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khalixascorner · 1 year

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Foundations Pt 3

Summary: After agreeing to let Tony take care of him, they have to establish the foundations of this strange new dynamic. Peter stumbles a bit along the way, but Tony's there to catch him. Part 2 of the Priorities Series.

Tags: Slow Burn, Like so slow it's glacial, Still technically pre slash here, Platonic BDSM, for now, Dom Tony Stark, Sub Peter Parker, Friday and Karen gossip

Read on AO3 Part 1 Part 2

The first week in Tony’s care passed quickly as his classes piled more and more on as finals got closer. His morning texts to Tony were often short and done as he literally ran out the door with whatever he had grabbed for breakfast in his mouth. Their night time calls had been casual so far, with Tony just asking how his day went and letting Peter ramble about his classes.

When Friday afternoon finally came around, he stumbled out of his last class ready to collapse. If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t even sure how he got back to his apartment, but once he did, he stumbled to the couch and collapsed across it. Peter knew he should get some food but a mental review of his kitchen left him disheartened. Everything he had left would need to be cooked and he just… couldn’t.

May had always joked about him needing life skills so that he wouldn’t starve at college, but it really felt like he needed two of himself. How was he supposed to find the time to cook and clean while drowning in homework? He hadn’t been out as Spider-man in over a week and he still felt like he’d gone four rounds with the rhino.

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow, ignoring the familiar gnawing in his gut to sleep instead.

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

His phone woke him, and he groaned, wanting to ignore it but also knowing that only a few people used it and none of them were people he could ignore.

“-lo?” Peter mumbled, yawning again.

“Hey kid, didn’t realize you were going to sleep early,” Tony said with a chuckle. “Though your bed may be more comfortable.”

Peter looked confused until he realized his phone was still on 3-d video mode, and Tony was getting a stream courtesy of Friday.

“Wa-wasn’t going to bed,” Peter said with a yawn. “Just needed a nap.”

“Did you eat dinner yet?” Tony asked and Peter flushed.

“Not yet, sir, but that’s next on the list,” Peter said, and even as he did, he knew he’d have to get something because he didn’t want to lie to Tony. The guilt would eat away at him even more than it already did.

“Alright, well just eat and then text me when you’re heading to bed,” Tony said, and Peter nodded, his head already dropping back to the couch. “Food first, Spiderling.”

With that, Tony closed the stream and Peter groaned but stood. He managed to find a large chocolate chip muffin and a string cheese and decided that was good enough. He was so hungry but so tired too that it was hard to choke it down before brushing his teeth and heading to bed properly.

Hey just letting you know I ate, and I’m going back to sleep. Have a good night sir.

He was asleep before he could even read Tony’s reply.

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

Tony had been mildly concerned when his nightly chat with Peter had started with the younger man collapsed on the couch. It had multiplied when Peter said he hadn’t eaten and Tony could easily read the evasive look he got after that. He wasn’t sure why the kid was lying but his gut told him something was wrong. Of course, Pepper always said that was just his anxiety and PTSD talking, but what did that one shrink know anyway?

“Fri, be a dear and check in with Karen,” Tony said without hesitation. “How’s our little spiderling doing?”

There was a moment of delay and then screens began popping up around him. As he took them in, he frowned.

“Karen states that while Peter is sleeping more, he is still not consistently getting the 6 hours you requested of him,” Friday said. “She also noted that he is definitely still not getting enough calories.”

Tony frowned, his mind already jumping to a million solutions though without knowing the cause, he couldn’t be sure which solution would work. The one thing he could do was gather data.

“Fri, run me up a Stark fit but let’s figure out how to get Karen on it,” Tony said with a sigh.

“Anything else you’d like on it?” Friday asked and Tony thought about it before programming a ton of specific variables to track Peter’s vitals as well as key statistics.

It took most of the night, but Tony was pleased with the final result.

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

Peter woke to the smell of bacon cooking and eggs sizzling. It was a little concerning that he hadn’t woken to any of the other noises that must have preceded the smell, but he was too hungry to care as he followed his nose to the kitchen.

It felt a little like deja vu to see Tony in his apartment again but he just shook his head and took a seat at the table. The man would tell him why he was there soon enough, and in the meantime, it was too early to be worrying about anything else.

“Good morning to you too, kid,” Tony teased as he dropped a full plate of food in front of Peter.

“Sorry, sir, still not quite awake yet,” Peter mumbled as he started eating.

“Don’t worry, I remember Finals week,” Tony said, waving it off with a chuckle. “Don’t think I managed more than a few words before my third cup of coffee.”

Peter wasn’t listening at that point though. He had tasted the first few bites, then couldn’t help it as he practically inhaled the rest.

“Easy there, kid, don’t want you to choke,” Tony said as he refilled Peter’s plate before sitting down with one of his own.

Peter grunted in response as he kept eating, only sitting back to look at the older man when he was finally done.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Peter said with a flush. “Thank you for cooking breakfast for me, Mr. Stark.”

“Not a problem, kid,” Tony said, waving it off. Then the older man sat back and just looked at Peter.

“I didn’t know you’d be stopping by this weekend,” Peter said after the silence became too much.

“Thought I would surprise you,” Tony replied dryly. “Because despite your assurances that things have been going okay, Karen expressed some concerns to Friday about whether you were sticking to the rules.”

“What? But I’ve been eating and sleeping,” Peter said, hurrying to defend himself. “I swear it, Mr. Stark, I didn’t lie to you, sir.”

“The way you attacked breakfast says otherwise,” Tony said pointedly and Peter flushed. “How much did you actually eat yesterday?”

Peter couldn’t bring himself to answer, because he knew Tony wouldn’t think it was enough.

“Kid, you have to eat,” Tony said patiently. “You’re going to get sick or worse if you keep not taking care of yourself.”

Peter flushed, guilt making his stomach clench and his eyes water even as Tony himself offered no judgment for his mistake. He’d only been given three things to do and he couldn’t even do that right.

“Why aren’t you eating more, Pete?” Tony pressed when Peter didn’t-couldn’t- respond. “Did you not like what I had delivered?”

“I- no, I’m not picky, sir, I promise, I just-” Peter went an even brighter shade of red as the embarrassment built. He didn’t want to tell Tony the real reason he hadn’t been eating more, because it wasn’t a reason at all but an excuse and he knew it. Before he could spiral too far, he felt a hand land on his thigh and squeeze firmly.

“Come back to me, kid,” Tony said softly. “Deep breaths. You’re not in trouble, whatever the reason is ok. I just need to know what went wrong so I can fix it. This isn’t working, you’re not eating enough still clearly. Just- Let. Me. Fix. It.”

The words were firm, and rule #1 floated through Peter’s head now. He let out a shuddery breath then steeled himself for Tony’s disapproval.

“I don’t- I haven’t been making time to cook it,” Peter said. “I grabbed all the things that didn’t need cooking at the beginning of the week but after that ran out-”

Peter waited silently as Tony said nothing. His stomach clenched and the food he had been so quick to eat now sat heavily in his gut.

“Ok kid, I’m not happy that you didn’t tell me that it was an issue, but that’s an easy fix,” Tony finally said, and Peter’s head shot up as he looked at the man. The older man gave him a gentle smile, and the tension slid right off of him. “You know, I do remember what it’s like, being a crazy busy college student. I wouldn’t have given you crap about saying that you needed easier to grab food in the next grocery order or something.”

“I just-everyone keeps saying how I have to be an adult now and I just, I feel like I’m failing,” Peter replied softly. “I can barely keep up with my classes and Spider-Man.”

“Look, some people are just good at having their shit together,” Tony said with a sigh. “And some of us have better things to spend our brain power on. Do you think that I cook all of my meals? Cooking for you is literally the only time I’ve cooked in months.”

“Some of us aren’t genius billionaires though,” Peter pointed out. He meant it to be light, a joke to ease the tension, but it came out exhausted. Because it was true, he wasn’t Tony, and he doubted his ability to be like Tony.

“Peter, I need you to listen very closely right now. Engrave it on your soul even,” Tony said, grabbing both of Peter’s shoulders as Peter looked at him wide eyed. “You are brilliant, but you don’t owe anyone that brilliance. Even if the only thing you ever do with your life is what you’ve already done, you helped save the damn world. Retire if you want. Never be Spider-Man again, quit college, and let me take care of you until you’re old and grey, for all I care. You don’t have to be anyone but Peter Parker, and whoever that ends up being is good enough.”

Peter felt like his foundations had been completely shattered and the warm firm weight of Tony’s hands were the only anchors he had.

For all of his life, it had been expectation after expectation. Be smart, be good, you have a responsibility to do something. Those mantras had been carved into who he was for so long that the idea that he would be anything but was anathema, so much so that even when he threatened to crumble beneath their weight, the idea of just discarding those words never even crossed his mind.

The more he thought about it, though, the more it bothered him too.

“I don’t want to just be good enough,” he finally mumbled. “I want to do more and help people.”

“That’s good too, and I’ll support you the whole way, however I can,” Tony promised. “But you can’t compare yourself to me or anyone else while you do it. Don’t be the next Tony Stark, be the first Peter Parker. Because Peter Parker is an amazing person.”

“You’re the only one that thinks so,” Peter whispered, his mind immediately going to all of the people that had left him behind. If he was so amazing, they would have cared, would have stayed.

“Then that’s their loss,” Tony said firmly. Peter couldn’t help but snort a bit.

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me that they do care or something?” Peter asked.

“Kid, I don’t pretend to know everything that goes on in everyone’s lives, so I honestly don’t know,” Tony said, his voice steady and calm. “That happens, you know. The people you thought had your back no matter what only have your back sometimes, and you just gotta accept the limitation of the relationship. But I’m telling you right now that the people who matter? The ones who stand by your side? They’ll have your back no matter what and time will make it clear where everyone falls.”

“Do you?” Peter asked, his voice wavered despite his efforts to keep it steady. “Do you have my back no matter what?”

“Yeah, kid,” Tony said with a heavy sigh. “For better or for worse, I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, leaning forward so that his forehead rested on the man’s shoulders. Tony wasted no time drawing him in for a proper hug, the older man’s hands running up and down his back gently.

“I got you, Pete,” Tony murmured. “It’s going to be ok now.”

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

Tony didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually, he led them over to the couch so he could hold Peter more comfortably. The kid made no move to pull away, only confirming Tony’s concerns about the touch starvation. Even the slightest bit of touch seemed to affect the younger man, and there wasn’t an easy way to fix that when Tony lived hours away.

Eventually, Tony pushed Peter gently upright, giving the Bambi eyed college student an encouraging smile.

“As much as I love a good cuddle, there’s something else I came here for,” Tony said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box with the custom StarkFit. “This is for you, to help Karen keep an eye on you and also remind you to eat and do all of those things.”

Peter took the box and opened it, his eyes going wide at the plain silver band with a discreet screen.

“What- what is it?” the kid asked.

“This is a modified StarkFit,” Tony said, lifting it out and showing Peter how to get it on and off. “Karen is linked in, there’s a microphone and speaker in case she needs to get your attention, as well as a miniature scanner to ensure she can keep track of your vitals. I want you to wear it anytime you’re not in the apartment, and preferably while you’re here too but I understand if you want to take it off.”

“You said it has a scanner?” Peter asked, eyeing the band. “Who monitors it?”

“Karen will watch the day to day and send summaries to Friday, though I’ll check in from time to time too, or if the girls alert me to anything off,” Tony said matter of factly.

Peter once again wondered if something wasn’t wrong with him. Normal people would balk at such scrutiny, and maybe Peter should too but the only thing he felt was a warm feeling in his chest. Tony was willing to devote his time and resources to ensuring that Peter was well. He was the only one willing to do so it seemed, and Peter put the tracker on reverently.

“Thank you,” Peter whispered, hoping Tony would understand because he didn’t think he could explain with words everything the tracker made him feel. It was a weird mix of safe, cared for, special, and the beginnings of something else. Something that was more and scary and something Peter wasn’t ready to face yet.

“You don’t have to thank me, Pete,” Tony said, giving Peter a gentle smile. “I’ve got you now.”

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

Later that night as he lay in bed, Peter couldn’t stop running his fingers over the Starkfit. It was odd feeling the small sensors as they took continuous readings when not wearing the spider suit, but Peter had no intention of saying anything to Tony. The gentle vibrations reminded him that Tony was there on the other end. Not even a phone call away now, just a single voice command.

“Karen, text Mr. Stark, please,” Peter said. “Let him know I’m heading to bed, and thank you again for today. Then tell him good night.”

“Message sent,” the AI informed him. Peter nearly jumped when his wrist vibrated a second later. “We’ve received a response. Would you like me to read it for you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Peter said with a snort. Of course Tony would link all of his devices.

“Mr. Stark says ‘Goodnight, kid. Stay out of trouble and expect a food delivery from the chef sometime tomorrow afternoon.’ Would you like to respond?” Karen asked.

“Yeah, tell him will do and thank you again,” Peter said, curling up under his blanket. He was asleep before Mr. Stark could respond again.

#khalixa writes #starker #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark #peter parker

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animatorweirdo · 7 months

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Good morning/evening! It's muffin anon. I feel bad for leaving you guys hanging with the tortuous ending of the last story and so here is the second part. Enjoy!

You hear a knock on your door. You were tired and didn't want to deal with anyone at the moment, so you pretended you weren't home. But the guest was persistent and kept knocking for half an hour. Unable to ignore it anymore, you go and open the door to reveal a very old friend.

"Gandalf," you say, your voice cracking from all the nostalgia. Gandalf smiles and says,

"Would you happen to have a room for a very old friend?”

“Of course, of course! Come in!”

And you show Gandalf to your guest room. As he settles he tells you about what you had missed after coming back. You listen him eagerly even though you already know everything. Though there was one thing missing. He never really told anything personal about the company or the friends you made in Middle Earth. You don’t pay too much attention to it midst your exictement in seeing him again. After some time, he tells you the reason he risked coming here again.

“Sauron is gaining in power and soon, the free peoples of Middle Earth will fall to his domination. I am trying to find ways to keep him from getting the One back, although,” he pauses here and looks you straight in the eye. “I cannot do it alone. Will you help me, my friend as you have helped Thorin and his company all those years ago?”

You agree without thinking it through, for a few years back home felt void of any meaning and fulfillment. You were eager to return to your friends in Middle Earth however changed they may be. Once he heard your confirmation, he without any warning immediately sent forth a wave of light just like the first time. This time you were not afraid or confused, you simply embraced the light and expected to wake up to the sight of Gandalf just like the first time. Only you wake up to the sight of Saruman with his face way too close to your own.

You scream, trying to get away but Saruman binds you to a chair and walks in circles around you, interrogating you for information about the One and what is to come. You refuse to tell him anything for as long as you can manage. But Saruman’s power as a Maia and as an Istari was more than you could handle. So in the end, Saruman managed to enter your mind. He started to go through each and every memory you had from your birth to the moment you were introduced to The Lord of the Rings.

At that, he slowed down and took every word in as he read the books with you. You kept screaming and trying to get him off of your mind, but it was in vain. He was too powerful.

Until the doors of your torture chambers were flung open by none other than,

“Gandalf,” you breathed, your voice shakey and weak.

Your sight blurred and hearing lessened as Saruman’s hold on your mind was gradually weakened. The last thing you saw before passing out of pain, was the blurry image of the two wizards one white and the other grey, fighting.

Wow, I never thought I would be able to write something of this length, in English nonetheless. I think I want to post these on my own blog as well. Would it be okay with you? I will definitely tag you. Part three will come but I know not when. Totally not because I was writing this instead of studying trigonometry.

Nice... you have me invested 👍 And seriously, your English is good. And please do tag me. btw I should be preparing for a presentation, but instead, I'm here

I am now curious what will Saruman do with the knowledge he has since he technically read the future from reader's mind. So there's definitely gonna be some changes in the timeline, isn't there? Ooh, now imagine what will happen if he tells Sauron all what he knew.

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snowdice · 2 years

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Big Bang Editing Story [Day 100]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 33 Part 34 Part 35 Part 36 Part 37 Part 38 Part 39 Part 40 Part 41 Part 42 Part 43 Part 44 Part 45 Part 46 Part 47

Going to do this for a little bit. Might get interrupted.

Chapter 48 (Thomas)

Thomas was leaving his office when he ran into his son. Or more accurately, his son almost ran into him. “Is everything alright?” Thomas asked.

“I…” Logan said. His hand came out to grasp Thomas’s shirt sleeve, odd behavior for him at least at this age. He used to do such things when he was very small. “Yes,” he said anyway. “Everything is perfectly fine.” He glanced behind himself down the hall.

Thomas looked at him and then looked down the hallway, concerned by his strange behavior. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” Logan said, but he wasn’t letting go of Thomas’s shirt.

“You seem a bit anxious, Logan,” Thomas said.

“I am not,” Logan denied, releasing his shirt. Thomas caught a glimpse of something moving above their heads. The hallway Thomas’s office was in had large pillars along the outer wall that really no one should be able to scale despite there technically being grooves in them. Yet, there Virgil clung to the chapiter of one of them. Even more bewildering, he was gripping a pouch of some kind in his teeth.

They met eyes briefly. Virgil tilted his head at Thomas. Then, he removed one hand from the pillar. How was he up there? He made a motion with his hand that seemed to be telling Thomas to step back.

Thomas looked back at his son. Logan hadn’t noticed Virgil, too busy glancing behind him and not looking up. Thomas looked back up at Virgil and took a big step back. The moment he did, Virgil grabbed the bottom of the pouch with his free hand and let go with his teeth. The pouch flipped upside down dropping its contents right onto Logan’s head.

Logan gave a high-pitched shriek that Thomas didn’t think he’d ever heard from him before. “Virgil!” he yelled, now absolutely soaked.

“Learn to look up,” Virgil said seriously, still clinging to the pillar.

“I hate you,” Logan replied.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean in anger,” Thomas reminded. He was a bit worried Virgil may overreact to Logan saying things like that to him, though he seemed perfectly calm at the moment.

Logan scowled at Thomas. “You’re on his side?! He just dumped water on my head!”

“He needs to be trained to be more observant!” Virgil said.

Logan turned his scowl to Virgil. “Come down here, you intolerable creature! I’m done with your so-called training!”

“And what would you do if I did come down?” Virgil asked while arching an eyebrow, wholly unconcerned. “Quote facts about animals at me?”

Thomas was unsure what about that comment angered Logan, but it apparently did.

“You little…”

“Boys,” Thomas interrupted. “What’s going on here?”

They both immediately started speaking at once, doing their best to talk over each other. Thomas didn’t catch much of either rants except something about ‘training’ and Virgil ‘stalking the halls’ and an “exploding muffin.”

“Okay, okay,” Thomas said, putting a hand up to tell both of them to be quiet. “One at a time. Virgil first.”

“Really?” Logan asked.

“Logan,” Thomas scolded.

He mumbled something under his breath, but he did quiet down.

“Virgil,” Thomas started again. “What’s going on?”

“I’m training him,” Virgil said.

“Training him?” Thomas asked. “Training him for what?”

“For life,” Virgil answered. “He isn’t observant enough.”

“Ah,” Thomas said, still fairly confused. “And how are you training him?”

“Right now, we’re doing situational awareness training,” Virgil said.

“And how does that translate to you dumping water on his head?” Thomas asked.

“He wouldn’t have gotten water on his head if he’d noticed me,” Virgil answered, seriously. Thomas tried not to laugh at the look on his face.

“That is, perhaps true,” Thomas said. “However, dumping water on people’s heads is not nice. Perhaps there is a nicer way to do this training?”

“People trying to kill them won’t be nice,” Virgil said.

“No one is trying to kill Logan,” Thomas said.

Virgil just pursed his lips. “Maybe,” Virgil said. “Not yet.”

Thomas was unsure where this fear had come from. Perhaps he had heard about the successful assassination of Lamir’s late queen. Thomas hadn’t exactly publicized the fact that the queen had been killed and not simply died when he’d returned, but he had told certain people including Logan and Patton. It was possible one of them had let it slip and Virgil had freaked out about it.

“Well,” Thomas said. “It still isn’t nice to ruin someone’s day over a threat that doesn’t exist yet.”

Virgil just huffed at him. He was being surprisingly petulant which actually made Thomas smile just a tad. He’d not even been able to imagine this side of him a month ago. “Why don’t you come down here?” Thomas suggested. “We can talk through the issue and come to a compromise.”

Virgil stared down at him with skeptical eyes.

“Perhaps with tea and cookies?” Thomas suggested.

Virgil tilted his head and slid down the pillar until his feet touched the floor. “What kind of cookies?” he asked.

“We’ll have to see what Helen has made lately,” Thomas said. He turned to Logan and frowned. “You should probably change before you get sick being wet and in the cold.”

Logan nodded and shivered a little bit while rubbing his own arms. Despite the castle being warm, it was no fun to be completely soaked during the winter. Thomas wasn’t even sure if Virgil would have thought to not use freezing cold water. Even with heating elements, the water in the castle could be very cold if you didn’t wait for a bit for it to warm up. Thomas didn’t think Virgil would have thought too far ahead in this ‘training.’

“I’ll take Virgil down to the kitchen and get some tea and cookies for all of us,” Thomas told Logan.

He gave his son a look trying to communicate ‘I’ll talk to him.’ Logan pursed his lips, but nodded, seeming to receive the message.

“Why don’t we meet you in the royal dining room, so the conversation is more private?” Thomas suggested. It would be a much calmer environment than the main dining hall or the kitchens.

“Sure,” Logan agreed, turning to walk off in the direction of the royal wing. The poor thing was huddled in on himself and cold.

Thomas looked over at Virgil and smiled at him softly as Logan left. “Let’s go see what cookies Helen has ready,” he suggested.

Chapter 49 (Virgil)

“So,” King Thomas said as they walked through the halls towards the kitchens. The path to the kitchens from pretty much anywhere in the castle was familiar to Virgil now. Food was abundant in this place and there were no restrictions on Virgil eating it. There were no restrictions on anyone in the castle eating it, unless you counted Patton’s mother insisting people eat a more varied diet than only cookies. Personally, while Virgil did like cookies, he had no complaints over that matter. “You and Logan seem to be having a disagreement,” Thomas continued.

“I’m right,” Virgil insisted, and he was.

However, explaining why Virgil was right to the king was a bit difficult when Virgil was hiding why he knew Logan developing survival instincts was important. It was clear that Virgil did not get his point across correctly because the king laughed slightly.

“Everyone believes they are right during a disagreement,” Thomas said. “I’m sure Logan has his own ideas about who is correct.”

Virgil frowned at him. “I am.”

“Perhaps you are both right,” the king suggested.

“But…”

“You cannot dump water on people’s heads in the castle hallways, Virgil,” the king scolded, but it was a gentle scolding and Virgil forced himself to not climb the wall and disappear. He had a point to make. “Especially not in the winter.”

“He’s the prince,” Virgil argued. “He needs to know how to protect himself in case of danger.”

“That is true,” Thomas conceded. “You are probably correct that we should be making sure the royal family is well protected and can protect themselves. We have been safe for a long time, but there is always a risk.” He seemed contemplative for a moment. “However,” he continued. “The way you are going about it is not correct in my opinion. Clearly, it is not in Logan’s opinion as well.”

“But…”

“You risk making more problems than solving with your strategy,” the king said.

“Like what?” Virgil asked.

“Well,” Thomas said. “Getting someone wet when it’s cold is never a good idea even inside a castle.” Virgil… could agree with that. “You also could accidently ruin something important by getting water on it if you don’t give warning. Even if you are doing something besides pouring water on his head, if you continue to do things to ‘train’ Logan in the same vein, he is likely to become more paranoid than vigilant.”

“What’s the difference?” Virgil asked.

“Being vigilant means you are prepared for danger around every corner. Being paranoid means you are expecting danger around every corner.”

“There doesn’t seem like there’s much of a difference,” Virgil said.

“There is,” said the king, as they pushed through a set of double doors. “Take any of the royal guards,” he gestured subtly at the two people guarding the room to the hall they’d just come from. “If a guard is constantly worried that every little sound is a danger and every new person is an enemy, they will waste all of their energy and time chasing down stray rodents and interrogating maids that decided to walk a different path to their destinations. When real danger does appear, they may be too worn out or distracted to react.”

“However, if the guards are calm and instead of instantly overreacting to every small thing, they make a note of it in case it ends up being something they need to react to later, then they will be prepared to act if there are any actual threats.”

Virgil bit his tongue to stop from mentioning that he’d managed to sneak by the guards to the royal wing the first night he was here. A boy with a cookie sheet had done more against him that King Thomas’s guards.

“That’s why I make sure everyone who works for the castle, especially the guards have not only time off to sleep and eat, but time off for leisure where they are not expected to be hypervigilant.”

“All people need to have a time and place to feel safe, even the ones whose jobs it is to keep others safe. Logan’s job is not the same as the guards who keep the people in this castle physically safe, but he is training to be king. He needs time to perform his duties and to relax between them. Harassing him all day with survival training is not going to help him.”

“People don’t need to feel safe,” Virgil argued. “They need to be safe.”

The king stopped walking and turned to him. Virgil couldn’t help but cringe a bit as the king studied him.

“You haven’t had a chance to feel safe very often in your life, have you?” the king asked.

Virgil shrugged, looking away.

“What would make you feel safe?” Thomas asked.

“Logan being safe,” Virgil said.

“Logan is safe, Virgil,” the king tried to argue.

Virgil scowled. “I don’t trust your guards. Even the best guard won’t be able to help if Logan gets trapped alone with someone. He needs to learn self-defense.”

“Well, I’m already planning to up security in the castle when spring comes. Would me asking if he’d be willing to do self-defense training with someone help?”

He thought about it for a few moments. “Maybe,” he said, lips pursed, “but what if the person you get to teach him isn’t any good at it?” Honestly, Virgil wasn’t sure if he could trust anyone in this entire kingdom to do proper training.

Then again… Prijaznia had been holding its own against Mocnejsi for… Virgil didn’t actually know how long. He just knew that he’d always remembered there being a war going on between them for his entire life. And… while no one had ever actually said it out loud, Prijaznia was probably winning. It’s why Mocnejsi was going for things like assassinations and tricks instead of normal warfare.

Not to mention Prijaznia was less… war torn. Sure, he’d been living in the castle recently, but even in his travel to the castle, people seemed to be a bit better off.

So, maybe there were some people in the kingdom who knew what they were doing when fighting. However, Virgil wasn’t going to trust the king to pick out who should train Logan.

“I’m sure we can find someone who is up to your standards,” the king said, though the curl to his lip seemed to indicate he wasn’t taking Virgil seriously. Of course, as far as he knew, Virgil was just a random kid his friend had befriended, so that was probably fair.

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It was a bit frustrating to not be able to tell Logan’s dad why Virgil was worried or how he knew how to help, but Virgil wouldn’t dare give him even the slightest hint of the truth. He respected the king. He was starting to like the king. Yet, Virgil was not a fool.

The king obviously misinterpreted the disgruntled expression on his face. “Maybe you can also do some of your training,” he said, “but there has to be compromise. You and Logan need to talk about it without fighting before anything goes any further. I can mediate. We’ll talk about what things might be okay and what things are off limits.”

“Okay,” Virgil said, still not happy, but knowing there wasn’t much else he could do.

“Okay,” the king agreed. They were now at the door to the kitchens “Now, let’s get those cookies.”

Chapter 50 (Patton)

Patton was starting to get excited. There had been a small snow storm a couple of weeks before, but since then, the temperature had been on the rise with no sign of more snow on the horizon. It was still a bit chilly, but Patton only really felt the need for a light coat instead of any more extreme winter wear. It was great!

Usually everyone including Patton was relieved as Winter turned to Spring, but this year, Patton had even more of a reason to be happy about it. Virgil had gotten a tiny bit more comfortable going outside over the winter, but he still didn’t like it too much.

Patton could almost feel the change in him as the warmer months drew nearer like a flower getting ready to bloom. He was happier and more energetic. Mr. Deknis was getting things ready to start planting as soon as his seasonal workers started to arrive in the coming weeks. In the meantime, Virgil helped him get ready with a lot of enthusiasm.

It was probably the warmest it had been today. It wasn’t nearly summer, but Patton wouldn’t call it cold. So, while Logan was off doing princely duties in the afternoon, Patton decided to test if it was warm enough now for Virgil to willingly go outside.

Patton found Virgil in Mr. Deknis’s rooms a couple of hours after lunch, figuring he’d be done with whatever task they were doing that day by then. Patton ended up being correct as when Mr. Deknis let him into his living room, Virgil was busy flipping through yet another book of orchids, still trying to decide which he wanted to grow.

“Hi, Virgil,” Patton said, walking into the room with Princess Marisol on his heels. She had been lazing in a sunny spot by a nearby window but had gotten up to follow him as he walked by.

“Hi,” Virgil replied. He closed the book and set it aside.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to the dovecote with me,” Patton said. “I wanted to send a letter.”

Virgil thought about it for a moment, and Patton would swear he was using some secret weather sensing mechanism in his head to check the weather before saying, “Okay.”

“If you two are going to the dovecote, would you mind taking a letter for me as well?” Mr. Deknis asked.

“Of course,” Patton agreed.

Mr. Deknis turned to grab a sealed letter off his desk. “It’s for my daughter,” Mr. Deknis said. “The handlers should know the right pigeon to give it to.”

Patton nodded and took it.

“You have a daughter?” Virgil asked, sounding more surprised than Patton would have expected.

“Yes, Darlene,” Mr. Deknis said. “I’ve talked about her. I thought I’d mentioned she was my daughter.”

“I didn’t know you could have children.”

The statement clearly rang with truth to Mr. Deknis’s ears, but it didn’t make him look any less confused. “Why would you think that?” he asked.

Patton’s eyes widened as he recalled a conversation from months ago where Virgil had been confused about why Mr. Deknis was allowed to be a gardener when he was a multrum. Patton didn’t know much about how multrums were treated in Mocnejsi, but it hadn’t sounded very nice and Patton could draw some conclusions about why Virgil thought that. The problem of course was that Patton was pretty sure very few people in Prijaznia would be confused about Mr. Deknis being allowed to have a kid.

“You’re old,” Patton blurted before Virgil could say anything more. “Old people can’t have kids.”

These things were not technically lies. Mr. Deknis still looked at him like he’d just sensed Patton saying one though. He frowned and his eyes narrowed a bit. Patton had… never been as good at running around Mr. Deknis’s powers as Logan was.

“Patton,” Mr. Deknis said. “What?”

“You have to forgive Virgil,” Patton said, grabbing Virgil’s arm and tugging on it. Luckily, Virgil followed easily enough. “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t even know how babies are made.”

“That isn’t an argument, Patton.”

“Anyway, we have to go,” Patton said.

Patton pulled Virgil out of Mr. Deknis’s living room and into the hallway. He slammed the door behind them. “Run,” said Patton to Virgil. They ran.

Luckily, Patton was right. Mr. Deknis was old and didn’t seem keen to chase them. However, Patton expected that the conversation was nowhere near over. This, even if it made their behavior even more suspicious, would give Patton time to think of something or, more realistically, talk to Logan and get him to think of something.

The ended up all the way outside the stable before the stopped. Virgil, while fast, was not a distance runner and Patton wasn’t exactly athletic, so they collapsed in an exhausted heap.

“Why did we run?” Virgil asked after a few minutes of rest.

“People from Prijaznia wouldn’t question why a multrum can have a child,” Patton said. “They’re just normal people with some powers. If we’re not careful, he could have figured out you weren’t from here.”

Virgil grimaced. “That’s not good,” he said.

“It’ll be alright,” Patton promised. “We just need to ask Logan what to say. He’s always better at talking circles around Mr. Deknis.”

“He’s in a meeting right now though.”

“Yeah,” Patton said, “but that just means we have to be sneaking for a couple of hours.”

Always one to make something fun out of a not so great situation, Patton glanced over at Virgil. “You’re pretty good at sneaking,” he said. “Why don’t you teach me something about sneaking by helping me sneak into the dovecote.”

“You want to do training?” Virgil asked.

Patton hesitated, having heard about ‘training’ from Logan. “Uh, only this type of training,” Patton said, “and only for this afternoon until we have a chance to talk to Logan.”

“The king told me I could train people if they gave me permission.”

Oh dear.

He seemed invigorated suddenly and popped to his feet even though Patton really would have rather rested for a bit more.

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“The dovecote is the tower that kind of stands on its own on the North side of the castle, right?” Virgil asked.

“Yep,” Patton agreed, “that’s it.”

“Great,” Virgil said. “That will be perfect for climbing lessons.”

Oh dear.

“Er…” Patton said. “Climbing? I thought we could just, you know, sneak through the doors…”

“Using the doors is the first thing they’d suspect,” Virgil argues. “We have to be sneaky.”

“We won’t really be sneaky if I fall and crack my head open on the ground,” Patton muttered.

“That’s why it’s perfect for training!” Virgil said. “There’s a lot of footholds. You won’t fall.”

“You vastly overestimate my upper body strength,” Patton said, but Virgil wasn’t listening. He was just grabbing at Patton’s arm and pulling him North.

“I’ll teach you everything you need to know!” Virgil promised. “First lesson. We need to sneak up to the building. There are bushes that go along the castle walls. We’re going to crawl through those.”

“Okay, I’m not sure if that’s necessary,” Patton said. “If Mr. Deknis finds us, we can just outrun him again.”

“Maybe not,” Virgil agreed, “but it’s good practice, and this is training.”

“Right…” Patton said, but then sighed at the look in Virgil’s eyes. “Fine, lets go get in the bushes.”

Chapter 51 (Logan)

“I see you wore out Patton with that,” Logan said to Virgil. Patton glared at him from where he’d collapsed on Logan’s bedroom floor.

He’d been accosted as soon as he’d gotten out of a meeting earlier in the day by Patton and Virgil as apparently, they’d slipped up in front of Mr. Deknis. Luckily, the conversation had not been nearly as dire as they’d feared. True, most people in Prijaznia wouldn’t question the rights of multrums anymore, but racism was still prevalent in some smaller pockets near the kingdom’s boarders. It was easy enough to explain that Virgil was from an area where prejudice against multrums was prevalent (not a lie) and that Patton, with his sensibilities would panic not wanting Mr. Deknis to realize Virgil’s internalized prejudices and would take him away to explain (also not a lie).

It had been easy enough to provide this explanation to Mr. Deknis and for the man to accept Virgil’s apology for his accidental offensiveness. There’d been a bit of lingering suspicion from the gardener, but nothing that wouldn’t fade with time.

They’d fled back to Logan’s room after that to breathe away from adult supervision which is when Patton had dramatically fallen to the floor.

Apparently, Patton had been Virgil’s newest victim of training. Patton currently had bruises and scrapes from attempting to scale the wall of the dovecote. When Virgil hadn’t been able to get him up that way, they’d taken an alternate route which explained the feathers and… other unpleasant messes now stuck to both of them. That’s why Patton was on the floor and not the furniture.

“Patton has a lot to work on,” Virgil said gravely. His eyes flickered a bit, “but at least he’s willing to work on it.”

Logan shot him a tight-lipped glare. “Go take a shower, Virgil,” he said.

Virgil stuck his tongue out at him in response but did turn and disappear into the next room to take a show.

“And what about you?” Logan asked the figure on the floor. “Are you going to go shower.”

There was a long pause. “I’ a min’te,” he yawned, not opening his eyes.

“Whatever you want,” Logan said. Though, he did sacrifice one pillow from his bed, making Patton lift his head so Logan could slip the pillow under it.

He sat on his bed with a book waiting for Virgil to get out of the shower. He was pretty sure Patton had fallen asleep on the floor by the time the door to the bathroom opened once again. Virgil was in one of the sweaters Logan had given him when he’d first come here despite having new fitted clothes of his own for ever occasion. It still hung off his frame a bit, but not as much as it once had. He yawned softly.

“Tired from your long day of being a menace?” Logan asked idly.

Virgil stopped mid yawn to glare at him.

Logan just smiled back and patted the bed next to him. Virgil seemed to forgive him for his teasing easily enough. He came to sit next to Logan on the bed, curling his legs underneath him.

Logan glanced down at the boy on the floor. “Patton, you can go take a shower in my bathroom if you don’t want to go all the way downstairs.”

There was no response.

Logan tsked. “What have you done to him?” Logan used to think Patton was the energetic one.

“He’s fine,” Virgil claimed.

“He’s filthy and unconscious on the floor,” Logan argued back.

Virgil just shrugged and leaned over to rest his chin on Logan’s shoulder. Clearly, he was a bit tired as well even if he wasn’t as much as Patton. “What are you reading?” he asked.

“Just starting a new book on code breaking,” Logan said.

Virgil just hummed, but his fingers twitched on his lap a bit.

“Did you need something?” Logan asked.

“When you’re done reading that, could you help me read something?”

“Of course,” Logan said. “I’m at a stopping point, so we can do it now if you wish.”

Virgil nodded and went scrambling over the bed.

He opened a drawer in the nightstand that Logan had emptied out from him a while back. It’s where he kept the first protection charm, he’d made and a picture Patton had drawn him once. He was also, apparently, keeping a book there.

He plopped said book down on Logan’s lap. It was a book about different species of orchids.

“Mr. Deknis gave me this book and I’ve think I’ve narrowed down a few flowers to pick out by the pictures, but most of the words are really hard in this book,” he explained. “Could you read a few passages to me.”

#proofread stories #not writing

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inksplit · 3 years

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#ominous #i dont know how to tag this #the graveyard book #neil gaiman #oc:#muffin #they're not... like that exactly toward rachna but its The Vibe #ive never tagged for them before fsjdgdsg #technically there is something tagged muffin but it was. about a muffin. not about Muffin The Lovecraftian Horror Beast #but it technically still applies so there it stays

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ahundredtimesover · 3 years

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Inevitable (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader (ft. ot6)

Genre/Tags: exes au, parents au, baseball player!JK; angst, fluff, smut (18+)

Series Warnings: foul language, alcohol consumption, minor character death, explicit sexual content in future chapters (oral, unprotected sex but be safe please!)

Chapter Word count: 6.9k

Summary: You convinced Jungkook to break up years ago so he could pursue his lifelong baseball dream. Now he’s back home, staring at you, and the little boy next to you who looks unmistakably like him.

A/N: Couldn’t stop thinking about how Yang Jungwon’s role model is Jungkook and they have similar features (especially as kids) and the sweetest smiles! Hence, the little angel we have here. I hope you enjoy this first chapter! Also, you can message me if you want to be part of the taglist!

Series Masterlist || Previous || Next

You stare at the grocery list, eyes squinting to try to read the words you’d half-mindedly written down this morning.

Your boss convinced you to take Friday off when it slipped that Jungwon has been having separation anxiety lately, as he hasn’t spent time with his mother this whole winter break.

You’d been doing overtime - on weekdays and weekends - and your boss, a mother herself, knows that overworking would take its toll on you and your son, especially as a single parent. It’s why you’re here now, grocery shopping with the little one, something he enjoys doing with you, too.

Still, it’s just one day and it’s not really enough to compensate for all the other days you work your ass off at the company, but the pay is good and the people are kind; those have been enough for you to stay the past two years.

A smile forms on your face once you decipher the crooked words on the piece of paper you’re holding up. You can make out the word ‘banana’ right before ‘milk,’ ‘choc’ somewhere near ‘ice cream,’ and ‘bron’ just next to ‘cereal.’ Brown cereal? Did he mean cocoa pops?

Jungwon has improved his writing and vocabulary and you pat yourself on the back for the times you’d forced yourself awake during your Sunday rest time just so you could guide him on his workbook. You congratulate yourself for thinking of showing him flash cards while he scrubs himself in the makeshift tub during bath time. And you thank the heavens for your best friend Taehyung’s bright idea of setting up a blackboard on the wall on Jungwon’s side of the bed so he can doodle until he falls asleep.

“Am I not the best uncle, muffin?” Taehyung had asked the little one then, who always knew what to answer.

“You and uncle Joonie are the best,” Jungwon had said.

Your kid is a ball of fluff, you’d almost think it’s genetic because you definitely are not one, but the other half of him is.

You brush away that thought before your chest begins to tighten. You choose to think that Tae and your older brother Namjoon, whom Jungwon spends the most time with apart from you, are true softies and he’d definitely gotten it from them.

You’re still smiling, insides warming enough to brave through the January cold until you realize that you’re no longer hearing your son’s buzzing sound that he does when he plays with his airplane. For all his softness, he does give you a heart attack every once in a while because of his tendency to scurry somewhere that piques his interest. It was probably the aisle that had those chocolates he wanted so you pick up your basket and rush to the one right next to where you are.

Your heart drops to the floor at the sight of your son standing in front of a man who’s crouching down, tinkering with the toy. It probably disassembled again and this does not earn you a pat on the back this time for forgetting to buy Jungwon a new one that’s more age-appropriate, and for not paying enough attention.

You’re partly shocked and partly curious - he’s a shy kid, tends to run back to you at the sight of an unfamiliar person, wide eyes usually on full display when someone tries to get his attention.

But not right now. He’s still wide-eyed but he’s sporting a shy smile, one he tries to suppress by biting his lower lip. Wonder where he got that from. Such mannerisms aren’t genetic too, right?

The mystery man hands him the toy airplane, which Jungown clutches to his chest. He bows at the man and whispers a ‘thank you.’ If that man wanted to do something bad, he would’ve taken Jungwon already but he hasn’t. You’re glad that at least a kind man has found your son.

“Jungwon, sweetie. Come here, please,” you call out, moving a bit to try to get the man’s attention to express your thanks but he’s sporting a hoodie that’s engulfing his face. Maybe you should’ve been more scared.

The stranger shakily stands up and turns as Jungown runs to you with his eyes not leaving his little toy.

Your eyes, on the other hand, can’t leave the figure standing just a few feet away from you, like a bad dream but that isn’t exactly a nightmare.

He’s here. He’s home. And he looks just as gorgeous as you remember - expressive onyx eyes, pretty thin lips, defined jawline, muscular build...

His own eyes move from you to the kid next to you, trying to come up with explanations, mind reeling at what this could mean. You sounded so tender, so loving, so… motherly.

“Jung—”

“Your—”

You both say at the same time. His eyes are fixated on Jungwon, probably trying to figure out who the child is to you.

“I’m babysitting,” you panic.

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow and just as he’s about to open his mouth to say something, Jungwon decides to not be shy in front of a supposed stranger.

“Mama, that man fixed my plane!” He excitedly says, and you hate to crush his little moment of joy.

Jungkook’s eyes are now saucer-like, not at all minding that you were caught in a lie but that you, the woman who’d broken his heart all those years ago, have a child. A child whose eyes uncannily and painfully resemble his.

You and Jungkook both seem to be in a daze, your own thoughts swirling in your heads at the situation that neither expected would happen.

You stopped watching his baseball games about two years ago and had avoided whatever news about him would come up. Except recently when you’d heard about him possibly signing with a South Korean baseball team. Looks like did because he’s here, and he hasn’t been in years.

You’d heard from your brother that Jungkook had been doing well with the LA Dodgers and you hadn’t expected that he’d up and leave what had been his home the past four or so years to, well, come home. You’re glad he is but you also aren’t prepared for this.

Jungkook, on the other hand, had tried his best to forget about you soon after you walked out on him that December evening, almost succeeding multiple times until he gave up altogether. He came home last week, earlier than what he’d told the media, since he knew they’d be hampering him about his homecoming, given his recent signing with the Doosan Bears, one of Seoul’s professional baseball teams.

He’d spent the past few days in Busan to visit his mother and arrived from his 4-hour drive just an hour ago. He’d hoped to reach out or run into you but didn’t expect it to actually happen today. He definitely didn’t expect you’d have a son, too.

“Mama, did you get my banana milk?” Jungwon asks, breaking the bubble of confusion and shock between you and Jungkook, both unbelieving at the reality of you finally being in the same space, breathing the same air after so long.

“Yeah, I—” you start, placing the basket down and picking up your son, suddenly feeling nauseous.

Your mind is a puddle of thoughts and you just know that incoherent words will escape your mouth if you don’t leave right now so you make a run for it, or at least try. You walk briskly, clutching Jungwon tightly with his arms wrapped around your neck, so you don’t see him smiling at the man following both of you.

Jungkook calls out your name, prompting Jungwon to state that the man who’d fixed his plane knows his mother.

There are more people with their pushcarts near the exit, making it hard for your quick escape. Jungkook is catching up and upon realizing you won’t turn back to acknowledge him, he talks to Jungwon instead.

“How old are you, buddy?” Jungkook asks, legs clearly made for this. He’s panting though, you can hear it in his voice.

You can’t make a scene so you just try to walk faster.

You feel Jungwon release an arm and you know he’s putting out the ‘four’ sign, something he likes to do.

“When is your birthday?” Jungkook asks shortly after.

Oh god, you think. Jungwon loves this question. “July 6!” He exclaims.

The footsteps become faint and you’re brave enough to turn back as you near the exit doors. Jungkook stands there, dots connecting, mouth agape at what this means.

You leave the supermarket and run to your car, hurriedly placing Jungwon on the car seat and driving away, willing the tears not to fall.

“Who was that, Mama?” He innocently asks.

You admit that you’d thought about the day you’d see Jungkook and let him know about the little one too many times, but this isn’t how you planned it to happen - in public, when you’re incredibly tired, and when you haven’t thought about what you’d say.

This isn’t how you planned on telling Jungwon, too, so you tell a half-truth, like what you’d done a few times before.

“He’s a friend, sweetcheeks. He’s just a friend.”

The tears eventually fall about 5 hours later.

You got home from the grocery - without your groceries, watched cartoons with Jungwon, had food delivered, then prepared him for bed.

You’re now sat on your couch, wine glass in hand, as you try to make sense of the overwhelming emotions of seeing the man that was once your world. Technically, Jungkook still is, considering that your son is half of him.

But it’s different now. Too much has changed since you broke up with him, since he left 5 years ago to chase his dreams of playing for the Major League Baseball in the US, the dream he’d shared with his father, the dream he’d spent his whole life chasing.

Baseball had always been Jungkook’s world; a given, you always thought, since his own father was a baseball star himself, whose dream of playing for the MLB materialized during a trip to Boston as a teenager, the blinding lights and massiveness of Fenway Park and the roars of the crowd cheering for the Red Sox so alluring that he’d made it a point to watch a live game at least once a year.

His own career as a professional player for the South Korean league had been commendable, leading his teams to championships and even playing for the 1996 Olympics. That had been the second best experience of his life, the first being Jungkook’s birth two years prior. Marrying his wife was a close third, and it was something the pair always laughed about. You know this because Jungkook raved about his parents a lot, used to talk about them like he just lived next door to his mother - whom he called everyday, like his father was still alive.

His father didn’t have the luxury of getting scouted by American teams because baseball wasn’t as big then, but his dream of playing for the MLB never faded. Just like what his own father had done, he’d taken Jungkook to a live game every year since Jungkook was six, and tried to watch in every baseball park of every major league team.

They’d only make it to seven though. By that time, the cancer had been debilitating and he had to give up that annual date with his only child. Watching the Lotte Giants in their hometown of Busan had been enough for 13-year old Jungkook, who’d likewise been fascinated by the game, so was waking up in the wee hours of the morning to still catch MLB games on TV.

Jungkook was 14 when his old man passed.

He rarely talked about his father’s death. He also rarely talked about his father outside of baseball. He was a father-coach, Jungkook used to say, not the scary, stage father type who pressured him but the incredibly supportive, only slightly critical one. He’d made Jungkook fall in love with baseball, made him have a reason to wake up everyday, made him have something work hard for, fight for.

After he passed, baseball became something Jungkook hung onto, something he used to remind him of the man that made him who he is today. It became the most sacred part of himself, not for the popularity it gained him nor the praises he received, but because it showed the best parts of him, which were also the best parts of his father - his self-confidence, his tenacity, his grit, and his resolve, his passion for his craft.

Baseball taught Jungkook the value of hard work, of commitment, of focus, while at the same time reminding him of his physical capabilities and limitations.

It’s why he took his Sports Science course seriously, knowing that until his last breath, he would live for the sport. He’d play until he’s physically able, and do everything else when he can’t.

Jungkook had always been a good leader - another trait he got from his father, served as the pillar of strength of every team he’d been a part of because of his vulnerability that allowed others to trust him, to believe him.

His self-confidence may border on arrogance, his forcefulness and intensity may be perceived as aggression, but behind his intimidating aura on the field - partly personality, partly physical prowess - is a tender human being who gets excited over sweets, gushes over Ironman merchandise, likes making blanket forts, squeals over baby animals, enjoys bear hugs, and who just loves to love.

Those were what made you fall for him in the first place. They were what made your naturally cold exterior dissolve until your heart had become bare for him, until your insecurities had become insignificant, until you’d exuded almost the same joy that he had.

Seeing him today just brought the memories back, as if nothing has changed with what you felt for him, as if the pain you felt when you told him it was over, when you walked out and he let you, was just a breath away.

You didn’t realize just how much you missed him until you saw him again, until his proximity reminded you how his laugh used to sound, how his wide eyes and sweet smile looked like, how his sensual touches used to feel.

The tears fall again. That pain, that love - it’s like they never went away.

“Uncle Tete!” Jungwon squeals as your best friend picks up your son from the floor, swinging him around in a circle, soft laughter reverberating through the walls of your cozy apartment. It only takes a few rounds before Taehyung puts him down and complains that his arms already hurt.

“What happened to working on arm exercises?” You chuckle.

“Don’t remind me, you know I hate lifting weights. Plus, like that would make much of a difference,” he exclaims, slim arms out, being swallowed by his sweater. “I’m not an athlete, you know?”

You flinch at the comment and so does he.

“Sorry, too soon?”

“Yes,” you say, rolling your eyes and settling in the kitchen, a bit farther away from Jungwon, whose eyes are now fixated on the TV.

“Hey, I wouldn’t have known Jungkook was back if he hadn’t decided to revive our group chat yesterday after 2 years to ask everyone if they’ve seen you recently because you apparently have a kid and he believes he’s the father.”

“Pretty straightforward, huh?”

“He didn’t wanna waste time. Didn’t even care that your brother is in the same group,” Taehyung shrugs.

“Probably knows Namjoon won’t check.”

“True. But still, how bold of your ex.”

“What did the guys say?” You ask, curious if they ever caught on. Your twice a year appearance since college graduation seemed to be enough for them.

“Yoongi cursed. Jin spammed with theories because he’s convinced you haven’t had a boyfriend in years. Hoseok sent a video message of his reaction, which was really just him freaking out. Jimin acted surprised.”

“And you?”

“I left the group chat.”

You smack his arm, earning you a scowl. “Real smooth, Kim Taehyung.”

“Well, what was I gonna say? ‘Yeah, Jungkook. Your ex-girlfriend was actually pregnant when she broke up with you and you’re totally the father?’”

“You could’ve feigned ignorance, you know, or like denied it until I figured out what to say.”

“___,” he deadpans. “One look at Jungwon and it screams Jungkook. His name isn’t actually subtle, okay? Look at your kid, he even dresses up and eats like the father he’s never met!”

You motion for him to tone it down but Jungwon is busy watching the Avengers cartoons in his Ironman pajamas while sipping his banana milk.

“I’m not projecting!” You say, defending yourself because you know that’s what Taehyung is gonna say.

“It’s not my fault that my kid chose Ironman as his favorite Avenger no matter how many times I pushed Captain America to his face, okay? He didn’t even mind the shield I bought,” you pout.

“And he won’t drink plain milk. If it’s not banana, it’s chocolate. And he loves sweets, loves to hug people, has the cutest laugh…” You sigh, still racking your brain on what parts of your son he got from you.

“Maybe the universe is the one projecting, you know? Like it just had to find a way for Jungwon to be connected to Jungkook, if not physically then by other ways.”

“Your theory is sweet but I doubt it, Tae.”

“My theory is backed by evidence. And a father’s instinct because that shit’s real. Jungkook was still around during those first two months, the bond probably developed then.”

“Jungwon was the size of a raspberry. It’s highly unlikely.”

“Can you just stop deflecting? The father of your son is here. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know! Get my shit together and figure out what to say? You know I’m not ready for this,” you exclaim.

“Funny that you knew exactly what to say when you broke up with him but now you don’t,” Taehyung cocks an eyebrow.

“Are you my best friend or are you out to get me?”

“I’m just saying. You made that decision all on your own. Didn’t even confide in me,” he pouts. “I could’ve thrown some other options that didn’t require you breaking his heart and yours too, and going through all this by yourself.”

“Except I didn’t go through all this by myself,” you pat his head. “I had you and Namjoon. You were all I needed. Still do.”

“We can never take the place of Jungwon’s father, you know that right?”

“I know, I just… He’s not just my kid’s father, Tae. He’s my ex-boyfriend too. The man I loved.”

“You mean love. The man you still think about, and miss terribly.”

You squint at him as if in question. It’s been years since you and Taehyung had shared an apartment where he’d seen you cry almost everyday. It was something he wasn’t used to because you don’t cry, especially in front of others, not when you found out you were pregnant, not when you walked into Jungkook’s apartment only to walk out of his life. Not when Jungkook skipped graduation and left early for the US.

Everything changed after Jungwon’s birth. It’s like all the tears you never cried decided it was time. And you had years’ worth of it.

“Your kid’s a lot more perceptive than you think. He tells me sometimes that he sees you cry when you’re in bed or when you’re watching TV with him, and why else would you be crying if it wasn’t for that man?”

Of course he does. Jungwon, again just like his father, is thoughtful and pays you a lot of attention. Seriously, what about you did this kid inherit?

“The dam breaks every once in a while, I can’t help it.”

“Now you can,” Taehyung says as he gives you a hug. “You should talk to him. And soon. You know he deserves it.”

Jungkook stares at the ceiling, unwilling to move from the comforts of his bed. Head throbbing from the bottles of SoJu he downed with his older cousin, Jin, last night, the events of the day before are mighty clear in his mind.

He’d really seen you, the woman who once laid residence in his mind and his heart that he could not get rid of no matter how hard he tried, because you’d broken every possible thing you could when you decided to break up all those years ago.

He remembers that night so clearly, how he’d been excited to finally spend time with you so he could ask you to go with him to the US. You chose to break his heart instead, deciding by yourself that it wouldn’t work out. The only reason he agreed was because he’d been too hurt to even think of another way, but whether he agreed or not, he knew you would’ve walked out of his life regardless.

But there you were yesterday, dressed in your favorite-colored down jacket, hair longer than he remembers, little kid in tow calling you Mama.

Mama.

He’d just gotten back in Seoul after a visit to his mother. He’d made sure to be sneaky, as he wanted some peace and quiet before all the interviews and events he’ll need to attend because of this “homecoming” that everybody seemed to be making a big deal out of.

He was doing well with the LA Dodgers, even had meetings and possible offers with the Boston Red Sox, the team his father obsessed over. Jungkook was well on his way for bigger things in the largest baseball league in the world.

He decided to sign with the Doosan Bears instead, not even his hometown baseball team. He’ll chalk it up to missing home, maybe breaking ground so he can play in the Olympics, too, just like his father.

He was gonna seek you out, that was definitely part of the plan. He still considers the breakup as partly one-sided and he wanted to know how you were doing. He also knew he was bound to run into you because there was no escaping your circle of friends, who apparently seemed clueless as well.

Except for Taehyung, obviously, because he’s your best friend and he definitely would’ve known. But you’re here in Seoul, how did you dodge the rest of them? And Namjoon had really been able to keep everything a secret?

There were so many questions. Jin took it upon himself to be his confidante last night because surprisingly, Jimin, his best friend, had been mum about it. Jungkook and Jin spent the rest of last night scouring through social media for any trace of you and that kid but there had been none.

Jungkook is desperate, not just because he wants to see you but the child… looked like him.

The grocery was a few neighborhoods away from his, but it was next to the bank he was in so he decided to just do his shopping then. He’d been going through the sweets aisle, ready to fill the pantry of his new apartment with his favorite snacks, then he heard a thump and a soft quivering voice.

He turned to see a little boy looking sad over his toy airplane whose one wing had been clipped off. An adult didn’t seem to be around and he definitely trusts himself more than any other stranger so he’d approached the kid and asked if he needed help.

Curious doe-eyes met his questioning gaze, until the little kid took the airplane and its broken wing in his arms and cradled them.

“It’s hurt,” the kid had said, and he felt his heart burst at the cuteness and softness of this child. Jungkook took the toy and easily fixed it, the sliding slot probably too hard for his little hands to maneuver. He was about to ask for the kid’s name when he heard a familiar voice call out, the kid looking up and scurrying away from him.

And then there was you.

Everything felt hazy until the kid called you his Mama. You’d picked him up and started walking away before Jungkook could even greet you. He’d seen your abandoned grocery basket, which he could easily pass up as his own because of the same things he’d buy for himself.

The wheels were turning in his head and it wasn’t until the kid, apparently named Jungwon, stated his age that Jungkook pieced everything together. Or at least the possibility.

Could Jungwon be his child?

At the thought of this, Jungkook froze, watched your figure disappear from his sight, the eyes of the child boring into him as you walked away again. The kid let out a small smile and Jungkook had seen enough pictures of himself as a little kid in the news the past few weeks to be reminded of how he looked like, and he looked like that. It was unmistakable.

The scene plays in his head again and Jungkook feels the throbbing of his chest match the throbbing of his head, the need to confirm his suspicions and know the whole truth seeping through his veins. He tries to calm himself down, which is difficult, but he knows he needs a level-head if the truth is what he wants from you.

It’s just past lunchtime and he calls Jimin for help. As he enters the passenger seat, Jimin asks his friend for the destination.

“Take me to Taehyung’s place.”

Jungkook is running on adrenaline. With a sober mind now and a still-aching chest, he’s willing his body to relax but he’s unable, focused only on finding the truth.

There’s concern and an air of acceptance in Taehyung’s face when he opens the door to Jungkook, the idea of him showing up here having something that Taehyung has considered. Jungkook has at least half a mind to reach out to someone else before going to you.

Taehyung welcomes him in, knowing better not to argue or match the other man’s emotions. Jungkook doesn’t ask questions though and instead heads for the refrigerator, bites his lips at the sight of the same brand of banana milk he’d seen in your grocery basket.

He walks around the apartment, not missing the small basket of toys by the window. He opens a room that’s actually Taehyung’s art room and sees a paint set for kids, a framed photo of him with Jungwon placed on a shelf and next to it is a painting, the words “Jeon Jungwon” written at the bottom. It’s all the confirmation that he needs.

“Find what you’re looking for?” Taehyung asks, arms on his waist now, a bit of annoyance seeping through at the disrespect being shown to him. He gets that Jungkook is upset, but Taehyung knows him, knows he’s probably coming up with his own conclusions in his mind.

Before Jungkook could say anything, they hear the front door open, Namjoon’s deep voice calling out.

“Tae, did you get to drop off the groceries at ___’s? Jungwon’s been asking for his milk since yesterday and—” Namjoon stops as he stands by the door, eyes wide at Jungkook standing there, no doubt trying to keep himself together.

“Are you Jungwon’s father now?” He directs the question to Taehyung, the bitterness in Jungkook’s voice not lost on all the men present, including Jimin who’d been having his own battle in his mind because pretty soon, the anger will be directed at him, too.

Jungkook is the kid’s father, he’s sure of it now, yet the thought of another man taking that role causes an ache in his chest.

“Jungwon sleeps here? Does art with you? Does he call you—”

“He calls Tae ‘uncle,’ Jungkook. The same thing he calls me,” Jimin says, essentially coming out.

“You knew? This whole time?” Jungkook yells, fists clenched as the anger builds.

“Just a few years ago but—”

“And you said nothing to me?”

“It was just 2 years ago.”

“And you’ve visited me twice a year since then and you never thought to tell me that I have a son…” Jungkook flinches at the word, unbelieving that it’s something he’d even say.

“Look, just calm down, okay?” Jimin tries, but he knows it won’t do much.

“Calm down? I’m fucking livid. I have a…” Jungkook stops himself, willing the tears not to fall. All this time, you had a child that you’d kept from him, without a care of how he would feel.

“Jungkook, just take a breath, yeah?” Namjoon says this time, walking towards the younger man and pulls him in for a hug. “It’s a lot, I know. But just breathe for a bit.”

Jungkook pulls away, a mix of anger and sadness in his eyes. “How could she keep this from me?”

“Only she can answer that,” Namjoon sighs.

“I need to see her,” Jungkook states after a long pause.

“I can ask when she’s free—” Taehyung offers, ready to get his phone.

“I need to see her now.”

Jungkook finds himself in Jimin’s car, with Taehyung in the backseat talking to you over the phone, saying that he’ll take Jungwon for the rest of the afternoon and that they’re on their way.

Jungkook listens to Taehyung talk to you with so much care, the way he always had all those years ago. Nothing has changed, really.

Back in college, people tried to keep their distance from you, afraid of your resting bitch face and usually cold demeanor. Jungkook had heard about you from Jin, a good friend of your brother’s, and couldn’t quite reconcile the incredibly friendly and gentle Taehyung as your best friend.

It was one of the things that intrigued Jungkook, and he’d find out later on, after pulling all the stops with his flirting and finally getting you to agree on a coffee date, that you really did have a bitch face and you were cold if you wanted to be.

But you were so unapologetically you that it was refreshing. It wasn’t a defense mechanism or anything, it was just really who you were, but that wasn’t everything about you - you were also caring, protective, generous, extremely hardworking, and very confident.

Jungkook had fallen in love faster than he could throw a baseball, and he knows he can throw past 90/mph.

You complemented each other so beautifully that fights were easily resolved, if any, dates were always exciting, and moments together were never boring, even if it was just you quietly working on a paper and him noisily studying his games.

Taehyung was relentless in befriending you and you caved in pretty easily. “Look at the smile,” you’d said once. “Who can resist that?” You always had a soft spot for your best friend and Jungkook never minded; he’d trusted your relationship and you when you said that he never had to worry about Taehyung.

Except now. Because Taehyung seems to be a father figure to his son, being what Jungwon had needed all these years, while Jungkook had been clueless about it.

The night you broke up with him, you left him a weeping mess and begging behind closed doors to please don’t go. He felt he’d lost a big part of him, felt the soul-crushing feeling of losing someone again.

The loss of you was something he couldn’t prepare for and he’d spent years trying to put the pieces again, all on his own, in a foreign country, while chasing his dream. It had been hard but after some time, he rationalized in his mind that maybe you were right, maybe it would’ve been very hard for the both of you given the distance, the time difference, the busy schedules. It wouldn’t have been fair; he’d accepted that.

But keeping his child from him like this? This is too much. This is ruthless. You made a decision again. All by yourself. And he’s angry.

Everyone is thankful that Jungwon is asleep, although it’s a chance for Jungkook to see the little one in slumber, looking like the most adorable boy in the world.

Jimin and Taehyung agree to leave first, Jungkook not wanting them to wait, although he’s unsure how long this conversation with you is going to last.

You’ve been pacing back and forth since Taehyung called, informing you of the impromptu visit and Jungkook being unrelenting in his decision to speak with you today. You would’ve wanted to wait, although you know that Tae is right - Jungkook needs to know as soon as possible; he deserves that much.

In your more than 2 years together, you barely saw Jungkook angry - that was more of your thing because he enjoyed annoying the hell out of you every time and you always gave him shit for it.

But you two barely fought - you understood his busy schedule and were never really the jealous type, despite the presence of his “fans” (except maybe around Sora who’d named herself as the president of Jungkook’s fan club like that shit still flies), while Jungkook always knew how to make it up to you. He rarely complained, too if you ditched him to work on your projects.

But this Jungkook is different - his nostrils are flaring, brows are furrowed, jaws are clenched you’re afraid he’d break his teeth.

You’re different, too. You’re nervous, more reserved, not with your usual crossed arms but with fingers fidgeting at the loss of control.

You lead him in the living room and motion for him to sit down but he dismisses you.

“Hi, Jung—”

“I need to hear it from you,” he breathes out. “I know, god, I fucking know but I need to hear it from you.”

You take a deep breath and you say the words you’ve practiced in your head. “Jungwon is our son.”

You see him close his eyes, bite his lips, and tilt his head. It’s how you know he’s trying to control his emotions.

The silence is deafening but you give him time to process.

“How? I mean, you were on birth control and you said you never missed…” He stammers.

“Pills are not 100%, Jungkook. It just happened,” you explain, racking your brain for days right after you took the test over how it might’ve happened. At one point you stopped; it was no use.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It’s the big question, the one he’s been losing his mind over. It doesn’t matter that it happened; he just doesn’t know how you could make that big of a decision all on your own when it concerned him, the other half of the child.

“You were on your way to the big leagues. I couldn’t take that away from you.”

“But you thought it was alright to take away years with my son?” He seethes. “Fuck, ___. That wasn’t your decision to make.”

It wasn’t, not fully at least, you knew it. But he wouldn’t make that decision, so you had to.

“I made it anyway,” you respond, tone more stern now.

With all the pain and struggles it brought, it’s the one thing you stand by; it’s a decision you never regretted. Watching Jungkook play in the ballparks his dad never got to take him to, seeing him blow a kiss to the sky before and after every game, and catching him mouth the words ‘I love you, dad’ after his interviews have always been enough to trump everything else.

Jungkook had been living his and his father’s dream. It had always felt worth it.

“Why? I would’ve stayed,” Jungkook yells.

“Exactly. You would’ve,” you yell back. “I was sure that the moment you knew, you would’ve passed up a dream you worked your whole life for. I couldn’t let you do that. I couldn’t let you make that decision.”

“So you made it for me, by giving me none at all?” He scoffs. “Real brave, ___. And real fucked up, too.”

“It was the only way for you to go!” You exclaim. “If you had known, you wouldn’t have left, you would’ve settled, stayed behind… You would’ve given everything up.”

“Because that’s our child, ___!”

“And we didn��t plan on having him!” You shout, tears prickling on the corners of your eyes now.

“You’ve known baseball your whole life, Jungkook. Everything you’ve ever done was so you could play in the MLB and you did. You made it happen because you had the best opportunity and you took it, worked hard, got to where you wanted to be,” you rationalize.

He’s panting as he processes your words, mind going again to that night when you walked out on him, making sense of the reasons why, those you verbalized and those you didn’t.

“I know you, Jungkook,” you sigh, your voice taking him back to the present. “You’d take responsibility because that’s the kind of man you are. You would’ve insisted on taking care of us, on letting go of everything else for us, for your son. And I couldn’t let you give up on your dream, the one thing left of your father…”

“Don’t you fucking dare bring up my father,” he snaps at you, eyes so cold and you feel so small.

“You wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if you let that dream go for us.”

“Then you don’t really know me, ___. Because the hell would I give us up just like that. The hell would I give up time away from my son.”

He pulls his hair out of frustration, then lets go, tears now streaming down his face.

“I was 14 when I lost my dad, ___.”

“I know, and I’m sorry—”

“No, you don’t know. And you aren’t sorry,” he retorts, his back facing you as he tries to get himself together. “I had to watch him wither away, had to stay by his bedside and watch him take his final breath because my mother couldn’t. I was 14 and I had to be strong for my parents. And I cried, every single night, for months,” he heaves.

He turns to face you, wants you to know how much you’ve hurt him.

“I almost quit school because I wouldn’t get out of my bed, wouldn’t talk to anyone. I told you I suffered, that I lost my way,” he continues, weeping.

But you didn’t know this, didn’t know he suffered like this, that he lost his way like this.

“But the dream kept you going, didn’t it?” You try. “It gave you purpose; you had something to live for, Jungkook,” you continue, reminding him of what the dream meant to him.

He’d been young but he had so many memories with his father about baseball; it had been the core of their relationship, the thread that kept them connected years after his death.

“In return for what?” He barks. “Fuck, I would’ve given anything to have my father again. And that includes that dream, ___.”

You stare at him, his body now crouching down on the couch, unable to fully lift himself up. You’d never seen him like this. He was never afraid to cry but this is different.

Your own tears are relentless, as if telling you that this is all because of you and you deserve this pain. You had broken this man, and you’d done so without regret.

He looks up at you, wipes his tear-drenched face, illuminating the pain, the longing, the anger.

“You took four years of my life away from my son. You robbed me of that chance. You didn’t even give me a choice. How fucking selfish are you? You had no right, ___,” he huffs.

“I just… I know you, Jungkook. You would’ve stayed and then what?” You say, trying to stand your ground, but even you don’t believe your words, at least not anymore.

“You’ll regret it down the road? Resent us because you had to stay? How would we feel? How would Jungwon feel, knowing that his father gave up his dream for him?”

“Really? You’re absolutely sure that’s what would happen? As if I’m not resenting you now?” Jungkook scoffs.

“You don’t know what it’s like to have someone be taken from you, to not have enough time with them. But yeah, you need to have the last say always, right?” He says coldly, allowing the silence to let you take in his bitter words.

“You can’t ever feel like you don’t have control so you make all the decisions by yourself. Hurting those in your wake before they hurt you. But it’s all good right because you stand by it? As long as it’s enough to rid you of the guilt even if it hurts everyone else?”

This is how he hurts you - peeling away your layers and throwing them back at you, until there’s nothing left but all the parts you didn’t want anyone to see. But Jungkook had seen them, accepted them, loved you despite them.

But he’s standing in front of you. And there’s no love in his eyes. You don’t think you deserve it anymore.

You give him this, the last say. And he takes it. And he leaves.

Like countless times before, you fall to the floor and cry. You cry until your sounds are loud enough, until you can no longer hear your own heart breaking.

Taglist: @fluffyjoons @jwlmnbt @koremis @mrcleanheichou @kooafraid @purplepommy @btstannies @jeonwiixard @songshin @joondala @hobiade @di0rgguk @fan-ati--c @yn-the-reader @spicybangtanwings @njkbangtan @jeoncookie-bts @miniaturecloud @revehosh @preciouschimine @sherlynxx @dimreads

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #parents au #exes au #baseball player jk #inevitable #series

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kookiecrumb · 3 years

Text

jjk|| Your Head

"tags": @kazthebrekkerofinej

word count: uhhhh

summary: Jungkook is the heir to the throne of your Kingdom! In this tale of duty versus heart, will love prevail victorious?

tags: Royalty!Jungkook x Peasant!Reader, oneshot, smut, fluff, slight angst, some crack, pining, forbidden lovers, Jungkookie has a sweet tooth, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings: explicit language, impact play, birthday sex (technically), fingering, oral (m receiving*), love marking, alcohol consumption, s&m themes, horny grinding, praise kink/body worship

a/n:

hey guys!

Firstly, I want to say how proud I am of myself for growing so much during this fic. I learned a lot about what I'm comfortable with, what I'd like to work on, and where my confidences lie.

I won't lie and say it's been easy, because writing this meant dealing with a lot of my fears? I'm excited for all the works that are to come.

The only thing I can do is be as receptive to growth as possible, so I'm looking forward to learning...

*I actually learned that Vaseline wasn't invented until like the 1870s? The fic is written in the 1810s, so I actually had a choice between having them do it with vegetable oil or spit. Spit won.

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5 years ago

You bend over to pick up an apple that had rolled over under your father's produce cart, praying that it isn't bruised so that you have to pay for it out of your dinner, when a crumpled piece of paper hits you in the ass.

Confused, you crawl out from under the stand and unwrap the paper.

The paper itself is of the finest quality you've ever seen. It's a sturdy cardstock, bleached white with gold etchings on the borders. The print on the top of it reads "His Highness Jeon's Royal Study," and scribbled in some kid's amateur cursive below, "Nice butt."

You directed your gaze upwards, towards the towering castle walls. Sure enough, a boy no older than 15 had his noggin popping out from the top of the rampart, with two wide eyes staring down, curious as to your reaction. This was Prince Jungkook, heir to the throne of your kingdom.

"Shouldn't you be equestrian horse riding or playing polo or something?" You shout. He furrows his eyebrows, apparently offended at your assumption, and then disappears behind the edifice.

Moments later, another paper hits your shoulder as you're practicing your caligraphy behind your cart. It lands between the apples, so you reach your hand over and fish out out.

You glance up at the anticipant, and sure enough he's there with his doe eyes and his coconut head, ogling.

"No, dumbie. That's at MID-day." Well how were YOU supposed to know the royal schedule of the crown prince, it wasn't just common knowlegde you learned from being a humble farmer's daught--

Ah!

"Will you STOP?!" You put your foot down. "Unless you're here to buy my apples, then you're not getting ANY, little Prince." Oh, shit. You gave him ideas. Now it was really over for you.

In less than half an hour, half a company of men arrived at the marketplace, asking about your little old apple stand, and sure enough, Jungkook had bought out the entire cart so that you were forced to help with the transaction.

The young prince had eyes frankly too big for his head, with the most prominent cupid's bow you've ever seen. His nose slightly outgrew his face and his ears were hidden away behind his short, black hair. "Now you can talk to me." He gave you a rose he'd stolen from the royal garden. "I am Jungkook, heir to the throne of--"

"I know who you are." You interrupt him, documenting His Highness' total in your calligraphy book.

With a hand perched on his chest from surprise, he scoffed. "And I happen to think you're really pretty, so I was going to ask you to be my very first consor--"

"You're 15, you have playmates not consorts."

"And how old are you?!" He's had it, raising his voice and taking a bite out of one of your apples with force.

"16, old enough to have suitors." You tease. Jungkook hangs his head a little. He just needed someone to talk to, it would seem. Reluctantly, you scribbled down your address down on a piece of note paper and handed it to him.

"Look, if you buy more of my apples, I'll have an excuse to tell my Dad so I can hang out with you." You spoke in a low voice as to not raise suspicion.

Your dad is standing negotiating with the guards about prices, his usual embarassing haggling gruffly overpowering the guards elegant twiddle-tones.

"Wonderful! See you soon, my sweet!" He resumes his confident demeanor, tucking the paper into his overcoat with a small smile. He salutes you boyishly and marches away with a year's supply of apples.

For the next week, the royal kitchen had baked 3 apple pies, made 5 fruit salads, 4 batches of apple muffins, and threw the rest of them in Sangria; that's the same Sangria as King Jeon finds himself drinking in his wife's drawing room on Sunday.

"Call Chef, fetch him up here." He waves to his assistant, keeping his eyes on the outside. He was deep in thought, his hands stoicly behind his back.

The Kingdom had been prosperous for over many years now, and war had not come close to threatening its borders in a lifetime. Negotiations were always successful, and quality of living was high. The work of a King, in a situation such as this, was to perfect the image of the royal family as strong rulers, and to paint his daughters as desirable to foreign heirs.

"Your Grace," the assistant called his attention, "Head Chef Sung." The dainty man bows and scurries off somewhere else.

Chef Sung is a portly man, who carries himself heaving with every step, his great belly inflating with each hefty inhale. He approaches the King, and kneels down to kiss his hand with his fat lips.

The King recoils in disgust, but quickly collects himself and his words. "Where are these apples from, is it France or Spain?" He demands.

"Neither, Your Highness." Mr.Sung lifts up his eyes. "They are from our Holy Kingdom; by order of Prince Jungkook, an entire cart was purchased of these apples and we have not been able to get rid of them." Tears threatened Chef Sungs eyes at the very mention of the fruit.

'Well, there's one thing the kid's done right.' King Jeon now faces the Chef, setting down his drink on a mahogany table, leaning against it casually. "Well! Good. I'd like to meet the owner of that cart, invite him to my Sunday brunch."

"Oh, yes, of course sir! You'll never see them in our kitchen aga--What?" Chef Sung takes out his handkerchief, waving it around in the air and drying his tears at once. "So you like them! Why...Yes! Yes, of course!"

Your father thought it would be valuable to have you around the kitchen, learning from the skilled men and women employed by the Jeon family. He only visited once a week to drop off fresh produce, (he'd been officially hired to handle restocking of goods) but you, after showing promising signs of being a gifted baker during one of your father's restocks, were granted scholarship by Ms.Kang to be her aid.

You were now, officially, a resident of the Jeon Estate, residing in the servant's quarters, immediately adjacent to the kitchen. This was convenient. It was far too convenient for a certain little Prince to get the idea of wanting a midnight snack and wandering downstairs.

One day, he does just that. He finds his way into the first bedroom to the right of the stairs facing the kitchen, and that happens to be your bedroom.

He pokes you awake. "Ow! Ow, whyyy~" You whine and toss yourself over to the other side of the bed. His irritating poking persists. You grab his fingers and your eyes shatter open.

You sit up, alarmed. "You could have me arrested, what the fuck are you doing?!"

"I wanted a midnight snack! Besides, I wanna talk to you." He pouts, still holding a small teddy companion.

"Fine. I'll bake you ONE sheet of cookies." You slip on your night shoes and shuffle to the kitchen, and Jungkook tags along.

By the time Jungkook's 18th birthday comes around, he's in the kitchen helping you whisk buttercream to top his cake while having a tease at the Austrian Princess' mole.

"You have one right under your lip, look!" You take a little buttercream from the bowl and stain the dark spot with it.

He licks it up and hastens to add, "it needs more sugar, lady!" as he turns to grab a puffy bag of confection sugar.

"You're impossible to please." Snatching the sugar away from him, you smirk. "You can gobble down as many sweets as you want when the ball commences. Remember, this is the year you're supposed to be keeping your eye out for a girl of a good fam--"

"Yada yada, must have hips for childbearing, yada yada yada..." He mocks the speech his mother had told him that morning when he got dressed.

"Exactly." You set your bowl aside to fix Jungkook's tie. "Yes, and that's your duty, as our heir."

You step back and examine Jungkook one more time. He'd grown so tall in the last year, his legs like spider's and he was just beginning to grow into his features. Handsome boy.

You, too, had grown into an elegant young woman. You had a poised complexion, ready-mannered and graceful. Your hands seemed out of place in your otherwise feminine frame, carrying an extra bit of girth from baking. You were 19 years old.

Marriage was becoming an uncomfortably frequent topic during your visits home, as your mother had married young, herself, she expected the same of you.

Truth be told, there were plenty of offers for your hand. You were a skilled and very esteemed individual, who had broken into thr artisinal class. But your father knew better than put a dowry on your happiness. So long as you worked, he saw no reason to marry you off just yet.

"Now, go. Your sisters must be worried sick! Go out there." You shoo him, pushing him out the door of the kitchen despite his flailing arms.

Throughout the party, you'd been carrying a platter of your own baked goods, serving them to the aristocrats attending the Princes' coming-of-age ball. Accents from all over Europe and some from Kingdoms as far East as Cyprus jubilantly engaged in artful conversation which filled the air with good spirits.

Jungkook, himself, was busy being introduced to as many women as possible, a medley of presenting duchesses, ladies, and even Princesses of your Kingdom. They were each more qualified than you'll ever be, ten-fold.

One was a Greek Princess, her hair cascaded in darling curls down her shoulders and her eyes were deep-set, her voice a flirtatious trill.

Another, a Prussian Princess', posture radiated excellency, and whose complexion sparkled like powdered snow. Jungkook greeted her warmly, pleased with her appearance.

Distracted, you tripped up your skirt and dropped the remainder of your pastries. With that, you stepped off to use the restroom.

The sound of Strauss' Rosen aus dem Süden faintly loomed in the air as you wiped tears from your waterline in the mirror. That was just the way it was, wasn't it? Princes come of age, and they find wives who they commit their lives to.

"Married men don't have friends who are girls." You say out loud, just to realize it. Jungkook was now expected to find a mate within the season, and he was, in fact, quite the eligible bachelor.

Little did you know that Jungkook had been keeping an eye out for you throughout the party, not only because you were carrying his favorite Danish pastires, but because he knew your company was his greatest comfort.

He's in the midst of greeting the Duchess of Kent when he excuses himself to go look for you. He finds your mess first, frowning as he realizes something has gone terribly wrong.

He catches you in the hallway, face puffy and shaky. He grabs your wrist to keep you from darting back to the kitchen.

"Please don't do this, it's my birthday, y/n." It's as if an unspoken rule had been broken between you, and he feels it. Something is making you uncomfortable. "Was it the girls? You told me about this, it's my duty to at least greet them and--"

"Yeah, you sure did greet the Prussian woman nicely." You speak through tears. "She's the girl you were born to be with, huh? Your birthright?"Jungkook is silent. "Every girl at that ball wants to be your wife, want to have your children. They haven't known you for a day and yet they're ready to be your bride."

You search Jungkook's eyes for any sign of coherence, hoping that he would defend against you, that he would speak up and tell you otherwise. No such argument comes.

You yank your arm from his grip and march to the kitchen to remake the pastries you spilled.

You had the job of clearing off all the tables upon the departure of the last guests. It is midnight, and the windows of the castle stream moonlight down on the carpet beneath your feet. The glow of candles soothe you as you hum the waltzes which echo in your mind. It's a brilliant evening.

The centerpieces of the tables were gardenias, lush rose-like flowers with yellow pistils.

Summer, 1809

"Jungkook, wait! You're going to make me trip!" You shout from the top of the hill.

"You've gotta come see before the sun sets! It's the only way we'll get there on time, now run!" Jungkook's speeding down the terrain towards the Sycamore tree which grew deep and wide beneath the banks of a great rushing river.

You groan and throw caution to the wind, rolling down the steep mount in your Sunday dress. Jungkook turns to watch you, a grin spreading across his handsome face. "Look at you!"

You land on your feet at the bottom and scurry off to join Jungkook under the grandfather tree, out of breath entirely. "Now, look what you made me do. You're such a boy, you know that?! Making me come out here just to see some bloody--"

Jungkook has plucked a gardenia and placed it behind your ear. "Would you shut up? We got here on time. Behold."

In all its glory, the sun bathes you in its vivacious rays, creating a feeling of heavenly bliss as it dips below the horizon. The sky blushes pink, its clouds mere whisps above you. Wind rustles the leaves of the grand tree, rousing the birds to chirp their afternoon song.

"Mom used to come here all the time with my Dad, because of these." Jungkook clasped the blooming flower in his tender hands.

After a while, he says "the bugs will come out soon, so we ought to go back," as if he's trying not to scare something away. He helps you up, and with one last look across the valley, you walk next to each other back to the East Quarters.

You take all the silverware and plates by the tub to the dish-washing station and toss all of the linen napkins into the washing machine. All you had left was to blow out the lights in leading upstairs.

"Prince! It is very late, and there are no guests left for you to entertain. What troubles you?" Jungkook's sitting on the stairs with his head in his hands, still wearing his best suit.

"I disappointed you, y/n...I didn't like any of them." He admits, lifting his head up to sulk at you. "I should have told you then, but I didn't want to make you upset!"

Did Jungkook mistake your jealousy for disappointment?

"I'm not upset because you didn't hit it off with the girls..." You sigh. A confession is due, and he's ready to hear the truth from you about how you feel about him.

"Well, the truth is, I didn't like any of the girls because I like you, y/n. But you know that, don't you?" You pause, asking him to elaborate.

"Remember when I bought all the apples because I wanted to be with you? Like...I told you that you were my consort and I kind of meant it?" He felt pathetic now, realizing that you weren't just ignoring his advances. "So you didn't friendzone me for 2 years, you actually didn't know that I liked you."

It was almost laughable, a situation you would read in one of your illegal novels which you kept tucked away in your pillow at night. "No, Kookie, I didn't." You admit to your insolence.

You can't bear to lead him on any longer. You needed to put duty over your own self interest for the sake of the kingdom, even if it shattered his hope. It was better this way.

"But, you do know that we can't ever be a thing, right? It's just silly." Your heart tightens with the words which fall out of your mouth. "It is. Nevermind what your parents would think, what would it do for your image? You're on the world's stage, Jungkook, and you're a selfish person if you think you can just throw all of your duties away to date a scum of the Earth like-- like me!" With your heart in your throat, dry your eyes with your sleeve. "And...I want to, I really really want to, more than anything else to love you, Jungkook. I love you! I...can't." Through the blur of your tears, the shapeless blob that Jungkook has become stands up.

Taking his thumb and swiping it under your eyes, he sighs. Words escaping him, he takes your trembling body against his chest and nestles his head in the crook of your neck. Your cold hands travel underneath his overcoat to hold his waist. The Princes' lips plant a gentle kiss on your neck, chaste yet deep and satisfying.

"I will not accept any bride if not you, my love." He draws back, meeting your fervid gaze. "To the world, I remain a bachelor for a few years."

"And after those years, Jungkook?" You ride your hands up to caress the man's jaw. "You will still love me after those years, and then what?"

"I don't know," he says, voice as soft as powder. "I don't know many things, y/n, that's why I need you to teach me." His palms are rubbing at your waist, beckoning you closer.

His breath quickening as you lean your body against his hold, and you figure it must be the wine he drank to calm his nerves. That was it, wasn't it? He was drunk.

"You're not drunk, are you?" Your face sours, really hoping it's not the case as you feel your body temperature rise.

"Y/N, I've only had a glass. You saw I was a wreck back there." His lips kept chasing yours in a dance you can't quite describe. "I have wanted to hold you like this since I saw you selling apples on the street. Give me the honor..." His forehead against yours and his strong hands supporting your back, he's already fucking you with his eyes.

"The pleasure of being your lover." He squeezes your waist tight with his forearms, planting brisk kisses behind your ear and breathing in your scent. He smiles against you. Your skin pebbles at his affectionate touch, purring softly as your eyes roll back in delight.

"Kookie..." You breathe, leaning on his broad chest. "Kook, the maids are wondering where I am, I have to go..." You slur, tugging at his collar.

He grunts in protest, taking your ear between his teeth and nibbling it.

"If you let me go, I'll steal some cake for you tomorrow at breakfast." If there's anything Jungkook likes more than Cream Ice, it was cake. He unravels you from his arms and nods, his eyes softening.

"Request my service tomorrow, from Ms.Kang. She's been sweet on me lately." You peck his cheek before stepping back. Your rouge has embarrassingly stained His Grace's cheek.

Jungkook bows and presses a kiss on your hand, eyes rising to meet yours. "Til' morrow, babe."

Jiyoo shakes you awake the next morning, handing you a cake and a note that reads: "Prince Jungkook has a commission he must discuss with you. Meet him at his chamber immediately."

Lacing on a simple corset over your nightgown, you try not to look too red in the face as you climb up the stairs to His Majesty's room. You'd be up there alone, as requested. The girls would absolutely start rumors based on that alone-- rumors which you realize are probably totally true. This was stuff of scandal, after all...

'There shouldn't be anything scandalous about love.' You decide as you rap on His Highness' door.

"Please enter...but only if you have my cake!" Jungkook says in his morning voice. He's so cute.

The simplicity of Jungkook's abode takes you by surprise. His bedroom is very well lit, a capital display of the flowered valley through his bay windows washed the room in gold, painting his porcelain white carpets and his cotton sheets a warm creme color. His drawers and vanity were etched in gold, with breathtaking detailing.

The Monarch himself was splayed across the bed, laying on his side casually. He held a glass in his hand, holding a white wine. He puts down his glass and sits up as your presence.

"We both know that you didn't come here as my servant." You lock the door behind you. "And I have no such commission to give you, darling." The innocence which undertones his usual speech is missing as he coaxes you towards him.

"This much I know, Your Majesty," You say, taking a bit of frosting on your index finger and smudging it on the Princes lips. His black eyes, as cunning as a viper, watch you dangerously as you push two fingers past his plush lips. He wraps his hands around your wrist and draws your hand away, his gaze fixating on you.

"Set the cake down." At his command, you carefully place the confection down on a nearby chest, feeling Jungkook's eyes on you, drawing you back towards his grip.

"Let me pull your laces apart," with your waist held by his Herculean hand, he hums "and then let me pull you apart. I want to memorize your pleasures and gratify your desires, I need it, y/n..." Your back flush against his chest and your thighs split, his hands knead into you as he litters your collar with his mark.

You gasp softly against the crook of his neck, giving into his hold of you. His hot tongue spreads under your jaw, closing into a hard kiss as his hands travel back up to undo your corset and free your tits.

One by one, his fingers pop open the buttons left on your gown until the collar hangs off-shoulder to expose your collarbone. At the sight of new skin, Jungkook's tongue darts to stain it.

His hands stagger above your breasts. "Is it okay if I touch you here?"

"Oh, Kookie, touch me everywhere~" Your hands form fists around Jungkook's shirt, beckoning him impossibly closer.

Grasping one ever so carefully, his thumb grazes your bud as he playfully bites under your ear. "ah-- ahh,"

Jungkook groans in response, he can't believe how cute you sound. Curious, he wants to hear more, so he traces your thighs and experimentally pushes up the outside your cunt.

You squirm, tensing up immediately in response. You bring your hands down to find the latch on his trousers and dip your hands below to rub him through his undergarments. He heatedly bucks up to meet your touch, a panting mess.

You face him now as he watches you ride his fingers while you grip his girth through his clothes. He takes you by the ass and places you on his prominent bulge, hips rolling into you as he hungrily kisses you, his firm hands grinding your core on his cock.

His face is a sinful red, panting under you desperately.

"I've been wanting to do this," His voice warbles through your touch, running your thumb along his underside. It's his turn to gasp. He sits up and collapses his lips into yours, softer than rose petals and his taste faintly like wine.

You place your hand on his chest, and his heart is pounding, a thin layer of sweat already forming on his honeylike complexion.

Hastily, you pull your dress over your head and lean back to allow him to familiarize himself with your stark form, a dainty chain hanging between your bosom. Jungkook bites his lips as he wriggles out of his clothing, desposing of it beside the bed.

He's giddy behind those sultry eyes, you know him well enough that he's overexcited to get inside of you. It goes straight to his cock, your playfulness as you feel up his bare shoulders and discover his abdominals, your fingers tracing his ridges with a sense of innocent wonder.

He takes your hands and looks at you in this way-- Butterflies fill your stomach instantly. Jungkook's thumbing at your pout with his intrepid fingers.

His eyes flutter when grip his base and submerge your upper body below his hips. You lick a long, thick stripe up his underside, causing his breath to hitch and his head to fall back on to the bed.

Those goddamn cupid's bow lips of his would whisper the dirtiest things under his breath, lewd thoughts that sounded completely alien coming from His Majesty's mouth, he said for you.

"Oh, such a pretty mouth~ It's so good, y/n, you swallow me so good--" he moaned like a mantra, trying to keep his hips from snapping up into you. Your hot, wet tongue wrapped around his throbbing cock was only a fantasy to him for years.

He fills your throat with his girth, his taste tantalizingly smooth. It leaves your mouth with a 'pop.' You struggle to keep your legs apart as you crawl up to kiss him.

He takes those fingers of his and slides his index and middle into you and languidly thrusts them, smirking against your lips. "Shit, you liked that, hmm..."

"Kookie...please," you whine as he squeezes your ass hard before smacking it. You yelp, the sting of his fingers radiating from your skin.

"I like it when you beg, y/n, it's so cute..." He pulls your ass up to his thighs. He's flush hard against your abdomen, already sticky with his precum and your spit. You marvel at the self control he has.

You don't finish your thought before he has his head inside of you, impaling you on his cock and stretching your entrance, hissing at how incredible it felt to have you around him.

His shaft reached pleasure points within you had yet to discover. You clench, feeling his tip brush against your cervix. "Wh... hngh," he groans, "how did you do that, do it again--" You wrap your legs around his thighs and clench around him, biting your lip. You watch as he shivers from pleasure, feeling his skin horripilate under your touch.

His thumb is softly circling above your clit as he pulls out of you carefully. He swirls back in, nestling himself inside your heat, hissing. "Ahh~ Jungkook~!" At the sound of his first name moaned out of your mouth, he groans and rolls his hips up to create messy friction. That familiar knot in your stomach tingles as he plays with the bundle of nerves buried within you.

He glances up at your ruined lips, clashing with them again as he lifts your knees up with his hands and thrusts nice and rough, making you yell with every jolt of his cock. The smell and sound of sex fills the room as he experiments with positions, laying you on all fours.

"Get your ass up for me." You obey, ever servile. You're reminded-- you're his servant. He owns your work, he owns your services, and now he wants you in the most lucrative way, he wants your soaked cunt around his imperial cock. He gets what he wants.

Jungkook's palms smack against your ass one more time, just to watch the way it jiggles for him. He smirks a little before he shoves himself into your pretty little cunt. You bury your face into the pillows in pelasure as he chases your orgasm with vigor, fingering your clitoris while you move your hips back to meet his hard thrusts.

You whine like a harlot, his cock allowing you every satisfaction as he works a head-spinning orgasm out of that cunt. "I'm gonna cum, Kookie~!" you warn as you spasm against his length, moans ripping from your throat as you coat him with your thick juices.

His hips stutter up and he just barely pulls himself completely from you as he paints your back white, a guttural groan escaping his mouth.

After a while of loud panting and scattered giggling, Jungkook reaches over for a wet cloth and cleans the both of you gingerly. You trail your hands up to caress his jaw and kiss his lips softly.

"You need to tell everyone that I had a long and extensive request for the Harvest party, that I wanted a lot of fall fruits and vegetables featured in the baked goods, make it as specific as possible and make sure that you mention that I want to meet with you again, over dinner." His labored breathing punctuate his words, as youd kisses consume him. "And..."

"And?" You cock an eyebrow, simpering.

"Doyouthinkmaybeyoucouldbringmesomemilktogowithmycake?" He mumbles, eyes glued on the bed.

"What?" (If you give a Kookie a Cookie...)

Disgruntled, he sighs and repeats: "Milk! Milk for my cake. I know it's moist cause you made it but I'm really thirsty, especially after..." His cheeks flush a cute pink. You wait for him to continue just to fluster him a little more. "Y/N, just please!" You can't ever refuse his pouty face.

Next week, Jungkook's got you pinned against the hallway wall, making out with you hungrily as his hands ride up your dress. Just across the hall, his Dad is negotiating war with Portugal over land in the West.

The next month, you have his cock buried in your throat underneath the table at an important conference about how to create jobs.

All this while the pressure for Jungkook to find a bride continues to rise as he reaches seniority, and as his father's grey hairs pronounce themselves.

Warm touches are always hidden away to the public eye, but often shared between two kindred spirits underneath the man in the moon's watchful eye. Jungkook, as he reaches his maturity, grows strong. His jaw sharpens, and his eyes darken. His hair grows long, and he gains weight. Now at the proud age of 20, Jungkook had become a man before everyone's eyes, including the eyes of foreign monarchs and their eligible bachelorettes.

One day, you're serving the Royal family at a private dinner, when the topic of marriage comes up for the first time since his birthday.

"Your mother has made friends with the mother of the Austrian Princess, and she's invited you to the cordial ball to introduce yourself to the Princess. An allyship with Austria would prove advantageous for our relations with France, so you are to make your best impression." The King wipes his mouth. Setting his fork down, he continues: "It is in the family's best interest for you to marry her, if the French Princess, Anastasie, does not present this season or the next." The Queen holds the King's hand firmly, reassuring him from his shoulder. She wears a slight frown on her face, her eyes worrisome, somber. The King hides his anxiety, as he's been accustomed to from decades of responsibility. Would this be the face of Jungkook soon?

For now, Jungkook's face is scrunching at the thought of marrying Anastasie. She's not the most delightful young woman, her imprudence ruined her enjoyment of any event. She couldn't keep an intuitive conversation about regional politics and domestic policy for the life of her. Her people were on the brink of overthrowing the aristocracy, he was sure of it.

"Yes, father," is what you hear from him before you disappear down the stairs to fetch desserts.

Jiyoo interrupts your quest for sweets with a letter, signed by His Grace. She has a naturally innocent demeanor, her cheeks rosy and her frame as delicate as a feather. "Y/N, you have another special request from His Majesty...can I ask you why you get so many of these?" She looks genuinely curious, not a single menacing thought behind those eyes.

"It's because the Prince really really loves his cake." I mean, technically it was true. Jungkook never passed up an opportunity to squeeze, smack, or dig his fingernails into your ass during your sessions.

"Oh." Jiyoo pouts. "So it's not because you're like, in love or anything?" Her eyes are glued to the floor. You were expecting this question eventually, as the other girls in the kitchen were already suspecting it. It was only a matter of time before word slipped into the girl's ears.

"As much as I enjoy the Prince's interest in my baking, it isn't my place to confess any sort of feeling for him." Your answer is straightforward enough, so Jiyoo nods and hands you the letter. Another request.

Outside the Palace, Winter came like the wind. Lakes froze over, and couples tied up their skates and danced on the ice. The trees were bare and brown, not a single leaf persisting through the chilling breath of Jack Frost.

Jungkook had left for the Winter Palace, to volunteer and raise spirits up in the North. As heir to the throne, he was to be Commander in Chief of the Royal Armed Forces, and therefore needed to undergo intensive training in order to boost morale.

You're back home, and in your wake is your father, who has now grown tangibly tired. He's been on a strict diet of warm vegetable soup for about three months, now. His eyes are sunken, but he still wears a subtle smile even during his most trying days.

Match girls make their rounds at night, you watch as the lamplighters illuminate the streets with their tall ladders and their taller peacoats. Shop windows glow warm shades of yellow and creme; inscriptions on the glass create shadows on the white snow.

"Wow. It's almost as cold as the King's heart out here." You step outside one day with a cup of tea, sneaking in a cheeky smirk. Yeah, good one.

"I heard that!" You turn towards the little voice. A child, maybe about 9 or 10 years old is pointing at you. You squint at it.

"Well, it's true..." You mumble. You have a bit of change in your pocket, so you walk towards a stand to buy a hot bun and a paper.

"Chilly today, hon...Best you take this on the house." The tenant hands you a steaming cake wrapped in a simple cloth and your paper. You stick the paper in your dress pocket and take back your change. You nod a 'thank you.'

You spill the contents of your pockets on the dining table and snatch the paper, snapping it open. Your eyes eagerly skim the headline: "Prince Jungkook Fires Up Royal Army." Below is an article detailing the happenings of His Majesty. All of it sounded very intense, the running, strategizing, first aid training...Was there anything Prince Jeon couldn't nail on the first try?

You set the paper down and pick up your now lukewarm tea. In the back of your mind you're coping with the fact that the Spring Solstice is next week, and that marks the beginning of Jungkook's last season as a Prince.

The King is ill with tuberculosis, and recovery is unlikely. If Jungkook is to marry, it is next season and that was final.

Sitting at the window of his Winter Castle study, Jungkook plays with a ring nestled between his fingers. He looks out onto the lake, as if he's trying to reach you with his gaze. His heart is tight knowing that it would be the season he chooses his bride. Actually, he'd already made up his mind long ago. If his duty was to marry, there was no way to evade such a responsibility. He had to fulfill it, despite his anxieties.

He straightens up and walks out of the hollow room with a firm step.

You awaken with the sound of horse's hooves thudding against the Earth. It is yet to be dawn, and in the distance, thunder roars mightily.

A figure wearing a long, black hood hoists itself off of the animal, tying it to a nearby post. It walks towards an obscure entrance, unknown to many staff.

Intrigued, you wrap a blanket around yourself and peek out at the stranger. His fingers are shorter than his palms, and that's when he tosses of his hood, his eyes set on you. "Y/N..."

You're bewildered by his guise, questions filling your head.

"I was horny, so I left camp" He sits down at the counter, catapulting a cookie into his mouth.

You roll your eyes. "And the guards let you?! Jungkook!" You whisper-yelled at him, readjusting your makeshift blanket-dress.

"Obviously not!" He puffed out his chest with pride. "I bribed them," he smirks.

"You're insufferable," you scoff, your eyes wandering down to observe his physique. His shirt is anything but conservative, highlighting the muscle he'd earned through laborious, sweat-inducing drills. You can feel his eyes on your face as you observe him.

"You can't hide it either," he crosses his arms. "You're standing in the kitchen with a blanket around your naked body." He flicks his tongue. He steps forward, putting a finger under your jaw so you're looking him in the eye.

Your eyes fill with lust as he speaks over your lips. "Look at yourself..." A crash is heard in the other room.

Jungkook's head darts up and in a flash, he disappears into the night.

'Fuck.' You gather your dress from the floor and shuffle back to your chamber.

The first event of the season commences with the most exaltant of spirits as friends of old greet each other with youthful smiles. Juicy exposés, enticing tales, and thoughtful greetings are exchanged in the most formal manner, and the conversation is lively; the most controversial topic of conversation, however, is the rumor that Jungkook is to marry this season.

So far, he's been to four different private residences within his own Kingdom and has been invited, by the secretary of King Louis XVII to meet their daughter. It would be an understatement to say that stakes were high for the pending King.

You were kneading your dough a little too hard thinking about it. "Not so rough, y/n!" Ms.Kang snatches the mixture from your hands. "What is up with you lately, you're so tense! It's really disrupting the kitchen's dynamic."

You shrug it off. "It's going to be hard sedating Anastasie's sweet tooth, I suppose."

"Well, you seem to be doing just fine dealing with Jungkook's addiction to cakes...She's perfect for him, really." Ms.Kang throws more flour on your kneading table and steps off. You give up on the dough, covering it with a cloth and letting it rise.

Jungkook is tapping his feet, munching on finger sandwiches as he waits on you to make an appearance.

"Dearest Prince, look, I am wearing Mediterranean violet!" A duchess shouts as she passes by him, to which he raises his eyebrows at. Another, with dark green eyes approaches and begins speaking rapidly in French at him. Frightened and undereducated, his canned response was: "Excusez-moi, Pouvez-vous répéter plus lentement s'il vous plaît," to which the duchess furrows her eyebrows before something else catches her attention, elsewhere.

Truth is, Jungkook is incredibly shaken at the thought of announcing his engagement tonight. Well, that and the fact that you had yet to pop out of the kitchen. Man, those finger sandwiches were good.

As the night progresses, Jungkook realizes that if he doesn't get up on that platform and say what he needed to say, he'd have to say it in London. Setting his fears aside, he plants himself on top of the orchestral stage and taps a champagne glass with a cheese fork. The music comes to a stop.

With conviction, he begins: "The time has come that I announce my engagement. To all of my beloved friends, who have introduced me to the most beautiful, talented, diverse, and benevolent ladies I've come to get to know over the years, I thank you from the depths of my soul." He swallows and continues, his confident voice masking his trembling. "The life of a Prince is defined by the virtues presented to him at birth. Those virtues are: duty, responsibility, grace, kindness, mercy and integrity." Here comes the part, oh shit.

"I am abdicating my throne to my Cousin, the Duke of Namseong."

Silence sweeps the room. You poke your head out to see what was going on.

"...to marry the love of my life, y/n." He points at you. Your face is cherry red, and you find yourself dropping those same Danish fucking pastries all over the carpet.

"Shit," you fall on your knees, plucking them from the ground one by one. You don't know whether to run as fast as you can or to present yourself, but your body seems to be currently doing the latter. You go along with it.

Jungkook takes your hand tenderly on the stage. "I am unable to perform my duties as King, and therefore am ineligible for the throne." His touch gives you the will to continue beside him. You feel the pure fear rushing through your love's veins, and he knows that this is the hardest thing he'll ever have to do, yet he stands by his announcement.

So, if Jungkook doesn't get to be King of this World, he at least will forever be the King of Your Heart.

But all this, of course...is all in Your, dear reader, Head.

a/n:

hope you enjoyed.

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elvensorceress · 3 years

Text

sunrise

(the 5x03 episode coda we all deserve)

Inspired by @eric-dierr ‘s post

on AO3

There’s finality to the sound of the door shutting behind her, but the weight of more years than he’s ever known her disappears as soon as she does.

He can breathe again. He can relax. He doesn’t have to play a part. He doesn’t have to fake picture perfect, too-exaggerated-to-be-real happiness. He can finally take his home back.

The irony of his disaster kitchen is not lost on him. But he starts with a message, because it needs to be said, and he hates the idea of hurting anyone. Least of all hurting someone the way Buck was hurt.

Done. It’s over.

Is what he sends. And then goes to strip the beds and cycle the laundry and wash his whole fucking house of anything touched by her. It’s only a few minutes before he receives a response.

it go ok? r u ok?

He could be better. He could have a clean house and a clean mind and he could simply enjoy curling up with his son and finally spending time with him. Fixing everything has to come first.

It was fine. Probably. Who knows. You make it home?

Once the sheets are washing, he turns to the kitchen and who does this to someone else’s kitchen and just leaves it? He digs out gallon sized ziplock bags and fills them with the assortment of muffins and other baked goods. He’ll have to make a note to himself to take them to the station on his next shift. At least he won’t have to pretend to like bland, flavorless cooking anymore.

He checks his phone and it’s been a good ten minutes without a response, so maybe Buck decided to nap or cook or… Oh, god maybe his girlfriend is there.

At least there’s not much of anything in Eddie’s stomach right now because it twists and he’s nauseous and of all the people Buck had to pick her and it’s just… none of his business but Buck could do so much better. He deserves so much better. Though the idea of Buck with anyone is not something he wants to think about. Not that he wants Buck to be alone forever. He’s been so lonely and Eddie knows he desperately wants to be loved. But no one is ever going to be good enough for him, no one can know him well enough or love him the way he needs, he should be adored and cherished and treated like the most precious thing in existence because he is.

And that’s the most Eddie wants to think about on the subject.

He starts by unloading the dishwasher and then has to restart by organizing his cupboards back the way the dishes and cups and silverware are supposed to be organized. Halfway through the third cupboard, his phone chimes.

idk. technically. what r u up to?

He reads it and rereads their whole conversation, and sighs heavily. Buck could take his own advice. But then they’d both be alone again. One of them should at least have something? He starts typing and hesitates and knows his typing must have appeared and notified Buck that he’s working on a response. But. Should he?

Fuck it. Why not.

Cleaning up my disaster. Want to come over?

The response is immediate.

Yes

It’s another moment where he can finally breathe again. In that case, he unloads the clean dishes into a mostly empty cupboard and tries to tackle the dirty dishes in the sink before Buck shows up and sees the mess made of his kitchen.

disaster?

Is the next message that pops up on his phone and Eddie contemplates sending a picture, but some things are better left a surprise.

You’ll see.

It takes him less than fifteen minutes to walk through the door and the kitchen is only partly under control. He hears Christopher excitedly exclaim, “Buck! Buck is home! You’re here!”

And Buck’s near giddy reply of, “Christopher! You’re also home!” He laughs and Eddie has to see them.

He grabs a kitchen towel to dry his hands and finds Christopher clutched tightly in Buck’s arms, melting onto his shoulder much like he did at the station a few days ago. They both have their eyes closed tightly, swaying as if there’s joyful music only they can hear. Eddie wonders what it might take for him to hear it as well.

He swallows hard and can’t look at anything else.

Christopher lifts up and presses both of his small hands into Buck’s cheeks. “I missed you, kid.”

Buck laughs again but his eyes look glassy even though there’s something about him that is radiant sunshine after years of being lost in a cold night. “I missed you, too, buddy.” He sets Christopher down but bends to leave a kiss on his forehead. When he looks at Eddie with that glowing sunrise of a smile, Eddie can almost believe in hope and happiness and the future.

It makes him want to believe real love is still possible. That there is something, someone, in existence who might make his heart want and need and bleed love in every incarnation.

Buck lets Christopher go back to playing and follows Eddie into the kitchen. Where his expression immediately turns into something horrified. “What in the,” he glances in the direction of the other room, shuts the door and mouths quietly, “Fuck happened here?”

“I told you. Disaster.” Eddie tosses his kitchen towel onto his shoulder and returns to the kitchen sink with soaking cupcake pans.

“But,” Buck says, supremely distressed. “My kitchen.”

“I’ve been working on it,” Eddie promises. He needs to scrub down and wash away everything.

“She wasn’t even here that long. What the hell did she do? Who does this and just leaves someone else’s house like this?”

Eddie shrugs but gives him a smile. He can finally smile. A real smile in his own home. It’s almost strange now, but it’s possible. Then again, it’s always real when Buck is around. “That’s exactly what I thought.”

Buck shakes his head and goes to the cupboards to finish organizing them properly. He knows better where everything is supposed to belong anyway.

With Buck’s help, it doesn’t take long to reorganize and wipe down the entire kitchen. They put new sheets and blankets on the beds and Eddie does a quick cleaning of the bathrooms while Buck vacuums and tidies the living room. They bring the dried laundry to Christopher’s room to fold and put it away and start a load of all Eddie’s work clothes, and only then does Buck turn to him and put his hands on Eddie’s shoulders.

Eddie tries not to go weak at the touch. It feels like an eternity since they’ve hugged, since they’ve been home, since they’ve been close.

“Thank you,” Buck says softly.

Eddie looks at him, unsure, uncertain, and longing for something they can never have. “For what?”

Buck bites his lip and tears well in his eyes. “For not being Abby. For being you.”

Eddie takes a deep breath and very lightly rests a hand on Buck’s chest. Over his heart. “Thanks for being you.”

Buck bends his head and Eddie holds onto him, pulls him closer so Buck’s forehead rests against his own.

It’s so easy to believe now. He can almost feel it with how they’ve grown together, built this together. There’s something so close it feels inevitable, but he knows it’s something they chose for themselves.

When they let go, they join Christopher on the sofa and cuddle together closer than they ever have. So close Christopher wriggles out from their tight grasp because they are interrupting game time, okay? Buck looks at him for a moment but curls against Eddie’s side anyway and drifts off as they’re stretched on the couch together.

His house his clean. His life has a new page, a fresh start, it can be anything. But he knows, no matter what, they’ll have each other and their son. It’s all his heart has ever wanted, and this time, it feels as if they will have it.

@oneweirdcryptid @ashavahishta @captain-flint @phantomqueenmorrigan @loveyourownsmiilee @oldsouldreamer85 @arrenemris @fleurdebeton @rosefairyirl @holydrogo-n @free-byrd @insaneoldme @oatflatwhite @favouritealias @idealuk @racoonsa @ethicalconflictdiaz

(If anyone would like to be added to my tag list, let me know or go like this post 💕)

#buddie #buddiefanfiction #911fic #911 spoilers #buck x eddie #jenwyn fic #idk I haven't even watched the episode yet because #do I really need to???#no but #buckley diaz family #rights #they belong in the season's 3rd episode so #here you go #family cuddles because reasons

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marauderundercover · 3 years

Text

Taking Chances Ch. 12: Resting at Home (Alt Prompt: Baking)

AO3

Waking up at five in the morning, feeling like you’re surrounded is disorienting. Waking up with a sore throat and shooting pain in her shoulder was also disorienting. Until she remembered everything from the night before. Adrien was not going to be happy. He’d begged her to tell him if she ended up going on patrol with her father, wanting her to be safe. She didn’t tell him, and now she was certain he was going to be angry. Unless she could get back to the hotel before he woke up. But it was still unlikely that he wouldn’t know. Plagg was a tattle tale. Sighing, she carefully gets out of the bed, maneuvering around her brothers’ sleeping forms on the floor. Walking out of the room, she instantly feels anxious. Deciding a glass of water might calm her down, she heads towards the kitchen.

“I believe you should be resting, Miss Marinette.” Alfred says, making her jump. She winces as her shoulder jostles, trying not to frown at the way Alfred’s lips purse. She knew he was worried. And she knew her family was going to be unbelievably overprotective for the next six months. Or maybe, six years. She’s not exactly sure how protective they actually are.

“I was going to get a glass of water.” She says softly, pointing to her throat. “I was also feeling a little anxious.”

“Very well. I was about to start the preparations for breakfast. If you promise to sit and refrain from straining yourself, you may come with.” He says. She grins, immediately falling into step with the man.

“Could we bake something for everyone for breakfast?” She asks, glancing up at him. “It doesn’t have to be anything too difficult. I mean, I’d prefer to make croissants the first time I bake for them, but there’s not exactly time to do that for breakfast.” She rambles as they walk into the kitchen. Alfred immediately walks over to a cabinet and grabs a glass, filling it with water before handing it to her and raising an eyebrow. She smiles gratefully and sips on the water, relishing in the coolness on her throat.

“I believe our agreement was that you would sit and refrain from straining yourself.” Alfred says, moving around the kitchen with ease. Marinette huffs but plops onto one of the stools.

“It doesn’t have to be anything difficult! It could even be….muffins! Muffins are popular for breakfast here, right?” She suggests, flailing her arms, wincing as she does so. It was going to be annoying remembering that her injury was there this time around. There was no Miraculous Cure when her opponent was just a bad guy, not a Miraculous holder.

“If I allow you to turn on the mixer and place the liners in the tin, will you be satisfied?” Alfred asks with a sigh. Marinette grins and nods. There’s comfortable silence as Alfred moves about the kitchen, measuring out the ingredients.

“Alfred?” She finally asks, glancing at the man who only hums in acknowledgement. “Who is Slade?” She asks. He pauses, the measuring cup positioned over the bowl. He takes a deep breath and dumps the ingredient in before straightening even more.

“He was part of the organization that Master Damian grew up in. He’s always hated both Master Bruce and Master Damian. And now, I imagine, you’re also on his list.” He says calmly, clearly looking at her for some type of reaction.

“So now another villain is after my Miraculous? Joy.” She says sarcastically, pouting as she slumps in her seat. “I was kinda hoping he was just some random guy. Not a legitimate villain.” She adds. Alfred simply shakes his head, sliding the muffin tin and liners towards her.

“I can assure you, Miss Marinette. Between your father and brothers, this man will not succeed in taking your Miraculous. Marinette frowns, hoping the man is right.

---

Sitting straight up in bed, Damian tenses. This was not his bed. Blinking, he looks around the room and lets his shoulders relax slightly. He was in Dupain Cheng’s room, of course. She had been attacked last night- He pauses. He frowns as he looks at her pillows, no sight of her. Leaping over his brothers, he knocks on the door for the bathroom attached to her room.

“Dupain Cheng?” He says lowly, frowning at the lack of a response. He pushes the door open. Empty. So she was missing. She could not have gotten far. And she had to have left of her own volition. No one could have made it past all of his siblings. Leaving the room, he decides his first course of action should be to ask Pennyworth. Judging by the time, he should be in the kitchen. Making his way into the kitchen (his technical ban should not be an issue since he was actively looking for Dupain Cheng), he pauses when he sees the girl he was looking for, slumped onto the island.

“Ah, Master Damian. Breakfast should be ready soon. Would you care to fetch the rest of your siblings?” He asks. Damian frowns, glancing at Dupain Cheng. Was she okay? Should she really be up and running around after yesterday? She might be one of Paris’ heroes, but surely she wasn’t used to being stabbed?

“Very well.” He says, instead of arguing. He would just have to monitor Dupain Cheng from afar. After all, she did take a sword meant for him.

---

Marinette sighs, pushing herself off the counter. She wasn’t sure how serious breakfast was for the family, but she certainly didn’t want to scare anyone with her bedhead. Hopping off the stool, she winces slightly.

“Miss Marinette, I do wish you would refrain from jostling your wounds so much.” Alfred says, a small frown on his face. Mari grins awkwardly.

“Sorry Alfred.” She apologizes before rushing back up the stairs. She glances into several open doors, suddenly wishing she’d counted earlier to know which was hers. She huffs, prepared to give up, when someone clears their throat. She whirls around, raising an eyebrow at Damian.

“That room is yours.” He says simply, pointing at a door. “Everyone has vacated your room in order to get dressed in their own.” He adds, turning around and walking into a room. Well that’s new, she thinks, surprised that he’s still talking to her. Sure they talked briefly last night, but she honestly thought it was a fluke. Not that she minded. She really did want a relationship with all of her siblings. After being an only child for fourteen years, it was amazing to have so many siblings. Sure they didn’t grow up together, but she was certain that they could all become close. Walking into her room, Marinette quickly gets dressed in clothes that had obviously been left in there by Cass, since they were much smaller than anything the boys could have worn. Smiling, she ducks into the bathroom to deal with her bedhead, squeaking in surprise as something flies into her face.

“Tikki?” She says, shocked at the way the Kwami flies at her.

“You could have died! You silly, silly girl! I could have lost you last night, Marinette.” She cries, flying at Marinette’s face and patting her with her tiny paws. And in that moment, Marinette swears her heart breaks.

“Oh, Tikki.” She says softly, bringing her hands up to cradle the trembling Kwami. “I’m okay, I promise. Don’t worry, I was with my family. They wouldn’t let anything happen to me. I’m right here.” She reassures her small friend, wincing as she continues shaking.

“I couldn’t have saved you, Marinette. It wasn’t magic. There would have been no cure. I healed your shoulder as much as I can without disrupting the balance, but it’s still going to take weeks to fully heal.” Tikki says, her big eyes watery.

“I know, Tikki. But I couldn’t just let Damian get hurt. He’s my little brother, whether he likes it or not.” She says, patting her friend’s head gently before moving to her brush.

“But-” Tikki starts, pausing when Marinette turns her full attention back to her.

“But nothing Tikki. I’m okay, you’re okay, and my family is okay. That’s all we can ask for.” She says, going back to her attempts to tame her hair. Her phone, which she had set on the side of the sink, starts buzzing incessantly. Without glancing at the caller ID, she answers.

“Marinette Dupain Cheng, where the hell are you? Plagg says you left late last night and didn’t come back!” The worried voice of Adrien Agreste leaks through the speakers. Oh, right. She forgot to text him. Oops.

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @jaybird-and-co @imarivers8 @when-no-wings-dobroomsticks

#maribat #maribat bruce wayne #maribat bio dad bruce #maribat bio dad! bruce wayne month 2021 #maribat bio dad au #maribat marinette dupain cheng #maribat marinette dupain cheng is ladybird #maribat damian wayne #platonic daminette #mbdbwm2021 #day twelve alt prompt #ao3fic #maribat fic

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hercleverboy · 3 years

Text

the comfort of rain

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ spencer reid is her soulmate, isn’t he?

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ heartbreak, unrequited love

word count ↠ 1.6k

“Do not bother holding on to that thing that does not want you. You cannot make it stay.” — Rupi Kaur

Spencer Reid was her soulmate.

She was sure of it. The pair had been inseparable since she’d started working with the BAU four years prior, practically joined at the hip, never one without the other.

He’d never fail to bring her breakfast on days filled with paperwork, when he knew she’d barely slept and craved nothing more than a banana muffin from the bakery down the road. He simply placed it on her desk with a warm smile, receiving a thankful one from her in return.

Such a small gesture, but it meant the world to her.

He would press little kisses to the crown of her head after they arrested an unsub, a small act of thankfulness that she was ultimately unharmed. An appreciation that she was okay, safe.

For all intents and purposes, they were only best friends. Though she’d been helplessly in love with him for years, and she had an inkling he felt the same. She didn’t want to make assumptions, but then again she was the only person he ever really got up close and personal with. Sure, he’d hug the other team members too occasionally, but she didn’t see him holding Emily or JJ’s hands on the jet home after a case that ended badly. He didn’t give them countless book recommendations, or spend his evenings watching TV shows that she was in love with just so they’d have something else to talk about.

He always offered her his coat when it was cold, or when the rain began to fall heavily and she was only in her shirt and jeans (despite how he’d commented, as he looked up at the sky, that it was likely going to rain based on the colour of the clouds. She never listened to him.)

One of his most treasured memories is the time they were hanging out at his place on a rare Saturday that they didn’t have to go into work for a case. They were watching some eight-part crime series on Netflix that she’d finally convinced him to watch with her, after her complaining about needing someone to talk about it with. The loud clap of thunder cracked through the sky, making her jump up from his couch in excitement, looking out the window as rain began to fall heavily from the grey clouds above. She looked out silently as the rain pattered, watching how people on the street below rushed to find shelter from the unexpected downpour.

Spencer frowned, coming to stand behind her.

“I love the rain.” She commented, noting his presence behind her.

His frown deepened. “Why? It’s cold and wet and- gross.”

She chuckled quietly at his comment. “You’re not wrong there, but I meant more that I love watching the rain. I like the way it sounds. The way it smells. It reminds me that I’m alive. It’s comforting.”

It was quiet for a little, the sound of the rain pinging harshly against the window.

“Pluviophile.”

She turned back to him, speaking softly. “What?”

“Pluviophile. It refers to a person who loves the sound of the rain. They often find a sense of joy or peace of mind during rainy days.”

She bit her lip to stifle her smile and turned back to the window, giving him a simple nod in return. She was always somehow surprised by his never-ending plethora of knowledge.

They stood and watched the downpour together in a comfortable silence.

Spencer supposed the rain wasn’t so bad, after that.

In the recent weeks, she found herself wanting so badly to confess her feelings, but as every friends to lovers story goes- she feared rejection. She feared him leaving. And she’d certainly rather love him from afar than confess her feelings and risk losing him.

He’d managed to embed himself so deeply in her heart that she was sure there could never be anyone else for her.

She was mesmerised by him. Compelled by every word that left his mouth, enthralled by all his random knowledge and infinite number of stories he’d committed to his memory. When they sat on his couch watching Doctor Who, she’d gladly listen to any time travel related ranting he wanted to get off of his chest, without any interruptions or eye rolls. (She could listen to him talk forever.)

She’d often fall asleep on his shoulder, and he’d smile down gently at his best friend, a woman he cared so deeply for.

She stuck by him throughout everything, and she never sugar-coated things. If she thought he was being petty or overreacting slightly in a situation she was the first to bring it up, to call him out. And he’d listen, too, because he trusted her more than anyone and it’s likely she was right about it. She took care of him, in a way that no one ever had before. It was unspoken between them that they’d essentially die for one another, two souls destined to be one another’s everything.

When he confided in her one night that he was afraid that he should’ve amounted to more, she was quick to soothe his worries. She held him as he sniffled into her shoulder, with hushed reassurances that he was already doing incredible things, and that his work was making the world a safer place, one case at a time.

She was particularly close to JJ, the woman who had become like a sister to her. She told JJ of her feelings for Spencer, and the blonde had just smiled at her in response, as if it had been obvious.

“You should go for it.”

“Really? You think so?”

“Think so? I know so. We’ve all seen the way he looks at you. You mean everything to him.”

That conversation was the final push she needed to decide that it was time to come clean about her feelings.

With the nervous pit in her stomach being overwhelmed by the excitement she felt, she tried to clear her thoughts. She could only hope this went well. She was meant to meet Spencer at his place for the evening, and so knocked gently on the door when she arrived, taking deep breaths to prepare herself.

The door swung open, Spencer flashing her a smile when he saw her. “Hey! I’m glad you’re here, I have something to tell you.”

She grinned, making her way past him into the apartment. “Oh god, what did you do this time? Did you misplace your phone again?” She joked, sliding off her jacket.

Spencer shook his head, biting his lip to supress his smile.

“Okay. Then what is it?”

He smiled then, and it was a smile she’d hadn’t seen him wear before. One that was so much bigger than the rest, one that reached his eyes and made them glimmer with hope and glee.

“I- um. I met someone.”

and just like that, her face dropped.

“Her name is Maeve, she’s a Geneticist. We’ve been talking over the phone for about a month now. I know what you’re going to say, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. I just wanted to see if it was going to go anywhere-“

Her ears stopped tuning in to what he was saying. She could only hear the pounding of her heart filling her ears, tears burning her eyes as she tried her best to keep them at bay. That’s the smile he’d had, the one she couldn’t quite place at first. She recognised it now. The realisation hit her like a train.

Lovesick.

Spencer had stopped talking, looking at her with concern. “Are you okay?”

She snapped her head up to meet his eyes.

No, I’m not okay. I’m in love with you.

Is what she wanted to say.

Instead-

“Sorry, Spencer. I think I’m gonna have to take a rain check tonight. I’m feeling a little sick, so I think I’m just going to head home.”

“Oh, are you sure? You can always stick around here for a bit, I could take care of you. You know, technically I am a doctor.” He grinned, attempting a joke.

She didn’t laugh, but gave him her best fake smile, one she could only hope he didn’t read too much into. She hoped he couldn’t see the tell-tale profiler signs of devastation on her features that she was so desperately trying to hide.

If he did notice, he said nothing about it.

She shook her head. It was taking everything in her to hold herself together, but she’d be damned if she ruined his happiness because of her own pitiful feelings.

She remembered the smile, his beautiful, lovesick smile. It was for Maeve, not her. It made her heart ache in a way that felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.

“It’s okay. I’ll uh- I’ll text you later.” She mumbled, grabbing her coat before leaving the apartment, leaving a confused Spencer behind.

However, all was forgotten when his phone started buzzing, Maeve’s name flashing across the screen. He smiled.

Outside in the car park, she sat in her car as the thunder cracked above her, the treacherous rain coming down in harsh hits against her windshield.

She found herself grateful for the rain in that moment, as the dam holding her emotions back broke, tears flooding down her cold, pink-tinted cheeks.

She placed her head in her hands and began to sob, her uneven breaths and heartbroken cries being slightly muffled by the patters of the rain hitting the gravel outside.

She felt comforted by the sound.

It was as though the sky was crying with her.

Yes, Spencer Reid was her soulmate.

But she just wasn’t his.

Tag list - @beyonces-breastmilk @pinkdiamond1016 @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @thelovelyrose @averyhotchner @cynbx

#idk what this is #plot who?#i don’t know her #spencer reid #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #mgg x reader #mgg #criminal minds #spencer reid angst

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superpixie42 · 3 years

Text

In which we crank the feels up to 9.5

Updates on Tuesdays and will be in the #mywriting tag.

This is the final Rated T portion. 7 & 8 are E.

Story Tags: Modern AU. Single Mom Kagome. Gruff on the outside but puppy on the inside Inuyasha. Bus friends to actual friends to lovers. Found family feels. Slowburn for people in a hurry. Eventual sexual content.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 Below The Cut

In the months since meeting Inuyasha, Kagome had become a muffin baking master. She could also make scones, quick breads, and pound cake. And, while her experiments with bagels were technically successful, she quickly decided they were really more trouble than they were worth since her tiny cooktop struggled to keep the giant stock-pot she borrowed from her mother at a consistent boil.

But now that summer was well underway, she was very happy to start experimenting with portable breakfasts that weren’t so reliant on her oven. Today, it was fruit and yogurt parfaits with granola.

As she crested the hill, she was surprised to see the grungy little shelter was empty. She sat her bookbag and the breakfasts down and pulled out her phone, smiling down at the New Message notification from Inuyasha. Originally, she’d given him her number so he could text her to let her know he made it home okay after The Incident at work. He’d stayed at her place watching Netflix and playing with Toru until it was bedtime, but eventually her lack of guest space meant he had to go home — it’s not like he could sleep on the floor when her whole pretense for keeping him there was that he was injured! By the time he left for the bus, his ribs weren’t bruised anymore and the largest cut on his cheek had closed. Still, she begged him to text her when he got home. Which he did.

He also texted her the next morning. And after lunch when he got up for the day. And then when he saw something on TV that made him think of her. Just remembering how giddy she got at the first unprompted text made her want to die with embarrassment. They were friends, and that was nothing to get butterflies over.

She swiped open the notification: [Running late be there in 5]

She started absent-mindedly scrolling and waited until another message popped up: [Look up]

Kagome turned to the left, but instead of seeing Inuyasha walking up the hill, there was a small two-door red sedan parked right in front of the shelter, clearly blocking the bus zone. The driver’s door opened and she could see Inuyasha’s silver ears over the roof of the car as he climbed out and walked towards her.

“You've got a car?” she asked, her confusion clear in her voice.

“Totosai let me buy it off him cheap. Said it was a bonus in thanks for not quitting, or calling the cops, or claiming workers comp or anything else that would make the old man’s life more difficult. And... because...” he paused and looked exasperatedly back down the hill.

“And?”

He sighed and pinched his eyes closed. “And because… the neighborhood is going to the dogs...and I hate him for making me say that but it was his one requirement for the price…”

Kagome had to scrunch up her whole face, the pressure of the laugh she was holding back nearly driving her to tears. Even Toru started to giggle as his whole tiny body was jiggled about from his mother’s barely restrained laughter.

“Well, I'm very glad your boss is such a reasonable guy,” she said, wiping her eyes. “But I have to say I'll miss our mornings.”

Inuyasha rolled his eyes and stepped around the car. He pulled open the passenger door and slid the seat forward. There in the back was a newly installed rear facing car seat.

Now Kagome really was crying.

---

Tag Wall (please let me know if you want off or on!)

@mcornilliac @clearwillow @theinuyashareader @mayarab @lavendertwilight89 @kazeinori @dawnrider @kirrtash @bluejay785 @horriblehowl @neutronstarchild @fawn-eyed-girl @hopidoodle @hnn-wnchstr @sistasecbhere @smmahamazing @thornedraven @anisaanisa @liz8080 @princessinume @ruddcatha @lostinfantasyworlds @littlestuffstohide @kalcia @sacred-arrow @fandomobsessions016 @thirrinwildcat @gribed-li @kagometaishostory @sailorlolo @mymidnightnightmare @arcprz @greatlegallybadmorally @heynikkiyousofine @mrfeenysmustache @mamabearcat @heathersmusings @kawaiichan67

#my writing #dont judge a book by its cover #inuyasha fanfiction #modern au #sorry this one is a little shorter BUT hopefully the feels make up for it :)#ONLY TWO LEFT WHAAAAAAT

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angryschnauzer · 3 years

Text

Just What I Need

Summary; Working in a coffee shop you meet all sorts of people, but one customer in particular is always friendly, a local Detective from the nearby precinct. When one night he orders through a delivery service rather than in store, you get more than a tip when you make the delivery.

Fandom; Nomis (Night Hunter) Movie, Henry Cavill

Pairing: Detective Walter Marshall x Female Reader (no race or size specified)

Trope: Coffee Shop Meet Cute

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Flirting, Masturbation (male), Oral Sex (female recieving), unprotected sex, Vaginal Sex, Snowstorms.

I do not operate a tag list but instead please pop over and follow @angryschnauzerwrites and put that blog onto notifications, then you’ll get an alert every time i post a new story. My Masterlist got too long and tumblr ate it, so all my past stories can also be found on my AO3, link HERE

A/N: I am considering expanding this story, depending if people like it and want me to? Let me know! <3

Just What I Need

Running the steam through the coffee machine you wiped the nozzle and smiled, there were just fifteen minutes until closing and the coffee shop you worked at was all but abandoned. Just your manager in the back counting the cash takings, and you were getting ready to box up the remaining muffins and cookies for the homeless shelter volunteer to collect dead on closing time.

You didn’t mind working the late shift, in fact you preferred it over the early shift opening up at 7am. The 7am crowd were grumpy, rude and always in a rush. The 7pm customers were tired, quiet, and always thankful for whatever caffeinated delights you provided them with.

The bell over the door rang as it opened and you looked up over the cups that were stacked on top of the machine, smiling at you saw the weary familiar face coming towards you;

“Good Evening Detective” you smiled as the beast of a man stood at the counter. His face softened as he saw you, his shoulders dropping a little as he relaxed.

“Hey… Sorry I’m in so late… you’re still open, right?”

You glanced at the clock;

“Another ten minutes. What can i get you?”

You watched as he cast his gaze up to the handwritten chalkboard menu’s above the counter;

“You got any Chilli left?”

“Sure, a couple of pots in the fridge. Want me to warm it up?”

He paused for a moment, as if trying to process the most technical question through his tired mind;

“No… yes… urghhh…” he took a deep breath; “Yeah… if you wouldn’t mind. I’m so fuckin’ tired i think I’d burn my apartment down if i tried to use the stove”

“Sure thing” you said with a smile as you got to work.

You made small talk as you prepared his order, pulling out the sides and condiments that came with the Chilli meal;

“Hey, you want a free muffin?”

“I’m not really into sweet things this late at night… what flavours you got?”

“How about an Apple Cinnamon? It’ll last overnight and still be fresh enough for breakfast”

The Detective smiled and nodded, pulling his wallet out as you finished bagging his order and rang it through for him, paying before you handed the bag to him;

“Have a good evening Detective”

As he turned he smiled at you;

“Call me Walter”

Three days later and you were on the late shift again. Again it was quiet, just the soft sound of tyres driving through slushy snow outside the only noise since around 6pm as just a couple of customers nursed steaming mugs of coffee from their window seats. You saw the big silver truck pull up in the space outside the coffeeshop and smiled, there was only one customer that drove a truck that huge and if you were being honest with yourself you were developing quite a crush on the curly haired Detective.

The moment he walked through the door you were smiling at him;

“Detective” you greeted him happily

“Didn’t i say to call me Walter last time i was here?”

“I like Detective, has a nice authority ring to it” you said with a wink; “What can i get you tonight?”

He paused for a moment, and as you reached for a notepad to jot down his order you missed the slight eyebrow raise and smirk at what you’d said before he cleared his throat;

“What have you got that i can eat in my office without facing the wrath of my Lieutenant for making the department stink?” he said with a grin as he leaned on the counter.

“I got Mozzarella and Pesto Subs? Tuna Melt?”

“Tuna is a no. The case isn’t going well, no fish. Gimme two Mozzarella Subs, and the largest black coffee you do”

“Sure thing. I’ll put a fresh pot on and get those sub’s on the press”

As you started to prepare his order his phone rang, and you couldn’t help but to listen in;

“... i’ll be like five minutes, i ain’t eaten all day… yeah ok… i’ll grab a box…”

He hung up and nodded to the cakes;

“Can i get a dozen muffins to go too? Got some grunts that are jealous that i got to escape the paperwork…”

“Sure thing”

Loading a box you picked what you knew were the best flavours and the freshest bakes;

“You know, we’re on Uber Eats. As much as its nice to see a friendly face, we can deliver to the Precinct”

“I… I have no idea what that is…”

“Its a food delivery app. Here, give me your phone…”

He unlocked it and set it down and rested his elbows on the counter as he watched;

“You go to the app store and just download it. Put in your location and it’ll bring up nearby eateries and you can search for us. It has all the standard menu on. Save your card details or link it to paypal, and its super easy, it even keeps you updated when the order is being prepared or its out for delivery”

He smiled as you pushed the phone back to him, locking the screen and pushing it back into his tight jeans;

“That’s all well and good, but then i wouldn’t get a chance to see my favourite coffee shop girl now, would i?”

You leaned forward and grinned, keeping your voice low;

“Order between 6.45 and 7pm and i snag the deliveries and do them on my way home”

Walter pushed the key into the lock, opening the door to his apartment and groaning as his body ached from tiredness. He should be elated, they caught the killer, the evidence was logged and couldn’t be disputed… and yet he was tired to his core. He’d been at his desk for longer than he’d been home, and when the Lieutenant had finally ordered him to go him a little after 5pm, it had still taken him the better part of an hour to finish up and leave the building.

Shutting the door behind him he felt his stomach rumble. He didn’t even need to look in the fridge to know it was completely empty, devoid of anything even vaguely edible. Checking his phone he saw that it was a little after 6.30pm and a thought fired across his mind, a smile forming. Fifteen minutes later he’d added far more to his online basket than he ever would have done in store, but for the first time he was able to see exactly what the creations were whereas in the store it was just a big pile of weird looking cakes and bakes. By 6.50pm he’d entered his card details and completed the order, the little update screen stating delivery would be by 7.30pm, just enough time to grab a shower, after all if it was you that would deliver, he should probably shower for the first time in 72 hours having rushed out of the apartment three mornings in a row due to new leads in the case.

The shower was far too enjoyable to rush, and after he’d washed his hair he started on his body, soaping over his chest and stomach before he paid extra attention to his dick. The anticipation of just the possibility of seeing you had him hard in seconds, and resting his head back against the tiled wall he quickly worked his hand over himself. He got lost in the moment, his mind taking him to places it shouldn’t, imagining his hand was yours, thinking about that time he saw you wearing over the over the knee knit socks and a skirt, how your ass was the perfect roundness, how your lips would look stretched around his dick… he came with a groan, thick white ropes falling to the shower floor as every ounce of stress left his body, his body shuddering when he was finally spent.

He was halfway through drying himself when he heard a knock at the door to his apartment, he eyes going wide when he saw it was 7.20pm;

“Fuck!”

He’d gotten carried away in the shower, and now he had to quickly rush to wrap a towel around his waist as a second knock came just as he reached the door, taking a deep breath before opening it and seeing you standing on the doorstep shivering in your padded coat, holding two takeout bags;

“Hey! Come in, come in, Jeez its freezing out there…”

Stepping into the apartment you couldn’t help but to look him up and down, attempting to hide your reaction as you could clearly see the distinct outline of something rather large bulging against the fabric of the fluffy white towel;

“Hey D-d-detective… Y-y-yeah it’s d-d-dropping fast out t-t-there… radio s-s-said it was g-g-gonna be a wind chill of minus t-t-twenty nine by eight o’clock… what a n-n-night to have my b-b-bike, huh?” You carefully dropped the two bags onto his coffee table as you spoke.

“You cycled here? On that pedal bike that is always chained up outside the coffee shop?” he asked incredulously, immediately forgetting his current state of undress. Shutting the door he immediately wrapped his arms around you, pulling you to his chest; “You’re gonna stay here until you’re warmed up, i’m gonna make you a hot coffee and to warm you up from the inside too...”

“I ain’t gonna complain to that” you mumbled, your face pressed to his chest as you suddenly melted against him, warming your cheek against his firm muscles before turning your head to warm the other one and he let out a little gasp as your cold hands pressed against his sides.

“I also said for you to call me Walter…” he said quietly.

Pulling your head back you smiled at him;

“Thank you, Walter. You’re the best… though you’re the first delivery i’ve made where i’ve been greeted by someone in just a towel”

“Sorry, let me go put some clothes on…”

You tighten your grip around his waist;

“I wasn’t complaining…”

There was no poignant pause, no longing gazes, his lips met with yours and the kiss was fierce and hungry. He was pushing your coat down your arms and you reluctantly released your hold from his waist to let it drop to the floor, your sweater following soon after. Your lips met again and he was lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as his hand rested on your ass beneath your skirt as he walked you through the apartment before dropping you on his bed.

He was pulling your boots off your feet as you scrambled up the bed, your hands reaching for your thigh high socks when he suddenly caught your hands in his;

“Leave those on…”

You paused and grinned, before his lips met yours again and he was on top of you, his hands sliding up your skirt and bunching it around your waist as he pressed a trail of open mouthed kisses down the valley of your breasts and over your stomach, before briefly lifting his head enough to pull your panties down your legs and toss them aside.

As he lowered his mouth to your core his gaze was intense, vivid blue shining through the dim light of his bedroom, his tongue pushing through your soaked petals and parting them as his beard brushed against your skin, heightening all of the sensations. Wrapping his arms around your thighs he pulled you closer to his mouth, his tongue pushing into you and he started to fuck you with it whilst his bearded face tickled your clit. You were squealing and struggling to stay still, needing to anchor yourself on something as your hips bucked and your orgasm started to rapidly approach, your hands finding their way to his still wet hair and your fingers wrapping around the dark curls as he pressed a hand to your stomach to keep you still, growling at your taste on his tongue as he felt you shake as your orgasm took over.

When your body had finally stopped shaking Walter pressed a chaste kiss to the inside of each of your thighs before he sat back on his haunches, licking his lips where he could still taste you on them. Pushing yourself up onto your elbows you grinned at him, your gaze travelling down his thick chest to his stomach, and the trail of hair that led beneath the towel;

“You gonna show me what you’ve got under that towel, Detective?”

“You ready for what i’ve got under this towel darlin’?”

Pushing yourself up to sitting, your legs spread and bent either side of him, you hooked a finger into the towel and tugged, your eyes going wide when you saw his thick meaty cock standing hard and proud between his muscled thighs. Wrapping your hands around it you relished the feel of his silky skin as it moved over the hardness beneath, your mouth against his;

“I need you inside me”

“I… Fuck… this wasn’t planned… i haven’t got any protection…”

“I’m on birth control, I want to feel you bare…”

With a growl he surged forwards, capturing your lips with his own before he pushed you down onto the bed. Holding himself up on one hand he hooked your leg up over his hip, opening you like a winter blossom as he rubbed his dick through your soaked folds, dousing himself with your slick wetness. You whined at the teasing, the way his tip would brush against your hole only to move up to your clit;

“Walter, please… you promised to warm me up from the inside…”

He paused, a smirk on his face;

“You want me to get you a coffee? ‘Cos i can stop…”

“NO, i need your diiiiiiiiii….FUCK!” He’d pushed into you as you were mid sentence, the feeling of his meaty girth splitting your walls wide open overwhelming you and your eyes rolled back in their sockets; “OH MY GOD!”

“You like that Darlin? You feeling warmer now?”

“Please… please fuck me…”

He grinned and shifted his hips, grinding into you;

“Well, as you said please…”

You had been expecting him to pound you into the mattress, you had not been expecting for his technique to start off with sensual rolls of his hips, filling you tenderly and carefully whilst you got used to his size. It was almost overwhelming, completely surrounded as he caged you in with his massive arms, his chest pressed against your own as his hips worked utter magic. He pulled his legs wide apart, shifting to rest on your open hips and he got even deeper. Pressing kisses to your lips and neck he soon had you moaning and begging for release, every push and pull hitting just the right spots and you were almost embarrassingly wet from the arousal but it only added to the sensations.

You could feel yourself coming, the pleasure too much to hold back, and with a long low moan your body betrayed you and succumbed to the orgasm that had been building in the pit of your belly. Walter kept up the same speed of his thrusts but pushed a little harder, a little deeper with each one;

“Can feel you fluttering around me, you gonna cum for me? You look so fucking beautiful all fucked out and wanting, feel so fucking amazing…”

Just as your orgasm was at its peak he tensed and you could feel his cum flooding into you, the twitching of his dick as he filled you with his seed prolonging your high. When you had both finally finished you could feel his weight start to get heavier on top of you, before with a sudden and surprising act of nimble dexterity he rolled the pair of you over so you were laying atop of him, his softening dick slipping out and you felt the trickle of his seed flow out of you. With one massive hand he pulled the duvet across your bodies, and you snuggled up to his chest;

“That was the best tip ever” you giggled; “In fact definitely more than the tip”

At that moment you not only heard but felt his stomach growl, looking up and seeing him grin sheepishly as he spoke;

“I just want you to know this is not how i usually treat food deliveries… do you want something to eat? Or drink?”

Nodding you smiled;

“That'd be nice”

A while later you were cleaned up, Walter having given you one of his massive t-shirts to wear which came to the tops of your thighs. He’d grazed through half the contents of his order as you nibbled on a muffin, having eaten at the coffee shop during a very quiet last hour of your shift. You’d laughed and chatted as the pair of you had eaten on the comfort of Walters couch, before you’d suddenly stopped mid sentence;

“Shit, i left my bike in the lobby… will it be safe there until i go home?”

Walter smiled at you, his hand curling around your thigh;

“Have you heard that weather out there? I’d be surprised if you could even ride it home through three foot of snow…” he paused for a moment; “Stay the night…”

You went to object, decline politely but you caught yourself, why? Why shouldn’t you spend the night? Taking a deep breath you smiled;

“I’d love to”

_____________________________________________

Part 2 >>>

#walter marshall #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #henry cavill #walter marshall smut #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall fanfic

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years

Text

Only One Choice, Chapter 11

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

Spark.

She watches Ethan from the couch as he pulls a tin of muffins out of the oven, arranging a few on a plate. She’s been thinking a lot about what Mulder said about not having a spark with his ex. She wonders if she and Ethan have a spark, or if they did at one point. When she thinks about her relationship with Ethan, what stands out to her is commitment, dedication, stability. And love, of course, she does love him.

When they first met through mutual friends, she wasn’t particularly interested. He was perfectly nice, and good looking enough, but struck her more as a potential friend than a boyfriend. He was steadfast, kept showing up, kept gently working to get to know her, and eventually she started to grow fond of him. They’ve joked that while his attraction to her was immediate, hers to him was more of a slow burn. This is what mature, adult relationships are like, right? Measured, practical, logical. When you’re young, wild, and free, you date whoever you have the most fun with, chasing the next exciting experience and the rush of a first kiss. But the person you marry should be someone who you know will be a dependable partner, a good parent, and a lifelong support. That has always been her belief.

Ethan returns to sit with her on the couch, setting the muffins on the coffee table to cool. He picks up her feet and puts them in his lap, casting her a brief smile before he goes to work pressing his thumbs into her arches as he watches TV.

Spark.

Is that what she feels when she’s with Mulder? A spark? Is that why her stomach goes into knots when he looks at her? Why she feels the overwhelming urge to touch him? The sensation that there is an electrical current passing between them is not one she’s ever felt with Ethan, that’s for sure. There was no adrenaline in their first kiss, only contentment. Comfort, safety, security. These are good feelings, ones you can build a life on. Can you build a life on a spark?

“You still going to try on dresses tomorrow with Missy?” he asks, his eyes glued to the TV screen.

“Mhmm,” she answers over her book, which she hasn’t gotten through a page of in over thirty minutes.

“Are you gonna let me see what you pick?” he asks, glancing at her from the corner of his eye with a surreptitious smirk.

She sets the book on her stomach and gives him a chastising smile. “Of course not, Ethan. That’s against the rules.”

“Who made that rule, anyway? I’ve already seen you naked, I should be able to see you in a fancy dress before the big day,” he says with a pointed look.

She swats him with the book.

“The fact that you’ve already seen me naked is also against the rules, so I guess we’re 0 for 2. Don’t tell my mother that,” she lectures playfully.

“I’m sure she has her suspicions, given that we live together,” he says dryly.

“Leave the woman to her ignorant bliss,” she retorts, and they hold eye contact for a moment, exchanging affectionate smiles.

Not a spark, but maybe an ember. Burning steady, carrying them through the dark nights. Sparks die out quickly. She only hopes her spark with Mulder fades soon, because right now it’s burning so bright it’s distracting her from the ember sitting right at her feet.

———

She frowns at herself in the mirror.

“This one is really pretty, Sis, you don’t like it?” Missy asks, tugging at the train to straighten it out.

“I don’t know. Maybe. No.”

She looks forlornly at the rack of dresses she’s already tried on. Every length and cut, style of bodice and neckline. They all seemed wrong.

“I mean, I know you’re generally hard to please, Dana, but this is getting ridiculous,” Missy laments.

“I know, I’m sorry,” she replies, casting Missy an apologetic look.

“Which one do you think Ethan would like? Would that help you decide?” Missy offers helpfully.

Ethan. Right. She realizes that she’s been thinking about what Mulder would make of her in a white dress. She suspects he’d go for the mermaid fit.

“Can we just try again another day, maybe? I think I’m just not in the right headspace for this,” she pleads with her big sister.

“Sure, whatever you want. Let’s go get coffee or something,” Missy says as she ushers Dana back into the changing room.

They go to her favorite local spot, finding two open armchairs near the fireplace, which is off for the summer. Dana tucks her legs under her torso, sipping at an indulgent white chocolate mocha; she feels the need for small pleasures right now. Missy eyes her appraisingly, and she can feel the third degree that is about to commence.

“So what’s up with you?” she finally asks, her tone inquisitive but not abrasive.

“What do you mean?” Dana asks in reply, avoiding her eyes.

Missy’s head drops to the side in exasperation. “Are you really going to make me spell it out for you, Dana? I’m trying to be supportive of your decision to marry Ethan, but you’re making it really hard being so openly miserable all the time.”

Dana looks at her with surprise and indignation. “I am not miserable.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Missy says sarcastically.

Dana shakes her head. “I’m just...I don’t know, I have a lot on my mind.”

“Care to elaborate?” Missy asks with an expectant look.

She sighs and sets her shoulders. She needs to talk to someone about this, and Missy is literally her only option.

“Okay, but first I need you to promise me you’re not going to make a big deal about this, because it’s really not a big deal,” she prefaces with a stern look.

“You know me, I don’t do big deals,” Missy replies, working hard to hide her anticipation for whatever her little sister is about to reveal.

“Okay. So, I met this man at work,” she starts, and Missy’s eyes go as round as oranges. “Missy, don’t look at me like that.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Missy defends, “go on.” She’s leaning forward in her chair, creating less space between them.

“He’s an agent, he was just picking something up for a case he’s working on, but he asked me out, and we’ve kind of been...we’ve become friends,” she says hesitantly, glancing at Missy to gage her reaction. Missy is forcing a blank expression.

“So...you’re dating him?” she asks flatly.

“No! Oh god, no. I mean, he asked me out and I told him that I have a boyfriend, but now we’re just kind of friends, and….Jesus Christ.” She drops her forehead into her palm. Even describing what’s going on with Mulder is apparently impossible. “We are just friends, but...but I’m having a hard time reconciling how I feel about him.”

“How do you feel about him?” Missy asks.

Dana shakes her head. “I don’t know how to describe it, Missy. I love Ethan, I’m not having doubts about him, but this man...I feel so drawn to him. Being around him feels...almost electric.”

“Like you have a spark?” Missy asks, and Dana’s head snaps to look at her. She’s open, curious.

“Yeah...exactly like that,” she replies regretfully.

Missy nods in understanding, and it somehow makes Dana feel a little better, like she’s not totally crazy. “Tell me about him,” she requests, and Dana can’t help but smile.

“Um, he’s a criminal behavioral analyst, in the Behavioral Science Unit. Oxford educated. He’s funny, but in a dry, intellectual way. He has some pretty outlandish ideas, but he’s so passionate about what he believes in, it’s impossible not to take him seriously. He’s kind of intense, but really alluring.” She pauses, knowing she can’t go on much further without veering into gushing.

“Is he cute?” Missy asks, and Dana closes her eyes.

“SO good looking. Painfully so.” She opens them and Missy is smiling knowingly at her.

“Sounds like a real catch, Sis.”

“Yeah, but I’m engaged to someone who is also a great catch in his own right. I feel like I’m in a romcom.”

“So what are you gonna do?” Missy asks earnestly.

Dana looks at her with surprise. “What do you mean? I’m not going to do anything. It’s just distracting, but obviously nothing can or will come of it.”

Missy gives her a doubtful expression, but then raises her eyes to meet with someone over Dana’s shoulder, giving them a questioning look. Dana turns to see Mulder standing beside her, a cup in his hand and that damn boyish smile on his mouth.

“Hey, Scully, we meet again,” he says, glancing between her and Missy.

“Mulder, hi,” she stumbles, bringing her feet to the floor and squirming around as though he’d caught her in a compromised position. “Um, Mulder, this is my sister, Melissa. Missy, this is Fox Mulder.”

He steps forward and extends his hand to Missy, and she shakes it with a flirtatious smile. “Nice to meet you, Fox.”

“Oh, please call me Mulder,” he replies.

“Alright, Mulder, would you like to join us?” Missy asks, and Dana shoots her a look.

“Um, yeah, I can hang out for a minute,” he replies cautiously, pulling up a chair between the two of theirs.

“So, how do you and Dana know each other?” she asks, and Dana isn’t sure if she’s asking because she realizes who he is, or because she doesn’t.

“We work together, technically speaking. I’m a criminal behavioral analyst in the Behavioral Science Unit.” Missy gives Dana a look that tells her it was the latter. “What are you two up to today?” he asks, running his palm over a stubbled cheek. She can hear the scratch of the short hairs against his skin and it sets off a tingle at the back of her neck.

“We were just doing some wedding dress shopping,” Missy offers, watching his reaction closely.

“Ah,” he says, only moderately concealing his dissatisfaction, “sounds like a good time.” His tone is dry and not at all genuine. “So, Scully,” he says, directing his words to Dana, “Priscilla was wondering if you could stop by next weekend. She has something to show you.”

She smiles coyly. “Does she? Not a hairball, I hope?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, it’s a file, actually. Her personal favorite, she’d love to share it with you.”

“I think I might be free on Saturday,” she replies, “I just need to check, um…”

“Check with Ethan, right,” he finishes, his smile fading a bit.

“Right,” she confirms, her own smile quickly extinguishing.

Mulder stands. “I’ll email you, to confirm.” He turns to Missy, “It was nice to meet you, Melissa.”

Missy beams at him. “Likewise.”

Mulder turns to Scully and gives her a longing glance, then leaves. They watch him go, waiting until the door has closed behind him to speak.

Missy slaps Dana’s arm. “Oh. My. GOD, Sis!” she exclaims with wide eyes and an open mouth.

“What?” Dana returns.

“Spark? That is a goddamn bonfire. Even I could feel it,” she says with a look of wonder.

Dana gives her a pained expression then drops her head into her hands with a groan.

“Why does he call you Scully? And who the hell is Priscilla?” Missy adds.

Dana lifts her head, looking at her sister regretfully with a shrug.

“He said I don’t look like a Dana. Priscilla is his cat.”

Missy closes her eyes for a moment and gently shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing like she’s trying to reconcile all this information in her brain.

“Whoa, so you’ve been to his place?” Missy asks incredulously.

Dana nods hesitantly.

“Sis, what are you doing? If you were to tell me that you’re going to break it off with Ethan and run away with that beautiful man I would honestly support you. But if you’re trying to keep things on the up and up here, a private rendezvous at his apartment seems like a really bad idea.” Missy is deeply confused, not used to being in the position to tell her sister what decisions are unwise. That is typically Dana’s role in their relationship.

Dana glares at her sister defensively. “We’re just friends, Missy. Men and women can be just friends.”

Missy shoots her a ‘do you think I was born yesterday?’ look.

“Sure they can, if they aren’t insanely attracted to each other. That man practically devoured you with his eyes, Dana. He wants to be more than your friend,” she says emphatically.

“Well, he’s not going to be. I’m with Ethan. And I’m an adult who can control myself enough to maintain boundaries with a platonic friend who happens to be an attractive man. I’m not a Neanderthal, Missy.” She’s using her professor voice, presenting the topic with supporting evidence. Only the facts, folks.

“Okay,” Missy says, acquiescing. “If you trust yourself then great, have fun with your friend. Does Ethan know you’re gallivanting around with a sexy behavioral analyst?”

The guilty look that overtakes Dana’s face is answer enough.

“Well,” Missy continues, “just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she brings levity back to the conversation with a little smirk.

“That leaves me with a lot of options, Missy,” Dana retorts, and Missy slaps her arm again.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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snowywrites · 3 years

Text

Natsuki x comedic!reader

summary: this was a request from someone on quotev, reader is gender neutral!

word count: 3k

You set your bag down next to your usual chair in the Literature Club room before taking a seat in one of the desk chairs. Stretching your arms up high over your head, you suppress a yawn; being stuck in school for an extra hour or so wasn't all that bad, considering you got to see your friends whom you didn't really share any classes with.

"Ugh. You're never the first one here."

A familiar irritated voice catches your attention, and you turn around in your chair to grin at the one and only Natsuki. Your expression brightens even more when you notice what she's carrying.

"Aww! Are those for us?" You coo, rising quickly from your chair to hurry over to the short pink-haired girl standing by the entrance to the room, examining the tray of muffins in her hands.

Immediately Natsuki recoils away from you, reminding you so much of a stray cat who never received enough love in their life. The thought makes you snort to yourself as she even straight up hisses, "Wh- these aren't for- I mean- they're for the club! But they aren't for, like, you and me!"

You listen to her fierce but confusing denial politely, your smile softening but never completely disappearing. She could get so riled up sometimes over the tiniest things.

Natsuki's blush is apparent, and you're highly tempted to make some sort of joking comment comparing her to something, when she suddenly backs up too far and collides with the doorframe of the classroom behind her. She squeaks, the tray suddenly seeming very shaky in her hands as she struggles to regain her balance to keep herself from toppling to the floor.

Not missing a beat, you reach out to catch the tray just as it slips from her hands, only narrowly managing to avoid watching the muffins spill all over the place.

Feeling pretty proud of yourself for that nice save, you hold the tray up triumphantly with one hand, showing off just a little bit as you smirk at Natsuki. "Well, what do you think? Have I earned the right to have at least one of these most-delightfully-baked-goods?"

She's fumbling for a response, ego most definitely wounded.

You lower the tray again, adding teasingly, "Alas, if you can't spare even one little muffin, I suppose we could work out some kind of arrangement?" You pause and hum, tapping your chin thoughtfully with one finger from your free hand, pretending to think for a moment. "How's about, say, three years of your devoted friendship? That about equals the rescued lives of- onetwothreefourfiveand... six muffins, wouldn't you agree?" You say, making a small show out of counting them.

Natsuki glares at you with scorching magenta eyes, stuttering over her words so much ('don't compare her to Yuri even as a joke, she will kill us right here and now, Y/N.') that you start to worry if maybe you've gone too far in teasing her today- not everyone appreciates your jokes, but you usually got the impression that Natsuki actually kind of liked them... even if she acted like she didn't. Normally, you could literally see her trying her best to fight back a giggle, but this time she seemed more sensitive for whatever reason.

"Ah, Natsuki-"

Whatever half-assed attempt at an awkward apology you were about to come up with was interrupted, of course, by your ever-excitable mutual friend Sayori launching herself into the classroom with all the unrestrained joy of an elementary schooler, exclaiming, "Y/N! You're never here this early- and you brought snacks??"

Sayori leans too close into your personal space to inspect the muffins before deciding, "Wait, no- these look too good to be yours, I bet Natsuki-" She glances over her shoulder to see the baker in question and exclaims, "So you did make them! Hey, thanks!"

Natsuki, still attempting to recover from her previous flustered state, huffs, refusing to look at either of you two. "Y-Yeah, it's no big deal..."

Sayori is already reaching over to snag one of the muffins; you have no doubt in mind that she was the reason Natsuki made six treats instead of five.

You try to catch Natsuki's eye so you could feign some good ol' exaggerated exasperation with the way Sayori ate like such a child, and how tactless she could be, but the short girl was doing her absolute best to continue ignoring your entire presence.

Yikes, maybe you actually had seriously offended her... or maybe it was just something else entirely that had upset her so much...?

Before you had the chance to really think too much about what could be bothering Natsuki, the other members of the Literature Club arrived for the usual after school meeting, first Yuri and then shortly after Monika, both apologizing for being tardy even though they weren't that late at all.

"Oh, Natsuki brought snacks?" Inquires Monika as she notices the muffin tray you had set down on a desk a couple of minutes ago. "Let's all have them before we do any reading or discussions today."

Sayori beams at the club president's words, having already polished off her first muffin and now eager for yet another. You didn't blame her, Natsuki was a great baker, but sheesh, with the way Sayori had inhaled it, you wondered if she even tasted it at all.

You try yet again to send Natsuki a warm smile in the hopes of cheering her up somehow, but she was still steadfastly pretending you didn't exist, apparently, and so your efforts were futile.

Resigned to your fate, you help Monika push some of the desks together to form a makeshift table that everyone settled down at, each club member taking a muffin for themselves and starting to dig in.

"No complaints, Sayori?" You hum after the first bite when you realize what the flavor of these particular muffins is.

Your energetic friend is probably eating too quickly to really notice, as you originally suspected, and she simply blinks at you, confused.

"What do you mean 'complaints'?" Natsuki pipes up sharply, though her voice is wavering which makes you think she actually cares quite a lot about what others- maybe even you in particular- think of her baking prowess.

You shake your head defensively, chuckling a little. "Don't shoot, don't shoot! It's just, they're blueberry. Sayori can be such a kid sometimes, so I-"

"Do you not like them?" Natsuki snaps, making you wish, not for the first time, that you could finish a sentence around these girls.

"Ah- nono, I do! It's really good! I just was- uhm-" You struggle to find the right words to defend yourself under her heated glare. Why was Natsuki taking everything you said so personally today?

"Y/N was only joking," Monika, bless her soul, steps in calmly with the patience of a saint to try and smooth out the situation before it was given the chance to escalate any further. "You know how they can be."

Wow, okay, ouch.

You dramatically place a hand over your heart. "Why, Monika! You wound me." And honestly, there was a teensy bit of truth buried and hidden underneath your dumb joke. Just because you liked to cover up any feelings of discontentment in an effort to find the tiniest semblance of humor in just about any scene of life didn't mean you went around purposely hurting the feelings of those around you. Or... did you? Shoot, now you weren't sure anymore.

Sayori laughs out loud at your over the top display, and you notice even Yuri is trying to hide a smile behind her muffin, her violet eyes almost unnerving with the way they follow your every movement.

But you aren't really paying attention to any of them at the moment, so much so that you don't even process Monika's reply. Your focus is purely on Natsuki.

She's not glaring directly at you anymore, but down at her hands which are clasped together in her lap.

You clear your throat; being serious wasn't your thing, but you still wanted to give it a try- for her. Softly, in the hopes of not letting the rest of the girl's overhear your words, you begin, "Natsuki, I..."

"It is strange, though." Yet again you are interrupted! If it had been Sayori, you would have been openly frustrated with her, but this time it's Yuri's shy self who has at last decided to share something of her thoughts with the group.

A beat of silence. “What’s strange?” Monika prompts when Yuri doesn’t continue her train of thought.

The violet-haired girl jolts a little, as if she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. “Ah- just that- uhm- I was just thinking… Natsuki usually bakes cupcakes for us instead of muffins,” she explains timidly.

Huh. Weird observation, but Yuri kinda had a point.

Natsuki stiffens, sending a scowl in Yuri’s direction. “You don’t have to psychoanalyze literally everything, y’know. Life isn’t always like one of your dumb novels where you have to make up deeper meanings for when one doesn’t exist.”

You exchange a swift glance with Monika- lately, you and the club president had sort of been tag teaming helping each other lately to diffuse conflict within the Literature Club. Most often, the offenders were the same as the ones now: Natsuki and Yuri. Monika’s method of smoothing over issues was calmly and kindly, whereas you tended to take a more comedic route where angry grumbles could dissolve into grudging laughter.

Since it was technically your turn to step in and try to solve some conflict before either girl burst into tears, you interject with the first set-up for a joke that pops into your head.

“Heh, careful, Natsuki. I think you might give Yuri a new idea for one of her poems.” You face the taller girl as you continue, “Here, I’ll help you with the topic- ‘muffins- are they just ugly cupcakes?’ Yeah, just throw in some fancy language and stuff and-“

You can tell by everyone’s expressions that you’ve made a misstep somewhere here in your delivery, but then Yuri reaches up with one hand as she tries to mask her smile, and you’re intensely relieved you didn’t hurt her feelings.

Somehow, though, it seemed someone else was hurt.

Natsuki stood up abruptly from her chair, the sound of it’s metal legs grating on the floor causing you to wince. “Can you be serious for once?”

She doesn’t wait for your response, just turns on her heel to grab her cute pink backpack and then stalk out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“Sheesh, what did I say….?” You sigh heavily, combing a hand through your hair. You were so frustrated with both yourself and Natsuki.

Sayori gave you a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, already standing up to go check on Natsuki, but Monika’s timelessly intelligent emerald gaze was fixed on you with a thoughtfulness that seemed beyond her years, and it did not move away from you when she spoke to Sayori. “No, let’s have Y/N go and talk things out with her.”

You cringe. “Won’t that just make things worse?” You worry, shaking your head. “I mean, call me crazy, but I don’t think I’ll be getting an award for being her favorite person anytime soon, Monika…”

A faint smile crosses Monika’s face. “Mm, I think you’d be surprised. Just go and talk with her, and please hurry before you miss her. I’d hate to lose a club member, especially one as talented as Natsuki.”

You stand up, a bit alarmed by the assumption your club president was making here. What, just because of one little spat it was presumed Natsuki would quit the Literature Club altogether? That would never happen!

….Would it?

You weren’t keen on taking your chances of finding out, so you hastily made your exit from the classroom, looking around the school halls and seeing just a flash of pink disappear around the corner to your right.

You hurry after Natsuki, glancing around uncertainly- you were pretty sure you weren’t allowed to roam the halls like this after classes were over, even if you were in a club. Plus, it seemed like Natsuki wasn’t actually leaving the school building at all, she was heading for the roof.

You don’t call her name for fear of being reprimanded by some annoying teacher or other staff, so you kept quiet as you trailed after your friend up some flights of stairs; if she was aware of your presence, she said nothing- you were mostly sure that she would’ve snapped at you to go away if she had noticed you.

At last you make it to the door that went out to the roof of the school building, which had just closed behind Natsuki. Tentatively, you push it open as quietly as possible and take a small peek outside to survey the situation.

Natsuki is sitting on a small bench with her back still to you, her attention apparently fixed on the horizon.

“Wow, they have benches up here?” You ask, finally making your presence known as you step out onto the roof and allow the door to drift shut behind you.

Natsuki starts, glancing back over her shoulder to see you, and her eyes narrow when you offer her a hesitant smile. “If you’re here to apologize, you can just leave.” Her voice is sharp, but you can sense that she sounds almost, defeated in a way.

You shrug, wandering over to sit down next to her, looking towards the sky. “Good thing I wasn’t planning on apologizing, then.”

She huffs, purposely scooting away from you so that she was right on the edge of the bench. “Look, what makes you think I want your company?”

“I dunno. Maybe I just wanted to explain what I meant for my own sake. My reputation and all that?”

She purses her lips together. “Go ahead then,” she mutters wearily.

“I never mean to offend you or anybody else with my jokes. I just kinda, joke around a lot, it’s not something I ever even think about doing, it just happens.” You pause, sighing dramatically as if the weight of the world has been taken off of your shoulders. “Boy, it’s been so long since I’ve held onto that secret. “So… now it’s your turn.”

At last the pink-haired girl looks at you, mildly confused. “My turn to do what?”

“Share a secret,” you clarify playfully.

Natsuki immediately shakes her head, a brilliant blush painting her cheeks. “Wh- never!”

You laugh. “Okay, alright, point taken. How about this then: how was your day?”

Natsuki calms down somewhat, apparently actually considering your question. You realize she seems… sad, somehow. “It was… whatever.”

“Did you bake the muffins this morning or-?” You ask idly.

“No, last night.” She pauses, glancing away again to stare at the sky, and you got the sense she was somewhere else in her memories, not fully present with you on this school roof now. “I was… going to decorate them this morning, but then I just. Had to leave.”

“Ah, so you’re one of those tardy students, aren’t you?” You tease as gently as possible.

She exhales in a long, frustrated breath. “For your information, I got to school a few hours early actually.”

You have very few puzzle pieces of this mystery to try and fit together, and you wish she’d stop being so- mysterious about this whole thing. You hadn’t noticed before today, but you knew very little about Natsuki, aside from the facts that she liked manga (probably anime too), baking, writing, the color pink, cute things… you didn’t know anything at all about her home life. You’re tempted to ask just why she was so early, why she couldn’t decorate the muffins, but just as you’re trying to work up the courage and the right words, she saves you the trouble.

“My father…” She trails off, sounding uncharacteristically insecure for once, and her eyes seem too-bright, as if shining with unshed tears. She’s being very vulnerable with you right now, and you’re intensely worried you’re going to mess it up with her somehow, so you keep quiet and wait for her to continue. “He…”

Her voice catches in her throat, not allowing her to continue.

Instantly you lean closer to rest your hand on her hand, causing her to flinch in shock at the unexpected touch.

She gives you a look like she wants to be angry, but at the same time, she’s not pulling away from you.

You really, really don’t want to see her cry. Not Natsuki, the strong-willed, determined, fierce Natsuki. You’re unsure how to comfort people, so you go with what you know best.

In a perfectly serious tone and a straight-faced expression, you say, “Do you want me to beat him up for you?”

For a second, you’re about 80% sure she’s going to slap you right in the face.

But instead, something miraculous happens.

Natsuki giggles, and as she does so, tears streak down her cheeks.

“Oh God- I didn’t mean to-!”

“No, no!” She cuts you off, tugging her hand away from yours and swiping at her face to try and wipe the moisture from her eyes, a smile still tugging at her lips. “You’re- you’re fine- I mean! Not you, I meant that, it’s fine. Really, it’s fine…” She pauses, and you think this is the first time Natsuki has ever gazed at you with such softness.

Have you really made her feel better? You’re pretty proud of yourself for that one. You would like to tell her that she can talk to you about anything anytime, or that maybe she can hang out at your house whenever she can’t stand being at hers, but she speaks before you can.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Your jokes are terrible.”

You tilt your head to the side in confusion. Despite the insult, you can definitely hear the smile in her voice.

#ddlc #doki doki literature club #natsuki #natsuki x reader #imagine #scenario #preference #ddlc x reader #gender neutral reader #may add more tags if i think of more

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