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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!

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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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headheartbellarke · 3 years

Text

HOME | Charlie Gillespie

Requested by anon: "Hi! If request are open can you do a charlie imagine where him and the reader (she/her) met on a project a while back and have been friends for a while, but the reader kinda had a crappy home life so she gets overwhelmed by charlies family being so loving and perfect and she basically breaks down and feels like she doesn’t fit in and isn’t good enough for him? please and thank you so much, ur writing is amazing!!!"

PAIRING(s): Charlie Gillespie x fem! reader

WARNING(s): mentions of abuse, trauma, anxiety, angst, fluff

WORDS: 2,036

SUMMARY: charlie takes co-star and girlfriend y/n home for christmas but that leads to self doubt in her (im so bad at these) [note: this takes place in 2021]

As Charlie pulls out the key from the ignition, I sigh, wringing my hands nervously. He unbuckles his seatbelt and faces me, giving me a bright, happy smile.

“My family is so excited to meet you.” He says, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.

“What if they hate me?” I whisper.

My boyfriend, Charlie, and I first met on the set of Charmed – we were both in the first episode, but I left it after that due to scheduling conflicts with my other show, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina. I had been a part of CAOS since its first episode – I played the role of Sabrina’s cousin, Sarah Spellman.

Back then, we were just friends. After I left Charmed, we would text and call each other occasionally. Whenever we were in the same city, we would meet up – but that was hard considering we both had quite different lives. So, we didn’t think of each other as more than friends – sure I thought that he was attractive, but that’s it.

But, in 2020, after CAOS was cancelled, I got a call from the casting director of Julie and The Phantoms: she was the one who had previously cast me in CAOS, and she believed that I’d be perfect for the role of Julie’s British cousin who joins her school after her parents relocate to LA – I also play Reggie’s love interest.

I texted Charlie immediately after my manager finalized all the details for the new role. He had been excited and when shooting started in 2021, we were pretty inseparable.

After a few weeks, I had developed a major crush on him ad the rest of the cast had also picked up on that. They were also convinced that Charlie liked me (which I didn’t believe at that time but later found out that it was, indeed, true) and they used to tease us about it all the time. Finally, a couple weeks before production ended, he asked me out on a date and it’s been really, really great so far.

We’ve been dating for about nine months now and honestly, he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. He’s my home – all my life I’ve always felt lost, but I feel like I truly belong with him.

Now, he laughs. “Baby. I promise you – they already love you. My mother’s been bugging me to bring you home ever since we started dating, and you’ve already met Megan, and she loves you.”

“If you say so.” I say, still not convinced.

He grins and we get out of his car and face his childhood home. I take a deep breath, shaking off my nerves. He knocks three times on the front door, and it opens immediately after.

A petite, blonde woman steps out, with a wide smile on her face. She opens her arms as Charlie yells, “Mamacita!”

“Mon chéri. Ça fait trop longtemps!”

“Je vous ai manqué!”

I have absolutely no idea what they are saying, but the scene in front of me is so heart-warming. Charlie’s mother is genuinely happy to see her son – one can tell by the way she’s holding him, almost like he’s a little child. Charlie is quite a couple inches taller than her, but he’s nestled his face into her shoulder.

I can’t stop a grin from breaking out on my face. It’s honestly rather lovely. But I also feel a slight pang in my heart knowing that no one ever greets me like this when I go home.

They separate from each other and she squeezes his shoulders, looking at him with so much love that I have to look away. I have never seen a mother look at their child like that, with such intense love. That’s dumb, I know. Mothers are supposed to love their children. But all my mother ever looks at me with is disappointment, anger, disgust, and – you get it.

She notices me next and claps her hands. “You must be Y/N!”

“Hi, Mrs. Gillespie. It’s so nice to meet you!” I extend a hand toward her.

“Aw, come here! You’re gorgeous.”

She pulls me in for a hug too, and for a moment I’m engulfed by the smell of white musk and the feeling of warmth.

We pull apart and I smile at her, genuinely. All my anxiety has washed away.

“My son is always talking about you, about how pretty you are and –”

“Let’s go inside!” Charlie quickly cuts her off, eyes widened as I laugh.

“But I wanna know what he says!”

Mrs Gillespie winks at me as Charlie turns scarlet. “I’ll tell you when he’s gone.”

***

Another roar of laughter erupts around the dinner table.

Honestly, I’ve never seen a family like this – a family so connected, so loving. All of Charlie’s siblings – from his three older brothers to his little sister are here for Christmas Eve, and all of them are teasing each other, telling childhood stories, and just having the best time. I was, too. That was until I suddenly realized how I don’t fit in here.

Everyone here grew up completely different than I did. When I was young, about two years old – my dad left my mom and I for another woman. I haven’t seen him since – although, he sends me a postcard and some money on holidays and birthdays. He’s travelling around the world with his new wife and is apparently ‘happier than he’s ever been.’

The reason he left is because kids ‘freak’ him out and he isn’t ‘ready’ for that kind of responsibility. I mean, it wasn’t like he was fifteen when he had me: he was twenty-seven, and already married to my mother for about two years then.

Naturally, my mother blames me for her divorce. I was born out of an accidental pregnancy, so my mother made sure to remind me every day that I was unwanted, and my birth was what ‘pushed’ him to leave us. Every single day, my mother told me that I shouldn’t have been born, that I was a mistake, that I was worthless, unlovable and so, so many more horrible things. She used to drink like crazy, and if I accidentally faced her in that state, she would sometimes hit me.

Years and years of abuse and all that childhood trauma led me to develop a fear of abandonment, trust issues, intimacy issues, anxiety, and depression. Throughout school, I had been closed off, unable to form relationships and friendships with other people. I had feared anything and everything – I couldn’t even maintain eye contact with people.

Of course, when I auditioned for CAOS and moved away to LA, away from that toxic environment, I got help and turned my life around. (My mother was incredibly happy to see me go since she had married another guy and now has a family with him – so I was the only thing left that reminded her of my father.) I learnt to accept, prioritize, and love myself – but I’m still working on that, of course.

But, I know, deep down, no matter how well I am, or how happy I am – there will always be a part of me that’s broken. I’ve grown to accept that, accept the fact that I’ll always carry the trauma with me.

But Charlie doesn’t. He’s lived a good life, and he deserves someone who can give him their everything – and that’s not me.

As much as I hate to say it, I’m not good enough for him.

He senses a change in my demeanour and squeezes my hand under the table. I give him a weak smile.

***

“Y/N/N, what’s wrong?”

I look up at my boyfriend. He has a look of concern on his face as he takes a seat next to me on the couch.

I sigh into the quiet. Everyone has fallen asleep, except Charlie and I – we are seated in his living room in front of the fireplace.

“Nothing. I’m just really tired.”

“That’s not true, Y/N. You were fine throughout dinner – oh my god, it’s the ice cream, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“The pistachio ice cream that Maman made. It was weirdly bitter, eh? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

I purse my lips. “No, Charlie. The ice cream was great.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been down since desert.”

“It’s not the ice cream, babe.”

“Okay, then, what is it?”

He looks at me expectantly, and I can sense that he’s feeling anxious.

“I just – I realized that I don’t fit in.”

He furrows his brows, but before he can say anything, I start speaking again. “Charlie, you have such a loving and perfect family. And you know how I grew up. What I went through. So, you know that I’m not used to this. I’m not – I’ve never seen love like this in a family, you know. And I don’t fit in here! While your mother was being so nice to me, I kept wondering when she’s going to scream at me. Or when your father was genuinely interested in me, I kept thinking that maybe he’s trying to find a way to get rid of me. It’s just – it’s just the way I grew up, and I’ll always be like this, Char. Your family is so nice, and it shocks me, honestly. And I think that maybe it’s better if you date someone who grew up the way you did, someone who’s like you. Because I have been broken my whole life, and I don’t think that I can give you everything that you need. I don’t think I’m good enough for you. You’re the best person that I’ve ever met, and I think you should be with someone who’s worthy of you.”

I whisper the last part, and feel a teardrop fall into the space between my collarbones. I look down because I’m too afraid of what he might say.

I hear him breathe out heavily and I feel him take my hands in his.

“Don’t you ever say that.”

“But it’s true –”

“Y/N. Don’t you dare doubt yourself. You are good enough. No, you’re perfect. You’re the strongest woman I know. I completely understand why you feel what you’re feeling right now.”

He scoots closer to me and cups my cheeks in his hands. “And it’s okay. It’s okay to feel that way. It’s okay to feel shocked. That doesn’t make you a bad person, nor does it make you not good enough. In fact, it makes all the stronger – you went through so much as a kid, and still, you have space in your heart for me. You know, I never doubt the fact that you love me, ever. Because you always make me feel special, make me feel good about myself and always make sure that I’m happy. You always go out of your way to take care of me, and you always make me feel at home. I don’t want anyone other than you. I love you so much and I never, ever wanna lose you.”

I think I’m fully crying now, as Charlie continues, “It’s okay to feel that way. Take your time. But I’m never leaving you. You’re my person, and you’ll always fit in with me, baby. Always.”

“Charlie…”

I look at him properly, and I can see the pain in his eyes as a tear traces along the curve of his cheek. He sniffs, saying, “I’m sorry. I just can’t imagine being with anyone other than you.”

“Why are you so good to me?” I whisper, my throat still tight from the emotions.

“Because you deserve someone good, and I can only hope that I’m good for you.”

I wrap my arms around his neck and bury my face in his shoulder as a sob escapes my body. “I’m so sorry, baby. So, so sorry.” I keep whispering that, while he rubs my back, saying ‘it’s okay.’

“I love you so much, Charlie. Honestly, thanks for being so good to me. You have no idea what you mean to me.”

I can feel him smile as he says, “I think I have a pretty good idea, yeah.”

***

jatp requests are open <3

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fellulahh · 4 years

Text

Diavolo finds out MC had his baby

Fluffing her cushions, MC began to dread the day she was about to have. Two years had passed since she left Devildom and she’d stayed in regular contact with everybody; even Simeon and Luke. While the brothers often visited her in the human realm, there was one particular demon who could rarely get away from his duties to see her: Diavolo.

He was the one demon she wanted to see most, and yet he was also the one she’d avoided for all this time. MC held a colossal secret from him. For when she was still in Devildom, the Prince and her had a short lived romance. While their relationship blossomed almost immediately, it ended just as quickly as it began. It was inevitable that they’d have to end it though - MC wasn’t going to stay in Devildom forever. Although it only lasted a mere few months, those closest to Diavolo knew MC was the only being he ever truly loved.

And even though she loved him with all of her heart, she could never find it in herself to tell him the day she left what she knew: she was carrying his baby.

MC bit her lip as her body froze. All day anxiety had filled her body as she anticipated the arrival of Diavolo. All of the brothers knew about her son. There was no way she could hide him from them all given how half of the time when they visited her it was without warning.

While the majority of them were happy for her new family, there was one brother who just had to be rational about it all. Although Lucifer was supportive of MC and her baby boy, he couldn’t help but be insistent that she tell Diavolo. He knew it wasn’t his place to say, but deep down he knew MC agreed with him.

She had her reasons for not telling the Prince that she was pregnant. In fact, she had a whole list that she had conjured. The news still hadn’t even settled in for her when she left Devildom; she only found out a week before leaving. Part of her wanted to tell Diavolo everything but she knew it would break both of their hearts. The exchange program was over; there was no way she could stay.

She’d managed to hide their son from Diavolo for over a year but after a visit from Lucifer alone, MC finally decided it was time she told him the truth. The eldest brother had confided in her about how hung up Diavolo had been since her departure; especially after seeing the brothers visit her constantly. Although MC and the demon lord spoke daily through her D.D.D, it was not the same as seeing each other face to face. Realising she couldn’t conceal her secret from him any longer, MC called him one night.

Usually Diavolo wouldn’t be able to leave his Kingdom because of his responsibilities as Prince, but after hearing the desperation in MC’s voice, he knew he couldn’t say no.

While she waited for him to arrive, MC cleaned the whole house twice to try and distract her mind while also watching her baby boy. She let out a sigh as she realised how frantic she’d become. Her heart had been beating hard all morning knowing she’d finally see Diavolo again.

While distracted by her thoughts, she hadn’t realised her son had plodded into the room.

“Mummy.” He babbled, clutching onto her leg.

“Hey little man!” She smiled, picking him up and resting him on her hip.

As soon as she held him in her arms, he rested his tiny head on her chest. He was incredibly needy and loved attention...just like his Father.

MC’s heart felt like it had stopped in her chest when she heard a knock at the door. Biting her lip, she carefully set her baby boy onto his play mat, quickly planting a kiss on his head before making her way to the door.

She could see his silhouette through the blinds. Just knowing he was standing on the other side made her want to cry with happiness. Letting out one last breath, she gripped the door handle and pulled it open.

As soon as her eyes fell on him, tears pricked in her eyes and a huge grin spread across his face. He mimicked her expression as he immediately engulfed her in his arms. “MC!” He gushed, picking her up. Diavolo buried his face in the crook of her neck as he relished how good it felt to hold his human in his arms again. “How I have missed you.”

She was still smiling to herself as her arms gripped him tightly. “I’ve missed you too!” She breathed as he slowly let her down.

As soon as her feet hit the floor, Diavolo’s face grew concerned as he gazed deep into her eyes. Cupping her cheeks with his large hands, he tried to see any sign of distress in her expression. “You sounded worried on the phone.” He spoke softly, “are you okay, my love?”

Biting her lip, MC’s eyebrows furrowed as nerves filled her body. “I think you should come in.” She spoke quietly as her mind returned to their son.

Nodding, he followed her into the house. Stepping inside, he began observing his surroundings as MC shut the door. She couldn’t help but smile after noticing how he had to duck as he entered. Now that he was standing in the human realm, his true size showed.

“Come.” She spoke quietly, leading him into the lounge.

As soon as his eyes fell on the toddler, his face lit up. “Oh hello!” He cooed, “you must be MC’s nephew that she told me so much about.”

MC pulled an awkward face to herself. “Can I get you a drink?” She asked, making her way to the kitchen. If she was about to break the news that the baby sat in front of him wasn’t her nephew, she needed a coffee. A strong one too.

“I’m okay thank you!” He insisted as he was unable to take his gaze of the small toddler. Sitting down in front of him, Diavolo grinned. “Hello little guy!” He gushed, holding up a little teddy bear, “is this yours?”

“Yes.” The toddler nodded with wide eyes as his chubby little hands reached out for the toy.

Diavolo had an amused look on his face as he studied the baby. There was something odd about the child; his hair was an usual shade of auburn and his eyes had a flicker of yellow in them. The Prince had seen a picture of MC’s brother and knew that he looked similar to her, so he assumed that the baby got his Mother’s looks.

Entering the lounge again, MC got more and more nervous as she watched Diavolo and their son become acquainted. How he had not realised already was beyond her; now that they were sat next to each other she realised what a spitting image their toddler was of his Father!

Standing beside him, MC placed a hand on Diavolo’s back as her face sunk. Feeling her touch, he turned his head. “What is it you needed to speak to me about?” He asked, not standing up.

She smiled sadly at his ignorance. “Him, actually...” she whispered, nodding toward their son who was busy chewing on his teething toy.

“Is he okay? Has something happened to your brother?” He asked quickly, growing worried.

“No, Diavolo.” She sighed, shaking her head.

Bending down, she picked up the toddler in her arms before walking over to the sofa. Sitting down, she plopped their son on her lap. Immediately, sensing his Mother’s warmth, he snuggled into her.

Concerned, Diavolo moved across the room to sit beside her. His mind began to grow suspicious after seeing how natural she seemed with the baby. Even if she was his Aunty, the human and the baby seemed to have a different dynamic. Suddenly aware of his surroundings, Diavolo glanced around the room, noticing how many pictures of the toddler decorated the walls. There was one in particular though that caught his attention. Before he could properly study the photograph, MC distracted him.

“Do you remember what I said when I called you?” She asked quietly.

“You said there’s something you needed to tell me, something important.” He recollected, turning his attention back to her.

Diavolo became unusually serious as their conversation began.

“Yeah...” MC sighed, as she held their baby close to her chest. “Just before I left Devildom I found something out - I was scared...frightened about what it was.”

As her voice filled his ears, Diavolo turned back to look at the photograph that had caught his attention across the room. He was intrigued by it as soon as he first saw it but couldn’t quite make out who was in it. Narrowing his eyes, he finally saw clearly what was in the small framed picture: MC cradling a newborn baby wearing nothing but white.

“I wanted to tell you what it was but I could only think of reasons not to - there were too many factors not in our favour. You’re the future King and I was merely a human on an exchange program.” She continued. As she spoke, her eyes remained on their son; MC hadn’t realised that Diavolo’s focus was elsewhere. “And then after I left Devildom, there was no way I could ever find the courage to tell the truth. Not until Lucifer made me see sense...”

Widening his eyes as he realised what was happening, Diavolo let out a shaky breath. The likeness to him, the abundance of photos, the picture of MC in a hospital gown cradling a baby... “My son...” he whispered in complete shock.

MC felt tears prick at her eyes as the truth was finally revealed. She didn’t even need to tell him; Diavolo had already worked it out. Her heart felt like it was in her throat as she anticipated his reaction. Fear filled her entire body within seconds as her stomach felt queasy.

Diavolo turned his head quickly to face her. He’d lost all colour from his cheeks as his eyes remained wide. “Is he?” He asked quietly.

“He’s not my nephew.” MC shook her head, biting her lip to stop herself from whimpering. With those words she confirmed his suspicions. “He’s your son.”

His watery eyes then flickered to the toddler who had now fallen asleep in MC’s arms. Remaining speechless, he knitted his eyebrows as his heart adjusted to this new flutter that filled it. He felt like he was gazing at his whole life in this small bundle of joy.

“How could you not tell me?” He whispered, heartbroken that he hadn’t been there for every moment of her pregnancy and their baby being born.

“I’m sorry.” She admitted, “I only found out a week before I left...words can’t even begin to describe how terrified I was.”

Reaching out, Diavolo delicately held his son’s tiny fist in his huge hand. He felt ashamed that he didn’t recognise his own blood when he first laid eyes on him. How did he manage not to? The baby’s hair was the exact same shade as his, albeit shorter and that unusual amber glow was prominent in his iris’.

“I have a son...” Diavolo breathed, trying to comprehend the revelation still. “We have a son.”

Finally turning to meet MC’s eyes, he looked completely overwhelmed with love. “We have a son, MC!” He repeated, absolutely mesmerised.

“We do.” She whispered, still anxious about the confession.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Diavolo sulked, still holding their baby’s fist.

“I wanted to.” MC admitted. “But with the circumstances...”

“If I knew I would have never let you go. I never wanted you to! I always wanted you to stay but couldn’t allow myself to put the pressure on you by saying so.” He confessed. “I only wish you told me, MC. I don’t care what the circumstances were or still are.”

“I couldn’t think straight.” MC spoke, feeling ashamed of her actions, “you and I were barely together for a few months.”

“So? That doesn’t matter to me.” He insisted, “I loved you, MC. And I still do. I would have done anything for you and our baby had I known.”

MC was silent as she was left to think about the past two years. Diavolo turned his focus back to their son who was still sleeping peacefully. “He’s wonderful.” He whispered, feeling himself welling up.

While completely in love with the fact that they’d made a family together, he hadn’t quite comprehended that the baby MC held was his. This tiny toddler was the heir to the throne. Not taking his eyes of his son, Diavolo’s face turned serious. He would give his whole life to protect their child.

“I’d like you to come back with me, MC.” He stated. “There’s no way I will ever leave you now. I made the mistake of letting you go once; I’m not about to make the same mistake. Especially now.”

“But Diavolo, I have a life here now.” MC whimpered, “my family...”

“And ours?” He questioned, referring to the three of them. “Please MC, you can’t deprive me from him.”

Diavolo’s pleading eyes gave MC no choice. There’s no way she could reject his offer after seeing him beg so desperately. Gazing at him with worried eyes, she bit her lip. “Okay.” She whispered, “we’ll come back with you.”

A huge, relieved grin immediately appeared on his face.

“But I need time to say goodbye.” She spoke quickly, placing a small hand on his muscular arm.

“Take as long as you need.” He breathed, unable to contain his happiness. “I’ll stay with you until you’re ready...if you’ll allow it.”

“What about Devildom?” She asked concerned.

“You expect me to go back so soon after discovering this?” He questioned, “no, my priority is here now.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date

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cosmicbash · 3 years

Note

Would you maybe write something about a scenario where Em and Colson are hate fucking and Em never spends the night, but on a particular occasion, Colson is super sad/stressed and (while trying desperately to hide it) starts crying from the idea of Em leaving, so he stays and is really sweet? (Also, sorry if I went this twice–my computer's being really weird and I can't tell if it did it already!)

This isn't perfect but!! Everybody is on an angst kick and I wanted to join in so I'm using this ask 😤😤

They aren't dating.

Marshall's cock is drilling in and out of Colson's ass but that doesn't mean they're together.

It wasn't supposed to escalate to this. He's not supposed to be manhandling a stupidly long leg up in the air or swatting away the other man's helpful hands while he switches their position for the 3rd time. Hips never stopping their rapid punching forward to draw out more and more curses.

Paul wanted them to mend their beef. Come to a mutual ground of disdain at the minimum. Not bash heads together so many times over their short meeting they end up in bed together instead. Teeth and fists completely changing their plan of attack.

"F-fuck! Right there-" Marshall's definitely not supposed to be watching this annoying twink throw his long neck back and whine. Colorful arms stretching up above him to uselessly grapple onto the pillow behind his own head. "Please!"

This wasn't supposed to be the 10th or 12th time they did this.

"Shut up-" his voice is scratchy when it should be calm. "The whole floor is gonna hear you-" Paul thinks they're here mending bridges and discussing a feature.

"Then fuck me right-" Colson's voice is just as rough sounding. Marshall hates that he knows the difference between the twink's usual tone and this ruined one. How it will only get this way after he's forced his cock down the brat's throat one too many times in their foreplay. "L-learn- ah- where to stick it without directions dude!"

"Shut up." He's bruising Colson's thighs now. The dark red indents from his fingers are going to turn purple by the morning. Not that he's ever seen them do it in person at least, but the blonde never fails to send a picture over text every morning after. "Maybe if you tightened your pussy up we'd both have more fun."

Colson's chest is arching from his harder thrusts now. Voice climbing a little higher almost mockingly with each moan as he slams to the hilt.

Marshall wants to kiss him. Smother that annoyingly pretty mouth with his lips but it's not possible. Not in this position where the other man's unnecessarily large stature puts him so out of reach.

That's a good thing though, because they really don't need to be kissing. A few heated pecks here and there to get the blood pumping is one thing, making out while he fucks the blonde speechless almost feels too intimate to consider.

Theres no space for that in these brief hook ups from hotel room to hotel room, not when they still hate eachother too much for any of the burning heat they have between them to simmer down into a comfortable warmth.

"Stupid whore." His lips are pulling back in almost a snarl this time when he forces Colson over onto his stomach instead. Cock slipping free and almost losing the condom he's got slipped over it from just how quickly he pulls out. Like Colson's hole is challenging his accusation of looseness. "Fuck-" he just wants to smother the brats face down into the pillows. He tells himself his anger isn't from not being able to reach.

An impatient yank and the condoms tearing. Leaving Marshall all but ready to go put his clothes back on and storm out. There's a nasty swirl of emotions going on inside his stomach that he really doesn't want to risk bursting while they find and put on a replacement.

"W-what're you waiting for?" Colson's back is arching, and that pale mop he calls hair is lifting up to look back. So needy he can't even pause for one minute.

"Fucking condom broke- just, shit, just give me a minute-" Marshall doesn't even know where to look, not with all the blood pooling in his cock and his focus begging to be set on his rivals waiting body.

Colson put the thing on him, he can remember that much, one of those prissy little manicured nails probably scratching the elastic as he did it. He's sure he must have one in his wallet but that's across the room in his sweats, by the bathroom door. Where Colson's impatience about even waiting to let him finish his piss and get undressed had left him falling back into the door.

If he has to walk all the way over there to get it he might as well just go home.

"Forget it. I'm done." They shouldn't be fucking like this anyway. It's a major mistake.

"What?" Colson's fingers curling around his wrist is a new sensation. The wide look to his half hidden eyes punching something deep within Marshall's stomach. "We haven't even come yet-" there's a hint of hysteria in the blonde's tone and smile. "If it's because of what I said then- t-then I'll bite the fucking pillow or something alright? Don't be so dramatic dude-"

"I don't have another condom-" It's a weak excuse, they both know Colson evidently has some somewhere in the room of his own. But Marshall needs to take this brief chance to get out now before he loses it. The longer Colson stares at him the more nauseous that feeling bubbling up has him.

"...Forget it then-" the blonde's finally looking away, almost convincing Marshall that he's also second guessing this sex. But those long delicate fingers are still clutching onto his wrist and there's a palpable silence cutting through the air so thick he feels like he might choke before Colson's baby blues are meeting his head on once again. The shimmer of anxiety impossible to hide between long bangs. "Just do it raw. I-I'm clean and I- you- fuck," there's shame mixing in the look now, the grip the blonde has doubling down when Marshall reflexively tries to pull back. "Don't…."

Go. Don't go. Colson isn't saying it but Marshall can hear the word clear as day between them.

It's about the sex. He isn't satisifed yet. If Colson had cum already the bastard wouldn't be hesitating to kick him out. That's what Marshall's mind screams to reassure himself but there's still a hollow place in his stomach where he feels gutted by the look.

"...f-Fine." He tries to justify staying by remembering how annoying and painful blueballs can be. "But don't fucking text me tomorrow whining how my jizz is still leaking out of your ass."

His free hand settling back down on Colson's hip finally snaps whatever weird fog has blanketed the room. A forced sounding snicker muffling itself against the pillows while Colson's legs readjust to raise his ass. "If you can even get back inside without nutting old man-"

This kind of banter is more comfortable.

"Keep talking, I'm gonna fuck you until you're crying for me to finally finish."

"You wish." Colson's voice is still muffled but the slight challenging swing of his hips says more than enough.

Marshall's fingers instantly find their previous spot, each digit mirroring the small red dots on the opposite side of the younger rapper's skin.

The lubes still nearby on the bed luckily, allowing him to be quick as he reslicks his achingly hard cock and squirts an extra dollop directly on his partner's hole for good measure. As much as he loves hurting the punk doing so in this way would only cause them both more trouble.

"F-fuck-" Of course Colson's as tight as a vice when he finally tries to push inside. The tight ring of muscle rejecting his entry just as vehemently as he's sure the boy's heart would. They can't do anything pain free, like the world is punishing them for continuing their facade. "Relax-"

"Thought you said I was too loose?" Marshall can practically hear that smug little smirk Colson's sporting.

Defiantly his hips jerk forward a bit harder, until the blonde actually does cry out and his legs spread the tiniest bit wider. The tight clench Colson has evidently been giving his hole relaxing instantly to let him breach. A string of curses and clawing hands keeping Marshall from fully basking in the incomparable tight heat slowly engulfing his cock.

Even with a pillow clutched close against his face Colson is loud. Each noise climbing alongside his pace as he starts properly fucking his rival yet again. Until they're almost back up at full throttle and Colson's mesmerizing back is arching, a large hand jerking up to plant itself flat against the headboard. "Fuck, fuck, please, just like that Marsh, god- baby d-don't stop-"

The slip of a nickname doesn't escape Marshall's notice, he's just too focused on chasing down his own pleasure to properly care. Once they're done he'll mention it. Or maybe even just wait until tomorrow to text the brat a reminder, but for right now he keeps pumping his hips. Heart warming uncontrollably at the mere joke of being someone Colson can call baby.

Reflexively his palm claps down hard on the other man's ass, too sharply and sudden to do anything but sting. "Ah, f-fuck!" He's taking his anger at his own feelings out on Colson and it's not fair but he can't help himself.

The red imprint of his hand glares back in his vision long after a kinky smack should have faded and just the sight of it sticking around gets Marshall's pace growing a little erratic. He wants to tear the blonde apart, shred every bit of his being to pieces and then sew it all back together to see the taint his touch has created visualized as hundreds of scars. He wants to sully the blinding beauty he sees everytime they meet and everytime he glimpses back at the bed before he leaves. Just ruin Colson completely so that there's no other choice but him in the whole world for the blonde to turn to.

But he's not falling in love.

That would mean he's stupid enough to fall for someone who could never settle for him. That he's actively continuing to come back and push the bar with every hookup just to see when enough is enough and he'll finally be left on the otherside of the hotel room door. Or the one waking up alone in bed the morning after.

Marshall wouldn't.

"S-shit wait- I-" Colson's hips are stuttering back to meet his, the hand he's still got hugging the pillow abandoning it in favor of stuffing down between his legs. It's obvious the blonde's close. Marshall can feel it in the tight grip around his cock and hear it in that shaky voice. It's not until he doubles down to fuck the younger rapper hard enough to knock his slender body inch by inch further up the bed that Marshall realizes he's trying to hold out. "N-not yet, ah, fuck, s-slow down-"

"No-" he's close himself, chest heaving and balls tightening as it is. There's no way he's letting Colson try to change the pace now. "Save, fuck, save that edging shit for after I leave-" he's lashing out for control again but can't stop himself.

This time instead of pinching pale skin Marshall slides his fingers up into sweaty blonde hair. Yanking back until he's got the man's back arched perfectly and his mouth can seal in a bite to one pointy shoulderblade. Fingers snaking around to hold Colson up there by his throat. "Fucking take it like a good whore and come Kelly."

In this position he feels unbelievably deeper and there's nothing to block out the blonde's gasps and cries.

Nails scratch quickly along his thigh but Marshall ignores them to keep rolling his hips. The need to make Colson finish first fueling his free hand to climb up to knock away the punks own. Quickly jerking up and down over the soaked cock the other man was trying so hard to squeeze and restrict.

"N-no, no, fuck, Marshall-" a hand's curling around the back of his head to pull him close despite Colson's protests. Every atom in the other males body seeming to reach out and beg and plead for him to come closer, to fuck him harder until they split through the magnetic field and combine into one. Marshall wants to kiss him again. Hates how he can't even see the brats mouth over his shoulder from his current position. His fingers fly faster and hips roll up firmer in retaliation. "F-fuck-"

There's a wet sob breaking the moans in the air, piercing straight through his chest like a bullet while Colson's hips stutter back and hot release paints across his fingers. Sending him right over the edge himself. Body forcing them both forward so he can hump and grind his pelvis against Colson's ass down to the bone while he pumps and fills the twink up with his own release. The hands around his neck and cock turning into strong arms around the blonde's chest and waist like a hug.

It's the closest thing to a cuddle Marshall will allow himself. That he can't actually prevent his orgasming body from resisting.

There's so much comfort and begging from his body to stay like that, for Colson to never leave him in those moments that the rapper can't help but tear up a little himself.

But just as quickly as its come sensibility returns and with it the guilt and shame. Scaring his arms free and his body away from Colson's usually still trembling form.

"Wait-" fingers are grabbing his wrist again, weaker this time.

Marshall's still buried to the hilt, even though his chest has unstuck itself from Colson's museum print of a back tatt. Sorry is dancing on the tip of his tongue. Like it always does. Always too graceful to ever trip up and spit out though before he finally leaves.

"A-again." Colson's face is still buried in the pillow, eyes and nose planted firmly down while his chins pulled up.

"What?" A second round isn't completely crazy for them, sometimes when the anger is hot enough its even necessary but not tonight. Marshall shouldn't even be humoring the request, not with how fragile his emotions feel, but Colson's hand refuses to let go.

"Fuck me. Please. Just-" Now with his head clearing the rapper can finally notice how Colson's shoulders are turning inwards, how the tone of his voice carries a shake. "Do whatever. I-I dont care. Just don't- fuck, d-don't-"

Go.

Leave. He has to leave.

"Colson?" The name feels strange in Marshall's mouth from all the "kelly"'s "brats" and other derogatory words he usually uses in it's place.

Wet baby blues peering back all but pin him in place whether he wants to leave or not. Their message clear.

"Please." A single word and it's as effective as a sledgehammer around his heart.

"I-" Can't. Shouldn't. "I'm not hard anymore."

On a normal night that kind of obvious embarrassed blurt of an answer would get the kid smiling, one of those rare soft warm looks where his crows feet and gums showed, that scorched Marshall's skin from how brightly it radiated affection. Each chuckle or snort following just another stone slamming hard against his heart.

Tonight Colson doesn't smile. Instead of crinkling at the corner to flash the only hint at Colson's slow aging those lashes drop just low enough to bubble up the small collection of tears already present. His pretty but thin lips quivering up and down to fight back a frown.

A year ago this exact look was the center of so many fantasies. He had wanted nothing more than to see the blonde crumble and break apart in front of him like a pathetic mess.

Right now instead of satisfaction all Marshall's body feels is hollow. Like his heart has finally abandoned his chest and surrendered itself to the hopefully quick acting acids of his stomach. The rapper doesn't think he can possibly feel worse but then Colson's arching his body away from him. Slipping his soft cock free of that lingering tight heat and stealing away any trace of faux comfort he feels with every centimeter of separating skin.

"I'll take care of it-" Colson's voice is hoarse, like hes fighting down the threat of a sob while his body twists onto its side. The sluggish lift of a hand back towards his cock piercing through him like a killing blow.

"No." Now his throat feels tight too. Shame and guilt pouring down his spine at the thought of Colson pushing through his obvious pain and turmoil to jerk his cock back to life just so he stays a few moments longer.

"Please-" Baby blue eyes are shining at Marshall again. The fast slip of a tear down one flushed cheek only making his fingers dig harder into younger male's wrist. "Marshall-"

He can't do this.

"No-"

"Yes!" Colson's scream pierces the silence so suddenly he thinks his wars might be ringing. But the pure desperation painted in angry eyes keeps Marshall's own from flinching all the way closed. "I'll fucking find you viagra or- or suck your dick until my jaws sore-" now Colson's own fingers are cutting back, prying at the preventative grip he's got on the blonde's hand like a caged animal might. "I don't care what- just- you- you aren't- you can't-"

It hurts, and with the way Colson's legs are twitching beneath him Marshall knows a kick or knee to his gut might come next. None of it compares to how badly his throat tears when he speaks though. "I'm not fucking you!" Somehow he manages to put every ounce of finality in his voice that he intends. Freezing Colson's grappling and rambling in an instant.

The ensuing silence feels deafening.

Colson's still staring at him. Pain and anger warring across his face in small twitches and ticks. Marshall's mouth just repeats itself. Quieter this time. The heave if his lungs breaking up his words in tight exhales. "I'm not….I….I'm not going to fuck you."

There's a million more words tangling on his tongue. The order jumbling and backing them up like a traffic jam until he feels like he can't even breathe anymore.

I want to stay. I'm sorry. Dont do this to yourself. Please. Don't cry. Colson-

"I'm sorry." Colson cracks first. Expression screwing up and the floodgates behind his eyes opening as he sobs. "I'm so fucking sorry Marshall-"

This time he doesn't resist that ache to kiss the blonde.

It's messy and Colson's mouth tastes like snot and tears already but Marshall presses closer anywhere. Cradling the younger rapper's skull with his free hand so tightly he knows he has to be pulling out hair. The wrist he'd snatched pinned between their bodies in a way that makes his own ache. But he ignores all of that and kisses Colson harder. Smacking their lips and teeth against one another in hopes the words trapped in his throat might pour their way out and into Colson's. Down the blonde's own throat to reach his heart.

He kisses Colson until he can't physically do it any longer. The sharp sting of oxygen deprivation jolting through his brain and colored spots dancing behind his closed eyes before their lips finally part.

Marshall wants to press so close he sinks down into Colson's bones. Join in with his marrow and spend the rest of his life repairing every broken piece of the beautiful man's soul from the inside out.

That's not possible though so he settles for pulling Colson close. Enveloping him in his arms the same way he wishes he had a dozen times over. Stabilizing him through every shuddering sob and heartbreaking tremble.

He's not falling in love.

"I got you."

He'd already crash landed there long ago.

#emgk #asks #i love asks #im so fucking stuck with writers block #hopefully posting this helps

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ahkaahshi · 3 years

Text

1:32 AM [hirugami sachirou x reader]

pairing: hirugami sachirou x fem reader

genre: fluff with sprinkles of angst

warning(s): descriptions of catastrophic thinking/anxiety, brief mentions of death, swearing

word count: 2.5k

overview: when hirugami’s old habits of rumination come back to haunt him, there’s only one person who can bring him peace

By the time it’s 1:32 AM, Hirugami has spent no less than a half hour staring at the digitized numbers of the alarm clock cutting through the darkness, watching the precious seconds and minutes of sleep tick away before his eyes. A strange haze hangs over him, and it’s as if his ears have been stuffed with cotton, amplifying all the thoughts pounding against his skull. For a moment, there’s an eerie silence in his head, during which he can hear the leaves whispering in the breeze outside of his window, and he thinks he’s finally falling asleep, but the quietude is painfully temporary.

With a heavy sigh, he turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling, giving his thoughts a moment to surface individually, like bubbles rising to meet the daylight shining down on a body of water.

When will what I do ever be enough?

Did I really choose the right path in life?

Would I still feel this way if my life had played out differently?

When will these thoughts stop?

Rumination is nothing new to him. Despite being able to keep the habit tucked away for a majority of his high school years with both yours and Hoshiumi’s help, he finds that it often comes back to haunt him at the most unexpected times. His week at work had been as smooth as it could be given he was a busy veterinarian, yet he’d felt a knot of something—uncertainty?—forming within him over the course of the past few days. Where it had originated from he had no clue, but it was proving to be a formidable opponent now, in the late hours of the evening while the rest of the neighborhood slept.

The journal on his bedside table catches his attention, and as much as he knows he should take a moment to pen down his troubles in an attempt to put them to rest, his hands feel too heavy to move. Just making the simple trip from his chest to the table feels like the most effortful task in the universe. He does, however, find the strength and motivation to reach for his phone lying beside him where he’d tossed it in agony after realizing he was using it far too long after bedtime.

His eyelids instinctively narrow at the sudden influx of light that spills onto his face from the screen when he turns it on, even though the brightness is at its lowest setting. Lazy drags of his fingertips find him face to face with your smiling contact photo, and sluggish taps compose a more to-the-point text message than he usually sends asking if you’re still awake. Gray dots appearing, then promptly disappearing along the bottom of his screen proves that you are—and in an instant, he’s answering a call from you.

“What’s up, Sachi?” you ask, voice more chipper than he’d expect at this hour.

“Nothin’ much,” he lies with a yawn. Hearing his voice weighted so heavily with fatigue makes your heart sink in your chest. “What’re you up to?”

He can hear rustling through the phone as you readjust the blankets ensconcing you to pull them up to your shoulders again. Gazing at your glowing computer screen, you respond, “Just watching a movie,” before asking, “Everything okay?”

“Just having trouble getting to sleep, is all,” he explains, the words leaving his mouth in another exasperated groan, “So, I thought I’d talk to my favorite person if she was still awake.”

Jokingly, you comment, “I won’t tell Kourai you said that, yeah?”

He chuckles. “Thanks.”

A comfortable moment of silence passes, during which you shuffle your feet beneath the covers to warm them up and he allows his eyelids to flutter shut so he can focus his full attention on the sound of your voice when you speak again. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“Don’t you get tired of it, (f/n)?”

“Of what, baby?”

“Of listening to me talk myself in circles when I’m like this and hearing about the same issues over and over again?”

Though there’s a hint of irritation laced in his tone, you know it’s directed at himself rather than at you. “Sachi, you can talk about whatever you want as much as you want. I know how much you keep to yourself, so it’s okay. I just want to help, since I know how exhausting it must be for you to deal with.” There’s a short pause, and you know from experience that his mind is most likely distorting your words, forming them into daggers he sinks into his own heart. “I promise, it’s okay to talk to me about it. Trust me.”

He blinks slowly, takes a deep breath, and agrees, “Okay.”

Pursing your lips, you glance around the darkness of your room until your eyes settle on the bag you’d already packed, ready to take to his house for your scheduled weekend visits. “Would it help if you could see my face?” you wonder, your mouth curling up into a small grin regardless of the fact that he can’t see it.

“Well,” he hums, dragging his long fingers through his chestnut brown hair, “you know I’d never turn down the opportunity to see my gorgeous girlfriend, but you’ll have to give me a minute to touch up my makeup.”

With a snicker, you retort, “You’ll have plenty of time to pull yourself together if I just come over instead.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, sweetheart. Not at this ungodly hour.”

“And you didn’t,” you reaffirm, “but I want to, so, will you let me visit a whole—” you interrupt yourself to check the time before continuing—“eight and a half hours earlier than we’d originally planned?”

“I would love that,” is his answer given without hesitation despite his initial, intrusive thought of being burdensome to you by allowing you to drive over so early in the morning.

And even though he feels himself sinking deeper and deeper into the spiral of negative ideas swirling around him like the raging waters of a whirlpool, he doesn’t regret accepting your invitation when you arrive about twenty minutes later. Upon opening the door to your car for you, he’s greeted by your arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him close for a tight hug that instantly engulfs him in a warm feeling of comfort that he can’t liken to anything else he’s ever felt before from anyone else. He holds your body flush against his—even after he’s felt your grip loosen in a signal to pull away that then tightens once more at realizing he’s not quite finished yet—and acknowledges the guilt that suddenly rises within him.

How could I ever want to know how things could’ve been different when I have her?

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers, craning his neck to press a kiss to yours before finally releasing you and slinging your bag over his shoulder. The wave of cold air that rushes between your bodies at their separation nearly makes you reach for him again, but you settle for latching onto his hand instead while the two of you make your way up to his apartment. “You made it here in record time, speed racer.”

Chuckling, you joke, “Drove like I was answering a booty call.”

“I’m truly flattered.”

The gentle smile across his lips has your heart skipping a beat in your chest but doesn’t hide the fatigue clearly present on his handsome features. His hand on your back gently ushers you inside the familiar warmth of his home when he unlocks the door, and you make a beeline to his bedroom once you’ve kicked off your shoes. A look of amusement glimmers in his eyes at how quickly you settle yourself down in his bed and bury yourself under his comforter and blankets.

As he climbs into bed beside you, your hands move to the sides of his face to pull him towards you for a gentle kiss. “What’s going on, Sachi?” you murmur after your lips part. He sits on the mattress beside you, and the sinking of the bed naturally draws you closer to one another until your arms are wrapped around his torso and his draped over your shoulders.

“Just the usual,” he sighs, fingers absentmindedly grazing the fabric of your sweater, “You know, the whole wondering if I’ve done everything right bit. My mind just loves reminding me of my mistakes and going through how I could’ve handled things differently, even if the thing in question happened, like, five years ago.”

You hum understandingly and nod, focusing on his words to keep yourself awake—which is a challenge when his body feels like a lullaby.

“I’m still hung up over that dog we couldn’t save last month. Every day, I find myself thinking of the moment when his heartbeat just… stopped. And the look in his owner’s eyes when I told her he hadn’t made it. And I just wonder, what could I have done differently to keep him alive?”

He swallows thickly and breathes out a somewhat frustrated sigh. “And I replay the arguments I’ve had with people—and with you—in my head, wondering what I could’ve done to prevent them. But I know that hindsight’s twenty-twenty and that if I’d have known the answer or what was to come beforehand then it never would’ve happened to begin with. It’s so frustrating because I know this, I’ve been able to accept mistakes and let them go, yet I still beat myself up really badly over things every now and then.”

Moving away from him slightly so you can look up at him, into his weary but kind and welcoming gaze, you place your hands on his shoulders and give him a small smile. “Baby,” you say with an affectionate squeeze to his muscles, “these shoulders of yours are so strong, but they’re meant for carrying backpacks, me when I want a piggyback ride, or any kids we may or may not have in the future; not the weight of the world.”

He tilts his head to the side so he can lower his cheek onto one of your hands, spreading heat across your skin. With the way he’s watching you so intently, you can tell how much he values your words as well as the fact that you’re here, sitting in front of him instead of gazing at him through a screen.

Slowly, speaking as the thoughts enter your mind, you assure him, “It’s okay to fuck up. How would we learn if we didn’t?” You stroke his cheek with your thumb before your fingers move to his head of waves tousled haphazardly from whatever restless sleep he’d been able to get.

“Just remind yourself of the way you usually deal with mistakes. Acknowledge them, say yeah, that happened, and it sucked ass, but I’ll do better next time, and let go of them. I mean, I know it’s way, way easier said than done, but you’re really good at it. Remember all those times in high school I came to you, freaking out over the smallest things that I’d done? Who am I kidding? I still do that; but, anyway, it’s always been you who’s helped me. Give yourself the same permission to mess up.”

Your boyfriend of many years heaves a deep sigh as he lets the truth of your statements pass through his internal filter that does a fine job, unfortunately, in this case, of sifting through only the ideas he wants to believe. Though they’re met with initial resistance that only manifests as a defense mechanism, all your words manage to remain after the process like the smallest pieces of gold hidden amongst layers and layers of sediment.

Taking your hand in his, you tell him, “There aren’t really any right or wrong decisions, and I know you know that. They’re just choices you make. Mistakes are gonna happen no matter what, but you’re gonna be okay. I know you, Hirugami Sachirou, and I know how strong and determined you are. You can do what you set your mind to and with that smile on your face some people find annoying—” the grin in question appears on his lips, making you laugh—“Yeah, that one. So, get it into that big brain of yours that you’re doing your best or I’ll have to rough you up a bit.”

“I’m shaking in my boots.”

“As you should be.”

In an instant, the heavy layers of worry that had restricted him before unravel at your definitive statement, and he’s laughing while he pulls you into his arms once more. As always, his laughter is contagious, and it’s not long before you’re doing the same, body shaking against his. “Don’t unleash your wrath on me, baby; I’ll listen, I promise. And I’ll make your favorite for breakfast tomorrow,” he concedes with a teasing tone, a yawn whisking some of his words away.

“We have a deal,” you chirp, “Now, let’s go to sleep. It’s way past your bedtime, gramps.”

He complains, “You callin’ me old?” as your bodies sink down onto the soft mattress, his head pausing in its natural course towards your chest so it can hover above yours. “’Cause I found more gray hairs than I’d like to admit when I was doing my hair yesterday, so I’m actually really self-conscious about it.”

Sticking out your lower lip in a sympathetic pout, you comment, “I said you were old, but I didn’t say that you weren’t hot.”

“So, I’ve still got it, huh?”

“You’re basically a silver fox.”

A soft hum of contentment rumbles against your lips when he presses his to them to shower you with a few, affectionate kisses. Eventually, he pulls away and pecks your chin on his way to your neck, where he nestles his head as your arms readjust to accommodate his body coming to rest against yours. “Thanks, (f/n),” he mumbles, voice suddenly heavy and lethargic compared to how it had been moments earlier, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

Your fingers card through his hair softly as he takes a deep breath and slides his palm along the back of your thigh to coax it around his waist so he can move his body even closer to yours. While the two of you lie together, surrounded in warmth, feeling the gentle beating of each other’s hearts against your bodies, Hirugami finds he has nothing left to worry about—no thoughts left to disturb him. And, because his mind is finally quiet and still, the ruminating beast within him quelled by your honest words and gentle touch, sleep finally comes just as easily to him as loving you does.

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#haikyuu x reader #hirugami x reader #x reader #reader insert #hq x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hirugami sachirou x reader #fran writes hq!!#ahkaahshi//wnf

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hyunhour · 4 years

Text

right behind you ] [ felix au

a/n: yoohoo! been wanting to write a yandere themed fic for the longest time and finally got around to it. note that i do not condone this sort of behaviour and it certainly isn’t meant to be glamourized. yes, this story isn’t supposed to be all sunshine and rainbows. loosely inspired by “never ever getting rid of me – christopher fitzgerald” this is for fictional purposes only! it doesn’t depict the actuality of my sunshine boy at all!

yandere!felix, barista!hyunjin, barista!reader, unrequited love, obsessive love, toxicity

tw: yandere themes

word count: 2k

walking home alone after midnight had been a common occurrence for you after taking late night shifts at work. maybe you should start taking earlier shifts instead.

—

Your steps were heavy, slugged as you dragged your feet across the concrete path. There was only the sound of the wind howling as it gently caresses you, accompanied by the music softly playing from your earphones.

The streets were dimly lit, only neon lights of pubs being a reliable source of light. All the stores that lined the pavement were closes, shutters locked shut. There was not a single soul in sight, besides yours of course. It felt lonely, but comforting, the tranquility of the serene night enveloping you in a newfound safety.

« Shuffle, shuffle. »

More shuffling.

You quickened your pace. You were dubious about whether those footsteps were yours, but they weren’t matching with yours at all.

So, you’re not alone after all.

Anxiety washed over you, goosebumps prickling at the surface of your skin. You no longer felt the peace that the night held you in, only fear and panic surging from within you. Perhaps, you were overreacting. It could very well be a passer-by, just wanting to hurry back home, like you.

You shrugged off your doubts momentarily, warranting yourself a bit of relief. Right, you are probably overreacting.

But, just to be sure. You took a sharp left turn on your heels, opposite from the usual route you took home. Just as you thought, the footsteps trailed behind you. They were slow and steady, as if it was mocking you. You could just turn, it was right behind you.

Your hands stiffened in the pockets of your jacket, gathering sweat in your palms. You know that the way down this road was going to be to your old elementary school, otherwise known as a dead end. This person had to stop sooner or later at one of the houses scattered around the area. That had to be it. You’re overthinking this all.

« Shuffle. Shuffle. »

It had been a good five minutes of you walking down this pathway. This person is still hot on your trail, close enough for you to hear them but far away enough for them to.. to?

You’re overthinking. Overreacting. Over–

“Hah,”

That wasn’t you. Your lips were firmly pressed into a tight line, which made it harder for you to breathe in the cold weather. The only sounds escaping from you was the light wheezing of your lungs from your ragged breathing.

Your legs were losing vigour, instead they were shaking. Your stomach felt knotted, the deepening anxiety further tightening it. The inky darkness of the night no longer felt welcoming, instead it began to engulf you. You felt the invisible walls closing in on you as the footsteps behind you, got closer, and closer.

Right behind you.

Just turn.

Turn and see it.

Finally, mustering all the bits of bravery inside of you, your steps came to a halt. You had to be sure. This was the only way.

The footsteps had stopped as well.

Dread twisted in your gut as you turned around, painfully slow.

Within a blink of an eye, a dark figure that you couldn’t quite make out from the lack of light, sped off to the alley right around the corner. It was quick, and it almost made you doubt yourself, that you even saw it in the first place.

All your self-doubts dissolved immediately once you noticed something had actually fallen out of the person’s hold. It flayed around helplessly in the light breeze on the concrete path. It was a handkerchief, a pale cream coloured one, delicate to the touch. Your hands briefly hovering above, before retrieving it.

Your eyes scanned the foreign object, your fingers just ghosting along the seam lines. Down the handkerchief, your finger continued to trail.

« F.L »

Were those initials? They had been sewed on in a garish red thread, completely in contrast with the cream coloured cloth.

You slipped it into your pocket without thinking much of it, your mind was clouded with pride, the fact that you were actually able to ward off the creep.

—

It has been a day since that odd incident.

Hyunjin was busying himself with making the drinks, avoiding the cashier at all costs in order to dodge the multiple girls that lined up just for him. You laughed silently to yourself as yet another girl approached you, the cashier, for Hyunjin’s help instead.

“Sorry bub, he’s busy right now.” you meekly apologized, a faint smile plastered onto your face.

The girl before you whined, her eyes glued onto Hyunjin, who was at the back of the counter. He sneered, he lost count of how many times you had to say that fixated reply to almost every customer. He almost felt bad for you.

You finished tending to all the customers, immediately scurrying over to Hyunjin to help him out with making the drinks. You were adjusting the apron around your body before Hyunjin holds an arm out in front of you.

“Don’t.” he pauses briefly, “your coffee is fucking bitter.”

Your lips part apart in shock, smacking him at his arm. He winces in pain before retracting himself and scoffing.

“I’m trying, okay?” you roll your eyes at him, not amused at his usual bluntness. He reiterates you in a mocking way, rolling his eyes in return as well.

“Where the fuck is your nametag?” he stares down at your breast pocket, where sure enough, it was empty. You were hoping that he wouldn’t realize about your missing nametag, which you left at home. “Stop cussing at work, you asshole. I promise to bring it tomorrow,” you retorted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Are you kidding me? You had like, one job–“ he berated, a string of incoherent words mumbled under his breath. You just couldn’t be bothered to even listen to his nagging anymore, thus putting on a deaf ear and just nodding your head to whatever words he relentlessly spewed out. “I swear your nametag spends more time at home than at work. You’re lucky, boss doesn’t know.” he remarked, causing you to grunt in response.

“Boss doesn’t care, thus boss will never know.” you smirked smugly at him, before distancing yourself from him as he flings a couple more vulgar insults at your face.

You had recently just started working as a barista, after Hyunjin pestered you about being lonely at work. It was another impulsive decision that Hyunjin easily manipulated you into taking without ever doing a double take. How could you resist when he pulled out those puppy dog eyes and pouty lips? Annoying fuck.

The bell against the front door chimed, a clear indication that a new customer had just stepped foot.

“Welcome!” both you and Hyunjin greeted, softly laughing at each other because of the unplanned perfect timing.

You were ready to receive another order, probably from another hormonal teenage girl that was ready to pounce on Hyunjin.

Boy, you were wrong.

It was a man. A very beautiful man at that. He stood at the door, soft eyes meeting your tentative ones. He sweeps his silver tresses back with his hand, before offering you one of the most gingerly-looking smiles. Your heart fluttered at the enticing sight. He didn’t go straight for the cashier. His eyes darted from the menu that was on the wall behind you, and then back to you, shyly avoiding your eyes now. What happened to that confidence he strutted in with?

He lingered at the entrance for a while, taking hesitant steps as he ventures further in to the café. You had gotten tired of waiting around for him, so you decided to help out Hyunjin—this time with refilling the coffee beans into the hopper. He so stubbornly insisted upon you not making any drinks until he could properly guide you, which would be after the store closes.

“That dude is iffy,” Hyunjin mumbles under his breath, briefly turning to face the entrance of the store, and then back to you.

“Iffy? Yeah, you.” you mock, and he nudges your arm a little too hard.

“I’m serious, Y/N.” he says, before leaning down to your ear, “he keeps looking at you, and like– salivating? Not over the food, but you.” You follow him, and sure enough, the silver-haired man had been staring right back at you unabashedly before looking away moments later. “Of all things.. you?” he reiterates, putting his finger on his chin, as if deep in thought.

You almost choke at his choice of words, caught off guard by his bluntness yet again. You pinch his arm, earning a whimper from him before he returns the same pinch onto your arm, if not more painful.

“Fuck you.” you hiss under your breath, pulling away.

“I was being a nice friend, looking out for you.” he hisses in return. You and Hyunjin both bicker for a while, causing you to spill some coffee beans onto the countertop, earning another earful from Hyunjin. God, he wasn’t even the manager but he sure was niggling like one.

“May I..” a voice from a distance interrupted your bickering, and you were almost thankful for it. You stick your tongue out at Hyunjin playfully before tending to the cashier.

“Yes! How may I help you?” maybe you were a little too excited, the poor boy in front of you jumping a little, obviously surprised at your gleefulness. It was the same person that had been standing around the entrance of the café, he was also always picking at the bed of his nails with his teeth, a habit that you noticed from just a few moments of looking at him. You felt an inkling of pity for this boy.

“I’d–” he choked on his words, his cheeks reddening. You chuckled softly, this kid probably has some major social anxiety. It wasn’t new to you to receive shy customers.

“It’s okay.” you motioned for him to continue, nodding your head. His eyes locked with yours briefly, a glow of light circled around his pupils momentarily, sparse freckles adorned his pale face as he chewed incessantly on the bottom of his lip. Out of anxiety, probably.

You had to break away the eye contact, feeling tense under his watchful eyes. It had gotten a bit uncomfortable with him doing more of staring than talking. This wasn’t normal.

“I’d like..” he resumes, sucking in a deep breath, “a medium vanilla frappe.” the sides of his lips tug upwards tremulously, and his eyes begin to waver.

“That’ll be $6!” you chirped, trying to coat the awkwardness within you with glee instead. He nodded, his hands frantically fishing for change in his pockets.

You open your palm up to him, not losing notice of the way he stares at it. His eyes linger for a moment before placing his money onto your palm, his fingertips just barely grazing the surface of your skin. It all went by painfully slow. You sighed, retracting your hand. He, however, seemed a lot more happier than before. His eyes glistening still at the newfound physical interaction, although small; it was still something. A wide smile crept up onto his face.

Brushing it all off, you returned his change by sliding it over the counter. Usually, you wouldn’t be that rude but this customer particularly did actually feel iffy as per Hyunjin’s words. You took in his smile that disappeared, a solemn frown in place instead on his freckled face.

“Your name, Sir?” you questioned, readying a plastic cup and a permanent marker. He cleared his throat, “Felix.”

“Felix Lee.”

You could’ve sworn your heart had stopped beating for a moment. Moments of the previous night flickered on and off in your head, whizzing by quickly before you could even comprehend what you had just realized.

« F.L »

Felix Lee.

“I’ll be waiting, Y/N.” he coos, before backing away from you. His words, his tone and the volume of his already low voice, letting goosebumps bubbling to the surface of your skin. The familiar feeling of anxiousness washing over you once again, fear having a grip on your throat, causing you to have the inability to even interrogate him.

When did you tell him your name? Right, it must be from your nametag–

Your nametag?

Your finger ghosted over the bare breast pocket of your apron, no nametag pinned onto it. You recall only remembering your nametag once, which was your first day of work. Other than that, it was stuck at home.

This all had to be some sort of sick, sick coincidence.

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dannyphantomisameme · 3 years

Text

Happy New Year!

I’m your secret Santa @faebiie! I decided to write a fic that incorporated both themes you requested: angst and Danny and Clockwork bonding. I hope you like it!

Danny’s fingers fidgeted nervously as he stared blankly at the floor. He sat at the edge of his bed, having woke up from his blaring alarm thirty minutes ago. His hair was a knotted mess from all his anxious tugging, tufts of hair twisting and turning in awkward directions. Dark bags encircled his eyes, hinting that he hadn’t slept in the past week or so.

Today marked the fourth anniversary of Danny’s accident, but also the day he swore to tell his parents his secret. He’d been dreading this moment for so long. Danny knew his parents wouldn’t mind the fact that their child was half ghost, as they hadn’t in alternate timelines where he accidentally revealed himself, but he was still terrified at the mere notion of them knowing. There always existed that slight possibility that they might reject him. He hoped the chance was slim.

Jazz was fine with his secret. Within a few months after the accident, she stumbled upon Danny transforming and secretly aided him until it became imperative to tell him that she knew. Yet throughout, Jazz had always been supportive of him, so there was no reason for his parents not to, right? Wrong.

The Fentons parents were notorious for being the ultimate ghost hunting duo. Maddie, of course, was the brains of the operation, however, Jack did not fall short behind. Together, they made several breakthroughs in the realm of paranormal science, a field that had been regarded as pseudoscience till the Fentons came along. The duo firmly believed that ghosts were inherently sinful formations of post human consciousness. In essence, to Jack and Maddie, ghosts were abominations; objects that needed to be eradicated. Moreover, there was one ghost in particular that they absolutely despised, and that, by pure coincidence, had to be Danny.

Over the past four years, Phantom, Danny’s ghost persona, had become quite famous in the quaint town of Amity Park. By now, the majority of the town viewed Phantom as a hero since he stopped ghosts from attacking harmless humans on a daily basis. The Fenton’s, on the other hand, had convinced themselves that Phantom’s true intentions were to destroy the town once he’d gained their trust. And while initially, the Fenton’s had been working towards terminating all ghosts, over time the duo has gradually lessened their hatred and become more open to the notion of ghosts as they now constitute daily life.

It might seem like inappropriate timing for Danny to tell his parents, but he knew he’d feel guilty if he didn’t sooner or later. He spent his entire high school shielding his true self from his parents and now that he would be off to college soon, he felt it fitting for them to know the real him. Plus, he’d definitely get made fun off by Sam and Tucker if he didn’t go through with his plan. For the past week, his friends had been hyping him up, ensuring him that his parents would be supportive and that he needn’t worry. Tucker even calculated that the likelihood of his parent’s supporting him was 90%. All Danny could do was worry about that 10%.

Letting out a groan, he swiftly laid back into his bed, closing his eyes. He tried to steady his breathing. In two, three, four. Out, two three four. He might’ve sat there for eternity, hoping to be engulfed by his bed and taken anywhere but here, but he was so rudely interrupted by Jazz’s knocking.

“Good morning Danny!” she said from behind the door to his room. “Come downstairs for some breakfast. Mom made your favorite!”

Bacon and eggs sounds so good right now. The thought of a nice breakfast pulled him into a sitting position, yet he was still hesitant to walk. Getting breakfast meant seeing his parents. Seeing his parent’s meant talking. Was he ready to talk? Absolutely not, but he needed to for his own sake.

Finally mustering up a bit of courage, Danny stood up, and headed towards the bathroom. He began brushing his teeth and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. To put it briefly, he looked like shit. All this worrying had put him in a terrible physical state. He needed to get this done with and finally feel free.

As he finished up, Danny went back to his room, put on a shirt, and headed for the stairs. He reached the end of the hall and paused before going down, feeling a tight ball of anxiety forming in his chest. He stared at the carpet as if it were the source of all his worries. There was so much doubt in his decision, but he could also smell the sizzly aroma of bacon. And god, was he hungry.

He grabbed the railing beside him and slowly made his way down the stairs, one step at a time.

“Hey Danny!” called his mom’s voice from the kitchen after hearing his soft steps. “Come sit down, I’ve got your plate waiting for you.”

“Danno!” a bellowing voice belonging to his dad interrupted Maddie. “I knew you wouldn’t resist!”

Hesitantly, Danny walked towards the kitchen, not making eye contact with anyone. He sat in his usual seat at the dinner table, a plate stacked with his favorite food. He so badly wanted to snatch the plate and run to the safety of his room before anyone could speak. Around him, Maddie was in the kitchen making another batch of scrambled eggs. Jack and Jazz were seated at the table with Danny, eating away at their food. Although, Jack was simultaneously building some sort of ghost contraption.

“How’d you sleep sweetie?” Maddie asked.

Danny, having begun eating with a spoonful of eggs in his mouth, choked with wide eyes at the sudden question. He wasn’t ready to speak yet. Let me eat first!

“Good” he muffled in reply.

“Looks like you haven’t slept in days,” Jack remarked as he glanced away from his machine towards his son.

Jazz gave him a playful slap. “Dad, manners!”

“Whaaat? I’m just tellin’ the truth.” Jack gleefully smiled and returned to his food.

Danny brushed off the comment and continued to eat his food. Dad isn’t wrong, Danny thought. His heart was racing in his chest, anticipating an unfavorable conversation. He might’ve been eating too quickly as it garnered attention from his family.

“Woah slow down there Danny.” Maddie said as she brought the latest pan of cooked eggs from the kitchen to the dining table. Jack eagerly took a plateful. “You don’t want to choke.”

“‘’m good,” he repeated with food stuffed in his mouth.

“Anyway your dad and I are planning on spending the day in the lab if it’s alright with you kids. We’re so close to perfecting the Fenton Bazooka.” Maddie began washing the dishes.

Jazz stood up and left her finished plate next to the sink. “Sure mom. Danny and I will be fine.” Maddie smiled in reply as Jazz left for her room upstairs.

Once Jazz was gone, silence ensued as everyone carried on with their own tasks. Maddie washing the dishes, Jack tinkering and eating, and Danny finishing his breakfast. The mood was peaceful for everyone except Danny. His heart was pounding in his chest because sooner or later he had to say something. Shoving in the last bits of egg in his mouth, he could feel his heart quicken. It’s pace grew faster and faster, to a point where he felt his heart may as well explode out of his chest.

You have to do it. You’ll regret it if you don’t.

Just... SAY IT!

“Mom! Dad!” Danny said a bit too loudly, causing his parents to turn to his voice with odd looks “...I have something to tell you.” He kept his gaze focused on the empty plate before him. Was this really happening?

Maddie then suddenly lit up. “Oh Danny, I totally forgot! Would you like some more breakfast? We’ve still got some left.”

Danny shifted in his seat, not expecting that answer. He gripped the edge of his chair, feeling like he might fall over. Why are my palms so sweaty? “N-no it’s not that. It’s-”

“You sure? You never pass down your favorite breakfast!” Jack said with a side glance.

“Yea I’m s-sure.” Danny was tripping over his words. It was as if time was passing far quicker than how long it took him to formulate his thoughts. What was he supposed to say again?

“What I wanted to say was-” he paused. Danny felt weaker than ever. His grip on his chair tightened as he shut his eyes and attempted to center himself. He couldn’t. He did but didn’t want them to know. What if- what if-

JUST SAY IT ALREADY.

“I’m Danny Phantom.” the phrase came out like an exhale. Danny didn’t want to open his eyes.

No, that was a lie. He did want to open his eyes and see their reaction. He just wished he hadn’t.

Looking up from his plate, he first locked eyes with his dad. Jack’s face was as if he’d been hit with a blow. The normally boisterous man had been reduced to a mere shell of shock. Danny couldn’t discern what his dad was thinking.

Danny next glanced at Maddie. Whose brows were furrowed and eyes glued to the plate in her hand. The sink was still running. After a moment, she resumed her cleaning and turned to Danny with a smile.

“Heh, funny joke. It’s just an unfortunate coincidence that you share first names with a scum like him, Danny.”

Jack quickly looked at Maddie, confusion etched into his features. “Mads…”

Danny, at the same time, also confused, looked at his mom. “I- I’m not-”

“Mads think about it.” Jack interrupted in an unusually soft voice. His unfocused gaze hadn’t moved from Danny. He stopped tinkering and slowly sank back in his seat. “It… it would make perfect sense.” Maddie now turned off the sink and turned towards her husband, crossing her arms.

“Jack, there is no way in hell our son is also a ghost. It is scientifically impossible.”

“...mom.” Danny shrank in his seat when his mom looked at him. He couldn’t tell her now. There’s no way she’d react the way he hoped. But… he would never forgive himself if he didn’t tell them. It took every fiber in his being to not turn invisible and flee. His heart picked up pace again as he averted his gaze to his hands which were now fidgeting in his lap. “I’m not lying. Please don’t get mad but b-back when u guys were building the portal, I was snooping around the lab like an idiot and I-I accidentally turned it on while I was inside.” Danny explained with a barely audible voice.

“It would make so much sense.” Jack mumbled. “The portal activation… why our gadgets go off around Danny… why Phantom’s always got Fenton tech.” Danny hadn’t expected his dad to accept it so readily.

“Jack, you can’t be serious…” Maddie’s voice trailed off as if lost in deep thought.

“I- I can show you. I’m half ghost...” Danny couldn’t believe what was happening. This wasn’t what he expected. They were supposed to accept it and move on. No questions, no jokes. Then why were they so confused? There was no way this would end nicely. Danny could feel his anxiety crawling back and settling at the pit of his stomach. He wanted to curl up into a ball so badly.

It seemed Danny had been lost in thought for too long. He missed the moment his parents both locked eyes and came to an understanding.

In one swift move, Maddie pulled two ecto blasters from her jumpsuit while Jack followed suit. In a single second, the both were standing side by side with their weapons aimed at their only son.

Danny jumped back in his chair at the sudden change of attitude. It caused him to tip over and fall to the ground with his back now against the floor. His eyes were wider than ever shifting between his parents and their guns.

“I can’t believe you’ve tricked us thus far, spook.” Maddie spoke as if her words were laced with venom. “Where’s Danny?!” Maddie nudged her head to Jack who took off running down to the basement.

His heart raced even faster. Hands shaking. “M-mom. What do you mean? I’m Danny!”

Maddie spoke in an unnaturally calm tone. “As if we’d fall for that. How long have you been hiding our son?!”

“N-no no. Please. I’m telling the truth. I AM DANNY!” he shouted from the floor. “S-see look!” he gestured his hand along his frame. “It’s Danny! Please, I can show you Phantom.” He pulled his feet towards him, ready to stand up, but rather got interrupted.

Maddie took a step forward, cocking the guns in her hand. “NO! Stay where you are and don’t come any closer. Don’t you DARE claim you’re my son. You’re nothing but a bunch of of... ectoplasm!” Her emotions began to show through her calm facade.

At that moment, Jack came rushing up the stairs, large weapon in hand. “That’s right, spook. The bazooka may not be finished but that doesn’t mean it's not gonna hurt.” He aimed the gadget at Danny.

“Answer me. H-how long?!” Maddie’s voice quivered slightly.

Danny was horrified to speak. They really wouldn’t shoot him, would they? “I-I’ve been half ghost for four y-years now…” he barely managed to say. “I’ll show you…”

He found that cold feeling deep within his chest and let it surround him. Two blue rings encircled his waist and one traveled to his head while the other to his toes. As the ring passed, his raven locks were replaced with a silvery white sheen. His pajamas became the iconic black and white jumpsuit. His eyes, when opened, went from their baby blue to electrifying neon green. He’d become Phantom.

Maddie and Jack hadn’t said a word. Their goggles, which were now over their eyes, masked what they were truly thinking. Their weapons were still trained on their son, but their posture seemed to stiffen as if they were in shock. All this time, Phantom had hidden among them.

Danny dared to look up at his parents who still stood silent. He couldn’t take the silence. “S-see?... say something...”’

Instead of words, Jack chose to reply with the whine of an ectoblast.

Jazz chose the moment to make her appearance as she walked down the stairs. “Why are you guys so loud…” Her eyes swept the room and landed on her little brother's ghost form. He turned to look at her voice, raw fear seeping through every inch of his features and eyes brimming with tears. It took Jazz a moment to understand the situation, but she was too late.

“Danny!” Jazz sped towards her brother as a crackling green ray fired from Jack’s weapon, making its way towards Danny and hitting him squarely on the chest. Danny flung back into the wall, clutching his chest with one arm which burned so very badly. He could feel every nerve in his chest searing with pain. It was worse than any blast he’d received before.

His breath hitched in his throat. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t fight back. They were… they were his parents! Why would they hurt him? Why… why couldn’t they understand?

Jazz was now sitting next to her brother, shocked at the sight of the nasty, bubbling burn. “What did you do?!” she shrieked at her parents.

“Jazz get away from that- that thing! He’s brainwashed you!” Maddie cried as she rounded the table and grabbed Jazz by the arm.

“N-no STOP IT! You’re hurting Danny!” Jazz wrenched her arm under her mom's grip, but her attempt was poorly made as she was pulled towards Maddie right as Jack fired a second blast from the gun. Tears freely flowed from Jazz’s turquoise eyes. Danny had zero time to react before-

Before the blast had frozen in thin air a foot before him. No, that wasn’t true, everything froze. His parents and Jazz. They were all still. What?

Danny felt the coolness of a time medallion on his neck. Suddenly, a swirl of blue appeared before Danny and out came a familiar specter.

“I normally don’t interfere with the events of time, but you seemed like you needed it.”

Danny’s breath came out raspy “...Clockwork?”

The master of time nodded with a smile and outstretched his hand. “Come my boy. Before the Observants find out.”

With one hand still clutching his chest, Danny took Clockwork's hand and stood up shakily. The blue swirls encompassed the two as they were transported to the ghost zone. Specifically, to the living room within Clockwork’s lair.

Danny took a deep breath as he gradually took a seat on the couch behind him. His head was pulsing and the pain from the ecto ray hadn’t subsided. Around him, several clocks and gears lined the wall, all ticking or moving synchronously. Before him sat numerous screens displaying several different events surrounding him. What he was witnessing went beyond any imagination.

“I had to interfere for your own good.” the master of time said as he floated into the room with a first aid kit in hand. He pulled out a burn ointment and began catering to Danny’s wounds. Danny hadn’t noticed, but at some point, he had transformed back to his human self. Danny hissed at the feeling of the cream on his wound.

Clockwork looked up and followed the halfa’s gaze to the screens. “What you’re seeing is the various alternate timelines in which you reveal your secret to your parents at this point in time. In all scenarios, they don’t take it, uh, lightly.”

Danny couldn’t believe it. On one screen, his parents were chasing after him around the city. In another, they had him strapped to a table. Before he could watch some more, Clockwork shut them off.

“I’m going to be blunt, but unfortunately, no matter the circumstance, your parents never accepted you in this moment of time.”

Danny hadn’t averted his gaze from the screens yet. He was still in awe of it all. The alternate timelines, his parents, the blast. He managed to squeak out one word. “Why?”

“Their puny human minds can’t comprehend the duality of your being.” Clockwork said as he now took out a set of bandages from the kit and began wrapping it along the boy’s torso. “Thus they reject you.”

“Y-you can’t be serious.” My parents? Hating me? “...impossible.”

“You witnessed it for yourself. They hurt you. Was that not enough?”

“N-no. They're my parents! They’re supposed to love me no matter what!”

Clockwork got up, slightly angered, unlike his collected self. “You call that love?!”

“I-” Danny was at a loss of words. No matter what Clockwork told him, he couldn’t wrap his head around his parents not believing him. It all felt like one sick joke. He wanted to throw up. Despite the horror of the situation, there was still one question gnawing at him. “W-why are you helping me?”

Clockwork turned so his back was facing Danny and paused. “I cannot let you suffer. Especially after everything you’ve done for our realm... You didn’t deserve the destiny given to you. After all, you were only fourteen when you received your powers. My interference was merely nothing compared to what you’ve dealt with. Your kind is so rare as well. I cannot let you perish.”

It was odd of clockwork to act so carelessly. Risking his position as the master of time just to save a teenage boy with paranormal powers was, well, weird. But from what Danny had heard just now, it seemed that Clockwork was firm in his decision.

At this point, Danny didn’t want to think anymore. His brain felt like mush from all the events that had transpired. Mom. Dad. Jazz… what were they doing right now? What were they thinking of him? Did they really believe he was-

“Get some rest. I’ll bring you some food when you awaken.” Clockwork said.

Danny decided it was best to follow Clockwork's orders so he managed a mumble as he lowered himself into a sleeping position on the couch. “Mmm?”

Clockwork floated next to the boy and patted his raven matted hair. “Sleep well Daniel.”

Danny quickly dozed off on the blue sofa, unaware he had found his new family. <3

#Danny phantom #secret santa #my fic

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reki-of-the-valley · 3 years

Text

Vent post feel free to ignore me. Just gotta exteriorize a bit

But like...... I'm tired. I'm just so tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. Everything feels heavy. And I know it's just an episode, that I'll feel okay in not too long, or maybe it will take some time, maybe I'll be tired for months, but rn? Heavy. And you can feel it in my writing. You can feel how heavy I feel. I never hide how I feel, I put that on display rather plainly because it helps me take steps forwards. Writing is an outlet for me. But it's also a mask. A mask to all my feelings. One step forward is one step back.

Things are rough rn. And I know I'm fortunate in life. I'm in uni, I'm studying something I should love, but it's just... Heavy. It's the only word I have today. It's the only word that feels adequate. A weight I want to get rid of but that's stuck on me.

What do I mean should love? Easy: I love literature. Despite what I say about being illiterate, I do genuinely love reading. I love finding pretty phases and words. I love feeling emotions that aren't mine but that are nonetheless real. I love being touched by an idea. I love reading because I hope, i sincerely hope that what I write can make someone else love reading. And you know when Langa asks Reki if he can be the only one who doesn't know how to ollie and Reki says sure but you won't really get anywhere if you don't learn? Yeah. I tried to do that but with reading. Be the only writer who doesn't read. I quickly learned that it doesn't work like that and i quickly learned that I do love literature. So I decided to major in it. Because I'm supposed to love it.

But studying something you love is not always.... It's heavy sometimes. It's heavy and mixed with my heavy anxiety... It's not a match made in heaven.

I am an extremely anxious person. I don't think I've ever hidden that about myself. I've always been rather honest about my anxiety and how I can get these fits of anxiety very suddenly and I can spiral into a panic very easily. It's something I know I have to deal with, that I've learned to manage even if it is hard to get out of my head sometimes. Hell, just posting fics causes a great deal of anxiety because of that fear of "what if it's terrible." Pleasure and anxiety somehow go hand in hand for me and it's weird. Weird but in the end, my panic does vanish and the happiness I find in sharing my stories comes out on top.

But anxiety is something exhausting. It's exhausting when there is no counter to it. So while I feel anxious every time I post to ao3, the feeling of happiness associated to telling stories and sharing them with all of you far outweighs the panic I feel, the spiralling, the what ifs. There's that counter, anxiety vs pleasure. For school... There is no counter. There's nothing to balance out the fear, the panic, the spiralling. And that's when I know it gets out of hand.

It's been awhile since I've felt this bad. It's been precisely 5 months since I've felt this heavy. I've had 5 months with minor panics, minor attacks, but outweighed by so many pleasing moments that they didn't mean anything to me. I didn't let them hurt me. Because I was doing something that genuinely felt amazing, like i was flying. Especially in the past 2 months.

Now I don't want to be overly sappy, but the Sk8 fandom has done wonders for me. I feel far more confident, I'm passionate about the boys, I have nearly 150 of you guys following me, there's fanart done about my shitposts and fics (I love you so much you don't understand how much those mean to me), and my writing has touched quite a bit of people. And sometimes it makes me cry because I've never had this much attention on me. And maybe it doesn't seem like much, but to me, it means the world. You guys mean the world to me. (I remember going through stories on insta the other day and seeing my fics being recced by an artist that I really look up to. I sobbed. Or sometimes I get notifs about people bookmarking my fics and I recognize the names and I'm just there like ??? How did this happen???)

So I had months of feeling uplifted, but now? Yeah, all of this still makes me feel great, but real life? Not so much. Real life sometimes I just want to quit it. Not in a death way, not anymore, but in a "I don't want to do anything anymore" way. Because it feels heavy. Feeling sick every time I have to get up, it feels heavy. Feeling nauseous as hold a novel, it's heavy. Feeling like shit, that choked up horrid feeling of illness that never really comes every time I open my computer, it's heavy. Anxiety is heavy. Fear of not preforming properly, of stumbling in my act of the perfect scholar, it's heavy. And today felt like my breaking point. Today was the worst I've felt in a long time. Today, anxiety induced illness pushed me to the point where I felt like I was going to pass out.

I don't remember what my point was when I started writing this 20 minutes ago. Maybe it was just to vent. Maybe it was a no filter moment, put all my thoughts down and hopefully feel better. Maybe it was just a moment of heaviness that felt too unbearable for me to keep it to myself, hide it within me like I've been routinely doing for the past 20 years (ok, fine, probably more like 8 years but whatever. I don't know when the anxiety really started to come up. I wan to say when I started high school and felt the need to top everyone. Compensate for something I was missing. Praise? Was that what I wanted? Was praise all I craved? Validation? Are those the things I seek when I out myself out there? I should know what I want but I'm ignorant to my own desires.) There was a reason for me to start this, but the reason I do not remember. Maybe I've just been too engulfed in my own misery. Maybe this moment will pass, that I'll move on to a new moment, one where I don't feel like utter shit. Maybe this is a way of trying to move forward. Maybe this is just the consequence of me writing for 12 hours about how confessions allow the confessor to breathe, rid themselves of their shame and begin life again. Maybe that's what I want. Maybe I just want to get rid of the shame I feel about my anxiety.

I don't know of this is coherent. I broke down crying halfway through it

#dont reblog this please #not sk8 #personal #vent #hush lils #really hush dont do this too often #tbd

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moxiety-my-love · 4 years

Text

Automotan

Analogical Fic

Prompt: How about some Logan angst? Him having some issues with his self esteem cause he feels like he always has to be a robot. And then (insert favorite other half of pairing) comes in to see him crying at his desk cause he is very overwhelmed with work? And then some comfort and maybe a love confession

Summary: Logan isn’t handling quarantine well, and Virgil is the only one who notices.

Word Count: 1k

Pairing(s): Analogical

Warning(s): Swearing, anxiety, food mention, Remus mention. Let me know if you find any more!

General Tag List: @hogwarts-my-love @yourelost-itsokay @rebeyerfdog

A/N: Decided to place this prompt during the events of COVID-19 because that’s where my mindset is right now. This can be read as either platonic or romantic Analogical!

Logan wasn’t handling being quarantined well.

That was an understatement. Logan wasn’t handling it at all. Every day that Thomas continued to stay at home, Logan’s state of mind grew worse. His inability to think straight was affecting Thomas’ productivity, which only added more stress to his already growing list of things to worry about. It was also making the other sides hesitant to be around Logan when he was irritable.

As such, Logan began to isolate himself in his room, surrounded by stacks of papers and swirling thoughts. He was the literal embodiment of Logic-- he should be able to fix this! But all the alone time in his room was making him more robotic than usual. He bottled up his emotions and hid them from the other sides, trying to help them with their own fears about the quarantine instead. Virgil was the first one to notice.

“Lo?”

Logan lifted his head from its resting position on his desk to see Virgil peeking into his room through the cracked door. With a sigh, he lifted himself from his chair to fully open the door.

“Hello, Virgil. Do you need anything?” Logan rubbed his temple, assuming Virgil had had an issue with one of the other sides. Remus, in particular, had been especially hard to deal with lately. “Did Remus do something?”

Virgil laughed, “No, but that’s a good assumption.” He coughed, stifling his laughter. “No, I just, I thought I’d check on you. You’ve been acting like an automaton, overworking yourself. I’ve been there, Lo, and I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

Virgil shifted his feet as he finished his statement. He knew Logan didn’t love to be accused of anything, so he’d tried to phrase his concerns as best as he knew how. He awkwardly dug his hands into the pockets of his well worn sweatshirt.

“A good use of ‘automaton,’ Virge,” Logan smiled, “but I don’t believe I’m acting any differently than usual.”

“It’s okay to ask for help, Logan. None of us are doing our best work while being stuck in the apartment. It’s taking a toll on everyone, so you shouldn’t feel bad about--”

“I don’t,” Logan interrupted curtly. “I have nothing to feel bad about, excluding the fear that Patton allowed Remus to help him cook tonight. Nothing is more distasteful than the thought of whatever disaster should come of that.”

Virgil laughed and gave a tentative smile. “Well, if you’re sure, Lo. Just don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

A week had passed since that incident and Logan still wasn’t any better. In fact, the only thing that had gotten better was his ability to lie straight to the other sides’ faces. Whenever he felt his mind clouding over during a conversation, he plastered on an ambiguous expression he deemed passable as “normal.”

The one time he felt himself falter from these falsified interactions was when Patton, during one of his emotional compliment rants, told Logan how proud he was of him for all the work he’d been doing to help Thomas during their social isolation. When those words left Patton’s mouth, Logan’s eyes heated up as he forced back a flood. How wrong he is, to be proud of me, Logan thought. He wasn’t proud of himself.

A sharp rap was heard at the door and Logan bolted awake. After his consciousness returned, he looked to the wall to squint at the face of a clock. 2:30? Afternoon or late at night?

“Logan? Are you up?”

Logan recognised Virgil’s voice again. It must be afternoon, he decided, if he’s asking whether I’m awake.

Adjusting his glasses, Logan realised how much he’d let himself go. A short glance around his room showed just how quickly he’d allowed things to deteriorate. The stacks of paper atop his desk were now nonexistent; in place of the neat piles there now was utter chaos. Paper clips and pens lay strewn at his feet. Meanwhile, his bed and closet weren’t any less of a sore sight. He hadn’t done his laundry in days, or even changed clothes for that matter. But somehow he had managed to distribute the majority of his wardrobe either to the floor of his closet or in place of his bedsheets.

“Lo?”

Shit. Virgil was still there. Logan knew he shouldn’t leave his friend out in the hallway, but didn’t want him to see the mess that had replaced his life. With a sigh, he waved a hand to clear the floor, so Virgil could at least step in.

“Come in,” Logan’s raspy voice cracked as he spoke, and he realised his throat was dry. He was probably dehydrated.

Virgil only had to take one look at Logan before wrapping him in a great bear hug. That was what did it for Logan. The warmth that emitted from Virgil’s sweatshirt and arms engulfed Logan’s entire being. Before he had a second to choke back his cries, he released them into his friend’s shoulders. After the first sob, a weight was lifted immediately off Logan’s chest. For too long, he’d been suppressing his feelings. Finally allowing himself to indulge in them eased a small bit of his anxiety.

Neither of the left-brained sides knew how much time had passed by the time Logan’s sobs had softened into erratic, muffled breaths. But Virgil did know something had to be done to help Logan. He already felt terrible for letting things escalate the way they patently had.

“You need a break, Lo. This isn’t healthy.” Virgil waited for a response before deciding to say anything more. He lightly chewed on his bottom lip, choosing to tread lightly while Logan was still in a fragile state.

Easing his breath before speaking, Logan waited until he thought he could manage words again before replying.

“I- I believe you are correct, Virgil. Thank you for helping me to realise it. We’ve spent so much time discussing repression, yet it didn’t occur to me that I might be repressing.”

Virgil smiled behind Logan’s back, brushing a finger through the taller side’s hair.

“We’re all here for you, Lo. Every one of us loves you, especially me.”

Logan hesitated for a moment before replying.

“I love you too.”

He nestled his head into the warm crook of Virgil’s neck, finally at peace for the first time in weeks.

Requested by @fukindork

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goddessofthundathighs · 4 years

Text

X. REVELATION

Word Count: 2.9K

*taps mic* Is this thing on? Aight, I know I said that I’d update CS every 3-5 business months, but life happened for both me & @hearteyes-for-killmonger. Let me just tell y’all how many times I wanted to completely scrap this book, simply because for a second, I fell out of love with it. I also thought that you guys were no longer interested. For our loyal readers, thank you for sticking with us! This chapter is fairly short, but MAJOR progression is made!

It’s also late, so this is un-beta’d. Any errors will be corrected in the morning.

************

Skylar’s face turned up in a wide grin as O’Shea came downstairs with her latest flower arrangement. If Oya wasn’t good at anything else, she was a professional at wooing her. The bright yellow of the freshly picked sunflowers was a beautiful contrast to the deep red hue of the roses. She’d forgotten that she’d mentioned that they were her favorites.

“With love, from Bae,” O’Shea read teasingly, only making the smile on Skylar’s face stretch wider. “And again I ask, why aren’t the two of you officially a thing? The mutual attraction is obvious and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this wide. Like you’re really flashing all 32 right now,” she asked, placing the vase on the corner of Sky’s desk.

“Because it’s not that easy, Shea. I have walls that need to be broken down and we both have issues that we need to work through. This is why SPT is so important. I have to understand exactly who I’m dealing with before we take things to the next level.”

O’Shea nodded. She hadn’t really thought about their situation like that. She’d just assumed that Sky was still working through ridding herself of Monica and was afraid of being heartbroken again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask about that. So is she Erik’s client now?”

“Yes. He’ll be her official therapist and draw up our plan of action as far as treatment.”

“Why does she feel like she needs treatment? She doesn’t seem to struggle sexually.”

“Looks can be deceiving, Shea. Behavior is also an indication that there may be underlying issues. Most of the clients that Erik and I treat are fully functioning. Look at you, for example.” Shea pulls a face. It was entirely too early in the workday for Skylar to be coming for her edges. She hadn’t even finished her acai breakfast bowl. “Aye, we not talking about me,” she fussed, placing her hands on her hips.

“But you fit the example. Personally, I think her excessive need to be sexual is a cover for something deeper, I just have to get her to tell me what it is.”

Sky couldn’t deny the soft spot she had for Oya. Even if things didn’t work out on the personal side of their relationship, she still cared for her and wanted to ensure she received the best treatment. Regardless of past situations, everybody deserved to be loved and accepted for who they truly are.

A pregnant silence engulfed Erik’s office as Oya and Skylar waited for him to speak. For the last 45 minutes he had been busy typing away at his computer, only pausing briefly to think before starting again. Once finished, he leans back in the Italian leather chair, stroking his beard as he gives the therapy plan a final onceover.

“Alright, before we begin, we first need to get to the root of the problem. Oya, why do you feel you need SPT and what do you hope to gain from it, other than my business partner as a mate?”

Ouch.

Oya recoiled slightly at his brashness. She hadn’t expected to be put on front street so quickly, nor was she prepared to discuss her history so soon. She suddenly felt bare, like she had been stripped of all of her clothing in front of a crowded high school auditorium and her anxiety was spiking. Skylar took notice of how withdrawn she’d become and placed a comforting hand on her thigh.

“It’s okay, Oya. You don’t have to explain in detail just yet, we just need a general idea of what we’re dealing with so that we approach it in the best way,” Skylar explained, the gentleness of her voice causing Oya to return her soft smile.

While she knew that there wasn’t a logical reason to be afraid of Erik or his opinion, her brain had been conditioned to be critical of men ever since that fateful night in her uncle’s basement. Still, having Skylar there was comforting. Her presence made it easier to generate a Spark Notes version of her past.

“I was abused and shunned as a child and as a result, became overtly sexual. While I know that sex can’t fill the void that was left from that experience, it’s the only way to silence the voices in my head. I started looking into SPT because I saw that abuse survivors can benefit from it.”

Erik’s face softened from its usual hard line. While he’d assumed this girl had been through the ringer, his mind couldn’t begin to fathom just how deep her trauma ran.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” he started. “Since it’s obvious that you’re a lot more comfortable speaking to Sky about this, how about the two of you do dinner. If not tonight, then later this week. During dinner, Oya, I need you to be as transparent as possible. I need you to go into full detail of what happened and then Skylar will report back to me. The two of us will formulate a comprehensive 8-week therapy plan, which will be implemented starting next week. Are you okay with doing this?”

Oya nodded, finally allowing herself to completely relax.

“We’re gonna get you right, Ms. Ramirez. Over the next 8 weeks you’ll watch yourself become a new woman, I guarantee it,” Erik smiles, offering her his hand to shake.

She accepts the invitation, returning his smile in the most infectious way before turning to Skylar.

“I know SPT doesn’t always require sex, but we can still implement some BDSM therapy, right?”

Sky laughs in response. Leave it to Oya to bring sexual humor into an otherwise serious situation.

“Baby steps, Ms. Ramirez.”

Oya's salmon arrived on the table and she licked her chops, having been out all day without eating. Why Sky had inquired about her level of hunger, Oya stated that her radiant smile was enough to fill her, however, the angry cry of her stomach told a different tale.

The pair opted for a Friday evening dinner, an excuse for Skylar to have a drink or two and not worry about having to work the following day. She sips her Hendricks and tonic slowly, savoring the crisp taste of the cucumbers she requested be added to the concoction.

Oya slammed face first into her plate effectively scaring the shit out of Sky who was currently rethinking a few things in regard to diet based on Oya's uncouth and grizzly attack on her fish.

"Well. She eats fish like I eat pussy," Sky sighed, brushing it off. Still, she found herself keeping her eyes down to her own plate.

"I wasn't that hungry," Oya belched, wiping her mouth with her stained paper napkin. "I'll take another one still."

After her second fish, Sky was appalled at the way Oya had violated those salmon. She decided that she would also train Oya to eat like a human being and they would practice on a sushi date, since they require smaller bites.

“Alright fish murderer,” Sky finally chirps. “You’ve avoided the inevitable long enough, it’s time to talk.” Oya lifts her head slowly, much like a dog who has just been scolded for peeing on fresh carpet.

“Do we really have to talk about this? Like is it honestly necessary?”

“Yes, Oya. With all due respect, we can’t treat you if we don’t know what we’re treating. You gotta give us something.”

“I gave you something earlier,” she snaps defensively.

“Yes, but that’s not enough. There are several forms of abuse, Oya. Just saying you were abused doesn’t really tell us anything. We can’t use verbal abuse treatment methods to treat a victim of physical abuse. You understand that, right?” Sky asks incredulously.

Oya pinches the bridge of her nose in annoyance. She was beginning to regret even bringing up the whole thing. While she thought she was ready to expose this part of her life, fear and her anxiety were getting the best of her. She was beginning to close up again.

Just tell her, her psyche coaxes.

“I was raped by my mother’s brother when I was ten. It happened nearly everyday for 6 months. It took everything in me to say something to my mother about it, but when I finally did, she accused me of lying.”

A lone tear slid down Oya’s cheek at the memory.

“From that point on, I haven’t been able to trust or fully commit to a man. Which is why I couldn’t talk to Dr. Stevens earlier. I know he means well, but --”

“It’s a work in progress, I understand,” Skylar interjects.

“To this day, she refuses to acknowledge what that man did to me, even though he’s currently serving a 20-year prison sentence for pedophilia. From that point on, sex was my escape. I know it sounds oxymoronic, but it helped fill the void and silence the pain. Even if the gratification was short lived.

Skylar takes her hand, offering a napkin to wipe the fresh tears that slid down her face.

“I think we should start slow. I’ll get with Erik, but I feel like our first few sessions should be meditation and sensate focus. I want you to be comfortable with touching and being touched in a nonsexual manner before we move onto more advanced methods. Are you ok with that?”

“I think so,” Oya admits. “I’ve been using sex to run from my demons for majority of my life. I don’t want to hide anymore.”

“And when this is all over, you won’t have to,” Skylar smiles.

“I still wanna be your sex slave at some point, though,” Oya jokes.

“Check please!” Sky laughs.

After several back and forth debates as to where the session should be held, the doctors finally decided that Oya’s house would be best.

“It’s somewhere that she feels comfortable, and therefore, it should be easier for her to open up,” Erik said once the final decision was made. Sky nods her agreement, texting Oya to alert her of the plan.

Sky: Instead of coming to my office, we’ll be doing the session at your house. Is that ok?

Oya: Ooh, I get the good doctor all to myself. Say less. Here’s my address

Skylar chuckles at her eagerness, adding the address to her Maps app for later access.

“She seems excited,” she tells Erik, pocketing her phone.

“For now,” he says, sliding a manila folder towards her. “She’s flighty, so her nervousness can come back at any moment. Make sure you keep her relaxed the entire time.”

“Why you talking to me like she’s my first patient?”

“Just making sure your head is in the right place. You’re typically behind the scenes. Patients like Oya can be tricky.”

“I got this, dad,” Sky groans, swinging her bag over her shoulder as she stands to leave.

“You better stop. You ain’t called a nigga Daddy in a minute, Nola.”

“Goodbye, Stevens! I’ll let you know how things go.”

“Text me. I promised the baby brat we’d go to the carnival later. She’s been dying for a funnel cake and a new stuffie.”

“Aww, how sweet,” Sky beams, armed with new ammunition to tease Shea with once they were back in the office. After reading through the therapy plan for herself, she rests the folder and her bag in the passenger seat and heads home. She would need the rest of the night to prepare for the next day’s session.

The California sun beamed brightly as Skylar made her way to Oya’s apartment. It was a beautiful three bedroom, three bath unit in Playa Vista, not far from the beach. Skylar was immediately drawn to the brightness of the space, the white walls with soft marble and gold accents adding to the feminine charm.

“I was thinking we could do this in my meditation room,” Oya said once Sky was done with her exploration.

“Ooh meditation room,” Skylar squealed, following her into what would become her favorite room in the entire unit. Behind the curtain of strung selenite crystals lay a spiritual oasis. Two black Buddah statues sat on both sides of the entrance while pink, orange, and yellow pillows decorated the floor. They looked to be from Bali or some other spiritual region. On the east and western walls were sun and moon appliques, subtle nods to the orishas Yemoja and Oshun, while chakra posters and decorations line the southern wall. On an inverted bookshelf near the front facing wall lay her crystals, sage, and a small altar Sky could tell had been used recently.

“Okay, I already loved the rest of the house, but this room is a whole vibe,” Skylar compliments, pulling out her notebook and video camera. “It’s standard practice that these sessions are recorded, but if you’re uncomfortable being on film, I have a tape recorder.”

“No, the camera is fine,” Oya assured, taking a seat on the pink pillow. She sat Indian style with her palms resting on her knees. Skylar placed her camera between two rose quartz cathedrals, taking a few test shots to ensure the angle was perfect. Once done, she mimicked Oya’s stance on the yellow pillow across from her.

“It is the third day of March and the time is 3:33 pm,” Skylar says, beginning the recording.

“I see you, Universe,” Oya muses to herself, allowing herself to be consumed by the feeling of divine protection.

“We’re going to start with simple breathing exercises to get you relaxed and comfortable, okay?” Oya nods in response. “First I need you to sit up straight, but keep your shoulders and neck relaxed.”

Oya complies, rolling her neck to the sides to release some apparent tension.

“Now, close your eyes and visualize your happy place. It could be the beach or your bed, just wherever makes you feel the happiest,” Sky instructs, doing the same. “Now, breathe in deep through your nose, hold it for about five seconds, then release through your mouth.”

The two repeat these steps about five times before Oya is finally allowed to open her eyes. Skylar makes note of the sated look in her eyes.

“How do you feel?” she asks softly.

“Surprisingly, I feel really good. I do breathing exercises often, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed before.” “Good, that’s what we want. Now, we’ll move into sensate touching. I’ll need you to remove your jewelry and as much clothing as you’re comfortable with.”

Oya’s face turns up into a sly smirk.

“Are you getting fresh with me, Dr. Greene,” she teases, slowly removing the white Nike crop top.

Sky chuckles before answering.

“Quite the opposite, Ms. Ramirez. In sensate touching, participants are typically nude and free from jewelry. The method we’ll be practicing this afternoon is non-genital sensate touching, which means that I will touch every single part of your body except your breasts and your vagina. While sensate touching may cause arousal, it is important that you remain professional and focus only on your own sensations while being touched, understood?”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Oya responds, saluting for emphasis. This makes Skylar giggle.

“I can already tell you’re not going to make this easy for me, Ms. Ramirez.” “I promise to be a good girl, Dr. Greene. You have my word.”

“Alright. This first session will be strictly me touching you with my hands. If this goes well, then we can introduce other elements, such as feathers, scarves, and even oils. If at any point you feel uncomfortable or sleepy, let me know and we can continue another time.”

“I’m not allowed to fall asleep?” Oya questions.

“No. It’s important that you remain awake and conscious through the entire experience,” Sky responds, positioning herself behind Oya. Slowly and deliberately, Skylar rubs her hands up Oya’s arms, starting with just her palms. She moves up to her shoulders and neck, alternating between firm and subtle pressure to the pressure points there.

“Mmm,” Oya moans softly. “You should consider massage therapy,” she coos, allowing her head to fall slightly.

“You think so?” Sky asks with a grin. “Yes ma’am. Your touch is very relaxing, Dr. Greene,” Oya shudders as Skylar’s fingertips dance up and down her back.

“Well I’m glad you think so, Ms. Ramirez.”

The session continues for exactly 33 minutes before Oya’s eyes start to droop. “Okay, I think we need to stop, otherwise, I’m gonna be asleep in your arms,” Oya says, her voice audibly more soft and relaxed than when they first began.

Skylar shuts the camera off and makes a few more notes in her notebook before putting her things away. Without thinking, she sits down beside Oya, pulling her so that she was cradled against her supple bosom.

“I don’t think I’d object to that much,” she beams.

Oya bites her lip softly before staring up into Sky’s big green eyes. She could see herself getting lost in them for days.

“You think you’re capable of fixing me? I’m damaged goods, Dr. Greene.” Her voice came out just above a whisper, her tone laced with vulnerability. Skylar smoothed her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before delivering her heartfelt response.

“A smushed Reese’s cup is still a Reese’s cup, Ms. Ramirez. And I happen to really like Reese’s cups.”

Oya’s smile spread across her whole face, a soft twinkle dancing in her eyes.

“I’ll be your Reese’s cup.”

@vikkidc @thadelightfulone @sydneebleu @blktinkerbell @madamslayyy @chaneajoyyy @jozigrrl @thehomierobbstark @ @iamrheaspeaks @mareethequeen @forbeautyandlife @whatmoredoyouwantamericaa @blowmymbackout @wakanda-inspired @yaachtynoboat711 @nickidub718 @heyauntieeee @princessstevens @bakarilennox @xaviera108 @alexundefined @raysunshine78 @dameshaemonique @laketaj24 @youreadthatright @theogbadbitch @bugngiz @amirra88 @post-woke @im5ftbutmythroat66 @blackpinup22 @maya-leche @blessyd-bthyname @unholyxcumbucket @eclecticblkgirl @kissmyafropuff @rick-sosa @jennajai @allhailqueennel @killmongersbaby @eye-raq @thickemadame @soulfulbeauty19 -

#vanity writes #my shit #erik stevens #killmonger smut #daddy erik #killmonger fic #bde #erik killmonger #erik killmonger x black oc #carnal stimulation

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toshitanddieinla · 3 years

Text

Part 1 - Some Call It McLoving

It was 8:00am but it certainly didn't feel like it. The California sun glistened through his dusty cigarette stained windowsill, its ray's softly combed through tufts of Armie's receding hairline. Armand groaned miserably as he nursed a stomachache from the McRibs he had eaten the night before...the mcRibs which were now making a swift exit through his anus. But Armand was not aware of this at the time, because he was also slightly hungover, you see. His sometimes dog, Archie, on the other hand, was incredibly aware, because he was the first to detect its presence. He really only showed up at the home, a derelict pool house rental Armand found off of Craigslist, to sometimes curiously peek at what the human was up to and steal whatever food he left out. But today he noticed that Armand had truly gorged himself on a McRib binge. He ate his food from the automatic feeder and then exited through his doggy doorway to spend the majority of his time with his preferred people, Armand's Landlords and beleaguered neighbors, the Del Santis family.

The scattered remnants of McRib packaging were littered all over the pool house. This was his life now; he would give in excess every now and then when he could afford it, he would try to stock up for weeks on end with the money his frustrated mother would send. She had hoped he earned enough to buy his own food by now, let alone to pay rent, but he assured her that one day he would land that project that would pull through. Armand had overheard while eating a burrito at a gas station that there was a casting call for a few local commercials. He had been to every job center near Los Feliz and Encino and over the past week, after failed casting calls and rejection over rejection, Armand would buy McRibs to nurse his bruised ego. Someday, he would get a job, just like he would get a girl, and he would finally stop thinking about the size of his incredibly tiny penis.

As he began to get ready, he ran to the bathroom to void his bowels of his grease laden dinner. He would accidentally urinate himself in the process, and try to wash himself pathetically in the bathroom sink before taking a shower like a dignified person. His penis was usually the last thing he forgot to wash, if he remembered at al. It was an amazingly disgusting sight to behold: his pubic hair had completely overgrown over the entirety of his genitalia. His shaft had odd warts and bumps that overwhelmed and engulfed the head of his penis by comparison, making his genitals look like a cluster of smegma encased pimples, which had been covered in an odd green layer of filth. These bumps were not STDs, for his genitals have been repulsively like this for as long as he could remember. Armie often didn't notice because he sometimes forgot his dick was even there. Besides, he was sure he wasn't the only actor in Hollywood with a rancid baby dick anyway.

Another day, he thought to himself. He flipped through channels after getting ready and put on the local public access news channel, which he loved to leave on as background noise. He fished out another McRib from the fridge, when he overheard a name that stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Timothee Chalamet gave an excellent performance as Danny in a hip hop and polka fusion themed production of Cats Don't Dance…" the giggling female anchor couldn't contain herself as clips of Timothee prancing in terrifying Cat makeup played in a looping montage of b-roll footage. "...It was put on at the Los Feliz High School. He is amongst 5 other actors who have been nominated in the Los Angeles Prestigious Actors Forum Awards…"

Timmy, a voice whispered from within the foggy shadows of his mind…that smug pretentious prick. He had tried for that same high school production last month, and when he showed up to the auditions they escorted him off campus. He was at least 24 years younger than him, 2 feet smaller than he was, and weighed a quarter of his 180 pounds, and yet he could never escape Timothee's shadow. Their rivalry began two years, when they managed to star together in a low budget drama cobbled together by sometimes screenwriter Pedro Luna, a local nurse aide who filmed the movie out of his garage in Encino for $7,000. Armie took the job at $500 per week. He spent days practicing his face in front of a mirror, eating McRibs and perfecting his dead glazed over eyes to elicit the perfect amount of emotionally stiff vacancy that his body could muster and that he was known for. He practiced his meandering monologues on confused and unwilling vagrants and pedestrians. And all though Armie had more experience, Timothee managed to outshine him. Armie remembered stopping by In n Out when his phone received the alert that his co star, Timothee, was nominated for the Encino Local Artizzy Awards and Los Angeles Actor Forum Award simultaneously. Armie was furious...all those weeks performing his monologues to bewildered tourists near the LAX. The days where he was pelted with garbage and he came home smelling like a dumpster that had been left out on Santa Monica Beach overnight. When strangers confusedly gave him money or spoke to him about sobriety, even though he would explain to them in vain that he was very sober. Sure, he made a few dollars when it live streamed on YouTube from a few of Pedro's patients who watched. But Armie needed that to be his moment. He needed to show his mother, who begged him to take a job anywhere, even McDonalds, that his move to LA wasn't a complete failure.

He could feel the hate rise through his chest and swallow his throat as he stared at Timothee's oddly angular jaw. Why the fuck was his jaw so sharp? He wondered... He looked like if Lyle Lovett had mated with a leprechaun…Armie was just as confused as he was somewhat incessantly jealous. As he continued to listen, he fell under a panic induced hypnosis that terrified him. This is it, he though...this is the most my career has peaked. The thought dreaded him and his mind began to race. He couldn't face his mother's disappointment again; the empty, defeating silence from her when she asked if he found any new work. He couldn't face another rejection... I look better than him, he thought, I can bench press 200 pounds. And he knew deep down that wasn't even true, but if he said it enough it could become true enough that people would believe it, so why couldn't the same be said for his fluttering career? His anxiety transformed into a cloud, which brought upon a deep quickening panic, as he felt a darkness envelop him. The darkness seeped from all corners of the house and hung over him until there was no sunlight entering his room, but an overwhelming gloominess shrouding him, his soul turning into a black void. I am a better actor, he kept telling himself, I am amazing... I should be getting these awards...me...me...me… As he waited for the words to work, he began to wonder if there was a void large enough that could swallow all his failures, his fears, his insecurities...but in the meantime, his mind quickly hatched a plan.

#supportarmiehammer #supportarmieintheslammer #armie x timothee #armie hammer #timothee #timothee chalamet #egba #charmie #armie-hammer

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basicsofislam · 3 years

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BASICS OF ISLAM : Allah ( God Almighty ) : Suffering in this World

Is the Suffering in the World in Agreement with God’s Mercy?

To some individuals who want to believe, in particular, young minds, the pain and suffering that exist in the world today do not seem to be compatible with the Mercy of a Loving God. It is just too difficult for them to comprehend that there can be so much injustice and suffering around the globe. This subject, if not dealt with rationally, will continue damaging the faith of many who want to believe in Divine Mercy.

First of all, we need to keep in mind that this world is a temporary place for us.

•Life after death is our final destination; that is the life about which we need to be concerned. Anything that happens in this world should be judged against the measures of the eternal life. In other words, what happens here on earth is only half the story. The fact that justice fails to prevail in many places on earth is strong evidence for the believer that there will a place where these unfinished accounts will be reopened and brought to justice. God is certainly Mighty and capable of doing so. Just because He gives time to the oppressor does not mean that their accounts will be ignored.

In fact, His Mercy is so encompassing that it even engulfs the oppressor; He gives many opportunities for people to correct their mistakes willingly and to be saved on the Day of Judgment.

•A delayed justice may not be justice at all within the rules of our social system on earth. But this concept does not apply for the Divine Justice. In fact, the Divine Justice is probably delayed so that we have a chance to compensate for our wrongdoings against the weaker and poorer.

Another aspect of the matter is that we have an understanding of the concept that “creation of evil is not evil, but choosing evil is.”

•God has granted us freewill while we live on earth. We sometimes use this freewill to decide justly, but other times we follow our carnal desires with biased opinions that are in favor of our selves. At these times we commit injustice and evil.

The creation of the act and its consequences belong to the Creator.

As human beings we do not have control over what happens in our bodies, but our freewill is a very subtle entity that has a confined territory in the decision-making process. Once we make the decision, the actual act is created by God Almighty, Who has power over all things.

▪This can be explained with a simple analogy: The father puts his child on his shoulders and tells him that he will take him wherever he wants to go. The father also gives the child a clear set of instructions as to which places are harmful for him and which ones are safe. Then the child decides to go into a candy shop and fills his belly with chocolate, making himself ill. Yes, it is the father who took the child to the candy shop, but it was the informed decision of the child to go and eat a harmful amount of chocolate. Who is to blame for this mistake?

▪Similarly God gives us the ability to decide and then He creates the actions for us according to our choosing. If the consequences are evil, it is we who committed that evil not the One Who created it.

A third point to think about when going through difficult times are examples from God’s prophets and their life-long suffering.

•They were chosen to deliver the Divine Message and they were the best people in their times with their service to God and dedication. Yet, the hardships that befell them in many instances were so severe that they would undoubtedly shatter the faith of any ordinary men. Take the examples of Job and Jonah, think about Abraham and Moses, consider Jesus (peace be upon them all). These chosen people of God underwent the greatest trials on earth. The Qur’an points to this fact in many verses, including:

And how many a Prophet has had to fight (for God’s cause), followed by numbers of godly, dedicated servants of God; and they did not become faint of heart for all that befell them in God’s cause, nor did they weaken, nor did they abase themselves (before the enemy). And God loves the patient and steadfast. (Al Imran 3:146)

•After a short glance at the lives of the Prophets, we conclude that hardship in one’s life is not necessarily a chastisement from God, nor does it contradict with Divine Mercy. Otherwise, God’s beloved chosen ones, the messengers, should have had the easiest and the most comfortable lives. But, all the messengers underwent major trials, in particular with atrocities that were imposed on them by their own people.

We will certainly test you with something of fear and hunger, and loss of wealth and lives and fruits (earnings); but give glad tidings to the persevering and patient, those who, when a disaster befalls them, say, “Surely we belong to God (as His creatures and servants) and surely to Him we are bound to return” (And they act accordingly.) (Baqara 2:155-157)

•In fact, for every difficulty that a believer encounters there is a reward waiting for them in the Hereafter. That is, provided that they are patient in those times of difficulty before their Lord and do not lose faith in Him.

The Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, gives the following glad tidings to the believers:

“Never is a believer stricken with a discomfort, an illness, an anxiety, a grief or mental worry or even the pricking of a thorn but God will expiate his sins on account of his patience.”

I would like to conclude with a favorite analogy of mine, which helps me to understand some events in this world that appear injustice to us.

Those who fast in the month of Ramadan know well that fasting may be a little difficult for the first few days until the body adjusts to it. With some exaggeration, we may think of the feeling we have in the stomach as pain and suffering. Particularly, near the time to break fast it becomes more unbearable. Then we come to realize at the dinner table (as our taste buds fully agree) that even a piece of dry bread is much tastier than the splendid meals we had before Ramadan.

The fasting person enjoys the food at the table so much so that he says “all that pain and suffering that I went through today was worth it. Not only can I truly enjoy the food at this table now, but I also have the joy of knowing God is pleased with me.”

Similarly we human beings go through difficult times in life. This is nothing but a fast before we are granted with the table of bounties that our Generous God has prepared for us. When we come to know the rewards He prepared for us for being patient on earth with the difficulties of this life we will be overwhelmed and forget everything that happened.

We will say “O God, I am so thankful for everything You have given me. Whatever suffering and pain that I endured on earth, it was all worth it. What I find here immeasurably surpasses my expectations and imagination!”

Let us have faith in God’s Justice and Mercy which encompasses pre- and post eternity. Let us be aware that He is watching over us even when we are treated unfairly and at times when we cannot defend ourselves. The good news of the Qur’an regarding the rewards that our Lord has prepared for us should always fill our hearts and help us be patient:

And hasten, as if competing with one another, to forgiveness from your Lord, and to a Garden as spacious as the heavens and the earth, prepared for the God-revering, pious. (Al Imran 3:133)

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papi-imagines · 4 years

Text

Drowning - Merman!Jooheon X Marine Biologist!Reader: Part 1

Character: Monsta X Merman!Jooheon X Marine Biologist!Reader

Word Count: 1379

Genre: Horror-ish Thriller Mystery

Synopsis: There are many legends surrounding your island village along with the dark water of its shores. When multiple local fishermen go missing, you cannot help but find the circumstances a little… fishy. As a marine biologist who studies the sea on the regular and knows the island like the back of your hand, you make it your mission to find out what happened to these men and why. You soon find out that you really don’t know as much about the mysterious waters as you thought you did, and the secrets of your town soon become deeper than the deep blue of the lagoon. Little do you know that you’ll soon be drowning in more ways than one.

WARNINGS: Mentions of drowning, almost drowning, light cursing, and murder

________________________________________________________________

You’ve never been the type of person to buy the local newspaper. Not only is it a terribly slow and antiquated system (you have the Internet after all), but you normally disapprove of the waste of precious paper. However, all personal beliefs aside, you soon find yourself at the local mom & pop book shop purchasing every edition of Mohae Times from the most resent installment to last summer. Johnny, your best friend who also happens to be the 3rd generation Suh kid to run the Wormhole Book Nook, gives you a questioning glance from behind the counter as you struggle to hold the huge pile of flimsy articles you just spent $120 on.

“You know there are copies of all those on the newspaper website, right?” He states while walking behind you to make sure you don’t fall as you go outside to load the newspapers onto your bike.

“For the millionth time, of course I do, Suh, and I really could live without your incessant judgement,” you frustratingly respond to his mansplaining as you plop the rolled up papers into your bike basket and begin to tie them down.

“I wouldn’t judge you if you didn’t do the most random shit like buying outdated newspapers for a link board on a missing fishermen case that you are completely unqualified to even be investigating.”

You turn around aggressively and look intently into the eyes of the man who is towering over you.

“Suh, we’ve been best friends since the womb and probably will be to the tomb, so you should start getting used to my antics and learn not to question my credibility or skills. I’ve grown up here and I’m next in line to be the owner of the Mohae Marine Life Museum and Sanctuary. I graduated valedictorian from Mohae High School and am in the process of receiving my master’s in marine biology from the prestigious and exclusive Mohae Marine University. If anyone is qualified to uncover what happened to those men, it’s me.”

Without giving the male a chance to respond, you flip your hair as you turn to mount your bike. Securing your seashell painted helmet to your head, you give your best friend an ultimatum.

“I will solve this mystery by the end of this summer, and you will either have the most interesting summer of your life with me or spend each day bored to death in the Wormhole without me, your choice.”

You then speed away on your bike and leave the main town and your best friend behind you. As you peddle along the rocky road of the coastline toward the docks, you can’t help but gaze curiously into the dark waves crashing beyond the shoreline. Ever since you could remember, there has always been something about the mysterious waters surrounding your island town that has entranced you. Maybe it was the local legends of your native ancestors being in contact with mythical marine creatures that ignited your desire to engulf yourself in the engagements of the sea, or maybe it was that intense feeling of yearning you felt when you were away from the water along with the surreal sensation of belonging whenever you came back to the beach. Regardless of whatever this was and wherever it came from, you could not deny that there was a part of you that was undeniably and utterly devoted to the ocean.

As you lock your bike onto the post next to the main office of the Mohae Marine Life Museum and Sanctuary, the familiar sense of home comes washing over you like the waves under the pier. You loved your job of being the apprentice to the owner and soul caregiver of the sanctuary, who everyone calls “Rain,” and you are beyond honored to one day follow in his footsteps. After quickly checking in and dropping the newspapers off in your office, you urgently put on your wetsuit and review your chores for the day. You smile as you read the three words on your planner.

“Play with Mingi”

With excitement you rush to the sanctuary where you and your fellow biologists nurse rescued marine animals back to health. This was your favorite part of your job, as you always feel a natural, almost supernatural, connection to these majestic creatures, and all of them seem to trust and adore only you.

Including Mingi, a great white shark.

At first Rain was extremely apprehensive of you taking on being the main caregiver of the massive killer fish, but with your annoying begging and scheming, he soon caved to your wishes. And by scheming, you mean swimming in Mingi’s tank with no protective gear on and playing with him while the rest of the staff just stared in shock. In hindsight, that was an insane move on your part, but you’re the town kooky kid; you gotta keep your image up before people start to catch on that you’re actually just too determined to get what you want that you’re willing to, literally, swim with sharks.

Of course, you always feed Mingi before you get in the tank with him; you’re crazy, not stupid. When he is finished with his high-end halibut dinner freshly fished from the fish hatchery (say that five times fast lol), you slowly lower yourself into the far end of the tank. After Mingi has had a full meal, he has the temperament of a baby dolphin. He kind of reminds you of a cat that acts like a dog; although on the outside he is a monstrous shark that could rip you apart before you could even blink, on the inside he’s a sweet cinnamon roll that just wants to be loved and babied. You couldn’t help but fall in love with him ever since you helped rescue him from a fishing net last summer. Unfortunately, he lost most of his teeth from his mouth being caught in a metal crab cage, so he cannot be reintroduced to the wild even after his external wounds heal. Even though his situation breaks your heart, you can’t help but feel glad you have Mingi. Like your unusual connection to the ocean, you have such a strong bond with Mingi that you really can’t explain, yet you can’t deny it either. Even though he’s a large carnivorous fish and you’re an eccentric, loner human, it seems as though you both understand each other on a spiritual level. He’s helped you deal with your anxiety, oddly enough, and you made a necklace out of his missing teeth to hold when you start to feel your anxiety rise again.

So as you gently rub his muzzle and play with the teeth around your neck, you start to unpack all of the thoughts clouding your mind to the massive being. You tell him about the newspapers and Johnny and how you made it your summer goal to solve the Mohae Missing Fisherman Mystery. He pushes his nose into your hand and gently nuzzles your palm as you start to feel the emotions of what exactly you are investigating start to breed panic inside you. Nine local fishermen have gone missing over the past year. No bodies, no major leads, nothing. And you, the odd ball of the town, have promised to crack the cold case in three months.

What have you gotten yourself into?

A literal and metaphorical shark tank.

Author’s Note: So I got the idea for this series from Admin M when I was fangirling over Jooheon’s blue hair and she said “he looks like a merman who drowns people for fun, but in the middle of dragging you down he’s like ‘wait, maybe not this one,” so now here we are. I also love this pic of Mingi in the shark hat so I made him a shark 😅. Also Rain has to make an appearance because we appreciate 1st gen Kpop artists here 😤. Stay tuned to see what other idols are incorporated into this mess of a story!

~Admin J🧡

July 26, 2020

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animetrashlord-007 · 4 years

Text

M.I;; Chapter Six

Word Count;; 1.7k

Genre;; Fluff, Suggestive, Eventual Smut, Slowburn

Pairing;; Oikawa x Ushijima

Side Pairing;; Kuroo x Sugawara

Summary;;

Them boys got beef.

Published;; 08.03.18

Notes;;

My Masterlist

Mutual Interests Masterlist

“What the hell happened?” Suga gasped as soon as the door opened, his concern increasing his impatience.

Ushijima yawned and rubbed his temples, providing a small shrug as his only response before ushering the small setter inside. Sprawled across the bed on the left side, Oikawa pretended not to notice the others as he glared at the wall with his back toward Kuroo. Kuroo was sound asleep on the other side of the room, his mouth hanging open with a content smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oikawa-san, what happened?” Suga frowned, taking a step toward Oikawa before halting. The brunet didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself, irritation seeping into his blood from being ignored (and so obviously - the audacity!), Suga walked over to Kuroo. With the back of his hand placed on the blocker’s forehead, Suga checked his temperature. It was no hotter than usual. Shaking his shoulder, he tried to wake Kuroo but to no avail.

“Kuroo-san, please, I’m worried.”

After what felt like an eternity, he gave up and faced Ushijima instead. The ace had slumped down on a chair in the left corner of the room, his tired, blank eyes staring out the window. He didn’t seem to notice Suga waving at him. Dark rings encircled the eyes he was fighting to keep open. He was battling off his need for sleep tooth and nail, and every so often his head would bob as he regained consciousness just as quickly as he lost it.

“Wakatoshi-san, what happened?” No response. “Are they okay?” A nod. “Can you explain what happened?” No response. “Literally anyone can say anything… Why are you all ignoring me?”

More silence plagued Suga. No one would look him in the eye. His anxiety started to ebb away as his irritation morphed into anger. It was his concern that led him here and not a single one of them cared. His impatience swelled until he couldn’t hold back any longer. Grabbing a water bottle from the nightstand, he poured the contents onto an unsuspecting Kuroo before throwing the empty bottle at Oikawa.

“I ASKED YOU A DAMN QUESTION!”

Eyes snapping open, alarm written plain as day across his features, Kuroo was the first to react. Sitting up straight, he stared at Suga as one would a ghost; complete disbelief with a side of utter terror swirled in his eyes. His usual messy, black hair flopped down and stuck to his face. His bottom lip quivered. Wiping off some of the water with the bed’s linen, he was in state of total shock and couldn’t process what was happening.

On the other side of the room, Oikawa yelped in indignation. The bottle had hit its target square on, bouncing off the back of Oikawa’s head before falling to the ground. His waves swayed in a quick blur of colour as he swivelled around, eyes narrowed and accusatory. Jabbing a finger toward Suga, his voice rose with every passing word.

“What the hell was that for?!”

“Take a guess, you idiot!”

Tension engulfed the room as the two setters glared at one another, neither willing to yield. Ushijima raised his hand, words of protest on his lips, but decided the energy required to calm either party down was too great and chose to close his eyes and rest instead. Oikawa folded his arms in front of his chest, his eyes trained on Suga’s, but didn’t say anything. The room was silent and still, frozen in time, as everyone waited for the first strike. Taking a step forward, ice-cold fury dripping from his every movement, Suga opened his mouth to speak, every filter torn off with only brutal honesty left behind, he was going to let loose and give them a piece of his mind-

“I’m soaked!” Kuroo whined, snapping out of his stupor but remaining indifferent to the argument happening mere feets away. He stumbled out of the sterile white bed, knocking over the metal table that stood beside it. It clattered onto the cement floor, two distinct, cold and unforgiving materials clashing against each other. The sound reverberated throughout the entire room, slipping past the ajar door and drifting out the window. A roll of bandages unraveled, rolling across the floor until it hit Suga’s foot.

It served as a big enough distraction to gain the attention of the setters, both now focusing their scornful gazes on Kuroo. After a quick stretch, Kuroo flashed his usual lopsided grin before collapsing back onto the bed. Oikawa rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air, grumbling something along the lines of ‘predictable’.

Before they had a chance to resume their stare down, the door flung open. A small but stern woman entered, her voice shrill as she turned to each of the boys in turn, punctuating her words with a pointed glare.

“This is the infirmary, keep your voice down!”

Suga bowed to the nurse and, unlike his comrade’s mumbled ‘sorries’, his tone was sincere when he said, “We apologise, ma’am.”

Once the nurse left (after a lengthy lecture about respecting other’s privacy and rest, and instructing them to clean up their mess before they were discharged), all smiles were dropped. Ice gripped the room once more as Suga spoke, his lips pulled into a thin line, tapping his left foot at a rapid pace. “Whatever. Rest for now, but I’ll be back and you best be ready to talk.”

“Wow, so scary, Mr. Refreshing!” Oikawa pulled a pillow to his chest and pouted, avoiding direct eye contact with the seething setter and his almost tangible aura of rage.

With that, the door slammed behind Suga as he stormed out of the room, abandoning the helpless situation inside in hope of regaining his sanity. Regardless of how the other’s felt, he considered each to be his friend. When he received the text from Ushijima that a fight had broken out during the night, he wasted no time rushing to check on them. And for what? Suga sighed.

Making his way to the scene of the crime, he entered the shared dorm of Kuroo and Ushijima. Bed sheets, torn pillows, textbooks and pieces of wood littered the ground. The nightstand that once stood beside Ushijima’s bed was destroyed, presumably after someone fell on it. The shelves on Kuroo’s side of the room had collapsed and while the majority of his chemistry books were on the bed, some had made their way onto the floor and their pages were now crumpled. Suga sighed again.

It wasn’t his room so he had no reason to clean up after those ungrateful buffoons, but he knew that Ushijima would do the same for him and he’d hate to see that giant try to balance tidying up, repair work, and smoothing over the argument that had led to all this in the first place. An argument Suga didn’t have a scrap of knowledge about. Because no one had the decency to say anything. Not even Ushijima. His knuckles paled under the force of his grip as he picked up the remnants of the nightstand. Sighing with a bit more force, Suga continued his self-appointed project.

He piled the textbooks onto the bed. He set aside the nightstand and shelves, deciding he didn’t like Kuroo or Ushijima enough to trouble himself with trying to fix their furniture (he wasn’t a handyman, afterall). He stripped both beds down to the mattress and tossed the bedding into the corner before grabbing the spares and refitting the sheets. Grabbing the sewing kit from Ushijima’s emergency supplies, he stuffed as much of the loose feathers and downy he could back into the pillows before sewing them shut and replacing their covers with fresh, clean ones. Once the room was in a somewhat presentable state, he took the bedding to the school’s laundry room and started a load, sending a text to Ushijima with the machine’s number and the approximate time it would finish. Brushing his hands together while trying to shake off his exhaustion, Suga sighed.

Even though his body was tired from the hard work, his mind was still racing. With his project completed and his mind free of distractions once more, the residual anger from his earlier outburst began to gain traction, growing as he wandered through the campus grounds. How hard would it have been to just say, ‘hey, don’t worry Koushi, we’re fine. We’re just dumb as all hell’? He ran through multiple scenarios in his head, all of which would have been more considerate of his legitimate concerns for their safety and wellbeing, as he stalked down a lush, green hill. When he snapped out of his daze, he was standing on a small, rugged path next to a pond that he didn’t recognise.

Where the hell am I?

Suga sighed in resignation.

There was only one person who could bring him clarity at this point, only one person that could offer him sensibility. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his phone and searched through his contacts. Upon finding Daichi’s number, he shot him a brief text then sat down on the embankment. Minutes trickled by as he waited for a response. It wasn’t until he had given up and allowed his mind to go blank, troubled sleep threatening to swallow him whole, that his phone rang. Sitting up straight and confirming the caller to be Daichi, he answered with a cute greeting, shuddering at how strained he sounded.

“Sorry, I was studying and didn’t see your message.”

“Ah, Sawamura. You didn’t have to call. If you’re busy, just text me when you have time.”

“No, no! You’re the same as always, Koushi. It’s been too long since we’ve talked. Besides, I could really use a break right now.” Suga smiled. Warmth enveloped him as he listened to his long-time friend, fond memories embedded within his voice that pulled Suga back to the summer days spent playing volleyball in the school’s gym, the door open and a cool breeze caressing his heated skin while he set another toss for Asahi as Daichi cheered them on. “How has school been treating you?”

Daichi reminded him of home, secure and welcoming and permanent, something Suga didn’t realise he was missing, let alone that he needed.

With a sigh of relief, Suga relaxed and laid back down on the lawn, watching the clouds as they crawled across the vibrant blue sky, all of his worries dissipating as he spoke, “Funny you should ask, that’s exactly why I contacted you…”

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