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honeyynymphh · 2 years

Text

| Tear You Apart |

Papa IV x FemReader rating: E word count: 5k chapter: 1 of 2 warnings: ritual sex, voyerism, pred/prey, dub con, blood, dom/sub undertones, google translated italiano

There were four things you had not expected when you had decided to break into the old abbey on a particular full moon: 1. That it would actually be inhabited 2. That it would be inhabited by people performing a satanic ritual 3. That you would end up being chased through the woods by a satanic madman 4. That you would enjoy it

can also be read on A03

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Chapter One “Come on, just do it!”

You stare at the massive wall, watching a small chip of stone as it crumbles to the ground. It was so damn high. Thick vines have crawled over the wall, causing part of the stone to chip and split. It was possible to get over but it didn’t look easy. You’d scouted the front of the building earlier, though the main gate had been closed. The gate had been an iron monstrosity with its twisted pattern frame and spiked top. It had taken at least ten minutes of following along the side of the building until the high fence had changed from black ironwork to old stone.

“Hurry up!”

Fuck it. With a sigh, you reach for one of the vines above you and heave yourself up as your feet scramble for purchase against the wall. Finally gaining a good foothold where some stone had crumbled away, you push yourself up and reach for the top of the wall to pull yourself up. Arms burning, you glance down and see Jake waiting for you below. It looks like the ground below is even lower, and there are no vines on the other side of the wall. It’s clear you both won’t be able to get back out this way and that makes you hesitate.

Jake glances up at you, his dark hair blowing in the wind. “Come on, just drop down. I’ve got you.”

What was it with these trust fund idiots and their need for thrills? Alright, maybe that was a bit harsh but you didn’t spend your time with the man for the enthralling tête-à-têtes. You were in it for the dick and the fact that his fancy-ass apartment had heating that actually worked.

Besides, it had sounded like such an exciting idea to break into the creepy old abbey. But that had been when you were lying in Jake’s flat with his fake fire blazing and some overpriced red wine. Out here in the biting cold with the wind whipping at your skin as you cling to cold stone it didn’t seem like such a fantastic idea. Your jeans and thick knit jumper were enough to block out enough of the autumn chill but you regretted not grabbing a coat.

“Babe, seriously, move your ass,” Jake calls out.

With a deep breath, you push your feet against the wall, stone falling away as you bring yourself further over the edge as you try to swing one leg up. You feel Jake’s hand on your foot as he reaches up to help you but there is no way to gracefully get down, and you half fall, half jump down onto the ground with a loud thump. With your feet now on solid ground, you look back at the wall. The distant street lights are completely blocked out—it was so much darker on the other side and it felt like you had stepped into another world. This place was usually avoided by the rest of the town and it was on the outskirts—there were some rumours that Satanists worshipped the devil here and that they stole babies from homes to sacrifice.

Pfft, what a load of rubbish.

It just looked like any other neglected old building, there were so many places around here that had been left to ruin—or even worse converted into a pizza chain. This particular abbey was ancient and from what you could see it looked like you had landed in some sort of courtyard. From the outside, it had certainly looked worn and you had expected it to be like any of the other abandoned places you had explored with Jake. And that would be true if you had only viewed it from the outside. But over the wall, it was a different story. A few stone benches dotted the kept lawns and there were flower beds bursting with roses. Everything was so neatly kept and there were a few stone paths that twisted throughout the grounds leading to different parts of the hunkering building. It was beautiful. There were even a few statues amidst it all, all depicting people in various states of undress.

“That one has nice tits,” you hear Jake say as he points at one of a naked woman and gives a loud whistle. “Nice ass too.” He winked at you, those stupid blue eyes of his lighting up with excitement. “Not as great as yours though, babe.”

You tried not to roll your eyes, he could be so irritating sometimes. But unlike many of the other guys he kept the company of, he actually gave good head. You couldn’t really recall what he did, something to do with accounts. It had only been a few months since you'd started seeing him—it had quite the luck when you’d bumped into him at a ritzy club that you'd snuck into. Had you been there intentionally trying to find someone with a wad of cash? Possibly. But hey, a girl couldn’t survive on instant noodles forever. You were more than willing to put up with a few quirks in exchange for the elaborate lingerie and expensive restaurants—and let’s not forget the heating. Breaking into old buildings and hunting for ghosts so he could get his little thrill were certainly not the weirdest thing you'd done for a guy. Besides, you did find it pretty exciting too.

“Are we going to explore?” you ask as you take in the grand architecture. The building itself still looks worn but you can see sections that have clearly been repaired. The old stonework is beautiful, so different to anything else in town. The huge arched windows with stained glass set in them make you wish you had come during the day. It’s hard to make out the details in the dark but you are certain they must come to life with the sun shining through the panes.

Jake takes your hand and pulls you through the courtyard, leaving the crumbling wall and outside world behind. The building sprawls out on either side of you as you follow along the main path, the spires reaching for the overcast sky—you can just make out the full moon hiding behind a tuft of cloud as it drifts on by.

You shiver from the cold wind and bury your free hand into the sleeve of your jumper. There is nothing but the sound of the wind and your footsteps as you both walk. The path twists away from the main part of the abbey and you find yourself near a large cemetery, it’s surrounded by an ornate fence with a large locked gate similar to the one that surrounds the main building. In the distance, you can see a massive mausoleum and can just make out the name “EMERITUS” carved into the top of it. Jake drops your hand as brushes past you to get a closer look at the cemetery, using a small flashlight he brought to try and read a tombstone through the gaps in the iron fence.

A large gust of wind blows against your face as you glance around, the silence making you shift on your feet. This was not what you expected to find tonight, you had figured there would at least be the cemetery or parts of the old building to explore. Maybe it was actually abandoned and had been locked up so that it was left to rot. But that didn’t explain the tidy gardens and neat paths. This place was maintained, though it seemed not a single soul was here. Weird.

Your mouth opens to say you should try the inside of the building but you pause. There’s a sound in the distance and you strain your ears to try and listen. Further ahead the path fizzles out into worn earth where a thick set of trees sway gently in the wind.

“Jake?” you say, walking up to him as he tries to pick at the lock on the gate. “Can you hear that?”

He cocks his head. “Yeah.” He stands and then moves back to the path as he stares out toward the woods. “Sounds like chanting.”

Without warning, he briskly follows the twisting path, you not far behind. It does sound like chanting, a reverberating call that you can feel in your chest the closer you get to the woods.

“Midnight mass?” Jake asks as you both continue along, the chanting growing louder with each step you take.

“It’s three in the morning!” you whisper back as your feet hit the dirt, twigs and leaves crunching under your sneakers are approach the dense crop of trees. Between the tall trunks, you can spy a flickering light. It’s dim but the shapes and shadows moving against the trunks of the trees and the scent in the air make you think it must be a fire burning. Your skin prickles in anticipation as you both move in close, the trees swallowing you as you creep in amongst the fallen branches and sprawling moss. The chanting is growing louder now and you can make out the words though you do not understand them.

“Siamo Con Clavi.”

With each step you take you feel the excitement build and you quicken your pace, moving ahead of Jake as you step over large roots and duck under overhanging branches. You’d never come across any other people while exploring, save for the lonely mourner in a cemetery. But this! Perhaps it was just going to be a bunch of teenagers but you couldn’t help the excitement that shot down your spine. It made you understand why Jake did it. It was thrilling.

As the trees began to thin, you lower yourself closer to the ground. The chanting is clear now and the smell of fire burns your nostrils. Jake shuffles behind you and you both huddle behind the trunk of a large oak, your hands gripping the cold bark as you kneel down amongst the fallen branches and dirt. A clearing is visible ahead of you and you suck in a breath at the sight of cloaked figures all sitting along stone benches, their backs to you as they continue to chant in low voices. There had to be at least thirty people there. In front of them is the large fire you had smelt, the flames twisting in a deep pit before a stone altar. They all watch a man as they continue to chant, in his hands he holds a large ceremonial dagger and you can see the sharp blade glinting in the light of the fire.

“Siamo Con Dio.”

“This is insane,” you hear Jake whisper in your ear. “Actual Satanists.” He pulls you closer. “Was not expecting those rumours to get something right.”

The man with the dagger speaks, though you don’t understand a word that leaves his lips. It sounds like Italian, though it could be Latin. No matter what it is, his voice was strangely soothing, like a gentle lull. It was clear that everyone present was hanging onto every word and you leant closer, your cheek against the side of the tree trunk as you listened.

The man had to be some sort of priest, he looked like a pope with the robes and tall hat he had on. Granted your knowledge about religion was pretty limited but there was no way this man was just some looney acting out a scene. The robes he wore looked too fine and far too expensive. They shimmered in the firelight. When he moves closer to the fire, the light brings his face into relief. The painted skull face was startling in the flickering orange flame but it was nowhere near as strange as the one white eye. It appeared to glow and you could not fathom how you had not noticed it sooner. It was almost hypnotic in its eerieness.

“Siamo Con Il Nostro Dio Scuro.”

Those gathered before him repeat the words before someone rises from one of the benches. A nun? It was hard to tell but from the long black veil upon their head that would have been your guess—though it was shortly removed from her head, revealing dark hair that streamed down her back and glinted in the flames of the fire. You hold your breath as the cloak drops from her shoulders, revealing her naked skin. The strange priest holds out a hand and she moves towards him, her hand reaching for his almost reverently.

The horrible thought that they were going to sacrifice this woman makes your heart start to race but the man takes the dagger in his hand and presses the tip of it into one of his own fingers. The burning fire fills your nose as the man takes his wounded finger and moves it over her. You can’t quite see what he’s doing until she turns to face the rest of the congregation. Her chest has a strange inverted crucifix painted upon it in the blood, it looks almost black in the red light of the fire.

“What the fuck,” you hear Jake whisper.

“Maybe we should go…?”

You make no move to leave. It feels impossible to look away. There must have been some sort of incense in the fire because the heavy smell is making you feel pleasantly relaxed despite the cold air and your uncomfortable position on the ground.

“Shh, babe. Nobody at the office is going to believe this, we can’t leave now.”

With your eyes still fixed on the scene before you, you watch as the naked woman is led towards the stone altar before she sits on it. Her back is to you as she faces the priest while he speaks more words you don’t understand. It must have been freezing for her, but it's clear she doesn’t care as she lets the priest reach out and gently help her to lie down on the stone. There are black candles on the altar by her head and in an instant they are lit. You shake your head, wondering on how earth they did that but the thought is immediately forgotten when the priest begins to trail his fingers all over her body. Your eyes widen when you witness his hands disappear between her thighs. The moan that escapes the woman’s lips ripples around the dense wood and you squeeze your own thighs together.

Fucking hell.

“Saremo uniti davanti al signore oscuro.”

His words float through the night air and your face burns as you continue to watch. Well, you had been looking for something exciting and well, here you were. It’s also incredibly erotic. And while it is hard to see from your hiding spot, you can clearly hear the moans that escape the woman's lips as the man pulls her down the altar so her legs hang off the edge. In a matter of seconds, he shifts the fabric of his robes and thrusts into her. The guttural sound that tears from his throat makes you shudder and you squeeze your thighs together again. Are you seriously getting turned on by Jack Skellington and his fucking satanic ritual?

Above the clouds have revealed the moon and its light shines on the scene before you. It’s like the man had suddenly been possessed as the snap of his hips become erratic and rough, his hand gripping the woman by the hips tightly. You are certain your knickers are soaked already and you inch a little closer, trying to rub your thighs together as you do.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” You feel Jake shift next to you, the heat of his body pressing against your side as a hand slips around your middle and makes its way down your jeans. “Fuck, babe.”

You have to bite back your own moan when you feel the press of his already hard cock against your thigh as his fingers slide down into your knickers. A ragged breath hisses through your teeth when they finally slide through your wet slit. Eyes still firmly fixed on the strange ritual before you, you let Jake slip two fingers into your pussy as he rubs himself against you.

“Maybe when they’re done I will fuck you there,” he pants in your ear. As hot as that would be you wish he would shut up.

Another moan echoes around the clearing as the priest continues to fuck the woman on the altar, everyone else simply sitting there in absolute silence as they watch. The man is muttering something, though it’s said too low for you to hear and you strain to hear his voice, trying to block out the sound of Jake’s laboured breath against your ear.

“Papa, per favore, concedimi la tua liberazione!”

The woman is writhing beneath him now, her hands desperately trying to reach for him but the man snatches at her wrists and pins her down. You press your hips down on the fingers inside you, trying to chase your own release. It was then that the man looked up past the moaning woman beneath him and those gathered to look straight at you. There was no way he could see you and Jake hidden in the darkness of the trees but that gaze was piercing right through you, and the look on his face was absolutely feral.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away as you watched him pump into her, the sounds escaping his throat making your own movements speed up as you try desperately to create friction against Jake’s fingers. The eeriness of the priest’s strange white eye glows in the night, making you feel like a small animal trapped by a much larger predator. Jake’s fingers continue to erratically thrust into you, but it was the way the priest held your gaze and the animalistic growl that tore from his throat that sent your orgasm ripping through you.

Another brutal moan tears from the priest’s throat, his gaze never leaving yours as his movements become more erratic. You could see the woman below him trying to reach for his ornate robes but he keeps her held down before he gives one last shuddering groan before spilling inside her.

A muttered, “Nema,” leaves his lips as he withdraws from her and those before him repeat it back.

“Figli miei, siamo osservati.” Whatever he says makes every head turns towards where you are hidden. The priest helps the woman sit up as another person comes and covers her. “Puoi avere l'uomo. Lascia la donna.”

They all remove their cloaks then and you have to bite back the scream. While some are dressed like the usual sort of priest or nun in shades of black, some are completely naked. And it’s naked ones that make Jake hastily remove his hand from your pants and you to scurry back. They looked like they were covered in fur, and their pointed ears and small horns were horribly unnerving with how incredibly real they looked. As they moved closed towards you, you noticed that they had tails which whipped around with barely contained energy. And the eyes. They glowed like fire.

They looked like demons.

“Shit.” Jake was getting to his feet and hastily scrambling in his pocket for his flashlight. “What the fuck are those.”

They were all moving towards you now, though your gaze had drifted back to the priest who was simply just standing there, his eyes locked on yours. You felt as if you couldn’t look away.

“Babe, let’s fucking go.” He yanked your arm and pulled you to your feet as the sounds of snapping twigs signalled that they were all coming closer.

That made you tear your gaze and away begin to run. The flashlight wasn’t very strong but it was enough to help your way through the dense wood as you followed closely behind Jake. You tried to keep up with him but he was so much faster than you, his long legs making it easier for him to jump over fallen branches and weave through the overgrowth. The breath was knocked from you when you tripped over a thick tree root, sending you hurtling into the dirt with a thud.

“Come on, get up.” Came Jake's desperate voice as he started to come back towards you, however, he stopped immediately a few feet away, his gaze stuck on something behind you.

You snapped your head to look behind and saw one of those weird creatures. Its hot breath was visible in the cold air and you could actually see the claws protruding from its large hands.

“Hello.” It had a beautiful voice, it was melodic. But the smile on its face was full of malevolent delight and it only highlighted the sharp teeth.

Jake swore and then the fucking cowards bolted. You shouted his name but he didn’t even turn around. That fucking bastard! You hastily got to your feet and followed after him, hearing the sound of the creature behind you as your ran. Your feet slapped hard against the damp ground as you went, you had no idea where you were going. The clearing had not seemed that far from the cemetery but the woods felt so thick and dense now. You must have gone the wrong way.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

You stopped and tried to gain your breath back. At least you couldn’t hear that creature. There were no sounds except for the whistling wind and your heart pounding in your chest. No footsteps, no words, no screams. Nothing.

Searching around desperately, you spy the flickering light of the fire in the distance and head towards it. You approach carefully but there is nobody in sight. The candles upon the altar are burning brightly and the scent of the fire is strong this close. You have no idea what they are burning but the scent of it is heavy and sweet. Approaching the altar, you can make out symbols that are carved into the granite. Some you recognise as symbols of Satan but others you don’t—one being the strange inverted crucifix the man had painted in blood on the woman’s chest.

“E dove vai, agnellino?”

Spinning around you find yourself before the skull-painted priest. He merely stands there, hands clasped in front of him as he watches you carefully.

You take a step back automatically, then another, your legs hitting the altar. The man doesn’t move a muscle.

“I will leave—I am leaving.” You place your hands in the air as if trying to placate a wild animal. “We didn’t mean to intrude.” You swallow nervously. “I won’t say anything. I promise. We were just exploring.” You feel like you are babbling but you are terrified, was this madman going to gut you or let those strange creatures eat you?

“Do you know what tonight is?” the man asks, his words accented and soft. Nobody looking the way he did should sound like that. Maybe it was whatever was burning in the flames but his low voice was captivating.

You shake your head in confusion. “Wednesday?”

He smiles at you but it only makes you feel more nervous. “It is a Hunter’s Moon. Not a good night to be a lost little lamb all alone.”

What the hell was a Hunter’s Moon? You glance up at the sky and can see that the moon is partially obscured by the drifting clouds once more. Whatever it is you don't like the sound of it.

“I can leave,” you say. “Please, I never meant to intrude. Don't hurt me.”

Trying to slowly inch yourself around the altar and create some distance you try to not let his words frighten you. His hungry gaze follows you, seemingly amused at your fear.

“I won't hurt you, agnellino.” The man laughs, the sound echoing in the silence. "At least, not in a way you won't enjoy. A little pain is good for the soul."

This was a nightmare, surely. Wild creatures and skeleton madmen. You've managed to put the altar between you, granted he hasn't made a single effort to move. The way he stands there so calmly is more unnerving than anything and you can't believe that mere moments ago you'd cum at the sight and sound of him fucking someone else. That manages to shift some of the fear away as you glance down at the altar, remembering the absolutely feral way he had thrust into that woman upon it. You feel your face burn in embarrassment at the memory of it.

“I could smell you,” he says, making you look back up. He takes a careful step towards you, the sound of a twig snapping underneath a heavy boot loud in the silence of the clearing. The strange face stretches into a smirk. “I can still smell you.”

You take a step backwards, your hands balling into fists in anticipation of bolting. You are certain that behind you is the direction you originally had come in. If you head straight, you can return to the abbey and hopefully find a way out. Or find that bastard Jake—or someone else who wasn't insane.

“Will you run, agnellino?” The man takes another step as the clouds above finally unveil the bright light of the moon. You feel everything grow still for a moment, the wind completely disappearing and a horrible sucking silence engulfs the clearing. The fire behind him glows, the sparks flaring up into the air and sparking ash to the ground.

There is something in the way he looks at you, he’s all calm and collected but there is an energy about him—as if he is waiting for something. Your head is screaming at you to run but your feet feel as if they have become one with the cold earth and refuse to move. So captivated by his mismatched eyes that it’s almost hypnotic.

“It is more fun if you run.”

You feel a brief flicker of something shimmering over the exposed skin of your hands, face and ankles before the wind returns and pulls at the fabric of your clothes in a fervent rush of sudden movement. That sparks something and you hastily turn without another thought, sucking in a cold lungful of air as you run across the clearing and back into the thicket of trees.

Feet slapping against the ground and your heart pounding in your ears you race through the woods. There were no sounds of following from behind and you sucked in another large breath of frigid air as you came bursting out of the clearing and spied the large abbey in front of you. There was no way you were going back over the wall again and so you pelt as hard as you can towards a large open arch. Your feet hit cold marble and the sound of your footsteps echo in the cavernous space as you try to keep your pace up. The space narrows and you find yourself in a large hall, large doors open in every direction and the grand architecture spilling above you in twists and turns of dark marble. If you hadn’t been terrified and chased by an absolute madman then perhaps you would marvel at the beauty carved into the stone but for now, you ignore it. Picking any open door, you raced through, candles guttering as you pelt down another large hallway until you were suddenly in a massive cathedral. Tall black candles surrounded many pews and the huge pulpit with its carved teeth and horns made it look like a demon leering down from above.

Where had all those people disappeared to? And where the fuck had Jake gone? If you ever saw him again you were going to kick him so hard in the dick that he wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.

This was no way out though so you quickly turn on your heel and go to hurry back through the large doors. As you reach the door, a hand suddenly closes over your mouth while an arm snakes around your waist. Dragged back, the scream from your lips muffles against the warm hand as you are pulled against a firm chest.

“See, much more fun,” comes a voice right by your ear. And there is no mistaking that voice.

You try to elbow him with your arms pinned to your side and then dig your nails into his thighs through the fabric of his robes. A hiss against your neck makes you dig your nails even further, the adrenaline kicking in and making you fight harder as the blood rushes in your head.

Again, you try to scream but the sound is muffled against his hand. You move to try and bite his fingers but you feel something sharp dig into your side and his mouth on your neck, pointed teeth scraping at your skin. "We can play that game if you like, mia dolcezza." The sting of fangs on your neck—for that is the only way you can describe them—causes you to suck in a sharp breath. They can't be human teeth, it felt too sharp. Too hot. The nip of them on your sensitive flesh burns but it also makes you squeeze your legs together, making you wonder what on earth was wrong with you for getting turned on by the clearly insane man that held you. You go snarl something at him but the words don't even begin to form as another man comes striding into the cathedral. He is dressed nearly the same as the one holding you but the robes are not as ornate and they shimmer in a deep green. His face is also so much harsher, looking like the resurrected skeleton of some domineering demon with his painted skull face and towering height.

At first, you think to run towards him, but the look on this newcomer's face makes you hesitate. There is something unnatural about his face and when he smiles at you, pointed teeth eerily bright you press back into the warm chest behind you.

“And who is this?” they ask in a low gravelly voice.

The arms around you grip you tighter and pull you closer. You can feel his heart racing and a bulge against your lower back, his hot ragged breath skittering against your neck.

“Il mio,” he growls. “Vaffanculo, Secondo!”

“You are not going to share, Copia?” The one called Secondo keeps his gaze fixed on you, his mismatched eyes glowing in the dim light of the cathedral. “Such a shame she will have to settle for cazzo mediocre.” He laughs. “Poor bella, stuck with the rat.”

“Leave.” The word is snarled out, the sound of it reverberating off the walls. This Secondo looks taken aback for a moment before the smile returns and he lifts his arms up placatingly.

“Apologies…Papa.”

The man gives an overexaggerated bow and turns to leave, shutting the large doors with an echoing clang.

NEXT CHAPTER --------- Saremo uniti davanti al signore oscuro. - We shall be united before the dark lord. Papa, per favore, concedimi la tua liberazione! - Papa, please, grant me your release! Figli miei, siamo osservati. Puoi avere l'uomo. Lascia la donna - My children, we are being watched. You can have the man. Leave the woman. E dove vai, agnellino? - And where are you going, little lamb? Agnellino - little lamb Il mio. Vaffanculo, Secondo! - Mine. Fuck off, Secondo!

#this isnt the best im sorry but i feel kinda bleh #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #papa iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #fanfic #fic: tear you apart #my-writing

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sirowsky · 2 years

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Driving Mr. Tovar

Chapter 1 - Don't Get Comfortable

Description: We’re introduced to Reader, as you drive out of the city to meet the reclusive billionaire Samuel Rose, hoping to go to work for him at his estate.

Author’s Note: I chose to make reader in her 40’s because I wanted her to have history to bring to the table. This is a slow burn romance but will feature no pregnancies/babies.

Rating: Mature 18+ONLY Warnings: Pero x female reader, cursing, slight angst, Pero being mildly threatening. Word count: 3231 (335 words added) Masterlist (this story) Author’s Masterlist

You were never late. That was a fact of your existence. You always started too early, just in case, and your mind was always ten steps ahead, to make sure you didn’t miss anything. This morning, you’d gotten up at 4 am, to have time to do your yoga, go for your run, have breakfast, shower and get ready, and manage the hour-long drive from your apartment to the estate, all before 7 am.

In truth, you hated getting up early, and you absolutely despised morning workouts. It took time for your body to wake up properly, which made it feel a bit like trying to run whilst drunk. Nothing responded the way it was supposed to, and that put you off balance and made your body feel heavy and sluggish. You’d started the pre-run yoga routine in order to make sure your body was at least moderately awake by the time your feet hit the pavement, and it did help, but you really didn’t enjoy it.

So, why go through all that trouble? Because you thrived on discipline and descended into complete disarray without it. You might have hated it, but you needed it to stay sane. And quite possibly, alive.

You’d spent many long years making your way through the workweeks on caffeine and little else, and over time, it had worn you down to the point where your health had become an issue at just 40 years old. Your doctor had urged you to make some changes to your life, starting with your job, to get your internal stress under control, and he was also the one who had suggested you force your body into new routines.

You’d always been good at taking orders, as well as organizing and planning (as long as it wasn’t for yourself), so when he’d made it clear that if you wanted to live past 60, his admonishments shouldn’t be considered suggestions, you’d obeyed. You’d been a personal assistant to the owner of a bank for the better part of a decade, and she’d come to rely on you to keep her life outside of work on track. So much so, that her teenage children had been heartbroken to find out that you’d quit. You’d practically raised them.

But you did want to live to see retirement one day, and you’d begun to search for other jobs, trying to find something you might be good at that wouldn’t require you to keep another person’s entire life under minute control, whilst burying and disregarding your own. And that was how you’d ended up driving to an interview at the crack of dawn, in the middle of nowhere.

The application had been for a live-in driver but didn’t specify any more than that. But it was way out in the country, a lone estate on a huge property owned by a tech-genius, and you were a good driver, even if you’d never contemplated doing it for a living before.

You arrived at the huge, locked gates, nestled into the twenty-foot-high stonewalls that surrounded the main property, fifteen minutes early, and you were about to park the car a bit to the side while you waited for your appointed time. But just moments after you got there, the gates begun to swing open. No one was there to ask for ID or check your car for anything dangerous, you were just silently invited to enter.

This made you wonder two things: firstly, what piece of advanced technology had already determined your identification, and where was it? And second, what type of weaponry was being aimed at you, right now?

You drove inside, and the massive iron gates closed behind you, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit like a mouse in a trap. But then, that was probably the point. A sharply dressed man was standing by the foot of the front steps to the main house, directing you to park right in front of him, before opening the door for you as soon as you came to a stop.

“Good morning, miss,” he greeted politely.

He was probably in his mid-fifties, tall and just a bit plump, with an air about him that suggested he was at least somewhat trained as a butler, although he seemed more like someone that had been groomed by life, than school.

“Good morning, sir,” you answered. “I’m a bit early.”

“That’s fine. Mr. Rose appreciates the respectfulness and consideration for his time. He’s having breakfast at the moment, but he won’t mind starting the meeting early. I’ll show you to him. My name is Coulson.”

You gave him your name in return and thanked him as he led you up the stairs and held the front door for you. The main house was… huge. Some twenty rooms, you guessed. And while the outside design of it gave the impression that it was old but perfectly reconditioned, you knew that Mr. Rose had had the place built just ten years earlier, and the inside of it clearly reflected that.

The entry-hall was massive, with a large black granite staircase winding its way up to the second floor, taking up most of the rear half of the hall. And the placement of the rooms, the size and shape of them, all indicated that a modern designer had been involved with the architecture. It was efficiently designed and tailored to fit the needs of its owner. And most of the materials were modern and sustainable. It was beautiful.

Coulson led you through the left side of the house, past what appeared to be a smaller ballroom, and then a dining room that connected to the kitchen, in which Mr. Rose was indeed sitting, having breakfast and reading a newspaper. He was younger than you, mid-thirties, and average built but with an impeccable posture to help him carry the tailored suit he wore. His skin was almond colored, and his black hair was cropped short, simple and efficient, and the only jewelry he wore was a watch of a brand you didn’t recognize.

“Your seven-o-clock appointment, sir,” the butler announced while gesturing for you to approach.

“Thank you, Coulson,” Mr. Rose replied to him.

The butler just nodded and left, the same way you’d come in, and Mr. Rose gestured to a chair opposite him at his small breakfast-table.

“Welcome. How was the drive from the city?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested even in such a bland subject.

“It was good, thank you,” you answered, before trying to find a more rewarding reply. “I had plenty of time to go over just how many ways to screw up an interview, so if I still do, I’ll really have to kick myself.”

He chuckled a little and folded the newspaper away.

“I’m sure you have some questions. Feel free to ask them.”

“Um, well… When your assistant called me to set the meeting, I kind of expected to get some more information on what the job really is, but she said that I’d have to ask you about that.”

“First off, I don’t have an assistant, the woman you spoke to is my housekeeper, Laura. You’ll meet her later,” he explained, making you wonder why he would introduce you to the staff before even hiring you.

“Secondly, the application was quite vague,” he carried on, “but that was intentional. I didn’t want to narrow the applicants too much. I’ve learned that merits on paper do very little to tell you which person is going to fit any given position, so I like to keep the options open. Also, this job is going to be… challenging. I doubt that any previous merits would do anyone much good with this, although I suppose it doesn’t hurt to have some experience with assisting… shall we say demanding individuals.”

“That’s pretty much all I’ve ever done,” you conceded. “But I get the feeling we’re not talking about you, here?”

“No. But before we get to that, I’d like to talk a little more about you," he redirected, and you were instantly self-conscious. "From your records, I can see that you’ve been a very diligent worker your entire adult life. There’s nothing but praise for you from your previous employers. In fact, most of them cited you as being irreplaceable. So, why the sudden change?”

“Because it turns out that I’ve been a little too diligent. Sacrificing not just my personal time and social life to my jobs, but my health as well,” you explained. “I need a change of pace and if it comes with a change of scenery too, that’s probably just for the better.”

“I see,” he said after a brief pause. “What about family?”

“I have a sister, but we’re not close, we never really have been.”

He stayed quiet and just studied you for a few beats, before he spoke again.

“Okay, any other questions?” he asked, making you mentally start preparing for the end of this conversation, since that was what it sounded like you were heading for, and no three-minute interview had ever landed you a job before.

“Just about the security of this place,” you shrugged, “but I doubt you’d wanna share that with me until you’ve decided if I’m hired or not.”

“Oh, you are,” he said without pause, as if it was completely obvious. “Assuming you’ll still want the job once you’ve learned what it really is.”

You stared dumbly at him, feeling quite confused, since you’d just dismissed your own chances completely.

“I-I am…?”

“That surprises you?” he asked, looking somewhat bemused.

“Well, yeah. I mean, I assumed you’d have other applicants, other interviews to do before you made up your mind. Holy shit…” you breathed, truly staggered at this turn of events, while the billionaire across from you merely smiled softly and shook his head slowly a couple of times.

“It’s rare that I like a person on paper. Even rarer that I continue to like them after thoroughly researching them, and downright unique that my interest in them only grows as I meet them. You weren’t the only applicant, but you are the only one being interviewed,” he explained calmly.

“Oh,” you said, genuinely struggling to find any actual words to offer in return. “Sorry, I don’t know how to respond to that.”

“That’s okay,” he said with a small chuckle. “And about the security, there’s plenty of it, but it’s specifically designed not to be easily detectable, so you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t share the details of it. But, sufficed to say, I knew exactly what time you’d be arriving.”

“I assumed so. And I also assume I was allowed onto the premises without any obvious screening, because there are security measures in place that wouldn’t have allowed me to escape, had I come here with malicious intent?” you shared your observations, and that earned you a fuller smile from him.

“Exactly right. You’re gonna fit right in here, if you chose to stay.”

“You don’t seem very confident that I’ll want to…” you prodded, and his smile went from mildly impressed, to a bit annoyed.

Affectionate, but annoyed.

“Yes, well I suppose I can’t put it off much longer,” he sighed. “Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

He got up and led you back to the front entrance, and outside where he walked along the right side of the house, around the corner and onto a gravel path that led to a smaller side-building, nestled in between four big old oak-trees. It was small compared to the main building, but it was still a full-sized house. One floor, probably four or five rooms, plus the kitchen, and a big porch at the back.

Mr. Rose knocked on the door, and a muffled male voice called for him to enter. He nodded at you to follow him inside, and then started chatting as he walked into the kitchen.

“Morning, Tov. How’s your hand?”

You stepped into the hall, and just a few feet in, the living room opened up to your left, while the kitchen was a little further in, to the right, past the coat-hangers and closets in the hall. You stopped to admire the beautifully furnished living room, with a big fireplace taking center stage, while the tv was surpassed to the right wall. There were positively packed bookcases as well as glass cabinets filled with movies and LP-records, on every wall of the room, and the sofa and the two pulpy-looking armchairs just screamed leisurely comfort.

“Fine. Don’t tell me you came down so early to check on a few cuts, jefe.”

The grumpy, deep voice, with a thick Spanish accent, snapped you out of your reverie, and you quickly followed the sound over to the kitchen. You came into view behind Mr. Rose just as the unknown man turned from the kitchen counter, grasping a coffee-mug and bringing it to his mouth.

“No, I came to introduce you to your driver,” Mr. Rose declared.

The mug froze a few inches from the man’s lips as he saw you, and when he heard his boss declare who you were, his arm dropped all the way down to his waist, and a downright scary looking scowl came over his scarred face.

“Hijo de puta…” the man spat between tight jaws.

“Tov, we talked about this.”

“And I told you: I don’t need help,” the man snapped, getting angrier by the second, but Mr. Rose took it in stride.

“Since you refuse to get a driver’s license, you need a driver, you know that. I can’t keep sparing people from other positions to help you run errands.”

“Errands? I do not run errands, I do what must be done.”

“As do I,” Mr. Rose returned, and there was suddenly an authority to his voice that made the other man hold his tongue. “This is not a debate, Tov. I’m your boss and I’m telling you – this woman is your driver from now on.”

He gave the grumpy man your name, at which point he turned away from you, as though he could make you disappear if he just couldn’t see you. Mr. Rose seemed to stifle an eyeroll as he angled himself more towards you.

“I apologize for this man’s less than polite behavior, but if it’s of any comfort to you, he treats everyone like this. His name is Pero Tovar, and he’s what you might call the manager of this estate. His primary function is to take care of my horses, but he seems to just generally know everything that goes on here, from who the gardener’s dating, to which one of the housekeeper’s granddaughters just took up ballet.”

Mr. Tovar was busying himself with needlessly rearranging and fiddling with the things on his counter, anything to not have to turn around and acknowledge your presence.

“I have eyes and ears. This is all it takes,” he grumbled, but his employer just huffed at him.

“Honestly, I haven’t ruled out the possibility that he’s some form of sorcerer. But he’s also a skilled fighter, and his attitude of just not giving a shit if people like him, makes him good at weeding out bullshit. Which is just one of the reasons why I like to bring him along as my personal security from time to time. Now, since he doesn’t trust anyone else to tend to the horses, he’s in charge of making sure they have everything they need, which means weekly trips into town to restock on their feeds, treats and anything else he feels that they are lacking. And since he meddles in all other aspects of this estate as well, he usually ends up running errands for Coulson, the gardener, the cook and the housekeeper too.”

Mr. Tovar still had his back to you, and he grumbled something you couldn’t interpret, but Mr. Rose just ignored him and kept going.

“The problem is that he keeps borrowing people from my security team in order to run said errands, which was fine a year ago when I didn’t have that much need for them, but my circumstances have gotten more delicate, and I need them where they are. Obviously, that’s where you come in. And just so we’re clear: Tov is one of very few people I trust, and that makes him invaluable to me. So, in addition to driving him anywhere he wants to go, I’m expecting you to look after him, however much he protests, since he’s hopeless at taking care of himself. I have a room ready for you here, and I’d prefer it if you lived here while you work for me, even if it does mean sharing house with a brute.”

Right. Okay. This was so not what you’d expected. But, despite his gruffness, the Spaniard had something appealing about him. He was scarred and troubled, and inherently distrustful, as well as surprisingly easily offended for someone who was obviously held in the very highest regard by his employer. Still, he clearly took great pride in his work, and that was something that you understood, and respected. You squared your shoulders.

“Thank you for your trust, Mr. Rose. I won’t let you down.”

He seemed relieved that you didn’t just turn around and run away, making you wonder if there had been others that had. He thanked you in return, and told you to take the day to get familiar with everything, before he said something in Spanish to his friend, and then excused himself to get started on his workday. Allowing you and the brute a chance to hash it out.

“Just to be clear, Mr. Tovar; I won’t expect or ask you to like me, only that you respect that I have a strong work-ethic, just like you. I like to earn my keep, and I’m not afraid of hard work.”

He scoffed as he finally turned back towards you, to thoroughly look you over, head to toe and back again.

“A woman as soft as you, has not known hard work.”

“How would you know how soft I am?” you challenged.

“Your hands,” he replied with a sneer. “They are smooth, not used to toiling, no dirt under your nails. You are soft. No probado.”

Oh, was that how it was gonna be? Fine. You could play this game too.

“I might not have any battle-scars that you can see, but there’s more than one way to know hardship. You know nothing more about me than I do about you, so how about we get the pissing contest over with: Since you’re the only dick present, you’re automatically the biggest one. I am in no conceivable way any threat to you, so just let me work, okay?”

He just glared at you, still with something conniving in the depths of his eyes.

“Would you at least show me which room is mine, so I don’t wander into yours uninvited?” you asked with a mildly exasperated sigh.

He finally sipped his coffee, then pushed off the kitchen counter and headed off towards the bedrooms. He led you to the last room in the hall, and then just leaned against the doorframe while you walked inside and looked around. It was almost bigger than your whole apartment.

“Don’t get comfortable, blando. You won’t be staying.”

>>>>>>>>>> <<<<<<<<<<

Link to Chapter 2

Thank you for reading, and if you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging. I would dearly appreciate it <3

@tacticalsparkles @tanzthompson @sarahjkl82-blog @marydjarin @idreamofboobear @annathewitch @agingerindenial @tiffanyleen @winter-fox-queen @elegantduckturtle @lovefreylove @shadowolf993 @callsigncatfish @hounding-around @cannedsoupsucks @startrekkingaroundasgard @thisshipwillsail316 @ellie-darling @likes-good-reblogs-even-better @nakhudanyx @dihra-vesa @tobealostwanderer @ophelialoveshandsomemen @deadhumourist @spideysimpossiblegirl @toomanystoriessolittletime @tintinn16 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @nolanell

#driving mr. tovar #driving mr. tovar series #pero tovar x female reader #pero tovar x fem!reader #pero x reader #pero tovar x ofc #modern!pero #modern!au #the great wall modern au #the great wall fanfiction #pero tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #sirowsky stories

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skyloonlark · 2 months

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Trigger warnings for the book: homophobia, homophobic violence, gaslighting, bugs, attempted kidnapping, religious trauma and themes, drug use, death, and some gore.

"Camp Damascus" is a New Adult supernatural horror book that focuses on a gay conversion therapy camp in a highly religious town. The main character starts to see creepy figures as well as trying to piece together the weird reactions of her parents and therapist, and it all seems to point to Camp Damascus.

The book delves into some horrific scenarios involving the camp that linger with you on the basis of how Christian churches actively demonize queer folks. I really enjoyed the mysteries throughout and it did pay off in the end. This is a phenomenal horror book which tackles the issues of religious homophobia and these institutions that try to alter a person’s sexuality that still needs discussing, all while doing so in a way that many queer folks can still consume it.

While “Camp Damascus” is supernatural, conversion therapy camps are not. Conversion therapy camps are establishments that have the intended goal of “converting” queer people’s sexuality or gender identity to straight or cisgender. These camps are normally founded by religious groups out of the belief that queer people need to be “fixed” to avoid eternal damnation. These camps, though, do not end up changing the person’s sexuality or gender identity, but rather causes irreputable trauma to the individual. Many survivors of conversion therapy deal with depression, PTSD, and suicidal tendencies afterwards. This book delves into themes not only beyond the terrible reality of conversion therapy camp, but also explores with it's fiction how far the church will go in order to maintain control over their oppressed subjects, personal relationships with religion, and the need to have faith in oneself.

As for representation, this book features an autistic lesbian woman as the main character. It’s not necessarily romance centered, but definitely features a romance for Rose.

From here on out, the material I talk about includes spoilers.

The book starts out introducing us to the main character, Rose, a 20 year old woman living in the very religious town of Neverton, Montana. This town centers on a sect of Christianity by the name of the Kingdom of Pine which was founded by the prophet, Cobel. Early on, the Kingdom of Pine is described as doing multiple things differently from other Christian sects, such as taking children out of public school for two years to study what is called "the four tenets" and very strictly demanding no "secular media" is consumed. The biggest thing this church is well known for is the gay conversion therapy camp located in the town called Camp Damascus. This camp touts a 100% success rate where there has never been a converted person who has regressed.

Most of the mystery leads back to the camp and the Kingdom of Pine, but starts in the first chapter with Rose witnessing a galling figure of a pale woman in a red polo while spending time with her friends. This woman seems imperceptible to any other people. However, when she brings up the woman to her therapist and family, they start to act weird, especially after she sees this woman again after a terrifying incident where she coughs up a swarm of mayflies.

Coughing up mayflies is common throughout the book and is even later discovered to be a symptom of the woman's presence. The usage of flies has particular relevance in Christian mythos, where they often are symbols that demons are present, which ends up being a massive form of foreshadowing in the story.

As mentioned above, it is revealed that the woman is in fact a demon of Christian lore, specifically the demon, Pachid , from the 15th century French story Abramelin the Mage. Soon after Pachid’s name reveal in the book and a grisly event caused by her, Rose encounters another mysterious woman that seems to know who Rose is. The mystery picks up raising questions of “Why is Pachid here?”, “What does Pachid want?”, “Why are the parents and church members acting strange when bringing her up?” and even further of “Who is this woman and why does she know Rose?”.

The book starts to take a turn where the supernatural becomes less metaphysical to the main characters. Whereas a lot of supernatural horror involving demons and chthonic entities uses them in either metaphorical or untouchable ways, this book takes the direction where the demons are tangible and can be dealt with in a physical manner. When Pachid, as well as others in the story, start to get more blatant in their presence, Rose and her eventual friends are able to fight back just like if they were human.

Something else I really like about this book is its messages. Not only is the overall message regarding treating queer folks, but it even has messages of how to respect queer members of religious faiths and how to manage your own beliefs in a religious context. Something that I was genuinely refreshed by was the character, Saul. Saul is found later in the book as one of the previous camp counsellors. He was also a victim of the camp. In contrast to Rose, who, after discovering everything about the Kingdom of Pine, was burnt out from believing in a god, Saul still worshiped the Christian god and still went to Sunday service. The reason I felt refreshed by his character is I have seen many of times where LGBT+ folks will be part of a religion and other members of the LGBT+ community who have shamed them for worshipping or labeled them being a member of the religion as problematic. While this seems to have gotten a lot better in the queer community compared to when I was younger, Saul shows how you can be any religion or faith and be queer at the same time, no matter the oppression you have faced from said religion. You get to decide how you handle that faith and practice it. Saul sets an important example, especially since Rose and Saul both come to have different beliefs.

And speaking of faith, during the book once Rose leaves Christianity, she started to write her own bible versus featuring herself triumphing over evil, and this was so important to see. While Saul represents that you can belong to a faith while being queer, Rose represents how you don't have to have any religion or spiritual faith. You don't have to believe in a god or gods and how faith in yourself is so fucking powerful, I don't have words. Rose writes herself as a mythical hero you would read from the Bible with sword in hand ready to cast evil into the fire which I believe is an image we should all have about ourselves in hard times.

The last major thing worth mentioning involves the ending (paragraph is spoiler for the ending). It shows the lengths the church has been known to go to in order to persecute LGBT+ folks but in a depiction where they make literal pacts with demons in order to punish the groups they deem wrong. The depiction of the Christian Church being close to Hell is not a new one by any means, though seeing a book that wrote them to be blatant about their choices was definitely a grand ending that represents them becoming who they fear the most. The ending also reveals how after employing the demons, they erase the memories of the victims. This is reminiscent of how these camps try to erase who queer people are.

I hands-down recommend this book to anyone who loves horror, let alone the idea of horror revolving around these kinds of establishments. The characters are well-written, there are high stakes involved, and the buildup leaves you constantly guessing and wanting more!

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kimvvantae · 4 years

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puzzle; 7 (m)

➜ you and jungkook are best friends of a lifetime, even though your personalities are like unmatching pieces of a puzzle. the line between friendship and something more has never been crossed between you two - but that changes after a break up and a drunken night, when you not-so-accidentally cross this line to something much more. what happens when after this accident your non-matching puzzle pieces seem to match in a way you’ve never imagined?

pairing: jungkook x (f) reader

genre: smut, angst, comedy; friends with benefits au; college au

warnings: lots of swearing, a little bit of violence

rating: 18+

word count: 12k

A/N: sweet jesus it’s been so long but it’s finally here! this is the last but one chapter of the series. i genuinely hope you guys enjoy it and i reeeeally want to know your thoughts on it! feel free to leave a comment! if you feel i’m deserving of it lmao

enjoy!

➜ Chapters: check up masterlist in bio!

« playlist »

[bby bear]: where are you???

[bby bear]: you'll get late for class

[you]: i knoww

[you]: the traffic is so heavy today 🤦🤦

[bby bear]: you should have come w me

[you]: i need to go to the bank

[you]: i told you

[bby bear]: i could have taken u theer

[bby bear]: there

[you]: 🥺🥺 next time i'll go w you i promise!!

[you]: but i'm close

[you]: i'll probably lose the first period tho

[bby bear]: 🤦

You shove the phone inside of your pocket when you notice the pedestrian sign is finally green. The crowd on both sides of the avenue rush, everyone on their fast pace as usual. You're even forced to push some people in order to walk by.

Getting to the other side of the street, you stop in front of the building.

Tall as fuck. That cool kind of building with mirrors all over it, where only cool people wearing cool suits walking around holding cups of coffee on one hand and phones on the other hand talking business language kind of people work at.

You certainly don't work here. You definitely don't have any stuff to do here. You surely are not close to the campus and you will lose much more than just the first period.

Seulgi will most definitely punch your face when she finds out where you are and what you're about to do.

You confidently walk inside the building, pushing through its glass doors into the pristine, modern and gigantic main hall. Your black boots contrast with the high heels all the other women wear around you. So does the rest of your outfit. Mini skirts and oversized hoodies are not part of the dress code here. You can almost hear their minds asking, what is this person doing here? The clanck clanck sound of their heels clicking against the marble floor is somehow pleasing, though.

You stop in front of the reception counter. A pretty girl opens a crystal white smile to you. Her hair is tied tightly, her uniform was ironed to perfection. "Good morning. How can I help you?" She chirps happily.

"Good morning. My name is Y/N. I'd like to talk to Irene."

The smile quickly falters.

The girl side eyes her colleague that sits by her side. "Hmm… unfortunately, Miss Irene does not receive visits," she says carefully, still trying to keep her smile. "You must be mistaken."

You can see this girl thinks you're crazy. You quickly realize that people usually don't come at the reception and simply say they want to talk to Irene. But, well, what else would you do? You have to announce your presence somehow.

"Irene is waiting for me. You can call her and ask if you want," you insist.

The receptionist looks pale for a moment.

Hesitantly, she takes the phone and dials a number. You can still see that the girl thinks you're lying; she's probably ready to call the security guards. During her quick talk on the phone, you notice she's not talking to Irene, but with her secretary.

You also see the moment her eyes widen.

She hangs up the phone and stands up, smiling widely again.

"Miss Y/N, Irene is waiting for your arrival," she says, and you notice the slight tone of panic in her voice. "Please, accompany me."

All the other visitors have to show their identifications and take a quick picture on the reception, you notice, but the girl simply ignores this procedure with you, guiding you to the elevator instead. She explains the situation to the security guard and he lets you in. The receptionist still looks slightly panicked. She's probably scared that you'll complain how the receptionist was rude to me directly to Irene, but you won't. Poor girl was just doing her job.

The elevator is big, too. It has a panoramic view of the city as it goes up to one of the highest floors.

You always thought Seulgi was overreacting when she said how bad she sometimes felt for dating Irene, but now you kind of understand her.

You knew Irene was rich. You can recognize a Gucci jacket when you see one, and you've seen Irene wearing plenty of these. But Irene always acted so normal. Sure, she was elegant - and sometimes even arrogant -, but she was still someone very pleasant to be around. She never looked disgusted to be in your tiny but comfy apartment, she never made faces when she'd sometimes wear some of Seulgi's or your clothes when she didn't bring any to spend the night, she never complained to eat the junk food you'd buy for dinner. She was just… chill.

Because of that, you'd forget that she's rich sometimes.

Being in this massive building where everyone acted as if she was a princess made you remember, though.

Irene is beyond rich. Your standard of "rich" used to be Joy: someone that has a cool, big house in a nice part of the city. Irene partially owns a fucking company. She's so chill that you never even bothered to Google the company's name; you did this today to get the address, and it only made you more shocked.

Seulgi must have felt overwhelmed many times in their relationship.

But you're sure she was much happier back then than she is now.

You're used to their drama. They were already dating when you first met Seulgi, and you saw this cycle repeating many times. This time, though, things are not happening as usual. Seulgi is the saddest you’ve ever seen in these almost three years of convivence. Right after they broke up, you thought she was just being dramatic as usual… now you see that it isn’t simple drama. She’s actually sad and has been in this state for months. She doesn’t go out anymore, stopped doing the things she liked… she even got tired of Netflix. That’s probably the most shocking fact of all.

Jungkook said you shouldn’t get involved in this, but you’re tired of seeing your friend being so sad all the time.

Their breakup was messy this time. They didn’t talk properly, didn’t make things clear. Seulgi is too stubborn to make a move (she’s totally lethargic at this point, both physically and spiritually), and Irene also seems too stubborn. Since none of them has the balls to do anything, you finally decided to step up and take action.

(Funny how you thought Jimin was annoying for trying to push you and Jungkook together, but you’re doing the exact same thing right now).

Well, look, you’re not exactly trying to push them into each other. First, you want to know Irene’s feelings and opinions on this situation. If you see that she has really moved on from Seulgi, then you’re ready to give your friend all the comfort and support in the world so she finally moves on. If Irene shows you that she still has feelings for Seulgi… well…

The speed in which she replied to your DM is a strong indicative of that.

The way her eyes glint with undeniable hope when the elevator doors open and she greets you is another indicative.

Irene looks gorgeous as always; she’s like a human version of Snow White. It’s kind of funny to meet her in her office like this. She’s almost like a female and hotter version of Christian Grey.

Her ways of greeting you are polite and… hesitant. You understand why. She probably doesn’t get what you’re doing here in the first place, what you want to talk about. Considering you’re Seulgi’s friend, she must think you’d be mad at her or something.

“Why didn’t you call me, Y/N? My guests never enter from the common hall.” she asked. Oh. Common hall is what that massive hall is called. Almost like peasants area.

“I didn’t know.” you simply say, shrugging.

“I’m sorry that we’re meeting here at my workplace. It feels too profissional, doesn’t it?” she smiles sheepishly.

Well… it does. You don’t even feel comfortable enough to move around her great office, afraid that you’d accidentally break anything (you’re sure that every little piece in this room is much more expensive than you’d be able to afford).

“Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. I think it’ll be more comfortable to talk there.” she politely suggests, and you just agree with her.

Irene guides you around the halls. This floor is less crowded, since only Important People with Important Tasks work here - and she’s greeted by all of them as she passes by. Their eyes immediately float to you, and they were surely asking themselves why Princess Irene was being followed by this peasant.

The cafeteria in question is as pretty and neatly clean as the rest of the building. Soft music plays from the speakers. Irene chooses a more private table by the windows and asks if you want to have breakfast; you politely decline and both of you end up ordering simple cups of coffee.

An uncomfortable silence lingers in the air.

"I… have to confess that I got surprised when I saw your DM," Irene speaks softly. Her eyes are glued on her cup of coffee. "It's been a while."

"Yeah."

"How are you doing?"

"I'm doing fine." a hundred different scenes pass on your head as she asks this, and you know that you feel anything but fine in the moment, but it's not as if you'll rant about your complicated love life right now. "But I'm sure you don't want to ask about me."

You see a shade of pink flush Irene's cheeks.

"Well… I don't think it would be right to ask about her." Irene says.

"Why not? It's not as if you didn't know I came here to talk about Seulgi."

"But she doesn't want to know about me."

You're left speechless for a few seconds.

It's funny to see the two sides of a breakup. Because of their stubborness, they became completely out of tune with each other. Irene thought that Seulgi didn't want to know about her, when you knew pretty damn well that Seulgi stalked her social media an unhealthy amount of times per day.

You cross your arms and lean your back on the chair. Irene looks hesitant, but you see she's eager to know whatever information you may have. That's not the behavior of someone that hates their ex.

"Can I ask you something?" you say. It's funny how Irene, the owner of pretty much everything around you, looks so cornered by you, her shoulders shrinking visibly. She nods softly. "Why did you guys break up? I mean, what's your side of the story?"

Irene sighs and passes her hand through her dark hair. She looks out the window. She doesn't seem irritated by your ask. She just seems… thoughtful.

It makes you realize that, perhaps, Seulgi's not the only one feeling broken here.

"We're… different." she starts quietly. "I have been trying to keep this relationship working for a long time, you know. Even though we argued a lot and disagreed about many things. But…" Irene sighs again. Sadness shadows her features. "It was getting hard. Seulgi never accepted my help. She knows that money is no problem for me, and I just wanted to help, but why did she act so angry every time I wanted to help you guys?"

Oh.

You don't miss the way she said "help you guys"; she must be talking about the times both of you were struggling to pay the rent. Oh God. You clearly see where their opinions diverge. Irene has always been rich; she saw money as something simple, giving money to others wasn't a big deal. Meanwhile, Seulgi must've felt dependent and it surely hurt her pride. Besides, there were enough people saying that Seulgi was only dating Irene to get money from her…

"And there's more." Irene's voice becomes quieter, more fragile. "My family, they're… very conservative. It was already hard enough for them to accept my sexuality. They never did, to be honest… but they particularly don't like Seulgi, because she's not, hm, on my "social level", as they like to say."

Ooh.

This is more complicated. Seulgi doesn't know what it feels like; her family is very open minded. She told you that, in the beginning, her parents were shocked when she told them that she also liked girls, but they slowly accepted it. Irene, on the other hand…

"They keep saying that my relationship with her will be bad for the company." She confesses. "They said they'd even accept my relationship, as long as we dated in secret."

"What?!" you gasp. "This is disgusting!"

"I know." Irene nods, eyes focused on the mug between her hands. You have the impression that you see tears welling up on her eyes, but she blinks rapidly to dissipate them. "I… I was willing to go against them, because if they don't accept my relationship, then they don't accept who I am. But… I don't know if it's worth doing this if I'm not sure if Seulgi feels the same about me."

Ouch.

You remembered the night when they broke up. Seulgi came to you, crying, and said that she was tired of being with someone that wasn't brave enough to accept her.

Seulgi, my dear… you know nothing.

You can see that to go against her parents isn't as simple as it sounds. To Irene, going against her family involves reputation, money, and the company itself. It's definitely a big deal. Seulgi didn't understand how serious it is.

And Irene is willing to take this big step for her.

It's your time to sigh.

"Irene." you lean closer, staring at her seriously. "Do you still love Seulgi?"

She blinks at your direct question. Irene looks down, gulps… and nods.

"I do love her."

You can't hear any hint of doubt on her voice.

That's what you wanted to hear.

"She's not okay." You blurt out the truth. Irene widens her eyes softly and looks at you. You see guilt on her eyes as she hears this. "I came here because I'm worried about her. She doesn't act like herself anymore. She even got tired of Netflix."

Irene widens her eyes in shock. "She stopped watching Netflix?!"

"Yes." You nod seriously. "And she still loves you, too."

Irene freezes when you say this.

Now, you're sure of the tears welling up on her eyes.

"I…" she stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. "A-Are you sure?"

You can't help but giggle at her; Irene looks shy, almost like a teenager - scared and excited to know that her crush likes her back. You feel your own heart warming up at the sight.

"Of course I'm sure."

A smile wants to make its way up to her lips. "B-But what do I do? I can't just walk up to her like this. I don't want to start another fight…"

"Irene, believe me. Seulgi will listen to anything you have to say, as long as you're being honest. Tell her about the situation with your family. Prove to her that you're willing to stand for her. I mean, if you're still willing to…"

"I am!" Irene exclaims in a heartbeat. "I am. As long as she's with me, I feel like I can do anything."

You feel yourself smiling. Irene's eyes are shining like diamonds.

"But you also have to try to understand her." You say seriously. "Seulgi is not wrong for wanting to be independent. She's finishing her studies, she wants to build a career for herself, and she wants her own money. I know you're trying to help, but you have to respect her. Also, I'm sure she doesn't want to be a burden for you."

Irene nods vehemently. "Okay. You're right. I get it."

She doesn't hold her smile back anymore as a tear rolls down her cheek. She looks so immensely happy… it's a delightful sight. And you can't help but feel happy too, because right now, more than ever, you see that Seulgi found something rare and precious in this world.

True love.

And this fact itself is enough to make you feel that coming here was worth it - even though Seulgi might want to kill you afterwards.

"But hey, Irene," you call her seriously again. "I'm doing all this because both of you stupid asses couldn't, but if you make Seulgi cry again, I will kill you. I know where you work now."

Irene laughs at your very serious threat. She leans forward and holds both of your hands. "Y/N, thank you so much for telling me all this. I will forever be grateful. If you need anything- and I mean anything- I will help you, okay? Anything!"

"Alright, alright," you say, shrugging, the slight thought that a millionaire owns you a favor sounding nice. "Now, you better go talk to Seulgi. I can't stand her walking around the living room looking like a zombie anymore." Irene laughs softly. "And… I said I wasn't hungry, but now I kind of want that waffle."

Seulgi looks like a very grumpy zombie when you meet her in the corridor.

"Where the hell were you?!" Seulgi exclaims. "It's noon!"

"Yeah, I know." you shrug. "The bank was pretty crowded."

Seulgi narrows her eyes. Her hair looks messy even though it's tied up and she has bags underneath her eyes. She's wearing the top of her old orange pajamas. It has an old kitchen oil stain over the chest. Seulgi from months ago would rarely go out looking like this.

"What the hell did you need to do there anyway? I didn't even know people still go to banks." She whines. "I was getting worried, you know?"

You walk down the corridor with your hands behind your back. You're glad Seulgi is too grumpy to notice the sly smirk on your lips, the way you kind of bounce by her side in expectation.

"Always so thoughtful, Seul. You're so cute, did you know that?"

She side eyes you, the frown deepening. "Why are you complimenting me?"

"What's the problem with complimenting you?"

"Whenever you compliment me it means either you want something or you did something that you know will piss me off."

Sometimes you forget how well Seulgi knows you.

"Jesus, you're too stressed, girl. I'll pay you lunch, okay? Let's eat at that Italian restaurant you like."

"When you offer yourself to pay for stuff it also means that-"

Seulgi stops in her tracks, completely frozen.

"Irene?"

You step back silently and hold your breath.

This is the moment that might end your friendship with Seulgi if it goes bad.

Irene seems to be holding her breath as well, her eyes round - scared, hesitant, hopeful.

And they stand there, looking at each other. As if time has slowed down. As if there was no one else besides them in the busy corridor.

If this was a drama, you imagined that the romantic soundtrack would kick in now.

"Hi, Seulgi." Irene says softly. "It's… it's been a while."

It seems that Seulgi's brain is struggling to function. "What… what are you doing here?" the fact that she does not sound defensive or aggressive but genuinely surprised and confused relieves your chest.

"I came here to talk." Irene says. "Just… just talk. But if you want me to go…"

"No." Seulgi interrupts her embarrassingly too fast. "It's alright. We… we can talk. Just talk."

Their eyes are gleaming and the ghost of smiles appear on their lips.

Your chest fills with triumph as you silently walk back. Not that either of them would even notice you anyway.

You're too far to hear what they're saying now, their soft voices drowning in the middle of the many more people walking around the corridor, but you still kind of hide inside an empty classroom, half of your body peeking outside of the door to watch them. They're talking and smiling timidly. You feel tempted to take some photos, but it's better not to. You kind of feel like an intruder watching them, even if you're this far-

"What are you doing?"

You almost feel your spirit jumping out of your body when the male voice asks dangerously close to your ear, turning around in a jump to see the source.

Now you don't know if your heart is beating so ridiculously fast because of the scare of because of the view in front of you.

Jungkook looks down at you with a puzzled expression, his hands behind his back, his body slightly leaning on your direction. He's wearing a modern grey hanbok over a black t-shirt and slippers. His backpack hangs from one shoulder. His hair is half tied up in a small bun, curly bangs falling over his eyes. This is precisely what makes your heart almost fail. You've been wondering how he would look like with his hair tied up ever since he decided to let it grow…

He's got no business looking this good. No. Fucking. Business.

But you're a master of pretending you're unbothered, so you just point ahead at their direction with an excited smile. Jungkook's eyes look up to where you're pointing and his eyes widen.

"Oh!" Almost instantly, he kind of hides behind you as well. It's hard to ignore the warmth of his body on your back, even though he isn't close enough to touch you. "Did they make up? Are they dating again?"

"I hope they will." it's weird how you're both speaking so low, as if they could possibly hear you over the loud chatter.

"What if they start fighting?"

"Don't even say that! I put my friendship with Seulgi at risk to get these two to talk!"

You turn your head in time to see Jungkook's eyes frowning as he realizes what's going on.

"It was you?"

"Of course it was."

He crosses his arms over his broad chest and shakes his head slowly in disapproval. "You said you wouldn't get involved!"

"I never said I wasn't going to get involved." you bat your lashes prettily at him, trying to give your best innocent look (unsuccessfully).

"You damn gremlin."

You whack his chest. "Aw, come on! Just look at them and tell me it isn't working!"

Both of you look ahead again to see them smiling sweetly at each other as they talk. You bounce and giggle excitedly like a little kid. "Look, look! She's blushing!"

Jungkook tilts his head to the side. "But what about Jennie?"

"Oh, Irene and Jennie went out on dates, but it didn't work out in the end. They're just friends." you repeat the exact same words Irene told you earlier.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, if she cheats on Seulgi, I'll kill her."

You watch as they slowly start to walk away side by side, heading towards the exit.

You jump out of your "hideout" and open your arms in triumph. "I did great this time, didn't I?!"

Jungkook chuckles and leans on the doorway, arms crossed. "Whatever you say."

You're an expert at acting unbothered, but right now it's really hard to do so when he looks at you this way.

He has a pretty lazy smile on his lips. It makes you feel hot inside and your stomach jumps and your heart races. His gaze is intense… but not in the way you're used to. That look isn't his I want to fuck kind of look, it's… it's… shit, you don't know what that means, but it's pretty intense. Why is he looking at you like that?

You just hope he doesn't notice how your legs are wobbly.

It's the first time you see him in person since two days ago, when he slept at your house. Two days after you had sex even though you said you wouldn't. You didn't talk properly about what happened there. To be honest, your brain still didn't process that well.

Things are awkward between you two - but this time it's a different kind of awkward. A type of awkward that made your cheeks burn while you cleaned yourself and got dressed. A type of awkward that made you feel all fuzzy and warm inside, that made a silly smile grow on your lips every time your eyes crossed his from the other side of the living room, an awkwardness that forced you both to look away and try to pretend your cheeks weren't aching from the damn smile that didn't want to go away. A type of awkward that didn't let you talk about what happened - as if none of you wanted to talk about it, to just keep it engraved in your minds forever, as if talking about it would take all the magic of the moment away.

You don't hate this type of awkward.

It's not uncomfortable. Not like what has been happening for the past months. Yet, you feel that you need to talk about it - to sort things out clearly and straightforwardly this time… because if the way he's looking at you means anything, then maybe… just maybe…

"I've got good news." Jungkook says suddenly (because he noticed that you've been staring at each other for far too long to not be embarrassing anymore).

"What?" you fiddle with your own fingers, trying to ease the tension.

"Remember that director I told you about? Mr. Choi?" You nod. "He invited me to work with him."

Your jaw drops, your eyes widen. "What? Are you serious?!"

Jungkook nods excitedly. "Yeah. Well, I'll be like the assistant of the assistant, to be honest, but… he invited me to work with him on his next project. I'll gain some real experience, at least…"

"Are you kidding? This is great, Kook! What the fuck!"

You jump over to hug him, your arms dropping around his shoulders, and Jungkook quickly hugs you back. His low excited giggle right next to your ear makes goosebumps crawl on your skin.

"I'm so fucking proud of you!" And you couldn't be more honest. Jungkook has always been so hardworking; he deserves all the success and recognition in the world. You always thought so.

"Thank you," his voice is still low and excited.

He caresses your back. It makes yet more goosebumps crawl on your skin.

Oh, God. He still smells like baby powder. He always does. You feel tempted to sniff the crook of his neck, just to take a little bit more of his scent, but you hold yourself back. It's not like hugging Jungkook is something new to you. Fuck, after everything you've done, hugging should feel like nothing. But for some reason… hugging him right now feels like a lot.

Feels awkward.

So awkward that you have to remind yourself that you're in the middle of a corridor full of people, and that this hug is taking way too long, so you step back before your brain completely malfunctions.

"A-And," you clear your throat and put a strand of hair behind your ear, furiously avoiding his gaze. You never thought that Jungkook would make you feel shy like this. Shy and Y/N shouldn’t make sense in the same sentence. "When is this next project?"

"In two days. I think he decided to put me on the crew last minute."

"This means that he really trusts you."

Jungkook smiles sheepishly and massages the back of his neck. "I just hope I won't mess things up."

"You'll do great, Kook. You always do."

He lifts his gaze to you again.

That same look again.

You feel that everything is blurred except him again. No one else is in that corridor. No loud chatter. Just him and his starry eyes, looking back at you, eyes that smile as much as his lips.

God.

You need to sort things out.

You can't just stare at him with heart eyes like this anymore. You need to talk about what happened. This conversation feels awkward because you're both trying to act normal, pretending that there isn't a fucking elephant in the room - an elephant that makes you think of a mattress in the middle of your living room, of sunrays touching his exposed skin, of old pajamas being thrown around and sweat and soft kisses and salty tears dripping down your temples.

You need to know if he also felt that that morning was different. You need to know if he feels the same. Even if he doesn't - even if his heart lays with Yeri or Joy or whoever it might be - you need to know, and you don't care about what the outcome might be. You just can't torture yourself like this anymore.

So you inhale and gulp.

"Jungkook, I was thinking… are you busy after classes?" you ask timidly.

He presses his lips together. "Actually, I am. The boys and I are planning to celebrate the end of the semester tonight."

Mission abort! Mission abort!!

"Why?"

"Oh- it's nothing. I was just…" you can't think of any excuse. "It's not that important anyway. Forget it."

Jungkook looks at you with suspicion. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah! I'm sure. Nevermind."

He still stares at you for a while, frowning.

"You wanna come with us?"

"No!" you shake your hands dismissively. You're not having this super important conversation surrounded by all of his friends. "I'm just gonna bother you guys. It's fine, Jungkook. Enjoy your night."

Jungkook shrugs. He takes his phone from his back pocket for a moment. "Well, I gotta go. I promised I'd pay Jimin lunch."

"Alright."

You start to walk in opposite directions.

“But we can meet tomorrow, right?” You turn around way too fast when you hear Jungkook say, a few steps away from you. He looks hesitant, an awkward little smile on his lips. “I have some stuff to do, but we can see each other at night. After I finish preparing my stuff. We could meet, right?” He visibly starts to look more and more awkward as he speaks. As if his confidence started to vanish. It’s kind of adorable. “You could come to my place. O-Or I could go to yours, I don’t care- I mean, can I?”

Your heart is bouncing crazily inside of you. You don’t notice how you’re mirroring his awkward smile. “Of course, Kook. When did you ever need permission to go to my apartment?”

Jungkook frowns as if he just realized how stupid his ask was. “Guess you’re right. Or maybe we could go out somewhere, right? It’s been a while since we went out, the two of us.”

He’s right. All you’ve been doing for the past months is meet to have sex. You don’t even remember the last time you two did something that didn’t involve getting naked.

“Sure, let’s go out.”

You stare at each other for a few more awkward moments (awkward is a word you’ve been thinking a lot about lately). See, that’s not how things would go between you two back then. Neither of you ever needed to ask previously to go out. You’d just usually drag Jungkook out of his house by force when you deemed he hasn’t been taking enough sunlight (fucking Overwatch). Or Jungkook would call you at 3am because he was bored of playing Overwatch and just realized there was only expired milk and an empty box of cereal in the cabinets because the last time he and Jimin bought food was 2 weeks ago and he’d be like “hey, let’s go to Walmart” and you’d be like “what the fuck Jungkook it’s 3am” and he’d be like “but Jimin’s not home I need help” and you’d be like “fuck you” but twenty minutes later you’d both be on your pajamas pushing a cart inside of an empty Walmart as you barely register Jungkook ranting about how he thinks he’s lactose intolerant because he had diarrhea the last time he ate yogurt.

That’s kind of how things used to go back then.

At the same time you desperately want your relationship to go back to normal, you don’t really hate the way you’re feeling right now.

“Right, I gotta go.” Jungkook snaps out of it faster than you and nods. “I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.”

Again, you turn around and start to walk in opposite directions. Slowly. Hesitantly. Because both of you know you don't want to go. Both of you know you still have a lot to talk about.

But maybe later.

[bby bear]: i kinda want to kill you rn but

[bby bear]: thank u so fcking much

[bby bear]: ily

[bby bear]: bitch

You're smiling so hard that your cheeks might probably start to ache. If Seulgi texted you this, it means things went really well with Irene.

The chatter in the dining hall is nothing but background noise on your ears as you scroll down your boring Instagram feed, the plate just half eaten in front of you. You’re not really hungry. Maybe the stress of studying for finals messed your stomach. The hell’s finally over, at least, and you’re sure that your grades won’t be that bad (Seulgi didn’t want to do anything, but you at least convinced her to study with you. That’s the only thing that got her out of her bedroom. Her zombie state was kinda the reason why you studied so hard).

Some text notifications pop on your screen, but you just swipe them away since none of them are from the person you’re waiting for. All of your friends are planning to go out tonight and some of them are asking if you want to go. No, you don’t. Honestly, you’ve not been feeling yourself these days. Past you would always be up to a party. Past you wouldn’t be having lunch alone in the dining hall - honestly though, you don’t even mind being by yourself. Nothing would make you feel emptier right now than being surrounded by random people. Just one person matters at the moment-

“Hi.”

You almost drop the phone inside the plate when you look up to see who just sat in front of you.

Joy.

Your throat feels suddenly bitter. You have to gulp.

“Jesus, I didn’t even notice you come,” you inhale and chuckle. “How you doing, Joy?”

Joy smiles. “I’m fine.”

She’s lying.

There’s something in the way she looks at you and in the way her smile looks plastic-fake that makes you shiver.

It makes you think that she didn’t even want to be here.

Well, you don’t know about her, but you certainly feel uncomfortable right now. You can’t lie that you’ve been feeling kind of guilty these days because you’ve been fucking the guy she likes in secret, but a big fat load of guilt hit you especially after two days ago. Joy went on a date with Jungkook and barely a few hours later you had him inside of you. And, of course, you had rough sex with him inside of her bathroom. All the while you knew Joy liked him and encouraged her to be with him-

Wow, it’s getting hard to look at her right now.

You really are a bitch. In the beginning you didn’t feel bad because you stupidly assumed there weren’t feelings involved. It was just friends with benefits, right? You even agreed that you could have sex with other people. If Jungkook started dating Joy, of course you’d stop doing it. Also, there was nothing between you two. You didn’t even feel jealousy.

Things changed, though, and at some point you genuinely started to hate this poor girl for breathing around Jungkook. And now you feel guilty because you realized that you like the guy that she told you she had a crush on months ago.

I took a shower this morning, so why do I feel so dirty right now?

A shiver runs down your spine.

The way she’s looking at you… what if she knows-?

“I’m throwing a party tonight,” she says suddenly. “To celebrate the end of the semester. You wanna come?”

You’ve been fucking the guy she likes for months and there she is, being nice and inviting you to her party. You really are a fake ass bitch-

“O-Oh.” You rub the back of your neck. “I, uhm… thanks, Joy, but I’m not feeling very well today. I just feel like sleeping, to be honest.” You chuckle sheepishly again.

Joy nods. “Alright.”

She doesn’t insist. It looks like she doesn’t even care. As if she’s just being polite.

In fact, it kind of looks that she’s relieved that you said no-

“So, how was your date with Taehyung?” She changes the topic quickly. “We didn’t even talk about it.”

Right. She’s talking about the person you don’t even want to think about because there’s only so much guilt one person can feel at once.

“It was fun.” You say. “We had a lot of fun.”

It sounds stupid, the way you can’t even articulate your date with him. You’re not lying - you had fun… kind of.

“Are you dating him now?”

Okay, this is getting strange. Not the question, but the way she asked. You’re 100% sure she’s annoyed by something, and honestly looks uninterested in your current state with Taehyung right now, so why is she asking anyway?

“No, we’re not.” You admit.

Joy stares at you in silence as if she’s waiting for you to say something more, but you say nothing else. Joy then nods. This is getting very uncomfortable.

You feel that she’s about to leave, so you pick up the courage to speak again. She touched this topic anyway.

You know it’s wrong to ask. You shouldn’t. But you’re so curious that you can’t help.

“A-And, uhm… what about you and Jungkook? How was your date?” you try so hard to pretend you’re not dying curious to know.

Joy stares at you in silence again. She isn’t smiling.

“He didn’t tell you?”

What? Is there something to tell?!

“No. Jungkook’s kinda private about this type of thing,” you’re lying, of course, because even if Jungkook didn’t want to, you’d usually annoy him with questions about his dates so hard that he’d end up telling everything that happened.

Joy looks away and quirks one eyebrow. “Oh. I assumed he would have since you guys are so close.”

The way she says so close bothers you.

It’s her turn to rub the back of her neck, her eyes glued on the table - only she doesn’t look nervous. Yeah, she’s annoyed. Joy takes so long to talk that you’re about to repeat your question, but she finally speaks:

“We also had fun. Jungkook really is a sweet guy, right? He did nothing wrong. He’s so polite that it ended up annoying me, honestly. More polite than I would have wanted him to be…” Hah, so they didn’t fuck! Great! “Well, he dropped me home and I invited him to spend the night and all, but… He was very polite. He apologized a lot and said that he couldn’t stay…”

Joy licks her lips. Why the dramatic pause? Say it already, come on!

“He’s also a very honest guy, right?” She chuckled, but she clearly didn’t think it was funny. “He said that he thought I was an amazing person, but things wouldn’t go further than this because…”

For the first time, Joy lifts her gaze and looks at you.

“Because he already had feelings for someone else.”

You’re honestly not breathing anymore.

Joy is watching you very carefully. You’re as stiff as a board.

“Not a fun way to finish a date, right?” She says and chuckles, again, it’s clear she isn’t happy at all. “Anyways, I have to go now. Bye.”

She gets up and walks away before you can even say anything, as if this conversation was being unbearable for her.

Meanwhile, you just sit there. Frozen. Breathless.

He said things wouldn’t go further than this.

Your throat feels very dry out of sudden. Very, very dry and coarse, as if you’ve eaten sand.

Because…

You take the water bottle from over the table and drink it in one big, big gulp, until the bottle is empty and your shaking fingers crushed the fragile pet bottle.

He already had feelings for someone else.

You get up and take the tray so fast that you almost drop everything.

Your movements are fast as you walk out of the busy dining hall, your heart beating loudly on your ribcage, your breathing irregular and your mind working at 200 km/h.

He already had feelings for someone else.

He told Joy this. He dropped her home and told her the truth. He apologized. He… he said he already had feelings for someone else. Jesus Christ. Your heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to stop anytime soon.

He- He-

He might be talking about Yeri, a little, hesitant voice inside your mind whispers. Well… sure. You’ve been suspecting it for a good while. But… after Jungkook dropped Joy home and said this he-

He went to your apartment.

He went to you.

You feel the need to stop walking and lean on the corridor’s wall. The world around you is blurred.

What is this feeling bubbling up in your chest? A feeling so strong that it’s almost spilling over? This thing that makes you open the widest smile you ever opened and makes you want to jump around the corridor like crazy?

He came to me. He came to me. He came to me. He came to me.

He came to me!

But-

But there’s still the Yeri possibility.

You need to know the truth. To hear him say it, and you can’t wait another day - not anymore.

You take your phone from your bag and type with shaking fingers.

[you]: hey

[you]: can we meet today?

[you]: i really need to talk to you

Jeon Jungkook is a simp.

He doesn’t like this word. He thinks it’s annoying how people would call a guy a simp just because he’s treating a girl with minimal decency.

But, like. He’s a simp. He knows he is. He took a long time to admit this, but lately his pride has been already so crushed and stepped on by a particular pair of feet that he can’t even bring himself to feel anything anymore.

Actually, no. He has been feeling like shit for a long time. It’s just the alcohol anesthetizing him right now.

That’s just his second bottle of beer and he already feels kind of dizzy. It’s been a while since he last drank alcohol, that’s probably why his resistance feels weak. He makes a mental reminder to not drink too much. Jungkook knows that he gets really talkative when he’s drunk and he always ends up saying stuff he shouldn’t - and today especially he can’t end up saying stuff he shouldn’t with that guy around.

If he knew Taehyung would be here too, Jungkook wouldn’t have come. Yes, he knows he’s being childish. He knows he’s angry at someone that didn’t do anything wrong, he knows that jealousy is bad, he knows that technically he is wrong because he’s been dicking down the girl that he knew his friend liked. He knows all that, alright?!

Jungkook throws his head back and sighs, passing his hand through his hair. A chilling night breeze touches his cheeks; since the inside of the bar was already full and they were too many, everyone decided to sit on the outside part of the bar. Jungkook hasn’t been paying attention to anything anyone around him was saying and neither was he interested. He thought that coming here would make him forget about the things that have been troubling him, but in the end he’s just thinking more about them.

I could excuse myself and go home. He thought. I have a lot of things to do anyway. I wouldn’t be lying.

He feels a hand rest on his shoulder and looks at Jimin, sitting on a chair by his side. The look on Jimin’s face already says everything. Jungkook sometimes thinks that Jimin has telepathic superpowers; how does he always know what’s going on before anyone even says anything?

“You alright?” Jimin asks in a low tone, careful not to call anyone’s attention. The younger one nods.

“Yeah.”

“You’re lying.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you drunk?”

“I’m not.” Jungkook reassures.

Taehyung laughs loudly from across the table and both of them end up looking at him. Jimin looks back at Jungkook.

Jimin sighs. “You know you can go home if you want to.”

“Yeah.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Just… don’t do anything stupid.”

Jungkook looks at Jimin and sips a bit more of the beer slowly.

“Yeah.”

Jimin smacks his shoulder and goes back to his previous conversation with Hoseok.

How Jimin always seems to know what’s going on… it annoys Jungkook a lot. He wasn’t supposed to know anything. It’s not like Jungkook told him about his feelings, Jimin just… realized. They were doing grocery shopping one day and Jungkook mentioned how last time he went to Walmart you told him that the diarrhea he had wasn’t because he was lactose intolerant but because the yogurt was expired and then Jimin turned around and simply said:

“You like her, right?”

And Jungkook gasped.

Jimin smirked knowingly and just kept pushing the cart. He said nothing else - but it was as if Jungkook had just confessed his deepest feelings right there.

This happened a little bit after Jungkook and Yeri broke up and kind of made him feel offended. How could Jimin say he liked you? He hadn’t even gotten over Yeri, Jimin knew very well. However, it seems that Jimin is not only a telepath, he can also see the future, because he couldn’t be more right.

If Jungkook’s being honest with himself, some months ago he wasn’t really really sure about what he felt about you. As the “Yeri” scar started to heal he got more aware of his own feelings and actions towards you, but it was hard to sort things out because he was always in denial. That desire to hold you close and hug you and take care of you and not let anyone hurt you anymore? Well, that was just his protective side. You have always been one of his dearest people. Jungkook also knew that he had a little possessive side. He was sure that this feeling would eventually vanish.

Maybe he was also frightened because he knew it wasn’t reciprocal. You never even looked at him in a way that might mean you felt something else for him. He wasn’t going to confess something he wasn’t sure of to someone that definitely didn’t feel anything for him and destroy a life-long friendship.

But oh boy, how things have changed.

They changed the moment you hopped on his lap that night inside his car. Jesus, that first week was hell for Jungkook. He was trying so, so hard to forget the messy drunken memories of his night with you - especially because, the moment he woke up and saw the pure face of terror on your face when you realized what just happened, he thought of how much you regretted that and all of his hopes died right there - the hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could be more than friends.

Yet, he got to taste you again. Two times were all it took to get him addicted.

He couldn’t stop anymore - and it hurt him much more than he would like to admit. He felt that he was being used, even though he let you do it (and he enjoyed it every time, not gonna lie). He felt worthless, he felt angry at himself because he couldn’t stop and because you were so, so fucking stupid, so fucking blind, he felt sad because he watched as your friendship started to slowly die down, and now he feels jealous and guilty because he’s been seeing how Taehyung likes you - how Taehyung even asked him advice to ask you out - and he didn’t stop fucking you anyway.

That day at Joy’s house? It was ridiculous. Jungkook still doesn’t understand what the fuck happened to him, why he felt so angry. Perhaps he was finally getting tired of how dumb you are, how you can’t see what’s right in front of your face.

Just thinking about you hurts now. And Jungkook thinks about you a lot. There he is, surrounded by his friends, where he should be talking and having fun, but he’s too busy thinking about you. In two days he’ll start working for Mr. Choi, his first real job. He should be thinking about it. Not about you.

He can’t stop thinking about your flustered face.

You don’t look flustered that often. Especially not around him.

He thinks this is very intriguing.

What hurt him the most in all this - the thing that made him feel like a piece of shit more than anything - is that he knows you too damn well and he knew that it was never special to you. To you it was just sex, it was just fun; whenever your lips touched you never felt like you were being swept off your feet like he did, whenever you touched him you didn’t feel like just then, in that moment, everything was right - as if the Universe was only created for that specific moment to happen, as if the Universe was expectantly waiting for the moment his fingers ran on your skin freely since the very beginning.

He never felt like this with anyone else. No other pussy has ever made him feel this poetic.

The fact that Jungkook knew you didn’t feel the same was exactly why he couldn’t stop; this would be the closest he’d ever be from you in that sense - and honestly, after he tasted you, he didn’t want to go back to stage one. You were like a drug. You brought him comfort, you brought him bliss. Having sex with you became somehow of a escapist method. But, just like every drug, you started to make him feel sick… so sick that he couldn’t stand to be around you when you weren’t fucking.

He drifted away.

God, he even stupidly tried to move on, but Joy was a foolish try. Jungkook felt bad for using her like this - even though he never even kissed her, he felt that he was fooling her anyway. Going on that date with Joy made everything worse, because he was with that gorgeous, intelligent and lovely girl, but he couldn’t feel anything but fucking empty.

He also realized that you couldn’t be his drug anymore. You deserved much more than that. That’s why he drove all the way to your apartment like a magnet. He preferred to go back to stage one if necessary, if it meant that he could be around you without feeling like a worthless piece of shit anymore.

Of course - things didn’t work out that way.

But that morning- it was different.

Jungkook has to sip more of his beer just thinking about it.

It was different.

It was… quiet, very quiet. Much more quieter than he was used to. And much closer than he ever remembered.

All the times he had sex with you - his body was being pleased, but his soul felt hurt. This time, though, he felt that his whole self was being healed. You didn’t feel like a drug. You felt like a cure.

As if you were connected in somehow of a deeper way.

As if this time, it wasn’t one-sided on his part.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about it. His pessimistic side tried to convince him that he was being delusional or dramatic (he has this tendency to overthink anyways) and maybe he was, but, again… you don’t usually act flustered, especially not around him. And you’ve been looking flustered around him for quite some now, even before that morning. Sure, your friendship became uncomfortable at some point and he realized that none of you knew how to act around each other anymore, but still…

What about that time you saw a picture of Yeri on his computer?

You looked very, very awkward.

Or how you sometimes seemed bothered when Joy was around. You teased him a lot at that pool party. Jungkook knew you could get kinda kinky sometimes (he knew you liked the thrill of possibly being caught), but that felt like too much even for you.

His pessimistic side once again tried to convince him that he was seeing things. You wouldn’t be acting jealous. You were never jealous of him with any girl. Never. You even encouraged him to be with Joy, right?

What if… what if maybe, just maybe…?

Stop getting your hopes too high, his pessimistic side scolded. You look stupid.

I’ve been looking stupid for a goddamn long time, Jungkook thinks back. His pessimistic side looks back at him with disdain.

Jungkook frowns and looks at the bottle of beer on his hand. This is just regular beer, right? He surely isn’t so drunk that he’s already arguing with himself.

I should probably go home.

Or…

He could go to your home.

You wanted to talk to him earlier today. You looked very hesitant - again, very uncharacteristic of you. It felt like it was something important. Perhaps you wouldn’t mind if he knocked on your door unannounced - wait, you never cared. At least when your relationship didn’t involve rough sex. I mean- you didn’t mind not even when you started fucking, to be honest.

Why do I feel so nervous? I’ve never felt nervous over such a stupid thing. I mean, she’s the same dumbass I’ve known my whole life.

You’re probably home doing nothing. That’s also very uncharacteristic of you. Normal you would be at some club or party right now, celebrating the end of the semester. Normal you would probably have tried to drag him along. Or you’d meet some time during the night when you’re both too drunk to be standing and then you’d end up at 5am at the usual Burger King because you’re both hungry, and the Burger King employees would be staring at you both with anger and disgust because you’re both laughing like stupid and talking too loud and they’ve been up all night and can’t stand two drunk costumers this early in the morning.

It sounds nice.

Jungkook remembers that Seulgi and Irene made up, which means that Seulgi most definitely isn’t home.

Which means you positively are home alone.

Home alone, huh.

Jungkook sips more beer.

This sounds nicer.

But, hey, it’s not like he’s being dirty minded (well, at least not entirely). He really wants to know what you wanted to talk about - and suddenly, he doesn’t feel like waiting until tomorrow. Maybe it’s the alcohol (maybe he really shouldn’t finish this beer), but he wants to see your face a lot right now. Your flustered face. And he kinda feels like holding your face with both hands and kissing you very slowly. And he kinda feels like going very very deep inside of-

You know what? Fuck it.

Jungkook puts the bottle over the table and is ready to get up. His excuse is ready. Nobody’s gonna think it’s strange anyway - Jungkook has actual stuff to do.

But he doesn’t have the chance to move when he notices a person approaching the tables where he’s sat.

He freezes.

It’s you.

You’re looking down at your phone before you lift your head and see the group of familiar faces a few meters away from you. You’re alone.

Jungkook’s heart starts to beat furiously inside his chest. A smile unconsciously increases on his lips. What are you doing here? He didn’t know you’d come. He’s also sure that he didn’t tell you which bar he would come to earlier today. Adrenaline rushes through his veins as a hundred ideas run on his mind in those few seconds; did you feel the need to see him as much as he wanted to see you? Did you have the same idea as him? Were you so eager to see him that you couldn’t wait until tomorrow-?

Your eyes finally cross his.

That’s when Jungkook notices something isn’t right.

You look surprised, then a second later you frown, then you slowly widen your eyes.

He knows you too damn well.

You didn’t know he’d be there, too. You’re surprised to see him. And it looks… it looks like you didn’t want to see Jungkook there.

“Y/N!”

A loud, excited, familiar male voice bursts out.

Jungkook watches frozen in place as Taehyung gets up in a swift movement, holds your face with both hands and kisses you.

Taehyung’s lips are warm against yours. They taste like toothpaste and beer.

The kiss is very brief. Taehyung breaks it alway soon, but still holds your face with his hands. He’s smiling widely.

“You're late, missy!" He says happily.

You're frozen in place.

This isn't happening.

"I-" you stutter. It seems that your brain went into complete malfunction. "I, uhm…"

Your eyes travel back to Jungkook.

He's just watching. Not moving a muscle. No.

No no no no no no.

This can't be happening.

Jungkook wasn't supposed to be here. You thought- you thought he was going to celebrate with his classmates, you didn't expect Taehyung would be here too. No, no. Just no.

You see the exact moment his features get as hard as stone. The way he clenches his jaw tight.

You can't breathe.

When you texted Taehyung earlier, you didn’t really like that he told you to meet him at a bar. A bar wasn’t the right place to have this type of conversation - you also felt bad that you’d probably ruin his end-of-semester celebrations - but you agreed anyway because you desperately needed to make things clear with Taehyung before you had that talk with Jungkook. You decided to do this because Jungkook was honest and fair with Joy; you needed to do the same. You left the worst of the impressions when you let Taehyung kiss you that day. You needed to tell him the truth, or else he’d just suffer more - and you couldn’t be a bitch enough to just dump him by text.

But fuck - you didn’t expect Taehyung would fucking kiss you in front of everyone the moment he saw you!

With the corner of your eye, you see Jimin looking from you to Taehyung to Jungkook very fast, his face going pale as he realizes what just happened. No one else notices that something’s wrong.

Jungkook breaks eye contact with you and gets up from his chair. Jimin looks at him, helpless. You know that expression. He’s angry and- and-

Hurt.

You step away from Taehyung, trying to get control over your body again. It feels like pure frost has filled your veins. “T-Taehyung, I…” Your mouth is very dry again. You clear your throat. “C-Can we talk somewhere else?”

You suddenly hate how oblivious Taehyung is and how touchy he is because it’s clear that he’s moving his arm to hold your hand. What the fuck?! We just kissed once, it’s not like we’re dating!

“Sure. Do you wanna get inside? Wanna get a drink?” He asks with the same happy smile.

You’re trying to think of something to say, but again, someone else behind him gets your attention.

“You’re going this early, Jungkook?” Hoseok whines, oblivious to the whole situation. Jungkook is putting his backpack over his shoulder. He’s looking down, jaw still very tight. Not a word said - yet you could see exactly how hurt he was.

“Yeah. I have a lot to do.” He simply says.

“Aw, come on, man!” Taehyung encourages. “You can stay a little longer!”

If Taehyung was a little less oblivious, he would have noticed the death glare sent in his direction.

“I can’t.”

A shiver crawls over your entire body as the death glare is now directed to you.

He’s so, so hurt.

Jungkook’s walking away.

Stop! You want to scream. You got it all wrong! Don’t go!

But you don’t have the chance to stop him, and Jungkook doesn’t have the chance to walk away, and Taehyung doesn’t have the chance to understand what’s going on.

Everyone turns their heads when they hear a boisterous, scandalous laughter, and the sound of someone clapping their hands dramatically.

Now you’re sure that your veins are frosted. You shiver again - yet this time, it’s pure fear.

It’s Mike.

A very, very drunk Mike.

He looks the worst you’ve ever seen him; his clothes are a mess, his hair has grown a lot, and he hasn’t been shaving lately. His eyes are widened, red and maniac. He stumbles as he walks closer, everyone on the table - and the people on the tables around - stopping to look as he still claps ironically.

“Oh, look at what we have here!” he’s loud. Very loud. “So interesting!”

You notice that Jungkook isn’t walking away anymore - in fact, he comes back a few steps, standing closer to you. His body language has changed. Jimin has also gotten up; it seems that Taehyung might be starting to understand what’s going on.

“This is the funniest shit I’ve seen in a looooong time,” Mike continues. God, he’s drooling. This isn’t happening. That’s not possible.

You watch as some guys come closer to Mike and recognize them as his friends. One of them holds Mike’s arm. “Come on, man. Don’t start a scene. It’s not worth it.” He says in a rather low voice, but you can still hear it.

Mike gets off his grip aggressively. “What do you mean? Of course it’s worth it!” Mike looks at you and grins like a madman. You feel another shiver run down your spine. “Hello, Y/N! It’s been a long time! How have you been?!”

“Your friend’s right.” Jungkook speaks up. “Get out of here.”

“Ooooooh,” Mike shakes his hands as if pretending to be scared. “Look who’s here, too! It’s the bestie! Jeon Jungkook, the best friend your girlfriend could ever have!”

Pretty much everyone on the outside part of the bar is paying attention to what’s going on. They whisper between themselves, looking at Mike, you and Jungkook. You feel so embarrassed that you might as well faint. You feel that you should have said something already, but your brain is still malfunctioning.

“Jeon Jungkook, the friend that will want to fuck your girl so bad, but he won’t because he’s a coward!” Mike screams and laughs like a maniac.

Jungkook steps up closer to Mike in a brusque movement, but Jimin’s fast enough to hold him back. At this point, all of his friends have already gotten up from the table, wanting to stop Jungkook from doing anything.

“Shut up, Mike! Let’s go!” Mike’s friends try to stop him as well, trying to drag him away, but even though he’s drunk, he’s still strong enough to stay in place.

“You think I didn’t know, huh, Jungkookie? You think I didn’t know that whenever I was balls deep inside of Y/N you wish it was you? You always wanted to make her scream like a bitch the way I did!”

At this moment, the fear and shame are overwhelmed by anger. Without realizing, you are the one stepping closer, you are the person who Taehyung has to grab the arm in order to stop. “Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch!” You hear yourself yelling.

People on the tables around have gotten up - the noise of many chairs scraping the floor getting louder than the worried voices of the people trying to get away from this mess. You hear someone - a guard from the bar, maybe - threatening to call the police, but you can’t pay attention to him.

“Oh, but that’s exactly what you are! A whore!” Mike yells back. “You got so sad that I cheated on you, but haven’t you been doing the same to me?! You think I didn’t see you two inside the car that night?!”

That night… in the car…

Did he... ?

You freeze again when you see Mike pointing at Taehyung.

“Hm, you’re Taehyung, right? Are you dating her now? Well, be aware of her best friend right here, unless you like sharing your girl! But Jungkook likes leftovers, right, Jungk-?”

He doesn’t finish the sentence.

Jimin isn’t strong enough to stop Jungkook from jumping over and landing a punch on Mike’s nose.

There’s yelling and the sound of tables turning as a whole lot of men try to stop the fight and glasses breaking and Jungkook screaming incomprehensible things as he holds Mike’s collar and punches once, twice, three times, and then Mike’s mouth and nose are bleeding, and Jimin, Hoseok and Taehyung are trying to get Jungkook off Mike but it seems that not even the three would be enough to stop him.

You’ve never seen Jungkook so mad. It scares you because Mike is too drunk and can’t defend himself - but you’re not scared for Mike, that fucker can die -, you’re scared of what might happen to Jungkook.

So, when Jimin and the others drag Jungkook away as he still tries to free himself violently, you somehow squeeze yourself between them to hold Jungkook’s arm.

“Jungkook, stop!”

The black-haired man looks at you, his eyes red with rage in a way you’ve never seen before.

You didn’t notice that, in your despair, your eyes filled with tears. This is probably what makes Jungkook stop for a moment.

“Enough! I called the police! Everyone out of the bar!”

A siren can be heard from far.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Jimin yells.

Another mess as everyone grabs their things and to try and run out of the bar - even the people that weren’t involved. You see that Mike hasn’t fainted as his friends grab him out of the bar in a rush.

Jungkook has to get out of here, it’s the only thing on your mind. Jungkook thinks the same apparently, because he’s quick to take his bag from the floor and jump over the bar’s fence to the sidewalk. You assumed that he didn’t drive his way here because he knew he would drink - which means he had to run.

Your only instinct is to follow him.

You jump over the fence too, much more clumsily than him. Jungkook is already running down the street.

As you’re about to follow him, you hear someone call your name.

It’s Taehyung.

He’s standing on the sidewalk as customers run out of the bar. And the look on his face crushes your heart.

I am the worst person in the world.

“Y/N, what he said… is it- is it true?” He asks quietly.

You open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing coherent comes out of it. The guilt rushes with adrenaline through your veins. You knew he would be hurt, but it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. It wasn’t.

“I-I’m sorry, Taehyung,” is the only thing you can stutter.

You don’t see what face he makes next - both because you can’t take it, and because you’re already turning around and running down the street after Jungkook.

Jungkook is the only thing on your mind.

You can’t let him go away like this.

You run through the busy streets full of bars. As usual, they’re crowded with people. Some of them look at you running like crazy when you pass by, but you can’t stop running because you can still hear the sirens.

Jungkook has some damn long legs. He runs much faster than you and doesn’t even look back. You can barely breathe and your stomach hurts as you unsuccessfully try to catch up to him. You keep running and running and running until you’re on less busier streets, until the bars are left behind and now you’re on a more residential part of the neighbourhood. As Jungkook crosses an almost empty square, you decided that your body can’t take it anymore. You stop gradually, feeling your entire body scream in pain.

“Jungk- Jungkook!” you yell.

The black-haired man finally looks behind his back and sees you; he widens his eyes in surprise and stops.

“Why are you-?”

He doesn’t have the time to finish his sentence as the sound of the sirens get closer. You immediately start to run again and this time - instead of running in front of you - Jungkook waits until you get closer to grab your hand, forcing you to run faster. You two cross the square and run into a stair alley with houses on both sides. It’s quiet here. Jungkook crouches down behind a big trash bin, making you crouch down as well.

You both make as much silence as possible (considering you’re both panting heavily), both sweating, and wait until the sounds and lights of the police siren go away.

After maybe five minutes Jungkook gets up again, dropping his backpack on the floor. He cleans the sweat on his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt; you rest your hands on your legs, trying to recover your breath. Your stomach hurts as if it has been stabbed. Maybe I should start working out.

You notice that Jungkook’s right hand is hurt; his knuckles are swollen and bleeding a little. He frowns in pain as he analyzes it. “You- you’re hurt.” you stupidly stutter. Jungkook shakes his head.

“It’s nothing.” He says in a low voice. “I said I would beat him up if I saw him…”

Out of instinct you step closer to him, worried, and lift your hands to hold his swollen one.

But Jungkook steps back before you can even touch him. He literally flinched away from you.

It feels like an arrow has just buried itself in your heart.

He’s not looking at you.

“Jungkook-”

“No.” He shakes his head again. He’s breathing heavily as if trying to calm himself down. “Don’t… don’t say anything. Please.”

It’s getting so difficult to breathe. Jungkook puts his hands on each side of his waist, staring at something on the floor - clearly avoiding your pleading gaze.

“But Jungkook, I… you didn’t…” why the hell can’t you speak a coherent sentence anymore? That’s why you followed him all the way. You must make things clear, but seeing his face right now makes you hesitate. Jungkook looks genuinely angry; you’ve never seen him like this, ever.

He throws his head back, looking at the sky, and lets a very dry chuckle past his lips. His expression tells you everything you need to know - he’s tipsy, not entirely drunk.

“You know, I don’t even understand why I’m angry.” You’re not sure if he’s talking to you or to himself. “There was never anything real happening, right? We were never real.”

You feel yourself choking on your own words. What does he mean?

“Jungkook, you have to listen to me. I just wanted to talk to Taehyung-”

“You don’t need to explain yourself, Y/N!” He interrupts and finally gazes you back with bloodshot eyes. “We’re fuck buddies, right? It’s just for fun, right? No real feelings involved. It’s not like we’re supposed to care.”

Tears start to make your sight blurred. Each word of his sound more and more bitter, more sad, more hurt, and it feels like someone has buried the arrow in your heart deeper when you realize that his eyes are getting teary, too.

“Stop saying that. You know it’s not true. You’re the person I care about the most in this world-”

“If you start saying how I’m your best friend I’m leaving you right now.”

You frown and blink, trying to dissipate the tears. “B-But it’s true-”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N! I’m in love with you! Stop acting like you don’t know that already!”

It feels like your brain and your limbs and your lungs stopped working all at once.

Did he… did he just…?

Jungkook exhales heavily. He looks so tired. He rests his back against the wall in front of you, once again avoiding your gaze.

Something tells you that this should have been a happy moment. Deep down, you feel the pure bliss and excitement and it feels like your heart will combust - because you finally heard the words you wanted to hear the most coming directly from his mouth, you finally understood everything; he felt the same, the fucking same.

Yet, all the happiness is being overwhelmed by worry.

You’re watching him intently. You know the man in front of you better than you know yourself. You’ve never seen this expression before - this mix of anger and hurt have never been directed towards you. You’re scared because you don’t know what it implies.

It’s his breaking point.

He might be giving up on you right now.

You don’t know what to say. For a long moment, you just stare at him as he tries to calm himself down - always avoiding your gaze. It seems that words won’t come out of your mouth no matter how hard you try.

“Since when?” is the only thing you can whisper after a long time.

Jungkook shakes his head and lets yet another lifeless chuckle. “I don’t know.” He says in a low, broken voice.

Your fingers are shaking as you close your hands in tight fists. He needs to hear the truth.

“Jungkook.” Yet again, you hesitantly step closer. Your voice is fragile, pleading. “You got it all wrong. Please, you have to listen to me. Today, I-”

“Yeah, I know I got it all wrong from the start.” He interrupts you again. Shut up!, you want to scream. Let me fucking speak!

However, you can’t speak anymore when you notice the tears dripping down his face.

Jungkook is crying.

It’s your fault.

He passes both hands over his face as quickly as the first tears started to fall and sighs heavily. He takes his bag from the floor and shoves it over his shoulder again, turning around before you can see his face again, before you have the chance to say anything.

“I’m going home. You should go home, too.”

And he starts to walk down the stairs way too fast.

Your body is moving before your mind registers and you try to catch up to him. “Jungkook, wait-”

“Don’t.”

Is the only thing he says without looking back.

This makes you stop.

You watch, frozen in place, as he walks down the stairs. You keep your eyes on him as he crosses the empty square again. He’s almost running.

He wants to get away from you as soon as possible.

You know Jungkook too well. You know that, even if you followed him, even if you insisted, he wouldn’t want to hear you anyway. He’d probably despise you even more. This is what made you freeze.

You suddenly feel your legs get weak and sit down on the stair steps. Not only your legs, actually. All of your limbs feel heavy.

You don’t remember the last time you cried like this. The unstoppable tears just coming and coming and the sobs barely let you breathe.

You’re crying because you’re ashamed of what just happened at the bar - how Mike made you feel humiliated in front of all those people. You’re guilty because you weren’t honest with Taehyung and now there’s no way back - you let him believe in whatever he wanted to believe instead of making things clear, and now he’s hurt.

And the worst of all.

You’ve been hurting Jungkook so bad for so long without realizing. You hurt the person you cared about the most.

All of it is your fault.

God, it hurts so much.

You know Jungkook too well. He’s the person that has been always there with you for better or for worse. You always knew you’d have each other’s backs no matter what happens; he’s a part of you, the most important, most precious part of you.

This time, you genuinely don’t know what will happen from now on.

This time... you don’t know if Jungkook will ever forgive you.

#btswriterscollective #jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenario #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts imagines #bts scenarios

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xjoonchildx · 4 years

Text

guilty | knj x reader | epilogue: better than okay

summary: as the man at the top, kim namjoon has almost everything he wants. almost. could a familiar face from the past change his future?

pairing: namjoon x reader

genre: mafia AU, smut, fluff. a lot of fluff. SO MUCH FLUFF. but also smut. am i making any sense? is this thing on?

rating: 18+

word count: 1.9K

author’s note: okay, guys. here is an unplanned, totally out-of-left-field drabble/epilogue for guilty. i got a few messages from you guys that you’d love to check in on these two after the night in the penthouse. once i saw those messages, it’s like i couldn’t unsee them and i had to write this before i could move on with my life to give mr. min yoongi the guarded treatment he deserves.

this is fluffy. lots of feelings? it’s interesting because i’ve never alluded to marriage or children or even had my characters “use the L word” in any of my fics. it’s not usually my style, i guess? i like to leave a lot of the feelings implied. BUT in this case, i felt it was appropriate.

i hope you guys like this. i hope it’s a satisfying wrap to the story of these two characters. i can’t wait to get going on yoongi’s story and hope to have something out on that soon. beta read by the amazing @ladyartemesia and @hobi-gif two brains i cannot live without!

thanks to every last one of you who read and message me about these fics. i wish you knew how genuinely happy that makes me.

Chapter 01 | 02 | 03

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

The villa is quiet but for the muted whirr of the air conditioning units when you return.

You walk from room to room, coming up empty each time you open a new door. It’s only when you walk out back to the deck that you find them.

They’re napping together in the sun, faces shaded by an oversized beach umbrella.

Dasom is curled securely into her father’s side, lashes moist against cheeks rosy with heat. One chubby arm draped over his chest, possessive over him even in sleep. You’ve come to accept that this is the way of things these days -- Dasom is in the throes of an all-consuming daddy phase. Your little girl seems to have conveniently forgotten which of you did all the hard work of bringing her into the world.

You stare down into her beautiful, traitorous little face -- tucked into his golden, carved body and your heart does a funny little flip.

You didn’t know it was possible to love this deeply.

Namjoon stirs when you delicately extract Dasom from his hold, careful not to wake her. He pouts even before he’s fully awake, mourning the loss of her comforting weight. It’s only then that his eyes open -- hooded and drowsy -- and the corners of his mouth quirk into a tired smile.

There’s that funny little flip again.

You put one finger over your lips to silence him and he nods, eyes falling shut one more time.

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

You handle Dasom with the kind of care you’d give a live bomb.

You carry her back into the villa slowly, afraid to make a sound and careful to avoid any sudden movements. It’s a painstaking process but eventually your hard work pays off. After some very careful footwork she is lying down in the crib, one hand fisted into her favorite blanket.

The one that smells like daddy, of course.

You stand there and watch the steady rise and fall of her chest for a while.

It’s a stroke of serendipity that Dasom favors your mother as much as she does. You never would have imagined she’d share a face as well as a name with the matriarch she’ll never meet.

Life has such an interesting way of coming full circle sometimes.

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

Namjoon is still resting when you make your way back to the deck.

His long, strong body is sprawled out across the massive sun chaise, droplets of water not yet vaporized by the sun clinging to his skin and hair. He looks so young like this -- rested and peaceful and bronzed -- millions of mental miles away from the pressure of his responsibilities in Seoul.

You’ll never get over how handsome he is.

Never.

You’d come home from your massage today with a very specific goal in mind -- but you take one look at your sleeping husband and hesitate. These moments really are so few and far between for him.

You should let him rest.

You bend down to drop a soft kiss on his cheek before heading back inside. But as you straighten to leave, his hands come up to grab you. Strong fingers grip your waist, dragging you down onto the chaise.

Onto him.

“Namjoon,” you whisper a paper-thin protest, lips at his ear. The rough material of his swim trunks scrapes against your thighs as you straddle him. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Why would I do that,” he murmurs, hands stroking down your sides, “when I could be doing this?”

Good question.

He kisses you then, slow and languorous, pressing you into his chest with hands splayed against the small of your back. You sigh when they slip lower to grip your ass -- to drag you against the cock now stirring to life between his legs.

“You really do need your rest,” you protest as his lips move up the column of your neck.

“Quit bossing me around,” he mutters, nipping at you like a reprimand. “I know exactly what I need.”

His hands stray from the cup of your ass then, slipping under your sundress and just a heartbeat later you feel his smile against your skin.

He hums his satisfaction at finding you completely bare beneath the thin material. His fingertips glide over the soft skin of your legs, touch feather-light.

“You were gonna let me sleep, huh?”

“Yes, of course,” you insist, rolling your hips experimentally against the bulge you can now feel throbbing beneath you, straining against his trunks.

“Liar,” he accuses, the deep timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your back. His hands drop to the hem of your dress and he pulls it over your head in one smooth motion, throwing it aside.

You lean into him, claiming a kiss with one arm wrapped around his neck. Namjoon lets you steer this one, content to let you explore his mouth at your own pace. Your hands card into his hair and you grind down against him as you taste him, taking his bottom lip between your teeth.

Microscopic grains of sand tickle your skin as your body slides against his.

There’s no concern for privacy, despite the fact that you’re naked on top of your husband in the outdoors. This piece of Jeju Island is Namjoon’s, and the armed men who stand guard at the entrance to this compound at his command are tasked with ensuring no one and nothing comes near.

This is the safest place in the world right now.

At this villa. On this chaise. In his arms.

Namjoon makes an impatient sound from deep in his chest while you rock mindlessly against him. He slips a hand down to your apex and drags one long finger across your opening. He groans when he finds you messy for him, thighs slick with sweat and excitement.

“Minx,” he teases, teeth at your neck. “I’m playing right into your hands.”

“So you are,” you agree as he kisses his way down, mouth open and wet against your breast until he reaches one aching nipple, already at attention. He rakes his teeth over it and you suck in a sharp breath, jolting at the stimulation. Then he turns his head to mouth at the other nipple, softer this time. You jerk again in his hold.

“Sensitive?” he muses, one brow lifted.

“V-very,” you stammer, pulling back. “It’s too much.”

Namjoon makes a curious sound under his breath as he pulls you closer. Your nipples graze against the sun-warm planes of his chest but this time the sensation is bearable, skirting closer to pleasure than pain.

You tighten your hold around his neck, moaning when he sinks one finger inside of you, thumb closing over your clit at the same time.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, yes, yes.”

Namjoon knows exactly how to touch you, where and for how long. He can take you apart and put you back together with breathtaking precision now that he knows you -- quite literally -- inside and out. Years of trial and error distilled down to the most masterful strokes, culminating in skill that has you shaking in his arms in no time.

“No, Jagi,” he chides, sensing you’re well on your way to coming undone with his fingers inside of you and his mouth against yours. “Save this one for me.”

You whine on an exhale when he pulls away from you long enough to shove his swim trunks off his hips. He takes himself in hand, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watches you.

“What is it?” you ask, suddenly self-conscious.

You cross your arms over yourself without thinking. Your body has changed so much since Dasom came into the world. It’s impossible to ignore the new fullness of your breasts, the added roundness in your hips and thighs.

Namjoon tuts under his breath.

“Don’t hide from me,” he admonishes quietly, pulling you back in. “I just like to look at you sometimes.” He lifts your hips over his with steady hands, gazing up into your face. “Still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

He punctuates that sentiment with his cock, guiding you down and lifting his own hips to meet yours halfway. You whimper at the perfect fullness you feel when he’s anchored deep, completely sheathed inside of you.

“Namjoon,” you breathe, rocking impatiently into his deliberate grind. “God, you feel so good.”

He smiles into the kiss he plants on you; rolling his hips slowly, thrusts careful and unhurried.

Here there’s no urgent calls waiting, no Seokjin or Yoongi to interrupt -- just you and him melding together against the backdrop of the beach and waves. He savors this moment -- basks in it -- cock buried deep inside of you, lips plush against yours.

It goes on like that, slow and sweaty and snug, until the release he’d stirred inside of you just a few moments ago threatens again. You feel it looming, circling when he pulls his knees up and strokes deep against your most sensitive spots. You pull your mouth away to cry out and his grip on your hips tightens, keeping you from pulling back.

“Come apart for me Jagi,” he groans, thrusts building in intensity, “Come around me.”

You’ve never been able to deny him a thing -- and certainly not this.

You stop fighting back against the pleasure, surrendering to the sensation. You let it wash over you, holding tight to Namjoon for balance as his own release ignites. He whispers your name over and over as his thrusts become frenzied, thighs straining when he empties himself inside of you.

You fall onto him then, spent and limp.

You lie together like that for a while, bodies warm in the sun, the sound of water lapping against the shore lulling you both into relaxation. Namjoon drops a kiss on your temple, fingers tracing soft lines up and down your spine.

Everything is going to be okay.

Your think back to the penthouse and the promise Namjoon made to you at the very beginning. Since then it’s become a shared mantra of sorts, whispered between you both during times of trouble.

He’d promised you that again when you thought grief would pull you apart at the seams after your mother died. You promised the same to him when his worry and doubts about fatherhood nearly broke him in the months before Dasom’s arrival.

“Our baby isn’t a baby anymore,” Namjoon laments in a whisper, interrupting your thoughts. “I was watching her today on the beach, walking in the sand. She’s so independent now. Not much longer and she won’t even need me.”

“Don’t be silly,” you soothe. “She’s always going to need you.”

He hums thoughtfully, chest rumbling beneath you.

“Well, I was thinking -- ” he clears his throat before continuing, “ -- that maybe it’s time for another.”

You tuck your head under his chin, smiling to yourself.

“Another?”

“Another baby.”

“That’s a good idea,” you murmur, taking one of his hands in yours. You guide it down to the swell of your belly, relishing the way he sucks in a deep breath.

“Really?

“Really.”

“Now?”

“Not now now,” you tease. “Now as in about seven months from now.”

Namjoon slips two fingers under your chin to tip your lips towards his.

“That’s good, Jagi,” he exhales, kissing you softly. “That’s real good.”

He winds his fingers through yours and you stare at your joined hands.

Everything is going to be okay.

But everything is not okay.

It’s so much better than that.

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

tagging: @taetaewonderland @ppersonna @yeojaa @sahmfanficbts @prettyguardiansailormin @barbikatherine @55west81st @laabellaavitaa21 @codeinebelle @jalexad @trynavibewhileicry @poohsaidhi @eltrain80 @bluewhale52 @krystle1990 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @hauntedlilies @kjooniesbabygirl @unicorn5090 @parkjimin-persona @julia-pacheco-blog @veryuniquenamegoeshere @katbonv @sunkissed725 @yourdaydreamerfan

#namjoon smut #namjoon x reader #namjoon fluff #namjoon mafia #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #btswriterscollective #btscreatorscorner #bangtanarmynet

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consumedkings-archive · 3 years

Text

THE LAND OF GODS AND DEVILS, a sequel.

—part i.

word count: 6k

rating: m for now, rating will change in later chapters as things develop, tags will be updated accordingly.

warnings: naughty language, massively canon-divergent, roman gets his own tag because he's a fucking nutso, canon-typical violence, established relationship that might not be the healthiest, age gap, domestic murder family. for this chapter in specific, roman likes to take things to the Extreme (i.e., "i'm going to fucking kms if you say this word one more time") but if you're here i imagine you know exactly what he's about.

notes: it's here! i know that most of my followers and friends on here are my friends through my far cry 5 content, but my return to the fic-writing world was inspired by my first longfic in a decade after watching birds of prey. you could say, perhaps, that i have a Type(TM), given that roman sionis lives rent free in my head forever and always. this is the sequel to my work carry your throne, though i like to think it's fairy user-friendly, especially once we really get into the thick of it.

special thank you goes to my beta and the loml, @starcrier; the first person to ever truly recognize varya for the wretched little beast that she is and love her anyway. thank you for being my beta and for loving my girl!

and, of course, another special thanks goes to @shallow-gravy, @vasiktomis, @faithchel, @tomexraider, and @belorage for being so supportive of my foray out of the far cry fandom and back into one that, in a way, brought me here in the first place!

summary: —by dread things, compelled.

roman sionis is the closest he has ever been to having everything that he wants; a perfect wife, a perfect family, a perfect international black-market arms dealing business signed over to him in its entirety. unfortunately for him, there are people in the world who would prefer to see him without, and that has never been a thing that roman has accepted for himself: being without.

(or: a fic wherein the devil spends his time rebuking sin.)

“If one more person says the word ‘chandelier’ in my presence,” Roman announced, drawing all eyes to him, “I'm going to blow my fucking brains out. Got it?”

There was a brief moment of silence that lapsed before the murmured acquiescence of the workers marked their return to their work. Blowing hot air from his mouth, Roman raked his fingers through his hair and turned back around to where Zsasz was watching him expectantly.

“What?” He demanded. “It’s my wife’s birthday.” Emphasis on the my, not the wife; it was not a favor Roman was doing for Varya, it was something he was doing for himself.

“V told them she wanted it.” Zsasz gestured to the offensive piece of lighting, which continued to haunt Roman’s waking and dreaming hours with its garish crystalline drippings and expensive bulbs. Ever since Varya had found out his fluctuating approval of the chandelier, it had been in and out of the Black Mask Club more times than he could count. Not that he needed to; he could very well put in or rip out a stupid fucking light fixture as many times as he wanted.

“Well.” Roman pulled a glass out from behind the bar, setting it on the top and dropping an ice cube into it. “She does so love to torture me.”

“It's just a—”

“Do you want my fucking guts on the floor, Zsasz? I mean it. Say the word and I’ll do it.”

The blonde regarded him drily. “No, boss.”

“Blood and guts everywhere.” Roman gestured widely with his free hand. “All over the floor. The bar top. You’ll have to clean it up. Maybe wipe down some of the bottles.”

“I won’t say it.”

“I don’t have to tell you how hard it is to get blood out of the carpet.”

Zsasz’s mouth quirked up in a smile. It said, without saying anything at all, no, you don’t. More agreeably, and with the flash of pearly whites and the capped tooth: “Sure.”

Roman poured well over what would have been considered the polite amount of expensive scotch into his glass, capping the bottle and setting it aside. It had been exactly twenty-four hours of making sure the club was perfectly polished and styled for Varya's birthday; though she was shrewd, she was so preoccupied with the twins and the lawyers and overseas business associates that she barely seemed to notice whatever was coming in and out of the Black Mask Club. He didn’t think she’d had a baby nor a phone out of her hands in over two days, and truthfully, it was starting to become tedious. Now that the twins were a little over a year old, they were supposed to be scheduling their honeymoon.

The delay of it hadn’t been a big deal, at the start. But everyday with you feels like my honeymoon, Varya had demurred months before the twins’ arrival, fluttering her lashes and gliding her fingers along the lapel of his jacket—and not even an hour after she’d curtly informed him that any more chatter, while she was nursing a headache, would be met with a swift and efficient extraction of his vocal cords by her own hands. Motherhood was supposed to have domesticated her, Roman thought, and had done the exact opposite; now, she was more assured of her status and power than ever.

So, yes; Varya had been busy, and he was almost certain she’d forgotten her own birthday. Never mind that everything had to be perfect. Never mind that it had to be immaculate. Never mind that Varya had deigned to order a brand new fucking chandelier from the same place they’d gotten one last time, knowing full well that he had made the executive decision to gut the fucking thing and get it out of his club.

“Tell you what, Zsasz,” Roman muttered, taking a swallow of the amber liquid in his glass, “don’t ever get fucking married. You want someone knowing all the shit that pushes your buttons all the time?”

“Maybe you just got a button pusher for a wife.”

Roman grimaced and took another swallow. It was true. “Fuck off.”

The blonde opened his mouth to say something else—and hadn’t he gotten confident in himself too, since Varya had become such a permanent fixture in their life, constantly goading and coercing him to voice his opinion on things, things that normally he would just defer to Roman on—when the doors to the stairwell and the elevator opened.

Eclipsing the doorway was Armazd, Varya’s hand-picked-from-the-batch-of-Russians-left-over-guard. Armazd had to be easily cresting six-foot-five, his dark beard neatly trimmed and peppered with silver, a scar breaking the color of his top lip. Roman had only ever seen the man swathed in dark clothes, like a fucking mourner on parade. His wife had been the one picked to be the twins' nanny, despite the fact that Roman felt like she barely did anything.

Also hand-picked. Thoroughly vetted. Interrogated for hours. No stone left unturned, when it came to Yuli and Ro.

“What are you doing down here?” Roman barked, coming around the side of the bar to make his way across the room. “You’re supposed to be going up and keeping—”

“She is coming down,” Armazd clarified. “In the elevator. Irina called to tell me.”

“Instead of stopping her?”

“She was—”

The elevator dinged in the hallway, and Roman quickly ducked around Armazd and closed the door into the club behind him. As soon as the doors slid open, he planted a smile on his face and closed the distance between himself and his wife.

Nobody would know, looking at Varya, that she not only barely utilized the nanny that they had furiously vetted and now paid handsomely, but that on top of juggling their twins she was actively in the process of getting a massive, international gun-running business signed over in his name. There was not a single hair out of place, not a single crease or rumple in the sapphire-blue silk of her blouse or skirt; the scent of her preferred jasmine perfume followed her like a cloud. She looked as put-together as the day he’d first seen her standing in his club.

And now, he desperately needed her to stay out of it.

“Kitten,” he greeted warmly, his hands—though gloved—immediately scratching the itch by reaching for her; they captured hers to carefully still her procession to the club’s main room. “What are you doing down here? I thought you’d be busy for hours.”

“Yuliana has been fussing nonstop,” Varya replied, her voice light despite what could only have been an expression of frustration quickly following, “all while I listen to grown men fussing nonstop at me on the phone.”

Roman feigned a sympathetic noise, bringing her hands up to his mouth to kiss them. “We have a nanny, V.”

“You know better than anyone else,” the brunette murmured, brushing her nose against his as their hands dropped, “that she is inconsolable without you.”

He tried not to look too pleased. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“Don’t be modest, Romy.”

“Well, I’ll come up, of course.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. “And console our princess.” Another kiss, to the other corner. “So that you can continue letting grown men fuss at you.”

She beamed at him prettily, and finally they met in the middle for a real kiss—nothing coy, nothing demure, but lingering warm and just between the two of them.

“I love you,” she purred. “Go on, then.”

And then Varya pulled away, as though to go around him and into the club, and Roman blinked rapidly. He had only just caught her around the waist before she could walk in and pulled her in a full one-eighty until she was facing the elevator again.

“What are you doing?” she asked, a laugh bubbling out of her. “I was just going to make myself a drink.”

“Encouraging productivity,” Roman replied, hitting the button for the elevator doors to open again. “Ready for all this paperwork to be done, aren’t you? It’s been over a year.”

A year of wading through mafia-esque bureaucracy. A year of listening to Varya say, these things take time. A busy year, to be sure, jam-packed full of things—the biggest wedding in Gotham since its founding, the twins.

A funeral.

Roman tried more and more every day not to think about his (now) brother-in-law’s funeral, the double burial of the only man that might have stood a chance at being loved by Varya more than Roman himself and the only man who had ever been anything like a father figure to her. Family is tedious, he’d wanted to say, brothers and fathers and mothers, the whole lot of them, cut them loose why don’t you? Why should anyone matter to you outside of the twins and I?

Varya glanced at him over her shoulder. “These things take time.”

He rolled his eyes. “Mhm.”

“Not to mention, we were a little busy,” she added, eyes narrowing playfully as he nudged her into the elevator, “you know—having children.”

“And what beautiful children they are.” Roman hit the button without looking, the doors sliding shut behind him.

“Well, how am I supposed to suffer through those phone calls without a stiff drink?”

He quirked a brow upward. “I’ll make you a stiff drink, Mrs. Sionis.”

The brunette propped herself up against the back rail of the elevator as it whirred into motion. The corner of her mouth, painted ruby, curved and her head tilted inquisitively. “Oh?”

“Of course,” he demurred, sidling forward and boxing her in against the wall. “I’ll make you a stiff drink—”

He dropped his head to the slope of her jaw to plant a kiss there.

“—you’ll finish up with the lawyers, and put on the dress I bought you—”

Varya hummed and sighed sweetly.

“—we’ll go out to dinner for your birthday—”

He dropped his hands to her hips, planting a kiss on her temple so that he could rumble, “And we can get to work on baby number three, hm?”

A sweet laugh billowed out of her just as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open to bring to Roman the oh-so-sweet sounds of a caterwauling infant. Over the distressed crying was Irina’s voice, shushing and cooing dulcet words in Russian; he could see her swaying to and fro with a swathe of fabric bundled in her arms.

“I almost forgot about my birthday,” Varya said thoughtfully, completely unrattled by the sound of their daughter’s distress. She stepped out from between him and the elevator wall; Roman fell into step beside her easily, the sound of her heels clipping against the floor enough to draw Irina’s eyes to them.

Roman said, “I know you did,” and did not bother to hide his smugness as he held out his arms for the shrieking baby in Irina’s arms. The redhead regarded him with a sort of weary amusement before she acquiesced; with Yuliana safely in his arms, he watched Varya cross the room to turn the automatic rocker that held their son back on to a slow, lulling pace. The freckled infant babbled happily—ever the quieter of the twins—and as Varya said something to Irina in Russian that inspired the woman to depart to the kitchen, she absently picked up a baby blanket from the couch and wandered over to him.

“Yuli,” she murmured, waving her finger at the already-content infant, tucking the blanket around her “is that all you wanted, hm? Just for your papa to hold you?”

“What else could she want for?” he replied confidently. Soothing Yuliana’s fury had become old-hat for him at this point. And, certainly, it pleased him to know that sometimes, the only thing that would make his daughter stop screaming was being held by him. Not even Varya—who had taken to motherhood like a fish to water—bothered when she was in a fit.

Still, the brunette sighed dreamily, her finger captured by their daughter’s tiny hand before she said, “What a perfect little gem.”

Roman hummed his agreement. “Finishing that call with the lawyers?”

“Perhaps tomorrow,” Varya replied. “They’re in a mood today.”

“They’re in a mood every day.” Russians, he thought venomously.

“Yes.” She smiled, flashing pearly teeth at him. “But only today is my birthday.”

She had him there. Still, he was itching for the whole thing to be done—Ilarion had dragged his feet through the process of even drawing up the original contract, which had only been a spit in his face (“You are the only person who gets to fuck Varya Astakhova, that is as exclusive as it gets”) and by the time all of that nasty business had been wrapped up, Ilarion was dead.

Ilarion, and Nikita—leaving only a single living soul to be in charge of the Astakhov empire: Varya herself.

Which, she had expressed time and time again, she had no desire for; not in the public way that her father had done it, and Ilarion after them. She much preferred the clerical work of it all. Paperwork and public relations. Let the men do men’s work, she’d demurred one night, tangled up in their sheets, when he’d asked her what she was going to do with it. I don’t mind. They like me better as their madonna, anyway.

“You know,” she continued, breaking him out of his thoughts as she made her way to the bar cart, pouring herself a drink, “they will like you more if it’s you they’re talking to.”

“I don’t give a fuck if they like me or not,” Roman replied, lifting Yuliana with both of his hands so that he could look at her. “Isn’t that right, princess? Mommy gets to do all the paperwork so that your papa can spend all of his time with you, instead of listening to some dumbfucks bitch and moan on the phone.” He glanced at her. “Well, anyway, since it’s your birthday we can let it slide.”

“Very generous of you.”

“Get dressed, won’t you?” he prompted, depositing his now-content daughter in the mobile swing with her brother. “The table’s been ready for us since noon.”

Varya watched him, dark eyes glittering amusedly. “And why, my darling, did you make the reservation for noon? It’s nearly six now.”

“Because,” he replied, “I wanted to make sure they held it, regardless of how long it took us to get there.”

“Ah.” She lifted her chin a little, lashes fluttering with contentment when he reached up and brushed the hair from her face. “Or else?”

Roman flashed her a grin.

“Or else.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

They held the table.

“Good for them,” Roman said as they followed the server out onto the balcony. The table had clearly been refreshed—a new candle, a new vase, a new bucket of ice and bottle of champagne. He’d heard the waitstaff whispering furiously among themselves as they idled in the lobby to be taken to their table; now, settled across from the birthday girl, Roman was content with the way they had squirmed.

“Quicker than the two-hour wait last time,” Varya noted by way of agreement, smoothing her hand along the edge of the tablecloth.

He scoffed. The only reason they had waited in the lobby for two hours was because Varya had asked him to stay for the table she wanted. If it had been his way, they would have left with a bloody warning and gone somewhere else. “I can’t believe I finally convinced you to leave the twins home for a night and we got stuck sitting in that fucking lobby because they gave our table away.”

“In my defense, they are good babies, Romy. Hardly ever cry. Certainly not too much trouble.”

“But there’s two of them,” he replied, “and toting two babies around is a lot of work. All I’m saying is, what’s the point of paying her that much fucking money if we’re just going to—”

The waiter came by the table, clearly a little stressed; the lines of concern on his face were clear as he cleared his throat and said, “Should I come back?”

Varya, perusing the menu: “No, my darling, you may stay. You were saying, Romy?”

“I just don’t know why we’re shoveling money into her bank account for her to be a glorified accent chair in our house rather than a nanny.” Roman gestured to the champagne bottle expectantly. “Open it.”

The waiter did as he asked, having been standing there uncomfortably for a moment during their exchange. As he worked to carefully open the champagne bottle, Roman turned his attention back to Varya; her eyes remained on the menu, absently twisting the engagement and wedding band on her finger back and forth.

There was no way, he thought, that she was putting off getting the business signed over to him on purpose. Surely, there was no way; even when Ilarion was alive, even when she had anticipated no further problems, it had always been, if you’re going to be my romantic partner, it seems only right you’d be my partner in business too, don’t you think? And yet—

And yet, Roman could not push down the strange, hazy doubt that occasionally flickered through his mind. He had always wanted Varya, had always found himself wanting and wanting and wanting more and more often, and Varya had always seemed content to indulge him. There was, it seemed, nothing she enjoyed more than indulging him. One more kiss, one more minute in bed, one more lingering glance across the room. She was the absolute pinacle of his hedonism, in every sense of the word, and had proven time and time again that she would give him anything that he wanted.

The business had always been for her and Ilarion. He wanted it, and told her he did, and she said, you can have it, if you like, but like in all things, there was a slyness about his wife—a cruelty—that he found endearing and dangerous. Dangerous, because it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d been on the other end of her cruel nature, playfully poking and unwinding and tugging the thread loose until she had pushed him to the limit.

Something echoed in his head, and he realized that the waiter was asking him what he wanted to eat. Varya had handed the menu over and steepled her fingers, watching him with dark, curious eyes and red painted lips, sooty lashes fluttering. A pretty, painted little snake.

“I’ll take whatever she’s having,” Roman said after a moment, setting his menu aside and returning his attention to the brunette across from him. “Something interesting, kitten?”

“Can I not just appreciate my husband?” Varya demurred. “You’re wearing the suit I like best, after all.”

“It is your birthday. What greater gift is there than me?”

She laughed, delighted by him—as she always was—and took a sip of her champagne. “You were away from me, for a moment.”

He watched her, gauging her carefully. Even I know not to drop my pants when a viper opens its mouth, Bianchi had said, just before Varya had unloaded six rounds into his face and chest less than two feet away from him.

“Just thinking,” is what Roman said finally.

“Hm. A dangerous past time.”

His expression flattened, deadpan. “It’s taken a significant chunk of time to secure your father’s business in my name.”

Something flickered across Varya’s expression. at the word father. “To secure my business,” Varya replied, her voice abrupt and cutting, her eyes narrowed, “in your name.” Absently, she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She looked to be composing herself, like she’d spoken on a knee-jerk reaction rather than with thinking.

Then, glossy and silken again: “You know your patience means the world to me, Romy.”

There was nothing that he loved more than watching her pull back her venom for him. Drumming his fingers against the top of the table, Roman bridled his own irritation to say, mildly, “I’d do anything for you. Even wait...” He made a thoughtful noise. “Over a year to finally take on the responsiblities you wanted handed over to me.”

“Of course.” Varya smiled prettily, absently straightening out her silverware. “And we will speak no more of my father on my birthday, or any day after this.”

He knew what that meant. She phrased it pretty, wrapped it up in silk and velvet and presented it to him as unassuming as a doe, but he knew what that meant. There is my button, she was saying, there is my trip wire. Don’t push it, Roman. The name Nikita had all but been banned in their household, even when funeral arrangements were being made; any time he’d heard one of the lawyers mention her father’s name, there had been a sharp rebuke. Not in my presence, she would tell him later, I do not want to hear that fucking name in my presence.

“At any rate, there is nothing that I want more than for this whole process to be done,” she continued lightly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “It was always what I wanted, you know. Ilya was better suited to be a functional piece of the business; he was the face because he had to be, not because he wanted to be, and I am better suited for the nitpicking and the details. Being the overseer is much more in your circle of talents, Romy.”

Her words assauged something unsettled and prickly in him, the sweep of the pad of her thumb across the back of his hand returning that doubtful monster in his mind back to its slumber. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he acquiesced after a moment, “it is more in my circle of talents.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“I always got the impression Ilarion wasn’t happy with it,” he added. “Though you two certainly enjoyed making work of me that first night, didn’t you?”

Varya smiled demurely. “It was never meant to make work of you, only to make a good impression.”

“Hm,” he replied, eyes narrowing playfully, “but you enjoy pushing me, V.”

She looked pleased. She always did, when he remarked on something that felt like he was really seeing her, beneath the glossy veneer. His girl did so love being seen.

“Only,” V demurred, “because you so enjoy reining me in.”

“Guilty as charged.”

Roman brought her hand to his mouth, kissing the back of it before relinquishing it and glancing around. He would just have to exercise patience, of which he had the most; patience, modesty, and humility, all excellent qualities that he could participate in at will, at any given time. Without any restraint.

“Did the men get the chandelier installed?” Varya idled, snapping his attention back to her. He narrowed his eyes.

“I told you I didn’t want a chandelier anymore.”

She looked at him across the table, dark doe eyes wide and innocent. “I thought you liked how polished they make the club.”

“No, you little viper,” Roman replied, clicking his tongue, “Paolo has a chandelier in his club, and there’s no fucking way I’m going to have people comparing it.”

“Ah,” she murmured, “the drama of the chandelier goes on.”

“And while we’re at it, might as well gut that one from the estate, too.”

“There’s more than one chandelier in there.”

“Then the men will be busy, won’t they?” He tsked his tongue. “I know you dream about watching me blow my top, V, but I’m making an executive decision on gaudy light fixtures.”

A smile flashed across her expression, pearly teeth and delighted eyes. She sighed, almost dreamily, like there was nothing more that she liked than to be doing this exact thing, and with him.

“Oh, Romy,” the brunette said sweetly, “you are the only thing I dream about.” And then, almost as an after thought: “Gaudy light fixture terrorism included.” She waved her hand to dismiss any protest or rebuttal he might have given her and said, “Now, since it’s my birthday, tell me all of the things you love the most about me.”

Roman sucked his teeth, eyeing her for a moment as he leaned back in the chair. Wicked little thing, waiting to preen and glow under his attention, a feline seeking him out. Her little bout of cruelty before was already forgiven. He said, “We’re going to be here for a while, if I do that.”

“They held the table for over six hours,” Varya demurred, “I’m sure they’ll hold it for as many more as you need.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

By the time they got to the club, Varya was acting as though nothing had happened.

Truthfully, Roman preferred it that way. It just also left a lot of room to wonder—his wife was a talented actress, adept at smoothing his ruffled feathers out and not divulging her own feelings on the matter. And he wouldn’t ask, of course. If Varya wanted to express herself, she would, and had, quite openly in the past.

“I am so happy to be home,” she announced, gliding past the door to the club once Roman had opened it for her. “Do you think the babies are asleep, yet? I always miss putting them...”

Her voice trailed off, pausing a little as she seemed to realize that the club was cloaked in inky darkness, freezing just a few steps past the threshold. Roman let the door swing shut behind him, nudging her forward with a hand at the small of her back. He was met with some resistance; she steeled, stiffening against his insistence, before taking a few steps forward.

He said, barely keeping the delight out of his voice, “You’re holding up the line, V.”

“Roman,” Varya said, her voice pitched oddly soft and tight, “why—?”

The lights flashed on to a loud, unified cheer of Happy Birthday!; the club had been packed with vases of flowers, the tables donned with food and drink, and everyone worth their salt within a fifty-mile radius had made their way there. Not a single thing was out of place—everything exactly where he had instructed it be placed, and not a fucking chandelier in sight.

Roman came around in front of the brunette, grinning. “Happy—”

He stopped. Varya’s expression was not happy, or even surprised; it was something else, something that he couldn’t read, the pupils of her hot-whiskey eyes blown wide and the normally Renaissance-soft lines of her face sharpened and hardened into an expression that was more vicious.

“V?” he asked. Her eyes snapped to him, and for a second she looked the same way she had that night in the loft, her hands drenched in blood and the kitchen knife clutched in her fist with bodies at her feet: like she didn’t recognize him.

It took a heartbeat, but her expression smoothed out and she smiled, almost sheepish—like she’d been caught doing something naughty, instead of being caught being somewhere else. Someone else, more the wolf than the girl.

“The lights,” she explained, hands resting on his chest, “they startled me, is all.”

A frown creased his expression. He brought his hands up to hold her wrists, thumb pressed against her pulse point. It fluttered unsteadily. Unconvinced, Roman pressed, “The lights?”

“Just the lights,” Varya assured him. She tilted her head up and kissed him, one hand departing his jacket to go to the back of his neck—and when she kissed him, he could feel that strange little flicker of energy, like she’d been stamping something out before it could catch, but it still vibrated under her skin.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but she disentangled from him and swept around to the crowd of people waiting, beaming prettily and playing at bashfulness, as though she did not enjoy their eyes on her and did not soak their attention up like a flower did sunlight. Whatever had been plaguing her in that moment was now gone, and she was awash with attention and love, thanking people profusely and accepting each hug and cheek-kiss directed her way.

Roman brushed off the odd feeling that she wasn’t being as forthcoming with him as he would have preferred—no secrets anymore, isn’t that what they’d agreed on?—and instead waded into the crowd. Music kicked on overhead; chatter picked up to a warm humming around them; there was nothing else to think about except letting his girl enjoy her birthday celebration.

By the time Varya had made a suitable number of rounds (which tended to verge much higher than one, much to Roman’s chagrin—what tedious work, to share her with everyone else), she had barely sipped the glass of champagne someone had planted in her hand. She circled back to him eventually; like always, there was that pinprick tugging in the cavity of his chest, like they were bound by a single thread that kept them from parting too much and too quickly, and when she drew closer to him again it oozed relief, warm and vibrant, through his ribs.

“Sufficiently loved on?” he asked as she neared, hand reaching up to slide around her waist.

“By them? Certainly.” The brunette’s hand smoothed along his shoulder, the pad of her thumb gliding across the velvet of his jacket. “By you, though, not hardly. Not ever.”

“You are insatiable,” Roman agreed in a rumble. He splayed his fingers against the small of her back, tugging her in closer and brushing their noses together.

“Just for you,” Varya murmured, and the words brushed their lips together just a little—but everything with Varya, like this, felt like almost-kissing, enough to push him to some kind of edge where his stomach twisted and wrenched with want when she added, “And only for you.”

“You know I can’t resist you when you talk like that.”

She laughed, leaning in to set her glass to the side and curl her fingers into his shirt for a kiss; everything for a second felt normal, and good, and right again, the strange way she’d gone-away back in the doorway having disappeared, the dark cloud over her having cleared, her wretchedness from dinner dissipated.

And Roman kissed her, with the sound of the party chatter ringing in his ears, and kissed her with the faint taste of champagne flooding his senses when she parted her lips against his, and kissed her while his hand fisted the fabric of her dress and he managed out in a voice rough with want, “So you’re trying to rile me up.”

“I always,” Varya murmured against his mouth silkily, “want you riled, Romy.”

“Varya?”

A stranger’s voice filtered through the haze—the rose-colored one that usually accompanied Varya saying anything like she wanted him riled up—and Roman felt the irritation spike straight through it. He turned to look at the interruption at the same time that Varya did, only to find a young, handsome blonde standing just a foot away.

Varya said, sounding faint, “Maxim?”

“It has been a while,” the blonde said, and he sounded sheepish. “I called Armazd, asking after you—”

“Sorry,” Roman interjected briskly, fingers still curled—now possessively—into the fabric of Varya’s dress against the dip of her spine, “but who are you?”

His wife started to say, “Romy, this is—” at the same time that the man began, “I am sorry, my name—” and they both stopped at the same time, a strange little silence stretching between them.

“Maxim,” Varya said after a second, turning to look at Roman now. “This is Maxim. He is Artyem’s son.”

Roman stared at her, more to buy himself time than anything; she said the name like he was supposed to know who that was. Artyem, but it didn’t sound familiar. Almost any Russian name sounded like gibberish to him, and if Varya had said it to him, it had been in passing, an afterthought, nothing but a whisper of information passed between them before it was gone again.

Until it did. Until he remembered that the person Varya had thought was her father had actually been Artyem, that she’d poisoned him, let him bleed to death on the carpet while she had mentally checked out of the moment. That she had watched him die, but she had been somewhere else—someplace else, the way Ilarion had described it, very far away where she couldn’t even enjoy what she’d done fully.

And Maxim—golden, and polished, and clean-shaven—looked awfully pleasant for someone whose farther had choked to death on his own blood because of Varya.

“I see,” Roman said, even though he didn’t. His gaze turned to Maxim. “And you’ve—shown up without calling ahead?”

“I have been in Turkey,” Maxim explained, “finishing up some business, and I did not know how to get in touch—”

“Well, you spoke with Armazd, didn’t you?” Roman’s head tilted. “The man practically sleeps in our bed, I imagine he would have been happy to get you in contact with us.”

“Admittedly,” Maxim said, “I wanted it to be a surprise—”

No, Roman thought absently, venomously, that won’t do at all.

“—Varya’s birthday—”

“So you slunk in,” Roman elaborated tartly, “like a little street dog, hm?”

“Maxi,” Varya interjected, fingers absently tracing the stitching on Roman’s jacket, “why don’t you go get a drink and acquaint yourself with our friends? Armazd is just there—you see?”

Maxim’s eyes darted between her and Roman for a minute. He shifted on his feet, tilting and giving a little smile that might have liked abashed if Roman didn’t think he saw a little squirm of self-satisfaction in his gaze. Fucker.

“Of course,” the blonde replied after a moment. “C dnyom razhdyenyem, Varushka.” He took a step forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

Varya’s thumbnail dug into the lapel of Roman’s jacket. “Thank you, Maxi.”

Once the blonde had departed, linking up with Armazd in the crowd to get introduced, Roman straightened up from the bar. It was impossible not to stare at this newcomer—he glowed with an easy charisma, flashed bright smiles that were all teeth. Roman hated him already.

“Maxi?” he asked her, eyes narrowed, and Varya sighed. He waited for her to elaborate. Perhaps she’d say they had dated once, perhaps they were literally nothing. That would be ideal, after all. Ships passing in the night.

She said, “We grew up together.”

Even worse. Roman twisted a loose, dark curl of hers around his finger. “And you killed his father.”

“Well—” She paused, mouth pressing into a thin line. “He does not know.”

“He doesn’t—” The notion that she was keeping secrets, and not from him, coiled high and happy in his throat. He tried not to sound too delighted when he said, “V, surely he knows.”

“Surely he does not, that I did it. Only that it happened. And I will keep it that way,” she added firmly, picking up her champagne glass from the bar top. “Maxim was incredibly loyal to my father because Artyem was, but more than that—he was mine and Ilya’s friend. I’m sure he is missing Ilya almost as much as I am.”

“As we all are,” Roman agreed sagely, planting a kiss on her temple in spite of the dry look she gave him. It was hard to tell, to get a read on this Maxim. What was it he’d dragged himself out of the trenches for? Just to fly halfway across the world to wish Varya a happy birthday? Above all things, Roman understood that his wife was a desirable thing, and knowing that he kept her out of the reach of others was part of her appeal—but that much? Could someone who was just a friend want that much?

He continued, “So what is it that Maxim offers to the business, hm?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Varya demurred, which didn’t sound at all like the truth. “Artyem was the one who sent him out on jobs. My father kept things tight around the top, you know. If anyone would know what it was Maxim was up to in Turkey who wasn’t my father or Artyem, it would have been Ilarion.”

“I find it hard to believe you have no idea what your father was using someone for.”

The sound of delighted commentary drew both of their eyes away; Irina had come down, both dark-haired infants in her arms, and was walking them toward Varya and Roman. Murmured remarks on what could only be their cuteness passed throughout the crowd of party-goers.

“I am putting them down for bed,” Irina announced as she approached, “and I know you like to say goodnight.”

“Oh, you are an angel,” Varya murmured, glass set aside once again. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to baby Ro’s cheek. Yuliana babbled, and she sighed dreamily, “Have you ever seen more perfect babies, Roman?”

Perfect babies, a perfect wife; soon, he would even have the perfect grip on Gotham’s neck, throttling it until it was nothing but dust and ash. Soon, but not soon enough; he’d be content when it was just done and settled, when there was nothing else standing between him and everything that he wanted. Varya, and the guns—what an odd thing, to know that a year ago he’d set out for this and it was just falling into his lap.

“Romy?”

“Never,” Roman replied, smiling and glancing back at his wife, reaching and cradling the back of Yuli’s head. “I’ve never seen more perfect babies, V.”

Across the room, Maxim watched them. There was something about it that Roman didn’t like—the way his eyes flickered, the way he looked between the children and Varya, the way their eyes met and he didn’t deflect away. Like he didn’t mind getting caught. Where had he come from? What little shithole had he crawled out of, over a year after Nikita’s death and Ilarion’s death—longer, still, since his father’s death? Hadn’t he wondered what had happened to his father?

What are you doing here, he thought venomously, that you think you can just come in here like nothing? Like I won’t root you out like the little rat you are?

Maxim smiled. It was a polite smile, unassuming kind of smile.

Roman picked up his drink from the counter, taking a heavy swallow. Suddenly, the evening seemed to stretch out endlessly in front of him, no finish line in sight.

Nothing else standing between me and everything I want.

And he was going to keep it that way.

#birds of prey #birds of prey fic #roman sionis x original female character #ch: varya astakhova #ch: roman sionis #ch: victor zsasz #roman sionis/original female character #my writing #fic: the land of gods & devils #me sweating profusely posting this #i am really excited about this though and i want to really really thank everyone who has been supportive of me pursuing this!!!!#creeping up on varya's birthday and also the one year anniversary of CYT making me super emo #<3 <3 <3

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lorelylantana · 3 years

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The Difference

I was inspired to write by some of the amazing @ghostgirl19posts‘s work for Febwhump and with permission I’ve decided to write a little epilogue for the Ganon’sChampion!Link chapters, the first of which can be found here but you should also read parts two and three for this to make sense.

Overall rating: T

Warnings: Emotional Manipulation, unhealthy relationship that grows to be slightly less unhealthy.

“Did you really believe that anything would be different?”

No, she supposes she didn’t. Not really. She isn’t that stupid.

Zelda sees the dead sincerity in his eyes when he speaks, but the relief at Ganon’s fall has sparked a rebellious streak in her. She won’t let him get off that easy, so she masks her dismay with an apathetic flip of her hair.

“Just as well,” she hums, the picture of a bored princess, “As far as I’m concerned, my job is done so long as the kingdom isn’t actively on fire. I see nothing wrong with lounging about for the rest of my days. If you want to do all the paperwork, be my guest. In the meantime, I’ll be in the library. It’s been too long since I’ve read a good book.”

She doesn’t wait for permission, slipping out of his arms and breezing out the door. He stands there a moment, shocked into silence. He likely would have called after her if he wasn’t rooted to the spot by the dread sinking in his body.

“ . . . Paperwork?”

Despite Link’s insistence otherwise, Zelda did begin to notice things were different. The changes were small, incremental, but no less potent. She was not so foolish as to let her guard down, but a drop of water can cut through stone through sheer persistence.

Zelda woke up in the middle of the night needing to go to the bathroom. This was an increasingly common occurrence as her midriff expanded to accommodate the child growing there. She lay on her side, Link curled around her back and his hand on her stomach. The day after Ganon’s assassination his rooms were cleared and refurbished to house the new royal couple.

The first difference. Their rooms were divided no longer. At first, Zelda assumed that he was tired of having to summon her and this unification was an attempt to streamline his path between her legs. She thought it a decision driven by lust, but she had to admit that their nightly escapades had decreased. He still took Zelda into his arms often enough, unwrapping her with painstaking, almost precious care and leaving her skin open to be devoured. But there were also nights like these, where the days were long and Link seemed to sense her fatigue and was content to simply lie wrapped around her, his hand never straying from her abdomen. Zelda wondered if he was as tired as she was, adjusting to kingship, but most of her husband’s mind was still a mystery to her.

Her husband.

There was no royal wedding. No dress. No grand feast to celebrate Zelda’s return to royalty. There was only an acolyte and a set of documents to be signed before she was once again dragged off to bed. They couldn’t find a priest, so they said their vows in front of the closest alternative.

Zelda yawned and slipped out of bed to relieve herself. While she was washing her hands she took a moment to consider her reflection.

Zelda knew there were aspects of her marriage that were unacceptable, she knew that.

But there was no denying the privilege afforded to her as queen, even if she was only a puppet. Her hair still shone, her eyes were bright, and her cheeks full. A far cry from the gaunt, weary state the servants were in. She shuddered to think of how her citizens looked outside the castle walls. The conquest of Hyrule was her fault. It was her failure to claim her birthright that brought this ruin upon him. Yet here she stood, safely tucked away, insulated from the Calamity’s devastation.

Sometimes, when she was honest with herself, Zelda had to admit there was a part of her that was grateful for Link’s command that she stay within the castle. His mandate, cruel though it was, gave her a plausible excuse to hide from her mistakes. The castle walls were high and thick, strong enough to shut out the guilt that was her obligation.

Zelda jerked her head to the side, unable to look herself in the eye any longer. She padded back into the room. Instead of heading straight back to bed, though the promise of warmth against the late fall evening was tempting, she was drawn to the window. The guardians still roamed the streets of the shattered Castle Town. They were malicious no longer, only patrolling out of ancient duty, but none dared approach. Above all the ruin, the sky was clear of Ganon’s hateful red. At least she could see the stars.

“Come to bed.”

Zelda turned to where Link lay, staring at her. She supposed he finally lost his patience with her idling. If she were a more fanciful woman, Zelda would think he was fussing over her standing in a room that chilled when the fire died in the hearth. She returned to the massive bed Link claimed as theirs and sat down, kicking her slippers off before sliding back under the lush, heavy comforter. Link’s hand was back on her stomach before she settled, an imitation of a caring husband so convincing it was cruel.

She didn’t cry, because tears were a cry for help she didn’t deserve.

Before her growing stomach prevented it, Zelda spent most of her days firmly ensconced in Link’s lap as he looked over documents. He refused to ask for the help any of the few conquered noblemen that still lived, as he insisted such an action was beneath him. Besides, what better way to remind the captive queen of her place than to make her explain all of this bureaucratic nonsense?

“What exactly is the point of a crop rotation?” he huffed as he read the agricultural proposal over lunch. Zelda finished off her sandwich before answering.

“Different plants require different nutrients from the land to grow. If you grow the same crop in the same field every year, eventually those nutrients will deplete. Switching things up gives the soil an opportunity to regain those specific nutrients while reducing the amount of bad harvests.”

Link hummed as he signed his approval of the proposal. All of this drivel was really giving him a headache. He reached for the last half of his sandwich, but Zelda got there first, plucking it off of his plate and sinking her teeth into it. Child crafting was a hungry business, after all.

Link disguised his failed reach by redirecting it around Zelda so his arms circled her waist, both hands resting on her stomach. He supposed a sense of entitlement was a good quality for a queen to have.

He didn’t need that sandwich anyway.

The powers that be must have finally resigned themselves that he was here to stay. They must have given up on his downfall, and instead must have focused on encouraging what little virtue he had. They must be, for such a petty generosity to be rewarded by the baby’s first kick.

“The baby kicked!” he gasped, craning his head over her shoulder to look down at where her tummy peeked out under her breasts.

“Yes, love, I noticed,” Zelda deadpanned, then they stilled in tandem.

Love. A word that had no business between them. Obsession, perhaps. Possession. But ‘love’? It was laughable. Link opened his mouth to say something castigating, something harsh enough to bring back the status quo.

“Careful.”

Link’s head jerked back in surprise. She didn’t turn to look at him, ignoring him in favor of taking the apple from his plate, so he pressed.

“What did you say?” Who was she to caution him?

“Merely making an observation,” she said, turning her hand this way and that, regarding the fruit with a critical eye, “After all, what upsets the mother threatens the child.”

A chill ran down Link’s spine. Perhaps, even after all this time, he had underestimated her. He didn’t have the luxury of composing himself at his own pace, because she had turned to him. The calculating, sharp look in her eye brought him to heel.

“Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked.

Link’s hands started rubbing again, and his lips dropped to her shoulder. He had surrendered, but he wasn’t sure if the victor was Zelda or his own traitorous heart.

“Yes, dearest.”

Zelda hummed in response, bringing a hand up to comb luxuriously through his hair. He sighed, and she brought the apple to her lips, biting into it with a satisfying crunch.

After all, a marriage bed is an arena of equals.

Perhaps the statement was insensitive, but being a pregnant queen of a ruined castle did have some perks. Primarily, it was the absolute lack of regard for decorum. Despite the circumstances, Zelda felt a lighthearted thrill of walking around the palace, once a place of rigid etiquette, in nothing but a nightgown and silk robe. Link’s insistence, of course. When her corset was no longer comfortable to wear, Link inferred that her dresses would be too tight as well. He could have had new ones made, but why bother with garments that would have to be altered half a dozen times? No, it was far more efficient for his queen to lounge about in her nightgowns.

Of course, the knee length hem had absolutely nothing to do with it. Link didn’t even notice when a knee length gown in the first trimester stopped at the top of her thighs in the third. Or the fact that Zelda stopped wearing anything underneath when putting something on became difficult. Irrelevant, all of it.

If he happened to capitalize on the opportunities it afforded to him, fine, but that was an entirely separate matter.

Zelda stretches, trying to release some of the tension in her back, before falling stiffly back into her chaise. It was absurd, but the moment he realized she could no longer fit in his lap he’d commissioned a modified chaise specifically for her and had it brought to the office. She said it was overkill, but he didn’t care. That said, her back had grown to appreciate the reclined seat and cushions.

Still, one couldn’t help the stiffness that came with sitting for long periods of time. Perhaps she should take a turn about the room? Zelda swung her legs down, then started probing for her slippers. Surely they must be in the same spot she left them? Still, with her stomach as large as it was she couldn’t really see.

Link knelt on the floor next to her, having gotten up the moment he saw her sit up. He took her foot in his hand gently while the other reached under the chaise to pull out the missing footwear. He delicately put the slipper on one foot, perhaps wary of hurting her swollen ankles. He repeated the action with her other foot before wordlessly helping her stand, even though he knew she didn’t need it.

At least, she thought she didn’t. Turns out, fate had other plans, and Zelda felt an intense cramping in her lower abdomen, causing her to double over with a start.

“Zelda!? Zelda, tell me what’s wrong?”

She looked him in the eyes, the same concern held in his grip supporting her arms shining in his eyes.

“Call the midwives.”

The night was quiet. Link would swear that it was the first peaceful moment since Ganon’s rise. Although, it’s entirely possible that this tranquility was an illusion born of the chaos of the day preceding. Now his lovely wife was sleeping, exhausted, in the bed while he sat in a chair next to her.

The baby in his arms huffed, and Link’s attention was drawn from the Zelda sleeping in the bed to the one resting in his arms.

They had to name her Zelda. Of course they did. Other names didn’t seem to fit.

The people of Hyrule couldn’t be trusted to look after his daughter, they were losers! How could they be trusted with someone so precious when they couldn’t even win one war? They couldn’t, simple as that. No, the only ones who were capable of looking after little Zelda were himself and his queen, no others.

But then who would run the country?

Link supposed he could carry on, leaving the childrearing to Zelda as he made sure any and all threats were eliminated before they even looked at the castle. Baby Zelda squirmed, one of her arms coming loose of her swaddling and slapping him in the face.

What was he thinking? Zelda couldn’t hone these raw battle instincts. She can’t even do a backflip, much less after giving birth. Besides, why should she get all the time with the baby? He’s the king! He should get to do what he wants, and he wants to raise his little girl. Zelda can handle affairs of the state well enough. Not right away of course, she needs time to recuperate, but after a few months she should be more than capable of take Hyrule’s reins while he looks after the little one.

“Come here,”

Link looked to the bed, Zelda was sitting up. He moved to help her, but she waved him away, pulling herself into a sitting position with a wince. Once she was settled he slid under the blankets. Zelda undid her nightgown, allowing their sweet daughter to latch on her breast. She winced.

“Does it hurt?” he asked with a frown. She shook her head.

“It’s a bit uncomfortable, I’ll get used to it.”

Link put an arm around her shoulders and gently pulled her to him. She leaned on him, resting her drowsy head in the crook of his neck, and Link was overcome. He couldn’t fight anymore. It was time to admit defeat.

He pressed his nose into her hair, “I love you.”

When his statement was met with silence, he thought she had fallen back asleep, or perhaps his whispered words were lost in the crown of her head. Then, like a dream, she answered.

“I love you, too.”

Outside, a cool breeze blows through the land, a sigh of relief as the first sprout pushes through the earth, marking the beginning of a new era.

#the legend of zelda #zelink #tw #emotional manipulation #botw zelink #link #zelda #Lantana Lore #LoZ AU #LantanaLore #tw pregnancy

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forsakenoathkeeper · 3 years

Text

I Am Alive (chapter 8/?)

Deviant!Connor[RK800] x (fem!)Reader Rated M(18+) for canon-typical violence and gore, medical procedures, and graphic sexual content

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"Looks like we're gonna have to bring the plastic detective," Gavin said sourly, removing his phone from his ear.

Connor had been looking through hours and hours of security camera footage all morning. Somehow, he still managed to hear Gavin insult him from across the room.

Seeing as he didn't need to sleep, Connor was one of the first detectives to arrive in the morning, almost every morning. Detective Reed rarely failed to come in shortly after him. Judging by the dark lines in the skin beneath his eyes and redness in his sclera, Connor assumed he suffered from insomnia.

"Just sittin' there, doin' nothing?" Gavin asked, suddenly standing by Connor's desk. He crossed his arms, looking down at the android with contempt.

Connor had been staring at a blank computer screen, finding it much faster and easier to just use his internal interface than the computer. He also operated at much faster speeds than desktops.

He was aware of how comical it appeared, sitting there and looking at nothing; but, most were aware of his internal processes and didn't bother him about the strangeness of his behavior.

Connor had found footage of Robert pulling himself out of the harbor, the time stamp suggesting it was a few hours after their encounter. He had not managed to catch any more footage of him since. He also was on the lookout for the assailants that had attacked androids at the protests yesterday. Unsurprisingly, they were also laying low.

It was a massive city and there was a lot of ground to cover.

"I am going through security camera footage," Connor answered plainly, looking up at Gavin from his seat.

"Ahuh," Gavin replied, clearly not giving a damn. "Got a crime scene with a dead android. Heading over now. Don't fucking keep me waiting."

Connor didn't bother asking for any info, knowing full well he wouldn't get any. As Gavin walked away, Connor checked the case logs in the police database. Luckily, it was already there. The first responding officers had documented it fairly well.

Twenty-one minutes ago, officers responded to a 911 call that an armed assailant had broken into a small manufacturing plant on the north side of the city. The facility created specialized computer chips. They were most commonly used for android motherboards; however, they were also used in some security monitoring systems.

At a quick glance, Connor could see all the victims were androids. They were employees for the morning shift. When he searched the company's records, he could see they had hired the androids as proper employees a few months ago.

One android was dead and three others had been injured. There was one human involved, another employee and a witness, unharmed.

An important report was missing. Despite the fact that three androids had been attacked, no emergency medical services had been called to the scene. Unfortunately, it wasn't entirely surprising. There weren't clear medical services for androids. Not yet.

The clinic you worked at was outsourced from one of the big contributors to Cyberlife's stocks. It was, essentially, the company's way of carefully moving their funds from Cyberlife production to healthcare for androids. Eventually, it was going to start paying for itself, and it served as a great way to protect their public image.

The police needed medical services to document the case, sure; but, Connor was also bothered by the injustice here. Fowler wasn't in yet to approve of his idea. So, the android decided to make the call himself.

...

Connor was already gone by the time you woke up.

Funny enough, he still managed to wake you up.

You hummed groggily into the phone, not bothering to check who it was before answering.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think you would still be asleep," Connor's voice said politely on the other end.

You yawned into the phone. "Hm? Oh, Connor... You beat my alarm by, like, five minutes. Don't worry about it," you replied hoarsely, rolling onto your other side.

"There's been an incident," Connor began, suddenly sounding quite serious. His tone was enough to wake you up.

"Some androids were injured; but, no paramedics were called for... obvious reasons." Connor didn't sound mad, bless his heart. But, you could sense some frustration. "Would you mind accompanying me on this? I must warn you, it will lead to involvement in this case: paperwork, and likely testimonies."

"Yeah, of course, Connor," you said into the phone, rolling back over to swing your legs over the edge of the bed. "Text me the address?"

"Will do. I haven't arrived yet. I'll meet you there. I'm sorry, there's no food. I haven't had the time to go to the store for-..."

Connor trailed off when he heard you laughing quietly in the background.

"I'm sorry. I was just imagining you at the grocery store," you chuckled. While you didn't mean to laugh, it was hard not to. The image you conjured in your mind was Connor looking very out of place in a grocery store. He probably would only bring home raw vegetables and bottled water.

"I know what dietary needs humans have," Connor replied, almost defensive.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of," you laughed softly. "Don't worry about it. I can just pick something up along the way."

"I hadn't considered, before I asked, if this unexpected time off would be approved by your employer?" Connor asked.

"Oh, they'll have a field day with this one. No IMS called to an assault. I should be asking you if YOU are gonna get in trouble."

"We need medical reports for the case; so, it isn't entirely in my own self-interest," Connor answered in his usual, calm tone. He sounded robotic at times; but, you had grown to recognize that as his own nature. He was a dedicated detective after all. In your privacy, he wore his heart on his sleeve. But, right now, he was on the force. It was all business.

"Alright. Meet ya' there-" You stole a glance at your messages and noticed the address. "Geez, north side of town? Oh - that's a factory, isn't it?"

"AlphaBio," Connor answered simply.

Naturally, you recognized that name, having a small stash of their chips at the clinic.

"You don't think it's related to the protests?" you asked. It was less of a question and more of a suggestion.

"It is... likely," Connor replied, sounding a little hesitant to answer you.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised... I'm'a let you go so I can get changed."

"I will see you soon - oh - and, good morning," Connor said warmly. You could practically hear the smile on his face.

You giggled, "good morning, Connor. See you soon," before hanging up.

...

Connor had failed to mention it was the crime scene for a homicide. Although, he was, specifically, a homicide detective; so, it really shouldn't have surprised you.

The first responders had separated the three damaged androids from the body and sanctioned off that part of the crime scene to everyone but the detectives.

You had been there for almost an hour and had yet to see Connor.

Two of the androids were AP700 models. They were almost exact twins, except one had blue eyes and the other had brown eyes. The third android was a BL100 model. She had her factory issued hair swapped with something short, boyish, and ebony black.

All of them had suffered defensive wounds. The detectives made it very clear you weren't to be given any insight to their testimonies. It was understandable. They wanted to verify that your findings matched their statements without preconceived notions.

Luckily, most of their wounds were superficial. The worse injury of the batch was one of the AP700's had severe nerve damage on his inner, right elbow, cutting off movement to his forearm and fingers. It was an easy fix, and he seemed grateful.

The BL100 was hesitant to let you touch her, not that you were the least bit offended or surprised. You knew what she was designed for, and she knew that you knew. It was only after she saw you handle the other two androids with respect that she felt comfortable enough to let you help her.

As you treated their damages, you documented them with a tablet one of the officers had given you. It was a little difficult, considering their documentation was designed for humans. Somehow, you managed to make it work.

You had been there for a little over two hours before you finally saw Connor. He had actually caught you off guard. You were seated at a small, fold out desk, tapping away on the DPD tablet when you saw someone suddenly approach in the corner of your eye. They set a water bottle at the edge of the desk.

Your eyes shifted to his torso first. Oh. He was wearing his nice coat today, and a matching, black tie.

"Thank you," you uttered, a small smile forming on your lips. You didn't maneuver too far from the tablet, going over your work carefully to make sure everything was properly notated. Considering it was documentation for human wounds, you had to put extra care into it.

"Hey, Robocop!" Detective Reed called out suddenly, before the android could say anything to you.

Connor knew he was talking about him, and wanted to ignore him; but, they were at a crime scene and this was important. He couldn't ignore him right now.

He shifted his eyes from you and over to the other detective. You froze up at the word 'Robocop', somehow doubting it was intended to be a word of endearment.

When Gavin saw that Connor was looking, he continued. "This computer is having issues. I figured it was your cousin or something. So, you should be able to fix it, yeah?"

All at once, blood rushed to your face and rage started to rise in you like smoke in a chimney.

Everyone in the room heard Gavin's remark: Hank, on the other side of the room, going over the case details with the first responding officers, another detective who had been dusting for prints along every entryway, a total of four police officers, and the CSI operator sitting at the desk next to Gavin.

If Connor was annoyed, he was doing a damn good job of hiding it.

The android approached the detective. "Androids are far more complicated than desktop computers," he said calmly, keeping his eyes focused on Gavin. He wasn't just calm: he was polite. "I won't be of much help, I'm afraid."

The person seated in front of the computer, a member of their computer division, looked uncomfortable enough to commit seppuku right then and there.

"Do the hand thing," Gavin suggested, lifting his hand for a moment and waving it like he was talking to a child. "You know - probe it."

"I can only probe androids," Connor answered, plainly, as if unbothered by the ridiculousness of it all.

"It's fine. I can recover the data-" the crime scene investigator tried to mediate. It was clear that Gavin wasn't listening to him.

"Ohhh - right - right," Gavin replied, drawing out his words in mock understanding. "Poor girlfriend," he added on with a chuckle.

Did he just suggest-...?

Something in you snapped. You carefully set down the tablet, pushed your chair back, and marched over to the detective.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" you called out to the detective, not caring if everyone in this god-damned room was watching.

The smug bastard turned around, eyeing you. You stepped right up to him, fearless, fire in your eyes. You could tell Connor was looking at you; but, most of your vision was being taken in by this asshole, leaving you unable to make out Connor's expression.

"Ugh - shit," Hank muttered to himself. He approached, deciding to intervene before things got ugly.

"A real cop," Gavin sneered at you. "-and you are here as a formality. Don't push your luck."

"Connor is a real cop," you practically snarled at the guy. "He deserves just as much respect as anyone else."

"That's enough," Hank said lowly, directed at both you and the detective.

The lieutenant looked around, eyes briefly scanning everyone in the room. "This isn't a high school locker room. Get back to work," he hollered. He was loud and commanding. His words didn't fall on deaf ears.

Except, you and Detective Reed were still locked in a death glare.

You wanted to punch him. You hadn't felt the desire to do that since college, when you had to share crowded hallways with smug assholes who thought they owned the world.

Somehow, you had a feeling, the detective could sense that.

"Unless you wanna get arrested for assaulting a police officer, honey, I suggest you back down," he threatened, craning his neck a little to get closer to you.

The android felt his internal temperature rise at the word 'honey'. He didn't care if Gavin called him 'plastic detective', 'robocop', or whatever else came to mind. But, that, directed at you, specifically, bothered him.

Connor could see how tense you were, staring Gavin down with the kind of burning rage he had seen in you once before, directed at himself when he attempted to prevent you from salvaging supplies from a truck in the middle of a firefighter.

He wasn't sure if you would actually hit Detective Reed; but, he couldn't take that chance. There was a high probability that Detective Reed would go through with his threat. You didn't have a criminal record, and Connor didn't want you to end up with one, especially because of him.

The android moved in and slid his arm around your waist. He pulled you into him and away from Gavin, turning his back to the detective. With his legs moving, you had no choice but to shuffle your own feet to keep up with him, practically being dragged away. You flailed awkwardly, but Connor kept you up.

"Don't," Connor requested. You glared at the detective over Connor's shoulder.

Gavin seemed pleased with that. "I would listen to your vibrator, sweetheart," he called out to you smugly, starting to step away. "Might do ya' some good!"

"You don't fucking know when to quit," Hank snarled, his hand roughly falling onto Gavin's shoulder, giving him a push away from you.

"Take your own advice, fuckhead!" you almost shouted over Connor's shoulder. "Maybe if you got laid every once in a while, you wouldn't be such a piece of s-"

"Please don't," Connor interrupted you, stepping in the way so that he took up most of your field of view.

"Connor, don't you fucking-" you hissed at him.

"He's not worth it," Connor warned, eyes narrowing slightly at you. Well, that was new. He actually looked a little angry with you.

"Like fuck he isn't. That bastard deserves to be punched in his stupid bitch-ass fa-"

"I don't want you to get in trouble," he insisted, shaking you a little.

You clenched your jaw, glaring at the android's stupid, handsome face. That bastard disrespected him. You had no doubt that it wasn't the first time, and it sure as hell wouldn't be the last.

"I like when you get angry," Connor commented with a small grin. He didn't say it, but you couldn't hear it being followed with, 'cute'. He seemed enamored in that moment, and he was, captivated by how passionate you were in his defense, even if it didn't exactly make sense to him.

"...maybe I should punch you instead," you grumbled, trying not to be completely smitten with him.

Connor removed his arm from your waist and stepped back a little, giving you space. You let go of his shoulders and fixed your scrub top, which had been bunched up a little after he grabbed you.

"Well-" you stammered, feeling a little flustered. You couldn't help it. You liked it when he was like this. Connor wanted to be protective, but he also wanted to give you freedom, and it clashed so beautifully in him.

"Y-yeah, well, he fucking had it coming and - and you should'a just let me-..." You sighed heavily. Of course he shouldn't have just let you do whatever.

But, still-

-you were frustrated.

"-you're in the doghouse, mister," you proclaimed quietly, sounding barely serious at all, and poked a finger into Connor's shoulder.

The android stared at you, perplexed.

The dog... house?

As you stepped away and returned to the desk, Connor searched the internet for the meaning of that. From his findings: it seemed to be a word primarily used between couples and meant that someone was in trouble for angering the other, and held the connotation that the one in said 'doghouse' would not be bedding with the one they had angered.

Connor fixed his tie in place of his pride.

He couldn't say he didn't understand why you would be upset with him. What he had done to you was degrading, wasn't it? He had manhandled you, in front of everyone.

He despised Detective Reed, if he was being perfectly honest. It was something he had struggled with; but, it was inevitable that he would meet people whom he simply could never get along with.

He could make sense of being disliked for being an android; he had heard many, many reasons ranging from past traumas to selfish insecurities. But, Detective Reed sought out ways to degrade him whenever the moment convenienced him.

It didn't exactly help that Connor had left him passed out in the evidence room some odd months ago. That likely left a huge dent in his ego. Of course, Connor didn't bring it up because he didn't care.

Connor had yet to hear the detective actually call him by his name. If he was being perfectly honest, 'robocop' was somehow the most flattering of the bunch.

Detective Reed seemed to enjoy relating him to every piece of computer equipment in the office. Connor knew this was to remind him that he wasn't human: he was a machine, a computer wrapped in plastic.

-and, he enjoyed emasculating Connor.

The android didn't care of the extent of Detective Reed's knowledge of his genitalia or whether or not he was capable of pleasing you sexually; but, you cared?

Maybe, while he was in the 'doghouse', he could try to make sense of it.

...

"It's almost midnight. What the hell are you still doing here, Connor?" Hank barked at him.

Connor looked up at his desk, uttering, "I could ask you the same thing, detective..."

Hank was holding his coffee mug in one hand, a folder in the other. He laughed, mumbling, "smartass", as he sat back down at his desk.

The android sighed out your name, "-said I'm in the 'doghouse'. I assumed that meant she wanted space."

Hank let out a bellowing laugh that almost startled the android. He nearly split his coffee, too. After Hank calmed his laughter and looked at him again, and caught that childish frown on Connor's face, he started laughing again.

"Trust me, son-" Hank coughed, still trying to calm his laughter. "She doesn't want space. She wants you to go home and apologize."

Connor looked at Hank like he was analyzing. He hadn't looked at Hank like that in a long time.

"I see..." he uttered, sounding quite embarrassed.

"It's about the thing Gavin said, huh?" Hank added on. "You not having a huge ego is good for you and all, but - of course she was gonna defend you because well - you know."

Hank waved his hand at Connor, not explicitly wanting to say what he was thinking.

"But," Hank continued, "you did the right thing: stopping her before she did something stupid. She knows that, which is why ya' need'ta go home and apologize anyway. Women are... like that."

Hank paused and took a sip of his coffee, hissing in response to how hot it was; however, that didn't stop him from immediately going in for another drink.

The android pondered over the lieutenant's words quickly.

"Thanks, Hank," Connor said, hastily removing himself from his desk. It was the first time he left the office without tucking his chair back in.

#connor x reader #deviant connor #deviant connor x reader #dbh fanfic #rk800 x reader #rk800 smut #connor smut

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Hope Lies In Tomorrow

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Katniss is caught crossing the fence by peacekeepers. Serves time. Conditions of parole: employment nearby (busy bakery?) and reporting weekly to the parole officer (Haymitch?) Will she find anything to be thankful for this thanksgiving [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: M (Because, well, it will get to that status. There will be violence and mentions of abuse, and some characters are off canon.)

Author’s Notes: This story took me for a loop. I couldn’t resist it. I tried to make it light and fun, but it just wanted to be a freight train to the gut. The words “serves time.” I kept on getting back to that, and my imagination just took flight so much that the first two chapters are about 9.5K words. I promise chapter 3 will be a painful doozy. Special thanks to @norbertsmom.

Chapter One

The spotlight made Katniss wince as she distinctly heard Darius say, “Pluck a duck,” into the cold dark night.

“We caught a Poacher!” The young Peacekeeper said out loud. He jumped and clapped his hands like a preschool girl with pigtails who just won a prized sticker. He was one of the new cadets brought in for training.

Daruis was the new Head Peacekeeper. He earned the promotion when Cray retired. Darius also inherited the group of new Peacekeepers. They were eager rule-following Cadets.

“Everdeen!” Darius groused.

Katniss sighed. She kept her hands in the air. It was the perfect ending to the worst day. It started with the evil spawn of Buttercup peeing inside her drawer. Things got worse when Gale announced he wasn’t going to be able to join her tonight, and he wouldn’t tell her why either. Then this afternoon she discovered her baby sister, well technically, Prim was seventeen and taller than Katniss, but that’s neither here nor there, she was rolling in the hay with Vick Hawthorne.

Prim wasn’t supposed to be…. well…sex crazed. Katniss saw red, took a bucket of ice-cold water, and dumped it on top of the two idiots. Vick was fifteen and, like Gale, looked older than Prim’s baby-faced self. Needless to say, Prim was livid. Vick went home with blue balls. And the arguing match that ensued gave Katniss a massive headache.

However, finding her sister doing the equivalent of two goats breeding in Lady’s pen was nothing compared to their mothers’ reactions to Prim’s escapade. Euadora Everdeen backed Prim and said, “Prim was doing what came natural.” It was what came next that flabbergasted Katniss. “At least I have one normal daughter.”

It was the last straw, until this moment.

This day was supposed to go so differently. She’d woken up with so much hope then things fell apart. But she’d kept thinking, tomorrow, tomorrow would be a brighter day. Just get through today and tomorrow would be a better day.

“Katniss,” Darius growled.

Katniss shrugged. There was nothing Darius could do. If he had been alone, he would have looked the other way.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take you in.”

She held out her hands; she knew the drill. This wasn’t going to be her first time in the District Twelve lock up. In fact, as Darius pulled her toward the transport, and she quietly climbed into the back, this was all familiar. The last time was at that darned Harvest Fair five years ago.

“This would have been easier had you gone to the Fair,” Darius said.

Her scowl was instantaneous.

“What,” Darius said, jumping inside of the wagon while the young Peacekeeper closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Darius.

“I know, Katniss,” Darius was sympathetic. His communicator crackled with a voice that communicated a code. “Roger that.”

In the semi-darkness Katniss could see Darius teeth as he grinned.

“Old man Haymitch is going to throw the book at you.” Haymitch and she had a long-standing history. She stayed out of trouble and he wouldn’t bring trouble to her.

Haymitch Abernathy was the former Victor of the 50th Hunger Games and town drunk. The transition from a government run by one man, President Snow, to one run by a council with a true elected leader were the scariest months in Panem. No one knew what would happen. Fears of retaliation from the former government ran high. The word came down from the Capitol for each district to send a District Liaison.

Haymitch volunteered.

Turns out the drunken Victor was smart, wilier than anyone could perceive. Haymitch helped form the transition team to create the new charter between the Capitol and the Districts. When he came back, Haymitch could have been elected to become the mayor. He could have taken over the position of Head Peacekeeper, since Cray was from the old regime. Instead, Haymitch made up a position, the town Magistrate. Every district would have a way to fairly dispense justice, with the Peacekeepers relegated to do just what their name described keeping the peace. From town drunk to judge, this was the world of the new Panem.

Though Katniss would rather face Haymitch than her mother.

“Has your mother calmed down?”

Katniss grimaced. It all started with the initiative. Ever since the President went crazy and abolished the Games, calling it the Lucy Grey Baird initiative, and then promptly dying before anyone could change the law, her mother’s focus changed from reliving the past to finding Katniss a husband.

Her mother began railing against her plan to stay single. Mind you Katniss was only sixteen at the time and she could only focus on the fact that her baby sister would never again experience a Reaping.

Nope, not her mother, Eudora Everdeen, somewhere between her melancholy that ensued after pa’s death and the cancellation of the 74th Hunger Games, decided to become a holy nightmare, worse than any horror Katniss’s imagination could conjure up. Her mother tried to fix her up with various men throughout the district. Her mother’s sting about her single status was the last straw tonight.

“She’s stopped,” Katniss flinched; it wasn’t the entire truth.

Eudora hadn’t really stopped, there were introductions all of the time. There was Waylon, Adam, Zachary, Jackson, Hank, Lee, Hunter, Davis, Ashley, Samuel, Vernon, Beau, Elijah, not to mention Humperdinck, who was also known as the Goat Man. It was always the same pattern. A subtle introduction, followed by an invitation to tea or supper or both, a run in in the Seam or the Hob, before the guy in question lost interest and her mother went back to the drawing board. Eudora didn’t push, but she didn’t relent either. However, recently, her mother had been quiet. Katniss hoped after 5 years, her mother finally gave up.

“But?” Darius asked.

The transport shook as it began to move.

“Nothing.”

“You know, you’re a bad liar.”

“She doesn’t like me being alone.”

“That’s preposterous. I know plenty of women Peacekeepers.”

“You know we are talking about Eudora Everdeen?”

Darius grinned. “You mother did tell one of my new recruits she should leave her hair down because it would make her look pretty. She even asked me when my time was up and if I was interested in courting you.”

“Yup,” Katniss breathed, “that’s my mother.”

“So is it true she tried to pair you with Gale and even Gale got scared.”

“How do you know?” Katniss’ mother first picked Gale, who conversely, after seeing her mother try to manipulate them as a couple, was shocked. One good thing came off Eudora’s meddling. Gale laid off the entire, we-make-sense offer to toast angle, and suddenly became a perfect angel around her and the rogue doubled his efforts around other women to prove that he wasn’t interested in Katniss.

“You forget how small District Twelve is,“ Darius said looking tired as he rubbed his face.

He’s right. Twelve is the smallest of all the Districts. And nothing stayed buried, just like a piece of coal, it would be eventually unearthed.

"Gale said my mother was loonier than the Goat man when he got drunk on Ripper’s special liquor.” Ripper called her special liquor, the ‘shine.’ There were rumors the shine caused people to do strange things. Katniss wasn’t interested in drinking anything that wasn’t life sustaining. Her only thought was to keep food on the table and maintain the roof over her family’s heads. Just last summer she had to fix the roof all by herself. Drinking or marriage were out of the picture.

When Gale politely said he wasn’t interested in Katniss, her mother was upset, but said she understood that Gale only saw Katniss as a sister. Five years ago, Katniss hoped with her mother’s attempts thwarted, Eudora would give up getting her hitched. Little did she know it wasn’t over by a long shot.

Darius snorted. “Your name comes up every year."

"Ugh. I avoid that damned dance every year.” There were three main social events in District Twelve, where parents shoved their young for possible partnerships and couples did coupley things, The Spring Formal, The Harvest Fair, and the Winter Festival. The last of these major social events had been the Harvest Fair.

“Waylon still asks about you every time.”

Katniss groaned hearing that name again. He was Leevy’s brother, who was in Gale’s class. Waylon was the next on her mother’s list. Waylon’s obsession began slowly. He failed his last year of school and became a quasi-associate. He would show up at her locker and want to walk with her to class. At first it was nice. He was Gale’s friend and as long as he didn’t talk, she didn’t mind. When they graduated, he went to work in the mines. Katniss set up a booth in the Hob selling her jerky.

And for a time, everything was calm. Then he started coming to supper. He tried to become friends with Prim. Her sister thought him weird. Then one day, Waylon tried to kiss her. When she pushed him away, he chased her straight into the forest. Thankfully, he didn’t dare go into the woods.

The woods became her refuge. As soon as she knew Waylon was let loose of his shift at the mines, he would head straight to the Hob. Katniss would pack up her booth and run off into the woods. She began hunting at night to get away from him. Also, she sort of used Gale as an unofficial bodyguard to keep Waylon at a distance. Waylon was a sore spot in her relatively short life span.

“He does?” The words slipped out before they could be stopped.

“He’s got a thing for you Katniss,” Darius’ voice sounded full of mirth, “He’s one of many in the district.”

“If I weren’t in handcuffs, I’d deck you.”

Darius grinned. “He still shoots Peeta the evil eye.”

At the mention of Peeta’s name, her brain misfires.

Peeta.

Sigh, strong, capable, dependable, sweet, kind, lovely, delicious…always lurking in her dreams, Peeta.

That night at the Harvest Fair, every time she saw Waylon come her way she hid. Thankfully Peeta came to her rescue. He asked her to dance and afterwards he escorted her the entire time.

Oh, Peeta tried to keep her out of trouble. He was so nice, and she had no way to pay him for his kindness in rescuing her that night. Even four years later she could still recall every detail. He did admirably despite her lack of social graces, and inability to dance.

Katniss groaned in the transport, her head leaning up against the metal wall. Dancing with Peeta was heavenly, being with Peeta was indescribable, but Katniss shoved that feeling deep, deep, way deep inside of her, locked it up and only took out that memory in the dead of night. When she was alone in her bed, her fingers drifted to her lady parts and she sought relief from the thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him over and over.

She had a secret bond with Peeta, a bond she couldn’t shake. “Peeta,” her heart whispered with longing. Katnis hoped Darius couldn’t see how deeply she was affected by her baker. Peeta was the one soul in the district who knew her better than anyone else.

“So, it’s Peeta you have a thing for. Waylon’s not wrong in giving him the evil eye.”

Katniss scowled at Darius, causing him to laugh.

“I’d have to be drunk on the shine,” Katniss grumbled. She hoped to redirect Darius, he was so near the truth.

“Katniss,” Darius rubs his face. “Please don’t tell me you’ve drunk the shine.”

“No. Gale swears he has. He said it’s so strong it has the power to peel paint off the walls. Is it true…about you and the shine?” Katniss asked.

Darius became serious.

"So, it isn’t true. I knew Gale was lying."

Darius cleared his throat. "It made me hallucinate. There are things, Everdeen, you shouldn’t ever try.”

"Duly noted.”

The transport rolled, and another command came through the radio. Darius “What?”

“Star 451,” the voice answered back.

“Pluck a duck,” Darius whispered angrily. “Are you sure?”

His angry voice sounded out of control as if he wanted to hit something or someone. The atmosphere changed suddenly. It crackled with foreboding darkness. Katniss tried to ignore it, she knew she was in trouble.

For the rest of the journey Katniss wondered what was going on, what did that Star 451 mean? Katniss noted Darius became quiet, and sullen; all the traces of humor left his face. Darius stopped looking at her as if he couldn’t face her. Finally, the transport came to a halt.

“We’re here.”

Katniss winced, thinking of Haymitch Abernathy, and the uncertainty that faced her outside of the transport.

“Wait for me to get down before you get up,” Darius bit out as the door opened and the cold wind caused Katniss to shiver.

Katniss wrinkled her nose. Haymitch was going to be a pain in the neck. The last time she’d been before him things were not pleasant. When she got down, her eyes widened. They weren’t at the Justice building. They were at the Victors Village.

It was one thing to stand in the Justice building, a cold sterile edifice made of white stone. It was another to stand inside of a home. “Darius?”

The transport moved on and there was another waiting, one that did not have any insignia on the side. It was black and it reminded Katniss of the one they used to transport the corpses of the deceased.

“Come on,” Darius said gently, once more avoiding looking at her.

Katniss nodded. She wasn’t someone who let things affect her. She didn’t scare easily, this however, put pure fear in her heart.

Darius escorted her inside of the massive house and guided her into a room by the side. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace. The warmth stung her cold skin. There was a dark wooden desk, two comfortable chairs, and another pair facing the fireplace. “Sit.”

Katniss sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Give me your hands, Katniss,” Darius said.

Katniss lifted her trembling hands.

“What did I tell you ‘bout keeping your nose out of trouble, Sweetheart?” Haymitch grumbled from the door.

Katniss masked her fear.

Four years ago Gale was sick and couldn’t attend that darned Harvest Fair. Katniss needed a way out, thankfully Peeta rescued her.

Everything was splendid and at one point while staring into his gorgeous blue eyes Katniss was breathless. It was toward the end of the night when his mother, the witch, pulled him away and that’s where all hell broke loose. Accidentally, in her haste to get away from Waylon, a small fire started when one of the glass lamps fell, and broke. Several bales of hay caught fire. It somehow escalated and concluded with a goat stampede down the center of town.

Her mother blamed Katniss for embarrassing Waylon and his family, and basically setting the fair on fire. Haymitch told her mother that her unfettered meddling would one day cause the destruction of all she held dear. Eudora Everdeen was not amused, nor was she happy with the outcome. Haymitch let Katniss go with a slap on the wrist because her only criminal act was trying to flee the unwanted attention of a man. Plus, thanks to Peeta’s quick thinking, it was only the stage that burned. He and his brothers managed to get the fire out and they built another stage, how they did it in one day, Katniss didn’t know.

She kept away for the rest of the Harvest Fair, thinking it was better not to remind the community of her stupidity. She’d been lulled under Peeta’s spell. She’d done more than dance and start a fire at that fair. Heat rose from the pit of her belly and flowed to her core and spilled on to her cheeks.

The sound of a chair being scraped on the wood floor caused her bubble to break. Katniss shook her head. Her eyes came back into focus to the present.

“Darius, you can wait outside. Katniss isn’t going to do anything stupid,” Haymitch turned his grey eyes toward her, “are you?”

Katniss shook her head no.

Darius nodded and walked outside, closing the door.

Katniss didn’t even bother rubbing her wrists. She balled her hands and rested them at her side.

“You’re probably wondering why you got caught?”

She hadn’t really. Katniss thought it was just a routine inspection. There were bears in the woods and just one week ago the electric fence had been damaged.

“Your mother.”

“What?” Katniss growled. Her lips thinned her anger skyrocketing. Then she thought for a second it couldn’t be. “She wouldn’t…”

“She did, and there wasn’t anything Darius or I could do. We had to arrest you?”

A combination of bitterness and sadness swept into her soul like the bitter winds that brought the frigid winter air. It was one thing to try to get her to marry; it showed that her mother cared. However, handing her over to the authority showed Katniss that her mother had fallen out of love for her. Can a mother un-love a child? It could happen, she supposed, thinking of Peeta’s mother, the witch. That woman only cared for one person, herself.

“Sorry Sweetheart, Darius tried to dissuade her. She said it was time for you to learn what the real world was all about. But instead of leaving it with me and Darius, she went to the Justice building and filed a complaint with Panem’s Bureau of Justice. She got Seneca Crane’s underwear in a twist. He’s demanding you pay for your crimes.”

Katniss gasped. Seneca Crane was from the old regime. He was the Head Gamemaker of the 74th Hunger Games. His arena was never used. The man was so twisted and evil that he was merciless with those who came under his thumb, and she was one of them. Katniss wondered how someone like him still had power in this new Panem.

There was no doubt in her mind she was going to serve time. Those who served time were often sent away to another District. She could be sentenced to District Eleven to work in the fields, District Two to work in the mines, or work in District Four in the fish processing plants doing the lowest of menial jobs. “How much time will I be sentenced?

“A year Sweetheart, you can get out early for good behavior, come back here and work the rest of your sentence as a parole.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d never been away from home, never was tempted to escape into the wilds of the forest. Now she was going to be carted out in the middle of the night. She was a blemish to society, unwanted, a problem for her mother. A solitary tear rolled down her face.

Katniss didn’t need handcuffs any more; she was about to be branded as undesirable.

Darius quietly walked in with the machine. They slid her hand in the machine and she cried as the skin of her wrist was seared with an imprint. Cradling her hand she read *451. Now she understood.

“I’m sorry Katniss,” Darius whispered.

Two heavy set men dressed in black came in and pushed her inside of the waiting black transport.

Chapter Two

Peeta whistled.

“You’re in a good mood,” Norma Jean, his brother Graham’s wife said.

Norma Jean was his favorite sister in law. Graham had fallen head-over-heels for her. It was funny because before Norma Jean, Graham’s type were tall statuesque thin blondes. Norma Jean was short, and as she put it, rounder than an apple. She was also sweeter than the candy she and Graham sold at the confectioners’ shop.

“I am.” He couldn’t help himself.

Today was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, one because the bakery closed early, and two because Katniss always came by on Saturday to trade with him. No one else. Peeta knew for certain Katniss didn’t trade with anyone else but him.

“Well it’s my favorite day.”

Norma Jean grinned. “Is it because of a certain huntress?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her belly, she was heavily pregnant. She was sniffing the air. When pregnant, Norma Jean had the ability to identify different herbs by smell. Her nose was that good.

Peeta kept quiet and wondered how long it would be before she sniffed the cheese buns he had hidden in the back.

“Have you heard from Rye?”

Peeta grinned. “He’s back in District Two.”

Rye was the reason Peeta had inherited the family bakery. With Graham married to Norma Jean, their mother thought Rye would take over the bakery, leaving Peeta out of the inheritance. Then, one-and-a-half years ago Rye announced he wanted to be a Peacekeeper. Nothing their mother said or threatened dissuaded Rye from becoming a Peacekeeper.

“He’s great actually, talked to him last night.”

“Graham’s still upset with him. He didn’t want Rye to sign up to a twenty year commitment to be celibate to serve home and country.”

Peeta recalled. “You know how Rye gets when he wants something.”

“Yeah.” Norma Jean nodded.

“His training is over, and he’s waiting for his assignment. When we were talking at least ten guys came by to say hello.” Peeta had gotten to know the guys in Rye’s squad. They were from all over Panem.

“Good, I am glad.”

“Won’t Graham miss you?”

“Nope, my sister Virginia is helping him set up; the boys were fast asleep.”

“You do realize today is Saturday and they’re up early on Saturday.” Peeta said.

“Exactly, no one bothers the sweet shop at six in the morning, nine maybe, but six…only those who are craving stuff like me…now, hot buns, give me one of those treat’s you’re saving for your huntress,” Norma Jean demanded.

Peeta shook his head. “I would never deny you anything.”

He walked into the back whistling and grabbed two of the cheese buns he’d saved for himself to share with Katniss.

“For you,” Peeta said, bowing slightly.

“I haven’t seen you like this since that Harvest Fair?” Norma Jean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Peeta said.

“You can’t lie to me, Peeta,” Norma Jean said, narrowing her eyes, one fist curled around the cheese bun.

“You’re right,” Peeta said.

“So, it is Katniss,” Norma Jean said.

Peeta could feel the heat raising up to his cheeks. He looked at his reflection in the smooth surface of the metal case; he looked ruddy.

After they graduated, Katniss set up her shop in the Hob. Her jerky was a favorite amongst the residents. Katniss had enough coins to buy everything she needed. She could buy bread, but she didn’t. Their friendship began slowly. At first it was a slight nod, with her cheeks so rosy she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

The Harvest Fair changed everything. They’d been a little tipsy as a result of the hard apple cider Greasy Sae offered them. She’d pulled him into Mr. Plover’s blacksmith and horse barn and kissed him. The kiss got out of hand and one thing led to another. Soon they were in one of the empty horse stalls and tearing their clothing off. Katniss had given him her virginity and he had given her his. When they walked out hand in hand Peeta couldn’t help the goofy grin on his face. He would never forget how soft her eyes looked.

Then his mother came looking for him, and everything became a nightmare. Peeta advocated for Katniss, got his brothers and his friends to clean up and rebuild the stage. Katniss was arrested, and the community shunned her. They took Waylon’s side, no thanks to Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss had never attended another social event after that.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Norma said excitedly.

“Well.” His eyes went to the store front. Mrs. Bernelle came into the store. With Thanksgiving tomorrow Peeta expected a brisk business today.

“Hello Mrs. Bernelle,” Peeta greeted.

“Hello Peeta, Norma Jean.”

“Hello,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her stomach.

“You’re due any day now?” Mrs. Burnelle said warmly to Norma Jean.

“ Just about.” Norma Jean smiled warmly.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Burnelle,” Peeta said, wanting Mrs. Burnelle out of the store so that he could speak to Norma Jean.

“May I have a dozen of your dinner rolls, but only the freshest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peeta said, grabbing a brown paper bag. He quickly dispensed the rolls.”

Mrs. Burnelle smelled the bread, “These smell delicious,” she leaned over and with a mischievous lilt in her voice. “Don’t tell you father, but you are the better baker.”

“I won’t,” Peeta laughed. “Is that all for today?”

“Yes.” She had the exact amount. She put it on the counter. “Thank you Peeta and Happy Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving became a national Holiday after the treaty between the Capitol and the Districts was ratified as law. A day for both sides to come together and celebrate everlasting peace and tranquility and celebrated with a big meal. Normally the Capitol sent all of the Districts a parcel with some sort of treat. Each year a District was selected to make a parcel to send to the Capitol. District Twelve had yet to be selected.

“Thank you, you too,” Peeta said. He waited until the door was closed before he turned his attention back to Norma Jean.

“Whatever you have to tell me has got to be really good for you to be acting like you did four years ago?”

Peeta sighed happily.

“Did something happen between you two?”

Norma Jean knew all. Peeta confided in her. When Katniss didn’t show up that Saturday after the Fair, she encouraged him to seek out Katniss. Peeta gathered his courage and found her at the Hob. She looked like hell and she wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes. Peeta found out from Greasy Sae, no one was buying her jerky.

Peeta brazenly bought her jerky and told her he’d run out of squirrels. Then he sent Norma Jean, and Norma sent Rye, and Rye sent Delly to buy her jerky. Delly sent someone else and so forth. There was no way he was going to allow the people of District Twelve to turn their backs on Katniss.

The following Saturday he found a package at his doorstep. Norma Jean packed up some bread and told him to pay her for her game meat. He’d gone down to the Hob and put the bread on her table and told her she’d forgotten her payment before he walked away.

This went on for weeks until she came by and shyly waited to make the exchange. Every Saturday he’d do his best to tamp down his own yearnings because Katniss needed a friend. He made it his mission to befriend her. Like a flower blossoming she opened up to him.

Peeta remained tight lipped.

Mrs. Evangeline walked into the shop.

“Good Morning Mrs. Evangeline,” Peeta greeted, but he could see Norma Jean wanted to shove the nosy woman out of the bakery.

“Hello Peeta,” Mrs. Evangeline said with her list in hand. She nodded at Norma Jean. This morning Mrs. Evangeline was in battle mode. “I am in a rush this morning. I have to get to the butchers before the best cut of meat is taken,” she muttered.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My daughter is coming home with her new husband and I need her favorite bread, a baguette.”

“Oh yes, I remember Rosalee loves the sourdough with Mrs. Caries strawberry preserves.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Evangeline said. “May I also have a loaf of the sourdough?”

“Absolutely,” Peeta said.

“Thank you Peeta, you always remember everything,” Mrs. Evangeline gushed.

“It’s no problem,” Peeta smiled but he saw Norma Jean’s impatience.

“So, when you are due?” Mrs. Evangeline asked Norma Jean.

“Any day now,” Norma Jean answered.

Peeta bagged the baguettes and the loaf of Sourdough. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Evangeline. “How much?”

“Ten credits,” Peeta said.

Mrs. Evangeline took out her credits and paid Peeta. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.”

“Thank you, you too.” Peeta waved as Mrs. Evangeline left.

“Finally,” Norma Jean exclaimed.

Peeta shrugged not wanting to give anything away.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Norma Jean huffed.

He feigned innocence.

“Okay hot stuff, what happened? And don’t spare any details. I know Katniss has been coming here every Saturday for the past three years.”

Norma Jean wasn’t wrong. Katniss had been coming to the bakery every Saturday. She’d knock on his door precisely at nine in the morning. They would talk and sometimes she’d linger to drink tea. Recently he began showing her some new recipe he’d been working on.

Peeta grabbed a cleanser and a squeegee and wiped down the counter.

“Uh-uh…none of those diversionary tactics!”

Peeta put his hands in the air.

“Go on, what happened?” Norma Jean fixed with him the mommy glare.

“We kissed,” Peeta whispered.

“What,” she screeched. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Okay, more!”

“Katniss came to the door, we traded, we drank tea. I introduced her to my newest creation. These cheese buns. And I saw that same sparkle in her eyes, as the night of the Fair. I do not exactly know how it happened. But we kissed.” How precisely their lips met Peeta was still fuzzy on that, but he did recall the desire and longing that shot through him like the fireworks that lit the sky at Thanksgiving. Her lips were soft and warm, and he marveled once more at the taste of wild berries, sweet and tart, crisp and delicious.

“Good for you,” Norma Jean said. “Are you guys going to talk today, going to, you know, talk about getting together?”

“I hope so. I’ve waited so long for her to see me, and not just as a friend.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Norma Jean said. Her eyes looked past him above him at the clock, and she groaned, picking up her packages. “I’m late, I have to drop this off at your mother’s house.”

“Good luck,” Peeta grinned.

“Nothing to it,” she rubbed her expanded belly. “Your mother is always rainbows and hearts when I’m pregnant. She keeps on expecting a girl. Sadly, I keep on producing strong Mellark men, much to your father’s delight. He loves his grandchildren. But not as much as your brother loves to keep me fat and round.”

“Norma Jean, you’re not fat,” Peeta replied.

“And that’s why my wife prefers you over me.” Graham came into the shop with his twin boys, one in each arm. Their other child was wrapped around his ankle.

Norma Jean patted Peeta’s hand. “Graham is the grouchy one and Rye is the wild one and you, Peeta are the good Mellark. You’re the hot goods every girl in District Twelve wants to get her grubby hands on, but only one can have.”

“Please don’t call my baby brother hot in front of me,” Graham whined.

Norma Jean grinned wickedly. “Sorry Graham we both know that even Rye with all of his wild ways isn’t as hot as Peeta.”

“Evil woman,” Graham said, handing one of his boys to Peeta.

“Hey buddy!” Peeta grabbed Malcom and tossed him in the air.

“Uncle Peeta,” his twin brother Marvin shouted. “Me, I’m next.”

Martin who was wrapped around Graham’s ankle popped up, “Me too, me too.”

Peeta loved his nephews.

“Boys,” Norma Jean said with that firm mommy voice they listened to.

“Yes mama?” All boys said with rapt attention.

“Your uncle is working. He will wrestle with you tomorrow,” Norma Jean said.

All three boys nodded their pale blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Here’s a cookie for each of you,” Peeta said, taking three plain cookies out. Norma and Graham were careful about the sugar the kids ate. “Why don’t you guys sit at the table and eat the cookies?”

All three of them scampered to the table and sat, eating.

“So if uncle Peeta comes over then maybe mommy and me can…”

“Nope,” Norma Jean said. “Peeta and mommy have serious girl stuff going on.”

“Seriously,” Graham settled his eyes on Peeta. “What the heck? What kind of pull do you have over the ladies?”

“I told you Peeta’s the hot one,” Norma Jean winked. But then placed a playful kiss on Graham’s lips.

Graham stared lovingly into Norma Jean’s eyes then turned to Peeta and playfully growled, “She’s mine, all mine.”

“I know,” Peeta shrugged. “Besides, she’s not my type.”

“I’m not,” Norma Jean said. Then she stood on tiptoe to place a small kiss on Graham’s chin. “If we leave the kids today at grampa’s, maybe we can have a private chat about my candy shop, after we close at noon?”

“Oh,” Graham said, his voice brightening.

Peeta was grossed out by the innuendo.

“Okay, Mellark Clan, march out,” Graham said. “We’re going to grandpa’s.”

The store emptied of his brother’s family, but then the customers came in filling the store for two solid hours. As the time neared 9 o’clock, Peeta started whistling.

Nothing could get him down.

He had the tea prepared, he had cream, and plenty of sugar. Peeta grimaced. How Katniss could drink her tea that way, he didn’t know, but Katniss loved her tea with loads of cream and sugar. He whistled as he wiped down the display cases.

He looked at the clock, 9 o’clock. His gut twisted, anticipating her soft knock. But it didn’t come. He put his cloth away and walked to the back door.

He opened the door looking to see if he could spot her trademark bag or braided hair. He worried something was wrong. Katniss wouldn’t have stayed away. He knew kissing her could have been a mistake and maybe she was regretting the kiss. Peeta shook his head. This was different. Something felt off and he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t put his finger on it either.

Peeta looked at the clock, she was fifteen minutes late. Katniss was never late; she was alway punctual. He was truly worried, maybe she’d gotten into another argument with her mother over her single status. Mrs. Everdeen was dogged in her search for a husband for Katniss. All of the men Mrs. Everdeen picked for Katniss were strong minded individuals. Men who liked to be in charge. Peeta chuckled, Katniss didn’t need a domineering guy. Anyone with her same fire would cause them both to combust.

These four years Peeta had gotten to know Katniss, and from what he gleaned she needed someone who treated her as equal or someone to balance her fire. Someone who understood the value of partnership. Peeta hoped he was that man for her.

He once more looked at the clock and another five minutes went by. Foreboding crept inside of his being, causing the hairs of his neck to stand on end. The last time he felt that was right before the fire. Something was wrong.

“Where are you, Kat?” Peeta asked. He had half a mind to close the shop and walk to her home in the Seam.

The bell to the front door rang. He sighed then went to the front. Though his mind was made up, he was going to close up shop and head to the Seam as soon as he finished with the patron waiting for him.

“Dad?”

“Son,” his father glanced at him and there was concern in his eyes.

His father hardly came to the bakery now that he had retired. His parents moved to a house just outside the central market. His father enjoyed gardening and canning. He enjoyed his little group of other gardeners. His mother didn’t like the sedate life but she didn’t really have much of a say.

“What’s going on dad?”

“I came to check on you,” his father searched his eyes.

“Dad, you’re acting weird,” Peeta said, frowning.

His father was uneasy, his feet shifted, his hands were buried deep in his pocket, and there was something about the way that his dad looked at him reminded Peeta of the day that his dad sat him down and talked about what it meant to be the third son of a baker. It was one of the hardest conversations they’d ever had. Peeta loved the bakery, loved the smell of yeast, and yes even though he didn’t like the heat, he loved the smell of the hot ovens. There was something immensely enjoyable about seeing the awe and wonder in a customer’s face when he delivered a cake for a special occasion.

He hoped one day to see that same awe and wonder in Katniss’ face, if he could only find her talk to her.

His father cleared his throat.

“What is it dad?” Peeta said, walking to the shop door and flipping the sign from open to close. He closed the door. Peeta squared his shoulders waiting for whatever news his father had for him.

“Son,” his father drifted off. He closed his eyes then said, “…it’s about Katniss…”

“What about Katniss,” Peeta couldn’t believe how calm his voice was. He should have been freaking out. His father knew how important Katniss was to him, though he didn’t know the extent of their friendship.

“She’s been arrested.”

That feeling in his gut that told him Katniss wasn’t okay, caused Peeta’s senses to sharpen. He needed to help her get out of trouble. He stalked to the cash register as if it was his mortal enemy, opening the drawer he took out all of the credits and emptied it into a bag. “I’m going to Darius; what’s her bail?”

“She was caught last night in the middle of the night, with squirrels, poaching.”

Peeta’s heart stopped beating. She’d been hunting for him. At least now he knew Katniss wasn’t running from him. His mind quickly formulated a plan. He walked to the back and put his coat on. As he walked, he talked, “Fine I can talk to Haymitch, tell him why.”

“Son,” his father’s grave voice let Peeta know there was more. His father put his hands on his shoulder. Peeta was still. He didn’t want to know more but he knew he needed to listen. “Her mother.”

“What has she done now?” Peeta didn’t wait; he shook his head. “No, I need to see Haymitch.” Peeta ran out of the back door and speedily ran to the Justice Building. He tore up the stairs taking them two at a time. She’d spent the night in jail.

He didn’t even bother talking to Haymitch’s assistant Anna.

“Mr. Mellark, you can’t go in there,” Anna stood.

Peeta had never been uncourteous to anyone. He was always kind, always aware of other’s feelings. It’s why his mother thought him soft, but he wasn’t really. Not when it came to Katniss. He loved her, and for Katniss he would give up his life.

“Anna,” Peeta growled, and her eyes opened wide as if she’d encountered a feral beast in the meadow.

She stepped to the side.

Peeta barged right through into Haymitch’s office. The last time he’d been here he was eighteen. Desperate to help Katniss. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man, a man who was willing to move heaven and earth for the woman he loved.

Haymitch had a drink on his desk, and an opened bottle. Another was tossed into the waste paper basket. His office smelled of malt whisky and white liquor. Peeta hadn’t seen Haymitch drunk in years. Not since he was fifteen. His eyes swept the room and he noted Haymitch was not alone.

Mrs. Everdeen and her sister Primrose stood in a corner. Mrs. Everdeen looked surprised to see him. Her pale blue eyes were like stones in a river, hard and cold. Her sister Primrose stood away from her mother. Her arms clamped around her middle. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was bright red. The rest of her, her face, hands, and legs looked pale, ashen really.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” Haymitch rasped gruffly.

“Where’s Katniss?” he demanded.

“Boy, sit, have a drink,” Haymitch said, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

“No, where’s Katniss and how much to bail her out?”

Haymitch rubbed his face. “When I took this job on I did it because I knew that the people didn’t trust Cray or any Head Peacekeepers to make the laws just. I set up this position for each district so that they could have one of their own to make decisions on their cases. I specifically set it up with loopholes so that no party could have the ultimate power over the other.”

Haymitch gave Mrs. Everdeen a scathing look.

Mrs. Everdeen lifted her nose. “I only did what was right. She was poaching.” Her voice was filled with indignation, as if she couldn’t understand why she was being reprimanded.

“Eudora, what you did was send an innocent girl into hell because of your stupid pride. You’re no better than the folks that tossed you out into the street when you chose to marry Jack,” Haymitch barked.

Peeta noted how Eudora blinked and her eyes flickered with momentary pain before they went back to that cool indifference. Katniss had a similar look, but unlike Mrs. Everdeen’s which held no personality depth, Katniss’ look always showed a small bit of vulnerability, compassion, fiery resistance and some trace of emotion. Peeta could spend a lifetime examining Katniss’ smallest gestures.

“What happened, Haymitch, where’s Katniss?”

“I don’t see why he should be here,” Eudora said coolly.

“He has every right to be here,” Haymitch said, standing up. “That boy is the one fella your daughter loves.”

Eudora’s eyes widened with shock and she looked at Peeta, really looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She shook her head, “No, not him, she doesn’t love him. She doesn’t even know him.”

“She does, mama,” Primrose said.

“Katniss was caught poaching for me,” Peeta said quietly. “Every Saturday she comes to my shop and we trade, and talk…” Peeta looked at Haymitch, “Where is she? I need to see her?”

Her mother suddenly looked pale.

“Eudora tipped Darius about Katniss poaching on Fridays late in the evening. I guess she thought Darius wasn’t going to do anything and filed a complaint to Panem’s Bureau of Justice. It got to Crane; that bastard ordered me to hand her over for justice.”

“No,” Peeta roared. He stood up, his eyes landing on Mrs. Everdeen. Prim stood at his side.

“No,” Prim said quietly.

His hands were stretched out resting on Mrs. Everdeen’s neck.

“Boy,” Haymitch ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes were wider than saucers. Her body trembled underneath his fingers. There were horror stories about landing in the clutches of Seneca Crane. “Do you realize Katniss can be killed because she was bringing me squirrels.” His voice cracked. Tears stung his eyes. He let go of Mrs. Everdeen and sat in the chair.

“Momma, you’d done wrong.”

“Primrose, I wasn’t going to let her stop you from marrying. I wasn’t going to let her…”

“MOMMA!” Primrose squeaked.

Mrs. Everdeen became quiet.

“If you bothered to get to know Katniss, you would know that she would never stop me from getting married if that’s what I wanted. You would know that all Katniss wants is for me to be happy. Yes, I got mad at her for walking in on me and Vick.” Prim stopped, wiping the tears from her face. “But I know she did it because she loves me and she did not want me to foolishly get pregnant.” Prim squared her shoulders.

Peeta raised an eyebrow; he’d never seen this side to Katniss’ sister. Prim was a sweet girl, innocent, loving and caring. The girl before him had grit and integrity, something she learned from Katniss. Prim leveled a look at her mother before turning to look at Peeta.

“Yesterday she said she knew what it was like to get carried away in the arms of a man that loved you so much it hurt. She knew what it was like to give into pleasure so deep without thought of the future. She told me she didn’t want me to go through the worry of a pregnancy scare.”

Peeta’s hands gripped the arm of the chair he sat in. Katniss thought she was pregnant. He could just imagine her terror. He thought she’d been avoiding him because of the fire; he didn’t know it was because she didn’t know if they’d made a baby together. Katniss was right to be scared. They weren’t ready back then. He had no future and she still had her sister to rear. He looked up to Prim and nodded acknowledging her words.

“You and Katniss,” her mother sounded brittle.

“No Momma, don’t redirect; look at me,” Prim ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen looked at her youngest daughter.

“If you would have taken the time to get to know your eldest daughter, you’d know she sacrificed herself for me. I made her promise me that after I graduated that she would follow her dreams. Katniss promised me,” Prim looked at Peeta. “She’d promised me she’d talk to you, Peeta.”

“I,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“Katniss helped me, after I graduate, I was going to go to District 3. Dr. Jensen helped me get into an accelerated course in medicine. Everything is set up.” Prim’s voice sounded watery, she had tears running down her face. “Now I can’t go knowing my sister is in the hands of that butcher.”

Mrs. Everdeen flinched.

Peeta stood and gently held Prim in his arms as she cried. “I don’t understand how you could do this to Katniss. I don’t understand how you could betray her when all she’s ever done is to put food on your table and keep a roof over your head. She is the most selfless person. The most loyal. All Katniss has ever done is tried to protect her family, yet you betrayed her.”

“I did it for her own good. I didn’t betray her.” Mrs. Everdeen stood straighter. “This new regime, it may not last forever. There are men like Seneca Crane out there who are vying for power. What if one of them becomes president and then we end up worse? Katniss is a foolish child. I had to do what I thought was best for Katniss, and taking away her ability to hunt was the only way I could think of to get her to think…to see how dangerous this world was.”

“What you did was feed her to the wolves,” Peeta spat. “They called my mother the witch, but you lady, you are a cold hearted bitch.”

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes became colder. “Primrose we are leaving.”

“No momma,” Prim said, shaking her head. “I’m not going back to that house. I’m gonna to do everything in my power for my sister.”

“How long?” Peeta asked Haymich.

“A year,” Haymitch sighed. He looked tired and drained as he spoke, “Maybe less for good behavior.”

“Where?” Peeta asked.

“District Two.”

Hope bloomed in Peeta’s chest. “My brother is in District 2, maybe he can watch out for Katniss, keep an eye on her, and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“You think Rye would do that?”

“Yeah, he would,” Peeta said. Then he turned to Haymitch and asked, “What happens when… if she gets out for good behavior?”

“If Crane’s people let her go for good behavior, and I doubt it’ll happen, Katniss will be paroled and required to work the rest of her sentence.”

“I want her assigned to me. She can work off the rest of her parole in my bakery. She can live under my roof and I can take care of her.”

“Okay I can do that.” Haymitch sat down at his desk. He pushed the bottle and the glass into the waste paper basket. He took out a form.

“Wait, what’s going on,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“There’s no way I’m going to give up on Katniss. When she gets out of there she’s going to need a home, a place where she can be safe, and know that she’s wanted and loved.”

“What will your mother say?”

“My mother has no decision in the bakery or how it’s run. The bakery became mine last year when my father and Rye signed it over to me. Believe me, I’m going to make a Katniss campaign and when she comes back everyone in town will welcome her with open arms.”

“Haymitch,” Prim said, stepping out of Peeta’s arms. She sat in the chair facing his desk. “You said Seneca might not let her be released for good behavior. Does that mean he will make sure that she serves out her full sentence?’

“Yes, that rat bastard makes all of his victims pay.” Haymitch set the paperwork aside. His eyes though, were churning as if he was working on a puzzle.

“Then how can we make sure, or what can we do to make certain Crane has to shorten my sister’s sentence?” Prim asked on the edge of her chair.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asked, sitting down in the empty chair.

Haymitch opened his drawer and pulled out a slim electronic device. Because District 12 was the outlying district, and it was the poorest one, it dealt mostly with papers. However, there were things that needed to be done with the fancy electronics that the Capitol favored.

Peeta had a computer at the bakery, it was one of the first things he splurged on. It helped him maintain his accounting and supplies. It also was a way for him to get incontact with his brother in District Two.

“This is a computer, and it contains all of the bylaws of Panem. When we set up the justice system, I wanted to make sure there was a catch. Our newly appointed President Paylor helped come up with this. I had forgotten about it until this moment, Prim.”

“What is it?” Prim asked, voicing what Peeta was asking himself.

“Ha!” Haymitch said triumphantly. “There is a clause in the law that stipulates that family members can step in and volunteer for family in case they unjustly fall into the hands of Panem’s Bureau of Justice. Your sister was caught with two squirrels at the time she was caught poaching. Now poaching is a serious offense. But squirrel hunting is completely legal. In fact it just happens to be hunting season for the little critters.”

“So in reality all Katniss did was get caught crossing the fence,” Peeta said.

“And that is a lesser offence than poaching.” Haymitch turned to Primrose. “Which means that her conviction is unjust and a family member can volunteer to work some of her time off here in the district. If someone volunteers, Katniss’ hard labor sentence will be cut in half, but she’ll still have to be paroled.”

“Six months of labor?” Prim whispered, before looking to Haymitch and asking. “Will I be able to finish school?”

“I don’t see why not, we just need someone to take you in for six months for you to work for them for free.”

“No,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“I’m seventeen Momma, well past the age of consent in Panem,” Prim said.

“I forbade you,” Mrs. Everdeen said, stomping her foot.

“Haymitch, I volunteer for my sister. I volunteer to work off of her debt.”

“YOU CAN’T!”

Prim turned to her mother. “This is all your doing Momma, if you’d let Katniss alone, she’d be with Peeta now talking about the future. Talking to the man she loved about a toasting, children, everything she denied herself for a long time. But you wanted to punish her. You wanted to punish her for looking like Papa, for being his daughter. For always doing the right thing even if it meant going against your archaic wishes. Now you will take the punishment the way I am sure Katniss took hers, with dignity.” Turning to Haymitch Prim said, “Where do I sign?”

Mrs. Everdeen cried, and ran out of the room.

Peeta turned to Prim. “Will she be alright?”

“No,” Prim said. “But Katniss was right; our mother is selfish. I didn’t see it until now. She thinks what she did is justified, that she did the right thing. But she didn’t and now it’s up to us to save Katniss.”

“You’re a lot like her,” Peeta said.

“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Prim said.

“I think we need to get my sister-in-law,” Peeta said to Haymitch.

“Norma Jean,” Haymitch said.

My sister-in-law is pregnant with her fourth child. She said she is ready to give birth any time. Anyways, her sister Virginia’s getting married in a month to Jason Swanson, the railroad engineer’s son. Once she gets married, she’s going to work full time there, which means my brother will be alone in the store. They’re going to need help, and I know Norma Jean would never treat you poorly. She’s the only one I trust to help out. My brother Graham will pretty much do anything Norma Jean says.”

“Anne,” Haymitch barked.

Anne walked in, “Yes, Mr. Abernathy?”

“Go have one of Darius’ do-gooders get Peeta’s brother and sister-in-law here,” Haymitch grabbed another piece of paper. “We’re going to save Sweetheart’s butt.”

Peeta sat back, but he knew the battle was far from over. That night he called his brother. His brother was like him, but his features weren’t as soft. His face was angular, and his blonde hair was darker and it was curlier, though you couldn’t tell since he was sporting a buzz cut.

“Hey Peeta,”

“Rye I need…”

“Don’t I know. I heard about Katniss. It’s all everyone is talking about. The girl whose mother betrayed her for you. I’m kind of a celebrity now.”

“You saw her?”

“No, she’s been put deep in the tunnels. The star squad is so deep they don’t surface for months at a time. Communication down there is only done when necessary.”

“Will you keep me apprised if you do see her, take care of her for me?” Peeta asked.

Rye nodded then he said, “Did Graham really say yes to Primrose staying with him?”

“Yeah,” Peeta smiled ruefully. He was tired and he wished he could have done more.

“Huh, was it Norma Jean?”

“No, he volunteered when he heard what happened to Katniss, before I could even ask.”

“Really, I guess he’s not like mom.”

“Nope, if he were like mom he would have married Esme Smith.”

Rye laughed. “I forgot about Esme; man you know she popped my cherry.”

“Rye, really, I don’t need to know your escapades,” Peeta joked but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rye was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working.

“Look Peeta, I know Katniss is your girl, and I promise, in fact all of the guys in my squad, in all of the squads know how special she is, they told me if they’ll take care of her.”

��Except for the guys working under Crane,” Peeta muttered. He closed his eyes. He wanted to punch the wall, wanted to scream.

“Just hang in there, Katniss is strong, she’s tough. For any girl of twelve to brave the forest and hunt animals with the threat of predatory beasts to put food on the table, that takes bigger balls than I have.”

“Thanks Rye,” Peeta whispered.

“I’ve got to go, but maybe the next time tell Graham that what he did for Prim was great.”

“I will.”

The communication went off. Peeta sighed and leaned back. He looked up at the darkened sky just beyond his bedroom window. “Hang in there Katniss. Please hang in there,” he whispered brokenly.

A lot of things could happen in six months. Katniss could be beaten mercilessly. She could be raped by one of the prisoners or even by a sadistic guard. She could catch a disease and die. The fear he’d been fighting threaded through him and for the first time in all of his life he was unsure of the future. Sleep was not an option for him tonight and he couldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow. Not with the love of his life in some hellhole beneath the earth.

Getting up, he began to clean and sometime around midnight he decided to make bread for the children tomorrow; that would keep his mind occupied. The next six months were going to be the hardest of his life.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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fantasticstoryteller · 3 years

Text

New Amsterdam Chapter 28

Tony looked at his two helpers. Right now all he had were Natasha and Clint, but they’d be all he needed. And Pepper was out doing something else, so she wasn’t going to barge in with her “logic.”

Natasha poked a small, perfectly manicured finger towards the cat basket on Tony’s desk. Puddles (what a stupid name for a cat; could he change the name? Of course he could change the name; he was Tony Stark, all he had to do was figure out a better name) lazily batted at the finger with a paw. The kittens were, once again, nursing.

Clint looked around at the transformed office. There were scratching posts in all the corners, tucked up against the desk, and one with a basket right under the window. There was a small, working fountain that was just at the right height for an adult cat, with a slightly wider (though shallower) pool under it at the right height for a wandering kitten. The cats themselves were situated in a huge, plush doggie bed.

Clint let out a low whistle. “Damn, Tony. You’ve gone crazy cat lady on us.”

“Pepper should be proud,” muttered Natasha before turning to Tony.

Who was, once again, reminded that their first loyalty was to SHIELD, their second was to Pepper, and he came third. Which was fine. He had no problem with that; SHIELD had taken in the two of them and Pepper was amazing. “I didn’t call you here about the cats.”

Natasha merely quirked a small smile, pulled out her phone (one of his Starkphones, he was pleased to note), and pulled up a text that read, see me about naming kittens.

Tony rolled his eyes. “It was a cover,” he explained.

Clint glances around the room again. “You sure?” he asked.

One of the kittens rolled to the flat portion of the bed and Tony caught it with a massive hand (compared to the kitten) before gently rolling it back to its mother, who groomed it like nothing had happened. “I’m sure,” he said grimly. “When’s the last time either of you saw Spiderman?”

Natasha shrugged. “Couple days ago. He was last seen working with Deadpool.”

Deadpool—who had taken over patrolling the city for the human spider. Deadpool—who was single-handedly reducing the crime rate of the city. Deadpool—who was an insane murderer to everyone who wasn’t Spiderman…or Peter. For some reason the merc was obsessed with the lab assistant.

“Right.” Tony tapped the top of his desk, the computer part, to bring up a hologram of a building. On the side of the building was what looked like a giant spider egg sack. “This popped up about an hour ago.”

“You think that’s him.” The comment was flat. An observation, nothing else.

“Okay, Spiderman spins webs,” said Clint, “but we’ve got no evidence that he spins—whatever the Hell that is.”

Natasha’s eyes snapped from the image to Tony. “You think he’s hurt and spun the cocoon to protect himself.”

Tony snorted. “I think Deadpool is unpredictable.”

Clint leaned against the wall as he looked at the image. “Did you try running back the tape, or whatever you call it, on your computer thing to see what made it?”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” demanded Tony. He sighed. “Computer thing” indeed. Sometimes he wondered if the reason he liked Spiderman so much was that the vigilante had a way with technology that rivaled his own. “The camera that image came from is a special time-lapse camera set up to take pictures of the sky against the city over the course of a day.”

“Why?” asked Clint.

“Not important. The important part is that it takes one picture every two hours, so according to this camera one moment the side of the building was clear, and the next this was there.” Tony gestured to the hologram.

“Okay.” Natasha looked at the image again before focusing on Tony. “What’s the plan?”

“The plan is to get him out of the cocoon and see how badly hurt he is.”

“Uh—I’m no expert,” Clint said looking at Tony, “but if he is badly hurt—won’t forcing him out of the cocoon hurt him more?”

“Nothing Bruce can’t cure,” Tony said firmly. He was certain of it; he’d run all the algorithms to predict every possible scenario.

“And why are we here?” demanded Natasha grimly. “It sounds like you have everything figured out. Why don’t you just suit up, go down there, and break into the cocoon?”

“Three reasons. One; it’s broad daylight and there’s a clear sky. The moment I show myself all suited up, Paparazzi will surround me wherever I go, and if Spiderman is that badly hurt, I don’t want to risk his identity becoming public knowledge. Two; you may not believe it, but there are actually things that need to be done to keep a company like this running.”

“I believe it,” offered Clint. “I just thought Pepper was doing it.”

Natasha wouldn't be distracted. “And three?” she asked.

“Three; the gray kitten keeps rolling out of the basket and someone needs to be here to catch it. Pepper’s busy and I have been forbidden,” a twist of his mouth showed how he felt about that, “to call any of the assistants or people below the ranks of Bruce and Gwen, and they have their own shit to do.” Before Clint could accuse him of being a crazy cat lady again (rude) he quickly pulled up another image. Deadpool, on the roof of the tower, having what appeared to be a cozy lunch with Peter, the lab assistant. “I also,” he added firmly, “don’t like the thought of leaving my Tower undefended while that maniac is taking lunch on the top of it.”

“Could have led with that,” muttered Clint.

Natasha’s eyes tracked to the moving image (it was being shown in real-time, unlike the picture), and Tony had no doubt that she was memorizing every detail of the scene just in case it might be relevant later. “Why do you let Deadpool into your Tower?” she asked.

Tony snorted. “Have you ever tried to keep him out of someplace? Guy takes ‘Go away’ like an engraved invitation.” Which sounded better than admitting to the two of them that he’d basically hired Deadpool to stalk one of his staff.

Natasha was still taking in the scene while Clint laughed. “He seems awfully cozy with that kid.”

Tony’s gut twisted. Peter was still a kid. A kid who had been inflicted with Deadpool for days now. Sure he seemed fine, and Pepper had assured him that the kid actually enjoyed Deadpool’s company (seriously—how?), but still—he was a kid. He should be playing video games, making insane inventions in the company’s big labs—not having to play host to mad mercenary. And that was Tony’s fault. He’d fix it—somehow. He just had to figure out how.

Which wasn’t helped by the fact that Tony hoped Deadpool would find out why Peter didn’t want to get his own lab.

Tony focused on the two in front of him and spread his arms. “There you have it. Will the two of you go investigate, since I’m stuck here for the time being.”

Clint grinned at Tony. “Sure—cat-mom,” he said sweetly.

“We’ll find your spider for you,” Natasha agreed before walking out, Clint close behind.

Tony waited until the two of them, the only two people SHIELD had in the Tower, were long gone before he pulled up his computer program JARVIS. “What did you find out?” he asked the computer.

“Sir, there is no recorded information as to why SHIELD wants Spiderman’s identity,” the program replied. “However, I could only go so deep without alerting them to the intrusion. Should I dig further?”

“No,” said Tony firmly. “I don’t want SHIELD knowing even a hint of what you’re capable of. Anything else on Spiderman?”

“No, sir,” JARVIS replied. “It would appear that the vigilante knows all of my blind spots. He disappears into them, but always at times when it is impossible to check the people around to see who appears. Should I continue to keep an eye out?”

“Please,” said Tony. There was the electronic beep of the program disengaging the communication mode. He didn’t really believe Spiderman was in the cocoon—but it made a good excuse to get the two SHIELD agents out of his Tower so that he could interrogate JARVIS.

Tony had been hired to find out who Spiderman was. He would do it—there was no question of whether or not he would find out the identity, but when. However he was—curious, so to speak about how desperate SHIELD was to have the information. There had to be a reason.

He was going to find out what it was.

#Spider-Man #Deadpool #Spideypool #interlude

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saltedpeppermintmocha · 3 years

Text

into the night (bakugou x reader) - Chapter 5/?

Summary:

You were born to die.

It is a fact you’ve known since your quirk first manifested, and one you have been denying for just as long. You refuse your supposed fate and try to live the best life you can while remaining undetected.

But maybe fate has another plan. A chance encounter on a mountainside changes your life forever.

Chapter One

MATURE : MINORS DO NOT INTERACT // 18+

Your eyes lock with red ones.

They widen, flickering down your dusty uniform and back up to whatever shocked expression is definitely on your face right now. For a moment, you are sure he is about to say something, but it never comes. Instead, the ground vibrates violently all around you and he breaks eye contact to look back down the street. In the distance, you can see one of the cloth dolls, closer than before. He doesn't look back, just takes off in a burst of smaller explosions.

A cough behind you brings you back quickly to the more important matter at hand. You turn around. “Eito, are you okay?” You ask, looking him over. The man coughs a bit, also covered in debris dust, and holds up a thumbs up. You rush to his side, taking his post beside the patient, and begin to pack the wound, applying pressure when necessary.

The battle now behind you must be getting closer. The ground vibrates more often around you, and explosions sound more intense than before. A shadow passing over makes you look up. A male hero with messy black hair and a green vest is blown through the air, crashing into a building further down. It looks extremely painful, but the hero appears again soon enough and runs back into the fray.

“Shit.” Eito coughs a bit more, watching the action as it continues.

Why isn’t anyone here yet? The location isn’t that far from the path you all already took. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find with the flare. You look desperately down the street in the direction you came from, eyes searching for any signs of help. There is a lot of smoke, but you’re not sure where it's coming from. Did something happen? If extraction was impossible, you would get a radio notice. So why haven’t you?

The radio.

You reach down to your side, grasp at the radio, and bring it up. It’s still working, the sturdy material is not damaged in the action. Turning it on, you radio out to your coworkers. It takes a minute before you get a response. You ask for an update or an estimated time of arrival.

The voice on the other end is choppy. “Did you…flare?”

“Yes.”

“Can’t…” It cuts out entirely. A moment later. “...smoke.”

You glance down at the patient. Time is ticking for him. Three options left: leave, stay, or split up. It’s a dangerous and risky move to split up in the middle of a battlefield like this. The smart move would be to call it a loss, to leave together. You know that. But you can’t just leave the patient here. He’s alive. He has a fighting chance.

You speak into the radio. “Sending help.”

But, who stays? Who goes? The person who leaves faces an unknown future. You have no idea what is happening behind all that smoke. Maybe it's okay, or maybe the streets and buildings are crumbling, or maybe there is another battle going on just beyond that veil of smoke. There’s no way to know.

You glance back at the battle raging behind you. It’s definitely getting closer. It won’t be too much longer before it’s practically on top of you. That comes with its own set of risks, and it’ll take someone used to this type of environment in order to make the final call on when to stay and when to give up. In the end, there isn’t a choice.

“Eito.” You look over. “You gotta go.”

“What?” His eyes go wide.

“Somethings wrong, they didn’t see our flare. Go get them, lead them back here.” He looks like he wants to argue, like he doesn’t want to leave you, but nods anyway. Standing up, he gives you one last look before rushing down the street. You watch him until his back disappears. You hope he’ll be okay. You hope he’ll be back in time.

You look back down at the patient, now-bloody hands holding his chest to stem the blood. The wound seems to be doing better after the packing, but it still presents the most immediate medical threat to the man. You’re not sure how much blood he lost in total, or how much more he can stand to lose. Biting your lip, you consider using your quirk. It’s a coin toss, really. It could solve most of your problems, it could solve the immediate threat, and give the patient more time to live. Or it could turn one patient into two.

“Fucking-WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!” You startle from your thoughts, looking up at the loud voice. Ground Zero flies overhead in a burst of orange light, landing on a large piece of debris a few meters away.

You open your mouth to reply, accidentally breathing in a mouthful of dust disturbed by his explosions. Crouching, you use one hand to hit your chest and the other to gesture down at the patient. You hope he understands.

“GO!” The blond gestures angrily and turns around, facing the looming threat. You put your hands back on the patient's chest and follow his line of vision. It’s close enough that you can see the hero with the black hair and green vest fighting. The man slams his hands on the ground and vibrations echo through the area. Another hero, a blond woman dressed in blue, runs around the base of the cloth doll. Ground Zero heads back into battle.

You look back at your patient. He’s pale but still breathing. You apply a snug pressure dressing over the packed wound and are able to let go. If the transport gets here soon, he’ll live. That’s not a medical diagnosis by any means, but something you feel in your gut. Maybe it’s just your stupid hope.

Still, the battle rages around you as the cloth doll takes another large step in your direction. You glance around at your potential escape routes and hiding areas if it were to get much closer. Other than monitoring the wound, there is not much else you can do at the moment for the patient. You look up at the battle.

The blue and green heroes run around the cloth doll, inflicting damage. It trips, but stands up and attacks another building. Ground Zero flies around the top, blasting the doll with explosion after explosion. The doll is mostly black from the attack, and partially on fire. Still, it continues to take another step in your direction. One massive hand flies up, hitting Ground Zero from the air. The blond goes flying back over the top of you, steadying himself with some well-placed blasts.

“MOVE IDIOT.” That angry yell is as clear as day. He pauses over top of you, looking down. Too far away to see his face. You shake your head slowly. No. You are not leaving him yet. There is still time. Curses rain down upon you in that gruff voice as he turns back towards the puppet, blasting into battle.

A yell from behind you grabs your attention. You turn around. A figure runs towards you from the smoke followed by one more...two more, both carrying a stretcher. Relief hits you smack in the chest. Shit, they made it.

Your team makes quick work in mobilizing the patient, working together seamlessly to deposit him on the stretcher and lift him up. Eito acts as a lookout as the three of you begin to carry him out of the attack area. Soon enough you see the ambulance lights ahead, a bit surprised to see an additional vehicle at the scene. They must have called for backup when they didn’t see your flare.

You all work quickly to get the patient into the free ambulance and jump in yourself. You end up staying beside the patient to monitor him as the others jump into the back and front, running different assessments that you couldn’t in the field as the vehicle begins to drive.

Honestly, he looks horrible. He is extremely pale, blood pressure and heart rate low. Despite your gut feeling in the field, he might not make it. His body is trying too hard to do everything at once. You and Eito work hard to stabilize him as much as possible but, it might just be too much. He’ll make it to the hospital, but after that, you don’t know.

Something tugs at your chest. Patients don’t always make it, you know that. You’ve had your fair share of patients you’ve saved die at the hospital, as well as those who die before they even make it. You feel for every one of them, for their families and loved ones. But something about this patient just makes you need to save him. You wonder why.

No, you know why. Now that you have a moment to breathe, you can’t help but realize the similarities. You flashback to a month ago, sitting in an ambulance and doing the same assessments on a patient less than half your age. The kid had gotten caught up in a villain attack and had been hit by some sort of emitter quirk in the chest. You had done everything you could and had been relatively confident as you loaded him in the ambulance.

He hadn’t made it to the hospital. His body went into sudden shock and there had been no way to bring him back. That was it.

You cried harder that night than you had in years. The next day, you went to your boss and demanded your vacation.

Now, your first time back in the field, you’re facing another chest wound. Another race against time. You always want to save patients, but you need to save this one. Reaching forward, you take the pressure dressing off. Eito gives you a weird look, turning to alarm when you begin to take out the wound packing.

“What are you doing?!” An appropriate response, really.

“We need new packing.” Wrong. Very wrong. “Can you grab some more?”

It's a testament to both just how new he is to the job and how nervous he is that he doesn’t question your order and simply turns to grab more dressing. This would not have worked with any of your other coworkers.

The second he looks away, you reach out a hand and place it on the patient's chest. Even if things go wrong, you’ll be okay. You’re on the way to the hospital anyway, right? Focus.

Pain sears through your chest. White. Hot. Nausea threatens to overwhelm you. You try to ignore it, continue until you feel the wound close beneath your hand. Something runs down your chest. Liquid. Your uniform begins to stick to you.

Eito turns back, immediately screaming out your name. You can’t say anything, the pain is too much. The man appears at your side, his mouth moves, but all you can hear is ringing.

Your vision goes black.

---------

Waking up in the hospital is never a great experience. Waking up alone in the hospital is even worse. You immediately register a lack of pain, probably from the drugs. You take a moment to orient yourself, looking around the room and remembering exactly why you are here. Reaching over, you press the button to call a nurse.

It’s daylight. Probably the next day. There doesn’t seem to be any cloth dolls roaming the streets from what you can see, so the heroes must have won. For once, you’re actually tempted to figure out what happened.

The nurse appears quickly, looking relieved that you are awake. He begins his own assessments, checking your vitals and asking some questions. He is satisfied with your results and answers, informs you that the doctor will be here to check up on you in a minute, and leaves.

You spend the next however-as-long staring out the window. You’re on a high floor, with a pretty nice view of the city. Your thoughts run slower than normal, but you wonder about your coworkers, the patient, and even the heroes. You hope they’re all okay. You’ll have to ask as soon as possible.

A knock on the door brings your attention to the doctor standing inside the room. She must have walked in without you noticing. She smiles at you and introduces herself.

“As you know, you suffered a deep chest wound due to impact trauma.” She explains, speaking in layman's terms. It’s probably a habit, but you’re too tired to correct her. “We were able to stitch you back up and get you stable. Now that you’re awake, I have full confidence that you’ll make a successful recovery. You’ll have to stay a few days for monitoring, but we’ll get you home soon enough.” You smile and thank her for her work.

“It is a bit strange though.” The doctor continues, looking down at her clipboard. “Your wound appeared under your uniform, but your uniform itself wasn’t damaged at all.” She looks up at you for an explanation, brows furrowing.

“Hah, that's weird.” You mutter, looking away. A moment of awkward silence, then you continue. “Do you know what happened to the other patient taken in at the same time?”

“I cannot tell you the status of other patients, my apologies.” She replies. Incorrect, in a way. You will find out the moment you flash your badge, but you don’t fight it. “Did you know him?”

“Uh, no.” You reply. “I was one of the EMTs that brought him in.”

The doctor looked shocked. “You're...an EMT?” She asked, looking down at her clipboard. She flips to the other side, narrows her eyes, and lets out a frustrated breath. “Why does nobody ever fill these out correctly?!” She mumbles, reaching into her pocket and grabbing a pen. She scribbles something on your chart.

“I’m sorry about that.” She finally looks back up, seemingly a bit embarrassed that she’s been speaking to another medical professional in layman's terms. “I didn’t know. They filled in your occupation as a student.”

“It’s okay.” You give a small smile. “Guess I should be happy they thought I was young enough.” Oh, that was a bad attempt at a joke. Damn.

She places your chart in the holder near the foot of the bed. “The other patient you came in with is being looked over by another doctor. I’ll get the information for you. For now though, just rest. You know how important this stage is.” She leaves soon after that.

You glance at the tv, considering. The news would be on, likely covering the attack in full. But you can feel the drug-induced drowsiness begin. It won't be long before you’re asleep. Turning on the tv doesn’t seem worth it. You look back out the window and daydream.

It takes less than five minutes before you fall back asleep.

You drift in and out of sleep for a while after that, never knowing exactly how long you were asleep for. Sometimes you are awake for longer, as the painkillers stop working and you have to call a nurse for more, and sometimes you are awake for only a minute or two.

The doctor does come back one of these times. As she adds more painkillers to your system, she informs you of the other patient. Apparently, he is stable, and in good condition, although he hasn’t woken up. The doctor in charge of him doesn’t seem to be concerned.

Hearing that is like a weight off of your back. He lived. You did your job and he lived. There were no casualties on your watch. While it doesn’t absolve you of your lingering feelings of regret towards the kid, something inside of you feels just a little more ‘right’ after hearing that. The doctor leaves as you fall back asleep, feeling much better than before.

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

You are startled awake by a loud sound.

“Where the FUCK is she?!” A familiar gruff voice. You blink yourself into more consciousness and glance around. Your room is still empty, the screams coming from the hallway.

“Sir! You need to calm down!” Another voice.

“Then tell me where she is!”

“Sir! You’re not allowed to-”

The voice cuts off just as you see a flash of orange and black pass through your slightly open door. The orange pauses, directly in front, and the door opens.

It's him.

You stare up at him in shock from your hospital bed. What the hell is he doing here? The blond is dressed in his hero costume, the same one that you saw earlier but...cleaner. Do heroes have multiple versions of their suits in case one gets dirty? How do you even clean some of those suits? Is there a thriving hero suit cleaning business somewhere? Wait, what are you thinking?

You blink to focus your thoughts. Damn drugs.

The blond hero stomps over to the side of your bed, a scowl on his face. “What the fuck were you thinking?!”

You flinch back at his loud voice. What. is. Happening.

“Why didn’t you fucking move, idiot?!” His voice is a bit quieter this time. Just a bit. “You risked his life, your life, that other extras life, for what?! Don’t be out there if you freeze, dumbass.”

Oh, this is a lecture.

“I couldn’t move him…” You find your voice.

“Hah?!”

“I thought-” You clear your throat. “He might have had a spinal injury. If I moved him, I risked injuring him more, or worse.” You look down at your fingers, clutching the blanket. When he doesn’t immediately respond, you look back up. Those red eyes are looking at you with a narrowed expression. You can’t read him.

“C’mon, we need to go.” A new, deep voice comes from the door. You look over towards the door, where a man stands in front of a team of nervous-looking nurses. It must be another hero, not that you recognize him. A blue man dressed in a puffy black jacket and blue pants.

“Yea, yea. One fucking minute. ” Ground Zero responds, not looking away from you. “What the fuck were you even doing out there?! You’re not supposed to be inside the perimeter!” Your head hurts, his loud voice echoing painfully in your skull. You want this to be over, whatever it is.

“He survived.” You look back up to him, meeting his eyes as calmly as you can. “Because of what we did , that man is going to live. Without the flare, would you have even seen him? Without Eito using his quirk, would you have been fast enough to save him?”

The blond doesn't seem to react, but you notice his hands curl into tight fists at his side. You can’t imagine what he could say to your words, you speak the truth after all. While it had done absolutely nothing for your team, the flare is what led the heroes to realize someone was there and alive on the street. There is no way they noticed before, or else the man would have been moved earlier. And no matter how quick the blond can move with his explosions, that building would have crumbled on top of all of you without Eitos quirk being able to pause it. The man would not have lived through that. He would have been buried and forgotten.

You continue to meet his eyes. “It’s my job. Surely you of all people would understand, hero .” Your voice is darker than normal, angrier after being yelled at for no reason.

“Ground Zero. We need to go.” The blue man's voice is more insistent. In the corner of your eye you can see a larger crowd has formed behind him in the hallway. The blond straightens up, eyes flickering over you in the hospital bed. The scowl fades into a more confused frown.

“Now.” The blue man says. No room for argument.

The blond's eyes look at your angry face one last time before he turns and walks out the door with the blue man. The crowd begins to disperse quickly afterward.

“What was that?” Your nurse from before pops his head in, looking between you and down the hallway.

“I have no idea.” You shrug. “My head hurts, though, can I have a bit more of the meds?”

He chuckles, walking over to check if it was possible. A moment later, he confirms. “After all that, sure.”

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

You feel more awake the next time you wake up as if you know you’ll be able to avoid sleep for at least a few hours this time. Unfortunately, it looks like the sun is setting outside. You missed the day.

Something new is on the little table beside the bed. A plastic bag, full of probably the items that you had on your person as you came in: your I.D, your work badge, and your phone. It is the phone that gives you pause.

You think about not looking. It can’t be that bad, right? It’s only been... probably less than 24 hours since the villain attacked. Nobody is going to freak out in that little of a time.

Who are you kidding?

You grab your phone and turn it on, grateful that it still has battery life. You’ll ask the nurse for a cord later.

[ 10 Missed Messages ]

[ 15 Missed Calls ]

You let out a long breath, skip the messages and go straight to your contact list. There are only two people who would have called you: Dad and Naoko. Naoko, as your emergency contact, should know that you are in the hospital and okay. Dad though… You hit call.

It picks up on the second ring. He screams your name into the phone, making you cringe and hold it further from your face.

“Hey, Dad.”

“ARE YOU OKAY?” He screams again.

“Yes, I’m fine. Stop screaming!”

He goes on. “Where are you? Why didn’t you respond? Are you injured? Should I come get you? I’m coming to get-”

“Dad, stop.” You interrupt. “I’m okay!”

“Did you use your quirk?”

Hesitation. “No. I wasn’t even in the area of the attack. I was at the office.”

“What was with the pause?” He insists. “Are you lying to me? You know you can’t use your quirk. If they find out then…”

You look around your hospital room. “No, I’m not lying to you.” Your heart hurts. Your eyes feel hot. “I didn’t even know there was an attack, really. I was working on this big accounting...thing.”

A long silence where you can just hear him mumbling on the other side. Then, “Just...text or call me next time, okay? I was worried.”

“I know.” You sigh. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better about it.”

“Okay.” He replies. “I gotta go. Talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you.” And he hangs up. You feel...a bit empty as you lay back against the bed. You hate lying to him, but that's what your life has become.

Your hand rests on your chest, lightly running over the bandage you can feel through the loose t-shirt you are wearing. It’ll probably scar. How are you going to explain that? He’s going to know. He’s not dumb.

Your quirk doesn’t have a fancy hero name, you never thought of one for it and none was ever assigned to you as you are legally ‘quirkless’. It’s a simple quirk at face value, where you can heal hypothetically any wound by touching them. You never tested the limits of your quirk, so there may be some you don’t know of. The wound gets transferred to yourself, healed by a random chance of anywhere between 25-75%. That means that no matter what, the wound is healed by at least 25%, and could be almost completely healed. Cool, right?

Not exactly. You have to ‘roll the dice’ on your own health any time you try to heal someone. If you were to try and heal a fatal wound and get unlucky, you would die. You also cannot control what part of the wound heals in the process. The wound doesn’t heal in a ‘most important’ type way. The 25% that might heal during transference might be the smallest or least helpful part. You cannot rely on it. For example: if you were to use your quirk on a gunshot wound, you may end up with healed skin and no visible entry wound, but have all the remaining internal injuries. Not only could this make dying faster, but it could make it much more difficult for medical professionals to help. It is beyond risky.

Your quirk had manifested when you were about five and playing with some kids at a park. You had initially been really excited at your glowing green hand, despite not knowing what exactly it meant, and ran home to tell your dad. However, your excitement dropped instantly at the look of pure horror on his face. You had been a late bloomer in regards to your quirk and he had been hoping that you would be like him, quirkless.

Instead, you ended up with a healing quirk. Healing quirks are very rare and very sought after by hero agencies. You don’t know of a single person with any sort of healing quirk (big or small) that doesn’t work directly in the hero industry. They are usually recruited at a young age and brought to special training, to hone their quirk as much as possible to use on heroes.

That’s what happened to your mother. She had been a top healer in many large agencies throughout her life. Her quirk allowed her to heal others using her own energy. If she fell asleep or got injured, the healing would stop. Dad says she was always drinking energy drinks and caffeine to keep her levels up. In the end, her hero work is what killed her. You’ve heard the story many times throughout your childhood, Dad working hard to ensure you won’t follow in her footsteps, to ensure that you won't end up a victim of the (as he called it) ‘healing quirk curse ‘.

Well, look at you now. Maybe he was on to something about the curse.

You take another moment to recoup before going back to your contact list. You hit the call button.

[ Contact: Naoko ]

She picks up after three rings. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Not this again.” You groan. “Yea, I’m fine. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Well, yea.” She replies, voice quieter. “But it's different to hear it from you versus some random nurse. I tried to come to visit you to see for myself, but they wouldn’t let me in.”

“That’s weird.” You mutter. “You are my emergency contact.”

“I know, right?!” She grumbles. “So, what happened? I assume it was in the villain attack.”

“Yeah.” You begin your story, leaving out Ground Zero (you would tell her later) and just how close the attack had been (it would only worry her). “In the end, some debris fell from a building onto us. That’s how I got injured. Luckily we had the patient already in the stretcher and the team got me to the ambulance.” Your heart pulled angrily at the lie. It always felt bad, but after your phone call with your dad, it just hit harder.

Someday you’d tell her. You told yourself that every time. You trust Naoko a lot, and the girl could keep a secret. It’s just...difficult. Not only would you have to admit that you’ve been lying to her for years (something she might not forgive you for), you’d have to tell her everything . It’s a lot and...something you’ve been putting off for a while.

“You’re gonna put me into an early grave girl.” She sighs. “Talk to the doctors and I’ll come to bring you some stuff. When are you being released?”

“In a few days, apparently.” You reply. “Can you bring my laptop too? I feel like I’ll be bored as hell in here.”

“Of course!”

The two of you talk for a few more minutes before you hang up. You hit the ‘call nurse’ button and wait for them to arrive. Time to find out why your friend was denied access.

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugouxreader #bakugou x you #bakugou fanfiction #reader-insert #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x reader #j writes

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snkpolls · 3 years

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SnK Episodes 73 & 74 Poll Results (for Manga Readers)

The poll closed with 135 responses. Thank you to everyone who participated!

Please note that these are the results for the Manga Readers’ poll. If you wish to see the results for the Anime Only Watchers’ poll, click here.

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RATE EPISODE 73: SAVAGERY 129 responses

As expected, this highly anticipated episode didn’t fail to deliver and fans absolutely loved it, with over 95% giving it a 4-5 star rating.

I loved the episode 73. The fight between Levi and Zeke was spectacular! The animation was 10/10, definitely worth watching. Good, old Kenny's theme brought memories back. I have to admit that Mappa made Levi look hundred times better and definitely more masculine.

RATE EPISODE 74: SOLE SALVATION 128 responses

While episode 74 generated slightly less enthusiasm across the board, it still managed to garner a high rating from respondents.

when i read the manga version, i wasn't that much moved by zeke's backstory. but with the music, voice and color additions... it's fucking heartbreaking. mappa did an outstanding job. and the tension when he activated the thunder spear???? the animation? we were blessed. ALSO! the movement of the bodies when they threw the ball looked so realistic! it's a tiny detail that i loved.

Zook

WHICH WAS THE MOST MEMORABLE MOMENT OF EPISODE 73? 128 responses

Levi vs. Zeke 2.0 got the largest piece of the pie, getting 23.4% of the vote. Behind that was the moment when Levi had to kill his comrades in titan form (14.8%), Armin punching Eren in the face (14.1%), Eren disparaging Armin and Mikasa (11.7%), and at 8.6%, that one screenshot of Armin the entire fandom was thirsting over. Shoutout to the person in the comments who wanted Mikasa to pin them down (the pollster writing this feels the same!).

💥🐒 mOnKe and Lebi 🍄and Jean go BOOM 🐎💥

For me, the real gem of EMA talk isn't that one Armin frame that everyone's going crazy about. It's the frame before it, that low angle of Mikasa half sitting on the table holding Armin down. Holy...I wanted to be Armin so bad right at that moment.

WHICH WAS THE MOST MEMORABLE MOMENT OF EPISODE 74? 127 responses

35.4% felt the most memorable scene from this episode was the ending scene where Zeke triggers the thunderspear and sends Levi flying. Behind that was the moment where Zeke listens to Grisha yelling through the door (18.1%), Zeke and Ksaver coming up with the euthenasia plan together (8.7%) and Ksaver telling Zeke to sell out his parents (7.9%).

EPISODE 73 IS TITLED, “SAVAGERY.” OF THE OPTIONS BELOW, WHICH CHARACTER DO YOU THINK BEST EXEMPLIFIED THIS WORD? 128 responses

In an episode filled with both verbal and physical violence, we asked which character you thought best exemplified the episode’s title. 35.2% felt that Eren was the worst offender with his words and actions against Armin and Mikasa. 29.7% felt that Levi’s violent acts against Zeke were deserving of the title “savagery.” Only 22.7% felt that Floch most suited the episode title, while just a small handful, 12.5%, felt that Zeke is the one most deserving of the term.

HOW BADLY DID YOU FEEL ABOUT LEVI HAVING TO KILL HIS OWN SQUAD? 127 responses

The majority felt, on at least some level, sorrow for what Levi had to do in order to survive and catch up to Zeke. Though a small handful didn’t feel too bad for our Captain.

ON A SCALE OF 1-5, HOW WOULD YOU RATE LEVI VS. ZEKE 2.0? 127 responses

In general, the fight received positive reception. Though it wasn’t all hype, as the highest ranking was actually a 4 and not a 5. It was hype, but not quite hype enough for us manga readers.

I loved Levi vs Zeke 2.0 but they really should have used the instrumental version instead of K21, I laughed out loud when I heard that beacuse I felt like it took all the seriousness from the scene

levi and zeke goat

WHY DO YOU THINK FLOCH MADE THE RECRUITS BATTER INSTRUCTOR SHADIS? 128 responses

The majority of respondents feel that Floch’s motivations are a mix of factors. For those who did think there was a more specific reason, though, 16.4% felt it’s simply a matter of Floch having a massive ego trip. 10.2% feel that Floch truly believes what he says about taking out the old and bringing in the new, and 7.8% believe Floch simply wanted to make an example out of Shadis (presumably alluding to the fate of those who resist the Yeagerists).

He was testing if the recruits can go this far

He wants to intimidate people into joining his cause by using violence and threats of arrest and also make them feel empowered by his ideals.

Standard protocol when there's a change of regime, you'd want to eliminate the old guards' influence ASAP.

That's how fascism works

All of the above and the fact that he's a fascist.

HOW CUTE WAS BITTY ZEKE? 130 responses

After a long time waiting, we finally got to see child Zeke in animated form. The vast majority think he was cute as a button, ready to pinch his little baby cheeks! Only a small handful think bby Zeke is anything but cute.

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT GRISHA’S TREATMENT OF ZEKE? 130 responses

This chapter created more controversy surrounding Grisha after it’s publication. In general, fans still aren’t particularly proud of Grisha’s behavior. 36.9% felt that Zeke didn’t deserve any of the treatment he got from his father, and 24.6% outright want to give Grisha the award for worst parent in the entire series. 24.6% don’t approve of Grisha’s behavior, but they do empathize with the way Grisha must have felt. 10.8% feel that while he could have treated Zeke better, he also could have been much worse.

Zeke was a sweet child but no child deserves to be treated like that regardless of how nice or well behaved they are. Grisha is disgusting.

Grisha was a large dick and asshole and he deserved the all punishment he got.

Grisha is a terrible father but such a well written character

it's crazy to me how people really thought grisha wasn't that in the wrong in terms of how he raised zeke.

DO YOU FEEL THAT ZEKE WOULD HAVE GROWN INTO AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT KIND OF PERSON IF GRISHA HAD TREATED HIM BETTER? 129 responses

Just over half of respondents think it’s possible Zeke could have become a different kind of person if he’d had a brighter and happier childhood, though they didn’t want to say for sure as they feel that Grisha’s treatment wasn’t the sole reason why Zeke sees the world the way he does. 41.9% believe that the outcome of Zeke’s mindset would have been completely different. Only a few think that he would have come to the same conclusions about the world either way.

Unless Grisha gives up being a restorationist I don't see it as better treatment, if he does then yes

Yes. The whole point for the euthanasia plan was that Eldian children don't have to go through what he went through.

WHO DO YOU THINK HAD A BIGGER IMPACT IN SHAPING ZEKE’S WORLDVIEW? 126 responses

When it comes to “father figures” in Zeke’s life, 65.1% believe that Ksaver holds much more responsibility than Grisha does when it comes to the way Zeke views the world.

WHO TURNED OUT MORE LIKE GRISHA, IN YOUR OPINION? 128 responses

Between Grisha’s two sons, 68% of respondents feel that Eren is the brother who turned out much more similarly to Grisha, leaving only 32% who feel the opposite and think Zeke ultimately turned out more like Grisha in the end (For those who are curious, 81% of anime-only fans feel that Eren is the one who turned out more like Grisha).

WHO WOULD YOU MOST LIKE TO PUNCH IN THE FACE AFTER THESE EPISODES? 129 responses

There was a lot that happened in these episodes that could have bred resentment from fans. From the options provided, 35.7% of respondents would most like to punch Floch in the face. 22.5% wish to channel their inner Armin and give Eren a sock to the face. 14.7% felt more visceral toward Grisha. 11.6% don’t want to punch anyone at all. For those who wanna punch the pollsters, meet us out back at 16:00 hours.

Floch sucks

HOW DO YOU FEEL FINALLY GETTING TO SEE THE PAINFUL EMA CONVERSATION IN ANIME FORM? 127 responses

A lot has happened since chapter 112 published, but the chapter still continues to stick with us and spark conversation. With such a highly anticipated scene finally being animated, we wanted to know how you felt seeing the scene reimagined with music, voice acting and color. 29.9% just felt that the chapter hits much differently now after the contents of chapter 138. 25.2% had a much harder time watching the scene in anime form than they felt reading the manga. 12.6% felt even more strongly, expressing extreme heartbreak over E/MA’s breakup. Only a handful of respondents felt the scene hit much harder in the manga.

I'm over it, I felt nothing. Props to Yuki Kaji though, his voice acting is as amazing as ever.

I liked both manga and anime versions, but hearing Armin's sharp intakes of breath from being hit ;~; MY POOR BABY!

M M G H, boi

mmgh

There is no pain, only support for whatever horny animator drew that shot of Armin.

I love EMA emotionally destroying each other and Mappa made it SO FUCKING GOOD, I watched this scene like 100 times

Eren = me | Armin's fist = EMA scene punching me across my expressionless face | Mikasa = my anime-only gf

BEFORE THE FINAL CHAPTER HITS, WHAT DO YOU THINK WAS EREN’S “TRAIN OF THOUGHT” IN REGARDS TO HIS WORDS IN THIS CONVERSATION? 126 responses

With the last chapter just over a week away, we’re hoping to finally get some closure in terms of Eren’s characterization and the choices he’s made. 42.9% believe that Eren chose to be cruel to his friends in the hope it would drive them to be willing to put an end to Eren’s life. 24.6% felt the opposite, hoping that Eren would push them into a corner where they wouldn’t interfere with his plan at all. 18.3% still aren’t sure what to think. Will we get answers, Isayama?!

He wants to "free" Mikasa and armin from himself because he knew he was gonna die

Probably the first option but there might be some truth to what he was saying.

He definitely wanted to push them away and antagonize them but I'm still not completely sure why. I don't feel we've gotten a satisfying explanation.

He chose to be cruel to Mikasa and Armin in an attempt to make it so they wouldn't mourn him when he was dead and could be free of him entirely.

Eren still has heart warming feelings to Mikasa and - by being cruel - he wanted her to let him go (and most likely) kill him. His feelings to Armin however are much colder and they don't seem to like each other anymore. They are way too different. Armin and Eren are like two deities who will always fight each other.

Like he said in 138, he wanted to push them away so they would move on from his death and live happily without him.

SOME DIALOGUE FROM THE EMA CONVERSATION WAS CUT OR SHORTENED. WHICH PART(S) DID YOU MISS THE MOST? 125 responses

Due to time constraints, the EMA conversation took a big hit in terms of how much content was cut from it. Of the cuts we noticed, the dialogue snippets that were most missed by manga readers were; Eren bringing up Armin’s good judgement when they were younger, Eren telling Mikasa that the “real her” disappeared in the mountain cabin, the mention of Ackermans being a “byproduct” of titan science, and the mention that Ackermans manifest the power of titans in human form.

OVERALL, HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE AFOREMENTIONED CUTS? 123 responses

When it comes to how manga readers actually felt about the cuts in the EMA conversation, 35% agreed that they felt bitter about them, while still understanding that there was probably little other choice. 22% think it was just too watered down and cut down the impact significantly. 14.6% didn’t care, 11.4% felt the cuts were actually a positive thing, and 10.6% feel that the manga is simply just the superior medium for this series.

I find it interesting that the titan science stuff was cut and wonder if maybe Isayama agreed to those cuts bc he knows he won't have time to really explain in the last chapter of the manga.

Oof, too many important informations have been cut.

I'm okay either way!

Although I would've loved to see all of those aforementioned cuts animated, I understand why they had to be cut in the first place, so I'm not bitter by it at all. I still think the conversation still had the impact it was intended to have.

I kind of understand why some dialogues would have to be cut but it lessened the impact of how Eren tried to hurt his friends which I personally think is too much even if he might have good intentions in doing so. I also like how MAPPA rearranges scenes to better fit the airtime limitation of each episode.

MAPPA CHANGED EREN’S EXPRESSION AFTER HE WAS CALLED OUT BY ARMIN. THOUGHTS? 127 responses

A small change can impact a lot… or perhaps not. 34.6% felt let down by the change in Eren’s facial expression after Armin calls him out for hurting Mikasa, feeling that his original expression spoke volumes about his true feelings about what he’d done. 28.3% didn’t notice any change at all and so are unaffected. 15.7% are on a similar page and feel that there really wasn’t enough of a difference to gripe about anything, and 9.4% actually preferred the way MAPPA handled Eren in this snippet.

as they did when mikasa calls him out in liberio, they harden his expressionstry to make him look like a heartless monster with no empathy for his friends. this expression hinted that he was hurt by telling all of that to his friends, so his self sacrifice motivations can be misunderstood by anime onlies, or worse: they may even think it comes out of nowhere.

The manga was just superior here, from his expression to the fact that Armin did manage to make him bleed. It was disappointing.

I read this chapter way too long ago, I don't remember this stuff

He looks a lot more hurt and regretful in the Manga. Anime just looks annoyed.

Not a big deal to me. Manga is definitely superior though.

In the manga Eren was more human, while here we can clearly see his anger towards Armin's words.

THE ANIME ADAPTATION CUT OUT A BIT OF CONTEXT IN REGARDS TO LEVI STATING THAT THEY WILL FEED A YEAGERIST TO HISTORIA AFTER SHE GIVES BIRTH. DO YOU THINK THIS MAKES THINGS CONFUSING FOR THE ANIME-ONLIES? 123 responses

Historia’s pregnancy plot continues to get the shaft (for better or for worse), with the mention of her eventually eating the Yeagerist that eats Zeke being cut out entirely. 39% of respondents felt that this was a poor choice on MAPPA’s part, feeling that it will make things confusing for anime only fans (“why would they feed Zeke to a Yeagerist?”). 26% feel the opposite, and think anime only fans should be able to put 2 and 2 together to realize where Levi was going with his idea. 22% aren’t sure if it actually makes things confusing, and 10.6% just don’t care.

I'm not sure how confusing this makes it for anime-onlies but them cutting out mentions of her pregnancy makes it seem even less important than it already does.

That plan was shut down so quickly it doesn't matter

I don't/didn't really understand this. None of the Yeagerist have royal blood... maybe I'm missing something. I figured he was just joking? Bc, tactically, what does Historia eating a Yeagerist do or have to do with anything?

HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THE ADAPTATION OF THE ZEKE RUNNING PANEL? 124 responses

When Zeke ran from Levi in the manga, the scene was memed to death. 46.8% of respondents weren’t disappointed in MAPPA’s adaptation and felt it was just as enjoyable as it was in the manga. 29.8% felt even more strongly, thinking MAPPA did an even better job than Isayama had done. 17.7% still prefer the manga version.

It was funny in the manga but not in the anime and that's probably for the best given the weight of what's about to happen.

I honestly don't remember the running panel lmao

Funny monke

HOW WELL WAS ZEKE’S BACKSTORY ADAPTED, IN YOUR OPINION? 126 responses

60.3% felt that MAPPA did an incredible job with executing Zeke’s backstory in the anime, with the impact feeling even greater than it did in the original manga. 37.3% agree to a lesser degree, simply being pleased that it was faithful to the source material and feel thankful enough for that. Only a sliver of the pie felt that MAPPA didn’t deliver well on this or didn’t care.

Made him too sympathetic/made grisha look even worse

MAPPA REPLACED THE MONKEY PLUSHIE WITH A RAM PLUSHIE IN KSAVER’S VISION. THOUGHTS? 125 responses

We got a couple of Easter Eggs in this episode, with one of them being the inclusion of a ram plushie in place of the monkey doll that was in the manga. Knowing now that Ksaver’s Beast Titan was a ram, we were curious how many of you caught this. 55.2% absolutely loved the easter egg, and 31.2% just felt that it was neat. A few were confused, missed monke, or wanted to squish the adorable plushie. Baa!

I jumped out of my seat seeing that little fecker. I was literally like "...!!!! THE RAM!!! WE KNOW KSAVER'S TITAN NOW SO THEY PUT IN A RAM!! YOU..!!! ISAYAMAAAAA!!" It was hilarious XD

THE DOLLS IN KSAVER’S VISION APPEAR TO RESEMBLE ARMIN, MIKASA AND HISTORIA. WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THIS? 121 responses

Aside from the ram plushie were also dolls that some thought seemed to resemble Armin, Mikasa and Historia. We got very mixed responses on this question. 20.7% felt that it was simply just a fun easter egg and didn’t hold any kind of narrative meaning. 19% were unsure what to think at all. 16.5% think the third doll actually represents Ymir Fritz and not Historia. 15.7% felt it was meant to represent the three people Eren is working hardest to protect, and 9.1% didn’t think they represented anything.

i thought that was ymir fritz, zeke, and either eren or levi

I think the two dolls inside the box look more like Gabi and Falco but I'm not sure who the doll with the pink dress is, Ymir Fritz maybe?

I didn't even notice this, lmao. I'm bored of overthinking things like this, there's one chapter left y'all.

Oh, I thought it was Eren, Zeke and Ymir lol.

Reminds me of the Eren doll in the Lost Girls OVA.

The box represents those who we will see in the final chapter. Sorry Historia :'(

All of the above xD

The doll isn't Historia - It's Ymir Frtiz - and her position under the wagon means that Eren values Mikasa and Eren more than Ymir/anything else. I think the wagon is also significant to that bit where Eren confessed to the squad that they were the most important people in his life, and that he doesn't want anything bad to happen to them.

EREN TELLS ZEKE, “I’LL PUT AN END TO 2,000 YEARS OF TITAN DOMINATION.” EVEN AFTER EVERYTHING, DO YOU BELIEVE IT’S POSSIBLE THAT THIS WAS HIS TRUE INTENTION, AND THAT HE CAN STILL BE THE ONE TO MAKE IT HAPPEN? 122 responses

Will there be a final twist in the series finale? 34.4% seem to think so, hoping that Eren’s words will ring true and he will somehow abolish titans from the world. 23% feel similarly, though they think he knew his actions would lead to the catalyst to rid titans from the world, rather than him doing it himself. 12.3% feel the opposite, and think Eren was simply just lying to Zeke about bringing an end to the titan power, and 9.8% think he’s just too dead at this point to accomplish anything. 19.7% aren’t sure what to predict.

Yes, ending the era of titans and setting Eldians free is one of Eren's goals.

GIVEN THAT ZEKE’S FLASHBACK ELEMENTS FROM 115 WERE ALSO ADAPTED IN THIS CHAPTER, DO YOU THINK THE FINAL EPISODE WILL HAVE ANY ANIME-ONLY SCENES? 124 responses

The episode has already aired and we can now confirm that there were no additional scenes. 41.9% were correct in their hunch that the remaining contents would be enough to fill an entire episode - in fact, they didn't even end up animating all of it! What about Levi and Hange?!

Since we won't reach Ch. 121 or 122 I don't really care.

Since Mappa took over, not anymore :(

What tou MEAN ”the final episode”?!

HOW DO YOU FEEL KNOWING THAT ANIME ONLY FANS WON’T HAVE A SOLID ANSWER ON LEVI’S FATE FOR MONTHS? 127 responses

We didn’t expect this question to come off as cruel as it now feels after MAPPA didn’t even throw us a bone in episode 75 about Levi’s fate. That being said, 29.1% are ready to snack on their popcorn while they watch anime onlies worry and theorize over Levi’s fate. 21.3% are simply feeling mischievous. 9.4% think it’s cruel to take any delight in anime watchers’ woes, as we also had to experience the same thing for several months. 33.9% think it will be next to impossible for anime only fans to avoid being spoiled about Levi’s fate.

It should be fairly obvious he's alive when they show Hange jumping in the river with him next episode.

Good. I think most of them will assume he's not dead yet though.

Maybe it will inspire some of them to read the manga to find out.

Ugh, I hope they won't be complaining as much as the manga readers did even though it was obvious he's not dead.

THE PREVIEW ONLY REVEALED ONE SCENE TO US. SO INSTEAD, WHICH MOMENT FROM CHAPTER 115/116 ARE YOU MOST ANTICIPATING? 126 responses

31% of respondents were most looking forward to the moment where Pieck declared Eren as the enemy. 23% had most anticipated seeing Ymir revive Zeke (rip) and 19.8% were most looking forward to seeing Hange dive into the river with Levi’s injured body (double rip). 10.3% were most anticipating the scene with Eren, Pieck and Gabi in the jail room, and 7.1% were most hyped about Marley’s airships showing up onto the scene.

WE’VE ONLY GOT ONE EPISODE LEFT FOR THIS RUN! HOW ARE YOU FEELING ABOUT IT? 125 responses

59.2% were feeling hyped to get an announcement about a part 2 of the season. 24%, on the other hand, are bummed out and have a new void to fill in their heart while they wait. 11.2% feel similarly and on a greater level… the seasons between the SnK anime seasons are just the worst anime seasons of all!

Too distracted by manga-ending-anxiety to feel much about it

Disappointed. It's not actually the final season.

I'm ready for this season of heartbreak to be over thank you just put me out of my misery and stop dragging me along behind the car

I can't believe it's near ending already

DO YOU THINK WE WILL GET AN ANNOUNCEMENT ABOUT THE NEXT ANIME INSTALLMENT NEXT WEEK? 122 responses

54.1% of respondents were hopeful for a part 2 announcement and the good news is that MAPPA didn’t let them down. 19.7% were right on the nose with this one!

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS ON THE EPISODES?

GOAT

The scene with Levi's comrades turning into Titans was one of the most visually stunning moments for me; the whole panning out throughout as they all started turning sort of gave me chills. Levi's reaction to it all, and ultimately having to kill them too was heartbreaking. Honestly that entire scene was quite gripping. I hate to admit that watching it in anime form has sort of solidified me resonating with Zeke in regards to his relationship with Grisha. Dude just wanted to spend time with his freaking dad and instead went through all of that, I don't blame him for the resentment at all. Still a douche for some of the stuff he's done. And ersonally I prefer him over Eren. Eren never went through that kind of treatment from Grisha and ended up... like that. Also!!!!!! Love me some Bertholdt crumbs, thank you Mappa! God, I miss him. :(

The removal of mostly anything mentioning titan scientists/research and Ackermans being a byproduct of titan science makes me wonder if Isayama regretted introducing that. I was already disappointed the manga didn't expand on that and the anime made it worse. Almost nonexistent tbh. Loved seeing Zeke's backstory, like all the other children in this series, he deserved better.

The ost during Floch's speech was brilliant. Young Zeke and Grisha VAs also. Makes me want to adopt Zeke right there. Not sure if Pieck and Porco already appeared as background characters (in ep 13&14) there were some figures that looked like them so I can't wait for the next episode!

Nah, I just loved them

These were one of the best of the season!

i just want more, also i loved MAPPA's style so far

In those episodes, the emotions weren't as strong as in the manga. I didn't feel much. And for the EMA talk... well, I liked Eren's neutral expression in the manga better, it was more fitted. And the animation of his "fight" with Armin was absolutely terrible, and it's sad to say that when you know that Mappa can do so much better.

*points at Zeke* WITNESSED!!

MAPPA stans Armin, it shows, and I am 100% here for it.

Being aware if latest chapters, I see young Zeke with different eyes

Mappa has done a fabulous job so far. The only thing I hoped for is that they should not have made the face difference so obvious from previous seasons to the last one, for the benefit of anime-only people. Yes, they stayed true to the manga, but their animators had to have control over it, which is what happened in S1 where girls had some sort of gloss on their lips and Yams requested for them to be removed in succeeding episodes.. that tells me that the animators/mappa have some semblance of control over how the characters look

I think MAPPA is doing a good job with the episodes.

Feels. That is all.

I really loved how Mappa executed that scene wint Ksaver's wife's murder/suicide. In the manga, they just outright depict it happening in the room. In the anime, they blended it in with the present surroundings. It literally gave me the chills. I do worry that the missing dialogue from the EMA scene, especially Eren explaining how Mikasa's dedication to him is nothing but science. I also worry about him not mentioning the slave/freedom thing, bc afaik the dialogue in the leaked panel of 139 says ""you are free"", and I always thought it was gonna be related to that.

WHERE DO YOU PRIMARILY DISCUSS THE SERIES? 118 responses

Thanks again to everyone who participated! We will post the poll for episode 75 soon!

In the meantime, please feel free to send us up to 5 of your favorite characters via ask or submission for our ongoing popularity poll - that poll will close on the 10th of April! :D

#snk poll #snk polls #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #snk #aot #snk spoilers #snk s4

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icypantherwrites · 3 years

Text

Announcement: Changes Coming to Icy’s AO3 and Patreon

About a year and a half ago I wrote an open letter addressing the steady decline of not just the Voltron fandom but how my own history with fanfiction in general has changed. I said then that I wasn’t sure of my direction entirely, but given my relationship with these two things I wanted to try to still be here and still engage and share my stories and, in part, that still remains true.

I’m in a very different place than I was back then, and a lot of things have changed both with myself and with the fandom and even with the world with a lot of personal things cropping up these last few weeks. And I have been mulling this over for not just weeks but months, always shoving this thought away because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, didn’t want to hurt anyone, didn’t want to come off as being entitled or uncaring or unkind. But the fact of the matter is this:

Posting fanfiction no longer brings me joy it once did.

Years ago, fanfiction was my outlet. The Voltron fandom community was so welcoming. It gave me a sense of purpose, a sense of belonging, restored my love of writing I’d previously buried, and it was a ray of sunshine and hope. I wrote and wrote and wrote and posted and posted and posted because I loved hearing from readers, engaging with fellow fans, and having the opportunity to share my works and stories and to connect with others and even, in some cases, to help promote healing and those are still my favorite works of them all ♥

But as we’ve all seen, these days the fandom isn’t like that anymore. There are less readers and those that are still here are on the whole less engaged (not all, absolutely not, and I thank those regular readers, those that leave such kind, uplifting, detailed comments so so so much for still being here). I knew that. I know that. And I’m not looking to cast blame on anyone or anything. But as any creator knows, it is hard to post a story you’ve poured heart and soul into, that you’re so excited to share, and the response is not what you had hoped for.

This is where I tend to get the anon messages telling me I’m entitled, I should be happy with the comments I get, etc. etc. and to that I say look, I get it. But this isn’t about you. It’s about me and how I feel and my feelings are my own. It’s hard to look at older fics of mine and see the love and attention they got and then at newer ones that have barely a few hundred hits. It’s hard to see the sheer amount of subscribers I still have (over 1,300 author alerts on AO3) and not see that reflected anywhere else (not even in kudos xDDD). And it’s hard for me to put myself before others because I am a people pleaser and I value others’ happiness above my own, but that is what I have finally decided to do.

I love writing. I absolutely love writing. And I still want to share it, I still want to connect with people through it. But I can’t keep doing what I’ve been doing knowing how excited I get and then how crushed I am following the post. I’ve tried in the last few months posting different character features, different types of angst (physical and emotional), fix-it fics, even a softer fluffier one, posting one-shots and chaptered fics and hoping some work out there would give me just that glimmer of response and engagement, but nothing has really seemed to click with readers.

So I’ve decided, that starting January 2021, I will no longer be posting the majority of my works on Archive of Our Own. Instead, going forward, the majority of my works will be posted exclusively to my Patreon. And to be clear; this is not about a financial component. This is for my mental health as while I can’t say I won’t still struggle with engagement issues on my Patreon, it’s a lot easier a pill to swallow when there are only ~100 possible readers instead of an unlimited number and only a handful pop in.

And I’ll also say I did not want this outcome. I tried so hard not to make this thought into reality. But once I finally committed to this decision… it’s like a giant weight has been lifted off of me and I’m finally able to breathe. I’ve had this feeling several other times in my life — with work and boyfriends and friendships — and in each of those cases I finally made the decision that was in my best interests and not theirs and the relief that came from it was so freeing. I’m still sad it came to this, that my relationship with fanfiction and this fandom has changed so much, but I’m proud of myself for finally being able to take that step towards helping myself.

All of this said, I will still be posting a few fics a year on my AO3, (maybe one a month-ish? Which is still quite a lot ;p) perhaps personal favorites or ones I would love to give a second chance at viewership, but all of those fics will be one-shots. Any M-rated fanfictions that I also choose to share will be posting exclusively on AO3 due to the fact my Patreon is not rated 18+. This is also really only applying to Voltron; in the chance I have more ATLA or BNHA to share I may still post those on AO3.

I will also finish posting all currently chaptered fics on AO3 and perhaps even my Voltron Fix-It Fic Series (6 fics total for it, 3 posted so far) so please rest assured no in-progress fic is going to be abandoned. That would be cruel ;p But otherwise, going forward in January 2021, all chaptered fanfictions and the vast majority of one-shots will be posted exclusively to my Patreon.

As such, my Patreon will be undergoing a few changes too.

Starting in January 2021 I will be discontinuing the Chai Tea Tier. Anyone currently in Chai Tea, breathe please ♥ You will still have access to all of your current benefits AND all new content coming in that would originally have posted on AO3. But given the large influx of new content and in fairness to those who have been here, that tier will be unpublished then and anyone wishing to join the page after that will want to subscribe to Hot Tea to access content.

There will also be a new tier called Salted Caramel Hot Chocolate (SCHC) (I am running out of hot drinks xD) that will allow early access to one-shot fanfictions as well as the early access to chaptered fanfictions. More details on that will come, but it will be a higher priced tier given the fact early bonuses do already exist for the White Hot Chocolate Tier and I can’t keep frontloading earlier tiers and then passing those bonuses on to higher ones ^^; But on that note: I’m hoping if there is an influx of subscribers to SCHC to take those pledges and apply them monthly to a charity of choice — likely either one dealing with animals or mental health ♥ I still want to give back (and Patreon members, psst, start thinking of some Gofundmes or charities you’d like to support for December as I’m planning a massive give-back event for the month ♥) because that is very important to me.

But to be clear, for current Patreon members, there will be no changes to content you are able to access and starting in January you will get more exclusive content than previously as it will be posting on Patreon instead of AO3. The only change you will see is probably some tagging changes as the ‘Patreon Exclusive Fic’ tag is going to be a bit redundant ^^;

I’m very grateful for all the support you have shown me, be you a reader on my AO3 or Patreon supporter (or both!), and I will forever be thankful to the VLD fandom for giving me my love of writing back. No matter what happens I will always remember that ♥

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to post below or message me :)

♥ Icy

#Voltron #VLD #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #IcyPanther #Patreon #AO3 #Archive of Our Own

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geniusgub · 4 years

Text

north//chapter one

here she is!! after the long wait, here is the first chapter of north! I hope you all like it. let me know what you think. more chapters to come soon🖤

also i dont have a tag list for this but if anyone wanted to be tagged in this fic then let me know and I’ll create a tag list

genre: fluff

pairing: spencer reid x female oc

warnings: very basic troupe that I’m sure some people are tired of lol but other than that, none!

word count: 3k

SPENCER

Being late to work is not something that I tend to enjoy. I hate it, in fact. I feel like I'm letting my team down if I'm ever late to round table meetings or if I miss a briefing. But these days, sleep is rare. And if I do sleep, it's not uncommon for me to sleep over the array of alarms I have.

Coffee is a must have for me at all points of the day. No sleep means exhaustion and exhaustion means my brain doesn't work as quickly as it could and that means we don't solve cases and not solving cases means more people die. I can't have more people die on my watch so I drink as much coffee as I can. But the coffee in the bullpen isn't always the best so if I ever have time, I stop at a cafe on my way to work. I take the extra five minutes to walk there before hopping on the metro.

I mumble off my coffee order to the tired looking barista and she scribbles down my name. I hand over a few stray bills to pay and get some change in return, tucking it in my pants pocket. I give a tight lipped smile to the barista before moving to a table in the corner of the cafe, pulling a book out of my messenger bag and starting to read, crossing one of my legs over the other. I don't look up while I wait for the barista to call out my name, not even when two people bump into each other in front of the door or a tourist asks someone else for directions. I just read my book and chew my lip, tapping my fingers against the hardcover.

"Spencer," I hear my name being called and finally allow myself attention to be lifted.

I stand quickly, tucking my book in my bag and closing the flap before heading back to the main counter. But the buckle of my bag gets caught on the button of my sleeve when I try to close my bag all the way. I pull at my sleeve, trying to get the buckle unlooped. But in this tussle with myself, I don't even realize that I'm still walking until I bump right into someone. I move my attention from my bag and catch the person's shoulders so I don't completely knock them over and make not only a fool of myself, but of them too.

"Oh my gosh," I say immediately, my eyes widening, "I'm so sorry,"

"It's okay, it's okay," the girl laughs, her hands squeezing my arms as she regains her balance, “didn’t even fall. You caught me. I didn’t even break a sweat!”

My eyes finally find the girl's face and I'm rendered absolutely speechless. I somehow notice everything about her right away and I memorize her beauty. Her eyes are a bright, beautiful shade of ocean blue and her eyelashes cast shadows over her perfectly pink cheeks. Her hair is wavy and blonde with brown roots, but there's a yellow and blue patterned scarf tied around the front of her head like a folded bandana with pieces pulled out to frame her face. Her nose is small and I can only liken it to a button. Her lips are full and plump and a pretty light pink color and her Cupid's Bow is one that Cupid himself should be jealous of. Both of her ears are full of different types of piercings, and her nose even has a hoop in her right nostril.

She's wearing a light blue knit sweater tucked into a tight denim skirt, along with a pair of short black boots with small heels on them. Her nails are painted white and her fingers are full of rings, each of them different styles and various shades of silver with yellow gems. I notice a tattoo on one of her fingers but she moves and I can't make out what it is. I wonder if she has more tattoos. I find two straps around her shoulders and realize she's wearing a leather backpack, one probably very similar to my own bag. The last thing I notice is the old fashioned camera hanging around her neck, resting just above the waistband of her skirt.

I've seen my fair share of pretty girls. I've seen girls that I wouldn't mind getting to know better. I've met girls that have caught my attention. I've even been in what I believed to be love. But what is this? If I thought I'd seen a beautiful girl before, I clearly hadn't met this girl before. She looks like an angel sent directly from heaven. She looks like she was crafted by God himself and put on this earth to grace mankind with her beauty. Is it fair for one woman to be this beautiful? Is it even possible? I didn’t think that one woman could possess such beauty.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can barely even breathe. I’m just staring at this gorgeous specimen, admiring her smile and trying to memorize the way her fingertips feel on my forearms. I quickly try to think of something to say, another apology for running into her, but I can barely even breathe when I stare at her, much less speak.

"Spencer," the barista calls out my name again, setting my cup down on the counter before walking away. Saved by the barista.

The girl smiles at me and her face lights up, only further illuminating her features. She's got two dimples on her cheeks, bringing out a childlike spirit in her that I pick up right away. "Um," she says with a laugh, "is that yours? You should probably grab it before someone else steals it,"

Okay, Spencer, breathe. You can do this. You’ve spoken to pretty girls before. Sure, it’s hard and it’s scary, but you can do it. Just say words. Preferably, coherent words. Preferably, maybe, a full sentence.

"Right," I finally force out, dropping my hands from her arms. I hadn't realized until now that I was still holding onto her and she was still holding onto me. I reach over and grab my steaming coffee, almost wincing at the heat under my fingertips.

The girl still hasn't moved when I turn back to her, but now she's fiddling with her camera. "Are you," I start to say before hesitating. Her head pops up and she smiles again, letting her camera fall against her stomach. I gulp, shuffling my feet against the floor as I attempt to speak a full sentence. "I didn't mean to bump into you like that,"

"Oh, it's totally fine," she waves her hand at me casually. "I wasn't paying attention either. No harm, no foul. Like I said, I didn’t even break a sweat,” The girl pushes her hair behind her ears and places her hands on her hips. With the confident way she speaks, I almost expect her to keep speaking, but she doesn’t. She just looks at me with the cutest smile, even baring her teeth, waiting for me to say something else.

So I clutch my cup of coffee and swallow thickly. “I-" I hesitate yet again, but when the girl's eyes scream for me to continue, I do. "What's your name?"

She opens her mouth to speak but before she can, another cup of coffee is placed on the counter. "Amelia," the barista announces before walking away.

Amelia laughs, taking a step over to grab her cup, which I immediately notice is tea and not coffee. "Took the words right out of my mouth,"

"Amelia," I repeat as if testing the way the word rolls off my tongue. It tastes sweet. "You heard already, but, um, I'm Spencer,"

"It's nice to meet you," Amelia holds her hand to shake mine, and the panic starts to set in. For a moment, I debate on actually just shaking her hand so I don’t seem like a total freak to this girl that I seem to have a massive crush on. But the prospect of shaking a total strangers hand is repulsive and when I find myself looking at her hand for more than two seconds, I’m starting to count up the amount of germs that would be present there and I have to force myself not to make a face.

So of course, while my hands get clammy and my heart rate speeds up, I do what I do best. I spit out a fact that Amelia didn't ask for. "On average we carry 3,200 bacteria from 150 different species on our hands,"

Amelia's fingers curl into her palm and she retracts her hand, looking down at her palm and smiling just a tiny bit. "You know, I don't blame you for not wanting to shake hands. It is kinda gross anyway,"

"Sorry," I blurt out immediately, still shuffling on my feet. "That was rude of me,"

"It's not rude," Amelia counters, sipping her tea without so much as grimacing at the inevitable heat. "Are you in a rush?" I glance down at my watch and see that I still have ten minutes until I should be getting on the train. I relay this information to her and watch as she smiles again. "Would you like to sit with me then?"

"Oh," my eyes widen slightly and I squeeze my coffee cup so hard that I think I might poke holes in the sides, "y-yeah, sure,"

"Cool," she breathes out, waving me on and leading me to a booth on the other side of the cafe. I'm far too anxious with this situation and by Amelia's beauty and her comfortability around me to even think about relaxing, or drinking my coffee, or taking my bag off from around my shoulder. I definitely can’t remember any of Morgan’s advice on how to chat up girls or any of the conversation starters I’ve memorized for social situations like this. My mind is completely empty, just when I need it to be full and plentiful. How lovely.

Amelia sits across from me and grins, and every time she does, I swear my heart skips a beat and another butterfly breaks through its cocoon in my stomach. "So where are you off to this morning, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Work," I answer, and then realize that's an incredibly vague answer. Amelia raises her eyebrows as she lounges back against the booth, clearly waiting for me to elaborate. "Uh, I work for the FBI, actually. More specifically, the BAU- the Behavioral Analysis Unit,"

"You're a profiler!" Amelia perks up again, sitting up straighter with a huge grin on her face. "That's super cool! My dad is a police officer, sheriff actually, back home in Texas and I'm pretty sure he's worked with the BAU before and he says you guys are awesome. You catch serial killers, right?"

I'm almost stunned by her reaction. Most people don't believe behavioral profiling works, and most people resist the practice, especially local police. But her acceptance of it is incredibly refreshing, and it's welcomed. Honestly, any type of excitement from this Amelia girl is welcomed. It’s a beautiful sight.

I can feel my cheeks turn bright red as I nod, still clutching my coffee cup. "Yeah, we do. And um, what about you?" I hate talking about myself so I change the subject. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm actually meeting a friend of mine to go shopping a few blocks over," Amelia gestures out the window. "But since we're talking about your job, I'll tell you about my way less cool job, which is an artist. I went to Carnegie Mellon and then moved here and I’ve been here ever since. My preference is canvas painting but I bring my camera around a lot, hence," she holds up the camera around her neck, "the camera now. I try to capture spontaneous moments for when I do exhibits and galleries and such,”

"I've always loved art. Never been talented at it, but I like it." I shrug nonchalantly and sip my coffee, trying to divert my eyeline down to the table, but when Amelia smiles at me, I can’t find it in me to break our eye contact.

Something about Amelia's smile brings me in. Every time she flashes her teeth, I feel myself sink further into my seat and I feel my head get fuzzier. I almost forget that I have to get to work in just a few minutes. But I don't want to go anymore. I want to stay here and keep talking to Amelia. I want her to keep going on and on about canvas paintings and her education at Carnegie Mellon, or even just tell me why she likes tea over coffee, if that’s even true. I don’t know anything about this girl but I want to.

"Nobody is technically good at art," Amelia responds. "Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses in the arts, everyone sees art differently, and that's okay. I'm sure you're not horrible, I'm sure you just haven't found your strength yet, Spencer," She enunciates my name with such beauty and grace that I almost ask her to say it again. I'd do anything to hear her say my name again.

"If-" I'm cut off when my phone rings in my pocket, so I lean over and fish it out. I read a text from Garcia that tells me we have a case, meaning we'll be briefing for a new case this morning. I sigh defeatedly, wishing I hadn't just gotten a text that usually piques my interest. Today, it makes my heart drop.

"You have to get to work?" I look back up at work to see yet another smile on Amelia's perfect face. "Go ahead, it's okay," I’m so used to seeing disappointed faces when this text comes in, not a smiling face. It’s odd, somewhat confusing.

I grab my coffee cup and stand as Amelia does the same. She holds her cup to her chest, looking down at her feet. "Will," I chew on the inside of my cheek when she looks up at me, ocean eyes wide with anticipation as I struggle with my words for the umpteenth time, "can I see you again? We barely got to talk and you-"

"Yeah," Amelia nods before I can even finish my sentence. "Can I give you my number?"

I have to hold myself back from jumping up and down in excitement. "Y-Yeah, sure, of course," I pull my phone out yet again as she does the same. She tells me her phone number slowly so I can get it down, but of course, it sticks in my brain immediately.

"Just text me," Amelia murmurs, looking over my shoulder at my phone where my shaky thumbs press against the buttons on my phone to type out- hi, it's Spencer. She waits until her phone rings and then she smiles at me. "Great, I've got it. Now, um, go. Don't let me be the reason you're late in helping people. You don't have to text me if you don't want to," she pauses for a moment, and I wonder what she's waiting for. Is she waiting for me to confirm or deny that statement? Is she waiting for anything at all? Is it an open-ended statement? Where have all my profiling skills gone? Forget profiling- where is my common sense? "But if you do wanna text me," I'm thankful when she starts talking again, "don't until after you've solved your case. Don't worry about me until you've saved lives. But like I said, if you don't wanna text me, you don't have to,"

My phone buzzes again and I can only imagine it's someone from the team asking me where I am, hurrying me along so we can get started on our briefing. I ignore it for now. "Well," I have to clear my throat to be able to speak again. I give Amelia a bashful smile holding up my phone for her to see, "I'll text you when I'm back home,"

Amelia blushes, her bottom lip being pulled between her teeth. She breathes out a tiny laugh, nodding. "I look forward to it, Spencer,"

I take a step towards the door and feel my body grow cold at the distance starting to increase between us. "I'll talk to you soon, Amelia,"

And with that, before I have it in me to take one more look at the angel standing in the corner cafe, I hurry out the front door. There's a dumb smile on my face as I rush down the stairs to the train platform, struggling to swipe my card and respond to Penelope's text at the same time, all while running to catch the train at the platform. I'm somehow successful at all of this and only manage to breathe once I'm inside the stuffy car. Amelia's face is stuck inside my head and I can't get it out, and I'm positive that I never want to.

///

"Reid? Reid!" My head pops up as Morgan forcefully says my name, catching my attention and bringing me out of my daydream.

When I look up at him, he's already staring up at me with his eyebrows raised, clearly expecting an answer out of me about something. I have no idea what that something is, but he’s wanting an answer about it. I clear my throat, placing my cup of terrible police station coffee on the table and running a hand over my face. "Sorry," I apologize half heartedly, "I was thinking,"

Morgan sits across from me at the table and folds his hands. "Case related?" I glance up at him before deciding to completely ignore him, standing and walking up to the board, returning to examining the geographical profile. "Reid, come on, we've been on the case three days. You've been distracted ever since you walked in for the briefing. You can talk to me," I keep ignoring him. I stare at the map in front of me. "Is something going on? Is it your mom?"

"My mom is fine," I spin around and cross my arms over my chest, ignoring the way my heart starts to speed up when Amelia’s face resurfaces in my brain. “Can we just solve this case so we can go home?”

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #matthew gray gubler #matthew gubler #mgg #gublernation

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