#and i only have a FAINT memory of that. i’m missing the entire second half of the night
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think i got roofied at the party i was at on friday 😃
#plant rant#it’s possible i wasn’t. but i went from ‘i’ve had a few drinks’ to ‘stumbling around outside on my own crying and calling my mum’#and i only have a FAINT memory of that. i’m missing the entire second half of the night#like. don’t remember leaving the flat. don’t remember saying goodbye to anyone.#fuck i don’t even remember pouring myself more than about two drinks#someone must have put something in my drink while i was at the toilet#fucks sake man#i only knew one person there and she immediately went off and started talking to her other friends without introducing me to anyone as well#she should have noticed something was up :-( why did she let me leave on my own#what if something had happened to me#fucking lucky my mum could come and get me tbh#anyway. it’s all good. but kind of crazy
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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 | 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: every summer on your grandpa's farm was real-life magic to your younger self, who left a piece of her heart in amber valley when the years went on and the town became nothing but a faint childhood memory. soon enough, you become rocked by his death and realize the dead end in your bustling city world. this leads to you making an abrupt decision.
despite knowing nothing but designer purses and the corporate ladder, you uproot your entire life to take over your grandfather's old farm in the town you were desperately trying to remember - alongside a familiar face from your youth that permanently finds his way into your heart.
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jungkook/reader
𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. inspired heavily by stardew valley, friends to lovers, childhood friends, cowboy jungkook, small town alternate universe, slice of life, grief, growing up, mutual pining
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓. 4.6k
𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒. n/a
part three: the letters, the saloon and the second storm ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ previous. next. masterlist
vi. the letters
september 2nd 2008 (age 9)
dear jungkook,
my mom said i should write you letters. i don’t really know what to say here. you better be visiting marshmallow and be nice to her while i’m gone. i miss her a lot. i guess i miss having you around since i don’t have anyone to play guitar hero with…
p.s. happy late birthday maybe i can visit and come to your party next year if my mom lets me
from y/n
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
january 19th 2009 (age 10)
dear y/n,
i learned how to skate for the first time. it’s too bad the ice will be gone when you’re back and we won’t get to skate together. i can’t believe we’ll be in middle school soon. are you scared? hoseok and namjoon say it’s not a big deal. also, i saw your grandpa yesterday and he showed me how to use a tapper on a maple tree. so cool!
p.s. you should ask your mom if you can visit earlier this year
from jungkook
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
april 23rd 2009 (age 10)
HEY JUNGKOOK,
look inside the box, i sent you a book with this letter. i told you in my last letter that i would send you one. it’s astronomy for dummies (because you’re a dummy). you better read it before i come back to grandpa’s, okay?? you have a month and a half loser.
from y/n
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
september 30th 2009 (age 10)
hi y/n,
jimin sprained his ankle during gym class. your grandpa told me to write that because it probably just made your day. i feel a little bit bad for him, the nurse at our school is really mean. also i know it’s a month away but i’m so excited for halloween. my dad got me this really cool goku costume. what are you gonna dress up as?
from jungkook
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
february 4th 2010 (age 11)
jungkook,
i’m so tired of my parents fighting all the time. all they do is yell. i can’t wait to be back in amber valley so i don’t have to hear them all the time. i wish i had your parents, they’re so nice. also i hate my class. it’s so hard to be friends with the girls that sit next to me, they always leave me out of things. don’t you miss elementary school?
from y/n
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
may 17th 2010 (age 11)
dear y/n,
guess what. my dad got me a skateboard!! it’s so cool. if you’re nice to me i’ll let you borrow it. we should see who can do the coolest trick. it’ll be me of course i’m better than you at everything LOL. you better hurry and come back!
from jungkook
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
november 25th 2010 (age 11)
hi jungkook,
i can’t believe i’ll only be living with my dad soon. do you think my mom doesn’t want me? honestly, i’d rather just live with grandpa all the time. then i could see marshmallow everyday all year! or maybe you can convince your mom to take me in. actually, i take that back, i could never live with you. you’re so messy.
p.s. i got my own skateboard!! it’s cold now but i’m gonna practice and bring it with me next summer
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ***
february 18th 2011 (age 12)
y/n,
i know you’re super sad and stuff. i’m sorry about your parents. we’re gonna have the best summer ever though and maybe you won’t think so much about it. look at the bucket list i made!
eat breakfast for dinner
watch the captain america movie
ride the big kids ride at the midsummer fair (i’m tall enough now so you better be too)
stay up all night
make ice cream
if you have any ideas, add on! hope you’re doing okay :(
from jungkook
vii. the saloon
when jungkook mentioned the saloon to you, you thought it was a joke poking at the countryside life.
“oh, it’s actually called a saloon. like, unironically. that’s what the text said,” you rambled into your phone, edged between your ear and shoulder, as you stood in your kitchen in front of your laptop.
on the screen, you were assembling an excel sheet of sorts to assist your navigation through the business side of the farm. thankfully, this was exactly the field you had long worked and studied in and knowing this before taking on your new role made the transition far easier. there was hardly any product to be profiting from, as you had just arrived, and you were preparing the document before the time came to deal with vendors and other local businesses.
“oh, honey, that place has actually been called ‘the saloon’ ever since i was a little girl,” your mom’s voice chimed in from the other end.
since the turn of your early twenties, your phone calls to your parents were far and few between and you could hear the surprise in her tone when she initially picked up. but, your grandpa’s letter seemed to be growing truer everyday, as your surroundings made drew you to reconnect with what you thought was to be lost.
eyebrows furrowed, you continued to scroll through your work. “mom, do you think he meant it as a date? i can’t do a date, i literally just got here!”
“calm down. it’s that amber valley hospitality. but,” your mom paused, “you did have crushes on each other growing up.”
“mom, no way - “
she merely laughed. “it was so obvious! you mailed a valentine’s day card to jungkook every year. one time, he punched little jimin because he called you ‘jungkook’s ugly girlfriend.’”
“and then he screamed that i wasn’t ugly. huh, i do remember that,” you began to think.
spending time reminiscing with your mom momentarily distracted you from the anxiety you felt, waiting for the evening to come. jungkook did end up texting you, asking if you were coming down to the saloon for the birthday surprise. you looked away and closed your eyes when you pressed ‘send’ on the confirmation that you would drop by.
the idea made you nervous only because it had been so long since you went out and met new people. there was no such thing as free time in your old life and you really only maintained surface-level friendships with your coworkers in your last year of the job. however, knowing amber valley and the tight-knit community, it was only a matter of time before you got acquainted with everyone, whether you liked it or not.
by the time it was six, you’d forced yourself to get changed and inspected your outfit several times before leaving. the last thing you wanted to do was stand out too much. so, you put on your favourite denim jeans and a plain long sleeve top, putting away your go-to strappy stilettos for the night.
making your way into town was quick and soon enough, you found the pub situated in between the flower shop and the hardware store. it definitely looked like it’d been around since your mom was a little girl, the exterior siding showing age with chips here and there.
“hey y/n.”
you jumped, having not paid attention to your surroundings. turning around, it was taehyung holding a box adorned in magenta polka dot wrapping. he wore a similar outfit to the one from the day before, except a different cowboy hat. you wondered if there was a store in town that specialized in selling just these hats.
“hi taehyung. is this for jin?” you offered a smile, gesturing to the box.
a pleased grin formed on taehyung’s face. “yup. i’m pretty sure i got him the best gift out of everyone, but don’t tell anyone.”
he walked ahead of you and opened the door, pausing. you realized he was opening it for you and you quickly thanked him, going right in. small town hospitality.
it was saturday evening, but to your surprise, there were hardly any patrons in the bar. taehyung then pointed to a sign by the door, which you missed completely. it read: ‘private event, invite only.’
“oh, wow, am i v.i.p?” you joked, following him to the back of the room, where a stack of presents were grouped on one table.
“of course! you’re jungkook’s friend, after all,” he exclaimed, setting his box down with the others. “you guys go way back, huh? how long has it been since you guys since saw each other?”
you counted in your head. “i think twelve or thirteen years. a while.”
“what, no facebook back in the day?” he teased.
“no, he was never nearly fond of that. after i stopped coming for the summers, we lost contact completely.” you couldn’t recall any attempts for continued communication afterwards, other than your grandpa offering updates here and there about him. “we used to write, but i don’t know what happened. . .”
for a while, you wondered why jungkook never wrote you again after you stopped coming to the valley. admittedly, looking back, it hurt your preteen self that he never tried. but, eventually, you moved on and left jungkook in your childhood.
taehyung nodded slowly. “so. . .you didn’t know about what happened?”
you already knew what he was talking about and squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment. “no. i felt really bad about it.”
“it’s okay. since i moved to town, i’ve really admired jungkook. if there’s any sort of pain, he hides it really well for the sake of others,” he said, leaning on the wall.
that sounded like the jungkook you remembered. he was always the type to put others before himself, no matter how small the issue. then, you began thinking about jiwon.
“taehyung, can i ask you something?” you suddenly said. “jiwon. she’s only nine. and jungkook doesn’t have any other family. . .”
the smile at the corner of taehyung’s lips was sad. “yeah. jungkook is her primary guardian and has been since he was nineteen.”
the answer seemed to weigh a hundred pounds and you had to take a second to take it all in. there were so many questions that formed, floating around your head and you couldn't seem to find the words to articulate any of them. before you could even try, you jumped again at the sudden appearance of two new individuals, one of them being jungkook himself and forced you to put away your thoughts.
“we’re behind schedule, did yoongi put the cake in the fridge?” this new person was turned to taehyung, carrying a case of beer. “we need - oh, hi! y/n! i totally remember you, i heard you were back!”
you’d never seen someone with such energy, exhibiting positivity like a ray of sunshine. it seemed like he was genuinely delighted to see you. taking a closer look at his features, you recognized him to be jung hoseok - jungkook’s next door neighbour. he put down the case in his hands and immediately pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.
“hoseok, hi!” you winced, trying your best to hug him back, but it certainly made you burst into a giggle.
he was the first person to remember you on the spot, which took you aback. a few years older than you, you weren’t as close with him as you were with jungkook growing up, but he was always around. you remember him as the big brother who showed you and jungkook the cool ‘older kid’ shows and games that your parents would have never let you watch at that young age.
“how have you been? you look so grown up! you’re really staying here for good?” the questions were rapid-fire, one after another.
beside him, jungkook was smiling, but tapped hoseok to bring him back into the main conversation. “hyung. hyung! we’re behind schedule, remember?” he groaned, but grinned wider when you met his eyes. “nice to see you, though, bunny. really glad you came.”
“oh, right.” hoseok quickly let go and cleared his throat, beginning to point to each of you with authority. “you, taehyung. go help jimin with the slideshow. namjoon has the pinata.”
pinata? how old was this jin person, was he one of jiwon’s friends?
“you, jungkook. jin said he’s five minutes away, we need you to distract him for a bit longer.”
“can i help?” you piped in, feeling a bit out of place. “i mean, i’m here as a last minute guest, i’m happy to help in any way.”
hoseok clapped his hands together in glee. “thank you, y/n! go help jungkook distract jin, you being there will give him a reason to yap on. let’s go team!” he raised his fist in encouragement and in the blink of an eye, he already dashed off.
at this, jungkook seemed unfazed and frankly, so were you. you remember hoseok’s personality to be like this - extremely vigorous and could never sit in one place. on the other hand, taehyung looked perplexed as much as he appeared amused. he only shrugged, picking up the case of beer that hoseok clearly forgot.
“let’s go team, i guess. i’ll see you guys in a bit!” taehyung chuckled, walking off.
you were expecting to be asked to move around chairs or help bring out food. this wasn’t quite in your cards. you turned to jungkook in confusion, who chuckled at your expression.
“come follow me.”
he led the two of you back out the saloon, hands in his jean pockets. the early summer air was stunningly humid and coming outside was like hitting a muggy and sticky wall. but, there was one thing that couldn’t be replaced.
you couldn’t help but stare up at the sky, a fixed gaze. “you can really see the stars when you’re in the valley.”
the stars, dotted across the night, twinkled and smiled down at you. it was a view that others only romanticized and dreamt of in carefully crafted paintings and poems made to move the soul. and now, this dream was your new home.
jungkook mimicked the way you tilted your head up, lost with his own gaze. “i’ve lived here all my life and i never get tired of it.”
“i can’t believe i forgot about this. . .” you trailed off.
he pointed out to the sky. “that one is ursa major and you can see - “
“ - the big dipper,” the two of you said in unison, which led to a shared laughter.
astronomy was one of your biggest interests growing up, having stacks of books and a tapestry of the night sky in your childhood bedroom. your bedroom in the farmhouse also had a shelf full of astronomy books, which your grandpa still kept until his passing. having ignored the task of organizing and arranging your new bedroom, which was the same room you occupied over your summers in amber valley, you made a note to go through this shelf when you arrived home.
jungkook said, “you’re the one that taught me about that,” he turned back to you. “you actually used to randomly quiz me on constellations, it was really stressful.”
you could see your younger self sitting on your grandpa’s porch steps with jungkook, who lazied on the hammock across from you. you would compile actual multiple-choice questions and threw pebbles at him whenever he got an answer wrong. eventually, your grandpa scolded you for that, so you changed your weapon of choice to toy balls.
“i guess my lessons paid off, though,” you bantered.
following this, you heard a person shout jungkook’s name. you looked over and saw a man walking in your direction. he was tall and handsome and his smile was inviting. a little too handsome, he reminded you of models you’d seen in high fashion ads. his clothes contributed to the image, a patterned short sleeve button down and t-shirt that gave off neat and put-together. he wore jeans like what seemed to be 90 percent of the town, but you noticed the luxury brand belt.
“oh, seokjin!” to this, jungkook nudged you, as if signalling for you to be ready for something.
this was jin? the birthday boy with a pinata? he had to be around hoseok’s age.
“hey! hoseok told me to meet him here, have you see him?” seokjin began looking around. “he is working tonight, right?”
“uh, did he?” jungkook’s tone was not convincing and you couldn’t believe the hoseok made such a horrible liar be the distraction. “i think he is, want me to call him?”
“um, yeah. he said he was returning something he borrowed from me.” seokjin looked at him strangely. “why don’t i just go inside and check? why are you just waiting out here?”
“this is y/n!” jungkook suddenly blurted out, seemingly having no way around the conversation. his smile was painful and avoided making eye contact.
your eyes went wide and seokjin turned to you, having not realized there was another person in his presence. “oh, i’m so sorry! i didn’t see you there.”
“yeah, hi, that’s me. y/n.” this time, it was jungkook looking at you like you were the least convincing person in the world. you cleared your throat and offered a handshake to seokjin.
seokjin didn’t seem to notice your awkwardness and took your hand. “it’s really nice to meet you. jungkook actually told me a lot about you!” it was subtle, but you could hear jungkook groan.
you raised your eyebrows at jungkook. “oh, did he?”
“you guys grew up together, right? and you’re taking over the old farm?”
although you could tell right off the bat that seokjin wasn’t from amber valley, his deamanour was just as welcoming and friendly. he asked you a few questions about where you’re from and how settling in was.
“i’m sure you’ll be a natural. it sounds like you already have a lot of experience!” seokjin exclaimed and his positivity gave you genuine reassurance. “we’re all friends around here, so don’t be shy to reach out if you need anything.”
“thank you,” you replied.
jungkook tried to regain his composure. “seokjin runs the bakery down the street.”
“yeah! my wife and i used to buy eggs from your grandpa all the time, hopefully we can keep doing that,” seokjin winked at you.
then, the front door of the saloon cracked open just enough for hoseok to poke his head outside. there was no sign of activity from the inside, with the lights now off and all voices coming to a complete silence.
seokjin tilted his head slightly when looking at hoseok. “there you are. are you. . closed? the bar is closed on a saturday night?” he asked.
“yeah, uh, plumbing issues,” hoseok’s eyes darted over to you and jungkook. “y/n, jungkook! what brings you here around this time of day? you should all come in!”
despite the growing skepticsm etched on his face, seokjin glanced over to you two and shrugged. he followed his friend’s gesture to come inside.
you mumbled to jungkook, “you and your friends are all terrible liars.” to this, jungkook stifled a laugh and playfully jabbed his elbow into your arm.
hoseok opened the door wider and seokjin went in first, while you and jungkook trailed after. you were surprised at how well they made the interior appear deserted, with not a single soul in sight. you did noticed that they even stacked the chairs on the tables, as if the establishment was really closed.
“by the way, hoseok is the manager of the saloon,” jungkook leaned into your ear and whispered.
the floorboards creaked with every step, only adding onto the heavy silence in the atmosphere. seokjin looked around, eyebrows furrowed. he cleared his throat, hoping to cut the awkward tension.
seokjin started, “so, y/n, what happened with you and ju - “
“surprise!”
all of the lights flickered on and filled the room. upbeat music turned on suddenly, causing seokjin to jump and yelp. two dozen or so people popped out from random places - underneath the booths, from behind the walls, and from behind the bar. balloons and streamers began spilling out from out of nowhere.
“happy birthday seokjin!” everyone yelled in unison.
you awkwardly tried to join in once you caught onto what everyone was saying. despite that, the high energy ended up engulfing you and you couldn’t help but smile. some of the boys started throwing streamers at seokjin, while namjoon appeared from under the bar with a lit chocolate cake and began approaching the birthday boy in question.
“thanks, y/n!” hoseok nudged you, as everyone began singing to seokjin. “it’s exciting that you’re around again!”
as the song concluded and seokjin enthusastically blew out his candles, you cheered along with everyone else. over the cheering, jungkook found his way to you again. he raised his hand, offering a high-five, which you immediately accepted.
something about the atmosphere unlocked something inside you. within days, you were welcomed into the community and for the first time in a long time, saw people that could become your actual friends. maybe this was what your grandpa was talking about.
“yeah,” jungkook added, “it is exciting that you’re around again.”
“real connections. . .” you muttered to yourself, remembering the contents of your grandpa’s letter.
the yelling got louder, as the partygoers chanted for seokjin to make a speech. “huh, what did you say?” jungkook shouted over the chanting.
“nothing!”
you weren’t prepared for the next part of grandpa’s wish for you. it was a surprise to you that you were able to ease into the town and become comfortable connecting with the people around you. at the end of the day, though, you had a farm to run and you were about to face the worst of it.
viii. the second storm
your grandpa’s last wishes for you were to reconnect with people and nature. nature. you didn’t realize what you were getting yourself into.
“oh my god! why does mother nature hate me?!”
the best thing about living in a big farmhouse by yourself was the fact that you could make as much noise as you wanted. you often found yourself yelling at the top of your lungs, shrieking like a bird when you came across anything frustrating. considering you were learning an entirely new job on your own, it happened quite often.
you screamed into the void after your first phone call with a vendor, who kept on asking you if you knew what you were doing. you swore you almost broke your vocal cords when you sunk into the mud the first time you checked out the fields after a rainy night. at least you walked away several metres from the coop before you screeched in agony after the chickens gave you a hard morning on time.
when a soft knock on your front door interrupted your emotional breakdown, your heart stopped.
“fuck!” you whispered to yourself.
who would be visiting you? what if it was someone important, like mayor kim? maybe they didn’t hear - no, they definitely heard.
you tentatively approached the door and took a deep breathe before swinging it open.
“i didn’t know you started tending to hyenas on the farm.”
it was jungkook with a lazy, shit-eating grin. it was early in the morning, about 8am, and he wore workout clothes. baggy grey sweatpants and a white nike tank-top, you felt like you were straining to keep your eyes on his face and not anywhere else.
“oh, shut it. good morning to you, too,” you shot back. “to what do i owe the pleasure?”
“sorry, i would’ve texted, but i was already passing by on my run,” jungkook said.
it’d been about a week since you last saw him, though he was nice enough to check in on you every once in a while to see if you were doing okay with the farm. you hardly left home, used to the same routine of working and going right to bed everyday from your old life and the habit was hard to break.
he continued, “anyway, i saw your windows hanging from outside and i just wanted to make sure - “
you opened the front door wider for him to see the state of your front entryway and his jaw dropped. there was water everywhere on the floor. the storm from the night before was aggressive and the age of the house couldn’t stand it. you didn’t anticipate for it to be this bad, having just shoved the windows closed before you went to bed.
“yeah, they’re wrecked,” you sighed, looking over to what was left of it, considering most of it was on the ground. “actually, that’s why i was screaming.”
“you know, i take what i said back. totally justified.”
“thanks,” you rolled your eyes and sighed. he made a gesture as if to come in and you obliged, carefully stepping aside and making sure you weren’t stepping in a puddle. “i’m surprised this hasn’t happened before.”
he let out a low whistle, as he walked inside and took in the sight of your floors. “honestly, me neither. you would think this would’ve happened already ages ago.”
you didn’t know what else to do but shrug. “i can handle it.” despite your words, you certainly could not handle it. there were still a million things you had to take care of around the farm and dealing with broken windows and water was an incredible burden that you didn’t know where to start.
“shit. look, i have to go to work in a bit, but let me help you out,” jungkook said.
you instantly shook your head. “jungkook, no. it’s fine, really, i got it.”
“you’ve never picked up a screwdriver in your life.”
“hey, you don’t know that!” you wanted to slap him upside the head like from when you were kids, but found the strength to refrain.
it was only jokes and jungkook’s smirk showed it, but his tone then became serious. “okay, then, at least let me help you fix your windows. dude, you live alone in this big ass house on this big ass farm. just say yes.”
at this point, you could tell he was exasperated with your stubborness and you laughed at it. you weren’t one to turn down someone offering to do manual labour for you, but you were hesitant to show any lack of indepdence. though, something told you to say yes and it wasn’t jungkook’s annoyance with your persistence.
“okay, fine. you’re real annoying, you know that?” you had to add in the last part, it was only natural.
he shook his head. “thank you - oh, how lucky i am for milady to accept my lousy, peasant self to fix your windows!” at that, you shoved him playfully and when he barely moved from your push, jungkook couldn’t help but chuckle.
“i know you’re perfectly capable of doing things yourself, by the way. you just shouldn’t have to all the time,” he gave you a pointed look.
you nodded slowly, looking down at your feet. “thank you, jungkook.”
though it was only 8 in the morning, you decided to take a later start in the day, since you usually woke up at the crack of dawn. you had your entire day ahead of you and what felt like a hundred things to do and the last thing you wanted to add was a trip to the hardware store.
“of course,” he carefully tiptoed around the water, moving back to the front door. “it’s what friends are for. i’ll come by tomorrow morning, how’s that sound?”
this is not what you meant when you decided to “reconnect with nature” at all. with your fluffy indoor slippers soaked in rainwater, you were certainly more than connected with it. you made a mental note to visit the beach and call it a day, hoping that would fulfill your grandpa’s wish for you to be one with mother earth and that the forces of nature would leave you alone after that.
𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. @sstrongstyletyle @wobblewobble822 @seokoutt @firelcrds @taiwan0618
#jungkook fanfic#bts fanfic#jungkook imagine#bts au#jungkook x reader#jungkook x oc#jungkook x you#jungkook scenarios#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#bts imagine#bts scenarios#bts series#jungkook au#*** / the farmhouse.
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Can you do one with Muzan and Kokushibo (bad at spelling 😂) With y/n. You can choose the content
Hi thank you for your request!! I might have gone a little ham on this one, I recently watched a movie called “Forgotten” on Netflix, and it inspired me to write this! I hope you like it (and that it’s not a straight up rip-off of the movie ooop)
Warnings: (fake) illness, drugs, explicit gore, murder, demons eating humans, manipulation/gaslighting, badly written amnesia
Word count: 1731
Take your pills - Yandere!Muzan Kibutsuju x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Kokushibo
Muzan and Kokushibo were always right. Or at least, Y/N had to trust they were always right, since her memory is so fuzzy. When the three first met, they told Y/N that she was ill and needed treatment. They claimed it was still in the first stages, so Y/N of course didn’t notice anything yet. But as they took her to the doctor and got her these pills, her whole head has just become so fuzzy. It was hard to stay in the real world and she could barely remember what she had been doing 5 minutes ago. Y/N wrote it off as the effects of the disease and that it was progressing despite all the medication.
But some things were so odd. That doctor they took her to, was that her usual doctor? Who was that person? When did she start living at Muzan and Kokushibo’s house, and since when did they call her ‘bunny and ‘darling’? The more she thought about her situation, the more questions popped up, and the harder it became to find answers. How could she, when her conscious felt like it was floating in an endless sea?
In the end, thinking became too tiresome. She decided to save herself the useless trouble of looking for answers she wasn’t going to get, and just trust Muzan and Kokushibo. She must be ill, that’s why they’re giving her these drugs. She can’t think straight, that’s why they’re taking care of her. That’s all she knew, and all she had to know.
Y/N stood at the sink in the bathroom, with a pill and a glass of water in her hand. She was about to pop the pill in her mouth, when Muzan suddenly opened the door, startling her and causing the pill to fell out of her hand and beneath the sink.
“You scared me half to death!”
Muzan shot her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, bunny. I just wanted to tell you breakfast is ready. Did you take your pill today?”
Y/N looked at her empty hand. She thought that she hadn’t taken it yet, but it wasn’t in her hand. She tried digging through her memory, but it was no use: she didn’t remember even that. Judging from the glass of water in her hand and the absence of a pill, she probably took one. Right?
She grinned at him and said: “Of course! What’s for breakfast?”
---
Y/N awoke in the middle of the night, her eyes drowsily looking around the room. Despite having just woken up, she felt her mind was a bit clearer than it usually was. Rolling over in bed, she realised she was more aware of the softness of the sheets, the faint smell of Muzan and Kokushibo clinging to the fabric, and the warmth radiating from the empty spots where they usually slept.
Wait, empty spots?
Y/N sat up, patting the rest of the bed to see if Muzan and Kokushibo had somehow been lying at the very edges of the matrass, but it was all empty. Why were they both gone?
A scream suddenly ruptured the house. Though it was dampened by the walls, Y/N could tell it was a guttural scream of pure fear. It made the very hairs on her neck stand up. She was frozen in her bed, horrified at the silence that followed. She could only hear her own heart beat frantically in her chest.
Only when the scream came for a second time, did Y/N quickly move from the bed. The scream must have been coming from inside the house. There must be an intruder. Was someone hurting Muzan or Kokushibo? Or even worse, both of them?
She had to help them. Even if her presence would just be a distraction to stop whatever attacker was in their house for only a split second, that would be good enough.
She inched her way through the darkness of their house, following the noise, until she was right around the corner of the bathroom. The light inside was on and the screams of agony kept ringing in her ears. She grabbed her slipper as a make-shift weapon and braced herself, before jumping in the opening of the door and yelling at the top of her lungs: “Stop!”
But what she saw made her drop the slipper in her hand.
The screams weren’t coming from either Muzan or Kokushibo, but rather a deadly pale looking man in the bathtub. His eyes were red and his face was dripping with tears, snot, and blood. He was partially submerged in his own blood and was most likely the cause for all the red smears and hand prints on the bathroom tiles behind him. Even if Y/N was able to perform surgery on him, she could never save him; half of his abdomen had been hollowed out, his intestines draped out for all to see. He was littered with claw marks, and an occasional bite was missing from his limbs.
Right as Y/N had entered the bathroom, a bloodied hand had dug its way into him, tearing his flesh out. The hand belonged to Muzan, the usually neat and tidy man who now had wild eyes and a face smeared red. Kokushibo was crouching next to him, licking the blood off his fingers with that same feral look in his eyes.
With a hopeless dread in her stomach, Y/N fell to her knees. They were demons. She had been living with demons this entire time. Monsters, vicious killers, who posed as loving humans so they could have a cover and continue eating humans in peace. With shallow breaths, Y/N couldn’t stop staring at the man in the bathtub, whose horrifying final moments she was witnessing.
“Y/N? Y/N, it’s not what it looks like.”
Y/N gaze shifted to Muzan, who now turned his whole body towards her. He looked like a tiger about to pounce its prey.
“Go back to bed, Y/N,” added Kokushibo, who tried to show her a calming smile. All Y/N could see were his bloodied fangs.
Y/N shook her head fervently and crawled backwards away from them, tears stinging in her eyes. “You are monsters. You- You killed that man!”
Muzan frowned, before looking at Kokushibo. “The pills should’ve prevented this, right?”
Kokushibo stalked towards Y/N, who couldn’t move away fast enough. “I suppose there’s something we could still do to make this right.”
---
When Y/N opened her eyes, she was back in the bed. Light was shining through the curtains, announcing the start of a new day. For a moment she was lost in the warm comfort of the bed and the two bodies surrounding hers, but then she suddenly remembered the events of last night.
Her eyes shot wide open and she gasped when she saw Muzan’s face right in front of hers. With his usual gentle smile, he whispered: “Good morning, darling.”
When he attempted to brush her hair out of her face, she flinched backwards, suddenly scared of the long claws on his hands. However, she didn’t get far: Kokushibo pressed himself against her back and wrapped his arms around her stomach. After he pressed a lazy kiss on her neck, he said: “What’s wrong, bunny?”
“You killed him.”
“What?”
“You killedhim. How could you do such a thing?”
Muzan once again moved his hand to caress her face, this time succeeding since Y/N didn’t have enough room to dodge him. With a carefully crafted worried look on his face, he said: “Sounds like you had an awful nightmare.”
Y/N frowned. “What? A nightmare?”
It was quiet for a while. Kokushibo propped himself up on his arm so he could look Y/N in the face. He looked grave as he asked: “Y/N, did you take your pill yesterday?”
Y/N opened her mouth to say yes, but stopped. She didn’t remember if she took one. Did she take one? No matter how much she dug in her memory, she just didn’t know.
Seeing the confusion on her face, Muzan sighed and shook his head. As he stroked her cheek with his thumb, he spoke: “You always had terrible nightmares before we took you to the doctor. You’d wake up and be so, so scared, just like you are now. The nightmares seemed so real to you, but they aren’t. They’re just nightmares.”
Kokushibo backed him up as he rubbed Y/N’s shoulder. “We were by your side the whole night, bunny. Right here in this bed.”
Something was wrong. She knew what she saw that night. But then again, why would they have any reason to lie? If they really were demons, they’d just eat her up if she witnessed them doing something like that, right? Demons wouldn’t care if they had to kill one more human, it’d just mean an extra meal for them. And they surely wouldn’t take care of someone like her like this. They must be right. They just have to be. Otherwise it just doesn’t make sense.
This illness really was messing with her head and her sense of reality. She felt like a fool. How could she possibly think that they’d do something like that, when they were always so kind and patient with her? She really was an idiot. In a small voice, Y/N said: “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“It’s alright, darling, we know it’s hard.”
Kokushibo reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed and grabbed a pill and the glass of water on top of it. Meanwhile, Muzan sits Y/N up straight, keeping his arm around her shoulders and his hand resting in hers.
“Open wide,” Kokushibo said as he held the pill in front of her mouth. When Y/N opened it, she received a pat on her head. “Good girl.”
She couldn’t help but feel this nagging in the back of her head. Something wasn’t right here. The gentle smiles on their faces, and the way Muzan patiently held out the glass of water for her. There was something hidden behind her eyes, but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. Was it really just the illness that was making her feel this way?
Finally, Muzan pressed the glass to her lips, forcing Y/N to take a sip and swallow the pill.
“From now on, we’ll make sure you take your pills, okay?”
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere kimetsu no yaiba x reader#yandere kibutsuji#yandere muzan x reader#yandere muzan kibutsuji#yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader#yandere muzan#yandere kibutsuji muzan#yandere kokushibo#yandere kokushibo x reader#yandere demon slayer x reader#yandere demonslayer x reader#yandere demon slayer#yandere muzan x reader x kokushibo#yandere muzan kibutsuji x reader x kokushibo#yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan#yandere kokushibo x reader x muzan kibutsuji
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Luka couldn't believe things had worked out this way. There he was, heading back to a hotel room that he'd be stuck at all night and probably all morning too. He was halfway across the world and there was absolutely no way he was getting home in any reasonable time.
It was Christmas Eve, which meant that he was absolutely not getting home in time for Christmas no matter what he did.
He sat around mindlessly in town at first, delaying going back to his bland hotel room and secretly hoping for the cold to numb his emotions. He played any non-Christmas song he could think of on the guitar he'd brought along, but every song he'd had memorized carries memories with them.
Memories of home, of his family, and of stunning blue eyes that always met his during creative sessions.
Eventually, he had to resign himself to silence, the sound - for once - bringing him no sense of comfort. What point was there to music if the audience he loved wasn't there to listen?
As he made his way back to his hotel room, he finally admitted to himself that he hated his job. He just wasn't like his dad and had no interest in being away from the people he loved. He loved music but not like this.
Maybe there was a part of him that thought it would fill some sort of void, or answer some sort of question he'd had ever since the first day he asked his mom where his dad was.
What was so great that it was worth leaving our family?
Instead of an answer, there was only a sense of emptiness and a vague wanting to punch his dad in the gut even if it didn't feel fair after all this time, but he couldn't help it. His mom might not've cared about delaying things for him - she could celebrate this Christmas in eight months and it wouldn't matter - but it mattered to him. He was homesick being away from everyone, he was angry that he'd gone through with this idea in the first place, he was upset that nothing seemed to go right...
and he was so unbelievably, unbearably lonely.
As he walked down the hallway through his hotel room door, he internally debated on skipping TV entirely for the sake of retiring to bed, not caring if it was a little too early to do so. He was sulking so much that he didn't notice the faint light visible under the door nor the savory smell coming from inside, his hand simply grabbing the door handle to push it open while his other hand grabbed the strap across his chest to take his guitar case off.
Then, he'd opened the door, his eyes flicking up when his brain registered the glow of the Christmas lights. Even still, the thing that glowed the most was a figure standing in the center of the decorated room, smiling shyly at him.
His heart skipped a beat. No, it skipped several, and he was half sure that it stopped entirely. He was completely frozen for a few seconds, his guitar strap held over his head but his body making no move to finish.
"Surprise?" Marinette offered, her hands fidgeting with each other in front of her waist. "I hope it's not, um... too much, but your room looked like it could really use some holiday cheer, so—"
There was a distinct 'thud' as he practically threw the guitar case to the floor, crossing the threshold into the room with the speed of someone enthusiastic yet afraid that the person in front of him wasn't real. He nearly tackled her when his arms were finally around her, having expected to pass right through her.
"Marinette," he whispered, eyes shut tight as he spun her around. She laughed delightedly in return, her arms wrapping around him as well.
She fit in his arms better than any instrument.
"I-I missed you too, silly," she replied softly, though her attempt to sound playful was hampered by the shake in her voice.
He sighed, burying his face in her neck and breathing in her scent to confirm she was still there. "I'm your silly."
He didn't care how needy he sounded or how bizarre it might've seemed to say something like that when they were best friends. He needed her to know how important it was to him that she was there.
"I can't believe you," he murmured against her skin. "How?"
She giggled. "I may've bribed Jagged with some horrible clothes he designed that he wanted me to make."
Luka blinked, processing that. "So... his call asking me how I was doing and where I was...?"
"Mhm~" she confirmed with a nod.
He hugged her tighter in response, earning a squeal from her. He knew he'd missed her noises - desperately so, really - but he realized that he'd missed them even more than he'd let himself believe when he heard her happy noises at his affection. Hearing them over a phone just wasn't the same.
She continued to talk as if it wasn't weird to do so while a grown man was clinging to her. "I already took care of dinner. It's keeping warm in the oven. I don't know if you skip meals or forget to eat, and if you already had something then you don't have to. Honestly, it's not as good as my parents might've made, but—"
He stiffened, something occurring to him at the mention of her family. He pulled away from her, keeping her at arm's length with his hands on her shoulders. "Wait. Marinette, you're here."
"Yes?" She smiled, amused at the lack of coherency he was currently going through.
"No, but you're—you're not home," he pointed out. "It's Christmas Eve." Looking around frantically, hoping to be surprised again at any time, he asked, "Isn't your family here?"
She shook her head. "It's just me. Is..." She frowned, hurt. "Is that not enough? I thought—"
"No! No, of course you're enough!" He rubbed his head, trying to form a more clear thought before speaking again. "But you won't make it back. You're not spending Christmas with your family."
"I'm not," she confirmed with a firm look, her conviction on the matter undeniable. "I'm spending it with you."
His lips pressed together in an attempt to suppress how happy he was. Part of him wanted to be upset with her, unable to imagine how exhausting it must've been to drop everything and made sure she was not only there in his hotel room on Christmas Eve, but also that his room was properly decorated for the holiday. He was thrilled that she was here but absolutely guilty at what she was sacrificing to be there with him.
"Marinette," he began, sliding his hands down her shoulders to grip her upper arms, "please tell me that you didn't do all of this just because you wanted to make sure I wasn't alone on Christmas."
He genuinely didn't know what kind of answer she could provide other than that, but he wasn't sure he could handle the idea that she was going to be alone too, even if she was alone with him.
And yet, Marinette smiled at him, her gaze dropping to one of his arms as she slowly stroked it. "I didn't. I-I did it because..." She looked back up at him. "I wanted to be with you, Luka."
He could only gape at her, but she still continued on.
"I can spend time with my family any time I want, and I've been with them for my whole life. It's not like I could help the fact that we met later, but—" She shrugged. "—you're my best friend. I could live without spending Christmas with anyone else, b-but not you. Those years before we met were enough, s-so I don't want to spend a Christmas without you. I..."
He had already been set on hugging her again, overwhelmed with emotion at her words, but he remained still. He could see that she had more to say and didn't want to miss a single word of it.
Her cheeks turned red as she fidgeted, the hand that'd been stroking his arm now toying with his sleeve. Her eyes darted around the room, never quite meeting his gaze until she opened her mouth again.
"I love you."
He swallowed, feeling vaguely like the ground had dropped out from under him yet he remained floating in place and staring at her. The pressure in his head from his stress had long since disappeared, now completely empty with only thoughts of Marinette remaining.
While he stood there stunned, lost for a response, the silence lingered. Marinette shifted on her feet, her blush spreading to her ears and her expression changing to something more sheepish. She averted her gaze to the wall, grabbing his wrists to slowly push his hands away.
"U-unless, ah—you're not in love with me anymore? In which case, you don't have to think about it! I can go rent my own room, in a different hotel! And, I'm sorry if I ruined your Christmas, and that I took so long to confess, and—"
"Don't."
She couldn't even turn around before he'd wrapped her in his arms again, pulling her back against him. Keeping one arm around her, he raised the other so he could caress her cheek.
"Don't apologize when you've already given me so much," he said.
"L-luka?" she asked in a whisper, and he realized belatedly that he was shaking.
"I was so sure I was going to be alone today. Mom and Jule said it was okay, but I knew it wasn't. They missed me, I missed them, but you... Marinette..." He sighed blissfully, at a complete loss for words in the presence of the incredible woman in front of him. "How could I ever fall out of love for you?"
She teared up at that, and he got lost in the way her eyes sparkled.
"S-still? You still—"
"Yeah." He caressed her cheek again, her body calmer than before but he was no less emotional. "Can I kiss you, Marinette? Really kiss you?"
She let out a happy, unsteady breath, her hands finding his waist. "I-I didn't think I'd get this far," she admitted, "but—yes, please? It's just... I might not be able to stop if I'm allowed to kiss you back."
He beamed at her. "That sounds better than anything I've played on this stupid tour."
Without another word, he embraced her tighter for the sake of lifting her up. She squealed, gripping him for the sake of stability as he headed for the couch.
"L-luka, wait! Maybe we should have dinner—"
"Later."
She looked back. "Oh! Your guitar is still out in the hall—"
"Later," he insisted.
And that was the end of that. He set Marinette down on the couch - as gently as he could given the orchestra she was conducting in his heart - and cupped her cheeks in his hands, memorizing every detail of her face as if he hadn't already known the number of freckles she had after a year of knowing her.
"I'm quitting," he stated.
She blinked, thrown off by the sudden comment. "H-huh?"
"I'll go back to doing deliveries. I'll work up the money to do what I really want." He shook his head. "I don't care, as long as I don't have to be away from you again."
"Luka..."
Her tears came on stronger to the point of falling, but he brushed them away with his thumbs. They finally leaned into each other, him kissing her with the full passion of the teenage boy who fell in love with her so many years ago and only fell deeper as time went on.
He hadn't kept count of how many times they kissed, not that his brain would've been able to keep up in the first place. Sometimes it would be him who went in for another, sometimes it was her, and there would occasionally be a desperate whine from either of them when the other hadn't quite taken a full breath but refused to pull away at the same time. There were moments where they were entirely in sync, moving in harmony to breath in and kiss each other, but he loved every bit of it regardless of how perfect or imperfect it was.
It was all perfectly imperfect to him, like a song missing its notes in a technical sense but carrying through with every bit of soul to make up for it.
At some point, Marinette had moved and brought him down on the couch, him laying clumsily against the couch's arm and backrest and her hovering over him as they made out. He genuinely couldn't remember when her hair ties had come undone, nor whether it was him or her who'd undone them, but his hands were in her hair and that was the important part.
"Mmm." Marinette pulled back to take a breath, her kiss-bruised lips as she smiled at him just adding to her unfair beauty. "Merry Christmas, Luka."
He took a breath of his own, replying dazedly, "Oh yeah, that exists."
"Luka!" She laughed, collapsing against him and hiding her face in his chest. He just grinned, holding her close and continuing to run his fingers through her hair with one hand while the other rubbed her back.
He'd have the dinner she made... eventually. He definitely wouldn't have bothered had she not been the one to prepare it though.
—————
There was something Luka found indescribable about waking up on Christmas - not even Christmas, honestly, just in general - with Marinette sleeping in his arms, content as she could possibly be. His back ached slightly from sleeping on the couch since they never did make it all the way to his bed, but he didn't notice it.
He stayed there, wholly content and not moving a centimeter. He wasn't sure how much hassle Marinette had gone through in order to get to him in time, but even if he hadn't been in utter bliss with her there, he wanted her to get proper sleep in case she was suffering from any jet lag.
It was still early in the morning, the lights from the Christmas tree doing most of the work in keeping the room illuminated. He could've been lying there awake for a few minutes or a few hours, but time had since been lost to him since Marinette showed up. He just laid there and admired her, occasionally brushing strands of hair out of her face when he thought it might bother her.
Despite his best efforts, she eventually began to stir, shifting against him and letting out a small whine as she began to wake up. Feeling like it might still be too early for her, he gently offered, "You can go back to sleep if you want."
"Mmmnnn," she murmured in response. It was completely unintelligible but he could tell by the tone that she'd rejected the idea. She yawned, looking around groggily before her eyes settled on him, a smile forming on her face as she greeted, "Good morning."
"Good morning," he greeted in return. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry..." She trailed off, blanking all of a sudden and staring ahead at nothing. He tilted her head at her, confused, then more confused as she began to look at the floor, like she was searching for something.
"Marinette?"
She met his gaze, blushing in embarrassment as she seemed to realize that she'd left him in the dark. "I-I got you a gift for Christmas!"
He snorted, chuckling at how serious she suddenly was about it. He gave her a slight squeeze, cuddling her for emphasis as he replied, "I know. I'm enjoying it right now."
"Luka!"
He didn't apologize. "You should've given it to me before the real gift."
She clearly tried not to, but laughed anyway. "How could I have done that?"
He hummed in response, not giving her an answer and happy to stay there all day if she let him. Unfortunately, she had other plans, a small noise of protest leaving him as she pushed herself up off the couch. He watched her walk over to the tree, stumbling at first from sleepiness but managing to grab the gift resting there. That done, she returned to him, extending a hand to offer the nicely-sized present.
He glanced at it, then her, then back to the present. Sitting up, he smiled at her, outstretching his hand and grabbing her wrist rather than the gift. She gave him a confused look, then blushed as he slowly guided her to turn around and sit on his lap. He heard her whine in response, but she didn't complain and even leaned back against him as he reached around her for the gift.
He admired the intricate wrapping she done, unique and distinctly Marinette. He didn't know if she'd looked up how to do it or if she'd come up with the technique herself, but he was careful anyway in an attempt to preserve her work.
At the very least, it didn't matter what she'd gotten him. He had every intent to thank her with more kisses afterwards.
#type: story#story: oneshot#Flower Arrangement Shipping#Pro LukaMari#Lukanette#event: Christmas#((Here's your Christmas fic for the year. YOU'RE WELCOME.))
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BORN SINNER III
→ MASTERLIST
summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.
warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3
rating; m (18+)
wc; 9.5k
banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons !! ty ty ty!! <3333
notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3
in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series
He gets your text the following Tuesday morning.
Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver.
It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else.
From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work.
He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone.
[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰
[❤️]: after my last class of course
Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow.
Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again.
He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?
The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears.
You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”
And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—
And of course, he had felt… something afterwards.
This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning.
First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?
But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good.
(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)
From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life.
He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you.
It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands.
You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word.
You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him.
But still.
Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.
He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess.
If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning.
But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience.
Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned.
Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants.
He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet.
But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord.
But he’s scared.
Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you.
And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character.
But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t.
His phone buzzes in his hand—
[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️
—and his decision is made.
Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors.
Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs.
“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up.
In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—
“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.”
You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”
By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you.
He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease.
As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“
“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.
It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”
You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean.
“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes.
It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead.
A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness.
And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there.
And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything.
“__?” he says before he can stop himself.
You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you.
You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin.
Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?”
Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained.
It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind.
Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words.
You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before.
Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.
Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch.
His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”
It sounds flimsy, even to you.
“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”
You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.
His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.
Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him. With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.)
“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”
“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh.
His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.
He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed.
Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.”
It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that?
Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”
In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so.
But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not.
Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.”
It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.”
If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place.
In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion.
It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later.
Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car.
What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.
Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his.
But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?
“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“
“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.”
And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly.
Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out.
There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different.
It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you.
Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you.
And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity.
The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up.
By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his.
Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content.
All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you.
By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that.
But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long.
You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm.
It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back.
“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”
Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open.
He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat.
When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again.
A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?”
Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips.
Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again.
You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now.
Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once.
Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”
And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in.
He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t.
Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms.
“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?”
Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough.
By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”
Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist.
He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him.
But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl.
The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple.
Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror.
The sight of him is… weird to say the least.
Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface.
That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down.
In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side.
Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck.
Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day.
Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close.
You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday.
It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips.
It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself.
“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him.
His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?”
It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him.
The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”
And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.”
His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space.
Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“
His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin.
You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you.
But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it.
It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress.
It felt good.
Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.
#networkbangtan#bangtanhq#jungkook smut#jungkook fic#jeon jungkook smut#jjk smut#jeon jungkook fic#jjk fic#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x reader smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook x reader smut#bts fic#bts smut#mine
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earned it [04]
Gojo Satoru is a firm believer that if you work hard for it then you shall earn it. But on the other side, he’s not unfamiliar with his own sins. He also believes that there is punishment due for his sins as he’s earned it.
cw. DARK CONTENT, graphic violence, mentions of blood, explicit murder, sexual violence, angst, tw dubcon, mentions of mass murder, death threats, cheating, implications of suicide, typical mafia business + very unedited (please PLEASE read at your own discretion! if you do not wish to proceed to read because of the aforementioned warnings but want to know what happened anyway, please drop into my asks and i’ll retell it in a much less graphic version!)
chapter song. never forget you (zara larsson, mnek)
series masterlist
Death.
The stench of it reeked everywhere. Blood pooled at the ends of your dress, the warm liquid dripping from your fingers. You couldn’t see what was in front of you, not when your vision had been obscured black, painted red with everyone’s lifeless eyes staring back emptily at you and carrying an ominous message behind words that never had the chance to be spoken.
Satoru was gone.
You ran through flights of stairs as you bunched your dress up, dried blood present on your cheek. The gray cemented walls of this unknown building began to close down on you, suffocating you, trapping you – and then there he was. Your lover, your world, your everything – he stood on top of a pile of bodies, his face as grim as the deaths he’s caused, but that wasn’t what stood out from the scene. It was the fact you couldn’t recognize him anymore; the man before you was nothing else but the devil incarnate himself. Then, just as you ran his way, fingers outstretched to grasp at his shirt, Satoru disappeared.
He was gone.
A scream ripped out your throat as you scrambled for the sheets, pulling them up in a haste to shield yourself. The images were now gone, but that fear kept drumming into you, gloops of blood making its way through your room’s white exterior.
It’s not real, it’s not real – Satoru’s arms snaked over to your side, his eyes droopy from being woken up. You would’ve apologized, knowing he never really got proper sleep, but you were already wrapping your arms around yourself, gaze repeatedly darting back to the walls – to check for bodies, for blood, for death, for him.
“Hey,” Satoru drew you close to him until your head fell on his chest. Out of instinct, you flattened your ear above where his heartbeat rested. Thump thump – he was real, he was safe, alive – he wouldn’t do that. Satoru wasn’t that kind of person. You clung to him like a koala and mumbled incoherently at the skin of his neck, clutching his shirt so tight it wrinkled horribly. Satoru merely littered kisses all over the crown of your head to soothe you, although he was not free to this fear you felt; he was just as nervous for an unknown reason. “Angel, what’s wrong?”
“You-you were leaving—”
“Shh, angel, I’m not, I’m here,” he wrapped you closer to his body, the sheets still warm and smelling like him as if to add reassurance to his words. “You’re alright. I’m here, angel, it’s okay.”
“I was going to die,” you quivered. It had only been a fleeting moment when you saw it, but you were there too. Dressed in white, arms covered in lace and a crown adorning your head; it seemed as if you were meant to be on top of the bodies, and Satoru sat upon it like a throne. It transitioned from being the witness to being the victim in a minute and your chest squeezed so hard you choked out, “I was dying, baby.”
“You’re not going to die. No one’s going to hurt you, you understand?” Satoru cupped your cheeks to force you to look him in the eye. “I’m going to keep you safe no matter what. Not leaving your side, angel, that’s a promise.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I would never do that,” he nodded before he raised your pinky. Satoru looped both your fingers and kissed the conjoined form, not once leaving your gaze the whole time. “I promise,” he whispered, foreheads touching and breaths mingling. Like one soul intertwined, you once mused, feeling yourself get lost in the depth of azure pools he harboured. “There’s nowhere to go without you anyway; you’re the greatest gift in my life. I’d do anything for you.”
“Don’t leave me. Please.”
“I won’t, angel. I never will.”
And you believed that. Like the fool you were, you really believed that.
The bank loomed over you, its mere presence impending and bringing about a wave of discomfort to you. Awkwardly, you stepped inside, hiding your face in your hair to conceal the nausea threatening to urge you to throw up. You couldn’t help but survey the entire area out of instant wariness, holding tighter to your phone.
Seeing as there was no line, you sat on the nearest open window. “Hi, uhm…I recently got transferred this money from…an old friend, you could say,” you informed with furrowed brows, fishing your phone out of your pocket as you logged into your account. The whole time, your hands turned sweaty and the phone nearly slipped from your grasp out of anxiety. The woman assisting you flashed you a sympathetic smile, patient and kind enough to listen to your small voice through the glass. “I lost contact with them so I can’t return it. I was wondering if maybe you could help me rewind the transaction?”
“Oh, we can definitely do that Ma’am, may I see?” Nodding, you handed her your phone. In an instant, the polite smile fell from her lips, altering into a nervous one the next. “Oh…” she blinked back at the digits, clearly overwhelmed from the amount of zeroes. Dropping her voice, she leaned closer to you, “Do you…do you know the account owner personally?”
“Yes,” you admitted, “Well, I used to.”
“And they wired you all this?”
“About two weeks ago, yeah.”
The employee sat there for a full minute, possibly contemplating how to go about this. It didn’t set well with you – that mysterious, almost suspicious smile she had – that you debated whether just asking for your phone back. “Excuse me for a moment. I think I should take this to the higher-ups,” she announced while scanning the bank with narrowed eyes, leaving before you could have a say in it.
The next minutes that passed had never felt more gruelling.
You sat there with a frantic heart, your jeans damp from the countless times you’ve wiped your hand on it. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. People came in for their own agendas, the hushed ‘inside voice’ as faint as ever, then they left. Repeat. End of conversation.
It was just another normal, boring day for everyone else – but not for you.
“Miss?” a voice pulled you away from your thoughts. A half-bald man was now standing before you, the previous employee you’d been talking to right behind him, her head ducked down. Manager, his tag read, which made sense. He gestured for you to come inside the back parts of the bank, and you gripped your purse tighter as you followed them.
The inside wasn’t that special or different from the outside. There were lesser chairs but bigger, brighter white walls. His office was located right in the middle where the female employee closed the glass doors behind you, silent and timid as she prepared you tea. Meanwhile, you sat there with your hands wrung in your lap, stomach already falling from the grim expression he wore. “About the funds, I’m afraid we can’t do anything about this transaction. While it had been transferred you, neither us nor the bank has the authorization to do anything about this. Whoever sent it to you is the only one that can either take it back or liquidize it,” he pushed his glasses back to his face, an apologetic sigh leaving his lips. “I’m afraid we can’t help you with this, Miss, we’re really sorry—”
“No!” you slammed your palms on the desk, “No, I don’t want the money, wire it back to him!”
“Miss, we already told you, it’s out of control—”
You shook your head. This wasn’t real – Satoru had to be joking! He couldn’t just give you this and disappear into thin air! In fact, you never even cared for the money; you were just hoping that maybe you’d find a way back to him if nothing but digits was the only thing left to prove he even existed. Desperation clawed its way through your throat as you fell on your knees, helpless tears streaming down your face. “Please, you have to do something, I don’t want the money, I just want him back, please! I just need to talk to him once more and he’s your client, right? Let me talk to him, I know you have contact with him, Sir, please, I’m begging you—”
“Security!” the manager hollered. The sounds of doors slamming open made you stand up straight, eyes wide at the incoming pairs of guards ready to escort you out. “It’s best you schedule a personal appointment with the account owner, Miss. We also suggest you remain on the down-low instead of causing a ruckus like this. You don’t know who’s going to be grabbing at every opportunity to take what was given to you.”
“Everything’s been taken away from me!” you argued back, walking around the desk to clasp the manager’s hand. He pulled away for a moment before you squeezed his hands, the tearing of your heart too painful to bear. You just wanted to see him. “Come on, please, I don’t care about the money, I just—”
They didn’t let you finish. Just like Satoru, just like everybody else, they discarded you to the side, treated you like you were a nobody who didn’t deserve a second chance.
“Escort her out, please.”
And just like that, your fate had been decided. No...perhaps it had been determined the moment he left, and now you walked blearily along the narrowed gaps between buildings, unable to find your way back home.
Where was home anyway? Your penthouse with Satoru? Your cramped dorm back at the university? Your empty flat that had once been a happy home with your parents before they too, left you behind with nothing but a family portrait as a memory? It was pathetic. You meant nothing. Obviously, no one valued you enough, not even Satoru who’d just given you enough to let you live comfortably for the rest of your life. But no matter how much he provided, it wasn’t what you wanted. It wouldn’t bring back the one thing you wanted most, and you fell on the rough pavement, too tired to care about the stinging of your palms.
You clutched at your heart in a debilitated attempt to soothe way your chest squeezed uncomfortably. You were literally in the middle of the nowhere, trapped between the walls that hid you in the darkness and muffled your cries.
He’d left – he really left.
He didn’t keep his promise, and your nightmare had now become reality. You had to bite down your shirt to keep the agony to yourself, nails dug so deep into your jeans it left a mark above your skin. Hours passed, maybe minutes – who knew?
The sun had gone down and the streets grew busier than before, the honking and lively bustling of the night city like background noise to you.
Your key back to the penthouse weighed heavily at your back pocket. There was still the option of just going back home, but what good would that do? Everywhere you went, you were reminded of him. There was no escaping the beautiful memories he left you with, there was no exit from his miserable dream you were forced to wake up into.
Nothing mattered anymore. You felt so lost, the motivation to find your way back depleted just like your energy. You only had your bodily instincts to thank for when your stomach grumbled, demanding to be fed and nurtured even in such a hopeless situation. It made you want to laugh – that even as your heart and soul gave up on you – your body was doing its best to keep you alive and get through the day. You heaved yourself away from the wall and wiped the dirt away from your palms, the rhythm of your feet one heavy clump next to the other.
There was a nice Chinese restaurant at the end of the street that glowed brightly, invitingly. If you could just have dinner, maybe you’d feel better.
But you never got three steps across.
A cold blade had been pressed to your neck, sinister laughter echoing from the darkness of the night. “Scream and you die, sweetheart,” a gruff voice crooned in your ear, followed by a more high-pitched, maniacal chuckles. There was two of them. Fear lit your nerves up and you scrambled to run, but this man was too strong. He didn’t even have to try too much into increasing pressure to your neck, slicing the first layers of your skin that was enough to prick both blood and tears from you. “Ah, ah, ah! Resisting won’t get you anywhere. We just want to talk, okay? No foul play needed.”
You shut your eyes in submission, too afraid to even swallow the bile rising in case the movement would push the knife further. You could only let out a weak, “What do you want from me?”
“Oh, what else?” said his accomplice, showing up in front of you with a creepy smile. He tipped his head side to the side, revealing the silver replacements of his teeth that glinted under the streetlights. “You got his hidden slush fund, didn’t you?”
“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t need to lie, we saw you leave that bank. Plus, everyone’s been talking about it!” cheered the guy behind you, pushing you forwards with his blade finally withdrawn. You stumbled on your feet as they pointed to the nearest ATM. For a moment, you contemplated making a run for it. The ATM was only a few kilometres away from the Chinese restaurant and you could be safe if you run fast enough, but you were too obvious, the deceit written all over your face. The first guy then pressed a gun against your head, a silent reminder that you were the weaker one here. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned, “Now you’ll withdraw it little by little, okay? We just want a piece of it, a fraction of it is enough to last us a lifetime.”
Exhaling deeply, you raised your hands in surrender. “I can’t withdraw it.”
“The fuck did you say?”
“I said I can’t withdraw it! I don’t have access—”
“Bullshit, bitch, you’ve got so much of it, just give to us before we kill you,” he cocked his gun, his friend following suit and retrieving a pistol from his belt. Your lips quivered at the sight of two guns aimed at your way, but you remained firm in your spot, shaking your head at them. The man’s eyes darkened, displeased by your response. He narrowed his eyes at you before nodding to his friend.
“Fuck this man, she’s a selfish cunt. Take her phone and her belongings.”
“No, please, don’t—”
It was too late. They had pushed you on the ground, your bum throbbing from the fall. The second guy rummaged your pockets before pulling out your wallet, jaw dropping from the contents. “Fuck,” he exclaimed, flashing a Polaroid you had kept the whole time. “This you and Six Eyes?”
Your heart fell.
It was a photo of you and Satoru on your first anniversary where he’d whisked you off to a sky tower, arrogantly declaring that he’d make you experience the best date ever.
He wasn’t lying – his arrangement of fireworks and a romantic date in the sky really had been the best – and he’d snapped a picture of you then, sneakily landing a kiss on your cheek while you gasped at the display of fireworks before you.
Just seeing it felt like torture all over again, and the thief snickered at your tear stained face. “Oh, I see. You’re his whore, aren’t you? Everyone called it bullshit when word got around Six Eyes had a little angel hidden somewhere around here. I gotta say though, you are a pretty thing. Makes sense you got him pussy whipped.”
“Whoever Six eyes fucks – especially someone he liked enough to pay this much – that is fine meat, man,” the other muttered more to himself. His eyes then lit up with a thought, the smirk tugging at his lips screaming trouble. “It’d be a shame to not have a taste.”
You paled. Scrambling as much as you could with sore legs, you pushed their arms away from you. “Let go of me!” you cried out, kicking harder when they’ve discarded their guns and focused on carrying you instead. Everything muted that night except for the pounding of your heart as you struggled to get away from them, arms flailing the moment one of them yanked your shirt down to expose your bra. “Don’t fucking touch me, let go!”
It must be luck that your punch landed on his nose, a sickening crack resonating in the street. All of you remained still, with you flattening your back on the wall, arms protectively sheltering your chest and the pair staring at the other guy’s broken nose.
He winced at seeing blood on his fingers, “Oh, you’re just asking for it bitch,” he snarled, snapping his fingers to get his friend’s attention and pointing at you. “Grab her leg.”
Both of them made quick work. It all happened so fast you couldn’t tell which was who anymore. Your shirt had been ripped off; the straps of your bra tugged down to free a nipple while your arms had been knocked into the building behind you. One of them kept you immobile, their grips too strong and their bodies twice your size that you were easily overpowered. You never cried so hard in your life – not even when you realized Satoru had left – and your throat ached from how much you wept.
“Stop, no, let go of me!”
“Shut her the fuck up, bruh,” the man unzipping your jeans scowled, his fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. You sobbed and screamed, fought hard as much as you could, but you were too weak. Too vulnerable. Too pathetic.
Maybe it was just better to let go.
Maybe it was just better to stop.
Your shoulders fell as they shimmied your jeans down your hips, each and every inch of your body no longer yours. Was this how you would die? Was this how you would finish? If so, you would’ve appreciated at least one last dinner.
You were about to close your eyes the moment you heard the sounds of a man’s belt unbuckling, too lost in your own horror that you failed to hear the screeching of tires, and neither did they. And then, like a light at the end of the tunnel, like an angel dropping from the heavens – gunshots rang through the air. Blood splattered to your cheek. Heavy bodies crunched against the ground.
He’d come back.
Except it wasn’t Satoru leaning in front of a car when you opened your eyes. The man stood a few inches shorter, blond shaggy hair falling just above his eyebrows, the ends dyed black. His body was tilted to the side, half of his weight shifted on a cane upon closer look, but you were mostly captivated in his eyes. He showed no malice intent; hell, he didn’t even spare a glance at the corpses with holes between their eyes, silently blowing the smoke away from his barrel like this was a common thing for him.
He had his eyes on you, uncaring of the fact you were half-naked before him since his attention remained on your face.
“So it’s true,” he mused, “I didn’t believe at first when they said Six Eyes really gave the notes to his girl. A commoner, no less,” he limped towards you, feline-eyes slanted to inspect you. “But nothing about you is common, is there? To get the demon to soften up…you really must be something else,” his gloved hands ran a finger down to your jaw, and you shut your eyes tight, leaning away from his touch. The man clicked his tongue at your reactions but withdrew his hand anyway, stepping a few feet away from you to give you space. “Don’t be so scared. You and I are not that different. We’re both just poor victims of facing the consequences of his actions,” he tapped his cane at your shoes, his face devoid of expression. “Stand up. You won’t get anywhere by crying. You need to learn how to fight.”
You swung the door open, ready to finally get the shoes you’ve been gushing to Naoya about for days. But you were met with nothing but a tuft of white hair, blood smattered on his cheeks, and lips crashing down onto yours. Satoru pinned you against the wall in the same manner he held you on that day he left, his kisses harsh and longing while you moaned into his mouth, legs turning into jelly.
“Angel,” he rasped into your mouth, grinding his boner to the thin material of your night gown. “I told you you’re fucking mine.”
Satoru forced his tongue past your lips and kept you close to him, his intoxicating scent tempting you to give in and enjoy it already. For a split second, you faltered, kissing him back with the love you once harboured for him, but then you blanked.
This was Satoru.
You were married to Naoya.
He’d began to leave kisses at your jawline when you pulled back, landing a sharp elbow right at his head. Satoru fell on the floor and you panted above him as you tried to make yourself decent. Fuck, that hurt like a bitch. You had to roll your shoulders back to get rid of the tension as you made the mental note to train in combat harder, pinching the bridge of your noise before you summoned the servants.
Satoru was knocked out for a solid hour. You found it funny that the infamous omnipotent Six Eyes was now sprawled all over your couch, soft snores emitting from his lips. He’d been pretty unresponsive to you so ice far, not even a budge as you iced the bruise you’d left on his face.
You sighed. His shirt was stained with blood, the pads of his knuckles matted with wounds and bruises. You couldn’t help yourself from brushing his hair away from his eyes, humming a little until his eyes cracked open. Satoru stared at the ceiling before his eyes landed on you hovering before him, your touch gentle in paradox to the heat of your gaze. “What are you doing here, Satoru?” you sighed, gesturing to the mess he had on his shirt. “Where have you been?”
“In a fight.”
“No shit,” you rolled your eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?”
“I-I don’t know. I just…I lost it for a moment and—”
“Do I want to know why?”
“It’s stupid,” he mumbled to himself and faced the couch. Even after seven years, he was still very much the petty kid at heart. You could confidently bet he was pouting right now, and you crossed your leg over the other, hiding a small smile behind your palm. “I overheard one of my men making a sleazy comment that Naoya’s wife looked like a bitch who would jump at every alpha male,” Satoru grumbled, prying for your reaction by looking across his shoulder. “I don’t know what came over me after that.”
“Did you kill them?”
“Almost,” he scrunched his nose, “Then I pictured your face. Maybe you wouldn’t want me to do that.”
“So you care about what I want now?”
Satoru shut his eyes. Of course you’d never stop bringing that up – both to your demises – since you were both a sadist who didn’t mind receiving pain every now and then. Five years of marriage with Naoya taught you to be resilient to all types of pain, the experiences and horrors you’ve lived through practically making you immune to them now. Satoru, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be on the same boat as you. He sat up, his hips flushed next to your thighs, burying his hands on his head. “Angel, about everything... are we not going to talk about what happened before?”
“Is there anything to talk about?” you deadpanned, surprising the guy who widened his eyes at you. Surely, he must be expecting a different form of hatred coming from you, but you were indifferent – numb, empty. “The past is in the past, Satoru. You know better than anyone else it’s easier to just walk away.”
“I’m really sorry.”
“For what?” you faked a smile, placing your chin on your hands while blinking up at him under innocent eyes. Naoya once told you that your attitude of being unbothered bothered a lot more people, and it was a technique you’ve loved ever since. Seeing Satoru crumble before you...nothing felt more satisfying. “For barging in here or for kissing me? Maybe both?”
“For everything,” he answered brokenly, “For all the pain I’ve put you through.”
“Do you think apologies are going to suddenly eradicate that?”
“…No.”
“Then I don’t need it,” you taunted, patting his thigh as you stood up, tying the knots of your robe safer this time. You couldn’t be bothered to wear underwear beneath them; if Satoru tried laying his hands on you again, you wouldn’t hesitate to cut his fingers off, and the plain sight of a dagger now strapped in your thigh was enough of a reminder for him. He made sure to keep his distance.
“Come with me. I’ll show you what we’ve been working on,” Satoru’s footsteps were silent as you led him past the secret doors hidden behind Naoya’s study, the room leading into an even bigger part of the house that stored most of your possessions. Satoru let out an awed gasp behind you once the lights and slight whirs of the machine buzzed through the room, chemicals bubbling from one side and little pills being packaged on the other. Your face lit up in a smile from the sheer pride of your hard work, arms extended to the side to present everything. “This is mostly where we manufacture Xenet. All of this – it’s mine. My personal little laboratory, or as Naoya calls it, my playroom,” you grinned, “I feel at peace here.”
“Making drugs?”
“Being safe,” you corrected with a roll of your eyes, “Acting like I’m normal. That gives me peace.”
Satoru was hot on your heels all the way to the main laboratory, where you’d pestered him into wearing safety gloves before entering. You donned a white coat from the blast of AC that enraged goosebumps, leading him in front of a huge clear wall that formulated Xenet’s pure creation. Stacks of purple powder lined up on layers all kept inside a cooling room, and you stepped to the side, muttering to yourself while checking today’s inventory like it was totally normal to manufacture illegal drugs inside your home.
You would’ve looked domestic if Satoru wasn’t feeling the slightest bit dizzy from the drug-coated atmosphere; one that you’d gotten resistant from.
“What brought you here?” Satoru voiced out, shaking his head to himself. He looked terribly devastated, cheeks sunken and dark circles lining his eyes. “I never thought...”
“That I’d be like you?” you finished for him. Tucking a stray strand behind your ear, you smiled at Satoru and pushed past him to list down your observations for today. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not like Naoya; I’m not a mass murderer.”
“But you’re supporting him.”
“He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him,” you paused in your tracks, the spite evident in your tongue. “If you hadn’t left me, I wouldn’t have to be like this. There are thousands of people after me because you named me after that account. Other than Naoya, there’s really no other reason I’m still alive and breathing,” Satoru was speechless from your confession, which was good, since you didn’t want him chatting too much in the first place. You ignored him as you continued typing notes on your monitor, acting unaffected, but the way you punched through the keys told a different story. “This is the least I could do for him. In exchange of protection, I’ll be sharing my intelligence and give him what he wants.”
“Doesn’t it sicken you that we’re like this? That we do all this – for money, power, control – without the slightest bit of conscience?” Satoru scoffed, “You’ve been married for him a long time. I know you’re not a stranger to the fact we even enjoy this.”
You stopped your task, turning to Satoru with flared nostrils. “You know, Satoru, painting yourself as a demon to look like a victim won’t make me sympathize,” you spat out, absolutely losing it. “I don’t care what you’ve been doing before you met me. I don’t care that you killed or hurt people. I’m not the slightest bit of the angel you claim me to be because if I was as pure as that, don’t you think I would’ve stopped loving you?”
Everything crumbled to dust.
Years of convincing yourself you didn’t care anymore, years of healing yourself, years of working hard to forget him – and all crumbled to dust.
“What are you—”
“I knew!” you cut him off, “I knew everything. I’m not dumb, Satoru. No matter how much you tried to hide it back then, I saw the blood stains. I could smell the alcohol. I know drugs when I see it,” Satoru took a step back in surprise, but you kept going. Now that you’ve started it, you might as well finish it, and your eyes pricked with tears before you could stop it. “But I never cared. I was selfish – blinded by love. Back then, I told myself I didn’t care who you were because I loved you unconditionally,” You were breathing hard from finally releasing that damn fucking weight off your shoulders, your resolve breaking as you wiped your tears with the back of your hand while Satoru remained frozen. “Every night, I cried myself to sleep. I always asked myself why did it have to be you? Why did you have to be that way? Why did you have to be a monster? It broke me to no end, Satoru, but every time I tried to think of you as awful, you would hold me so close that it felt like everything was a lie,” your voice faltered, “I loved you in spite of everything you’ve done. I’m just selfish like that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cried, “Many times...I turned a blind eye to it. I didn’t want to force something out of you because I knew you weren’t ready, but I was always waiting, Satoru,” gesturing to the both of you, Satoru watched your frantic movements. “Did you think I didn’t mean it when I said I would love you no matter what – no matter who you might be? I meant every word of it. You didn’t have to leave me because I would’ve still left everything behind if you asked me to go with you. I don’t care anymore, I never did. I just wanted to be with you.”
“Angel...” he trailed off, debating whether to hold you or just stay put. Satoru chose the latter and ran his hands over his hair, breathing hard as he, too, wavered. “I was scared. Each time I see your face, I-I can’t help but think about losing you. It haunts me every fucking night that what if I’m not strong enough? What if I couldn’t protect you?” his voice broke, “You were the only good thing in my life. I couldn’t handle losing you just because you got too close.”
You shoved him hard. “That’s no fucking excuse! You told me – y-you told me that I made you feel strong, that I gave you hope, that I made you feel like nothing could stand in your way – so don’t stand there and fucking tell me you were scared!”
Satoru kept taking a step back from the force of your hits, and he took them all with a brave face, but it seemed that he too had reached his limit as you leered, “Don’t be a fucking coward!”
“It’s because I loved you!” Satoru gripped your wrists and tugged you to him, effectively taking the ability to speak away from you. “My whole life, I got everything I wanted and things were easy for me! I don’t know what it’s like to lose something because I had control of everything except you! I didn’t want you stuck and burdened with my sins all for the sake of something as greed!” he bellowed, his forehead connected with yours and the warmth of his body more than welcoming. “I am a greedy man, angel, I would take everything I want with no hesitation but I couldn’t do it with you. It was easier to let you go,” he mumbled, “Than to regret making you unhappy by revealing my true self. Because the way you looked at me – you loved me so much I don’t think I’m worthy of it,” Satoru trudged closer to you, almost rubbing his skin over your soft ones just to say, “I don’t deserve you.”
You pulled away from him.
You’d tore open every chance of reconciliation. And if you were to be honest? You didn’t regret it.
“You’re right,” you snickered sarcastically, “You really don’t deserve me. Here I thought maybe Naoya would be the weaker of the two of you, but he’s more of a man than you are, Satoru. Naoya never gave an excuse for anything – it didn’t matter whether he was capable of something or not – he always tried to the best of his ability. He’s not the type to give up before he’s even tried it,” You knew you were just pushing his buttons, this was much clear from how Satoru was holding himself back, but you couldn’t stop. You were unstoppable, harsh as you challenged your once lost lover who had now wound up before you once more.
“If you truly loved me and felt you didn’t deserve me, then don’t you think you should’ve tried harder?”
You wanted him to regret it. You wanted him to feel your pain a thousand times more. You wanted him to realize what he’d done wrong. But most of all, you wanted him to try harder, to redeem himself, to be worthy of a second chance.
But just like how he’d broken your heart before, Satoru did it again.
Because even after every fucking thing, the only thing he was capable of saying was: “I’m sorry, Angel.”
You’d grown too tired of apologies. But because it was him, because you loved him, then you’d fucking hear it all over again. Just try, you wanted to beg, try for me, Satoru.
“Your plans will continue to fail, Satoru,” you agonized, “You never protected me. The moment you left, my life turned to hell and I almost died way too many times for me to count. This time is no different. We’re all just pawns in the Zen’in’s game, so if you really want both of us to live, you should do your part,” Sighing, you turned away from him, just about ready to call it a night. You were too tired. “Give back the money to Naoya, and he’ll keep me safe until the end of it all. You can just go back to where you came from.”
“Naoya won’t stand a chance against Toji. It’s not his money anyway, he should give it back to his cousin—”
“And neither is it yours!”
“Don’t be fucking stupid, you see the flaw of his plans too!” Satoru gestured to your lab, to everything that you proudly claimed an effort of your hard work. “Even if I gave back everything to Naoya, it won’t stop Toji from anything! He might not kill you anymore, but he’ll definitely kill your husband and take over the mafia, or his kid, then where will you go?”
“Follow him into death like the good wife I am.”
Satoru was stunned by the lack of hesitance in your answer. “You’re serious about this,” he echoed, blinking back to process the gravity of your devotion to your husband. “Even if Toji somehow dies, it doesn’t change the fact Naoya will still proceed with plans to manipulate Japan to his will. He’s going to drug everyone until he’s at the top of the food chain. Your husband doesn’t want to be a businessman; he wants to be a god. Plus, he doesn’t care about you, he’s only using you!”
“Like I said,” you smiled weakly, “He keeps me safe as long as I’m useful to him. Once he gets everything he wants, it’s game over.”
“No...” Satoru gritted his teeth, “No, I won’t let it happen. You’re not going anywhere; you’re not going to die!”
“So then protect me!” you shouted at his face, “Do what it is you never got to do before and protect me! I’m disposable, don’t you see? No matter what I do, no matter where I go, no matter how loyal I am to him, I am nothing! Each step I take forwards is just a step closer to my prolonged death!” you spewed word for word with so much venom Satoru felt like he was choking, but it was nothing in comparison as you fell on the floor, weeping with your fists pressed against your eyes. “If you hadn’t left me...I wouldn’t have to live fearing for my life every second. So protect me, Satoru. If you really want me to forgive you, at least save me this once.”
“I will, angel,” he promised – and how many more promises had he made, only to break them? You couldn’t be blamed for not believing him, for finding wariness in his words, for flinching a little bit as he crouched before you, cupping your cheek the same way he did before. “I promise you that. I’m never leaving, never gonna leave your side ever again.”
“You better not,” you chuckled darkly, eventually giving in from his touch.
Yes, he’d left you...yes, he’d hurt you – but until now it felt like home, even if it also conflicted with the fact this was wrong.
“My only wish is that when I die, I want to die without hating you,” you muttered with your lips hovering his, your breaths tangling and his hands finding its way to your hair. “So don’t make me hate you anymore, Satoru. Grant me peace before I leave.”
“You’re not going to die,” he closed his eyes and took the first leap of faith by grazing his lips with yours, a faint glimmer of the sweetness he once had the pleasure of savouring with each waking moment of his life. But he was stupid back then – he’d be even more stupid to not learn his lesson this time around.
“I won’t let that happen, you understand?” Satoru breathed out, “You will be safe. You will live.”
He had said it so confidently, so surely, that for a moment, you believed it. You believed maybe you’d really win this round and come out unscathed, to live, to survive – even if the chances were slim to none to begin with. For now, you didn’t want to be a mafia leader’s wife, nor did you want to be another’s broken lover. You just wanted to be someone who didn’t want to die, to find comfort in the empty promises from the same man who kept breaking and breaking them, and maybe for now, that was enough.
Without another thought, not even the image of Naoya’s smile, you let it go.
You pulled Satoru close to you and kissed him hard and deep, swallowing his surprised moan with that exact same greediness, that desperation to live. You knew the moment Naoya came back or Toji found you, everything would be game over. So for now, this was enough.
A/N. SOOOOO? THOUGHTS? THEORIESSSSS? DO WE HAVE A TEAM NAOYA HERE OR IS IT JUST ME HAHAHAHAHA
taglist OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @sixeyesgojo @shingekiyofeels @q-the-rockaholic @whatthefuckisthatthing @rogueofbullshit @kat-su-ki @kellyyween @sebootyforlife @greysoulthings @charlie-xo @aoi-turtle @ladywaifuuwrites @savantsoulfinder @my-reality-is-in-my-head @hannya-quinn @90s-belladonna @tinyfrogsinmybrain @kinekyuroo @evesmores @ambiguous-something @lilith412426 @kakashiharusohma @aizawap | bolded users cannot be tagged ://
#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x reader#gojo-satoru-x-reader#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen x reader#gojo satoru#jujutsu kaisen imagines#gojo satoru imagine#gojo x reader imagines#gojo satoru imagines#gojo x reader angst#gojo x reader romance#gojo satoru x reader romance#gojo satoru x reader angst#gojo satoru angst#gojo satoru romance#jujutsu kaisen angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader angst#jujutsu kaisen romance#jujutsu kaisen x reader romance#jujutsu kaisen series#jjk#jjk x you#jjk x reader#sukirichi: earned it
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What's Wrong is Right
This is the sequel to So Wrong It's Right.
The finale: The Right Place
Warning: dark!Peter Parker x reader, age gap BUT BOTH CHARACTERS ARE OF AGE, DUB-NON, pregnancy, mentions of abortion
PLEASE READ MY WARNING BEFORE CONTINUING. I am not responsible for your media consumption. Any and ALL negativity will be blocked. The majority of my content is 18+.
Word Count: 7k
Summary: You’re an old troubled friend of May’s. Your life consists of being a workaholic, a party animal, and bringing home the shittest of guys for a one-hit-wonder. Just when you get your life in order, you’re knocked right back into your old habits. Peter has watched you suffer long enough. He can make it all better.
Taglist: @discoverwhattheworldhastooffer
Things could not have felt any better than they did right now. You were still sound asleep beside him on the bed. You were so peaceful when you sleep, so perfect. Even with your hair a mess and what was left of your make-up on your face Peter still thought you were the most beautiful girl in the world.
As much as he could sleep, he did not want to miss a second of you. He longed to touch you again, to kiss you awake and go another round or two. He could stay the whole day in bed with you if you would let him. The thought of you coming undone underneath him replayed in his mind and his cock twitched in response. He needed to calm himself down, but that felt nearly impossible around you. The only thing stopping him was the fact he knew you needed the rest.
Peter laid on his side, taking in the sight of you. He could not understand how guys would use you the way they do, how they could hurt you and be okay with it. He could not understand the type of guys you went after either. They were all the same. It was almost like you were signing yourself up to get hurt. Peter just wanted to take all that pain away. He wanted to be the guy you needed. He was the guy you needed.
He let a sigh before pressing a warm kiss to your head. Sleep had finally won the battle. He let his eyes fall shut as his arms held your sleeping figure close. If only he could fall asleep like this every night.
When you awoke, the sun was shining bright the small cracks in your blinds, and seemed even brighter than usual considering your hangover. You rub your head as it ached. If there was one thing you did not miss about drinking, it was this.
You froze still when you felt the grasp around your body grow a little snugger. You were scared to see who was in bed with you. You tried to think for a moment, thinking back to last night. It was such a faint memory, a blur. Could it have been your ex? There was no way. Even drunk, you would not have fallen into that trap. You peaked over your shoulder, instant regrets washing over you. What had you done? You were in fact naked so there was no doubt what you had done last night.
May was going to kill you.
Your phone buzzed on the nightstand beside you as if on queue and you glanced over at it. Oh my god, May! You were dead. Your heart was beating so hard it could have beat out of your chest. You were panicking. You carefully eased out of Peter's grasp to keep from waking him, resting his arm back on the bed. You grabbed a big shirt you had still laying on your floor and a pair of underwear from your dresser before hurrying out the door, closing it behind you.
You tugged your shirt in a hurry before you answered it on the final ring. "Hello?" You tried to play it cool, holding your phone against your ear with your shoulder as you pulled your panties up your legs.
"Good morning sunshine. How are you feeling?" She greeted you.
You started down the hallway to the kitchen. You would feel the aching of your core with every step you took. "Tired." You admitted, moving behind the counter to start a pot of coffee.
"I bet. You needed last night though with everything going on." You bit your bottom lip.
You could not agree more, but you wondered to yourself just much of it as actually needed. You leaned against the counter, watching the drip of the coffee as it filled the pot. "You're not wrong."
She laughed slightly. "I'm just glad Peter could take you home. I always get nervous when you go home with random strangers." Your teeth sunk further into your bottom lip. "Speaking of Peter, do you know where he is?" Your heart was beating so out of control, you were surprised it wasn’t a heart attack in the making. The thought of losing May as your friend after these years, especially over something as big as this, it pained you.
You had to think and think fast. "I think he mentioned something about going to Ned's. I’m not entirely sure though.” You reached into the cupboard to retrieve a mug. "He probably stayed the night." You lied, trying to control your breathing as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. You prayed to yourself in hopes that your lie would be enough. Or what if she already knew Peter was still at your apartment? No, no, she could not have, not sounding this collected.
"I should have guessed that. I'll try to call him again later." She sighed. "I just worry about him sometimes."
"I'm sure he's fine. He's not a kid anymore, May." You reminded her, though a part of you felt like it was a reminder to you as well. If he had not have been who he was, maybe this all would have been a different situation but not when your friendship was on the line.
"I know, I know. It's just the Aunt in me I suppose"
You mixed in your cream and sugar and stirred. "It's Peter and Ned we're talking about, May. They were probably up playing video games all night."
"You're right." She finally admitted. "Well, I'm sorry for waking you. I just wanted to check on you."
"No worries. Let me know when you hear from him." She agreed before you ended the phone call with a goodbye.
You finally let out a deep breath of air. It felt like you had been holding it the entire time you were on the phone. It would not have surprised you if you had. You did not know where to start or how to make it all make sense. Maybe that was because none of this made sense. Peter could not be anymore more than a friend, especially when he was your best friend's nephew.
How had this even got this far? You had never thought of Peter like this and yet you ended up in bed with him. You held the mug, letting it warm your hands as you stared down at your coffee in thought. Peter had been nothing but good to you, but this had been more than you could have asked for. There was a hole in your heart from another man and you had pushed yourself on Peter last night to try and heal it. That’s what you had made yourself believe. You took had taken advantage of his kindness, took things too far and now you had to get things back in one piece.
This was nothing like the hookups you had in the past. This was Peter. It was not like you would never see him around again. It was not like you could just throw him out and be done with it.
You jumped instantly when Peter's voice pulled you from your thoughts. You pushed yourself off of the counter, taking in the sight of him as he moved across the kitchen over to you.
“Good morning.” He smiled and you glanced at his messy hair sticking up in different directions. It was the perfect mix of bed head and sex hair.
“Hi.” You said shyly. How would you break the news to him? God, how could you get yourself in this situation?
“I was looking forward to waking up to you.” He moved over to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as if this were all normal and pressing a kiss to your jaw. Your eyes met his curiously. What was he thinking this was?
“Peter, I think- I think we need to talk.”
Your breathing was shuttered as he held onto your waist, nudging his nose against your neck.
“Oh? What about?” He looks down at you.
Your free hand was pressed against his chest with a sigh. “Did you want some coffee?” You offered.
His eyes lingered on you for a moment as if he was trying to figure out what you were thinking before letting go of your waist. “No, thank you. Is everything okay?” He tilted his head slightly. You seemed nervous.
You took a hold of his hand, placing your mug down on the counter before leading him into the living room. You brought him over to the couch, sitting down. “So last night… can you tell me what happened? I know we had, ya know, but how?”
His face grew pink with a slight blush. “How?” He repeated your question.
“I mean, did I make you? I know I can be a bit much when I drink.”
“What? No.” He shook his head. “I mean it surprised me, but of course, I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.”
You grew quiet, trying to process what he was saying. You sighed. "Peter, I-" I tried to gather your thoughts together. "It should have never happened and I'm sorry that it did."
Peter's eyes grew wide as he tried to take in what you were saying, but he could not bring himself around to believe you.
"No. You don't mean that." He shook his head.
You frowned. "I do mean that."
He shook his head again. "You don't. You told me I was good to you. You even said before you hope you meet someone even half amazing as me."
"Peter-"
"You kissed me! How can you say this should have never happened?"
You run your fingers through your knotted hair and pushing it back out of your face with a sigh. "Peter, I was drunk. I wasn't thinking clearly."
"Drunk words are sober thoughts. Even if you hadn't meant to say it, I know you have been thinking about it." He frowned, taking a hold of your chin and tilting your head to look at him. "Why can't you let just accept how you feel? You deserve to be happy."
You turned your head out of his grasp. "That's just it, Peter. I don't know what I'm feeling about anything. I just had my heart broken a week ago by a guy who I thought was my soulmate. I wasn't ready for any of this to happen. I'm sorry I kissed you and confused you."
He could not believe you were saying this. You could not mean this. Not after last night. Not after the word you clung to him. Not after everything you said. It hurt his feelings. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words would not come. He was not sure what to say. He did not want to overstep, but he could not understand how you could easily fall for assholes like Chris and never a good guy like him.
"You are good to me." You admit. "You have taken good care of me in the past, but we can't be anything more than friends. We can't do this again. I feel like I have overstepped a line with May. She wouldn't want this."
"It's not about what she wants." He snaps. "I can make my decisions for myself now. I'm not a kid anymore, Y/N."
"Peter, you will always be a kid to me. You can do so much better than me. Someone closer to your age. Someone who has their life together. You are such a great guy. I know you will make some girl very happy." You smiled reassuringly, though to him none of this was reassuring.
There was no "better than you", even when he was committed to you. He tried to understand that feeling was new to you considering you always felt in competition with other girls. Truth be told, no one came close to comparing to you in his eyes. He wished he could make you see that, make you understand just how much you really meant to him.
He could feel his phone vibrating again and he sighed, standing up from the couch. He knew it was May. "I should go before Happy sends out a search party."
You stared up at him, nodding slightly. "I understand."
He threw his hand up in an awkward wave before making his way to the door.
You stood up from the couch, hugging yourself. "Hey, Peter?"
He stopped at the door, holding it open and looking over his shoulder at you.
"I don't want this to ruin our friendship." It could never. You just needed time, he thought to himself.
"It won't." He smiled at you. "I promise."
---
Even though you did not want it to affect your friendship with Peter, you both knew that it had, for better or for worse. You did not see much of Peter after he left your apartment that day, even when you would go see May, the house was already quiet. Neither of you had mentioned a word to May. Peter was always out or on his way out when you showed up. You would only really had time for a quick "hey" before he was on his way. You figured college had him pretty busy for the most part, or Ned, maybe even a girl.
He had properly busied him in hopes to give you space. In hopes, you would realize things on your own and do the right thing. He may have been between college and keeping an eye on the neighborhood, but he never strayed far from you. He never failed to keep an eye out on you. Peter knew how much you needed him, but it was your turn to realize that for yourself.
Peter wasn't the only one keeping himself busy. After some time you had taken off, you finally had gone back to work. In a way, you were glad you had because it kept you distracted. You had decided it was time to focus on yourself.
You had stopped drinking since the night at the club after realizing the trouble it putting you in and the pain it was actually causing you. Drinking did not stop the heartbreak. It might have slowed it down, but when you were sober again, the ache was still there. Drinking kept you from dealing with it. As much as you wished you did not have to, you knew it was the only way for you to move on.
It had been a month since you split with Chris. Thankfully, you were starting to get back in the groove of things fairly quickly.
You sat at your desk, typing away on your computer when your phone buzzed on your desk. You did not look away from your work until a knock on the window of your office door caught your attention.
Your eyes widened at the sight of Chris on the other side. He lifted his phone, mouthing for you to check it.
You lifted your phone over to check, reading the text from him.
Can we talk?
You blinked, glancing at him before turning back to your computer to keep working.
Your phone buzzed again.
Please.
You looked up at him again. He had his hands together in a plead while he mouthed "please". You sighed, getting up from your desk to answer the door. You pulled the door open and he smiled slightly though you had not attempted to return it.
"I don't know if you've noticed, but I am working." You blunted pointed out.
"I know. I'm sorry for bothering you. I just knew you wouldn't answer my messages. That's the only reason I'm here. I feel like I've had a lot of time to think and I want to talk to you about things."
"Once again, I'm at work." You reminded him.
"When is your lunch then?" He questioned.
You held onto the door. "I don't think I'm gonna take one. I have a lot I need to get done."
He sighed, looking down at you. "Come on. I know you've gotta be hungry." He glanced at his phone to check the time. "Don't you usually take your lunch around this time?"
You tried to stand your ground even though your stomach growled in hunger. You hated when he was right. You hated to give him anything he wanted after how he did you. It amazed you he had remembered what time you took your lunch. Maybe he did pay attention to you after all.
"I'll pay." He insisted. You sighed.
"Fine. Let me get my bag."
You had agreed on a sandwich shop just down the street. You were not in the mood for anything big. You settled down at a table by the window with a wrap and iced water. You took a bite of your wrap, staring out the window at all the traffic on the road.
He was the first to break the silence. "How have you been?"
"Fine. You?" You continued eating, taking another bite.
He had yet to touch his own food. "I've been alright. Can I say something or do you think I am wasting my time?"
"Depends."
"Can you hear me out? Just this once, that’s all I ask."
You sighed, finally agreeing to listen since he had after all bought you food. You sat the rest of your wrap down washing it down with some water while listening.
He sat in silence for a moment to gather his thoughts, trying to figure out where he should start. “I’m sorry for what I did to you and for how I treated you. Nothing I say is gonna take back what I did, but I do regret it all. I know I said some ugly stuff at the club that day. Once again, I know I can’t justify it but I had been drinking and I was coping with losing you. I get that I ruined things. I messed up and you have every right to be mad at me. I was selfish and I never took your feelings into consideration. I didn't think to help you with the wedding because I thought of it as your big day. When it should have been our big day." He leaned against the table, crossing his arms. You pulled your gaze from the window, looking at him for a moment before looking down at your lap. "I missed how spontaneous we use to be. Every day was a surprise. You amazed me every day, but we fell into a routine and I was worried about marriage might be like that." It shocked you that he was even apologizing right now.
"You were so calm when you did it though. Like it was okay for me to see that like you wanted to hurt me." You broke your silence, your eyes finding his and he frowned.
He exhaled a deep breath. "I didn't wanna hurt you. I guess I had convinced myself I had done nothing wrong, but I realize now how bad of a thing I did."
"You could have just talked to me about this before you went and made me feel like I couldn't be enough. We could have put the wedding on hold and fixed this. Sometimes I get carried away with things. I just- I wanted everything to be perfect. I didn't know what you wanted and so I was working twice as hard to get everything to be how I thought you might like it." You wrapped your wrap back up when you lost your appetite. "I think the realization of everything hurt more than walking in on you. Realizing how much I was doing and how little you did-"
"I know and I want to fix that. I want to do more for you and for us. I want to prove to you I can change. We've invested so many years in this. I don't want to throw it all away. I didn't realize how much I needed you until I didn't have you." He reached across the table, taking a hold of your hand and he rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand. It surprised him how didn't pull your hand away and that's how he knew he might have convinced you. He might have a shot again. "If you really are through with me, I do not blame you. I deserve that. Just tell me when and I'll come to get my stuff."
You sat in silence for a moment, thinking to yourself. You were not sure what to say. You never thought he would get this far with his apology. You did not expect him to apologize considering he seemed pretty pleased with himself.
"I don't know what to say right now." You mumbled, looking down at his hand holding onto yours.
He held your smaller hand in between his. "You don't have to say anything. Just think about it. I respect whatever you decide. I just want to know if I have really lost you for good."
"I don't know." You finally admitted, biting your bottom lip slightly and gently taking your hand back from his hold. "I need time."
"Take all the time you need." He ensured.
"We'll see." You glanced at your phone, checking the time. "Thank you for lunch, but I should really be headed back."
He nodded his head, gathering his still wrapped sandwich and drink as you both get up from the table. "I'll walk you back."
--
The rest of your workday felt like a waste considering you could not focus on anything. You did not get done much of anything you had planned to get done. Why did guys have to make things so complicated? If he had just communicated about it before, maybe you would still be together.
You tried to focus on the computer screen in front of you, letting your fingers hover over the keyboard. Focus, Y/n.
You knew you should not want him back. You did not owe him a thing. You knew there would always be the risk he had not actually changed, but he was all you knew. You grew to him. Your life had changed for your future with him. You had been so wrapped up in the wedding, you had not been paying attention to him. But then again, if he had helped, participated in his own wedding plans then so much would not have been on you.
You rubbed your temple, saving your progress and shutting off the computer screen. You were just gonna call it a night. You had a girls' night planned with May and you did not want this to get in the way of your friendship with May again.
You reached into your pocket to collect yourself, shooting May a quick text.
We're still on for tonight, right?
You gathered your papers off of your desk, shuffling them up neatly before pulling them back in its folder and putting them in the drawer of your desk.
Don't be late.
You smiled at her message before pulling open the door to your office.
You had kept your word to May and showed at a decent time. She was setting up for movie night when you arrived. She tsked when she saw how overdressed you were.
"If I had stopped for a change of clothes, I would have been late." You reminded her with a laugh as she entered the living room again with a bottle of wine and a bowl of popcorn. She placed them on the coffee table in front of her.
"You're welcome to grab some clothes of mine." She offered as she sat down on the couch, tucking her legs underneath her and covering herself with a blanket.
You had already stripped yourself from your blazer as you walked down the hallway to May's room. You grabbed a pair of shorts and a shirt from her dresser before going to the bathroom to change out of your pencil skirt and blouse.
You stared at yourself in the mirror as you changed the set of clothes. Your eyes were glued to your stomach, noticing how bloated you looked and frowning slightly. You knew your period would be any day now, but usually, you did not bloat this bad. Your clothes had seemed a little snug today. You shook the thought as you fold your clothes and set them up on the bathroom counter. Your head spinning from everything going. Just when you had thought things were calm, it picked right back up. You left the bathroom, walking towards the living room where May was.
"Hey, Aunt Ma-" Peter called out as he came out of his bedroom, knocking into you in the process. He quickly grabbed a hold of your waist to keep you falling. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" He started to rumble.
"It's fine. I'm okay." You laughed quietly, making him smile suddenly when his eyes finally met yours. "You wouldn't happen to be avoiding me, would you?" You tease. You understand even if he was, but you had hoped that he was not avoiding you. You did not want to be the reason driving him out of his own home.
He blushed slightly. "Just giving you some space." He told the truth. You hadn't realized how close you two still were.
"I don't need space, Peter. We're okay." Your eyes flickered across his face for a moment, biting down on your bottom lip when you noticed how close he was still holding you. "Peter-"
"Y/n, are you coming? The movie is about to start!" May called out from her spot on the couch. She had already poured you both a glass of wine.
"Did you want to join us?" You question absentmindedly. He smiled at your words. Maybe you were coming around after all.
"I might later. I have some work I need to finish up." He answered, letting go of his grasp on your waist. You nodded before giving him one last look and continuing down the hallway back to May.
You were halfway through the movie when you turned to May, snacking on a few pieces of popcorn from the bowl that sat between the two of you. "So the weirdest thing happened at work today." You started, pulling her attention from the movie. "Chris showed up."
May turned down the movie a little in order to hear you better. Her eyes were slightly wide and you laughed a little at her reaction. "That was my reaction as well." You pointed out.
"Well? What happened? What did he say?" She encouraged you to continue.
Peter had just come out of his room just in time to get a snack along with something to drink. He had been finishing an assignment. He took his earbuds out one by one, hearing you in the living room as he walked through the kitchen.
"Well, he took me to lunch, and basically he apologized for everything. He wants a second chance."
Peter's eyes grew wide, listening to you talk. You did not have to say his name to know who you were talking about. He peaked in the living room at you and Aunt May on the couch, leaning against the wall as he listened in.
"And?"
You shrugged.
"I'm surprised you even let him take you out." May pointed out as she took a sip of her wine.
"Honestly, it surprised me too but I was hungry and he offered to pay so I gave in." You rubbed your arm slightly as you leaned back on the couch.
"So what's the plan?"
You looked over at May, raising an eyebrow curiously. "Plan?"
"Well I mean, what did you say to him?"
You got quiet for a moment. Peter felt as if he was holding his breath just to make sure he heard your answer correctly.
"I told him I would think about it."
May seemed surprised by your answer. Peter, on the other hand, was less than pleased.
"He's all I know. I'm comfortable with him. I don't know how to start over and at this point, it seems pointless." You explained as you picked at the blanket over your lap. "He said he didn't wanna give up when we have invested so much time and that he was willing to prove himself."
"Maybe he needed this. Ya know, like a reality check." May suggested and you nodded your head.
Peter could not believe you were going back. You were giving up. After everything he put through, everything he said, and how worthless he had you feel, you were going back. Had you not learned anything? His fists clenched at his side, trying to keep himself calm. He could not listen to another second of this.
He stormed past you and May. "Hey, Pete-" May started, but Peter swiftly interrupted her.
"I'm going out. Don't wait up." He mumbled. Your heart skipped, realizing that Peter had heard everything. You were so sure he had been in his room. He glanced at you before pulling the door closed harder than usual, making the both of you jump. You frowned, looking down.
--
Peter sat on top of a roof, leaning against a brick wall as he looked down over the city. He did not know what else he could do to prove himself to you. He finally had his chance and you only pushed him away. Chris had years to prove himself and he had. He made his intentions pretty clear, but even that wasn't enough to steer you away.
He was convinced you were scared to be happy. Scared to find that happiness with him when his Aunt was your best friend. Sure you were a little older, but none of that mattered to him. You were the only girl who could ever make him feel the way he did. It could not just be him feeling this way.
The streets were not as busy due to it being so late. Peter closed his eyes with a sigh from the built-up frustration, letting his leg hang over the side of the building. You were so stubborn.
His eyes snapped open at the roar of laughter beneath him. He glanced at the group of men before quickly having to do a double-take when he realized who it was.
"Come on, Chris. Admit it, you have Y/n wrapped your finger." The men shared a laugh, giving Chris's shoulder a playful push.
"Not like I use to, but I know she'll take me back." He chuckled. "She's waited long enough for that ring. She's not gonna give up now."
"You really think you're ready for marriage? What about the other girl?"
"Guess we'll see about that," Chris smirked and Peter's nose flared in anger. "Women like Y/n just need a ring and they're content. Besides, she's the perfect little housewife."
Peter tried to restrain him, but he could only hold himself back so much. He shot a web at Chris which hitting him over the mouth, sending him and his group in a panic trying to pull it off of his face with no luck.
"Dick." He muttered, shooting a web at another building and pulling himself onto the next building. He had enough. Chris didn't deserve someone like you. You deserved someone to take care of you, to cherish you, not just the other way around.
--
You stared down at the test in your hand. You never expected to find yourself here this soon. It was not long after Peter stormed out that you decided you should go home. You were upset with yourself and with everything going on. This was just the icing on the cake. You mindlessly walked by the calendar in the kitchen on your way to the bedroom, counting the days since your last period. You were late and at this point in your life, you could not ignore it.
The positive plus sign stared back at you and your eyes watered. You had not had sex with Chris in months so you knew it was Peter's. You covered your mouth, letting out a sob into your hand. This was not how you pictured yourself getting pregnant. This was not where you wanted to be in life when you planned on getting pregnant. You were barely making it taking care of yourself. You could not take care of a baby too.
Your body shook as you cried at the foot of your bed. You knew with the baby being Peter's, Chris would never want to be with you. Peter was just starting his life, barely even out of college along with being the Amazing Spiderman. You could not interfere with a baby.
A knock on your bedroom window startled you, making you drop the test. You looked the window to find Spiderman kneeled down on your fire escape, motioning for you to let him in.
You wiped your face of your tears and walked over to the window, unlocking it before pushing it up.
"Now isn't a good time, Peter." You stated bluntly, taking in the sight of him in his suit.
"I really need to talk to you, Y/N. It's important."
"Can we not talk about this another day?"
"No, it can't wait." He slipped under your arm into your bedroom, pulling his mask from over his face. "It's about Chris."
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms over your chest. "What about him?"
"He doesn't love you, Y/n. He will never care about you like you have cared about him. He is just using him as a housewife and that's all you'll be to him. Just someone to take care of him. You deserve so much than him." Peter paced back and forth as he ranted.
You stared at him as he paced. "That's what you came here to tell me? I know you heard me talking to May. I should have known you would come up with some way to make me feel like shit for thinking about going back."
"Y/n, I didn-"
"You did! You don't get it! It's my heart that was broken. I have loved him for years. You don't understand how hard this is for me."
"I don't understand?" His mouth parted at your words. You didn't know half of it. "How do I not when I have loved you years longer than he's been in your life? Even when you loved everyone but me! You fall for assholes like him and the good guys like me go overlooked!" He exclaimed, throwing his hand up as he shifted back, his foot stepping on the test you had dropped on the floor.
He glanced down to see what he had stepped on.
Your eyes got wide, trying to get his attention. "Peter." You stepped toward him but it was too late. He stared down at the pregnancy test, wiping his thumb over the plus sign as if checking to see if it was real.
He looked up at you. "You're pregnant?"
It was too late to lie about it. It would have required too much energy to keep it going if you had, and you did not have any fight left in you.
"How far?" He simply questioned. He was so sure it was his, but he wanted to hear it from you.
"If you're asking if it's yours, I can assure you it is. I haven't slept with Chris in months. I don't know how far I am. A few weeks is my guess."
He stared at the test a little while longer, a smiling forming on his lips. "We're gonna have a baby." He smiled at the test. He couldn't help himself. This had to be the best news he had heard in his life aside from becoming an Avenger.
"No." You shook your head.
He furrowed his eyebrows, looking up at you. "What?"
You moved over to him, taking the test from him and tossing it on your dresser with a sigh. "I can't keep the baby."
He frowned at your words. "Sure you can. What do you mean?"
You shook your head again, your eyes already getting watery again. "I can't, Peter. I'm not ready to be a mom. My life is a fucking train wreck and you're just now starting yours. I can't ruin that for you."
"Ruin? No, no." His frown deepened, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into his arms for comfort. "This is the best news I've heard. This could never ruin my life."
You cried against his shoulder, clenching onto his suit as he held you close in a hug. He pressed a kiss to your temple, stroking your hair down. "I'll do everything I can to keep you and our baby happy. You will never have to worry about another woman because no matter what, I will always choose you. I'll take care of you." He let his hand slide underneath your shirt, rubbing his hand over rounding stomach. "I'll take care of our baby."
You push his hand away out of your shirt, pushing yourself away from him. "I-I can't. I'm not keeping the baby. I'm gonna go to the clinic tomorrow. It'll be better this way."
Peter's mouth fell open slightly as his eyes filled with tears. "Y-You can't be serious."
"I am and nothing is going to change my mind."
"Y/n..." He reached up to cup your face, but you grabbed his wrist. "That's our baby. Don't do this."
You stared at him with tear-filled eyes, some falling down your face, but you didn't speak a word.
He was getting heated by the second. If he thought he was hurt before, he was really hurting now. He didn't understand why you wouldn't take this as your fate and run with it. Run with him. Tears fell down his cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them, only continued to look at you. He wanted the truth.
"Why? So you can go back to him?"
"This isn't about him."
"Then what is it about, Y/n? You want to get rid of a part of both of us! Can't you see how much I care about you? I would never hurt you like him. You don't have to change yourself to please me. You will never have to worry about not being enough." He moved closer to you, cupping your face in his hands and making you look at him. "You are so perfect, just the way you are. You are more than enough for me."
You try to turn your head to look away, but he leans in, capturing you in a firm passionate kiss. You melted into his kiss, gripping onto his suit. You wanted so badly to push him away, but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You didn't want him to change your mind. You needed to do this.
He backed you up until your back of your knees hit the bed, letting you fall back on the comforter and falling with you. He supported himself above you, kissing your swollen lips softly as he wipes your face with a swipe of his thumbs.
"You are everything I have ever wanted." He mumbled against your lips, pressing warm kisses over your face and letting them trail down your neck. His hands began to push your shirt up and you quickly regained some focus, trying to catch his hands.
"Peter, we shouldn't..." He caught your hands and pushing them over your head, shooting a web against your wrists to hold them in place against the headboard. You cried as you looked up at him with frightened eyes.
"You don't have to do anything for me. Just let me show you how much I love you. Let me take care of you."
He pressed on his chest, letting his suit go limp on his body and sliding it off as he continued to work his way down your chest. He was left in his boxers. He had pressed your shirt up above your chest, kissing over your breasts and swirling his tongue over your aching nipples.
You whined at the feeling of his tongue, pulling on the webbed restraints. Your nipples were more sensitive than they had ever been before. His hands feel to the shorts you still wear of May's, pulling them down your legs with your panties.
"Peter, stop..." You tried to close your legs but Peter only held them open at the sight of your slick folds. You knew no matter how much you lied to him, your body could never lie to him. Your body only told the truth.
"I want to make you so happy." His lips brushing over your lower bloated stomach, kissing over it and mumbling against it. "You're going to make such an amazing mother."
You shook your head as you wiggled underneath his body. He pushed off his boxers before returning to his place between your legs.
He nodded even when you shook your head. "You will be."
Peter dragged the tip of his cock through your glistening folds, biting his bottom lip as your juices coated it. He let the tip of his cock push against your entrance, pushing his hips forward to slide inside of you and your head rolled back with a whimper.
You hated how much control he really had over you. You hated feeling so weak.
"Peter-" You choked a sob as your walls clenched onto his thick length. You were embarrassed how quickly your pussy pulled him back in when he would thrust.
"Oh," He groaned as his cock pushing in and out of you, hitting you in all the right places as he held your hips in his hands. "I love you. I love you so much." He mumbled against your lips as they brushed together every thrust. His breathing was staggered against them.
You could not fight the lust that clouded your mind. He knew it would take time to steer you in the right direction, but he was willing to spend all the time he needed. You knew how wrong it was to be underneath him, even if you were stuck there, that did not stop what was wrong from feeling so right.
#dark!peter parker#dark!peter x reader#peter parker x reader#peter parker#spiderman x reader#dark!spiderman x reader#dark!spiderman#dark!tom holland#tom holland x reader#peter parker one shot#dub con#peter parker smut#dark peter x reader
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Eternal Memento
☆ Mammon's Birthday Special ☆
Genre: Fluff
Pairing: GN!MC x Mammon
Word count: 1653
Summary: You surprise Mammon with a special and personal gift on a very special day.
Warnings: N/A
A/N: Writing angst for Mammon is nice... but fluff and love is definitely better. I wanted to write something cute for our first man's important day, because he deserves it. Happy birthday, Mammon!
______________________________________________________
Five minutes left til the clock struck midnight. At this hour, all of the occupants of the House of Lamentation were expected to be in their rooms for the night- such were the rules which had been implemented by Lucifer for all who lived under these roofs, no matter whether they were demons, or human.
But tonight, you had decided to break that rule. After sneakily escaping the confines of your bedroom, you had managed to make your way upstairs, unbeknownst to the first-born, or any of the other demon brothers for that matter. How you hadn't encountered Beel on his usual night crusades to the kitchen, or walked on Levi taking advantage of the night to leave his room, was beyond you. But you couldn't be more thankful for it. Everything was going according to plan, and you weren't about to let anything or anyone ruin it.
You had arrived at your destination a couple minutes earlier, bouncing with impatience on your feet the more you kept looking at the minutes changing on the screen of your phone. The excitement overtaking you began to brighten your face with a smile, your eyes switching from the light under Mammon's door in front of you, to the darkness of the hallway you were standing in. With only a couple of minutes left to wait, the last thing you wanted was to be interrupted!
But just as a faint light appeared to grow closer and closer towards you from the shadows, your body instinctively tensed up. You kept your smile intact and your mouth shut, until the footsteps of Lucifer, holding a candle in his hand, came to a complete stop upon noticing your presence in the hallway. Just as he was about to reprimand you from breaking curfew, you immediately placed a finger upon your lips, a request the demon seemingly took note of as he simply arched an eyebrow at you. With a grin, you proudly showed him the small, gift-wrapped item in your hand. The wrapping, gold and sparkly, was kept into place by a thin ribbon of the same color
Lucifer's expression changed into one of content as his features relaxed. He nodded understandingly, before starting to walk again, exchanging hushed words of "Do not be loud. I'll let this one slide exceptionally." as he passed by you, before disappearing within the dark of the hallway once again.
Internally, you were grateful. Externally, you sighed out of relief.
Pressing the gift against your chest, you checked your phone once again. 10 seconds left. Your heart suddenly started beating like a hammer within you, and your thoughts were going at a hundred miles per hour. Nothing could ruin your plan now. Mammon was in his room, awake- you were in front of his door, with your gift, and you could only grow more and more excited for him to see it.
Downstairs, the clock echoed loudly. That was it. You advanced your hand towards the handle, stars practically shining in your eyes. Nobody could stop you now-
"IT'S MY--" The door opened without warning, revealing a grinning demon who, with his eyes closed in happiness, hadn't noticed you yet in front of him. Your body moved on instinct.
"Mammon!" You exclaimed, a smile wide on your face as you threw yourself towards him, your arms quickly locking themselves around his neck. Surprised to hear your voice, and even more to feel your body against him without warning, Mammon almost stumbled backwards, pulling you inside alongside him.
"Wh-Whaaat!? Huh- MC?! W-What are you doing here?!" The demon's cheeks burned red upon opening his eyes. "You can't just barge in my face like that! Seriously, you almost gave me a heart attack!"
Chuckling at his reaction, you reached for the door behind you to close it with your foot. Somewhere within the House of Lamentation, Lucifer groaned.
"I wanted to surprise you! Seems like it worked like a charm." Your teasing voice only increased the color of his cheeks even more, as a pout began to form upon his lips.
"S-Seriously, you can't just do that out of nowhere! At least learn to knock, will ya?" His unwavering gaze on you betrayed his frustrated tone. "Whatcha doin' here anyway? Aren't'cha supposed to be asleep?"
"And miss being the first to celebrate the special day of my favorite demon? No way."
Just as you let go of him, his expression softened at the reason of your presence in his room. "O-Oh... is that why you're here?"
You nodded, before taking his hand to guide him towards his couch. "I really wanted for the both of us to spend the entire day together, starting from the very first minute. Is that okay with you?" Despite your question, you knew Mammon enough to easily guess his answer.
"The- the entire day?" His eyes opened wider as he let you pull him at the center of the room, the words failing him. "Like- you mean- as in 24 hours together? J-Just you and me? You're serious?"
"Well, as far as I recall, there are still 24 hours within a day, right?" You teased before sitting on the couch and patting the seat next to you. "Only if you want to, though."
"Wh- really, I mean..." Mammon sat himself onto the couch slowly, his eyes drifting away from you. "If-If you really want it that much, I guess we could... spend the day together..."
You smiled at his reaction. So predictable. So adorable.
"Huh," he turned his face back towards you, or more precisely, towards the object you had placed in your lap, "What's that thing here? Is that...?"
You hummed, scooting closer to him so that your arms would touch. "Your gift for this year. I don't know if it's going to be enough, but I really wanted to give you something personal this time..."
You placed the wrapped-up gift in his hands. "I still hope you'll like it."
Mammon brought the gift closer to him as if to inspect it, the gold of the wrapping reflecting in his eyes. His thumb traced the rectangle shape of the item hidden within it, a cheap attempt at guessing what the gift was before even opening it. Sensing you intently staring at him though, the demon decided to properly discover his present by tearing the paper in half. He continued to rip pieces of it away, until the item was entirely uncovered in his hand.
"It's..." Mammon's mouth hung open, his eyes fixated on the framed picture he was holding. You placed your cheek against his shoulder.
"It's the first picture we took together. Well, more like the first one where our smiles were genuine." You wrapped your arm around his. "We weren't really comfortable around one another when we first met, huh? I mean, with me suddenly being pulled into a place I didn't even know existed, and you having to babysit me without even being able to say a word against it... It would be hard on anyone's nerves."
Mammon slid his arm behind your back as you continued. "Then one day, not long after we made our pact, we made a detour by the city and grabbed ice creams on our way home. I remember you wanted to brag about having finished classes early to the others, so you asked me to take a picture of us to post it on Devilgram later. So we raised our treats, smiled all teeth out, and it was done. Except that, in the end..."
"We forgot about posting it." Mammon said, his brow furrowing on his forehead. "I-I didn't know you had kept it, though."
"Well, there was something about it that made me just... want to keep it. I only thought about it later on during the day, but I realized there was something special about that picture." You tilted your head to look at him. "Want to know what it is?"
Wordless, or probably just too overwhelmed by the memories resurfacing in his mind, Mammon nodded. You put your finger next to his smiling face in the picture.
"Even after we took the picture, you kept on smiling." Your cheeks turned pink at the thought. "You kept on talking to me, and never once you stopped grinning. It was kind of contagious, I'm pretty sure I couldn't stop smiling too because of you. But it was nice. That was the first time where I thought that... maybe living with you guys might not be so bad."
Mammon examined the expressions on your framed past-selves. The picture looked like any other you two would take nowadays; smiling, enjoying the moment and the presence of one another. Except that, at the time, he was still denying his feelings, through and through. And yet in this picture, you had barely known each other for a couple of days, and you were smiling with the same intensity as you do to this day.
I really fell for you pretty quickly, huh...
"I feel kind of bad for forgetting about this." He admits, blushing. "But... I really like it. Thanks, MC. I'll treasure it forever."
Here were the words you were waiting for.
You opened your arms to invite him for a hug, a request which Mammon accepted on the spot as he leaned forward to embrace you, the framed picture still in his hand behind your back.
"So, I really got ya all to myself today?" He grinned. "Damn, it hasn't even been 20 minutes and this already feels like the best day ever."
You leaned yourself away before cupping his cheeks in your hands, your lips pressing against his in a way that only made him want even more. As Mammon placed down the picture on the glass table, and pulled you onto his lap, your thumb caressed his cheek affectionately.
"Happy birthday, my first man. Both in pact, and in smiles."
#obey me#obey me shall we date#obey me mammon#obey me mc#obey me mammon birthday 2021#obey me mammon x mc#obey me mc x mammon#mammon x mc#obey me mammon x reader#obey me gn!mc#obey me reader#omswd#obey me fanfic#obey me fandom#obey me swd#om swd#obey me mammon's birthday 2021#vel's writing#happy birthday mammon#om mammon#omswd mammon
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cheating pt. 2
part 1 here
Ft: Suna Rintarou x !gn reader, a little bit of atsumu miya x !gn reader
Genre/warnings: hurt/comfort, brief mention of fighting, panic attack, angst to fluff
Wc: 2.6k
NOT PROOFREAD!
The morning after you broke up with Suna, you wake up with a sour taste in your mouth, hugging a pillow. Momentarily disoriented, you look around your room until you spot your phone, and it all comes crashing down.
Oh no. Your chest tightens when you see 41 missed calls from Suna and 118 unread text messages over the course of the night. You'd fallen asleep with your phone set to silent, crying into your pillow at the immense betrayal.
Slowly, you unlock your phone to see increasingly frantic messages from Suna, begging you to forgive him and take him back. Ten new voicemails. You shouldn't press it, shouldn't listen to his voice. But you do.
"Y/N," immediately, your heart cracks at the sound of his voice. He sounds so desperate, so frantic, tears clinging to the words. "I'm so, so, sorry. You have every right to be mad at me, every right to hate me. I hate myself too, and I'll never forgive myself for doing that. I-I just wanted you to know that I-" the recording becomes quieter, only the faint sniffles picked up on it. "I love you."
It ends there, and you freeze. He'd never told you he loved you before, skipping over it whenever you jokingly mentioned the future. You knew he was scared of commitment, but it still hurt whenever he ignored it. A particular memory from two weeks ago floods your mind, no matter how hard you try to push it away.
You were lying on Suna's bed, resting your head against his chest as he scrolled through the videos he wanted to upload to Worldstar. His arm was slung around you, his lips pulled up in a smirk, his green eyes flicking from the phone to you and back again. It was comfortable, a lazy Sunday with the sun just beginning to set behind his curtains. You nestled further into his chest, his heartbeat regular and reassuring. You let your eyes drift closed, basking in the warmth of his affection.
Almost too soft for him to hear, half hoping he wasn't listening, you whisper "I love you." He stiffens, and you know you messed up. His heart skips a beat, and he pretends like he didn't hear you. You swallow, embarrassed that he didn't say it back, but neither of you moves until Suna gets up, saying he has to use the restroom. He doesn't come back for a while, and when he does, he mutters something about it getting late (it was barely 6 pm) and how he'd forgotten that he had to do something today. Taking the cue, you took your stuff and left, silently cursing yourself for saying it before he was ready. Things had been awkward the next few days, with him responding less and less frequently and seeming more distant and cold.
Come to think of it, it was right before he started acting strange.
oh.
Pressing a shaking hand to your mouth, you squeezed your eyes shut. Was that why?
Before you could sink deeper into your thoughts, you heard a knock at the door of your bedroom. The door opens to reveal Atsumu, standing awkwardly in your door frame. Yelping, you bring the bedcovers up to cover yourself, forgetting that you’re still wearing your clothes from last night. “How did you get in here?!”
He blushes, eyes flickering around your room and refusing to land on you. “Yer mom told me where the spare key was.”
You sighed, and he came over and sat on your bed, looking at his feet placed on the floor. “Ya okay?” he asked, voice low. That wasn’t what you’d expected. It was rare for Atsumu to be serious, rare for his brow to be furrowed so severely.
“Well, that’s debatable,” you said, scoffing a little. He nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor.
“I saw Suna last night,” he blurted out.
“You did?” Your eyebrows lift, surprised at his uncharacteristic behavior.
“I punched him,” he admits, lifting his head. “I was just too angry at him for hurting ya.”
Then it was your turn to look at the floor, not responding to this statement. What were you supposed to say, anyway? You sit in awkward silence, waiting for Atsumu to gather his thoughts and speak again.
“He’s in love with ya, ya know,” he says quietly. “That’s why it doesn’t make sense.”
“Why would he cheat on me if he loves me?” you ask, lip quivering slightly. You noticed the tense of the word; is. Not was. He sighs in frustration, shoulders slumping.
“I don’t know.” Seemingly debating on whether to say something, he decided to anyways, “He just let me hit him.”
“What?”
“He just stood there when I punched him, didn’t even punch back or anything. He just looked so sad, ya know?”
“Sad?” you scoff. “He was the one who decided to do it.” He nodded, knowing you’re right.
“I don’t really know why I came here,” he admitted. “I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Aren’t ya missing class right now?”
“I’m not going today,” you mutter. He understood. Silently, he got up and left the room, and you heard the door shut short afterward, leaving you alone with your thoughts.
It wasn’t raining anymore, but the clouds still clung dark and heavy, low to the mountains and shrouding the distant buildings. Puddles shone on the ground, the leaves outside your window glistening with raindrops.
It hurt. It hurt so badly, the confusion and anger and sadness all combined. The truth was, you still loved Suna, and apparently, he loved you. Falling back onto your pillow, you felt like crying, but the tears wouldn’t come. Your eyes were dry, the pain finally internalized. The good memories of your time with Suna came then, flooding your mind and squeezing your heart.
The first time you two kissed, in a parking lot of a 7/11 at two in the morning. His lips tasted like soda, the sweet fizz almost intoxicating. It was a quick kiss, feeling him smile against your lips and seeing the smirk on his face when he pulled away.
Watching the stars together from the roof of a building on a moonless night, offering you his jacket when he noticed you were cold. You fell asleep in his arms that night, the cool winter air brushing your cheeks and inciting him to hold you just a little bit closer.
The playful insults exchanged, the banter slowly turning into backhanded compliments, and then sweet nothings whispered in your ear.
The warm, enveloping hugs, although somewhat rare- he would hold you, one arm on the small of your back and the other caressing the back of your neck.
The skeptical look on his face when you took him to the grocery store, fully intending to make a new dish you’d seen on TV with him. Not noticing the softness in his eyes as he watched you, your excitement contagious in his smile.
The teasing he endured because of you. The day you walked into the gym, bringing him a homemade bento, the boys had teased him relentlessly. He didn’t mind, because it made you happy.
All of that was gone now, and the miserable aching in your heart was a constant reminder of it. You let sleep take you away again, the pain in your expression being smoothed away by the gentle lull. When Suna slipped into your room using the same key Atsumu had failed to properly hide, he saw you curled up, hugging a pillow in your sleep, a small crease marking your forehead. He always said you looked angelic in your sleep.
“Suna…” you murmured, shifting slightly, and his eyes grew sad at how you grimaced slightly at his name.
He made his way to your desk chair, sitting down silently and grabbing a piece of paper from the desk along with a pencil, beginning to write.
When you awoke to the sound of a pencil scratching paper, it took you a second to register that there was someone else in your room. You screamed, clutching your pillow until you recognized Suna.
His eyes found yours, and the guilt and shame in them were almost overwhelming. You looked away, clenching your jaw. The pencil fell from his hand, seeming to fall in slow motion until it hit and bounced off of the floor, clattering once, twice, and then three times before rolling away from his foot.
“Get out,” you whisper.
“Can we just talk about this-” he rushes, standing up and impulsively moving closer to you.
“I said get out!” You yell, flinching away from his touch as if it’s some sort of deadly disease. His face falls, and he withdraws his hand, swallowing hard. “What is there to talk about? You cheated. It’s not a mistake. It’s a choice, and you chose to break my heart!” You look at him, anger and pain mixing in your eyes, and he finally gets it. You’re not coming back. He ruined it with an impulse decision, a reckless choice in the face of his fear of commitment and the overwhelming feelings that he didn’t know how to deal with.
The day you told him you loved him, he froze only because he didn’t know what to do. He’d gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and sunk down the door, back straight and head tilted towards his knees. This had never happened to him before- every time he’d been with a girl, he’d never felt like this. Was it love? He already knew he messed up by not saying it back, but his emotions were confusing, distracting, almost frightening. He’s taken his mind off of it by falling into a stranger’s arms that night, reassuring himself that he was still the same old Suna, the one who didn’t need anyone.
God, how he hated himself for that. Tears welled up in his eyes against his will, and he stared down at the floor.
“Why are you still here?” You spoke, back turned to him, “I thought I told you I didn’t want to talk to you.” Your words stung, you knew they did, but you didn’t really care. The paper in his hand fluttered to the floor, almost inaudibly brushing across the wood. His bottom lip quivered, and the tear that clung to his eyelash slipped silently down his face, making his green eyes appear even brighter than normal.
Thunder crashed outside your window, and Suna froze, his sharp intake of breath making you turn. He looked petrified- his entire body seemed to be shrinking into itself, his hands trembling and clenched, his eyes wide with unmistakable fear in them.
“Suna?” You got up from your place on the bed, curious as to what was happening, then remembered. Suna had a crippling fear of thunderstorms. “Suna. Suna, hey, look at me.” You waved a hand in front of his face, but he just started shaking harder, his breathing getting faster. Gripping him by the shoulders, you gently pushed him towards your bed and helped him sit down, your brow furrowing. “Can I touch you?” you asked gently, receiving the smallest of nods in return. You sat beside him and started rubbing his back, gently holding him closer to you. Thunder triggering a panic attack had only happened twice before, but you were familiar with how to help him through it. “I’m going to go close the curtains now.” Almost methodically talking him through your movements in an attempt to distract him from the thunder growing louder outside, you went to close the curtains and turned on your bedside lamp. “Tell me how I can help.”
He struggled to speak, his breath turning into short hyperventilations until you sat down next to him and started breathing loudly and evenly, hoping he would hear you and try to match his breathing. To your surprise, he turned to you and hugged you, burying his face in your chest and huddling close to your body. Stiff at first, you slowly wrapped your arms around him and rocked back and forth, whispering into his ear that it was almost over and he would get through it. You could feel his back shuddering, trying to maintain control of his breathing and failing. Out of instinct, you rested your cheek on his shoulder, staring at the picture of you two that still rested on your nightstand, and you felt his breathing gradually slow. Soon, he stopped shaking, but he still clung to you as if you were his life raft in a tumultuous storm.
It wasn’t until you felt wetness on your shirt that you pulled back, concerned, only to see tears dripping down Suna’s face. He instantly missed your warmth, your smell, the feeling of you holding him, but he knew it would be selfish of him to try to pull you back in.
You didn’t speak, eyes flickering from him down to the blanket underneath you. Your anger was gone now, and as hard as you tried to hate him, looking at the vulnerability displayed on his face melted the resolve you had.
“You look terrible,” you say, eyes wandering over his disheveled hair and puffy eyes.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he responds, and you instantly feel awkward.
“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble, unsure of what to say. He just shrugs, gazing downwards.
“About what I said in the voicemail.” At these words, you freeze. “I meant it, and I’m so sorry for not saying it earlier.”
You turn away from him, eyes burning, as you feel a lump in your throat. “If you love me, why did you do it?”
His words die in his throat because that’s what he’s been wondering this whole time. If he loved you, why did he do it? “I-I did it because I was scared.”
“Scared?” you spit, pain lacing your words, “Scared? Do you know how terrified I was to tell you? I know that you’re scared of commitment, I know that it’s hard for you to express your feelings, but do you have any idea how many hours I spent wondering if you even liked me anymore? If you even cared at all?” Hot tears spill down your face, your lips quivering as you tip your head back and stare at the ceiling. Quieter, you say, “Do you know how many times I cried myself to sleep because of you? No, you don’t. But I still believed in us, I really thought it could work, and you threw it all away because you were scared?”
You shook your head, and he stared at you, hating that he made you feel like this. “I had no idea,” he rasps, voice husky from the breath caught in his throat. “When you told me you loved me, I realized I loved you too. I’d never felt like that before, and I was scared of my own feelings, so I wanted-” He stopped, unsure of how to continue. “I needed to distract myself.”
Each word stings, a knife stabbing into your back, as the tears fall harder and faster. You look up at him and see there are tears streaming down his face too, the shame too much for him to bear.
“I would do anything for you to come back.” His voice breaks, becoming breathier as his shoulders begin to shake again. “Please.”
In one swift movement, you pulled him close to you, and it was your turn to huddle into his chest as you sobbed. Just for a second, just for a moment, just to feel his touch again, but he wrapped his arms around you tightly and didn’t let you go. Clinging to each other, you shared the pain.
“If we can move past this,” you mumbled, face pressed against his shirt, breathing in his scent, “you can’t ever do something like that again.”
“No, no, of course not,” he assured you, voice thick with emotion, “I promise I’ll be so much better. I’ll try to give you everything you deserve.”
He pulls away and looks at you, drinking in your face, before pressing a soft, hesitant kiss to your lips. When you reciprocate, he kisses you harder, with more passion, holding you as if he can’t let you go. “Thank you,” he mumbles against your lips, and you feel the pain and anger and worry seep out of him.
It was going to be okay.
a/n: i’m not really sure about this one, but i hope you guys enjoyed! sorry for the major angst, lmao
also tiny reminder my requests are open even tho i kinda suck at them
#flangst#haikyuu!!#haikyuu headcanons#haikyuu x reader#haikyuu angst#haikyuu fluff#haikyu x reader#haikyuu imagines#suna angst#suna rintaro imagine#suna x y/n#atsumu miya#suna rintarou#angst#fluff#hurt to comfort
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the shapes in the silence (13)
warning: illness, mild emetophobia, arguing, panic attack, dissociation, altered mental state, guilt
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They had very little time to process, after Puff-- Anxiety-- their rescuer collapsed limply to the ground.
Roman and Patton each burst into their own hysterics, but Logan was utterly silent. He was frozen, mind racing and connecting a thousand little dots, like realizing a constellation had been right in front of you, you’d just somehow missed the brightest star.
The form of Anxiety was sprawled out undeniably in front of them, struck down by the attack that had been levied against Puff, because he was Puff. He’d wondered why Anxiety wasn’t prone to their shrinking dilemma, but he’d been dealing with it the longest. Anxiety’s withdrawal and Puff’s strange behavior were causation and correlation.
Anxiety lay before them, but whatever he had done to change his form, to protect them against attack, it had changed him. Small purple scales curled over his cheekbones, two curved, deer-like ears lay limp on the sides of his head, and even a tail where there had been none before.
If there had ever been any way to refute his connection to Puff, his appearance now countered it single-handedly.
In the end, it was the doubts that snapped them all out of it.
Sinuous, shifting forms that changed with every blink, they crawled up from their blind spots, appearing in the corners of their vision.
Roman snapped his sword hand back up reflexively, frowning, but Logan could easily read the confusion scrawled across his posture. He’d complained at length about the creatures, their persistent aggression and the way that they always heralded Anxiety’s appearance in this realm, like the world’s creepiest minions.
But Anxiety lay prone at their feet, in no state to control anything, and furthermore, the glittering eyes of the doubts seemed almost… locked on him, glinting with malice.
More questions, and the only one who could answer them was unconscious and quickly gaining a sickly tint to his skin. The doubts were creatures of despair, and if they reached Patton or Anxiety-- the more emotion-driven pair out of the four of them-- the results could be disastrous. They needed out, now.
Logan firmed his shoulders, moving to cut through the panicked back-and-forth his companions were doing.
“Roman,” he called, taking reference from every instructor that Thomas had ever respected to insert authority into his tone, “pick Anxiety up.”
The creative side jerked, his eyes drawn down to Anxiety for a second before flickering away. “And give up my stalwart defense? We’ll be overcome before we reach anything resembling an exit!”
“You need to pick up Anxiety,” Logan repeated, and took a deep breath, shedding all the dirt and gore that he had accumulated while trekking through the Imagination. “I’m bringing the exit to us.”
Applying his function to a space that wasn’t real tended to... destabilize it. It was a last resort, the sort of thing that they’d figured out early on should be avoided. Roman demonstrably put his heart and soul into his work, after all, and fracturing it hurt Creativity as much as the realm itself. Even something as small as Logan breaking his own immersion made Roman twitch, let alone what he was about to pull.
Roman’s eyes went wide with understanding, and then grim determination. He sheathed his sword back into nothing and knelt down at the fallen Side’s side, only hesitating for the barest moment before sliding his arms under his shoulders and knees and lifting him into the air.
The motion seemed to jar Anxiety, and he let out a pained whine that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from Puff. Lifted up like this, they could see the singed gouge that tore through the back of his hoodie, the smoking, rotting injury lined up on his spine in the exact same place it had hit Puff.
“It looks bad,” Patton whispered, his eyes wet and his hands half-pressed over his mouth. The doubts were closer now, circling like wolves. They couldn’t be allowed to worsen Anxiety’s condition.
“We will handle it,” Logan said, not allowing even the slightest tremor in his voice as he held his hands out. He met Roman’s eyes, one last warning, before closing his own and focusing all his attention on dismantling the environment around him.
It was all illusory, from the faint scent of ozone lingering in the air to the cold stone around them. None of it was real, not the magic or the monsters, not when one thought about them logically. The Imagination was a limitless space, shaped and crafted by Creativity, and so any distance between them and the placement of an ‘exit’ was simply imaginary.
There was no logical reason to traverse an imaginary path, and so with one yank, Logan pulled and then folded the space between them and the exit, like crumpling a piece of paper to make two ends meet.
The landscape crinkled around them, bricks shattering and environments crashing together with discordant scraping. Roman would be feeling the effects of the hole in his work for a while, but there was a doorway ahead of them and the doubts were scattered and caught in the folds and tears Logic had created.
“Move,” Logan said through gritted teeth, and Roman staggered through the exit, Patton hot on his tail. He stepped through as well, the door slamming shut on its own behind him. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated in the realm for a good long while after this.
He beckoned Roman over, shoving away the guilt he felt at the other Side’s pained grimace. If his power had just held long enough for the Imagination’s effects to be wiped from Anxiety as well--
The wound pulsed once, as though to announce its stubborn survival. It was glowing a painful violet, the injury resembling nothing more than a slowly expanding Lichtenburg figure.
Logan’s knuckles went white as he looked down at it. He hadn’t even managed to make the injury into something real, something more manageable to treat.
He reached out, grasping again for that sense of unreality, of rejection, and Roman pulled away, backing up.
“No more,” he said firmly, his voice a sharp contrast to the shaking of his arms. Logan felt that familiar guilt threaten to flood for a moment, before-- “Specs, you’re about to pass out. You used too much.”
He blinked, glancing down at his hand. It was shaking, too. He’d overtaxed himself, been too involved in the previous daydream to shut it down without any backlash.
Logic shouldn’t have been too involved in anything. He clenched his fist, abruptly furious with himself.
“Whatever that witch’s calamitous curse caused, it’s spreading slowly for now,” Roman announced, still seeming almost skittish with Anxiety in his arms. “We have yet time to uncover the truth.”
Patton pressed the back of his hand against Anxiety’s forehead, hissing sympathetically. “He’s burning up. I don’t know about curing curses, but-- we can at least help with this.”
They all had memories of Thomas’s parents coaxing him through fevers and flus, but Patton was the best at actually following that example. He directed Roman to the couch, flitted back and forth between the kitchen and the living room with all the classic illness aids.
“This is a spell-based sickness. There’s no reason to believe that this illness will function similarly to Thomas’s past experiences,” Logan started, and then was promptly cut off by Anxiety jerking halfway up off the couch, twisting, and vomiting into the small trash can Patton had just brought out. “... I stand corrected.”
His voice seemed to drag Anxiety’s attention from his retching, his head bobbing up to look around.
He stared out at them with bleary eyes for a heartbeat, all of them quiet and frozen and waiting, and then he slumped back down into both the couch cushions and unconsciousness. A mutual breath of relief went around the room.
“So, are we… going to talk about it?” Patton asked, as though half-dreading the answer.
“Talk about what?” Roman snapped sarcastically, crossing his arms. “The fact that apparently our dear draconic companion has been none other than Anxiety, the scourge on our home, the blight on our fields, the bane of Thomas’s existence, this entire time?”
“We don’t own any fields,” Logan interjected.
“Well, if we did, the guy would probably blight them! He’s a-- a blighter!” Roman replied, increasingly higher in pitch. “This is probably some kind of trick, a foul villainous plot for some greater purpose we don’t understand yet. Anxiety can’t possibly be— have been—!”
“Talking shit?” A familiar drawl rang out, a dark figure appearing on the stairs between one blink and the next and making them all jump. “I thought I heard someone say-- Anxiety?”
There was a moment of stunned silence as everyone looked between the two identical figures in the room.
“Well,” the Anxiety that was clearly actually Deceit said, glancing over the three of them, “I don’t suppose I could convince you that he’s the fake one? … No? What a shame.”
He lifted his shoulders from Virgil’s perpetual slouch easily, shedding his disguise in favor of his usual attire. Several more puzzle pieces clicked into place.
“You were the one who appeared when we introduced Puff to Thomas,” Logan said, cutting off the startled exclamations from the others. “And just now-- you returned from appearing to Thomas, didn’t you? As Anxiety, not yourself.”
Deceit rolled his eyes, adjusting his cufflinks absently. “Yes, well, someone had to do his job while he was… preoccupied. Or were you all so remiss as to not notice the decline that comes with a complete absence of Anxiety?”
They all bristled in unison. “All we’ve been doing as of late is trying to figure out why Thomas has been struggling recently,” Logan replied stiffly. “We cannot jump to conclusions based on the seemingly random reticence of one Side.”
“Oh, but now you know it’s not random at all, don’t you?” Deceit purred, stepping down the stairs one by one. “After all, Occam’s Razor has never proved to be true before.”
“You’re the one who’s slithering around impersonating other Sides!” Roman cut in with a sharp accusation. “How do we know you’re not the reason dear Thomas has been acting off?”
Deceit’s lip curled, displaying a curved fang. “I haven’t been the only reason Thomas hasn’t fallen apart entirely! But if you’d really like to cast blame, I’m happy to inform all three of you that this is your fault.”
“Our fault?” Roman and Patton’s voices overlapped, one outraged and the other alarmed. Logan frowned, smoothing down his tie absently.
“Are you speaking under false pretenses again? Only moments ago, you were claiming that Anxiety’s… disappearance was the source of Thomas’s recent struggle.”
Deceit’s gloves crinkled with the force of his grip on the banister. “You three are the ones who drove Anxiety to believe that he was superfluous, to the point that he decided somehow trapping himself in the form of a— a pet was better than spending another moment as himself in your presence,” he spat, each word furious and bitter.
There was a tense pause, and Deceit visibly reeled in his anger with a deep breath. “I refuse to spend any longer debating sins with you. If you’ll hand over Anxiety—,”
“No!” Logan startled himself with the sharp response, but Roman and Patton alike had echoed it. They exchanged looks, all of them struggling for a moment to put it to words.
Finally, Patton turned to where Deceit was staring at them with narrowed eyes.
“I don’t know why Anxiety chose to— chose this, but I do know that he got hurt trying to protect us. And if it really is our fault-- ...Well, it wouldn’t be right either way, making you or him deal with this alone.”
“And that’s assuming you even have the tools to deal with it,” Logan added, earning himself an irritated glare from the Dark Side. “That was not a slight against you. To elaborate on my meaning, Roman’s experience with the realm and the perpetrator behind the injury could be invaluable in treating it. It would be remiss for us to not offer aid.”
There was a beat, and Roman looked up belatedly from Anxiety, his face pale and eyes distant. “Right,” he said, and then stronger, “Right. We’ll help Anxiety overcome this curse, and then speak with him ourselves on the matter of blame.”
Deceit looked between the three of them assessingly, gaze occasionally flickering down to where Anxiety lay. “I could handle this perfectly well,” he snapped, “but fine. However. If you worsen his condition and force me to continue this ridiculous charade… you will all certainly enjoy the consequences.”
He let the threat sit in the air ominously. Logan thought his forced disdain was a rather strange way to express protectiveness over Anxiety’s well-being, but to be frank, Deceit’s motives could be difficult for him to parse on a good day.
“Deceit,” Patton called before the other Side could sink out. “You’re welcome to come check on Anxiety whenever you’d like. I… I just wanted you to know.”
Deceit cast a glance back at Anxiety, unreadable, and sank out without another word.
—-
Half an hour after Deceit’s revelations, Anxiety woke up.
They hadn’t noticed at first. Patton had been in the kitchen, making enough soup to feed a small army, and Logan and Roman had been preoccupied with bickering, trying to piece together a timeline.
“—can’t be certain that any of the appearances prior to Puff’s introduction to Thomas were Deceit. Anxiety did not withdraw entirely until after that event,” Logan was saying, sharpening his tone to keep Roman from interrupting for the sixth time.
“But the things he said, it has to have been Deceit,” Roman retorted again. “Perhaps this has been going on for months, all part of a plot to replace Anxiety!”
“And do what? Thomas actively ignores Anxiety as often as possible,” Logan stated, the fact making something in his stomach twist oddly. “It would be pointless for Deceit to replace someone with little to no influence.”
“Who knows how the minds of Dark Sides work?” Roman scoffed, and then glanced over Logan’s shoulder and stood. Logan turned to watch him adjust the blankets that had shuffled part ways off of Anxiety.
Roman paused, and then leaned in slightly. “The curse mark—,” he started, and then was cut off by two and a half blankets being tossed directly at his face.
Anxiety scrambled off of the couch with surprising speed for someone who clearly could barely feel any of their limbs. His eyes were wide with unmistakable terror, pupils slit, and Logan lifted his hands non-aggressively.
“Anxiety, calm down,” he started, and Anxiety shot off towards the stairs with frantic and unsteady steps. From this angle, Logan could see the way the wound left from the curse was pulsing and expanding, and felt his own jolt of fear.
Patton rushed out of the kitchen just in time to see Anxiety overshoot and slam into the wall beside the stairs, bouncing off without a sound and struggling to regain his momentum like an animal mindlessly fleeing for its life.
“Patton, grab him before he hurts himself even further!” Logan called, and Patton hurriedly half-tackled the Side, pinning his arms and lifting him up.
Anxiety keened, voice warping into that double tone, and then kicked out against the wall, nearly toppling the both of them. By now, Roman had freed himself, and he jumped to Patton’s side to lend a steadying arm.
Logan hurried forward, careful to stay out of range of Anxiety’s still-kicking legs.
“Anxiety. Anxiety, can you hear me? You need to breathe deeply now, please follow this pattern,” he tried to count steadily, even as Anxiety stared right through him and made awful, gut-wrenching whimpers. His eyeshadow was streaked down the sides of his face like inky tear tracks. “3, 4, 5– Please, Anxiety, we’re not trying to hurt you.”
“It feels like it’s growing,” Patton whispered, Anxiety’s back still pressed to him. Roman pushed the neckline of the other Side’s hoodie aside, and swore at the dark, angular tendrils that were creeping up to his shoulder blades.
“We need him to calm down,” Logan said, but there wasn’t a single soothing method that would work if the person was too far gone to even sense him. “I don’t—,”
“Okay. Okay, I’m— I’m going to calm him down,” Patton said firmly, and then stepped back from the other two and maneuvered Anxiety so he was facing Patton. Logan recognized what Patton was attempting only a moment before Anxiety was pulled into a firm, encircling hug.
Patton’s ability to share positive emotions through physical contact— once jokingly dubbed a ‘drug hug’ by Roman— hadn’t been used frequently since they were all significantly younger. Nowadays, with Logic clearly not needing emotions and Creativity too prideful to ask for one, Patton mostly only used the ability accidentally— slipping up when he was hugging someone while too excited or happy.
Since switching over to this half of the Mindscape, Anxiety had never been exposed to this particular ability. The other Side twitched in Patton’s grasp for a moment, tail thrashing, holding out far longer than Logan expected before slowly melting into the embrace. When Patton finally pulled away, Anxiety was blinking dazedly but seemed considerably more aware of his surroundings.
“His back,” Logan started, and then stopped short.
The wound’s unnatural spread had stopped, the previous panicked pulsing of it reduced to a slow, muted metronome.
“His— Is it based on his heart rate?” Logan asked, bewildered and hating it. “It can’t be consciousness, he’s conscious now and the growth has stopped entirely, but it hadn’t receded at all earlier—,”
“Fear,” Roman said, his mouth set grimly. “A curse for Anxiety that feeds on fear. That’s exactly the kind of cruel irony that the Dragonwitch loves.”
Patton tightened his grip on Anxiety’s hand, his face wrinkled with worry. After a moment, Anxiety squeezed his hand back, still seeming a little distant from the actual conversation.
Logan knew from experience that getting one of those hugs at full power could feel like the emotional equivalent of being dropped into cold water unexpectedly-- it was a shock to the system, one that took a while to adjust to. He wouldn’t be surprised if Anxiety’s nonverbal state lingered for a while longer.
“Then… how do we fix it?” Patton asked. “Do we need him to… stop being afraid for real? Can we do that?”
Logan was quiet, thinking about how fearful Anxiety had looked for the brief moments he was fully aware around them. Roman looked away, and then shook his head.
“I need to return to the Imagination to check on something,” he announced, gaze distant. “I should… probably begin restructuring it, as well.”
Logan hid a wince. “I apologize for being so rough on the realm,” he said, remembering the way Roman had shaken with strain.
Roman waved it off. “You did what you had to, to get us all out. More useful than… well, consider yourself magnanimously forgiven.”
With a smile that seemed a pale facsimile of his normal one, he departed.
Logan turned to Patton, who looked a little wobbly at the knees. “We will be able to help him eventually, we just need more time to investigate,” he said as gently as he could, leading them both back to the couch. “Until then, we can take shifts to look after him.”
Patton curled his free hand around Logan’s, searching his gaze as though seeking some kind of solution. “We’ll figure this out together, right?”
“Right.”
#sanders sides#tsits#tiny dragon virgil#this one goes out to everyone who thought this fic was abandoned: i lived bitch <3#the shapes in the silence#my writing#ts logan#ts roman#ts patton#ts janus#ts virgil#writing#i turned virgil into the dragon equivalent of a catboy#because its my fic and i choose the self indulgent nonsense
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Tangy Starfruit and White Sea Foam (Tiger!Todoroki x Reader)
Warnings: none, unless you count ridiculous amounts of fluff and shenanigans (oh and cursing). hints of BKDK and Kami x Jirou, pro-hero AU, aged-up!AU, Todoroki’s a tiger as a result of a quirk accident that happened on the job. Todoroki and reader are in a established relationship. Bakugou gets tied to a tree, Shinsou and Tsuyu are good friends, you and Todoroki may have a mishap on your hands in the near future. Featuring the rest of class A + Shinsou.
A/N: third and final piece for @ultimate-astridwriting ‘s hybrid collab!! i had an entirely different thing written out for tiger todoroki, it was 2.5k words full of angst bc real life is shitty atm but then bam, i got an idea while eating dinner and now here we are xD. get ready for sun and sand at the beach with a graduated class A!!
Words: 7k
Golden sun raised high in the sky scorched the earth below, turning the pristine white sand into scalding hot lava. But that didn’t hold back the group of 22 from surging forth.
Happy squeals that tumbled from the girls as they caught sight of the sparkling blue waves dancing on the horizon turned into wheezing laughs and yelps as the sand burned their bare feet.
Jirou whooped, a wide smile stretched across her face as she grabbed Yaoyorozu’s hand. “Last one in is a rotten egg!!”
“No fair, Kyoka-chan!!” Uraraka huffed as she pumped her short legs to go faster and catch up.
Kaminari hollered obnoxiously, screaming all the way into the ocean as he tore right past you.
“Do not run!!!!” Iida yelled, trying to make himself be heard above the clamor but to no avail.
You smiled at him sympathetically but he merely shook his head and followed after them to make sure none of his former classmates hurt themselves.
They’re lucky to have you… You thought to yourself, clapping a hand over your mouth when the sound of him scolding Mina and Sero reached your ears from all the way across the deserted beach.
You had found this isolated spot a long time ago, back when you lived on your own and had yet the privilege of calling anyone family. This was a place of comfort for you, a gem hidden away from the greedy eyes of the world looking to corrupt anything and everything that was pure.
Here, you found solace. You found peace.
After you graduated from UA and everyone was giving each other teary goodbye hugs in the common floor filled with all the boxes of things they all had to move into moving trucks, you offered up one day. One day, if everyone wanted to come, you would show them a place very special to you.
The girls had a vague idea of where you guys were going based on the swimsuit dress code. In all honesty, maybe you should’ve made it a little harder for them, but they were your friends. And you were too excited.
Here, on this beach hidden by dense foliage and sheer cliffs, your little piece of paradise remained a secret. Until now.
“Y/N, come on!!!” Hagakure shouted, waving excitedly for you to join them.
“In a minute!!” You yelled back, looking back to see if your boyfriend was following. “Shouto?”
You spun around in a full circle when you couldn’t find him, a frown twisting your features until Shoji came up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder.
“He’s coming.” He told you, jerking his chin back a few paces the way you guys came to signal where he last saw him.
You shot him a look of relief for his well-timed reassurance. “Thanks.”
Shoji dipped his head, hoisting the basket slung over his shoulder higher as he motioned for Tokoyami to pass you. “No problem.”
A skeptical Tokoyami followed the gentle giant, muttering under his breath why the use of quirks had to be banned for today. Koda waved to you shyly and you smiled.
Iida had made it a rule for the day that no quirks were allowed to be used unless in case of an emergency. This was to do damage control and hopefully prevent a fight between Bakugou and literally anyone else.
No one had any arguments. They were all here to relax, not think about their work life. All villains and life outside of this paradise was put on hold until tomorrow came.
You decided to wait until Todoroki caught up with you, and since everyone had raced on ahead, eager to soak up as much sun as they could on the one off day they were all able to get off together, you leaned back against the rough rock and tilted your head up to the sky.
Sighing wistfully, your eyes fluttered shut as the sun’s blazing afternoon rays warmed your body.
You knew what showing them this place meant, and you knew that your friends were fully aware of it. It had been something so special to you for so long that you sharing it with them meant that you trusted them a great deal.
They were honored.
As rising pro-heroes in the world, they were constantly swamped with malicious villains, endless paperwork, press conferences and training the next generation. There was no time for rest.
But your former classmates were insistent that time be taken out for that purpose amidst all the craziness, especially Bakugou.
Down time was important. It was necessary. Or else you all would burnout and then none of you would be any good to save anybody.
This is why you chose this place.
It was secluded enough where there was no paparazzi, no cameras, no exposure and no one was the wiser. Here, you guys could be as loud and as free as you wanted because there was no one around to threaten that fragile bubble of happiness.
Heaving the bulging bag full of food and other amenities that you had swiped from Yaoyorozu as soon as you guys arrived higher on your shoulder, you wiped the bead of sweat from your forehead as it started to drip down your face.
“Shouto, c’mon!!” You encouraged aimlessly, since you didn’t know where he was. “Don’t you want to join the others?”
A faint rustle came from the bush a yard away from you and then it stilled. “No.”
You fought back a smile at the curt reply. You could almost envision that pout on his lips. Cheeky boy.
“Shouto~” You sang, fishing out a piece of his favorite food and waving it in the air, knowing that he could smell it. “I have a present for you…”
A beat of silence passed, and then two fluffy ears, one white and one red, poked out from the brush.
You suppressed a smile, knowing that would only make him leave in a huff and then his stubbornness wouldn’t let him come out and joy you for another hour. You couldn’t do that, he would miss all the fun!!
Waving it a bit more so that the enticing scent of the delectable food encouraged him out of his hiding place, you opted to hold your ground. “C’mon, Shouto. I promise, no tricks.”
His facial expression didn’t change but his ears perked up a bit and you couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped you. He was adorable.
Todoroki’s face fell the second he heard you laugh. “You’re laughing at me.”
You stopped immediately and straightened up, shaking your head. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.” He pushed back, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped out of the bush with stray leaves clinging to his fur and branches sticking out of his head. Plopping down on the dirt, he puffed out his cheeks.
Your eyes softened and you set down the heavy bag, keeping your form relaxed as you tuned out the splashing and shrieks of laughter coming from the ocean.
“I’m sorry I laughed.” You apologized sincerely, never once breaking eye contact with your boyfriend. “I just thought you were very cute.”
Todoroki snorted, a sound so unlike his normally stoic and guarded demeanor, burrowing his face into his arms resting atop of the knees tucked into his chest. “That’s not funny…”
Your smile saddened a fraction as a memory washed over you as though it just happened yesterday.
Trouble had a habit of finding your beloved boyfriend and last week was no different.
The villain he was fighting against had a particularly interesting quirk, since he could manifest certain traits of people into their animal counterpart based solely on their personalities.
Todoroki wasn’t put off until someone pointed out that he must have rage like a tiger, making him internalize everything and now a good seven days later, he still had yet to come to terms with his appearance and strange habits involving a diet of primarily meat.
Fuyumi had sobbed how grateful she was that you were willing to take care of her brother in your apartment until the effects of the quirk dissipated. He was arguing with his father a lot more than usual and the tension in the Todoroki home had skyrocketed.
You brushed it off, merely telling her it was the least that you could do.
Your boyfriend had a tough time adjusting to his new normal. Things were hard for him to grab and he couldn’t cuddle you like he was used to. He liked walking on all fours since he found he could go a lot faster when he used all his appendages instead of only half.
His quirk, however, had been giving him a particularly rough time and the finesse he had honed of over the years disappeared overnight.
To say that Todoroki was upset about it was an understatement.
He would do nothing else but sit in his room for days when you brought him home with you, refusing to let you in unless you came with a peace offering.
That always smoothed things enough for you to talk to him and you were hoping it wouldn’t fail you now.
Todoroki eyed the fish skeptically, tilting his head curiously when you offered it up to him once more. With the pace of a snail, he uncurled from his protective ball and padded forward slowly, raising his nose in the air to sniff.
“Hungry?” You asked sympathetically.
Todoroki hesitated a second before nodding slowly.
Your shoulders dropped and you knelt down, holding it out to him. “Here.”
His eyes lit up and his tail flicked back and forth, gaze darting to you instinctively as though to ask if it really was okay.
You bit back a smile but the corners of your eyes still crinkled and you inclined your head to give him the go ahead.
Before you could blink, the fish was swiped from your hand and as soon as your eyes focused, you burst out laughing.
There, Todoroki crouched on the ground, chomping on the tasty treat.
Wiping off the palm of your hands on your hiking shorts, you beamed down at him, offering out your hand for him to take. “Feel better now?”
“Maybe…” He mumbled quietly as he polished it off before reluctantly accepting the invitation.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love you or love to shower you with affection, it was just that he was used to doing all of that when he was fully a human, not a hybrid.
It was weird.
He found himself clinging desperately to your old t-shirts when you left the home to go on patrol, waiting around for you to come back. He heard when your heartbeat would speed up whenever he was around and how your breath hitched when he leaned in to kiss you goodnight.
Ever since the start of your relationship, he had been the one to take care of you. And he liked it that way.
This dynamic was foreign to him. And he wasn’t sure if it was because he truly disliked you taking care of him, or if it was because of something else.
Todoroki was broken out of his deep thoughts the instant you came to stand right next to Iida.
Before he knew what he was doing, the edges of his mouth pulled back in a menacing snarl and he pounced.
The unsuspecting Iida landed hard on the white sands with an ‘oomph’.
“Todoroki-kun!! Please control yourself!!” Iida shouted, doing his best not to hurt him as the tiger hybrid clawed at him.
You gasped. “Shouto!! Oh my gosh, Iida, I’m so sorry!!”
Pulling him off of the other, you went rigid as your boyfriend whined in your ear. The sound was too low for anyone else to pick up on, but you heard it.
“What’s wrong?” You whispered as Iida brushed off his swim shorts, thrusting his hand straight up into the air to stop Kaminari from drowning himself in an attempt to prove to Sero and Mina that he could hold his breath longer than they could.
Todoroki wrapped his arms around your waist, mouth pressed in a thin line as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
You allowed yourself to relax against him as he pawed feebly at your sides, getting as close to him as possible.
With the increase in physical contact, the tension melted away from Todoroki’s broad form and you heaved a sigh of relief.
“Awwwww~” You cooed teasingly, reaching behind you to pinch his cheek gently and tugging until his smile morphed into a scowl. “Who’s the big scary tiger?”
Todoroki swatted you away, scrambling back until he was free from your affectionate hold on him. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t control his protective instincts and it certainly wasn’t his fault for reacting the way that he did when he smelled Iida’s scent all over you. You were his.
Of course he was going to protect you.
Baring his teeth at the tease, he hissed, tiny fangs on display.
You shouldn’t have found that as cute as you did.
Two more bodies shouldered their way past you and you grinned.
“Took you two long enough.” You smirked, wrangling your boyfriend back when he struggled in the firm grip you had around his arms to prevent him from knocking another person over.
The power couple had a habit of falling behind their ranks while getting lost in their own world. It was disgustingly cute.
Bakugou rolled his eyes angrily and gnashed his teeth. “Now you’re counting, dumbass? You’re worse than the shitty nerd.”
Midoriya ignored that comment as he sidled past you warily, forest green eyes sympathetic once they fell on your significant other. “Todoroki-kun still hasn’t changed back yet?”
He had seen the news coverage on it when the incident happened. Luckily, he wasn’t physically harmed, just physically altered, but it didn’t look like it was going away anytime soon.
Planting your hands on your hips, you yelped as Todoroki ripped himself from your grasp to tear off after Shinsou and tackled him next when he got too close to you. “No, not yet.”
Spraying white sand everywhere with his hind legs, it was almost endearing how his head raised and heterochromic eyes blinked back at you as soon as your voice sounded, silently begging for permission.
You followed his gaze to the ocean spray behind you and shook your head fondly, suppressing a smile as you jerked your head in Yaoyorozu’s direction. She would watch over him and make sure none of the other boys bullied him.
“Go on.” You encouraged softly, and that was all he needed.
While Bakugou set up the tent for him and his boyfriend so that Midoriya wouldn't get sunburnt, not that he would ever admit to doing it for that reason, your best friend eagerly asked for updates on all the latest changes.
Whipping out his hero notebook, his eyes shone with enthusiasm. “What has he been eating?! Does he prefer tuna or white cod? Oh, oh, oh, is there a difference in his quirk?! How does it impact his—”
Midoriya’s endless and excited rambling was cut off by his fuming boyfriend as he smacked him over the head and he cried out in pain, clutching his head. “Wahhhhh, Kacchan!!!”
“Shut the hell up, Deku.” Bakugou snarled, stomping past him to throw a bottle of sunscreen at you. “Put this on, shitty woman.”
You grinned, already squeezing the tube to squirt some onto your hand and slathered it on your arms. “Aw, you do care.”
“Go die.” He hissed, turning on his heel so abruptly that he almost slipped.
You refrained from giggling as he furiously, yet meticulously, took out various food items from the picnic basket that he had brought with. No matter how much he claimed he didn’t care about any of you, actions sure spoke louder than words.
Class A had graduated from UA all together and each and every one of you had secured a spot as a sidekick for many top pro-heroes all around the country. Before a year had even passed, all 22 of you had made a name for yourself, so much so that you were all almost as famous as the pros.
Midoriya was the first one to start his own agency, no surprise there. But what was a surprise was Bakugou following right after to build one right next to his.
The general public suspected it was because that area where their agencies were was riddled with violent crime, but you knew better. You all did, really.
How could anyone miss the lingering gazes filled with adoration and passion?
“Y/N, come on!!” Shinsou hollered, ducking under Shoji’s arm to sprint back towards you. “You’re missing all the fun!!”
“Be right there!!” You shouted back, rearranging the tablecloth on the ground so that it would lay flat.
You still needed to grab the bag you left at the foot of the cliffs because it was getting too heavy for you to carry. But you chanced a glance up and the glimpse of your friends had a wide smile breaking out on your face.
Todoroki was splashing in the shallows, completely soaking his fur. Jirou and Hagakure shrieked as Mina chased the two of them around, sparking an impromptu game of tag. Koda was in the middle of showing Tokoyami his seagull friend when Uraraka bumped into him.
Tsuyu and Kirishima were beachcombing for shells a little bit away when Kaminari skidded to a halt in front of them with Yaoyorozu in tow.
Aoyama, Ojiro, Sato, Iida and Mineta were playing beach volleyball with the inflatable ball that the former class president had brought along with them.
Dragging the beach bag behind you over to your spot that you set up far away from the shore so that when the tide came in, it wouldn’t wash everything away, you took out an array of towels, more sunblock, floaties, snacks, water bottles, coverups and a pair of sunglasses for Aoyama in case he forgot his again.
Standing up tall, you cupped your hands over your mouth and yelled, “Lunchtime!!!”
Several whoops and hollers pierced the salty air and you snorted when Midoriya almost tripped over his boyfriend’s outstretched feet in his haste to get there first.
Amidst the clamor and friends swarming around you, you twisted around, looking for your tiger hybrid boyfriend. “Shouto—”
“I’m here.”
You jumped as the low rumble sounded right by your ear, shivering unconsciously as his warm chest pressed up against your back.
“Hey…” You murmured as he mashed the top of his head in between your shoulder blades before planting a soft kiss there. “Did you have fun?”
He nodded, resting his chin on your shoulder to look over it as everyone rearranged themselves in a large circle.
You and Bakugou took care of the food prep while all your friends engorged themselves on the pre-made sandwiches and finger food.
“Oi, half-n-half bastard.” Bakugou growled, breaking the bubble of peace you two had with his temper that came out the longer your hands stayed motionless. “Stop bothering her, she’s not doing shit.”
Normally Bakugou’s crude language didn’t bother or upset Todoroki in any way, so you were shocked with a snarl echoed, washing over the group and effectively silencing them.
You squeaked as his arms tightened around you almost protectively and landed with an ‘oof’ as he pulled you to the ground.
“Shouto?!” You cried out incredulously as he unabashedly nuzzled his face into the hollow of your throat, setting his thick thighs on either side of you.
You rolled your eyes when Bakugou went rigid with anger. You could feel the heat emitting from your beloved’s glare as he locked stares with the pomeranian who was furious that the dumb extra thought he was flirting with you.
“That’s enough.” You scolded, though it was unclear who you were really talking to.
Neither wavered.
“Icyhot, you dumb fuck.” Bakugou spat, never once breaking eye contact, even as the chatter picked up again.
Todoroki snarled but the expression of rage contorted into meek sheepishness as you ran your fingers lightly through his hair, being mindful of his ears.
Humming softly, you coaxed him back down to earth long enough for common sense to return to him.
Todoroki bundled you up in his arms, tail swishing back and forth lazily as he held you. “Sorry.”
You shook your head at his apology, knowing he couldn’t fully control his impulses sometimes. “Not your fault.”
Bakugou snorted, smacking Kirishima in the face with a fish fillet when he asked to see what he was cooking. “Yes it fucking is.”
He just barely managed to dodge the shoe you launched at his head, straightening up with an enraged scowl etched on his features.
“OI!!!!”
You giggled, wiggling back to get comfortable against Todoroki’s chest. “You deserved it.”
“TAKE THAT SHIT BACK!!!!!” He thundered, smoke coming out of his ears.
“Kacchan!!” Midoriya cried out, wrestling back his boyfriend before his temper tantrum could reach the two of you.
He begged Jirou or Kaminari to help him but the two of them simply flipped the bird to Bakugou, and he exploded.
Literally.
What happened next was a flurry of the class rep containing the situation and a spark of green lightning before it was over as quickly as it started.
“I’m going to fucking kill all of you.” Bakugou seethed angrily, eye twitching from where his loving boyfriend had used One for All to pin him to the ground, tying him to the trunk of a nearby coconut tree until he calmed down.
“Ah…” Midoriya winced sheepishly as his glare turned on him. “K-Kacchan—”
Jirou’s loud slurping of the smoothie that Sato just made interrupted him and she regarded the fuming grown man disinterestedly. “Who’s up for a game?”
“Oh, oh, oh, meeeee!!!” Hagakure shouted, raising her hand high in the air alongside Uraraka and an intrigued Tsuyu.
“MEEEEEE!!!!” Mina screamed, nearly blowing out Kaminari’s eardrums as he collapsed on top of his girlfriend.
Jirou pushed him off without hesitation, fighting back a smirk when he let out an overexaggerated whimper of pain, knowing full well that he wasn’t actually hurt.
Shoji stopped what he was doing to pay attention and even the usually shy Koda looked interested in her proposal on how to deal with the tied up pomeranian thrashing in place.
Jirou raised an eyebrow slyly and everybody held their breath in anticipation.
One.
Two.
Three.
“PIN THE TAIL ON THE BAKUGOU!!!!!” Jirou screamed, holding up a sticky dart that they all regularly used for training.
How she managed to sneak equipment out of the agency she worked at was beyond you.
Jirou whooped, scrambling forward and held it up high. “I’m going first!!”
“Me next, Kyoka-chan!!!” Uraraka pleaded.
“Class A, this is highly inappropriate!!!!” Iida shouted, trying to curb the situation before it got out of hand.
Too late.
As the girls, save for Yaoyorozu, clustered gathered around a livid Bakugou, Tokoyami uncrossed his arms and pushed off of his post from where he had been keeping watch over the perimeter of the beach.
“I will join.”
You and Todoroki were both surprised, not expecting the normally reclusive individual to join in on the shenanigans.
Your dropped jaw caught Tokoyami’s attention and the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.
“I find great satisfaction in tormenting the souls of the wicked.” He declared impassively and a light bulb went off in your head.
“Ahhhhh,” You drew out with a grimace. “I get it.”
Back when you guys had lived in the dorms, Bakugou had made the fatal mistake of scaring Tokoyami during Halloween, making the latter let out an inhuman scream that traveled all the way across campus. Even though he had sworn to the moon and back that it was accidental, that there was no way he was actively participating in the game that Raccoon-Eyes and Flat Face had going on, Tokoyami never forgot it.
And now it was time for his revenge.
Tokoyami caught the tomato that Sero threw his way and tossed it up in the air with the most menacing glare on his face as everyone advanced to the struggling pro-hero.
“Bakugou, you ready?!” Kirishima shouted excitedly, removing the gag from his best friend’s mouth.
“PISS OFF, SHITTY HAIR!!!!” Bakugou exploded once he was free, yanking at his restraints even though he had no chance of getting out of them.
His boyfriend tied them.
Hagakure tapped Jirou’s shoulder warily. “You think we should’ve left it on?”
The other girl shrugged nonchalantly, unbothered by the rage rolling off of him in waves. “Eh, he would’ve found a way out of it eventually.”
Shinsou twirled a piece of Tsuyu’s hair that he was braiding, boredly looking on at all the chaos as they all pushed and pulled each other. He had asked Aizawa to teach him how back when he lived in the dormitory so that he could do it for Eri whenever she came over to visit.
“Shinsou-chan, are you going to take a turn?” She asked curiously, staying still so that he could braid her long hair properly.
He shrugged even though she couldn’t see him. “I don’t really see the point in it.”
“Kero,” She ribbeted thoughtfully. They were the only two not contributing to the shouting other than you and Todoroki. “I see.”
“Ehhhh?!?!” Kaminari exclaimed, losing his footing as he accidentally tripped over Kirishima’s foot and crashed into Shinsou.
Shooting him a sharp glare as all his hard work undid itself, Shinsou pushed himself off the ground, not sparing him a glance as he marched back over to the frog girl to fix it.
You giggled to yourself at Kaminari’s expression of mock hurt but pursued your lips quickly when his head snapped towards the sound. Pure smile dripping with innocence, your shoulders shook with laughter when he turned all the way around suspiciously, piercing gaze landing on his girlfriend as she doubled over with laughter at something Yaoyorozu said.
Bakugou thrashed helplessly against the coconut tree. “I’M GONNA FUCKIN’ KILL YOU, EARPHONES!!!!!”
But Jirou’s boisterous chortling was all that answered his threat.
You sank back against Todoroki, sighing blissfully despite the war raging on as they started the game, Bakugou protesting violently all the way.
Angling your head up, your eyes squinted against the sun but you still smiled as soft fur brushed your cheek.
“Are you happy, Shouto?” You asked softly, quiet enough to not catch the attention of the others as they yelled for Midoriya to keep his boyfriend still.
He paused, choosing to play with the fringe of your shirt instead of responding right away. “Right now?”
Your smile dimmed a fraction, not expecting that answer. “... I suppose I meant just in general, but you could answer with whatever comes to mind…”
You trailed off, leaving the question itself open ended so that he could opt not to answer it if he didn’t feel comfortable.
Todoroki hesitated. “Where… Where is this coming from?”
Outright frowning now, you pushed off his knee so that you could sit across from him to see him better.
“I was just wondering...” You said slowly, trying to keep the defensiveness out of your voice.
Was he not happy? Why did he hesitate? Would he be happier with someone else? Did he not want to be with you anymore?
You shook your head at the insecure thoughts invading your head. That wasn’t right. He would’ve told you if he didn’t want to put work into this relationship anymore. You two had made that pact when you started dating, to break it off if one person no longer wanted it instead of stringing the other along and ended up hurting you both in the long run.
Taking a deep breath to calm yourself down from spiraling too far, you steadied your heart before opening your mouth again.
“I asked because I wanted to know.” You told him honestly, speaking from the heart. “Your happiness matters a lot to me, I always want you to be happy. That’s why I wanted to ask.”
Placing a hand on his knee, you smiled apologetically at him and the shenanigans from your friends faded into white noise as you tuned out everything else besides him.
Your Shouto. The person you loved the most in this entire world. The one who had been with you through thick and thin and the one who swore he would never abandon you.
He knew what those words meant to you. He had your heart.
And you had his.
Todoroki’s heterochromic eyes softened a fraction and his ears and tail drooped as he realized that he had acted so defensively out of reflex.
“I—”
“You don’t have to apologize.” You reassured him swiftly, clearly. You knew what he was going to say. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Todoroki’s rapid heartbeat steadied at the loving conviction in your voice and a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in whooshed out of his lungs.
Reaching out, he laced his slim fingers with yours and tugged you closer to rest his forehead against yours.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
“I am happy.” He murmured quietly so that only you could hear him, emphasizing the soft declaration with a gentle squeeze of your hand. “I feel… the most when I am with you.”
Despite his words growing softer and softer, you still heard them and your heart leaped in your throat.
Swallowing thickly, you gave him a wobbly smile at his admission and fought to keep the tears at bay as you leaned in to press a quick kiss to his lips, commending him for his bravery and vulnerability when it came to expressing his innermost thoughts. You knew it wasn’t easy for him to do.
“I’m glad.” You sighed, trying not to get too caught up in the moment so that your emotions didn’t run away from you. “And I’m honored you feel that way around me. I will continue to do my best to make you happy.”
This time, Todoroki was the one to frown, his nose twitching in displeasure.
“You do not need to do anything.” He stated matter-of-factly, tilting his head in confusion. “It is your company, I believe, that makes me feel this way.”
That was an understatement. You elevated his heart and spirit in all the best possible ways. With your encouragement and kind nature, he felt like he had the strength to do anything. Including tough out this quirk incident that was causing a huge inconvenience in everybody’s lives.
Todoroki ducked his head and hid a smile, recalling to mind the time you blurted out in passionate fervor that it was not an inconvenience to anyone, let alone you, when he confessed thinking such to you.
You really were too kind to him. He was going to make sure you were protected forever and always.
Nudging your temple softly with his nose, Todoroki purred contentedly as your sweet scent washed over him like the summer breeze.
“Starfruit and coconut?” He questioned curiously.
Ever since his temporary transformation, he had been picking up more and more of what you smelled like, and he loved it. But this certain combination was brand new to him.
The tips of your ears burned red and you gnawed on your bottom lip shyly. “Y-Yeah… it’s a new lotion. I liked the scent.”
Todoroki hummed thoughtfully, another throaty purr emitting from his chest as waves lazily crashed upon the shore. His arms tightened around you in silent request and his ears perked up as you repositioned yourself so that your back was flush against his bare chest.
“It smells good.” He finally admitted, glancing down at you.
You shifted in his hold, stretching out your legs and crossing your ankles. “Yeah?”
Todoroki buried his nose into your soft hair and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he thought about how lucky he was to have someone like you in his life. How much tragedy and hurt he had to go through, what he had to sacrifice almost to the point of giving up, when he met you.
You were his light, his partner, his everything.
Vibrant turquoise and cloudy grey hues softened imperceptibly as they gazed down at you, his tail coming around to wind around your thigh, clutching it almost possessively.
“Yeah…” He whispered, allowing his eyes to finally slip shut as the sun got to him, exhaustion washing over him like a tidal wave.
And you, you sat there in his embrace, ready for whatever this life threw at you next. Because in spite of the hardships, you knew that you could face it together.
Playing with his fingers, you relaxed against him and wriggled more comfortably into his side.
“Hey, Shouto,” You murmured under your breath, fully aware that he couldn’t hear you based on the even rise and fall of his chest. “When we get home…”
Hooded eyes darted to the bag you brought with you, honing in on the small cube outline bulging from the pouch on the side. The size of a ring box.
“I have something to ask you.”
Bonus:
Everyone had worn themselves out. Night had fallen, the ambiance only broken by the occasional remark of the ocean spray as they made themselves known.
Stars twinkled high in the sky and the group of 22 felt the most at ease that they had been since they assumed positions in society as top pro-heroes.
Well, all except one.
Bakugou glowered at his boyfriend sitting a couple paces away from him. “Deku, I swear to fucking—”
“Kacchan, shh!!! I’ll never get this opportunity again!!!” Midoriya whisper-shouted at him, furiously scribbling in his hero notebook.
He glanced up once in a while at your sleeping form draped against Todoroki’s white and red fur.
He had turned into an actual tiger halfway through the night when everyone else had fallen asleep and Midoriya had no idea if it was because he felt at ease enough that he let go, or if this was another step in the quirk manifesting itself. Either way, it was incredibly interesting and he was jotting down everything he noticed.
Rolling his eyes when his fanboy of a boyfriend didn’t put down his pen, Bakugou tapped his foot impatiently. “Of course the fucking Number One Hero still is hung up over these shitty extras.”
Midoriya squealed excitedly despite the other’s discontented grumbling, clutching his notebook close to his heart. “Kacchan, it’s so cool though!!!”
Bakugou huffed, turning away but that was so he couldn’t see the pinking of his cheeks.
Alright, look, it wasn’t his damn fault the shitty nerd was so fucking cute when he got like this!!
Tugging at his restraints purposefully, Bakugou burned a hole in the back of Midoriya’s head when he refused to look his way.
“Oi, let me out of this shit.” He demanded hotly, trying to blast his way through, only to find out that the ropes were made of some kind of quirk-cancelling material.
Fuck.
“In a minute.” Midoriya babbled, waving him off as he scrambled closer to his slumbering friend to get a better look. “Todoroki-kun is so cool!!”
Bakugou’s eyebrows scrunched together at that and he frowned. “What the fuck, you shitty nerd?!”
Midoriya yelped as a red aura emitted from him. “Eep!!! K-Kacchan?!?!”
“IS THAT A CHALLENGE, DEKU?!?!?!?!”
“N-No, of course it’s not!!!” Midoriya replied desperately, waving his hands to ward him off and hopefully stop him from waking everybody else up.
That hope was diminished as quickly as it came as Bakugou roared. “WAKE THE FUCK UP, ICYHOT!!!!!”
“I really rather not.” Came the dry reply, catching the both of them off guard.
Bakugou recovered quickly and his expression contorted into fury. “WHAT THE FUCK?!?!”
Midoriya approached him cautiously, hoping to placate him. “K-Kacchan, maybe we should—”
“HAH?!?!” His head whipped around towards him, wrists already chafed from how hard he was yanking against it. “YOU STILL THINK FUCKIN’ HALF-N-HALF IS BETTER THAN ME?!?!”
“I didn’t say that!!!” Midoriya cried out.
Bakugou leaned back against the trunk, vermilion eyes glinting dangerously. Every muscle in his body was coiled and ready to strike. “Get the fuck over here, damn nerd.”
Midoriya’s feet moved before he knew what he was doing until he came to a standstill directly in front of his boyfriend looking at him with an entirely different expression on his face.
One of mild interest and pure determination.
Bakugou smirked. “I’m gonna make you eat your damn words, Deku.”
His eyes lit up at the implication and he ground his fist into the palm of his hand before untying the bonds.
“Bring it on, Kacchan.”
.
.
.
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU TWO DO?!?!” You shrieked, horrified at the sight that greeted you in the morning.
The two of them were covered head to toe in bruises and scrapes, and absolutely soaked.
Iida was the most upset. “NO QUIRKS WERE ALLOWED ON THIS VACATION!!!!”
Bakugou stuffed his hands in his pockets and scoffed. “Vacation’s over, Emergency Exit.”
“THAT IS NO LONGER AN APPROPRIATE NICKNAME!!!!” Iida corrected and you pinched the bridge of your nose.
“I can’t believe this.” You mumbled to yourself exasperatedly. “You guys actually sparred all night?!?!”
“L/N-san, it was awesome!!!” Midoriya rambled enthusiastically, the glow in his eyes never faltering even as Iida continued to chew out a bored Bakugou. “Kacchan was so cool!!!”
You sputtered. “This was supposed to be a vacation!!!”
“It was!!” Midoriya insisted with a determined pout and you shook your head.
“You don’t understand the concept of a vacation, hospital boy.”
“Hey!!”
Tokoyami nodded, satisfied as Iida punished Bakugou with a week’s worth of chores despite the fact that none of them lived together anymore. “Vengeance is served.”
“Anyone got any food?” Hagakure chirped while Mina whined in the corner about how hungry she was.
Kaminari was already rifling through the beach bag you brought with you, fishing out every single piece of food you had left.
You looked on fondly at them as they handled the food emergency themselves. You were lucky to have friends like these. Ones that could goof off whenever and be as silly as you were, as well as be there when it counted.
Todoroki tapped you on the shoulder with the tip of his tail, offering up a bagel he had managed to snag before everyone else emptied out the reserves. “Hungry?”
You shot him a thankful look, breaking it in half to share with him before munching on your piece happily. “Very.”
The two of you basked in the momentary peace the sunrise brought as Bakugou argued against Iida that he wasn’t even the one to start the brawl, even though it fell on deaf ears.
You bit back a smile as Todoroki’s tail looped around your waist, pulling you into his side and you laughed lightly. “Is this your way of telling me you want to cuddle some more before we have to go back?”
“Maybe.” He mused, gaze filled with adoration and humor as he fixated his eyes on you.
Todoroki blinked slowly, dipping his head down to draw your head close to his. “Y/N?”
You tilted your face up at his inquiry. “Yes?”
The depth of love in your eyes was reflected in his heart.
“Later today, if you get a chance, stop by my agency.” He requested somewhat timidly and you raised an eyebrow in surprise at the odd desire.
“Yeah… okay, sure.” You affirmed with what you hoped to be a reassuring smile to put him at ease, even though you had no idea what this was all about.
Todoroki chuckled softly at your lost expression. You looked cute when you were trying to figure out what he was thinking. No chance though, you could think about this one all you wanted, you were never going to figure out where he was going with this.
“There is something I would like to ask you.” He hinted with a mysterious smile, unlocking his grip around your waist to stroll over to Koda and help him pack up the picnic basket.
It took a second for you to process. And then another passed before you realized what he meant.
“W-Wait a minute— Shouto!!!!”
Ringing laughter was all that accompanied your cries and torrent of questions as you asked over and over again if he was insinuating what you thought he was.
In a moment of bravery, he threw you a wink. “You have to wait to find out, Y/N.”
“No fair!!!”
“Patience.”
“UH UH, YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE A GIRL HANGING LIKE THAT!!!!”
“I don’t see how it’s any different than what you pulled last night.”
“... I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Todoroki shrugged nonchalantly, aiding Iida and Yaoyorozu in packing up the rest of the supplies. “Okay.”
“TODOROKI SHOUTO, GET BACK HERE!!!!”
“Wait six hours, Y/N.”
“SIX HOURS?!?!?!”
Your wailing only made that grin on his face grow. “I could double it.”
You shut your mouth at that ominous threat. Like hell he was going to do that to you.
Todoroki smiled triumphantly but it only lasted for a second when you glared at him.
“You’re a cruel, cruel man, Todoroki.” You proclaimed dramatically, stumbling back when Kaminari took that opportunity to plop a heavy basket in your arms to make you carry it.
Todoroki’s shoulders shook with laughter at your attempt to catch yourself. You were as clumsy as a newborn deer. “I learn from the best.”
Your eyes glittered with mischief and throwing down the basket, you sprinted over to somewhere behind the rocks, disappearing from sight.
But your voice still carried.
“BAKUGOU, I’M GONNA KILL YOU!!!!!!”
#todoroki#todoroki x reader#todoroki x reader oneshot#todoroki onehsot#todoroki shouto#todoroki shoto#todoroki shouto x reader#bnhacity#bnha#mha#bnha todoroki#bnha todoroki shouto#bnha todoroki shoto#todoroki shouto oneshot#hybrid!todoroki#tiger!todoroki#hybrid todoroki#tiger todoroki#soft todoroki#protective todoroki#midoriya#bakugou#bkdk#bakudeku#bnha oneshot#todoroki fluff#shinsou#bnha beach day
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beau wakes up calm.
it’s a feeling so pervasive that she’s almost unsettled by it. their lives aren’t calm right now, between eiselcross and vess de rogna and now these eyes that keep popping up all over her and caleb. any calm she feels is usually immediately overshadowed by guilt for feeling it.
but beau can’t find it in her to feel guilty right now, not when the tower is quiet and there is a large, warm arm thrown protectively over her stomach. not when beau can feel the tickle of hot air at the back of her neck as yasha breathes, steady and restful in a way she doesn’t get to be when she’s awake. beau considers learning magic just so she can stop time and give yasha all the rest she deserves.
for now, she slowly rolls onto her back, taking care not to jostle yasha or slip out from under her secure embrace. she rolls over and doesn’t open her eyes until she’s on her back, the mirror directly above her, waiting.
it’s a sex mirror. of course it’s that, because caleb said as much when he told her about it, and god, does she owe him a week’s worth of uninterrupted research or whatever nerdy thing he wants in return. it’s a sex mirror and she and yasha have checked that off their list already, at least for the first time. second, fourth, something--they have definitely checked that off their list for a quantifiable number of times, it’s just that beau doesn’t quite know the number.
it’s a sex mirror but it’s also not because it’s more, because beau opens her eyes and can see the two of them as they are now--wrapped together, heavy and sticky in the illusory sunlight, sheets draped carelessly across their legs. they look good together. it isn’t the first time beau’s thought that, and with any luck (and a lot of hard work), it won’t be the last. but this is the first time that beau’s had the chance to really sink into that feeling, to see the reality of it and commit it to memory.
beau takes her time looking, glances over her own familiar body and the way it melts against one she can’t wait to know better. she should be a little cold perhaps, given that the sheets don’t go any higher than her hips and she hasn’t been wearing clothes for a good couple of hours. but yasha is so very there, so wide and curled around her in a way that seeks comfort as much as gives it. she’s on her side, the parts of her that aren’t touching beau sprawled greedily across the expanse of the bed. beau could spend hours looking at this reflection of them, of yasha and the curve of her muscles; the way her skin actually seems to create a glare in the early morning light. it’s so bright normally, even brighter now for the nearness of beau. time is fleeting and the tower will disappear soon and so beau is greedy--she looks at the angle of yasha’s legs, the way she twitches her toes on the one foot that hangs over the edge of the bed. beau looks at yasha’s back, the slope and strength of it; she remembers how solid and warm it felt under her fingers just a few hours ago. beau has known how sturdy yasha is since they met--has lusted over it since then, to be honest--but to feel it within her grasp, to be pressed against it and to have it soften and yield at her touch…
beau would learn magic to give yasha the peace she needs. she would learn art to memorialize this moment and the way they look together.
she watches yasha sleep, clocks the way her nose is pressed into the crook of beau’s neck. she almost cries at the drape of yasha’s arm across her chest--a few inches down and she’d have a handful of boob. as it is, beau’s heart is beating a rhythm right into yasha’s palm.
beau turns her head away from yasha and clears her throat. “hey.” she clears it again when it becomes clear just how ragged it’s gotten. “dachsies, can you hear me? or do i have to yell.” she waits, straining to listen for the soft clink of a tiny bell or two. “frumpkin?” she tries again.
there is a faint ‘mrrp’ and the door to her bedroom opens slightly, just wide enough for a lithe fey cat to slip through. she can’t see frumpkin as he enters the room, but he’s there all of a sudden, jumping noiselessly and weightlessly on top of the bed.
he stares at her expectantly and beau wishes very much that caleb isn’t snooping, too.
frumpkin walks forward and sits next to her, the not-quite-fur of his tail swishing against her side. beau can’t help reaching out with the hand that isn’t trapped by yasha’s body and giving him a few scratches under his chin. he preens, closes his eyes tilts up to give her a better angle, and settles right back into his serious face when she pulls away.
“can you get the hot tub going again,” beau murmurs, “with some nice shampoos and shit? and maybe start working on a few dozen pancakes; i’m sure the others are gonna barge in here soon. make sure there’s a stack of spider ones for me and yash.”
frumpkin chirps again, butts his head against her chest as he jumps off the bed. beau reaches out to affectionately grab his tail, chuckling as it slips through her hands.
yasha is awake when beau turns back to look at her.
“hello,” yasha whispers. “good morning.” beau cuts her off with a kiss. “i love you.”
beau smiles at that, rolls over and presses herself firmly into yasha. she repositions yasha’s arm to wrap around her back, laughs when yasha drifts downward and squeezes her ass. beau kisses her again and again, slow and firm, catching any inch of lips or neck that she might have missed before. her hands roam without any destination, traipsing over the plane of yasha’s stomach, tickling at the dimples in her shoulders underneath which her wings sprout. beau knows how sensitive those spots are now, and she presses her fingers against them, syncs that up with another determined kiss. she doesn’t miss the way yasha’s tongue stutters against her own, the brief loss of contact she sacrifices to gasp, just a little.
yasha’s nails turn inwards and dig into beau’s hips, and beau returns the favor.
beau reaches upward and grips yasha’s chin, marveling at the fact that her thumb seems to fit perfectly over the line of black beneath yasha’s lip. she pulls away and tickles the skin there, can’t resist one more kiss, especially when it elicits that special, breathy kind of laugh from yasha.
she makes sure yasha’s eyes are open and looking at her before she speaks.
“i love you, too,” beau says, her voice deeper and hoarser than usual, even for the morning. “last night was...i won’t ever forget it, yash.”
“me either.”
“might have been the best night of my life.”
“not if i have anything to say about it,” yasha winks. “i wish we didn’t have to leave.”
“yeah,” beau sighs--breathes, really, and she falls a little more in love with the way yasha doesn’t turn her face away from what is definitely a bad case of morning breath. “we’ve still got some time before we have to, though. the dogs are setting up the hot tub right now.”
yasha laughs, deep and rumbly and beau feels it in her chest. “before all of you i never would have understood that sentence.”
“right?”
“mhm. it is--a very fun thing to think about.”
yasha gently lifts a strand of hair from beau’s face and tucks it behind her ear. beau watches the entire time, so entranced by the size and safety of yasha’s hands, so determined to follow their path with a kiss, that she misses yasha’s other hand coming up to rest behind her legs, and beau lets out a very uncool yelp as yasha lifts her from the bed.
yasha drags them across the mattress, stands and gets herself situated, and it isn’t until they’re halfway to the floating pad that beau clocks exactly how she’s being carried.
yasha’s arms are confident beneath her shoulders and legs, and beau has looped her arms around yasha’s neck instinctually, and tears start to well up in this moment of realization.
“yasha…”
yasha stops walking, leans down and kisses her, and it isn’t because they’re naked that beau is glad no one can see them right now.
beau flutters through her feelings and rests her head against yasha’s chest, silently, as they float gently down to the hot tub.
everything seems more muted in the daytime--the lionesses aren’t as imposing, the slides aren’t as tempting. but the steam and smells are just as inviting, and beau lets herself be carried into the water, settling into the warmth as yasha reaches for the soaps.
they both slip under the water; beau shakes her head and scratches at her scalp while she lingers, getting out the last of her restless energy. she pops back above the surface and drifts over to yasha, who has settled into the corner, her arms resting elegantly atop the stone edges. beau drops into yasha’s lap without a word, humming, content, as yasha’s arms slip back into the water and wrap around her body. yasha snakes her legs over the parts of beau that her arms can’t reach until beau is completely covered, completely enveloped in her love.
beau has always been attracted to women who could break her--big, strong women whose bigness and strength almost always equated to a good, long time in the bedroom. and yasha has that in spades--probably invented it--but it sure is fuckin’ something else to know that breaking is only half of it, that the flip side is that beau can be fully contained and sheltered in yasha’s arms. bigness is a comfort as much as it is a challenge. yasha uses her size to hold and cherish just as much as she uses it to fight.
beau sinks down so that her nose is just above the surface of the water, and tries her very best to pretend she isn’t crying. the effort is abandoned when she gets out of her head and realizes yasha is very carefully and very thoughtfully soaping up her hair with thick, gentle fingers.
beau sits up a bit and spits some water from her lips. “how come you’re so good at that?”
yasha takes a moment to think, tilts beau’s head back so she can rinse the shampoo out. “zuala and i didn’t have as much time together as i wanted,” she answers, “but we made sure to treasure every moment we were allowed.” she rubs her hands together, presumably spreading conditioner over them; beau can hear the slickness of it echo through the air. “i am able to follow a god because i had a wife once,” she says, quiet and matter-of-fact, like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
god.
“well, fuck.” beau closes her eyes and tries to relax her shoulders as yasha’s hands knead through her hair again. “did you--i mean, i don’t want to overstep but--it was like this? all the time?”
yasha is quiet again, patient with her feelings and beau and the combination of the two. she slows her ministrations and rests her hands on the sides of beau’s face, her thumbs tickling at beau’s ears.
“the only similarity between the love i feel for zuala and the love i feel for you is that it is coming from me,” yasha finally says. “it was like this, yes--and it wasn’t like this at all. it was different because it was her. the whole world was different because it was her, you know?”
beau nods. “hope so,” she replies. “trying to, at least.”
yasha squeezes her cheeks, presses a kiss to the top of her soapy head. she gently pushes beau underwater and scrubs her hair clean with a little more force this time. beau lays back and watches, smiles as yasha scoops a hand underwater and brushes it over her lips.
beau sits back up feeling more refreshed and loved than she ever has in her whole life.
she swirls around to face yasha, lets the water guide her back to yasha’s lap. beau hooks her legs around yasha’s torso, lets the water hold her up as she drapes yasha’s hair over her shoulders.
“your braids could use a little touch-up,” she murmurs.
yasha, so sensitive and careful about her hair, simply nods and watches as beau lets it out, making tidy piles with the ties and ribbons on the ledge. yasha’s hair billows out once the last bunch is free; in the water, she looks beautiful and serene.
beau rests her hands on either side of yasha’s face, swipes her thumbs under yasha’s eyes as they kiss. “thank you,” she says, softly, “for loving me.”
yasha sighs and kisses her again. “you make it easy, beau. you don’t have to thank me.”
“i do,” beau insists. “for now, i do.”
she directs yasha away from the wall, takes her place in the shampoo corner. it’s a little different this time--beau can’t surround yasha quite as fully, and she has to wrap her legs around yasha and float to get a good angle to wash her hair. but yasha doesn’t complain, and she rests her arms on beau’s thighs and slides her hands over her legs, soothing and present. the water never cools off and the dogs are somewhere else, and for a few quiet moments, nothing in the world exists except this tub in this tower, hidden in a smelly, dirty tavern.
/
they’re clean and laughing in the kitchen by the time the rest of the party trickles in. beau can hear jester and veth speaking at cartoonishly loud volumes, announcing themselves just in case beau and yasha are doing anything worth being interrupted.
beau smiles, grabs a spider-less bite of pancake, and squeezes yasha’s hand.
“oh, here they are,” caduceus says as they file in. he takes a deep breath and smiles at the spread of food. “what a feast.”
he disappears, probably to make some tea, and beau looks at yasha for just a moment longer before the energy is too much to ignore.
she turns and almost bursts out laughing at the sight of everyone, lined up in front of the table, watching the two of them intently. veth’s eyes are as big as saucers and jester’s are shimmering, her hands clamped over her mouth. next to her, fjord is blushing and even caleb is sporting a smile, reluctant though it may look.
“hey,” beau says. she smiles casually and she means it.
“you’re so cute!!” jester shouts, flinging her hands away from her face. “oh my god, you guys, you have to tell me everything; i’m so happy for you even though we had to sleep in that super stinky room. please tell me it was worth it.”
beau laughs, winks as she tickles yasha’s hand. “totally worth it, jes,” she promises. she gets up from the table, kisses yasha’s knuckles as she does, and gestures for jester to take her seat. “talk to yasha for a sec, okay? i left you some spider-cakes.”
beau is too focused on grabbing caleb to notice the way jester scrunches her nose.
she doesn’t catch fjord’s eye as she leads caleb out of the room and she definitely doesn’t look anywhere near veth. she just drags her cranky wizard to a corner out of eyesight of any window in the kitchen and crosses her arms.
“if you’re about to tell me everything,” caleb says, “please don’t be offended when i say that i would be happier not to hear it.”
“what? no, gross. i mean, not gross-gross, but because--you, gross, right?” beau clears her throat, gently punches caleb’s shoulder to center herself. “i don’t...wanna tell you stuff. i just wanted to do this away from everyone else.”
caleb narrows his eyes. “do what?”
beau steps forward and hugs him. there’s no hesitation or coaching this time, just a strong press of her arms, and she stays there as long as it takes for him to hug back and mean it.
“thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulder. “this was….very special to me.”
“of course,” caleb mutters. “you need only ask, beauregard.”
“yeah, you say that, but it’s like--i know it, now.” to her horror, beau sniffles.
“i am glad you had a good time.”
“the best.”
“you smell very nice. thank you for bathing before hugging me.”
“i got you, dude.”
“can you let go of me now?”
“yeah, sure.” beau steps back and gives him one last shoulder squeeze.
caleb nods and squeezes back. he snaps his fingers and frumpkin is there, leaping onto his shoulder as they walk back toward the kitchen,
#critical role#beauyasha#beauregard lionett#yasha nydoorin#this is??? soft and gay and so much???#idk you guys i had a lot of feelings and this is what happened#i'll post it on ao3 later but for now i must eat something#long post#tumblr fic#cr: regular nein
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hi 💜💜 i got a prompt about ian x body image a while ago (my inbox is a hot mess and i may have deleted the prompt lol, but i did paste it into my phone notes)- and i was feeling some feelings today & had some spare time amidst my travels & ended up writing this!!
prompt: can you write about ian and his relationship with his body image, esp post-canon when they move to the westside
(tw for body image/eating disorder/food mentions)
--
He didn’t really even think about it the first times that he did it— skipping a few meals that went unnoticed in the morning clamor of the Gallagher kitchen. He noticed his skin growing tauter and tighter around his abdomen with every passing day, a hollow absence sitting like a rock in the pit of his stomach.
He did it for a reason—he’d been getting more lingering looks under the flashing lights at the club, more unwelcome fingers pressed against the now-present ridges on his stomach, tracing his toned upper arms. The less there was of him, the more they wanted him.
The thing about Ian is that he was always disciplined; the middle child, the one who was overlooked and ignored and blended in until he decided that he had to make a name for himself. He and Lip and gotten into hair-tugging, jaw-smashing fights about this very reality; Ian was completely, totally, absolutely ordinary. Until he made himself extraordinary—until he burst through the storefront labeled “ARMY” at a strip mall with smudged windows and said with a tall chest: I want to enlist.
Everything had led up to this— every push-up on the creaking slanted floor of their childhood bedroom, every jog at the crack of dawn. He was going to make something of himself, he was going to be a hero.
He was going to get the fuck away from Mickey, and his wife, and whatever else kept pushing him down and holding him back.
When Ian came back from the army, when he was sleeping on exposed floorboards and working at the club all night—that was when it all actually started. When he decided that less of him meant more—when he decided that he should give people the best show he could, because everything else was fucked up anyways. This was all he was good for.
But then Mickey came through the door, pale skin flashing in the strobe lights, wearing that fucking dark button-up with sleeves folded to his forearms and smelling like nice cologne that he’d almost definitely stolen from one of his brothers’ bathroom shelves; and for a brief moment after the initial shock set in, Ian was proud— proud of how much negative space surrounded him, proud of how he could press his thighs into stretched golden spandex better than any of the other men thrumming to the beat beside him on the podium. Proud of how much other people wanted him, when Mickey didn't.
It was only later, after Mickey carried him home (easily, too easily) after he’d passed out in a snowbank, and Ian had woken and waited for Mickey to burst into his bedroom door at the Gallagher house while he leaned against the wall and scribbled on a notepad— later, when Mickey was about to curl on the floor and sleep using one of Liam’s balled-up t-shirts as a pillow— that Ian noticed Mickey’s eyes lingering on his uncovered torso, a second longer than the quick glances of admiration from the well-dressed men with greased-back hair and grubby fingers at the club. It hit Ian, then, when he saw Mickey’s gaze that was soft around the edges, the same fuzziness and confusion of Fiona’s stares when he would chatter on for too long in the mornings:
He’s worried about me.
But Mickey played along— Ian was back, and Mickey stayed beside him this time, and chuckled when he walked down the stairs to the sight of Ian cutting off the bottom half of his old ROTC pants, now multiple sizes too big and hanging baggy even at the hips. Mickey curled beside him on the twin bed, silently stroking hair back from his forehead and cradling his cheeks with a feather-light touch as Lip and Liam’s even, sleeping breaths swirled around them. And Ian kept doing pull-ups, and told Carl that he liked the way that Mickey smelled. Mickey came out for him. And for a while things were really, really fucking good, and Ian didn’t even think about the gnawing hollow feeling in his stomach at all any more.
Until a grey morning came, quick and silent, and kept him frozen under the sheets for days.
In the months afterwards, Ian trained harder, faster—he met up with Fiona as she pushed Liam in the stroller and jogged beside them, ran before and after shifts at the club, did push-ups on Mickey’s grimy floor while he was out handling Rub N’ Tug shit.
I’m not Monica. This wasn’t going to happen again. His body could do this. His body could fix his brain.
It couldn’t.
Most of what happened on the “road trip” with Yevgeny (that was the only phrasing that Ian could really mentally use to name the incident, the only semiotic filler for “kidnapping” that didn’t want to make him burrow even deeper under his tattered blankets) was a blur—Mickey feeding him fistfuls of pills and room-temperature Gatorade, luring Mickey to the dugouts where he tried to do a pull-up and felt a quivering in his limbs, a weakness rather than a familiar and fulfilling burn. Slamming Mickey in the face with a fist that was too flimsy, too weak—a fist that still left the blooming of a bruise on Mickey’s jawline, a splatter of blood caking into his eyebrow. But still weak, still not enough. Definitely not strong enough to fight off two MPs with loaded guns, tangling his hands behind his back and forcing him into the backseat of a car.
More blurry days— on the road with Monica. Breaking up with Mickey. Getting a job at Patsy’s. Withering away, purple bags sagging under his eyes. Becoming less, always less.
Then, a glimmer of light— he met Caleb. He studied to be an EMT. He got a call from Mandy, got to wrap her in his arms in less-than-ideal circumstances.
“I got tired of starving myself to fit in that golden thong.”
It was the first time he’d said it out loud.
He started to run again—and he started to not miss it, the hollow feeling gnawing at his insides, the twisting lack. He met Trevor, he went to brunches, he ordered mimosas and muffins and kept himself in shape, but didn’t push himself too far.
So it surprised him, really, when once again his body and mind weren’t in sync.
That was the biggest thing he’d think about, in the idle hours of he and Mickey’s prison cell, months later—that for once in his life, years after the nights at the club or the hazy early mornings at Patsy’s or in a baggy janitor uniform, he was actually doing really, really fucking good. He had a following. He was strong. Or at least he thought he was.
But something about being near Mickey pulled him out of his head and into his body, centered him— it always did. Mickey had always liked his body; Ian remembered how Mickey’s eyed at lingered that night at the dugouts, when they were two kids doing pull-ups and Mickey watched his muscles clench in the moonlight, two sets of shining eyes and bodies warm with beer leaning closer to each other in the muggy air. But Ian never felt a need to flaunt his body, or change his body, for Mickey— and in so many ways, those first days in prison were like his body was coming home. Sometimes it was hard, and fast, and filthy words whispered into each other’s skin—and sometimes it left them grasping for breath in an entirely different way, in fingertips lazily skimming over collarbones and fisted into roots of hair, of breathed “Fuck, you’re so fucking beautiful”s escaping Mickey’s parted mouth that Ian mentally stored but never brought up again, because he knew in the best case scenario Mickey would just roll his eyes and call him a “soft bitch,” and in the worst he would just flat-out deny it. But Ian felt balanced in a way he hadn't in months, with all the "Gay Jesus" bullshit pressing in. He took his meds, he did his nightly sit-ups, he counted down the days—until the hourglass was slipped out from under his fingertips and he was teleported back to the Gallagher house, back to the place where so much of this began and so much was about to end.
The hollowness, the hunger, didn’t really need to be there anymore once he was out— it was only a dull murmur. A ghost, a memory trapped in dreams of strobe lights and prying hands.
Mickey got out, and they got married—and in the moments before Ian called Mickey an “ugly motherfucker” as he let a smile crack onto his face—and he knew Mickey felt it, knew Mickey heard: I have never known anyone as beautiful as you.
And Ian’s fullness just kept blooming and compounding and radiating after the wedding; they fought, and then they didn’t, and it didn’t matter anyways because they were fucking married. Ian kept doing sit-ups before they went to bed, even though he felt like he didn’t really have to anymore. Something big had shifted; something had settled and given way, had filled in all the cracks.
So he’s surprised, when they move to the West Side, and that feeling starts to stir again; faint, fuzzy, like some sort of invasive and shapeless amoeba in the dark corners of his brain, whispering and hissing that there should be less of him. On their first morning in the new place he heads to the gym, wearing a camo t-shit that covered his torso and shoulders—and of course he ends up making a fool of himself next to some guy, some guy that he could have been, with sweaty toned abs and bronzed skin and rippling muscles. He doesn’t know why it gets to him, that small interaction—he’s so much happier now, so fucking happy he’s buzzing with it, but there’s also something churning in the faultlines of transition; that aching for hollow absence and stretched skin and interested eyes, that feeling that made him woozy and lightheaded as a kid but also sickeningly proud, like every moment of standing tall, of dancing, of staying alive was a statement, a challenge, a test of how much he could push his ability to be desired.
He immediately pushes the thought down. He doesn’t fucking need that anymore to keep his head above water; he’s stable, he’s loved, he’s fed. He’s growing organic tomatoes, and definitely developing a farmer’s tan from his days hunched over their way-too-tiny community garden plot tenderly watering and pruning the vines and brambles. He is desired. So it doesn’t make fucking sense that the hunger, the clawing in his stomach for the absence, doesn’t really stop.
**
“Okay Gallagher, spill.”
Ian felt his eyebrow raise instinctively at Mickey’s tone. “Huh?”
“You’ve been staring at this fancy fucking chicken thing you made for, like, twenty minutes. Stop staring at it and eat your goddamn dinner.”
He felt a twist in his gut. I don’t want to.
“M’actually not really that hungry.”
Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “The fuck’s up? You stressed about work shit?”
Ian huffed out a breath of relief. “Nah. It’s not that.” He fiddled with his fork on the plate, drawing lines into the sauce pooled under the tomato-basil chicken he’d made. It was healthy, it was good, he’d worked out today; he could stomach a couple bites of dinner if he fucking had to. He just had to work up to it. Even the smell was making his stomach twist— it had smelled good while he was cooking it, placing fresh-scented basil leaves into the simmering sauce, but now it just was too much.
Mickey’s boot nudged against his calf from under the kitchen island. “Ey. Is it a tired thing? Or a… sick thing?” His eyes darted to their kitchen cupboard, where Ian kept his meds on the bottom shelf by the water glasses. “Or, like, a food thing?”
Ian felt his fingers go slack around his fork. “A food thing?”
“Yeah, man, y’know. When you get all weird about food.”
A tightness in his chest. “What the fuck? I don’t get weird about food.”
Mickey’s eyes flickered to meet his—and Ian would have gotten more pissed off if he didn’t see the soft concern bleeding into Mickey’s gaze, how cautiously Mickey was trying to broach the topic. Ian blew out a breath. Of fucking course Mickey noticed this shit— he always did.
“Weird how?”
“I don’t know, man. You’re usually good, especially compared to when you were fucking starving yourself when we were kids. But, uh… I don’t know.” Now it was Mickey’s turn to play with his food, scraping his fork along the remnants of sauce on his plate that was nearly clean. “You got kind of weird about working out and shit in prison. And then at the house, with all the quarantine bullshit the first few weeks. Eating fuckin’ cereal all the time, then not eating at all. You’ve been normal since then, or whatever. Lookin’ healthy.” Ian felt Mickey’s gaze drag over him. “Just don’t want you getting stressed out and not eating again or whatever.”
Ian felt a muted warmth blooming in the hollow of his stomach, filling in the cracks of where the jagged feeling continued to claw. If it was anyone else laying out this fucking analysis of his habits Ian would’ve gotten defensive—or at the very least annoyed, that someone was pinning down yet another one of his behaviors, putting them under a fucking clinical microscope.
But of course, this was Mickey— and the difference with Mickey was that he cared, he cared so much that it made Ian’s body ache every time he realized it. Those words wouldn’t have come tumbling out of Mickey’s mouth if they hadn’t been building for a while, hadn’t been gnawing away at some corner of his mind over time.
Ian raised a hand over the table to clasp into Mickey’s warm palm—reaching over the empty plate, the plate of uneaten food.
“It’s, uh. A food thing.”
Mickey’s eyes met his—open, listening.
“You’re right about all the starving myself shit from forever ago. And the not eating. And the… quarantine stuff. I guess I just thought that now that things were good, it’d go away? And I feel so fucking good right now. But sometimes I just have weird days.”
Mickey huffed out a breath. “I fucking know you do, dumbass. M’just saying that I notice that shit. And we can figure it out.”
Ian felt the corner of his mouth tick upwards. “I really thought it was gonna go away. I’m a fucking adult.”
Mickey shrugged. “Sometimes shit doesn’t work like that, Gallagher.” He chugged a sip of water from his glass, apparently glad that this heavier part of the conversation was over now that he knew what was up. “It’s like what you tell me about my shit with Terry. Trauma doesn’t just magically fucking disappear.”
Trauma. He’d never really thought about it like that before—he had plenty of childhood shit to work through, between abandonment and raging mental illness; and he’d never really thought that his body image issues made the list.
But maybe they did— maybe this was another wound, one that he could learn to heal.
Mickey kicked his shin under the table. “There’s cereal and stuff in the cabinet, I got the Fruit Loops shit you like. Want me to wrap up the chicken and shove it in the fridge?”
All he could do was nod— and once again feel that warmth on his insides that Mickey was this good, that he knew how to make shit like this easier.
And he snuggled into the couch beside his husband, a bowl of soggy cereal in his hands.
#idrk what this is but i wrote it at LIGHTNING speed#can u tell that i reached the destination of my childhood home & am having lots of thoughts and feelings about body image LOL#i was like !!! i have a prompt about this#love u all xoxo#gallavich#shameless#shameless fic#gallavich fic#gallavich fanfiction#ian gallagher#mickey milkovich#ian x mickey#ixm#tw eating disorder#tw food mention#tw ed#tw body image
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FundXD au thrid part? Maybe the final confrontation between Dreamxd and George? imagine George offering to take Fundy's place, but XD teases him because he obviously only loves Fundy now (before Mumza saves the day!! or whatever you had planned if you already had something in mind).
Not me accidentally posting it separately. But anyway, here's the third part! I'm sorry it took so long, hope you enjoy this.
But yeah anyway, please do take heed of the trigger warnings. This is probably now what I consider the darkest and the most uncomfortable one-shot I've written. Like in terms of themes, yeah I am just: oh wow I wrote this huh...
So yes, please do heed the warnings and do not read it if any of the the warnings make you uncomfortable.
TW: Forced Relationships, Forced Kissing, Forced Marriage, Possessive Behavior, Captivity, Implied Harm, and A Lot of Dark Implications
Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28886223/chapters/84740365
“A radiant day for a wedding, do you not think so, my fox?” If only the mattress could swallow him whole. He buried his face on the silken sheets, pressing the pillow to the top of his head, wondering if he could suffocate himself if he tried really hard enough. “Beloved? You’re quiet.”
He rolled his eyes, holding back the urge to scream.
After a moment, he felt the twist of vines against his ankle, gently pulling him away from underneath the covers. Fundy let himself be dragged, having learned the hard way that clawing at the bed to keep himself from getting dragged was a bad idea. He shuddered at the bad memory.
“My darling star, don’t you agree that today is a splendid day for our wedding?”
No, he did not agree. There was no day where he’d ever even consider marrying the god.
“I don’t feel well. Can we move the wedding?”
“Do not lie.” The room turned colder, the chill of ice piercing through his skin that he nearly buckled underneath the pain. Then in just a second, the cold was gone. He was still in his their bedroom, the sunshine filtering in through the glass-stained windows, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of color. XD was holding him by the elbow, their spherical head never faltering in its cheery smile, if one can call it a smile. The god pulled him into their embrace, holding him with such warmth that Fundy wanted to cry. They shouldn’t be so comforting. “You are well.”
“Ya…” Fundy felt like throwing up, “...well…”
For a god who had lived as long as the world, XD was not as patient as Fundy had hoped. It had only been a week, but the god had given up on Fundy’s flimsy excuses. Fundy had used every excuse that he knew: headaches, fevers, coughs, even “fainting” that one time XD had actually gotten him to stand on the altar. They had grown tired of waiting. Fundy turned his head towards one corner of the room, their wedding outfits only seemed to mock him. He shivered within the god’s hot touch, XD didn’t seem to notice his discomfort, but they noticed the way he was staring at those, arguably, beautiful outfits. XD led him towards them, holding him by the arms.
“I could change your suit if you wish, anything for you, my fox.” Fundy paled, refusing to look at the suit now that it was in front of him. It was in a beautiful hue of orange pastel, decorated with a pastel green flower pinned to its chest. XD had chosen to wear a dress for the wedding, and if Fundy wasn’t being held there against his will, he might have even blushed at the thought of the god in a dress… walking down the aisle. It was a mostly white dress which faded into a pastel green in the middle and into a forest green at the bottom. “You could wear a dress if yo—”
“No.” Fundy already loathed the suit, he wouldn’t know what he’d do if he had to wear a dress. At least XD didn’t mind, though - and Fundy knew it was stupid to feel - he found it somewhat adorable that XD wanted to wear a dress. The wedding dress suited them, even if Fundy didn’t want to marry them. The god hummed behind him, a low sound that had no lyrical or musical tone to it whatsoever, before picking him up. He shrieked, holding tightly to the god’s shoulders.
“My dear fox, the wedding will be divine, it shall take place the hour between day and night.” Fundy had a few hours of freedom. Then… He clenched his hands, angered that he no longer had his claws to tear into the god’s skin. “The wedding venue has not changed from the last time we tried to marry, but, sweet fox, would you wish for any new changes? What do you wish for?”
His only wish was to go home.
The god leaned down and Fundy knew what was to come. He closed his eyes, letting the god do what they wanted. Maybe he should have heeded his papa’s advice. Maybe he shouldn’t have befriended the god who seemed too kind to be true. Maybe he should have stayed at home and lived a normal life instead of searching for… he didn’t even know anymore. But he knew he missed his home, he missed his dads. He missed the normal life in their little cabin in the fields.
Once the god leaned away from the kiss, Fundy let out a sigh. “I want cake.”
---
“Wil, I love you, but now is the time for your ritualistic shenanigans.”
George tapped his foot on the muddy ground, placing his head in his hands as Wilbur ignored him for the tenth time. Wilbur had refused to say what his secret was, in favor of showing what his secret was. If George had known that said secret would involve Wilbur drawing intricate symbols in the mud, George would have gone deeper into the forest on his own instead.
After a few more seconds of agonizing silence and waiting, Wilbur finally stepped back, gesturing for George to come near him. He raised a brow, choosing to stand beside Wilbur despite the nagging voice in his head telling him to leave and go look for their son. George took in the symbol that Wilbur had drawn. He’d traced a circle in the mud, and within the complex lines, George could make out five symbols. The lines merged to showcase a woman. In her right hand, she held a blade. In her left, there were musical notes and discs emerging from her palm.
At the bottom of the symbol, the lines converged to create a pair of angel wings.
“Wil, is now the time to show me that you can draw—” He cut himself off once Wilbur started to chant under his breath. He stepped back, doubt racing through his mind. George had never been interested in magic, being more talented in redstone and engineering, but he feared those who excelled in the practice. Magic meant gods, and gods meant double-edged deals. “Wilbur…”
The symbol began to glow a light gray hue, the smell of metal and death tainting the air. His fear doubled, but he didn’t try to run off. Nervous as he was, he trusted Wilbur, his dear husband.
A splash of cold landed on his cheek, he brushed it away, but then a downpour of rain began to fall around them. The ground turned muddier, nearly grasping onto their legs. George looked up, furrowing his brows at the sight of sunlight. It was raining despite the warm sun rays that were filtering in through the trees. The intricate symbol wasn’t affected by the sudden storm, its glow intensifying underneath the torrent of water. George didn’t know why, but he felt sick. A sickness that wasn’t nausea, it was worse. Like someone had taken a sharp pickaxe and started to chip away at his heart. He held a hand to his chest, grasping for Wilbur’s arm with the other.
Wilbur’s chanting had grown louder despite the rain, almost like he was fighting against the noise. The light gray glow had taken over the entire drawing, the lines scorched away by its brilliance. Then the world began to shake, and for a moment, George could hear screaming.
He slipped once the earth started to sink. Wilbur pulled him up just as the ground gave way, the symbol had caved in, going deeper and deeper until he could see bright red. He shuddered, but Wilbur held him close. He had half a mind to throw his husband an irritated glare. If his husband would stop with the theatrics for a moment and actually tell George what his secret was, then maybe he wouldn’t be second-guessing everything that's happening right now. He glanced back down at the hole. Wilbur had just opened a gateway to the underworld. Despite the red lights of the underworld, the chasm let out a chilling cold that seeped deep into George’s skin and soul.
“You’re a hellspawn, is that the secret? If so, it was not much of a secret I already knew that, Mr. Soot.” Wilbur rolled his eyes, pressing a kiss to George’s cheek. Once Wil had left George on stable ground, he watched as his husband walked close to the chasm. Wilbur reached down a hand. George wondered if Wilbur was asking to get kidnapped. “Wilbur, the dead can’t help us.”
“You’re correct. Zombies are pretty shit at… everything. Skeletons… perhaps.”
George took a breath through clenched teeth. He knew Wilbur was worried about Fundy too, but he couldn’t afford to waste anymore time with Wilbur and his shenanigans. XD had taken their son, a wish god had taken their son and George knew the god would refuse to let Fundy go.
“Wilbur, please. We need to find Fundy. XD would do anything they could to keep our son from ever leaving them, we have to go.” He pleaded, but Wilbur was too busy looking into the chasm.
George loudly sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. The rain continued to pour around them, and if he didn’t hurry, he’d lose his way down the forest path due to the mud that was beginning to drown everything in its path. He turned to leave, but then a voice broke through the silence.
“A sunshower…? Did you forget to tell your own mum that you're getting married, Wilbur?”
---
Fundy flitted about the room, pressing his hands against his ears as the rain continued to pour outside. He didn’t know why XD had thought it would be romantic to marry one another while a storm threatened to destroy the land, but the constant tapping of the rain on the ground was beginning to grate on his ears. Despite the heavy rain, he hated the warm sunlight even more.
Why couldn’t the weather just be either gloomy or happy? It was a mockery of his life.
He glanced down at his suit, fixing the green flower so it wouldn’t fall off by accident. He didn’t know what XD would do if anything were to ruin their “special day.” He huffed, pressing his head against the glass window. He could see the neverending forest from there. XD had insisted that they live on one of the highest trees in the forest. They wanted to give Fundy a good view.
When XD had first shown him their abode, Fundy had been ecstatic to see the entire forest. He collapsed on a nearby chair, putting his head in his hands. Now everything felt like a big joke.
It was so wonderful before, but he saw through the roses, and now knew their thorns.
He looked back up, worried for a moment that XD would be standing in front of him, ready to whisk him away to the altar. There was a shift of movement at the right side of the forest, perhaps XD reimagining the wedding venue now that the rain had completely ruined the god’s chosen outdoor setting. He took momentary pleasure at the thought of the weather going against the god’s wishes. No, today was not a radiant day for a wedding. But Fundy knew that a “little” storm wouldn’t stop the god. They were too excited, too eager to get the ceremony over with.
Fundy winced, maybe his constant escape attempts had been the cause of that rush. It had only been a week since the god had taken him captive and kept him in their domain, but Fundy had spent every day trying to find a way to escape. He’d given up after the fifth escape… after… Fundy pulled his knees close to his chest. He didn’t want to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep a reminder in his mind about how much he loathed the god and what they’d done to him.
The first attempt wasn’t even an attempt, it was him screaming until XD forced him to sleep.
The second attempt had begun the moment the god had gone into stasis, or the godly equivalent of what was sleep. The god’s hands were wrapped around Fundy, keeping him close to their chest, but Fundy had managed to sneak away after hours of slowly moving. He’d gotten to the door of the bedroom, unlocking it with a bobby pin that he’d found in one of the drawers. He’d gotten down the tree by the time XD realized he was gone. They’d teleported him back to the bedroom, vines growing against the surface of the door, effectively keeping him locked inside.
The third attempt was Fundy painstakingly cutting through the clump of vines after XD had left him to prepare for their wedding. He’d gotten through half of them by the time the god had come back. They’d been disappointed in Fundy, sad that he hadn’t even gotten dressed in his wedding suit yet. Then in a blink of an eye, the vines had grown back, with even more thorns than before. Then XD had whisked him away to the wedding venue, where Fundy then pretended to faint.
The fourth attempt was Fundy getting so frustrated that he took a chair and threw it at one of the windows. The glass shattered on impact, and he’d quickly tried to squeeze through the space, not caring for the shards that pierced his skin. XD had not taken that escape attempt all too lightly.
The fifth and last attempt… he’d convinced XD to give him some sand and gunpowder.
The god had been furious, even more so than what they’d been after the fourth escape attempt. Fundy had nearly killed himself in the process and had even attacked XD out of anguished rage.
Well… XD made sure Fundy could never attack them again.
Fundy sniffed, wiping at his tears. He didn’t want to be crying at his own wedding.
---
It was odd to have a wedding without a wedding officiator. Fundy kept his gaze on his hands, his fingers trembling each time XD traced his knuckles with their thumb. He could feel his throat dry up, his head heavy with nausea that he thought he was actually going to faint and fall over.
“Do I take Fundy Lore-Soot as my lawfully wedded husband?” XD paused, “I do.”
Fundy found it ridiculous. XD had taken up the mantle of wedding officiator, and if Fundy didn’t know any better, he would think that he was part of some comedic play or some big cosmic joke.
“And do you, Fundy Lore-Soot, take the god of wishes, XD, as your lawfully wedded spouse?”
Fundy gritted his teeth, he could feel the god’s magic in his throat. He could barely breathe a few seconds ago, but now it felt like he needed to speak like his life depended on it. “I do. I do. I do.”
He trembled, uncontrolled anger racing through his veins. It was torture to say ‘I do’ once, but the god forced him to say it three times, like Fundy was as desperate as them to get married. XD pulled him close, their gaze hot against his skin. He wished he would melt, that he could melt against the god’s touch and be swallowed by the grass. Anything that could set him free.
“Then by the power vested in me as the god of wishes, I now pronounce us married for eternity.”
The god leaned close, “I may now kiss the groom.” Fundy tried to move back, but the god had formed one more pair of hands. One hand held his hands, curled gently around his wrists. One hand was cupping him by the waist. One hand was on his chin, pulling his face up and towards them. The last hand was at the back of his head, pushing him forward and keeping his head in place. He closed his eyes, losing himself in his mind, refusing to accept what was happening. He focused on the life he’d lost, and his dads who would no doubt why he never came back to them.
After what felt like a lifetime, the god finally let him go.
Well, they didn’t. But they’d stopped kissing him in favor of picking him up.
XD laid him down on the altar.
Fundy blinked, holding onto one of XD’s hands out of fear. The god chuckled at the “endearing” display. “H-hey… the wedding’s over, ya? Time to head home, right? W-what are you doing?”
“The ceremony is not yet over, my star.” XD tilted their head, “You are still mortal.”
Any thread of cooperation they had established broke with that proclamation. Fundy screamed, pushing himself away from the altar just as a series of golden chains rose up from its sides. They wrapped around his arms and his legs, pulling him back down on the altar’s marble surface. He wailed, tears slipping past his eyes. He thought he’d only endure it for this lifetime, that the god would have no choice but to give him up to death at some point in the future. XD watched his struggle, summoning an intricate dagger. “Don’t worry, my sweet fox, I shall make it painless.”
“I OBJECT!”
---
George pushed past the leaven doors, not caring that the action caused the whole entrance way to collapse to a flimsy pile of autumn leaves. He stood at the end of the wedding venue, drenched from the rain. His heart beated loudly in his chest, his ears ringing as he made his way down the aisle. Wilbur was still by the entrance. George had told him to wait before he actually entered.
“Papa—” Fundy’s scream was cut off with a hand, the god having swiveled around to face whoever had dared to ruin their perfect day. George kept walking down the aisle, anger racing through his bones. His son looked so frightened. He clearly didn’t want to be marrying the god.
“Let him go, XD.”
“Why ever shall I do such a thing, my dearest friend, Georgenotfound? I have no intention of ever letting my newly wedded husband leave me. My old friend, I believe you are a few seconds too late. Fundy and I are married.” He heard Fundy scream out a protest, muffled by the hand that the god had left. George could see the tears on their son’s face, and his gaze turned towards the dagger that the god was carrying. He took the chance to look behind him, catching Wilbur’s pale gaze. His husband was looking at the dagger. “Leave before I cast you out. You are tresp—”
“I’ll take his place.”
The only sound that could be heard was Fundy’s fit of screaming. Wilbur was silent. XD had merely tilted their head, the god’s cold gaze meeting George’s eyes, piercing right through the goggles that he wore. He swallowed down the sickness he felt at the thought of marrying the go. XD had been his best friend once, and George had never thought of them in any other way. But the god had taken his friendship as romantic affection. “Fundy doesn’t love you.” The god reeled back, the ‘XD’ carved symbol on their head disappearing, only to return as golden chains that surrounded their white spherical head. “You and I know he doesn’t love you, and neither did I.”
George shook his head, “But I am willing to stay with you if you let him go.”
He met his son’s eyes, holding Fundy’s gaze for as long as he could. He worried it might be the last time they’d ever see each other again… if it went wrong… George shook his head. It won’t go wrong. He turned back to the god, the chains still present. “We could pretend like nothing has changed. I could stay here with you for all of eternity. We could be friends again, you and I. It must have been lonely when I left. You were never really great with making friends with others. We could try again. Just you and me, stuck in this forest forever. Like how it used to be. I won’t run away anymore. I won’t leave you ever again. Let Fundy go, and I’ll stay with you forever.”
The god was silent. For a moment, George thought they would agree. Then the ground disappeared from underneath him and a large hand was painfully gripping him by the leg. “No.”
Sharp cold pierced through his leg. The god glared down at him, “You are nothing to me.”
XD looked over at Fundy, “He… He is everything to me now.”
George placed his arms over his head, preparing himself for the fall. He heard the loud screech, and then his leg was free. He closed his eyes, but instead of hard earth, he fell into a pair of warm arms. He opened his eyes, embarrassingly laughing once he’d realized that Wilbur had caught him. His husband placed him back down, looking at his leg with worry when George stumbled. It wasn’t broken, but XD’s sharp cold magic would keep him from properly walking for a while.
Wilbur helped him away from the angered god. George looked up, watching as the hand that was previously holding him rotted away. XD screeched, turning to them, their golden chains glowing with a blinding light. A scythe appeared within view, striking the wish god right on their face.
The Goddess of Death entered the wedding venue, a disappointed look in her eyes.
“You should have let my grandson go, God of Wishes.”
=============================================================
Ambiguous ending but uh... I have preferred ending and it's def not the bad one.
Clarification for the title (which can't be seen here but is in the ao3 version): So a sunshower is a weather phenomenon where it is raining despite there still being sunshine. While the rain is not as heavy as a storm, I changed the rain here to be that like a rainstorm despite the sunlight that is still present. The reason for this is because where I'm from (or at least according to my mother) when a sunshower happens, that means a kapre and a white lady are getting married (or well, other Filipino mythological legends are getting married).
I just think with XD here being a somewhat monster of a god... well, poor Fundy having to marry him.
The sunshower is basically an indication here that a god is getting married, that's why Mumza asked Wilbur if he was getting married (also Wilbur is the god of music here, not all that powerful against a wish god).
#fundy#dreamxd#dreamwastaken dsmp#fundywastaken#fundXD#wilbur soot#georgenotfound dsmp#georgebur#goddess of death kristen#dream smp fanfiction#dsmp
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just in time : s.r
returning the stones isn’t steve’s only mission whilst he’s gone; he has one final mission of his own - to find his long lost lover, you, before it’s too late (2.5k)
(anything in bold/italics are flashbacks/memories!)
masterlist / permanent taglist
(everything on my blog is my own writing. if it is shared on another page or website without being credited, it has not been approved to be shared by me. all rights reserved.)
Panting heavily, you bend down, resting your hands on your thighs as you feel a burn course through them whilst Bucky laughs at you.
"Did you seriously run here?" Bucky asks, Steve now facing you too, surprised to see you.
Holding a finger up, you take one final deep breath before composing yourself. "Of course," You breathe out. "I didn't wanna miss the start of it, had to get here on time." You smile, practically beam to Steve who shyly smiles back.
"I mean you're fifteen minutes late, doll." Bucky comments, ignoring Steve's weak punch to his arm. "Sorry."
"You haven't missed a thing, Y/n." Steve assures you as he steps forward, holding his arm out as his jacket swarms his upper body.
Despite the mud coating the hem of your skirt that hides various bruises and a sheen of sweat lining your forehead, Steve still adores you completely, no matter how often you're late for things.
"I'd be honoured." You giggle, looping your arm with Steve's as the three of you make your way into the dance hall.
Standing on the podium, Steve can feel his grip tightening on the case as Bruce, Sam and Bucky watch him closely.
"Ready Cap?" Bruce calls out as Steve's suit changes to white and red, contrasting the previous dark tones. "Alright, we'll meet you back here." He adds, and Steve nods.
It's the moment he's anticipated for too long, ever since he woke up from the ice.
Bucky knew from the moment Steve said goodbye to him. Steve was going to be gone longer than a few seconds, he'd be gone an entire lifetime.
"You bet." Steve responds as the helmet forms over his head as his heart hammers against his chest at the thought of returning to a time he never dreamed of reliving.
Looking to his oldest friend, a small smile forms across Steve's face as Bucky remains stoic, internally proud that his friend will finally live the life he deserves.
"Going quantum in three, two, one." Bruce states, clicking at the last few buttons before the beams surrounding Steve illuminate and he disappears.
"I'm coming, I promise!" You yell from your window as Steve nervously shuffles on the pavement below, trying his best to hide the flowers he purchased (stole, with Bucky's aid) at the store earlier that morning.
Running down your stairs, you wave to your Dad before exiting the house. "Hey," Steve smiles as you slowly descend down the steps as you exhale deeply, he knows he's about to have another one of your infamous stories.
"My Ma didn't change the clock after it went and died, so here I was thinking I had all the time in the world," You shake your head in disbelief as you stand in front of Steve, oblivious to the flowers being brought forward from behind his back. "and then I woke up to my Dad screaming that you were outside!" A laugh escapes your lips as you finally notice the yellow flowers in Steve's grip, concealing the nervous look across his face.
"Do you like them?" Steve hesitantly questions, feeling your fingers brush across his as you take the flowers from his hands.
Bringing them to your face, you sniff them happily. "Steve," You can't help but step closer and kiss his cheek, watching a blush cross where your lips had just been. "I love them, thank you."
"I, well," Steve stumbles over his words, always losing any sense whenever you're around him. This would be the point where Bucky would interfere or as he likes to put it, 'help out.' "A girl like you deserves pretty flowers." He manages to say, watching as your eyes soften.
"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere, okay?" You tell him with a quick wink before running back up the front steps to your house, the door remaining ajar.
From where Steve stands, he can hear you conversing with your parents.
"He got you flowers, huh, honey?" Your Dad asks, a level of disconcert in his tone.
"He did, and I love them." You snap back. "It doesn't matter, Dad, don't give me that look."
"Your Father means well, dear. Why did you have to fall for him instead of Barnes?" Your Mother chimes into the conversation and Steve's head falls lower into himself, his previous excitement diminishing.
He knows they're right, you would be much better off with Bucky than a guy like himself, someone who’ll never amount to much before dying at a young age. Hell, he can’t even fight for his country, what right does he have being with you?
“Because I love him, okay?” You almost yell at the pair of them, hating the way they talk about Steve, one of your friends whom you grew up alongside, who you’ve slowly but surely fell in love with. “And I don’t care that he’s not like Bucky, Bucky for a fact is an arrogant womaniser, not that either of you have noticed. Just let me enjoy this, please! You owe me that much at this point.” You huff as you place the flowers in a glass that you filled with water. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back by seven.”
Without another word being uttered, you walk out of your house to see Steve slightly stunned at the bottom of your steps.
“You heard all that, didn’t you?” You ask, pausing on the bottom step.
Nodding in response, you lift your hands to your eyes and collapse down onto your step.
“Hey,” Steve mutters, reaching out to take your hands in his cold ones, no matter how warm it can get in Brooklyn, he always remains cold, not that you mind in the slightest as his smile simply warms your heart.
Now revealing your glossy eyes to Steve, you watch carefully as his blue eyes move closer towards you.
“If it helps at all, Y/n,” Steve whispers as he rests one hand on your cheek. “I love you too.”
“And returning in five, four,” Bruce announces as he flicks several switches, the beams illuminating once more.
Yet, Bucky steps away much to Sam’s surprise.
“-three, two one.”
Sam watches closely as the lights flicker, but nothing happens. The podium remains empty, and Bucky chuckles beneath his breath.
“It’s not working,” Bruce exclaims as he stares at the monitor.
“Why not? Bring him back.” Sam states, frustration rising in his tone as he glances over to Bucky who faces the lake, hands buried in his pockets. “What do you know, Barnes?”
“That he’s not coming back.” Bucky speaks up, keeping his eyes locked on the ripples of the lake, the echo of laughter playing in his mind of the good ol’ days.
“I don’t understand,” Sam starts, but Bucky turns to face him with a solemn smile.
“You will.”
Sitting in the bar with Steve, Bucky laughs as they discuss his sudden rise to stardom. “But you were smaller,” Bucky chuckles in disbelief as his once frail friend sits broadly beside him. “don’t get me wrong, you look good, pal.”
Steve sighs to himself before taking a sip as dames walk past, whispering about the infamous Captain America. “I hope she doesn’t hate me.” Steve mutters, his eyes locked on the half-empty glass in his grasp. “I don’t know what to say, or, or,”
Before Steve can finish his sentence, the doors to the bar burst open and silence falls. All of the soldiers' attention turns to the dame in the entranceway, her lips lined red as she slowly walks in.
The sound of heels clicking against the floor increases until Steve hears his name being muttered delicately.
"Steve?" Turning around, Steve looks you in the eyes as tears fall down your cheeks. “Is that really you?” You quietly ask, lifting your hand up and rest it on his chest, slowly raising it to his cheek.
Smiling softly, Steve lifts his hand up, resting it on top of yours. For the first time ever, it’s warm, and you breathe out a laugh. “It’s me, Y/n.” Steve tells you confidently.
“Bonnie said I missed your grand entrance, why is it I can never keep track of time?” You laugh lightly and witness Steve smile shyly. “Steve? Is something wrong?”
Swallowing the growing lump in his throat, Steve notices you step closer. “You, you’ll still have me?” The question escapes his lips as his eyes dart across your expression, watching as your brows furrow and your previous smile disappears.
“You thought I’d leave you, just because you, you’ve changed?” The hurt in your voice is evident as Bucky seethes beside you both, quickly motioning to everyone else to carry on with their conversations so yours is drowned out from their ears.
“No, I,” Steve pauses before rising to his feet, now towering over you. “follow me.” He takes your hand in his, enveloping it firmly as he guides you outside for some needed privacy.
Now outside, you can hear faint conversations from inside the bar, the talks of Captain America and all he has done for the country. Yet in front of you stands Steve Rogers, your Steve.
“Listen, Steve, I don’t care what you look like, if you’re now suddenly six feet tall and have more muscle than my Uncle Jerry,” You explain, not missing the faint laugh from Steve. “you’re still Steve Rogers from Brooklyn, the man I fell in love with, okay?”
“So, this doesn’t bother you?” His nerves remain forefront as he glances down at himself before seeing you quirk a brow.
“Not in the slightest,” You reassure him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “if anything, there’s more of you to love, Captain.” You giggle and Steve can’t ignore the butterflies in his stomach before kissing you softly, missing the way your lips melt into his.
“Wait, guys?” Bruce suddenly announces as the energy field on the podium vibrates, and Steve reappears empty-handed.
“There’s no way,” Bucky mutters to himself, remaining still whilst Sam rushes forward, laughing happily.
“I knew you’d come back, you son of a bitch.” Sam jokes as Steve steps down from the podium, removing the white suit and reveals himself dressed in a black suit. “So, how was it?”
Steve remains quiet, his eyes fixating on the ground as his thoughts remain tied to the past.
“Let’s give him some space, Sam.” Bucky interrupts, looking over to Bruce who nods in response.
“Come on.” Bruce mutters, walking alongside Sam as they head back to the cabin, leaving Bucky alone to talk to his oldest friend who he anticipated being a lot older.
Stepping forward, Bucky tries not to stare at Steve whose cheeks remain red, marked with previous tears.
“What happened, Steve?” Bucky asks. “I thought, I thought you’d be with her, I-”
“She moved on, Buck.” Steve cuts Bucky off coldly. “Y/n carried on living without me, without us around she had no choice but to carry on.”
Bucky doesn’t miss the gentle sniff escaping Steve as he averts his gaze, turning his head to the left remaining out of sight as fresh tears fall.
“Was she happy?” Bucky can see Steve’s shoulders tense at the question, almost feel the heartache Steve is feeling as he shifts on his feet, now fully facing Bucky.
“Yeah,” Steve mutters, patting Bucky on the shoulder. “she really was.”
“I’m so sorry, Steve.” Bucky states sadly.
“Me too, pal.” Steve comments, but Bucky can tell there’s something he’s not admitting, his eyes say more than his words could. “Me too.”
Walking alongside one another, the old friends walk back toward the cabin, knowing now they can only carry on, there’s no going back.
Steve was running, he’d been running for far too long in a world he didn’t understand. All he craved was a return to his own time, a world he felt comfortable and understood in. A world where you lived and breathed.
His feet guide him directly to the cobbled street he walked numerous times, either by your side holding hands or bantering with Bucky. Nothing had changed, it remained just as he remembered. There weren’t any alien threats, no destruction, the war was over.
Slowly, Steve walks up the steps to your house. He forms a fist as he knocks, having discarded the case the stones were once in mere hours before and returned Thor’s hammer to its rightful place in Asgard.
He can feel his breathing hitch in his throat as silence falls upon him before knocking on the door. Looking over his shoulder, Steve decides it’s best to step down in case you open your window like old times.
Yet, a few minutes pass by and there’s no response. Steve knocks once more, then twice and thrice more times.
“They aren’t there, sweetie!” Someone calls out, and Steve glances over his shoulder to see a neighbour perching from their door, a child on her hip.
“Do you know when they’ll be back?” Steve asks, noticing the woman's smile drop immediately like his heart.
“They don’t live there anymore I’m ‘fraid.” The woman states, but Steve isn’t listening as he crosses the road, now standing in front of her door. “The couple couldn’t bear to stay there, up’t and left about two months ago now.” She explains, but Steve cannot fathom it.
Your family adored that house, though it was small, it was perfect for you and your parents. The three of you sung and danced from room to room, Steve and Bucky often in tow.
“How come they moved away?” Steve forces the question from his thoughts to his mouth, afraid to hear the answer.
The child on the woman's hip begins to cry loudly, and she quickly hushes it. “I’ll be one moment,” She mutters, moving away from the door and returns a few minutes later, arms folded across her chest. “They erm, they lost their daughter, precious thing she was.”
Steve falters backwards, he watches as the woman's lips continue to move, but silence consumes him.
“-she kept coughing up blood after all those nights sat in the cold waiting for her soldier to come home. Apparently, she had some underlying condition, incurable. Tragic really.” The woman sighs sadly, now glancing up to see Steve silently distraught. “I’m sorry, hon, did you know her?” She asks, but Steve steps away and turns around, forcing his feet as he runs down the street, ignoring her shouts.
He had no idea where he was going, but all he could feel were tears streaming down his cheeks, the cool breeze burning against them as he forcefully wiped them away.
For once, Steve was the one who was too late, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“You sure you’re okay, pal?” Bucky reiterates his previous question, seeing Steve longingly watch as Morgan plays with Pepper, giggling away.
“Yeah,” Steve mutters. “I’ll be fine, Buck.” He lies, knowing if he were to tell the truth, he’d simply fall apart.
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strike
part 3 of the ‘hey batter batter’ series
pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie, Catfish) x reader
wordcount: 2k
warnings: extremely mild mentions of sex, unwanted advances that don’t get far (not by Frankie)
summary: it’s a Triple Frontier baseball au - trust me, you don’t need to know anything about baseball.
In this chapter, we learn that a ‘strike’ is when a batter misses the ball when he swings, even though he shouldn’t have. And some strikes don’t just happen during baseball.
>>
“Jimbo, I'm here!” You called as you kicked the door closed behind you, arms heavy with grocery bags. Your grandfather would be in the living room, no doubt impatiently waiting for you to unload so you could watch the baseball game together. It was a few states away, which meant the two of you could enjoy evening on the couch with affordable snacks and air conditioning. Games in person were more exciting, but climbing all those stairs wasn’t great for his knees, and it was nice to chat with him without the roar of the crowds.
There was a faint squeak to his favorite rocker, and you unloaded half the bags onto the coffee table – his favorite treats – before tossing the rest haphazardly into their places in his little kitchen. You raced the commercials, listening to the final advertisements with one ear as you hurried to get yourself settled, even though he was always happy to chat with you during the game. For these times with him, you hated to miss even a moment. The chair to the left of his was yours, newer and softer and it would have been the perfect evening, eating and catching up with your favorite man.
Except this was the first real opportunity for him to grill you about your unexpected lunch with his heroes.
There had been laughter in his voice when you had tried to call him afterwards, and he had told you he would wait to hear the story. To him, even over the phone you couldn’t hide how flustered you were, just moments after Francesco’s eyes had been in yours. All things considered, he had been more than patient, so as you fidgeted and you kept your eyes on the screen, you told him what had happened as casually as you could.
It was the top of the first inning – the very beginning of the game, and his boys were mostly crowded into the dugout. Their fingers were grabbing fistfuls of sunflower seeds or pulling on batting gloves or hanging on the wire, watching as Will walked up to bat. There was a fun country song playing, and it was surreal, thinking it had just been a few days since he had tossed a chunk of fried food into the air and his brother had caught it in his mouth. James thoroughly enjoyed you story, laughing and for once not lecturing you about leaving them alone to live their lives. He seemed approving, proud of you for taking a change, and proud that the boys from his favorite team did his favorite granddaughter well. You answered this questions and indulged his excitement over the little things, trying not to reveal too much of your own daydream fodder. Thinking of Francisco’s eyes as he laughed at the Miller boys, you grabbed a pillow to give your hands something to hold onto, to ground yourself.
The camera panned over to Tom adjusting his cap and without thinking you winced. When you realized that James had caught the movement, you winced again.
You had to explain, then, the biggest detail that you had glossed over – the only one that would disappoint your grandfather. The outfielder had looked at you with confidence and hunger in his eyes. His fingers on your hand left cool, invisible lines, slimy like residue of the stadium cup holders.
James listened with sad eyes, before he was reaching over, gently squeezing your hand, and asking about Will’s family in town to find out if he knew a relative. It was kindness - changing the topic, rewarming the memory as he coaxed out more details of their interactions with you and each other, making you blush and laugh and smile.
The discomfort that had been lodged in your heart regarding the athlete lessened as you remembered that they were all human. It had been clear the other players respected him, maybe even looked up to him, and that had to be good for something. Even though it had just been a lunch, a single moment in time, the assessments of a group of open hearted baseball players already held weight on your opinion.
As you began to tell James about a joke Santiagio had told, you noticed that Tom’s turn had come and gone, and he had struck out.
-
Every professional sports group had a second team, full of people who pushed papers and cleaned locker rooms and handled press conferences. One of these people was a woman who was in charge of sorting through and organizing special fan appearances.
Flipping through applications and mail, she would have hardly noticed the broad shoulders and hazel eyes of the man who entered, had he not kissed her breathless the night before.
For all they were on and off and she knew he was a player in all senses of the word, she couldn’t help but stand, and let his hands find her hips as he pressed into her.
“Hi, Tom,” she whispered, already dazed and adoring as his beard scraped at her neck, warm and insistent.
“Hey, babe,” he returned, absentmindedly, squeezing her hips before pulling away. There was something about his eyes, the way he held his head, like his shoulders were comfortable bearing the weight of others, like he’d prefer it that way, that made him seem like a natural born leader.
She knew him better. He had the crowds and the rookies and the managers and even his brothers on the team wrapped around his fingers - the perfect mentorship allusion, but she knew. There was another side to him, a darker side, filled to the brim with pride and arrogance and power. Of all the men who flashed smiles as they shook hands and carried kids on their shoulders for photos – he was the one who preened the most. There was a hunger in his eyes, even greater than when he’d love her, when a chance came for him to do an extra interview, put some senior input in, or take a newbie to his first after party.
Still, she loved him. Too much, maybe, but her mind whispered not enough, and she hungrily took what ever he would give her. There were always flowers and jewelry and coveted high-status sex in his apologies, anyway, and she knew he’d always come back to her, eventually. She knew better than to guess.
“What can I do for you?” she asked, star stuck in spite of it all, but knowing there must be something. His “cousin” had stocks in the team, or a certain string needed to be pulled. There was always something.
When he asked for the number of a girl from a few weeks ago, there was an all-too-familiar twist in her gut.
“Tom, you know that information is confidential,” she whined, masking her fear, turning back towards her desk. It was infuriating how disarming, intoxicating, and how solid he felt behind her, how smooth his words felt on the shell of her ear.
“It’s for Benny, babe, he’s got it bad for her,” it was a lie, but she didn’t know it, and the knot in her stomach loosened a little. His hand slipped under her blouse and it came undone, submitting entirely to the façade.
“Let me help the little guy out.” For all his charisma, she wanted desperately to believe he was sincere, so she did. Her hands started steady as she opened a thick binder and began flipping through the glossy dividers. She moved as slow as she could, hopelessly savoring his touch, knowing when it was gone, the unpleasant feelings would be just as strong.
But it didn’t take long to find you number and hand it over, and exchange more heated kisses and half promises before he slipped out.
The woman settled in her chair again, fingers tracing the letters of your name, the knot reforming below her breastbone. She reached for her phone, telling herself it was a courtesy, to give you a heads up.
-
When a player was about to steal second base, you always wondered if Santiago Garcia could tell, without even looking. If he could feel it in his bones, or if the hairs on the back his neck rose, against his sweat.
If he could, that was exactly how you would feel now, walking into the bar to see only Tom Davis waiting for you. The building was dim, strategically chosen by Will, allegedly, so they could drink in peace. As before however, there was no hiding the silhouette of a man like him, not when he was oozing confidence like sap from a tree.
When he had called you, it had been so shocking you had agreed without thinking. It was surreal, but like following a trail of candy through a forest, not at all like the knights in shining armor of before.
He swung his arm around, cocky smile across his face, and you shook his hand.
There could not have been a more awkward boundary made, but he laughed it off as you considered turning tail and running. It was ridiculous, but you couldn’t help how guarded you felt alone with him, so you turned to the polished woof of the bar and ordered a lemonade. It would buy you time, anyway, to reassess.
You had always thought of baseball players as beer guys, but he had a short glass of something gold and expensive, as if he were trying to prove a point. Slipping onto the stool next to him, you set your bag in between you like a wall. He was broad and he pulled close, making you almost press against his side, giving you the opportunity to realize his skin almost cold. Slow sips reminded you that there was no basis for your feelings, and you were the one being strange.
It wasn’t bad, talking to him. You chided yourself internally, thinking you made unfair assumptions. Really, he was a nice guy. He talked highly of his friends, even defending their lateness, taking the blame for the mix-up. It felt like one of those interviews your grandfather would watch sometimes, the way he could go on about himself and somehow tell you nothing at all. Fighting your instincts to give short, guarded answers, you found yourself sharing about your life more than you expected. Not a lot, but not nothing either.
It was awkward and nice, not unlike a first date and when his large hand covered yours, it didn’t feel half as slimy as before.
A spider’s web was feather-light, so subtle it was almost impossible to feel until it was too late.
His eyes were sharp and deep and certain as he shifted closer, and you felt dazed, despite all the alcohol you hadn’t consumed.
When he leaned in, though, a thought struck you. With his deep hazel eyes, the perfect beard, and tanned skin, he looked like a prince. Not our prince, though, it was just someone else’s fairytale.
Clarity and your own confidence warmed you like a jacket one rainy day, and you touched Tom’s cheek, holding his face at enough of a distance. You shed the web before it stuck and something flickered in his eyes – doubt, maybe, or something like fear, as you spoke the most prominent thought on your mind.
“What about Molly?”
-
When he heard you, again speaking words that weren't meant for his ears, warm pride shot through his chest.
That’s my girl.
Of course you weren’t, but it felt like you were.
You turned to him like you knew he was there, hand leaving Tom’s stunned face to wave at the grinning catcher.
Frankie had been at war with himself across the bar as he looked towards the two of you, heart wrenching. He had seen from the far side the room first how close you were to the other man. It was unreasonably terrifying to see that you weren't immune, to see you consider his friend. Then he saw how non responsive you’d become to Redfly, how politely you regarded him as he lathered on the charm. By the time he reached the two of you, he found you fully awake, handling it yourself.
When the woman had called you, her voice had betrayed something. It was formal conversation, just admitting she had shared your contact information, and disclosing that it was Tom, and he’d made it clear you guys were friends. Her tone, however, told you she was territorial and jealous, but also desperate, longing. It felt right to get out of the way – that’s what you and she wanted and you sort of thought that’s actually what he wanted, too. He was moving away from you, still processing, trying to play off the moment, and even more than pity, you felt a touch sad for them.
Still, you were impressed you were able to manage yourself. It was the same confidence that had filled you when you stood up for James, a confidence that came from a feeling that whispered something good was coming, something well worth the boldness.
When you felt a warm presence at your side, you felt even more sure. It felt wonderful, the way Francisco was looking at you. It was too early to read into it, but you were sure you wanted him to look at you like that again - like you were capable of telling mountains to move.
You smiled up at him, relieved, and he couldn’t help but beam back, wanting to hug you. He wasn’t feeling quite brave enough yet, but there was a resolve settling in his heart. There was no way he was going to leave your side tonight.
The other guys came quickly. Each of them was excited to see you again, and you pretended not to notice them shooting confused glances at Redfly when he slipped outside to spit on the ground and stare at the sky.
It didn’t take long for him to rejoin you, anyway, and his shoulders seemed lighter, his eyes just a little more thoughtful.
The group as a whole accepted you into their fold like they needed you, like each one of them had missed you when you were gone, like you missed them, like you belonged there from the start.
You had no idea how long the daydream would last, but in that moment it didn’t feel like it mattered at all. Collecting stories for James even faded as a priority as you just enjoyed the feeling of the glass in your hands, the laughter in the air, and teasing the men like they were just boys. Even after the last half hour, it was easy to trust Will’s sincere tone, and Ben’s eager blue eyes. The others were grounded at your side, steady and comforting - you felt yourself open like a flower to the sun.
There was something about the shape of the catcher at your side, safe and warm, like his presence was reaching for yours, aching with yours. Through the stories and the jokes you relished it, and his eyes made it clear that you weren’t alone. And even though the universe made it abundantly clear that you had no idea what would happen next, you didn’t feel any need to hurry. Fate seemed to know what she was doing.
In the darkness of the bar, only Santiago’s eyes saw Frankie’s hand find the small of your back.
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