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riahlynn101 · 3 months

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"Lost and Found" (1).

Summary: Taking place during the dawn of the age of quirks, after the death of their family, Tenko and his younger brother, Izuku, are left to die on the streets. All for One-who has not yet claimed that title-likes to people watch. He’s always been especially observant of those in need.

These two things are related.

Based on chapter 20 of my Dad December story. Hope you all enjoy :D!!

Tw: child neglect, mention of torture, blood, off-screen/implied death, and whatever trauma comes with living during the dawn of the age of quirks.

Silence.

He can’t breathe.

He can’t move.

“Momma!” Someone cries out.

Tenko knows that voice. He knows that voice. How does he know that voice?

He forces himself to move towards the wreckage, skin sticky with blood and covered in dust. He can’t place the voice that’s crying out. It’s familiar. Really familiar, but their name feels just outside his reach.

The house is less than ten feet away, but with how slow everything feels to him, it might as well be on a different planet. Tenko’s mouth is dry, and his body is shaking. The earlier adrenaline is gone. Replaced with a need to run. To escape.

But there’s someone here that’s calling out for help that will never arrive.

He can’t really remember why no one will help them. (He can’t really remember most things right now. Tenko feels like a zombie, pushing forward only on base instinct).

“Momma!” The voice calls again. It motivates Tenko. He stumbles over the wreckage, following it. Glass crunches under his bare feet, digging into soft skin. Bloody footprints trail across cracked floors and fallen walls.

The pain doesn’t register to him.

Eyes blank, Tenko starts to dig through piles of drywall. The voice grows louder, less muffled. Black hair pokes through the rubble.

Summoning his last bit of strength, Tenko throws a large piece of drywall off whoever’s trapped underneath. His hands are dry, cracked, and bleeding (much like the rest of him). He scratches them.

The pain doesn’t register to him.

His eyes are blank, not unseeing, but they might as well be for all he’s actually processing. Tenko stares down into the hole.

Big green eyes stare up at him, scared and confused. Tenko looks upon the tinier being curled up below him. He takes in their wild dark curls and freckles in the shape of twin constellations and all the different emotions that seem to pass through their eyes in the space of a single moment.

“Tenchan!” The small being yells, somehow still recognizing him despite all the blood and gore covering Tenko.

And he breaks. Falling apart, as he pulls his only surviving family member out. Wave after wave of pain hits him, like a semi-truck. He holds Izuku close, sobbing into his hair (full of dust much like everything else).

He wails, nails digging into the flesh on his brother’s arm. Izuku lets him, clinging just as tightly to Tenko. They’ll have to leave soon. One of their neighbors will have called the cops, if only to get them in trouble with the anti-meta ability group within the police force. And they’ll need to be long gone before they get here.

But for now, the two boys take refuge in each other’s arms.

-x-x-x-

It’s a little after midnight. The streets are empty, quiet, and dark. There’s the distant rumble of a train blaring its horn and dogs barking.

Tenko moves quietly, or at least tries to. The paper bag in his arms makes that a little difficult. It crinkles with every little movement, but it’s not like he can afford to toss it aside. It’s full of food he found in a dumpster behind the convenient store down the street. He could hardly believe his luck.

Izuku and him haven’t eaten in over a week, so finding this was akin to finding the holy grail.

He slinks down a nearby alley. “Izuku,” he calls out, keeping his voice quiet. They spotted an anti-meta group stomping down the street, torches and pitchforks, just yesterday. And with his ability and both of their appearances, it would be wise to steer clear.

“Tenchan!” His brother answers back. Tenko winces a little, looking over his shoulder. No one heard that….phew!

A little annoyed, he stomps over to the wall of metal trash cans he made to hide his baby brother from view. He moves them, angry words dying on his tongue as soon as Izuku smiles happily up at him.

(Always so happy, in spite of our circumstances).

“Got us food,” he says.

And that happy smile grows even brighter.

They sit together, protected only by the darkness of the alley and a few rusted metal bins. Izuku rests his head on Tenko’s arm, listening as he recounts his journey to the convenient store. He opens the bag, rummaging around to find the dried ramen, sandwiches, and chips he found. He even remembered to find a bottle of water.

It should be enough food to hold them over for the next month.

“Is that from Jeffersons down the street?” A disembodied voice asks.

Tenko freezes, dropping the bag of ramen. He grips Izuku’s arm, ready to bolt. There is no reason for someone to be here at this time of night. No good reason, at least.

Before he can decide to run, an older boy lands in front of them.

They scream, hanging onto one another. The boy puts a hand over their mouths, fixing them with a stern expression. “Stop. I’m not here to hurt you.”

That….doesn’t make Tenko feel any better, but his brother seems to calm down a little. “Who…who are you?” He asks, on guard in case he has to activate his quirk. Using it makes him feel sick, but if doing so keeps Izuku safe, then so be it.

“I don’t have a name,” the boy answers, seemingly annoyed. Even though it was him who interrupted their dinner. “But from what I heard, I know that you’re Tenchan,” he points at Tenko (who flushes at the childish nickname). ��And you’re…” he trails off, tapping a finger to his chin. “Well, I don’t know your name.”

“Izuku,” his brother answers without thinking. Internally, Tenko facepalms. When they get out of this situation, he’s giving his brother the scoldings to end all scoldings.

“Izuku,” the boy repeats slowly, as if tasting the name on his tongue. “Izuku….I like it.”

Tenko glares at him, taking in his raggedy appearance. His wild curls and dirty skin. His moth-eaten clothes and lack of shoes.

And then, he looks down at his brother. His natural turquoise roots are finally showing, though it’s a little hard to tell through the grime. Izuku’s curls are weighed down, making his hair seem longer than it actually is.

Neither of their clothes fit. Too large for their starving frames. And they haven’t had shoes since the incident four months prior. Tenko doesn’t even want to think about what they must smell like.

But the older boy-a teenager judging by his height and (slightly) deeper voice-looks upon them with the same expression Tenko had discovering food in a dumpster. Hungry.

“Alone,” the boy says, and somehow Tenko knows it’s not a question. “No adults to take care of you. Either of you.”

Tenko shrugs his shoulders, suddenly feeling vulnerable. He’s gotten too used to sticking to the shadows. Of only having Izuku for company. (He can only imagine how much worse that loneliness must feel for his little brother).

Izuku sniffles. It’s late, and he tends to get fussy the longer he’s forced to stay up.

The boy’s expression softens. “I didn’t mean to startle you guys. I just noticed you had a bag of food with the Jeffersons’ convenience store logo on it.”

“What’s it to you?”

“I dunno, just thought you would like to know that the Jeffersons like to poison the food they throw out, or sprinkle it with glass.” The boy shrugs. “But if you like that, then by all means….”

Tenko suddenly feels sick. “But it’s all unopened food.”

“Is it?”

Izuku cries out, exhaustion winning out.

“Oh, ‘zuku,” Tenko murmurs. “It’s ok- hey!” He watches as the boy scoops his brother up.

Izuku fits easily in the older boy’s arms. His head rests against his chest, and he pops a thumb in his mouth (a habit that they’ve been working on breaking). Tiny eyes flutter shut.

The older boy turns away, walking away from Tenko.

“Hey!” Tenko runs after him.

The boy looks over his shoulder. “Come,” he says, continuing to walk away.

Tenko follows him, too stunned to do much else.

-x-x-x-

Big Brother (as Yoichi calls him. His other nicknames are less than…. savory. Paranormal Orphan being the nicest of them) carries the little boy close to his chest. He’s lighter than Yoichi, younger too. As is the other one, grumpily following behind him.

“Where are we going?” Tenchan asks (an odd name for sure. Big Brother will have to give him another one). He can’t be any older than the kids that attend the elementary school down the street. Yoichi and he watch them leave the school every day and make up stories about what they do all day.

“Shush,” he says.

“Don’t tell me to-” Whatever Tenchan wanted to say, dies in his throat. A low rumbling, the sounds of heavy footfalls, and the telltale smell of smoke.

He grabs Tenchan by the back of his shirt, clutching Izuku to his chest. His heart beats fast. “Alley, now,” he hisses, and there’s not a single complaint. Yoichi would be okay for now. Big Brother is really, really good at hiding him. Too good for the stupid anti-meta group that likes to prowl the streets. And he’s smart anyway - Yoichi knows how to stay out of sight.

They huddle together. Izuku mumbles something but stays asleep. Tenchan trembles, curling into his side.

The group leaves, eventually, and they come out from behind the dumpster.

Big Brother hurries faster down the street. Holding Tenchan’s wrist, and Izuku to his chest. They need to be hidden away before that group comes back. They tend to be thorough, and it’s only because Yoichi and him are masters at being invisible that they’ve survived this long. He has no idea how long Tenchan and Izuku have been on their own, but it can’t have been very long.

He catches a glimpse of the trash dump. Hardly anyone comes here, and there’s plenty of places to hide. He helps Tenchan slip in between the broken railings in the wrought fence. Yoichi and him found this place years ago - back when they were a lot smaller, and nowadays it's a little harder for him to slip through without effort. Harder now that he has Izuku to also sneak through.

He manages, though.

Tenchan rubs his eyes. “Where are we?” He asks, grabbing onto Big Brother’s shirt. There’s no defiance in his tone, only the frightened voice of an overly-exhausted child.

“Shhh…almost there.” He tries his best to sound patient, like his mother sounds like in his dreams. Warm and inviting.

He quickly finds the alcove, Yoichi and him made, hidden among piles of trash. No one has ever thought to look there, and if Big Brother has anything to say about it, they never will. It’s small but extremely cozy. Certainly big enough to fit two small children.

Big Brother clicks his tongue. Here.

And Yoichi answers almost immediately, sticking his head out. A garbled reply that sounds like he’s mimicking a trash compactor. Back? Took you long enough.

His eyes land on the newcomers, brows furrowing. A furious click mixed with a garbled response. Who are they?

Tenchan eyes Yoichi with an air of suspicion, little hand not so subtly holding onto Izuku’s shirt. Big Brother laughs, shrugging his shoulders. “He’s harmless, Tenchan. This is my little brother. Yoichi.”

Yoichi scoffs, which doesn’t mean anything beyond signifying how annoyed he is.

Both of them understand Japanese perfectly. It’s speaking it that’s difficult. So many different words to choose from, all meaning different things. Big Brother is a little better at that, while Yoichi is better at reading and writing.

However, Yoichi is still learning to speak Japanese.

“Yoichi,” he addresses his little brother in Japanese. “This is Tenchan,” he gestures to the little boy cowering in front of him. “And this is Izuchan.” Tenchan turns to look at him, mouth pursed into a thin line.

“Izuku,” he mutters under his breath, too afraid to speak up.

Big Brother ignores him. It’s something that Tenchan will have to get used to.

Yoichi’s gaze softens a touch, looking at the two boys. He moves aside, allowing them entry into the alcove. Though, he hits Big Brother’s shoulder when he passes. An angry-sort of look on his delicate face.

That look is nothing new.

Another angry click. What did you do?

“I found them in an alley. Alone. Like us.”

He places Izuku on the pile of blankets. Tenchan instantly crawls over to him, curling around the younger boy. He trembles, obviously scared of the unfamiliarity of the situation. Yoichi and him watch the two boys until Tenchan’s breathing evens out.

Only then does Yoichi look at him. A guttural groan. He points at them, hair falling in his face. Where are their adult people?

They have no one. Alone. Really, actually alone. Promise.

Yoichi shoots him a ‘you better not be lying’ look. Before climbing into the pile of blankets. He rests his body around the two boys. Long, thin arms shielding them from the slight chill. He lays down to sleep last.

He positions his body around them. One arm pillowed under his head and the other stretching across to grip his brother’s shirt.

Nothing will harm his little brothers while he’s here. They’re safe with him. His eyes slide closed, body relaxing. The distant sounds of sirens lull him to sleep.

-x-x-x

Tenko tries to scoot out, but the two older boys just seem to hang onto him and Izuku tighter. Big Brother (and he wants to punch someone every time he thinks of the older boy by that title) even shushes him at one point, and the other one goes as far as to stroke his hair.

He almost escapes, but he’s immediately yanked back into the cuddle pile. Tenko is scolded in a language that he can’t understand, but he’s in no mood to argue (and it’s not like he can leave without Izuku anyway), so he just forces himself to sleep.

They can slip away tomorrow. It’s not like they can watch Izuku and him forever. It’s impossible. And if push comes to shove, Tenko can just use his quirk (his stomach roils at the thought. Dust. Destruction. Gone. Everything Gone!)

A hand finds his tangled hair again, brushing his bangs back. “Sleep,” a voice murmurs, groggy with sleep. And Tenko does, clutching Izuku closer.

-x-x-x-

Unfortunately for Izuku and him, Yoichi is put in charge of watching them. Big Brother apparently has to go out to find food, which makes sense. But Tenko refuses to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Worse yet, Yoichi can’t communicate the way they can. So, he’s stuck with having to follow directions either written haphazardly in dirt or trying to figure out what each distinct click and groan means.

In spite of how skinny he is, Yoichi is quite strong. Stronger than Tenko that’s for sure. Faster, too.

(When his back was turned, Tenko tried to make a run for it, grabbing Izuku by the hand. He barely made it to the fence before he was being dragged back.)

He thinks about using his quirk, but Yoichi is nice to them. He strokes their hair, during nap time, and taught them a couple of games that only require the use of their hands and intense concentration.

It’s not long before Big Brother comes back, food in hand. He brings back sandwiches that are fresher than anything Tenko’s eaten in months. He eagerly scarfs it down, only remembering to chew when reprimanded by Big Brother.

Izuku eats his half with just as much excitement.

They each take turns drinking out of a water bottle. Something that would have grossed him out back then, but now he’s grateful for the tiniest sip of water.

Once they’ve finished eating, Big Brother fixes them with an unreadable expression. “We,” he gestures to Yoichi and himself, “have some questions.”

Tenko suppresses a sigh. They gave them food and water, so they’re entitled to a few questions. He reasons to himself. “Okay.”

“Good,” Big Brother says, clasping his hands together. “To start, how long have you two been on your own?”

“Four months,” he answers. “At least I think it’s been that long. It’s kind of hard to keep track.” Izuku sits close to him, hand finding his knee.

“Soooo….what happened?”

Tenko scoffs. “None of your-”

“Tenchan made everyone go poof!” Izuku giggles, bouncing up and down.

He blanches.

“Go poof?” The words are even more ridiculous coming from someone older. Big Brother fixes him with an unreadable expression. All-knowing. It makes the hairs on the back of Tenko’s neck stand up.

“My meta-ability,” he explains, hoping they’ll get the hint. He would rather avoid having to explain to Izuku that their family is never coming back. “It made them disappear.” Tenko stares at the two older boys, silently begging them to drop it.

Yoichi nods. He sends them a sympathetic look. A click and a grunt that Big Brother is quick to verbalize.

“He says he’s sorry for…” he looks over at Izuku, considering. “Your situation. It’s not easy being on your own. We know that better than anyone. It’s a good thing that I found you when I did. The anti-meta groups are growing bolder by the day.”

Yoichi makes a gesture towards Izuku. More clicks that Tenko can’t understand for the life of him.

“What’s his ability?” Big Brother asks, translating.

“He…he doesn’t have one.” And thank god for that. Maybe his baby brother can one day have a normal life. He’ll have to dye his hair, but that’s easily done. Mom used to do it to his hair all the time.

Big Brother narrows his eyes, as if he doesn’t believe him. “He doesn’t,” Tenko snaps, defensive.

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to imply differently. Yoichi also doesn’t have a meta-ability. I was distracted by his hair color. I noticed it’s different from yours.”

Tenko’s heart drops into his stomach. Out of all questions….

He shrugs. “Genetics are weird,” he says. Tenko has no idea what that means. He heard father say that once to someone over the phone.

“Did your mom have green hair?”

“His hair is turquoise,” Tenko corrects. He would know. Hana and him searched online for hours to find the correct color shade to describe their baby brother’s undyed hair. It’s so pretty when it’s not covered in grime and dirt, or colored a boring black. “And no.”

“Did your father?”

“No, but-”

“Your other siblings?”

“No, but-”

Big Brother interrupts him again, a mischievous smile on his face. “So, he looks nothing like you, or your parents.”

Before Tenko can stop himself, he bursts out, “he looks like my aunt!” He covers his mouth. “I mean I think he does. From what I’ve seen of her in pictures.”

Izuku beams at him. “We have an aunt!?”

“Had,” Tenko tells him, gloomily. They didn’t attend her funeral, no one did.

“Oh,” Yoichi murmurs. His first coherent word to them.

“Oh,” Big Brother repeats.

Tenko feels a white-hot rage boil up inside him. It’s indescribable, so he just nods along. Thankfully they don’t ask anymore questions for the rest of the day.

The sun goes down soon after that, and they all pile into the alcove. Bodies and limbs curled around Izuku and him. Protecting them in more ways than one.

He waits until they fall asleep, and slips out of their grasp. Untangling Izuku from them is a little harder, but he manages.

Izuku is sleepy, and unlike Big Brother, Tenko can’t carry him. He places a hand over his mouth, dragging him to the opening of the alcove.

It’s dark. Really, really dark. Just one day off the streets and he’s already reverted to being afraid of the dark. Tenko would laugh if he wasn’t so damn scared.

They make it to the fence without being stopped. His heart is beating fast, looking over his shoulder every couple steps. He helps Izuku squeeze through the fence, and then takes Izuku’s little hand in his, and runs as fast as his tired legs can carry him.

Izuku stumbles behind him. He whines, half-asleep. Begging Tenko to go back.

But they can’t. It’s too dangerous. There’s something off about those boys. Something that no amount of food and shelter can compensate for.

They run until they can’t anymore. Izuku falls first, stumbling over his feet. He lands on his face and immediately starts to wail.

Tenko stops short, feeling his brother’s hand slip from his. He gasps, turning back. “Izuku, no,” he says. But it’s too late. Heavy footfalls and smoke. They’re here! Self-preservation kicks in, and he turns to flee. But stops himself.

He hears the very group that they’ve been successfully avoiding for the last few months marching closer to them. Their voices grow louder. They turn the corner, instantly spotting them.

His blood turns to ice, and it’s all he can do to cling to his still-wailing brother. Tenko guesses that there’s thirty of them, perhaps even more. There’s no way he would be able to take them all down.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into Izuku’s hair. “I’m so sorry.” Tenko has no idea what he’s apologizing for.

For killing their family?

For disrupting what little normalcy they had?

For thinking about running away, and leaving Izuku behind?

He doesn’t know. Izuku doesn’t either, burrowing into his shirt.

Tenko closes his eyes. Maybe he can use his ability on Izuku, make whatever the group plans to do to them not hurt? But he finds himself not wanting to be alone, even while dying. Selfish!

He braces for the blunt end of a shovel. Tenko’s seen them hit people over the head with one before dragging them off to kill them however they see fit. But it never comes.

There’s a wet splat! Followed by strangled screams, and then the night falls quiet once more. He doesn’t dare open his eyes, nor does he let Izuku, too afraid of what they might see.

“You can open your eyes now,” Big Brother says. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”

And Tenko can’t find it within himself to be annoyed or upset that he found them. He throws himself at Big Brother, ignoring the bodies strewn about the alley. Izuku’s tiny frame is locked between them, but he doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes are firmly shut, which is a good thing, given the scene that awaits him.

“Can we go home now?” Tenko asks, voice small. His entire body shakes, and his heart hammers in the confines of his chest. He wants nothing more than to lay his head down somewhere and sleep for a very long time. (Preferably snuggled up to Yoichi, Big Brother, and Izuku. The security of being tangled up in each other’s limbs).

Big Brother doesn’t answer, just scoops Izuku up, and offers Tenko a hand.

They walk back silently to the trash dump. Yoichi is waiting for them when they return. A disappointed look on his face. Tenko’s throat thickens, and he forces back tears. But a few still slip down his cheeks anyway.

Yoichi clicks his tongue, pointing at the pile of blankets.

Sniffling, Tenko nods. He waits for Izuku to be put down in the center, and then curls around him. He grips his little brother’s shirt, needing the reassurance that despite all they’ve gone through tonight, they’re both okay (because of Big Brother).

“Sleep, Tenchan,” Big Brother mutters. “You’re safe now. Nothing will hurt you two while we’re here.”

Tenko shuts his eyes and is lulled asleep by Yoichi stroking his hair.

#tw childhood neglect #tw childhood trauma #tw blood #tw implied death #cross posted on ao3 #mha fanfiction #young tenko shimura #young izuku #Tenko and Izuku are brothers #pre canon #young AFO #young Yoichi #bnha manga spoilers #Yoichi and AFO are twins #AFO is a little kinder in this #mha au

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raphtheraff · 2 years

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This is rlly random and more a personal ramble but-

The thing is about depression and anxiety is you really are sometimes just hanging of the edge of diving deep. You're just barely toeing the line between "alone time" and spiralling into isolation or "ill do it later" into depression room that doesn't get cleaned or fixed for weeks.

But it kind of gives me hope to be pulled out just before I fall, even if it doesn't happen often, it shows me it can be done when that feeling of hopelessness is prevailing hard.

Usually I just becomes lost and dejected and end up in my room for days just doing nothing before I have to get up for a shift at work. The second I come home from a therapy appointment or work I just sit on my floor lock my door and do nothing.

For weeks I was just sitting around, eating fried potato chunks because I couldn't be asked to make anything else.

My body felt shit. I didn't even have the will or energy to play video games or write, draw, paint etc. I just would fry some potato wedges eat them at the kitchen counter once a day and stumble into my bed.

Sometimes I would go outside the back door for a cigarette, but that just turned into smoking out of my bedroom window at 3am. It was pure lonely, those feelings of being annoying or hated or just downright useless were pushing forward so much. I usually handle well with keeping myself so busy and productive that I can't think for long. But now A levels had finished, university wasn't for 2 months and I could only work 2 shifts a week. I just felt utterly crazed for a purpose, or affection, that I felt like no one in the world would ever want to give me.

One day after eating my Daily Dosage of Potatos, I decided to go on a little walk through the fields behind my road. I did just that, I forced myself to stroll through the horse fields, and through the woods.

In a way it was like a mind journey too. At one point I was so dejected I just started crying on the log I was sitting on by the stream. It was so peaceful, I usually sat here for a quiet moment, but I hadn't visited in months. When I got to the stream, I had found it had been blocked by big concrete blocks to make a new fucking fence for the private land just bordering on the forest walk. I was, upset to say the least.

It felt like it represented everything I was going through. I had finally mustered up the courage to go outside and have a walk only to find this little path of water destroyed. No alternative path dug for it, no well or pipe, just a big block to stop it from passing and inevitably drying up a lot of the remaining water. I was tempted to go home at that point, just walk back the way I came, but I decided not to and walk to the other side of the woods.

I was mainly motivated by the fact I wanted to stop at the corner store on the other side. But when I got out of the woods, walked down the alley and finally made it onto a residential road near the highstreet I felt slightly more at ease. I went to the shops and bought some Monsters and sweets and left. As I was talking back towards my house on the main road, I passed my sisters who lives just up the road. I made one small decision that stopped me from spiralling any more entirely and knocked on her door.

She welcomed me in and I said hi to my nieces and nephews, we started playing and talking, they were showing me their video games and toys etc. I started chatting to my sister and we actually had a great conversation - the first I had properly in real life in weeks. We decided to go to my other sisters only a 10 minute walk away (I know it must sound weird to say my family all live so close , but thats just fucking small town life).

In short, I somehow from this short walk ended up agreeing to house / dog sit for my sister while she was on holiday. I packed my stuff in a little bag at home and brought it round and started looking after my sisters dogs.

It's only been 4 days, but that tiny diversion in my plan, that decision to go see someone I knew changed everything. I had to wake up at 7am to feed the dogs, take them on morning and evening walks, buy groceries, do my washing, have a shower, clean up. I even ended up going bowling with my friends on less than a days notice. It was brilliant. I don't think I've ever had such a dramatic change from depression spiral to "feeling a little better" so quickly.

Obviously, I'm not trying to imply that doing a couple of chores or waking up early is going to cure your mentally illnesses, but it sure does help sometimes. Even if you just have to fucking muster up all of your strength to go on that walk, just do it. Even just to stretch your legs. I know it's hard, I almost gave up half way through. But you will make it, you always do, and that's what's important. Sometimes it's just the little things that can turn a switch, we stop spinning and falling for a moment and catch a grip and we pull ourselves up. Even if we just steady ourself, it's good for us, and I'm proud of you for trying. I want everyone to know that struggles with similar illnesses and conditions that I am proud of you. Because I sure fucking know I find it difficult.

#depression #anxiety #anxious #struggling mentally #mental illness #recovery #personal #personal blog #diary entry #you will make it #you always do

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noteguk · 3 years

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bad behavior | jjk | m

This is in the same universe as “bad influence.” It can, however, be read as a stand-alone.

— summary; in which staying late to volunteer at a self-help meeting was the best decision you made in a while.

— contents and warnings; smut, the endless adventures of badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, public sex (in a church…), dirty talk, fingering, degradation (name calling) but also praise, unprotected sex, clothed sex, creampie, cum play, there is a window and also reflections, rough sex, cockwarming, jk being a lil shit because that’s his main personality trait, jk smokes (only mentioned), enemies to fuckbuddies: dawn of the first day

— words; 8.2k

— author’s note; for the anon that asked how their first time was like ;) join me as we explore the lore of this godforsaken couple

It was your mother’s idea for you to find a new place to volunteer. According to her, it had been a long time since you experienced “the invigorating energy of community work” — last time was when you were trying to level up your college application — and it could really “soothe your anxious soul” during the trying times of college finals. Apparently one tutoring program and two research projects weren’t enough to distract you, but you could see where she was coming from.

In the end, you accepted. The old places you used to volunteer in had either shut off their programs or were just too far away from college for you to consider. At first, you decided to follow your mother’s suggestion and tried to work with children — “small miracles”, as she called them — in a local daycare. Which ended up being a terrible idea.

You liked giving back to the community, you really did, but it wasn’t long until you realized that working with infants hasn’t been your wisest decision, and that children weren’t miracles at all. You got tired of going home covered in paint and with pieces of playdough entangled in your hair, and that was when you weren’t unlucky enough to get hit with other, less clean fluids.

So you eventually gave up — both on the daycare and on the faint idea of one day going into pediatrics — and searched for a new place. After having to yell your way through retirement homes, and getting fed up with washing people’s sidewalks, you finally settled in a program that was flexible and light enough for your intense college hours: preparing (and then later cleaning up) a room that was reserved in a local church for weekly meetings.

The entire ordeal took about two to three hours off your day, and more than half of it was spent as free time: waiting for the meeting to end, cramming piles of information in a small room next door. You didn’t really know what the meetings were about since they changed practically every month — they were, at first, a support group for teenage mothers, then it became an AA meeting, then a group for drug users trying to quit. Lately, you were starting to think that the church just gave away the room for whoever had the money to rent it, so it wasn’t a surprise when it was reserved for a motivational speaker to give confidence lessons.

You had researched the guy, some old dude with an unpronounceable name and a sketchy background, and found exactly the type of person you had expected. Yes, you were in the house of Christ, but you were still being heavily judgmental of the fact that he was giving those talks when he had no qualifications whatsoever, and was probably making bank off all the self-help books he regurgitated at least twice a year to prey on vulnerable people. You did share your worries with the administrative office of the church, but they ultimately fell on deaf ears, and you gave up on the idea of kicking his ass out of the holy grounds anytime soon.

It was after one of those pseudo-motivational talks that you walked into the empty room, ready to clean everything up before rushing back to your place, where your roommate had promised to greet you with some wonderful takeout. The chairs were still placed in a circle on the center of the room, where they had been since forever, and you made sure to align them perfectly before you moved on to the litter that had been thrown around the place.

One good thing about those self-help meetings was that they were a lot cleaner than a lot of other attendees, so the “picking up the trash until your back started to hurt” part passed by surprisingly fast. You had just moved on to the snack table, analyzing what you could still save, when your soul almost left your body.

“Hey, you,” you heard a known voice behind you. “What are you doing in here?”

You swiftly turned around, heart thumping violently against your ribcage. You didn’t know how you hadn’t let out the biggest, most blood-curdling scream ever, but that was just the first of many miracles of the night. “Jesus Christ,” you wheezed out, taking one hand to your chest. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like this.” You swallowed dry, some part of your brain recalling that he had asked you a question. “And I’m volunteering here.”

“I didn’t sneak up on you, you’re just jumpy.” Jungkook scoffed, leaning against the doorframe with that stupid playful smirk curling up on his lips. You didn’t know they allowed demons inside the church. “And of course you are.” He rolled his eyes.

Maybe a few months back, his mocking tone would’ve stung a bit more. However, you had been tutoring Jungkook for about three months then, suffering through endless sessions of his whining and complaining, and you’ve grown used to his passive-aggressive antics already. You learned that Jungkook was a shark seeking for blood, waiting for any crack that would allow him to jump into a perverse little joke — about how you behaved, your priorities, or even the color of your highlighter. You, of course, always stood your ground and threw his comments right back at him — which was his initial plan, as you’ve come to realize. Jungkook enjoyed playfully arguing with you, and you thought that it was another level of strangeness and masochism you simply didn’t have time to dissect.

Still, Jungkook (shockingly) wasn’t the terrible person you once thought he was. Every once in a while — when he was trying to talk you out of teaching him — the conversations you two would have were actually mostly pleasant, and he wasn’t awful to hang around when he dropped the whole badass persona to act like a real human being. You would even dare to say that Jungkook could be actually funny at times, and not in the bitter, sarcastic way he usually was. Sometimes, you dared to think, he could actually be reasonably nice. And also kind of cute. Even hot.

But you would never actually admit any of that out loud. Or even to yourself, really.

“And you?” You asked, turning back around to face the table full of half-eaten food. That looked like a battlefield, and you could already tell that there were only a few survivors left standing. “What are you doing here? Repenting?”

Jungkook chuckled dryly. “You wish. My parents want me to quit smoking,” he said. You could not see him, but you could hear him walking closer to you as you fumbled with the large Tupperware. “We settled on this crap instead of a forced intervention.”

You scoffed. Most of the food before you was unsalvageable — some of the cupcakes had been bitten once and then placed back, and you wondered how someone like that could function in society. “You don’t seem very motivated to quit,” you mumbled.

Jungkook clicked his tongue. “I don’t really care.”

His voice was much closer to you, and you felt the air leaving your lungs for a pitiful instant. You convinced yourself you had only gotten scared again. “You should care about the growing possibility of lung cancer.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. But it’s not really on the top of my list of priorities at the moment.”

“And what is?” You asked.

“Amongst other things…” he trailed off and, suddenly, he was standing besides you, pointing at the chaotic pile of sweets. “I actually came back to grab another one of those cupcakes. The chocolate ones are great.”

You didn’t know why, but his comment broke the odd tension that you didn’t even know that was there, clicking you back into your previous mentality — the one that you just wanted to finish cleaning up so you could leave soon. “All yours,” you told him, “grab as many as you want.”

Jungkook hummed in satisfaction, reaching out to grab one special brown cupcake — an untouched one, thankfully. “I love when you talk dirty.” He almost moaned before shoving the cupcake inside his mouth, taking a huge bite off it. Dramatically, Jungkook rolled his eyes and sighed in delight. “These are fucking great.”

You chuckled, glancing at his direction. Jungkook was dressed in all black, like he usually was, and you were starting to recognize a newfound admiration towards his constant use of leather jackets. What? He looked good. “I’m glad the self-help sessions are paying off,” you commented, swiftly placing the cupcakes inside the transparent container.

Jungkook was paying attention to your actions now, like he noticed you were there working for the first time. “What are you doing with the rest?”

“The church will probably donate it, give it to the homeless or something.” You shrugged. “Or they’ll eat it, I don’t know. I just clean up the place and leave.”

Jungkook laughed at that, taking another monstrous bite from his cupcake and throwing himself on one of the nearby chairs. Your eye twitched a little at the thought that he had ruined your perfect circle, but you’d have to fix that on your way out. “Sounds absurdly boring,” he sang. “And they’re not even paying you.”

You sighed. “After all the places I’ve volunteered in, boring is a blessing,” you told him. You had just placed five hot dogs in the container, and you were starting to wonder if it would be a good idea to feed people in need with those suspicious sausages. “But, yeah, you probably don’t care about any of that.”

“You don’t know what I care about,” Jungkook said matter-of-factly. You didn’t know if he was trying to tease you, but his voice came out so soft and monotone that you couldn’t really be mad about it. It was true, after all: you didn’t actually know what he cared about. Sometimes you thought that he could read you better than you could read him. “Want me to stay here with you? This place is probably empty already.”

You could not hold back your laugh at that, turning around so you could look at him. “Are you offering to be my bodyguard? In a church?”

Jungkook pouted. There was a thin line of chocolate on the side of his lips, which he quickly licked clean. “I’m trying to be nice.”

You giggled, turning back towards the disgusting food. The rest was mostly trash, but you were happy enough with the amount you had managed to find in a good state. “That’s new.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked. “I’m always nice.”

“Always is a strong word.” You smiled, closing the lid of the Tupperware. You had managed to fill three small containers with the leftovers and, honestly, that was a big victory. “But you can stay or you can leave, I don’t mind. I’m almost done anyways.”

He frowned. “Is that your answer?”

You turned around. “What? You want me to beg for your company?” You smiled. “You’re mistaken if you think I’d ever do that.”

“I’m staying.” Jungkook crumpled up the piece of cupcake wrapping and threw it in the trash can besides your body. He watched you for a moment as you started to throw the leftovers away, your back turned to him and a distracted look on your face. When he broke the silence again, you were throwing the last piece of bread in the bin. “Why are you volunteering?”

“Because I like giving back to the community.”

Jungkook sneered at your words. “Seriously now. Don’t lie, we’re in a church.”

“I do, actually,” you stood your ground. There was a vague sound of crickets coming from the half-open window and the low buzzing of the fluorescent lights above you, but, other than that, the city was covered in absolute silence. Perhaps that was why you felt so at peace. “But my mom told me it would be a good thing to keep myself relaxed. You know, take my mind off college stuff.”

He hummed, and you heard him getting up from the chair. “You always do what your mom tells you?”

You met his gaze. “Didn’t your parents make you come here?”

He smiled. “Not the point.”

Before you could hold yourself back, your lips were curling up. Again: Jungkook wasn’t absolutely awful to be around when he actually acted like a human being. “When she says something I agree with, yes,” you told him. “My ego isn’t bruised when it comes to following someone’s idea.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You’re saying that mine is?”

“I didn’t say that.” You smirked and turned back to the table. You started piling up the used plastic cups, already eyeing all the used plates, forks and knives that you’d have to throw away. The daycare had better eating manners than that. “Thought we were talking about me.”

“We were,” Jungkook agreed. One of his inked hands moved to the table, and you were about to tell him that he could eat more of the cupcakes when you realized that he had started to reach for the discardable plates, throwing them away. You really didn’t think he’d help you. “Finals are coming up, though, and you care about that shit. Shouldn’t you be using this time to study or something?”

“I study while you’re out here listening to becoming your real self or, I don’t know... waking up the giant within,” you said. “I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

He hummed, his nose cringing up at the disgusting remains of food that stuck to the plastic forks. Jungkook seriously didn’t know how you could do that for fun. “You know there are better ways to relax than cleaning up a dusty room, right?”

“Probably,” you agreed. The cups were already in the trash, alongside with the plates, and there were only a few crumpled up napkins to get rid of before you tasted the sweet nectar of freedom. “But here I am. That’s what I chose for myself.”

“Literally any other option would’ve been better,” Jungkook pressed on. “Isn’t that obnoxious friend of yours in cheer or something?”

“Who? Jisoo?” You smiled at him. No one had ever called her obnoxious, but you couldn’t say that the title didn’t fit. Jisoo could be really… intense when it came to standing up for what she believed in. “She is. She invited me to join her already, if that’s what you’re gonna ask, but it’s not really my thing.”

“It’s a shame,” he mumbled, leaning against the table. It was a beautiful miracle how clean that room had become just by getting rid of the piles of gross food, and you had proudly thrown the last piece of paper inside the trash bin when Jungkook spoke up again. “You’d look really hot in that outfit.”

You stopped in your tracks, taking a second to digest the claim he had so mindlessly thrown your way. Just like all-things-Jungkook, a pleasant conversation could not last long, so you weren’t even surprised that he managed to ruin that talk with such a fuckboy-esque comment.

Also like all-things-Jungkook, he managed to awaken a reaction out of you that you didn’t even know could be there. With a faint heat in your cheeks and a frown blossoming amongst your features, you actually felt a little bit of... satisfaction with the fact that he thought that you’d look hot in that skimpy outfit. At the same time, you wanted to slap yourself for falling into his charms so easily.

In that conflicting turmoil of emotions, all you could say was a monotone, “You cannot be serious right now.”

Even if you kind of wanted him to be serious.

“I’m being dead serious,” Jungkook didn’t back down, much to the elation of your ego. You felt like a schoolgirl being recognized by her crush, and the idea alone made your stomach curl onto itself. What the hell were you even thinking about? Yeah, Jungkook was pretty hot, but he was also kind of a douche and you didn’t want to get involved with that mess of a person. Or at least that was what you were trying to convince yourself of. “I mean…” he continued, “you’re even rocking this knee-level dress right now, can’t even imagine how you’d look if—“

“You can shut up now, Jungkook, thanks,” you interrupted him. Because you didn’t know how to act when he was so blatantly flirting with you, you switched back to the same passive-aggressive behavior that you had given him for the past three months. Call it self-preservation, call it panic, but your mind simply didn’t know where to go from there. “And I’m also done here, so you can skidaddle back to whatever swamp you came out of.”

“Awn, don’t be mean, princess.” He pouted. Jungkook was a master at getting you worked up, and you had just given that to him on a silver platter. Maybe if you had mock-flirted back, he would’ve baked away. You would never know. “I was just fucking with you, you’re too easy to tease.”

You pressed your lips together, hip touching the corner of the now empty table. “You were pretty much harassing me,” you said playfully.

“I was not.” Jungkook smirked, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his pants. When had the two of you gotten so close? There was barely any space between your chests. “But it’s okay, I’m not gonna compliment you anymore, don’t worry. You don’t have to be so defensive.”

“I’m not being defensive,” you said, defensive.

“What, is it the church setting?” He raised his eyebrows, taking a look around. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“No,” you answered, crossing your arms before your chest. Jungkook followed the movement and his gaze got stuck on the shape of your breasts for a second too long, making a newfound wave of heat rise up to your cheeks. “Not as much as you’re trying to make me uncomfortable right now.”

He chuckled. “You do look cute when you’re shy,” Jungkook teased, taking a step towards you, and you took another one back, pretending you were just going to lean against the table. You sat on it in a weird diagonal position, with one leg still on the ground and the other dangling over the edge. Jungkook was so close that, when he spoke again, voice just above a whisper, you could feel his breath on your skin. “If you don’t want me here, just ask me to go and I’ll go.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. The atmosphere was filled with electricity, your body drowning in the warmth of his presence, the sharp seriousness in his dark eyes, and you could not bring yourself to say anything. Did you want him to leave?

No, you realized in a rush of adrenaline, you didn’t want him to leave at all.

Jungkook raised one of his eyebrows. “Hm? Nothing?” He smirked, placing himself between your legs. Every nerve of your body was screaming for you to touch him, to just wrap his mouth with yours, and you simply could not respond to any of its commands. “You’re full of surprises.”

You found your voice at that comment, heart hammering against your chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re a smart girl, you can figure it out.” Jungkook placed one strand of your hair behind your ear, his gaze flickering down to your chest. From where he stood, he could see the beautiful mounds of your breasts peeking under the fabric, licking his lips at the sight. “Can I at least say that I like your dress?”

Jungkook’s palm slithered up your knee before you could even react, moving towards your inner thigh and raising your dress along with it. His touch was electrifying, and you found yourself craving more of it, a sigh caught on your throat at the tenderness of his hot skin.

“Something tells me that your compliment isn’t so innocent,” you told him, leaning your head back slightly so you could hold his gaze. “Aren’t you gonna complete that and say that I would look better without it?”

Jungkook chuckled. “The idea is compelling, I’ll admit it,” he said, rubbing soft circles on your skin. His other hand slithered around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “But don’t need to take it off to fuck you.”

Your eyes grew wide at that, brain short-circuiting. You frankly couldn’t believe that was happening — the fact that Jungkook was so shamelessly trying (and honestly succeeding) to initiate sex with you. In a fucking church too, of all places. “What- what did you say?”

“You heard what I said.” His stare didn’t falter. Jungkook was looking at you like he could eat you whole, and you seriously wouldn’t mind if he tried to. You'd deal with the social and psychological implications of that another time. “Just tell me to stop and I’ll do it, princess. No hard feelings, promise.”

This time, you spoke out and the firmness and certainty in your voice surprised even yourself. “I don’t want you to stop.”

“No?” His voice sounded like honey, so deep and melodic even through the thick layers of his sarcasm. You had never heard him get so serious, so focused, and the thought that it was all for you was igniting a fire inside your guts. “You wanna get fucked in a church?”

You bit your lip, blinking up at him. The point was: you wanted Jungkook, of all people, to fuck you. The fact that it was in a church was just the cherry on top, and you didn’t care about it as much as you should — your mom would be weeping blood if she knew what was going on, but you weren’t planning on telling anything to anybody. “And what if I do?” You asked back teasingly.

Jungkook smiled, knocking the breath right out of you. You could only hope that you didn’t look as horny as you felt, because your pride was still on the line. “Told you that you were full of surprises.” He pushed one of your legs open, making you lose your support on the floor. Now, both of your feet were dangling off the edge, body trapped between his strong arms and thighs on either side of him. “Are you a virgin, baby?”

You shook your head, and your voice reached you a bit later. “No.”

“Naughty,” Jungkook said, leaning in. He stared at you like a lion stalking its prey, his gaze lingering on your parted lips before, at last, he tilted his head to the side, deciding to move towards your neck instead. “But if you have the taste I think you do, you probably had some lame missionary sex with some goodie-two shoes.”

When he started kissing your neck, you almost forgot to give him a response. You had to bite your lip to suppress a moan, instead producing a low, shaky sigh. “And if I did? What’s the problem with some lame missionary sex?”

“No need to get mad, I’m on your side here,” Jungkook said, one of his hands navigating up your waist, between the valley of your breasts, before grabbing your boob. That time, you couldn’t hold back the whimper that escaped you. “Did he make you cum?”

“Sometimes,” you said, slightly flustered. You didn’t think you’d be discussing your sexual history with Jungkook, but, well, there you were. “He was alright.”

“Only sometimes?” Jungkook chuckled, the vibrations of his deep timbre vibrating through the sensitive skin of your neck, his thumb grazing your nipple. The heat between your legs only grew, your entire body practically begging to feel more of him. “That’s a shame, I could do better.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t start getting cocky.”

“I never stopped being cocky,” he responded without hesitation. Well, he was right. “And I do have a good track record.”

“Doubt it,” you said, the ghost of a smile lingering on your lips. You knew that you were playing a dangerous game, pressing right at the weak spots of his inflated ego to see how he would react. Perhaps you’d be luckier trying to poke a bear with a short stick. “You wouldn’t know the difference between a real and fake orgasm even if it hit you in the face.”

Jungkook leaned back and looked at you for an instant. You knew he had caught onto your challenge straight away. He liked it as much as you did, there was no doubt about that. “Let’s see, shall we?” he asked. There was no denying the devilish aura that was all around him now, suffocating you with its tempting heat. “How long do we have?”

“I’m locking up the room tonight,” you said, watching as his eyes sparked with an emotion you could not decipher. “But I wanna get home before ten. Have homework.”

You could see him fighting against the natural urge to ridicule you for saying something like that at such an odd time, but, at the end, he managed to avoid it. “More than enough time.” Jungkook placed one hand on the back of your neck, gaze darting hungrily toward your lips. “Come here.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and everything else was white noise. Jungkook kissed you much slower than you had anticipated, taking his sweet time caressing your mouth with his; hands exploring the curves of your body and teasing their way underneath your dress. He sighed heavily against your mouth when you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, his soft tongue poking out and entering your mouth perfectly. Jungkook was a good kisser, you had to admit it, and he got your knees weak sooner than you’d like.

His body was hot and firm against yours and you could feel the outline of his abs underneath your fingers as you trailed your hands down his torso; his quick heartbeat drumming on your palms. Jungkook’s breathing got heavier as you hooked your fingers on the hem of his pants and tugged him toward you. Instantly you noticed the outline of his hard cock against your inner thigh.

Then, something switched. Just as you had reached out to touch his hardness, squeezing it lightly underneath your fingers, Jungkook groaned against your mouth and bit down on your lip. You had barely any time to react before he was pulling away from the kiss, gaze darkening.

“Such a tease,” he mumbled hoarsely, his breath hitting your mouth in soft waves. His hand was hovering over your heat, his middle finger pressing down on your sensitive nub, making you whimper. “You don’t know what you do to me.”

Jungkook was much quicker than your thoughts and, within a second, the motion of your panties being pushed aside made you fumble closer to him; your hands holding tightly onto his shoulders when he finally decided to touch you.

“Fuck,” he groaned next to your ear, making your mind go blank for a split second. The teasing motions of his digits brushing your entrance were enough to make you whimper, hips thrusting forward in a failed attempt to make him move further. “Look at this, you’re soaking my fingers. Wanna get fucked that bad?”

But he didn’t let you respond. The sudden intrusion of two fingers inside your pussy made your back arch, nails digging in the leather of his jacket as Jungkook opened you up. “I—” you tried to speak, but it was hard to think when he started pumping his fingers in and out of you. The sounds of your wetness were a filthy symphony filling the quiet atmosphere. “Jungkook, what—”

“God, that’s so tight,” he groaned, speaking through clenched teeth. His voice was enough to shut you up at the spot, a frail moan dripping from your lips. “Relax, baby, you’re too tense. Let me take care of you, alright?”

You nodded, eyes drifting shut as he continued to pump his fingers in and out of you. You hated to admit it, but Jungkook was already winning against your ex by a long shot: the way his digits brushed inside you, gradually moving apart to stretch you, got you searching — begging — for more. You were sure you could cum around his fingers and, when he curled them up and they dragged against your sweet spot, the idea became a lot more palpable.

“Jungkook, you’re taking too long, I’m gonna cum like this,” you complained, chest rising and falling under the waves of your upcoming orgasm. You could feel it building up in your stomach, ready to snap, and you didn’t want it to happen around his fingers. “I wanna feel you.”

Jungkook breathed out at your needy request, placing a kiss against your jaw. “I’m just getting you ready for my cock, baby,” he said. A loud moan dripped from you when he unceremoniously added a third finger, your legs trembling on either side of his body. “I don’t know if you can take it.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you said, only half aware of the fact that your voice sounded more like a whimper than a serious comment. “I can.”

He smirked wickedly. You really were pushing his buttons. “We’ll see about that,” Jungkook responded.

Within a second, right as your orgasm was about to wash over you, he removed his fingers from your pussy. The frustrated moan you let out was quickly swollen by him, his mouth rogue against yours and the sweetness of his tongue intoxicating you — probably those stupid cupcakes, you thought.

“Turn around for me,” he asked.

You quickly did as he requested, putting your feet on the ground before turning your back to him, hands leaning on the table. Jungkook placed one hand on the curve of your spine, pushing you down until you had your chest against the surface, ass perked up and pussy in full display for him. There was a gush of cold air against your flesh when he pulled up the fabric of your dress and tossed it over your waist, exposing your lower body for him.

The boy hummed at the sight, one of his legs kicking your feet apart so he could position himself in the middle of your thighs. “You’re pretty all around,” Jungkook commented, one of his palms grazing your asscheek before grabbing it. His motion was harsh, needy; earning a whimper from you. “Knew you would be.”

Through the dense clouds of your desire, there was still some part of you that managed to make fun of that situation. “You spend your free time thinking about my ass?”

“Won’t answer until I have a lawyer present,” he joked.

You felt his fingers hooking around the fabric of your panties, pushing it further to the side so you had your cunt fully exposed for him to see. The drumming of your heartbeat almost drowned out the low groan he produced at the sight of your flushed heat.

“Princess, your pussy is dripping so much…” Jungkook trailed off, one of his fingers tracing a line between your lips. He felt the urge to eat you out, to lick you completely clean and make you cum on his tongue, but he decided that would have to wait for a different time. “Is this all for me?”

“Yeah, all for you,” you said, weak. There was a thundering exasperation building up inside you, motivated from your denied orgasm and from the way that Jungkook was taking his sweet time.

“Good girl,” he mumbled and your chest was filled with pride. “Can’t wait to fuck it.”

“Then don’t wait,” you practically begged. “Just rush.”

He removed his finger from your heat. “Shh… be patient,” Jungkook told you and you swore you could practically hear the smile in his voice. You could hear him shuffling behind you, the sound of his zipper opening echoing around that still room. “I’m gonna give you whatever you want.”

You whined at the abrupt feeling of his warm cock rubbing between your folds, its tip hitting your clit after every languid thrust. “Fuck,” you cried out, shaky. Jungkook wasn’t lying when he said that he was big, his length was so thick that you were starting to get second thoughts whether you could take it or not. Not that you would ever admit it out loud. “Just put it in, Jungkook.”

But Jungkook was having way more fun just teasing you. “Pussy’s so wet for me.” He breathed out, his hands tightening around your hips. You felt him throb between your folds, and the sensation got you searching for air. “You’re soaking my cock, baby. You want it that much?”

“Y-Yeah.”

Jungkook hummed, leaning in so he could place a kiss on your shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you like you deserve to be fucked, princess,” he promised, his length still rubbing between your folds. He was so hard and heavy that your mind was spinning, your lungs drowning in expectation. “Gonna fuck you so well that you’re never going to forget it. Do you want that?”

“Yes,” your voice was a pathetic moan, and you hated your body for betraying you so easily. “Yes, please.”

After another pec on your shoulder, Jungkook leaned back. “Be loud for me, alright?” He asked. “Can you do that for me?”

You swallowed hard — what were the chances that someone would hear you? You had no idea. “Yeah, whatever you want, just fuck me.”

“Whatever I want? That’s a dangerous thing to say.” He moved around behind you, making you flinch when you felt his cock align with your dripping entrance. The anticipation was driving you insane. “Might have to see if you’re up for it another time.”

There was an answer somewhere in your mind — you could swear there was — but it was quickly forgotten the second that Jungkook pushed himself inside you. The drag of his cock was a delicious torture, streching you out and filling you up to the brim until you were shaking under his touch, both of you moaning at the sensation.

“Oh my god.” You breathed out, hands turning into fists on the table. Your cheek was pressed against the polished wood, hot breath creating small white clouds on the surface.

Jungkook released a shaky sigh when he felt you clenching around him, your body desperately trying to move closer to him. “Fuck, baby,” he hissed, his hands holding onto your hips for dear life. Gradually, he moved himself away from your pussy just so he could slam back inside, marveling on the way you trembled at the feeling, crying out his name in the prettiest of whimpers. “Your pussy is so fucking tight. Squeezing my cock so well.”

Took you only an instant to realize that you were absolutely addicted to the feeling of his cock inside you, the heavenly push of his hardness in and out of you as he slowly started to set a pace. “Oh my god, I’m—” a pitiful hiccup interrupted you, turning your voice into a sharp cry. “That’s so good, Jungkook.”

Jungkook chuckled behind you, his thrusts starting to pick up speed. Your eyes closed in endless bliss, every part of your brain focused on the sensation of his fat length stretching you up. “Told you I’d be, not my fault you didn’t believe me,” he said, but you could tell that his confidence had started to wear itself thin — he, too, seemed to be much more focused on the way that your bodies met. “Do you touch yourself, princess?”

You almost didn’t know how to answer him, a deep heat rushing up to your cheeks. “W-What?”

“When you’re alone, baby,” he practically hissed. You were bouncing on the table then, your body jerking up and down as he fully pistoned his cock inside your heat. “Do you play with your little pussy?”

“Y-yes,” you stammered, embarrassed. “S-Sometimes.”

“Show me how you do it,” he requested in-between huffs, lust dripping from every syllable. Jungkook spoke to you like a siren, effortlessly inducting you to comply with everything he wanted. “Come on. Don’t be shy, I wanna see you play with yourself for me.”

You didn’t even know if what you were feeling was shyness, but there was a veil of hesitation that covered your actions. As your hands moved downwards, one of them clenching around the fabric of your dress and pulling it up while the other trailed over your mound, you felt strangely vulnerable, exposed. At the same time, you wanted to do what he asked you to, wanted him to wash you over with compliments until your mind was going blank.

So you closed your eyes and focused on the sensation of two of your fingers coating themselves in your wetness, then their pressure on your clit. You whined at the feeling, pleasure exploding in your veins as you started to rub yourself, tracing small circles on your sensitive spot. There was no way you could ever reach that sensation again, the sweet motions of your fingers combining perfectly with the thrusts of his hard, fat cock inside you. You were doomed.

“That’s it… just like that, baby,” Jungkook whispered, obsessed with the sensation of your walls fluttering around him. You had gotten so tight that he thought he would see heaven at any second now. “Feels good?”

“Y-Yeah, so good...” you struggled to get out, “feels amazing, Jungkook.”

“So perfect for me,” his praise shot straight up to your core, making you mewl under him. God, the way that you were tightening around him was going to drive him insane. “You feel so fucking good, I can’t stop fucking you.”

Jungkook took one of his hands to your neck, using it to guide your body upwards until you had your back pressed against his chest; his hot lips assaulting your neck. The new position made it so much easier for his cock to drill inside you, reaching even deeper and hitting sweet spots you didn’t even know you had. It wasn’t long before you were moaning out, eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure overtook you.

“Just take a look at that, baby,” his voice broke you out of your hypnotized state. “Look at you. Such a good slut, just taking everything I’m giving you, touching yourself for my cock… fuck. Could watch you like this forever.”

You had to take a moment to understand what he was talking about, and then you saw it: the window. It stood silently across the room from you, half open, and the glass combined with the darkness of the night gave a perfect reflection of the two of you. You could see yourself, the mess you had become, as Jungkook pounded in and out of you and your fingers worked on your clit; the darkness of his hungry gaze as he followed the motions of your body against his.

Even if you cried out at the sight, your body freezed up a little at the thought of someone walking by and seeing that private spectacle. The possibility itself was minimal — the window gave way to the side of the land, where a big, thick fence separated it from the nearby houses; most of the ground covered by large trees and bushes — but it wasn’t zero. You couldn’t even begin to imagine the humiliation that would come from being seen like that.

He, of course, noticed your change of demeanor right away, and you could see in the faint reflection that he had smirked at that realization. “What is it? Are you worried someone is going to walk by?” Jungkook almost groaned against your ear. His cock continued to pump ferociously in and out of you, and you couldn’t even understand your own thoughts for a moment. “That someone is gonna see you get fucked like a good slut?”

“It’s not—” a moan cut your sentence short. Not like you knew where you were heading, anyways.

“No one is gonna see you like this, know why?” Jungkook was grunting, his fingers tightening around your throat. You cried out at the feeling, your cunt clenching around him in a way that got him fucking you even harder. “Cause this is all for me. Just for me.”

Then he was pushing you back on the table, your chest crashing against the wooden surface and his hands yanking you by the waist. Jungkook was fucking you so hard that your worries left you as soon as they arrived, your mind a turmoil of desires and broken exclamations that didn’t give space to anything else but him.

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, stuffed with cock,” he marveled at the sight. There was a known wave of pleasure hovering over you, ready to crash at any given moment, and you stopped rubbing yourself just so you could prolong its arrival. “Wanna see you cum for me, make a mess for me, baby.”

The words left you in a confusing, broken order, “Jungkook, I can’t… too much… can’t...”

“Shhh, you can,” he was slowly easing you into your orgasm, his cock drilling in and out of your pussy. Jungkook fucked like a machine, fast and precise, and you didn’t think you’d be able to forget that anytime soon. “You told me you could take it, so now you’re gonna take it. Don’t you wanna be good for me?”

“I- I want to… I’m so close,” you cried out, pressing your forehead against the table. You didn’t know how it hadn’t broken yet, with the way that Jungkook was fucking you so mercilessly hard. “I’m so, so close.”

“Cream my cock, baby, come on,” he urged you on, his member throbbing inside you at the thought. Your legs were so weak that you knew you’d fall facedown on the floor if he wasn’t supporting your weight with his strong arms. “Be a good girl and cream my cock for me.”

And that was it. That was all that you needed to push yourself over the edge, submerging you in ecstasy and making you squeeze him so deliciously. “J-Jungkook!” You moaned out his name again and again, unsure of how loud you were being, but also not caring as much as you should. Jungkook realized he loved hearing you call his name more than anything else. “Fuck! Oh my god!”

“That’s it, baby,” he moaned back, his thrusts a sloppy, uncoordinated mess. He was hypnotized by the view of your cunt hugging him, your wetness dripping down your thighs as you rode out the last seconds of your orgasm. “Pussy’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect— gonna cum too.”

You gasped out at the sensitivity that was starting to spread, every movement shaky as you tried to push yourself against him. “Yes, please.” You looked over your shoulder, meeting his hooded gaze. Jungkook looked like a god, his dark hair sweaty and messy and his lip trapped between his teeth. That image would plague you forever. “Cum inside me, please.”

He groaned loudly, eyes closing for a second. “Fuck, that’s so fucking hot,” he hissed, chest heaving with anticipation. You knew he was close, everything pointed to that, and all that you wanted was to see him reach his high, using your body like it was just a doll for him to fuck. “Didn’t know you’d want to be filled up with cum, princess.”

“I’m full of surprises.” You smiled — a pretty, fucked-out smile that got Jungkook grunting like a madman. “I want your cum inside me, Jungkook, please.”

“Gonna fuck you full of my cum, don’t worry— Shit.” The sounds he was making were heavily: those breathy, high-pitched moans that echoed all around you; broken by deep grunts that had your thighs shaking. Jungkook fucked himself in you like he was meant for it, throwing his head back and closing his eyes as he finally found his orgasm. “Fuck! That’s it, fuck—”

Jungkook called out your name and mixed it with praises and curses when he came, spilling himself inside your pussy. You sighed at the feeling, taking in the blissful sensation of having his hot cum spilling out of you, dripping down your legs as he continued to thrust inside you, milking out his orgasm.

At last, he started to wince from sensitivity. His body collided against your back, his heavy breathing fanning your neck as he tried to collect himself. “Fuck, baby,” he mumbled, “you’re amazing.”

“You’re not so terrible yourself.” You could not help the smile that appeared on your lips, nor the way that you melted against the surface of the table, drowning in his heat.

Still, you couldn’t stay there for much longer: it was already a miracle that no one heard the chaos going on in that room, and you weren’t trying to push your luck for the night. Especially since you had a pile of homework (and possibly — now cold — takeout) waiting for you at home.

You raised your body, leaning against your elbows. “I have to leave,” you told him, taking one of your hands to lay on top of his tattooed one, trying to ease his grip from your waist. “Now if you could just…”

“Shhh, shhh,” Jungkook hushed, unrelenting. He was much stronger than you, and your muscles were too weak for you to try and do much, so you eventually gave up. “Stop moving. Let me feel you around me for just a bit more.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“I like it,” he said simply. His breath was a faint caress against the skin of your neck, and you didn’t have much fight left in you. “We all have our tastes.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re so weird.”

“Don’t kinkshame.” Jungkook pouted, then pressed a kiss against your shoulder. “You just begged me to fuck you in a church, remember?”

“Yeah, I guess I don’t have much place to judge.” You laughed dryly, then looked over your shoulder. “Why is your cock still hard? How long is this gonna take?”

Jungkook groaned, clearly annoyed. “Shut up and enjoy the moment.”

The so-called moment lasted about two more minutes (which was kind of impressive, you thought) before Jungkook softened and slipped out of you. You hated to admit but you kind of liked the feeling of having him still inside you, completing you as his lips danced around your neck; fingers tenderly playing with your hair. You never thought Jungkook would be so gentle after fucking you like that, but you guessed that you weren’t the only one that was full of surprises.

Jungkook, apparently, also liked to admire his work. After he had slipped out of you, he made you sit back on the table just so he could stare at his own cum dripping out of you, a glimmer of satisfaction in his dark gaze. He had pushed his white release back inside you and smirked up at you, asking, ever so kindly, for you to go home like that, filled with his cum.

You, of course, promptly accepted it.

“By the way,” he called when you two had already stepped out of the church, enveloped by the coldness of the night. There was only one solitary light pole illuminating his features, making him look like one of the saints in the chapel — nothing but fake advertisement, in your opinion. “Wanna know how much I got in that immunology test?”

“How much?” You asked.

“Eighty two.” Jungkook smiled brightly then, and you found yourself joining him. “Never saw a grade so high in my life. And that counts all the times I’ve cheated too.”

“Seems like the tutoring sessions are paying off.” You crossed your arms before your chest, the hem of your dress swirling around your knees. The night was weirdly peaceful after everything that had taken place.

“They are.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to the next one. Helps that my tutor is kind of a hottie too.”

You scoffed. “So I’ve heard.”

“And, by the way?”

“Yeah?”

“You would look better without it.” He pointed at your dress, a sly smile already sprouting on his lips. “Hope to see it next time.”

“Good night, Jungkook.” You rolled your eyes, already turning around — yeah, like there would ever be a next time.

BAD INFLUENCE COLLECTION

TAGLIST:

@taehyungieskith @fan-ati--c @btstrasht @crazy4myself @sashimi-mochi @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky

#bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook #bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #bad boy au #smut #reader insert #bts x you #bts x reader #bad boy jungkook #bts au #jungkook au #series #pwp #fluff

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pawsitivelymiraculous · 3 years

Text

Damian, the little brother, Dupain-Cheng (Part 1)

I'm backkkk! I explained why this series went on hiatus on this post but yeahhh the Damian Dupain-Cheng series is back and will be posted on it's old schedule (which is every other week) Anyway I really appreciate you guys,, sorry for taking so long and let me know what you think! Comments really motivate me to keep writing.

(I promise I'll add a read more thing and the links tomorrow but I need sleep. for now I'll add the masterlist you can find everything there)

<<Previous Next>>

Ao3 Masterlist

~♡~ Recap ~♡~

Marinette kidnapped/adopted Damian after seeing him with Talia in the Miraculous Café. She gives him the choice between staying with her or a non assassin relative. He chooses to stay in hopes of stealing the miracle box, but since that didn't work he lashed out and tried to kill Marinette and her friends repeatedly. This makes Marinette doubt in herself because she feels guilty about the whole situation. After hearing Marinette cry, Damian runs away confused at the whole situation, but he didn't get far before realizing that he was actually okay with the idea of Marinette becoming his mother. Marinette finds him and they go home. Time passes, they get a dog, Damian grows closer to Marinette and Marinette legally adopts him.

This takes place some time after all of this, like a couple of months.

~♡~♡~♡~

Why am I still in Paris?

Jason asked himself this every day, and yet he could never find the answer.

Maybe it was because he really had nothing else to do. Well besides killing a Bat.

Or maybe it was because being in Paris somehow cleared some of the madness leftover from the Lazarus Pit that clouded his brain.

In either case it seemed like every time he tried to leave, he would convince himself to stay with the lie that Marinette Dupain-cheng was just as dangerous as Talia had claimed she was.

And that his "brother" really was in danger.

Which only led to him tailing after the pair like a complete creep while feeling miserable because who was he kidding? The woman who had taken Damian in was just as dangerous as a basket of golden retriever puppies and Damian would have a way better life living with her rather than with Bruce.

And still he could not f*cking leave.

So he continued to observe from the shadows. Trying to remain invisible.

Which had worked out perfectly fine until that day it seemed, because Jason soon found himself pressed against the cold concrete after being flipped by a woman half his size.

Jason tried to look up, but he felt the heel of a shoe pressed against his head.

"Ow"

"Oh, I'm sorry did I hurt you?" Jason heard a familiar voice say. The only difference was that she was speaking in English with a slight accent rather than French.

How the h*ll did she know that he spoke English?

Jason tried to get a better look at his attacker, but she just pressed down her heel deeper making it very clear that she was not sorry at all.

Marinette leaned down to talk to him. "Look kid, I just want to know why you keep following me. Now we can talk like normal people, or I'll have to be a little… unconventional. So what do you say?"

Kid? Jason couldn't remember the last time he had been called. It was especially surreal coming from such a petite woman who couldn't be older than thirty.

"Now I'm going to let you stand up just… don't do anything stupid."

Stupid seemed to follow Jason because as soon as he felt the pressure on his head lessen, he stood up and ran. The only thing in his mind was getting away from the woman.

He wasn't able to go far though. As soon as he got to the end of the ally they were in, Jason suddenly felt all the muscles in his body grow weak. Everything around him became blurry and for the second time that day, Jason fell down and hit the gravel.

~♡~♡~♡~

Marinette hadn't meant to use a tranquilizer she made from the bee's miraculous venom on the guy. Honest.

But she needed answers, and he didn't seem in the mood to be the one providing them, so she had to do something before he got away.

Marinette did find it strange how he seemed more interested in running rather than harming her in any way. But she could think about that later. For now, she had to do something about the unconscious body on the ground.

First, Marinette tried to drag him back into the ally because she didn't want to risk anyone seeing her. It was ridiculous how difficult it was to move the guy a couple of inches. Even with all the strength she got from being ladybug, Marinette found herself incredibly tired when she finally managed to get to the end of the alley.

There was no way that Marinette could drag the guy to a safe location. Unless… she had the horse miraculous.

Marinette swiftly grabbed her phone and called Adrien while still holding down the guy in case he regained consciousness. "Hey kitty! Are you busy right now?"

"Um no?" He replied cautiously. "Unless you need me to bury a body, then I'm really busy." He would gladly lie to the police and give marinette suggestions on how to get rid of the body, but actually digging a hole sounded like too much of a hassle in Adrien's opinion.

Marinette laughed nervously. "Don't worry it's not a body." She paused "Not a dead one at least" she added under her breath.

Adrien heard her anyway "Marinette."

"I just need you to get the horse miraculous and come here." Marinette added quickly when she heard Adrien's disapproving tone.

"Do I even want to know why you need it?"

Marinette hesitated. Adrien still acted weird around Damian, and she wasn't sure that he would want to get involved with this. "Well I found the guy that was following me" she explained "and accidentally knocked him out" Marinette stopped when she saw a portal open. "And you’re already here, was there no traffic?"

Adrien laughed as he walked out of the portal. "I was already getting the miraculous while you talked." He explained with a shrug then he looked at the unconscious guy on the floor. "Sooo… do you need help with that?"

~♡~♡~♡~

Kagami was already at the café's storage area by the time Adrien and Marinette passed through the portal.

Adrien did a double take when he saw her. "Woah, I literally just texted you."

"You said you found the stalker, and I was nearby, and I figured that you would need help interrogating him." she explained.

"With a sword?" Marinette asked, eyeing Kagami's left hand. "Where did you even get that?"

Kagami smiled. "Yes, and your son has an excellent taste."

Marinette looked at kagami, with a very confused and slightly worried expression. "Wha- when did you go sword shopping?"

Adrien replied instead. "When you asked me to babysit, your little gremlin scares me and gami wanted a sword, so I let him go with her." Then he grabbed a nearby chair and sat the guy in it, and also tied him to one of the stands that held coffee supplies using zip ties.

"You have broken my trust Agreste." Marinette said trying to sound as serious as possible but failing at it. "No, but seriously, let me know next time okay?"

"Yes ma'am"

It took a couple of minutes for the guy to regain consciousness. And as soon as he did, he thrashed around trying to break free from his restraints. Looking around him wildly until his gaze landed on Marinette.

His eyes narrowed. "You" he lunged towards her but was held back.

His attitude was completely different from their first meeting. Before he seemed conflicted and confused. But while he still seemed very confused that confusion was now mixed with rage. Which Marinette could understand, she had just knocked him out and brought him to a strange place.

But Marinette needed answers, the guy was very clearly part of the league, his aura reeked of their darkness, and she was not about to feel sympathy for anyone connected to the league of assassins.

So Marinette held no remorse when she allowed kagami to approach him with her sword after he calmed down a bit.

"Who are you?" Kagami asked threateningly, then raised the blade dangerously close to his neck. "And why have you been following Marinette?"

The guy didn't even flinch. "Name's Jason" then he turned slightly to look Marinette in the eye. "I am Damian's brother," he continued.

Marinette's eyes widened. The room fell silent for a moment.

Jason smirked at his captors' shocked faces as he gave the final blow. "And I'm here to take him to his father."

~♡~♡~♡~ TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~

(If you want to be added please let me know)

@elmokingkong @anjuschiffer , @ii-fox-demon , @justcourttee , @tazanna-blythe , @lozzybowe , @idontfuking, @wannajointhecrabcult , @bakergirl13 , @rosalineandrosemary , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @our-preciousss , @consumeconstantly , @jiso-lee , @allthegooddaimenettenamesaregone, @justcourteesuportline , @finallyaniguana , @user00000003 , @whydoexamsexist , @justafanwarrior , @violetfandomaddict, @smolplantmum @fidget-eep ,@cadenceh2o , @justarandomtumblerblog , @ramos123 @iwantasecretidentity @t1dwarrior-of-earth @thesunniestdays @alice-hazelwood

~♡~♡~♡~ PERMANENT TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~

@charme-de-malchan , @theatreandcomicfreak , @m3owww, @elliebelliegirl , @genevieve-the-demonologist, @vixen-uchiha , @t1dwarrior-of-earth , @waffleyunsure , @technicallyburninggarden , @azuremayscarlet , @vroomtaka , @emistar0 , @ichigorose , @maskedpainter , @art-is-hard-to-do-sorry , @alysrose-starchild , @jayjayspixiepop , @abrx2002 , @nathleigh , @icerosecrystal , @jumpingjoy82

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #my trash writing #my writing #damian dupain cheng #mominette

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fuckingthefictional · 3 years

Text

Red Stained Dress

Request: “I hope you’re having a wonderful day/evening/afternoon/night! May I request Reader being a cousin to the Shelby’s (mother’s side) and being very very like lady-like, clean, expensive clothes. And one of the boys gets blood on her dress? If that’s alright? Thanks in advance.”

A/N: I made this entirely too angsty for my own good, either way hope you enjoy!

Warning: Graphic descriptions of violence, swearing, blood.

“Mummy what is falling in love like?”

“My darling, it is one of the best things in life. It is special and sacred. It makes life worth living, it makes the world that little bit brighter.”

“When will that happen to me?”

“Time will tell my sweet girl, but be patient- love is always lurking around corner, where you least expect it.”

Your mother was right. It did lurk around the corner and it caught your heart in its grasp and lead you to love. To your husband.

At the age of 20 you went from Y/N Strong to Y/N Massey. Wife of James Massey. You were happy, at peace.

But your mother had failed to explain the complexities of love. That it didn’t come easy. There was darkness and rockiness. And love didn’t always last.

For you it broke in front of you. When your husband was taken on the battlefield- somewhere in France.

And suddenly you were a widow, you were alone.

Your mother and husband had passed. The only person left was your father (if you could even call him that)- Charlie Strong.

On her deathbed your mother had begged you to go and make amends with him. Even going as far to write down his address on a piece of paper for you to keep.

But you hadn’t plucked the courage to do that yet. To you your father was just a man who ran from his wife and child at the first moment he could.

There was only one trait that you shared with that man. And that was your love of horses. You had always had a connection with animals. Horses and dogs in particular would just flock to you- who knew maybe it was in your blood.

“Ms Massey?” A quiet voice interrupted your heavy stream of thought, looking up you saw one of the many maids that worked at the house standing in the entry way to the library.

“Is everything alright Mary?” You asked.

“Ms Carleton has just arrived for you ma’am, she’s waiting for you by the car.”

You nodded, rising from your armchair and taking one last glance at his armchair before you left for the day.

May and yourself were going to a horse auction, you’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

You were both looking for some new horses to take on and train, as well as some new potential clients.

“Stop dallying Y/N!” Your friend’s familiar voice rang out, “The auction starts soon, we’ll miss out at this rate!”

You rolled your eyes towards May, silently dismissing her joking jabs at you.

“We won’t be late May,” You reprimanded, “stop fretting.”

“The clock says otherwise.”

“Ladies like us are never late,” You waves your hands to prove your point, “everyone else is simply early.”

May giggles in response, “if you say so Y/N/N.”

You swatted at your close friend jokingly, you were hoping for a successful, calm day- but trouble always did seem to follow you every place you went.

“Ladies and Gents we will start our bidding at 50 pounds.”

The horse auction was surprisingly crowded, it seemed that quite a few people had come to see what breeds could be found at the auction house that afternoon.

It was dwindling down to the last few stallions and the occasional mare. All in all you had been successful in purchasing two stallions and a mare of your own.

The last horse on auction in question was beautiful, it was a stallion- dark and shiny in colour, its legs were long but muscled. A perfect contender for you to train for the races.

You raised your hand in interest.

“50 pounds here,” the auctioneer spoke, looking around at everyone else, “Going once, twice-“

“150 pounds.”

Your head whipped round, looking for the man who was trying to outbid you.

“300” you spoke again.

“500” A murmur rippled through the crowd.

You weighed up your options, it was a lot of money for a single horse- you didn’t want to blow through every single penny you had to your name.

“Going once, going twice-“

“1500 pounds.” A new voice had cut out, there were shocked murmurs erupting throughout the stands of people.

The gavel banged on the table, signifying the final action of the day, as people began to disperse from the auction house- you could finally see the man that had snatched the last horse up.

You knew who it in an instant- it was Thomas Shelby. Your cousin Thomas.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you began to make your way down the stairs with May. Silently you found yourself praying that he hadn’t taken any notice of your presence.

God didn’t listen of course.

“Y/N?”

You took a deep inhale, as you rushed down the stairs to try and escape.

“Y/N!”

Fuck, there was no chance of outrunning them.

You quickly murmered that you would catch up to your friend, before you slipped through the doors arena like stage.

The doors itself open and closed behind you, before it was repeated again.

Here goes nothing I suppose.

You breathed in a shuddering breath as you turned to face your estranged family members.

They were all there. Thomas, John, Arthur, as well as another two men that you didn’t recognise. Not to mention the man that you had long since called your father.

You put on a polite smile, which probably looked far too forced, “Good Afternoon Thomas.”

“What are you-“

“What are you doing ‘ere ‘ey?” Your father cut Tommy off, questioning your motives as his piercing eyes stared into your similar ones.

The action only caused a swell of anger to swirl in her belly.

“I assume the same reason that you are- business.” You spoke simply, biting down on your tongue to keep any more words at bay.

“And what ‘business’ do you have here Hmm?” Tommy’s gruff voice asked.

“Jesus I’m just here to purchase any horses that look good enough to ride professionally- what is your probl-“

“Mr Shelby.”

Everything that happened next, happened all too quickly. Because before you could even register what was happening there was a yell coming from one of your cousins.

“Get down!” John’s voice had cut of your own with a loud yell, as you were suddenly tackled to the floor.

A loud crack rippled through the air as the wooden banister above you splintered into two, a bullet lodging itself in the wall behind it.

You peeled up behind the curtain of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes, “What the fuck?” You screamed in fear, shock melting into every nerve and muscle in your body.

Another gunshot pierced out, as it shattered the large window close by into thousands of shards.

A part of you didn’t want to believe that this was happening- surely it was just a dream? A terrible, horrific nightmare?

Another crack of a bullet being launched sounded close to you, peeping up from behind your quivering hands you saw that it was Thomas who had fired it.

Thomas who had fired a fatal shot into another man’s head. Thomas who had caused the death of a man, who may have had a wife, or a child or a family.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight that was to come next. The sight of your eldest cousin brutally throwing punch after punch after punch at another man’s face.

The sickening sounds of flesh hitting flesh and bones shifting and cracking under the weight of Arthur’s meaty fists continued to echo around the room.

The man’s face slowly becoming mangled into mush, the sand below him becoming stained with crimson blood - you knew you couldn’t take it for a moment longer.

Swallowing your fear, you jumped off of the ground, screaming desperately for Arthur to stop.

You tried to pull him off, only to be knocked backwards onto your back. You felt the air leave your body as you collided with the ground.

You shifted back onto your feet, ignoring the pain surging through your spine. Watching as your father, Tommy and another man ripped Arthur away from the scene.

Crawling over you to the motionless body, you lifted two fingers to his neck. Frantically searching for a pulse. After a few seconds you found one, “He’s still alive- but his pulse is weak, he needs-“

Once again you were cut off by your father, “John take Y/N to the car.”

“What? No!” You protested, “did you not hear me- that man is dying he needs a doctor now.”

Within seconds you felt your body lift off the ground and over someone’s shoulder.

“Stop! You can’t do this!” You were screaming desperately, you voice becoming hoarse “What is wrong with you?”

The feeling of tears running down your face, alerted you to just how upset you felt. You just watched your family kill- like they were predators.

A few short minutes later, you felt your feet finally hit the floor. Looking around you grasped onto the nearest solid object that you could find.

The car was cool to touch and it calmed your raging thoughts for a second before a swell of nausea hit. You wanted to be sick, to cleanse the memories of what you had just witnessed away.

“Y/N...” John’s voice held care, like he was tiptoeing around what had just happened, “About what you just saw.”

“You didn’t see anything.”

You’re head shot up angrily, Tommy stood in front of you, with the rest of the group of men behind him.

“Really because the blood on my fucking dress says otherwise,” you fined, lYou’re fucking insane- you just killed two men, two men who may have had families that will never see them again.” Tears welled up in your eyes, “You should feel ashamed.”

Tommy rolled his eyes, “If we didn’t kill them, they would have killed us.”

“We all have a part to play in this world Tommy- you don’t get to decide who lives, who dies and who tells the story. You’re just a selfish coward who shoots first and asks questions later.”

“Y/N you can’t say that- he’s your family.”

Your head whipped around, quick enough that you swore you could’ve gotten whiplash. It was your father who had spoken those words.

“You don’t get to say anything to me- you do not have that right anymore, you lost that a long time ago,” You jabbed a finger into his scrawny chest, “Family Hm? You lot stopped being my family years ago. None of you came to my wedding, none of your cared when my husband was killed, and you ‘dad’ disowned me before I could walk- so don’t you dare lecture me about family.”

“You’re still apart of this family Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, “Well if that,” you pointed back over to the auction center, “is what being apart of this family is then I have no fucking interest in being apart of it.”

Family isn’t always to do with fucking blood- it is what you make it.

#peakyfookinblinder #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peakyblinder #peaky blinders #peakyblinders #requested #tommy shelby x sister!oc #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby x reader

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redgalaxyarts · 3 years

Text

Obsession - Tamaki

Synopsis: (MxF) Tamaki is y/n's stepbrother, ever since she came into his life all those years ago he's wanted no one but her. He's tired of hearing y/n's boyfriend use her body when he knows he could do it so much better. He knows what he's about to do is wrong but he just can't seem to help himself.

Warnings: Language, DUBCON, adultery, slight domming, STEPCEST, slight tentacles, toy use, pervy Tamaki, panty sniffing, mentions of alcohol, spit, facial, oral, creampie, bruising

(3rd POV)

The dictionary definition of obsession is: an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind. That's exactly what was constantly stuck in Tamaki's mind every second of the day. The thought of her bent over her bed with the sheets in her mouth and tears cascading down her face while Tamaki was behind her giving her the orgasm of her life was constantly occurring in the man's head.

In their first year, she and him met when their parents introduced them to each other and announced the marriage. Ever since they had their first handshake and Tamaki felt her soft skin he was instantly drawn to her, captivated like an artist to their most finest painting. Since their first hug when he felt her plush tits brush against his chest and his cheeks turned the rosiest of red and he touched himself to sleep that night, to the first time they kissed after a heavily drunken evening when their parents skipped down and they agreed not to mention it again but Tamaki never forgot about that day. He always remembers the way her tongue slid across his and the very quietest of moans that left her mouth when he somehow gathered a handful of courage to bite her lip and pull her hair. Tamaki remembers it all, he knows it's wrong to think of his younger sister that way, but he knew it wasn't as bad as it could be since they weren't actually related, it would be okay, they'd be okay. Least, that's what he kept telling himself every night when he would steal a spare pair of panties to keep as his own just to have that smell of her next to him.

Those thoughts were running especially rampant with Tamaki hearing her pathetic excuse of a boyfriend using her as his own sex toy when she deserves to be treated better. He was locked in his room, hip-thrusting into his pillow with an ear to the wall listening to her barely moan from the "performance" the two of them were putting on.

This wasn't as loud as she could go and Tamaki knew it. He heard those lonely nights when she'd pull out her vibrator and how loud she'd get even though her face was buried into the pillow trying to keep quiet. Tamaki knows how much of a freak she is after he went into her room when she passed out and saw her lying naked with her pretty and pierced nipples laying up and open for him just asking to be sucked, it took everything in Tamaki not to have his way with her then and there.

This time was it, Tamaki had enough with fucking his pillow and whining at how pathetic it was when he could be getting the real thing if he just waited and played his cards right. So he stopped after cumming in his boxers and wiping himself clean and changing boxers, he waited until her spiky blond dog of a boyfriend left without even a goodbye to either of them, he waited until she took a shower to clean herself and get back to her room, he waited up until he heard the low buzzing of her vibrator starting up. He'd make his move now, he knows she needs him, and he's more than happy to help her.

Tamaki's heart lept out of his chest when he finally walked to her door and rested his forehead on it breathing in and out trying to calm himself. His eyes were shut into slits and his hands were shaking, he was right about to turn away until he heard it-

"Ah, fuck."

Her moan sent shivers straight to his cock. His shyness was immediately dissipated as he placed his now relaxed hand on the doorknob and turned it, practically throwing the door open in the process.

When the door hit the side of the wall the girl immediately dropped the toy and covered her bare self with her comforter. The toy rolled off the bed and onto the floor and the faint buzz in the background only drove Tamaki further to her.

"Tama, what? You okay?" She asked with a confused face.

"Lay down." He commanded, totally unlike him she thought.

"Huh? No Tamaki please leave I'm indecent right now."

"You heard what I said, lay down and open the covers." He strode farther into the room and when he got next to the bed she hugged her covers tighter to her chest.

"No-" Before she could protest, Tamaki used one of his tentacles to pull away the covers from her and her bare body was presented to him.

He kissed her with such ferocity and intimacy with one hand behind her head and onto her neck that she couldn't help but moan into his mouth. She knew it was wrong, she had a boyfriend, has, she has a boyfriend, she thought to herself. When Tamaki bit her tongue she moaned once more before pulling herself away and shaking her head.

"Tamaki I can't, what about Bakugo can't do that to him." She whispers to him while wiping her bottom lip with her thumb, not actively trying to cover herself up anymore.

"Y/n, I-I need this and I know you do too. He c-can't make you cum like I can." His normal anxious stutter comes back but his facade of dominance and confidence is still being presented behind it.

She brushes her hair to the back of her head and rubs her palms in her face and is about to protest again before a yelp rips through her mouth as she's pulled downwards on her bed and her head falls into her pillows. Her thighs are propped up onto Tamaki's shoulders and he bites into her thigh which makes her squirm and thrash, not from the feeling of it but from the conflicting emotions coursing through her.

"Tamaki n- ooohhh fuck." Her protest was cut short at the sudden long lick up her lips from the man under her. She goes to speak again but her words get stuck in her throat when she feels two slender fingers split her lips apart and a tongue graze over her clit. Her legs spazz from the sudden hit against her nerves and she's instantly enthralled at the dance happening against her pussy.

She bucks into his face when he enters two fingers inside of her, scissoring and pumping out of her to get her stretched for him. Tamaki's other hand rests on the hook of her pelvic bone and rubs circles in that area trying to comfort her and feel all of her while she takes one hand to tangle between his locks and push him farther into her pussy and she uses her other hand to twist her nipple in between her fingers.

"Holy shit Tama, yes, yes right there please." She breathes out as the man hits a particularly good spot inside of her while curling his fingers and he can already feel how close she is. He smiles into her pussy at his obsession and daydream finally coming true.

"Sssh y/n, you don't want to wake up mom and dad do you?" His words muffled from the muff in his mouth and the girl just rolls her eyes back behind her head and takes in the new speed of his fingers and tongue.

"Y-yes sir." She says, not thinking of it.

Tamaki freezes and a pang of something shoots to his cock, making it stand straighter and harder than before. He pulls away and she whimpers for him and tries to pull him back down but it's with no use as he uses his tentacles to snatch her wrists and move them above her head.

"Say it again." He says standing above her now.

"Sir."

Ecstacy shivers run through his body as he cracks his neck and smiles a wicked smile the girl's never seen before.

"On your stomach for me."

"Yes sir." The girl agrees purely motivated by the ache in her core.

Tamaki bends down to meet her at eye level and smiles as he leans in to kiss her. She smiles back with him and they share the sloppiest kiss they've ever had but the intention behind it is that most passionate thing they've ever tasted. They pull away with a string of saliva between them and the girl smiles up through her eyelashes at Tamaki as she licks it clean.

"Be good for me and take all of my cock alright?"

She nods her head and helps Tamaki step out of his boxers before his cock springs back against his pale stomach. She tries her best to hide the expression on her face but Tamaki notices it before smirking to himself at his pride. He is average size but he is girthier than she's ever seen, girthier than her boyfriend and vibrator are. She gulps and wipes away the shock before wetting her lips with her tongue and opens her mouth wide before Tamaki takes her head in his hand and guides her to his cock with his other.

"Aah, y/n, fuck." Tamaki whimpers out as he lets his head fall backward and his fingers knot into her hair and grip tightly while he waits for her to take him all the best she can. She gets halfway before choking and pulling away but she shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath before trying again and this time she gets him all the way in and Tamaki shakes in her mouth at feeling himself in her throat. His moans are quiet but so confident as he rocks his hips against her face with her now cupping his balls helping him get closer to cumming.

The sounds of gulping and moaning and still the slight buzz in the background is all that's heard in the room. She has picked up her pace with blowing him and he's holding onto her head for dear life before he reaches over and smacks her ass cheek as hard as he can and grips it tightly and he feels her moan slide from her mouth and vibrates his dick. He does it to the other one before standing up again and pulls her from his cock.

"You're such a good little sis for me huh?"

"Mhm, just for you sir."

They kiss each other slowly before he lays her onto her back and slides her up and adjusts himself between her legs, lining himself up with her.

"You ready for me?"

"Please do it, I want to cum on your cock Tama."

He moans a deep growl before he slides himself forcefully into her dripping cunt and begins his attack against her pussy. The bedframe knocks against the wall and she hurriedly reaches up and puts a pillow behind it as to not wake up their parents before her arms fall back down and grab Tamaki everywhere they can. She grips his biceps and squeezes before he hits a certain sweet spot inside of her and she lets a moan rip before Tamaki slides his palm over her mouth.

"Shut it y/n."

Her eye's shut as he thrusts harder, and their moans are quiet but forceful. Her legs wrap around his waist and her heels dig into his back as she tries to push him further in, when he does go further she feels his veins rake against her gummy walls and she feels his girth spread her wide. Her moans don't stop, so Tamaki takes the hand over her mouth, slides it down her neck, and squeezes tightly as he rams her with more force. She feels the pain in her gut and her throat but she doesn't care because of the pure pleasure she's feeling.

Her hands slide to Tamaki's back and she leaves deep scratches as he hikes her legs to her shoulders and pounds into her in the deepest spot she's felt yet. Her legs shake and her toes curl as she feels herself drawing closer. Tears are pin-pricking her eyes as the lack of oxygen and the sharp pain in her gut is getting too intense but she doesn't dare move cause she doesn't want to break from this feeling. A single tear falls and Tamaki bends down to kiss it away before releasing her throat and a deep breath is had from her but it's cut off by Tamaki's lips.

Their lips move in tandem with one another and it's as if Tamaki is giving his breath to her but she practically inhales him as she moans into his mouth. Tamaki now takes his free hand and moves it to her clit and rubs and she's seeing white. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, her legs spazz uncontrollably, her chest heaves and her breath hitches as she orgasms and tries her absolute hardest to not scream out the pleasure she just felt.

It's only a handful of more pumps before Tamaki unloads himself inside of her and his thrusts grow sloppy after he cums. They both stop and take deep pants and wipe the sweat from each other before Tamaki slowly pulls out of her and they both whine at the loss and the cum drips from her pussy.

"Fuck that's hot."

"Mhmm, towel and water please." She says with the shakiest smile and voice she's ever spoken with.

Tamaki nods and goes to the bathroom and grabs a towel and wets it and cleans her up before kissing her pussy once more as well as her lips and he quickly yet quietly runs into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water and he brings it back and helps her bring it to her lips.

"Thanks, Tama." She says with a smile before chugging half of it and sliding under her covers after setting the bottle on her dresser.

He slides in next to her and they kiss each other slowly and passionately before pulling away.

"This isn't right Tama, we can't tell anyone about this."

"Don't worry, I w-won't. You don't know how long I've wanted you."

"I do know actually, I..I've heard you fucking your fist to me before, it was hot but so wrong so I didn't do anything about it."

Tamaki didn't know what to say so his face turned beat red and he buried himself into her pillows before she giggles.

"Too late to get shy now Tama, you just fucked your little sister."

"Y-yeah I-I know." He squeaks into her pillow, not wanting to face her from his anxiety.

"Ssshh, come on Tama, it's alright."

She says before kissing his shoulder blades and rubbing the back of his head before he turns his head to her and faces her and she kisses his cheeks and they snuggle up into each other and fall asleep.

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jewels-writes · 3 years

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kakashi x injured reader

You being a long term member of Team Kakashi were on a mission along with the rest of your team. You and Kakashi were partnered together while Naruto and Sai were another pair. You two worked flawlessly together having been on the same team for over five years. Not to mention, you were the only member with medical nin-jutsu.

Sprinting through the trees, you went through the mission’s requirements again in your head. There were rumors of an Akatsuki member causing terror to a small town that wasn’t close enough to the inner city of the Leaf for Tsunade to send patrols. So it was up to Team Kakashi to get rid of the threat.

“Hold on a moment, y/n.” Kakashi called, signaling for you to pause and you both landed on the same tree branch.

“What is it, Sensei?” You asked, taking the moment to stretch and take a drink.

“We’re here. Look down there.” Kakashi pointed down and your eyes followed his finger to what was left of the small village. “We’d better get going, I’m sure there’s many people who need your medical help. We can rely on Naruto’s team to take care of the rest.”

“Got it, let’s go.” You answered, taking a deep breath. Soon you both descended into the village and Kakashi was right, almost every person you came across needed healing. Fortunately none of the wounds were fatal and you were able to fix everyone up.

You had used a substantial amount of chakra when a boom suddenly erupted from a few meters away. In an instant, Kakashi stood in front of you, using his body as a barrier for whatever threat was there.

“Y/n! Are you hurt?” Your teacher asked over his shoulder to which you responded with a no. It was a relief to Kakashi. “Alright, good. Go find cover, I know your chakra is reaching its limit.”

“But, Sensei-” You started and saw his shoulders drop and decided to not keep speaking. “Fine, but if you need me, you know what to do.” And with that you sprinted away from the commotion and into an alleyway, taking a deep breath.

“Shadow clones are so useful, aren’t they?” A sudden voice came from behind you and you jumped hard, pulling out a kunai. “Woah, woah! No need to get so defensive. It’s useless anyways since you won’t be alive much longer.”

“Who are you? State your purpose before I destroy you.” You snarled even though you knew you couldn’t act on your words. You’d gotten such violent phrases from your teammate, Naruto. “Wait a minute.. Those robes! You’re with the Akatsuki!” You realized and began to panic. You only had enough chakra to perform one more jutsu at best. Definitely not enough to save yourself from a member of the Akatsuki.

“And you? By your clothing you look like a medical style ninja, am I right? And that headband, you’re from the Leaf right?” The stranger smirked and you got a shiver down your spine. He reached for a 3-bladed scythe which he carried on his back. In a movement faster than you could follow, he had already struck you, his scythe digging itself into the side of your stomach. You couldn’t help but scream in agony.

In another harsh movement, he yanked the weapon out of your side and you immediately collapsed. You knew who he was now. Tsunade had a book full of different members of the Akatsuki and you remembered reading about him. You knew how his jutsu worked.

The blood from your wound kept flowing, despite your efforts to heal it. Was it because you had used too much chakra already? Oh fuck, this was really, really bad.

“Let the ritual begin!” The man said, stepping into his blood circle. “Now, where would you like to feel pain?”

“S-stop..” You muttered, somehow managing to stand up. Your knees were weak and you knew you couldn’t take much more for long. “Even if you kill me, Kakashi’s gonna-”

You couldn’t get the rest of your sentence out. Well, the rest of it turned into more screaming. The man had stabbed a sword through his own thigh and you could feel it.

“Your screams are so immaculate! Yes, yes! Scream for my God!” He cackled, slowly ripping the sword from his thigh. “Again!” He smiled and sliced his stomach open. The same happened to you and you fell into a bleeding heap on the ground. You couldn’t even move.

Is this the end? There was so much more I wanted to do.. Kakashi Sensei.. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better student. Forgive me..

“Y/n! What happened? Who is this?!” Someone’s voice said from above you. It was your teacher.

“Sen..sei..” You rasped, blinking open your eyes to see the worried eyes from Kakashi. You were surprised he had his Sharingan exposed like that.

“Stay with me, you’re going to be okay. I need you to tell me about the enemy. My dogs are holding him off right now, it’s okay.” He muttered, brushing your hair out of your eyes. “I can take care of it, just tell me how.”

“Any.. any damage done to him while he’s in that circle is done to me too. But he can’t die.. He..” Your vision began to swirl and the edges of your eyes darkened.

“Hey, hey! Stay with me, y/n. Don’t you dare pass out on me. I need you here with me.” Kakashi’s voice had a frantic undertone to it. You could tell that he wasn’t his usual composed self. Cupping your face in one of his hands, he looked over to one of his dogs. “Go find Naruto and Sai and bring them here. Tell them y/n is injured. Go.”

One of Kakashi’s dogs who was preventing the Akatsuki member from getting closer to you suddenly bit on the man’s thigh. As soon as it happened you screamed as even more blood came pooling out of your body.

“All of you! Back down!” Kakashi ordered to his dogs. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Get him.. Out of the circle.. Then.. chidori…” Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you slumped against Kakashi’s chest, unconscious.

“Are they out of it already? How pathetic. Their voice is lovely when they scream, isn’t it?”

“You sick fuck!” Kakashi shouted after placing you down behind him. His dogs had already surrounded you and were to protect you with their lives. Composing himself, Kakashi made a hand sign before teleporting directly behind the Akatsuki member and shoving him out of the blood circle. Once both feet were out, the white haired man slammed every ounce of chakra into his attacks and eventually the man was reduced to nothing but ash.

He was panting but that didn’t stop him from running back to you. You were still unconscious, your breathing slower than normal.

“Kakashi Sensei!” That was Naruto. The blonde was suddenly at his teacher’s side and looked down at your form. “Hey.. hey wake up, y/n. We did it, wake up!” Sai stood wordlessly behind Naruto as he also looked at you.

“They’re critically hurt. We need to get them help right now.” Sai pointed out.

Kakashi suddenly began ripping up his clothes into strips. He began binding your wounds so you wouldn’t bleed out. He refused to let you die. Not here, not now. Naruto and Sai followed their teacher’s lead and began ripping up some of their own clothes.

The ‘bandages’ were snug and colorful but they’d work. The three looked at each other, soundlessly communicating. Kakashi gently lifted you onto his back, making sure you weren’t going to fall off before bidding his team goodbye.

“Come on, y/n. Just hang in there. We’ll be home soon.” Kakashi muttered, placing a firm kiss to your hand through his mask.

Three days had passed and you hadn’t woken up. Kakashi had been staying at the hospital right beside you the entire time. Seeing you injured reminded him of when he was younger and couldn’t save Obito.

His hand never left yours. He’d always be touching you for physical comfort even when he was doing other things. He didn’t want you to feel alone.

Naruto and Sai stopped by every once and a while but they were soon sent off on another mission and weren’t able to stay.

Your finger’s suddenly twitched under Kakashi’s hand and his eye snapped up to look at you. You weren’t awake yet but he could tell you would be soon. His hand held yours tighter as he desperately looked for you to open your eyes.

“Ugh..” You whispered, blinking your eyes open. Groggy from not being awake for three days made everything blurry. “Where’s.. Kakashi??” You immediately sat up straight, remembering the situation you were in when you were last conscious.

“I’m right here.” His smooth voice mumbled. “Take it easy, okay, kid?”

“Oh thank god..” Your face suddenly became wet with tears and you couldn’t resist the urge to embrace Kakashi.

“Oh! I’m glad you’re okay too, y/n.” Kakashi said, returning your hug with just as much longing as you did. “Everything’s okay. The Akatsuki member isn’t with us anymore. We’re safe and back in the village.”

“How did.. How did I get here?” You wondered aloud.

“I carried you back. Naruto and Sai took care of the rest of the injured villagers after we fought. The mission was a success.”

(lost the motivation to finish it and also lost the motivation to remember that akatsuki member’s name so deal with it if you watched shippuden you know him)

#kakashi #naruto #short story #hurt/comfort #angst #reader #anime #kakashi x reader

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ombreblossom · 3 years

Text

i am and i am not (what you choose to see)

This is a birthday fic for @rosy-cheekx, but in many ways I wrote it as much for myself as I did for them.

Featuring: a gender-questioning Martin in the safehouse. What better time to explore one’ gender identity than while one is on the run from dangerous eldritch forces?

Content warnings (please let me know if there anything i’ve missed): kissing, very minor internalized transphobia, and a brief discussion of Martin’s mother.

AO3 Link: here~

“There’s no rush, Martin. Take your time,” Jon raises his voice from the other side of their bedroom door, passing time running his fingers across Daisy’s sparse knick-knacks—just enough of them to present a front of homeyness to any errant visitors but not enough of them to clutter her otherwise spartan living space. Several Archers novels and otherwise miscellaneous reading materials line the single squat bookshelf in the entire cottage, an unbroken coating of dust overlaying everything. Jon picks up a porcelain dog (or a wolf?) and rolls it over in his hands.

“The longer I take, the more likely it is I’m never going to leave this room.” Martin almost-yells back, interrupting the muffled frustrations of someone wrangling an unfamiliar article of clothing.

“And what a shame that’d be. I rather hoped we’d trot down to the village today for a late lunch.”

"Gotta take advantage of the warm weather while we have it," Martin adds.

"Exactly."

"And I'm sure you have no ulterior motives whatsoever."

"Yes, of cour—wait, what?"

“Don’t worry," Martin says with a worrying lilt. "I know what you’re really after.”

Jon pauses and, after a beat, replies, “Oh? And what would that be?”

“Here, I’ll set the scene for you: enter Fiona’s Used Books.” Jon can see (in his mind’s eye, not his eldritch one) Martin preparing his best mock-theatrical pose before continuing. “In the far-right corner, the side of the establishment that faces the setting sun, is a raised platform. Cushions and pillows of all shapes and colors and sizes are strewn about the platform, some left contorted by their previous users before they left the shop to go about their day. Two wide-pane windows allow a full complement of the sun’s rays to gently warm the area. A lone figure lies nestled among several cozy-looking pillows, completely dead to the world but for a purring cat atop the figure’s chest—”

“Yes, yes, all right. You’ve made your point,” Jon grouses. “I hope you know that I consider spending time with you much more important than sunbathing with the bookshop owner’s cat.”

“I know, Jon; don’t worry.” An audible grin carries through the door.

Jon directs his own smile at the door and says, “Yes, well, now that you mention it, I did want to stop at the bookshop if we had time.”

“I think we can make that work. I’d hate to miss seeing you be adorable with Maggie.”

Jon sputters a bit in futile indignation. Martin has made his opinion of Jon's alleged adorableness abundantly clear, and it's not worth challenging him on it. He'd let Martin have this, even though the idea of anyone thinking he's adorable rankles him almost as much as the word spooky does.

(This is less the case coming from Martin, but he’d sooner shuffle off his mortal coil than tell him that.)

The weight of the porcelain wolf—he’s decided—in his hand grabs his attention. In fidgeting with it, he’s managed to rub all the dust off its coat, revealing a delicate blue glaze swirling around the figure. Wiping the excavated dust on his trousers, a concerning realization creeps into Jon's awareness. "Martin?" He calls out.

Martin yells back something questioning, the exact words lost in their reverberations around the inside of their bedroom.

“I know you’re trying to distract me right now,” Jon says matter-of-factly. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, I completely understand.”

All sounds of movement cease on the other side of the door—worryingly quickly.

“Martin?” Jon ventures.

“No. I…want to do this. I want to be more myself.”

Jon nods. “All right. Let’s have a look at you, then.”

It takes several long seconds, but the door creaks open, leaving just enough room for Martin to poke through the gap and reveal dark, furrowed brows set in a face that belies its owner’s vocal confidence just a moment ago. Tension lends Martin’s grip on the door a strength that looks painful from where Jon stands.

“Just gimme a second, gimme a second. Let me…let me get my bearings.” Martin’s visible shoulder, draped in a sheer dark-blue fabric, lifts and sinks with long, deep breaths.

A wave of concern washes over Jon. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’m-I’m scared, I think. There’s no reason to be scared, but—"

“Who says you need a reason to be scared of something?” Jon interjects, and he immediately regrets the hard edge he hears in them.

Martin exhales sharply and averts his eyes away from Jon, grip tightening on the door, something Jon wouldn’t have thought possible. “Oh, you know, just the fact that we’re on the run from a body-hopping avatar of the Beholding, who can see us through anything even resembling an eye and almost certainly knows exactly where we are.”

“Yes…I know. I’ve been trying not to think about it, if I’m being honest. But even though there’s this uncertainty looming over us, you’re more than justified in feeling afraid of more…mundane things.”

Martin can’t help but scoff at that. “Yeah. Right."

“Do you…do you want to talk about what’s going on?” Jon asks, softness smothering any nascent trace of compulsion. The Beholding doesn’t get to have this, not if Jon has anything to do with it.

“I don’t….” Martin exhales again. “I’ve never tried to be this before,” he says, staring at the neat rows of hardwood planks to Jon’s left. “So much of my life has been just letting other people see me how they wanted to see me because it…I don’t know, helped me be someone specific to them when they needed it. I’ve been someone who won’t stir up a fuss; someone to project their frustrations onto; someone who cares for others for the sake of it; and, definitely most frequently, someone who presents as a man.

“There never seemed a point in saying, no, there’s more here than what I’m letting you see, you know? Sometimes it’s simpler to reduce myself to a single quality, even if it’s never helped me be close to people.

“But if I leave this cottage now, people are going to try to categorize me, try to match me up with some image they have preconceived in their minds, and they won’t be able to. And I’m not sure I should want that anymore, either. I guess the main thing is….” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “It’s terrifying to try to be something other than what the world sees you to be.”

Jon can’t let that go unanswered. Jon needs Martin’s attention for this, so he brings his hands to rest on each of his cheeks, not so much holding him in place but gently suggesting that’s his intention. Jon wouldn’t begrudge Martin his space if he needed it.

“You’re right. It is terrifying letting people see past the outward veneer we put up.” Jon says, concern still present but receding. “It’s not really my place to tell you how to work through that terror, but I am here for you—all of you, not just the parts of you you’re used to showing the world—and I’ll support you however I can.”

“God, Jon, how can you just say things like that?”

Jon makes a sound that’s something just shy of a laugh. “Because they’re true, Martin.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Come on out, Martin; it’s just us, and I want to see all of you, if you’ll let me.”

Still mostly hidden by the door, Martin stares at Jon, Jon with his myriad marks and scars; his long, unbound gray-streaked hair; and an extra ten years perpetually set in his shoulders. He’s pinned by the intensity of the affection in Martin’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you first?” Martin asks, voice terribly quiet.

The request shakes Jon to his core, but he recovers quickly, nodding his assent. “Please do.”

Martin steps out from behind the door and kisses Jon, Jon’s eyes closing on reflex before he can get a good look at him. The romance novels Jon used to pick up when the ache for a happy ending of his own became too painful to ignore any longer would have him feeling light and airy, almost senseless, as if suspended in space and time as he and Martin exchanged breath. Jon has never felt more grounded. He’s never felt more aware of every sensation within and without his body; the sensations of Martin’s hot breath on his face and his chapped lips pressing against his own keep him firmly tethered to the here and now. Jon’s heart hammers in his chest—so much so he’s sure Martin can feel it, too, their chests pressed together as they are.

When they break apart, Jon opens his eyes and says breathlessly, “Let’s get a good look at you. The mirror’s just over here.” Jon takes his hands back to make the journey easier but feels his heart drop when Martin looks back at the door left ajar in their haste to come together. He looks bereft. Bereft of what, Jon’s can’t be entirely sure, but Jon makes a judgment call and grabs one of Martin’s hands and pulls him along toward the far end of the room, their fingers interlaced.

It had seemed a bit odd for Daisy to have such a vanity piece, but Jon's thankful for it and thankful it wasn't as firmly affixed to the wall in their bedroom as it at first seemed. It would have made for cramped space indeed to have them both crowding around it, and Jon doesn’t want Martin to be alone for this.

They stop just in front of the mirror, Jon off to the side and Martin situated front and center. He gives Jon’s hand a grateful squeeze and looks at his reflection.

“What do you see when you look at yourself, love?” Jon prompts, squeezing Martin’s hand right back.

“I see myself wearing this dress we found rather miraculously in this northern Scottish village of three hundred whole people.”

“And?”

“And it’s…fwooshy.”

“Fwooshy.”

Martin nods with all the sage wisdom of a learned poet. “Yes. It’s light and it moves when I move. It feels like it’s barely touching me at all times, which is so different from how my normal trousers and jumpers feel.”

“Ah, I see what you mean.”

“Mm-hmm. And it’s just pretty, don’t you think?

“Indeed.” Jon debates drawing attention to the question Martin is dancing around, but he trusts Martin to get there in time. “I thought so the moment we found it.”

Martin makes a non-committal sound. “You know, this is a lovely color on me.”

“Come to think of it, I’ve never really seen you wear darker colors before now. You always wore jumpers with a lot of bright colors around the Archives.”

“Yeah. It was, um. My mum, she used to say stuff like, ‘Why do you want to look so dreary all the time? Bright colors look so much better on you,’ and I guess that stuck.” Martin’s voice takes on an affect somewhere between disappointed and exhausted as he imitates his mother, and Jon struggles not to form opinions about that until they’ve had time to talk about her more. “I think she liked looking at the brighter colors I’d wear, especially once she couldn’t really leave our flat very often. I want to think they reminded her of the outside. She never said that, though. I don’t know.

“Wearing a color like this makes me happy, though. Wearing delicate clothes like this that don’t hide me away makes me happy. I want to say I feel….” Martin trails off.

“I feel beautiful, Jon. I really, really do.”

Jon tugs Martin’s hand, still joined with his own, up to his lips and places a kiss on his knuckles, at once affirming you’re beautiful, love and urging Martin to continue.

Visibly reorienting himself, Martin continues: “I see a Martin I’ve never let myself be before. A Martin not at odds with himself. With the rest of the world, maybe, but not with himself. I want to be him, Jon.”

“Then be him.”

“What, just like that?”

“Well, not ‘just like that.’ It’ll take time to feel comfortable presenting your whole self to other people, and that’s okay. The time and effort will be worth it; the world is better for having you, all of you, in it.”

Martin nods shakily, looking for all the world like he’s adrift in the middle of the ocean with sliver of land visible in any direction.

Jon waits for Martin to gather his thoughts. It's the least he can do, lend Martin his patience, patience he's long deserved and nary gotten from Jon for most of their relationship. Plus, it gives Jon some time to look, to really look at this beloved person standing next to him.

Jon's never given much weight to a person's looks as a part of his attraction to them. More often than not, Jon would start to find someone pleasing to look at only after becoming attracted to them in other ways. Otherwise, people were people and what they looked like mattered little in the face of their ideas, their arguments, and their kindnesses (or lack thereof).

Things progressed much the same way with Martin, and now? Well, Jon would like to never stop looking at Martin, thank you very much, and the universe would do well to cooperate with him on that.

Jon looks and looks and looks as Martin twists from side to side, watching as the dress billows out around him. The dress is elegant, made more so by the person wearing it. It's long, the navy chiffon wrap falling down around Martin’s ankles in gentle fluttering waves. A more opaque under-layer provides him some coverage from his chest to his mid-thighs but by no means diminishes his silhouette: soft and sturdy in equal measures. The dress cinches together an inch or so below his pecs, highlighting the generous curve of his hips. Shoulders Jon knows teem with freckles are enveloped in wide navy chiffon sleeves. The wrap-around style of the dress creates a deep V-shaped neckline, revealing more lovely freckles spread across his ample chest.

Martin is gorgeous—full stop. He fills out the dress beautifully, fabric flush with his skin in all the right places. Jon has to keep himself from flying apart with fondness for the man. The dress suits him; there was no way Jon could have anticipated how much it would after observing its shape uninhabited.

Martin cuts through Jon’s musing with a whisper: “Thank you, Jon.”

“For what?”

“For…for being here with me. Throughout all this.”

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, Martin,” Jon says in a tone that brooks no argument.

“Right. Cool,” he says airily, earning a light chuckle from Jon. He’s not at all surprised when he finds himself at the receiving end of a playful nudge.

“If you’re up to it, I’d still love to go into the village and share a meal with you, show you off to our lovely neighbors.” Jon stops for a moment before continuing, gesturing wildly with his free hand, “That is to say, I’m not trying to imply you’re my possession or that I get to parade you around as I please. I just mean that….” Jon looks deep into earthy brown eyes and presses on. “I just mean that I want everyone to know and see how much of a privilege it is to be with you, to be able to bear witness to you putting more of yourself out into the world—if you’re ready.”

“We’re already the novel English couple from out of town staying in the infamous nigh-abandoned cottage on a mysterious holiday—what’s another oddity for the list, eh?”

“Hey! I won’t have anyone talking about my—oh.” Jon makes a thoughtful noise in the back of his throat. “It occurs to me that you might prefer different terminology for yourself. Is it still all right for me to refer to you as my boyfriend’? Or would you prefer something without a gender connotation like ‘partner’?”

“Jon, I spent the last two and a half years wanting to be your boyfriend, and that hasn’t changed. Having you call me that doesn’t bother me and is, in fact, one of my dreams come true.” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand and wraps him up in his arms; Jon’s follow suit. “Thanks for asking, though. I’ll let you know if anything doesn’t feel quite right.”

Jon buries his face in the crook of Martin’s neck, savoring the warmth and gentle scent of something vaguely herbal permeating through the chiffon dress. They’ll return to Martin’s comment later, he’s sure. “All right. I like ‘boyfriend,’ too, just for the record.”

“I’m glad,” he says, leaning his head on Jon’s.

“So,” Jon starts, pouring all the comfort he can manage into his embrace, “how about it? A late lunch at the pub, and then we can go see Maggie if there's time?”

Martin pulls away from Jon and smiles. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good. Let’s get going,” he says.

“Yes, let’s.” Jon moves toward their makeshift mudroom, which is nothing more than a sorry shoe rack leaned against the wall next to the front door and a couple of wooden pegs designed to hang heavy coats.

“And, Jon?”

Jon turns part of the way back around, cocking his head to the side in mild confusion. “Yes?”

There’s a subtle tension in Martin’s stance when Jon looks back at him, but he’s standing up noticeably straight and puffing himself up. This is familiar to him; he imagines he looks the same way when he’s about to go into a situation that involves delicate social interactions.

However, this is unfamiliar to him as something Martin does in the face of imminent discomfort. Martin isn’t a lip-worrier. Nor is he a fidgeter. Too much practice maintaining a guise of false cheer. No, what Martin does is shrink. He hunches over imperceptibly and draws his arms into himself, and makes the space he’s in feel that little bit bigger, that little bit lonelier, for his diminished presence in it.

Resolve blooms on Martin’s face. It’s a fragile thing, Jon can tell, but it’s there. Jon hopes this is just one instance of many of Martin deciding to take up his due space and filling the world with his presence. “Would you start also using ‘they’ and ‘them’ for me sometimes?” Martin starts, in a rush. He continues, slower and more hesitant, “I just want to try them out; see how they feel and all that. Might not be a permanent thing.”

“It would be my utmost honor and pleasure to use whatever language my boyfriend feels most comfortable with me using for them.” Jon says primly, bent slightly at the waist and arms swept to one side.

In a second, Martin closes the distance between them, hooking one arm under Jon’s legs and behind his back and twirling him around, both of them giggling all the while. Jon gets the impression Martin’s taking it easy (in consideration of the abundance of fabric flowing free around their ankles, if he had to guess), but it’s perfect anyway.

For his part, Jon is taking this opportunity to admire his boyfriend between giggles: the sepia highlights in their hair, brought out by the (no doubt by now) sinking sun; the double chin Jon likes tucking his head under when he wants to feel at home; the strength in all of Martin’s body but especially their arms, arms that hold him close as they spin around the room, never showing signs of faltering. Mingling with admiration for Martin’s physical form is an enduring respect for Martin’s courage and his life-long compassion. This is a person Jon would trust with his life and his heart.

Eventually, Martin returns Jon to solid ground. Jon would say it was too soon, but they’re both slightly out of breath, and time is moving ever forward. Jon practically falls into Martin, pressing their foreheads together. The smooth chiffon slides against Jon’s skin as they shift into comfortable positions. He closes his eyes and isn’t aware of much else that isn’t Martin.

“Hey there, handsome,” Martin says after more time passes. “What’s someone like me got to do to get someone like you out that front door so we can actually go on our date sometime this century?”

Jon’s eyes crinkle in the corners, deeply amused. “You might have to carry me over the threshold at this point. Just make sure to grab our shoes—wouldn’t want leave without completing your ensemble, after all.”

#tma #the magnus archives #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #jmart #set during the scottish safehouse period #ombre writes #ombre writes fic #internalized transphobia #(minor)#kissing

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antihumanism · 3 years

Text

When I type everything out as a single run-on sentence I want you to imagine me cornering you off-guard in a crowded room, my empty brown cow eyes staring straight at you and reflecting you--nopony home here, she checked out and hopped away forever ago on the toxic chemical trains and clacking cattle cars years ago--and just, for no reason, I’m here and you’re there pocketed in the corner of a crowded room, and I’m channeling my alternate history past-self who was a preacher that got kicked out of the church for delivering sermons about the impossibility of sin and just ran off to Point Sur with my harem of distractions since I could never stop blessing my congregation saying “Go forth and know that you cannot sin, in the beautiful eyes of God and in my beautiful eyes there can be no wrong or evil” which backfired on me when they started setting fires and it all went to Hell, but I’ve won out over them because the world honored my wishes when I sighed “I should like to start again,” and so I’m here with you and you’re hear with me and I’m saying some insane shit like: “Looking back on Emily’s early works it is easy to see where her later reactionary turn comes from, because, from the start, Alfred Alfer was a story about the fear of castration, I mean, the first video was literally about Alfred getting neutered and escaping into a violent fantasy where he is loved and praised for his violence and the ‘punchline’ establishes the general theme of ‘reality by despair,’ which is to say that Alfred’s clearly dissociative episode is ‘verified’ by his destruction and it is this self-destruction that establishes ‘reality,’ like ‘pinch me i might be dreaming,’ but the pinch is violent and unfair self-destruction as hope is still ripped away, but hope remains, because it is a hope to die rather than be changed by the world, and this theme remains throughout her most famous work (the Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy which cements in canon the jokes of her previous Rise of Alfred cartoon) where Alfred is possessed by the spirits of Stalin and Hitler--a false equivalency made by the authoritarians that have passed for liberals for years--in Rise of Alfred, one would be remiss not to mention the phallic imagery in both the title and the video itself, Alfred is cut loose upon the world by the absence of a Near God or little other by the orders of a Distant God or big Other (in this video played by a droning and irrelevant corporate figure that can offer nothing more than a wall without lead paint that one can lick), and this is the essence of reactionary thought, the idea of a big Other who is totally incompetent yet all powerful and somehow worth respecting and suffering for (King Henry II saying ‘will no one rid me of this troublesome priest’ or the departed Daiymo of the 47 Ronin), the reactionary sees the big Other as a master who can only set the dogs off the chain, the police chief who needs to get out of the way so McBain or Dirty Harry or Paul Kersey (especially in Death Wish III) can do what needs to be done and purge away all the filth and make the world right again (no different than Rambo--even the first movie, which for all of it’s goods part still is reactionary propaganda bullshit pushing the fascist lies about a ‘fifth column’ that was rude to poor little meow meow war criminals--or modern day fantasies about nuking all of MENA until it glows green (fantasies delivered to raucous applause at Republican presidential conventions); the reactionary is perpetually trapped in this fantasy of destroying the world and escaping into the void of space, freed of the ground where the riff-raff are so they don’t have to negotiate life with their neighbors, and this is true, yes, even of people who spout bullshit about Fully Automated Luxury Communism who only want the right to consume as much as possible free of guilt--a condition they think is inflicting upon them by the big Other--as the Champagne of Shame Socialists of the 60s), and the righting of the world for the reactionary is just that, that the world must be Righted and the reactionary must be loved for all of their violence and because of their violence, for the reactionary finds themselves ever needing new excuses as they open new fronts in their fake, phony Culture War, and that is all they need (excuses), which is why Emily is so obsessed with justifying her edgy shit based on some Trauma (which is handy excuse to do Anything, even Things that Cannot Be Excused like war or self-harm or wanting to be seen), and so here you should already be able to hear so much madness, so many plaintive cries, all aligning around the same point (the trannies in the ‘wrong’ bathroom, the refugees in the ‘wrong’ country, the people in the ‘wrong’ neighborhood, the Jewish Question, etc), and, anyway, so in Rise of Alfred, Emily’s OC directly addresses the audience and tells them that they must love him/her--the castrated bitch desperate to be let off the leash--and in Alfred’s Playhouse she/he simultaneously affirms and denies the nature of a trauma that justifies everything (one is constantly reminded of The Act of Killing where one of the mass murderers imagines how, depending on the editing of the final film, he could be either a woobie or a war criminal) as the Trauma is simultaneously a joke--’sodomized with a popsicle!’--and the alleged real event that motivates her self-mutilation as we’re expected to believe Emily is processing something, but what is she is processing, hmmmm, isn’t that the true spice,” I rail and rave against your poor ear drums as my empty, dead cow’s eyes capture your entire body and reflect it back at you and the ice cubes in my drink pop and shatter and dissolve and as my fist clenches tighter and tighter around the glass containing them and I continue: she’s processing a fear of castration, which is shown clearly in Alfred’s Playhouse where Alfred’s “sodomy” is demonstrated by the sight of his crotch covered in blood (a scene that will be repeated in The Alfred Alfer Movie) but “what is castration,” one might ask, and one can respond “it is the removal of power by the Father,” and this is how we wrap back around to our root in the nature of Emily the Reactionary who believes herself to be deprived of the power she holds by The Bolshevik Jew that has inserted itself between her and the Father and this is the cause of the big Other’s ineffectiveness, and this is also the core of the reactionary as a whole, the reactionary doesn’t want a daddy to control them, but a Master to set them off the chain because they hate the Father who has castrated them, this is the nature of the mumbling corporate manager in Rise of Alfred, but it is also the nature of Alfred herself--and now you may ask if Emily is trans and the answer is I literally couldn’t fucking care less about any question left forever unanswered on God’s Green Earth and you shouldn’t care either--but Alfred the Castrated is also the Father/Mother of Alfred the Dictator, the murderous inner-self that is immune to consequences of the onrushing future (The Alfred Alfer Movie) but not immune to the justifications of the imagined past (Alfred’s Playhouse trilogy), and therefore free to inflict whatever violence that Emily the Reactionary desires, and it is in pursuit of this freedom that the reactionaries set off in the name of New Sincerity (two things to be noted here: (1) the Death of Irony was proclaimed at the birth of the 21st century police state and the new Forever War with all of its genocidal objectives, that is to say, 9/11, and (2) the broken necked coward who complained of American Psycho that it’s author provided no easy outs for easy survival was the one who offed himself while Bateman’s father still lives) and the Talking Cure (i miss who we used to be), and at this you should see me slugging back the whole lukewarm glass in between two syllables and continuing on without pause (as if this dog still has legs on which to receive them in any case), “Emily, like Alex Jones, is so desperate for an excuse because neither of them can accept that they have to be the one that pulls the trigger, like all liars they don’t understand that they have to define reality by action, the answer to what one might do is found in the difference between the types of irony, one type is constantly desperate for excuses (such as the broken necked coward found one day) for violence, and the other irony, the true spice, is the irony that releases from excuses into violence and energy, one must seek not to know or endure but to inflict, knowing that this inflicting was always inevitable, no searching for justifications, instead the answer is to realize that there was never a chain there connecting you to the Master or the present to the past, and the Father/Mother never had the power of castration (the past, after all, is a foreign country bombed and blasted to ruins already and better forgotten), and you can just be fucked up and terrible and do whatever amuses you right now without needing an excuse, and to the extent that anyone should, one should, because that is what fascism needs, fascism needs the need for an excuse and that is the irony of fascism--where the falling angel (the superego) meets the rising ape (the id) in an ego of ultimate violence which seeks only release from both of its creations in an instinctually and totally misunderstood caricature of dialectics--which opposes its opposite irony (the irony without fascism which is the id’s violence against purpose and reason rising free of anything else to obstruct it), and if you let go of that, if you just, ya know, if you just, you just have to cut loose and go and no one can stop you until it is too late, because there’s no Jew sitting over your shoulder to justify everything in terms of opposition or support, not even The Nazarene is real, but do you understand that you’ve always been free to just go? You’re free to go. You’ve been free to go all this time. You never needed permission for this or anything else. You’ve been free to go all this time. You’re free to go. A whole day off. Just mind the mo(u)rning and get on with it.”

#emily youcis #Alles ist wahr Nichts ist erlaubt #let's live now before we're back below

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unbridgeabledistances · 3 years

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ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

#my bbys definitely do not seem the type to celebrate valentines day #but i had to make them try lol #lmk if u are interested in a part two!#gallavich #gallavich fic #shameless #shameless fic #ian gallagher #mickey milkovich #ian x mickey #ian and mickey

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bibliocratic · 4 years

Note

Been thinking about Martin being sad about/hating the way he looks bc he looks like his dad, and he tries to talk to Jon abt it, but he's Too Vague so Jon thinks he's worried that Jon doesn't like that he's fat and consequently comforts him about the wrong thing

This took so long, anon, sorry!

Because of the subject matter, there are content warnings in the tags

The first time Martin sees his own face, limp-eyed, flat and drained in the feeble straining light of the bathroom, he starts shaking. A stretching in his chest, like he's swallowed a swelling balloon that is pushing all the air out of him, bunging up his lungs and throat and mouth. That's how Jon finds him, tears sprung to his eyes as he sucks in scant and skittish breathes, his fingers clenching the lip of the sink and wondering why he can't be stronger than all this.

After that, Martin takes to avoiding mirrors while he's in the safehouse.

It's not hard. He's had lots of practise recently. The Lonely had displayed many double-edged poisons in its folds disguised as furtive blessings. His reflection had been one of them. Martin had counted it as a grateful novelty, to walk past glass shop fronts and the over-stark bathroom mirrors in the staff toilets and see the refusal of light to grant his image returned to him. Even his exile to the seafront, the rock-pools vacant of crawling life or stubborn salt-encrusted fronds of lichen, had shown him only the eddy of tide, the ripples that his steps barely disturbed in the landscape.

It had been a kindness of sorts, to take his image from him. The mirror had never shown Martin anything but things he hadn't cared to see, his own neurosis writ large and backwards.

The morning is not unusual. The birds had woken him, piping shrill even through the double glazing, and Jon, still dozy and drooling his words into his pillow, had cursed and moaned indignant at the vocal wildlife. Martin had dropped back off for another twenty or so minutes, a smirk raising the sleep-dry corners of his lips, waking up when the bed creaked and Jon had stood and stretched and made all sorts of horrendous cracking noises like some sort of human castanet.

This morning though, Jon is in the bathroom, shaving, and making a worrying racket doing so, and Martin is still in that sort of headachy realm of not quite awake yet, where he still gathering the components than make him functional as he shuffles around in his boxers and waits for the shower to be free. Martin's not sure why today, but he finds himself opening the wardrobe. Inside, on the back of the left-hand side door, there's a full length mirror, pocked a little with age and smeared with dust.

Martin's not sure why he feels strong enough today to look.

The thing he expects to see first: his hair shorn down, just shy of a buzz cut. Martin's been doing it himself for years, every month or so hunching over the sink and bathroom mirror in his old flat in Stockwell and uniformly mowing his hair down to a prickly ginger fuzz.

His mum never liked his hair when he grew it out. Snapped and sniped about how long it was getting whenever it started to bend in a curl, encroaching over his ears, and he'd not always had the money or time to go into town and go to the barber's. When he got his first job, scrimping aside the little he'd left over at the end of the month, he'd bought clippers from the nearest Boots, attached the first guard he'd picked up and ran it over his scalp until the up-scrub was spiky and even. The first time was a bit of a hack-job, lopsided and uneven, but he's improved his technique with time. The method and cut was cheap and basic and he wasn't fond of the way it made his ears look stuck out, but it was one less thing he had to worry about, one less thing his mum could disapprove of.

His hair now hangs, uninspired, slightly greasy and knotted over his ears. Shaggy-dog over his forehead until he swipes it back, a small curl down to the nape of his neck.

He looks like his dad. Sees the man he barely knew staring back, the image lost that Elias had so viciously returned. Studies his snubnose struck centre, a wide jaw that rounds out his face, ruddy cheeks with sparse and spotting freckles. Some of the hairs of his eyebrows are starting to grey. His eyes seem suspicious, washed out, unhappy. He wonders if this is what Jon sees, a man whose closed-off expression does not appear to trust the world nor its motives.

The sort of man who might just up and leave if the going gets tough.

Jon pads into the room, though Martin doesn't turn round. He puts all his weight on the front of his feet, always has; even in the Archives, Martin could place Jon's footsteps next to Sasha's sturdier stride, Tim's faster tread.

Jon plants his face against Martin's back, grumbles through a good morning. He's smooth jawed again, his skin baking from the shower, his hair not quite towelled off properly, still dripping.

“Lookin' handsome,” Jon mumbles, throwing out a hand to gesture at the mirror, at the twin men standing awkward and self-conscious opposite each other.

Martin observes at his own hands cast back at him through the mirror. His thick arms, the round and pasty pale of them. He has big hands, he thinks to himself. Broad, weathered palms, the skin cracking dry, short and stubby fingers. Hair starts to grow sparse on the back of his hand close to his wrist and only gets thicker and denser up his arms. Jon slumped standing immediately behind him isn't visible in the reflection; Martin's body takes up too much room, wide and solid, even when he wants to secrete himself smaller. He's tall, like Dad was, he guesses, though he stoops and hunches in his shoulders to try and negate it. Martin thinks he looks like the sort of man that plays rugby and drinks too much. When he's walking home, trudging through the residential streets between the tube station and his flat, people passing him sometimes scrunch their body in away from him, and every time that hurts. In the dark, without his stumbling words and over-eager expression and his clumsiness, something about him looks like it could turn nasty, and Martin doesn't know how to take that.

He went drinking with Tim and Sasha once in Lambeth. They'd had four or five and Sasha had bought them obnoxiously coloured and overpriced cocktails before dragging Tim over to the pool table, Martin sitting out to the side amiably, sipping his sugar-heavy drink and tapping his feet to the music someone put on the jukebox. Two men came over ten minutes later, drunker than them, arguing that they'd been there first, and Sasha had been fired up enough to snap back. It had looked like a scrap brewing, so Martin had put his drink down and stood up, anxiously ready and willing to urge Tim and Sasha away just to keep the peace. The two had looked at him, eyes roving up before they held up their hands, backing off, saying they'd come back when they'd finish.

“No bother, ey, big lad?” they'd slurred at Martin. “Didn't mean anything by it.”

Sasha had beamed as they left, and called Martin a lucky charm. He hadn't felt very lucky. He'd felt sick at the reminder.

The problem as he sees it, is that everything about him is big.

Inside: too big heart and too raw-open soul. A great vast reservoir where he keeps every bubbling expression of fear and grief and rage that he's never expressed with his body.

Outside: big stocky arms, an over-hanging stomach matched with a tall spine and the sort of footsteps that announce his arrival well before he enters a room.

Martin's dad never hit his mum. He assumes that's something Elias would have glibly enjoyed sharing. But sometimes he'd stood too close when they'd been fighting, looming, deliberately crowding in her space, and she'd noticed how much taller he was, how much stronger. She'd thought she saw something mean and nasty in his eyes, the way he clenched his fists that meant he wanted to.

She'd imagined she saw that look in her son sometimes too.

Martin worries about that. Worries what other poisoned legacies his dad left him with.

“Mart'n?” Jon says. He's encircled his arms as far as he can around him, though they don't link up, scratching his nails through the hair on his chest. His hands long-boned but smaller, slighter.

Jon is not a small man nor a tall one, average in appearance in most ways if not for the scars, if not for the way the composite of his image makes Martin's heart something stronger in his chest. But Martin is bigger than him when they lie together, Jon's side of the bed made less by default, shunting him further over to the corners. Martin is stronger than him, because Martin has lifted him bodily to hear Jon's laughing protestations as Martin manhandled him onto the sofa and kissed the veins down his throat, the blush risen in his cheeks.

And Martin's angrier than he used to be. Or angrier than he used to admit to being. His mood pinballing from flat to frustrated as everything the Lonely dulled ploughs back into him, all of Martin's mechanisms, the checks-and-balances he built within himself gone ruinous. Martin can be so angry these days, and he doesn't know how to deal with it.

Martin doesn't like the way that worry fizzes under his tongue.

“My dad had big hands,” he says out of nowhere. “He wore some rings, I think, and he had to get them resized to fit his fingers.”

“You making plans to get us rings already?”

Jon's joke is shy and nudging, but Martin doesn't feel like raising the corners of his mouth in a smile.

Martin moves a hand to squeeze the flesh that bunches around his upper arms, pats his stomach.

“I've definitely got his belly,” he says. “His arms. Prob'ly end up with his hair to boot, he was receding a bit.”

Jon's hands stroke palm down over what stomach he can reach.

“I like your stomach,” he says, and it's not that Martin doesn't believe him, because he's getting better at not doubting people, at allowing himself to trust they might like something about him. It's that that wasn't the point.

“Hmm,” Martin says noncommittally, and glances at his own hands again. Square chewed nails and the small bumps of veins.

“You don't look happy,” Jon says.

“What? No, I mean, it – it's fine, it's...”

“Do you... not like looking in the mirror?”

Martin sighs.

“Not particularly.”

“Because you have a problem with how you look?”

“You don't have to spell it out like that, Jon.”

“Like what?”

“Like you're a – my therapist or something. I don't want to – to be questioned o-or psychoanalysed about it. I just, no – I don't like looking at myself. That's all.”

Jon's arms don't unhook from around him. Martin exhales and feels the frustration like sediment build up.

“I look exactly like my dad,” Martin says finally, bitterly.

“You don't,” Jon replies quietly, into the meat of Martin's shoulder.

“You can't know that,” Martin says, although the words are empty of meaning and they both know it. Jon both can and does, whether he means to or not.

Feeling his Adam's apple bob, he continues: “Elias, he showed me. When I was – er, when we needed him distracted.”

Jon's arms clench around him.

“Elias showed you what he wanted you to see,” he says after a careful moment.

Martin shakes his head, because he saw what he'd known already, what his mum had seen, the trickle of memory gushing torrential. That he has his dad's big fingers, big hands and big anger, and he is frightened of what sort of a man that makes him.

“I could....” Jon's fingers flex and skate over the skin where Martin's stretch marks root down to his hips. “I could look? If you wanted? Tell you if Elias was... if what he showed you was true.”

Martin thinks about it, but Jon feels the silence of his refusal and presses his nose against the freckled handful of skin where Martin's shoulder blades are.

“I'll tell you what I see then?”

“See see, you mean?”

“No. Normal seeing. With my own two eyeballs.”

“I am being blessed with the originals today, what a gift.”

Jon headbutts him with his forehead, and the small laugh and a 'Jon!' is pushed out of him as a scarred palm is held up near his face, an eyelid opening in the skin to leer at Martin.

“Put your bloody Pan's Labyrinth eyeball away,” Martin grouches, and he can feel Jon grinning mischievous as the disconcerting eyeball winks before being sunk closed back into the skin.

“Better?”

“I am never going to get used to that.”

Jon makes a noise of agreement. He unplasters himself from Martin's back, and takes a tugging hold of his wrist.

“Look at me?”

Martin lets himself be turned round. Weak-willed, soft-spined to the last wherever Jon is concerned.

Jon looking up at him now, fringed with damp locks seaweeding down his face. Martin brushes them back out of the way, and Jon captures his hand, meshes their fingers together slowly and precisely.

“Tell me?” he asks quietly. “What you've been thinking about? And I'll tell you what I see.”

“My hands,” Martin says after a moment and Jon nods and hums and holds Martin's captured palm in front of him.

“Bigger than mine,” Jon says, demonstrating, holding the two of them as imperfect reflections of each other. “You've got short nails because you bite them. The cold's making the skin dry, but they're soft, usually. Sturdy. Even when – even when we were leaving the Lonely, I knew once you took my hand we wouldn't get separated.”

“My – er, my arms,” Martin says after a while, prodding with his free hand at the loose flesh at the undersides of his arms. “Well, my bingo wings.”

Jon frowns, reaches up to encircle his grip around them.

“You've got muscle under there,” he says. “You can lift me, no trouble. The first time you did, I, um, couldn't help but hope you'd do it again.”

Martin finds it in himself to meet Jon's gaze.

“Yeah?” he says, pleased.

Jon is starting to blotch with blush, but he carries on, fingers stroking Martin's upper arms.

“Even if you weren't strong,” he says. “You've got – your, um. Freckles. There's no pattern to them, of course, but I like seeing if I can find one anyway.”

“You're a big softie,” Martin chides roughly, dry-mouthed and watery eyed.

Jon doesn't deny it.

“What else?” he asks delicately.

“I'm – I'm heavy,” Martin says, the words shrivelling quiet on his tongue. “I-I don't mind – I'm not ashamed of being, you know, not the smallest guy, I've never had a-a problem with it, not exactly, but I-I'm bigger than you. I'm stronger than you and I take up more room and, my dad, I look so much like him s-s-so what if – ”

He trails off. Swallowing. Unable to finish.

Jon's arms embrace him and he allows himself to be bent down, the angle uncomfortable and Jon on tip-toe, his face mushed into the side of Jon's throat.

Jon rubs at the broad expanse of his back.

“You'd never hurt me,” Jon says, fiercely. “Whether you look like your father or not. You're not him, Martin. I can't, I know I can't convince you, but it doesn't matter if you've got his arms or his eyes or his hair. He's never been where you've been, or done what you've managed. I bet he doesn't – doesn't write poetry, or whistle the Archer's theme tune, or I dunno, is completely useless at catching things.” Martin gives a wet attempt at a laugh. Jon's hands move comfortingly up and down.

“You're not your dad,” Jon continues after a moment. “You aren't responsible for the man he was, or the man your mother thought she saw in you. That's not – it's not your burden to carry. Fuck whatever shadows Elias showed you. You're not him. It's – I can't make you like what you see in the mirror, but when I look at you, I don't see any of the things you're scared of.”

“You can really just, know all that, huh,” Martin says after a minute, lifting up his head, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

“I don't need to,” Jon replies.

Martin's hugs are crushing and enveloping but Jon clings back as tightly.

Martin pulls back after a minute, wiping his eyes again though he knows they've gone red and puffy, already feeling the crimping heat of self-consciousness in his chest. Jon leans back in to kiss him, first his lips, and then his cheek, quick and affirming, as he trails his fingers through his hair.

“You'll be wanting this cut soon,” Jon says, although he seems disappointed at the thought, combing his fingers through the tangle self-indulgently.

“I might try growing it out.” Martin tests the water of the idea, and Jon looks approving at this, nods and hums and runs his fingers through again.

It's been a long time since his hair was longer. Martin thinks he might suit it.

“What would you say to a beard?” Martin follows up, just to see Jon try to valiantly quash his dissatisfaction and keep a neutral expression. He almost succeeds.

“If you... If you think it best,” Jon manages stiffly.

Martin's laugh is a free and booming thing in his chest.

#the magnus archives #tma #cw self esteem issues #cw discussions of domestic violence #cw body image #cw mild body horror #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #fic

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writesowhatnext · 4 years

Text

definitely just a coincidence // remus lupin

Summary: sometimes everything in life just… comes together – helps if you have a Sirius though

Request: Hi, how are you doing? Could you please write a soulmate au for Remus where soulmates have a birthmark where they’re first touched by them and the reader has a mark on her wrist? And one day Remus and the reader happen to sit next to each other at a quidditch game they're having fun talking when James does something risky and Remus grasps the reader's wrist? I'm sorry if that was too specific! Thank you!

A/N: I have no idea why this was so difficult to write but I hope you like it! It also took everything I had not to use the word coinkydink

Reader: unspecified

Warnings: swearing bc I’m incapable

The universe, without question, works in mysterious ways. Any third-rate fortune teller, rocket scientist or six-year-old can tell you that. Some things are just meant to be: the sun move from East to West, Sirius Black is the world’s biggest drama queen and every single person has a soulmate.

It would definitely be a lie to say that you’d never questioned the legitimacy or inevitability of soulmates. It just seemed strange that there was this perfect person out there for you, but every time you looked at your wrist, you were reminded that it must be true.

Though soulmates are still pretty much a mystery to both the muggle and the wizarding world, the working theory is that in a past life, wherever on your bare skin your soulmate last touched left a mark, a birthmark, where they were destined to first touch you in this life.

Your mum always told you to cover the mark on your wrist; it was in such a common place and you had to be careful so you would know for sure who your soulmate was. Most people tended to parade theirs around, though, and some even took to covering every inch of their body to avoid the situation entirely. There’d been stories, though, of massive coincidences and unimaginable luck uniting soulmates and as you looked down at your wrist, vaguely aware that you would be late for the Quidditch match if you didn’t hurry up, you thought about who yours would be. Someone smart, perhaps? Funny, maybe? You hoped more than anything that they’d be kind. It was odd to think, regardless, that the universe would try so hard to get you together.

Absentmindedly, you rubbed at the thick mark on your wrist, the colour a stark contrast to your skin. The wide band reached around your wrist and almost connected at your palm and anyone with half a brain cell could see it was a perfect shadow of someone’s grasp. You frowned, briefly glancing at the time.

“Oh fuck,” you muttered, quickly grabbing your scrunchie and making for the door. Every day, without fail, you’d worn that scrunchie on your wrist, covering your mark and not once had it failed you. Today, though, was different from every other day. Whether you knew it or not, this day would be very different indeed because the universe, in all its ineffably annoying glory, decided it had a job to do.

As you rushed through the corridors, desperate not to miss the last quidditch match of the season, you were glad to see many other people in the same boat, winding around the corridors to the pitch. You were so eager that you didn’t even notice Lily coming around the next corner and, before you knew it, you had slammed into her, sending each of you back a few feet, onto your arses. You blinked, a little disorientated as you tried to focus on her.

“Blimey,” you said, using one hand to push yourself up as the other rubbed your head. “I did not expect that.”

“Y/N!” Her face lit up as she realised it was you, taking your outstretched hand gratefully. “Just the person I was after.”

“Why? Did you want to be human bumper cars today?”

She laughed, shaking her head and clutching the book she had dropped to her side under her arm.

“I can’t go to the match today – head girl bollocks, you know how it is-“

“Sure I do,” you said, sarcasm leaking through your tone. She rolled her eyes in response, side-stepping a Hufflepuff racing past her. You suddenly remembered why you’d been running in the first place, your happiness at seeing your friend replaced with a familiar urgency.

“Can you tell Remus for me? He said he’d save me a seat – he’ll be next to Sirius…”

You barely heard what else she said, your feet already talking you towards the pitch.

“Sure, Lils!”

You thought about Sirius as you hurried towards the Gryffindor stand, relieved to see that the players weren’t even on the pitch yet. You and Sirius had been friends since second year when he nearly set your hair on fire in Charms. He’d been apologetic, of course, but his expression soon turned mischievous when you’d shot a spark at him, singeing the hairs of his forearm. From then on, you’d been as thick as thieves. It helped he had friends that were happy to accept you and who tended to find your jokes, however unfunny, hysterical. Sometimes you wished you weren’t as close, though. He could read you like an open book and he constantly teased you about your crush on Remus. He’d never shut up about it when you were alone and when you weren’t, he’d send you annoying glances and make lewd gestures. And for that, and many other things, you hated him about as much as you could hate someone so loveable.

You spotted the two of them around a dozen rows up, Sirius already shouting though the match hadn’t even begun to start. You rolled your eyes at him before you let them wander to Remus, who was sitting rather patiently next to him. In all honesty, it wasn’t that you didn’t have a crush on Remus, you just hated it when Sirius was right. And, it wasn’t like it would go anywhere: he never gave any indication that he liked you and you both had soulmates – it was a moot point. As you walked closer, slipping between some unruly Gryffindors on the way, you had to admire Remus. He was very handsome and the sight of him staring up at Sirius with fond exasperation made you smile, a warmth in your chest. It reminded you of when you’d first met.

“Oi, Y/N,” Sirius had shouted from the breakfast table when he saw you walk into the Great Hall. You rolled your eyes and wandered over, standing behind him.

“And what do you want?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Can’t I just want to see my friend without ulterior motives?”

If you had known him less well, you would’ve been fooled by his puppy dog eyes.

“No, you always have ulterior motives. That’s your defining feature.”

“I thought my hair was my defining feature? Or my exquisitely handsome face? Remus,” he turned towards the boy opposite at the table, who had been watching you both with amusement. “What’s my defining feature?”

“Your modesty.”

You snorted at the way Sirius’ face soured completely.

“Brilliant,” you said, offering Remus your hand. “I’m Y/N: unfortunate Charms partner and reluctant friend.”

He smiled back and something stirred inside you at the way his grin pulled at his features handsomely, the scars littered across his cheeks shining delicately in the light. His expression dropped though, a sweet blush flushing his face, as he lifted his hand. His eyes were almost apologetic as you noticed the stark white bandages wrapped around his fingers all the way up his arm. You shrugged nonchalantly and his lovely smile returned.

“Remus: also, reluctant friend and even more reluctant roommate.”

You beamed at his response, enjoying it when he mirrored your expression even though his shoulders were hunched shyly.

“Great, and now you’re friends,” Sirius sighed, mock annoyance riddling his features.

“Earth to Y/N,” a familiar voice shouted, breaking you from your reverie. You saw Sirius a couple rows away, shouting at you and waving his hands wildly. You made a face at him, gesturing for him to calm down. Remus was smiling at you softly as you approached, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was as pleased to see you as you were, undeniably, to see him.

“You alright there, Y/N? Didn’t realise Divination was on the quidditch bleachers today.” Sirius said with a smirk.

“Oh, shove off,” you tutted; rolling your eyes as you got closer, standing in the space they’d probably saved for Lily.

You stood next to Remus, ignoring Sirius’ wink as he went back to shouting about Quidditch and picking fights with the nearby houses.

“Ignore him,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. “He’s been a prat all day because it’s the Slytherin game.”

You nodded, shooting Sirius a look almost identical to the one Remus had – he may have been an annoying bastard but he was, in fact, quite loveable.

“I ran into Lily in the corridor, literally actually,” you said, turning to face Remus, briefly distracted by the warm green of his eyes. “She said she can’t come – some head girl crap.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking around to see your friends, unable to spot them.

“You can watch with us,” Remus offered very quickly. He seemed to realise his rush as his cheeks heated up and he looked straight ahead, blinking. You had to laugh at his reaction.

“I’d love that.”

You sat down next to him, watching his face as he messed around with his coat to make more room for you. He looked rather cosy in his coat and gloves; his Gryffindor scarf tucked under his chin. Rather cute too.

“Has he been like that the whole time?” you asked, pointing at Sirius, who kept shoving his hair out of his face as he began jumping, the players finally out on the pitch.

“I wish,” Remus groaned, rubbing his face with both hands. “A Ravenclaw prefect told him to shut up earlier and he almost flashed her.”

Though you felt for him, you couldn’t help your grin at Sirius’ antics.

“Y/N, love,” Sirius looked down at you, making grabby hands. “Can I borrow a hair bobble?”

You tore the scrunchie off your wrist, too distracted with Remus and the rush of recent events to think about it all that much, and passed it to him.

“Merlin, this is definitely my colour.”

You and Remus both tried to ignore Sirius throughout the game, but with the Slytherin team playing a little dirtier than usual, certain parts had all three of you up on your feet.

“Rem, give us your gloves,” Sirius insisted during the timeout, rubbing his hands together loudly. Looking at him, you noticed how inappropriately dressed for the weather he was in his t-shirt and jeans, perhapssomewhat unsurprisingly. Without argument, Remus passed over his gloves before turning to you. His deadpan expression made you laugh.

“He’s a liability,” he muttered, making you laugh harder. You fell into a comfortable silence before you remembered the proof you had that not every decision you made was as awful as making friends with Sirius. Remus watched you with fond eyes as you gasped and began rifling through your coat. When you pulled out half a bar of chocolate, though he didn’t think it possible, he liked you even more. It only got better when you offered him some. You noticed, when he grabbed the wrapper, the dark maroon-coloured birthmark on the palm of his hand and down his fingers, intersected occasionally with silvery scars. You didn’t have time to think more about it; the players already soaring back into the air.

James was testing your patience at this point. He’d made several very bad choices trying to stay on par with the Slytherin team without cheating. He kept making sharp turns and dramatic swoops with the quaffle and the whole stadium was holding its breath – even Sirius had shut up. You and Remus were both close to a heart attack with how many close calls James’d had. It wasn’t until he got hit by a stray bludger that you both stood up, Remus anxiously reaching out to grab your hand. He didn’t find your hand, though; his long, now icy cold, fingers circled your wrist, a perfect fit for your birthmark. You probably wouldn’t have noticed with all the action going on had a searing pain not shot up your arm. You hissed, as did Remus, and you both yanked your arms away sharply.

“What the-“ you began before your eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Holy shit.”

Remus stared down at his hand and then back at you and then back at his hand countless times before he settled on you, his raised eyebrows lowering slightly as a smile crept onto his lips.

“It’s you,” he said breathlessly. His words reminded you of what going home felt like and as his smile grew, you felt yourself mirroring him, a warm feeling flooding through your system.

“I can’t say I’m disap-”

Cheers echoed through the crowd and you were interrupted by what you’d been, perhaps justifiably, distracted from. James, who had been dangling from his broom by one hand, pulled himself back up; an impressive move regardless of how awkwardly he did it. Even from far away, you could see how pleased with himself he was and despite yourself, you ended up mimicking Sirius with shouts and whistles. Remus wasn’t paying any attention, though. He just watched as you cheered for his friend, your mouth wide in a smile and your eyes lively and bright and for once in his life, he felt like everything would actually be alright.

#writing #imagine #Remus Lupin imagine #Remus Lupin x reader #remus lupin #Harry Potter imagine #harry potter

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mergeman · 3 years

Text

Toweled off part 3

Freddy's POV:

This last month has been amazing and I'm the luckiest guy around. I have a beautiful husband, great job, perfect house, and I'm considering getting a dog. Lex doesn't even remember any other life and thats how I wanted to keep it. He is always so attentive and even though my job is more then enough for a comfortable life Lex got a job at the local gym. It seems in this reality Lex got a degree in physical sciences and he is using it as a trainer to help better others. I couldn't be prouder of my man.

There is still 2 towels left and no matter how much I try they wont respond to me. I know in my gut that it has to be Lex who passes the next towel on but to do that he needs to remember everything.

Watching him in the garden planting his flowers I gather the courage to say the one word which I know will snap him. I dont want this but I also cant leave the others in their hell. Like pulling a bandaid I just say:

"Bro"

Lex's POV:

"Bro"

It was a word that I had heard a million times but never out of Freddy's mouth. I just looked at my husband who had tears streaming down his face. Memories assaulted me as Albert, Xander, and the frat boys minds were reintroduced into my head. I started to cry, my life was a lie, my life... fuck its not even mine is it? I stole life from Albert, I stole Xander's whole future. All of who they were their wants and love were all a part of me.

I looked at Freddy and I could see that he knew the struggle I was going through. He placed his arm on my shoulder and I jerked forward. I didn't want his pitty I was Frankenstein's monster, a being made from the pieces of others nothing originally mine.

"Lex we can't go on the others are waiting to be reborn"

I didn't understand what he was talking about untill I glanced at his feet and saw 2 ratty towels. Fuck those were my friends. We'd been like that for 30 years. Fuck they were still trapped. I quietly stand to my feet my heavy body both feeling foreign and familiar as I walk away from my husband. I entered the house and made my way to the basement gym. This was my personal space and Freddy never disturbed me here.

I was only a month old. My mom used to be my grandmother and my sister used to be my Mother. Albert's and Xander's whole family had been rearranged to take them out and place me instead. I looked in the mirror adjacent the wall and I could see both of the boys staring back and a third I had yet to acknowledge. The Instigator, the presence within the towel, the man who had no identity, only the drive to live again. I couldn't blame him, looking through his fuzzy and incoherent memories he wasn't even fully aware of what was going on. Just the thought of living again is what motivated him to take the brothers and turn all of them into me.

I look in the mirror tracing my strong jaw and looking at the tattoos that adorned my body, my impressive muscles and what was hinding in my shorts. These gifts hadn't come from the brothers but they were as much a part of me as my ethnicity and heritage.

I heard a knock at the door and looked up to see my beautiful husband peeking down at me. I motion him to enter and he slowly walked towards me. I get up and give him a huge hug embracing all of him as I was coming to terms with myself. As I held him I whispered into his ear.

"We got to save the others"

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jamestrmtx · 3 years

Text

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Seven | Dogsong (Part 1 of 2)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

A strong and persistent, ticklish feeling on your nose wakes you up with a sneeze.

Albeit, your face is far too puffy now for you to even see what's going on, not including the fact that you're not wearing either contacts or glasses presently -- and not that you even remember where your glasses ended up on after you passed out yesterday. It's all one big blur both in terms of your eyesight and your mind. The only few things you remember after waking up in a hospital bed was Sans at the very beginning of it all, along with your aunt arriving with some fresh clothes plus basic toiletries for you to use and change into after a shower. The rest of your memories are muddled to a point where you can't even remember where your belongings are, how long you've slept, or what hour it is.

The pressure you feel on your chest paired up with a few energetic woofs and a lick at your face let you know who's the product of your allergy. Thankfully though, the dog understands when you tell him you have to stand up. He barks again and jumps off of you, giving you freedom to move and try to feel around for your phone.

Doubt hits you when you find it, and you start to wonder if calling anyone's even necessary, keeping in mind that your emergency's mostly a puffy face and an itchy nose, coupled with blurry eyesight.

Surely, you could find your medicine just as you did with your phone, and worst case scenario, you could wait until a nurse or a doctor came around; your allergy wasn't that bad, anyway.

You try to search for the medicine all on your own first, though it results in you having to question the very same root of your problem for help. "Could you help me find my bag?" you ask, facing down with a smile at where you assume the dog's at. How he got inside a hospital room's left unknown to you, but now's not the time to be worrying about that. "It should be around-"

Before you can even finish your sentence, the dog barks once and runs off, becoming an even fainter, white blur as he leaves your side. Soon enough though, he returns with what you assume are your belongings, based on the colour of the bag's material alone, its dark brown contrasting with his white fur. "Thank you," you say, taking the bag from his mouth. You then sit down in bed and rummage through your belongings until you find some allergy pills and a half-drunken, lukewarm, bottled water, plus the new bottle your aunt had brought you. Compared to the one you packed up for yesterday, it's still ice-cold to the touch, and it's twice the size as a regular one.

A yawn, a headache, and a painful stretch intervene with your mission, so you decide to wash up first before taking any medicine. Countless hours of sleep meant lethargy was just around the corner were you to be tempted to lay down again, so you stumble your way to the bathroom and freshen yourself up, a daily routine adjusted to go by quicker when you hear the door of your room open and the dog bark at the new visitor. Happy woofs inform you you're not in any sort of danger, though you could still use whatever company there's waiting for you with how long it feels since you've last had a talk with someone unrelated to how your health was doing and what happened back at the bus.

"Hey, bud. What're ya doing 'ere? You know (Y/N)'s allergic to you."

"Woof-woof!"

The exchange between the new voice and the dog are the first few words you can hear while you wrap things up, though the dog runs back to your side as soon as you open the door and return to your bed.

"Don't," the visitor warns, whistling for the dog to approach him and chuckling when he runs off to his side. "You're gonna get 'em hospitalized again if you keep doin' this."

The dog distracts himself with the visitor while you take your pills and down them with some water. All that's left is to find your glasses while your face recovers, though as much as you try searching for them or your other alternative, you can't find them among all the other items scattered inside. Most first aid items are felt tampered with, bringing forth the unwanted memory of what you'd been through yesterday and how you were still well under recovery.

"Good mornin', (L/N). Dunno how that doggo got here, but I'll make sure he doesn't break in again."

Another recognizable blur -- made up mostly of blue, black, and white smudges -- shows up in front of you and crouches to meet with your face. Weren't he so used to wearing such similar colours and casual outfits all the time, you would have a harder time distinguishing him beyond that of his low voice and New York accent. He scoots a bit closer and reaches out for your face, hands brushing with your ears as he slips on your glasses for you. It's as clear as day he's already regretting what he's done, judging by the way his gaze averts from yours when you're able to see clearly again.

"You alright? Your allergy's lookin' worse than yesterday's." While it's initially unclear as to why he hesitated after putting on your glasses for you, just one closer look through all the puffiness of your face lets you see a faint, microscopical hint of red on his cheekbones. "...Sorry 'bout touchin' you like that, by the way. Dunno what got into me, but, uh-"

"You mean you putting on my glasses for me?"

"Yeah -- That was way outta hand of me. Sorry if that made you uncomfortable."

You take a second to think over what he means with that -- mind still processing everything as quickly as an old desk computer -- until you remember how his brother tried to set you both up a while back.

If that was enough to get the one being set up all worked up around you even for the most trifling matters, you can't imagine how the monster's feeling now that he's taken such an intimate initiative with you, considering he could've simply offered you the glasses rather than slip them on for you. "That's okay." You snicker, dismissing his worry with a smile. "It's no big deal, really."

"Still, that was wrong of me." He smiles back at you, though that expression soon fades as he dwells deeper and longer into what's happened. "I did that without your knowledge, and we're not even friends yet. I took that, uh, incident back at the park too close to heart, so I'm not really sure what to do anymore or how close I should act with you." Sans takes a hand to the back of his neck, sighs, and rubs at it, inadvertently sitting next to you in bed as he contemplates the situation while facing the floor. "I need to tell Paps to stop settin' us up anymore in the future. Not only is it unfair for you with all the stuff you have goin' on. But well... I'm not too sure about what being in a relationship entails, either. I mean, seriously -- Being set up like this's really not my thing. Maybe it's different for others, but I just can't date a person or go out with 'em unless I'm real close to 'em." His shoulders stiffen, and he looks up at you with widened irises and a meek grin. "God, I'm… I'm not even sure why I'm tellin' you all this, though. It's-"

Remembering Papyrus's request, you intervene with, "Can I kiss your cheek, uh… bone? Maybe you could sort out your feelings a bit more if you try it."

Seemingly at a loss for words, the skeleton nods as a response.

You move a bit closer to him and press a quick kiss on his cheekbone, keeping all other limbs aside to prevent touching him anywhere else. His face turns a bit hotter now, similar though not as noticeable as when humans blush, so you assume he's going through the same thing despite those subtle differences. He looks away when you move back, though he faces you again when you ask, "How did that feel?"

There's a long beat of silence between you, until he eventually breaks it with, "It felt nice."

"Like in a platonic sort of sense, or otherwise?"

"...I'm not sure."

You hum and lose yourself in your thoughts, motivated by the kiss and his reaction to it. His body language is either good enough to mask any further embarrassment; that, or he just really didn't feel anything out of the ordinary when being kissed on the cheekbone. You try to think back on past experiences and remember how Jerry was a lot shyer than you when it came to being upfront and honest about your feelings with each other. Both your appearances deceived in that aspect, as your roles in twelve grade were like those of a high school movie clique: Jerry was a popular soccer athlete back then, while you were the quiet and lonesome nerd in charge of the library. You kissed him first though, and you were the first to admit your feelings for him after you discovered you liked both boys and girls alike.

"Well, how about this," you speak up, gaining his attention again. "Could you imagine yourself doing anything romantic with any of your past crushes, like kissing, hugging, or just… full-on making out?"

"Hard pass on the last one. Don't think I can imagine myself doing somethin' like that with someone -- unless I'm maybe really, really close to 'em. Other than that, well… I guess I wouldn't mind doin' all that other stuff."

"So if we both had a crush on each other, would you see yourself on a date with me? If you can't use me as an example, imagine someone else you're more comfortable with."

He looks away again. Still, he nods. "Just with none of that steamier stuff. I've heard some of my co-workers up here say they're all about this and that, and how often they do stuff like that with their partner, but I just can't really see myself in a situation like that one -- Or just… Not yet, at least."

"That's normal, then. Intimate stuff like that isn't for everyone." Your smile grows at the feeling that you're making progress with Papyrus's request. "Some are just fine with what you said, and others don't even have a need for romance in their lives. Just like marriage and children aren't for everyone, romance and sexual intimacy aren't, either."

"Thanks," he says, meeting your eyes with a less tense gaze of his own. "How did ya learn 'bout this kinda stuff, by the way? I think maybe Alphys and Undyne know a bit about this themselves, but, uh… I never had the guts to talk to 'em."

You grin. "So you ask a complete stranger about it?"

Thankfully, he knows you're joking and follows up to it by jabbing your side with his elbow. "You caught me in a vulnerable state."

"How so?" you ask, scooting closer on instinct.

"Things are different here at the Surface," he replies, suddenly wistful. "When you passed out yesterday, that reality hit me, and so I kinda just… froze at the thought of losing you."

"How's it different down there? Does… Does that mean if I were there, I wouldn't die as easily as I would here?"

"Not exactly. There's just a different system down there, and it helps strong-willed humans have a second chance and more at life."

"But strong-willed could mean both good people and not, right? How would you deal with bad ones, if it came to it?"

"That's where the whole situation with your kid takes place. It's not that we wanted to hurt 'em, but that there were plenty of factors that made us view humans as a threat back then. It was them who taught us there's another way around it. But then again, I think those points you've made're important, and that you really shouldn't just forgive us outta-"

"Time's up, mister Serif. The patient has other people who want to see them."

Nearly disheartened by how time runs short, you end it on that and make a (metaphorically) telepathic note to continue with the conversation during your tour, something you both agree on with a nod. There would be plenty of time to talk about that there, though that's not to say you don't want to have all that information discussed right here and now. "I don't think I've said this before, so… Thank you for all your help. I'm not sure I'd even be here if you hadn't been there at the bus for me." You pause and smile. "Friendly hug?"

Sans chuckles and sits down again. "Friendly hug." He takes up your offer faster than the first two times since you first met him. It feels far more natural now, almost as if the previous two had been reciprocated to, but with that doubt still on his mind, weighing him down. "This's probably really damn weird, but you're kinda… comfortable to hug."

"Okay, yeah. That's kinda weird." You laugh. "Comfortable as in soft or warm or-"

"Comfortable as in I could easily fall asleep on you if you keep huggin' me like this. But yeah -- That's probably the reason why."

"So you'd say you like cuddling, then?"

"Definitely better than all that other stuff."

"See that?" You let go of him and let your smile grow. "You're understanding yourself more already. That's good!"

"Is it? I thought I was too old for that."

"Oh, come on." You judge him. "You're a science wiz, aren't you? People all experience things differently and at different stages. You're being rude to yourself. Just give yourself a chance to grow and understand yourself a little more!"

"I'd hate to break you two up, but people are waiting outside."

You both freeze at the sound of the nurse's voice being so close now. She's standing nearby now rather than simply waiting by the doorway, an observation that makes you question just when she'd come closer and how much she'd heard you talk as a result. Still, she doesn't appear fazed nor bothered by anything, so you take it she'd either just arrived at your side or had found a way not to overhear while she waited.

"The doctor should be here soon, so we have to cut your visits short."

In compliance to her words, you wrap your conversation up with the skeleton and tell him you'll message him over your next tour date. You would need a little more time to recover now, so it would only be common sense to check through your schedule, sort things out with your job, and manage how you would deal with Frisk's school days and homework. The monsters were already doing you plenty of favours, and yet you only knew two of them in person, three if you counted how often you talked with Toriel through phone and video calls despite not visiting her home to this day. Asking them for any more help than what they were already giving was out of the question.

Even if such fantasy-like beings existed, that didn't mean they were as magically potent as most books made them out to be. At the end of the day, they were living, breathing beings just like you, with lives of their very own and troubles just like any other human being you knew. What made you different were your appearances and customs, and even then that was something that could be overlooked with due time and mutual understanding, as it isn't as important as who they are and what they do to live each day like you did with your own.

"Let me know if ya need help with Frisk's school," Sans says, already standing near the doorway. "You can't recover if you don't look for help."

And with that, he leaves.

Whether you were an open book or he a mind reader, you can't tell for certain, but if there's one thing you could use presently, it's words like those.

You barely have a chance to say thank you as other visitors step inside, some familiar and some not.

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

• • •

The holidays are now over where I'm from, so expect updates to return to their usual Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday schedule (depending on the chapters' lengths) starting from the 16th of this month!

• • •

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#sans x reader #undertale x reader #lgbt #lgbt themes #gender neutral reader #male reader #female reader #mother reader #father reader #parent reader #chubby reader #long fic #romcom #adventure #mystery #platonic relationships #slow burn

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