#hes scared of losing ashe and not being able to help save him
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okay!!! spoilers for PD S2E19
but but i rewatched again cause i needed to get my thoughts in order and like?? I feel like my theory that the wisps chose Will cause he has a calm and soothing soul has been reinforced with this episode
like he managed to calm the chaos demon down enough to turn it into a wisp and send it off somewhere safe (hopefully I’m not totally sure if im misinterpreting the funny spirit door) like Will is a safe haven for spirits I’m calling it! That’s why the wisps hang around him so much, to an extent I think that’s even why Kemuri doesn’t seem restless or anything after Will absorbed his soul.
#jrwi pd spoilers#jrwi pd#william wisp#prime defenders#look hes petty as hell i wont deny but deep down he cares so very much#he wants dakota to take care of himself and stay alive and is TRYING to get alan to understand that he shouldnt just kill people#hes scared of losing ashe and not being able to help save him#he does get jealous around vyncent a lot but he's always ready to drop it when his friend needs real help#and that whole scene when he was on the amalgam island looking for tide ;-;
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Hi~ I just recently start watching record of ragnarok saw one of your post the other day! I really love your writing style! I want to make one request, if you okay with it.
I read the one post, an old post where reader is Shinobu and the ror cast arrive just in time to save her from being eaten by Douma... This is going to be a bit angsty, but can I request alternate one? They arrived but was too late and they watched as Douma absorbed reader into his body, her hand fall down to her side and her katana dropped to ground...
Not the ending! After they killed Douma, believing that the reader is death, his body turn into ashes and reveals reader, laying on the ground, alive but unconscious and extremely weaken. Practically just want them to get a huge scare
-You had spent years researching, looking at any piece of information you could find to deal with this, to deal with the Upper Moon that killed your sister.
-You finally had what you needed, what you wanted, the results you had been looking for, wisteria, incredibly poisonous to demons.
-However, getting it into the demons was another question entirely, coating weapons with it wasn’t enough to kill, only temporarily stun, at least with the stronger demons. Tengen and his wives were able to provide that information for you.
-The only thing that was coming to mind, at least for one specific demon, Douma, the only demon you were truly after, except for maybe Muzan, as you wanted revenge for your sister.
-You knew Douma, you knew how he would react to seeing you, and you knew it would involve your sacrifice to take him out, you knew he was going to eat you.
-You started small, injecting small amounts of wisteria poison into your body, so your body could get used to it without you feeling sick yourself, increasing the dosage over time, fusing your blood with wisteria.
-You told your closest loved one (Lover/Parental Figure) what you had been doing and what you planned on doing, showing them your determination to bring Douma down.
-They knew better than to push back, as they knew you wouldn’t listen, so they stood beside you, supporting this decision, with their own plan in mind, to help you kill Douma so you wouldn’t need to sacrifice yourself.
-The fight against Douma, they were late, rushing to get to you as soon as possible, to prevent your death, they didn’t want to lose you, not like this, not ever.
-He rushed into the room, seeing your broken and batter body in Douma’s grasp, a sadistic grin on his face, licking his lips like you were going to be the tastiest treat he ever tasted.
-Douma opened his maw and began to devour you, swallowing you whole as (Lover/Parental Figure) shouted out, “NO!!” your arm went limp, your sword falling from your grasp, not even hearing the shout as everything went back.
-Douma licked his lips, wiping his mouth as he had drooled a little before smirking at (Lover/Parental Figure), “You’re too late- I’m grateful for you letting me enjoy my meal~”
-Hearing his teasing words caused (Lover/Parental Figure) to see red as he charged forward.
-Douma had to admit, this opponent was much stronger, a smile of delight on his lips as he leapt back, dodging his weapon, “Did you love her? Does it make you furious that I ate her? Tell me- tell- URK!!”
-Douma suddenly coughed up blood, spurting from his mouth as he collapsed to his knees, his vision now hazy, feeling the burning from the inside out of wisteria. His eyes widened, realizing what you had done as he lurched again, coughing out more blood.
-(Lover/Parental Figure) immediately dashed forward, removing Douma’s head from his shoulders, remembering your words well, that to defeat a demon, the head had to be cut off.
-He stepped on Douma’s head, which was laughing loudly, thinking the situation was hysterical, and with just a bit of force, crushed the skull under his foot, causing him to dissolve into ash.
-He looked over at Douma’s body and he froze, his eyes going wide as his voice caught in his throat, seeing your body laying there as the ash vanished.
-You were breathing, but only barely, and you were unconscious, extremely weakened as he could see that you were covered in wounds, not only the ones he first saw you with when he entered, but new ones, caused by the poison inside Douma as he was trying to digest you.
-He remained by your side while you were taken to the infirmary, holding your hand as you seemed to sleep almost peacefully, just wanting you to wake up.
-As your eyes slid open, seeing him sitting there, not paying attention that you had woken up, you gave his hand a small squeeze, making him flinch and instantly his eyes met your own. You couldn’t help but smile softly up at him, seeing the relief on his face, “Is he gone?” he sighed deeply, his eyes closing in relief, “He is, thanks to your recklessness and I crushed his skull.” You were surprised by his words before tears welled easily in your eyes, slipping down the sides of your face, “Thank goodness!” He couldn’t help but smile at you, brushing your tears away, kissing you softly, making you sigh into the kiss, before telling you what had happened and that you were still recovering. You didn’t mind resting finally, your goal now accomplished, your sister was avenged, and the world was safe from Douma.
-Thor, Lu Bu, Poseidon, Beelzebub, Zeus (platonically), and Odin (platonically)
-He knew that you were injured, but seeing your eyes open he immediately hugged you, hunched over you on the bed. His embrace was firm but warm and you couldn’t help but smile, leaning into the embrace, a soft sigh leaving you. Before you could even ask what had happened, he told you that with the poison in your body, which has now been flushed out, assisted in killing Douma, as it’s what gave him the opening he needed to land a fatal below, crushing his skull beneath his foot. You were surprised by his slight savagery, which did make him give you a small smile, “I was so angry when I thought I lost you- and he was the source of that anger.” You smiled up at him, giggling softly before he pecked your cheek gently, telling you to get some rest, which you had no issue doing, as Douma was now gone. You could rest quietly now.
-Hades, Qin Shi Huang, Nikola, Kojiro, Adam (platonically)
#record of ragnarok#ror x reader#ror thor#ror lu bu#ror poseidon#ror beelzebub#ror zeus#ror odin#ror hades#ror qin shi huang#ror nikola tesla#ror kojiro sasaki#ror adam
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Damian Wayne/Robin X Reader-The Next Bruce Lee (Part 9)
It’s almost done! The next post will be the last part of the series! I really want to finish up all of my series and then move on to newer stuff.
Warning: angst, nudity (nothing graphic), mentions of trauma & healing.
Pushing yourself back, you hold up one of your hands and try to make sense of what happened. You run your fingers along the skin, relief flooding through you when you realize it’s just ash. Scrubbing the ash off you, you don’t even realize a blanket is thrown over you until someone picks you up. You yelp but relax as soon as you realize it’s Damian. He silently takes you to the showers and turns on one of them.
Shakily pushing yourself up, you use the wall to balance yourself as you reach out for the water. The cold instantly soothes you, a sigh escaping from your mouth. Damian turns away, clearing his throat when the blanket falls.
“Your clothes did not survive,” he says quietly, shuffling awkwardly.
You grab a random bar of soap and just nod to his statement, furiously scrubbing at the ash. It takes some effort, but soon enough you’re able to scrub it all off. Your skin feels completely raw, but it’s better than ashy.
“I don’t think I can stay here, Damian,” you admit, moving onto your hair.
“I’m not losing you again,” he replies, frustration seeping into his tone. “Father will-”
You interrupt him, “He will what, Damian? I just turned that cell into liquid. How will he help me if I just burn everything?”
He just sighs, his frustration overpowering his embarrassment as he turns to face you, “We will figure it out. You can’t run away from this anymore, you can’t run away from me.”
Damian closes the distance between the two of you, pulling you in for a hug. He pays no mind to the water as he holds you close, squeezing you so tightly that you’re afraid he’ll break a few ribs. You finally give in, wrapping your arms around him.
“What if I hurt you?”
The question lingers in the air. He knows that it’s possible and that it would be ridiculous to deny it.
“You’ve hurt me since the day we met,” he finally replies, pulling back to look into your eyes. “Still have the scars to prove it.”
“So do I,” you whisper, tears beginning to form in your eyes. “I’m scared.”
The warm tears fall down your face, but he quickly moves to wipe them away.
“Tell me about your dreams.”
That catches you off guard, your thoughts going a million miles per hour as you scramble to think of something. You always had a goal to leave the fighting ring behind. Despite being good at it, they never let you rise to the higher-profile fights. They knew that you were saving up and left you to pick up the scraps.
“I’m not sure if I know if I have any,” you admit, looking away from him. “It was just… saving up enough to get away.”
“You’ve gotten away, now it’s time to think of a new dream,” Damian says, squeezing your hand. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to be a part of that.”
“What about Black Mask?”
“Everyone else will handle it,” he simply replies. “You and I will need to leave for some time, possibly taking refuge with the Justice League.”
“The Justice League?!” you ask, your nerves getting the better of you. “Is that really necessary?”
“I have already arranged it,” he reveals, his eyes softening. “We can see if this can be reversed. If it can’t, then we can understand them.”
You nod, “Okay, but I don’t want it to be like before. I can’t be a lab rat again.”
You shiver at the thought of being stuck in a lab again, attached to machines as they pumped poison into you. A cloth makes its way over your shoulders, snapping you out of your thoughts. It’s a robe. Damian helps you guide your arms into the sleeves before tying it shut.
“I know. When we were trying to find you, the needle marks…”
His voice trails off as he guides you out of the showers. Damian doesn’t finish the sentence. Your hand travels to your neck, remembering the needle that Black Mask used to repress your free will. He turned you into something you weren’t. You could barely even remember anything from that time. Maybe it’s for the best that you don’t.
“Are we going now?” you ask, not surprised to see packed bags waiting for you both.
“It’s for the best.”
“I’m tired, Damian,” you sigh, snatching one of the bags. “I’m sick of having all of my choices taken away. After Black Mask… If we’re going to leave Gotham, I’m not coming back.”
He remains still, his back facing toward you as he takes in your words. He knows what you’re asking him. You’re asking him to stay away from his home, his family. This is his only warning, to either let you leave and figure your shit out together… or alone.
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You have more about the French man? What else do you have?
Yes yes yes!! I'm gonna use this as an opportunity to talk about Joe's Boxing career and how he became good friends with Gabby Jay so buckle in folks!
So, back in my first headcanon post, I mentioned Joe was kicked out of school at 13 then dropped out in favor of getting a job to help support his family after his mother lost her job. His sister did the same thing a few years earlier- the whole thing was a few years coming but it just happened to fall apart right then. This also caused them to lose their apartment and all their belongings, leaving them homeless for months.
Joe did a ton of job searching before landing on the cafe. Everywhere else asked for an id to prove he was old enough to work. The cafe was running thin on staff so they were basically like ‘sure kid, come in tomorrow morning at 4 and well start training you’.
Gabby Jay had worked at said cafe for a long, long time as a waitress. He was very insecure about his job due to the manager frequently threatening to fire him and being generally abusive. So, when this kid showed up and said ‘alright, im here to work’, Gabby was like:
Yeah, he wasn’t too pleased with this kid running around. Yet, throughout the day, Gabby noticed him struggling to keep track of orders and, despite his reservations, helped Joe out. The manager, not noticing Joe had been helped all day, hired him.
Gabby wasn’t happy, but accepted he made his bed and now had to lie in it. He avoided Joe as much as possible. Until one day he fucked up Big Time, letting loose some not-so legal activities the cafe was doing. Gabby would’ve lost his job if not for Joe running off with the evidence, the cops chasing after him. Gabby was in awe, concerned for his safety far more than the state of his job. When Joe came back the next day, evidence in hand, they burned it to ashes together.
When Gabby asked why he risked arrest to save his ass, Joe replied “You help me get a job, I help you keep yours.”
From there, a friendship bloomed. Gabby grew to like Joe a lot and they hung out together as much as possible. When he found out Joe was really 13 and his family was homeless, Gabby did everything he could to help. He couldn’t give them any money, but he had a shower, a washer and dryer, food, and shelter for them during bad weather. They were able to get a roof over their heads for the winter and their apartment back by the time Joe turned 14.
One day, a rowdy customer comes in and starts harassing Gabby. He’s used to such treatment as a waitress but when the customer started getting violent, Gabby got scared. He couldn’t call the police and the manager wasn’t even around to do anything so he was frozen, terrified of what was to come. Joe, seeing his friend in danger, and being 14, stepped in between them.
The resulting fight was long, bloody, and extremely entertaining. To Gabby’s horror and disgust, no one stepped in, the customers and staff screaming like wild animals. In the end the customer fell and Joe stood over him, battered yet victorious. Gabby shook off his shock and brought Joe inside to clean him up and send him home.
The whole scene caught the eye of a coach working in the Junior Women’s boxing league of France.She followed them and offered Joe a chance at a boxing career right then and there. Once Joe heard the money he could make doing it, he accepted.
Joe's training started immediately and though he still worked for the cafe, he spent most of his time training. Gabby was left lonely but also with a new spark. Seeing Joe, a scrawny, weak, 14 year old fight a man twice his height and weight and win was inspiring. It reminded Gabby of his childhood, when he himself wanted to become an athlete. He was told he was too weak by his family and left his dreams, but seeing Joe fight ignited that spark once more- if Joe could do it, couldn’t he? Watching Joe struggle through, but win his first match pushed that spark even further within Gabby and he began setting aside money to become a boxer himself.
Joe's coach noticed something was wrong during their time together. Joe was weak, struggled to gain muscle like the other girls and so much more. She ordered a round of health tests and what Joe's diagnosed with about a year later is something quite serious: a very low testosterone level. His mother and sister get tested and they too have a similar diagnosis, though far less severe than Joe's case. His coach gets him on t immediately, despite protests from other coaches and boxers. The other boxers shunned both her and Joe over this but Joe's coach insisted he shouldn't care.
Things seem normal for him for a little bit until he starts noticing changes. His hair is thicker and some of it started growing on his chin. His hands are blocky, he's more hungry but not keeping on the weight, hes more muscular too. And, most of all, his voice is deeper! He's louder and he starts to feel is buzz in his chest when he speaks and he LOVES it. For the first time in many years, Joe looks at himself in the mirror and likes who's staring back.
His boxing gets easier and far better. Joe climbs his way up the ranks fast, managing the top of the league. Gabby can’t find a coach- everyone saying he's too old to get a career. Joe, in turn, starts teaching him, refusing to deny his friend the joy of boxing. Gabby was rough at first but he found his footing and won his first match by a good margin. For 2 years, everything was great.
The people around him didn't feel the same way. Many don't like his hairy arms and thicker muscles, his darker hair and infinite appetite. People especially don't like how deep his voice is-including his doctor prescribing his t. This girl's voice is deeper that his own! Surely we must stop giving her t at once! Joe was heartbroken and his coach and family were furious! But they couldn't do anything as the board steps in and enforces him to go off t, citing it as doping. Joe becomes sick and depressed at the loss as well.
Gabby had taken notice of all the changes, especially how much Joe had blossomed. Joe was so much happier then and it hurt to see his friend so sick and in pain. He was happy, and maybe a little bit jealous, that Joe got to have that happen to him and wondered if he too could go on T- he had always dreamed of a luxurious mustache.
Despite it all, Joe kept his training up and kept his title. Gabby never gets as far as Joe, but his record stays strong. But Joe just couldn’t keep all his changes out of his head. Sure he was happy because he was healthier, but there was something else. Something more that he never even thought he could need- something he never thought he could be. When he talks to Gabby about his feelings, Gabby says that imagining yourself with facial hair or wanting a deeper voice and big muscles is completely normal for women! Happens all the time it’s no big deal! But Joe can’t get it out of his head that something IS different about him and maybe even Gabby too!
He stuffs his feelings down but one day Joe can’t take it and breaks down to his mother about everything. He even goes so far as to say he wants to be a man. After he clams down, his mother and sister talk to him and Gabby, inform them that dreaming of being a man is not normal, and promptly get Joe to a therapist. He’s told that he’s transgender. Joe relays this info to Gabby and they sit together in awkward silence. After they calm down and process what they’d been told, the two men go to their families and relay the news.
Joe’s mother is hesitant at first, but allows him to make his own choices. She knows how happy being on t made her baby and she would give her very life to see him that happy again. Joe, his mother and his sister all talk for a very long time and his mother and sister promise to support him through whatever he wants to pursue. His sister helps him pick out new clothes, his mother helps him pick out a new name, and the three grow closer than ever. Joe, though still feeling awful and closeted in public, is as happy as can be when at home.
Gabby does not get so lucky. He’s rejected by all but one family member and disowned. His great aunt, one Gabrielle Eugénie Jay, gives him money and respects him for who he is. The time Gabby is given with the aunt he was named after was short, but still wonderful. He vows to keep her name in her honor and even take on her surname to reject the family who betrayed him. When he returns to Paris with the news of his disowning, Joe’s family doesn’t hesitate to take him in as their own.
Gabby also ‘snaps’ around this time too. The manager of the cafe pushes him past his limits, refusing to respect him even with his boxing career. Gabby rolls up his sleeves an wallops him right in the middle of the store. He is arrested with a smile on his face.
Joe’s last year in the junior women's league is hard, but he retires with his title never taken from him. At 19 he gets back on t, gets top surgery and is happier than he’s ever been. Gabby exits his own league, using the money his aunt left him and his savings to transition. The process is quite messy for both of them, especially the legal bureaucracy, but they get everything they need and enter the men’s league together.
Joe dominates there like he did the junior league. Now healthier than ever, he wipes the floor with his opponents and makes his way to the top in only a few years. Gabby lacks the same success, but is more than happy to be an average boxer, now known around France by his mustache alone. Joe’s success catches yet another eye, this time of the wvba. When they approach, he accepts their offer on one condition: Gabby gets to try too. Both get in with no hassle at all.
Though they stood strong in normal boxing leagues, the wvba is no normal league. Despite their skill, they’re weaker than most of the other crazy assholes they face in the ring. For the most part though, they’re accepted and even respected among their respective groups. Gabby and Joe’s time in the same branch is short but sweet, with Gabby being moved to seattle to better face boxers of his own caliber. Despite the pain it causes them they adore boxing to no end and wouldn’t change a thing about their careers or their friendship.
#glass joe#gabby jay#punch out wii#super punch out#punch out#headcanons#ask game#god this is so long but I put a lot of love into it so nyeh#I lost the original but I think this version is a bit more concise and overall better#the fart#but yeah sorry for such a long reply but I've been having that specific story milling about in my head forever#I had to get it out#my hcs
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Ash amalgamation au
- He has Nyctophobia (fear of the dark) and a varying case of iatrophobia (fear of doctors and medical procedures). The first fear is caused by the fact for the first 5 years of his life, he saw nothing but darkness. It was just him and Mewtwo in such a dark, cold and empty space with no ideas of the real world to bring life to it. It’s honestly moreso the idea of not being able to escape the dark than the dark itself that scares him. The latter fear is unsurprisingly caused by the scientists of the lab. He doesn’t fear science itself as he actually still thinks Clemont and his inventions are super cool but anything that involves examining his body and or any sort of probing gets him deathly still or flat out terrified at worst
- Delia was rightfully concerned about Ash travelling on his own due to his phobia and got him a lantern to help since he usually has a night light when he sleeps. Pikachu snuggles up to Ash a lot when they sleep after he found out about Ash’s fear of the dark.
- His fights with Sabrina went pretty different from canon as Sabrina is able to tell Ash has psychic powers and takes him a tad more seriously but not much cause she doesn’t think he’s that strong. Ash fares much better in all his matches with her because he knows how psychic types work so he gets as far as to force Kadabra to recover in his first fight with her but Pikachu is still defeated causing Ash to lose and they go to catch Haunter after being saved by Sabrina’s father but cause Ash understands what Haunter’s saying, he gets Haunter to swear he won’t leave so Ash actually faces Sabrina with Haunter but after losing even with that, Haunter saves them by making Sabrina laugh with the same thing he does in canon (Yes its bullshit but its canonically how she’s beaten and Ash being part Mewtwo will not change that. She’s just beaten earlier here than in canon)
- Sabrina teaches Ash psychic to replace confusion to show her gratitude for saving her from her psychic power obsession and as compensation for taking Haunter. She even actually offers to trade a Kadabra to him (Its not the same one she uses in their gym fight) but his team isn’t receptive to the idea so Ash turns the offer down.
- Albert’s Espeon is a recurring member of his team appearing in various gym battles, leagues and even the battle frontier. Many people are surprised to see Ash using an Espeon as it doesn’t seem like a pokemon he’d have. It’s most notable return is in Unova where it replaces Charizard as the pokemon that Ash brings back after getting nostalgic about home because Charizard is busy training so Ash brings back Espeon instead since he wants Iris, Cilan and N to meet an old friend.
- N finds Ash’s Espeon to be very intriguing as their relationship is very tight knit but it’s different from his bond with Pikachu which leads Ash to explain to him how Espeon took on a sort of big sister role to him when he was first smuggled out of the lab by Albert and she tends to be a bit protective of Ash since Albert died to save him from the lab so she doesn’t want her trainer’s final act to have been in vain.
- Ash can transform into different people and pokemon. He uses this ability in times he needs to disguise himself so in episodes where he cross-dresses he transforms into a girl (usually one of his female companion at the time but with a slightly altered appearance) and in times they need to disguise as a pokemon like in the Spewpa smuggler episode he transforms into a Spewpa willingly exposing his part pokemon status to officer Jenny in the name of helping the Spewpas and the banned Passimian episode. He also doesn’t mind using this ability to entertain his friends since he is quite proud of his transforming abilities.
#pokemon#ash amalgamation au#pokemon ash#ash ketchum#pokemon sabrina#pokemon espeon#espeon#pokemon pikachu#pikachu#albert ketchum
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Kinktober Day 22: Zombie (Voracious)
Day 22: Zombie
Title: Voracious
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: Noncon, necrophilia (cause zombie), predator/prey, biting, marking, blood play, yandere
Note: Thank you so much to @thewheezingwyvern who is always down to help me without batting an eye when I go “so, zombie plague...what are some good symptoms? And yes, the zombie is going to fuck you.” Also, for the love of everything that is unholy, please mind the warnings. Do not read the fic and come to me to tell me how disgusting it was. Trust me, I know. :)
Kinktober Masterlist
The country of Japan is dead. Or at least close enough that the distinction doesn’t matter.
Several months ago, an aggressive virus leaked from a quirk research facility and spread through the population like wildfire. Nobody was informed about what was going on, and nobody was warned when the virus first began to hit the cities. Officials kept it as quiet as possible, hoping to contain the spread before it got out of control. And before anyone knew how big of a mistake they had made.
But it was far too late for any sort of containment. The virus already spread fast in a lab environment, and it was even faster as it tore through an unprepared population.
The first sign of contracting the virus is tiredness and body aches. The infected simply thought they caught a minor illness, and they continued their business as usual, expecting it to go away on its own. But as the virus continues to spread through their body, the tissues start to die and they develop intense fevers and headaches. By the time the infection makes its way to the brain, confusion and outright delirium has begun to occur.
The infected are wild by this point, feral to the point of attacking, biting, and eating the uninfected. The ones who were bitten and survived had the site of their wound swell and turn agonizing to the touch, and they would suffer the same progression as the other infected.
The final stage is always the same though. Once the black rot of plague starts appearing on your skin and spreading like the branches of a tree, it’s too late.
The worst part is that the infected still have use of their quirks, and the devastation has been immense. Super powered heroes and villains with their minds rotting and decaying from infection, losing the ability to distinguish friend from foe. In some areas, the casualties were even worse from fighting than they were from the virus itself.
Somehow, you have managed to keep yourself alive and stay away from the worst in-fighting and the areas with the highest concentration of infected. Still though, it is a surprise to you. You’re simply a quirkless nobody with no way to defend yourself.
You have seen so many better, stronger people die right in front of you, leaving you forced to continue on alone.
You sigh as you scavenge through an old building that was once a store, looking for more supplies. Yours are dangerously low, and your dry mouth and grumbling stomach tells you that you need to find something quickly, before you become too weak to continue on.
You practically jump out of your skin when you hear the banging of items hitting the ground from deeper within the store. It might be survivors, or it might be the infected. The thought briefly occurs to you that you need to check to make sure, but you quickly shake it away.
Survivors or not, you didn’t come this far by being careless. But as you inch quietly towards the exit, you see a flash of red eyes from within the darkness as something emerges.
No, not something. Someone.
One of the infected.
It’s clear that he’s in the late stages of infection, the black rot spreading out through his body, but most notably his left leg which he drags limply. He’s wearing what are essentially black rags that flow out from behind him, leaving his chest bare so that you can see more of the black spiderwebs of rot twining outwards.
His eyes zoom in on you, narrowing slightly as you stand there frozen in fear. Neither of you moves for what feels like hours, but is really mere seconds. You break out of your trance first, turning on your heel and running for the door. The infected pursues you instantly, jumping over a table rather than running around it to save time. The move is a sign of intelligence that instantly fills you with dread. By this stage, the infected are usually too confused and delirious to remember such things.
You make it to the door with him hot on your heels. You’ve always considered yourself a fast runner, especially lately, but this is an entirely different story. He’s fast, too fast. The infected are not supposed to be like this, especially not with a bad leg. But yet he is quickly catching up to you as you dart through streets you know so well.
You realize that your only chance is to lose him somehow, as you’re never going to be able to outrun him. Your breath is coming in harsh pants already, a stitch burning in your side as you make a sharp, desperate right turn into an alleyway.
An alleyway with a dead end.
This area was clear just a week ago, but now it looks like an infected hero or villain used their quirk to collapse both buildings in the area, causing massive chunks of cement and debris to block the road out. There is no way to climb over the rubble and no handholds or stairs to use to climb up the buildings. You’re completely trapped.
You whirl around quickly, hoping to get out before the infected catches up with you. But you’re too late. He’s already standing at the entrance of the alley, staring you down with heated red eyes. A sharp burst of awareness fills you as you realize exactly who this is. The leader of the League of Villains, Shigaraki Tomura, whose whereabouts have been speculated on for weeks along with the rest of his villain group.
No wonder he’s so fast and so dangerous. The infected retain some level of awareness and ability from the time before, and Shigaraki was one of the most deadly villains in the country.
And if the way he’s acting towards you is any indication, he still is.
You take a step back. He takes a step forward. Another step back. Another step forward. You scan through your chances of getting out of this alive and uninfected, but your mind comes up with nothing.
Your back hits a wall abruptly, and in your split second distraction, the infected is on you. You’re pulled roughly to the ground, hands barely breaking your fall as you land on your front. This is it, you think to yourself, I’m about to be eaten. All this time of running away, of watching people you care about die, all for nothing.
You can’t stop yourself from trembling as you try to brace for the pain of being devoured. But instead, he leans down and buries his face into your neck, sniffing the skin deeply as he pushes your body further onto the ground. His hips are bucking against the curve of your ass, and with dawning horror, you realize exactly what the hard bulge in his pants is.
He grabs your pants and you watch as decay overtakes them and dissolves them into ash. He decays your shirt and bra next, leaving you bare from the waist up and shivering from the cold of his body pressed against you. You’re too scared to move, too scared to do anything.
But when he reaches for your panties, that’s when your paralysis finally breaks and fear takes over. You try to lift yourself up from the ground to run, only to hear a snarl as teeth sink into the flesh of your neck.
You go limp with a choked sob, losing any and all desire to try and get away. It’s all over now. That one single moment has doomed you to infection and madness. The pain of the bite is nothing compared to the despair you feel.
He lets out a pleased hum at your sudden obedience, pulling your panties aside as you feel something cold and hard prodding at your entrance. You barely have time to comprehend what’s happening before your pussy is filled with one sharp thrust of the creature’s hips. The infected aren’t supposed to do this, aren’t supposed to have these urges, you think wildly to yourself. This can’t be happening, it’s not possible.. But it is happening. You’re being taken by this creature like a wild animal in a back alley.
And then he is moving, hips slapping against your ass as his throbbing length pounds into you. There is no gentleness, no precision, just deep, feral thrusts that have you unwillingly clenching. He’s thicker than you’re used to, and the pain of your muscles stretching around him causes you to whine from the back of your throat.
This shouldn’t feel good. You should be horrified, disgusted. You should be fighting tooth and nail to get away, even though it’s hopeless since you’re already infected. But the cold of his cock pressing against your warm walls has your head spinning from the contrast.
He hits a soft, spongy spot inside of you, and you let out a squeal as your stomach tightens. The teeth are removed from your neck, only to bite down in another spot on the other side. He ruthlessly breaks skin, causing blood to run down your front and drip onto the pavement below.
Your body feels like it’s on fire, everything so overly sensitive as his cock forces your walls to stretch open even further as he gets rougher. The hands gripping your hips feel warmer than they were before, fingers digging hard enough into your skin to create bruises. The grunts and groans leaving his throat are positively lewd, and he takes his mouth away only to bite down in between your shoulder blades.
Your scream echoes through the alley as the teeth penetrate flesh, his tongue lapping at the bite and taking deep swallows of your blood. You try to imagine yourself somewhere else, anywhere else so that you don’t think of the pressure building up inside of you and the pain from the throbbing bites now decorating you.
Your nails dig hard into the cement below you as you try to ground yourself and ignore what’s happening, but Shigaraki doesn’t seem to appreciate that at all. He smacks his hand hard against your ass, keeping his pinky raised delicately off your skin in a way that has you worried about his level of awareness.
Now that your attention is firmly back on him, he bites the back of your neck, and you can’t stop the howl that leaves your throat when you feel your skin break, or the orgasm that wracks your body as you feel blood trail down the column of your neck and down in between your breasts.
Tears run down your face as humiliation burns through you, the shame of cumming around this infected villain’s cock almost too much to bear. Almost worse than the fact that you’ll soon be just like him.
“M-m-m - “
Your eyes widen as you glance behind you, seeing the infected concentrating hard as he tries to get words out. He’s stopped thrusting, as if he’s trying to focus entirely on whatever he wants to say. As he opens his mouth, you see his teeth stained with your blood and the sight shoots straight to your core.
“M-m-mine,” he finally manages to stutter out, “mine.” He forces your head down onto the pavement as he begins to ruthlessly pound into you. The infected don’t speak, they’re not supposed to speak -
“Mine,” he snarls, almost as if he heard your thoughts and is trying to prove you wrong.
You’re oversensitive and wet from your previous orgasm, allowing him to fuck you deeply, hitting your cervix with every thrust. You can feel your pussy dripping your juices all over his cock, and the wet squelching noises that fill the alleyway has you shaking with embarrassment.
“Mine, mine mine,” he chants as he bites again and again, each time pausing long enough to take gulps of your blood. Your head is spinning, lightheadedness from blood loss overtaking you. The ground below you has puddles of your own blood where it drips down, and you briefly think that maybe you really will be eaten right here and now instead of being infected and left to wander.
His hand comes in between your bodies to stroke tight circles against your swollen clit as he chuckles deeply into your ear. “Mine,” he whispers darkly. “Why else would I stumble across the cure for the plague if you weren’t meant to be mine?”
Cure for the plague? That’s not possible, there’s no cure for the plague, and you’re completely quirkless -
He bites down one last time, sinking his teeth into the back of your neck and holding you there like a dog refusing to let go of a bone. You realize why immediately when he groans into your heated skin, warmth spreading through your core as he shoots hot ropes of cum directly against your cervix. The pain of his teeth buried into your flesh has you thrown over the edge as well, legs trembling and eyes rolling into the back of your head.
He removes his teeth from your neck once he’s emptied himself inside of you, letting you go as you collapse onto the ground. You roll over enough to meet his eyes, seeing sharp intelligence and contemplation. The black rot is quickly disappearing, color returning to his skin. Within no time at all, you can no longer tell he was ever infected.
“How - I don’t - I’m quirkless - “
“No, you’re not.” He states it matter of factly, as if it was already known. “You have a quirk, it just didn’t have a purpose until the plague. Your blood carries the cure.”
You consider everything that happened, realizing that the more blood he drank, the more human he seemed. The faster the infection was being cured.
He snorts at the look of disbelief and then understanding on your face. “With you on my side, I can remake society exactly the way that I want.”
“I am not on your fucking side! You’re a villain who just - “ You can’t even bring yourself to finish the sentence, but Shigaraki has no issues doing it for you.
“A villain who just fucked you and got you off? Such a dirty girl, getting off around infected cock.”
Your face heats up and you instantly glance away, drawing another chuckle from his throat. “I won’t help you,” you say stubbornly, ignoring his previous words.
“Who said I was giving you a choice?” His fingers dig into your arm as he pulls you off the ground. “You belong to me now, and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want with you. Just think about the power I have now. I control who stays infected and who gets cured. No more hero society.” His voice has taken on an excited, almost manic tone as he considers the possibilities.
“Are you - are you going to let them do what you just did?” You whisper quietly, a single tear running down your face at being used the same way by other people.
He instantly scowls at you. “Of course not.”
You perk up just a bit, until you hear his next words.
“I’ll let you be a blood bag, but for everything else - you’re mine. And I don’t like to share.” He begins to drag you back the way that you came, walking with purpose.
“Now come along. We have so much work to do.”
✧༝┉┉┉┉┉˚*❋ ❋ ❋*˚┉┉┉┉┉༝✧
Kinktober: @ichor-and-symbiosis, @thewheezingwyvern, @vixen-scribbles, @katsukisprincess, @hisoknen, @trafalgar-temptress, @leeswritingworld, @burnedbyshoto, @bakugotrashpanda, @dee-madwriter, @kittycatkrissa, @reinawritesbnha, @yanderart, @dabilove27, @fae-father, @anxietyplusultra, @flutterfalla, @angmarwitch, @nereida19, @babayaga67, @fromsunnywithlove, @dabis-kitten, @bakugos-cumsock, @yumeneji, @the-grimm-writer, @iwaizumi-chan, @slashersheart, @bunnyywritings, @bakarinnie, @angie-1306, @emplosion22, @lalalemon101, @videogameboiwhowins, @f4nficbaby, @tenkoshimmy, @baroque-baby, @bbyspiiice, @thirstyforthem2dmen, @blissfulignorance2000, @bluecookies02-main
#kinktober 2020#shigaraki x reader#tomura shigaraki x reader#shigaraki tomura x reader#shigaraki smut#shigaraki#mha x reader#mha smut#yandere mha#bnha x reader#bnha smut#yandere bnha#bnha kinktober#mha kinktober#tw: noncon#tw: necro#tw: blood play
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Too Late (Ivar x reader)
A/N: This is my entry to @fuchsiagrasshopper's 200 Followers Writing Challenge. Congratulations again, love 💝
This is a variation on Ivar's death. Consider yourself warned. And... sorry 😔
The prompt, from the song Too Late, by Ashes Divides, is in bold and italics.
@zuxiezendler - Thank you for reassuring me (I needed it) and for beta reading this for me 🌺
Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊
Divider by @firefly-graphics
Summary: Ivar is about to go to war against Alfred. His eyes are very blue, though.
Warnings: major character death; mention of blood and fatal wound (nothing graphic).
Words: 1815
When a hand lingers on his forehead, Ivar slowly opens his eyes before shifting in the makeshift bed and eventually sitting upright, allowing you to take a seat next to him. Looking at him with concern, you tilt your head to the side, one of your hands resting lightly on his chest while the other grazes his thigh.
Studying him, you bite your lower lip. "Your eyes have turned deep blue, Ivar. You know what that means, remember?" Ivar snorts and then rolls his eyes, visibly annoyed. You don't stop, though. "Hvitserk told me. Your brothers used to watch over you. They knew that when your eyes turned blue that you were in great danger of breaking your bones. And they would say 'Not today, Ivar. Not today.'"
Knitting his brow, your lover wearily rubs a filthy hand over his face, his eyes never leaving yours. "I remember." He finally nods, a half-smile curling his lips. "I know."
"You could let Hvitserk take command, Ivar. You'd stay behind, for once. I could even stay with you." You know you're walking on eggshells, but when Ivar answers, there's surprisingly no anger in his voice. Though the calm determination in his gaze tells you that arguing is pointless.
"No, Y/N." He shakes his head and grabs your hand, playing absently with your fingers. "No," he repeats, "Hvitserk must lead the back-up troops, it has to be someone I trust. As for you, I need you on the battlefield. You're our best shieldmaiden, and you know that. And...", he tilts his head, lightly shrugging, "I don't think we can defeat Alfred if I'm not there too... You know..." He taps his forehead with his pointer finger and you know exactly what he means. He's right. His men are fearsome warriors, but they sometimes – most of the time – need guidance when fighting, and who else could do that better than Ivar, with his cunning and extraordinary strategic mind?
No. He won't change his mind.
For the briefest moment, you think you should tell him. But no. It wouldn't change anything. You're not deluding yourself, he'd still go. And he'd demand that you stay behind. And that's not happening. It's an option you refuse to even consider. If he goes, you go. That's who you are. Both of you. A king – a warrior – and a shieldmaiden.
You'll tell him afterwards. Once it's all over. Once Alfred is defeated.
"Okay, then." Leaning in, you give him a peck on the lips before standing up. "Promise you'll be careful."
Flashing you a reassuring yet tired smile, he nods. "I always am."
The battle rages for hours now and you know you should feel it in your bones. The pain. The exhaustion. But you don't. Unharmed and powerful, a shield in your left hand, it's like you're flying, dodging blow after blow, slicing throat after throat, driving your trustworthy sword into chests or guts, as you slash your way through the enemies. Exhilarated, you shout war cries and you know that if they are cathartic to you, they scare the Saxon soldiers. The thought makes you laugh – and indeed a crazy laugh escapes your throat as you run forward, swinging your blade from side to side, momentarily crouching down as an axe flies over your head.
Attacking a Saxon with your shield, you beat him savagely with repeated blows to his skull before skewering him with your sword. As he falls to the ground, already dead, you look up to the sky for a second, and silently thank the gods, a beaming smile adorning your face. You love that. You're never more alive than on the battlefield. As you lower your gaze, eager to slaughter more and more Christians, your eyes catch something on the left.
And it's like the world stops spinning.
Like your heart stops beating.
And you stop breathing.
Petrified, you can't comprehend what you're seeing. It doesn't make sense. It can't make sense. Why is this Saxon stabbing Ivar? How can it be? Why isn't your lover fighting back? Why is he bleeding? Your shield and sword slipping out of your hands, the ringing in your ears is suddenly deafening, and for a fleeting second, you think you might throw up. But you won't. Because that can't be real. You're hallucinating, for sure. It can't be happening. It doesn't make sense. It can't. It simply can't.
A sudden cry of pain and the distinctive and all too familiar sound of a broken bone snap you out of your stupor and you rush over to your lover – 'Not today, Ivar, not today, no' – dropping to the ground next to him, your hand grazing his cheek. As you see the state he's in – his left leg unnaturally bent at the knee with exposed bone; his stomach covered with blood – a shiver runs down your spine and you gasp, filled with horror. You want to cry, and scream, and shout but instead you inhale deeply, blinking several times before locking eyes with his bloodied ones. Your man needs you.
"I'm here, Ivar, I'm here." As you carefully place his head on your lap, his hand grabs your arm, squeezing it. His eyelids flutter as he tries to focus his gaze on you. Weakly raising his free hand, he fails to touch your face and something between a sob and a whine escapes his lips. Gently intertwining his fingers with yours, you can't help but repeat yourself. "I'm here, my love, I'm here."
A faint shake of his head and then he speaks, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper. "You... You should leave... Leave, Y/N.." He swallows painfully, and a sob chokes in your throat as you see blood running out of his mouth. You shake your head, not trusting your voice, but Ivar, your stubborn lover, keeps speaking, mustering all his strength. "Leave, my love, you're... not safe... here..." He then lets out a shuddering breath, loosening his grip on your arm.
Raising your head and looking around, you see that your fellow warriors are gone. Someone, Haakon probably – you always saw Ivar's second in command as a coward – must have sounded the retreat, now that their king is down. You don't have time to dwell on it though as you realize that the two of you are now surrounded by Saxon soldiers, their swords pointed at you. You coldly glare at them for a few brief seconds before meeting King Alfred's gaze. The Saxon commander seems shocked as he looks with wide open eyes at the man lying in front of you.
"Lower your weapons!" You barely hear Alfred's order, your mind taken with other thoughts, and you don't bother to see if his soldiers obey. The truth is, Alfred and his men are the least of your concerns right now. No matter what happens, no matter what they do, you're not going anywhere.
Once more, giving your undivided attention to your lover, you shake your head, speaking with conviction and determination. "I'm not leaving your side, my love."
Ivar frowns and winces. "I want you to... be safe..." He mutters with great effort, clearly in terrible pain. "It makes... no difference if... if you stay. I'm..." He squeezes his eyes shut, and you're suddenly aware of how pale he is, his hand on your arm now ice cold. He eventually speaks again, his breathing ragged and shallow. "I'm going to... die anyway. Y/N," his voice is choked, and your eyes are full of tears, "I'm...dying."
He's right. He's dying. There's no denying it. As heartbreaking as this thought may be, it is no less true. You've been in enough battles, seen enough fatal injuries to not delude yourself. With a wound that bad, there's no chance of survival. Absolutely none. You know it won't take long.
But it doesn't change a single thing. How could you leave him here, in this foreign land, surrounded by strangers – by enemies? How could you? You don't want to be safe, you want to be with him, as long as you can.
You may not be able to save him, but you can be there. You want to be there.
I will not lose you to a world that doesn't care
To the monsters that would have you.
Your hand cups his face as you swallow thickly, blinking back tears. "And I want to be here. I won't leave you alone." The pain in your heart is such that you can hardly speak. Taking the deepest breath you can, you then bite your inner cheek so hard that you can taste the blood in your mouth. "You're not alone, my love. You don't have to face this alone."
Ivar's eyes are closed, and for a moment, you're not sure he heard you. If you're being honest, you're not sure he's still there with you, even if he's still breathing.
But then, his eyelids flutter open, revealing glassy eyes. There's no more light in them; no more fight. "Not today..." He mumbles, despair clear in his voice. And suddenly his face crumples and his eyes are full of tears and you can almost physically feel the panic coursing through his battered body. When he speaks, sobbing very hard, it's to say what you never thought you'd hear him say, his voice as shaky as your hand on his face.
"I'm afraid."
It rips your heart out.
"I'm afraid."
It tears you to pieces.
"I'm afraid."
It destroys you.
You hiccup, a hand moving to cover your mouth. You want to take his pain away, you want to die and let him live. Your head is spinning, you're dying from the inside, you're not sure you can do it, but you have to. You know you have to.
So, gathering the courage you thought you didn't have, you nod. With tears rolling down your face, you swallow hard and say, "I won't tell anyone." Shaking with long, racking sobs, you try to smile. "No one will ever forget Ivar the Boneless. And I will never forget you, my love."
The fear in his haunted eyes almost unbearable, you can just soothe him, a reassuring hand on his cheek. Your tears join his, splashing on his face as you whisper again and again. "You're not alone, my love... I'm right here, next to you... You're not alone..." Sliding your arm under his head, you clumsily lie down next to him, curling your limbs around his body, cradling him.
Never surrender you, I always be there
I will be there to wrap myself around you.
And then, with a last gasp, your lover stops breathing.
And your whole world just shatters around you over and over and over...
Time loses all meaning.
You can't move.
Can't think.
Can't cry.
Can't feel.
He's gone.
And you realize you never had a chance to tell him...
He's gone.
Tagging: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @a-mess-of-fandoms @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @ivarthebloodyking @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @fuchsiagrasshopper
#fuchsiagrasshopper200#ivar#ivar x reader#ivar the boneless#ivar ragnarsson#ivar the boneless x reader#ivar ragnarsson x reader#ivar fanfic#ivar fanfiction#ivar fic#ivar imagine#ivar vikings#vikings ivar#vikings imagine
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Iron Lord Saladin Forge
Season of the Lost dropped some major lore about Saladin and I love every piece of it so I will make a huge post detailing stuff about and what's important.
The lore is on Iron Banner armour which you can see in-game when you go to the armour section. The lore is the same on each class so it doesn't matter which one you read. It's in the order of how armour is set, so helmet -> arm piece -> chest piece -> leg piece -> class item. There's some extras on Iron banner weapons that I'll add as well.
The rest under the cut due to length and also spoilers!
I'll link to the Hunter gear because I'm a dirty Hunter main and I read it from there and that's what I have open because I couldn't remember the names for other two classes, but the lore is the same on all of them. The set is called Iron Forerunner.
We haven't really had any substantial Saladin lore in D2 besides few lore pieces from Chosen and Splicer. Not nearly enough I think, especially since he wasn't properly introduced in D2 at all and it was kinda assumed that everyone would know about him from the Rise of Iron expansion in D1. He had plenty of voice lines, but with no real context. His voice lines in Season of the Chosen were interesting, but also made a lot of people think he's a bad person and a warmongering coward who sat on his butt during the Red War and was then preaching action for action's sake.
The situation is obviously more complex, but I've always said that it's Bungie fault for not explaining more about him prior to his involvement in the Season of the Chosen. Well, now we got some really interesting information at last!
Anyway, helmet first!
Flavour text:
"Some know the legend. We threw ourselves on the blades of tyranny so others may live free." —Lord Saladin
This is referencing the Iron Lords' fight against the Warlords in the Dark Age. Saladin is heavily influenced by his time in the Dark Age. It seems like some really old Guardians never get over the trauma of living through that (Drifter is another example).
Side note: this could also be referencing the battle against SIVA since Rasputin is also known as "The Tyrant." It's not fully relevant tho, as Saladin was equally affected by both periods in his life.
This first entry details something we don't really think about when it comes to Guardians: death. It's a temporary thing with them so it doesn't really matter. But Saladin recounts how he remembers his deaths and how each one felt. Despite the fact that he will be brought back, the pain and struggle of dying are very real. There is also the associated trauma of the realisation that you will go through this over and over and over:
He laughed when his Ghost reassembled him. Then, he cried.
It's not something mentioned often, and definitely wasn't a point raised with Saladin. It gives some context to how seriously he takes combat, training and the lives of his fellow Guardians.
Saladin remembers the day he stopped counting deaths. "Something about you is different," Jolder had said, and put her hand on his.
This explains that his worldview of the role of Lightbearers changed the moment he was invited to become an Iron Lord. It's also important to remember that he loved Lady Jolder very much (in whichever way you want to interpret it) and that watching her make the choice to die a final death has had a heavy impact on him.
Saladin remembers all this and more when he looks at the Crow. He feels rage form a hot pit in his belly when Osiris tells him about the young Lightbearer's suffering at the hands of his fellow Guardians. Osiris asks him if he can keep a secret.
"I don't like secrets," Saladin says, and that's the end of it.
Saladin doesn't really say this during Chosen and his interactions with Crow, but it's evident from this that he cares deeply about the young Light who suffered in ways Saladin only remembers people suffering during the Dark Age. It's also important to note that the Osiris he speaks to here is Savathun. Saladin seems to be uniquely unaffected by Savathun's schemes. This will repeat itself again later.
Second, arms piece.
Flavour text:
"Some know the legend. We were forged in the fires of a burning world." —Lord Saladin
Same thing as before. Referencing the post-Collapse Dark Age. The lore tab details a really tragic story of the Iron Lords burying bodies, including the implication of Saladin burying the body of a child. He recalls that these people were victims of Fallen Raiders.
"It's a vicious circle," Efrideet had said as she tied off a funeral shroud with great care. Saladin remembers the bundle being very small. "One day, I'm going to break it."
Saladin remembers how easily the body fit in his arms, how light it felt as he laid it in the grave. He remembers, with shame, pretending not to hear Efrideet's words so he wouldn't need to respond to them.
He remembers not having anything kind to say.
He obviously regrets not having a stronger stance on this in the past. Where Efrideet seems to have always been keen on ending the cycle of violence, he clearly thought differently and is now ashamed of it. This transitions into more about his relation to Crow:
Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow talks back to him. Sometimes, he bites down on the inside of his cheek. Sometimes, he looks up to find his Ghost focused on him with a knowing look.
He doesn't say anything to his Ghost either.
Because Crow was saying things that reminded him of Efrideet. Breaking the cycles of violence, extending a friendly hand, not treating everyone like an enemy. It's evident that this turmoil is still inside of him as someone who spent most of his time fighting for survival, only to be told by those younger than him that there's a way out of that war. It's a very common struggle of people dealing with trauma and specifically PTSD to not be able to imagine and/or live in a world of peace and to outright reject the possibility of peace ever existing. Saladin is very clearly dealing with that and here, we see it from his own POV: despite sometimes being harsh to Crow, there were times when he chose to say nothing because deep down he knows that Crow is right. Accepting that is a long process though.
Third, chest piece.
Flavour text:
"Some know the legend. We rose from the ashes of a dying world to save humanity from itself." —Lord Saladin
Same again, but this is an interesting way to phrase it. He's talking about humanity being a danger to itself, not about any external threat. Ultimately, the Traveler's gift was the first thing that harmed humanity post-Collapse, despite later being the thing that saved it.
This leads into Saladin's thoughts on the Red War, something we've been sorely missing for a very long time.
Saladin remembers losing his connection to the Light. He remembers thinking that the Traveler must have discovered his most secret doubts; the darkest thoughts he shared with no one—not even his Ghost. He remembers the strange sense of relief that had washed over him until his radio crackled to life just moments later.
His deepest secret? Probably that Light is a burden. When he lost the connection to the Light, he specifically thought it had only happened to him and then felt relief. Freedom from the eternal war he has to keep waging. I'm sure he feels incredible shame for thinking it would be better to just lose the Light and die a final death, but alas, he is bound by duty. Especially a Titan's duty.
He stands there thinking about it for a while before finally deciding to embrace that duty. And now we know what he was doing during the Red War:
"Saladin," his Ghost said again, and Saladin remembers moving. He remembers clutching his radio and rallying survivors—those strong enough to make the journey—to the Iron Temple.
It's been abbreviated as him "sitting out" the Red War because he didn't fight. Of course it was strange that the last remaining active Iron Lord did not show up to the City to fight alongside all the others, both Guardians and ordinary humans. That Lord Saladin, someone who endured so many hardships and fought so many battles since the Dark Age, hasn't come to help humanity in its time of greatest need.
But now this hits different. He didn't fight, yes. He couldn't. Losing the Light wasn't just something that made him scared (like all Lightbearers): it was something that made him scared of how he might actually enjoy dying a glorious final death. To end the trauma and the memories of all the horrors he's been through. So instead of throwing himself into a reckless death, he chose to stay in the Iron Temple and protect survivors.
So yeah, he didn't fight, but he did something equally important. The Iron Temple is an extremely well protected fortress that's very difficult to reach and breach, so any survivor he gathered was perfectly safe there until the Red War ended. Sometimes "sitting out" is more noble than fighting.
Saladin remembers all this and more whenever the Crow challenges him on his cowardice during the Red War. He wants to break the young Guardian's back to teach him a lesson about what it's like to feel helpless, but something stops him.
He remembers hearing stories about the Crow's life on the Shore before he arrived at the Tower, and does not raise a hand against him.
The lore entry ends with telling us that Saladin was clearly very agitated about Crow's teasing. But in the end, he remembered what Crow has been through and realised that Crow already knows what it's like to feel helpless. He did not need a reminder and Saladin decided to take the teasing without a response. It truly frames some of those voice lines in a different light, knowing this background.
Fourth, leg piece!
Flavour text:
"Some know the legend. We crossed a burning world with sword in hand, bringing justice and blood." —Lord Saladin
Once more, we are told that Saladin was mostly forged (eheh) through his experience in the Dark Age.
The lore page details a bittersweet memory Saladin has of him with his fellow Iron Lords and friends enjoying some good time over a meal and song.
He remembers Radegast asking him to sing the song taught to them by the people of the blacksmith's village, but agreeing only when Jolder and Perun promised to join in. Their voices rose like wolves in the night and were so raw by morning that none of them could speak.
This is honestly heartbreaking. Saladin being this happy and free to sing and enjoy himself: compared to how he is now. But even with that, he has retained the need to do it again sometimes, if he ever finds people to be comfortable around.
Saladin remembers all this and more when Zavala tells him Amanda has taken the Crow out to drink in the City's streets. He wonders what song they'll sing, if it's anything like the one he's heard everyone humming lately—even though he hasn't tried it himself.
I love how he projects his past joy onto the two young people and wonders if they'll do the same as he did once. Here we also get another hint about Saladin apparently not being affected by Savathun's viral chant. It might be a point relevant in the future.
Finally, class item!
Flavour text:
"Some know the legend. We crushed the Warlords beneath our heel so that they may never rise again." —Lord Saladin
Nothing new here. Just Saladin recounting how hard they went against the Warlords.
The rest is a very poignant lore page that details the relationship between Saladin and Zavala. Zavala studied under Saladin who was his mentor and it's been repeated often that Saladin has retained a "soft spot" for him.
Saladin remembers the first time he met Zavala. He remembers thinking that the Awoken had regal bearing like the stags he once hunted on the Steppes. His shoulders were broad, and his chin held high. When he moved, he did so with the strength and purposeful deliberation of someone with the power to determine his own place in the world.
"You'll never have a son," his Ghost had said, "but it isn't too late for you to take an apprentice."
I love when non-Awoken describe Awoken, there's always something ethereal about it. But I'm mostly putting this part here because of what Saladin's Ghost says.
First, I am incredibly soft for older Guardians adopting younger ones as kids and teaching them. Easily my favourite dynamic ever. Saladin seeing Zavala as a son makes me cry a thousand tears.
And second, is this finally a full confirmation that Guardians cannot bear children? It's kind of a strange place to put it, but it seems to be the implication. It makes sense they wouldn't be able to, but it's also nice to have some direct lore information about it in case it pops up as a question. I'm sorry if this ruins anyone's fics.
Saladin remembers their sparring matches. He remembers how Zavala always got back on his feet, no matter how many times Saladin put him down. He remembers refusing to offer the younger Lightbearer a hand up. Until the day Zavala finally bested him in combat.
He remembers lying flat on his back, left shoulder dislocated and ribs shattered, a strange pressure on his chest that made it difficult to breathe.
"Finish it," Saladin had commanded because that was the way of things. His Ghost would revive him.
Saying nothing, Zavala hauled him to his feet instead.
I love how this is placed at the end, paralleling the beginning of Saladin remembering his deaths and the pain of dying. But instead of "finishing it," Zavala pulls him back up. It's definitely something Saladin hasn't experienced before, especially not before becoming an Iron Lord, when all of his deaths were just gruesome ends to a struggle. Then seconds after, he'd be back up. He took the revival for granted, until Zavala offered him the alternative. Again, an interesting perspective about something we don't usually think about much. I do wonder how Saladin healed afterwards though.
Saladin remembers all this and more when his former apprentice calls him into his office and tells him about the face behind the Crow's mask. Zavala says he knows that Saladin doesn't like secrets; that it's unfair to ask him to keep one of this magnitude, but there will come a time when the Crow needs someone—the way Zavala needed Saladin.
"You never needed anyone," Saladin insists.
Zavala only smiles.
This page ends with the two bonding again. Despite their differences and disagreements, there's mutual respect between the mentor and the apprentice. The father and the son.
And Saladin thinks Zavala never needed him, but that is obviously not true and Zavala tells him so. He also tells him that Crow, and implied Guardians like him, will need the same guidance.
It gives us a full circle back to Saladin's musings about his purpose as a Guardian and Lightbearer. He may have doubted his place in the world before, but seeing as he's still here with us and actively participating and helping; training us through Iron Banner, helping with the Eliksni, refusing to side against the Vanguard despite the difference in opinion, now serving as Zavala's ambassador for the Cabal and easily bonding with someone he would've considered an enemy not long ago...
I think Saladin knows his place. He's one of the strongest Lightbearers and most principled among them. He is not swayed by lies and deceptions, he does not abide by them and speaks plainly. He has deeply rooted beliefs in justice and he will not compromise himself, even if it means conceding his position to make peace with a former enemy when that enemy proves their worth, honesty and good intentions to him.
He is a Guardian.
He is an Iron Lord.
#destiny 2#lord saladin#lore vibing#long post#more iron lord lore bungie please?#iron temple as a social space?#please?#anyway i love this new lore about him so much#i wish we had it before people formed some crude opinions about him#but hopefully this can retroactively clear certain things up
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♡ꜜ profane﹫jaehyun jung
profane - ashe vernon
pairing : jaehyun x reader (f)
genre : smut with little plot, fallen angel!jaehyun, best friends to lovers.
warnings : actual filth, dry humping, passionate eating out, penetration (unprotected, be safe), body worship, slight begging and corruption, overstimulation, jaehyun’s wings are sensitive, creampie.
word count : 3k exactly.
synopsis : fallen angel Jaehyun confesses to the one who saved him the night he fell from heaven five years ago, he shows you exactly how much he meant his words when he called you holy or : “ God, if you’re out there, if you’re listening, he fucks like a seraphim,”
“The first time he calls you holy,
you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.”
Jaehyun never even tried to hide his awe for your beauty, since the day of his fall. From the night you found him in the middle of the street, right after a rainy summer day, he never did.
You were in your last year of high school, a teenager finding a bloodied, half clothed man on the hard concrete. You thought you were hallucinating, victim of one big, elaborated prank. You remember observing him for minutes, until he turned his scared face towards the noise of your boots cracking a dead branch. Oh, his face. Even in pain, even crying from the damnation he just faced, he looked ethereal. Correction, he was ethereal. A fallen angel, lost in this cruel, cruel world. Bloodied wings, sculpted body draped with a white sheet, trembling chestnut eyes. Big, white wings wrapped around himself in an attempt to protect his remaining dignity.
Your heart dropped when he planted his eyes in yours. Jaehyun wondered if you were an angel of death here to finish the job, he never knew they were this pretty.
Jaehyun remembers asking himself if he felt right to another kind of heaven he didn’t know about when you walked carefully towards him, pale moonlight enlightening your worried features. The first human face he’d see and yet, he'd bet you were crafted in his late home.
“You’re divine.”, was the first thing the fallen angel had told you. Ah, how he managed to get you even more intrigued with three words. You recall him not backing away from you when you kneeled in front of the man, offering a hand. He looked the same age, a deer caught in the bright lights of a truck. You’d hate yourself for leaving him here.
The red tint on his soft feathers stay imprinted in your mind, even after five years.
You never thought you’d be one to take an angel under your wing. But here you were, helping the fallen learn about life on the blue planet, one he never thought he’d live on himself. After all, the brunette never even formed the idea before, being dropped out of heaven was never on option for God’s old favorite.
Years, and Jaehyun never stopped being dazed by your features. You even wondered where he’d get his compliments, always sounding like an old poet gushing over his best muse. Lovely, charming, delightful, ravishing, gorgeous, heavenly, stunning, artistic, magnificent. The list goes on. You quickly wondered if he wasn’t going too far, if he wasn’t too attached after you saved him, mind twisted by an illusion he created for himself. He saw what you couldn’t see in you.
Words you never heard any man call another woman before, they all have the same effect on you. The feeling of heat pooling to your cheeks gets too familiar when you’re with Jaehyun. It’s to a point where his name only manages to burn your skin. However, the day the now almost normal man calls you “holy”, you don’t know how to react.
His head rests on your stomach, strong arms wrapped around your body. You remember how frail they looked the night you met him. No matter the time flying by, the people he met, the number throwing themselves at him, Jaehyun never stopped looking at you like you held stars in your irises. Puppy dog eyes for what you then think is just equal, a puppy love.
“You’re holy.”, he had breathed against your skin, a small smile blooming on his face at your reaction. The weight of his head on you makes it heard to laugh and hard to breath properly, your sides hurt as you giggle in an attempt to brush it off. Thankfully, Jaehyun’s used to your off reactions to his words. He might even like it a bit too much.
Even, it takes years for you to understand that Jaehyun’s isn’t just victim of a dumb infatuation. He means every word he says, he knows more than anyone else the meaning behind them all. It’s quite ironic. You think Jaehyun’s the one who needs to open his eyes but, when you do, you understand something bigger. Jaehyun isn’t as innocent as you thought he was. The ability to hide his wings and your presence guiding him had him walking on his Earth like any other human being, slowly becoming like every other young man of his age.
“The second time,
you moan gospel around his fingers
between your teeth.
He has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.”
The second time he calls you “holy”, your reaction is much, much different from any other.
The slight salty taste of his fingertips lingers on your tongue, pink muscle lazily lapping against his skin. The fallen angel has two digits resting there, thumb lovingly stroking the skin of your check. Coating them with saliva, the muscle drags between ever so slowly. Hungry eyes catch every one of your reactions, drinking in the smallest of sighs and broken bat of the eyelashes for memories to cherish.
It seems every important turn in your relationship with the fallen angel happens in summer, he even told you about how it was his favorite out of the four seasons. An anniversary of your meeting with the brunette turns confession of shared feelings between an improvised meal.
He grew. He grew so much all thanks to you and yet, there he is. Body towering over you, using his power against you, the dynamic shifted long ago.
His hips fits perfectly between your thighs, the blue jeans he’s wearing aren’t doing anything to hide his hardening member, longing to be touched. You wonder where he learned all of this, when he learned all of this. His hips roll against your clothed core in the most heavily way, it’s slow and hard, intentions clear.
“You’re holy, doll.”, Jaehyun breathes again, watching your cheek heat up, your eyes roll back. You never heard this voice before, it dips lower, stained by years of want. “Crafted by the highest.”
You moan around his fingers, teeth grazing over the tender skin. Jaehyun was never afraid to push you out of your comfort zone, there he was doing it again. You never thought you’d let your beloved angel sin with your help.
“Because he’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders -
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.”
Oh, how well he hides his halo. There’s no light in his eyes, no light in his voice when he asks you to undress. You wonder if he still has some powers with how easily you bend to his order, underwear adoring your skin. His jeans follow close behind. He got bigger with years, stronger, confident.
One thing he doesn’t get rid of, his wings. He could, he could hide them like he does every day now, but he know how much they affect you. You’ve told him many times, never ran more than a light and careful hands on the majestic wings. Pure, white feathers create the perfect cocoon between your tangled bodies like he wants you to himself and him only. You don’t think he ever lost one single feather, never losing their pristine with time.
His hips never stop rolling against yours, now fully hard cock rubbing against your damp underwear. His grey boxers aren’t doing anything to hide his member anymore, one that makes your mouth water, eyes blow in need.
One hand travels from his arm to the soft feather of his wing, bold fingers softly gazing over the small spaces between his plumes.
The surprised moan that tumbles from his lips takes your breath away, such a simple gesture that makes him keen under your touch.
“Fuck.”, how can a curse sound so pure ? His finger leave your mouth to grip the pillow right next to your head. “Do that again.”
“God, if you’re out there,
if you’re listening,
he fucks like a seraphim,
and there’s no part of scripture
that ever prepared you for his hands.
Hand that map a communion
in the cradle of your hips.”
“Shit, Jaehyun.”
Nothing would have prepared you for the way his hips start moving to a faster pace. He has you moaning a bouquet of curses against his lips, hips bucking up against his. You know Jaehyun learns quickly, you see it when you tell him just how you like it and he obliges happily, hips rolling harder, and harder. The dark spot on his boxers’ a dead giveaway of your arousal building up, and up.
His hands start wondering up your body, shamelessly sneaking under your bra. He maps your curves, learns by heart about the holy temple of your envelope. “Feels good ?”
Another hand tightly grips your hip, fingers digging at your flesh, sure to leave small bruises there. He pushes your pelvis down against his mattress, until you aren’t able to create friction from your own.
The fallen angel brings you to the border in minutes, he builds your orgasm up until you’re breathing against his bruised lips. He makes you jump with him and makes sure he has you all along, he holds you close when you ruin your underwear. Your orgasm blinds you for milliseconds, you probably moan too loudly for your neighbors but, right here and right now, it’s him.
Jaehyun might come the very moment his name rolls out of your tongue, the prettiest prayer he ever had the chance to hear and, it was for him, him only.
“Hands that kiss hymns up your sides.
He confesses how long he’s looked
for a place to worship and,
oh,”
“’ve been waiting for so long.”, the brunette confesses against the skin of your stomach. He places soft kisses there, like he wants you to see how much he worships your body. “Thought you’d never let me have a taste.”.
There is the slightest bit of amusement in his voice when he kisses along the line of your ruined panties, a single digit teasingly running up and down your lips. He makes you shiver, sigh his name out and say his name in vain. You’d almost beg him to do it already, taste you already.
“Jaehyun, I-.”, you’d almost beg him, and oh.
Pink tongue boldly dips in your core, through the wet fabric. He hums at the slight taste of your arousal, like he cannot believe he’s finally there. His red lips form an -o where he knows your bud of never is, lightly sucking there. Where the fuck did he learn all of this. Oh, the sweet angel will be the death of you if you aren’t his.
“you put him on his knees.
When he sinks to the floor and moans
like he can’t help himself,
you wonder if the other angels
feel so sweet.”
Long gone are the years of blindness, years of pushing feelings away out of fear. A hand rests on his shoulder and you push him to his knees, he obliges easily under your touch. Knees to the floor, his knees hit the cold wood of his bedroom. Digits finally wrap around the fabric of your panties and finally. Finally, you reveal yourself to the fallen angel. Transparent fluid stick to your lips and the ruined piece of clothing, Jaehyun moans to himself like he’s been touched by grace.
Glittering eyes look up to you for reassurance and, when he has it, he doesn’t hesitate. Pushing your thighs apart, his eyes stay on your core like the finest of paintings, placing your legs on his strong shoulders.
He waited and wanted too long to make the teasing last longer and, much like he did through the piece of fabric, his pink tongue drags up your slit. He collects every drop your give him in the dip of his muscle, he hums at the taste and goes for more. The tip digs between your lips and laps like he’s drinking the rarest of wines, like he’s drinking from the grail itself.
“Taste so fucking good.”, he hums to himself, lips shining with your own arousal. “Can’t get enough.”
You wonder if all angels are so good with their tongues, or maybe it’s the added effect Jaehyun has on you. He brings you to the clouds in what you feel like is seconds.
“He says his prayers between your thighs
and you dig your heels into the base of his spine
until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.
You will ruin him and he will thank you;
he will say please.”
The words he mumbles against your core are foreign to you, your dazed, blurred mind doesn’t quite catch the meaning behind his sounds. However, his deep voice vibrates against your lips. It’s so much, too much. You’re almost too sensitive already from the first orgasm he got out of you.
Your body reacts by itself when he lets his muscle explore between your lips a little more, a sigh tumbling from your lips. Your thighs close around his head until your heels dig between his wings, it makes the man moan and break away from your core. Your hand can only anchor itself between his brown locks, slightly tugging at his hair.
He’s breathless, a deep pink dust on his cheeks and chest alongside a thin sheet of sweat. Jaehyun looks so innocent and yet, so filthy, corrupted. When his lips methodically wraps around your button of nerves, you know you’re done for.
“Jaehyun, Jae-. ‘m so close, gonna come.”, you warn, words turning incoherent at some point. Ah, Jaehyun loves the way your voice breaks for him, direct result of his actions. It fills his chest with pride and makes his wings bat the slightest bit around him.
“Please.”, he begs, and you have to look down at him to register the word. “Please Y/N, come on my tongue.”, he says again, fingers wrapping around your thighs. How can you say no to such plea ?
Jaehyun might be the happiest fallen angel when he feels your thighs shaking around him, tightening around his head as you come for the second time that night. You might black out, the ringing in your ears doesn’t stop you from hearing the brunette’s greedy tongue lapping at your core, small kisses on your thighs. “Thank you.”
“No damnation ever looked as cozy as this,
but you fit over his hips like they
were made for you.
You fit, you fit, you fit.
On top of him, you are an ancient god
that only he remembers and he
offers up his skin.
And you take it.
Who knew sacrifice was so profane ?”
Fucked out, yet there’s no way you’re going to let Jaehyun like this. Your legs threaten to give out under your body when you sit on the fallen angel’s lap. Your abused core tightens around the head of his length, the slight pain of the stretch adds to the stained moan you let out against Jaehyun’s neck. He fits and he’s no one moaning about how you were made for him. Long gone are the pleas to make you come when he groans and growls about your tight cunt.
You take him, you take him entirely with a whine and fully sit on his thighs. You don’t think you ever felt so full in your entire life, you don’t think you ever felt this way before. His wings wrap around your bodies again, it seems like an old habit. He creates a world for you to rule in, he lets you take control and set the pace.
His moans are for your ears only when you finally start moving up, and down. Up, and down. Jaehyun’s arms wrap tightly around your waist, bringing your body impossibly close to his. His chest crashes against your own, lips bruising yours for the nth time that night. You fit, he won’t let you go. He fits, you grip around him.
Jaehyun might just think you look like a goddess at this very moment, skin glowing under the light, wrapped around him, wrapped in him. He wonders if you aren’t just that, a goddess erased from the books, a goddess too powerful and threatening. Jaehyun might just think you’re Lilith.
His head rolls back against the headboard of his bed, he unknowingly presents the skin of his pale neck and you take it. You take him, you mark him as yours. Red and purple petals bloom on his chest, marks he'd proudly parade.
“And once you’ve taught him how to hold
your throat in one hand
and your heart in the other,
you will have forgotten every other word,
except his name.”
The way his pupils grow wider the moment you bring his hand to your throat is almost comical. You teach him how to use his fingers and press on your neck, cut your breathing just the right way. Just enough to have you desperately clenching around his cock.
“I love you.”, you finally confess to him that night, words he thought he’d never hear at some point. There, the fallen angel has you in the palm of his hand, heartbeat pumping against his fingertips. There, Jaehyun gets his revenge on heaven.
When he starts fucking up, sending your body crashing against his own, limp, he might fuck you even harder then. There, in the dead of the night, years after meeting him on the dot, his name is the only thing tumbling from his lips. Oh, what a pleasure to bring a goddess to this state, fucked out and babbling, shamelessly letting herself being used and filled. The fallen angel never thought he’d feed off someone’s tears but, when he hears you cry out for the third time that night, tear rolling down his neck, he comes.
© NEOVISIONED l NO REPOSTING OR TRANSLATIONS ALLOWED.
#neowritingsnet#NCT-WRITERS#neovisioned#jaehyun smut#nct smut#nct 127 smut#yuta#jungwoo#sicheng#doyoung#taeyong#mark#taeil#haechan#johnny#smut#fallen angel!au
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Hi I was just curious about something from out of time, totally fine if you skip this :) how different would the story/ or the story branching would go if AJ had been born?
Is it sad that I teared up that you asked me a question? It's a tearing up as in I've wanted someone to ask me about my fics for too long. Of course I wasn't going to skip it! Sometimes it seems like I skip things, but some of the questions I get asked I either want to add it to the story or make a one shot about it.
~~~
Out Of Time:
Y/N would have ended up running away like she did still after the Siberia scenes, scared to lose her child. She would have ended up with SHIELD like she had, but she would have stayed there until the baby was born. Most of the time spent in a healthy coma since the Ancient One was trying to train her. She would have quickly realized that staying there wasn't safe for her or AJ and would have left. She would have wandered around until T'Challa found her and brought her to Wakanda.
In Wakanda, Bucky would have found out about AJ and about Y/N being there when he was on a walk and Y/N was outside playing with her son. Y/N would be hesitant to introduce AJ to Bucky, especially since he had yet to meet his own father. Y/N would eventually give in and Bucky would quickly become a natural at taking of the young boy.
When Daisy calls needing Y/N's help in the framework, she leaves AJ in the save hands of Bucky. Those parts basically play out the same except with Tony showing up after Y/N was caught on camera after Talbot getting shot. He shows up and helps the team defeat ADIA and says goodbye to the team along with Y/N.
Tony would then demand some time alone with Y/N to talk and she willingly gave it to him, going back to his new New York City apartment. He would ask her about the baby, what happened to it. Y/N would come clean and quickly leave to go get AJ. Bucky would be reluctant to let go of AJ, becoming protective of him, and would worry about Y/N's feelings toward Tony. Y/N eventually gets AJ to Tony and Tony gets emotional over meeting his son. Y/N promises to not keep them apart like that again as long as it's safe. Tony promises to make it safe for her and AJ to come home, expressing that he is still in love with her. He kisses her before she disappears with AJ back to Wakanda.
Bucky confronts Y/N with his feelings, demanding a chance to fight for her. Y/N dates the two men, with AJ in the middle, like she did in the original storyline. Y/N leaves AJ with Pepper in New York before meeting Tony for that run. Infinity War basically plays out the same except for the fact that Y/N is also worried about AJ and she doesn't see him in the Soul Stone. She finds Pepper crying over a pile of ash when she arrives. That's when the rest of the team realizes that AJ had survived after their Civil War.
Tony and Y/N mourn together after he comes back from space. Endgame then proceeds like it did in my story, just with the added weight of AJ's loss on top of it.
It's Always Been You:
It plays out the same until the end of the fight. She doesn't see AJ in the Soul Stone after she snaps. After getting Y/N's body home, Pepper shows up with AJ, remembering exactly where he was when he disappeared. Morgan knows who AJ is immediately and is so excited to finally meet her brother. Tony struggles to be excited when Y/N has yet to wake.
Once Y/N wakes, she realizes that it all really worked and her family is reunited. The rest of the story plays out the same just with AJ added in.
I'm From Brooklyn, Too:
It plays out the same until when Y/N is in the Soul Stone after she snaps. AJ is obviously not there. Tony tells her that she did it and that she'll be able to see AJ soon. When Y/N finally pulls herself out and gets home, Pepper is there with Morgan and AJ and already introduced them. She brakes the news to her young kids about their father's death.
WandaVision would play out the same except the fact that AJ would not be in Westview.
~~~
I know that is extremely long! I'm so sorry! I hope that this makes sense and answers your question.
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Bakugou loves you but you're Izuku's sibling
AN: wanted to give you guys at least an x Reader today, so hope you guys enjoy it!
Warnings: enemies to lovers type of trope kind of???, kidnaping, mention of being beaten up, mention of comma as well as broken bones and a hospital room
- he would never tell you until he thought you would die
- he would go so far out of his way to make sure everyone thought he hated you
- even though every time he saw you all he wanted to do was to rip out his heart and pull it to shreds
- he hates that he likes you
- so much so because you're Izuku's sibling
- and when he found out that you had made it into UA with a "Villian Quirk" made him even more pissed off
- you're quirk was an unusual one
- in fact, you only told your quirk to your brother and Bakugou when you two were close
- before he found out what your quirk was
- your quirk is that you can learn any quirk
- it works like this
- you have to know how the quirk works in a biological sense
- the only problem is that your body has a lower tolerance to any quirk because your body wasn't made to set aflame like Endeavor or to erase a person's quirk with your stare like Eraser Head
- another drawback is that sometimes you have to change your own biology
- for example, if you wanted to mimic Bakugou's quirk then you would have to change your sweat to act like nitroglycerin
- even if you wanted his quirk for a small amount of time then you would have it for life because you're not able to make your sweat go back to normal
- anyway, when Bakugou hears about you and your brother making it into UA he will lose his shit
- you walk out of school just to see Bakugou screaming at Izuku
- this close to beating him in that ally
- you step in and tell Izuku to wait for you at the park down the street
- "I'll be there in 10" you shout after him
- you were there in 20
- Bakugou was insanely angry
- he hated that you acted like a hero
- you were always nice
- and you knew what would happen if you stepped in and decided to do it anyway
- all because you felt like saving your brother
- you were beaten to a pulp there
- your stomach hurt like all hell and you could barely see out your right eye
- you used a healing quirk you learned about on the major injuries like the broken ribs and the cracked teeth as well as the black eye
- the less noticeable injuries that Izuku could see the less worried your little brother
- UA will be just like a normal school
- Bakugou screaming as well as giving you and your brother a hard time
- the USJ incident didn't go well for you
- after that incident, everyone found out about your real quirk
- and you made every one of them promise that they wouldn't say anything
- you didn't want to be an experiment
- now the summer training camp
- that was a mess
- you helped as much as you could
- you even learned one of the villain's quirk
- cremation
- during the USJ you got a decay quirk and you knew that it would be more than handy
- you got caught
- your only guess was that they got word of your quirk so they wanted you
You look over at Bakugou, over the past couple of months he had been being a tad bit nicer to you. and when I say a tad bit nicer I mean, he was only nice to you when no one else was around. and you had started to developed some sort of feelings for the certain ash-blonde who had also been kidnapped with you.
you noticed how the man holding the back of his neck was the man with the cremation quirk. you had used it earlier but it burnt the shit out of your hands. you looked over at Bakugou, and he looked at you. he looked at your pleading eyes that were somehow a calming mix of bravery and scared shitless. he knew that you were planning something stupid, and he wanted to stop you but he also knew that you could take care of yourself just fine. he saw you as you mouthed the word 'Run'. he watched as you reached your hand out to grab the man's wrist, all 5 fingers touching his skin that soon started to fall off.
- the man let go of Bakugou and he ran as told
- you pushed both villains into the warp gate
- you went in too
- the days passed in a blur
- the LOV never laid a figure on your skin
- until the very end where they had you beaten
- tiered of you
- you were saved by Bakugou and the rest of the "Rescue Team"
- you had been in a coma for about a week
- Bakugou had stayed the whole time
- at this point, all of 1A knew that he adored you to bits
- but he would never admit that
- even Izuku knew and he wasn't the most supportive of it
- I mean it's not like Bakugou had put you and your brother at the bottom of the food chain for 10 years and reminded you every day that you would be better off dead or anything like that
- no that doesn't sound like Bakugou
- nonetheless, Izuku had seen the way that you looked at Bakugou for the past couple of months
- You never needed to tell your brother how you felt because he already knew
you wake up sore, your eyes hurt, and cause you to groan as you look at the sun coming through the peeks of the window curtains.
"About time you wake up, dumbass."
"Why are you here? I thought you hated me."
"Of course I don't hate you, I love you, you idiot."
"What?" you ask jokingly.
"You heard me!" he shouted
"I love you too." I laughed
"What's so funny!" he shouted again.
#mha todoroki#mha x reader#mha x y/n#mha dabi#mha imagines#mha#mha bakugou#mha manga#mha fluff#mha headcanons#mha kirishima#boku no hero academia#class 1a#boku no hero#bnha#midoriya izuku#bnha fanart#deku#my hero acadamy#shoto todoroki#bakugou katsuki#bakugou x reader#bakugou katuski x reader#bakugou mitsuki#ao3 bakugou#bakugou fluff#bakugou fanfiction#bnha bakugo katsuki#katsuki bakugo x reader#bakugou headcanons
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Moments
Pairing: Kirishima x reader x Kaminari
Warnings: Near-death experience, mentions of blood and bleeding, general character distress, Y/N is in a hospital, happy ending, polyandry, me not knowing how to end things also i’m sorry the first two paragraphs are atrocious hhshdjc
Author’s Note:
Here’s the final request from this batch! Sorry for the wait but thanks for requesting! I hope this’ll do it for ya <3
-Sugar
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Life is made up of moments, each one simple and brief. Some events may feel as though they are building, tragedy looming on a distant horizon. Others happen in a mere instant, only to turn everything upside down.
In a moment, you’d seen the elderly civilian man standing just a bit too close to the battle ground for comfort. Another second; your boyfriend, Kirishima, threw a punch to the villain, knocking him off balance. You saw it, the beam of light shooting straight towards the man. You knew you still had time to move.
Rushing over, you took the hit.
It hurt. Everything hurt. Your eyes rolled back and a shriek escaped your lips, body seizing with the foreign throes of agony. You must have blacked out for a moment, because suddenly you felt yourself being held in a pair of arms.
“She’s bleeding!” a voice said above you, but they sounded miles away.
In a tremendous show of effort, you forced your eyes open. Light from the afternoon sun only brought more pain, but you just had to get a glimpse of him one last time.
Yes, there he was, in all his heroic glory. Your Eijirou. But he wasn’t looking at you. He must have been calling out for someone else. Perhaps it was your mutual lover. Either way, the pain was growing to be too much to bear. You slumped further into his chest, letting your eyes close once more.
Denki. If only you’d been able to see him again one last time….
…
Kaminari was not having a good day. Although, to be fair, it’s hard to ‘have a good day’ when your girlfriend is rapidly bleeding to death in front of you.
Everything seemed to happen so quickly. One moment, you, Eijirou and him were all out on patrol and the next, you were being attacked by some guy with a crazy force quirk. And then you were hurt.
He honestly thought you guys had won, as he secured the final blow on the villain with a shock of energy. Once the guy was effectively fried, Denki was ready to celebrate. Except, neither of his partners were there by his side.
He turned—confused, searching—until his eyes finally fell upon the hulking form of Red Riot kneeling on the ground a few paces away.
“. . . (Y/N)?” Kaminari tried, his voice barely above a whisper. He felt frozen to his spot, unable to move his feet forward nor back.
“She’s bleeding!” Kirishima called over his shoulder, and somehow that was what Kaminari needed to snap him out of it.
It felt as though he was trudging through molasses on his way to get to you—slow, difficult, unwilling to accept the fact that you could be hurt.
But you were. And you weren’t looking good either. You were slumped unconscious against Kirishima’s bare chest, face somehow peaceful amidst all the chaos around your unknowing body. Blood seeped out of a large gash on your stomach, and it looked bad. Kaminari tried to hold back a low moan of distress at the sight of it.
He sunk to his knees, taking off his black hero jacket and pressing it to your midsection in an attempt to slow the flow of blood. It was hard to see the stain on the dark material of the clothing article, but Denki somehow knew it would only be a matter of time before it was soaked through in its entirety.
A small crowd of civilians had gathered to watch the battle, and were now anxiously trying to see if you were going to be okay.
“The police should be here any minute,” a woman informed the two heroes somewhere above their heads.
“Did you call an ambulance?” Kirishima asked.
Denki glanced up to see the woman nod, pulling her phone back from her ear.
“You’re going to be alright,” Eijirou whispered to you, cradling your head and damaged body closer into his own. “Just stay with us, baby, please.”
…
Your eyes cracked open, slow and feeble. Blinding fluorescent light pierced between your lids, making you wince and shut them again. Where were you? And why did it smell . . . strange?
You tried opening your eyes again, your vision blurry and swimming until you were finally able to make out a white-tiled ceiling. Turning your head, you saw a table next to your bed, with a vase of pretty flowers resting at its center. You also noticed an IV drip leading into your arm.
So you were in a hospital. Made sense.
You racked your memory, trying to think of what might have landed you here. Ah, yes, the villain and the old man, that must have been it.
You turned your head again, this time to your left, and it was then that you saw them.
Denki laid slumped over the arm of a chair, supported by Eijirou’s chest. Kirishima's head laid against the sill of a window, which you had to figure couldn’t have been all that comfortable. Both men were fast asleep, quiet snores emitting from the redhead’s chest while Denki left a small puddle of drool on the man’s shirt.
You couldn’t be more in love.
A few minutes passed; just enough to make you aware of the white bandages wrapped around your midsection. A nurse stepped in, looking over his clipboard before he noticed your conscious state.
“Ah, (H/N), you’re finally awake,” he acknowledged with a smile.
“They aren’t,” you snickered hoarsely, gesturing to your partners.
The nurse laughed brightly, which was just enough of a disturbance to rouse Kirishima.
“(Y/N)!” the redhead shouted as soon as he saw you, jumping up out of his chair.
Denki nearly fell forward out of his own seat, waking with a start and a pop of static. “(Y/N)?”
Eijirou hurried to your bedside, kneeling down and taking your hand in his. “We were so worried about you!”
Denki nodded in agreement, settling in next to Eijirou and leaning against his shoulder. “You almost died!”
“Well . . . I guess I didn’t,” you said, unsure of how to respond.
“You were lucky,” the nurse pointed out. “Too much longer and you probably wouldn’t have made it.”
You swallowed, the repercussions of your actions beginning to weigh on you.
“No need to fret,” he reassured you. “We have some of the best healers in all of Japan here. I’m positive you’ll make a full recovery.”
Your boyfriends stepped out of the room so the nurse could finish running his tests; checking your vitals and asking you a few questions.
“She’s all yours,” he said, opening the door and letting the two pro heroes step back into your room before ducking out himself.
“The guy you saved came in here earlier to visit you,” Denki informed you once he was back at your bedside. “He was so grateful.”
You smiled. “I’m glad it turned out okay for everyone.”
“But we almost lost you,” Kirishima said, taking your hand again and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Please don’t be reckless like that.”
Your face morphed into a slight frown. “What was I supposed to do, then? Let him die? You should know better than anyone that I couldn’t do that.”
Kirishima cast his eyes to the floor, torn.
Kaminari put a hand on the redhead’s shoulder. “You scared us both, (Y/N). You got hurt really bad, and there was so much blood . . . . You’ve been out for two days, and Eijirou and I . . . we couldn’t help but worry that you’d never wake up again.”
Sighing, your thumb began to stroke the side of Kirishima’s hand. “I’m sorry. I know how scary that is. I can’t imagine losing one of you guys.”
“I just want you to be safe,” Eijirou said.
“Of course.” You moved your hand so you could cup his cheek. “But the important thing is that I’m alright. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
Eijirou leaned forward so he could kiss your forehead, then moved back so Denki could do the same to your cheek.
“I can go get us some stuff to do together,” Denki offered. “Being in the hospital is boring, trust me.”
You and Kirishima laughed. The blond always had your backs no matter what.
And even after a moment of disaster, you were proud to say you could all bounce back. As long as the three of you stuck together, you could get through anything.
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Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicaegyo @hyunmin-1404 @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @sendhelpimstupid @sxngwoos-ash-box @xoxopam4
#kirishima eijirou#kirishima x reader#eijirou kirishima x reader#kirishima eijirou x reader#denki kaminari#kaminari denki#denki x reader#kaminari x reader#denki kaminari x reader#kaminari denki x reader#kirikami x reader#poly bnha x reader#bnha x reader#mha x reader#reader insert#request fulfilled!#sugar fics
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( SOMETHING COMFORTING. )
Jeon Jungkook loves Overwatch, drinking games, and Halloween. What he loves more than that? You.
pairing. gamer!jjk x named f!reader.
genre + rating. idol!au set in room filled with bunnies and a cotton candy machine that’s exploded. it’s just that fluffy. (but also explicit cause why not.)
tags / warnings. established relationship, gaming (overwatch), dorky weeb references, mentions of drinking, yugyeom makes an appearance (!!), fingering, soft soft soft love making in the shower.
wc. 9.7k
beta reader(s). the lovely @kerikaaria read through this to make sure i didn’t get too nerdy. tysm! 💛 i may like further changes once my beloved @hobi-gif gets her hands on it but i’m a potato who wanted to post this quickly. oops...
author note. this fulfills the “jeon jungkook” square of @btsholidaybingo‘s bts holiday bingo 2020 and this is the couple from angels & airwaves. while this story isn’t super plot-driven, it’s meant to be a little peek into the lives of a couple that live in my mind rent-free and continue to make me soft and gooey inside. i hope you enjoy it!
You don’t know how he talked you into it or how it really happened. You remember, faintly, the mention of a party. Something about it being a small thing - just a few close friends, the members, etc. He’d said it so offhand, like commenting on the sky or asking for another package of Choco Boys, so you hadn't given it a second thought. If it was important, he’d bring it up again and if not, well, you hardly remembered it anyway. Win-win or whatever.
So you’d given up some intelligence points, traded them for space to fit more gaming knowledge. Somewhere along the line went your memory too - the conversation wiped from your brain like Will Smith had lasered it clean.
“Zarya’s one! Zarya’s one—“ You’re not sure how many times you can repeat yourself, shrieking through comms to a team that doesn’t seem to want to listen. You’re blasted into oblivion, Mercy’s prone body launched across the map as you watch your Rein fall too. There’s an irritation bubbling in your stomach, fizzing uncomfortably like the Japanese honeydew soda you’d had at lunch. “Zarya’s actually one!”
No one cares. She’s healed by the time you respawn and make it back across the map.
“Jesus—“ Your push-to-talk remains off for that flippant comment, distaste colouring your words a bitter shade of blue. You almost want to let your Ashe get headshot by the enemy Widow, only switching the stream from damage boosting to healing when your teammate starts spamming their hotkey.
I need healing! I need healing!
What you need is a team that listens to your calls or at the very least communicates in some way. Doesn’t seem like it’s going to happen though. There’s near radio silence in the voice chat, the only other person remotely helpful being your bouncing booping Lucio that’s trying to keep a flanking Tracer off point. Stupid. You almost feel bad for him, Guardian Angeling to him when no one else seems to want to offer any support.
Ah, the life of a support player in masters ranked. So infuriating and yet— nope. Just infuriating.
You lose the first round with 1:56 to spare, to no one’s surprise. Okay, maybe to your Reinhardt’s surprise. He’s being surprisingly chipper in text chat, sending WP and a dorky smiley face. You think he must volunteer at the local animal shelter and buy coffee for the people behind him in the drive-thru. He’s far too well-adjusted, not shooting off a single accusation to anyone on the team. A silver lining, you suppose.
Your second round starts well enough. Your comp is solid - as much as it can be in the current off-tank dominated meta. Hog, Zarya, a private profiled GM Widowmaker, Tracer, Lucio, and you as Ana. You’d prefer to play Mercy - find the most comfort in her skill set - but on an attack map, you’re not risking a headshot right out of spawn. Broken maximum damage good stuff means healers are squishy and you don’t have your usual DPS to boost. (He’s off doing god knows what - maybe filming an ad for Samsung or breaking the internet with his permed man bun.)
You make it through the choke without much ado. The enemy Rein is wildly out of position, eager to make some big brained play that goes terribly wrong. Your Lucio chuckles through voice and you join him, tossing a nade when your Zarya looks like she’s about to die to a poorly executed 360 shatter.
“You winning?”
It’s your boyfriend peeking over your shoulder, so close you nearly scream, mouse launched across your desk with the intensity of your reaction. You hadn’t heard him come in, the stupid sneaky bastard as quiet as a mouse.
(It’s not your own fault. He knows you can’t hear anything when you’ve got your headphones on, the noise cancelling in your state of the art Sennheisers not something to scoff at.)
“Jeez, Kook!” You want to be more mad. Really, you do. You’re scrambling across your desk to retrieve your mouse, squeaking a quick apology into team voice when your hero stays in one place for too long. Luckily, Hog - previously sweet kind Rein - throws his big fat piggy self directly in front of you, effectively saving you from an otherwise miserable death at the hands of Torbjorn.
“What?” Jeon Jungkook has the audacity to look scandalised, shiny eyes so wide and innocent they feel more as if they belong in an early 2000s anime.
You’re not even looking at him when you huff - too invested in your Overwatch game to give him the hell he deserves. All you manage is a swift don’t scare me like that! as you pump your tanks back to full health.
You notice Jungkook hasn’t moved away, still peering curiously over your shoulder. You know he hasn’t had much time to play lately, too involved with appearances for their comeback, his schedule too packed even for you some days. You don’t blame him when he pulls his chair up behind you, rolling into place so he’s just within your periphery.
It’s a little distracting; he smells good, like his - and by extension your - favourite laundry detergent and a fruity, nectarine-heavy shampoo you’d picked up for him when he’d run out of his usual. You notice then that his hair is wet, just the wrong-side of too damp with droplets beading over his neck. Moisture soaks into the top of his shirt and you think it might be more soaked than you can see; it’s hard to tell when it’s a jet black shirt, one of the many he keeps in your closet for the nights he stays over. You realise then that he must’ve been home far longer than you’d thought, if his freshly washed pink cheeks are any indication. (Because he takes seriously long showers, nearly doubling your water bill in the year you’ve been together.)
You want to ask what he’s doing here - you’d sworn he was busy for the next few days - but can’t find the adequate brain power to do so. You’re playing an incredibly high skill character (your words) and if you don’t get this goddamn shot on your Lucio to keep him up, your team is going to die (your ego’s words).
‘Ask Kook about his day’ gets scribbled on a paper on the desk in your head and filed away under To Do Later in your overflowing brainiac filing cabinet.
“Can we pleaaaaase focus their Zarya? She has grav.” Though you offer the tidbit of information, you don’t assume it’s going to be relied upon. Your team is well on their way to taking first point - surprisingly - and there’s still nearly three minutes left on the clock. If the six of you idiots can keep it together and kill that goddamn Zarya, there’s no doubt in your mind you’ll win the game.
Alas, fate is but a cruel mistress and said Zarya gets said grav off, sucking your own Russian tank and Tracer-turned-Soldier into her hell void. Not even your well-timed nade can save them from the Genji that dragon blades directly into their faces. Your poor Lucio dies to the same ult and you imagine you or your Widow are next. Your Hog’s just respawning, his lumbering silhouette not even on screen.
“Rip,” says your boyfriend - like the sound, not the letters - from beside you, a droplet of water splashing across your wrist when he shakes his head. He looks disappointed - as if he’s the one that’s lost the match. It makes you laugh, the sound tripping off your tongue despite the overwhelming rage you’re currently battling.
“Rip is right,” you mumble back, tossing yourself off the map. If you’re gonna die, it'll be on your own terms. Jungkook chuckles at that.
By the time you respawn, both you and Widow are joining a fight that looks like it’s going surprisingly well. There’s no one on point and you’re capping uncontested. Widow even headshots a wayward Moira.
“You should go top left.”
You don’t turn your head. Jungkook’s always been a bit of a backseat gamer, whether he’s watching your stream while he’s out of town or sitting right beside you. Sometimes, you love it; other times, you hate it. Most times, though, he’s right. He has surprisingly good game sense, despite being lower ranked than you (something you remind him of constantly, without shame).
“Can we go top left?” You parrot into your speaker.
For once, your team listens, most of them running up the sidewall with Widow right down main. Not for the first time you wish you were playing Mercy, if only to be able to damage boost your sniper while she distracts the enemy team. Still, you make due, taking your boyfriend’s next piece of advice when it comes, unsolicited. “You should be back right by the stairs. You can see up the hall and still heal Widow on top.”
You’d kiss him if you weren’t so intently focused, unable to tear your gaze from the screen when the enemy team seems to pluck their strategy directly from Jungkook’s skull and hold conservatively on point. Amazing.
“Your Zarya has grav. She’ll probably throw it on point so you should nade as soon as you get in and Widow can pick them off without full charge.”
If he were anyone else, you’d probably be giving him hell for mansplaining your favourite game to you. As it stands, you follow his instructions to the letter and the Team Kill marker flashes across your screen.
“Told you,” he quips, ever the snooty dork you adore.
“I was going to say thank you.” Just not right now. You can’t multitask quite like he can.
If you could look over, you think you’d see him grinning from ear to ear, buck teeth and dimples on full display. “I know.”
As it stands, the other team has trouble getting on point fast enough and you’re left with a whopping 3:56 left on the clock. Thank freaking god. You can win this, you think. Easy. No problem.
“Go Ana on defense.” At some point, Jungkook had gotten up to find a snack and he returns now, bag of shrimp chips in his hand and packet of matcha Pocky held between his teeth. You open your mouth for a stinky tasty treat and he shoves four crisps in, unceremoniously and with his signature dummy grin.
You manage to crunch crunch crunch through it all but shoot him a glare the entire time. He only smiles wider, all perfectly white enamel and enough cuteness to make your heart skip a beat.
“Do you just want to play?” You don’t mean it seriously. You don’t mind him watching and you know he enjoys pretending like he’s better than you. It’s a strange give and take but one that’s uniquely yours, built over nearly a year of online friendship and another year of a real-life relationship.
“Nah, I’m snacking.” He punctuates his response as a child would, shoving a handful of chips into his mouth. You wonder, briefly, why you love him so much when he’s a certifiable goon.
The third match begins and you’re not too proud to say you spend most of it following Jungkook’s directions. He tells you to sleep the enemy Genji trying to scale the right wall - you do. He tells you to nade once their Rein gets in because your own Rein is going to shatter - you do. He tells you to do the macarena and— okay, that, you don’t.
You sweep the match, leaving the other team without a single tick.
When it comes to the final round, he seems to have lost interest in the game, instead rolling himself back to his computer with a parting, wayward ruffle of your hair. You don’t blame him but you thank him nonetheless, blowing a kiss before he settles his headphones over his ears.
You, of course and unsurprisingly, win the game. There’s nothing like using a Sym portal onto point when they’ve got a Bastion set up off point and no shield to protect him from the back.
Satisfied, you don’t bother requeueing and instead force yourself into your boyfriend’s personal space, draping your arms across the idol’s neck as he scrolls through YouTube like a zombie. “We won,” you sing-song into his ear, proud and a little smug.
“Of course you did.” He sounds equally smug and you suppose the win does belong to the both of you. He’d been a great coach.
“What’re you doing here?” It’s pure curiosity offered in the form of a kiss to his cheek, fingers locked across the broad expanse of his chest. He’s delightfully warm beneath you, familiar and unyielding as you sink over the back of his computer chair. (You can feel the chair creaking as it reclines. You don’t care.)
“Whaddya mean?”
The look he levels you with makes you think you’ve grown a second head.
“Your schedule said you had a thing tonight.” You remember, because you’d been disappointed. Halloween was one of your favourite holidays and all you’d wanted was to watch some campy horror movies and use him as a personal eye shield and security blanket combo.
“We have a thing,” he states, like he’s talking to a moron. You know it isn’t meant meanly, too emphatic and amused to hurt your feelings.
When you echo his words (“We?”) you swear you see him roll his eyes in the reflection of his computer screen. Luckily, he laughs, sweet and cracky, somewhere high in his throat - a barking hyena. It’s so cute - your favourite thing in the world - that you don’t have it in you to shame him for it.
“Yeah, we,” Jungkook repeats around something close to a snicker. “Halloween party, baby. Seriously— you forgot?”
It’s then and there you have two crises: (a) you don’t have a costume and (b) Halloween party? You didn’t think idols had those. Weren’t they all too hip and cool to get together to dress up and act stupid?
(You know the answer is no. Exhibit A being the costume-wearing dance practices BTS put out.)
“I don’t have anything to wear.” It’s truly the one thing holding you back, creasing the soft skin between your brows to resemble a peach. It’s also nearing seven in the evening and you’re absolutely certain you’re not going to find something so late in the day.
To your surprise. Jungkook looks flabbergasted, that same you-have-two-heads stare wrought across his face. It’d be endearing if it were directed at anyone else but with it trained on you, it’s rubbing you and your confusion the wrong way. Why’s he looking at you like that? Why’s your memory so bad? Why hasn’t he said anything to answer all of life’s questions?
“You said you’d go as witch Mercy.”
All at once, you’re pulled back to the offhand conversation, the pleading in his eyes, your half-asleep acceptance. It’s the memory you’d lost somewhere along the way in upgrading your in-brain video game storage. A conversation had in bed, his cheeks so big and full of joy they’d waned his eyes into crescents, and your uncoordinated answer because you’d just wanted to go to sleep and not think about anything after indulging in a few too many mochi cream buns.
“I— don’t remember that.” You’re lying through your damn teeth. Your parents would be devastated, all their hard earned money wasted on the braces-straightened enamel that was now letting lies pass.
“But you did!” He’s like a kid being denied candy, rounded bottom lip dropping into a pout that should, frankly, be illegal. It’s far too powerful on him, paired with those Bambi eyes that scream don’t eat (hate/deny/etc.) me! You can only scowl at him, because you know your own puppy dog eyes only work 100% of the time half of the time whereas his track record was immaculate.
“Okay, but I forgot to get the—“
“I have it!”
Jeon Jungkook has an answer for everything, it seems.
“I picked it up on the way here. It’s in your room along with my costume.”
The knowledge of his own intrigues you, squarely centring your curiosity on that and not the fact that you apparently need to get tested for early onset dementia. “Who’re you going as?”
“You’ll see.”
Your costume is spectacular. You can’t even find it in yourself to put up much of a fight when your boyfriend reveals it like you’ve won the lottery, throwing his arms wide in a flourish.
It’s incredibly well made, intricately tailored in a way that makes you worry how much it costs. (When you bring it up to him, Jungkook simply shrugs. You think it’s as much a gift for you as it is for him.) It’s witchy and eye-catching, the belt hung across your hips clipped with an actual book - hollowed out, thank god but also poor thing. The hat that sits on your head is neatly crumpled, sitting at such an angle you worry whether you’ll need to avoid too-low door frames. Your wings - well, you’re almost too afraid to touch them; Jungkook has to help you pull them over your arms, falling into near hysterics when you twitch your elbow the wrong way and smack him right between the eyes.
“I don’t think I can pull this off,” you state, somberly, despite the fact that you’re not terribly self-conscious. (You were, once. Being in a relationship with someone that worships your body has helped with that.)
The top of your outfit is fitted, boned and ribbed and snapped together in all the right places. Leather stands in stark contrast to your skin - summer-soft and gently golden - and hugs curves that don’t quite exist, falling short in a way that has you glaring down at your own chest. You’ve never wanted a Playboy body but in this sort of costume, it practically demands it. (You try not to dwell on the fact that you’ve been conditioned to want to look like an impractically designed video game hero.)
From the foot of your bed comes a snort, a derisive sound that draws your attention. Jungkook’s unabashed in how he admires you, stare roving over every inch like he’s about to devour you. You’re not sure how you can feel so soft for him when he looks completely the opposite, jaw set and expression sharp. A Greek god carved from hardened honey, dressed in Balenciaga blue. “You look great, angel.”
Your heart skips a beat - plays a funny little game of tag with itself - and you can’t help the smile that comes, brought to life by his reassurance. It isn’t necessary to rebuff him then - eyes rolling, laugh spilling - but you do it anyway. “You have to say that. You’re my boyfriend.”
“I don’t have to say anything,” he retorts, levelling you with a look that has your insides molten. It’s the look that reads don’t test me but also I love you and you’re my idiot. It’s your favourite look in the world, lending wings to your flimsy heart. “You look great because you always look great, no matter what.”
“What about when you found me in the shower ?”
Jungkook hesitates then. He’s no liar and he had almost had a heart attack the first time it’d happened. He’d been minding his business, half-asleep and battling the need to piss, when he’d noticed you curled up in the bathroom. How he hadn’t realised you were missing from bed, he’s not sure. All he knew was that you’d terrified him, mentioning something about invading refrigerators when he was pulling his dick out of his boxers.
His scream was what had woken you up; yours was what had him bashing his head into the wall, foot slipping on the soft pink bathroom rug. You could laugh about it now but at the time, you’d thought he’d cracked his skull right open, shouting his name so loudly the neighbours had complained.
(Lucky for you two, they were a nice elderly couple who sometimes had you babysit their grandson. They’d laughed it off when you’d apologised with a loaf of fresh bread and a bandage wrapped around your boyfriend’s head.)
“Okay— that was scary. I thought you’d crawled out of the drain or something.” A shudder rolls through Jungkook’s body, shaking him from his shoulders all the way down to his knees. It’s a strangely adorable reaction from someone who looks like he could bench press you.
“You’re calling me the Grudge?” You’re deeply offended, gloved hands clasping over your chest as if to pull out the treacherous dagger he’s just lodged there. He only rolls his eyes, leaning forward to catch you in his arms; he’s relentless as he drags you to him, side of his face pressed to the bare skin of your thigh. His cheek’s searing but you’re not surprised; Jungkook ran hot, keeping you warm in winter and sweltering in summer. (Ah, the price you paid for love.)
“Yeah, you haunt me in my dreams.”
“That’s not the Grudge, Kook.” Your scoff earns you a pinch, right where the top of your stockings end. It blooms red beneath his fingers, a little reminder of his competitive I’m-never-wrong nature. You swat his hand away, not too bothered when it only finds a home elsewhere, hooked behind your knee. Jungkook had a habit of needing to be in constant contact. A little quirk of his you adored.
“I’m serious. You look—” You should clock the look on his face, the wiggle of mischief up his nose. A dead giveaway shining bright - a beacon. “—bewitching.”
If the book weren’t attached to your hip, you’d be clobbering him with it. Instead, you’re left to whack him with the equally intricate Caduceus staff, booping it over his shoulders. You feel like a certain shamanic mandrill, Jungkook the idiotic lion that’s asking for an earful.
“Shut up!” You’re laughing despite yourself and he is too, holding you so recklessly close it’s hard to hit him without hurting yourself. All part of his plan, you suppose. “You’re so freaking corny.”
“It’s because I’m a-maize-ing, ang—”
Another wap! to the head, shielded only by a tattooed hand that curls over his ear.
“Okay! Sorry!” Except he doesn’t look very sorry. More pleased that you’ve stopped the assault, dark hair pushed back from his forehead as he stares up at you. You hate how he’s so handsome - how you forget yourself when he smiles that smile, nearly yeeting your whole heart directly into the sun.
“Are you going to put on yours yet?”
It’s quarter past nine already and all you’ve done is rope him into eating some chapaguri - you’ve been obsessed with it since a few weeks ago - and play real life Witch Barbie. You have a feeling if you don’t get him into his own costume soon, you’re never going to leave the apartment. (Not that you really mind.)
Your boyfriend - bless his heart - pretends not to hear you, suddenly intently focused on an indiscernible spot past your hip. It’d be more believable if he was glued to his phone or doing anything remotely interesting. Instead, you stare down at him and count the seconds until he realises just how silly he looks. It usually comes around six, paired with a forced chuckle and that lisp you love.
Today, it comes after the fourth count.
“You’re gonna think it’s lame.” Well, of course you will. As his girlfriend - and one of his best friends, you’d like to think - it’s your relationship-given right to shame him for his more often than not absurd ideas. It’s what you deserve for suffering through all his bad jokes and 3 AM Instagram spams.
With a hand on his cheek, you squeeze the apple like you’ve seen a certain member do a million times. “So?”
He’s not really sure how to respond to that, mouth drawn into a pout that reminds you of children’s television show about penguins. It’s unfairly adorable. Still, you push. Jungkook’s bad at saying no to you - always has been, even before he really knew you. From “one more game!” to “bring me bingsu”, you always got what you wanted.
(Which wasn’t to say you asked for a lot. You were happy - more than that, ecstatic and over the moon - with the bare minimum. A selfie while on the plane, some shoddy cinematography during dance practice, a voicemail to wake up to. You didn’t love Jungkook for all the things he gave you; rather, you loved him for who he was, who he’d always been even before you knew who he really was.)
“Don’t laugh.” By the look on his face, you’re worried it’s something awful. The cheesiest thing in the world come to life to haunt you on your beloved spooky holiday.
It turns out to be the opposite: one of your favourite characters realised in the form of your achingly handsome boyfriend. He looks so good you’re not certain whether it’s your attraction to him or him in that particular guise that’s stronger. You figure it doesn’t matter one way or another. For tonight, they’re one and the same.
“Joker? Seriously?” You can’t hide the delight. It colours every syllable, sets them glowing like a neon sign.
Your boyfriend only rolls his eyes, as if he’d predicted this reaction. Dressed as he is, the movement is impossible to miss, brought into focus by the white domino mask. “Don’t sound so excited.” It’s an actual concern of his. He’s seen you sink upwards of ninety hours on the video game, playing it in the early hours when he’s fast asleep and you’re battling another night of insomnia.
Once, he’d asked whether you loved him or Joker more. He hadn’t liked the answer (joking as it was) and had spent the better part of the evening pouting.
This time, you’re sweet as pie, eyes so dark and twinkly he wonders whether he’s staring at the night sky. You wonder the same yourself almost every night, lost in the constellations of his irises. It’s the most intimate form of stargazing you can afford, a luxury you indulge in frequently. You’ve mapped the different formations, named them in honour of all the special moments you’ve shared; you think to label one for this night too.
“You look so good.” You don’t hesitate to brush his hair from his eyes. It’s still relaxing from the perm he’d gotten days ago, curling like classic calligraphy over his eyes. It’s surprisingly soft between your fingers, silk despite the constant heat styling. Bastard. “I can’t believe you’re going as Joker. You don’t even like Persona 5!”
By how Jungkook looks at you then - the same way he did the first time you met standing on the street corner in Dotonbori and a hundred more times since then - you realise it doesn’t matter. He’s dressed this way because you like the character.
“Oh,” you say, because there’s not much more to say. Nothing that needs to be said as he grins down at you, so heartbreakingly handsome you’ll never get used to it.
“Yeah,” he parrots back, a little smug.
Bangtan’s golden maknae is having the time of his life. He’s four cups deep into a game of beer pong that’s played like the Wimbledon classic, back hunched, jaw set. You’d think he was battling it out for the title of God of Beer Pong if you didn’t know better. (You suppose he is.)
“Angel, come here!” He’s giddy - slightly glazed in the eyes - as he waves you over, a red-gloved hand beckoning you to his side. Despite how good he looks in the costume - every weakness of yours encapsulated by the intricate dress shirt that hugs him like a second skin - the gesture is decidedly adorable, an eager puppy seeking unconditional love. There’s simply too much affection in his voice, so much sugar-spun love that you can’t deny him (even as you consider jumping his bones at a party full of people).
He’s shining as bright as the sun and you want nothing more than to live within his warmth.
With your fingers twined, he pulls you to him, drawing you tight against his side like he doesn’t need that same hand to throw another ball. You don’t mind. You know he’ll sink it even with his left hand.
“I’m winning,” he states, as if it weren’t wildly obvious by the fact all cups remain untouched on his side.
Across the table, Yugyeom’s eyes roll so far back you want to laugh. Jungkook’s competitive side is endearing at best and infuriating at worst. Luckily, his competition is enjoying himself too much to give him shit.
(He’s also probably too drunk to, given how badly he’s doing.)
“I see that.” You’re not a big drinker yourself but you like seeing Jungkook in his element. He thrives in this sort of setting, showing off all the talents he has and then some. It’s just another stage to him, somewhere he can prove himself (even if it’s over something as small as how good his bounce-shot is). “How many games have you won?” Because he’s been at this table for the last hour, dropping his competition like flies.
“All of them.” God, his ego. You know you shouldn’t stroke it but you can’t help it, brushing a hand through his tousled hair in the way he likes best. Fingers over his scalp, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the nape of his neck. He nearly melts then, tilting his head into the gentle caress.
“Good job, Kook.”
You’re so lost in your own little world that poor Yugyeom has to pull you both from it, launching a poorly-aimed white ping pong ball at the two of you. To no one’s surprise, it careens past your heads, hitting the wall behind you and disappearing off to god knows where.
“Can we play?” Again, that eye roll, visible just past the bandages that loosely wrap his cheeks. You know he’s only teasing, that he’s actually quite a fan of your and Jungkook’s dumb coupling (he’s told you), but you return his mockery with a raised hand, thumb and forefinger waving in salute.
“Losers don’t get to complain.”
The idol throws a hand to his chest, the gesture bordering on sloppy from the liquor that threads his limbs. Still, it’s cute, earning a sweet laugh from you and a witch’s cackle from your boyfriend. (How fitting.) “I’m hurt, Yoojin-ssi.”
It’s Jungkook’s turn to tease, brattiness flipped on like a haywire lightswitch. “No, you’re just bad at games!” He’s a sniggering schoolgirl, lines wrapping the delicate skin of his nose, streaking joy into the wrinkles beneath his eyes. Slightly-too-big front teeth are on full display, his expression the embodiment of an “uwu” emote.
That riles Yugyeom up, powder puff of hair bounding over to you before you have time to blink. In the next moment, your boyfriend’s half-wrestling with him, their arms locked around each other like some sort of weird four-limbed octopus. (Video game protagonist vs. hot mummy— who will win?) You jump back just in time, avoiding a wayward fist and laughing merrily. Idiots, the both of them.
“You guys have fun.” And then you’re gone, off to busy yourself with people who won’t accidentally give you a black eye or knock over the nearest thing not bolted to the ground.
You can still hear them tussling when you latch yourself to the back of a certain blond. He’s dressed like one of your greatest nightmares - an actual clown, drawing inspiration from a certain 2017 blockbuster - and yet somehow still manages to look good. You don’t understand it and frankly, you’re a little envious, but such was life.
“Jimin-ssiiiii.”
“Ahhhhhh, stop!” It’s the same reaction he always has, paired with wiggling shoulders and sweet laughter that bounces around the room and stirs to life your own. Indisputable and lovely, the sound is brighter than the sun or the lights that currently swing through the chandelier lights above your heads. “You two are ridiculous.”
“He’s ridiculous, not me!” You know it isn’t true. Separately, you and Jungkook were idiotic enough, finding humour in the silliest things (funny threads on r/Relationship_Advice and four year old Vines). But together? It was a two-person circus, graduate professors at clown college.
You absolutely loved it.
“Sure, sure,” the dancer hums, delightfully disbelieving as he takes another shot. One of three lined up across the counter, clear in little orange cups made to look like pumpkins. A whiff tells you they’re strawberry soju - your least favourite flavour. You decline with a wrinkled nose and waving hand when he offers you one. Jimin shrugs and downs the next, delicately wiping the corner of his mouth when he misjudges the pour. “Aren’t you drinking?”
You wiggle the half-empty Cass bottle in your hand in response and receive a scoff, different bottle - green, unopened - thrust into your other.
“Drink this!”
“You want me to drink an entire bottle?” You’re incredulous. Jimin’s seen you on the edge of intoxication and more than a little sloppy, giggling like a schoolgirl. It’s not unbecoming - you know better than to get blackout - but laughable nonetheless. Something to record and post on Snapchat with a voice-altering filter.
“It’s Halloween!” The pumpkin shot glass makes you go cross-eyed before he’s knocking it back too. “Live a little!”
Who are you to say no to the recent birthday boy? It would simply be bad manners and you were nothing if polite (though, you’re sure some might beg to differ - Yoongi, maybe?).
The remnants of your beer are swallowed down in the next moment, so quickly you almost choke on it. Your life flashes before your eyes, Jimin’s hand on your shoulder as he beats breath into your body. “Don’t die!” He cries, despite the fact that it’s his fist that’s making it worse, doubling you over with hacking coughs.
“K-Kook’s g-going to kill you—”
“No, you’re fine.” He’s reassuring you just as much as himself, laughing too loudly as you straighten up. You wonder how red your face is when he takes your place, slapping his own knee as he shakes with amusement. “Your face, oh— Your face.”
It’s not meant to be offensive but your buzzed brain demands payment for each giggle.
The base of the green bottle collides with the back of his knee - gentle, gentle - just hard enough to have him properly toppling over, collapsing onto the carpet like a frail old grandpa without his cane. You can’t help the snicker that careens off your liquor-laden tongue.
That is, until he’s pulling you down with him and the two of you are a giggling, giddy mess, tucked beneath the edge of the bar as you laugh together. It’s a chorus of sound, unrelenting and building the longer you both sit on the floor. Jimin’s practically hunched over, head caught between his propped up arms. You imagine it’s a funny sight - two people in their twenties acting like college freshmen.
“Baby?” It’s your boyfriend, amused and confused as he stares down at your and Jimin’s prone bodies. He’s got that dent between his brows, the colour of his eyes all but swallowed up by the way his cheeks press wide with his smile. “What’re you doing down there?”
“Just hanging out,” you answer, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. At your side, Jimin’s still trying to collect himself, parroting your words around his lungfuls of quieting laughter.
“Are you drunk?”
You’re not, but that doesn’t stop you from gasping, overdramatic and with your unopened bottle of soju held aloft. A modern day olive branch. “No?”
Jungkook snorts and then all at once, he’s close. Too close - smelling of beer and your favourite cologne of his, citrusy and woodsy and every other nice thing you like. It fills your senses just as his smile does, blindingly bright and bunny-like. Even behind the mask, his good looks take your breath away. You must be staring up at him idiotically, all one hundred and sixteen pounds of ooey gooey tenderness. “You sound drunk, angel,” he teases, warm red-covered palm coming to cradle your cheek. It sears heat everywhere it touches, guiding the same hue over your skin. It creeps up your chest and over your ears, standing in contrast to the material of his gloves. “Pretty.”
(He really is, you think.)
“Get a room,” comes Jimin from beside you. There’s no malice in his voice - just soft affection for a couple of lovesick idiots.
“That’s the plan,” Jungkook replies, as if he’d been waiting for the moment. It skips off his tongue and settles into your ears, tipping your head curiously as you stare at him. He’s never been very shy about wanting you - at least, not since you’d made things official, so many months ago - but you’re surprised by the insinuation. When he speaks again, you realise your brain has been rolling around in the gutter, fallen out of your ears like candy from a worn pillow case. “Want to head home?”
You do. You really, really do.
When you stumble into your apartment - the same one with the polka-dot welcome rug and crisp white paint - you realise you were perhaps wrong about how drunk you are. Everything’s coming at you quite quickly, the ground beneath your feet somehow suddenly rushing at you like Mach Five.
“Whoa—” There’s an impossibly solid warmth against your back, fingers locked around your wrists that feel more like flimsy chicken feet. “Careful.”
Your boyfriend’s keeping you upright while stepping out of his boots - impossibly expensive supple dark leather - and you’re giggling all the while, practically sinking against him as he does his best to shuffle his shoes away and get you further into the hallway. “Sorry,” you offer in a terrible stage whisper, smiling wide when you catch sight of his, small and endlessly amused. It slips across his face even as he tries to bite it back, warring with the patience he holds in spades.
“Let’s just get these off.” He means the boots - the intricate, vaguely absurd things that creep up almost the entirety of your leg, neatly wrapped and knotted midway up your thigh. Dexterous as he is, it’s a task to unravel the strings and thread buttons when you’re weighing on him like a bag of bricks.
You’re fumbling for the tops, haphazardly smacking his hands away. “Here, let me.”
Somehow, you manage to get them off in what feels like record time. (In reality, it takes a good five minutes of futility before they’re left on the ground and Jungkook’s swept you into his arms, seemingly over waiting for you to do much else.)
“Oh, my prince charming,” you tease, clinging to him like a koala. You’re locked around him, practically suffocating him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s used to it when you’re this way, just a little too much liquid courage turning your level of affection to eleven. “Or are you the court jester? That’s what Joker is, right?” It’s a joke and a bad one at that. Still, your boyfriend indulges you, depositing a forced laugh against your shoulder as he navigates to your bedroom.
“You’re drunk.” He says it more kindly than you expect. Perhaps even more kindly than you deserve. You know he’s not exactly sober himself, his gaze verging on heavy-lidded. There’s sleepiness blending seamlessly with intoxication, softening the edge of his jaw, the narrow of his stare. It’s terribly tender, skipping your heart when you look at him dead on.
It comes without thought. You have to tell him. Your drunk brain and your puppy dog heart demand it. “I love you.”
Jungkook returns the confession with humour, eyes sparkling despite the haze of alcohol that dims them down. As always, he indulges you, giving you support in the form of his heart and his hands. (Literally, he’s still holding you even though you’ve reached your destination.) “Love you too.”
“Is it time for bed?” You’re surprisingly tired, despite the fact that you’d slept until late in the afternoon. You certainly wouldn’t mind falling face first into your mattress.
“You need a shower first.” It’s a simple statement of fact, you know that. You’ve got at least ten pounds of makeup on and your hair’s the furthest thing from soft and silky, carefully coiffed to mimic Mercy’s signature style. You still pretend like you’re just a bit offended, scowling into the face of your boyfriend even as he rolls his eyes, already somehow able to read the words written into your expression. “I meant we and no, I’m not calling you stinky.”
He’s stolen your thunder, as he so often does. You pout, as you so often do.
“Okay,” you relent, finally, moving to rest your head against his shoulder. You could get down - walk on your own two tired feet - but you’re enjoying the closeness, how warm and real he feels in comparison to the swimming surroundings. “Will you wash my hair?” You don’t really need to ask but do anyway, because you like the sound of his voice when it’s so close.
“You know I will.” Because he always does when you shower together (and it falls on a designated hair washing day - that was important).
You offer your thanks with a kiss, laid right over the jumping pulse in his neck. When Jungkook hums in acknowledgment, you feel the way the muscles constrict, his Adam’s apple jumping beneath your lips. You zero in on it with laser precision, mouthing over his throat. Somewhere above you - against the shell of your ear - he exhales a laugh, breath hot.
“We’re showering, baby.” As if that’s meant to stop you. He, more than anyone, should know how adamant you get, singularly focused on whatever’s got your attention. He’s been on the receiving end of it more than enough times, strung into playing another one, two, ten matches of Overwatch or hunting down the limited edition Funko Pops that now sit proudly on your white shelf (and behind your plants and on the ledge by the front door).
“We can shower and have fun,” you mumble into the expanse of his chest. He’s so pleasantly warm, unyielding and firm and so, so comfortable. You think you could live in the feeling of his arms. (You’re lucky you get to.) You don’t even mind the sudden cold of the counter or the space that forms between you when he sets you down, because he’s still caging you in where it matters most. “Right, JK?”
It’s a nickname you rarely use now - one that only comes out in times of desperation. You’ve never quite understood why it affects your boyfriend the way it does, stuttering the rhythmic beating of his heart, but you love it nonetheless. It makes you grin, high on power and giddy with nothing but sweetness.
He’d explained it to you once. Jay was how you’d met him, the version of himself you’d loved first. Jungkook was the side of himself he’d wanted to give you but couldn’t. JK was the in-between - the chaos and the calm. Hearing you say it brought back all the memories of year one and he liked that. You could only laugh at his sentimentality and tuck the piece of knowledge somewhere deep, to be pulled out in instances like this.
“Right, angel.” You don’t miss the colour on his cheeks - so pretty you reach your hands out to cup them, squishing them between your palms like an old grandmother testing a watermelon. You continue to hold him until he pulls your hands from his face, guiding them to the edge of the counter with gentle pressure. “Gotta get undressed to shower,” he chides, that twinkle in his eye that makes it hard to look away.
Really, how can he expect you to do anything when he’s got an entire unexplored galaxy hidden in his irises? It’s an absurd ask.
“Or I’ll help you.”
Your clothes fall away while you’re still staring up at him.
First, the gloves, peeled from your fingers with utmost care. Kisses fill the spaces between each finger, passed from knuckles to wrist, all the way up to your elbow. You squirm when his teeth graze the sensitive underside of your bicep. He stifles a snicker into the skin.
Next goes your cape and wings, hung on the door handle. His mouth warms the suddenly bare skin, pressing affection into the line of your shoulder, up over your neck. You don’t squirm this time, instead humming a noise of delight. You hardly notice when the corset goes next, undone by surprisingly nimble inked digits. There’s hardly a moment to savour the freedom - you can finally breathe - when his hands replace the cups, palms eager over your chest. He doesn’t hesitate to hold you, pinching your perked nipples with a sly grin.
“I thought we were going to shower.” The words are barely out before turning breathless, stolen by the way he easily palms your breast, dropping his face into the crook of your neck.
“We are, angel,” Jungkook teases, rolling your bud between his thumb and forefinger, other hand moved to splay across the now-bare small of your back. It’s almost embarrassing how easily you fall into him, drawn against him like a moth to a flame. “Just need to get you warmed up first.”
“The shower’ll be warm,” you say - or think you say, anyway. It isn’t quite articulated, half your brain left somewhere at the party (or maybe caught dead centre in the coil that’s tightening in your stomach).
“Do you want me to stop?” It’s so quiet you almost miss it, too distracted by how he slips the rest of your costume off. Shorts, thong, stockings, silly witch’s hat. “Tell me if you want me to stop, baby.” Ever the gentleman, he’s patient, meeting your glazed stare with something close to concern. You almost laugh in his face then - stopping short only when you note just how serious he is, the tell-tale set of his jaw shining like a familiar beacon.
You return your hands to his face, palms cradling his chin like he might break otherwise. “I never want you to stop.”
That’s all Jungkook needs before he’s slotting himself between your legs, mirroring your motion with hands creeping up the side of your neck, fingers ascending into the roots of your hair. He holds you close and kisses you like it’s all he’s ever wanted. “I love you,” he breathes, speaks against the corner of your mouth.
You parrot the words back at him and he grins, stepping away in the next moment. He laughs when you pout, offering a kiss in apology as he undoes the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping the soft cotton off. You stop then, entranced by the revealed skin, how it shifts with each adjustment of muscle, sinew tight over his arms and shoulders. You wonder, not for the first time, how you’d managed to luck out so spectacularly.
“Start the shower.”
You hop down with the direction, slipping past him to do exactly that. You don’t miss the way he rotates, brings himself closer as you move away. The magnetism is undeniable - always has been.
“I love you,” he states, again, bare against your back as you hover by the edge of the glass door, one hand stuck past to test the slow-warming stream. He’s solid, familiar and comfortable, as he slinks his arms back around you, heat burning the shape of his hands over your ribs, the shape of your hip. You think he might mark himself there, just as neatly as the floral ink does. You wouldn’t mind.
The water is welcome, bathing the both of you in steam when you step inside. It’s an incredibly relaxing feeling, being caught between the spray and the hard body behind you. You hum a noise of pure delight, turning your face toward the one that nuzzles itself into your neck, and bring your hands to rest over his, fingers slotting between ink.
“Hair?” You’re not in a terrible rush but you like redirecting his attention (pretending to, at least) - the teasing that formed the base of your relationship presenting itself in the quiet reminder. It earns the laugh you expect, muffled into your hair, featherlight over the delicate shell of your jewelled ear.
“Patience, baby.” It’s something Jungkook tends to say a lot, whether waiting in queue in Overwatch or in bed, with you a complete mess. He repeats it easily, like he’s the poster boy for the virtue. (He isn’t.)
“What am I waiting—” The question dies, swallowed whole by the gasp he draws from you with a wandering hand. Fingers slip across your stomach, digits deftly seeking out warmth as if you weren’t already enveloped in it. It’s a touch that’s tantalisingly slow, unfairly light, but it still makes you keen when it drags over your lips. A single digit pushes past muscle - so shallow you’re not sure you’re not just imagining it - before retreating, dragging your slick back up to your clit. The moment the pad of his finger makes contact with the sensitive bundle of nerves, you almost jump. Would, if he weren’t caging you with his other arm.
You feel the cold of his teeth bared against your neck then, the throaty laugh that pulls out of his chest and deposits itself into your hair. “Patience,” he repeats, swirling his fingers over your clit, his mouth moving in tandem with the twist of his wrist. He peppers love and affection in the form of kisses, presses devotion with the edge of his teeth, soothes all your nerves with a sweep of his tongue.
“Kook,” you sigh, already well on your way to being a boneless mess. There’s tingling in your toes, fizzing in your stomach, butterflies in your chest. A whirlwind of emotion and sensation that he stirs to life effortlessly.
“Relax for me.” You do so because it’s easy, because he’s so devastatingly good to you.
The figure eights skating over your clit cease, fingers dropping further down to nestle against your cunt. He pauses there, almost experimentally flexing against the muscle that aches and clenches around nothing, eager for more. You think he’s smirking by the way his lips form with his kisses, a little lopsided and devilish. (You wish you could see him.)
A single digit enters you then, to the third knuckle as if your body was made for this, for him. (It was.) He coos against your neck when a garbled mess skips off your tongue and nearly laughs when another slips in alongside it, turning the mess into nonsense. Despite how badly you want it - need it, really - it’s a sensation that’s too much and not enough all at once, toeing the line between pleasure and pain.
It was how Jungkook loved you - recklessly, shamelessly, in no half measures. With more love than you could ever hope for, giving you things you didn’t even know how to ask for.
“Relax, angel,” comes as he begins scissoring both fingers inside you, stretching you out with an otherworldly amount of care. Even your neglected clit is given some sort of relief - anything to ease the sting of two long fingers - his thumb gliding over it with each stretch of your walls. He knows exactly where to touch you, how much pressure to apply, and you’re melting, lost in the feeling.
When he’s had enough and he curls his fingers within you, seeking out that particular spot, you’re trembling, caught off guard. Heat builds quickly with the precision of which he taps against that spot; it starts low in your back, climbing each vertebrae of your spine until you’re quivering in his arms.
“K-Kook.” It’s both a plea and a demand, nonsensical as he guides you through your orgasm, keeping you upright against him when your knees feel like they might give out.
“I’ve got you.” And he does - hook, line, and sinker. He holds you steady as the pleasure crashes over your head, keeps you anchored to the here and now and the pleasure that rolls through you like a relentless wave. It sinks beneath your skin, settles heavy into every atom, and he never lets you go. He’s got you.
When sensation returns - slowly, so slowly it feels like you’re stuck in the Twilight Zone - you only want to turn. See him, hold him, whisper sweet nothings as you kiss him silly and thank him for his service. Instead, you’re held in place, two hands firm upon your hips even as you crane your neck to look over your shoulder at him. You should recognise the look on his face. “Kook?”
“My turn.” It’s a statement more than anything, a kind heads-up as he nudges you forward. There’s that same twinkle in his eye, the only source of light around the pupil that’s blown out, otherwise engulfing the constellations he so normally offers you. It’s a black hole and one you’d gladly get lost in. “Hands on the wall, baby.”
You’d never been one for shower sex - it’s too small a space, too much happening at once, a guaranteed freak accident waiting to happen - but you can’t deny him when he asks so nicely. (It really hadn’t been that nice but you were a certified sucker for one Jeon Jungkook.)
Hands find themselves on the wall, palms flat, fingers splayed. In the same instance you wiggle your hips, there’s a ghosting touch over your spine. It trails up and down, soothes the residual heat that lingers, and then slips higher, palm gentle over your throat. His thumb rubs reassuring circles over the nape of your neck, pressing gently into the sensitive spot behind your ear. It’s distracting and you realise much needed when he sinks into you with one fluid press of his hips, filling you so full you can’t help the gasp that bounds past your lips and bounces around the glass enclosure. “Oh fuck,” he sighs, his grip on your hip tightening incrementally.
He sounds like sin and feels like heaven.
“Always so good for me.” Another thing he says, often and without prompting. It still feels just as good the umpteenth time, sparking pride deep in your chest as he pulls out and drives himself back in, staring in rapt fascination at where your bodies meet. “Always so perfect for me.”
“Because I love you,” you quip, more than a little out of breath and jostled by the way he thrusts into you, measured and with enough force to shake your legs.
“Love you too, angel.” He doesn’t need to say it back - you know, can feel it by how he holds you, drives you to brink of insanity with his cock - but he does it anyway. He always says it back, no matter what, even if he’s half-asleep or distracted. He’ll never stop saying it.
The hand on your hip falls, slinks across your hip and between your legs, and you’re pushed further forward, his feet gently kicking yours further apart. Jungkook assaults your clit then, timing each pass with each thrust. An attempted glance back has fireworks going off before your eyes, specks of pleasure lighting up your vision; it’s a technicolour lightshow, framing the way his face scrunches, brow set and jaw hard. He’s determined, focused on bringing you to another orgasm before he hits his own high. You assist him as best you can, swiveling your hips and grinding back against him even as the coil pulls impossibly tight in your stomach, barely held together by threadbare strings.
“Kook,” you whine when the tension becomes too much, hands scrabbling across the wall of the shower. The same overwhelming tingle sparks beneath your skin, entire body trembling like a leaf when the head of his cock brushes that spot inside you at just the right angle.
He doesn’t relent, rhythm turning almost punishing as he drives you over the edge, launching you headlong into your second orgasm. You’re not sure how you stay upright, near sobbing when you crash into euphoric bliss, neither his fingers nor his thrusts ceasing. It’s almost too much and yet you know how close he is, so you push back, whimper words you know he wants to hear.
“P-please, Kook. Please.” You’re reaching a hand back, desperate to interlace your fingers with his. He gives in easily, catches your hand in his own and plants it on the swell of your hip as he chases his own release with desperation. “Come for me, Kook. Fill me up.”
Jungkook does just that, balls tight as he spills himself inside you, hand at your throat so tight you’re seeing stars. Somehow - with the feeling of him grinding into you, overcome with so much sensitivity - you come for the third time, crying very real tears as the sensation washes over you. It’s weaker than your first two but unravels you all the same, seeping the energy from your limbs. You’re grateful for how well he knows you and the fact he catches you before your arms collapse, pulling you to him with gentle movements.
“I love you,” he whispers against your temple, out of breath and sweat-slick despite the water that rains down upon you.
“I love you,” you answer, pressing a kiss to the hand that still twines with yours. “But I still need you to wash my hair.” It’s cheeky and you know it so you don’t even mind when he bites into the meat of your shoulder, leaving a pretty red mark that’ll bloom for the next few days. “Ow!”
“You’re a brat.” Said even as he’s reaching for your shampoo bar, teasing it through your roots with practiced movements. He’s careful despite his scathing tone, gentle despite how he glares at you from the corner of your periphery. Each tangle is neatly undone and not a single bubble gets in your eye, much to your joy.
“I thought I was an angel.” You’re taking a page out of his book, speaking in fluent pout.
He catches your lips with his own, pushing your lathered up head beneath the steady stream when he withdraws and speaks. Suds run across your cheeks, eyes shielded only by the hand he keeps steady along your hairline. Even so mean, your boyfriend is still terribly nice. “You’re my angel - but you’re still a brat.”
You can’t argue with that.
tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi
#goldenclosetnet#magicshopnet#ficswithluv#thebtswritersclub#cypherwritersnet#networkbangtan#heartsforbts#btsholidaybingo#bts#bts au#bts fic#bts oneshot#bts fluff#bts smut#bts jungkook#jeon jeongguk#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook au#jungkook imagine#junkook fic#jungkook oneshot#jungkook fluff#jungkook smut#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#work.zip#drabble.zip#angels.doc#jungkook.doc
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About Time (Timeskip Dimitri/Reader)
Decided to start transferring my works over, starting with my oldest oneshot from ao3 with Dimitri! It’s technically Dimileth since I like the Dimitri pairing from Byleth’s position, but it’s fully in 2nd person and I don’t use any names for Reader or anything.
This oneshot was entirely born from having a thought of “what if Dimitri accidentally saw Byleth’s boobs and then freaked out.” Also, this one is set after Dimitri comes out of his emo phase, but before the final battle in the BL route. Just a note, there is sex at the end. Enjoy :)
----
You did not find yourself in over your head much anymore these days, but you also had a talent for finding new trouble.
You had been backed into a corner by multiple soldiers, and a horrible giant beast. The beast’s jaw opened slowly, revealing its gleaming teeth, dripping with a black substance as the soldiers by its side advanced, lances drawn and all pointed towards you. The Sword of the Creator at your side was growing weary, and you knew that it would not be enough to defeat the enemies in front of you.
You knew that your former students were on the battlefield somewhere, but you couldn’t see them beyond the great beast that caged you in by the wall. Either way, this was too dangerous a situation for them anyways. You could only hope they would stay away. Use the chance to escape while this creature feasted on your flesh and gnawed on your bones. You didn’t want to die, but you would not allow yourself to be the cause of any of your students’ deaths. It would break you. If anyone had to die, it should be you.
You held up your sword, ready to fight back, but the onslaught still overwhelmed you. You were able to quickly take out a few soldiers with the last remaining swipe of your mythic sword’s power before their lances got too close to you. You had no time to bask in your small victory as your sword refused to spring into action after your first swipe, only functioning as an average sword, and a dull one at that, as it lost all its power. And with its elongation use now locked away from you, you would only be able to defend yourself from close range.
This immediately proved deadly for you, as you swerved to avoid the creature’s teeth, but found yourself on the receiving end of an enemy’s lance as it sunk in and out of your shoulder. You screamed with pain and shock as you sunk down to your knees, dropping your sword to press a hand over your wound. It hurt so badly, and you looked up as a shadow loomed over you to see the monster and remaining soldiers all radiating with the satisfaction that they were about to snuff your life out. You couldn’t even gather the strength to pick your sword back up, the pain in your shoulder was too great. Even moving your hand sent unbearable jolts of pain up and down your arm. You could do nothing but watch, eyes drawn to the lance of the soldier that had stabbed you, what must be your blood dripping off the tip and onto the ground.
You felt all hope leave your mind as the abomination’s jaw opened wide, preparing to blast you with fire. Too weary to continue looking up, you turned your head down in defeat, hoping that your death would at least come fast. You heard a loud shout, but it was not enough to keep you from falling on your side, no strength left in your body to allow you to remain up. Your eyes slid closed, and death felt imminent.
You felt like you were fading, and the sounds around you faded along with your hazy consciousness. There were sounds of screams and horrible growls, but you didn’t know what they meant, and couldn’t really rationalize anything but the extreme pain you felt. There was so much screaming and so much pain. It was hard to even think at all.
“Professor!”
A voice broke through your haze at about the same time you felt the pain lessen by a small fraction. You heard your name called, with more insistency, and you felt annoyed. You just wanted the pain to end so you could sleep. The pain was so great that in that moment you didn’t mind dying if it would end the pain.
“If she falls unconscious, we won’t be able to save her!” You heard a soft-voiced woman assert.
“Professor!” the calls of your name and title got louder, and more insistent, and your forehead felt wet as one voice rang out louder than the rest. “Please, Professor, I can’t lose you too...”
The pain lessened a little more, becoming less all-encompassing, and you allowed your eyes to open. You found your vision blurry until a warmth took over the feeling of pain in your shoulder. A call of your name focused your attention directly above you.
Dimitri was crying. It was the first thing that struck you as you gazed up at him, tears freely flowing from his uncovered eye. His eye lit up when you looked at him, and you felt the world beneath you shift.
“Dimitri!” an airy voice angrily broke the quiet. “Don’t move!”
You were confused, and moved your head, unintentionally shifting your shoulder and sending a wave of pain through it as you went limp against Dimitri’s lap, where you found yourself realizing that your head was resting in. You closed your eyes tightly in response to the return of extreme pain, much worse than you had ever felt before.
“Professor, not you too! You must not move!” the woman insisted.
Your mind felt clearer once the pain faded again to a dull ache and the warm feeling took over. You realized at once who that voice was, and you opened your eyes to look at Mercedes, who was by your injured shoulder sending healing magic into the wound. That explained the familiar feeling that you couldn’t place. She met your gaze, unable to form her usual smile as she turned back to focusing on your wound. That confused you, and you turned your head ever so slightly to look at your injury without agitating it again.
You understood Mercedes’ current urgency. Your shoulder looked horrible. There was a large rip in the shoulder of your cloak, likely ripped further by Mercedes in an effort to get better access to the wound. There was so much blood, it matted the ripped fabric around your wound to your skin, making the area feel sticky.
Most worrying was the blood nearest to the wound, if it was even your blood, was bleeding an oily black. Mercedes wiped a hand over the wound, clearing it to reveal a patch of gray skin surrounding the stab wound.
“What is that?” Came Ashe’s panicked voice.
“The enemy’s lance was poisoned, clearly,” Felix stated with a short glance behind him.
You looked beyond where you were to realize that the area behind where you lay was covered in the bodies of the enemies that had just been closing in on you. The great beast was killed with no mercy, some of its limbs meters away from its actual body. You couldn’t stand to look at what was done to the Imperial soldiers; some with deep slashes, charred, or with arrows sticking out of their heads. It looked horrible, but not unusual for the battles you regularly faced.
“But poison couldn’t work this fast!” Annette protested.
“I’ve heard of weapons being enchanted with poison before,” Ashe explained.
“Enchanted with poison...” Dimitri echoed, expression tense. “What does it look like to you, Mercedes?”
Mercedes looked up from your wound to meet Dimitri’s eyes, but quickly looked back down. “Her wound isn’t responding to my magic. If we don’t do something, I fear she may die.”
Mercedes looked sad and scared, but Dimitri’s growl brought your attention back to him in an instant.
“There has to be something we can do to save her!” His desperate gaze morphed into one of hatred, one you thought you had seen the last of after Rodrigue’s death. “Tell me who I must kill and I will do it.”
“Spoken like a boar,” Felix interjected. “You think she has the time for you to go on a murderous rampage?”
“Felix...” Ingrid protested lowly and sadly.
“Then what would you have me do, Felix?” Dimitri replied, anger clear in his voice. “She is dying, you can’t expect us to do nothing!”
“I expect you not to-” Felix started.
“Stop it!” Annette cried. “You guys need to listen to Mercie!”
Mercedes nodded toward her best friend as Felix and Dimitri reluctantly went quiet. “There is one way to save her, but we will need everyone’s help.”
“Me and Mercie came up with a plan!” Annette smiled softly at Mercedes, expression belying a reluctant confidence. “Healing magic can’t touch it, but regular magic should be able to negate its effects enough for healing to work on it again!”
“And the only magic strong enough to fend off this dark poison is Annie’s fire,” Mercedes explained. “Annie will burn off the infection, and then I will heal the wound.”
“You want to burn her?” Sylvain implored, shocked. “I know she’s tough, but...”
“We don’t have the time to think of any other solution,” Ingrid said sadly, gesturing towards you. “Grey is spreading down her arm.”
Everyone’s eyes shot over to your arm, and you lazily swept your gaze over as well to see that the grey skin tone had travelled down your arm, halfway towards your elbow. The grey patches looked rough, and unlike any affliction you had ever seen before. You wondered if the Imperial army had been exploring darker methods to kill than simple weaponry and monsters. It didn’t surprise you, but you should have seen it coming.
“What do we do...?” Ashe asked quietly, as if he wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
“You all must hold her down while Annette burns the infection away,” Mercedes answered. “It will be very painful, but if she moves, she could get hurt, so you must keep her still.”
Dimitri looked torn as he brushed some stray hairs from your face. Even through the excruciating pain, the gesture embarrassed you. Dimitri looked to be mentally weighing options as a stray tear slipped from his chin to drop on your neck. The tear was a momentary relief, a distraction, but Mercedes couldn’t keep you from feeling all the pain in your shoulder, her healing magic seemingly less and less effective by the second as the pain began to grow stronger.
“Professor,” Dimitri said, trying but failing to keep emotion out of his voice. “What do you want us to do?”
You didn’t trust your ability to talk at the moment, and so you kept eye contact with him and nodded the best you could, which ended up being two slow rises and falls of your head. You could only hope that he understood what you were trying to say. He stared at you for a few seconds before he broke eye contact.
“Dedue, Felix, take her legs,” he instructed, and the two men moved quickly towards your lower half. “Ingrid, Sylvain, take an arm each.”
The four requested students each their place at one of your limbs, and Dimitri slowly let you out of his lap, your head now resting on the ground as he made his way over to Annette and Mercedes by your injured shoulder. “I will ensure she does not move her shoulders.”
“Um...” Ashe spoke up hesitantly. “It’s not much, but I brought along a book I’ve been reading, and she might need something to bite down on, so she doesn’t bite off her tongue.”
He offered the book to Dimitri, who accepted it gratefully, and with no choice, you bit down on it when Dimitri brought it to your mouth. You would have been embarrassed if you weren’t so anxious about the somehow worse pain to come. At Dimitri’s signal, your legs and arms were restrained, ensuring that you could not move them at all. When he checked that everyone had a secure hold on you, Dimitri put one hand on your uninjured shoulder, and one on your upper chest, just above your breasts. His head was just above yours, his long hair tickling your cheeks.
“Just keep looking at me,” he whispered, voice then rising in volume. “Annette, now.”
Annette didn’t reply, but she didn’t have to. Seconds after Dimitri’s words, you felt the worst pain you have ever felt in your entire life, putting the extreme pain from before to shame. You wanted to scream, but you knew you shouldn’t, even in your haze of pain. You just bit down on the book as hard as you could to compensate. Someone held one of your hands and you squeezed their hand as hard as you could, which must have been painful, but they didn’t pull away or let go of your hand.
A whisper of your name had you looking back up to Dimitri’s face. He looked fairly upset, but the intense levels of pain you were experiencing kept you from being able to reassure him. He smiled, a clearly forced smile, but didn’t look away from you at all, which gave you no insight into how it was going with your shoulder aside from the momentous pain, which was so hot that it now felt cold. The pain was so white hot that you had to close your eyes, teeth digging into the book’s cover.
“You’ll be alright, professor,” Dimitri said quietly. “We can’t lose you.”
You knew that your students would be destroyed if you died here. You knew that they would all fall apart. So you endured the pain quietly, you had no other choice. You couldn’t leave them alone after all you had all been through. You tried to stay still, but suddenly the brutal pain increased tenfold. You screamed around the book, trying to thrash your limbs, but your students remained steadfast, restricting your movement.
“Annette!” Dimitri barked, taking his gaze from you but not his hands, which kept you pressed down.
“I’m sorry, it’s... it’s fighting against my magic! Professor, I’m so sorry!” she replied tearfully.
“We have to keep going, Annie,” Mercedes’ voice broke through the panic. “She has no chance if we don’t keep trying!”
With that, the incredible pain returned, and you once again regained the unpleasant taste of the book cover in your mouth as your teeth sank into the dents you had made previously. Everyone was so quiet while Annette and Mercedes worked that you could hear everyone’s breathing, and Dimitri sounded close to hyperventilating with how heavy his breaths sounded. You looked up at him, but he was looking over at your injury, not at you. He looked like he was about to cry again, and it being due to your strategic negligence was weighing on you at the moment.
He wouldn’t look at you and looked openly panicked. You thought he would eventually feel your eyes on him, but he didn’t. He just continued to stare at the work being done on your shoulder, which you couldn’t see yourself because Mercedes and Annette blocked your sight of it entirely. You were getting used to the horrific pain at this point, so you managed to remain still. Maybe Sothis helped with your pain tolerance, since you knew that even with the pain levels you had experienced in your life, an average person could not possibly remain as still as you were able to during this kind of a procedure.
“Mercie!” Annette cried.
At once, the burning started to fade, as the familiar feeling of Mercedes’ magic took over, engulfing your shoulder in a light so bright that you turned your head away from it and closed your eyes. There were gasps and murmured words all around you and all at once you had a range of movement in your limbs again as everyone released their tight holds on you. Dimitri, however, kept his hands where they were, and you assumed he would wait until he knew that you would be okay.
Annette and Mercedes finally backed up from your sider, allowing you a glance at your shoulder. There was nothing, not even a scratch, or the third-degree burns you were expecting from the fire magic. The grey patches of skin had receded entirely with Annette’s eradication of the strange poison magic. You were in awe of Mercedes’ magic, but you were far from the only one who was.
“Remind me not to get too far away from you on the battlefield, Mercedes!” Sylvain joked.
Sylvain’s words brought Dimitri out of his stupor and he finally released his hold on you as you reached a hand up to remove the now soggy and dented book from your mouth. You weren’t sure what to do with it since Ashe would clearly not want it back now.
You sat up as everyone else began standing up, your muscles screaming in protest. From the pain that riddled your shoulder from all that had been done to it to the soreness in your limbs from being held down by people who put all of their strength into keeping you still, you were in pain, but not deathly pain. You waved off the chorus of worried voices asking if you were okay; you were just sore, not dying!
Ignoring their protests, you slowly stood up, only for an arm to slide around your waist. Ready to scold Sylvain for choosing now of all times to flirt, you looked over to see a stubborn Dimitri gazing back at you, frowning with concern. It wasn’t like he had no caring before you were able to bring him out of his ten-year thirst for revenge, but he almost went overboard with how much he showed that everyone mattered to him now. And with that knowledge, you knew you weren’t about to win whatever argument he was about to start about your safety.
“Be careful, Professor!” he chided, refusing to let go of your waist even as were found you were able to stand properly. Not without soreness, but properly enough. “You can ride back to the monastery with me.”
You could walk just fine... probably. Your hesitation to accept must have shown on your face, because it started another bickering war.
“She’s fine without you being a mother hen,” Felix stated dryly.
“Felix!” Dimitri admonished, not removing his hold on you. “She was barely alive moments ago, and you want her to walk all the way back to the monastery?”
“In case you haven’t noticed, her shoulder is fine. Do you think she wants you to baby her when she spent months trying to get you to behave like a person and not an animal?” Felix retorted.
You would rather try to walk, to help preserve your pride, but you didn’t have the chance to speak up before the two started fighting. You weren’t sure how to break up this fight before it got worse, but luckily it was resolved for you.
“And you two think arguing about this is going to make her feel better?” Ingrid said angrily, making her way over to you. “She will ride back with me.”
Felix scoffed and turned away, while Dimitri went silent, allowing Ingrid to put your arm around her neck as she led you over to her waiting pegasus. You would have time to thank everyone for their help later. The whole experience and then the arguing had tired you out, and you just wanted to rest. So you got on the pegasus ahead of Ingrid and allowed her to take you back to the monastery, where you could get some sleep and recover.
You were pushing yourself too hard and you knew it. You were still unhappy with how you had fared in the battle with Imperial troops a week before.
And here you were, a few days later, training in the rain in the forest just outside the monastery. You had been swarmed by the students worrying about you, and your sword hand was itching to get back into practice. Nobody would agree to train with you due to your being in recovery, and Dimitri had insisted that you rest immediately, somehow even more protective of you than he had been when you were actually injured. You understood their worry, but it was getting tiring being told to rest, so you went to practice outside of the monastery to avoid everyone’s worry.
Just your luck that it was raining, but there were battles still to be fought, so you couldn’t slack on your training. You were going stir crazy, and so you found a dead tree and began practice. The dead tree was considerably more dead looking several hours later, now bearing many stabs and slashes across it. You finally took a break and sat against the tree, surrounded by bark that littered the ground around you, dislodged from your training.
You swiped a hand under your bangs with disgust. You hadn’t realized how sweaty you had gotten, but it felt nice to do some solo training the way you used to before you became a teacher. You were tired but felt assured that you were maintaining your sword skills even after sustaining such an injury. The rain was pouring even harder now, though you hadn’t noticed until you took a break. It must have been evening now, but with the harsh weather, it was hard for you to tell at all. The rain didn’t bother you, so you continued to lean against the tree, clothes totally soaked, but feeling at peace in that moment.
You knew you couldn’t stay out there forever, and so you finally sheathed your sword and stood up. Casting one last glance at the dead and beaten tree, you set back off towards the monastery. Nobody else was outside due to the awful rain, and even the merchants had temporarily closed shop. The gatekeeper, determined to do his job regardless of weather, was just under the archway and greeted you with surprise, noting your soaking wet form. You gave him a smile and reassured him that you were alright, and then continued on your way back to your room to rest for the night.
Your route back to your room took you through the entryway where you were greeted by various students and members of the church alike, who all noticed your current condition. You walked by them with a smile, brushing off their questions, until you passed by Dedue, who was just outside the dining hall. Or you tried to, as he casually stepped in your way, causing you to stop short to avoid bumping into him. You looked up at him, confused.
“Professor,” he greeted. “Are you alright?”
You nodded, not sure where this was going as you went to go into the dining hall, and he moved to block your way again. “His Highness has been looking for you.”
“...why?” you asked. You had seen Dimitri earlier, so what had happened in the past few hours that he needed you for?
“No one has been able to find you for the past eight hours,” Dedue answered. “His Highness is worried.”
Past eight hours? It had only been a few hours... at least, that was what you had thought. You had been told before that you got really focused when you trained, but you didn’t think you had taken four hours, let alone double that time!
You thanked Dedue for the information, and he only moved out of your way when you agreed that you would go meet Dimitri immediately outside your room, where Dedue told you the king had decided to wait for your return. Heaving a mental sigh, you crossed through the crowd of people getting a late dinner and made your way to your room. Just getting to the block of rooms, you noticed the broad figure with unruly blonde hair right where Dedue said he would be. Looking at his figure, you remembered your initial shock at his transformation, but it had been overpowered at the time with relief that he was still alive after five years of war. As if he could hear your footsteps over the sound of the rain, he turned his head to face you as you made your way over to him.
“Professor... where were you?” he asked, and you couldn’t think of what to reply, so he pressed onward. “You think me reckless, but you go out to train in the pouring rain when you are not yet fully recovered?”
You were surprised; how did he know? You must have looked startled because his serious expression melted away with a genuine laugh as he reached a hand out to brush along your hair, or so you thought. He brought his hand away from your hair to show you and you stared at the twig that he held in his hand, the bark of the twig rotten and dead, much like the tree it had come from.
“I can’t think of any other activities you would do in the rain with your sword at your side and end up with this twig in your hair,” he remarked. “You know, it usually is the professor that lectures their students about working too hard.”
“You haven’t been my student in a long time,” you mused.
“You may not be officially our professor, but we all rely on you for so much,” he replied thoughtfully. “You cannot expect us to not worry when our professor works herself to the point where she is liable to pass out from exhaustion in the woods without telling anyone where she has gone.”
You immediately felt sheepish. He really had you there. You wouldn’t be able to face them if you had been abducted or killed when you had told nobody where you were going or what you were doing.
“Please don’t look like that,” he implored you. “I am not mad. We just don’t want anything to happen to our favorite professor.”
It seemed like they would all keep calling you professor, even though you were all equals now. You had some really stubborn former students, you mused with a smile. Dimitri then reluctantly allowed you off the hook so you could get some rest. You both said your goodnights as you went into your room and Dimitri left for his. As you stripped yourself of your heavy, wet cloak and armor and climbed into your bed, you resolved to be a little less reckless with your training. You also wondered how long you could keep such a promise in times such as this.
It was hot. So hot. It was all that consumed your mind and body. Suddenly you realized that you had woken up. And you were only wearing a top and shorts, but you were burning up. With a groan, you assessed the situation. You felt sluggish, and so, so warm. Your throat felt sore and sitting up in your bed made you feel nauseous, so you quickly laid back down. You had to face facts; you were clearly sick.
You knew it had to be the rain. You were outside in the rain for eight hours and overexerted yourself. The combination was a bad idea, but unfortunately you did not see it like that at the time, so here you were. Sick and feeling miserable, unable to get out of bed for fear of throwing up. You didn’t even know what time it was, but you knew that being awake was doing you no favors. You didn’t feel like being awake in this state anyways, so you had only one choice. Gardening and tea parties would have to wait until you didn’t feel like you had just drank poison.
The feverish heat you felt kept you from sleeping however, which made you even more miserable. Feverish and now irritated that you couldn’t get to sleep, you decided to just remove your top and chest wrappings, your shorts taken off as well for good measure. You had never slept in just your underwear at the monastery before for fear of someone barging in your room without knocking, but at this point you didn’t care. Seteth’s lectures about propriety be damned. You just wanted to be less overwhelmingly warm, and so you laid back down in just your underwear, not bothering to put the blanket back on and curling up in the hopes that sleep would finally come.
“I’ve had that one before! Remember when we had that visiting professor at the sorcery school? I think she made these for us!” Annette exclaimed excitedly.
Mercedes nodded as she flipped the page of the new sweets book they had purchased at the market, and they both stared curiously at the next page.
“Ooh, I always wanted to make some of those!” Annette said, pointing at the colorful pastries that were illustrated on the page.
“Me too, Annie! We really should make some to share with everyone,” Mercedes replied.
Their excited chatter was interrupted as Dimitri strode by their table in the dining room for what Annette estimated was likely the fifteenth time that day. He had hardly eaten what would be considered a basic nutritional amount of dinner before he resumed his cycles around the monastery.
“Dimitri!” Annette called out to him as he was about to pass them to leave the dining hall, and he stopped in front of them. “ Mercie and I were thinking of making some sweets and having a little party with everyone!”
Dimitri seemed distracted as he responded. “Oh, Annette... that would be...”
“Are you alright, Dimitri?” Mercedes interjected. “You look like you have something on your mind.”
“Oh...” Dimitri replied stiffly, coming out of his thoughts for a moment. “Has the professor been by here?”
“No,” Mercedes shook her head. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Is she okay? Do you want us to help look for her?” Annette pressed, sweets book all but forgotten in worry.
“She should be fine...” Dimitri trailed off. “Sorry for bothering you both, your idea sounds wonderful.”
And before either woman could protest, Dimitri exited the dining hall in a hurry, not even glancing behind him, cape fluttering with his movement. Mercedes and Annette could only watch in a haze of confusion and concern, their questions unanswered.
If you were out training in secret again after overworking yourself in the rain the previous day... no, Dimitri dismissed the thought. He had already looked in the forest and located the tree that you had cut to ribbons the day before. You could have gone farther into the forest, but he thought that unlikely as well. You had seemed regretful when the two of you had spoken at your door the night before, and he thought it unlikely that you would immediately break a promise to him, especially after he had told you how much you and your health mattered to all of them.
It occurred to him just then that he had neglected to check your room. It should have been the first place he checked, but it had slipped his mind. He would have to go check now. You may have decided to relax in your room for the day, and then he would have been worrying for nothing. Although he knew that you had a healthy appetite, but nobody had seen you in the dining hall at all, which was very strange.
There was nobody at the dorms, or if they were, they must have been inside their rooms. Dimitri was able to arrive at your door with no hassle, but he couldn’t hear any sounds from inside. He knocked politely, but to no response at all.
“Professor?” he called out as he knocked again, louder this time.
There was still no reply, which vexed him. If you didn’t want to see anyone, you would have replied to inform him of that. Which left only one thought running wild in his mind; you must have gone out to train and been injured. Or been injured yesterday and were now in too bad or a state to even talk. Once the thought entered his mind, he was consumed with worry. Reaching out and finding the door locked, he did not spare any thought before he slammed his shoulder into the door, bursting open the lock. Without a moment to spare, he thrust open the door and rushed into your room.
“Professor-” Dimitri exclaimed, but his eye widened in shock as he took in the scene in front of him.
The room looked fairly normal , a similar state of cleanliness to what it had been the last time he had visited you here for tea. Your blanket was half draped on the end of the bed and half on the floor, but none of your sparse belongings were out of place.
Dimitri found you immediately, and his cheeks immediately felt hot. You did not appear to be injured, and he was easily able to discern this because of your lack of clothes. You were curled up on your bed... in only your smallclothes. Dimitri’s mind went blank as his focus was drawn to your bare breasts. He didn’t know what to do, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He knew what breasts looked like, but he couldn’t remember seeing any bare but yours at this exact moment. He was transfixed, even though every instinct of his was telling him he had to look away, to protect your modesty.
And then you moaned and brought him out of his stupor. Now that he thought about it, you did not look very well. Still unsure if he was making the right decision, he closed the door behind him before making his way over to you. He removed a glove and placed his hand on your forehead, having his suspicions confirmed. You were burning up, clearly sick from training in the rain for so long the day before. He presumed that you had not left your room the entire day, which did not seem good, considering you must have spent the entire day unconscious and fevered.
He wanted to cover you up, for the sake of his waning composure, but you didn’t have the time for that and he didn’t want to overheat you further. He would have to try to disregard his embarrassment for the moment, because you needed his help, and he didn’t know how to explain to one of the women around the monastery that he had busted down your door and found you nearly naked. And you would never forgive him if he had others see you compromised like this. It was already bad enough that he had seen you like this.
He quietly left your room, glancing around to confirm that nobody was around to see him coming and going from your room so late. It was a cold night, but it did nothing to calm him down at all. Your body was beautiful, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind as he fetched a small bucket of water and a cloth before returning to your room. He mentally braced himself before opening the door to find you in pretty much the same position you had been in, laying on your back.
Prioritizing his worry for you over his shyness, he closed the door gently behind him and walked over to your bedside. He carefully wet the cloth, wringing some of the excess water out before moving your bangs to the side and placing the cloth on your forehead. You exhaled loudly but evenly in your sleep, which he took to be a positive sign.
He ended up not getting a lot of sleep that night. He stayed in your room for quite a while into the early hours of the morning, dunking the cloth in the cold water again whenever it began to be overcome by your body temperature. He never felt his lack of sleep at all, practice, he assumed, from all of his sleepless nights spent longing for revenge. He had never slept as well as he had since he had allowed himself to be free of the burdens of his dead loved ones. Not free from his obligations to them, but now he would channel his resolve into freeing Fódlan from Edelgard’s tyranny as opposed to the mindless bloodshed that he had surrounded himself with for the majority of the past five years.
You were such a comfort to him, one he thought he had lost a long time ago. You had supported him and been by his side, and he was too consumed to appreciate it until after he lost Rodrigue. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Not with you and all of his former classmates and friends surrounding him. They did not want him to be consumed and lost to revenge, and now he understood that the dead did not want that either. But he was not free from the choices he knew he would have to make soon, it was something that weighed on his mind. He did not want to kill his stepsister, but as he went to wet the cloth again, he was glad you would be with him when he made that decision. He needed your support, and he resolved to support you as well as he could, especially given your recent hobby of being reckless with your own health and safety.
Feeling your forehead, he was relieved to discover that your fever had finally broken. You may not have been fully healthy again, but if you were at least a normal temperature now, then he knew that he had done his job. You were still nearly naked though, and he would likely be an unwelcome sight when you woke up, and so he took the cloth and bucket and stood up. Better that you did not know he had been here; it would spare at least you of the embarrassment. But as he quickly fixed the lock back into place before opening the door and closing it behind him, he knew it would be a difficult feat to erase the sight of your uncovered body from his mind any time soon. You were so pretty, and it was all he could think about the entire way back to his room.
You woke up slowly, eyes still closed but aware that you were now awake. Your middle of the night wakeup felt almost like a dream compared to how you felt now. You felt somewhat bad still, your throat not fully better and limbs still feeling a bit heavy, but the incredible fever you had felt earlier had all but faded. You must have really been doing poorly, because a glance outside the window told you that it was morning.
You supposed that you might as well get up; there was no way to assuage worry except going to interact with everyone. You would feel better eventually. You knew that the students would worry about you. Getting up and checking with your calendar, you discovered that you had spent an entire day and night in bed.
You slowly put your clothing back on, happy to discover that it had dried all the way, pretty much a given as it had lain in a heap for over a full day on your floor. You probably looked awful after your high fever, so you headed out of your room and towards the bathhouse to freshen yourself up. Just as you went to enter, Ingrid was leaving, her hair obviously wet, and you exchanged smiles as you passed by each other.
The bathhouse was almost completely empty, save a few women, but none of your students. It made sense that there weren’t a lot of people up this early in the morning. There had just been a big battle, and there were still more to come. Everyone worked so hard, so you felt that they more than deserved to sleep in if they wanted to. But you were more than happy to finally be free from your bed, and so you stripped down and got into the water in just your towel.
You took your time to wash your hair and body, happy to not feel gross for the first time in a while. Only after scrubbing yourself to your utmost satisfaction did you relent and get redressed, leaving the bathhouse behind and feeling fully refreshed. Stifling a yawn, you decided to head over to the dining hall as your stomach yearned for food after so long without.
“Good morning, Professor,” Mercedes greeted you as you both entered the dining hall together. “Did you also hear that they would be including sugar scones in today’s breakfast menu?”
You hadn’t heard anything about menus at all, but any food sounded good to you at this point. You couldn’t remember if you had eaten sugar scones before, but they sounded like something you would like. You and Mercedes walked up to the front of the hall together, both accepting a plate of assorted muffins and colorful scones that were sparkling with sugar.
“Oh, I just love these!” Mercedes spoke cheerily as the two of you found a free section of table and sat down across from each other. “Have you had sugar scones before, Professor?”
You shook your head no and she giggled. “Well, I would recommend spreading some Albenian berry jam on them,” she informed you happily, gesturing to the small dish of red jelly that was situated in the middle of your plate. “These are one of Annie’s favorites, so I thought she would be here by now…”
As if on cue, Annette burst through the doorway to the dining hall, almost tripping as she skidded to a stop just in time to turn and rush towards the dining hall staff for her tray of breakfast sweets. She waved happily at you and Mercedes as she passed you to get to the front. The two of you watched, amused, as Annette was scolded by the head chef for running in the dining hall. She sheepishly apologized and received her tray of sweets, which brought a smile back onto her face as she turned and made her way over to you, taking a seat next to Mercedes.
“Sorry I’m late! I thought scone day was tomorrow!” Annette explained as she took in the sight of her breakfast tray.
“You’re so forgetful, Annie,” Mercedes teased with a smile.
“Well at least I got here in time!” Annette huffed, wasting no time in smearing jam all over one of her scones and taking a big bite out of it.
“That is true,” Mercedes agreed, before turning her head to look at you. “Do you like them, Professor?”
You had tried a bite while they were talking, spreading the jam like Mercedes had suggested, and found that you did like them. You must have missed it when these had been served in the dining hall before. You had eaten an entire scone by the time Mercedes had asked the question, and you were interrupted before you could answer her.
“Mind if I join you ladies?” Sylvain asked from behind you.
“Of course, Sylvain,” Mercedes replied, and he slid in right next to you with his own plate of food that he placed down in front of himself.
“I feel like I missed seeing your pretty face around here the past few days,” Sylvain said, popping an entire scone in his mouth as he looked over at you.
“You never change, do you?” Ingrid said wearingly as she sat down on your other side. “You think that she hasn’t had enough of your behavior already?”
“Ingrid…” Sylvain groaned. “She got a hole cut out of her not that long ago, I just want to make sure she’s okay.”
“And you thought your flirting would heal her wounds?” Felix raised an eyebrow as he sat down next to Mercedes. “You delusions never end.”
“Hey, why is everyone turning on me?” Sylvain complained, and you laughed. “Not you too, Professor! You wound me!”
Now Annette and Mercedes laughed, while Felix rolled his eyes and Ingrid smiled and shook her head. You all ate your breakfast while chatting, slowly adding Ashe and Dedue to your midst. Even when Dedue didn’t appear to be coming to sit with your group, Annette called his name and beckoned him over to join your table, while Ashe was convinced as soon as he saw your group all together. It was very lively, and almost made you forget that there was a war looming over you all. But just because you would soon have to kill or be killed yet again did not mean that you couldn’t enjoy the company of your lively house members.
“Hey, shouldn’t Dimitri be up by now?” Annette wondered out loud.
“That’s true,” Ingrid agreed. “He’s never been one to sleep in.”
“I can go and check his room,” Dedue volunteered. “If he is not there, then he may-”
“No need!” Annette replied. “I see him now! Dimitri, over here!”
The tall blonde king had just walked into the dining hall, and looked your way at Annette’s call, noticing your entire group all sitting together and walking over to approach you all. Before anyone could stop him or insist that he didn’t have to, Dedue was up from his seat to grab Dimitri a plate of breakfast from the cooks at the front. Some other people stopped Dimitri to talk quickly or greet him, and so he arrived at your table just as Dedue had brought back a plate for him, which he accepted gratefully, knowing better than to try to dissuade his friend from performing errands without being asked by this point. He sat down next to Dedue, and Annette got up to bring over some tea to share with everyone. It was the most cheerful that you all had been during this time of war, and you could not recall a time when you had been happier.
You talked with Ingrid about how her pegasus was doing, and she happily invited you to come flying with her if you would like, to which Mercedes and Annette chimed in that they would love to fly with her as well. Meanwhile, Sylvain on your other side informed you that his horse was available for riding lessons as well, to which Ashe mentioned that he wanted to improve his riding skills, and Sylvain looked marginally defeated. You were having so much fun talking with everyone that you didn’t notice anything amiss with Dimitri at all.
“Are you ill, Your Highness?” Dedue said, with no intentions of being discreet with his volume management. “You have not touched your food.”
Everyone paused their conversations to stare at the king, who had been staring at his plate until Dedue had spoken up to him. He looked up at the sudden silence, surprised to see everyone’s eyes on him. He gave Dedue a small smile, assuring him that he was alright, which Dedue reluctantly accepted, but it was not good enough for Ingrid.
“You don’t look very well, Dimitri,” she insisted, leaning forward a bit to get a better look at him. “Have you been sleeping alright?”
He looked over, meeting your eyes for a very brief moment before immediately looking at Ingrid, ignoring your confused stare. “I am fine,” he said reassuringly, shaking his head with a laugh when Ingrid gave him a hard look. “Really, Ingrid. I am alright.”
“If you don’t sleep, you’re just making it easier for the enemy to cut you down,” Felix said sharply.
“I bought some tea at the market that is supposed to help with sleeping problems if you would like to try some,” Mercedes offered.
“I promise you all that I am alright,” Dimitri insisted with a smile.
Sensing that a change of mood was in order, you offered the last remaining thing on your plate, a Dagda fruit muffin, to Sylvain. You found that you did not like Dadga fruit tea, and so you figured that it would be better to give it to someone who would appreciate it more. And it didn’t hurt as a conversation swap either.
“You don’t want it, Professor?” he asked, blinking at you, surprised.
You shook your head, holding the plate a little closer to him, and he shrugged, grinning at you. “Who am I to refuse you? Thanks for the muffin.”
Sylvain ate the muffin in a few bites as Dimitri finally began to pick at his own tray. You tried again to catch his eye, but he was determined to stare down at his plate. Conversation began to pick up again as Annette started to tell a story from back when they were all students. The conversation took a nostalgic turn as everyone then began sharing stories from their school lives five years prior.
“Not to be rude, but I thought you hated us at first!” Annette told you, blushing slightly with embarrassment.
“I must confess that I felt the same at the start,” Ashe agreed, quickly adding, “but we couldn’t be where we are now without you.”
“I do remember calling you beautiful and you just stared at me... I thought you didn’t hear me for a second,” Sylvain recalled.
“How is that any different from now?” Felix sneered.
“That is true,” Mercedes agreed. “Just the other day I saw a village girl just turn around and leave without saying anything.”
“Mercedes!” Sylvain’s jaw went slack. “You saw that?”
“I see your success rate hasn’t changed,” Felix scoffed.
Sylvain really had no comeback for that, and you were far from the only one at the table to laugh at his plight. Giggling, you locked eyes with Annette, who you noticed had also finished her plate. Nodding at each other, you both got up from the table to take your empty plates back.
“I feel like I’ve got my muffin fix for a while!” she joked as you handed your empty plates to the dining hall staff.
“What are your plans for the day?” you asked her, and she smiled.
“Don’t tell Mercie, but she was talking about how she missed these sweet ginger cakes we had when we were younger, and I was going to make some to surprise her with!” she whispered excitedly.
You were glad that Annette was such an endless supply of joy and kindness. You knew how much everyone appreciated any distractions from the mounting scale of war you were faced with, and so you also would have to do your best to keep a happy demeanor about yourself. Annette’s eyes drifted from yours as you both got back to the table as she stared ahead.
“Hey, where did Dimitri go?” she asked.
You looked over to where Annette had her eyes set and noticed that your table was missing its blonde king. You both must have looked incredibly confused, because Dedue decided to put you out of your misery.
“His Highness… had something to attend to.” Even Dedue sounded puzzled.
“Yeah, he just said that he had forgotten to do something and left…” Ingrid added, her eyebrows drawn together.
“Maybe he just had a bad reaction to the muffins?” Sylvain suggested, but one look at Dimitri’s plate told you that he hadn’t eaten a single thing from his plate.
He was acting weird, but he didn’t seem to be sliding back into his darkness again. Even so, you would have to check on him later, just to make sure. You had abandoned him for five years, even if it wasn’t by choice, and you would never leave his side again until the day came when he no longer needed you. You wouldn’t lose him again, not when everyone, when Faerghus, needed him.
Dimitri walked briskly to the cathedral, taking up his usual spot in front of the rubble that had once been a proud altar. He knew that he was clearly acting off, and his friends would eventually come and make sure he was okay. And he knew that he was not doing well, but it was not the type of problem that he imagined that they thought that he was dealing with. He had never dealt with anything like this before, and he didn’t know what to do. And so, he stared at the rubble, but too lost in thoughts to take in the scenery.
He couldn’t sleep at all the night before, and he didn’t know how he would get any sleep tonight. Seeing your mostly nude body had awoken within him feelings that he had kept himself from feeling for so long. He had been so focused on revenge for the entirety of his developing years that he had never allowed himself to think of romance as more than a faraway concept. He had sheltered himself for so long, and now the reality of his situation was hitting him with the full force that it would have had he allowed himself when he was a teenager. Instead, he was an adult man who was only now realizing the depths that his feelings could reach. He loved you, and it scared him.
He knew that he couldn’t avoid you forever. You had a war to win, and he couldn’t avoid his closest ally, even if he happened to just discover his feelings for you. He wanted desperately to be near you, but even with your widening range of emotions, he had seen no indication that you had any romantic feelings towards him. And besides, you would never talk to him again if you found out that he had stayed in your room while you were not fully dressed, even if it was to help you recover from your fever. He would live with his shame and hide his feelings, and would channel his energy into the war. Although that still didn’t resolve how he was going to sleep tonight, since he knew that every time he closed his eyes that night he would see your perfect breasts or your kind smile.
He had spent the last few hours of the night after he had returned to his room staring out of his window into the night sky. He had wrestled with his longing to go back there and tell you how he felt, kiss you… but you were sick. You needed rest. And you certainly did not need to have to deal with this new revelation of his. He relied on you for so much that he would crumble without your support, and so he just had to accept that your support would never be that of a wife’s to him.
He felt like a preteen boy. He couldn’t even stand to meet eyes with you in the dining hall earlier. He was so focused on staring at his plate that he could barely hear what anyone else had said. He had met your eyes for only half a second and even that was too much for him in his current state. You had looked worried for him, worries that he didn’t feel that he could assuage. He would have to keep his distance from you until he could resolve this within himself.
He must have been lost in thought for a while because eventually, he realized that Dedue was by his side. He gave Dedue a nod and then turned back to face the rubble, but a call of his title had him looking back to his stoic friend.
“Is everything alright, Your Highness?” Dedue asked simply.
“I…” Dimitri was not sure what to say.
“When I pledged myself to you, I intended to ensure that no harm came to you,” Dedue explained. “If anyone has been upsetting you, or you are suffering a cursed ailment, you need only to tell me and I will scourge whoever dared to curse you.”
Dimitri could never have a normal conversation with him during this war, could he? There were so many threats to his life, he was willing to admit, but Dedue never ceased to worry, even when everything was stable for the moment. He knew that Dedue cared about him, but he always thought the worst of things when it concerned his king.
“I have no injuries or curses, my friend,” he told Dedue who looked entirely unconvinced.
“If it is something that you feel that you cannot tell the others…” Dedue’s offer was implied. He was concerned, that much Dimitri could tell easily.
“For now, it is something that I must handle on my own,” Dimitri said, not meeting his friend’s eyes.
It took some convincing, but Dedue finally relented in his insistence that he walk the king back to his room, despite the fact that they were on entirely different floors. He also rebuffed Dedue’s offer to stand guard outside his room the entire night to defend him from attackers. Dedue had finally, reluctantly relented and allowed Dimitri to finally return to his room alone. He was careful to check that he hadn’t been followed; Dedue had done it before, after all. But he saw no signs of anyone following him and arrived on the second floor of the dormitories, not meeting anyone on the way down the hall and to his room.
It was early in the night, he discovered as he returned to his room. It was earlier than he usually went to sleep, but being awake for closing in on thirty or so hours was wearing on him. With getting some rest potentially in sight, he sat on his bed and began the painstaking process of removing his armor. He let out a tired sigh as his leg armor came off, and he carefully placed it aside before repeating the process on his upper armor, removing his cape and furs as well when he had taken his armor off. He was left in just his long black undershirt and black pants, which was all he wore when he slept these days. Although he did recall that he had previously pushed himself to the point of collapse when in his full armor before, and waking up from that had never felt pleasant on his body. But given his state of mind at the time, he simply got up and continued to do the work he felt needed to be done; being sore never kept him from the slaughter. But as he was now, he appreciated that he could take his armor off at the end of the day and rest. He never knew how nice it would feel to let down his last layer of defense and truly be himself around his friends with nothing to hide. Well, he thought, nothing to hide but his attraction to you that refused to wane.
He would try to sleep; at least now he was in his room, where he was not likely to run into you. His onset affection for you was so strong that he didn’t think it would go away, and he did not know if that was a good thing or not. He took off his shoes, setting them down before laying down on his bed and closing his eyes in the hope that sleep would find him.
You had spent your day talking to the other occupants of the monastery, doing your best to confirm that everyone was doing alright. You knew that this war weighed on everyone’s souls, and if you could do anything to help, you would. And so, you did some light training with Felix, went to the marketplace with Ashe, and ended up helping Annette do some baking for Mercedes, which did not result in any kitchen disasters for once, which was a relief. You had seen Dimitri in the cathedral earlier, in that same place he had always gone before he had broken free of his darkness. You decided to give him some space, but when you passed by the cathedral again later in the evening, he was no longer in his usual spot in front of the rubble.
Whatever was wrong with him, you wanted to give him time. You really did. But if he was sinking back into his inner darkness, then you couldn’t stand by and let it happen again. You walked around the monastery grounds but were unable to find him. As a last ditch effort, you decided to head to the second floor of the dormitories to check and see if he was in his room. You passed various people as they headed to their own rooms to retire for the night, smiling as Flayn excitedly wished you a good night as you passed by her. Finally, you arrived at what you recalled to be Dimitri’s bedroom door.
You raised a hand and lightly knocked on the door. No answer. Maybe he had gone for a late night walk and you had just missed him on your walk around the monastery. You knocked one more time, slightly louder, but still got no response. You couldn’t hear any sounds from at all from the other side of the door. Having no choice, you reluctantly decided to leave and head back to your own room. You could talk with Dimitri the next time you saw him, you reassured yourself. And so, you began to retreat the way that you had come, off to get some sleep and hopefully wake up fully free from your sickness.
“Professor…”
It was so quiet that you almost didn’t detect it, but you supposed your sensitivity on the battlefield allowed you to pick up the muted whisper of your old title. You turned your head back, not sure what to expect, but found Dimitri in only pants and a long-sleeved shirt, both in black, staring at you from just outside his room. He met your gaze with a look of surprise on his face, almost as if he had not expected you to hear him or turn back to look. You made your way back over to him, and he opened his door wider and gestured for you to accompany him inside.
He walked all the way to his window before turning only his head back to face you. His expression was unreadable, but yours certainly wasn’t, and he immediately saw the worry on your face.
“Are you okay?” you asked quietly. You knew that you couldn’t make him talk if he didn’t want to but you needed him to know that you were here for him.
“You never let up, do you?” he asked, and you vaguely recalled him saying something like that to you in the past. Before you could reply, he continued. “I could not be who I am today without your help.”
Why was he saying that now, and then why did he look so troubled? You didn’t understand where he was going with this, and were about to tell him so.
“I could not stand to lose you,” he spoke slowly, finally turning around fully and stepping slightly closer to you. “But I fear that I may if I tell you what is on my mind.”
“That is not possible,” you countered, staring him down sternly.
Dimitri only grew a small sad smile at your words. He looked to be waging a mental war on himself, but you bridged the gap that was still between you and forced him to look at you in the eyes. You looked at him with all the seriousness you could manage in an attempt to convey to him that you would listen to anything that he had to say. He broke eye contact with you almost immediately, staring at the floor as he spoke quietly.
“You had a fever,” he explained. “Nobody had seen you the day after you were out in the rain. I went to check on you, and you were not answering your door and I…”
Your eyes went wide in surprise. That night, you were…
“I am so sorry, Professor!” he spoke, sounding upset as he hung his head in shame. “I saw you in a state that only your husband should see you in and I-”
His rambling cut off and you looked at him, trying desperately to have him meet your eyes, but he continued to look at the floor, so you took a second to reevaluate these new revelations. Dimitri had not fully explained, but from what you had pieced together, he had been worried about you and came into your room, which must have been after you had stripped down to only your underwear, based on Dimitri’s odd husband comment. You felt a rush of embarrassment that he had seen you like that, but you found that you were more bothered that he had seen you looking so weak rather than the fact that he had seen you nearly naked. But you also found that you didn’t really mind that it was him that had seen you that way.
“I… I did not leave you be. I could not. I stayed with you and kept a cold cloth on your forehead until your fever broke. I should have left, but I could not just leave you like that,” Dimitri spoke up again.
He was so earnest that it was cute. Apologizing for seeing you nearly nude was one thing, but you stifled a laugh as he was for some reason apologizing for staying with you and taking care of you while you were sick. He was fiercely intelligent, brave in the face of the hardships of war, but looking at him now, he looked like an awkward teenager trapped in the body of a grown man. You could no longer help yourself, and you let out a quiet giggle.
“Professor?” Dimitri uttered as he looked at you in shock and you laughed at his expression.
“You’re so cute,” you told him, and watched as your words sent a pink flush to his cheeks as he stared at you in disbelief.
You knew that you should do something to put him out of his misery, but you weren’t sure what. You reached a hand up to cup one of his cheeks, and he looked at you unsteadily, closing his eye as he leaned into your touch. You weren’t sure why you had decided to reach out for him physically, but staring at his handsome face, so close to your own, you felt the most comfortable and safe you had ever felt. You closed your eyes too to bask in the moment, but then he said your name, not your title, but your actual name. You opened your eyes again and the two of you stared at each other and he raised his own hand to cover yours that was still on his cheek. He had an urgency in his eyes that you could not place.
“I need to kiss you,” he said, not breaking eye contact, unwavering under your surprised look.
You really shouldn’t have been as surprised as you were, given how physically close the two of you were now, and how emotionally close you had been to each other for so long, but you hadn’t had the time to think that this was even a possibility. Overpowering all of your mind was the sense that this was all that you wanted in this moment. He was different than he had been when you had reunited with him, but he had broken free of his darkness, and had become the kind, strong leader that his people needed. That you all needed. He was your dearest friend, but right now you wanted him to kiss you more than anything, and so you nodded.
He didn’t waste any more than a few seconds before bending down and connecting your lips as your eyes slid closed as the same time. You adjusted your chin so you would be better locked together as your other hand weakly grasped at the material of his shirt, just above his chest. The kiss felt so effortless, as you both adjusted to the other’s rhythm and Dimitri’s other hand came up to rest on the back of your head, keeping you close together.
The kiss stayed simple, but it was making you feel lightheaded with the intensity that you were both putting into it. You pulled away, not confident in your ability to breathe at the moment and he followed, gently steering you back until the back of your knees hit his bed and you allowed him to push you back down onto it.
You found yourself laying on your back as Dimitri hovered over you, his legs on either side of you. He was upright with his knees pressed against your upper thighs, looking at you with want but unsure of how to proceed. While he sat there in a daze, you shrugged your coat off and gently removed your gauntlets, letting it all fall down in a heap by the bedside, and as you did, you noticed a pile of Dimitri’s own clothing and armor only a few feet away.
When you looked back up, you noticed that Dimitri had been following you with his gaze, but he still looked unsure. You had no idea what was going on in his head or what had happened to his confidence, but you decided that you would have to make it abundantly clear that you would like this to continue. And so, you lifted your torso up from the bed and wriggled out of your shirt, throwing everything that covered your upper body onto the floor and watching Dimitri’s eye widen and cheeks turned red as he once again took in the sight of your bare breasts. You were just happy that you were conscious this time so you could enjoy his very honest reaction.
He was still staring, this time he had switched back to look you in the eyes and you couldn’t help but tease him. “Dimitri, your shirt…”
He finally relaxed a bit and smiled so sweetly down at you. “I suppose I should make it even.”
You had never seen him shirtless before, but the scars on his body told you what he could never bring himself to about what had happened to him over the past ten years. He gave you no explanation, and did not give you the time to fully examine all of his scars as he lowered his head down and kissed you again, feeding in your boldness as he supported himself with one hand, bringing his other hand up to feel one breast. The shock of his sudden movements had you moaning in surprise, and the kiss transitioned further as you both allowed your tongues to meet as well.
You cradled his head in your hands, bringing one hand through his hair, so much longer than it had been five years earlier. Finding yourself wanting to be even closer to him, you brought one leg out from under him and wrapped it around his hip. The position allowed you to grind up against him, and he met your hips excitedly as you kissed and you felt a shiver go down your spine as you realized how much he wanted this, your hips so close together that you could not miss how hard he had become in such little time. The friction was exactly where you wanted it, but it began to not feel like anywhere close to enough.
He pulled back from you by a few centimeters, nose still touching yours, and his hand that was not supporting his weight drifted from your breast to brush a hand through your hair. “I love you,” he said sincerely, chuckling as you looked up at him in shock. “You did not think I loved you?”
He seemed amused by your lack of response, and in truth you did not know, you had been so happy to be like this with him that you hadn’t even considered the feelings that were obviously involved. But you could not deny how happy those words made you, and he leaned down to kiss you again as a smile lit up your face. He gave you a few short kisses before he disengaged himself from you, sitting at the side of the bed, and you hastened to join him. He looked over as you hesitantly placed your head on his shoulder, and he readily accepted the contact.
“I did not think that I would ever feel like this… that I deserved to feel this way with you. I escaped the darkness that I had been trapped in, but I know there are those who will never forgive me for the sins I have committed. But you stuck by my side when I treated you so poorly. I don’t deserve you… any of you,” he said, staring at the wall but wrapping an arm around your naked back.
“You are indispensable to me,” he said as he leaned over to kiss your hair. “I knew that I would not be here without you, but I did not realize my feelings until that night.”
You knew which night he meant, but you had taken even longer than him to discover your own feelings, but you knew now. You loved him, and there was no going back now, even if you wanted to. Which, sitting side by side in this moment, you knew that you only wanted to experience even more with this man who was so dear to you.
“I wanted to wait until after the war, until we had peace. But after that night, I could not look back at you without seeing your bare form. It is shameful, but I cannot hold back any longer, especially now that I know it is mutual,” he explained, adjusting the both of you so that you were facing each other. “I want to be with you.”
He was looking at you expectantly, but kindly. You realized that he needed you to also affirm that this was real, that you loved him as well. He believed in you, but you knew that you should put the poor boy out of his misery. You leaned in to kiss him and he reciprocated happily, pulling back after a few seconds, eyes fluttering open to look at Dimitri, who looked so content in that moment.
“I love you,” you told him, truly meaning it. “I want to be with you.”
Dimitri looked so happy, but with a glance downwards, you saw that he was no less hard. It looked rather painful, and couldn’t be comfortable for him. You were not as subtle as you thought you had been, and he caught your glance downwards on his form.
“I… it is okay, I would never pressure you. You do not have to worry about me,” he said quickly, face flushing pink.
He was about to get up and put some distance between you, but you would not let that happen. You stood up with him and spoke his name softly as you slipped your hands into the sides of your shorts, pulling them down along with your tights and slipping out of them and your boots. It was not a particularly graceful or sexy stripping of your last articles of clothing, but it got the job done. You crossed the room to where he was standing and he allowed you to begin the process of removing the clothes covering his lower half.
“If this is what you really want,” his growled words sent your cheeks aflame. “I will not hold back, my love.”
He helped you by kicking his pants and underwear off, and as soon as you were both fully naked, he picked you up, his hands grasping your thighs to support you. You hastily wrapped your legs and arms around him so you wouldn’t fall, and he grinned at you as he placed you down on the bed, following you down so he could kiss you again. Dimitri kissed you for only a moment longer as you desperately tried to keep up with his pace. You were so ready for what was to come, and you pulled back from the kiss and gazed up at him with longing.
Dimitri swallowed as he looked down at you, and you spread your legs as he reached down to his achingly hard cock. You were embarrassed to discover that you were easily wet enough from just kisses and simple groping that Dimitri was able to rub himself against you before he began to slide himself inside with ease. You let out a breathy moan as you tried not to squirm at the foreign feeling. Dimitri’s eyes closed as he dropped down to rest his head on your shoulder, his deep groan right by your ear as he pushed further inside you. Finally, your hips fully met as he was seated fully within you, and you knew that you had never felt anything like this before. You knew what sex was, your father had been too awkward to give you the talk himself and had a female village chief explain to it to you after you had saved their village, so you knew the basics. But no explanation could match up with how good it felt to be so intimate with the man you loved.
You felt his breath tickle your ear as he pulled himself back up, his eyes half lidded. “You feel so good… forgive me, but it is hard for me to focus on anything else.”
You felt the same way, but you didn’t have the patience for him to wait and adjust to this feeling, so you decided to force the issue by squeezing your inner muscles and watching as he shuddered, eye fluttering closed for a moment with a groan. He opened his eye to glare halfheartedly at you, obviously too pleased at the moment for you to believe that he was actually angry with you.
“You are so impatient,” he teased, but complied with your wishes as he pulled ever so slightly out of you before canting his hips back into yours.
He didn’t waste a second in continuing the movement, and his gentle rocking was driving you crazy. You were completely naked, and it had been a cold month, but you were so, so warm. There was a pleasant burn that was slowly ebbing away to just feel good in a way that you had never felt before. Evidently this was new to Dimitri as well, because he was in no better of a state than you were, panting against your skin as he leaned down to kiss at your neck. You were content to lay like that, your arms around his neck and feeling his hair tickle your face, but a well-timed thrust had you unexpectedly crying out with the sudden spike of pleasure.
Dimitri couldn’t suppress his own groan as he was able to reach deeper within you. And when you rolled your hips up to meet him, he almost stopped his momentum to bask in how good it felt. He once again palmed your breasts and stifled your moan as he kissed you again. He closed his eye as he kissed you because he feared that if he was to keep it open and take in the way you looked right now, this would end far sooner than he wanted. You were so beautiful like this, and his heart stuttered with every sound that left your mouth.
He wanted this to last, but he could no longer be satisfied with the current pace. He began to pull out more swiftly and push back in with a new speed and intensity. He felt pride surge up in him as you squirmed and broke the kiss to let out another cute cry. Your next cry was of his name, which set his pace on fire as you both rapidly tried to meet your ends as you both connected in a desperate clashing of tongues, both groping at any inch of the other’s skin that you could reach.
“I fear this will not last much longer, beloved,” Dimitri panted. “But we have so much more time ahead of us.”
You weren’t fully sure what he meant by that, but at this point you were so close to reaching your peak that you could do no more than moan and grasp weakly onto his neck and back, tangling one hand in his hair. You closed your eyes tightly as Dimitri held you as close to him as he could, his chest brushing against yours in tandem with his thrusting. It only took a bit more of his harsh, fast pace before you lost yourself in pleasure. Dimitri continued to move, prolonging your orgasm as you moaned and squeezed around him. He could only hold out for so long and he was finally pushed over the edge with a strained groan of your name. The two of you stayed joined for a moment before Dimitri gently moved off of you, giving you a shy smile. You went to get up with him, but he stopped you with a hand on your arm and you obeyed, laying back down, but looked at him quizzically.
“You may not want to get up. We have made quite a mess,” Dimitri said reluctantly.
He wasn’t making eye contact anymore, and you followed his gaze downwards on your body. Oh. Without the feeling to distract you, you realized just how gross you were feeling… down there. You closed your legs tightly in embarrassment, and in the hopes that you wouldn’t ruin Dimitri’s sheets. Feeling an onset of bashfulness, you also brought an arm up to cover as much of your chest as you could; despite what you had just done with him, the reality of the situation was catching up to you.
Dimitri laughed at your sudden shyness. “I will go fetch something to clean you up with,” he explained, beginning to dress himself to his first layer of clothing, foregoing his armor.
He bent down to kiss one of your flushed cheeks, and then he was gone out the door. Once the door had been closed and you were alone, you felt all of your remaining composure slip away. You and Dimitri had… you had no idea how he was so much more composed than you were, easily leaving the room to bring back something to clean you up. You felt too embarrassed to leave this room for a month, let alone right after you had been so intimate for the first time. You did not even know what to say to Dimitri when he got back, but you would dare to hope he had meant what he said, implying that he wanted to do this again. That he loved you. But for now, all you could do was wait for him to return.
Dimitri kept a relatively quick pace to fetch a cloth, although for a much different reason than the previous time. He still had a hard time believing that had just happened, that you and he were… he loved you, and he would not deny it even if being open about it was so new for him. Smiling to himself, he wistfully hoped that you would agree to spend the night in his room. He would not force you, but he could not deny that the idea of waking up and seeing your beautiful face first thing in the morning set his heart aflutter.
Dimitri had gotten to the middle of the hallway before he noticed someone waving at him just past his room, standing at the end of the hallway. Sylvain grinned at him as Dimitri walked past his own room to meet his friend just outside the redhead’s room.
“Late night walk, Your Highness?” Sylvain quipped, eyes briefly darting down to the towel in Dimitri’s grasp.
Dimitri was silent for a moment too long, wondering what to respond, and Sylvain laughed awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Just one thing though, you might want to noise-proof your room.”
“Sylvain!” Dimitri admonished, shocked.
“Hey!” Sylvain waved his hands in a defensive manner. “It wasn’t me! But, uh, Felix was just here complaining that you and the Professor were interrupting his sleep…”
Dimitri was not sure what to say to that, and immediately felt bad because he was sure that you would be embarrassed if you knew that you two had been heard. Dimitri turned a hard gaze to Sylvain; his childhood friend had not been known to be the most trustworthy with gossip, but Sylvain immediately knew what Dimitri was thinking, and what he was likely about to say.
“I wasn’t going to tell anyone, relax!” Sylvain stated quickly. “Just be careful, ladies don’t really like having an audience.”
Dimitri scoffed, but smiled at his friend. “I will keep that in mind, Sylvain.”
Relieved that Dimitri was not mad at him, he clasped one of his friend’s shoulders. “I won’t keep you from her, but I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you. You deserve to be happy, Dimitri. Just don’t let her get away!” he joked.
Both men having said their piece, turned to go to their respective rooms. Dimitri could only hope that you hadn’t heard any of their conversation. The last thing he wanted to do was scare you away or make you uncomfortable. But as he opened the door, he found you still on his bed, shutting the door behind him without looking back because he could not stand to look away from the smile you gave him upon seeing him return.
It hadn’t been long, but you felt happiness surge up in you at the sight of him. He briskly made his way over to you and handed you the towel he had brought, to your great relief. It would be too embarrassing to have him clean you, and so you accepted the towel gratefully, cleaning yourself as he turned his back to give you some privacy. You made quick work of cleaning yourself, feeling less of a mess immediately, other than your hair still being slightly matted to your forehead with sweat. You wanted to savor this moment, but you also wanted to know if he had really meant what he had said earlier.
Dimitri, not noticing the shift in your mood, leaned down onto the bed just as you sat up so he could give you a light kiss. He looked so happy when he pulled away from you, his smile unwavering. It was only then that he noticed how strained your small smile was. “My love…?”
“…you said we would have more time,” you said quietly, and his brows drew together in confusion, before nodding affirmatively.
“You have not figured it out yet?” Dimitri teased, reaching down to hold your hand. “I would hope that this was not the only time we would be together like this.”
You were still confused, and he noticed immediately. “I do not mean only in a carnal sense. This is a rather unusual setting, but I have no regrets. I want to marry you.”
Oh... You stared at him in shock. You weren’t sure what you were expecting him to say, only just nervous that he would tell you to leave, that this was a one-time thing. But he had gone in the farthest direction possible from what you had feared. You found that you really wanted this, you wanted to marry him, wanted to stay by his side forever. None of your thoughts made it to your face, your expression blank as you stared at him. Dimitri didn’t seem to understand what you were thinking, and got a little anxious himself.
“If you do not want to, of course…” he muttered. “I do not have a ring, yet I decided to ask this of you. I understand if you do not want this with me.”
He had seemingly already decided his fate, and you smiled softly at him. “I accept.”
“You… you do?” he sounded surprised, and you weren’t quite sure why. He was a wonderful man, and you loved him so much. He was a fool to think anything otherwise. Especially after what you had just done together, and all you both had been through.
He had finally seemed to get the message, and practically lunged towards you, connecting your lips together in a rough kiss. This war would end, you knew, and then the two of you could build a peaceful world together. You looked forward to that, but you knew that you would have Dimitri at your side for anything that came your way, and that gave you all the confidence you could ever need.
#reader insert#xreader#fire emblem#fire emblem 3h#fire emblem three houses#dimileth#dimitri x reader#fe3h x reader#fire emblem three houses x reader#dimitri alexandre blaiddyd#smut at the end#smut
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Moral of the Story
Peter Parker x Stark!Reader
Requested by @itspetitfantomestuff: There's this amazing song called "Moral of the Story" by Ashe ft. Niall Horan, and in one of Niall's lines he says "Talking with your father he said that you could be mine" which gave me huge PeterXStark!Reader vibes, i was wondering if i can request an angsty story with Peter Parker and Stark!Reader based in that song pretty please?🥺❤️
Warnings: Angst, swearing, unhealthy relationship, the song made me cry 😢
So I never really knew you
God, I really tried to
Blindsided, addicted
Thought we could really do this
But really, I was foolish
Hindsight, it's obvious
Peter Parker was a shoulder to cry on after your father sacrificed himself to save half the population. Neither of you had been particularly close to one another. You both went to different schools, had other friends, but you did have one thing in common. You were both mourning your dad.
"How are you feeling?" Peter asked as he sat down next to you on the dock at your father's eco-compound. The funeral had just officially ended, and the majority of guests were staying for the "reception."
"Numb," you mutter to him, not wanting to raise your voice in fear that he'd be able to hear how much pain you were really in. "You?"
Instead of answering, he began to tear up. In all the times you've interacted with him, he was always cheerful and happy to help anybody who needed it. For some reason, seeing him like this simply added to your pain.
"None of this should have happened," he finally exclaimed. He let his head fall into his hands, and you resisted the urge to hug him. You didn't have that kind of relationship with him. "If I'd been stronger, I could've-"
"You couldn't. He cared about you too, you know," you cut him off. You instantly looked away from him, not wanting him to see the tears welling up in your eyes from your sorrow and embarrassment that he heard the crack in your voice. "He did this for all of us."
"I know. I just wish I could've done something. It's not fair," He croaked. This time, you let yourself place your hand on his.
"Nothing ever is."
Talking with my lawyer
She said, "Where'd you find this guy?"
I said, "Young people fall in love
With the wrong people sometimes"
You could still remember the way his lips felt against yours as he kissed you for the first time that night. You both needed something to cling to, so you clung to each other in hopes that you both could dull the pain at least a bit. By the end of the summer, you were dating, but it felt more like coping.
You still wonder if it was compassion that led to that kiss or if it was just the fact that nobody understood your grief better than each other. Either way, you couldn't bring yourself to regret it as much as you feel you should. You couldn't get yourself to care that it didn't feel like love.
Some mistakes get made
That's alright, that's okay
You can think that you're in love
When you're really just in pain
Some mistakes get made
That's alright, that's okay
In the end, it's better for me
That's the moral of the story, babe
"I'm sorry, it just reminded me of him too much," Peter cried into your shoulder as he recounted what had happened. Apparently, he was going through some old photographs when he came across one of him as a child wearing an Iron Man mask. Your dad had been his hero, his idol.
"I know what you mean," you tell him, resisting the urge to cry yourself. You'd think that after a few months that it'd have gotten better. "It's like, no matter where I go, there's always something that reminds me of him. I don't know how to stop it."
This time, Peter was the one to comfort you. He knew that he'd been conflicted on whether or not this could be called love, or if it was even close, but he felt a need to tell you the one thing that kept playing in his mind at this moment,
"I love you."
"I love you too."
It's funny how a memory
Turns into a bad dream
And running wild turns volatile
It's not funny how it changes
Ended up like strangers
We burned down our paper house
Peter couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't what love was supposed to feel like. Compared to other happy couples, the way that the two of you "love" each other didn't seem right. You were a shoulder to cry on, but he doesn't remember a single time since the two of you had gotten together that either of you had a memorably happy moment together.
Every single day, he worries that you'll realize this and end things with him. To everybody else, this probably doesn't seem like the kind of thing that is meant to last, yet he hopes to god that it does. He wants things to get better because, at one point, he believed that he really did love you.
Talking with your father
He said that you could be mine
But some people fall in love
With the wrong people sometimes
Mr.Stark was well aware of Peter's growing crush on you. Although he had mixed feelings about you dating a superhero, he felt as though Peter would do right by you if only you weren't so oblivious.
"M-Mr. Stark!" It was funny to Tony how flustered Peter got after being caught staring at you as you work on some new tech with Harley Keener, one of your friends.
"Parker, you do realize that if you talk to her, you might actually have a shot," your dad stated, hoping that Peter wouldn't chicken out like last time. It was funny, but your happiness was more important than his entertainment.
"I wasn't-"
"Please, I've known about your little crush on her since the moment you met," Your dad sighs as he thinks about what to say next. He wanted to help Peter, but he didn't want to be too involved. "Look, I know I'm her father, and I'm supposed to scare boys off instead of encouraging them, but I figured I'd let you know that there's a ninety-three percent chance that she won't turn you down."
"I- You- she- she likes me?" Peter stutters at his idol, hoping that this wasn't some lie to get him to man up. He wanted you to actually like him before he asks you out. What Peter hadn't counted on was his feelings for you changing by the time he actually did.
They say it's better to have loved and lost
Then never to have loved at all
That could be a load of shit
But I just need to tell you all
"I know things haven't been ideal between us, but you do mean a lot to me," Peter stated. The two of you were visiting your dad's old cabin for the weekend in a desperate attempt to grow closer to one another since you both started college.
"You mean a lot to me too," You sigh as you look out towards the lake. You began thinking about how you and Peter had sat in this exact spot as you comforted each other after your dad's funeral. "You've been there for me in ways nobody ever has."
"I thought that- I don't want to lose what we have," Peter didn't know why he thought that this was a good idea. Neither of you seemed happy together, yet you both cling to your failing relationship like your lives depend on it. "If- If you continue to have me, will you- maybe, marry me?"
"Yes." That was the answer that Peter had dreaded, yet he pulled you into a passionate kiss anyway.
Some mistakes get made
That's alright, that's okay
You can think that you're in love
When you're really just engaged
Some mistakes get made
That's alright, that's okay
In the end, it's better for me
That's the moral of the story
You saw the way that he looked at her. It left a strange ache in your heart and pain that he'd never looked at you that way. Although another part of you felt relieved, you didn't feel ready to say goodbye. You were just starting to feel as though things were getting better. Like the two of you were getting better.
Michelle Jones wasn't broken like you were. She didn't need time, effort, or comfort. Maybe that was why Peter seemed to like her so much. Perhaps that was why you made up your mind on what you needed to do.
When Peter came home from college for the day, you ended your engagement. You were doing this for him, after all. He deserved to be happy. You'd move into the compound; he could keep the apartment and everything in there.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, not being able to look you in the eyes. He thought that this was what he wanted, but he felt a hollowness in his heart as you said those words.
"I'm sorry too."
#peter parker x reader#peter parker x stark!reader#peter parker x stark!daughter#angst#peter parker angst#angsty peter parker imagine#this really made me cry#peter parker x reader angst
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Lovers End Part 5
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: yandere, obsession, emotional abuse, threats, PTSD, minor depiction of violence, allusion to non-con, toxic reader and unhinged Bucky, death of minor characters.
Words: 1318.
Summary: Your marriage is falling apart, and you're done trying to save it when all your spineless husband does is crying at night when he thinks you can't hear him. Little do you know how horrifying Bucky can be.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
P.S. It's not me, it's magnificent @navegandoaciegas and her awesome ideas! Also inspired by TDDUP VN!
____________
Once you finished with the vacuum, you locked yourself in the bathroom with Bucky’s diary in your hands - it was the only place where you could bolt the door. Besides, he could hardly hear you crying from there.
His writing was becoming more and more chaotic: soon he had stopped keeping the dates, and all of it became some kind of never-ending essay about things he hated and feared. You could his mental health deteriorating with every page, and God, you were scared of him - and you pitied him, too. Sometimes you could spot your own name, and you cried when you read how much Bucky loved you. His feelings were gradually evolving into some kind of unhealthy obsession, but you were thankful they didn’t turn into intense hatred, considering the way you treated him up until now.
Reading about you tormenting your husband was something entirely different if you compared it with your own memories - or a lack of those - but the more you read, the more horrified with your actions you became. How did it happen? When did you turn from a supporting wife into a cruel fury ready to tear apart the only person you loved? When did you reach the point of no return? You supposed it could have been that day in December, but Bucky wasn't at fault. Not directly, at least, you thought when you considered his negligence and you working like a horse.
Maybe that terrible thing was just destined to happen to you, anyway.
Regardless, that was no the reason to treat Bucky like that. You could have left a long time ago, realizing where all this had been going, and it would still be better than living how you two lived now. Now you could see the true horror of the situation and what would inevitably happen if you didn't do anything to end it: Bucky could pull the trigger any moment now.
The only option you saw was leaving. Of course, in an ideal world you could ask him to visit doctor Romanova and make him confess he wasn't really following her instructions, help him get back on track and try to recover, but you knew this wasn't going to happen. Not when Bucky had almost suffocated you and locked you in the house. Why would he listen to you now, after everything that happened between you? He'd rather think you are doing this just to get rid of him, so you doubted he'd do what you asked him to. Now there were two ways out - leave or die.
You prefered the first one even knowing Bucky was obsessed with you. You could at least try, couldn't you? In the end, you would finish with a bullet in your head if you did nothing at all to fix all this.
You still couldn't believe it was happening to you. Weren't you a really, really good couple before? You remembered your ex-coworkers envying you when Bucky was visiting the office, a bouquet of wild flowers in his hands. He had always been kind and understanding, gentle, loving, cheerful; the best husband you had ever wanted, that very same prince you had been dreaming about. You loved him to the point of leaving your mother, the only family you had, just because you wanted to be with him. Because of that you were desinherited, but you didn't care as long as Bucky was with you.
Huh, all of a sudden you remembered the times when he was in the hot spot while you waited for him at home, every day waking up with a thought somebody would call and tell you Bucky's dead. It was your worst nightmare because of which you were afraid to go to sleep every night. You prayed for him to return safely, and the day when you received a notice of him losing his left arm, you were hysterical to the point your boss had to send you to the hospital to get help.
Oh, how happy you were the day he came back. Crippled, lost, desperate, barely able to function because of his PTSD but alive. You wanted nothing as much but for your husband to come home to you. That's why, even though the company you worked for went bankrupt and you could find nothing better but being a cashier in a local food store, you were ready to do whatever it took to help Bucky get back on his feet.
Was it too much for you? Were you too weak to go through all this for him? Apparently, you were. With months of constant hard work, insomnia because of the constant night shifts, inability to put food on the table, you forgot why were you doing all this. You forgot how much you loved him and he loved you. It all turned to ashes.
Hiding the diary beneath your bed, you did your best to wipe the tears and make yourself a bit more presentable - now you saw how terrible you looked with those dark circles beneath your eyes and wrinkles, bad skin, prominent blood vessels along the inside of your eyes because constant crying... You were a young woman, still, but you felt like your body was falling to pieces. It couldn't continue like that.
"Bucky, I have to leave." You told him once you approached your husband in the living room still sitting on the couch in front of TV with a blank expression.
However, once he heard you, his face clenched up, "Did you not hear me the first time I said it? You’re going nowhere."
Trembling, you tried to pull yourself together and even sat on the couch, your palms on your knees.
"Bucky, we're not alright. Let's admit it. Things aren't going to come back to how they were before... this. We won't get better."
You swallowed nervously, not looking at him, but Bucky fell silent, waiting for you to continue. You were sure he wasn't insane to the point he didn't understand what was happening.
"Please, let me leave. You can have the house if you want to, I won't take anything. I... I'll be sending you half of my salary until you get yourself a job."
Huh, you probably wouldn't be able to rent your own place with what was left, but maybe you convince your boss to let you sleep in the back room. Hell, even sleeping under the bridge was better than being murdered by your own husband.
When you saw him crawling towards you, you held your breath, "T-this is fair! You can have whatever you want!"
But he didn't stop, and before you could jump off the couch and ran, Bucky was already on top of you, his metal hand grabbing both yours and pining them above your head.
"I want you." He shook his head, sitting on top of you, his flesh arm caressing the curves of your body. "Maybe you're right and we can't go back. But we can do better."
"Get off, Bucky!" You desperately tried pushing him away, but all you did was fueling his desire. "GET OFF!"
"Maybe you'll love me again if I put a baby in you." He exhaled, nuzzling against the crook of your neck, and you frozen in fear and disgust, you eyes wet again despite all your efforts. "And we'll be a real family again."
"NO!"
You didn't know where that power to throw your beefy husband off you came, but you were already up, back on your unsteady legs and ready to fight him even he was going to try suffocating you or breaking your neck. You weren't going to let Bucky do... this to you.
Oh God. You wanted to never let him know of what had happened on the 14th of December, but you had no choice now.
"I've already lost my baby. I'm not doing it again."
_________
Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @brattycherubwrites @sllooney @angrythingstarlight @lookiamtrying @buckysbunny @soleil-dor @stargazingfangirl18 @dillybuggg @literate-lamb @cosicas-cuquis @sarge-barnes-sir @buckybarnesplumwhore @jaysayey @megzdoodle @gotnofucks @lux-ravenwolf @iheartsebandchris @ninefuckingoneone
#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes#dark bucky barnes x reader#winter soldier#yandere#mcu
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