddy and Harry with a smile on his face at how they teased each other talking about trivial things like football and what the hell was going on between their two old friends who kissed in Cranstead Fields all those years ago.

It was a good distraction.

But being with them, made him think of her.

Paddy leaned over, eyes on the door of the pub, "there they ar-oh shit".

Billy furrowed his brows, "What?"

His friend was about to open his mouth again, but it was interrupted by Libby poking her head around to the booth, "Hello! Oo, it's like the gang back together, isn't it?" she smiled.

At her side, Abi, who slid his hand around Libby's waist.

Billy opened his mouth to say hello.

But then he saw her.

And his mouth went completely dry.

He saw her eyes scan the opposite side of the booth, smiling at Paddy and Harry first, and he swears his heart drops into his stomach as she shifts her gaze to him.

The smile on her face falters.

But not completely.

She catches herself halfway, and it resurfaces.

He can't help the way he studies her as well, like she's a whole new person. Wearing a summer dress with a denim jacket hung on her shoulders, hair down. Her features have matured, but she continues to keep that glimmer of mischievous youth in her eyes.

It was like seeing her for the first time.

"Mind if I sit?"

Billy Washington Taglist: @fan-goddess @assortedseaglass @chainsawsangel @xxxkat3xxx

#billy washington x y/n #billy washington x oc #billy washington x reader #billy washington #billy washington smut #billy washington fanfic #billy washington fic #billy washington x you #trigger point billy washington #trigger point series #trigger point fanfic #trigger point bbc #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell characters #billy washington fluff

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glow-worms-are-believers · 9 months

Text

Meet your Death (dp x dc)

Danny remembers the day he died in patches.

He can’t remember what day of the week it was, but he can recall with perfect accuracy the feeling of the rubber jumpsuit on his skin. Sam and Tucker’s voices in his ears as he unlocks the front door are crystal-clear but what Sam had actually said when she’d dared him to go in the portal is buried deep in his brain. Jazz says it’s normal. She says memory can get weird when trauma is involved. Her books write that it’s good to talk about it but Jazz must see something in his face when she relays the information because her voice softens as she tells him it’s ok to let it be forgotten too. Then, she hugs him and Danny melts into it: his sister gives the best hugs.

So yeah, Danny doesn’t remember the day he died very well.

That’s why he doesn’t really understand why he remembers the woman so perfectly.

He’s not sure if she was real or a product of his electrocuted brain but she appeared like magic, just as he let out his death wail.

“Oh, damn. That’s not a fun way to go,” she’d said with a grimace.

And all of a sudden Danny had been out of his twitching, painful body, seeing it from the side. “What happened?” he asked, terrified.

He had felt her put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry kid,” she said, and she sounded sincere. “You’ve just died.”

“What? No,” Danny had babbled. “No, I can’t. I’m going to be an astronaut.”

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” the woman repeated, squeezing his shoulder.

“But-” he tried as he caught sight of her kind expression and it calmed him slightly. “I’ve never even been kissed!” Danny had continued nonsensically.

The woman had let out a laugh. “Personally, I think it’s overrated,” she shared like a secret, good-humouredly.

“I still would’ve liked to try,” he’d pouted which had her ruffling his hair fondly and something settled in his chest at the gesture. Elsewhere, something clicked into place and most of the fight left him, his protests dying on his lips.

“Come on, honey,” she’d told him before putting her hands on his shoulders to steer him away from the portal. “Time to go.” So, Danny had let himself be directed after one last glance at his body.

He hadn’t even taken one step before a terrible pain shook his whole body and he fell to his knees.

“Danny!” The woman exclaimed, but her voice sounded faint to his ears.

The boy’s hands flew to his chest as he curled on himself, as the pain burned through his limbs before he once again let out a blood-curling scream. And all of the sudden he was back in his body with Sam and Tucker looking down at him, their faces full of horror.

“Danny!” Tucker had exclaimed and Danny had seen what looked like tears in his best friend’s eyes, meanwhile, Sam had looked him all over frantically to find an injury. Danny had tried to tell them he was ok, but his mouth had felt like cotton and his eyes had felt so heavy.

Just before his eyelids had slid closed, he’d thought he’d seen the woman from before peering at him confusedly over Sam’s shoulder.

#Danny starts seeing the woman around #Death is a bit confused about this boy who died and immediately came back #Just read a few issues of The Sandman so yeah that’s the vibe!#(goddamn but this Mr. Gaiman can really write)#death of the endless #father time is clockwork #dp x dc #dc x dp #roxpox #roxpoxwrote

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wongyuseokie · 1 year

Text

Like a Cowboy | j.w.w

Summary: Your boyfriend sang the line, “like a cowboy,” and that’s precisely how you want to ride him.

☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ♕ smut | ♥ completed works

Word Count: 1306 words

Pairings: Jeon Wonwoo x Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AUs: Fluff, Smut, PWP Content Warnings: None. Wonwoo is just giving amazing sex. This fic just happened because I’m a weak woman for this man. I’m a simp for this man, his deep voice singing like “like a cowboy.” Smut Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), fingering, squirting, overstimulation. Unprotected sex (don’t do this). Nicknames (he calls her kitten a few times). Authors Note 1: This is an extremely self indulgent fic, since it's my birthday and Wonwoo is my bias. Hehe. 💕

Authors Note 2: Thank you so so much to @seungkwansphd for listening to me babble about this and giving me feedback and suggestions too!! 💕 Thank you also to my soul mate @here4btsfics for beta'ing and lovingly yelling at me. Thank you for indulging me as I cry about Wonwoo.

Tagging: @dokcheol because she asked and I made a new demon friend. 🥰 and @falllinflowers because I made two new demon friends today 💕also tagging @onlyseokmins because u thought it was a horsie fic.

Banner Credits: @classicscreations

Cross Posted to AO3

“Okay, why are you glaring at me?” Wonwoo asked one night while you were both getting ready for bed. He was puzzled as to why you kept narrowing your eyes at him and glaring.

“You know what you did,” you mumbled. It was unfair. Wonwoo didn’t know, he was simply singing, but his deep voice did things to you. Unholy things and tonight was yet another night where his voice made it impossible for you to behave like a sane person.

However silent Wonwoo could be, he was incredibly observant, and he noticed the sultry glances, looks, the lace set you wore, and the way your thighs kept pressing together.

“Hmm, given how you’ve had your thighs pressed together the entire evening, I’m guessing you’re very frustrated, and the fact that you’re glaring at me means I caused it,” Wonwoo wondered, making you glare at him more.

“Let’s see, was it my tongue? Did you want that? Or did I lick my lips on stage again and make you horny?” Wonwoo teased, recalling memories, making you huff at him.

“Or was it, and I think this might be the fifth time this month that my voice turned you on?” Wonwoo suggested as he inched forward to place his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You let out an exasperated laugh at his words, making Wonwoo smirk.

“Kitten, if you keep getting horny because of my voice. I might have to either stop speaking or stay buried inside you,” Wonwoo teased, his thumbs pressing into your hips.

“I pick the latter,” you mumbled, making him smile.

“But it’s my voice, kitten. I can’t help it,” Wonwoo spoke with a playful pout on his handsome face.

“True, but it just makes me horny,” you admitted, making Wonwoo blush at your honesty.

“What did it this time?” Wonwoo asked.

“You sang the sentence ‘like a cowboy’, and it did things to me,” you mumbled, and Wonwoo bit his lip to keep from laughing–not because he was mocking you, but because he found it adorable how easily you’d be affected by his voice.

“Right, and?” Wonwoo asked.

“All I could think of was that I wanted to ride you like one,” you added, your voice a little louder this time, and Wonwoo could feel his cock start to harden at your words.

“I see. Well, I should probably make it up to you for that, shouldn’t I?” Wonwoo asked, and you nodded quickly, making him smile fondly at you as he leaned down to capture your lips with his.

“Lie down, pretty girl,” Wonwoo instructed, and you did as he asked as you climbed into the bed, laying down on your back.

Wonwoo moved until he hovered over your body, careful not to crush you. He placed a kiss starting from your forehead and moving to your cheek and then to your lips, making you melt with how soft the kiss was.

Wonwoo moved to lay between your legs, pushing the fabric of your shirt up slightly, and his lips met with your skin as he peppered soft kisses along your stomach.

Wonwoo pushed your shirt higher, exposing your lace-covered breasts, and he moved his body to place kisses up your tummy and stopped at your sternum. He pulled his shirt off, and unhooked your bra, and tossed them across the room.

Wonwoo stayed silent as he lay between your legs again, his lips latching onto your breast. You moaned softly, and he laved over your nipple while his hand gently flicked and tugged your other breast.

Wonwoo moved his mouth to your other breast repeating the movements. He smiled at you as he trailed kisses down your chest and stopped at the waistband of your jeans.

He smiled as he undid the button on your jeans and pulled them down your legs along with your now soaking wet underwear. Wonwoo pushed your thighs apart and laid down between them.

Wonwoo threw your legs over his broad shoulders, kissing your inner thighs until his mouth finally landed on your cunt. Wonwoo groaned softly when he tasted you, moaning at how wet you were as he secured his lips to your clit.

“My god,” you moaned out. He was incredible that you knew, but everything felt so intense. You gasped at the pleasure. You failed to hold your moans as he sucked on your clit; his hands moved to interlock at your waist as he kept sucking your clit.

You felt your eyes roll back as your orgasm approached you,

“Wonwoo,” you gasped.

Wonwoo could tell you were close, and he continued to suck your clit until you started to shake in his grip. Wonwoo’s mouth never left your clit as you came.

You whimpered as his touch pushed you to the brink of overstimulation, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Wonwoo slowly moved his mouth away from your clit, smiling when he saw how swollen and wet your cunt was.

He could see it throbbing and pulsating with aftershocks of pleasure.

“Fuck,” you whispered as he pushed two fingers into you. Wonwoo stood up slightly as he pushed his middle and ring finger into your cunt and hooked them there.

“Scream for me,” Wonwoo said as he vigorously pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt. He used his other hand to press down your pubic bone holding you still as you started to thrash about.

“Do you hear how wet you are?” Wonwoo asked as he kept fingering you. You nodded, whimpering, as you fisted the sheets between your hands and let out a scream as you came hard.

“Wonwoo, fuck. I can’t,” you whimpered when you noticed that he hadn’t stopped his movements.

“Yes, you can. I know you can,” Wonwoo countered as he repeated his actions, making you squirt all over his hands.

You whimpered in his grip, pushing his forearm, and Wonwoo smiled as he pulled his fingers out of you.

“Fuck me, please,” you begged, and Wonwoo nodded.

“Oh, I will,” Wonwoo obliged as he moved to place his hands on your face and pulled you in for a kiss, pulling you on top of him.

“Please,” you begged against his lips, making Wonwoo smirk into the kiss as he adjusted himself to guide his cock into you, making you whine at the stretch.

Wonwoo held your waist, his lips finding yours, and he dug his heels into the mattress thrusting into you. You moaned and whimpered into the kiss.

Wonwoo kept pounding into you, his thrusts hard and deliberate, and with each thrust, his cock brushed over the spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Fuck, cum,” Wonwoo gritted out, moaning against your lips when he felt you tighten around him. You came hard a third time, clenching around him, making him whine into the kiss. Wonwoo let go of you and flipped you both over so that you were lying underneath him.

He pushed his cock into you again as he pounded into you, chasing his own orgasm.

“Fuck, I’m going to cum,” Wonwoo groaned as his hands moved to your swollen and sensitive clit. You whimpered as he rubbed it.

“Cum again with me, baby,” Wonwoo said as he rubbed your clit, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

“Fuck,” you both gasped within seconds of one another as you clenched around him and as he released his warmth into you.

“Well, that was wow,” Wonwoo breathed out as he rolled over, ensuring he pulled out of you slowly to lay down next to you, and immediately pulled you into his arms.

“Did you enjoy the ride?” Wonwoo asked, smirking and making you laugh, despite the eye roll you gave him.

“You know, I think god is fair. Not everything sounds sexy, even with that voice.”

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ellievickstar · 5 months

Text

Undeserving

A/N: This took me way too long to write- I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is Part 2 of Deserving, but it can be read as a standalone. This was written as a more self-indulgent fic and I might write an alternative part 2 that is sadder if you guys really want. Love you all <3

Summary: After years, you are happy, you have moved on. But what about the other half that you have abandoned? What about tthe one who hurt you most when all you needed was his help?

Request: N/A

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (Past), Eris Vanserra x Reader (Current)

Warnings: Angst (as usual), being married to Eris (ig for some of y'all that's an ick), mentions of Beron (bleh), really nothing else tbh please tell me if there is anything i should add.

~*~*~*~*~

"How have you been?" The High Lady of the Night Court sat opposite to you as you sipped at the tea that your dearest husband had provided. It had been over five years since you had left the Nigh Court, over ten years that you decided to find new purpose here. In Autumn Court. After Beron had died and Eris Vanserra had been announced as the new High Lord, you had originally gone over as an ambassador with Lucien, but after a few interactions with the now Autumn High Lord you had decided to stay. And now you were married.

"I’ve been well Feyre. Eris still treats me like a queen and I am always taken care of, he insists I always rest even though I do want to contribute and work, though he does relent on letting me participate in political meetings and interacting with the larger part of the court. He thinks they like me more than they like him," You smiled warmly as you thought of your relationship with the High Lord of the Night Court. Although it hadn’t been officially announced yet, due to the fact that Eris had to get rid of a few corrupt lords in who had been loyal to only Beron, you had overheard Eris discussing something with Lucien that you had not meant to find out.

~*~*~*~*~

It was midnight and you had awoken to an empty bed, still warm, meaning that Eris had not left too long ago, but not warm enough without his presence next to you. You stumbled down the great halls of the Forest House, finally coming across a room where a dim light shined through a slightly opened door, but as you were about to enter, you stopped and strained your ears to listen to the conversation that was happening inside.

You picked up on Lucien’s voice first, ensuring that you remained perfectly still and held your breathe. "You are being ridiculous of course she would say yes. You’ve planned all this so that you can make this day special for her, why are you still fretting?" Your lovers panic was palpable in his tone, "What if she hates it? What if she hates everything and decides to leave me? Oh gosh what if she leaves me?"

A chuckle escaped from Lucien and you felt movement and what seemed like pacing footsteps.

"I really love her, brother. She is the love of my life and I feel like I’ve waited for her since the beginning of my existence, but what if she hates what I am planning to do? Or what if I end up overwhelming her and she decides to reject me?" Panic. Eris was in a complete state of panic. The usually calm, indifferent and cold heir was panicking. Curiosity piqued in you as you remained outside the door of the study. "I’m sure she will agree, in the years you have been together all she’s yearned for is a life with you. She will be more than happy to agree for you to make her High Lady."

~*~*~*~*~

And so you were giddily awaiting the day that Eris had planned. You were careful in hiding that you knew, ensuring that he would not suspect anything. Smiling as you recalled the memory fondly, your attention was stolen by the doors off the sitting room opened, flaming red hair peaking through the doorway as it revealed your grinning husband.

"Eris!" You greeted as you saw Feyre’s lips curve into a slight smile, one she hid behind her teacup as your lover approached you, lips brushing against your forehead as he nodded Feyre’s way, a polite acknowledgment of her presence. "Am I interrupting, Little Fox?" He murmured and as you shook your head he slipped you a small piece of paper before bidding his farewell. Strange, but perhaps he didn’t wish to share whatever information was on the paper to Feyre. Understandable, seeing as the night court still didn’t entirely trust Eris.

Peering at the paper, you smiled at the words.

Nothing important, Little Fox. Was just missing you. See you later at dinner with the rest of the Night Court and Lucian.

Though Eris would never admit it he was clingy at heart, and you found it ever so endearing. Truly, it was adorable seeing the High Lord of Autumn, someone who had been deemed cold and cruel by the entirety of Prythian, decide to sulk at the absence of his one and only lover.

Sighing, you folded the paper and used your magic to winnow it to your room, continuing your conversation with your best friend without a hitch, gossiping about court relations and other subjects that came to mind.

~*~*~*~*~

Laughter roared through the dining room as Cassian pounded his fist against the table. Among everyone in the inner circle, Cassian had been the quickest to get used to Eris, but that was not before Mor and Eris made up and Eris provided a real explanation of why he had left her in the woods all those years ago, even offering to provide his own memories and thoughts to Rhys to prove himself. It was all so you did not have to separate yourself from your family, and he had done it only for you. Not that you had asked him to. You would have never asked him to be so vulnerable with people he might be uncomfortable with.

A part of you couldn’t help but notice Azriel staring at you, but you chose to ignore him. He had made his choice about you a long time ago, it did not matter if he regretted it now.

But the ruckus died in the dining table as Eris cleared his throat.

Looking around, you saw Rhys’s eyes seemed to be alight in anticipation and Lucian seemed to sit straighter in his chair as Eris stood, addressing your family.

"I’m sure you understand why I’ve chosen our monthly gathering to finally announce this. But it’s not really an announcement, yet." His eyes travelled across the room before finally landing on you. "Throughout the past few months I’m sure some of you know that I have been agonising how to do this properly, and some of you have even personally had a hand in helping me to try and plan something that would fit the best into Y/N’s lovely taste, and that’s when i realised that I didn’t need anything big or extravagant, she would have just wanted you all here, to share this." He paused as he knelt before you, holding your hands to his.

"I know this is a big thing to ask, and I understand if you need time, heck some of your family members may even discourage you from saying yes." He grinned nervously. "But I wanted to ask you now. Y/N will you do me the honor of becoming my high lady and binding my life to yours for the rest of my life? Because if one day you decide to leave this land, I don’t want to be far behind."

Inhaling deeply, he continued, "I love you, I know for a fact I love you and that I have loved you since you decided to show up to my court with my brother, grinning and laughing like fools. I have loved you ever since you had the defiance to stand up to my cold mask and tell me I could "shove that fake cold demeanor up my ass or screw off". I have loved you shamelessly and endlessly ever since you first decided to call me your own. Please, be my High Lady, let me dedicate my life to yours, to whatever end."

Tears filled your eyes as you nodded repeatedly, blubbering out a soft ‘of course’ as you flung yourself into Eris’s arms. Your family members all burst into cheers, Cassian taking you from your husband to swing you around and Feyre, Nesta and Elain crowding around you in excitement to gush over the news. This was exactly what you would have wanted. Nothing big or fancy, just a moment to share together, as a family.

That’s when you felt a tendril sneak up your arm, causing you to look back into where the shadow singer was now tucked away into a corner, he beckoned you to follow him and as you cast a look to Eris, he smiled softly and mouthed ‘i trust you’ before winking and returning to his conversation with Lucian.

You followed Azriel to a balcony just outside the dining hall, and he paused for a few seconds facing away from you, before his low, raspy voice rang out.

"Why him?"

You were taken aback. But you rolled your eyes, Azriel had pulled this same shit at your wedding.

"Don’t do this Azriel," You warned.

The shadow singer turned to you and under his gaze you froze at his rage.

"He doesn’t deserve you."

"And you think you do!" You scoffed, "I needed you, all those years ago I needed you. Not just your pathetic words that you would be there for me no matter what when it came to a time I needed you to choose me you did the exact opposite. For months I was broken. I believed that I didn’t deserve love if my own mate couldn’t bring himself to love me. You have no idea what it was like watching you love someone else. You have no right to tell me who deserves me and who doesn’t. You gave that up a long time ago so don’t even try."

Silence was all that followed and as you were about to return to the male who actually loved you, Azriel spoke.

"I’m sorry," And now with your back away from him you were reminded of all those years ago when you walked away from a situation that made you feel undeserving of love.

"I know," You said softly, your words almost unable to reach his ears, "But that’s not enough, Azriel. Being sorry has never been enough for me to stay with you. Let me go, please. You deserve love to. Please stop chasing after people you can’t have because that will be your undoing."

But as you left and Azriel was alone on the balcony, he tipped his head and whispered to the stars.

"It already is."

~*~*~*~*~

A/N: Sorry if the story isn't flowing that well haha. I am working on other stuff (planning and procrastinating is more accurate) but rn I am on school holidays so I will be writing a little more. Love you all see you next time <3

taglist for azriel: @positivewitch

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel imagine #azriel acotar #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra #eris x reader #eris vanserra x oc #eris acotar #eris vanserra acotar #eris vanserra fluff

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itiswormtimebaby · 9 months

Text

Strengths (and weaknesses)

Pairing: Biker!Bucky and Bug (+Brother’s best friend Bucky, Plus sized fem reader) AN: Bucky’s interlude. This installment is all about seeing things from a different perspective, and hopefully gaining some insight into why Bucky is handling things the way he is. Also, just a reminder that Steve is Bug’s adopted brother. CW: Angst, references to underage sex (not explicit)/sex under the influence, smut, language, insecurities and low self esteem, unhealthy relationships, references to war/bodily harm (Bucky losing his arm), Bucky has complicated feelings when it comes to his prosthetic,

Picks up shortly after Just the Tip

His room is dark, ceiling fan and ancient AC unit working to drive the heat of the afternoon away. You're asleep, at least he thinks you are, back rising and falling in a smooth rhythm, naked skin mostly hidden by the soft cotton sheet. Reaching out he allows one finger to trace smoothly down the soft rolls of your back, ghosting across where earlier he’d pressed to keep you cemented to the mattress. His cock stirs to life at the memory, he’d been inside of you, at least partly, he’d cum in you, he’d been so close…So close to fucking you the way you deserve, so close to giving you what you wanted, so close, so close, so-

For just a moment he’s fifteen again, fifteen with his pants around his ankles and beer on his breath, finishing quick, uncertainty knotted in his gut. She’d been a relative stranger, but nice enough, older than him by just over a year, more experienced. She’d left him with a smudge of crimson across his cheek, a hello and goodbye all rolled into one. He didn’t regret it, at least he didn’t think he did. It could have been worse.

But then again it could have been better. Dolores, Dot, she was better. She was more than nice enough, she was kind, considerate. A good first girlfriend. Sex with her was saccharine, but in hindsight he suspects they were too young to be having it, their emotional bond not strong enough to carry their physical. They see-sawed from off to on, through many what if’s until the final what if led to the final goodbye. If he had to guess he would say she still thinks of him fondly (if at all), thoughts filtered through the rose colored haze of first love. At least he hopes she does, it’s how he sees her, a pleasant memory.

He recalls you around that same time, not much younger but it certainly felt that way. Steve’s kid sister, Bug, as in bug off, as in shoo fly shoo, as in an annoyance. He’d loved you though, not in the way he loved Dot, but in a way that felt substantial none-the-less. He’d have done anything for you. Still would, though the motivation has changed significantly.

He pulls back his fingers as if burned when you whimper softly in your sleep, head burrowing further into the silk pillowcase he bought just for you. It’s a silly thought but he wonders if, even while unconscious, you can feel his longing for you, how desperately he wants to love you, to be enough for you. He wonders if he would have been enough before- before the war, before his arm, before her. The lenses through which he sees her are not rosy.

After he’d been medically discharged from the military, left arm and peace of mind blown to shit, he’d been desperate for distractions. First it was the club, then a slew of bodies happy to warm his bed for an evening, and then- well then he’d hit a wall. The PROSPECT patch on his kutte was long gone, the sex going from exciting to mundane, and then she’d walked in. She was pretty, and a real spitfire as his Ma would’ve said, most importantly she kept him on toes, she kept him distracted. The sex was phenomenal, the strong cornerstone of an otherwise rocky relationship. Bucky wasn’t sure if he saw her as his forever, if he ever had or would, but with over two years spent together he wasn’t willing to just throw it away. “We’re both just very… passionate,” he’d assured Steve after he’d come to Bucky with concerns, having heard them in a knock-down-drag-out-fight in the parking lot of the clubhouse (he swore his back nearly scarred from how deeply her nails cut into it that night as he fucked all his anger from the argument into her).

It hadn’t been the same after that, after his best friend had held up a mirror to show him just how unhealthy his relationship had become; the final nail in the coffin was Steve asking “What if Bug was in a relationship like that, you’d be cool with it?” Bucky felt ashamed. So he tried, he tried a lot of things; he took her on expensive dates, bought her jewelry, quit allowing explosive arguments to serve as foreplay to rabid sex. He’d overheard her and her friends one night, they talked about how brave and selfless she was to love a man like him, a man so obviously broken. He wondered if that was the conversation she had in mind when later she looked at him and said; “I’ve seen all the ugliest parts of you, Bucky Barnes, and I stayed. Who else would?”

She had a point, didn’t she? He hadn’t come back home whole, wasn’t the same man that left. Not as good with people, not as charming, not as hopeful…But he was trying. Things seemed to be improving. She stayed- until she didn’t. He was confused, he’d been doing everything right, he was sure of it. That hadn’t stopped her from leaving, calling him miserable, hopeless, a sorry ass loser- a great fuck but a shitty boyfriend. A great fuck. “Word of advice? Stick to what you’re good at.” A great fuck. “I’ve seen all the ugliest parts of you, Bucky Barnes, and I stayed.” But she hadn’t, not in the end.

A great fuck.

You look so innocent in your sleep, even with his cum slowly leaking out of you. He carefully adjusts his position until he has you nestled in his arms, back pressed to his chest. Fuck he didn’t want to lose this.

He’d loved you in some capacity for well over a decade, since you became Bug, as in bug off, as in shoo fly shoo, as in an annoyance. Steve’s kid sister. But it had been ages, really, since he saw you that way. Sure, you were still his Bug but you were also a woman now, one that laughed like the girl he grew up with but that was also so…confident, funny, smart, pragmatic when it counted and silly when it didn’t. Kind, and good, and bright, so fucking bright. And he, he’s broken... That night you’d gotten high, that night that changed everything, he could hardly believe his luck. You’d opened the door for him, given him an in for something more. A better man would have shut it, would have encouraged you to find someone more worthy, but he never claimed to be a good man, he was selfish and he wanted you. When you’d agreed to let him date you first he knew that was his chance. He may not be worthy but he could prove he was willing to try anything to be, he’d take you on dates, smooth out any rough edges with mind numbing pleasure, keep you physically sated. That was the part he was good at.

A great fuck.

That was what you’d called him over that night to be “Please, Bucky, please, you have to fuck me.” And he would, would just like he promised, but he couldn’t- not yet. Today had been too close a call, he’d barely been able to stop at the tip, your tight heat calling him home. But he had to be patient, you’d initiated this all because of sex, if he gave it to you too soon you might not stick around long enough for him to show you he could be good at the rest too; he could, right?

A great fuck.

…but a shitty boyfriend.

#bucky barnes x reader #biker!bucky #bucky and bug #plus sized reader

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wehaveimagineshere · 6 months

Note

could i request task force 141 + könig always admiring their s/o’s photo when they’re feeling lonely and starting to miss them pls

This is so cute omg. I had so much fun writing this 💕💕

Also reader is AFAB since it was not specified otherwise but only mentioned in Price’s and König’s

Also TW mentions of children but only in König’s

Price

• John would be sitting at his desk, stressed from trying to come up with infiltration plans for the safe house their target is staying at. To his left, something caught his eye. Sitting on his desk was a small framed picture

• It’s of your wedding day. You’re in your beautiful wedding dress that took you weeks to find because you wanted a specific look and he is in a traditional black tux. He had just started growing out his beard when you got married

• You were high school sweethearts. You met freshman year and you both immediately fell in love with each other

• In the photo you’re staring lovingly into each other’s eyes while having your first dance as husband and wife

• It was the happiest day of his life so far and he rubs his thumb across your face as he fondly recalls the memory

• It’s been two months since he left on mission. He misses you so much and he can’t wait to come home and hold you on his arms again

Ghost

• It would one of those sleepless nights where Simon really realizes that he misses you sleeping next to him. Your body heat and comfort always lulling him to sleep

• But you’re currently on another mission right now and left well before his ended. He hasn’t seen you in 3 months

• He switches on the light and gets up to pull out a box from underneath his bed which has several pictures of you together over the years and letters you’ve written him. He pulls out his favorite picture which was sitting on top

• He’s maskless in the picture and you’re arm in arm and both smiling brightly at the camera. It’s when you’re both home after a lengthy mission and taking a well deserved break

• He stares at it for what feels like hours. He misses you so much. He hasn’t received a letter or even a phone call in a few days and he’s praying that you’re okay. He falls asleep with the photo clutched to his chest

• You come back to back to base a few hours later and smile at the sight. You keep glancing at him to make sure you don’t wake up as you get undressed and join him in bed where he subconsciously pulls you in and hugs you tight

Soap

• Johnny will be on the plane after he just hugged and kissed you goodbye when he already starts missing you

• It’s only been about two hours since the plane took off. Since he saw you waving from the tarmac with tears in both of your eyes

• There’s no service in the air to message you so he resorts to looking at your photos. He taps on his phone and sees a picture you took together as his lock screen. He smiles to himself as he opens the Photos app

• He has an album of just pictures of you and him together over the years. Some that he’s taken in secret. With you just doing everyday tasks or taking a nap on the couch

• He’s most favorite being the family photo you took with him and his family one Christmas a few years back. His family absolutely adored you. His mom has even jokingly told him that she likes you better than him, which made him laugh and feel so much pride in his heart

• He loved you so much. As he stares at the picture he feels a sharp pang in his chest. These next few months are going to be hell. But he knows that you’re being well taken care of by the people he loves most

Gaz

• You and Kyle were both recruited into 141 by Price but unfortunately, you’re always separated. He with Price and you with Ghost

• He would be resting at a safe house waiting for Price’s next orders when he pulls out a picture that was hidden in a pocket on the inside of his jacket by his heart

• It’s a picture of the both of you decked out in complete military uniforms not too long after you joined 141. He remembers how excited you both were to be part of something so important to not only the country, but the world

• In the picture it’s just the two of you, but you can see some of 141 in the background. He has his arm slung over your shoulder and you’re throwing up your signature peace sign. Both of you so giddy and excited for the future

• He feels his eyes start to burn a bit while looking at your face. The memory is bittersweet. You both thought that you would constantly be teamed up together but he’s lucky if he gets to see you once every 2 months

• When Price walks in on him looking at the picture, he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the Sergeant. But he tells him that he has good news, it’s time to go home. And you’re there waiting for him

König

• König retired from the military early. A few years after you had gotten together. He realized that he couldn’t stay away from you for long periods of time or he’d get extremely antsy and worried about your safety without him there. You were so beautiful and some people would take it too far

• Shortly after he retired you got married and bought a cottage together in a quiet village in Austria. Surrounded by beautiful mountains and a crystal clear lake

• You were out with family you hadn’t seen in a long time with your 3 children and he decided to stay home and clean the house a bit when he stumbles across an old photo album you had put together

• In it was a timeline of your relationship. The picture he focuses on was of your first date. He wore a surgical mask and all black, trying to hide his identity since he wasn’t comfortable showing strangers who he was in fear someone would somehow recognize him

• Then König turns his eyes to look at you standing next to him. You look bright and lively. You’re wearing a baby pink dress with the brightest smile on your face. The stark opposite of him. He remembers that date fondly. It’s where you had your first kiss

• He has never felt so much love in his life like how he feels for you and the 3 beautiful children you gifted him. He wonders how you put up with him all these years. But he’s so glad you did

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bendycxmet · 7 months

Text

Repair You—Vash the Stampede

Summary: Just repairing Vash's arm. He might see it as more than just a simple act of service though.

Word Count: ~1.7k

Content: fluff, the whole gangs here, drinking, drunken and silly Vash, Wolfwood being a tease

You sat quietly at the hotel desk for quite some time now, feet swung onto the hardwood desktop while haphazardly leaning backward in the rusty old chair with a book between your fingers. The crew had gone out for another late-night drinking session, negating your pleas to rest tonight as the previous night's session had taken a lot out of you.

"You're starting to show your age there yanno" quipped Wolfwood as he slung his arm heavily onto your shoulders. He leaned in, smirking with downward-cast eyes as the lit cigarette between his lips swirled nicotine smoke around your persona, putting you in a heady yet annoyed space.

"Am not! You know we're both around the same age, right?” You swatted the smoke that crawled its way into your nostrils, but Nico paid no mind, only crowding closer into your personal space to hear the futile excuse you gave next.

“It's just the hangover from this morning is still lingering. Maybe I feel it more than you since I out-drank your ass and you lost that bet when we were playing darts!" you teased as you wiggled your finger into his side. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, grumbling that you had cheated.

A loud stomp could be heard from behind, and before you could turn to see who was noisily heading your way, a tuft of blonde hair and dazed blue eyes appeared.

"Mayflyyyy cmonnn you didn't spend enough time with me yesterday night!" A poof of his breath revealed that Vash had already started the night's festivities. You see the striped tie wrapped around his forehead. You chuckle.

Yep, he’s definitely a couple drinks in.

Judging by how he had nudged his way between Wolfwood and yourself and sent a pointed glare toward the Undertaker, Vash was tipsy already. It was fun to see him tipsy when you were sober, as you were able to pinpoint the funny and affectionate little habits he threw your way, especially his small bouts of jealousy when Wolfwood became too close to you. He clung to your side as he batted his eyelashes, peering down at you with what could be described as the most endearing puppy dog eyes you have ever seen.

"Oh Vash, I did spend all yesterday night with you! You glued yourself to my side as if I was going to disappear! But you passed out on one of the tables before we left. That's why I played darts with Wolfwood." You giggled as you recalled Wolfwood begrudgingly carrying Vash back to your shared hotel room.

"Hey now you guys, let's just let them go back to their room. We can have enough fun here, right Milly?" drawled Meryl.

"Yeah!! Let's get a round of drinks going again, everyone. Have a good night y/n!" shouted Milly in a warbled tone as she clumsily made her way to the bar, Wolfwood trailing close behind to ensure the tall girl didn't drop any of their drinks.

"Mmmm please don't go…" whimpered Vash as he tucked his head into your neck. "I'll miss you too much."

"Vash, angel, have fun tonight okay?” You whispered into his ear.

“I'll be waiting back in the room. Plus, yanno what night it is?" you wiggled your eyebrows teasingly. Vash simply gave a slow blink.

"Arm repair day~"

Before the last word could escape your lips, Vash positively beamed at you, squealing in excitement before pecking your face and lips.

"Promise?!"

"I promise. I would never break our promise of these nights. Now go, I'll be waiting for you." You went to push him away as he kept planting wet, sloppy kisses against your cheeks, the skin flushing from his deep affections.

With that, you exit the populated bar, turning to look over your shoulder one last time as Vash bounds after the crew as they order another round of shots of a liquor you were too familiar with the night before. You groan, feeling nauseous at the thought.

You smile fondly at the memory that had played out only hours prior, ears perking up as several pairs of footsteps and giggling voices made their way down the hall. A loud thump could be heard before Meryl's quiet chastising ensued, warning the two to quiet down before they awakened the snoozing hotel patrons. Planting your feet down from the desk, you went to meet the crew in the hall. Swinging the door open, you were met with quite a chaotic scene.

Vash had Wolfwood's face in his hands, smooching faces being made as Wolfwood struggled to keep him at an arm’s length.

"Needle noggin I told you to quit it! I’m not your Mayfly.” Wolfwood perked up at the sound of your creaking door.

“Look! There’s your beloved Mayfly!” Vash whipped his head up, searching for you until his eyes met yours.

“Mayflyyy!” Vash pushed off Wolfwood and launched his body at yours standing in your shared hotel room threshold. You fell backwards with the strong, heavy weight of Vash abruptly meeting your ill-prepared stance, worrying you had hit your head on the dirty hardwood floors until you felt Vash’s warm fingers pressing into your skull. You sighed into his neck, wrapping your arms around him. Even drunk, Vash always prioritized the safety of your being.

“You should’ve seen him. His last drink sent him begging to see you. He was in tears. I shoulda told the bartender to dilute that beer,” chuckled Meryl, a snoring Milly hanging from her shoulders. “Well, we’re gonna turn in for the night. Good luck handling the typhoon.”

“Thanks you guys. Mind shutting the door? I’m in a bit of a… predicament.” Peering down, you can see the content smile gracing Vash’s face as he rubbed his face into your shirt, inhaling the scent of you.

“Sure thing. Night you guys.” With that, Meryl shut the door.

“Hey Stampede, enjoying yourself there?” Vash groaned, pinching your side with the hand that was not cradling your head.

“Yanno I hate when you call me that. Where’s my nicknamesss?” drawled Vash, sniffling as he peered up at you. You brought up one of your hands to tenderly caress his warm cheeks.

“Sorry my sweet angel~” you said in a lilted tone. “Thought you had forgotten all about me, and our designated nights.” Vash let out a loud gasp as he pushed himself so that he was sitting with his back to the end of the bed.

“Never ever! Look, I’m all ready.” Vash messily threw his red coat off, tugging his humanoid limb off and offering the piece to you. He seems to have sobered up quickly at the mention of what he had been looking forward to all night.

“What a good boy. Now go take a shower, you don’t smell like my usual Vash. I’ll get started on this.” Vash’s cheeks flushed an even darker pink at your praise, promptly hopping up and entering the bathroom, water and steam hissing from the gap under the closed door. You sat at the edge of the bed, tinkering with his arm with some tools you bought from a vendor many towns ago. You don’t understand why you love to do this for him. Maybe it's the only act of service you can do for him. Well, it’s the least you can do when he’s constantly laying down his life for you.

Vash exited the bathroom, steam filling the hotel room. His gray, weathered sweatpants hung low on his hips, chest left uncovered so that you could trail your eyes down the many scars littering his skin. You can never get used to seeing him like this, quickly averting your eyes back to the task at hand, struggling to quell the blush settled now on your face. The sensation of the cotton cloth between your fingers gave your brain a distraction from the sight in front of you. You missed the teasing spark in Vash’s eyes as he made his way to you, sitting on the floor and pushing his back between your calves hanging off the edge of the bed.

“How goes it?”

“Almost done… just gotta polish it.”

He hummed, tilting his head back until he was staring at you work. The cute crease you made in between your eyebrows whenever you were focused always had his heart twinge. How lovely it was to have someone take care of just one piece of him. Yearning for your attention after a long night without you, Vash turned his head to kiss the inner area of your knee. You giggled at the ticklish feeling.

“What’s wrong? You missed me that much?” You set the now polished arm on the bed, running your fingers through his coarse, soft blonde hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp. Vash hummed, his entire body slumping against the bed at your gentle caresses.

“You have no idea…” Vash’s breaths began to slow at the feeling of your fingertips combing through his wet hair. What a strange sight to see when his hair wasn’t spiked into his usual style. The way his hair settled lightly over his eyes gave him an almost vulnerable, boyish charm, the urge to shield him and take him away from the world that hurts him constantly hitting you square in the chest. You took a deep breath, remembering that he would rather get hurt himself before seeing you attempt to protect him. Better to just ensure the arm that protected not only yourself and the crew, but also himself, was optimized at all times.

“Let’s get under the covers, I can feel how tired you are.”

Vash progressively became heavier as a serene expression crossed his face, unfocused blues following your movements as you guided him under the covers, allowing his head to hit your chest, knowing he would appreciate hearing your soft, beating heart in his dreams. Vash’s last moments awake included him turning onto his side, arm wrapped around your middle, his legs interlacing with yours. The ensnaring warmth of him began to lull you to sleep, but not before you heard a quiet whisper floating upward from your chest.

“Thank you…”

You didn’t need an entire sentence to read in between the lines, or rather, in between two words to know that Vash was not just thanking you for repairing his humanoid arm. With those last two words from him, Vash’s soft, even breaths willed you to sleep.

A/N: Hello everyone! Thanks for reading my first piece of fanfic I've ever posted! Not usually a writer, so bear with me haha just doing this for fun. I just really love Vash so I wanted to add some fanfics into the fandom. Thanks for reading and hope for your continued support! See ya <33

masterlist

Dividers

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #vash the stampede #vash x reader fluff #vash fluff #bendycxmet writes

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daydreamsandcrashingwaves · 2 months

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Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt 4

Hi Friends! Part four is here for you first!

General warnings for ya'll

Big sads, panic, PTSD, flashbacks/traumatic memories, Danny should come with his own warning, canonical plus one death but it's Danny, guilt (does it classify as survivor guilt? idk)

Anyway! I hope you enjoy! The Ao3 version will be up soon too!

Stay safe, take care of yourselves please, take your meds if you need to, water yourself, eat some food, get some sun! Much love to you all

~Ren

Danny hadn’t woken up this comfortable in a long time. Fingers dragged through his hair carefully working out knots before scratching at his scalp. He was curled into someone’s side. His automatic thought is he crawled into bed with Jazz after patrol. He grumbles a reply as he tries to bury his face deeper into the shirt? Blanket? Whatever it was, it was soft against his cheek. His core is purring in contentment. He feels safe. Something he hasn’t truly felt in a long time. He melts, even if Danny doesn’t understand why the logical part of his brain is begging him to be suspicious. He pushes the thought away and wants to revel in being close to his sister, just for a moment.

A voice breaks the silence. “Are you awake Danyal?” It comes out hushed, but warm and fond. A distinctly male voice. Danny jerks so harshly the boy he’s resting with begins fussing, worried Danny pulled something.

Danny’s eyes shoot open and he tries to rear back to get a good look, something pulls in his chest but Danny ignores it. His brother’s arm tightens around him keeping him nestled into his side. His brother is staring back at him. Danny looks him over for the first time since he died in the League all those years ago.

Short dark hair and a face like his own. Danny wants to weep gazing into his emerald eyes. How often had he transformed just to see green eyes instead of blue. Even if doing so brought his memories of the lazarus pits to the surface.

(He doesn’t really remember, it was a wisp of a memory. His Mother carefully hiding their presence as she rushed his limp body to the pits. It was just nothingness… for once. No more harsh shouts and bruises just the soft transition from alive to dead. His heart had stopped, his lungs refused to bring in more air and then nothing changed to screaming pain searing him down to his bones, or maybe he was the thing screaming as he could feel what little air he had escaped into the toxic water he had been tossed into. He remembers the frantic way he swam upwards, breakinging the surface with hacks and coughs, only to see an unfamiliar landscape around him. This water was actually water, some sort of lake as far as he could tell. A little girl sitting on the dock had reached over and pulled him out of the water by the scruff of his shirt. When Jazz would recall she had always fondly said she had fished out her rabid kitten that day. The rest was history.)

Danny couldn’t help himself. Kept going back to his mirror to stare into toxic swirling green, trying so desperately to see his brother reflected back. Only to swallow disappointment when the reflection always fell short. For all his genius, for all the solid, crystal clear memories he does have of Damian they are few. All the more Danny hoarded them cradled in between his ribs, mapped them along the many scars that he gained before meeting the Fentons. He had spent so many nights tracing them trying to remember just how he had gotten the mark, Danny instinctually knew that they would lead him to remembering the boy who’s shadows haunted him. Desperate and determined to hold onto any connection to his older brother.

Danny takes a moment to really look at Damian. Damian looks healthy, a bit tired maybe, but his clothes are casual and clean. Nothing like what they wore in training. Damian isn’t as tan as he was as a child, but it was a small difference. There is a faint scar by Damian’s left eye that catches Danny’s attention, it trails down his cheek and under his ear. His hand moves to cup his twin’s face without thinking, softly tracing the mark. Danny aches at the thought that Damian could’ve lost an eye while they were apart. A few more inches down or over and his brother wouldn’t be alive in front of him like this.

“Damian” The name comes out broken, filled with reverence and awe. Danny can be certain at least in this moment they are safe, together now after a decade. Damian wouldn’t allow himself to be truly relaxed if they were still in danger.

The world resettles around him. Danny remembers his escape, the portal that ripped through reality to reunite him with his twin. There was so much blood, Danny was sure he was gonna die for good on the floor of some dirty warehouse. Shame floods his system and settles beneath his lungs. Danny grips his hair in frustration as he tries to fill in the yawning blank spots of the last twenty four hours. His delirious panic yesterday is mostly a blur, he can remember soft whispers of Arabic and careful touches. How far he has fallen. He should know better. He should be better.

He sees the questions that Damian wants to demand answers for behind his favorite pair of green eyes, the frustration that builds under his skin the longer his brother waits to ask. He wishes Damian would just ask him. Danny takes a trembling breath. Danny is confused why he would hesitate, his brother was never one to hold his tongue. A quick glance around some sort of medical room. It seems for now they are alone, proof Damian has some sort of regard or leverage here with their Father. With slight amusement, Danny catches the slight glare of wire and is sure part of the peace came from his twin having trapped any entry points into the room.

As Danny takes more in the room uncertainty takes root as he starts catching sight of more of his brother’s traps, he was very thorough. Like he was trapping his bedroom in the League from those who would want to cull one of the young heirs.

Perhaps Damian is also uncertain about his family’s reaction to Danny since he felt the need to defend them in such a way. Truth was Danny had no idea what any of the Bats were truly like. A few rumors about how metas weren’t welcome in Gotham had circulated but other than his childhood stories about their mysterious father Danny was going into this blind. His mother’s opinion was one thing, but Danny refused to be blinded by his feelings again so soon. Mother had said their father loved them, but what assurance was that? Mother wasn’t exactly a good standard to judge others on. The Fentons had said they loved him, they had taken him in as one of their own and raised him. After watching him grow up they didn’t flinch once strapping him to that table. Danny wants to ask just what about his existence is such a threat he must be wiped from the Earth, his memory squashed and scattered. Singular snapshots in time that are taken as the whole of his being. He could run again if he had to, if things go south and Batman also believes Phantom is a threat. If the vigilante wants to turn him over to the GIW...

A shiver works its way down Danny’s spine and he pulls Damian closer. He can be untouchable and invisible in seconds, Danny reminds himself. The thought of leaving Damian so soon after their reunion makes him pale and his core protest in his chest. His form shutters for a brief moment. Danny tried to shove down the sudden desperation and panic he felt. He had nowhere else he wanted to be, together they could figure something out. Danny wouldn’t have to run.

His brother is watching him carefully, goes to say something but Danny needs his older brother to just listen for a moment and pushes closer, a gentle hand over Damian’s mouth to silence him. “You said we were with Father. Do you trust them? Are you safe here?” The Arabic stumbles out of him in a hushed whisper.

They stay like that, staring at each other. An assessment. Danny wants to shrink under his twin’s steady gaze but won’t look away. How Damian responds is important, Danny might be out of practice reading his brother’s expressions but if he tries to placate him, if Danyal isn’t safe here, Damian won’t be able to fully hide his unease. A soft grip pulls his hand away and Damian looks exasperated as he leans forward to bump their temple’s together. “Yes. Our Father adopted many children that despite their overdramatic behavior, they are reliable,” Damian says it begrudgingly but he also sounds incredibly fond. Well, fond for Damian. His brother had never given out meaningless praise before Danny was sure that hadn’t changed in their time apart. He can picture the way Damian’s face softens as he whispers between them, “Father allows me to care for a handful of animals and last Christmas Grayson and Pennyworth presented me with a Studio to create my art pieces in. ”

A soft awed sound leaves him as Danny tips his head forward onto Damian’s shoulder. It’s just like Damian to know exactly what Danny was searching for even after all these years. Damian can indulge in things that once were decreed by Grandfather as weak here. He can be vulnerable and is with enough regularity that he has a special studio that was made specifically for him to use and a multitude of animals to care for. Danny is suddenly so happy Damian can spend his days petting animals and creating art on canvas instead of training. His brother could hold a brush in his hand instead of honing himself into a weapon to be wielded for the benefit of their Grandfather and his legacy. This was what they whispered about in the dark as children.

Relief is sweet, his body sags into Damian’s. Danny’s smile is so big it almost takes up his whole face, he’s almost drunk with how the release bubbles through his veins. His brother wouldn’t lie to him. If Damian would now just ask the questions they both know he’s itching to, Danny can answer them. Danny will trust his brother, if he trusts the family he is with now then he will too. Likely feeling Danny’s rising nerves Damian leans to catch his eye. “What happened to you, Danyal?”

Danny can’t help the bitter laugh that leaves him as he sags back into the bed. This conversation will be long and he’d prefer not to go over it twice. “You wanna gather the Bats? I don’t want to go over this a million times.” He can’t help how sad and tired it comes out.

It’s not the reaction Damian was expecting, unsure what sparked the change in his twin as he just blinks at Danny for a moment before smoothly replying. “ No one but me has access to the Recovery Room at this moment, although Pennyworth has successfully pleaded for his access to be temporarily reinstated when your bandages need to be changed and wounds assessed. I have stayed close to you since we brought you back since we were unsure if you would recognize any of the others and I refused to risk you panicking and reopening your chest wound again.” The hard glare at Danny’s chest makes it clear that Danny will not be escaping the care now that he is conscious and that Damian was aware of the possibility Danny pulled something earlier. He prayed he didn’t pop a stitch, half-ghost or not Damian was still very scary when upset.

With a huff Damian adds, “Though the family is sure watching through the cameras as they are both worried and incredibly nosy, especially when a new sibling is involved.” Danny could barely breathe, his gaze bounced about trying to spot the glint of a camera lens. The room felt smaller. How long have they been watching them? Why wouldn’t they confront him? When would people stop impersonally observing him? Were they scared to be close to him? Worried about contamination?

Before the fear could settle Damian caught Danny’s attention. “I simply meant you only have to tell me, once, here. I.. We had thought you would prefer what privacy we can afford while we determined who had done this to you.” The uneasy lit to Damian’s words was matched by his restless need to play with Danny’s fingers. “The family while well intentioned, can be overwhelming. It is difficult gathering everyone and having them sit quietly for extended periods of time and our family is… large.”

Danny sat stunned. He would never say his brother was mean or cruel in their childhood but consideration of another person was frowned upon outside of ensuring the success of team missions. More often than not those who couldn’t keep up didn’t return. It’s just how the League had worked. For his twin to shield him, possibly creating tension amongst his family just to make Danny feel comfortable. He wasn’t sure how to respond.

It hurt to see how much his twin had grown in Danny’s absence but it also made Danny flush with pride. Damian’s behavior is proof to Damian’s claims that their father truly is different, maybe even safe for someone like Danny. Swallowing all the things he could say Danny clears his throat with a small but real smile, “Thank you Dami.”

Once Danny makes a decision he throws himself in head first, this will be no different. Danny has to start at the beginning. He must tell them everything to have a hope of them understanding how Danny ended up dropping through a portal to his brother’s side. For… their family to understand what true danger hunts him even now.

With a deep breath Danny goes back as far as he can.The terror of fighting to his first death, the enchanting embrace of the dark, his violent resurrection in the pit. How when he surfaced some strange red-headed girl was in his Ahki’s place to pull him soaking wet to the solid wood of the dock. How Danny knew their mother had defied the Demon Head and even if he knew how to get there, Danny could never go back. How when he had done his best to shake off his disorientation it had been childs play to integrate him into the strange family that found him. Danny was good at hiding, at adapting.

Danny didn’t know how exactly but the Fentons had gotten their hands on a forged birth certificate and social security documents. He assumed through some government contract seeking their expertise on ghosts or weaponry. It was as if he had always existed in Amity Park, there was enough of a rotating population that not many remembered differently. Danyal Al Ghul son of Talia Al Ghul and Bruce Wayne, twin heir to the Shadow and the Bat fully became Daniel Fenton, only son to Maddie and Jack Fenton, younger sibling of Jasmine Fenton.

Things had been great for a while! Easy even. He gained a sister in Jazz. As he got better at socializing, Jazz’s dedication to practicing with him paid off, he gained friends in Sam and Tucker. Their afternoons spent studying or hanging out at Nasty Burger. He had creative parents who knew so much about science, technology and the universe. Who would take Danny and Jazz camping so they could fish, and eat fudge-filled s’mores by the fire. School was boring but he liked going to the library and looking at their books on space.

Danny could’ve never imagined how happy life could be away from obligation and duty. Away from his Grandfather. He could live happily while keeping his weakness from eroding the League further. Danny had tried so hard to forget, forget so his guilt about him alone getting all these soft experiences wouldn’t eat him alive. How dare he friviously enjoy a normal childhood when his brother was left behind with the course sand and suffocating expectations.

Things had been great until their obsession with completing the portal infected his new home. That kind of overwhelming happiness was simply too good to be true for someone who had done the things Danny has. His parents would spend days holed up in the basement building. Grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, and maintenance to the house it all fell to the side. House keeping wasn’t nearly as interesting as trying to build a bridge to another world. Eventually Jazz dragged Danny to the library so she could teach them how to do those things on their own. Danny could never tell her he already had learned to do most chores on his own by the age of 5 and if the debit card stopped working he could trap and clean something reasonably sized in the woods for them to eat.

Danny had tried to convince himself after the portal failed to open at his parent’s big presentation things would soon return to their normal, as chaotic as that normal was. Sure they had been really upset, slipping into depression, but they always started up again. Gained their groove. They had gone on their vacation and… Then the portal turned on. Well, he turned it on and was electrocuted with the entirety of the town’s power grid. (They had done the math at some point to figure out the exact voltage but Danny had never wanted it written down, if Tucker thought it was important to know he could keep it hidden under his firewall in a secure file.)

His second death was painful. The electricity had burned its way through his body, stopping his heart, only for the ectoplasm to force it to beat once more. He was sure his heart would burst under the strain. Or the ectoplasm would rip holes in the delicate tissue as it puppeteered it into the sluggish beating he has now. How does he put into words what becoming the gateway between two realities feels like? It was… An eternity hoping for the agony lighting up his nerves to end in the seconds it took for the ectoplasm to merge with him down to his DNA. He could feel his cells splice, die, stutter, and trip but life surged and evolved. He became something new, something unknown, something rare.

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kittyball23 · 7 months

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Memory (a Trolls fanfic)

Summary: JD, Spruce, and Clay come to terms with their Grandmother Rosiepuff’s fate

A/N: Requested by JoltJackalope on Wattpad :)

__________________________________________

“I can’t believe she’s… gone.”

Spruce said the words slowly, like he was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that his Grandma had died. John Dory and Clay peered at him with similar looks of disbelief.

“I mean, I guess I can believe it,” Clay spoke up in response, “but just… not the way Branch said it happened…” He thought about how their youngest brother had described it, picturing a Bergen swiping her away to a terrible fate. His stomach churned in an unpleasant manner.

John Dory’s imagination wasn’t too different, and it made him feel guilty. Being the oldest, he had the most memories of their Grandmother. How she’d supported the five of them, encouraged them to follow their dreams and cheered them on as they did so. One particular moment stuck out to John Dory. And, unbeknownst to him, the moment he was thinking of was a significant one in Spruce and Clay’s memories too…

“Let me take you to a better plaaaace,

I’m gonna make you kiss the sky tonight

Yeah if you let me show the waaay,

I’m so excited, to see you excited!”

John Dory just couldn’t seem to quit singing. He was proud of their song - it was catchy, and a hit among everybody in the crowd who’d come to see their band. Singing it twice didn’t seem to be cutting it, but the show had to come to an end. Thankfully, he could rest at ease knowing that he and his brothers would perform again.

While JD was more focused on the performance part of it, Spruce couldn’t help but recall how many girls he’d made faint after they’d caught a glimpse of his exquisitely toned body. Clay on the other hand was a bit sore, having given it his all when it came to the dancing, but he knew it was completely worth the grand applause the audience had given afterwards.

“They loved us!” their younger brother Floyd exclaimed, looking absolutely touched by the prospect of so many Trolls supporting their music as he made his way backstage with the others.

“Of course they loved you, sweetie,” a gentle voice responded. The boys grinned a tad wider when their Grandma approached them, with Baby Branch inside of a little carrier at her front. The youngest BroZone brother was only a couple months old, still not able to join his older bros up on the stage to dance and sing just yet, but it didn’t mean that he couldn’t cheer them on. He clapped his hands enthusiastically and blurbled happily.

“You were ALL wonderful,” Grandma Rosiepuff continued, gently leaning over to caress Floyd’s cheek. He blushed a little and she chuckled fondly. “Do you know why?”

The magenta Trolling looked up at her. “Why?” he asked in a small, curious voice.

“Because each of you is special,” she responded. She looked over at JD first and smiled.

“John Dory, you had a dream and you made it come true. You created an amazing band that you love being a part of. Just remember that with the right determination, and with your brothers by your side, you CAN achieve anything that your heart desires.”

JD beamed. He liked the sound of that! Grandma was right. His brothers believed in him. And he believed in his brothers. They could accomplish TONS of things if they just continued to work together as a team!

Their Grandma addressed Spruce next. “Spruce, you have a passion burning inside of you unlike anybody else I’ve seen. You'll succeed on what you set your mind to, so long as you never let it burn out."

Spruce smiled at her. “I won’t, Grandma,” he promised.

“Ooo, ooo, me next!” Clay called out, jumping up and down, and raising his hand up in a playful manner.

Rosiepuff giggled. “Clay, being able to make anybody laugh is a fantastic gift. You’re a fun little guy, and I don’t think you’ll have a problem knowing how to keep things real when they matter.”

“Nope, I don’t think so either!” Clay chimed back in reply, living up to his jokey personality and doing a goofy little dance.

Rosiepuff had to laugh again, and then spoke to Floyd. “Floyd. Your talent to write songs is beyond incredible. You don’t have to be afraid to sing or dance in front of a lot of people - you have great friends by your side.” She gestured behind him at John Dory, Spruce, and Clay. “If you ever feel like you’re in trouble, just know that they’ll be there for you. Always.”

Floyd responded by giving his Grandma a hug.

In the baby carrier, Branch giggled.

“And I can’t forget about you, Branch!” Rosiepuff said, nuzzling the top of his rich blue hair. “You, my little boy, are so lucky. You have the best big brothers in the world!”

Branch babbled something babyish that they knew meant he was so grateful for it.

Rosepuff smiled down at him, and then opened up her arms to the others. “Come here, boys!”

John Dory, Spruce, and Clay crowded around to join their Grandma, Floyd, and Branch, all warm and happy in her embrace...

... And feeling nothing like that now.

John Dory sure wished his Grandma could hug him right there and then and provide the comfort he needed. Her hugs always felt like they could cure anything, including the guilt he felt for not upholding to her words.

Just remember that with the right determination, and with your brothers by your side, you CAN achieve anything that your heart desires.

Well, he hadn’t had his brothers by his side, and he hadn’t achieved his goal of having BroZone be together forever.

Spruce hadn’t let his passion die down… in some respects. Of those did not include performing though, which he felt bad for. His Grandmother would’ve perhaps been happy that he was able to start and raise his very own family, but a little sad to see that he didn’t have that desire to get up on a stage and sing anymore like he’d used to. He had tried to bury his boyband days behind him, going as far as to even change his name.

For Clay, it was very rare for a joke to slip past his lips nowadays. Grandma had told him to keep things real when they mattered, though he’d taken it to a much farther level. In fact, his humorous side had almost gone away completely. He no longer chuckled or snickered as often as he used to, and he'd believed that being serious was the way he should continue about his life. But, if he was being truthful, he really did miss that side of him that Grandma said could make anybody laugh. Snubbing it felt like snubbing his Grandmother.

Regardless of their individual reasonings, all three brothers felt as though they'd let her down.

John Dory hadn't realized that the one person he might've wanted to speak to again - aside from the brothers he'd silently hoped he'd make up with one day - was his Grandma. There was so much he wanted to tell her about his adventures out with his caterbus Rhonda, seeing the world.

Spruce would've liked to have told her much about his newfound understanding about relationships, and the true love he'd found with his wife that was so much better than any meaningless fling he'd previously had in his youth.

Clay ached to hear her sweet little laugh again, seeing the smile spread on her face that was because of a joke he'd cracked, and wanting to show her the cool tuck-and-roll trick he'd learned in Putt Putt Village.

A simultaneous sigh heaved from the three brothers.

"I mean, we could see her again one day... right?" Spruce asked.

John Dory didn't understand. "Bro, Branch said she died, though!"

"No, dude, he meant, like, somewhere else," Clay clarified, gesturing an arm up and out, the direction towards the sky.

JD cocked his head, not sure what exactly he was supposed to be looking at, until it came to him. His brothers were talking about a better place, one that was not their world full of troubles and regrets. One where Grandma Rosiepuff was free of her suffering, and where they may go one day when they grew old themselves and passed on.

"Ohhh," he said, nodding once and answering honestly.

"Yes. I think so."

__________________________________________ A/N: I guess this could take place when the brothers are waiting for Branch to return after my oneshot "By Your Side"? (and for that matter, before the oneshot "Reconciled")

#trolls #trolls 3 #trolls band together #branch trolls #john dory #spruce trolls #clay trolls #floyd trolls #brozone #grandma rosiepuff #dreamworks #fanfiction #kittyball writes

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