#a fraction of what i usually write but its all i got :sob: | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ppersonna · 3 years

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swipe right - jjk | m

“ i wanna ruin our friendship. we should be lovers instead. i don't know how to say this, cause you're really my dearest friend “ - jenny, studio killers

♡ summary- after a horrible breakup, you sign back up for tinder and ironically match with your best friend, jungkook. a date for fun is harmless, right?

♡ genre- best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, jk is a minecraft streamer, brother namjoon, brother-in-law jimin, namjoon is kind of a himbo stay at home dad ngl, ex-boyfriend seokjin (mentioned but doesnt show up)

♡ word count- 9k

♡ warnings- mentions of a bad breakup (smh seokjin wtf??), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (u know the business folx), oral sex (m receiving), teasing, SO MUCH BODY WORSHIP, jk is a simp, slight dirty talk, lots of just talking during sex yall it happens, creampie, cum play, praise praise body worship praise, did i mention body worship, tit-fucking, cum eating, i think thats all.

♡ a/n - helloooo and thank you for your wait for this fic! i’m so happy its done and i loved writing it! it’s a little bit different feel for my usual style of writing (smut-wise) so please tell me your thoughts! i didn’t use dom/sub themes OR a daddy kink LMAOOOO praise me please. i hope you enjoy!! pls feel free to comment, chat, message, carrier pigeon, email, mail, WHATEVER U WANT, me. i love u babies. thank you to @kimtaehyunq for the sexy banner. and for @xjoonchildx @ladyartemesia @untaemedqueen for the writing support and idea generation. i would be nothing without my council. and thank you to my beta editors @hobi-gif and @ughseoks and @hongism for the perusal and help in writing this!

Jungkook is the person you call when your world falls apart.

He answers, voice raspy from the late hour, and the second he asks you what’s wrong, the downpour of torrential tears you’ve been holding back finally escapes and you’re sobbing through the phone that you just lost the love of your life—that he left and with little effort on his part, and a lot on yours.

Jungkook listens to you—his heart aching deep in his chest at hearing the utter heartbreak that’s clear in your voice. You’ve never been hurt like this, and he’s desperate to hold you, to make it go away. He wants to drive over to Seokjin’s house and throw a left hook into his stupid, handsome face for making you feel you weren’t worth it.

Because if there’s anything in the world that Jungkook knows, it’s that you’re worth it. You’re worth everything. Add up all the money and all the gold in the entire world, and it still doesn’t meet a fraction of what you’re worth to him.

“Where are you?” He asks as he cradles the phone against one arm and pulls on his jeans.

You sniffle. “Jungkook, it’s 3 am.”

“So? I was up playing Minecraft,” He lies. “Where are you?”

You can’t help but laugh the tiniest bit, a sliver of warmth wrapping itself around your raw and exposed heart. Like a balm to a flesh wound. It doesn’t heal it, not yet.

“I’m at our park.”

Jungkook smiles as he grips the phone back in his hand. The park. The place you and Jungkook spent your childhood playing make-believe games, and formative teenage years loitering around smoking clove cigarettes to look cool.

“Give me five minutes, okay?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you.

“Okay.”

Jungkook arrives with two minutes to spare. His beat up Nissan that he insists is “vintage” and “priceless” idles next to you.

He can see you through the darkened glass of your car—your mascara is running down your face, tears streaked through your flawlessly applied makeup.

You still look so beautiful.

And it angers Jungkook that all that time you spent looking good for Seokjin meant nothing to him.

He motions for you to come over, pats the passenger seat next to him and smiles as he watches you open the door and slide into the security of his familiar car.

“You cleaned your car,” you murmur as you notice a severe lack of McDonald’s trash.

He sniffs haughtily.

“The trash added character.”

Jungkook doesn’t give you a chance to respond. Instead, he’s unbuckling his seatbelt and pulling you as close to him as he can get you. The instant his arms wrap around your body, the floodgates open again and your once-quieted tears turn back into full-fledged sobs.

“I loved him,” you gasp through the pain in your throat.

He rubs your back, pats your hair gently, soothing you the way he has for years now. Through every breakup, through every family fight with your older brother Namjoon, through all the mean girls in high school. Jungkook is the north star—always consistent, always guiding you back to safety.

“I know, babe,” he sighs. “You deserve someone who’s going to treat you right, who’s not just going to give up when things get hard.”

You choke back a cry against his Patagonia hoodie and bury your face further into the crook of his neck. He smells like Old Spice and the shampoo he uses, along with the smell of laundry soap you buy for him—he uses dish soap when he runs out and nearly broke his washing machine last time.

“I thought he was the one. I’m so stupid.”

Jungkook swallows hard. Tonight is about comforting you, not about feeling sorry for himself that you’re his best friend and not his girlfriend. He can’t help but think of what kind of life he would give you. He knows it’s one that wouldn’t end with you crying in a parking lot at 3 AM.

“You’re not stupid, you just loved him. And there’s nothing stupid about loving someone, even if it doesn’t work out,” he sighs as he cradles your head against him. It feels right having you there, pressed up against him and seeking comfort from the solace of his arms.

“Let’s go get a milkshake, yeah?” He asks as you pull your head up and look at him with sad, glassy eyes.

“Yeah,” you nod after a moment of staring.

Jungkook’s eyes sparkle with love, with hope. It makes the desperate, alone feeling inside you—disappear. Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your forehead and then starts the shaky ignition of his car, that takes three cranks of the key before it turns over.

He sends you a look, a laugh evident on your face.

“Don’t even start,” he warns. “The engine is fine.”

“Whatever you say,” you snort as you wipe an errant tear from your face.

“It’s a certified classic car! I could get millions for this baby!”

As the weeks pass, the pain of losing Seokjin becomes further and further from your mind. You can get through the day without crying anytime you see something that reminds you of him and even start flirting with others without feeling like you’re cheating.

You just still haven’t reached the point where dating someone else even feels possible. You’re terrified of allowing someone close to you, letting them into a place where you’re inviting them to possibly hurt you. You’re not sure your heart is ready for it.

“I think you’re just scared,” your older brother Namjoon states as he warms up a bottle of milk in boiling water.

He cradles his new baby in one arm while the other works at the bottle of milk.

“I’m not scared,” you huff. “I just don’t think it’s the right time.”

Namjoon sighs and hands the gurgling newborn baby off to you and readies the bottle for you to feed your new niece, Jisoo.

“Look, Seokjin sucks, okay? I know you two were together for some time, but in the end, he wasn’t the right one for you. There’s someone out there who is the right one for you. You know how many shit frogs I had to kiss before I got my prince?”

You make a face as you feed Jisoo, who happily sucks and gazes at the lights above.

“You call Jimin a prince?”

Namjoon sighs dreamily as he watches the baby and thinks of his husband.

“The dreamiest prince,” he breathes, eyes closed in bliss. “But back to your problems. I think you should get back out there. Go on some dates, meet some people. No one is telling you to fall in love and get married tomorrow. Just go have some fun.”

You allow Namjoon’s words to mull through your mind. What could be the harm in joining a few dating sites, perhaps spending some time at the gym or grocery store flirting with someone cute?

“Fine,” you say. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. I can’t be the only one giving our parents grand-babies. Soo needs a cousin.”

You smile down at the tiny bundle in your arms and imagine a future where you have a baby of your own.

“Okay, I’m not trying to get knocked up, Joon.”

“Whatever,” he sighs. “Help me choose a wall color for me and Jimin’s new master bathroom.”

Tinder’s changed since the last time you used it, years ago. It’s gone from any semblance of dating to strictly an app used to get laid.

It’s discouraging swiping through all the obvious fuckboys. Sure, a quick and easy lay sounds great, but you’re also trying to go out and enjoy real, traditional dates, and it seems none of these guys want to step foot outside of a bedroom.

The swiping left becomes almost monotonous. You’re sitting on your couch, watching some documentary about serial killers, when a startling profile pops up on your Tinder feed.

The picture that pops up is... Jungkook. You can’t stop the bubble of laughter that leaps from your chest. His profile is so authentically Jungkook that you’re swiping right before you even know it.

Your brain doesn’t even comprehend what a match with Jungkook means, really. You’re still laughing as you click on the bubble to message him and send him as many laugh emojis as you can.

“Hey guys, what’s up, Kookie here with another Let’s Play Minecraft video for ya. Be sure to like and subscribe if you enjoy this kind of content.”

Jungkook’s headset is firmly wrapped around his head, mic next to his mouth and hands at the ready on his mouse and keyboard. He’s set and in the zone.

The game is well into play when the familiar chime of his phone goes off. It’s a Tinder notification—he can tell by the sound. He can’t help but roll his eyes, wondering what sort of boring conversation he’s meant to have with a girl who will probably ghost him, anyway.

He lazily lifts his phone and glances at the notification, before dropping it back to the desk.

His hand freezes on his mouse as he finally comprehends what he just read.

He just matched with YOU.

His best friend.

His secret, lifelong crush.

He sputters something into the microphone and stops recording his game, wildly grasping for the phone and unlocking it.

YN: 😂😂😂😂 is your bio a Minecraft pickup line?!

He pauses, attempts to collect his thoughts, before desperately typing on his screen.

JUNGKOOK: Why? 😉😏 did it work?

You spend the rest of your night jokingly flirting with Jungkook, sending GIFs and emojis in between the silly lines you’re using on each other.

Right before you’re about to head to sleep, Jungkook sends one last message.

JUNGKOOK: What if we went on a date lolol. Haha jk. Unless?? 👀👀👀

Your thumbs hover over the keys to your phone.

A date with Jungkook? Even though you matched with him, you’ve never thought of a date with your childhood best friend.

YN: alright, it’s only fair since we matched 😝 show me how you treat these tinder ladies

“I have a date with Jungkook tonight,” you tell your brother, Namjoon, over the phone.

Over the crying of your newborn niece, you hear Namjoon splutter in confusion.

“You what!?” He nearly screams. “Jeon Jungkook? Like... the annoying kid you’ve been friends with since fourth grade?”

You huff.

“He’s not annoying! He’s my best friend. We ironically matched on Tinder and… Well, why the fuck not? Nothing serious is going to happen. We’ll go out and have a story to tell about how incompatible we are.”

Namjoon doesn’t reply. Instead, you hear him speak to his husband.

“She’s going on a date with Jungkook,” he says over the muffle of his hand on the receiver.

There’s a shuffle, and the dulcet voice of your brother-in-law, Jimin, comes over the line.

“Girl,” he starts. “What the fuck?”

You chuckle as you move about your closet, trying to decide what’s appropriate to wear on a date with your best friend.

“It’s nothing!”

“Mm-hmm,” Jimin tuts. “You know the boy is in love with you.”

“Okay, Chim, you’ve been spending too much time cooped up with my brother. It’s affecting your grip on reality.”

“Sure, honey. I just tell it like it is. Don’t break his heart.”

You roll your eyes.

“I won’t break his heart because there’s nothing there, Jimin.”

“I’ll be expecting your call later.”

“Yes, dad. Love you guys.”

“We love you too, sweetheart. But really, don’t break that poor boy’s heart.”

You open your mouth to retort yet another reassurance that there’s nothing to break, but the line goes dead.

“Fucking Jimin,” you mutter as you throw your phone to the bed.

You can’t allow yourself to think that Jungkook might have feelings for you. It’s totally out of the questions. He’s your best friend. The guy who shoves Cheetos up his nose to make you laugh and falls asleep during every movie night with his face in the popcorn bowl. He’s just Jungkook. This date is just a funny way to hang out.

So, why do you care so much about what you wear?

You’re still standing in front of your closet, attempting to find something respectable to wear. It doesn’t matter that the last time Jungkook saw you; it was with mascara streaming down your face and a hoodie from Namjoon’s college swimming days and ripped leggings. Jungkook has seen you in nearly everything you wear, so your indecisiveness gives you pause.

Do you want Jungkook to be attracted to you? Do you want to do your best to look as presentable as you would for a normal date?

The thudding of your heart tells you that maybe you’re more interested in this being a date than you’re allowing yourself to believe.

You shake all thoughts off.

No, you won’t allow yourself to overthink a night that should just be fun.

You settle for a fitted and simple summer dress, tights and heels. Simple, easy, respectable but also showing enough cleavage and sculpt of your ass to ensure you look more dressed up than not.

Perfect.

With one last look in the mirror, you’re ready.

JUNGKOOK: I’m outside!

ME: See you soon!

Jungkook taps his foot anxiously as he sits on the bench outside your apartment. His tight black jeans feel like a second skin on his legs, and the black button-down shirt he’s tucked in makes him rethink his choice of outfit.

Is he too casual?

He’s never really worn something like this around you. This is what Jungkook wears when he wants to seduce. This is what every girl he’s desperately wished was you got to see. The girls who swooned over his messy hair, the way his jeans display his toned thighs, the peek of skin at his throat.

Maybe it’s too much.

Maybe he’s afraid he’ll scare you away.

Maybe he’s afraid you won’t like it.

He’s given no chance to ruminate anymore because you’re exiting the building and walking straight towards him.

He doesn’t think he remembers how to breathe.

It’s as if you walk towards him in slow motion. Angels chorus around him and the setting sun sparkles on your face like a spotlight. There’s nothing in the world anymore, nothing but you.

You’re the most beautiful human he’s ever seen in his life.

“Hi,” you smile as you approach him.

He continues to stare, eyes traveling over the soft curves of your cheeks and jaw, trailing down to the way your dress clings just right to each dip of your body. His throat goes dry.

You are without a doubt the girl of his dreams.

“Jungkook?”

It pushes him out of his reverie, eyes widening as he realizes he’s been staring at you for maybe a few minutes too long to play off as normal.

“Hey!” He coughs, attempting to right himself.

“You okay?” You ask, eyebrow lifted in concern.

“Yeah! Yup! Totally! I’m okay—a-okay, absolutely great.” He internally slaps himself.

“You clean up nice,” you smile as your eyes elevate up and down the lean form of his body.

“Oh?” He asks, taken aback.

In his daze, he never even realized what you’re thinking about him, rather only how intensely he was thinking about you.

“This must be the Jungkook that all the girls in college couldn’t stop begging me to hook them up with.”

His cheeks flame with sudden embarrassment, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it awkwardly.

“Ha, yeah,” he swallows. “You look r-really nice too. I don’t think I’ve seen you in a dress since your brother’s wedding.”

The smile that he’s rewarded with nearly knocks him on his ass. “Thanks! It’s fun to dress up cute again. Jin hated this dress.”

A stab of pain eeks its way into Jungkook’s heart. Seokjin. God, how he hates that man.

“Well, uh, you can wear whatever you want with me!” He assures.

You loop your arm around Jungkook’s, saddling up to his side as you look at him expectantly.

“Well, are we going?”

Jungkook can’t help but smile at the sparkle in your eye, the way you peer up at him with those soft, cherry lips. He wants to capture them with his own, kiss you until you don’t remember Seokjin’s name ever again.

But he resists.

“Let’s go!”

You never thought you’d admit it to yourself. You never even thought it could happen.

But the date is everything you’ve ever wanted, and more.

Jungkook is still Jungkook, still just as silly and easy to talk to as he always is.

But he’s also charming. Flirtatious, even. He holds doors open for you; he rests his hand on the small of your back as he guides you towards your table at dinner. He feeds you bites of his dessert and lets his eyes linger on the way your lips look wrapped around his fork.

Jungkook treats you the way you’ve always wanted to be treated. Like someone he wants to cherish for the rest of your combined lives. Someone he wants to take care of, build a future with, enjoy life with.

And as much as it thrills you, it absolutely frightens you.

It’s when you’re walking down the small river trail together that Jungkook slips his hand into yours and laces your fingers together. The once-steady beat of your heart becomes erratic. He continues chatting—as if holding your hand was a subconscious act for him. He’s knee deep in a story of his Minecraft server when you stop walking, causing him to pause.

“What’s up?” He asks curiously.

Your eyes glitter with anticipation, with fear, as you stare at the gorgeous man before you. He looks like a full course meal in his tight jeans and he makes you feel like a princess. You can suddenly see doing life by his side—no longer his platonic best friend, but as his lover and lifelong partner.

You say nothing. Instead, you simply close the space between you two by grabbing the buttons of his shirt and tugging his lips onto yours.

“Wha—oh, mmmmmm.”

Jungkook is still for a second as he battles the surprise, but jumps into action and cups your face with his hands, deepening the kiss by pushing his tongue past your lips and swirling it around your own.

Your bodies press close together. He can feel your breasts against his chest and he desperately wants to rip the dress off your body and worship you like he’s always wanted to.

As soon as the kiss started, it’s over. You’re pulling away with eyes wide with fear.

“I’m sorry, I—I need to go,” you stammer awkwardly.

Jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.

“What? We were going to get ice cream?”

You can feel tears building in the corners of your eyes. You’re so confused, so unsure of what you’re feeling. You want to stay and kiss Jungkook until you’re clawing at the clothing on his body, pressing kisses to the firm column of his neck. You want to run far away, too scared to admit it to him you’re sure you could love him for the rest of his life.

You can’t lose that friendship. You can’t risk everything you love about Jungkook. He’ll only hurt you the way every boyfriend ever has.

“I don’t really feel well,” you swallow hard as you lie. Jungkook always knows when you’re lying.

His body stiffens.

“Okay, let me walk you home.”

You shake your head, already moving away from the man.

“It’s fine. We’re nearby. I’ll just run or something.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but you’ve already turned face and started running the direction away from him.

Jungkook watches, misty-eyed, as the girl of his dreams runs further and further away from him.

You’re sobbing as you finally reach home, out of breath and confused. The phone call to Namjoon is quick.

“Yo,” he says cooly as he answers the phone. His tone changes when he hears your whimpering sobs on the other end.

“Joonie,” you whisper. “I fucked up.”

“Oh god,” Namjoon quickly shuffles and calls his husband over, before putting the phone on speaker.

“What’s happened, baby?” Jimin’s sweet voice asks.

“I—I kissed him,” you sob, holding yourself close in the comfort of the elevator.

Namjoon and Jimin look at each other with knowing looks.

“We’re on our way over.”

Jimin knows the first order of business is to stop the crying. He places sleeping baby Jisoo in your arms, which quiets your whimpers enough as you cling to the tiny baby. He knows your weakness is sleeping babies.

Namjoon looks on anxiously, hates seeing his little sister upset and with no way to make it better.

Jimin’s been asked to take the lead on this, because he knows his husband's response is to cry as well—he gets emotional anytime he sees her cry. Namjoon agreed, knowing Jimin was better suited for the conversation.

“Tell us what happened,” Jimin asks quietly. You’re rocking the baby gently, sobs turned to sniffles. “Did something go wrong on the date?”

Your eyes peer up at your brother-in-law’s, a wounded look that makes Jimin feel sad. Namjoon clenches beside him, and Jimin lays a hand on his lap to soothe the protective brother.

“No,” you whisper. “That’s the thing. It was an amazing date.”

Jimin watches you curiously, but remains silent to let you continue.

“We had dinner, and we played arcade games and we walked around. And he was so… fuck, he was perfect. It was like dating the guy of my dreams.”

Jimin nods knowingly.

“And it surprised you how much you liked him.”

“Yeah,” you sniffle. “At the end, he was holding my hand and just talking about normal, stupid Jungkook shit, but this time it felt like more. Like, I felt in my heart that I wanted to be the one he always talked to about it. I wanted to be the one he came home to at night.”

Jimin pats your cheek lovingly, the care for his sister-in-law clear in his gaze.

“You don’t just like him, honey. I think you might even love him.”

You pull baby Jisoo tighter into your grasp and nod, pathetic tears slipping down your face.

“I just left him. Like, I ran away from him like an asshole.”

Namjoon grunts and takes a spot next to Jimin. “If he loves you, which I’m sure he does, he’ll still be waiting for you.”

Jimin nods and rests a hand on his husband's back. “But you better have one hell of an apology.”

Jungkook doesn’t answer your phone calls. He doesn’t respond to your texts, snapchats or Instagram DM’s. He doesn’t even look at the TikToks you sent him! It’s becoming infuriating to get in touch with him.

You take matters into your own hands and storm to his apartment after work, the rising tension in your shoulders and stomach full of rocks an indicator of your anxiety about the future of this relationship.

Jungkook opens the door wearing nothing but a pair of grey sweats. All the carefully crafted words exit your mind at light

speed and you’re left gasping, wide-eyed at the chiseled body of your best friend.

“Can I help you?” He asks, tone flat.

Ouch.

You push past him into the apartment you know so well. “Yeah, you could start by answering your phone.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and closes the door, then heads back towards the large gaming setup in the living room.

“My apologies for not responding to the girl who literally ran away from me on a date.”

Your cheeks heat uncomfortably as you stand in the center of his living room, arms crossed over your chest.

“Jungkook, listen. I’m—”

“Please,” he shakes his head as he sits down at the impressive gaming chair. “Save the apologies. I get it.”

“You don’t get it!” You say, exasperated. “You don’t get any of it! That’s why I’m here.”

Jungkook narrows a look at you then stands from his chair. Slowly, he makes his way towards you and stands inches from your face. The proximity of his bare, toned chest to your body makes your throat dry.

“No, you don’t get it.” His voice is threateningly quiet, completely different from his usual chipper tone.

“Jungkook, I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” He quirks his head sarcastically, and you’re struck by the sharp lines of his jaw. “Sorry for running away from the date? Sorry for going on a date? Sorry for making me feel like I had a fucking chance when you kissed me?”

You swallow hard and open your mouth to reply, but he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry too. For giving myself way too much hope that this could ever be something. I’m sorry for myself for thinking you’d at least respect me enough to reject me politely.”

“You always had a chance!” You can feel tears building in your eyes and Jungkook feels his heart pound in his chest like a drum.

He scoffs, a harsh and mirthless laugh. “Clearly not.”

“I just—,” you start. “I never saw you like that before and suddenly you became everything I’ve ever dreamed of. It was like getting hit by a train, Kook! Suddenly my best friend turned into the man of my dreams.”

He shakes his head, stepping back away from you.

“I really find it hard to believe you,” he whispers. “I can’t let myself hope.”

“Jungkook, please,” you beg as tears start slipping down your face. “Please believe me.”

“Just leave,” he sighs. “I hate making you cry.”

You want so badly to wrap yourself in his arms, cry into his chest like you always do when you’re hurt. But you stand still, frozen in your shame and embarrassment of hurting your best friend so badly.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, before you spin around as quickly as you can and leave Jungkook’s apartment in a flurry.

He watches as the door slams behind you, eyes full of sadness and regret. As much as he wants to believe you, have faith in every word you said, he can’t allow himself to get his hopes up again.

He can’t watch you run away from him again.

“Welcome back to Kookie’s Wild Weekly Walkthrough!” Jungkook cheers as enthusiastically as he can through his microphone. “The weekly segment where I react to your Minecraft worlds!”

Jungkook needed to dive back into streaming to take his mind off of you. He hasn’t left his apartment in days, only subsisting on takeout and coffee. At least he was making more money and his subscribers didn’t seem to mind the up-tick in content.

“Tonight I’ll be walking through a creation sent by,” he squints at the username. “‘Kookiesgal95’ Aww that’s cute.”

He readies the content and starts his camera as he watches the YouTube link. His subscribers love his reaction videos—it’s a highly requested segment.

The video starts off easily, a generic Minecraft world that looks like a park.

“Hi Kook.”

The voice that reverberates through his headphones makes him pause the video quickly, wide-eyed with recognition.

It’s you. He’d know that voice from a million others.

Shit. He’s going to have to edit so much of this clip. He’s staring at the screen as if he’s just seen a ghost.

Unsteadily, he clicks play again and watches as you lead him through your Minecraft creation.

“I wanted to recreate something for someone very special in my life.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother to react to this anymore. This entire video is going to be worthless—there’s nothing he can say.

The video pans around the Minecraft setup and he can see what looks like handmade swings and merry go rounds.

“It took me a really long time to do this and an embarrassing amount of help from some twelve-year-olds on the internet.”

He laughs and is stunned by the wet tears rolling down his cheeks. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“I re-created a park that is really special to my best friend and I.”

He feels his chest tighten and relax. The park.

“This is the spot where he held me when my dog died when I was nine. I still miss that dog.”

The view is on a spot next to a blocky oak tree. Jungkook remembers that day, remembers your heartbroken sobs as he whispered words of comfort to you. He misses that dog, too.

“This is where he and my brother got in a fight when we were eleven, because my brother called me a stupid-head. My best friend has always been protective of me, even from my own big brother.”

He can still remember pushing Namjoon around after hearing him call you names. He pushed Namjoon over and threatened to use his “big muscles” if he did it again.

The camera pans to an enormous structure, rather sloppily made, of a slide and monkey bars.

“This is where we first shared a joint in high school. I coughed a lung up and he ran down the street to a gas station at ten pm to get me a bottle of water even though I told him I was okay,”

The memory of the bewildered 7-11 employee plays through his mind. The man watched as a very stoned, very out of breath, Jungkook paid for a bottle of water in coins.

The video continues playing, moves towards what appears to be a parking lot made of cobblestone blocks.

“This is where he held me when my world fell apart.”

The break-up. The way you cried and cried and cried in his arms and he held you as if you were the only thing left on Earth.

“This is where he reminded me I’m worthy of love, that I’m not broken. This is where he held me like I was delicate, but treated me like I was unbreakable.”

His tears don’t stop. Jungkook feels his heart thundering in his chest like a summer storm.

He can hear your sniffles through the recording of the video—you were crying too. It pans around to the swing set.

“And this is where I’ll tell him everything, tonight. Where I’ll tell him how deeply I love him and how I want to make him the happiest guy in the world. In all of Minecraft and beyond. I hope he comes.”

Jungkook doesn’t even bother turning his camera off.

Instead, he’s running to change out of his three-day-old clothes and bolt out the door.

The creaky, rusty metal of the swing set is deafeningly loud in the silence of your park.

It’s dark, just a few street lights around to illuminate the perimeter, but it’s otherwise only lit by the moon.

It’s getting cold. You shiver in your hoodie and kick at the dirt under your swing.

Maybe he didn’t see the video. Maybe he wasn’t going to show.

Maybe it was too late.

You spent hours working on the Minecraft world, staying up at all hours of the night to build and craft a poor re-creation of this park. The twelve-year-olds on Reddit had been invaluable and Namjoon definitely made fun of you for your creative assistants. But it had all been worth it.

“Fuck,” you speak out loud to no one, as you try to warm your hands in the pockets of your sweater. “It’s cold.”

“You should have brought a jacket.”

The sudden voice from behind startles you. You hop off the swing and whip around to face down the intruder.

Jungkook.

He looks so good. He’s wearing a thick coat and tight jeans. Your eyes take a delicious journey from head to toe.

He can’t help but preen at your blatant appreciation. He enjoys knowing you’re attracted to him, at least physically.

“You came.”

He nods and takes a nervous step towards you. He’s still far away, more than an arm's-reach away. You’re desperate to bring him closer, to pull him tight against your body and wrap yourself around him. You never want to be without his gentle touch again.

“I felt pretty compelled to come after you made all this in Minecraft for me.” He cracks a wry smile, a boy-ish grin that makes your heart flutter.

“It took me twenty-five hours and some teenagers to help.”

He laughs, a beautiful sound that warms you. “I’m sure they were ecstatic to help.”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, nervous at what he thinks about your in-game confession.

“Did you mean it?” He asks. He steps closer—one more step.

“Every word.”

His eyes are searching yours for the truth, desperately diving into the depths for validity.

“Why did you run away?” Another step.

You swallow hard, heavy tears brimming in your eyes.

“You went from being the silly best friend to being the person I could spend the rest of my life with. It all hit me. It’s always been you.”

One more step and now he’s just within your reach. If you stuck your hand out, your fingers would graze the soft puff of his coat, the delicate skin of his neck.

“I’ve always felt that way about you. I never thought you’d feel the same.”

You smile softly, timidly. “It just took me a little while longer to realize it.”

All at once, Jungkook closes the gap and holds you gently by your cheeks. His thumbs wipe at the moisture under your eyes.

“I promise to never make you cry again,” he whispers reverently.

“And I promise to never run away from you again.”

Jungkook smiles at that, cradling your face like you’re the most expensive and precious jewel.

“Can I kiss you again?” He asks, somewhat unsure of himself.

“I would like it if you would.”

As Jungkook presses his cold, plush lips to your own, you make a promise to yourself to never go a day without kissing him again.

“I can’t believe you’re in my bedroom,” Jungkook murmurs as he kisses at your face. After the park, Jungkook loaded you into his priceless Nissan and scurried home. You could hardly keep your hands off him as he drove you back to his place—reaching and caressing the spots on his body you’re dying to become familiar with.

“I’ve been in your bedroom before,” you remind him as he tugs up the hoodie you’re wearing.

“God, don’t be so semantic when I’m trying to fuck you,” he says before throwing the hoodie to a corner of the room. “You know what I mean.”

Jungkook kisses you again, all lips and teeth and tongue. He kisses you like you’re the last breath of air, and he’s greedy for every bit. He grips your hips, not too tight, and brings your body against his. You can feel him grow in hardness in his too tight, and it feels like bliss.

Teasingly, you grind your hips against his, making him shudder with desire.

“I want you,” he whines as he nibbles at your lip.

“Really? I couldn’t tell.”

He opens his eyes to level a look at you, pulling his mouth away from yours.

“You’re such a little smartass.”

His hands become feverish on your jeans, tugging apart the button and flicking down the fly. He pushes them down quickly, and you kick them off carelessly.

He can’t stop looking at you in your bra and panties, standing at the foot of his bed.

“Holy shit, okay, this is happening, right? Like, this is real?”

You smirk, pleased with Jungkook’s obvious excitement.

“Let me prove it’s not just a dream.”

Softly, you spin Jungkook around and push him down to sit on his bed. He complies easily, eyes wide and excited.

“If this is a dream, would you be able to feel this?” You ask as you unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. He doesn’t reply, simply watches you as you tug his jeans down to his thighs.

His cock strains hard against his tight boxers, and you run a teasing finger over the obvious bulge.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

“Feels pretty real, huh?”

“Y-yeah.”

Your delicate hands gently tug at the waistband of his boxers and easily work them down enough to free the length of his cock. It springs out easily and your eyes widen at the impressive size. You assumed he would be at least average, but you’re looking at something definitely more.

“Oh wow,” you whisper. “You’re fucking huge.”

Jungkook grins. “All for you, baby.” The cockiness is palpable.

One solid grip around him wipes the presumptuous smile off his face, replaced with a gasping, shuddering moan.

“How about this? Not a dream?”

He struggles to find his voice, instead he’s gulping for air like a fish out of water.

“That’s what I thought,” you whisper before settling into a position on your knees. “I’ll admit, I’ve dreamt about this too. I always felt so ashamed for dreaming about sucking my best friend's cock.”

You press soft kisses to the head of his length, teasing the sensitive areas at the tip before kissing up and down the length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

His evident desire for you encourages you, and your tongue swipes at the crown of his tip and swirls around it gently.

“Oh my god.” His eyes shutter closed and you trace the veins in his dick with your tongue.

“This h-has to be a dreeeaaaaam,” he whines as you make an exceptionally long stripe with the flat of your tongue.

You pull off for a moment, humming. He springs his eyes open and watches as you reach behind your back and unsnap your bra. Your breasts escape with a bounce and his eyes widen, nearly bulging out of their sockets.

“What the fuck,” he whines. “You have the most amazing tits.”

He reaches out to grasp them and you slap them away playfully.

“Not yet,” you smirk. “Still trying to convince you you’re not asleep.”

He sucks in his breath and puts his hands back to the bed to steady himself, eyes never leaving yours (except to stare at the luscious curves of your body).

Grasping your breasts in both hands, you smash them together lightly in an elaborate show of what Jungkook wants most. You lean over his body and place the throbbing thickness of his cock in between your tits, allowing him to feel just how soft and warm they are.

“Shit!” He yelps, grabbing his sheets in a tight fist. “Are you really tit-fucking me right now?!”

Slowly, you lift your body up and down, allowing his cock to feel each stroke of your breasts. You nod at his question and continue to pump up and down.

“Still dreaming?”

He whines and shakes his head, already feeling so close to the edge. His cock is slick from your teasing licks and the pressure of your tits surrounding him had his mind spinning with desire.

“Ahhh, I’m so fucking close,” he warns.

You continue, speeding up the friction and pressure of your strokes.

“I want you to cum on me, Kook,” you whisper encouragingly. “Cum on my tits, please?”

Jungkook feels like he’s a wire about to snap, and your thick, sultry voice and incredibly perfect breasts are the snips that breaks him apart.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts. “Gonna paint your titties white, baby.”

His moans echo around the walls of his bedroom, small gasps of pleasure and your name escaping his perfectly plump pout.

His hot load splatters on your chest, and you stroke him through each pulse of his cock. You’re slippery with his seed now, and when you pull away from his spent length, you make a show of rubbing in his cum over your chest.

“Okay, definitely not dreaming,” he says in a daze as he watches you lift a wet finger to your mouth, popping it in to clean it off. “Who knew you were so fucking kinky?”

His confidence grows as he catches his breath. He can’t believe he’s sitting on his bed with you on your knees, breasts covered in his load. You’re suckling the cum off your finger like it’s his cock, and he’s desperate for more.

“There are lots of things you don’t know about me,” you shrug.

Swiftly, he grabs you gently by your bicep and pulls you close, sucking at your lips until you’re both standing.

“I plan to find out everything.”

Suddenly, you’re switching positions and Jungkook is pushing you down into the bed. You lay flat in the center, body relaxed and eager for your best friend.

“What are you doing?” You ask. He’s still standing at the end of the bed, watching you get comfortable. Once he’s satisfied that you’re lying exactly how you want, he settles himself by your feet.

“Worshipping you,” he says as he lifts an ankle and presses gentle kisses to your calf. “Showing you how much I adore you.” More kisses, soft and sweet. “Showing you how I plan on treating you for the rest of your life.”

He takes his time, lavishing your legs with his mouth. He kisses and sucks at any spot, sexual or not. He mouths at the roundness of your knees, your firm hamstrings. He presses his love into the skin of your thighs, mouthing his praises with each kiss.

He reaches the dip of your hips and he gently kisses your exposed skin as he tugs your cotton panties off you.

“I have loved every inch of you since before I can remember,” he praises as his lips skim over the mound of your cunt. “And I don’t plan on stopping soon.”

Your body feels like it’s on fire, as if Jungkook lights a match at every spot his lips press against. Your eyes close, and you allow Jungkook to continue his pious worship of your body.

He teases around your folds, kissing your labia ever so gently—making you gasp. He doesn’t linger long, only kisses you enough to stir the licking flames of heat in your belly.

He kisses at your stomach, gently nibbling and laving at the softness there. You try to hide from him, try to hide your insecurities of your body in his thorough exploration, but he moves your hands.

“I know you don’t like this part of your body,” he murmurs. His voice is so soft, so pure and sincere. “But I do. I love everything about you.”

His tongue swirls around your belly button, making you gasp at the ticklish sensation.

“You’re so pretty. So perfect.”

He continues upwards, lips now trailing to your full breasts. He takes his time there, licking and kissing and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. It feels exhilarating—Jungkook’s mouth feels like everything you want it to feel like. His tongue is warm, and he bites with just enough pressure to make your back arch off the bed into his embrace.

His hands explore, taking stock of every millimeter of skin he can find. He wants to memorize every freckle, every bump, every scar and line. Your body is his paradise, and all he can think of is you, you, you.

One hand travels down your body as he moves his lips up your neck. It snakes down your stomach and deftly slides over your soaked core. You whine as you feel his fingers part your folds and dip into the wetness.

“So wet,” he says out loud, verbalizing every tantalizing detail of your body. “So perfect.”

His lips are finally at your own and you kiss him passionately, tongue swirling around his as he slides his two fingers past your clit and into your drenched hole. You gasp against his mouth, eyes widening as he slowly scissors his fingers into you and pumps slowly. It’s almost teasing, the way he fucks his fingers in you. Slow, firm movements with his powerful hands.

“Jungkook!” You gasp. He doesn’t reply, instead he bites at your lip and tugs, then trails his hot mouth back down to your nipples. He can’t get enough of your breasts and the slightly salty taste of him still lingering.

“You feel so good,” he says as he speeds his fingers up minutely. “So tight and wet for me.”

Your hips writhe in need. He’s giving you what you need, but not enough. You need more, more. You want to feel him, all of him, spearing you open.

“Please, Kook,” you groan. “I need you.”

He laughs softly against your nipple and sucks extra hard, letting it pop out of his mouth audibly.

“And I need you, my love.”

“Fuck me, please.” You’re desperate, thighs quaking from the slow teasing. “I want you to fuck me, Jungkook.”

Chills shudder down Jungkook’s spine and he’s powerless to say no, not when you demand it so well.

“With pleasure,” he agrees. He pulls his fingers from within you and copies your move, sliding them into his mouth to suck your essence off.

He’s never looked sexier. His eyes are dark chocolate pools of burning intensity, and you feel your breath become shaky as you watch him clean his fingers with precision.

After he’s deemed his fingers sufficiently clean, he settles himself between your legs. Easily, he lifts your hips and shoves a pillow underneath, elevating you to a more comfortable position. He grabs your legs and tosses each over his shoulders so they’re higher in the air.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, baby,” he promises as he rubs the tip of his cock on your soppy slit. “Condom?”

You shake your head, appreciative of his question but desperate to feel him completely.

“Birth control. Regularly tested. Haven’t had sex in a while,” you blurt out. “You good?”

He nods in agreement. “Same. Well, except the birth control. But, I’d take it if they made it for men.”

“Jungkook!” You whine. Your best friend is so easily sidetracked. “Please, can you fuck me?”

He grins. “Tsk, someone is impatient.”

A low moan is rumbling in your chest as he continues to rub his thick cock at your entrance.

“I swear to god, you’re the biggest tease.”

“Oh, I’m definitely the biggest.”

Before you can react, he’s pushing past your entrance and sliding deep in your walls. Your position makes his cock feel deep, and he bottoms out and stills there, eyes closed in bliss.

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “This is absolutely the best pussy I’ve ever felt.”

You wiggle your hips as you get used to the sensation of the delicious stretch.

“Please don’t tell me how many pussies you’ve felt when you’re balls deep inside of me.”

Jungkook turns his head and kisses at your legs resting on his shoulders, lavishing them with his praise once more as he keeps his cock buried inside your tight heat.

“Yours is the only one that matters. The only pussy I’ll ever be in for the rest of my life.”

“That’s a good answer,” you smile. “Now, fuck me, lover boy.”

Jungkook winks and grips your hips with his hands. He swiftly pulls out, enamored with the way his cock is already covered in your creamy essence, then eagerly pushes back in. He sets a pace and soon the sound of skin clapping on skin echoes around the room.

“Oh god!” You’re moaning loudly, unabashedly. You’re thankful that Jungkook’s old roommate, Yoongi, moved out to live with his boyfriend Hoseok months ago. He’d definitely complain about the noise for months. “Fuck, Jungkook, you feel so good.”

Jungkook fucks into you with ferocity, speed and power gradually rising as he feels his core tighten with the coming anticipation of release.

“Mmm, you look so fucking sexy like this,” he murmurs. “Getting fucked by your best friend’s fat cock.”

He moves a hand from your hip, trails it up your body to squeeze at your breast, before he’s cupping your face once again. His hips snap against yours and he loves the way your mouth utters little squeaks and gasps with each deep thrust into you.

“God, my beautiful girl,” he groans. “Can’t wait to cum in this pussy, shit, you got me so fucking close.”

You open your mouth desperately and Jungkook easily slips his thumb in. You latch on quickly and suck, tongue swirling around the tip like you’re sucking another cock. It nearly sends him over the edge and the speed of his hips matches his desperate need for more.

“Fucking hell,” he bites back. He can feel his belly tighten, driven further and further to the edge by the constricting wetness of your cunt.

He pulls his thumb out and moves it down to where his cock spears into you, allowing your spit to swirl with his thumb around your clit. Your core tightens around him at the added stimulation and your back arches up in ecstasy.

“I’m so c-close, Kook,” you plead, as if begging for mercy. “Please, I want to cum so bad.”

The speed of his thumb increases, and he watches as your face twists in pleasure and desperation.

“Cum on my cock, baby, let me see you fall apart. Show me what I’ve dreamt of for so long.”

A high and wanton cry ripples out of your body as he savagely increases his speed, both his cock and thumb working overtime to drive you towards your end. The butterflies that erupt in your lower stomach make your moans louder, higher. You’re so close, closer than ever. It’s building to an incredible crescendo.

He can tell you’re close—he sees it on your face as your back arches and your fists grip his sheets.

“You look like a fucking angel, baby,” he whines as he soaks in the vision of you writhing underneath him. “I bet you cum like an angel, too. Let me see it, let me see.”

With just a few more swirls of his thumb and his deep, hard strokes, you’re soaring over the edge into a pool of nothingness. Your cunt pulsates wildly around his length, milking and stroking it with your tight walls. You throw your head back, moaning out his name at the top of his lungs, letting his neighbors know just who fucks you so well.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, hips stuttering as he fucks into your juicy hole. “That was so fucking sexy.”

You grip his forearms, holding onto him tight and encourage him to go harder. “Cum inside me, Kookie, please. I’m all yours, make me yours.”

His heart feels like it might burst in his chest. He’s always wanted you to say it to him, to hand over your love to him like he does so easily to you. It’s all so much, so overwhelming, and the feeling of your hot cunt still fluttering around him sends him reeling into his own completion.

He spills into you, warm seed coating your walls and pooling inside your womb. He fucks himself through each throb of his cock until he’s sure he’s drained every ounce of himself into you.

Your legs slip off his shoulders easily, and he gently pulls himself out of you. He falls beside you, panting with exertion, and wraps an arm around you.

After a few silent moments of catching your breath, Jungkook pulls you in close to him until he can koala-cling to you, arms and legs both wrapped around your body.

“Mine,” he whispers as he kisses your head. “All mine.”

You return the favor, clinging to your best friend—boyfriend—like he’s your only lifeline.

“All yours.”

“So, you’re telling me, you got together because of Minecraft?” Jimin asks, pointing a fork in your direction. It’s been months now since your grand virtual declaration of love for Jungkook. Months of bliss and romance, laughter and companionship.

You were right all along. Jungkook is everything you’ve wanted in a man and more.

You’re sitting at your brother’s expensive dinner table, enjoying a meal with his family with your boyfriend at your side.

“Yeah, Jimin, I guess that’s what I’m saying,” you retort as you roll your eyes. “Minecraft and Tinder.”

Baby Jisoo is awake and in your brother’s arms, but she’s whining and wiggling to leave him.

“What’s wrong, Soo?” Namjoon asks with a pout on his lips. “Why don’t you want daddy anymore?”

Jimin snorts at his husband and you hold out your arms for your baby niece. “Come here, baby, I know you want auntie.”

Namjoon dutifully hands over his daughter, sulking that he’s been picked over for his sister.

You cradle the baby in your arms, expecting her to calm once she’s there, but she continues to fuss. She’s thrusting her arms out and nearly crying, reaching towards Jungkook who’s busy chowing down on Jimin’s homemade ramen.

“I think she wants you, Kook,” you murmur. He looks at you, then to the baby, then back to you, before he wipes his hands and face clean with a napkin.

“Oh, okay,” he whispers, slowly taking the baby from your arms with your help. “Hello, ma’am.”

Namjoon and Jimin laugh. “She’s a baby, Jungkook, not an elderly woman,” your brother teases.

Jungkook doesn’t listen. He’s too busy cooing at the baby in his arms and playing with her tiny hands. Namjoon turns his attention away and looks at you.

“Guess I won’t be the only provider of grandchildren for much longer.”

You playfully glare at him and turn away to watch your boyfriend. Watching Jungkook interact with your niece makes your heart swell, your soul sing. He’d be a perfect father.

“I swear, if he teaches her how to play Minecraft, he’s banned from the household,” Jimin grumbles. “This is a No-Nerd-Zone.”

Jungkook cradles the child and rocks back and forth, singing her a soft, made-up song, before he looks over at you.

“Hey, I want one of these,” he smiles. “Can we have one?”

You lay a hand on your stomach, a soft bump not quite visible yet. It’s only been one test, the lines faintly indicating ‘positive’ on the stick. You wanted to make sure, get confirmation before you spill the beans.

“Sure, Kookie.”

He grins and leans over to kiss you, before turning his attention back to the baby. “Okay, Jisoo, now let me tell you all about the Endermen.”

Jimin groans. “Oh my god, do not give Minecraft facts to my infant!”

tag list - @giadalin @nohayarcoirissintormenta @pjmislovely @xhazmania @marcoazam2 @eggbutnotyolk @feel-the-sunset @unicornbabylover @aretha170 @jeonmisha @hordanhearsawhooo

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fic #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook #ficswithluv #jjk smut #bts fics #jjk fic #jungkook fic

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undertaker1827 · 3 years

Note

Hello! I was wondering if you could write a Headcanon of Undertaker seeing S/o past Self-Harm scars? Please and thank you!

Of course! I believe you said fluff prompts 1 & 14 before so I included those too. I hope this is what you were looking for. Also I got a tad carried away and did a story instead of headcanons, hope you don’t mind!

❗️Warnings; Obviously self harm, please don’t read if this upsets you at all. Quite angsty all the way through as well, but hurt/comfort too. ❗️

Masterlist

You could feel the nausea climbing up the back of your throat as you sat on one end of Undertaker’s old, comfortable sofa, pressed against the arm as if you were trying to disappear into it. You hardly even realised you were ringing your hands so viciously that your knuckles were turning white and your fingertips red, but even when you noticed, you found you couldn’t stop. You needed to tell him. It was an old part of your life by now but a part nonetheless, something he needed to know. You trusted him with it, knew he wouldn’t share such a private part of your life with another living soul, but that didn’t mean you wanted to have this conversation.

It had been a long time coming and you were tired of feeling like you were hiding something from him, though your mind tried to tell you it wasn’t hiding if he didn’t know to begin with. You couldn’t bring yourself to believe it. You took quiet calming breaths, waiting for your partner to finish the tea he was making in the kitchen and bring it inside. He would place the cups down on the weathered oak coffee table in front of you, sit down on the small sofa with enough room between you that you didn’t feel pressured or uncomfortable. Undertaker would lift up an arm with a quirky grin, and if you felt tat you wanted to cuddle with him, you would. If not, you tended to just glance away with an apology on your lips, only for the reaper to make a joke out of it before you had the chance to say sorry, drawing a laugh from your lips in spite of yourself.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts and attempts to remain calm that you didn’t notice the man in question come in, nor did you see the sad look clouding his eyes that he kept hidden behind his bangs. He knew what your behaviour meant; he’d seen it in too many people to many times before. Too often in himself.

“Are you alright?”

Your whole body flinched at the gentle words, hands clenching together in your lap as you tried to act like you weren’t tense all over. The mortician’s voice lacked its usual, slightly maniacal qualities, instead it was lower and serious, far more calming than normal. You tried to open your mouth to say something, anything, but no words came out. You could neither pretend you were alright or admit the truth, that you weren’t, and you stayed still for so long that Undertaker put the tea down anyway. It was the subtle shift of the sofa beneath you when he sat down that finally snapped you out of it and you turned quickly towards him, searching his wall of hair for where you thought his eyes were.

“Please just hold me,” you murmured, and Undertaker wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards him, cradling you against his chest. He let out a quiet sigh at how badly you were shaking against him, fingertips digging into his shoulders but he couldn’t care less.

“Why are you trembling?” He asked in reply, voice unimaginably soft. His hands ran soothing patterns up and down your back as you prepared yourself for what you were going to say, but the well-practiced words were nowhere to be found in your mind. You gave a sigh of your own before deciding to just show him. You leaned back a fraction and grabbed a portion of your long sleeve and pulled it back to your elbow, turning you unsteady wrist over to reveal silvery rows of straight scars marring your skin, reaching up your forearm. You hadn’t shown them to anyone else. The reaper’s ribs expanded quickly beneath you as he took in a sharp breath, close enough to be able to see your arm clearly even with his terrible eyesight.

“Oh sweetheart,” he muttered, arms constricting around you almost immediately as he left a kiss on top of your head, lingering there a moment as you hid the marks away again, then tucked your head down so you didn’t have to look at him. They were long healed over, but it was obvious how deeply everything was still affecting you, the state you must of been in at the time. He knew how that felt, and a familiar hollow feeling welled up in his chest at the thought that you’d had to experience it too.

“Thank you,” he whispered after a long time of silence, lips stirring your hair just a little, “for trusting me. For being brave enough to show me. I know how difficult it is to take that step love, but you did it. And I’m so proud of you.”

You couldn’t stop the tears starting to line your eyes at his heartfelt words and as the first supressed sob escaped your lips, he pulled you impossibly closer. Neither of you kept track of how long you stayed there, but at the end of it, you couldn’t help but feel just a little lighter within yourself. There was no quick cure for this and you knew it all too well, but you also knew you’d taken this first step, and that there was a road to recovery that you would be able to follow, Undertaker beside you all the way.

#undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #undertaker #adrian crevan #adrian crevan x reader #undertaker black butler #kuroshitsuji undertaker #black butler #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler reader inserts

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years

Text

Family Business

A/N: It took me a while to write and finish it, but I like the idea a lot. Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Mafia!Steve Rogers x F!Reader Word count: 3,008 Warnings: Death, weapons, mention of blood, swearing.

(Gif is not mine, by super-madi16)

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the way you expected to spend an average Thursday night with your daughter.

Everything was going perfectly fine. The two of you were making dinner together in the large, modern kitchen of your New York penthouse, surrounding by the glimmering of lights from other buildings and down below in the bustling streets that never sleep.

Carbonara was on the menu. It was one of Stella’s favorite things to both make and eat. At the independent age of 16, it was rare that she wanted to spend time with you and Steve anymore. She would much rather be out with her friends and her dad’s credit card than to be cooped up in this rather ginormous penthouse the family called home.

But here she stood, stirring the sauce as you monitored the pasta, complaining about her day and about how stupid boys her age were (as she always put it she was looking for a man, not a boy which always resulted in Steve chocking on whatever he was eating or drinking at the time). That conversation resulted in complaining about school in general, and how much it sucked being a teen.

As you continued stirring the pasta and she went back on her phone to play another song from the Bluetooth speakers in the kitchen, a sudden gunshot erupted. Both of you froze, your eyes scanning the room to see all of the guards rushing in the direction of the noise. But it only took a fraction of a second for your mother bear instincts to kick in. Grabbing your daughter and pushing her into your chest, you desperately ran back and into the secret room behind your clothes in your walk-in closet, that Steve had designed especially for emergencies.

Running your fingers across the area, the door popped open. You desperately pushed your daughter in than yourself, shutting the metal door back with the huge lock and bar, and hid with her in one of the corners, turning the lights off. You could hear her heavy breathing, as clearly she was having a panic attack. Grabbing onto her and her soft hair, you held her and murmured sweet words of endearment in an attempt to calm her down, which seemed to work... some.

It wasn’t until you heard a loud bang against the door that you yourself softly gasped and clung onto your daughter, she let out a soft sob. Knowing someone, who was probably not an ally, was on the other side of the door frightened you and both her. She was the first, you noticed, to throw herself away from your and to a box only a few feet away. Through the dark, you could see her open the wooden box and grab a gun inside, her shaky hands visible. She slowly and as silently as she could, cocked the gun. “Stel,” You whispered to her, “I got it.” She shook her head. “Stella I told you-”

The loud crash from the metal door that one divided safety and danger between the two of you and the outside world came colliding down. You couldn’t identify much but a man with a gun in all black, his silhouette disrupting the light from your closet that seeped its way through the doorway. None of Steve’s men would dress in all black.

You weren’t sure what to do. In a fluster within your mind as your daughter held the sole weapon you two had and a man who could end it all right here, or worse, drag it on further out. Your eyes froze in a complete panic your hands involuntarily shaking and shivering cold with fear.

A gunshot sounded, the man falling to the floor in a single second as blood surrounding his body and ricocheted onto the walls. You gasped in relief, looking over to your daughter, “Stella?”

There the young girl, long brunette hair with delicate waves at the end, sat on her knees in complete horror and awe, staring at the dead body. She dropped the gun from her right hand and let out a horrid sob. Cupping her face in her hands, you rushed over on your hands and knees, holding her as tightly as you could without suffocating her body. You cooed her, brushing her soft hair in your fingers and placing your own chin on her head, engulfing both her body and soul within yours.

“I-I,” She mumbled, “I killed someone.” It took everything within your being not to start crying yourself, or worse, lash out at someone or something. The genuine and pure form of anger that pulsated in your veins made you want to rip something to shreds.

While ultimately this wasn’t Steve’s fault, you were mad at whoever did this. You had chosen this life with your husband, you two had chosen to have a child together. You brought her into this world, without her permission, and you always tried your hardest to keep her out of the world of Mafia.

She had been interested since day one of getting involved, being the head man, or headwoman just like Steve. And when she asked him about it all he wasn’t only happy to hear about her interest, he was proud. Something that Steve rarely meant, unless it was for Stella.

But you knew after tonight, that would change.

It was only a few minutes later, you were sure, but it felt like an hour for Steve himself and a whole military worth of his men to arrive. “Y/N?” He called out, running into your closet judging by the pattern of his feet moments on the hardwood floors, “Stella?”

His figure appeared in the light, his face turning from concern to sadness. Dropping the anger that once tensed his muscles, he walked over and dropped to the floor next to your daughter, as Bucky and Sam rounded the corner to see both the scene and the body in awe.

“Baby?” Steve cooed to your daughter. For the first time, she looked up with swollen and soaked eyes. Another sob escaped her lips as she moved from you to him, clinging onto his dress shirt for dear life as she cried into it, his large arms embracing her in a large hug as he kissed the top of her head. “It’s okay sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“D-dad,” She stuttered out, pulling away to look at him.

“Yeah, sweetie?” He looked down at her, still holding her partially.

“I killed someone.” He looked with big eyes at her, then calmed down and sighed.

“Okay.” He huffed out, “We’ll deal with it okay?” He looked back to Bucky and Sam, snapping only once and looking to the body which they had other men help them out with, as Steve turned both you and Stella away.

“Dad, I’m a murderer.” She mumbled as more tears fell down her red cheeks.

“No, sweetheart, no you’re not.” He sighed, “It was self-defense.”

“But I killed someone!” She argued.

“To protect you and your mother.” He repeated himself, “Darling, that’s self-defense. You’re not a murderer, and you never will be.” She continued to hold onto Steve, still crying. “Let’s get out of here, okay?” She nodded, her head still buried in his chest.

He helped you up onto your feet first, checking over your face and giving a quick kiss to the top of your forehead, before retreating back to Stella. He picked her up, carrying her bridal style into the living room. Placing her down on the couch gracefully like she was a porcelain doll, he cooed her a bit more before barking at the men around the room to remove themselves and go elsewhere in the house.

“Baby? Are you okay?” The two of you sat down on the couch. He was on her left, you were on her right. Running his hand through her hair to calm her down, he genuinely looked worried.

“I can’t do that again, Dad.” She leaned into his chest, “I can’t.” She mumbled.

“I know, sweetie, I know.” He sighed, still running his hand over her head. “You won’t ever have to again. I promise.” He gave her a tender kiss on the top of her head, you now rubbing her back in circles with one of your hands. “Do you want some dinner?” He asked her next, aware that no one had eaten yet. She shook her head. “Mkay.” He sighed, not wanting to push her.

“I just- I just wanna go to my room.” She pulled away a little, giving both you and Steve one more hug.

“You sure, honey?” He asked very lightly. She nodded.

“We’ll text you with dinner options, alright?” You spoke up and she nodded. “We love you.” You smiled at her. She nodded and walked away. Once she was up the stairs, Steve let out a sigh and moved closer to you, throwing his arm around you. You sank back into his chest, closing your eyes to absorb the warmth and safety.

“And how are you?” He asked, giving you a kiss on the head.

“As good as I can be.” You replied. “I’m just worried about her.” He nodded.

“I am too.” He admitted, “I’m so sorry that happened, it’s my job to protect you two and-”

“And you weren’t here so it’s not your fault, Steve.” You fought back peacefully.

“But if that fucker wouldn’t have-”

“Steve, stop.” You told him firmly, “There’s no need to blame yourself for any of this, okay? If we should be worried about anything it’s Stella.” He nodded in agreement.

You felt some guilt as well. You should have been the one to have the gun, you were the adult in the situation. Granted Stella was exactly like Steve; she was persistent, she was stubborn. Usually, that would get her places, she could even get more money out of Steve for shopping trips or to go out with her friends because of her negotiation skills and how she would never stop. But today was drastically different, this was a situation where you didn’t want those traits to play out. Especially the way they did.

You curled into his chest, his arms wrapping around your body, your back to his chest. “I love you, so much.” He mumbled into your hair.

“I love you too.” You slightly smiled, rubbing his arms with your hands.

“So you know what you want for dinner?” He asked you next.

“I don’t care,” You sighed, “Maybe that Italian spot a few blocks away. The one that Wanda’s family owns.”

“Oh yeah,” He responded, “Let’s get take out from there.” He pulled out his phone, still holding you with one arm, and got the menu. “Should we get Stel something?” He asked, you nodded.

“Even if she doesn’t eat it tonight we can keep it in the fridge.” He nodded in agreement.

“What do you think she would want?” He asked you again and you lightly laughed.

“You know what she wants.” You rolled her eyes.

“Chicken tenders.” You both said in tandem, light laughter following. “Mkay love,” He got up, letting you set yourself back on the pillows, “I’m gonna go order, alright?” You nodded in agreement.

As he departed down the hall to order, to leave you without any disturbance, you chose to watch some TV. More as a mindless distraction, something to keep your eyes from replaying the scene in your mind of your daughter defending you. Something to occupy the ringing in your ears between the gunshot and the sobs of the one you loved most.

You tried so hard to be calm and collected, for both her and Steve. You knew Steve would loathe himself enough about all of this, now was your time to be the rock in the family. Even if you weren’t all that solid at the moment.

“Love? Baby, you there?” You heard Steve, breaking you from your trance.

“Huh, what?” You looked up with a soft smile as you glanced at his face. He smiled back.

“You zoned out there for a sec,” You nodded as he came to sit next to you again. He examined your face for a moment, seeing right through you as if your walls were made of glass. “Baby, I need you to talk to me.” He said softly, with a slight tinge of worry in his voice. You sighed, looking down to your hands and then back up at him.

“I’m just-” You tried to contemplate which words would accurately fit how you were feeling, “I’m conflicted.” You admitted to which he gave an inquisitive look.

“How so?” He asked.

“I want to- I need to be there for Stella,” You began, “But I also haven’t had time or space to process this myself. and maybe that’s selfish, I’m sure it is. But it’s all just so much-”

“It’s not selfish,” Steve insisted plainly, “Not at all. Stella’s been through a lot today, but so have you. And if you need all the time and space in the world to figure this out, I’ll figure out a way to give it to you.” He offered a kind smile. “I can be there for both you and Stella. That’s my duty.”

“But it shouldn’t be.”

“But it is,” he continued, “Because you willingly chose to immerse yourself in my lifestyle, which was enough to ask for, and Stella didn’t have a say.”

“But still I’m her mom and-”

“And you’ve both been through a lot and you both need time.” He gave you a peck on the cheek, “I love you, and you deserve all the time that you need.”

It took a few days for Stella to come back and begin to interact with you guys again. You had brought food to her room, some candy and ice cream too, everything and anything she needed. Steve had called her off school after yelling at the principal and using the excuse, “I pay enough for that damn school the least you can do is give my kid a few days off” which seemed to work.

It was minimal interaction at first. Initially, she was just grabbing some water. Then it turned to snacks, then to a very small conversation, then to her finally spending some time with you guys.

It wasn’t until you had all sat down for a family dinner that she had begun to open up, just a bit though. It was primarily you and Steve attempting to talk about things of interest that related to her: politics, books, anything you could. She remained silent, in her own mind and world. You weren’t sure what she was thinking, but you didn’t want to push or interrupt her either.

“Dad?” She finally spoke up, her voice reaching just above a whisper. Both of your heads shot up to where she sat, next to Steve and across from you.

“Yes, sweetie?” He asked, putting his full attention on her.

“I- um,” She began contemplating what she was going to say, looking down at her food which she has slowly been eating, “I need to tell you something, now, but you have to promise me that even if you get mad, you won’t yell or anything.”

“Of course not,” He grabbed her free hand and held it on the table, “I promise.”

“Okay.” She took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a few brief moments before looking back up to him, “I don’t think I can take over all of this.” She admitted, clearly awaiting a response with little breath.

“All of what?” Steve asked.

“Your position.” She clarified.

Naturally, she was next in line to be the mob boss. Sure she was a girl, Steve didn’t care though. He had been preparing her for most of her life. But you knew from the moment she pulled that trigger that that was it. She would never be able to be in the mob.

Steve stared for a few seconds, looking down and giving off a quiet sigh before clearing his throat. “That’s fine.” He lightly smiled, still holding her hand. She gave a confused look.

“A-are you sure? You have to be mad-”

“No, no I’m not. I get it.” He admitted, “And don’t worry. We’ll find someone to take over. We can’t forget Will, Uncle Buck’s son, he could take over too.” She nodded lightly.

“Thanks, dad.” She looked up at him with a tight smile, to which he smiled back.

“Darling, I hope you realize that your mother and I didn’t just have you to take over the business,” He clarified, “You’re our daughter, and that’s your first and only role to us.” You nodded too, silently agreeing with what he was saying.

“Thanks, Dad,” She softly smiled, “I love you guys.”

“We love you too.” You smiled, grabbing her other hand, before looking to Steve raising one of your eyebrows. He gave you a confused look, pondering over what you were trying to communicate, before finally getting it.

“Oh,” He sighed, with a soft smile, turning his attention back to Stella. “Your mother and I thought it might be best to take some time off, with you, of course, so we scheduled a three-week trip to stay down in Palm Beach, at the house there.” He smiled at her, to which she smiled back.

“Wait, but what about school?” She asked. Steve rolled his eyes.

“I dealt with it don’t worry.” He began, as you got up to begin taking plates to the dishwasher, “fuck school anyways.” Stella began laughing as water flew out of her mouth, to which she covered her mouth with her hand in shock, and Steve began laughing too.

“Hey!” You scolded him, “We should not be preaching that to our daughter. Or any kid for that matter.” He rolled his eyes.

“I’m also allowing you to take three friends. No boys though, and their absence will be dealt with too.”

“Thanks, again, dad.” She smiled, genuinely, for the first time in weeks.

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fan fiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #mafia!steve rogers #marvel #mafia!steve rogers x reader #mafia!steve rogers x y/n #mafia!steve rogers x you #Mob!Steve Rogers #mob!steve rogers x reader #marvel fanfiction #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader

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mxvladdy · 4 years

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Diavolo- True Form

Whoooooooo weeeee! ‘Pologies for the wait on these longer posts. I’ve been hit with a one two punch of house emergencies and sudden costly ass repairs, so my creative juices have been rightly squashed as of late.

Plus side I got my drawing tablet and drafting table back so I can neaten up my blog lay out now (yay!)

Anyway this one was a challenge in the best possible ways. I really like Diavolo because of how little we know about him so it gave me some wiggle room. Or at least what I know of him- im only on like chapter 23 of the stories. Idk if I did him justice as this is angsty af but I sure had a blast writing it!

Hope ya like! Next up: Beelzebub

Trigger warning: Mention of blood, and swearing.

Diavolo-

He'll never show you, so don't ask. His true form is god-like in its own right and such knowledge, such truly raw demonic power in its natural form is not for your mortal eyes.

No matter what your lineage, it would break you. And despite his roles and being the literal devil, he doesn’t want you suffering.

Sometimes when he thinks you wouldn't notice he relaxes his hold on reality, just a fraction. He wants to relieve some of the tension that is always building just below the surface. Like closing your eyes when you have a tension headache. The mental energy he has to exert to keep face is enormous. Regular glamour doesn’t work nearly as well as his own, or Barbato’s magic.

But you see hints during your downtime spent in his company. A ripple in his reflection on the window pane. Unexplainable shadows dancing across his exposed skin. Too many teeth in his mouth when he laughs. Sometimes when you stare into his eyes you see something indescribable staring back behind them. His usually warm and inviting gaze darkening. A barest flicker, a hulking bestial thing kept locked behind in his golden gaze. It's enough to freeze the blood in your veins.

On certain nights when you can slip away from the brothers you stay in his room. Lying awake, you watch his magic wane and shift as he slumbers. Sometimes you see runes, or at times letters. You are tempted to write them down and ask Solomon. But something stops you each time.

The worst images are the faces. Unknown souls trapped beneath his flesh clawing to be freed. Silent screams fading back into his body as he dreams. Your fragile fingers trace the patterns they leave as you wait for the next day wrapped in his embrace.

Only once have you seen more of his form then he would ever wish. The depths of his strength and mental fortitude were unknown to you so the slip up took you both by surprise. He masks the error well, but the sudden shift in energy in the room couldn’t be suppressed .

You are suddenly so aware of the oppressive weight of gravity on your frame. Your bones grinding together under the force of his aura. You panic, desperate by the need to breathe, but are unable to draw even the smallest bit of oxygen as it is robbed from the room. Time and reality wrapped too, distorting in ways only you thought only Barbatos could do. You knew in that moment the sudden dread of death, how mortally was but a rusty shackle tethering you down.

He collects himself, dispelling the energy and locking his glamour down tight to protect you. But that split second of fury felt like an eternity to you as you sink to the floor. You hiccup a shaky sob and shiver. Your fragile human mind bowing under the strain of what it cannot comprehend. Scolding hot tears fall from your cheeks, before splashing crimson the stone below you.

You didn't approach him again for over a month. No matter how strong you are, some things were better off unseen.

Mini Fic

He didn’t know. For once in his ancient pitiful existence, he had been unaware of his surroundings. It had been for just a moment, one tiny crack in his veneer. The foolishness of Mammon and Belphegor’s actions finally poked the right nerve. He wouldn’t hurt them, for Lucifer’s sake. That prideful demon would never forgive him if he did. But he could scare them. A quick look at his true self; a flash of the deepest bowels of hell. Enough to give them a reminder of their positions and standing in his court. He had expected their whimpers of fear, could taste the acidic tinge of it exuding from their pores. What he didn’t expect though was your blood curdling screams alongside.

Ironically, he would have to thank the second eldest later. His fast thinking is the only thing that saved you from complete damnation. His body shielded yours, taking the brunt of the stronger daemons hellish might for you. What little magic Mammon still had left used to protect you. Though, while your vision was blocked, you could still feel his oppressive presence. It racked your mortal flesh. Diavolo knew what affects his power had on humans. He spent years breaking and consuming damned souls with zeal after all.

The brothers had run from him after that, screaming for Simone. Barbatos following close behind, a look of consternation on his usually impassive face. You had been so limp in Mammon's arms. Diavolo could do nothing, shocked by his own weak will and realization that he might have ruined everything. You had been whisked away so quickly by his faithful servant and the brothers that he hadn’t had a chance to look you over himself. But the brief moment he saw will haunt him for years to come. Your eyes red from the sudden haemolacria, the blood staining your clothes and face. Your fingers digging away at your soft skin, black and purple blotches staining what he could see. Mouth opened wide on a silent scream. He knew what you must have seen. The souls of the damned trapped under his glamour breaking free to latch on to your unmarred soul trying to drag you back with them.

Against his butler's advice he stands at your door now days later trying to see you. He couldn’t sit around and just hear updates second hand. The brothers had been keeping guard most days in a valiant attempt to keep him away. But he could only be waylaid for so long before he used his rank against them.

He had arranged a full council meeting. Every one of the brothers knowing full well it was to get them out of his way. Yet, the order was absolute. This time none of the brothers could reject it. Barbatos would keep them in that room for eternity if he so wished for it. He hated using his age and power against them, but he saw no other way to get to you.

It was foolish now, standing as he was in front of your door. A part of him hoping you would turn the knob and let him in. Let him comfort you for once, instead of the asinine distractions the brothers offered. He could help too. Hells, he wanted to. He wanted to be closer to you. Power discrepancy be damned. The other part of him knowing it was for the best that you didn’t. Your guardian and tormentor all in one. He listens to your muffled sobs for a moment fighting with his feet to stay cemented to the floor instead of heading back in defeat.

"When my father was still around he took me down to the deepest depths of the kingdom. Where the worst of the traitors and sinners are imprisoned." His deep baritone rumbles through your door during a break in your crying. "It’s a place few seldom go; even now I have yet to return. Back then he told me ‘there will never be a human soul that is undeserving of punishment. Even the ones destined for the celestial realm are tethered to sin.’ At that time I believed him. The things I saw in your realm... " The prince chuckles wearily.

He remembers the ever present scowl on the old King's face. His dark eyes looking out at the sea of damned souls he controlled. Even as a young daemon, fresh into his wings and still sharpening his horns to impress others he could tell how much his father detested his position. How it had warped him, turning him bitter and cold, even to his mate and only child.

Diavolo never wanted to be like that. Not to the ones he supposedly cared for at the very least. "I think that is why he hated the other realms so much.” He continued. “Humans, for their ability to choose which realm they would eventually end up in after they pass. That even the worst sinners could find redemption enough at the last moment to get to the pearly gates. While daemons, no matter how well they served, or the duties they did for the good of their own would never be seen as equals to our celestial counterparts or yours. That this existence is all we'll ever be destined to have. Nightmares and monsters, stories to tell little human children to keep them in line.” He pauses, collecting himself. “I believed wholeheartedly that every human deserved the punishments only my kind could dowel out. But, in this past year I have spent with you, I find myself changing. You are so undeserving of such torment. Somehow you are understanding and forgiving beyond measure to us. You handle our ill tempers with such grace. For daemons such as us, it is staggering, and humbling. I regret that I have hurt you so deeply and have broken your trust. I swear it as the head of this realm I would never intentionally do so." He looks at the door handle willing it to open. " I am so sorry."

Your crying picks up again. Huge heaving sobs that rattle your chest. Great Father, he just keeps making it worse. Clearing his head Diavolo turns.

Rejection of this nature was new to him. No one had ever dared to ignore him, especially such as this. The royal in him- his father's blood- seethed that he would even stoop so low as to grovel to a short lived thing like yourself. Even deeper yet, it demanded another taste of your essences. You little soul kept safe behind your rib cage. He wanted it added to his collection, kept tucked away deep within his maws.

It was sick; it was wrong. He chokes on the idea. The intrusive thought burrowing deep. How deplorable was he? Perhaps the angels were right to keep him out of heaven.

You didn't show to class the following day, or the days after. Unsurprising to him and the seven of the inner council. He figured the other day wouldn’t change anything. But it was utter agony to him. These days trapped in his office only getting short and curt updates on your health from Lucifer. It had been a special kind of torment.

Today he sat once again at his desk staring at some godforsaken bitching of a royal cousin. He knew this whelp. Some backwater thrice removed eons ago. Yet he was demanding an audience? The gall. The ink of their eligible handwriting makes him cross eyed. Would this day ever cease? He looks to his hourglass, the sands within seemingly frozen in time.

"My Lord, perhaps you should take a moment to stretch your legs?" Barbatos moved from his corner. Gloved hand coming to rest on top of the same three lines he had been reading for the past two hours. "This work could wait another evening I’m certain ."

"Did I do the right thing my friend?" Diavolo doesn't even bother answering the question his servant posed. They both knew he wouldn't. "This program. Our human exchange students. Solomon is one thing, but-"

"Your will and path is absolute." Barbatos states. "There are no mistakes within you, merely stumblings onto different paths."

With a gentle push Barbatos moves the hulking demon out of his way to collect and organize the scrolls and letters scattered about the large desk. "You made the right choice bringing them here. Look at what they have done. They are entertainment to you are they not?"

The prince rose knocking his desk aside and descended on his butler. His true form out in all its unholy glory now. His highly condensed magic distorting the study as if he was a black hole. The axis of the room shifts. His priceless collection of books and toys disintegrating from the cold radiation he emits.

It was all for show really. There was nothing he could do to an ancient being such as Barbatos. So he lashed out, throwing a tantrum in the security of his office. The hopeless agitation he felt fueling the flames of his rage. His butler had only added holy water to his already festering wounds.

Barbatos had been by his side for time in memoriam. The crafty bastard had helped raise him. Had shaped him into the ruler he was today. If anyone could break and remold him it would be his oldest companion.

The dark haired daemon waited for the waves of agitation to dry up. Moving only when the prince was in his more presentable demonic form. Large barrel chest heaving as he reined himself in. “Are you back to your senses?” He asks coolly, already categorizing the items to replace and furniture to be mended.

"I had not meant for it to go like this." Diavolo croaks into his hands collapsing back on what remained of his desk. Building a bridge between realms, yes. That noble idea was the greater purpose of this program, but the rest of it. The classes, and dances. The parties where he threw his newest toys about to see how they would react to things other mortals worshiped? That had been for his own curiosity and amusement. Lesser beings navigating a foreign world blind to the dangers that were right under their very nose. Bring a mortal with no magic into his realm? Deep down he knew this was an inevitability. Especially with the freedoms he granted them. He just didn’t think he would get so attached.

“No one believes that you would hurt them on purpose.” His butler cuts off his downward spiral. “It would ruin the program. That is what you are so stressed about, right?” Barbatos eyes him skeptically. Diavolo, himself, and Lucifer had spent many sleepless weeks constructing and negotiating this program. If the Arch Angels heard a mortal was hurt down here it could very well end this little escapade. But the look in the prince’s eyes told a different story.

A warm glow emanated from his cheeks and he was unable to meet the old daemon’s gaze. Ah. "Or perhaps things have changed?" Barbatos smiles coyly up from beneath his bangs. "You are your mother's son after all. Neither of you were ever able to stem your bleeding hearts for long." Diavolo squawked indignantly but didn’t argue. Instead he merely turns a darker shade of red and curses under his breath.

He skipped out on court that evening. Not that he cared much. The other nobles would no doubt use the time to gossip about his whereabouts and uncouth behavior of late. Truth be told, he was avoiding the brothers more than anything else. They had made it expressly clear (some more then others) how they felt about him currently. He wouldn't doubt that Belphegor had a few more brothers on his side now.

Instead he stood at your door once more with a tea tray in hand. He had bumped into Simone on the way. The angel had come to bring you dinner and to check up on the last of your wounds. Celestial magic worked miracles on those who have been touched by the darker arts. Diavolo was grateful for his talents. And, by some miracle, Simone had made it abundantly clear he was not going to bring this to the higher ups on his end either.

Upon seeing the prince slinking up the house's stairwell the other man had simply smiled and offered him the tray. “I suddenly got a message from Luke. Could you perhaps drop this by our friend’s door?” Diavolo had accepted without preamble, large hands dwarfing the platter of little tea cakes and sandwiches. The young cherubs work no doubt. His cooking was a fine treat, and a great incentive to at least open the door.

“Hello again.” He knocks twice. “I just wanted to check in on you. I know I am the last person you wish to see but I was hoping to talk?” Silence greets him. Were you awake? He breathes deeply and focuses on picking up your vitals. You were up, your heart thumping steady somewhere in the room. That was good. “I also have dinner for you. Simone had an urgent matter to attend to so he- for better or worse- entrusted this to me.”

Diavolo searches hopelessly for something else to say. He couldn’t just leave the food and go. He needed to see you. “I don’t plan on staying long today. I understand when I am not wanted, but I cannot help myself but be worried for you. Perhaps this is just me contritioning, because I know I caused this. The amount of times I have been called a ‘ass’ by Solomon over this have been staggering.” He rambles. After another bout of silence from your end he coincides. “I see- I will leave the food by the door and let you rest.” Defeated he puts the food down and turns to leave.

The door clicks open slowly. One bloodshot eye peeking through the crack. “Oh mio piccolo mortale.” He loses his grip on your shared tongue at a loss. You looked- you must have been in the hall longer then he or the brothers had known. Such damage couldn’t be done in a few moments. Your skin was healing as nicely as Lucifer had said, but the deep purple scarring still remained on the surface. The burn pattern of it all was random. Twisting wounds that reflected an oily sheen from the light of the hallway. “I-.”

“I know-” You cut him off with a raised hand. “and I feel as though I owe you an apology too.” Your voice was so weak and shaky. A mockery of your normally strong and jovial tone. Hearing you laugh at school had brightened the dreary halls. He hadn’t realized it until you weren't there.

“You owe me nothing.” Diavolo says in earnest. He watches you contemplate your next words before throwing whatever you were going to say away.

“Would you like to come in?” Your eyes drop to the tray. “Luke always makes more than I can eat.”

“I don’t think that would be wise.” He backs out. All his plans crashing and burning around his feet. His actions had been irreparable.

“Perhaps not,” You open the door wider taking the tray and heading to your side table, leaving him no room to argue. “But then again, being a lamb among such wolves as yourself and the brothers isn’t smart either.” You meant it as a joke but he couldn’t even muster a chuckle. It was true. Gods. “Dia-” You approach him again but falter at the last second.

As much as you wanted to be close to him again the memories were still so fresh in your mind. The cold hell fire of his magic ensnaring you, searing your skin. The whispered words of sinners long since past still echoing in your head, all in languages you’ve never heard before. The worst though had to be the screaming. Lost souls begging for help. Some sounded so familiar…You shutter involuntarily.

You wanted to hate him for this. Curse him for putting you through this pain. But how much could you blame him? Or any of them? They were daemons. Whether he meant to hurt you or not, it truly had only been a matter of time before it happened. It would be hypocritical of you to fear or hate him forever over this. Six of the seven brothers have threatened your life before, and you have forgiven them. Hell, one of them actually killed you. What’s more was that Diavolo’s wrath hadn’t even been directed at you.

Wrong place at the right time; seemed to be your forte. “Please, come in.” You repeat again firmer than before mustering up either courage or sheer human stupidity to order him in. You couldn’t tell the difference anymore. “We need to talk.”

He enters, following at your heel like a lost puppy. All air of princedom gone as you clicked the door shut. Diavolo fiddles with his hands, old habits from childhood coming with his nerves. He didn’t know what to expect anymore. Yelling? Some kind of beratement? A plea to go home and never look back? He would let you.

You pass by him, giving him a large berth of space to get to your seat. “Tea?”

Diavolo jerks his head to you. He had forgotten momentarily the plate of food he had used to get access to you. You smile sheepishly pushing it and a plate of sweets towards him with your unbandaged knuckles. He doesn’t move till your hand retracts back to your lap. You jerk your head to the open seat waiting for him. You weren’t going to take no for an answer.

“I- thank you.” The daemon sits making himself as small as possible in the straight back chair. He takes the porcelain and drinks mindlessly. The scalding hot tea doing little to help the tightness of his throat, but it did thaw some of the ice in his mind.

“Are-how…” He fumbles so unsure of what to do next. “I see you’ve been keeping up with your school work.” Diavolo closes his eyes, wincing internally at his words. That’s what he comes up with? Idiotic.

You smile anyway, eyeing the massive pile of books and paperwork spewn about your bed. “Yeah. I’ve taken to doing my school work with Levi in his room. Mammon and Beel are nice enough to drop it off to the teachers when they are due.” He nods. He knew this of course. But it was nice to hear it from you. But yet, you don’t meet his eyes. Far too afraid to see what hid behind them.

The thought of being dragged back into those dark depths again makes your pulse quicken. You instead stare at your nail beds, finding them more interesting. They were purple now. The nails stained black by the contact with his magic. “Will- will that go away?” He asks. Demonic curses or taints were nigh impossible to remove fully. Disgustingly, he hoped they didn’t. Then your nails would match his. The darker depths of his soul coo at the idea, happy that in a small way every daemon would know your his. Not as good as a pact, but as close as he could get to being a part of your little mortal life.

“I’m not sure.” You reply honestly bringing your hands up to place them on the table. “Simone and Solomon have done what they could. But, it is as good as it’s going to get for now. They say it could fade with time.” You look up at him, eyes gazing to the left of his face. “Luke thinks I should see a stronger angel.” Diavolo winces, the thought stung, and terrified him. “I told him no.”

That surprised him. This was your chance. The celestial realm had been skeptical from the beginning. If they knew, it would be a perfect caveat for them to step in. “Why?” Finally you look at him. The fear was still there. Hesitation evident in your eyes. Yet you forced yourself to look at him, fighting through your trepidation.

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About your father and what you think of me?”

“Of course.” He replies without hesitation reaching for your cold hands. You flinch but don’t move away. It felt-nice. His warmth chasing away the perpetual chill that covered your fingertips. Idly you stroke his strong hands with your thumbs.

“Then, I think we can work on this privately.” Slowly but surely you felt like you could fix this. Not for the program, but for yourself.

#obey me #obey me diavolo #obey me headcanons #gods have mercy I wanna smooch him so bad

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thatweeboverthereisthirsty · 4 years

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Ask Blooper Fic/JamilxKalim Angst and slight jealousy

Ok ngl I started this fic in response to a Possessive!Jamil x Kalim ask but read the ask wrong and started writing Kalim as the possessive one (as best I could cause he’s a softie) then half way through I realised my mistake so I took a completely different route and put angst instead because that’s all I seem to do recently. Nevertheless enjoy and Anon that requested the Possessive!Jamil x Kalim fic, I’m sorry I messed up. The correct fic with your ask is coming.

And yes, I still don’t know how to properly end a fic. (Just pretend I do, lol)

I wanted to be with you

Parties were a large part of Kalim’s life. As the son and heir of a wealthy family with extremely high status it was normal for the teen to attend parties all the time. So he had become quite accustomed to socializing and being the center of attention. The sweet boy never realised that when he attended parties, his personal servant and in his mind, best friend, Jamil would never dress up or speak to anyone besides him. Despite never seeing Jamil as a servant in the back of his mind it was always apparent that they were different in many ways. Of course being preoccupied with a party his easily distracted brain often forgot that Jamil would follow him, but never too close, and make sure he didn’t trip, or would retrieve things for him at any time Kalim asked. Never had the white haired boy realised that before he was allowed to touch any of the food on his plate, Jamil would yet again put his life on the line and test all the foods for poison. He was so oblivious to these things growing up that he was surprised when they finally had the chance to attend a party together as equals.

Across the room stood Jamil, dressed in a stylish outfit with arabian accents that expressed his homeland well. He also wore gold pieces of jewelry that Kalim had never seen before. They went well with his round gold earrings which sparkled in the right light. His eyelids were painted in a dark bronze that faded as it travelled higher and his eyeliner made his dark eyes seem slightly more almond shaped, which gave them a mature, sexy appearance. In all he was gorgeous in a way that Kalim had never seen him, despite spending nearly his entire life with the teen.

Other people obviously noticed these good looks as well cause they flocked to him and spoke in ways that would make them appear more attractive to the listener. All night long women and men from every school that attended the dance jumped at any chance to spend time with the attractive young man. As a consequence Kalim was left alone to navigate the large room himself. Normally he would thrive under these types of conditions but without his friend and, regrettably, servant by his side the eccentric teen felt a bit more vulnerable than he was used to.

People still approached Kalim with interest since he didn’t look half bad himself. He never did, Jamil wouldn’t allow that to happen. Since day one he always got Kalim ready for the day and its events no matter what they may be. Kalim always looked amazing when he was done and Jamil would settle with appearing mediocre for the sake of rules and the lack of time he had to pay attention to himself. Kalim felt a pang of guilt as he remembered how obliviously he had stolen away Jamil’s childhood with his own wants and needs. He had ruined his friend's life simply because he didn’t know how to put on his own clothes. That had all been changed though, Kalim thought with reignited joy, because he let Jamil be free. He would learn how to get dressed on his own, bathe on his own, cook his own food, even tie shoes! He had already started to improve, deciding to put on his own clothes and makeup for the party so Jamil could dress up on his own. It wasn’t easy though, Kalim recalled with a sigh.

The brush and palette of black paint felt awkward in his hands as Kalim attempted to apply a reasonable amount of eyeliner to his face. “Ouch!” The brush slipped again and slid across his eye. Dropping the brush and palette Kalim clutched his irritated eye and hissed as it started to sting. He pulled his hands away from his eye and looked down at the palette which now lay broken on the floor. Tears slipped down his cheek on one side to clear his sight, but it only succeeded on smudging more makeup into the delicate pupil. He stood and approached the mirror slowly. Taking in his appearance, Kalim felt a jolt of frustration. Why wasn’t this easy for him like it was for everyone else? How come he couldn’t get his shirt to button properly or his wrap to lay correctly on his head? Why wasn’t putting on makeup as simple as painting?

In the end he had to ask for outside help from a fellow student who often helped Jamil when he needed it. It was almost shameful how he couldn’t do anything at all by himself, but at least his former servant had been allowed to give himself the attention he deserved.

Kalim sighed and shook his head to clear the thoughts about their recent dynamic change. Deciding he needed something to eat, he approached the buffet table and gazed at his options with excitement. Food from the land of the hot sands was always good and comforting, but occasionally switching things up sparked excitement at the new discovery. He chose a heavily seasoned meat dish, which he assumed came from the Afterglow Savannah. He munched thoughtfully and eyed the room around him once again to take in his busy surroundings, or at least that’s what he told himself. In truth the young heir’s eyes searched for one thing in the crowd and paused when they found what they were looking for.

The brunette stood in the middle of a small group laughing at something a pretty red haired girl said. It was unusual to see so much happiness on his face, or it was something that Jamil didn’t show Kalim very often. He felt a strange emotion bubble up within him. It wasn’t something he had never felt before but it was so rare that it was hard to place exactly what the emotion was. Scrunching his brows together he looked down at his food. Suddenly he didn’t feel hungry anymore. Still he placed more food in his mouth. The taste was no longer as flavorful as it was the first time. He frowned but kept eating. It distracted him from that feeling so it was worth it. When he finished his food he threw the plate away and tried to start up conversation with a few of the people around him. None of the usual starters worked however and Kalim found himself alone yet again.

Only then did he spot Jamil and the girl again. They were dancing together while talking and laughing. His hands on her hips and hers around his neck. They looked so happy together that Kalim almost felt guilty for wishing that it was him Jamil was dancing with instead. Kalim watched as the girl leaned up and whispered something in the brunette's ear. She pulled away giggling and he responded by pulling her close and whispering something back. Suddenly Kalim felt like the walls were closing in on him. Everyone was too close and he felt dizzy.

He weaved through the crowd trying to find an exit. The room was hot and the windows were fogged with the contrast of the cool night air and sweaty teenager body heat. When he finally found a way out he made a break for it and ran to the hall of dorm mirrors. Stopping only for a fraction of a second Kalim quickly found the Scarabia mirror and stepped through. His body quickly adjusted to the sweltering heat that the Scarabia dorm’s environment consisted of and ran through the dorm as fast as he could. The entrance to his room never looked so inviting before. He pulled himself inside and shut and locked the door behind him. He entered his private bathroom and did the same thing.

Tears came hot and fast as his body shook with sobs. Kalim collapsed to his knees and wrapped his arms around himself in a feeble attempt to calm himself. Whether it was from the running or emotions Kalim felt nauseous. Why was this happening to him? Had he not been good enough? Jamil had promised that he didn’t hate Kalim and never did. He also promised he would never leave him. All those kisses, hugs, and I love you’s. Were they just lies? Of course they were. He thought bitterly. He should have known that this ‘relationship’ they had was just another way for Kalim to guilt trip Jamil into staying. Would he ever learn? Even after all that happened he still hadn’t allowed his former servant the freedom he wanted. If Kalim thought he felt sick before he definitely felt worse now.

“Kalim? Kalim! Hey Kalim, open the door.” Jamil’s voice filtered into the bathroom and Kalim held his breath. “Kalim I know you’re in there. Please open the door so I can make sure you’re ok.” He didn’t respond. There was silence for a moment before Kalim picked up the faint sounds of footsteps leaving his door. The teen sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. He shouldn’t have left so suddenly, then Jamil would still be enjoying himself at the party instead of here worrying about him. The sound of keys in a lock snapped Kalim to attention. He had forgotten that as his assigned caretaker Jamil would have the keys to his room and bathroom. He heard his door swing open and Jamil call out to him again. “Kalim! Kalim? Are you alright? Answer me.” The panicked tone of his voice suggested that he had no idea if Kalim was ok or not. The keys jangled again and Kalim watched as the bathroom door opened.

“Kalim? What are you doing? What happened to you? Why did you leave without telling me? Do you not feel well? Please tell me you didn’t eat any food that I didn’t taste first?” Jamil knelt down in front of the white haired boy and continued his long list of questions. “No.” Jamil stopped speaking and frowned. “No nothing happened and it’s not the food. I’m fine so you should stop worrying about me and go back to that girl you were hanging out with earlier. It would be a shame if you wasted your night on me.” There was no bitterness in Kalim’s voice, only sadness. “Kalim,” Jamil said quietly, “if this is about that girl I can tell you that we were only dancing to get your attention.” Kalim looked up in surprise. “I know you were making an effort to give me more freedom so I didn’t want to babysit you cause I knew you would get upset that I wasn’t giving myself the freedom I deserved, but the truth is, I wanted to be next to you. I wanted to be at that party with you so when I caught you looking at me with jealousy I thought that maybe I could push you to come to me, but it didn’t work and I’m so sorry.”

Kalim stared down at the floor and tried to process what Jamil said. He was just dancing with her to make him notice. Cause he wanted Kalim to come to him and be with him. “So,” Kalim looked up again with watery eyes, “I make you happy. You want to be with me, I’m not just forcing-” “NO.” Jamil cut Kalim off with a shout but started again quietly when he saw that he had startled the smaller boy. “No. You aren’t pushing this relationship on me. I want to be here cause I love you Kalim Al Asim. Because you make me happy in a way no one else can.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips lightly against Kalims, who in return smiled. “I’ll always love you. Nothing can change that, and there is no way I would ever leave you. No matter how amazing the other person seems, you are always gonna be better.” Kalim lowered his knees and allowed himself to be brought into a comforting hug. “I love you too” He whispered quietly before burying his face in Jamil’s neck. The brunette smiled fondly at the bundle of Kalim that laid against him. It was a smile that no one but Kalim would ever receive. It was one that was made of more than happiness.

#twst #twisted wonderland #jamil x kalim #kalim x jamil #twst jamil #twst kalim #jamil viper #kalim al asim

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chaolie · 3 years

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Fundy Week, Day 8 - Free Prompt

Here it is!!! Fashionably late as usual, the last thing I'm writing for @fundyfiles' Fundy Week!! I'm so glad I decided to join this, I can't remember the last time I wrote so much content in so little time, not to mention how proud I am of what I managed to create!!

Now, I wasn't too sure what to write for this one, but I happened across a story idea I saved in mid-November 2020 and it had two incredible things: FWT, and a lot of Angst! So what else could I even write at this point?? And as always, this is also on my Ao3!

Characters: Fundy, Dream, others mentioned

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: (Temporary) Character Death, Explosions

Summary: Not long before the big fight between Manburg and Pogtopia, Fundy finds an unsigned book with a warning directed at him. He brushes it off at first, but the thought keeps lingering at the back of his mind. Eventually, he decides to walk away from the main part of the nation and keep his distance for safety. Too bad that the person who sent the warning didn't notice that.

Fundy’s day was not going great. Schlatt was a complete mess in the morning, the people from Pogtopia basically rejected him and all the information he collected as a spy… At this point, which side should he even fight for? He figured, the people against Schlatt were a safer bet for him, but he still had no guarantee that they wouldn’t turn on him too. Still, it was a risk he was willing to take. A risk he had to take. And he would, but it didn’t make his doubts any less troublesome. That’s why when he spotted a book lying on his desk, for quite a while he considered just leaving it there and not looking inside.

The curiosity got the better of him, and he carefully approached the item, lifting it off the wooden surface and slowly opening it. As soon as he did, a quill slipped out from between the pages and fell to the ground. Great. So it wasn’t even signed. Dreading what he’d find, he started reading the first page.

“Dear Fundy,

This is a warning. Do not fight in the war.”

A confused frown appeared on his face. Who would write this? What did it mean? Hesitantly, he turned the page.

“It doesn’t matter which side you support, be it Manburg or Pogtopia. It doesn’t matter if you were just planning to watch the fight and side with whoever you’d deem more beneficial to support. You, and I can’t stress this enough, can NOT be anywhere near Manburg during the war. It would be best if you stayed away from it altogether, until you’re sure that the danger passed. Stay home, go mineing, take a walk, swim out into the sea… anything you can do away from this deathtrap.”

This was far more concerning than the 1st page. Whoever wrote this seemed very determined to keep him away from the war. And, somehow, they knew that he wasn’t loyal to Schlatt all the way. Nervously, he flipped the page.

“The entire nation is rigged with TNT. One wrong move during the war, or even after all, and everything could be gone in an instant. Including you, and anyone else caught in the blast. Please, DO NOT attend the battle. It doesn’t matter what your ‘allies’ will think of you, it’s better to be judged than dead. And please, don’t tell anyone else about this. If they tried to disarm the TNT, it would only end poorly. Please, make the right decision. Please.

-Signed: Someone who doesn’t want you hurt”

He stared at the page for a moment, re-reading the last part. “Someone who doesn’t want you hurt”, huh? With a sigh, he threw the book back down onto the desk and stepped back, rubbing his face and trying to collect himself. Of course they couldn’t even sign this letter right. No, they just had to leave it like that! How would he know if he could trust them? How would he know if this wasn’t a test, or a joke? How?

He leaned down and picked up the quill he dropped before walking back to the desk and turning the pages again until he reached an empty one. He gripped the feather tighter before angrily scribbling down his response, muttering it under his breath.

“Dear whoever-wrote-this, Fuck You. I don’t know you and I don’t trust you. I think you just want to keep me from fighting. Make sure you have fewer enemies to defeat. I’m not buying your stupid sob story, I’m joining the war and going down in history,” he finished.

He slammed the book shut and set the quill down by its side. This would surely show them that he can’t be threatened so easily. Then, he stepped back and headed towards his chests, the reason he originally came here. He had to collect his gear before the war. “TNT”, the letter claimed. As if that wouldn’t be found yet.

***

A day passed, and the war was already over. It felt weird, compared to how long it took to win independence for L’Manburg in the first place, but Fundy wasn’t complaining. Despite the dirty looks some of his allies shot at him, he didn’t end up in the crossfire or left for dead. That was… nice? And he wasn’t even too hurt, just a few slashes and cuts here and there, none of them seriously bleeding anymore. Emotionally, he wasn’t doing too sound, though.

As he sat on a small wooden chair by the stage, surrounded by friends and allies as some people were giving speeches, passing some official titles over between one another… he could barely focus on anything. He watched people get seriously hurt during the fight, he probably caught glimpses of their lives being taken from them even… not to mention witnessing Schlatt’s final death. That was… quite something. In a negative sense. He wasn’t sure what he expected from a war, though.

And on top of all that, the warning in the book still lingered in his mind. What if whoever left it wasn’t lying? What if all the explosives were just under his feet and would go off any moment now? What if he simply got lucky so far? The thought of dying that way was sickening. He hated it so much, oh so much. He didn’t want to die after all this…

He looked around the crowd. Maybe he’d spot someone who would help him calm down? Reassure him? He had someone specific on his mind, his fiance, but luck wasn’t on his side this time. No matter how long he searched for, he couldn’t catch even a glimpse of Dream’s mask between other people. He wasn’t too surprised, though, the man sided with the losing fraction, after all. Him deciding to leave prematurely was to be expected.

That’s when he made up his mind. Just to feel better, he’d take a walk. Get away from the stage and the loud noises and the stupid, cheap speeches. Get away from the probably nonexistent explosives. Take a stroll down the Prime Path and relax. Look for Dream out there and spend the rest of the day by his side. Who cared about some stupid celebrations, this was all he wanted to do now.

He got up and left, no one noticing his absence in time to stop him. Good, he thought, no need to explain to anyone that some empty threats are pushing me over the edge. He would get to calm himself down at his own pace, which would be quite ideal. He started climbing the path, on his way to Tommy’s house, from which he could head straight to Dream’s base. He would probably be there, and they could just talk there, hidden from anyone else.

Sudden screams of fear picked up behind him, and he never turned as fast in his life. He watched as all his allies and friends scattered in panic, but before he could question why, it happened. An explosion went off, and another one followed it. And another, and another, and- Fundy closed his eyes and covered his ears, the blasts were LOUD. When he opened them, he had already fallen back onto the path, and the place he called home just 5 minutes prior was now nothing but a smoking crater.

He saw some people dangerously close to the destroyed land, helping each other up and covering each other’s wounds. Not thinking twice, he ran back down the path and desperately tried to find the people he cared for. Niki was right there, Eret was pulling someone to their feet, Tommy and Tubbo were by each other’s sides, Quackity was leaning against a broken wall and catching his breath… that would only leave a person or two missing-

“Fundy?!” came a desperate call from the crater, making him stop in his tracks. “Fundy, where- can you hear me?! Fundy!”

“...Dream?!” he called back, forcing his feet to move again. What the hell was he doing down there?

“Fun-!”

Another explosion sounded out in the crater, followed by a scream cut shot with even more leftover TNT going off. And just like that, Fundy was frozen again. His mouth was open just as if he wanted to call out Dream's name, but no words could leave his throat. He simply stared at the edge of the crater and felt a sting of pain in his chest. No, no, no, no-

Suddenly, he was running again. Someone tried to grab him by his arm, someone called his name after him, but it didn’t matter, none of it did anymore. He reached the edge of the crater and to his horror saw someone lying face-down on the freshly blown up ground. He’d recognize that green hoodie anywhere, even if it was scorched and covered by some armor. Without a second thought, he tried to jump in. Something under his feet came loose and he tumbled down the steep wall of the crater until promptly hitting the ground on the very bottom, but not even the pain that ensued could keep him down.

“No, no, no- Dream! D-Dream!” he called out, scrambling to his feet and stumbling forward. This wasn’t happening, this couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t possible- “Dream! Please, Dream!”

He reached his fiance’s side and put a hand over his shoulder, carefully turning him onto his back. His mask was cracked, showing one of his eyes and a part of his cheek. If not the injuries, Fundy could assume that he was asleep, but… Oh, God.

“Dream?” he asked faintly. To his absolute surprise, he saw his fiance’s eye slowly open. His gaze seemed unfocused, and Fundy could only pray that he was still recognizable.

“...Fun… dy?” the man asked slowly, and the fox hybrid wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved just yet.

“I- I’m here, that’s- I’m here, Dream,” he assured as he looked his fiance over. That’s when he noticed a book the man was clutching tightly, pushing it against his chest. “W-what’s this…?” he asked, carefully reaching for it. Dream’s grip on the item seemed to loosen.

“...So you… listened?” he asked faintly as Fundy picked up the book and opened it on the first page only to be greeted by familiar words. Dear Fundy. This is a warning. “Y-you were- s-safe…”

“W-wait, that was you?!” the fox hybrid realized with a gasp. Oh, how come he hadn’t recognized the handwriting?! How come he hadn’t told his fiance about the 'threat'?! How come-

“I- I thought you-” Dream tried to answer, but ended up just laughing at the small misunderstanding that cost his life. His laughter, however, quickly turned into coughing.

“Oh sh- Okay, okay, keep breathing. I- I’ll get you a potion or something, and-” Fundy instructed, searching himself for anything he had with him that could help. Eventually, he turned his head towards the top of the crater. “H-helo?! Help! Please!” he called out.

“...Fundy…?” Dream asked faintly, getting his attention again. When he looked back, the man had somehow slipped his mask off his face and was now carefully putting it into the fox hybrid’s hands, leaving him baffled. “K-keep it.”

“Wh- Wait, no, no, no, Dream! Just- just hold on a moment longer, I’ll get you all the potions you could need and I- I’ll make sure that you’re okay, I promise! Please, just-” he stuttered, holding the mask close to his chest and taking his fiance’s hand.

“I… I don’t…” Dream tried to answer, but his voice seemed to fade with each second. Fundy felt tears slowly running down his cheeks as he squeezed his hand.

“...I love you, okay? I love you, please, just… I love you so much,” he reminded, and hoped that Dream would find it in himself to answer.

“...I lo… love y…”

“...Dream?”

It hurt. It hurt so much to see his fiance’s face numb and to feel his hand grow heavier in his own. The tears staining Fundy’s cheeks burned like acid and he just wished to turn back the time. The- the stupid answer he wrote in the book, why did he ever do that? Why did he think it was a good idea? Why did he let it literally kill the love of his life? Why-

Everything seemed blurry. He didn’t know if it was because of his own wounds or the heartache, but he barely processed what happened. He barely acknowledged someone near him, handing him a potion just minutes too late, barely realized when they led him out of the crater and sat him down on one of the chairs… He stared down at the mask in his hands, cracked by the explosion, and wondered… was this really the end?

Oh.

Wait.

No.

No, it wasn’t the end! He had no idea how he ever forgot, but… but this wasn’t Dream’s last life! No, if he recalled correctly, the man still had all three! What was he even doing here?! Why wasn’t he at spawn already?! He quickly asked for enderpearls and a swiftness potion, all he could think of, and immediately rushed off. Someone tried to stop him again, but it’s not like they managed the first time either. No one would be able to slow him down now.

Just 5 minutes later, he was climbing the wall around the spawn and frantically looking around. Was he here before Dream respawned? Or did he take too long and they missed each other? Should he wait, or go search for him somewhere else-

He suddenly spotted Dream, sitting in one of the corners of the spawn, with his back against the wall. He was curled up, and his hands seemed to remble as they traced the newfound scars on his face. It wasn’t too surprising to find him in that state, dying for the first time was always terrifying…

“Dream!” Fundy gasped, fully jumping the wall and rushing over to his fiance. The man looked up at him, but stayed frozen for a moment. But when the fox hybrid fell to his knees and pulled him into a hug, he returned the gesture. “O-oh, you scared me so much-”

“...I love you, too,” Dream answered quietly, and Fundy barely could stop himself from crying again.

It was such a relief to hear that. Better late, than never.

***

Haha, remember all those fics where Fundy dies in the explosion that were circling around after the Manburg vs Pogtopia war?? Yeah, so what if... yeah. What if for once it was Dream who died there??

Except, since this is the last prompt, I figured I wouldn't make it 100% Angst!

Ok and now some serious talk, thank you so much for reading!! I appreciate every single like, reblog, and all other kinds of interactions. These really mean a lot to me and I just want you all to know

#fundy #c!fundy #Dream #c!dream #fwt #fundywastaken #dream smp #mcyt #my writing #fundyweek2021

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queen-yalo · 4 years

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FF VII | Headcanons | Reacting to their S/O almost dying

Request: Heyyy can you do a headcannon for Reno, Rufus and sephiroth on them reacting to you almost dying (you don’t have to if it’s to dark) [by Anon]

A/N: I already did that for Reno and Rufus. You can find it here. :) Hope you enjoy! (As much as you can enjoy angst.... ;-;)

A/N 2.0: Ha, stupid me. As I was about to start writing this, I realized it said almost dying. Heh. Oops. So we’re doing this for all three. :3 Also, Sephiroth’s turned out to be so long, I’m sorry. D:

Pairing(s): Reno x reader; Rude x reader; Sephiroth x reader

Warnings: Angst; mentions of blood & gore

+++

• Reno would probably be on patrol when Tseng called him. There had been an accident, involving a few civilists. Including you. Tseng gave him the rest of the day off. But even if he didn’t Reno couldn’t have been held back. As soon as he hung up he was on his way to the hospital. The doctors had a hard time to calm him down, but once he finally did, he heard the magic words. ‘They will make it.’ Reno is relieved to say the least.

• The second the doctors tell him you’re gonna be alright, he’s having a nervous breakdown. And he shows it as soon as he’s alone with you. He’ll hold your hand, kiss your knuckles and sob shamelessly like a little child. He doesn’t care. You didn’t die. You’re badly wounded, but you’ll make it. That’s all that counts.

• Will 100% pop the question once you regained your senses. He knows that marrying him will not prevent any possible tragedies like this one, but at least he wouldn’t have to regret anything if something like this ever happened again. Of course he hopes that it was a one-time-situation. He couldn’t go through this a second time.

• It all went way too fast. One moment he had you in his arms and in the next, blood, tissue and bone fragments splattered onto his face. You had been shot. His body moved on its own, laying you down, applying pressure to your wound, grabbing his phone to call for help. The hole in your chest was huge, oozing blood in frightening amounts.

• Waiting, while you were undergoing surgery, was excruciating. He hoped you were alright. He hoped that the bullet that was meant to hit him wouldn’t kill you. His phone buzzed, alerting him of a new text message. The corners of his lips twitched slightly when he saw Reno’s message. ‘Got him.’ It read. So the man that did that to you wasn’t running free anymore. That was good. But as good as that was... it did nothing to help with your current condition.

• When the doctor said that no internal organs were damaged and you were ‘only’ suffering from bloodloss, he was so grateful. Outwardly, he merely took a deeper breath than usual. Inwardly he was sobbing from joy. He would sit next to you until you’d wake up, watching over you. That was a close one. So many regrets were flooding his mind. Dinners he cancelled because of work. Hugs he refused to give because of coworkers watching. Kisses he wouldn’t give because he was tired. Even though you couldn’t hear it right now, he whispered promises of being a better man in the future. For your relationship. For you.

• Sephiroth was seething. Damn those Wutai troops. Who did they think they were, invading Midgar like that, wrecking havoc all around the city? He sighed deeply. It was too early for that. The sun didn’t even rise yet, but the whole city was already wide awake and in panic.

• It didn’t even cross his mind that you could be in danger. You were very capable of defending yourself. He didn’t worry for you for one second because he knew you would easily defeat those idiotic warriors. Well... that was until he saw the building you two had your apartment in collapsing. His eyes widened for a fraction before he was there in a heartbeat, watching the rubble falling to the ground, still trying to get civilians away from the area. That’s when he heard it. Your voice, screaming his name. He turned around... only to see you running towards him before a giant bolder fell onto your form.

• He froze. This... didn’t just happen. You did not just get crushed by a giant stone... did you? He barked at his subordinates to clear the rubble while he was fighting off the last Wutai troops. Once the last man fell to Sephiroth’s feet he was back at where he had last seen you, clearing the rubble at the exact same spot you disappeared. He hoped you would still be with him. You couldn’t die. Not today. Not like this. He halted his actions when he heard a quiet whimper from somewhere underneath the rubble. He called your name... and his heart almost jumped out of his chest when you answered him. Your voice was shaky and hoarse... but you were there. When he finally lifted the last boulder off, he felt relieve rushing through him as he realized that the boulder got stuck on another one, creating a little hollow space for you to remain practically unharmed, apart from a few bruises and scratches.

• He knew that people were watching but he didn’t care. You were the one person he harboured such intense feelings for... and he needed to show them right now. So he pulled you into his arms, holding you close against his naked chest. You sobbed quietly, but thanked him over and over again for saving you, only to be shushed by him with a small kiss. To hell with what everyone was thinking right now. You were back in his arms. And he knew in that very moment that you were the only person he wanted this close - now and forever.

#final fantasy 7 #final fantasy VII #final fantasy 7 headcanons #final fantasy VII headcanons #reno #reno x reader #rude #rude x reader #sephiroth #sephiroth x reader

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sweet-cynical-writer · 4 years

Text

Author's Notes: On top of not writing as frequently, I wrote two fics. This one will be the sequel to the previous fic, “I couldn't care less.” I haven't written this much before but it likely won't happen again anytime soon.

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 1.7k

Additional Notes: Another thank you to @soukokuwu for proofreading! I'm not used to anything more than 500 words so the help is appreciated!

Fresh air and a clear sky.

You can already feel that today was going to be better than yesterday. What’s more, you were on your way to your favourite little flower shop in the corner of the city near the bay. You were planning to surprise your sweet new boyfriend with this spontaneous gift of a bouquet.

With a little hop in your steps, you made your way down the all-too-familiar stone pavement. Once in, your eyes sparkled at the sight of red camellias. It was perfect to express your desired message: “forever mine”.

You were about to reach out for it when someone else’s hand bumped yours. You drew yours back and apologised out of instinct, thinking you must’ve upset them.

"I'm so sorry, I didn't see you—"

Your heart skipped a beat the moment your gaze flicked up to meet the man in question. The surprise you felt made you take a few steps back. But then a comforting voice played in your head.

“Hey, don’t worry okay? If you ever feel panicked just imagine me beside you, holding your hand, just like this—” you felt a warmth around your palms— “and then take a minute to collect your thoughts before saying anything.”

He was your saviour in more ways than one, really. His words only reminded you of how patient he was. Kind, caring. A vast difference to how your old relationship was. You were better now. Way better than before. But now you found yourself looking your past in the eye, in its — Dazai’s — chocolate brown eyes.

The corners of your mouth upturned into a sweet smile, and now it was his turn to flinch.

"It's alright. I was only looking. I don't really have flowers to buy anyone."

What was this ache in his chest? And why did it only appear the moment he saw you? You were just another woman on his list, just another number he conquered. So why was he feeling bitter now that you seemed… happy without him?

The silence that surrounded you two was unnerving. It had been quite some time since you broke up, since he broke your heart. But thinking of the days that came after that — it was good. Life had been good to you. You had spent a huge fraction of your time bawling over him, until you realised it just wasn’t fair. How could it be when you could spend all that time to better yourself rather than being miserable over that bastard?

"I heard from Atsushi that you're doing well. I'm guessing you found some happiness after all?" The way he said it — so pointedly, sharp, leaving no room for negotiation. Much like pointing a dagger to your throat. It was a rhetorical question. Dazai already knew. He always knew.

But no, this time, you weren’t going to let him have the upper hand. You weren’t going to let him bask in the glory of steering everything in his direction. No, this time, you knew who you were. After all, your boyfriend’s words kept ringing in your head. No more grudges, no more spite.

"I took time to myself and found my footing again. Atsushi told me you haven't been doing too well.. is everything okay, Osamu?"

For a moment you thought you saw a hint of malice in those dark brown eyes.

"Everything fell apart after losing you. I tried to fill the hole inside me that you once filled so perfectly. And so sweetly too. I never realized how much you meant to me until you stopped calling out to me one day."

There he goes again, using such honeyed words to cast another spell on your fragile heart. Or rather, your once fragile heart. But not anymore. Part of you would always care for and love Dazai. But your intimate love for him ran dry like a dozen roses left out in the hot sun to wither.

And he could tell. He always could. He knew how your love for him, what he thought he had control over forever, was gone. He knew, just from your gaze, how you were looking at him like an old friend, nothing more. And the next few words that fell out of your rosy lips hurt him like thorns in his heart.

"I'm so sorry you're not well, Dazai. Truly I am. But I found happiness and I really hope you’ll find yours. Besides, you're free now. I really hope you’ll find it."

His happiness after you had been short-lived. After only a few parties did he notice how much he missed you. The way you would pick him up after he had a drunken night out, and cooked him hot meals to wake up to. Those light feathered kisses you trailed along his neck to gingerly rouse him from his slumber.

"Well, maybe you could embrace freedom with me sometime?"

It felt satisfying to have Dazai being so smitten towards you. Where Dazai used to always rule your heart, it was now only filled with your boyfriend. An image of crimson locks flashed in your mind and with a deep smile you shook your head, picking up the bouquet of camellias to leave.

But a sudden embrace from behind stopped you in your tracks.

"Let me at least see you again."

You knew what the old you would think. She would be anxious, questioning everything, each possibility. Things like: should you keep in contact with your ex even though it’d create problems with your current boyfriend? She’d think there was a chance that Dazai had changed for the better. But she’d also have to consider if he was just manipulating her. And that if he was, she’d lose Chuuya. She’d think that she could end up all alone again. She’d shiver at the thought of that.

But the current you? The one Chuuya loved with every fibre of his being? He loved you strong, he made you whole again when you never thought it could be possible. And you loved him all the same.

When he caught on that you weren’t moving, Dazai released his grasp on you. Did he scare you? Was it too much?

"Hey.. are you okay—"

You pulled away and turned to face him. “Be brave, stand tall, but most importantly, don't lose control.” Chuuya's words rang in your head and you regained composure.

"You know.. it's funny how you miss me more than you could ever love me, Dazai. I may have forgiven you in order to move on.. but I did it for me, not you. I'm happier with Chuuya now. You had that chance already."

The tears were building up in your eyes and you had to turn away to not let him see. You didn’t want him to misunderstand. This was just the closure you never got, the hurt you never got to feel when he so abruptly left you. He would see this as an opening, not a close. He would try to snake his way back into your life, and you didn’t want that.

With that, you forced your legs to move forward, to move away from him. To move on from your past. It was hard — to say goodbye to someone who had once meant so much to you. That would explain the constriction in your chest, making it hard to breathe. But you knew that better things would be coming. And that made it easier.

***

A few minutes away from the flower shop — there he was, waiting for you by a bench. Right on time, never late. It was a small gesture to many, but to you it meant the world. He was a busy man, a Port Mafia executive, and yet the one person he would turn the world over for — it would only be you.

You ran over to him, your hands wrapped around his neck and his own snaked around your waist. You caught a whiff of the sweet cologne you had gifted him as a present after the first month together. This familiarity, this comfort, this warmth. It could never get old. You’d never felt this way. And it wouldn’t be the same with anyone else.

Both of you didn’t have to say a thing, and yet you both knew what the other was feeling. It was something special you shared with Chuuya, and only Chuuya. This bond was what you cherished the most. With him, you didn’t have to keep second-guessing anything, not his actions, not his words. He never tried to push you into anything, unlike a certain someone. Even now, when you were sobbing slightly. Chuuya never pushed you to explain.

The two of you walked home hand in hand, with you offering him the bouquet only then. You had smiled, and your dried tears had made tracks on your skin. He accepted the bouquet, giving you a quick peck on the forehead.

"My sweet love.. these are perfect. Let's get you in a better mood hmm?"

Once you were home, you let him take you by the hand to the bedroom. Chuuya knew you preferred to be pampered before talking about what was on your mind. You just needed to relax.

He began peppering your face with kisses. It made you giggle — how soft and gentle the way his lips pressed against your skin. And the way his fingers twirled your hair playfully felt comforting. Especially the way he would lean in and whisper every kind of doting compliment he could think of.

"You're so gorgeous, my love. I'm the luckiest man alive to have an absolute sweetheart as my lover."

There was a loud buzz coming from the nightstand on your side of the bed. Usually, you would check it yourself but Chuuya insisted on looking at it for you since he was closer. He peered over and the caller ID read Osamu Dazai.

"Who is it, Chuuya?"

He silenced your phone before turning his attention back to you. Chuuya ran his hand down your shoulder to take your hand in his.

"Nothing important. Let's continue where we left off, my love."

You wanted to check for yourself but quickly shook the urge off when his lips locked with yours. Chuuya was right. No matter who it was, it didn’t matter. Right here, right now, only he did. You fell into his love, fell into the way his lips pressed against yours. You drowned in him, and you thought only of him.

And this ocean, this one you called home, you would happily drown in.

#bungou stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya bsd #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bungou stray dogs chuuya nakahara #bsd imagines #bsd fluff #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #reader x chuuya #fluff writing #zai writes #zai does shitty edits

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lenle-g · 5 years

Note

give me a cute short fic of jeff and alan together!!!!!!!!!!!!!! like some father son bonding moment and I know jeff boy hasn't appeared yet but I need the content

Ask Meme: I wish you would write a fic where…

Well, this… this is 90% not cute (with a cute ending tho I promise) but here on the Len blog it’s feels or death lads, feels or death. Also this is supposing the Space BoysTM and Scott goon the Rescue mission, and leave Gordon and Virgil to keep up with rescues onEarth.

His voice is morebooming than Alan remembers it. When he laughs he laughs with his whole body,shoulders shaking, knee slapping. He wonders if the grey of his eyes were alwaysthat shade? Were his lungs always so expansive? His tone so rich with love?

“Oh my god.Boys. Boys I can’t believe it, I…” Jeff’s got Scott’s arms around his shouldersand John, who honestly might actually be, oh god is that, laughing?, captured in a mean headlock. “You kids haven’t changed at all. Have you all beenok? Eating alright?” There’s a tussle between the three of them as Jeff goes toscrub his fist against ginger locks and John, with all the composure of a boyquarter of his age and an minute fraction of his usual sensibility actually squeals.

“Ha! Johnny! Who went and swapped your legs out for string noodles! Huh? Geez kid!” John struggles to freehimself absolutely ineffectually against his Father’s thick arms as he getscompletely ignored as Jeff turns to scrutinise Scott.

“Right then Scotty, how’re the Thunderbirds? Wereyou able to keep up operations? Lord Creighton Ward promised to be at yourservice if anything ever should happen but I can’t say I anticipated this.”Laughing he gestures at the dark, empty expanse of space above them. At thesharp silhouette the Zero-X2 makes parked alongside the wreck of the old one. “Boys,I can’t believe you’ve…”

It’s then he looks up at Alan,standing a little apart from them. The youngest Tracy is eyeing them almost nervously. His stare frozen inwide and disbelieving. There’s a pause of quiet between them as Jeff simply regardsthe young man and the young man regards him.

Jeff frowns.

“Alan?” He callsout, loosening his grip on John enough for his spaceson to wiggle free, hairrumpled and expression unsettlingly pleased about it.

Alan doesn’t move.There’s a beat of time. Scott frowns sharply at him, making gestures to comeover here right now from behind Jeff’s back.

There’s another pause.

“Hey, Allie?” Jefftries again, puzzled. “Is that you over there Sprout?” As if Lucy’s blues could possiblybelong to anyone but one of his sons. “Com’ere kiddo.”

Alan has only blurryhalf memories of the man stood before him with his arms open and there’sa tight, twisting sensation somewhere inside him that feels an awful lotlike the vessels of his heart tying themselves in knots.

“Dad?” There’s nothing Alan can do aboutthe way his voice breaks on the vowel. Nothing he can do about the way hishands are trembling.

His last fuzzy half memories of this man are of beingcarried up the stairs cradled close to a broad, warm chest. Of his Father’sheartbeat, strong and solid under his tiny hand. Of fingers in ducking-downblond hair and the press of a kiss to his forehead. Of a ‘goodnight, sleep tight, see you in the morning light’ that neverhappened.

“Oh Alan.” Jeff’s arms drop. His voice is very soft and is familiar inthe way only a faded photograph can be. His voice had become just a memory,something that Alan realises he thought he’d never hear again.It’s another one of his Dad’s ghosts.

Because that’s nothing new. Whenhis Father had disappeared Alan kept seeing his ghost everywhere. Not in any literal sense, but instead in the thingshe’d left behind. In the empty desk in the hall, the chair where only he wouldsit, in the bits and pieces of their Father’s life that Grandma, gradually overthe years, began to pack away. Alan remembers how the sight of John wearing oneof Dad’s old pullovers would twist something sharply in his chest. How so manylittle things that before would have brought to mind happiness and safety andthe warmth of his Father’s arms instead triggered a sharp, deeply burrowedanguish in him. He’s tried to put on a brave front, to hide his reactions fromhis brothers, never quite sure if they feel what he’s feeling too. They must, afterall, losing someone you love can’t be done lightly. But he’s never been braveenough to ask.

Loss is isolating like that.

John, his closest brother, had thrown himself intowork. Into stats and schematics and rescues. He became as much part ofThunderbird Five as Five was of him and the part of Alan that aches for hisFather aches for the old John too.The John before he’d had to pair up with Gordon and use pranks to get his attention. The one who spent time with himplaying games and joined in with his hobbies, the one before everything becameabout training. About preparing their youngest brother to face the perils ofspace and save lives. About making sure that if they sent him up into the blackhe’d come back again.

Everything was so, so different now, and he hasthis selfish, awful fear that’s been building the whole trip that theirFather’s sudden return into their lives will throw everything off all overagain. Alan doubts things will go back to the way they were before: after all,they’re all different and older and wiser now. Scott’s the only Field CommanderAlan’s ever known and they youngest Tracy doesn’t know if he’s ok with changingthat - let alone if Scott himself could ever step aside again. And yes, he doeswant John home more often, he wants to have his brother physically around and maybe Dad can make that happen but he doesn’twant John to lose something so importantto him. Their Father had just seemed so critical of John’s appearance and…What if Dad tries to force John down from orbit? Alan knows his brother is up there, not justbecause he adores it, but because it’s more importantfor him to be up there saving lives than down on Earth playing video games withhim.

Alan feels, frankly, kind of ill.

He can pinpoint in his head the exact moment that Johnbecame so distant from him and it involved an explosion over the South Pacificand The Hood’s dark laughter breaking up the recording. He’d been asleep whenit actually happened. But he’d seen the tapes.

They’d all seen the tapes.

And Alan would have given anything to see hisFather again instead.

And now here he is. And Alan Tracy doesn’t have a clue what he should do.

He becomes viscerally aware of the fact he’sshaking.

“Allie? Son? What’s wrong?” Jeff separates himselffrom Scott and John, both of whom are regarding their younger brother with a quiet understanding.Their Father crouches down next to his baby boy, aiming to level their heightsbut finding, surprised, that it puts him lower than Alan’s eye line. “I’m here now, yeah? I’mnot sure I agree with their decision to bring you out here when it could havebeen so dangerous, but your brothers did a great job piloting the new Zero-Xand…”

“I piloted it.” It’s the first time since theinitial shock that Alan’s properly found his voice and it comes out squeaky. “I… I flew the Zero-X2, D-Dad.”

A hand falls on Jeff’s shoulder, gently pulling himslightly out of Alan’s personal space. Alan relaxes only minutely.

“You’re looking at the most talented young pilotthe world has ever seen.” John tells their Father, with perfect sincerity.“Alan is a fully fledged member of International Rescue and has been runningmissions for three years now. We trained him ourselves. I don’t have enoughflight experience and Scott doesn’t have enough spacetime racked up for this.” John’shand settles on his little brother’s shoulder and Alan feels a rush of gratitudetoward him that takes his breath away. “He was the right man for the mission.”

Jeff looks from John to Alan and back, disbeliefclear on his face. He takes a moment to just stare openly at Alan, taking inthose wide, familiar baby blues and the soft blond curl of his hair. This youngman is so different to the child he left behind and Jeff is hit with the suddenrealisation that he’s missed a lot ofhis youngest boy’s growing up. There’s a firmness to Alan’s jawline now. He’s lostmuch of the baby fat from his cheeks and he’s taller, so much taller. If heshoots up much more he’ll not only surpass Gordon but maybe even Virgil.

“I…. kid.”There’s an awkward fumble where Jeff seems lost for words but then wide, warmarms pull Alan from John’s side and wrap tight around the kid’s shoulders,pulling him in to that broad, familiar chest. “I’m so proud of you.” Jeff chokes on the syllables and something in Alanbreaks down.

There’s a deep gasping sob from the littlest Tracy.

“I thought you were gone.” The teens fingers curl tight in the thick material of hisFather’s old International Rescue blues. “I woke up in the morning and theytold me you were g-g…” There’s a uncomfortable hitch in Alan’s chest and hebreaks down into monosyllables and broken sobs.

“Hey hey,” Jeff’s fingers smooth reassuringlythrough his baby boy’s hair, “its ok Allie. It’s all ok now. I’m here. You didit kid, you absolutely did it. I’m here.”

And actually, Alan thinks, as he buries his face inhis Dad’s shoulder and clings to him like he never wants to let go again, that’sall that’s really important.

Everything else will work itself out.

Dad is here.

#doopy doop doop have a bunch of FEELS #Thunderbirds #Thunderbirds Are Go #Alan Tracy #Jeff Tracy #TAG #Thunderbirds 2015 #Zero-X #John Tracy #Scott Tracy #Lenleg's Thunderbirds tag #hecke YEAH #hanaxsongs

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peachyteabuck · 5 years

Text

ceo chronicles, pt i. ~ peggy carter

series summary: a set of fics based off of the main au of sugar baby/mommy or daddy dynamics and ceo aus. each fic involves a separate universe wherein each charcter is the ceo of a different company and you’re their sugar baby. sexy times ensue.

fic summary: anyone as busy and important as peggy carter needs a good stress coping mechanism. ms. carter has tried everything from yoga to stress balls to acupuncture to cross stitch. none of them worked, until she found you.

pairing: sugar baby!reader x ceo!peggy carter. takes place in modern times.

words: 2,020

trigger warnings: harold, they’re lesbians. oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, dirty talk, d/s dynamics, anal, dirty talk, degradation, overstimulation

notes/other: there is not enough peggy carter smut on the internet, and i have taken upon myself to fill that gap. enjoy!

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

The minute you step into the impeccably decorated office with its modern décor and light blue walls, you silently walk behind Peggy’s grand black desk and fall to your knees on the small plot of carpeting to her right. You know exactly where to go, you’ve been hers for so long there are even two indents for where your knees go in the plush, light grey material.

One of Peggy’s famous “mmm”s catches your attention, your spine straightening and shoulders pushing back. “Are you wearing the collar?” she asks, foregoing looking at you to write something on the large desk calendar that she’s fucked you on at least four times this quarter. While doesn’t so much as gaze at you, your eyes are trained directly on her - just as she likes it.

“Yes, Mistress,” you tell her. As you speak your throat bumps against the collar secured loosely around the base of your neck. The high neckline on the fluffy, white pink sweater you’re wearing hides it well to strangers and Peggy’s staff, but the diamond-encrusted leather is still very well known to you and the other woman in the room. The weight of it is enough to make you remember it’s there, but Peggy always likes readjusting it herself when she snaps the matching leash into place. All you want to do is run your fingers over the block letters as your heart races, it’s always calming; a reminder that you’re hers. It’s a nervous habit, to rub at where it rests under your strategically-chosen clothes. Somehow it makes you feel safe, untouchable. You never slip your finger into the silver O-ring, though, that’s Peggy’s only stipulation. Only she can attach leashes or chole you with it. Still, you pull down the top enough to reveal the small piece of metal, so your fingers can twitch as they trace its outer edges.

“Good, Pet,” she murmurs, still not looking your way. She sounds distracted, moment later typing out (what you assume is) an email at her average lightning speed. It doesn’t take long for the familiar two-tone notification that signals replies to sound, and within seconds of opening it she tsks at her screen. You can’t tell whether it’s at you or whoever she’s replying to, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that Mistress is disappointed, and it is her Pet’s job to make her forget her troubles and feel better.

“What is wrong, Mistress?” you ask, taking special care not to touch her as you scoot closer to her.

Peggy shrugs, rolling her eyes. “An asshole from the Barnes corporation, you know the one whose CEO wants a merger?” You nod, but her eyes remain locked on the screen. “Keeps readjusting the meeting times to discuss some of the NDAs his boss wants me to sign. It’s really pissing me off.”

“I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Oh,” she sighs, finally turning to you. Her famous red lips curl up into a genuine smile as she caresses your jaw with a soft hand. “It’s not your fault.”

You squirm, unsatisfied. “Is there anything I can do make you feel better, Mistress?”

Peggy’s grin, though sweet, also borders on sinister. Not one that you fear, necessarily, but one that still sends shivers down your spine. Without looking back, she calls for her assistant, who immediately appears.

“Yes, Ms. Carter?” He asks. His name is Steve, you’re told, and he’s a scrappy, hard-working kid who mostly got a job for the health insurance.

Now you capture her unwavering attention, her mischievous squint and devious smirk only focused on you. “Clear my schedule for the next hour.”

“Yes Ms. Carter,” Steve recites the usual response. “I’ll do that now.

Peggy bites her lip as she watches you squeeze your thighs together, the material of your leggings doing nothing to hide your arousal. “Actually…make it two.”

The next few beats are silent, the both of you unsure of the next move. Peggy waiting to make sure you’re as desperate as she likes (which is very, very desperate), you to see what she wants from you this time. If she’s planning on something rough, she likes to ease into it. Today she seems just tired, stressed, looking for an outlet to release her frustrations on. Per usual, that outlet is you.

“Strip,” she commands, voice taunt. You do as you’re told, carefully taking off each item of clothing before folding and placing them on one of the chairs on the other side of the office before returning to your spot on the floor. “Good pet,” she praises, running her blood-red nails over your lips before pushing her thumb onto your tongue. You suck on it, swirling your tongue around the rough pad of her finger and the smooth, polished nail. As she lifts her hand you move with her, following her lead as she moves you between her legs.

You know what to do, know that she likes her shoes off and skirt pulled off to prevent the expensive item from wrinkling. Peggy obviously planned for this day to be long, as she’s just wearing a sweater that’s now creased from when it was tucked into her skirt. It’s her own version of “casual,” her own vision for a lazy day. The soft knit sometimes slips down her stomach and rubs against your forehead as you kiss over her black lace panties and push them aside to sink a finger into her heat.

“Such a good little kitten,” she sighs happily. Her eyes are closed, bottom lip between teeth. Each soft kiss you leave across her lips causes a small, gaspy moan to slip from her mouth. “God, you’re so good at this, aren’t you? Love being Mistress’ little slut, huh?”

You nod, tongue dipping in and out of her wetness. It’s easy to get her worked up, even when she’s as stressed as she is now. But that’s your job, isn’t it? To make sure Peggy’s able to be focused on her job and her company and her meetings and her business partners and making sure nobody tries to take her down because every fucking man in this world thinks she’s not tough or smart or good enough to be as powerful as she is combined with everything else she has to worry about that is always trying to make her work-pleasure scale out of balance. It’s your job to see that she’s always able to focus on the tasks in front and ahead of her.

You can tell she’s about to come when her thighs start squeezing around your head and her hand starts grabbing at the nape of your neck to push your forward. Peggy needs to stay quiet; the walls are thick, but her screams are famous for leaking through any material the world sets before her. Even as she bites down on her sleeve and digs her heels into the base of her spine, loud moans bounce off the walls. The small “Oh, fuck baby”s and “right there, pet”s keep you going, even when you’re trapped and become light-headed from the lack of oxygen. She reaches her orgasm with three fingers stuffed inside of her and your mouth latched to her clit, her legs tensing around you before melting at your sides. You don’t stop, though, as she grips at your hair and falls back in her chair. You won’t stop until Mistress tells you to.

Peggy ends up pushing you away with her foot, leaning over to grab a key that’s hidden in a secret compartment below her overflowing pen cup. Her hands shake from pleasure as she unlocks the drawer closest to the floor. From it she pulls a matte black strap on attached to a matching leather harness. Easily, she manhandles you into position, tugging the toy on with one and rubbing at your dripping folds with the other.

“So wet and ready for me, huh kitten?” She purrs as two fingers drip inside of you. You mewl, your own fingers gripping at the edge of the desk. “Always such well-behaved little slut.”

Peggy pulls your fingers out and positions herself at your entrance, giving you a fraction of a second to recognize her next move before she begins plowing into you with long, steady strokes. Within moments she’s got one foot on the table and one hand in your hair for a better angle, the slant of her body finding that special spot inside of you that makes you cry out in pleasure every time her hips press into your ass. Soon, almost too soon, you start begging to come, desperate for release. The sounds that leave your throat aren’t cute and high-pitched like before, they’re closer to deep, guttural sobs that surprise even Peggy as she bends down to coo in your ear.

“Such a greedy slut for Mistress’ cock, aren’t ya?” Her distinctive accent becomes thicker with every word, each met with an unmelodic squeak from you. “C’mon, tell Mistress how much you love her cock.”

You’re close, she knows this. She knows if you shift any of the brain power that’s going to not coming to speaking you won’t be able to walk by the time she’s done with you. Still, disobeying might be the worst outcome of all the others. At first the words are small and strangled, but soon enough they begin to flow from your mouth like water from a drain during a rainstorm. “Oh, god yes Mistress, yes I love your cock. I love the way you fuck me and use me, love the way you use me like the fuck doll I am, love the way I take all your stress away. Love being the plaything you call in when every man at work pisses you off, love knowing that when you want to fire all of them. Love knowing every Wednesday when you get paid means you get to spoil me and fuck me until I can’t walk or speak or- oh!”

Peggy’s slipped out of you, pressing a larger toy – a vibrator, you soon become aware – into your pussy. You’re about to asks why she stopped, if you can come, if she’s going to continue, but then you’re slack-jawed as she slips two lube-covered fingers into your tight asshole. “Figured you’d like that, huh baby girl?”

All you can is gulp as gasp, her thigh leveled to keep the thick toy in your cunt and her fingers slowly working you open. You don’t protest as she pushes you to the floor, can’t object to her stopping to move you into another position – this time on your back – as she slips the strap onto into your ass. You feel so stuffed; both your holes being fucked at once and Peggy rubbing at your clit. “C-can I cum, Mistress?” you beg, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes before falling down your cheeks. You’re sure the mascara Peggy bought you is running now, smeared just like your lip glosses and eyebrows.

She leaves a light kiss at your temple before whispering into your ear. “Cum all you want, kitten.”

Your orgasms come quickly, your body still convulsing from the pulses of the last when the next one hits. By the end you’re crying fat tears onto the wooden floor as your limbs shake and shudder involuntarily. Somewhere in the back of your mind you try to count how many orgasms you had, but you quickly lose count at six.

The air around you suddenly cools as Peggy pulls away, redressing herself before wrapping you in quilts that smell like her and dragging you onto the couch to sleep. Sometimes if the play was light she’d send you home, but with how tired and dehydrated and deep into substance you are she doesn’t want to leave you alone. She quickly texts to switch all her appointments to remote so she can keep an eye on you as you rest, wrapped in thick quilts as you fall asleep.

Everything okay? Steve texts back.

Peggy smiles at your sleeping form as she types her reply.

Yeah, everything’s perfect.

#peggy carter x reader #peggy carter x reader lemons #lukis writes stuff #peggy carter #peggy carter imagines #peggy carter imagine #peggy carter x you #sugar mama carter #dom peggy

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halinski · 5 years

Text

Feb 15. The Day After

My... Post-valentine's day fic! I'm super late and I'm super sorry but honestly I didn't think I would be finishing this at all so... Success!!! It's not my best work but this is for a few wonderful people who prompted me, aka

@vibranivmheart

@princecharmingwinks

@c0tt0nstar

@my-son-is-dating-a-werewolf

@sherwhoharryhungerfan

Thank you so much for this, it got me writing and made me feel good about writing!

And also this is for my darling @lokiofasgcrd bc it's her birthday today in her time zone!!!! ❤️ (And I have nothing else for her yet, I feel awfulllll but pssst go wish her a happy birthday!)

It's still the 15th here soooo still the day after so this totally works. Enjoy!

It was a tattoo. That was what Derek had always told everyone. A tattoo to remember his family with - and what he'd done to them. Truth be told, while it still served that purpose - weighing on his shoulder blades like the end of the world - the rest was a lie. The triskele just so happened to be his family's emblem but also, it was his soulmate mark. Appearing in his 18th year of life like an itch, Laura had been the first to notice it, touching his back with trembling fingers and a soft sob. They'd both had the same thought - or at least Derek was convinced - that it was a confirmation of his damnation. He wasn't meant to have a soulmate. His family was his love and he'd killed them.

He'd convinced himself of it. Derek Hale had no soulmate. When he said that people wouldn't believe him at first - everyone had a soulmate - but when they saw his bare chest, arms and back (beside the curved black lines) the disbelieving looks would turn into ones of pity. Birthmarks weren't usually so bold and dark and defined. Oh, poor Derek Hale, fated to be all alone in this world. Yeah, he was. So what? Derek made sure to come off as rough on the edges as he felt so they would think he deserved it and left him alone.

Of course, there was one person who never seemed to get the message. A certain someone who always loved crawling back under Derek's skin no matter how many times he pushed him away. He practically never left.

Derek fully expected Stiles to be behind the door when he opened it, but he'd been so focused on his sugary vanilla scent that he hadn't even noticed Lydia's. Hers was the first face he saw when he opened the door. Then behind her, Stiles.

Stiles and his gorgeous honeydew eyes that pulled him in for eternity and the trails of stardust on his skin.

Stiles.

Stiles, whose gaze dropped down to Derek's bare torso and quickly was averted but not before those cheeks bloomed up in pink oh so deliciously.

Stiles.

Derek had to tear his eyes away from the male at his doorstep and back to the redheaded banshee who was less gentle on Derek, looking him up and down with a smirk. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. When she had asked when he would he back from his run, he hadn't expected her to come over right away.

"What are you doing here?" Derek pressed out, sounding more hostile than he had intended, even to his own ears. He saw Stiles flinch, and a bitter coating, like blood, settling on his tongue.

"Hot and sweaty. Just how we like our men, huh?" Lydia said, nudging Stiles with a chuckle and completely ignoring Derek as she slipped past him.

"I um... ," Stiles let out a cough and hesitated on following her, eyes flitting around, only meeting Derek's for a fraction of a second - almost as if he was scared. Derek could smell the anxiety wafting off him. The bitter taste weighed heavier.

Derek turned away.

"What do you want?" He asked, trying to focus on Lydia who was making herself at home in his kitchen, rooting the cupboards. But Stiles' heartbeat was the only thing that rang through his ears, every small jump in it alerting Derek to danger - even if the only dangerous thing in proximity was Derek. It drove him crazy sometimes. All the bouncing off the walls, the back and forth, the rise and fall of his emotions. Stiles was… a whirlwind. An endless source of energy, of life. Strong enough to reignite Derek's will to live. And that was saying something.

Anyway- Lydia.

“Oh, you know," the girl closed the cupboard and turned around again, her hair cascading over her shoulder. Not that she had actually done anything with the cupboards, or whatever was in them. Pacing forward dramatically, Lydia placed her palms on the granite counter of the island. And smiled. "I had an idea."

Stiles let out a heavy breath from behind Derek and Derek could only agree with his quiet murmur of, "oh boy."

"You know what day it is today, right?" Lydia asked.

“...Thursday."

“Lydia rolled her eyes. "Not the day of the week, idiot."

Derek frowned. Idiot was his word to use. Usually with Stiles, whose heart beat right now sped up. Derek refused to turn around to check on him.

"It's the 14th," Derek stated, crossing his arms.

“Exactly!" Lydia beamed successfully. "February 14th, aka, Cupid's day." Derek didn't need the reminder. The hearts and pink and red and chocolates had been all over the place for weeks. It's why Derek had been spending more time indoors.

“See, we're all busy today-”

"Lydia," came Stiles soft protest.

“But Stiles here was yapping my ear off about being lonely and all alone on this special day-"

"I never said that!" Stiles burst out somewhere in the background but Lydia carried on undeterred.

"So, of course, I'm calling the gang together to organize a little something. We're going to whip up something quick and sweet for the both of you," Lydia said matter-of-factly.

Derek raised an eyebrow. He was almost afraid to ask. "What does this have to do with me?"

“You deserve something special?, too. Plus, you're free today, so you can keep poor lonely Stiles' company."

“I have things to do," Derek protested, giving her a pointed look. "It's just another day. I don't believe in a commercialized holiday geared towards heteronormativity and capitalism."

“Yeah! What he said!" Stiles followed up. "Derek, I swear, I didn't-"

"See, this is why you two should spend the day together. You're perfect for each other," Lydia said. "You're going to have a lot to talk about." She folded her hands and smiled like she had already won.

Derek kept his face schooled and shook his head. "I don't know what you're up to and I don't care either," he told her. "I'm going to go shower."

Without sparing a glance at the bewildered Stiles, Derek turned and left the room, immediately heading into the bathroom. He went to the shower knob immediately and turned the water on. That didn't drown the voices from the kitchen out though.

“Lydia, what the fuck!"

"I'm just helping you out, what's the big deal?"

“The big deal? The big deal! You're putting both Derek and me in a really awkward position here. We both already know we're like the 7th and 8th wheel in the pack and that we're the only ones left. I don't need you pushing him into any uncomfortable situations. Who knows what Valentine's Day reminds him of..."

“Well, then, it's time to make new memories."

“Lyds, this is stupid. Me and him? That'll absolutely never happen."

“It absolutely could!"

“He doesn't like me like that. And if you can't see that maybe you don't deserve the fields medal in the near future because- because it's obvious. Derek... barely tolerates me."

And Derek doesn't. He can't like Stiles like that. He absolutely does not. Derek Hale isn't made for love, he reminds himself as he leans his forehead against the cold tile, wishing it could numb his brain.

*********

When Derek left the bathroom, Stiles was still there. Sitting on the kitchen counter on his own. He choked on the smoothie he was drinking when Derek walked by.

"I uh... H-hi," Stiles sputtered. Derek appreciated that Stiles averted his gaze from Derek's half-nude form. There was only a towel around his hips shielding him from complete humiliation. Not that Derek technically minded being naked, even in front of people. He just didn't appreciate the sexualization, the objectification.

Whatever Stiles thought he felt for Derek it was probably just that; hormones and physical attraction. It made Derek's facial expression hardened, pulling up the walls around him and challenging the situation.

Stiles' heartbeat clearly sped up as Derek walked over, grabbing a cup and filling it with tap water to drink. Stiles didn't turn to follow Derek's movements but the little droplets sliding from Derek's hair still struck his skin icily.

"Lydia... Made us these, I guess," Stiles said, passing his smoothies from one hand to the next, rolling it between his palms. Derek was ready to watch it slip and fall and shatter. Maybe he was ready to jump over and catch it. He didn't want to think about it. But he did look over to the second serving of the smoothie. Banana and strawberry. His favorite.

"She also, um, took my car keys, so... I'm kind of stuck... Here," Stiles added, clearing his voice. He finally looked up when Derek walked over to grab the second smoothie. But he also kept his gaze on Derek's face, as if calculating, trying to read the silent werewolf's thoughts.

"I didn't plan this," he continued.

It wasn't a lie.

"I mean, Valentine's Day is bullshit, like you said. Why should I feel any different than any other day?" Stiles looked away as he said this. looked down into the pink smoothie that had a strawberry cut out of a heart on top of it. it was... not totally a lie. Stiles was too good at words sometimes for Derek to be able to tell what it meant.

Obviously, the silence from Derek was awkward, because Stiles twitched and shifted on the counter, one leg rhythmically tapping against its side. But Derek didn't know what to say. Couldn't talk, tongue tied.

It was any other day.

“Did you know that Valentine's day-"

"Stiles, you can stay. I don't care," Derek told him as he turned to go to him room so he could get dressed. The words felt wrong in his mouth but it didn't hit Derek until he saw Stiles' shoulders slump just before he left his sight.

"Yeah... Okay," came the quiet reply from behind him. ****

Stiles was acting considerably more normal now that Derek had a shirt back on. Derek wished he could say the same about himself but he really couldn't tell anymore what his own normal was. His perception of himself was kind of skewed. It happened sometimes when your first girlfriend died in your arms, then you get abused by an older woman who kills almost your whole family as a teen, and then your uncle goes crazy and kills your sister so you have to kill your uncle, while taking care of a bunch of teenagers, some of who are freshly bitten. Sometimes Derek wasn't sure he knew left from right anymore.

But right now, Stiles was in his living room, sitting on the couch with Derek's laptop and telling by his soft chuckles listening to something funny and that was calming enough. Though- considering it was Stiles he could also be laughing at something that was not actually average person funny.

Unfortunately, this moment of normalcy, where Derek could revel in the soft content didn't last very long. Stiles looked up only a moment after Derek stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms and training his eyes on the door. He could hear a car pull up downstairs

“It’s the pizza,” Derek guessed uncomfortably, immediately reintroducing the tension into the room. Stiles quickly put up a hopeful grin.

“I mean, can you really say no to free pizza?” he asked, giving Derek a pointed look.

Derek sighed. There was no way he could argue about just how ridiculous this was without bringing up what he didn’t want to talk about, aka the pack’s painfully obvious attempts to try and get the two of them together. Shortly after Lydia had left, Erica and Boyd had appeared, bringing a bunch of chocolates and some rom-com with them, ordered pizza and then pretended a reservation they had been waiting for cleared up all of a sudden. Derek had been able to hear there was no one on the other end of that phone call. He wasn’t an idiot. The one thing he had missed was that one of them had stolen the keys to the camaro as well, so that Stiles actually was stuck here. With Derek. With free pizza and chocolates and a movie. It was turning out to be a date if they wanted it to be or not.

When Derek returned back upstairs with the giant pizza box, Stiles had put the laptop away and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“You know, I can leave if you really want me to. I can walk home, it’s not that far. And the pizza, well, it’s not like I can’t order some for myself. You said you have things to do but now you’re just hanging out around here with me but we’re still both doing our own thing and I-” Stiles started but Derek wasn’t going to have him ranting his way out into the cool evening to walk all the way home. He walked past him to set the pizza down.

“I told you, I don’t mind,” Derek said.

“That doesn’t mean you actually want me here,” Stiles pointed out. “I’m totally invading your free time and private space-”

“You’re not walking home.” And before Stiles could open his mouth again, Derek shook his head. “I didn’t actually have anything to do today, I just…”

“You didn’t want anyone bothering you,” Stiles guessed, another wave of unhappiness, discomfort or something, running through him, strong enough for Derek to feel.

“It’s not-” Derek started to argue, but what was he going to say? Was he going to blurt out all his feelings about how he couldn’t have Stiles even if he wanted to? How he might actually yearn for some closeness and warmth and comfort from another person? How he wondered if Stiles had a mark - he had to have it. Everyone had a soulmark and Stiles was 19 by this point. Just, Derek hadn’t seen anything. No one had said anything. Stiles usually wore long sleeves. There was still no way. Stiles had a soulmark and a soulmate that wasn’t Derek. Because Derek didn’t have a soulmate.

And even without that, would it even make sense? He was the Alpha, Stiles was the emissary… that’s just not what their relationship was supposed to be. It was strictly business- well, pack too but. His mother didn’t date Deaton, did she? That would just be weird.

No soulmates.

“It’s not you,” Derek then said, trying to convince himself of it. Stiles wasn’t his soulmate.

“Derek, you really don’t have to-”

“I just… it’s the whole soulmates crap, you know?” he said, without looking over at Stiles, running off to the kitchen to get them plates, napkins and drinks. He continued when he came back, settling down on the couch. “It’s all everyone talks about ever, and then today… literally nothing else in the universe exists. It just gets kinda old when you don’t have a soulmate yourself.”

Derek busied himself with opening the pizza, stopping short when he was faced with a semi-heart shaped blob of grease. He glanced over at the other male, only to find Stiles staring off into the distance with a frown.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Stiles muttered, a hand rubbing over his chest. A chest, within which a heartbeat made a few extra skips. “I mean, soulmates? Can the universe decide for you who you’re supposed to be with? Unconditional love with random people. That doesn’t happen. Only with family is that a thing. Like my dad. I could kill someone and he’d probably love me.”

Derek refrained from pointing out that new families would start out with couples. He tore his gaze away from Stiles’ red shirt.

“That’s because you wouldn’t kill without reason,” Derek said simply, handing over a plate with a piece of the pizza. Stiles stared at him curiously and Derek didn’t try to figure out what for.

“It’s meat lover’s,” he pointed out about the heart shaped atrocity before him. And Stiles snorted at the irony- because yeah, it was just fucking hilarious- but he didn’t address what was supposed to be going on here.

The bitter taste in Derek’s mouth returned.

****

It happened when Stiles was changing for bed, Derek having given him some spare clothes to sleep in. No need to organize to get back home at this point, Derek had said. And he could just sleep on the couch, Stiles had added with a shrug. It had gotten late anyway. They had ended up watching the movie as they sat on opposite sides of the couch awkwardly, a ghostly cool vacancy occupying the third seat between them.

But now, Derek was the one with the wild beating heart, rooted to the ground like he had been struck by lightning, his breath catching in his throat.

By the time Stiles had lowered the shirt down over his head and could see Derek again, Derek was gone.

In his room, Derek stood unsure at the side of his bed, trying to stop his thoughts from racing.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. He’d seen wrong, he was dreaming. He… The press of claws into his palm pricked and stung and Derek exhaled.

He knew what he had seen, the soft brown moles, splattered over Stiles’ breastbone, grouped together closely to form a swirling mark. A clear mark. Three swirls. A triskele to match the charred coal one on Derek’s back.

**********

Naturally, Derek couldn’t sleep. Here Valentine’s Day had come and passed, he’d found out Stiles had a mark that looked just like his own and yet he had done nothing. He lay in bed, limbs heavy with panic and fear, but mind racing with the need to act.

Because Stiles.

Maybe Stiles could actually be his. And just that possibility made it feel impossible to be here without him. It wasn’t right. It was…

He had to do something.

Stiles himself had been tossing and turning on the couch. It wasn’t a comfortable couch, Derek had told him that right away.

Derek stood.

“Stiles,” he said, popping up at the doorway. “Take the bed.”

Stiles turned to him. “I’m not going to steal your bed from you.”

“We can both fit.”

“But- it’s your bed… and my scent-”

“You’re keeping me up.” Derek was glad that Stiles’ didn’t share the same powers of playing lie detector.

“Oh.”

After a minute or so, Stiles rose, and lifted the blanket with him at first, than stopped- before deciding to take it with him after all. He sheepishly walked past Derek into the bedroom. He halted before getting on the bed.

“Are you-”

“Get in the bed, Stiles.”

“You know I never thought I would be hearing that from you, concerning your bed,” Stiles said as he obeyed, shuffling under the covers.

Derek couldn’t tell what he was actually smelling and what was just wishful thinking.

“Shut up, Stiles. Or there won’t be any cuddling.”

Stiles coughed. There was definitely a flourish of emotion drifting over from Stiles as Derek settled between the sheets again. A scent that was exciting and comforting at the same time. Like an adventure leading home. Derek fought himself not to lie on his side and face Stiles. He turned the other way and closed his eyes. It was comforting to find that he was unbothered by the fact that Stiles could stab him in the back while Derek was unprotected, but he trusted him not to.

“Asshole,” Stiles said softly. His voice was fond.

Derek smiled.

*******

He felt the pull first, before he woke. Then the warmth, vibrating through him, from the middle of his back, along his shoulders, around his waist. And… Stiles. It was his scent, his body pressed against his, a grounding arm holding him close.

Derek let his eyes drift open into the early morning haze. He could feel Stiles' soft skin beneath his fingertips and he looked down at the arm that kept him safe. It had been half an eternity since he'd felt so whole, so unbroken.

It took him a while to understand the warm, fulfilling feeling but the revelation soon sank into his bones with a guest of happiness. He was anchored. Through Stiles' heartbeat, through his triskele-adorned chest, through to Derek's marked back and enstrengthened spine, all the way through to his heart.

And Derek knew this was where he meant to be, safe and protected by Stiles, his trusted and loyal emissary, his mate.

****

Derek was still in the kitchen when Stiles started to stir. His heartbeat tripped over itself as he tried to hurry to but the cinnamon toast together, nicely presented on Derek's finest plate (though in an amateur way).

"Come on, come on," he urged the coffee machine, as if he would succumb to his pleading, while he shifted on his feet and glanced toward the bedroom. Fresh cinnamon toast, two mugs of coffee, and the chocolates that Derek grabbed from the bag Erica had brought soon adorned a tray Derek had surprisingly found in his kitchen. And he reminded himself to walk slowly and calmly as to not spill anything. Despite what Stiles believed werewolves were not exempt from clumsiness. Derek had broken glasses and a vase or two, plus a window once, in his time.

To say he was nervous about confronting Stiles after their impromptu unconscious nightly cuddle session was an understatement. Probably because what he was getting at was that they might be mates- were mates.

Oh boy, this was going to be a ride. But life was always a rollercoaster of surprises with Stiles. Good thing Derek liked rollercoasters.

He took a breath and entered the room, drawing Stiles' attention from the phone he was checking on the bedside table. Stiles sat up in surprise.

"Is that… you made me… breakfast in bed?" He asked, mouth hanging open.

Derek shrugged as best as he could and smiled sheepishly. Stiles' mouth fell open wider.

"Happy Valentine's day?" He tried, miming the writing on the heart-shaped box of chocolates, setting down the try on Stiles' lap and anxiously clasping his hands together behind his back.

"It's not Valentine's day," Stiles pointed out, gaping at the display in front of him before turning his stare at Derek again.

Derek could feel not only his ears but also his cheeks starting to burn.

"Well, I fucked up that opportunity yesterday so I'm hoping to make up for it today… Happy day after Valentine's day?"

"Wha… why?" Derek could see Stiles' Adam's apple work, could see the hope in his eyes, sense his fear. He sat down on the bed at Stiles' side.

"Because I've been an idiot," Derek sighed. He grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it off, showing Stiles the black spiraled design he knew so well. "It's not a tattoo."

Derek was too afraid to look at Stiles but could hear the soft exhale that came from the other male when he understood. A second later, there was a soft touch, triggering an exploding warmth from the center of Derek's back, a tingling shudder running through him.

"It's your soulmark," Stiles whispered and Derek looked up to meet his eyes in confirmation, feeling the connection spreading as Stiles' palm settled against his skin.

"I have… it's," he started, then pulled away as he struggled to dispose of his own shirt.

"I know," Derek said softly, gaze falling onto the soft dotted triskele on Stiles' chest. He followed the rising blush up to Stiles' face. "I saw it last night."

Stiles' lips quirked up.

"That's why the whole bed and breakfast in bed thing," he said cheekily. "You're wooing me."

Derek really should have expected for Stiles to find amusement in this. No matter that they were mates and Derek just wanted to treat him nice.

"It's working," he countered with his own smirk. "You took your shirt off for me." Stiles huffed and crossed his arms as if to shield himself from Derek's gaze.

"You took your shirt off first."

"Yeah, but you've never taken your shirt off in front of anyone else." Derek could only hope Stiles could hear the appreciation in his voice, because he knew his emissary despite all his cuteness - and tremendous power - was horribly self-conscious. No matter the mask he put up.

The food and coffee hadn't been touched yet, both of their interests elsewhere, so Derek moved the tray to the side and scooted closer. Stiles watched him, shifting forward as he did so, hands falling into his lap. Derek reached over to take one of them lightly, cradling it in both of his, and it was almost like he could feel Stiles' happiness flutter through to him.

Stiles' scent spiked with nervousness as Derek's gaze fell to the soft curve of his lips.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Derek declared, "but only if you want me to." Stiles was nodding before Derek had even finished his sentence. "Yes. Yes, I want you to."

It wasn't fireworks and lightning when their lips met but all pieces fell into place and life's puzzle was solved and solidified. Derek could have stayed there forever, gazing into Stiles' eyes, feeling his soft breath against his lips, that still tingled. Talk about post-kiss bliss.

But of course, the pack always had to find a way to get involved. A knock rang out a few seconds before the loft door rolled open with a squeak and Isaac's voice rang out.

"Hello? We uh- we haven't heard from either of you so the pack made me check in and see if… if, uh.."

"We're busy, Isaac," Derek said with an unhappy grunt.

"Don't kill me, I drew the short straw! And you know how scary Erica can be!"

"Isaac," Stiles interjected loudly. "I'm about to lay down that wood. And I don't care if you're here to hear it or not so…"

Derek covered his face and groaned, while Isaac squawked and tripped out the door again. Stiles just laughed. Derek waited till Isaac's quiet cursing was out of ear shot before he looked up again.

"I'll have you know that you're not getting in my pants on the first date," he told Stiles, who continued chuckling.

"Bummer," he replied offhandedly, but his eyes spoke only of happiness. "How about another kiss."

"Mh, that's still pretty demanding." Derek pulled a face and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I don't know how wooed I am just yet, you know," Stiles warned Derek.

"Give me a day and then let's talk."

Stiles hummed appreciatively. "One day. Then there'll be evaluations. You've got one chance, Sourwolf. Pass or Fail. This is the test."

"You're so ridiculous," Derek complained, while a smile tugged at his lips.

"Hm. I'm not sure I like the sound of that. That'll be ten minus points on the record. You don't woo people by insulting them. Now that's just science."

"Shut up so I can woo you."

"Minus 20 points! This is not a good development. Not at all. You know you were doing good with offering the bed and then presenting br-"

Derek saw no other choice but to occupy Stiles' mouth with another kiss, this one longer, still gentle, but with more feeling. Stiles looked dazed when he pulled back.back.

"50 plus points," Stiles said quietly, cheeks blooming.

"Aaaand open up," Derek said, guiding a piece of cinnamon toast to Stiles' lips, who gladly took a bite of the bread.

He chewed and swallowed, beaming, like the sun to Derek's moon that he was.

"I should call you cheesewolf," Stiles teased. "You're so cheesy."

Derek let him take another bite before he retaliated. "Just looking for ways to shut you up," he said innocently.

Stiles nudged him with a playful glare. "Asshole," he muttered, mouth full.

"Idiot," Derek said fondly.

"You're a total romantic at heart. You're a secret cuddler. Cuddled with me all of last night even though you said you wouldn't."

Derek snorted. "That's just because you were being clingy." That was a total lie and he couldn't look Stiles in the eyes for it.

"Nah," Stiles said offhandedly, a thoughtful look forming on his face as he grabbed Derek's hand to intertwine their fingers. "It's because you belong in my arms."

And yeah, Derek had finally found home again.

#eternalsterek #sterek #fanfic #i wrote this #post-valentine's day #valentine's day

312 notes · View notes

spiderman-spoilerman · 5 years

Text

I. Am. Spider-Man.

AO3: lisa_yo

Summary:

“What exactly do you see here?”

It is a calculated question. Jim Morita, Principal of Midtown Science and Tech High, is more than capable of answering. But he let his mind wander for a bit.

He sees his students, five years gone in a flash. All dark clouds, and bad grades, and empty smiles.

And when Jim Morita looked into the eyes of that one student, the one who seems the most harrowed by it, that kid, Peter Parker, he couldn’t just stand by anymore.

He knew he had to do something.

Or, Peter’s school goes not only on a field trip but also on a two-day camping trip to the Stark Tower and Avenger’s Compound upstate, a year after the events of Endgame.

And Peter, well, Peter doesn’t want to go.

Notes:

Warning: lots of angst, dashes, italics

The trope has been done a gazillion times and I have read twice of it, but I decided that I will also write my own version, especially after getting so angsty after Endgame.

SO, please enjoy and talk to me after! Please?

(This is a repost from AO3. You can read it there and drop a comment :D)

Chapter 1: Peter doesn't want to go

“I know you can see it. If you listen hard enough, you’ll hear it, too. But you’re not even trying. I’m sorry for having to ask this of you. But it’s been a year. And I’ve done everything I could. Nothing’s working.”

Silence.

“I don’t beg Pepper. I don’t, not usually. But. I’m teetering on the edge of desperation here, and I know you can help.”

The silence stretches out.

And then.

“No, Jim. I want to, really, but, I just can’t, not now. It’s too soon.”

“Look at this—that’s our school’s academic decathlon. They won Nationals in DC, before the snap, and they didn’t even have their chem kid there. And when I visited their session today, they were worn out in a way that I’ve only seen in the eyes of my troops. In the military.”

There is a loaded look. It is heavy, but Pepper seems to be carrying something much heavier, so she doesn’t falter.

A lock of strawberry-blonde hair falls to her face.

She doesn’t move it.

“I asked Harrington. He said they were more alive, then. They joked about, laughed. They were kids, then. But after the snap, it was all just different. These students are one of the brightest in America. But even their grades and performance leave a lot to be desired. They’re failing, Pepper, they’re falling through. And it’s not just them. Robotics, Mathletes, Vanguard—they’re all stuck.”

There is a certain croak to his voice that doesn’t have to do with talking for hours, trying to convince the immovable Pepper Stark-Potts. It comes from something deeper. Like a year-long clawing, searching, and failing to find a solution. Until now.

“And I’ve been doing everything that I can to bring them back. But everywhere I go, it always leads me here.”

This time, Pepper speaks.

“What exactly do you see here?”

It is a calculated question.

Jim Morita, Principal of Midtown Science and Tech High, is more than capable of answering. But he let his mind wander for a bit, the long table stretching out even further, bringing him to the place he’s been calling home for a few years now.

There, he sees his students, five years gone in a flash. He sees the dark clouds that fly over their heads. He sees their grades and their papers, and he doesn’t see the usual excellence, the usual exuberance, the usual love for learning.

He thinks, after talking to the guidance counselor, that they are using their studies as a distraction for the five years that went and gone.

Or, they’re not studying at all, because whatever happened in those five years had been a big enough toll on their young minds to take.

And when Jim Morita looked into the eyes of that one student, the one who seems the most harrowed by it, that kid, Peter Parker, he couldn’t just stand by anymore.

He knew he had to do something.

“I see the future here,” he starts.

Pepper raises her eyebrows, in a you can do better than that look¸ and he agrees, so he ploughs on.

“I see the foundations of something bright here, something that could speak to my students in a way that an aging man in a suit cannot. I see that this is the best possible place that my students could gain something essential, something life changing. This is the place of Ton—Iron Man— after all,” Pepper’s eyes quiver, but she holds her head high, “and there is no better place to learn about life once again than the castle of the man who gave his life for it.”

“Really, Jim?”

She is tired. More so than he has ever seen. Perhaps, it is because they are friends that she lets him see a fraction of her heart. This is all he needs, because at least he knows Pepper is strong enough to show him that she does, indeed, still have a heart.

That it didn’t die along with—

Jim gives her a rueful smile. He did take public speaking before, and he wasn’t a general in the military for nothing.

But when he begs, and he usually doesn’t, he tries to cover it up with beautiful words. As compensation.

It doesn’t work here. And so, with the look of a man as tired as she, he rasps:

“Could you at least—please, consider it?”

There has been a rumor circulating around Midtown Science and Tech High that involves their Principal Jim Morita coming to school from a visit at the Stark Tower upstate, looking very pleased.

It is an understatement though, to call him that. Because Principal Jim Morita wasn’t just pleased¸ he was chipper¸ elated, ecstatic, hell he was skipping down the hallway towards the principal’s office while singing Don’t Stop Me Now by Queen—(Abe swears in his life that was what he saw, but the others won’t believe him until he got Ned to hack the school cameras and show the disbelieving students—Michelle—that he was, indeed, skipping.)

The teachers all know something as well. Seymour saw the teachers all huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, and then proceeding to casually scramble when he burst into the teacher’s lounge.

It has been going on for a month now. The excitement and speculation over the whole thing bringing a sort of lightness around the dreary setting.

Peter has been ignoring most of the talk, blocking out everything at the very mention of Sta—. But you could only get so far when, everywhere he goes, he is looking at him.

It’s been almost a year now, since The Awakening.

The whole world took a collective break from school, all adjusting as best as they could—the government, the system, the positions left behind and attempting to be reclaimed.

It had been messy. That’s why it took a while until Midtown High opened its gates again for the students that have just Awoken.

They all tried to be the same old students, same old kids, but when you look back across the room to share an inside joke, and find your best friend’s seat empty, because, right, right, he’s in college now, it forces you to reevaluate about the whole life thing and smacks you head first about what could have happened if Tony Stark didn’t sacrifice his life for the world.

But that’s what he heard from the sobbing kid in lunch earlier.

It’s quite hard not to hear it when you’ve got enhanced hearing.

Sometimes, Peter wishes he didn’t have this—everything Spider-Man, the internship, Tony—

Ned nudges him in his side. Peter turns to him. Ned smiles.

For now, everything is quieter. Everything is alright.

A pause.

Pepper closes her eyes.

A breath.

Her eyebrow furrow, and then relaxes.

A sigh.

He doesn’t know what this means, but Pepper is looking at him now and he knows he should listen.

“Alright.”

Principal Morita blinks.

“Is this—really?”

Not his most eloquent, but whatever.

“Yes, Jim. I’ll help you.”

In a beat, he collects himself and smiles, “Thank you, Pepper.”

Pepper returns his smile and tilts her head forward as a silent ‘you’re welcome’.

There is a gentle fire in Pepper’s eyes, a smoldering flame, not unlike a fireplace during winter, when the guests have left and the children are asleep, and there is only the two of them, Pepper and Anthony, on the couch, talking, and Jim knows he should not be thinking this, but he sees Tony in Pepper’s eyes, and he sees love—a love for life that is so monumental that he gave his, in exchange for half the world.

It could be said, then, that Anthony Edward Stark is worth half the population on Earth. And that’s if you haven’t met him. If you did, you might say, more than half of Earth, or the Universe—he’s worth infinity— Jim knows, because he’s been in that conversation before and he doesn’t want to delve into it again.

And he should really be starting now, the presentation, the plans, but he thinks of Tony and his shocked thank you suddenly isn’t enough.

Jim starts— “Really, truly, Pepper, this, everything, thank you.”

Pepper’s face flickers for a split second, but she recovers immediately, “You, as well, Jim. Give yourself some credit.”

And then comes in the child.

She ambles towards her mother, all pretty dress and blue Iron Man helmet on her head.

Morgan Stark.

Pepper turns toward her daughter, hands outstretched as the five-year-old hugged her, “Morgan, honey, did you run away from Judy again?”

Pepper presses a button, revealing the child’s pouting face.

“Yeah… she’s boring. And I wanted to play with this,” she taps her helmet, “but she said I can’t, so, I hid!”

“Alright,” Jim watches as Pepper laughs genuinely for the first time since he came, “Better run and hide somewhere else, she’ll find you here!”

Morgan squeals and scampers off, the two adults watching as she does so.

“She’s…”

“Yes. She is,” Pepper agrees, love in her eyes, “And she’s as amazing as he.”

It comes out of nowhere.

Well.

No.

That’s not right.

They’ve been waiting, listening, watching, for the teachers to spill. What is this secret that’s gotten everyone so busy?

Club presidents are called over one afternoon, and when they come back to a barrage of questions, they reply with secret smiles.

The robotics club offers a parcel of information, that their president told them to prepare their best drones and gadgets, and to hone their presentation skills.

The Vanguard’s Betty Brant, Editor-in-chief, calls in a meeting, informing them of a big event where they are all to attend, because it is going to be the biggest scoop of the year, and that they should recruit more photojournalists.

Student leaders—from sports captains to mathletes—are always out of class, bustling around, talking in their quiet circle. And everyone wants to know why.

There is a buzzing in the hallway, a deep contrast to the hollow silence and the silent murmurs that always pervaded before. Peter feels it. The undercurrent of energy, a breath of life, they’re laughing.

Peter lets out an easy smile after that. He tries to forget, for that second, the burden of Spider-Man.

And he succeeds, for a few gracious moments.

Until.

Flash bumps past him. He sneers.

“Watch it, Penis.”

There is a heat to it that was never quite there before, a sort of resentment that speaks of a deeper wound.

Flash here, Eugene, he lost his father. In the bus one second, woke up in the streets the next and then goes home to an urn and a sobbing mother.

Both Flash and his mother had been turned to dust. His father stayed. Until he couldn’t take it anymore and shot himself in the head. Flash’s uncle manages their business. Technically, Flash owns everything now. At the cost of losing his father.

And that’s something Peter understands.

“Flash,” Peter calls out, his voice failing him halfway—

What was he gonna say? That he was sorry? Bullshit. Flash doesn’t need an apology; he needs his father.

And right now, even though it hurts, when Flash mentions his internship and Mr.— and his ‘lies’, he takes it. Because he can take it. Because he has to take it or both of them will break, and it is better for only one of them to crack—Peter is prepared to be that one, plus, he deserves it—

“What, Penis? Here to clear up the internship? Heard that’s what the fuss is all about. You’re probably scared now, huh? Shaking in your boots, trying to stand up to the only one brave enough to call your bullshit.”

Peter stands and takes it all.

“What could you ever possibly say about that to make me, or, or anyone, believe that a fraction of that is true? Even if you try now, Tony Stark is dead, no one will believe—”

Peter does not hear the rest of it because he has already turned and walked away before Flash could even finish his name.

They’re in Chemistry when it happens.

The sound system cackles to life.

Their teacher stops talking midway.

Everybody knew there was going to be an announcement one day, but they didn’t know it was going to be through this.

So much speculation, and with such an anti-climactic reveal?

Or so they thought.

It is Principal Morita that speaks through the system, his voice echoes, “You can clear them now.”

Their Chemistry teacher, Ms. Warren, bolts to life.

She is giddy and breathless when she starts—a wild excitement barely held back in her eyes—

Everyone is on the edge of their seats.

If they can make even Ms. Warren like this, then it must be something.

“Okay, class, I know you have been waiting for this for a long time, but now is the time that we finally tell you.” She looks around the class with a smile that stretches to its full capacity, an undeniable exhilaration ripples through her body. “Through the efforts of countless teachers and student leaders, and of course, primarily Principal Morita, who was able to get us the deal, it is my pride and enthusiasm to announce, that—”

A room burst into cheers and screams and someone is definitely crying—

Everyone stops breathing.

“—Midtown Science and Tech High School will be visiting the one and only Stark Industries—”

Everyone is screaming.

“—which has relocated upstate, so that means, we will also be going to the Avenger’s Compound—”

It is like a stadium in the classroom—

The students are stomping their foot and banging their table, but Ms. Warren isn’t finished, oh, she was just getting to the good part.

“But that’s not all! Of course, that’s not all!” Ms. Warren’s grin is as wide as it can get, enjoying the student’s reactions, “Pepper Stark-Potts, the CEO of Stark Industries, also just approved our plan for a two-day camping trip there—”

If the screams before were close enough to rupture Peter’s sensitive ears, then this could probably do it in completely.

The students are all standing up, hugging each other, crying—

If this was before the snap, the reaction could have been milder. Really. But because this is the first exciting thing that happened to them after everything, it wasn’t much of a surprise that they would be shrieking in earnest.

They also know that ever since the Awakening, the Stark Industries has been closed off from the public, recovering whatever it can from the ruins of the war.

Pepper singlehandedly raised the company and Avenger’s Compound together, taking on her original role and her husband’s responsibilities on her own. Although, there was talk of an apprentice but no one was really able to prove it, given the privacy.

So, they know, that whatever is happening right now, that it’s special and they’re the only ones who are going to experience this, and witness a phoenix rise from the ashes, the rebirth of a fallen tower, from the ashes of a fallen man.

Peter blinks, hard.

MJ rests her knee on his, sitting on his left, as Ned leans toward Peter’s shoulder.

Ms. Warren isn’t finished yet.

“I will be discussing the plan with you, until next period, so there won’t be the next period, but! But, I need you all to settle down, yes, sit right down Ms. Moon, you too Ms. Avril.”

As the last students sit down, with the spontaneous cheers from across classrooms echoing in their sentiments, Ms. Warren continues on.

“As I said, this will be a two-day trip. During the first day…”

Pepper listens intently, nodding along as Jim highlights plans and reasonings.

“…during the first day, it would be best to start with the tour in the Stark Tower. It would be the perfect jump-off point for the next day. Which is the mini-Midtown high festival. But before that, a little bonfire by the lake accompanied by music will be good for letting off steam. Plus, it’s the perfect bonding experience for the students—to cool off and be kids again.”

Pepper hums.

Everyone is looking at each other. Friends vibrating in synchrony and barely contained energy.

Ned shares a look of worry with MJ, above Peter’s head, who is slumped in his chair with his hands covering his face.

“…we will be staying in the Avenger’s Compound, where it is big enough to house us all. Bring your sleeping bags, because we will be staying there during the night. Yes, in the compound, on the floor, they’ll be clearing up two floors for us, yes, it’s that big—

“Now, the second day is the most important one. You could even say; it is the highlight of the whole trip. It will be a very busy day, indeed. Because, that is when we will conduct the mini-festival—where all creators of all fields from the school will be given the chance to present their works, the theme: life.”

At this, Peter looks up.

“And the thing that also makes this so special is, Principal Morita and Pepper Stark-Potts had agreed on making this an official event, a tribute for the hero, Tony Stark—”

Ned scampers toward Peter, who is already out of the door, his chair scraping and falling on the floor with a loud THWACK!

There is a collective silence at the suddenness of the movement.

MJ sighs, “He’s sick Ms. Warren. Leeds is already on it, so if it’s alright…”

Ms. Warner simply nods and then continues on.

“And now, on to your behavior during the trip…”

Peter doesn’t want to go.

Not so soon.

Not… not for a tribute, because that would mean he’s—

(He’s dead Peter, he’s never coming back, he’s—)

Peter is doubling over the sink, he can’t breathe, but he doesn’t think he should, because if he does, he’ll do something worse—he’ll cry—

(There is a certain wetness in his cheeks, trailing down from his eyes and to his lips—it is salty, but he doesn’t think it is what it is—he’s not, he’s not crying—)

Ned bursts into the men’s room, catching his breath and honing in on his shaking, breaking brother.

Peter notices him in a dull, peripheral way. Somehow, the water is running and if he could, he would drown himself in the sink water, but since he couldn’t, he just drowns in his tears instead.

Ned is by his side now, rubbing circle on his back, and he seems to be talking, he could make out some words, but not enough to understand what he means by it.

He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t, hedoesnthedoesnthedoesnt—

“I know, Peter. And nobody’s making you. You don’t have to go.”

Did he say that out loud?

(Yes, yes, he did. That’s all he’s been saying since he ran out of the classroom. And Ned understands.)

Later, when the bell rings for third period, and Peter and Ned are sprawled on the bathroom floor, with the latter rubbing circles on his shaking friend’s back, Ned tells him that he doesn’t want to go, as well, and that he would join him wherever he wants to go, because that’s what best friends do.

They stick with you till the end of the line.

“The students are all going to love it here, Pepper,” Jim says, picking up his folder as Pepper stands.

“Well of course. You’ve thought and you’ve fought this out for them after all.” She looks down, “And, I think this is really good of you, Jim. For caring as much as you do.”

Jim stares back at her. He smiles softly.

“Yeah, well, when you’ve seen the best in a person and you’re seeing them at their worst, you would want to bring them back up. Only, multiply it to a hundred for me.”

Pepper returns his smile. He is right. In every way that matters, no matter how much it hurt her, he is right.

Please reblog or comment or heart or whatever! Thank you!

#spider-man far from home #avengers endgame #spider-man #peter parker #mcu #tony stark #michelle jones #ned leeds #steve rogers #i.am.spider-man chapter 1 #pepper potts #may parker #flash thompson

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shadowdianne · 6 years

Note

If you're still doing prompts, could we have one of them running away from their wedding for any reason and then talking it out afterwards?

You could! ;) Thanks for the prompt! I hope you like it

And sorry for the wait; july and august had been an interesting couple of months with little internet on my part…

Her hands shook as she looked to the scribbled paper, back hurting asshe tried to sit up straighter on the floor, back resting on the side of thebed. The words on the paper were blurry to her eyes but it didn’t matter as sheknew them by heart.

Lips trembling with soft sobs, she muttered the first few words, theblack ink forming squiggly lines that mocked her as the silent room filled withthe sound of her voice, unnaturally loud to her ears despite her soft tone.

“I think I fell in love with youlittle by little. In a way that I didn’t realize at first; a warm feeling that….”

Stopping, words getting trapped between her tongue and teeth, Emmaclutched the piece of paper and sighed, shoulders sagging and trembling as shetried to keep herself going. It was no use, however, as the same wave of shamethat had been pulsing through her veins ever since close to an hour ago asphyxiatedthem.

Lies, she thought, looking beyond the paper, beyond the fabric pooledaround her ankles and feet. Lies since she couldn’t go through them, throughthe feelings she had wanted to express a month ago, when she had sat withHenry, nervous, expectant, trembling, and had tried to come up with somethingthat would be at least a fraction of what she knew Regina’s vows would be.

Lies since there she was, hiding in a room that she didn’t feel likehers anymore as she had run from the wedding, away from a smiling Regina sofull of trust and love she felt nauseous even now. Lies because, at the end,she was a coward.

Savior. She struggled to keep herself at bay as she thought again on thetitle she still got to hear from time to time from the citizens of Storybrooke,the ones who knew who she was, the ones that hadn’t appeared after the merge.Hero.

Some hero she was, she thought putting the paper away, remembering thatvery same morning in where both Regina and herself had looked at each other andhad kissed before going to finish the last details on the celebration; nerveseating their stomachs and a promise to get a time for themselves after thewhole wedding was over hanging from their lips.

Deranged perhaps, stupid definetely, unworthy probably..

She had tried to walk down the aisle, created by fairies and sorceress,under the eyes of hundreds. She had tried to do it but, ultimately, she had runwhile letting her magic speed up her steps, a cloud of dirty-white hued magicforming vague footsteps on the ground below.

Divorced.

That was a third name she had heard ever since Snow had started to telleveryone how, in fact, a wedding was going to take place. Divorced andconfused.

She hadn’t written vows, not really, for her previous wedding. Theceremony itself feeling a tie strong enough between him and the woman she hadmorphed into in order to create what everyone told her she needed to create; toaccept. She hadn’t had a thing to say to be honest, words feeling difficult andheavy as she tried to navigate through them.

However, the words on this one were powerful, complicated, intricateand, as such, as she had been looking at herself on an unenchanted mirror, shehad felt a fear that had always been with her, a fear that had always been hercompanion.

The fear of, again, not being enough. Enough for the ones who had cometo the wedding, the ones who saw her as an anomaly, as the product of truelove, as a mere story Storybrooke had once had. As a part of a prophecy writtenwithout names. Enough for her family, the one she had changed the day she hadtaken off the ring that felt more of a heavy stone than an everlasting comfort.Enough for the woman who kissed like fire and battled with the same passion.The woman she had been in love with for so long it was almost risible how much.The woman who had trusted her again and again for her to give her her back: blind,stupid and afraid.

She couldn’t be the woman they wanted her to be. She was no Hero, noSavior, no Emma. She was a coward, a divorced woman who had almost destroyedherself to the point in where her very own shadow felt shaky under the paleafternoon sunrays that filtered through the closed windows of the room.

She had bolted; wanting to run far away, cry and explode with everyheartbeat, magic bristling and crackling inside of her.

Covering her eyes with the palms of her hands, she almost didn’t hearthe soft knocks on the parted door of the room but, eventually, she felt thetelling gentle waves of a magic she wouldn’t mistake for anyone else’s.

“It’s open.” She mumbled, throat raw and nose blocked.

“That doesn’t mean I can enter.”

Regina’s tone was gentle, and its softness made Emma sob as she turned,looking just from above the mattress, eyes red as she looked into the brunette’sstill wedding-dress-clothed form.

Eyes red herself, Regina seemed tired and sad and yet not angry.

“I’m a horrible person.”

The sentence came out in a jumbled way, vowels missing and consonantsbarely making through. Regina, however, seemed to understand her as she sighedand entered into the room, wave after wave of gentle purple mist following herfor a second before dissipating.

Sitting next to her, Regina hold one finger up as Emma opened her mouth,ready to ask her to stop ruining her dress; the one that made her look evenmore gorgeous than usual, the one that was, as just the wedding was, fit for aQueen.

“Don’t.” The brunette’s voice had enough brashness to make Emma nodmeekly, not really knowing what to say.

At the silence that ensued, Regina sighed and picked up the paper of thevows, hand trembling as she glanced at them. Closing her eyes, she let magicreturn in the form of sparks around her, tinting the air.

“I was mad.” She admitted, eyes still closed. “I didn’t… I didn’t knowwhat to do. Henry was the one who told me to talk to you.”

Despite everything, Emma laughed softly, a dry chuckle that made herribs expand uncomfortably on the snug fabric that covered her. It didn’t matterhow old that kid was; he never lost a chance to meddle.

Perhaps, she thought, putting her forehead against her hands, fingerspressed into her flesh, she owned him something. To both him and Regina.

Voice wobbly, she spoke, not once looking at Regina, not knowing if shewould be able to answer if she did.

“I felt that, everything was going too fast, that everyone else wasgoing too fast. Looking at us, at you, at me; trying to write us in anarrative, in a book, trying to put is in the last page of a story; a Happyending and nothing else beyond that. I felt that we were rushing into it, withtitles and dances and… I felt paralyzed. I want to be worthy to you, Regina, toour family. But I didn’t feel worthy, just a fraud.”

Silence filled the room, its weight growing until Emma couldn’t breathe.

“I love you. I always will, Regina. We have been through far too muchfor me to deny that. But I don’t know if I can do this; be this. I just want usto be us.”

The last sentence floated slowly upwards, to a point where Emma couldn’tsense it anymore as she felt more and more like a child asking to keep playingon a game they shouldn’t be playing; about to get discovered, about to getpunished.

Instead, all she heard was a sigh as she felt strong hands around hers,pulling them away.

“Idiot.”

Regina’s eyes shone as Emma glanced up, lips parted and throat seizing.

Kneeling now in front of her, Regina glanced at their hands and spoke,voice shaky.

“I want an ‘us’ too. No matter if we have a ring or not that says so.You should know that.”

Sobbing, Emma nodded blindly as Regina hugged her, tighter enough thatshe was able to feel the steady beat of her power molding to hers, patientlywaiting; strong and raw.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered, faintly. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She heard, a kiss dropped on the crown of her head. “I knowEmma.”

#swan queen #prompt #swanqueen #anon

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septic-dr-schneep · 6 years

Note

Okay, because I need fluff after reading about what happened between them: Imagine Host getting sick and being pretty out of it for a couple days. And also being much, /much/ clingier and more tactile with Dark.

“The Host keeps his Sight trained on Wilford, tracking his movements andlistening…listening intently as he…mmm…”

Dark, sitting regally at the head of the familiar conference table,glanced surreptitiously at the Host. He was sitting at Dark’s right hand, justas usual, but he had just mumbled to a stop in the middle of his narration.

That was unusual, Dark mused distractedly, though he didn’t think aboutit for more than a moment. Wilford was growing increasingly animated as hispitch for the brand new Markiplier TV became more detailed and Dark had anagging feeling that he would need to pay attention to the details if he didn’twant to get forced into a role he didn’t want.

The Host’s quiet, shaky exhale recaptured Dark’s attention. He glancedover a second time to see the narrator sinking lower in his chair, huddlingfurther into his coat. He was shivering, Dark noted in surprise. Deciding toprobe, he shifted questioningly toward him—it wasn’t far, simply a few inches,but surely the Host would notice and recapture his sense of dignity.

Contrary to everything Dark knew about him, the younger Ego didn’t acknowledgehis movement whatsoever, staring blankly into the distance without saying aword. His chapped lips moved ever so slightly, but no sound left them except shallow,near-imperceptible wheezes.

For a second test, Dark pressed a hand down on the table with a softthump. The Host’s ears were his most attuned sense, weren’t they? Under anyother circumstance, he would have Foreseen Dark’s movement or detected thenoise; he would have turned his head. There wasn’t any such fortune, not evenwhen Dark began lightly tapping his fingers against the tabletop.

After counting another fifteen seconds of going unnoticed, he opted forless subtlety and half-rose from his chair, causing Wilford to pausemid-sentence.

“Got somewhere to be, Darkie?” he questioned good-naturedly, to whichDark didn’t respond as he pressed the back of his hand against the Host’sforehead. The Host promptly flinched back, startled at the unexpected contact,but not a second later he leaned into it, bowing his head against Dark’sknuckles as if he were swearing fealty.

Dark already had his fealty, but now on top of that he could feel thescalding warmth under his skin. If he had been unsure before, he was certainnow.

“Host, you’re running a fever,” he informed him, matter-of-fact andreproachful. When the Host offered nothing but a more pronounced shiver inresponse, he straightened and smoothed down his suit before pushing in hischair. “Do go on, Wilford; there’s no need to wait. I’ll escort the Host to hisroom and return soon.”

“I’ll miss you!” Wilford quipped with a wink, to which Dark huffed as hetook ahold of the Host’s arms and guided him out of the conference room.

“The Host is…” The rest of the Host’s muttered sentence trailed off andhe shook his head a little, his feet tangling together as he shuffleduncertainly. He seemed rather disoriented by the change in scenery, which inand of itself was fairly unnerving. He was so naturally poised that to see himlike this was akin to the shock of seeing Wilford in pastels. That had onlyever happened once.

“Lean on me,” Dark offered, moving one of the hands on the Host’s arm tothe small of his back so he could steer him more accurately. “We’re going toyour room; I imagine you’ll be more comfortable there than you would in theconference room.”

“Mmm…”

“The doctor is on his biweekly grocery run today,” Dark explained, as ifthe Host had asked during the course of the admittedly one-sided conversation. “Heshould return this evening. I’ll let him know that you need medicines while hehas the opportunity to purchase them.”

The Host’s room was unusually cool when they entered, though it may havebeen the heat radiating in waves from his companion that gave him thatimpression. Dark’s hands were sticky with sweat from supporting him, he noticedwith distaste, his aura flickering in exasperation.

“We’re here, Host. I’m no servant, but I think I’m capable of taking yourcoat if you’d stop trying to slide onto the floor. There we go. No, try thebed; I’m certain it’s more comfortable than the cement. Do you want theblankets? Your coat should probably be washed, by the way; you’ve drenched itwith sweat because you’ve overworked yourself, you fool. I’m going to give youthe blankets.”

As soon as the sheets were properly situated around the Host’s shoulders,Dark exhaled in grim satisfaction, glancing up to peer closely at him. Now thathe recognized that he was ill, he was noticing just how pasty he was, how gaunthis cheekbones were underneath the thin streams of blood and sweat swimmingover them. Instinctively he reached out, wiping swiftly at the particular trailtrying to sneak down his throat.

“Your pulse is erratic,” he muttered, more to himself than to the Host,but the younger Ego reacted anyway, a low whine vibrating through him as hetilted his head in Dark’s direction, brushing his cheek against the nearestedge of his sleeve. Startled, Dark quickly withdrew his hand, clasping it withthe other behind his back, and the Host let out a soft mewl of distress,turning his head to look up at him.

“Dark…Darkiplier…” he slurred, his tone primarily one of confusion and—hurt?

“I’m expected back at the meeting,” Dark reminded him coolly. Had theHost even been aware enough to understand that conversation? “I’ll be back tocheck on you in a few hours.”

Brows knitting in consternation, the younger Ego shook his head ever soslowly, a hand sliding out from under the blankets to brush through the wispyouter edge of his aura. “The Host…doesn’t…”

“Hush. No matter how you protest, you’re never going to convince me that you’rewell enough for it. You need the rest,” Dark announced, turning on his heel andallowing his aura to peel itself free of the Host’s fingers of its own accord.The Host didn’t register its absence until he heard the door close and he murmuredin dismay, straining to straighten his arm and stretch it further toward thedoor. It wobbled and shuddered and finally lost the last vestiges of strength,falling over the side of the bed without his permission. Want. Defeat. Loss.

A shudder breath that was dangerously bordering a sob left his chest,stirring a few stray coughs that all too quickly took shape like a series ofsmall explosions. In the midst of the storm, his hoarse, helpless words cameout in stops and starts:

“The Host doesn’t—want him to—go…”

Dark had fully intended to check on the Host within at least two hours,but with the pandemonium Wilford’s latest idea had caused among the others andDark being forced to corral them back into some semblance of decency, those twohours had become six. As he made his way down the hall, a small twinge of guiltpoked at him for the fact that he hadn’t noticed earlier, but he didn’t let itlinger. Action spoke louder than emotion.

He didn’t bother to knock before he turned the handle; he fully expectedthe Host to be sleeping by now. The empty, tousled bedsheets he found insteadbrought a deep flush of hot scarlet to his aura.

“Host!” he barked, his tone only afraction angrier than he had intended as he slammed the door shut behind himand crossed the room in three long strides. The Host was slumped in his office chairover his work desk, clutching at the sheets of paper scattered across the woodsurface as their owner made a defective attempt at writing. His strokes withthe pen were too weak and unsteady, ink pooling, dotting and smearing until thefrightening gibberish scratched across it were completely unintelligible. Tooovercome to care about whatever the paper said, Dark gripped the back of hischair and hauled it away from the desk, only leaning over for a moment to catchthe pen from midair after it clattered and rolled off the desk.

“What exactly possessed you to try writing in this condition?” hesnapped, holding the pen up to the Host’s nose accusingly.

The Host didn’t have an answer for him, his head listing back against thechair as he struggled for breath.

“This is unacceptable,” Darkwent on in his silence, tossing the pen back at the desktop and hissing throughhis teeth, cracking his neck in one swift, frustrated twist. “Now correct me ifI’m wrong, but when I left, I believe I told you to rest. How long has it been since you left your bed? Hm?! Answer me!”

Shoulders slumping low, the Host finally managed to take control of hischattering teeth and form words—still slurred but coherent enough for Dark tounderstand. “The Host Saw his creator…he Saw Mark in exile…cut off from theworld,” he mumbled, not quite meeting Dark’s eyes. “He Saw…he only thought heshould finish…”

“In exile?” Dark echoed, the red in his aura dissipating somewhat in hisconfusion. As he processed the words, a slight tinge of blue crept in on theborders of the smoke; concern stirred. “Host, his so-called ‘exile’ was self-imposed—andit was nearly a month ago.”

During Dark’s pause, the Host had already started to droop lower, thoughhe did react to those words with a vacant, inattentive “Hmm?”

He was considerably more flushed than earlier, Dark noted, swallowinghard. Keeping his words clipped so none of his growing worry would slipthrough, he ordered shortly, “Get back in bed,” giving a brief tug to the Host’sarm to indicate he should stand. That the Host responded to, fumbling to latchonto the arm that hand belonged to. For the sake of getting him back on hisfeet, Dark didn’t pull away, letting him use the leverage to stand. As soon ashe did, all the color drained from the Host’s face, his strained, wearyexpression falling blank. He wavered.

“Host—?” Dark began warily as the younger Ego tried uselessly to grasp athis shoulder for purchase. When that failed, his legs failed with it. Dark lashedout and grabbed him before he collapsed entirely, cursing as he gathered up hislimp frame. The feverish heat of his skin was enough to burn Dark’s hands likea branding iron and he swore all the more fiercely because of it. Fortunatelythe bed was only a few feet away, but the Host had fainted completely; he wasdead weight in his arms.

As soon as he was flat on his back again, Dark hurriedly cupped a handaround the Host’s jaw and the other over his scalding forehead, one last curse fallingmore softly. “Host…wake up. I won’t have the doctor accusing me of anyincompetence with you; it’s becoming redundant. Wake up…”

After another few minutes of persistent coaxing, the Host stirred andsomething in Dark’s chest unraveled in relief as he flinched and coughed. “Hh—?”

“You passed out. This is preciselywhy I told you to stay in bed,” Dark explained tersely, unable to resistrebuking him again. Breathing heavily, the Host fidgeted under his hands, snatchingclumsily at him.

“The Host is—he’s sorry,” he wheezed, his voice hitching with adesperation that was alarmingly out of character as his shivering spiked. “Hecouldn’t rest while he was alone—he didn’t want to be alone—As soon as Dark left him, t-the visions—He’ll stay, he’llobey and rest, so long as he isn’t abandoned!”

“Abandoned?” Dark echoed, his incredulity keeping him in place as theHost’s hands crawled over his sleeves and lapels, tracing the folds as if tomake sure he was really there. “I would never abandon you. Why would you believe—?”

“He can’t See…!”

“What?”

“The Host can’t—he can’t See now—All he has is his Hindsight! HisF-Foresight is—He wouldn’t know if he were left alone—He could be abandoned andhe would never know until it was too late!”

The Host’s fingers happened to catch on his tie and his bangs then,tugging with surprising force, and Dark grimaced, deftly prying his hands away.“Alright, enough, Host—please, try tocalm yourself—” The Host shook his head, quickening breaths catching coarselyin his throat, and Dark grit his teeth, squeezing his hands more firmly as herepeated emphatically, “Calm yourself. No one is abandoning you. I am not abandoning you.”

At that the other Ego stilled, staring straight through him with anexpression of distant surprise. The pause lasted for so long that Dark couldsee the beginning blots of fresh blood crawling through the fabric his bandagesand then the Host ever so slowly slid one hand out of Dark’s. The other hekept. Marginally freer than he was, Dark shifted so he was perched more fullyon the edge of bed. He still leaned at a rather awkward angle as the Host keptone of his hands hostage, but with his other he was able to work at the knot inhis tie until he could breathe a little easier.

“Thank you,” he muttered, to which the Host only tightened his grip, asif he were trying to bind their hands together against his chest. Only then didhe start to relax, his breaths evening out with a frightening speed.

“Dark…stays…” he murmured drowsily, his next words drifting away unintelligibly.

Eyebrows rising at the audacity, Dark huffed, combing through his bangsto rid them of the tangles the Host had created and hesitating for a beat ortwo before doing the same with the tousled blonde streak in the other’s hair. “Istay, do I?” he hummed softly, quite well aware that he was going unheard. “Youmake it sound as if I have no choice in the matter.”

If he was honest with himself, he wouldn’t have chosen otherwise anyway.

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