#Remember when i said “fully colored” or something along those lines
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//Teaser hehe ^^ no tw!//
Ooooo new new new content gameplay! What's in store for our protagonist this fine October, hm?
#Remember when i said “fully colored” or something along those lines#Yeah no i cant :'D#This is the best I can do 😭#Want to finish this ASAP before exam AND before the month ends#Or maybe until first week of november#Not only that but things have been going on recently and i want it and everyone to calm down and gain bearings before i ah#Put this all out hehe#Please please please despite the fact that im not very frequent#You guys have been such a big inspiration and spirit-lifter (or something ^^;)#I love you guys so much /p /vvvvvvvgen#Things may not be in our control but in the end#At the end of the day#Its still you <3#Still us even#if you prefer that ^^#Its been a while since ive been in such an interactive loving and caring community#You lot have made me feel so at home ^^ hugs kisses and words of gratitude and affection all around!#Whichever of those youre comfortable with#Take care <3#Alibi!#the stanley parable#tspud#tsp#tsp stanley#tspud stanley#art wip#wip#work in progress#wip stuff
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I feel like Steve's non-Upside Down friends definitely have a group chat for all their Steve-based conspiracy theories that's just filled with really off the wall excuses and tidbits that Steve's said - how panicked is the government agent-babysitter about it?
The first-year teachers definitely do, for sure!
The chat was originally called ‘The Steve Harrington Experience’ because every conversation with the man is something else, but they ended up changing it after Kathy pointed out that it made it seem like they all experienced Steve Harrington, ‘Sexually, u know?’
“Yes, Kathy…” Marissa said in an exasperated voice note. She must be driving. “You didn’t need to spell it out. We’re changing it.”
‘Not saying I’d be opposed 2 the experience,’ Kathy added helpfully in the group chat. ‘U see those trousers he wore yesterday. Not much left to the imagination there.’
‘Thank you, Kathy.’
The group chat was changed to the ‘Support Group for David’s Obsession’ which is just, haha. Funny. David is not obsessed with Steve Harrington. He just isn’t.
Sure, nothing about the man makes any sense.
And yeah, maybe David talks about that fact a little too much. Maybe he has asked the group chat probing questions about Christmas lights. Maybe he even made a dentist appointment with Edward Harrington, DDS just to make sure he wasn’t the Eddie Harrington they knew.
He wasn’t obsessed. He was just due for a cleaning.
The other day in the parking lot after work, Steve asked if David could see the license plate number on the white 2015 Mazda CX-3 that was circling the block. David read the number off for him and Steve wrote it down. He didn’t explain anything.
David texted the group chat about it, ‘Maybe he’s a spy?’
‘Do you think spy organizations sent out a lot of epileptic agents with service animals?’
‘Maybe the epilepsy is a cover.’
Kathy replied, ‘It’s not.’
David kinda hates how he only tunes in to the staff meeting about Career Day when Steve mentions that Erica can’t come. Something about pissing off her constituents by favoring a community in a state she doesn’t represent. Yada, yada, yada, “Dustin’s still coming though.”
“Dustin,” David repeats, feeling the amused way that Marissa is looking at him. He can’t even be bothered by Jordan hiding a smile in her hand. “Your brother is coming to Career Day?”
Steve beams, “Yeah, man. He comes every year.”
Kathy was a second-year teacher that was definitely here during last year’s Career Day. She could have mentioned it. David can’t even fully digest this information when Steve knocks his knuckles against the table and snaps his fingers, “Oh! My ex works for the paper. I’ll see if they can come.”
David somehow gets roped into finalizing the rest of the list of speakers for Career Day (i.e. they need to confirm if Steve’s people are going to be there and Cindy didn’t want to do it). When he stops by Steve’s classroom at the end of the day, he is surprised to find that Steve is not alone.
There’s low music playing from the corner of the room now that the students have gone home and Steve is at his desk grading papers. Eddie is standing at the board, drawing a dragon-like creature with dry-erase markers.
Eddie is humming along to the song on the radio, occasionally brushing his fingers along Steve’s shoulders when he reaches for a new color. It’s a cozy moment and he almost hates to interrupt, but David has leftovers in his fridge that he wants to get home to.
He knocks against the doorframe, “Steve, you have a minute?”
“Yeah, what’s up?” Steve asks, leaning back in his chairs far enough that his head brushes against Eddie’s back. “Babe, you remember David from the cookout?”
“The history teacher,” Eddie hums, distracted by his drawing. He erases a line of red from the fangs with his finger. “Stevie’s saying great things about you, kid.”
“I – wow, that’s – thanks! It means a lot! I, uh. I’m finishing up some things for Cindy and she just needs a confirmation on your people for Career….” David trails off when Steve makes a sound between his teeth like a hiss and gives him a big wide-eyed look. “…Day?”
Steve’s wide-eyed expression forms quickly into an innocent smile when Eddie turns to look at him, “Babe-“
“Career Day?” Eddie asked scandalized, hand to chest. “Career Day is coming up, Steven? I had no idea.”
Steve’s eyes flicker away from Eddie’s over to David’s and he says, “Yes. Yep, they’ll be here with bells on. Henderson and Wheeler. Just them.”
“Wheeler?” Eddie manages to sound even more scandalized. “Stevie, you – you invited Wheeler to Career Day and not your own husband? I have a career!”
“Yes, you do,” Steve says in a voice that’s a little too ‘second grade teacher’ to not be a little bit insulting. “And you’re amazing, and I love you, but they wanted people with career paths that didn’t start so…infamous?”
David starts inching out of the room because as much as he wants to know more about Steve, he doesn’t want to witness an argument he started. He’s almost to the door when Eddie says, “I worked for my success.”
“Yeah, I know,” Steve sighs like he’s remembering something awful. “If only there wasn’t a mob.”
David is out the door when he hears that and he pauses for only a second before pulling out his phone like, ‘what the fuck, guys????’
#Steve unknowing distressing everybody in one way or another#David’s just like ‘mob????’ and also like ‘I might have just caused an argument between a mobster and his spouse’#and Marissa is just like ‘no hun’#I don’t think the cia babysitter is aware of the gc because Steve isn’t watched too closely and also the gc doesn’t even know Eddie’s name#eddie munson tiktok saga#eddie munson#steve harrington
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Time~ B.H
@babyloutattoo89 @palomam18 @becca-alexa @sadbitchfangirl @alienthingstwo
Summary : No Summary just really wanted to write something for Billy.
There is a silence in the room that feels like something is off. Your writing some notes in your notebook while he sits with his legs wide open rolling his head around back and forth. Some loose strands of his hair falls into his eyes shielding those pretty eyes of his. He doesn’t seem amused to be here. He looks like he’s bored and rather be out for a drive or smoking a cigarette. He feels you staring at locks eyes with you.
“ What is it?” He asks. He eyes your pen in your hands, the colorful one you always use with the little mushroom on top. He remembers he found it on the floor of the English classroom you both shared and gifted it to you. He mumbled along the lines that you’d use it better than he would ever. He doesn’t even carry any pen or paper or any of his books.
“ You aren’t reading like your suppose to” he rolls his eyes at the books near his legs that haven’t been opened. They were stacked like a tower.
“ Reading are for nerds” he says.
You sigh, “ Just read a little.” He smirks as he leans in with his hands at the center of the floor. “ Are you going to make me or something?” He asks, challenging you. He licks the bottom of his lip knowing you’ll catch a peek of his tongue. He notices the way your breath hitches and the way your eyes grew wider.
He had every girl underneath his fingertips, why not you too?
“ No” you swallowed slowly. Your teeth nibbled on your bottom lip, mouth waiting to attach to his or to do something. Instead your cheeks flushed red and you leaned back int your seat and put your hair behind your ear trying to get back to what you were doing.
Billy hummed in disapproval.
“ You’re boring” he says catching your attention once again. If words could hurt, they did for a brief moment. “ I’m sorry Billy if my fun doesn’t match your fun” he rolls his eyes standing up from the floor. His curls bouncing as he moves around your room.
“ Where are you going?” You asked him. “ You’re suppose to do homework” he rolls his eyes again.
“ I’m hungry and I’m going to get a burger” he says taking his jacket off the back of your hair and puts it on. “ Don’t come whining to me when you don’t pass the test next week” you point at him with the pen in your hand while continue to write down notes for yourself. He pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. If only you weren’t such a nerd, he’d have you all over this room and in his car too.
“ You’re just going to sit here and study?” You nod your head.
“ Now understand why you don’t have too many friends” he says. You wince at his words never really hearing him being harsh with you but tonight was different as he chosen this night to fully tell you how it is really is for him.
“ What is that suppose to mean, Hargrove?” He smirks as he hears you call him by his last name. Something about the way you said it sent shivers down his spine and he liked it. But he didn’t tell you that. He couldn’t.
“ You’re just a little girls running after guy like Harrington for god sakes, and with kids too. What are you ten?” He asks. “ Don’t you know what a party is? Have you ever been invited to? Have you ever had a drink? Or better yet have you been ever dumped fucked or are you still a prude?”
“ Shut up” you mumble to him glaring up at him. He puts a hand on his chest like you had wounded him as he faked cried with one hand showing you a tear.
“ Ouch, was that suppose to hurt me? You sure know how to use that mouth” he says. You gritted your teeth as you stood up and poked his chest with anger. “ Who do you think you are? Insulting me? Assuming things about me and better yet I thought we were friends”
He threw his head back in laughter.
“ Friends? Why would I want to be friends with someone like you? All you do is sit in your room surrounded by book or your like a wounded puppy following Harrington around. He’s not dicking you is he?”
“ What if he is? What’s it to you?” You asked. Billy laughed.
“ No one wants to give to you and you think Harrington will?”
“ He’s my friend and he would” you crossed your arms over your chest and nodded. You were sure you were right that Steve would help you if you asked him too. Even with that.
“ That’s where your wrong, princess. Us guys only want one thing if little girls like you chase us around. We take it and drop you like your garbage”
“ Steve wouldn’t do that” Billy titled his head with his eyebrow raised.
“ Yeah? Why wouldn’t he? You come off too easy, buttercup” you gasp at his words and push at his chest. “ You need to leave, I don’t want you here anymore” he puts his hands up as he stumbled back to catch is footing.
“ I’m out of here anyways. You’re a prude and a nerd. Not really giving me any reason to stay princess” he smirked as he walked out of your door and made his way downstairs. You grabbed onto your pillows from the bed and threw them against the door and screamed in anger. Billy rushed out of your house with a small chuckle as he made his way to his car.
Once he sat in his car, he closed his eyes as he slide down his seat. He knew he didn’t really mean what he said to you but you were getting too close to him. The two of you were friends and he finally told you what Neil did to him and made you swore not to tell a soul. Now, he was terrified. Not because of what he said, but how he’s feeling. He’s grown on you and wants to see you safe.
What better way to keep you safe than far away from him?
When he saw you the following day, you had moved seat and he was no longer sitting behind you in class. He frowned upon seeing one the girls he used to flirt with sit by you and saw you two chatting.
“ Billy, over here!” He hears someone call out to him. His eyes fall on Tommy H who becks him over with an empty spot. He was going to sit down there when he heard a voice of another student speaks to him.
“ That’s my seat” they said. Billy turned his head and glanced at them with annoyance.
“ Don’t see your name on it” Billy sat down while Tommy clasped an arm around him in greeting. The student huffed as they walked past them into another seat. Billy turned his head in time to catch your eye and waved his fingers to grab your attention. When you looked away from him without a greeting, he frowned and zoned out the rest of class.
You quickly walked out of class to your locker to grab a few things since you decided you were going skip the rest of the day and walk home. You closed your locker door when you jumped seeing Billy standing there leaning against the other locker with his shoulder.
“ Jesus, you scared me” he chuckled.
“ That’s not really my name, buttercup” he mumbles straggling his jacket as he follows you down the hall. People aren’t used to seeing him with someone like you and you felt eyes on you when you walked down the hall with him by your side. You didn’t mind.
“ What do you want?” You asked.
“ What’s with the attitude?” He asked taking a hold of your hand and back you into one of the lockers. “ I thought we were friends” you looked at him like he had two heads. Did he forgot what he said last night? Was he okay?
“ Did Neil hit you again? You asked him in a hushed whisper. The mention of him caused Billy’s eyes to turn darker and his jaw tighten.
“ What did you just ask me?” He asked. His face leaned closer.
“ I-I’m sorry” you shook your head, looking down seeing the small space that you could go under. You took that as a moment to escape him and head down the hall to the doors. Billy slammed his hand against the locker as he sighed.
“ Hi Billy” he heard one of the girls speak to him but he wasn’t paying attention to her but to you as you rushed out of there. You were walking down the road towards home with the grip on your backpack as you bopped your head to the music you were listening to. You wren’t really bothered to notice any cars that passed you or the cars that were driving near you.
A familiar Camaro slowly stopped next to you and beeped the horn really loudly causing you to scream and jump. Your heart was racing as fast as possible. You sent a glare to the driver until you noticed who it was. It was Billy laughing to himself at the sight of you.
“ What?’ You finally asked. “ Haven’t had your fun yet?” His laughs stops as he eyes you.
“ I’m not making fun of you nerd, now get in the car” he says reaching over to open the passenger side door for you. “ I’m driving you home.”
You rose your eyebrow in question.
“ I won’t ask you again, get in” he says. His hand was tapping his car door with his hand as the music blasted from his car. “ I am not going to say it twice, I will leave you hanging on the road here.”
You pursed your lips and sat down in the passenger seat mumbling the words, “ asshole” underneath your breath. He turned to glance down at you as you moved your backpack onto your lap.
“ I didn’t mean it” he suddenly says. Your eyes turned to glance at him with confusion on your face. He shifts uncomfortably under your gaze as he starts to drive. “ Would you quite staring at me?” He says.
“ I’m sorry” you mumble turning back towards the window watching houses pass by, the trees, people etc.
“ What were you listening to?” He asks. “ I saw you bopping your head” he adds.
“ Nothing that seems your interest” you tell him.
“ Nerd stuff?” He asks.
“ Nerd stuff” you nod, “ you’re a piece of work” you add but mumble underneath your breathe. He arrives by your house a few minutes later and parks the car. Your hand reaches for the door handle but stops hearing him speak.
“ I didn’t mean about yesterday” he says. You don’t react and wait for him to continue.
“ You’re apology isn’t accepted”
You opened the door and let yourself out but he follows as he shuts the door.
“ What do you want me to say?” He asks. “ That I said some words and you were hurt? I’m always the jerk to everyone. It’s how I am” you shook your head.
“ Not when we first met” his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion on what you were trying to say. “ You were nice to me when we first met, there was no flirting or anything. There was a smile out of you even, I remember the laugh too that you added.”
His cheeks flushes red as he rubs the back of his neck. He didn’t know you would remember the things about him.
He wasn’t anything special.
“ Would it be crazy to tell you that your not half bad when your nice and sweet?” You asked. He stood by the car in silence as he listened to you talk. “ It’s funny how it works out, you’ll be this great guy that you don’t show petiole and the next you’re an angry little bear that doesn’t get his wya or something else happens. But you know you deserve so much than what you have” he stiffs at your words. He knows your talking about Neil now and his home life. “ But you have an angry cloud over you and it will never go away if you don’t let people in. What are you scared of?” You asked.
“ I’m scared to have feelings for someone” those words frighten you and excite you at the same time not knowing if your the person he’s talking about or not.
“ It’s okay to be scared, I would be too. But you get to share things with them, make adventures, be real with him and make memories. Do you know want that?”
He shrugged like it’s the best answer to give you.
“ I like you Billy, I do” your words shock him as he stares at you wide eyes. “ But I can’t let you in if you’re going to be like this”
“ You got it wrong” he says. Your eyebrows knit in confusion.
“ I never said it was you that I had feelings for” those words hit you like a knife. It’s true that he said he didn’t say it was you but something along the lines made it seem like it was you he liked. He wasn’t like that with anyone but you. He doesn’t sleep around anymore like he used to. He doesn’t even kiss them.
He’s been around you. Calling you nerd. Teasing you.
“ I know and that’s okay, I wouldn’t like me either” now it was his turn to be confused as his eyebrow knitted together. “ I have my own share of battles, Billy. You haven’t gotten a chance to look into that picture. I haven’t been honest with you because I’m scare you’ll leave and yesterday, words hurt me and I understand now” you nod feeling your eyes prickle with tears.
“ My father was right, no one wants me around and I’m useless” Billy shook his head, his hands turning into fists.
“ Your father is wrong” he says. You chuckle.
“ I know your trying to make me feel better, but I know Billy Hargrove doesn’t go for nerds especially nerds like me. You don’t fool me”
“ But what if I said I liked you a little bit?” You chuckled again.
“ I rather you take your time to pen up to me and show me the real you” your eyes lock with his.
“ Right now I’m going to say goodnight”
“ Good night…. Nerd” he says making the edges of your lips inch up into a smile.
You felt a piece of paper land on your test and you knew that crumbled notebook piece of paper from anywhere. The edges of your lips turned up as you chuckled. Oh Billy. You had told him he needed to study for the test. Your head turned to find his head turned to you, his eyes motioned to his paper as if he’s asking you for answers.
You shook your head and stuffed the paper into your pocket. He had to do better than that. Billy grumbled in his seat, kicking the seat in front of it sending a loud noise through the classroom.
“ Mr. Hargrove, is there a problem?” The teacher asked.
“ Can I use the bathroom?” He asked. The teacher looked at the clock on the wall.
“ Are you almost finished with your test?” The teacher asked.
“ Yeah” Billy lied as he shifted in his seat.
“ You may go” the teacher asked. Billy rose from his seat and as he passed you, he tugged on your hair making you wince in pain. You sent him a glare and he motioned his head to the door. You were on the last question of the test and you glanced back down at the paper jotting down the answer before raising your hand.
“ I’m finished with my exam, can I use the bathroom too.?” The teacher hummed for a moment before nodding their head. You placed your exam on top of his desk before making your way to the door where Billy was waiting for you outside.
You yelped when he pulled you around the corner.
“ What?” You asked. His blue eyes stared intently at yours as if he was searching your something. “ Billy?” You asked. His face leaned closer to yours. The tip of his nose brushed against yours as your breath hitched. He tilted his head to the side as his lips drew closer and closer to yours.
“ What are you doing?” You asked. “ Were suppose to go back to class soon” you added. “ Were going to get in trouble.”
“ Nerd” he mumbles. “ You should give me the answers”
“ Why would I?” I told you to study and you didn’t listen” He shrugged.
“ Studying is for nerd” he says. “ I’m not a nerd”
His face was still inches away as he stood there with his chest pressed against yours.
“ I’m waiting” he says.
“ No” you shook your head, “ you should of studied” he groans underneath his breath. Your eyes widen as a sound comes out of you when his lips collide with yours as one. His lips move against yours and you swore you started to feel like you were on cloud nine. His hands gripped at your hips bringing you flush against his body as he kissed you.
He pulls away out of breath with his eyes wide too.
“ How is that?” He asked. You hummed.
“ Nah I don’t think so” he growled as he pushed you against the wall you were leaning in and his lips brush against the side of your neck. One of your hands goes into his soft curls and grasp onto it feeling him kiss your neck and gasp when you feel his teeth bite into your neck.
“ I don’t have time for your games” he growls.
You leaned in close that your lips brush against his catching him off guard.
“ Its time to get back to class now” you mumble and slipping past him to go back into class to grab your stuff as the bell would ring soon. Billy walked in a few minutes later with an angry look on his face.
You won this time.
Billy was beyond angry when he found out that you were hanging around Steve again, it was different this time. Since the kiss happened between the two of you, you were all that Billy thought about it. It became unhealthy to him. He went through cigarette after cigarette just to get you off his mind. But nothing was working.
“ She’s been to the arcade with us, Steve drove us” Max, his step sister informs him. His hand clutches the beer in his hands as he finishes it up and throws it somewhere in the living room. He knew he was going to get in trouble later but that wasn’t on his mind at the moment.
“ Where are they now?” He asks. Max who’s not really sure if she hear him right or not, looks at him with confusion. “ He took her home” she says. Billy grabs onto his jacket and storms out of the house.
“ Weird” Max mumbles to herself. Billy arrives at your house to see the lights in your room still turned on meaning you weren’t sleeping. He took some small pieces of rocks besides your house and began to throw them towards your window in hopes to get your attention. It does as your curtain draws back and you glance down seeing Billy standing there. You threw the window opened and shout down to him.
“ What are you doing here?” You asked.
“ Can we talk?” He asks. You rush back inside to get a hoodie but Billy thought that you weren’t going to talk to him so he turned around to go back into his car when he heard rustling. His head turned just in time to see you hope down the little fence you had on the side of your room where you could climb to your room.
“ What do you wanna talk about?”
A silence fills the both of you as he finds it harder and harder to speak to you.
“ I heard you were having fun with Steve tonight. Are you two a thing now?”
“ Why? Jealous?” You smirked. But it dropped when you noticed his hand clenched in fist and the scowl on his face. “ Steve is my friend. I have told you this.”
“ He hasn’t tried anything, right?” Billy asks.
“ No, he’s not like that” Billy shakes his head not really believing it but he doesn’t let it show as he stays silent.
“ Is this all you came here for?”
Billy sighs as he looks away.
“ I want to open up to you and for us to talk” he says. You gasp out about to throw your arms around him when he look over to you, “ But you can’t come over my house. I don’t want Neil to find out” You nod your head.
“ What about in school?”
“ Don’t worry about them” he says. “ I’ll handle it if they say something”
“ So what is this going to be?” You asked. “ I don’t wanna be a toy to you or a game” you add. He nods.
“ You never were a game” he steps closer to you and brushes your hair behind your ear.
“ Then what was I ?”
“ Someone I was afraid to give my heart out to”
“ Billy…” you mumble his name but it sounds music to his ears when you say his name.
“ I know, give me time and you’ll see”
“ See what?” You asked.
“ What you wanted? The real Billy, the Billy that you deserve”
#jewls writes#Billy Hargrove#Billy Hargrove x reader#Billy Hargrove x you#Billy Hargrove x female reader#Billy Hargrove x y/n
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I MIGHT have found what you were talking about regarding Kiel. It wasn't a full-blown confession, but I JUST encountered something he'd never said before wherein he heavily implied and/or started to confess. HOWEVER, it was something along the lines of "I know you already have a lover, but I also… Oops, shouldn't say that!" The line was partially voiced (and not with generic voice clips) even! I was so shocked I talked to him again hoping he'd repeat it, but he instead switched to a generic dialogue about magic. And I sadly don't know if that one line was it or if he might have continued on another day, because this triggered on literally the last day of Dylas' marriage event for me, so I immediately married the next day. I doubt Kiel would confess even if he could when you're fully married to someone else.
Do you remember if you were dating someone else when Kiel confessed?
… Holy shit. Yeah, that sounds REALLY familiar and I was dating at least Dylas and Arthur (and I think also Leon?) when that happened. Kiel confessing was ultimately why I went “yeah, okay, I’ll date all the boys, I want to do Arc Three before I get married if I can anyway,” which is why it left such a firm impression on me as A Thing That Happened. (I also am pretty sure Doug had dialogue at least indicating a crush before I did anything - I semi-think I remember he confessed first as well, but it’s nowhere near as clear to me as Kiel’s since he was the last boy to be added what with the “can’t pass a certain point until Arc Two’s done,” so I’m not sure.)
I had also gotten Kiel’s mini-event(s?) before that point (the ones that don’t span multiple days) - those, at least, have some firm evidence of existing in that Houcha’s Youtube compilations of the different love interests’ events all include at least one mini event. More of them than not have two… but not Kiel or Doug, and I could swear I saw two for both of them. (I think Doug had one taking place in the store in addition to the one on the stairs? I can’t remember a second for Kiel in detail but I feel like there was one. I definitely got the color compatibility quiz, though, and it HAS been a decade. But if I checked Youtube more thoroughly at some time that’s not 4 AM I wouldn’t be shocked if I do find second mini-events for the others.)
Seriously, up until last year I assumed this was a totally normal part of gameplay that just didn’t happen to be on any of the Youtube compilations, and I’d ultimately restarted the game at least once pre-Special hoping to see what Arthur’s would be (since his whole complex about love made me figure a reverse confession would play our VERY differently than the usual.) I figured those mini-events were probably prerequisites (and that’d explain the rarity, since they’re not required for marriage, not formal Events and therefore not really talked about, but are still subject to the wonky event RNG, and by the time you activate them both and presumably get a love interest at high enough LP they’d want to confess to you, you’d probably confessed already. Pretty sure Kiel’s LP was at least a 9 or 10.) And then I never got this after my first playthrough despite getting mini-events, even if I didn’t get quite as far in on them, so when I brought it up and the universal reaction was “… do you not mean reverse proposals?” and bafflement at my belief this was a thing, I wondered if it wasn’t a glitch.
But I’d also wondered, once I realized just how rare this clearly had to be, if maybe they only happen once you’re dating at least one other person. I figured “more than one” seemed more likely, at that, since it’d be another thing that would seriously reduce the number of players who’d ever experience this and therefore make it more plausible no one else seemed to recognize it. (And if it already requires you to date one person, the devs probably assumed you’d be more receptive to the idea of dating another if they’re at least the third, rather than the second.) Maybe it really is necessary. At least for Kiel, and I’m way more certain it happened with him than Doug. Definitely something to test for now that I’m replaying.
Thank you for this information! Seriously I had all but convinced myself I’d imagined everything. (And if the line’s voiced, I should definitely try and record things going forward like I was originally playing.)
#rune factory#rune factory 4#rf4 reverse confessions#I know the game script’s been dumped somewhere and at some point I should check it out#since that would be the easiest way to tell if these really do EXIST#but I haven’t gotten around to it in part because I convinced myself ‘okay so this was a glitch I guess’#‘and the more interesting thing will be replicating it because I KNOW THIS HAPPENED ONCE’#but. wow. signs I maybe WASN’T misremembering all along.
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at least i let the light in - sneak peek
“Hope. Something he’s not felt in a while. The thought tickles the corner of his mouth into a smirk, but it disappears as soon as his brain registers what’s happening.” or Bradley Bradshaw sees a therapist after the worst breakup of his life. An epilogue in tandem with ‘cause no one breaks my heart like you.
TW: brief mention of therapy, brief mention of suicide, alcohol and drunkness. please feel free to bypass this if you are uncomfortable with these topics.
A/N: hey guys!! first of all, i’m SO thankful for all your support and kind comments about ‘cause no one breaks my heart like you. i’ve been debating writing an epilogue because i don’t want it to be one of those things where she automatically forgives bradley and everything is back to normal because that’s not realistic and def not what she deserves. i also wanted to dive deeper into bradley’s headspace to give you guys some sort of finality and closure. this piece is certainly not finished, but it will be hitting your dashboards soon so for now, please enjoy this little tidbit!
Somewhere in Between
The small aquarium sitting next to him blows soft circular bubbles of air into the blue-toned water. The starfish on the side of the tank glues itself tightly to the glass; the tubed feet wave at him and invite him to, “Come closer, closer, closer. Your secret is safe with us.”
The still frame of a scene from Finding Nemo flashes and is gone as soon as he thinks of it. He had never watched the movie fully anyway. It was put on the TV screen one night after too many glasses of wine and ended with lazy fucking on his couch and sloppy attempts at a hickey on the column of his throat.
He shakes his head to dislodge the thought of Finding Nemo and the starfish and the hickey. If he shakes hard enough, he figures that you’ll fall out of his brain too. His eyes glance towards the blue carpet. On the floor near the waste basket lies a pack of gum that narrowly missed the trash. He recognizes the teal packaging anywhere, and once again, the memories of you come running back in full swing.
He’ll never get rid of you. After all, you’re the reason why he’s here. Right? Blaming you about why he feels so horrible doesn’t make it real anymore. Right?
You’re wrong and you know it.
The angel and devil on his shoulders never shut up nowadays. He knows that there’s some moral complexity fighting to reveal itself to him when they both start to say the same thing.
The air inside the office is chilly. He usually likes being colder than normal, but this is the kind of cold that feels sterile. Unpolluted. Untouched by any trace of human life. It’s the kind of cold that makes your toes numb through your shoes, and he has to wonder if he’s actually cold or if it’s a side effect of numbness - of being so ensorcelled in a conglomeration of emotions that he feels nothing at all.
It wasn’t his idea to see a therapist.
He honestly wasn’t even considering going when his friends ambushed him with the idea. He was drunk and some pieces of what happened are missing; some of the audio cut out from conversations he was having and faces and names jumbled up in a big ball of color that he can’t pick apart for the life of him. He remembers Jake saying something along the lines of, “We’re not gonna babysit you and watch you kill yourself.” (Certainly not exactly what was said and kind of harsh, but Hangman has never been anything less than blunt.)
He remembers seeing a mosaic of faces and he’s pretty sure a group hug thrown in there somewhere between the events that led to him laying face first on Phoenix’s couch and waking up in her sunlit living room the next morning.
What he does remember is hearing Phoenix cry in her bedroom.
Phoenix cries in the solitude of her own home, she had told him before. And she was never home and was always around people, so Bradley took the context clues of what he observed and what she had said to mean that she wasn’t a crier. Not that she didn’t cry or want to, anyway, but just that she didn’t because she was never able to do it comfortably.
But hearing her stifle her cries to not wake him up was heart-wrenching, and he knows that to make Phoenix cry is to hurt her so deeply that she has no other choice.
So that’s how he ended up here in a blue-hued office in a brown leather chair with a menacing-looking starfish observing him as he twiddles his thumbs.
The therapist he’s seeing is hard to read, but has kind eyes. His dark skin glows in the sliver of sunlight offered by the window. His graying beard places him in his late fifties, early sixties, maybe.
The framed pictures of ship carriers and midshipmen in dress whites tell the story of a fellow Navy man. Bradley learns that he was a Captain, just like Maverick, and that his name is Charles.
He figures that the intake questionnaire the receptionist made him fill out did more than gauge how screwed up inside he feels.
He hopes that they’ll be a good match.
Hope. Something he’s not felt in a while. The thought tickles the corner of his mouth into a smirk, but it disappears as soon as his brain registers what’s happening.
You’re smiling. Actually smiling. That’s the angel talking.
What the fuck is there to be happy about? The devil speaks up.
So much for him thinking they were on the same page. . .
“Bradley,” Charles starts, “I don’t want this to feel so. . .”
“Scary?” he finishes, “My mom put me in therapy when I was six. I know how this goes.”
Charles offers him a soft smile. “Sterile,” he corrects, “I was going to say sterile, but I guess scary can come to mind too. It’s your session. I’m just here to listen.”
He gives a soft snort through his nose. The therapist he had seen in college was never this relaxed.
“Well,” he begins to speak before chewing on his lip.
Fuck. What does he even say?
#bradley bradshaw#rooster bradshaw#rooster x reader#rooster top gun#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader#rooster x you#top gun maverick#bradley bradshaw fic#bradley bradshaw fanfic#rooster bradshaw fanfic#rooster bradshaw fic#rooster fanfic#rooster#miles teller#tw suicide#tw alcohol#tw therapy#literally so excited to give y'all the full piece#i have a million other projects and i keep saying this but i promise you that they'll be published and on here for you guys to read soon#as much as you like#cross my heart and hope to die
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Okay so...Dabi's Dance, the episode was spectacular, easily in the top three best episodes this season, hell it might even be No.1 and the voice acting really sold it, I could listen to Dabi talk for hours, the emotion and the build-up and how he just couldn't help himself and just had to start dancing from how excited he was, it was great. The animation followed that energy well too, really dynamic and I vaguely started thinking of JJK when I saw it.
I think my only complaint is that they cut out the 2nd shot of Twice reaching out and the dialogue over it, "I still gotta protect their happiness!" You can't have Skeptic asking Dabi to bow down to his editing skills, all "perfectly spliced" and not show what he was editing, because it sure wasn't "just the mere existence of the video" but the contents of the video. There's no flashback to Dabi holding something in his hand telling Hawks he should've been keeping both eyes on him when he says, "your cameras caught such good footage!" That tells us the cameras weren't just part of the room or Hawks' feathers, but something Dabi carried with him.
Because we saw all the footage go out when the war started and Hawks slice them off his wings. I don't know if anime-onlys will remember that. Or the fact that Twice's line there? Took place at a different moment than the "hand-reaching out" scene. Skeptic placed it over there because it made Twice seem more vulnerable. The audience doesn't even know that Dabi was encouraging Twice to "go wild" and "make quick work of those heroes out there, just you alone is enough" because even though that IS spoken at this time, it's cut out. And so is Dabi himself from the frame, they don't know Twice is reaching out for a high-five, it just looks like he's pleading for help and desperate to escape. Technically true, but there's more going on here. And Dabi uses that to color his hero-hating propaganda. He wasn't so fully honest about doing his best to protect Twice. Sure, he wanted Twice to get out alive, but he waited to record that line anyways? He waited outside since the start of the battle to throw back the line of "looks like sympathy tripped you up after all!" He had two agendas. Dirty Hawks' name on purpose and secure the damage Twice's quirk could do. Idk if any of this will be noticeable at first glance. He reallyyyy wanted his broadcast to have a certain vibe, this isn't a simple call-out for "justice." Even his manner of speaking is more subdued and polite, sad and hurting, like he's a concerned whistle-blower for society, while live-time Dabi is gleeful and saying things a little different from the video.
Dabi's Dance is brilliant because it re-contextualizes everything we know about him. The silent, rough-spoken, loner of the League being this clever, energetic guy is one hell of a reveal. Part of that re-contextualization is breaking down everything we assumed about him from previous arcs. He hates Endeavor and wants him dead? Yes, but also no. It's a mix of hate, love, and grief and he was worried about him actually dying in Kyushu. He's been scheming in the background all along, with Ending and StarServant, and dragging Skeptic everywhere as his new best friend. He tells Endeavor that "not everyone has to be pure and selfless, just you" even though he tries to call out heroes as a whole, acting like he wants everyone to "think more critically" and hold them all accountable, when really he's only had eyes for Endeavor.
It's just better to drag them all down, because as AFO said, he'll burn down the whole world for his grudges, and this way makes more of an impact, it puts all the blame on Endeavor, doing it now with the war. If people distrust all heroes, then they'll never give Endeavor the slightest chance. Because he's a "hero" they're all bad, he goes so far as to drag in Hawks because "he's someone Endeavor keeps in company" bad people hang out with other bad people, so might as well ruin the whole profession yeah? All cause Endeavor is a hero, they're all with him by association, and it's what little Touya was asking Natsuo. If Endeavor is like this, do all heroes do that? But does he REALLY believe that heroes "only protect themselves" when he claims that "heroes must always be ready to save a life" betting that Hawks would save Twice from his flames. (And I'm so baffled by this when he believed Hawks was genuinely capable of killing, he killed Jeanist after all, the autopsy proved it.)
Hardly matters, Toga saw the video, and she believed his every word. It's quite reminiscent to what she tells Ochako, that heroes think only themselves and the people they protect are considered "real people" they wouldn't protect anyone else. This is unrelated, but Dabi says "this is my present to you Endeavor" when he talks about digging up info on Hawks and I was hit by a flashback of him also referring to Shouto as a "present" in recent chapters when he thinks about if he has time to bring his corpse to Endeavor with his failing body. Thinking about this and his "come to see your pals get cremated?!" when the 2nd war starts, and I'm just a whee bit suspicious that someone really was honest when he tells Toga giving her Twice's blood was just a way to get back at Endeavor.
Whoever she hurts, the damage she does, everything in this 2nd war that's meant to be a much worse version of the 1st war with everything that didn't happen, happening, because "I guess I didn't bully them hard enough" it worked halfway, but now the villains will really make themselves a clean victory. No short-comings. What tentative trust was gained by the heroes will shatter by them again, completely. Dabi is such a good villain, I want people to see that. He's so sneaky, knowing how to bide his time and how to utilize his resources. He's more of an active villain than Shigaraki and that makes him fun. He's got a brain and full awareness of his actions, I love and hate his constantly changing words. Saying that "my fire that killed over 30 innocents is indeed Endeavor's fire" "look at that Endeavor, another one burnt up by your flames!' before going "haha way to state the obvious! stay out of this, this is a family affair!" when Deku says "you aren't Endeavor!" when the whole world gets dragged into this "family affair" as per Jeanist's words. He's just SO AWARE and having a blast controlling the narrative, and I just like and enjoy that more than a villain being possessed by AFO who can no longer think for themselves, who never really got to even in his own planning. I hope people watching the newer episodes see this because he didn't just spontaneously decide to be like this, he's serious when he says he planned and thought about it for years. It's easy to hear the words, it's something else to think back on his every scene and see, why when and how.
How did you fit this many words into a single ask?
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comme des filles
(sandy liang)
on a very cold day last month i got dinner with one of my closest friends. when we were bundling up to go back outside, she laughed and said i looked “very covered.” ngl it took me aback a little! modest fashion does not cross my mind at all— no part of my lifestyle would call for it, nor do i really consider it when getting dressed. for me it’s more like What shapes can i make today? what can i Do with my body? and most importantly how can i Function?
so like maybe my pants are too baggy and my skirts too long. but also that’s just my style. i’ve been doing the baggy/loose bottoms since i started understanding how to dress myself. in tenth grade one of the theater kids in skinny jeans told me my green fatigues were “ridiculous” (no clue where they are now or what they’re doing, but at the time they looked like they had never given any thought to how they dressed). and in freshman year of college i received a text from one of the madewell-wearing girls— i wish i still had a screenshot but it went along the lines of this:
heyyy remember when you started wearing those edgy baggy pants sophomore year and we all judged you for it?* well now i’m scrolling through urban outfitters .com and there are so many baggy mom jeans. you were ahead of the times #fashionicon
*if there is one part i can remember verbatim it’s this question. i did not remember her in particular judging me to my face so that was kind of cray
last month i watched laini ozark’s “things that make you instantly stylish” video and she mentions baggy/unflattering outfits. Hooray i’m stylish!. in all seriousness tho everything she talks about makes sense because the wearer is choosing to wear that thing. it’s all intention. an edgy haircut, a red lip, a pop of color bag, intention. i lean towards baggy clothing out of habit and a pure enjoyment of it. i started doing it to hide my body but i’m not as insecure about my body anymore, and yet it’s stuck. i think it’s fun to look a little cartoonish. i like when people can’t tell what my body looks like because they don’t need to know everything.
BUT then there’s the whole femininity thing. i don’t know how to be a Girl or what that could mean. i’ve felt it FORever. i hang out with groups of girls and i feel odd. and most of that oddness lies in how i dress. it’s not even like i dress outlandish or all that unique at all! i’m basic! but my pants take up more space and that paired with the loudness of my voice makes me want to tear myself to shreds. i saw someone on tiktok ask “where did the women who are beautiful and quiet learn how to do that?” and i’m always wondering the same thing. and it always comes back to desirability. such bullshit but i’m not going to pretend like i don’t feel it.
at this point in time it feels like girlhood is reduced down to things. not necessarily all the time, but people like to find it in curtain bangs and all those little bows that go on everything (it reminds me of how in cartoons the female characters have eyelashes to indicate that they’re Girls. adding bows to your christmas tree is like adding eyelashes on the female cat from garfield). Girlhood as the internet has decided in 2023 doesn’t come from Feeling but rather from what you have. You need your dyson airwrap and sol de janeiro, among god knows what else.
there’s such a specific way that these cool Girls dress now. i can’t fully describe it but it’s what’s on pinterest and i see these cool girls come into my work all the time. they all know something!!! and they look so cool and they’re not “too covered” or “ridiculous.” I want to be one of them because of course i want to feel like a part of something. but also that’s just not my style. and at the end of the day what this “something” values is reducing themselves down to things to appear more Dainty and Childlike, which is harmful in the long run for obvious reasons. growing up is a privilege. you can’t prevent aging and you shouldn’t prevent growing into the person you are.
that sandy liang ring tht says I’m going to be my own kind of princess— exactly that
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Androphobia
Requested? No
Word Count: 7014
An Android attempts to offer comfort to someone with sleeping trouble.
Androphobia [an·drow·fow·bee·uh]; Fear of or aversion to men. A related concept is misandry, the hatred of men, but not necessarily fear of them.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
Every woman or female born member of society has experienced an off putting encounter with a man.
This is not to be entirely blamed on men- not as a whole, no. But individuals, the ones you run into on your way out of the grocery store, the ones who stop you on the streets, they are the ones to blame. Some women have the guts to tell them off. Not an easy task with the given anxiety, but one to take pride in for the capability that comes with it. Some women stay quiet, rush away as fast as their polite feet can take them and hope someone will see the problem. They usually don’t. And some women are outliers, tricking their ways out of interactions with these men one way or another, and to them I take my hat off.
There are men who are easily construed as monsters, when in the dead of night their silhouettes flash beneath the tallest of streetlights. And there is no reason to not believe them as such right then and there, for as spoken by our Lady Galadriel, “the hearts of men are easily corrupted.” And any look into statistics will back up this fear, any personal experience, any hug that’s gone on just a bit too suspiciously long, any catching of those wandering eyes and it’s easy to feel in your heart that men are not to be trusted. They are not to be confronted, nor left alone with, and they will jump at the opportunity to put down anyone for the validation of other men.
This is the reality of women and men in 2021. It is the same for several in 2039.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
You step out of your old, dusty car. Chips of the dark red paint flake away as the raindrops hit it. Above you, the gloomy, warm gray clouds roll against each other in different shades and sizes, high above the skyscrapers and the stress of the world.
Gathering your belongings for the day, you shut the door with your hip and shoulder everything. Then you make your way towards the Police Department, your work, with the heels of your shoes scuffing against the parking lot.
Across the way, you can see Detective Reid, who rubs his brow while he does his usual slamming of the car door. There’s no point in looking for Hank at this ungodly hour, he’d never be in on time. He’ll probably park his car next to yours as usual- a little too close so it’s hard to squeeze into your own and pull out without causing his vehicle damage, but you never say anything. Not because you are one of the people who feel threatened by Hank as a man- It’s more because you trust Hank as a person, that you’d never bring up the obvious annoyances he places upon you and everyone else. Though, once you had tried.
(“Cars parked a little close, don’t you think?”
“Shut the hell up.”)
The inside of the Department is bustling. A female Android brushes past you briskly, the others at the front desk all seemingly click clacking away in their own brains. Even months after they’ve gained independence, it’s not uncommon for you to remember how they were before. How still and lifeless they were. And looking back on it, it was awfully sad. They seem busier now, more alive and fast. A strange image, in your mind, but not an unwelcomed one.
You reach your desk in the lobby, on the right side of the room slightly separated from the officers. You’re a psychologist, so it’s not plausible for you to be seated next to bias. Instead you’re in your own corner, with a rather cluttered desk on the top and empty rows of drawers. You do, however, keep a small japanese cherry blossom tree on the top, courtesy of Hank, though his has all but fully withered at this point.
And then you’re ready to start your day. Pull out your chair, click your pen and type away reports and notes on the computer to send to the detectives. You don’t have any meetings scheduled today, so there’ll be no need to prepare questions or anything of the sort. Just an easy day.
And then...
As you and I, the dear reader, have already discussed, finding men to be generally scary is an easy task. And even though you are smart enough to know that it’s simply not possible to truly believe that every man or male presenting individual is terrible, or has done terrible things, or has experienced the desire to do something terrible, there are times where you can’t help the cautiousness. You can’t help the flinch, the distrust, the physical distance, the hand in your pocket grasping for anything to use in self defense. Seeing men like Detective Reid in power, brutish and given guns and easily agitated, certainly doesn’t help.
So when you swish your chair around and come to a stand, your heart drops. You’re looking into the presence of someone tall, with broad shoulders and a strong chest. A man.
[Sort of.]
“Good morning, Doctor L/N.”
“Connor,” you breathe out, eyes flitting down as you attempt to quiet the thump thump thumping of your heart in your throat. “I- I didn’t-”
“Your heart race has increased. You appear stressed, Doctor L/N.”
He cocks his robotic head to the side, his eyebrows creasing as the literal gears in his head turn.
“You just startled me,” you admit, grabbing the back of your chair and moving it over as an excuse to create a bit of distance between you and the [possible] threatening force. “What is it, Connor?”
Now, for context, you and he were not considered close. You’ve spoken a few times, though never as friends, only friendly. You remember seeing him last Winter, when he would stand out in the snow outside the station, just gazing up after Hank had already returned to his own home. You remembered how he was different from the other Androids, besides being more advanced to begin with. You’d never said anything about that. It was obvious the only person it would’ve really mattered to, Hank, was already aware of this. And Hank liked Connor. There was no point in interfering.
In Connor’s eyes, you could really do no wrong. You were smart, intelligent, and diligent in your work. Your job had been threatened by the presence of Androids for years by the time Connor had showed up, but it still appeared that they wouldn’t have done your legacy justice. But despite this, interactions were scarce. You were not friends. You were friendly. And you were always on your guard.
“I was hoping to hear your thoughts on a case Lieutenant Anderson and I have been working on,” Connor tells you. He’s always made efforts to keep eye contact with people, and the tilt of his head tries to follow your eyeline to do so. But it’s never to any avail. “I apologize for the abruptness, but the thought only occured to me last night and I think it could be a good one.”
“Yeah, sure,” you answer. “I can help with that. I’ll get the details from Hank when he comes in.”
“No need,” the Android quickly assures you. When you look up to him for a brief second, you can see his tongue sway against his bottom lip, creating the softest of imprints. His dark eyes glitter like a beatles in the catch from the light above.
He produces a light, manilla colored folder lined inside with papers. “I hope you’ll find all the details you need here,” he explains, offering the file to you.
You take it after a moment, watching his thumb let go in the softest, most normal way possible.
“Thank you, Doctor L/N,” Connor smiles. “I’ll go get you your morning coffee.”
Connor is like a dog in that way. Not in an insulting way, or an obedient way. In a kind way, in a warm way. With his chocolate eyes and the dimples when he smiles, it’s hard not to want to just believe that he is incapable of hurting anyone or anything. Especially a woman.
But when you snap back to reality, you can see his male form. His set back shoulders, the robotic strength, the fact that he was programmed to execute any task he so desires. And then you’re right back on edge, wanting to step back from him until you’re sure you can take a full breath.
It’s easier when he’s taken himself away. You can see him through the glass walls in the kitchen, waiting for the pot to heat up. Doesn’t seem so bad from far away, like most of them do.
You return to the chair and open the file. At first, your eyes flit to the pictures attached at the top- one of a woman that looks so familiar, another of a man whose angry brows cover his eyes. Then they move to the written report, and something clicks.
The woman in the picture was an acquaintance from college. The man next to her was the main suspect, and apparently her lover.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
“Morning Doc,” Hank waves tiredly. Then his tone changes slightly. “The fuck are ya doing at my desk for?”
You push yourself from your lean on the edge of his property anxiously. “I read the report on your case. The Carla Rodriguez one.”
Hank sighs in his classic sigh, tired and grumpy from the morning and being alive. “What about it?” he questions, rummaging through his large bag of prescription pill bottles he’s brought with him every day this year. You suspect Connor has something to do with this.
“I had a... personal relationship with the victim,” you begin, crossing your arms. “I knew her.”
Hank looks at you, bewildered. “You were sleeping with my victim?”
“What? No. What? I- anyway. Carla and I were in college together.”
Hank’s face changes. He leans back with high raised brows in the way he does when processing something.
“The boyfriend did it. I remember him from back then, I think. Real angry guy.”
“You’re sure you know what you’re talkin about?” Hank questions you, though not in an insulting way. You know it’s anything but that.
“I’m sure. I can tell you what you need but you know I can’t testify. You won’t be able to use my bias in your report.”
“But the bias is the whole point.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, along with your shoulders. It’s the universal symbol for ‘I don’t know what to tell you’.
“You talked to Connor about this?”
“Well, no. I- he wanted my opinion but I didn’t tell him this part.”
Hank glances around. “Where's he at anyway?”
You shrug again. You’re thinking about the disposable coffee cup on your desk, left there by Connor a few hours ago, that you’d never brought yourself to touch.
“Run it by the Android before we do anything,” Hank advises you. “Nutjob’s got this whole system in his head.”
“Yeah,” you mutter as Hank seats himself. “That guy’s weird.”
“Tellin’ me?” Hank groans.
And the rest of the morning you spend avoiding Connor, thinking at your desk, barely doing your job while you let yourself get lost in thought. You’re not usually like this. You’re very professional at work- you love this job. The thrill, the learning about criminals and their rehabilitation- it makes you feel so tranquil. Complete, even.
But knowing a victim, knowing the perpetrator, still adapting to the change of Androids looking happy for once, knowing Hank pretends you’re the child he lost- it... it...
You snap your drawer shut.
What’s wrong with you today?
You huff out dry air. When you turn ever so slightly, you can see Hank at his desk, eyes already on you with concerned and empathetic brows. Seeing him calms you down a little, at least makes you feel more in the real moment. After a moment, you turn back straight. Then you smooth back your hair, and open a your file again.
“Doctor L/N?”
You look up slowly, recognizing the boyish, sturdy voice of Connor. Sure enough, there he is. Tall, looking down at you with his warm, brown eyes. They remind you of an excited, loyal dog. Yeah, you think, Connor seems like a dog person.
And then you catch the sharpness of how broad his shoulders are, how little effort it would take for him to kill you, or pin you down, or come at you in the dark.
“Can I speak with you candidly, Doctor L/N?”
“You...may,” you say slowly. Connor begins to squat, until he is level with your eyeline, though he’s over on the other side of your desk. From your view, your cherry blossoms pink petals stand out against the paleness of his skin, and then the darkness of his hair.
“I heard what you said earlier to the Lieutenant,” he begins.
Truthfully, your eyes flicker around his face, mostly between his lips and his nose and his eyes. They’re all so realistic. Well, obviously that was the point in his creation, but still. They’re so human. Connor is human. Even the way he seems to move his mouth, like his lips are just a little dry, is human. Such a strange detail. Perhaps you would never have noticed it if he hadn’t gotten this close.
“When?” you question.
“About 3 hours ago, about the file I gave you.”
Your eyes snap away. Connor’s own eyes follow your movement.
“I know that this must be difficult for you-”
“Connor,” you sigh, slightly exasperated, but still holding it together. Your eyes close like you can’t bear to look at anything in the present moment right now. You must be trying to pretend that you’re somewhere else. “I’ll be alright. This was in my job description.”
The Android’s eyebrows knit for a split second, confused. “Overseeing the psychology behind your friends death was in your job description?”
And it’s a genuine question from him. That’s what makes it so hard to contain your laughter, no matter how frustrated or overwhelmed you are right now.
“Yeah,” you finally muster with a light chuckle. “Apparently.” Then you’re back to business. “This is my job. I’ll be alright. Thank you for your concern.”
“I just considered that, since you’ve been on the news before, the suspect could know that you’re involved.”
“So?” you ask, slightly more snappy than intended.
“He may know you’re here and subsequently attempt to cause you harm.”
There are two conflicting sides in your brain right now. The first one says: Now think about this. How could he harm you in a place full of cops? It’s not like he knows where you live or anything. How could he even find that out? When they bring him in, he’ll be in custody the whole time. Gavin won’t let him out of those handcuffs. Everything will be just fine.
And the other part? It shows you a dark, masculine figure, looming over you. Police department or not, he is there. He will cause you grief and harm, do something so terrible to you you could not even fully imagine it enough to anticipate yourself.
And, despite your better judgement, and to your full awareness, you listen to the second half.
“Okay, so,” you breathe out. “So what are you saying?”
Connor’s eyes draw to his left in a stutter, his mouth parting as if he’s in consideration. “The Lieutenant and I had talked about... having you stay in a... safer place.”
Your eyebrows pinch together. “What do you mean by that?”
Connor looks so human in this moment. it’s so apparent, and piercing in this exact second. The details in his eyes, slightest of blemishes on his cheekbones.
Connor leans in, his eyebrows raising. Subconsciously, you lean back ever so slightly in response.
“We were thinking of taking you to the Lieutenants place.” He sees your eyes widen, getting ready to give a vocal response. “It’s a very safe place,” Connor promises. “I can assure you there are many rooms to your liking.”
You take a minute, looking the Android right in his warm, hopeful, perfectly symmetrical eyes. “Connor, I’m not interested in having this discussion right now.”
“It’s just-”
“Back off,” you snap. It’s assertive. Something you don’t usually do towards masculine presenting beings.
As soon as you say it, you regret it, however. The person across from you just looks so heartbroken, almost. His big brown eyes, the ones that remind you of a loyal dog, are looking right at you. How could you not feel bad for snapping at Connor? Sweet Connor, who doesn’t take pleasure in hurting people no matter how much you convince yourself he does.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
The Carla Rodriguez murder case went on for two more days. Her boyfriend, unfortunately, was not yet found. Hank was working on obtaining a warrant based on your instincts that would give him access to search family members houses for the man. Things were becoming focused.
Each night you went home, you struggled to sleep. You did in fact, find out that Connor may have been onto something when he suggested the consideration of safety. You indeed stayed up later than usual, using both locks on your dirty apartment door for once. It was hard to fall asleep. Whenever you did, it became all too easy for you to imagine a solid, big, broad shouldered figure standing over the foot of your bed, waiting to strike.
A man, as usual.
Ironically, you did feel better when Hank- a man- would come into the station. And then there was Connor, who was somewhere between a puppy and a wolf, half following Hank, half fully capable of loading and discharging a gun. Connor made you feel safe too, but only by association. It felt bad to think about him after the snapping that occurred Thursday, but it could’ve made you feel worse to act unprofessionally in the work place. It was best you try to forget it, and try to forget that Connor has unlimited and invincible memory.
On Sunday, you and Hank had your weekly scheduled lunch. Nothing fancy, just fast food from a food truck by the train tracks. You’ll both probably get burgers, except Hank will try to add lettuce and some vegan bullshit to convince you he’s sticking to his diet. Of course he will.
You throw the keys to your locker in the backroom into your desk drawer, and slip it closed. Across the floor, Hank is already ahead of you, tugging on his crappy jacket and somehow standing patiently and grumpily at the same time.
“Ready to go?” you ask as you approach him, your own jacket in hand.
“Yeah, just waitin’ for the kid,” Hank replies casually.
“The kid?”
“I’m ready to go, Lieutenant,” the enthusiastic voice of Connor rings out. He has one of those voices where you can tell when he’s happy and smiling too, and he is in this very moment.
Nobody ever joins you and Hank. You knew Hank had taken Connor to the truck before, but that was just between them, and this was just between you. An odd decision on Hank’s part to make such a change.
“Alright,” Hank calls back. Then he turns to you, the smallest of knowing grins on his face. “Ready when you are, Doctor.”
You just nod your head and start walking out to Hank’s car, unsure of what to do think. In the end, you decide to just not think at all.
“What are you doing this for?” you’d ask Hank as you were walking, when the Android known as Connor was out of earshot.
“What? You got a problem with Connor?” You shake your head no. “Well good. Because besides bein’ a freak he’s perfectly fine.”
Yep. Thanks, Hank.
The drive over is silent, besides Hank’s music. You like his taste, but it doesn’t make you feel less tense around Connor. On the other hand, Connor is completely oblivious of said tension. You can see him in the rearview mirror, smiling and looking out the window every now and again.
Once arriving to the scene, Connor gets out first. You click your seatbelt away, about to pull the handle open when you notice Hank hasn’t moved at all.
“You coming?”
“Mm,” Hank fake thinks, flipping through his cd cases. “Nah.”
“Well then... well then are you even hungry?”
“I got food back at the office,” he sighs, not even looking up at you. “Indian from last night. Gonna wreak havoc on the ol’ plumbing.”
“Then what did you bring me here for?” you question finally, developing a tension headache from how often you’ve been knitting your brows together lately.
Hank looks up and over, an almost offended expression on his face. You can see it in his wide old eyes, the angry eyebrows, the slightly opened mouth.
“Because I’m trying to create a warm and loving social circle.”
“You one time told me die because I ate your jar of pickles!” you cry. “Oh my god- Hank, is this about me and Connor? Is that it? You want us to get along?”
“Yeah, and what if I do?” Hank turns to you fully, putting an angry hand on the steering wheel to clutch something.
“It doesn’t matter!” you exclaim. “It literally doesn’t matter at all!”
Hank is quiet. You can see his beady, angry eyes on you, his jaw clenching. “Get the fuck outta my car,” he says at last.
“Gladly,” you mutter. You open the door and slam it closed.
Looking across the wet, rainy street, you can see Connor looking up at the sign of the food truck known as Chicken Feed innocently. You breathe out, feeling the heat from the previous ‘discussion’ beginning to melt away.
Okay, Y/N, you tell yourself. Just go talk to him.
You begin your walk across the street, hearing the light tapping of the rain hitting the asphalt all around you. His back is getting closer and closer. You still have a chance to turn around.
“Hey, Connor,” you say lightly.
“Hello, Doctor L/N,” Connor greets in return warmly.
“Whatcha... thinking about eating, there?” you ask, both of you knowing damn well Androids can’t eat.
“I’m not sure,” he admits. Then he shrugs, and very genuinely says, “I guess I could have some french fries.”
“Alright. I’ll get you some.”
And you do. And you feel so stupid while ordering it. The guy in charge, Gary, looks at you with an ‘are you sure?’ expression on his face, but you only continue with the order, confirming that, yes, you are sure. Then you and Connor sit next to each other in silence, waiting for your food to be ready. You pretend to be very interested in a stain on one of the back menus for about three straight minutes.
“Here you go,” Gary hands you the food. You take the bags and speed off immediately to an umbrella by the place. Even though you’re essentially powerwalking at about 6 miles per hour, it doesn’t feel fast enough in the moment. Connor is right there beside you the whole time.
“Here’s your fries,” you mutter, pushing the bowl towards him.
“Thank you,” he says, formally. Then Connor just stares down into the bowl.
“I appreciate you paying for this meal, Doctor L/N,” Connor decides to say after another moment. When you look up, you can see he’s leaning down ever so slightly so that he’s closer to your height, and making pretty sturdy eye contact. It’s moments like this that you think you’re talking to Connor’s social programming, and probably not him naturally.
“You don’t have to call me Doctor, Connor,” you breathe. “We’re not at work right now.”
“I apologize. How would you like me to address you then?”
“Well... how would you like to address me?”
Connor thinks for a moment. You can tell because his led is switching between yellow and white. Then the beginning of his eyebrows start twitching, along with the corners of his mouth, just like a human would when they have several thoughts on the tip of their tongue but none of them seem just right. It’s cute when he does it.
“You can just call me Y/N,” you rush out in an attempt to save Connor from quite possibly exploding.
He does the twitching once more, then looks up to the top of the umbrella without moving his head. “And, is this outside of the workplace or in it as well?”
“What would you prefer?”
His led goes yellow again. He looks back to you. “That depends whether or not you consider us friends, Doctor L/N.”
This takes you back. You’re silent, stunned, looking at him with slightly widened eyes for a few seconds- maybe a whole minute- before you make the decision to look at your burger and change the subject.
“How’s been adjusting to life as a free man?” you ask, unwrapping the foil from your warm food.
Connor adapts to the subject change after a few seconds, and you know that he’s seen right through you. “It’s strange,” he tells you, deep in thought, but sincere. “But, people seem happy.”
“Are you happy?” you prompt further, biting a big bite into the meat.
Connor thinks again. He thinks a lot. “Yes,” he decides. “I suppose I feel alive,” he admits. It sounds like a confession, and when he turns his head to look over to you, he sees your eyes are already on him. “Are you happy?”
“Am I happy?” you repeat in question. “I... guess I am, overall.”
“Do you enjoy working as a criminal and forensic expert?”
Now it’s your turn to think. You swallow down your bite. “Yeah, I think so. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. And now I have it, and I’m comfortable and all. So yes... And you? As a detective?” You bite into the burger again.
“Well, it is what I was created for,” Connor tells you, with an almost charismatic, joking tone. It looks like he’s smiling a little, too. Cute. “I think so. Working with Lieutenant Anderson has gotten better.”
“God, I remember when you first came in,” you roll your eyes. “Hank was all in a mood. One of the grouchiest days for him. But he likes you now.”
Connor watches you pull the burger away from your face. He’s thinking again, but also admiring your features from up close. He doesn’t usually get to do this with you. The proof is in the lack of response to the ‘would you consider us friends?’ question.
“You know,” Connor says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice for the millionth time. “I really admire how talented you are in your line of work.”
You feel heat in not just your cheeks, but in the rest of your face as well, as if you have a very sudden fever. You decide to keep your face down, trying to naturally make it not look like you’re using your burger as a shield. “Thank you,” you respond.
The heat begins to subside, so you look back up to him. “I admire your...” and you can’t finish the sentence. Not because you can’t think of anything to admire. You know you had a good one in mind to say to him. But when you look up at his boyish face, with the innocent smile and the comforting eyes and the most human details in his skin, you lose your train of thought.
It seems too late and rude to continue by the time you regain it, so you just decide to leave it and eat your burger as quickly as possible.
“Are you done with your fries?” you ask, as Connor looks down at the untouched basket.
“Yes, thank you.”
You don’t even look into the waste of 2 dollars as you speed walk to the trash can and dump it full of everything. Then you hop across the street, Connor right behind you.
Getting back into Hank’s car makes you roll your eyes. It’s not that you’re mad with Connor anymore so much- not that you would describe the feeling as mad in the first place. You’re not even sure you’re ‘mad’ at Hank so much anymore. It’s more like you’re in the area that you previously had a yelling match in, so all that energy is still there. So stupid.
“Hey, you two,” Hank greets, though to you it sounds condescending.
“Hello,” Connor chirps back.
You just shoot Hank a glare.
“How was lunch?” The old man prompts, holding your eye contact knowingly the entire time.
“It was fine,” you tell him.
“Fine?”
“Yeah,” you practically seethe. “Just fine.”
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
You stay in your house for another two days. Sleeping has become far more difficult, though you’d never openly admit it. Hank can see it in your face. There’s dark circles under your eyes, far more noticeable than before. Your eyes are dragging themselves down, along with the rest of your body which seems to be in a constant slump.
You’re like a zombie. You’re just carrying yourself around, mindlessly doing your tasks while you try not to nod off at work. Hank hasn’t said anything. He just watches you from afar, not knowing how to apologize because he’s never been able to pull himself into one.
Connor hasn’t said anything either. Hank’s pet has continued his daily routines around the precinct, going where he’s told and sitting on the other side of the older man. You haven’t been observing them much lately. Been a bit too preoccupied with the threat of sleep paralysis to do anything that you find matters in a social sense.
Carla’s case is still open. Her boyfriend is still out there, watching and waiting. Maybe for you. Maybe for some other innocent woman. You keep picturing him towering over you, his shoulders looming, strong jaw twitching with anger. Those masculine brows, defined with the intent to strike at you. Kill you, like your old friend.
Finally, on the fourth day of little to know sleep, you fell asleep at your desk. Completely zonked out, your head slumped against the surface, squishing your cheek in the process. Connor jumped up from his seat, Hank following shortly after. But there was no threat, you were simply resting. Once the two realized this, they calmed a little. Hank opted to send Connor over to you to check you out, crossing his arms as he got ready to observe.
The Android creeps over. Your breathing is steady. So is your heartrate. You’re not in shock or anything at all. You’re not even hurt.
“Y/N?” he prompts lightly, now crouched to be close enough to your ear so he can whisper. His chocolate eyes glance around the precinct, looking for anyone who might have noticed you to try and save you some embarrassment. Then he glances towards the Captain in his office, and he knows he has to hurry himself so you don’t get caught and reprimanded.
“Doctor L/N?”
No response. Connor looks back at Hank, who shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly with little help.
“Doctor L/N, you have to wake up,” he tells you, poking the back of your slumped shoulder.
You were asleep, yes, but apparently not very deeply. You stir from your slumber, raising your head and your mousy appearance to look over at Connor with confused eyes.
“What happened?” you strain, stretching. Connor detects a bit of drool on the corner of your lips.
“You fell asleep at work,” Connor explains slowly.
“I did?” you squint, obviously still out of it.
“You have... drool on your lips.”
You wipe the left corner. “The other side,” Connor gestures lightly to his own lips. “Yes. You got it.”
“Was I out for long?” you look around, adjusting to the so very bright lights of the building.
“No,” Connor answers in that sweet, sweet voice of his. “Maybe a minute, or two.”
“Oh,” you say, your eyes wandering around.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
That night, it rains.
Thunder echoes, with ripples of light from the lightning that bears across the sky like great claw hands.
You watch the view out your window from the middle of your bed for a long time. You’re curled up in a ball on the blankets, not even under them. You’re just there, watching the sky that reflects in your eyes.
A sudden stir in you gives you a change of heart. Something you can’t explain to the fullest extent, something not even I, the one in charge of relaying all that’s happening to you, could explain the exact feeling. It’s like the snapping of a rubber band at 2:15 in the morning.
You can’t stay in this apartment anymore. Not even two locks are enough to protect you. Not your kitchen knives, or the gun given to you from the department for self defense. None of it seems like enough, because all of those things are used after something happens. They don’t prevent it.
You’re in a hurry. The comfiest pajamas you own are soaked in the salty rain water and protected only by the simplest of winter coats you own. It’s nice, though not appropriate for the current weather of course. Your hair gets drenched fast. Every individual drip that falls from the tip of your nose is felt, like you’re more hyperaware than usual.
Now you’ve arrived at a house. A one story, fairly inexpensive home with a garage and recognizable old car out front. As you approach, you can already hear the barking of a dog, see a neighbor turn their lights on briefly to observe you, and feel the shivering of your knuckles as they tap on the door sporadically.
Come on, Hank, you think. Please protect me. Please do this for me.
And, believe me, Hank Anderson would’ve done it had he been awake. But he hadn’t been, and so he didn’t answer the door. Instead, the door swings open, and inside you see an Android.
A tall one, with soft facial features. He has long, dark eyelashes framing dark eyes, surrounded by dark hair. He’s clean and clear cut, very put together. It’s Connor, Hank’s pet that you’ve never been able to get the hang of knowing. And he’s as shocked as you are.
Your drenched hair, shivering body, distant look in your eyes. Though, Connor’s unsure of how he would appear if he had to show up to anyone’s house at 2:34am. Probably unwell. Probably a little bit like you.
“Doctor L/N,” he says, though it seems mostly to himself. His parched lips barely move, though you notice how pink they look in comparison to everything else right now.
“Can I come in?”
Connor is still for a few seconds, obviously still processing your appearance. For what, you don’t know. Must’ve been one of the few things he’s simply unable to calculate. But then he moves himself to the side, and you carry yourself in.
As soon as the door closes behind you, everything is so much warmer. You haven’t been to Hank’s place in months, but it still feels as homey as it did before. It’s cleaner than it was a year ago. There’s more pictures on the walls, more clutter lining the shelves. He’s starting to care about things again. That’s good.
“What are you doing here?” you suddenly ask, turning around to face Connor.
That’s right- what is he doing here? He and Hank couldn’t be living together, could they? Or is... or is it that Hank is pretending Connor is someone else, too?
Connor’s led goes yellow, then blue, then back to yellow. “Lieutenant Anderson has offered me a place to stay until I’m ready to go on myself,” he explains, though the way it looks at you makes it seem like Connor doesn’t want to tell you this. Like he feels the need to explain himself.
“Are you alright, Y/N?”
You wipe your face, smearing your leftover makeup from your eye with the rain water. It burns, but you can’t feel it over the cold. “I uh- um... I’ve been having trouble- trouble sleeping.”
Connor’s lips close, and he looks at you in understanding as you stand there, now feeling your own pressure of having to explain yourself.
“Just like... at my place I can’t- can’t sleep. Not a lot of it.”
Connor knows he shouldn’t, but it’s right there on the very tip of his tongue. It’s so close to just spilling out, until finally it does, all at once. He’s too curious to try and stop it. “Why?”
“I just- I can’t-”
You’re looking everywhere. The floor, the wall, covering your eyes with your arm or your hand, shifting back and forth between feet, making a soggy spot on the floor from your dripping clothes.
“Can’t sleep.”
When you look up to Connor again, you feel better. Still panicked, but like you’re not in trouble. His eyes are so soft. They’re so human, and comforting. He looks at you like he understands, and like he’s not upset. You can see why Hank would pretend he is who he is now. But there’s no one for you to pretend who Connor is. He’s just Connor. And he’s better than you.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
Connor lets you wear one of his sets of identical clothes. It’s a grey t-shirt and blue pajama pants. Your hair is still wet, but Connor doesn’t say anything. He lets you sit on the couch and watch one of Hank’s basketball recordings while he goes to make tea.
He brings it to you and sets it down on the coffee table in front, but like days ago, you can’t bring yourself to touch it. Connor’s made himself a cup too, but doesn’t drink it. It’s deadly silent, the only light coming from the faint glow of the tv, the only sound coming from the biases of those annoying sports commentators.
“Connor?” you whisper hoarsely, turning your body to face him.
He looks over at you, at full attention. Such a soft boy.
“Do you think I’m afraid of anything?”
Connor’s led goes yellow. It flickers in circles until finally he says, “What do you mean, Y/N?”
You look down at your hands. “W-when I try to sleep, I see someone,” you say, not bearing to look at anyone from that gender for a moment. “He never leaves me alone. I feel like I- like I’m seeing this thing everywhere. I can’t avoid it. It won’t leave me alone.”
“What is it?” Connor prods gently, leaning in in that innocent, but curious way he does.
You open your mouth like you’re going to answer, but then your mouth goes dry. Instead, you just shrug your shoulders in a weak attempt of lying.
“Um... why are you still awake?” you ask instead.
“Androids don’t need to sleep,” Connor explains to you. “We just power down to conserve energy, but I don’t need as much as others.”
A light puff of air escapes your nose in time with the flickering of the corners of your lips. “Sounds like you’re bragging,” you tease for a second.
Then it goes quiet.
“I don’t think you’re scared of anything,” you hear Connor’s voice say clearly. “At least, not that I’ve seen. You’re very diligent in your work.”
You take the compliment. It warms your chest for a moment, but the pit inside you is not so easily gotten rid of.
Your nails scrape against each other, breaking while you pick at one of your index fingers. “I think I have like... this fear of men. Fear of something.”
Connor’s led goes yellow.
“Androphobia, also known as the fear of male presences, affects nearly one third of the current female population.”
Connor watches you continue to pick at your nails. The memory of you standing at the door step, shivering like a kitten, drowning in the rain water stays on his mind. “Is this what you think you have, Y/N?” he asks, though this time it’s far more soft.
It sounds like he really cares.
You look up to him, your eyes glossing over from stress and the incoming wave of tears you can feel in the back of your throat.
“I can assure you, Doctor L/N, you are safe here,” Connor continues, holding eye contact as he speaks. “I won’t let any kind of harm get to you.”
The tears in your eyes seem less violent now. Like they’re disappearing already. And that’s how the story ends, in fact. With you, looking up at Connor, seated on Hank’s couch with your hair dripping around you- him promising not to hurt you. It ends on the silence that follows, right between the stare the two of you share.
* ✭ ˚ ✧* ･ﾟ * ✭ ˚･ﾟ✧*･ﾟ *
This is the first thing I’ve proof read. Also one of the longest things I’ve written somehow? It was fun. I apologize for any mistakes as English is not my first language.
#detroit: become human#detroit become human fanfiction#detroit become human x reader#dbh fanfiction#dbh x reader#dbh imagines#detroit become human imagines#connor dbh x reader#connor dbh imagines#connor detroit become human x reader#connor detroit become human imagines#x reader#fanfiction#imagine#imagines#rk800 x reader#connor rk800 x reader#connor rk800 imagine#connor rk800 imagines#detroit: become human x reader#detroit become human connor x reader#detroit: become human connor x reader#dbh connor x reader#dbh connor imagines#dbh connor#dbh connor fanfiction
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Kinktober Day 5-Bad Influences
Pairing: Lee Minhyuk (BTOB)/Lee Felix
Prompt: Daddy Kink, Spanking, Cumming From Punishment
WC: 2k+
Genre(s)/AU(s): Smut, Idolverse, Fluff
TWs: Swearing
SWs: Daddy Kink, Pet Names, Spanking (Hand and Paddle), Marking (Imprints), Bratty Sub, Teasing, Semi-Public, Sexual Punishment, Stoplight System, Dominant Idol, Submissive Idol, BDSM Overtones, Praise Kink, Pain Kink, Crying, Aftercare
Everything here is Safe, Sane, and Consensual as always, folks
A/N: I also have the tagged folks according to your preferences so if you’re someone who asked to be tagged in btob works, skz works, or both and included member x member works, then beep boop you’re gettin tagged. Also this is set during Kingdom filming
AO3
New! taglist moved to the bottom of the work. if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this or my other works, feel free to fill out the form here after reading the full post.
©Nocturne-Overtures. do not repost, translate, or use my works.
Kinktober 2021 Masterlist
Day 4 Day 6
Network Pings: @kdiarynet @kwritersworld @kpopscape
Minhyuk was many things.
Easily riled up, was not one of them.
No, he was a very meticulous man. Took his time analyzing situations with a deceptive smile on his face, feigning aloofness while he sorted his thoughts.
Think, before you act. Always.
It was a lesson Felix hadn’t quite grasped yet, deciding he was going to follow after his friends’ footsteps and try provoking Minhyuk into action.
Had he been learning bad behaviours from Wooyoung, Sanghyuk, and Sunwoo? Definitely.
Unfortunately for Felix, Minhyuk had the benefit of age and experience on his side. He loved his boyfriend, no doubt, but he wasn’t so swooned and whipped that he’d crack like San. He wasn’t a switch in any capacity, so the tables didn’t get turned on him like with Youngbin. And he surely didn’t get flustered or caught out by misbehaviour like Sangyeon.
So when Felix took to subtly brushing against him as they passed backstage for filming, when he sent him suggestive photos while changing costumes, the times he’d appear at Cube, an innocent smile on his freckled face as he sat directly in Minhyuk’s lap, pouting and chattering about how much he wished he could have fun with Minhyuk whenever he wanted like the others-
Minhyuk only hummed, kissing the top of Felix’s head. Today they were in the older man’s home, resting before the upcoming field day event.
“We only have a few more weeks of filming. I’ll be sure to stop by more often.”
“I mean...we have time now so-”
Felix pouted and looked up, shifting beside him on the couch, his freckled cheeks slightly puffed out.
“Are you going to keep doing that?”
Minhyuk cocked a brow.
“Doing what?”
“Not…” Felix trailed off, making a small frustrated noise. Minhyuk cocked a brow, an amused noise leaving his lips.
“Not what, baby? Fucking you?”
Felix nodded and Minhyuk set the pen he had in his hand down, closing the notebook to the raps he was writing and humming.
“Why do you think I haven’t fucked you, Felix?”
“I don’t know! I’ve been trying and-” he cut himself off, lips pursing.
Minhyuk couldn’t help the chuckle that left his lips, a deep rumble resonating from his chest as he looked at Felix in amusement.
“C’mon to my room. I’ll tell you why it didn’t work.”
Felix perked and nodded eagerly, hustling after him, practically on Minhyuk’s heels.
How he ended up here, sprawled out across Minhyuk’s lap with the older man humming and rubbing his ass was another story. Felix blushed, looking up, expecting Minhyuk to finger him and prep him. Instead, he had his head lightly tilted up, looking into Felix’s eyes.
Instantly, the younger man realized-finally-that he may have been in trouble, eyes widening.
“Um-”
“Would you like to explain now? Or would you prefer to take your punishment as I explain to you what you did wrong?"
Felix shrunk a bit, cheeks flared.
“I can let you go and let you explain yourself. Or I can spank you and I tell you why you’re in trouble.”
Felix looked into his eyes. Minhyuk never moved his gaze from his. He was giving him a choice. He always did. Felix looked back, finding a small leather paddle sitting beside Minhyuk’s thigh while his large hand lie rested on Felix’s ass, unmoving for now.
He shied and nodded.
“I’m staying here.”
“Do you remember our system?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Minhyuk nodded, a pleased sound leaving his lips.
“Good.”
He grabbed the paddle, rubbing Felix’s ass in circles before he brought the paddle down hard on his ass. Felix jolted and yelped, though Minhyuk kept him in his lap with his free hand wrapped securely around Felix’s waist.
“You don’t have to count this time. But Daddy wants you to know that following after the other Brats is why that pretty ass is in trouble.”
Felix yipped at the second, then third hit, cheeks flushing as he felt the leather rub over his sore cheek between Minhyuk’s talking.
“I j-just wanted you t-to….to…” He flushed and lowered his head. Minhyuk tapped his ass with the paddle.
“Lift your head. You wanted me to what?”
“F-fuck me. They...they said being bratty and teasing works all the time for them and-fuck!” He cursed and jolted when his untouched cheek was struck, Minhyuk’s grip still strong around his waist.
“There’s a difference between their Doms and Daddy, kitten.” he lightly scolded, his voice never going above the volume of his normal speaking tone. Felix bowed his head down.
“S-sorry, Daddy.” Minhyuk hummed and rubbed his ass.
“Are you?”
Felix nodded before whimpering and dropping his head once more when another hard spank fell to his ass. He could feel something on the paddle, like...an outline? Though the paddle was never pressed to his sore ass long enough for him to distinguish what it is. Minhyuk took care to rub him between spanks with the smooth end of the paddle.
“Pick your head up, baby.” Minhyuk reminded him. Felix shuddered and muttered a quick apology before Minhyuk paused.
“Are you alright?”
Felix nodded.
“What’s your color, baby?”
“Green.”
Minhyuk kissed his head before he continued.
“I’m not San, or Youngbin, I’m not Sangyeon either. Who am I?”
“Minhyuk-hyung.”
A light tap to his ass from the paddle had Felix’s hips jolt, anticipating a full hit before he blushed. He realized he was hard, his cock pressed fully against Minhyuk’s leg.
When had he gotten hard?
“Who am I, Felix?” He asked again.
“M-My Daddy.”
“Good. So Daddy is going to tell you, the best way to get him to fuck you, is to ask.” the paddle was discarded without a word, Minhyuk’s calloused hand squeezing and kneading both of Felix’s cheeks.
“I won’t reward you with my cock for being a brat, Felix.” he scolded him, his hand coming down on Felix’s left cheek. A scream of surprise left his mouth and he nearly scrambled out of Minhyuk’s lap, his cock jumping against the fabric of the older man’s gym shorts. Minhyuk loosened his grip, giving him the chance to get out of it if he wanted to.
Felix shook his head and settled back down, slightly panting as tears gathered in the corner of his eyes.
“Color?”
“G-Green.”
Minhyuk hummed, sitting in silence for a few minutes, just groping and kneading the heated skin under his hand. Felix kept his head up like asked, though his thighs shook from his position across Minhyuk’s lap. The older man took notice, pulling him forward a bit more, spreading his long legs so he could support Felix a bit better.
Once Felix had stopped shaking as much, Minhyuk continued.
“Do you want to be a brat, Felix?”
Felix shook his head, groaning at the next spank, the tears rolling down his cheek as he clenched and unclenched his fists.
“N-No, Daddy!”
“No? Not gonna try and be like Sunwoo and grind on me backstage like he does with Sangyeon?”
Felix shook his head quickly, his hair stuck to his face and neck from the sweat that began to build up on his body.
“What about sitting in my lap during meetings with the others? Mmm? Is it fair to tease Daddy like the others do? Do you think you should have my cock after being such a tease like that?” he inquired. Felix shook his head once more, biting his lip and all but thrusting against Minhyuk’s leg with the next jolt from his spank, his entire body flushed.
He’d gotten hard, painfully so. Part of him feared he’d cum just from this.
“D-Daddy-”
Minhyuk’s hand froze midair, attentive brown eyes looking down immediately.
“What is it, baby? Do you want to stop?”
“N-No I…M...maybe? I feel like I’m going to cum and I don’t wanna be bad.”
Minhyuk’s eyes twinkled with mirth.
“You’re gonna cum from your punishment?”
Felix shook his head quickly, embarrassed.
“Felix. Be honest baby.”
He flushed before nodding a moment later.
“Do you want to cum?”
He lifted his head, looking back at him with big eyes still teary from the pleasured pain thrumming through his cheeks.
“I was bad.”
“I think you learned your lesson, personally. So I’ll ask you again. Do you want to cum?”
Felix nodded.
“Yes, Daddy, please?”
“See? Those are the manners Daddy is looking for.” Minhyuk grabbed a few pillows, letting Felix rest his head on them before he resumed his spanking, growling between each strike.
“Your ass looks pretty like this, baby. The red makes your freckles stand out. Go ahead, you can cum for me.”
Felix could barely decipher his words between the sound of skin hitting skin and his own moaning and pleasured cries, his cock painfully hard between his legs. Minhyuk had growled something in particular, along the lines of Felix being his ‘cute pain slut’ before the younger man saw stars, cumming messily all over Minhyuk’s lap, his legs and thighs shaking as he nearly slipped to the floor from the force of it.
Minhyuk held him tighter, keeping him steady as he picked him up, laying with Felix settled in his arms.
He was careful, brushing Felix’s hair back and cooing sweet nothings to him as he sobbed against his chest.
“You’re alright, baby boy. You did well for me.”
“B-But I was a brat-”
“Mmm. You were. And you took your punishment well. So, you’re a good boy. Hey, look at me,” Minhyuk waited until Felix’s sniffles subsided into little hiccups, the pained pleasure an overwhelming first time feeling for him. Minhyuk wiped his cheeks and kissed him gently.
“You did so well. Let Daddy take care of you, okay?”
Felix nodded and held onto his arms as he stood, carrying him off to shower off. Minhyuk laughed and waved off the hasty apologies as Felix noticed him putting his shorts in the wash.
“Don’t apologize to me, baby boy.”
One magnolia scented, aloe-infused bath later, and Felix was on his stomach, eyes closed as Minhyuk gently massaged lotion over his cheeks.
He was careful of his strength and there was no skin broken, but Felix had noted-in sheer delight-that Minhyuk’s paddle actually did have indentations, and they actually were hearts. Now his freckled bottom sported not only Minhyuk’s handprint to the left and a row of hearts to the right.
“So...I think I have a spanking kink.” Felix mused tiredly as Minhyuk got him settled on his chest, putting on Deadpool for them to enjoy, since it had been one of Felix’s favorites. Minhyuk laughed and kissed him, holding his waist once he was sure Felix was warm and covered by the blanket.
“I noticed.”
-xoxo-
So the field day was a completely different experience.
Minhyuk felt a sense of pride as Felix waddled forward amongst the cheers that he had been voted as one of their top three visuals. The man looked around, pointing at himself through his slightly overgrown sweater and the older couldn’t hold back the happy exclamation of Felix’s name as he shuffled forward.
He genuinely was surprised when they announced him for the number one of their visual kings, but he took it nonetheless, catching Felix mimicking his showboating from the corner of his eye.
How cute.
“They ended up voting for each other!”
Minhyuk turned, pointing at Felix as the younger man bowed deeply, flustered at having been chosen.
He should have known Minhyuk would’ve chosen his baby boy above all else, but that’s beside the point.
“Hey Felix, good boy.”
Felix flushed and bowed again, and Minhyuk was approached later as they began to help staff clean up, the sun having gone down and the festivities over.
“Hyung?”
Minhyuk looked up at him, tilting his head.
“Yes, Felix-ah?” he inquired, glancing around. The others were busy hustling to help staff so they could all rest up, leaving the two relatively alone. Felix adjusted his pink sleeves and looked up at him.
“Uh...can I come over this weekend? For...um…’practice?’”
Minhyuk took it for what it was, a proud and knowing smirk tugging at his lips.
“Yeah, of course.”
Taglist----
@not-majestic-bluenicorn @kimnamshiks @atiny-dazzlinglight @queenofhimbos @daisyhwa @gettin-a-lil-hanse @yunhofingers @stormiestories @billboard-singer @sweetutopia @lovely-devil6 @babiebumm @jacksons-goddess-gaia @storytimedragon @netcookie @seomisaho
#fie writes#kinktober 2021#kpopscape#kdiarynet#kwritersworldnet#minhyuk smut#minhyuk btob smut#felix smut#member x member#btob smut#stray kids smut#kpop smut
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Socks
Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader
Warnings: toxic relationships, small mentions of death, gaslighting, fighting, and miscarriage
Word Count: 4k (literally exactly 4k, I’m kinda proud)
A/N: Based on the song “1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back” by Olivia Rodrigo as suggested by @vancityfire13, I hope this meets all your hopes and expectations <3 also technically this is my first prompt from someone who’s not me??!
You met Wanda at the library. Your legs crossed, eyebrows scrunched, and bottom lip caught between your teeth, you’d settled in the familiar corner of the library's world languages section. That area was always quiet, which you’d found out after many trips to the library as a kid. When the occasional patron did wander through, perusing the shelves, sometimes they brought family or friends, weaving together sounds and syllables that had to be from another language. It was the only sound you’d tolerate while you were immersed in your reading. Well, to be fully honest, you loved it, wondering what the hushed voices were saying, what stories they were telling. So Wanda’s English was a jarring wake-up call.
“I like your socks.” Her eyes flashed to your ankles, leaving you wondering if she was more drawn to the sky blue color or the characters covering it.
You’d noticed the brunette walking the aisles about ten minutes ago. Unlike most, she ran her fingers along the worn spines, seeming only half-interested in what the titles read.
“Thanks.” Your voice was cold, unwelcoming. She gave you a terse nod before heading off, her footsteps silent against the worn carpet. You thought she was gone.
-
A week later, you were back at your spot. You’d finally finished the work you’d been putting off for weeks, just about to reward yourself with a reread of Little Women, a book you’d read an uncountable number of times since you were a child. She was an unwelcome interruption.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but-”
“I was looking for a book for my brother. His name is Pietro. Was Pietro. There was a Sokovian fairytale he always loved. Begged my mother to read it to us every night. He could recite it by memory by the time he was five, knew every word. I thought I did too.” Your eyes traced down the curve of her spine. Your mother would have scolded you for standing so poorly.
“I’m sorry for your loss” was all you said, your lips forming a tight line when you finished.
“I couldn’t- I can’t remember the title.”
“I can try to help you find it?” You weren’t sure why you offered, maybe the lost look in her eyes, the growing strength of her accent as she talked, or the way her fingers traced her empty palms. No one should leave a library empty-handed.
“Do you speak Sokovian?” The corners of her eyes creased as you shook your head.
“I suppose you won’t be much help then, will you?” Her words held no bite, only the sadness of a stranger who was trying to hold herself together, her emotions threatening to unravel her at the weakened seams. You matched her facial expression out of sympathy, but she was gone before you had a chance to apologize.
-
“Do you like Disney?” she had asked you. Her eyes were back on your ankles. You were wearing the same socks as when the two of you first met. You were milliseconds away from answering, your tongue already against the roof of your mouth, ready to shut down the conversation immediately afterward. But then you noticed the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, her fingers always moving, almost like they were dancing. You sighed. You should be nicer; she’d really done nothing wrong.
“It’s alright.” Your shoulders raised and dropped, your answer purposefully vague. “Did you manage to find the book?” The darkening of her eyes was enough to tell you that, no, she hadn’t found it. “What’s the main character’s name?” Her gaze followed you as you pulled out your laptop.
“Boleslav,” she answered finally. Her gaze was timid, unsure. Why were you helping her? You’d been so closed off before.
“Do you know any major points of the story? The names of the other characters?” Before she could answer, you eyed the pillow that sat next to you. She took a seat.
The two of you poured over Google, eventually finding the story and its location in the library. But by that point, you were too wrapped up in your findings on the Internet to get up. Too wrapped up in each other.
---
Wanda insisted she make it up to you, for finding the book for her.
“For helping me find my brother,” she insisted, pulling you out of the library. If she was anyone else, you would have responded by saying that she could make it up to you by leaving you alone with your books, but she wasn’t anyone else. So you let her tug you out of the building, Mirabelle, the librarian, giving you a wink upon seeing you leaving the building with someone else, soft smiles gracing your faces.
You thought she would’ve brought you to coffee, but it seemed you hadn’t yet developed the ability to understand her. She brought you to the city, a small store on the corner. Socks lined the walls, the different colors and patterns flooding your vision.
“Your Disney ones looked old.” You half-nodded as you scanned the store, your hand going limp in hers. You remembered learning about rods and cones in class ages ago, not quite remembering what each one did but remembering that one of them was involved in seeing colors. Those—whatever they were called—must’ve been on overdrive.
You picked one pair for her, and she, one for you. You wore those socks constantly, slipping them over your feet the second they were out of the wash. You never told Wanda about it, but you didn’t have to; her eyes fell to your ankles every time she saw you, a small smile on her face. You didn’t know if you did it for her reaction or simply because you loved them. Maybe it was both.
---
Wanda drew you into her world. Some might have used the word “yanked” given how quickly your relationship moved. But that made it sound involuntary, as if she’d forced you to move in with her when she’d asked you exactly eight months after your first date. And if you’d known she had powers when you first met her, you might’ve agreed. Maybe she’d entranced you and now you were stuck with her, even if you didn’t really want to be.
But the truth was that you did, you wanted to be with her every second you could. And though magic never left her hands when she was with you, even her name was magic, the way those two syllables rang beautifully in the air as she formally introduced herself for the first time. She spoke English when she talked to you, but you swore that whatever left her mouth was a language of her own, so elegant, sweet, and charming in a way that no English speaker could replicate.
But, one night, her words twisted into daggers, punctuated syllables sharpening into dangerous ends, the beginning of each sentence like a handle she grabbed and used to hurt you further, twist until it was lodged as deeply into your chest as it could go.
You weren’t sure what you did to make it happen. Maybe it was just a bad night. She was drunk, after all, home from some party with the Avengers that you hadn’t gone to. The two of you had talked it over before, though, both agreeing that it was too soon in your relationship to attend anything where it’d be publicly released, which was why you were confused about why she was cursing you out for abandoning her, not being there when you needed her.
You promised that you’d be sure to go next time. Wanda just turned around, dismissing you without another word. You weren’t sure what was worse, the silence or her words. She somehow missed the tears that streamed down your face.
-
The next day, she knocked on your door. This time, she was the one in tears, the rate at which they fell only increasing when she saw how puffy your eyes were.
“I- I’m sorry,” she bumbled, the sounds tumbling out of her mouth like a barrel coming down the Niagara Falls. She couldn’t have stopped them if she tried. You watched her struggle through an apology, something about her insecurities being magnified as she saw all the other couples around her seemingly happy. She just wanted that. And even though her speech was much more clumsy than the usual effortless diction you were used to hearing from her, you allowed her words to draw you in, provide you shelter from the horrors you’d experienced yesterday, when your heart raced and blood rushed your ears and your palms were so sweaty you couldn’t get a grip on anything. You allowed her arms to draw you in, make you feel safe. You allowed her to bring you home.
---
Wanda saw a side of you that no one had ever seen before. Scratch that, Wanda saw all of you. Where others would’ve looked away or missed the true meaning of your words, she dug deeper. You lived your whole life with a mask on, swapping one out for another to appease those around you. Wanda took them all off.
But she didn’t force them off; she made you want to take them off. You were the one who peeled them off one by one, the experience being extremely unnerving every time you revealed that much more of yourself to her, but you always found yourself relieved at the end. Because she accepted you, she loved you.
Right?
---
You called her once, during a mission. It was something the two of you had been doing ever since you started dating. You would ask how she was doing, make sure she was okay, and she’d do the same for you. Of course, when her missions were off-the-grid you didn’t call, but if the two of you were allowed to stay in contact, she insisted that you guys do so.
“I have to make sure my love is okay,” she’d murmured, just before she left for her first mission since the two of you started your relationship. She was holding you in her arms as the two of you swayed back and forth. Your feet were bare for once, the cold kitchen tile underfoot grounding the both of you. Neither of you had wanted to let go; your hands were clasped firmly together around her waist, and hers rested on top of yours. But eventually, the incessant honking from Tony became too much, and the two of you reluctantly moved apart.
“I’ll call you the second I can, yeah? And make sure you call me in the morning when you wake up.”
“I will,” you nodded as Wanda’s hand came up to brush against your cheek.
But somehow she’d forgotten about your agreement, and nothing but annoyance filled your ear, the phone pressed up against it.
“Y/N, I really don’t have time for this right now.” You sucked in a breath, her tone an instant reminder of that night she’d yelled at you. But that was so long ago. And you hadn’t done anything; there wasn’t a party you’d missed since then, not a moment since then that you’d let her feel alone. Or was there?
“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered. “Should I call you back later?” All you got was a sigh, doubt and panic filling your chest in the momentary silence.
“We’ll see. Goodbye, milaya.” There was barely a pause in between her voice and the disconnect tone. You weren’t sure if the pet name was sincere or a habit leftover from the good times.
Were you still in the good times?
What went wrong?
Where did you go wrong?
-
She came back from the mission, and all was well again. She spun you around and around, her melodious giggles filling your ears and causing the corners of your mouth to lift. But you couldn’t help your brows from cinching inwards, wondering where this Wanda had been when you’d called. Was it just another fluke, or maybe something you’d imagined?
“I love you, printsessa, so, so much,” Wanda whispered. You loved the way her smooth voice filled your ears, made you feel whole again. Maybe it was the kitchen? Was that the place she felt safe, the place where she felt like she could love you fully? Maybe that’s why she seemed so closed off during the mission. When you didn’t respond, too lost in thought, she spoke up again.
“Detka, d’you know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me? I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her eyes sparkled. No red mist emerged from her fingertips, but you swore Wanda’s essence was magic in and of itself. How could you ever deny her?
You surrendered.
“I love you too. More than anything in the world.”
---
The next day, Wanda woke you up with excitement filling her voice, insisting that you come with her to the compound to pick up some of the things she’d left behind.
“I want to show you off,” she’d laughed as she rolled you over.
“We’ve already met, babe. They love me, you’ve said so yourself,” you groaned. She shook her head as she corralled you into the bathroom.
“You haven’t met all of them! Now c’mon, let’s go!” You agreed, and she was right, there were lots of new people there.
“You must be Y/N, right?” You nodded as you shook the man’s hand.
“I’m Clint. I’ve heard, um, lots about you. And your socks.” The two of you laughed at his joke, but something about his chuckle was off. His smile never quite reached his eyes. Wanda whisked you off too soon for you to figure out why though, bringing you over to a rather large man. No, god, he’s a god. Thor, he said. His name is Thor.
“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you’d responded.
“The love of my life,” Wanda sighed, her voice wispy and dreamy. The god’s eyebrows had raised at that.
“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you then, Y/N. I didn’t know Wanda was so fortunate as to have a love so strong.” Sometimes you had to remind yourself of that too. “You are very lucky, my friend.” Am I?
-
You exchanged jokes with Natasha, learned of some of Bruce and Tony’s new projects, listened to stories of Thor’s childhood adventures on Asgard; the night went well. Until it didn’t.
You were yanked into a mostly empty room, the door quickly shut behind you. Was that a flash of red you’d seen in the corner of your eye?
“What did you do?” someone hissed. The voice was familiar, but by this point, you weren’t sure if it filled you with dread or joy when you heard it. Was that part of the excitement of your relationship, trying to figure out the complexities of it all, trying to predict which version of your lover you’d get this time?
“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I didn’t do anything, Wanda, I swear!”
“Then why is Clint telling me to break up with you? What did you say to him?” Your head shook, your whole body shook. This was news to you.
“I didn’t say anything. Please, Wan-”
“How am I supposed to believe that, Y/N? Do you really think he’d just make that up out of nowhere?” You tried to find the words, the ones you should say, the ones she’d want you to say. You had nothing. The witch’s anger grew, her hands slamming down on her sides. “God, Y/N! It’s like sometimes I don’t even know who you are!”
But wait, that was how you felt. Wasn’t it? Or had you dreamed that up too? What had you done?
“Wanda, I promise I didn’t do anything. I’ve been friendly to him all night.”
“So you expect me to believe he’s lying, then.” Your eyes fell to her chest, its rise and fall rapid but deep, going up and down several times before she spoke again. “Y/N, he named his child after my brother. Why would he lie to me?” You could do nothing, say nothing to fix this. You weren’t sure exactly what you did, but you’d messed up. Again.
“Maybe he’s right, then.” Her hand ran through her hair, the brown locks that you loved to twist around your own fingers, play with as she laid in your lap, a show playing in the background. You missed those times.
But weren’t you just doing that last night?
You weren’t sure. It seemed like so long ago.
---
Weeks, months, even a year passed. Wanda had apologized for that night at the compound. She’d also apologized for the countless number of other times the two of you had fought since then. But it was okay, you’d thought, because for all those arguments was an equal number of moments where the two of you laughed so hard you couldn’t breathe, slow-danced at 3 AM, used your hairbrushes as microphones to sing concerts for your millions of fans. At least, you thought it was an equal number. Did number matter anyway?
Wanda went from being your girlfriend, to being your fiancé, to being your wife. Like Thor had said, you were “very lucky.” You are very lucky. Because right now, you’re looking down at the stick in your hand, and there are two lines, not one. The two of you had done something so many couldn’t; that was a huge blessing. And now you had to tell Wanda.
Finding the box was harder than you thought, but the other part was much easier. All you had to do was go to the store Wanda had taken you to all that time ago, the small store on the corner. And when the brunette lifted open the lid to find a pair of socks so tiny they could only be for one thing, one person, one baby, she knew. She was ecstatic. You were relieved.
-
Four weeks. Four weeks later from that day was the worst day of your life. Just as quickly as the baby had come, it had gone. He or she was gone. Was it your fault? The doctor had been quick to shut those thoughts down, insisting that there were many factors that could’ve caused the miscarriage, but you certainly weren’t one of them.
But Wanda didn’t talk to you for a whole week, spending the nights in the guest bedroom to avoid you. It was the longest the two of you had gone without speaking. That had to mean something, right?
It did. It meant that it shouldn’t have been a surprise when you came home from work the following Monday to find half of the things missing. All of her things.
The box was still there, though; you saw it out of the corner of your eye. It sat on top of a cabinet, the two socks poking out of the top.
The two of you had fallen in love with those tiny socks faster than you’d fallen in love with each other. They held so much love, so much promise. But now they were empty, devoid of anything they might’ve held just hours before. They were nothing more than a painful reminder of what could have been, what should have been. Meanwhile, your own socks were still on, the same ones Wanda had given to you on your first date. You weren’t sure you could take them off if you tried. Was that a reminder too? Did it have significance?
The ticking of the clock suddenly caught your attention. You had been standing at the doorway for thirty minutes, but what were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to go somewhere? Where would you go? Wanda was gone, not leaving any clue as to where she could’ve run off to, and you were alone.
When was the last time you’d been truly alone?
Didn’t you use to like being alone?
You grabbed your keys. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but whatever it was, you wouldn’t find it here.
-
You push open the door, always the one on the right. Walk twenty or so steps through the entrance, turn left. Take another left, then walk-
It was different. Completely different. The shelves weren’t the same color, metal had been swapped for wood, the carpet was new; what had happened?
“Y/N, sweetie, is that you?” Mirabelle’s voice. At least she was still here. You turned to face her, taking in her wrinkled face, the tortoiseshell glasses that had been perched on her nose since you met her as a child. “Oh my goodness, it is! We haven’t seen you in ages. We were all so worried.”
“Wha- what happened to the library?” Her kind smile flipped, her lips separated with their corners turning downwards.
“We got a renovation at the end of last year, honey. Didn’t you see it on the news?”
“Right,” you nodded, swallowing again, trying to push down the lump that had been growing in your throat for over an hour. “Um, where’s the world languages section?”
“Upstairs, love. Take two rights and you’ll see it. Enjoy your visit, okay?” You nodded again, pressing your lips into a wavering smile that Mirabelle accepted.
You found the section easily enough, pushing yourself into one of the beanbags that crowded the floor. It was quiet—you supposed not many people came to the library on a late Tuesday afternoon—but something was missing.
No, that wasn’t it. Nothing was missing. Everything had changed, and you couldn’t settle yourself no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t recognize the white walls or the large windows that surrounded you. You couldn’t recognize the book in your shaking hands; the title read “Little Women,” but it lacked the comfort and familiarity it once brought you. You couldn’t recognize the artwork that hung on the walls, the large signs suspended from the ceiling.
You caught a reflection in the shiny metal of a book cart that lay several feet away from you.
You couldn’t recognize yourself.
When you finally left the library, Mirabelle frowned as she watched you exit the doors, not stopping to check out a book like you always did. No one should ever leave a library empty-handed. You’d forgotten that too.
---
She came back less than a week later, her cheeks tear-stained and her eyes rimmed with red as she stumbled her way through an apology.
“It was a mistake, detka, I promise. I made such an awful mistake, and I’ll never forgive myself. I won’t blame you if you don’t forgive me either.” You stared at her, neither your eyes nor your mouth moving as you tried to take in what she was saying, tried to come up with an adequate response.
Which had changed more, the library or you?
“Please, you’re the only thing that matters in my life. I can’t lose you.” The melody of her once-full voice was broken, the chords fragmented and notes falling out of tune. It was as broken as you’d felt for the past few days. Maybe she understood. But you couldn’t think anymore because you were suddenly in her arms again, her tears soaking your shirt as she sobbed.
The library had been renovated, its modernity and welcoming environment being a major improvement to the once somewhat dilapidated building. You had slipped, your feet wrapped in the socks Wanda had given you as you stumbled down the dark, crooked hallway of your life, trying desperately to get a hand on the wall, grab a solid footing.
You had two options: save yourself or fall.
“Please, Y/N, please. Promise you’ll stay.”
You fell backwards, your head being the first to slam into the floor.
“Of course I’ll stay, Wan. I’d never leave you.”
You weren’t sure if you’d ever get up. After all, changed or not, what’s a library without its books? Who are you without her?
-----
🏷 : @007giu
#wanda maximoff x reader#wanda maximoff x fem!reader#wanda maximoff x you#wanda maximoff imagine#wanda maximoff angst#wanda maximoff#avengers x reader#marvel#mcu#I wrote something#alwaysmarveling
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My Girl || Harry Styles
Summary → You come home to watch the sweetest moment between both your daughter and Harry. While he sings her to sleep, you reminisce.
AN → Not even lying, this is my favorite thing literally ever. It is so sweet, so so so so sweet. This means a lot to me, my mom used to sing My Girl by the Temptations to me when I was a little girl as well. I recommend listening to My Girl while reading, or after reading this. Let me know what you guys think!
Pairing(s) → Dad!Harry x Mom!Reader
Warnings → None
Word Count → 1.2k
You pushed open the door to yours and Harry’s shared flat with your hip. Leaving the key in the handle, you brought the grocery bags through to the kitchen, setting them on the island. It was warm, and already dark outside. Everything seemed sort of quiet, no sign of Harry or your daughter Lucie.
Remembering to grab the key, you began to put away the bread and orange juice you’d just gone to pick up. The dishes were done, Harry must’ve had some time. Blankets were folded along the couch, the television turned off. You put everything away, slipping off your shoes and coat.
Left in your baggy jeans and oversized T-shirt you’d stolen from Harry, you padded down the hallway. The light hum coming from behind Lucie’s slightly ajar bedroom door made your heart swell. You could hear the strumming of Harry’s guitar, along with the sweet voice of your five year old daughter.
Lucie was absolutely enamored by music, she and Harry both had that in common. She sang in the morning while you helped her dress, she sang in the car on the way to school, she sang at night while she sat on the kitchen counter watching you make dinner. You and Harry absolutely adored it, her bubbling energy and ability to stand in front of anyone and burst out into song.
He’d written plenty of songs about you, but she was always the first to hear them. Lucie prided herself in being his biggest fan, asking him to sing to her practically every night. It turned into a mix of that and the opposite, Harry soon started to ask her to sing to him. It was moments like these that made you want her to stay little forever.
“Alright, Lulu,” he said softly, pushing back some of her messy brown curls. “Lay down, s’getting late.”
“But mummy hasn’t come to say goodnight,” she whined.
“Mummy will come in once she gets home, I’ll make sure.”
You knew you could push open the door and join them, but you noticed Harry pulling the guitar fully into his lap. There was something so special about these bedtimes, something you didn’t want to interrupt. It was heartwarming, knowing Lucie would remember these things when she thought back to her childhood.
He hummed a minute, brushing her cheek with his knuckle. His nails were light purple and green, those were her favorite colors at the moment. God knows it’ll be different next Wednesday, but for now, they were her favorite.
“I used to play this to you when you were jus’ a baby,” he smiled warmly at her tired face.
She turned on her side, cocking her head to look at him. He pulled the pink quilt over her, tucking it in. He was in grey sweatpants and a hoodie, hair a mess from chasing Lucie around the house all day. You leaned against the doorframe, just out of their line of sight.
As soon as Harry began to strum the soft rhythm of the song, you knew it. A smile immediately appeared on your face, knowing how much this song meant to the both of them. He grinned at her cheekily, bopping his head a moment and beginning to sing lowly.
“I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,
When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May”
You could see Lucie’s eyelashes fluttering, her small hand laid on his knee. Heart heavy, you saw Harry mouth ‘that’s you’ to her. There was nothing sweeter than watching these two spend time together, but something about this precious moment made you want to capture it forever.
“And I guess you’d say,
What can make me feel this way?
My girl,
Talkin’ ‘bout my girl”
It didn’t take much more than that before tears formed in your eyes, clouding your vision. Wiping them silently, you fell even more in love with him, something that you hadn’t even thought was possible. Harry was goodness. He was the type of person who held your hair back when you got sick, the type of person who did the dishes and cleaned the house without a question, the type of person who sang his daughter to sleep each night.
He was the same person who cried when Lucie was born, who told you he’d have ten more kids if that was what you wanted. He is an even better dad than you could have imagined, one that made you grateful to have been able to spend the rest of your lives together.
“I’ve got so much honey, the bees envy me,
I’ve got a sweeter song than the bird in the trees,
Well, I guess you’d say,
What can make me feel this way?
My girl,
Talkin’ ‘bout my girl”
Lucie yawned, a permanent smile on her lips, it looked as though she was admiring Harry in his entirety. You knew she would remember these sweet memories forever, and hopefully she’d make some similar with her own children one day, if that’s what she wanted.
She listened as he sang on, just as you were. Silent tears spilled down your cheeks, taking in everything around you. You knew these years, the ones where she was so little and dependent, wouldn’t last forever, but you would enjoy every minute of them.
He harmonized so beautifully, strumming the guitar and making silly faces at Lucie. She giggled at him, bopping her head along against the pillow. He closed his eyes, feeling the moment just as you were.
“I don’t need no money, fortune, or fame,
I got all the riches, baby, one man can claim”
He meant that with his whole heart. Harry didn’t care about how famous he was, or how much money he made. You knew she didn’t fully understand the extent of both of your public lives yet, only that people took pictures of her, and both of her parents when you all went out. One day soon, Lucie would get it, she’d understand. Then, she’d see that Harry truly could not care less about it all.
“Well, I guess you’d say,
What can make me feel this way?
My girl,
Talkin’ ‘bout my girl”
His tone softened with the closing of her eyes, at first it was only a second or two, then all together. He continued the low playing of the guitar, staring down at his daughter. His small smile never faltered, the tapping of his foot lightening.
“I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day with my girl,
I’ve even got the month of May with my girl”
You wiped any of the moisture from your cheeks, watching Harry set the instrument at his feet. When he sat back up, he pushed a few of Lucie’s unruly curls back out of her face. Her hand was still in his lap, he took it in his own, putting it by her head and pressing a kiss to her forehead.
“Sleep well, Lulu,” he whispered.
#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles imagines#harry styles x reader#Harry#styles#dad!harry#harry styles au
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Golden Child Pt. 1
I literally can't remember where I found it but I read a headcannon for an angsty SBI +Reader and I loved it so much that I had to write something similar to it but I think I might have forgotten to like it, so if you know what the original is please tell me so I can credit them
I was partially inspired by@helliontherapscallion's "Adrenaline Junkie" series, simply for the fact that because of them i haven't stopped thinking of inventor reader.
Also let's just pretend that uh my human biology degree isn't going to waste by me writing blindness incorrectly ha ha. This is a purely fictional way that blindness works.
(REMINDER YOU IDIOT, FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS STORY: Wilbur is 26, Techno is 20, Tommy is 16, Phil is 32, SO READER IS 22, GET IT RIGHT AND STOP MESSING UP)
As soon as Y/N's wings started developing, they were instantly the favorite child. Philza still showed his love to Wilbur, but nowhere near as much as he did to his winged child. If he had to choose between spending time with them or Wilbur, he'd pick them in a heartbeat. Wilbur was usually upset when this happened, but he had gotten used to it and had learned ways to cope with it.
This was until Techno showed up. On their doorstep. Next to a freezing Philza who had sacrificed most his warmth to the young piglin. Wilbur had his thoughts on this, yhough he kept them to himself. But Y/N couldn't be happier! This meant a new friend, AND they were right when they said that Phil was just a nice person, there wasn't a favorite child! Right?
They quickly realized that Techno wasn't their friend, as the first interaction they had together was them getting a claw to the face by the piglin. Philza just simply sighed and made sure the wound would stop bleeding before tending back to the scared pig.
Y/N was only eight at the time, they didn't know what they were feeling. But whatever it was didn't feel good.
Since that day, Y/N was the new Wilbur and 'Technoblade' was the golden child. Y/N wanted the spotlight back, so they tried hard at everything. Nothing ever worked. Nothing was better than what Techno could do. Nothing was more amazing than Techno's knowledge, or his skills in fighting, or his odd way of speaking, or those stupid things that he did, or the fact that he'd always blame it on some 'voices' in his head. That he had a God complex. That he was better than Wilbur. He was better than Tommy. He was better than you...
He was always better than you. Of course. Thats what you felt when you first met. Not amazement, not the happiness of having another friend. Of course not. It was overwhelming jealousy. But he was your brother, so you had to suck it up just like Wilbur did.
But soon enough, they came to peace with this. They moved on and worked on what they actually enjoyed, not what Philza enjoyed. Mechanics. Phil would have killed you if he learned of all the dangers that you put yourself through to consider yourself an inventor. Or.... Would he?
One day your older brother approached you with his idea to create "L'manburg". At first you couldn't help but laugh. But when it was realized that Wilbur wasn't joking and that he had already recruited Tommy, they agreed to join the fight for freedom. It was a way to pay Wilbur back for being there for them, afterall.
Y/N never imagined the true horrors that they would have to go through so they could say a 'thank you' to Wilbur. They never even truly said it to him, L'manburg was already exploded and he was killed before they could say it to him. Not even saying it to Ghostbur was good enough.
Y/N was forced to suffer through watching her loved ones go mad. Sometimes, they would try coming up with inventions that could help her friends out, and some that could help some regular problems in the world for other people. Most of them didn't work, they were only able to produce goggles that could just barely help fully blind people see. But it was a step in the right direction.
Then doomsday came. Y/N didn't want to be part of it, they didn't want to even try hurting their father and younger brother. They aren't even sure how they came to that point.
Before they knew it, they were begging the man who once gave them anything in the world for him to stop. The whole server was one big family especially everyone in the homes he was about to destroy. But what they wanted didn't matter anymore. It's what Technoblade wanted, and he wanted blood.
At the last moment, Y/N remembered Friend. Ghostbur would be devastated if Friend died.
Falling down to the ground from the small warning of TNT, Friend flooded their mind.
If they couldn't save L'Manburg, they needed to save Friend. Ghostbur wasn't the same, but Ghostbur is Wilbur. They still never said thank you. They have to show their gratitude through the miracle of Friend surviving.
And so that's what they set off to do. With no mind to their own self-preservation, Y/N got up and flew as fast as they could to save Friend. But before they could reach the sheep, a large pile of rubble fell on one of their wings, almost snapping it right off. Y/N tried to get it off but to no avail, and their whole body wasn't safe. As they saw more rubble they crouched down while covering their head with their hands and covering the undamaged wing with their body, they prepared for impact.
The last thing they could speak out was almost incomprehensible.
"Wil..... Will...... Ghosbu.............. Tommy.......... Dad............."
And then everything went black. Y/N couldn't see or feel anything. Not even after her youngest brother, the ghost of her older brother, and the three fiances of the SMP untrapped them. There was nothing.
After what felt like years for the brothers, there was finally a glimpse of Y/N waking up. But they continued to drift in and out of consciousness and whenever someone tried communicating they were completely unresponsive.
During this amount of time, it was agreed that it was in their best interest for their wings to be removed. They were both utterly useless now after being crushed and would just be extra weight with unnecessary pain that can be avoided the sooner their wings get removed. Just in case Y/N was still aware of everything going on, they were put under amnesia to lower the chance of them feeling the agony of a wing removal surgery.
Slowly Y/N began more responsive to people, but never to the same amount. Everyone that took care of them were absolutely heartbroken when they figured out part of the rock that fell on them damaged a vital organ that allowed a person to see. Luck was in fact on their side for damaging their eyesight instead of the brain, however most people didn't see it that way.
Ghostbur took it upon himself to become Y/N's seeing-eye dog. He missed having Friend nearby and Y/N was the thing he connected to the most after Friend's death.
After a few months of trying to get used to no longer having sight or wings Y/N was finally allowed back in their lab with a large amount of supervision from Ghostbur. While carefully running their hands across some unfinished inventions, Y/N comes across the goggles that they made at least a year ago. It immediately smarked a memory deep within their brain, the closest thing they had felt to seeing something ever since doomsday.
"Ghostbur, what color are these?" "Oh, they're blue. Blue's a really nice color, it reminds me of Friend. Do you remember Frien- Why are you looking down at those like that? Would you like some blue, it takes your sadness away! Wait dont put them on, the glass has cracks!" Y/N snickers as the ghost tries to take them away from them without being super forceful, "I'm already blind, what's the worst it can do?"
"Dont say that!" Ghostbur gasps, "We will find a way to get your vision back, those goggles might make it impossible!"
"I made these around the time you first showed up. I ran multiple tests with them and I was able to help a blind person see the world again. Sure, it was very blurry, hard to distinguish a lot of colors from each other, we have a different kind of blindness, and its been more that a year since I last tested them, but they might still work." Y/N explains, then they turn their back to Ghostbur and put the goggles on. This time, Ghostbut only makes a sound in protest.
Blinking, Y/N could feel the stimulation in their brain that they lost along with their eyesight come back. They moved their hands from the position they were in to put the invention on to Y/N's line of sight, and they could see their hands again. Fuzzy, shapeless, hands with a few bandaids and many scars on them.
"So, are they working?"
The voice of your brother brings Y/N back to reality and they turn to look at him. They had completely forgotten what Ghostbur looked like, only remembering vaguely what child Wilbur looked liked and a brief description of how Ghostbur's appearance differed for Wilbur's.
Y/N wraps their arms around the Ghost, not actually hugging but just doing the motion to where they would hug a person they could actually touch, as they tried to not cry in front of him.
(WOOOOOO THIS ENDED UP A LOT LONGER THAN I EXPECTED AND I'M NOT EVEN DONE YET, SO I SEPARATED IT INTO TWO PARTS)
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The Better Kisser
BAU x Bi!Fem!Reader
Emily x Bi!Fem!Reader
Masterlist
Summary: After finding out that you haven’t had very many kissing experiences, the team realizes you’re the perfect candidate to judge who the best kisser on the team is.
Category: Fluff
Warnings: As you may have guessed, lots of kissing.
Word Count: 3.8k
A/N: Just a little something that popped into my head that I just needed to write. This is technically an AU where the members of the team are Hotch, Rossi, Spencer, Penelope, Derek, Emily, JJ, Luke, and Tara. Everyone is single.
It was true. You hadn’t kissed very many people. You decided long ago that it wasn’t really in the cards for you, dating and kissing and relationships, that is, so yeah. You weren’t what one would call an ‘experienced kisser.’ Your friends had teased you for it, but you’d always shrugged it off. It wasn’t something to be ashamed of.
You’d never thought it’d be something to be grateful for either, until tonight.
It’d been a long, hard case, and everyone was dying to get out of the stupid office, and away from those stupid files, so that you could all finally relax, maybe even have some fun. You’d only been with the team for about three months, and it was like an entire whirlwind throwing you this way and that. You also hadn’t gotten to know the team too well either, considering how busy you all constantly were. Your first week on the job, they went out for drinks after a case, but you were so exhausted that you left after the first round.
There hadn’t been time, or energy, since then for the team to spend quality, relaxed time together. That’s why tonight was extra exciting.
“You’re telling me that throughout all of highschool, all of college, you haven’t kissed more than two people?” Derek asked incredulously. You couldn’t fully remember how you’d all gotten onto the subject, except that you had. You were sitting on Garcia’s squishy couch, littered with colorful pillows and all sorts of stuffed animals. Garcia had decided that instead of going out to a bar, you were all going to go over to her place, minus Hotch and Rossi who tapped out early.
You shrugged. “Nope. I had one boyfriend and one drunk kiss, both of which were bad experiences for me. I’ve kind of avoided all of that since then.” You explained, “Plus, when would I have time for that? Between my college studies and getting into the FBI, then BAU, I didn’t really have free time.”
“I mean, sure, I guess,” Derek continued, “but come one. There had to be guys falling at your feet!”
You laughed. “Not all of us have that kind of draw, Derek.” He nudged you, and you nudged him back with a wink.
He was right, though. You were stunning. Even when you just put your hair up and wore sweatpants, there was just something about you. You would probably look good in a trash bag. But men were not just falling at your feet. Even if they were, you wouldn’t notice, putting all of your energy into chasing your dreams instead. You thought that was a very reasonable, and responsible, thing of you to do.
Plus, you’d done the whole boyfriend thing, and weren’t really interested in trying it again. Well, not as interested as you were in trying the whole girlfriend thing. And your first day on the job, a certain badass brunette caught your eye, and was even the first one to make you really feel like part of the team. You were finding it harder and harder to resist her pull.
“Yeah Derek,” JJ chimed in, drawing your attention back to the conversation, “Not all of us can rack up eight phone numbers and five make out sessions in one night.”
“What can I say?” Derek beamed, pride shining in his eyes. “I’m a great kisser.” Emily snorted. When Derek glared at her, she pressed her lips together and looked down. “What?”
“Nothing,” Emily sang, shaking her head with an air of mischief.
“No seriously, what?”
“It’s just that if you read girls half as well as you claim to, you might wonder if that’s always the case.” Derek’s jaw hung open, and Emily smirked at him with unabashed confidence. You stared at her and her piercing eyes, and you couldn’t help but admire how sexy she was when she was confident, smug even.
“Wow, you’re gonna go there?” Derek asked, feigning hurt disbelief, “And how would you know that?”
Again, Emily shrugged and nonchalantly stated, “Because I know how women act when they kiss me. And trust me. They’re actually enjoying themselves.”
Some ‘ooh’s radiated throughout the room, and based on the look Penelope had plastered to her face, things were about to get good.
You watched in amusement as Derek sat up a little straighter, “Is that a challenge?”
“If you want it to be.” Emily’s brows shot up.
“Alright, you’re on,” Derek nodded, determination radiating off of him.
“Well, I don’t know how strong either of your games are,” Luke spoke up, glancing quickly over at Spencer who was just observing the whole encounter, “but I think I could take on both of you.”
“No you could not,” Tara sneered from beside him.
“And you could?” Luke challenged.
Setting her glass down, Tara replied, “Yes.”
You giggled at the thought of the four of them having a kiss-off, just imagining how utterly chaotic that would be due to all of their extraordinarily competitive natures.
“Oh my god, this is going to be so fun!” Penelope squealed. “Now we just have to figure out who’s going to judge!”
“We can’t really use one of us because some people might be biased or recognize the kisser,” Emily casually stated. It took a moment for you to realize what she’d just admitted to. Who on the team has kissed before? But before you could really start thinking about it, you noticed that everyone’s gaze had slowly turned to you.
“What is happening right now?” you questioned, looked between them.
The five of them exchanged excited, knowing looks before training their attention back on you. Then you got it. “Are you serious?”
“You’re the only one who hasn’t kissed one of us!” Derek explained, as if it were obvious.
“You mean…” you trailed off, but again couldn’t complete the thought before someone interrupted.
“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Penelope promised. “And you seem like you’d be a very neutral judge.”
“Not to mention,” Tara added, “You’re a pretty blank slate since you haven’t really kissed anyone.”
“Don’t worry though, we’ll show you a good time,” Derek assured with a wink.
Heads nodded. You were a bit worried that there would be some hurt feelings by the end of this, but they were all adults, and the appeal to kiss all of them, along with their eager faces, became enough to convince you to say yes.
“Yes!” Derek exclaimed. He looked pointedly at Emily, “It is so on.”
She just rolled her eyes. “Pen, do you have a blindfold?”
“A what?” you asked.
“Well we can’t have you getting biased on us. This has to be strictly about kissing.” Hearing her explain it with such reason hampered your growing nerves a bit. Like you’d said, you hadn’t kissed very many people and you were worried how much better they were going to be at it than you.
You reminded yourself that this was more about them than you, and tried to use that to calm yourself down. You were about to be kissed by some of the most attractive people you’d met. This was definitely not a bad place to be.
While Penelope rummaged through her belongings to get a makeshift blindfold, Luke convinced Spencer to join and JJ decided to participate.
Pretty soon, they had you seated in a chair, another one across from you, waiting for whoever was going to go first, while Emily explained some ground rules. “We are going to go in rounds. We will each kiss her and then after every round, Y/N will eliminate one of us based on the number in the round we kissed her so she doesn’t know who it is. No touching. You can’t use your hands in any way, this has to purely be about the kiss. And kiss however you normally would, no matter what that means for you.”
“No hands?” Spencer questioned. You were still surprised that he’d agreed to join, let alone ask a question like that. Luke gave him an odd look from behind while Emily confirmed the rule.
“Your hands might give away who you are, and again, this is just about the kiss.”
“Alright, alright, let’s just get started,” Derek complained, as Penelope tied the blindfold behind your head.
Now that you couldn’t see, you relied on your hearing to figure out what was happening. You heard some shuffling and disgruntled whispering, then you heard the chair across from you slide across the floor toward you. You waited anxiously as the person leaned in and pressed their lips to yours.
Their lips were plush and soft, but the kiss seemed a little too forced. It was a bit excited and you could feel their smile as they started pulling away. It was a pretty good kiss, definitely better than your previous two, despite the fact that it only lasted a few seconds. You couldn’t help but try and guess who it was, thinking it was either Penelope or Tara.
The next person who sat down completely blew the person before them out of the water. It was a much longer kiss and the person even swiped their tongue across your bottom lip for entry. You weren’t really thinking as you gave them access, the heat in your body starting to rise. You just hoped that your face wasn’t giving any of that heat away, so you were almost grateful that the person pulled away.
There was a bout of silence, which made you feel a little awkward, but soon enough, you heard the cushion squish down across from you. Their knee knocked yours, as you assumed they crossed their legs. Being a profiler, you were very used to picking up on body language with your eyes, making it kind of fun to try and pick up those same behavioral cues with all of your other senses. This person, you could tell, was very hesitant. You couldn’t say you were surprised when the person really only pecked you on the lips.
Number four in the line up started out pretty good, but you felt them start shaking or something halfway through. You quickly realized that they were laughing and you pulled back. You couldn’t help but smile when you asked, “Why are you laughing?”
Up until then, they had laughed pretty silently, but once you called them out, they just full out chuckled. “I’m sorry!” Tara unapologetically said through more laughs. “I couldn’t help it. I blame Luke.”
You laughed with her as you playfully shook your head. “You were doing so well up until then!”
“I know!” she agreed.
“I guess this means you’re out?” you half questioned.
Tara gave an over dramatic sigh, but you could hear the smile in her voice as she stated, “I guess so.” As she walked away, Luke gave a small ‘ow,’ and you assumed she’d hit him. You wondered what about this was Luke’s fault? Had he said something to her?
Either way, someone took her spot across from you. They wasted no time leaning in and putting their lips on yours. The kiss started out slow and gentle, like they were easing you into it. But gradually, as you both became more used to the other, it picked up pace, your mouths starting to move in sync. It felt like all of their energy was focused on you and exploring your mouth with their tongue. It was by far the most passionate kiss you’d experienced, and you tried to hide the pout from your face as they pulled back, chasing their lips for only a second before remembering there was an audience, and a competition.
Person number six was … good. You couldn’t really describe it. They used, what now seemed to you to be, a medium amount of tongue, for a medium amount of time. It was a good kiss, you weren’t saying it wasn’t, it just didn’t have any quirk or something unique that stood out. It was just … good. You knew Tara was out, so you tried to guess who that person could be. You thought maybe JJ, or possibly Luke, but you couldn’t be sure.
The final person who kissed you was intense. They had plump, captivating lips, but the way they kissed verged on overwhelming. They were also a little sloppy in their movements, and it was like you could tell they weren’t fully invested. Distracted, maybe? Again, not bad, but nothing like some of the other kissers.
The air was hot and heavy as Emily spoke up. “Okay, we’ve all gone. You know Tara is out, she was number four, so who else from this round would you eliminate?”
You pretended to think about it, even though it actually wasn’t that hard to pick. “I think it was person number three.” The person who just sort of pecked me, you thought, but didn’t say.
The players were now down to five, and they went in the same order as they had before, minus person number three, who you guessed was Spencer, and Tara.
This round made you even more confused about who was who than the round before. The excited one you guessed was either Luke or Penelope, the intimate one you thought was Derek, the passionate one you thought was either Luke or Emily, the average one you thought was JJ, and the sloppy, intense one you had no idea about.
By the end of that round, you eliminated person number one, the overly excited, verging on too hard kisser.
The next round was a no brainer. The intimate kisser, Derek you thought, upped his game. He kissed you for longer, used a bit more tongue, but was still somehow gentle. If you thought he’d upped his game, you weren’t prepared for person number two. They also upped their game, keeping your mouths molded together for longer than before, something you were more than happy about. You couldn’t quite place exactly what it was about their kiss, maybe that it seemed so perfectly balanced, incorporated the perfect amount of everything, or something else, but they were absolutely magnetic. It sent electric waves through your body, making you feel a little tingly. You felt sort of bad for the average kisser, most likely JJ, because they had to follow that up. And finally the sloppy kisser, who you still couldn’t place. They didn’t up their game at all. If anything, they felt more distracted by the minute, and pulled away earlier than the rest.
“Person number four,” you stated when Tara asked who was getting eliminated.
It was now down to three; the intimate kisser, you predicted Derek, the passionate kisser, either Luke or Emily, and the average kisser, probably JJ.
There was some shuffling, a faint whispering, a small ‘ow,’ and then Tara spoke up again. “Now that there are only three left, as long as you are okay with it, they want to use their hands.”
You tried to downplay the excitement you were feeling with this new rule, but you were sure their trained ears could hear it in the way you said, “Yes, that’s good with me.”
The seat across from you suddenly became occupied, but before anything could happen, Tara quickly jumped in. “Wait. Y/N, you can’t use your hands.” When you pouted a little, she explained, “Well if you did, you’d definitely know who is who, so…”
You sighed, but agreed, waiting in anticipation for the person across from you to touch you.
It started soft, their long fingers brushing over your cheeks as they leaned in. Soon enough, though, the entirety of their hands were firmly cupping your face and pulling you ridiculously close, close enough to feel some of their body heat. It was intimate, and again made you feel like the most important person to whoever those lips and hands belonged to. You rubbed your thumb into your palm, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch them, but you knew you couldn’t. Your sole focus was on them, them on you, and you had to say it was one of the best kisses of the night.
That person made you feel like the most important person in the world, but the next person kissed you like you were the only person in the world. They started out by tucking your hair behind your ear, then slowly sliding their fingers back into the loose strands. As they started to kiss you, they moved their other hand behind your head, cradling the back of your neck. The person before them had captured your focus, but this person erased any thoughts your mind was capable of forming. You couldn’t think about anything other than the way their tongue moved against yours, and the shiver they sent down your spine as one of their hands traveled the length of it, coming to rest just above your hip, strong, confident fingers pulling you closer. It was a moment you never wanted to end, and one that left you in a cold shock when it eventually did.
You almost didn’t even want the last person to kiss you because of how you knew it would never come close to what you’d just experienced, but a competition was a competition. The third person kissed you similarly to how they’d done before, good but nothing special, their hands resting comfortably on your hips.
When it was all over, you asked, “Can I take off the blindfold now? I know who the winner is.”
“Sure, but announce who first,” Tara suggested.
“Okay,” you agreed. “The third person got third, the first person got second, and the second person was the winner. Can I take the blindfold off now?” you asked again. You were eager to find out who was who. When you didn’t get an immediate response warning you not to, you stood up and quickly ripped it off to quite the amusing sight. Spencer looked as bright as a cherry, Penelope looked shocked but proud, Tara was smirking, Luke’s eyes were the size of beach balls, JJ looked indifferent, Emily was smirking, and Derek looked like he’d just been shot. “So are you going to tell me who was who?”
Without answering, Emily took two large strides toward you and placed her lips back on yours. One of her hands slid back into your hair while the other rested above your waist, and you smiled into the kiss. Of course it was you, you thought. When she pulled away, you were both smiling like idiots, and she gave you a single eyebrow raise as you both turned to look at Derek.
“I got third?” he asked, still in a state of bewilderment.
“What?” you asked, just as shocked as he was. “I thought you got second.”
Emily snorted. “You thought Spencer was Derek?”
What?! You spun to face Spencer, the person you were sure got out the first round, and he was still blushing like he’d been out in the sun for far too long. “You took second?” He nodded nervously. You beamed at him, causing him to return a shy smile, then look down at his fiddling hands. “You’re a really good kisser,” you complimented.
Derek repeated, “I took third? Emily, I guess I kinda get,” she rolled her eyes at that, “but Pretty Boy?”
You shrugged, and Luke jumped in, though not nearly as harsh as Derek had been. “Yeah, I took fourth, but Spencer got second?”
You offered him a cheeky smile, remembering how distracted he felt while kissing you, and the not-so-subtle glances he constantly made at Spencer all the time. You took the opportunity to encourage whatever was going on there. “He did. Like I said, he’s a good kisser. Very intimate, like I was the only one on his mind. You should try kissing him sometime. Might help you feel less distracted.” You winked and Spencer looked like he wanted to evaporate. Luke, on the other hand, was just staring at Spencer, and you could see the gears spinning in his head. He finally mumbled a ‘what the hell’ before pulling Spencer to him by the back of his neck. Spencer seemed immediately surprised, but recovered quite quickly, no hesitation to his movements after the initial shock. They kissed each other probably exactly how they’d just kissed you, Spencer’s hands cupping Luke’s face, Luke’s hands resting on the back of Spencer’s neck and lower back. Although, you’d have to say that Luke looked a bit more focused than he’d been with you. You laughed while some of the other members hooted. This was something that’d been a long time coming.
When they pulled away, Luke nodded. “Y/N, I definitely agree with you.”
Spencer smiled, and playfully nudged Luke as he said, “Y/N, I also agree with you.”
“Hey!” Luke exclaimed, but he was smiling the brightest he had in a while.
Derek was still a mess, not enjoying the moment as much as he usually would’ve, and asked, “What did I do wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured, “You’re a good kisser, but there’s just nothing too special about it. It’s kinda just…”
Emily and Derek looked at you expectantly before Emily got it. “Wait. Are you calling him average?”
She looked way too excited for the occasion, but she was right. He was just kinda average. You nonchalantly admitted, “I guess.”
Derek let his hands fall to his sides with a slap, his mouth still hanging open. Emily’s lips curled up into a sly smile as she placed a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Not everyone can be as good as me.” He shrugged her hand off his shoulder, and she held out her hand. Derek reached into his back pocket producing his wallet, and grudgingly slapped a crumpled $20 into her open palm. You gawked at them, not realizing that they’d placed a bet on their skills.
Emily returned to your side, closer than she’d really ever stood to you before, and gave you a smile that seemed on the shyer side for her, biting her lip as she peered at you through her lashes. You mirrored her shy smile, pressing your lips together as heat quickly spread to your cheeks. You turned back to the rest of the conversation that demanded your attention, people wanting to know why you eliminated them. But you couldn’t help glancing over at Emily every now and then, and couldn’t hide your joy when you saw that she was gazing back.
Who knows? Maybe that night was going to be the start of two great relationships in the BAU.
@90spumkin
#criminal minds fanfic#bau x reader#emily x reader#emily prentiss fluff#criminal minds fluff#emily prentiss fanfic#criminal minds fanfiction#emily prentiss x reader#ralvez#criminal minds#criminal minds fandom#cm#bau#behavioral analysis unit#emily prentiss#prentiss#derek morgan#morgan#spencer reid#reid#luke alvez#alvez#tara lewis#lewis#penelope garcia#garcia#jennifer jareau#jj
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For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma
Piece Him Back Together
Part of the reverse trope series.
When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.
(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)
read on AO3
"Shit, shit, shit..."
Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.
Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.
“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”
“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.
“Still. I am.”
Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.
It’s all witchers’ weakness.
The temple. A blow to the head.
It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.
Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.
“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.
“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”
The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.
“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”
Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.
He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.
The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”
“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”
“Hmm.”
“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.
Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.
“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.
“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.
“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”
He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.
“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”
Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.
“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”
“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.
“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”
It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.
“Oh.”
Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.
“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”
The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.
“Oh.”
He ends up saying dumbly.
“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”
The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.
“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”
The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.
Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.
Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.
Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.
“Say something,” Geralt pleads.
Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.
“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”
With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.
“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.
“I love you, Jask.”
The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.
And soaring.
“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”
Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.
“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.
Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.
When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.
He hears Jaskier, even though—
“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.
The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.
“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”
He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.
Geralt loves him, and—
“You got hurt because of me.”
The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.
“I don’t care, Jask.”
“I care.”
“Then make it better.”
So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.
“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.
“A little.”
Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.
“Now?”
“Keep going.”
Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.
Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.
A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.
But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.
“How about now?”
They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.
“Still dizzy.”
“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”
But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.
And he kisses Geralt more.
Again and again.
---
Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3
Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome
Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3
#geraskier#geraskier fic#reverse trope#trope subversion#soft geraskier#geralt x jaskier#cw: blood#soft jaskier#hurt geralt#geralt whump#mutual pining#love confession#first kiss#italicized oh#hurt/comfort
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Chemtrails (Yelena Belova x reader)
Summary: You and Yelena are finally free from the mind control of being a black widow. How does everything fare out as you both return to Ohio to start a new life?
Pairings: Yelena Belova x reader, Natasha Romanoff x Steve Rogers (Kinda platonic, kinda not), Alexei Shoskatoff x Melina Vostokova
Word Count: 1,862
Translations: Malishka (Baby), Krasotka (Beautiful), Liybimaya (My Love)
Masterlist
There were some people who had the idea that being on the run meant being scared, lonely, always on edge. Perhaps that is how it should have felt. You just felt like you were free. Free from being used in any way. They treated you as if you were just another pawn on the chessboard as if you were just another number to them. It is a piece that no one will remember.
Yelena too. The two of you had freed yourselves and the others from the harsh crutches of being a black widow. A killer and a trained spy in all the fields that a spy could be. Sly, sneaky, conniving, and murderous. There had never been a time when you had any control over your actions. Never being able to be yourself. Living life on the edge, skirting all over the world in a number of days. Killing people without a second thought, because you weren't able to control your mind. You weren't in control.
Until Yelena came along. Till she abolished the control over your mind and cut the tracker from your leg. Till she held you while your body wracked with sobs of finally being free.
She stayed with you, helped you recover physically and mentally. Patching up wounds with medical bits she found in gas stations. Driving stolen cars and motorbikes through the darkness of the night. A new city each day, hiding in rundown motels on the side of highways. Each one of them smelling worse than the previous one.
In the aftermath of Dreykov's death, you would keep your eyes on the news to make sure the black widows left over weren't doing any harm. Once you both reached Ohio, where she planned to meet up with her family and establish a base to free the black widows, you both could be free. Over the long nights of traveling and the days of laying low, you went from strangers to lovers very quickly.
You weren't sure when it happened, but she fell first. A glance at you that was once cold has become a loving gaze. As she learned what food you liked, she would be sure to bring it back from her grocery store runs. It was something you didn't notice at first. She changed her attitude towards you suddenly and when her touches on your wounds became lighter and she began to tell you more about her life, you too began to fall. You discovered why she was aiming for Ohio in the first place. In other words, she did not want to be what she was made to be. Both of your skills would only earn you dirty money, and she desperately just wanted to settle down. You did not talk about children between the two of you, but you frequently talked about a dog shelter.
As soon as you reached a small suburban home on the outskirts of Ohio, you and your partner quickly went into undercover mode. Posing as a newlywed couple, with her sister who is a part-time science teacher and her parents who are coming to welcome the new family. In the morning it appeared like bliss to the neighbors, but really it was at night when the family seemed to sit around and play Monopoly that they planned their roles for recovering the last of the black widows. The rest of the widows who had been freed would come over under the guise of being friends, but Yelena and you would give them money and new identification provided by Mason, so they could start their new lives. The widows wanted their chance to live a normal life, just as you and Yelena did. Many of those who rely on doing what they know only too well, choose to work with Melina in St Petersburg.
In less than a year, everyone was free. With the last of the widows freed, Dreykov's remnants were abolished. You and Yelena were finally free. As soon as the word was given you and Yelena marched straight down to the shelter where she picked a gorgeous American akita and Yelena straight away called her Fanny. When Natasha heard the name, she rolled her eyes and asked, "Really Yelena? I hate that name. You know how much I hate it. In response, Yelena hit back with an infamous "HA!"" and Fanny had now become a part of your dysfunctional family. Alexei and Melina flew in and out every few months, checking up on both of you or on some wild mission to find Captain America. It was much to Alexei’s surprise the day Natasha brought Steve Rogers home, posing as her husband.
“Papa, you remember Steve. My adoring husband" Each word spit back as fast as possible while making sure Alexei didn't start a mini war among them right under their noses. Natasha was extremely coy at first and you didn't know whether there was anything more than just friendship between them.
During their time at the Ohio house, Yelena and Natasha would relax in the small pool that is located out the back. Their tanned skin became more obvious as they raced in laps of the pool against one another under the scorching summer sun. The whole family had a good laugh when Steve wore swim trunks with the American flag on them and then had another fit when Alexei wore ones with the Russian flag on them. “I feel like all my dreams have come true” Yelena said hazily as she kissed your hand on the lawn chairs.
“What dream is that Krasotka?” you asked, smiling as you didn’t fully take in her deep words. “I have my family back” you felt the strings of your heart being pulled at the softness of the girl's words.
She pulled on your hand and led you to join her on the lawn chair, sitting in her lap. As she wrapped her arms around your waist, you looked up into the clear blue sky to see a distant plane leave a long white trail in the clear blue sky. “What are the white lines made of?" It was a question you asked aloud. "Maybe the government is slowly poisoning us with Dreykov's toxic chemicals," she said in a funny way, but you knew it was on everyone's mind. What if he wasn't really dead after all. What if the dream turned into a nightmare and you were no longer yourself. Your panic caused your breath to quicken its pace, and you touched the beautiful gemstones you wore around your neck. Some eastern culture your therapist had thrust onto you, rubbing some amethyst and turquoise would help ease the pain of the memories. In a manner of speaking, it did work, as it eased the nightmares little by little. There were times when holding those tiny stones felt like clutching a lifeline. You desperately try to hold onto this reality with Yelena as long as possible. The blissfulness of it all. Yelena became restless after losing the constant sense of action that had been part of her life. The excitement of going to the farmers market only lasted for a limited amount of time. It was one of those days when the rumble of an engine and the smell of gas broke your concentration from doing laundry, and you were met by a gorgeous vintage red Chevy pulling into the driveway. The look on Yelena's face was incomprehensible, which made you hard to believe that she had just went out and bought such an immaculate, expensive-looking vehicle. The car was a convertible and fanny sat in the back, her tongue hanging out, panting in the golden sun, as she sat there. "We are supposed to keep things on the low down" you whispered to your 'fake' wife, scolding her.
It's time to enjoy yourself, Malishka!"
You knew it was worth it when the rouge on her lips matched the color of the cherry red car. When she opened the passenger side door, she motioned for you to get into the car.
"No no, I think it's time for me to take this baby for a spin". You pushed her across the white leather as you got into the driver's seat and sat in it. There was a soft white leather under your grip on the wheel. "Don't you like it, sweetheart?" Yelena smirked at you as you adjusted the mirror while Yelena was chatting. Upon turning the key, the engine roared to life. "Shhh sweetheart, you'll pay for this later" and you took off racing down the avenues of white picket fences, passing children playing in the front gardens.
Families who seemed perfect on the outside but you knew that each one had their problems. As you reached well over the speed limit, with your hair blowing wildly behind you, you felt as if you were at liberty. It was impossible for those families to stop you from doing what you did. You could not be stopped by Dreykov. At that moment, all you wanted was to keep speeding along the winding roads while Yelena put her hands up, grasping at the invisible air. She was your sweet love. Your happiness. She made the freedom worth it. The winding roads soon gave way to a small clearing where you were able to park your car on the side of the road. The engine died slowly, and her smile was beaming back at you, pure happiness oozing from both of you. Fanny jumped out of the car, her paw pads crushing the gravel under her feet as she jumped. She trotted around sniffing at the new surroundings. In the company of Yelena, you made your way to a small bench that overlooked a valley. The sun was looking low and heavy as it was making its way towards the horizon for yet another day. The silence was relaxing, settling over you as you stared out at the sky. Yelena spoke openly from the heart or perhaps her soul when she said, "I am not religious, but if there is a god out there somewhere, I hope he lets it stay like this forever.". The truth is, she was never one to think of such things in this way, especially in regards to god, religion or even something as grave as losing what you had. "It's not going to happen. We have made it. Nothing could break us apart, Liybimaya”
I know, I know, I feel silly thinking about it when this perfect paradise is all around us; but I cannot help it.
"There is nothing wrong with contemplating God…. or our paradise…. If you have second thoughts-”
“No. God no.” She took a deep breath and replied, “That's not what I'm saying. I am terrified that I will wake up back in the red room. That all of this was just a dream"
You scooted over to her side of the bench and cradled her against you and said, "I'm real, baby.". The sun set, leaving you and your partner in the darkness, the streetlight flickering behind you. It is time for us to go home"
#yelena belova fluff#yelena belova x y/n#yelena belova x you#yelena belova x reader#mcu x you#yelena belova#yelena belova angst#yelena belova imagine#yelena belova fanfiction#yelena headcanons#mcu fan#melina vostokova#alexei shoskatoff#melina x alexei#natasha romanoff x steve rogers#black widow#natasha romanoff#steve rogers#stevenat#romanogers#my post#my writing#fanfiction#florence pugh#send prompts#send dm#pm me#send anons
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like you used to. jjk
“So kill me like you used to...”
part two.
pairing. ex boyfriend!jungkook x reader
genre. angst, mentions of smut, toxic exes
warnings. very toxic depictions of relationships, hints at infidelity, drunken mistakes, they’re both very toxic for each other and just can’t stay away, brief mentions of smut
word count. 2.9k
note. this is just a lump of angst that my mind conjured at 1am last night, i just love angst and messy relationships that are destined to fail 😌(its not edited so if u see a typo no u dont)
It always started with a phone call.
Whether it was from you or him always changed. Sometimes he’d get the call at two in the morning, vision blurry as he brought the phone to his face and saw your name illuminated on the screen, that old goofy selfie you had together still set as your contact photo. He’d hesitate for a moment just to keep you on your toes before pressing accept, already getting up and putting pants on because he knew just what you were calling for.
Tonight was your turn to be on the receiving end, laying in bed comfortably as you scrolled through random posts to try to help you sleep, the flash of his face fills your phone, it’s a random close up photo of his eyes staring right into the camera, crinkled up in a smile. Even though his name is changed in your contacts, no longer having the cute bunny emoji tacked to the end, you know you’ll still pick up in a heartbeat. And you do.
The second you press accept you’re met with the familiar sound of his voice, slurred and thick as he speaks so jumbled up you would barely be able to understand him if you didn’t already know what he was saying. It was the same things he always said whenever he got like this, proclamations of love that only cut up your freshly scabbed over wounds, salt rubbing into them when he cries about how he misses you, promises to change.
They get cut off when the phone is yanked away from his grasp, the second familiar voice belonging to his buddy Yugyeom now speaking into the receiver. “You gotta pick him up Y/N.”
The annoyance is evident in his voice, the babbling of Jungkook still heard in the background along with the dull beat of whatever place they were outside of.
“He’s not my responsibility Yugyeom.”
He simply sighs into the phone, staring at his mess of a friend before rubbing his jaw, sore and aching from where he had just been socked after attempting to force him into an uber. “Yeah well he won’t let anyone else take him home, he’s drunk as fuck. I’ll send you the location.”
Not waiting for a response he hangs up and sends you a pin of where they’re at, thrusting the phone back into his friend’s hands before getting into that uber and leaving Jungkook alone while he whines against the dirty bar wall, crouching down onto the filthy sidewalk as the car drove off.
Yugyeom knew you would come to his rescue like you always did, never once saying no and letting Jungkook fend for himself because on the rare occasions where you’d call him drunk and crying he’d do the same.
Getting into the car still dressed in your pajamas, shoes thrown on without being laced up, hair still messy, it felt like routine now from how often it happened. Jungkook called you sober, text you while in a sane state of mind, but without fail at least once a month he’d get absolutely shit faced and call you, leaving you what he thought were heartfelt voicemails if by some chance you didn’t answer.
It was the same bar every time, a bar you used to frequent with him, knowing the location and all the small side streets to get you there without needing directions. Doing this felt like such a normal part of your life it almost made you forget that you and Jungkook weren’t together anymore. It’s been a year since you split and you still find yourself thinking if things could be different.
Would it have been best if you never confessed to each other, never admitted to the small inkling of a crush before it was able to fully blossom? It was hard not to wonder how different life would be now if you had walked away the first time things went south, if he had walked away after the first argument.
Whenever he called you, pulled you in with those drunken promises it was easy to convince yourself that your relationship was perfect, that it was worth all of the struggles. Your brain morphed each fight, each time you cried alone, twisted it around and molded it to make it easier to consume, easier to believe you were meant to be.
You thought you were soulmates, and maybe you were, two people destined to be together, meeting at the wrong time, under the wrong circumstances. What was meant to be perfect puzzle pieces connected had slowly turned into jagged edges that no longer clicked regardless of how hard you tried to jam them together, foolishly thinking you could spill your love into the gaps to mend the spaces, making the pieces whole once more.
Love was never enough.
Love made you stupid, made you blind and gullible, smiling through lies to avoid arguments, going to bed angry until he was hovering over you, coaxing you into forgiveness with soft kisses and gentle touches. It always went this way, regardless of who’s fault it was without fail he’d end up slot between your legs, the only time the puzzle pieces connected perfectly, allowing him to fuck you as if he’d never see you again. Murmurs of love and adoration were passed between panting breaths, sloppy kisses, shared moans to mask the empty promises you made every time.
Staying away from each other was a hard habit to kick, the two of you stuck on an endless game of seesaw, neither of you having the guts to get off and move on. All it took was a simple drunk phone call for you to go his way, the slur of his voice as he cries into the receiver about how much he loved you, missed you, needed you next to him, wanted to try again. It reeled you in so easily, winding you up until you were hauling your sloppy ex boyfriend off the dirty floor and into your small car.
He remembers none of this, he never did, not fully anyways. Small tidbits of words he said flash in his mind as he comes to, drool on his cheek and neck sore from the unfortunate position he had slept in, groggy and unaware of his surroundings.
He knew your apartment too well, recognized the green wall he had helped you paint, now holding endless pictures of you and your friends. None of Jungkook anymore.
All of those photos were gone now, not burned or shredded in some ritual to get over him, simply tucked into a box and shoved so far into your closet you hoped you would forget it. You never did of course, the way the box laid dust free made it clear how often you pulled it out and sorted through the photos whenever you had too much wine, whenever you had off days where you just felt so alone and wished you could go back to the times you had convinced yourself were better. They weren’t, you knew they weren’t once you sobered up and balanced out your emotions.
Jungkook doesn’t feel bothered that not a trace of him remained visible in your home, he knew his presence lingered in the cracks, buried so deep in the crevices of your mind he knew you would always think of him.
He groans softly as his eyes roam the interior of your home, the throbbing in his temples making him stop and shut his lids, not needing to analyze the place he was at less than two weeks ago when you had called him over. Jungkook briefly wonders if he should sneak his way out, not used to waking up on the couch instead of in your bed right beside you, maybe he had said something last night that crossed the line and landed him on the couch as a punishment.
As you finally emerge from your room his plan of escape is put to a stop, his eyes gravitating towards your bedroom door, seeing the way you cautiously step out. Having heard Jungkook wake up since you had already been awake for the past hour, your body not allowing you to sleep while knowing he was in the other room, it took a few minutes of courage before you were able to face him.
Spotting him on your couch shows how much he doesn’t belong, the pinned leather jacket he wore looking so harsh against the light coloring of your furniture, his dark disheveled hair contrasting with the tidy way you organized your apartment. He senses it, the skin crawling sensation that spreads the longer you stare at him, how he felt so out of place somewhere he used to call home at one point.
“Thank you for picking me up.” He chooses to break the silence, voice raspy, his internal self screaming at him for always doing this. His eyes are sincere, genuinely meaning it, knowing just how messy he got when he had too much to drink, how his friends could never handle him when he crossed the line and began to call for you.
Like always his words were routine so he expects it when you huff and say, “You need better friends Jungkook.”
“I know.” Because he did, he knew his friends enabled him, riled him up and once he became too much they pushed him onto you, knowing Jungkook’s grip on you was still too strong for you to ever say no.
“What if I hadn’t picked you up? Would they have left you on the side of the bar to fend for yourself?”
“Probably,” he shrugs, from past experiences he knows very well they would have. His friends had dealt with Jungkook crying over you far too much, their patience fully stamped out, no longer able to tolerate him when he became like this.
Not even realizing when he begins to smile as he thought of the nights you didn’t pick up, how he had ended up in the most random locations because he refused to go home to a place you weren’t, he snaps out of it when you scoff. “It’s not funny Jungkook, you could have gotten hurt or something.”
There it was, the reason you were upset. Not because he had called you and spewed the same bullshit he always did, no that you could tolerate. You were upset, and worried, that you’d get a following call from someone stating he had injured himself while calling for you.
“I know.”
You pause to breathe, his short responses not irking you like it should, arms crossed over your chest as you observe your ex boyfriend still sitting on the couch, looking like a scolded child.
“You can’t call me anymore Jungkook.” How you have the nerve to say that to him is funny, acting as if ten days ago you weren’t the one doing this to him, telling him you missed him, securing your anchor around his foot and dragging him back under with you.
This is the checklist you needed to go down, a formality of the morning after so he doesn’t mind it. Instead he frowns at the way you continue to say his name, the way it rolls off your tongue makes him wince, missing the way you’d call him Kookie, playful pet names like Bunny, something he swore he hated but secretly loved. Jungkook wished he could hear you say it again, humor you with that damned bunny eared headband he’d wear to hear you laugh, squeal as he posed and dance for whatever silly video you recorded as you shouted out the ridiculous nickname.
The last time he heard those words spill out of your mouth had been too long ago.
“I’m sorry.” he admits, he knew he had to stop, couldn’t continue to hold onto the past, knowing how wrong you were for each other but he wasn’t the only one. Those were the same words you told him ten days ago, apologizing with guilty eyes for asking him to come over when you were lonely, needing a familiar body to occupy the space next to you, wanting his hands to soothe you, make you feel whole again just for a night.
Once the sun came up it was back to normal, the two of you having the repeat conversation you had every time, the exact one you were having now. A formality. Nothing more, just mindless words that you would both agree to just to move along, to make you both feel better, more secure with yourself until the next time the phone rang.
Your heart twists in your chest as you look at him, the same toxic love you had for him brewing in your heart, spilling over and burning you but you ignore the pain, convince yourself you don’t feel it as you breathe in. That same rope latches around Jungkook’s ankle as you avert your eyes for a brief second before looking back at him with a small sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I know how you get when you have a hangover.”
He smiles for the first time, charming as always, looking up at you through the subtle waves in his hair. “I probably shouldn’t.”
You know this. He definitely shouldn’t because breakfast will turn into words exchanged, civil at first, flirty the next, a coin flipped to decide if a petty argument would begin or if you’d reminisce about the good times. Regardless of the outcome, what always followed ended with you moaning out his name as he rocked into you, those same empty promises spilling through his lips that you swallowed with a kiss.
A brief moment of bliss, a small dose of the past that only serves to hurt you further but you crave it, loving the small rush that came with arguing, the roughness of his hands as he pushed you around before sliding home, burying his face into your neck as he broke you down all over again.
Normally you’d try to convince him further, but as your mouth opens to protest you get flashes of the night before, how you had carried Jungkook up your flight of stairs, hearing him ramble about nonsense so slurred together you paid it no mind. You would have had him sleep in your bed beside you like you always did but when you fish his phone out and begin to slide his jacket off it buzzes to life.
Always being nosey you type in his password, smiling when you realize it was still your old anniversary but when you unlock it and see a flood of messages from a girl named Natalie, calling him babe, asking where he was, the smile falls from your face as you start to snoop.
It doesn’t take much scrolling through their thread of messages to easily discover she was his girlfriend, blissfully unaware that he was shit faced and calling you, confessing to his love for you while she laid at home and wondered if he was having fun with his friends. She reminded you of yourself, of the way you used to be with him and it left a sour feeling on your tongue.
“Yeah you probably shouldn’t.”
He stands up now, following you slowly as you approach the door, heavy boots thumping on the hardwood as he reluctantly steps closer to the exit. He doesn’t want to leave, wants you to try to convince him to stay, not knowing that you knew the dirty secret he was hiding buried in his phone.
You don’t decide to tell him you know, it was pointless. That was just how Jungkook was wired, so much love to give he had to spread it out, give everyone a fair share of it, choosing to pretend he wasn’t being selfish. It was naive to believe it, to think all the love he held was strictly for you, it was why he was able to pull the hood over your eyes so easily.
Even when you pull the door open and give him a tightlipped smile he knows you’ll still call him, forget all about Natalie when you’re lonely once more. So when you look him in the eyes and sigh, “Goodbye Jungkook.” He knows it’s not for long, maybe a week or so, maybe less.
He simply smiles, stuffing his hands into his jeans as he shuffles out, turning to face you as he steps backwards. “See you later Y/N.” And his words sting in a way he doesn’t mean, knowing just how right he was.
Jungkook would never mind how heavy the anchor you hooked on his ankle was because he knew you would forever be a sucker for him.
As you shut the door behind you it feels like a small weight starts to hang from your shoulders, the same tug starting from your chest, guiding you into your room until you’re pulling out the cursed box and sorting through those damned photos. With stinging eyes you flip through them for a moment, focusing on all the laughs captured on film, blurry vision moving to your phone beside you, hands already itching to call him again.
It’s as if he knows, still inside your building, lingering in the lobby to give you a moment and it doesn’t take long. Once his phone starts to vibrate he smiles, staring at the photo of you as you call him like clockwork. With a clear of his throat he answers the phone, barely saying hello before he hears a small sniffle through the speaker.
“I miss you Kookie.”
Jungkook lets his eyes shut as he presses the elevator button, loving the feeling of being needed by you, already knowing to head back up because this was routine.
“I know you do baby, I’ll be right up.”
And just like that you’re once again desperately trying to make those stupid puzzle pieces fit together, hoping that maybe this time love would be enough.
#ficswithluv#goldenclosetnet#heartsforbts#btsghostie#btswritingcafe#jungkook smut#jungkook angst#bts smut#bts angst#jeon jungkook#new
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