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extravaguk · 4 years ago

Text

sweets&ink

part of my opposites attract! series.

ksj / knj / myg / jhs / pjm / kth

pairing: tattooartist&tattoed!jungkook x baker!reader

summary: jungkook was everything you feared but exactly what you needed to heal your broken heart.

wordcount: 5k

genre: fluff - angst - smut (s2l!au)

rated: m (?

warnings: some cursing, mentions of past abusive/toxic relationships/trauma that might be triggering, a lil of making love at the end. it’s overall just suuper fluffy, trust me. jungkook is a s i m p. we love that for him! slow burrrnnnn.

Jungkook knows it was love at first sight, but doesn's know how to really explain it.

He knew from the moment he entered the small shop, pastel green walls welcoming him replete of sugary treats, a sweet and heavenly scent engulfing him as soon as he stepped a foot inside. With a new found sense of calmness and serenity within he hadn't experienced in a long time, he searched for deserts of his liking, mouth watering while assessing the many options of baked goods available and bright colored frostings stealing his attention.

"Hi. How may I help you?"

Then he looked up and found you. It wasn't easy to appreciate your whole appearence with the counter hiding the lower half of your body, but it was enough for Jungkook to think to himself that he had never seen a prettier girl in hiis entire life. And that's when he knew it. Any type of movement in his surroundings coming to a halt, his heart skipping a beat, his favourite song playing inside his head. And that particular sensation. The same one that had made him feel so at ease since he found your bakery. For a moment he thought his doe eyes might have actually turned into heart eyes until you raised your eyebrows, a concerned expression replacing your previous warm smile.

Blinking his eyes and clearing his throat, coming down from cloud nine into the real world, he stuttered his order as best as he coud manage, heart pounding inside his chest and later feeling mortified for not being able to pronounce "gingernap cookies" correctly.

At first he kind of hated Seokjin for blackmailing him into going to his favourite bakery to buy his favourite cookies (Jungkook really should've known better than accidentally spill ink all over Jin's new script), but when he comes back home with a goofy smile on his face and dreams of your face, he makes sure to text him he'll go get his cookies anytime he wants.

But Jungkook is a masochist apparently.

Because a week after your first encounter he realizes that not being able to get his mind off a girl he's literally only seen once in his entire life is not exactly normal. Not for anyone, but especially not for him. Realizes that the way he embarrassed himself in front of you and probably looked like a bluberring mess (or a creepy weirdo who had never interacted with any woman before) is not reason enough to not keep wanting to try again. And the way you just giggled at him and simply shook your head as you wrapped the ginger cookies he had asked for in a pretty packaging has kept him aching for more.

So he comes once a week now. Still as nervous as the first day, but content to see that your face seems to light up at the sight of him stepping through the door the same way his does. He likes to see you in your cute pastel dresses, and if he didn't know better he'd think you were just trying to keep up with the bakery's aesthetic. But the more he frequents your shop, the more he realizes you're exactly like the treats you bake. He likes how your vividly honeyed persona contrasts with his darker and reserved one. Likes how you're all colors of the rainbow and he's just a scale of greys.

They are small interactions. Just courtesy and cordial exchange of words everytime he visits. He doesn't even know your name and you don't even know his, but sometimes he asks how was your weekend and sometimes you ask how many people had he inked that week. Sometimes he tells you how pretty you look, and sometimes you blush in response. Sometimes you add an extra macaron in his order and sometimes he debates on whether or not he should write down his number on a napkin and slide in right on the countertop before he waves goodbye.

And although Jungkook has never been one to shy away from women, he feels a certain way he can't exactly pinpoint. A way that makes his confidence falter and leaves him feeling like a little kid who's afraid to confess to the girl he likes. Because as cliché as it sounds, you're not like any other girls he's ever met. You don't feel like any other girl he's ever met. Not the older than him, tattoed and pierced type of girl he's accustomed to; not the type of girl that's addicted to trouble and believe him (maybe even hoped) to be something he's not. So it takes a while for him to summon up enough bravery and determination. It takes weeks of pining and overthinking, and a single push from Yoongi ('stop being a fucking pussy and just do it') to ask you to have coffee with him.

"I... I'm sorry. I can't."

And it only takes those words leaving your mouth to shatter his heart into pieces.

It's fine though, he told you and himself. He wasn't going to be one of those guys who believed the 'friendzone' was an actual thing and tried his best to not make you feel uncomfortable, really tried his best to erase the guilt across your face as you rejected him. So he scratched the back of his head and mustered up a big smile before leaving the shop with a bag full of cupcakes and an unsettled stomach.

Letting out a deep breath you didn't even know you were containing, you observe as the handsome stranger exits the shop. Running a hand through your hair before gripping the counter with your hands, you try to steady the heavy throbbing insde your chest.

The boy in question had been unknowingly tormenting you and flooding your mind with thoughts of him for almost two months now. That day you first had spotted him eyeing the desserts in display in amazement and then you in the very same way. It was sudden and precipitated, but it had almost made your head spin, something you hadn't felt in a long time unexplainable tugging at your insides.

You had kept your cool as best as you could, as best as you had taught yourself in the past. Wrapped those cookies he had asked and then waved goodbye, hoping under your breath he wouldn't come back but silently wishind he would. But then he did. He came back once. And then again. And again, and before you realized he had become a frequent costumer. Trying whatever treats you'd recommended him, creating small talk, sending friendly smiles here and then.

You had learned to expect him at the very same time, the very same day of the week; had learned to manage the fluttering in your tummy and the reddish warmth spreading through your cheeks whenever the eye contact was prolongued. Everything was innocent, it was brief and, most importanly, it never went beyond, even if sometimes you hoped it did.

However, after all these years, there was still something you hadn't learned to control yet. And as he spoke, clearly nervous, hesitant and clearly out of his comfort zone, wondering out loud if he could ever treat you to a coffee sometime, your body shut down. The fondness and excitement you had been harboring over the last few weeks quickly replaced by that which made you want to recoil, made you want to back to your well to let its darkness and loneliness envelop you.

That horrible and ugly wave of crippling fear and axiety all mixed together; a little monster that you had successfully concealed, now displaying its ears in warning and the same smile that had been haunting you for years, now advising you, reminding you and most of all, threatening you, to go back to your own comfort zone. And so, powerless, there was nothing else you could really to but to comply, muttering an apology and a rejection that probably pained you more than it pained the boy in front of you.

You knew you did the right thing, but it definitely didn't feel like it.

Especially a week later, as you expected his arrival- as always, ready with a tray full of fresh baked scones you had particularly made just for him, but were left severely disappointed when time passed and he was nowhere to be seen. Or two weeks later, after spending an extra hour making cake pops that you had specifically designed with him in mind (covered in dark chocolate and white sprinkles), only to realize it was closing time and that he never even showed up.

To say you were bummed was an understatement. You knew you always looked forward to him coming in every week to grace your day with a smile and a polite talk, but you didn't come to terms with how much you would miss it until now. So three weeks later, you still bake with him in mind, trying not to lose hope but still chastising yourself for not being brave enough and accepting his offer. It was just a coffee date, for God's sake, not a marriage proposal! Trying to busy your mind with work and customers coming in and out, even if your eyes dart in anticipation everytime you hear the door swinging.

When hours pass and the sun hides to make room for the moon and stars into the sky, you look at the clock and, with a defeated sigh, finish cleaning and tidying around the shop. But before you can gather your things, the door swings open and there stands the stranger you had been praying to see again.

"Am I too late?" he asks, and you don't exactly know but can tell his words hold a double meaning. You smile, a genuine smile, because he looks bashful with a hand scratching the back of his head like he had done the last time you saw him, and because there's a warm sensation spreading through your chest, like your heart is smiling for you.

"I was about to close, but I can make an exception." you accomplish to say and surprisingly don't sound as nervous as you feel. He mirrors your smile as he walks closer to the counter. "So, what would you like?"

That takes him by surprise because he really had nothing in mind when he decided to come here and now he feels like an idiot.

"Uh, um... I would like... maybe cupcakes?" he sounds like an idiot too. But you nod and smile at him and start gathering his cupcakes into a polka dot cardboard box.

"You missed the cake pops I made last week." you say, trying to keep your voice in check as he hands you his credit car. "I think you would've liked them."

"Ah, sorry... Work has been really hectic." and even if it's true, it's also true the fact that he chickened out and was frightened to face you again. He likes how even when you're alluding to his absence, there's not a malicious tone behind your words. He likes how you're still smiling at him even after he's been acting like a pussy for two weeks. But that's why he's here. "I also would like to apologize for... you know. I didn't-...If I made you feel uncomfortable, I'm really sorry."

With your eyebrows raised, your smile dissipates. "What? No, you didn't do anything wrong, really. It's not- It's not that. I just...can't." you stumble through words, trying to explain how much you actually wanted to go to that coffee date, to get to know his name and more of himself, but unavailable to. You can feel it again. The same anguish that always seem to creep up on you and numbs you altogheter. But him, worriedly sensing your distress, waves his hands in front of him.

"No, no. It's fine, you don't have to explain anything! It's alright!" his smile seems to soothe you and you return his smile in gratitude. "Anyways, I'll... I'll get going. See you next week?"

You nod, anticipation already making its way into you. "See you next week." and then he takes the box filled with cupcakes and says goodbye. Before he can open the door though, a tingle of impulsivity and fearlesness makes you say:

"I'm _____, by the way."

He pauses, clearly taken aback.

"Jungkook."

Jungkook hasn't stopped repeating your name in his head ever since you gave it to him, grinning like a fool and thinking about how good it sounds next to his. He hasn't stopped frequenting your bakery either and has lost count on how much money he's spent on muffins and whatever else you sell. He doesn't care though. All he cares about is how much likes seeing you even if it's only for fifteen minutes in your floral dresses, and as long as you keep looking like you're glad to see him every time, then he's fine.

He's more than fine. He feels amazing. Sings tunes while he works on customers, feels his creativity flowing more than ever and he feels whole. It still baffles him how a minimun interaction with you once a week can make him feel on top of the world.

He's got a bouquet of white and pink lillies next time he visits, so sappy and romantic he doesn't even recognize himself. He doesn't tell you he googled their meaning and his mind instantly associated them with you. Purity is exactly what he thinks of you and admiration is exactly how he feels about you. Hands it to you and the surprised look on your face and the spreading of pink all over your cheeks makes his heart burst. You thank him and he tells you he didn't know what your favourite flower is. You answer it's carnations. He writes it down somewhere in his mind, for next time. And then you're the one surprising him.

"Would you like to have coffee sometime?"

There's uncertainty in your voice that doesn't go unnoticed by him, and for a moment he thinks he's dreaming. He's cool with what he's got right now with you, but you repeating his words back to him makes him feel euphoric, like he can't believe it. He knows he looks dumb, the way he's looking at you.

Completely dumbfounded. He stutters like the first same he met you, but he says yes (omits the part where he tells you he could almost die). You exchange number in each other's phones with shaky hands, set the day and hour, and then wave each other goodbye.

You instantly regret it as you watch him leave. Keep regretting it the following days. That voice in your head telling you 'it'll happen again', telling you fairytales didn't exist and this most likely wasn't one, even if it felt like it was, suffocating you like it had done many times before. Screwing with your head until you consider canceling.

But you power through it, like you had taught yourself to do. This time it's harder though. Because this time there's a new romantic interest at hand, one that's making you feel things you buried a long time ago and made you swear to yourself you'd be smarter and stronger than any man could.

It's Hoseok's encouraging words that help ease the panic. It was also Hoseok's words who encouraged you to ask Jungkook out. Said you deserved something good for once and that you couldn't close yourself to love your entire life.

Thought it was time for you to write a new chapter after a rather sad one.

So on Saturday, Jungkook insists on picking you up and it already feels like too much for you. Especially when he shows up with a bouquet of carnations in his hand and a smile that takes your breath away and definitely doesn't help to ease your nerves.

Takes him by surprised how pretty you look. maybe because it's the first time he's seen you out of your shop and even though you're still loyal to your clothing style, he still fumbles with his words like an idiot to try to express how beautiful you look. Seeing he's as much of a mess as you settles you a little bit. Then he takes you to a cute café that almost makes you laugh, because seeing him, inked arms and piercings and a closet that consisted mainly of black oversized t-shirts and pants in such a bright environment reminds you of the first time he entered your shop.

You're surprised to see how well the conversation rolls, how easy it is to talk to him beyond the usual brief interactions you two have. You like how he makes you laugh and how he seems to love hearing it. You like how his attention is solely focused on you, even if his gaze on yours sometimes feels too intense and his overall character intimidates you. You like how soft spoken he is, how careful he is with words and the sound of his voice. Sounds like a lullaby without melody.

And when the date is over, he drives you home, walks you to your door and respectfully wishes you a good night. You kiss him on the cheek spontaniously before hiding the embarrassment on your face and stepping inside your home. You miss the way he stays at your doorstep for a whole minute before getting in his car and driving himself home. You also miss how peacefully he sleeps that night, dreaming of cupcakes and you. You don't miss the heart emoji he sends you before going to bed, making yours quiver.

You're glad you didn't cancel, and now you're sure you don't regret it at all

It goes on. The dates, getting to know each other more and more, Jungkook's visits to your shop and spending way too much money on sweets and carnations, the butterflies in your stomach everytime he's near and the birth of something inside of you that's starting to make you feel alive after feeling dead for so long.

It's still new, still wholesome, moves in slow motion. You're glad Jungkook doesn't push, doesn't ask for anything, never demands more than a kiss on the cheek everytime he drops you off. He is nothing like he looks like, you realized that right away.

But with every brand new beginning that requires feelings like this, especially as unique and exceptional as the ones Jungkook is causing within you, comes the evil monster trying to scare you off, to make you back off and remind you that not everything that shines is gold. The voice inside your head that keeps bewitching you back into a dark room, reminder in your head everytime that one day Jungkook will want more. He'll want more and you might not be ready to give it to him.

A voice that keeps resonating and has kept you unmoving for the past few years and now is making you feel more frightened than ever.

You've been more quite than usual and Jungkook can tell something is not quite right. It's a friday night, and after having dinner that he insisted on paying, he decided this time to drive you away, to a secluded space somewhere where you both can appreciate the city lights on the hood of his car. He can tell, so he asks you, but you give a vague answer. He wants to ask again, but he's afraid of overstepping your boundaries. He wants to get to know you in every level, want's to scratch the surface until he can see everything. He wants to learn you inch by inch. Wants to love every part you bare to him, because he's sure he will.

"My ex partner was abusive."

You finally say with a voice that's not entirely yours, and it doesn't feel real. Doesn't feel real to say out loud and letting the words sink in. It's taken all this time of excusing behaviors that were not excusable, trying to make light of a situation that wasn't and blaming yourself for things that you were not to blame for. Jungkook stays silent, but his attention immediately focused on you as soon as you spoke. Eyes slightly wide and mouth starting to open as if to speak himself. But you go on.

"Not physically." you swallow a lump in your throat. "Sometimes he would throw things at me, but they didn't always land. Or... one time he pushed me while we were arguing. Never raised his hand at me though. It was mostly psychological and emotional. He was extremely jealous and possesive. Didn't like me hanging with my friends, would never bring me to hang out with him and his friends. Though I' was cheating on him with anyone. The cashier at the supermarket, a randome dude on the street that simply looked at me. Anyone." tears prickle your eyes, but you'd learned to hold them back.

"He would always get mad at me. Would already wake up angry and take it out on me. Without reason. Would always blame me for everything. He would get mad, insult me, call me any terrible name you can imagine, tell me I wasn't worth shit. That I wasn’t worth living.Then he would punch the wall, or break whatever was in sight. Everytime, I told him I was terrified of him. Would cry in a corner and beg him to stop. Sometimes he would just laugh at me for it." you sniff, still looking straight at the city lights, and trying to keep a composed tone throughout. You had grown up a lot since then, and you knew Jungkook deserved to know you. He deserved to understand.

"Then he would calm down, apologize while he cried and promised he loved me and would change. He never did. It took me a long time to finally walk away, but the demons still haunt me to this day. You," you choke, because comparing your ex to the guy currently sitting next to you was like day and night, like heaven and hell. "You make me feel things I've never felt before. I always felt like asking for respect was asking for too much. And then here you come, like a knight on shining armour ready to sweep me off my feet. It felt like a dream. Still does..."

Jungkook's hands are balled into tight fists, his whole body rigid as he listened to you. His own heart breaking, like he could feel himself inside you and experiencing your own heartbreak. His blood's boiling, jaw so tight and eyes blinking. Pushing down his anger, because this is about you not him, he lets his body relax before sliding your hand in yours.

"I like you so much,_____, it literally kills me at night how much. Not as much as hearing all of this, though. From the moment I saw you, I was whipped. I wanted and still want to give everything I can to see that smile of yours. It's me the one who can't believe you're paying me any attention at all." you're still not looking at him, but he still sighs in relief when your lips quirk up. "Just having you here next to me and letting me take you out on dates is more than enough for me. Whatever you give me, whatever your terms are, I'm content with that. You're healing, and while you do, I'll be right here."

You look at him now, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down your face anymore.

"What if I never heal completely?" there's fear in your voice as your eyes meet his, but just the dark brown in his gaze help you feel secure, less worried about the future and more serene about the now.

"I'll still be here."

It doesn't take long for you to call it love.

Not when Jungkook keeps proving himself to be so different and so special. Not when his gestures never cease to make you feel so special, so worthy of recieving and sharing love. Because Jungkook makes you feel invincible, makes you feel one in a million.

"What to you even see in me? We're like, polar opposites." you ask him one day. And it's true, you are. So different from each other, yet the same. He laughs in disbelief, shaking his head, still holding your hand in your doorstep about to kiss your cheek goodnight.

"I see everything." he simply says, eyes boring into yours in adoration. "I see the sun, and the moon, the stars, the entire galaxy when I'm with you." your heart clenches as he interlaces his fingers with yours. "Before I met you, I felt like I was blind. Like I was lost and was looking for an exit that I couldn't find. But then I saw you, in your little bakery, with your cute dresses and those eyes, and it was like my eyes opened for the first time. Everything made sense. Everything has been filled with so many colors ever sinc-"

You shut him with your lips on top of his, emotions pulling at your heartstrings the same way you pull him down by the neck. He takes a few seconds to respond, but then this hands are dropping to your waist, their warmth immediately spreading through your skin against the chilly night.

"Would you like to come in?" you whisper, breath fanning over his lips. He nods, hurriedly, and he knows he looks like a damn idiot for the hundredth time, but he doesn't care. Because coming in doesn't only mean stepping in your home. Coming in means you're letting him in. Means you trust him, means you want him there, means you're allowing him inside your heart.

Again, Jungkook doesn't expect nor demands much. Your presence is everything he needs. You kissing him is like winning the lottery to him. Like completing a marathon, like climbing the Everest, like getting his first tattoo. Kissing you is sweet, fills him with something strong that makes him feel on drugs, like nothing matters but you and him. Like nothing has ever mattered to neither of you.

So it's you who leads him to your room, it's you who straddles his thighs and pushes his hair back as his hands carress your sides. It's nothing fiery. It's slow, tentative, and full of care. Of lingering touches, low sighs against each other's mouths.

It's you who reaches inside his shirt, hand sneaking past the hem of the fabric and trembling cold fingers coming in contact with firm skin. It's also you who asks for more with a small roll of your hips. It's you who asks him to take his shirt off. It's him who complies. Still tells you you don't have to, you tell him you want to.

It's you who asks him to touch you. He's scared like he's never been, because you're you, and you're so perfect and everything he's ever wanted and suddenly he's afraid of you're too good for him. Jungkook only wants to make you happy, never wants to see you cry, just wants to treat you the way you deserve.

It's you who begs.

It's you who tells him you need him. Need him take care of you, need him to show you much you're worth, need him to help you write a new chapter, probably even a new book where you're both the main characters and nobody else has ever existed. You say it with tears in your eyes, and he's quick to kiss them away, tongue entangling with yours. He's quick to undress you as well, with hands that still ask for permission even after you've granted it already. Hands and lips that are also quick and eager to learn your body, to find every mole in your skin as he lays you back to look at you in admiration. He keeps kissing you. From head to toe, muttering praise, making sure every 'beautiful' and 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' that leave his lips stay fire engraved in your being forever.

He first makes you cum with careful fingers and skilled tongue, thighs wrapped aro around his head, eyes still looking for yours as his hands keep your body still and yours crumple the sheets beneath. Tells you how good you taste, how long he's been dying to have you like this. Tells you this you his favourite sight as he kisses his way up.

You beg him again, asking him to please, please, fill you up. He groans against your mouth and he tells you again, you don't have to. He says he's happy like this. Repeats he's in no rush and just wants to please you and make you feel good. That it's about you, and will always be about you. You beg him again, and again and again, enticing him with a trail of wet kisses down his neck, up to his eralobe. You whisper there, tell him you need him to fill you with his cock so bad. His whole body goes rigid as your legs wrap around him, legs pulling him closer to where you want him, his erection grazing your entrance and his teeth nibble your lower lip.

Jungkook doesn't move for a while, eyes closed shut, jaw clenched and head buried in your neck. He doesn't move because his mind is somewhere else keeping him stagnant, pussy wrapping around him so good and wet and tight he's about to bust. Takes a while for him to move, but when he does he makes sure to grip your thighs around him, keeping you close, never wanting to let go as he tells you you were made just for him. Just for him. Tells you how good you feel. He tells you he loves you. Kisses your lips as you sob, tears threatening to spill from your eyes. He tells you he loves you. Tells you he'll love you forever and will always keep you safe and happy.

You're crying now, cheeks wet and he stops for a moment to look at you, concern written all over his face as his hands craddle yours, wiping the tears away with his thumbs. "We can stop, baby." You shake your head no. Pull him back into another kiss, urging him to go on. You tell him you love this, love him so much. That it's a good thing. That they are happy tears. That you've never been happier. And then his hips start moving again, your words egging him own, soft whimpers and sobs leaving each other's throats until you cum at the same time.

He then removes himself from you, rolling onto your side but he's quick to pull your body close, arms wrapping around you and lips kissing away the wet stains on your cheeks.

It doesn't take long for you to know Jungkook would be the healthy forever and after you had always dreamed of.

#THE FEEELS BRUH #aaaaaa #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts #jungkook fic

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may-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

A Debt

summary: nat is the leader of one of the most deadly mobs in town but when she takes you to be her next victim, she has second thoughts.

warnings: kidnapping, mob, mentions of murder and death, mob!nat

pairing: mob!natasha x reader

rating: 18+

word count: 1,838

a/n : sorry im a whore for cliffhangers, hope you enjoy and please do tell me if you want a part 2

((feel free to send in any request you may have))

masterlist

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all you could see was black when the cloth had been tugged over your face and it muffled your screams. you could hear as the deep voices talked but you couldn’t decipher where they had been coming from. you knew that the person behind you was strong enough to keep you in place but that didn’t stop you from trying your hardest to escape but of course to no avail and quickly you had been shoved into the car, heading god knows where.

all the questions you had glowing floating around in your head had been quickly answered when you were ushered into somewhere before someone had guided you to a chair and quickly shoved you down and in a second the cloth that was covering your eyes was ripped off.

“tie her hands.” and in seconds your hands had been zip-tied to the chair. before you could even adjust your eyes to the bright lights, a girl stood in your view. it had all happened so fast, you had just wanted to go home and sleep off the day but instead you had been in some random house and had no idea what you had done wrong.

your lip quivered lightly but you tried your hardest to straighten out your expressions. “she’s a pretty one, isn’t she?” a man’s voice spoke up from behind the woman and she was quick to roll her eyes.

your eyes wandered around the neat house, there had been nothing insight for you to break free, and honestly, you hadn’t even known how you could escape this so instead you met the woman’s gaze. “hello dear.” her voice was raspy and her accent deep, despite the circumstances, it sent spines down your spine. you couldn’t find your words as tears clouded your eyes, you tried your hardest to stop them but they rolled down your cheeks freely and the woman had pouted down at you.

“darling this is nothing personal, strictly business.” you sniffled lightly, your gaze snapping down to the ground. “does she not speak?” a man’s voice snapped causing you to jump lightly. the woman sucked her teeth before yelling at him in a different language.

“why me?” your voice had come out shaky and hoarse but they were just been glad that you were talking. the woman pulled out a chair so she could sit directly in front of you, her gaze never looking hers. “your father is one of that most wealthy men out there...” she paused for a moment, trying to word her reasoning properly. “and we figured, if we had his precious daughter, he would quickly cut us a nice check.” your eyebrows knitted together, feeling yourself begin to shake. “what happens if he doesn’t?” your question had sat in the air for a while before a man from behind the woman spoke up. “you die.”

the call to your father had been short as expected and it seemed to leave everyone in shock. you hadn’t expected much from the man, he had always been selfish and when they mentioned their price. he was quick to tell them that he didn’t have that kind of money to spare and hung up the call. so now Natasha had sat in silence, her gaze fixed on the phone that was in her hand.

“so how are you gonna kill me?” your voice had come off much colder this time and it left Natasha speechless for a moment. “he has 48 hours.” the woman uttered and you let out a gentle breath, already accepting your fate.

——- ——- Natasha was the one in charge of keeping an eye on you after all she was the leader and if she was honest, she never trusted her gang much especially when it came to looking after you. she watched as you shifted uncomfortably in the wooden chair, trying to lean your head back to get any form of rest but to no avail. Natasha had never really had to wait out an entire 48 hours with one of her victims, their families had always come through and the transaction would be over 5 hours tops but now she was forced to stare at you, feeling a sense of pain for you.

she had never been as heartless as she seemed, of course, she was trained well enough not to get her feelings involved but even her chest burned at the coldness of your father. how could anyone treat their child like that? “I don’t know how you expect me to sleep here all day.” your voice had come off much more confident than before and it made the woman perked up quickly.

she pushed herself up moving to stand directly in front of you, fishing a pocket knife, you could flinch away causing Natasha to suck her teeth. “relax.” she muttered, quickly cutting the zip tie and letting your hands go free. “don’t you dare try anything,” she uttered before gripping your forearms and tugging you through the large house with her before you were pushed into a room.

the bed looked neatly made and the pillows were fresh, the room was painted white and the room reeked of fresh paint. you wondered how many other times the woman did this exact thing with other people. Natasha gave you a gentle shove towards the bed and you didn’t hesitate to take a seat, feeling the soft mattress under you.

“Thanks,” you whispered, toying with your fingers as the girl took a seat on a chair in front of the bed. she nodded quickly, the woman had not taken a proper look at you since she had met you and she secretly wished she had met you under different conditions. “are you gonna kill me?” you asked the woman lightly causing her frown to deepen. “you’ll know when we cross that bridge.”

“I’m not afraid to die,” you uttered out to the woman causing her eyes to meet yours for a moment. “I just thought it’d end differently.” you rambled watching as she cocked her head to the side. “why are you so sure you’ll die?”

“you don’t know my father.” she hadn’t known how to reply to that. there had been some sort of awkwardness in the air and Natasha wished she could just run away from it cause it made her cringe so deeply.

“no one coming to help me.” her heart burned from your statement, she needed you to stop talking before she found herself comforting you. she felt choked up, she knew if anyone knew how was feeling, she’d lose all her respect but dear god did she pity you right now and it was all her fault that you had even been put in this situation. why couldn’t she had just targeted someone else?

you took her silence as a sign that she had enough of your talking so you kicked off your shoes and settled into the soft bed, wrapping yourself in the fresh blanket.

Natasha watched as you drifted off to sleep, her thoughts had been running miles per minute. if Natasha had to kill you because of your selfish father then she would never be able to live with herself. that had been the bottom line and Natasha knew she could never do that.

Natasha felt foolish, she had never thought twice about having to kill someone so why had it been so hard for her to even imagine having to hurt you? Natasha rose from the chair, leaving you to sleep. she had been quick to make a call, feeling her heart pounding with anticipation. she knew tony would know what to do, he had always been wise. “Natasha, hey,” he spoke softly causing the girl to let out a gentle sigh.

“I need your help, tony.”

fear settled at the bottom of your heart when men rushed into the room. you had jumped awake, trying your hardest to fight off the men that had been trying to grab you but everything had seemed to die down when the man stuck a needle into your arm and in seconds your eyes fluttered closed and your body had grown leap. “just take her home.” tony let out a soft sigh before nodding slowly. “I got you, kid.”

the next time your eyes had fluttered open, you had been in the safely of your own home and your bed. it had always felt like a fever dream, you had been confused but overall you were just be relieved that it was over.

—— as much as Natasha wanted to forget that you even existed, her mind had often raced back to you. she had wondered what you had been up to if you were okay. she found herself outside your apartment almost every night making sure you got in alright. she wanted to run up to you each time she saw you but instead, she would grip her steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles would turn white.

it had taken her a couple of weeks to musks up the courage to let herself into your apartment, it had been unlocked much to her surprise and she took a seat on one of the love seats. she knew your schedule and she knew that you should be home any minute but she still felt her heart pounding when she heard the doorknob turn and when you entered, her breath had became caught in her throat.

you hadn’t seemed shocked that she was there, it was almost as if you had been expecting her. she watched carefully as you set down your purse and keys. “your door was unlocked.” Natasha finally spoke up, gripping at the seat arms. “I know.” you muttered with a gentle laugh. “why have you been watching me?” you asked softly, crossing your arms and staring down the woman.

she couldn’t help the warm blush that appeared on her cheeks before she grinned lightly. she hadn’t even known what she could say in this situation but she had quickly gotten up from the couch, inching her way over to you. “why was your door unlocked?” she questioned, tilting her head to the side. you hummed lightly, shaking your head “I asked you first.”

“I wanted to see you.” her boldness made your cheeks turn a bright pink and Natasha quickly took notice. “and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” a sweet smile formed on her plump lips before she continued.

“why was your door unlocked?” she asked again, feeling a sense of accomplishment when you stumbled over your words, leaning against the wall as she stepped even closer to you. “I wanted to see you too.” she hummed lightly, bringing her hand up to your cheek, caressing your cheekbone softly. Natasha leaned down to meet your lips but you quickly turned your face.

“I need you to do something for me.”

#natasha romonova #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #black widow x reader #black widow x you #black widow x y/n #black widow x female reader #the avengers #avengers #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you

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juhaksworld · 3 years ago

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TBZ reactions to their s/o being shy and having an rbf in public but really talkative around ppl they know

requested by: @dalivanmagritte

i’m reallly sorry this took me so long to post! T__T I thought I’d be able to finish it in one day,,, but that unfortunately was not true. I hope you enjoy! <3

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Sangyeon:

would be so used to you being super talkative and fun that whenever you were both in public he was surprised by how scary you could look when not smiling. like he’d look over and see you zoning out bc you felt really uncomfortable around strangers and he’d be like “shoot i need to go talk to her before someone thinks she’s plotting murder” so he’d rush over and be like “whatta thinking about that makes you look so grim?” and you’d be like “oh i was just wondering if I should wash my clothes when I get home or wait until tomorrow” and he’d like blink--- and then shake his head wondering how you can be so different around strangers than you were when you were around ppl you were comfortable with. he likes to stay near you most as much as possible in public bc he knows it makes you more comfortable.

Jacob:

the first time you met he was like “oh she’s scary!!” and then his friend introduced you to each other and you became friends and then he completely forgot about ever thinking you were scary bc you were so talkative and silly around your friends. but then after you started dating you went out together and he left for a moment and you started to feel really uncomfortable around all the ppl there and so you stopped smiling and looking around with interested and just sat there with a serious face avoiding all eye contact and when he came back he had a flashback of first meeting you and was like “ummm hey” and you looked up and smiled and looked like your usual self that he was use to and he was like “you look mad scary when you’re not smiling” and you laugh and you’re like “I know. It keeps the weirdos away” you don’t spend that much time around ppl you don’t know after you started dating him though, so it’s all good

Younghoon:

I mean, he sort of has an rbf too so you’ll would connect over that, like the first time you met you were at the library studying and you both looked so scary everyone avoided y’all so you started sitting at the same table so others could sit together away from y’all and then one day something funny happened and you both laughed and you both looked so pretty smiling that everyone in the library was like *mouth drops open* anyways, you and younghoon kinda start liking each other bc you’re always together at the library so you start dating and you’re so happy together you forget how scary you both look until you go out into public alone and look like murder is on your mind. You have a picture of each other smiling as your lock screens so you remember to smile and not scare ppl in public.

Hyunjae:

he’d tease you a lot lol. he knew you for a long time so he kinda got used to your rbf when you were around unfamiliar ppl so he teases you so you smile and look cute again. and he knows you could talk for hours once you're around ppl you like, and he loves that more than anything. he actually realized he was in love with you while watching you zone out across the room. like he always thought “where would this girl be without me” and then suddenly he was like “wait--- i need her more than she needs me” but he just loves seeing you looking all scary in public and ppl lowkey being afraid of you and so you approaches you all coolly and is like “YAH!!” right in front of your face and everyone is like “this dude is gonna get socked in the nose for that” and then you just smile and he’s like “yes. mission accomplished” and everyone’s like “hold on she looks really friendly when she’s smiling!” but they never get a chance to talk with you once hyunjae is around bc he keeps you all to himself knowing you feel more comfortable and happy that way and he loves listening to you talk.

Juyeon:

legit thought you hated him at first and was like “shoot i made this girl hate me and idek what i did” and then one of your friends walks up and you start smiling and he’s like “oh. that girl is beautiful! and she looks really friendly once she smiles” so he tries to get to know you and you instantly like him so you begin talking freely with him and he’s like so whipped for you whenever you smile which is often when you’re talking. so he just listens and listens while you go on and on. and he just loves that he won your trust. he wonders how he could ever think you were scary until you’re left in the corner of the room by yourself and you feel afraid around a lot of strangers so you stop smiling and talking and avoid ppl and he’s like “sjkfjskdksjdkjksjdk I need to go talk be with her rn so she’s happy again” and basically that’s how you start dating. while you guys are dating it’s pretty much the same thing-- he loves listening to you talk and he loves more than anything that you’re comfortable around him.

Kevin:

you were at the library and you zoned out and you were staring all scarily in the same direction kevin was sitting in and he *that meme of the kid holding the cup and who keeps looking sideways at the camera* like he really thinks you’re gonna approach him about something he never did. so he goes over to you and he’s like “are you ok?” and you jerk out of your daydream to see this really cute guy looking at you worriedly and slightly scared and you’re like “ohhh ummm yeahhh why do you aks tho???” and you smile a little bc gosh he’s cute and he’s like “gosh she’s cute” and he’s like “oh nothin” and uses a cheesy pickup line to get your number and you start dating/ become bffs and he lowkey loves that you look so scary when you’re around other ppl but then open up like a flower in the sunshine with him and you and him laugh and talk like there’s no tomorrow whenever you’re together bc you’re both pretty talkative. y’all are inseparable! but like he picks up the habit of looking scary and avoiding eye contact with ppl bc of you and his friends are like “?????” but he doesn't even realize how much he’s been influenced by you.

Chanhee:

he meets you through mutual friends and they warn him like “yeahhh she looks really scary around ppl she doesn’t know but be warned, she’s SUPER talkative once you get to know her” and chanhee’s like “scary around ppl you don’t know? a girl after my own heart” and so you immediately click like---yeahh bffs! you both look scary in public tbh, but when you’re alone you just talk and talk and he just listens with heart eyes bc he loves listening. and you always look so happy when you’re with him or your friends and he’s just like “ahhhhhhh she’s so cute!!!” even when you look like you want to murder someone out in public. you’ll both just glare at ppl together when out in public sometimes even though you’re happy together, just to annoy your friends lol. chanhee never judges you or forces you to talk with ppl when you’re feeling uncomfortable. he 100% understands and instead of saying things like “you should just tryyyy to talk to someone new!!!” he’d be like “what? you’re feeling uncomfortable? mmkay, let’s go...rn!” and y’all would leave-- doesn’t even matter where you were at.

Changmin:

would be like “??????” the first time you felt comfortable enough around him to open up. he thought your gloomy face and quiet personality was who you always were and he was starting to fall in love with that part of you when you burst open like the sunshine and just talked and laughed freely. and then you’re like “oh,,, i’m sorry. did i startle you?” and he’d be like *shocked pikachu face* “oh my goodness no! your laugh is ADORABLE!!!!” and then he’d constantly do things to make you smile and laugh and bring up topics he knew you could talk about for days bc he’s just so in love with you. every part of your personality is endearing to him. he’d tease you after you’d been dating for a while and he knew the limit to which he could tease you without going too far. he’d pretend not to know you and look all scared if he ”happened” to end up standing next to you and like jokingly make a “help me” face to his friends and then someone would notice and start to walk up to him to rescue him from the scary quiet girl and then he’d start laughing and hold your hand while you rolled your eyes.

Haknyeon:

confused. how could you be so different around strangers than when you were with him? even with your friends your social battery would run out soon. but when you were with him?? you had no limit to your energy and excitement and you showed your happiness so easily to him whereas with others you looked scared and skeptical even if you were happy. he worried about you a lot at the beginning of your relationship,,, like you’d be standing there zoning out, not talking to anyone, and he’d be like “gosh, is she ok???? did someone say something upsetting to her????? did she receive bad news????” and he’d rush over to you as soon as he could whenever he saw you starting to look abandoned and sad out in public. after dating for a while you learned to just constantly hang on to his arm bc he protected you from strangers trying to converse with you. when you two were alone you both talked a lot but you laughed even more, like you would have deep meaningful conversations and then just switch to telling the lamest jokes and rolling on the floor dying with laughter and then he’d just look at you while you were smiling and wiping away tears from laughing and he’d smile thinking he was the luckiest guy in the world to have you--- all to himself!

Sunwoo:

wouldn’t even be surprised the first time you hung out together and you really opened up. like he could tell there was a lot more to you than your quietness and rbf. when you first started dating some ppl that knew you both would be like “she looks scary af. what if she’s really boring and like,,, mean??” and he’d *cue the tongue in the cheek thing* “shut up”. once you two were dating for a while he would get so used to your talkative bright personality that when ppl are like “ohhh! you’re dating y/n! the really quiet girl?” he’d be like “who tf are you talking about! I’m dating y/n” and they’d be like *confusion*. he knows your quiet personality in public is a part of who you are and he respects that, but like he doesn’t really even remember that part of you, bc most of your time together is spent alone and he knows that’s when you’re most comfortable and your true self. absolutely HATES when ppl misunderstand you and then hold that against you. you don’t really care but he gets really protective over you.

Eric:

would think it was SO cute! he would coo and tease you gently when you were in public together making you crack a smile. when you started dating and he saw that you matched his energy he would be ecstatic! like he could not wait until you were home and in your comfort zone so you could be crazy together and laugh and talk for hours. sometimes in public old ladies would be like “deary,, you must remember to smile sometimes for your pretty bf here” and Eric would be like “????” “she does, but only when we’re alone” and then he would like flirtatiously smile at you causing you to blush and causing the old lady to feel kinda uncomfortable (as she should) literally does not phase him at all that you’re so different around strangers. like he doesn’t understand it, but he doesn’t think it’s weird either. if you’re standing there like “ughhh i hate ppl” written all over your face you’ll just smile to himself bc yeahh he just thinks it’s cute that you’re that way (idek) and then when someone tries to talk with you and he’s around he’ll swoop over and be like “hi. I’m her bf and spokesperson, how can I help”

#the boyz reactions #the boyz fanfic #the boyz #the boyz fluff #the boyz imagines #sangyeon #jacob #younghoon #hyunjae #juyeon #kevin smith #chanhee #changmin #haknyeon #sunwoo #eric #haknyeon's smile gives life

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scandalsavagefanfic · 3 years ago

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Hello! I am a huge fan of ur writing. I've loved everything I've read of yours. I've read alot of what you've posted, except for a couple of the tags that are squicky for me (so I'm very thankful you tag very thoroughly). No judgement for the squick, it's just not for me. & when I'm having a bad day, I usually just go thru ur ao3 and find something to reread. I think about Therapy's Bruce & Jason every damn day. While I obvs appreciate ur darker more "problematic" content (I really vibe with some of the themes you write about bc of my own trauma, & so it's very cathartic to read about in a fictional setting), I am truly a sucker for ur more happy content. The Happily Ever After verse also lives in my head rent free. Idk more wholesome stuff just seems more special when you write it. Anyways. I would die for you. But the point of this ask is cause I'm curious as to why you don't like Urban Legends? I'm sorry if you already talked about it here or on twitter and I missed it. I was just wondering because I really enjoy your take on things and would love to hear why you dislike it. I've been enjoying it so far personally, but I am always open to DC comics criticism.

Aw thank you so much! I'm so flattered by everything you just said. You're so sweet ❤❤❤❤❤

I haven't talked about Urban Legends here or twitter (I haven't been very active in either place lately. Just a lot going on and no energy 😔) but I'm happy to do it here.

Before I start though, I just want to add a standard disclaimer and make it clear that if you like it, there's nothing wrong with that and you don't have to let me ruin it for you lol. Like what you like.

That said, since you asked...

I said this when I was talking about it on discord, that there is a difference between hope and expectation. I always hope that a new story centered on Jason (or anyone really, but things have been especially egregious for Jay for 15 years) will be good or at least treat the character with a minimal level of respect (to be honest, the bar is super fucking low). But my expectations always temper my hope, to keep it from getting unrealistic. Because my expectations are based on experience.

The long history of Jason Todd, since even before his resurrection, has been one of retroactively trying to make him "a bad seed" in order to absolve Bruce of any responsibility in his death.

I don't even expect DC or their writers to start honoring the fact that Jason was not an angry, reckless Robin (and less of the later than Dick or Tim and definitely Damian). There plenty of ways that retcon can be folded into his history and be compelling and sympathetic. And if they're going to stick with that retcon, I'm only asking that they do it in one of those compelling and sympathetic ways because Jason was 15 when he died, heroically, in one of the most selfless acts in comics, to save a woman who literally handed him over to be brutally murdered. He was 12 when Bruce plucked him off the streets, he'd been homeless and fending for himself for at least two years. I personally think that Jason's story hits harder for him and Bruce if their original, canon relationship, of Jason as starry-eyed and eager to learn and absolutely devoted to Bruce and Bruce to Jason, is preserved. But Jason's origins does leave room for a meaningful interpretation of him as angry and frustrated at the lack of meaningful results of Bruce's methods.

And that's really where my irritation at stories like Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer and Batman The Adventure Continues has it's roots.

Every time one of these stories comes out, I think (or hope, rather) that this will be the one that remembers and respects the origins of the Jason and the Red Hood, that takes into account the changed sensibilities of comics readers in the 30 years since Jason's death and the subtle, 20 year, retroactive campaign to make him the "bad Robin". The "born bad" trope is played out and literally no one likes the message it implies. That some kids are just bad eggs and there's nothing parents or the adults around them can do. Especially when it's played as the kid's fault. If Jason's time as Robin is going to be characterized by anger, then it should be rooted in anger at the social injustices he witnessed as he grew up in an impoverished, crime-ridden, area and the horrors he faced raising himself when every day was a battle for survival. There are topical, meaningful, stories to tell with that backdrop.

But those are never the stories we get.

⚠⚠ Spoilers for Batman: Urban Legends, Cheer ⚠⚠

I'm particularly disappointed in Urban Legends because for the first issue, it looked like that was the kind of story we were going to get. I was put off by the first flashback of Jason being mesmerized by Bruce's guns, and I got that feeling in my gut that it was a bad sign. Jason depicted as impatient and overconfident and the scene with the guns is heavy-handed foreshadowing that got my spidey-sense tingling. I had a inkling then (in the first three pages) of how this story was going to play out, but it was early and I could still see many narrative paths that could lead to a satisfying story. My concerns were soothed somewhat and the little flame of my hope fanned, with the flashback of Alfred scolding Bruce, with Barbara's concern for Jason. A bit of worry returned with the way Jason ruthlessly pursued an addict who didn't appear to be a dealer and with the ending of the issue. The stuff with the addict sat wrong with me but the ending was tempered some by how despicable Tyler's dad was written. The scene was clearly set so that the reader could sympathize with Jason's decision and the scene with the addict could be brushed aside as a side-effect of comics over-the-top need for constant action, so I still held hope.

Issue 2 made me uncomfortable and it's where my hope starts to take a backseat to my expectations. I can dismiss Jason's self-deprecating internal monologue as unreliable narration, except that the flashback reinforces his thought process to explicitly show that it's not unreliable narration, and should be taken at face value. Jason faces physical abuse at the hands of his mother's drug dealer and when the flashback continues later, Jason kills the drug dealer. To be clear, this is a pre-Bruce Jason. His mom is still alive. He's like... 10. He kills this guy for shoving his head into a wall and implying Jason's mother paid for her drugs with sex. This is a scene that serves a single purpose. To show that Jason has always been prone to violence.

In the spirit of full disclosure, there is the small chance the drug dealer might not be dead. But the story obviously wants the reader to think he is, and it hasn't done anything to change that yet.

Starlin already did this story with The Diplomat’s Son in 1988 and he did it infinitely better. AND that’s still technically canon. So now I’m supposed to believe that Jason lost his cool bad enough to kill two douche bags before his sweet 16? Like it’s totally normal for abused kids raised in poverty, who’ve led hard and heartbreaking lives to just... haul off and kill people? That’s bullshit, and when taken with the Jason in the third issue, who is little more than an idiot thug, this story is really doubling down on some fucked up stereotypes.

Which brings us to the most recent issue. I went into this installment with very low expectations. I thought this story was going to be about Jason, through this experience with Tyler, a young boy with a similar background to Jason's, coming to the realization that Bruce's way is the best way and that Bruce did his best by Jason.

That would be annoying (in no small part because it takes increasingly absurd levels of plot armor to keep Bruce's no kill rule relevant, let alone irrefutably right). But I can probably live with that, if only because maybe if Jason officially falls back into line with the Bats crusade, maybe I'll get stories that treat him with respect, stories that don't relegate him to comic relief, dumb brute, or a background body with no lines in a story about the Joker burning Gotham (like Jason would just fucking stand there quietly for that).

And that may still be where the story is going, Jason realizing Bruce is right.

But holy shit do I not have the right words to describe how fucking insulting and gross issue three is.

From start to finish--including the flashback--Jason is written as cruel and fucking stupid. Like straight up dumb.

The entire issue is Bruce explaining the fucking basics to Jason like it's his first day. And Jason flies off the fucking handle and terrorizes a doctor he knows isn't a part of making the Cheerdrops, beats the shit out of some random addicts, and finally, when he can't accomplish anything on his own because he's a dumb brute he calls Barbara for help and rushes in with no information where he's promptly incapacitated and must now wait to be rescued by Batman.

This panel is the least of the issues sins but I can’t screenshot the entire story but it’s representative of the tone for the whole issue (and retroactively tainted the prior two issues).

This is beyond insulting. The only conclusions Jason comes to in this issue are the ones Bruce leads him to by talking to him like he can’t make the simplest connections. And like... in this story Jason can’t make the simplest connections.

This (and the Jason throughout the entirety of this issue) is a far cry from the Jason we fell in love with in Under the Red Hood, who was competent and strategic and intelligent enough to seize control of Gotham’s underworld from Black Mask (who’s no fucking slouch, he’s the first and only person to unify organized crime in Gotham) AND elude and manipulate Bruce until the time and place of his choosing.

This is a far cry from even the Red Hood and the Outlaws Jason who is competent enough to fight the League of Shadows and Ra’s al Ghul (among very dangerous and skilled others) and smart enough to create antidotes for mind control nanotech viruses.

As he should be, by the way. Jason Todd is one of the best, most comprehensively trained fighters in DC’s stable of non powered vigilantes. He’s not irrational or hot headed. He’s pragmatic, tactically minded, and patient. He’s a detective. Right now. Has been since he was 12. Bruce doesn’t have to make him one because he already is.

Jason is not a stupid thug who uses his fists because his brain doesn’t work. And I can’t tell you how so very exhausted I am by this narrative.

This is actually the most egregious example of Jason’s skills and intelligence being not just undermined but dismissed entirely. Even Morrison’s Jason had some degree of competency.

The one, single redeeming factor of this story is the art. It’s beautiful. And Marcus To is a godsend he seems to be one of only a couple of artists who remember that Jason was a child when he was Robin and I’m literally only buying this book because of him.

Anyway, I’m sorry. I didn’t want that to come out so... um... passionately lol. I’m just very very tired. My intention with this isn’t to ruin it for you, if you like it, that’s fine.

But this issue shot this story to the top of my "Vehemently Despise” list. 1) Batman: Urban Legends (Cheer), 2) Battle for the Cowl/Morrison’s Batman and Robin, 3) Batman The Adventure Continues.

I hope the next issues somehow salvage this dumpster fire. But I’m not expecting it.

(Damnit. That sounded harsh again. To reiterate, I’m not trying to judge anyone who enjoys it, I just personally hate it and you asked me why lol 😅)

#Batman #red hood #batman: urban legends #nice art #shit story #or at least shit characterization #jason todd deserves better #this response got long and I didn't edit it #please forgive any errors #and/or unclear spots #spoilers

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superhero--imagines · 4 years ago

Text

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! / Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! / Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! / Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here! / Part 17 Here! / Part 18 Here! < This is Part 19!>

Donate to Move to Higher Ground HERE!

Song Here- (X)

Big thanks to @imdoingathingmom and @bbibbisan for doing a sensitivity read!

* This could be worse, you remind yourself as you feed your deer

* Much, much worse

* “How much am I supposed to give them?” The tall, ebony colored man says from beside you, his bright red eyes seem to glow under the pale moonlight

* “Um.. for that one, you can feed it as much kale as you want, but be careful James, he’s kinda insatiable. He’ll eat your clothes if you give him the chance”

* James nods, tearing the kale in careful ribbons.

* He smiles when the deer eats right out of his palm.

* You’re not going to lie, you were 100% surprised when the blond turned out to be Laurent and the black guy was James

* You were even more surprised when he asked if he could help you feed your animals

* You watch him smile as he gives the deer a gentle pat, feeding it more kale

* Yeah, you’re having a hard time believing the teddy bear in front of you is some psychopath tracker

* The story went that while you and Edward were out, the coven decided to play some baseball up in the mountains, and the sound caught their attention as they were passing through

* Apparently this was a fast friends situation, because Carlisle and Laurent have been reminiscing about their geezer pre-colonialism days

* You look to the house, you can see Edward’s inside from the window, his eyes meet yours and he gives you a small smile

* Well that seems hopeful

* “I used to take animals before I turned” James’s deep voice calls you back to the situation at hand

* “Oh were you a farm hand?” You’re peeling an orange, which Henrietta the third is already licking at impatiently

* “Um, not quite, I was a slave”

* You stop peeling the orange

* James tells you his story- he was a third generation slave, fathered from the master, his mother passed away shortly after his birth

* “I was lucky- in a sense, the master -my father- he was a superstitious man, and my mother- she had a reputation”

* His mother was a slave in name only, was what he told you. She was more of a mistress or a concubine.

* “At least that’s what they said, Though I’m not sure how much of that is true, I’m fairly certain she didn’t enjoy being with him. She was just trying to survive”

* His mother had been ostracized, even amongst others like them, but not because of her social position in the household

* “They thought she was a witch,” he admitted. “Bad things happened to people who wronged her, and good things happened to those who helped her”

* That sounds like Alec and Jane

* “When she was on her death bed, she laid a “curse” on the owner of the plantation, that if I wasn’t taken care of she would haunt him and bring misfortune on the entire family for several generations”

* And so, James became the unfavorable third son of the Pickett family.

* “I had many opportunities from her sacrifice, I learned to read and write, but I was more or less shunned from the house- both by my family and by the other slaves”

* It was lonely, almost painful.

* “But there was one thing, a ray of light-“ his eyes flit towards the window, and you follow his gaze to the red haired woman in the green chair

* “Victoria, she was my eldest brothers fiancé”

* The youngest daughter of the wealthiest man in town, from the outside she was a blossoming socialite

* The most beautiful girl in town

* But behind closed doors...

* Victoria was the product of an affair, a mistresses child, reluctantly brought into the household when her mother passed

* “She had big dreams, she loved to read, she yearned to study, to educate herself, to use her mind”

* And so, two lost souls found each other

* “Our family would never have allowed it. So we decided to run away together” he smiles, but it’s bitter.

* They claimed he had abducted her, perhaps to save face, and sent slave catchers to find them.

* “I’m not quite sure what happened-I remember being shot and telling Victoria to go in without me- all I ever wanted was for her to be happy.”

* This is heartbreaking

* “When I woke up, Laurent was there, and my throat burned”

* So Laurent had been with them for all that time, he was their creator

* “Afterwards the three of us worked in ‘the underground railroad’ helping slaves to the north where they could be free”

* “I’m thankful to him, for saving us, we wouldn’t have been able to be in a world where we could be together if it weren’t for him-“

* “But you wonder what the trade off is” you finish and he nods

* No longer human

* Purpose only lasts so long in this life, after all human life only has meaning because you know one day it will end

* “I found a penchant for tracking, it turns out what they said about my mother might have held some truth”

* James calls it “extreme luck”, there’s no other word for his gift.

* If he’s looking for something - or someone- it’ll inevitably find him through pure luck. Like the world bends to his will

* But it only works with finding things

* “These days we work as bounty hunters, and we only feed from people beyond redemption”

* Murder and rapists it sounds like

* “I didn’t know there was another way”

* “That’s understandable, I didn’t know either until I met Carlisle” he looks at you with kind eyes, and so with a deep breath you tell him your story

* About the Volturi, your parents, Alec and Jane-

* “I think you would like them, they’re a little off putting at first, but they warm up pretty fast”

* “Like cats” he says

* “Like cats” you agree

* You tell him about meeting Carlisle, how he saved you,

* how Eleazer gave you a home and a family,

* and about Edward, who gave you a chance to live

* Not just to survive, but to truly live

* “We’re not so different you and I” James says with a smile, and you mirror his expression

* “No we aren’t”

* Though of course you wouldn’t compare the relatively privileged life you had to his

* But the loneliness you both experienced is not all that different

* The tie that binds you all

* And then you do something you’ve never done before

* “You know, I don’t belong to this coven, not really” it’s the first time you’ve admitted it to anyone

* “Oh?”

* “My coven is in Denali, they have a permanent settlement there, and they follow the er... same alternative lifestyle”

* He laughs

* “I’m sure they would love two or three more, we’ve got like thirteen spare rooms in that house”

* You still remember the antiquated scooby Doo mansion-esque hallways filled with armor and swords

* He looks at you for a long time, but it doesn’t make you uncomfortable

* “I won’t follow another leader”

* You nod, that’s understandable.

* Laurent created them, and it seems he’s happy with their current lifestyle, they won’t betray him

* “Not unless it’s you”

* ........

* What?!?!

* “M-me?” You sputter, your orange peel filled hand clutching your chest

* “Why would you want to follow me? I’m only nineteen years old- I don’t even have a high school degree yet!”

* He laughs at your panicked expression

* “You know that doesn’t matter to our kind,” his eyes twinkle as he looks at you.

* “Call it witchcraft if you like, but you’re going to accomplish great things, I can feel it deep in my bones”

* Garrett had said the same thing, but the way James says it-

* You really believe it.

* He doesn’t want anything from you you, not a kiss or a date-

* He just wants to be your friend, to be apart of your vision

* Whatever it may be

* “Here’s my card-“

* He holds out his business card to you, unlike Garett’s it’s a cheap cardboard white with his profession and number on the front

* “If you ever find yourself in need of someone to help with your animals, let me know”

* You nod, taking his card in your hands

* “Um there’s one more thing I could use your help with-“

* He points to the large window, right at Alice

* “I know that girl but she doesn’t seem to know me.”

* “Well how does that work”

* He tells you how many years ago, a woman was looking for her sister.

* “It was a bit of a Cinderella story”

* The woman’s father had remarried quickly after his wife’s death, and the step mother had sent his children away. The younger sibling, his client, was lucky and was sent to a relative.

* But the older, who had suspected something amiss had happened to her mother, was sent to a mental asylum

* “You know me, I find things, it’s my gift.”

* But when he found the girl, she was no longer human. Already turned.

* “I tried to approach her, but she didn’t seem to remember anything”

* “Alice doesn’t have any of her memories from before she turned, she woke up in the woods all alone”

* The only thing guiding her were her visions.

* James nods solemnly

* “Should I...should I tell her?”

* You look to Alice.

* She’s smiling at something Victoria said.

* How many nights has she spent wondering who she really was, feeling so happy she had a family and a partner, but wondering if she left someone behind

* How would she feel when she found out?

* “I think you should tell her.”

* If it was you, even if it hurt, you would want to know

* James nods

* “Okay”

* You walk inside together, and immediately look to Edward

* Your own personal vampire lie detector

* “He did lie about one thing-“ Edward tells you once James pulls Alice aside.

* Was he actually tracking Alice to hunt her?

* Your heart drops at the thought

* “His mother didn’t die from natural causes, she committed suicide because she knew it would secure his future” Edward tells you with a somber expression.

* “He just didn’t want you to feel bad”

* You smile and nod.

* What a strong person, you can’t even imagine

* Edward pulls you into his arms, placing a soft kiss in your hair

* You feel bitter sweet about the whole thing

* Especially as you watch them leave in the morning, right before you’re going to head off to school

* Jasper is holding Alice who seems vulnerable, but relieved

* They’re leaving so soon, you didn’t even get a chance to get to talk to Victoria or Laurent

* You watch James stand next to Victoria, they’re talking to Carlisle.

* They’re not even touching, but you can feel the intimacy radiate off of them

* You wonder if maybe you and Edward might get to be that close one day

* James meets your gaze and smiles

* “I’ll see you around sometime leader!” He calls out, earning confused looks from your coven and his

* You smile back and give him a nod

* You’re still not sure what your future holds

* But you know you wouldn’t have gotten this far if it weren’t for the kindness of others

* You want to make them proud

* And then in a gust of wind, he’s gone

* They all are

* “See, I didn’t commit murder or anything, I told you things were different” Edward says with a teasing smile

* You roll your eyes and lightly shove him while he just laughs

* He’s right though, that was different

* “Enough flirting kids, you’re going to be late for school, and I really don’t want to deal with that dick in the front office acting all high and mighty because they think I can’t control my children” Esme yells

* School?

* Oh sh*t you didn’t do your homework

* “Edward-“

* “I’ll drive and tell you the answers on the way there” he says catching the keys you toss to him

* “It’s the-“

* “The Trig homework, I know. It’s your worst subject”

* Well you do struggle with trig quite a bit

* “Though to be fair you’re pretty terrible at all of them”

* He barks laughing when you shove him before getting into the car through the passenger side

* Carlisle and Esme watch you from the doorstep

* “They’re so good together-“ Esme starts

* “I know, I never thought our Edward would look at anyone like that”

* Carlisle and Esme exchange a look

* Before you came around-

* Well it wasn’t bad, but he certainly didn’t look like that.

* And he never smiled like that either

* Immortality had hardened him, made him into a man

* But with you-

* Well, with you he looks just like a boy

* A boy in love for the first time

* “I wonder what kind of children they might have had” Esme wonders with a small grin

* Him, with his ability to read minds, and you with that positively monstrous power of yours

* Any number of possibilities is possible

* “Best not to think of such things” Carlisle murmurs

* Though you two may be together for eternity, with the endless options, you’ll never have that.

* Esme nods

* “I’m late to get to the hospital, surgery this morning” he mumbles kissing her on the cheek before walking to the car

* She watches him go, his sleek white Volvo disappearing down the road before looking up to the sky

* “What a shame, I would have liked a cute grandchild or two running around” she mumbles to herself before turning to go inside

* “Entertaining always leaves me exhausted, guess I’ll give my employees the day off”

Tags: @moonlights27 @thebluetint @the100thtwilight @awesomebooklover17 @oneofthepotterheads @smileygirl08 @imdoingathingmom @iconicgguk @yrawn @alyciaswhore @little-horror-show @wicked-watering-can @lazydreamers @ xxxmuxxx @ideas-for-you-to-adopt @poisoinedhope @maryleigh8796 @moose-squirrel-asstiel @hotmessgoodness @jaimewho @corabmarie @what-am-i-doing10 @alluring-venus @imdoingathingmom @anotheryooniverse @im-tired-not-sleepy @emmettcullenisahimbo @my-super-musical-life @smolvampiregirl @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream @mihikaahujaaa @werewolflover3252 @teenagezombiekryptonite @shynz @reclusive-chicken-nugget @monkeyluver4546 @wonhomarshmallow @bwbatta

#twilight imagine #twilight headcanon #twilight reader insert #twilight fanfiction #twilight saga #twilight #edward cullen imagine #edward cullen x reader #edward cullen headcanon #edward cullen fanfiction #midnight sun #superhero-imagines

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onecanonlife · 3 years ago

Text

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that's all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There's nothing deeper at work here. There's nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 11,592)

(first part) (second part) (third part)

--------------------

Part Four

He blinks awake, and he isn’t sure what he’s looking at.

A ceiling, to be sure, but it’s not the ceiling that it should be. It’s paler, more uniform, and the light illuminates it more evenly. His eyes drift across it, catching on a few hairline cracks near the wall, and he wonders, vaguely, if this is something he needs to be concerned about. This isn’t his room. He ought to be in his room, if he was sleeping.

And then, he comes to full awareness, because he is suddenly very cognizant that there are other people nearby. Breathing, clothes rustling, quietly conversing, even, and panic bursts in his chest. He sits bolt upright, casting about him for a weapon, anything he could use to defend himself, because he’s not going to let Dream’s men get the drop on him, not going to let him take down their revolution so easily—

He’s greeted by the sight of his friends, staring at him, visibly startled.

That’s right. The war is over. And he can relax, because none of them are likely to stab him in the back. Though that doesn’t mean he can let his guard down entirely, of course—not likely is not the same as impossible, after all, and he learned long ago that nothing is impossible, no loyalty guaranteed. And why are they here in the first place?

He scans the looks on their faces and simultaneously tries to figure out what they’re doing. They’ve got paperwork, it seems like. All of them. Is that his paperwork? Why are they doing his paperwork? And why are their expressions like that, varying between vaguely guilty to concerned to glad to—

His gaze lands on Niki. And just like that, he remembers.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Fuck, what has he done?

He can’t believe himself. Did he actually let himself have a full-on break down with her in the room? Did he actually say all of that to her? There’s no way he can take any of it back now, which means it’s out there. She knows. And with everybody else here, with Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy and even Jack Manifold sitting around on his office floor, he can assume that they know too. They know how much of a failure he is.

Maybe that’s why they’re all here, going through the work that’s meant to be his. They’ve realized that he’s incapable of doing it properly, so they’re going to appoint someone else to take care of it and gently ask him to step down. He has no doubt that they will be gentle. As kind as possible with the knife that hits his heart. He’ll fade into obscurity, a slow death, and dust will coat his bones, and in fifty years or so someone will visit him and find what remains.

That is the kind of thought that would have even Technoblade accusing him of melodrama. He doesn’t care enough to rein himself in at the moment.

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, peering at him over a paper that he’s holding very close to his face. To get a good look at the words, he assumes. “You feeling any better?”

“Um,” he says, and curses his tired brain. He needs a minute. Alone, preferably, so that he can get his mind up and running properly, without anyone seeing him before he can manage as much. But they’re not about to grant him that, are they? “Uh, I’m good.” He shifts, trying to release some of his tension in a non-obvious manner, and fabric falls from his shoulders. He glances down at it; it’s his coat, meaning someone divested him of it when he was asleep and covered him with it. He’s not sure how he feels about that. It’s a nice gesture, on one hand, but on the other, he doesn’t like that they could do that without waking him up.

Niki is sitting closest to him, though everyone is kind of close, actually, now that he’s noticing it. They’ve pushed his desk to the side, too, as well as his chairs, leaving the floor wide open, and yet, they’re all clumped near him, papers spread out between all of them. But Niki smiles at him. No one else does. He wishes he could smile back. His heart refuses to calm, even though he’s recognized the people in here for friends rather than foes. The problem is that anyone could be a foe, and he might not know until it was too late. Not that he really thinks that about any of them, but—he can’t not think it, either.

And he’s too vulnerable. The space is too crowded. They’re all looking at him, watching him, and even though he’s slept, he doesn’t feel rested. Doesn’t feel awake. He’s going to slip up, and they’re all going to be here for it, and he didn’t know what to do about it when it was just Niki so how is he supposed to do damage control when it’s literally everyone—

“That’s good,” Niki says, drawing him out of his thoughts. “I’m glad.” She pauses, and he should say something, but his head’s too jumbled, and all the words jam up against each other before he can think to voice any of them. “It’s been about four hours.”

Oh. That’s good. He hasn’t lost too much time, then. Not that he would have accomplished much with it, probably, but there’s a reason why he forces himself out of bed, at least, even when that’s the last thing he wants to do.

“Right,” he says. “Good.” Fuck, the words just aren’t coming. He has to do better than this. “Can I ask why you’re all here?”

Silence falls, thick and oppressive. He feels like he’s breathing heavy fog, like it’s filling his lungs and then staying there. And they’re all still looking at him, too, at him and at each other, and they’re having some sort of silent conversation, and he hates it. He meets Fundy’s eyes for a second, and Fundy glances away, away and down, his ears almost flat against his head, and Wilbur—he’s not going to cry again. Not going to—but he wants to know why they’re here, and he wants to know whatever it is they’re not saying to him, and he doesn’t want his son to look at him with that expression on his face. Like he’s—he doesn’t even know, and when did he forget how to read Fundy? How long has it been since he really tried?

It’s Jack, of all people, who speaks up first.

“Niki said you could use some help,” he says with an easy shrug. “So we’re helping. And you seemed like you might need the rest.”

I don’t need help.

The sentence sticks in his throat. Because it’s a lie. It’s a lie, even though he’s tried so hard to make it into truth. It’s a lie, and perhaps he’s just tired of telling lies.

Though he doesn’t much like the alternative, either. Is there no way out of this?

“We don’t mind, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Tubbo tacks on. His tone is casual, but there is something knowing in it. Something slightly sharp. Tubbo is so very perceptive, even if he doesn’t always let that on, and normally, it’s a trait that he very much admires. Normally. When it’s not directed at him. “And besides, some of this is definitely stuff that I ought to be working on anyway. Since I’m in your cabinet and all. I’m not so busy with the space program that I can’t.”

Space—oh. Right. Did he approve that? He must have.

“Yeah, this is way too much for one guy,” Jack agrees. “No wonder you’ve been stressed out, man. But hey, you’ve got us. We’re paperwork champions, us.” He waves a paper cheerfully, grinning, and that’s a bit much for him at this second. There’s no malice in any of it, in anything that Jack is saying, but it’s still—too much, and he doesn’t quite know why, but his skin has started that uncomfortable buzzing again, the kind that it does when he’s feeling overwhelmed and doesn’t have an outlet.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment,” he tries, phrasing it as carefully as he can, “but that’s really not any of your responsibility.”

“Wil,” Niki says, and her voice cuts through the white noise in his head. He stiffens, and suddenly finds that eye contact is also too much. “We want to help. That’s all. And it’ll make us feel better too, if you let us.”

“We made you soup, too,” Fundy mutters suddenly, ears still pinned back. “Or, well, Niki did. Tommy messed it up the first time.”

“Oi, shut the fuck up,” Tommy says. He’s hunched over, curled in on himself, and eye contact is a thing that he seems to be avoiding as well, which is concerning. Tommy doesn’t tend to be avoidant when he’s angry.

In a way, though, it’s almost relieving to see clear signs that someone, at least, is upset with him.

“I did,” Niki agrees, “but Tommy tried his best. Actually, Tommy, it should be ready now, if you want to go and get it?”

Tommy lifts his head. His eyes are red-rimmed, and the sight makes Wilbur feels a bit like he’s been shot. Because he did that, surely? That’s his fault? It has to be.

“Fine,” Tommy bites out, and then he rises, and he’s out the door before Wilbur can think of what to say to him at all.

“He actually did try his best,” Tubbo says. “When Niki said we ought to make you some soup, he was all over it. He’s just not any good at cooking things. He gets distracted, and then things are burning or boiling over and it’s a whole mess.”

He knows all of this. He traveled with Tommy for a very long time. He was in charge of meals for multiple reasons, despite the fact he doesn’t have much of an affinity for food himself. What he makes is often edible, though, which was always more than he could say for Tommy’s attempts, Tommy who is too impatient and too prone to jumping on ideas and following where they lead, discarding the old ones when they no longer interest him. Not the best mindset to have when it comes to cooking.

And then, the implications catch up to him. Soup. He’s going to have to eat.

That’s a thing he should do, he knows. He just doesn’t know if he can. Especially not with everyone here, everyone looking at him, and his discomfort at that fact has not left him, no matter how silly a thing it is to get worked up over. He ought to be fine with the attention, ought to thrive on it. He used to. He used to, once, not even that long ago. A matter of months. He could drop a deft turn of phrase and have anyone eating out of his hand, and he liked it that way. He could charm strangers and court friends. He was in control.

That control has left him. Along with his dignity, apparently.

“You know, that’s not all that surprising,” Jack says. “Tommy doesn’t really seem like the type of person who knows how to cook things.”

“Well, he can, if he really sets himself to it,” Tubbo says. “Just not if there’s anything else on his mind.”

The implication being that there was. The implication being that it was Wilbur.

His cheeks are on fire. He’s powerless to fight back the flush.

Is this what it’s going to be, now? Are they going to keep discussing him, dancing around the topic while he’s still in the room? He wonders what they talked about while he was asleep. Whether Niki spilled everything, shared all the finest details of his break down, or whether she left them to guess. He doesn’t know which would be worse, but either way, nothing will be the same. At best, they will pity him, will lose their respect for his abilities, lose their faith in his leadership, and they will feel sorry for him. Will feel dismay at how far he’s fallen. Perhaps they won’t even say as much to his face. Perhaps it will all be in sideways glances and hushed silences when he enters a room and too-gentle voices when they speak to him, and he will lose them just as surely as if they hated him.

Perhaps it will be better if they hate him. Perhaps he would prefer that, no matter how it would burn him. Because at least it would burn him quickly, and the flames would not be disguised as an open palm.

“Wil?” Niki’s voice is soft, but it brings him back to the present effectively enough. “Really, are you feeling any better?”

“I’m feeling fine,” he says, almost on instinct, even though he knows very well that he’s not going to be able to slide that past her. Not now. Not after their—

But should he be trying to? After what she said to him?

But he can’t believe her. He can’t. No matter how much some part of him wants to, no matter how much there is something in his brain and in his chest and in his bones that wants nothing more than to break down again, to let them all see the truth of him. Wants to let them take care of him, if they would.

But they shouldn’t have to. Even if they would, they shouldn’t have to.

And he doesn’t want them to pity him.

“Are you?” Niki asks, holding his gaze. He can feel the flush deepening.

“No shame in not,” Jack pipes up, still infuriatingly casual. “If you’re feeling sort of shit, you can tell us that, you know?”

“I’d say it’s encouraged, actually,” Tubbo adds on.

“I’m not feeling sort of shit,” he says, and—fuck. He has to look down. He can’t stand Niki staring at him like that. He’s lying, and she knows, and he knows she knows, but he just—earlier was a fluke. He can’t—he can’t repeat it. Can’t let himself—

So why the fuck is it so tempting to just give in? Is it that he knows he’s already doomed?

“Okay,” Jack says slowly, and even he sounds a bit doubtful, “but you know, hypothetically, if you weren’t? That would hypothetically be fine, and we’d hypothetically be there for you. If you wanted to hypothetically talk to us. Get some things off your chest, as it were. Because we’re your friends.”

He opens his mouth. And closes it again.

And then, the door swings open. Tommy’s standing there, a large bowl in his hands.

“Soup,” he announces, curt and short. He’s angry. And still angry when he looks at Wilbur, for the first time since—all of this. His blue eyes are stormy, and if Wilbur had just a little less presence of mind, he might find himself shrinking back. Which would be ridiculous. He’s not afraid of Tommy.

Just of his judgment.

He blinks, and the soup is being thrust into his hands, along with a spoon. The bowl is hot, but it’s easy to handle, and he takes it before any of it can slosh over the sides. It’s mostly broth, it looks like, with a few chunks of meat. It smells nice. Fairly appetizing.

His stomach growls.

“Thanks, Tommy,” he murmurs. “And Niki, thank you.” He stirs it a couple times, trying to work up the nerve to bring the spoon to his mouth. It shouldn’t be that hard, but—he’s back to the people thing, again. Eyes on him. And it’s Fundy’s, maybe, that are most unnerving, because Fundy’s barely said anything to him at all. He doesn’t know what he’s thinking. Can’t read him whatsoever, and that in itself is upsetting.

But perhaps it’s just as well that he waits a moment, because then, Tommy speaks up.

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” he demands, and once again, the room falls very silent. No one moves.

His mind blanks, unravels, almost, at the accusatory note in Tommy’s voice.

“Tommy—” Niki ventures, but Tommy shakes his head.

“No,” he snaps. “I want him to say. He’s been in here, fucking, fucking starving himself apparently, because he’s been so fucking stressed, and he hasn’t said anything about it. In fact, he’s been fucking lying about it, and I want some fucking—some fucking answers, alright? Why didn’t he tell any of us what was going on?”

No words form. He doesn’t have an answer. Not when it’s Tommy asking him these things.

His chest feels hot.

No. No, not now, not again, you’re not doing this.

“Tommy,” Niki says, “I think it’s a little more complicated than that—”

“Fuck complicated,” Tommy says. “He could’ve been dying and we wouldn’t have known.”

Tommy’s voice breaks.

And it is probably a bad thing, that Wilbur’s first thought is, I think that I was.

He has enough good sense to not say that aloud, at least.

“I was hardly about to burden you with my problems,” he says, barely above a whisper. He can’t get his volume to increase any more than that. Not in the face of Tommy’s anger. Which is odd, because usually he’s quite good at combating Tommy’s stubbornness. “Especially when I ought to be able to handle them myself.”

“Well, fuck you too, then,” Tommy says, and—it is an effort not to flinch at that, to stop himself from spiraling, to prevent tears from springing to his eyes again. He can’t be that sensitive. He can’t. But then, Tommy continues, and he thinks that all his efforts might be for naught anyway. “No, really, fuck you, man. You’re not fucking—burdening us, what the shit are you on about? Are you just stupid?”

“Not that I’d phrase it that way,” Tubbo joins in, “but Tommy’s got a point, boss man. Why’d you think you couldn’t come to us with this stuff? You have to know we’re happy to help you, right?”

It’s that same question again. He can’t go through it. He can’t explain the self-loathing, the mask he wears, the front he puts up. He can’t go through it, because he doesn’t want to see the dawning realizations on their faces. He doesn’t want them to understand him, not like that, because he understands himself. He understands himself, and he hates himself for it, and he doesn’t want them to hate him as well.

But Niki doesn’t hate him. Niki heard everything that came out of his mouth, and she doesn’t hate him.

But that’s not—

He feels so fucking lost. And he hates that, too.

“I think,” Niki says suddenly, “that Wilbur’s been dealing with some things lately. And that maybe he didn’t want anybody to know about it because he’s supposed to be the leader, so that means he’s supposed to be strong all the time, and maybe that means he’s not supposed to ask for help. And that maybe he thinks we’d think less of him if he did need help.”

He stares at her.

That’s the crux of a lot of it. And she’s just laid it out. It’s in the open, now, and he didn’t have to say anything at all. He’s not sure whether to feel grateful or upset about it.

She stares back. “You don’t have to say anything,” she says. “I know it’s difficult for you. But am I right, Wil?”

It is difficult for him. That’s part of the whole problem. If it is a problem. He didn’t think that is was, thought that it was a strength, in fact, the only thing keeping him above water, the fraying stitches that maintain the facade that he so desperately needs to keep up. But if Niki is to be believed, he should have said something a long time ago. Because his leadership capabilities and his formation of this country aren’t why his friends stick with him. Apparently.

He still doesn’t know if he can believe that.

But perhaps he doesn’t have to believe it yet. Perhaps he needs to take a chance.

Slowly, he nods, and he keeps looking at her, not at anyone else, because he doesn’t want to see anyone else’s reactions, but he does see the relief in her eyes at the motion, at the admission. At the capitulation—because that’s what this is, isn’t it? It’s him giving in, accepting that there is nowhere else to hide.

“Oh,” Tommy says, and he thinks that someone else makes a noise, but he can’t tell who. “Well, that’s just some bullshit, then, innit? Everyone needs help sometimes, don’t they? Except for me, because I’m so poggers, but everyone can’t be me, you know, and there’s no shame in that. And maybe, you know, just maybe I ask for help sometimes too, just to make it fair to everyone else. But you know, asking for help, it doesn’t make you any less, um, good, and if you need help you should ask for it, I think. That’s my opinion.”

Oh fuck. He’s not going to cry. That shouldn’t even be hitting him like it is, because Tommy’s his kid brother and he’s supposed to be looking after him, not the other way around, but—

Fuck. He’s tearing up. He doesn’t want them to see him crying. But his mind’s a mess.

“I know it’s hard,” Niki says, and she scoots a little closer. “But we can start with little things, okay? And we’re here for you.” Her eyes take on a certain amount of hardness, a glint that’s just a bit like steel. “And we’re going to continue being here for you.” She reaches out, then, puts a hand on his arm, and the only reason he doesn’t flinch away and spill soup all over himself is because she choreographs the motion. “How about you eat your soup?”

He finds his voice at last.

“Okay,” he says, small and broken. They can hear it, he’s sure. But they don’t leave.

He eats the soup. It’s good.

He can only get about half of it down before he feels too full to continue, but it’s something like a start.

----

They’re true to their word, all of them.

He’s not alone nearly so often these days. It’s almost frustrating, because they’re hovering. He’s well aware of that fact. Even when he wants to isolate himself, he finds that he can’t do it, that it’s not fifteen minutes before someone comes barging in, either to take him out somewhere or to stay in with him, to work on policies or just to share stories or show him a new build or a thousand other things. His office sees more traffic in the next few weeks than it has in the past few months.

But what they don’t do, he’s starting to realize, is pity him.

He doesn’t understand it at first. But they never comment on the fact that he can’t do what he ought to be able to do, and they never hint that they find him incapable, and they don’t subtly try to say that he’s unfit for the job, even though all of these things are true and wrapped up in each other. They’re just—there. For him. Supporting him.

It’s a little bewildering. He tries not to express as much, because whenever he lets something like that slip, they look angry, if they’re Tommy, and sad if they’re anyone else. Which he doesn’t want. But it truly is as if they care about him as a person and not just what he can do for them, which is a mindset he’s never been able to hold when it comes to himself, and frankly, he’s not sure whether he can trust it at all, because he’s still not good at that. Still not good at trust. He’s not sure whether he ever will be again.

But they stay with him, and they help him, and from everything he can tell, it’s not because they pity him. It’s because they care.

Terrifying. And there have to be limits to that, surely? To even the most genuine compassion?

But he hasn’t found them yet.

The first time he thinks that perhaps there are none at all comes on what he’s taken to calling one of his grey mornings, where all the world appears lifeless, colorless, and there doesn’t seem to be a point to getting out of bed, and even if he wanted to, his limbs drag heavily, as if weighted down by anchors, and his mind refuses to emerge from the persistent fog that takes it.

Usually, on these mornings, he manages to be up and about by midday at the latest, if only because his anxiety about the tasks he needs to accomplish eventually overrides the haze, and no one is ever the wiser for it.

Today, Tommy comes barging into his private quarters at about ten in the morning.

“Wilbur!” Tommy says, loud as anything, drawing out his name in the way that he does when he wants something. He wants to press his pillow over his ears so he doesn’t have to listen, because it’s grating, the sudden noise. But he doesn’t have the energy for it, so he just lies there, in bed, covers pulled over him, watching Tommy through slit eyes as he steps into the room. “Wilbur, you’ve got to come and tell Tubbo—why’s your room so shit?”

He’s fairly certain that’s a change in subject, and not what he’s supposed to come tell Tubbo.

“No, really,” Tommy says. “There’s like, nothing in here. What the hell?”

He needs to respond to that, so he sighs.

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet,” he mutters, and even just saying that much takes far too much effort. “Just—go do something, I’ll be up in a bit.”

And he will be. He always is. But Tommy doesn’t leave, stands there frowning at him, and it’s enough to make him feel self-conscious. Not as much as it would have a few weeks ago, perhaps, but still, he doesn’t like that Tommy’s seeing him like this, all slumped over and still in bed like a sad, messy sack of potatoes.

“Rough morning then, eh?” Tommy says, and—really, there’s no point in denying it.

“I’ll be over it in a bit,” he repeats, though it’s a chore, though he’s dreading the moment he steps out of bed, because the thing about days like these is that the haze doesn’t actually leave him. He just eventually uses his neuroticism to force himself to work through it, which makes for a gut-churning combination of nerves and apathy, both rolling through him at once. It’s unpleasant, and his brain never seems to work properly. Everything that’s supposed to be important dissolves, slips from his grasp, and he can’t even manage to care properly about it, and then he gets anxious about the fact that he can’t care properly about it, and then it turns into a cycle, all of his negative energy feeding itself. And he’s powerless to make it stop.

“Okay, but if I leave, you’re just going to be in here, all sad and shit,” Tommy says. “So how about I stay here, and I tell you about the crimes that Tubbo has committed against me, and then when you’re feeling a bit better, because everyone feels better after talking to me—when you’re feeling a bit better you can get up and we can go out together, yeah?”

He’s not sure how he feels about that. But he can hardly stop Tommy at the moment, since it seems he’s already made up his mind, and Tommy’s already looking around for a chair; the only one in the room is the one at his desk, so Tommy pulls that over to the bed, making a horrid, obnoxious scraping noise against the floor. And then, he seats himself, settling down like he’s not inclined to go anywhere anytime soon. And he talks.

The thing is, it sort of works.

The way Tommy’s speaking, it’s like he doesn’t have any kind of expectations. Wilbur doesn’t need to answer, just to listen. So he does, and he lets himself drift a little bit, and it’s difficult to believe that Tommy’s not judging him for it, or for any of this, but Tommy’s not the sort of kid who hides what he’s feeling, and he can’t detect any frustration or derision in the way he’s talking. It’s like he’s content enough to just talk, to be there, even though Wilbur’s hardly making it fun for him, is hardly being an engaging conversation partner. It’s like he just wants Wilbur to feel better, without any ulterior motive at all, so he’s here doing what he thinks will accomplish that.

And Wilbur does start to feel better.

Not all the way. Not by a long shot. But eventually, he finds himself able to reply, and the words come a bit easier and thinking feels a bit less like wading through mud, and it starts to be an actual conversation rather than just Tommy jabbering at him. And after that, he manages to swing himself out of bed and get dressed, and Tommy pushes breakfast on him that he manages to eat most of, and just like that, he’s up and about his day. Not at a hundred percent, not firing on all cylinders, but more than usual, on a grey day like today.

And it’s because of Tommy. Because he was here. Because he came, and he stayed, and he thinks that perhaps, what Tubbo did or did not do was never the point of this at all.

When he asks Tommy about it, a little circumspectly, Tommy stares at him like he’s grown a second head.

“What do you mean, why?” he asks. “Why wouldn’t I? You were feeling shitty, weren’t you? So I wanted to make you feel alright again.”

It’s stated so simply. As if that really is all there is to it.

And perhaps that’s the truth.

“You make things way too complicated,” Tommy tacks on, matter-of-factly. “I dunno why you do that. You ought to stop it, I reckon.”

That wrings a laugh from him, and if it’s a bit wet, Tommy doesn’t comment on it.

“Maybe I should,” he says, and Tommy nods, satisfied.

“Of course you should,” he says. “I am always so incredibly correct. You should listen to me all the time.”

“Don’t push your luck,” he returns, and it feels, just a little bit, like the way things used to be.

----

The white hair still bothers him. His reflection as a whole still bothers him, but the white hair most of all. It’s broad and obvious and an irritating reminder of what everyone keeps insisting isn’t weakness, but rather a sign that he’s pushed himself beyond the point of what’s healthy. Which matters. Evidently.

He still doesn’t like looking at it. It makes him feel—lesser, in a way, though he’s no longer sure that makes any sense at all.

So he still does his best to hide it, even though there’s not much point anymore, even though everyone’s seen it and everyone knows exactly what it means. He tries to hide it, and he avoids looking in the mirror when he can, and he pretends he doesn’t see the way people frown at him, sometimes, whenever he refuses to do something like take off his coat or hat in one of the more casual settings they’ve taken to luring him out to.

And then, Fundy shows up at his door with a bucket and a pair of fishing rods.

“Do you want to go fishing with me,” he blurts out, all in one breath, and Wilbur blinks, because he hadn’t expected this at all. He’s come to expect something, most days, has come to expect someone arriving either to interrupt the monotony of his work or to help him with it, but Fundy doesn’t make appearances often. And never by himself. Frankly, Wilbur had come to the conclusion long ago that he’d messed up somewhere along the line, done something that forced his son to desire a separation from him. That his little champion has resolved that he’d rather not have much to do with his father.

“Fishing?” he asks.

He’d promised, a long time ago, that he’d teach his son how to fish one day. That day never arrived. He’d thought that Fundy didn’t want to anymore.

“Yeah.” Fundy shifts his weight back and forth between his feet. “Um, it was just an idea. But I thought that maybe? You’d want to? If you, um, if you have some time for it. It’s okay if you don’t.”

It’s on the tip of his tongue to say no. But he’s done that so many times, has denied his son again and again. Not just his son, but everyone, and now they’re all determined to make him see, apparently, that focusing on his work in the way he has been is not only unhealthy, but not necessary. He still doesn’t know that he believes that.

“Alright,” he says softly, and stands, and his heart breaks a little at the surprise that comes across Fundy’s face.

“Really?” he asks. “You want to?”

“I do,” he says. And he does, even if a bout of nerves rises up in him at the prospect. He does his best to quash them.

So they do. They go down to the docks. They get situated, and Wilbur shows his son how to put the bait on a hook, and how to cast his line out, and how to be patient, and they fish, and it’s a bit awkward. A bit stilted. There’s too many unspoken words between them, and one big subject that neither of them knows how to breach, especially not in this circumstance, and part of Wilbur doubts that they ever will.

But they’re both here. And he doesn’t want this to be their future. And he’s decided to try not to isolate himself like he was, so if something’s going to change, it really is up to him, so he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you,” he says, and stares out at the way their bobbers float next to each other in the gentle surf.

“It’s okay,” Fundy says. “Or, well, I mean. I kind of thought that you were disappointed in me or something, so that kind of didn’t feel okay, but I’m glad you’re not.”

He jerks at the confession, which sounds pained, as though he doesn’t really want to be saying it.

“Why would I ever be disappointed in you?” he asks.

“Well, it’s—” Fundy says. “I dunno, you just never let me do anything, and then you kind of stopped spending time with me at all, so I sort of figured that maybe you thought I couldn’t do anything.”

His mouth is dry. His line is slack, which is just as well; if a fish came along now, he might let it tug his rod right from his fingers.

“I’m not disappointed in you,” he says. “I never—I never could be, Fundy, I promise. I—I thought you were disappointed in me, to be entirely honest.”

Fundy’s head snaps toward him, his eyes wide.

It is a struggle to continue. Confessions like this are not his forte, even now. But he’s trying to be more open. Trying not to lock himself away. Trying to reach out for the hands that have been offered to him, trying to believe that they will help him stand, will not abandon him to his own shoddy balance as soon as it becomes apparent that he’s made up of more trouble than worth.

And Fundy deserves this.

“I’m sorry that I made you feel that way,” he says, and that is difficult, too. Saying sorry outright like that. But he needs to. “Truly. I just figured—I mean, I know I’m not exactly the best parent. And especially lately, it’s been—”

He trails off, not sure where he’s going with this. If it were a few weeks ago, he’d be apologizing for his weakness as well, for his inability to remain strong under the pressure, but everyone around him keeps insisting that that’s not the right way to look at it, and he’s growing more and more open to letting himself be convinced.

“You’re—” Fundy starts, and then falters. His tail drags back and forth, and then stills. “Oh. Um. Okay, I probably should’ve—um.” His ears flick, and he glances away. “I’m sorry too, then. For avoiding you lately. I know, um, that’s what I’ve been doing. I didn’t realize that it—it wasn’t because I thought that you were, that you were disappointing or anything, I just didn’t—I didn’t really know how to react. Because I sort of always thought you were invincible, and now all of a sudden you’re not.”

Something in him wilts.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“No! Um, no, that’s not what I—you don’t have to be invincible, it’s just that I sort of needed to, to adjust to that. Because of course, no one’s invincible, right? But you’re just—you’re my dad, so I guess I always just thought that nothing could hurt you. So I wasn’t—I wasn’t really sure what I should do. Or how I should help. Or if you even wanted me to help. But I didn’t mean to—I mean, maybe I was a little upset with you but not like—it wasn’t like, for a—I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it. I guess I was upset because I was worried.” Fundy looks back at him. “‘Cause, you know. I love you and everything.”

Oh.

He’s not quite sure what to do with all of that, but the last sentence gets caught in his chest and sticks there, warmth unfurling.

All’s not lost. His son still loves him.

“I love you too,” he says, slightly hoarse. “Always.”

He can believe this. Sitting here, listening to the lap of the waves, he can believe this, can believe that his son loves him, that no matter his mistakes, his son still cares, that his son won’t leave him. Maybe he’ll forget later, but he can be reminded. And in turn, he hopes that Fundy believes him. Because there are so many words unspoken between them, but now, there are a few less.

They keep fishing. Far longer than he thought he’d allow himself, but he finds it easier than it has been, to push his duties from his mind. And at some point, he rolls up his sleeves, and then loses the coat entirely, and the hat lands on top of it, and he’s letting his hair free, and other than a few glances, Fundy doesn’t mention it at all.

And when he catches a glimpse of himself in the water, too-thin face and too-dark eyebags and a white streak of hair that’s almost skunk-like in its prominence, he doesn’t care much for it, but he doesn’t recoil. Doesn’t feel the need to hide away, or to put on the layers again, to cover up behind the mask of professionalism.

For a moment, he can just be a man fishing with his son, and all the rest is less important.

----

“There is,” Jack Manifold says, and swallows, “a man.”

Not what he expected Jack to say when he burst in like that, but alright.

“What man?” he asks. He puts down the paper he’d been reading, and decides it goes into the ‘to-delegate-to-Tubbo’ pile. That’s a new system he’s been using. Delegation. He’s not quite comfortable with it yet, but it makes everyone else happier, so he’s doing his best to actually give it a try.

“A man,” Jack says, very helpfully. “He’s at the gates. We told him to wait to come in, and he’s doing that, but um. Wow. He’s got some vibes. Dunno how to describe them, except to be honest, he’s a bit intimidating. And he wants to see you.”

That can’t possibly bode well.

“Alright,” he says, standing and grabbing his coat. Freshly washed. He’s getting better about that. He’s had a bit more energy, lately. “Show me.”

Jack takes him down to the front entrance. He keeps pace with him, matching him stride for stride, but it’s not until they’re almost there that Jack tacks on, almost an afterthought, “Oh, yeah, plus he had wings. That’s not really a usual thing.” And his heart leaps straight into his throat.

“He what,” he says, but by then it’s too late, because there’s the entrance to his nation, and standing there, talking amicably with Tubbo, is Phil.

He looks unchanged from the last time he saw him. Even though that was—well. Not actually years ago. He’s seen him in the meantime for a couple of tournaments and the like, but he’s thinking of the day he left home. The day he decided that the world was too vast, too big to leave unexplored and unconquered, the day he decided to go in pursuit of that nebulous more that he always seemed to want, but could never put a name to. The day he slung his guitar across his back and a coat over his shoulders and gave his father one last hug goodbye and promised to write, and only looked back once to the house, to where Phil stood on the porch, smiling and waving him off, proud of him.

He looks unchanged. Same robes, same sandals. Same dumb bucket hat. Same wings arching behind him, feathers black as the void that granted them to him.

“Oh,” Jack says. “Does Tubbo know him?”

He swallows.

Why is Phil here?

“Yeah, they’ve met,” he says. “He’s—not anyone you need to be worried about.”

Probably. Almost definitely. Especially if Technoblade’s not with him, since he’s heard Technoblade has a bit of a mind toward anarchy these days, so he’s not sure how well that next meeting is going to go. But there’s no sign of his father’s best friend, only his father, whose head swivels toward him on his approach, and it’s too late to turn back now. Not that he would. This isn’t something he can run away from.

“Wilbur!” Tubbo says, as soon as he’s close enough. “You didn’t say Phil was coming.”

“I wasn’t aware Phil was coming,” he says, and tries for a smile. Phil meets his eyes, and he returns it, but there is something else there. Something more complicated than a simple reunion ought to warrant. “Phil didn’t write ahead. Though that’s not to say he isn’t welcome, but I probably would’ve done a bit of tidying up first.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Phil says. “I don’t mean to drop by unannounced. But any letter I sent probably wouldn’t have gotten here much before I did.”

That is—concerning. What’s so pressing that he couldn’t have waited?

“We should probably let you guys catch up, huh?” Tubbo says, and then nudges Jack. “C’mon, we’ve got to go do a thing.”

“We do?”

“Yep.” And then, Tubbo’s got Jack by the arm, and both of them are walking away, Jack considerably more confused than Tubbo, and then they’re gone. And he’s left with Phil.

Should this feel as awkward as it does? There’s no reason for this tension. Not that he knows of.

“Hi,” he says. “Been a while.”

“Hi, mate,” Phil says, voice soft, expression soft. Is there a reason for the softness, more than just seeing each other again for the first time in—a while?

“Well, welcome to L’Manberg,” he says. “I mean it, you were welcome anytime. I’d love to show you what I’ve made here. What we’ve made here.” He pauses. He can’t not ask. Letting something like that slip by him isn’t in his nature. “Though, is there anything I should know about? Don’t take this the wrong way, because I am glad to see you, but I really wasn’t expecting you.” He finishes with a laugh, short and perhaps a bit nervous, and the corners of Phil’s eyes crinkle. His expression isn’t happy, though, not really.

“I got your letter,” Phil says, still soft, and Wilbur goes to ask for clarification, because he hasn’t sent a letter asking him to come. Except the next words make him freeze. “Both of them, actually.”

Phil dips a hand into a pocket in his robes, and it comes out holding two sheets of paper. Both written in his handwriting. One neat, clean. The other with lines and sentences scratched out, and then the rest of it rushed, an outpouring of emotion, something that he never, ever intended to send. And he wouldn’t have—he wouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake, would he have? Except he was so tired, and Tubbo came in and interrupted him, and couldn’t it be plausible that he’d just—scooped up both drafts, when he only meant to send the one? That he tucked both into the envelope, sent both flying off, sent them both into Phil’s hands, one a clear contradiction of the sweet lies of the other?

He’s gone numb.

“Oh,” he says weakly.

What did he write? He can’t even remember now. It was a flight of passion, a bit of self indulgence that he hoped would relieve some of the stress. It didn’t, of course. And he didn’t consider the idea that there would be consequences for it, that it would ever see the light of day. He never intended it to.

Something about being a disappointment. About failing everyone. About being hated. Something about the Final Control Room, too, which was something he never wanted Phil to learn about.

“Um,” he says.

“I figured you didn’t mean to send it,” Phil says. “But I—I could hardly not come, after reading that.”

He sounds a little bit lost. Like he doesn’t quite know what to do in this situation either. That makes two of them.

He can’t explain this away. Even if he’s been a bit better lately, even if he’s gotten a bit better at leaning on others, at asking for help, and even if he no longer quite believes that his friends will abandon him as soon as he proves to be of little use—because if they were going to do that, they would have already, surely—even with all of that, he’s still not well. In a better state of mind than he was when he penned that, but still not well. And now Phil knows, and he’s here, and he’s going to know all the rest, and whenever he thinks he’s mastered himself, has himself under control, the universe comes and spits in his face, doesn’t it?

Niki was one thing. And then all the rest of his friends, his little brother, even, that was another, but he’s been getting accustomed to it. Has been trying to trust, even though it’s so very difficult.

But Phil. He never wanted Phil to know. Not any of it.

“Right,” he says. “Um. I was—not in a very good headspace when I wrote that. I’ll admit it. But it’s not—I mean, I am okay. You don’t need to worry.”

The words taste stale before they even leave his mouth. Phil won’t believe them; he doesn’t believe them himself. No one has believed them for quite some time, and perhaps it’s better that they don’t. Hadn’t he said that he was tired of lying?

But this is Phil.

“Wilbur,” Phil says, and he almost cringes, “would it be okay if I hugged you?”

And—that is not what he was expecting.

He’s nodding before he can really consider it. A few scant weeks ago, he would have denied the request, citing something about professionalism and maintaining appearances and no longer being a child. And that urge is still there, still present to some degree. But it is overwhelmed by the realization that it has been a long time since he was hugged by his father, and whenever Phil hugs him, he always feels safe and warm and protected, and he wants that, and if everyone around him is to be believed, it’s alright for him to want that.

So Phil steps forward, and he steps forward to meet him, and he’s not sure when he got to being so much taller than Phil, but even despite that, it feels just like he remembers, arms and wings folding around him and tugging him close. He sags against him almost instantly, and Phil holds him up with little effort.

And suddenly, there’s tears in his eyes. He’s starting to make this a habit.

“I’ve been really worried,” Phil murmurs. “Wil—why didn’t you tell me? Any of this?”

“I didn’t,” he starts, and almost chokes on his own breath, “I didn’t want—”

Ah. There go the tears. He’s less ashamed of them than he would have been, not long ago, though he still doesn’t like that this is happening. Still doesn’t like that Phil’s privy to this, now, too.

Phil hushes him, rubbing circles into his back. They must be a sight, L’Manberg’s president crying into the shoulder of the Angel of Death.

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he finally chokes out. “I’m sorry I lied. I just didn’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Oh, Wilbur,” Phil says, his voice something like grief and something like sorrow, “you could never disappoint me.”

“I could,” he insists. “I’m very disappointing.”

“You’re not,” Phil says. “You’re not. And even if you could be, I would never, ever be disappointed in you for how you feel, or for needing help.”

Ah. Well.

That seems rather in line with the sentiments that everyone else has been expressing, of late. And there’s something in his brain that won’t let him be persuaded, not entirely, as much as he’s been trying to work past it. There’s something in his brain that insists that he is a disappointment, that he should be better at handling himself, that anyone saying otherwise is lying, trying to placate him, because if he cannot accomplish anything worthy of attention or praise then he is not worthy himself.

But Phil is not lying to him. Phil is hugging him, and in his voice, there is nothing but sincerity. And pain, perhaps. Pain born of fear, of worry. For him.

He doesn’t have a response. Not a verbal one. But he holds Phil tighter, and Phil does the same, and for a while, they just stand there, and true safety is not a thing that exists, but if it did, he imagines it would feel a little like this.

----

He uncovers the mirror.

It’s a whim, not something thought out. He barely thinks about it at all before he’s doing it, whipping the sheet off and peering at himself.

The man staring back is a stranger, in more ways than one, and yet, he is utterly familiar. There are the bags, still deep and dark. There is the thinness of his wrist, the prominence of his cheekbones, the blood shot through his eyes. And there is the hair, creeping out from under the hat. Curly, a bit longer than he usually keeps it, and streaked with white in multiple places, the most obvious of which is a broad chunk right in front.

He breathes. In and out.

He still hates it. He doubts he’ll stop any time soon. It marks him as different, as other. Gives people something to stare at whenever it’s out in the open, though his friends have stopped doing it as much. He thinks they’ve realized that it well and truly bothers him.

But at the same time—

The bags are still dark, but less so. His frame is still lean, lanky, a bit underfed, but it’s no longer so bad, no longer as bad as it was. He’s not sure he understood how bad it was, at the time, but he’s eating more regularly now, and it’s obviously made a difference. His uniform is neat, and he feels no compulsion to straighten it up further, to get rid of all the creases, to stand with a soldier’s perfect posture. There is something to be said about professionalism, of course, but the need to be perfect all the time has faded. Not disappeared, but lessened.

And the white is still present, still a sign of what happened to him. Of the conditions he placed himself under. He doesn’t like it.

But he’s not ashamed. At least, not as much as he was.

He runs his hand through his hair. Puts his hat on his head, and lets his curls hang freely underneath it, doesn’t try to shove them up under the covering.

He doesn’t love it. He’s not there yet. He doesn’t know how to love himself. Doesn’t know how to convince himself that he deserves to.

But it doesn’t look bad.

He breathes. In and out.

“Alright,” he says, and the man in the mirror mouths the words in time with him. “You’re alright.”

It’s not quite the truth, but for the first time in a long time, it’s not quite a lie, either.

----

His feet carry him to Niki’s once again.

There’s no one else there but her. Her and the warmth of the ovens, the crackle of furnaces, the bits of flour always floating on the air. He slides into his usual seat, propping his head up on his hands and just watching her for a minute, not saying anything. The prominent scent is that of baking bread, but she’s setting ingredients out for cookies. He recognizes them, recognizes the combination of flour and eggs and sugar, and chocolate chips set off to the side. She’s washing her hands, and then, she turns, and she sees him.

She smiles.

He smiles back.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hello,” she answers. She turns back to the sink and washes her hands, and then goes back to her ingredients. It’s familiar. He’s watched this so many times. She mixes the dry ingredients, and then starts adding the wet, stirring until it all solidifies into dough, adding in the chocolate chips. She’s making them the way he knows most of the kids like them best, almost more chocolate than cookie, barely holding themselves together when they’re fresh out of the oven.

He pillows his head on his arms. Lets his hat slide to the side. He’s aware of it, but he doesn’t pick it back up.

It’s so warm in here.

It’s not long before she has mounds of dough on baking sheets. Her movements are practiced, steady and sure. To his eyes, it’s almost like magic, the way it all comes together.

He’s tempted to ask for a bit of the dough. But if he does that, she’ll smack him on the head with her spoon and warn him about the dangers of eating raw eggs, an exasperated smile twitching at the corners of her mouth. And he’ll sigh and go along with it, no matter how tempting the morsel might be. Unless he sees an opportunity to sneak some, but she catches him more often than not.

So he doesn’t ask. Just watches. It’s warm, and he feels tired, but it’s not a bad kind of tired. Not a bone-deep weariness. Not the kind that makes him want to sleep and never wake up again—and that, that is something he has not quite confronted yet, that sentiment, that desire. He ought to. He has more clarity now, and he knows himself, and he knows he ought to. But not now.

He’s tired, but it’s the sort of tired that pushes him toward a nap, comfortable and safe, and that startles him for a moment, the fact that he feels safe here, with no qualifications placed on the idea at all.

He’s not in a talking sort of mood. So it surprises him when, after she’s finished putting the pans in the oven, Niki turns to him and asks, “Do you want to help with the next batch?”

He blinks.

“I thought I’d make some sugar cookies next,” she says, and then holds out her hand. “Come and help me.”

He stands, slowly, and ventures around behind the counter to where she’s standing. He takes her hand after only a moment’s hesitation, and is rewarded with another smile, one that he can’t help but return, if haltingly.

“You do know what a mess I am in the kitchen, right?” he checks.

“You are a disaster,” she agrees. “But you’ve been in here enough that you know what to do, don’t you? You can at least follow my directions.”

“I suppose,” he says, and Niki takes that as all the affirmation she needs, because in the next second, she’s stepping away from him and into a back room, and then returns in the next instant with an apron. Plain white, and definitely far too short for him, and she shoves it at him with an expression that tells him she clearly knows that it will make him look at least slightly ridiculous.

He sighs and puts it on. It barely reaches his mid-thigh.

“It suits you,” Niki says, with a determined nod. “Now, come here.”

She walks back over to the counter, clearing off all the bowls and measuring cups that she’d used for the chocolate chip cookies and pulling out new ones. She seems to have an endless supply. And then she looks at him, expectantly, so he comes over, hovering by her as she goes to get the actual ingredients. All familiar. All things he’s seen her use before, countless times. Perhaps this won’t go so badly; he could probably even get the measurements right himself, if he tried.

Niki sets a big bag of flour on the counter with a thump.

“Measure that out for me?” she says. “We’ve multiplying everything by four.”

Alright. He—thinks he knows what that means. So he takes a few measuring cups, scoots them closer to him, and begins pouring the flour, giving Niki sideways glances so as to pick up on whether he’s doing it right or not. She doesn’t stop him, but his distraction means that the flour starts kicking up in the air in earnest, and he coughs, waving a hand in front of his face. When it clears, she’s looking at him in amusement, and he shrugs, holding out one of the cups toward her.

It goes on like that. She directs him, and he does what she tells him to do, and if he gets it wrong, she corrects him, and if he gets it right, she thanks him. They stay quiet, for the most part, little conversation passing between them, but it’s not an uncomfortable lack. There’s no tension in the air, no pressure to perform. He feels as though his words have run dry again, melted away from him in the close warmth of the bakery, but for once, he doesn’t mind. He feels, for the most part, at ease.

What a novel concept.

It’s not too long before they’ve got dough, and plenty of it. Niki moves them to another counter, spreading flour out across a couple of thin boards before sliding one in front of him, and scooping some dough on top of it. She holds the rolling pin out in front of him a moment later, and he takes it. It’s fairly self-explanatory, what he’s meant to do now.

He rolls out the dough. Beside him, Niki does the same.

“We’d freeze it first, if we wanted it to hold its shape better,” she murmurs. “But I think we’ll keep these simple.”

He hums. The motion is repetitive, almost soothing, though it takes a moment to figure out how much pressure he should be applying. It takes some, but not too much. And yet, it’s simple, leaving his mind free to drift, and for the first time in a while, those drifting thoughts don’t land anywhere too dark.

“Here, that’s thin enough,” Niki says, putting a hand on his arm, and he stops. “You don’t want it to be too thin, and you don’t want to have to roll it out again. It’s never good to overwork the dough.”

“Right,” he says, and watches as she fishes around for some cookie cutters. True to her word, they’re simple, just various sizes of circles. She pushes some toward him, and he takes one, pressing it into his dough and coming up with a perfect circle. He then pauses, watching her to see how she gets hers out of the cutter; she pushes it gently with one finger, so he does the same, and it lands on one of the cookie sheets with a light thwap.

He finds a rhythm after that. And there’s something nice in the simplicity of the design. Just circles.

But after a few minutes, Niki breaks the silence.

“I’m glad you’re doing better,” she says. “It was—scary. The way you were.”

He has to chew on that for a moment. It’s still a bit odd to be thinking of it that way. He spent so long being so determined that he was doing the right thing—and not only the right thing, but the only thing, the only option available to him. Keep his head high, his face pleasant, and only let out his despair when there was no one else around to see or hear. So it’s still foreign, just slightly, to wrap his head around the fact that other people cared that he was doing that. And not because it affected his ability to fulfill his duty, but because they cared for him. Care. Present tense.

Because they’re still here. Are still with him, despite how sure he was that admitting his weakness would drive them away. That, if nothing else, is the most convincing evidence of all as to the veracity of their words.

“I think I understand that now,” he says, and cuts out another cookie. “I’m glad too.”

He’s sleeping more often. Eating more frequently. And the storm of his mind, while not gone, has calmed. It’s easier to hold his ground against the wind that batters him, and easier to recognize it for wind at all.

It’s easier to reach out for a hand to help ground him.

“I think,” he starts, almost on impulse, and then stops. How much of this is fair to say? The importance of sharing his emotions has been impressed upon him, but he doesn’t want to give anyone else a burden. Doesn’t want to—but that’s not thinking about it the right way, is it? He glances at Niki, checks to see if she is willing to listen, and she nods at him, encouragingly. That’s all he needs. She wants to hear him, wants him to speak. The only person holding him back is himself, himself and the lingering fears that anything he says will be used against him, that everyone around him is circling, waiting for a fall, that the moment he opens up they’ll pounce, tear him to shreds and then leave what remains for the crows.

But that’s not the case.

They’ve proven it to him. And more than that, they were willing to prove it, even when it was, perhaps, not fair of him to demand that of them.

“I think I got used to it,” he says, slowly, feeling out the words as he says them. “Hating myself. So used to it that I didn’t realize that I was a bit fucked up.”

“I don’t know if fucked up is quite the right word,” Niki says, matching his soft tone. “Do you still? Hate yourself?” Her voice breaks just a little bit on the last word, but when he turns his head to meet her gaze full-on, she looks back steadily.

“I don’t know,” he admits, and this honesty burns. “I really—I really don’t.”

Is he supposed to know? That’s probably a thing he’s supposed to know. A chill runs up and down his spine, but then, Niki lays her hand on his arm again.

“I think that’s progress,” she says, “isn’t it?”

“But I should know,” he says. “And—I’m aware of the fact that healthy people don’t hate themselves, Niki.”

“Well, I don’t want you to hate yourself,” she says, and her voice is a strange mix of upset and calm. “I don’t think you should hate yourself. And it’s upsetting, that you can’t see how much of a wonderful person you are, just because you’re you. Upsetting for you, I mean. Not because of you. This isn’t your fault. It’s—” Her nose scrunches. “Tommy describes people as wrong’uns. I think your brain is a bit of a wrong’un.”

He blinks. “My brain’s a wrong’un?”

She nods. “Yeah, because it’s wrong, and it—it makes you feel bad about yourself.” With the hand not on his arm, she makes a sharp gesture. “And that’s not—that’s not the whole thing, it’s more complicated than that, I think. But do you know what I’m saying? It’s your brain’s fault, but it’s not you. Am I making any sense at all?”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” he says, “but I think I understand what you mean.”

“I don’t think I quite have the words for it,” she says. “It’s just that—you’re worth so much more than you tell yourself that you are.”

He looks down at his dough. He’s pretty much cut out as many circles as he can, which means pushing the remainder together and rolling it out again. He does so, and then it’s back to making circles. Steady, rhythmic.

“I’m still having a hard time with that,” he says. “But it’s. Easier, I think. To try and accept it, than it was before.”

“And we’re with you,” Niki says. “We’re not leaving you. We’re all here with you.”

They are. Niki with her unflinching kindness, Tommy with his brashness and devotion, Tubbo with his matter-of-fact loyalty, Fundy with his awkward, honest support, Jack Manifold with his determined friendship. And lately, Phil, too, who has fit in with the rest of L’Manberg easily, smiles and laughter and a gleam in his eyes, and always a word of support when he needs one, and even when he thinks he doesn’t, always a safe haven to return to, always shelter under his wings.

They’re here. They’re with him.

They’re going to stay.

“I’m very glad,” he says, words halting, “that you all didn’t just up and decide that you’d had enough of me.”

“Wilbur,” Niki says, “we would never.”

He looks back at her. She’s smiling at him again, open and honest, concerned, but glad.

And he believes her.

“Let’s get these in the oven, shall we?” she says, and they do. They go pan by pan, one of them on each side, sliding them in to be baked. And then, they are left with no more dough and a mess of ingredients, and he’s too slow to move when a light enters Niki’s eyes, too slow to dodge when her flour-covered fingertips swipe across his cheek.

He can only retaliate from there, of course. It’s only fair. And he pays no mind to the state of his uniform as they start flicking baking ingredients at each other, pays no mind to the way his hair dangles in front of his face, pays no mind to the fact that he’s going to look a mess when he finally leaves. He’s got flour all over his clothes and sugar on his face, but Niki looks the exact same way, and when they finally have enough, when they slump against the counter side by side, a breathless laugh escapes him, and Niki looks delighted by it, so really, isn’t it all worth it?

“You look ridiculous,” he manages, and she smacks him on the shoulder.

“You look worse,” she says. “You look like you decided to wear the bakery instead of cook in it.”

“Oh?” he says. “And who started it?”

“And who decided to go along with it?” she returns, but she’s laughing, too.

And here he is, the president of L’Manberg, covered in baking ingredients, avoiding his duties so he can have a food fight with his best friend. No guilt accompanies the thought, and for the first time, he toys with the idea that perhaps, he does not need to be president forever. Maybe one day, he’ll work up the ability to set down the burden, to hand it to someone else, to let the possibilities open up before him, unconstrained by doubt and self-hatred and the cage he built for himself. Maybe his guitar will stop collecting dust.

Not yet. But maybe one day.

For now, this is enough.

So he stands in the bakery, warm as any hug, with white in his hair and the scent of cookies baking, and allows himself to feel, for the first time in a long time, that he is allowed this, and that life is worth living after all.

#mcyt #dsmp #dream smp #wilbur soot #nihachu #tommyinnit #fundy #philza #tubbo #jack manifold #dsmp fic #/rp #cw depression #cw self-hatred #cw disordered eating #long post #cat writes fic #at last it is done #literally triple the word count it was supposed to be but it is finished

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shoichee · 4 years ago

Note

okok hc or fic: reader was teiko’s “head” manager(?) and her talent was being a medic (if someone gets injured they’re back on the court in under a minute type thing) and training plans. suddenly momoi’s talent blooms, she starts working w/ everyone in the team (+ reader’s crush akashi) and people think she’s a better manager than reader. because of this, she overworks + collapses in front of her best friends kuroko + kise (don’t let akashi know yet i have plans for that 👀)

HELLO? YES OFFICER? I JUST FOUND A BANGER REQUEST RIGHT HERE? YOUR BRAIN IS SO BIG AND SEXY IVE BEEN DYING TO WRITE THIS🏃🏻‍♀️💨 part 2 here and part 3 here AND update: part 4 here

Akashi x Reader

[Teiko!manager Headcanons]

you had a knack of being a natural chiropractor in loosening up tense muscles instantly (for more fluid play) or easily putting in back dislocated joints

basically you have crackhands

in your free time as a hobby and a job as the “head manager” (that Akashi announced to the team himself), you’d often bury yourself in anatomy studies and gym plans on the internet and databases to review over Akashi’s team training routines to see if they were effective and safe; oftentimes, you’d return back with improved plans, and as time went on, Akashi entrusted you with creating the plans yourself completely

you took on the job so eagerly to impress the Teiko captain, if you were being honest to yourself

your enthusiasm even inspires Momoi, Teiko’s other manager, to work harder

no one in Teiko knows physiology better than you, and as expected, it was also your best subject along with health

Kise often looks at you in horror and respect at how you don’t cringe/flinch at the loud cracks resonating across the room or court when players come to you for instant relief (the origin story of how he came to call you (y/n)-cchi was the very fact that you manage to put back his dislocated shoulder in 3 seconds flat one game)

when Kuroko first joined the 1st-string, he was a walking magnet for injuries, and you ended up being there for him every single time… nosebleeds? check. sprained ankle? check. nausea from over exhaustion? check.

both you and Kuroko relish in the fact that everyone in the team can never understand how the both of you do some incredible things with your hands

both of you being quite dexterous, you both often teach each other your specialties for fun; it’s almost shocking to see Kuroko effortlessly loosening up a stress knot and you pulling off a well-done palm pass

you admit, you do juggle a lot of responsibilities… from being a makeshift nurse, to a chiropractor, to a budget gym coach, and even to being moral support

Momoi often reminds you to take breaks being the caring person that she is

you often showed her the ropes and tricks of being a manager, on top of your duties, and you find it really endearing that she’s so earnest in learning from you

even if you enjoyed doing what you do, part of the massive workload is to try to get into Akashi’s good graces

talking to him about basketball duties is easier to achieve than talking to him outside of the extracurricular

you might be a tad bit insecure about it; after all, what middle schooler is already so accomplished in academics, sports, and everything you could think of? wasn’t he also studying to take over his father’s company??

to you, who only starred as Teiko’s humble manager, it felt hard trying to establish common ground for conversation outside of basketball

so you stuck to working hard at your position, hoping that your work ethic would get his attention one day; you were a firm believer of actions over words, so you hoped your actions would come off as genuine

picture you and Momoi running across campus with stacks of papers for the team… it makes most of the teammates’ hearts melt at the sight

your work certainly got you praises from other teammates, but out of all players, Kise was the one who figured out your motive

you felt absolutely morbid; to think that Kise, of all people, would figure you out like the back of his hand

Kise being sweet as he is, offers to help you get with the captain but you merely prompted to threaten to break his arm if he spilled your crush to anyone else

“(y/n)-cchi… I’ve been thinking.”

“Yes, Kise?”

“It’s really cool that you’re working so tirelessly for the team, but I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why you work so hard.”

“O-Of course I do! I want to see you guys all succeed!”

“Then I’m curious as to why you always look at Akashicchi—o-ow, ow, ow!! (y/n)-cchi, I’m sorry! So can you please let go of my—ow!”

“H-How did you know?!”

“I-It was as obvious as day, (y/n)-cchi! I’m pretty sure even Kurokocchi found out about this before I did!”

“N-No way!!”

“Tell you what, I’m super duper knowledgeable in this stuff! You can count on me for this sort of advice—OW!”

spoiler alert: Kise was right in that Kuroko definitely noticed your attraction to Akashi before anyone else… he just never brought it up to you

one day, Kuroko comes up to you to whisper:

“(y/n)-san, have you realized that Akashi-kun has been observing you recently during practice?”

“W-Wait! Is he looking over here right now?”

“Not that I think. He’s occupied with the coach right now.”

“D-Do you think this is a good sign?”

Kuroko gives you a small smile before he replies, “I would like to think so. Keep working hard, (y/n)-san.”

and you do, you’re constantly on top of your game for the next season until Momoi suddenly gets more recognition for her “precognitive defense” skills

her newfound talent was extraordinary and never-before-seen, and her ability became more critical to Teiko’s victories than your own skills

you were happy and proud for her, because after all, her achievements were extremely deserving to be praised

it’s only when some 1st-string players started making offhand comments about how you weren’t really needed in the 1st-string and was more suited to the lower strings that placed seeds of doubt into you

these people would often compare you to Momoi in how she improved much more despite you being in the team for longer

there’s also talk about how your skills are more useful for 2nd-string and 3rd-string players because Momoi’s ability is already sufficient enough for Teiko’s starters

after all, how would a player even be injured if they can predict their opponents’ moves to avoid such incidents?

there’s also the fact that Akashi has been calling Momoi more frequently to research on upcoming teams for analytical data because her talent has become very useful to ensuring victory

the same peers and adults who gave you praise were the same people who began to ignore you or dismiss you; that being said, the collective change in attitude is definitely subtle enough that it would fly under most people’s radars

Kuroko was the first to notice and defend you against a small group of players who were bold enough to badmouth you in the gym

Kise would find out a little later about the somewhat unpleasant gossip about you and would pull the “no you” reverse card, returning back with MEANER underhanded comments that would send these shit talkers CRYING HOME (manga Kise strikes here unexpectedly eh?)

Murasakibara is someone who would be slightly uncomfortable with the gossip about you, especially since you’ve always been so helpful and kind to the team and himself; he’d either leave the room himself or easily scare them away with his looming height and presence without saying a single word when he enters the room “minding his own business”

Midorima is a bystander judging from how he’s reacted to the Teiko dynamic changes in the actual show // he, of course, wouldn’t like the nasty talk about you but would actually mind his own business, choosing to focus on himself and what he has to do to contribute to his team; he assumes that you would work hard the same way he is and let your contributions do the talking

now Akashi surprisingly wouldn’t hear much of the gossip, since his presence alone SHUTS them up and commit to their practices like normal; after all, it’s very clear that Akashi doesn’t tolerate this type of behavior in the team (example: Haizaki), and it’s more apparent that he wouldn’t hesitate to drop kick them out especially since he has a soft spot for you (which Kise never fails to bring this up to you, but you think he’s reaching too much into it) // TLDR; the teammates mostly have the common sense to not utter anything bad about you… maybe one kid would slip out and get punished for “bad sportsmanship,” but Akashi merely assumes that it’s just one bad apple and not necessarily… the many others as well

Aomine???? bro he ain’t even at practice wdym (HELPPP LMAOO) // jokes aside, if he catches wind of players shit-talking outside of the gym… say at the convenience store or when he’s walking home or something, well… they wouldn’t have a good time…

Momoi simply chastises the gossipers when they try to talk shit on you to make Momoi herself look good, and it leaves? such? a? horrible? taste? like, she wants to believe that they’re just really poor jokes and not what they really believe in, and the teammates merely reassure her that they’re just bad jokes and that they “wouldn’t do it again;” poor Momoi wholeheartedly believes them

the weird talks about Momoi being “the better manager” just signalled to you that you haven’t contributed enough to the team yet, and it motivated you to work even harder

oddly, you weren’t jealous of the fact that Momoi was receiving more positive attention than you

you were more afraid of the fact that you were going to get left behind, and this fear only tightened its hold on you when more teammates (who used to talk to you a lot) have changed their tunes when they speak with you now, compared to them talking to Momoi

and you felt that the Generation of Miracles would do the same too… including Akashi

it wasn’t an irrational fear for you because he’s already been calling Momoi a lot more frequently for help than you recently

so you even offered to mop the gym floors after practice, offered to stay later than usual to be the one to lock up the gym for anyone (cough, Kuroko) who wanted to practice whenever they wanted

at one point, you even tried to do what Momoi does: researching on upcoming teams and making your own predictions (that didn’t really work, and that cost you a few nights’ worth of sleep every single time)

not to mention that you still had regular school like any other student? you were the epitome of a mess

Kuroko was with you in the empty gym, you putting away the extra basketballs in the storage closet while he practiced his dribbling, until he heard a crash in there and a few basketballs rolled out the door

you collapsed right when you rolled in the basketball cart

POOR KUROKO HE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO // he just tries to give you a piggyback ride as he abandons his plans of practice and tries to jog to the nearest local clinic

that’s where he bumped into Kise, who was heading home after an evening shoot when he saw the two of you

chaos ensue as Kise freaks out and Kuroko had to calm him down himself after answering the never-ending questions

at least the doctor there gave relieving news that you only collapsed from over-exhaustion and that the bruises from the fall were very faint

Kise makes a joke to Kuroko about, “What’s with you and (y/n)-cchi falling to the floor and fainting? You guys can’t be that alike.”

when you shortly regain consciousness, you were met with a… very stern Kuroko and Kise, who were both ready to hear your explanation and to scold you to oblivion

to your surprise, they were understanding; Kuroko understands the feeling of not being enough and working hard to meet other people’s expectations, and Kise understands the struggle of juggling multiple things in his schedule (come on, student, athlete, and model?)

they still scolded your ears off:

“(y/n)-san, you idiot. Why didn’t you ask anyone to help out?”

“That’s…”

“(y/n)-cchi, do you think we’re undependable?!”

“Er, no, that’s…”

you were still dizzy from the fall and the lack of proper sleep (and maybe nutrition if we’re being honest), and you were just a ball of stress

you kind of begged your best friends not to tell a SOUL to anyone about this incident, especially to Akashi… you didn’t want to look even more incapable in his eyes than you already were

they do agree on one condition: for you to take AT LEAST a day or two off school to completely recover and rest up (you reluctantly agree; besides how were you going to explain the bruises that can’t be covered to your peers?)

HELP WHY ARE KISE AND KUROKO THE BEST LIARS TOGETHER ON CAMPUS LITERALLY NO ONE SUSPECTS A THING… except Akashi, the ever sharp captain, felt something was amiss

especially since some Teiko players emanated a feeling of relief at the news of you not being here that day, or the next

Akashi would play detective sleuth and find out what’s really going on sooner or later

End Note: gonna cut this off here b/c I KNOW this anon got a juicy part two i FEEL IT

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mysterystarz · 3 years ago

Text

kairosclerosis:

summary: oikawa knew that he was happy, so then why was it so difficult to preserve that feeling?

pairing: oikawa tooru x g!n reader

word count: 1.4k

genres + themes: reverse comfort, angst

warnings: a lot of oikawa's inner thoughts, mentions of self-doubt

a/n: so this was a very self-indulgent fic (inspired a lot by this word and perfectly wrong by shawn mendes) and kind of encompasses a lot of feelings that i've been experiencing sometimes, but i feel like this was one of the things i've written that i'm kind of happy about ! i hope you enjoy this <3

Happiness was a feeling that was always difficult for Oikawa to identify. There were moments in which he could confidently taste the sensation on his tongue, a golden sort of taste that brightened his soul from the inside out, but other times, it was almost indecipherable to the other emotions that he seemed to find.

Why was it so complicated?

He often found himself sitting late at night, wondering how, if anything, people seemed to find glory in every glance, while he had to spread himself thin just to catch a glimpse. It was a question that drove him in circles in some of his lonelier moments, a constant reminder to the way he could never find the same sort of...fulfillment as others did.

It was something that bothered him with his late night practices, serving ball after ball across the gym, until the burning in his muscles was enough to drown out the feelings of inferiority he seemed to feel.

Happiness was as good as an illusion. To Oikawa, the feeling was far too short lived, far too fleeting to even be considered as a reality.

The day he discovered what happiness could be, was the day he met you.

It had been a normal day by all standards, the sunshine casting it’s glow delicately onto the buildings and the numerous sakura trees that lined the entrances of Aoba Johsai. It was a lovely spring day, one with the type of breeze that struck a freshness into everyone’s hearts, as well as their minds.

He liked these types of days for the simple pleasures he could indulge in. Eating his milk bread, he could pretend for a small moment that he was just another highschool boy, somebody who could make fun of Iwa-chan while being made fun of by Makki and Mattsun. He didn’t need to shoulder the expectations of the world, but he could still reach for the stars, and even hold one in his hands. It was why these days brought a rare sort of feeling, and it was why he managed to treasure them when they came around.

It had been on one of these days where you had strolled into the gym during practice, a concentrated, yet polite look on your face as you handed their coach your manager application, a gentle smile on your features when it had been accepted. You had done your job as manager to perfection, and he felt the morale of his team increase with every praise you sent in their direction.

Never him though.

He knew his sets weren’t as accurate as Kageyama’s, but they were still consistently improving. He didn’t expect praise from anyone, and yet found himself doubting his abilities when your calculated eyes didn’t make a comment on them. It was a neutrality of sorts. You never wrote it as a point of improvement, yet never complimented them.

Did that mean he was average?

The darkness enveloped his surroundings as he served again, his knee straining uncomfortably. He had been in the gym for hours now, doing anything, to get his mind off the precedent of facing Shiratorizawa the next day. It was a thought that nagged at him.

What if he wasn’t good enough?

Oikawa was supposed to be happy. He was happy for sure. His team had won the earlier matches, and cheers of their school name and the sight of his school colors was enough to send a wave of warmth and pride straight to his chest.

The way he felt defeating Tobio was one he savored continuously, the very thought of him beating one of his own demons fueling his morale incredibly.

So then why was it that he felt this way still?

Ah. No matter how many victories he held in his pocket, he could still never shake the way he always managed to lose somewhere else. He won against Tobio due to skill and observation. Was that really him and his team? Or was it just the circumstances?

A final serve over the net had him kneeling down, a million thoughts enveloping him at once.

Happiness wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

He wasn’t even sure what it was supposed to feel like. All he knew was the way he picked apart the scenarios, wishing time after time that the feeling would linger long enough. Call him goal oriented, but surely his ambition would allow him to truly appreciate the way something seemingly light hearted and accomplished would be like.

“Oikawa. Are you okay?”

He suddenly looked up, only to find your concerned face across the gym. You jogged over to him, water bottle in hand as you examined his position. He was on the floor now...somehow.

When had he fallen over?

“I’m alright Y/N-chan.” He smiled charmingly, “What brings you here now?”

“You’re lying,” you sighed, tossing him the water bottle. “Drink this, and then try that sentence again.”

He hesitantly took a sip of the water, feeling it soothe his insides until suddenly, he had downed the whole bottle itself. A glance in your direction saw him identifying a knowing look in your eyes as you smiled back at him, almost gently.

“You have to rest before the game tomorrow you know,” you chuckled, joining him onto the floor. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

“Why are you here?” Was what he asked instead, watching the way your expression never changed. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

“Iwaizumi-kun told me something like this could happen,” you admitted, “I hoped I wouldn’t find you here, but here we are.”

He found himself brightening slightly at the thought. He knew that Iwaizumii cared. Behind the gruff and tough persona he put on, he cared deeply for everyone he was close to, always worrying for their well being and putting all of himself into ensuring that.

He must have told you about all the past times he’s been in situations like these.

But then why was it you that came? You were one of the smartest students in their class, and even despite that, you somehow made time to juggle all your other obligations.

He was important....to you?

“I’m here because I care about you Tooru,” you said, hesitantly ghosting your fingers over his cheekbones. “Please, don’t internalize what you’re feeling. I’ll provide you answers to anything you ask me, but please, just speak your thoughts. They’ve been troubling you, and that troubles me to know that.”

“What does it take to feel content, Y/N?” He questioned, feeling his confidence spike momentarily. “What is contentness when there’s always something new to climb for?”

“It’s where you can look at your achievements and feel like you’ve done something worthwhile.” You smiled, “But there’s something deeper than that. What makes you overwork yourself when you’re one of the best?”

“I’ve never been good enough to get completely to the top!” He groaned. “There’s always been obstacles and a victory...it makes me happy but it never lasts! Why can’t it last?”

“Hey,” you said, leaning slightly closer, “Maybe it’s because you never believe that you deserve the happiness you feel. I think you deserve this and a whole lot more you know.”

He turned his head upwards to meet your eyes, reassuring and genuine at his predicament. Perhaps what you had said had some truth to it.

Yet he still felt something weighing him down.

“I just want to feel on top of the world for real one day,” he admitted, exhaling a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. “Yet anytime I try to, it always just disappears. I’m practicing so maybe we have a chance at winning tomorrow. I’ve tried so hard, but somehow the talent always beats that.”

“Tooru…it’s alright to let it out you know.” You placed a hand gently on top of his, a hesitant act that he found quite endearing. “How long have you felt this way?”

“Always do,” he mumbled, “And I feel pathetic for it. Y/N-chan, is there something wrong with me?”

“No way!” You argued, the passion ever so present in your eyes. “You devote all of yourself to this. You are worthy of all good things. I swear it.”

“I can’t bring myself to feel that though.” There seemed to be a tension building up into his chest and his eyes.

“Your team believes it. All of your fans too.”

He met your eyes again, watching your breathing slow. “What?”

“They believe you deserve the world.” you affirmed, your mouth set into a straight line of seriousness. “And I think you do too.”

Underneath the dimmed lights of the gym, your hand a gentle anchor atop his own, Oikawa finally broke down.

Perhaps happiness was the feeling of being loved.

He realized that as long as you were beside him, that feeling would never fade.

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vizowrites · 3 years ago

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“We” vs “Me”| or “Why BlitzStrike Works So Well For Me But Stolitz [as of episode 6].....Doesn’t”

Alright my Loves, so I said that I was going to talk in further detail about my feelings regarding Stolas and the multi-layered portrayal of his relationship with Blitz in the new episode, and today’s the day where that happens!! First of all, though, before I really get into my feelings about things, I want to just make it ABUNDANTLY clear that I’m not trying to sway anyone from one side to the other, or trying to shame anyone for shipping two fictional characters. I’m fully in the boat that you are completely entitled to ship whoever you want, but I also think it’s wise to at least be able to recognize the faults and flaws in a pairing--and especially to be able to recognize them in the context of an IRL relationship. In this analysis in particular, I’m specifically focusing on these two relationships within the realm of the Helluva Boss universe [......Hell] and within the specific context of their characters as they’ve been portrayed in the show thus far. And, my biggest disclaimer of all: I’m doing this for no other reason than I felt like putting my jumbled thoughts together into a cohesive post so that they don’t have to stay bouncing and buzzing around in my head. Please keep that in mind that this is just pure personal opinion and interpretation before anyone comes at me with torches and pitchforks. <3 <3

SO WITH THAT LONG ASS DISCLAIMER OUT OF THE WAY

Let’s finally get to the good stuff. And the not so good stuff. :D

So I don’t think it’s a surprise to anyone who follows me here that I’m a huge BlitzStrike fan. What I think fewer people know is that when I first entered the fandom a few months ago, I actually was on board the Stolitz train like so many others that I’ve met here in the fandom. Naturally Stolitz was the first major pairing I was introduced to, and I did find both the characters of Blitz and Stolas incredibly interesting and compelling in their own rights AND saw the potential in how they could really come to grow into one hell of a relationshp over time. I was honestly really excited to see it happen, too.

And then I watched Episode 5 [still my favorite episode, btw] for the first time and had this sudden question hit me like a truck that even now is still relentlessly burning in the back of my mind because I still haven’t found a legitimate answer for it: Why in the FUCK wasn’t Blitz falling head-over-heels in attraction to Striker throughout this fucking episode??

And I don’t mean that in a “They’re so hot and I ship them now why didn’t they get together?? DX DX” kind of way--I mean that in the genuinely perplexed “I don’t understand based on what has been presented to me thus far about Blitz as a character and the storyline overall why he’s reacting so nonchalantly to this whole thing”. To Note: This is me wondering this from the context of what’s in the show itself, not from any extra fan materials like the Instas or Twitter or just straight up knowing that the most likely answer is that there are people on the creative team that ship Stolitz really hard and realistically wouldn’t have probably written Blitz as being attracted to Striker because that would just be--to quote Jack Sparrow--blowing holes in their own ship. No, this is me disregarding ALL of that and trying to rationalize this with myself from the perspective of a fan whose entire knowledge of the show and its characters comes exclusively from what’s in the episodes themselves. .....And that’s where I just can’t find my answer, except for the Stolitz positive “He’s not attracted to Striker because he’s in love with Stolas” answer. Which really doesn’t even feel like a satisfying answer, because the entire vibe I’ve gotten from Stolitz in the show has just felt.....strangely.....off. Like, the framework is there and the elements are there, but I’d felt as though they had so far to go still that it would be entire SEASONS before they got there.

And THEN the new episode [Episode 6] came out and I’d heard a handful of fans going crazy because the show was finally addressing Stolitz in full, and I thought to myself, “Well, maybe if the show really is going to go with saying that the reason Blitz wasn’t interested in Striker is because he’s in love with Stolas.....sure. I’m curious to see how they finally establish it in an episode, especially since there’s only two more episodes left in the entire first season.” And then I watched the episode. And then it hit me why Stolitz just does not do a damn thing for me but BlitzStrike does despite the fact that we’ve had 4/6 episodes [5/7 if you count the Pilot] of Stolitz but only 1/6 [1/7] of potential--not even canonical--BlitzStrike:

When Striker talks about Blitz, or interacts with Blitz, he always talks about them as a “we”. As a team. A partnership. OR he just straight up puts the entire focus on Blitz and his accomplishments and keeps himself out of it entirely.

When Stolas talks about Blitz, he always talks about them within the context of “me”--of himself--of what Blitz does or should do for him. Even here in episode 6, in the most “selfless” instance we’ve seen yet, where he does ask about Blitz’s safety first BEFORE going right back into how Blitz’s actions affect him and what Blitz should be doing in response for him. Stolas’s focus is always automatically set to himself--and even when it comes to the people he supposedly loves the most.

To explain what I mean here, let me give some examples directly from the show itself, starting with the Stolas side of things:

Episode 1

Blitz, in the middle of trying to hide so much that he actually clamps both of his hands over his mouth just to muffle the sound of his own breathing, knowing damn well that this psychotic bitch who already shot him once won’t hesitate to do it again if she finds him.....gets a call from Stolas. Stolas, who we clearly see from his leisurely hang out time in his bubble bath, is literally watching this happen and is fully aware that calling Blitz right then was potentially putting him in danger. But what does he say when he gets Blitz on the phone? He offers--not help--but Blitz the use of his book in exchange for monthly sex. Stolas literally uses Blitz’s peril as leverage here--consciously or not, though given the fact that he knows the situation at hand, I’d find it very hard to argue that he didn’t do this on purpose--just to get him to agree to be his bootycall until further notice.

Stolas not only doesn’t lift a finger to help Blitz once in all of this--even at the moment where he and Millie are about to be shot in the face--but instead continues to stay on the phone talking about all of the things he wants for their upcoming future rendezvous. He already got exactly what he wanted out of this and he still just continues to go for more for himself.

Episode 2

.....There are honestly so many fucked up things that happen here as far as Stolas and his relationship with Blitz goes but honestly the thing I want to draw the MOST attention to is actually Stolas’s storyline with his daughter, Octavia. I know it’s a little left field, but bear with me--this is actually something I want to use as comparison for Stolas’s relationship to Blitz as we go along:

When Stolas first decides that he’s going to take his daughter to Loo Loo Land, he does so while completey setting aside the fact that she doesn’t want to go. He just offers her assurances that it’s going to be so much fun because he remembers that she loved it so much when she was a little girl--effectively putting his memory above her wishes even as she’s sitting right there and telling him that she doesn’t enjoy the idea of going now.

Stolas doesn’t actually notice just how uncomfortable he’s making Octavia throuhought their entire trip by spending his time sexually harassing paying more attention to Blitz than he is trying to cheer her up. This tells me that Stolas--though I do believe he genuinely wanted to do something to make her happy--still wasn’t able to completely overcome his own self-centered tendencies at first even when it’s for her. And this is the person that Stolas loves more than anyone or anything else in the entire world. It still wasn’t enough.

It’s only when Octavia runs off and completely breaks down that Stolas finally gets the much needed slap-to-the-face of reality to understand just what he’s putting his daughter through--and, for the first time in the entire show, he actually puts someone else’s needs and well being above himself. It’s the one solid honest display of love that we see from Stolas in the entire show--and it’s how we as the audience come to learn that that’s how Stolas shows that he loves someone: When he puts their needs above his own with no strings attached or expectations of something in return. A true selfless act just because he loves them. **Keep in mind the parallel of Stolas carrying Octavia out of Loo Loo Land at the end, and how it compares to Stolas carrying Blitz out of D.H.O.R.K.S headquarters.

Episode 5

The. Fucking. Cigarette. I had no idea that something so small and quick would be able to infuriate me as much as it did, but the fact that Blitz used the post sex cigarette to free Stolas from his wrist bondage but then Stolas turned around and put the cigarette out on Blitz’s horn which is literally a part of Blitz’s body just.....honestly it sums up exactly what I’m trying to get across in this entire huge ass post: Stolas only ever thinks of himself first and anything pertaining to anyone else just doesn’t cross his mind at all unless you blatantly put it there in front of his face. And the fact that he’s still at this point with Blitz all the way here in Episode 5 is not.....promising for their relationship.

The fact that Stolas literally cannot stop himself from calling Blitz “Blitzy” or talking to him in such a condescending way no matter how frustrated Blitz gets and how many times he asks him to stop. I just--how is that supposed to be interpreted as someone talking to a person that they love? There’s no respect or dignity given to Blitz at all on Stolas’s part, and the fact that it seems to be presented as a “Oh teehee it’s just their cute couple thing” is just.....I really, really don’t like that. It also doesn’t match with the Stolas in the very next episode which I quite frankly think is because the creators have been listening to the feedback from fans and were like “We need to SHOW THEM that Stolas actually does speak to Blitz respectfully!!” but that’s just my personal opinion there and, also, it still didn’t happen.

Episode 6

Keeping in mind that THIS is finally the episode where we see Stolas actually save Blitz from danger and demonstrate even the slightest inclination towards his well-being.....I think that honestly makes the next few things here even more fucked up

First and foremost: “WE”. The second after Stolas asks if Blitz is alright and gets the assurance that he is, he roughly grabs his cheek and points out that “If you get in trouble, I get in trouble! WE don’t want that”. The fact that this is the first time that Stolas ever talks about Blitz in the context of “we”--when really what he’s really saying is that him [Stolas] getting in trouble is going to be a bad thing for all of them--is just.....so, so disappointing. At least with this I could hope that perhaps the idea here is that Stolas is genuinely afraid that if he gets in trouble, he won’t be able to protect Blitz from the undoubtedly much worse trouble that he would be in as an imp, but still. The fact that Stolas immediately reverts back to his self-centered perspective so quickly after supposedly being so worried about Blitz’s wellbeing, really makes it seem as though it’s just his own ass that he’s trying to protect. And that.....isn’t exactly what I’d been expecting from “the episode that confirms Stolitz is canon” feedback I’d been hearing.

"Am I going to get ANY thank you for the rescue Bltizy?” This for me was kind of what actually lead to me having this whole epiphany over Stolas’s selfish perspective in the first place. I realized that even here--even when he’s just been the most “romantic” towards Blitz that he’s ever been in any previous episodes up until now [and yes this shift in his character was incredibly jarring for me because of that]--Stolas still goes right back to thinking about what he’s going to get out of this now that he knows Blitz is safe. Let’s take this back to that thing I was saying about Episode 2 and comparing how Stolas rescued Octavia and how he rescues Blitz. Obviously they’re going to be different because it’s Stolas’s daughter vs his hook up BUT just think about where the focus is for Stolas in both of these scenes. With Octavia, Stolas is entirely focused on making things up to her--taking her to do something she wants to do--even if it’s something that he himself doesn’t fully understand or isn’t fully into. That doesn’t matter though, because the entire point is that he’s doing something just for her. It doesn’t have to be about him. But now go back to the scene where Stolas is carrying Blitz out of the room. What does he do? Ask what Blitz is going to do for him. That just takes the idea that this scene was a confirmation of their love and throws it right out the window. Stolas--as we’ve been shown before--would never ask for something in return from someone that he actually loves.

Now let’s take a look at the one and only episode we have of Striker and Blitz interacting together, with an honorary shout out at hallucination!Striker’s appearance in Episode 6:

Episode 5:

Striker knows Blitz’s name.....and he uses it. He’s literally the ONLY other character that we’ve seen so far refer to Blitz as “Blitz” instead of “Blitzo” or “Blitzy” by someone who wasn’t a member of I.M.P.. Aka someone who wasn’t a member of Blitz’s family. He shows Blitz respect at that basest level, and only builds on that from there going forward.

Striker first recognizes Blitz for being “the bold imp that started his own killin’ biz”. Not his hotness, not his skills in the Harvest Moon games because at that point he hasn’t seen them yet.....but for his accomplishment in starting up his own successful business down in Hell. He treats it as an accomplishment. With the kind of respect that comes with acknowledging another person for their accomplishments. Right there, within two seconds of meeting him, Striker demonstrates more respect for Blitz than Stolas has yet to do in the entire show.

The Harvest Moon Festival Games. Now this is something I find fascinating to think about from Striker’s perspective in particular. We as the audience are shown pretty early on that Striker has a strong desire to be the one who comes out on top. He likes the idea of being superior and he openly relishes in the praise and attention he gets for being better than everybody else. ....Except Blitz. When they tie in the games, Striker doesn’t seem bothered with sharing the spotlight with him at all. If anything, he--again--respects just how skilled Blitz is in rightfully earning his place beside him on the stage. That, to me, is HUGE. I’m not going to go so far as to say that Striker necessarily sees them as equals because I think that might be going a bit too far for his ego but he does still fully acknowledge that Blitz is in the same general class as him: that is to say, better than most. Worthy of the same kind of acknowledgement and praise that Striker gets. I literally can’t get over just how big of a thing that is for what we’ve been shown of Striker’s character, and I think it’s unfortunately something that’s incredibly easy to miss or gloss over. :(

And now--for what I personally think is the most significant thing of all--we have: “We”. How many times does Striker suggest during that final scene between them that he really wants Blitz to join forces with him as equals? He never demands that Blitz join up with him, he doesn’t threaten him into joining up with him--Striker barely even hurts Blitz at all during their fight scene compared to how he tried to straight up murder Moxxie--and, most of all, Striker continues to acknowledge that Blitz deserves better than his current arrangement with Stolas. And he’s right. But instead of putting it as “I’M right and this is why you should do this”, he always puts his focus on Blitz himself, or the two of them together as a partnership: “You are so above sucking on a a digusting rich pompous Goetia” | “We could be the most dangerous beings in Hell, Blitz” | “You could partner up with me and klll the unkillable--starting with the one that treats you like a plaything”. It’s just--I honestly can’t believe it’s taken me this long to put together why Striker appeals so much more to me as a romantic interest for Blitz, but really breaking it down episode by episode and comparing the differences in wording between Striker and Stolas’s dialogue when it comes to Blitz is just.....holy shit.

Honorary ShoutOut of Episode 6:

The fact that the only thing hallucination Striker has to say to him is “But you don’t want to do things alone Blitzo!” is really, really interesting to me in the fact that he’s.....not......wrong?? Like, To be fair, Striker, RoboFizz, and Verosika all spill their harsh truths, but the thing is.....Striker’s is markedly different in that his wording really isn’t harsh or aggressive at all the way the other two are. He’s just kinda stating a fact in an overexaggerated way because tripping balls hallucination sequence. It’s very interesting to me that that’s the worst that Blitz can imagine him to say--as well as the fact that halluci!Striker calls him “Blitzo”, which is really weird considering that Striker’s never called him “Blitzo” once in the entire show. Makes me kinda wonder where that came from tbh.

Alright so, in conclusion of this very long and rambly styie post: I want to take things back to where I started by reiterating that this is not me trying to convince anyone that BlitzStrike is “right” and Stolitz is “wrong”, or that you should stop shipping what you’re shipping in the fandom. This was just me honestly getting way more excited than I should’ve been over having my “Eureka!” moment for realizing why this new episode didn’t put me back on the Stolitz train like it did for so many other people--and why, in fact, it actually made me think even more favorably of the idea of Blitz and Striker being together.

Thanks for sticking around with me for this very long read, I hope you found it interesting, and I really really hope that it didn’t piss anyone off or rub too many people the wrong way. Like I said at the beginning, ship who you want to ship!! That’s part of the fun of being in a fandom. I’m just hoping that this might help make it easier to understand at least one perspective on why Stolitz is seen as being so problematic as a ship [as of where they are right now].

Here’s to seeing where things go from here!!

#vizowritesthoughts #BlitzStrike #Stolitz #Helluva Boss #hahahahaha I've been dreading posting this because I know it's going to lead to shit even though it's all just personal opinion :'D #but since I went to the trouble of writing this entire thing up I figure what the hell #might as well post it now #anti Stolitz

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duxpuella · 3 years ago

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i absolutely adore your writing!! i was wondering if you can maybe write an steven meeks x reader, where they both like eachother, and the other poets make a plan to get them together! <3

Headcanons for (gn!) reader being setted up with Steven M. by the other poets

<Atention: Modern AU where Neil lives, and Welton’s a boys & girls school.

Warnings: Fluff, Cursing, Anderperry, >

Note: Y/n - your name/ Y/Ln - your last name/ Y/fn - your friend’s, the song quoted is Falling for U by Peachy! and mxmtoon;

Also, here’s my Meeks playlist, hope you enjoy it!

font;

Okay, so you and Steven had been friends for a few months. He liked you, and it was so obvious, the fact was almost materializing itself into a neon sign. He didn't tell his friends, but they realized it.

Well, more specifically, Todd realized it. He noticed the classical signs of it. Steven was more nervous and anxious than usual (especially around you). Glancing at you from a distance and then blushing lightly and looking away. Todd had his theories, but he wasn't sure of anything yet.

That was until he presenced Steven showing you a song he had been practicing on the piano. But the thing is, Todd knew that melody somewhere in the back of his mind.

He spent an entire week trying to remember it until it played on Neil's phone. Todd was reading as he heard the first notes and looked straight up to Neil.

I was hangin' with you and then I realized I didn't think it was true, I was surprised When I found out I've fallen for you

"I KNEW IT! SHIT, I KNEW I COULDN'T BE IMAGINING IT!" Neil jumped on his sit "jESUS TODD, YOU SCARED THE FUCK OUT ME," "sHUSH, LISTEN," and they stood there for two minutes, listening.

But I can't help it I'm falling for you And I can't quit it 'Cause I'm stuck on you And it might be pathetic and you might be skeptical But I just want to be with you Please tell me, boy Can you get a clue? Or come through 'cause I just want to be with you

"yES, I WAS RIGHT!" "What are you even talking about?" Neil asked in utter confusion as Todd proceeded to explain everything, his theories, the signs he noticed. "We need to get them together." "I agree in part, but shouldn't we just let it be? Steven might be taking his own time on it, it takes one a lot of courage to confess your feeling to a friend." "It took you?" Neil asked, flirtingly, as Todd blushed, "Oh, shut up. But I'll tell you if it was me instead of him, I wouldn't like for anyone to set us up." Neil gave a mischievous grin, "Well... who said they'll know?"

They both came up with multiple different plans that week, but none was good enough. Soon enough, the other boys ended up joining. "I think I got it!" said Knox, "I could buy two cinema tickets and give them to them!" "You should add 'Here, go on a free date' as you give it to them, Knoxious," said Charlie, turning over his eyes. "No, no! Is a good idea, we just need a good strategy!" Pitts added. "Oh, you could say you tried to invite Chris, but she dumped you!" "Good one, Neil!" Todd said, giving him a high five.

Next week, Knox stopped you and Steven on the corridor with two tickets to a sci-fi movie you both had been planning to watch for a while, "Hey! I uh... I bought these and tried to invite Chris, but she dumped me, and now I don't feel like going by myself. Do you guys would like it?" Steven stared at him, suspiciously for a moment and then at you, "Wanna go?" "Are you kidding me? OF COURSE, I DO! We will have SO MUCH FUN! Thank you, Overstreet!" You said as you got on the tip of your feet to hug him. Steven looked at the ground, uncomfortable with light pink dust on his cheeks.

At nighttime, you and Steven went to the cinema. As the other poets stayed across the street, spying. Pitts was inside the room with you, undercover and at a safe distance, and a few people. He texted a 'mission accomplished to Neil when you kissed Steven and then left the room.

They watched and silently celebrated from afar once you walked out of the movies holding Steven's hand as you both talked about the film. After that, they all went home to wait in Pitts's dorm room and ask for the details.

Hope you like it! I take requests by ask! (info on requests);

Also, you’ll find more of my writing here.

#duxpuella headcanons #dead poets society #dps headcanons #dps fandom #dps fic #dps hc #steven meeks #steven meek x reader

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astaroth1357 · 4 years ago

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The Demon Brothers (Minus Asmo) at Their Worst Pt. 1 (Lucifer, Mammon, Levi)

To the anons who gave me this idea, here it is. Unfortunately, I can’t say I’m all that happy to bring it to you, cause yikes this hurt to write. I’m grateful, however, because I believe I’m better for it. You shouldn’t always stay in your comfort zone. I left out Asmodeus for personal reasons. Regardless of my ability, given the nature of this challenge, I don’t feel comfortable with writing nor posting graphic content of sexual violence and chose to refrain from doing so. Please do not ask for this to be written at a later date, I will politely refuse then as I am now.

Check out the Masterlist for more.

Warnings: THEIR SINS HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO AN EXTREME (AND ALL THAT IMPLIES), Abusive/Controlling Relationships, Violence, Threat of Human Trafficking, Drowning, Angst, Regret, Suicidal Thoughts

This is all for the purposes of fantasy and in no way an endorsement for these behaviors in real life. Be nice (and smart) with your lives, my friends.

Intro: Maybe the MC should have known better. It should have sunk in a long time ago that they were in incredibly risky territory... They should have remembered that these men, though they call them friends, family, and perhaps even lovers, are still demons at their heart and core. Each of them are the embodiment of some of the worst behaviors man has to offer... MC, there are some people you just shouldn’t date, even if they love you, and now you suffer the consequences...

Lucifer

It’s not difficult to see how Pride can go awry. Self-confidence and dignity are wonderful things, but let them build up unchecked and all manner of petty, vindictive behavior can surface from within a person...

Lucifer is far from immune to these flare ups. In fact, he falls victim to them so often that they may as well be ingrained in his personality. If you do anything that mocks or belittles him, even if it’s small, you’ll get a reaction. One that’s usually more severe than offense calls for...

The MC knew this going into a relationship with him. Supposedly, they knew all the no-go zones, too. Don’t make fun of him or Diavolo, don’t mention the Fall or his back, don’t call him a nag... That sort of thing.

What they hadn’t expected was the full brunt of the expectations suddenly leveled on them.

To say Lucifer was demanding would be an understatement. Everything about him had to be poised, powerful, collected, and perfect. Whether he realized it or not, these expectations bled into their relationship as well.

It started with him nitpicking little details... The way they stood, how they styled their hair, maybe a comment or two on what they ate. But it progressively got worse...

Suddenly he found problems with the way they dressed, what they listened to, what shows they watched, even how they greeted him in the mornings!

Before too long, nothing was right to him… Nothing was good enough. They were his other half, his biggest vulnerability, and in order for him to feel secure about that they had to be perfect… However Lucifer defined it.

They listened to him at first. Though his comments stung, he could be so loving too… He truly made them feel special. Like he wouldn’t be trying so hard if it were anyone but them...

But pretty words and kind actions could only go so far. They couldn’t completely erase the vitriol being tossed at them day after day…

Slowly, with every little change, they could feel themselves start to dwindle… The choices they made felt foreign, the lifestyle they held became draining, and then one day they realized they didn’t even look right anymore… They were no longer the person they wanted to be.

Lucifer was doing what he set out to do: train them, break them, then mold them into something new... So they could be perfect...

Just like him.

One day, however, they just couldn’t take being the person he wanted anymore...

He found them in their bedroom just before a party that Diavolo had been planning for weeks. Their hair wasn’t fixed and their clothes were a mess. His frustration nearly skyrocketed until he saw their face, vacant and broken, staring blankly straight ahead…

He couldn’t rouse them. They wouldn’t move no matter how much he shouted, threatened, or swore...

….they didn’t even budge when he begged…

His brothers eventually noticed something amiss and took them away. Their disgust with him was fairly evident… They probably would have tried something had he not been the strongest.

He had taken something wonderful and squashed it... Hurt someone he truly loved and ruined what they could have had to protect his damn ego…

Lilith, his brothers, and Satan especially… was everyone he tried to care for just bound to end up broken too…?

The MC’s recovery was slow. They had a lot of damage to repair and a whole new identity to build. He stayed out of it as much as he could, burying himself in work and seeing his brothers less and less...

He’d done enough damage to them anyway...

Mammon

The Greedy, Scummy Second-Born… Words to etch on his tombstone. Mammon had heard it all before from all angles: the demons above him, below him, hell even a passersby on the street would know his face and his laundry list of a rap sheet...

The one person who seemed to look past all that was MC.

He truly didn’t know what sort of karma he’d gained or luck he scored to have them in his life. They didn’t just see him at his best side, they made him want to fix his worst...

But that’s easier said than done, isn’t it?

The sad truth is Mammon is a gambler at heart. Oh he loves the money, the riches, fine things, and the bling but what else does he enjoy? The rush.

There’s nothing like that feeling of triumphant when the dice falls your way or the pure exhilaration of a close bet. When all cards are on the table and everything’s stacked against you, eking out that win can cause a head-rush better than any orgasm he’s ever had... The higher the stakes? The better the high.

But maybe he went a little too far…

It’s one thing to bet Grimm, he can make more of that in a night. It’s another to bet items, harder to replace but not impossible. People…? Well. If you want high stakes…

MC was actually with him that night when he made the “great” decision to bet his most valuable treasure on poker match. He was running out of Grimm and thought that the added risk would make him play better…

He thought wrong.

MC hadn’t been at the table at the time he made the deal, but they had come back just in time to see him get his ass handed to him. He lost. Spectacularly.

When the other demons there came over to encircle MC, it already felt like his world was crumbling down around him... The look of confusion, then hurt and betrayal in their eyes forever seared themselves into his memory.

“You bet me in a poker game?!”

It sounds almost comical, but he knew what the demons were planning to do to them wasn't. And just seeing the way his human’s wrist snapped when one of the men wrenched their arm from them confirmed it.

He wouldn’t let them get away with that. When the threats escalated to violence, he took his share of punches but in the end he was left standing.

The MC was furious. He had just whittled their entire existence down to a bargaining chip and one that he tossed away carelessly…

Yeah, he’s truly a scumbag, isn’t he?

They didn’t talk to him for quite a while, despite him begging for forgiveness. There was always a part of him that wondered why he even bothered… He had done it before, and in another gambling-induced high he would probably do it again…

They’d honestly be better off without him...

Leviathan

It’s, frankly, quite difficult to be the Avatar of Envy. Every day Levi feels uncomfortable in his own skin… Like he doesn’t measure up to this or that or like he’s not worthy of being in the meager position afforded to him. He preferred to hide himself away and try not to dwell on it… but then MC came along…

For once, he felt like he had something. Something truly special. Something one of a kind and like no other… He couldn’t point to any of his brothers and say that they had something better, hell, he couldn’t even point to Diavolo and say that he had a finer version.

No. He had them. The one, the only, MC. Better than all the rest. His only great accomplishment in his miserable, pathetic life...

… so why did they keep leaving him…?

It didn’t hurt that badly at first when they’d tell him they couldn’t go watch some new anime with him because they had other plans. Sometimes they’d go off shopping with Mammon or have lunch with Beel… That was fine. Understandable.

At least that’s what he’d tell himself.

After a while though, he started to feel lonely… rejected… Was he not good enough for them? Surely that had to be it, right?? A miserable shut-in otaku with someone like them? What a joke!

Any time he’d voice his insecurities, they’d always say the same things: “No, don’t be silly!” “I really do want to be with you.” “I love you, Levi. Don’t you believe me?”

No. He didn’t. With each passing hour spent away from him, time where he would get shafted for one of his brothers instead, he believed them less and less…

Soon all he heard was lies…

Something possessed him that day. MC had just missed their third live stream in a row in order to be with his brothers instead. Which one was it? It didn’t really matter. He felt the stinging pain of isolation all the same…

When the MC walked into his room they had no way of knowing that the festering hatred and inadequacy that had been stewing in him for months was about to spill over. His anger was so quick to spark and their human body too weak to resist...

It was only once he realized how long he had their head forced under the water of his aquarium that he finally let them up for air.

He was stepping over himself to apologize, stammering incoherently through his tears how he just lost control and didn’t know what came over him!

His brothers weren’t forgiving. Not in the slightest. Each of them seemed to want to beat him within an inch of his life and he didn’t blame them… If he could get away with it, he’d march himself into the sea and let it serve as his rightful prison…

His punishments were severe, but not unending, and soon he was back in his room again. Now he never leaves it and the MC is never allowed back in, even if they want to be.

He now, truly, doesn’t deserve them at all...

Link to Part Two: Satan, Beel, Belphie

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #ow ow ow ow ow #obey me scenarios #obey me headcanons #crap I have to reread this...#in for pain #sorry levi #went a little hard on you there

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bostonbashers · 4 years ago

Text

mercs react to a cuddly/affectionate s/o! ~

i swear i got a whiplash reading all my requests and i got like 10 of these, thinking the requests just repeated when it really didn’t. every anon requested a different person, so i decided to do all of them in one post.

i swear it’s ooc as fuck but i’m still learning. :’)

@slasher-cxm you asked to be tagged so here it is!

i hope you enjoy! ❤️

Scout:

secretly, scout is hella touch starved and yearns affection even if he doesn’t admit it out loud. he always dreams about the day he could share that affection with someone he’s willing to spend his life with.

but of course, as flirtatious and confident as he is in public, his walls can be easily taken down with a simple touch from his s/o. if they were to kiss his cheek softly out of no where, he’d melt into a puddle and think about it the rest of the day, a smile plastered on his face.

he pretends like he gets embarrassed when his s/o shows affection in front of the other mercs, wanting to seem tough in their eyes but honestly just indulges in it, knowing he’s a lucky man to have this kind of opportunity.

despite that, he’s just as cuddly and affectionate as his s/o, often initiating it whenever they’re alone. he’s all mushy around them, often pinching their cheeks and holding them endlessly, and is literally like a child asking for attention.

Soldier:

doesn’t care what anyone else thinks and he doesn’t stop his s/o from doing it. in fact, he encourages his s/o to do it and “asks” them often; “give me a hug, cupcake! the best one you can!”

you know he’s about to show his s/o off to the other mercs, chest puffed out proudly as they hug his torso, following him. “don’t you maggots wish you had this?!” he’d say with the biggest grin ever.

uses it as a challenge sometimes. if his s/o gives him a kiss on the cheek or hugs him, he’ll return it back twice as hard. the look on their face always drives him to continue and makes him feel accomplished.

Pyro:

pyro is the most expressive one. they absolutely love it to bits and gives them just as much love and affection in return, maybe even more!

he lets out a comically happy sound whenever they initiate contact and gets clingy, not willing to let them go, no matter the circumstance. besides, it’s not like anyone would force them to let their s/o go.... we all know how that’s gonna turn out.

spends every minute of the day holding their hand happily, refusing to separate, and skipping as they walk. their other half tries to catch up with them but knows they’re just ecstatic to receive such attention. overall, just a happy and energetic person.

Demo:

doesn’t mind it one bit and loves it a lot actually. he’s not ashamed to show nor return affection and definitely loves the attention he gets from his s/o.

just as affectionate with his s/o and the fact that he’s always drunk only assists with that more. he becomes clingy and always has a hand on them too, whether it’d be one on their back or an arm around their waist.

most of him gives you attention because he absolutely loves you to pieces and knows you deserve nothing less but a small part of him does it because he refuses to see you be affectionate with someone else. he’s not very fond with sharing.

Heavy:

heavy is a big giant cuddly bear and he will more than likely satisfy his s/o’s needs without a reason from them. doesn’t mind holding them whenever they need it and also loves it when they do the same.

if someone tried bothering his s/o while they’re in their mood, cuddling him in peace as they sleep on his lap, he’d send them a displeased expression. “nyet. do not bother. it is cuddling time.” he won’t even bother listening to the other persons reason, shooing them away, “come back later.”

the best person to be affectionate to. he’s literally the warmest amongst all the mercenaries and also the best to cuddle, seeing that he’s very soft with his touches. all it takes is his s/o to ask him to do something and he will get to work right away.

Medic:

doesn’t mind it for the most part but prefers bigger pda moments to be done in private. he’ll outright ask his s/o for his comfort but try to seem as friendly as possible when doing so.

when they’re in private, they’re welcomed to show affection to him while he does his tasks and finds that it puts him in a much better mood. his favorite moments are the ones where his s/o hugs him from behind, laying their head on his back while he works on his tasks.

while his s/o is affectionate and touch starved, he does sometimes need his space to think and focus. he’ll let his s/o know beforehand that he needs to finish a certain task and when he does get around to doing so, he places a soft kiss on their cheek and thanks them for their patience.

Sniper:

embarrassed by it at first. he’s not used to the whole relationship game and is absolutely not used to the newly found attention that’s been suddenly put into his life.

he tries to avoid it at all costs and doesn’t really know how to follow along whenever his s/o would initiate it. he stays paralyzed, unsure of what to do but give him a few weeks and he’ll somewhat warm up to it.

then he’ll find himself feeling less cranky everyday as he grows used to the affection, often expecting it whenever they’re around. he won’t show major affection, like full on making out with his s/o or kissing them deeply in front of other people but he will begin holding their hand or kissing their cheek constantly.

he only realizes how much of an impact it’s made in his life when he’s forced to spend the night alone in his camper due to his s/o being out to visit some people. sniper shifts uncomfortably, unable to sleep for the first time in a while and he lays there wide awake, wondering how the hell he used to live his life without their attention.

Engineer:

you know he can’t say no to you, even if he really tried to. he wouldn’t say no anyway, understanding that everyone needs affection here and there from time to time. also he thinks it’s absolutely adorable.

when his s/o stands on his doorway or looks at him with a certain expression, maybe even throwing in a small hand hold here and there, he’d look down at them with a blush and a smile. “that time of the day, honey bee?” and proceeds to entertain their needs, no matter how shy he is.

if he’s unable to be there for them during the times where they need him, he’ll substitute it with something that can do for the time being. for example, he’d make a plush for them to hold around or leave one of his shirts behind to replace him until then. he’ll be sure to give them a big kiss and hug when he makes it back to the base.

Spy:

will most definitely entertain their needs. he’s a sauve, romantic man and they don’t need to expect anything less of him as he will spoil them with affection.

sometimes the other mercs get fucking sick of seeing you two constantly being all cuddly and lovey dovey with each other openly to everyone’s eyes, but spy doesn’t mind one bit. if they were so bothered by it, they could look away.

can be as affectionate as they want him to be. his lover wants a hug? he’ll embrace them warmly while he caresses their hair. his s/o wants a kiss? count on spy to create the most unforgettable one ever to exist.

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acciofanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Teacher’s Pet (Remus Lupin x Reader) Part 6 SMUT

Summary: (Y/N) wants to be a professor at Hogwarts. Dumbledore offers her a chance to intern and figure out what she wants to do… hopefully she’ll make it through the year.

Pairing: Remus Lupin x FemReader

Warnings: Age gap, SMUT and language.

A/N: So idk I kinda hate this... idk why 😂 but the overwhelming consensus was smut so TA-DA! - S

———————————————————————

It was almost comical how quickly things had changed between the two. Somethings remained similar, like the playful flirting and the stolen glances were still there... but ever since their kiss, the tension in the air was thick enough that it could be cut with a knife. There just wasn’t enough time or privacy in the day to replicate the circumstances in the few days following. It wasn’t like they were really in the position to entertain a proper label or schedule; Remus flirted with the idea of asking her on a proper date, but that wasn’t exactly practical. Remus didn’t know which was worse: feeling like he hadn’t been permitted to act on his desires or rather knowing how it felt to give in and physically not be able to.

Remus’ lips twitched into a small grin when he saw (Y/N) smile at him from a few pieces of parchment. He watched as discreetly as he could, still trying to give as much attention as he could to the task he had at hand. Honestly, he wondered how (Y/N) was possibly juggling the workload she had... especially recently. He’d often see her running around like a chicken with its head cut off, sprinting from classrooms all over the castle. He’d seen her bring homework assignments with her to dinner and it seemed that in the past week or so the piles were getting bigger. It hadn’t really occurred to the man how much of the time they spent together happened during schooling hours or the occasional walk at night, but he hadn’t seen her outside office hours in what seemed like awhile.

Remus knew he was probably doing this for more selfish reasons. Honestly it was probably more of a chance to get her alone and to himself. An argument could be made that it was to give the struggling young woman a break though. Remus made his way over to her once he had his student working on something that didn’t require his complete attention. Wand movements usually did the trick. In a low voice he simply suggested, “If you’re feeling a little rebellious, meet me on the fourth floor tonight when everyone is in bed.”

Remus hadn’t been able to get any verbal confirmation before being summoned back to his responsibilities, but judging by the mischievous glint in her eyes he had assumed the answer to be a yes. He had very much looked forward to it all day, and he was more than please to see (Y/N) already waiting for him. She smiled sheepishly at him, “Guess I was a little early.”

He didn’t blame her, he would’ve been a bit earlier himself had he not misplaced his wand briefly. Remus chalked it up to feeling like a teenager again with the sneaking out and around, with all of the excitement an old habit of losing his belongings was bubbling up too. “Seems like I was running a bit late. Come on, I have somewhere in mind you might enjoy.”

(Y/N) eagerly followed him to a mirror, and though she didn’t often find herself avoiding mirrors she didn’t know if she’d go as far as to say she enjoyed them. It wasn’t very long at all though that Remus was carefully moving a mirror that revealed a passageway that had been carved out. Once the two had ducked into the clandestine hallway and he had lit up the darkness with the tip of his wand, Remus replaced the mirror. “Whoa! I didn’t know this existed!”

It was common knowledge there were many secret passageways hidden in Hogwarts. The location of which were less known, but if that had been common knowledge too they would no longer be secret. “James and- my friends used to have a knack for finding these things.”

“You all must’ve done quite a bit of sneaking out, huh?” She joked while following the passageway down a little bit.

“A fair share of it sure... though we weren’t supposed to tell anyone.” Remus wasn’t lying, but he knew that on more than one occasion James and Sirius used a few of these passages to impress a pretty girl. He supposed he was just a little late on the trend.

“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t. Where does this go?” (Y/N) asked out of pure curiosity, though now that she thought about it, it was probably good practice to know where you were going.

“It comes out right outside of Hogsmeade. Of course that’s a long walk, I know.”

“Well, that’s okay. I feel like I could use a break.” She smiled and began walking with Remus. (Y/N) felt like she’d gotten a good bit better at juggling what had left her so overwhelmed her first week officially working at Hogwarts. However, these past couple of days had been a little hectic and she should’ve 100% been grading those homework assignments McGonagall asked if she could take on, but couldn’t refuse the offer.

Remus quite fond of the walk they shared. He asked about her years at Hogwarts and her family and she inquired the same. He didn’t think he could recall the last occasion he’d really taken the time to get to know someone or had them try and do the same. By the time they reached the end of the passageway, (Y/N) knew that he was an only child and had quite the sweet tooth even as a boy. He knew that conversely she came from quite a large family, but she’d agree that dessert was definitely the best course.

The room they’d arrived in was quite large, but it was obviously that anyone who knew of its location has long abandoned it. It showed no signs of any visitors in probably years. Still, (Y/N) found it to be quite a fun visit. A little dusty sure, but nothing a quick flick of her wand couldn’t fix. “Well, now that we’re here what are your plans?”

“Right...” Remus didn’t think that far ahead, which he would like to say was a bit unusual. Of course the ultimate goal had been to spend alone time with her, but now that was accomplished... “I ought to be better prepared ne-“

She was well aware it was rude to interrupt people, but she she would do it anyways. (Y/N) stood on her toes and grabbed hold of the front of his sweater and yanked Remus down to her level. She thought the act of crashing her lips into his might’ve been a little sexier had she not been so short in comparison. Remus however did not mind one bit hunching down to her level. This thought had definitely crossed his mind, but hadn’t want to be too forward. Now that he thought about it, he should’ve seen it coming. (Y/N) was very forward with what she wanted. Back at the Three Broomsticks she’d commented that she didn’t make the first move, but he supposed that wasn’t entirely true. He wasn’t complaining though. It was quite the opposite as he immediately responded, kissing her back and circling his arm around her.

(Y/N) broke away with a wide grin, “That wasn’t your plan?”

Remus chuckled, and straightened himself out, “No, but I’m always open to suggestions.”

(Y/N) pulled away leaving Remus quite confused. Perhaps she was annoyed it hadn’t been his sole intention to snog the woman. He felt better when she made her way to a wooden table set in the center on the room. He was certain she would sit down but instead she turned to face him. A small moment of hesitation seemed to cross her mind before she spoke, “I hope you wouldn’t think too little of me if I confessed this had been my plan...”

(Y/N) wasn’t lying. She’d desperately been hoping for an uninterrupted moment alone and wanted to be prepared in case she got that moment. Now that she had it well she hoped it wouldn’t be entirely too fast for the man.

Remus watched as she kicked off her shoes. She then pulled her shirt over her head and her pants had been the next article of clothing to follow. The undergarments that had now been exposed to him were quite nice to look at, especially with the model wearing them. The way the lace laid so perfectly against her skin made his heart beat just a tad bit faster and left him staring, or better yet ogling her. He felt a little lame, just standing there. He had hoped, counted on being close to (Y/N). He’d hoped they would’ve had a chance to - This just far exceeded what he’d hoped to accomplish.

It also wouldn’t have been untrue to say he’d been a little out of practice. Not new or naive to the subject, but it definitely wasn’t something he did on the regular. He normally was well aware of the fact it was nothing to be ashamed of, but did feel himself grow a little uncomfortable with the fact as she stood there in front of him. He definitely hoped he wouldn’t disappoint.

Staring was probably a better sign than him getting up and walking away. (Y/N) did wish he’d say something though. She felt so entirely vulnerable and was now a little fearful of rejection... “Too much?”

Her voice snapped Lupin back to reality. Her face showed she was starting to feel uncomfortable, and Remus felt terrible. That had definitely not been his intention. He decided it best if he just shut off his head and led his instincts take over.

In an instant he was in front of her, lifting her into the table bringing her to a much more comfortable height for him. His lips were on hers and if the first kiss had been good, well this one had been amazing. (Y/N)’s confidence quickly regained and excitement took over knowing exactly where this was going. Her legs parted, allowing her the opportunity for Remus to settle between them and her to pull him closer.

Remus’ hands met the bare skin of her thighs and traveled up and down her leg. The skin of his hands was so rough comparatively, but the contrast felt so unfamiliar and welcome. (Y/N) couldn’t help but be hyper aware of everywhere he touched and everywhere she wanted him to do so. Patience was a virtue wearing thin on her at the present moment and she found her hands quickly pulling the cost from his shoulders and working a few buttons on the shirt that he was wearing underneath. She was much too impatient to care enough to rid him of the entire shirt, once a few buttons were undone and it had been untucked she gave up on the task. She favored dipping her hands underneath the fabric, she just wanted to touch. Remus shivered a bit against her fingertips.

(Y/N) abandoned his mouth and trailed her kisses towards his neck. Remus was being absolutely driven mad by the nibbling. A gasp interrupted her and Remus smirked as his fingers carefully brushed against her clothed core. His touch was so light it could’ve almost been construed as an accident, if the knowing look hadn’t completely given him away. Ever the tease, and partially because he was no where near done with her, Remus didn’t give any indication there would be a follow-up. He moved his hand up actually and drug his fingertips lightly across her shoulders and chest, outlining the bra she was wearing. She arched into him, whimpering just a bit; she had no idea Remus Lupin was such a tease and she wasn’t sure she’d be able to handle it. (Y/N) had never been one to beg in the bedroom, of course she’d never really been with anyone taking such time and care; it was usually a heated spur of the moment type of setting (kind of what she expected from this). Still, there was a first time for everything, “Please touch me...”

Really Remus could’ve been content sitting there doing nothing but stand there and egg her on. It would’ve been torture for him too, but listening to the noises she made and feeling her breath quicken under his fingertips would’ve made it worth it. But her plea was too much, and Remus not only felt obligated but he wanted to oblige her request. Reaching behind he unclasped her bra and threw the unnecessary article to the side. He placed a chaste kiss to her lips before getting right to what she wanted.

(Y/N) felt like he was setting his skin on fire, everywhere his skin met hers like a flame had been held to it. Remus’ lips trailed from her neck to her shoulders and finally... her breath hitched when he made it to her breasts. Though she didn’t have much time to think about the way his tongue flicked over her nipple, because almost simultaneously he’d pushed her underwear to the side and his fingers brushed against her again. “Fuck...” She hissed.

Remus used his thumb to rub circles across the bundle of nerves and sank another inside of her, and relished the way her hips bucked against his hand. The way she arched herself into him... Remus couldn’t help but imagine how good how much better it would feel to have his cock buried deep inside her rather than his fingers, especially when he felt her clench around his digit. He didn’t know how much more her could handle, so without a second thought when she asked her obliged, he gladly accommodated.

Remus withdrew his hands from her body and unbuttoned his trousers in record time, and in less than a minute his hardened cock was able to spring out of its confines. (Y/N) watched him almost as intently as he’d watched her. She was much too excited to just stare though. She’d thought about this more than she’d care to admit and after already having a taste of what he could do she jumped to her feet in front of him. (Y/N) had been ready to return the favor (plus a little extra), but even though the idea sounded heavenly Remus just didn’t have the patience.

Given her stature it wasn’t a hard task to turn her around and bend her over the table. Once she’d been fully laid across the table, only the tips of her toes touched the floor. It left her feeling rather small and like she was completely at his mercy, but the vulnerability just seemed to heighten her senses. She let out a low sigh of anticipation when she felt him line himself up with her entrance.

Remus felt a flash of reluctancy... this young woman had seen parts of him that people hadn’t in quite a long time. He didn’t think he could possibly pull himself away from her at this point, but should he try? He didn’t think, no he knew he couldn’t give her what she deserved outside. Her impatience put an end to his internal sabotaging, “Remus, I’m not sure how much longer I can wait.”

His response she quite enjoyed. A moan left both of their mouths as he entered her. She felt her insides stretching to accommodate the most pleasant of intrusions. Then he pulled out almost completely before thrusting back in earning a cry of approval from the woman beneath him. (Y/N)’s imagination couldn’t compare to the real thing and she hoped she would be able to remember every detail on his hands digging into her hips holding her still and the drag of his cock as he pulled out, or how amazingly full she felt when he slammed back in hitting spots she hadn’t been truly aware of herself.

Remus’ name fell from her lips like a prayer, a praise, a chant and he couldn’t think of a single thing he enjoyed hearing more in that moment. His rhythm was starting to suffer, but he was hanging on her dear life. As soon as he felt her body spasming around him, he let go. Emptying himself inside of her and feeling a joyous release of pleasure and pressure that had been building inside of him.

Remus stayed still for a moment before summoning the strength to pull out. His breath was labored and (Y/N) was also trying to catch her breath. “I think I might need just a moment before that hike back.”

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#harry potter imagine #fanfics #harry potter marauders #fanfiction #imagines #harry potter smut #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin smut

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