#hum 1995 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

casiia · 1 year

Note

OMG OMG OKAY HEAR ME OUT. ghostface ethan edging reader after reader receives a phone call from him…!!?!?!?!!!

[ 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞 ੈ✩‧₊˚ ]

pairing .: ethan landry x reader

genre .: suggestive content

word count .: 2k

warnings .: smut-ish (minors dni.), contains scream XI spoilers! scream plotline, threatening, mentions of a knife, soooo unedited, kissing, lingering touches, dry humping

author's note .: maybe planning on making another part to this <3 i have no idea if this is what was actually requested, but i had a lot of fun writing this! took a massive break from writing and i think i’m back, this is probably very ooc and might make no sense but i have zero experience writing thriller things like this idk. dialogue was used from the 1995 (or 7) scream movie. accepting constructive criticism, reblogs are appreciated.

“hey, pretty girl.”

pulling the phone away from your ear confused, you checked your screen to see who was on the other line, frowning slightly when you saw no contact.

“who is this?” setting the home phone back on it’s stand, you let the call ring out on speaker, turning your attention back to the stove.

“there’s no fun in telling you who i am just yet, why don’t you answer a few of my questions first.”

rolling your eyes, you shook the pot once more before turning to lean against the counter, the buttery smell of popcorn filling your nose. “why should i do that?” speaking over the loud crackles and pops coming from the fire, you moved around the island to grab a bowl.

“it’ll be fun. so tell me, what’s your favorite scary movie?”

“hm, i don’t know.” pouring the yellow kernels into the large bowl, you popped a few pieces into your mouth with a satisfied hum. grabbing the phone and turning it off speaker, you pressed it between your ear and shoulder, balancing the device steadily. “maybe, halloween? think that’s the one where that guy stalks the babysitters.”

“you think it was scary?”

“i guess, anyways. tell me who you are now.” ungraciously falling onto the couch, you picked at the pieces of popcorn that had fallen into your lap, licking your lips with a smile as a salty taste covered your tastebuds.

“can’t do that princess, haven’t finished asking my questions.”

“then hurry up and ask them already.” annoyance showing on your face, you reached across the many throw pillows and grabbed the remote — clicking through the channels with disinterest, before going to browse your downloaded pick of scary movies.

“you got a boyfriend?”

eyebrows raising in shock, you stilled with a quiet laugh. “why, wanna ask me out on a date or what.” you teased the person on the other line, shifting in your seat as you began to ponder who you were really talking to.

“we’ll see, do you have a boyfriend?”

“no.” placing the overflowing bowl of popcorn on the coffee table, you stood to make way to your room, keeping the chunky phone against your ear.

“that’s a shame, such a pretty one you are.”

biting back a smile, you switched the light to your room on; bending down to open your drawer of pajamas, you tossed an oversized shirt onto your neatly made bed. “you gonna be this charming to me when i find out who you are?”

“maybe.”

“got anymore questions for me, or can i start guessing who this is.” unbuttoning your jeans, you kicked the pair of uncomfortable pants off . turning the speaker back on, you tossed the phone onto your pillow, pulling your tank top up and over your head before slipping on the big shirt.

“go ahead, you’re giving me such a good show.”

“what are you talking about?” picking up the dirty clothes that you had left stranded on your floor, you walked into your connecting bathroom, putting the clothes in your dirty hamper.

“hm, that’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. where did you get it?”

eyes widening in surprise, you slowly turned back into your bedroom, your knuckles white as you gripped onto the phone. “can you see me?”

“ah what a good girl! putting her brain to some use.”

“if you can really see me, how many fingers am i holding up?” walking up to your window, you peered outside trying to get a good look. sticking out your middle finger, you squinted as you stared into your dark backyard, trying to piece together unfamiliar shadows.

“funny, one.”

“shit.” shutting your blinds in hurry, you stumbled out of your room, quickly heading back downstairs. “who is this, jason?”

“from econ? no.”

“you better leave me alone, my boyfriend is coming over soon.” closing the blinds to your backdoor, you shuffled into your kitchen, grabbing a large knife. “he’s strong, s-so get out of here!”

“i thought you said you didn’t have a boyfriend?”

“w-well i lied!” locking your front door, you turned down all the lights, curling into a corner, knife in hand. your breath was ragged, eyes darting from place to place in worry. “tell me who you are before i call the police.”

“quit being such a brat, the fun isn’t over just yet.”

chewing on your lip, tears lined your waterline as fear overtook you. anxiety creeping up your throat with every shallow breath you took. “this isn’t funny.” you flinched at the loud noise emitting from the buzzing device, a staticy and robotic laugh filling the eerily quiet apartment.

“you look so cute with that knife. what’re you gonna do, stab me?”

“show yourself, you coward!” standing from the hardwood floor, you paced around the kitchen, blinking away any tears that threatened to spill down your pink cheeks. frustration and anger burning in your chest, when the anonymous caller laughed again.

“careful what you wish for.”

a loud ringing echoes from the phone as the call ends, the wind whistling against the windows has you whipping your head to each sudden noise. pressing yourself up against the wall, the knife that you held a safe distance away from you.

“where are you, motherfucker.” your voice just barely above a whisper, you jumped at the sound of your doorknob rattling – a fist loudly knocking against the wood of your door. “go away! i’ll kill you.”

“baby? hey, what’s going on it’s just me.”

“ethan?” letting the knife drop to the marble of your kitchen countertop, you winced at the loud clang. running to your front door, you stood on the tip of your toes, peering through the peak hole to see your boyfriend awkwardly standing in front of you. twisting the lock, you threw the door open before jumping into his arms.

“what’s wrong? did you forget i was coming or something?” pressing a quick kiss to your cheek, he circles his arms around your waist with a hesitant laugh.

“no- no. this guy just prank called me, i was so scared.” pressing your face into his shoulder, you gripped onto his coat, muffled sobs racking from your chest. “he saw me, ethan.”

“no, pretty, don't cry. i’m sure it was just some sick joke.” gently pulling you away from his tearstained coat, he cradled your face in the palm of his hand; wiping your wet cheeks, he pressed a light kiss in between your brows. “relax, no one’s gonna hurt you as long as i’m here.”

“can you stay the night?” leaning into his touch, you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him closer to you. “don’t think i can sleep without you.” twirling his thick brown hair between your fingers, you sighed heavily, relaxing in his embrace.

“of course, i was planning on it anyway.” adjusting the bag on his shoulder, he squeezed your hip once nudging you inside your apartment. “don’t want these creeps lookin at you, especially without pants.”

shaking your head with a smile, you wiped your remaining tears with the back of your hand, sniffling quietly and shuffling back inside. “lock it, please.” grabbing his bag, you tossed it onto the sofa, the sound of a lock clicking easing your shoulders.

“you were really scared, huh.” ethan laughs at the abandon knife on the counter, picking it up and putting it back with the other collection of cooking knives.

“i was, that was the creepiest interaction i’ve ever had.” dragging your hands down your face with a huff, you walked over to your boyfriend, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his back. “y’should jus’ move in with me.” your words muffled, you felt his chest rise and fall with another laugh.

“i was the one that made that request, i’d rather live with you than chad.” he loosened your arms around him, dragging you around his body so you were caged between him and the counter. “i am really sorry you had to go through that, did you call the police?”

“no, i think there are worse things to worry about. it was just some silly call.” rubbing your arms nervously, you took a deep breath, reassuring yourself of any crazy thoughts. “i don’t want to talk about it anymore, how was your day?” pulling yourself up on the countertop, you shuddered lightly when your bare skin met with the cool marble.

“uninteresting, just caught up in some classes, i missed you a lot.” moving in between your legs, he dragged his fingers against your thigh, teasing the hem of your shirt higher up your leg. “is this mine? i’ve been looking for it.” inching his hand up your shirt, he squeezed your hip, his thumb trailing along the lace of your panties.

“mhm, it’s comfortable. didn’t think you’d miss it much.” sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you placed your hands on his chest, drawing little circles into his shirt. looking up at him through your lashes, you licked your lips, your fingers settling at the base of his neck. “ethan…”

“what is it, baby.” bringing his other hand up to your cheek, he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “want me to stop?” moving to retract his hand that found it’s way under your shirt, he looked down at you with worried eyes, scared that he had read the room wrong.

“no! no. i want you, ethan.” grabbing his wrist, you bring his large hands back to your body, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss to his collarbone. “do you— do you want me?” guiding his hands under your shirt, you whined softly, his cold fingers grazing your stomach.

“oh fuck.” mumbling under his breath, he pressed his lips to your forehead, glancing down at your exposed panties; pretty and pink, decorated with a white lace, a small bow stitched right in the center.

“gonna answer my question?” trailing along the seam of his belt, you played with the hem of his shirt, your lips lingering on his skin with every word you mumbled.

“i do, baby. let me make you feel good.” rubbing up and down your sides with a light chuckle, he gently patted your waist. “you deserve it, such a good girl.”

tugging at the collar of his thick coat, you pressed your soft lips to his with a happy hum, your fingers entangling in his curly brunette hair. swiping your tongue against his bottom lip, you brought your hand up to cup his jaw, pulling him impossibly closer to you.

ethan grinned against your lips, snaking his arm around your waist to grind his clothed crotch against your damp panties. “s’wet for me, haven’t even done anything to you yet.”

gasping into his mouth at the roll of his hips, you squeezed your thighs around his waist yearning for more. “please, ethan.” your words blurred together as you continued to kiss him – you tugged lightly on his hair with a mewl, the bulge showing in his jeans nudging your clit.

“so needy, can’t wait–”

a deafening ring cuts him off, his phone softly buzzing in the pocket of his jacket. letting your hands fall from his hair and atop of his shoulders, you shook your head with concern. “ethan, no.”

“relax, i bet it’s just chad.” giving your thigh a reassuring squeeze, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the red phone. tilting his screen, he showed you the number on the screen, one that he had not previously saved. “recognize it?”

“no, i wasn’t shown a number.” anxiously playing with your fingers, you kept your eyes glued to the vibrating phone. “put it on speaker.”

nodding at your request, you watched him accept the call, letting it play out loud. “who is this?”

“hello, ethan. what’s your favorite scary movie?”

🏷 .: @loaksbitch @sullybby @vmptears my stinky ethan landry apologist

3K notes · View notes

obriengf · 1 month

Text

Jubilee || Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Summary: You find moments of clarity throughout your boyfriend's birthday. Words: 1.9k Warnings: totally added tay swift references - not really a warning (: Notes: despite the photo used in the banner, the reader is non-gender specific, non-race specific, etc.

April 8th, 1995 - Happy Birthday Stiles Stilinski ・❥・

You weren't sure what it was, exactly - maybe it was simply just how his eyes would widen with excitement, a childhood gleam that twinkled so exuberantly as he smiled. Or, it could be how his body jumped with so much positive energy, the balls of his feet built with springs as he bounded around with pure enthusiasm. Perhaps, it was really the way in which he couldn't stop talking, in absolute Stiles fashion, his mind and mouth running with stories and ideas and honest happiness. Selfishly, you would like to say that it was when he encased his body around yours and provided loving kisses with every 'thank you' during his never-ending expression of gratitude. Whatever it was, it made this time of year your favourite of them all. Nothing could beat celebrating your boyfriend's birthday.

His twenty-ninth year started with a tender peck - lips pressed to his cheek as they covered a freckled canvas, his skin warm as it remained settled under the morning sun that filtered through the blinds. It twitched from such a delicate sentiment and was followed by lashes dancing as the boy began to wake. He was so beautiful, and it prompted your heart to clutch in absolute awe.

His arm was heavy as it remained slung over your waist, despite pulling you closer to his chest in oblivious movements from his still-slumbered state. He hummed lightly against the shell of your ear, a sound of acknowledgement, wordless contentedness to the complacency you helped him feel. It made you kiss him again on the upturn of his nose and he groaned as it scrunched.

"Hi." You whispered so quietly, his caramel toned eyes fluttering once again as they tried to adjust to the morning light. Stiles smiled at you, completely loving with just a simple glance. A hum pushed past your lips, "Good Morning, handsome."

"It is now." He replied, so smooth, so swift. The truth embedded in such little words and encapsulated with sleepy raspiness.

Noses brushed as you giggled under your breath, your thumb rubbing gently under his eye, "And Happy Birthday."

He leaned into your touch as if it were moulded to fit his face, love exuberating from his features with ease, "Thank you, baby."

It was amusing to watch as Stiles shovelled his face with pancakes - the breakfast dish easily branded as his favourite, and seen quite evidently as he moaned loudly in satisfaction. The plate was stacked high and you knew that the sugar rush could potentially be catastrophic, but it was his day, and he deserved everything he desired.

An incredulous look was etched deeply into the furrowed brows and confused lift of Noah Stilinski's lips as he watched his son across the table. The coffee mug in his hand was teetering on the edge of lukewarm by now, but he couldn't tear his focus away. You'd think that after twenty-nine years, the man would be somewhat immune to the quirkiness of his son. Noah's eyes glanced briefly around your small kitchen space - an area where you and Stiles spent much of your time since you moved in together. He had always admired the varied elements representing you both and how easy it was for your lives to merge. It was as if soulmates were united, and this is how your beings were destined to be intertwined.

"You spoil him." Noah's deep voice broke through the silent chuckle you expelled toward your boyfriend, eyes managing to break free as they looked to the man beside you. Appreciation filled the small smile he shone your way and you couldn't help but release an elated exhale, your head nodding in agreement.

"I know." Your reply was simple but was spoken with the utmost adoration for Stiles, observing as a childish spark embodied him with joyousness; a light that took a while to finally settle within his heart after years of trepidation and great wars. A sigh pushed past your lips, "But he deserves it, all of it, after everything he's been through."

And you would give him the world on a silver platter if you could, but you knew that all Stiles truly wanted was to be content. He craved silly grown-up routines and times when he could relax without the threat of worry. He wanted to relive mundane moments from his teenage years that were short-lived due to monsters that lurked in the shadows. He yearned for endearment and safety and just simply knowing that you would be there every morning and night, curled up in his arms, loving him unconditionally. Stiles never asked for a lot, so days like today were ones you strived to make special. Because he deserved special, every last speck of it.

Noah snickered to himself, pride filling his chest as he looked between yourself and Stiles. "He deserves you most, ya know." His words struck a chord - one with melodic tunes, strummed hard enough to get your heart beating fast as a red blush pinched at your nose and cheeks. You reached across and placed a hand over his, your eyes bright as you looked at the older Stilinski.

"Thank you." That was all you ever wanted.

Stiles could work a room, especially when the buzz was centered around him. He had bounced across your living room several times by now, excitement filling his veins as he couldn't stop talking to the friends and family who came to see him for his birthday. You were standing off to the side, half listening as Scott was making conversation about his week at the Clinic - your focus was mostly on Stiles, admiring the way he was utilising his over-energetic nature and definite possible sugar hype from his breakfast. He had never looked happier as words flowed from him, a bottle of beer clutched between the fingers of his right hand as his left arm hung jovially over Liam's shoulders in deep narration.

"You're not listening, are you?" Scott spoke up, amused as his arms crossed over his chest and he leaned back casually against the wall.

"Sorry, Scotty." You offered a smile, apologetic tones seeping through and your friend couldn't help but shake his head as he returned your smile amiably. You took a sip of your own drink, making sure to turn your body slightly, attempting to provide full attention even though your mind still wandered whenever you heard your boyfriend's laugh. "I was, I just got a little distracted --"

" -- It's all good." He intercepted your explanation, a look of knowing putting you at ease. He knew well the effect that you and Stiles had on each other, for the most part, and how you were both connected so seamlessly by an invisible string that without fail drew you back to one another. It only made sense that a part of your focus would always be on him. "But kudos on the party. You definitely decked the place out, and Stiles seems to definitely be enjoying himself."

You hummed, eyes picking up the array of decorations that you so carefully placed only a couple of hours ago. "You know more than anyone that I'd do anything to just see him happy. After all, today is Stiles Day and honestly..." You trailed off, features already beginning to scrunch up as joviality shaped your words, "I think I like it more than Christmas."

You laughed, and Scott joined you. He agreed wholeheartedly as his hand splayed over his chest, head nodding and lopsided smile growing by the second.

It wasn't too long after when the crowd gathered around your dining table with Stiles perching at the head as he sat tall. The lights were turned off and the room became swallowed by darkness - building anticipation, creating an atmosphere of smiles and eagerness for the theatrics to follow. It was the sound of hissing that made ears perk and eyes swiftly track the source as it entered from the kitchen. You had gentle hands as his cake remained in your hold; silhouettes sitting against the walls from shoots of sparking fire that sat atop his cake. His gaze grew large, and the normal caramel tone of his eyes shifted to a glowing golden hue from the reflecting sparklers.

You placed the cake in front of Stiles before planting a tender kiss against the apple of his grinning cheek, your nose nuzzling into his favourite spot under his ear, "Happy Birthday, my handsome man."

The crowd began to sing, mismatched harmonies growing louder in the small space of your apartment. It was hasty as Stiles' large hands gripped at your waist, your body falling toward his own before he sat you in his lap. Legs dangled over his knees and it made you giggle against the curve of his shoulder. Stiles pecked your template before replicating your nuzzle, his nose dragging against your hairline, "I love you."

You watched as the sparklers danced patterns across his affectionate expression, completely mesmerised by him and the fortune you felt, before you smiled up at him, "I love you too. Now blow out those candles!"

It wasn't much different from your usual Monday night; the television played some reruns of comedies from the 90's, every light in the room was turned off except the dingy floor lamp beside the couch, and the coffee table was graced by Chinese takeout containers and leftover plates of birthday cake. Stiles slumped back against the soft cushions with his feet perched upon the table, socks cladding his feet as they moved in tune with the opening credits of an old sitcom. He was in complete comfort, only made better by your frame as it was situated under his arm with your head pressed to his chest and hands curled in the material of his t-shirt. His touch was absentmindedly dragging up and down your side with dancing fingers, the sentiment just barely felt as the movements remained delicate and featherlike.

"Today was amazing." He said so nonchalantly, voice hardly competing with the television as the sound remained low.

You burrowed yourself closer to him, tiredness beginning to takeover, "I'm glad."

Stiles grinned lazily, his lips puckered before pressing kisses down the expanse of your cheek as his nose trailed after them, "But this?Right now... full of cake and chow mein, us cuddling and watching Friends reruns... this is my favourite part. Without a doubt."

"But we do this practically every night." You mused, voice laced with humor and confusion before gently pulling away from him. Your brow was raised, but the puzzled expression across your features was captured with a smile.

"Yeah, we do, but... just knowing how much effort you put into making today the best birthday, it just makes it all mean so much more."

Your heart pattered, a rush of endearment and affection. It was loud and fast in your chest, but one would never have guessed from the quiet squeak of your voice that followed, "I only ever want the best for you."

"And all I ever want is you. Period."

The light from the television casted a blue glow as you leant forward, your arms encasing themselves around Stiles' neck as thighs straddled his own. The programme was long forgotten, and his face settled against your shoulder. You could feel him breathe you in as his own arms wrapped around to your back, his large splayed hands pushing your body further against him.

You kissed the crown of his head, fingers gentle as they tangled themselves in the loose locks of his hair, "Happy Birthday, Stiles."

#dylan o'brien #dylan o'brien x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf x reader #stiles stilinski fic #stiles stilinski imagine #stiles stilinski x you #teen wolf x you

162 notes · View notes

steviewashere · 3 months

Text

Perfect Timing

Rating: General CW: References to Sex Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Marriage Proposals, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Future Fic, Dialogue Heavy

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is having hope for the future together."

💕—————💕

Steve was sitting at the dining table, hands spread out on the surface, staring down at a piece of mail when he heard Eddie clamber through the front door. Based on the string of things being dropped and Eddie not reacting negatively, just sighing a little bit and picking things up, must mean he was having a good day.

It’s funny, Steve thinks, that he knows the way in which Eddie’s emotions express when he comes through the front door of their shared space. They began renting an apartment in Chicago just a year or so after getting together. Tail end of 1986 meant sharing a bed and house by August of 1987. And it’s theirs. Filled with miscellaneous clutter—a bookshelf brimmed with books, coffee table layered with Sports Illustrated and Heavy Metal magazines, dice and keys and Topps baseball cards, and picture frames they dust and drawings from Eddie’s sketchbooks and ‘failed’ art projects of Steve’s that Eddie thought were masterpieces. Point is, they’ve made it their home. And they started their lives with a breath of fresh air.

And now it’s 1995, depending on one another’s reactions, this all may just crumble at their feet.

See, Eddie was out playing a demo tape for a small record company based here in Chicago. A little indie place that’s been looking to expand their music catalogue from contemporary to a broader lick of alternative genres. Which, it turns out, includes thrash and heavy metal. Which, Steve adores, Eddie is amazing at performing.

But, Steve? He’s been anxiously waiting all day for the mail to arrive. Biting down on his fingernails, chewing them up so much they bleed and he has to run his fingertips under lukewarm water. Pacing the carpet of the living room. Pushing down and peering through the eggshell blinds. Biting his fingernails, again. And then it came and now he’s at their dining table and now he’s waiting for Eddie to careen around the corner and kiss his hair and ask in his greeting Steve voice, “What’s this, baby?”

“What’s this, baby?” Steve hears from above him. He jumps a little bit. Maybe he should have put on music or something, try to get himself to stay grounded in the present. “Stevie?” Eddie calls.

“Oh, uh,” Steve stutters. “It’s a letter I got in the mail, but I—I wanna hear about your demo tape.” Eddie gives him a sidelong glance. A little furrow to his eyebrows, a frown. “The letter isn’t anything bad, I read it already. But I don’t know how you’ll feel about it.”

Eddie hums, nodding in slow understanding. He slides into the dining seat across from Steve. Mirroring his position. Then, he realizes, based on whatever face Steve makes, that it’s only anxiety inducing. He sets his chin in his right palm, stretching the other onto the table for Steve to take. Waiting patiently. And says, when Steve actually grabs back, “It went really well, sweetheart. They offered me a contract.”

“That’s great news, Eds! What did—Did you sign it? Please tell me you signed it.”

Then, Eddie sighs. And Steve shrinks a little. “I did,” he tells slowly, as if testing the words for the first time. “I signed it. They’re keeping me based here. I’ll start recording next Saturday.” He squeezes at Steve’s hand.

“What’s the long face for, then?”

“I’m not making a face,” Eddie feebly argues.

“You are!” And Steve mocks him. Frowning, eyes distant to the surface of the table, bunching his eyebrows impossibly farther down his face. His shoulders slump. “That’s what you did! What happened? Were they pieces of shit to you or something? Did they like—Are they underselling your music prowess or something? Do I need to kick their—“

Eddie chuckles. His laughter like honey. “Babe, breathe for me,” he whispers. “My only issue is that—“ But he cuts himself off there. He leans in across the table. Eyes down at the letter in front of Steve. “That’s a letter from the community college, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls his hands back, laying them palm down on the paper. He swallows thickly. “It is. Why?”

“Did you get in?”

“I’m not telling you until you tell me what’s wrong.”

“You telling me determines whether or not I have a genuine problem. So…Did you get into the college that you’ve been looking at forlorn every time we drive by it? Or did you not and I need to go kick some old people ass?” His eyes are large in earnest. Grinning like the Cheshire Cat. His hair curtaining his face, making his facial features impossibly darker, shadowed by something tricky.

Steve chews on his lip. “I got in,” he mutters. “I got into their English literature program. And once I’m done with that, I transfer. And once I transfer, I start classes at a four year. I’ll be studying English literature and secondary education,” he rambles. His fingers tap over the letter. “Is that…Does that ruin your whole music dream? I don’t want to be the reason that you chase something else.”

For a moment, the room goes scary still and silent. Eddie’s facial features soften. And Steve’s heart rabbits against his ribcage. Hard enough that he slides a palm over his t-shirt, massaging at the rapid beating, hoping that he doesn’t have a heart attack on the third floor of their complex. That would suck, he thinks bitterly. And my future would be done for.

He sits back in his chair. Anxiety thrumming under his skin when Eddie still doesn’t say anything. Just keeps looking at him like he’s…Like he’s planning an entire five lifetimes with Steve. Like he’s about to sweep Steve off his feet, chuck him over the side of their mattress, give him hickeys until he’s a mottled lovesick mess, and then get down on one knee and surrender his heart to Steve’s hands. Like he’s gonna propose something wonderful like marriage. And, maybe, Steve lets himself believe something crazy like that.

“Remember when I told you that I consider marriage as a possibility?” Eddie asks abruptly.

And, goddamnit, if Eddie does something crazy and stupid like propose right now, Steve may just throw up out of excitement. How embarrassing, he thinks. And he chuckles despite that.

“I do,” he finds himself whispering. “What does this—“

“And I considered it with you. And I held you close and you cried against my lips and we made love like we were the only people in the universe? Remember all the times that you’d lay on top of me out of contentment? All the times I’d hold you close to my chest? All the times you kissed over my heart, like it was the only thing keeping us tethered to the moment?”

Nervously, Steve laughs. “Yes, Eddie. Yes, I remember all that. What is your point with—“

“Fucking margarita nights. You’re a sweet drunk, d’you know that? Like almost unbearably sweet.” Eddie scoots his chair around the table. Setting it next to Steve, on his left. And his hands come into Steve’s field of view. Gathering Steve’s palms in his, squeezing and caressing the skin. “All the times in which we thought that this apartment was all that we had.” He shakes his head, smirking, snickering like this intense reaction he’s having is something funny to Steve.

Fact of the matter, Steve is scared shitless right now. What if this is his way of breaking up, he can’t help himself from wondering. Cruel. He swallows against the lump in his throat. Words escaping him.

“I want to marry you so bad,” Eddie swears. “Wanna do the whole ceremony. And the paper signing. And the honeymoon, but in some little cabin on a mountain. Where we load the fireplace with wood and we huddle in for warmth and we sip at rich cups of Uncle Wayne’s hot chocolate. And then, in a few years time, when we’ve financially recovered from the wedding, we’ll buy a house.

“We’ll buy a house and paint it yellow,” he promises. Steve begins to cry, something silent, but can’t pinch his nose to stop himself. “It’ll be yellow because that’s your favorite color. With white shutters. And a big backyard for a dog or two. Wrap around porch so that we can sit and watch the sunrises and sunsets.” He takes a deep breath that sounds a little nasally. “I’ll make you breakfast every morning,” he continues, “serve you a fresh bowl of strawberries, ones that you grow under the big front window of our house. I’ll kiss you all over the face, like I do now, and you’ll grumble that it’s too early and then you’ll smell the bacon and you’ll give me your stupid sleepy smile that makes my heart do funny little flips and you’ll kiss me on the mouth and it’ll be disgusting because you haven’t brushed your teeth.

“And I’ll be a very happy man.” Eddie’s breath trembles in his chest. He swallows hard. Steve wonders if he can hear his own shaky breath. Or if he’s too involved in whatever this is. “I’ll be so happy,” he whispers, “And I’ll find myself thinking, how did I ever get so lucky? But it isn’t luck. And it isn’t fate. It was trauma that forced us together and I’ll laugh about it. But then I’ll sigh because who the fuck cares how we started all of this?

“You’ll be a funky middle school English teacher. With your nicely done hair and a sweater vest and some khakis. I’ll be a musician, hopefully. But, every day you’ll have a small lunch; an orange that I made you peel but I removed the pulp from, a tuna salad sandwich because you’re my fish loving dork, and a bottle of water. I’ll leave you a note everyday telling you how proud I am because I’ve never stopped being proud of you.

“I’m proud of you, Steve, d’you know that? So much.” He laughs wetly. His eyes staring down at their interlocked hands. “All this to say that I’m proud of you. That I’m happy. We’ve got a future, sweetheart. And I want to be your husband. Will you—“ He swallows once more, thick and heavy and almost painful looking. Can love hurt when it’s this sweet?

Eddie finally looks up. His eyes glistening and his cheeks wet and his skin tinted pink. His eyelashes stuck together. Nose dripping only slightly. He’s a messy crier, but Steve doesn’t fare any better. “Will you marry me, Steve? Stay by my side and we’ll accomplish our dreams together?” His voice is soft. Enamored.

Unbelievable, Steve swallows back. Because how did he get somebody like Eddie in his life? How did he manage to find love and have it promised back at him?

“Yes, Eddie,” he gasps out. “God, holy shit.” He drops his hands from Eddie’s hold, instead wrapping them around his torso. Muffled into Eddie’s shoulder, “All this just because I’m finally figuring my shit out? God.”

Eddie cackles, burying his own face in Steve’s hair. They sway a little. “I just—“ Eddie begins whispering. “I don’t know. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a while. Every time seemed right, but this one? Baby, this one was perfect.”

Steve sighs into the embrace. Content to not say anything else. Except, “I’m proud of you, too, honey. I love you so much and I’m so proud of you.”

“I love you too, love bug. God, Steve, I love you, too.”

For the first time since 1983, Steve allows himself to truly settle in for a future. A future, he knows, he’ll be especially proud of.

💕—————💕 Fun fact, I accidentally deleted this whole ficlet when I was copying and pasting. Hit the spacebar and watched it disappear in front of my eyes. But I figured out how to get it back, not before almost throwing up on myself out of anger. Love y'all <3

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 12 #fluff #domestic fluff #domestic steddie #<3

216 notes · View notes

lipglossanon · 6 months

Text

Radar Love

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌏🌟⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⇲⊰⌏

A Little Savory tier commission for Immy<3

Word count: 1995

Thank you so much for the request! 💜

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, stepcest, kissing, teasing, flirting, cockwarming, nipple play, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, math homework 🤭

proofread! But apologies for any mistakes | may have missed 🫣

Title from Radar Love by Golden Earring

⌌⊱⇱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊰⌏🌟⌎⊱⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⊶⊷⇲⊰⌏

You didn’t think twice when Leon offered to help tutor you for the math test you were struggling to pass. And at the start, he was super helpful. Then, once you started doing much better at solving the problems on the practice sheet, he got a little more lenient, a little more intimate in his tutoring.

“C’mon, little sis,” he grins at you, patting his knee, “sit on my lap and show me the problems you have left to work on.”

Biting your lip, you fidget with your skirt before finally moving to sit down on his lap with your back to his chest as you both face your scratch paper filled with equations.

“Good girl,” he murmurs in your ear, chuckling when you shiver, “oh baby sis, you’re so cute.”

“Shut up,” you grouch, ignoring the arousal pooling in your belly at your close proximity to Leon.

“Ooh, someone’s got an attitude,” he pokes your side with one hand while his other fiddles with the hem of your skirt, “don’t be so mean, I’m just trying to help my sweet little sister.”

“Uh huh, sure,” you snark, grinding down on his bulge, feeling his chubbed cock twitch against your ass.

Hissing, he grabs your hip and slowly rocks up against you.

“Such a tease,” he grunts, the hand by your skirt hem slipping underneath to tease across the gusset of your panties.

His fingers quickly feel out your pussy to rub up and down your slit.

“Mmm fuck, love this fat little pussy, princess,” he kisses the side of your neck, “gonna let me slide my cock in your tight, wet hole?”

Clenching the pencil in your hand, you grind back against his bulge, spreading your legs for him to tease your cunt through your damp panties even easier.

“I’ll think about it,” you sass and he groans, fingers finding your clit and softly rubbing circles around it.

“C’mon, baby, just sit on my cock, don’t even have to bounce on it, just wanna feel that snug little pussy around my dick.”

You squirm as more slick fills your panties, “I don’t know.. I really need to study, big brother. I’m trying to pass this class.”

“Fuck,” he rocks against you a little quicker, “just cockwarm me while you study, princess. Promise I’ll be on my best behavior. Really wanna feel you.”

You hum, pretending to think about it although internally you’re pleased as punch that he’s begging you.

You sigh good naturedly, “Is that really such a good idea? You’ve been pretty distracting.”

His fingers massage across your clit making your thighs jump as you bite your lip, eyes fluttering shut as pleasure bubbles up through your veins.

“Pinky promise I’ll be good,” he kisses your neck again, “pretty please, little sis? With sugar on top?”

You giggle at that, “Okay, Leon. But if you really distract me, I’m kicking you out.”

“Thank you,” he enthuses in your ear, fingers quickly moving your soaked panties down and off your legs.

Shifting your skirt, he pulls his sweats down to his knees, weeping cock now jutting up from between your thighs to rub against your slick pussy lips. He hooks his chin over your shoulder to look down at your lap.

He lazily thrusts against your cunt, “Can I do this for a sec, princess? Looks so fucking hot.”

You nod, eyes glued to the fat tip of his cock as precum beads at the slit to dribble down his shaft.

“Look at that chubby little pussy,” he groans, “fuck, ‘m the luckiest big brother, huh?”

“Uh huh,” you clench your thighs making him buck up a little harder, “so lucky I spoil you.”

“Yeah you do,” he readily agrees, cock rubbing against your cunt until you squirm against his lap.

“Putting it in now, princess,” he murmurs softly, pushing the fat tip past your clenching hole until he’s buried all the way to the hilt in your wet heat.

“Oh fuck, that’s it,” he hisses, teeth biting into your clothed shoulder, “so fucking wet and tight, y’got the perfect pussy, baby sis.”

Your cunt spasms and clenches down on his dick at his words.

“Go on, work on your problems and I’ll let you know if it’s wrong,” he chuckles, big hands moving to your hips to grip them tightly.

Tamping down the moan you feel wanting to break free, you try extra hard to concentrate on the paper in front of you and not your step brother's fat cock deliciously stretching you open.

Leon nuzzles into your neck, brushing some of your hair away so he can kiss and suck the skin in front of him.

“Leon,” you grit out, pussy fluttering around his cock as it throbs inside your slick walls, “behave.”

“I am,” he coos sweetly, “didn’t think something this small would get to you, princess.”

He nips at your neck and you whimper.

“I mean it.”

“Okay, okay,” he relents, settling back in the chair, “since you can’t handle it, I’ll just enjoy myself with—“

“I can handle it,” you huff out, “I can handle whatever you dish out.”

“Suure, princess,” he mocks, “you don’t have to pretend with me.”

“Go ahead, big brother,” you grind down on his lap making him hiss, cock kicking inside your soaked cunt, “I can study just fine.”

“Yeah?” he hums before chuckling and kissing your neck, “let’s see if you can.”

Nothing happens at first. Leon runs his hands up and down your sides, groping your hips before moving down to squeeze your thighs. It lulls you into a false sense of security and you easily go back to working on your practice test.

A gasp parts your lips when Leon’s hands sneak under your shirt to cup your breasts. Glaring at your paper, you ignore him although the slow drag of his fingers up to the stiff peaks of your chest makes your thighs tremble.

Cupping your breasts in his hands, he circles your hardening nipples with his thumbs, brushing back and forth and sending little electric currents of arousal straight to your clit.

“I don’t see you writing anymore,” he teases in your ear.

“I’m stuck on this problem,” you lie to cover up the fact Leon is making your cunt throb from playing with your nipples.

“Ohh,” he laughs, tugging on your hard buds gently before squeezing your tits, “let big brother take a look then.”

He leans over your shoulder and studies the paper on your desk. Humming, he keeps circling your sensitive nipples as he reads over the problem.

“Big brother,” you whine, hips swiveling down to feel his cock rut inside your pussy.

He grunts and pinches your nipples between his thumb and the knuckle of his forefinger before soothing the hard buds by dragging his fingers across them.

“It looks like you didn’t apply the correct formula, princess,” he breathes hotly next to your cheek, “try the quadratic equation.”

Body feeling like a live wire, you nod and go back to your schoolwork.

“It looks like you’re pretty much finished though,” he kisses your jaw, “wanna move this to the bed?”

He tugs on your puffy nipples until you squeal and bounce on his lap.

“I need to finish this, big brother,” you whimper as he keeps groping and teasing your breasts.

“C‘mon, we can work on it later,” he tempts you, “let me rail your wet cunt until I fill you to the brim, little sis.”

It sends a hot thrill down your spine to hear Leon say that instead of just doing whatever he wants with you; it gives you a boost of confidence.

“One more problem,” you compromise, “if you’re a good boy and don’t do anything else to distract me, I’ll let you take me to bed.”

“So bossy,” you can hear the smile in his voice, “deal, princess. I’ll be a good boy for you.”

That last part’s whispered in your ear and it makes you pull your shoulders up to your ears with a giggle even as more arousal pools in your belly. True to his word, Leon slips his hands away and holds onto your hips as he watches you work on your last math problem.

As soon as you set your pencil down, Leon is picking you up off of his lap, cock pulling out with a wet schlick that has you both moaning. He moves over to your bed, manhandling you back into his lap but this time facing each other.

“Do good boys get to fuck that juicy cunt, princess?” He smirks at you, flipping your skirt up so he can rub his slick coated cock against your pussy.

“Yes, big brother,” you lay your hands against his chest as you angle your hips and sink down on his cock with a whine, “good boys get my cute princess pussy.”

“Fucking hell,” he moans excitedly, “need it, princess. Sit on my fucking dick and ride me.”

Whining, you feel him bottom out as your ass meets his thighs.

“Pussy needed me to stuff her full, huh? Need big brother to wreck your perfect fucking pussy,” he rabbits his hips up into your squelching cunt, “tell me, princess.”

Your nails sink into his shirt, digging into the skin underneath, “Yes, yes, m’pussy needs big brother’s fat cock stretching her open.”

Leon kisses across your throat, sucking marks into the sensitive skin and making you squirm and buck your hips. With a snarl, he grabs onto your ass and bounces you faster on his cock.

“That’s right,” he chuckles at your fucked out expression, “my sweet baby sis just needs her big brother to take care of her.”

He kisses you roughly, tongue and lips devouring your own as spit leaks down your chin. Mewling, you roll your hips down, grinding your clit against his pelvis and making you cry out into his messy kisses. Leon snaps his hips up, burying his cock deep in your throbbing cunt.

“Wanna feel you milk my cock, princess,” he rumbles from low in his chest, “gonna give this hot pussy a nice creampie.”

“Big brother,” you whimper, hands pawing at his chest as you rock your hips into his rough thrusts, the sound of skin slapping loud in the room.

“That’s it, work my cock with that slutty princess cunt,” he hisses, one hand coming down to spank your ass.

Squealing, you clench around him as he keeps slapping his hand down on your ass cheek.

“Gonna make me cum, big brother,” you whine out, bouncing hard and fast in his lap, “gonna milk your cock so good.”

“Fuck me,” he groans, swapping to slap the other cheek, “such a tight cunt, princess. This little pussy’s just begging for a hot load, right?”

He angles his hips until his fat cock grinds against your g-spot on every thrust, tightening the band of arousal pooled in your belly.

Reaching down between you, his fingers rub soft, quick circles on your clit.

“Cum,” you mewl, “g’nna cum, big brother, Leon—“

A high pitched wail leaves your mouth, pussy clamping down on Leon’s dick— walls fluttering and milking him like crazy.

“So good,” Leon fucks his cock up into your clenching hole, “milking me so fucking good, princess. Gonna stuff this fat pussy like she deserves.”

He curses under his breath and buries his cock into your soaked hole. Groaning loudly, his cock spurts rope after rope of thick, sticky cum inside your wet heat. Rutting his cock softly inside your cunt, he shoots off again and again, painting your pussy walls white with his load.

Once his dick softens, he pulls out of you with a sigh and you slump forward onto his chest. His sticky spend drips down your thighs onto his softening cock.

“Mmm, wanna nap and pick it back up again?” He murmurs, petting down your back.

“Sure, after we clean up though.”

He laughs, “You got it, princess.”

#lipglossanon #paid request #kofi commission #stepbro!leon s kennedy #stepcest #stepbro!leon s kennedy x fem!reader smut #stepbro!leon s kennedy smut #stepbro!leon s kennedy x fem!reader #fem!reader #stepbro!leon s kennedy x reader smut #stepbro!leon s kennedy x reader #lipglossmasterlist #stepbro!leon s kennedy x you #stepbro!leon s kennedy/you

158 notes · View notes

citruslullabies · 9 days

Note

hii, I hope you're well! idk if you are still accepting requests, but if you are, i wanted to ask you for a dogday x reader inspired by the song "100 years" from the clover álbum (made by Or30) Where dogday before being...dogday, was reader's husband, who never showed up again after going to work one day, i think that song I would fit very well for this

(sorry for my bad english btw)

💜🐈‍⬛

Of course darling! And no worries, your English is good!

Trigger warnings: none that I can think of

Romantic/platonic?: romantic

Requested by: mauumeow

Category: angst

Ship (romantic or platonic): Dogday x reader

Word count: 1021

100 years

The cabin was still and quiet as you stood in the kitchen, dicing up carrots for dinner only for one instead of two.

The table had two chairs, and your bedroom had a bed meant for two and two night stands. Clothes meant for you and clothes meant for someone else who couldn't even wear them anymore, left untouched in your closet. You sighed and shut your eyes for just a moment as sorrow that attacked you every day came in for battle. It had been ten years, and yet you could still never get over him and it was pitiful for you to admit you still loved him.

You still remembered the day he left like it was yesterday, August 8th 1995. You were in the kitchen making breakfast for two, having two plates out and two servings made, two napkins and two forks. As you cooked your scrambled eggs and flipped your bacon, a smile creeped onto your lovely face as you felt arms come around your waist and a nuzzle against your neck.

“G’morning…” Your husband tiredly mumbled, his large hands delicate against you no matter how rough and calloused. You chuckled and glanced back at him, admiring how he looked so put together but acted as if he wasn't ready to face anything let alone the day. You continued to cook and pressed your lips against his temple delicately.

Adoration wasn't the word you'd use to describe how you felt, or love. Those words just simply didn't feel strong enough to use but you knew no other words for it. “Good morning, handsome. Sleep well?” You cooed to your husband that acted like a dog, loyal and loving every day and struggled to tear himself away from your side.

He nodded dazily, and smiled as he smelled the air. He reached over to grab a piece of bacon which earned him a swat to the hand, making him groan and pout. “You're so mean to me.” He complained. You simply rolled your eyes and giggled while continuing to prepare breakfast for the two of you as he took a seat and adored you from afar. You were his everything, even if you two got married later than some. You were 38 and he was 42, only having been married for two years but he wouldn't have it any other way. His brown eyes glimmered with happiness as he saw you approach with two plates, setting them down as you kissed him in which he happily reciprocated.

During the kiss, you separated your lips just momentarily to reply to his previous comment. “Love hurts, Rich.” You hummed before kissing him for just a moment more, taking a seat when you were done and left him in a daze. Even after being with you for so long and married so short, you still had him in the puppy love phase and he couldn't drag himself out of it. He playfully poked your ribs and started to eat his pancakes first. “Yeah yeah, I know.”

The morning went smoothly as always, with Rich scarfing down his breakfast and just adoring you while you finished up. Then his least favorite part came which was leaving, he sighed as you fixed his tie and hair while he was at the door. “Maybe I should call out today.. just spend the day here with you.” He murmured, causing you to raise an eyebrow and hum in amusement.

“Well, while that would be nice.. we can't really afford it right now Rich. Just go in and I promise, we can cuddle and watch a movie on our DVD player when you get back.” You said softly, since you still had a rented out DVD player to put to use. He nodded and gave you a kiss with a delicate squeeze to the hips, before leaving.

That was the last time you ever saw him. Now here you were in the kitchen alone in a cabin you two had bought together, 48 and getting grays and wrinkles. You still loved him after ten years and didn't dare touch anything that was his after he left, the thought of getting rid of anything hurt you more. It was 2005 and today marked 10 years, and honestly you hoped he came home most days. Others you honestly hoped you developed dementia early just to forget about him but it wasn't that easy.

You still felt his touch lingering on your skin, still felt his lips pressed against yours and your neck and the house still smelled like him in a way. Your loved ones had tried so desperately to get you to move on, go on dates and go to clubs but it never felt right. It always felt like you were cheating on a man that wasn't even there anymore.

You lost your appetite which was a normal occurrence since that day, but finished cooking before putting the leftovers in the fridge. Your body wasn't the same as it used to be, with age and loss of appetite from a broken heart. The floorboards creaked beneath your feet, aging with you as you waited and walked into the living room. You sat on your spot on the couch, looking over at the one beside you that you never allowed anyone else to sit in. With a soft sigh you glanced at the window and waited patiently, like you did that night. You waited for hours and didn't fall asleep, not once and you fretted the worse may have happened and maybe it did. Your heart yearned for him and it ached no matter what you did to fill it. Nothing could remedy it and you knew that.

You still loved him, but the memory of his face was fading and all you had to remember it were photos from your wedding but they hurt to look at. Everything around you caused you nothing but pain and memories that you wished you could claw out of your brain and start anew but you stayed.

You stayed and waited just a little bit longer hoping he'd come back.

Thank you so much for requesting!

#poppy playtime #smiling critters #poppy playtime x reader #dogday #dogday poppy playtime #dogday x reader #poppy’s playtime x reader #dogday x y/n #dogday x you #poppy playtime dogday #sunnyangel #poppys playtime #poppy playtime fanfics #poppy playtime fics #poppy playtime fic #dogday smiling critters #smiling critters dogday #pre!dogday x reader

86 notes · View notes

holdupjack · 7 months

Text

Forgetting You

——————

Pairing: Hermione Granger x Fem!Reader

AU: Inspired by ‘Forgetting You’ by Cam

WARNING: ANGST NO COMFORT

——————

Third Person P.O.V:

Seven Years After The War

Hermione lay on the bed in the tiny hotel room as Christmas drew closer and closer every passing day.

They were staying near the Russian Ministry as they took a small vacation for the Holidays. Her future husband's 'idea' of a getaway.

Ron slept beside her as the digital alarm clock flickered to 3:09 A.M. Her eyes blinked slowly at the ceiling as she listened to his soft snoring fill the room.

Her mind was blank, but at the same time, it seemed to be filled to the brim with...something.

She slowly sat up and placed her feet on the carpeted floor. The fibers slipped between the spaces of her toes as she debated getting out of the warm bed.

The room was dark and stuffy, almost suffocating as she sat there. Hermione swallowed the ever-present lump in her throat as she stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom.

The TV was on but was muted as it played a news broadcast, talking about some tragedy in a part of the world she didn't live in.

The bathroom was only a few feet away, but she felt as though she was dragging a skyscraper by a chin around her feet.

When Hermione opened the door, she flicked on the light and closed her eyes, the sudden brightness blinded her as she shut the entry behind her.

Her head began to throb as she shuffled over to the toilet and shut the lid, sitting down with a small sigh as she rubbed her temples.

She could hear the ice machine humming from somewhere near the small kitchen in their room. It was reassuring as she opened her eyes and adjusted to the light.

Hermione looked to her right and saw her reflection staring back at her. She didn't recognize herself anymore.

She stood up slowly and looked down at the counter to find her old makeup sitting on the corner instead of the one from home. Her hand reached for it but paused a moment halfway through.

Uneasiness filled her chest as she looked between the bag and the ring on her finger. One was shiny and new, while the other was old and ready to be forgotten.

Hermione swallowed the lump again as she grabbed the bag and pulled it over to her. Her fingers slowly unzipped the middle, where she found nothing but old makeup and dust.

Ron must have packed this for her by mistake, she swore she had left it under the sink, hidden behind the bleach and tile cleaner.

Her hand slipped into the bag and pushed away the contents until she saw a face she hadn't seen in years.

"Y/n..."

A small polaroid sat at the bottom, moving with the magic she had cast on it in the fifth year. Long forgotten.

Slowly she pulled it out, dust lay overtop of it from neglect. She quickly wiped it away and let out a shuddered breath.

'Love Birds 🧡

October 11th, 1995'

"I thought I had lost this" she whispers to herself as she stares at it with a desperate longing behind her voice. She recognized Ginny's Orange glitter gel pen.

Y/n played her guitar in the photo as a younger Hermione sat on the floor and watched with a lovestruck expression. She remembered Ginny telling her she snapped the picture while the two of them were stuck in their own little world.

Hermione let out a hardened breath as she placed the Polaroid down and rested her hands on the edge of the counter. She leaned against it and calmed her raging memories and emotions.

"Fuck" she choked out as her bottom lip trembled uncontrollably, she bit it in hopes to stop the sobs that tried to escape.

Everything she had pushed from her mind started to make its way to the forefront. Sending sharp pains to her soul as she remembers everything that she had loved and lost.

Hermione suddenly grabbed the photo and placed it in her palm, threatening to crumple it with a shaking hand.

"Stop haunting me!" She grits out as her eyes start to fill, threatening to spill out onto her dry cheeks.

"It's bad enough that everything reminds me of you! From the morning sun to the midnight moon...you've ruined everything normal in my life" Hermione says as her fingers flexed over it, refusing to crush the misplaced memory. A salty droplet fell on her face as she stared at it with a mix of anger and agony.

A grunt of annoyance left her lips as she threw the photo on the counter and turned around. She wiped her face in a way to clear her mind, but it didn't seem to help as more tears fell without her permission.

The mixed sounds of the AC and air vent cut in and out as they regulated the small space of the hotel bathroom. It didn't drown out her ragged breathing, sadly.

"You just had to be a hero" Hermione mutters as she turns back around and looks at the photo, that is now lying face down on the counter.

"I told you not to let go of my hand, but you went off and got yourself killed!" She spits out with pure anger as she flips it over and looks at the smiling face of Y/n.

"You're supposed to be here with me, not him. It was never supposed to be him." Hermione says as she gestures to the door, where her soon-to-be husband is fast asleep on the other side.

She breathed heavily, waiting as if the memory would reply. Of course, it didn't. It only replayed again.

"I'm left on this spinning rock in the middle of infinite space, without my favorite person, and you're somewhere where I can't see you...don't you get how physically draining these last seven years have been?" Hermione asks as her anger turns into sadness. Tears falling more frequently now that she's stopped holding back.

"You-You...ugh!" She whispered angrily as she tried to regulate her emotions, but they only seemed to spill over more as she stood in that freezing bathroom. Goosebumps rose onto her skin over time, and the bottom of her feet felt like it was burning due to how cold the tile was.

The picture continued to repeat as it showed better times, that we're trying to be forgotten. All Hermione could do was wrap her arms around herself and muffle the sobs that tried to escape her throat.

It took a few minutes before she spoke again, somehow even quieter. Her eyes darted back and forth between the mirror and the counter, trying to decide what to do.

She sighed, finally landing back on her favorite person...or favorite ghost.

"He buys me roses, I hate roses, and he knows that. He buys me white chocolate when I love dark chocolate. He doesn't like to hold hands when that's my favorite thing." Hermione explained as she began to pace slightly. The tile seemed even colder than before, and even more lonely.

"You knew all these things...you made sure to get me tulips, and dark chocolate, and to hold my hand like I'd disappear..." Hermione mumbled as she ran her fingers through her hair, shaking out the tangles in annoyance.

"Then the one time you didn't take my hand...you died"

That realization hurt.

Y/n had separated from Hermione during the battle, telling her she needed to 'go help' the others.

Ten minutes later, Hermione found nothing left but her wand. She was pulled away by Ron when the Nagini began to come their way.

After the war had been won, Hermione spent days clawing through debris and bodies in search of her lover. The smell of decay was still stuck in her nose to this day.

Y/n was never found.

Hermione hoped that she was out there somewhere, that she was hiding in shame from defecting from the war efforts.

But Hermione knew better.

She knew Y/n better.

That's why her mind told her that she was gone, beginning to come to ash that blew away quickly in the wind.

"Did it hurt?" She asked for the photo as silence scrapped at the walls of the bathroom. Threatening to claw out more realizations that she wasn't ready for...she'll never be ready for.

She hid from her grief like an owl in the night, huddling deep in her nest of sorrow. Her head burrowed down into her wings, shielding herself from the painful realities of the world. She wanted nothing more than to disappear into the blackness of the sky, to fly away and never return.

To escape her pain and loss, to leave her grief far below, to start anew, and never again know the weight of sorrow.

Yet, she held on to the love of her life, even as she was about to marry another.

"If I let you go...will I be happy?" She asks as her nails dug into the skin of her forearm, almost spilling blood from her grip.

She knew that answer. A ghost didn't need to come out for her to figure it out.

The photo showed the final moments before it repeated, where Y/n laughed as Hermione began to sing along.

She swore she could almost hear it.

Her eyes closed as she let her memory replay the vocals of that chuckle, hoping to have it embedded in her mind for safekeeping.

"I haven't heard that laugh in a very long...long time" Hermione chuckled sadly, a sigh coming out with it as she kept her eyes closed. Memories started to fill the recesses of her mind as she thought back on the night before they had gone back to the castle.

"Do you ever wonder what life will be like if either of us doesn't make it?" Y/n had asked as they lay on the small cot together, Hermione had her face buried against her neck. She could still smell nature and firewood that was stuck to her skin.

"Don't even put that into the universe, please" Hermione had whispered back as she held her girlfriend tighter, the boys were talking by the campfire outside.

"It's a valid question" Y/n replied as her hand trailed up and down her spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Even seven years later, in a hotel bathroom thousands of miles away from that forest.

"It's a scary question" Hermione retorted as she looked up at her, her lips brushing the underside of Y/n's jaw. She could still taste that stupid fizzy drink she loved from Hogsmeade.

Older Hermione chuckled at that little remembrance. Her hand reached up and touched her lips in a small attempt at feeling her lost love kiss again.

"How would you like me to phrase it then Granger?" Y/n asked with a small chuckle as she looked down and stared at Hermione with a playful gaze.

"Don't even bring it up" she replied as she leaned up and kissed her to shush the raging thoughts in that once beautiful mind of hers.

Of course, that only worked for a moment.

"Come on, we have to talk about the possibilities," Y/n says when they pull away, and Hermione crawls up to her, resting her forehead against hers.

"As long as you keep your hand in mine, we'll either go down together or survive"

Y/n knew better than to keep poking Hermione about a topic she didn't like. Which was, of course, death.

Hermione looked back at the mirror, and for a moment she swore Y/n stood behind her, smiling.

She took a few deep breaths, focusing her mind back on reality as the light hummed softly above her head.

Her hand grasped the photo gently as she shut off the light and exited the bathroom, walking into the small area that was only lit by the muted TV.

Ron was still in his deep sleep, snoring like nothing was wrong. When everything was wrong.

"I can't do this" Hermione whispers to his unconscious form as she stares at him. Ron's breathing was slow and calm, while hers was fast and earth-shattering.

Her ring finger seemed to burn as the cold metal latched to her skin, trying to stake its claim when it had nothing to take from her.

One person had claimed every part of her body with kisses and caresses full of promises of a life together that hadn't come.

Hermione placed the photo on the dresser as she ripped out a piece of hotel stationary paper and took the pen beside it.

She didn't cry, but guilt did fill her chest. She had tried her best to forget Y/n for him, but it wasn't fair to be unhappy with someone who was nothing but kind to her.

'I'm sorry'

The ring bounced slightly when she placed it on top of the note. Her eyes fell back to the photo when she grabbed her wallet from the bedside table and placed it inside. She didn't want to lose it again.

Hermione moved around the room silently as she packed her duffel bag and changed into better clothing. It only took her ten minutes or so to be standing near the door, looking back at Ron's sleeping form with a regretful expression.

"Goodbye" she whispers as she slips through the doorway and shuts it quietly behind her. The hallway was dim and vacant as she walked a few feet before apparating.

She found herself at the doors of The Three Broomsticks, it was loud inside as the smell of peppermint and cinnamon filled her nose before she even walked in.

Her duffel bag made a noise when Hermione hiked it up before opening the entrance. No one paid attention to her as she walked to the bar and took a seat at it.

Madam Rosmerta spotted her as soon as she sat down and placed her bag near her feet. She walked over with a knowing smile as she glanced down at her finger. Bare.

"What can I get you Ms.Granger?" she asks as she leans over the bar to hear her better. Hermione thought a moment and looked back at her with a small smile in return.

"Do you still sell that drink that she liked?" Hermione asks, silently confirming what everyone knew was going to happen when they saw the engagement announced in the newspaper.

"Of course" Rosmerta replies as she pushes away from the bar and walks to the back. Hermione pulled out her wallet and went to pay when she returned with the mug but was quickly thwarted with a simple 'it's on the house'.

Hermione was soon left to her devices as she took a sip of the drink, the taste of Y/n's lips raced to the front of her mind.

Her wallet laid on the bar top, and the corner of the Polaroid stuck out, enticing her to look at it again. So she did.

It now sat between her and the mug, moving in the dim lights as it replayed for maybe the millionth time.

As time went on, the cup eventually emptied, and Hermione found herself tracing Y/n's face with a heart full of ache.

"How are you?"

She looked up to find Rosmerta filling her mug again, which Hermione tried to pay for but was quickly stopped.

"I don't know how to answer that" she replied as the older woman looked down at the picture giving a sad smile.

She and Y/n had grown close while she was alive, or before she went missing. Rosmetra took it hard when she got the news.

"Sometimes I can still see you two in that booth" the older witch whispers as she points to a vacant table in the corner. Hermione chuckled softly at the memories.

When they looked back at one another, Madam Rosmetra gave a puzzled look when she saw the expression of conflict that laced the former Gryffindor's face.

"What is it?" she asked to which Hermione looked back at the photo and sighed softly. A single thought had been echoing in her mind since the war ended..and maybe it was just delusional hope.

"Do you...do you think she could still be alive?"

That question has been asked many times by different people. It was strange that Y/n was the only body that hadn't been found, but officials said she was most likely destroyed by one of the many vaporizing spells.

"Maybe, there's nothing wrong with a little hope" Rosmetra replied as Hermione looked back up at her, who now seemed to be thinking deeply about something.

"Do you mind if I post something on the bulletin board?" Hermione asks as she gestures over to the hanging board near the doorway. Rosmetra nodded as she was called over by another customer.

Now left alone, she grabbed her duffel bag and pulled out a small piece of paper, and a pen. Her heart thumped as she scribbled something quick but to the point.

Hermione downed the last of the drink and stood up, leaving a big tip for Rosmetra on the bar as well. She strolled over to the bulletin and found a spare push-tack, her eyes wandering to find an open space.

She soon hung her note on the board, taking a step back to look at it. It was in the middle, the Polaroid paperclipped to the piece of paper that simply said:

'Come Home - H'

Hermione stared at it another moment before slipping out into the cold night, the streetlights were dim as she walked towards an Inn down the street.

Her heart thumped softly as she thought about a reunion that would never come. At least not in life.

"I'll never forget you" she whispered into the air, her breath puffing visibly in front of her.

Even as she walked away, she could still hear Y/n's laugh as the Polaroid went through its endless loop.

A part of Hermione knew that her laugh would welcome her into the next journey of life. As much as she hated to think it, it seemed like paradise.

Maybe...

#harry potter #hermione granger #hermione granger x reader #lesbian #fanfic #angst

121 notes · View notes

ilovethecheetah · 6 months

Text

Hum perform Stars on Late Night with Conan O'Brien 1995

#hum #hum band #you'd prefer an astronaut #1995 #90s

8 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 6 months

Text

Hier Encore IV.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader.

[Hier Encore III.]

Synopsis: Yorknew Police Department Headquarters, 1995, April 10th. You are a director of public safety. The Phantom Troupe attacks the headquarters and takes you under the guise of a hostage situation. Even when the ransom is paid, you are never returned and assumed to be dead. After thirteen months of captivity, in 1996, on May 9th, you escape and try to learn how to live again somewhere far away from your captor. The payment of freedom comes with a steep cost, one that stains your hands so much that even if you drown them in bleach, the stain will remain there for the rest of your life.

Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, the reader is described as AFAB and uses she/her pronouns respectively, not SFW implications, misogynistic undertones (not from Chrollo), unhealthy relationships, manipulation o’clock, body transformation (not on the reader), references to religion, violence/gore, minor character death, and stalking.

Word Count: 5.9k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Lacrimosa by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

4:00 A.M. by Taeko Onuki

My Girlfriend Is a Witch by October Country

Michelle by Sir Chloe

Sonne by Rammstein

Enemy by Imagine Dragons

Venus Fly Trap by MARINA

Maneater by Nelly Furtado

cult leader by KiNG MALA

Teacher’s Pet by Melanie Martinez

“She looked like a vixen, and that’s what she was; she had all the instincts of a female fox. She was the proverbial predatory female. She had what she wanted, now, and she was content. There was just the getting completely away with it that counted.” – Gil Brewer, Sin for Me

iv. “I must be cruel, only to be kind.”

“Greetings.”

One emotion comes after another on Sebastian's face: confusion, fear, distrust, and many more.

“Hello.” His voice is tight. “Do you need something?” He asks, putting his hands on the doorframe as a precaution.

“I have just come to ask you a few questions.” Chrollo answers, his voice as calm and collected as always. He isn’t even looking at Sebaste, his focus is placed on the inside of the cottage. He knows that you are here.

“Like what?” Sebaste asks, his body tensing up.

“My dear, come out.” He calls out to you, his voice as soft as it usually is.

“I’m sorry?” Sebaste questions, his shoulders strained upwards. “I’m right here.”

Chrollo pays him no mind, instead still looking over Sebastian's shoulder. He hums, looking at one object in the living room at a time. The black sofa by the television was old with the bottom left corner of it torn, white stuffing no longer being covered there in that spot. The carpet below Sebastian’s feet, the colors fading because of age. The creaky poplar floorboards. The pots of plants where the kitchen’s checkered tiles and the living room’s wooden planks meet, where you are hiding. Your eyes meet and his eyes are as empty as ever, perhaps even emptier, like black holes in the ground that aim to swallow you whole.

“Come out, my love.” He repeats himself, his tone sickeningly sweet to the point of mockery.

“Excuse me?” Sebaste asks, his voice slightly cracking.

“Dearest.” His gaze is still on you. It is intense and you feel a pressure on your neck like you are being strangled by him. You can’t breathe.

“I’m here.” Sebaste moves his hands downwards on the doorframe. “I’m right here.” His eyebrows furrow. “I’m right here. Don’t ignore me.” He’s upset.

“Hmm.” He leans in slightly. “She hasn’t told you anything, has she?”

You can see Sebastian's feet through the leaves of the tall plants take a step or two back at Chrollo’s question. “What?”

He still is not making eye contact with Sebaste. “Honestly, I expected that you would have left her by now, or at the very least be on your knees begging for mercy from me. Little liar.” Once more, a gentle hum escapes his lips as he leans in, drawing himself nearer. “But that is alright.”

Sebastian's feet move backward yet again. “What?” He knows. “Hello? What are you talking about?”

Remaining composed, Chrollo gradually advances towards Sebaste. “My dear, aren’t you going to greet me? I missed you.”

As an innate response to his words, your muscles contract, causing your entire body to become rigid.

“Come on out,” Chrollo continues, his smile getting wider. “We haven’t seen each other for more than a year. It feels like a millennia since I saw you last. My heart still beats for you, though, and always will.”

“Leave,” You finally say, your voice almost as shaky as you are. “Go away.”

Sebaste and Chrollo are now both looking at you, but their gazes are different. Chrollo looks at you like a hunter looks at a slain doe or rabbit they are about to eat, while Sebaste looks at you with confusion and fear, for he knows what you are; a liar. “Come closer. Let me see you.”

You shake your head from side to side until your neck cramps and you feel slightly dizzy. “Leave, go away.” You repeat, your voice still shuddering.

“I would take you more seriously if your voice was not quivering, beloved.” You can perceive the mocking tone in his voice. “I want to see your beautiful face not covered by the foliage of a dying plant.” His smile is getting bigger and bigger by the second, you swear to yourself. “Come on now.”

Once more, you vigorously shake your head, refusing to comply. “Leave.”

Sebaste continues to call out, desperately trying to catch his attention, but he remains unfazed, humming to himself. Fear is evident in his expression and the urgency of his voice. Concern grips you, for both Sebaste and yourself.

“Come closer, please. Come greet me.”

You squirm behind the tall plant. “No, go away, leave.”

“I won’t.” His smile fades as he looks down at Sebastian's arms still holding onto the doorframe like it was their lifeline. It is actually, you realize.

Sebastian's face contorts into a frown, while he straightens his posture even further, assuming a defensive stance. “If all you are going to do is bother my girlfriend and not talk to me, you have to leave.”

“No.” Sebaste is finally acknowledged by him, but this time his voice lacks warmth, sounding firm and icy. “Step aside.”

The urge to run engulfs you. You want to run into the forest. You want to run until your feet bleed and your ankles are twisted and bruised.

“Why would I do that?” Sebaste hisses angrily. “Leave. All you are doing is being a creep to my girlfriend. Leave or I’ll call the police. Now.”

Chrollo simply leans in closer to Sebastian's ear. “Step aside. Please.”

Sebaste scowls. “Leave. Now.”

Run, run, run. Despite your determination to hold your ground, you start to relent under Chrollo's unrelenting gaze, eventually taking a step forward as instructed. “Ah, that’s better. Good.” As Chrollo's stare intensifies, you find yourself averting your gaze towards the ground, towards your bare feet. “Look at you, my poor thing. You have nothing more to say, don’t you?” He coos like a parent watching their baby take their first steps.

“I’m calling the police.”

Sebaste delves into the depths of his hoodie pocket, where his phone resides, leaving a portion of the doorway unguarded by his arm. The urge to plead with Sebaste, to convey the futility of it all, arises within you. However, you find yourself incapable of doing so.

In one swift motion, Chrollo grabs the cell phone away from Sebastian’s hand and throws it on the ground, a loud smashing sound reaching your ears. It’s only more pronounced by a boot stomping and crushing it like it was some sort of bug.

“Come closer, dearest.” He says, and your feet move, your mind compliant. You move closer and closer, until you are a few feet behind Sebaste, who looks both fearful and confused.

“Call the police,” Sebaste tells you, the stress in his voice is more than obvious.

You just stare, emptily. There is no point in running over to the kitchen to grab your phone, because Chrollo is quick and thus would run quicker, quicker than you ever could. You, poor you, would fall in vain in the Spider’s hunt for the fly that made it out of the web alive.

“Call the police. [First], call the police.” You would love to appear as a saint, but bright crimson stains your hands and eats at your very being. The floorboards creak and crack beneath you as you walk closer and you hope that the planks will simply break and let you fall into an infinite void where you will never be sentenced for your crimes.

“My lady of sorrows, as beautiful as ever.”

You should have hidden your tracks better.

“Call the police, [First].” You should have watched out for any targets on your back.

You should have watched out more for the eyes looking at you in the night because you only caught one pair. “Your love is like a warm summer’s day, and it will always be mine, all mine.”

You wanted a normal human life. You wanted a normal human death.

But you are caught in the Spider’s web and encased in silk yet again, so you can’t have either of those things. Now, all that you can have that you want is to cry.

“Call the police.” Sebastian's trembling voice echoes once more, filled with fear. Desperate to find solace, he reaches out for your hand, only to be met with the unexpected rejection of a slap.

You’re so stupid. So, so stupid. Your brain feels numb like it is rotting away inside of you, slowly but surely.

“Call the police. [First]. Go get your phone and call the police.”

“All I want is to hold you in my arms and know that you are mine.” You hold everything Chrollo has ever said to you inside of you where your heart used to be. It weighs you down more than a broken heart ever would.

“[First]. Call the police. What’s wrong?”

The world is now monochrome once more. You feel the place where warmth used to be within you. But now all there is is ashes. There is nothing but ashes. Your lungs hurt from all the filth.

“Stop it.” Disgusting, you are disgusting, Chrollo is disgusting.

You wanted to see the whole world. But you are now back to being trapped in the spider’s web and you cannot do any of those things now. A butterfly with a hole in its wing caught in its web.

“What’s wrong? Call the police. Go. Now.” Disgusting. “[First]?” Disgusting. “[First], why aren’t you doing anything?”

“Stop it.” Your voice cracks like how you wanted the floorboards to. “Just stop it.”

“Go get your phone.” Sebaste continues, deaf to what you are trying to tell him. “Go. Now. Go.”

Your head hurts. Your stomach hurts. You want your pajamas on. You want to sleep. You wish you never ran away because now hell will be unleashed on Sebaste and you as punishment. You wish you would have just made a pit stop in this town and continued being on the move. You wish you were more tactical. You wish you had never been born at all. Disgusting. You’re so disgusting and stupid and tired.

You find yourself uttering every part of it, stammering through the words, pausing to catch your breath, pleading for Sebastian's survival, hoping to just return to whatever luxurious penthouse or hotel room Chrollo is currently staying at, imploring to have a private conversation with Chrollo about this matter in his car, away from Sebaste.

As soon as you finish begging for Sebastian's life and open your eyes, you see the book in Chrollo’s hand. With the realization of what is about to happen, tears finally fall from your eyes onto your bare feet.

The cry that escapes your lips is a unique one, unlike any other. It is choked, desperate, animalistic, raw, and undeniably genuine.

“Don’t! Please! Wait! Chrollo!”

Chrollo looks at you and you immediately shut up.

“What are you doing?” Sebaste asks, stepping away, his entire body shaking. “Answer me. What are you doing?”

Chrollo's gaze turns towards him, bearing a facial expression that ranks among the most dreadful you've ever witnessed.

He doesn’t respond with anything more than a hum and a quick turn of the pages.

You’re too afraid to speak.

You look at the floor and close your eyes again as you continue to cry.

You hate the book. He has never used it on you, but you know what it can do. Perhaps if Chrollo is in a good mood at the moment, Sebaste will merely have a curse placed upon him and he will go out the door with poor, wailing you, his grip on your wrist strong enough to almost break it.

A foolish thought, you remind yourself.

Chrollo wasn’t known for his mercy, after all.

Sebaste is as good as dead.

Perhaps he is even worse than dead.

He could be tortured. Starved, eaten alive, poisoned, or has all of his bones broken bit by bit.

You are scared to open your eyes. But you are also scared to have them remain closed.

As you look at what is in front of you and ignore the noises around you, you deprive yourself of any mercy.

It is what you deserve.

“[First]?”

“Don’t.”

“[First], what is happening?” Sebaste points to Chrollo with a look of pure fear, his eyes looking like they are about to burst from their sockets. “What is he talking about?”

“I said don’t. Just stop.”

Sebaste stops in his place, his body shaking so much it looks like he is about to fall. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” It is a genuine apology. “But speaking will only make the pain worse for both of us.”

Chrollo hums again and nods at you, still flipping through the pages. Engaging in acts of rebellion will only exacerbate the situation.

The book stops turning and Chrollo points to a page. “I found it.”

His words are barely audible, drowned out by the piercing cries of anguish. Flashing lights; magenta, red, teal, and black.

Sable scales are sprouting from Sebastian's alabaster skin, each one covered in blood and pierced flesh.

His scleras are a shade of light coral. His eyelids are getting smaller and smaller by the second.

His irises get darker, almost to the hue of ink, matching the scales that are all over his body covered in little bits of torn skin. His knees collapse on themselves as you stand still, looking with both disgust and fear. His elbows fold as his arms lessen in length, his hands bonding with his clavicles.

He is still screaming.

You want to tell him to stop, that there was no point. It’s already too late for either of you.

But you can’t.

You refuse to look at Chrollo, who is no doubt smiling at the horrifying tragedy unfolding in front of you two.

You just look at Sebaste with pitying, guilty eyes.

He does not look at you.

You deserve it, and he deserves to at least have that choice in the matter.

Whatever Chrollo is doing to him, there is no doubt in your mind that you deserve at least twice as bad of a fate.

But you don’t fear death. Not anymore. You know Chrollo does not plan to kill you, that death is not in the cards he is holding. He would never let go of his favorite toy. So, you fear the unknown. You fear whatever harrowing methods Chrollo is going to use on you. There is no doubt that they will be far more psychological than physical.

You sit and stay, like a good dog does, even though every fiber of your being is telling you to run out the back door and into the forest. So, you wait. You wait until he is done. You won’t speak or move unless you are told to. You give up all control and pretend to want to be dragged by a leash instead. You hide your true feelings behind a mask and not overplay your hand. That is how you become a dog.

Good girl.

Chrollo takes out a few Polaroid photographs from his suit pocket and lays them out on the table. One of them is the gore-stained walls of James’ apartment, his lower half the only part that is still whole. The second is Victor’s collapsed, untouched body on the wooden floorboards. The third is of your stalker’s rotting corpse in your abandoned shed, his head lowered and his partially gouged eyes swinging in the cool breeze. You can’t pretend to be better anymore. You can’t hide what you have done anymore. He knows.

You reach for the photos, grabbing them off the table then crumble them into balls, tearing them apart into shreds and watching them fall onto the ground.

Chrollo doesn’t stop you. He simply stares at the torn pieces that lay at your bare feet. He hums. It’s the most horrific sound you have ever heard. It is a mix of hilarity and hunger. When he smiles, his teeth look like a shark's. They are razorlike and look sharp enough to cut flesh, though they appear the same as yours. Although his appearance may deceive others into perceiving him as angelic, you are aware that he is anything but, just like yourself.

He knows. He knows.

Chrollo takes a step forward toward you but stops abruptly. He hums again. He looks upward towards your face and you make eye contact. Your brain starts screaming signals to run.

He knows of the lies that are the foundation of the makeup used to cover your hideous, real face. He knows of your sticky, sticky red hands, stained with crimson sin. He knows of the devil that lurks within the deepest confines of your heart. He knows that no exorcism or priest would be able to get rid of it. He knows that it will stay inside you until your last breath. He knows of the hidden transgressions within your soul, the deeds you committed to survive. The actions you took to elevate yourself above all others and everything else in this world.

He knows everything. He knows what you have done.

The stars twinkle no more. The moon has lost its luster. The night sky has broken apart. You cannot hide your wrongdoings from the scorching beams of the sun. Your skin burns. Everything hurts.

He knows.

He looks down at you like he is a king. Arrogant. Tenacious. He is not even a star to you. He is less than the small pieces of meteorites floating in the vast Milky Way, fading away more and more by the second. This life was too good to be true. You have failed and as a result, you have lost everything.

You cover your head with your arms and run, tackling Chrollo to the ground. He falls onto the kitchen floor with a hard thump. You punch him, but your knuckle hurts as you do so, Chrollo’s face like an iron wall. You yelp in pain and withdraw your fist, using your other hand to pull out the knife from your sweatpants. You haven’t even made a dent into him, did he even feel anything?

Chrollo's laughter resonates as if he finds your actions incredibly amusing. He proceeds to articulate the harsh reality, a truth that is both unpleasant and acrid. “So, you were the one that committed those murders. As expected.”

No. No. No. No.

As you falter, Chrollo’s hands firmly grab the upper parts of your arms and push you off, the amount of power used being nearly enough to throw you against the glass cupboards of dishware and decorations. Instead, the back of your head collides with the wall next to the wooden back door, the paring knife flying out of your hand and landing a few inches away. A pained cry escapes your lips as your vision blurs for a second. He’s on top of you in an instant, his eyes dark and predatory, and your positions suddenly reversed.

The blade, you have to get it back.

As you try to reach out for it, Chrollo grabs your wrist with an abnormal amount of strength. “I wouldn’t pick that up if I were you. It would only prove a point for me.”

Run. Run. Run. You have to run, like a small child running up the stairs when the lights are off, fearing what could be lurking in the dark.

Life. Death. Free. Cage. Run.

No, this can’t be happening, this is just a bad dream.

“Struggle all you like, we both know how this will end.”

“Shut up. I’m not going anywhere–”

“You are. You will stay wherever I place you because I am not falling for your tricks a second time, my little witch.”

No. This is just a bad dream. You close your eyes and try to wake up, shaking your head and begging for Chrollo to be just a figment of your imagination. You try and try, but you can still feel the crushing feeling of Chrollo’s grip on your bruised wrist and the weight of his body on top of yours. This is real, and this is happening.

Your mind goes blank as you open your eyes, your body being directed by raw, pure fear. Your forehead crashes into Chrollo’s, making him back up a few centimeters and let go of your wrist. Your torso crawls toward the blade like an animal whose legs are caught under a boulder or a bear trap. Your elbows bend and you try to move forward. You are just about to grab the knife when there is a yanking of your hair backward. You holler out as your spine is twisted peculiarly, your upper body facing downwards towards the knife while your lower body is facing upwards towards Chrollo.

“Let go!”

“You certainly are stubborn.”

Your fist smacks him square in the jaw and he lets go. Your hand grips the knife, and you start swinging it around, blinded by emotion. You manage to cut into his right cheek as he spits out some blood from your punch. You try to gouge out one of his eyes, but his dexterity causes his head to duck just in time. Your body shakes with a mix of alarm and hate. You try to aim for the space between his eyes, but he grabs your wrist with one hand and your tricep with the other and starts twisting them in two different directions, making you wail. There is a sudden snap that is louder than your cries. You scream as you drop the knife and caress your broken arm. Chrollo grabs the blade and throws it far across the room.

Chrollo’s body seems to relax a little, so you kick him in the face and try to clamber away from him. His nose bleeds, but it does not look broken. You are as desperate as a doe trying to escape the bullets of a hunter’s shotgun.

Run. Run. Run.

“You’re not being good. You’re not being good at all.”

Run. Run.

With the last bits of strength you have, you withstand the agonizing pain in your arm and kick Chrollo in the stomach with both of your legs, so hard that even you wince. He backs up as he chokes on his saliva. Some of the blood from his nose jumps onto your face and you can taste the flavor of metal. He falls backward and hugs his abdomen. He is off of you at long last. For the quick moment he is in pain, you stand up quickly, clutching your unusable limb. You run as fast as you can towards the paring knife. You bend down and grab it in a rush of panic.

Run, rabbit. Run.

Chrollo pushes you down onto your stomach, your back facing him. He grabs your broken arm and pulls it, his foot on your spine to keep you there. It bends like rubber or bubblegum. You start to flail around like a fish out of water. You gasp for air as you cry out in pain. His other hand grabs the back of your head, raising it slightly before pushing it down hard onto the wooden planks. The life you have built for yourself, everything you have worked towards, the colorful, sweet world you have made, all shatters into splinters before your very eyes.

Picking pumpkins and apples to make decorations and cook into pies, harvesting sunflowers to put into glass vases around your cottage, going into the farmer’s market and smelling freshly roasted corn and baked goods, cookies, fried mushrooms, glazed yams, eggplant parmesan, learning to love someone for the first time.

It was all for nothing. It was all for nothing because Chrollo found you. Chrollo found you and enacted his revenge. You wail a strangled, desperate breath. A raw and real breath.

You stop struggling at long last, like a toy that has run out of power from its battery. All that fighting and you have hardly made him use his true strength.

You are weak. You cannot go anywhere. You are a rabbit with nowhere to run. Murder. Death. Theft. Crime. Manipulation. Love. Chrollo’s blood is still in your mouth and it’s bitter and dry, like you had just eaten sand in a desert or oceanless beach. It chokes you, both physically and mentally.

No.

The fish that used to be Sebaste looks up at the ceiling, lying on its side. An unblinking, wide eye. Dull. Cloudy. Empty. Unforgiving. Confused. Weak. Its corpse lays before you two and starts to stink like the back of a butcher’s shop.

I hate you.

That is what its eye tells you.

Traitor. Fool. Devil. Maneater. Tainted. Killer. Freak.

This is all your fault. Why did I have to die? Why are you still alive? You lied to me. You said you loved me. Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Pathetic.

Your feet are still cold.

If only you could have died too. If only you could have died beside him. You don’t want to die in whatever hotel room or penthouse Chrollo will shove you in, within four suffocating walls and soft sheets that cost more than your monthly rent. You don’t want to die there, you want to die anywhere else. You are not ready to die. Tunnel vision overtakes you, with only one objective in mind.

Just stay alive.

That is your one wish to the stars above.

It hurts.

Everything hurts.

You are being burned alive by your desire to both live and die.

...

You don’t think before you do it.

You don’t try to stop yourself before, without any hesitation, your legs propel you forward, forcefully thrusting the backdoor open with your functioning arm. Anguish, fury, remorse, and sorrow engage in a fierce battle for dominance over your every move. As you dart deeper into the dark and densely packed forest behind your cottage, the only sounds you could hear are your own ragged breaths and pounding heart. It was as if the forest was trying to swallow you up, closing in with every passing step. No moonlight or stars pierced the thick layers of leaves and branches overhead.

The darkness is like a thick fog, blurring your sight and limiting your visibility. You could not see Chrollo behind you, but your instincts told you that he was. There was no hint of a breeze to take some of the edge off, with even the birds and chipmunks being completely silent.

The pain was excruciating. With every jostling step, your broken arm jolted around like a wooden toy, threatening to send you down to the ground any second as it kept getting caught in vines and hitting tree trunks. You could not afford to stop running.

You don’t see anyone following you.

Your feet are starting to bleed and leave a few red drops of blood with every rushed step you take. You don’t care about it because instinct has taken over your mind.

You trip over a large root on the ground and fall sideways right on your broken arm, making you scream from the intense pain shooting up. As you try to get up and caress your broken arm, you stumble downhill into a pile of dead leaves.

Your mouth is full of them, making you hardly able to breathe as you spit them out.

If it were any other time, you would have considered it funny.

But not now.

As you rise from the ground, your hand instinctively shields your mouth, preventing any inadvertent sound that may invite unwanted attention. The pursuit of Chrollo, if not already initiated, has undoubtedly commenced.

He’s after you. You know this. He came back into your newly rebuilt life and destroyed it right in front of your very eyes.

You know he can hear you, but you cannot hear him. You never know of his presence until he is too close, that is how it always has been. That is how it is now. Chrollo has forever possessed superior speed, strength, intelligence, attractiveness, and wealth, making it impossible for anyone to ever match his prowess, even if they desired to do so.

You hate him.

You hate him, and he’s here for you again.

No.

How did he even find you?

Hisoka promised.

He promised you that your location would be undiscovered.

He lied to you, didn’t he?

Maybe lying isn’t the exact word.

Maybe he technically did keep his promise, because the Troupe didn’t show up in a matter of a few hours.

Chrollo showed up in a matter of nearly twenty four.

Your gasps for air and silenced cries are paired with a call of your name.

“Oh, you poor thing. Scared half to death.”

His words are as soft as they are cruel.

“Mater Dolorosa.”

You force yourself onto your feet again to run, sensing the voice behind you up the hill getting louder and louder. But when you move to run, you wince in pain and look down at your swollen red ankle.

It is so dark that you can’t see anything aside from yourself, the world around you being painted monochrome by the black night sky’s palette.

There is nowhere to run, is there?

You have used up all of your luck getting this far, and have to pay the price.

You are out of time. You cannot dream of sweet escape anymore.

“Do you remember my touch? I touched you so sweetly. My darling girl.”

You would turn if you could, but the pain shooting out from your ankle prevents you doing so and almost makes you fall into the leaves again instead. “You took me away.”

Moving in a circular motion, Chrollo gradually positions himself in your line of sight, his imposing figure standing tall before you. “It is a thief’s nature. I could not resist the temptation to steal you.”

Chrollo is a prime illustration of the extreme measures some individuals are willing to take in order to have you in their embrace.

Your beauty has captivated every person you have encountered, evoking reverence from all. It is both a blessing and a curse, a double edged sword, both the thing that worships you and tortures you.

Your sweatpants are covered in dirt stains and pieces of dried grass and leaves, your hoodie in a similarly horrible condition. Your hair had come undone, cascading in delicate wisps that obscured your vision, reminiscent of a spider's delicate web. There is nowhere to hide.

“Oh, how I love you.” Chrollo smiles and the way it reaches his eyes makes you squirm more. “Shall I enumerate the reasons why?”

…

The car ride was silent for a while. You would have preferred it if it stayed that way. But Chrollo could never stay quiet for long, even if you asked nicely, so he turned the dial of the radio and began humming along. In all the months you were with him, the only constant presence in your otherwise bleak, depressing life.

The song he chose felt like yet another kick to the stomach. ABBA’s Lay All Your Love On Me. Of course he would play that.

As much as you hate doing so, you focus on the way your heart beats with each turn and bump along the road. He was calm, still so calm, even after this two year long escape. You are certain that this is the calm before the storm, and it was only a matter of time before everything came crashing down on you. More than what already had fallen.

To claim that you were on edge would be an understatement.

“Do you know what will happen now?”

With your heart pounding and mind consumed, you can't help but startle at his words, despite your readiness.

“...No.”

He lets out a small laugh, reducing the music's volume to a slightly muffled level.

It only makes you feel like you are about to go into cardiac arrest.

“You do, don’t you? You have always been a smart one.”

Your broken arm aches under the slight pressure of the seatbelt pressing against it, your ankle being only slightly cushioned by the insulated carpet beneath.

Chrollo has never hurt you before, aside from restraining you in the early days of your capture. Though, you know if you had blamed your ankle on him and told him, he would tell you it was your fault for running barefoot in the dark.

He hopefully will give you a brace or pillow for it when you both arrive back to wherever your temporary location is.

“My freedoms will be taken away.”

As he nods, a smile plays at the corners of his mouth, revealing a slightly sinister undertone that would easily deceive any unfamiliar observer.

“That is a start. But,” Pausing momentarily, he directs his gaze towards you, only to swiftly return his attention to the path that lies ahead. “What particularly? Give me an example, please.”

He is definitely planning something. Maybe you'll inquire about the source of his inquiry, or perhaps you'll force a trembling grin and pretend his question is nonsensical, aware that he's already aware of the freedoms you've gained during your time in confinement. Yet, he would persist then, and repeat his query. You could respond by acknowledging his authority to strip away any privilege he deems appropriate, a fact that both of you know to be true, but deep down, you understand that he desires a real, logical answer.

Whether this is a genuine question or something that will be used to mock you in a moment or two, you have no idea.

“A freedom like…” Your answer will probably be spawned into existence, making you wary of how to respond to his question, but you know you have to because you have no choice in this hell. “Like being able to move freely around.”

He only taps his fingers on the steering wheel in a melody unlike the one playing from the car’s speakers. “How so?” Welcome once again to the realm of eternal damnation.

You contemplate turning away from him and looking out the window instead. But that would cause you more physical pain from your arm moving against the car seat and more mental pain from you knowing you will not be able to go outside again for at least a while. That is, if you are ever allowed to go outside again. If you can ever escape again. He wants another answer. He is not satisfied. But, then again, when is he ever?

You don’t dare look away from him as he stares at you, not at the road, at you. You practically feel like your stomach is dropping out of your body and onto the insulated carpet, staining parts of it crimson red from the blood and a discolored version of its once licorice color from the stomach acid.

“Go on,” You could imagine the feeling of his fingers and yours intertwining and starting to squeeze your throat.

Thum, thum, thum. Bum, bum, bum. Dun, dun, dun.

“...Restraints.” You wish you could just dissolve like seafoam in the sea. “I’m not sure which ones you want to use. The metal ones or silk ones most likely.” The sensation of suffocation creeps in, as if the air itself has turned putrid and malevolent, weighing heavily on your chest. Your vocal cords are raspy, resembling the aftermath of regurgitating and subjecting them to the corrosive effects of gastric acid. “Maybe gag me or tie my legs together too. Or both, it depends on if you are in a good mood right now or not, right?”

He nods slowly, never taking his eyes off of you. His gaze feels unsettling, for there is no trace of anger in his eyes, yet you can sense his fury.

“That is one, yes. What else do you think will happen when we get back, my dear?”

The road is empty. There are no deer or geese or ducks crossing, only you and Chrollo. Animals have always had better judgment of human character, after all.

You hope that the place you are going to at least has a nice view.

“Tell me.”

107 notes · View notes

animeniacss · 4 months

Text

Memories in Ink - Seungcheol x Reader One-Shot

Synopsis: When you and Seungcheol talk about getting matching tattoos, you decide the only way to truly decide what you want is with a pen, a few beers, and your canvas-like skin.

Genre: Non-idol!Cheol, Tatted!Cheol, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, One-shot, Alcohol Consumption, Sexual Implication (Nothing explicit but be mindful), Humor

Length: approx. 3092 words

Memories in Ink - Seungcheol x Reader One-shot

Seungcheol’s head was fuzzy after a few drinks of alcohol. It only felt fuzzier when you approached him. His eyes took in the sight of you, wearing one of his large band tee shirts and – based on his quick inventory of your frame – nothing else. It made him grin, the dopey kind that offered his dimples to poke out. When you approached him, waving two drinks in his direction, Seungcheol silently welcomed you by pressing his palms behind him into the floor, denim-clad legs spread to offer you a spot in between them.

You nestled into the spot happily, handing Seungcheol a beer bottle. He took it into one hand, the other wrapping around your waist. His chin nestled in your neck, finding comfort in its warmth as he watched you take a long sip of your drink. When you set it on the coffee table, your hand replaced it with his arm. You examined it after picking it up from your waist. Seungcheol’s eyes studied you as your fingers traced along his arm muscles, along the few tattoos he had. “Having fun?” he asked in a low, amused hum. You nodded, and that only made Seungcheol nestle your neck a bit more, peppering a few butterfly kisses into the crook of your neck to make you giggle.

“Did they hurt?” he asked. Seungcheol shook his head. Your fingers continued tracking his arm, brushing along every tattoo. There weren’t too many, but they were beautiful and detailed. When you reached his hand, you propped it up. Seungcheol allowed his fingers to spread as you ran your hand along it. Your finger pressed against the small 95 written right under his pinkie finger. “Is this for your birthday? 1995?” you asked.

Seungcheol nodded. “Yeah. The three of us all have it.” Seungcheol’s hand turned enveloping yours into his own, encompassing it in a warm bubble of affection. “It was my idea. Jeonghan didn’t want to, but Jisoo and I convinced him after a bit of time.”

“That’s nice. I want to get one too.”

“Let’s get a matching one.” He suggested, but maybe it was the alcohol. When your head whipped around to finally stare at him, Seungcheol’s eyes widened at how stunned your reaction was. “What?” he asked.

“Really?” you grinned. Seungcheol laughed a bit at your sudden eagerness to the idea.

“Sure.” He said. He felt you release his arm, crawling from your spot in his lap and towards his desk drawer. As he watched you, he caught a peek of the shorts you had thrown on, hidden under the long tee shirt. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. You sat up on your knees, rummaging through the little drawer until you pulled out a pen. His eyebrow arched, silently observing you as you crawled back over to him. Nestling yourself back into his lap, you held up the pen.

“I have the best idea.” You said. Seungcheol sipped his drink as you took hold of his free arm. You held the pen in your hand, pressing it onto his skin. The sensation, the pressure tickled at first, but he remained still as you doodled on his arm, right beside his tattoo of a quote from one of his group's first albums. He couldn’t get a great look with your body acting as a barrier. He tilted his head to the side. “Come on, what are you making? I’m not good at this ‘Ghost Drawing’ game. I can’t guess.” A laugh escaped your lips.

“Here.” Seungcheol took his arm, admiring the little work of art you added to his growing collection. He saw a picture of a heart with a very ridiculous smiley face, each eye pupil facing in a different direction and its tongue sticking out. You smiled when he shot you a confused look.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“You don’t like it?” you asked curiously.

“What made you think of this?” he asked. Your laugh continued a bit, and Seungcheol’s arm wrapped around you, pulling you playfully to his chest. “You’re much drunker than you look, hm?” he asked.

“No,” you said, reaching for your half-empty bottle to prove your point. “Now I am.” You tossed the rest of the drink back. Seungcheol took the pen from the floor, reaching out and taking your arm. You turned your body, finally fully facing him. He gently rubbed along your skin, untouched up until this point. He glanced up at you, watching as you settled into your new position, before lifting your arm and pressing a playful kiss to your skin. Your head lolled to one side, grinning. That sound got Seungcheol’s Pavlov going, and he pressed another. Then one more, before he finally pulled back. In place of his lips, he pressed the pen to your skin. You squirmed for a second, Seungcheol’s grip only tightening to keep you steady.

“Don’t be such a baby.” He mumbled behind a smile. You leaned forward, using his forehead as a resting place to see. His tongue was sticking out from his mouth as he doodled away, and similar to him, you couldn’t get the best view with his head in the way. You simply took the moment to close your eyes, taking in the pressure on your skin as the warmth that enveloped you in a blanket. “Done.” Seungcheol finally said, and your eyes fluttered open. When you looked down, you grinned a bit.

“…What the hell is that?” you asked, lifting your arm for a better look. Upon closer inspection, it looked like…a face. A crudely drawn one, with an attempt at defined features that fell flat even on untouched, flat skin. Your response of an amused snort caused Seungcheol to pout.

“What?!” he asked. “It’s me!”

“How the hell do our tattoos match?” you asked, holding the two side by side. Seungcheol scanned the two for a minute, a grin forming on his face.

“Oh yeah. We were doing that.” You tossed your head back, another laugh ripping your body as you shoved him playfully, finally giving him the sign to laugh as well.

“Well, let me draw me on you so then we can match.” You reached for the pen, Seungcheol’s hand extending up and away from your grasp in playful response. When you stretched as far as you could, you groaned. “Cheol…” you murmured.

That pet name made the back of his neck burn, and he became putty in your hands, putting the pen in your grasp once again. He watched as you took another part of his arm, resting your head against his chest once again as you began your next work of art. Seungcheol looked down at you without another word as you worked. His head lolled to the side, resting his cheek onto the top of your head as you continued. His free hand snaked to your hip, snaking up the band tee and drawing gentle circles along your hip bone. You shivered a bit, but it didn’t stop you from your work.

“I’m thinking a big statement piece. Right here.” You laughed a bit, pressing your entire hang right on his forearm. Seungcheol snickered a bit, his cheek still finding a comfortable resting spot on your head.

His curiosity was piqued. “Of?”

“I’m thinking flowers and skulls and blood and-.” Seungcheol’s laughter caused you to look up, a grin on your face as you watched him cover his mouth. He leaned back a bit, shaking his head. “Am I really that funny?” you asked, hand raising to his hair and stroking it a bit. Seungcheol looked at you, shaking his head in amusement. When he snorted, the sound that came from his nose made both of your drunken brains begin cackling in amusement.

“Are you kidding? I’m not getting blood on my arm.” He finally managed to get out after a fit of laughter. Despite this, you took his arm back into your grasp, the pen getting to work on designing this ‘statement piece’. “You’re wasting your time.”

“But think of how cool it’ll be!”

“I don’t want to.” Seungcheol smiled. His free hand rubbed gently along your side, finally giving in and allowing you to doodle. This one seemed to take the longest, and Seungcheol hummed. “This is taking forever. Imagine how long a professional will take.”

“Are you saying I’m not a professional?!” You didn’t look up, but your voice was very offended.

“No. You’re not. Also-.” He watched as your hand shook a bit, causing a line to curve and squiggle, the sight alone sending you into a fit of giggles. “You’re drunk.”

“Okay. You got me there.” You snorted. Halfway through, you seemed to get bored, because you picked the pen up and immediately turned towards Seungcheol, taking his other hand in your grasp. “Wha- Hey.”

“I already don’t like it.” You said, and Seungcheol smiled. He watched you brush against his skin a few times, along the already inked doodles, and finally settle the pen onto one untouched piece. “There. This one won’t take long at all.” Seungcheol nodded, watching as you got to work. This hand remained trapped at your side, his fingers tickling your skin right where he could touch. You gasped in surprise. “Hey!” You looked up at him only to be met with a grin. “Do you want me to do this nice, or not?”

“Alright, I’m sorry.” He said. You finally pulled your pen away, and Seungcheol was left face to face with a music staff. The staff had 2 little whole music notes on either side. In the middle were two other non-music note symbols. Both were hearts, interlocked together as they supported one another on the lines of the staff. He chuckled.

“Oh, this one looks like one I’d get.” He admitted. “Very nice.” You nodded, before leaning down and pressing a kiss on the skin right beside the music note. “Hm?” His eyebrow cocked, though an amused smile sat on his lips. You glanced up at him, taking another beer in your hand and sipping.

“I couldn’t help it…” you murmured shyly behind the rim of the bottle. In response, Seungcheol reached out when you were distracted by your beer, taking the pen back into his grasp. “I’ve got a few more. Your arm, please.” He hummed playfully, to which you reluctantly obliged. Seungcheol pulled you back into his chest, holding you there comfortably as he extended your arm out. The pen pressed against the skin right above your inner elbow, the sensation causing you to immediately retract.

“Aaaah, that tickles.” You squirmed.

“But it’ll look really cool. I’m thinking vines and flowers.” His reasoning in no way swayed you fully, but he still extended your arm and got to work.

The both of you sat like that for a little while longer, exchanging the pen and doodling the first thing that came to your mind on each other’s skin. You were one another’s canvases at that point, open to endless possibilities. Each time a new doodle was added, as you had been, you both ended it by planting a little kiss right beside it. Your author’s mark, it seemed. Before you knew it, a few beers and a few pens later, your arms were covered in decorative doodles. As you admired them, Seungcheol finished his last beer, a deep sigh escaping his lips. You looked over at him.

“I hope this comes off.” You said. He grinned.

“You’re worried about that now?” he asked. Leaning forward, he pulled you closer onto his lap, arms snaking around your waist as he nuzzled into your neck. Your hands loosely fell along his neck, toying with the hair on the back of his head and neck. “I think I drank too much.” He grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah?” you laughed a bit, and he only nodded in confirmation. Looking down, you took Seungcheol’s arm into your grasp one last time.

“You have more?” he asked, looking up at you. You nodded, pressing the back of the pen against his cheek.

“Get a tattoo of your dimples.” You said. He grinned into the pen, his dimples poking out. “Perfect.” As if that somehow answered his question, you looked down at his arm, snaking down to his wrist. Taking the pen, you pressed the tip between the doodle of a drawn penguin and an even worse attempt – well more like four attempts – at drawing a perfect star. You began doodling. Seungcheol watched you, pulling away just a bit to give you the space you needed to sit comfortably as you drew. His wrist sat loosely in your hands, fingers wiggling each time the tip pressed against the sensitive parts of his wrist. “Almost done. Don’t be such a baby.”

Seungcheol pouted at his earlier comment being thrown back at him. “I am not.” He argued, but you only laughed at him. Upon further inspection, Seungcheol noticed what looked to be a steam being formed on his wrist, each line laying over where one of his veins might one day pop up. Once the lines were in place, your pen pressed back in again. Your view was upside down, so when your head tilted a bit to see better, Seungcheol had to laugh. Finally, you pulled the pen back. Seungcheol went to pull the picture to his face for a better view, but you stopped him quickly. “What?” he asked, eyebrow arched. You turned his wrist towards you one last time, pressing a kiss just above it, on the palm of his hand. He smiled a bit unable to control the trickle of red on his cheeks. “Oh.” He muttered sheepishly. Finally ready, he turned it towards himself. The fruit, he noticed.

“I like that one.” You said softly. Pressing your own wrist beside his, which was a bit smaller, you pointed. “I’ll get the same thing. We can get them colored in, maybe each cherry is a different shade of red. Something to tie them both together.” The fact that it was already planned out was amusing, if not touching, to Seungcheol. His finger brushed against the ink, a light smudge brushing against the steam and leaf portion.

“Where’d you think of this one?” he asked curiously.

“Cherry sounds like Cheolie.” You admitted, the verbalization of your thoughts only made your cheeks match the intended color of the fruit in question. “I don’t know. You don’t think it’s cheesy?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.” He laughed when his comment was rewarded with a playful shove. “It’s cute. I like it.”

“Okay. Good.” You seemed to remember at that moment that these were all drawn in pen, not professional tattoo ink. “Oh. Let me get my phone.” You got up from Seungcheol’s lap one more time, making him look over and follow your steps to the kitchen counter, where you had left your phone in exchange for the first few rounds of drinks. Scrambling back over, you knelt down and positioned Seungcheol’s wrist. “Hold still.” You said.

“Okay.” He watched as you snapped a few pictures of his wrist for the future. “If we did get there, we’d absolutely have to pick a different spot. Maybe my forearm.” You looked up at Seungcheol put his hands over his head, allowing his forearms to bulge out just a bit. He traced the place he was thinking with his other hand, your eyes following the stunning muscle very carefully. Very carefully. Seungcheol immediately noticed how quiet you went, and it made him grin. “Deal?” he asked.

“Uh. Okay.”

“You have no idea what I said.” He smirked.

“Yes, I do!” You gasped, cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“I could have just had you agree to get a tattoo of me on your forehead and you would have said yes. You were so focused.” Seungcheol, cockiness starting to return, flexed his forearms once again. You groaned, covering your face in your hands as Seungcheol laughed. “You’re too funny.” He said. Two fingers spread apart, allowing your eyes to appear enough to look up at Seungcheol, who was still grinning like an idiot at how flustered he had made you. Finally setting his arms down, he reached forward and pressed a little kiss to your head. You pouted, but the kind gesture made you melt into his touch a bit more, nestling closer. He chuckled in amusement. For the first time since the both of you made your home on the floor, silence filled the area, both of you just taking a second to enjoy each other’s company.

Seungcheol’s lips pulled from your forehead, just barely, as you could still feel the breath tickle your forehead. Your eyes darted up just as you heard him mumble: “I think I really love you.”

“Cheol…” you breathed softly, looking up at him. “Come on.” Those words tugged at your heartstrings.

“I’m serious.” He said. “Dead serious.”

“Heh…” You smiled a bit as Cheol’s hands gripped your waist, fear in his touch that you would get up and leave. However, you only scooted closer, brushing hair from his face. Seungcheol looked down at you, his glazed and slightly drunk eyes shaking as they studied your face. “I love you too.” You breathed. “Just promise you’ll tell me again when you’re sober, okay?”

A deep chuckle, followed by: “Okay.” And a swift dip of his neck to offer you a kiss. You immediately returned it, both of your bodies melting together. Your hands snaked up to his neck, gripping it in an attempt to pull your closer to you so that you could never forget this moment even after your mind sobered up a bit. Seungcheol seemed to have the same idea, pulling you close to him by clinging to your waist.

When your hands slipped down to his chest, thumbs rubbing light circles right under his collarbones, Seungcheol pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. He took a second, both of you catching your breath before he spoke. “Want to see which of these things washes off first?” he asked. You nodded, smiling. Seungcheol grinned, standing up. Just as you got to your feet, Seungcheol pulled you close. His arms wrapped just under your butt, and you shrieked as he hoisted you up. Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist for support. It didn’t help much, as he staggered a bit in hopes of steadying himself. “Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?” you asked, looking down at him. “Uh, no.” he hummed, before spinning around and making his way into the bathroom.

Return to K-POP Masterlist Return to the 95/96 Line Masterlist

82 notes · View notes

comics-and-fanworks · 1 year

Note

Prompt for you (feel free to adjust this if you like)! Based on Princess Diana’s interview in 1995:

Marinette was interviewed by Lois Lane on live television about her past relationship with her former friends, bullying and harassment as well as abuse from her classmates. With Chloe, Marc, Nathaniel, Sabrina, Kagami and Luka as her only friends. Her mental health struggles including Marinette’s suicidal thoughts because Lila lied and falsely claimed about her, the toxic environment at her school and the reasons for her, Chloe, Marc, Nathaniel, and Sabrina to transfer to another school.

After the interview, it became number 1 trendy on Twitter and a national topic around the world. Bustier and Damocles were immediately fired from their jobs and had their license taken away, the class became pariahs from their peers in school and was excluded from any school activities and events. Their parents lost their jobs because of their kids' actions and nobody wants a bully parents to work for them. Lila and Alya were also sued by multiple celebrities for libel and defamation. Adrien was then stripped from his miraculous ring by Ladybug and his father sent him away to a very strict and harsh boarding school that his cousin Felix attended in London.

Hello! Thank you for the request!! I hope you like it, I tried to stay true to your original prompt, thank you again!!

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Past Abuse, Mentions of Violence, Bullying, Mentions of suicide, heavy angst

If you or someone you might know are struggling, please, please, PLEASE know that there are resources and people willing to help. It doesn't matter who you are, YOU ARE deserving of love and support!

There is a second message for this that was part two of the original request but I have no idea how to link the two.

~~~~

Marinette knew this was coming. She knew the second she decided to wear that dress to Fashion Week. She could feel everyone's eyes on the scars that ran up and down her body. She was covered in them, and almost all of them were inflicted by people she once considered friends. "This is a step towards healing," she remembered her therapist saying. "We may not like the past, but the more we try to run from it the faster it chases us," she remembered Luka humming as she ran her idea through him. "Your scars are not a sign of weakness," Kagami told her as they sparred, "A lion who has won many battles has many scars, and no one doubts its strength. Your scars are the mark of your strength." She took a deep breath and continued to walk forward. She could hear the paparazzi's cameras clicking as they took her picture. She would surely end up on the news, but Marinette decided, to let them talk. Let them talk about her scars and wonder where they came from, let them talk about who could have inflicted them on the designer. Let them talk until they finally decided to approach Marinette and ask. Despite her nerves telling her to curl up in a ball and hide, she kept her head high and walked down the red carpet like a queen walking to her throne. As soon as she was inside her phone buzzed, a message from Lois Lane. "Hi, honey. I saw the live feed from Fashion Week, are you going to be okay?" Marinette smiled as she read the message, Lois may be a reporter with a supernatural ability to detect a good story, but she was a mother first and was going to make sure her son's friend was alright. "I'll be okay. It was very scary because I knew everyone was staring," Marinette replied, she watched those little dots appear, and then Lois responded, "Do you want to talk about it? Off the record of course." It gave her a warm feeling to know that one of the greatest journalists was willing to let such a big story go to prioritize her comfort. She thought about it and replied, "Yeah, I would like to talk about it, but I'd like to talk about it on the record. Do you have some time in your schedule?" Lois's reply was almost instant, "Everything else can wait." Marinette typed out, "Perfect. I'll be in Metropolis in a week."

The first thing Marinette saw when she got off the plane was her friend Jon, followed by the airport's ceiling as she was quickly tackled into a hug. The two friends made small talk as she got her luggage and Jon decided to get her lunch. As they ate their conversation eventually turned to the reason for her trip. "Mari if you're uncomfortable at any time just say the word and mom will stop the interview. She's not like that one lady in Paris, she's not gonna push you into sharing anything you're uncomfortable with." Marinette sighed and picked at her food, "I know. That's why I want it to be Lois. She's the only one I can trust to let me tell my truth and not try to put some narrative on it or dig into more... private things," Jon nodded. His mother immediately figured out that Marinette was a hero. He remembered having to help his mom calm down the panicking girl and promising that if anyone could keep a secret identity a secret, it was Superman's wife. "If you don't mind, what made you decide to finally talk about all this?" Marinette's face contorted as she felt rage boiling in her stomach, "Damocles and Bustier still have their jobs," Jon gasped and Marinette continued, "It never would have gotten as bad if it did if they'd stepped in, but they refused! They refused to help me, and I bet they'll refuse to help others. I can't stand by and do nothing! I have proof of everything that was done to me, physical proof not just my word. I need to make sure they can't hurt anyone else," It felt so good to let out her anger without the fear of being akumatized for it. Taking a minute to calm down, Marinette continued, "I've also decided I'll be immigrating to Gotham. As much as I love my parents, I need to get out of Paris. So, this is also kind of one big last 'Fuck you' to the people who hurt me," Jon laughed, happy to see Marinette was still as feisty as ever. "Now what can I say to convince you to ditch Gotham and stay in Metropolis?" Marinette laughed, "Get my fiancé to move here, and then you've got a deal."

Lois really knew how to wrap the media around her finger and make a subconscious narrative, Marinette thought as she sat down on the porch of the Kent Family Farm. Mama and Papa Kent were more than happy to let Lois use it as a set for the interview, and when she asked Lois why the woman explained, "When people talk about something tough, or in our case hear you talk about something tough, they prefer to be in a safe environment. The farm has a very calming atmosphere, there's gentle background noise, and it's warm enough that we can be outside. Plus, it helps make you more sympathetic than an expensive set or a pricey hotel would. Most importantly, if it gets too overwhelming there are plenty of cute animals here to take your mind off things!" Marinette was a little concerned with just how well Lois understood how to paint a narrative but decided to roll with it. The two were in casual clothing as well, instead of the professional attire they were used to. Eventually, they were a couple minutes out from the camera feed going live, so Lois decided to give Marinette a rundown on how the process would work. "Ok honey, here's what's going to happen. I'll start off with an introduction explaining who you are and why we're here, and I'll ask you some basic small talk questions. After that, I'll ask about the scars, and it's your choice how much detail you wanna give. I'll base the rest of my questions off of what you tell me, so it will be like you and I just having a normal conversation. If at any time you need to stop, let me know and we'll cut the feed immediately. We've got a statement ready and everything, hell if you need me to I'll send the Super Boy Scouts to fetch Damian. Speaking of which you owe me an interview explaining how the hell you managed to charm that demon!" The two women laughed as they were told to take their places. The camera's light turned on, letting both women know they were now being broadcasted live to the entire world.

"Hello everyone! Thank you for joining us at such short notice. I'm Lois Lane and this gorgeous woman next to me is the marvelous designer Marinette Dupain-Cheng!" Marinette waved at the camera, trying to ignore the nerves in the pit of her stomach. "Mari started designing at only eight years old, and by the time she was fourteen, she had already started her own company and won multiple design competitions. She's one of those rare people with a special kind of spark. We first met when she attended a business conference that my son and his friend, her fiancé, by the way, happened to be at. I love this girl like a daughter, so Damian Wayne if you're listening, I'll kill you if you hurt her." Marinette laughed, she could practically hear the sound coming from Damian, a mix of indignation and shock that such a thing would ever be suggested. "I really could spend the whole interview just gushing about you Marinette, but then we'd have wasted your time and two plane tickets. As you know dear, the media has been speculating about you particularly intensely since Fashion Week. I'm not going to pull my punches, Mari," Lois said, the tone shifting to a more serious one as the older woman reached over to gently hold her hands, "What happened? Where did those scars come from?" Marinette took a deep breath; it was now or never. "For starters, they did NOT come from Chloe. Ever since she apologized and we worked on becoming friends, she has always been open and honest about how she bullied me in school. That stopped when I was fourteen and even at her worst she never physically hurt me. She's never denied what she did when we were young, and I want to make sure the message is clear." Lois nodded. The businesswoman had always been honest about how bitchy she was as a child, and as a result, created multiple organizations to deal with bullying. "I also want to be clear that these did NOT come from my parents. My Papa wouldn't hurt a fly and my Maman would only ever hurt someone who hurts her family." 'Smart move,' Lois thought. If she didn't clear it up, tabloids would certainly spread rumors that she was abused by her parents, and they didn't want that for Tom and Sabine.

"If I may, who did they come from? Or is it a bit more complicated than that?" "It's a bit more complicated. It was kind of like the perfect storm. I didn't realize it at the time, but my old school was a very toxic environment. My teacher was more concerned about preaching unconditional forgiveness and pushing problems under the rug. For example, I had paint poured on me right before our class photo, and instead of punishing the people who did it, she made me THANK them for "adding their creative touch" because I had designed my dress and obviously this was just them wanting to help." A screen behind them was showing the incident in question. Marinette managed to get the surveillance footage and audio of many examples of her bullying. Many of her tormentors had gone on to be successful, and if she didn't have proof she could be sued for defamation. "Chloe can back me up on this, but the principal wasn't much better. If you had money or power, he was at your beck and call. As a baker's daughter, I didn't have the resources a fashion heir, Mayor's daughter, and Diplomat's daughter did. So even in situations like the paint one, I was always in the wrong because if their children were in trouble, it would upset the money." Lois nodded, "It sounds like a lot of what happened to you was ignored. What about the school board?" "I tried to contact them, but they either never got my messages or ignored them. Either way, I had no adults I could trust, and anything I tried to make it stop only ended up backfiring." Marinette honestly had no idea why the school board never intervened. She called, emailed, and wrote letters, hell she was about to resort to telegraph.

"So, was it one person who bullied you, or was it, multiple people?" Lois asked. Her heart hurt for the young girl across from her. "It was everyone in my class except Chloe, Sabrina, and Nathaniel, my other friends, Kagami, Luka, and Marc weren't in my class. One girl led everything. Lila Rossi transferred to our class right before summer when I was thirteen. She was a liar, she claimed to know all these celebrities, go to all these countries, and do all these charities. Most of my class believed her right away, but I was always suspicious of her because I actually knew some of the people she lied about. I tried to call her out on it, and while a couple of my classmates like Nathaniel put the pieces together and realized she was full of bullshit, one classmate, Adrien Agreste, basically told me to shut up and take it. 'Take the high road,' he kept telling me even as he helped them shove me into lockers, shred my sketchbooks, and steal my stuff. He never physically hurt me, but he would cover for the others when they would. They would shove me down the stairs and I'd break an arm, and he would tell them that 'Typical clumsy Marinette tripped and feel.' They would cut me, cut my hair, and slice me with scissors," Marinette gestured to the many scars on her arm, "And he would tell any teachers that I was just not paying attention. They'd burn me with chemicals in the lab, and he would say I was goofing off. Thankfully Mrs. Mendeleev never believed that, and she had me come to her every time something happened so she could document it. It was all she could do with the principal being less than competent, and thanks to her I actually have a timeline of what happened and when," Marinette turned to face the camera, she had started crying a while ago but was still able to speak clearly, "Love ya, Mrs. M!"

"If you feel comfortable talking about it, how did their abuse, and let's be honest it was more like torture, affect you?" Marinette sighed and rubbed her wrists as she could feel herself sinking back into that feeling of dread she had dealt with each day. "I won't lie, it got to me, it really did. I struggled to sleep and was so scared to go to school that I'd get physically sick in the mornings. I completely shut myself off from the world for a while, it felt like I was on autopilot and just... doing what I had to do to survive." She took a couple of deep breaths and continued, "It didn't take long for me to believe what they were saying about me. My mental health was already screwed up thanks to Bustier, I had a martyr complex the size of Jupiter. I was taught to always be the peacemaker, always do things for others, and always take every burden. I would get in trouble if I asked for help or tried to decline to do something. I would get yelled at for asking to be paid back the thousands of dollars of costs I was taking on trying to please everyone else. So, when Lila, my classmates, and even Adrien began telling me that I was worthless, that they would be happier if I was gone, and that nobody would miss me if I died..." Marinette choked back a sob, but still tried to continue, "I spent many nights contemplating if I should take their advice and end it. I never did, primarily because I didn't want the people I loved to have to deal with the aftermath. Then, and to this day I don't know how she did it, but Lila got me blacklisted from Gabriel. She claimed to anyone who'd listen that I was an awful bully, I stole my designs, and that I only liked Adrien because I was a gold-digging whore. I had a crush on him at one time, but after what he did to me... He's dead to me. They all are. Anyways, it felt like my whole world shattered. I cried for days and stopped eating. Even though I've gotten better, I still struggle with my self-esteem. They told me I would never amount to anything, and I still struggle with trying not to believe them."

"How long were you in this awful situation?" Lois asked. She seriously considered signaling to the person controlling the TV that was set up behind them to cut the feed. Some of the injuries Marinette and Mrs. Mendeleev had taken photos of were truly awful, and the security camera feeds were tough to watch. But the world needed to know what had happened and needed to know that it wasn't okay. "I put up with it for two years, until I just... snapped. I couldn't take it anymore and broke down to my parents. I begged them not to send me there, I didn't care where they sent me to school, as long as it wasn't Dupont. I had kept so much from them because I was so scared they wouldn't believe me, that they'd be disappointed, that they'd tell me it was my fault," Marinette dabbed at her tears. Lois had told her to wear waterproof mascara and she was very grateful for it, "I never should have doubted them, Maman and Papa believed me, and had me switched to Luka and Kagami's school within the week. Marc, Chloe, Sabrina, and Nathaniel joined me shortly afterward. They told me that without the class punching bag infighting began, Lila apparently began a witch hunt of sorts. She began accusing anyone who even looked at her funny of bullying. They left before it could get much worse. It was a bit tough to adjust to my new school, I had my friends there, but I was still pretty quiet and kept to myself. My new classmates were so kind and patient with me, I think they understood that something really bad had happened to me. They never pushed me to tell them what happened, and while there were a couple of meaner students it was NOTHING compared to my old school. Because of them, and because I was in a healthier environment I was able to bounce back!"

Lois couldn't help the rush of pride she felt looking at the young woman. She remembered when she first met Marinette, who seemed rather shy and overwhelmed at that conference. She had offhandedly mentioned having to go get a dress for a press event and watching as a roaring fire was lit within Marinette's eyes. The girl had explained she was an aspiring fashion designer, and seemingly out of thin air she pulled out a sketchbook and pencil and began working. Lois swore the pencil was smoking with how fast the designer was working. She had been handed a sketch (and list of colors and materials) of the most beautiful dress she had seen. At said event, she was dubbed the best dressed and was quick to tell everyone she met about the talented teenager that had designed it. "One last question Mari, it's been a long day and I think you need TLC more than anyone right now. If you could face your tormenters today, what would you say to them?" Marinette took a deep breath and thought for a moment. "Well, I would like to say a few different things to a few people. To Lila, I want to say: I hope you're happy. You got everything you wanted and yet I'm still standing. I won't ask you why because I know why you did it: You could, plain and simple. To my classmates: I feel so sorry for you all, that you were so easily manipulated, that you were so quick to resort to violence on word of mouth alone. I feel sorry because you all were also victims of Mrs. Bustier, but in a different way than I was. You all were taught to expect someone to always carry the brunt of the load, and your bad behavior was encouraged. To Adrien: I know you're going to try and reach out to me and tell me to release a statement saying I made it up for attention. I can practically hear Nathalie typing it out now. I will not stand down, go ahead, and try to sue me, I have the evidence on my side. You were the only one who reached out to me after I changed schools, only to tell me to come back and that the problems the class had after I left were my fault. Leave me alone Adrien. I don't need you in my life and I don't want you in it. Stay the hell away from me." After she said this, a notification from Twitter pinged on everyone's phone. The tweet was from Damian Wayne and was quickly displayed on the screen behind the two women, 'On behalf of my Fiancée, legal action is being taken against her former tormenters, the people, and institutions that allowed this to happen and go on as long as it did. Don't bother harassing Marinette, this is completely out of her hands. If anyone decides to ignore her warnings or mine, a restraining order will be filed.'

The interview set off quite the explosion on the internet. May students of Dupont came out and confirmed Marinette's claims. It was trending for weeks and sparked international conversations about bullying. What shocked everyone was the severity of what Marinette endured, and it posed the question, "If she went through all that, who else could be going through similar things?" Suddenly the schoolboard had finally heard about what had happened to Marinette, and quickly fired Damocles and Bustier, primarily due to the public outrage that the two had flown under the radar. Investigations into their conduct revealed that Dupont did not just have a high akumatization rate, it also had a high suicide rate. Mrs. Mendeleev was revealed to have stayed primarily to try and help students escape such a bad environment and received a lot of praise. The school board finally released its statement, "We were greatly disturbed to hear of the abuse Mrs. Dupain-Cheng suffered at Collège Françoise Dupont and that educators under our employ did nothing to aid her. We were alarmed to hear that Mrs. Dupain-Cheng and her family tried to report her abuse and were unable to reach us. We are currently investigating this along with the many failures that led to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng's suffering. The two educators who were most responsible were let go and will no longer be in teaching positions. We sincerely apologize to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng and any others who have suffered due to oversights by the school board." The statement did not have the effect the school board had hoped for. The public largely found it unacceptable, and while they were happy Bustier and Damocles could no longer cause any damage, they were still infuriated and disturbed by the sheer ignorance (willful or not) of everything that went on within Dupont. An unexpected side effect of Marinette's interview was the scrutiny the parents of her bullies faced. People questioned how they could be so unaware of just what their children were doing and becoming, especially with Marinette making them so many things that obviously required time and money to make. Alya’s parents were criticized more harshly than the rest, primarily due to how many videos of the class's abuse were posted to the Ladyblog. The main question on everyone's mind was, 'How did this not get noticed sooner?'

Marinette's former classmates felt like their lives were imploding. They were served by the Wayne Lawyers, and it was made very clear to them that Damian Wayne was spearheading the fight against them, not Marinette. Adrien talked to his family lawyers about how they could get the suits dropped, and they told him, "Hell will freeze over before a Wayne backs down." Lila and Alya were hit with additional lawsuits from various others as well. Alya had posted Lila's many false claims about various celebrities on the Ladyblog, and their reputations had taken a hit. People began to wonder why so many famous people associated with Lila when all of her actions were revealed, and many PR teams had to work overtime to reassure the public that they had never met the girl in question. An investigation revealed that Lila had charged many of the class's shopping trips and expensive dinners to various celebrities' accounts, so she was also facing criminal charges as well. She had been effectively excommunicated from the class. After her lies came out and their actions were revealed they quickly cut contact. They were at a loss, their excuse for why they teased (They still refused to see it as anything more severe than light teasing) Marinette was because she was bullying Lila. Now that that was proven to be false, they searched for any reason to justify their actions. They can't really say that they were completely oblivious to Lila's lies, Marinette had tried to tell them multiple times and they had brushed her off thinking she was jealous that another girl was close to Adrien. Speaking of the blond, he had arranged a meeting at the Agreste Manor, and he looked like he hadn't slept since the interview. He wished he still had the Cat Miraculous, so he could escape this nightmare. He didn't want to admit it but the evidence of what he did and helped cover up was pretty damning, and it made the last words Ladybug had said to him the night she took his Miraculous all those years ago make sense, "Your actions as a civilian and in costume have proven that you are too irresponsible and immature to wield a Miraculous." He froze, Ladybug knew what he did. Ladybug, the love of his life, knew he helped make Marinette's life hell. His classmates looked at him as he was stuck in his mental turmoil, and they realized this was probably the first seriously negative press the Agreste Heir had ever gotten.

His image as Paris's Sunshine, a perfect gentleman who could do no wrong was ruined. All of their careers were, but they still held on to hope that they could save it. They didn't want to apologize, they didn't think they should have to, they were deceived by Lila after all. Adrien had hired a PR team to figure out what they should do, he had also asked privately what he should do. They had suggested a public apology and then disappearing from the public eye for a while. Thankfully his aunt and cousin agreed to let him stay with them, although he knew that Felix was never gonna let him live this down. His cousin called the second the interview finished and ripped into him. It had been incredibly hard for him to watch, and his classmates said the same. Seeing all those scars on Marinette, watching her breakdown, seeing the injuries he had helped cause, and watching the security footage of what they did... He had run to the bathroom and thrown up. Were they really that bad? Come to think of it, he remembered Marinette switching to long sleeves after they pushed her down the stairs and broke her... He was going to be sick again. His father was managing his own crisis, with his blacklisting of Marinette without solid evidence being put on blast. People were boycotting Gabriel, and it seemed like everything he did to try and fix the situation made it worse. He was brought back to the present by the cough of the man from the PR company. "Alright, now that I have everyone's attention, this is by far one of the most difficult cases I've seen in my career," Alya cut in, "We weren't that bad! Besides, it was so long ago, and I'd hardly call what we did bullying-" "Mrs. Césaire what you all did to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng is considered torture! Thank your lucky stars the statute of limitations is up, and you were children at the time, people have gone to prison for a long time for doing much less than what you all did!" To emphasize his point, he began playing the parts of the interview that showed the extent of Marinette's injuries. No one could bring themselves to look at the screen, a couple started to cry, and Adrien felt bile rise in his throat. The PR expert continued, "This goes far beyond simple bullying, you all are lucky Mrs. Dupain-Cheng did not make an attempt on her life. You are especially lucky that she said you were victims of Mrs. Bustier's utterly abysmal failings as an educator. But-" He cut Alya off before she could start,"-That does not mean you're completely Scott-free. You all still made the conscious choice to do what you did to Mrs. Dupain-Cheng, and that cannot be excused by being misled or having an enabler for a teacher. The best you can do is apologize and admit what you have done was wrong. You'll have to pray that Mrs. Dupain-Cheng decides to throw you a bone, and you WILL NOT contact her to try and force her to forgive you. That is absolutely the worst thing you can do because it will come off as if you haven't changed at all. The best thing you can do is apologize, admit you were in the wrong, and leave. Her. Alone. I will arrange an interview of our own so you can publicly apologize, a script will be written, and you'd better not deviate from it."

Nadja Chamack was the only journalist willing to interview them. It was decided that they would use the same format Marinette did and that Adrien would do most of the talking. After a brief introduction, their apology interview began. "What brings you all here today, especially after the shocking revelations that have come out," Nadja asked. She hated that she had to stick to a script, if she had it her way she would be asking the REAL questions, 'Why do you think Marinette is speaking about this now? Do you think she has something to gain? Isn't it a little fishy that she has the Wayne legal team suing you all and not her own? Do you think she's hiding something, or is she trying to get revenge?' Her producers stressed that she had to stick to the script because they would not hesitate to fire her if she began making such allegations. Adrien spoke, trying to keep himself composed, "We're here because we saw Marinette's interview, we saw how our actions hurt her, and we wanted to publicly apologize to her. We know what we did was wrong, and we were assholes. We wanted to explain our side, we know it won't fix anything or make things right, but we owe Marinette an explanation." He was doing exactly what his PR team told him to do, sounding sincere and referring to Marinette by her first name to establish a connection. Nadja nodded for him to continue, so he did, "When Lila came to school and began telling us about all the things she did and people she knew, it wasn't that hard to believe. I'm a model, Alya ran the Ladyblog, Rose knew Prince Ali, and Marinette had all these amazing connections. We weren't surprised that a diplomat's daughter knew all these people, and it wasn't exactly out of the norm for a class like ours. Somehow Marinette found out she was lying, and we refused to believe her." It was Alya's turn to speak, and the importance of staying on the script was highlighted to her, "Marinette had a massive crush on Adrien at the time, and she had gotten jealous of other girls before, so we figured this was just another one of those episodes. We also wanted to believe the best in Lila and give her the benefit of the doubt, it was what Mrs. Bustier had taught us."

Nadja couldn't help herself, she had to ask, "Adrien, when did you find out about Marinette's crush on you? How did you feel about it?" "I found out a few weeks before she transferred, and at the time I was shocked. It explained so much, about why she was so shy around me, why she was willing to listen to my awful advice. I was fully wrapped up in Lila's web then, and couldn't see past my massive crush on Ladybug so I tried to convince myself that she was a bully, and her crush was weird, but now? Now I wish I hadn't been such a coward. I wish I had seen that such an amazing girl was in front of me, if I could go back and do it differently I would. I would have stood up for her, I would have had her back for real. My biggest regret is that I didn't help her when she needed me and that I didn't reach out sooner to apologize and fix things. I lost the most amazing woman to Damian Wayne, and I’ll always regret that.” A small part of him hoped that Marinette still held a small flame for him and that he’d have a chance. He did some thinking and realized that Marinette was likely (he wasn’t 100% sure) Ladybug. If he could win her back, then he had a chance to convince his Lady to return his Miraculous, and that they were meant to be. Ladybug had no reason to be active, she defeated Hawkmoth and Mayura by herself, and had gone around the world gathering the remaining Miraculous. Part of his theory that the two were one and the same was that Marinette’s Fiancé and his family are in Gotham and are most likely providing funding for the Bat Family, and a new hero called Lady Miracle had been spotted patrolling with them, and she was reported to have multiple powers. These powers lined up with the Miraculous and her costume changed as she used them, so the two women were either one and the same or working together. Had Adrien developed these logical deduction skills earlier he would have recalled Marinette’s declaration that he was dead to her. Both the producer and PR rep were signaling to get back on the script or else their interview would be cut short. Nadja went on to the next question, “Okay, I can understand falling for someone whose life sounded similar to yours, but what I can’t understand is why you decided to pick on Marinette?”

Adrien took a deep breath, “Well Nadja, just like Marinette said in her interview with Mrs. Lane, it was a really complicated situation. What we believe now is that Marinette never bullied Lila, we know it was the other way around,” Rose cut in, going off script, “Mari didn’t have a mean bone in her body!” She sobbed into her hands, “I don’t know why we believed that, that witch over her.” “She told us what we wanted to hear,” Max sighed, “Lila promised us that she could introduce us to her important friends who could advance our careers and whether we consciously realized it or not we were willing to do almost anything to stay in her good graces.” Adrien shot them a look and continued, “My theory is that Lila gave Marinette an ultimatum, play along or she’d make Mari’s life hell. Not long after Lila began modeling for my father’s company, she began claiming Marinette was doing various things like stealing answer sheets, stealing from her, and pushing her down the stairs. Marinette was expelled without an investigation, and because we were kids, we trusted that the adults in charge were following procedures. She was reinstated, and Lila began claiming Marinette was tormenting her again. Like Max said, we were worried that if Lila didn’t believe we supported her then she would refuse to help us, but it mostly comes down to the fact that Lila lied well, and we were scared. She would claim Marinette beat her up after school and would come into school the next day with bruises. We suspect now that she was using makeup. Lila never outright said to hurt Marinette, but she was great at implying it. She said that she wished Marinette knew what the hurt she caused felt like and that If it happened to Marinette, she might quit being a bully. I think it was a case of falling into groupthink and fear. Everyone else around us seemed to believe Lila so fully, and anyone who didn’t was outcasted and treated terribly. We were afraid to challenge her, afraid to challenge the group, and we genuinely didn’t realize just how far we had escalated. I swear we never intended to hurt Marinette so badly, we sort of mindlessly followed along with what Lila suggested. When she and a couple of our other classmates transferred, Lila’s control snapped, and it was like waking up from a bad dream. She began to see her control slipping and began accusing others of doing the same things she accused Marinette of doing. It got to the point where she accused all of us of bullying her, and we realized she was full of shit. We realized what kind of person she was, and what we had become and decided to go our separate ways.” Nadja frowned. They had literally been spotted hanging out with Lila the week before Marinette was at Fashion Week and this whole thing began. If they had known Lila was a lying sociopath back in school, why the hell were they still hanging out with her? What about Marinette’s evidence? She had phone calls from Adrien demanding she returns to fix Lila’s mess, and evidence that he had known the whole time that Lila was lying. She may not be at Lois Lane’s level of reporting, but she could smell bullshit when it was in front of her, and judging by the look on her producer’s face, he’d caught on as well. Their PR agent nodded along, which told her that this was the narrative they created. They weren’t telling the truth, at least not the full truth, they were trying to slip out of trouble like they always did. Nadja remembered Marinette’s drastic change when she came to babysit Manon and listening to what these young adults were trying to spin confirmed that her earlier questions about Marinette’s interview were unfounded. Then she saw it: The signal from her producer, she could go off the script!

“Now Adrien,” She started in a tone she usually saved for when Manon was being challenging, “I’m not sure we were watching the same interview. I clearly remember some evidence Marinette presented showing that you all had fun tormenting her. I also remember that she had recordings of you demanding she comes back and fixes Lila’s mess. You called her a punching bag and said that the class needed its punching bag back otherwise they would begin ‘taking things out on each other.’ That’s not exactly what you’re telling me here. You all were spotting spending time with Lila before fashion week, and you seemed to be thick as thieves with her. So let me ask you this: Why are you lying to me?”

Adrien looked like a deer caught in the headlights, and so did his PR agent. They hadn’t expected Nadja to question their story, “I… We might have remembered some events differently. Most importantly, we want Marinette to know how sorry we are for everything that happened and what we did. We know that what Mrs. Bustier taught us is wrong, we are not owed her forgiveness, but we hope that she can find it in her heart to forgive us. Hopefully, we can work on rebuilding our friendship, but we understand that wounds like the ones we caused take time to heal. Mari, when you’re ready, please reach out to us. We’d love to apologize in person as well.” Nadja rolled her eyes. Looking at this bunch, it was obvious the sincerity wasn’t there. They acted like children getting caught sneaking an extra cookie when Nadja brought up Marinette’s evidence proving they weren’t as remorseful as they claimed to be. The fact that they only recently cut off Lila proved that they were lying and had planned to use her as a scapegoat. Nadja decided to make one last attack, “When she’s ready? She made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with you all. Why do you all think she owes you her attention and friendship after everything you did? You hurt her, yet here you all are acting like you’re the injured party!” “We are the injured party! Marinette’s little pity party ‘poor me’ attention whore act cost us our careers! She’s being overdramatic like she always is and now WE’RE suffering because she couldn’t take a little teasing,” Alya yelled with her classmates voicing their agreement. Everyone in the studio froze. The PR representative was shaking his head, while everyone else was in shock. The former Dupont students realized their mistake and quickly tried to backtrack only to be cut off by Nadja, “We are done. I will not let you use my coworkers or me to harass that girl anymore! You clearly cannot see the error of your ways and blame her for the misfortune you brought on yourselves. I may not be at Lois Lane’s level of journalism, but I am not a fool, and I will not be a puppet for you to spread your pitiful self-gratifying apology. Let’s be honest, you all clearly don’t care about the hurt you caused Marinette, you just care about the damage the truth did to your reputations. Get out of my studio! Get out of this building!” And with that, the interview was cut.

Their interview was trending, but it wasn’t for the reasons they had hoped. If they had done anything, it was throwing gas onto the fire. People almost couldn’t believe how heartless and totally unaware they were, that was clear from the various social media posts. “WOW. You guys are making grey sweatshirt Influencer apology videos look more sincere.” “Ew. Just. Ew. I used to like Adrien Agreste but now? No way. Watch out Damian Wayne he’s coming to steal his punching bag back.” “Teasing? Teasing doesn’t leave MULTIPLE SCARS.” “That was so self-serving. I gotta admit I feel terrible for whoever they hired for PR. Talk about letting the true colors out.” “I gotta give Nadja Chamack some credit! I was not expecting that level of journalism and take-no-bullshit out of her!” Twitter was having a field day with the live interview, and the statement released by Marinette’s former tormenters apologizing for their behavior during the interview and to Marinette didn’t fair much better. It was safe to say they had lost whatever little goodwill they had with the public. Lila had taken a slightly different approach. She did her own interview claiming that she never wanted Marinette to be hurt physically and that it was their former classmates that took things way too far. She cried that she was so, so sorry and that all she had wanted was to impress her classmates who had much more exciting lives than she did. Lila revealed that she had a crush on Adrien as well and was jealous of Marinette whom she saw as a threat. She explained that she spread rumors about Marinette hoping that Adrien would believe them and think Marinette was a bully, but their classmates took it too far. Lila claimed that she wanted to reveal that she’d made it all up, but she was scared that their classmates would turn on her and hurt her. She expressed shock that her friends would throw her under the bus for their wrongdoings and had her own apology for Marinette. Her interview was met with a bit more sympathy until someone (We all know it was Tim) released the recordings of Lila threatening Marinette and expressing to her victim the delight she took in watching Marinette being hurt by their classmates. Suddenly Lila’s image of the ‘Girl who made a few bad choices trying to impress her classmates and crush’ was shattered, and on top of all the lawsuits her public lies on the Ladyblog brought her, she was shunned as well. Gabriel, trying to cut his losses, fired Lila, and released a statement claiming that she was the one giving him false information on Marinette. However, Lila was determined to go down fighting and revealed her ace: Gabriel Agreste was Hawkmoth, and his assistant was Mayura. She had somehow collected evidence linking him to it while she worked for him as a model and as an Akuma provider.

The outrage was gigantic, with Ladybug having to return to explain that she had tried to go to the police, but they had not believed her or the proof she had. Ladybug had hung onto that proof, such as the gigantic map she had of where all the Akumatizations happened, and where the purified butterflies returned to. The French Federal Government decided to investigate how the Parisian Government had handled Hawkmoth, and they also decided to investigate Ladybug. They had found a young woman (whose identity they kept anonymous) who had been forced into the role by chance but had thankfully turned out to be incredibly competent. They found that she had worked within the law and had tried on multiple occasions to work with the police, but they had rejected her. Once she had discovered who Hawkmoth was she went to them, only to get laughed out of the police station. Why she wasn’t believed was something that was still unknown to the Investigators, but they had found Ladybug to be a superb hero. She was cleared, and given full permission to operate in France, should she ever choose to return. Chat Noir did not fare as well and was thoroughly raked over the coals by the report that was released. He had started out alright, but as time went on he quickly began to act out. He prioritized flirting and trying to win Ladybug’s affection and would refuse to help or even show up when she didn’t humor him. The report also revealed that he had been harassing civilians, such as one Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The designer had to explain that she had met Chat during an Akuma attack, and they’d become friends before his behavior worsened. Then after that, he’d harassed her on behalf of his other friend, Adrien Agreste. Twitter was on fire after this revelation, and #GiveMariABreak was trending.

No one knew who leaked Chat Noir’s identity, but theories were abundant. Some believed one of the investigators had loved ones who had suffered from Akuma attacks and Chat Noir’s behavior, and another group thought that the Waynes were behind it. They said that the Waynes were so enraged by the treatment their youngest’s fiancée had received at the hands of people who would have otherwise escaped punishment, that they decided to completely destroy her former tormentors. Considering Damian brought out the Wayne legal team, and Tim leaked the Lila Files, it was definitely possible that both theories could be true. What everyone did know, is that this outrage would go down in history. Adrien was still catching a lot of heat from the horrendous interview, which certainly did not help his case. It was quickly cleared up that he had no idea his father was Hawkmoth, and while officially on the report it said there was no evidence that he’d helped his father, the public speculation could not be stopped. In the chaos, photos were released of Ladybug landing on Marinette’s balcony and entering her room. These were brushed off as nothing surprising, surely the two women that were constantly harassed by the same man (even if they didn’t realize it) would find each other and start a support group. Adrien made a public plea for Ladybug to back him up and explain that he was a good hero, but it would seem that the Heroine of Paris had disappeared into hiding. It was clear that she had turned her back on him, just like he had turned on her all those years ago. He narrowly escaped getting charged along with Gabriel and Nathalie, but that didn’t stop the barrage of civil lawsuits he got hit with. The year ended with many trials, and the Wayne legal team proved why they were not to be messed with. Shortly after, a documentary was announced, to permanently document the fall of so many powerful people.

The documentary was a hit and contained all of the interviews that had taken place in the saga. The documentary was released at a party hosted by Bruce Wayne to celebrate his new Daughter-in-Law’s success, and it was met with rave reviews. But where was Marinette during the outcome of her interview? The designer had decided to step back from the spotlight until the mess had been resolved and hadn’t been seen in public since the initial interview. She was currently standing in the Wayne Manor with her husband, preparing to walk into the ballroom for her first public appearance as a Wayne. She was nervous. What if people began claiming that she’d only done this to take down a business rival? What if people accused her of making all of it up? She was brought back to reality by her husband, who pulled her into his arms. Damian gently kissed her forehead and whispered, “What’s bothering you, My Love?” Marinette had told him what had happened to her a year after the two became friends, and her bullies were lucky Bruce stopped him from going on a rampage. When he was watching his Darling’s interview with Lois at the Manor with the rest of his family, he could feel that fury reignite. It was also the first time his family learned about the abuse Marinette had endured (and suddenly his protectiveness made sense), so when he asked his father for the contacts for the Wayne legal team, Bruce had happily given them to him. Marinette took a deep breath, “I guess I’m just nervous, this is my first time being in public since everything came out and…” “And you’re worried that you’ll be walking into a den of lions.” Mari nodded, still amazed that he always seemed to know exactly what was wrong.Damian took a small step back and brushed a strand of hair out of her face, “My Jewel, you’ll be fine, I promise. The world believed you when you told them, you had strong evidence to support you, it’s illogical for them to turn on you now. Besides,” He gently poked her cheek, “Lila exposed Gabriel Agreste as Hawkmoth in a last-ditch effort to save herself. Think about it this way,” he gently twirled her around, admiring as the crystals she had hand sown into the stunning train on her dress sparkled. It was a tradition for every new member of the Wayne Family to debut in an all-black outfit, and Marinette had designed the most stunning dress in the Family’s history. “We attend the party, which is your debut as my gorgeous wife and I want to brag, and afterward we can go home, order some takeout, and binge-watch whatever you want on the couch with the Kwamii and the cats.” Damian would gladly and proudly admit that his wife brought out a side in him that he didn’t know he had, and Marinette was the only person he was regularly affectionate with. She was his star, and he wanted everyone to know how amazing she was. Marinette laughed, “Well I suppose we could do that; you drive quite the hard bargain Mr. Wayne.” The couple laughed, and all of Marinette’s worries evaporated as they entered the ballroom.

The young couple was met with hushed awe as they walked in, the wind from the open balcony doors catching parts of Marinette’s train. She looked ethereal in her gown, a stunning black dress with a long train that sparkled like stars in the void. The dress was form-fitting, with a galaxy of crystals wrapping around her body, coming to frame the neckline of her dress. It was an off-the-shoulder gown with a low V-neck. Marinette’s hair was done in an elegant bun, and the only jewelry she wore was her Miraculous, disguised as a pair of diamond earrings. The only other color she wore was blood-red lipstick. She looked like a goddess, elegant and regal, and held herself as if she was one. Despite the scars that littered her body, she stood proud, they were a part of her and would always be. The crowd began to murmur as the two youngest Waynes joined the rest of their family, “Is that Marinette? She looks spectacular!” “I heard she based parts of her dress off Princess Diana's Revenge Dress.” “I definitely believe that! She certainly looks like royalty!” “I’m surprised she’s showing her scars.” “Why wouldn’t she? The world should know what happened to her, and there’s no shame in being a survivor.” Kagami was right, no one doubts a victor’s scars. Cameras flashed, capturing her image from every angle as she talked with her parents and in-laws, and soon she was quickly whisked away by Damian to dance and mingle. She had to fight back a laugh, he loved letting everyone know that he had married this fantastic woman, despite the fact that the two bickered like cats and dogs when they were younger. He also knew that her old classmates were watching from their homes and wanted them to see the phoenix that had risen from the ashes. Damian wanted to drive the point home that while they had attempted to break Marinette, she was stronger. As the two danced and talked, the media had already begun crafting tomorrow’s newspapers. By the time the two had said their goodbyes and left the party for the night, the first article was out. ‘The Revenge Dress has a Successor: Marinette Wayne’s Revenge Look.’

#adrien salt #lila salt #marinette deserves better #maribat #class salt #gabriel salt #marinette dupain cheng #ml x dc #daminette #possibly triggering #read with caution

1K notes · View notes