#this isn’t even the time he casually said I was an accident or brushes under the rug how severe the family mental health is | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

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youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

#bangtanhq #networkbangtan #goldenclosetnet #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook #jjk♡#jungkook x reader smut #bts smut #mine

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slytherinnbitch · 3 years

Text

Accident Part 2

Part 1 of Accident

Exactly 2 days and 17 hours after Malfoy had dissolved their marriage and left, Harry's memory came back. The impact of it was so bad that he was screaming his lungs out by the time a nurse came to check and she immediately called for Healer Malfoy-Potter.

Harry is on the verge on unconsciousness when Malfoy had finally came in, he gives him a vile looking potion and his vision blacks out.

When he woke up again, he was staring at the same white ceiling as always. His head is pounding, he scrunches his face slightly and looks to his left expecting his exasperated husband as always. He finds Hermione instead, with Ron on his other side.

"Where's Draco?" That's the first thing that comes out of his mouth. Hermione looks pained, so he turns to Ron and he has an almost identical expression. And then all of it crashes down on him.

The waking up, and seeing Draco and then oh god- and then taunting him and playing with all his weaknesses and everything that he had vowed to never do again. He had done exactly all that and so much more. Fucking piece of unworthy shit, that's what he is because Merlin he has fucked up so badly that it was surpassing all scales.

And he had asked for a divorce and...and Draco had readily accepted it, as he said....was his faith. And shit shit shit, Reg. What had he told Reg? He needs to grovel at Draco's feet, hopefully he would forgive Harry. And- he can't even think about it anymore.

He closes his eyes, hoping the mortifying feeling would go away. It doesn't. Not even one bit.

"Judging by your reaction, mate. I guess you remember all of it?" Ron asks tentatively, breaking his internal war.

"Yeah fuck."

"I still don't understand why he just did that, why did he listen to you and divorce you?" Hermione inquires because of course she doesn't understand.

"Because that's what he said he would do. He said it at the beginning of the relationship, he'll free me if I ever wanted him to, with no explanations whatsoever. I had told him, he shouldn't hold his breath over that." He smiles ruefully at the memory, Draco had shaked his head at that and kissed him. It had been an excellent day.

"Could either of you just call him? He is my Healer so he must be here, right?" He asks hopefully, something in their eyes tells him that he is very very wrong. They are excused from answering him when Zia enters. She is an assistant to Draco and under his wing, one of his best students.

"Hey Zia!" Harry greets her brightly, just because he is going through internal war doesn't mean he'll just give up his manners.

"Oh, hey Harry. So I conclude your memories are back?" Zia asks somewhat subdued, it's a weird thing on her. She is usually this bright and happy ray of sunshine, so he frowns.

"Yeah. Where's Draco?" he asks directly, she will probably give him a viable answer, but she looks distinctly uncomfortable so he feels the need to clarify, "You know, your boss, my husband and my healer?"

"Yea, yes. He um went home. Asked me to do the last check-up and then you're good to go."

"Did he say something else?" Harry asks because something tells him he is being withheld from information.

"He asked me to appoint you a new Healer because um he isn't going to handle your cases any longer. He was on this one because he was handling it before you asked for someone." Zia says and she looks heartbroken herself, what has he done!

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I tried to talk to him, he just went all cold and didn't listen to a word of mine. Just threatened to fire me and left." Zia continues and boy, his level of fucked knows no levels because Zia is crying now!

"No Zia, please don't cry. I'll... I'll talk to him, alright? Don't do anything just yet? I fucked up real bad this time, just let me leave and I'll try my best." Harry pleads and Zia hiccups softly. She checks his quickly with red eyes and deems him free to leave.

He is out of the doors within an hour with his best friends at his side.

"Mate, just know that we are here and you're more than welcome at ours if Draco kicks you out or anything yeah?" Ron assures him after he tells them that he is going home. Hermione just hugs him one last time before he apparates away, fervently hoping that Draco hasn't locked him out of the wards. The result of apparating inside while being locked out, especially of their customised wards aren't great.

Thankfully he hasn't, because Harry lands just fine on the doorstep of Grimmauld Place. The door opens on its own, recognising his magical signature.

Just as he closes the door, he hears the tiny footsteps of his baby boy and yeah there he is, sprinting towards him.

"Papaaaa," Reg cries out as he launches himself into his arms and it grounds him. It gives him peace and then enters Draco. He looks proper as always, no one would be able to tell that he is messed up. But no one is Harry Malfoy-Potter.

He notices the tiny, slightly out of place hair strands out of place. The clenched jaw as he tries to keep himself together and how he unconsciously keeps brushing his left arm.

"I missed you. Dada said he didn't know when you be back." Reg mumbles into his neck, it's mostly gibberish but Harry understands one and half year old pretty well, as he hugs him still, then he looks into his eyes with slight tears and says seriously, "Dada was so sad," and then he hugs him again.

He was gone for almost five days, it aches his heart how much he was missed by his little love and how much he is loved. He locks eyes with Draco then, who has the mask set in place properly again. He arches his eyebrow at Harry, a silent question that he can very well understand. He pleads back silently as well to keep it until they are alone. Draco gets it.

"I missed you too, my reggie-teggie. But guess what I won't be going anywhere now and we would have so much fun, won't we? We'll ride on the broom again all around the house while Dada goes to work, innit?" Harry asks and Reg beams at him, "And I'll try to make sure Dada isn't sad anymore, yeah?" And he nods enthusiastically.

"Alright, bed time now." Draco calls after an eternity passes with Harry listening to Reg bringing him up-to-date with everything that going on in his life. It seems very important.

He still isn't actually talking to Harry, not that he expected anything else.

"Can Papa read me a story?" Reg asks and Draco nods his head so he looks at Harry who does the same and then they go to Reg's room.

After he finishes the second story, he looks down beside him to find Reg fast asleep, he slowly and carefully gets out of his bed and tucks him in properly then starts towards the door.

After peering at his sleeping face, Harry closes the door and places a one-way muffiliato charm, so Reg can't hear them but they can still hear him. It would cancel out the minute Reg wakes up and Harry would get an alert. He and Draco had modified it themselves.

He roams around the house in order to find Draco, finally making way into their bedroom where he is sitting with his hands on his lap, waiting for Harry.

He stops breathing as he slowly enters the room. Draco doesn't object so he is fine. When he stops a feet away from Draco. He looks so frail like this, like he hasn't slept or eaten properly in days, he probably hasn't.

"Well, what is it Potter? I would like to sleep." Draco states, his voice ice cold and a slight shiver runs down Harry's spine as he remembers the last time he had been like this. It had been after Harry had gone on a date so many years back, before he came to his senses that is.

"Draco, please. Don't do this." Harry pleads and Draco's eyes flash dangerously.

"You mean I did this? Me, Potter? Me who has been unable to answer my kid why his other father has not come home except for that he is still sick and needs rest? Me who has been-" he stops abruptly and takes a deep, calming breath, "Anyways, my point is I didn't do a thing."

"Draco, you know I don't mean that. And- and I didn't mean any of the shit I said after waking up," Harry tries again, he knows it's futile somewhat but he can't just give up. "I should not have accused you like that. My last self was a number one arsehole."

"Yeah, he was." Draco agrees but he doesn't say anything else.

"I'm sorry that I didn't believe you or my friends or even my own self, I should have." Harry sighs and rubs his eyes under glasses.

Draco remains silent.

"Talk to me, dammit! Shout at me, scream, tell, punch, hex whatever you want to. Just- just don't keep so quiet, it's so much more hurting than the others, please Draco." he snaps after almost two minutes of complete silence.

"And what would you like me to tell you? That I forgive you and you're welcome back in my life? Is that what you think would happen when you came here?" Draco taunts and shit if he doesn't deserve it.

"Because that's not going to happen," Draco continues, he meets Draco's eyes with all his guilt and regret and he feels Draco's barriers snapping, "What to know why, Harry? I don't care because I'm going to tell you anyway." Draco says casually and Harry prepares himself for it.

"Because you fucking dissolved our marriage vows, you utter bastard! You just went and dissolved everything we had the moment you got to know that we were married! And how bloody dare you ask for my rings?" Draco shouts at him, he has tears in his eyes but he keeps on, "Do you know that mother noticed that the tapestry suddenly didn't have your name tied to mine? Just to Reg? She did and so did father. She told me so when I went to pick up Reg. Do you even want to what hell father told me? How he always knew I was wrong and how you would leave me one day and- and now I had a fucking child to my name all alone and he knew I would be a fuck up all along? Do you have any idea what that did to me? How difficult it was for me to keep a facade infront of Reg. Do you, Harry?" He looks at Harry, waiting for an answer.

"I don't..."

"Of course you don't. You have no bloody clue, and you know what you don't need to. You can fuck off whenever you want and I won't stop you. Who the fuck would I be, wasn't that what you said?" Draco rages on, then he says it again, it comes out utterly broken, "Who the fuck, indeed?" And then he sobs, openly, all masks gone.

Harry can't help but move forward and hug him tightly. He is crying himself as Draco tries to wretch himself free.

"Let me go, you prick. Utter prick, with no fucking-" Draco says against himself and Harry shushes him gently.

"Shh, darling. I'm here, I'm sorry but I'm here now, love." Draco struggles some more before he gives up and hugs Harry back tightly. He can't breathe but who needs that when they have Draco Malfoy-Potter in their arms.

When they finally pull apart, Draco's eyes are red and he is still hiccuping.

"I love you," Harry says softly as he caresses his cheek. Draco leans on his hand and mouths the words back.

"You are still not forgiven, just so you know." Draco says and Harry doesn't know what he shall do. He'll do anything, murder if he has to.

"How can I earn it?"

"Do something about our marriage and I'll think about it." Draco replies after a moment of thinking.

"Marry me, again? It's our anniversary in 12 days. We can do it then." Harry suggests, and a small smile seems to tug at Draco's lips.

"And whoever said that I'll marry you. That too for the second time. One time was enough, don't you think?" Draco teases, and he knows he did the right thing this once.

"A million times again, and it still won't be enough."

"Let's keep it to two, yeah?" Draco suggests as he draws Harry close.

"Promise." Harry says and seals it with a kiss. They are going to be okay, again, he thinks as he drowns himself in Draco's love.

Have at your happy ending, sad ending would have been nice but I value my life a little. Tagging @moramystery @cupofsquirrelfan @justthingsfromsarah because y'all specifically asked for a sequel. Altho this isn't all that angsty.

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justfandomtings · 3 years

Text

Character study of William murderface

Cw: child abuse, ptsd, trauma, internalized homopobia,ect.

Throughout the show, murderface has been presented as a shitty person that is untalented, leeches off of his friends/ fame, and honestly just seem to have gotten lucky when getting into dethklok.

Which is true, but I want to look in a little deeper why he's like this. (Note:this might be kinda head cannonish. I have some examples from the actual show but since we never got a deep backstory for murderface or get many murderface centric episodes I'll be filling in some empty spaces.)

Murderface in the show

Murderface is extremely self loathing and has had moments where he just goes so hard in on himself.

Season 1 episode 1

We see this in the very beginning when he refers to himself as the 'fat one.'

It could've been played off as a simple joke, which it was in the show for the audience watching. But in the show's universe and for the character, this will be an occurring thing.

This continues in

Season 1 episode 3

It's murderface's birthday and the boys throw murderface a party. During his party murderface is shown complaining and being stand-offish. You would think the last thing he would want is a party, yet he still sends out invites to his bandmates. (Note: noticed how the invites were sent right after murderface left the room? Idk it just seemed like he was embarrassed or scared his bandmates would laugh at him for wanting a birthday party. He even tried to act non chalant when the invite said "come if you want, who gives a piss." when they did throw him a party he still came)

When the boys pulled a little, kinda mean but harmless prank on him, literally giving him the gift of nothing. Murderface was fucking hurt, like genuine tears almost left this man's eyes when he come into his room to get his thing's and 'run away'.

Of course the boys did give murderface an actual gift, which honestly had a lot of thought and effort put into it. This makes murderface cry a tear. (Of blood but you know still a tear)

This is the example of the boy's showing they care for murderface. But even after this big gesture murderface will continue to believe the opposite.

The show continues and we get the first and honestly only backstory for murderface.

Season 1 episode 6

When the boys get a band therapist, we find out the tragic murder/suicide of murderface's parents. His father killing his mother then himself with a chainsaw, this whole thing happens while murderface as a baby sits in his highchair unaware while eating his cereal. This flashback makes murderface kinda sit there in shock as he pisses his pants.

(Note: murderface has said in the show that his appearance was the reason his parents are dead. If that really was the case, why didn't his father kill him or at least killed him after he killed his mother? Why did his father just kill his wife and himself? Never laying a single hand on murderface? Will get back to that later.)

Season 1 episode 9

Bringing up this episode may be confusing to some for bringing this up since it doesn't focus solely on murderface. He doesn't even get that much screen time this episode. But I would like to point out his actions in that episode.

In this episode the boys adopt a young teen boy they name fatty ding dong and raise him as their son for probably couple of weeks. While the boys all had their...interesting way of raising him. Murderface had the most physical fights with fatty ding dong. Mostly when we misbehaved. Like hitting him, shocking him non stop with a tazer, beating him for eating his civil war boots ect.

I just like to point out that murderface was raised by his grandparents. We'll come back to more of that later in the post.

Season 1 episode 11

The band gets reunited with their families and what we see from murderface and his family is that they are very violent towards each other. Murderface tries to choke his grandmother when looking in at her mouth as she chewed. Pickles and Nathan had to snap himself out of it, murderface apologized saying it was his fault for looking to deeply.

Like that was some kind of trigger from his past that made him black out and get violent.

He was also highly against buying his grandfather a wheelchair, only doing so because the boys agreed to be nice towards their family to get them to leave.

Even when they were spending time with each other, they never touched each other William kept his distance. Only ever touching if it was fight related.

In the same episode we see why, Stella was so physically abusive towards murderface, spraying fucking pepper spray into his eyes when he did..nothing? He wasn't aggressive or was even part of the issue. She just attacks him because she had to change his diapers?

This belittlement and physical abuse continues everytime they are together on screen.

So to bring back up season 1 episode 9. With how murderface treated fatty ding dong we can assume that's how we was being treated while under the care of his grandparents. Children soak up things like a sponge. Whether you think they remember it or not. Many psychological reports has shown that children will mimick and repeat behaviors and actions their caretakers do. If it's right or not, children will do things because that's what this adult dose. That's what they see at home. It's normal to them if that is the environment they grow in. Even if the child feels like something is off or wrong. They won't know exactly what is wrong or why because it's all they know.

So if this is how murderface was raised, which highly may be the case since we see Stella physically abuse murderface even as an adult. He might have actually thought this is how you raise a child, this is what you do to a child when they misbehaved. Nobody in his life has corrected murderface or explain to him that this way of discipline isn't ok or even discipline to begin with, it is abuse.

So, we are to believe with the information we have now. Is that murderface was most likely abused as a child, probably all the way up till he was able to get away from them and join dethklok.

With this information we can apply this to his behavior in the show. A side effect from child abuse is suicidal behavior. Throughout the show Murderface would now and then casually commit about hurting or killing himself.

Season 1 episode 2

Murderface casually states if it'll be brutal enough for him to just take his life after Nathan deltes another record. Or when the boys kindly ask him to stop eating beans, he gets oddly emotional and says he'll just starve to death then.

Another effect from child abuse is eating disorders and obesity.

You already know this a big part of murderface's character. There are times where he's seen constantly eating junk food, to eating nothing and just drinking coffee, to the doctor pointing out the back of his teeth are decaying. And murderface informs him it's from throwing up his food.

He also gets teased for his weight being called chubby and fat, ect. Murderface has a hard time with his weight, his excessive eating may even be seen as an unhealthy coping mechanism.

Other effects such as aggressive behavior, low self esteem, dissociation, ect. Is also shown within the show.

Season 1 episode 15

Murderface gets into a motorcycle accident and is sent into the hospital. This near death experience gets him on a religious journey. Maybe to find answers to certain questions or possibly wondering where he was going to go if he did die? Is he a good person, why do certain things happen to people, what's the meaning of life?

He asked the guys if he really deserved to live. Does he really deserve to be brought onto this world, being a part of a pretty good and rare type of life.

The boys being emotionally closed off don't really answer his question. They honestly brush it off but they do go along with murderface on his spiritual journey.

He eventually chooses no religion, but I feel that near death experience stuck with him. He either decided that life was too short so might as well live it, or a more cynical view on life. That it's meaningless then who cares if he died?

Season 2 episode 11

This is probably an episode where murderface was the most sad and self loathing. (This and another episode I can't wait to get to) after his concert, he felt pretty shitty with the outcome and had lead him to feel that he does not deserve the life he has now and wonders why he even shows his face. Just wanting the spot light for one.

Which is really interesting. Because comparing season 1 with the other 3. Murderface in season one had...fans. There were people who genuinely liked him. The prime example is his birthday episode.

When he had a solo, just like in season 2 episode 11. People were cheering his name. Practically screaming at the rooftops for him. So what happened?

We already know that murderface is the least liked member of the band, but even then he still had fans. Hell people committed terrorists attacks just for him on his birthday.

Maybe it was just a loud minority? Who knows, but if in the show as time went on less and less people had him as his favorite or even just liked him would probably get him really insecure.

After the concert failure, Charles let's him host a Nas car event. Which I'd think would've gone actually well if you know, the dethklok curse wasn't a thing.

Also as murderface was planning the event people around him didn't really support him or help him out. Which is mostly murderface's fault, he has a lack of focus and doesn't really plan things through. This is a good reason for partners and others outside wanting to work with dethklok not want to work with murderface. It costs money and a lot of time to do all the things related to dethklok. And murderface's flakeyness is a valid reason for business and others to not have faith in him when related to these things.

BUT! (This is a little bit of projection here) as someone who also has a lack of focus and hard time to get things done. That doesn't mean I don't want to do said thing, that doesn't mean I want to waste others time. I simply have a hard time focusing, I need structure and that little reminder to get things done. But the difference between me and murderface is that I'm not a billionaire.

I am not apart of a popular metal band, with all the money in the world, with a manager that will clean up every little mess I make.

I have more risk, whatever I fuck up will effect me. I will suffer the consequences. Murderface won't. (Also he's a fictional character..so reality won't have any affect on him lol)

But yea, I believe if murderface would suffer from his consequences then he'd be a bit more on things. Also I feel murderface's mental health issues play a huge role in things.

His fear that he's not good enough, eating disorders, ect. Can really mess up your focus.

So, now to the infamous episode. Dethvanity.

Season 4 episode 8

In this episode Murderface in nominated for the most brutal looking award and this. Fucks. Him. Up.

So much so that he actually hallucinates his bandmates and Charles calling him ugly and other things that they never even said.

When he goes to the plastic surgeon, he tells him. A complete stranger, that he hates himself. For murderface to actually admit this deep issue that he's been keeping deep down. For him to show vulnerability to a stranger is pretty sad.

When he goes to Nathan to borrow money, he tells a story of a 'boy' that was so ugly that he's driven his parents to murder suicide. Again he's calling himself ugly and blaming himself for his parents death. (Were going to get back to that too.)

After murderface gets the surgery he days dream about what would happen if he was beautiful. Finally being accepted and able to say fuck you to all those that were shit to him.

Of course, it doesn't end like that. He's face gets infected and is even more ugly than before.

This episode was pretty messed up. Murderface didn't get what he thought would give him validation, he looks down on himself more, and he is humiliated front of 100s of people.

This whole shit show probably validated all the negative thoughts he had for himself.

Next we'll talk about his internalized homopobia. Murderface...is definitely..not straight. He's not gay either he does have sexual attraction to women but his uncomfortably and very interesting moments and visions say he might like more than just that.

Season 2 episode 5

Murderface has a weird thing with eating 'penis' shaped objects or watching other eating said shaped objects.

He has a lot of weird moments where he gets really close to one of his bandmates and just whispers something in their ear. Specifically Pickles and Skwisgaar.

He just said fuck it and tried to bang toki while they were in the submarine.

Had hallucinations of cutting between women, men, animals, even his own grandmother and was distraught when he had a small moment of admitting he way gay.

There's no real specific reason why or how murderface is this scared of being gay. But I feel it may also be with how he grew up. He was probably been told it was wrong to be gay and how immoral it was to like men and you'll burn in hell if you do. Also being gay wouldn't be 'brutal' or 'manly'.

And not to shit on metal heads but you know. They're not the...most..exclusive group of people.

I think murderface is scared to accept he's gay because his grandparents made him feel he would be a bad person if he was or get kicked out of the band if he was.

So, after all I laid on the table, let's wrap this up. Back to the blaming himself of his parents deth. I believe, Williams parents didn't kill/murder themselves because he has ugly. I like to think the opposite, I believe his parents actually dearly cared for him. I think his father had some serious mental issues or something else pushed him over the edge.

It could be anything really, maybe his dad was crazy, maybe it had something to do with the curse. I like to think they both cared for him his dad just..idk snapped.

I'm assuming murderface's grandparents are his dads parents. And seeing how they treated murderface they most definitely treated his dad the same.

Or, it wasn't murder/suicide at all. Buckle in because it's all tv theory over here. I have a hard time to believe that murderface remembered, in such detail in fact. How his parents died, in the flashback he looks to be 7 to 8 months? Traumatic event yes, but there's no way a baby can remember such a thing.

I think, Stella lied to murderface about how his parents died. I think it was just some evil twisted thing she said to make murderface feel terrible about himself. His parents probably unfortunately died in say a car accident or health related issues. But the main thing is how guilty murderface feels, how terrible he feels that he thinks he was the reason he killed his parents when that's far from the truth.

It was either an unfortunate accident or his father killing themselves. But it is not murderface's fault.

The physical abuse from his grandparents, the guilt of believing he's the reason for his parents death, his aggressive internalized homopobia, lack of support, the bullying from his bandmates, body issues/eating disorder, and it just keeps going.

It's no fucking wonder why the man is like this. Don't get me wrong, murderface is an asshole and is responsible for most of his actions.

But that's still a lot of shit for someone to go through.

That's all I have, this is really long. But I hoped you like this little thread. There's still more to his character but this is long enough.

#metalocalypse #william murderface #dethklok

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kuroos-moon · 4 years

Text

We All Have Bad Days

- in which they feel down, ft. how they act around you

pairings: Suna x reader, Akaashi x reader, Tendou x reader

warning/s: mild angst

wc: 2.4 k overall

Suna

he’s not really that open towards you— not that it’s intentional

he just doesn’t see the need to communicate certain things

other than that, he doesn’t even admit to himself that he’s not okay

you could easily tell, but he’ll brush you off every time you show concern

he’s okay, stop worrying. stop looking at him like he’s fragile.

“Rin, you could talk to me about anything you know?”

he was just resting his head on your shoulder in peace

so why in the world do you have to complicate things

he’s annoyed, you always try to comfort him, he doesn’t need it

“What are you so worried about?” He glares quite coldly, leaning away to look at you. “I said I’m fine, you act like you know me better than I do myself,” he casually says as if those weren’t hurtful words.

“I’m not forcing you to open up to me, I just want you to know I’m here for you,” you say with teary eyes as he gets up from his seat beside you. “I’ll head to practice, see you later,” he says in a dull voice, not looking back at you as he leaves.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He sat on the empty locker room’s cold floor, practice was long over but he just didn’t want to get up yet. He’s tired, he feels so drained and maybe it wasn’t because of practice, maybe he really isn’t okay— just like you said.

The image of you pops in his mind; particularly the moment earlier before practice, you were clearly hurt by what he said— he knew that. Regret washes over him as he leans his head against the locker behind him, you were right, he wasn’t fine.

He doesn’t know how you managed to see past his facade, but you did, he should be grateful— a normal boyfriend would be— yet he pushed you away when you only wanted to console him. I’ll apologize tomorrow, he thinks to himself, but yet again he felt conflicted because he also wanted to see you now.

“Are you gonna stay in here all night?” He looks up at the sound of your voice. “Y/n,” he says, surprised at your sudden intrusion.

“I was waiting for you outside but you were taking too long,” you smile, squatting down on the floor beside him. “I didn’t know,” he whispers.

Heat flushes your cheeks when you feel a warm jacket getting draped over your shoulders so suddenly, “you were cold, right?” He asks, looking at your flustered expression for a while before he looks away. “Thanks.” He only nods in response.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, your shoulders touching. “You just want me to know you’re here huh,” he whispers to himself, quoting your words from earlier.

“What?” You ask, not having heard him well. He shakes his head, getting up from the floor before he holds out his hand for you. “You’re ready to go home?” You ask, taking his hand as you lift yourself up.

He gently spins you around so your back was to him, his hands on either side of your waist. “Rin?” For the second time that night, you blush tremendously. He had wrapped you in his arms in a tight embrace, your back against his chest.

He rests his chin on your shoulder, letting out a breath as you both relax against each other’s closeness. “I’m not good at telling others how I feel,” he whispers. “I’m not used to having someone worry about me either,” he plants a soft kiss of appreciation on your neck.

“It’s okay Rin.”

“You’re so warm,” he sighs, snuggling against you. “Cheer me up like this often.”

“Let me go,” you tug at his arms, “I wanna hug you too you know,” you huff.

“No,” you feel him slightly smile against your skin.

You forcibly turn to face him, his arms still around your waist as he looks at you questioningly. “You can be sad in front of me you know,” you tell him and his eyes slightly widen at your words.

“I can’t.” He deadpans, and you were left speechless, feeling as if he was too far away from you, maybe he’ll never open up.

He shifts his focus to the maroon Inarizaki jacket wrapped around you, adjusting it so that it wouldn’t fall off. To your surprise, he gently pulls you by the jacket’s collar as he meets your lips with his. The kiss was sweet but short, he hoped to have expressed at least a fraction of what he felt for you.

“I can’t be sad in front of you, you make me not sad,” he mutters, slightly embarrassed to have said such a cheesy thing so he looks away with a small frown.

“Aren’t you sweet,” you tease, to which he rolls his eyes to in response. His hand glides down from your arm and to your hand, intertwining your fingers together before you both make your way to the door.

You yelp when he harshly kicks it open, followed by a series of groans as the Miya twins found themselves landed on the ground. “Rin!” you scold, slapping his arm lightly but he merely gives your hand a squeeze in apology before tugging you along with him.

“Lame eavesdroppers,” he mutters under his breath.

“Wow, an apology would be nice!” Atsumu huffs, glaring at the back of Suna’s head as the both of you walked away.

“Wanna eat something first before I take you home?” He asks you with a small smile, looking down at you lovingly, and completely disregarding the curses the twins threw at him.

Akaashi

first instinct is to rely on himself alone

he knows he could talk to you about anything but he doesn’t want to be a burden, even though he’s totally not

is very good at pretending that everything’s alright

you can hardly figure it out yourself if he doesn’t tell you

but, he has a tell

his hugs would be longer, he would be more silent than usual, and he would be so deep in thought you’d have to call his name twice

“I’ll be back by dinner,” he says to your ear. You were sitting down on the couch, laptop on your lap while Keiji leant down to kiss your cheek.

“What shall I cook?” You ask, looking up at him with a small smile. He looked and acted per usual, he seemed fine, but what gave it away was how he clung to you differently last night; it was more desperate as if he tried to console his own aches by having you as close to him as possible.

The raven-haired lad looks back at you in surprise, hand stopping mid-way from the doorknob. “You will cook?” He raises a brow.

“Have a little faith in me Keiji,” you pout at him before he gives you a small smile, putting his hand down before turning and making his way in front of you. “What do you wanna have for dinner? I’ll cook it when I get home,” he says, ruffling your hair a bit.

“I said I wanna cook for you,” you grab his hand. Let me do something for you, Keiji.

“Why? Well if you say so I guess pasta would be nice,” he shrugs at you. “It’s not your favorite food, it’s mine,” you grimace, staring at his back as he makes his way back to the door; why is he all give with no take?

“Don’t burn our house down love,” he calls off with light amusement in his voice before closing the door behind him. He proceeds to walk towards school, heart heavy in his chest though he can’t help but put on a small smile.

You were too adorable, offering to cook dinner for him even though he knew you couldn’t cook to save your own life. You were just so naturally caring, by the slightest look, touch, or mention of his name, you gave him utter solace.

That was enough, right? He didn’t have to tell you what was bothering him, everything will be okay eventually. You had your own struggles, why should he have you worry about him?

“Ugh we have tons of homework today,” similar complaints and groans could be heard as he walked out of the lecture room, in a hurry to come home to you. “But dude, we’re lucky we aren’t from the other class, they have thrice the amount of work.”

Right. You had tons of schoolwork and deadlines, you shouldn’t waste time cooking dinner for him.

Before he even opens the door to your house he could already hear your kitchen struggle. He should have refused your offer, what a burden I must be, he thought. “Y/n?” He immediately calls out for you as he sets foot in your home.

“Over here, ah,” you yelp, probably having touched something hot by accident. He rushes over to the kitchen, a frown plastered in his face as he took in the sight of you tightly gripping your hand, the messy pans and plates on the side from your failed attempts, and the slight tears that rolled down your cheeks at the pain from your mild burn.

He calmly guides your hand to the sink without saying a word, cursing himself for allowing you to make dinner for him. Your hand was placed under the running water as he scans his eyes on you to check if you were hurt elsewhere. “Hey, does it hurt that bad?” He asks you with worry as he saw you cry, his hands immediately planted on either side of your face to have you look at him.

You shake your head at him, and he merely sighs as he tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been the one to cook, don’t cry,” he coos, his face crumpling up in guilt and concern as a chain of self-blaming thoughts mess with his mind.

“Keiji, I’m not crying because of that,” you sniffle, taking his hands away from your face before pulling him in a tight embrace, your hand at the back of his head. “Y/n what’s wrong?” He asks in a small voice as he wraps his arms around your waist as tight.

“I wanted to do something for you, to make you feel better because you’re not telling me what’s wrong.” He freezes at your words, “but now it’s a mess and you’re comforting me instead,” you sniffle again before he resumes on gently rubbing your back.

“Can I take you to the bedroom?” He asks you, before letting out a small chuckle at your confused reaction. “Not for that, silly,” he shakes his head, lifting you up by your waist as you wrap your legs around him.

He gently lays you down on top of the bed before he lies down on top of you as well, letting out a long exhale. “Keiji, what’s wrong?” You ask him, running your hand through his hair as he buries his face at the crook of your neck. “Nothing y/n, I’m fine,” he snuggles closer to you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you, you were just so busy and I didn’t want to burden you with me,” he admits. “Keiji, you’re never a burden, I love you a lot, you know that; and you also know how I’d love for you to share your troubles with me instead of carrying them all alone,” you softly tell him.

“I know,” he sighs. “I guess I forgot, but you still comforted me in ways you didn’t know y/n,” he pulls away to look at you. “You simply exist beside me and I forget I’m sad in the first place,” his lips lightly brushing against yours as he spoke.

You only give him a small smile, staring back at his eyes before meeting his lips with yours. “C’mon, help me cook,” he offers you a rare grin as starts to lift himself up.

“I think it’d be better if I didn’t,” you frown and he ruffles your hair again; a habit he developed when he found you too cute to bear. “I know, just hug me as I do the work.”

Tendou

tries to act too happy when he’s down in the dumps

he goes overly cheerful and jokes around more often

it’s impossible to figure out whether he’s just extremely overjoyed or if he’s sad, he’ll act all the same

because once he’s down, he secretly feels like he’s losing a grip on everything and everyone he cares about

the matter may be unrelated but his past insecurities resurface so easily

that’s exactly why he unconsciously tries to be around you at all times, because he needs to reassure himself that your love won’t fade

“Y/n-chaan~!” He calls enthusiastically, dodging his way through the crowd of students as he makes his way over to you. “I don’t have practice, let’s go on a date,” he smiles, leaning on the locker beside you as you tidied up yours.

“Satori kiss my cheek first before asking me out,” you grin as you spare him a side glance, his eyes lighting up at your words just as you intended. He happily does as you say, overdoing it in fact as he kisses you repeatedly.

“Satorii,” you whine, shoving at his chest lightly. “Soo, where shall I take my y/n today?” He smiles, looking at you expectantly after you close your locker door to look back at him.

“You’re overdoing our dates, don’t you think? We’ve went out for four times this week, you also don’t let me pay for us,” you pinch his cheek, but guilt bubbles within you immediately as he looks at you in dismay. “How about we eat ice cream and go to the park instead? That’s still a date,” you offer, holding his hand.

“Chocolate for you?” He asks, his eyes brimming with excitement all over again and you nod at him, a small smile on your lips. You didn’t need to say anything more as you both make your way out of school with his arm slung around your shoulder, Tendou happily singing random songs and stopping for you to continue.

“How much do you love me y/n?” He casually asks out of the blue, and you immediately plant your feet on the ground to stop the swaying of your swing. “Tori, what do you mean?” You ask, you know him well; the way he acted these past few days were different from usual but you just couldn’t tell if he was actually happy or secretly sad.

“What do you think it means?” He shrugs, mirroring your actions as he too stops the swing’s momentum. He looks at you in confusion, why can’t you just answer him right away? Are you perhaps hesitant and unsure about him?

But you were actually silent because you were trying to figure him out; whether or not there was a certain depth to his question. “How much do you love me?” He asks again, still not looking away from you. “A lot,” you decide to say, “I love you more than you know Satori.”

He purses his lips and squints his eyes at you before getting up from his swing. Crouching down in front of you, he asks, “to what extent will you continue to love me?” You simply sit there, staring down to look back at your boyfriend.

“I don’t think I quite get your question Tori,” you offer him a sad smile, cupping his cheek with your hand. He hums to himself as he leans in to your touch, “what if you love me now, then get to know me more in the future— finding out certain traits or things about me that you can’t accept or learn to love, will you stop loving me then?” He murmurs, a small sad smile on his lips.

You knew right then and there that his insecurities must have been keeping him up at night again, and you feel your heart clench at the thought. He can’t help but feel this way sometimes, you understood that, it was a product of being rejected by others so often when he was young.

“Satori, I love you now, I’ll love you more tomorrow, and the days after that,” you caress his cheek and his eyes widen and he falls speechless. He could feel his breath hitch and his chest hurt, the good kind of hurt. You chased away his doubts, his worries, all you left him was the feeling of being loved.

Just by your words. He nods, getting up before holding out his hand. “Let’s go home,” he says. The two of you walk down the sidewalk, Tendou happily singing his songs, he doesn’t even bother to stop between certain lines as you now sang along with him.

You may not know it completely and he may not have told you, but you just made him feel a whole lot better.

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yuzukult · 3 years

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i’m bad too 15 || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, word count: 1.8k warnings: none !! a/n: a “leading” chapter, before something actually happens! so, not the most exciting, but... yeah. :D

please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! taglist: @wownajaemin @crescent-iak @ncttboo @byunbaekby @jinfizz @doyoungyoung @ahgayeah0305 @doyobun @sexualitaeyong @mrkleelvr @m1ss-foodi3

← previous chapter || next chapter →

If it’s one thing you’ve learned about yourself, it’s that you hate when Ten chews his food with his mouth open. He chomps it like a cow munching on grass, and sometimes, he even makes those weird wet sounds if the food is soft and squishy enough.

But after laying in a hospital bed for a week, unable to speak, you’re missing the ability to call your big brother ‘disgusting’ across the table, toss something in his direction, and him opening his mouth to show the contents of his dinner inside.

“Are you fucking insane? You let her go into hellfire, knowing damn well she wasn’t protected?” The voice is familiar, loud, and straining, like they’re on the verge of tears but too instilled with anger to let the sadness seep through. “I thought I said to keep her fucking safe if you wanted to work together.”

“I don’t work in the field, Ten. I don’t control what happens at the moment.”

“Yeah, but you set the commands. You give the orders. She’s fucking on her deathbed, Taeyong—“

“Don’t fucking say my name in public,” he hisses through his gritted teeth. “Listen. If it’s not her, it’s me.”

“I’d rather it be you.”

“You need me, Ten. Who is gonna do the dirty work for you? Look at those pretty fingers. You wouldn’t hurt a soul. But your sister—you know damn well she’s got potential to be more. This is just a hurl she’s jumping over. When she recovers—“

“You’ve got to be fucking insane, you think I’m gonna let her go back out there when you put her in harms way?”

Before the conversation could continue, you hear the door click shut, and the shuffling of flat shoes tapping against the cold tiles, reaching to your bedside. You can’t see, your body won’t let you fully awaken, and you can’t speak with this tube lodged in your throat. But the whiff of the cologne that comes hits your nostrils is a familiar one. It’s Doyoung.

He sighs, like he’s been troubled and you can’t even blame him. You told him not to worry, that you’d stay safe, and here you are—unable to move, unable to wake up, unable to breathe on your own, and unable to talk.

You hear his moments; the scuffing of his oversized denim jacket against the leather seat by your bed, browsing through the drawers with each push and slam until he finds what he’s looking for, and when you hear the television turn on, you could only assume it was for the remote.

“I wonder if they have Marvel movies playing,” he says, seemingly to no one in particular until you realize he’s speaking to you, in spite of the fact that you’re very much in a deep sleep. “I know they’re not your favorite, but you tolerate it. I never got to ask what kind of movies you liked. I… I guess I was being a little selfish when you gave me attention that I never considered to ask.”

You wanna tell him that you actually don’t even like movies, in fact, you prefer sitcoms in spite of your very evident opposite personality. If you could, you would tell him that you watch those superhero movies because he’s into them, that if you get to see that pretty little smile on his face, it makes you forget all your problems and… the moment is worthwhile.

Warmth reaches your fingers, and you could only assume that it’s Doyoung holding your hand. It’s a familiar feeling of home, like you’re meant to be here with him, except the current setting isn’t necessarily favored.

“Do you like Spongebob?” He asks, as if you could even respond. “Mm. Doesn’t really seem like your thing, but I feel like you’re the type to not look like you enjoy it, but you actually love it because it’s annoying.”

He’s… right. You want to laugh, genuinely laugh because Kim Doyoung is spot on with his prediction. He knows you better than he gives himself credit for, because he doesn’t change the channel and watches the TV with you.

“I bet you like sitcoms,” Doyoung mentions randomly, eyes still on the screen. “Like maybe not Modern Family, but maybe like… Parks and Rec. You don’t seem like you’d enjoy the Office too much, maybe Michael Scott is too much of a character but Andy Bernard looks like a guy you’d scare to the point he’d piss his pants, but you’d like him.” Again, you think to yourself. Because Doyoung got it right yet again.

He’s quiet for a bit, letting Spongebob play in the background and you could hear the conversation between Spongebob and Patrick. Truthfully, you don’t know what’s actually happening, but the feeling of being with Doyoung like this, hand in hand with something stupid playing on TV is your favorite.

It’s casual. No missions, no guns, no family business—just you and Doyoung.

Doyoung doesn’t say much on the day you finally wake up. With a tube wedged down your throat, it’s difficult to have a two-way conversation anyways, and seeing you like this probably breaks his heart, so any word that leaves his mouth might be with a stutter and a sob.

Spongebob plays on the television for another hour before Doyoung eventually breaks the glass of quietude, letting out a soft chuckle at something Patrick said. “Sorry,” he apologizes quickly, glancing over at you. “Wasn’t sure if you liked Spongebob.” Although you can’t speak, the soft squeeze of his hand gives away your approval, and a gentle smile tugs on his face.

There's another moment of silence, just before Doyoung lowers the volume of the TV before gathering enough courage to talk. It takes a lot to get himself to speak up against you, someone he sort of feared yet at the same time had strong feelings for.

“I know what you do,” he announces, eyes never leaving the flickering screen with cartoon characters under the deep blue sea do stupid things, unmatching to what he wants to say next. “I can’t say that I totally get it, because I don’t. I’d be lying if I said I did, but… you do those things, and I’m not a hundred percent sure what to make out of it, but I get why it was hard to confess… those things.” He runs his fingers through his greasy locks, accumulating in oils from how long he’s stayed here without going home to shower. “I kind of thought I was going to date someone really simple one day, yaknow? Settle down with a girl who has a job, sweet and kind, with the same end goal in mind. Get married, have kids… all that fun stuff.”

Your nose twitches at that. Because you’re definitely not that.

“But then I met you, which is… well,” he lets out a faint laugh, “... the complete opposite of all of that. You’re dangerous, cold, and oftentimes, I’m left hanging by a thread, confused on what we are and what I actually mean to you.”

If you could, you’d interrupt him right then and there. Tell him your sorrys, belatedly confessing your true feelings for him, let him know you’d be better for real this time, but truthfully, you’re not sure if he’ll believe you anyway.

“And I could just drop everything right now. Just get up, leave, move on. Tell you that I don’t want this anymore, that whatever you’re in, I don’t wanna be roped in and get involved in your baggage.” It’s like you could hear the cracking of your heart as it falls into the depths of your stomach because your chest feels empty when he says that. The worst part is when you can’t defend yourself, tell him that it’s not like that, but in the end, Doyoung does it for you.

“Yet, I’m still here, right? Because I don’t get you, I don’t get whatever it is you got yourself caught up in, but… after knowing, it oddly makes me… trust you more. So, I’ll stay.”

“Fuck,” Ten curses underneath his breath, getting slightly frustrated with the wheelchair being caught on the steps of your home again. “Fucking shit, nothing here is disability accessible.”

It’s still hard to talk, but a weak laugh escapes from your lips.

“Don’t laugh, you’re the one in the wheelchair not doing shit.”

When he gets you through the front door, and into the hallway, you can’t help but stare at Ten curiously. He furrows his brows at this, hands at his hips with a gesture of his chin. “What’s in your head?”

“Uh,” it’s straining to speak, but if not now, it’s never. “I overheard a conversation when I was asleep. I-I don’t know if it was a dream or… I don’t know. But I heard you talking to someone, uh, someone particularly… with a reputation.”

His body goes rigid.

“Right,” you state, feeling more confident that the discussion was definitely not a dream. “So this entire time, you’ve been working with the organization?” Ten only sucks his cheeks, unable to formulate a proper rebuttal, so you take advantage of this. “This whole time, you let them constantly probe and ask me to be part of them—”

“I told him not to—”

“Well, he’s been asking, Ten, and he hasn’t stopped. I got contracted to be part of them temporarily, not permanently. This was supposed to be a one and done deal, you realize that, right?”

He scoffs. “You think that anything you do with Lee Taeyong could just be easily brushed under the rug? Hell no, you have to be insanely rich to pay off that guy. He thinks you’re talented, you know? What do you think this is?”

“I could just get up and leave—” “In your fucking dreams, kid,” Ten lets out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking his head. “I agreed to work with him before I knew that you were already contracted with him. There’s shady people in the business. There’s so many messed-up dudes who would bend the laws to get what they want. I don’t want that, but I have to protect myself.”

“But—”

“Wanna hear something, kid? Taeyong doesn’t think this accident,” Ten gestures to your wounds, heart tightening at the sight of you in pain. “... this accident, is just… it. He calls this an obstacle. He thinks this is just a bump in your progress, something you need to overcome before you hop back into the field and start training all over again. He’s not gonna let this go, doesn’t matter if I’m his client. Fuck, kid, he has a shit ton of clients.”

Uneasily, you grip onto the wheels of your seat. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“It’s your loss, kid. Either kill Taeyong and take his seat or you gotta work for him.”

#doyoung smut #doyoung fanfic #nct smut #nct x reader #doyoung x reader #gyukultfics #doyoung #kim doyoung

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clefairymuke · 4 years

Text

regrets | chapter nine

prev. chapter | next chapter

pairings: levi ackerman x reader

themes: enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut

tw: violence / explicit sexual content

word count: 2006

When you woke up, the sky was so dim you almost would've said it was still night. The softest of light poured into the room and lit the shelves, the sheets, and the outline of Levi's face elegantly. Your vision danced around the room a bit, still dazed. Your hair surrounded you in a mess of tangles. Your eyes grew heavier the more you forced them open. Sleep still partially blinded you, leaving the room a bit fuzzy-looking -- but you could tell he was still awake. "Levi?" you croaked out softly, your voice still dressed in fatigue. "How long have I been asleep?" You tried to lift your head, but the pillow pulled it gently back down.

"Not long enough. A few hours," he replied quietly, as you noticed a teapot and cup on the table next to the both of you, still fuzzy -- maybe blue? Your eyes tried to flutter back shut, but you held them open a bit longer.

"I don't sleep much," you told him, your consciousness half gone. "I have nightmares." You let your eyes shut this time, still listening for his reply.

"You haven't seemed to have them tonight," he answered. You heard the teacup clink against the pot, then the sound of him sipping it slowly.

"No, not tonight. Not sure why." With that, you began to drift, his words molding into your dreamworld until you were entirely submerged.

---

Hange squealed with joy as you took another step, one hand holding on to Jean's shoulder and the other on Connie's. "You'll be back in training within two weeks, tops! You've healed excellently!"

You stopped for a split second, your grip tightening a bit on your friends' shoulders as you processed what she just said. "Two more weeks? I thought I just finished the two weeks. I'm supposed to be fine now." You groaned, leaning on Jean a bit.

"Two weeks to heal. We can't have you back in combat training tomorrow. That would be absurd," Hange said innocently, excitement still dripping from their voice. "But this is progress! If we keep doing this kind of thing everyday you'll be just fine. You'll be walking on your own in a week!" Connie ruffled your hair a bit, and you tried to shake it back into place.

"Can I sit down now?" you asked, unable to hide the disappointment in your voice. You used your friends for support until you could plop defeatedly into one of the chairs against the wall. The two of them sat next to you, Jean's arm propped up behind your back and Connie's behind his head. You ran one hand through your hair, smoothing it from Connie's abuse, while the other gripped the arm of the wooden chair. "Can I at least sleep in my own bed?" you requested, smiling halfheartedly at Hange.

They frowned a bit, like they felt bad. "I don't think that would be wise. Were there an accident, it would be dangerous for it to happen when no one was in the barracks. It's best if you stay there; it won't be too much longer." You let your head fall back onto Jean's arm and let out a deep sigh.

After a while longer, Jean carried you back to your infirmary room, complaining about your weight for at least eight minutes of the ten-minute walk. The sky was orange and pink as the sun began its trek downward; it was beautiful, but it reminded you of the dark and lonely night ahead. Two more weeks felt like years.

As he laid you down, you huffed. "I have one hell of a bone to pick with you, Jean Kirstein. I should have let the titan eat your scrawny ass," you told him, smacking his arm lightly. "I take care of the damsel in distress, and I get a broken leg out of it. It's fucked up."

He snorted, a grin running across his lips. "Yeah, I hear you." He rubbed the side of your shoulder gently. "You need me to stay tonight, or are you okay?"

"I'm good, Jean. Levi actually stayed with me last night," you said, yawning. You were confused when his eyebrows fell together and his mouth drew up in disgust.

"Is this an Eren situation? With Captain Levi? That's so gross. He's, like, old." You watched him hold back laughter.

You gagged jokingly, utterly confused on how he came to that conclusion. "Dude, no. What the fuck? He just helped me get to the bathroom. Don't be weird." You almost started to laugh with him. "And I don't even think he's much older than us, dumbass."

"Seriously, though, spending the night with Captain Levi? You can't expect me to believe nothing's going on there. Since when does he --"

"Since when do I what, Kirstein?" Levi's voice came from the doorway, a teacup and pot in either of his hands. "Do you always come up with such repulsive theories, or is this a joke?" With his voice unchanging, you were unsure of if he was joking or genuinely angry. When it's Levi, it's often safer to assume anger.

"I was just kidding, sir," Jean replied, small laughs still hidden behind his tongue. "But I was wondering -- since when are you infirmary security?" You chuckled under your breath, putting your arms under your head and getting comfortable. Jean's hand still rested on your shoulder.

"Since I found her alone last night on her ass in the hallway, literally dragging herself to the restroom. It was an embarrassing show." You frowned, imagining how you must've looked in front of him. Jean looked back at you mockingly, eyes wide and a smile covering his face. You groaned as you watched Jean improvise a replay of the event in his head, a chuckle bubbling up from his throat. "I carried her the rest of the way and back, and when we got here, I elected to stay with her since no one else was for her safety. It would be inconvenient for her leg to be injured again." Levi started inside, getting his tea set up on the table dividing the bed and the wooden chair. "I don't really sleep, anyway. I have nothing better to do."

"I would've stayed, if you didn't kick me out," Jean said to you, the corners of his lips pulling down minutely.

"You can't sleep in a chair every night for a month. You'll be in here with a bad back in no time," you replied. He nodded, his lips creeping back up into a grin.

"Get to sleep, okay? Lots to do tomorrow." He leaned down and kissed your forehead before turning and walking towards the door.

"Night, Jean. See you tomorrow," you called as you saw him shut the door behind him. you looked over at Levi, pouring a fresh cup of tea. "You're here early tonight." You watched him pick up the cup by the rim and swirl it around a bit before lifting it to his pursed lips.

"Moving my things from my suite last night was a pain. I preferred to just have a seat and not have to run any errands. I thought Jean wasn't your boyfriend? Your social life is a bit confusing, you know," he sipped from his cup again, holding eye contact with you and intently waiting for your answer. When you laughed, one of his eyebrows raised.

"Yeah, Jean definitely isn't my boyfriend. We're just close. If you keep making assumptions like that, you'll have to run me to the bathroom so I can puke." You watched one corner of his mouth turn up ever so slightly. Was this his version of a laugh? "And it was super fucked up to use the word "repulsive," you know. I plan to tell my therapist that you impacted my self esteem." You didn't see a change in his strange little micro-smile. It felt nice to see some expression in his face.

"I guess I wouldn't use the word repulsive," he told you. "I'm trying to think of a better word -- disgusting?"

"Fuck off," you snorted, giggling.

Levi wasn't the most talkative person you knew by any means, but you managed to get a bit more conversation out of him before you drifted slowly off to sleep.

Again, you weren't met with nightmares. Nor were you the two nights that followed, as long as he sat quietly at your bedside. On the fifth night, you noticed a second teacup in his hand as he entered the room. It was a small gesture, but it made you smile. Levi had moved the table so it sat directly between the two of you. He sat across from you as he poured the tea, careful not to spill a drop. You sipped it lightly, finally having enough strength to sit straight up in your bed without any pain. The two of you chatted briefly before returning to the comfortable silence you had started to grow accustomed to. These nights with Levi were strange, of course, but they were also peaceful. Loneliness was your worst enemy, especially as you stared at the ceiling in the dark infirmary room by yourself all those nights. He, at the very least, curbed that terrible feeling.

You lifted the cup to your lips yet again and frowned as you looked down to find it empty. "I'm all out," you said, reaching for the pot. He had the same thought, and your hands brushed momentarily as your eyes met. You pulled back, somewhat quickly, and allowed him to pour you another.

"You aren't nearly as insufferable as you were a few weeks ago," he commented bluntly as he set the pot back on the table. You chuckled, growing used to his dryness, causing that small upturn of one corner of his lip to return.

"Neither are you, Levi. Still insufferable, but not nearly so," you replied, leaning forward and resting your chin on one of your hands.

"I still don't appreciate your disrespect," he said. You rolled your eyes half-heartedly.

"It would be weird to call you Captain while we're having tea. You can be casual once in a while, you know." You grinned into the teacup as you saw him raise an eyebrow. You knew it didn't warrant a reply.

Back to the silence. The two of you sat there quietly for a bit, finishing your tea. You started to begin the process of turning to lay down and get comfortable, but Levi's calm voice interrupted you. "You were half asleep the other night; I'm not sure if you remember. You told me you usually have nightmares, and you don't sleep much."

You shrugged, nodding your head. "Yeah, that's true. It's been that way for a few years now. You're right though, I don't remember." You felt a bit of blood retreat to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you.

"You also said you didn't have them that first night, and you've slept well each night I've been here. They must not be too bad," he said, his voice almost hinting at inquisitive.

You furrowed your brow, recounting the dreams of the previous four nights. "No, no, they're usually awful. I wake up in the night pretty often, if I can get to sleep in the first place. It's strange, I haven't had any since you started sitting with me." You thought about that for a moment, then smiled. "Maybe they're afraid of humanity's strongest," you teased, a yawn erupting from your lips.

You watched his little grin again. "Perhaps they are."

You turned over and burrowed under the thin blanket that adorned you. You nuzzled your head tightly into your pillow and allowed your eyes to shut, breathing out in comfort. You opened one eye ever so slightly, seeing Levi looking at you absentmindedly. His teacup hung gracefully from his fingers. He took a sip from it before setting it down quietly, then pushed the table back into its place.

"Goodnight, Levi," you said, not expecting an answer. You shut your eye again and started to feel yourself drift. As everything faded to black, you heard him reply.

"Goodnight."

#levi attack on titan #levi x reader #levi ackerman #aot fanfiction #AoT #aot x reader #attack on titan #snk #snk x reader #slowburn #enemies to lovers

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permanentcrossfics · 4 years

Text

Intentional // h.s.

Gently, you hooked your fingers into the thin gold chains dangling around his neck. They were dim under the shadow of his chin and his eyes flickered down briefly as you slowly pulled the crosses out from underneath his t-shirt. You ran your fingers back and forth, moving the pendants along the chains as if they were on a zipline.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

Then, you stopped. Almost in tandem with your fist closing around the chains, Harry tipped his cap back before ducking down to kiss you. You swayed, senses overwhelmed -- his skin was under your nose, his mouth was over yours, his groan was in your ears, and his hands were slinking behind you, shielding your back as he pressed you into the shelving. Right then, he was the world. Everything and everyone outside of this aisle was muted and shunned into total darkness. Tentatively, you wrapped your hand tighter in his necklaces and tugged, and all but immediately he dug his fingers into your back without so much as taking a breath. You whimpered and, hand still tangled, you slid it up his neck. You’d just gotten your forearm around his neck when he pulled away.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

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Transitions were… tricky.

Before you and Harry had joined hands and taken the leap, you were convinced there was nothing worse than the agonizing tickle of did he or didn’t he, would you or wouldn’t you. There was nothing worse than your racing heart when he let his hand linger in more than friendly ways -- in the dip of your lower back, across your shoulder, anywhere he could get that wasn’t copping a feel. Nothing worse than resting your face in the crook of his neck, nose brushing his skin, and listening to him talk through his chest, voice somehow deeper that way. Nothing worse than watching his face fall when you said no, you couldn’t get dinner with him. Why? You had a dinner date with someone else.

Even now you remembered the pang of his confusion and how his easy smile had slipped from his face.

Not long after that he’d cornered you in his visibly nervous resolve. It ended with you perched on top of your kitchen counter, legs spread and him between them as you made out in sweet relief.

How’d you not known? How’d you not have any idea? You’d teased that you were blinded by your pining, but it was bad for him, too, he’d insisted. Awful wondering how to go about it without fucking up a friendship if friendship was all you wanted. All those times of trying to initiate a shift -- first with a slow drawl of, “Is this ok?” while dragging his thumb across the backs of your knuckles in more than the quick passes he’d done in the past. Then, the “All right?” he’d rumbled in your ear when he’d kept you in a hug longer than either of you usually did had you arching into him at the time. To his credit, he hadn’t laughed. If anything, he’d pulled you closer so all of you was stretched across all of him and he’d held on tight. He never let go if he could help it.

That was weeks ago -- three by now, give or take. Three weeks and the bliss of not dancing around suspicions or purposefully sidestepping signs was like a weight had been lifted from both your shoulders. Three weeks of staying in and coffees out and walking through the park after dark and in the rain because that was how privacy could be next to guaranteed. Three weeks, but no date.

“What’ve we been doing?” you’d asked when he’d made the observation over curry takeaway.

“Hanging out.” He shrugged. “Y’know? We haven’t--” sighing, shoulders slumping, he said, “I haven’t taken you anywhere, or….”

So, a date. A real date -- a first, devoid of the jitters and uncertainties that came with meeting someone new, but full of different ones. A date set with the intent of being a real date, not like anything else you’d do.

Just Harry. Just your friend, just your buddy, just someone who was no longer just anyone anymore. Harry, but your fingers shook and nearly spilled the contents of your purse when he rapped on your door.

“Coming!” you called, voice strained. Two twists of your lock later and your door was open. “Hey,” you said. Those off-white loafers he’d more than worn in, grey trousers, the cap stuffed over his hair, and the scooped neck of his tank top underneath his long wool coat assured you that you’d made the right choice with your outfit. His onceover of you was almost imperceptible -- another habit he’d sworn to you he was sure you’d noticed more than once despite himself, and one he’d thought secured him in your mind.

“Ready?” he asked and you nodded, stepping out and pulling the door closed behind you.

“Where--?”

Could you ask that? As friends you’d have badgered him, but as friends he’d have told you beforehand instead of omitting the plan.

He grinned, key fob in hand. “Thought we’d go somewhere we both like….”

“Which is?”

His eyes slid to you and his cheek dimpled deeper. “Maybe go listen to some music.”

***

The record shop was an institution. For all intents and purposes, it was a hole in the wall -- decades of cigarette smoke permeated the walls by at least three inches, and the thick floorboards were warped and creaked with even the slightest step. What the aisles lacked in width they made up for in height, with row after row of albums loaded onto shelving units that nearly touched the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. Some were wrapped in cellophane, but most were opened with handwritten pricemarks affixed to the front of them, colors distorted and worn from fingers and care throughout the years.

“This isn’t ‘hanging out’?” you asked quietly, scanning the shelves as you moved along them slowly.

“No,” came his answer from several steps behind you. “It’s something we like doing together.”

“Friends look at records,” you said. “Can you hand me that one?” you asked, pointing at a shelf that was just out of reach.

“Hmm?” Harry looked up from the back of a sleeve he was examining. “Oh, sure.”

“Thanks.” You took it from him and flipped it over. “Do you have this one?”

“I do,” he said. “It’s nice.”

“Why haven’t I ever heard you play it?”

Harry shrugged and you huffed. “You have everything, don’t you?” you said, putting it back. He smirked, but otherwise didn’t react, and you bit your lip, deflating, and averted your eyes. When he’d parked the car out front, you had felt a certain level of ease with the familiarity. Now, though, you felt like… Jesus, you hated admitting it because it made you sound needy, but you felt like you had to vye for his attention. You were his date, but music was his wife, his children, his wife’s children from her first marriage, and more wrapped up into one. At least before, you would sometimes catch each other’s eye in a way that felt forbidden or you’d trade stories and ideas -- anything to have an excuse to talk or get close.

You’d never had this problem as friends.

Your shoes thudded along the floor as you walked through the narrow aisles, the rounding corners and twisting through crates that were stacked one on top of the other -- rescued vinyls, CDs, 8-tracks, and cassette tapes that would’ve met some other end if they hadn’t been sheltered here. It was like stepping through the wardrobe into a musical Narnia where time was lost and you could move seamlessly across it -- decade to decade, month to month, day to day. Twisting your purse so it was behind you and out of your way, you started thumbing through albums, stopping suddenly and pulling one out when it caught your eye.

“What’ve y’got there?”

You jumped, throat closing, and nearly dropped the album on your foot. “Oh my God, Harry!” you whispered. He grinned widely, obnoxiously and obviously pleased he’d startled you, and if it wouldn’t break, you’d hit him with the record. “You absolute--”

“Dunno how you didn’t hear me,” he said. “Floors are--” He leaned back and forth, the squeaking almost musical.

“Stop that,” you said, turning away from him. You were reading the back when he slipped his hand around your waist, palm splayed over your hip.

“What’s that?” he repeated his previous question close to your ear. Wordlessly, you flipped it around and he hummed. “That’s a good one. Don’t have that, actually.”

“No?”

He shook his head and the ends of his hair brushed your ear. Your pulse quickened. Having him this close and letting him so casually step into your bubble of personal space and linger was still so new and unfamiliar. Even now, questions about whether it meant anything cropped up, tickling your brain -- surely this had to be an accident, not anything intentional. Surely he had to not even realize what he was doing. Surely none of this could mean anything.

Surely.

“D’you think you’re gonna get it?”

You inhaled quickly and cleared your throat, slipping it back onto the shelf. “I-- don’t know.” Your mouth was dry and you coughed delicately, but when you made to spin to slip by him, he got his hand on your other hip and held you in place.

“Where’re you going?”

Straightening up, something pulled behind your navel. Electric -- the word made you roll your eyes, but it was the only one you could describe the intensity of the charge you felt. Almost nose to nose, you could see every detail on his face. You’d seen them countless times before without a thought, but they were somehow more now. Every crease of his eyelids, every slight variation in the shade of his eyes, the patches of his facial hair that were thicker and darker than others, the freckle on his lip and the other on his chin and the way his throat bobbed, and--

“Just looking,” you whispered.

“Yeah?” Harry asked. “M’lookin’, too.”

The bell above the door clanged at the front of the shop. It was muted, distant, and voices were muffled. Next to no one ever came back here -- that’s why he liked this place. It was so deep, no one would ever find him. He could duck in, disappear, find a gem or three, and quietly leave without anyone being the wiser.

It was Narnia. Safe, surrounded by mentors of times gone by, with no one to interrupt.

“Still looking, love?” he asked, voice slightly more strained. You nodded, extending your index finger to play with the chest hairs peeking out from his neckline.

“I--” He cleared his throat, eyes closed, and pulled his cap down by the brim before pushing it back up again. “Don’t think they really have what m’lookin’ for today,” he said.

Your heart sank, blood still pounding through your veins and head dizzy.

“I think-- f’we can maybe-- d’you wanna go home? Maybe?”

Already? You’d only just gotten there, and you thought maybe for all his talk of a date, he’d….

Harry tilted his head, green eyes unblinking and imploring you to understand something. His cheeks were pink and he opened his mouth before closing it quickly with a mumble of, “M’mean… we don’t have to-- if you’re not, then I don’t….”

Oh.

“Sure,” you gasped. “Yeah.”

You’d no sooner gotten the words out than he’d unwound your hand from around his necklace to hold it in his and pull you with him back from Narnia to the front of the shop and into the real world.

***

The car ride was hell. Whatever tension had settled and relaxed on the way over had grown tenfold on the way back. You were pretty sure he broke at least three rules on the way that included saying, “No one ever comes down this road, anyway,” under his breath and flooring the gas in a way that had you gripping the door and seriously debating your answer when he asked if you were ok. But the click of his turn signal before he rolled into his driveway was like a ticking time bomb.

You were home. Your friend who was a bit more than friendly had invited you home with the clear and unmistakeable intention to have sex.

With him.

That was a little more different.

Harry turned the car off and twin pops of seatbelts unfastening followed in quick succession. Abandoning chivalry, he left you to your door in favor of racing to his front one to open it up and usher you both inside out of the light drizzle that’d started halfway there.

You were walking into his house to have sex with him.

It was warm and cozy inside. Decorated in all its eccentric ways, his home felt like it was still getting used to having him home more often. Your shoes scuffed and squeaked the hardwood and his loafers padded with purpose as he went around flicking lights on to brighten the rooms. His cap was gone, having carelessly tossed it somewhere on his way in, and he was shaking his coat off when you fumbled with your bag before dropping it on the sofa and kicking off your shoes.

Ready.

Set….

“I’m--”

Gonna go upstairs.

The rest of it, though, was lost when Harry spun you by the waist and you only just caught sight of his curls — disheveled from the hat he’d stuffed them under — before he reeled you in with a smashing kiss. Unrestrained, unrelenting, and unforgiving, he was off, and it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders for dear life as he backed you up in the practiced way someone who lived there and knew every quirk and oddity of his own house might. He was free to touch, and you were, too, and you did. You touched his back, his shoulders, his chest, his stomach, the zipper on his trousers, and his thighs with greedy hands that were learning as fast as they could. As in the shop, again he pulled away and grabbed your hand to lead you up the steps, and your knees quaked so badly you nearly fell down more than once on the way up.

You felt naughty. The same frantic energy of two teenagers trying to beat the clock after school before Mum came home to make dinner pricked you, and judging by the permanent smile pulling his mouth and carving smile lines deeper, he felt it, too. Hurry up, quick, before anyone caught on that you were going to have sex with your friend Harry.

“Everyone probably thinks we’ve already--”

His barking laugh cut you off -- a little wheezy, but it was deep from his belly, and infectious -- and you followed him, giggling, into his bedroom.

It smelled like him. It was the whiff you got when you hugged him, or, more recently, kissed him, but even more, and it was so concentrated it made you woozy. The bed was made, if haphazardly -- like he’d decided on it while getting dressed because he thought he should, but he hadn’t wanted to spend the time on doing it right -- and clothes were visible through half-open drawers and draped onto the stuffed armchair in the corner of his room.

“Did you clean?” you teased. He exhaled sharply and shook his head, but his mouth quirked at the corners and his cheeks were pink. Biting your lip, you squeezed his hand and he stepped closer.

“Is this ok?” he asked. Nodding, you tilted your head up slightly to meet his mouth. Less hurried and violent than the one downstairs, this kiss reached deep, stirring up nerves and butterflies. Each time he broke it, you chased him for more, and he smiled into it, pressing his warm hand on your cheek. “Gonna take your clothes off now,” he mumbled between several smacking kisses.

“Ok….”

Your clothes and his were gradually removed -- button by button, snap after snap, and zippers, too, slowly and with careful intent despite the rush you were both in. Discovering him and having him discover you was nothing short of exhilarating. Harry drew his hand over your bare shoulder with almost curious possessiveness before ducking down and sponging kisses up and down it that had your eyes fluttering shut and your head rolling back. He groaned in the back of his throat and his teeth scraped your skin when he bit you gently, pulling a gasp from you and you yourself back to consciousness.

Dazed and lips parted with each gulping breath, you stared at him. His hair was dark and twisted, pulled this way and that by your hands and his, and his chest rose and fell rapidly, the same crosses you’d tugged earlier glinting in the streaks of soft grey light peeking through his curtains. Even the most faded ink on his torso and arms seemed to pop bright and black on his skin, and without thinking, you pressed your palms to it, absorbing the warmth as you skated over him before doing as he had and leaning in to press a kiss to his shoulder.

How many times had you suppressed thoughts of kissing his skin? How many times more had you indulged in them feeling guilty and unsure, because he was your friend and things weren’t like that for either of you? How many times had you wondered when you’d get to do this since things had shifted? You kissed and pulled at the skin along his shoulders, chest, and arms, relishing his stuttered breaths, and you only paused when, glancing up, you caught the look on his face. With hooded eyes and a parted, bright red mouth, he looked like a man -- not a man who was your friend, but a man you wanted to rip into and who you wanted to rip into you. A man who could, and was perfectly capable of it, and who would without even having to be asked if you only said yes, please. It was feral, it was instinctual, and you clapped your hand behind his neck before smashing your mouth to his with a desperate whimper.

Harry turned you smoothly onto his bed and you squeaked when your back hit the mattress with a bounce and he went with you. You were covered by him from head to toe, and you ran your foot up his calf, hooking it around the back of his knee. “Ha--” muffled against his mouth, he groaned immediately.

“I know,” he said. “I know, I know….”

One bra strap and then the other snapped when he slipped them down your arms, but the sting barely made an impression when he let out a slow, hot breath against your chest and peppered kisses over the tops of your breast. Nose pressed to your skin, he took a deep breath, and the anxiety that had wound itself into tight little balls in you of unchecked energy gradually loosened and dissolved. He was nervous -- not enough to inhibit him, but enough to roll off him and onto you. You almost laughed. You’d been so focused on your own perspective, you’d lost sight of the fact that this was different for him, too.

His best friend was in his bed, nearly naked, and he was about to have sex with them.

“Is this ok?” you whispered over his head. Harry stopped and looked up at you.

“Is…?” He grinned, laughing, and shook his head. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s great.”

Simple and silly, that one word sent you soaring. Great -- you were great. This was great. Pushing his chest, you sat up when he rolled off you as you wordlessly reached behind to unhook your bra. You didn’t miss the way his eyes dropped automatically when you shimmied it down your arms, and you smirked in a way you hoped was half as coy as you’d tried to make it.

“Go,” you murmured, pushing his chest again.

“Ah,” Harry said, doing as you asked and falling back onto his elbows. “They like to be in charge, then?”

Heat crept up through you when you straddled his thighs. “Sometimes.” You slipped your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, noticing very briefly how soft his skin was against your knuckles before you pulled the elastic firmly. Harry lifted his hips so you could get them down, and just as his had, your eyes dropped despite yourself. Mostly hard, he rested against the crease of his thigh. Any number of adjectives ran through your head, and you only realized you were still looking, lost in thought, when you caught the cocky twist of his mouth.

“Go on, then,” he said quietly. Snorting, you rolled your eyes and fell forward, chest-to-chest with him, and he drew you up into a kiss. Smashed together, you stayed just like that, hands stroking, dipping, and exploring bare skin. You shivered when he slipped his hand into your underwear to knead your ass, and your wriggling made him grunt in a tortured way. “Condom’s in the drawer,” he mumbled. “Gonna… have to… wait… wait here.”

Harry gently eased you away by the waist before rolling across his bed and stood to open his bedside table. You dropped your head onto his pillow and watched him with a small smile. “Were you planning this?”

He tore a condom off the strip. “No. I mean….” Harry shrugged. “Had hope that… maybe eventually… y’know…” he said sheepishly. He looked at you as if gauging your reaction. “Is that…?”

Your smile widened and you held your arm out, inviting him back, and he let out a deep breath, taking it.

“Know how t’keep me on my toes,” he mumbled.

“Good,” you said just before kissing him, arm tight around his neck. He inhaled deeply and sheets rustled as you rolled in them, turning him onto his back and sending you with him. With your weight settled on top of him, you lay there comfortably, languidly kissing through soft, breathless moans. He, for his part, seemed content to let his hands wander the sides of your breasts, your back, your hips, over your ass, the crease along your thighs, and finally….

You stilled with a gasp when he slid the pads of his fingers over you -- up and down, up and down -- before he carefully parted you with just the tips. Gulping, you broke from his mouth and rested your forehead on his shoulder with a rattling breath, gripping his bicep and shifting to bring one of your knees up. Harry grunted and adjusted himself beneath you before pressing a kiss to your ear and sliding his fingers deeper. He curled them and your mouth fell open. Beneath you, he chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he pumped them in and out of you, each wet, slick stroke somehow louder than the last. God, could he hear that? Of course he could.

“Come on,” he whispered, gradually slowing his fingers. He pulled them out and drew them up your skin, leaving a sticky trail behind. “Come….” The wrapper crinkled when you tore into it, and he pinched the top while you smoothed the condom down to his base. Hands braced on his chest, you held your breath as you settled over him.

“Breathe,” he warned, jaw tight and eyes flickering between your face and where you were above him. “Breathe, yeah? Just--”

“I’m ok,” you assured him, drawing his head between your legs, sliding it until you found your entrance. “I’m….” You trailed off into a sigh when you opened around his head, and, swallowing hard, you eased down, down, down onto him until you were nearly seated on his thighs. “Oh my God,” you moaned under your breath.

“Breathe,” Harry said again. Eyes closed, you did as he said, taking slow, deep breaths in and out. He was… this was a stretch. Not painfully so, but one regardless. You pulsed, grimacing immediately, before rocking on top of him. There -- that wasn’t so bad. Not at all, even, that was good. Hands still on his chest, you braced yourself and pushed back and forth, slowly at first and then with more certainty. Beneath you, Harry grunted and clapped his hands over your hips as if caught off guard. “Shit,” he breathed.

Eyes stamped shut, he tilted his head back, drilling it into his pillow, and you marveled at the long column of his neck. You watched his throat bob several times and you followed the path up to his sharp jawline, his tight mouth, to where his nose was flaring harshly. He laughed breathlessly and opened his eyes, but there was an unfocused gleam to them. “Y-y’killin’... killin’ me,” he stuttered. “You….”

He trailed off when you hooked your fingertips into his chains again and tugged. His chin doubled when he lifted his head and when he locked eyes with you, you grinned impishly before easing down onto him. Clapping a firm hold on your ass, he brought you down hard and you groaned abruptly. That was deep -- that was in your belly -- and your face screwed up when he did it again and again, thrusting his hips sharply against yours.

“Oh my-- Harry-- fuck!”

The bands of his rings, warm from his body heat, pinched your skin when he tightened his hold. He practically shook beneath you with the effort he was using, every breath labored, but suddenly, he stopped. Before you could so much as whisper, the world spun around you and you were on your back, empty.

“Shit!” Harry spluttered, pushing his fingers through his now damp hair. It fell right back in front of his forehead and you let out a wheezy stream of giggles. “That-- that was not supposed to be that….”

You laughed louder and he kissed your jaw, grinning against it while kneading one of your breasts, thumb rolling back and forth over your nipple. Eyes closing, you sighed breathily when he ducked down and sucked with a low, reverent groan and incomprehensible mumbles. When he stretched out above you again to push in, you wrapped both your arms around his back as yours arched with a quiet moan.

“God, this feels good,” you said, candid and unprompted, sinking into the feeling as he sank into you.

“Feels amazing,” he said. “Feels so fucking….” Grunting, he shuddered and dropped nearly all his weight on top of you. “Bring your legs up,” he said. “Bring your legs--” You complied, locking your ankles just above his ass, thighs spread wide. “Good, good girl.”

“You like to… to be the boss?” you teased, echoing his earlier jab.

He thrust sharply, punching a shout from you.

“Yes.”

Again and again he drove into you, and it was all you could do to grab onto him. He’d been holding back! He’d been holding way back! You hiccuped a breath and pressed your mouth to his shoulder, face twisted as you grappled his back with shaking fingers. This was good sex -- this was the type of sex that elevated you and made your toes shake and curl while you gasped for breath. The type of sex where you were going and going until you lost your breath right on the edge and you had to pause and feel the tickles of an orgasm slip away because it was that or pass out cold. This was sex you kissed and bit your way through and would leave you sore from your scalp down through the balls of your feet. It was roll over, lift like this, deeper, there? There sex. This sex was….

You weren’t sure at first because it felt fast, but it was confirmed with the first contraction deep in your abdomen. “Oh my God,” you moaned in disbelief. One of your hands slipped against his back and he hissed, faltering for just a moment as you uttered a pitchy, “Sorry… sorry!” while finding your hold both in his firm upper back and the softer muscle close to his hips.

“Close?” he ground out, voice muffled, and you nodded against his shoulder, turning your face into his sweaty neck. The smell of cologne and sweat was strong, almost dizzyingly so, and each new contraction brought on by his pelvis grinding against yours made it worse.

Swallowing, mouth dry, you whispered, “I’m think I’m gonna cum,” in an almost confessional tone. “I think--”

“Ok!” he said under his breath. “Ok-- oh, shit….” He moaned, a long, loud, drawn out sound and his hips faltered. ‘Wait! Wait, fuck!” Breathless and keening he thrust roughly, like he was trying to beat a clock only he could hear, breathing raggedly under your ear. Panting, you locked your arms and legs around him. You’d never been particularly loud -- years of necessity had built a habit -- but you could hear yourself now, calling out things that didn’t even make sense, writhing underneath him like you were out of your mind. It was almost pornographic, and you almost laughed, but it got caught in your throat when your cunt pulsed and your whole body tightened.

“Oh, Harry, oh, God!”

Harry smashed a stubbly kiss to the corner of your mouth, and his chin hit yours so hard it hurt. Your eye watered, whether from pain or the intensity of him still grinding, but seconds later through sputtered pleases and increasingly frantic thrust, he groaned so deeply you felt it in you. You went entirely still as he trembled, cock throbbing, and in the next minute he’d collapsed full weight on top of you. You sucked soft, wheezy breaths in as best you could, but your lungs were crushed in your chest with the pressure he was putting on them. Just as you were about to ask him to… maybe… please, Harry… move… he pushed up and off you to the side just enough to relieve you.

“Shit!” he rasped, face planted against your shoulder. “Shit.”

Yeah. Shit. Did you say it out loud? You couldn’t tell -- you couldn’t tell much of anything anymore. Everything was somehow pleasantly hot and numb at the same time, and you were thirsty. Your head was ringing, too, and you couldn’t remember the last time sex had left you this finished. Totally and thoroughly finished.

You’d done it. You’d had sex with him, with intent, and it was incredible.

Harry slipped his hand around your bicep and squeezed, pressing kisses to your skin in silence. Your lips quirked, but any quip was half-formed, and each one died on your tongue. Gradually, your breathing settled and the roaring silence did, too. Outside, the clouds had passed, and raindrops clinging to the window panes were slowly drying up in the sun that’d deemed it safe enough to peek again. It was still early -- after the nerves, the jitters, the trip to the shop, dancing around each other, and flooring it back to his place, and the sex, there was still most of a day ahead of you.

With a final squeeze, Harry kissed the top of your breast before rolling away, bed creaking beneath him. Shaking his head, he stood, and picked his trousers off the floor before patting them down and taking out his phone.

“S’get summat t’eat,” he mumbled, voice thick, as he passed it over to you. “Lemme buy.” He gestured to himself vaguely. “Gonna go… and maybe pick up that record you didn’t know I had.”

He stumbled, waving you off when you giggled. Just the same as before -- lunch in the afternoon with albums spinning until you couldn’t stand to get up to change them again -- but with a few crucial differences that made it so much better.

#harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry x reader #harry imagine #harry fanfic #harry oneshot #harry one shot #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #permanentcross #intentional #original writing

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smallblip · 4 years

Text

So lonely trying to be yours

Jeankasa | rated for sex (well, halfway there at least)

Happens somewhere between Mouth open you’re high and Come down when you’re ready. (aka the coming undone after Eren tells Mikasa he hates her)

It’s on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/30253896

Hate is a strong word. Mikasa hates sun showers, she hates the mugginess of it. Mikasa hates celery. She hates how their new gear is so unseasoned it cuts into skin.

And as she stands in the middle of Jean’s room, she figures she hates herself too.

But hate is a strong word and she wants nothing more than to be seen.

Nothing more than to pick at the blisters on her skin, where she had been scalded by the person she loves the most in this world. But she finds other ways to salve the itch.

“Mikasa what-“

But before Jean can continue, she’s shrugging off her jacket and her trousers. Painfully slow, painfully deliberate. Like she’s putting on a show. She had seen the girls do this from the balconies in the unspoken parts of town, waving their handkerchiefs at the soldiers who pass below. A flash of a breast here, the exposing of a thigh. The softest of flesh hidden beneath exquisite dresses.

Sometimes they wave at her too, casting a spell on her, come soldier, you can rest here, tell us all your secrets, and we’ll teach you all we know of pleasure. And Mikasa always averts her gaze, tucks her chin in her scarf, a blush creeping at the tips of her ears.

Mikasa thinks maybe this is the way to be seen. This is the way to be beautiful. And oh she would give anything to be seen.

She unbuttons her shirt, watching as Jean stares at her, completely bewitched. And she almost feels guilty that she has this effect on him. That she has this power over him only a woman could wield- only a lover could wield. But it’s only a ghost of a thought. She pulls at her scarf and it pools around her, red like amaryllises blooming at her feet. An ode to the blood she has spilled for the people she has come to love. Her fingers skim down her neck and she’s picking at the bindings around her chest, unravelling them until it’s easier to breathe again. A flash of a breast, then another. Painfully slow, not once breaking gaze from Jean in case she loses him. In case he walks by her balcony into the arms of another girl. Another girl to tell his secrets to, to enjoy one night on this wretched earth with. But he’s watching her, mouth slightly agape, still trying to find the right words to say, and Mikasa wants him to kiss her until she forgets her own name. She steps out of her underwear.

“Mikasa what-“

“I want you to look at me Jean...” She says, more of a whisper than a command. She fights against the instinct to cover up. But she thinks she can at least pass as soft under the forgiving glow of candlelight, and she needs to be seen- as a woman, a beautiful little thing, a lover. Oh to be seen, to be something to behold, to exist.

And Jean looks at her, perplexed, he approaches her slowly, not quite sure what to make of this situation. He wants to know how she had been hurt. But all he can do is to take all the sadness Mikasa has and swallow it until it rests heavy in his stomach. Until they are but two bodies with no secrets between them.

“I’ve always...” Jean starts, but he has to avert his gaze. Something like annoyance bubbles in his chest. How can she not know this. Did she not notice. All this time. But he decides to put it in words, clear as day-

“I’ve always... Looked at you...” he breathes, closing the distance between them. Oh to be told you matter amongst the other grand things in this world that matter. To be told it has always been this way. The boy who has always had eyes for this one girl. The handsome soldier who stops by her balcony, sure as the sun, he looks only to her. I’m here, I exist. Mikasa feels a lump forming in her throat.

Words can wait, she thinks, come now soldier, we’ll drain the pleasure from one another until we are but two bodies with too many secrets between us.

And she kisses him.

Sharp edges, sadness leaking from her like rain. Like kindling in fire, one thing leads to another, and Jean is pressed against the wall. Mikasa is strong, but it’s not like Jean’s going anywhere. His hands glide up the sides of her body, over to her back where he rubs circles into her skin. Too gentle. Her sweet, gentle boy. But all she wants is for him to ruin her. To dig his nails into her flesh, to leave bruises for everyone to see. She hears the things said about her, little voices carried by the wind. Greedy, gluttonous girl. She’s fucking with him even though she doesn’t love him. Whore. Harlot. And the poor fool who trails after her.

And Mikasa wants to scream at the voices. It’s not true. Love comes in a form she doesn’t yet have the capacity to comprehend. Oh but she loves him.

Part of her wants him to tell her sweet nothings like he always does. To tell her she’s worthy, that she exists purely because he sees her, because he wants her. But the thought sits like bile burning at the back of her throat. She wants to throw up. Because she knows she doesn’t deserve him. So she lets the other part of her reign. The part that wants him to hurt her, call her names, echo the voices in her head, tell her she’s nothing. That he’s always, well- that he has always-

hated her.

She wants to bask in this feeling a little longer, a creature living in the depths of the woods, in a hollowed out tree, feeding off hate until her softness becomes amber. She grabs his hand and slides his fingers through her hair. Pull. And he does, he tugs at her hair, but only to pull her impossibly closer. She feels between his legs, engorged under his trousers. Jean groans into the kiss. And Mikasa swallows it up selfishly. She unbuckles his trousers only to get at what she wants, and then she’s kneeling in front of him, taking him into her mouth. And this is what good girls do. This is what she’s been doing all her life. To be on her knees, to take it, take everything into her until she’s bursting at the seams. But what’s wrong with a life of servitude, of being on her knees when Jean is making the most delicious sounds, saying her name in a way that ignites something in her like kindling.

He pulls her up into another kiss, leaning down so he can lick the roof of her mouth clean, and Jean tastes himself on her tongue, salt of the earth; sweet like roses.

“You’re so good for me...” Jean says. And Mikasa is nodding furiously. That’s all she wants. That’s all she ever wants to be. And she doesn’t notice the tears until he flinches.

“Mikasa... Hey... Stop...” he says, holding her by her shoulders.

Her eyes fly open. And in that split second, her mind thinks up the cruelest things against her- look what you’ve done.

He buttons up his trousers and she stumbles back. The spell she had cast over him has been broken, she thinks. But Jean follows after her, a wait slipping past his lips. And she does, waiting with baited breath. He’s stroking at her cheek again, catching the tears that are falling. Thumbs stroking gently at the corners of her eyes.

“Hey... What’s wrong...” he asks, like he’s comforting a child, but he isn’t really expecting any answers. And the tears pick up a steady flow, down to her chin. She wipes at her face with the back of her hands. She hates this. More than celery in her stew, more than humidity. She hates herself for being so weak.

He reaches out to tuck her hair behind her ear, and she leans into the touch. What a gentle brush of calloused fingers against her cheek. Her sweet, gentle boy.

Hers.

He tilts her chin up so she meets his gaze, wait, it comes more as a whisper than a command. She watches him curiously as he fishes through his cupboard. He retrieves a grey shirt. She spots her embroidery in white thread at the hem. His name in cursive so Connie would stop taking his laundry by accident.

“Here...” he smiles. Jean holds the shirt out in front of her expectantly, and past her own confusion, Mikasa puts one tentative arm through the sleeves, then another. He shifts her to face him again and he does her buttons up painfully slow. Her sweet gentle boy. And Mikasa hears the loud thudding of her own heart by her ears, and there’s that familiar aching. This moment is suddenly far too intimate to bear. She feels the tips of her ears burning.

His shirt falls mid-way down her thighs, and she feels small again as he stands back to examine his work. “There you are...” he says. And his heart flips unceremoniously, seeing her in his clothes, casual like it’s the morning after and she has stayed the night, and they’ve spoken about everything there is to speak about. The clouds, the rain, the new gear that cuts into skin like a bitch.

He guides her to the bed wordlessly, patting the spot beside him to get her to lie down. And she does, hands clasped atop her belly, looking at him, still sniffling and slightly taken aback. Jean sighs with a chuckle, “c‘mere...” he says, like all the problems in the world are but specks of dust floating in the darkness. And she does as she’s told, arms wrapped around herself as she curls her knees into her chest, pressing her forehead against his chest so he wouldn’t see her miserable face.

“Jean...” Mikasa says, voice intentionally muffled down the front of his shirt, where her fingers have now come to grasp. He hums a reply, toeing at her shin in an attempt to get her to tangle her legs with his.

She sighs, stretching out her legs to join him in this little dance. “Do you hate me?”

“I could never...” he says quickly. And Jean has always been like this. Eager to please, eager to reassure. And although he has mellowed over the years, Mikasa still sees glimmers of it. Then a more thoughtful, “did he say that to you?”

She only buries her face further into his chest, fingers digging into his shirt, the fabric balled up in her fists.

“I should’ve been there... Would’ve fucking had a go at him...” Jean mutters. His hands clenching into fists against her hip. He relaxes immediately when he feels her tensing underneath him.

“I’m sorry...”

“What about?” He tilts her chin up so her eyes meet his. Even now she finds other things to look at. Specks of dust. Cracks in the walls.

You... she wants to say, my poor, gentle boy, my poor sweet boy.

“I’ve been so selfish...”

There’s a thumb on her cheek. So gentle it feels like rain. Mikasa hates herself, but she figures there’s a quiet beauty in sun showers. The promise of rainbows. He traces over her scar, the one that never quite went away. The one she finds Jean kissing every now and then. The one she has never admitted to caring about.

And she wants to hear it from him. That he thinks she’s the most selfish person to exist. For greed, for gluttony, for wanting too many things- the boy she has given her life to, and the boy she doesn’t dare dream of a life with.

But they’ve had too many conversations about him, and Jean just wants her now. He’s just a soldier who has wandered too far into the powdered boudoir of his dream girl. She had waved at him with a handkerchief embroidered with little red flowers, and a smile so sad it makes him ache. The girl who holds his head in her chest after every battle, threading her fingers through his hair and telling him everything is going to be fine. The sun is going to peek through the rain clouds soon, everything will be fine. The girl who looks to him for assurance. The girl he looks to for that spark of confidence. The girl who embroiders little red flowers on the cuffs of his shirts. The girl who reaches her hands out so tentatively into the world, eyes full of wonder, fingers grasping apprehensively. But she’s always so sad, this girl of his.

So he holds her head against his chest now, “everything will be fine...” he whispers. And he feels the tension leave her body in waves.

“Sleep... You must be exhausted...”

“I can’t...” she pouts and Jean can’t help the chuckle that slips past his lips.

“What do you mean?” He teases, “look. You close your eyes, even out your breathing, think of one thing that makes you happy, and Bob’s your uncle!”

Mikasa ponders this for a moment, brows creasing, she looks up at him.

“I never really knew my uncle but I think my father had a brother named Thomas...”

“Ah...” Jean laughs, nothing condescending. Just- laughter, “that’s just a figure of speech... It’s like ‘and there you have it!’... Something along those lines...”

“Oh!” Mikasa answers, bashful, “like the dogs with the leather shoes? The cobbled shoes?” They play footsie under the sheets mindlessly and somewhere along the way, they’ve started holding hands.

“Yeah... ‘Enough to cobble dogs with’...” Jean chuckles.

“Sorry... I’m not good at these things...”

“Don’t worry about it... It’s not something to be good at... I just know because an uncle of mine loved using them, it was his thing...”

There’s a glint of playfulness in Mikasa’s eyes, a flash as quick as lightning, “your uncle Bob?”

Jean’s eyes widen momentarily, a spark of realisation setting off a boisterous laughter that fills the room.

“Silly...” Jean breathes. He taps the tip of Mikasa’s nose with a finger and she finds herself giggling. What a strange sound it is, weaving in and out of the laughter that’s still spilling from Jean’s chest. And she feels pride swelling in her ribs. She’s the cause of this cacophony.

It’s quiet for a while before Jean breaks the silence-

“Hey...” he says, absentmindedly, gently, “none of this is your fault... You know him... He’s just a dumbass... He probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying...”

Jean sighs. Good no more arguing. No more him being a jerk telling her that they’re not all willing to die because of him. No more teetering on the brink of calling one another ugly names. No more shouting. Just-

Two bodies with a shared understanding between them. A single atmosphere built from years of friction. The air is good here.

Mikasa shifts herself onto the pillow to face him, she offers a smile, one that reaches her eyes. She threads her fingers through his hair like he’s the one in need of comfort. She will ask him in the morning if she can braid it for him. He wraps his arms around her protectively.

“You know... I kind of miss him... The way things were...” Jean chuckles. He wouldn’t mind Eren throwing a few punches his way if it meant they could be children again, fighting over nothing, getting at each other’s throats just because. Watching in awe as his own jealousy rears it’s ugly head.

“Me too...” she smiles, thinking of the times she has had to pry one angry boy from another.

But the air is good here and sleep comes easier.

Mikasa closes her eyes and evens her breathing to the steady thrum of Jean’s heartbeat. And she thinks about Jean- a sliver sunshine through the thick mist of rain. Her sweet, gentle boy.

Hers.

#jeankasa #jean kirstein #mikasa ackerman #jeankasa fanfic #jean kirschtein #mine #my fic #jean x mikasa

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wolfish-trickster · 4 years

Text

Advent kisses

24/24

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 2 796 (I regret nothing)

Summary: Instead of chocolates, kisses are going to be recieved everyday until Christmas.

Tag list: @gaitwae @lucywrites02 @modestlyabsurd @winterfrostsarmy @spaceyempress @thefridgeismybestie @laramoonworld @birdgirl90 @nickkie1129 @loki-yoursaviourishere @hard-to-be-the-bard

Y/N POV

The warm water around you felt nice. You were positive you could fall asleep, here in your tub surrounded by soap bubbles. After Loki's yesterday visit and cuddling no cramps came back to you. That doesn't mean you can't spoil yourself with a nice hot bubbly bath first thing in the morning.

Today was the day. The day you'll be honest with him.

Or not.

Your insides hurt from anxiety and fear. What if all those kisses and hugs were his way of warming up to the human contact? What if he sees you as just a cuddle buddy and things will get weird between you two?

'Stop it Y/N, it's going to be okay. You'll be okay. You got plenty of time to calm down.'

You stood up from your warm bath and wrapped yourself in even warmer towel. Still wrapped in it you looked through dresses you brought with you spread out on your bed.

You got a soft creamy one, elegant black one, forrest green and kinda extravagant one and the simple but pretty one with different blue hues with black fluff around the neckline.

At first you wanted to go for the green one. But after further thought you chose the blue one. You're not going to dress yourself in his chosen colour. You'll be wearing the colour he was born in, the one he hated and was affraid to show for god knows how long, until he had accepted himself. You hoped his sharp mind will understand.

You hung the blue dress in your bathroom for later and threw on a simple plain sweater and jeans. The plan for today was to finish little details and make food for the evening.

Everyone has placed the wrapped gifts under the tree. This year was purely your decision. No secret Santa. You guys always argued afterwards, for whatever reason.

You being you bought little meaningful gifts for everyone (except Laura and kids, you didn't expect them to spend Christmas with the Avengers, but you had a feeling Clint will spoil them rotten, so it's fine). You started placing all the colourful boxes you brought among others under the tree. All but one. The one you wanted to give Loki in private was still hidden under your bed. You still didn't know how you're going to do it. Today or tomorrow? Tomorrow will be a chaos with gifts and you two won't get any privacy. So you settled for today, in the evening.

You were excited, but also scared. 'Is there even a name for this emotion?'

Loki POV

Loki just got from the shower. He was drying and brushing his hair. He knew he had to look good in the evening and not right now, but he wanted to look as charming as ever. For you.

Tony told all boys to specifically wear white shirt and black pants, nothing else. Loki was torn between wearing clothes from his or your realm. He looked best in his Asgardian royal attire, but he wanted to look like he was from your home when he confesses his love to you. Decisions...

He'll leave them for later. Right now all he wants is you in his arms, your head on his chest, the smell of your hair in his nose. He dressed himself in his casual asgardian clothes and went looking for you.

He checked your room first, just in case your body was beating you up from the inside like yesterday. Thankfully not. The second place he checked was the living room.

He found you there. Kneeling on the floor, placing gifts under decorated branches of the giant tree.

Quiet as a mouse he crept towards you. He saw his chance when you stilled after placing the last present. As if you were thinking about something important. He quickly picked you up by your hips and spinned you around. Your startled scream turned into laughter when you realized it was only him.

He stopped spinning and held you close to him, your back to his chest. "Hehe, I'm so sorry darling, but I couldn't help myself. Your laugh is so adorable and I wanted to hear it."

You turned around in his arms and put your own around him. "I forgive you trickster, but only because it's Christmas," you winked at him.

He hugged you even closer, inhaling the scent of you. "Merry Christmas my darling," he whispered against the top of your head.

Y/N POV

You felt his hot breath on the crown of your head and smiled into his chest. His hearbeat was fast, still from the little spinning stunt he pulled, you assumed. You loved these hugs. If he didn't feel the same way and rejected your romantic feelings, would he still hug you like this? Would he hug you at all?

Your chest hurt. You can't lose him. Not today. Not ever. 'I guess I'll be satisfied with only friendship for the rest of my life, rather than risking losing this.'

You pulled away from him far enough to still hug him but also to look him into eyes. "Have you put gifts under the tree yet?"

Loki looked at you seriously. "Darling, do you even know me?" he snapped his fingers and a giant green box with yellow bow appeared next to both of you.

"Wow, who's that for?"

"Everyone. I put all of it in one box. To save the paper."

"And what's 'all of it' ?"

He smirked. "A trophy that says 'you're not as annoying as I thought you were'."

You started laughing uncontrollably. That's so Loki thing to do. Even though it hurt a little knowing this is what you're gonna get from him. And as always, your coping mechanism tried to turn something sad into a joke. "At least I'll have a trophy for something, and I didn't even have to try."

"You're not getting a trophy."

"Then what, a medal?"

He moved your hair out of your face and caressed your cheek. "No my darling, you'll recieve a much more meaningful gift."

You opened your mouth to ask, but he shut you up with a single finger on your lips. "I can't tell you, it's a surprise."

You pouted against his finger. "No pouting my dear, patience brings roses."

You pulled his finger away from your lips. "So another ice rose? Good. I like the one you gave me. Did you know it's practically imposible to melt it? I've accidently left it inside yesterday and guess what? Not a puddle."

Loki POV

"-and guess what? Not a puddle."

Can his ice power really be that strong to keep it frozen the whole night? In a warm house? He'll think about it later. "No. And stop being curious. You'll find all out in the right time."

You both stood there. Gazing into eachothers' eyes. Into eachothers' souls. After a while you spoke up. "I think I'll go into the kitchen. To help them with- ahhh- whatever they're doing."

"Oh, okay then," he reliesed you from his embrace. "I have to go and check up on something too. So... eeehh, I'll see you later?"

You smiled warmly at him as you moved towards the kitchen. "Yeah, see you later."

Loki sat down on the couch. Why did you flee so suddenly? He doesn't get it. Human emotions are so complicated. So are asgardians'. Emotions overall are complicated mess.

He sighed and wondered around the place. What else could he do? There were still hours until the official celebration began.

Grunts and huffs were coming from the gym as Loki was passing by. He peeked in and saw his brother. Working out as always. How better kill some time than with a little chat with his beloved brother?

"Hi Thor."

Thor put down those weights he was lifting. "Oh, hello Loki. Blessed Yuletide."

"You too. When are we going to celebrate it properly? It's unlike you to left out getting drunk on that festival," Loki pointed out as he sat on a nearby bench press.

"Hard to tell. Maybe after all of the 'Chistmas' is over," he wiped his sweaty face with a towel.

"What are you doing here. Why are torturing yourself like this? Isn't this day supposed to be a day of relaxation? Dedicated to spend meaningful time with your loved ones?"

"Jane called. She'll come today, I have to look my best for her. And what are YOU doing here? Aren't YOU supposed to be with your loved one?" he asked with a knowing smirk.

"I'm with you, am I not?" his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Thor rolled his eyes. "We both know I didn't mean it like that. What are you going to give her? Jewelry? A book?"

"She's not shallow. My gift for her tells her I know her. That I view her as a wonderful person she is. I think- no I know I'll give it to her today. And I'll tell her how I feel. Do you think she feels the same?"

Thor put a reassuring hand on Loki's shoulder. "Don't worry about it. You said it yourself. She's a wonderful person."

"Thank you, brother," Loki felt like a teenage boy again. When he and Thor used to be so much closer. When they were telling eachother about a girl they liked and gave eachother advices. He missed those times, when it was simpler.

"Go take a shower or you'll scare Jane away from you," he told Thor before he got too sentimental.

Thor playfully smacked his Loki's head. "You're not the boss of me," 'you'll still obey my comand as if I was' Loki thought.

And yes, Thor did take a shower.

Loki was looking himself over in his mirror. Black hair slicked back, white (too tight) shirt on, Asgardian trousers and boots as well. He came to a compromise.

He took the box containing your present out of his pocket dimension and nervously played with it. The moment he waited for the whole month was nearing. His palms got sweaty.

'Breathe. Just breathe. Everything will be alright,' he told himself as he put the wrapped box back into the pocket dimension and exited his room.

The christmas music got louder and louder as he approached the living room. Everyone was there. Having fun with kids, drinking or talking and having a good time. His eyes were searching for you. With dimmed lights and the only light source being the tree it was harder than he expected. Someone tapped him on the shoulder.

Loki smiled. He knew exactly whose fingers were this gentle. He turned around. "Took you long enough my lo-" he lost his abilty to speak. It rarely happens, but you made it happen with how you looked.

One word: gorgeous. Your hair was adorned with a blue headband with two big white snowflakes on the left side. It matched your blue dress and blue glittery high heels. The black fluff went from your neckline around your shoulders. A red necklace hung on your neck, completing the look of an ice goddess. With this colour scheme you almost looked like-

Jotun. Like him.

You chuckled. "What? Cat got your tongue?"

Loki blinket few times to ground him in reality. "I-I-I, wow. You look absolutely magnificent."

Y/N POV

Magnificent? That's more than you could ever hope for!

You felt your cheeks heating up as you spoke. "Thank you. I tried my best to look good tonight," 'for you'.

"You certainly achieved it," the music in the background suddenly changed from a happy melody to slow and romantic one. As if someone-

Loki outstretched his hand towards you. "May I have this dance?"

"Why not?" you smiled at him and let him lead you to an empty spot in the room.

Loki hugged you by your ways with both hands, your arms snaked around his neck and started swaying to the tune.

More pairs soon joined you. You were thanking all gods no one was teasing you two. You felt how he was rubbing his fingers behind you. Was he nervous? Why?

He leaned down and whispered into your ear. "Darling, what do you say we get ourselves some privacy after this song ends?"

Now you were the nervous one. "O-okay."

Loki hummed and rested his chin on top of your head. "Wonderful."

The end of the song came. A new faster melody resonated from speakers. Loki took your hand and started walking towards his room. What is he planning?

He shut the door after you. He didn't turm on lights, just the small one on his bedside table, giving the whole room a cozy atmosphere.

He took your hands and looked into your eyes. "My lovely Y/N. There's something I wanted to tell you for a while now. I never expected to meet someone like you in this team. Someone so strong, graceful, passionate and sweet. You've caught my attention from the very first time you laughed at one of my jokes and it only grew after you showed your interest in literature, just like me. Now I have to be honest. You see I had this plan: give you one kiss everyday from first of december to Christmas Eve. My love for you only grew with each passing moment we spent together. I love you Y/N. I love you for your kindness, your gentleness, your intelligent mind. Please, allow me to give you this," he placed a neatly wrapped box into your palm. With shaking fingers you opened it. Inside sat a lovely green candle. It smelled like pine tree, snow and leather. It smelled like Loki!

Tears gathered in your eyes as he continued. "If you don't return my feelings, it's okay. I won't preassure you. I just want to let you know I'm always here for you. Anything you need, I'll be there to help you. And if your mind tortures you, this candle will remind you you're not alone. I put a charm on it, no matter how long it burns, the wax will not recede," you were full on crying now. How can he be so.... this? You don't even know how to name it.

Loki noticed your tears, cupped your cheeks and started wiping them away. "My love, forgive me. I didn't mean to upset you."

You shook your head. "It's not like that. I wanted to tell you too, but I got so scared you'll reject me. I love you too Loki. I love you so much," you threw yourself into him, face hiding in the crook of his neck.

His own head dipped into ypur shoulder and his arms held you close to him as he whispered 'I love you' one more time.

"I got you a gift too, I'll go get it," he didn't let you.

Hugging you even closer he murmured into your skin. "Tell me where it is."

"Under my bed," with a snap of his fingers it appeared in your hands.

You unwillingly pushed him off of you and gave him his present. His long fingers tore the wrapping paper apart to reveal a cardboards box.

You spoke up as he opened it. "So you could look cool during storms."

He pulled out brand new headphones. Custom made, with small golden horns, just like his helmet. One on each side of the earpiece.

"It's not as meaningful as yours, but-"

"I love it. It's amazing, thank you," he pulled you into another deep hug.

You heard little cracking above you. You pulled your head away from Loki's chest and looked up. He made an ice mistletoe grow from the ceiling.

"Would you look at that, your infamous murder weapon. Wanna smooch?" you asked in joking tone, however you were dead serious.

"I'd love nothing more," he cupped your cheek, his other hand pulled you close to him.

His lips touched yours, soft and careful, as if he was affraid to break you. You eyes fell shut as you tasted him. Fingers got lost in his hair, pulling him even closer, deepening the kiss. Your tongues dannced together, stroked eachother. The hand on your cheek moved to the back of your neck and you moaned into the kiss.

Eventually you had to part in order to breathe. Your foreheads were touching, Loki's cheekes were flushed, his hair messy from your hands.

He softly pecked your lips again. "I love you, my darling."

"And I love you. Always," and you got lost into another deep kiss.

A/N: thank you all for reading ❤️ I wish you beautiful Christmas and blessed holidays!

#loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #the avengers #christmas fic #fluffy loki #loki fluff #loki (marvel)#fluff

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vanillann · 4 years

Text

the 1994 battle of the performers (luke patterson x f.reader)

word count: 2.0k

the 1994 battle of the performers masterlist

Chapter 3: The Cool Kids Table

“Look who it is!”

I jumped when I realized how close the voice was, looking over my shoulder at a smiling Alex and Luke. I tried to see if I saw Reggie or Bobby but Alex caught on to my weird glares.

“They had to stay after class a few extra minutes, got in trouble for distraction yesterday,” Alex shrugged, speaking as if it was a casual thing but really thinking about it, it was very possible.

“Oh?” I was still slightly confused why they were at my locker, we weren’t really friends I suppose. Just five teen’s who had dreams and were doing the other a favor.

“Oh? Where is your excitement?” Luke bounced on his heel, the wild smile never left his lips as he looked at me. I said nothing, reaching for the books in my locker for the next period.

“Who has excitement during school?”

“Who wouldn’t when it’s time for lunch,” I rolled my eyes with a smile sneaking its way on my lips at the excitement that followed the group.

They truly did try to make the best out of everything.

“Nothing ever happens at lunch,” I shut my locker, turning around and letting my backrest on the cool metal that sent a shiver through me.

“Cause you’re sitting at the wrong table,” Alex smiling was changeling Luke’s, which felt like a greater competition than the Battle of the Performers.

“I sit with some old dancers, they don’t talk much.”

The dancer team was nice enough to still speak to me after the spilt, but that didn’t make it easier to watch the people I considered my friends talk about the thing you loved most without you. It wasn’t going to get easier but I couldn’t let myself dig too deep in my own head.

“Not anymore,” Luke skipped backward, letting his back hit the handle of the cafeteria door and holding his hand out for Alex and me to follow me.

“Did they say something to you?”

Easy breathing, you didn’t do anything wrong. They kicked you off the team so you found otherways to dance with.

“No, we just thought you should sit with us,” Alex wrapped a light arm around my shoulder and guided me around the different table until we spotted the one in the very corner. It was one of the smaller tables within the room, definitely pushed to the corner on accident but nobody cared enough to move it.

“Sit with you?”

“Say it nicer why don’t you,” Alex glared at me, a hit of a joke behind his eyes as I looked between him and the table.

Milo’s and dinner was one thing, but this felt like a friendship level up. The school was a harsh place where you were grouped together with the people you hung out with, not that Sunset Curve was the worst people to be grouped with. It was just a lot, my last two years in this place I would be seen as one of them or seen as the girl who was kicked from the dance team than Sunset Curve because after this battle I would be a faint history to them.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep,” Luke popped the “p”, already sitting at the table with his leg bouncing from either nerves or excitement, the two things Luke Patterson ran off of.

I didn’t even get to place my books down before he was standing up and taking them from my hand, placing them out of reach on the bench with a little smirk.

“I need to start on the Economics homework,” I tried to reach over the table but his hand rested on the top of my books, pushing them farther from my grasp.

“Lunch isn’t for homework,” his smirk was almost enchanted to watch, but my homework under his rough finger was way more important at the moment.

“You aren’t going to get those books back, I would know,” Alex spoke up from behind me, leaving a seat beside him open for me with his feet swing back and front under the table. I said nothing, giving up and taking a seat, resting my chin in my palm while looking at both boys.

“Do you not bring food to lunch?” I reached into the tote bag on my shoulder, letting the cool bottle of water freeze my warm hands.

“We got through the line but Bobby would kill us if we went without him,” Luke watched me, waiting for me to say something interested as the other two members of the band were still not here.

“What?”

“You didn’t scream last night,” Luke spoke, his eyes glaring under the harsh light of the cafeteria as if he was out of an old movie.

“Cause I didn’t fall?”

He didn’t think I would actually fall, did he? I had been walking fine for a month or so now, it was the most active work like dancing and running that still gave me scares.

“(Y/N)’s sitting with us?”

I looked over my shoulder, both Reggie and Bobby stood behind me with smiles as they took their regular seats, or what I assumed, around the table. Once Reggie sat down, he held his hand out for a high five. I smiled and returned it, turning to Bobby when he sat beside me while clapping a hand on my shoulder.

“Yep, they dragged me here,” my chin pointed to Luke then Alex, earning a pout from Luke and Alex bumping his shoulder with my own.

“They aren’t house trained, sorry,” Bobby joked, earning a few stray napkins to be thrown at him from Luke.

“I am house trained, thank you very much,” he pronounced every word with sass, his pout still painted on his lips as he looked to Alex who was laughing at him.

“Let’s get in line,” Alex started to hand, pushing off the table and turning once he stood all the way. Everyone but Luke stood up, him holding his finger in the air while looking at the other members.

“I’ll sit with (Y/N) so people don’t think she’s lame with no friends,” I felt my jaw go slack, my hand feeling around for one of the napkins he had thrown at Bobby. Once I felt my finger brush one, I picked it up and threw it in his face, it going directly in his open mouth.

I covered my mouth, in shock at how perfectly it had made it in. Luke looked about as shocked as I felt, looking at me with wide eyes while removing the napkin from his mouth.

“You-” his smile was slowly forming as he held his finger out at me, pocking my hands that still covered my mouth.

“I didn’t mean to,” my words barely made it from his lips as I tried to hold my giggles back. I probably looked crazy to an outsider, watching him with a shocked smile and he scolded me.

“I thought we were friends,” he crossed his arms on the table, letting his chin rest on top of them as he looked up at through his eyelashes.

“I don’t remember signing a contract for that,” I tapped my chin, raising one eyebrow and I jokily thought over the process.

“My printer broke, I’ll get it to you next Monday.”

I rolled my eyes, resting my chin back in the palm of my hand as I watched him stare at me.

“Why did you invite me to sit here?”

I definitely was the best at ruining moments, I should do it as a career at this point.

“Cause?”

He shook his head as if the answer was obvious, but that was the exact problem. It was apparently noticeable to everyone but me where I stood with the group but myself. As far as I knew we would be friends until the competition and then I’d be back to the few girls at the lunch table and they wouldn’t have to worry about my knee anymore.

“Look at this piece of chicken,” Reggie’s voice tore me from my thought, looking up at the almost black chicken tender Reggie held in-between his finger with a broken frown.

“That has to be against guidelines,” I reached out, taking the tender to look at for myself.

“Don’t say that too loud, Bobby said something similar and was threatened with detention,” Alex spoke up from beside me. His chicken was definitely in better shape but still incredibly over-cooked. I simply took the chicken and wrapped it in one of the napkins from the little argument earlier.

Reggie held out his hand, taking the trash and reaching over to make it in the trash can. He made the shot, his hands above his head and he looked back to the table with a proud smile.

“He’d made up for hitting Henderson with a paper ball yesterday,” I smile, remembering the encounter from the last period of the day, the only period I shared with any of the members of Sunset Curve besides lunch and study hall with Alex and Bobby.

“You what?”

Alex dropped his fork back on his cheap plate, looking up at Reggie with a slacked jaw.

“I didn’t mean to!”

I laughed, leaning back on the bench slightly was I wasn’t sitting so proper, something I still didn’t use to. WIth dancer become a secondary part of my life I was losing the posture I once had, cause some small back pain but nothing serious.

“How do you even do that?” Luke reached over and took an apple slice off Bobby’s plate, that’s when I noticed each boy had each of the options for the school menu. The thought alone that they formed their own little sharing system was adorable to me, my eyes jumping to each plate.

“What one?”

I looked up, Alex holding up a grape in-between his finger as he watched Luke and Reggie’s conversation unfold. I said nothing, picking the grape from in-between his finger and popping it in the air, leaning my head back and catching it with my mouth.

“Whoa!”

Bobby hit my shoulder when he saw the trick, smiling as he pointed to me with a giant smile on his face.

“Wait I missed it,” Luke leaned on his arms again, watching me closely with his bright green eyes. I said nothing, asking Alex for another grape but he was already holding one out for me. I did the same trick, moving slightly into Bobby’s side as the grape moved but still caught it easily.

“Wait I wanna try,” both Reggie and Luke reached for the grape at the same thing, silently fighting over the fruit.

“This will keep you entertained,” Alex whispered in my ear, pointing his chin at the two and they disused who got the grape, Alex hiding the bag with the rest under the table with a little smirk. I reached over, taking one for myself and slipping it in my mouth without the two notices.

“Is it like this all the time?” I asked both Alex and Bobby, laughing when Luke said he should get it causes he’s the lead singer.

“You’ll see,” Bobby spoke, laughing when Reggie flicked Luke in the forehead and snatched the grape from his fingers. He didn’t waste time, trying to flick it but instead started to fall on the other side of the table. I stood up slightly, moving over Alex slightly with my mouth open, once I felt the fruit hit my tongue I showed the fruit in my mouth to the table.

“How did you do that?” Reggie and Luke both sat up straighter, waiting for me to explain the trick.

“A magician never shared his tricks,” I smirked, taking a bite of the grape with a smile.

“I thought you were a dancer, oh-” Reggie stopped halfway through, pointing at me with a little smile.

“You can’t be cooler than me sorry,” Luke tilted his head at me, us all standing up with her heard the school bell ring throughout the walls.

“But I am, sorry.”

the 1994 battle of the performers taglist

@gia-kerks @notwonder-woman @poisoned-girl @phantompogues @dovesgrangers

#luke julie and the phantoms #luke patterson x y/n #luke patterson x reader #luke patterson #jatp x reader #jatp netflix #sunset curve #julie and the phantoms x reader

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wonda-cat · 3 years

Note

You mentioned rewriting that one analysis post on Tommy’s revival stream and I’d really look forward to it! I never got to read the full og post and that’s the only place I saw these takes. Especially the one about the afterlife being too depressing. It’s not even just about Tommy, the implication that even if every character is safe and happy by the end, this is their inevitable fate is messed up. It’s not “a neat subversion” it’s just depressing and doesn’t add anything.

Hey, anon!

I sorta decided to not rewrite it? I feel a bit differently about the essay in the end, although I still believe in most of my points. I’m also just not nearly as passionate about it as I was when I wrote it (I finished it in a single sitting, which was... interesting.) However, yes, the afterlife stuff still bothers me just the same, as well as the odd changes to Wilbur’s characterization... post mortem.

But—just for you, anon—here’s the entire meta-analysis essay anyway, with some minor edits to the stuff I don’t agree with anymore!

My Many Narrative Issues with Tommyinnit’s Revival Stream

I want to preface this by saying that I dearly love the Dream SMP and understand it isn’t exactly comparable to other mediums like TV and film. With this being the case, most criticism against it is generally in bad faith or strange in foundation. Complaining about streamers for bad acting is the best example that comes to mind.

These aren’t professional actors. Most have never acted in this sort of setting, or even at all. Quite a few have admitted to never roleplaying before. Which is why it’s warranted to praise Tommy, Dream, Wilbur, Ranboo, and others when they deliver stellar performances. The same applies to criticism of music choice, dialogue delivery, focus, tone, etc.

However, one such category I cannot overlook is in regards to its writing. The writing of a story is its entire foundation. It encompasses many things—conflict choice, character development, themes, and morals. The author creates the blueprints for the architect, who then expresses the story with light, sound, color, pacing, and music. It is in its execution that we see if this connection is made or broken.

The reason I find poor writing mostly inexcusable is because it is one of the most available skills to practice and perfect. I don’t mean to say that it’s easy, I mean to say it is something anyone can attempt to cultivate. Whether they do it well or not depends on their methods and experience. If anyone can self-publish a novel and be criticized online for its quality—and even compared to the works of Mark Twain—then I find critiquing the writing of the Dream SMP to be perfectly reasonable.

However, since the Dream SMP script is a set of loose bullet points, tearing apart dialogue and scene continuity—which is nearly all improv—is rather useless. It doesn’t exactly have a clear focus as the plot plays out. The characters talk in circles until they hit the story beat required, and then they move onto the next. Thus, when criticizing it, one should generally critique grand events and narrative-specific shifts, more so than small-scale character interactions.

Which brings me to my main point: The broad narrative choices taken in Tommyinnit’s most recent livestream, ‘Am I dead?’ may lead to disastrous writing pitfalls in the future.

I’ll be outlining each of my issues below, in hopes of creating a better understanding as to why I feel this way.

This might become quite lengthy, so please bear with me for a bit.

Tommy’s relationship to Wilbur has flipped. This change is jarring and seems out of character.

Tommy and Wilbur’s friendship is rather complicated. While Wilbur does care for Tommy immensely, especially during the L’Manburg Revolution and the Election Arc, his mental spiral during exile put a massive strain on their relationship as a whole. Wilbur brushed off Tommy’s feelings and wants, while clinging to him and pushing everyone else away. He was simultaneously distant and suffocating.

Tommy, on the other hand, has an unclear view of his mentor. Since the beginning, and even long after Wilbur’s death, Tommy held him in especially high regard. He saw him as a brother-figure and a wise leader. He followed what he said and did everything he could to impress him. Yet, Wilbur still hurt him while the two were together in exile.

When speaking of him, Tommy tends to flip infrequently between remembering Wilbur the way he was before his mental decline and thinking of him as a monster. Both of these images conflict with each other, but they weren’t nearly as extreme as what Tommy described Wilbur as when he was revived from death. The fear Tommy displays to Wilbur is beyond intense—it feels as if the audience may have missed a month’s worth of character development.

This can make sense, especially since it was stated that he’d spent what felt like two months in the void. However, this shift is still deeply at odds with Tommy’s previous impressions of Wilbur, which is both disheartening and confusing. The fact that Tommy would agree to stay with Dream—his abuser and murderer—over his past mentor is simply head-reeling. It paints a very different picture of Wilbur’s character, somewhat conforming to the fandom’s ableist impression of him—the idea that Wilbur is insane and irredeemable, and always will be.

It also ignores Dream being the driving factor in Wilbur’s downfall, as well as the double-bind deal with Dream which required him to push the button, no matter the outcome. Others have pointed out that Tommy may be lying to get Dream to bring Wilbur back, and there’s compelling evidence for that. For one, Tommy and Wilbur’s conversation seemed uncomfortable, but it was certainly nothing like Tommy implied. (Unless this fear comes from something Wilbur said off-screen.)

Tommy also begged Dream to not bring him back multiple times over, which he should know would make Dream even more tempted to, simply because he likes seeing Tommy in pain. Tommy is also a known unreliable narrator. He may be making Wilbur out to be worse than he is by accident (even still, I’d argue this is a bit of a stretch.)

However, there are some issues with this theory. Tommy offered himself as payment to Dream if he chose to let Wilbur rest. This is a deal Tommy knows Dream is extremely unlikely to refuse. Tommy is what Dream has coveted all this time. If Tommy genuinely wanted Wilbur back, he would not offer this. This sort of compromise is Tommy’s greatest nightmare—something he would only do in response to his friends being threatened or his home being destroyed.

To add, Tommy is not great at lying. Unless he was taught by Wilbur for those two months* in the afterlife, there’s no chance Tommy would be this good at it. Thirdly, Tommy is terrible under pressure. He uses humor to cope. When he can’t, he cries and shouts and spills his heart out. While cornered, Tommy will tell the truth about anything, especially if Dream casually debates killing him again, just for fun.

For now, it’s too early to tell how the relationship shift will play out. In the grand scheme of things, this issue is rather minor.

Season three’s writing is needlessly bleak. The portrayal of the afterlife is a nightmare. There is no rest, not even in death.

I adore the Dream SMP storyline in its entirety. I believe the first season is fantastic, and while the second season has some narrative clarity issues, I enjoyed it just as much. Although, I would argue season one had a more concrete understanding of its Hope-Conflict balance.

To briefly explain, the Hope in stories are its ‘highs’ and good moments. These appear when a character the audience is rooting for is narratively rewarded. They happen during character building in the text—it’s the downtime and peace that allows for connection and relatability. It’s a moment for the viewer to breathe easy.

The other half is Conflict, an obstacle in the story that gets in the way of the main characters’ goals, beliefs, and motives. These are the ‘lows.’ They give the narrative focus and weight. They make the highs feel even higher. They establish consequences and force the characters in the story to change in order to adapt and overcome them.

I bring up the Hope-Conflict balance because a traditional hero’s journey would have an appropriate amount of both. Their highs and lows are generally equalized, as the name suggests. However, this balance has been awkwardly skewed in the latter half of season two and in the current plot of season three. To clarify, it is perfectly reasonable, and even common, for some stories to tip the scale more to one side.

But a common mistake for amateur writers is to create their stories as either hopelessly dark to cause the audience continuous distress for the sake of distress, or to keep everything entirely conflict-free for most of the plot. What do these both have in common? They each make the story boring and predictable.

Season three has taken this concept and thrown a monstrously heavy weight onto the Conflict side and flipped the scale so hard it has crashed through the ceiling. The viewers are hardly given time to find any joy in Tommy’s character, as he’s thrown into yet another abusive situation, just barely after his first narrative reward. The world is painted as relentlessly violent and traumatic.

Every person Tommy meets is morally grey, unhinged, or out to hurt him. Everything most of the characters love is taken from them by those in positions of power. Ranboo cannot even grieve properly because it scars his face. Puffy, Sam, Ranboo, and Tubbo all blame themselves for what happened to Tommy.

The audience watches lore stream after lore stream with the same depressing tone (with the exception of Tubbo’s, but I assume that’s unintentional.) Tommy is revived after being brutally beaten to death by his abuser, surrounded by all of his greatest fears. The afterlife is revealed to be akin to inescapable torture. It’s a colorless void that wraps the individual like fabric.

Time moves thirty times slower within. There’s nothing—nothing but the voices of others who’ve passed on before him. Dying in a world already devoid of happiness takes the characters to a place worse than hell. When a narrative delivers unfair suffering to the entire cast without a moment of joy to speak of, the story will feel simultaneously overwhelming and pointless.

Why watch characters suffer when there’s no light at the end of the tunnel? What happiness could they strive for when we know they’ll never get to keep it? How can I be satisfied with a good ending, if I know that an afterlife too terrible to name is what awaits them, truly, at the end of their story? Death isn’t even a white void that offers rest—it is eternal torment.

Obviously, it isn’t a good message to send by making the afterlife seem like a quiet, perfect place or an escape from pain. But making it an unspeakable anguish which awaits, assumedly, every character who will die in the future? I deeply hope Tommy was only being an extremely unreliable narrator.

More likely, I hope the place Tommy was taken to was a Limbo of sorts, not an end-all-be-all destination for everyone.

The degree of Tommy’s narrative punishment continues to escalate, to an almost absurd degree.

Tommy is one of the most tragic characters to exist in the storyline. He was sent into war at a young age and experienced two traumatic events during it. He was exiled by the newly elected leader and witnessed his mentor Wilbur spiral and break down with paranoia. Tubbo is executed publicly in front of him. When expressing rightful anger at the person who murdered him, he’s beaten nearly to death and never receives an apology.

Schlatt dies right in front of Tommy, after his initial refusal to hurt the ex-president. His brother-figure and mentor is killed in assisted suicide on the same day his nation is blown up. His best friend exiles him from his home for the second time. He routinely self-sacrifices to protect his country and those who live there. His most treasured possessions were taken from him and he was called selfish for trying to retrieve them (although his methods were self-destructive and volatile.)

He was pushed to the brink of suicide after being relentlessly abused and isolated in his exile. He was horrified when he thought he was responsible for drowning Fundy. After making an objectively good decision to stand by his old friends and change for the better, his country was obliterated by the man he once idolized, his father-figure, and his abuser.

He was left scattered and without purpose for many days. Then he fights against Dream and loses, while also reliving his trauma. He watches Tubbo almost die at the hands of someone he once thought was his friend. He doesn’t tell a single person about what happened to him in exile. The day he tries to sever his connection to Dream and heal, he’s trapped with him for a week, surrounded by everything that terrifies him.

He threatens to kill himself, speaking about his own life as if it were an object—something to hold over Dream’s head. He blames himself for everything bad that’s ever happened to L’Manburg and his friends—internalizing a mentality as a scapegoat for everyone around him. He is forced into the role of ‘hero’ despite the title being unfair and distressing to him.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s then beaten to death by his abuser and spends what feels like two months in an afterlife that is worse than hell. When he returns, his senses are excessively heightened. Dream can cause him excruciating pain, just by pinching him. He can send Tommy into an instant panic attack, just by raising his voice.

The punishment Tommy’s character receives is a thousand times worse than everyone he has ever met, or ever will meet. And it shows no signs of stopping, as Dream now has control over Tommy’s very mortality. Tommy now fears the slightest damage and feels as if he’s losing his best friend all over again. He is also forced into a position where he has to kill Dream out of necessity, to protect everyone he cares about.

Characters need fitting punishments in relation to their actions. Not always, but in order to be satisfying? Yes, they do. It is preferred that a main character deal with unfair situations and difficult conflicts, but this is borderline torture p*rn. Putting Tommy in these distressing and abusive situations on repeat and punishing him for doing objectively moral or healthy things is exhausting to watch.

To quickly add, I find the general insinuation of Tommy going to hell distasteful, especially considering the contents of his storyline. I know this may be hard to believe, but Tommy is one of the most moral characters in the plot, besides Puffy and Ghostbur. He’s also the only character, followed by Ranboo, to recognize that they can be wrong and make mistakes. He changed himself in order to heal and be a better person. He was in the process of paying people back for the things he’d stolen.

He’s learned to be hard-working and less violent through the guidance of Sam. He has apologized to everyone he’s ever hurt (with the exception of Jack Manifold, because that man is allergic to communication.) He puts himself in harm's way to protect others. He doesn’t set out to purposely hurt anyone. He goes out of his way to make connections with people and maintain them, even if others don’t reciprocate.

He’s hopelessly optimistic, despite his outwardly bitter façade. He loved so much and put meaning into the smallest things. The thought that a person like him—a suicide and abuse survivor—would go to hell after being beaten to death by the man who took everything from him; it makes me sick to my stomach.

The only thing more morbid than Tommy’s afterlife being different than everyone else’s, is the concept that everyone will end up in this same eternal torture, no matter what they do. Take your pick: Tommy is sentenced to anguish until the end of time for no reason, or everyone will receive the same disturbing ending, regardless of their actions.

The narrative weight of Ranboo’s character is potentially out the window.

For the past few months, I’ve watched all of Ranboo’s lore streams faithfully, curious to see what role he would play in the future. His ‘hallucinations’ of Dream seemed to be sowing the seeds for a plot that has Ranboo taking the fall for every single insidious thing Dream has done. It would also be a tragic parallel to Tommy’s trial.

Ranboo being convinced he was the one who blew up the community house, when Dream himself admitted to doing it, was one of the bigger indicators for me. This is just one of many other unexplained occurrences. Dream seemed to be making an effort to trigger and control Ranboo, especially after Sapnap’s prison visit. It appeared, from the way he went about this, that Dream had some grand use for Ranboo as part of his plan to be freed from Pandora’s Vault.

However, after Tommy’s stream, the way Dream explains himself makes it seem like there was no plan besides seeing if the book worked on people. And if he didn’t after all, then what was Ranboo for? Was Ranboo unimportant? Was Ranboo just some weirdo who happened to phase out when seeing smiley faces and imagined conversations that may or may not have happened?

I bring this up more as a worry, and much less so as an active problem in the narrative. They haven’t actually thrown Ranboo to the way-side or written themselves into a corner yet. In future streams, this could very easily be explained away or developed as more information is revealed.

Only time will tell.

The potential for Wilbur’s future development and importance to the plot is unfeasible.

I feel as if I am the only person on earth who doesn’t want Wilbur Soot or Schlatt revived. There are many reasons for this, but one of them is not a dislike for these characters. I especially adore Wilbur, as he’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t want either of them resurrected because their stories have already been told. They each had a fitting conclusion that ended their involvement perfectly.

Bringing Wilbur back would especially cheapen the impact of the War of the 16th. It’s the end of a man who was brought to the absolute edge and out of desperation, shame, and self-hatred, he destroyed himself alongside his creation. Bringing him back would leave the climax of the previous story hollow. My biggest issue, however, is that a lack of story importance would likely follow his return.

The only real impact I’d like to see is through a healing arc with Tommy, an apology to Fundy, or a confrontation with Phil/Niki. But that’s really all the potential I can realistically see. While I don’t doubt Wilbur as an agent of chaos, able to create plot out of thin air; what is he going to do now? His country is gone, his friends and family are scattered about, and his mission from the 16th is already accomplished.

What is a well-educated, charismatic politician supposed to do in a world already broken and without nations? Read poetry to himself and cry evilly? However, this is working off the assumption that Wilbur would be returning as his old self.

If Wilbur is resurrected as a ‘villain’ of sorts, then what? He’s not good at fighting in the slightest. He would have no materials. There are no real allies he can make, other than the arctic group. On top of that, there are already more than enough villains to last a lifetime.

We don’t need any more, I promise. Quackity seems to already be shaping up as another antagonist, alongside Sam’s slip into darker and darker shades of moral ambiguity. We also have Philza and Techno, which are already overkill. But then we have Dream who, despite being in a prison, has the ability of selective revival. This is mercilessly overpowered, especially if he makes many allies. The dude could just bring his dead friends back so they can keep fighting forever.

Then there’s Jack Manifold and the Crimson followers; Antfrost, Bad, and Punz. That’s not even including characters who are refusing to get involved. How are Tommy, Tubbo, and Puffy expected to do literally anything to fight back?

Dream’s experiment on Tommy implies he had no backup plan to begin with. This makes his character seem both short-sighted and foolish.

When Tommy woke up after being brought back to life, Dream sounded surprised that the revival worked at all. This instantly shatters the perception that Dream was highly intelligent and thought ahead. With just a few lines of dialogue, it’s implied that Dream killed Tommy, unsure of if the resurrection would even be possible on humans.

Which, to risk something that important, seems unbelievably stupid. Dream needs Tommy, from his perspective. Tommy is his ‘toy,’ the one who makes everything fun. If he lost him and couldn’t get him back, what then? Oh well, everything Dream was doing was all for nothing, I guess.

Why not attempt this experiment on literally anyone else first? Like Sapnap or Bad or, hell, even Ranboo. I suppose it could be that, as soon as Dream got the book, he experimented with it after the 16th. This appears to be insinuated with Friend and Hendry’s revival, although this is uncertain. But even then, he was still unsure of the book’s effect on a human being.

Also, this means, hypothetically, Dream’s entire plan of escape hinged on the experiment working, to begin with, and also on bringing back Wilbur if it somehow did. I find this even more ridiculous. Why Wilbur? That man couldn’t find his way out of a paper bag, let alone get through the traps in Pandora’s Vault. Even if he is intelligent after years* in the afterlife, that’s also a strange assumption.

How do people learn things in the void? Where do they even get this knowledge? I’d honestly argue Techno is a far more competent choice than Wilbur. And even if Dream did bring him back and tell him he owed him his life, what’s to stop Wilbur from just killing him permanently? Or killing himself, continuously?

No way would Wilbur want to be controlled by anyone, ever. The dude would sooner fuck off into the mountains and become a nomad than help a neon green bodysuit cosplay as Light Yagami.

Dream’s discussion about Sam implies that he wasn't playing any part in Dream’s plan, making Sam appear entirely incompetent and neglectful of Tommy.

Dream talked about Sam in a way that seems detached and unaffiliated. He also mentioned him being broken up about Tommy’s fate and not being aware he’s still alive. Dream not being partnered with, or not using Sam in his plan leaves many plot holes. I’ll go through each one. The initial incident was an explosion, coming from the roof of Pandora’s Vault. This did not affect the Redstone mechanism for the doors or dispensers.

Meaning, Sam could’ve had Tommy leave the way that was expected for visitors after he investigated and found no issues. This likely couldn’t have been done in less than a day, but it would be better than an entire week. If Tommy was required to stay for longer, due to protocol, he could’ve gotten Tommy out and then placed him in one of the minor cells for the remainder of the time.

Also, no one else lost a canon life for leaving via the splash potion of harming and returning outside the maximum-security cell; why would Tommy? To add, Sam being uninvolved means that the explosion could have only been caused by Ranboo or Foolish. That, or it was placed long before and timed for the moment Tommy entered the main cell. (I’m going to ignore how ludicrous it is that someone would know the exact time Tommy would’ve entered the room with Dream.)

If Ranboo was the person behind the detonation, this implies he was necessary for Dream to kill Tommy to test the book. But that makes it even stranger. If this was Dream’s goal all along, why not kill Tommy the instant he was trapped with him? It makes no sense for him to wait so long.

Sam is also directly at fault for not letting Tommy out, even after the week was up. There was no reason not to. He already knew there were no issues with the prison at that point. Although, to be fair to Sam, his character may have been paranoid and checking everything more than necessary, just in case. But this still isn’t a good excuse for him ignoring protocol in this one instance, and yet, not in any of the others.

All of these plot holes or inconsistencies would be removed if it was revealed that Dream was blackmailing Sam in some way, or Sam had been working with him since the get-go. That Sam was the person who set off the explosion in the first place to trap Tommy inside. It would also explain Sam’s refusal to let Tommy out and by keeping him in there for longer than necessary.

This can also coexist with Sam’s attachment and care for Tommy. He probably wasn’t told about Dream’s plan to test the book and genuinely believed Dream wouldn’t hurt him. On top of that, Dream is known to be a pathological liar, so his statements about Ranboo and Sam could be entire fabrications.

Who knows?

The Book of Revival invalidates death entirely. The narrative now lacks both tension and consequence.

Another way the Dream SMP differs from other storytelling media is in the way it goes about its character deaths. In a TV show, for example, there will be characters who die just because, or when it’s important to the plot. However, it seems as if the Dream SMP is hesitant to commit to killing its characters. And there are many reasons for that.

The most important one being, killing someone’s character excludes them from the story and some of their livelihoods depend on them regularly streaming on the server. There is also the issue of the cast becoming extremely sparse if characters keep dying. Typically, in stories, when you kill a character, you should introduce another.

This keeps the cast from dwindling as the storyline goes on. This means the writers would have to find new streamers to join, who will develop their own characters and relationships with the plot’s continued momentum. This can be stressful and daunting to those who may be newly added in the future.

Keeping this in mind, the Book of Revival is annoying from a writer’s perspective. When death is no longer an issue for a story hinged on its characters’ mortality, then what do you have as a consequence anymore? We’ve explored every kind under the sun; from abuse, to betrayal, to loss, to destruction.

In stories, traditionally, death is a finality. It’s a conclusion. Whether it’s good or not depends on the character’s actions, its build-up, and the event’s execution. Without this lingering sense of danger, tension evaporates from the story.

Why should I care if Tommy loses in a fight to someone, if he’ll just come back a day later? Why should I care about what happened to Wilbur, if he just returns as if nothing happened? The answer is simple: I won’t. I will no longer care if Tubbo or Ranboo or Sam die in the story, because the idea of revival even being a possible outcome leaves me unenthused and uncaring.

The Dream SMP likes to flirt with death. It teases the demise of its main characters many, many times. More so Tommy’s than anyone else’s. Wilbur’s failed resurrection, which had unforeseen and unfortunate outcomes, is now strange in comparison to Tommy’s, which happened without a hitch.

To be fair, we actually don’t see how many attempts it took. But here’s the problem; Dream could do it without the book being physically present. He’s trapped in a prison with nothing on him, meaning he doesn’t need any materials either. It’s also implied he could do this as many times as he feels, for anyone he wants. This would be exceedingly overpowered, if not for one thing—Dream himself is mortal (at least, I fucking hope he’s mortal.)

If someone kills him one last time, that knowledge is gone forever. And I’m glad they’ve established at least some way for Tommy to win. Because at this point, I was losing faith.

There is also the bare minimum establishment that Dream can refuse to bring back those he doesn’t care for. He can also use it as a shield, holding this power over other people. If Dream is gone, death is permanent. But isn’t that how death is supposed to be, anyway?

What a bleak premise—the afterlife is pure eternal torture while life is cheapened by a lack of consequences.

Conclusion

All this to say, I am cautiously optimistic for the future. I hope dearly that every single one of these can be disproven or developed in the coming livestreams. Obviously, there’s not enough information to really determine what the end result will be, or how everything will fall into place.

Every time I have theorized about the story, it has done something completely different and pleasantly surprised me. I want this trend to continue.

Surprise me again—I’ll be here to see where it goes.

#answered asks #long post #tommyinnit #dream smp meta #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp analysis #this is slightly outdated still but whatever #hope this was helpful anon #tw abuse #tw suicide

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engekihaikyuu · 4 years

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Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu – The Battle of the Trash Heap

What’s In Tokyo Interview Translation With Daigo Kotarou, Akana Ryuunosuke, Nagata Takato, and Kondou Shouri

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To begin, I’d like to ask you about your impressions of one another during your first meeting. Daigo: When was our first meeting? Takato: It was when we went to visit rehearsals for “Fly High” in 2019. But all we did then were casual greetings, so our first proper chance to talk was during an interview after that.

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Full interview and more photos under the Read More! Please do not repost my translations

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Daigo: That’s right! During that interview, Takato-kun treated me like an equal even though I’m younger, and so my first impression was, “What a nice person.” For Shouri-kun, I thought, “He's like a very mischievous older brother.”

Akana: They didn’t just come to visit rehearsals, they came to see our tour too. I remember thinking how much the both of them must love Engeki Haikyuu, and I felt how precious it was to them, so I was really happy. Now that rehearsals have started for this, I feel like we’ve become able to talk about all sorts of things, but Takato-kun feels especially like a rival. He’ll give me a lot of suggestions like, “Wouldn’t it be better for Kageyama to move like this?” “If you move like this, I feel like it would better show the relationship between you two.” Shouri-kun... gives off a vibe of, “Follow me!” so he’s this senpai overflowing with chivalry. Shouri: Eh?! I don’t really think of myself that way though. (laughs) Daigo: No, Shouri-kun is... chivalrous... or manly! (laughs) Akana: For sure. He’s the sort of person that lifts everyone’s morale just by being there.

And by contrast, Nagata-san, Kondou-san, what were your impressions of these two? Takato: To be frank, at the very very beginning, there was a part of me that couldn’t honestly accept them. Or I didn’t want to. We spent so much time with the first cast, and I felt like it was such a different Engeki Haikyuu... (bitter smile) Now I don’t feel that way at all, and when I looked into Kota’s (Daigo Kotarou) eyes at rehearsals while he was performing, I felt that he was the real deal. And from that moment on, I just lost my entire complex about the current Karasuno cast. Honestly, I had goosebumps in that moment! Shouri: Hm? Exactly how much did you get goosebumps? All the way down to your butt? (laughs) Takato: Why do you always say things like that?! (laughs) Everyone: (laughs)

(laughs) And Kondou-san? Shouri: They’re really straightforward people. Before rehearsals, it felt like they were just expecting us with this attitude of, “What you got, Nekoma?! We’re the main characters here!” Daigo: You probably thought we were a bunch of really cheeky kids. (laughs) Shouri: They were all so upfront, that we somehow felt like we were let-downs. They said to us, smiling, “Let’s all do our best as a company!” The Karasuno cast before us now are all a noisy bunch, but they’ve come together as one cohesive Karasuno for this, and I feel like they’ve really come into their own.

It’s been about a year since Nekoma’s last appearance in Engeki Haikyuu. Shouri: It’s already been a year and a half since “The Tokyo Battle!” It almost feels like it was just the other day. Takato: Whenever Shouri has time, he watches the “Tokyo Battle” DVD and cries. Isn't it crazy that he cries for a show that he appears in? (laughs) Shouri: Even when I read the script for this play, it felt like it was playing in front of me and I cried.

What does it feel like to have the full force of Nekoma back together again at rehearsals? Shouri: It’s so heartening! We have a comeback for Nakamura Tarou, who plays Inuoka Sou, and we have our new Haiba Lev, played by Tahori Leo, so in the world of people who are 11.5 heads* tall, we’ve got the most stylish newbies. (laughs) And we finally have our high respected Coach Nekomata Yasufumi played by Ohtaka Hiroo-san, so Nekoma’s gotten even stronger and I’m really excited. Takato: It’s the best! I’m so happy that we get to make a production together with these incredible, irreplaceable people that I’m sure I can somehow overcome our daily muscle pain and soreness.

*T/N: An average person is 7.5 heads tall proportionally; Shouri is probably making a Captain Tsubasa reference, who was drawn proportionally 11 heads tall and became a meme.

In a previous interview, you had said that the Engeki Haikyuu muscle pain means that things have really kicked off. Takato: I had muscle pain immediately after we started rehearsals this time. At this point, it’s just my age. (wry smile) Shouri: But I think the level of intensity has gone up since we first started back in 2016 with “Karasuno Revival.” It’s absolutely more difficult than those rehearsals, I think. I mean, these two young ‘uns are probably just fine though. Daigo: No no, we feel it too. That’s why after rehearsals, I’m always doing a lot of aftercare.

What’s the atmosphere like at rehearsals when it’s that difficult? Daigo: Well this is our third production now for Karasuno, so we prep our physiques to endure these rehearsals, and then we proceed pretty smoothly. Because if you slack off even just a little bit, accidents happen, so we’re always talking about how to brace and focus so that nobody gets hurt. It’s a great atmosphere and always such a lively place. Akana: When I look at the Nekoma cast, I feel such a sense of unity from them, even when we’re not acting. It makes me wonder if Karasuno’s doing enough, so I want to follow their example. Takato: For example, how? Akana: Like how organized you are, like this person teaches everyone the dance, that person does the count, how some people just naturally pull others along. When you think, “Well let’s talk about this all together” regarding the play, you gather together so quickly... there’s just a lot that I’ve learned watching your team dynamic. We’re pretty settled as a team too, but it sort of feels more planned. When I look at everyone Nekoma, it feels like every person is more balanced and could be the center of the team. I wonder if that’s just a difference in experience. Daigo: I thought the same thing. That’s why I was thinking that we have to talk things out with everyone on Karasuno all together at least once. From now on we’re going to brush up on that and keep improving!

This year, due to the novel coronavirus pandemic, the Strongest Challengers tour was unfortunately cut short after 4 performances. Following that, how did you feel, and how did you spend your day-to-day? Daigo: Of course I was sad that we had to cut off the tour and not perform all that we had scheduled, but nothing is for certain, and it wasn’t just us. Around the world, everyone was having a difficult time, and there was also just a sense of, well this just can't be helped. During lockdown, I did have some anxiety as to whether or not I’d ever be able to work for the rest of my life, but I was so encouraged by the support of all these people who love theater. And now thanks to everyone on the staff who clean and disinfect our rehearsals everyday, and thanks to all the people who continue to support us, we can make a new production and go to rehearsals again, so right now I just feel nothing but gratitude.

Akana: We had to cancel all of our live events for VOYZ BOY, the group I’m in, and I was really depressed and anxious about not doing anything, so I started cooking everyday and streamed that.

You streamed on Instagram, “Akana Cooks.” Akana: Oh did you watch? Thank you. I get depressed when I don’t get to do anything, so I did a lot of cooking and training at home. Since I wasn’t going out in public, at one point I looked in the mirror and I was shocked because I was starting to look so uncool. So everyday I wanted to at least be able to look in the mirror and say I looked good. Shouri: Wait, you think about how cool you are while looking in the mirror?! That’s incredible. (laughs) Everyone: (laughs) Daigo: But you did that and took the initiative to start streaming, and you stayed active, and that’s the important thing.

And if the fans are able to see your face, they also feel relieved knowing that you’re doing okay. Akana: I was aware of that, so I was updating my social media everyday. Takato: I was also thinking that I might get fat if I wasn’t going out, so I was trying to be careful about my meals, but I kept eating things that basically had no calories and then I just got skinnier and skinnier instead. (wry smile) But recently I’ve gotten my body weight back to where it was.

Did you watch a lot of movies or dramas while spending time at home? Takato: Everyday I was watching about 3-4 things. That’s about all I did that was fun. I was also able to think about a lot of things, and thought it would be good if I could take the knowledge I accumulated in that time and put it to use the next time I was able to work.

Kondou-san, did you spend the time doing anything new? Shouri: Mmm......... Daigo & Akana: I’m expecting him to say something really funny. (laughs) Shouri: What was I doing... I was eating. Takato: What kind of answer is that?! (laughs)

Kondou-san, you were also doing insta-lives, weren’t you? Shouri: Oh yeah. I tried a “I’m going to make Tiramisu!” video and failed really hard... Everyone: (explosive laughter)

The fan comments were pretty lively for that one. (laughs) The merengue wasn’t foaming at all, but you kept trying to force other ingredients in, so there was a flood of comments screaming, “NOT YET!” (laughs) Shouri: About an hour before that stream, I’d managed to make a really yummy cheesecake, so I thought I’d challenge myself. I was thinking, “I have a good sense for this, maybe I can be a pâtissier,” but then that one was just a complete loss. But for a moment I had thought, “Maybe I’ll become a YouTuber.” (laughs) Takato: Ahahha! Why do you immediately jump to that?! (laughs) Shouri: Well I don’t have any specialties to bring to this work like singing or dancing. So I sort of thought I needed to develop a new skill and I thought about it a lot... I wanted to learn something new, so I was even thinking about starting ballpoint pen calligraphy. Takato: Hm? Does that have anything to do with work? Shouri: Well, once I realized it wouldn’t, I just watched an old drama and cried by myself. Everyone: (explosive laughter)

Well we’re all worked up now, but we’ve reached the end of our time, so lastly if you could all give a message to highlight this play. Takato: I’m confident that we’re going to make this the most fun play out of all ten in the Engeki Haikyuu series, so please come to see us! Shouri: There are going to be a lot of scenes that are going to make fans of the manga go, “Ah, it’s that scene!” It’s going to be something that longtime fans of Engeki Haikyuu will really enjoy. But even for people who will be seeing Engeki Haikyuu for the first time, as a stand-alone production, they’ll be able to enjoy themselves plenty. For me right now, “The Tokyo Battle” production is the one that’s etched into my mind as the best, but we’re going to go beyond that and make it so that we’ll wrap up our final show feeling like “The Battle of the Trash Heap” is the absolute best. We’re going to tackle this with everything we’ve got, so please look forward to it.

And then once the “Battle of the Trash Heap” DVD is out, you’ll watch it and cry. (laughs) Takato: I mean in the scene where he’s crying, he’s the only one crying, isn’t it a bit creepy? Shouri: No no! I’m not just crying because I see myself crying on-screen, it’s because I start remembering my emotions from that time and then I start crying! Daigo: I sort of understand that feeling. Shouri: In “The Tokyo Battle,” it was a scene where I said that I definitely wouldn’t cry, but then I saw Noah (who played Lev) get teary-eyed, and then I started crying. I was really planning on pushing through it, but then I saw the DVD and I was really crying a lot, so I’m super embarrassed. (laughs) Takato: Because everyone calls that scene the “Shouri cries scene.” Because Shouri’s tears just wash everything away. (laughs) Everyone: (laughs)

And moving on, Akana-san, if you would. Akana: The Battle of the Trash Heap is the most popular match of the series, so we’re all worked up more than usual. We definitely want to make something that surpasses everyone’s expectations, so please look forward to it. It’s precisely because we’re so frustrated that the previous tour, “The Strongest Challengers” ended after 4 performances that we’re going to make sure this production makes it safely to the last show. Everyone in the company is going to do our best to that end!

And lastly, Daigo-san, if you would. Daigo: First I would say that a highlight of this play is going to be its freshness. We can’t let down our guard in the current situation, but it’s because we had this time where we couldn’t perform that everyone on the cast is so grateful that we’re able to return to rehearsals and face opening night. We’re approaching this play sincerely and with renewed spirit, and I can just feel it in my skin. Everyone has been waiting to be able to just simply enjoy working on a play, so I think it’s going to be an exciting production with a lot of emotions mixed in. I’m personally very excited. Please look forward to it and come to see us at the theater!

=====

You can read the original Japanese interview here: (x)

Please do not repost my translations! This includes screenshots of bits and pieces taken out of context, especially if they don’t link back to this full post. If you appreciate the work I do for this blog and want to support my translation efforts please consider donating a ko-fi! (x)

#Engeki Haikyuu #Hyper Projection Engeki Haikyuu #The Dumpster Battle #Battle of the Trash Heap #Karasuno vs Nekoma #interview translation #daigo kotarou #akana ryuunosuke #kondou shouri #nagata takato

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christinesficrecs · 4 years

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Hey Christine, I hope you are doing fine in these strange times. I wanted to ask you if you happen to know any good fics where Derek is 10 - 20 years older than Stiles. I once read a fic where Derek was Sheriff Stilinskies friend and falls in love with his 18 year old son Stiles. But I can't find it anymore. Maybe you know it. Thank you for everything you do for us.

Hey! Strange indeed. 😱 I hope you are well! I think I might know which fic you mean but the rest I’m totally just guessing at. 🤷🏻‍♀️ I do read older!derek it’s just usually completely by accident.

Also, you could try the big brother tag here and maybe the businessman!derek tag here.

I Just Wanna Be With You Every Day by Brego_Mellon_Nin | 33.9K | Explicit

When his best friend’s son barrels into the kitchen only dressed in a pair of skintight jeans, lean but defined torso on display, Derek knows he’s truly and utterly fucked. Not only is the kid barely eighteen, but he also happens to be the Sheriff’s only son.

Derek makes a vow to himself that he will not seek Stiles out and he’ll get this thing under control.

Wolf Pack: Beacon Original by Beerwolves, fearfrost1211 | 33.1K

When his father landed the Deputy Chief of police position in Beacon Hills, Stiles moved to his new town gladly, embracing the chance of a fresh start. What he didn’t expect was to find himself hopelessly drawn to the gruff Vice President of the local motorcycle gang, the Wolf Pack. Derek Hale, resident bad boy of Beacon Hills, spent his time helping his sister lead the Wolf Pack and working on motorcycles at his family’s automotive garage. Then, one hot summer afternoon a bright-eyed boy walked into his life and turned his world upside down.

How Derek Got His Groove Back by WhoNatural | 4.3K | Explicit

Cora kicks him under the table. “Do you have the hots for the baby lawyer?” she hisses urgently, and Derek blinks at her, feeling his face heat.

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s young enough to be my--”

“Younger brother,” she cuts in, and shakes her head. “Age difference excuses do not fly with me. Are you gonna ask him out? Derek, you need to do something about that.”

“About what?” he says, frowning, watching as Stiles sits down at a table with a group of older, lawyer-types.

“The fact that you’re both about one drink away from sex in some janitor’s closet.”

Hallways by KeriArentikai | 2.5K | Explicit | Series

The five friends sat at a table in the student union building, laughing over their fast-food lunches.

"Okay," said Jackson, "which prof would you bang?"

"Hale," Erica, Isaac and Stiles all said together. No one was surprised at their answer.

So When Do I Get To Pledge My Loyalty To The Mob? by RedRidingStiles | 10K | Mature

Stiles loses his wallet, someone returns it along with $5,000. Shit keeps coming, Stiles life doesn't make any sense anymore, he's just going with it.

Sideways and Slantways and Longways and Backways by hologramophone | 7.7K

“I called you a slave-driver!” Stiles cried hysterically. “I called you an ogre! I stole all the blue paperclips!” Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “That’s company property!” he shouted, waving his arms madly in distress. Derek ran a hand over his face. “It’s not theft if the vice president of the company gives you permission.”

The Long Way Home by MyChemicalRachel | 19.8K | Explicit

Stiles didn’t plan to sleep with his best friend’s dad. It just kind of happened. And then it happened again. And again. And again…

The Convention by Stiles_Hale_38 | 21.6K | Explicit

Derek is at a convention, no, THE convention. The convention that Alphas meet at twice a year, every year, to pick their omega.

Derek is a very well known Alpha. He's strong, has good ancestors, and has gone through lots of omega training. He knows what he's doing and everyone else knows that as well.

Derek has came to the convention before, but he just never finds anyone. He's not even sure if he wants to.

This time though, this time is different.

Strike Softly (Away From The Body) by qhuinn (tekla) | 34.5K | Explicit

Derek is a bodyguard and Stiles his spoiled, resistant client.

I Hope By the Morning by anynowforyaya | 21.4K | Mature

From the bathroom came sounds of the guy brushing his teeth. Stiles rubbed the fifty dollar bill between his fingers and felt cheap. "Dude, I'm not taking your money."

The guy spat and turned the faucet on. "Take the money. You said you lived in Queens last night? Who the hell lives in Queens."

The fifty seemed gritty in his fingers, but he put it in the back pocket of his ridiculously tight jeans, anyway. That was, like, a five-hour shift at the coffee shop where he worked, Common Grounds, with tips. "And don't call me 'dude,'" the guy continued, turning off the faucet. "I'm not your college bro. It's Derek."

Put Down in Words by paintedrecs | 203.7K | Mature

“Oh,” Stiles said, his voice coming out low and breathy, “fuck me.”

“I don’t think that’s on the syllabus, but we can check to see if there’s a spot open in any of his classes,” Scott said, grinning.

“This isn’t an actual professor, though,” Stiles insisted, unable to resist brushing his thumb over the sharp line of the man’s bearded jaw. He was laughing at something off-camera, the shot taken in three-quarters view, his coat collar casually rumpled and opened to reveal a sliver of a simple grey t-shirt. The whole thing was deliberately calculated to lend him a more accessible feel, and god help him, Stiles was falling for it.

#asks #sterek fics #ficrecs #age difference #older!derek #pattiwantsrain

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

semaphore but tastier // cedric diggory

Summary: the reader is Cedric’s best friend and they can read him like an open book

Request: hi! can i request a cedric diggory fic where the reader always bakes him smth and he feels better bc of it? 🥺 thank uu

A/N: I really hope this is okay because for some reason I am totally off my rhythm atm and it is also 1am so context also i love ced so more requests for him when i reopen are welcome

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: Triwizard tournament, injury

Anyone would think that you were conditioning him. For what, exactly, you couldn’t say, but you really couldn’t deny how pleased you were to see that handsome smile on his lips. Cedric was your best friend, though, so of course, you wanted to make him happy; it was only natural. And if you found a way to do that via a means as easy as just baking for him, then why for Merlin’s sake wouldn’t you? That was your story, if anyone asked, and that was what you were sticking to. It was nothing to do with any secret, personal, intimate feelings you had for him and that was that.

The first time, really, it’d been an accident; just a happy little coincidence. You just happened to be holding one of your mum’s home-baked Apple Danishes when you saw Ced looking positively tragic in the library, mourning over his Transfiguration essay. All it took to turn his frown upside down was an eye roll and a carefully deposited pastry in his lap - he was clearly a man of simple taste. It’d always been like that with the two of you, actually: you found that you could read him like a children’s book. A very simple children’s book with very few words and lots of very pretty pictures.

It was because of that that you always knew the one thing that never failed to make his day; one of your mum’s freshly-baked sweet treats. It had even worked when he broke up with his girlfriend, something you were not as ‘unnervingly pleased about’ as your friends had teased, thank you very much. Food was your go-to, though, and it always, always worked. Well, mostly always.

Cedric wasn’t upset often. Somehow, it was as if it went against his very nature to be anything but smiling, anything but quietly confident and wonderfully charming. So, when you strolled towards the Great Hall, spotting him and quickening your steps to fall in line with his steady gait, you were surprised to see him scowling.

“Hello,” you grinned, raising your eyebrows as he turned to you, the wrinkle between his eyebrows ironing out slightly at the sight of your smiling face.

You both stopped to wait for the staircase and his brows sunk again, his jaw clenching.

“Hi,” he said, exhaling out of his nose. You smirked, grabbing his chin gently and pushing his cheeks together, making a face. Your fingers lingered on his chiselled jaw.

“Why do you look so cross, Mr Grumpy Pants?” you asked, letting go of him as you started up the stairs.

A reluctant smile tugged at his lips, but you could tell that despite his amusement, there was still something bothering him, creasing his brow.

“Seriously, Ced,” you said, bumping his shoulder as you walked side-by-side down the corridor. “What’s up?”

He stopped short, looking down at the cobblestone floor. You took a moment to trail your eyes down his profile.

“Do you think I should put my name in the Goblet?”

Your eyes darted to meet his grey gaze, your mouth drying up at his words.

“For the Triwizard Tournament?” he said as if he needed to.

You frowned, opening your mouth before closing it again quickly.

“I might need more than a strudel for this one,” you said, trying to make him laugh. Despite your hesitance at the idea, you were glad to see him chuckle, shaking his head at your little joke.

To say you were nervous would be an understatement. The whole concept of Cedric, your Cedric, being part of the deadliest wizard competition in history was throwing you for a loop and he hadn’t even been selected yet. As you sat in the Great Hall, though, at the Halloween Feast with your heart in your throat and your eyes solidly on Cedric, some part of you knew that no one else could be the Hogwarts Champion. Not if he couldn’t.

“Do you think he’ll be picked?” your friend asked, leaning backwards to get a better look at the already selected Durmstrang and Beauxbatons champions. You didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“Yes,” you said, surprising yourself at how shaky your voice was. “I’m almost certain.”

“Oh, right, because he’s so handsome and brave and smart and kind and wonderful,” she mocked, her voice barely audible over the clapping.

You turned to her, making a face and pretending to mouth what she’d said, earning a slap on the arm. You were too busy squabbling to hear Dumbledore’s preamble, but you sure heard it when he read out the name of the first Hogwarts champion. At the time, though, you weren’t to know there’d be a second. The whole hall erupted at Cedric’s name and despite yourself, you found you were jumping to your feet, cheering and clapping along with everyone else, whistling and finding yourself swept along by the glee of it all, proud actually, of your best friend.

It wasn’t until the dragons that the true fear and nervousness sunk in. You were on autopilot as you crept around the Waiting Tent before the first task, your stomach in knots as you hoped somehow you would find him. Ever since he’d told you that Harry Potter had told him about the dragons, you’d been dreading the day, probably more scared for his safety than he was. You were far too distracted by the thought of something happening to him and the weight of the cream pie heavy in your palm to be completely focused. A rock twisted under your foot and you lost your balance. With a yelp, you ended up pushing through the tent, the fabric separating around your hands as you landed on the floor with a thud. You groaned, officially winded by your own clumsiness.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice said softly, riddled with confusion

You looked up to see Cedric, the man of the hour, with an amused smirk and raised eyebrows.

“You alright, Ced?” you asked casually as if you hadn’t just tripped straight through the wall. Shifting to get up, you were grateful to feel his hands on your arms as he helped you to your feet.

“Better now.”

He grinned at you for a moment, the yellow of his uniform tinting his skin perfectly. You blinked.

“I uh-“ you swallowed, blinking again. “I brought you this.”

You offered him the pastry in your outstretched palm, frowning at how sad it looked, slightly crushed and deformed by your little fall.

Opening your mouth to apologise, you squished the dessert in your grip, surprised as Cedric threw his arms around you, pulling you into him tightly. A grunt left your lips and if you weren’t already disorientated by the hug, the sound of a shutter and a bright camera flash made sure to do the trick. You both pulled away sharply and you would’ve fallen again had Cedric not placed his hand on your back to steady you.

“Wow,” a woman said shrilly. “Isn’t young love beautiful?”

You opened your mouth to correct her, but your words lodged in your throat when you noticed the floating quill beside her head. Your brain connected the dots and you found yourself taking an instant disliking to Rita Skeeter, a journalist Ced had complained about when he first got interviewed.

“That’ll make the front page if today goes poorly,” she mused, pursing her lips and tilting her head to the side. “And what a pretty page that’ll be, a couple like you.”

“Excuse me,” you said indignantly, immediately defensive. You didn’t get to finish before she was accosted by the Durmstrang champion, Krum.

“Sorry about that,” Ced said, his hand leaving your back as you turned to face him, his fingers skimming your arm distracting you entirely.

“Sorry about this,” you replied, lifting up the almost unrecognisable cream pie in your hand, the filling squeezing into the plastic bag around it.

“Don’t be, I think it has a certain charm.”

“I’ll give it to you now in case-“ Your voice broke.

“Hey,” he said, cupping your elbow gently. “I’ll be fine.”

Your vision blurred with tears and even his fingertips brushing your cheek lightly couldn’t salvage the sinking feeling in your stomach.

“Do you not trust me?” he asked a playful grin on his lips. You glared through your tears, pushing against his chest softly.

“You know I do.”

“Then you know that I’ll be fine. It’s just a dragon, what’s the worst that could happen?”

You inhaled, but he’d known you long enough to know the lengthy list of your response and insisted on stopping it in its tracks.

“It’ll be okay. Besides, I have to eat this…” he paused, frowning at the decimated pastry in your hand.

“It was a cream pie.”

“Ah.”

“Champions!” Dumbledore yelled, thundering into the tent and reminding you that you definitely were not supposed to be there. You looked at Cedric as he turned back to you and it was clear that you both reluctantly knew that you had to leave. You stared at him for a moment, brows drawn together, before you shoved the bag you held into his hand and gave it a squeeze. Leaning up, you pecked him on the cheek and immediately stepped away, not quite ready to deal with the aftermath of that particular decision.

“Please be safe, Ced.”

True to his word, he was okay. You’d almost had a heart attack when the Swedish Short-Snout got close to him, but you were beyond happy to see him in the Hufflepuff Common Room, sitting like a king with a mushed-up cream pie in his grasp. You were not at all impressed to see the burn on his face, though, and you were in half a mind to chew him out over it until he spotted you across the room. Immediately, he was stalking over to you and you found yourself doing the same, rushing towards him. You met halfway, throwing your arms around his neck and burrowing your head into his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

“I told you I’d be okay,” he whispered, his free hand rubbing gently up and down your back so lightly you thought you might faint.

He waited until you were there to open the egg and you definitely wished he hadn’t when a horrible screeching noise filled the air. The days that followed as he tried to figure out the contraption, you realised that the Triwizard Tournament had taken over your entire life. For months, what would happen next and more importantly, Ced’s safety had become your first priority and undeniably, that thought scared you. You listened dutifully, as a good friend should when he told you about the advice from Professor Moody to open the golden egg underwater, or when he talked about Harry or the next task, but anyone could tell you were distracted as you tried to imagine what you would do if anything happened to him. Your mind ran away with ideas of something happening to him with you having never told him how you actually felt.

“So,” Cedric said, elbowing you and breaking you out of your reverie one lunchtime. You’d imagined him a lot in the recent days and as you turned to him, your heart stopped a little to see his face in person, as handsome as ever.

“Why are you being strange?”

“I’m not being strange,” you said, though it came out more like a question.

“So, why have you been staring into the distance for the last fifteen minutes, then?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and biting into an apple.

You felt heat rush to your face and you looked down, trying to hide.

“At first I thought you just wanted to let me down gently.”

“Gently about what?”

You shoved the food on your plate around with your fork, desperately unhungry.

“The Yule Ball.”

“What about it?” you asked, frowning as Ced leant over your forearm and placed a strange looking bun on the table in front of you.

“I want you to go with me,” he said softly, his eyes nervous as you made eye contact. Why on Earth would Ced be nervous, you thought, assuming you were mistaken.

“You want to go with me?”

You’d been examining the bun closely when you looked up at him, your fingertips sinking into the delicate white icing as you froze. You couldn’t quite keep up with what was happening and you found yourself blinking far too much, your chest tightening in the process.

“You don’t have to-“

“Don’t you want to go with Cho Chang? Or that Granger girl? Or-“

“Why are trying to talk me out of asking you?”

You looked down, desperately aware of his eyes on you as you peeled your fingers from the sticky icing.

“What’s this?” you asked, nodding to it.

“Something to sweeten the deal,” he said and you could hear the distinct smile in his voice. “Also, you looked sad and you always bake me things with I’m sad.”

“Did you bake this?” you turned to him, frowning, the sound of your heartbeat growing louder in your ears.

“No,” he scoffed, shaking his head and taking another bite of his apple. “I’m just very nice to the house-elves.”

You smiled, huffing a laugh at his pleased expression.

“I don’t think I can go with you, Ced,” you admitted, swallowing gruffly and avoiding his eyes. “To the ball.”

“Why not?”

His voice was small and you wish you hadn’t known him well enough to hear the hurt in it.

“Because to you, it would just be as friends.” You paused, an odd regretful relief flooding through you. “And I like you way more than a friend should.”

“I’m not asking you as a friend,” he said.

You frowned, your eyes lifting up and to the side, before you turned to face him, surprised to see him quietly cocky and not at all like you’d ruined his life by admitting your feelings, as you’d expected you would.

“As a best friend?” you asked, your voice unmistakably hopeful.

You watched a smirk play on his lips and a mischievous glint sparkle in his eye and something you’d never felt before stirred in your chest. He finally broke eye contact, shaking his head and looking down.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

harry potter tag list:

@creator-appreciator

@loveisblindness

@xinyourdreamsx

@brainlesspasta

@hariosborn

@staringmoony

@rexorangecouny

@alittletoomanyobsessions

@peachesandpinks

@yuptha-tsme

@obsessedwithrandomthings

@dreamer821

@iprobablyshipit91

#Harry Potter imagine #harry potter #cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #writing #imagine

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