#i've been thinking about it ever since i heard the news and i was afraid to get my hopes up

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ”it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I…” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[charliedawn]

(is it alright if I send a request?! Feel free to ignore this if not. I've heard there are some new rules regarding that?) So what if their s/o had to travel somewhere outside the country/state (could be something work/family related) for like a week or so, which Slashers would take it the hardest/easiest (basically who has separation anxiety and who is chill lol)?! Hopefully this makes sense, sorry for bad english?! I have a feeling Brahms (and maybe Jason) are in the first category, but your stories are always full of suprises so 🤷

Mature themes mentioned. You've been warned.

Jason would be the worst when it comes to abandonment issues. He would be too afraid of you leaving him forever.

He'd come up with various excuses to make you stay.

He'd wrap his arms around you and refuse to let you go. The man is touch-starved. He'd beg to come with you.

If you didn't let him ? Well...I think he'd be miserable.

Jason *whines and cries against your shoulder while holding you close* : "Stay. Please. Stay."

For him, to speak takes tremendous effort—so when he does ? That means it is important.

Do not leave the poor man alone without anything to contact you with, or you'd come back to a mess. He'd have turned the whole house into a target practice.

And believe me, you don't want to be in the way of his machete...

Brahms would be close second after Jason. He'd make you stay by any means necessary.

Brahms *breathes heavily* : "DO NOT LEAVE ME !"

His parents told him they would be gone for only a few days—but they never came back.

He wouldn't let you do the same.

He tried to get Greta to stay, but it failed. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

Brahms *grabs you and groans* : "If you leave me, I'll find you...I'll find you, Y/N."

The way he uttered your name made you shiver. Brahms would be close to a break down if you were gone for a few minutes. Imagine his state if it was for more than a few days ?

The moment you got back, he'd be borderline hysterical and crush you in a bear hug—crying and sobbing for you to never leave him again.

Bo has serious abandonment issues as well but—unlike Brahms or Jason—he would be more radical in his ways to make you stay.

Bo *grabs your arm and grits his teeth* "OH NO YOU DON'T !"

Bo was hated by his mother and it only aggravated his loneliness until he became...well...very self-centred and afraid of the pain.

The moment he gets attached to someone—their freedom is of no interest to him whatsoever.

Bo would rather tackle you to the ground, attach you or even have sex with you for you not to leave him.

That redneck isn't a quitter. Good luck trying to make him stay away.

"WHO THE F*CK GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO LEAVE ME, HUH ?!"

Yeah...He's not going to cry, but you might. Sorry.

And in the category worse abandonment issues we also have Vincent. Of course the other twin wouldn't be very far from the first.

Vincent is...gentler than Bo ? He wasn't hated by his family. He was actually rather liked.

So, his wouldn't be as bad—but still.

There is a reason he wanted to make all his wax statues from actual people. He is scared of being lonely...He likes to be surrounded.

And since all the people in his town treated him and his family as freaks—he couldn't make a lot of connections apart to his brothers.

He was lonely. And hence, he'd be afraid to lose the only person he ever cared about than them. You.

So, he'd be very hesitant to let you go and try to make you stay with gifts and soft touches. Try to make you understand how much you mean to him before eventually letting you go. Just so you know that you'd be taking a part of him with you.

You might be surprised, but Pennywise belongs to the category of the slashers who would be very upset by the lack of physical proximity.

Indeed, even though he hates physical touch, he is still clingy when it comes to the presence of the people he loves—one of the reasons why he stays with Penny.

So, he'd be upset, a little bit more moody than usual without you around. He'd be constantly looking at the road and unconsciously hoping you'd come back.

Pennywise *sighs deeply to himself* : "Come on, you old clown...Don't be so stupid. Come on. Stop thinking about...about..."

He'd fight against his inner demons and believe that you'd come back on your own...until the very end.

"...Oh, you're leaving, human ?"

Surprisingly enough, Penny isn't as clingy as people think he is.

He does like physical contact a lot and would be very sad to see you go, but he also knows he is a god and would be able to get to you whatever happens.

Penny is confident in his abilities, maybe too much.

So, he'd keep a smile on and giggle while waving to you when you go.

But, remember...

He's always watching.

You try to escape ? He'd know.

And he'd hunt you down. He'd make you regret ever trying to escape. He'd drag you back if he has to.

Penny *giggles darkly* : "Aww...Poor poor Y/N. Don't look so sad. We'll be together forever. Isn't that what we wanted ?"

Freddy would take it badly, but old habits die hard. He'd find a way to blame you and move on...no matter what.

"Ya think you can hurt me, huh ? Well, I've got news for you, ~sweetheart. You can go. I can always find ya a replacement."

Douchebag attitude is Freddy's defense mechanism.

You want to leave ? Fine. He'll find a way to fill the hole. Booze. Brothels. Chaos...

Whatever he can do, he'll do. Freddy needs a moral compass in order to stay in check. You and Michael fill that position.

But, if you're gone ? Then, Freddy would be missing an important part of his functioning mechanism and would go back to his old ways.

He'd be lost. Trying to find himself all the wrong ways all over again...

For his safety and others, make sure to remind him that you care for him from time to time—especially if you're going somewhere he can't follow.

And be sure to invite him into your dreams from time to time. 😉

Michael would remain himself. He'd watch you go and stay impassive. Because he knows it wouldn't change a thing.

He expects you to never come back. It would be better.

Every time he takes a knife in his hand, he wouldn't find that tingling feeling...the little voice in his head telling him to kill you.

He wouldn't be so afraid of hurting you every single day. He wouldn't have to lock his door every night because he's afraid he might wake up with your blood on his hands.

He'd even tense up when you come back.

You *smile when you see him* : "Well, hello there. Missed me ?"

Michael : "..."

You *smile falter* : "Oh...Well, okay then."

Michel *slowly approaches you and slowly hugs you*

He did miss you. He just didn't know how to tell you...or stop himself from grabbing the kitchen knife and plunging it into your heart over and over.

Michael would die before hurting you, but it doesn't mean he isn't a slasher. Or that your love for him isn't dangerous.

Arthur would put his feelings aside and try to appear cruel.

"You think I care ? ~Oh, sweetie. I've spent most of my life caring about people. Not anymore. Not ever again...So, if you want to leave me ? Go ahead. There's the door."

You have to understand, Arthur has been hurt most of his life...by life itself.

He was never lucky. He never had any friends. He was basically alone most of his life.

He wouldn't want to be kept down, and so wouldn't want the same for you. He understands the need to leave. More than anyone else.

He'd prefer you leave than stay and be miserable—like he was. So, he would never stop you from leaving, no matter if there was a risk you wouldn't come back.

Arthur *smiles and holds your hand* "...Please. Don't let me stop you. Be free."

If you want to leave ? He won't stop you.

Because that's how much he loves you.

He'd let you have your freedom. No matter what.

"I'm going out.", you said.

"Have fun, honey.", he replied. He didn't even look up from his newspapers.

"I may be out for a couple of days.", you added—waiting for a reaction.

"Sure. I'll be right here when you come back.", he answered and smiled—but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

Jack is a ghost. He doesn't really have feelings anymore and can sound cold sometimes. But, it's not because he doesn't care. It's just he knows what it is to have responsibilities.

He failed at being human—and he wouldn't want the same for you.

He would of course be worried that you'd leave forever, but honestly ? He'd be happy to let you live your life as you intend.

He doesn't have abandonment issues.

Matter-of-fact, he's the one who leaves most of the time. Of course, he wouldn't want your relation to stop so suddenly and would prefer you to come clear to him.

He wouldn't get mad, but he'd feel a little more dull and emotionless inside.

He'd become even more of a ghost than he was—but wouldn't let you see.

Jack *smiles before you close the door* : "...Bring back a souvenir, alright ? Something...something nice."

And that would probably be the only attempt he'd do to hint that he wants you to come back.

[lavender-at-heart]

Could you write Bella swan x tall fem vampire reader? I need reader to feed on humans that are criminals and almost always smokin a cigarette

Omg yes gay Bella is the best version of her. THIS FIC IS NOT COMPLETED, I FELT BAD FOR TAKING SO LONG SO HERES A SHORT VERSION, I WILL ADD TO IT SOON WOTH A MUCH LONGER ENDING!!!! if you want to be tagged in the finish product lmk. Also there are themes of sa (think alleyway scene in first movie) and I know that's an uncomfortable subject so I kinda glazed over and left out detail for that part.

Bella Swan let out a huff of boredom as she walked down the dreary street. An attempt to regain her friendship with Jessica ended up with Jess being spooked. Bellas new tastes were too "extreme " for her and now Bella was left alone, outside the movie theater in Port Angeles. A little miffed but not unpleasant to be alone again, she decided to not make waste of the evening out. Unsure of where to go, she headed forward, down the dark path of concrete, narrowly missing a chance ride on a motorcycle. Bella was in a dark place. Mentally, always, but right now her mind led her to enter a particularly dingey alley way. Her heart seemed to pull her towards the dark abyss before her, much like how her heart pulled her towards biology class on her first day at Forks High.

As she neared a turn in the path a sinking feeling began to creep up her spine. A feeling she had not felt since...

There was a man. Smoking, head turned pointedly towards the ground. He stood there like a beacon to Bella.

Something to make him see me

The man looked up, with that familiar look. Sinister comments laced with something sickly sweet, and Bella knew he'd come running. He had to have, surely he would. The man was not shy in his approach, and Bella did her best to stay calm. Every seccond her safety grew thin. Every minute she took one apprehensive step back. Until there were no more steps to take. Just keep it up for a little while longer, she told herself. He'll be here any moment.

But that moment never came. The sinking realization that Bella was alone with this man, and Edward was nowhere to be found made her stomach drop.

Just when she was about to really try to scream and run, the man was shoved to the wall opposite to Bella, the speed of it whooshing in her face. She knew what it was, the who was not certain. Her headt skipped wildly.

He came! After all!

These thoughts were cut short after she quickly realized her saviour was female. Maybe Alice had seen her in danger and come to the rescue. But this was not Alice. Not Alice, not Esme, not Rosalie, not even Victoria.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to harass pretty girls?"

The metallic tone dripped from the vampires lips, before a crunch was heard. This was no vegetarian, that's for sure. Bella stood, stuck to the wall like flies in a glue trap. Not afraid as she once was, but she knew how crazed normal vampires could be.

Once she was done drinking she turned around with a cool look on her face.

"Thanks" the human girl replied with ample sincerity.

The vampire held a quizzical expression. No fear? No running? No concern or confusion? Seeing this, quiet Bella made an attempt to explain.

"I've been around vampires before"

"Ah" was all the ethereal woman said. The way she said it reminded her of him.

She reached into her old denim jeans and retrieved a cigarette of all things. How odd, Bella thought. She let out a huff of laughter. The flame from the lighter contrasted with cool toned skin, followed by a drag and blow of smoke. The woman looked at her cigarette and spoke again.

"Started as a human, was never able to kick it. Not like it can kill me anyway." She outstretched her hand and offered Bella the cigarette. Bella looked meek and wide eyed. Not wanting to seem "uncool" She took it and gave it a try. She inhaled wrong, she exhaled wrong and then coughed too much. The woman laughed and gave her a pat on the back, red eyes crinkled with amusement.

"you're just a baby aren't ya?"

Bellas face turned beet red. "No I'm not, I just, just never had one before." She stuttered out.

"Breathe in a little, hold, breathe out."

Bella tried to listen to the advice given to her but all she could focus on was the way her voice hit the air. A warm feeling filled her despite the cold weather. A parasitic curiosity filled her. Who was she? Where was she from? How old? Name? Favorite this? Favorite that? Bella wanted to know everything and anything about her, immediately. She knew she would follow this woman to the ends of the earth, and Edward could go fuck himself.

[hollandorks]

haven

battinson! bruce wayne x f! reader

chapter three

Summary: After the sudden deaths of your mother and grandmother, you’re forced to return home to Gotham…and to the man who broke your heart three years ago. Back in Bruce Wayne’s inescapable orbit, you vow to get to the bottom of your former best friend’s new cold personality. But Bruce’s secrets aren’t what you’re expecting. a

a/n: trying to keep to frequent posts, especially because of that cliffhanger! Also keep in mind that I am 10000% making up 1) police procedure and 2) anything to do with journalism. I know nothing about these things other than what I've seen in movies. But who cares, it's fiction!

Series Masterlist

word count: 3.2k

She gasped.

And every head–four of them, all men–turned to look at her.

Instincts kicked in and y/n immediately shoved her phone into her pocket so as not to lose it and turned to flee. 

Only to smack into something a lot like a brick wall. 

She stumbled back, fear kicking her heart into high gear. She hadn’t even run yet and her breaths were quick, panicked. She was almost literally stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

Before her was a towering figure cloaked in shadows and some sort of armor. He was menacing, dark, huge. Her throat went dry as he took a single, heavy step forward. Half of his face was covered by a mask that made her think of a black skull with two sharp points at the top. She didn’t notice the split second of shock on his face when he first laid eyes on her. 

The Batman. 

It shamed her to admit that she whimpered. Her body was in the thick of fight or flight, but there were men with guns behind her and a demon of a man before her. She had nowhere to flee. Despite what the waitress had told her not ten minutes earlier, she was afraid. 

But Batman stepped to the side, his focus now on the men behind her, and said in a voice made of gravel and smoke, “Run.” 

Y/n ran. 

She ran until her lungs threatened to burst, until her knees wanted to give out, until all of her muscles were screaming, until her chocolate chip pancakes threatened to come back up. She took several turns and doubled back to make sure she hadn’t been followed. 

Then she stumbled inside the blessedly safe lobby of Wayne Tower. 

The security guard looked up in alarm. 

“Call the police,” she gasped. “Tell them–” She bent over, hands on her knees, and tried to get her racing heart under control. “–Tell them I witnessed a murder.” She glanced back at the doors. “Lock everything up. I’ll be upstairs.” 

The guard called after her–a young guy she didn’t recognize, someone who must be new from the past three years–but she ignored him. She heard the dial tone of the lobby phone as the elevator doors slid shut. 

It wasn’t until she was out of the elevator and stumbling towards a concerned looking Alfred that she relaxed marginally. Despite the late hour, he was still impeccably dressed, as if he hadn’t ever gone to bed. 

“Y/n?” he asked with a frown. The foyer was warm. Safe. Something in her loosened a little. “Security called up–” 

“Um, I just witnessed a murder,” she said. She was in shock, or something close, because the words simply tumbled out of her. The disbelief on Alfred’s face mirrored what she was feeling now that the fear was leaving. “I had to run–that Batman guy was there and since he was distracting them I just–I needed to be safe and this was closest–” 

Alfred wrapped her in a tight hug. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” 

She shook her head. Her body trembled. 

And then she remembered, all over again, that her grandmother was dead and that she wouldn’t be getting the comfort she wanted the most. Alfred wasn’t even the next best thing, though it was good enough. 

A small sound escaped. 

“Alright, dear, I’m going to get the family lawyers on the phone. The police will meet us here to get your statement.” He squeezed her once more. 

“Lawyers?” she asked, the word making her nervous all over again. “I can’t afford–” 

“You’re family. And it’s just in case, love. They’ll offer legal advice and make sure nothing untoward happens with the officers interviewing you.” 

She pulled away and wiped her damp eyes. “Okay. That’s–Where’s Bruce?” 

Alfred hesitated. It was only for a moment, but long enough that she noticed. “Let’s not bother him unless absolutely necessary.” 

Something sharp pierced her chest. Meaning, Bruce probably didn’t even care that she’d almost died. Tears welled in her eyes all over again, but didn’t fall. 

Alfred patted her shoulder. “Stay here and we’ll meet the police together when they arrive. I’ll be right back.” 

It only took ten minutes. Alfred had the lawyers on speakerphone and Bruce still hadn’t bothered to show himself. 

The four of them–her, Alfred, a uniformed officer, and a detective–sat in the formal living room that no one ever used. It was dust-free, though, which was a testament to her grandmother’s work ethic. 

Her throat tightened again at the thought. 

“Y/n, this is Officer Martinez and Lieutenant Gordon,” Alfred said. “We’ve worked with them before and I believe them to be trustworthy. Gordon helped with the bombing last year.” 

She started, recognizing the name. The fire that had just gotten her in trouble rekindled again, ever so slightly. She stared at the man seated in front of her. “You’re Batman’s best friend, huh?” 

Gordon blinked. Then a corner of his mouth turned up. “Maybe not best friend, but we do work together. Why don’t you walk us through what happened?” Not the most subtle subject change, but she had more important things to get through before digging into the vigilante. 

So she did. She kept it short, sweet, and to the point as if she were reporting on it instead of reliving it. It helped create enough distance that she didn’t freak out again. 

“And you’re a friend of Mr. Wayne’s?” Gordon asked when she was finished. “Girlfriend?” 

Her face heated. Alfred’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see what–” 

She waved him off. She was nothing to Bruce Wayne, so she didn’t care about answering, or even why he was asking. “We grew up together. My grandmother–Dory–was the head housekeeper for the Waynes until she passed a few days ago. I came for her funeral. And for my mother’s.” 

Gordon simply nodded, as if he already knew the information. “Where is Mr. Wayne?” 

Alfred’s eyes narrowed even further. “In bed. He wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t see a need to bother him.” 

“And the video? Did you delete it?” Gordon brushed past Bruce’s absence as if it didn’t mean anything. And to him, it didn’t. But for y/n, it meant everything. It meant that Bruce didn’t care. That she wasn’t important enough for him to wake up, to get out of bed. She hoped it didn’t show on her face, the minor devastation as the feeling sank in. 

“No, I have it here. I can send it directly to you, or to multiple–”

“We’ll need the entire phone, actually, to ensure that nothing was tampered with.” 

A tiny portion of her panic was back. Her entire phone? For how long? She looked to Alfred pleadingly. 

But the lawyer–she’d already forgotten his name–was already on top of it. “We’ll need it in writing that the phone will be returned in a timely manner and in the same condition. And that there will be no perusal of personal files. I have a draft already sent to Mr. Pennyworth to print for signatures.” 

Gordon sighed but nodded without argument. Was this what privilege felt like? Her life in close proximity to the Wayne fortune had afforded a few luxuries–like help with college tuition, Bruce giving her one of his “old cars”, things like that–but she had never needed to have lawyers on retainer. As close as she’d been with Bruce, sometimes his wealth still caught her by surprise. 

Alfred disappeared down the hallway to print the documents, chatting with the lawyer the whole way. 

Y/n studied the two officers in the ensuing silence. Officer Martinez hadn’t said a word. He was busy looking around the room in slack-jawed awe and barely seemed to listen to what they were saying. She glanced around, trying to see from his eyes. The room was grand, but it was also easy to tell the house had lost some of its former grandeur. 

She glanced back at the officer. He was young, probably her age or maybe younger, with a thin mustache that didn’t make him look as old as he thought. He caught her looking at him and grinned sheepishly. 

Gordon, on the other hand, stared right at her. She liked him, she realized. Her gut was rarely wrong on these things, but she knew better than to rely too much on that. It helped that he seemed steady, no nonsense. And apparently forward-thinking, because he worked with a vigilante on a regular basis. 

There was that fire again. She silently cursed it even as she asked, “Would you be open to doing an interview about the Batman? I’m a reporter in Bludhaven and–” 

Gordon’s phone rang out, shrill in the quiet room, interrupting her. “We’re best friends because he trusts me,” he said wryly, then stood to take the call as Alfred came back with the legal papers in hand. 

“Damn. Only one?” Gordon said quietly, but they were all listening. “Alright. I’m with the witness now.” A pause. “Yeah. Yeah. Talk later.” He hung up and turned back to them. 

“That was him, wasn’t it?” y/n asked. She wasn’t sure how she knew–investigative instincts, maybe. He had tried to hide the phone call, his body language shifting, even his voice. And he was familiar with whoever was on the other end of the call. 

Gordon gave her a look. “Yes,” he said without needing to clarify who she meant. “I have officers on the scene now, but one of the suspects escaped. Do you think you could identify them?”

She thought back to the moment they had all turned to her. There had been a streetlight at the end of the alley, the light filtering through from behind her. She might be able to identify them, especially with the help of the video. She hadn’t put her phone away until after they had turned, frozen in fright as she was. 

“I could try,” she said truthfully. 

“Alright, let me sign these papers and get over to the crime scene. We’ll be in touch and get your phone back to you as soon as possible. I would suggest protective custody, but I think you’re probably in the safest place in the city.” He scrawled a signature over the papers. Y/n wondered if the bombing the year before had involved any legal paperwork. An NDA maybe, since officers had been in the “inner sanctum” as she’d jokingly called it during their teenage years.

“We’ll add more security,” Alfred said as he showed the officers out a minute later. “Please keep us updated on any developments.” 

When they were gone, y/n slumped against the wall. “Fuck,” she said as she rubbed her tired eyes. The antique clock in the corner told her it was after two in the morning. 

“My sentiments exactly,” Alfred said. He had shed the professional facade as soon as the elevator doors closed. “I’ve already posted extra security downstairs and in the parking garage. Our camera and alarm systems will be updated tomorrow. The private elevators are on lockdown and employee identities will be triple checked for the offices below.” 

She nodded, though she wasn’t sure it made her feel better. One man had escaped both a vigilante and the cops, and they had all seen her face. It was only a matter of time before they figured out who she was–Wayne Tower going on lockdown was odd enough and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out the cause. Her relation to Bruce Wayne had never been a secret. In fact, it had been an oft-discussed topic of every gossip magazine in the city and a few outside of it. 

She hoped the man who had escaped was on the run instead of the vengeful type. 

But her instincts told her that wasn’t the case.

She realized she hadn’t responded to Alfred. “I’m…going to bed. Thank you, Alfred.” 

He squeezed her arm gently and bid her goodnight. 

Y/n didn’t go to bed. Instead, she spent the next three hours scouring the internet for news on the Batman and printing out every article that seemed relevant. To what, she didn’t know yet. Those instincts that got her in trouble and created some of her best work in equal measure were whispering in her ear. 

She finally succumbed to exhaustion right as the city outside started to lighten. 

When she woke sometime later–long enough for her back to go stiff–she was on top of all of the papers she had printed. 

“Ugh,” she said as she peeled an article from her cheek. She was still in the same clothes she’d gone out in the night before. She went to check her phone before remembering that the police had it. She opened her laptop and used that to check the time (nearly noon) and email her editor for an extended leave of absence. She briefly explained the situation without giving too many details and then asked for a temporary assignment to the Gotham Tribune. 

There was a story here, and she was in the middle of it. It was an investigative reporter’s dream: to have unlimited access to a key witness who was willing to cooperate. 

Might as well make the most out of an extremely shitty situation. 

She showered, changed, and shuffled into the study when she heard the rustle of Alfred’s newspaper over light classical music. 

“Good mor–uh, afternoon?” she said as she took a seat across from him at the giant monogrammed table. 

“I’d ask if you slept well, but I think the answer is obvious after the night you had.” Alfred glanced up from the paper and smiled over the top of his glasses. “I’ve kept out some fresh fruit and coffee for you.” 

She took some of both and settled in. She half-expected to hear her grandmother puttering into the room with a mop or a tray of sandwiches for lunch. Tears pricked her eyes when she realized that reality was gone forever. 

“Thank you, by the way,” she said around a mouthful of grapes. “For…everything last night. And this week.” 

“Of course, dear,” Alfred said, his light accent a comfort. He was the only constant in her life anymore, and she appreciated it more than she could say. 

The silence stretched as she thought about how awful her luck had been in the past week. She stood and walked to one of the arched windows. The city was bustling down below, like it always was. She leaned her head against the cold glass and watched her breath create fog. Autumn had its claws in the city fully now, and it was only a matter of time before winter sank in its icy teeth next. 

“Detective Gordon called. He thinks your phone will be released by tomorrow morning. They just need to document everything to make sure there’s no evidence tampering.” Alfred said as she watched the city. She noticed a small bubble of space around the tower where private security were deflecting pedestrians and double-checking employee identities. 

“That’s good,” she said absently. “I asked for an extended leave from work. I figure I probably…shouldn’t do much else until that guy is caught.” 

“Probably a good idea,” Alfred agreed. Another rustle as he turned the page of the paper.  “Gordon’s a very good cop. I’m sure he’ll get one in custody to tell him where the last one is, and this will all be over before you know it.” 

She turned away from the window and smiled wryly. “That eager to be rid of me already?” 

Alfred rolled his eyes but didn’t answer. 

Her heart twinged painfully. She was sure it was Bruce who wanted her gone, not Alfred. 

Speak of the devil, she thought as the man in her thoughts materialized at the top of the stairs. He was tugging a shirt over his head and damn it her eyes caught on the flash of bare skin of his abdomen. Her entire body flushed from the split second view. Since when did Bruce have abs? He’d always been more scrawny than anything, but all that had changed sometime in the past few years. 

Bruce looked as tired as she felt. His eyes were almost bruised, the circles were so dark. His hair was damp and his shoulders curved inwards as if bowed by exhaustion. 

Alfred looked up from his paper with raised brows. He glanced between them, folded the paper, and got up to leave. 

“Fresh fruit and coffee there,” he said softly to Bruce on the way out.

That bastard, she thought at Alfred’s back. He was purposefully leaving them alone. 

Bruce finally looked up and blinked slowly at her. Apparently, he hadn’t noticed that Alfred wasn’t alone. 

She didn’t mean to speak. In fact, she’d decided to completely ignore him. But the words sprang forth anyway. “I hope you’re feeling better.” Her voice was cold. It was obvious she didn’t mean it. 

Bruce froze. “Uh.” 

“Alfred didn’t think you’d care about me almost getting murdered so we let you sleep.” She bit her tongue as soon as the words were out and winced. He could have been really sick, for all she knew, but here she was assuming he was just being an asshole. 

Bruce shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know until this morning.” The words were so unexpected her back bumped the cold glass of the window. Bruce Wayne, apologizing to her? It wasn’t an apology for three years ago, that much she knew, but it was still…something. 

“Sorry, I–I’m just…tired. Overwhelmed. I shouldn’t have snapped.” 

Bruce continued to stare at her. Used to, she would know what he was thinking from only a glance. But that was before. Now she had no idea what was happening behind his crystalline eyes. She noticed again how different he was. The baggy clothes couldn’t hide his new bulk. And he looked so tired, more so than he ever had before, even in college. Even after the deaths of his parents. What could possibly be keeping Bruce Wayne awake every night? Or maybe it was simply proof he had been sick after all. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, brushing off her apology. “Were you hurt?” His voice sounded deeper too. It was like he’d gone through a second puberty or something. The muscles, the voice, even the way he held himself. He had changed so much, and she had missed it. 

It sickened her how much she clung to his attention, to his concern, even though it was only him being a decent human. God, she missed him. 

“No, I wasn’t hurt. That bat guy stepped in and gave me a chance to run.” 

Bruce’s eyes flickered up, away, and back in quick succession. A nervous tick if she ever saw one. But why? Did he feel bad about what had happened to her? Or was he waiting for his chance to escape her presence? 

“Heard he helped find the Riddler guy last year. The one who tried to kill you.” She knew she should shut her mouth, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t just switch off part of who she was. “Ever met him in person?” Her voice slipped slightly lower into what her grandmother used to call her “professional voice.” 

She saw it happen–the hardening, the distancing. Bruce went from at least semi-open with her to entirely closed and walled off. That much she could recognize. 

“No,” he said. He went to walk away, the lines of his body rigid, but paused. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he said over his shoulder. 

She wondered if it was true.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@ktficworld @grunge-n-roses5 @anon-cat-posts @projectdreamwalker @slovakshadow @warsaur @lachillona02 @crazyunsexycool @doetic

(no idea why some tags aren't working, sorry!)

[petalsprompts]

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐒; 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆.

change pronouns, tenses and other details as deemed necessary. & please specify muse when sending to a mumu.

I  came  today  because  last  night  I  had  a  dream  about  this  place.

Have  you  ever  heard  of  astral  projection?

If  they  hear  me,  they'll  hurt  me.

You  see,  these  are  people  with  the  ability  to  leave  their  physical  body  and  to  travel  to  different  places  in  astral  form.

The  Further  is  a  world  far  beyond  our  own,  yet  it's  all  around  us.  A  place  without  time  as  we  know  it.

Now  you're  outside.  Let  my  voice  be  your  guide.  Keep  a  steady  stride.  Into  the  Further  you  go.

You  have  wasted  your  life  being  afraid  of  the  dead  because  pretty  soon  you're  going  to  be  one  of  them.

I  could  feel  that  someone  was  awake  in  the  house.

I  know  someone  who  can  help,  if  you're  willing  to  ask.

I'm  scared  of  this  house.  There's  something  wrong  with  this  place.  I'm  not  imagining  it.  I  can  feel  it.

It's  no  accident  that  your  /  [family  member]  son  is  a  gifted  traveller.  The  ability  was  handed  down  to  him.

I  know  what  happened.  I  went  in  that  place  and  something  evil  followed  me.

Ever  since  my  accident  I've  been  afraid  of  the  dark.

You're  the  only  one  I  trust  to  go  down  there  with  me.

No  matter  what  happens.  No  matter  what  you  see.  Stay  strong.

This  is  how  you  die.

Dead  people  don't  miss  anything.

Give  her  back!

You  know,  you've  been  blessed  with  a  gift.  You're  special.  Some  people  are  afraid  of  special  people.

I'm  going  to  get  the  attention  of  all  the  spirits  in  this  house.  I  need  things  that  were  important  to  [you/name].

If  you  call  out  to  one  of  the  dead,  all  of  them  can  hear  you.

I've  never  been  hypnotized.

Death  floods  the  mind  with  memories,  but  there  are  new  ones  to  make.

I  mean,  you  and  I  have  firsthand  knowledge  that  there's  something  out  there  beyond  death.  But  it's  not  helping.

The  universe  is  deathless.  It  is  deathless  because  having  no  finite  self,  it  stays  infinite.

In  my  line  of  work  things  tend  to  happen  when  it  gets  dark.

I  don't  think  the  house  is  haunted.  I  know  it.  Things  move  around  in  here  by  themselves.  I  walk  into  the  kitchen  at  night  to  get  a  drink,  I  can  feel  eyes  on  me.

It's  a  dark  realm  filled  with  the  tortured  souls  of  the  dead.  It's  a  place  not  meant  for  the  living.

She's  a  parasite.  A  demon  who  seeks  [your/their]  body  for  one  reason  -  to  cause  pain  to  others.

Nobody,  not  me  or  anybody,  knows  what  you're  going  through  right  now.  And  you  don't  have  to  apologize  for  anything.

[mossy123302]

Ah yes ...more au thoughts..

Philza, the Angel of Death, who roamed the earth and knows many stories. He has watched Kingdoms fall, risen or watched communities band together and perish upon corruption in their system.

He used to join such a community, when he had his friend beside him, but ever since his friend had ascended. Philza was alone, once more, to roam this plane and simply ride the wave of this never ending changing of time. Soon, he found himself joining an arena, to simply fight. It paid him well, and it gave him something to do at least so Philza didn't mind...

Until they had grown bored of him. So they assigned Philza to keep guard at one of a nearby village that held criminals or elderly people. Philza didn't know why such a village was created to dispose of the elderly, he understood the criminal part but not the wise people. They could share knowledge and expand what the new generation could fix and change.

But... Phil was too tired. He just agreed, took his next pay and headed off. It would be peaceful, compared to the roars of cheering and adrenaline of fighting...but it'll give Philza time to reflect on what else he could do, maybe think of a new project? He could build something, it has been a while since he built something.

Philza was content at his new station, just having to watch over the people, help them when needed and just make sure the prisoners don't escape. It was peaceful and...not many bothered him, probably because they were too afraid to get close. Who would dare even approach the Angel of Death himself?

A certain gentle soul did.

"Hi!" A voice greeted, and Philza paused as he looked up from his journal, which he was writing in to jot down his project ideas. He was greeted by the sight of silver eyes that reminded Philza of the stars, and long black hair that gently smoothed out over the man's face. It was like Philza was staring at space itself...

"Hello" Philza greeted in return, as he eyed the man who beamed at Philza's greeting. "...Sorry, I didn't realize there was someone else assigned here"

"Oh! Oh no no, pues, si- No wait- I'm not.... Okay! I'm just more or less a caretaker! I'm helping my friend Roier take care of his abuelo!" The man said, obviously stammering through his words and mixing it with other phrases that Philza couldn't fully understand. He knew it was Spanish, a common language around here, but he never did have the chance to actually teach himself about it. He has heard of Roier...so at least the man wasn't lying, at least.

"My name is Missa!" Missa finally said, clearly embarrassed.

Missa?

...

Oh.

Philza tilted his head, his eyes lighting up slightly. "Oh, you're the new recent grim reaper sent by ...the other deity of Death" He said. Missa faintly smiled at Philza's words and nodded. "That's me!" He said.

"What brings you here then? Is Roier's...abu...uel..abuelo?" Philza slowly said, trying to pronounce "abuelo" correctly. "Is he ..."

"No! Nono! He's not dying, well, not yet at least. No, I'm just here to help a friend and to visit you!"

"visit...me?"

"Ahh...qué pena... Haha, I've... I've been watching you, or well, following you for a bit. I've... I've been seeing your fights in the...arena" Missa admitted, his voice slightly high pitch as he awkwardly looked around to hide his face that was turning purple. He didn't dare look at Philza in the eyes, in fact, Missa shuffled in his satchel that he had and pulled a skeleton mask on.

Philza slowly blinked, his eyes slightly widened in surprise at the sudden confession from Missa. "...Well, mate, I don't... Thank you?" He said, quietly chuckling as he watched Missa shuffle around awkwardly.

Missa let out a squeak, when he suddenly lost some balance due to a hole in the dirt trail, almost tripping over it. Philza faintly smiled, as he looked at his journal.

...Maybe having company wasn't so bad. Missa seemed blunt, found his...strength incredible and he was a grim reaper, someone who would not ascend nor die so easily.

"...So you find me strong?" Philza asked, and Missa paused. He glanced over at his shoulder to look at Philza and slowly nodded. "..Yes..?"

"Marry me then.."

"QUÉ?!"

Philza suddenly took Missa's hands in his own hands, not giving the poor skeleton a chance to even pull away. He had an determined glint in his eyes. A glint that Missa was familiar with when he saw those arena fights, the way Philza fought and moved, moving like he was dancing and how he smiled when he won a battle.

"You find me strong, you know of me. I can provide whatever it is you need" Philza said, as Missa's face turned more alarmingly purple.

"esperate!! ESPERATE! We just started talking—!" Missa quickly said, trying to bust the whole situation down right now.

"I'll be your strength, but should you refuse me...I will still like to court you regardless" Philza casually replied.

"OKAY!" Missa shrieked, as he tried to pull his hands away and cover his face, he knew that his skeleton mask would do nothing now to hide his purple face. He jolted when he heard Roier's whistle behind him, and he whirled around to yell at his friend.

Philza blinked and softly smiled. He was going to enjoy learning about Missa...

It was no surprise, but Missa wanted Philza to relax. He wanted to be the one to provide everything for Philza, while Philza continued to do his own hobbies like sculpting, fighting or working on his projects. In fact, because of this, Philza was able to lighten up the village a bit more and figure out which soil was more suitable to start a farm on. It wasn't ideal how far the farm would be, but Missa didn't mind as long as Philza was resting.

In fact, Missa slowly started to bring materials for Philza to sculpt with. Materials that Philza knew what it stood for... to make a child.

Death related creatures couldn't create life so easily, it was a long process.

They needed materials. This varies on what's around them, in their environment. Things that Philza can sculpt, cut down or change to make sure that the materials fitted correctly together and slowly the materials started to mold and change that resembles an egg.

When that process is finished, Philza and Missa would need to stay together with the newly created egg to infuse their magic to the egg. It was simple, yet the process takes a while because it never guarantees that it'll work the first time. Philza and Missa have never done this before, so they didn't really expect this to work on their first try.

But when the egg started to move..

Philza and Missa knew that this little egg is a fighter, a strong willed one.

..Chayanne was his name.

[huramuna]

a maid's folly - chapter 6.

dark aemond x maid ofc minor aemond x floris baratheon work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

previous | next

summary: a new maid from the Vale arrives at the Red Keep during a tumultuous time and becomes ensnared in the One-Eyed prince's web.

word count: 3.7k

girl.... it took a bit to get here but i hope its worth it - please let me know what you think

warnings: smut (details below cut), power imbalance, religious guilt, dark Aemond, canon typical misogyny, canon typical violence, Aemond being a touch starved weirdo, possessiveness, jealousy, this is going to be ANGSTY

oh to be in love - kate bush • mary on a cross - ghost

chapter specific warnings: violence, blood, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, virginity loss, biting

The next few weeks were good ones for Rosemary– the best ones since her mother passed. She fell into a quick companionship with Helaena, accepting her oddities as fun quirks, rather than bits of madness that everyone else seemed to discount them as.

Helaena was smarter than people gave her credit for. She was witty with a great sense of humor, often poking fun at courtiers and other denizens of the castle. She had a lot of inside knowledge on the gossip and going-ons of the Keep, as people weren't afraid to speak openly while she was in earshot, citing her as daft and not paying attention.

Rosemary and Helaena sat shoulder to shoulder on the settee near the window. It was open, a crisp breeze tousling their hair. 

The princess had promoted Rosemary to her handmaiden, thus upgrading her wardrobe significantly. They matched now, as Rosemary wore light blue dresses, her hair down in a braid. Helaena usually leaned towards cooler colors, like flushed blues and light purples. 

“I've heard that Floris is pitching a fit over the flowers chosen for the wedding,” Helaena chattered, pricking a needle into the fabric stretched over an embroidery hoop-- she was working on a depiction of a blue carpenter bee, “Mother told me she cried when the florist brought in white tulips instead of yellow.”

Rosemary snorted a small giggle, her hands tangled in Helaena's hair, defting the tresses into intricate braids, “And how has your brother taken all of this?”

Helaena was privy to Aemond and Rosemary's 'situation', whatever it may be– it was ill-defined at the moment. The corners of her eyes crinkled into a grin, “He is running Vhagar ragged with how much he flies her. Mother said that when Floris began to weep, he slipped out of the hall and was gone for four hours.”

“Yes, that sounds about right.” the maid hummed. 

The weeks with Helaena had also proven fruitful for Aemond and Rosemary’s interactions– they were still few and far between, with Aemond expressing more restraint than he had before, but he visited Helaena’s chambers more often, citing brotherly love as his reasoning for his frequent social calls.

He entered that day as usual, his arms behind his back. His eye zeroed in on Rosemary, his nostrils flaring ever so slightly. She wasn’t wearing her formless maid’s dresses any longer, as Helaena had her tailored for a few higher end pieces for her. They hugged her curves in the right places with a sweeping décolletage, exposing just the hinting swell of her chest, the light blue complimenting her complexion.

He had been visiting more lately, but the past few days had been taken up with frivolous wedding planning, and half a dozen flights on Vhagar. 

“Brother, you’re staring.” Helaena murmured.

He became all too aware of his surroundings, his mouth slightly dry and his clothes all too tight. It took him a moment to regain his stoic self, “I am merely trying to see what you’re embroidering, dear sister,” he walked forward, nodding his head to Rosemary, “My lady.” he mustered a greeting.

“Your grace,” she hummed in response, tying off Helaena’s braids with a small leather cord, “Would you like for me to braid yours as well?” she said it ever so innocently, but she was goading him. They were in each other’s proximity more often than not lately, with Rosemary often watching him spar in the courtyard from the spectator’s eaves They had developed a back and forth banter— he tested her limits with his witty remarks, and she teased him endlessly until she was all but sure that he would need to relieve himself later. It was a fun game, their little verbal spars, but Rosemary wondered when it would become reality. A man could only be teased so long. 

Aemond cleared his throat, “That won’t be necessary,” he glanced at her for a moment, his pupil blown wide. She knew she had him, hook, line and sinker. 

“Rosemary, weren’t you going to go to the market today?” Helaena redirected the conversation, “I know you had a few things to pick up.” 

The maid perked up, “Oh, yes— hm, I should get started now so mayhaps I’ll make it home before dark,” she squeezed Helaena’s shoulder affectionately, the princess leaning into her touch, “I will see you this evening, my lady,” she got up, smoothing out her dress, curtsying before Aemond, “My prince.” 

“Hm.” he grunted, letting her walk past him. 

She made a quick stop to her room, donning a cape jacket, her hands tying a ribboned, wide-brimmed sun hat to her head. Looping a bag around her shoulder, she set out to the corridors. 

Rosemary walked with purpose, reciting her list, “Lavender oil, honey cakes, lilac and blue thread, rock salt, goat’s milk…” she had her head down, navigating the halls absentmindedly. She brushed shoulders with someone, caught off guard by an anguished gasp. 

Stopping, she looked to see who she bumped, “My apologies,” Rosemary murmured, seeing that it was… Floris Baratheon. She recognized her from passing through Maegor’s Holdfast going to and from Helaena’s chambers, “My lady.” 

Floris scoffed, “Yes, well, watch where you are going,” she looked Rosemary up and down, a flicker of something akin to recognition passing through her eye, “Ah, you’re the princess’ handmaiden, are you not?” 

“Yes, my lady.” 

“I see,” she clicked her tongue, seemingly mulling over something in her head, “Where are you heading in such a hurry, then?”

“I have to pick up a few things from the markets, my lady— I wish to get back before it gets dark.” 

Floris blinked slowly, her hands coming together, “Ah. The markets,” she repeated, “Enjoy your errands.” 

Rosemary curtsied hurriedly, walking away. She had already wasted enough time dawdling. 

The trip down to the market square was fairly uneventful— she managed to get lost once or thrice, still unfamiliar with the layout of the city; she had only visited through it once before arriving at the Keep. 

She haggled with her fair share of merchants and most definitely overpaid for most things. It was a wonder that she managed to somehow haggle up the price. 

The last thing she retrieved was the goat’s milk— it wasn’t to be drinken, but to be added to her and Helaena’s baths. Rosemary had fond memories of her mother drawing her a hot bath and pouring flower oils and goat or sheep’s milk into it, along with the chipped pieces of rock salt. It left her feeling soft and fresh and she wished to experience it once again. 

The sun was beginning to set over the horizon. Helaena warned Rosemary to not be in King’s Landing at night and to always come back before the sun set. 

Rosemary gnawed at her bottom lip as she tried to retrace her steps. She could see the Red Keep up on the hill, but when she tried to navigate there, she ended up being cut off by dead ends, empty alleys, and paths looming with unsavory characters. 

She felt the bubble of panic rising in her chest, her thumb nail sinking into the soft of her palm. Her lip began to bleed from her incessant biting upon it in her anxiety driven state. 

Turning down another alley, she was met with a dead end again. Tears pricked at her eyes, feeling frustrated and helpless— how idiotic could she be to get lost? She could see the Keep but couldn’t reach it. 

Moving to retreat from the alley, she saw a hooded figure at the end of it, awaiting her. Her heart instantly jumped into her stomach and she froze. The dying light of the sun glinted off of something in its hand— a weapon. 

The tears came in full force now as she dropped her bag, backing up further against the wall. The figure descended upon her, brandishing a knife. It was a man, stocky and older. His breath smelled of decay and rot— he was hissing at her, like some kind of animal. 

Rosemary put her arms up to shield against the first swing, she had seen Aemond do something similar in his training sessions with Ser Criston– of course, he was a seasoned swordsman and usually swathed off an attack with a weapon, so this method was nowhere near as effective as he made it look— it ripped through the fabric of her dress, slicing against her arms. She whimpered in pain but shoved forward against him, knocking him off his balance. He kept up his garbled hissing, as if he was trying to say something. 

“Take my bag— the money is in there, just l-leave me be!” Rosemary cried, kicking the bag towards him. 

The man couldn’t look less interested as he regained his footing, coming in again for the second time. This attempt was fruitful as he knocked Rosemary to the ground— he was on top of her, slicing wildly, his mouth agape. He had no tongue. She tried to keep her arms up to stop him from hitting anything vital, the blade cutting through her skin like ribbons. She cried in pain, kicking and screaming, her blood trickling down onto her face, her dress.

Her life flashed before her eyes— her mother, Jeyne, Helaena, the children— Aemond. 

Suddenly, the man was dead weight against her and the dangerous edge of a sword poked through the front of his skull, mere inches from Rosemary’s face. 

It all felt like a haze, a blur. Was she already dead? She felt so cold, the rivulets of blood flowing across her skin feeling like shards of ice. Her vision closed and blackened around her. 

The weight of the man was kicked off of her and then she was scooped up— she was no longer cold, but warm. She was warm, like in a goat’s milk and lavender oil bath, the steamy water enveloping her like a second skin. She had to be dead, surely. 

“Rosemary,” a voice, familiar, murmured, “Stay awake. Fucking hell, I shouldn’t of let you go alone.” 

She glanced up, her vision still muddied and red— her own blood had dripped into her eyes, stinging. But she realized who was holding her, the flash of a single violet eye burning through her. Aemond.

“Ae… mond,” she whispered. 

“Don’t speak,” he grunted, “Just… stay awake, okay?” 

She didn’t know how long it was until the air around her turned from the flowing outdoor air, to a dank and almost tepid air. It was dark now, flashes of torches dancing in her eyes. 

Then she was set down— on something soft. It smelled like sandalwood and smoke. A bed. Aemond’s bed. 

He sat next to her, bandaging her arms, “You did good putting your arms up,” he said, wrapping the soft, spongy cloth material taut around the worst of her wounds, “Where did you learn that?”

Rosemary blinked, “… been watching you spar… recently,” she responded softly, “I might’ve… picked up a thing or two.”

He chuckled, the sound low and warm. It made her chest feel aflutter. “Hm,” he mused, “I never saw you there but once.”

“I was hiding… didn’t wish to distract you.” 

Aemond snorted then, rolling his eye, “Chin up,” his hand softly lifted up her head as he wiped a damp, lukewarm cloth over her face, cleansing the blood from her skin. 

“How did you know?”

He made a small noise of discontentment, “You were bound to find yourself in trouble. I saw you overpay for all of your items today, far above market price,” he looked away for a moment, “I can’t say I expected this to happen. But it… was good I was there, I suppose.” the cloth eased over her eyes, helping her sight come back into focus. 

She blinked profusely a few times, tears gathering at her waterline– not just from the irritation, but emotion. “... I don’t know what to say…”

Aemond put the cloth aside, “Usually, this is where one says ‘thank you’,” he chided, citing her taunt at him from a few weeks earlier, “How is the pain?”

Twisting her arms, she sucked in a breath of pain, “... hurts.” 

“It will for a while and will likely scar. But, better a scar than your life,” he hummed, his hand flexing and relaxing absentmindedly, “I’ll bring you a salve for them so they won’t mar your skin as terribly.” his hand reached for hers, turning her palm up. He was gentle, his skin warm.

“... thank you,” she murmured, closing his hand between both of hers, wincing at bit at the movement. “I don’t understand… he didn’t want my money or items– he was actively trying to kill me. To just kill me.”

Aemond looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, his mouth wrought into a thin line, “King’s Landing is a dangerous place– the Red Keep even more so. I… will try to figure out what it was– mayhaps a purposeful attack.”

“Purposeful? Why would anyone want to kill me?” 

“You are the princess’ handmaiden– you have eyes and ears into a lot of affairs in the Keep and perhaps you overheard something you shouldn’t have,” he let go of her hands for a moment, but not before rasping his thumb over her knuckles. He then began to pace. “Have you heard anything odd lately? Some conversation you shouldn’t have been privy to?”

Rosemary only now just saw how distraught Aemond looked– his hair was down completely, the leather tie used to pull it back to the nape of his neck gone, likely broken off. His hands were stained with blood, her blood, and the blood of her would-be killer. He looked a bit flushed, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, his footfalls heavy and filled with emotion– not like his usual silent, detached movements. 

“Aemond,” she murmured. He didn’t stop his pacing, muttering to himself, “Aemond. Aemond!” she raised her voice slightly, causing his head to snap towards her. “Please– we can worry about it all later, just… come here.”

He looked perplexed by her tone and loudness, but walked over anyway.

 In turn, she reached over and took an extra dampened cloth, holding out her hand, “Let me help.” she asked.

He sat down next to her on the bed, the mattress dipping under him. He bobbed his knee incessantly as Rosemary took his hands and washed them of the grime and blood. His jaw was clenched, his muscles taut as if he wanted to spring into action or mayhaps run out of the room.

“Relax,” she grumbled, “I should be the one nervous, not you.”

“I am nervous– you… you were almost killed. I was almost too late, Rosemary,” he spoke, his voice breaking from its usual even tone into something soft and more raw, “What the fuck would we have done if you were… slaughtered by some ingrate? Helaena and the children– they would be heartbroken,” he took in a sharp breath, “... I would be… devastated as well.”

Rosemary stowed away the cloth, her hands not once leaving his. Slowly and cautiously, she intertwined their fingers. It was an intimate gesture, something soft and soothing. She could feel her heart catch in her throat, her ears burning. “Well, you weren’t too late, were you?” she whispered, her voice almost silent. She glanced up at him, those big brown eyes of hers piercing a hole right through him, right into his soul. 

Untangling one hand from hers, his hand came beneath her chin, tilting it upward. “I might’ve burned this whole fucking city down if I was,” he murmured, leaning forward. They were so close, their lips ghosting over one another.

She felt the heat rise in her stomach, feelings jittering around against her ribcage like some of Helaena’s butterflies. Her eyes flicked to his lips, then back to his eye– she inhaled as she leaned in– and in turn, he did as well.

Their lips met– it was soft but intense all at once, the butterflies in her chest breaking free in a cacophony of emotion. It was chaste at first, their lips melding together like two puzzle pieces– before her lips parted slightly and she tilted forward more, her free hand coming up to his chest, but wavering. “C-can I touch you?” she asked, her words pressed against his mouth.

“Please– please touch me,” he practically pleaded, “I’ve waited so long.” 

Her hand slid up his chest slowly, her brow knitting in discomfort as her wounds pressed against the bandages. 

He took note of this, placing her hands on his hips and a likely more comfortable position for her. 

She hummed contentedly as she leaned farther into him, her lips parting once more to accommodate his tongue slipping into her mouth. She needed more of him, pressing as close as she could. She wanted to crawl inside of his ribcage and live there. It was something of comfort.

“Lay down,” he said, breaking their intimate closeness for just a moment, earning a disappointed whimper from her. “I need to taste you.”

Rosemary swallowed heavily, nodding slowly. “I’ve– I’ve never… done this before,” she breathed, “I’m still a maiden.” she scooted back to lay on the soft pillows, looking down. Her dress was a torn mess.

“All the reason to go slow, little lamb,” he responded in turn, edging up the skirt of her dress, “Tell me to stop if you need to.”

Biting her lip, she nodded. The feather light touch of his hand on her leg made her shiver, a coil of warm settling in her core. 

His hands, calloused and rough as they were, felt like smooth silk as they glided up her leg, bunching up her dress at her stomach. His fingers traced the stretch marks on her hips and thighs as if to commit them to memory. Aemond’s fingers hooked under her undergarments and slid them off– a wet strip of arousal prominently painted down the center of them. Grinning, he stowed them away in his pocket, “Hmm,” he hummed, using both hands to part her legs as if it were some great feat, like mounting a dragon or swinging a sword for the first time. “Beautiful.”

Rosemary felt her face go red as she looked down at him, his head between her legs. “Please.” she murmured, almost too quiet to hear.

She didn’t need to beg, not this time at least– he fulfilled her wish, licking a strip from the bottom of her parted folds up to her aching pearl, causing her to whimper. He was slow at first, eeking out every little sound he could out of her before beginning to feast, his tongue ringing circles around her sensitive bud, his hands gripping her thighs like he was a man staved, and she was his last meal before death.

Rosemary clutched the sheets, wanting to snap her legs close, but his strong grip kept them open– thank the Gods for that– the warmed coil inside of her slowly eking into a smolder. ‘A-Aemond, ah–” her first orgasm ripped through her like a bolt of lightning, her toes curling. Her legs wrapped around him as she clenched around nothing, whimpering his name like it was a prayer.

“That’s it,” he purred, “Bleating like a lamb for me– so soft, like I knew you’d be.”

She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her death grip on his head weakened slightly, allowing him to slip from between her legs for just a moment. 

“Let's get this dress off, hm? I want to see all of you.”

“If you undress, too– I won’t be the only one naked,” she grumbled.

He happily obliged, stripping his doublet and trousers and kicking them away, all too eager to get her out of her dress. His fingers deftly undid the buttons, slipping it off of her. A hand palmed one of her heavy breasts, rubbing a nipple between his fore and middle finger. 

“Eyepatch,” she mewled between tiny moans, “Take it off.”

He was a bit more hesitant here– his thumb hooking under the strap. Pausing for a moment, he looked to Rosemary once more. 

She was disheveled, her face flushed red, her hair coming out of her braid and flowing behind her in pale blonde tresses. Her eyes were half-lidded, lips parted ever so slightly. She wanted him, she wanted all of him– it was evident.

Foregoing any more doubt, he discarded the eyepatch, revealing his sapphire implant. 

Her half lidded eyes grew into large saucers, her breath hitching in her throat. Rosemary didn’t say anything else, giving a hum of contentment before pulling him back onto the bed for another kiss. 

“Beautiful,” she cooed between kisses.

It was enough to make Aemond blush– hiding his bashfulness by slipping his tongue back into her mouth, palming his cock in his fist. He swiped the head against her folds, gathering the slick and slowly sliding it in. 

“Gods above,” he grit his teeth, “Fucking tight.” his lips pressed against her neck, he buried himself to the hilt in her, waiting for her approval.

“F-full,” she whimpered, needing a moment to adjust to his size and the overall new sensation, before she nodded for him to proceed.

He moved slowly again, starting at a measured, deliberate pace, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. 

Soon enough, she relaxed into his rocking motions, beginning to enjoy it. His pace increased as he left red marks on her neck, sucking and bruising the delicate skin there. He wanted to be gentle– but he was still a dragon, and dragons were wholly possessive. 

The room was filled with the sounds of her soft whimpering moans and his grunts– the symphony of skin slapping against skin. 

Aemond clenched, feeling the tell-tale sensation that he was close, “F-fuck,” he groaned against her skin, teeth biting into her now, “My lamb– my pretty lamb– you should be my fucking wife. You’re mine, mine, m– fuck–” he stilled his movements as he spilled inside of her, his fingers gripping her hips like soft putty. 

She clenched around him, feeling the warmth of his exertions spread through her. Sweat beaded at her forehead and chest as her hummingbird heart slowed down finally. 

He didn’t pull out yet– rather, he wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest, laying on his back now.

“Stay with me tonight– please. I wish to wake up next to you, if only this once.” he murmured, holding her close against his chest in his all encompassing hold.

“Of course, my dragon.”

taglist: @watercolorskyy @queen--kenobi @heartb8k2 @violetiss3lfish @toodlesxcuddles

[witchofthemidlands]

i know, i know realistically that because tales of the tardis is making it's return that “the one who waits” or whatever “the big bad” is that shall be giving the doctor & UNIT grief in the finale will probably be that villain from the pyramid serial that was, in fact, the first proper classic who serial i ever saw because it was on the sarah jane adventures dvd but up until the new tales of the tardis instalment was announced, i was so deep in the theory that this is all leading up to the trickster's greatest comeback of all time: ruby is an element of the pantheon & seeing as i've clowned too close to the sun i'm unleashing the insanity that's been occurring in my brain since “the devil's chord”

so basically the doctor said 8 words about maestro & i haven't been sane since.

“that thing must be part of the pantheon”

that was it for me then, i was CONVINCED that this might be leading up to have something to do with the trickster because in “the wedding of sarah jane smith” the doctor & the trickster/the pantheon talk about how they heard about one another through legend:

& from the spreading of the salt this era of doctor who has been all about myths & legends breaking their way through into the universe & the first half of the finale is titled “the legend of ruby sunday”

THEN maestro attacked ruby & the music played from within ruby is VERY similar to the score played in “whatever happened to sarah jane smith” when sarah jane was giving maria the puzzle box which protected her (& then later alan) from the trickster's power & this was the first time the trickster ever came into the whonivese & whilst i thought i was reaching here, i was CLEARLY not the only one who thought that the score progression sounded similar.

https://youtu.be/ARVTQ91P5RE?si=_TD41qhQ_PbQ-8kp

after “the devil's chord” i didn't want to say anything because i thought i was going to sound absolutely crackers but it was simmering, the thoughts that whatever ruby is COULD be connected to the trickster or the pantheon. honestly even if it turns out to be nothing to do with the trickster themself but just another element of the pantheon that's at play & what everything is leading up to, i'd consider that a win.

the full downward spiral into madness began after i witnessed the horror that was “73 yards” which both scared me for life & after like no doctor who episode has done in a VERY long time because not only was i actually scared of ruby sunday & was thinking WHAT IS THIS BEING but it also unleashed this:

deep down, my rational brain KNOWS it's not what my unhinged brain thought it were but in fact what it literally was which was a story filled with elements of welsh folklore BUT my brain said:

to my brain, “73 yards” reminded me of the doctor in “turn left” saying:

and whilst i was in my post 73 yards state of horror/being genuinely afraid of what ruby was there's was two options my brain was throwing out:

1) ruby could be one of the pantheon/the trickster’s brigade she's one of the changelings like the time beetle because life WAS changed in tiny little ways & this was literally probably one of ruby's worst case scenario: that everyone would leave & she'd be alone all her life & her fears manifested in her potential trickster/changeling power & made a whole new reality for her that she enabled herself to stop. it was all just her & the extent of her powers which could be used for very bad.

2) and this is the one that i latched onto like a person deranged:

ruby is a creation of the trickster, the trickster is “the one who waits” because the trickster has been “waiting” for a way to break into the universe & then i just went wild with this theory of mine because of the sarah jane adventures.

in the (devastating) final season of the sarah jane adventures, sky smith was left on the doorstep of sarah jane's house when she was a baby, similarly to how ruby is left on the threshold of the church on ruby road. now that's a reach, yes but HAD the sarah jane adventures series 5 finished the way it was intended to be finished, sky smith would have turned out to be the trickster's child in an finale called “the battle of bannerman road” & her trickster powers would have been awakened by the trickster. sarah jane would apparently have been considering this to be true because she'd gotten jo jones to research “trickster myths” sky would have returned to herself but would have evolved into an entity that would banish the trickster from reality & guard him in a prison forever:

The Battle of Bannerman Road (unproduced TV story) | Tardis | Fandom

honestly i started to imagine that a similar situation could happen with ruby because this story was ultimately never made & whilst i am probably clowning to the highest degree here, i thought about jo & clyde's segment of “tales of the tardis” & how clyde's story is left open ended as if it could possibly be continued & what better way to continue clyde & rani's story then to bring them back during a potential battle with the trickster? there is also the fact that the other unnamed episodes of the sarah jane adventures WERE actually made into stories for a fantastic show called “wizards vs aliens” specifically, “the thirteenth floor”

so perhaps rtd could be using the bare bones of “the battle of bannerman road” for the conclusion to the mystery of ruby sunday.

as i said, i went rather deranged with this one & it's probably going to be the greatest comeback for sutekh, who will probably turn out to be “the one who waits” possibly the head of the pantheon & the creator of ruby but my brain has decided to throw one more twist:

✨sutekh x the trickster✨

i'm kinda glad that this will all be over soon so i can be proved wrong & can enjoy a peaceful state of mind again, finally set free from my trickster theory 😅

[avianyuh]

NCT reaction to you thinking you're fat; Johnny

So, Johnny loves clothes. He went to the freaking Met Gala! He loves to buy new pieces, take pictures in them, keep up with the trends. But when he met you, he considered it an absolute win since now he could not only buy new clothes for himself, but you also.

Whether he was on tour or back at home with you, he'd either pick something up for you if he went out, or bring something home for you on tour that he knew you'd like.

But what he loved most of all was taking you shopping with him. And for the most part, you enjoyed it. At least up until now.

You had went to a family reunion earlier that day, without Johnny because he had to work that day. You were excited to see everyone since your family was quite extended and it had been a few years since everyone had been in the same room.

You had been talking to one of your relatives when your uncle had come up to you. He had tapped on your shoulder, so you turned around and greeted him.

Now for reference, you had been feeling pretty good about yourself that day, not self-conscience in the slightest. You had on a pair of jeans and a black, long sleeve sweater that was on the tighter side, but that was by design.

As you caught your uncle up on your life, he let out the nastiest, back handed compliment you had ever heard.

"You must be living it up since you've put on so much weight since the last time I saw you!", he said as he laughed at his own cruel joke.

You didn't know how to respond to that. In response all you did was clear your throat and excuse yourself. He waved you off as you made a b-line for the bathroom.

The minute you shut the door you let the tears fall. You leaned over the sink and looked at yourself in the mirror. You stood up straight and started analyzing every inch of your body. You squished your cheeks together, then you pinched your underarms. You backed up, leaning against the bathroom wall so you could look at your whole frame. You looked at the way your sweater hugged your body. You studied your stomach. All you could hear was his comment and it hurt. Now 'fat' was all you could see and hear about yourself.

When you got home, Johnny greeted you at the door with a hug and kiss. As the two of you sat down to eat dinner, he unsurprisingly was eager to know how your family reunion had went. So, you gave him some unimportant updates on cousins, in laws, other family drama. The whole time, your mind was on auto-pilot, wondering if you should tell him about what your uncle had said to you. And in the end you decided to be honest with him.

"Actually, something kind of embarrassing happened. Remember that creepy uncle? He came up to me and started asking how I've been. Didn't think anything of it, but then he said that I had gained a lot of weight", After you finished, you sort of regretted telling him, you were afraid that he would now see you as fat.

"What's wrong with people. You don't believe him right?", Johnny questioned as he pulled you onto his lap. Though you were loving the contact with him, you stayed silent. You weren't going to lie. "Y/n? You're not fat. You're healthy, you're happy and you're beautiful. And even if you did gain weight it wouldn't change a thing." You tried to conceal your tears, but he noticed them and swiped one away with his thumb.

You sat up on his lap and hugged him tight, whispering a soft "I love you", in his ear.

[mooshkat]

anyways i refuse to accept that that's the final end of them so. here.

Two hours later, Buck finds himself on Tommy's doorsteps. There's still a pit in the bottom of his stomach, it hasn't left since the words "I guess I did." left Tommy's mouth, but now he's moved on to upset. He's angry and he's not going to let one of the best things that happened to him go without a fight.

He knocks on the door, harsher than he normally would, and doesn't have to wait long before his–before Tommy answers it.

"What–Evan!" Tommy says, startled as Buck pushes past him and barges into his house. Buck glances at him and finds him with puffy, red eyes and tear tracks on his cheeks. It makes him just a little bit more hopeful that Tommy isn't as over them as he initially thought.

"I heard what you said and I get you're scared, Tommy, but no. No, you don't get to end things like that. Not after going through the last six months acting like it was meant to mean something because it did. To me."

Buck stands in the middle of the living room, arms crossed tight over his chest. He becomes hyperaware of just how much their lives have intertwined over the last six months; bits of him are scattered all over Tommy's house, in the clothes he's left behind and the pictures pinned to the fridge that holds his keto snacks. The same kind of pieces that Tommy has at his loft as well.

"Okay, so what if you're my first boyfriend? That doesn't make how I feel about you mean any less. I don't–I don't need to go out there and find another guy I like until he's 'the one'. I like you and I don't need to explore my options, or whatever. It kind of makes it feel like you think I'm just experimenting with being bisexual, and that's not what this is. I'm not using you as some exciting new thing."

Tommy sighs and scrubs a hand down his face, his shoulders drooping. "No, Evan, I'm sorry. That's not what I meant."

"Good. Good." Buck nods, deflating a little bit. "I'm sorry you've had shitty experiences in the past, Tommy, but I'm not those people. I-I asked you to move in with me tonight because I could see a life with you, Tommy. I want you in my life."

He takes a deep breath, "You talk about being scared of having your heart broken by me? You broke mine tonight. I've been afraid to say it because I always–always–get in too deep faster than my partners, but I...I love you. I love you, Thomas Kinard, and I want a life with you. Please don't let your fear stop you from having that."

Tommy doesn't say anything. He stares at Buck, eyes wide, and doesn't open his mouth.

The pit in his stomach gets worse. The hope he had is fracturing apart and splintering into raw embarrassment instead, and maybe this was a stupid idea, wasn't it? It was a bad idea to refuse Tommy's boundaries and come barging into his home to yell at him.

"Oh. Yeah, okay. Sorry, this was stupid." He was stupid thinking someone would actually want to stay for once. "Sorry. Forget I ever came over, and I'll–I'll leave your stuff at Harbor later."

He ducks his head and tries to squeeze past Tommy so he can leave before he gets sick.

A hand wraps around his wrist and stops him. He doesn't want to risk it and see it in Tommy's eyes that they are truly done for, but he stops and glances up at Tommy anyway.

"I'm sorry," Tommy says, and fresh tears pool in his eyes. "I'm sorry I let old habits kick up and let fear run my life. I'm not really the best at talking about things, am I? If–If you'll stay, I want to tell you about it. I shouldn't have left the way I did, but I want you to understand why."

Buck pulls his wrist free from Tommy's grasp and for a split second, he sees the fear and hurt in his eyes, before Buck grabs his hand and squeezes it. "Okay. Let's talk. And...please don't ever call me Buck again."

[barcaluvv]

But I wanted it to be you 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑖 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 ʳᵉᵠᵘᵉˢᵗᵉᵈ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ˡᵃˢᵗ ᵛᵒᵗᵉ! ᶠˡᵘᶠᶠ :)

You and Gavi been friends for a while, or so you thought, even though you've been in love with him for two years, in love with his walk, his beautiful eyes that change color in the sunlight, they change like my behavior when he's around, but actually no one knew that , just like no one knew how to get your attention like he did. Until one noght, when everything changed. It was an evening game, and you, as an employee of this club, had no idea that Xavi would put him on the bench, on the bench next to you. You thought to yourself that you would even pretend to be this bench for free just to be in his presence. His presence felt like a new start, even though you just glanced at him a few times and when he needed water you would bring him the best one you had. He would always compliment your hard work, it's like he did that on purpose. Zoning out, thinking about him,staring into his soul looking straight into his eyes, "Am I that interesting to you huh?" he leans closer leaving you with a smirk on his face. You couldn't get the words out of your mouth, before you said anything he went to the dressing room, you heard Hector who was there the whole time, laughing loudly. You were so pissed but you kept on with the night. After the game all the players left the locker room but gavi he didn't, oh no, when you tried to leave you noticed something i s off putting your hand on the metal doorknob, you were sure that all the doors were locked, the lights were off and on the locker it said, enjoy the night i hope u get enough of eachother, thats what you get when you can't focus on the game gavi" Hector oh god i knew it. I tore the paper quickly before gavi could even see it. At the end of the night, you were sitting alone, on the bench, covered with a big blanket, trying not to panick. When he noticed that you had a seizure, he came closer to you and said "Hey, it's okay, don't be afraid" he pat your hair. Your body shivered, it felt like a bump of water was splashing down your head, he removed your hands out of your face, e was wiping the tears from your red cheeks. You looked up at him, feeling your heartbeat getting more intense, for each breath you inhale, and calmer as you exhale. Saying the sentence you have never imagined you would ever say, especially to Pablo, twirling your fingers from the cold locker you were already leaning on, the words came out. "I love you, I have loved you since the day we met, since our eyes accomplished the contact that I've been craving for to happen, I know I sound dumb and you probably don't like me but I can't hold it in me anymore and I hope you understand that. Even if the distance between your heart and mine is seventeen inches yet somehow, the sun feels closer to me in this moment than you do. You never knew my birthday, you never asked me about my favourite colour, I don't even think you know any small details about me or the things I enjoyed doing. 𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑡𝑤𝑜 𝑦𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑠 was long at that age I couldn't leave, and I will wait for you, no matter what. He pulled you into a hug, he kissed your hand aggressively, whispering "I love you too", you felt his lips talking on your shoulder. Feeling our veins compared next to eachother, as we both fall asleep with our hands crossed around eachothers matching jerseys.

[prettypinkporkchop]

Random idea for a different wolfie- Quil…how would Quil react if his imprint rejected it? Angst? Anything else you want feel free! Thanks 🌞🌞

(Sorry this gif is just so cute not related to story)

Whatever you want me to be

It's been a couple of weeks since you've known about everything. You've kept your space from all of it because you're confused about it all. Do you really want to be pinned down by someone forever? You don't see it as super romantic. Plus, you don't really know Quil! You just met him through your coworker. She said that he's got good people who could help you get familiar with the area. It was a mistake. Yes, he's hot. But, this doesn't seem right.

Quil ended up staying the night at your house on the couch because you heard weird noises in your new house and got scared. Turns out it was just your air conditioner. Nonetheless, Quil stayed because your anxiety was so high.

You sit on the couch next to Quil. Both of you just woken up. "Quil.. I've thought about it." You play with your fingers in your lap.

"Whatever you choose.. I'll respect you." He said it sadly and hesitantly.

You know this will hurt him. You're preparing yourself for a reaction. "I am rejecting the bond. I don't want to have anything to do with it." You slowly look up at him.

He chews the inside of his bottom lip and then nods. "I'll be here if you ever need me." He stands up and walks out of your house.

Doing so broke your heart. It felt awful. You do have feelings for him, but you know it's nothing it's just a weird bond.

Even though you believe that, you can't help but cry.

----

Quil runs and runs and runs as fast as his four legs can go. He's growling and whimpering. The ground beneath him is shaking as his paws hit the floor of the woods.

He's heartbroken. He feels like actual... death. He feels as if his soul is dying. His imprint denied his bond.

"Quil. I know you're hurting. You can't do this. Do not do this." He hears Sam chasing him and calling out for him.

"Quil, you can't leave us. We need you, our brother. We can't be a pack without you." Embry says.

"I'm.. not going to hurt myself." Quil responds.

"Quil stop." Sam orders.

Quil has been ignoring his demands for an hour now. It's getting harder to ignore because he's his alpha. Quil ends up stopping in his tracks. He turns to face the group of wolves.

"Be anything she wants." Leah says.

"That's part of the soul tie. What if she needs a friend?" Paul adds.

"She doesn't want anything to do with me at all. No matter the relationship, she doesn't want me." Quil whimpers and then cries, lowering his body to the ground.

----

You're feeling empty. You are trying to push it in the back of your mind. It's so hard, though. You really wish this never happened to begin with.

There's a knock on your door, and you get out of bed. You can feel his presence. You can sense it. The stomach pain is already beginning to fade.

You open the door, and there's Quil. He lifts his head up and looks at you with a smile. "Hey. I'm just checking on you." He breathes out.

You're not stupid. You know he's doing his best. But you feel exactly what he feels. This bond is fire. You can see right through him.

"I'm okay. Thanks for checking." You smile.

He nods his head and then backs away from your door. He instantly felt pain in his body, and you know that because you feel it, too. He turns around and keeps walking before he eventually stops.

"Quil?" You ask.

He turns back around and walks up to you. He shoves you inside your house and shuts the door behind him. "Why don't you want me?" He hovers over you.

"I'm scared."

"There's nothing to ever be afraid of when I'm here." He grabs your face. His eyes brim with tears.

You start to cry too and push yourself away from his hands. "Quil.. I can't.." You sniffle.

He starts laughing, but it's a laugh of pain. "What? Do you think I'll disappear? I love you, y/n." He yells.

"Leave.." You say.

"Fine." He opens the door and runs off. You see him phase before he hits the trees.

You run out there and grab a piece of his ripped shorts. Holding onto this fabric that once touched his body gave you a sense of peace. You start crying again as you feel the wolf go further out away from you. You curl in a ball on the ground and cry with his ripped clothing in your arms.

You wake up to Leah sitting on the ground next to you. She's playing with the grass, waiting for you to wake up. You sit up and realize you fell asleep on the grass with Quil's clothes in your hands.

"Y/n, you know he doesn't have to be your partner. He could be a brother, a friend, and a protector. Look at you. You're making this harder on yourself." She looks over you.

You look back at your house and realize you left your door open. Great. But you realize what Leah had said. Maybe it's time to give Quil a chance of being a .. friend.

"Where's Quil?" You groan.

"He's coming. I hear him." She says, standing up and helping you up.

You grip his clothes in your arm and hold her hand with yours as she lifts you up.

"Hey." Quil says.

"I'll leave you two alone." Leah runs off.

Quil looks at you, holding onto his clothes and then back at your house. "You left your door open." He smiles.

"Yeah.." You smile back.

He steps closer to you and then picks out a leaf in your hair. "You slept out here?" He asks with worry.

"Yeah." You sigh.

"Come on." He puts his hand on the small of your back and guides you in the house. He shuts the door and then turns around to hug you. His arms wrap tightly around your back.

You drop his pieces of shorts and wrap your arms around his neck. When you accepted this act, it felt like everything had disappeared. You could only feel and smell Quil. His curly hair tickles your cheek and neck as he bends to bury his face in your neck.

"Quil.." You whisper.

"Mhm?"

"Can we be friends?" You want to be more. You're just nervous.

He pulls away and looks down at you with a smile. "Anything you want." He backs away to keep a platonic distance, but his demeanor instantly changes to happiness. That honestly made you want him more. The respect this guy has!

You giggle at his small, adorable smile. He is a cutie. "Okay, uhm, I'm gonna go use the restroom. You can make yourself at home. Or whatever you want to do." You walk away and go into your bathroom. You look at your reflection in the mirror. This feels much better. You turn toward the toilet to use it when a FREAKING SLITHERING SNAKE COMES SLITHERING AROUND IT.

You scream a blood curdling scream. Quil is quick to open the door. He grabs you without hesitation. He pulls you into the hallway. You look up at him. "There's a snake. I left the door open." You say in a panic.

He smiles and licks his lips. He let's you go. "I'll get it." He walks inside the bathroom. He lifts it up, and you see the snake twirling in his hand. "Oh, this one is harmless!" Quil smiles.

"Harmless or not, I want it out." You point toward the front door.

He chuckles and then walks past you to the front door. He leaves the house, and you sigh of relief and use the toilet.

He comes back in, and you step out of the bathroom. "Thanks." You giggle.

"No problem." He replies. "I've got to go do wolf shit. You're more than welcome to come with me to Emily and Sam's!"

You think for a moment. "Yeah! Why not?"

"Do I get to drive your car?" He smirks.

You roll your eyes and point on the counter. "Keys are over there."

He grabs them and you two get in your car. He gets in and bumps his head. "Ow. Short stack. How do you drive like this?" He lowers the seat and scoots it back.

You start laughing at him. "Sorry, I'm not a giant."

You guys start driving, and you watch as his shirtless body moves. His curly hair moves with the air in the car. His hands on the wheel. Oh no, you're admiring. You said friends.. but you want more... but he is going to respect everything you want.

"Quil." You kill the silence.

"Yeah?"

"Is it bad that I find you attractive?"

His face slowly grows into a smile, and he blushes. "What happened to just wanting to be friends?"

"Pull over in the woods." You demand.

He does as told and parks the car. You are hidden in the trees in a small area. You unbuckle your seat belt and straddle his lap.

"Woah." His face reddens.

You grab onto his face and look over his features. You lean down and kiss him. He takes a second, but his hands find your back, and he kisses you. Your fingers move to the back of his head and tangle in his hair. You slightly tug, and his eyebrows furrow, and he groans.

But then he pulls away. "Hey, not here.. and.. I don't want.." He sighs and you sit back and look at him confused.

"I don't want you to change your mind about me. I don't want to.. do this unless we are together." He goes on, his eyes moving around, avoiding yours.

"Quil, I'm tired of pretending. I want you. I want to give us a chance."

Your words made his eyes grow and sparkle. They make their way to yours, and he reaches up to touch your cheek. "I'm whatever you want me to be."

[starwarsmum]

Chapter 7 of Introducing: Mousinette 🥰 Moving to Gotham

In spite of having tried to plan a celebration with everyone for their BAC results, Marinette was the only one in their group who had not yet turned eighteen. And so, Lila had convinced the group that the club she had dragged them to would allow Marinette in if she gave her name at the door, regardless of their over-eighteens only policy.

Trying not to get overly worked up, she apologised to the bouncer at the club, messaging Alya to say that she was going to find somewhere to hang out for the next hour or so before heading home. She didn't expect a message back - the club had sounded unreasonably loud and Lila had a way of making Alya think that Marinette was tardier than she ever was these days.

She also pulled up her messages to Chloe and Adrien, venting her frustrations about their friendship group. Chloe messaged back immediately, saying that she was welcome to come to the hotel and spend time with her and Kagami, but Marinette declined. She knew the girls had not been able to go on a proper date in a while and didn't want to crash it.

After ninety minutes with no messages, Marinette paid for another coffee to go, and left the diner she had made camp in. It was a gorgeous evening, the streetlights twinkling along the Seine and various groups of people having fun. She stayed on well lit streets, enjoying the buoyant mood around her as she walked home.

Once home, she crept quietly upstairs, trying not to wake her parents. Sighing in relief when she made it to her room, she switched on her laptop and dropped a message to Barbara. Having cancelled their regular catch up, Marinette didn't expect to get a response, so was pleasantly surprised when a video call lit up her screen.

“Hey Babs,” she said quietly, leaning back in her bed and picking up an embroidery hoop. “I thought you would be busy since I cancelled on you. I was really only messaging to let you know I was home safe after the night flopped.”

“Hey Mari! Well, it's not just me tonight I'm afraid, I have visitors. Dick and Steph both came over to keep me company,” Barbara replied enthusiastically, and the other two popped their faces in to say hi. “But how come you're home so early?”

So Marinette gave a brief recount of her evening, laughing a little at Dick's affronted expression. When she had finished, she felt a little better for having vented, and so was stabbing her embroidery needle slightly less viciously. “But nothing new, I should have seen this coming when Alya suggested somewhere new. And I bet Lila manages to twist this against me somehow.”

“Wow, she sounds like a bitch,” Steph said offhandedly, although she looked annoyed. “Babe, if you need us to bring the smackdown, please just tell us. I will steal Bruce's jet and be there as soon as humanly possible to set people straight. Hell, I'll even bring the Demon with me to hammer it home if I have to.” 

Giggling at the thought, Marinette beamed at the blonde woman. She looked back down and finished a particularly tricky part of the embroidery before looking back at them all. “Oh my God, did I tell you that she lies about being besties with Tim and Damian? I swear she's a compulsive liar, I'm not sure I've ever heard her tell the truth, except for the times she's threatened me,” she added, almost thoughtfully.

“Hold up, she did what?” Dick said, looking even more concerned, if it was possible. He was typing furiously into his phone, typing, Marinette assumed, a message to Tim. “What's this girl's name? I know she can't possibly know Damian, because Damian has exactly one friend, but Tim really needs to shut this down if she's using his name for clout.”

“It's Lila Rossi, but she's not using it for clout per se, she's just using it to make our terrifyingly gullible classmates worship the ground she walks on. I'm not really sure what she gets out of it, other than irritating me and making ‘friends’,” she said, making sure they knew she didn't think they were really friends if she was lying to get them. “But it really doesn't matter, it's the end of June and I move to Gotham mid July. At which point, I don't have to deal with her anymore, plus I get to live some of the lies she tells.”

“It's still not cool, so I'm just giving Tim her name in case it crops up at some point. But she just lies? And nobody calls her out? Hell, I should get Tim to do a French press release just for this, she's clearly a menace to society. Just let us know if we need to do anything for you, we will shut it down,” Dick promised, which made Marinette smile.

“You'd have to get in line behind Jagged,” she admitted ruefully, chuckling at their confused expressions. “That was the first lie, she said she saved Jagged's kitten, as if he's ever had something as tame as a kitten, and she still says she's close with him. It's how she's got them believing half of what she says now. But I really don't want to talk about it any more. If I let her take up space in my brain, she wins.”

The other three begrudgingly accepted this, moving the conversation on to Marinette's impending relocation to the States. The conversation continued, touching briefly on Marinette's birthday plans. Marinette admitted that she didn't plan on doing much, as she would be too busy packing, but her parents were taking her and a few friends to a fancy restaurant to celebrate.

Actually moving from Paris to Gotham was an experience, one Marinette felt she could maybe have lived without. She had found a nice apartment, it had a main bedroom, living area with kitchenette, and a spare room, where she planned on putting her commission work. Moving all of her sewing equipment had been a hassle, and she needed to get extra furniture before she could set it up.

Fortunately, she had gotten herself ahead of her commissions and the space at Wayne Enterprises was all set for her work there. It meant that she could take a day or so to visit thrift stores and find a serviceable workbench or desk, as well as hit the local fabric stores for materials.

But for that night, she wanted to settle into the place, find somewhere secure to store the Miracle Box and sleep. She forced herself to order some takeout and eat it, but then she went through her nightly routine. Her room was at the top of the building, slightly cheaper because you could sometimes hear the vigilantes of Gotham pounding across the roof, but she wasn't really one for waking up to that kind of noise. Tikki would wake her if it was dangerous, but she often slept through most everything.

She found it relatively easy to fall asleep, and Tikki was nestled away on top of the Box. She didn't really remember dreaming at first, but she did jolt awake at 2am, having had a nightmare about Chat Blanc. Even though they were well past the issue, when she was disrupted she found her anxiety liked to bring that particular memory out for a spin.

Sighing and moving quietly, so as not to wake Tikki, and not to annoy her downstairs neighbours, she crept over to her kitchenette. After taking a long drink of cold water from the filter in her refrigerator, she felt the urge to step outside. She listened intently for a moment but couldn't hear footsteps, so she slid the window open and stepped onto the fire escape.

Moving lightly, she slid onto the roof, breathing in the cooler air. It was a warm night and the apartment trapped heat like crazy. She didn't have a trap door to let the heat out, so having access to the roof was nice. Knowing that she was in Gotham, she kept her guard up, which means she wasn't overly surprised when someone stepped out of the shadows on the other side of the roof.

“Bonjour,” she said, smiling up at Robin as he moved towards her. She refused to be intimidated by his silence, and turned back to the skyline view from the edge. 

Damian paused, unsure of how to deal with the sudden reappearance of the woman who had changed his behaviour so much, without even being present. He had been prepared to run into her in the office, even to meet her at the university, but during his time as a vigilante? And out on the rooftops, instead of during a mugging, or worse.

“Are you not sketching tonight?” He cringed internally at his abruptness, but outwardly he was cool and curious. She shrugged lightly, peering at him sideways. He could tell she remembered their previous encounter, and he had often wondered how she saw him. It wasn't often he interacted with civilians in both of his identities, and he found himself wondering how they compared.

They stood together in silence for a few minutes before she stepped over to the fire escape again, without saying a word. He quashed the disappointment that welled within him, watching as her head vanished from sight. He stood, immobile for several moments, and was about to retreat back to his perch when she reappeared.

“I'm afraid I don't have anything homemade today, but I did pick up a pack of cookies on my way here,” she said, apparently in explanation. He cocked his head at her, confused. She blushed a little, turning her back on the city to sit upon the ledge. “In Paris, when we had an active supervillain, the heroes would stop by my balcony on occasion, and I would provide a place to rest. Unfortunately, I do not have a balcony here, and I only moved in this afternoon, so I could not bake anything. But if you plan to be here regularly, I can leave some food out. It has always seemed hungry work, being a hero.”

“Vigilante,” he said automatically, leaning forward onto his forearms against the ledge she perched upon. “And whilst I appreciate the sentiment, I am not fond of sweets, particularly mass produced and packaged.”

“Alright,” she shrugged again, taking one for herself and closing the packet. She didn't say anything more, staying close to him without ever crowding him. As it ticked over to 3am, he excused himself, unmuting his comm and letting the team know that he was returning to base. He could feel her eyes on him as he leapt from building to building.

The next time he returned to the rooftop, he was curious as to whether she would be there. It was sooner than he thought it would be, not even a full week later. The roof was empty and he allowed himself to deliberately scuff his boots to make noise. It was just past midnight, early in his usual patrol but the previous night had seen them bust a particularly heinous trafficking ring. The nights following ones like that were notoriously quiet, so he saw no harm in situating himself on an innocuous rooftop and waiting to respond to any threats.

He saw her head peek over the top of the ledge, and her face brightened into a smile as she spotted him. His comm was already muted, most of the team recovering from minor scrapes and the remainder being in no mood to socialise during their individual patrols. Grayson was patrolling the other side of town, but the comm was silent from his usual prattle.

He eyed the plate in Marinette's hand as she approached him and went to remind her that he did not eat sweets often when she gave him a quiet greeting. He felt wrong footed, as though she were following a script and he hadn't been given any notes. Rather than perch where she had last time, she came over to his own perch and settled onto the roof rather than the ledge.

“I know you don't normally eat sweets, so I made some mini quiches and cheese twists,” she said when she was fully settled. He hesitated again, unsure if he should eat anything. He would never normally accept food from a civilian during patrol, but ordinarily he would not have spoken with her either. 

When he did accept one, she seemed to brighten considerably, and began chattering about her day, how she had gone into her new job’s building and made a great deal of progress on her work. He already knew she was working at Wayne Enterprises, so he didn't make any outward reaction when she mentioned Drake as her boss.

“So you have always helped your city's heroes by providing nourishment?” He wanted to learn more about the Parisian heroes and her relationship with them seemed the easiest way to breach that topic. “Did they not find you suspicious?”

“Do you find me suspicious?” He would have thought her pretending to be coy if he couldn't hear a genuine sort of surprise to the question. When he didn't say anything, she continued. “Huh, well, no, I guess they didn't. It was mostly Chat Noir who visited me, and we met because I was being targeted by one of the akuma…”

As she launched into a description of her experience with someone called the Evillustrator, he watched her, fascinated by how emotive she was to this version of him. He asked questions as she spoke, and she answered eagerly. He wondered if she had spoken to anyone else about her experiences with heroes.

It startled him when Grayson called for help in his sector, and he hastily said goodbye to Marinette before launching into the night, confirming that he was on his way. He wondered, after the threat was dealt with, whether he would see her on the roof again.

_ _ _

She hadn't intended to befriend the vigilante that frequented her rooftop, but that's what had happened. Sometimes she would be up there already, working on designs, sometimes she would wake when he was stationed above and come to join him. Other times, she would be awake when his feet scuffed the rooftop and she would make her way up. She shared a lot about her time in Paris, finding it easier to talk about her old friends, the villains, and Lila, without worrying that he would dismiss her. It also helped having an outside perspective, something she couldn't get from anyone else.

It was a slightly dreary evening at the end of summer when she began to talk about her plans for the coming academic year. She was huddled closer to him than usual, using him to shield herself from the light rain. She felt a rush of affection for him, not dissimilar to how she would feel as Ladybug, interacting with Chat Noir. 

“I just can't believe I have to start classes soon,” she mused, flicking open an app on her phone with her schedule. “I might not be up on the roof as often, but I can leave snacks out in plastic boxes. And I'll try to come out, once a month at least. You're probably the only friend other than Babs that I've made since getting here.”

“What about your employer? I had thought you were on good terms with him,” he said quietly, apparently trying to hide a smile. “And you are sure to make friends in your classes. It is more likely that you will stop coming up here because you have a more filled social calendar, is it not?”

“Hmmm, I don't think so. My understanding is that the first year of university is to be social, but I have already locked myself into a job that will take up so much of my free time, and I have a scholarship to maintain. No, I think it more likely that you will get bored of quiet nights on the roof once the weather changes,” she said ruefully. “And that is a shame, because you are surprisingly good company. When I talk to Babs about the vigilantes,” she missed the panic that flashed across his face, “she says that Nightwing is known to be chatty, Red Robin is some kind of super genius, Red Hood is violent and you are supposedly very prickly.”

“You talk to your friend about these visits?” He sounded confused, maybe a little concerned and she waved her hands emphatically.

“Oh, no, absolutely not. She already worries about me living alone on the top apartment of a complex, I don't want her to know I regularly go onto the roof, alone save for dubiously grouchy vigilantes,” she teased, smiling again. When he nodded, she thought she spotted some relief, which made her wonder if he usually was prickly, but she had somehow earned his friendship.

“Well, perhaps you will befriend more dubiously grouchy people,” he said, sounding amused. She hummed thoughtfully, thinking of another dark haired boy, one who was genuinely grouchy. “Or perhaps you will attract rays of sunshine. Or more people like your unfortunate nemesis, Lila.”

“God, I hope not,” she groaned, looking out at the cityscape again. “If I come across another one of her, I'm calling bull. Did I ever tell you she lies about knowing the upper echelons of Gotham? Claims to be besties with the Waynes, which I know for a fact is a lie, because I asked Tim outright. And if she's friends with Damian, they deserve each other,” she finished sourly.

“You have a problem with the youngest Wayne?” He asked, voice rumbling quietly. She hesitated, wishing she'd minded her tongue - she made an effort not to badmouth any of her acquaintances to him, not knowing who he was or who he knew.

“I wouldn't say I have a problem, per se. He's kind of stuck up, which should be expected, being from money. Like my friend Chloe, she was awful to grow up with and her dad was mayor of Paris. But he's an adult and was just so dismissive of me, right when we first met. Which, fine, I don't need to be friends with everyone, but he's both my boss's little brother and a sort of brother to my friend Babs, so I wanted to get on with him. If I had more time and energy, I might've tried to wear him down, but I'm in a new city, I have work and I have classes.”

“Well, if he was foolish enough to treat you poorly without reason, he will probably give you space. But if you are worried about it for your friends’ sake, perhaps you could extend an olive branch. Perhaps he was having a bad day when you met.”

“The next time I spent one on one time with him, he called me short and childish,” she said flatly, once again missing the contrite look that crossed his face. “He also said that cooking was easy, even though he's never tried it, and that moving out of his manor was beneath him. But forget that, I'm running my mouth when I shouldn't. It happens when I'm nervous, and the idea of starting university in a completely different country is scary.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Marinette was relieved she hadn't ruined things by ranting about her not-problems. When she eventually went inside, she went straight to bed, and slept through until morning.

[hussyknee]

Just found out that the baby baked in an oven thing Zionists accused Hamas of doing is actually something Zionists themselves did during the Deir Yassin massacre of 1948. And the fetus cut out of the pregnant woman's womb is something that was done in the massacre of the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps by Lebanese militants in concert with Zionists. We already know that they rape women and children in detention. I think the only other huge fucking lie about Oct 7th was the beheaded babies, and I'm legitimately afraid of learning whether or not that was also just something Zionists themselves did at one point.

I mean it's not even improbable because this type of unfathomable cruelty is par for the course with genociders, that only happen when the dominant group has so much disproportionate power in the region that there is only mindless hatred and perfect impunity. (The Brits used to use native infants as crocodile bait.) The reports of IOF ripping babies from their mothers arms, shooting them dead, throwing them aside and dragging the mothers off in front of witnesses were numerous even before this. I've also heard reports of young parents being dragged off and abandoning their toddlers and infants on the roadsides (saw a video of it and I'm going to be haunted to my grave). So those premature babies being left to die of starvation at the hospital was shocking but only surprising because there were so many eyes on the situation due to the efforts of the aid workers and journalists. We thought that Western governments wouldn't pull this shit with the whole world watching. As it turned out, the only reason the last twenty-odd premature babies at Al Shifa Hospital survived was because the director of the place refused to leave them until they were safely shipped off to Egypt (unaccompanied, God knows if the parents will ever get them back. Egyptian governments refused to let the few critically injured people allowed safe passage by the US to go through without visas and passports so they died in the ambulances). Then the IOF kidnapped the director right afterwards. He's still missing.

The organ harvesting thing is also true btw. We've been talking about it ever since they made off with those dead bodies at Al Shifa Hospital. Whether they were going to use them to stage their own propaganda, harvest their organs and skin, or just did it to deprive their families of giving them a burial. Probably all three.

I'm so tired of you people refusing to pay any attention to the news streaming out of Gaza via their own citizen journalists and Al Jazeera and Quds News and families of activists and then accusing us of spreading conspiracy theories! "There's so much misinformation" just say you don't trust Palestinians to tell the truth about their own genocide with your whole chest. Say that your charges of antisemitism is about how much you fear Black people and Muslims. Say that you don't reblog calls for the Jewish community to interrogate their whiteness and their enmeshing with Zionism over the decades because you feel like "it's not your place" to amplify Black and brown people challenging whiteness. Say that you shut us down and police our language about Zionists because you're philosemites who believe Jews could never be as genocidal and bloodthirsty as every other group on the world given the same power. Say that you still don't think Zionists are "as bad as" Nazis because they haven't murdered enough people yet.

I'll take the Zionists cheering over the deaths of people we're mourning over all the hidden polite lethal racism you're hiding under your white liberal tongues. I can't take this death by a thousand cuts shit anymore. Seriously why are you scrolling past? You think we aren't talking about you?

[gardenerian]

oops i 🕺🏼 did it again 🕺🏼

hey WHOOPS turns out it's hospital time again 💅🏻 almost three years to the day since the last time, too, we love a cyclical moment 💅🏻 in three years time we'll see if i've ever learned anything ever in my goofy little life 💅🏻

i'm not sure sure how many of you were here for the last hurrah, but i think at the time i went on this whole spiel about no shame, asking for help, taking time, etc? and - yeah, i still think that. no shame, let's do this (well. lots of shame, actually, but hey ho we move along).

but this time has its own set of circumstances and its own new set of complications. and this time meant depriving myself of just about everything. including you, including everything we made together.

so before i dive back into groups, vitals, and pants without strings, here's what i've been thinking:

i hate that i let this happen. i hate that i watched the joy dry up; i hate that i just accepted the new normal as everything i love became a source of stress and guilt and shame. i hate that i was so afraid of doing things wrong or letting things change that i stopped doing them at all.

i never anticipated that i would let my own personality be squashed down to make room for this extra disorder??? one's enough, thanks.

i can't really make any promises right now - who can in recovery? but i can at least say wow. hey. i am sorry. to you and to me! and i can say that, in all the ways that matter, i'm gonna try. to be present, to be intentional. to give myself (and this time) some grace and, hopefully, some compassion.

so! while i relearn how to feed myself (yall ever heard about peanut butter? holy shit. effervescent.), just. idk. know that i love you. know that i think about you and the joy we share and the things we've built together. and it matters - all of it.

the next few weeks are gonna be WEIRD and idk how often i will be here, but god. this is the start! i want to get back. or at least find a new way to engage. i wanna make shit and hang out and be ridiculous. and i want to hear from you! i want to reconnect and reinvest and stumble around the dash like a newborn baby deer. if you'd like, dm me or find me on discord or on on my weird little personal blog (@beochaoineadh) and let's catch up 🍅

anyways! that's enough! let's get on with it! i love you!

[sissylittlefeather]

Hi, I'm dying to see new Elvis fanfic so here I am.

Prompt 5 with young Elvis and could you make both fluff and smut. My idea is that Elvis cums prematurely and he's embarrassed so reader reassures him.

Thanks!

Hey Anon! I'm sorry this took me so long. I wasn't able to write for a while, but I think I got my groove back. I hope you love this!

Prompt: "That was quick." With 50s Elvis

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, kissing, cussing, fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie

You thought Elvis was cute even when you met him 3 days before your 13th birthday. You'd been close friends ever since, but you tried to never let on that you had a crush on him. He seemed to enjoy just talking to you and you let that be enough for you for years. Then, he started singing and playing shows all around the south. You didn't see each other nearly as often and you were finding it hard to ignore the fact that you missed him desperately.

Now, here you sit on the front steps of your parents' house in your favorite dress anxiously waiting for him to arrive. Finally, he pulls up in a shiny new Cadillac and jumps out to open the door for you. When he gets to you, he leans in and kisses your cheek, making your heart skip a beat.

"Hey, honey. Didja miss me?"

"Nah, I've been pretty busy myself. Where did this come from?" You lie and gesture to the car.

"Just bought it! Do ya like it?"

"It sure is pretty." You say as he opens the door and you slide onto the seat. He runs around and gets in the driver's seat. You ride along quietly for a while as he talks about what it's like to play shows and the people he meets on the road. When he gets to a stoplight, he pauses and looks over at you.

"Y'know, speakin' of pretty. You look really nice, tonight." You snap your head over and look at him as he gazes at you. He's never called you pretty before.

"Thank you..."

"No, I'm serious. Have you always been this pretty, darlin'? And I just didn't notice?" The light turns green and he turns back to look at the road. You're not sure how to answer him, so you settle on playful teasing.

"I've always been a pretty girl, Elvis. It's not my fault you're the last one to figure it out." You say with a grin.

"Oh? I'm the last one? You got a buncha fellas chasin' ya around these days?" He tries to say it jokingly, but there's an edge to his voice. Is he jealous?

"Well, not a bunch, but a few." You don't care about any of them, but he doesn't need to know that. You say it really to gauge how he'll respond.

He turns to look at you and he's not smiling anymore. Instead, he grits his teeth and pulls off the road to a clearing that looks out over the town. Once the car is parked, he turns to look at you again.

"I-I-I'm sorry, honey. I guess I'm just protective of you, is all."

"I don't need you to protect me. I'm a big girl, Elvis." Your cheeks flush.

"Yeah, I noticed!" He grabs the steering wheel and grips it tightly. "That's what I'm tryin' to tell ya." He turns back to you. Your heart is pounding and you're breathing so fast that there's no way he can't see it. His eyes flick down to your lips and it feels like you might just die right there on his front seat. You've wanted him to want you for so long.

"I missed you like crazy, y/n. I didn't even realize how much you meant to me until I couldn't talk to you every day. You're all I think about. Talking to you, being around you, kissing you..." When he says the last part, he leans in close to you and presses his soft lips on yours. After a few seconds, you pull back a bit.

"I lied earlier, when I said I didn't miss you. I miss you every minute of every day." You whisper and look down, afraid of what he might say next. He puts his hand under your chin and tips your face up to look him in the eye.

"You are everything to me, y/n. Will you let me love you? As more than a friend?" It's like a dream come true and you're only half sure you heard him right.

"You... you want me?" He smiles and chuckles lightly.

"With my whole heart, baby." He moves his hand to the side of your face and kisses you deeply on the mouth, parting your lips with his own and letting his tongue slip into your mouth. You feel your warm center get even warmer as he kisses you. As the passion overcomes you both, he lays you back on the seat and slides his hand up under your skirt. In the heat of the moment, you forget that as a lady you should tell him no, and instead let him grab your panties and pull them down. He runs his hand up the inside of your thigh and pushes one finger into you. You stop kissing him just long enough to moan at the sensation. He smiles with his nose still touching yours and adds a second finger, continuing to push into your wetness.

"Oh, Elvis." You moan into his mouth, catching your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Honey, I've wanted to see you like this for so long. Will ya... will ya let me make love to you?" He watches your face carefully for a sign that you want to say no. But you nod frantically.

"Please." He smiles again and sits up. You sit up too and your hands go straight to the buttons on his pants. You can see his hardness pressing against the fabric and you need to see him entirely, need to feel him inside you. Once his cock is free, you pull your skirt up and straddle him, sinking down onto him slowly. He groans as you take each inch of him inside you. Then, he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your mouth down to him, kissing you passionately as you begin to move on him. When you switch to grinding against him, pushing him deeper inside you, he pulls back from the kiss suddenly, a look of panic in his eyes.

"Oh, fuck, baby, no- I-I-" Before either of you can do anything else, though, he comes inside you, hard, and sets his head on your shoulder.

"That was quick." You laugh lightly as he groans.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He still has his face buried on your shoulder in embarrassment. "I-I-I've just wanted ya for so long. I couldn't control it... I-"

"Elvis. It's okay. That's not the only time we're gonna do this." He pops his head up off your shoulder and looks you in the eyes.

"It's not?"

"Oh, honey. I've loved you since I was 12. You think I'm gonna give up that easily?" He laughs and wraps his arms around your waist.

"Give me an hour. We'll go to the diner or something. And then I'll show you I know how to do this right. I love you, baby." You nod and kiss him again. You'll give him a thousand chances. This is all you've ever wanted.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Enjoy!