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cherrrydragon · 3 months

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➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER SIX: MAKE OUT FAKE OUT

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SUMMARY ↳ An unlikely ally appears! “I know you’re Spinnerette.” . . . What. The. Fuck. pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: (the non-existent) threat of blackmail wc: 4.4k

Victoria’s been acting weird. You suppose it’s normal given the events from last week. Since then, multiple articles have come forth speaking of Robin and Spinnerette saving the day. The people of Gotham seem to be taking to their new arachnid friend well.

But back to Victoria—she struggles to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. It doesn’t stop her from being a stern teacher though, so you guess nothing other than that has changed. Whatever, you have better things to worry about.

Progress has been… progressing with the badassium. You’ve begun assembling the makeshift particle accelerator, but Karen estimates that you’ve only built three percent. And it took you that long. Have mercy.

You’re currently in the Den, looking over your creation.. The walls are lined with various tools and blueprints, and the centerpiece is the skeleton of the particle accelerator. You sigh, wiping sweat off your brow. This is going to take longer than you thought.

Karen’s voice chirps in your ear. “Perhaps taking a break would help clear your mind, [Name].”

You glance at the clock. It’s already past midnight. Maybe she’s right. “Yeah, I guess so.. Let’s call it a night.”

Robin meets you on the rooftop you’ve perched yourself on. He crouches next you, watching the streets below. Robin’s eyes follow the movement below with a practiced vigilance, his dark cape fluttering slightly in the breeze. The city's nightscape is a blend of lights and shadows, with the occasional sound of sirens breaking the relative silence. He glances at you, his expression giving nothing away.

“Long day?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“You ask, why?”

You groan, stretching out your stiff muscles. Robin tracks the movement. “Surely you wouldn’t come hang out with me just because you felt like it. I doubt one night of ass-kickin’ makes us friends.”

“This is not ‘hanging out’,” he grumbles, making you nod your hand in a ‘you’re proving my point’ fashion. “I am simply taking a short recess, you happen to be in my resting spot.”

“Yeah, uhuh.” You don’t believe him for a second, but you can’t bring yourself to really care.

“Batman wants you on the team.”

You damn near fall off the rooftop. “What.”

“Perhaps you are older than I thought, if your hearing isn’t on par,” he smirks.

“First of all, my hearing is way better than yours, fuck you,” you quip, quickly righting yourself. “Second of all…” you hesitate, “can we take a raincheck on that?”

Robin looks at you. “I… am busy right now. And do not have time for a team… yeah. Also, I just prefer to be alone.” The words come out choppy, as if you’re coming up with them on the fly (you are). That last part is a straight lie, you love your Avengers.

You know Robin obviously is skeptical, but he says nothing. “Why does Batman want me, anyway?”

Robin shifts slightly, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “You share the same goals we do. It only makes sense to join forces.”

Robin's words hang in the air, punctuated by the distant sounds of the city below. You shift uncomfortably, trying to process the unexpected offer. Joining Batman's team? The idea both excites and intimidates you. You've always admired the vigilantes of Gotham from afar, but becoming a part of that world was another matter entirely.

You don’t belong here. It was different when you were asked to officially join the Avengers, but fictional comic characters turned real? Your mind wants to melt. You don’t want to drag them into your mess.

“I really do appreciate the offer, but…” you sigh, and lean back. “...not right now.” And probably never. You clear your throat and stand up, Robin following. “Well, it’s been awkward. See you!” you rush out, quickly swinging away. Robin eyes you until you swing out of sight, thinking.

“They denied.”

Bruce sips his tea, humming. “Did they say why?”

Damian comes to sit next to his father. “Their reasoning was that they were ‘too busy for a team’ and preferred to be alone. It was very obvious they were hiding something, father.”

Bruce sighs, putting down his cup. “We’ll keep trying to convince them, slowly,” Bruce adds as he sees Damian moving to get up. “Stay cautious, but also stay amiable, Damian.”

Damian scoffs. “I am amiable.”

Bruce chuckles as Damian leaves.

Ms. Varley announces a project at the end of class the next morning.. The class groans loudly, of course. “It should be fun for you young folks,” she emphasizes, like it disgusts her. “It is a partner project,” the class lights up for a second, “with your tablemate.” You swear you see a glint of satisfaction in her eye as the class slumps. You and Damian look at eachother. “Together you will explore unconventional perspectives on any known superhero or vigilante of your choosing.”

The projector shows a powerpoint labeled “Hot Takes”. A few snorts are heard. “I want you to to challenge yourselves boldly,” Ms. Varley states, walking around to pass out the rubric. “You’ll select a figure that intrigues you and craft a thesis that challenges the traditional view. Support it with thorough research and present your findings in a persuasive manner."

“It’s not about being right or wrong, it’s about being able to defend your point.” Ms. Varley takes her place in front of the classroom. “This is your final project. From now until winter break, we will be spending our Fridays working on it. Only Fridays, so I suggest working on it with your partner outside of school.”

She sits down in her chair, signaling that she’s done talking for today. Buzz fills the classroom immediately, peers chattering and making plans. You scoot your chair closer to Damian. “I know what I want to do,” you declare.

“As do I,” says Damian, facing you.

“My take is better,” you challenge, crossing your arms.

Damian scoffs. “I sincerely doubt you are capable of coming up with something adequate to the challenge.”

“Don’t be a hater Damian, it makes you look jealous,” you tease.. The bell rings, filling the class with sounds of hustle and bustle as students pack up. “Oh! Before you go,” you say, grabbing Damian’s wrist. You hold out your phone. “Number?”

Damian looks at your phone in confusion. You huff. “Your phone number, Dames. So we can contact each other and plan our project?” you clarify in a ‘duh’ tone.

You watch as he stares for a moment, before taking your phone and putting in his contact info. “You will come home to the manor with me,” he declares.

You blink. “Huh?”

“We will start working on it today,” he elaborates, handing you back your phone. You fumble with it for a second before shoving it in your pocket. “The faster we get it done the better.”

“Um, ok. Yeah, makes sense,” you gulp.

This time you’re the one distracted in ballet. Victoria huffs and snaps at you multiple times, so you figure she must be back to normal. Art class proceeds as norma, Ms. M making you practice your color theory. You hold back on designing new iterations of your suit, something you did a lot of back home out of sheer boredom.

Damian guides you out of the school with a hand on your back, like he did at homecoming. You wonder what exactly he is doing, since you know he feels the eyes and points at the two of you from other students. You sigh, hopefully nobody bothers you about it.

Alfred greets you at the gates, this time you make sure to actually get his name officially. Damian gets in the car first, pulling you in by the hand. Your shoulder bumps into his as you land with an ‘oof’. The ride to the manor is silent, leaving you twiddling with your thumbs. Thankfully, the ride isn’t too long.

The manor looks imposing, standing here looking at it. It’s different from seeing it from WEBBERs point of view or from an inked page. Damian grabs your arm, snapping you out of your daydreaming. He leads you through the grand halls of the mansion, his steps confident and purposeful. The interior is as opulent as you imagined, with rich furnishings and tasteful decor that speak of wealth and history.

"Your family's home is... impressive," you remark, trying to break the silence as you’re dragged along.

Damian nods curtly, saying nothing. You sense there's more to his demeanor than just his usual aloofness.

He leads you to a spacious study lined with shelves of books and a large, fancy desk at its center. Papers are neatly organized, and a computer hums softly in one corner. Damian gestures for you to take a seat. You do, placing your bag down beside your chair. Damian sits next to you.

You take out your laptop and open a new powerpoint. “My idea was that we do it on Batman,” you state, turning to Damian. “I think Batman is part of a cycle of violence. I think that he does help and protect people, but he also enables a lot of the behavior from criminals.” You stand up and begin to pace the room.

“He inadvertently contributes to a culture that normalizes violence as a means to solve problems. I mean, all of his criminals eventually break out of arkham. Scarecrow literally attacked our school a while ago! Criminals respond to Batman’s intervention with heightened aggression and increasingly dangerous tactics, which results in a cycle where each side justifies escalating their actions in response to perceived threats.”

You pause, stopping your pacing. Damian is staring at you. You cough. “That’s all to say, violence begets violence, hurt people hurt people, yadda yadda,” you grin sheepishly.

Damian nods intently. He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers thoughtfully on the armrest. After a moment of silence, he speaks, his voice calm yet decisive.

"Your perspective is not entirely without merit," Damian begins, his tone measured. "Batman's methods have indeed perpetuated a cycle of violence in Gotham. His reliance on fear tactics and physical force against criminals often leads to heightened retaliation and more extreme measures from his adversaries."

He shifts in his seat, eyes narrowing slightly. "However," Damian continues, "one must consider the broader context. Gotham City is a cesspool of corruption and crime, where conventional methods of law enforcement have repeatedly failed. Batman's presence, while controversial, fills a void where the justice system falls short."

Damian stands up abruptly, pacing the room with a controlled energy. "His actions, while extreme, have prevented countless tragedies and protected innocent lives. The criminals he faces are not ordinary. They are deranged, relentless, and would wreak havoc unchecked if not for his intervention."

He stops in front of the window, gazing out at the expansive grounds of Wayne Manor. "Batman's commitment to justice is unwavering. He sacrifices his own safety and personal life to ensure that Gotham's citizens have a fighting chance against the darkness that plagues our city."

Damian turns back to you, his demeanor earnest. "Our challenge will be to present a balanced argument," he concludes, returning to his seat. "Acknowledging the complexities of Batman's methods while critiquing their consequences. We must delve deep into both sides of the debate to craft a compelling thesis."

You nod, absorbing Damian's perspective. You’re impressed, but yeesh. He could’ve been more subtle, in your humble opinion.

“I’m impressed,” comes a voice from the doorway. You and Damian turn around to see–

Bruce Wayne. You sigh deeply inside your mind.

“Father,” says Damian, looking a bit lost. “How long…?”

“Since your friend started speaking. I apologize, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I only meant to introduce myself when I heard your compelling argument, I didn’t want to interrupt,” he says, looking awfully apologetic. Of course, Batman himself heard all that.

He turns to you and sticks out his hand. “Bruce Wayne, Damian’s father.” You shake his hand humming in affirmation.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you smile. Alfred comes in with some snacks and refreshments, placing them down on the table. You and Damian thank him, seemingly on autopilot. Bruce smiles at Damian.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

You rub your palms on your pants. “Welp,” you hum, sitting back down and pouring yourself a cup of tea. “I think he likes me.” You pour a cup for Damian and pass it to him. He sits back down as well, accepting the cup.

“I think he does, as well,” mutters Damian, sipping his tea.

The rest of the evening is spent refining your argument and laying out the skeleton on your powerpoint. Despite Damian's initial reservation about your abilities, you find that you complement each other well in terms of ideas and research methods. You check the time, it’s a little past nine.

“I should get going, I don’t wanna leave Nari alone for too long,” you say, beginning to gather your belongings. Damian raises a brow. “My cat,” you clarify.

Damian's eyes brighten very subtly. You know what he’s thinking, so you show him the picture you took of Jon holding Nari. “He’s cute, right?”

Damian analyzes your picture like it’s an art. He nods in approval. “You shall have to bring him over to meet Alfred.”

“The.. butler?” you question, as if you don’t know better.

“The cat.”

Damian walks you out of the manor where you find Bruce. His eyes spot you two approaching and nods in acknowledgement. “Alfred is already waiting outside for you,” he tells you. You nod and step outside, feeling the cool air hit you. You thank Alfred as he opens the door for you, stepping inside. Damian and Bruce are standing together on the porch. Bruce is telling Damian something, but he is only looking at you.

You send him a hesitant smile, and he nods at you.

Bruce watches the car drive off. “Still suspicious?” he asks.

“Nothing of note has happened,” Damian begrudgingly tells him. Bruce warmly chuckles.

“Well,” he starts, looking at Damian. “I like them.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “I do not like what you are insinuating.” Bruce shrugs innocently, stepping back inside the manor. Damian stands in the cool air for a moment, before following him inside.

The dance instructor has a headache, so she says that you all can do whatever you’d like, as long as you don’t bother her. You sit against the far wall, laptop on your legs. You’ll use the time to finish the assignments you’ve been procrastinating on.

Victoria surprises you by sitting next to you. She surprises everyone else to, if their wide eyes are anything to go by. They quickly look away at her glare. “Hey, Vicky,” you mumble, unbothered.

She pretends to look interested in what you’re typing. Her eyes watch your fingers as they rapidly move across the keys. She clears her throat.

“I would like to practice some more after school. I expect you to be there,” she says primly.

You raise a brow, still looking at your screen. “There’s no practice today.”

“Obviously,” she scoffs. “I wouldn’t be asking you if there was. I just think… it would be beneficial to us.”

You look at her. She’s crossed her arms and is looking down at her lap. You exhale and nod. “Yeah, okay.” You didn’t have anything planned after school anyway. Victoria nods, sitting beside you for the rest of the period.

Damian suggests that you come over again to work more on the presentation, but you have to deny. “I have a ‘special’ practice session with Vicky,” you wink.

Damian ignores your innuendo in favor of furrowing his brows. “You don’t have practice today.”

“First of all, what do you know?” you huff, putting your pencils away. “Second of all, you’re right. However, Vicky has ordered extra practice. Just the two of us.”

Damian grips his bag a little bit tighter. You wave goodbye as you leave the classroom, heading to the dance studio. Victoria’s waiting for you, still in her uniform. You place your bag down, suddenly tense. Victoria crosses over to you, grabbing your hand. “Shut the door,” she demands.

You obey, curious. “Something wrong?”

She fidgets with your web-shooter-turned-bracelet, like she’s looking for something. You’re not worried, the form it’s in right now gives nothing away, but you are really confused right now.

“Vicky?” you implore, trying to catch her eye.

“I…” she hesitates, before straightening her shoulders. “I know who you are.”

You furrow your brow. “What exactly does that mean–”

“I know you’re Spinnerette.”

What. The. Fuck.

You blink, because that’s all you can do. “What?”

“Don’t try to deny it. There’s no use,” she crosses her arms.

“Vicky, this is crazy. I’m not Spinnerette! Was it the Scarecrow attack? Are you still scared? Maybe you should see someone–”

“Spinnerette called my Vicky!” she snarls, pointing a finger at your chest. “No one calls me that but you.”

Your tongue pokes your cheek, stepping back. You never would’ve thought Vicky would be the first to figure you out. Though you suppose you haven’t been as careful as you thought. Fuck, how could you be so careless? Do you still try to deny it? Surely it won’t be that hard, but clearly Vicky is smarter than you think.

“Perhaps she could be a formidable ally,” suggests Karen. “She may have access to resources we need.”

You straighten at Karen’s voice. She’s right, of course. Victoria’s loaded. She can throw money at people to get you the materials you need. Expensive, high quality material. There’s just convincing her…

And maybe… it’ll be nice to have someone else know in this universe.

You sigh and hold out your arms. “Fine, you got me. I’m Spinnerette.”

Victoria smirks victoriously. “Show me.”

“Show you…?” you mutter.

“Show me some proof.”

You blink at the audacity. She was just accusing you of being Spinner, and when you admit that you are, she tells you to ‘prove it’ to her!? You sigh, tired of it all.

You walk to the wall of the room, placing your foot on it and climbing up. It’s a comical sight, the way your body completely changes rotation effortlessly. You walk along the ceiling, moving back to Victoria. Jumping down, you purse your lips and spread your hands. “Happy?”

Victoria’s got a glint in her eye that makes you nervous. She nods, and you set your hands on your waist.

“Okay listen, you know now, there’s no going back from here. If you tell anybody–” you begin, voice taking on a threatening tone.

“–I want to help you!” she blurts.

You blink. “Pardon?”

“Let me help you do your… saving people thing!” she says, waving her hand around. She steps closer to you, eyes shining. Huh. Well, you were going to threaten her and her parents' credibility as members of society. Rich people always have some skeletons in their closets, and you sure as shit are capable of finding them. This is a surprising turn of events.

Still, you scoff. “This is insane–”

“I can be your sponsor! Like whoever makes all of Batman's stuff!”

“I would’ve never expected this from you—why do you want to help me?” you ask incredulously.

“Nothing I do satisfies my parents!” she growls. Oh dear, backstory time. “They literally left me the company to inherit, but doubt my ability to run it. I pay attention, I get good grades and I do everything they say, but they still doubt me. I even try to get with stupid Damian Wayne.” She throws her hands up. “I don’t even like him!”

“I know I can’t tell them you’re Spinnerette, but if I can successfully help you do what you do…” she curls her hands together. “Then at least I would know that I’m good at something.”

You’re left speechless. It’s like you’re listening to a brand new person. You place your hands on her shoulders. “You already are good at something, dance!” You gesture to the room. “You work harder than anyone else here!”

“Dance isn’t my future,” she scowls.

You purse your lips. You have no idea how she feels. The adults in your life have always let you be yourself. Even if they didn’t you’ve always had the backbone to tell people to step off and let you do your own thing. Rich people like Victoria’s parents can get pretty extreme. You wouldn’t be surprised if they disowned her for not wanting to inherit the company.

You sigh, running a hand down your face. “Okay,” you mutter. Victoria stiffens in anticipation. “You can help.” You’ve been evaluating her this whole interaction. She’s a sheltered rich kid looking for adventure and on a weird journey of self discovery. She isn’t looking to rat you out (she kind of needs you, anyway).

She squeals and claps her hands, before clearing her throat and composing herself. “I look forward to our partnership.”

Arms crossed, you grumble out, “uhuh.”

“How do they work, anyway?” she says, grabbing your wrists, pressing around your bracelet.

“Uh, it won’t work in the state that it’s in–” a web shoots out of it, sticking to Victoria’s blazer. You guffaw. “Karen!” you gasp, knowing in the web-shooters’ bracelet form it wouldn’t shoot unless she made it.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me?” she asks cheekily. Traitor. God, she’s been waiting for someone else to talk to, hasn’t she?

Victoria looks mystified by the web actively attached to her. “Who’s Karen? she asks as she tries to grab the web.

“Do not–!” you grab her hand. “–touch it.”

“Why? Oh, right. It’s sticky, huh?”

“Yes, Vicky. The spider webs are sticky–” the door to the dance room opens, and you stiffen. Shit, the web–

Victoria closes the distance between you two, jumping on you and wrapping her legs around your waist. You instinctively hold her thighs to support her, looking at her in alarmed confusion.

“What–” she silences you by pressing her lips against yours. All coherent thought goes out the window, because literally what is your life?

Her hands wind around your head, and her lips caress yours with a soft yet firm pressure. Your heart races, pounding in your chest as you instinctively tighten your grip around her legs, pulling her closer. The warmth of her body against yours and the taste of her lips make everything else fade away.

After what feels like an eternity, she slowly pulls back, leaving your lips tingling. She gazes at you with a mix of mischief and satisfaction, running a hand through her hair to tuck a loose strand behind her ear. You stare at her in awe, your breath coming in short gasps. She's got balls of steel, no doubt about it. You just gained a whole new level of respect for her.

She looks to the side. “Oh, hi Damian.”

Oh god. You look to the entrance of the room and sure enough, Damian’s there. He’s looking at the two of you with wide eyes, unable to school his expression. He’s stopped dead in his tracks with your phone in his hand.

Wait… your phone!

You shift so Victoria’s back is facing him. You balance her with one hand, reaching between you two to get rid of the web that’s squished between you. You do it quickly, balling it up in your hand and setting down Victoria on the floor and heading over to Damian.

“Thanks, I didn’t even notice I left it,” you smile casually, internally screaming.

Damian says nothing as you take your phone from him, stuffing it in your pocket. You place your hands on his chest and guide him out. “Okay. Bye now. Talk to you later!” He seems to finally realize what’s happening, brows furrowing and looking at you before you close the door in his face. You lean against it, listening. There’s no sound for a bit, before you hear Damian walk away. You sigh.

“Holy shit, Vicky. What the hell?” You can’t help but laugh. You throw the balled up web in the trash, making your way over to her. She’s got a cheeky smile on her face, hands behind her back.

“It’s like I don’t know you anymore,” you tease. She’s looking at you.

“I like you,” she says, making you freeze for probably the tenth time this afternoon. When will it end?

“I have feelings for you,” she elaborates, pacing. “I know that you don’t feel the same. I just…” she stops, turning to face you. Her eyes peer earnestly into yours. It crushes your heart. “...I know your secret. Now, you know mine.”

You whisper, painstakingly soft, “oh, Tori…”

She sniffs, swatting your shoulder. “Don’t flatter yourself, I’m not in love with you or anything.”

Still, you feel like the worst human being ever. It’s not your fault you don’t have feelings for her, you know that. And yet… you’re probably the first person she’s ever shown this side of her to. Dare you say, her first real friend.

You pull her into your arms. “I’m so sorry.”

She melts into your arms, gripping you tightly. Her light sniffles fill the room.”I’ll get over it,” she promises. You only hold her tighter. After what feels like an eternity, she withdraws from you, wiping her tears.

“Okay, some ground rules,” you say, hopefully providing a much needed topic change

“Number one, you can’t tell anyone.”

She nods. “Obviously.”

“Number two, I call the shots. If I say do something, do it. I know better, it’s for the best.”

“Number three, this changes nothing. We can act like friends if you want, but if your grades start dropping or people start noticing you acting strange, we’re done. Got it?”

“Got it,” she agrees. You heave out a sigh. “Go home, Tori.” You web over her bag and hand it to her. She goes sparkly-eyed again.

“Will you patrol?” she can’t help but ask.

“I think I deserve the night off. The Bats can handle it.” You grab your stuff and turn towards the door. “I’m gonna take a long nap when I get home.”

“Let me take you home then!” she blurts.

“Jesus, do all you rich kids have chauffeurs?” you ask. She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Whatever. I just wanna lay down and not wake up for three years.”

Victoria bids you goodbye as you make you enter your apartment. You drop your bag, groaning at your stiff shoulders. You sag your way over to your bed, flopping face first into it. You knock out almost immediately, letting the stress of the day leave you. Spideys never have it easy, do they?

notes: y'all i've had that tori scene in mind since i first made her LMAO

#damian wayne x reader #jon kent x reader #dc x reader #robin x reader #superboy x reader

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wakandas-vibranium · 1 year

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Double ‘Taine || Part One

Pairing: Fontaine x Black Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, use of the n word, aave use etc.

Word count: 4.4k

A/N: This is going to be a fun lil series! Not sure how many chapters just yet, but I hope y’all enjoy the story. Please comment, like, and reblog! :)

It was a gorgeous Memphis night. The weather was perfect and your life was going pretty well. You didn't have too many complaints. The aroma of apples and pumpkin always wafted through the air of your apartment around this time of year. Mrs. Towner, who lives two units down the hall from you, was always the culprit. Her grandson lived with her and loved baked goods and Halloween. You couldn't blame him; Halloween was one of your favorite holidays too, and it was only four weeks away. It was simply something about the smell of pumpkin and the crunch of fallen leaves under your boots that made your heart warm and made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

You were currently in your luxury apartment, venturing back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, setting the table for four. While you were busy setting up the apartment for your guests, your boyfriend, Fontaine, was out picking up dinner. You usually cooked, but Slick suggested earlier this week that he was craving Indian food, and you hadn't had it in a long time, so you ordered it and sent Fontaine to pick it up from the best spot downtown. Thursdays turned into dinner dates with Yo-Yo and Slick Charles.

You met Yo-Yo about four years ago. She strutted straight into your law firm, carrying the brightest smile and one of the sharpest minds you'd ever seen. You two hit it off right away. You supported her with everything she needed, and she is now a paralegal with your firm.

About six months in, she finally introduced you to her eccentric boyfriend, Slick Charles, who never failed to make you bust out laughing, and her other roommate, Fontaine, who you instantly took a fancy to. Your firm had become quite busy, and Yo-Yo stressed to you that Fontaine was going through a difficult time, so it took another half a year before the two of you started dating. Now you were in the best relationship you'd ever been in, and you couldn't be happier.

Sure, Fontaine kept a lot of things bottled up, and it was like pulling teeth to get him to talk about them, but you wouldn't trade him for anything. You loved that man.

Actually, you had the impression that all three of them were hiding some information from you. You didn't know much about their past because they didn't tell you much. They told you that they had moved to Memphis from the Glen and that they had no plans of returning home. That was pretty much it.

You had an inkling there was a lot more to the story, but you never pushed that button. If they wanted you to know, you would know.

As soon as you had the apartment set up to your liking, you poured yourself a glass of Stella Rosa's Moscato D’Asti and relaxed on the couch, waiting for your beloved to return.

The door knob was twisted twice before there was a heavy knock on the door. You hurriedly downed the rest of your wine and dashed over to the entrance, figuring Fontaine could use help opening the door since he had the food in his hands.

“Hey baby,” you greeted as you opened the door and saw that he didn’t have the food, but instead two large bags and a backpack. “Did you forget your keys?”

He didn't answer you; instead, he gave you a pointed look and strolled into the apartment. You scratched your forehead because you didn't know what the fuck was going on. You could've sworn he left 20 minutes ago with different clothes on….and why didn't he have the food?

He lingered in the living room, glancing around the apartment as if it were his first time seeing it. You shut the door and took timid steps toward him. Your eyes widened as you tried, but failed, not to gawk at him. When did he have time to change?

After what appeared to be him assessing the room, his gaze finally settled on you, and he looked you up and down.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

You scoffed as you threw up your hands,“You were supposed to go get the food…”

“…Oh…” he said, tone revealing that he didn’t give a single fuck about dinner.

“Yeah, oh,” you rolled your eyes at him and he just shrugged his shoulders at you.

What the fuck was his problem?

He stood there with his back against the wall. In a defensive position. As if he knew shit was about to hit the fan. Bags still in his hands, and an orange backpack still on his back.

“Fontaine, is everything alright?” you asked, taking a cautious step towards him.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

He gave you another pointed look and you raised your hands.

“It’s just…you’re acting weird and you look pissed the fuck off right now, babe. Please tell me what’s going on?”

He uncrossed his arms and started to speak, but the jingle of keys and the opening of the front door stopped you both in your tracks.

In walked Fontaine with dinner in his hands.

WHAT IN THE ENTIRE FUCK?

Fontaine took one look at the both of you before slamming the door shut and fixing you with a chilling look.

“Baby, back away from him.”

“Man, I ain’t gon’ hurt her.” Fontaine number two huffed, rolling his eyes at Fontaine number one.

You took a cautious step back anyway. The tone of your boyfriend’s voice was more than enough to have you on edge.

Your boyfriend placed the food on the dining room table and shoved you behind him as he faced the other Fontaine.

Or at least that’s who he looked like…

Who was this guy? And why did he look just like your man? You thought you were seeing double.

The apartment was deafeningly silent. Those two didn't utter a single word as they sized each other up.

Those two may have been comfortable standing there in silence, but you weren't. You wanted to know just what in the fuck was going on.

“Umm,” you blurted, breaking the silence, “I thought you said your brother was dead? And that he was younger than you?”

You thought that maybe the other man was his twin or something. Obviously they had to be related.

“He is,” your boyfriend replied, taking his eyes off of the other man for a brief moment to glance back at you.

“Then who the fuck is this?” you pressed, gesturing wildly at the Fontaine lookalike.

“Nobody.”

“Nigga, I’m you,” Fontaine number two said.

“I ain’t tryna hear that.”

“Well, you gon’ hear it tonight, nigga.”

They went back and forth with each other, bickering for what felt like an eternity until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Fontaine!”

They both turned to look at you.

“Somebody better open they fuckin’ mouth right now and start explainin’ before I start swingin!!” you threatened.

While your boyfriend heaved a sigh of aggravation, the Fontaine lookalike smirked at you with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

“Where that nigga Slick at?” The lookalike asked, ignoring you.

“You came all the way to Memphis for Slick?” Fontaine questioned, tone heavy with irritation.

“That nigga knocked me out and duck taped me to a fuckin’ chair!”

What the fuck? Why would Slick do something like that?

“Yeah, for a reason.”

And your boyfriend knew about this shit all along? What else was he keeping from you?

“I got somethin’ for his ass!”

“Wait a minute—why would Slick tape you to a chair?” you asked the lookalike, taking a step closer to him.

“Ask yo boyfriend,” he quipped.

“I will, but first tell me who you are,” you demanded, staring him right in his face. His hair, his deep brown eyes, the golds in his mouth was all too familiar. This man was the spitting image of your boyfriend.

But how?

“I’m Fontaine,” he finally said, looking you in the eyes, silently daring you to disagree with him.

“That’s impossible,” you chuckled nervously as you backed away from him because clearly he was out of his mind, “There can’t be two Fontaines.”

“Baby,” your boyfriend sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose, “He’s tellin’ the truth.”

“We’re both clones,” the lookalike admitted.

Your boyfriend's shoulders stiffened so much that you worried they'd become stuck.

You were about to accuse them both of fucking with you, but the pained look on their faces was enough to convince you that they were being serious.

You plopped down on the couch, head in your hands, trying to make sense of what was being said, but your chest felt tight and you couldn't quite catch your breath.

So…clones were real.

Your boyfriend was a clone and your boyfriend also had a clone.

So there were two Fontaines.

Were there more than two Fontaines?

Who did this to them?

With each passing second, a new question flooded your thoughts.

What happened to the original Fontaine?

Who else was the government cloning?

What other states and cities were they operating from?

Was Fontaine safe?

Were you safe?

Shit really hit the fan once Yo-Yo and Slick arrived.

You had to confiscate Fontaine number two's gun after he pulled it out on Slick twice. Then you had to hold him back because he charged the retired pimp with such ferocity. Your boyfriend definitely had his temperamental ways, but this Fontaine was a bit more volatile.

Thankfully, Yo-Yo was there because Fontaine number one and Slick Charles were useless. They didn’t even try to help diffuse the situation.

After a half-hour of squabbling, everyone calmed down and sat down to eat dinner.

“So, y’all niggas couldn’t have included me on the plan?” Fontaine number two asked the others at the table.

You sat between both Fontaines, gulping your wine as you willed yourself not to freak out anymore than necessary. Yo-Yo and Slick Charles sat across from you.

“Hell no! We ain’t have time to break it down for your hotheaded ass,” Slick Charles said.

Fontaine number two shot Slick Charles with such a hard glare that you worried you'd have to hold him back again.

“Uh, I’mma just eat my samosa before Fontaine number two beats my mothafuckin’ ass,” Slick Charles grumbled before shoving his mouth with more food.

You nodded, “I think that’s a good idea, Slick.”

“How’d you find us anyway?” Yo-Yo asked.

“Biddy.”

“Biddy?!” The three of them murmured.

You couldn’t do anything but eat your food and drink your wine as you watched the four of them converse. You felt like a stranger in your own fucking home.

“I gave that pink bitch a hundred bucks and she told me y’all moved to Memphis.”

You didn’t even bother to ask who Biddy was because you knew you wouldn’t get a straight answer. The rest of the evening went pretty much like that. As the four of them caught up, you tried to make sense of the information at your disposal. You eventually tuned them out because you were becoming irritated.

After a while, Fontaine number two asked where the bathroom was, and you got up to show him the way.

Surprisingly, he thanked you before closing the bathroom door, and you retreated to the kitchen, searching for more wine. You needed more booze to deal with this fucked-up situation, and unfortunately, the wine you already had just wasn't cutting it. You scoured the refrigerator and cabinets but came up empty.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned against the kitchen island and went over the events of the last hour or so. You still found it difficult to comprehend the gobsmacking fact that the love of your life was a clone.

It all made sense now why your boyfriend was so guarded. Look at all the shit he’s been through. Still, you couldn't help but feel a heavy pang of hurt because the three of them kept this from you. They were the closest people to you. You've grown to love them so much, and they couldn't even bring you into the loop.

You strolled back into the dining room and observed the three of them crowded together, talking in hushed voices.

Slick Charles spotted you approaching and motioned for the other two to stop chatting.

“And just what are y’all over there whisperin’ about?” you asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing important, baby.”

“Just discussin’ the weather.”

The three of them lied through their teeth and went back to eating as if they just weren't having a private conversation. It took all your might not to lash out at them in frustration. At the very least, Yo-Yo looked guilty. You knew she wanted to tell you more, but her loyalty to Fontaine surpassed her loyalty to you.

“Right,” you scoffed at them as you grabbed your purse off the counter. “I’ll be back.”

“Where you goin’, Y/N?” your boyfriend asked as he stood up.

“To the liquor store,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Mind if I slide with you?” Fontaine number two asked as he ambled down the hallway.

“No, I don’t mind.”

“Nah,” Fontaine number one shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Well, I’m goin’ anyway, nigga.” Fontaine number two retorted as he stood next to you.

You shot your partner a sidelong glance before turning around and heading outside. Fontaine number two was right behind you.

“Y/N,” Slick Charles called after you. “Bring me back some vodka and orange juice please!”

Fontaine number two slammed the door shut before you had a chance to respond, and you fought back a chuckle. That dude was obsessed with orange juice.

Together with your boyfriend's carbon copy, you made your way silently to the parking garage.

“Oh shit,” he exclaimed as he watched you open the car door to your silver Genesis. “You drive a G90?!”

“Yes,” you chuckled as he gawked at your car, his brown eyes briefly flashing with childlike admiration. Just like your Fontaine when he first saw it. The man truly did love his cars. It only made sense that his doppelgänger would too.

“This is a nice ass ride,” he complimented, caressing the car door with his fingers as he walked around the vehicle.

“You wanna drive?”

“You for real?”

“Yeah, the other you drives it all the time.”

You tossed him the keys before walking over to the passenger side and hopping in.

He excitedly clambered into the car, gently closing the door, before cranking up and taking the opportunity to look around.

After marveling at and feeling the smooth cream interior for several seconds, his gaze ultimately settled on you.

You paid close attention to his features. He may have been a clone, but now that you were actually looking at him, you could tell he wasn't your boyfriend.

Your Fontaine always looked at you as if he knew you inside and out, which he did, but this Fontaine solely looked at you as if he wanted to have a chance to get to know you that well. Everything else about the two was remarkably identical. This was a peculiar yet intriguing situation.

You were going to ask him what he was staring at when he blurted, “Y’all fucked in here yet?”

“Fontaine!” you gasped, whacking his arm in admonishment.

You couldn't believe he would ask you something like that, but then again, your Fontaine wasn't one to shy away from asking questions. No matter how invasive they were.

“What? I know me, aight? Ain’t no way in hell I’d pass up fuckin’ my fine ass girlfriend in this sweet ass car.”

The compliment was not lost on you, but you chose not to react to it.

You remained silent, blinking at him in disbelief, until he raised his eyebrows impatiently, still waiting for you to answer.

“Yes, nigga,” you muttered, “we’ve fucked in here before.”

“How many times?”

“Why do you care?”

He said nothing, just stared at you with an amused expression.

“Four times, damn! Can we go now?”

For a split second, his eyes darkened with a burning desire. He didn't say anything, but it was clear he wanted to be the one to partake in a fifth time.

Under his piercing gaze, you squirmed in your seat. You knew that was a thought you wouldn’t be able to come back from, so you cleared your throat and turned to stare out the window.

You heard him let out a puff of amusement before he put the car in reverse and backed out of the parking spot.

“What type of shit you do for work?” he asked once y’all were out on the open road and out of the parking garage.

“I’m a lawyer,” you said proudly before pointing to the upcoming street. “Make a left at the next light.”

“What kind of lawyer?” he questioned as he turned left.

“Corporate.”

“Mmm, smart and pretty.”

And that's pretty much how the trip to and from the liquor store went. You two getting to know each other. Surprisingly, the lookalike was easy to talk to. He reminded you too much of your man. You were going to start getting whiplash. You didn't ask him about his life back in the Glen. You wanted your boyfriend to trust you with that information.

You both walked back into the apartment carrying bags of booze. Fontaine number one, Yo-Yo, and Slick Charles were still conversing at the dinner table.

As a peace offering, Fontaine number two handed Slick Charles his vodka and orange juice. At least he was trying, you thought.

You five settled on the couch with your drinks and watched the first two Bad Boys flicks. Yo-Yo fell asleep against Slick Charles halfway through the second film.

You were once again seated between your boyfriend and his duplicate. Your feet eventually wound across your man's lap, and he rubbed soothing circles into your ankles.

After twenty minutes, Yo-Yo began to snore, so Slick decided to call it a night, waking her up and helping her to her feet. They were really sweet to each other when they wanted to be.

"Baby, I'mma walk them out," your boyfriend stated as he pecked your lips before strolling to the front door. "I'll be right back," he called over his shoulder before shutting the door, leaving you alone with Fontaine number two.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. He never walked them all the way out. Then it dawned on you that he wanted to have another private conversation with them when you were not around.

You slumped on the couch, tucking your foot beneath you as you grumbled in frustration.

“Aye, you good?” Fontaine asked as he took his eyes off the tv screen to glance over at you.

“I’m good,” you lied as you turned to look at him. “You ready for bed?”

“You gon’ let me sleep here?” he asked, surprise clear in his voice.

“Well, duh Fontaine,” you huffed. “Unless you got some other friends in Memphis that I don’t know about?”

What did he think? That you were going to toss his ass out with nowhere to go?

“I don’t think yo boyfriend gon’ be cool with that.”

“I don’t give a fuck what the other you has to say at the moment,” you sneered, “do you want to stay here or not?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Then it’s settled,” you dismissed..

“Can we finish the movie first? This one is my favorite,” he nodded towards the tv.

“Sure.”

Fontaine wandered back into the apartment about fifteen minutes later, scoffing at the two of you laughing on the couch.

“And where is this nigga stayin’, Y/N?” he blurted, attitude rancid as fuck.

“Here with us,” you said brightly, stating the obvious. The credits began to roll so you grabbed the remote to turn off the tv.

“Oh, hell nah,” he complained as he rolled his eyes at the both of you. “Why he gotta stay here with us?”

“Where else is he supposed to stay? With Slick and Yo-Yo?” You folded your arms against your chest, kissing your teeth in annoyance. Fontaine number one and Fontaine number two were going to have to get along sooner or later. This hostility shit between them wasn’t going to fly.

“He can stay at—“

“—Just let him stay, baby,” you interrupted, throwing up your hands as you stood up from the couch.

What was the goddamn problem? It made sense that everybody should stick together. Maybe only to you.

“Aight, fine,” he grunted, stomping off into the kitchen.

“Dramatic ass nigga,” Fontaine number two mumbled under his breath as he stood up too.

You shook your head at him in amusement, fighting back a giggle. This situation was so bizarre that you had to take it lightly or else you'd lose your fucking mind. He shrugged at you and scooped up his bags. You motioned for him to follow you into the guest room down the hall.

You helped him with unpacking and began hanging his clothes in the closet. You chuckled to yourself since his wardrobe was identical to your Fontaine's. The two men were obviously quite the same, but there were one or two physical variances that you chose to keep to yourself.

“Why you bein’ so nice to me?” he blurted, taking a small step towards you.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” you replied, eyes narrowing as you leaned back against one of the closet doors.

He took another step towards you, pausing to look you up and down before fixing his gaze on your face.

“I ain’t him, you know?”

But you kind of are, you thought.

“You think I’m only bein’ nice to you because you share the same face as my boyfriend?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

You sighed deeply and looked out the window, gaze focusing on the shining full moon. "I'm bein’ nice to you because you're a human being who's been through a lot of unfair shit." You turned your attention back to him, eyes locking with his. "I think a little kindness is the least you deserve, don't you?"

He didn't respond, taken aback by your kind words, and after several seconds of stillness, he nodded his head so slowly you'd have missed it if you hadn't already been staring at him.

Of course, this Fontaine had trust issues as well. You couldn’t really blame him. He was keeping it together much better than you would have been in his shoes.

“Alright,” you sighed, taking one last look around the room before smiling softly at him, “anything else you need before I go to bed?”

“Yeah,” he nodded as he plopped down on the bed, “can I get my gun back?”

Hmm, you thought. You didn’t see why not. Slick Charles was gone and the situation seemed diffused for the time being.

As you approached him, you carefully removed the weapon from your waistband, holding it in your palm.

You held out your hand to him, and he reached out to take it, but you pulled it closer to your chest and said, “As long as you promise to keep it away unless our lives are in danger.”

“Aight.” he agreed, reaching for the gun again, but you tightened your grip on the steel.

“I’m serious, Fontaine.”

He rose slowly, towering over you while peering down into your eyes. You took a much-needed step back since you could hear every breath he took and smell the sweet tang of his cologne.

The corners of his mouth turned up in a sly smirk as you took a step back from him. He cleared his throat and gave you a look, indicating that he was being serious.

“I promise,” he whispered, reaching for the firearm for a third time and this time you let him take it.

After ensuring that Fontaine number two was settled in, you closed his bedroom door and shuffled around the apartment, switching off all the lights and checking that the entrance and windows were locked.

You entered the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend and gently closed the door behind you. Fontaine was already in bed, pretending to be sleeping.

“So, what? You gonna pretend like today ain’t happen?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest in annoyance.

“Y/N,” Fontaine groaned, pulling a pillow over his head to drown out your voice.

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me, ‘Taine! We have to discuss this,” you walked over to your dresser and began to undress, pulling a drawer open to grab a set of pajamas.

“I ain’t in the mood to talk about this shit, aight?”

“Were you ever goin’ to tell me about all this wild shit that happened to you?”

He tightened his grip on the pillow, pressing it down even further over his head, ignoring you.

You tossed your clothes in the hamper and finished buttoning your pajama blouse before marching over to the bed, flipping back the covers, and snatching the pillow off his head.

“Fontaine!”

“What?!” he fumed, sitting up as he glared at you wildly.

“You can’t ignore this! Not this time. Why didn’t you tell me this happened to you?”

“What was a nigga supposed to say?! Hey baby by the way I was made in a fuckin’ tube,” he scoffed then shook his head.

“Wait, so you think me findin’ out about you bein’ a clone would make me love you any less?” you asked, your frustration dissipating as you noticed the petrified look in his deep brown eyes.

“You don’t get it…”

“Then explain it to me,” you urged.

“Nah. I’m goin’ to sleep,” he said, turning his back to you and settling under the covers.

You weren't sure how much more of this you could take. You were used to Fontaine shutting down amid difficult conversations, which you understood to some degree, but it was becoming painfully obvious to you that he didn't trust you at all. Most likely, he never did. It's unfair to you because you've never given him a reason not to trust you.

What’s a relationship without trust?

You switched off the lamp on your bedside table, let out a deep breath, and slid beneath the covers. It took some time, but Fontaine's soft snores eventually lulled you to sleep.

#ugh these are so fun to write!!#they cloned tyrone fanfiction #they cloned tyrone fic #they cloned tyrone fanfic #they cloned tyrone #fontaine #fontaine x reader #fontaine x black reader #black reader insert #black writer #my fics #tct mf

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lunar-wandering · 2 years

Text

Strawberry Soda - Chapter 1 - Strawberry Shampoo

Three times Wukong and Macaque shared strawberry scented/flavoured things.

Word Count: 4.4k

Read on Ao3

The final battle against the Lady Bone Demon hadn’t left a single person unscarred.

Which, of course, is why MK made it a point to check in on every person that had been involved. Mei, Pigsy, Tang, and Sandy were easy, he hung out with them all the time!! The host girl had moved cities, but they all kept in touch with her via a little group chat MK had hastily made upon learning the girl would be leaving. After asking Mei, Red Son and his parents had been rather simple to find as well, they happened to be currently staying in one of their spare houses in the city instead of their actual house, which MK was grateful for, he didn’t particularly want to be traversing through the lava filled area where their main house resided every day.

Wukong… kept himself mostly isolated. It wasn’t too bad, they still did training every other day, but MK could sense that Wukong was slowly distancing himself. He wasn’t entirely sure how to approach that subject though, and Wukong had promised to try to be more open with him and the others, so for now MK was letting it be, he’d intervene if Wukong’s isolation started getting really bad.

That just left Macaque.

Initially, MK had simply gone to Macaque’s dojo to try and find him, only to find the place looking almost abandoned. Sure, Macaque’s weapons were still there, but there wasn’t really anything… personal. It didn’t look like anyone had been living there. There hadn’t even been any food in the kitchen! So MK took to simply walking around the general area, calling Macaque’s name.

It usually only took about 3 calls before the monkey would step out of the shadows.

Most of the time, he would look annoyed. Or, well, annoyed up until MK handed him some food that is. He usually vanished as soon as the food was in his hands, not hanging out for long enough for MK to truly get a good read on how he was doing.

Well this time MK was going to put a stop to that.

Before Macaque could take a step back and fall down into the shadows like usual, MK grabbed a hold of his arm. Macaque bristled, yanking his arm out of MK’s grip, and MK let him, giving him his personal space now that he was sure that he had his attention.

“What do you want, kid?” Macaque shifted the take out bag he was carrying so that he could rub his arm where MK had touched him. MK fought against raising an eyebrow at the action, knowing that doing so would likely set Macaque on edge.

“I was wondering if you’d like to eat with me.” MK boosted himself up onto one of the crates surrounding the two of them, sitting down cross-legged as he pulled his own meal out of the second take out bag he had brought.

“I’m not in the mood for picnics, bud.” Macaque said. MK didn’t give him a response, instead just chewing on his noodles. After a minute of silence, Macaque sighed, taking a step forwards and vanishing into the shadows. MK, for a moment, worried that Macaque had simply left, but that worry was assuaged when the monkey stepped out of the shadows to hesitantly sit down beside him. MK gave him a minute, not looking directly at him, until he heard the sound of Macaque taking his own meal out of the bag, and the quiet noises of the other actually eating, at which point he shifted to face him.

He noted, with a faint sense of amusement, that Macaque was using baby chopsticks.

Macaque must’ve sensed that he had noticed, as there was an almost mirage-like shimmer over the utensils, before they appeared to look like normal chopsticks.

MK decided he could save commenting on that for later.

He had more pressing questions after all.

“So…” He started, “Out of curiosity, where are you staying right now?”

“Why do you want to know?” Macaque asked, with a faint hint of venom in his voice.

“Because I can’t keep walking around the downtown area calling your name every time-”

“Then just stop bringing me food, simple. I don’t need it anyways, I don’t even like it.” Despite saying that, Macaque continued to eat his noodles, making the authenticity of his own statement doubtful. MK just gave him a deadpan stare, showing exactly what he thought of Macaque’s fairly obvious lie. Macaque just rolled his eyes in response. “You know where my dojo is, kid.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s fairly obvious you haven’t been living in it. There wasn’t even a single granola bar in your kitchen.”

“In my- what, did you break into my house?”

“Doesn’t matter, since you’re clearly not staying there.”

Macaque let out a huff at that, and they both fell back into silence, MK patiently waiting for Macaque to answer his question, hopefully truthfully.

…It took another five minutes without an answer for him to realize that Macaque was probably hoping that he would just drop it.

This realization was immediately fulfilled as Macaque took the extended period of silence as an opportunity to simply vanish.

It wasn’t until a week later that MK got an answer to his question, in the form of Wukong’s shadow being slightly off.

MK wasn’t sure what had made him notice it. He had just been having a normal conversation with Wukong about his training, when something had just… drawn his attention to the Monkey King’s shadow. At first glance, it looked fine, normal. But something about it was setting off all of the alarms in his brain. Even when he tried to look away, to focus back in on the current conversation, it felt like his attention was being dragged away, back to the shadow.

There was a few minutes where MK just stared, trying to mentally connect the dots on what, exactly, was wrong. Narrowing his eyes, he subtly glanced back and forth between the Monkey King and his shadow, Wukong too focused on rambling about… whatever topic MK had got him rambling about to notice that MK wasn’t truly paying attention. MK lightly scratched the side of his face, thinking-

And then it hit him.

Wukong’s shadow was just slightly out of sync, as though it was copying his actions just slightly after he did them, instead of being perfectly in time with Wukong’s motions.

MK’s mouth dropped as his brain cells finally booted up and connected the dots between the shadow’s strange vibes and a certain, well, shadowy monkey.

And Macaque must’ve realized that he had noticed too- as suddenly the shadow didn’t look like Wukong anymore, instead resembling Macaque as he waved his arms in somewhat of a panic- a near universal sign for “shut up- don’t be obvious- don’t say anything!!!”. MK, admittedly, found that reaction rather funny.

“What are you looking at, kid?” MK jumped as Wukong addressed him, having finally noticed that MK wasn’t paying attention. Macaque jumped too, his shadowy shape changing to once again match Wukong. MK slowly looked back at his mentor, Wukong looking at him with concern and slight suspicion.

Did Wukong not know?

Should… should he tell him?

Please don’t tell him, please don’t tell him.

That thought repeated like a mantra in Macaque’s head as he watched MK have a stare-down with his mentor through his purple laced vision.

He should’ve never risked coming here every day, he should’ve gone back to living in his dojo as soon as he had regained enough power through leeching off of the energy in the air of Flower Fruit Mountain. He wasn’t even sure why he had stayed… it definitely wasn’t because of Wukong. Definitely not. It wasn’t because Wukong looked pretty relaxing in the sunrise and sunset. It wasn’t.

And it certainly wasn’t because Wukong’s smile, normally tinged at the sight of him with anger, taunting, sadness, or worse, guilt, looked beautiful when no-one else was around, the way it used to before… before…

He barely kept his hand from twitching towards his scarf- as much as he was suddenly filled with the anxious desire to chew on it, any movement now would simply bring Wukong’s attention to him. Which, admittedly, was something he’d normally want, but… not like this.

Please not like this.

He wasn’t ready yet.

What it was that Macaque wasn’t ready for, he didn’t know. Or, well, he had an idea, but he didn’t really want to think about it.

Please don’t tell him.

Thankfully, Macaque was spared from the mortifying ordeal of being known, as the kid’s phone rang, and Wukong allowed the kid to vanish inside of the Monkey King’s lil hut to take his call, leaving Wukong standing by himself in silence. Macaque’s ears twitched as he watched his old friend stand perfectly still.

Wukong never stood still. He always had to be moving, whether it was shifting from side to side, twitching his tail, or creating something to fiddle with out of hair, he was always moving. In fact, the only time Macaque had ever seen the Monkey King stand so perfectly still had been-

Had been when he’d been under the Lady Bone Demon’s control.

The icy cold sensation of nervousness swirled in Macaque’s chest, his fur starting to stand on end, unnerved. He could tell that Wukong wasn’t possessed, he knew that, the Lady Bone Demon was gone, and Wukong’s magic still glowed the same comforting peach-gold as always. There was no reason to believe that Wukong was possessed.

So then why was he standing there, perfectly still, eyes unfocused?

It was the ping! of Macaque’s cell phone going off that startled both of them out of their funk, Macaque even letting out a small high pitched squeak at the sudden noise. Almost instantly, he slammed a hand over his mouth, trying to recover, but even that ended up being a mistake, as the movement drew Wukong’s attention to his exact location.

A dark look overcame the Monkey King’s eyes, as his shoulders set into something akin to determined anger as he marched towards the wall his shadow, and the one hiding inside of it, was resting on.

Macaque could’ve moved.

He should’ve moved. He should’ve jumped to another shadow, or teleported away back to his dojo.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he made a, quite frankly, pathetic noise upon being dragged out by his arm, stumbling as he exited the shadows and practically fell against Wukong’s chest. Wukong paused at the sound, the dark look fading to one as confusion as he glanced down at him while Macaque tried to regain his footing, the sound of Wukong’s heartbeat flooding his ears and making it hard to focus. As soon as he felt that he wasn’t going to collapse to the ground, Macaque paused, before looking up, to find that Wukong was staring fiercely down at him.

Despite himself, Macaque instantly broke eye contact as he let out a small, nearly inaudible gasp, regretting it instantly as a small flurry of snowflakes fell out of his mouth.

Wukong blinked, clearly confused as one of the snowflakes landed on his nose, melting instantly upon coming into contact.

“...Snow???” He muttered, tilting his head to the side as he looked Macaque up and down, before slowly, carefully, reaching up one hand to press the back of it against Macaque’s cheek.

Macaque flinched, but the Monkey King didn’t seem to notice as instead, a near sense of panic took over him.

“You’re freezing!!” And, without any warning or explanation, suddenly Wukong was picking Macaque up, throwing him over his shoulder, and marching off in the direction of- “The hot springs should fix you right up, Liu Er!”

Macaque froze right before he could swing his hand down to punch at Wukong’s back. More snowflakes tumbled out of his mouth as he could sense Wukong slowly begin to tense, even as he kept walking towards the hot springs.

Wukong hadn’t called him Liu Er in centuries.

Wiggling and shifting, absentmindedly noting a weird scent of strawberries as he struggled to adjust himself, he eventually managed to get turned around enough under Wukong’s stone tight arm to get a good look at the Monkey King’s face.

His eyes were just slightly cloudy, a bit unfocused, occasionally clearing up a bit before fading back to that more ‘out of it’ look. Everytime his eyes cleared up a little, hints of flustered pink settled in, something Macaque would normally comment on, teasing the Great Sage over being flustered over such a thing as close contact, but he didn’t dare to comment on it now, not when this situation was so weird.

Not to mention that it was, in fact, highly likely that his ears were glowing a flustered purple underneath of all his own glamours. Yeah, Macaque wasn’t going to risk the karma that comes to hypocrites, thank you very much.

Studying Wukong’s face more, Macaque started to wonder if, just maybe, Wukong was sick. He could feel how warm Wukong was, being carried by him like this. But, Wukong had been right, his nervousness was making him run cold, he had no way of knowing if Wukong simply felt warm because he, himself, was in fact running at a colder temperature.

He sighed, letting it drop for now, as well as accepting he likely wouldn’t be able to escape soon, if the amount of wiggling it took just to get a good look at Wukong’s face was any indication. As he watched the snowflakes that escaped from his mouth tumble to the ground, his eyes widened as he noticed the trail of frost- starting from his position slung over Wukong’s shoulder, and trailing down Wukong’s back to form a small path on the ground from where they had been, to where they were now.

Macaque hadn’t thought he was that nervous. That much frost from the leftovers of the Lady Bone Demon’s magic had only appeared when he’d awoken from a nightmare, terrified for his life, and even then, it didn’t seem like it’d been as much back then as there was right now. Was his magic not properly eating the icy cold foreign magic? He knew it would take a while for it to be gone completely, a few years perhaps, but his magic should’ve made it so there was a lot less of the Lady Bone Demon’s magic at the forefront, especially with the boost he’d gained from Flower Fruit Mountain.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Wukong set him down beside a steaming pool of water. They’d reached the hot springs. Macaque eyed the waters with trepidation, it had been centuries since he’d been in them-

“Take your clothes off.”

“WhAt?!” Macaque whirled around to face Wukong, voice cracking, nearly choking on the snowflakes still falling from his lips. The sound of Macaque’s voice seemed to startle Wukong, some of the fog clearing from his eyes-

Which immediately swirled to a bright, flustered pink, a golden blush alighting upon Wukong’s face and ears as he realized exactly what he had just said.

“I mean- like- wet clothes bad- you- I-” He stammered for a moment, before covering his face with his hands and turning away. “I’m going to go get some shampoo or something, just- get in the water, I’ll be back.”

And with that, Wukong took off, running back towards the direction of his house, the force of his departure leaving a small crack in the ground where he had been standing. Macaque stared at where the Monkey King had once stood for a few moments more, before turning to face the waters again with trepidation. After a beat, he sighed, accepting that if he ran from this the consequences would likely be worse as he slowly shrugged off his clothes. He hesitated for a bit on his scarf, folding it more carefully than everything else, before gently setting his things on a tree branch for safe keeping, adding a small protective spell on top of it just in case any of the tiny monkeys that liked to roam around got any ideas.

Slowly, he dipped one foot into the water, testing to see how warm it was. He hissed a little at the initial temperature, but once his foot sank down below the waters, it felt… honestly perfect. Relaxing, even. Macaque wasted no time in lowering himself the rest of the way down in, leaving a small amount of frost on the edge of the spring that quickly melted when faced with the water’s warm steam. He let out a small relaxed breath, no snowflakes lacing it this time as he felt the cold tightness in his chest slowly relax as his nerves were washed away by the heat. For a brief moment, he forgot where he was, staring up at where stars were slowly starting to show in the sky, simply relishing in the sensation of warmth completely surrounding him.

It was the splash of someone else entering the hot spring that reminded him of where he was, and who, exactly, had brought him here. He glanced over, finding Wukong standing waist deep in the water, holding a shampoo bottle in his mouth, despite his hands being free. He must’ve returned some time ago, long enough to take his own clothes off, and Macaque had no idea how he hadn’t heard the other’s return. As he sat up, he looked Wukong’s body up and down, once again glad for the glamour that kept the blush on his face from being shown. Reaching the other’s face he noticed that Wukong’s eyes had regained some of that hazy look over them- but it cleared a little as soon as he took notice of Macaque’s movement.

He tried to say something, only for it to be hindered by the shampoo bottle. Seemingly only just taking notice that his hands were free, he took it out, tossing it from hand to hand, back and forth, as some kind of restless gesture, repeating himself now that he’d be understandable;

“Let me wash your hair for you.”

Macaque blinked, wondering if he’d misheard him. But no, if the shampoo bottle and the silent stare was any indication, he had not, in fact, misheard. He took a deep breath, looking around, to see if there was any indication that he’d somehow fallen asleep. Maybe he’d even slipped into an alternate dimension? This was- this was weird. Him and Wukong were meant to argue, Wukong was meant to hate him. Why was he acting like this?

Wukong’s eyes were slowly going foggy again the longer Macaque remained silent. Macaque decided if there was one thing, and one thing only that he understood about his situation, it was that he didn’t like that. There was something wrong with the way that Wukong’s eyes were clouding over, something that just being sick or a lack of sleep could not explain.

“...Fine.” He eventually said, hating the words even as they were coming out of his mouth. Wukong’s eyes cleared up again, as his mouth formed a small ‘o’, clearly shocked at Macaque’s decision even though he’d been the one to suggest this stupid idea in the first place. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I didn’t think you’d agree to it.” Wukong muttered, lowly, under his breath, the point of doing so rendered useless by Macaque’s sense of hearing, which Wukong must’ve realized if the way his tail swished back and forth as he glanced off to the side was any indication. Macaque was glad that the rippling of the water prevented his own tail’s movements from being shown.

“...Yeah. Don’t think too much about it.” Macaque said, slouching down so that his mouth was under the water, supposing that, at the very least, like this, if his glamours were to come down at any point during this (highly unlikely but he couldn’t help but be cautious) then at the very least he could explain his blush away as having been from exposure to the heat of the water. Absentmindedly, he noticed Wukong approach, slowly moving to take a seat behind him.

He completely forgot what he had just agreed to up until a hand reached out and gently touched his head.

Macaque gasped, and then choked as a bit of water flooded into his mouth as he shot back up out of his slouched position, coughing. He could feel Wukong’s hand hesitantly pat at his back as he tried to regain his breath.

Still, he was barely given even a moment’s reprieve.

“You’re gonna need to let your glamours down if you want me to wash your hair properly L- Macaque.” The stumble over his name did not go unnoticed. Macaque turned to see as Wukong’s eyebrows creased in concentration. Okay, there was definitely something wrong with the Monkey King, Macaque might’ve been able to let one mistake go, but two? In one night? There was definitely something up.

It took him a few seconds too many to realize what Wukong had actually just said. It was all the time, and, seemingly, permission, Wukong needed to double tap Macaque’s shoulder, and Macaque could feel the waves of magic roll over him as his glamours fell down.

Almost instinctively, his hands shot to cover his ears. A split second later, they moved to cover his face. The sensation of the wind on his ears made him reach to cover them again, but that left his eye-

…Overall, he ended up sitting there, face frozen in shock, hands up and hovering in between his face and his ears, uncertain. Wukong seemed completely unaware of his crisis, and Macaque soon found himself with another crisis on top of his current one as Wukong’s hands gently found their way into his hair, softly massaging the shampoo into it.

(Shockingly, Macaque’s nose was overwhelmed with a strawberry scent, similar to the faint one he had sensed earlier. So this was Wukong’s shampoo? Weird, Macaque would’ve thought he would’ve used a peach scented one).

A surprisingly pleasant shiver ran down Macaque’s spine, and he barely kept himself from leaning back into it. He opted instead for putting the side of his hand in his mouth and lightly biting down, trying desperately to remain aware of where he was and who he was with, while also preventing himself from making any of the embarrassing squeaky chirping sounds that wanted to escape his mouth. Outside of his conflicting emotions, this was… almost nice.

Wukong, on the other hand, as far as Macaque could tell, seemed unphased, humming a small tune that Macaque hadn’t heard played in centuries. Macaque had expected that at the very least Wukong would’ve commented on the way his ears were very obviously glowing, but instead it seemed like the Monkey King had yet to notice the very obvious signs of Macaque’s blush at all. Macaque didn’t want to admit it, but faced with this behaviour… He was starting to get a little worried about Wukong’s well-being.

That worry was completely shoved to the back of his mind when Wukong abruptly and without warning placed a hand on top of Macaque’s head and roughly shoved him under the water. Spluttering, Macaque shot back up, pulling his hair back away from his face so that he could see as he barely managed to keep himself from swallowing more water.

“What was that for?” He wheezed, water flying from his hair with how fast he whipped around to glare at Wukong, only to pause.

Wukong’s eyes were bright pink, a shade Macaque had only seen once before, a long time ago, way back before everything happened. His face and ears were very nearly glowing a bright gold, highlighting the freckles on his face. A rather nice look on him, if Macaque was being completely honest, but Wukong’s expression looked… distressed.

The Monkey King suddenly stood up, and Macaque had to duck to avoid being hit by Wukong’s frantically swishing tail as he walked past him to get out of the hot spring.

“There’s- there’s something I need to do.” Wukong said, voice rather uncharacteristically high pitched as he grabbed his clothes from a nearby rock, not even bothering to dry himself off as he simply slid his outfit back on. “You… enjoy your soak.”

And with that, Wukong hurried off into the darkness of the night, leaving Macaque completely alone. Macaque stared after him for a while, wondering if, maybe, he should follow him, before tossing that notion to the side. He didn’t care. There was no reason to follow him.

But still, he couldn’t stop thinking about- about him. About how just moments ago, his hands had been so gently running through his hair…

Feeling self-conscious, he slid down deeper into the water again, allowing his glamours to slip back on to his form. Looking up at the sky, he did his best to focus only on the water and the stars, and not the fact that now, having shared the same shampoo as him, he most definitely smelled exactly like Wukong, resisting the urge to grab some of his hair and hold it to his face and imagine he was leaning against Wukong himself.

Fifteen minutes later, he forcibly dragged himself out of the water, reluctantly acknowledging that spending any longer within the heated waters would likely be damaging to his health. It wasn’t until after he had dried himself (using a towel resting behind a rock, based on its position and the purple colour, Wukong must’ve left it for him) and was slipping his clothes back on, that his phone fell out of his pocket, and he just barely managed to catch it, opening it up, that he finally saw the text message that had started this whole mess.

It was a singular smiley face.

Sent from MK.

Because of course it was.

(How did he even get this number? Macaque had certainly never given it to him. Had one of the kid’s friends hacked his phone? …Maybe Macaque should invest in better cyber security).

Wukong layed on his bed, facing the ceiling, feeling the water from his fur slowly soak through his clothes and down into his bedsheets and mattress. He’d regret that later, most likely, but for now, he could only focus on one thing, and one thing only- the way Macaque’s hair had fallen down over his shoulders as he ran his fingers through it, the bright glow of his ears shining and mixing with the moonlight reflecting off the water... He hadn’t been able to see the other’s face, but-

Within his haze, he’d almost called Macaque beautiful.

#Monkie Kid #shadowpeach #my writing #fanfic

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strawberryfairi · 9 months

Text

Synopsis✨: The story of how you catch heavy feelings for the hot photography student, Shuji Hanma…even though you already have the perfect (fake) boyfriend.

Pairings: Photography Student! Shuji Hanma X Dance Major! Black Fem 🤎 Reader (ANYONE CAN READ🧚🏾‍♀️) Content: Drama, lots of denial, angst, sneaky link, lots of cheating, mutual pining, unserious Shuji, controlling parents, forced relationships, romance, fighting, porn with a good plot vibes, intense sexual tension, etc (just find out the rest lol)

w.c: 4.4k💠 Released: Jan 5, 2024

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3; NIGHT RIDE 夜骑

A heavy silence fell between the two of you, making your palms sweaty and throat feel dry. "I...guess I should probably head back inside. I'd really rather go home though..." You mumble the last part to yourself bitterly. You really didn't wanna go back into the party with all that loud noise, and knowing Ken was somewhere in there probably not sparing you a single thought made you feel nauseous.

"Why stay then?" Hanma questions lazily, reaching in his pocket and taking out a pack of cigarettes.

"Well, I Uber'd here since my original ride bailed on me, I barely even spent time in there, and I was actually lookin' forward to the alcohol; even though it's nasty and cheap." You chuckle dryly, leaning your head against the window. "I wanna at least celebrate my accomplishment a little, you know?" You add with an exasperated sigh.

"Wanna celebrate with me instead?" He raises a brow, clicking the lighter a few times before it finally gave him a little flame, lighting up a new cancer stick.

You narrow your eyes skeptically at him. You felt you knew him well enough by now to understand he's a very flirtatious, very outspoken kind of guy, so whatever he was suggesting was definitely not innocent.

"What d'you mean?" You ask hesitantly.

"No need to look at me so suspicious, doll. Just seemed like you could use some fun." He chuckles breathily, taking a long drag.

"Fun..." You murmur, looking out at the frat house from the window. Flashing blue, white, and green lights shined from inside, and folks were jumping up and down to the music. You knew Ken was somewhere in there, having a blast with his boys and Ms. Butterfly tattoo celebrating his big accomplishment. Why does he get to live it up and you don't? Your jaw clenches, feeling that anger that prompted your meeting Hanma in the first place rise back up for a second.

"You know what? I could use some fun for real. What'chu trynna do?"

💠

The sky looks so pretty, and to think you would've never seen it had you not come out here with Hanma. You look up at the pretty, glittery stars from the window. The sky is completely clear, and every single star is so luminous along with the nearly full moon. Tonight the pale moonlight is so bright that it's lighting up every surrounding as if it's day.

At the last point you looked at the time on your phone it was about twelve something, now...it could be any time, you had no clue. All you know is that Hanma had taken you to some random liquor store on the way to where you both currently are now. It was on the near outskirts of the city, up high and looking over the night. You two had gotten into the backseat of his car, much to your little angel on your left shoulder's dismay, talking about any and everything. Chill, vibey music played from the radio, going along perfectly with the atmosphere the night created.

"This is waaaay better than that frat party to be honest." You murmur lazily, taking another little sip from the bottle Hanma bought you. You felt so much looser around him thanks to the sweet alcohol, now you could relax and just be in the moment.

"Glad I could help." He grins, blowing smoke into the air as he wraps his arm over your shoulders. You sigh blissfully, leaning into his side with your eyes closed. The scent of him was so loud now that you were this close, that harmonious mix of cologne and cigarette smoke, it was honestly more intoxicating than the alcohol.

"If I stay like this too long I might fall asleep on you. You're surprisingly comfortable." You chuckle lightly, snuggling closer for a moment to further prove your point. Hanma let's out a short hum in response, then takes another long drag of his cigarette.

"Can't have that, can we?" He says lowly, taking your chin under his pointer finger, and making you look up at his pretty honey eyes.

"I guess not." You shrug, your voice matching his with just the slightest undertone of shyness.

He leans towards you, eyes lingering on your lips. "Got any suggestions on what we should do?"

You feel yourself fold instantly, only able to utter out a meek "Mm mm" in response.

"No? No idea?" He teases, dragging his gaze back up to your innocent looking eyes. You shake your head hesitantly, unconsciously clenching your thighs together. It felt like his eyes were reaching deep into your soul, picking you apart piece by piece. He made you feel so exposed, like prey out in short, cut grass with no place to hide. Honestly, it excited you to a shameful degree. Not even Ken has ever made you flustered so easily. A simple question Hanma asks in a particular way has you utterly falling apart at the seams.

He notices the way your legs come together tightly, a knowing look plastering onto his face. "Well I got a good idea, and it starts with you sittin' your pretty ass on my lap." He purrs, his voice dripping with lust.

You could've passed out right then and there. Shyly, you sit yourself on his lap, facing the window. Hanma laughs lightly at this, taking his time with another inhale from his cancer stick, then slowly exhales to the side. "Face me, sweetheart." He instructs. You kept your hands wrapped around the alcohol bottle, hesitantly putting your legs on either side of him. You look straight down, feeling so conflicted on the inside-well...not that conflicted, and that was exactly the problem. It was crystal clear what you wanted, it's just...

"Good girl." He coos, grabbing your chin with his free hand and making you look up at him. Your heart pounds so hard in your chest, you're sure he can hear it. Hanma takes the bottle from your hands, chugging it down and finishing the rest. Your hands clasp together, waiting for his next move. He reaches past you, placing the empty bottle in one of the cup holders up front, his other arm snaking it's way around your waist and pulling you up closer against him. Instinctually you put your hands on his shoulders.

Without a word his right hand reaches behind your neck, holding you still as he finally leans in, placing his lips on yours in a slow, intense kiss. You visibly shudder, a shockwave of electricity flowing down your spine and throughout the rest of your body, eliciting a sigh-like moan from your mouth.

"Wait wait...this isn't...a-a good idea." You mumble breathily between the kiss, attempting to pull away.

"It's not?" He asks with a faux innocent tone, and mischievous looking smirk on his face. His hand on your neck keeps you steady while he skillfully slips his tongue into your mouth.

"I-I have...a boyfriend." You finally admit, though it was more of a harsh reminder for yourself. At this he finally pulls away just slightly.

"I know you're Ryuguji's girl." He states plainly, lips brushing temptingly against yours.

Your heart sinks, eyes going wide in shock. He knows?! He knows and yet the whole time around each other he's been coming on to you like this?!

"You know? You don't care?!" You question in bewilderment. Hanma lets you go, allowing you to shift back and put more space between the two of you.

"I knew he had a girl, just didn't know it was you until after the game. But it seems like you don't really care that much either." He shrugs, taking one last drag from the cigarette he still had then put it out on the ashtray he had sat next to him earlier.

"I do care! I-..I care..." You repeat with a frown, brows furrowed deeply. It's the first time you've really thought about Ken this whole time since you left that party.

"Are you tellin' me or tellin' yourself that?" He asks with a raised brow.

You wanna be mad at him, annoyed, anything, yet you know you'd just be a hypocrite. How could you be mad at Hanma yet feel sorry for yourself? You're the one that let him-let this-happen.

"Babe, babe, I apologized already. What else do you want me to do? I didn't know she was gonna kiss me!"

"How 'bout not put yourself in a position to even have something like that happen! This don't even make no sense, Ken! You just straight up let her kiss you, like, I watched you hesitate! Had I not come over here would you have even stopped?!"

Those were your words, your exact words that you yelled to Ken just some hours ago. You were already a hypocrite; already a fool. You even had the audacity to cry and storm off, you made a whole scene in front of people, and here you are hours later with butterflies in your stomach and wetter than a waterfall for a guy you just met. Uuuugghhhhhh! Conflicted isn't even the word...

Ken has never been particularly terrible to you. The two of you know your relationship came about in..not the most genuine or natural of ways, but you both made it work; you learned to love each other. He's sweet to you, you respect him, it's always been that way. But tonight, for some reason, that thing that you've always been missing, you can't ignore it.

There's no excitement, there's no...spontaneity or adventure with Ken. Everything is the same, everything's plain. You've tried to talk to him about it, ask him for something more or different, but he says it's just not his way. Ken likes stability and sameness, you've always loved newness, feeling stuck in a box or a loop that you can't escape when things are always the same. Hanma though, he gave you that excitement from the get go, without you even having to ask or hint at it. Sure you only just met him, but the way he makes you feel-gosh...Ken's never been able to pull this off in the entire two years and eight months of dating each other.

Then suddenly, Hanma rips you out of your turbulent thoughts, placing his hand underneath your jaw and lifting your head up with his thumb. "Tell me what you want. If you wanna stop...we can stop." He murmurs softly.

Oh no, not another crossroads of decisions! This wasn't really the night for good decision making, especially not now with this mix of cigarette smoke and alcohol. Your eyes immediately shift to the side, already knowing your resolve would be out the window if you looked at him and those alluring eyes for even a second.

"It's not about what I want." You shake your head, wrapping your small hand around his wrist.

"It's exactly about what you want." He says almost like whisper, leaning in slowly towards your lips once again. You squeeze your eyes closed, brushing your lips against his, breathing heavier with each passing second. If you kissed him now, there's no one around to see you two...nobody would find out.

"Tell me what you want, angel." He commands, a slight urgency in his voice. He's becoming impatient.

You bite your tongue briefly, then clutch a fistful of his shirt by his shoulder, pressing your lips against his in a needy kiss. Instantly he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him as close as possible. Your hands rest on his shoulders, then slide up to cup his face. This kiss was much more intense then the first, much more needy. As soon as your lips met, your fake boyfriend was once again long gone from your mind...and you loved it.

His hands grab your hips, guiding you back and forth slowly against his hardening erection in his pants. Shameful excitement coursed all through your veins, moaning into his mouth as your tongues hungrily danced with each other. Even though this was so wrong no matter which way you looked at it, it felt absolutely right; perfect.

His fingers dip into your sweatpants, tugging on them slightly. Pulling away from the kiss, he helps you take your sweatpants off, lazily throwing them in the passenger seat up front. "Lowkey, this is gonna take a while. I still have my costume on." You chuckle, gesturing towards yourself. From your skintight body suit to your tights underneath, you had the entire fit on. He helps you take it off anyways, slipping you out of the bodysuit and just ripping a large hole in your tights right in the crotch area.

You let out a noise of shock, staring at him dumbfounded with your jaw hanging open. "You're a dancer, I know this isn't your only pair." He chuckles, running his fingers around the rip he created. "You're lucky I have more..." You narrow your eyes halfheartedly. He pulls you back into another heated kiss, reaching through the hole of your tights and swiftly shifting your panties to the side. Your heart skips a beat, gasping against his lips as you feel fingers graze against your wet folds.

"Damn, you're soaking wet, pretty girl. All that talk about "I can't" yet your pussy's begging for me like this..." He purrs lowly, his honey brown eyes intently watching as his fingers run back and forth, coating them in your syrupy slick.

You whimper, turning your head to the side in embarrassment while placing your hands on his shoulders. His free hand instantly grabs your jaw, turning you back to face him. "Wanna ride my fingers, angel?" He asks in that addictively sultry tone, lightly massaging small circles around your clit with his thumb.

"Mhm." You nod, your mind going fuzzy with bliss.

"I want words." He demands, abruptly pulling his hand away. You're eyes widen, a pained look on your face at the feeling of his fingers no longer there. "Yes, yes!" You answer frantically, your hips desperately searching for his fingers. "Yes what?" He asks smugly, just slightly brushing his fingers over your needy clit.

"I-I wanna..", You hesitate, the embarrassment getting to you a little, "I wanna..ride your fingers." You finish, biting your lip as you force yourself to look into his intoxicating eyes. "Please." You add breathily, gripping onto his shirt.

"There it is." He says with a satisfied grin on his face, slipping his middle finger inside as deep as he could. You gasp, tightening your grip on his shirt as you take in the stretch his finger gave you. He pulls out slowly then eases back inside, watching the faces you make. You bite your lip, uselessly trying to keep your moans quiet, moving your hips just slightly. He adds another finger, his ring finger, stretching you out further.

"Ohhh!" Your mouth falls open, unconsciously grabbing onto his wrist as you start to bounce up and down on his fingers and setting your own pace. Your slick coats his fingers in a sensual sheen, dripping slowly down to his wrist. "Feel good, baby?" He asks seductively, leaning in to kiss and suck along your jawline and neck.

"Uh huh." You moan, breaths quickly becoming pants as you bounce faster. "Gimme words." He demands sternly, making your walls clench around his fingers. "'S so good!" You whine. Your legs start to tremble, making it harder to keep your pace steady. The sounds your pussy was making, that loud squelching against his fingers, was driving you crazy. You crashed your lips against his, sloppily kissing him as your hips helped you bounce faster.

He responds so fast, matching your pace as he curls his fingers, hitting somewhere so deep your eyes rolled back. Your hips stutter, breaking from the kiss as you throw your head back while your legs shake harder. "Fuuuuck! Oh my god!" You cry, digging your nails into his wrist. "Right here?" He murmurs, curving his fingers and hitting that same, sweet spot once again. Stuttered whimpers and whines was all you could respond with, your mind had completely shut down. Desperately you try to bounce with his strokes, but the tightening sensation building up in your core is too overwhelming.

Hanma places his hand on the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him, his eyes ablaze with lust. "You look so pretty all fucked out already. You wanna cum?"

You fall forward, leaning your head on his shoulder. Making eye contact with him was just too dangerous right now, one look and you were seconds from an orgasm. "Yes yeees, uuugh!" You moan loudly, wrapping your arms around his neck. He adds a third finger, easily sliding it inside with the rest. Your hips raise in the air, attempting to get away, yet Hanma's hand follows you. "Don't run from it, angel." He coos, stroking your trembling thigh. You've never had three fingers before, especially not three fingers his size. You really didn't know what feeling full was until now, the feeling quite literally breathtaking. He picks the pace up, the sounds of your panting and moaning mixing harmoniously with the lewd noises your pussy makes. His fingers keep that same pace, same angle, with every stroke.

"Ah! Aah! I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum-oh my god!" You cry out frantically, tears prickling at your eyes. "Lemme see your face. Wanna watch you cum all over my fingers." He says lowly. You shakily lift yourself up, placing both your hands on his shoulders and digging your nails into them as you finally reach that high, cumming on his fingers. "There you go, baby." He coos sweetly. Your legs kept shaking violently, eyes rolling back as he helped work you through your orgasm. It felt like he'd brought you up to the moon and back, pulling you apart then placing you back together. It took you a second for your body to relax, slowly sinking back down into his lap, only twitching here and there.

His fingers slip out of you with a little popping sound, then licks each one, tasting you as he looks you right in the eyes. You felt your pussy clench desperately around nothing at the sight. "I want you." You murmur softly, leaning over and giving him needy licks and kisses on his neck. A deep, sultry moan leaves his lips, his large hands gripping your plush hips tightly. "Yeah? Wanna fuck me, pretty doll?" He asks sensually, moving you back and forth and slightly bringing his hips up into you with each movement. You both moan together at the sweet friction, your head absolutely spinning. He feels so big. "Mhmm, so bad." You answer blissfully, lightly sucking his neck between kisses.

Then suddenly, horrifically, your phone rings from somewhere in the passenger seat up front. You blink a few times, feeling like you just got ripped right out of an amazing dream. The ringer was on so you could hear it loud and clear, like it was yelling at you. At first, you had the thought to ignore it, but something deep down was stopping you. "Wait. Hang on a second." You sigh annoyedly, pulling away from Hanma and going to reach over up front for your phone.

Incoming Call: Big K💖

"Oh shit!" You whisper to yourself, eyes widening anxiously as you scramble to answer the phone. You quickly clear your throat, trying to compose yourself.

"Hey." You say calmly.

"Hey, where are you? I came to find you at the party but you weren't there, then I just came over to your room but you didn't answer the door." Ken says tiredly.

Your heart sinks in your chest. He's already back from the party?! "Oh, that's 'cause I just-..I'm just out walking around right now."

"At two a.m.? What the hell are you doing?" He sounds genuinely annoyed now.

"Yeah, at two a.m.; I've done that before." You reply, your tone just a little bit snappy.

"Can you just...get your ass back here? I wanted to talk to you about earlier." He says in a more calm tone.

What's there to talk about? You think to yourself.

"Ok, but it's late. We should just talk tomorrow. I'll let you know when I'm back in my room." You sigh exasperatedly, facepalming.

"...Yeah, that makes sense. I'll talk to you tomorrow; love you. Let me know when you're back." He mutters disappointedly.

"Love you too." You mumble lazily before hanging up.

All of a sudden the atmosphere felt so heavy, you couldn't even bare to turn around and look at Hanma, or really, look at what you've just done with Hanma.

"Was that your boyfriend?" He asks plainly, though there was a slight sour undertone in his voice at the word boyfriend.

"Yeah. I...should go." You start, finally looking back at him with a highly conflicted expression. "Could you take me home? Please?"

💠

The silence is so loud. It's heavy and suffocating, like losing the last bit of air you have left while underwater. You know Hanma's watching you, looking over at you every chance he can get while he drives back to campus. You also know that he knows you see him, just waiting for you to finally acknowledge it.

"I shouldn't have done that. We really shouldn't have done that." You finally break the silence, glancing over at him anxiously.

"Maybe not." He shrugs plainly, pausing for a moment. "Did you like it?"

You inwardly facepalm at his question. Of course you liked it, loved it even, but that's besides the point!

"Yeah..." You murmur weakly, a heavily torn expression on your face. Hanma nods, keeping his on the road with a satisfied grin on his face.

I'm terrible... You think to yourself.

"We should-..we should forget about it, right? Then..it'll be like it never happened." You nod anxiously, trying to think of any way to make this better.

A short, breathy chuckle leaves his lips. "And how do you go about forgetting something like this? Let me guess, not thinking about it?" He asks in such a teasing way, it was not helping at all.

"Exactly! Not thinking about it! Just...lock it away somewhere until it's forgotten about. People do that all the time." You say with a bit of attitude.

'Cause clearly thinking isn't really my bag right now...

Hanma lets out a dry, short chuckle. "Hate to spoil it for you, but that won't work. You know it won't." He says plainly, glancing over at you.

"It will. It will 'cause it has to." You grit out.

"You're really not thinkin' this one through, huh doll? You wanted to fuck me, and you would've had your boyfriend not called. You really think you're not gonna wanna finish what we started?" His tone is surprisingly serious as he looks over at you.

A frustrated huff leaves your lips, you couldn't think of a good response yet. You knew full well he was right, and it bothered you so badly. You were already aching to finish it, to finish on him, but you were using every bit of your willpower not to think about it. "You can't just run away from that by 'not thinking about it-

"I know, but I have to! I don't have any other options." You say frantically, leaning your head on the window. Hanma shakes his head clicking his tongue, not bothering to go back and forth about it anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You got back to campus in about twenty more minutes. Hanma pulled up just down the block from your building per you request. With a tired sigh you get out of the car, turning and facing the window.

"I'll still help you with your photography project. If you want me to." You mumble.

"Y'sure you wanna do that? Might not be the best idea with your whole "forget about it" thing." He says with a slight taunt in his voice.

"I'm sure, 'cause what happened tonight was just a one time thing, so there's no reason to be nervous about anything else happening if or whenever I see you again." Your tone is purely serious, looking at him with the most sincere look you could muster.

He nods his head slowly. "Whatever you say, angel."

Your eyes close, trying desperately to ignore the way your heart fluttered when he called you angel. "Could you also please not tell anyone? This has to stay between us, like deadass, it has to." You plead.

"Don't worry, I'm not gonna tell anyone." He assures, though it didn't really do much to help how you felt.

"Good. This is the last time we speak of this, alright?" You say sternly, almost like a parent to their child.

"Damn, I see why you're the captain of the dance team now, Ms. Bossy." He teases.

"I'm serious! This is really import-

"I got it, I got it! I'm "forgetting" about you cumming all over my fingers as we speak." He chuckles in amusement, not being serious in the slightest.

You facepalm for probably the thousandth time tonight. Of course you had to cheat on Ken with the most unserious dude in the entire school. "Alright. Well, I'll see you later or..whatever." You huff, already making your way away from his car.

A/N🧚🏾‍♀️: Wheeeew chile...😩 that's all imma say on the matter. Chapter 4 coming soon.

P.S. Oool Shuji is so fine!! Got me giggling n kickin' my damn feet🤗

#shuji #hanma #shuji hanma x reader #shuji hanma x reader smut #a mile away㊙️#strawberryfairi🧚🏾‍♀️#black fem reader #tokyo rev #shuji smut #hanma shuji x reader #shuji hanma #shuji hanma smut #strawberryfairimasterlist #shuji is so fine gyat damn

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mrpldiddles · 7 months

Text

the woman through the waiting glass part one | c.snow

a/n: i've been going on about my coriolanus snow fic for months now and i am very excited to finally share the first chapter here!! this fic follows my oc metis pyralis and what happens between her and coriolanus after the events of tbosas. i'm not sure how long this fic will end up being or when i'll be able to post the other chapters as i am still in uni and trying to find time to write, but i will have them posted as soon as i can. i hope y'all enjoy this fic as much as i do and are willing to follow metis and coriolanus along with my sporadic posting schedule. i also do not currently have a tag list for this fic but if you are wanting to be added to one let me know :) without further ado here is the first chapter of the woman through the waiting glass :)

word count: 4.4k

warnings: none for this chapter i believe :)

Every girl in the Capitol should’ve known to stay away from Coriolanus Snow. With his captivating, crystal-like eyes and that infamous charm of his…he was too good to be true. Star pupil of the academy, heir to the Snow legacy and the expected recipient of the Plinth Prize, he had everything he could ever want in the palm of his hands by the age of eighteen. Despite all his glaring warning signs, he was no stranger to the affections of his peers. Since his birth he’d been told how charming and handsome he’d grow to be; to look just like his father. At the end of the war, at age eight, he began to attract the gaze of some of his classmates. By the time he was sixteen, practically every girl in the Capitol wished to be on his arm. At age eighteen he had his eyes set on one girl and one girl alone. And it was not his fiancee-to-be.

There was no denying the chemistry between Lucy Gray and Coriolanus Snow. It was bright as day on every screen in Panem from the moment he paraded her around the monkey enclosure. All eyes were on the two of them, including the heiress to the Pyralis fortune.

Metis Pyralis knew that her marriage would never be one of true love. From the moment that their families agreed upon the arrangement when they were both only nine years of age, they both knew the stakes. Their families were to be joined whether they loved each other or not, though of course, the Snows needed the Pyralis’ far more than they would ever need them. Investing in and funding District One had its perks, meaning that the Pyralis family was set for generations with Metis to inherit it all. But none of this stopped Coriolanus from leaving the Capitol for District Twelve and Lucy Gray.

Metis found out the news from Tigris. The day before had been when Lucy Gray and Coriolanus had won the status of Victors. Metis hadn’t been able to find her way through the crowds to congratulate her future husband in person before he had been swept away, so Saturday afternoon she decided to congratulate him in person at the Snow’s apartment. The outside of the building was misleading to what Metis knew awaited inside. The newly fixed elevator, the partially crumbling walls, crooked light fixtures. Despite the anxiety that she knew Coriolanus harboured over the state of his family’s home and the fact that she - his future fiancee, yet someone he still considered a family outsider - knew of their financial troubles, she had never told a soul. Not even her own father knew, giving a new understanding as to why he had agreed to the arranged marriage of his daughter in the first place. Though the two families were long-time friends, Metis was unsure if she would be in such an unconventional relationship if her father knew the truth of why the Grandma’am had ever even suggested the idea.

After climbing the creaky staircase - Coriolanus had instructed her to not take the elevator on her own - she found her way to the apartment, knocking on the tall lacquered front door. Moments later she was greeted with Tigris’ slightly red and puffy face, a handkerchief being held to her nose.

“Tigris,” Metis greeted, internally cringing at the volume of her own voice. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Metis,” Tigris whined, her voice ragged from the amount of crying she must have been doing. “Coryo’s just left.” The dread that had begun as a trickle now flooded Metis’ stomach.

“Left? To where? Where did he go?” Worry crept into Metis’ voice. Herself and Coriolanus had never been a typical couple. Had never kissed or exchanged ‘I love you’’s, but they still cared for each other. Or at least Metis cared for Coriolanus.

She could never wage his emotions towards her. He was nicer to her than he was to their classmates. He let her in on his real feelings about them in fact, which was more than she ever really expected from him. He told her about the hatred that he was sure Dean Highbottom harboured for him. He even confided in her about his worries to carry on the family’s legacy and make his lineage proud. But those moments were as rare as the Grandma’am refusing to sing the National Anthem and usually resulted in him acting distant and cold towards her for days at a time. Wherever he had run off to Metis wasn’t too surprised that he hadn’t let her know.

“He didn’t tell you?” Tigris’ eyes widened. “He’s joined the Peacekeepers. He shipped off this morning on the first train.” Metis’ stomach sunk, whether from dread or surprise she wasn’t completely sure. Surprise as the Coriolanus she knew would’ve never willingly enlisted for the Peacekeepers. He took too much pride in his last name - and the privilege it came with - all too much to join their ranks. And dread from the idea that she knew exactly which district he was in and why.

“All of a sudden? But- he and Lucy Gray just won the Games, why would he leave so suddenly? And to be a Peacekeeper of all reasons?” The taste of the newest Victor’s name on her tongue almost threw Metis off her line of questions. She knew why he left and why exactly he became a Peacekeeper. It was all about her.

Tigris leaned out into the hall, her head swivelling from right to left before beckoning Metis inside. Metis stepped inside, allowing Tigris to close the door behind her before leading her to the dining room, away from the front door. Metis couldn’t help but notice the way Tigris leant against the table, as if her thoughts were bearing down on her, leaving her unbalanced.

“He cheated, Metis,” the older girl’s voice was barely above a whisper. Her eyes, rimmed red with bags beneath them, stared into Metis’ own. “He cheated for Lucy Gray to win. Highbottom gave him no choice. It was either be publicly shamed or join the ranks for twenty years and we both know how much pride Coriolanus has over our name.”

Metis simply stood as Tigris all but collapsed into the nearest chair, her head falling into her hands as if her little energy had been used to hold the weight of her cousin’s wrongdoing. The new information swirled in her mind. Coriolanus had cheated. Cheated to help Lucy Gray win and escape death numerous times. He had done all this for her, a District girl, and was now serving his punishment. Emotions churned and intertwined in her stomach. Surprise, anger, amusement, grief, relief. The chair scraped against the ground as she pulled it from under the table and took a seat.

“Did he say what District he was being assigned to?” Metis’ voice came out quiet but strong. There was no hint of a quaver or shake in her question. She couldn’t say she wasn’t at least a little hurt by the Snow boy’s actions but she wasn’t surprised. Although the two were never affectionate or all that close, it was now clear to the Pyralis girl where she stood in her future husband’s eyes. It may not have been a choice for him - public humiliation and shame for the rest of his life or being a Peacekeeper - but it was in Metis’ eyes. He had chosen Lucy Gray over her. Even when he was the one who needed her, not the other way around.

“He didn’t say.” Even in the quiet of the apartment Metis had to strain to hear Tigris’ voice, any effort she’d had having been sucked out of her. If Dean Highbottom had been the one to give Coriolanus his punishment he never would’ve chosen Twelve for him. He wouldn’t have wanted for Coriolanus to have any sense of hope while serving his punishment. She also doubted that One, Two or Four were possible, seeing as they were the better off districts. No, he must be somewhere in the middle. At least that was what Metis allowed herself to believe despite knowing that Coriolanus had his methods. If he were brave enough to try and outsmart the Games why wouldn’t he try to outsmart the system one last time?

“I’m so sorry, Tigris. For you and the Grandma’am. I can’t begin to imagine how hard this must be for you both.”

“We’ll survive. After all: Snow lands on top.” Tigris scoffs at her own words, pressing her forehead into the heel of her hand. “He really didn’t say anything to you? No goodbyes at all?” There was sincerity in Tigris’ eyes. Somehow, the Pyralis and Snow heirs had been able to trick their family members into believing that they were closer and more affectionate than they were. Of course Tigris would be in disbelief that Coriolanus had not wished his future wife farewell. Metis simply shook her head and offered a small smile. Tigris’ hand grasped Metis’ atop the table, squeezing gently.

“Well I’m sure he’ll write once he gets the chance. He must’ve been too overwhelmed to say anything in person.” Metis took note of how the older girl hadn’t brought up the future wedding, nevertheless the engagement that had yet to happen. The question of whether she was expected to wait twenty years for him burned at the back of her mind. He had run off for another girl, yet was she expected to grow old while waiting for him to return? The complications of what he had left her to deal with began to knot and form an ache in her head, but she knew they were nothing to compare with what Tigris now had to handle on her own.

“Will you and the Grandma’am be alright here, Tigris?” Something shifted in the older girl’s eyes at the question. A smile began to form on her face before slipping as her glance found its way from Metis’ face to the table between them. Tigris wasn’t weak, she never had been, at least to Metis’ knowledge who had known her the majority of her life. But her strength was beginning to diminish and Metis could see it. If the blonde had the same pride as her cousin and grandmother then she would deny any struggles they were bound to have with Coriolanus gone. From her lack of response, Metis knew that the Snow’s pride ran deep. “Come and stay with me and my father.”

At that Tigris’ head almost whipped to gauge Metis’ reaction.

“What? Metis, no. No we couldn’t, it would be too much-”

“Tigris,” Metis now placed her hand over Tigris’. “Please. Let me help you. There will be help to aid with the Grandma’am and you won’t have to worry about the property bills. I know how much this apartment means to your family and I’m sure I can talk my father into a plan for you to still own it and fix it up. Please let me help you.”

Fresh tears welled in Tigris’ eyes, causing her to laugh and dab at them with a clean corner of her handkerchief. Metis could practically see the weight lift off her friend’s shoulders, causing her own grin to form on her face.

“Are you sure? That’s a lot to take in and especially to ask your father to help with the expenses-”

“Oh, nonsense, Tigris. You Snows have always been welcome in our home. Besides, we’re practically family already.”

Metis spent the next day helping Tigris and the Grandma’am pack up the apartment and move into her family’s estate. With the help of some of the Pyralis family’s servants the apartment was entirely packed up and moved into either storage or the Pyralis estate within a day.

Saturday night, after her discussion with Tigris, Metis had gone home and pitched her idea to her father. Orpheus Pyralis had not been hard to convince, being a longtime family friend of the Snows, he was happy to help them out. Of course, he wasn’t aware of the true reason why the Snows were moving in. Tigris and Metis had agreed on the story that it was simply too lonely in the apartment without Coriolanus and that Metis had put out the idea of the two women moving in with them for the time being. When it came to asking for help with paying for the apartment it was only a matter of bringing up the renovations that Coriolanus had planned before his departure at their first dinner together with all four of them on Sunday night. Orpheus took it upon himself to pay for the renovations out of his own pocket, despite Tigris’ protests.

Monday afternoon after classes at the Academy had been dismissed, Metis found herself knocking on Dean Highbottom’s office door. The dean grumbled a “come in,” causing Metis to push open the doors, revealing the man to be leaned back in his chair, an empty morphling vial in his hand.

“Dean Highbottom,” Metis greeted, the double doors closing behind her as she stood in front of his tall desk. The older man glanced down at her, acknowledging her presence as he tossed the glass vial to his desk.

“Ms.Pyralis. I assume you’re here about your fiance.”

“Yes, sir. I know he’s left to join the Peacekeepers, but I was wondering if there was any information about his placement that you could provide.” A deep sigh came from the dean, his hand rising to rub the crease between his brows.

“I’d expected a smart girl like yourself to have taken my word and separated yourself from Coriolanus Snow at my first warning.”

“He’s been arranged to be my fiance, sir. I can’t simply forget about him.”

“Forget about him like he’s forgotten about you?” The dean and the student’s eyes met then. The older of the duo portrayed a challenging air while the younger fought to keep her cool. Casca Highbottom had seen through the image that she had been fighting to upkeep for Coriolanus and his family. The image of a happy, soon-to-be engaged couple who had no cracks in their foundation. No one needed a magnifying glass to see the broken pieces that Coriolanus had begun to create on the day of the Reaping. What he and his songbird had left for her to deal with. All day she’d only received pitiful looks, everyone had noticed the newest Victor’s absence and they had all seen on their screens the way he and his tribute had acted around the other. In a way that he and Metis had never even come close to recreating. Now the dean, the man who Coriolanus despised and who despised him right back, was staring her down after making a note of her fiance-to-be’s abandonment. Metis could only glare back. Anything she could say would only serve to display her as weak, pitiful and delusional.

The dean now leaned forward on his desk, closer towards the girl. “Listen closely this time, Ms.Pyralis, and take note.” Metis’ breath caught as she waited for the dean’s speech. “Coriolanus Snow is no good and will never step foot back in the Capitol again. He’s better off where he is and you’re better off forgetting about him.”

The dean then went back to the papers strewn across his desk, leaving Metis to stew in his words. Her heart rate had picked up, her breathing loud in her ears, her face flushed.

“Is he with her?” Metis’ words echoed in the room, louder than she intended but they carried her urgency. She would heed the dean’s warnings if he would just give her an answer. At least if it was the answer she was really searching for. Highbottom’s eyes flicked up, a loud sigh escaping his lips.

“He was assigned to Eight.” Eight. That was good. It wasn’t Twelve. Unless Coriolanus was stupid enough to somehow get himself re-assigned to Twelve, there was almost no chance that he was with Lucy Gray. “Is that all, Ms.Pyralis?”

Metis nodded and thanked the man before leaving the office. She was satisfied. Coriolanus wasn’t in Twelve with Lucy Gray. She didn’t hate the girl. No, in fact, Metis was rather fond of Lucy Gray and felt the need to protect her. From what she wasn’t sure, but she knew it deep in her bones to look out for the younger girl. She admired her strength and the way she carried herself. If she hated her for anything it was the effect she had on Coriolanus.

Metis didn’t wish for him to love her or for him to even act like he did. All she wanted was his respect. For him to take their arrangement as seriously as she did. After all, it was his family who needed her family’s money. In fact, she didn’t even need him at all, but she respected his family and her father’s connection with them enough to not ruin their relationship and reputation by publicly going after another like he had done to her. As long as he wasn’t anywhere near Lucy Gray she was happy.

As Metis turned after closing the dean’s office doors she almost ran headfirst into a figure standing right outside. She gasped quietly, looking up into the piercing, rather chilling, eyes of Dr.Gaul. The older woman smiled down at her, her bright red lips pulled back over her menacing, gleaming teeth.

“Why, Metis Pyralis. What a surprise to see you here, classes ended over half an hour ago.” Dr.Gaul towered over her as Metis tried to calm her galloping heart. Clearing her throat and straightening her back, she refused to cower despite the gamemaker’s threatening air.

“Dr.Gaul,” Metis greeted, a pleasant smile plastered on her face. “I had a question for Dean Highbottom is all. Have a good evening.” Metis’ relieved sigh caught in her throat as Dr.Gaul called for her to wait a moment. Metis turned back around to face the teacher. She stood awkwardly as the older woman’s eyes scanned her up and down, her smile having been replaced by a straight faced expression.

“Accompany me to my lab for a short moment, would you? There’s something concerning a certain Mr.Snow that I’d like to discuss.” Before Metis could even think up an excuse to not go, Dr.Gaul headed for the Academy’s main doors causing Metis to stumble after her. The head gamemaker led her to a sleek, black car parked outside the Academy where she climbed in first, leaving the door open behind her. Metis slipped into her seat, trying to discreetly sit as far as she could from the older woman.

The short car ride passed in uncomfortable silence with Metis’ mind running at a thousand miles per hour as she pondered over what was so important to show her right now and whether her driver had seen her climb in this car and if he was following them to the Citadel. Once the car stopped and the door opened from the outside, Metis scrambled out as fast as she could without seeming impolite. She glanced around and let out a sigh of relief as her family’s car pulled up behind Dr.Gaul’s who, without a word, walked past her and started up the steps of the grand building.

She silently led Metis to her lab below the ground floor, walking her past cases full of odd and disfigured creatures that seemed to follow Metis with their eyes as she passed. She rolled back her shoulders and steadied her breathing as a shiver raced down her spine. Their trek eventually ended in front of a tank full of snakes identical to the ones that had been released in the arena a mere few days ago. Metis stopped in her tracks at the sight of the mutations. She could still vividly remember the image of them bursting from their cage and rapidly slithering over the arena. The way their lethal bites had killed multiple tributes in only moments and left them almost unrecognizable. Bits of Lucy Gray’s powerful song wafted through her mind, sending even more chills down her back. She watched, frozen in place, as Dr.Gaul reached inside the tank and plucked one of the serpents, cradling it in her hands as if the venom of its relatives hadn’t killed a handful of children in front of the entire Capitol less than a week ago.

“You’re worried about your Mr.Snow, aren’t you Ms.Pyralis?” Dr.Gaul asked, stroking the body of her venomous house pet. Your. As if Coriolanus belonged to her. Their future engagement - if there was still one to happen - wasn’t private news, which happened to be the aspect of which that Metis was the least fond of. Maybe if it had been kept between their two families until a proposal had actually taken place they both would’ve been saved a fair amount of trouble.

“Yes, ma’am,” Metis said as confidently as she could muster. “I just wanted to ask Dean Highbottom if he had any information on which district he had been assigned to. His cousin and grandmother are worried about him as well and just want the best for him.” Dr.Gaul hummed, inspecting the snake in her hands before switching it out for another in the tank.

“Well, I can tell you that Mr.Snow may be home sooner than you think. But that happens to be up to him.”

“How so?”

“Your Mr.Snow is partaking in a test of mine.” There it was again: your. “He will be back in no time if he passes. If not then,” she paused, taking care to make sure she made direct eye contact with Metis. “It would be smart of you to move on. Otherwise twenty years is a rather long time to wait. Unless your love for him runs that deep.” Dr.Gaul’s eyes seemed to bear down to Metis’ core, causing her back to stiffen and her chin to lift in a defensive manner. Her words cut the same way that the Dean’s had. They both knew that her relationship with Coriolanus was conditional. She’d give them credit for seeing through them had her fiance-to-be not made it blatantly obvious. “But I wouldn’t worry about him,” the tension in the air seemed to fizz out, if only slightly, at Dr.Gaul’s sudden break of eye contact. “Your future fiance is smart, though of course you would know.”

Metis nodded her head, as an answer and as an attempt to shake the overwhelming buzz of anxiety flooding her mind.

“What exactly is he being tested on if I may ask?” Metis’ voice sounded too quiet, too small for her liking. It was as if the lab was sucking every ounce of energy from her the longer she remained there. However, she needed her answers first.

“His loyalty of course.” Metis held back a scoff. Hopefully Coriolanus’ loyalty to their arrangement wasn’t being tested, otherwise he’d have a long twenty years before him.

“Is this about Lucy Gray?”

“Not in the way you assume,” Dr.Gaul flashed her a bright smile which Metis almost returned. “If I were to judge his loyalty to yourself then, well, who’s to say if he’d ever be seen in the Capitol again. Loyalty to the Capitol is what I am most interested in when it comes to Mr.Snow.” Maybe Coriolanus did have a chance to come home after all, yet something still nagged at Metis in her chest. How was Lucy Gray still involved if what Dr.Gaul had said was true? Hadn’t the poor girl been put through enough?

“Do you happen to know which District he’s been ordered to?” The Dean’s answer hadn’t been enough to fully satiate Metis’ curiosity and worry. She trusted Dean Highbottom but she needed just a bit more. While she assumed that the dean had her best interest at heart, Dr.Gaul had the Capitol’s best interest in hers. Dr.Gaul, with another different brightly coloured snake in hand, turned to look at her with those chilling irises.

“You’re not planning on going after him, are you?” Metis was quick to shake her head. She was desperate for Coriolanus to finally respect their arrangement, but not desperate enough to run off after him.

“Just looking for answers, ma’am.” Dr.Gaul seemed to consider her for a second, looking her up and down once again. Metis felt like one of the many mutations under a microscope. Like a prey animal. Dr.Gaul seemed to get her answer because after seemingly analysing Metis for what felt like far too long, she replied with: “I believe he signed himself up for District Twelve.”

Twelve.

“Does that answer your question, Ms.Pyralis?”

“Yes ma’am, thank you.”

As soon as Metis was out the front doors of the Citadel she ran for her family’s parked car, throwing open the door and practically throwing herself inside. She was grateful that her driver didn’t ask questions and simply drove off as soon as the door closed behind her.

She knew in her gut that Coriolanus and Lucy Gray were together again.

When Lucy Gray had been a tribute she hadn’t worried. She knew that once the Games were over and Lucy Gray was either dead or shipped back to District Twelve, Coriolanus would be hers and only hers. She didn’t need or want him or his lack of money, but she did, however, want him to remember what he was putting at risk.

Not only was he risking his and his family’s reputations but hers as well. He had no respect for all that she had done for him over the years, keeping his family’s struggles a secret, aiding them in any way she could without giving their financial state away to her father. She even continued to keep it a secret while having his grandmother and cousin moved into her family’s home. While he was off playing house, she was here doing damage control for him. If he decided to stay in District Twelve for her and word got out - there was no repairing her reputation. She would be known as the Capitol girl who got rejected for a District girl.

She couldn’t blame Coriolanus. Lucy Gray had captured the attention and hearts of almost everyone in the Capitol, including her own, but he was playing with fire. And he was being severely overestimated if he didn’t realize that fire melts snow.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus x original character #the hunger games #thg #thg series #thg fic #original character #thg original character #the hunger games fic #mrpldiddles #mrpldiddles fic #tom blyth #rachel zegler #hunter schafer

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eismaedchenxiii · 9 days

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What the Weirwood Knows, Chapter 3

Summary: 170AC, forty years after the end of the Dance of the Dragons, the realm has enjoyed a long peace. Serena Stark, granddaughter of King Jacaerys I and Lord Cregan Stark has come into young adulthood and has been thrust into the serpentine politics of King's Landing and the southron lords. Armed with only her wits, her loyal friends, and her dragon, she must learn to navigate this unknown territory--lest she lose it all.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 2

Characters: Stark!OC x Targaryen!OC. I would say 85-90% of the characters are original with 10-15% characters from GRRM's writings. Some of the names are lifted from canon family trees. The Targaryen!OC is a very OOC, self-indulgent mixture of Aegon III and Aegon IV. Make of that information what you will. This takes place in an AU where Jacaerys was crowned king of the Seven Kingdoms after the Dance.

Word Count: 4.4k

Warnings: brothels briefly mentioned, alcohol (Please let me know if I've missed anything!)

Author'sNote: "<Text>" denotes dialogue in a foreign language, such as High Valyrian that I did not have an exact translation for.

For the second time in as many days, Serena stood outside the gates of Winterfell with her family. Except, unlike the last time the castle had assembled, Prince Aegon joined them, standing to the side of Lord Cregan. He stood out like a resplendent raven in his pure black finery.

Serena had not seen the prince gracing the halls of the castle with his presence since the impromptu feast held in his honor. She knew a room had been made up for him—as was the case with every royal guest—but when she inquired about his disappearance, Ser Brandon had played uncharacteristically coy.

”He left for the winter town after dusk. When Gerrit and Fergus asked if he required an escort, he declined. Acted as if he knew where he was headed.”

”Winter town? There’s nothing to do there.” Most of the small village just outside of Winterfell’s walls had left to return to their farms and hovels after the ice had begun to melt.

”There are…certain things a man can do there to entertain himself.” A rosy blush bloomed across his nose. When pressed, he refused to say anymore. Serena didn’t understand why. She wasn’t so naive as to not know what a brothel was. She just didn’t understand why someone would want to trudge through the cold mud in the dark to visit one.

Just hours ago, scouts had spotted the royal carriage train coming up the kingsroad and sent word to prepare the welcome party. The castle staff and the lord’s family had been thrown into an organized chaos to prepare. Lord Cregan and all his present family had gathered in the castle courtyard. Cregan, of course, stood at the front, flanked by Princess Laena and Prince Aegon. Serena and her sister stood close to their mother. Although they weren’t in her sight, Serena knew Missy and Brandon were somewhere in the assembled crowd.

Serena attempted to stand somehow casually and regally, but she grasped her hands in her sleeves nervously, hoping her mother didn’t notice. Laena currently had her hand firmly on Sansa’s shoulder. Ten minutes ago the girl had begun to fidget and shift her weight from foot to foot. Serena couldn’t blame her—waiting in the chill was less than fun.

Serena heard a sigh behind her. She risked a look over her shoulder and saw Ser Lucien Vypren, her aunt Mariah’s new husband, rolling his eyes as he spoke quickly in his wife’s ear.

“Is there a reason all of us needed to be present for the wait?” the riverlander knight hissed. He shivered and rubbed his gloved hands up his arms. “My cock is going to freeze off before I—“

A growl silenced him. Serena saw that her uncle Jonnel was shooting a glare in his good-brother’s direction. The look seemed to work, as Ser Lucien’s flapping mouth turned into a tight frown. During the entire exchange, Mariah had stood passively, saying nothing.

The exchange behind her had drawn her attention for so long that the lead carriage was in sight of the gate. It was a beautiful work of craftsmanship—a blaze of red, gold, and black against the grays and browns of the landscape. It was pulled by a team of pure black horses, their coats shiny and heads held high. Intricate dragon designs graced almost every inch of barding. With all of this splendor before her, it was hard for Serena to not feel so very small in its wake.

The carriage finally shuddered to a halt, and two footmen in black-and-red tabards swiftly appeared to place a block at the door of the carriage. They stood at attention as the door opened to reveal Queen Baela Targaryen.

Queen Baela, although only in her fifties, used a cane to assist her as she stepped out of the carriage. Her cane tapped on the block as she stepped, and one of the footmen held out an arm for her to settle onto the dirt ground. Serena was glad it had not recently rained or snowed and the ground was mostly solid. As she walked toward the gathered Starks, she pulled her white fur-lined cloak tighter around her body.

“Seven hells, it’s cold. Let’s dispense with the pomp and ritual and move into the Great Hall, shall we?”

Serena had had little prior experience with her grandmother, or any of her mother’s family. But she very quickly discovered that her preconceived picture of the queen of the Seven Kingdoms was lacking.

After her arrival, the queen had ushered herself and a small retinue inside to warm themselves. With a quick bow, Prince Aegon swiftly moved to his aunt’s side and offered his arm. Leaning down, he whispered a few quick words in her ear. Whatever it had been, it had made the queen smile.

When the doors to the Great Hall were closed and those assembled were finally enclosed in the warmth of the surrounding fires, Serena finally felt herself relax a little. She felt like a wolf pup settling into the safety of its den, secure from any dangers outside.

Queen Baela, flanked by three of her ladies, stopped to examine the Starks before her.

Serena’s mother, more timid than she had ever seen her, stepped forward. “Mother?” her voice barely raised over a soft murmur.

In seconds, Baela had moved to her daughter and grasped her in a tight embrace. Laena wrapped her own arms around her mother in return. The two women stood in place for several moments, simply existing and breathing in the same air after so long apart. Serena stood silently and observed her mother be the most vulnerable she had ever seen. After an indiscriminate amount of time, the queen pulled away to gaze upon her daughter properly. She gave a small laugh and a sniffle, and pushed a lock of Laena’s hair behind her ear that had fallen loose. Tapping her cane on the cold, gray stone, she turned to Serena’s grandfather.

”Cregan,” she began wryly. “Gods be good, you’ve gotten old.”

“And yet, you are the same as you’ve always been, my queen.”

The queen smiled at Lord Cregan, offering a hand gloved in white kidskin to be taken by the Warden of the North as he bowed. The skin around her violet eyes crinkled as her eyes searched the faces of Serena’s family.

Besides Serena, her sister, grandfather, and mother stood most of her half-uncles and aunts born from Lord Cregan’s marriage to the late Lady Alysanne. Jonnel, the spitting image of his father in youth, stood close behind his lord. His wife, Lady Robyn of House Ryswell, stood silently near her good-sisters Mariah and Lyanna. Edric, the next eldest son, stood off to the side a few paces away from his family, eyeing the scene with apprehensive black eyes.

When at last Baela’s gaze fell on her and her sister, Serena felt herself blush. “My beautiful granddaughters,” she sighed, walking toward them.

With a tap of Serena’s hand on her shoulder, Sansa joined her sister in a deep curtsy, reciting the words they had been relentlessly taught by their mother for this day. “Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace.”

Baela had taken off her gloves and raised a brown hand to stroke her granddaughters’ faces. “You both look so much like your father as I remember him.”

Serena saw her mother stiffen. “I think we favor our mother too. Perhaps not in look but in spirit,” Serena said in her most polite tone. She saw Laena soften at her words, a small smile flashing across her lips.

The queen chuckled. “I would say so. All the best parts of your forebears. I will be wanting to see your dragon as well.” She patted Serena’s cheek as she spoke.

“Of course, Your Grace. I’ll land him in the courtyard for you to see if you’d like.”

“I’d very much prefer you didn’t,” her grandfather spoke up.

Baela laughed and leaned her weight on her cane. Upon closer inspection, Serena was able to examine the cane and see that the ornate dragon’s head had been carved out of a piece of weirwood. The artistry of the carving held Serena’s attention long enough for servants carrying a myriad of trunks and other luggage to enter. Some servants carried sacks full of grain and other foodstuffs.

“A gift from the king,” the queen waved her hand at the flurry of action behind her. “It will not be said that House Targaryen are not good guests. We are dragons, not locusts.”

Lord Cregan once more, awe in his gray eyes. “Many thanks, Your Grace. This is a mighty gift indeed. We can’t possibly repay this–”

“Don’t grovel, Cregan, it's unbecoming. Let me feast and drink tonight and we’ll consider it even.”

*************

Whereas the feast held in Prince Aegon’s honor had been of a more sedate affair, the true welcoming feast for the Targaryens was nothing of the sort. Every inch of the Great Hall had been draped with crimson and black finery and every table was covered in the most sumptuous of foods. A great roast pig was displayed below the lord’s dais, pieces being sliced off to fill the plates of the guests of honor first. The castle as a whole had been restricting their meals for weeks to provide for their royal guests. This event, coupled with a harsh three-year winter, had left many bellies–highborn and low–rumbling on several evenings.

Now, at the dais, sat the queen in the high seat of honor. Lord Cregan and Princess Laena sat on both sides of her, with several members of House Stark and Targaryen flanking either side. Prince Aegon sat beside his cousin, sometimes whispering a comment in her ear and engaging in polite conversation. Serena, sitting next to her sister on the other side of her grandfather, could see that her mother had not become more comfortable in her family’s company.

“My Lord Cregan,” Baela put down her fork and licked her lips. “Your youngest boys–are they well?”

“Barth is being fostered at Last Hearth, and Lord Manderly took Brandon to White Harbor. Hopefully, they come back having learned something.”

“Hard to think they’re old enough for fostering. I remember when they were but little boys. And Sarra, I heard she had lost a babe?”

At the mention of his and Alysanne’s eldest child, Lord Cregan's eyes fell to the table. “Aye, Your Grace. A year ago. She’s with child again and near as ready to give birth. Otherwise, she and Lord Karel would have come.”

“I am very sorry to hear that. When you lose a child, part of you dies with them, and you never recover. I’ll send a raven to Karhold with my regards. I wish her well.”

Serena kept quiet and listened during her conversation. She had eaten her fill of food and had begun sampling some of the wine the queen had brought north with her retinue. It was stronger than she was used to, and with a sour taste that coated her throat every time she swallowed a mouthful.

Before the wine had been served, the most curious thing had occurred on the other end of the table. A servant–a Targaryen servant, in black and red–had brought forward a bottle to offer to the queen and her Stark hosts. Serena could barely hear the servant describe the vintage over the din of the Great Hall, but she did catch him describing it as a “sweet Dornish red with notes of dark oak and cherries.” Almost everyone present requested a taste, a rarity to see so far north and inland. Everyone, that is, except for the Prince, whose demeanor changed as soon as the servant uttered the word “Dornish.” He pointedly refused a glass and instead requested a mug of northern ale. His stormy disposition had not adjusted since as he sipped his ale, frowning at the taste.

It was an odd thing to see, but Serena was not overly concerned. At least he had not stared at her during the feast. Actually, he had not so much as looked at her since the queen’s arrival. No matter, there were more important things to think about.

Excusing herself, Serena pulled away from the dais, goblet in hand. She had seen Missy’s dark head bobbing through the crowd and had decided to seek her out. Weaving between people—northerner and southerner alike—she finally found her friend grasping her goblet and in conversation with two finely dressed highborn ladies.

As Serena approached, she recognized them as two of Queen Baela’s ladies. One, a girl with red hair tied in intricate plaits turned her thin, angular face towards Serena as she closed in. Her dress was a dark silver color, and as she turned, Serena could see the fine details of the beading and embroidery on her bodice forming the shape of a brilliant blue swordfish. A Bar Emmon…if I’m remembering correctly.

The other girl was harder to place. Her black dress was striped in bright yellow and her curly brown hair was tied in a black hairnet jeweled with small topaz stones. She spoke so quickly at Missy that her small lips seemed to blur at the speed. Whatever the topic was, Serena could tell Missy was not remotely interested as she sipped her wine. When her Bar Emmon companion cleared her throat, she stopped mid-sentence with a squeak. “My lady!”

Both ladies curtsied and bowed their heads at Serena. Serena allowed herself a small smile—she could get used to this. “My name is Cosella Bar Emmon,” the red-haired girl began. “And this is Beatrix Beesbury.”

Beesbury. Of course. ”Please, don’t let me interrupt,” she glanced at Missy. “It seemed to be a riveting conversation.”

Missy’s dark eyes widened, and she gave a nod, smiling politely. “It was. Lady Beatrix was describing their journey up the kingsroad. Not a single detail spared.”

”Oh? I do hope you didn’t run into too much trouble.”

“Well, not much, my lady…as I was saying to Lady Melissa, I…um…” Lady Beatrix, previously so animated and verbose, struggled to find her tongue. Luckily for her, Cosella stepped in.

”What Beatrix was saying is we were harried by mountain men as we passed the Mountains of the Moon. The carriage train was caught between the Green Fork and the mountains. They would attack, then retreat into their holes to hide. They proved so elusive, Prince Aegon could not rain fire upon them from above. Ser Amaury, Ser Robin, and Ser Jon took some men to flush them out.”

”They’re kingsguard,” Beatrix added, the curls loose from her hairnet bouncing as she spoke.

”Any casualties?” Serena asked, legitimately curious.

Cosella frowned and scrunched her nose. “However am I supposed to know that? I was in the wheelhouse with Her Grace the whole time. I was more annoyed that they left Ser Mervyn behind to guard us.”

”He’s in love with Cosella.”

”Shut up Bea.” Cosella glared at her friend. “He’s kingsguard, and old. Just an up-jumped reachman who gained his position due to being the bastard half-brother to the Master of Laws.”

Missy and Serena stood silently, sipping their wine. Serena’s head was starting to grow fuzzy, she’d need to slow down soon.

”The mountain clans are most fearsome.” Missy interjected. “But honorable in their way. They trade with each other, rule over each other, they have their own traditions going back to the Age of Heroes. Some are not so different from ours.”

“They are savages,” Cosella spat.

”And heathens,” whispered Beatrix.

Both Serena and Missy, educated by a castle maester, understood that there was a difference between the mountain clans that clashed with the knights of the Vale of Arryn and those who swore fealty to the Lord of Winterfell in the north. Lord Cregan’s first wife, Serena’s grandmother, had been a Norrey from the high mountains north of the wolfswood. But it rankled Serena listening to southron ladies fret when there were far worse things than a mountain man. The “heathen” comment had turned both girls’ knuckles white as they gripped their goblets, too.

”Mountain clans are not so fearsome,” Serena ventured, emboldened by the sweet wine in her cup. “The ironmen are far more terrifying. Unlike the mountain clans, they don’t lack numbers or commanders. They come in their ships and raid all along the coast from Bear Island to the Shield Islands. They steal women and take them back as saltwives. Then they put castles to the torch, killing everyone within.”

”W-what’s a saltwife?” Beatrix’s lip trembled, her round face looking more childlike.

”Like a slave, but worse.” Missy’s eyes bet Serena’s. “Lady Morgane Flint was taken during a raid last summer.”

”Whatever happened to her?” Cosella asked. She did not seem as terrified as her companion, but she was chewing her bottom lip most nervously.

”She waited till the captain and crew had gone to rest and escaped. Killed the men with an axe and leapt off the ship. She swam all the way back to shore and reunited with her father at Flint’s Finger.”

Beatrix had grown pale and Cosella had looped her arm through her friend’s. Both girls had gone deathly silent as their eyes darted back towards the dais.

“That was such an…interesting tale! Bea, don’t you think we should see if the queen requires us? I believe we’ve indulged for long enough, don't you agree?”

”Yes…Yes, Cosella, I believe you are right.”

They both curtsied hastily and hurried away, lifting their skirts to move swiftly through the crowd back to the queen. When they arrived at the dais, Serena could see Cosella whispering to another girl with a Bar Emmon swordfish on her dress. They both made glances at Serena and Missy with less-than-happy looks on their faces.

”Was that cruel?” Missy asked.

“Did you want to listen to them disparaging wicked ‘heathens’ any longer?” Serena raised her cup to take another swallow of wine, only to find it empty. Sighing, she placed it on a tray carried by a servant striding past them.

“No.” Missy turned her back to the southerners at the dais. “It was rather rude.”

”Exactly.”

”It will only get worse when we go to King’s Landing, you know. We will be the outsiders,” Missy sighed as she eased herself onto a bench that had just become vacant. “With nary a surface around us not covered in a seven-pointed star.”

”I know, I know.” Serena groaned as she sat beside her. She gazed at her dear friend and spoke quietly. “You can always stay here if you’d like.”

Missy looked taken aback by her words. “You don’t want me with you?”

”No! That’s not what I meant. What I’m saying is, you’re right. Things are different in the capital. I cannot guarantee people will be kind just because you are with me. I cannot even be sure people will be kind to me just because I marry the Prince of Dragonstone.”

Missy still looked hurt. “My place is by your side.”

”My duty is to my family. I don’t have a choice in leaving,” she said sadly. “I’m opening a way out for you if you’d like to take it.”

Missy looked at Serena with her giant, brown eyes. It was not often, but there had been times in the past when her friend had looked at her and Serena could see her grandmother staring back at her. This was one of those times.

”I’m coming with you. You can’t get rid of me that easily.” Smiling and lovingly taking hold of Serena’s arm, she continued. “Furthermore, we both need to keep Brandon out of trouble.”

They both laughed, and Serena looked around at the walls of Winterfell’s Great Hall. The gray stone was alight with the warm glow of candles and braziers, and her people surrounded her laughing, drinking, and dancing together. She felt like a piece of stone being hewn from the masonry, chipped away but leaving parts of her behind.

Clattering from the dais brought Serena out of her thoughts. The queen had risen from her seat and was bidding goodnight to her hosts. Her three ladies trailed behind her as she left, Cosella and Beatrix seemingly recovered from the frightful storytelling. Many other guests made to take their leave as well. There was not much point in celebrating the queen’s arrival when the queen herself had retired.

”Gods be good I’m exhausted,” Missy sighed.

Serena echoed the sentiment and made her way out of the Great Hall by way of one of the hallways that would lead to her bedchamber amongst the other rooms. Before she could be free of the crowd, she heard her name trilling over the noise of the feast breaking down.

“Serena!” She turned to see Sansa hurrying after her. “Wait for me!”

Serena groaned in exhaustion. “What is it?” She tried her best not to sound mean.

”Can I stay in your room tonight?” She asked her sister meekly. “I don’t want to be alone. There are too many strangers here.”

Rolling her eyes, Serena took her by the hand. “There is no one here who will harm you. You know that, Sansa.” But as she looked at her sister’s gray eyes beginning to bubble up with tears, Serena relented. “Fine. But you must sleep. No fooling around. Do you understand?”

”Yes! I promise!”

*************

Sansa did not, in fact, fall asleep quickly. It seemed that the excitement of the feast had given her a second wind while Serena attempted to shrug off her dress and take apart the many braids in her hair by herself, her head beginning to feel heavy with exhaustion mixed with too much wine. It took until she had changed into her nightgown, climbed into her bed, pulled up the covers, and rolled over for Sansa to see she was serious about getting some rest. It was after she stopped grunting in response to Sansa’s pestering that she finally heard the candle being snuffed out and felt the smaller body of her sister slide into bed beside her. After a moment of silence, Sansa’s whisper penetrated the darkness.

”I don’t like the prince.”

Serena was taken aback at the girl’s words. ”Oh? Did he mistreat you at the feast?” Truth be told, she had barely seen the odd man during the festivities.

”No.” Sansa buried her nose into the furs, not meeting Serena’s gaze. “I just don’t like him.”

Serena held her sister a little tighter. She felt her heart ache for her. Sansa was twelve, but in a lot of ways, hadn’t begun to grow up in the same way Serena had. She hadn’t yet bled and still seemed to have the heart and mind of a little girl. Serena hoped beyond logic that she would stay that way for a little while longer.

After a few more beats of silence, Sansa asked in a whisper, “Do you have to get married?”

She means, ‘Do you have to leave me?’ The words rolled in Serena’s head like dice in a cup. “Yes. It’s my duty.” The last word, “duty,” caught on her tongue like a burr.

“That’s stupid.”

”That’s life.”

The girls laid in silence for as long as it took for both of them to start drifting off to sleep. Serena withstood the cloying tendrils of slumber the longest, only succumbing when her sister’s breathing slowed and turned to soft snores, but as she was beginning to fall into the deep she felt her sister jolt. She put her hand comfortingly on Sansa’s arm and held her close.

Since she was very small, Sansa had rarely had a night not interrupted by dreams. Serena could remember when she was barely three-and-ten, and her sister had begun to climb into her bed when she was awoken by her nightmares. When pressed about what she had dreamt, Sansa would be as an iron lock, shaking her head silently—sometimes even beginning to weep.

Their mother had taken Sansa to Maester Manfrey to see what could be done about her daughter’s affliction. The maester’s learned opinion was that without knowing the manner of the dreams, there was naught to be done to cease them. It was then that Sansa revealed that her dreams were a series of scenes and images that made no sense to a small child. Sometimes it was a flock of crows coming to attack her, at times she was being hunted by a shadowcat while riding a great hind, but the most striking of all, and the dream their mother paid most mind to, was the dream where two great dragons—black and red—battled above her, only to crash down in flames.

Princess Laena had forbidden Maester Manfrey from using milk of the poppy to send Sansa to a deep, dreamless sleep. She had gotten it in her mind that Sansa could be what the sorcerers of Old Valyria had called a “dreamer” and that her nonsensical nightmares were really portents from the gods and were not to be interfered with. Serena didn’t much care what a “dreamer” was, but she could see the growing darkness under her little sister’s eyes morning after morning when she had failed to fall back asleep. It broke her heart, but there was very little she could do about it without offending their mother.

When Sansa turned to Serena, her eyes were open. “I’m sorry I woke you,” she apologized quietly.

”I wasn’t asleep yet,” Serena lied. “Would you like me to get you some dreamwine from Maester Manfrey?” As much as she wasn’t fond of procuring medicine out from under her mother’s nose, Sansa had slept soundly the few times she had gotten it for her. Surely, there would be no one roaming the halls so late after a raucous feast to tell on her.

”Yes…I think so.”

Serena nodded and slipped out of bed. With what little light came through the window, she padded around her room until she found her slippers, nearly ramming her toes into the hearth. Groping around, she reached her thick robe at last and pulled it on, relishing the soft warmth it gave. Looking back, she took a moment to gaze at her sweet sister, the moonlight casting a glow across her tranquil face.

#game of thrones fanfiction #got fanfic #house of the dragon fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #Stark!OC #Targaryen!OC

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violettelueur · 3 years

Text

— JUJUTSU KAISEN EPISODE TWENTY ONE || JUJUTSU KOSHIEN

↳ featuring : basically everyone at this point from jujutsu kaisen

↳ warnings : mention of violence + mention of injuries + EXTREME grammar issues

↳ form : story

↳ published : 20 april

↳ pronouns : she/her

↳ word count : 4.4k

↳ synopsis : within the jujutsu world, there were three famous clans to be aware of, the Kamo clan, Zenin clan and the Gojo clan. However, unknown to many sorcerers there was one last family that was known to be apart of the three, only for them to disappear after the golden era leading some to speculate that they had died in battle after the sealing of ryomen sukuna, but....

↳ previous episode : nonstandard

↳ next episode : jamais vu

↳ barista’s notes : let me admit, i ain’t confident in this chapter since i started school again, but i hope you enjoy this episode and thank you for being so patient with me as i try to fit tumblr into my schedule with school ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ

BEFORE READING, I NEED YOU TO BE AWARE OF THIS:

1. the whole story belongs to Gege Akutami and the credits go to them and them only.

2. the spell curses used belong to Tite Kubo due to them being the ‘Kidos’ being used on the manga and anime ‘Bleach’ - but none is mentioned in this chapter.

2.5. for the ‘cursed spells’/kidos (bleach) i will link this video here and tell you the time stamp to check out what i am intending to show - remember i add a few twist here and there by adding the katana to link with Y/N’s cursed technique : hopefully this video is slightly better...

Destructive Curse Spell Number Thirty-Three : Sokatsui (6:00-6:07) (blue lighting explosion - Itadori Yuji)

3. if you are confused on anything, please don’t hesitate to message me since i know this whole thing is so confusing.

this is Y/N outfit when she came into the baseball game (blame twitter)

“How much longer are you going to stare at her? It’s creepy”

Snapping out of his daze, Gojo quickly looked up from your sleeping figure to find his stoic student (who was now sitting up) looking at him with a deadpan expression before he turned to look at your sleeping figure as well with somewhat of a worried expression, wondering what caused you to be knocked out since what Fushiguro could recall was that the last time he saw you, it seemed like you were well and confident before he was carried away by Panda.

“Is it bad to worry about my daughter?” Gojo questioned with a hint of a teasing tone before looking back down at you with his small smiling turning into a straight line.

“Student to be exact, but I guess not after what the curses were after,” Fushiguro quietly mentioned causing Gojo to once again, look up to view Fushiguro with a confused expression painted on his face, trying to convey that he didn’t have a clue on what his student was trying to say. “The special-grade was after L/N...but I don’t know why,” Fushiguro instantly declared as if he was answering to his teacher’s perplexed expression leading to Gojo sighing in frustration before taking one of his hands out of his pocket to stroke your hair as if it would bring you some comfort in your dreamless slumber as he then processed to remove his other hand from his other pocket to reveal a carton of orange juice before placing it on the bedside table.

“Is that so?” Gojo asked rhetorically, before making his way towards the door since he was informed that there was going to be a meeting with the Jujutsu Tech principles and sorcerers that were involved with the whole Exchange Event incident.

However, before he was able to grab onto the handle, the wooden door violently flew open showcasing his other students Itadori and Kugisaki on the other side with a box of pizza in hand leading Gojo to smile at them both.

“Oh Gojo-sensei! What are you doing here?” Itadori asked once he comprehended that it was his teacher blocking the way to see his two other classmates.

“Ah~ I was just visiting Megumi and Y/N before I go, make sure to not make too much noise, I’m sure Y/n would really appreciate it,” Gojo answered with a cheerful tone, leading Kugisaki to tilt her head to the side to realise that you were sleeping - much to her disappointment.

“She’s still recovering?” Kugisaki then questioned, leading her teacher to look at her before explaining that you were knocked out due to using an excessive amount of cursed energy within a short amount of time causing Kugisaki to nod to his little lie since he didn’t even know why you were extremely distraught when he came to collect you.

“I’ll be going now, so see you later~ don’t wake up my precious daughter!” Gojo states with a playful tone, before waving his hand to all of the first-years leaving them to themselves with a warm box of pizza in hand.

ꕥ

“Next up are the casualties: three second-grade sorcerers, one semi first-grade sorcerer, five assistant supervisors, and two cursed storehouse guards. They’re all sorcerers who were standing by at Jujutsu High and working separately from Gojo-san and Principal Yaga. We’re waiting on the report from Ieiri-san, but we’re nearly certain it was the work of the cursed spirit that Nanami-san encountered before,” Ijichi explained as he was looking down at the document sheets he had in hand to inform all the sorcerer that was in front of him about the situation at hand.

“Tsk,” Gojo tutted in annoyance while leaning against the door with his lower face tucked into the collar of his sorcerer uniform.

“Do you think we should share this information with the students and the other sorcerers?” Utahime asked as she turned to her colleagues.

“No,” the Kyoto principal: Gakuganji quickly answered, as the fellow principal from Tokyo: Yaga explained that it was better for this information to be among the higher-ups as he didn’t want to cause anymore panic to the students residing in the area right now as well as not wanting any of the curse users in their captivity to know that a few special-grade objects that been stolen from the school premises.

“Has the curse user we captured spilled anything?” principal Yaga queried, leading Ijichi to explain that it wasn’t hard to get the certain curse user to talk at all since he was quite cooperative but all they managed to receive was irrelevant information that was deemed somewhat unhelpful to them.

“However, he claims that he only participated in the attack because he was ordered to as part of a deal,” Ijicji added, before informing everyone about the monk that the curse user was talking about when he was interrogated.

“An androgynous monk kid with a bob cut? That ring any bells?” MeiMei asked, as she turned her head slightly to peer at Gojo, who was right behind her.

“Nope! We sure he’s not spouting bullshit? Is there any sorcerer skilled at getting confessions?” Gojo answered before asking his questions since he knew he couldn’t be too sure if the curse user was even telling the truth in the first place.

“How did a cursed spirit and outsiders get through Tengen-sama’s barriers in the first place?” Utahime questioned, as she was still confused on how so many people were able to get in without any problems and alerts.

“That was probably the work of the special-grade cursed spirit the students fought, that one has a unique presence. Even though it’s a cursed spirit, it’s incredibly close to a natural spirit. According to Aoi, it was able to hide among plants and was quite burnt from a few techniques like wood would be, and Tengen-sama’s barrier doesn’t function against plants. Tengen-sama’s barrier puts all its power into hiding, not protecting, so once you get in, it’s kind of weak,” Gojo answered his colleague with an explanation that led the whole room to turn completely silent for quite some time.

‘Are they worried about Sukuna’s Finger enhancing Yuji’s potential? Or are they trying to enhance themselves? Why would they need Y/N then? Something isn’t sitting right’

“For now, let’s be glad our students are safe,” Utahime mentioned with a calm smile presented on her face as there was one calm and good news that they would celebrate on.

‘Safe? How long until Y/N is going to stay safe? For how long?’

“But it goes without saying that the exchange event is now cancelled,” principal Yaga informed everyone as he turned to look at the fellow Kyoto principal, who was sitting right near him.

“Hold on, that’s not for us to decide, is it?” Gojo asked in a light tone, causing everyone in the room to look at him in confusion since they didn’t know what they meant by it not being their decision.

ꕥ

“When did you start getting along with that gorilla?”

At this moment, Itadori and Kugisaki were sitting next to each side of Fushiguro’s bed, as they were visiting both you and him, while all of them were munching on the pizza (which only had a few slices left) that was currently sitting on top of Fushiguro’s legs.

“Well, we got along, but like...I remember what happened, but I wasn’t exactly myself then…” Itadori answered in complete uncertainty as he didn’t even know the answer himself, causing him to scratch his head in confusion.

“What, were you drunk?” Kugisaki questioned in confusion since she was expecting a confident answer from her classmates.

“You believe I could’ve been drinking liquor in this situation? I’m shocked,” Itadori mentioned before looking down with somewhat of a disappointed look that his owl friend thought of him like that. “But I’m glad you and Y/N weren’t seriously hurt, Fushiguro. You’re able to eat pizza now, too” Itadori stated with a smile on his face as he turned to look at the shikigami user before turning his head to see your still sleeping figure on the bed behind Kugisaki causing her to turn around to check if you had woken up yet.

“Come on, bring me something easier to digest,” Fushiguro replied since he was still recovering but nonetheless, took the food that was given to him.

“No complaining,” Kugisaki answered back before taking another bite of her pizza slice before snatching the box away from Itadori, who was about to grab another slice, due to her wanting to save the last remaining two slices of the cheesy food for you.

“Apparently, I got off easier because my cursed energy was all dried up, Ieiri-san was still able to fix me up as soon as the roots were removed, but I didn’t know Gojo used up so much cursed energy as well, Gojo seemed really worried when he went to Ieiri-san,” Fushiguro explained before turning his head to glance at you.

“Huh, so that’s a thing that can happen?” Itadori questioned.

“You fought against them, didn’t you? Also, did you see the flowers right above us when we were in the veil? They were so pretty!” Kugisaki commented, before looking up as if she was going to answer who was the person was that released the technique.

“Flowers? Oh, you mean the pink ones?! Kugisaki, those were so dangerous, didn’t you see the blue lighting explosion that happened right after?! It literally gave the curse a whole gash across its body!” Itadori exclaimed in shock causing Fushiguro to remember the array of flowers that were hanging in the sky when Panda was carrying him just before he crossed the veil.

“It was so beautiful though, I hope to see them again, I wonder who it was?” Kugisaki questioned before finishing off the last piece of pizza.

“Itadori, you’ve grown stronger. Back then, we both said our convictions were proper ones, I still think that’s true. Or, put another way, we’re both wrong,” Fushiguro mentioned with a low tone, causing both Itadori and Kugisaki to look at him as he was talking.

“Huh?” Itadori uttered in a confused tone, while Kugisaki processed to rest her face on the palm of her hand with a small pout.

“Some questions don’t have answers, you know. You’re thinking too hard, you’ll go bald,” Kugisaki mentioned.

“That’s right. There is no answer, it’s just whether or not you can accept it. But there’s no accepting anything if you can’t have it your way. Weak sorcerers can’t do that,” Fushigurp replied back causing the whole room to go silent as they were beginning to process what Fushiguro had said in his mind.

“So I’m going to become strong, too. I’ll surpass you in no time,” Fushiguro declared as he turned to face Itadori with a look of determination.

“You never change,” Itadori responded with a small light giggle.

“Don’t just move the conversation forward without me, we need to catch up with him and Gojo,” Kugisaki mentioned with annoyance painted on her face.

“That’s my brother’s friends for you!”

Suddenly, the first-year trio rapidly turned their heads forwards to suddenly discover Todo sitting down right in front of Fushiguro’s bed with a smile on his face as he nodded proudly of the conversation that he had interrupted.

Unexpectedly, Itadori rushed towards the glass sliding door next to your bed and opened it with a loud bang before swiftly sprinting away from Fushiguro’s room as fast as a cheetah, only for Todo to follow behind him yelling out where his brother was going.

“I’m grateful to you, but give me a break!” Itadori screamed, causing Fushiguro and Kugisaki to look at the scene with deadpan shocked faces. However, what they didn’t seem to notice was you softly groaning at the loud noise that was happening right now leading your eyes to slowly open but quickly close due to the bright lighting in the room right now.

Hesitantly, you slower opened your eyes again to see a maroon coloured ceiling before blinking a few times to focus your sight, causing you to gradually sit up on the bed you were laying in as your looked down onto your lap leading your hair to cover your face away from your classmates, who now finally noticed that you had awakened from your slumber.

“Gojo, you’re awake!” Kugisaki announced with a smile on her face, yet that smile slowly disappeared once she noticed how you weren’t answering her at all, but rather you kept silent as your hand began to bring itself to your forehead as if you had a headache.

‘So loud…’

After sitting in silence for a while, you noticed that you were wearing a long white button-up with some black Adidas shorts leading you to wonder who changed you since Kugisaki was the only one to ever see you in your undergarments since she was always the one barging into your changing room to throw more clothing pieces for you to try. However, that was one minor inconvenience to think about right now.

Slowly, you turned your body around (so your back was facing Fushiguro and Kugisaki) before placing your feet down onto the wooden flooring, leading Fushiguro to worry about you falling since you had been asleep for quite some time, yet for some reason, you couldn’t hear him at all.

Steadily, you began to stand up with your hand on the mattress to keep some stability in case you did stumble back before you began to make your way towards the gap of the glass door that Itadori and Todo left through before gently lifting your head up to admire the clear sky from above.

‘It’s warm…’

Casually, your body began to lean on the side of the door to give yourself some support as you began to brisk in some of the light warmth the sun was giving you as if that was enough to bring you the comfort that you wanted right now before noticing how the wind was slowly picking up.

“Gojo, you would really get back in bed, you’re still in the healing process and it’s quite cold,” Kugisaki mentioned as she stood up to come to collect you and guide you back to back. However, for some reason, something was telling her to stop as she noticed how you were not listening to anyone at all - or, you just didn’t hear them as it seemed like your hearing was blocked for any human to human communication.

Instantly, the wind that was picking up suddenly blew out a large gush causing some of the leaves from the trees to violently ruffle from its branches while your hair was now messily blowing in the wind as you leaned against the side closer to maintain your footing before you steadily noticed a few pink petals making their way towards you from your right side causing your eyes to widen in shock.

‘There’s still some more?’

Slowly lifting your hand to the sky, you lightly felt the petal grazed your fingers ever so slightly before they slowly become disintegrated to a flow of cursed energy they were made out of causing Kugisaki to look at them in amazement as she stood by your side, as she realised that more was coming towards you both as if you were a magnet to them leading her to come to an assumption that you were the one that cast the flowers back when she was in the veil with the other students and teachers as she remembered that Gojo mentioned that you had used a lot of cursed energy.

“Pretty…” you softly muttered with a small but disheartened smile, trying to hide the emptiness that your heart now had to endure.

“Right,” Kugisaki answered back as she leaned her body on your side while continuing to admire the small flower show that was happening right now causing you both to not realise that the person behind you had his eyes widened as if he had just remembered something that he had completely forgotten about.

ꕥ

“So anyways, a lot happened and some people died, but how about it? Want to continue with the exchange event?” Gojo asked all the students who were in the room right now...well all of them minus one.

“Where is Gojo though? Shouldn’t she be here?” Fushiguro asked while standing here the staircase as Kugisaki and Maki began to look around the room to see if you really weren’t here with them causing him to look at Fushiguro, scared about his perspective skills.

“Ah~ about that, she’s moving her stuff from her dorm to my clan’s estate for her safety!” Gojo announced before clapping his hands to the side like he did when you first came into Jujutsu Tech leading everyone in the room to widen their eyes at the news since it was quite unexpected since you seemed like the type to reject the idea since Tengen’s barrier was helping you to be protected - but for you, it was easier for you to hide your family heritage if you weren’t in the dorms much to your dismay.

“I don’t know what to say about it…” Itadori muttered as he was thinking of an answer for both the continuation of the Kyoto Sister Exchange Event as well as your sudden move away from the Jujutsu Tech student dorms.

“Obviously...we continuing it, of course,” Todo declared, causing Itadori to suddenly tense up as he steadily backed up near Gojo to have some coverage and security.

“Your reasons?” Gojo asked as he turned to look at the Kyoto student.

“First, only those with a connection to the dead have the right to mourn them, it’s not our place to butt in there and second, if people have died, that’s all the more reason we need to become stronger, besides if it weren’t for the flower technique back then, we wouldn’t have been able to cause more crucial damage to those cursed spirits. Acquired strength comes from the accumulation of results. Tasting defeat and savouring victory is what leads up to grow, the most important part is for those results to exist,” Todo explained as he became to recall the blue lightning that damaged the special-grade curse to a massive degree which was enough for him to gain the upper ground during his fight leading Gojo to internally smile at the information.

“Todo-senpai’s surprisingly reliable,” Miwa whispered to her classmate Mai.

“Reliably crazy,” Mai answered as she rested her head on her knuckles.

“Third, when a student feels like they weren’t able to bring out their best, it hangs over them until they die,” Todo mentioned with a confident smile.

“How old are you?” Gojo suddenly questioned, as Todo wasn’t even as old as he was and the Kyoto student was already talking about ‘hangs over then until they die’.

“I’m fine with that,” Fushiguro mentioned.

“We’ll win anyway,” Kugisaki stated with confidence.

“It sounds stupid, but he has a point,” Kamo replied with calmness.

“Why don’t you rest, Kamo-kun?” Nishimiya mentioned as she stared at her classmate with a fed-up expression due to the bandages wrapped around his face.

“No objections here,” Panda declared as he was answering for the second years in the Tokyo side.

“Salmon~” Inumaki replied back.

“Will we draw lots for the individual battle pair-ups? I want to see Gojo beat Todo’s ass again,” Maki asked before mentioning you since she wanted to see you in a proper fight rather than the million of practice rounds you had with her causing Kugisaki to smile at the thought as well.

“Huh? There are no individual battles this year,” Gojo unexpectedly announced, causing all of the students from both Tokyo and Kyoto to become extremely perplexed.

“I hate routines, you know. Every year, we put the competition methods in this box and open it on the day of,” Gojo explained before tossing the wooden box to Itadori, who looked up for his permission to take out whatever was in the box which he was granted when the teacher nodded at him.

Reaching into the wooden box, Itadori’s fingers felt one single piece of paper within the box before he carefully took it out to see what was written on it, only for him to blink that the wording in pure confusion.

“Baseball?!” Principal Yaga exclaimed in confusion leading Itadori to suddenly discover that both principals from the Jujutsu Tech schools were peering over his shoulders, causing Gojo to walk out of the building with a pleasant smile on his face.

Once outside, he could hear the commotion from behind as he stretched his arms happily before placing his hands in his pocket as he noticed you were standing in front of him with some distance, while one hand on your hips and the other holding a familiar carton of orange juice that he remembered leaving on the bedside table when you were recovering.

“Going home?” he asked before making his way towards you.

ꕥ

Currently, you were walking towards a certain baseball field after finishing some moving your items to the Gojo clan’s estate with an outfit consisting of a simple white button-up shirt tucked into a long black skirt paired with black heeled ankle boots that you decided to wear for the first time since they had been sitting in the box for quite some time after you had brought them on your last shopping trip with Kugisaki.

From what you could hear from the distance, there seemed to be a lot of shouting going on meaning someone didn’t know the rules of the game or they just been called out and the player wasn’t having it at all.

Opening the metal gate, a few people began to notice you coming into the field leading some of your Tokyo classmates to greet you while a certain black divine dog decided to leave it’s owners side to rush to yours before sitting down in front of you with what seemed to be a happy look on its face causing a small smile tp quickly appear on your face as you began to pat its head.

“Hi there,” you greeted it, causing the dog to bark back at you while its tail continuously thumped the ground as if to express the happiness it had when it saw you.

“Shouldn’t you go back to Fushiguro to play the game?” you questioned it causing it to whine slightly before listening to you as it got up and turned back around to head towards Fushiguro, leading you to look at the side to see if there were any seats for you to sit on.

“Ah, Gojo! Are you going to play baseball with us?” Itadori asked cheerfully, causing you to smile back at him before rejecting the offer.

“You guys already started, so there is no point in my playing, but thank you for the invite,” you stated before quickly taking a seat on the bench behind you as you patted your skirt to stop any creases that were going to appear before spectating the game that was happening in front of you right now.

After a while, you had to admit that watching everyone from Jujutus Tech play baseball was certainly more interesting than the actual official game themselves on the TV screen you see from time to time, while Kugisaki throwing her helmet to the ground after the whole pitching machine incident to everyone being shocked at Momo catching the ball on her broom leading Itadori and Inumaki to shout to Todo being hit by Maki’s pitch leading everyone to encourage her further.

‘What a mess’ you thought with a grateful expression on your face that you weren’t playing in his game for the second day of the Exchange Event.

“Are you okay?” someone suddenly asked, causing you to snap out of your thoughts to look to your right to find Fushiguro looking at you with an unreadable expression on his face.

Unable to say your answer, you nodded at him before turning back to face yourself forwards as you gradually began to recall some of the events that had happened for the past few days before your head steadily placed itself on the middle of your chest as the empty feeling was somewhat still lingering - like as if something was dragged out of your soul.

‘1000 years ago…’

“Yeah...I’m fine,” you answered slowly as more information began to recall in your mind. From how you were sealed a thousand years ago only for the same sealed to be opened fifteen years ago leading to where you were now...surrounded by people that could potentially either keep you safe or do something that had many outcomes, especially with Sukuna residing within Itadori - with relief he didn’t know anything about your real birth.

‘Should I tell Gojo?’

“Gojo...I wanted to ask...have we met before? Like before we met in Sendai?” Fushiguro questioned you with a stutter causing your eyebrow to crook up in confusion leading Kugisaki, who was next to you to look at you with the same confusion.

“No, we never met before, you drag,” you answered, still perplexed on how he came up with a question with such an obvious answer leading you to lift your hand to flick his forehead for such a stupid question.

“Is that so?” Fushiguro muttered under his breath before looking up in the sky with amazement at how far Itadori had hit the ball with his bat while you and Kugisaki did the same.

‘Tiger of the West Middle...still lives up to that name’

Unexpectedly, you heard a childish giggle leading you to turn your head to find Gojo passing the school principals while using his infinity to keep the ants below his feet safe to which caused you to scoff in amazement at how lacked he was to use his technique all the time.

“Let’s go home Y/N!” Gojo shouted, causing you to look at him with a crooked eyebrow before scoffing once again at his playful behaviour.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered under your breath before everyone in the first year stood by your side and followed you out of the field to have a conversation with you before you left to go back to the Gojo estate.

‘Home huh?’

633 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 3 years

Text

Consequences

One case, three different outcomes

Today makes it exactly a year since I started writing for Hotchniss. You are all so lovely, and so nice and I am forever grateful I found this fandom <3

To mark the occasion I have written something a little different. This has 3 chapters, and each one is a different outcome of the same case, an exploration of how even the smallest decision can make a big difference.

Chapter 2 will be up tomorrow (10th December) and Chapter 3 will be up on Saturday (11th December).

_____

Chapter 1: Compliance

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: major character death, canon typical violence, very brief mentions of alcoholism, cursing

Read over on AO3, or below the cut!

Let me know what you think!

It’s heavy in his pocket. A dead weight he is constantly aware of, tapping it occasionally to make sure it’s still there even though he can feel it. Nervous energy rolling off of him in a way she must have noticed, having been well attuned to him long before they became them.

“Are you ok, Aaron?”

He turns to look at her, she’s behind him securing an earring in place as she walks out of their ensuite, a curious look on her face.

“I’m fine, Em.” He walks over to her and kisses her cheek, knowing she hates it when he kisses her properly just after she applies her lipstick. “I just don’t want to be late.”

She laughs at him. “We’re going to dinner, honey. At our favourite restaurant. The owner loves you. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a table waiting for us at all times.”

Aaron smiles because she’s right. They go there as often as they can, revisiting where they had their first date years ago. He remembers it like it was yesterday, his nerves not too dissimilar to how he was feeling now. His break up with Beth had been fresh, Emily’s thoughts of moving to London pushed to the back of her mind after he asked her for one chance, one date after they had admitted their feelings to each other over coffee after JJ’s wedding.

They never looked back. Things hadn’t always been easy. Both of them were nervous at first, unsure of the love they gave each other freely, both scarred by their pasts, the way life had broken them down only for them to build themselves back up. They were good for each other, their lives already so intertwined every step felt natural, like this was something they had always been heading towards.

Sometimes Aaron couldn’t believe that this was his life now, that he lived in a house he and Emily had bought together, and that she was helping him raise Jack. Before he knew it almost 3 years had passed, and he knew it was time to take the final step, to further solidify their lives together.

Which is why he currently had a ring in his pocket, nestled in a velvet box, weighing him down in a way he was sure was changing his gait.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” She asks, her amusement turning into concern as she cups his face, her thumb tracing his cheekbone. He looks confused and she chuckles. “You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Emily rolls her eyes and kisses him. “Come on. Or we really will be late.”

She leads him out of their bedroom by his hand and he knows he would follow her anywhere.

____________

They are barely through choosing their food, half a glass of wine down each, when his phone rings. He groans in frustration as he looks and sees Penelope’s name on the screen, knowing it only means one thing. Emily bites her lip to hold back her smile. She reaches for her glass to have another sip of wine, knowing their evening was about to be cut short, and watches him as he speaks on the phone. He pinches the bridge of his nose as he tells Penelope to call the others, that they’d meet at the office soon.

“I’m sorry love.” He sighs as he hangs up, smiling apologetically at her as he signals to a waiter, asking for the bill quickly for the wine they wouldn’t get to finish.

“It’s ok. It happens.” She says, placing her hand over his on the table and linking their fingers. “We’ll come back another time.”

She tries her best to get him out of the funk he had found himself in, running her foot over his calf under the table as he pays. It doesn’t work, and she frowns. This wasn’t the first date they’d had that the BAU had interrupted, and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. They usually both took it in their stride, knowing they’d at least still be together even if they were working. The stolen moments they had in random hotel rooms across the country, curling into each other as they grabbed sleep where they could.

They walk hand in hand to their car, and he still seems melancholy, like something is weighing on his mind, and she stops. He only realises she still isn’t walking with him when his arm tugs at hers and she’s standing still. He turns to look at her and she tilts her head at him, eyes narrowing as she tries to read him, breaking their long standing, but rarely followed, rule to never profile each other.

“Aaron, seriously. What’s going on?” She asks as she pulls him towards her. He follows willingly, his hand landing on her hips.

“Sorry.” He replies, his body starting to relax as soon as her hands loop around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. “I was just looking forward to dinner, that's all.”

He hopes she doesn’t see through it, that she doesn’t question what's been left unsaid. He briefly considers digging the ring out and proposing to her here, getting onto his knee on the sidewalk a few paces from their car and just asking her. But he stops himself, telling himself that she deserved more than that. She stares at him for a second and if she doesn’t believe him she doesn’t say anything, and she simply nods instead.

“I was too, baby.” She says bringing his head down to hers so she can kiss him, smiling against his lips as she kisses her again as soon as she pulls back. “We’ll figure something out when we get back, okay?”

“Okay.” He replies kissing her again before disentangling himself from her, his hand still grasping hers as they walk towards their car.

____________

Emily and Aaron walk into the bullpen together, hand in hand since it was the evening and only the team was around, everyone else home for the day.

“Well, look at you.” Penelope says, smiling widely as she looks Emily up and down, the dark green dress she had worn on her date with Aaron far dressier than anything she would usually wear to the office. “Sorry for interrupting date night.”

Emily hums at her friend and raises her eyebrow, her go bag in her hand. “It’s not like you’re the serial killer, Pen.” She looks at Aaron and squeezes his hand gently. “I’m going to change.”

She walks off towards the bathroom. As soon as she is out of sight Penelope turns back to Aaron and she hits him in the shoulder with the case files in her hand.

“I don’t see a ring on her finger.” Penelope says, outrage written all over her face.

“I got called before I got the chance to ask.” Aaron deadpans, raising his eyebrow.

“Right.” Penelope replies, clearing her throat as passes him the files. “Sorry. But as soon as you guys are back, right? Keeping it secret is killing me.”

“As soon as we’re back.”

____________

“Four female law enforcement officers in Bellingham in Washington state have been killed in the past month.” Penelope says, bringing up pictures of the crime scenes on screen. “All of them shot.”

“How do we know this is one person? Not just an unfortunate coincidence?” Derek asks, leaning forward on the table on his elbows, frowning at the pictures in front of them.

“The unsub sent a letter to the local paper,” Penelope says, clicking a button so it came up on screen, “taking credit for the crimes and explaining his reasoning.” She passes out copies of the letter so they can all read it.

“Let me guess, he’s big into women’s rights?” Emily says sarcastically, taking her copy of the letter.

“He definitely has a bee in his bonnet over women in positions of power.” Penelope says, her eyebrows raised. “The letter is delightful.”

“So he’s a misogynist.” Spencer says. “Was probably passed over by a woman for a promotion? Or feels like he’s been downtrodden his whole life.”

“Four officers in four weeks Garcia?” Aaron asks, turning his attention to the technical analyst who nods in response. “That means he’s probably already on the hunt for his next victim.” He checks his watch. “Wheels up in 30, we’ll be there by morning.”

____________

Emily smiles at Aaron as he sits next to her on the jet, a small paper cup in each of his hands.

“That better not be coffee.” She says, automatically leaning against him as he settles down, her head coming to rest on his shoulder. “Otherwise we’ll never sleep.”

“It’s chamomile tea.” He assures her taking a sip of his before pushing hers towards her. “I don’t like this.”

“The tea? Then why did you make yourself some?”

“Not the tea.” He says, his hand coming to rest on her thigh. “The case. I don’t like it.”

She moves her head from his shoulder and looks up at him taking a sip of her own tea. She looks at him curiously, his eyes are fixed on JJ, the other woman fast asleep in her chair. Uncharacteristically dozing off the second they took off.

“Because he’s killing female law enforcement officers?” She asks as she places her hand over his on her thigh, drawing his attention back to her. “JJ and I will be fine, Aaron. We can look after ourselves.”

“I imagine that the four women who are already dead thought the same thing.”

“Aaron-”

“Just...be careful, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”

She looks at him, her eyes fierce, wilfulness licking at her insides. A retort builds in her throat until she registers how worried he looks, a hint of whatever had been occupying his mind earlier at the restaurant still lingering.

“Okay. I’ll be careful.” ____________

Detective Amanda Franklin meets them at the precinct, tired lines under her eyes that give away her exhaustion, the weight of the case on her shoulders since the unsub had sent his letter to the local paper.

“Agent Hotchner?” She says, sticking her hand out to shake his as they are led into the conference room that had been set up for them. “I’m Detective Franklin, thank you so much for coming.”

“No problem Detective Franklin, this is my team Agent’s Jennifer Jareu, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan and David Rossi.”

“Nice to meet you all.” She says, nodding to a male uniformed officer who had followed them all in. “This is Officer Robert Moore, he will be able to help you with anything you need.”

The team all give him a slight nod before turning back to the Detective.

“Shall we begin?”

___________

“I can’t believe we’ve already been here two days.” Emily groans, sitting up and rubbing her face as the alarm cuts through the room, bringing her few hours of sleep to an abrupt end. “It feels like we haven’t made any progress.”

Aaron sits up next to her and leans over to kiss her shoulder, his lips lingering in her bare skin for a little longer than necessary.

“We’ve narrowed things down a little.”

“We’ve discounted all the victim’s husbands as potential unsubs and concluded the guy is in his 40s and has a female boss.” She scoffs. “That doesn’t exactly narrow things down.”

He lays back down, pulling her down with him, and she huffs out a laugh when her shoulder hits his. He kisses the side of her head.

“We’ll get there. We always do.”

She turns in his arms, her hands coming to his chest before she kisses him, one of her hands trailing up to his face, cupping his cheek. His phone rings and she groans again, laying on the bed as he slips out from under her. She grabs his pillow, sinking further into it as her eyes close and she inhales his scent from the hotel pillowcase.

“We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Aaron says, hanging up the phone as he sits back on the edge of the bed.

“Was that Detective Franklin?” She asks, her eyes still closed as she hugs his pillow to her, trying to steal the last few moments of rest.

“Yes. Well...no.” He says. Something in his voice makes her eyes open immediately, and she sits up. She places a hand on his back.

“What do you mean?”

“They just found her body.”

____________

The precinct was in chaos, a new lead detective in charge, Detective Miller, and most of the officers furious, even more desperate than before to catch the man who had now killed their boss. It made delivering the profile hard, no one accepting what they deemed to be a slow handling of the case. Tempers flaring as they explained what they already knew.

“Coffee?”

Emily turns to Officer Moore, a cup in his hand and a small smile on his face as she willingly accepts it.

“Thank you.” She takes a sip, wrinkling her nose at the bitterness of it. “Detective Franklin seems like she was popular.”

There’s a flash of something across his face, and she tries to place it but she hears her name being called from across the room. Derek tilting his head towards the conference room they had set up base in and she walks off without thinking about it again.

“What's going on?” She asks as she walks into the room, noting the tension in Aaron’s jaw. The way her boyfriend’s entire body seems rigid, anger practically vibrating off of him.

“The unsub sent another letter to the press.” Derek says, handing her a copy. “It’s threatening you and JJ.”

She looks over to Aaron, sees how he avoids her eye contact and she sighs. “Aaron.”

“We need to make sure you are both protected.” He says, walking past her and out of the room.

“Damn it.” Emily sighs and tries to rub some of the tension from her forehead before she looks at the rest of the team. “I’ll go talk to him.”

He isn’t hard to find. She knows him better than she knows anyone. He’s in the men’s bathroom, and he doesn’t look surprised when she brazenly walks in and locks the main door behind her, ensuring that they can have some privacy.

“Aaron.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” She asks, attempting to smile as she walks towards him and places a hand on his arm. “I haven’t even said anything yet.”

“Don’t tell me everything is going to be ok. Someone who has already killed 5 women has threatened you Em.” He looks at her. Her Aaron breaking through the Hotch facade he usually wore so well.

“We’re in a police precinct. Surrounded by cops. JJ and I will be fine.” She looks at him, her hand moving to cup his neck, her thumb stroking his jaw. “I’ll be fine.”

His eyebrows briefly furrow, and his eyes unfocus slightly, no longer looking at her. She knew that look well, he had realised something, an idea planting in his brain.

“What is it?”

“He’s a cop. The unsub is a cop.”

____________

Detective Miller is unsure of their theory at first, pushing back on it no matter how much evidence they give him. He eventually sits down, his head in his hands, as it starts to dawn on him that they are right.

“How would we narrow it down?” He asks, his voice strained as he considers that this was done by one of their own.

“Someone who is single.” Derek says. “Potentially divorced.”

“He would have been passed up for promotions.” Spencer says. “Probably an officer who has been at the same rank for years.”

“Rob’s divorced, his wife left him 2 years ago. He’s been an officer as long as I’ve known him.”

“Rob? Officer Moore?” JJ asks, looking back out to the bullpen trying to spot him.

“He was passed up for detective more than once. The higher ups don’t think he’s the right material for it.” Detective Miller says, standing up as he runs his hand over his head, messing up his hair.

“And who made detective over him last time?” Emily asks.

“Detective Franklin.”

“He’s our guy.” Aaron says. “Where is he?”

“He went home an hour ago, claimed he was sick.”

Emily is already calling Penelope, asking for as much information as possible on Officer Moore, asking for an address, anything that could help them find him. Aaron listens as Emily repeats the address Penelope gives her, her eyes flicking to him in a way he can’t quite read, something close to confusion on her face. The team move without speaking, a dance they had perfected long ago as they pull on their bulletproof vests, readying themselves for what came next.

“I want you two to stay here.” Aaron says, securing the last strap on his vest as he turns to JJ and Emily.

“What?” Emily says, frowning at him. “Aaron, absolutely not.”

JJ doesn’t argue with him, a nod and something close to relief on her face as she starts to remove her jacket. He grabs Emily’s wrist and pulls her to the side, affording themselves a small bit of privacy in a room full of other people. He notices a look on Spencer’s face, a twitch of his eyebrows as Derek goes over the plan again, but he pays it no attention.

“Emily, please.” He asks, his face stern but his voice begging her.

“Aaron.”

“I am asking you as the man who loves you.” He says. “Don’t make me tell you as your boss.”

She stares at him, fury burning in her eyes as she clenches her jaw before she nods at him briefly, a look on her face that tells him he hasn’t heard the last of this. That she will tell him exactly what she thinks about him using his position of power against her later.

He’ll take it, because it means she’s safe.

____________

“It doesn’t make sense.” Spencer practically whispers, his voice carrying further than it usually would in the quiet SUV.

“What do you mean Reid?” Derek asks, looking in the rear view mirror at the other man.

“Everything he’s done has been public. Where he’s left the bodies. The letters to the press. Why has he gone underground now?”

“He doesn’t want to get caught.” Dave says, looking at Spencer.

“But he does.” Spencer says, meeting Dave’s eyes. “We profiled him as a narcissist. He’s so sure of his actions he wants to tell everyone. He wants the glory.”

“He’s not going down quietly.” Aaron says, agreeing with Spencer. “We’ve got to go back.” He turns the car around without further comment, flicking the sirens on as he starts to drive faster.

“Hotch, what are you doing?”

“I don’t think he ever left the precinct.”

____________

Robert Moore is pointing a gun at Emily when they arrive, his eyes fixed on her and his hand steady, no nerves in sight as he threatens a federal agent in a room full of police officers.

“Robert.” Aaron says, the steadiness of his voice a surprise even to him. Emily’s eyes meet his, no fear shining in them even as she looks down the barrel of a gun. “You don’t want to do this.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Agent Hotchner.” He says, a small smirk on his face. “I do.”

She’s dead before she hits the ground. Her life, everything she had ever done and been, snuffed out in a second. He gets no chance to say goodbye. No chance to remind her how much he loved her, how she had made his life better. Made him better.

She was just gone.

He hoped she knew how much he meant it when he whispered how much he loved her in bed that morning, her answer a laugh against his lips as he kissed her in the bed they shared. He thinks of the ring he never got to give her that he had been keeping in his nightstand, hidden among the socks she had paired for him when it was her turn to do the laundry.

For a second, the longest of his life, the world stops. All he can see is her, the way she crumbles to the ground, hitting it with such a force Aaron swears that he feels the ground shake. He’s stuck, frozen in the worst moment of his life until he hears the crack of Derek’s gun, only seconds too late to save Emily, Moore falling to the floor in the same way she had.

Aaron is with her, by her side before he registers it.

“Em.”

His hands shake as he lifts her, her skin still warm and her dark eyes unseeing, the sparkle that usually shone back at him gone.

“Oh, sweetheart no.”

He’s vaguely aware of the reactions of the rest of the team, JJ’s sobbing, Derek’s yells of anger and hurt, the way Dave shepherds everyone else out of the room, the locals in shock at what they had just seen one of their own do.

Aaron holds her to him, unable to feel the blood seeping into his shirt, or his knees through his pants. He desperately tries to take stock of the feeling of her skin whilst it still held warmth, the feel of her hair between his fingers, his lips against hers.

He knew from experience those were the memories that fade first.

He doesn’t know much time has passed by the time he’s wrenched up off the ground, Derek holding him in place as he tries to fight him, to get back to her.

“She’s gone, Hotch.” He feels Derek’s tears against his shoulder and hears them in his voice, and they burn him from the inside out. “Aaron, she’s gone.”

He doesn’t remember much after that.

____________

It takes them a day to work everything out, to get her body released from the local coroner so they can make the journey home. Aaron had spoken to Jessica, told her the grim news over the phone when he broke down the night before. The sight of her make up bag in the ensuite of their shared hotel room knocking the air from his lungs.

He hadn’t told Jack yet, had asked Jessica not to either, knowing the news should come from him. Another woman in his son’s young life gone too soon, taken because Aaron couldn’t protect her.

The team are all in a state of shock, sitting as far away from each other as possible, silent tears on their faces as they stare blankly ahead of them.

They had buried Emily before, and they would now have to do it again. This time there would be no reprieve, no coming back from the dead. It was just over.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Aaron looks up from the scotch in his hand to look at Dave, the older man taking a seat opposite him as he nods towards the glass in Aaron’s hand. He hadn’t taken a sip yet. Simply staring at the drink, knowing it won’t help, but wondering if maybe, after everything, his father had the right idea after all.

Maybe feeling nothing at all was better than this.

“Dave.”

“You need to speak to your son when you get home, you should probably be sober for that conversation.”

“Maybe we can save the lecture until after the body of the woman I love is removed from the cargo hold.” Aaron says, his voice emotionless as he stares at his friend, he stands, leaving the untouched drink on the table, and walks away without another word.

____________

Jack cries himself to sleep, understanding all too well what death meant, that Emily wouldn’t be coming home. Jessica stays with them, tears on her own cheeks as she watches them go through this again, the loss of a woman that both Jack and Aaron loved dearly.

Aaron sleeps with Jack in his bed that first night, both of them cramped onto the single mattress, unable to bring himself to sleep in his and Emily’s room. Her smell perminating out from under the door, which made even walking past it hard. A punch in the gut that stole the air from his lungs, hollowing out his chest.

When Aaron wakes in the morning Jack is already up, over by the small desk in his room as he whispers. Aaron looks over and sees his son’s back is to him, a candle lit in front of him.

“Mommy, you’ll have to show Emily around.” Jack whispers, his voice catching in his throat. “She likes new places, she told me once, but I don't want her to get lost.”

Aaron has to close his eyes to force the wave of emotion back, tears springing to his eyes that he couldn’t stop if he wanted to.

“Emily, Daddy is very sad but he’s trying to be ok for me. I’ll look after him I promise.”

Aaron knows that they’ll be looking after each other.

____________

He asks for time alone with her before the funeral starts, one last moment between the two of them that should have one of countless memories, but is instead their last.

She looks different to the last time he saw her, less pale, clearly the work of the staff at the funeral home he had chosen. He wants to touch her, to reach out and move her hair back into place like he had done so many times before, but he hesitates, his fingers twitching above her casket.

Aaron didn’t want to remember her being cold.

“I brought you something.” He says, digging into the pocket of his pants, a small velvet box in his hand. He opens it to look at the ring inside. “I was going to propose that night we were called away for the case. I have no idea if you figured it out, I’m sure you knew it was coming.” He swallows against the lump in his throat, tears flooding his eyes as he looks at the ring one last time before snapping the box shut. He places it in the casket, finally touching her to lift her hand, placing the box beneath it. “I wish I would have known your answer. Jack was sure you were going to say yes, but he has always been the optimist in the family.”

He looks back at her face, somehow still beautiful even in death, and his vision is blurred by his tears.

“I love you, Em. Nothing will ever change that.”

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfic #hotchniss fanfiction #aaron x emily #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #aaron hotchner angst #angst #major character death #so much angst #tw: alcohol mention #canon typical violence #this may be worse than riptide #somehow #I? have no excuse #a sliding doors type fic #butterfly effect type stuff #Chapter 2 is...different #remember when all I used to write was fluff?#lol

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malepresentingleg · 3 years

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for some reason, I'm kinda gaining followers so I thought I'd make a pinned post with some of my fanfics info and links!

The fandoms are ordered from new to old, so I'm probably only open to the newer fandoms for requests, but my feel free to send an ask or a msg anyway!

All my fics are rated Teen or below, and the rating is for mild swearing or mild implied sexual content but nothing further.

Haikyuu!! (Kagehina)

People Keep Trying to Play Matchmaker For Tobio (series, 2 fics, complete) (only anime knowledge needed)

Fix Me Up Never : (multi-chaptered, 19.5k, complete) After Tanaka and Nishinoya try to set Tobio up with a stranger, in a panic he says he's already in a relationship. For some reason, they immediately assumed the relationship is with Hinata. Fake dating idiots to lovers with a pinch of pining and lots of fluff!

I'm Already Fixed: (one-shot, 4.4k, complete) Started out as the epilogue for the previous fic: Kageyama's mom thinks he and Hinata would make a great couple and keeps trying to push them together. What she doesn't know is that they already are. More fluff, supportive mom, and oblivious idiots.

(Manga spoilers) I thought maybe to add another one, post time-skip, post Adlers-Jackles match where maybe the media thinks Kageyama is dating Yachi or something, sort of a social media fic...?

How To (maybe series but only one fic so far)

How to Kiss Your Tall Boyfriend When He's Stupid: (one-shot 6.7k, complete) Hinata is short, his boyfriend is both tall and oblivious. Shenanigans ensue. A 5 + 1 fluffy fic about smooches, avoid if you don't have a dental plan.

I thought maybe to add more "How To" fics, like maybe "how to give a compliment to your insecure boyfriend". I'm open to suggestions and requests :D

Oceans Between Us (multi-chapter, 15k, WIP) - manga spoilers The one I'm currently writing in hopes of getting back into the groove, currently 15k in, hopefully I will finish soon :) Hinata is going to move to Brazil in a year and Kageyama is moving to Tokyo now so they navigate the long distance and their relationship while being fluffy supportive boyfriends. But it's hard and not as simple as they thought. Tons of fluff and a little angst in the middle.

Butterflies series This is kind of my baby, it's supposed to have at least 5 (or more) fics that follow Kagehina throughout the years and their relationship and personal growth. I have a huge doc and google sheet with a timeline and snippets of scenes and I plan to one day finish and post it :') it's going to follow the events of the manga plus some.

no-name getting together fic It's the first in the series, with the trope "wait are you flirting with me?" "have been for the past year but thanks for noticing". I need more flirting ideas if you have any ;)

ATLA (but not really, it's just an idea)

The gang finds out about Zuko being the blue spirit. That's the idea so far.

Spiderman: Far From Home (but also not really, it's just one snippet)

Me being mad at the post-credit scene direction (drabble, 0.5k, complete) Basically, I thought it was very stupid how seriously they took Mysterio's message and reveal I mean why would anyone believe it? So this is Peter giving an interview about it.

Andi Mack (all G rated, they are KIDS)

Friends Really Know Better (series, Tyrus and Bandi, 2 fics, complete) This is like the same events from 2 POVs- Buffy's POV is Tyrus centric, and Cyrus's POV and Bandi centric.

Friends Are The Best Matchmakers: (one-shot, 3.6k, complete) Buffy is trying to meddle because pining gays are being stupid (but maybe she's also a stupid pining gay).

Who Will You Tell If Not Me?: (one-shot, 3.5k, complete) Cyrus is on a mission to get his two BFFs together, just because he loves them and wants them to be happy and not at all as a distraction from his own totally one-sided crush on TJ.

Thought We Were Friends: (one-shot, 1.9k, complete) Welcome to sad-town :( This is angsty and teenage emo dramatic because they're 14 and exactly that. This is just Cyrus's thoughts after the costume day events.

The Bright Session (Adam/Caleb)

At Least I Have You: (one-shot, 1.9k, complete) It's been a few weeks since the Safe House Incident, and our boys are trying to get back to normal but it's not that easy. tw for panic attacks and football. Half of this is fluff tho :)

Young Justice (cartoon)

I have like 12 published fic in this fandom, most of them are Birdflash and the most recent one is 4 years old so I don't feel the need to list them all... maybe just a couple that I like and are not as old (and bad):

Charms and Wonders: (one-shot, 3.3k, complete) Wally's parents are SURE he is dating someone from the team. The problem is they think it's a girl. A little angst (and homophobia), some fluff, and a happy ending.

Practice: (one-shot, 2.3k, complete) Dick and Wally don't wanna suck at kissing so the logical thing to do is obviously practice with your best bro.

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tonystarkissist · 3 years

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“I’ll take care of you...” / “Hold me” - Villainous July

Part 14 of “Oh Sweet Child, The Things I’d Do for You...”

Full prompt: “I’ll take care of you” “It’s rotten work” “Not to me. Not if it’s you.”

A/N: Again, I take a bit of a writing liberty here and change up the wording a bit...

Summary: Peter begins to have doubts, and soon enough his guilt pushes him too far. Hopefully Tony can convince him how much he really means to him.

Rating: Teen (For language and Thematic Material)

Warning: Reference to attempted suicide

Word Count: 4.4k

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist ~ Read on Ao3 ~ Next Chapter

Peter sits on the couch, eating his breakfast while he watching the morning news. It was rare that he ever woke up before Tony, so he took advantage of the opportunity to refresh himself on current events. And it did not take long to find out why Tony had been trying to steer him away from the news. He’d heard word of it here and there, during the few minutes he was able to sneak in a little time on the TV by himself, but he’d never bothered to look into the full story.

Which he realized was incredibly foolish. He had a phone, he could look up things just fine for himself, but Tony had been doing such a good job of distracting him that Peter almost forgot about his counterpart who had become quite the hot topic on social media and current events.

“Spider-Man has continued to remain absent since the reveal of Iron Man’s return. At first glance of the footage, it appeared he had not been badly injured, but this has led to plenty of speculation… is Spider-Man working with Tony Stark? Is Spider-Man the next big threat that faces New york? These inquiries alone have spurred violent protests all across New York, their message adamant to ban vigilantism and unsanctioned superhuman activity. Investigations have already begun to try and place Spider-Man’s identity as well as several other known superhumans littered across New York--”

The TV clicks off, and Peter spins his head to see Tony standing beside the couch, remote in hand, aimed at the TV. He did not look pleased. Lips pursed, eyebrows drawn together, and eyes dark as he stared at the blank screen for several moments.

“I told you Peter, it’s not a good idea to watch that stuff.” Tony doesn’t even look at him while he speaks, then he turns away to head into the kitchen and make up his own breakfast.

It was too late. The damage had already been done… it planted the seed and Peter could already feel the sprinkling of guilt begin to feed it.

***

It’s been five weeks. Five weeks that he’s been staying with Tony Stark. Five peaceful weeks of solitude and safety. Nor worries or anxieties to haunt him…

So, he supposed it was high time for his luck to run out.

He spent most nights after he went to bed, he’d lay awake on his phone, scouring the internet for all the latest news on Spider-Man and Iron Man… It wasn’t looking good. So now, he laid in bed, staring up at the dark ceiling. Sleep nowhere in his near future, which was a prime opportunity for those bad thoughts to come creeping out from the dark crevice of his mind.

Spider-Man was a menace, just as Jameson had always claimed, and Peter knew the time would come soon when they learned his true identity. He’d be subjected to a life of hiding in the shadows, chasing a dull sense of companionship and obsessive hyperfixations with staggered servings of dopamine to stave off the loneliness. Just like Tony has been doing for years. And then what? Tony would feel obligated to look out for him forever because no other adult would want to be associated with a known fugitive. And Peter would find a way to somehow ruin it for the both of them and put the man in further danger, because that’s what he did. He messed up.

He couldn’t let that happen. Not to Tony. He’d already caused enough trouble for the man. Forcing him to come out of hiding just to rectify one of Peter’s mistakes, and it didn’t stop there! Now the man feels obligated to take care of him because of his dumb mistakes. Here Peter was, living in the lap of luxury, eating his full, overflowing happiness welded with contentment and affection, surrounded by an abundance of opportunity and knowledge… all provided to him by Tony. The man he’d been unknowingly taking advantage of this whole time, and would undoubtedly continue to if he didn’t put a stop to it. The man probably didn’t know any better, judgement clouded by his years of desperation for company and human interaction.

Thank goodness Peter noticed the path he was taking before it was too late. He couldn’t drag Tony down with him… not after all the man’s been through already. Peter would never forgive himself. Besides, even if Tony wasn’t in danger being associated with him, Peter didn’t deserve any of this anyway. The things they were saying on the news about him was proof enough. He was a rotten, selfish, evil little menace, and Tony was too blinded to see any better.

So, he sits up in bed with a stoic determination. He dresses, and packs the few things he’d arrived with and left the rest Tony had bought him where it was. He wasn’t going to take anything else away from him. He placed the cracked watch gently on the bedside table. He took a moment to stare longingly from the doorframe, into the bedroom of his dreams. All the small details Tony had dedicated himself to, just for him… it made the guilt itch even more. A man plagued by a ravenous sense of loneliness, exploited by a stupid, ungrateful teenager.

So, he turns and leaves. It’d be best to go when Tony didn’t have opportunity to try and stop him. It’d be easier this way.

He rushed down the dark hall, wiping at the falling tears aggressively. He refused to cry about this so soon. He at least needed to get down the block first.

“Peter?”

He froze… he thought Tony was asleep.

Apparently he wasn’t, and Peter slowly turns around to face the voice. He feels panicked, like he was caught doing something wrong, and everything goes numb.

Tony looks from the backpack slung over Peter’s shoulders, to the warm layers wrapped tightly around him. A distraught realization slowly came over his face.

“Peter, where are you going? What’s going on?” Tony approaches him, that familiar worried crease settled between his brows. He reaches out to Peter to place a hand on his shoulder. Tony loved touching, holding, hugging, anything that reminded him he wasn’t alone... Peter could hear his heart beating sporadically every time they’d hug, like the sensation was as exciting as anything he’d ever done, and Peter was all for it. They were both touch-starved freaks finally able to get their fix. And now especially Peter was the one eager to initiate the contact, but this time he flinches away violently.

The heartbreaking betrayal that crosses Tony’s face makes Peter start crying in earnest. He never wanted to hurt him...

“I’m sorry, sir,” Peter croaked through his stress-ridden tears, “I’m really really sorry.”

“Peter,” Tony’s tone and expression make a rapid turnaround, stern and demanding as his shoulders quickly squared. “What is going on?”

Peter refuses to let himself cry.

“I’m leaving.” He states plainly, forcing out the words while he still could. “I-- I think it’s for the best.”

“No.” Tony immediately states, steely and commanding, and with so much conviction. He glared down at Peter, as if the proclamation alone would cease it from happening. “You are not leaving. I am taking care of you now… it’s my job. No one else's.”

In any other circumstances, or with more clarity of mind, the demeanor and tone would have sent up all kinds of red flags… but Peter’s spidey-sense had no urge to warn him, and instead his tears are only fueled

“Mr. Stark, please don’t do this.” Peter begged him softly. “I-I know you feel responsible for me, but it’s not your job. It-it’s working now, but later on when things get more tough and they come searching for you and then for me… I’m going to be holding you back, and-and I know you won’t be able to let go.”

...Tony wasn’t strong enough to let go. That’s why Peter had to be the strong one right now.

“Peter.” His voice was still cold and angry, and then he grabbed Peter’s wrist, lifting it to push up his sleeve. Then he looked back up at Peter, but Peter was already avoiding his eyes, knowing exactly what the man had been looking for. “You were going to leave… without your watch?”

“Tony, stop,” Peter says again, “don’t make this any harder than it has to be. We both knew we were going to have to part ways at some point.”

“No, actually,” Tony scoffed, “I don’t think I received that memol.”

“What?” Peter throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “Did you expect me to live here with you forever?”

“Kinda, yeah,” Tony floundered a little, voice rising in pitch a tad.

“Tony,” Peter deflates, “we can’t keep going like this. It won’t be long before the press figures out I’m Spider-Man and then they’ll be looking for me and you. I’ve already put you in enough of a tight spot and believe me I’m not worth it--”

“You think I fucking care?!” Tony shouts. “I don’t give a fuck Peter! I’ve already committed myself to this. You need someone to take care of you-- you’re a kid-- and I’m willing to do it-- Unless…” Tony suddenly cuts himself off, anger tapering off as a panicked distress replaces it. “... do you want to leave?” Tony turns away before Peter can answer, and flaps his hands flamboyantly in front of his face. “Who am I kidding, of course you do--”

Peter moves forward quickly, arms lifting to reassure him. “No-no Mr. Stark. That’s not why--”

Tony scoffs, his own hand waving to placate Peter. “No, no I get it kid. I shoulda figured this day would come, you’re not the type to affiliate with people like me.” A sad smile passes over Tony’s face. “You’re too good for that.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter rasps. The guilty pull of strings against his throat, silencing any further words that dared escape.

“It’s okay Peter. You don’t have to spare my feelings. I know what I am, and you shouldn’t have to get mixed up in all this…” He waves a loose hand between their bodies. “Hell, you’ve already gotten screwed over enough because of me.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter forces out sternly, tears stinging against his eyes and his cheeks beginning to heat up with the strain of emotions in the moment. “I don’t care about that! I know it’s probably supposed to bother me, but it doesn’t! Not anymore… If it was anyone else-- you-you’re the best thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time… and that’s why I have to leave.” The tears have long since begun to fall, and Tony stands before him, body rigid and face unreadable.

“Peter…” And Peter knows that tone. It stirs to life that insistent determination, and he’s stepping back several feet to avoid the affectionate reassurance Tony would surely try to bestow on him to convey his pity.

“No Mr. Stark! You don’t understand! I-I have to go. If I stay, all this you’ve worked for will be ruined,” he gestures to the luxurious space around them, hidden in the shadows of darkness. “I know you don’t agree right now, and I mean this in the most respectful of ways, but your judgement isn’t what it should be. You-you’ve been on your own for a long time, and I understand that-that you’ve sort of developed this dependency and attachment to me and this-this weird need to protect me, but it will fade and you’ll realize that I was right.”

“It won’t,” Tony says with such conviction and finality it has Peter pausing to question his own screwed up logic. “I’ve lost people before, Peter. It never fades.”

Peter feels his chapped lips begin to tremble, his resolve finally beginning to break, but he doesn’t move.

Tony’s brows furrow for a moment, mouth parting slightly as his head angles down. Peter’d seen the expression a select few times, usually triggered by a moment of abject endearment, but the strain on the man’s face imparted so much more. “Can I at least show you something before you make your final decision? I don’t want you to leave thinking it would be best for me.”

Peter didn’t want to say yes because he had a feeling that whatever this “thing” was, it was going to change his mind.

Tony didn’t wait for his answer. He grabbed Peter’s arm and gently tugged him towards the center of the living room. Seconds later, they were both seated on the couch, side by side, hip to hip. Tony was leant forwards, elbows resting on his knees, shaky hands clutching the wallet he had retrieved from the side table.

“I’ve never shown anyone this before…” Tony whispers, an inscrutable pain in his tone. “Not even Pepper. She would have thought I was crazy…”

Peter didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He’d never seen Tony look or act or say anything so vulnerable. So he did what came natural, and because it was already too late to try and stop himself. He laid his head on Tony’s shoulder, and placed a reassuring hand on his leg in hopes of making that panicked skip in his heart soften.

Tony leaned back into the cushions then, body angling closer to Peter so their entire sides were pressed together.

“I had these with me when we all went back…” And without another word he opens the wallet and slowly pulls out three little cards of blank paper. They were aged and worn. The edges yellowed, torn, and tattered. And Peter watched ever so slowly as Tony’s thumb slowly drifted over the front card, following a distinct trail that his fingers must have passed over several times through the years. Tony stared at them, eyes void of life like he was lost, drowning in despair without knowing how to swim...

“This was my wedding day... “ Tony whispered, voice hoarse and heavy, thumb slowly massaging the edge of the blank paper. “Pepper was beautiful,” he breathed out, and his eyes closed, lips twitching up ever so slightly like he was remembering the entire event in vivid detail. “I can almost imagine the dress she was wearing… the smile on her face. I can see it.” He was smiling, tightlipped and urged by a lonesome reminiscence, but it was still a smile.

Then he opened his eyes again. “The day she died... “ he ran his thumb over the face once more, “the picture faded.”

“Mr. Stark--” Peter started, his throat beginning to swell with emotion. He wrapped himself around the man’s arm, hugging it close. He didn’t know what else he could do.

Tony didn’t respond to him, simply tucking the first card behind the small stack. He gives the same treatment as he did the first to the second card, running the pad of his thumb along the face.

“This was my little girl…”

Peter squeezes him tighter. He doesn’t know why Tony was showing him all of this right now, but he knew he was needed at this moment.

“She-she… I imagine she was just like Pepper…” Tony’s head falls back like he was looking at the ceiling, but his eyes were squeezed shut. “Strong, stubborn, independent, and so, so smart. Pepper’s nose, and cheeks; my hair, my eyes… I only wish I could remember her name. Or her voice.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter squeezes his eyes shut, the guilt finally becoming too much. “If you’re trying to guilt me into staying I get it, okay? I’m sorry! I didn’t want to leave you! I’m sorry!”

Tony looks down at him, pulling his arm from Peter’s tight grasp so he could drape it over the kid’s shoulders, but not before running his hand through his hair affectionately. He pulls him close, and Peter falls against him, wrapping his arms around his waist.

“I’m not trying to guilt you Peter… I just wanted you to understand how--how important you are to me… I would never want to turn you away, no matter how difficult it may make my life. I’ve lived in hiding for so long by myself, and just these past few weeks with you here, I’d much rather die now, then continue my life alone. But if you want to go--”

“No!” Peter insists through desperate tears, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to be lonely Mr. Stark. I-I-I just thought you’d be better off if you didn’t have to worry about taking care of me.”

“Never,” Tony whispers. Then he places a quick kiss on top of his head.

The guilt of the last few days and weeks filters through him via his tears, and Tony holds him the whole time, tight.

“I’m sorry Peter, I didn’t mean to make you upset.” He whispered shakily into the boy's hair.

Peter doesn’t answer, only squeezes him tighter.

“What can I do?” Tony asks. “You want a juice pop?” That panicked edge come upon his tone, and begins to slowly pull away to rush and fetch whatever it was Peter wanted. But as soon as he does Peter sobs harder, grappling for purchase around his waist to pull him back down.

“Don’t go,” he keened, “please. Just hold me… don’t let go… please.”

“Never,” Tony answers, squeezing him tight again.

Eventually, Peter’s tears dry out, and he’s reduced to nothing more but soft sniffles. He’s never cried this much in his life… he would’ve been embarrassed if Tony hadn’t already seen him in this state too many times already. He supposed it was nice to finally have an outlet for his emotions, and a person to support him through it all. It made him smile, and he curled closer to Tony.

That’s when he saw the cards still grasped gently in one of Tony’s hands, and he craned his head up to see the man staring down at them just as he had been before, lost, perturbed, and reminiscent. Peter so badly wished for him to be able to go back to his family again. He can see how much he missed them...

“Who was on the last one?” Peter whispered curiously, voice a little nasally from his stuffy nose.

Tony didn’t act surprised to hear him speak, continuing as if there had never been an interruption to their conversation.

“It was the one I wanted to show you most, actually.” He pulls it closer to Peter, as if the picture were actually there and he was trying to give the kid a better view. “This was my son. I remember very little about him… but how I feel hasn’t faded. I was--am-- so proud of him all the time. With the small pieces of them I can still remember, I used to be able to imagine their faces, and their personalities, but I can’t imagine him anymore.”

“What? Why?!” The thought alone was indescribably heart breaking…

But Tony didn’t seem as bothered.

“Because now, instead of seeing him, I see you.” Peter freezes. “The dreams I used to have of him were never clear, voices and faces always nothing more than a blur of noise and colors… but now, more often than not, I see your face. And-and I know that probably sounds a bit weird-- I get it. And I can’t help but feel guilty thinking I replaced him… but Peter, this isn’t some temporary desperation for company. My subconscious looks at you like you are my son, it’s not just in my head, okay? You’re my kid now… my responsibility.”

Peter squeezes him, pressing his face into the man’s shoulder. “I don’t mean to replace him, Tony.”

“It’s not like that Pete. I’m not upset… if anything it’s helped me remember him even more. The memories are the same, and they’re more clear… this time he just has your face.” Tony smiles.

That doesn’t make Peter feel any better. He doesn’t say anything in response, so Tony just begins to ramble in order to fill the silent void left hanging around them.

“I was always terrified that I’d forget them completely. When I first came back, the memories were fresh, I knew them. I’d recognize them if they passed me along the street. I knew their birthday, their favorite colors, their dreams. Yet, the more time passes, the more I forget, like they’re being completely wiped from existence; even from my memory. And that fear that one day I might look down at these pictures and see nothing more than worn pieces of paper, was debilitating. This was all I have left of them. And the further this timeline continues, the further it pulls me away from them. But now... “ Tony looks down at him, then rubs a hand over the back of his head, “with you… somehow it’s like I can remember again.”

Peter shivers, a chill of wonderment and affection sparking to life every cell in his body. “You’re sure you want to keep me? Even if I cause trouble?”

“Of course. I don’t give a flying fuck about the consequences. You’re my kid now. I’m never letting you go.”

***

They wait it out for a couple weeks. JARVIS is constantly tracking the location of law enforcement, and if they showed to have threatening patterns near the apartment, Tony was notified immediately. They took all the caution they could. Tony stopped leaving the penthouse to pick up shipments or go shopping. They stocked up on food, and waited it out. They weren’t hooked up to the electrical grid, thank goodness. Tony built an arc reactor in the basement to power the place so he could get by undetected. The building would be a prime suspect for search if someone happened upon the abandoned building using up so much power.

All in all, it wasn’t much different from what Peter had become accustomed to.

Tony started letting him watch the news, though he was always there to supervise just in case, and Peter was happy to say the search for Spider-Man was finally beginning to die down! Most think he was out of the state with Iron Man, others think he was dead at the bottom of the river. They hadn’t come close to guessing his identity. And when things finally start to return to normal… as normal as possible, Peter feels a heavy weight lift from his chest.

It is soon replaced with an antsy mood to get outside and do something. Every time he’d ask Tony, the man would say it wasn’t safe. And it wasn’t like he could go out as Spider-Man, but he thought at least Tony would allow him to go down to the arcade or the park… but nooo.

It didn’t really bother him… because he understood Tony’s reasoning. But one particular text conversation with Ned had him begging Tony to ‘chill out and let him out of the goddamned building’.

“I feel like I’ve been kidnapped!” Peter shouts, pulling at his hair dramatically.

Tony remains impassive, on the couch, book in hand, and readers resting at the end of his nose.

“You don’t let me out to do anything. And I get that you don’t think it’s safe, but I’ll be careful! I’m Spider-Man! I just want to meet up with Ned at the park. I haven’t seen him in forever!”

He’d been lying to Ned the whole time… that he had new foster parents… they lived too far from the school… They were super anxious about the Iron Man situation and wouldn’t let him leave the house for anything. Ned believed it, because he had no reason to doubt him, but Peter has been feeling increasingly guilty about blowing his friend off and it’d also been so long since he’s seen him.

“I understand Peter,” Tony responds calmly. He places his book down in his lap and meets Peter’s eyes, and Peter suddenly feels like he’s being lectured like a small child. “I’ve told you it’s too risky for you to be going out right now.”

“They don’t even know my face or my name Tony! I get that you can’t go out, but you also can’t lock me up in this apartment forever!’

Tony frowns, and turns away from him to go back to his book. “Fine, go do whatever the fuck you want.”

Peter groaned in relief and darted for his room. He threw on some clean clothes and rummaged through his various jacket pockets to search for some cash. Ned wanted to hit up the comic book store and then go for lunch. He scowls when he finds nothing more than a few crumpled bills. He grumbles, knowing he was going to have to ask Tony if he wanted to be able to buy anything… he always hated asking for money, and he couldn’t help but feel particularly chagrined after putting up such a fit with the man.

He lurks from his room slowly, chin angled towards the floor, and he watches Tony carefully as he approaches the couch. Tony doesn’t look up at him, so he slowly sits beside the man, leaning up against him and laying his head on his shoulder in hopes it’d soothe the sting of their last encounter.

“‘M sorry,” Peter mumbles. He did feel kind of guilty, for both arguing and for ditching him.

“All’s forgiven. Go have fun with your friend.” Tony finally puts down the book to crane his head towards him. “Do you have your phone?”

Peter nods.

“Do you need some money?”

Peter froze. He did, yes, but he hadn’t expected for Tony to just offer it so willingly.

“Yeah,” he replies meekly, and Tony quickly handed him a fold of twenties without even reaching for his wallet.

Peter took it slowly only to notice the man was grinning at him.

“I figured you’d come to ask. Didn’t think you’d try buttering me up first though. Kudos for effort.”

Peter squawked. “I’m still sorry! I didn’t only apologize for the money!”

“I know, kid, I’m just playing. Go have fun with Ted.”

@multiverse-irondad-july

Next Chapter

#irondad #villain tony stark #villain au #peter parker #sad peter parker #dad tony stark #evil tony stark #touch starved peter #touch starved tony #angst #hurt/comfort #guilt #happy ending

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

Text

The alluring charm of Henry Cavill - Chapter 10

Summary: After the livestream, Henry is trying to move on from this. However, that is harder than it seems.

Henry Cavill x Adelaide Park (ofc)

Wordcount: 4.4k

Warnings: None

A/N: The formatting of this chapter is a bit different than usual, but I felt this would be the best way to describe Henry’s feelings.

Masterlist // Previous chapter // Next chapter

1 hour after the livestream

Henry fucked up. Henry truly fucked up. After he watched Adelaide step into that cab, the tears so evident in her eyes, he pushed all the cameramen out of his sight and didn’t want the other contestants to ask him any questions about this.

And because Henry obviously has a mature and adult way of dealing with his emotions, he locks himself up in the bedroom. The same bedroom where he made all those memories with Adelaide. He remembers her sleeping as soon as she would hit the mattress. Her fingers grazing over his arm. Her sleeping body securely in his arms, her head on his chest and the soft good morning kisses when they slept in the tent during their last challenge.

He takes ahold of the pillow Adelaide slept on and as he sits on the bed, he brings it to his face. He pushes his nose into the fabric, as he can still smell the hints of her perfume, her skincare products and her shampoo.

Tears of frustration burn in his eyes, as he continues to remember the hurt in Adelaide’s eyes just now. All because of him.

He fucking hates himself.

Yes, he cannot and will not deny the fact he did talk poorly about her, however he regrets every syllable of it. He knows better now, so much better. Adelaide Park is amazing and has so much to offer. They were planing on getting to know each other even better after this stupid program had ended.

But that is all over now and it’s all is fault.

He hates this show, every single producer and editor who works here and his agency. Especially his agency. He wants to sue every single one of them who were involved in making that heinous compilation, the one blew everything out of proportion, but he needs to think this over, before he makes any rash decisions. Decisions that might only do more damage than any good.

Henry stands up from the bed, to grab his suitcase and starts packing. He needs to leave this place, go back to England, to his own place and think about this.

Adelaide specifically asked not to mention her or talk to her and he should honor her wishes. That is the least he can do after everything that happened.

However, he should release a statement of his own. He should leave his agency. He should reach out to her in another way than directly contacting her. He needs to know whether or not she is okay.

Well, she might not be okay, but he needs to know how she feels. That she knows he is sorry, because he is sorry.

Very sorry.

Fuck, he is such a loser for letting her go like this. Adelaide was totally right. He should’ve been honest with her. Told her about his earlier thoughts regarding her and why he participated in the first place, but also specifically tell her how he changed his mind.

About her, about them, about him playing James Bond.

Henry grabs his phone, so he can check when the first flight back to England is, but he stops mid unlocking his phone and stares at his background. A few days ago, he changed his wallpaper in a picture of the both of them, sitting on the couch. Adelaide’s arms wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed against his and her eyes shine with happiness.

Henry growls out of frustration. ‘Fuck,’ he hisses between clenched jaws. He already misses her, only sixty minutes after the live stream. He needs to think about this, because he will do anything to clear her reputation, to make it up to her.

Simply because he cares about her and only her.

His Adelaide Park.

◎ ◎ ◎

1 day after the livestream

‘Pick up, pick up, pick up,’ Henry mutters impatiently when he has his phone pressed against his ear. He is back home, as he wanders through his house. He really needs her to pick up. He needs to talk to her.

‘Henry,’ he hears Angela say in a flat tone when she finally picks up. Okay, she is mad and rightly so. ‘How are you?’

‘Not good,’ he answers in all honesty, because lying to Angela Bassett is only asking for trouble really. ‘Please, don’t spare me. I know you saw the livestream, I know you think I fucked up.’

She scoffs. ‘Well, in that case: you truly messed this up. I can’t believe you did this, Henry. Adelaide Park has been nothing but an angel to you and I honestly thought you liked her.’

‘I do like her,’ he says in a defensive and louder tone.

She is not impressed with his tone. ‘And yet you still broke her heart. What a way to show her you care.’

He doesn’t need to get defensive. This is all his own fault and he deserves this. ‘I know. I’m a fucking idiot.’

‘That’s an understatement,’ she mumbles. ‘Tell me, what do you want from me?’

Henry lets out a deep sigh. ‘I don’t want to call her, because she told me not to talk to her. I want to respect that and I need to respect that, but I have to let her know at least one more time how sorry I am. I regret the words, I regret not being honest to her. I’ll accept whatever answer I get, but I need her to know how sorry I am.’

Angela doesn’t say anything and Henry fears he overstepped. Overstepped a lot.

‘Okay,’ she says, ‘I’ can do that. However, after this, you really need to reflect on this situation. You have broken her heart and ruined it for yourself. Get away from that abysmal agency you’re under contract with and share a statement on every social media platform you have.’

‘I’m already drafting something and I really want to leave that agency, I can tell you that.’

‘Good, because you need to clear your name. I don’t know if that is going to work, but you need to at least try.’

‘I know. Thanks Angela. I owe you.’

‘You sure do,’ she says and hangs up shortly afterwards.

Henry takes a seat on the stool at the bar and looks at the piece of paper on the counter, filled with scribbles and notes. He should make a neutral statement, where his sorry and remorse clearly comes through. He has seen the reactions on her pictures. Fans constantly tag him underneath her pictures and her underneath his and he sincerely hopes they stop doing that.

She doesn’t deserve this at all. She doesn’t need to be reminded of his actions on every social media platform she’s on.

He continues to scribble down words and eventual sentences he can use in his statement. Angela is right: he should do this.

He doesn’t know how long he is bend over the notebook, as he continues to write down a statement that actually satisfies him, but he gets pulled out of his thoughts when he sees the screenshot Angela has send to him.

And it’s what he expected. Adelaide doesn’t accept his apology (which he understands) and she tells Angela she doesn’t want to talk to him ever again, let alone see him. He opens up her Instagram, stares at her beautiful face. He misses her, but this is all his fault.

And Henry should live with that.

◎ ◎ ◎

2 weeks after the livestream

Henry stares at the screen on his laptop, as he checks out the announcement for the newest movie starring Adelaide and David Castañeda. He keeps wondering what would’ve happened if he actually had auditioned for it.

Wondering is all he does nowadays. Wondering how his life would look like now if he has just been honest with Adelaide. Wondering about them together, if the livestream went well, instead of exploded in the way it did.

He “broke up” with his agency and is currently looking at others, hoping to find himself a new and suitable one. One that wouldn’t do something like this. He always had a little bit of issues with the previous agency, but they offered him pretty decent jobs and he figured that was the most important thing. He never realized how much they interfered in his own personal life.

Henry closes his laptop. He barely left the house after he got back from Italy, except to do some groceries, so he wouldn’t starve to death. He is barely on his phone, just to let Angela, his family and friends know he is sort of doing okay. However he does turn down every invitation to hang out, simply because he can’t face anyone right now. He can barely face himself.

While he continues to attend his own pity party, he has checked what Adelaide has been doing and from the looks of it, she is doing great. She is absolutely glowing and obviously dealing much better with this than he is. She has been putting on a brave face for years now, so dealing with this seems like a piece of cake to her.

At least, that’s what it looks like to the public. During Tommy Hilfiger collaboration, she had this calm glow over her and the reactions underneath the pictures told her so as well.

Later the newest movie announcement with her, David, Reese Witherspoon and Paul Rudd was made. After that announcement, she has been pretty active on Instagram again and he has seen the pictures pop up at his explore page. He resists the urge to check her stories, but decides it would be for the best he doesn’t do that, simply because he feels like he shouldn’t intrude like that.

Fuck, he wishes he would feel better, but he doesn’t. Deep down he feels like he should forgive himself and at least try and move on, but he can’t seem to find the strength to forgive himself for his actions.

His fans reacted well to his statement and lots of people said reality tv can make everything look worse than it actually is. While it was definitely made worse than it actually was, he still feels bad and realizes he shouldn’t be as easily forgiven as he is now.

Henry is still thinking about suing the program, but he decided to just drop it. He doesn’t even have the energy to think about a lawsuit, let alone actually do it.

There is one thing to be happy and grateful about: Adelaide seems to do okay and for now, that is all that actually matters to him.

◎ ◎ ◎

1 month after the livestream

The 8seconds event Adelaide attended for her collaboration with them, might’ve been the worst things that happened to either of them since the livestream. Henry did look up the event, because he just wants to continue to see how she is doing. He saw the moment the journalists could ask questions and especially the second one journalist asked if Adelaide had spoken to Henry after the statement and what she thought of it. Her face never showed any emotions and she simply thanked everyone for their time and walked off.

Almost as if it was a diversion planned beforehand, David Castañeda posted a picture on his Instagram of her and the attention was immediately shifted away of the awkward matter. People are now speculating whether or not the two of them are dating and while Henry thinks that is not the case, you simply never know. The public at least is already shipping them and Henry would lie if he didn’t think the two of them would be a great match.

Henry finally managed to drag himself out of his own house and he is now at his parents. He did ask them if they couldn’t ask about Adelaide, since he would like to forget about the situation and so far, they thankfully honored his wishes.

She continues to feed him with extra little cupcakes and cookies and normally he would politely decline, but now he eats like he hasn’t eaten for days. He goes to the gym a whole lot nowadays, to get his mind of the whole Adelaide situation, so he doesn’t really care.

‘Okay, dear, I know you are still sad, but it has been four weeks,’ his mom says, as she places her hand on his shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. So much for not mentioning Adelaide. ‘You released the statement, you let go of your old management and you are keeping your side of the bargain. You are not texting her, you are not mentioning her. Yes, you hurt her, but you have learned from this.’

‘I know, I know.’ He rubs his face and looks up at his mom. ‘I just can’t believe I did this.’

‘Me neither,’ his dad mumbles. ‘I thought we taught you better than that.’

This hurts, but Henry deserves this. ‘You did.’

His dad sits up straight on the couch and stares at him, without even saying anything to him. No matter how old Henry is, that still makes him nervous. ‘You better have learned from this, Henry, because I’m rather disappointed in you.’

◎ ◎ ◎

2 months after the livestream

◎ ◎ ◎

5 months after the livestream

Henry managed to get his life kinda back to how it was pre-Adelaide. He has found himself a new agency and a wonderful agent, Julia, who managed to get him a great new role in a sci-fi movie. The filming process went great and he loved to be on set again.

Right now he is on his first press tour for the movie he did before the Celebrity Project ‘The Royal Heist’ with Anne Hathaway as his co-star.

Of course he still thinks about Adelaide, he thinks about her quite often as a matter of fact. He watches her interviews, he sometimes sees a picture of her on his Instagram explore page. Sometimes it’s a picture she posted herself, sometimes it’s a picture posted by David or someone else from the crew or a fan account.

It’s hard sometimes, not to think about her. Occasionally he wakes up un the middle of the night, thinking about her and seeing her laugh flash in front of his eyes. He realizes that of course he misses her, but it’s for the best they both move on without one another. From the looks of it, she is absolutely glowing and for that he is forever grateful. He feared she would blame herself, maybe completely hide herself, but she doesn’t. She has flourished and is not afraid to show it to the entire world. During her interviews she seems relaxed and makes a joke every now and then.

Henry sits next to Anne, as they are about to answer some questions about the new movie. The two of them joke around a bit, as Anne just recently discovered the wonders of Snapchat filters. It’s nice to have fun and not feel guilty as he did before. When he witnessed Adelaide having fun and being happy again, he felt it was okay for him to do so as well.

The questions about the movie are pretty basic, but after a while the interviewer seems less nervous than when he started. However, him feeling more confident, might have given him the impression he can actually ask questions he really shouldn’t be asking.

‘After the Celebrity Project, have you and Adelaide Park cleared the air with one another?’

Henry clenches his jaw. He wants to say a lot to this man. How he should mind his own fucking business, how Henry is going to rearrange his face for asking such thing, but then he remembers what Adelaide wanted from him.

He managed to do so for five months and he will not quit. Not now. ‘I thought my agent told you before hand I will not answer any Celebrity Project related questions.’

The interviewer doesn’t seem to care and continues to ask questions about how Adelaide was in real life, what they did when the camera’s were off and what he would do to make it up to the actress.

While he is nearly exploding with rage and anger, Anne manages to divert the conversation and when the end is near, Henry doesn’t thank the interviewer. He simply gets up to go outside for a fresh breath of air. The second he is outside, he takes a deep breath. Turned out he maybe wasn’t over Adelaide as much as he thought he was.

Henry grabs his phone and does something he hasn’t done for a while now. He goes to her account and checks the pictures. He sees the amount of David Castañeda related posts, so he goes to the actor’s page, where he sees excess of Adelaide pictures. She looks radiant and beautiful.

‘You okay?’ Anne asks, as she walks out of the building to stand next to him.

‘Yeah, I’m okay,’ he says, closing off Instagram and pushing his phone back into his pocket. ‘I made a promise and I wanted to keep that one.’

‘You did,’ she says with a smile. ‘Really, don’t let that idiot get to you. Weirdly enough, this is his job and you did well. As a thank you for diffusing the situation, you can buy me a coffee later today. Now, let’s go back inside. I’m wearing a flimsy bra and I don’t want the entire world to know I’m freezing.’

◎ ◎ ◎

8 months after the livestream

It has been eight whole months after the livestream and Henry finally thinks he is actually over the entire situation. The Royal Heist is nominated for an award, just like he was for his role in the movie. The rude interviewer three months ago was the last one to bring up Adelaide and thankfully he was, because Henry might’ve thrown some punches if someone asked about it.

He runs his hand over his black velvet jacket, before Anne stands next to him and says: ‘Maybe you should frown a little less.’

‘I’m not frowning,’ he says with a smile. ‘Just concentrated.’

‘Thus frowning.’

The two of them are guided by some very nervous assistants, who are managing the photo opts. And while he is slightly distracted by Anne and her embarrassing stories about other red carpets events, the commands of the paparazzi are becoming louder and louder and it gains his attention.

‘Adelaide, look over here! You look beautiful!’ Henry stretches out his neck and sees Adelaide Park, looking beautiful as ever.

The white dress she wears hugs her figure nicely and the matching heels create the illusion her legs are endless. Her long blonde hair, probably lengthened by extensions, is pulled together in a fancy ponytail.

Henry thought he was doing pretty well over the past months, thinking he was over her, but seeing her in real life… It makes him realize him being over her was all pretend. He can’t forget her.

Adelaide Park is the love of his life.

Fuck, what a moment to come to that realization.

He watches closely as David Castañeda stands next to her as he joins her. He plays her love interest in the movie, the man that has been all over her Instagram and the same man who she has done multiple interviews with. David looks like a nice guy, who seems a great friend to Adelaide.

David places his hand on her waist and together they pose for the camera. It’s weird seeing her like this. This at ease with someone else. When Henry met her, she was tense with stress, but that all disappeared. Of course he kept track of her, mostly to see how she was doing.

And she was blossoming and still is.

Henry watched their new movie, ‘Warm Up Period’ and it was an amazing romantic comedy, one of the best he has ever seen. Adelaide sure has a way of acting in these types of movies. It was all part of the job of course, he knows that, but he couldn’t push away those jealous thoughts he experienced when he watched their more intimate scenes. It’s all pretend—he knows that—but he could feel their connection through the screen. The way David touched her bare back, how the camera zoomed in on the goosebumps on her skin, the kisses they shared.

It was enough to make him green with jealousy.

‘You haven’t heard one single bit of what I was telling,’ Anne Hathaway concludes and he quickly looks at her. ‘You’re still not over her, aren’t you?’

He doesn’t know what to say. ‘I’m just happy to see she’s doing good,’ he eventually says, while still looking at her. Maybe she senses that someone is gawking at her, because she looks to the side, but he quickly looks away.

That’s what she wanted from him. If he saw her before she saw him, he should walk away.

◎ ◎ ◎

Afterparties aren’t really Henry’s thing, but he feels obligated to stay, especially after he won ‘Best Actor’. Other actors congratulate him as he makes his way through the hall and he puts on a brave face, but in all honesty: he is feeling miserable.

From a distance, he sees Adelaide standing all by herself. He could simply do it, he thinks to himself. He could walk up to her and talk to her. If she doesn’t want him there, he’ll understand and walk away.

Reluctantly, he walks up to her and when he is close enough for her to hear him, he takes a deep breath. He really is going to do this… ‘Hi Adelaide,’ he gently says to her.

She looks up, her eyes enlarging when she realizes it’s him. From up close she is even more beautiful. She looks breathtakingly gorgeous with blonde hair, but he misses the way her light brown hair made her look. It reminds him of a time where things were simpler and better.

Adelaide blinks a few times and says: ‘Hi,’ in a soft tone.

He missed hearing her voice. ‘If you don’t want to talk to me, just say so. I was just wondering how you’ve been.’

She clears her throat, as she studies his face. ‘I’m good,’ she answers and he lets out a sigh of relief. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m okay,’ he says, but his voice is telling otherwise. He is not okay, he is an utter mess. He just became a bit better at hiding it over the past couple of month.

She must sense that too, because she frowns for a split second. ‘Congratulations,’ she tells him and it sounds sincere. Of course it sounds sincere, the words come from Adelaide herself, the embodiment of sincerity. ‘The movie was really good and you deserved to win best actor. You were great.’

‘Thank you,’ he says. Henry can’t believe he used to be so comfortable around her and now he’s getting heart palpitations simply by looking at her. ‘You look amazing, Adelaide.’

She nods. ‘Thank you.’ She takes a sip of her champagne and purses her lips for a brief moment, probably thinking about what she can say. ‘I heard you turned down James Bond.’

Henry nods. ‘Yes, I did. I didn’t want to be part of that franchise.’

‘Was it because of me?’ she asks.

He sighs. ‘Well, I think you were part of my decision. I think I should thank you.’

Adelaide simply nods. ‘Right.’

Henry knows he shouldn’t do it, but he can’t stop himself. ‘Adelaide, I’m so terribly sorry for everything I did. I know I hurt you and it pains me every single day to know I betrayed your trust. Trust I didn’t even deserve in the first place.’

She simply shakes her head. ‘Please don’t do this, Henry. It’s all okay.’

‘No, it’s not okay,’ he tells her, taking a step closer to her, while still maintaining an appropriate distance from her. She doesn’t step back and from the looks of it, she actually is open to what he has to say to her, so he better make it worth while. ‘You had every right to be as mad as you were and I totally understand. I was just hoping that maybe we can talk about it, clear the air, so we can be in the same room together.’

Adelaide blinks her eyes a few times. ‘Really?’

‘Really,’ he confirms. ‘And if you don’t want to, I respect that. Just wanted to at least have suggested the idea to you.’

She nods. ‘Okay, just not here.’

‘Of course not,’ he quickly says. ‘How about we do coffee tomorrow? I know a nice place around here. They have nice cappuccino’s. If you want to of course. Maybe you want to meet up somewhere else, that’s fine with me.’

She shakes her head. ‘Coffee tomorrow is good,’ she says. Her eyes are brighter than the first few moments he started to talk to her. That’s a good sign, right?

Henry nods, as he counts his blessings, thankful that she actually agrees to this idea. ‘Good, good.’

Her co-star David walks over to the two of them and stands next to Adelaide. ‘Hi,’ he says when his eyes fall on Henry, holding out his hand. ‘Congratulations, man. I loved the movie and you were great. Very well deserved.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ he says with a smile, because David’s friendliness is contagious.

David places his hand on Adelaide waist. ‘Ready to go? Our limo is ready.’

Adelaide tears her gaze away from Henry and meets David’s eyes. She smiles at her co-star, in a way only she can do. This shouldn’t make him jealous, not after all these months they spend apart.

But seeing her this close to someone other than him, confirms what he thought earlier that night.

He missed her more than he originally figured.

‘I am,’ she tells David. ‘Henry, I’ll see you tomorrow then. You still have my number?’

As if he would erase her number. Ever. ‘I do.’

‘Text me a time and address and I’ll be there.’ She sends him a soft smile, before turning around. She walks off to the exit with David, his hand still in the dip her waist.

Henry stares after the pair, as his blood boils with rage and jealousy.

But he shouldn’t be. He can’t be.

Besides, the most important thing is: he is going to talk with Adelaide Park, face to face. He quickly looks over the crowd, to see if he can find Anne, so he can say his goodbye and go to his hotelroom to prepare, because this might be his only chance to make things right between him and Adelaide.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #henry cavill x asian ofc #henry cavill x adelaide park #adelaide park #asian ofc #the alluring charm of henry cavill #henry cavill fandom #Henry cavill fanfic

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fire-lady-ilah · 3 years

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Thank you to @theboyfrommakapu for the tag! Post under the read more.

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

26 total (although I think I have 2 or 3 that I either orphaned or deleted, can’t remember) on uhmeduh.

Oh, and 2 on another account I made specifically for my bad 10 year old me’s fanfics. No, you don’t get that one.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

126 862. Which is, frankly, more than I thought. I think it’s grown quite a bit in 2021, to be fair.

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

7, according to AO3. One is an original work, so I guess 6? Except Far Cry 4 and 5 are considered different by AO3, as are Persona 2 and 5. I personally consider it like 4 or 5 fandoms.

A:TLA— 20 fics

Persona 2 & 5— 1 fic (crossover between the two)

Far Cry 4 & 5— 1 fic (crossover between the two)

PJO and related fandoms— 3 fics

Original Work— 1 fic

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

1. Silence is a Virtue — 191 kudos

2. sometimes you’re born evil (sometimes you’re not) — 149 kudos

3. In Which Ajay Just Wants a Vacation — 91 kudos

4. musings of a common man — 75 kudos

5. Lost. [tied with] undercurrent — 37 kudos each

Silence is a Virtue and IWAJWAV are both multi chapter fics at 23.6k and 19.2k, respectively. sybe (syn), moacm, and undercurrent are all part of the same series of short fics and range from 4.4k (unfinished) to 7k. Lost. is a theoretical first chapter of a multi chapter fic. 4/6 fics are ATLA, 1 is Far Cry, 1 is PJO.

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yeah! I used to not because I’m incredibly awkward about it, but when I started commenting on fics myself and realized how nice it is when the author replies, I started doing it myself. I really enjoy recognizing regular commenters. I just need to stop talking so much about worldbuilding and hinting at stuff in my replies, I think ^^’.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm. Probably either what is a legacy to a dead man (it is worth far more to those still living) or Shattered Porcelain. The former is most likely more angsty to readers, but the latter holds a special place in my mind because I know my OCs intimately well.

7) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

Most of them, to be honest. I am, at my core, a fluff writer, even if I also enjoy throwing in sprinkles of angst every so often. The entire the dragon king series is going to end pretty happy if it goes according to plan. If I had to pick a finished fic then probably Apricot Blossoms— it’s just sweet kids in love, you barely notice the darkness on the horizon.

8) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Kinda? Sorta? Not really? Two of my published fics are crossovers but they’re like, crossovers within the same extended fandom.

Oh, wait, that one fic I wrote and published when I was 11 was a weird Harry Potter and mild Avengers crossover. So yeah, I guess.

9) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really, no. I occupy a pretty niche area in all the fandoms I write in, so you kind of have to search out the content I make. I’m also not popular at all in the grand scheme of things, which I’m mildly thankful for. I have some popular fic writers as friends and I see some of their commenters sometimes.

10) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I guess? It’s not something I make a habit of, I just in general am not that horny, but I have one published smutfic on AO3 and a ficlet on Tumblr that, if it isn’t really classified as smutc definitely is close. The smut I write is pretty soft and loving and is exclusively LuZhao so far.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not as far as I know.

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope. If someone wants to I’m all for it, and theoretically I could translate my own fics into two other languages, but if there isn’t a demand there wouldn’t be much purpose other than me practicing. Who knows though, maybe one of my fics on my account will show up translated into French or Norwegian by me. Or maybe Russian, but that would be an effort. My Russian... isn’t great.

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Currently (kinda, fixing my laptop has made it take a hot second) co-writing an OC centric fic with @theboyfrommakapu. I also betaread two of @izzymrdb’s fics, and she called me their coauthor in a comment once so... I guess that counts? I also had plans to make a massive crossover with my own fic and two of my friends but then I fell out of PJO and into ATLA pretty hard.

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

LuZhao, definitely. I’ve just created enough stuff around it to make it my favourite. I’m also quite fond of Jastavian in the realm of PJO.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I fully intend to finish my two main multichapter fics eventually, but I doubt I’ll ever finish Butterfly Kisses. Especially to the extent I have it in my mind.

16) What are your writing strengths?

Uh... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Maybe worldbuilding within an established world? I actually prefer AUs to canon compliance, but when I want something to be canon compliant then I will make sure that it is as fully canon compliant as possible (or, to the extent that canon doesn’t contradict itself). For example, at the moment all of my OCs are completely canon compliant. If I somehow were asked to publish them, they would not contradict any existing work. I put a lot of work into my OCs and worldbuilding and it definitely shows.

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

If you asked my girlfriend? My paragraphs are too long and I don’t know how to use commas. She’s right about that, of course.

If you asked me? I’d probably say something a little more vague. I’m bad at the whole “communicating just enough” aspect of writing (and of life). I tend to get absorbed by my worldbuilding and want to tell everyone every little detail, which makes no sense because you don’t need to know it for the fic’s promises.

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

So long as a translation is provided, I see no issue if it’s accurate. One of my first fandoms was Hetalia so... yeah.

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m not sure if it was Harry Potter, Sherlock, or Hetalia. But it was definitely one of those three and I was about 10 when I wrote it.

20) What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Surprisingly I haven’t mentioned it so far, but solntse moye / luna moya. Azulon and Ilah have a relationship I really like, and they both have such distinct inner voices.

Tagging:

@percabeth4life @izzymrdb @crookedmouth-mountainbones @ohmygodtheywereparabatai (I know you write on Tumblr so this would be hard, but consider it another request for you to post your stuff on AO3 ❤️) @thetruecthulhu9 @ariya-167

#tag game #my writing #angie writes

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spencersawkward · 4 years

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switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 6

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

relationship: Fem!OC/Spencer

content warnings: discussion of mental illness (schizophrenia)

word count: 4.4k

masterlist

the thing about growing up in a place where there are so many dinosaur fossils is that you start to search for them everywhere. my friends and I, in elementary school, saw the enormous bones, those huge sockets where eyes used to sit. and even though there was nothing in them now, they seemed to glare back at us. if you stood right in front, face-to-face, it felt like looking down the barrel of a gun. a several-ton, reptilian gun. petrifying.

and it wasn't like there was much to do in Montana, anyway. sometimes the sheer expanse of that place, especially if we drove a bit out of town, was enough to put fear in me. like we'd been abandoned there.

when my mom got her migraines, I dug holes in the front yard. occasionally, I'd find something-- a funnily-shaped rock, usually-- and it would look enough like a dinosaur tooth that for a moment I'd deceive myself into thinking that I'd made a discovery. it didn't matter that actual remnants would be buried much, much further in the ground than I could turn with my small hands. but I liked the slight rush it sent through my body, seeing what other people hadn't. sitting back on my heels and brushing off the excess, the only thing I could hear was my breath. there's something quite serene about that, the focusing in on something which normally I would never think about. my heart pounding. and I collected my findings so that I would be able to put them together again when there were enough pieces.

but this doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things, particularly not when I'm short on time and staring at an upsettingly pathetic evidence board.

"the unsub said we needed a book, didn't he?" Spencer brings me to attention. there's an unfolded paper on the board that Hotch's wife dropped off an hour ago. he's talking to her in his office about who delivered it; we don't know anything else. all it has is a bunch of numbers written in neat black ink.

"yep." I bite the end of my pen and frown. "one that 'inspired many an adventure.'"

"then it's a book code," Reid says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. I arch an eyebrow and he continues. "each one of these sets of numbers represents a specific word. page 118, line 30, word 3." he points one long finger at a certain spot, and I follow it.

"so we just need to figure out what the words are and fill in the blanks," I lean forward in my chair, cradling a cup of coffee that's starting to grow cold. "except what book are we looking for?"

"I don't know," he shrugs. I lean back in my seat; if Reid doesn't know, we're all screwed. "the thing is that it has to be the exact same edition of the exact same book."

"that's encouraging." I sigh. the useless feeling puts me in a bad mood. we're wasting time by sitting and learning nothing. although there's nowhere to go.

I'm not sure how long we're there; hours, at least. night becomes less heavy, hues of a purplish pink sky slotting through the blinds and reminding me of just how exhausted I am. not enough to sleep. bone-tired.

Spencer crosses his arms, leans his chin on his fist and stares at the numbers like they'll suddenly make sense. and maybe they will; I don't know how his head works. some miracle that has eluded us for the past few hours might appear now. but the longer I stare, the more confused I get. instead, I start to sift through the pile of other evidence pieces scattered around the table. we could be missing something.

"you know, I can understand how this guy got our addresses and phone numbers, but there's no way all that information about JJ's butterfly obsession or Rossi's trips to baseball games would be in our personnel files." I frown. those things wouldn't be relevant.

Spencer isn't even listening to me, though. he's muttering to himself, eyes flickering over the floor.

"'never would it be night, but always clear day to any man's sight,'" he says it more loudly, then finally focuses on me. "it sounds familiar-- I think I've heard it somewhere before."

I also get the feeling that I've heard it before, except it keeps slipping my memory. a lot of rhyming poetry leaves my mind after I finish reading it, and I don't want to lead us in the wrong direction, either. he uncaps a dry erase marker and hurries over to the white board, writing "Possible Book Titles" in messy scrawl, staring at it. I watch him for a moment, the way he talks to himself as he works through his thoughts, certain words floating in the air.

"how many books do you think are published every year?" I ask. maybe if we can narrow that down, we can get a better perspective on how to proceed. Spencer doesn't even look up.

"thousands. easily." he sighs dejectedly. and then his head snaps up. "year... every year."

he spins and starts to push all the evidence bags aside on the table, scrambling to grab something. I don't know what to say about his fervent behavior. I'm speechless when he finds the baseball card. he shoves it in my face. "1963."

"what about it?" I take the card.

"if the book has to be the right volume and the right publication date, why is this from 1963?"

his eyes are enormous. wide pupils that urge me to catch onto his line of thought. for a moment, I have no idea what he's talking about. my eyes run over the baseball card for what feels like the millionth time, examining the date. I slam the thing down on the table and we look at each other.

"Rossi said 1959." I say. he nods.

"so the book must be from 1963, or it wouldn't fit the pattern," Reid straightens and runs his hands through his hair, his spine finally straightening as he takes a deep breath. I can practically sense the electric current that radiates from his body while he thinks. "I'm gonna go ask Garcia about something."

he's gone before I have a chance to respond.

...

the rest of the day gets really weird really fast. as all of us are focused on finding the unsub, I fall into a daze. I don't eat, don't drink anything other than tankards of coffee while my eyes start to burn from looking at the board.

we've finished talking on the phone to a librarian at some facility in Virginia, where the exact edition of the book we've been seeking is housed. it took about half an hour for us to go through each blank in the code with her. somehow, that prompted Spencer to think of his mom, so he called her and requested she be flown out here from Las Vegas immediately. the whole time he's on the phone, he rocks back and forth on his heels and keeps glancing at me.

I pretend to be focused on the pile of evidence, not wanting to intrude. he already told me about his mom, and I'm assuming this has something to do with her being a professor of medieval literature. it's not really my place to question it.

when he hangs up, he doesn't say anything to me. there's quite literally nothing else for us to do. I clear my throat, lick my lips, and sit a bit straighter. he's still standing with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"um," I wrack my mind for anything that would take our minds off the waiting. "do you wanna play cards?"

Spencer tries to smile. it looks more like a wince as he nods. with Prentiss and Morgan talking to the guy who delivered the code papers and Hotch and Rossi on their way to interview the parents of the missing girl (whose name is Rebecca Bryant, apparently), we're kind of aimless.

I head to the bullpen to grab my favorite deck, then return and close the door behind me. there are plenty of other employees out there bustling around, and the noise probably won't help his anxiety. he's sitting in the chair next to where I was, leaning his elbow against the table while he presses his knuckles to his temple. he looks incredibly pensive.

"here." I plop down next to him.

"thanks."

"mhmm." instead of starting a conversation, I just shuffle the deck. the only sounds are the flutter of paper against paper and the slap of the cards on the table's surface. his eyes follow the movements of my hands, the way I bend and mix them up, before eventually dealing them out.

it should be awkward, but it's not. the weight of his thoughts fills enough of the space for the both of us; I can practically hear him running through scenarios in his mind, ever.

we start to play for a couple minutes in silence, and I'm in shock when he's the one who initiates a game of war. all I do is smile to myself as the pile in the middle of the table begins. we get caught up in it; both of us are tense, and he finally slaps his hand down on the pile before I do. my hand is covering his, evidence of my defeat.

"hey!" he cheers, looking up at me with a surprised grin and dragging the pile towards him. I narrow my eyes.

"I was distracted." I roll my eyes.

"yeah?" he starts to laugh as he sets forth another card. "by what? how I'm crushing you?"

"you get one hand and suddenly you're the master, now, huh?" I can't help but giggle. he nods and smiles like, yeah, pretty much. I scoff and we continue to play. halfway through the next round, he speaks up.

"I forgot she always used to read me that poem."

"what poem?" I frown.

"The Parliament of Fowls-- it's how we figured out the book title."

the name slides into place for me at last. I must have read it in college or something, because it didn't leave that big of an imprint on my memory.

"Chaucer?" I raise an eyebrow. his head startles up from staring at the table.

"yeah." he smiles a little.

"I'm not entirely stupid." I wink before setting down another card. he makes a noncommittal noise.

he seems to get uncomfortable, shifting, then gives up on his previous train of thought. "it's kind of funny, isn't it?"

I just give him an inquisitive look.

"I should have realized sooner. nobody knows things like the fact that JJ collected butterflies except for me." he isn't looking at me, but I notice that he does seem more relaxed than before. his shoulders aren't so hunched over, and there's even a hint of a thoughtful smile on his face.

"that's sweet." I reply softly.

"people tell me their secrets all the time," he stops putting out cards. I stop, too, although he doesn't even notice that we're no longer playing the game. his back is reclined in the chair. "I think it's because they know I don't have anyone to betray them to."

my heart sinks in my chest at the implication. his tone is a bit melancholy, but there's something else in it, too, that I can't quite place. like a resigned loneliness. I want to say something, though I'm not sure what. and I don't think it would make a difference anyway. he continues on before I have to, thankfully.

"except my mom. I tell her... pretty much everything." he looks up at me when he says the last part, smiling. his eyes sparkle, and something about the low tone of voice and the way he gives up all of this at once makes me think that Spencer hasn't spent much time telling his own secrets. only hearing others', storing them away.

"I don't think anyone would mind." I reply.

"you know, I write her a letter every day." his laugh is really lovely. my heart stutters.

"I think that's nice."

"well, it depends on why I write her."

"what do you mean?" this time I frown, my fingertips fidgeting with each other under the table. I hate that I'm nervous right now, worried that I'll somehow ruin the moment.

"I write her letters... so that I don't feel so guilty about not visiting her." each syllable like its own individual battle for him.

the admission is like a cement block between us, something ridiculously heavy that he has compressed and repressed until it's too solid to hide anymore. and he's avoiding contact when he says it, and the moments after. his fingertips mess around with a stray paper clip, twisting the thing into oblivion.

"did you know that schizophrenia is genetically passed?" he asks, then peeks up to gauge my reaction. schizophrenia.

"how long has she been diagnosed?" my own eyes are barely able to hold his. everything in my body wants to reach out and hug him, even though that would only ruin this. Spencer isn't a fan of physical touch.

"since before I was born," he shrugs, poking his palm with the end of the paper clip. "she was on meds but didn't get placed in Bennington until I was eighteen." this also seems to be bitter in his mouth. "you get used to it. it's just... I won't know for a while."

I nod. it likely won't manifest for a couple years with him, but that only puts a ticking clock over his head. and, judging by the way his body is sinking into the swivel chair, he senses it constantly. I wish I could tell him that he doesn't have it, that he won't have it, except I can't. there's no way for anyone to find out right now.

"I'm sorry, Spence." it's a weak thing to say-- stupid, really. I've never had a way with words. instead, I pour every ounce of my emotion into it. I don't want him to feel alone. I guess I'm sorry for that, too, along with everything else. nobody deserves to deal with that by themselves.

"it's okay," he smiles. "it is what it is, right?"

"I mean, I think it's a little more complicated than that. but yeah." wow, really fucking eloquent. he chuckles at this, though, brushing his fingers over the top of his deck of cards. he flips the top one over and we return to playing, leaving the conversation to lie open between us.

...

my body feels like it's been dragged through a corn field by the time we get back to the office. I think I'm still a little in shock, honestly. this whole day has been jam-packed with things, easily the most intense case I've had yet. my morning was occupied by a code-cracking book search, then a series of out-of-place card games with Reid, then his mother arrived and I left them to talk so as not to overwhelm her.

we rescued Rebecca Bryant-- Spencer did, I mean. it was chivalric, how he went into the house and tried to talk down her kidnapper (who happened to be her father). the guy blew himself up, and Morgan tells me that they barely got out of the way in time. I was on the main level with Hotch, trying to find Rebecca. again, Reid came to the rescue with that eidetic memory, recalling the puzzle pieces and a photograph that included an illuminated basement light. the key he received in the mail slipped into her shackles with ease, unlocking her before we carried her out onto the lawn and watched the house burn into an ash-covered shell of itself. I remember the way the smoke billowed into the air, how sparks fluttered out of the windows and dissipated into nothingness.

I stood there like a rock, Reid stumbling up next to me. his face was covered in a sheen of sweat, and his hair was curlier than usual. the heat must have ruined whatever he usually used to smooth it down.

"hey." I'd said, putting my hand on his shoulder as if to offer some kind of stability. he glanced at me with something like unease, then tried to straighten up.

"hi."

"I heard you were a hero in there."

"did Morgan say that?"

"yeah, why?" I laughed. Reid chuckled, shook his head slowly.

"he's teasing me."

"for what?" I frowned.

"pure irony. you know how he always calls me 'pretty boy' and stuff?"

"I sure do." my fist came up to softly slug him in the shoulder. Spencer stumbled a bit and my eyes went wide as I tried to right him before he fell. he made a face as he regained his footing and then I giggled. "you okay, there?"

"I'm fine." he tried to be annoyed, but he was hiding a smile.

"is Rebecca gonna be okay?" I nodded to the ambulance, where he had just spent the past couple minutes talking to the paramedics and checking her condition.

"she'll be okay-- physically, I mean."

"seriously," I watched them close the doors to the vehicle, closing her up inside before they sped off to the hospital. "two years in there."

he nodded and we started to walk to our cars to meet up with the team and head to the office. we both knew his mother was still at Quantico, probably anxiously awaiting his return after she helped him crack the case. but he didn't seem to want to talk about it, so I asked something else that was on my mind.

"do you ever go back and look at old cases?"

"old cases?" he stared at the ground beneath his feet, kicking up the gravel as a way to distract himself. I cleared my throat.

"like, ones that you guys have solved. have you ever gone back and checked to see how the victims are doing now?"

"I haven't worked here long enough for that, really." he had shrugged. I remember how the air felt in my lungs, a little bit poisoned by smoke. still breathable as I inhaled it deeply.

"really makes you think."

"what do you mean?"

"'saving' people has to be more than just sweeping them out of harm's way at the last second, right?" I put air-quotes around the word.

he thinks this over, nodding.

"sorry, I know you're tired." one look at him and I realized that the question I'd posed was one for another time. he walked like there was some unconscionable weight on his shoulders, like he didn't think he deserved his moment of glory for saving that girl's life-- and ours, probably, too.

he looks the same now, pushing the glass doors of the BAU open and immediately focusing in on the windows of the conference room, where the blinds have been lowered to make Diana feel safer. I watch as he runs up the stairs, returning to her as soon as possible.

I wonder what it is to love someone that much, that fear for their well-being that puts you on edge.

Emily places a hand on my shoulder.

"you okay?" she asks, draws my attention away from the closed door of the round table room. I smile and nod cheerfully.

"yep. just ready to go to bed."

"no kidding," she scoffs, slamming her go-bag on her desk. "I feel like I've been up for days."

"so it wasn't just me?" I laugh as I set my things in my own space. she shakes her head slowly and Morgan walks over, his own gait seemingly heavy with exhaustion.

"plans for tonight, ladies?" he jokes.

"with my couch and takeout." Emily replies. once my bag is all packed up, she and Morgan and I wander out of the office. Rossi stops us at the last minute, joining before we head into the hallway to take the elevator downstairs.

I peek once to see Hotch sitting in his office, settled in with the light on like he's been there all day. my brain almost short-circuits at the thought of doing more work in any capacity right now.

"does he ever sleep?" I ask quietly as though he can hear me from all the way over here. Rossi glances at the unit chief through the window, shaking his head slowly and letting out the kind of knowing chuckle that only older people have.

"nope."

"wait," Morgan sees our small grouping, almost does a head count as JJ emerges from her office and sidles up silently next to me while we wait for the steel doors to open. "where's the kid?"

"Spence is flying his mom back to Vegas." JJ replies right away. when I saw him disappear into that room, I knew they wouldn't leave for a while; moving her around so much can't be good for her mental state. but I guess they're eager to get her to the sanitarium, which also makes sense.

"oh, okay." Morgan shrugs. I chance a look in that direction. the blinds are still drawn. Medieval literature. huh. part of me begins to think about all the things she must know, must have passed down to Reid.

...

"I'm gonna say... three." my voice is uncertain at first, but then the flavor coats my tongue and I smack my lips. "yeah."

Spencer's nonresponse is damning. I hear the puff of air he exhales in frustration as I lift the sleeping mask up from my eyes. I got it from my go-bag; we've decided to repurpose it for the morning in the office. technically, we could just close our eyes and keep it simple, but I thought it would be sort of funny because there are two huge cartoon eyes printed on the front.

"I'm right, aren't I?" I smirk, eyes landing on his crossed arms and taut expression. he shrugs.

"I think you're cheating."

"how am I cheating?" I laugh.

"I don't know, but you are." he shakes his head as I wrap my fingers around the handle and take a sip of the coffee. we're taste-testing to see who's better at finding the sugar content. it's become a pattern of ours: I make him a cup and he makes me one and then we drop in the sugar packets while the other keeps their eyes covered. it's actually pretty fun, especially because I'm good at it.

"your turn, then." I take off the sleeping mask and hand it over to him. he slips the thing over his eyes and waits patiently for me to put the sugar packets in. I chew on my bottom lip as I decide what number to do.

as I do this, JJ stands behind my shoulder.

"nap time, Spence?" she asks him with a chuckle. I explain before he has the opportunity to slander me with more cheating accusations.

"we're trying to see how good we are at detecting the number of sugars." I pick up six packets, knowing it'll definitely overload his senses. this'll teach him to call me a liar. JJ's eyes widen.

"cover your ears, Reid, I don't want you to hear me tearing them open." I order. he obliges, and I can sense the frown on his face while I dump in the sweetener.

"okay." I mix it with the stirrer before placing it in front of him.

"this thing smells like lavender." he observes randomly in reference to my sleeping mask.

"it's got scented stuff inside the fabric." I say.

"interesting. did you know that lavender is actually proven to be much more effective than--"

"Spence, just drink the coffee. I have to go talk to Hotch about something and I wanna see how this ends." JJ cuts him off light-heartedly. I purse my lips because I was sort of interested in what he was going to say, but he takes the not-so-subtle hint and lifts the mug.

I expect him to be repulsed by the sweetness, or at least to show some kind of discomfort. however, he takes a long draw before setting it on the table. his hand clutches onto the mug, still, as he pulls the mask off.

"five. this is my usual concoction." he clenches his jaw in complete seriousness. I have to fight an enormous grin, though it just turns into me twisting my mouth to the side of my face and JJ raising her eyebrows in surprise.

"what? am I wrong?" he gets nervous, voice going up an octave as he glances between the two of us. JJ averts her eyes, smiling.

"you lose!" I cackle, throwing my hand up for JJ to high-five. Spencer looks at me like I've stolen his life's savings.

"no! there's no way--"

"I forgot how many you usually put in there and I still won." I feign an awed expression.

"it's okay, Spence. you can always practice." JJ pats his shoulder sympathetically and then leaves us, running up the stairs to Hotch's office. I'm still smirking triumphantly as he glares at me.

"don't hate the player," I sigh, throwing my hands up. "hate the game."

"well, the player also happened to invent the game, so I think I'm entitled." he counters. I snort at his quickness.

"can I try this?" I point to the mug. "I've never had one with six."

he pushes the drink in my direction with his fingertips, almost having given up on trying to fight the loss. "there were six? that's only one off."

"yeah, but you need to get it right to win, dummy." I take a sip of the coffee. it's so sweet, though, that I shake my head and set it back down. "what in God's name is that?"

"you made it!" I sort of like the way his voice gets higher-pitched when he's vehement about something. it's cute.

"I wish I hadn't." I shove it over to him, half-expect that he'll not touch it now that I've taken a drink from it. but he continues to take ingest the caffeine, undeterred. I quirk an eyebrow silently, watching him.

"what?" he asks.

"nothing," I stand up. "come on, we should get some work done. I don't want Hotch to come down here and yell at us."

#baby spence #baby spencer reid #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #fanfic #slow burn #friends to lovers

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ggukcangetit · 4 years

Text

Dreamcatchers 4

Pairing: jungkook x oc

Synopsis: DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.

Genre/AU: fluff/action/mystery | detective! au | police!jungkook, police!oc

Word Count: 4.4k

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: mentions of violence, alcohol, blood, drugs, death. Basically stuff you’d associate with a murder mystery/crime drama

Previous: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Acknowledgement: shoutout to @stutterfly for designing this beautiful banner which i am completely in love with and stare at for no particular reason throughout the day. also a big thank you to @kinktae for helping get through a really tricky bit in this chapter :*

A/N: reminding everyone that this story features a named oc because i’m still very unfamiliar with writing second person reader inserts. i’m not aiming for strict accuracy in this story, and all criminal investigation/forensics knowledge i have has been gathered by watching crime drama/procedural dramas! my knowledge of geography is also not totally accurate so apologies for that. once again, one thing right by @hobios prompted me to write a police inspector! jungkook story. would highly recommend reading that because it’s probably one of my most favorite pieces of writing!

Time: 4.37 am

Yuri had spent the entire night researching Park Jimin. Right from where he went to school up to all the scandalous newspaper articles recounting every aspect of his personal life. Priding herself on being able to maintain a professional outlook in her investigations, Yuri couldn’t help but feel appalled by what she had found. Park Jimin appeared to be arrogant, sleazy, manipulative, privileged, and everything that she despised in a person. Yoongi’s words rang in her head as she contemplated dropping the idea of acquiring a blood sample from the prodigal son of Park. No, this wasn’t because of her last case in Seoul. That was not why she was backing off. This was simply because she had no patience to deal with the self-absorbed antics of a privileged 20-something man.

Closing one of the last tabs, she caught sight of a familiar face. Not familiar in the way that you recognise an old friend, but familiar like a phrase you hear and cannot for the life of you remember where it was from. Park Jimin was seen exiting a famous restaurant in downtown Busan and beside him was another young man, so extraordinarily eye-catching in his loose trousers and green cardigan in a way that only an exquisite piece of art is.

An exquisite piece of art…

That was it. That was the phrase that made it click in her head.

“He’s literally a piece of art!”

“I mean, yes, he’s definitely conventionally attractive,” conceded Ahreum, a little annoyed that her photography was almost completely being ignored. “But what do you think of the pictures?”

“‘Conventionally attractive’? Is that the best you can do with your Literature & Creative Writing degree?”

Of course! This was Ahreum’s friend and Instagram muse.

Yuri snatched her phone from it’s charging spot and quickly scrolled through her friend’s Instagram. Sure enough, Park Jimin’s friend in loose trousers and green cardigan stared back at her from various parts of Busan, his expressions varying only slightly but creating completely different moods throughout Ahreum’s profile.

Kim Taehyung…

xxx

Yuri checked her phone for the fifth time in the last 3 minutes. Ahreum was supposed to pick her up at 8 am. It was currently 8.02 am. Not that it really made much of a difference, but she was raring to go ahead with her plan. A plan she had no doubt could easily blow up in her face, but weeks of fitful sleep coupled with shots of sugary coffee had given her a weird adrenaline rush which she didn’t want to lose.

A couple of minutes later, Ahreum pulled up outside her apartment, her large bike contrasting heavily with her petite person.

“Still don’t see why I couldn’t drive to the place,” muttered Yuri, putting on the large helmet with artistic paint splatters all over.

“The plan was to corner Jimin, and you can’t do that in your car which has a fucking police sticker right at the back.”

Yuri frowned. “Your plan was to corner Jimin. I just wanted to talk to him. And -” she fixed her bag across her body and put both hands on Ahreum’s shoulders - “I kept the sticker for parking privileges. I can take it off whenever.”

“Whatever. Just hold on tight,” said Ahreum, revving up the bike.

4.5 minutes later, they had reached their destination. Yuri knew that it had been 4.5 minutes because she had been fervently counting the seconds to distract herself from falling off the vehicle

“WHO drives like that? Are you totally insane?” she managed to get out, her hands fumbling on the straps of the helmet.

Ahreum gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, timing is essential in this case. Tae had texted me that they had reached just before I left from my place. We don’t have a lot of time. So I ugh-”

“Whatever. Let’s just get on with it.” Yuri tucked the loose strands of hair behind her ear, and mentally rehearsed everything she was going to tell Jimin.

Unfortunately, fate had other things in mind, because as soon as they opened the door to the diner, a familiar face (which most definitely should not have been there) spotted them and came over.

“Fuck.” Ahreum pulled out her phone and frantically sent Taehyung a text before the entire plan went down the drain.

“Yuri? Ahreum? What are you two doing here?” asked Seulgi, her long brown hair looked freshly washed and smelt of flowers.

A: why didnt u warn me that s was here fuck fuck fuck

T: i didnt see her… look it wont be that big a problem will it

A: pls tae the last time she saw ur boy they almost set fire to the library

T: shit ur right… umm maybe she-

Ahreum paused her frantic texting as soon as Seulgi came over to them. She gave Yuri a quick nod and decided to wing the situation as best as she could.

“Seulgi! This is incredible! I can’t believe we ran into you like this!” Ahreum hugged the taller girl. “I wanted Yuri to try the breakfast here so we decided to drop by before she had to get to the station. This is really incredible, I was planning to call you today actually. It’s almost time for me to choose my specialization and I wanted to-”

Yuri took this chance to slip off, as Ahreum steered Seulgi outside the diner. She didn’t really know why Ahreum was so intent on Seulgi and Jimin not meeting, but she trusted her best friend’s reasons.

Looking around, she saw that the large table near the window was occupied by the people she had been looking for. Kim Taehyung and his best friend Park Jimin. The latter had his back towards her, and as she approached she saw Taehyung’s eyes fall on her. She gave him a small wave, gesturing towards her phone’s lockscreen - a picture of her and Ahreum.

His face lit up in recognition as he stood up to greet her. “Hello! I’m Kim Taehyung. I thought Ahreum would be with you.”

“She’s umm…” Yuri glanced towards the doors of the diner through which Ahreum had led Seulgi out. “She’ll be here in a bit.”

“DI Choi, that’s not really true,” Jimin turned towards her, his eyes cold and alert. “Taehyung, your friend is diverting dear Dr. Ahn before she could see us and sabotage their poorly constructed ambush of me.”

Taehyung’s mouth hung open slightly, not really sure what was going on. “DI Choi? As in Choi Yuri? As in Ahreum’s best friend from school?”

“Yes,” said Yuri, feeling extremely awkward. She had expected to get two words in before Jimin caught on, but it seemed like she had severely underestimated him. “I’m sorry Ahreum didn’t tell you what this meeting was about. These aren’t the most favorable circumstances for us to meet. Nonetheless, I’ve heard a lot about you and it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Taehyung bowed in response, but his expression was still uncertain.

“What brings you here, DI Choi?” asked Jimin. “I doubt it was because you were dying to see me again. But -” he stood up and leaned towards her ever so slightly - “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea if that were really the case.”

Not for the first time, Yuri realized how powerful Park Jimin’s presence was. She could see him becoming a very successful CEO with how he commanded people’s attention. However, she couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling his gaze elicited. It was like she couldn’t predict what he was going to do next, much less fathom what was going on inside his head.

“Mr. Park,” she said, sitting down on one of the sofas in the booth. Taehyung and Jimin followed suit, but this time, they were both seated on the same side. “I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. I’ve come to talk to you about the ongoing investigation regarding the death of Kang Eunwoo.”

“I believe I answered all of your questions last time,” said Jimin, narrowing his eyes. “In fact, I believe I answered all of DI Jeon’s questions. You didn’t have much to say, as I recall.”

Taehyung’s head snapped towards his friend. "Jeongguk? You were at the station? Why didn’t you tell me, Jimin? What’s going on?”

“You and I both know that you didn’t provide much information. But that’s not what-”

"I don't think I was really required to answer any of your questions, DI Choi. Linking me to a rival company heir's death without a shred of evidence - " he leaned forward once again, his silver bangs falling over his forehead - "Some would consider that harassment. That would mean my lawyer would have to become involved. And neither of us want that, now do we?"

This is harassment. You really don't want to know how I deal with any kind of harassment, DI Choi.

Yuri took a deep breath, trying to ignore the words that kept her up almost every night.

"Your cooperation is highly appreciated, Mr Park," she continued, placing her hands on the table. "However, in order to save you from any further harassment, there is something you could help us out with."

Jimin did not respond immediately, giving Yuri the time to continue her, frankly, insane idea.

"We would require you to provide a blood sample. Which would help us eliminate you from the investigation. It shouldn't take up too much of your time - just a short visit to the station, and you'd be free of us."

Yuri waited for a response - anger, disbelief, frustration - anything really. What she didn't expect was laughter. Full on hysterical laughter. In fact, Taehyung was probably not expecting it either because he kept glancing at his friend worriedly.

"You are truly remarkable, DI Choi," said Jimin, once he had calmed down. He wiped a lone tear from his left eye, the many rings on his fingers glinting in the sunlight. "After everything that you've witnessed, you really thought you could somehow convince me to provide a blood sample? Sweetheart, I have 10 years worth of DNA that the police have been trying to get a hold off. Do you really think you'd be able to convince me when you weren't even able to get an alibi out of me?"

Yuri's face fell slightly, her mind grappling with ways in which the situation could be salvaged. It was at this point that Ahreum came over, looking distinctly more worn out than when they had arrived at the diner.

"Ahreum." Jimin turned his attention to the other girl. "You have such an interesting friend. Are you sure she's from Seoul? I didn't think such naivety could survive in the capital. Much less in law enforcement."

Ahreum frowned, snatching up the glass of water in front of Taehyung and gulping down the entire contents. "Stop being a dick for once in your life, Jimin."

"I love when you talk dirty to me." Jimin winked at her.

"Cool it, Jimin," said Taehyung, his expression no longer confused and worried. "Ahreum, what the fuck is going on?"

Ahreum looked at Yuri, not sure how she could help with the situation. Apparently, things hadn't gone well while she had been diverting Seulgi. "I'm sorry, Tae. I don't know anything other than Yuri wanting to meet Jimin."

"But you knew it had something to do with an investigation," said Taehyung, his handsome features creasing. "Why didn't you tell me that your best friend Yuri was a detective? That doesn't seem like information to just leave out."

Ahreum looked at him guiltily. In Taehyung's eyes, he was the only one who had no idea what was going on, and he felt both hurt and betrayed by her. This entire plan had been a train-wreck and to make matters worse, Seulgi had returned to the diner because she had dropped her keys inside.

"What the hell?" Seulgi stood at their table, her eyes narrowing disapprovingly. "What're you doing here, Park?"

"Hello to you too, darling," said Jimin, leaning back into the sofa lazily. "It's been so long since I've seen that beautiful face of yours."

"So." Seulgi turned towards Ahreum. "Are you really interested in going into forensics? Or was it just a way to distract me so that I wouldn't run into him?"

"Seulgi, I-"

"Darling, they were just trying to convince me to provide a blood sample," interrupted Jimin, his face curling into a smirk. "Was that your idea? You know I would've said yes in a heartbeat if you had asked nicely."

"Fuck you, Park!" spat Seulgi. She turned to Yuri and shook her head. "This isn't how I thought you'd get things done. I can't believe you're bargaining with a murder suspect!"

"Now that's a bit harsh, isn't it darling?" Jimin was enjoying the situation immensely.

"Jimin, don't." Taehyung warned his friend.

"Seulgi, please, this isn't what you think-" Ahreum ran out after the taller girl, the diner eerily quiet after the blowout.

"Jimin, you can find your way home yourself, right?" asked Taehyung, getting up to swipe his credit card at the counter. "I have to go."

Jimin nodded, his fingers lazily running through his silver hair. It was a wonder all the rings didn’t get caught in his hair.

"And Yuri - " Taehyung paused, his long fingers clenching around the plastic of the card - "It was nice meeting you, I guess."

"I think that went rather well, DI Choi" said Jimin, once they were the only two left at the table. "I was thoroughly entertained."

Yuri pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a headache coming on. "My apologies for wasting your time, Mr. Park. Have a good rest of the day."

Once outside, she realised that Ahreum had left. Her mode of transportation had left. Without letting her know. She sighed and unlocked her phone, trying to figure out if it would be easier to walk back home or to the station.

"Were you abandoned as well?"

Yuri took a deep breath, preparing herself before facing Jimin once again.

"Friends these days aren't what they used to be."

"I don't know you, Mr. Park." Yuri crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. "I have no preconceived notions, and I have no affiliations in this place. I am merely doing my job - trying to find out how Kang Eunwoo died. I don't really understand why you're trying your damned best to make things difficult for us. But let me tell you one thing- I'm not going to stop until I get to the truth."

Jimin seemed at a loss for words for the first time since she had met him.

"If you didn't have anything to do with Eunwoo's death, providing the blood sample should be nothing more than a formality for you. But by declining to assist us, you're pushing us into thinking you do have something to hide. I don't know about you, Mr. Park, but if I were involved in a murder investigation, I'd like my name cleared as soon as possible. All personal conflicts aside."

xxx

Back at the station, Yuri felt her head was going to explode. She hadn't eaten anything the entire day, her morning coffee forgotten in the chaos of the diner mission. On top of that, her desk had a large pile of papers waiting to be read.

"Goh dropped these off when he came in," said Jeon, noticing how she was staring at the pile. "Just procedural stuff - it's pretty much the same everywhere in the country. But each station requires anyone who joins to read through them and sign."

"Oh, I see -" Yuri stopped abruptly, her head spinning towards her partner. He had never managed to go two words without snapping at her, much less initiate a civil conversation. Why was he suddenly behaving like this? Was this some kind of trap? Was he baiting her?

Jeon seemed completely unaware of Yuri's internal dilemma, and continued typing on his work laptop until his phone pinged with a message. He quickly closed the laptop and walked towards the exit, already speaking to someone on the phone.

Yuri glared at his desk, trying to figure out what he was playing at. Gradually, her eyes landed on that wretched file. The 2nd Nov case file. The file that seemed to be Jeon's purpose of existence.

The 2nd November case that Jeongguk’s been overseeing - I want you to go over it. You might be able to help

Yoongi's words rang in her head. She began reaching over the partition that divided her desk from Jeon's, her hand was just a few centimeters from the file-

"Need some help?"

Yuri jumped in astonishment, Jeon's voice startling her into knocking her knee into the desk. She ignored the throbbing sensation, and focused on trying to explain herself.

"Need a pen to sign the papers. Mine's out of ink."

Jeon seemed to buy this reason, and picked up a pen from the large stack sitting inside a pale red mug on his desk.

"Anything else?" he asked, when her eyes kept flitting back to his desk.

"N-no." Yuri sat down hurriedly, sifting through the papers she hadn't looked over even once.

The next hour went by without much incident. Yuri had managed to grab a dodgy looking sandwich from the break room, and somehow finished it off in between large gulps of water. Never again was she leaving the house without eating.

Her texts to Ahreum had gone unanswered so far, which was hardly surprising. Yuri was pretty sure she was trying to explain things to Taehyung. It was best to give her some space at this point - she'd call and check on her later at night.

Jeon's phone rang again causing him to rush out once more, and from the fragments that Yuri managed to catch, it was Chief Inspector Goh on the other line.

"DI Choi?"

Yuri was stunned to see Park Jimin standing by her desk.

"How can I help you, Mr. Park?" she asked, after a moment's pause.

"I'm here to... cooperate."

"You're agreeing to the blood sample?" she asked, incredulously.

"Yes."

Yuri cursed under her breath. It was lunchtime, which meant that Seulgi and most of her team would be off.

Suho happened to be passing by at just that moment. "DI Choi, can I speak to you for a moment?"

"S-sure. Mr. Park, please wait here for a moment."

"You managed to convince Jimin to provide a blood sample?" asked Suho, lowering his voice.

"I guess so..."

"The labs are closed for lunch right now."

"I know." Yuri bit her lip in frustration. "I don't know how long he'll be willing to wait. It's already a miracle that he's showed up."

"I think I saw one of the junior lab technicians come back early," Suho wondered out loud. "Let me call him and ask."

Yuri waited as Suho dialed the number on his phone. In the meantime, Jeon had returned, his eyes catching sight of Jimin and temporarily halting him in his tracks.

What followed next was one of the most stressful 3 minutes of Yuri's life. Jeon was speaking to Jimin, when Suho informed her that the junior technician was available to draw a blood sample but would not be able to stay long enough for the sample to be handed over to either his senior or Seulgi herself. This was a definite issue because according to the station's protocol, junior lab technicians were not allowed to officially check in anything related to an ongoing investigation. It seemed like Yuri would have to wait at the lab until Seulgi or a senior technician came back, so that the sample would not be left alone until it had been properly entered into the system. The only problem was, Jeon appeared to be packing his stuff and Yuri's window to grab the 2nd Nov file was closing. This would've been the perfect moment, given that he was slightly distracted due to his conversation with Jimin. Suho seemed to sense the conflict raging within her, and offered to wait at the lab instead.

"Are you sure?" asked Yuri, her attention fixed on the file still on Jeon's desk.

"Yes," said Suho. "But I think you should tell Jimin that I'll be taking him to the lab instead of you. He'll probably take it better if it’s coming from you."

Yuri nodded and walked over to where the two men were having a conversation.

"- a bit annoyed that he didn't know I had been down here." Jimin chuckled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Why didn't you tell him, then?" asked Jeon, frowning. Yuri took this opportunity to swipe the file from his desk.

"Ah! DI Choi, I was beginning to think you had forgotten about me," said Jimin, his eyes falling on Yuri.

"Sorry for making you wait. Unfortunately, I have some urgent matters to attend to. DS Lim will take you to the lab and make sure everything is alright." She hid the file under her coat, and beckoned for Suho to come over. "Thank you once again for your cooperation, Mr. Park."

Jeon raised his eyebrow questioningly, but Yuri was out of the station before he could get a word in. She didn't have much time before he realised his precious file was missing.

Once inside her car, Yuri opened the file and read through every single inch of it. It was a grim case no doubt - a single mother had been stabbed to death by a homeless drunk, who was assumed to be the father of her three year old daughter. The girl had been missing since then, while the man awaited his trial in jail.

The pictures were quite awful. The small nook where she had been living told a rather tragic, almost pathetic, story. A young woman without many choices. Her pale, lifeless body only added to the sense of despair. Yuri wondered why Jeon was so obsessed with this case. Sure, it was terribly sad, but not unlike many other drunken brawls resulting in an unfortunate death. She wondered who was in charge of looking for the girl at this point. According to the file, no body had turned up in over a month. Which meant that she was either alive or her body would probably never be found. If the former was true, there was a high probability that this was a kidnapping. It didn't make much sense. Maybe there was something she was missing...

Staring at the picture of the woman's corpse, her eyes caught sight of a small detail - a ring. A ring which looked very familiar.

Sifting through the pictures, she found a close up of the ring in question. It had been lying near the body and it was assumed that the ring had fallen from her person at some point during the struggle.

Only...

Yuri took out her phone and quickly snapped a shot of the picture of the ring. This was absolutely against protocol, but she was desperate at this point.

It had been 20 minutes since she had run out of the station, and after making sure that Jeon had left, she made her way back in and dropped the file at his desk.

xxx

"Did you clear things up with Taehyung?" asked Yuri, sitting down at the table.

Ahreum picked up some pasta with her tongs and placed it on Yuri's plate. Tonight's dinner was in honor of Namjoon making it home before the clock struck midnight.

"Yeah, he's not one to hold grudges. He was just a little upset that I had lied to him."

"He looked quite betrayed when he realised that we had set them up like that."

"Don't worry about it." Ahreum shrugged while pouring wine into the glasses. "He's fine now."

"Tae can't stay mad at Ahreum for too long." The deep voice sounded familiar yet strange to Yuri, who had barely interacted with Ahreum's older brother when they had all been living in the same city.

"Namjoon!" she stood up, giving him a hug. He was still awkward with any kind of physical affection, though he had grown into his limbs and no longer resembled a gangly teenager. "Took me 4 days but I finally managed to get a glimpse of you."

"Ah," he said, pushing his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Sorry about that, Yuri. I had a major project due last night so I was basically living at the library doing research."

"Well, I hope it's not going to be as difficult to meet you from now on. You and Ahreum are the only people I know here."

"No new friends yet?" asked Namjoon, digging into the pasta. "Ahreum, this is delicious! We should've called Seokjin over. He always appreciates good food."

"Seokjin? As in the guy who runs The Moon's Post Office?" asked Yuri.

"The one and the same. How do you know him?" asked Namjoon.

"Happened to visit the bakery on my first day here. He's got quite a way with shortcrust pastry."

Namjoon laughed at this. "I'm sure he'll be happy to hear that. That place is Seokjin's pride."

"But back to the friends question," he continued, grabbing another helping of pasta. "Detective work not leaving you much time to socialize?"

"Sort of..."

"She's been having trouble with her new partner," piped up Ahreum, her eyes glinting mischievously. "Maybe you can help her out on that front."

"Oh? Who's your partner?"

"Jeon Jeongguk."

"You're not getting along with Jeongguk?!" Namjoon nearly spilled the wine on himself.

"Namjoon, please calm down. It's not that serious," said Ahreum, rolling her eyes.

"Sorry," her brother murmured, placing the glass back on the table. "It's just... I know you both. There's no reason for you to not get along."

"He's being a dick," supplied Ahreum, helpfully. "Not sure why. Doesn't sound like the guy you're always gushing about."

"I don't think 'gushing' is the right word... but I get your point. Has he said anything to you, Yuri?" asked Namjoon.

Yuri didn't hear what Namjoon had said. Her attention was fixed on her phone, specifically on an email from Seulgi. The blood on Eunwoo's sleeve was a match for the sample taken from Park Jimin earlier that day.

xxx

another chapter done!

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook x oc #jimin #taehyung #seokjin #namjoon #hoseok #yoongi #bts fic #btsbookclub #c me write bangtan

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crystxlclear · 4 years

Text

you’re just like an angel (your skin makes me cry)

a sudden desire oneshot

masterlist // sudden desire chapter one

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

words: 4.4k

synopsis: coraline and marcus go to a halloween party. pining ensues.

set in the future, in comparison to the current sudden desire timeline, after coraline accepts that suggestion

warnings: FLUFF FLUFF FLUFF SWEET SWEET FLUFF, mutual pining (more so from marcus, unintentionally, though?), alcohol consumption/slight alcohol intoxication, established relationship

author’s note: you don’t need to have read sudden desire to understand this! (but please do)

this was meant to come out on halloween but i am a terrible procrastinator. but i mean this was too cute not to post? so i hope you all accept my extremely belated spooky-season offering. expect more of this sweet beautiful soft fluff when we get more into sudden desire, when we get to the baby-making stage (i gotta make up for the lack of smut somehow). This is really nothing of significance or particularly interesting, except i just wanted to write something halloween-ish

also it’s kind of obvious and i have mentioned it here and in previous sudden desire chapters but daniel is coraline’s brother and kimmy is his wife/cora’s sister-in-law, they’re in the next chapter!

not beta’d because i have no friends to read it lmao

Coraline doesn’t usually go out on Halloween. Those evenings are usually spent curled up on the sofa, cocooned beneath her comforter, watching the entire Scream series back-to-back. It had become somewhat of a ritual, those films. Sat in the comfortable dark while she practically quoted the film back at the TV screen. An annual event since she was ten, when she’d managed to convince her dad to let her watch the first three films while her mom was out with friends. Her DVD copies were almost two decades old, now.

It must have taken something, or someone, special to break a habit so ingrained, a years-old routine.

That was the moment Daniel Meyer knew, beyond all doubt, that Coraline Meyer looked at Marcus Pike as more than just a friend.

Sure, she denies it. Sure she’s too damn stubborn to admit it, even to him. But for someone to pull Cora from her Scream-filled Halloween night bubble, it must take a lot. He isn’t blind, either. He’s seen the looks they give each other - those fleeting looks, a flush of red creeping to their cheeks whenever they glance between each other for a moment, that soft lingering smile on her face when she arrives at his house after a day spent with him - and he’s spent hours in his living room listening to her recall stories and gush about him like he hung all the stars in the night sky.

Daniel Meyer knows his sister well enough to know that she only has eyes for him.

He’d been surprised when she’d rung him that Thursday morning, bright and early as the sun continued to rise high in the sky, proclaiming that she was, in fact, coming to their Halloween party. That surprise had disappeared, however, the second she’d mentioned Marcus was coming, too. He’d laughed and she’d asked why but he wouldn’t tell her, amusement peaking the moment he heard his name. It’s brilliant and he should have known, really. Of course, he should have known.

...

Coraline tugs awkwardly on the costume. It’s cheap and uncomfortable and she’d bought it last minute from some poorly-lit store in the city. It’s that cheap, plastic-like material that clings to your figure in the most unforgiving places, places it shouldn’t yet somehow moulds to. She’s just glad she didn’t pick one of the skimpier ones she’d tried, the ones that rested far too high on her thighs and squeezed her torso so tightly it felt like she was wearing a corset. She felt like she was about to burst straight through the thin material. Instead, she’d gone for the far more family-friendly option.

Skimpy outfits aren’t a good idea for a family Halloween party.

Though, even in the most modest costume she can find, she’s still pretty sure that she looks utterly ridiculous.

But that’s part of the charm though, right?

The costume she’s settled on is slightly more modest than the rest, now that she’s fished out those stupidly expensive thigh-high boots she’d bought for a red carpet event once, that rise just high enough to conceal the ridiculous amount of leg on show. Any other night, she wouldn’t mind in the slightest, but they tones the outfit down enough that she’s positive she won’t offend the eyes of the conservative parents whose kids run around with her nephews.

It’s not a big deal. She doesn’t particularly care. She only cares what Marcus thinks.

If he likes it, who cares what anyone else thinks.

The least-revealing costume in the store happened to be that of a special agent or a spy or something like that. It’s a little... on-the-nose. Still, she figures it’s fitting.

The dress’ weird vinyl material that creaks and squeaks whenever she moves and there’s a pair of flimsy plastic handcuffs strapped through the belt loops along with an already half-worn away sheriff’s badge that shines dully under the soft light of her bedroom. It’s cheap - anyone can tell that - but the whole thing has been last-minute, Marcus trying his hardest for a solid month to persuade her to abandon her tradition and come to the party with him. Only for him. Only him.

She truly does love Halloween. And Fall is her favourite time of year. But she’d spent all week at Halloween parties with her castmates and friends - late night all weeks, far too much alcohol, far too many times hearing The Monster Mash playing insistently over loudspeakers - and, come Halloween night, the only thing she wanted to do was order pizza and indulge in her yearly marathon. She’s done that elaborate costume stuff all week, a thousand different costumes adorning her body, and pyjamas sound far more inviting. Halloween night is for relaxing, she thinks. If it weren’t for Marcus Pike, it would remain exactly that.

She’s still fussing over the ever-rising hem of her dress and thinking of just staying home when the doorbell rings, loud and imposing, almost scaring her as its shrill chimes cut through the soft music playing over her speakers. She huffs out a sigh of resignation, giving up on any hope she has of making herself feel better about what she’s wearing.

Marcus is standing at the door with a bottle of red wine in hand and a smile on his face. That smile falters when he sees her, for just long enough for her to think about running back upstairs and changing into something different. His parted lips finally form around the words his awestruck brain is fighting hard to form: “You look… -good.” It’s all he can muster. And he sounds pathetic.

“... Thanks?”

He shakes his head clear, that initial shock of seeing her looking so damn good dissipating the second she notices his wide eyes and drops her head back as she laughs. The long line of her neck sparkles under the warm flickering candlelight of her living room, thanks to that body lotion she wears. “You look great,” he insists.

She bites her lip as his eyes scan her figure from head to toe. She catches his eyes but she doesn’t mind one bit. She’s doing the same thing. And it’s infuriating because she’s unable to stop.

Of course Marcus looks good. Of course he does, because he always does. Even in sweats and a t-shirt, when she bursts through his door at 7am, coffee in hand, far too wide awake for the early hours of a morning. When he’s still half-asleep. He still looks good. He even looks good now, in a cheap vampire’s cape and plastic fangs. Perhaps it’s the all-black, his shirt stretched taut across his chest or the leather jacket he wears that fits him so well.

Or, maybe, it’s just the slightly goofy grin he wears when he sees her laugh, dressed in her costume and swinging her handcuffs on the end of her finger, and the way his lips puff out a little when they fall over the edge of the fake fangs.

She means to tell him just how good he looks but he speaks before she can.

“I brought wine.” He notes. He lifts the bottle - she’s pretty sure it’s expensive, but she knows absolutely nothing about wine - and she squints at the label, a half-hearted attempt at pretending she knows what all those words mean. She has no idea.

She doesn’t even need to invite him inside, he just follows when she turns and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “Daniel will never let you inside with that,” she calls over her shoulder. Her eldest brother has hated wine since his wedding, when his best man had thrown up on his shoes outside the hotel that night, after one too many glasses. It was partly Coraline’s fault, though; they’d been drinking and laughing at the bar the entire night, the bartender plying them with drink after drink until someone hauled them outside to get some fresh air. Daniel had been pissed that his best friend and the smart and suited man behind the bar had been supplying his nineteen-year-old sister with copious amounts of alcohol, though he quickly forgave them at breakfast the next morning when their hangovers were so bad, they had to wear sunglasses indoors.

“Lucky for you-” She pushes up on her tiptoes and reaches to the back of the kitchen cupboard. She can feel the breeze on the back of her thighs and she hopes to god that her skirt doesn’t push up too far and reveal too much. A few moments clattering around blindly, she returns to two feet with two wine glasses. “-my brother is used to me being late.”

Marcus is already fishing for the corkscrew in the cutlery draw before she's even turned around. He swiftly pops the cork and is there waiting when Coraline sets the glasses between them.

“Here’s to being late,” he proposes, holding his glass up for her to clink after he pours them both a generous glass.

Here’s to being late.

...

They do turn up late. Two-hours late, to be exact. A little too tipsy. Or, at least, Coraline is. She’s in that semi-blissful state, caught somewhere between content happiness and that point where he knows she usually starts to cry, before the giggles force their way out and she’s hiccupping through adorable sobs of indistinguishable hysteria.

He’s only seen her like that once after a particularly bad fight over the phone with Scott. And, while she’d insisted that the whole thing was hilarious, he never wanted to see her like that again.

But, at least for now, they’re both smiling.

And Marcus isn’t sure how anyone can be mad at Coraline when she’s smiling.

It seems like the rest of the street is having parties, too. The entire row of closely packed townhouses and luxury condos are humming with life; pop songs and fluorescent lighting fill the street. It feels like they’re in a movie, endless decoration spilling to the sidewalk, waterfalls of orange, black and purple. Everything is garishly bright and confused, all mismatched shapes and colours - surrealism, like a Dali painting, exaggerated and unusual and unnatural. It’s strange to see the neighbourhood like this, with its usually-pristine gardens, turned fantastical.

The smell of the Potomac River drifts along the street, swirling in the gentle late-October breeze. It dances with the charred scent of fireworks that lingers low in the air, cinnamon and herbs, and the smell that lingers before the rain. It intertwines to make Halloween, in all its ghoulish glory. Yet, despite it all, the only thing he can smell is her perfume. It lingers on the breeze.

Coraline walks just ahead of him; she’s skipping down the street, light on her feet, her black heels cutting a rhythmic beat through the hum of the street as it comes alive. There’s been a smile on her face since they left her apartment, that bright blissful buzz of wine pulsing through her veins, and she looks no different from the kids and the teenagers that weave through the cars lining the street. She’s been holding his hand since they left, too. Tightly, like if she lets go, he’ll disappear.

But he would never. He could never leave her.

She’s his best friend.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” she calls back to him as they near Coraline’s brother’s house. It’s the same as the rest of the houses on the street: lighting flashes through the windows - orange and white and purple, casting shapes across the front yard, the yard that’s draped in Halloween decorations - and the soft hum of music pumped through the half-open front windows.

She turns to watch him, walking backwards, still holding his hand. He’s taller than her, even in her heels, so she glances up at him with a pout on her red lips. There’s a little bit of awe in his chest as he watches her navigate the cobblestones blindly, not even faltering on her heels once. She wears Halloween so well. She makes the party store costume look better than it has any idea being. Those that pass - kids, teenagers, their parents, varying degrees of effort in their costumes - watch as they walk, when she pokes a long nail at his chest. “You’re to blame.”

“It’ll be fun, love.” He poses.

She raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh, really?” Coraline turns to glare at him. “Dressed like this?” She gestures to herself and the dress she feels completely ridiculous wearing. “I don’t think so.”

“But that’s the point of Halloween.”

She notices the way his brown eyes sparkle beneath the moonlight.

Cora hums in contemplation. “I still can’t believe you talked me into this.” She repeats, but there’s a hint of a smirk on her lips.

“You’ll get over it.”

...

Three hours into the party and Coraline disappears. One moment, she’d been swaying with her nephew, Elliot, to Fleetwood Mac, grinning and giggling as she spun him from side-to-side in her arms. Marcus had watched her from the refreshment table in the corner, engaged in a half-idle conversation with Cora’s sister-in-law, Kimmy, as she cleared the dirty plates and refreshed the chips. He thinks she noticed him watching her but she’s far too polite to say anything if she did. She just seemed to hum knowingly and sweep away towards the kitchen as he watched Coraline twirl gracefully to the soft melody of Dreams.

She’d brought a jacket with her, the cold creeping in right as they’d made to leave the house, and the loose fabric brushed against her legs as she swayed on her heels. The breeze that wandered through the open living room window billowed beneath it. She looked ethereal like that; all beautiful and glowing and bright, basking in the vibrant flashing lights and overly-gaudy Halloween decorations that don’t quite fit the gentle songs that float through the room. Coraline had been deep in conversation with a seemingly endless stream of Daniel and Kimmy’s friends and there had been a tense set to her brow as a consequence. Now, she looks jovial and carefree and relaxed. The wine they’d drunk before they arrived - and the bottle she and Kimmy had been sneaking in the corner of the room, giggling like school girls as they filled their cups whenever Daniel wasn’t looking - probably helped her on her way but it’s refreshing to see her like this. Happy.

So much for someone convinced she wouldn’t have fun.

Marcus turned to grab another drink as the song finished, fading away into the next, and within a moment she was gone, lost in the slowly thinning crowd that danced through the living room. The two-year-old that had previously been in her arms was halfway across the room, tugging on his father’s Batman costume. The crowd that seemed to part for her and her giggling nephew had thickened again, spilling over the dancefloor where she’d spun moments earlier.

He finally finds her perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth idly, staring out at the Potomac River as the moon sparkles across its surface. There’s a paper plate of chocolate cake perched on her knees, stolen from the one Kimmy had taken from the buffet table earlier in the night. She prods at it absentmindedly with a fork, smearing the purple and orange frosting across the plate like she’s painting on a canvas. Pale moonlight scatters across her face; her eyelashes cast gentle arching silhouettes beneath her eyes and sloping shadows across the soft lines of her cheekbones.

She doesn’t hear him at first. The music, Creep by Radiohead, plays in the living room. He knows most of the words to the song because Coraline has played it on vinyl so many times in the late evenings of summer, when the windows are open the whole way and the curtains billow in the breeze. Her brother has good taste, just like her; the pleasant nostalgia of eighties rock pouring through the speakers. It’s muffled by the closed door of the kitchen, slightly broken door that he’d offered to fix the first time he’d been for lunch jammed shut to allow her some peace and quiet.

He enters as quietly as he can but the music spikes through the doorway when he opens it and draws her attention away from the glittering ripple of the water. She smiles fondly when she sees him, for a moment, and her head turns back to the view from the kitchen window.

“You okay?” He asks. He settles in front of her, leaning back against the island opposite her. “You wandered off.”

She doesn’t seem upset. Her expression is soft and content. “I’m alright,” she insists.

The kitchen is quiet.

The world seems so far away.

Everything that has happened before and everything that might happen after that moment doesn’t matter.

Everything will be alright.

Coraline huffs out a laugh and closes her eyes, tilting her head back to let the cool breeze of the open window sweep over her bare neck. “Just needed a bit of quiet. It’s a little-“ She makes a motion with her hands, almost like she’s strangling someone. Somehow, it makes sense to him. “-full-on in there.”

Marcus watches her. His dark gaze flickers across her face as she carries on kicking her legs gently back and forth, manoeuvring himself so the toe of her boot doesn’t slam into his shin. The world just carries on around them; the party continues in the living room, the music continues playing and everyone else moves on with their lives as Marcus and Coraline exist in that quiet moment where nothing but each other matters.

There’s a brief beat of silence filled by gentle guitars and soft lyrics.

She’s watching the water in awe. He’s watching her the same way.

You’re just like an angel, your skin makes me cry.

“Cake?” She offers out half-heartedly after a moment’s contemplation, soft green eyes drawing back to his face. An affectionate smile tugs at her lips.

He shakes his head. “I’m good.”

“Thank god.” The smile widens to a grin and she puffs out a small giggle. “You would have broken my heart if you’d said yes.” She hums as she brings a forkful of the cake to her lips, savouring the sweet taste on her lips. Her tongue darts out delicately to chase the remains. Her lipstick leaves a red spider web across the fork.

He won’t, but he’s never wanted to kiss her more than in that moment. The world stops for a moment when she meets his gaze as she does it, peeling her eyes away, cheeks flushing slightly. He won’t, but, god, he thinks she’s lovely. He won’t kiss her. Kissing her on the cheek or the nose or the forehead, that’s different. It’s familiar. It’s welcomed with a smile and she does the same to him, sometimes. Kissing her for real. That’s entirely different. He doesn’t kiss her unless she asks him to. Until she wants him to.

Whatever makes you happy. Whatever you want.

“That good, huh?”

She nods. “I don’t know where Kimmy buys it from but it’s incredible.”

“Hmm, maybe I will take some.” He reaches for her plate but she tugs it away, a mock-offended expression on her face.

“Hey!” She pouts. “Pretty sure that’s theft, Marcus Pike. Don’t make me arrest you.” She chides, patting the plastic handcuffs that rattle against her belt.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the only one with the authority to actually arrest someone,” Marcus attests, quirking an eyebrow in amusement.

“Not tonight.” She hums, tapping a nail against the badge that rests against her chest. She tilts her head and a bright smile crosses her red lips. She wears that gentle glow of wine across her cheeks, all pink and rosy. Coraline reaches up to card her fingers through the curls at the back of his head. Marcus sighs at the feeling of her nails scraping across the scalp at the nape of his neck. She leans closer for a second, so close that he can feel the warmth of her breath fan across his cheeks. Her eyelashes dip as she traces patterns across his scalp and dances the digits over her other hand up the bare expanse of his arm, prickled in goosebumps from the light scrape of her nails. There’s a blissful haze that passes her expression when she glances back out across the moon-drenched river. His breath hitches in his throat whenever she touches him like that. Whenever there’s intended intimacy behind it. That comfort that settled between them long ago.

Coraline doesn’t even realise she’s doing it, sometimes. It feels like second nature, now.

She can feel her cheeks burning at the thought of it all.

She pulls her hand away from him all too soon. Marcus thinks about chasing her hand, pulling it back to hold him again with the lightest of touches. But he lets her go. Again. The moonlight casts silver shadows across her face like some kind of goddamn angel basking in the light. Instead, he just watches her as she picks the paper plate of cake back up, brings up another forkful and smiles in delight at the taste.

“Oh, really?” He answers in response to her earlier words, realising he’s spent far too much time watching her than he should. His hand brushes the outside of her knee before it comes to rest on the kitchen counter beside her leg. It’s unintentional. At least, he thinks.

You’re so fucking special. I wish I was special.

“Cora-“ He calls to catch her attention again. She turns her head to face him, her eyebrows raised a little in expectancy and surprise. “-you’ve got some frosting-“ Marcus swipes at the side of his mouth, where Coraline has a spot of purple frosting clinging to the corner of her lips, blemishing the otherwise-perfect red-paint.

He steps forward again, reaching his thumb up to swipe the frosting away. She watches his movements at first, before her gaze focuses intently on his face and the dark-eyed gaze that follows the slow movements of his thumb. When he moves to pull it away, to wipe in on a piece of kitchen towel, she reaches for it, pressing the frosting-covered pad of his thumb against her lips.

She grins around it when her eyes widen, swiping her tongue over the soft flesh, before pulling it back slowly. There’s a ring of red lipstick around his thumb. Her voice is low when she speaks, in tone and volume. She peers up at him through her lashes. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t know what she was doing. “You can’t let good frosting go to waste.”

He wants to swear. He needs to. Because all he can think of, right now, is kissing her. Again. He wants to taste the frosting still lingering on her tongue and he wants that red lipstick to stain his lips. He wants her hands in his hair, tugging and twisting as he presses his mouth to hers and he wants to feel her smile against him when the way she pulls him closer makes him groan.

He wants to feel all that he can barely have. He wants the memories that linger when he’s in bed without her at his side, when their insane agreement isn’t in action. He wants more than fleeting moments. He wants it all.

But he’s just being selfish.

And, besides, she doesn’t want that, either. Not now. Not here.

“Do you want to leave?” It’s intended to be an innocent question. But, with all those thoughts and those hidden desires, with all those feelings he isn’t positive are anything more than shallow, unrequited and completely ridiculous and the swipe of her velvet-soft tongue over the pad of his thumb, it sounds loaded. He’s breathless. He groans to himself and steps back from her.

Coraline doesn’t fail to notice the way his fingers skim the bare expense of her outer thigh when he moves. She half-wonders what he’s implying with it. She never knows what’s intentional between them anymore. She thinks it probably has meaning; she had his thumb between her lips just moments before. She isn’t even sure what she was implying.

“We can get pizza.”

“Pizza, huh?” She hums in contemplation, but there’s no decision to be made. In her mind, she’s already said he’s a thousand times, and she’s been ready to say yes since the moment they stepped through Daniel’s front door. As much as she loves Daniel and Kimmy and her niece and nephews, nothing sounds better than pizza on the couch with Marcus. “What kind of pizza?” She toys, musing the image over in her mind, finishing off the last mouthful of cake, already missing the sweet frosting.

But, intentional or not, goosebumps prickle across her skin.

He’s leaning closer, now. He can’t help it. She draws him in with that damn smile. “Veggie.”

Her favourite.

“Tempting.”

“Very tempting.”

“From the pizza place on Pennsylvania?” Her eyes light up at the prospect. Her back straightens and they’re looking each other in the eyes.

Marcus brushes a thumb across her knee. Coraline tries her best to hide the shudder that threatens to pull through her at his touch. Heat pools in her stomach and her chest and her breath hitches in her throat. “Where else?”

She groans, small and breathy, pushing its way from her mouth, almost like she’s been winded. Her eyes close over. Her eyelids flutter. Her head is swimming from the wine she’s drunk, head buzzing with that pleasant intoxication as the alcohol sweeps through her. She can’t help it. She can’t stop it. But she can’t tell whether it’s a response to the promise of her favourite pizza or the feeling of his warm palm against her leg. She doesn’t particularly want to know. But she brushes it off as the wine. It makes more sense.

It’s a little embarrassing.

Her eyes open again and he’s still looking at her, expectation and gentility in his gaze. “And garlic bread?”

He smirks in amusement. “Whatever you want, Cora.” His thumb brushes over her knee again. “Whatever you want.”

She grins. “How can I say no to that?”

“You can’t,” Marcus insists. He steps back from the counter and she slips off, smoothing out her dress and shucking her jacket around herself as the wind casts a shiver across her skin.

“Can I at least change first?”

He exhales a laugh through her nose. “Nope.”

“Oh, Marcus, come on!” She groans. His hand slips into hers; her delicate fingers curl around his, her palm soft against his work-calloused hands. “I look ridiculous.”

“It’s Halloween, love.” The pet name makes her legs feel weak. His voice is low and affectionate when he turns back towards her. He ducks his head and kisses her cheekbone. He lingers to whisper in her ear: “And you look hot.”

#sudden desire #sudden desire oneshot #oneshot #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike x original character #marcus pike x female reader #halloween #pedro pascal #original character

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