#ive been going back and watching his old streams and. i was not expecting to hear that within the first 5 minutes of the stream

[jenderenvy985]

he's WHAT???

#jerma #jerma985 #i audibly yelled HUH #ive been going back and watching his old streams and. i was not expecting to hear that within the first 5 minutes of the stream

[ghostboneswrites2]

Arrowhead Jr ||One Shot

New account! @ghostbones was banned! Transferring all my work here slowly!

Summary: Daryl has baby fever

This was a request on my old blog: "ever since i saw daryl holding baby judith ive dreamt about him having absolute baby fever w reader and after babysitting him pestering reader about one?"

18+ MDNI || WARNINGS: Profanity, birth, babies, mostly fluffy

        "Check this out." Daryl said excitedly, holding up a camo onesie he found. You were on a small run with a few others in search of some new clothes for little Judith, since she had outgrown most of the ones she had. 

        "This is for newborns." You told him, taking the tiny outfit out of his hands.

        "I know.." He shrugged, taking it back and setting it down. 

        "Oh, god. Don't start." You begged. "Not again."

        You had been with him since the prison, after Woodbury fell. You were one of the many refugees Rick had taken in after the town fell apart, and the archer took a liking to you from the beginning. You guessed it was partially due to your friendship with his morally-gray brother before his unfortunate passing, but it was mostly just because you were you. He loved you for it. However, recently, with the safety of Alexandria's walls, he somehow caught one of the scariest diseases; Baby Fever. Especially after the two of you spent a day watching her so Rick could work and Carl could go do normal teenager things for a change.

        "Not startin' nothin." He mumbled.

        "No, but you're doing that thing again!" You argued.

        "What?" He shrugged.

        "That! The sad face and the--"

        "That place is perfect." He explained. "The--"

        "I know, I know. The big walls and the pretty houses and the people and the--"

        "I see you with Judith. I see how you look at her, how you rub her nose to get her to fall asleep and all them lil songs ya sing when she cries."

        "So what are you saying?"

        "Just that we could." He admitted. 

        "Just 'cause we could doesn't mean we should." You sighed

        "I know that, it's just... I wanna."

        "Well that's easy to say when you don't have to carry and birth a child to get one." 

        "Forget it." He huffed.

        The rest of the trip was in silence, and not the comfortable kind you so often shared. You were both frustrated. Him, because ever since he held Judith for the first time, when he fed her that first meal she ever had and felt the rush of nurturing a crying, sweet little baby, a hole formed inside him and it grew bigger every day. He never could have seen himself as a family man before that moment, but ever since, it was a primal urge he couldn't resist. To love a woman, to father a child, to protect and provide for his own family. He had already achieved finding a woman worth his affections, which was you, of course, but he still didn't have his own family and it ate him up.

        Your frustrations were sourced elsewhere, though. For one, giving birth sounded absolutely terrifying, especially in a world lacking in hospitals, epidurals, prenatal and postpartum care. You could handle a fair amount of pain, but birth was an entirely different playing field. Not to mention the risks. You had heard what happened to Judith's mom. How could you risk that? How could he expect you to? And that was just the tip of the iceberg. What kind of world would this be for a child? What kind of life would it have? Alexandria was always too good to be true, and sooner or later something would happen, and you'd all be running for your lives again. It was only a matter of time, to you. To be pregnant would mean no more runs, no more fighting, none of the things that made you useful. You'd just be a big burden with swollen ankles.

        You didn't speak when you all arrived back home, or during dinner, or after. It wasn't until you went to take a shower, until you had already stripped down and stepped into the steamy stream of water. He had silently snuck into the bathroom, undressed, and surprised you by pulling the curtain aside and joined you. You had your back turned to him, allowing the water to rush over you and wash away your racing thoughts. He grabbed the bar of soap and lathered it in his hands until he was satisfied, then he began to wash you. You loved when he did that, it was one of your favorite affections he'd show. He always started by massaging your neck and shoulders, then your back, then your arms, and he'd turn you around and work on the front. With little explanation needed, that was his favorite part.

        "Can we at least think about it?" He finally asked, eyes and hands stationed on your bare skin as you watched his face.

        "We can think about it all we want but it doesn't change anything."

        "But this place is safe. And there's a doctor here. And-- Hell, this house alone is more than either of us could've given a kid before the world turned to shit." He argued. You sighed.

        "I just can't shake the feeling that none of this is permanent." You confessed. He stopped washing you for a moment, considering your concerns.

        "What else?" He asked.

        "What else what?"

        "The other reasons. What else?"

        "This place could fall."

        "Don't mean it will."

        "The doctor could die."

        "I'll make sure he don't."

        "There could be complications."

        "That's what the doctor's for."

        "I can't help on runs or fight or--"

        "Got plenty of people that can do that."

        You took a breath. Was he gonna have a rebuttal to each argument you made?

        "Well," you said, "pregnancy makes us crazy."

        "You're already crazy." He smirked. You rolled your eyes.

        "What about medicine? Epidural? You need and anesthesiologist for that and we don't have that which means I'll feel everything and it's gonna hurt!" You rambled. His smirk grew into an amused grin. "What?" You scoffed.

        "You're scared." He said.

        "So what if I am? I should be. You should be. I could die. The baby could die. It could die down the line when we can't protect it--"

        "Now you just insult me. I'd never let a damn thing happen to you or that kid." He snapped. You gritted your teeth together.

        "You can't control everything. What about childbirth? Women died during birth when there were teams of doctors and surgeons. What about now?"

        "You wont." He shook his head. 

        "Why would you want a baby with me anyways?" You groaned. "I don't even like kids!"

        "Now that's just lyin' to yourself, darlin'."

        "Is not!" 

        "Might've been able to convince me if you never let me see you with Lil Ass Kicker, but you're a natural."

        "Jesus. Are you gonna give our baby weird nicknames too?" You asked as the two of you switched sides in the shower so you could was him too.

        "Our baby?" He repeated. You eyes widened.

        "Hypothetically." You corrected. "Our maybe, hypothetical, improbable baby."

        "Nah, I was thinkin' Arrowhead Jr for ours."

        You couldn't help it, you laughed.

        "You're insane." You shook your head, massaging his shoulder with the suds.

        "Look," he sighed. "I'm not gettin' any younger and I want a family. I already got the girl, now I need the girl to have my babies."

        "Babies?!" You gawked. "How many do you expect me to have? I'm not a damn fetus factory I can't just spread my legs and pop them out on a fucking conveyor belt." 

        "I was thinkin' two."

        "Two." You repeated, hoping that hearing the word from someone else would wake him up, maybe make him understand how ludicrous he sounded.

        "Mhm." 

        Guess not.

        "Two!" You said again. "Two babies that you want me to grow and birth."

        "Yep."

        "Do you know what you're asking me to do?"

        "Yeah." He said, turning around to face you. "I'm askin' you to be the mother of my kids and spend the rest of your life with me."

        "Um, the rest of your life. Women live longer than men, statistically speaking."

        "Then think about it. Make the rest of my life mean somethin'."

        "Ugh." You growled. You really weren't going to win this one, no matter how hard you fought. "If you wanted kids so bad why didn't you find someone who had the same goal?"

        "Don't want no one else. Just you."

        "And a kid."

        "Two kids."

        "Let's start with one." You relented.

        He grabbed your face as soon as you spoke the words and kissed you excitedly.

        "Better start workin' on it then." He said, lifting you off the ground and pressing your back to the wall. Things only got steamier from there, and not because of the hot shower.

----

        "Shit!" You whispered, staring down at the third test you'd taken. "Shit shit shit shit!"

        To say it was panic would be an understatement. It was sheer terror. You guessed you knew this was coming but you weren't ready for it yet. The only solace you found was the fact that Daryl would be home soon, and you'd get to see his face light up when you handed him not one, not two, but three positive pregnancy tests.

        He came home shortly after you wiped your tears and pulled yourself together. You were in the kitchen making him a pot of coffee, one that you'd usually share. Yet another thing you wouldn't be able to do for the next nine months.

        You heard the door open, you heard him kick his boots off and set them by the door, and you heard him greet you as he entered the kitchen.

        "Hey." He said casually as you turned to hand him a steamy mug of black coffee, just how he liked it.

        "Hey." You replied, sitting down at the table across from where he took his usual seat. He gave you a weird look when he sat down. He could read you like an open book, and there was very obviously something going on with you that day.

        "No coffee?" He asked, taking a sip of his own. You shook your head. "You okay?" You shrugged. "Talk to me." He said.

        You decided to let him see for himself as you failed to form the words. You were terrified for a lot of reasons, but most of all your pride wouldn't let you say the words, because as much as you hated to admit it, you were also happy. You were happy to make him happy, and you were excited to have someone else to love.

        You reached in your pocket and set the first test on the table. He stopped blowing on his coffee and stared at it for a moment before looking back to you. Then, you set the second one down. He pushed his eyebrows together, either out of confusion or shock, you weren't sure. Then you slapped the third test down beside the first two. He set his coffee down and stood, leaning over them to examine them. You realized he probably didn't know what a single line versus a double line meant, so you gave him a second to read the tests before he reacted.

        The second it hit him it showed. His head snapped up at you, eyes wide.

        "F'real?" He asked quietly. You nodded once and he rushed over to your side, gripping your cheeks between his hands and kissing you over and over and over. You couldn't help but chuckle as you tried to push him back.

        "Oxygen, Daryl!" You giggled. "The baby needs to breathe!"

        "C'mon. We gotta go tell Carol. And Rick. And Glenn. And Maggie." He rambled on and on, adding names as they popped in his head while he pulled you to your feet and ushered you to the door.

        "Daryl!" You protested. "Wait I need shoes!"

---

        You could barely hear Carol as she coached you through pushing with each contraction. The pain was insane and Daryl's hand was probably broken after you had been squeezing it so hard. Denise, the new doctor after Rick may or may not have killed the last one, was also talking you through, sending encouraging words as the baby's head made an entrance.

        "Okay. Breathe. Breathe. One more big push." Carol cooed to your right as Daryl encouraged you from the left.

        "C'mon, (Y/N), you're kickin' ass." He said. Admittedly he spent most of the time it took you to get to this point silent, shock written all over his face. He had no idea how to help you through this, he realized, but he fed off Carol's energy and began to give small words of encouragement when he heard Denise say she could see the baby's head.

        When the next contraction hit, you screamed in agony, pushing with all your might, just like Carol told you. 

        "It's just like doing a sit up."

        You could feel when the baby was out, but you were so exhausted your head just fell back on the pillow as you caught your breath. It wasn't until you heard the baby cry that you looked down at Denise to see her wiping the baby clean and wrapping it in a blanket. She walked over and set the baby down on your chest. "Skin to skin contact is important." She told you, before looking over to Daryl. "For you too, if you want to take your shirt off."

        Daryl was too stunned, just watching in awe as you stared down at your crying newborn baby with admiration. It took him a minute, and a little nudge from Carol who had walked over to his side, before he snapped out of it and leaned in close to you. He got a good look at the baby before he asked, "Boy or girl?"

        "Boy." Denise smiled. She was ecstatic, having successfully aided in the birth of your child.

        "We have a son." Daryl laughed, although it was more of a happy cry. He wiped a tear from his eye as he stood up and removed his shirt, holding his arms out in hopes you'd let him hold his boy.

        "Yeah, we do." You grinned, giving your baby a kiss on the head before you passed him over to his father.  Daryl was breathless as he scooped the infant into his arms, bouncing him and whispering sweet nothings.

        "Hey, little Arrowhead." He laughed. He had called him that for the entire pregnancy.

        "I was thinking about naming him (name of your choice). What do you think?" You asked.

        He nodded and kissed little (baby name). 

        "Hey, (baby name). I'm your daddy."

#daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl x female reader

[straighttohellbuddy]

to show you the stars (and win your heart) {Wilbur Soot}

Request: This is really simple and no where near as interesting as your writing. But, what if the reader has a rooftop spot they go to a lot to think or draw or whatever. And one day they get the news that they've lost their job so they go there but a really lanky guy with curly brown hair is already there. Idk, not my best but it's somethin

Summary: Five moments after you move to Brighton, and the one where it finally feels like home. // (Five moments online after Wilbur Soot meets his new neighbour on the roof, and the one where he finally introduces them to his audience.)

Need to Know: They/Them. Some discussions of unemployment, a bit of possible second hand embarrassment. Reader has no idea about Wilbur's online activities. Fluff.

A/N: 5075 words. I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!! My life has been kind of falling apart lately but Ive been working on this on and off for a week or so. So I kind of tweaked the prompt, I hope you don't mind, so instead of the reader having just lost their job, it's the aftermath of having lost their job and having to relocate to a new city (because that's literally what happened to me), and adapting to the new city and meeting Wilbur while settling into the city, you know?? I hope you like it, it brought me great comfort. Written on my phone and unedited.

The air smells different here. On top of the building? Brighton? On the other side of your life going absolutely tits up? Where is here, really; it's such a relative concept. But the air smells different. Different to your old home. Different to your old town. Different to your old life. Not good necessarily, just different -

The door to the roof creaks something dreadful as it opens. You're focus is caught, naturally, and your pensive expression turns upon a surprised stranger.

"Sorry," tall, brunette, pale but not freckled enough for them to be visible to you at this short distance. He hovers in the doorway but ultimately joins you on the roof. When he lets go of the door, there's that noise again, that awful, attention grabbing noise.

"No, it's fine," you're not sure why he apologised, or why you're accepting it. Maybe the noise of the door. It's like the two of you are locked in a stalemate; he clearly wasn't expecting anyone to be up here.

"Am I in your spot?" You ask, already getting up.

"No! No, uh, no," he shakes his head, and he apologises again, this time gesturing to the city beyond the edge of the roof. Maybe he feels guilty for drawing your attention in the first place, is urging you that it's safe to go back to whatever you were doing.

Giving an awkward nod, you turn back to the city, to breathing this new air and new life. Behind you the sound of his sneakers against the pavement gets marginally fainter as he finds a spot for himself a good distance away from you.

"It's a good roof," you're not sure what possess you to say it, voice rising above the faint wind to make sure you're heard by this stranger sharing your silence.

"What?"

"It's a good roof," you repeat yourself without a hint of hesitation. You feel like an utter fool, at least until his reply comes.

"'spose it is."

You head back inside. The door's creak, as always, begs for attention, and gets it; glancing over your shoulder you meet the stranger's gaze. He nods at you with the faintest smile, but then his attention his back on the horizon. He doesn't watch you leave.

New air. New city. New neighbours.

----

(There is nothing about Wilbur Soot's next stream that would differentiate it from any other in any significant way.

It doesn't matter, you don't know who Wilbur Soot is.)

----

Music flows from the flat above yours, and you find out in the best possibly way. It's not that it's loud at all hours, soaking through the floor to wake you up, there's nothing to complain about, instead, with the window open for the sweet, Spring breeze, the faintest guitar notes carry on the wind, as if from an adjacent open window. It's not enough to pick out a proper melody, it's not even enough that you can still hear it if you move away from your window.

It doesn't even sound particularly rehearsed, it almost sounds like it's being rehearsed. Alone; an in-progress melody.

Encore, you want to cheer when the music grows quiet and the window slides shut, but the musician wouldn't hear you. Every part of this building begs for the attention it's occupants don't seem to want. Closing doors, closing windows, louder always than a hello in the hall.

Still, you keep your window open.

And sometimes the music comes back.

At least this new building sounds better than your old one.

----

(It's been a few months since Wilbur's played Soft Boy for anyone online, whether that be his own stream or for his friends. It's March now, well into Spring, and Tommy's stream is as good a place as any. Wilbur himself isn't live, he's just on a headset at home, desk by his open window where the street below is for once mercifully quiet. Still, it's not ready for proper release, he has other priorities, maybe he wants to workshop it a little more before getting it properly produced. But the fans and his friends enjoy it.

You, of course, are ignorant to all this context; still you don't know who Wilbur Soot is.)

----

The stranger visits the roof at night as often as you do. Rugged up at night despite the days growing ever warmer, you grant yourself a reprieve from job hunting if only to take peace in the stars. At night the horizon sometimes becomes difficult to discern, stars dancing dangerously close to the night light of the city.

It's different again at night, a new kind of night that you're still getting used to. But the creak of the door is familiar. The stranger's apology is familiar. The way he sits a bit closer to you each time, or you to him if he's there first, that's all becoming familiar too.

"I'm Will," he offers the second time the two of you meet. He's still a fair distance away; it will be weeks before the two of you are side by side. You introduce yourself and he nods, "you moved in not long ago, right?" Something about the lights of the city make him glow.

You nod. He smiles.

"It's a good view," he looks back out to the city, and you take a long moment before you look away from him. You like the way he smiles; you like these moments on the roof, the ones that have passed and the ones yet to come. You're not quite sure why you prefer the moments with him in them rather than the moments alone on the roof without.

"'spose it is," and though you're looking out to the city, you don't really see it.

----

(Recently, Wilbur has been streaming earlier in the day, at least for him. Not every stream, of course, maybe once a week. He seems disappointed when it gets too late after he loses track of time.

"Alright, Cinderella," Quackity scoffs after Wilbur comments that he has to go, that it's later than he realised, "abandoned me," he plays up being hurt, "what is it? What's more important than me, Wilbur?"

"Don't be like that, Q," Wilbur responds dotingly, "I'll make it up to you, I promise."

"How?"

"I'll DM you how," Wilbur's voice goes low and exaggeratedly flirty, giving an over the top wink to his camera, "you can't see it but I'm winking suggestively at the camera," he adds for Quackity's sake, who at seems placated by the exchange. Then, Wilbur finally explains; "I've got a friend who keeps a strange schedule, I'm- I'm just trying to work around them right now." And Quackity finally gives his blessing, which makes Wilbur laugh.

You don't see the quiet sigh of relief he breathes when he gets to the roof and sees you there. Even if you did, you wouldn't even begin to know why. Well known internet celebrity Wilbur Soot has started scheduling his work is in the hopes that he'll see you more often... Not that you know who Wilbur Soot is.)

----

The stranger Will has an office and you don't even have a job. Still. All this you learn while going for a job in the same building as his office, apparently. Except that it's late in the afternoon and you're just leaving your interview and he's just arriving and he seems just as confused as you.

"Do you work here?"

"Hopefully," you answer, and something about his look of genuine interest has something stirring in your chest, "I just had an interview," you elaborated, not wanting to admit to yourself that this single moment, in which Will tells you he's also hoping for the best for you, has you more flustered than the interview itself.

When you ask if he works here too, he candidly admits he does, but is cagey about the details. He's not part of company you'd just interviewed with, his office is his own.

"Will I see you on the roof tonight?" He asks, catching you completely off guard.

"What time?" Thankfully at least your mouth works faster than your brain, "I'm headed home now." Then, as he's checking the time on his phone you blurt out - "have you- will you have eaten before then?" And he looks at you with confusion, "I could make some food, if you're working. I could make dinner for when we hang out on the roof."

Will absolutely beams.

Something about his smile has your heartbeat stuttering in your chest. It hits you in this moment that Will genuinely enjoys your company on the roof just as much as you do his.

He asks you how late is too late, and when you let him know, he nods and suggests and hour before then. How does his smile seem to get wider? There's a look in his eyes that's all warm and fond; did that always happen when he smiled? How had you not noticed it before?

"That's very kind of you, I can see about getting some kind of dessert for us on my way back," he offers, and you try to waive off the suggestion but he laughs softly, "I never said it'd be gourmet, I was thinking more along the lines of something from a petrol station, I'm not sure what else would be open; any preferences?"

"For petrol station sweets?" And even though you're grinning, you're clearly endeared.

"For petrol station sweets," Will confirms with a nod. It takes you a moment to think it over before giving a few suggestions as options, and he takes a long moment to focus on remembering them, repeating them back to you to confirm.

Then he tells you he's looking forward to it, and he sounds so sincere, and the feeling in your chest is frighteningly hopeful. This is a new feeling in your not so new town that you weren't anticipating.

You grin back.

"Me too."

----

(Close to the end of April, there is a day in which several members of the DreamSMP go live together for a lighthearted, mostly lore-free stream. These creators included, among a few others, Wilbur Soot who happened to be in notably high spirits.

"Am I not allowed to be in a good mood, Tommy?" Wilbur jokingly demanded when Tommy pointed it out.

"No, it's freaking me out," Tommy didn't even hesitate to play along with the bit, "do I have to bully you? Do we have to bully you?"

"I think... we should," Ranboo agrees after a moment of deliberation, holding back his laughter.

"Tommy, I love you man but you need to come up with new go-to solutions," Wilbur responds blithely, "and I'm pretty sure you couldn't actually bully me in any way that mattered," he turns his nose up, wearing a wide grin, "I've got dinner on the roof to look forward to, nothing can ruin today."

"Can I try?" Tommy deadpans without missing a beat, and Wilbur breaks into surprised laughter almost immediately.

"Tommy," Philza just sounds faintly exasperated, and Wilbur can't stop laughing.

His friends and his content are his entire life, and he's acutely aware of how lucky he is to be a content creator, the opportunities he's been afforded, so he keeps it to himself that the best part of that night wasn't the filming, it was coming back to seeing you smiling on the roof of the flat.

Because it didn't take him long to figure out that you had no idea who Wilbur Soot was; every time he remembers this, he lets himself enjoy it quietly, letting himself get close to someone who, for the first time in a long time, has no preconceived notions of him. You like him for him, and one day he hopes he can tell you how much that means to him.)

----

You're surprised at how long it's taken you to ask what floor he lives on, and even more surprised to learn that he's on the floor above you.

It's been a very long day, instinctively looking forward to heading to the roof at sunset after finishing a trial shift that you're not completely confident went well.

"Are you the one with the tiny, little pot plants on your windowsill?" He asks, which surprises you.

"Uh, yeah I am, they were gifts from when I moved into my last place," part of you wants to ask how he knew, but somehow it makes sense. Of course he's seen the pot plants, of course he knew they'd be yours.

There's a pleasant lull in the conversation before you think to ask -

"Are the walls thin?"

You don't even for a second consider that there may be some suggestive implications until Will squints at you in confusion. There's a parcel of fish and chips open between you both, and he had been picking through the chips trying to find the most crisp.

"Not as far as I've noticed," he pauses, before adding pointedly, "floor seems pretty soundproof too." He's too invested in figuring out what you're implying to go back to food, at least not immediately.

"No, no!" Realising your mistake your smacked your hand to your mouth out of embarrassment. Wide eyed, you find yourself waving with one hand trying to chew and swallow your own food faster to clarify, "no, sorry, nothing weird, I swear," you laugh awkwardly, finally finding your voice, "I just wondered if you knew who lived in the flat directly above mine, they play guitar, I thought that you might have heard- that it might help identify -" but Will's expression has turned unreadable, and again find yourself realising your misstep only after the fact yet again. Immediately you begin apologising.

"Sorry, I- I must seem so creepy I'm so sorry, I should just go up and knock on their door instead of eavesdropping and asking you, I'm sorry Will -"

"Is it good?"

Your mouth snaps closed, and when you look to Will you're surprised to see him looking genuinely curious. He picks up a chip and gestures like he's prompting you to answer.

"What?"

"Do you think they play good music?" He asks again, tone free of any kind of judgement. It takes you a moment to process the shift in the mood.

"I don't recognise any of it," you murmur, trying to properly order your thoughts, "I don't hear it a lot, only very occasionally, when I'm sitting next to my window if it's open, which is why I think it's the person above me..."

Will blinks at you, eyebrows raised, still waiting for a proper answer.

"I like it," you nod, ducking your face to hide your embarrassed smile, "I keep wanting to call out 'encore'," you chuckle a little self consciously at the admission, "but that feels like crossing a line."

"You are very sweet," you hear Will mumble, his tone endeared, "and you have no idea who it is?"

"Every time I think about going up and knocking on their door I feel like a creep," you sighed, "which, I mean, given the situation I definitely am, and it gets worse literally every day. It's not like telling them at this point would do any good."

"It might," he offers.

"I admire your optimism but I'll keep my dignity while I still can."

"I think it'll go better than you'd think," he muses, doing a bad job of fighting back a smile.

"Oh yeah," you roll your eyes, "just knock and admit," perhaps your patience is wearing thin after a long day as you put on a mockingly saccharine voice, "you play such lovely music! How do I know this? Well I've been listening in for months like a stalker, just downstairs, sometimes I'll even make a cup of tea and pretend like it's my own private concert!" You let go of the act as you pitch yourself back to lay on the roof, scowling at the sky, "I'd rather die," you huffed.

"Months," he murmurs, almost awed and barely audible, before asking, "your own private concert? That's kind of adorable, honestly," he tells you, sounding frankly delighted.

"Oh shut it, Will," you sulked, crossing your arms over your chest.

"You're very sweet," he reiterates in that same soft tone as before.

"You're biased," you roll your eyes.

"Of course, that goes without saying," Will answers blithely, and you can hear his shit eating grin in his voice, "considering I'm the musician who lives above you."

You know he's watching you, he's waiting for your reaction.

"Will you know if this is true that I'm never going to recover from the embarrassment, right?" You manage, as level as you're able, your body stiff as an absolute board with tension.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," he assured you, though in this moment it wasn't exactly effective.

"You're pulling my leg, aren't you?"

"Would you like me to prove it to you?" He offers easily. When you finally sit back up, clearly apprehensive, there's nothing but that familiar, warm kind of fondness you find in his smile. He gives you time to process, he doesn't push you, doesn't grow impatient or irate as you scrutinise him. Finally, you sit back, as if done with your analysis of him and were still unsure of what to make of all this information.

"Come on," he says gently, getting to his feet and offering you his hand, "let me play you something I've been working on, I need a second opinion." Warily, quietly, you take his hand.

The shock wears off. He makes you tea. You peer out his window to see your little row of pot plants just below. Then, just as he promised, he plays you something that you're already familiar with despite it never having been released.

Front row seats to your own private concert.

He turns faintly pink when you do in fact ask for an encore, but he can't stop smiling.

----

(Lovejoy, the band which Wilbur Soot fronts, releases their first EP 'Are You Alright?' on May 8, and it almost immediately begins to trend across various charts, including internationally. It's unequivocally a success, and is being plugged online by fans and friends alike.

Wilbur, however, is blindsided by the text he receives from you in the week that follows the release. If you were ever going to find out what he did for a living, it would have been this week, instead:

[interview went well, I've got my fingers crossed, thank u for the luck xx and omg literally in such a good mood I mistook a song on the radio as one of yours THAT WOULD BE SO COOL TOO HEAR THO!!]

[hey actually if you're up for it do you wanna call? I'm all high on adrenaline and there's some stuff I wanna talk about when I feel like I'm on top of the world 😅💖]

And Wilbur, who was due to start streaming in only a few minutes, pushed back from his desk and pressed Call. On the other end of the line you're bright, brimming with excitement and enthusiasm and confidence and -

"I've been wanting to ask you for ages, actually even before I found out you were the talented musician living above me, that was just a bonus, and might be the reason I'm calling, because that song I heard was so familiar -" you're rambling, something Wilbur rarely heard you do. When he asks if you're okay, you grow quiet, "I'm nervous."

"About what?"

"Misreading things. Fucking with our friendship."

Oh.

"I have it on pretty good authority that you have nothing to be nervous about," Wilbur assures, a warmth flourishing in his chest as he hears your breathy, relieved chuckle.

"I'd like to get a drink with you some time," you tell him with a newfound confidence, "or see a movie, or a band, or anything. A date. Away from our building." There's so much excitement in your voice it's infectious, Wilbur finds himself grinning.

"I'd like that very much," then, after a long moment, he clears his throat, "do you remember what the band was called?"

"What do you mean?"

"On the radio, you said you thought you heard my song; what band was it?"

"Oh," you pause, considering, "not quite sure. Love-something?"

"Ah."

"Ah, what? Wilbur I don't like that tone, ah what?"

"Ah, I might have to tell you something."

"Christ, what now?"

"I'm at work; if you want I can pick up take out after and we can have dinner together."

"Are you going to tell me what you do for a living yet?"

"Do you trust me?" He asks softly, and there's a long pause, in which you sigh.

"Of course I do, Will," you answer honestly, "always, you know that."

"I know," he agrees fondly, "and that means a lot to me. I promise I'll explain it all tonight, I promise." Softer now, he smiles, "I hope you know how glad I am to have you in my life," he hesitates for the barest moment before quickly adding, "and I'm very proud of you for getting the job."

"Thanks, Will," he can hear you smiling, "I can't wait to see you tonight."

Five minutes later, Wilbur Soot begins his geoguesser stream. There's something different, the vibe has changed, but no-one can put their finger on why.

There's no outward difference, but there's electricity in the air. When you finally find out the truth about Wilbur Soot, when you see the VOD for the stream, see how big he smiles right as he signs off, you will call him a sap.

----

Your tiny, little pot plants sit nicely on Wilbur's windowsill. It takes a while, but slowly your things begin to migrate from your apartment upstairs to his. Before coming to Brighton, you'd paired down your things, and so it's nice to find space for yourself in his apartment, in his life. It doesn't feel empty here, it doesn't feel sparse and new.

And Wilbur? It seemed like things with him just kept getting better. You took every chance you got to hype him up, endlessly proud of him and all he was doing with his online and musical careers.

When you meet his band, they all greet you with a warm familiarity, and Wilbur spends the first half hour bright red as they jump at the chance to tell you that they feel like they already know you. However this makes you turn all sappy and endeared, and it takes all of your energy to stay even semi professional and not act as enamoured with your boyfriend as you felt.

While you end up meeting and getting along with his family, the thing that gets you properly nervous is when he asks if you want to get lunch with his friends Phil and Kristen. You know the family-dynamic bit by now, so of course you say yes; you need them to like you so much.

Both Phil and Kristen hug you when they first meet you. It's like they can tell you're nervous, their words, their tone, everything about them is gentle. At one point, Wilbur and Phil get caught up talking about some upcoming streams they're planning, and while you're excited to watch, their discussion goes over your head for the time being. Almost as if by instinct, you look to Kristen, as if to gauge how you should be reacting, but she's looking back at you, expression endeared.

"This is still new to me," you admit, shuffling your chair a bit closer to her as to not interrupt the other two. She laughs softly, but the sound is kind and understanding.

"It gets more coherent in time," she assured, to which you ducked your head to hide your faintly embarrassed expression.

"I understand all of the words individually, but this streaming stuff is so far out of my usual realm," carefully, you look up to watch how animated Wilbur is getting as he talks over his plans for the DSMP stream for the following night, running it past Phil, "tell me I'm not weird for watching old VODs in my spare time to try and figure out how it all works, and what's happening in that Minecraft thing. I know he's doing cool shit, I'm just trying to figure out how to properly appreciate it."

"You're not weird, that's adorable," Kristen is grinning from ear to ear, which served to brighten your own smile, "you'll get it in no time."

Wilbur looks over for a moment, practically glowing with enthusiasm, hands raised mid-expressive gesture, and catches your eye. His expression softens as he seems to briefly forget what he was saying; Kristen looks between the two of you and fondly shakes her head.

It's easier to hug them goodbye than it was to say hello, no nerves as you tell them honestly it was good to meet them, that you look forward to seeing them again soon. Something eases in your chest when they both return the sentiment in kind, genuine in their affection.

"Home?" Wilbur asks as he unlocks the car, and you pause as you turn the word over in your mind. He's said it before a million times, but somehow this time is different, this time feels real. Home.

"Yeah," you say softly, sounding a little dazed as you climb into the passenger seat.

"You okay there?" Tone light, he's smiling as he asks, and you turn, unable to stop the grin as it makes its way across your face.

"I love you," you tell him like you can't quite believe it yourself, though maybe it's more the fact that- "I can't believe I've never said that before."

"What do you mean you can't believe you've never said it before?" He's grinning now, endeared.

"I love you, Will, I've loved you for ages, we practically live together," you laugh, "but I've never actually said it, I hate that! I hate that I've never said it! I love you, Will!"

"I love you too," he tells you sincerely, leaning across the centre console to kiss you, which you enthusiastically meet him in the middle for. You've kissed him more times than you can rightly remember, but it never feels to give you butterflies.

At home, he's quiet, smiling to himself while lost in thought throughout the afternoon. When you ask about it, he hesitates.

"You never had to say it," he admits with a shrug, "I knew." When your brow furrows with confusion, his expression turns vaguely guilty and self deprecating, "you have to admit, I was acting pretty sketchy about a lot of my life -"

"- with good reason," you countered, but all he could do was smile fondly, shaking his head.

"In hindsight," he points out, "now you know why I was being evasive about a lot of things it makes sense, but at the time I didn't really know, or, well that's not true," he flushed, "I didn't exactly believe why you would still trust me after all that," he looks to you once more, "but you did."

"Of course," you answer automatically, before it hits you what he's saying, "because I had a crush on you; because I love you." Then, as he's nodding in agreement, your eyes go wide with realisation, crowing with glee; "because you had a thing for me too!"

He doesn't disagree. He wraps you up in his arms and kisses you, and this moment feels like home.

----

(Wilbur's stream entitled 'SPECIAL SPOOKY GUEST CHATTING AND LOWKEY Q&A BE ON YOUR BEST BEHAVIOUR!!' happens on Halloween. Its the first video to ever even explicitly name Y/N, let alone feature them.

"I'm so nervous I'm going to be sick," is the first thing the internet hears of you, while Wilbur's sitting in frame, watching you off frame.

"You don't have to do this," he assured. He's wearing something shimmery on his skin, and plastic vampire teeth that are giving him a faint lisp. He's wearing eyeliner.

"No, I know we're live, I want to do this, I do, I do!" You insisted, before making a noise of anxiety, "but I might pass out. I need to study more." At that, Wilbur gives you a fond look, before looking to his camera.

"They call watching my VODs 'studying'," he explains. You make another anxious noise, before taking a deep breath and quickly sitting yourself into the chair beside him, looking at him and not the camera.

"I'm going to get a good grade in streaming, which is both normal to want, and possible to achieve," you mumbled; you too sparkle with some sort of shimmer, but are holding your plastic fangs in your hand, fidgeting with it.

Even without explaining who you are, everything about the way Wilbur looks at you says that he's in love with you. After a moment, your anxious expression softens as you find yourself fascinated by how he's sparkling, and you reach out to faintly touch his cheek. While you may have forgotten the audience, Wilbur has not, yet he still allows the moment to go on as you grow more comfortable in front of the camera, beside him.

"Love?"

"Yeah, I know," you mumbled, finally coming back to reality. Looking away from him and to the screen in front of you both, "Q and A," you murmur, reading the stream title. Thankfully you don't seem as daunted as moments before, "the first question seems to be 'who am I'." You take a deep breath and look to Wilbur, who grins back.

"Welcome to your first stream, you wanna say hi?"

"What if I just didn't? We go the whole stream without explaining who I am," you couldn't help yourself, snorting a laugh, which makes Wilbur cackle at the idea.

"You do whatever you want, I'll support you, that's hilarious."

"But cruel," you conceeded, despite how amused you were by the idea. Looking back to chat, you could see half having a meltdown at the idea. But you are not cruel; you'd both talked about it for far too long to chicken out now.

It's time for the world will know who you are.

"I'm Y/N, nice to meet you all!"

"And," Wilbur adds with a proud smile, "if you hadn't guessed, they're my partner.")

#wilbur soot x reader #wilbur x reader #wilbur soot imagine #wilbur imagine #cc!wilbur x reader #cc!wilbur imagine #cc!wilbur soot x reader #cc!wilbur soot imagine #cyltlanp #we fell in love in october event

[kraefishh]

nintento direct thoughts

yeah so hi i deliberately stayed up until 7am on a work night in order to watch this and do not regret a thing.

-> splat3 dlc looks cool!! will i play it? no. does it look cool as hell? yeah!!! I personally don't like splat3's actual single player campaign so unless im able to access the dlc without finishing the main campaign then... im not playing it lmao. it looks cool as fuck though!! i like whatever the hell they had going on with the glitchy taz hunger looking goop that produced skeleton fish. pearl + marina lore is also a win in my book -> i dont actually have all that many thoughts about the smrpg showcase but MAN it looks cool as hell. at first i didnt like the revamped graphics but now theyre growing on me.... plus the trio attacks??? HELL YEA! i hope the remake will make me actually finish the game this time around instead of start it twice in the past three years and then quit within the first few areas (<- i say as if this isnt a normal problem i have regardless. thanks, its the adhd)

-> SaGa Emerald Beyond actually looks interesting?? like I know nothing about that game series but the character designs look very cool and i like the concept of a multiple outcome story based entirely on which character you play. do i think i'd actually play this game? no, probably not. looks cool tho

-> despite me being The pokemon nerd i have nothing to say about the new detective pikachu game. i dont like the voice they gave pikachu imo. i think thats just cause im spoiled on movie detective pikachu being ryan reynolds... i joke i kid. kinda. also i never like. actually played any detective pikachu games so i got nothing

-> WAS NOT EXPECTING A TROMBONE CHAMP PORT, TO BE QUITE HONEST

-> cool that were getting a new wario-ware!! not sure how i feel about like the.... forms? is that what theyre called?? w/e regardless im not sure how i feel about em. but its a wario-ware game so its bound to be weird but like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

-> FUNKY KONG DIDDY KONG PAULINE RELEASE FOR MARIO KART WAS NOT ON MY LIST. SO SO HAPPY THOUGH. peachette is whatever. no idea where she came from

-> gotta say i completely forgot among us was on switch so seeing the crewmates i was like "are they making a fucking spin-off game for switch?" no. i just forgot. the fungle is a funny name though i appreciate it

AND THEN

THE LAST THING I WAS EXPECTING

A PAPER MARIO THOUSAND YEAR DOOR REMASTER.

I was laying there in bed at 7:40am and was like. oh cool one last thing before its over. its probably gonna be just another title release of something or a sneak peek on some dlc.

and then i hear the music.

THAT NOSTALGIC MUSIC THAT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE IM SEVEN YEARS OLD AGAIN

-> yeah anyway so i screamed "WHAT!?" at the (metaphorical) top of my lungs (because it was 7:40am and people were sleeping). ttyd getting a remaster is so so cool. and now that i know its possibly getting a re translation that makes me even more happy. give us trans vivian....... i also just think its very funny that ive been playing ttyd on twitch for the past. year now? (ive taken a shit ton of breaks) and theyre making a remaster?? now? not complaining im having a blast playing it with my cohost but HHADGHGAKDFJ

-> i'm mostly just excited for the remaster cause it'll hopefully bring traction back to the paper mario series. idk about like the general consensus of the fandom but like. the paper mario series has been needing a pick me up for a HOT MINUTE.

-> no i am not going to play the remaster of ttyd for stream. maybe on my own time. we'll see. i dont see the point of finishing the og only to then, like a year later, play the remaster. especially when i have a TON of games backlogged on my list since i only stream once a week. more often than not, not even that. i am planning on doing rpg tho

#krae rambles #nintendo direct #ttyd #stream things #also yes im staying up now to write this on a work night at 5am what of it #this is normal #have a good day

[silly-bean]

I posted 24,893 times in 2022

That's 1,391 more posts than 2021!

44 posts created (0%)

24,849 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@panmennoby

@ibyte13

@harpothemarx

@vivi-mire

I tagged 624 of my posts in 2022

#ff7 - 155 posts

#ffvii - 153 posts

#cloud strife - 66 posts

#life ref - 28 posts

#zack fair - 27 posts

#sephiroth - 22 posts

#ask game - 21 posts

#bean things - 21 posts

#tifa lockhart - 19 posts

#vincent valentine - 15 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#ive started speaking in a minnesotan accent cuz a friend had a canadian accent for their dnd character and id been watching critical role 2

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

RRD Chapter 3!

Sorry it took almost a year but it's finally done! I had to move a scene from this chapter into the next one to get it out since I was running into a wall, but I hope it was worth the wait!

Read on AO3

Summary: Cloud utilizes his god-like stealth skills and Zack initiates the bromance of the century.

Word Count: 4,745

~~~~~~

Cloud watches the SOLDIER exit the room with wary eyes, waiting until he hears Zack (it’s Zack, he’s alive on the other side of that door) engage him in a conversation to strip and start pulling on his newly-repaired clothing. Logically, he knows the man meant no harm when he unknowingly stumbled over not one, but two of his traumas in trying to engage him in conversation, but he can’t quite bring himself to chase away the resentment curling in his gut; not with his oh so recent battle with the resurrected nightmare playing back in his head right alongside the old memory of smoke and flame. 

He shakes off the cobwebs in his head and pulls his shoulder guard on, tightening the strap down and making sure it was sitting in the right place. He picks up the harness next, rubbing at the new stitching before he swings it around back and fastens it into place. His new boots go on next, laces and leather stiff. He keeps one ear on the conversation happening in the hallway as he finishes by strapping the skirt to his waist and pulling on his gloves. They’re not talking about him specifically anymore; the conversation has moved on to the “incident” at large and what SOLDIER is expected to help with. Then, he hears the words “Sephiroth” and “Midgar” and decides to pay attention.

“-should be arriving in a few hours. He sure wasn’t happy to get called back until I explained and has sent no less than three messages to me complaining about the slow flight since he started.”

“Really? Commander Sephiroth complains?”

“Of course, just don’t go spreading it around-”

Cloud stops listening, his thoughts racing. If Sephiroth was coming back to Midgar, well, then his choice really was made for him, wasn’t it? He goes back over the information he’d been able to gather from his brief conversation with Hewley.

My gear is in a secure room somewhere in the hospital. Hewley mentioned it being “downstairs”, so I’m assuming it’s on the ground floor somewhere, most likely not where the general public can get.

He turns around, eyes the window, and walks over to it. He looks out, gauging the distance to the ground, and determines he’s on the 3rd floor; a small fall by his standards. He casts one look back at the door. The two have stopped talking at this point, so only the ambient sounds of the building prevent it from being completely silent. 

No, Cloud. You have things to do. Zack can wait. 

Cloud shakes his head and turns back around, straightening his posture. He eases the window open and almost coughs at the air that streams in. He’s gotten used to a life without mako smog, and the bitter, slightly minty smell catches him off guard. Swallowing his nausea, he pulls himself up and flips around so his feet are braced on the outside of the building and he’s gripping the window, facing into the room. He takes a slow breath and kicks off, dropping to the ground behind the line of shrubs with barely a whisper. He pauses there for a second, listening for any sign that he’s been spotted, before standing up. 

He picks his way down the building, away from the entrance, and exits the line of shrubs. He takes a moment to breathe, settling himself before starting back towards the entrance of the hospital. 

Okay, so Zack had to grab my things from a room on one of the lower floors. It’s probably guarded, or, at the very least, locked to unauthorized visitors. I’d like to not just wander around the hospital trying to find the right room and give people plenty of time to notice I’m gone and find me before I get my stuff. 

Cloud finds himself reaching for his sword, looking to wrap his hand around the hilt to reassure himself of its presence, and pulls his hand down with a snarl. He stops walking and shakes his head. All of it - everything that’s happened to him in the past however-long-it’s-been since he returned to Edge and found it under attack by the Remnants - is wearing on him, fogging up his mind and making it too easy for him to get caught up in his own head. Whatever kind of time travel bullshit he’s gotten caught up in now is just the icing on a cake made of garbage. Pain spikes through his head and he winces, pressing a hand to his temple. 

“Shit.”

He rubs at the spot a few times before taking another breath and rolling his shoulders. His best bet for making it to his things before they lock the whole place down is to go right in through the front and bank on no one recognizing him as the possible terrorist who’s been laid out in one of their own beds for the past day, so Cloud starts walking again. 

It’s like Vincent and Yuffie always said, “just act like you belong there and the average passerby won’t question you on it”.

He lengthens his stride and straightens up out of his perpetual slouch as he enters the front of the hospital. The front lobby looks like every hospital he’s been in, but the slight chemical smell still sends shivers down his spine and phantom pricks of needles down his arms. Cloud strides right up to the front desk and puts on his best customer service smile.

“Hello, how can I help you?” the clerk asks, looking up from his computer screen. His eyes widen when he makes eye contact.

“I’m here to pick up some belongings for a friend? He got caught up in everything happening yesterday but would like his pack to not sit in a hospital storage room.” 

Cloud tries to keep his voice open and friendly, wincing a bit internally when he realizes he’s leaning on Zack’s personality to get him through the conversation. The clerk, however, is already nodding and checking something on the computer.

“Of course, Mr. SOLDIER. His stuff should be in room B-12, but there’s a chance it could be in B-14 if he was in the ICU?”

Cloud blinks in confusion before he remembers that, with his eyes and choice of attire, he makes for a pretty convincing SOLDIER 1st Class. He forces a smile again, this one a bit more strained with the reminder of his current situation. 

“No, he was checked in for some broken bones and a concussion. Thank you though. Now, which way…?”

The clerk smiles and points down one of the hallways to the right of the desk. “Down that hallway until you hit the staircase and then head down a level. Come back this direction from there and you’ll find it.”

See the full post

11 notes - Posted May 10, 2022

#4

How Jenova Works: A Headcanon

This kinda requires a bit of background in general epidemiology (the science of diseases, etc) so I’m gonna try my best to lay stuff out as I go. It also requires some suspension of disbelief and stretching of what’s actually possible with the way this stuff operates irl. 

How Jenova is discussed within the canon of FF7 is very complicated and contradictory. It infects and changes other organisms much like a virus (think the resident evil ones), but it is actually alive with cells that seem to also be an infection vector?? And then there’s the degradation that results from Genesis being made “wrong”. It’s a singular organism and yet also cellular (the J-cells acting on their own), and yet also a virus (actually called a virus by Ilfana and also stated to have infected the other Cetra and caused them to mutate). Which, if you know anything about epidemiology you know how that’s… very not possible. For starters, only 2 out of those 3 technically qualify as living things.

Viruses are not living, and yet, they’re not exactly non-living things either??? It’s weird. Basically, viruses are made up of organic molecules (carbon-based, like all life on earth), but are just kinda weird biological machines. They have a form of DNA, but cannot reproduce on their own. They operate by attaching themselves to bits sticking out of the surface of living cells and sending the right signals to be let inside and then hijacking the cell to force it to produce more viruses which are then released into the environment (whether that be just the environment in general if it’s attacking bacteria, or into the body of whatever organism it’s infected). Really interesting and cool, but also lowkey really creepy and weird. 

Bacteria aren’t inherently invasive or infectious. They are single-celled organisms and are just wanting to eat stuff and reproduce and then die. If doing so involves them infecting other organisms, then so be it. Bacterial infections happen when bacteria gets to someplace it shouldn’t be and disrupts the normal operation. They get in and start to take over by eating whatever’s there and spread. They also have the ability to quickly adapt to new environmental hazards by sharing pieces of DNA with other compatible bacteria (little loops called plasmids) and by having very quick life cycles. But they are made up of a single cell each and don’t have stuff like brains, etc. There’s no consciousness involved whatsoever. 

So, where does this bring us in regards to Jenova? Well, let’s start with how I’m thinking it works and then get into how I think it developed in the first place based on that.

Most likely, its infections operate by some unholy combination of viral and bacterial. By that, I mean that the cells manufacture viral structures to release into a host, which then go out into the body to infect the host cells. When the viruses infect the host cells, they completely assimilate the nucleus (the part of the cell with the DNA in it) and convert the host cell into a variation of a j-cell. Then the new j-cell produces more effective viruses, which then go out to infect new host cells and it continues. By this method, we get the lovely DNA soup analogy we’re so fond of via all the original DNA still technically being there, but now it’s been shredded and repurposed into j-cell DNA. 

This is where I’m going to bring cancer into things. That sounds really morbid but there’s a reason I swear. Cancer essentially happens when something with the replication function in a cell breaks. Cells usually only multiply when they need to replace old ones, but, sometimes this malfunctions, and the cells just start dividing and multiplying without control. This is what happens with cancer. In that way, the mutations that happen in Jenova-infected organisms are the result of the DNA being messed with and that function being cranked up, much like some viruses in real life can increase your chances of getting certain types of cancer (the HPV virus leading to cervical cancer, for example). The j-cells start forcing the foreign DNA to activate and cause rapid cell division, causing growth of all kinds. 

Of course, I haven’t even touched on the aspect of reunion. There’s clearly a psychic component to Jenova, which could be explained away by it secreting chemicals that send signals to Jenova-infected organisms and triggers them all to start coming back together, but that wouldn’t make much sense in context, really, considering the vast majority of the clones just decide to start heading to the crater without coming in close contact to any original part of Jenova. So, I've just decided to leave it as fantasy bullshit where there’s a mechanism that causes all variations of j-cells to physically come back together to meld back into one whole and mix up all that new DNA into the soup, which in turn allows it to become more effective at infecting things because of all the stuff it successfully assimilated. 

Next, let’s touch on the weirdness that comes with it somehow operating as independent cells and also as a singular organism. For this, I’ll dive into how I think it came to be in the first place. (this is more where the suspension of disbelief comes in) 

Say, on some distant planet, there’s a species of alien that’s psychic. This psychic organism gets a bacterial infection and a viral one at the same time. Through the consumption of the host’s cells, the bacteria acquire the DNA necessary for psychic communication, but can’t really do much about it. The virus then also infects the bacteria and, in trying to hijack it, manages to activate the DNA needed for that communication. This lucky bacteria that’s done this also manages to overcome the viral infection and, however the process works, essentially allows it to force the virus to work for it. Using the virus, it sends DNA-based communication to its fellow bacteria which allows them to take on this psychic DNA. 

As this spreads, the poor host becomes aware of the now-psychic bacteria but can do very little about it. Their body slowly succumbs to the infection, and the bacteria are now able to quickly communicate to adapt and overcome the host’s immune system. Then, hearing the psychic cries for help, another of the species shows up to help and ends up infected as well. This repeats a few times until a mutation in the virus happens that allows it to infect the host cells in addition to just spreading mutations among the bacteria. This is the start of the assimilation ability. From there, essentially, the bacteria continue to multiply and consume other cells and types of DNA to the point where there’s enough intercellular communication happening with the psychic stuff, in combination with the exposure happening to an actually-sentient species who is also psychic sparks, creates what is effectively a collective consciousness. Like, our brains are a group of cells which have developed in such a way that allows for consciousness to the point where it can *study itself*. So, is it so far-fetched that this bacteria could utilize that psychic component to speed things up and develop it itself??

From there, it proceeds as we know it. The infection spreads until it swallows all life on the planet, and then it uses the husk to envelop itself in a shell and head to the next one. Thus, we have a large mass of psychic bacteria which has developed a way to make more of itself via viral infection that essentially causes a weird cancer in the infected organism. Through its infection of the Cetra, and later its connection with Sephiroth, it learns concepts and the language that allows it to communicate with the infected people of Gaia.

Now, the degradation. And what is up with Project G.

Gillian is infected with J-cells and they slowly come to make up a decent portion of her body, disguised as her own cells and becoming G-cells. However, as is a natural thing, she naturally has some kind of immunity to the viral component that prevents total assimilation and the psychic connection from affecting her as it did Lucrecia. When they graft these cells onto the fetus that becomes Genesis, even though the cells have a chance to integrate themselves completely into his body, they’re still not *natural* to him. So, for a time, his body works as intended. However, after a certain point, the cells that are still completely his realize that there are cells just a touch too different around and deploy his immune system against them. The g-cells try to fight back, trying to assimilate them and causing the wing growth as well as the mental degradation. However, the assimilation isn’t working quite as intended and the infection - because that’s what it is at this point - continues to be fought off. In other words, a hell of an autoimmune disorder. The degradation is stopped by Minerva/the planet because the planet’s innate connection to the soul and all life on it does have the ability to force Jenova cells to deactivate if the will is strong enough, which is how Jenova was sealed away in the first place. Angeal never suffered degradation because he got his cells directly from his mother, so they’re not considered foreign the way they were for Genesis. However, his wing and subsequent discoloration, etc, happened due to Genesis’s influence on his mental state. Basically, the g-cells were responding to what he thought would happen and made it happen. Because, at that point, they were pretty far removed from the main body of Jenova genetically, and also Jenova was still technically in stasis and therefore had little control over the cells psychically, which meant Angeal was essentially developing shape-shifting abilities and didn’t know it. 

(Note: I am by no means a professional. I probably do have more knowledge in the fields of biology and epidemiology than the average person considering I've taken university-level courses, but I do not have a degree in either of the two fields. Everything I'm saying about actual science in this is how I understand/remember it and I am probably wrong about some stuff.)

12 notes - Posted September 8, 2022

#3

afterimage

It's time for me to reveal my piece for the 2022 FF7 Central Fanworks Exchange!! I wrote mine for the lovely KDblack

Summary: When Cloud closes his eyes, he sees the flash of a smile, the kind of easygoing grin he wishes he could mimic without coming across as an asshole. If only he could remember who the smile was attached to, then, maybe, he could stop feeling like something was missing.

Read on AO3

Word Count: 3,393

afterimage

~~~~~~

“This is one hell of a sword, Cloud,” Biggs says, running a hand over the materia slots on his blade. “Where’d you get it?”

The question takes Cloud off guard. He should be expecting it, really, what with the Buster being as unique a blade as it is. Still, he finds himself floundering for an answer. What comes to him is twofold: the image of a tall and broad figure, stubble dotting his jaw, and that of a slimmer one with black spiky hair all in disarray overlapping until he can’t tell the difference anymore. A pit opens in his gut, the grief and self-loathing twisting together as it crawls up through his chest. He blinks and realizes that Biggs is still waiting for an answer.

“It was my mentor’s,” he finally answers, his voice small in an attempt to hide how he suddenly feels like he’s falling to pieces. “I got it after…”

When did he get the Buster? He swears it’s on the tip of his tongue, the grief making it clear that something must have happened to the SOLDIER who taught him. He reaches for the memory, trying to bring it out of the fog his mind has been in since he recovered from whatever sickness had managed to bring him down so thoroughly. The action sends a burst of static-y pain through his head and he hisses through his teeth, bringing his hand up to press against his temple.

“You alright man?” The words reach his ears, but he barely registers them.

There are brief flashes of rain, blood pooling under a body slowly going cold, intermixing with a bone-deep chill and pain radiating from his jaw. He’s kneeling over a body in both, the figure dressed in 1st Class blacks and smiling up at him. One is serene, peaceful, and looking almost thankful as he takes his last breaths even as Cloud kneels over him pleading for him not to leave him. The other is foggier, face mottled with mud and soot and blood as the rain pours down around him. He smiles too, but this one is different, feels more regretful than it should be. The images blur together again, the feeling like he’s been gutted only intensifying as they overlap.

Cloud blinks and he’s back in the room on top of Beginner’s Hall. The blurry memories fade back into the background, the pit of emotion closing itself back up into its usual hole. He’s suddenly aware of how he looks: the former 1st Class SOLDIER, unable to keep a lid on his own problems when he’s out in public. He straightens and runs his hand through his hair in a motion that simultaneously feels like he’s done it hundreds of times and never before in his life. Biggs is looking at him with apprehension on his face.

“Fine,” Cloud answers, voice tight and controlled. “Are you done?”

Biggs blinks at him and takes a second to remember he’s still holding Cloud’s sword.

“Yeah,” he answers, then, hefts it up a bit by the grip and holds it out for him to take. Cloud strides forward and takes the blade from him, slinging it onto his back and locking it in place with a clunk. He turns to leave and reaches the door before something stops him. A memory rises: a laughing voice chiding him for being so obtuse with people who are trying to help him. His heart twinges a bit.

“The Buster,” he says before he can change his mind.

Biggs looks back up at him from where he’d started to put the sword maintenance materials away.

“What?”

“The- my sword. That’s what it’s called. The Buster Sword.”

He holds his breath, hoping Biggs takes the information for the olive branch it is. The other man blinks at him before a soft smile spreads across his face.

“A suitable name,” he says.

Something about the way he’s looking at him makes Cloud self-conscious, but the other man clearly reads his offer as intended. He nods in acknowledgment and leaves, ignoring the phantom feeling of a hand ruffling his hair.

-_-_-_-

Every time Cloud closes his eyes, he sees someone he can almost remember smiling at him.

It’s disconcerting, really. He’s not really used to people honestly smiling at him. And yet, there’s a blurry figure who Cloud knows is smiling at him dodging his heels almost every time he lets himself stop and rest. If that was the extent of it, he thinks he’d be able to put the fuzzy memory to the side to be examined later, but, every time he tries too hard to bring the figure into focus, pain bursts across his temples and sends his thoughts skittering away. 

Afterward, he’s always left with only the vaguest shards of impressions of what he’d been thinking about before the episode and the sense that something important - something vital - is missing. 

Even when he’s not actively seeking out answers from the foggy unknown of his mind, the littlest things remind him of that figure. Without fail, the record of his memory continues to skip over the jagged hole where there should be something, someone. If he doesn’t push too hard, sometimes he can get pieces: a scar, mako blue eyes, broad shoulders, and a warm hug. But it’s never more than that, never a clear image. 

He wonders if he should be more concerned about his patchwork memory, how the pieces come to him like the rising tide and then fade back into oblivion after the static and pain swallows them. He wonders if he should tell someone else, and get an outside opinion. But the thought of letting someone in - even someone like Tifa who knew him like no one else - somehow causes even more fear than the possible consequences of staying silent on the matter. 

See the full post

18 notes - Posted August 7, 2022

#2

did anyone ask for more dragon cloud au content?

He needs to find shelter, fresh water, and a source of food. He should also probably figure out where they ended up, considering they could have popped up literally anywhere after their dive into the lifestream, but that comes after he makes sure Zack isn’t in danger. He backs away from Zack a bit and sits up. He expects the wave of nausea this time and is able to fight it off. It’s a feeling he definitely doesn’t miss from his recovery from the first bout of mako poisoning, but one he at least knows how to deal with. He takes a few more deep breaths to steel himself before heaving himself to his feet.

Spots dance before his eyes and he comes very close to vomiting once more. He almost falls back over before he manages to shift his wing and tail into positions that help him stay upright. His back twinges in protest once more, but he’s well-versed in ignoring the pain by now. He digs his toes into the wet sand and takes a few seconds to enjoy the feeling before he takes a step towards Zack. He crouches down next to him, and, though it takes a bit for him to convince himself that he’s not going to hurt Zack just by touching him, manages to get the other man into a bridal hold. He stands back up and the twinge in his back abruptly spikes, the sudden pain so intense he falls back to his knees and hunches over. Spots dance before his eyes yet again and he can’t manage to fight down the nausea this time before he finds himself throwing up onto the sand.

Eyes squeezed shut, Cloud takes a second to breathe as the pain fades back to the ache he’s become used to. He loosens his death grip on the precious bundle still in his arms and brings an arm up to wipe at his snout. He smacks his lips a few times, grimacing at the minty taste, and looks down at what he expelled. It’s mostly mako, the glow diluted by what is probably seawater. He shuffles backward from the puddle a bit and tries to stand up again, but the immediate resulting pain brings him back to his knees once more.

He takes a moment to sit there panting before he carefully lowers Zack back to the ground. As much as he hates to admit it, it doesn’t look like he’ll be able to carry him like a human at the moment. Cloud stands back up, this time on all fours, and stretches everything out. He hates how it takes pressure off his back, how it feels so much more natural for his hips and legs to settle like this. It’s a reminder of his failing humanity, a hint at what is to come.

21 notes - Posted February 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Lately, I've been really reading the FF7 timeline to copy it down for reference and I've found some *very* interesting details. Here's a list of stuff so far:

Bugenhagen is apparently born in 1877?? This means he's 130 years old in OG!!

Pres Shinra is born in 1940. Palmer is 3 years younger than him.

Hojo was born in 1945, making him around 35 when Sephiroth is born.

ShinRa was known as "ShinRa Manufacturing" before it was an electric company, and we apparently don't have a date for when it was founded but know it discovered Mako energy on September 23, 1959.

Heidegger is born in 1949, making him a year older than Vincent.

Both Vincent and Lucrecia are born in 1950.

Red XIII is born in 1959, which is apparently the same year the Gi attacked.

Grimoire dies ~1970, which means Lucrecia was around 20 when it happened. Can you imagine doing undergrad research trying to get ahead of the curve and you get your advisor killed by the equivalent of a minor deity cuz you wouldn't stop poking it? She wasn't even a grad student when it happened 😂

Barret and Reeve are the same age, having been born in 1972.

Cid is actually 3 years younger than both of them, having been born on Feb 22, 1975.

Construction on the Midgar plate starts in 1976, and ShinRa is known as an electric company by then, but we don't know when that actually changed.

Tseng, Rufus, and Rude are all the same age, having been born in 1977. SOLDIER is initiated in the same year to help bring an end to a long-running international war.

Oh, Jenova is also found in 1977, which means none of the trio can even be conceived until that year. The Jenova Project also starts up that year.

At some point between 1977 and 1982, Vincent is assigned to guard the scientists running Project S. Yeah, we have no concrete date for that.

Somewhere around 1980, the trio are all born. No actual birthdates for any of them.

Gast leaves Shinra in 1980, which means, that even if Sephiroth is born in late 1977, he literally never knew the guy. He apparently meets Ilfana at some point before 1985, but we have no date for that.

We also have no official date for Lucrecia going crazy and Vincent getting shot. Wiki says it's somewhere around 1984, which is fucking wild. Cuz it's stated that she goes crazy during pregnancy and Vincent confronts Hojo as a result of that, which gets him shot. And yet, Sephiroth is supposed to be born around 1980??? Which means there's no chance he was born that late? WHICH IS IT SQUARE???

Reno is born in '79, meaning he's conceivably older than Sephiroth??

We have no concrete date for Zack being born, just the "around 1984", except we know he's 16 in '00, which means he was born early '85 at the latest since he's canonically 2 years older than Cloud and CC starts in October of '00.

We have no idea how old Kunsel is! I usually place him as being born in '83 and a year older than Zack.

Aerith was born Feb 7, 1985 and Gast was killed 20 days later on Feb 27.

Cloud was born on August 11, 1986 and Tifa was born on May 3, 1987.

we have actual years for basically all the Tsviets being born and yet no date for Sephiroth.

Yuffie's mom is apparently named "Kasumi"??

The Wutai war begins "around" 1992, which means Sephiroth could conceivably be, at the youngest, like, 8 when it starts up and around 16 at the oldest. We also have no concrete date for when he gets deployed, but know he's apparently a 1st class already by then?

Tseng is also only, like, 15 when the war starts, which leads me to believe that he gets recruited by the Turks in the early days of the war. He's also a rookie Turk by 1997 when the whole thing that results in Kalm being bombed happens.

Cissnei is hailed as the youngest ever full Turk, and considering Tseng is one by the time he's 20, and Reno is one when he's late teens, she's gotta be as young or younger than Zack. I usually put her as being born in '85 and thus 15 when CC starts.

Before Crisis is fucking wild dudes. We have at least years for all the events and it gets the Turks involved in a huge number of events in the timeline.

Rufus isn't made VP until after Genesis deserts. Seriously. The mass desertion event happens in October of '00 and Rufus isn't VP until December.

See the full post

80 notes - Posted July 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review #Long post #I am sorry about the length of this post 😅 #Bean things

[newyorkprelawland-blog]

Deadliest Shooting In A Decade

By Irene Lee, New York University, Class of 2025

June 7, 2022

On May 24, 2022, nineteen students and two teachers were fatally shot at Robb Elementary school in Uvalde, Texas [i]. As news rapidly spread, this became the deadliest U.S. school shooting in a decade. The gunman was confronted by an armed school security guard and then proceeded to wound two responding police officers and engaged in a standoff for over an hour [ii].

Salvador Ramos was identified as the suspect and was shot on scene by officers. “Yet in the case of Mr. Ramos, there was little to raise official alarm ahead of the shooting.” Officials said, “No history of mental illness. No apparent criminal record. We don’t see a motive or catalyst right now.” These are the words of Steven McCraw, director of the Texas Department of public Safety. On the contrary, people who knew the gunman were alert of the warnings [ii]. People described him as an 18-year-old loner who was bullied over a speech impediment [iv]. He boasted about the attack on social media, warning kids to “watch out” and even posting on Facebook revealing his plan, “I’m going to shoot an elementary school.” Regarding the internet, Ramos would talk to other social media users about how guns were not boring. A former classmate testified speaking Ramos would message him here and there, sending pictures of the AR gun he purchased and a backpack full of 5.56 rounds. The suspect had a history of violence where he would torture animals, even going beyond as to streaming the acts of animal abuse on the streaming platform Yubo [v].

Before driving off to school in Ramos’s grandmother’s vehicle whom he stole from, he shot his grandmother in the face who survived but is still in critical condition. However, considering what happened, she may never be able to speak again [vi]. Salvador lived with his grandmother because his relationship with his parents were extremely delicate. Instagram stories would be posted by him of audio recordings where he curses his mom out alongside not being in contact with his dad [ii].

11:28am, Salvador Ramos arrived, firing his gun at two male witnesses who fled. Two minutes later, a teacher spotted the vehicle crash and proceeded to call 911 immediately which was still too late as Ramos already began shooting at the school several times. At 11:33, the shooter entered through the back door, shooting classrooms 111 and 112 with at least 100 rounds [i]. “It was there that children were shot and killed horrifically, incomprehensively.” According to Texas Governor Greg Abbott [iv]. The gunman was inside the premises of the school for up to an hour with police smashing windows and surrounding the building allowing children and teachers to escape. Witnesses reported seeing children climbing out of nearby windows and seeking shelter at a funeral home nearby [iv]. Criticism has been directed at law enforcement officials. Accused of lack of swift action [iii]. As the gunman was approached, three of the agents fired their weapons once they were in the room. Striking the gunman several times and killing him shortly after 1:00 p.m. [ii]. Officials later confirmed that he had legally bought two rifles, which he purchased on his 18th birthday and 375 rounds of ammunition [iv].

Journalists arrived as well as parents, family members, community members flocking to see the devastated incident. Twenty-one people, including 19 third and fourth graders and two teachers with another 17 people injured, including three law enforcement officers. Memorial services for victims are expected to take place in Uvalde, Texas throughout June 16 [vii].

______________________________________________________________

Irene Lee is a rising sophomore at New York University with a double concentration B.A. in Political Science and a B.M. in Instrumental Performance and plans on attending law school after graduation.

______________________________________________________________

[i] Oxner, R. Astudillo, C. What We Know, Minute by Minute, About How the Uvalde Shooting and Police Response Unfolded. Texas Tribune. Retrieved June 3, 2022, from https://www.texastribune.org/2022/05/27/uvalde-texas-school-shooting-timeline/

[ii] Ulloa, J. David Goodman, J. Bogel-Burroughs, N. Bosman, J. The Deadliest U.S. School Shooting in A Decade Shakes a Rural Texas Town. NY Times. Retrieved June 4 2, 2022, from https://www.nytimes.com/live/2022/05/25/us/shooting-robb-elementary-uvalde#the-deadliest-us-school-shooting-in-a-decade-shakes-a-rural-texas-city

[iii] Woodward, A. Rahaman Sarkar, A. Spocchia, G. Texas Shooting: Governor Abbott Issues Disaster Declaration for Uvalde as Funeral Services Begin. Independent. Retrieved June 4, 2022, from https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/crime/texas-school-shooting-victims-salvador-ramos-b2091328.html

[iv] Murphy, M. Texas shooting: How A Sunny Uvalde School Day Ended in Bloodshed. BBC News. Retrieved June 4, 2022, from https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-61577777

[v] Hurley, B. Salvador Ramos: Everything We Know About Texas School Mass Shooter. Independent. Retrieved June 4, 2022, from https://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/americas/crime/salvador-ramos-texas-school-shooter-guns-autopsy-b2090752.html

[vi] Morphet, J. Propper, D. Texas Shooter Salvador Ramos’ Grandmother ‘May Never Be Able to Talk Again. NY Post. Retrieved June 4, 2022, from https://nypost.com/2022/05/29/texas-shooter-salvador-ramos-grandma-may-never-be-able-to-talk-again-after-shooting-kin/

[vii] Jacobo, J. 2 Cousins, Ages 10 and 11, Laid to Rest in Uvalde. ABC News. Retrieved June 4, 2022, from https://abcnews.go.com/US/funerals-victims-uvalde-school-shooting-begin/story?id=85067644

[apompkwrites]

HI! Ive been binge reading your stories now. I wonder what will happen if character! reader got transported in the streamer character's world.

reader impact || you're isekai'd!

series masterlist characters: albedo, childe, kaeya, xiao genre: fluff summary: it's your turn to be isekai'd! how will our plays react when they find you in their very own home? notes: i really like this idea! i hope you like the characters i chose :D

albedo -

albedo is... tired.

what's new?

he's spent almost the whole day making prints off stream to sell and honestly just needs to rest.

although, he has noted that klee is... abnormally quiet.

his art session wasn't interrupted by her running through his room, drawing with him, telling stories of what happened during the day. absolutely nothing.

and, being the good big brother he is, he worries about her.

so before he heads up to rest, he goes out into the living room to make sure she's okay.

however, what he doesn't expect is seeing a familiar character playing with klee by the couch.

you're... here?

you're here?!?!

WHY ARE YOU HERE?!?!?!?!

you, the very character he basically idolizes, are sitting on his couch, in his home, with his sister?

is... is he going insane?

"albedo! look! look who it is!"

klee's yell confirms to him that, no, he is not going insane.

you turn around to look at him once klee starts waving him over.

"ah, so you're albedo."

you...

you said his name.

you. just. said. his. name.

"i... am assuming you wouldn't mind helping me understand where i am?"

"...n-no, not at all."

he doesn't show you his notes on alchemy to see if he understands it, i don't know what you're talking about--

childe -

childe's day is going relatively normal.

waking up to help take care of his siblings and then straight to streaming (to probably yell at his teammates/opponents).

and that's exactly how it goes.

his stream goes well, his viewers are having funs, he's having fun, it's all good.

"BROTHER!!!"

ah, yes.

of course, this is a daily occurrence in their household.

his siblings (more specifically teucer) like to barge into his room and watch him play or talk to him.

he doesn't mind it, of course.

they're his darling brothers and sister.

"hey, teucer!"

luckily, he's not in a round right now so he can give his brother his full attention.

teucer says hi to the chat, as always, before hurriedly tugging on childe's arm.

"you gotta see who's outside!"

"alright, alright! i'll be right back, chat."

after making sure his chat can be left alone, he lets teucer drag him out of his room.

he expects it to be one of his friends or someone his family knows.

he didn't think that you would be in his living room talking with tonia and anthon.

"(name)! (name)! this is who we were talking about!"

"so this is your older brother?"

childe's caught off guard but he's quick to keep his composure.

"yeah, that's me!"

"well, it's nice to meet you."

you two quickly bond over stories of your siblings while teucer goes to make sure childe's chat is accounted for :)

kaeya -

oh god.

so it's supposed to be a normal day for kaeya.

you know, waking up, drinking, streaming, flirting with you, the usual.

but he goes out to the living room before streaming and...

there you are?

just... drinking his wine?

he's mildly confused.

but he'll get over it quickly, don't worry.

"well well, what do we have here?"

you turn around as soon as he talks, ready to draw your weapon.

you scan him up and down before letting out a soft hum, letting your hand fall back to your side.

"i must say, you have good taste in wine."

"i pride myself in that."

the issue is... he was planning on using that wine for his stream...

"...you know what? why don't i join you?"

his favorite character from genshin is here in his house and his first thought is to... bring them onscreen to drink.

his viewers aren't complaining soo,,,

they all just think one of his friends cosplays.

(and they're really good at it)

looks like they have more content for their flirting compilations :D

xiao -

another day, another... sleepless night.

it's times like this where xiao misses his old roommates.

they all bonded over their sleep schedules or lack thereof.

but now that they've all moved out... it's just him.

him all alone with just the lingering aftereffects of his nightmares.

or so he thought.

he passes through the quiet home, nodding to the merch of you in his living room.

"morning, (name)..."

"it's not often i hear a mortal say my name."

...hold on.

it'll take xiao a bit to understand what's happening.

this man thinks he's hallucinating.

i mean, he's been having bad nightmares recently so why wouldn't his mind try to cope by imagining you, his literal comfort character, in his own home.

"tell me."

your calm voice cuts through the air.

"why is it you're up this early?"

he doesn't tell you upright.

even if you're fake, he doesn't want to say it out loud.

but, you're smart.

you'll understand.

"... i see."

you don't say another word. just sit there in his living room, watching as he mutters words of encouragement to himself.

and you're still there when he passes out a few hours later.

little does he know, that you'll be sitting right by his bed to "keep him safe" when he wakes up.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin albedo x reader #albedo x reader #genshin impact childe #genshin impact childe x reader #genshin childe #genshin childe x reader #childe x reader #genshin impact tartaglia #genshin impact tartaglia x reader #genshin tartaglia #genshin tartaglia x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact kaeya #genshin impact kaeya x reader #genshin kaeya #genshin kaeya x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin impact xiao #genshin impact xiao x reader #genshin xiao

[bubblyhoney]

sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)

okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm

i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3

new horizons

warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence

words: 1473

tags: sapnap x gn!reader

A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3

requests/inbox status: open

-

“This game is trash.”

Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.

“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.

There’s a story for that later.

Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.

“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.

“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)

“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. “Touched a nerve there, bud.”

You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.

“Don't ‘bud’ me.”

The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.

“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.

“What?”

“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”

“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.

“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.

Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.

“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.

The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.

“That’s where I went.”

Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.

“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”

His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”

“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”

“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.

“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.

“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.

“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”

“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.

The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.

The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.

“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.

“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”

“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.

“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”

“I bought Animal Crossing.”

Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.

“Tell me you love it.”

“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”

“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”

He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.

“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”

“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”

“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.

“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.

“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?

“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”

He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”

“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.

“Um, alright. What do we do now?”

“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”

“I’m down.”

You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.

He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.

You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.

You like him. He likes you.

It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.

-

A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]

#sapnap #mcyt #sapnap x gn!reader #sapnap x reader #sapnap x you #sapnap fluff #sapnap drabble #sapnap oneshot #bubblyhoneyfics #honey answers #mcyt x reader #🥚except small

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

[waitimcomingtoo]

Touch - p.p

chapter two: the dance

synopsis: you love him, but you can never touch him

Series Masterlist and Regular Masterlist

The day after the confession in the kitchen, the Avengers were sent on an emergency to mission in Alaska. You’d normally sit next to Peter on the jet, but you decided to give him his distance. There was an icy tension between the two of you ever since you spoke of the dance you’d been doing, something you wished would remain unspoken.

You looked at Peter and let out a sigh before getting off the jet and taking your place next to Steve. Tony stood in front of the team and rubbed his hands.

“Banner and Romanoff, stay on the main floor and contain the damage. Rogers, I want you on the west side. Try to minimize the amount of flying monkeys that get in. Bert and Ernie, you two go to the basement and try to turn off the power.”

You felt your heart sink as you and Peter were assigned to stay together. You looked at him and gave him a tight smile, but the eyes on his mask told you he was looking away.

“Yes, sir.” You nodded, fighting the urge to cry. Knowing that he felt the same was much worse than wondering if he reciprocated your feelings. Now that you knew, all you felt was pain.

You and Peter headed towards the basement in silence and you hoped it would stay that way. Peter’s head was going a million miles an hour, the mission long gone from his mind.

“Are we gonna talk about what happened between us?” He blurted, making your chest tighten.

“Nothing happened between us.” You said simply, hoping he would take the hint to drop it.

“I know.” He stopped walking. “That’s the problem.”

You stopped too, looking around before walking up to Peter.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You mumbled. “We gotta focus on the mission, okay?”

“I can’t focus on anything anymore.” Peter laughed sadly. “Only you.”

“Peter.” You whimpered as he stepped closer to you. He raised a hand and brushed it against your cheek, and you let it linger. You leaned into his touch and looked in his eyes before yours widened in fear.

“Behind you.”

As soon as Peter turned around, he got punched in the face. You immediately jumped to his defense and fought off the intruder, but three more piled in. You and Peter fought back to back, punching and kicking at whoever came near you. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a man run out of the room with a ring of keys and let out a sigh. Peter clocked it too and looked at you.

“He had the keys to turn the power off.” He called out. “He can’t get away.”

“I’ll go get him.” You called back before running out of the room. You chased the man down and kicked him in the face, catching the keys when the flew out of his hands. He tried to get up so you put a hand on his chest and released pain into his body, making him collapse again. You smiled proudly as you ran back to the room where Peter was, freezing in your place at what you saw.

The first thing you noticed was that all the men were gone. As your eyes searched the room, they landed on Peter, who was lying on the floor. His mask was off, but what really stood out to you was the giant pipe in his chest.

“Hey, peaches.” He smiled weakly at you as blood spilled out of his mouth.

“What happened?” You swallowed gravely as you knelt down beside him. Your heart was pounding in your ears as you watched your best friends blood leave his body.

“I’ve been impaled.” Peter laughed as he touched the entry wound, craning his neck to see how bad he was. Once he saw it, he let out another laugh that made his blood gurgle in his throat.

“Peter.” You whispered as hot tears streamed down your face. You reached forward but he swatted your hands away to the best of his ability.

“Wait. Don’t touch me.” He croaked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well I can’t just watch you die.” You shouted as you tried to touch him again.

“Please. Don’t.” He begged as he pushed you away. “You don’t know what it’ll do.”

“But I know what will happen if I don’t, and that’s not an option I’m willing to entertain.” You shook your head as you reached for him once again.

“Please.” Peter pleaded. “Don’t.”

If the situation were different, you’d laugh at the fact he was begging you not to touch him the day after he told you how much it hurt him that you didn’t touch him.

But the situation was dire, and there was no room for laughter.

“Hold still.” You instructed as you placed your hands on either side of his face.

“Y/n. Don’t.” He said weakly, the light behind his eyes beginning to dim.

“I have to.” You whimpered as a test rolled down your cheek and landed on his face. “I can’t lose you.”

Before Peter could respond, you bent down and kissed him. You drew the pain out of his body through your lips, feeling the excruciating agony he was in transferring itself into your body. As the pain grew more unbearable, you kissed him harder. Tears of anguish were rolling down your face as your veins filled with fire. You opened your eyes in time to see the wound on Peter’s chest closing, and that’s when you collapsed.

~

Your eyes fluttered open, and quickly shut, as the fluorescent hospital lighting stung them. You let them adjust by slowly opening your eyes, looking around the room as you did. You saw Peter sitting in a chair in the corner of your hospital room and tried to call out to him, but your throat was bone dry.

“Peter?” You croaked out, making him look up. You tried to sit up in bed, but the IV’s and tubes in your body made that difficult. Every fiber in your body felt sore, so you gave up on sitting up. Peter rushed to your side and knelt down beside you, almost taking you leave hand in his but deciding against it.

“Hi peaches.” He smiled softly at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Sore.” You licked your dry lips. “What time is it? Is everyone back from the mission?”

“It’s almost 4 am.” He checked his phone. “Everyone got back from the mission safely. You’ve, um, you’ve actually been out for a few days.”

“I have?” You panicked, hating that you lost time. Peters lips tightened into a frown as tears welled in his eyes, quickly looking away so you wouldn’t see.

“We weren’t sure you’d wake up.” He mumbled as he wiped his face.

“Have you been here the whole time?” You asked, knowing the answer already.

“Where else would I be but by your side?” He smiled sadly.

“Have you eaten?”

“I can’t really keep anything down.” He shook his head. “It’s hard to eat knowing my best friend is getting all her nutrients through an IV in her arm.”

“You should get something to eat.” You said gently.

“Is that really what you want to talk about?” Peter asked hoarsely as he narrowed his eyes at you.

“Well what do you want to talk about?” You tried to joke. Peter stared at you for a moment before standing up and turning his back to you, his body language telling you he was crying. After composing himself, he looked over his shoulder.

“You almost died.” He said dully before quickly looking away.

“I know.” You swallowed, feeling uneasy all of the sudden.

“Why did you do it?” He whispered. “Why did you heal me?”

“Because.”

“Because why?” He raised his voice. “I’ve been sitting here, raking my brain, trying to figure out why the smartest girl I know would make such a stupid decision. I was on the brink of death and you still took my pain. You could have died. Do you realize that? You could have died.”

You looked at Peter for a moment before letting out a laugh that lead to a cough.

“Why are you laughing?” Peter asked angrily.

“Because it’s funny.” You laughed as you rubbed your tired eyes.

“What’s funny?”

“It’s funny how you think I wouldn’t die before I lost you.” You said as your laughter died down. You and Peter looked at each other for a moment as you realized this wasn’t just a mere crush.

This was love.

“I thought you wanted to minimize the casualties.” Peter said as tears came back to his eyes. Tears stung at your own eyes as you used all your strength to call him over with your hand.

“Come here.”

Peter wordlessly went to you and knelt down beside you. You took his hand but didn’t meet his eyes, the contact being enough.

“I want you, okay?” Your voice shook as you kept your eyes down. “Don’t you dare think I don’t want you. I think about you all the time. It debilitates me. Sometimes, I can’t even breath until you’re with me.”

“Then be with me.” Peter cried, squeezing your hand tightly.

“I can’t.” You sniffled as you let go of his hand. “It’s too dangerous.”

Peter looked at his now empty hand and sucked in a sharp breath.

“So what do we do? Just continue dancing around each other?” He raised his voice. “I can’t do that anymore. I won’t.”

“I love you.” You promised. “Isn’t knowing that enough?”

“I would have you.” Peter said in defeat. “If it were enough, I would have you.”

Without another word, Peter left the room.

Two weeks later, you were able to return to the tower. Peter stopped coming to visit you in your room, but you always saw him lurking in the waiting room. You moved back into your old room and grew to miss the sound of him knocking at your door, asking you if you wanted to watch a movie. The first time you made direct eye contact since the day in the hospital happened early one morning before training.

“Hey.” You smiled sweetly at Peter as you walked into the kitchen. Your face was still a little bruised and swollen, which made it hard for Peter to look at you.

That, and the fact he couldn’t be with the girl he loved.

“Hey.” Peter responded without looking up at you. You figured he’d be upset, but you weren’t expecting the cold shoulder. You silently got out a cereal bowl and the carton of milk.

“Mind if I sit here?” You asked politely as you pointed to the sets next to Peter.

“Sure.” Peter mumbled. You put your bowl down next to Peter’s and smiled at him, but he didn’t look at you.

“You look nice.” You tried to spark conversation. “I like this shirt on you.”

“Thanks.” Peter answered dully. Your lips tightened as you felt tears threaten your eyes.

“Please don’t shut me out Peter. It’s me. It’s peaches.” You laughed sadly as you looked at him. “I know we can’t be together but we can’t still be friends.”

“How can we be friends?” He finally looked at you. “How am I supposed to be your friend when my hands twitch because they want to hold yours so badly? Are we supposed to pretend we’re not in love with in each? And just wait until that love goes away? Is that your plan?”

“You’re not being fair. I’m doing this to protect you.” You threw your spoon down angrily and got out of your seat.

“I don’t need you to protect me.” Peter shouted as he got up as well.

“Then what do you need?” You shouted in his face. Peter immediately took your face in his hands and kissed you just as passionately as the first time. You clutched his shirt to keep him as close as possible as you kissed him back with everything you had in you. He pulled away much too soon, leaving the both of you breathless.

“More of that. That’s what I need.” He panted. “Everyday, if I could.”

“I’m not gonna change my mind about this.” You shook your head sadly.

“And I’m not gonna change how I feel about you.” Peter said definitively.

“Then nothings going to change.” You whispered as a tear rolled down your cheek.

“Alright then.” Peter stepped back from you. “The dance goes on.”

@awesomebooklover17​ @thebookwormlife​ @imanativeofswlondondahling​ @weirdr-artiest​ @serendipitous-amor​ @dummiesshort​

@foreverxholland​ @lavender-writer​ @captainmandeestudent17​ @whatareyouhidingpeter​ @takenbyheartstrings​ @ultrunning​ @imyourliquor-youremypoison​ @theolwebshooter​ @andreasworlsboring101​ @waiting-to-be-myself​ @letsloveimagines​ @peterparkoure​ @a-villain-vying-for-attention​ @justcallmehitgirl​ @averyfosterthoughts​ @jackiehollanderr​ @tiny-friggin-human @mara-twins​ @iamaunicorn4704​ @maryjanee23​ @geeksareunique​ @emmamarshmellow​ @unbelievableholland​ @rebekkah4766​ @flixndchill​ @sovereignparker​ @thisisthebiplace​ @spideydobrik​ @every-marveler-ever​ @undiadeestos​ @caelestii-e​ @eridanuswave​​ @itscaminow​​ @fiantomartell​ @solarxmoonchild​ @where-art-thau-romeo​ @canyouevencauseicant​ @illwritetomorrow​ @thehappygrungelife​ @saysomethingspiderman​ @parkerboop​ @smilexcaptainx​ @quaksonhehe​ @kelieah​ @kickingn-ames​ @babeyspidey​ @seasidecrowbar​ @lovelessdagger​ @love-sick-blues​ @electraheart-3174​  @unbelievableholland​ @yourtypicalhotmess​ @spideyanakin​ @horanxholland​ @thesuitelifeofafangirl​ @anapocalypseinmymind​ @marshxx​ @heyheycharlatte​ @nooneinvitedfascistbarbie​ @tomshufflepuff​ @cookiemonstermusic258​

@maybemona​ @young-romanoff​ @alexxcorona113​ @fancyxparker​ @lethal-wisdom​ @xo-spidey​ @im-still-tryin-to-find-it​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @pandaxnienke​ @theincredibledeadlyviper​  @thestylestour​  @officialsimppage​ @mrvelscaptains​ @peterspideysstuff​ @reemusluupin​ @perspectiveparker​ @itsemohours​ @satanswitchings​ @okkulta​  @parkerlovebot​ @sarcasticallywitty15​ @mati4188​ @geminiparkers​ @jungkxxkk​ @friendlyneighborhood-mendes​ @whatthefuckimbisexual​ @olixerwxxd​ @starkbrain​ @creatorofthegalaxy​ @far-from-holland​ @fermuda2​

@thebloodrobin @florencxs @hermayone @olixerwxxd @starkbrain @patricks-fabulous-face @tom-holland-is-bae @creatorofthegalaxy @far-from-holland @captainmarvelnerd @fermuda2

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

[aster-aspera]

It’s just my skin

@badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: loss of hearing

Pairings: (platonic) jonmartim

Warnings: claustrophobia, hospitals, hearing loss

Masterlist

If you liked it please reblog <3

The aftermath isn’t as quiet as Tim thought it would be.

Maybe it’s the fact that he isn’t dead even though he should be, maybe it’s the dreadful ringing in his ear, maybe it’s the way his chest is heaving in gasping breaths he can’t hear.

There’s a thousand pounds of stone pressing down on his back and somewhere far above him he can feel the ground rumble and shift. He can’t even find it in himself to worry about the whole place coming down. He wasn't planning on making it out alive either way.

He thinks he floats in and out of consciousness for a bit. Time seems to wind and stretch and loop back, only the rubble on his back and the incessant ringing to keep him company.

Something shifts eventually, a change in the air at first, the darkness becoming just a bit softer, a bit less cloying.

And then there are hands and stretchers and needles and people pulling and prodding him and over it all is still that high pitched ringing, rising higher and higher into an impossible crescendo. He thinks they ask him things, he is sure he sees their lips moving and their expectant gazes. He thinks he tries to say something, but his lips feel awkward and unwieldy.

Everything goes dark after that. A cool blessed darkness where he just floats, no stone, no rubble, no dust, just peace.

He thinks about Danny for a while, and the ritual and the burning collapse of it all and the way Sasha smiled at him every morning when he came into the archives. Then he just sleeps.

He wakes up a bit more coherent the next time. The ringing isn’t gone yet, but at least his brain doesn’t feel like it’s through different planes of dimensions at a hundred kilometres per hour anymore. At least now he can breathe without the dust clogging his lungs.

He looks around the overbright hospital room, the disconnected monitor and the IV dripping a clear fluid into his veins. There’s a bouquet of orange flowers on the bedside table. Probably from Martin, he thinks bitterly. There’s no one else who would go through the trouble.

Martin walks into his room at some point and Tim wonders why he’s here and not hovering around Jon like some lost puppy. Maybe Jon didn’t make it out of the explosion.

Something sharp and painful shoots through Tim’s chest at the thought and he does his best not to examine it too closely.

He looks up at Martin, whose lips are moving as he fusses with the flowers on the little table. Tim stares up at him uncomprehendingly, waiting for sound to come through, waiting for that unbearable ringing to resolve itself into something he can understand.

It doesn’t.

“I can’t hear,” He says, his lips forming the words, his vocal cords vibrating, but no sound comes out, not to him at least. Martin looks up at him with concern, his mouth moving in shapes that should have been familiar, had they been accompanied by the right noises.

“I can’t hear,” Tim says again. And this time, it doesn’t come out half as controlled. He can feel something very close to panic crawling it’s way up his throat and he doesn’t quite manage to swallow it down.

Martin presumably says something else, before giving up and typing something on his phone, shoving it into Tim’s hands before stalking out of the room.

Getting a doctor, stay here

Well of course he’s going to stay here, does Martin really think he’s going to wander around London when he’s just survived an explosion? He isn’t Jon.

He waits impatiently in his bed, rubbing the uncomfortably thin hospital sheets between his fingers and trying to adjust the flat pillows so he can sit up.

Eventually the doctors come in and once again, it’s back to being poked and prodded. Doctors examining his ears and brain and all the million scans they take, with Martin occasionally coming in to hover over him, bringing along coffee from the cafeteria.

In the end, the verdict is predictable. Permanent damage from his proximity to the explosion. Figures he couldn’t just walk out of that unscathed.

And most people would probably consider being permanently deaf better than being dead. Tim wasn’t too sure he agreed with them  yet.

They let him go home eventually, with a whole laundry list of instructions on how to care for himself. Tim throws the papers into a corner as soon as he gets home. He’ll be fine, he’s survived Jane Prentiss, he can survive this. And it isn’t like it matters much.

His phone buzzes to life when he sticks it into the socket, all the messages he missed streaming in at once, a tidal wave of promotional mails and push notifications. He’s half tempted to just shut it off again when he notices one text notification between all the others.

Jon

Martin had told him he was alive, of course. But something about seeing his name displayed black on white on his phone screen drives the point home in a way Martin’s scribbled notes hadn’t done. Something sharp and hot shoots through his chest and he wants desperately for it to be that familiar anger that carried him through the last few months.

But as he lets his head fall back onto the couch, he can’t quite feel it burn the same, and without its familiar warmth, he feels hollow in a way he hasn’t since Danny died.

He swipes away the message without reading it and curls up on the couch, pulling an old, dusty blanket over himself and shutting his eyes. He tries not to think too much of the darkness after the explosion, of the plaster dust swirling through the air and settling in his lungs, of the stone crushing his limbs at awkward angles.

A dark apartment isn’t much like a collapsed building but his brain doesn’t care when it brings up vivid images of his time under the rubble. Despite it all, he does eventually drift into the comforting darkness of sleep, his slumber taking the pain and weariness out of his bones for just a moment.

It’s peaceful, till he wakes up gasping from a nightmare.

His desk rattles slightly when a heavy book is dropped on it and Tim looks up in annoyance, ignoring the painful squeezing in his chest when he meets Jon’s tired, regretful eyes.

‘Learning sign’ The book proclaims and Tim feels irritation bubbling up.

“Fuck off,” He says, focusing his attention once again on his desk.

‘I know sign, I can help, or at least recommend you some classes/books’ Jon informs him through the notes app on his phone.

“I don’t need your help.”

‘I know you don’t, but I’d like to'

“Why? So you can feel better about everything that happened? You think this is going to fix it?”

‘I’m sorry Tim’

“Sorry is too late,” he bites out, shoving out of his chair roughly. He tries to move past Jon, make it out of this stifling, dusty room, get somewhere it doesn’t feel like the walls are watching him.

A rough, calloused hand shoots out, wraps around his wrist like a vice. Jon’s eyes are dark with concern and Tim feels an odd anger at the expression. How can he show so much empathy after everything that happened?

He looks at the hand wrapped around his wrist and suddenly, it’s all just too much.

The deafening ringing in his ears, this wretched place that trapped him and choked him and took his best friend from him. And Jon, eyes still hopeful, still compassionate, after Tim had blamed him and hurt him for months on end.

“Go away,” He tries to say and he doesn’t even make it to the first syllable before his voice betrays him with a choked sob. A shudder runs through him and he looks down at the wooden floor, trying to compose himself.

The grief has never felt as all consuming as it does in this moment and it chokes and burns and pulls him under all at once.

And then, there are arms around him. A familiar touch, a familiar weight, from days so long ago Tim can barely remember them. The first touch that isn’t hostile, the first comfort he has felt in so long.

And it’s all from the man he’s tried to hate for months.

His hands curl themselves tightly into Jon’s cardigan and he buries his face in his shoulder, biting back tears with all his might. It doesn’t do much good against the tidal wave of emotions sweeping through him and soon he’s shaking all over with the sobs that wrack through his body.

Jon’s hand comes up in a familiar movement, brushing through Tim’s messed up curls. It’s hesitant at first, as if Tim will yell at him again, but when he makes no motion to do so, only melting deeper into the hold, the fingers carding through his hair become surer.

There’s a rumble against his cheek as Jon says something and Tim wishes desperately he could still hear it, hear Jon’s sure and steadying voice.

He remembers when, near the beginning of it all, he would stand in the corridor outside of Jon’s office and listen as his voice drifted through the halls, all the pain and fear and emotions painted so clearly on it. He’d always thought Jon a bit ridiculous for the way he read those statements. Now he just wished he could hear it one more time.

He closes his eyes as the loss of his family and his friend and even his hearing tear through his chest, leaving him shattered and shaking.

Jon’s chest rumbles again and Tim presses his cheek into it, pretending for just a moment he can hear a sound that isn’t the awful ringing.

Another pair of hands close around him, softer ones, broader ones. They pull him up gently and he’s not entirely sure how they both ended up on the floor, it probably has something to do with how broad he is and how skinny Jon is.

He’s pulled close against a soft, broad chest and relaxes into it almost immediately. Martin’s safe, he always has been.

He’s deposited gently on the cot, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a warm mug of tea pressed into his hands. He feels a bit like a child, being coddled and carted around. But right now, he can’t find it in himself to care.

He thinks Jon and Martin are saying stuff. Martin’s chest is rumbling against his back and he tilts his face so he can feel it better. Martin runs a comforting hand along his face, brushing away the tears that stick to it.

A hand settles on his knee, comforting and grounding and he’s sure it’s Jon’s. Both of Martin’s hands are occupied holding him together after all.

He closes his eyes. He can deal with the mess of it all tomorrow.

Right now, he just feels safe. His friends are here and that’s enough.

#tma #the magnus archives #magnuspod #tim stoker #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jontim #jonmartim #martim #jonmartin #i do not know how to tag for this fandom yet #anyway tell me if i missed any warnings #bad things happen bingo #my writing

[darealsaltysam]

I WATCHED THE ELECTION RESULTS STREAM (once more, wilbur’s pov) AND OH GOD THIS IS PAIN

1. HOLY SHIT SCHLATT’S LAUGH NEVER FAILS TO DISSAPOINT 

2. god the banishment.... wilbur and tommy running into the woods through the night... niki being the only one to speak up against schlatt... tubbo being pulled into it all... GOD ITS SO GOOD WHY IS IT SO GOOD

3. techno’s tweet sounds like something that would be posted together with a promotional poster for a movie where a beloved character comes back, absolutely brilliant mr. blade

4. GOD THE WHOLE WALL SECTION. WILBUR SINGING, TALKING ABOUT HIS SON, NIKI SEEING HIM FROM THE DISTANCE AND HIM WALKING AWAY, GOD IT WAS ALL SO PERFECT ???????????

5. wilbur has trust issues aimed specifically at americans (and eret) because of everything that happened now, this poor boy cant even trust the blade 

6. “I’m gonna make schlatt pay for this”

7.  THEM PLANNING TO TAKE OFF THE UNIFORMS IS SO SAD BUT ITS ALSO SO IMPORTANT TO EVERYTHING GOD IM SCREAMING (also “i can’t go back to my old skin wilbur, it has schlatt’s suit and it HURTS”)

8. TECHNOBLADE IS GONNA TRAIN THE BOYS !!!!!!!!!!

9. wilbur trusting tommy with his diamond armor just shows how far theyve come... and... “i trust you, youre the best right hand man i could have ever asked for”, AAAAAAAAAAA

10. technoblade cant roleplay and hes just there with his monotone voice... i mean go off king, we stan a man whos done with all this shit and just wants to stab some people. and this quote of them talking about their past on the earthsmp specifically shows it;

tommy, all emotional: good talking to you again big man

techno:

techno: 

techno: didn’t we just talk yesterday?

11. EVERYONE’S REACTION TO TECHNO LOGGING ON IS GOLD, LIKE NIKI THERE IN CHAT GETTING ALL EXCITED KNOWING THERE’S A CHANCE FOR L’MANBURG I LOVE HER-

12. wilbur breaking down over the destruction of l’manburg while schlatt wanders below, with tommy pulling techno away and telling him to give wilbur space- god why is all of this so CINEMATIC? ITS JUST MINECRAFT-

13. SCHLATT SAYING HE’LL CHANGE THE NAME OF THE COUNTRY AND NIKI TELLING HIM HE CANT DO IT AND SCREAMING AND HIM TELLING HER TO SHUT UP IS AN ACTUAL MOVIE SCENE THIS IS A MOVIE THIS ISNT MINECRAFT ANYMORE THIS IS-

14. “you’re going to pay for this” - why did niki sound so menacing when she said that what the fuck?????????? i didnt know this pure little sunshine could do that????????????

15. manburg??? MANBURG????? 

MANBURG??????

16. “TECHNOBLADE STOP LOOKING AT THE FUCKING DOG”

17. just...

Wilbur: Tubbo, can you be my Hercules Mulligan?

Tubbo: I can get the information and then smuggle it! :D

Tubbo: I got that reference! :DDDD

18. the first time wilbur said something mean/aggressive to tommy in this stream was when he mentioned talking to schlatt.... like im sorry if that doesnt tell you everything you need to know about the relationships of these three i dont know what will

19. TECHNO POTATO FARM BOTTOM TEXT

20. quackity broke nihachu out of prison?????? are they on the same side???? could it be quackity realized that being by schlatt’s side is a bit more than he bargained for?????? the intrigue....

21. “this is what i listened to with jschlatt on what should have been his only night on this server” okay tommy COMING ON A LITTLE STONG THERE-

22. another gold quote...

Techno: If I see an opportunity to assassinate the president, do I take it?

Tommy: Yes!

Wilbur: No! Absolutely not!

Tommy: Right, of course not!

23. TYLER “NINJA” BLEVINS???? THE TYLER “NINJA” BLEVINS???? ON DA DREAMSMP IN A WEEK?????? 

24. wilbur calling the country manburg and immediately throwing up is about what i expected from this “peace talk” 

25. wilbur i know you have trust issues now but if you don’t risk techno on your side you will literally die there is no other outcome to this honey please let yourself be helped jfc

26. the gang desperately trying to come up with a name while low-key getting sad over loosing l’manburg and techno just in the background going “if that’s our name im switching sides” and “my standards are low but not that low” has energy i cant quite place but i love it

27. pogtopia it is i guess????

28. tommy and wilbur getting straight up dreamsmp war ptsd when they found the bunker they hid in is some, once more, movie-tier stuff. i mean, what else to do when the heroes are already down than to beat them down further?

29. “go potato boy go!!!” 

30. god this whole stream was.... such a ride... holy shit... and this is only the START of this new arc??????? BOY I AM HYPED. like, MORE HYPED THAN IVE EVER BEEN FOR ANY SMP BEFORE

on another note... the new guy, huh? that must have been a wild ride for your first day on the smp.... hope you stick around, hbomb

#jschlatt #wilbur soot #quackity #tubbo #nihachu #technoblade #tommyinnit #mcyt #mcyt meme #schlatt2020 #schlatt administration #pog2020 #swag2020 #coconut2020 #itsfundy #hbomb94 #manberg #l'manberg #pogtopia

[flowerwrites06]

break my mind’s eye VII — jjk

Plot: Jungkook thinks marriage is the only way to seal a deal.

Pairing(s): Druglord!Jungkook x Fashion Designer!OC (Name: Belle)

Rating: G | PG | M | R 18+

Type: Drabble | Oneshot | Two Parter | Series

Parts: Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV | Part V | Part VI | Part VII | Part VIII | Part IX | Part X | Special 

Word Count: 7k+

Genre: Mafia | Angst/Smut/Fluff

Tags & Warnings (for entire series): drug dealing, marriage through trickery, explicit smut, drug use, dubious consent, prostitution, miscarriage, lots of manipulation, impregnation through manipulation 

JEON JUNGKOOK TIES THE KNOT!

‘It’s a sad day indeed as the most eligible bachelor in the city is now officially married! The ceremony took place in a garden like-setting on the grounds of the old Jeon manor where we could see the cherry blossoms falling on Kim Belle’s veil.

The couple absolutely glowed in the afternoon light and Jungkook couldn’t keep his eyes off his new bride. While this relationship came as a surprise to everyone, many sources speculate that the two had been liaising for years in secret. Leave it the Jeon family to be as extravagant yet discreet as possible.

As per the family’s tradition, they will be staying in the manor for two nights before going back to their shared home.

Belle’s dress had been a little underwhelming to some of us until we got word that her waistline is encrusted with approximately 96 5 carat diamonds, the whole dress designed and created by Madame Saito, her mentor and one of the leading designers of our country. So appearances are quite deceiving as we’re looking at an easily $20, 000 wedding dress adorned by the new heiress.

The whole ceremony moved as smoothly as the falling flowers. Definitely a step up from the previous few articles written for Kim Belle in poor taste. The new Mrs. Jeon takes the award for being the most elegantly majestic bride of the year.’

-

“Sorry, sir?” Yoongi asked to make sure he heard Jungkook ask him to come over to his office for a private meeting. There were two ways this could go. Either a bullet in his head or a bullet he has to put in someone else’s head. Namjoon told him a lot of stories of how newer members of any mafia made you kill someone at least once to test true loyalty. Because really one could die to save themselves from any more misery but living their entire life responsible for a murder was a whole other story.

Jungkooks’ expression did not falter in the slightest, still in his proper wedding attire with a light tint on his lips from Belle’s lipstick. “It’s only going to be a few minutes.” He walked past him having every expectation of being followed.

Yoongi did not hesitate to continue walking along the large regal hallway before turning right into a dark rustic office. A much older man already situated himself on the couch while two guards stood on each side of a figure resting on his knees in front of the table.

The usual bright and luxurious light in the rest of the mansion unfortunately did not reach this room. Scent of tobacco mixed in with expensive cologne and sweat swirling in a dark room adorned with deep brown furniture. This was a place of purely business. Despite the pretty lavenders on Jungkooks’ breast pockets matching the flowers in Belle’s hair.

“Park Jeongsu…he was found in midst of exchanging letters to the mayor.” The older male spoke in a gruff tone possibly from the smoke infecting his throat.

“Thank you, uncle.” Jungkook stared down at the wooden box lined in purple velvet. “Do you see that? That’s what you called loyalty.” Fingers traced the outline of some diagram on the top that Yoongi could quite catch but it shone in gold. “Chul has been mingling with the likes of our own gang…” He scoffed with a smile. “Clever.”

Yoongis’ heart seemed quickly tumble down into a tight cage situated somewhere deep in an endless abyss. There was more sources for the mayor. Just how many rats did they have in this place? The man understandably was given minimal information so it was easy for him to stay unknowing and a little confused.

“I despise disloyal people, Jeongsu. I really do.” He attempted to give the trembling male an apologetic look but anyone could sense there was no sincerity. “Especially on one of most joyous occasions of my life, I expected all my soldiers to stay by my side. To protect me as I have tried to protect you and your families. I’ve always tried to be a gracious leader.” Jungkook shrugged. “If it were my father, your own balls would be stuffed down your throat until you choke to death.”

The mere description and Yoongi saw the male on his knees breathing heavily, the cloth around his mouth inflating at every breath.

“Of course today I can’t get my hands dirty.” He moved both hands away from the box. “I need to be gracious and generous today in honor of my new beloved wife.” Jungkook leaned on the edge of the table by his hands. “Thankfully my uncle was nice enough to question you while I was gone…” He gestured towards his blood soaked shirt and swollen eye. “So if you’ve come this far to me, that means you’re of no use.”

The words barely settled into the room but muffled protesting began from the vulnerable target. Even if the cloth wasn’t hindering his clarity, Jungkook and his uncle probably would not have had any remorse to step away. This wasn’t a family or business of mercy.

Flickering open the wooden box, Jungkook in his most casual aura picked up the shining silver object. Each bullet placed inside with heartwarming care before the older mans’ voice slithered through the intimate moment.

“Jungkook…” His uncle warned with a stern tone, smoke riddling the air around him. “It’s bad luck to execute someone on your wedding day.”

“I know.” He muttered without sparing him a sideways glance. Once everything had been prepared, Jungkook walked around the table and stood in front of the traitor. The gun handed out in Yoongis’ direction.

All eyes were on the male now and he never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. He had been stuck in a trunk before so that was saying something. Eyes flickered from the older man to Jungkook to the male who clearly had been on his side. Of course refusing to do so would end with both their lives taken and then this whole operation would combust back into nothingness.

You’ve shot guns before. Not at innocent people.

No one was truly innocent. At least that was sentiment he plastered in his mind hiding away all the warnings and alarms from his conscience. Padding closer to where Jungkook stood, his heart raced faster at every step swallowing down any protest struggling to push through.

The thrashing faded away into a meek sob as Yoongi faced the man. Much to his discontent, the lack of lines on his face and the broken brightness in his eyes showed that he was but a boy. Possibly a tad younger than Jungkook himself or his age. Either way his mind now haunted itself with the prospect of killing a near child for the sake of his operation. Was it worth to take a life for this?

He was not the only one risking things however. This boy was one of many who were already victims of Jungkooks’ rule, at least Yoongi knew the one kneeling before him had fought for a cause.

Clicking back the safety, Yoongi tightened his jaw ignoring the tears streaming down their cheek and the giant eyes staring back at him.

For a few seconds the younger male calmed himself to an almost peaceful breathing state. It was brief and hard to truly notice but Yoongi saw the little nod he gave him. Reassuring the older male that this needed to be done. One life to protect the many.

In a rush of adrenaline Yoongi pulled the trigger. It wasn’t as loud as the guns he received in the precinct. Perfect for quick and quiet executions especially during these occasions. For a moment he could pretend that nothing even happened. Though blood leaking from the hole made on the others’ forehead spoke a truer story.

To the side he dropped, light thud echoing in the room before nothing but silence plunged comfortably.

“The den in Gongneung needs to be put under heavy security. I remember him one of the boys who was patrolling there.” Jungkook nodded towards the unmoving figure before fixated his gaze on the two guards who immediately bowed in response. “And I want a private meeting with the person who brought him in as a tribute.” He finally turned to Yoongi, expression softening a little at how frozen the man was. Carefully he patted him on the back. “You did well, Yoongi. I know being a medical apprentice, this isn’t exactly your line of work but I need to see whether it’s safe to have you around.” A small smile played on his lips. “I suppose I can always trust Belle’s judgement.”

Yoongi forced him to meet the younger male’s gaze, an awkward smile flickered but quickly faded away as he dumbly watched Jungkook take the gun away from him and put it on the table gently.

The boy lay limp on the dark wood slowly being painted with blood, deepening its hue into a deep wine glistening in the lowlight. Definitely not a sight supposed to be seen on an auspicious day.

Jungkook watched the blood ooze across the room and merely stood over it to move closer to the door. “Clean this up. No more tasks until I get to the mansion.” He ordered simply. “Yoongi…”

His attention flicked back to reality in a rush of cold air before following Jungkook along like a confused puppy.

As the bright light almost burned his eyes, Yoongi pretended that he just woke up from a really bad dream and nothing ever happened. He learned how to do that very quickly in his career especially after he shot his first person in the field. Not the healthiest way to cope but his pay did not actually cover for therapy.

Jungkook dug his hands into his pockets looking out the window. A bright, perfect day to be married after so long of hearing one proposal after the other. It was finally done. Eyes flickered towards the raven haired male who finally caught up to stand next to him. “Unfortunately I have to ask you another favor as well, Yoongi.”

“Does it involve me killing anyone? Can I have a five minute break first?”

The younger male chuckled before shaking his head. “No…it’s—it’s a little more delicate than that.”

Yoongis’ brows furrowed, all of his attention now dissipated into what he was going to say. Though he hated to admit he had a small idea of who it involved.

Jungkook stammered before glancing around the hallway and sighing. “It’s about the wedding night…”

-

The first thing she took off was her heavy earrings as they were led into one of the private rooms to change into more comfortable clothing. Apparently Boyoung wanted to have a small word with the two of them before they went off to bed. Her limbs felt like they were going to pop out of their sockets with how exhausted she was. Who knew just wearing a heavy dress and walking around would take so much out of you.

Belle understand on a whole new level just how models felt having to create such a strong demeanor that even pain could not pass across their features. Hours spent on chatting people up and others admiring the now famous waistline on her dress. The girl loved the dress more because of the fact Saito made it just for her made her happy enough.

Jungkooks’ hand permanently set on the small of her back. The man had disappeared for a while during the party but from the way his face tensed when he walked back here, she knew it had to do with work.

The guide opened a door for them and they were led into a room similar to the one Belle dressed up in for the ceremony.

Giving a kind smile to the guide, she walked and placed her earrings on the small table next to the bathroom. For the moment the couple had finally stood on their lonesome with no one to disturb them.

The young lord took the opportunity to pounce at his new bride and take her lips into his.

Her veil toppled off her head from the force and Belle couldn’t help but giggle a little into the kiss. “Not now.” She whispered.

“A few minutes.” Jungkook breathed out pulling her veil off gently before pressing a few more pecks on her soft lips. Whatever strain tightened up his nerves significantly loosened being around his only source for relaxation.

Belle hummed in protest, pressing against his chest to have him pause. “Your aunt is going to be here in a few minutes. We need to be decent.”

Jungkook merely smirked and gave her another peck just at the moment the door opened.

Boyoung gave her nephew a cheeky smile as he backed shyly before closing the door behind them.

“What did you want to talk about?” Belle asked with a sweet smile gracing her lips.

The older woman let out a sigh but still kept a decent smile gracing her features. She looked over at Jungkook who hung his head for a moment. “Dear…” Her tone rung grim and serious. A rare sound coming from a lady who always looked extremely happy every day. Once again the usual habit of holding Belle’s hands when she spoke of something. “The Jeon family has been around for many generations. Possibly longer than the city itself.” Boyoung chuckled lightly. “So with that age and prestige, there comes…a few traditions that lived on for our family’s continual survival.”

Belle nodded, trying to search her expression with the hope that was just some simple task she had to undertake. Maybe eating more fruits or balancing stuff on her head. Except the other womans’ voice sounded far too serious for something like that. Eyes flickered over to Jungkook who had his arms folded over his chest and his expression softened.

“Family members must be married at 21…” Boyoung repeated the tradition the couple already fulfilled. “They also need to carry on the line of the Jeon family.” Her grip tightened on her hands. “Do you have any conditions that may prevent you from having a baby?”

She stammered lightly. “No—I don’t think so.”

Boyoung nodded before giving her a smile except it wasn’t as bright more consoling.

“Why are we talking about babies now?” Belle smiled nervously.

She glanced over at Jungkook for a moment who tightened his jaw, seemingly unable to look Belle straight in the eye. “You understand the world we live in, dear. At some point, you both will need to dedicate yourself to your own lives just like Jungkooks’ parents did. Which is why we make a point to marry and have children in their brisk days.”

Belle’s lips parted for a moment, sensing where this now dreaded conversation was headed. “When—when do you want us to have children?”

Boyoung took a deep breath as the younger female had the urge to yank her hands away. “There is a ceremony on the wedding night for every Jeon wedding. I’ve done it, Jungkooks’ mother has done it and many of our ancestors. You are to—lay with one another that will give you a child.” She spoke carefully. “Because of a few incidents in the past, there is a strict rule that this ceremony must have two witnesses. Preferably people that the couple trusts not to fib or lie about the consummation.”

Her whole body felt like it burst into flames but no one noticed or cared. A little voice inside her screamed out so loud, Belle was worried she might actually mimic the volume right there and then. She really thought this conversation would not happen until a few years after the wedding, maybe when her heart wore down to the subject. How much more of her naivety was going to be shredded to waste before she realized these people did not care who they hurt. Especially when it came to their ideals.

“I know it’s a lot to take in, dear but—we must prepare tonight.” She caressed her cheek.

Belle could almost feel a slight sting on her skin at the seemingly affectionate movement. Blood curdling screams still echoed through her insides but on the outside, she nodded as any captive trying to live would do. Just nod and hope it ends quick.

Boyoung immediately smiled using the minor response as a reassurance boost before grinning at Jungkook. “I will see you both bright and early tomorrow.” She announced walking out of the door.

The couple now standing in a pit of thick silence.

“You knew about this.” Belle whispered, eyes growing glossier by the second as they stood face to face with one another. “Is that the part you conveniently forgot? The part where I’m supposed to make children for you tonight too.” She winced while Jungkook was trying conjure up words that would be most appropriate to reassure her.

Unfortunately the way their family worked and the way society worked were so far off from each other that even he felt helpless against it. “Belle, we’ve been doing it without protection this whole time. What’s going to be so different now?”

“They want me to be impregnated!” She shouted making the male hurriedly glance over at the door worried someone might be listening in. “With witnesses…” She whispered under her trembling breath.

“Baby, calm down.” He raised his hands to cup her cheeks, give her some form of comfort that he could while still making Boyoung and the rest of his family happy.

Belle roughly pushed him away, her bracelet tinkling and tugging at the fabric of his shirt when she moved back. “No that’s why you chose me, isn’t it?” Voice shook down to her very core as she yanked away from Jungkook attempting to hold her hand. “You wouldn’t feel bad if I was in display as opposed to someone you actually cared about.”

The lord paused in his tracks for a moment feeling his heart clench at the dark thought swirling in his wifes’ head. “I don’t want to do this just as much as you, B.” His words faded more into a mutter trying to keep the conversation private because he knew with all his soul that there was one person pressing their ear against the door. Thankfully most of these doors in the mansion were decently sound-proof. “You think I want people to see us like that?” He grabbed her by the cheeks now forcing to keep her close, noses just brushing against each other. “This is my family. You should know more than anyone that we can do everything for family.”

“Don’t do that.” She shook her head, breathing out a small sob and attempting to pull away from him again but his hands were firm to keep her still. “Don’t do that, this is not the same. It’s a baby—”

“I know.” He whispered, her pulse pounding against his palm making his stomach drop. “I do care about you. I care about you a lot…”

“No you don’t—” Belle hated that she was not just feeling anger pump through her veins but fear. Genuine fear. The permanency of what they were about to do could terrify anyone but at least normal people had the chance to say no or turn back.

“I do.”

She took a deep breath gently pushed his hands away. “If you did care about me…we wouldn’t be married. And I wouldn’t be preparing to be bred like an animal.” Swallowing down the painful lump in her throat despite the tears already trailing down her cheeks. People cried at weddings after all but rarely for this reason.

Before Jungkook could say another word Belle rushed away into the bathroom, slamming the door so hard it almost made even him jump.

-

No. No no no no no no no no no this was wrong. Of all the fucking things Yoongi witnessed in his entire life, this made him nauseous even thinking about it.

Witnessing impregnation. That’s what they called it, the men quietly smoking at the open area near the bedroom it was going to happen. The excited bastards looked to be about the age when it was acceptable in their time to behave in this manner, chin sagging down to their toes.

So along with mass selling drugs, the Jeon family loved impregnating their women in front of other people. How unsurprisingly disappointing.

The worst part was that Yoongi had a feeling Belle wasn’t a long-time girlfriend of Jungkook. He wasn’t even sure if the two were a real couple. But a child is fucking real. This wasn’t a fantasy game anymore for status, this was solidifying a future that the woman probably didn’t even want.

Silence plunged into the room when from the corner of his eye a lavender adorned figure stepped in next to Jungkooks’ aunt.

His plump lips curled up into a smile at the older female, bowing down before a grim expression flashed across his face and Yoongi immediately knew why he was here.

Jimin looked around at the people in the room and his heart dropped seeing the chortling men at the corner. He prayed to the high heavens none of them were going to be in the booth observing this horrendous ceremony. Instead his eyes flickered to the man he hoped was Yoongi. “Witness?” He asked briefly. Much to his somewhat relaxation, Yoongi nodded.

“This your first time?” One of the older man asked the two males.

They both agreed shortly and the older man laughed.

“Oh it’s better than it sounds. In all my experiences, they both loved it. Sometimes it’s a sweet affair.” He smiled.

“And other times?” Yoongi asked daringly.

Unfortunately the men shifted uncomfortably, the slightly younger ones cleared their throats while the older ones looked more grim than normal.

“Virgins are the worst to endure.” The oldest one there spoke up, shaking and sitting on the chair. “Crying…blood…those are the ones you need to worry for the most.”

“We haven’t had a virgin in a long time though.” A more springy man spoke up. “A few of us suggested that the mating ceremony should not be mixed in with losing one’s virginity. Not much fun for the to-be mother or father.”

Yoongi swallowed down thickly, their casual tone about this whole mess making him even more nauseous.

The conversation was immediately paused when Boyoung padded back into the room. “It’s time now, boys. Into the booth.” She muttered almost under her breath gesturing towards to the gap on the left of the entrance.

Taking calculated steps one after the other, Yoongi simply followed the lavender adorned male through the small opening into a tiny booth. Their shoulders brushing against each other as they observed the beautiful designed window, vectors formulating the letter ‘J’ mixed with butterflies and flowers.

However through the window was something far less pleasant.

-

Silence diseased the large room. Belle was left to hear her own hurdling thoughts just to stay sane. From the corner of her eye she noticed the shifting through the open window with a designed barrier to create some kind of class to this horrid tradition.

His hand pushed her chin so her gaze could be fixated on him. “It’s just you and me, okay?” Jungkook whispered. “Just us.”

Like a brainwashing scheme where Belle was stuck in a river between a bank of fantasy and a bank of reality. They were not alone. She could feel the familiar eyes burning right into core. But what was so new about pretending? She pretended this to a point where her entire life was now dedicated to the man before giving no chance of another life.

If Jungkook couldn’t get out this then how could she ever think the same? It wasn’t like she could run away either, there was no one around to help her. No one to stop this.

Hand gently cupped her cheek before leaning in for an initiating kiss, light warmth spreading through her. His lips became so familiar for comfort nowadays that Belle lost a little of her conscious sense for her own peace of mind.

However this was not meant to be an act of love or even attraction. She was reminded of this when Jungkook pushed the fabric of her dress up without warning. “I’m sorry.” He whispered in her ear. No this was a responsibility. A chore to get done on a to-do list curated for the young lord.

Made to lie on her back, Belle’s vision grew blurry feeling her legs being spread apart with the utmost care but hardly any of the warmth she usually remembered. Then there came the burn through her entrance as he pushed in. A trembling breath passed through her lips struggling to keep composure in such a vulnerable position.

Walls ached the deeper he moved in, his one hand gripping at the sheets until his hips stilled once she was completely full with his already throbbing cock.

Her gaze flickered up to the cherry blossom paintings on the ceiling, pretending a cool spring breeze touching her face and the sound of water flowing. This isn’t real. For a second Belle forced herself to drown into a pool of fantasy. This wasn’t real. The pain faded minutes ago and so did her sense of consciousness.

She wasn’t here, arms pinned down by strong hands and hot breath cascading down her neck. No it was back at the boutique. Belle spending hours sewing her favourite daffodil yellow dress with a tall cup of iced coffee and her hair in a comfortable bun.

Her head was pulled back into reality when Jungkook pressed a kiss on her lips and it all poured back into her. Legs aching from the spread, her heat a little numb from the friction while no sound passed her lips except for light heaving.

Yoongi struggled to control his heavy breathing as the scene took place before him. The man felt like a prisoner witnessing his inmate being beaten. He just had to watch cruel reality play out it’s painful dance. Having the stomach for it was not his biggest issue. Except he knew Belle was not here out of unconditional love for Jungkook. He promised himself to always help people in need but truly aiding someone to freedom required a hefty journey in the process.

Right at this moment however that sentiment seemed like empty words.

This was not Belle’s world. The idea itself was what caused a pit in his already upset stomach. She didn’t grow up in this life nor did she choose it. It was never supposed to a part of her but now she had to deal with evil test of fate.

Jungkook intertwined his fingers with her loose ones, pressing reassuring pecks on her jawline as his hips snapped against hers. Sneaking a free hand between her legs he rubbed onto her clit hoping to give her some kind of pleasure while his own orgasm rolled to the edge.

A light tickle shot through her but stopped midway when she could feel him reaching his release. The way his face contorted and his thrusts grew desperate but sloppy.

This isn’t real. Fingers fisted at the sheets. This isn’t real. A light groan uttered under his breath. This isn’t real. More tears burning and gathering at her overflowing eyes.

This is real.

The man stilled as his release burst through his veins.

Her body lay compliant as she felt herself being filled up to the brim. Belle sucked onto her bottom lip, closing her eyes almost trying to turn back time somehow.

Jungkook hesitantly leaned in and tried to press a kiss on her cheek.

“Get off me.” She whispered. “Please.”

The male paused feeling a burning behind his eyes when she still tried to be kind despite what he did. Pulling out of her gently, Jungkook got off the bed with a shaky sigh curling his hands into fists when he couldn’t comfort her. How could he? He was the reason she needed comfort in the first place. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jungkook turned away to the bathroom.

Yoongi didn’t realize he had been gripping onto the grill of the window the whole time, until he felt something wet on his palms. When he pulled away it felt like taking a splinter out tiny little bleeding holes interrupting the lines.

His ears pricked up at the trembling sigh the other let out.

When he looked over at him, his cheeks were already stained with tears while a few more flooded at the brim watching Belle slowly shift to the middle of the bed. “I have—” The male whispered before swallowing down painfully. “I have to go to work after this.”

The both of them helplessly watched the girl shake and force herself to sob quietly as she fixed her dress.

“Please…go see if she’s okay. If you can.” The pleading look in Jimin’s eyes mimicked the ache in his exhausted heart. They both knew Belle didn’t deserve this mess. They both witnessed her kindness and now saw her pain.

Yoongi nodded even though it was clear there was nothing any of them could do for her right now. Not at this moment. God if he could just tell him right there and then that he was trying his best to help her out of here.

But when he saw the way Belle curled into herself and tried to take to deep breaths while tears were still streaming down her face.

He knew he had to do a whole fucking more than his best.

-

Two nights later.

Sun felt warm on her skin, shoes crunched against the pavement as she relished in the murmurs and cheers of the market. How long had it been since the woman had just walked through this corner of wonders? All the high fashion shows, sleek garments and elegant wear were almost nothing compared to the raw simplicity of the red cotton or hand crafted jade jewelry. Belle remembered how she used to create necklaces out of flowers and little stones giving it to Taehyung as a gift because he was the only one who would accept it.

No matter how high she went in this pillar of success, this still brought a warmth in her heart without fail.

Wandering eyes paused on one clothing stall in particular. Padding closer, she saw the smallest pair of yellow shoes shining in the sunny day just at the edge of the display. A smile tugged at her lips when she noticed tiny daisy details embroidered onto it. Carefully the woman picked the pair up almost worried that it might fall apart because they looked so delicate and innocent.

“You have child?” The lady at the stall smiled at her kindly as she waved herself with a fan to waft away the heat.

Belle smiled, relishing the soft fabric under her fingers pads almost acting as a therapeutic substance. “Not yet.” She chuckled softly. “How much is this?”

The lady boxed the shoes up carefully before handing it to her with a bracelet for free. When Belle tried to refuse, she waved it off with that same sweet smile. “It’s for good fortune.”

With slight reluctance the girl thanked her again and moved onto the other stalls. As her eyes wandered, she stopped at the sight of a familiar figure walking out of the market area towards a pay phone. Forehead knitted and curiosity peeking, Belle moved to the more crowded areas so she could see what was happening without being caught. Sneaking around was not the most elegant behavior but at this point, the girl lost all care of what was proper and improper.

Pausing behind the payphone Belle hugged the bag to her chest finally catching Yoongis’ voice speak into the call.

“Jeon family is more traditional than you think, man. They had witnesses to watch the consummation.” Anger was clear in his tone especially in the way it rasped a little more when he tried to lower his volume. “Jungkook handpicked the damn witnesses, what kind of fucked up family is this?”

Belle felt a strange air of relief hearing someone else say those words other than her screaming it over and over again in her mind. Despite the urge to thank him for reassuring her sanity, she stood still to listen when he spoke up again.

“Jungkook is adding extra security to the Gongneung den, all his strongest supplies are there. He knows there’s rats in his empire so we need to get this done before he finds a way to hide all of it again.” His voice was much lower than before.

The woman still caught all the words that were needed however. Heart pounded against her ribcages padding closer to the payphone until the worry of Yoongi seeing her did not resonate anymore.

Yoongi gave a few more words of encouragement to Namjoon before doing his checks again and the sound around him numbed. He saw a familiar reddened and teary gaze fixated on him. For a moment he wanted to believe that she just arrived not hearing a word of their conversation but he knew better than to be so naïve.

Before he could think up a strategy, Belle rushed over to the male in a huff and stood merely a breath away from him with her back pressed slightly against the phone. There was a flash of anger on her face before it faded into something that made Yoongi wish the anger could come back again so he could endure it better.

“You’re a police officer?” Bottom lip trembled and her already exhausted eyes flooded with heavy tears. “And you just watched that happen?” Belle knew why Yoongi couldn’t just burst into the room and stop the event just like she couldn’t stop Jungkook or Boyoung from going on with tradition. But the sensible side of her lost its way that night and now the girl found it far too difficult to find it.

“If I could, I would’ve shot all of them right there and then.” He murmured feeling his stomach drop at the way her voice couldn’t keep any of its usual composure anymore. “I want you to get out of this. I really do. But we need to—we need to work together if this is ever going to stop.” His words dialed down to a whisper now that their faces were merely a breath apart. It took a few minutes for him to realize that his hand was caressing her cheek, sloppily wiping away the tear that flowed down to his thumb.

How long had it been since she wanted to hear someone say those words? Someone that could help her get out of this. A part of her would have agreed in seconds, for the first time falling into another’s arms and feeling like she did not have to do anything. But the tiny yellow shoes in the bag grew heavy on her. “Yoongi—” Belle breathed out staring down at her purchase, hands shaking.

Confused eyes flickered down to follow her gaze and immediately saw the miniscule box inside the bag. “What’s wrong?” He opted to search her expression now. “Belle?” Some side of his mind tried to shout that his hand should be back in his pocket. If anyone saw the two standing this way then they would both be in trouble and none of this would be worth it. But she felt so warm and broken that he was afraid they both would fall apart if he moved even the slightest away.

Belle stammered trying to form the words somehow before sniffling. “I’m pregnant.” She sobbed lightly.

The news lingered heavily in the air between them and Yoongi felt like the wall of his mind close into this one thing. All of the things—all of these goals now stripped down to these two words that he prayed would not be true. He knew it might be possibility. He saw the whole thing happen with his own two eyes but for some reason a more naïve part of him—whatever was left of it—wanted to believe they had time. Yoongi took a deep breath before shaking his head. “It’s okay…we’ll figure it out.” He made her meet his gaze. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

She closed her eyes, nodding while her tears seemed to take their own freedom down her face. “Okay.” Words came out in a whisper.

The older male couldn’t help but mimic her nodding for a moment, slowly moving his hand away and hoping no one in the town recognized them. “Do you need a ride home?”

Quickly the girl shook her head feeling an ache in her belly calling the place ‘home’. It would be their child’s home. She would have to accept that someday. “Can we—” She glanced over at the bustling market. “Can we walk through the market for a little bit?” A sad smile tugged at her lips though her eyes glinted with desperation to capture any sense of false joy that came across the path.

Yoongi swallowed a small, unexpected lump in his throat before glancing at the market. “Yeah…of course.”

Maybe a few more minutes of blinded excitement could redeem that little piece of sanity.

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#jungkook #jungkook imagines #bts imagines #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #bts fanfiction #jungkook mafia au #bts mafia au

[iwadori]

Hiiii can i request prompt 53 with tsukki? My annoying cousin u may know @chibiiichan(i cant tag her its a surprise) recommend ur account and well she never been right more than now I LIKE UR ACC TOO URM JUST TAG HER IN THE POST (bcs its actually her birthday next week monday so....the least i could do this bcs she likes tsukki and shes recently talk abt the iwazumi story of yours....lmao shes cringe but in the same time got mad n i was besides her hearing her whining like bruh 'its 1 am'...i know i should buy something for her but she got spoiled enough 💅...that mf-) thank you ✨

‘ALWAYS AND FOREVER’

TSUKISHIMA X READER

2K WORDS

GENRE: ANGST,FLUFF

TW: SLIGHT AMBIGIOUS MENTION OF SUICIDE/ASSISTED DEATH, AND DEATH, CURSING (IN MY A/N)

THIS IS FOR @chibiiichann Happy birthday, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS (BECAUSE I HATE IT :D ) SOOOOO YEAH I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR BIRTHDAY.

NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL. EXPECT SLIGHT MISTAKES

You were dying. You knew it. Your husband, Kei, knew it. Even friends you haven’t spoken too since high school knew it.

So why did you all pretend that everything was okay?

5 year old Y/N:

You were running around your neighbourhood park chasing after butterflies, without a care in the world. As you were frollicing in the grass, you manage to trip over a rock tumbling to the ground scraping your knee making it bleed. Looking down at your slightly injured knee, your lip begins to quiver which eventually leads to wails of tears streaming down your face.

“you don’t have to cry you know?” said a slightly quiet voice towering over you. Above you was a boy, quite tall with a fat pair of glasses, golden eyes and a head full of blonde locks.

“Well when I get hurt, I cry” you say matter oh factly (is that the phrase?) rubbing your nose as you sniffle. He held out a hand to you, which you immediately took shooting upwards and brushing yourself off.  

The boy, after looking at you wildly, turns around and walks back to the actual park. “Oi wait,” you call at the boy swiftly following him “aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“no.” he says simply, proceeding to walk ahead.

“well my names Y/N L/N pleasure to meet you,” you say jumping in front of him so he doesn’t move, waiting for him to tell you his name...which he doesn’t. “you don’t have to be so rude you know”  

“I’m not being rude” he says stiffly “ it’s just my brother says not to speak to strangers” a smirk appears on his face to say ‘you can leave me alone now.’  

As if on cue, his brother approaches the both of you given the boy a slap on the back making him cringe “Hey Kei, who’s the friend you’ve made here?”  

“My name is Y/N L/N and I'm here to be KEI’s best friend!” you said putting the emphasis on the word Kei after just learning that was the blondes name.  

Kei rolled his eyes and sighed saying “nii-chan can we go home now” he folded his arms in annoyance.

“No Kei, you’ve got to get to know your new found friend Y/N-Chan right?” his brother said teasingly, knowing it was the last thing Kei wanted to do.

“Yes ofcourse!” you say with a toothy grin, dragging Kei along with you to his demise.

Until the sun went down, you spent the rest of your time with Kei getting to know eachother (well him getting to know you more, since you did all the speaking.) Regardless of his previous annoyance in getting to know you in the first place, Kei would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know you now.

As the sun was setting, Kei’s older brother (who’s name you learned was Akiteru) called him to tell him he had to go home because dinner was ready. Before he left, you grabbed his hand and wrapped your pinky finger around his saying “As long as we shall live, we will always look out for eachother as we are forever bestfriends, agreed?”

back to present -  

In some odd way, this was Kei’s way of looking out for you. He knew what you had was uncurable and would weaken you even more as the days go by, so pretending like nothing was wrong seemed to be best in his eyes.  

Everything you and Kei did was a game or some nostalgic act that you once did when you were children. It was sweet to say the least, seeing Kei all engrossed and determined to make you happy.  

Your alarm rings snapping you out of you daydream, ‘it was time for medicine’ you thought with your face scowling at the thought. Immediately on time, as always, Kei comes In the room with all your medicine thats needed.

“Aren’t you my perfect little nurse Kei” you say teasingly giving him a wink, laughing as you see his face turn red.

“Do you have to do this every time y/n?” he asks rolling his eyes at your childish behaviour.

“Oh I'm just showing love to my best and favourite nurse” you continue laughing at your own words

“Im your only ‘nurse’” he deadpans giving you your medicine as you talk.

“Well that is more reason to make you the best nurse.” you say smiling.

Silence falls between you, and you stare down at your arm watching as your husband gives you the medicine making you frown. “Do we have to keep doing this?” you ask which is probably the 1000th time you’ve asked.

“Of course we do Y/N as I’ve said yesterday and the day before that and the day before that it-”

“But do we really?” you interrupt “I can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you doubt me Y/N, I can do this forever” he says “ I can take care of you forever”

“But I don’t wan-”

“I’m finished, I’m going to start on dinner” he gets up and leaves the room yelling “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Sometimes you and Kei have these conversations. And all the time it ends the same way. You complain, he ignores and then you go and have dinner.

You can understand why he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Who would want to hear about their partners complaints about practically being alive. Kei was torn, ever since he met you all he wanted to was to keep you happy. But could he compromise his own happiness for it.

15 year old Y/N - flashback

“Kei Kei, aren’t you excited!” you yell smiling widley

“Excited for what?” he asks, amused by your enthusiasm “it’s just highschool.”

“Well it’s a new highschool! Karasuno high school, to be exact.”

“And that is still just a school.” he says

“Not just any! That’s the school nii-chan went too, and even tho he lie-”

“Let’s not talk about it Y/N” he murmurs “we should go now, don’t want to be late on our first date.”

Going to Karasuno was fun, at the start everyone was pleasant and nice. But after a week or two when you and Kei were still stuck to eachother like glue, people weren’t so pleasant. Kei was like a pop idol, being gorgeous and over 6ft at just the age of 15, caused alot of attention, especially when he was always around you.

At the start, the hate you got was bearable, it was the petty bitchy notes in your locker or just people blatanly talking badly about you infront of you. People didn’t do it when you weren’t around Kei, so when he had volleyball practice (which you were so excited that he joined the team) you were a big target for the bullies to come around.

Kei didn’t really know of the bullying that happened towards you, especially since he was mainly in practice or not around when it happened. But one day in practice he heard some of his teammates, kageyama and hinata who seemed to talking about a student in one of their classes that was always getting picked on by the other girls in the year.

“Yeah and I heard that Nana-san was planning on getting her and her friends to attack Y/N-san soon.”  said Hinata

“Shrimpy, who are they planning on attacking?” Kei asks to make sure he just heard the ginger correctly.

“Oh this lovely person in our class their name is Y/N-san” he says, looking at Kei’s reaction he also asks “Why? Do you know them?”  

Kei doesn’t respond, and immediately leaves the gym, ignoring Hinata’s and the other members of the teams yells of ‘Where are you going tsukishima.’ He didn’t care, he just had to get to you.  

He searched all the classes, asking every student if he knew where you were. Someone directs him to the toilets, where he burst through the door to see the other girls in your year surrounding you and beating you up.  

“What the fuck are you doing to them?” he yells startling the girls.

“T-T-Tsukishima-san" one girl says “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh fuck off” he says, with them still frozen in shock “I said go!”  

“And don’t think I don’t know your names either” he calls after them.

He rushes towards your bruised body on the ground and cradles you gently, confused on what to really do. “Oi Kei,” you say weakly catching his attention “I would’ve won if you didn’t come to stop the fight.” you joke making him scoff.

“Whatever you say Y/N.”

After you heal up, Kei already told on the girls that beat you up getting them suspended, and you explain how they were treating you because of their infatuation of him. And how they only did it when he wasn’t around.

Once he learns this information, he decides to quite the volleyball team, to your surprise. But you demands on making him not quit were ignored, as he excused it by saying “I have to make sure you’re always alright remember, and if that means quitting some volleyball team then so be it.”

That was one out of the many times that Kei put his happiness before yours.

Flashback over.

When you first got diagnosed, Kei was immediately researching on it as it was a very rare condition. But sadly, he only found what the doctor already told you both. It was uncurable and your immune system and your body will weaken as the days go by.

Which it did, you were a shell of your past self. It was always shocking for Kei to see, especially with you only being 25. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ but he never let you see his sadness.

Whenever you knew Kei was sad you always reminded him “Kei, I may be dying but please don’t cry over me” every time you said, there was a slight undertone of humour in your voice which always worked in boosting Kei’s spirit.

AN: IVE GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I HATE THIS SOOO IM SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE SHITTING RUSHED ENDING IM GOING TO PROVIDE FOR YOU LOL.

The days passed and the years went by, and you and Kei were still alive and kicking it. Doing your daily routine of you making some joke, Kei giving you your medicine and then you eating dinner. You eventually stopped complaining, realizing and remembering your promise you gave to Kei at 5 years old in that park. “As long as we shall live, we will always look out for eachother as we are forever bestfriends, agreed?”

Of course you had your rough days, everybody did and it was even harder being sick with a terminal illness. But having Kei to guide you through the storm made It better for you.

However, Kei isnt a miracle worker. He couldn’t save you, noone could. And you both knew that. That didn’t mean it made it any easier when the medicine stopped working and your pain got too hard to bear. Kei couldn’t watch you do this anymore, “the choice is yours” he said with tears in his eyes.  

So you knew what you had to do, you got in your bed pulling Kei with you, and letting him envelope you in a big hug as you both cried.

“I love you,” you say “You know that right?”

“Of course I know that, idiot” he replies “And I love you.”

“Always and forever?”

“Always and forever.”

AN: how did I END UP CRYING WHILST WRITING THIS WHEN IT MADE NO FUCKING SENSE, I WAS TRYING TO DO THIS COOL NOTEBOOK (I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THE NOTEBOOK) ENDING WHERE ITS AMBIGIOUS AND SHIT AND I JUST GIVE UP OKAY? I APOLOGISE LOOOOOOL. I HOPE YOU ENJOY ATLEAST A SENTENCE OF THIS AT LEAST.

#haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyu angst #haikyu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyu scenarios #haikyu headcanons #haikyu #tsukishima kei #tsukishima imagine #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima angst #tsukishima x reader

[bibliocratic]

I come bearing a sort-of fic idea! (Only if you feel inspired to use it, of course 😊) Back in ep 101, Martin figures out that/where the Stranger has taken Jon, and goes all BAMF to save him, using either Web powers or his developing Backup Archivist powers to do it. (Dealer's choice) Some of that sweet sweet emotional h/c...

Dearest anon, this fic has been so long in the writing, and it’s only distantly related to what you asked for. Hope you like it regardless. :)

Set in an S3 AU, implied JonMartin. Tim-centric.

Content warnings for strongly implied graphic violence, canonical S3 captivity and imprisonment, hospitals and hospitalisation.  Rated T for language and implied violence

Jon’s skittering, sprawl-legged slam against the archive door startles Tim from the shadowed walkways of his reveries.

The tilted legs of his chair thump back in a slap to the floor. Almost physically wrenched into the now, there’s a snapback to Tim’s spine, a vice-clench knot tightening in his jaw. His mood cranking up from frosty to furious.

“The fuck?” he barks at the intrusion. His snarling primed with teeth, his temper clawed to rend. He’s up and standing, whereas Jon’s practically handing off the door handle, the impact of his arrival almost knocking his legs out like ten pins from under him. An ugly, airless heaving of his chest. His eyes bloodshot, wild. In the weeks since Tim saw him, his hair has grown out unwashed and limp. His skin shimmering wrong in the light in a way that’s oddly greasy.

He’s a shattering mannequin of a man tending to ruin but Tim’s long pared down his own capacity for compassion. He loads up his questions in their chambers, and he knows where to place emphasis, where to press at the bruising, the soft-tissue targets; where the hell have you been, oh wait, don’t fucking bother, why would you even tell us anything anyway huh, because you don’t even trust us. So why the bloody hell should we care where you go galivanting off to for weeks without a word, fine by us, just fucking peachy.

“Martin,” Jon rasps out finally. His words floundering beached in his mouth, and Tim has never seen this particular mania, this bruise-sick shade of pathetic desperation. “T-tim, please, help, please, god, i-i-it’s Martin.”

Jon’s spasming, quivering hands are staining brown with blood.

-

“He wouldn’t have just left! Not – not like – like this!”

“You mean without saying anything. Not sharing with the class. I dunno, Martin, sounds exactly like something he’d have done. Classic Jon.”

“I’m telling you, something’s wrong!”

“Ha – everything’s wrong. Narrow it down.”

“You know what I mean! Something’s… He should be here, is all I’m saying, and Elias, well he’s useless but he – he knows something, I’m sure of it. We have to do something.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Find him!”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be found. Huh, what about that? Maybe he’s finally managed to fuck off and leave here, legged it and left the rest of us to rot.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“We should – ”

“No. No, listen, Martin. This isn’t a team sport. Jon made his choice to go this alone. If he’s gone off somewhere, then that’s on him. There’s no ‘we’.”

“There used to be.”

-

Martin didn’t come in for work, and Tim assumed he’d left. Just like Jon.

He’d stewed in that betrayal, pacing lupine and furious, bricking up the walls of himself with his self-righteous anger. Because he’d been right, hadn’t he, he’d been vindicated in his bitterness, because of course Martin had left scurrying after Jon, of course there was never any loyalty to Tim despite his pretensions to their friendship. Of course, Martin hadn’t fucking stayed, and Tim was glad he was gone, free of his nagging and needling and whining.

Tim was acquitted in all his furies, every one of his poisonous doubts. The rose-thorns of his betrayals tore deeper, and he let the wounds fester.

-

Elias arrives in the aftermath.

Jon collapsed not too long ago. Shock and dehydration and whatever the hell happened to him threaded through him like blood poisoning. He’d babbled to the ambulance crews, his tongue a senseless oracle of clowns and skin and blood. They’d given him a shock blanket, the foil treating the light around them erratically, but he kept shaking it off and trying to stand, dressed in grubby boxers, an overlong coat, the fabric worn to grey at the pockets and stretched to billowing at the chest, clearly belonging to Martin.

It was hard for Tim to hate him like that, even as he’d barked at Jon to stay down. Jon’s face a theatre mask of ghoulish blood, begging the paramedics to help Martin, manic and spiralling.

The old bastard had had a heart after all.

There’s a bank of chairs outside the part of the ward where they’re keeping Jon. He’s pin-cushioned with IV’s, a set of machines monitoring his vitals. He wakes fitfully, and every waking is a pitiful confusion before he sinks back under.

Martin’s still in surgery.

Elias, deigning to leave his ivory tower, his face formed in an impeccable replica of concern. He wants to speak to Jon. To have, as he put it, ‘a private word’. He talks a precisely ordered stream of bullshit in his infuriatingly reasonable tone, about all this being such a terrible tragedy, such a blow to their little family, if only they’d known. Poor Martin, of course, what a horrible ordeal, we’ll naturally help him with recovery, cover any time off, no expense considered.

Tim watches his mouth move, and knows in his gut that Elias could have stopped all this.

That he chose not to.

Elias doesn’t get within a hundred feet of Jon. Tim makes sure of it.

-

Jon does not speak for days. Delirious and distraught. Martin’s condition worsens, then stabilises, then lingers at critical. There are several more operations, and Tim does not know what they are doing, only that they are reforming a heap of blood and bone back into a person.

Tim wants to know what happened. Where Jon went, where Martin found him, who he needs to hate.

Tim learns to temper his frustration, the desire for knowing that curls at the bottom of his stomach. It is not a natural wanting, and it’s a spiteful, gleeful action, to deny that rot within him.

-

“Tim?”

“Stay still, boss,” Tim says. “You’ll pull everything out.”

Jon doesn’t say anything more for a long while. Tim shifts uneasy on the chair provided, thinking, hoping that Jon might have sunk back into sleep, when:

“Martin? Is he…?”

Jon turns his head to look at him. His eyes wide, beseeching, wet with fear. Wanting Tim to make this all ok.

Jon’s eyes in this light are a lot like Danny’s. Tim sucks back a hard breath, and doesn’t meet his gaze, and he knows that only distresses Jon further, who will take the avoidance as a death knell, as a punishment he is expecting to have earned.

“He’s alive, boss,” Tim says eventually. The words hard won. “He’s… he’ll be alright.”

That could be a lie. He doesn’t know much these days.

-

“Th-there was a room,” Jon stammers one day. He’s sat up, pillows stuffed behind his back. Tim’s bought him an apple juice carton like you buy for children, and he hasn’t touched it, even to push the plastic straw through the top.

His fingers at his lap twist, twist, twist.

“It must have been a … a factory floor, or something. One of those old textile mills or something, up near Manchester. It used to have those big machines for spinning cotton, there were big, discoloured spaces on the boards where they would have sat. There were columns, load-bearing, every fifty feet or so, and t-the chair that they – they had me tied to was anchored against one of those s-so it didn’t – so I couldn’t move it, or knock it over. I-I don’t know how long I was… I.” Jon stops, out of breath. “I don’t even know the date.”

Tim tells him. Jon blinks, and murmurs ‘oh’ like it’s not what he was expecting. His hands are shaking. Tim should reach out, shouldn’t he, it should not be this difficult to provide comfort.

His hands have forgotten how easily reassurance used to come to him.

“Th-they didn’t, they didn’t hurt me. Not, well, not exactly, I-I-I mean, it wasn’t – they wanted me unharmed.” Jon’s voice has crept small and crouched, words tuck under his tongue. “They were waiting. For the right time. They were going to t-take my, um, my skin. For their – for the ritual.”

“Christ.” Tim hisses out, because that is fucked, this whole thing is fucked. How the hell is this the way their lives have turned.

Only Jon’s fingers, his restless hands make noise for the next minute.

“I don’t know how Martin found me,” Jon says.

Tim has a creeping suspicion. It’s the same thing that helps Tim spits out exactly the right seeds to allow hurt to take root. What told Martin that there was something wrong. He could call it intuition, but that’s not how their world works.

Gifts, of a sort. For their faithful service at the temple of their all-seeing god.

“He tried to get me out. Snuck in somehow, cut the ropes with this – huh, this battered old kitchen knife. But I couldn’t… they’d had me tied to the chair for so long that standing up was… I couldn’t walk, and it’s my fault, he was half-carrying me but – I slowed him down, a-and then Nikola came back. And I couldn’t do, I couldn’t do anything, there’s never anything I can do, and they pulled me away and I. I tried, Tim, I-I tried, and I wasn’t… please, Tim, you’ve got to believe I tried to stop them.”

Jon’s fingers are moving to fist in his hair, yanking, tugging, his spine moving to fold himself over.

“Stop,” Tim says sharply. Trying to loosen Jon’s clenched hold.

“I tried, I tried – everything, I offered them anything they wanted, and they just kept – I-I-I tried, Tim.”

“I know,” Tim replies. Quieter. Softer. Separating Jon’s hands from his hair, pressing them back down to his lap, his burnt one held over the other pocked with worm scars. Tim doesn’t move his own away from the fragile tower they’ve made. “I – I know, Jon.”

“Martin – there was more of them. It was easy for them, to hurt him until he stopped struggling. They didn’t tie him up, they knew they didn’t need to. A-and Nikola, she was… she s-s-smiled as they pushed him over onto his back. She – she kept smiling. And she said they didn’t need the two of us. That they could have a bit of fun, a bit of – ” Jon’s voice chokes horrified. “A bit of practise. And wouldn’t I like that. To watch. To give the Eye something to look at.”

Jon crumples into tears then. In on himself like a disintegrating star. Tim feels cold and distant for a moment as he watches this shipwreck as though through the porthole of another boat. Listening to Jon’s hitching sobbing from elsewhere.

The rage is burning off him to reveal something plain and hideous in its humanity, and Tim hates it.

Jon falls apart, and Tim stays.

-

“You know your Archivist killed them all? He’s got a bit of a temper on him after all. Must be all that repression.”

The newest form of the Distortion still smiles like a headache. Her fingers curve corkscrewing. Tim, who is trying to get a Snickers from the vending machine two wards along from Jon, whips his head around to glower at the unwelcome visitor.

“What do you want?”

The Distortion, who has previously called themselves Michael, and is now still Michael but not entirely, whose face has refracted into a different form – there’s been a sort of change in management, if you like, except, well, that’s not really it at all, but do feel free to call me Helen.

“I was hoping for a teeny bit of gratitude. I was the gallant rescue, after that assistant of yours blundered in and made such a pig’s ear of it.”

Tim snarls. The Distortion’s expression wavers displeased.

“Ooh, touchy, alright. Calm down, firecracker. I bought them both back breathing for you. Your Archivist would be still strapped to a chair in Stockport if it wasn’t for me, to say nothing of that woebegone assistant. Blood all over my carpets.”

Tim ignores her. The glint in her eyes suggests she’s disappointed not to have riled him up.

“What now then?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about the Circus for a while! Dear Jonathan’s seen to that quite splendidly. Knew he had it in him. Although, I suspect, even he didn’t know he could. The Circus was always good at pushing too far.”

“And you. What about you?”

The Distortion’s smile reflects a hundred alternatives.

“Oh, I’m just waiting to see what happens next.”

-

Tim’s thoughts have been straying to Danny a lot. Naturally, all things considered, his trauma’s head reared high and made horrifically manifest.

Jon is not like Danny was, too stiff and self-conscious in his own bones. But Danny’s skin had been lit up with that same live-wire intensity that last night, smeared in shadows and exhaustion and tears that shone foreign on his cheeks. Tim had not recognised the crying, silent, shaking stranger in his room, just as he barely recognises Jon.

Watching him finally fall apart holds no victory for any of them.

Martin is not like Danny was. Taller, for one, wound-up over tight in his own clockwork of fears. He’d be about Danny’s age though. Maybe.

Danny went back to the Covent Garden Theatre, alone, and the being that had then gone by the name of Joseph Grimaldi had torn off his skin as easily as wrapping paper.

Martin went alone. He didn’t ask Tim for help, because he knew Tim would have said no, and there’s an ashy shame coating his tongue, knowing it would have been true.

It’s powerlessness that’s snarled him up in barbed wire, toothless and immobile. Tim’s felt powerless for a long time. That is not going to stop.

But his anger hasn’t protected him. Hasn’t protected Jon. Certainly hasn’t protected Martin.

Jon is not in bed when Tim goes back during visiting hours. The nurse directs him to another ward, indicating in few words that this jaunt was neither encouraged nor advised, but the patient was not one to be dissuaded.

Sounds like Jon.

The man himself has dressed erratically in the spares Tim bought. A t-shirt that is divorced from his own style, the colouring drawing him over-sallow, the jeans too short and trailing above his ankle. He’s squashed himself into a chair, his back folded like a shepherd’s crook, his scatter-shot energy spent into exhaustion. His hand in Martin’s wrapped one.

Martin’s awake. The ministrations of the Circus left his face mostly alone, clear enough for tubing to be threaded into his nostrils and down his throat but the bandaging is extensive. Tim would have thought he’d be away with the fairies on morphine by now, and rightly so, but his jaw sets imperious when he sees Tim. He doesn’t let go of Jon’s hand.

“You doing alright there, Marto?” Tim asks. There is another chair nearby that’s been left by a visitor long gone, and he drags it over. Tim chooses to keep his voice low, chooses to squash the anger that sparks up in him at the violence done to Martin’s body.

“What does it look like?” Martin replies. Not snapping, no wisp of anger there, but there’s a pained whipcord strain to his response, a forced pace to his breathing.

“I thought they’d have you on the good stuff,” Tim says after a moment.

Martin gestures with imprecise movements at a remote off to his right, a grey blocky shape with buttons, hooked up to some sort of patient-controlled analgesia machine.

“You not taken any?”

Martin, as best as he can, shakes his head.

“Why?”

“I just don’t want to, alright?”

Tim doesn’t push. The silence between the two of them is protracted, uncomfortable, but Tim can stand to learn some patience.

Martin’s eyes are watery, clearly trying to push through the pain. Jon sleeps on.

“He won’t tell me,” Martin says. “But it’s bad. I know it’s bad. Right?”

“Yes.”

Martin deserves his honesty. Tim doesn’t know how long Martin suffered on that factory floor until Jon ripped the Circus’ sawdust out with his fury. Long enough for the bandages to coat his arms and legs and back like lacquer, changed multiple times a day to make sure the skin grafts take, and the stitching holds.

Tim should have been there. Like he should have been there for Danny.

“God, Martin,” he says, and he’s surprised to find his throat has clenched tight. “It’s… I’m so sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? I went and got myself…” Martin trails off, swallows with difficulty. “I did this, it was all, all me. Fat lot of good it did.”

“You don’t know that…” Tim starts, but Martin looks at him and he seethes without raising his voice.

“What good’s come out of this then? Go on, Tim, tell me. I’m a – I’m a mess, and what the fuck do I have to show for it. What the fuck have any of us gained from this? I just fucked up, and it – I thought I was going to die. And worse, I thought they mightn’t let me, that they might take what they left as scraps a-a-and – ” Martin’s jaw clacks shut as he pushes down his distress.

“You saved Jon.”

“I didn’t though. The bloody – the bloody door monster showed up and did that simply fine without my help!”

“You don’t know that. You don’t know what you changed. God, Martin, this whole, this entire thing is all so, it’s fucked, right, it’s…” Tim’s voice wobbles, cracks. “But you tried to do something. You tried to help. And I’m – I’m so sorry you did it alone.”

Martin doesn’t leap to forgiveness. But he nods and Tim puts his hand on the wrappings up his arm and he doesn’t move away.

“What now?” he asks after a moment.

“I don’t know.”

Martin closes his eyes.

“I’m tired,” he confesses. “I’m just so tired of all… all this.”

“We’ll think of something,” Tim says. Finding that he means it. It’s not a promise, but it’s as good as he’s able to offer these days. “You should take some of that morphine. It’ll… it’ll help.”

“It makes me feel out of it. Like, sluggish. And everything’s far away.”

“That means it’s working, Marto,” Tim says, trying for light-hearted, but Martin’s shaking his head, and the shivering is back in his hands. A wide and trembling glaze to his expression.

“If they come back…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“I’ll stay,” Tim says. Pats Martin’s arm in a way he hopes conveys reassurance.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Martin nods. Tim helps him grasp the grey remote, push down the button. It’s not long before Martin’s drifted off.

Tim sits there for a long while, thinking about the future.

#tma #tim stoker #fic #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #cw violence #cw implied torture #cw hospitals #hurt/comfort #the magnus archives

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

Summary:  Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. 

All the warnings listed on Part I apply.

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII  / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Almost two months after moving out of Beck’s place, Peter was able to rent an apartment in the same building as Ned and MJ. It was tiny, of course, but pretty inexpensive, compared to other options he found around that area. Besides, with the money he made with Just4Fans over those few weeks, he would be able to afford it comfortably for at least a few months – largely thanks to YKWIM. He still planned on saving up as much as possible, so he put a lot of effort into making his account grow and it was working – by the end of April, he was up to five hundred subscribers.

He didn’t check to see what Beck was doing, he was too afraid to look and see him with his new boyfriend, but he got lots of comments from his old fans, who still followed Beck, telling him that the new boy had nothing on him. Again, he didn’t dare to check, but the ego boost was nice, even if he didn’t really believe them. Also, he was down to crying once every two days instead of every other day, so he was counting that as a win as well.

His apartment was still pretty empty, specially because he spent most of his time downstairs at his friends’ place, but he decorated the bathroom and his room to the best of his ability, since they would be the background of pretty much all his videos and pictures. He also bought some new lingerie sets, a few costumes and sex toys he wasn’t even sure how to use, but he was slowly figuring them out.

Aside from decorating his room and the bathroom, he also bought an armchair and placed it by the  window with a couple of pillows. It was a nice spot to spend the afternoon reading or working on his computer. The light in that apartment was great, sunlight streamed right into his living room and warmed it up nicely. As they approached the end of April, the weather was getting better everyday.

Some days, he felt happy. He felt okay with the fact that he was still doing porn and that it wasn’t a terrible crime. Sure, it wasn’t what he had planned to do with his life, but he was young, he would eventually figure things out. For the time being, he needed that gig and he couldn’t beat himself up for it. Also, it wasn’t so bad now that he was only doing solo stuff.

Some other days, though, were just – hard. He remembered all the videos that were still online and he felt awful for the sole reason that they existed. Not so much for the ones he filmed with Beck, he was somewhat okay with those, the guy was his boyfriend after all, they had sex anyway, the only difference was the camera in the room. But the other ones…

When he started filming with other men, it quickly turned into an unpleasant experience for him. He hated every second of it and always ended up feeling guilty, used and disposable at the end of the day. Beck didn’t make it any better with the way he looked at him afterwards as he told him to get in the shower.

He wasn’t entirely sure of the reasons why those videos bothered him so much, sometimes it felt like it wasn’t even him in them. It was like he was watching a different person, he looked at himself and felt completely dissociated from that boy – at the same time, he looked at him and he knew – he knew – exactly what he was feeling when those were shot.

But that was a lot to unpack and he just wasn’t ready for that particular crisis.  

So in short, sometimes he was still a little unsure about how long he would be able to keep his Just4Fans account, because even though most days he didn’t feel too weird about it, sometimes it reminded him of things he preferred to forget. But that was fine, he was usually able to work around that. Also, most of his subscribers were great and didn’t make him feel like a cheap whore, so he had that going for him as well.

YKWIM was one of the good ones. They chatted almost daily, and Peter always sent him exclusive pictures and videos just because. He never posted those pictures on his feed once he sent them to him, it was their little secret. In return, he got his own collection of short videos of YKWIM finishing himself off. He didn’t know much about the person behind the videos, he’d taken to calling him daddy because most of his subscribers seemed to like it and YKWIM never complained, so it stuck.

Peter did know he lived in New York – which made him shiver – and that he was a businessman of some kind, but he also always talked about a workshop, so Peter wasn’t sure and he avoided asking personal questions. He worked most of the day and into the night, they usually talked when it was late, always around two in the morning.

He traveled a lot, too, and sometimes sent Peter small clips of his hotel rooms or the view from his balcony. In return, Peter sent him pictures of his messy bedroom and the horrible view from his window as a joke. It was nice talking to him, he always made Peter laugh – and then it often ended with a very satisfying orgasm that put him right to sleep, which was awesome.

Peter estimated YKWIM was older than Beck, but not by too much. He clearly had a fit body, which at first led him to believe he was in his thirties, at most; but he noticed YKWIM sometimes talked about the 80’s like he lived them, so he had to be at least in his forties, but Peter couldn’t be sure. He really wished he would show his face, though, it would be nice to have one to fantasize about. But then again, maybe it would ruin the whole thing.

One afternoon, after Peter spent hours taking pictures, shooting videos and editing them so he could post them over the following week, he got a message from YKWIM. He hurried to check it and was shocked to see that he had sent him yet another tip – forty thousand dollars this time.

“For you to buy pretty things so you can show them off to me.” Said the message that came with the money.

Peter almost dropped his phone when he saw it. It had been only five weeks since his last insane tip, so that made fifty thousand dollars in just a little over a month. For, like, thirty nudes. Who even was that guy?

“Wow, daddy, that’s way too much!” He added a flushed face emoji, for lack of something better to say. He was honestly feeling a little overwhelmed, even if the guy had millions to spend, there was no way just giving someone that amount of money was normal.

“That’s not nearly enough for what you’ve given me, baby.” Peter’s cheeks burned.

“I’m very flattered, but please, I really don’t think I deserve all this.” He was pretty sure he sounded pathetic, but that was how he felt, so. Yeah.

“Oh, but you do. Trust me, you really, really do. You’re worth every penny.” Peter bit his lower lip, a little unsure and still a little shocked.

“At least tell me what you’d like to see from me, please. Do you have any kinks that you’d like me to perform? Don’t be shy.” He asked, even though it always made him nervous to offer that kind of thing. Sometimes people were just waiting for the perfect opportunity to make the weirdest requests.

But, to be fair, he had been talking to YKWIM for over a month, so he somewhat trusted him not to ask for anything too absurd.  And then again, the guy had just paid him forty thousand dollars.

“Well, if you insist...” Here it comes, Peter thought, bracing himself. “Red and gold are my favorite colors. I’d love to see you wearing them.” Oh. Not what he was expecting at all.

“Done! Anything else? Come on, there’s gotta be something else.” Again, risky move. But again, forty thousand dollars.

“I’d love to hear you. You’re always so quiet in your videos. If you feel comfortable, I’d love to hear you call my name.” The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at that request. It sounded… almost sweet? It obviously wasn’t meant like that, it was completely sexual, but out of all the wild things he could have asked for, he wanted to hear Peter call his name.

“What’s your name, daddy?”

“Tony.” Tony. Peter tested the word out on his tongue, saying it out loud once, twice. Tony. It suited the image he had created in his head. Tony.

“I can definitely do that, Tony. Anything else?”

“Buy yourself something pretty and send me a picture wearing it. Nothing sexual. Something you’d wear to a date with me.” Peter’s breath hitched. He supposed it was probably just a weird, rich people kink or something, but his mind went wild anyway. Very, very wild.

“I don’t know what I’d wear to a date with you, daddy. Any advice?”

“I like expensive and beautiful things such as yourself, baby.”

Normally, Peter wouldn’t appreciate being called expensive, like he was a thing to be bought, but he felt weirdly flattered by the answer. He promised YKW – Tony – he would send everything he requested over the next few days, and he was actually excited about the whole thing. And of course he knew that feeling was trouble, there were warning signs flashing like crazy before his eyes, but he ignored them and convinced himself that he was just having fun and he was allowed to have fun if he was going to keep doing porn. He didn’t have to feel miserable and guilty all the fucking time. He could – and should! – take some pleasure from it. He deserved it.

So the following day he asked MJ to go shopping with him, but he still didn’t tell her the whole story, he just said it was for his Just4Fans and she readily agreed to go. They went to Victoria’s Secret and Peter told her what he had in mind.

“So, how’s the job going? You’re doing okay? Not too overwhelmed?” She asked coolly as they searched through the panties section.

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s different when I’m in control, you know? Like, I know my limits and I don’t need to count on other people to respect them. Well, most of the time. So it’s cool.”

Some subscribers were a little pushy sometimes, asking for things Peter wasn’t willing to do and then getting really aggressive after being told no. But it didn’t affect him as much as it did when Beck ignored his boundaries, because those pushy subscribers could be easily blocked, whereas with Beck, well. It was a different story.

“Don’t ever feel like you need to push your limits, okay?” Michelle stopped what she was doing to grab him by the shoulders and force him to look at her. “If you ever feel like stopping, for whatever reason, just do it. No matter what, you’ll always have me and Ned, understand? We’re family, we’re here for you, we’d never leave you alone. If you want to stop, we’ll figure something out together, you hear me?” The way she looked into his eyes made him understand that she really meant every single word of it.

Family. He had a family with them.

Peter felt silly tearing up in the middle of Victoria’s Secret, so he pulled her into his arms and hid his face in her neck.

“Thank you. I needed to hear that,” he muttered, as she squeezed him a little tighter, before pushing him away.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get all teary-eyed on me, come on, you’ll ruin my reputation.” She looked around, sniffing, then stuck her hands in her pockets. Peter laughed halfheartedly, drying the corner of his eyes. “C’mon, there are panties to be bought.”

They spent a couple of hours searching the store, but in the end he found the perfect set. He bought some other pieces, too, for his feed, people had been asking for lingerie a lot lately, after a slightly weird phase of cat ears and tails. Once they left Victoria’s Secret, Peter was nervous because he had to tell MJ at least part of the truth to get her help with the second part of Tony’s request.

“So, listen,” he started and she turned to him, happily sipping her large coffee as they walked down the street. “I have this subscriber. He’s, like, a rich, old dude who always sends me tips and stuff. Anyway, he gave me some money and asked me to buy something nice and pose for him, but like, not in a sexual way. He wants to see me clothed.” She frowned, staring at him suspiciously. “Um. I was wondering if you could help me with that?”

She was silent for a few seconds, just looking at him with narrowed eyes. He looked away discreetly, trying to avoid her mind-reading skills.

“Should I be worried?” She asked, finally. He shook his head and chuckled nervously, waving a hand dismissively.

“He’s harmless, just some lonely, old dude. So, will you help?” He looked at her expectantly. She was still frowning and definitely knew something was up, but she nodded anyway, to Peter’s relief.

“What do you have in mind?” MJ asked and resumed her stroll down the street, Peter had to jog a little to keep up.

“Something expensive and beautiful,” He quoted Tony, like an idiot, because he honestly had no idea what that meant.

“That’s oddly specific and somehow not helpful at all.” She lifted an eyebrow and looked around the busy street. “How expensive are we talking about?”

“I’m not sure. Very?” He answered nervously, and, yet again, she looked looked like she wanted to rip the truth out of him, but she also knew that was not the way to go with him.  

“How much did this guy give you?”

“Um. for – five thousand dollars.” He stuttered. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the actual amount, because it sounded absolutely insane and she would worry unnecessarily.

“Holy shit!? Fuck, why aren’t I doing porn?!” She screeched and Peter hurried to put his hands over her mouth, because at least three people turned around to look at them.

“Don’t even joke about that, you hear me? You have a bright future ahead of you, don’t fuck it up,” he told her seriously and she looked like she wanted to argue just for the sake of being annoying, but something in the way he looked at her must have made her realize he meant it.

“Chill, I’m joking.” She patted his shoulder and looked away. “So. Five thousand dollars? We can work with that.”

He was a little scared of the weird gleam in her eyes, but followed her anyway.

They spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, it was a lot of fun and he even got her a pair of shoes she kept staring longingly at. She was worried they would go over the budget because she wanted him to save some of the money, but he assured her he could afford it. They managed to put together a great outfit that he was very confident about and then called Ned to meet them for dinner in the evening.

Later, they took the subway home and, for a while, he felt like a normal 20-year-old guy – happy, weightless and just a little heartbroken, like everyone was bound to be at some point in life. He was going to be okay, he realized. That thought hit him like a punch in the face and it felt fucking awesome.

He rested his head on Ned’s shoulder with a sigh of relief, feeling the warmth of MJ’s hand on his thigh.

It was around midnight when he got home, which for him was still a little early, he had developed the terrible habit of going to bed well after two in the morning – he blamed Tony, but to be fair, many of his subscribers were mostly active around that time as well. He debated whether or not he should start working on Tony’s requests, he was a little tired from a long day of walking around carrying bags, but also surprisingly eager to show the older man what he got for him.

He took the Victoria’s Secret bag and displayed the new outfit on the bed. It was a simple, but beautiful lingerie set. What Peter loved most about it was the fabric – it was made of deep red satin, smooth and glossy, and it felt simply amazing on the skin.

He decided to try it on, just to make sure it fit properly.

The top was a delicate bralette, two little triangles only big enough to hide his nipples and a little bit of his pecs. It was the perfect size for him, it sat flush with his skin, no unflattering cup gaps. The panties were tiny, Peter wasn’t too sure about those back in the store, he was worried not everything would fit in it. It did, but just barely, but it actually worked in his favor, in his humble opinion. Lastly, he put on the garter belt, which was just a thin piece of fabric that went around his waist, with two straps that hung down to clasp onto two elastic bands that went around his thighs.

Since Tony said red and gold, he also put on a thick, golden choker, just to see how it would look.

Once he was dressed, he went to check in the mirror. He bit his lower lip, running his hand over the fabric that covered his chest. It felt really smooth, and the way it brushed against his nipples sent shivers down his spine. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Tony’s hands on his body. They looked strong enough to hurt, but he imagined they would be gentle with him, as they traced a path from his collarbone to his neck, to wrap themselves around his throat – but not tight enough to choke him, just a promise.

He sighed, as if to check that he could still breath under the pressure, and slowly slid his hands down from his neck, brushing his hard nipples on their way down to the front of the panties – God, it was so smooth...

For some reason, he imagined Tony would be a gentle lover. Maybe it was the way he talked to him, always so charming, all sweetheart and baby, all praise and compliments. Maybe it was the way he never demanded anything, only asked nicely, all please and thank you.  

Tony wouldn’t ruin him, like he promised so many times in those last few weeks, he would fuck him long and slow, raspy voice whispering sweet praise in his ear, rough hands holding him down, hips snapping with each unrelenting thrust.

He bit his lips, knees buckling as he felt the front of the panties getting wet, while his leaking cock struggled to get free.

Well, then.

He grabbed his camera from the closet and positioned it on a tripod in front of the bed, just a few feet away, and programmed it to take pictures every five seconds. He sat on the bed, facing the camera, feet still on the floor, and just closed his eyes for a minute, letting a sigh escape his lips as the fantasy from before filled his mind again.

He spread his legs and his fingers reached down to the front of his panties again. His cock felt impossibly hard, straining against the delicate fabric, dark pink tip peeking out of over the top of the tiny underwear. He touched himself slowly, hips rocking lightly to match the pace of his own hand, as he listened to the clicks of the pictures being taken.

He had to force himself to stop, before he lost control, and moved to kneel on the bed, with his side facing the camera, and lowered his chest until it was touching the mattress, letting his back curve in a sinful arch, head turned to the side, staring right at the lens. At Tony. Imagining what he would do if he were there.

He sat back on his heels and turned his back to the camera, spreading his knees, each of his hands grabbing one ass cheek, pulling them apart, only a thin, barely there strip of fabric hiding his nakedness. He looked over his shoulder and waited for the camera to take at least a couple of pictures.

Next, he laid on his back, side facing the camera again, left hand rubbing one nipple over the silky fabric, as the right one reached down the front of the panties, to finally give himself some sort of relief. He let out an almost pained moan as he wrapped a hand around his cock, pumping it slowly, once, twice, but all that teasing was driving him a little insane.

He knew he should probably take a few more pictures, but he also knew wouldn’t last much longer.

He got off the bed and went to the dresser where he kept all of his “work stuff”. He grabbed a tube of lube and a vibrator that was neither too small, nor too big, it was a size Peter was comfortable with.

He switched the camera to video mode, pressed record and resumed his position on the bed, knees on the bed, holding his lower body up, and chest resting on the mattress. He squeezed a generous amount of lube onto his fingers, pushed the panties a little to the side and circled his hole gently, slowly, because that was how he imagined Tony would do it. Those big, rough hands would have grabbed him by the hips, put him in that exact position, before teasing him mercilessly.

He moaned quietly and closed his eyes, rubbing slow circles around his rim, pressing a little against his entrance, but not hard enough to breach it. He felt his cock pulsing, begging for attention, but he didn’t dare to touch it, not yet.

“Tony, please...” He whined, pushing his hips back against his own hand, he was so lost in his fantasy he almost forgot he didn’t need to beg. Almost. “I need you...”

Gently, he started pushing one finger inside, knuckle by knuckle, he was so aroused he barely felt the burn, just delicious pressure that made his eyes roll to the back of his head. He started fucking himself on his finger, feeling the muscles around it slowly make way.

“’Been thinking about you, Tony…” he rasped out, hips pushing back against his hand. “Can’t stop thinking ‘bout you...” When he felt loose enough, he pushed another finger inside, the stretch becoming a little more noticeable as he slowly scissored himself open. He got on all fours and turned his back to the camera to give Tony a better view, all spread out for him, and kept fucking himself, picking up the pace once just those two fingers weren’t enough. “Fuck, daddy, need you so bad...”

He eased the fingers out of himself, sighing at the loss, and reached for the vibrator that was sitting on the bed and turned to face the camera again. He knelt on the bed and, with one hand, he propped the vibrator up on the mattress, holding it down from behind him, as with the other hand he guided its tip to his already abused hole.

He flicked the switch and it vibrated to life, nudging against his hole before finally slipping in. Peter’s breath hitched at the intrusion, feeling the delicious burn on his lower back, as he moved his hips up and down slowly, trying to push more of it inside with each painful thrust.

“Fuck me, Tony,” he begged, as his free hand finally reached for his neglected cock, pumping it hard and fast, matching the maddening pace his hips set. He lost all sense of rhythm when he felt the tip of the vibrator finally – finally – reach his prostate and he pushed it even further in, until the pressure against the bundle of nerves became too much and he exploded in one of the best orgasms he had had in a long, long time. “Oh, f-fuck!” His vision went dark for a second as he let himself fall back on the bed, wasted.

He spent almost ten minutes just lying there, trying to catch his breath and regain consciousness. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that, he was boneless, floaty, completely satisfied. It was honestly the best he felt in months.

When his legs stopped shaking, he got up and headed straight to the shower, still feeling a little dizzy and weak, but he wasn’t complaining.

Once he was finished, he debated whether he should just go to bed or send Tony what he had, but with the way he was feeling, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fall asleep so easily. So decided to send at least the pictures right away, even though it was nearing 3AM. Peter knew Tony was probably up, the man did say that he was an insomniac and that he sometimes went days without any real sleep, so it wasn’t a surprise when he answered just a few minutes after Peter sent them.

“Holy fuck, Peter!!” Peter bit his lower lip, burying his face in the pillow to hide his blush, even though he was alone in his room.“What the fuck, baby, it’s three in the morning, are you trying to fucking kill me?!”

“So you like them?” He asked with feigned innocence.

“I fucking love them, you little tease, these are hands down my favorites yet. I swear I’m gonna have them framed and hung in my workshop and I’ll spend the rest of my fucking days just writing odes to you.” Peter giggled into the pillow, turning on his side to get more comfortable on the bed.

“I bet you say that to all the boys.” He joked lightly, blushing again, which was stupid, but he couldn’t help it.

“Fuck no! You’re something else, kitten, and you don’t even know it.” Peter suppressed a smile, biting his lower lip.

“Are you touching yourself right now, daddy?”

“To be honest, I’m so fucking hard I think I’m gonna come instantly if I even brush my fingers on my cock. I’m literally just staring at the pictures right now and worrying I’m gonna come untouched just from that.” Peter laid on his stomach and bit the pillow, gently rocking his hips against the bed.

“That’s so hot. Can I see it?”

Seconds later, there was a video in the chat. He played it immediately and, sure enough, Tony wasn’t kidding. His cock was rock hard, throbbing, the head was an angry purple, already glistening with pre-cum. Tony was just holding it at the base, not daring to touch it, and the whole thing almost made Peter hard again, but he was really exhausted.

“Fuck, daddy, I really wish I could help you with that.”

“Oh, you don’t even know what I wish.”

Tony didn’t say anything for a few minutes and Peter figured he had gone to sleep, but then his phone beeped, alerting him to another message from him. It was, of course, a picture of Tony’s spent cock, resting against his belly, which was covered in come, so much of it Peter’s mouth watered.

“Was it good, daddy?”

“The best, sweetheart. Thank you. I’m gonna sleep like a baby today.” Peter chuckled. Tony always said that was high praise coming from someone who hardly ever slept and the younger man took his word for it.

“Goodnight, Tony. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Looking forward to it, Pete.”

He knew he was fucked the second he tried to suppress a small smile, but couldn’t.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark