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ssscentral · 3 years

Text

Devil like you

Summary: Your boyfriend has a revelation about who - or what - he really is as he invites over a friend to have some earth-shattering, toe-curling, out of this world fun with you.

Pairing : Demon!Namjoon x Reader x Demon! Jimin

Genre : Smut. Pure filth. It be dirty.

Warnings : Threesome, Demon summoning, Overstimulation, Swearing, Restraints, Surprise your boyfriend is a demon, Dom!Namjoon, Dom!Jimin, Sub!Reader, Light Edging, Dirty Talking, Oral Sex (f and m), Fingering

WC : 5.5k

Member : Duda || @biaswreckme

A/N : Hope you enjoy reading this, i’m quite proud of it :v It’s my first AU for BTS, so be gentle T.T This fic is the second part of the group prompt “Hell of a Ride”, each part with our own interpretation, so stay tuned because there is more to come! Any similarities with Supernatural are not coincidental, thank you Spn wikis for the words in Latin and the inspiration for some of the abilities of these demons. And thanks so much @fluffy-fluffu for being the beta ♥

taglist: @sugasbabiie

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You thought you should have known. You thought you should have seen the signs – and there were quite a few, thinking back on your relationship. It should not have surprised you like this. It should not have affected you like this. It should not make you wish for more, waiting for the next time it would happen. It should not… you should not… you should not want this as much as you did, right?

You should have seen it coming. It should not have caught you off guard like that, after all, who teaches this language with this much ease and what seems like almost natural and native knowledge? That should have been the first sign to strike your attention. He was not the first Latin professor in the language department at this university, but he was the best. But this department has a lot of languages, and Latin is part of the curriculum for some of the other languages. It was not weird to have a Latin professor. It was weird to have someone as hot as Namjoon teaching Latin. Hot, gods, you sound like a teenager again talking about boys and crushes. But yes, Kim Namjoon, one of the hottest teachers in the university – and it is a big one – teaches a dead language.

So when he asked you, the English teacher – not the only one in the department and you did not consider yourself to be one of the best-looking teachers there – out on a date, you said yes. It had been a while for you, issues with an ex left you being cautious about entering new relationships. It made you pay more attention to certain red flags, but there were none with Namjoon, at least not like those from before.

Kim Namjoon was considerate. Kim Namjoon was creative with his dates. Kim Namjoon was a romantic man, one that had you indeed feeling like a teenager dating for the first time, sneaking around the empty halls and classrooms, the butterflies in your stomach wild and making you giggle at the mere thought of him. Kim Namjoon paid attention to you and your problems. Kim Namjoon listened. And Kim Namjoon was great when it came to sex. Great actually did not really translate how incredible and mind-blowing sex with him was. He knew how to do things to your body like no one ever could before. He suggested some things – some kinky, oh, very kinky things indeed – to spice up the sex that you had only fantasized about but never had the courage to ask for, and he did not judge anything. It was almost as if his mission in bed was to give you utmost pleasure, even if it hurt sometimes – but it always hurt so good. Kim Namjoon was the perfect boyfriend. Maybe too perfect, so you think to yourself that you had ought to know better. No one could be this perfect. There had to be an explanation. And there was. You just never would have imagined that it would be this explanation.

The day had started just like any other, there was nothing special about it, at least to your knowledge. So why, oh, why did it have to be on this day? (Maybe you could ask them later.) You woke up to your alarm, as usual. You love your job, but you always found it difficult to get up this early in the mornings, so you always made sure to set more than one alarm. You got up, had breakfast – “breakfast” is a very general word, but you do eat a piece of toast while the coffee machine warms up. You had a shower, just a quick one to truly wake you up and get you going before getting dressed in your usual teaching outfit. Namjoon would be coming over later, so you would have time to shower again and get dressed up for date night after getting back from the university. You grab a travel mug on the way out, pouring the hot coffee in it, the smell invading your apartment just as you like it.

The classes go on without any issue; a slight problem with the projector in the beginning but nothing out of the ordinary and that would strike one’s attention, especially if one was used to dealing with the projectors in that older building the languages and literature department was stuck with. You crossed paths with Namjoon once the entire day, walking down the hallways of the old building; you were getting out of an English literature class, Joon going to teach his Latin II group. As your bodies got closer, both of you nodded in acknowledgment as if you were any other professor, but your hands discreetly touched in passing, just a small sign you had agreed on to let the other know everything is okay, have a good class, I love you, I will be waiting for you later. You knew he was going out on a field trip with an advanced class and he would have to leave during lunch, so you ate a sandwich in your office, watching some comedy series to relax and get energized for the rest of the day – of course, the hot and new cup of coffee helps -, every once in a while, pausing to chat with the other professor who chose to do something similar. The afternoon is not really that different from other Friday afternoons; no one usually comes during office hours, so no one came on this day. You spent your time alternating between counting the minutes on the ticking clock to be able to go home and get ready for the date and responding to some emails, starting the term report, and downloading some articles to read. You were alone in the office, so you have some music going to help distract you and try to make the time go by faster.

When you finally got home the first thing you did was hop on the shower again, but now taking some time for yourself, phone blasting your favorite songs as you washed the day away from your body, cleaning, shaving what you wanted, moisturizing with some shower oils Namjoon gave you and that you know he loved the scent of. You spent some time choosing your outfit for the evening, knowing it had to be good. You opted for a white lace and silk playsuit, the new lingerie that Namjoon had recently given you, and you knew it had to be expensive from the brand – expensive and fancy lingerie was a guilty pleasure you had that somehow Namjoon was able to indulge, and you had no complaints about it. It gave you an almost innocent look under the black dress, and you were curious to see Namjoon’s reaction. You did not do much for hair and makeup, choosing instead to keep it quite simple and natural – it was only going to be ruined later on anyways.

Soon you heard the bell ring and you looked at the small monitor near the door, letting him in. His hair was slicked back, giving him an edge that was not present in day-to-day life at university. He had his earrings on and paired up with his silver-rimmed glasses and that black blazer made him look unbelievably hot and so different from the pristine almost clumsy-like image of Professor Kim. He kissed you, murmuring a hi in the kiss, letting his hands roam over your dress. He paused and stepped back enough to look at you.

“Are you wearing the new gift?”

It only took a nod from you to have him pressing you against the wall, hitching your leg up and around his waist. His hands took advantage of the position and touched your skin, going up your thighs and bunching up your dress in the way, giving him access to feel the lace and silk on your body.

“Fuck,” he paused, almost breathless, “fuck the reservation, right? I need you now.”

You nodded in affirmation, almost as out of breath as him, “Fuck the reservation, fuck me instead.”

He didn’t need anything else to press you even harder against the wall, hoisting both of your legs; you wrapped them around his body, and he pushed his hips into yours, you could feel how hard he already was. You moaned into the kiss, his hardness was right against where you needed it the most, and when he started slightly moving his hips into yours, it made his length deliciously drag against your clit. The feeling was also enhanced by the lingerie; every time Namjoon canted his hips up, it made the lingerie move up together and tug on your skin, and it did not take long until it was snugged between your nether lips and you were certain you were staining the front of Namjoon’s pants with your wetness as he started nibbling on your earlobe, sucking and kissing your neck, the skin caught between his teeth to make sure it would leave bruises. And then he let you go, dropping your legs from around his body.

“Do you trust me?” He looked into your eyes, seeming unsure, which was unlike him. You could swear that his eyes got darker for a brief moment – and not in the way writers usually describe, with eyes darkening with pleasure or something akin to that. No, it seemed that they physically turned darker, almost black, but you thought you must be imagining things. It could not be humanly possible.

“I trust you, Joon.” You said without any hesitation, fingers entangling with his and taking him in the direction of your bedroom.

He started by taking off his glasses and carefully putting them on the wooden nightstand, taking a minute to take off his blazer and carefully drape it over the piece of furniture. He then turned to you and you felt nervous, his walk almost predatory towards you. He gripped your shoulders, taking the straps of your dress into his hands, and it felt like he was considering just ripping the piece out of your body and your breath faltered. So this was the mood today. But he must have thought better and let his hands caress the front of your body, squeezing your breasts, his fingers then gliding over your clothed nipples, feeling them harder under his touch. His hands moved down, grabbing the edge of your dress in his fists and then lifted it up and off your body, and then you were there, standing in front of him, the white lace and silk that covered your skin seemed almost virginal when contrasted with the current mood. You bit your lip, looking at Namjoon, gaging his reaction, and you saw his eyes widen, a smirk crossing his lips, his tongue unconsciously poking out to lick his top lip. There was a different look in his eyes, one that you did not recognize at all, and you were getting slightly more nervous now. What did he have in store for you this time? You tried to think back to conversations you had, discussing ideas in between cuddles and kisses on the bed, after one of the times you had some passionate lovemaking, his eyes glued to yours the entire time, his body encompassing yours, protecting you. Not every time was kinky, but there was no doubt tonight was going to be. You took a deep breath and stepped forward, your fingers going to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one, slowly, your fingers shaking in anticipation.

“Remember when we were talking about maybe having another person in the bedroom with us?”

His question took you by surprise, your fingers stopping mid-action, and you looked at him. “Yes?”

“You are going to learn some things about me tonight, Y/n, but you don’t need to be scared.” He grabbed your hands, intertwining your fingers and kissing them while looking into your eyes. “I promise everything will be okay, and I’ll answer all your questions later. Now I just want you to enjoy yourself.”

And ok, now you were worried, and he could see that in your face, so he brought you closer to his body, hugging you, and your arms tightened around his body.

“You don’t have to be scared, love. It can be scary, but have I ever hurt you?”

“Well…” you started, giggling at the double possibilities to answer his question.

“I’m talking about real harm, Y/n. And might I remind you, who asked to be spanked again?” He chuckled, shaking his head, the mood getting a little lighter. “I can’t promise it’s not going to frighten you at first but keep an open mind. You have your safeword, you can stop this at any time, no matter what.”

“Ok. I can’t promise I won’t fear whatever it is… because you are scaring me a little bit, Joon. But I trust you. I know you won’t hurt me like that.” You raised your head from where it was resting on his chest, looking into his eyes again, and this time you could not be mistaken. They were black. Like black black; you could not see any of the previous colors in his irises, even the sclera was taken over by the color, and it hit you. You took a quick step back, letting go of his body, shocked. Was… was this real?

“I’m still me,” his voice was soft and his hands raised by his sides in that universal sign of I’m not going to hurt you. “It’s always been me.”

“So you’re not… possessed?” you laughed in disbelief.

“No. It’s always been me,” he repeated, taking one step closer to you with one of his hands reaching out, and hesitantly you grabbed it. “Let me show you. I promise you will have a good time.”

Your body was still shaking with fear when you let yourself get closer to him, but his words were starting to reassure you, calm you. If he had always been like this and never harmed you, you would be okay, right? The fear and worry were slowly starting to give way to curiosity and some slight confusion when he started muttering some words under his breath. Now, you did not understand Latin – it was a dead language, come on –, but you were able to pick up that he was almost chanting in it, words like te invoco, spiritus, infernalis, and daemon being spoken with more intensity. He finished saying it and kissed you deeply, his arms encircling your body and pulling you to him, when you suddenly felt another presence behind you, a second body pressing against you, feeling a hard chest pressing you into Namjoon even more. You stopped the kiss, looking over your shoulder, and your eyes stumbled upon another black-eyed figure. This man, this demon, was shorter than Namjoon, but with the way the front of his body was glued to your back, you could feel he was just as muscular, maybe even more, from what you were feeling from his thighs. There were no words for his face. You thought Namjoon was handsome, but this man’s face was on a whole other level of beauty, with those rounded full lips that would give Namjoon’s a run for their money. If it were not for his black eyes you would dare say his face was angelic even, with his light-colored hair parted in the middle. But something about the smirk and raised eyebrows let you know that there was nothing angelic about him.

“Damn, Namjoon. You’ve been hiding her this entire time?” He almost growled, shifting his hips, and you felt the hardness in his pants. “If I’d known, I’d have come sooner.”

“And this is Jimin, Y/n,” he started, scoffing at his… friend? “Now close your eyes and let us take care of you.”

He did not wait for an answer from you, and at the same time his lips found yours, you felt Jimin’s lips on your neck and his hands on your waist, and you could only sigh, close your eyes, and give into these new sensations. The two pairs of hands were roaming your body; the contrast of their clothed bodies against yours, almost naked, was heightening the sensation of your powerlessness, and you had to press your thighs together in an attempt to bring some pressure to your center and relieve some of the aching. You could feel their smirks when you did it, and then Jimin’s hand traveled downwards and on the front of your body, his fingers sneaking under the lingerie to feel your wetness.

“Fuck,” his voice was almost strained, “she’s dripping, Namjoon.” His fingers went all over your mound spreading your wetness around, careful to not touch you for too long to tease you.

“Is this right, Y/n?” Namjoon asked against your lips, then tilted his head back to look at you, his hand joining Jimin’s. “I know you get wet for me, but if I had known you would be dripping like this, I would have brought Jimin much sooner.” He stated as his fingers toyed with the straps of your playsuit, slowly lowering them. “And you are wearing this, today of all days… all in white…”

Namjoon’s fingers teased your nipples lightly at first, just caressing them while Jimin slowly lowered the lingerie down your body, giving open-mouthed kisses to your back and lower and he went down on his knees behind you. You closed your eyes, letting your head fall back and grabbing Namjoon’s biceps for balance when Jimin lifted your left feet first then the right, letting the playsuit fall to the ground off your body. You felt a pinch to your nipples, and you sighed, and shortly after you felt his tongue circling it, then his mouth sucking on it, tugging lightly with his teeth. You clenched your legs again, only for Jimin to spread them. You felt Jimin’s breath on your backside, and his hands made you arch your back so he could see you better from behind, but you felt nothing else but his warm breath very close to your center, his hands gripping your thighs from the inside to stop you from closing them. When Namjoon used the fatal combination of pinching down on a nipple harder and biting the other and sucking on it, Jimin chuckled.

“Do that again, Namjoon. She liked it, she just clenched down on nothing so hard.” His mouth was so close to you yet doing nothing, and to worsen the situation, he used his hands to help you spread your legs more. “Tilt your ass towards me, Y/n, I want to see you clench like that again.”

You did so without hesitation, arching your back more so he could see you better, and when Namjoon did it again, inverting touch and bite to the other nipple, you clenched again, needing their touch, needing something. And he combined pulling your nipple with his teeth with his other hand entangling in your hair and pulling it down hard, increasing your arch. You heard Jimin chuckle softly again and then his mouth was pressed to your inner thigh, licking upwards as he moaned, probably tasting the wetness that had started dripping. Namjoon was not being gentle anymore, using the amount of pressure and strength he knew you loved, much rougher than when you were making love, your nipples becoming more sensitive and abused under his ministrations. This moment, with his lips around your nipples, his teeth worrying them, while Jimin licked your thighs, was pure and unadulterated passion and desire. You let one of your hands fall to grab Jimin’s hair to try and direct him, but he let one of your thighs go to wrap his fingers around your wrist while he bit down on your thigh. You moaned in pain, but you loved it.

Your other hand moved from Namjoon’s biceps to the front of his shirt to undo the few buttons that were left, and he paused what he was doing to help you. When you went to unbutton his pants, you felt your arm being pinned to your back by the demon between your legs. You looked back and down, seeing Jimin licking his lips again while he got up. He pulled you against his body, murmuring that tonight was about you and not to worry about them. As he said these words, Namjoon’s long fingers undid his own pants, hooking them under his underwear to take them off at the same time. His erection slapped softly against his stomach, his cock long and thick, the bulbous head already a little wet with precum. He stepped out of his pants, his strong thighs flexing, and he came closer to kiss you again, letting you feel his hardness against your belly. He started to pull you towards the bed, turning your bodies so you could fall against the mattress with him on top, but he did not stay long. He got up, looking at Jimin, and raised his eyebrows.

“You look so innocent like this, wide-eyed looking at us about to devour you,” Jimin started, unbuttoning his shirt slowly, putting on a show for you.

The dark shirt Jimin was wearing opened to reveal toned muscles beneath, ones you had already felt against your back. His light purple hair was slightly messy from your attempt to grab it; his lips were turned up into a corner smile observing the way you were watching him. He let his hands caress down his body, feeling his own muscles, his luscious lips open now. One of his hands went to the button of his pants and the other grabbed his crotch, showing you the outline of his erection, and then he took the black garment off, and he was wearing no underwear. His hand went to his erection again, stroking himself up and down slowly, showing you his body and how proud he seemed of it. His cock was just as beautiful as the rest of him, the head a light pink color, and while he was thinner than Namjoon, he was just as long and curved upwards, and it made you wonder if he could hit that spot without much effort.

“We are going to destroy you, and you will take it all. You will be lying there on the bed, ruined, a sinner, and in the end, you will be begging for me to come back again and wreck you.” Jimin’s voice was deeper, his black eyes shining under the lights and the promise. And then he looked at Namjoon. “Have you done it yet?”

You looked confused for a moment, especially when Namjoon answered a no and Jimin chuckled. And then you understood. Jimin snapped his fingers and your arms were suddenly above your head, pressed on the pillow. You tried moving them but to no avail. Oh. Your chest went up and down quickly, your breath faster, but you smiled.

“Oh, this is new. Can you do it too, Joon?” You needed to know. Had he been hiding this from you this whole time? He licked his lips and snapped his fingers, and then your legs were up, an invisible force holding them up and wide open, spread apart for them. You bit your lip and clenched down on nothing, moaning softly, your head thrown back into the pillow. “This is fun.”

You smiled at them and saw them looking at each other smiling as well, but you could not even imagine what was going through their minds. Could they communicate like that? You had so many questions to ask Joon later, but before your mind could wander any further, your body was being dragged to the edge of the bed by Jimin, who was kneeling on the floor in front of it. You had never felt so exposed before and so without control, although you knew all you had to say was that one word and everything would end.

“She tastes delicious, Jimin. You’re going to love it.” Namjoon sat by you on the bed, looking down at the other man, and lowered his head to whisper in your ear, “you want to know another thing I’ve been hiding? We don’t get tired.”

Namjoon bit your earlobe at the same time that Jimin licked you where you needed the most, from bottom to top. You could only moan loudly and arch your back, your fingers closing into tight a fist and your thighs clenching, but you could not move them. You thought he would make you beg for it, considering all the teasing from before, but he wasted no time and started applying pressure to your clit with his soft tongue, short circular movements alternated with longer licks while his fingers kept your lower lips spread open for him. Unable to move, all you could do was take it, the pleasure intensified by your inability to move your legs; there was no escape from Jimin’s tongue on the underside of your clit, its hood up, leaving it exposed and so sensitive to his probing. While Jimin was doing this, Namjoon began playing with your nipples again. They were already hard and a little red from before, more sensitive, so when he started pinching them again the pain seemed to go straight down to your clit, enhancing your pleasure, and he seemed to know this. He became relentless in teasing them, pinching harder, lowering his body beside you to bite at them, tugging on your nipples and pulling them, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive skin. Jimin’s tongue was also relentless on your clit, and the first time he felt you getting close to your orgasm, he stopped and looked at you.

“Please, please…” you sobbed and moaned; the desperation clear in your voice as Namjoon did not stop.

“Should we see if she can cum only by teasing her nipples?” Jimin’s voice was playful.

“No, please, please, no, please,” you begged.

“Oh, Namjoon, she begs so beautifully. But is it a no or is it a please, do it?” His tongue was between his teeth, his smile wider now, the look on his face pure teasing. You shook your head negatively, a sob caught in your throat, but he continued, “You’re clenching again, Y/n. I think you can do this. But maybe another day,” you let out a sigh in relief, “another day, when we will tease you for hours, edge you until even our breath will make you cum, how about that?”

Jimin wasted no more time and got back to licking you, making out with your pussy, encompassing it entirely with his mouth, and the moment his lips closed around your clit to suck it, you lost it. It took you by surprise; the sensation usually begins with a slight tingle on your belly, and then it spreads to your fingers, but this time your whole body clenched as pleasure overtook you, his tongue continuing to press on your clit while he sucked to prolong your orgasm. You did not know what sounds came out of your mouth, as your ears seemed to be ringing, numb to sounds. You could barely murmur out a weak stop, but he ignored it – which also relieved you, you did not really want to stop–, choosing to insert a finger and then two into you, moving them in and out at first and then pressing them upwards, looking for the spot inside you that made you see stars. You were about to say you were too sensitive for him to continue when he found it, and as you moaned loudly you heard Namjoon say something to him, but you couldn’t understand what it was, but Jimin’s response was to increase the pressure of his fingers and let your clit go. You were confused for a second but you soon understood when you felt one of Namjoon’s hands moving down, his fingers then making quick movements on your clit, knowing it was what you needed to get you there fast again. This time you felt the sensation growing, a tingling on the tips of your fingers, your toes, as it grew and permeated your entire body again. You thought they would relent, and then you remembered what Namjoon had said. They did not get tired.

You lost count after the fifth orgasm, or so you thought it was the fifth; your voice was hoarse from moaning and your clit was so sensitive from all of the overstimulation, and they did not seem like they wanted to stop anytime soon. You could feel the tears that had escaped your eyes wetting your cheeks, and every once in a while, one of them would lick them away while the other continued his assault on your clit, the pleasure relentlessly taking over you again and again. You did not know anymore when one orgasm ended and the other began, the tingling sensation a constant on your entire body. And then, finally, they snapped their fingers again, releasing your body from the invisible restraints.

You could barely move, but they helped shift and turn your body until you were on your hands and knees, Namjoon’s body behind you. You heard the sound of a small foil packet being opened, and then he was pressing inside you, his cock stretching you even though they had used their fingers before. It was always a stretch, Namjoon going in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size before starting to thrust his hips into you. On his first thrust forward, you opened your mouth on a moan and Jimin took advantage of the opportunity to press his cock into your lips, holding your hair with one of his hands while the other was at the base of his cock, holding and moving it to go over your lips. You licked around his engorged head and then opened your mouth wider, taking him inside and sucking. You could barely keep your body upright, so soon your hands faltered, and you fell to your elbows, the dip in your spine changing the angle slightly and it had Namjoon pressing into that one spot that had you almost screaming. Jimin lowered his body, sitting down with his legs open to fit you between them, inclining his body backward, bending his elbows to have a good view of you, and it made it easier for you to suck him. His view was nice, your body bent forward, your ass being held by Namjoon’s hands while he pounded into you, but your view was not bad at all.

Jimin’s muscly thighs flexed each time he pressed his hips up, fucking into your mouth, his abs clenching, and his face… his face, dark black eyes half-closed, mouth open in a sly smile, licking his full lips still wet with your taste. You maintained eye contact while you sucked him, bobbing your head up and down, sucking hard when his head was about to leave your mouth, and when you went down, you let your tongue lick the underside. It was sloppy, saliva leaving your mouth, making him wetter and easier for your hand to help whatever did not fit your mouth. You were moaning around him, figuring he would like it as much as Namjoon did, and you were rewarded with high pitched moans from Jimin, his head now thrown back. On a hard suck downwards you felt his thighs clench and his release spill on your mouth at the same time Namjoon played with your clit, and you screamed and soon saw nothing else.

You did not know how long you were out, but when you came to your senses again you were lying on your front, covered by your blanket, and Jimin was nowhere in sight. You heard footsteps entering the room just when you raised your head and saw Namjoon with a cold bottle of water and pants on. He smiled tentatively at you, sitting by your side on the bed. He helped you sit, propped up against him, and you took the bottle from his hands, feeling thirsty.

“Hey,” his voice was almost shy, so different from before and from the usual Namjoon. Well, the Namjoon you thought you knew. “Are you ok?”

You nodded, smiling softly at him between sips. You looked around and then looked at him, the question clear in your eyes.

“Hm, Jimin’s gone now. He helped clean you up and left, we… we did not know if you wanted him here for the after. Or if at all. Or… if you still wanted me.”

It was strange, seeing this difference in him. Namjoon was so confident, especially in the bedroom, and after finding out the truth about him, you could not imagine he would ever be this timid.

“I still want you, Joon,” you could barely speak, but you wanted to reassure him, hugging him tightly. He needed you at this moment as much as you needed him. “I just have some questions, but I still love you.”

“I love you too, Y/n. And I’ll answer whatever you want.” He was eager to respond, his relief apparent in his voice.

“The first question is… can we have fun with Jimin again another time?”

398 notes · View notes

crystaljins · 3 years

Text

Endless

Characters: Yoongi x Reader

Word count: 7.4K

Synopsis: You aren’t the chosen one. You’re not gifted with any special powers, or secret abilities. You’re just a plucky orphan who decided you’d come along for the ride.

Bringing down an empire is no biggie, right?

Yoongi x reader

Notes: I actually really don’t like this fic, in all honesty. It’s definitely one of my weaker ones, but since I put a lot of effort into writing it, I thought I’d post it anyway! I’m having a real big writer’s block and everything I write just feels.... jilted and inauthentic. IDK. I feel like I’ve lost my ability to tap into what a character feels T.T ANYWAY even if I don’t like it, maybe you will! So please try and enjoy

This is written for @thebtswritersclub March prompt, “Adventure”!

Warnings: Poss some fantasy type violence? Sparring, Yoongi is a little mean sometimes but he has RESPONSIBILITIES! Lots of conversations from very not-socially-distanced positions. Mentions of wars and evil empire

Genre: Fantasy, angst-with-a-happy-ish-ending

It’s easy to see that Yoongi is angry. From the heavy thud of his boots against the firmly packed dirt to the furious hunch of his shoulders, everything about him screams that he is livid. Even the way his travelling cloak flutters about his form is ominous, like the dark roil of storm clouds on a distant horizon.

You follow closely behind, meek and sufficiently scolded. He’s been like this for the better part of the afternoon, ever since you left the previous town behind.

“Um,” you pipe up, hoping to power through the stormy silence that hangs over you. You’re rewarded with a lethal glare- no one does cold fury quite like Min Yoongi.

Hanging your head, you sigh, continuing following at a dutiful three paces behind the furious man. You find yourself missing Jungkook, sure that he would have the ability to overcome this kind of tension, were he here. Or even Jiyeon, as much as you dislike her- perhaps the “chosen one” wouldn’t trigger such ire in her fated mentor. Really, any sort of third companion would do, if not to pacify Yoongi, then at least to keep you company. Long silences aren’t really your thing, after all.

You square your shoulders, straightening. At the next town, Jin and Hoseok await your arrival, and then you will have at least two more companions to chat to when Yoongi enters one of his “moods”.

Not that his “moods” happen very often. For a man who is almost infamously gruff and who seems to permanently have a scowl etched upon his face, his actual personality is fairly calm and unbothered. Years of journeying across the realm of Adlentur have resulted in an attitude where there is very little that can truly throw him off.

Apparently, you possess that unique ability, for the calm mask he often adorns is nowhere to be seen. Even when you’d followed him out of your hometown and demanded to accompany him a lick of ability, magical or not, to warrant your accompaniment, he hadn’t batted an eye. He had merely squinted thoughtfully at you while Seokjin and Hoseok insisted that you would merely be deadweight, before turning around and announcing that if you couldn’t keep up, you’d be left behind.

He’s doing his best to leave you behind now; you’re struggling to keep up with his rapid pace. It’s so speedy that you feel a twinge in your freshly-healed ankle. With a wince, you stumble a few steps, and the ground comes rapidly rising up to meet your face. Before it can make contact, however, a stabilising hand encircles your elbow and you’re yanked upright.

Yoongi stares at you, a delicate but angry flush creeping across the high points of his cheek bones and down his neck.

“Thanks.” You offer sheepishly, before gingerly setting your weight upon your foot once more. The healers had warned you that the fractures were severe enough that even with the extensive healing you’d likely still be a bit tender for the next few days.

“Does it hurt?” He demands, and you wince. You straighten and shake your head.

“It’s just a bit weaker than normal.” You rush to assure him. These are the first words he’s said to you since you woke up in the clinic of the village you’d been staying in. Since then, he’s sort of just stormed around in a furious silence.

The incident that had set him off had been an attack on said village. Of late, the sporadic surges of nightmarish beasts that left few survivors and decimated village populations were becoming more frequent, and this particular village was no exception. This village was lucky in that it had a protector; Yoongi is gifted with special abilities and highly trained in combat. You have no idea where he got the abilities from and why he is so skilled, but it saved your life when he first came to your village, and it didn’t take him long to begin saving lives in this village.

But Yoongi is only human (you assume), and the beasts were numerous and powerful. People can slip under the radar in times of chaos and he hadn’t noticed the small child in the path of danger.

You had, though. You had seen the oncoming danger but unlike Yoongi, you are not trained in combat. You aren’t gifted with special abilities. You’re just an orphan who witnessed what he could do. You’re nothing special.

But you couldn’t just leave the child to die.

According to the healers that Yoongi had carried your broken, bloody body to, you had gotten off easy. A broken ankle, a shredded arm and deep lacerations across your body. The healers had been skilled and Yoongi had supplied them with some of his own magic to give them the ability to heal your wounds- within just twelve hours the only remnants of your scuffle with the monster was a slightly weakened ankle and some ugly scars from some of the deeper wounds that even the healing magic couldn’t overcome.

Despite his foul mood, Yoongi’s hands are gentle as he guides you to sit on a nearby rock. He crouches before you and reaches for your ankle- his hands are warm as his thumb slides against the ball of your ankle. He’s so careful as he rotates your ankle upwards, testing the range of motion. Even in his anger, he treats you like you’re made of glass.

He hadn’t treated you like this when you first started out. He’d just kind of begrudgingly tolerated all your quirks, watched as you bulldozed your way into his little travelling party. But then, as time went on, he’d become more tentative. More careful. He’d tell you to hide when an attack came on the village so you didn’t get in the way. You’d meet a new person and his arm would come up in front of you, like he’s shielding you from a threat. It’s almost subconscious. But it’s annoying.

“It’s fine.” You say, tugging your ankle away from his grasp as sitting straighter on the rock. You feel like a haughty child when he raises weary eyes to glare at you.

“It was shattered yesterday.” He reminds you. “If we’d been in any other village, you’d probably be out of commission for months. And I would’ve left you behind because we have to save-“

He cuts off abruptly but you can fill in the blanks of what he’d say.

An ugly thought overcomes you; what if I were her? It’s poisonous and burns in your chest. Jealousy is an ugly emotion but you’ve been familiar with it a long time. Ever since Yoongi and his crew arrived at your village in search of the long-awaited “chosen one”. It’s probably a dream every orphan harbours; that they are special and unique and wanted, and the murmurs that followed Yoongi’s arrival had probably triggered a similar feeling of longing across the many orphans that take up residence in your village.

Alas, that chosen one is not you; you remember your parents very clearly. Warm, kind, loving. They succumbed to the plague that had left the orphanage you grew up in overflowing. In such a full and overwhelmed establishment, it is easy to sneak in an extra child. And that’s what Jiyeon had been. Always on the outskirts, a little special and unique. She could never quite fit in with the other kids and for some reason you’d always resented that. Not only that; the way she never even seemed to try. She possessed some unique spark, some unfathomable dignity. Alone, dirty-cheeked, unwanted even in an orphanage, and yet there was always something special in her. And it never left her even as the two of you grew up and took your leave from the orphanage.

It hadn’t taken Yoongi long to find her- apparently Seokjin had some sort of specialised divination powers and he’d known who she was the instant he’d laid eyes upon her. Agnes, the local breadmaker, had taken her on as an apprentice and you’d even been in the store when they entered, seeking her out. There’d been something mysterious and terribly exciting about them- it had felt like the opening scenes of those adventure novels Jungkook would read out to the other kids in the orphanage.

And you’d witnessed the disaster that had followed- the attack on the village, your home, by those merciless monsters, the death of people you’d known, and Jiyeon’s ensuing kidnap. Someone apparently didn’t want Jiyeon taking up the mantle of her destiny.

You’re not sure why you insisted you come along on the journey to save her- you never liked Jiyeon. You didn’t know Yoongi or Seokjin or Hoseok. And your closest friend was adamant that he’d stay behind to assist in the rebuilding effort of your village.

Maybe it was something ugly; a desire for it to have been you instead. The one with special, hidden powers and an endless exciting adventure before you. As Yoongi looks up at you, you could believe that maybe that was your motivation. Maybe you wanted to be the one he was looking for.

“I would have caught up.” You finally say, instead of sharing any of those ugly thoughts. “If you’d left me, I’d have hunted you down and followed.”

Yoongi gets abruptly to his feet, and you nearly tumble off the rock in surprise.

“You’re a fool!” He cries. Your eyes widen, but he’s lost to a tirade. Alabaster skin has flushed a furious crimson and the dark points of his eyes have hardened- they glint at you like unyielding steel. “Don’t you understand what we’re doing here? We have to rescue the chosen one or the world as we know it is over. We’re on a time limit! This isn’t some fun whacky adventure with friends- peoples’ lives are at stake! And you’re just throwing yourself around like a thoughtless child!”

You stiffen defensively.

“I’m not being thoughtless-“ you protest, anger heating your words as you spit them out, but Yoongi cuts you off.

“You are! What powers do you have? What abilities? None! I allowed you to come because I didn’t think you’d get in our way so much!” He snarls at you. You throw yourself to your feet, your eyes blazing and your heart thundering furiously in your heart. “Instead you’re throwing yourself into fights you know you can’t handle! You should have left the kid to me!”

“So I was supposed to just sit and stay where you’d left me? Like a dog?” You cry. “When people are dying around me? When a child was about to lose his life?”

“You were supposed to not get hurt!” Is what Yoongi shouts.

And then he goes abruptly silent, his mouth closing so violently that you hear his teeth click together. He cups a hand over his mouth and turns abruptly away, shoulders hunched.

The change in mood is so sudden that you feel like you have whiplash; you almost lose your balance with the about-face. Yoongi keeps his back to you for a long moment, and there’s something hurt about the way he curls himself away from you. Finally, he takes a long, shaky inhale and when he finally turns back to you, his eyes are glazed with emotions you can’t understand. It’s not fair that he gets to stare at you like that, that he gets to make you feel two feet tall.

“Why did you come?” He finally asks, levelling you with a wary look.

The air feels heavy. You and Yoongi have had a good relationship from the beginning- he’s a little protective and a little bit gruff, but on the whole he’d looked out for you and if anything, you felt closer to him than you did to Seokjin or Hoseok. So this is likely the first time the two of you have clashed like this.

It’s probably the question he should have asked when you first demanded you accompany him. He should have questioned your motives. He’d had just enough interaction with Jiyeon to work out that she was a bit of an outcast before she’d been kidnapped; he should have known that she’s not your friend. Maybe that’s why you’re so fond of Yoongi; because he hadn’t asked any of those things. He’d looked at the plucky orphan and given you a chance.

You’ve questioned your own motives many times; why are you on this journey? Why didn’t you stay in your rightful place with Jungkook back at the village? Why did you insist you help rescue Jiyeon? There are motives you can’t shake; that it was for glory. Recognition. So that you could play at being hero. So that you could catch the attention of the mysterious, handsome stranger who is currently eyeing you like you’re an unfamiliar but dangerous beast.

But you want to believe the motive in the depths of your heart is true; that are your core, you are good.

She’d met your eyes, the moment before those beasts grabbed her. She’d stared straight at you and begged you for help.

“Because people need help.” You finally say. You gaze straight at Yoongi, willing him to understand. Willing him to believe. Willing him to see the good in you that you want to believe is there.

Yoongi offers you a searching gaze; deep, dark eyes seem to pierce through to your very soul. He’s always had sharp eyes- he picks things up faster than anyone you’ve ever met and he notices things that no one else would even think to look for. It’s terrifying and exhilarating to have all the focus directed completely on you, even if it is only for a heartbeat. Like he’s disassembling you, piece by piece.

And then he turns away, shoulders stiff and posture ready like a well-trained soldier, and he begins to march off.

“You get two days of recovery. And then we start your training.” He glances over his shoulder at you. “If you’re to accompany the chosen one on her journey, then you must be able to defend yourself. Otherwise, if you continue to burden us like this, I shall chain you to your home at the village personally.”

And you can’t read his expression for the life of you, but there’s just something fond about the way the light glints off his steely eyes.

“Can’t I train her?” Seokjin complains, chewing through a mouthful of dried meat. He looks you up and down like he’s seizing up your weakness and you stick your tongue out him childishly. “I think she needs some work on her defensive skills; perhaps I can come at her with a stick and she can try and fend me off.”

“That just sounds like you want revenge for the mouse she put in your bedding this morning.” Hoseok offers helpfully.

Yoongi chews through his rations slowly and thoughtfully before levelling a glare a Seokjin.

“You can train her as soon as you best me in a fight. If you’d like, we can test that out right now and I can give (Y/N) a day off-“

“That’s fine.” Seokjin hastily cuts him off. “You know what, actually I think I need to do some meditation this morning, make sure they haven’t shifted Jiyeon’s location and that we’re still heading in the right direction.” He scurries off, not sparing a look behind him and you resist the urge to snort in laughter. Perhaps the mouse had been unnecessary, but some sort of revenge had been required after all Seokjin’s recent comments on the amount of time Yoongi had been taking to train you.

It had been months now, since Yoongi had decided you needed training; you were still a beginner by all means but Yoongi is a good teacher and with each day that passes you grow more adept. It leaves you a little sad; had he been able to mentor Jiyeon and cultivate her special abilities like he intended, perhaps the world would already be saved and the growing evil sealed permanently.

“You never did say why you decided to start learning to fight, (Y/N),” Hobi comments conversationally; though he is just as much a coward as Seokjin, he does have some sort of immunity to Yoongi’s withering glare. This leaves him undeterred by Yoongi’s subtle hints that he is unwelcome at your training sessions, for the most part.

“If she’s coming along on a dangerous journey, she needs to learn to defend herself.” Yoongi cuts in. He finishes the last of his meal, and gets to his feet. He stretches languorously, like a cat, peering at you through squinted eyes. “I’ll give you an hour and then we’ll get started. We’ll make camp here for tonight and cross the river in the morning.”

He wanders off, leaving you with Hobi. Hobi watches him go with mild curiosity.

“What happened between you two when we got separated?” Hobi wonders aloud. He tilts his head and stares at you. “Something just... seems different with you two.”

You pause to consider; true to his word, Yoongi had given you another couple of days to recover, and then he’d started his training. The two of you would spend the day hiking and in the evenings when you’d made camp for the night, he’d teach you the basics of combat. But despite his rigorous training, there was no denying that Yoongi treated you differently after that day. Not hugely different- his protectiveness hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t any less gruff than usual. He just seemed... a little warmer. Kinder, even. Except when he was training you and then he’d turn into a demon spawned from the depths of hell.

“Nothing we haven’t already told you; a village got attacked, I got injured, and Yoongi decided I should be trained in combat to stop it happening again.” You recall. Hoseok shakes his head in absolute bafflement.

“See, those all sounds like standard things for Yoongi, but then he also doesn’t seem like Yoongi. He’s so... different with you.l Hoseok admits. “I’ve known him for years now, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he...” he trails away, before looking at you curiously. “Ah.” He makes a little noise of understanding.

You lean forward eagerly.

“What?” You ask. Hoseok holds a thumb and forefinger to his chin thoughtfully.

“Nothing. I just want to try something. Hold still.” And that’s all the warning you get before Hoseok dives at you. Your eyes widen as you lurch back, but you are caught off guard and so Hoseok is able to pin you easily.

“Hobi!” You cry in protest, but he just grins and leans in close. You can’t help but notice how compromising the position you are in is, pinned beneath Hobi, and when he drops down low enough for his mouth to tickle your ear, you can only imagine what the pair of you look like to a third party.

“Yoongi’s the jealous type, by the way.” Is what he whispers, and that’s all he manages to tell you before a very loud throat clear interrupts him.

Hobi leans back, settling on his heals but not bothering to get off you. Yoongi stares down at him, unimpressed. His lips are pressed firmly together, but otherwise his expression is unreadable.

“Ah, Yoongs,” Hoseok says cheerfully. “I was just thinking I’d test (Y/N)’s reflexes. See how your training is going for myself.”

“Hoseok.” Yoongi says cooly. He smiles but it has no warmth in it. “Surely you’ve seen me fight enough; are you doubting my ability to train her?”

He offers a hand out to Hoseok, who accept it cheerfully. Freed from Hoseok’s grasp, you sit up, brushing dirt off your tunic and then glaring at Hoseok.

“Never.” Hoseok says warmly. He’s entirely too cheerful and smug and you don’t know why.

“What the hell, Hobi-“ you snap, but Yoongi cuts you off.

“I changed my mind, (Y/N),” he says abruptly. He pins you with shimmering dark eyes. “We’ll start our training now; Hoseok has just helpfully pointed out some shortcomings.”

“You’re welcome.” Hoseok offers, before taking his leave to find Jin.

He’s gentle as he helps you to your feet.

Everything about him is almost overly careful, as he leads you away from the camp site to a small clearing. There’s a tension to his figure that you don’t quite understand- it reminds you of the fight you’d had, where he’d turned away from you, overcome with emotion.

Yoongi takes a long, deep breath.

“Are you ok?” He finally asks, when the tension has bled from his posture. You nod cautiously, and Yoongi nods awkwardly to himself, before sighing heavily. He shoves a distressed hand through his hair, and the dishevelled look makes him look younger, somehow. Yoongi hasn’t been very forthcoming with personal details about himself, particularly his age, but normally he looks just a bit older than you. But the look he gives you now is almost boyish, like a confused child lost in the woods.

“Hoseok’s always been nosey.” He comments. “He likes to do unhelpful things because he thinks he’s helping me.” The almost frazzled way he says the words is so unlike the composed man you know; you feel like you have whiplash and you don’t even know the reason behind his sudden and unexpected fluster.

“You mean pinning me?” You wonder. Yoongi nods, agitated, before stepping close to you.

“What did he say to you?” He asks. “When he was... he was... I saw him say something. What’d he say?”

You pause to recall the cryptic words- that Yoongi is the jealous type. It’s certainly an interesting little tidbit to know; a small part of you wonders if that jealousy would ever be directed at you, but you dismiss it just as quickly. But for the life of you, you can’t think why Hobi might have brought it up in such a context, or why he even thought it appropriate to pull the stunt in the first place.

“That you’re the jealous type.” You share, wondering if Yoongi will offer any further clarity or insight into the situation or if he will keep his thoughts to himself like he often prefers to do.

Something sparks in Yoongi’s eyes, and this, at least, is an easy emotion to interpret; irritation.

“Let’s just get started.” He grumbles. He guides you through your regular warm up. You’re thankful you’d eaten earlier than the others for you’re sure you’d have a nasty cramp if you hadn’t. Yoongi is short and clipped in his delivery and it’s clear the hounding from his peers earlier has left him in a foul mood.

Finally, after a series of difficult drills that he’s been practicing with you, he allows you a brief reprieve.

“You’ve come a long way.” He observes, while you take a long drink from a waterskin. When you stare at him questioningly in response, he settles down next to you and offers something close to a smile. It’s a little terser and a little awkward, but there’s a warmth to his eyes that you’ve steadily become acquainted with despite the rarity of its appearances. “Give it another few months and you’ll be able to keep up with even Jin.”

“I probably won’t.” You remind him. “Jiyeon’s being held at the next town- you’ll probably be too preoccupied training her to have these sessions with me.”

Yoongi stiffens, just slightly, but you’ve become accustomed with the way he expresses himself throughout the journey and you know the statement throws him.

“I can manage two pupils. It might even be helpful for her to spar with someone closer to her skill level.” He finally says. You nod, getting up and stretching, bouncing from heel to heel as an indicator that you’re ready to go.

“I suppose it might.” You offer, but now your mind is preoccupied. In the next few days, the four of you will enter into the territory where Jin can sense Jiyeon is being held, and they will begin her rescue mission. Following that, Yoongi had planned to withdraw to his hometown where he can safely train her in preparation. From there, the campaign begins; they must raise up an army mighty enough to take on the Empire and remove whatever curse upon the land the Shadow Emperor has wrought. It’s a long, arduous path ahead of them, one you definitely hadn’t thought through. But with your meagre, beginner fighting skills, surely you shall be more hindrance than help, as pointed out by Yoongi all those months ago.

Yoongi picks up on your distraction when he’s able to pin you in a fairly simple maneouvre. He plants a forearm against the base of your throat and pins your legs beneath the weight of his body. His body is warm against yours and the force of the blow that sent you sprawling has you breathless. You bring up your hands, trying to dislodge his arm, but he’s stronger and surer than you and it doesn’t budge.

“Distraction can cost you your life.” He comments, and his voice is a low rumble. His breaths come deep and heavy- warm puffs of air tickle your skin and his torso heaves against yours.

“Sorry.” You mutter. The pressure against you eases as Yoongi sits back but he doesn’t shift his weight off you.

“I was distracted too.” He admits. He rolls off you and straightens, dusting off his pants before extending a hand to you. “Let’s leave it here and pick up tomorrow. It might even be our last training session without Jiyeon so I expect you to work hard.”

You take his hand and the mention of her name has something dark and ugly churning in your stomach. This whole situation has your heart sitting cold in your chest like unyielding stone. You had confessed to Yoongi that you had come along on this journey because someone needed help- what about after? What role did you have to play in all this? Yoongi had just assumed you would continue to accompany them, but is that really what you should do?

“I’m the jealous type too.” The words come out of you softly, unbidden- you almost don’t realise you’ve said them until you see the way Yoongi stiffens.

“What?” He asks, turning back to face you. His expression is about as readable as a blank page- you’re sure the Emperor’s fortress would be easier to breach.

You swallow deeply and steel yourself. You’ve already said the words- it’s time you faced these pesky feelings before you make a decision you regret.

“I’m the jealous type too.” You confess, a little louder. “I don’t want to be your second pupil. I don’t want to be someone along just so Jiyeon’s less lonely and has someone to spar with. I like training with you. I want to keep training with just you. And the thought of sharing this time with her... it makes me feel jealous.”

Yoongi is silent, staring at you in confusion. It takes him a few baffled blinks before he manages an answer.

“We don’t have enough time for two separate sessions.” Is what he offers, the words slow and almost slurred in confusion. “And Jiyeon’s training takes priority.”

It’s a slap in the face, even if Yoongi doesn’t mean it in the way you’re thinking. He doesn’t seem to understand, but you want him to. You want him to comfort you and take away the ugly feelings storming inside you.

“I’m not talking about training.” You finally say. “I’m talking about us. You and me.”

Yoongi looks like you’ve just punched him in the stomach- the look of absolute bewilderment on his normally calm face would be funny if your heart didn’t feel like it was about to plummet straight through your body into the ground below you.

“I have feelings for you.” You blurt. “And I’m scared. Because Jiyeon’s the chosen one. She has to be your priority. The world needs that. But if she’s the priority... if she’s the one that needs to be trained and cared for and raised.... where does that leave me? Less useful than a packing mule.”

Yoongi’s expression is stony, but you can see the emotion shining in his eyes. His normally composed exterior is completely shattered, and for just a brief second you catch a glimpse of fragile, vulnerable longing.

And then his expression steels and it’s like a door slamming shut.

“I don’t have time for feelings.” Is what he says. He’s brusque and his words are firm and if you hadn’t caught that glimpse of emotion, it would almost seem cruel the way he delivers them. “And if this is what you are spending your time worrying about, then I think it best you return to your village.”

And then he leaves you, alone in the clearing to clean up the mess you’ve made of your own heart.

Despite his rough dismissal, you do not go home. You’ve come too far to not at least see Jiyeon safe and rescued. What comes after is something you can worry about when it actually happens.

Seokjin and Hoseok can tell something happened, but they are awkward and unsure about how to proceed since both you and Yoongi refuse to speak of it. Instead, the two of you arrive at some sort of wordless truce; he won’t send you home and you won’t bring up your feelings again.

The four of you arrive at the town where Jin can sense Jiyeon’s presence. It’s a fairly unremarkable town, just small enough that it’s hard to enter without people noticing your presence but just large enough that they probably can’t guess at your motives. It takes a few days of reconnaissance to discover where Jiyeon may be; this town happens to house a small, undercover faction of the emperor’s top mages, and a days’ hike out of the village holds a secret dungeon.

The decision is made to leave you behind, and though normally you’d insist you accompany them, a piercing glare from Yoongi has you meekly agreeing to stay overnight in the in . Your instructions are simple; if the four of them do not return by 6am the next morning, you are to cross the country and head to the town of Sabre, Yoongi’s hometown. From there, you should find the aid necessary to rescue the chosen one, and from there it will be up to Yoongi’s friends and family to replace Yoongi’s role as mentor and teacher to the chosen one.

You’re seeing the them off under the cover of night when Yoongi finally acknowledges you.

You’re about to turn back to the inn and retire to the room that you’d hired out when he calls your name. You turn back in surprise; Jin and Hoseok watch in confusion as Yoongi walks towards you. He shoves a hand through his hair in distress before coming to a halt before you.

His expression is oddly soft as he casts his gaze over you.

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. It’s soft enough that Jin and Hoseok can’t hear, but you hear the words as loud as day. “I’ll... I’ll see you in the morning.”

Despite everything, despite the ache in your chest, despite the overwhelming worry and concern, despite the fear, you smile at him. He looks surprised for a moment before you notice the slightest curl form at the edge of his mouth in a weak smile.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” You promise.

You do attempt to sleep that night; after all the plan is to leave straight away and flee to Sabre as soon as Jiyeon is rescued. You have a long an arduous journey ahead of you and you’re the only one who has the luxurious option of sleep. But you only manage fitful bursts, filled with nightmares. Finally, the dawn rolls around, though you do not feel rested in the slightest.

You rise with a sigh, readying your scant belongings and changing into appropriate travel gear.

And then, you wait. Waiting is agony- that’s something you learn as you settle beside the window of your small room and watch the sun peek between imposing stone buildings. The sky warms from a dull grey into a blushing pink, and then a bright blue. And all the while, you catch no glimpse of your friends. Six am comes and goes. No one had warned you how deeply terrifying your role would be. Waiting and uncertain. Are they dead? Captured? You do not know- they didn’t grant you the luxury of any information; just left you behind to deal with the mess, under the guise of “safety”.

Stiffly, you rise from your position. You do not dare check the clock. You do not want to know how long past the meet-up time it is though it must be at least a few hours. Your instructions had been to leave strictly as 6am lest people

come looking for you, but that hour has come and gone.

“You’re a liar.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the crisp morning air. It had only been last night that he’d promised to see you again; so quickly he broke his promise.

You kick the dirt aimlessly before beginning a quick stride for the edge of town, your head down. “A coward and a liar.” You assert, though your voice is thick with unshed tears.

You’ve just stepped into the woods that surround the edge of the town when you hear the crunch of boots in dirt and the clink of armour; soldiers are out and about. Perhaps they’re searching for your friends after a successful mission and Jiyeon is safe; perhaps they’re searching for any backup to exterminate and ensure her continued imprisonment.

You’re searching for a way to conceal yourself when an arm wraps around your bicep and nearly yanks you off your feet. You stumble back into a firm, warm presence, and one hand covers your mouth while an arm snakes around your waist, stifling your cry.

You don’t hesitate to utilise the momentum of your fall. You swing your elbow around to where you estimate your attacker’s abdomen is. They release a soft “oof” and you utilise the way that their arm goes slack to swing forward in the same moment you bring the heel of your foot slamming down over theirs.

They grunt and hunch over in pain.

“It’s me!” A familiar voice hisses, releasing you so that you can whirl around and see your attacker.

“Yoongi?” You say, before remembering the approaching guards and lower your voice. “You’re here?!”

“I am.” He comments softly. “Jin sensed you hadn’t left yet and I.... came to get you.” He confesses.

A clank of armour and the distant sound of voices has the two of you freezing; now is not the time for reunion. There will be time for catch up and explanation later. For now, you are in imminent danger until the soldiers pass you by.

Yoongi secures a hand tightly around your wrist and guides you through the undergrowth in a low crouch. He moves in the opposite direction of the voices, brushing branches out of the way.

“There’s a hollow ahead; we can hide there until they pass by and then we’ll make for town. The others will be waiting for us there.” He glances at you over his shoulder.

You don’t know what passes through his expression, but you feel his grip tighten just a fraction and his pace quickens.

The hollow he speaks of is a tree- rain has washed away the soil that the tree clung to. In its place, twist, skeletal roots knot and weave to form a dark space just large enough to hide some if they scrunched themselves up very tightly. You pause to raise an eyebrow at Yoongi. He pointedly ignores your scepticism, pressing pointedly on your shoulders until you obediently crawl into the space. He is not far behind- you feel the warmth of his form as he crowds you in. You’re about to comment that you don’t feel particularly hidden when you feel the brush of his magic; the shadows around the roots thicken. It’s a spell you’ve seen before- people’s eyes seem to just slide over the places that Yoongi’s shadows conceal.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re still here and not halfway to the next town when we agreed you’d leave three hours ago?” He murmurs from where he is crouched over you. Crushed up against him like this, he is a large, foreboding presence. Were it not for the glint of warmth to his eyes, the relief at seeing you safe, you could almost be afraid of this terrifying man. If he is, indeed, a human at all.

You could do a lot of things in that moment- pour out the anxiety and worry and misery and anger you feel and watch him boil in it; instead you release the fragile shard of vulnerability you had been trying to keep a tight hold on.

“I couldn’t accept you’d died.” You confess.

Yoongi’s eyes soften, and he drops his head so that it rests against your shoulder. His hair tickles the side of your neck and you feel the heavy weight of his breath as he exhales slowly.

“I’m sorry.” He confesses. You shake your head, attempting to shift back. Some distance would be helpful to the loud racket your heart is currently making.

“It was out of your control.” You remind him. “It’s hard to be punctual when you’re fighting against an empire.”

His arms tighten- a hand lifts from the soil and fits into the curve of your waist, anchoring you against him.

“Not about that.” He confesses. “About.... about what you said earlier. About your feelings- I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. I have so much I must do and I can’t afford distractions and yet...... there is so much I want to be distracted by, (Y/N).”

He feels your surprised inhale, the way your ribs hiccup beneath his palm.

“I’m supposed to be protecting Jiyeon and yet when Jin told me you were in danger...”

He doesn’t have to finish the story. Here he is, holding you desperately against him like at any moment you may crumble. He left the chosen one vulnerable, unprotected and untrained to save you. The plucky orphan who should have never been apart of this tale in the first place.

Against your volition, you hand comes up to slide against his cheek. His eyes squeeze shut at the gesture- it reminds you of a cat, the way his eyes squint in contentment.

“I understand.” You admit. “I.... It’s not your fault.”

Those are the only words you can muster. How else can you articulate the way it has clicked in place? The burden Yoongi bears; the long, scary road ahead of him. He cannot afford to be thinking of the things he cannot have; and he cannot have you, as much as you both want it.

You know he understands what you meant; that your words have lifted a heavy burden from his heart. He did not want to hurt you; but he cannot drag you in.

You lean up, tilting your head up just slightly so that you can have a brief taste of the life you could have had; if you were born in a time of peace and prosperity. Perhaps you could have wedded. Had children together. Grow old with your hands linked together, smiling with recollections of a life well-lives. His lips are soft but firm, and the kiss is filled with sadness.

You eventually make the decision to go home. It’s not inmediatelt; you persevere for a while. You accompany them on the arduous journey back to Yoongi’s hometown. You assist with Jiyeon’s training as Yoongi intended. But eventually you come to accept the truth; this isn’t your journey to be on.

Jiyeon, who was suspicious of your presence at first given your history, is the one who protests the most, oddly enough. Perhaps you are the small piece of familiarity in a sea of chaos and fear, to her. And oddly, you are sad to say good-bye. Despite never liking her as a child, as an adult you begin to see it. The heart for others, the unwavering compassion and determination. She has the heart of a hero.

But that’s why you must return home; a hero needs a home to fight for, after all.

Yoongi’s goodbye to you is subdued. He does not voice his sadness- Jiyeon even goes so far as to scold him to his dismissiveness. But you know; you can see it shining in his eyes. If he lets go, he will break down. And you are leaving to prevent that; your goodbye will be for naught if he lets himself crumble here.

“It’s not forever.” You reassure your friends. Jin nods, tearfully, while Hoseok rests a comforting hand against his shoulder- normalky he would be the one sobbing the loudest, but he is to chaperone you home and then he will rendez-vous with the others in Yoongi’s hometown. “I’ll see you when the war ends. If any of you die, I’ll be very cross with you.”

That does it; the briefest, weakest smile from Yoongi.

And so ends this chapter of your adventure.

Epilogue:

The war lasts five years. Villages are ravaged, lives are lost and empires are brought to their knees. Joyous bells ring throughout your town when the news reaches you; the emperor has fallen.

For you, you don’t think much of it. The war had left countless children orphaned, and to the best of your ability you take as many in as you can handle. Ever since you and Jungkook took over the orphanage, funds have been tight and there have been endless mouths to feed. So the news of the war ending leaves you surprisingly underwhelmed. The end of the war will not mean food appears from nowhere or make these children un-orphaned. If anything, your job gets harder now; as people lick their wounds and the fallen empire recovers, you will have your hands full with your children.

You’re informing Jungkook of this opinion quite loudly in the tavern one evening. It’s past curfew for the children and old Bertha had offered to keep an eye on things so the two of you could have a night off.

You’re surprised when a nearby customer snickers. Casting your gaze, you notice four hooded figures seated around the door. That in itself is not suspicious, for many travellers prefer to keep their identities concealed as they pass through.

What is suspicious is the brief glimpse you catch of one of the hooded strangers, the slight tilt of a smirk that seems almost familiar.

Having noticed your attention is drawn, one of the travellers lean forward.

“Do go on.” A familiar voice sounds. You nearly drop your glass as you blink a few times. Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“Do you know these people?” Jungkook asks curiously, eyeing the group with mild interest.

You’re too stunned to reply, so the initial traveller, the one who had snickered answers for you. He tugs his hood off to reveal chestnut hair, a heart shaped mouth, bright glittering eyes.

“I sure hope she does since we came all this way to find her.” Hoseok cries enthusiastically.

You distantly hear the sound of a chair sliding across wood and then realise the source is you, leaping from your chair.

“H-hoseok?” You cry. He grins.

“The one and only!” He caws. He gets to his feet to engulf you in a monstrous bear hug.

The other travellers take the opportunity to tug their hoods free; first Jiyeon appears, beaming at you, then Seokjin.

And then Yoongi. Five years has not aged him, though you always had considered the possibility that he is immortal.

Hoseok seems to realise he’s lost your attention, for he releases you and begins interrogating Jungkook.

You’re far too preoccupied with the man before you.

“Yoongi.” You breathe.

The smile he offers you is surprisingly light and warm. Like a cat blinking contentedly in the rays of the morning sun. And despite it being nearly half a decade since you last saw him, your heart races just the same.

“You did say it wasn’t forever.” He offers you simply.

And as your eyes water and fill with tears, you offer him a weak smile.

And so begins the next chapter of your adventure.

#thebtswritersclub #castlebangtan #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #writing

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css1992 · 4 years

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Damn, love your starker content. If you're looking for a prompt or something, I have one I think would be great for this pairing: TeenAU starker where Peter has braces and wants to give Tony a blowjob, even tho he's never done it before. Cue braces getting stuck followed by an embarrassing hospital trip or getting caught by someone. Tx for top tier starker.

First of all, I’m so sorry this took so long, I was having that worst writer’s block, I hope you can forgive me and I hope you’re still out there to read this! T.T Second of all, thank you so much for your kind words, sweetie, you’re too nice

High school AU, explicit, 18+

Word count: 5.7k

Summary: And even though he knew how he felt in his heart, he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud, wasn’t ready to put it in so many words. He worried it was too soon, maybe Tony would freak out and leave, but still, he wanted to take a step further in their relationship, he wanted to show Tony how much he appreciated him. So he came up with a plan and it involved, well, his mouth. But he’d hesitated for too long and now he had freaking braces and he couldn’t help feeling a little insecure about them.

Warnings: mentions of bullying, mild violence (not explicit), anal fingering, oral sex, brief mention of blood. If you find anything triggering, please let me know!

-x-

“Come on, babe, there’s no way I’m not gonna like it, you’re beautiful, you couldn’t look bad if you tried.” Tony tried to pry Peter’s hands away from his mouth, but the younger teen held them tighter against his face, shaking his head firmly. “Please, for me? Just let me see it, you can’t hide forever, right? Get it over with.” Peter frowned, but then sighed, thinking to himself that Tony was right, there was no way he could hide it much longer anyway. Better rip that band-aid off. He took a deep breath, let his arms fall to his sides and smiled tentatively at his boyfriend. Tony held his face in his hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones softly as he admired the metal wires and brackets on Peter’s teeth and that must have been the most embarrassing moment of his life. “You look so cute right now, you know that, right? I could eat you right up.”

“You mean it?” Peter whispered quietly, afraid that Tony would notice that he sounded funny, too, not yet used to how the braces sat against the roof of his mouth.

“Of course, munchkin.” He pulled Peter close and placed a sweet, warm kiss on his lips and it made the butterflies in his stomach go wild, but it quieted his nervous heart. He pulled away and smiled a little wider, if Tony said it was cute, then maybe –

“What’s wrong with your face, Penis? Looks like you had a fight with a cheese grater and lost.” Of course Flash wouldn’t leave it alone, Peter should have known. He closed his lips tightly and shrank against his locker, dropping his gaze to the floor, only to hear and feel Tony moving away from him and towards Flash.

“Wanna say that again, you little fucker? Come on, I fucking dare you, I’m gonna show you what’s wrong with your face, I’ll break your fucking teeth and no braces will be able to fix your ugly mug ever again, you fucking piece of shit.“ The boy kept pushing at Flash’s chest until he was cowering against the opposite wall and Peter jumped into action, pulling Tony’s arm just as other students started gathering around them in the hall, curious to see what the commotion was all about. Tony had already been suspended for punching Flash in the face not three weeks earlier, Peter couldn’t let him get in trouble again, he knew Tony’s father was… a complicated man.

“Tony, it’s ok, it’s fine, come on, leave it alone.” After a lot of pulling, he was finally able to get his boyfriend off Flash’s face. He didn’t waste any time and scurried away, yelling something over his shoulder that Peter couldn’t quite make out. Tony was fuming, face red, hands closed into fists. The younger teen peppered small kisses on his cheeks and lips to try and calm him down some, and finally the boy seemed to come back to himself. “It’s ok, I’m ok.”

“It’s really not, Pete, that asshole can’t talk to you like that, I swear to God, I’m gonna –“

“Forget about him, come on, he’s gone.” He stole a quick kiss from the older boy, who sighed heavily, burying his hands in Peter’s curls to pull him closer, deepening the kiss.

Peter still shivered and blushed at Tony’s eagerness and boldness. It was all pretty new to him, he’d never had a boyfriend before, just a few short flings. Tony, on the other hand, was – to put it mildly – very experienced. He’d dated pretty much all of the cheerleaders and a few guys on the football team. It was weird for Peter, kissing him in the halls, having Tony walk him to and from classes, sitting at the “cool table” in the cafeteria, having people that he’d never met in his whole entire life gossiping about him.

Peter had heard so many stories about Tony before they got together that when he asked him out, almost four months earlier, he was sure it had to be a prank. There was just no way the Tony Stark could actually be interested in him, so, naturally, he said no. The older boy had looked so confused and shocked as he took a few steps away from Peter, all that famous confidence and cockiness completely gone.

“Oh,” he whispered, sticking his hands in his pockets, looking around the empty classroom he’d pulled Peter into. “I just – I mean, are you seeing someone else?”

“What?” Peter blushed, heart racing and palms sweating. He was so nervous, Tony was known for being a bit of a hothead, he always got into trouble for losing his shit and starting fights, Peter wasn’t sure if maybe he’d get angry because his prank didn’t work. “It’s not – I’m not seeing anyone, I just – I’m –” He stammered, not fully able to complete his sentences. To his surprise, the older boy didn’t get angry, he just ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and smiled in defeat.

“Is it because I got suspended last week? I swear, it wasn’t my fault, that asshole was bullying my friend. Bruce! You know him, right? He’s in the Decathlon team with you, ask him!” His eyes were wide, like maybe he’d found the reason why Peter said no, but then he quickly deflated. “Unless you just don’t wanna go out with me, which is fine, I mean, you don’t have to like me, I just thought – well, doesn’t matter.”

“Look, I know this is a prank.” Peter frowned, and Tony’s eyebrows shot into his hairline.

“Excuse me?” The older boy looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Peter thought maybe he’d pissed him off for good. “What, you think I’m some mean girl in a teen movie or something?”

“I just – why would you even ask me out, honestly? You don’t even know me and you’re always making fun of the Decathlon team and the school band – both of which I’m a part of, in case you don’t know.” Peter had noticed Tony was always at the Decathlon competitions and band practice, and he was always laughing and whispering with his friends, and Peter could swear that he sometimes caught him looking directly at him before whispering something to James Rhodes.

“Ok, first of all, I don’t make fun of the team or the band, I just make fun of Bruce, but that’s because he’s my best friend and we like to mess with each other, I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m sorry. And yeah, I don’t really know you, but I’d like to, that’s exactly why I’m asking you out. You’re smart, talented, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes, to be honest.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged his shoulders. Peter felt his face burning and dropped his gaze to the floor. “There’s no evil plan, I just think you’re cute, is all.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? That you’re not messing with me?” He whispered, looking at him from under his eyelashes and, again, the older teen just shrugged.

“I guess you’ll just have to trust me, shortcake.”

And Peter did. For whatever stupid reason, he did. He didn’t really know Tony, just knew about him – knew that he was a certified genius, but also a troublemaker. He knew he was filthy rich, but he didn’t hang out with other rich kids, like Flash and Osborn, he was best friends with Rhodes, Pepper and Bruce, who, like Peter, didn’t come from money. He knew he was really popular and he dated around a lot, but he wasn’t an asshole about it – not that Peter knew, at least. He didn’t kiss and tell, he never slut-shamed anyone or leaked nudes of his exes, which was more than Peter could say about most guys in school.

So he gave it a shot, said yes and they went out for burgers. Tony was nice, funny and smart – but he was also sarcastic, short-tempered and a little arrogant. Peter wasn’t really sure how he felt about him after the date was over, but when he went to bed that night, he couldn’t stop thinking about him, about his lips – couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss he’d dodged in his car when he dropped him home. Still, the older boy had smiled and kissed his cheek instead.

The next day, Peter was standing by his locker in between classes, talking to Ned and MJ about the movie marathon they were planning for the weekend, when he noticed the older boy approaching. Peter wasn’t sure if Tony would talk to him in front of the whole school, he had a reputation to keep and Peter was kind of a nerd, but not only did he talk to him, he also kissed his cheek as he greeted him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey, I’m Tony,” he introduced himself to a very flustered Ned and an unimpressed and suspicious-looking MJ. The former just waved dumbly and made a weird sound at the back of his throat and the latter just nodded at him, acknowledging his presence. Tony didn’t seem to mind the weird interaction, just turned back to Peter and smiled. “Wanna grab lunch together today?”

And that was probably the very moment Peter started falling for him. Slowly, but surely. He insisted on carrying his books, walking him to class, sitting with him at lunch, he even drove him home most days, even though his house was nowhere near Queens. He was a bit of a hothead, yes, and he sure as hell was trouble – and May could smell it from a mile away when Peter introduced him – but he was also the kindest, sweetest, most amazing person Peter had ever met and he wished Tony would let other people see that.

Peter loved him. At least he thought he did, he’d never been in love before, but he missed Tony like crazy whenever they were apart for more than five seconds; he cared if he ate properly and regularly; he worried about his health and safety all the time; he always thought about him whenever he watched rom-coms with May on movie nights; his heart fluttered whenever he was around and, more importantly, he just wanted to be with him, take care of him. All the time. If that wasn’t love, what else could it be?

And even though he knew how he felt in his heart, he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud, wasn’t ready to put it in so many words. He worried it was too soon, maybe Tony would freak out and leave, but still, he wanted to take a step further in their relationship, he wanted to show Tony how much he appreciated him. So he came up with a plan and it involved, well, his mouth. But he’d hesitated for too long and now he had freaking braces and he couldn’t help feeling a little insecure about them.

But then Tony looked at him with those beautiful, soft brown eyes, smiled at him and stroked his cheek with such devotion, and all his insecurities melted away and he just wanted Tony to know how much he loved him.

“Hey, about this Friday,” he started, pulling away from the kiss. He was still self-conscious about how he sounded because of the braces, but Tony didn’t seem to notice anything different, at least he didn’t mention it.

“What about it, short stuff?” He smiled sweetly, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist, pulling him closer. He placed small kisses on his jaw and chin and the younger teen giggled, pushing him away without any force. Peter always refrained from pointing out that Tony was only a few inches taller than him – the older teen seemed so happy he found someone shorter than him to mess with, Peter let him have his fun.

“So, you know how my aunt is dating this guy from work?” Tony frowned, a little confused, but Peter just kept looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah?”

“She told me yesterday that she’s going to spend the night at his place on Friday.” He tried to give his boyfriend a sexy smile, but then remembered that the braces would probably make it look silly, so he closed his lips quickly. Still, Tony looked very excited and interested when he realized what Peter meant.

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin of his own taking over his face.

“Yeah, so I thought – maybe we could order some pizza and you could, uhm, spend the night?” He dropped his gaze to somewhere around Tony’s chest, brushing off imaginary dust from his shirt, as his face grew hot, when he felt the older teen’s finger under his chin, forcing him to look up at him.

“Pete… Are you sure?” He asked him firmly, serious, looking for a truthful answer, and Peter nodded.

“Just – uh, I’m not sure if I’m ready to go… all the way,” he whispered quietly, “but like – you know.” He blushed bright red, but Tony didn’t let him avert his gaze. He smiled and placed a chaste kiss on his lips.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything. I’m actually a great cuddler, did you know that?”

“Silly.” Peter laughed, slapping him on the chest, feeling a little less nervous. “So, is that a yes?”

“That’s a hell yes, baby face.”

For the rest of the week, Peter couldn’t think of anything else. MJ stopped listening to him by Wednesday and just rolled her eyes whenever Peter mentioned anything Friday-related, but Ned was just as invested on the date as Peter was. He helped him pick an outfit, the perfect movie and even the pizza place they’d order from. He went as far as to send him articles about how to give good blowjobs and handjobs and Peter had to draw the line there – although he did read the articles and made some research of his own.

So on Friday, Peter waved May off, promised to be good – which she didn’t believe much – and hurried to make sure everything was perfect. His bed was made, his sheets were freshly clean and smelled like fabric softener, and there were so many pillows on the couch he wasn’t sure where they were supposed to sit, but oh, well.

He dressed casual, but Ned said he looked hot when he tried the outfit on earlier that week. He hoped he did. He wore gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt that was a little tight over his chest – he didn’t have a broad, strong chest, but it looked ok. He fluffed his hair – Tony loved his curls – and tried not to give a lot of thought to the braces in his mouth, he still wasn’t comfortable with how he looked with them, but Tony always made sure to let him know he thought he still looked beautiful, so. There was that.

So when the bell rang, he took a deep breath, gave himself a little pep talk and opened the door. Tony was leaning against the doorway, looking sinfully sexy in black, ripped jeans and a leather jacket. He smiled at Peter and pulled him in for a kiss, and if the younger teen was already breathless just from looking at his boyfriend, that kiss almost sent him over.

“Hey, peanut. You look gorgeous.” He gave him a once over, as he put some distance between them, and Peter blushed slightly, slapping his chest.

“Come on in.” He opened the door further and Tony stepped inside, quickly getting rid of his jacket and shoes, probably remembering that last time he was there aunt May almost bit his head off when he tried to walk into her living room in his combat boots.

“So, your aunt isn’t home?” He wondered out loud, taking a look around the apartment as if expecting aunt May to just jump from behind the furniture or something. It was funny, Tony was always on edge when she was around, trying to be a good boy, but she saw right through him.

“No, don’t worry, the coast is clear.” The younger teen smiled, sitting on the couch. The older boy quickly followed with a wicked grin, sitting close beside him, placing an arm around his shoulders. Peter chewed his lips and turned on the TV, feeling his heart race in anticipation. “Do you want to pick the movie?”

“No, I’m fine with whatever you wanna watch.” Tony kissed the ball of his shoulder, slowly peppering kisses along his collarbone. Peter’s breath hitched and he knew the blush was surely going all the all way from his cheeks down to his chest.

“Uhm, are you hungry yet? I thought we could order some pizza.” He turned slightly to the side, noticing that Tony didn’t seem very interested in anything else besides ravishing the skin of his neck. “Tony,” he sighed.

“Is this okay?” He whispered, moving away a little to look Peter in the eye. The younger teen turned to look back at him, nodding slowly.

Tony smiled and closed the distance between them, pulling him by the neck to kiss him deeply, slowly. Time stopped right then and there, the room was silent, the sound of their lips moving together the only thing he could hear, the burning touch of Tony’s hands on his skin the only thing he could feel.

Funny thing was, no matter how nervous he’d been up until that moment, the second their lips touched, he felt safe, wanted, loved. He knew Tony wouldn’t do anything he wasn’t comfortable with, so he let himself go, melting into his arms like like it was the safest place in the world.

He felt the older teen wrap his arms around his waist, pulling him softly, and gave in, climbing into his lap to straddle his thighs. Tony grunted when he felt Peter’s ass press down onto his jeans-clad erection and bucked his hips up, hands sliding from his waist to his lower back to pull him even closer. Peter’s heated skin shivered as their chests touched and Tony bit his lower lip, before pulling him into a messy, wet kiss. The younger boy rocked his hips eagerly, whimpering against Tony’s bitten lips as he felt his own rock-hard cock rubbing against the older teen’s taut stomach, eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Tony’s fingers ventured under his shirt, short nails scratching across the skin of his arched back, before lifting it slowly, as if asking for permission. It wouldn’t be a first, they hadn’t done much, but they’d had a few heavy make out sessions that usually ended with both of them shirtless – but not much more than that. Peter just raised his arms and let Tony take his shirt off, baring his chest, then went right back to kissing his neck, as the older teen moaned and rutted against his ass, his cock was so hard Peter could swear he could feel it pressing against his hole, begging for entrance, even through the many layers of clothing.

“Are you doing okay there, Pete?” Tony breathed into his mouth and the other boy shivered and nodded quickly, biting Tony’s chin and burying his fingers in his hair. The older teen’s teeth and tongue slowly made their way down his throat and towards his collarbone as Peter threw his head back, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of his fingers squeezing the soft flesh where his hips met his ass. “I wanna try something. You trust me?” He placed soft kisses on his chest, then his tongue found one of Peter’s perked-up, sensitive nipples and he gasped, nodding frantically. “Good.”

His hands slid lower to Peter’s ass and he squeezed roughly, kneading his cheeks as he mouthed at his nipples, alternating sloppy, wet kisses with sharp, gentle nibbles, which drove the younger teen mad with want and turned the small nubs an angry red. It almost distracted him from the fact the Tony’s hands were now making their way down the back of his pants and underwear, skin to skin, the rough pads of Tony’s fingers scratching his soft flesh.

Okay, that’s new, Peter thought, and he liked it. He closed his eyes and bit his lower lip, as Tony sucked bruises on his collarbones, his fingers slowly making their way to Peter’s crack, until one of them pressed directly against his rim, touching it, but nothing else, and his breath hitched. He pulled away a little, looking down at the other teen’s face.

“Tony, I’m – I don’t think I’m –“

“Don’t worry, it’s okay, I know you’re not ready. I just wanna make you feel good, ok? Promise.” He kissed Peter’s chin softly, which made the younger boy sigh, eyes fluttering closed, as he nodded his head. “Let me know if you want me to stop, ok? Anytime you need to stop, just say the word.” Tony whispered against his pulse point and, again, Peter nodded, and then he felt the finger pressed against his hole start to move slowly, just rubbing circles against the puckered skin and Peter was so confused, because it felt fucking amazing. And dirty. And wrong. And right.

He felt Tony moving underneath him and he knew he wasn’t just rutting against him – which he was, too. He saw him take something out of his back pocket with his other hand, then the pressure against his hole disappeared, and Peter whined loudly in complaint, then blushed furiously in embarrassment. Tony smirked at him, licking his lips.

“Patience, padawan.” He placed a kiss on his chin, then Peter heard him uncap something and when he looked down, he noticed Tony was holding a tube of lube. His fingers tightened on Tony’s shoulders and the older teen looked up at him. “Hey, what did I say? Do you want to stop?” Peter shook his head quickly, holding Tony’s face in his hands.

“I trust you,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him, and as soon as their mouths made contact, he relaxed again.

Tony held him close, deepening the kiss, and for a few minutes, that’s all they did. Peter rutted slowly against Tony’s stomach and the older teen rolled his hips in time with him, as they kissed and kissed like time meant nothing – and it didn’t. It really didn’t.

At some point, he felt the other teen’s hands sliding again down the back of his pants, he could feel his fingers were wet and colder than a few minutes earlier and he braced himself for what he knew was about to come. At first, Tony just rested a digit against his hole, rubbing it gently, not applying any pressure, and once the younger teen relaxed completely, muscles going lax, he felt one finger try to breach him.

“Umf, Tony,” he whimpered, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, why he was calling his name, he just wanted to say it. The older teen shushed him, warm, wet lips pulled his earlobe into his mouth, nibbling lightly as his finger sunk in deeper and deeper into Peter. “Oh, fuck.”

Peter had fingered himself before, but it was so fucking different from having someone else – Tony – do it to him. It felt so dirty and intimate, like Tony had all this power over him, like there was nowhere he couldn’t touch, nothing he couldn’t do, like Peter’s body belonged to him. It felt exhilarating and scary and fucking awesome and hot – so fucking hot.

Peter gasped when Tony’s finger was completely sheathed and curled inside him. It burned a little and he felt impossibly stretched, but so good at the same time, a delicious kind of pain irradiated from his lower back all the way up to the back of his neck, where his hair stood on end. He closed his eyes and pushed his hips back against Tony’s hand, silently begging for him to move. The older teen didn’t waste any time, as his finger slid out slowly, then slid back inside a little quicker and surer than before, sending shivers down Peter’s spine.

The boy started rolling his hips in time with Tony’s movements, literally fucking himself on his finger, making sure to rub his leaking cock against the older teen’s stomach and his ass on Tony’s impossibly hard cock, until he felt his finger touching someplace in him that sent him to heaven and back in a matter of seconds.

“Oh, fuck, Tony, fuck.” He wrapped his arms around the older teen’s neck and clung to him like a drowning man, soft moans and whines leaving his lips unsolicited as the finger moved and moved and pushed against that bundle of nerves so deliciously, and Peter’s cock was so hard and pressed so tight against Tony’s abs and Peter really wanted to hold out, he needed to, didn’t want it to be over so soon, but fuck –

He came with a cry, nails leaving angry red marks on Tony’s neck as the older teen pulled him into a rough, hungry kiss, biting his lips and licking his mouth like the world was about to end. Peter let him, let him take control of his body and ownership of his mouth as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, thinking that there was no way he could ever feel so good ever again in his whole entire life.

He sagged against Tony’s body when he was done, completely spent, and felt him wrapping his arms around him tightly, like Peter was gonna fly away – and maybe he would, who knew – as he peppered small kisses down the side of his face and slowly withdrew his finger, leaving the younger teen painfully empty.

“Tonight was supposed to be all about you, I had a plan,” Peter mumbled after a few silent minutes, pulling away a few inches to look into Tony’s glinting eyes. The older boy grinned, holding his face in one hand to pull him into a kiss.

“Well, I had plans of my own. I guess great minds think alike.” He butted his nose against Peter’s lovingly and the younger teen smiled.

“I guess,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss Tony again. A little roll of his hips revealed that Tony was still rock-hard and Peter took a deep breath, before pulling away, getting off his lap. Before the older teen could ask what he was doing, he was on his knees, between his spread legs, and Tony reached out to hold him by the shoulders.

“Hey, hey, hey – you don’t – you know you don’t –“

“I know.” Peter smiled again, unbuttoning his jeans carefully. He tried to remain calm so his fingers wouldn’t shake so much and Tony wouldn’t notice how nervous he was.

“Pete,” he tried, but before any more words could leave his lips, his hard cock sprung free from his jeans, which caught Peter by surprise. First, because he didn’t expect Tony not to be wearing any underwear; and second, because – fuck – he knew Tony would be big, he’d cupped him through his jeans many times before, but still – “Fuck.”

Peter took a deep breath, trying to remember everything he’d read online over the week. He closed his eyes and placed tentative kisses on the tip of his cock and down his shaft, and he heard Tony cuss under his breath, melting into the couch. It made Peter a little more confident, so he took the tip into his mouth, surprised when he felt his cock growing even bigger and heavier against his tongue, as Tony moaned loudly, hands gripping the pillows around him.

Peter hollowed his cheeks and started sucking, trying to take a little bit more of his cock into his mouth, slowly. When he was reading about blowjobs, he was afraid he wouldn’t like it, or that maybe he would gag in the middle of it, but it was actually making him hard again, seeing and feeling how turned on Tony was by his mouth on him.

He placed a hand on his heavy, tight balls, fondling them carefully, as he tried to take more of his cock into his mouth. He could almost feel the tip reaching the back of his throat, but before it did, he started pulling back, which it was enough to make Tony moan and thrash underneath him. He smiled, lips stretched wide around the other teen’s thick cock, then decided to try and take him in a little further. It was all going perfectly fine when suddenly he felt like he couldn’t keep going, like something had stuck –

“Aw, fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Peter was so shocked by the sheer desperation in Tony’s voice that he immediately tried to pull away, but Tony’s hands flew to his head, holding him in place. “No, no, no, no, no! Fuck, Pete, it’s – ah, fuck, God, it fucking –“ that was when Peter realized what was happening.

“Umf,” he was mortified, he could feel tears burning behind his eyelids as he shut his eyes tightly, not sure what to do once he realized Tony’s foreskin was stuck in his braces and it must hurt like a motherfucker, because Tony had gone soft almost immediately, as he panted and gasped for air, hands holding Peter’s head firmly in place, terrified that he’d try to move away.

“Hold on, hold on – lemme just –” he could barely finish his sentences, completely out of breath, and Peter’s face was wet with tears at that point, and he was also a little breathless. He felt Tony’s fingers in his mouth, trying the free himself carefully, but Peter could taste blood on his tongue and fuck if it wasn’t the worst night of his whole entire life. “Ah! Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Finally, he felt Tony pushing his head away as he fell sideways to the couch, both hands covering his dick as he buried his face in the cushions, trying to stifle his cries.

“Oh, my God, Tony, I’m so sorry, I’m so, so sorry!” Peter didn’t really know what to do, he didn’t even know if he should try to touch his boyfriend, he looked like he was in so much pain maybe he wouldn’t want him to, so he he sat there on the floor, frantically trying to think of what to say. “I swear I didn’t mean to, I’m so sorry!”

“I know, baby, I know, it’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay,” but the way Tony was breathlessly whispering that into the cushions made it very clear that it was not okay.

“Jesus, Tony, what – I don’t know what to do!” He cried, panicked, and the older teen took a deep breath, raising his face a little to look at Peter, and his face was so fucking red and his eyes were shining with unshed tears.

“Ice, babe. Get me some ice, it’s gonna be fine, I promise, ok?” He was breathing a little easier by then and Peter nodded frantically, as he got to his feet and hurried to the kitchen to get an ice pack. He hurried back in record time and Tony turned on his back, taking the pack and quickly placing it on his lap, letting out a heavy sigh as he did. “Tony, should I take you to the hospital?” He asked, standing by the couch and looking down at his boyfriend, who winced.

“No, it’s fine,” he sighed with his eyes closed, but it didn’t calm Peter down, not even a little bit.

“Tony, I tasted blood!” He cried, fat tears rolling down his cheeks, and Tony reached one hand out for him to take.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s just a tiny cut, I promise. It’s just really sensitive right now, but it’s gonna be fine in a couple of minutes, I promise.” Peter didn’t want to take his hand, he wanted to run and hide, but he also didn’t want to be alone, or away from Tony, so he lay by his side, burying his face in his neck and clutching his shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Tony, this wasn’t supposed to happen, I should have known, I shouldn’t –“

“Peter, it’s fine, I promise.” They were silent for a few seconds, until Peter felt Tony’s chest trembling under his cheek. He looked up, worried that his boyfriend was crying, but he was laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes – again. “Oh, my God, I can’t believe this just happened,” he laughed harder, rubbing a hand over his face.

“It’s not funny.” Peter was so embarrassed, he wished he could bury his head in the dirt and never have to look at his boyfriend again.

“It is a little funny,” Tony managed to say as he laughed his ass off and Peter tried to get up, annoyed, but the older teen held him. “Hey, what’s the matter?” He frowned, a little confused, as he tried to stifle his laugh.

“I wanted to make you feel good, I wanted tonight to be special, and I blew it, all because of these stupid, ugly braces, I don’t even know why you’re still here after this catastrophic disaster!” He knew he was being a little dramatic and maybe he was overreacting, but he just really wanted the night to go well, and it was ruined.

“Hey, c’mon, we did have a good time. Tonight was special, is special. We’re gonna order a huge pizza, we’re gonna binge watch all Marvel movies, and if it makes you feel any better, you can kiss my pee-pee better before we go to bed, what do you say?” He smiled that stupid, beautiful smile of him; soft, brown eyes glinting with mirth.

Peter stared at Tony’s face, thinking about the absurdness of that night, thinking that what was supposed to be a hot date night ended with Tony holding an ice pack to his bleeding dick, trying to comfort Peter for basically almost biting it off. He was silent for a few seconds, contemplating all that madness, before he exploded into a fit of giggles.

“God, I love you,” he blurted out breathlessly, almost without thinking, but as soon as the words left his mouth, his face turned red and his eyes widened, panicking. Before he could take it back, though, Tony smiled softly and winked at him, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“I know. I love you, too, brace face.”

#starker #ironspider #peter parker x tony stark #highschool au

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kirathehyrulian · 4 years

Photo

🌴Oasis Art MasterPost🌴

(Please do not repost or alter. At the very least, please give me credit.)

Illustrator: kirathehyrulian Author: nerdypastrychef Title: Oasis Word Count: 4712 Rating: Explicit Pairings: Jared/Jensen Addtional Tags: are at the begginning of the fic, make sure you are aware of them before you read

Summary: Roman soldier Jensen is sent to Egypt to oversee the marriage negotiations between Caesar and Pharaoh Jared's younger sister. Pharaoh shows him something more interesting to pay attention to.

Fic Link: | Ao3 |

For more art from me please check out my “myart” tag here on Tumblr. 👇(Bonuses/Spoilers for the story under the cut:)👇

Artist notes:

This is my half of the collab in the SPN Reverse Bang. I feel like I can say, My author and me have made it! Yay! It is done!

So, just in case you don’t know what a reversebang is, it’s where an artist draws an illustration and an interested writer picks it to write a story inspired by the work. More goes into the process, but that’s pretty much the gist of it.

I was at a loss on what to draw (I didn’t know there was prompts that you could use if you want). But every time I looked at Jared’s fox eyes I kind of wanted to know what he/Sam would look like with Egyptian make-up. And Jensen always looked like a Roman officer of varying rank to me. So, I explored that idea.

Before I got picked, I said I wasn’t opened to making additional art. But, that was only because I didn’t think I’d be able to. T.T I just didn’t want to get any potential authors’ hopes up.

It’s been a busy fall for me. Every week there has been projects due every week lately. Take my busy schedule and mix it with the fact that I have a bad procrastination and avoidance issues and you get a bad combination for projects at this time of the year.

But, I wanted to do more. I felt like it wasn’t fair or enough just to give my author one illustration. So I tried to make more. I completed the title card. I think the quality is okay. I wished I spent more time on the water. But, the additional pieces below are just WIPs that won’t be revisited. I was too ambitious. But, I put work into them so I’d rather them not collecting dust in my folders. You’re basically seeing the dvd extra’s deleted/wip scenes here.

(You’re only seeing naked shoulders in these WIPs, so it’s sfw.)

Scene 2.1 WIP: This WIP is supposed to be a season 2ish Jared. -_- I don’t know if I accomplished that. The face and hair are passable....kind of. But I’m not happy with the shoulders, pecs, and positioning. I stared at Jared’s torso pics for hours trying to figure out how it would look if the source lighting was hitting him in the front. All the reference photos I found were not at the right angle entirely or the source lighting is shining on the body at the wrong angle. I looked at other dudes chests and I had the same issue. Nothing probably makes you hate looking at your favorite characters or celebs more than having to stare at reference photos for hours and still not figuring out what went wrong.

I should have devoted more time towards research, but I was burning out fast during the past few weeks. School’s been a little more intensive since it’s near the end of the semester and I’ve been feeling a little erratic because of it all.

Anyways, I wanted this piece to look and feel like the audinece member was the one hovering over Jared.

Scene 2.2 WIP:

This one was rushed for sure. I actually had pretty good references available for this scene, but the quality of the drawing was limited by the time that was left available. Everything is blurry or jagged. Jensen’s face and body have flaws and distortions that I wish I could fix. (hehe he kind of looks like a smiling grimlin) In the background behind Dean’s head is supposed to be a ceiling fan. It’s supposed show that your looking up at the ceiling, but I didn’t do a perspective check. And, I think I put the crown molding in the wrong place. Maybe we can say it’s just a room divider or something. Idk... t.t

Sigh. Oh well. At the very least the characters are recognizable?

Anyways, there is a reason why I wanted the characters in this perspective. This story is basically a pwp. So instead of just being voyeur like the viewer was in the roleplay world illustrations, I wanted to make it easier for the viewers to put themselves in the characters perspective. But, alas these pieces need a lot of work. Still, I’m not too upset with them. The potential was there and it’s nice to think about the what-ifs.

Enjoy, if you can!♥♥♥

Musical Inspiration (Things that I listened to this time to get in the mood to draw, but not meant as an accompaniment to the fic):

I listened to a lot of Will smith Arabian Night while drawing the official pieces. I was just listening to a lot of background markiplier while I was drawing the WIPs.

#spnreversebang #spn fanart #spn rpf #jared/jensen #jared padalecki/jensen ackles #j2 #jensen/jared #jensen ackles/jared padalecki #pharaoh!jared #roman soilder!jensen #switch!jared #switch!jensen #spn event #tagging for the squeamish #myart #2019 #art masterpost #you'll have to look at the fic link to look at all the tags

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syndellwins · 5 years

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Just an update

Thank you so much guys for your support, it means the world to me. Unfortunaly my dad barging in both into my shrink appointment and theraphy session backfired and i ended up doing something really stupid out of frustration. Now they’re talking about the possibility of have me hospitalized in a mental institution.. i feel like .. i dont care anymore.. they have my meds and give them to me so i wont take them all at once and i feel like i have absolutely no control of my life, so whats the point of keep living like this? I just want to dissapear.. anyway, i don’t know when will i be allowed to draw again (“its useless”) so im sorry i havent provided new content or posted my kakuhida prompts T.T thank you for being understanding and for giving me strengh.

#personal #tbd

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writefasttalkevenfaster · 7 years

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Spencer Reid / Countless

As requested by @ohbelieveyoume:

Prompt: “I just can’t stop thinking about you...I can’t”

Omg, I feel guilty after writing this fic guys. I apologize for the angst I’m laying upon you today. This poor sweet boy deserves happiness. He’s been through so much T.T.. This was supposed to be cute, but it ended up this way, I don’t know what happened. Also thank you to @mrsrafaelbarba for the help! <3 I hope you all enjoy!!

You had passed by him countless times, well, perhaps not countless. Not for him.

In fact, Dr. Spencer Reid knew exactly how many times you had passed him. It was about 1,496 times, with the beautiful, brilliant woman in the office across the bullpen. And though some of them were a heart-stopping smile, a few were mindless small talk, and others were a simply wave, each one was vividly painted in his mind, every detail a treasure trove of information he had meticulously cultivated about you over the year he had known you. These small details were all he had of you; small whiffs of a meal he had yet to take a bite of; a book for which he had the summary memorized, but remained unread; and the greatest mystery he had laid his eyes on, but had yet to solve.

From the moment you entered the BAU as an administrative specialist, you had sold yourself short in the operation, introducing yourself as someone who would work mainly in the background operations of the BAU, taking away some of the tedious paperwork with a small visit to your office. “I’m here your lives easier, so if you need any help, my door is almost always open,”

“And what do we do when it’s not?” Spencer had piped up, his mouth going of its own accord, and the only reason he could find for asking that question, was to hear you speak.

You seemed to consider his words: appraise him as he was one of the numbers in your budget report, and you were running calculations to come upon a final answer. And you seemed to, as you answered with a small smile: “Dr. Reid, you can enter even if my door’s closed, only you,” you seemed to shoot Morgan a look who had opened his mouth to speak.

“Why does pretty boy get to enter without knocking?” he called after you, as you walked to your office.

You turned, pausing thoughtfully, as your nose scrunched as you let out a chuckle. “I think you answered your own question,” and your door had shut behind you.

And though your first meeting had been a memorable one, the rest of your encounters remained quite the opposite. However, he couldn’t he place the blame entirely on you. He had not done a single thing to reciprocate, much to Morgan’s aggravation. Numerous prompts and prodding for him to ask you out to dinner, for a coffee, even to a showing of Doctor Who in theatres, but each chance had come and gone. Every smile was just a smile, each wave had remained a gesture, and did he ever-so-desperately dread the end to those short fifteen minutes he had you alone. And he would simply look forward every three months to have an excuse to see you, to talk to you without making a fool of himself as he had done “countless” other times (which he didn’t care to recount). During these meetings, he could slip in a question or two: read another line or two into the life you led, another taste that would satisfy his craving, and get another small clue to the mystery he had yet to solve..

But now, he stood again before your door, adjusting the collar of his shirt and licking his lips, as he moved his gaze from his clothes to your door. Your name was printed neatly on a nameplate next to your office, tucked in an out of the way corner of the elevated portion next to the bullpen. His eyes flitted around the offices, and saw several vacate ones, most of which were closer to the bullpen. And this had raised the question if you had chosen this office on purpose, and if so, why?

The question remained ever poised at the tip of his tongue, as he realized something was different today. Your door was closed. The thought hadn’t occurred to him as he remained twisted in his thoughts concerning you, but now that he stared at the hardwood door before him, it was plain as day. And though he felt a slight hesitance, your words echoed in his ears, along with the small smile you gave him gave him the small push he needed to turn the knob and push open the door.

“Y/N? I’m here for-” He stopped in his tracks, both physically and mentally, as he saw you hastily wipe away remnants of tears from your cheeks, though it remained ever apparent that you were only crying moments before he entered. And this was something that he hoped he wouldn’t ever have to remember, though he hadn’t realized how stunning a person could be as they cried. Your eyes were tinged with red, a single half formed tear in the duct of your right eye that streamed down your face as you tried to blink it away. Your hair hung loose around your shoulders, instead of the small bun you always had it tucked into. Your cheeks were flushed a rosy red, but that wasn’t from the crying, it was from Spencer’s presence, and though he realized that, he couldn’t stop the words he wanted to know the most from pouring out: “Why are you crying?”

You gave a watery chuckle, as another tear slid its way down your cheek once again, as he shut the door behind him. “I thought as a profiler you would know that’s the worst question you can ask a person who’s crying.” Several more tears slipped from your face as evidence to your assertion, and right now, Spencer could care less if he was right or wrong.

“Y/N…” your name was a prayer, one that he had said with the same reverence, in the hopes you would be okay, and that you were simply crying because of something silly as the jokes he made to make you laugh, or as solvable as the mysteries you both read. But Spencer had learned that nothing concerning real people was quite ever that simple. “You can tell me,”

You rose from your seat, and he mirrored your movement, stepping in front of you as you seemed to brace yourself to say the words. “It’s so stupid, you’d think I’m an idiot,”

“I could never think that,” and for once, he did not fumble with his words, nor were they said with even an inch of hesitance.

The silence had lasted only a few seconds, but they had felt like centuries to him, before you looked up at him, and your helpless gaze almost broken him completely with that alone. “How do you know?” The question was quiet, a tiny raindrop in a pool of stagnant water, afraid of causing ripples, but knowing it would anyway.

“Because,” his lips were dry, again, as they were each time he spoke to you. It was almost as if the dictionaries that Morgan had claimed he had in his head had turned blank, and he was left only able to speak from the one place he had always been afraid of: his heart. “because, I’ve thought of you, countless times, and I couldn’t imagine thinking that. And it wouldn’t even matter, because, I can’t stop thinking about you…I just…can’t.”

They had veered off topic, but it was detour you were willing to take, as a curious expression fell draped over your previously distressed state, your large eyes wide with curiosity. As if he was now the unknown number you most interested in knowing. “What have you thought about me, Spencer?”

His name had never been something he had ever been fond of, the occasional Spence from J.J. had made him grown to appreciate it a bit more. However each time you said it, it seemed as if his name was the most precious thing in this world, and he would give up all the knowledge in the world to hear you say it again. “Spencer?”

Ah, there it was. And, so he told you, things he had noticed, things that he seen you do, things he remembered about you. Everything. And as these things seemed to pile up around you, you only grew more and more upset, wringing your hands in your lap, the melancholy you felt palpable. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m in love with someone else.” The words were the sound of a pin dropping, but it was enough to burst his balloon completely. And as he rose, cheeks burning with embarrassment and regret at his words, but your next ones made him pause. “A ghost,” his brow furrowed as you lifted a picture from your desk, turning it to face him. A man stood in arm in arm with you, his eyes concentrated on you, while your eyes looked to the camera, a wide grin on your face, traces of laughter pulling at your lips. “He died two years ago, and I’m still sitting here, crying,” you pushed a few strands back. “God, I thought I was finally over it.” You set the picture down, walking toward him, leaning against the desk in front of him. “I thought finally, maybe today, I could work up the nerve to-” your words cut off as Spencer had stood there, hanging on your every syllable.

And perhaps they were more alike than he had ever known. “Y/N, to what?”

And you stared at him before you, again with the same appraising look you had given him when you had first met him, but this time he wasn’t a number in the calculation as before, but he seemed to the solution to his own question.

He wasn’t sure who moved first, if it was he or you, or if your bodies had moved of their own accord, responding to a magnetic attraction that neither of you could escape the grasp of. Electricity coursed through both of you as their lips met, giving away to a soft warmth that settles over both of you, as your fingers interlock with one another, and as his other hand goes to rest on your cheek, he finds not the same warmth, but dampness. His eyes flutter open to find tears streaming down your face yet again, as he breaks away from the kiss.

“I’m sorry- I...” It was guilt.

“Don’t apologize,” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away each offending tear. “I know.” And he did know, what it was like to hold onto a ghost, to feel the loss each time you awoke, and to feel the weight of guilt when you tried to move on. “It takes time.”

“How long?” And there was one question that Dr. Spencer Reid didn’t know the answer to, as he only knew he had enough time when he met you.

“I’ll tell you when I know.”

And there was a knock on the door. Your next appointment. His time was up, and it felt as if he had aged ten years rather than only 15 minutes. “I should go…” He grabbed his bag that had fallen to the side of the chair, before he went to reach for the door.

“Spencer,” he turned to see you, a smile on your face, another he could remember. “Do you know why I chose this office?” His first question he had pondered outside the door, another mystery he couldn’t solve, “Because I didn’t want to be seen, and I didn’t want to be seen by anyone else, but it didn’t work.” You took a few steps toward him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you,.”

And, as he left your office, the impression of your lips still present on his cheek, he thought perhaps you wouldn’t remain unread, you would remain on the same shelf, while he returned to his own, across the bullpen. And, maybe, the next time he passed you, when your pages weren’t so worn and both of your bindings weren’t so fragile, you both could read every word of each other.

Countless times.

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zarahjoyce · 1 year

Text

Summary: the fix-it fic of Yanma yelling at Himeno T.T It bothered me more than I thought it would!

It takes Yanma approximately thirteen attempts before Himeno told her staff she'll gladly take his videocall this one time.

"What," he snarls at the first second of contact, "too busy to actually take a call from a fellow King?" She takes a delicate sip of her tea before saying, "I wasn't in any mood to get yelled at. Not this beautiful morning, anyway."

And the arrested look on Yanma's face actually made her beautiful morning even better.

He clears his throat and says, "About that--"

"How's your head?"

Yanma glances upwards - at the bandage she'd carefully wrapped around his forehead - and snatches it off himself crudely. Then he replies, "Better, especially now that we can call on Legendary Kingohger--"

"Aren't you just glad," she cuts in, "that that isn't confined to a silly fairytale of mine any longer?"

And Yanma's face goes beet red.

Himeno gives her cup to Sebastian before waving him away with a smile. "Had one of us given up at any point before we--"

"That's... part of why I called," he says, his jaw clenched - all while looking somewhere off to the side. "I know the absolute shit we went through these past few days, what with Desnarak fucking appearing out of nowhere--"

She tilts her head to one side, just staring at Yanma. Is he really about to--

"--that I wasn't..." He takes a swift glance at her before looking away again, "Fuck. This is way fucking harder than it should be."

"Go on," Himeno prompts.

He drags his hand through his hair, winces visibly, before saying, "I didn't even get to thank you for treating all of us, did I? Shiokara especially."

Himeno raises her brow at him. "And you think that I'm after your gratitude, specifically?" she points out, crossing her arms.

"No, I--"

"I'm a doctor first and foremost - despite your outright questioning of my capabilities," Himeno tells him. "Of course I'm going to treat wounded people, even if they are yours." "Goddamnit, Himeno," he says, pounding his fist so hard his screen shook. "I know what I did was shitty and unfair, especially since you had so much on your plate then so-- so I'm trying to fucking apologize for yelling at you, all right?"

A beat.

"Oh, were you now?" she snipes, after he'd just so loudly confirmed her suspicions. "You were doing a really poor job at it that I thought you're about to do something else."

"What can I say?" he replies, crossing his arms as well and looking more petulant than ever. "I've never really apologized to anyone before, so you'll have to forgive me, Hime-sama." A beat and he adds sheepishly, "Again."

"So the honor of being the recipient of your first apology goes to me?" Himeno says, feigning shock - though she really didn't have to try so hard at faking it. "My, my. You're truly full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Don't get used to it," he snaps, leaning back on his chair.

She looks away at that, because Shugods she really shouldn't find this whole thing the slightest bit amusing, and yet-- And yet.

"You were worried about your retainer," Himeno points out, remembering just how badly Yanma took the news when he awoke to find himself in Ishabana - with an unconscious Shiokara just a few steps away from his own bed. "You wanted concrete answers about his situation but found yourself unable to get them. Not to mention the weight of the ongoing threat around us. Of course you'll be frustrated. Of course you wanted to lash out."

Why he'd want to do it on her, though... she has a couple of guesses.

The most obvious being they never really saw things the same way, anyway.

After a few moments, Yanma says quietly, "So you get it, then."

"I'm a doctor first and foremost," Himeno reminds him - though in a gentler tone now. "You're not the first patient I've had that questioned me and my team when we couldn't give them what they wanted to hear. You certainly won't be the last, either."

"You're used to it?" he asks, almost surprised. "Is that why you didn't yell at me back?"

Would he have wanted her to yell at him at that moment? Would he be even apologizing now, if she did?

But, that's neither here nor there considering--

"Queens don't yell," she corrects him.

And then, as though realizing this conversation she's having with him was far more serious than anything she's ever done with the N'Kosopan President, she says, "Besides, it's easy being the bigger person when talking to someone as emotional as you." "E-Emotional?" Yanma sputters. "I'm fucking not--"

"It's been lovely chatting with you. Farewell!"

And Himeno ends the call.

#did i just write something what #kingohger #himeno ran #yanma gust #ohsama sentai kingohger

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baronessblixen · 7 years

Note

I'm not sure if you're taking prompts but what if Scully gave up William with a photo of them together? T.T you would write that so well!

I’m always beside myself with joy when I get prompts. So yes, I take them :D Thank you so, so much for this one. It might not be what you probably wanted, but I hope you like it anyway.

“It’s you.”

Dana Scully has imagined this moment amillion times: meeting her son. She has imagined it even before she gave himup. Before she gave up. Find me, she hadpleaded silently with the boy, whose curious eyes were a mirror of her own.Instead he had thrown her a toothless grin, kicked his tiny feet at her, andgrabbed for her hair. Her son, then, was not a mind-reader. There was nothingspecial about him except that he was her son, her own flesh and blood,conceived against all odds; a miracle in its purest form.

She has imagined this. She has dreamedabout it when he was two years old and young enough to forgive her. She hasimagined it when he was six years old and melancholy propelled her thoughtsforward; guilt and a sense of having done right by him preventing her fromdoing the unthinkable. She’s craved it when he was 12 years old and nothingmade sense anymore. Her reasons for giving him up nothing more than smokyclouds, burnt ashes in their enemy’s ashtray. This, now, is not how sheimagined it.

“It’s you.” The boy with thesame curious eyes repeats. His voice wavers now, for a short moment, as ifuncertain. He cannot know her, Scully thinks. There is no reason, no logic init, and she can’t find the words to tell him this or anything else. His lipspout in the same way his father’s do. His eyebrows furrow in the same way hersdo, she has to admit. It’s logical that she recognizes him; his features areher own, are Mulder’s. The boy, without taking his eyes off her, hunts throughhis pockets and produces a crumpled up, slightly torn piece of paper. Heunfolds it, carefully, and Scully gasps. It’s not a piece of paper; it’s aphotograph.

“That’s you.” William smilesat her, softly.

“It’s me.” Scully croaks outas she instinctively reaches out for the picture. She had put the pictureinside his small bag back then without thinking about it. She figured his newmother would tear it up, throw it away. Scully, even then, knew that sendingthe photo of her holding a tiny William with him was a risk. A risk, however,that she just had to take. She had wanted his new mother to know, to see, thatshe, too, had loved William. Never had she dared to hope that William wouldeven see it.

“Hi,” her son, who is alreadytaller than her, surprises her again by reaching out his hand, “it’s niceto finally meet you.” Scully’s hand hovers for a moment before the boygrabs it, shakes it heartily. His smile turns into a full blown grin. Mulder.It’s Mulder written all over his face and reminding her, bitterly, why she’shere. Why she broke the promise she made to herself, to this child, to stayaway from him.

“William,” his name feelsstrange on her tongue; usually she thinks it, mumbles it in her sleep, and whenshe uses it, it’s not to address him. He eyes her, ever curious, and waits. Heknows. He can’t possibly know or understand, and yet he does. “I’m herebecause… I didn’t want to disturb – to change,” Scully sighs; angry atherself for being here, for not finding the words. She’s furious that thischild, her baby, is a stranger. A stranger who shares her blood and who is heronly chance to save Mulder.

“You need my help, don’t you? Isit because,” this time he pauses, looks at the faded picture of himselfand a mother he never knew. Scully wonders what he sees, what he feels, when helooks at it,“ my father. Is it because of him? He’s not in thispicture.” William holds it up as if she didn’t know. She had her mothertake that photograph so she could send it to Mulder. Except he didn’t have anaddress. She decided to keep it until he came home. He just never did.

“Yes, he's… he’s very sick. I-where are your parents? I need to-”

“There is no one.” Williamtells her evenly. She stares at him. At this boy, who clutches a picture shegave him once, a lifetime ago.

“What do you mean there is no one?Where are your parents?” She hates this word, she realizes, as her eyesfind the picture in his hand again.

“My parents… got divorced when Iwas young. Father died a few years after that. My mother… she wasn’twell,” he pauses and shuffles his feet, “my aunt and I decided to puther in a nursing home.”

“You- you’re all on your own outhere?” William nods as if it’s nothing. It’s his reality and the onlything he knows.

“You’re going to think I’mcrazy,” he chuckles, running a hand through his auburn hair before heglances at her, “but I knew you’d come back one day. I just knew it. Youcould say I had a hunch.” Shivers run down Scully’s arms, down her back.She can see Mulder grin; wants to introduce him to their son, who is so much likehim, full of hope and ideas.

“I don’t think you’re crazy,”she breathes out and William grants her another smile that lights up his wholeface. She hopes he’ll never stop. She doesn’t deserve this, she thinks, but shedoesn’t want it to end. “I know someone who… who is just like that. Likeyou.” She finds herself smiling at the boy; her boy. “I’d love foryou to meet him.”

“Then let’s go- you never eventold me your name.”

“Dana. Dana Scully.” Shethinks how strange it is to introduce herself to her son, but he nods at her.He lifts the picture and examines it closely; his eyes drifting from the frozenimage of them and the real her in front of him. He mouths her name, trying itout, before he nods again.

“Let’s go, Dana.” He says,closing the door behind him and walking towards her.

“You don’t need to pack anything? Tellanyone? Your aunt? I understand if you want to see your mother, William. If youwant to see her. I don’t know when we’ll be back. We have… time.” Theydon’t, really.

“I have everything I need righthere with me.” William assures her, putting the picture back into hispocket. Then he stops suddenly, his eyes dark, his brows furrowed.

“What is it? Did you forgetanything?”

“No, I… are we going on aplane?” Scully nods carefully.

“I’ve never… I mean once. I’veflown once or maybe twice. It kind of scares me,” Scully is trying to comeup with something. Assure him that flying is, statistically speaking, thesafest form of travel. She could explain just how flying works. Before she cansay another word, though, William starts speaking again,

“Could I… on the plane… could Ihold your hand maybe?” He blushes a deep red.

“Oh! Of course,” Scullyassures him with a nervous laugh, “Of course, you can William.” Andhis whole, lanky body relaxes.

“Why don’t we… practice?”Scully says, blushing herself now; this is another risk she is taking. Like thepicture she left with him all these years ago. It might not turn out the wayshe wants it to. But she has to try. She just has to. She reaches out her handto him, leaves the decision to him. He stays quiet this time and she is readyto take it back, to just go on with him in tow, without touching him. ButWilliam takes her hand and together they walk towards her car.

This is not how she imagined it. It’snot at all like the dreams she’s had.

But this time it’s real.

#me and my obsession with william #i kind of love the kid #also i love writing #have i mentioned this?#do i post too much?#if so I'm sorry #william fic #xf fanfic #txf fanfic #my writing #my fic

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feelingsdusk · 7 years

Note

The prompt I mentioned: Maybe Steter - meeting online in a supernatural forum/chat. maybe AU meeting first time or somewhere in canon and them not realising who the other is.

Thank you @ssree for proofing and for listening to me whine about this one for this long. Because people, this one was a nightmare and I’m never ever doing something like this again T.T

—

Right, wrong and everything in between.

Prompted by@lostwithoutmyanchor: The prompt I mentioned: Maybe Steter - meeting online in a supernatural forum/chat. maybe AU meeting first time or somewhere in canon and them not realising who the other is.

Peter supposes that as a baby, there must have been some moments when it happened, but as far as his memories go, he can't actually remember a time in his life when he was truly happy. He came too late, too unexpected, too different, and his parents, who were thinking about retirement in a couple of years or three at the most and an easy life where their toughest choice would be whether they wanted whipped cream with their pancakes or not, never were able to forget that he was the reason they couldn't do that. Which Peter resents quite a bit, mind you, because it's not like they didn't do it anyway, pawing him off to Talia again and again.

And Peter guesses that he wouldn't have minded if Talia had cared for him beyond an abstract sense of responsibility towards her family, if she hadn't been barely a teenager (and later an adult, when Peter would finally stop trying) that didn't want to be saddled with a baby brother when she had other more important things to worry about like school, her boyfriend, her cheerleader competitions, college, her marriage, alphahood, her pregnancy.

(But never Peter).

And so, what Peter remembers about his childhood is the burn of disappointmentpainanger when he'd try his best to be the ideal son (perfect grades, medals at competitions, always helpful, tidy, calm), and it only seemed to earn him the opposite effect when they left him even more alone. Needless to say, he stopped being a child pretty early and by the time Laura came along and he suddenly was expected to help take care of her because she was a precious baby that needed to be loved (what's wrong with you Peter?), he had developed a hide thick enough to not rage inside about the double standards.

Except they're paying attention to him now and Peter feels about to burst out of his own skin.

They've made him what he is. He's a neat freak, an obsessive perfectionist, a cynic, a sarcastic shit. He's loyal but distant, he's dependable but vicious, he's smart but devious. Everything he is is a direct result of their actions but they keep asking what's wrong with you Peter?

It was their choice to make him the enforcer too (theirs, always theirs) and at the time Peter stupidly thought that maybe he had found his place finally, that such a position in the pack would earn him recognition (instead of the love he used to want, but that's fine, because he stopped wanting it a long time ago) and respect. Or shouldn't they be grateful that Peter keeps the pack safe at the very least?

(Apparently, even after all these years teaching him better, Peter still hasn't learned. Shame on him.)

He comes back breathless and shaking from exhaustion after taking on a witch that wouldn't heed Talia's warnings about leaving their territory and they look at him and ask what's wrong with you Peter? An omega tries to trespass and Derek is on his way, so Peter does what he must, leaving the kid covered in blood by accident but otherwise unharmed, and they ask what's wrong with you Peter? And it can't be said that Peter doesn't learn from his mistakes, because he steps back and dials it down a notch, but they still ask what's wrong with you Peter?

And so, he feels cornered because their eyes are on him at all times -and why the hell did he wish for their attention before? It's unbearable!- and nothing he tries seems to be the correct answer. Because either he's too vicious or too soft, either he's too violent or too inefficient, but neither of those or anything in between is the right option and it's driving him insane.

And Peter is a neat freak, an obsessive perfectionist and a cynic. He's distant, vicious and devious! But he's also loyal and dependable, and, above all, smart and knows himself enough to know that he's almost at the breaking point and he might do something he will regret later, so he leaves.

(Because shortcomings apart, they're still family, they're still pack, they're still his, for the better or the worse.)

Which is why he's sitting on a swing at a park downtown, almost at the edge of town, contemplating his options. Because the reality of it is that if he leaves, he'll become an omega unless he finds another pack that will take him in. In normal circumstances, Peter knows he would have been able to prove his worth, but with the pull Talia has, who would dare take him in and go against her? Peter's lips pull into a snarl, because he himself is partly to blame for that. While Talia has gained a lot of respect for her ability to perform a full shift and her upfront way of dealing with the problems that come her way, Peter is the one she's sent into the shadows to do the dirty work for her when her method failed, effectively cementing her image as a powerful alpha. So, essentially, Peter has made his own bed and now has to lie in it.

A hand comes into his direct line of vision and Peter startles, instantly on guard, because he never heard anyone approach, and he should have, no matter how distracted he was. He frowns suspiciously when it turns out that the hand belongs to a five (maybe six, he does look around Cora's age) year old kid that's handing him some gummy bears with a face devoid of any emotion. Whatever his age is, it's way too late for a kid this small to be out at this hour of the night, Peter notices, but then he remembers his own childhood and keeps silent.

"What's your name?" the little boy squeaks suddenly, hand still extended towards him. "Because dad says I can't speak to strangers but if you tell me your name then you won't be a stranger anymore and then I won't be talking to a stranger and breaking the rules anymore."

"Peter," he answers blinking before he can think of it, too thrown off by the speed of the kid's speech. "And I don't really think it works that way, kid."

"Hi, Peter, nice to meet you," the kid continues unfazed, reaching to shake his hand and leaving the gummy bears behind when they unclasp hands.

The boy nods self-satisfied, as if having remembered to fulfill the social niceties is a success for him, and then he proceeds to hop onto the free swing beside Peter. It takes him three tries to actually achieve that but Peter manages to keep a straight face despite feeling his lips wanting to twitch. Then he tries to sway but he's too short and his feet don't reach the ground, and finally Peter snorts softly and reaches to give him enough momentum to be able to swing by himself as he sticks one of the gummy bears in his mouth.

"Thanks, sir," the kid chirps.

The boy continues swinging silently for the next five minutes and Peter honestly doesn't know why he doesn't leave, because if someone finds him with an escaped kid in the middle of the night there's going to be hell to pay. And an escapee he is, of that Peter has no doubt. More over, this is not the first time he's done this either because he's way too calm about being alone in the dark and too prepared, which tells Peter even more about him, because he remembers doing the same when he was a little older than this boy, and knows the difference between hiding and "hiding". And the kid is hiding for sure. He's not trying to manipulate his parents emotionally by disappearing on them, he really doesn't want to be found and has come accordingly prepared to last all night. He has somewhat warm clothes, food, drinks and has chosen a secluded park where no one will think to look for him, but secure enough that if something happens he has a lot of places to hide and a 24h fast food joint just across the street where he can ask for help if he needs to.

(Smart kid.)

A normal person would call the police. Peter, who thinks more of whatever the kid may have left behind, who can see himself in him and knows that some kids aren't really kids and can take care of themselves, doesn't.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

They sit in silence for a bit and Peter tries to think about his own situation but his mind is blank. For the first time in his life he doesn't know what to do and now that the anger that had pushed him before has burned out, he just feels numb. He rubs his forehead tiredly and sighs. The little boy, who had let the momentum die a while ago and now was just content swinging his own legs, as if he couldn't keep still, reaches to place his backpack on his lap and then rummages inside until he seems to find what he's looking for. He takes a batman tupper out and offers its contents to Peter after a little hesitation. Peter declines and the kid shrugs and starts eating himself. Then he blinks, stops and reaches to pass Peter the rest of his gummy bears. Peter's lips twitch involuntarily and he takes the offered treat with a murmured thanks.

Much later, he hears a car coming down the road and looks in that direction, pondering if he should warn his little companion or not. Noticing his attention is elsewhere, the kid blinks at him quizzically.

"Car," he murmurs finally making up his mind, and if he had any doubts about the boy's situation, they get completely erased when he springs from the swing and hurriedly runs inside one of those domes with a lot of holes that Peter has never bothered to learn the name of. "Well," he sighs and goes after him, because why the hell not at this point? It's not like he wants to have to answer to any questions if it's a patrol car, after all.

It's a tight fit and the boy is looking at him very intensely now, as if he's trying to understand why would an adult hide, because he probably thinks what every kid thinks, that adults don't have to respond to anyone and can do whatever they want. But he seems like a very smart boy, so maybe he thinks Peter is a criminal? In any case, whatever he's thinking, it's obvious he makes up his mind about it quite quickly, though, because he looks inside his backpack again and passes a bag of chips to Peter before going back to his own food.

"Well," Peter sighs again, because this is a new low for him. He was supposed to be on his way to a new life and instead he's hiding with a five-maybe-six year old kid at a park in the middle of the night and eating said kid's provisions too.

He opens the bag anyway.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

He looks at the boy's tupper absently and ponders about it. Peter has never had one of those, his have always been generic. For his birthday he would get clothes or practical (impersonal) things, always hastily bought items when they finally remembered his birthday must have already passed because it was November already. This boy has a batman hoodie with batman pajamas and shocks underneath and a batman tupperware. The clothes look slightly small on him and the tupper is on the small side too. Maybe he's reading too much into it, but he'd bet that things started to change at home when those still fit him.

Peter wonders which is worse, not having ever been loved by family or having known the feeling and then losing it.

His phone rings and he sighs. He considers not picking up, but then he admits to himself that if he really was going to leave, he would have already done so by now and wouldn't be lingering around. He picks up.

After he hangs up, he closes his eyes and just concentrates on his breathing for a minute. When he opens them again, the kid is looking at him and there's something like recognition in his eyes. Peter takes off his red hoodie to drap it over his little shoulders when he catches a shiver running through his small frame and then turns to leave without a backwards glance.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

He sighs and then sticks his head inside again. "Listen, kid," he starts and then bites his lip. "There's nothing wrong with you. Whatever is happening to you, it's not your fault. They're the adults that should be taking care of you and there's nothing more you have to do but be the way you are, ok?" The boy is not breathing, Peter can tell. His eyes are almost impossibly wide and his hands are clenched around the tupper. "There's nothing wrong with you, ok?"

"But-"

"No," Peter cuts him implacably. Because the kid could be a devil for all he knows, but if at five-maybe-six he's so skilled at hiding, at escaping his own home, and police aren't swarming the streets after the almost two hours they've been here, whatever is wrong is not his fault. "There's nothing wrong with you."

There's a pause and the boy finally unclenches his hands. He swallows forcibly and for a second his eyes don't leave Peter's.

"There's... nothing wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you."

"There's nothing wrong with me."

"Exactly," Peter nods as he turns to leave. "Take care, kid, and don't forget that."

"Peter?" He looks back towards the boy and finds himself caught by eyes that know more than they should. "There's nothing wrong with you either, right?"

"I-yes," he stutters caught off guard before taking a deep breath and regaining his footing. "There's nothing wrong with me either, kid."

"Ok," the boy nods and Peter suddenly remembers how to breathe. "Goodbye, Peter."

And so Peter leaves and goes to search for Cora, who isn't in her bed and no one has seen her since the movie night ended half an hour ago. He finds her "hiding", apparently sulking (and not just a little frightened about being alone in the middle of the night despite her thunderous scowl) because she's grounded for pushing one of her classmates to get a toy she wanted, grabs her by the ear and takes her home.

Things don't get any better on the family front after that, but Peter doesn't care anymore. He's still a neat freak, an obsessive perfectionist, a cynic, a sarcastic shit. He's still loyal, distant, dependable, vicious, smart and devious, but there's absolutely nothing wrong with that. So when Talia tells him to take care of this or that threat, he does it and doesn't care about the looks he earns for his methods. And when she orders him to take care of the Paige issue (because she's always the white queen and Peter has to be the black knight), he does so without contemplations, and when they ask what's wrong with you, Peter? afterwards, he says nothing, which will always be is his shameless answer no matter what happens onwards.

If the closest he can get to happiness is by achieving mental peace, Peter will take it and be, well, happy.

And then he's on fire, everything is on fire, the pain is unbearable and it just won't stop. At some point, when he can't feel anything anymore and the screams have died, he briefly wonders if the kid had more luck than him before he welcomes the blessed darkness that closes down on him.

---

There are intruders in the house and it's Peter's job to stop them but the pain is unbearable and everything is in burning hot agony and Peter can't move. Makeitstopmakeitstopmakeitstop. Peter can't stand it, Peter can't move, Peter is being dragged away, Peter can't protect his pack.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

Peter screams and screams. The remaining pack bonds stretch thinner and thinner and thinner and thinner. They snap. He howls. He tries to grasp them but they slip through his fingers like sand. He howls and howls and howls.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

Peter is trapped, he can't move, he's alone, defenseless, vulnerable. He rages and screams and howls but no sound comes out of his mouth. He wants to rip, to avenge but he's useless and his pack is dead.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

Peter will tear them apart, he will. And he will enjoy every second of it. His fangs will bite into flesh, his claws will tear into them, and he will make them feel every ounce of pain tenfold. One by one he will hunt them down and he will make them regret ever thinking of hurting his pack. Hurtful and dismissive and infuriating, but his. His and no one else's. They will pay for taking them from him dearly.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

(Everything.)

---

For the first time in years he can move. The window is open and he surges through it. His legs give out and he grunts upon impact. He forces them to support his weight and pushes himself until he reaches the edge of the woods. The earthy smells assault his nose and the soft sounds of the forest fill his ears. He howls at the moon, high, high in the sky.

(No answer comes.)

---

Peter resists the temptation to rip the woman's throat out and goes towards the woods instead. It's a near thing but for now he needs her, so he can't teach her how wrong she is for treating him like a dog that needs to be let out to take a piss at night. It will eventually come to that but he will wait until his skin stops feeling like cracking leather, until he doesn't stumble every few steps because his muscles are still atrophied, until his lungs don't protest at every effort he makes.

Peter dreams about it, though. Vividly. Her shocked face when she realizes that she has chewed more than she can swallow, her panicked breaths as she tries to flee, her choked screams as his claws tear into her.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

For now he has more important things to concentrate, though, since he has some murderers to hunt down and a pack to avenge. Besides, he has all the time to teach her why prey can't play with predators after she has outlived her usefulness.

---

A month passes and he has yet to kill his nurse, who still treats him like a dog, who still acts like she has the upper hand, who still thinks that she will get what she wants. So, so stupid, but she's still surprisingly useful for now so he ignores it. Instead, Peter digs and digs until he finds the ones responsible for the fire.

All things considered, it's disgustingly easy. He gets his hands on all the reports and news articles on the fire, and he comes to a clear conclusion: someone either bribed the ones responsible for writing them or they doctored the evidence before the officials arrived.

It gives him a place to start in any case.

He tracks down one of the culprits to a seedy bar on the outskirts of town. It doesn't take him very long to ascertain that the man is drinking in an effort to drown the guilt he feels for having participated on the whole thing, even if he only faked the information in the report.

Humans are funny things. The man wishes to atone for his sins so much that he even wants to die, but when faced with the real possibility of dying, he fights tooth and nail to survive. Which suits Peter just fine, because he wants to make them experience the terror, the helplessness and the pain his pack felt along with the asphyxiating certainty of defeat in the end.

He directs the terrified man to where he wants him and then he even lets him have some advantage before he gives chase. Peter makes him run for hours until the man lets himself drop in exhaustion to the ground, now too tired, too certain of his imminent death that he can't care anymore. Peter makes him care once more and then, only then, tears into him, pacing himself to make it last. Ultimately, the man dies of shock, his heart giving out, rather than because of the wounds Peter inflicts on him.

With the information he got out of that man, he tracks down a bigger prey, one that participated directly in lighting his house on fire. He learned his lesson from his first prey and knows to push him only so far before getting his hands on him. When he tires of the chase, he bites into his ankles so he drops to the ground with a scream, his tendons ripped and unable to run anymore. If the man wants to move he'll have to crawl, but before he makes it anywhere he'll die of bloodloss. That certainty is so, so sweet... but still not enough. Every new sound Peter extracts out of him is as satisfying as the last one and he only laments that he can't get more out of him, that his fragile human body breaks so quickly under his hands. He'll do better next time, but for now he's satisfied with having extracted more names from him before he lost his voice.

Then, one day, Laura appears and whatever good remains from the Peter from before the fire suffers a swift death just then when he realizes that it wasn't that he had been left packless because everyone had died, but because he had been abandoned; when he learns that she's only back because the news of the killings had reached her (the markings he instructed his nurse to leave on the animals to draw the ultimate culprits out calling her instead), not because she had finally come back for Peter.

He suspects it never even crossed her mind, just like with Talia a long time ago. But what did he expect? She (they, all of them) was taught that way, made that way just like Peter was made by them. But Peter learned from his mistakes so Laura will too?

"What's wrong with you, Peter?" she asks horrified when he tells her why he killed those men, and then she refuses to avenge the pack. "I'm the alpha," she growls. "I forbid you to continue."

Peter blacks out for a moment. When he comes back to himself, he feels nothing at the sight of his dead niece. Some part of him is vaguely dissapointed that it doesn't feel cathartic in some way that his claws took her life for her transgressions but, honestly, he feels nothing besides the need to scoff at the look of surprise and betrayal that will be permanently engraved on her face.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

---

Peter is stronger, faster, more powerful than he has ever been! It's an exhilarating and euphoric feeling and he can't have enough of it.

But he can get even better if he gets his own pack and since Peter has always been a firm believer of taking advantage of the opportunities that rise around him, there's no time like the present. He lunges forward towards the boy -Pretty healthy if with a slightly weak-looking body. Smells a little like medicine, but unless he has some mental illness, the transformation will take care of it. If not, Peter will take care of him like a good alpha should, and teach him to use what he has. If he dies, he will try again.- and he doesn't even get to scream before Peter's teeth are sinking in his side.

The kid takes off running. Peter is very amused at the pup and entertains the thought of playing with him for a while, but he can hear people drawing near and it's not like the teen won't come when Peter beckons him tomorrow anyway, so he lets him slip away and returns to his hospital room even though he wants nothing less. However, since he wants the pleasure of seeing Kate Argent's surprised face as he rips her throat out when she inevitably shows up, he'll bear with it for now. Which, sadly, also means that he can't get rid of his nurse either despite being self-sufficient again.

Well, they do say that what resists you is sweeter in the end.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

---

Well, look at who decided to finally show up.

Derek has grown up a lot since he saw him last, about six years ago. Gone are the baby fat and the awkward limbs but the bunny teeth that Peter used to vaguely find somewhat adorable remain. Viciously, Peter wishes Talia was still alive to see her son, to see what her ways brought upon them, what her negligent teachings resulted in. A mediocre daughter that couldn't even keep up with the most basic duty of an alpha (never leave a packmate behind) and a stupid son that trusted the hunter that killed them all, that's what. And now said daughter is dead and said son doesn't look capable enough to survive by himself. Peter really wishes he could bring his sister back from the dead to see, because this is ultimately her fault and it's not fair that she got the easy way out as always.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

He has the sudden urge to just gouge his nephew's eyes out when they land on his scarred face and the nearly asphyxiating scent of despair and self-hate that clings to him threatens to overpower Peter's sensitive nose. He can't feel that remorseful if he's showing up now, probably just because Laura has dropped out of the radar without warning.

He contains himself, but just barely. It helps that Derek merely stands there looking at him just for five minutes, making no move to speak, and then leaves. If he had tried to touch him, he doesn't know if he'd been able to restrain himself. Peter doesn't like to be touched nowadays. It's more than enough that he has to bear with sponge baths, with being positioned here and there by complete strangers with no say whatsoever for the sake of keeping the farce up. If the touch wasn't so clinical the walls would have been painted red a long time ago, and that may still happen if a certain nurse makes another crude joke about some parts of his anatomy.

Peter's lips curl derisively for a second before he schools his face into a neutral expression once again. He lets his hands relax too when he notices he's about to twist the metal of the wheelchair out of shape.

He wonders about what he should do about Derek. His first instinct is to kill him, of course, because Derek is not pack and is in his territory. Besides, instincts aside and on a more rational note, he doesn't have any delusions about his dear nephew's reaction when he finds out he killed Laura. And he will, that's for sure, because they aren't pack anymore (if they were, Peter would have felt the bond with Derek at the same time the alpha powers settled, but nothing was there until that boy's bite took some hours ago and that fragile link sprouted to life), so there's no way the alpha powers would have gone to Peter instead of Derek if she had died naturally, and he can't sell someone else killing her and him taking revenge for her since he has already feigned still being comatose. However, after what he's seen in the scant minutes he was here, Derek might actually welcome death as it will be the end of his suffering and Peter doesn't want to give him the easy way out.

Choices, choices.

Well, Kate Argent is bound to appear soon and if Derek is here, she'll be inclined to think it was him who killed those people. Leaving his nephew alive instead of killing him or driving him out of the territory might prove to be useful to keep her attention off Peter while he approaches her.

If he proves to be too troublesome, Peter can always change his mind at a later date, after all, and drive him out of the territory.

---

The boy comes only once, completely feral and out of control, and, of all things, tries to save the bus driver from Peter. He bats the unruly pup away (he doesn't know better, after all) but in the end he has to leave because the boy is so out of it, so defensive, that to get what he wants he'd have to kill him and Peter doesn't want that. And even though the need to rid the world of that scum that is cowering and smelling like urine is almost irresistible, it's not worth the price right now. Besides, either the bus driver will die before help arrives or en route to the hospital, or he will end up not very far to Peter's own room, and his nurse has to keep being useful unless she wants to become expendable, after all.

After that incident, the boy won't come no matter how many times Peter calls. One part of him is peeved about the insubordination, but the other is reluctantly impressed because it demonstrates a great deal of the self-control that he lacked on their first encounter, so maybe he's had luck this time.

Except it doesn't take him too long to find out how wrong he is because he couldn't have found a more asinine teenager even if he'd tried. He won't submit, it looks like he resents being a werewolf despite all the advantages it has given him (he actually thinks of them as a compensation, which Peter finds pretty insulting, thank you very much) and, worst of all, he seems to share the same stupidity as Derek where the Argents are concerned. Peter would be able to work with that even if it's not the best foundation to start from, but add to that his obtuse refusal to be taught to round it all up and it makes his first beta a perfect failure.

How disappointing.

Peter is reluctant about how to proceed, though. While he can't afford to be weighted down by a liability, the boy is just a stupid pup, he doesn't know better, and however fragile it might be, he's pack, because that bond is still there. And Peter not only takes care of his messes -because this is undoubtedly his mess; a poor decision made hastily that he won't repeat ever again, sure, but that resolution doesn't change that it's his responsibility to deal with it- but he takes care of his pack no matter how lacking they may be. It's convoluted, he knows, but it's how things work, how good alphas must be.

Still, not everything is a loss and the whole situation may be salvageable yet, because the boy with his wayward beta is certainly interesting and could prove to be the piece he's missing to get his beta to come. With no apparent previous knowledge of the supernatural, he has managed to teach a newly turned wolf control to a certain degree, which is impressive. He also hasn't chickened out even when faced with a feral werewolf, and that shows a loyalty that Peter values above anything else. Even better, he doesn't seem afraid to do what's necessary to keep his people safe, demonstrating a callousness that makes Peter giddy to see what he would be capable of if pushed.

All of which means that no matter how everything evolves, he can't just take care of one Scott McCall even if he continues to refuse the bond and ends up breaking it completely (thus turning omega and not pack and not Peter's responsibility anymore), as it will earn him a vengeful teenager with enough smarts to actually take him down. Again, a trait that he appreciates, but not aimed at him.

Well, if the worst comes to happen, there are hunters in town and Scott is dating the daughter of one, so Peter is sure that at one point or another, if he turns omega, he will cross a line and get himself killed and save Peter the trouble. He has patience in spades, he can wait.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

----

Kate Argent finally comes into town. Peter expected her to come into his hospital room and try something but she doesn't. Peter doesn't know if he's disappointed or not about it, but part of him is relieved, because he knows that if she'd had the gall... And while it would have been an immensely satisfying thing, if anyone deserves Peter taking his sweet time to tear their world apart, it's her.

In the meantime, Peter tracks down another cockroach of the ones that helped burn his pack alive and goes to pay him a visit. As his claws are tearing into him without contemplations, he catches a wiff of something that is not human in a terrified girl that witnesses the whole thing along with another boy, and he files it out as something to investigate at a later date. He leaves the mangled corpse behind in clear sight, hoping that it will drive the message to Argent. You can run, you can hide, but his is what will happen to you no matter how much you try to avoid it.

Anticipation is part of the game, after all.

But still, Kate is a dangerous animal and confusing her would be worthwhile (and also Peter could use a little less of police patrols going around, to be honest), so he catches a mountain lion and releases it on the parking lot of the school and watches from far away as chaos reigns.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

---

He expected some kind of action from his wayward beta (prompted, no doubt, by Stiles), but being howled at to be lured at night to school is not precisely what he predicted. Nevertheless, he bites so to speak, and decides to make the most out of it and tricks the Argent girl into the school (maybe if she displays the common attitude of her family towards werewolves Scott will finally wake up?), getting the unexpected bonus of the boy and girl from the store, which is perfect, because he wanted to take a second look at her anyways.

It's a very... revealing night, that's for sure.

First, Lydia Martin is a banshee and she doesn't know it, which can prove to be really useful for Peter at a later date if he plays his cards right. Second, that boy from the store has been scratched by a werewolf (either Derek or Scott, but Peter is pretty sure it was the former) and is exhibiting some kind of reaction to it. Third... he still cares at least a little bit for Derek, which is vexing to say the least.

By all means, Peter should have taken the chance to kill him on that parking lot but he simply incapacitated him. True, he hurt him quite a bit (that he cares about him doesn't change the deep well of resentment he harbours, thank you very much) but he'll recover from it given enough time. Why? Derek is proving to be more of a hindrance than anything else, because not only do the Argents already know that he's not the alpha and are trying to use him to find Peter, but also, by the looks of it, he's teaching all sorts of nonsense to Scott that couldn't be more wrong. Which means that either Peter still cares about Derek or he still feels some kind of familiar duty towards his nephew. And he can't deny this because when he's shifted he acts more based on instinct, and he stayed away from vital organs... and it certainly wasn't because he wanted to prolong his suffering.

All in all, Peter is left floundering a little because he has to re-evaluate his stance on this matter. However, before he can decide exactly about how to proceed, he gets found out.

"You must be Stiles," he purrs, delighted to finally have a chance to asses Stiles' intelligence in person without any intermediaries.

Except apart from an admittedly good self-preservation instinct, he doesn't get to find out much because Derek intervenes.

(He sighs inwardly. Always so dramatic, his nephew.)

After the encounter, Peter abandons any semblance of subtlety and leaves the hospital entirely. He has managed to convince Derek that he killed Laura without recongnizing her. It's a little stretch of the truth, because he obviously knew it was her, but it's also true that he wasn't in his right mind when he killed her and he'd have probably not done it if he was. In any case, there's no way to prove it was otherwise and with the way he laid it out, Derek detected no lie, so Peter is pretty satisfied with the results.

While he waits for an opportunity to take Kate down, he does everything he can to make Scott accept the pack. Peter doesn't think it will get him anywhere, to be honest, but it has the added bonus of acting as a test for Stiles to see if he will be a worthy beta, because it's obvious that just winging it won't work for a person with the kind of luck Peter has. Sadly, Scott is more than proof enough of that. He's also sure that the only way to get Scott is to get Stiles, because they're attached at the hip, but at this point he'll be quite content with only getting the latter.

He tries to make Scott give up everyone in his life and Stiles metaphorically grabs at him and doesn't let go. It also serves to make his beta stay away from the Argent girl, but sadly, it only makes Scott even more infatuated because of their forbidden love.

He asks Scott's mother to a date, and the teen in question just gapes uselessly. Stiles crashes his jeep on Peter's car to stop them from having said date. He nearly laughs delightedly right there.

Derek disappears, so Peter decides to kill two birds with one stone. He crashes their prom night both to attack Stiles' date (because Peter always has backup plans) and to get Derek's whereabouts out of him, and the teen bargains for her life, terrified but sure. He gives up a way to locate Derek through Scott's phone, but Peter can see a plan already forming in his eyes, so he makes the teen go with him, because a person like Stiles can do a lot of damage out of sight, while Peter has control of the situation if he doesn't leave him behind.

"Do you want the bite, Stiles?" Peter asks instead of simply taking it and the teen says no. He's lying, he can tell, but Peter leaves anyway. He has more than enough time to convince him later.

(He doesn't.)

That night, he finally manages to slit Kate Argent's throat from side to side, so at least there's that. Unlike with Laura, this time it does feel cathartic because even if he doesn't get to tear stripe after stripe of skin out of her he can torture her with the prospect of losing her niece. -He instantly wishes he could revive Kate so he could kill her again, but this time drawing it out, just like she executed his pack (imperfect, neglectful, bastards most of the time, but ultimately his) agonizingly slow.- But drawing an apology from her provides nothing to Peter besides the pleasure of getting her to give something she didn't want to give, so while she's still conscious, he jumps at Allison, who is going to turn up like her aunt anyways, because that family is a poison like that.

In the end, he doesn't have time to convince Stiles, after all. He ends up on fire and Derek tears his throat out without an ounce of hesitation, just like Peter did with Kate. The little and deeply buried part of him that didn't want to kill Derek because it remembered dies a swift death, unlike Peter, who agonizes for a bit still on fire as he chokes on his own blood.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

---

Getting one Lydia Martin to do what he wants shouldn't be this easy, seeing the terrifying intelligence hidden under her almost too perfect strawberry blond curls, but it is. It helps that she's mostly ignorant about the supernatural world and that Peter keeps her terrified enough not to get her footing back, he thinks, because he doubts it would be this easy if she wasn't. As it is, though, it's just as easy as getting information from her about what's happening in Beacon Hills right now.

Part of him considers letting go for a moment, because so much stupidity is unbearable. Really? Peter had thought he had made a bad call biting Scott, but Derek is taking that to a whole new level. Then again, what can he expect? This is Talia's teachings working their magic, after all. She had barely started training Laura, but she never even bothered with Derek, not even just in case something happened.

(Peter kinda hopes that the afterlife is a thing so that she's watching.)

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

It's not like he has any other options, though, because now that the ritual has started he has to finish it or face being stuck in this limbo of sorts for the rest of eternity or, with any luck, until this girl dies. And although with how things are progressing that doesn't seem too far off in time, really, with Peter's luck she'll die and he'll be haunting this place forever, so he better move things along before that happens.

His nephew's horrified face almost makes it all worth the trouble and he nearly stays to gloat. Instead, he leaves for now. He's already been left behind and killed by him once, and Peter always learns from his mistakes... or he tries to anyway, and he can tell that he's weaker than he was before he was even the alpha, so right now he wouldn't stand a chance if Derek tried to enact a kill uncle, take two.

He knows he can't stay away from his alpha (his lips curl derisively against his will) for long, though. Not only he can't afford to turn an omega right now, but his information about this ritual is limited (which is why he left it as a last resort), so for all he knows, it will unravel if he's not near the alpha that brought him back and he'll end up six feet under again and stuck in between. And while he doesn't want to touch what's going on in Beacon Hills right now with a ten foot pole, he's gone through too much trouble to stay alive to let it go to waste. Besides, while he's not as insane and hell bent on revenge as he was before dying -because there's no doubt about that, he was completely crazy... so crazy, sloppy and out of control he wants to cringe- he still has a little of that feeling inside. Enough, in fact, to seize the opportunity to take care of more Argents if it wanders by and doesn't pose a threat to his continued existence. Besides, staying alive as a big fuck you to the family that disdained his ways and ended up dying for not being more like him in the end is something he appreciates quite a bit too.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

So, all in all, he has to depend on Derek for now until he can get himself an alpha to kill and regain his independence again. Which means he has to find out why Derek turned on him at the last minute. He's not looking forward to that conversation now that he hasn't the upper hand, that's for sure.

But before that, he has to know what's happening exactly to be able to play his cards right. Because as much as he knows the information he got from Lydia to be true, it's also an incomplete and he hasn't ever been one to rely on intel he hasn't acquired by himself anyway.

So information gathering he goes... After getting a shower, clean clothes and a much needed haircut, of course, because he felt disgusting, thank you very much. Maggots and dirt is not a look he favours by any means, after all.

He gathers as much as he can before even contemplating coming back. From what he learns the Argent girl is as much of a psycho as her aunt (who called it? who?), Gerard Argent is the master of the kanima now and plotting something nefarious (nope, not worrying at all), Scott is double playing with him (which ratches up his decision to bite him right to the top of his not-a-good-call list because how can he be so stupid?), two of Derek's betas are about to risk becoming omegas just to leave this hellhole of a town (which simultaneously makes them idiots and smart and he never thought that possible) while the third is gravitating towards Scott (another idiot), and Derek is as an incompetent of an alpha as Peter expected him to be. Apart from that, the video store boy is the kanima, Stiles seems to be the same and Lydia still doesn't know why he had to use her for the ritual. Summarised, everything is going to go to hell in a nicely wrapped package and probably over the next few days at the most.

He could have certainly chosen to come back at a better time... if the damn ritual hadn't had a deadline, that is.

Well, no matter. Peter can use this to his advantage, actually, because Derek will need him in one way or another because of the situation and he won't be able to say no.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

As luck would have it, just the day he decides to give it a go, Derek's betas grow a backbone (one Peter still isn't sure is a smart or a stupid one) and tell him they're leaving. Peter swoops in while the wound is still gaping open, so to speak, and he gets thrown around for all his troubles. He takes it for a bit, waiting for most of the anger to burn itself out and when it doesn't seem likely, he finally snaps.

(Because no matter what, the one thing he won't do is beg.)

It works.

"See?" Peter mutters looking at his reflection with a grimace. The wound in his mouth is still sluggishly bleeding even if it is mending itself slowly. Derek is sitting a few feet away on the stairs' steps, face stony and silent. Peter doesn't let it deter him. "Fine example, right here. I'm not healing as fast. Coming back from the death isn't easy you know, I'm not as strong as I used to be," he states simply, as if the person that is with him isn't the one who killed him. Putting his weaknesses in the open leaves a sour taste in his mouth, but he sees no other way to put Derek at ease so it's a necessary evil. "I need a pack, an alpha. Like you." And God if this isn't humiliating for Peter, who even at his worst hasn't ever depended on anyone. "I need you as much as you need me."

"Why would I want help from a total psycho?" Derek grunts after he scoffs, not even turning to look at Peter.

"First of all, I'm not a total psycho," Peter corrects him before feeling the need to point out. "By the way, you're the one that slashed my throat right open, but we're all works in progress, right? So." Is there a flicker of regret he sees there? Oh, good, Peter feels better about wanting to find alpha powers somewhere else now that he sees some reciprocity on the familial front. "We need each other. Sometimes when you need help, you turn to people you'd never expect."

Derek's shoulders slump a little as his mouth presses into a tighter line and Peter knows he has gained a foothold, so it's time to use what always saved him the spot in his pack no matter what happened: his knowledge.

He shares what he knows about Scott and Gerard and tells him how to save Jackson, because for all that Derek's first inclination seems to be killing (which Peter finds equally amusing and hypocritical on his part), deep down he wants exactly the opposite.

Several hours later Peter is regretting deeply ever coming back to life. Jackson is about to turn into a gigantic creature that has wings (which implies flying, as if it wasn't sufficiently terrifying when it was earth-bound) and they have to rely on Tweedledee and Tweedledum to bring it towards them. Ah, and with the help of Chris Argent, wonderful! If that wasn't bad enough, Derek is doing as always and rushing in without any plan whatsoever, which is exactly what that geriatric fascist wants. This is the recipe for disaster and Peter can do nothing but to try to stay away from the crossfire and wait for an opportunity to either strike or beat it as fast as his legs can carry him because he really wasn't exaggerating (if anything, he was downplaying it) when he said he was weak.

Life has never been better.

(That was sarcasm, if anyone was wondering.)

Everything goes to hell, of course, no surprises there. Gerard makes his appearance after making Jackson maim Derek and the little mini Kate doesn't have any qualms about shooting her first love. Again, nothing surprising there. What is surprising is Scott using Derek to bite Gerard because he wants to be cured of cancer, even more so when it turns out the teen has been switching the man's medication with mountain ash filled pills so that if it came down to it, the bite would kill him. It's impressively cunning and Peter would find himself reluctantly impressed if he didn't dislike the sloppy execution (despite being at odds, no one can use Peter's family unless it's Peter himself) and didn't suspect someone else's hand at play in all this.

Nevertheless, Peter finds the image of a black goo vomiting Gerard a sight for the sore eyes. A sight that gets completed by the little bitch's expression of betrayal and self-loathing and Chris' revolted and pained one. Well, that earns Scott a descend to the still respectable second position on his not-a-good-call list, congratulations.

(Given his previous record, Peter is pretty sure he won't stay that low on the list for long, though.)

Everything devolves into a fist fight once again and why is everyone forgetting about the psycho bitch that was trying to kill them not a minute ago, Peter doesn't understand, not even in the face of a common enemy, so he keeps his distance.

Stiles chooses that moment to crash his jeep right through the walls and into the kanima, bringing Lydia with him. Peter would swear he hears a celestial chorus singing in the background, because yes! Someone else thinking with their brains and not their fists! Peter feels even more vindicated when the teen beats a hasty retreat right afterwards, because someone finally has an ounce of self-preservation instincts too!

Lydia goes forward, terrified but unwavering, holding her trembling hand up with what looks like a key. Peter is quite ambivalent about her, but he hopes she doesn't end up a shish kebab if only so that dealing with Jackson doesn't become even more difficult. He has already been thrown around quite a bit today and while a bed sounds heavenly right now, he won't get that until this matter is resolved. And that will happen certainly sooner if Lydia doesn't end up in a kanima claw skewer.

(What's wrong with you, Peter?)

She doesn't and Jackson turns back partially. He nods at Derek while Lydia cries, and while that is clearly a sign of acceptance to his fate, Peter doesn't want to risk it (especially since Derek goes for the frontal assault as always) so he attacks from behind too. And Jackson dies in a scene worthy of a movie that Peter would give an Oscar to.

Thank god it's over, Peter really needs that bed and cleaning this mess up is going to take a while.

Except since this is Beacon Hills, nothing is that easy, and Jackson comes back to life a regular werewolf. Color Peter confused, because he's never heard of this happening... but well, now he doesn't have to find a way to bring back a body to the morgue, so at least that's nice? And since there's no way that Chris Argent will not take care of his father's body, he doesn't get the pleasure of burning it either, so essentially the wish of a bed in his near future has become more of a certainty rather than a possibility.

"Is leaving him alive really wise?" he asks, because someone has to, because they don't know if this change is permanent.

Except for Stiles, who just purses his lips, and Chris Argent, who is as stony as ever, the rest turn to look at him horrified.

"What's wrong with you, Peter?" Derek hisses.

Peter smiles with all teeth.

(Ah, so it's going to be this way.)

---

And now the alpha pack is in town, isn't that wonderful?

Why was he so adamant on staying alive besides for being a contrary bastard?

(Peter has to remind himself a lot of the sweet sight of a destroyed Argent family these days.)

---

"What's wrong with you?" seethes Derek before throwing Peter into a wall and leaving.

Peter picks himself up, a satisfied smirk never leaving his face, and dusts his clothes. Riling his nephew is so easy and at the same time so immensely satisfying... His day isn't complete if those words haven't left his mouth and if he gets him to lose it enough to get physical, he counts it as a win, because lately that doesn't happen that much for some reason he can't discern. What? He'll take pleasure from everything he can these days. And since Stiles is here most of time helping with the search of Erica and Boyd, he's become his unwitting accomplice, because boy, does he irritate Derek. Peter would go as far as to consider it a gift the teen has.

He'll never admit it to the teen, of course, but he really enjoys the verbal matches he has with him. Stiles has always been mouthy, but now that he doesn't think likely that Peter will attack him (although Peter knows he keeps mountain ash on himself at all times, the smart kid) his invective is a thing of beauty.

Out of all the people that Peter could have been saddled with, he has been lucky, indeed.

(Part of him mourns that Stiles wasn't the one out there in the woods or that he didn't accept the bite when Peter could give it to him. The possibilities... Ah, it would have been glorious, wouldn't it?)

"Anything you want to share with the class, Stiles?" he drawls to the teen, who has been staring fixedly at him since Derek left to drag Isaac into another patrol through the woods, hoping to find something that wasn't there yesterday, or the day before, or the day before (and so on) and that Peter bets that won't be today either.

"You know, I was a kid so I had an excuse, but what's your deal?"

Peter arches an eyebrow and levels the teen with an unimpressed stare. Stiles huddles in his too big red hoodie and raises both eyebrows at him, unrepentant. Peter blinks slowly, because he wasn't wearing that before and because it feels familiar. Suddenly, his breath catches because he's pretty sure that if he looks on the back of it, he'll find a 01 accompanied by his last name in big bold letters.

"There's nothing wrong with you? What a load of bullshit." Peter can't breathe and he's insanely grateful that Stiles can't hear that. "There's something wrong in everyone, so who fucking cares?"

"Wha-"

"There's something wrong in everyone, Peter," Stiles repeats, his intense eyes never leaving Peter's, "so who fucking cares? Right, wrong, who cares? Whoever says that there's nothing wrong with them is either delusional or a child or plain stupid."

"There's... something wrong with me?" Peter finds himself unconsciously parroting back and this is ridiculous, this shouldn't affect him this much, shouldn't feel as if he's having an epiphany. "And there's nothing wrong with that?"

"Not unless the wrong in you tries to have another go at my people, because then my wrong would come out to play, and everything would be wrong with that... for you, capiche?"

"Duly noted," Peter answers as dryly as he can, because his world feels off its axis right now.

Then, Stiles extends an arm, hand clearly possed for a handshake and Peter is reaching before he can think of it. When Stiles lets go, gummy bears have been left behind.

Peter can't help it. He laughs.

(And for the first time, he feels happy.)

What's wrong with you, Peter?

Who cares?

#prompts '16 #lostwithoutmyanchor #my fanfiction #teen wolf #steter

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