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porcelainseashore · 3 months

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Ghosts from the Past (4)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Agent! Leon Kennedy x Dancer! Informant! Fem! Reader

Summary: 7 years after leaving behind everything you’ve known, you’re suddenly thrust into facing a ghost from your past, Leon. Navigating where you stand with him brings up old memories, painful truths and countless questions. At the same time, you have to deal with a bunch of strange occurrences at your dance company. Set after Resident Evil 4 Remake.

Warnings: 18+ Swearing, Recreational Drug Use, Alcohol, Eventual Smut, No (Y/N), Canon-Typical Horror and Violence, Blood, Injury, Torture, Infection, Medical Experiments, Psychological Trauma, Nightmares

Content: Post-Resident Evil 4, Exes to Lovers, Partners to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Romance, Fluff

Author's Note: Oof, I'm really nervous with my portrayal of the mystery woman in red, but hopefully it makes for a good read. Also, a word of caution on some medical horror lying in wait.

AO3 Link

Chapter 4: Red

The deal with the scientist would go down early in the week, on the day after your performance. Bergmann had requested for you to accompany Leon, much to his chagrin. As always, your handler relished in the game of politics, wanting to make life a little more difficult for the golden boy, just because she could. It was petty, but she had always done her job well, so no one really questioned her methods. If there was one thing Germany was well-known for, it was red tape - a lot of it. Bergmann used that as an excuse to get you to keep an eye on him. This ensured that it wasn’t just the US side setting the agenda, and she would earn her place of glory if the mission was successful. It had to be.

Ever since the dreadful confession you had with Leon, you focused on the lead up to the performance, distancing yourself from the man as much as you could. Each question he had was met with curt, one-word answers. You completed your reports and handed them in without a word. The actions you took seemed to cause him visible pain, as if a brick wall was cracking bit by bit. You picked up on the nuances in his body language, especially whenever you shunned him. The way his eyes flickered when he stared at you, emptying out like a hollowed shell as he pressed his lips together in a taut line.

On the day of your performance, he wished you good luck, repeating the same words he had slipped you on a note back in high school. “You got this.” A timid smile formed on his face, unsure of how you’d react, but carrying a small glimmer of hope.

Until then, you had barely acknowledged his presence, but now you retaliated with a look of revulsion. How dare he play with your feelings?

“You’ve got some nerve,” you spat, turning on your heel and slamming the door on your way out, without waiting for his reply.

That night, as everyone was busy preparing for the show’s premiere, Leon had taken advantage of the diversion to do a reconnaissance of the place, based on the details you had provided to him. Channeling the whirlwind of emotions you had gone through into your movements, you danced through Silje’s latest creation, ‘The Rite’, a piece about passion, sacrifice and death. It almost felt like a ritual or secret initiation, as you rolled through the earth scattered on the stage set, muddied and stripped down like an animal, before being forced into a red dress by your co-dancers and given up as an offering to the gods.

The end of the performance was met with a resounding applause and multiple encores, as Silje came on stage to receive the customary bouquet of flowers, which she handed over to you. It was as if a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulders, as you made your way backstage to wipe the dirt off your face and look presentable again. You did it. In spite of all the trials and tribulations, you made it here as Silje’s star. But even then, it still felt like something was amiss.

Sighing, you exited the stage doors to enter the foyer, where you greeted the theater patrons and other important people along with your fellow dancers. From the corner of your eye, you spotted someone you recognized - a tall, young man, with his dark raven hair slicked back with wax. He was impeccably dressed in a suit that you assumed was personally tailored to him, and exuded elegance as he made a beeline towards you. Your heart skipped a beat. Of course, you’d forgotten he would be here. He never missed any of Silje’s shows.

“What a performance!” He exclaimed, his radiant smile causing his eyes to crinkle with joy. Cupping his hands over yours, he gave them a squeeze. “You were wonderful as always.”

“Mikkel?” You tried to feign happiness in seeing him, as a tinge of disappointment overcame you. No matter how much you tried to snuff out the burning desire within, you wished it was someone else. Someone whom you’d rather leave in the past.

“It’s so good to see you,” he remarked genuinely.

Suddenly, as if he had a knack for showing up at the most inopportune times, you heard Leon’s rugged voice. “There you are.”

You didn’t face him, but you could tell that he seemed a little out of breath. “I managed to catch the last of it. You were amazing.” His hand hovered just over the small of your back, wanting to touch you, but knowing he couldn’t.

Mikkel flashed him a puzzled look. “Mikkel.” He extended his hand. “And you are…?”

“Leon.” It sounded tense and pinched, as he ignored the offer for a handshake.

You stepped in to interject before anymore damage could be done. “He’s, um, an old friend from the States,” you explained, nodding between the two of them awkwardly.

“Visiting?” Mikkel questioned.

“You could say that,” Leon muttered, in a tone that showed the initial signs of irritation.

Mikkel appeared to have perceived this and instead focused his attention on you. “Well, actually, I have been meaning to ask you,” he began mindfully. “If you would like to follow up on where we left off that night?”

You felt the temperature around you drop to a negative value, as his words hung in the air in deafening silence.

“Maybe we could… discuss this another time?” You suggested meekly. God, you were terrible at letting people down.

“I’m sure now is as good a time as any,” Leon interrupted tersely. You could feel the accusing glares he was throwing your way. “Wouldn’t want to keep Mikkel here hanging, right?”

For the first time since the conversation started, you turned towards him, giving him a warning glance. “Leon.”

He tilted his head to the side, scrutinizing you with a bold defiance in his eyes.

“Sorry, uh- I’ll call you or something,” you mentioned rather noncommittally to Mikkel, as you dragged Leon away from the foyer.

Once you were certain you were out of earshot, you threw your hands up in vexation. “Seriously, what the fuck?” You hissed. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“Oh, you mean the recon part? Yeah, done and dusted,” he scoffed, aware that you were purposely avoiding the subject.

“You know, it’s pretty rich of you to give me the silent treatment, when you seem to have moved on yourself,” he admonished.

So, he saw this as a competition? You shook your head disparagingly. ��Mikkel was a date that never went anywhere. Unlike your mystery woman,” you pointed out. “Happy now?”

His features relaxed, though he noted self-deprecatingly, “You could have a normal life with him.”

What he said confused you to no end, on the one hand indicating that it would be better to be with another man, yet at the same time not wanting you to.

“And what if I don’t want a normal life?” You retorted, backing away from Leon as you spoke, making it clear that the talk was over. “Listen, I don’t have time to argue with you about this. I’m needed backstage.”

“Hey, wait-”

You didn’t give him a chance to finish. “You should go, Leon, before Silje sees you.” Leaving him with that piece of advice, you parted ways.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Back in the dressing room, you found yourself alone with Silje, who beamed at you with pride. “I knew you would pull through.”

Picking up a dark, champagne bottle by her side on the table, she tipped it into a flute glass, handing it over to you encouragingly. The sparkly liquid was mesmerizing, as if flecks of gold reflected along its surface. You’d never seen a color quite like it.

“It’s the most sought after one we have,” she articulated with an alluring timbre. “For special occasions.”

You took the glass, still enthralled by its contents, placing it to your lips as you drank the champagne unquestioningly. It tasted like a sweet nectar, warm and heady as it flowed down your throat and coursed through your veins. A brilliant light dazzled you and it felt like your body was vaporizing into the atmosphere. Then, you heard Silje’s voice in slow motion from the background, “Congratulations, my child…”

When you awoke, you found yourself back in your bed with no memory of how you got there. Your mind was reeling and you felt extremely groggy and unsteady, to the point where you were unable to shift yourself up to a sitting position on the mattress.

What on earth was in that drink? You wondered if you had taken too much by accident. Maybe Silje brought you home when you passed out.

Disregarding any further thoughts, you decided that it would be best to find sleep, as you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. But even within the throes of sleep you couldn’t find respite, because the dreams came soon after.

You were walking through darkened corridors. There was hardly any light source, except for a blue luminous sheen that coated every surface, as if you were on an alien planet. Feeling the concrete walls with your hands to guide the way, you eventually came to rest in front of a set of crimson doors. Leaning your entire weight against them, they screeched as you pushed them open, the force causing you to stumble into a room that was enveloped in a thick smog. The cover was so dense that you couldn’t see anything else beyond it and it was getting harder to breathe.

Gradually, you began to succumb to a sort of tranquil unconsciousness. Then, you found yourself lying on a cold, metallic surface, and each time you opened your eyes, you made out vague figures of medical staff surrounding you. Surgical instruments, petri dishes and test tubes lined the counters near the table. As you couldn’t hold your eyes open for long, the images appeared like vignettes. One of the staff members in scrubs inserted a strange device with a thin needle into your vagina. The frigidity of it caused you to wince, and you felt a light suction tugging at you from within. Once they had finished with the procedure, they whisked the fluids and material away. You couldn’t scream, you didn’t have an urge to - everything felt so comfortable and numb.

The next moment, you heard the distant wail of a baby that got closer and closer, until it seemed like it was directly at the side of your ear. Twisting your head in the source of the crying, a child-like silhouette covered in a substance resembling tar crawled on the ground towards you, squelching with each movement and leaving black imprints in its wake. There were remnants of an eye and tufts of hair peeking out from beneath the slimy substance. Despite its grotesque shape, you felt a sense of connection to it, wanting to reach out and embrace it in your arms. When it was only inches away from you, your eyes snapped shut and you faded into oblivion.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Rousing yourself out of a deep slumber, you were startled to find that you were back at the dressing room of the theater, where you had celebrated with Silje yesterday evening. You immediately checked under your clothes for any signs that you had been operated on against your will, but found none.

Glancing at your watch, you cursed out loud as panic set in. You were running late for the meeting between Leon and the scientist. It didn’t take much for you to put aside the weird dream you had the night before. After all, there were far more important things to worry about right now, and there was a logical explanation for what had happened. You probably went a little overboard with the drinking and then fell asleep at the theater. It wouldn’t have been the first time this had happened either. The company had a tendency to revel in successful premieres.

Rushing over to the location you had been given, you met Leon’s stern gaze as he got out of the car he had been waiting in outside of the abandoned warehouse. He tapped on the window, indicating for the driver to do a couple of rounds before heading back to avoid suspicion.

“Partied too hard?” He questioned snippily, while making his way inside the place.

You mumbled out a quick apology, following him from behind. He was probably still sore from how your exchange ended last night.

From afar, an older man with graying hair and spectacles peeked out from behind one of the rusty beams. Upon seeing you both, he stepped over nervously, wringing his hands.

“You got the papers?” He asked, his voice was raspy as if he had swallowed sandpaper.

“Mm hm,” Leon continued to advance towards him. “Card first.”

The man nodded, looking behind his shoulders anxiously before stretching out his hand with a slim, white keycard nestled in his palm. Leon swiped it from him, examining it briefly. Finding it satisfactory, he pressed a large brown envelope into the man’s chest.

“Your new ID. Ride’s outside.” Leon motioned to the entrance with his thumb.

“Uh- right, thanks.” The man hugged the envelope till it was slightly crushed against his body, still hesitant to move, like he had something else to say.

“Look, uh-” he stammered. “With every batch, there’s a fail-safe.” He whispered the last word as if he was afraid someone else would overhear him. “It should be marked with a red label.”

After that, he scampered off, while you waited patiently beside Leon. “So, what now?”

“I’ll worry about that.” His eyes softened as they trailed across your face, etching every mole, every contour and every line to his memory. “You just get home safe, ok?”

Would this be the final time you see him? Anything could happen when he tried to shut down the base, but you didn’t want to think about it. And even if everything went according to plan, you had outlived your purpose. He didn’t need you anymore. You would go your separate ways. A deal was a deal.

You thought back to the compromise you had made together that night at the smoky bar, as tears welled up in your eyes. Regardless of the pain he had caused you and your recent standoffish demeanor towards him, you couldn’t imagine the day would come where you’d have to say goodbye to him all over again.

He reached out, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, as you closed your eyes, causing the tears to splash down. Wiping them away with the back of his glove, he spoke again, his voice cracking under the weight of emotions, “I should go.”

“Not so fast.”

You heard the unmistakable sound of someone placing their finger on the trigger of a gun. Click.

Your eyes flew open. A slender woman in a red, full-length bodysuit and thigh high boots had appeared out of nowhere, aiming her handgun at Leon’s back. Your breath hitched, as you stood frozen on the spot. This was way out of your league and you prayed that he was coming up with some sort of tactic while she spoke.

“Didn’t expect to be seeing you again so soon, Leon,” she hinted provocatively. “You never tire of babysitting duties, do you?” A husky laugh rang out across the space. “Or are you the one currently being babysat?”

“Hm, cute,” he huffed as he shifted his footing slightly, giving her a sidelong glance.

“Not a step closer,” she warned, adjusting her aim threateningly.

You looked between the two of them curiously, assessing the familiarity with which they greeted each other, even though their expressions were hardened and unrelenting. “You seem to know her well,” you discerned.

“Too well.”

Something in the tone of his voice gave it away, and like a winded blow to your gut, you suspected that this was the other woman that had been in his life in your absence.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

Now was definitely not the time to confront Leon with this information, but you couldn’t reign in that gnawing feeling in your stomach. You had to know.

When you saw the pang of remorse that flashed across his eyes briefly, you had your answer.

“I hate to break up this reunion, but you happen to have something I want.” Catching him off-guard, the woman swiftly closed the distance and threw a roundhouse kick to his neck, but he managed to block it, though staggering to the side a bit.

Immediately, he drew his combat knife from its sheath, swiping at her aggressively to push her away from you.

“Go!” He yelled back at you.

However, you stayed rooted to the ground, unwilling to desert him to fend for himself on his own, as well as hoping to learn more about this mysterious woman.

Soon, they turned the warehouse space into a makeshift battleground, entering into a dance of lethal exchanges. Twisting, striking, and dodging, their movements became a blur, as they attacked and countered each other with deadly precision. Occasionally, a stray bullet was fired and you recoiled, taking cover behind one of the dilapidated pillars.

Just as you thought that the two combatants had entered into a stalemate, Leon ended up dominating the fight with a strategic flick of his knife, so fast that you barely missed it, holding it to her throat as he snarled, “Who are you working for this time, Ada?”

Ada. The name echoed in your ears, foreign and unknown, yet growing more intimate by the minute. You stole another look at her from your hiding spot. She was confident, strong and beautiful - all the qualities that made her desirable in such a cutthroat world. And you somehow understood why a man like Leon would have fallen for her, even though there was a dangerous glint in her eyes.

“So predictable,” she scoffed. “Always asking the same questions you’ll never get the answers to.” Cocking her head, she jested, “Who do you think, handsome?”

A sense of disgust started to rise like bile within you. A mercenary. She had to be one. And Leon went for her like a lap dog.

“Cut the crap,” he growled.

However, he didn’t expect you to interfere. “A mercenary? Really, Leon?” You snorted in disbelief as you impulsively tread out into the open. “Didn’t think you would stoop that low.”

A low whistle broke out from Ada’s lips as Leon shot you a withering look, both annoyed and surprised that you were still here. “I’m handling this. You need to leave. Now!”

“No, I’m staying,” you contested. “I can’t trust you to do the right thing anymore.” Folding your arms, you regarded him with nothing but disdain. “All of this is going into my report.”

Ada appeared amused by your rebellious outburst. Whereas, Leon’s face contorted in a mixture of rage, hurt and incredulity, “This isn’t the time to-”

In his moment of distraction, Ada tackled him to the ground, kicking him in the face to stun him temporarily, before hooking on to an attachment with her grapple gun, swooping over to you in the blink of an eye. You hardly had any time to react as she wrangled your arms behind you into a lock and zip-tied your wrists together.

You knew it was due to your inability to get a hang over your emotions that led you into this vulnerable position, but some part of you didn’t care. There were so many things that had been weighing down on you, causing you to make reckless decisions.

Leon got to his feet cautiously, his face bruised and bleeding as he raised his hands up in surrender. You had never seen him look this torn up before. That’s when you felt the nuzzle of Ada’s gun poking at the temple of your head and you gasped audibly, suddenly aware of how close you were flitting to death.

“Ada, please.” He sounded almost like he was begging on his knees. “Leave her out of this.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Keycard, now,” she barked, gesturing for him to hand it over to her.

Holding the card up between his index and middle finger, he flung it over. It sliced through the air and landed in her grasp.

“Good boy.” She smiled in approval.

Leon stepped forward guardedly. “Let her go,” he demanded.

“The last I recall, you weren’t the one calling the shots,” she smirked, referencing how you had challenged his authority earlier.

Before he could respond, she fired at a weak spot in one of the precarious-looking beams from above him, causing a section of the ceiling to come tumbling down. You shouted at him to watch out, and he ducked out of the way, but was now trapped by a bunch of rubble.

“Think I’ll keep her with me for a while. She’ll be useful,” Ada remarked languidly, biding her time as if the battle had already been won.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her.” She winked at him, while he scrambled to break out of his confinement, hollering that he would come for you.

As you struggled, she pulled you in harshly to stop you, dragging you outside towards a vehicle parked at the corner of the building. Opening the car door to the passenger seat, she shoved you inside, warning you not to try anything funny. Hopping into the driver’s seat, she set off at breakneck speed.

“What do you want?” You asked vehemently, while at the same time attempting to maneuver your hands as discreetly as possible to reach your back pocket, where you usually kept Leon’s Swiss Army knife. However, the zip tie was proving to be a greater hindrance than you expected and you were failing with every endeavor.

She didn’t give an answer. Well, not the one you were looking for anyway.

“You seem to matter a lot to him,” she commented. “Interesting.”

“But he still loves you.” What you had been repressing for the past few days spilled out of you without a filter.

It was Ada’s turn to eye you with skepticism as she mocked sardonically, “Love? Oh please, don’t make me laugh.”

“He’s fun to play with.” She turned back to face the road and shrugged, but you noticed a subtle reflection of sorrow in her eyes. “Though perhaps more suited to a naive, little girl like you,” she added bitterly.

You figured that this ‘heart-to-heart’ had hit a raw nerve, and both Ada and Leon were hiding more than they were letting on. Sitting in silence, you wondered how much of what Leon had been telling you was true.

Ada’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, swerving the car around before coming to a screeching halt. “We’re here.”

As she let you out, she made sure that you were close in front of her, every now and then bumping the hilt of her gun as a reminder of who was in charge. You stared down at the looming theater over on the next block. It was eerily quiet like a ghost town, with not a soul in sight. On the street, a lone paper bag rustled in the wind. Where was everyone?

“Lead the way,” she ordered, and you began to walk.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy fluff #re4 leon #re4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil #porcelainscribbles

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ghostchems · 7 months

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hello my dumbass was up watching horror media before bed even though i know it gives me HORRIBLE anxiety so could we maybe get a drabble or something of terzo comforting a fem!reader having a mini anxiety attack before bed, maybe with cuddling involved? thank you so much :,)

love love this prompt! tw anxiety. about 700 words.

“Oh my god, why did I do this to myself?” You squeak out in a hushed whisper as you pull your knees up to your chest. Blankets and pillows surround you and the only light in your room coming from your dimly light cell phone screen which is now laying face up on your bed. It’s just you in your room. You feel your chest start to tighten and your heart starts to thud. Your phone screen times out and goes black, a jolt of terror striking through you so you quickly unlock your phone.

It was one of those nights where you didn’t have much to do and you went down a YouTube rabbit hole. It didn’t take long until you found yourself deep into unsettling videos that you could have just scrolled past but your curiosity had gotten the better of you. You told yourself you wouldn’t be scared, that they weren’t real and that you’ve seen and researched far worse things while being a member of the church of Satan but… here you are.

You try to distract yourself but the thoughts have already taken hold. The thought to text a few of your friends crossed your mind but who would be awake at this hour?

Shit.

You know someone who would be.

Within seconds, he is at your door with somehow perfectly ruffled hair and a sleepy grin. His t-shirt is a bit wrinkly and his sweatpants make it painfully obvious that he is not wearing any briefs. He leans in close to you, his grin only growing.

“Thinking about me, eh, sibling?” Terzo’s voice is deep and husky but at the moment, you couldn’t care less about him being the over the top flirt he is. The two of you had connected recently and the last time you were together things got a bit hot and heavy.

“I-I’m sorry, Terzo. I’m not in the mood for that.” You whisper, holding your pillow to your chest and clutching your phone. “I’m a little spooked tonight.” A wave of embarrassment washes over you as your cheeks turn bright red. His expression immediately changes to concern and he is quick to loop one of his arms around you and pull you close.

“Why didn’t you say so, tesoro?” He hums into your ear then starts to usher you back to your bed. The light of your phone helps guide the two of you until Terzo flips the switch to your desk lamp to allow a warm, dim yellow light to flood the room. He is so close behind you, his strong nose nuzzling against your hair and neck as the two of you waddle to your bed. You slip into it and he is right there beside you, the warmth of his body pressing into you and his arms wrapping securely around your chest.

When you hooked up, there was no snuggling or after care, so you’re pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he makes you. In all honesty, you weren’t expecting him to react in such a way to you being frightened but it makes the crush on him you already have blossom and the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

“Will you stay the night?” You pipe up once you are comfortably nestled underneath the covers and in his arms. The tightness in your chest is already gone and you still feel a little bit like a baby for having to have someone come comfort you.

“Si, si, of course I will. I would not be able to live with myself if you have a nightmare after I’ve left.” He teases, his soft lips brushing against your cheek, You snuggle in close to him and manage a soft giggle as he gives you a squeeze. “Rest now, puffetta. I will fight off the monsters for you.”

Terzo starts to gently stroke your arms and presses his nose against your temple. You focus on his breathing, his chest rising and falling against you and you start to match the pattern until your eyes start to grow heavy and your mind starts to drift.

Soft breaths puff through your lips as you fall asleep soundly in his strong arms.

#terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #terzo #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus x reader #terzo request #tw anxiety #spooky prompt

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littleoddwriter · 2 years

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i cant not take advantage of your open requests + ofmd brain rot sorry <3 i love your works and i cant wait to read more, especially about these characters!! might i request stede x male (trans, if you want to!) reader in a soft cutesy relationship, maybe stede comforting the reader about their anxiety? thank you in any way, you're doing gods work, love you and youre work <3

With You | Stede Bonnet x Male!Reader

Hello there!!! No apology necessary, I appreciate it! Thank you SO much, gosh, that really means a lot to me, I'm--- <3 <3 <3 Ok, sooo, due to the anxiety portion, this may not be super cute or whatever after all, but I tried, sorry! Hope you like it anyway, thanks for the request and everything else, thank you so much!!! Love you, too! <3 :D <3 Take care! :')

summary; You're having a panic attack and Stede helps you out.

notes; Male!Reader; Anxiety; Panic Attack; Comfort; Fluff.

When Stede had left to become a pirate, you had gone with him, no questions asked, no second thoughts attached. You had always loved him and could never live without him, and so when he had asked if you wanted to come with him, you couldn’t have agreed any faster.

Since he had finally been free in the sense that his family life wasn’t looming over him anymore, it had just barely taken any time for you two to get together. Your first kiss had been magical to say the least. Nothing had ever felt so right in your life.

Your relationship wasn’t a secret among the crew, nor was it a problem. Neither of you ever wanted to return back to Bridgetown.

Now, the only issue you had was that being on a ship on the open sea in potentially life-threatening situations every single day only made things worse for you, in terms of this anxiety you’ve been feeling for virtually no reason since forever. You had hoped that maybe it was the confines of life at home and the expectations you couldn’t meet that caused it; but now that you were on sea and free of those, you guessed that the underlying issue was a different one.

You weren’t always sure what triggered it, either.

One moment everything was fine and the next you were cowering on the bed in your room that you shared with Stede, like you were right now. You were breathing quickly and shallowly, while your heart was about to beat out of your chest and your vision was blurry and spotty. Your body felt hot and cold at the same time. Your palms were sweaty. It was a living nightmare.

“Y/N? I was just talking to myself on deck, thinking you were next to me. Turns out, you were h- Hey. What’s wrong?” Stede’s voice cut through this fog your anxiety had created.

Shaking your head, you looked up at him. You couldn’t say anything. Your throat was closed tight. You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Oh, God, you couldn’t breathe!

Stede sat down on the edge of the bed, putting his hands on your shoulders, as he made eye contact with you. His gaze was kind, understanding and so gentle. Always so gentle. He was right to call himself the Gentleman Pirate. He truly was a gentleman, after all.

“You have to breathe. I know you can do it,” he said softly and inhaled deeply before exhaling slowly, “See? Like this.” He repeated the deep breathing for you.

After a few moments that you panicked some more because the air you took in wouldn’t go past your throat, it seemed, you were finally able to take a deep breath. You exhaled shakily and did it again. A tear slipped out when you closed your eyes in relief and continued breathing in time with Stede.

His hands were stroking your upper arms and shoulders soothingly, massaging them lightly. “Y/N, What happened?” he asked worriedly, and when you opened your eyes again his expression certainly matched his tone of voice.

You felt stupid for worrying him. You had no idea what happened. Everything was fine. Until-

“A big wave shook the boat and caught me off guard. And then I just- I must’ve started panicking, I suppose. It’s stupid,” you explained what most likely caused it.

“No, no, no, that’s not stupid,” Stede said, looking offended on your behalf, which put a small, short-lived smile on your lips. He was so cute.

“Stede, we’re on a ship on the open sea. It is stupid that a simple wave made me panic like this,” you told him flatly, shaking your head at yourself with a scoff, “I shouldn’t be here and you know it.”

“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,” he responded firmly, almost instantly, “With me. On our ship. With our crew. I know that you’ve always had this problem with anxiety and panicking, but I’ll keep you safe. I promised, remember?”

For a moment you just looked at Stede in wonder. He did promise you that when you first boarded the Revenge. And you never doubted that he would keep it.

“Thank you,” you whispered, “I love you, Stede.”

You could hear his breath stutter, as his eyes widened. He still wasn’t used to hearing you say that, you knew. And every time you revelled in his reaction. It had taken him quite a while to actually realise what his feelings for you were. But once he did, it all became a lot easier for you both. Stede was happier and it seemed like a weight was lifted off his shoulders. It certainly was the same for you. Even if he had never loved you back, you were always at your happiest with him and that would have never changed; but the uncertainty had put a considerable weight on you at first.

“And I love you,” he said ever so softly before he leaned in to press a short, chaste kiss to your lips. Your heart skipped a beat, swelling with your love for him inside your chest, filling you with warmth.

A genuine smile finally spread across your face when you parted and Stede mirrored you. Both of you let out a soft chuckle at seeing each other grin like that, all teeth and happiness.

It was almost unbelievable to you that you’d felt short of dying only minutes ago; but that was the magic of Stede, you thought. No matter what, he always made you feel better. He made you smile when you thought you couldn’t. He made you feel all these wonderful things that you had never expected to. He made it seem like time stopped when you were with him, never wanting it to continue. It was such a gift that you sometimes wished people would see that he had, but it was only for you to know it.

Never once did you have to question whether or not coming aboard the Revenge was the right decision; even when, in your moments of weakness, you were convinced that you were not supposed to be there, you didn’t actually regret a thing. Stede was right, after all, he kept you safe and you belonged with him on the ship. With him. Always with him, no matter where or what.

#i hope i got stede right enough fhjksfhkshd ugh i'm nervous writing him for the first time ahhh #male reader #trans male reader #can be either #stede bonnet #stede bonnet ofmd #the gentleman pirate #stede bonnet x reader #rhys darby #our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd fanfic #ofmd fic

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personasintro · 3 years

Note

bruhhhhh what about a drabble in which y/n is a little TOO drunk and jimin and tae cant handle her after they brought her back to her apartment so jk the mf king comes to beat her ass 🥊🥊🥊 ( and he is like able to shush her and shes intimidated by him ) 😏✨🤭

A part of Mutual Help series!

pairing: mh!jungkook x reader

warnings: explicit language

word count: 1.9k+

a/n: I hope you’re enjoying these!! please let me know what you think about it and if I should write more of them x

You’re not the one to usually get fucked up.

With friends like Taehyung and Jimin, you’re usually the one looking after them and calling them a cab so they get home safely. They’re the wild ones that love to party, talk to other women and spend the night making out with them, if not inviting them to their apartments for a casual hook-up.

So, when the time comes and you tell yourself to “fuck it” because you’ve to loosen up and release all the tension from your new job and the responsibility that comes with it, you’re the one that needs to be taken care of.

However, even though you’ve planned to drink a little more tonight than you usually do, you haven’t planned to get fucked up at one of those nights where Taehyung insisted on going to a club. Again.

To be honest, you’re not sure what he likes about clubbing that much. You don’t like it but you go, because it’s always fun with your friends. But there are other factors that make you literally go “nooo” when someone proposes to go clubbing. Like all the people, sweaty people, that don’t know anything about personal space. Some of them probably carry perfumes, most of them being women because you could always smell the mix of different perfumes whenever you’d enter the restroom. It’s not a nice smell though. It makes you vomit and especially when you’ve had enough.

Not mentioning all the intrusive guys who are drunk and just looking for a vagina they could fuck.

It sounds as if you’re going clubbing often, but you’re not. If it weren’t for your friends, you’d barely go clubbing because you’re not the type to want that on your own. It’s not usually your idea to go, if ever. But everything seems fun with your friends and honestly, you feel comfortable enough to go with them.

Friends, who probably find you very difficult and annoying at the moment as they’re trying to make you sit on the small bench in your corridor.

“I hate clubbing,” you mutter drunkenly at them, laughing when Taehyung gets on his knees in front of you and tries to grab your ankles to take off your heels.

“We know, you tell us that every time you get wasted.” Taehyung mutters, ignoring the way your mouth falls open in disbelief.

“Taehyungie,” Jimin scolds him, getting on his knees as well to help Taehyung who seems to have trouble with taking off your heels.

Giggling through the entire time, you’re suddenly reminded of something when you look at the two men in front of you, seeing nothing but the top of their heads. “I got two men on their knees.”

Taehyung looks up, cocking his brow at you and finding you extremely annoying as you’re laughing to the point your shoulders shake. Jimin chuckles, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder as he breaks out a grin before they finally get your heels off.

“Kook, we’re taking her to the bedroom!” Jimin calls out to Jungkook who must be somewhere in your apartment. You can’t remember where he went.

“Oooh, sounds… exciting boys!” you joke, your voice resounding in your apartment.

Jungkook chuckles at that, currently in your kitchen preparing you a glass of water and pulling out painkillers from one of the cabinets. You’ll need it for sure. There’s a lot of commotion coming out of your room, something about taking off your make-up which makes Taehyung groan loudly. Jungkook doesn’t fight off the amused grin, only because now Taehyung finally understands how annoying he’s being when he’s drunk. Or at least he hopes he understands.

Jungkook pulls a coke out of your fridge and pours some for himself and for the guys, knowing they’ll have to wait until you fall asleep so they can go. Honestly, Jungkook wonders if one of them should spend the night just in case you get sick. Which you probably will because he hasn’t seen you this drunk in a while. You mentioned something about work when you first entered the club and had your first drink. However, Jungkook wonders if the problem lies somewhere else and that is Heaven. Or whatever his name is.

You’ve been dating for a while and it’s been only over two weeks since you mentioned the relationship isn’t what it used to be. He can smell a break-up in the air and he wonders if you got drunk because it either already happened or you know it will. Maybe he’s just overthinking this. Maybe you just wanted to have fun and get fucked up like Taehyung and Jimin do on a daily basis.

“Jungkook!” Taehyung suddenly yells, the door being opened before they’re loudly shut, Jimin’s soft but loud voice heard for a second.

Jungkook straightens up, ready to make a way over there but before he can move, Taehyung already storms into the kitchen. Face read and annoyed as he looks out of breath, as if he was fighting off a—

“Demon,” Taehyung breathes out, “Y/N is a freaking demon when she’s drunk.”

Jungkook laughs, “She’s just drunk, Tae.”

“Yeah, and she just slapped me for apparently pressing her eyes too harshly when I tried to take off her make-up because she can’t go to sleep without taking it off. God, that woman is a nightmare when she’s drunk!”

“It’s not like you’re a dream when you’re drunk,” Jungkook murmurs, earning a huge glare from Taehyung who keeps his mouth shut because deep down, he knows he’s just as bad.

“Go there! She’s your responsibility right now!” Taehyung exclaims loudly as Jungkook rolls his eyes and puts his body to a move as he brushes past Taehyung.

He barely gets to hold the doorknob before the door is being pushed open again and exhausted Jimin makes eye contact with him. “Great, you’re here!”

Jimin is out of the room and quickly joins Taehyung in the kitchen. Bastards…

Jungkook warily makes it into your room, looking around and barely noticing the flying pillow aimed at him. He catches it at the last minute, frowning at you as you’re standing at the corner of your room next to your closet, still wearing the dress that you wore to the club.

“What was that for?” Jungkook exclaims, watching you drunkenly and messily walk towards your bed before you take another pillow. Before Jungkook knows it, it’s thrown in his direction all over again and he catches it effortlessly and stomps his way over to you.

You’re screaming as if he’s about to kill you, trying to get away from him by jumping onto your bed and getting off the other side.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jungkook asks, trying to get you from the other side but for a drunk person, you’re quick and make it out of your bed while standing in the middle of the room.

Jungkook stands there, watching you with narrow eyes for a moment. You do the same thing, stumbling a little. Jungkook uses the moment of surprise and he rushes over to you, not giving you any time to react and even when you try to, he gets a hold of you.

“What the fuck,” Jungkook groans when you trash in his arms, “Calm down, you need to get to bed. You’re going to hurt yourself, you damn woman.”

“No!” you whine, gasping when Jungkook lifts you up while his arms are wrapped around your waist, tossing you to the bed.

“Stop it,” he scolds you in a warning, pointing his finger at you which makes you slouch your shoulders in defeat. “What’s the matter?”

“I wanna go clubbing!” you pout, slapping your hands beside your sides like a bratty kid which makes Jungkook roll his eyes at your behavior.

He hears Jimin and Taehyung peeking out behind the door, watching the scene in front of them with curious and amused eyes. Jungkook glares at them but they just grin at them, silently telling him “See?”.

“You’re acting like a brat, Y/N,” Jungkook comments, sitting on the edge of your bed as you dramatically gasp. “And you’re drunk. You wanted to go home just a few minutes ago.”

“Yeah?” you ask, holding your head high as you’re fighting off the pout again. “Well, I wanna go back. I changed my mind.”

“You can’t just change your mind,” Jungkook shakes his head, “You’re already home.”

“You’re no fun,” you comment, tossing yourself on the back as you stare at the ceiling. “I don’t wanna be alone here.” you almost whisper, not really sure why you just admitted that all of a sudden.

Just a minute ago you were having fun and wanted nothing but be alone.

“We could stay here…” Jungkook reminds you softly. It wouldn’t be the first time.

“Can you? I think I’m gonna throw up once I fall asleep.” you admit, causing Jungkook to laugh a little. You sound so innocent and child-like. If you weren’t wearing that tight dress, he would actually believe you’re a kid for a moment.

“How about you change your clothes and put some pajamas on? We’re gonna set the couch and stay the night.”

“You’re not gonna fit there!” you whine, “Can you stay here with me?”

It wouldn’t be the first time you guys share a bed, but ever since you started dating Haechan there weren’t many opportunities to do that, nor were you looking for those opportunities. You’re not sure how he’d like that and just out of respect, you and Jungkook mutually understood you should tone it down even though nothing ever happens. You’re friends.

“You sure?” he asks, raising his brow. You might be wasted but you can still think logically, which couldn’t be said five minutes ago.

“Yeah,” you nod eagerly, “Can you rub my back though?”

Jungkook laughs, Jimin and Taehyung join too who are still watching the two of you and how easily Jungkook has handled you. “Deal, but be in bed in your pajamas once I come back. Or no back rubbing.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“Y/N!” Jungkook screeches, standing up as he looks at you in annoyance. You’re such a brat, you know he hates being called that and you’re still teasing and annoying him even in your current state.

Taehyung cackles and Jimin joins too, not being able to hold it any longer as Jungkook rushes them out of the door to give you the privacy. Once Jungkook makes it to your room to check on you, you’re patiently waiting for him and his back rubs patting the spot next to you. God, he thought you’d fall asleep.

But he joins you, rubbing your back just like he promised until you fall asleep so he can take a shower. Jimin and Taehyung are already sprawled on your couch, talking a bit before they fall asleep too. And when you wake up in the middle of the night, Jungkook holds the bucket for you until you fall asleep again, silently apologizing.

The next morning, Taehyung doesn’t forget to remind you what a pain in the ass you were which causes Jimin to scold him while Jungkook glares at his older friend. But you easily tell him to fuck off, reminding him all of the times he was the one being annoying and a pain in the ass.

Jungkook doesn’t fight off the grin he gives you. You can take care of yourself, maybe not entirely when you’re wasted but you can easily handle Kim Taehyung.

#networkbangtan #bts smut #jungkook x reader #bts au #bts angst #bts fluff #jeon jungkook au #jungkook x y/n #ask: mutual help #personasintro

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ddarker-dreams · 3 years

Text

Buds of Marigold. Yan Childe x Reader x Yan Scaramouche

Warnings: Implied forced marriage, unhealthy relationships, depictions of anxiety, darling threatening violence against someone, mild not SFW implications. Word count: 2.5k.

“I never thought the day would come where I’d be so stumped,” Ying’er runs her fingers over glass bottles of essential oils and varying plant nectars. “For such an important customer too… everything needs to be perfect.”

You don’t lift your eyes from the task in your hands, scrubbing valiantly at a stain blemishing an incense pot. To affirm you have been listening, even if you won’t spare her a glance until you’ve finished cleaning, you hum with a rising intonation. Ying’er sinks to the ground with all the grace of a drunken sailor, sniffling in a final attempt to pry out your sympathy.

She hobbles over to where you’re sitting and places her head on your lap. Your body tenses at the sudden touch, but you steady your breathing before it can get noticeable.

“Oh, almighty Yun, the lost Archon of fragrances, have thee no pity for thy devout follower,” Ying’er lifts the back of her hand and presses it against her forehead in a show of unparalleled theatrics. The sight does as she intended, a light giggle leaving your lips at the impromptu melodrama. Her timing lines up well as the stubborn grime you were fighting finally concedes.

You place the incense pot aside and sheepishly pat her head. “Ying’er, how are you going to learn if I give you the answers every time?”

“By your ingenious example!” She exclaims, jutting out her lower lip into a pout. “I’ve already picked out the base, I just need a little nudging in the right direction for the top and mid notes.”

Your eyes soften and your heart is strum with conviction. You soothe your grumbling friend by stroking her hair, humming a soft tune, all the while feeling somewhat baffled by your growth thus far. A few moons ago, you couldn’t have pictured allowing yourself to be touched like this by anyone. It wouldn’t matter how innocent the contact was. The moment someone got too close for comfort, you were willing to reduce them to nothing but a pile of cinders.

You pause your ministrations and sigh. “Fine, fine. I’ll help you compose your perfume. This is the last time though, okay?”

Ying’er ailments seemingly vaporize into the air at your begrudging assistance. She shoots up from her kneeling position like her feet were coiled springs, an overflow of gratitude fumbling past her lips.

“You’re the best, Yun,” she praises and pinches your cheek, much to your chagrin. “Now that I’ve won you over with my charms, how about—”

The front door’s chimes ring, alerting you both of someone entering. You two exchange a look of confusion, as Scent of Spring is closed for the day, the oil lanterns extinguished and doors locked. Your finger twitches by your side in anticipation. Ying’er is blissfully ignorant to your Vision and subsequent ability to command forward a blade, a façade you wish to sustain.

“I’ll handle it,” Ying’er says before you can contemplate your options another second. You nod, an unspoken appreciation etched onto your countenance. The details of your circumstances were purposefully murky and she never presses. Whatever conclusions Ying’er has come to, you prefer it stays that way, not wanting to upset the delicate balance that is your current life.

You straighten out her collar which had wrinkled. “Call me if anything’s wrong.”

Ying’er winks reassuringly and presses her hands over yours, the touch featherlight. “I’m a fearsome opponent, no one would dare cross me.”

Let’s hope that’s true, you think. Frowning, you observe her retreating figure, taking caution to remain out of sight. Ying’er steps out of the backroom, the thick wooden door closing loudly behind her. You keen your ears to listen, cursing internally over how the thick walls muffle their voices. Her voice is one you instantly recognize, but the other belongs to someone with a deeper timbre. Your boss is an elderly woman, so that rules her out. A Millieth, perhaps?

You’re not left waiting for long, much to your relief. Ying’er pops her head back in a few minutes later.

“It was just a returning customer who was pleased with his latest commission, the one you helped me with no less. He had nothing but high praises for it!”

Waves of relief crash over you, but your senses remain on high alert.

“I’m happy to hear that. Still, how did he manage to get in? Didn’t you lock up for the night?” You inquire, hoping you don’t sound overly paranoid. In the back of your mind, you can’t fully discount the idea that it’s him, the thought alone enough to have you shaking in place.

“Must’ve forgotten or something,” she shrugs. You let out a breath you were holding in at her nonchalance, it seems plausible given her airheaded nature. “By the way, Yun, can we work on the perfume in the morning? I just realized how tired I am.”

“Of course. It has been a long day... I’ll finish things up here, go home and get some rest.”

Ying’er waves and wishes you a good night.

It’s now your turn to slump onto the ground, grasping your chest when your knees hit the floor. Deep breaths, deep breaths, you tell yourself. Everything is going to be okay.

This peaceful existence that you’ve fought tooth and nail to build for yourself… the only way it could ever get be stolen from your hands is if air no longer filled your lungs. Your fingers travel underneath the foreign fabric of your Liyue garments, the warmth of your pulsating Vision giving you solace. Tending to the last few chores, your subconscious drifts elsewhere, to an island beyond the sea. What is it you would be doing this time of day again? Ironically enough, you realize you’d be working with incense as you are now, but for different reasons. The reason you excel with curating incense to produce the best aroma is because you were trained to do so.

Your work now is your lifeblood, giving you enough to scrape by undetected. Those days, however, were a different story. It constituted survival like now, but to a far more humiliating degree. It was expected of you to perform your duties with grace and discipline. You would retire early to your shared chambers, prepare and burn your husband’s favorite incense, and fuss over your appearance in the vanity. Then you would loosen the sash of your obi, just enough so that if it had been a frustrating day, he could lose himself in your body for a momentary escape. Those customs had been ingrained into your mind. Had you needed to, you’re certain you could’ve done everything with your eyes closed from memory.

You head for the back exit. Surely, your past self would be thrilled to know your meticulous plans had come to fruition. All those smiles through gritted teeth, submissive language, and patience that could rival that of a god… everything was worth it.

Now you’re no longer the number Six of the Fatui's Eleven Harbingers’ spouse. You’ve taken the identity of Yun, a Visionless worker for a perfume shop in Liyue, everyday defined by freedom. To do as you please, go where you please, speak to who you please. The little details that were stolen from you by his hands return like tentative buds in spring.

You’ve yet to fully assimilate with Liyue’s cuisine, but it’s steadily growing on you. Maybe you’ll make an Inazuma-inspired dish tonight? In the months that have passed, you’ve found a taste for your nation’s food coming back. So as not to repeat Ying’er’s mistake, you double-check the backdoor’s locks, finding it is as it should be. Behind the humble shop is an alley which you use to creep back home. It’s best not to risk traveling out in the open if you can avoid it, you never know what eyes might be hiding in plain sight.

“Liyue apparel compliments you very well.”

With the speed of a descending phoenix, you pivot on your heel, summoning your weapon and pressing it to the jugular of whoever spoke just now. Squinting, your eyes take a few long seconds to adjust. Once they do, your body feels like it’s being drug into the underworld, the air in your lungs forced out. This man… you’ve seen him before. He gives you an all teeth grin, azure eyes swirling with delight and face contorting in amusement.

You remain steadfast through your bewilderment. “Try and scream and I’ll slit your throat.”

“I’m not much of a screamer,” Childe replies, laughing as if the situation was comical. “It’s good to see you too, [First]. Never thought I’d happen upon an old face in Liyue. I knew I recognized that unique combination of perfume, looks like I was right.”

It hits you that this is the first time you’ve heard your actual name in months. How Childe says it doesn’t feel right, he utters it with familiarity. Though, from what you remember, he’s never been known for having boundaries. Scaramouche would complain about his conduct for hours if given the opportunity. This would be the first time you’ve spoken with him, not from a lack of trying on his behalf. When Childe paid a visit to your husband’s estate, you were expected to be present at the start of their meetings. They would discuss business together while you stood there and looked easy on the eyes. Occasionally, you would refill their tea, but that was all you were permitted to do.

The look Scaramouche shot Childe when the latter tried speaking with you was enough to give you nightmares for days.

“What… what are you going to do now?” You murmur, anticipating the worst. This isn’t going to end well no matter what. If Fatui are in Liyue, that means Childe’s likely told someone where he was going; meaning that him going missing would be suspicious and warrant an investigation. On the other hand, who is to say he won’t just return you to Scaramouche if you let him live? You doubt your tears and pleading would have any effect on the youngest Harbinger. He’s similar to your husband — acting altruistic and kind — only to show their true colors when it suits them best.

“Right now? I’m trying not to get my throat slit,” he raises an eyebrow like that was the most obvious answer.

You bite your lower lip. “We both know you could get out of this hold if you wanted to.”

“Emphasis on the ‘if I wanted to’ part. As of right now, I don’t believe I do, being held by you is rather enjoyable,” Childe tests the waters by moving forward, humming in contentment when you lessen your grip as not to slice through his skin. “See? You’ve never even killed someone before. Call it intuition, but I don’t think you could.”

He reconsiders the proposition for a second. “Well, maybe if it was him...”

“You’re as insufferable as I remember,” you hiss, imbuing heat into your blade. Childe barely backs off and the unspoken threat. “Everyone who refuses to take me seriously comes to regret it.”

“Don’t worry, I fully agree with that. The Balladeer reduced you to nothing but a pretty little ornament. He underestimated you and this is the consequence.” Childe has an easier time maintaining eye contact than you do. It’s another minute detail that expresses the gap in your experience. You may be adequately trained in combat, but that pales in comparison when faced with a trained killer. This sorry charade will end the moment he wants it to.

Hate floods through your veins like venom. He’s looking down on you, just in a different way than how your husband would. Where Scaramouche was condescending and sadistic, Childe is brutally honest and teasing. It’s a split-second decision on your behalf, one motivated by the desire to prove this smug bastard wrong more than self-preservation. You loosen your grip on him and jump back. It’s not a lot of space, however, it should be enough to allow you room to react when he strikes.

He goes silent. It’s painfully obvious that he’s trying to get a read on you, now that you’re veering into unexpected territory.

“You were waiting for an opening, weren’t you?” Your words come out with more strength than you thought possible, deep from the chest and guttural. “Well, here you go. It’s the best you’re going to get.”

Childe blinks. Once, twice. His shoulders start to tremble, his chest following soon after, and he lifts his gloved hand to cover his mouth. Hearty laughter leaves his lips and pierces your self-esteem. You don’t understand what’s so humorous to him — though you’re well aware these Harbingers hold no humanity — repulsion flooding your system. This feels nostalgic in the worst ways possible. Early on in your marriage, Scaramouche would regard your resistance with a similar air of blatant dismissal, like your protests were nothing but a tantrum.

“You were wasted with him,” Childe’s loathsome cackling dies down, a maniacal grin splitting his face ear to ear. “Now I understand… the way you’re looking at me now is chilling. Exciting. In what ways have you evolved to survive? I love the fight in you, unlike him. Your adaptability is remarkable, like that of the most cunning prey. ”

Prey. The dehumanizing word makes you frown, yet you remain firm in your stance. This is the best chance, you think, now that you’ve managed to surprise him once. There’s plenty more where that came from. Tendrils of molten flames, like they were stolen from the sun itself, would make for a considerable challenge. Harbinger or not, he should know better than to charge in without thinking twice when you hold a Pyro Vision.

His face returns to a more casual visage and he waves his hand. “I never had any intention of bringing you back to Inazuma. You think a Mora reward would be a good enough motivator for me to do that?”

“T-then why are you here?” You challenge, ever the skeptic. Childe can weave a tale of lies as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean you’ll allow yourself to be ensnared in it.

“I wanted to see how you’d react,” his nonchalant admission leaves you speechless. “Needless to say, you didn’t disappoint. A pretty face with the feist to match. I’m looking forward to getting to know you better.”

“Oh, fuck off with that,” you snarl, your vision almost going red from the fury holding you hostage. Now that you no longer need to play the subservient partner, vulgarities come to you with ease, and you have no shortage of them for this blight in the flesh.

Childe’s smile widens. “No can do, I’m afraid. My curiosity has gotten the better of me this time. Could I tame you? Break your spirit better than he did? So show me your resolve to be free, sweet [First].”

He readies himself and you do as well. It’s in the dull illumination of the overhead lanterns that you realize there is no light in his eyes. How fitting, you think. That even his body has come to accept his lack of humanity.

“Go on. I’ll give you a ten second head start. After that... well, you’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

#childe #childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #scaramouche x reader #tartaglia #scaramouche genshin impact #yandere scaramouche x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact imagine #my stuff

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yourmidnightlover · 3 years

Text

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

taglist:

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#tw pregnancy #tw miscarriage #tw abortion #tw abortion mention #tw depressive thoughts #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid comfort

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luminnara · 3 years

Text

It’s Been a Long, Long Time | Ch 7 18+ NSFW

18+ ONLY PLEASE

Warnings: nsfw, sexy sex, abo, knotting

Part 6 | part 7 | part 8

Tags: @kyrah-williams williams @oceanmermaidwitch @shawnie--jo @super-cape @ferxaniti @namjoonwatcheshentai @fandomsstolemylife00 @youngblood199456 @nightlygiggless @darlingely @bluemoon-icecream @kaz11283 @jenjen8675309 @dollfacev8 @witchinpractice @mystical-b3ar r @sukeraa @momc95 @book-lover-2006

Bucky was still reeling from finally getting to hear her name. While the omega explored his apartment, he sank down onto his couch, his head buzzing with thoughts of her and him and his past life with HYDRA and how her name felt so, incredibly, impossibly right.

Amoretta.

It didn’t sound familiar to him, and he was pretty certain that he had never known it before. That made him feel a little bit better about everything, a little less guilty for almost completely forgetting about his omega. He hated how much less he remembered about her than she remembered about him, even if it wasn’t his fault that HYDRA scrambled his brain up so much all the time. No matter how many times he told himself that it was okay, that he was already doing his best, he couldn’t help but feel like he was a bad alpha.

But when she looked up at him with that smile and those eyes, so trusting and happy and comfortable...well, a lot of those negative thoughts flew out the window again.

“So you live here? Like, for real? Like, all the time?” She asked as she inspected his tv.

“Sure do.” He chuckled, sitting on the couch to watch her. “Whaddya think?”

She spun around in a little circle, taking it all. “It’s...perfect.”

Bucky smiled. “I’ll have to find some more blankets for you.”

Amoretta paused, looking at him curiously. “For what? I don’t think I could ever be cold with you around. You’re like a furnace.”

“Well...so you can...you know.” He was feeling stupid again. She wasn’t even thinking of nesting with him around, was she?

“So I can what?” She seemed puzzled.

“You know...make a nest…” he mumbled. “Isn’t that what omegas are s’posed to do? I’ve heard Bruce makes them…”

Realization dawned on her and her jaw dropped a little. “Oh. I haven’t gotten to nest in...um...ever?” She laughed. “HYDRA never let me.”

“...oh.” Bucky cleared his throat.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, that might be nice.” She glanced around the room, already looking for a good spot. “Maybe there? Ooh, no, I don’t want it out in the open, do I? Or maybe I do…”

“Hey, FRIDAY?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, Seargent Barnes?” The robot replied, her voice sounding from somewhere in the ceiling.

Amoretta jumped. “Can she see us right now?”

“I monitor everything in this tower,” Friday said. “Tony has designed me to run all necessary systems.”

“Yeah, yeah. Tell someone we need more bedding. Blankets. Lots of ‘em.”

“I will let Miss Potts know right away, Seargent.”

“Thanks, FRIDAY.” He said, kicking his shoes off to rest his heels on the coffee table.

“Of course, Seargent Barnes.”

“So...you’re a Seargent?” Amoretta asked, making her way over to sit on the arm of the couch.

He stretched his arms back behind his head. “Seargent James Buchanan Barnes. World War II. I was with the 107th.”

“Is that how you know Steve?”

He smiled, his head. “Nah. We were always friends. Grew up in Brooklyn together.”

She sat up a little straighter. “Brooklyn?”

“Born ‘n raised, doll.”

“I wanna go!” She bounced down onto the cushion next to him, both hands pressing into his thigh as she suddenly leaned up towards his face. “Please?”

“Uh, sure.” He was a bit taken aback by her sudden movement, but he wasn’t complaining about how close she was now. “Mind tellin’ me why, though?”

“You mentioned it once.” She rubbed her nose against his neck, sighing happily as she scent of cloves filled her senses.

“...I did?”

“Mhm.” Amoretta snuggled up against his side, fitting next to him perfectly. “I don’t remember everything from back then, but I remember that.”

“What’d I say?” He brought on of his arms down to drape around her shoulders, hugging her closer.

“I think I asked you what kind of life we’d have outside of HYDRA.” She rested her cheek on his chest. “You told me we’d live in Brooklyn, in our own house. And…” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

“And what?” He asked, curious.

“You said we’d have lots of pups.” She chewed her lip, looking away from him in embarrassment. “It was probably just your rut talking, though, you know...i-if you don’t want that now, it makes sense. I mean, you’ve got this whole life now, and…”

She trailed off as she noticed that his chest was rumbling with a loud purr. When she finally brought her eyes back up to his face, she saw that he was watching her, features relaxed into a soft, thoughtful expression.

“Do...you want pups?” She asked, heart leaping hopefully.

“Always used to want a whole little family.” He pulled her up to straddle his lap. “Didn’t think I’d get the chance to, but now…hey, I never sired any for HYDRA, right?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good.” He sounded relieved. “That’d be a fuckin’ nightmare.”

“They made sure my heat suppressants kept me infertile.” Amoretta said. “They didn’t have a program for breeding super soldiers ready yet.”

“Good.” He growled. “No pups of mine are ever gonna grow up in a place like that.”

She reached up, running her fingers through his hair. “You really want them now?”

“Course.” He pulled her forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his face against her scent gland. “Maybe not, like, now, now, but…with you? I do.”

Amoretta’s eyes widened, a happy little keen leaving her throat. “I’ve waited so long to hear you say that…”

Bucky tugged her back so he could face her. “I’m gonna court you properly. Do it right.”

“But you don’t need to—“

“I don’t care.” He interrupted. “I’m an old fashioned guy. I’m gonna court you.”

She grinned, a hand trailing down the side of his neck. “How old fashioned, exactly?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Too old fashioned to have a little fun?” Her hand slipped down to press against his chest.

His purr turned into a growl, his hands moving to hold her hips. “Doll, all you gotta do is ask…”

Amoretta brought her lips to his ear. “Will you fuck me, Bucky Barnes?”

It only took a moment before his lips were on hers. He was gentle, but he was hungry, devouring her in a kiss that left her breathless and would have made her knees weak had she been standing. With his hands slowly sliding down to her ass, Bucky was perfectly content to take his time; he wanted to feel her, inch by inch, until he had memorized every curve and dip of her body.

Her skin was so soft beneath his callouses. He nudged her sweater up a bit, his hands slipping underneath it to grab at her tits. She couldn’t help but let out a whine against his lips when he brushed a thumb over her nipple, her nails digging into his shoulders as she held him.

When he broke away from the kiss, he gave her lower lip a sharp bite. “Bed. Now.”

Amoretta practically launched herself towards his bedroom, scrambling onto the bed without a second thought. Bucky followed at a much slower pace, enjoying the view as she shed her clothing.

“Hey, maybe I wanted to do that,” he teased, crawling over her. His lips found her neck, his fangs scraping her skin.

“I-I wanted to make it easier for you,” she gasped, back arching as he gave her scent gland a gentle bite.

“I wanna take my time with you, sweetheart.” His voice was husky and low, his breath hot against her throat. “I wanna enjoy every second…”

She sighed as he nipped and licked at her, her hands slipping under his shirt. Her fingers ran across his abs, feeling the way they flexed beneath her touch as he ground his hips into hers.

“You’re overdressed,” She said, tugging at his hem. “Let me see you.”

Bucky broke away from her neck and grabbed his shirt, shucking it off and tossing it behind him. “Better?”

“Much,” She hummed, taking in the sight of his naked torso.

“Good.” He took hold of her hips, leaving a trail of kisses behind as he made his way down to her pussy. “God, you smell fucking amazing…”

Amoretta trilled happily. “So do y—oh my god…”

His tongue was already lapping at her. She couldn’t remember anyone ever eating her out before, but Bucky seemed determined to make up for lost time. He acted like he was starving, sucking and nipping at her clit while he sank a finger inside of her.

Her hips bucked against him, his vibranium hand holding her down while his human hand played with her. She was already soaked, slick running down her thighs, and her scent was driving him wild.

“Fuck, I want you…” he growled, adding a second finger. “So wet, so willing…and you smell so delicious….” He inhaled slow and deep, savoring it. “I think I’ve missed this…”

“D-do you actually remember all the t-times you rutted with me?” Her voice hitched with little gasps as he stroked her inner walls.

“Yes and no.” He admitted, leaning his cheek on her thigh and looking up at her. “But I know this scent…”

“What scent—ah!” She bit her lip as he crooked his fingers a few times, warmth mounting in her belly. “K-keep going, I’m—FUCK!”

She shuddered as an orgasm rolled through her, electricity tingling in her limbs.

“The scent of my omega, all drippin’ wet, just for me.” He pulled his fingers away, licking them clean. “I wanna fuck you, doll…”

“Please,” she whimpered, scooting back up toward the pillows as Bucky stood.

Amoretta’s eyes were glued to his hands as they unbuckled his belt, his movements quick and determined. He was tired of waiting around. He wanted her now.

As he shoved his pants down off of his hips, she bit her lip again, rubbing her thighs together. She could remember how good he felt inside her, and as she thought about the way he always used to snap his hips into hers, she felt another trail of slick running down her legs.

At the sight of his cock, she was practically a waterfall.

Before he could get back to her, Amoretta was flipping over onto her hands and knees, presenting herself for him with her ass up in the air. She peeked back over her shoulder at him, watching as froze and then stiffened, a low, impossibly loud growl rumbling in his chest.

“Good girl,” he praised her, his cock already rock hard as he crawled across the bed towards her.

Amoretta gave a little wiggle, trying to convince him to hurry up. When his hands grabbed her hips and jerked her back against him, she squealed in surprise, the sound melting into a moan as he rubbed his cock against her.

“Please,” she whined. “Please, please just fuck me, Alpha, I need it…”

“How bad?” He leaned over her, nipping at her shoulder.

“S-so bad, please, just—“

She interrupted herself with another moan, her hands clutching at the sheets as Bucky finally gave her what she was craving so badly.

He pressed himself into her slowly at first, waiting to feel some resistance. She was so soft and warm that he almost came then and there, his teeth sinking into her shoulder as he forced his hips to still. Fuck, how could someone feel so good? Her pussy felt perfect around him, gently squeezing his cock as he pulled back out and then thrusted back in, already balls deep inside her. He could tell why he had liked her so much during his ruts, but he had no idea how he could have managed to fuck her for more than thirty seconds during one.

When he started moving again, Amoretta turned into putty. She was absolutely melting, angling her hips so that he could sink in deeper and deeper, slick running down her thighs.

“You like my cock, baby?” He asked, voice muffled by her neck as he dragged his lips over her skin. He wanted to be as close to her as possible, and he didn’t care if that meant both of them being a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He just wanted her.

“Y-yes, Alpha,” she gasped, slowly sliding down until her chest was squished against the bed. He felt even better than she remembered, his cock rubbing against every single perfect spot inside of her. He was stretching her out comfortably, her slick providing more than enough lube to ensure that his size could never hurt her.

Fuck, he was perfect. He was made for her. They were made for each other.

Bucky was pressed against her back, shielding her with his entire body. He didn’t want anyone else to see his omega. The sight of her there, beneath him, taking his cock so well was for him and him alone, and he was going to make sure it stayed that way.

“Want me to fill you up?” He asked, licking her scent gland.

“Y-yes please,” she moaned, leaning her head back for him.

“Want me to breed you, over ‘n over, ‘til you’re full of pups?” He bit at her jaw.

“Yes!” She cried, whines and trills all flooding from her throat in a symphony of needy sounds.

“Say my name,” he panted, his knot already beginning to swell.

“B-Bucky,” she moaned as she felt it catch on her. Fuck, she had forgotten how good it felt to be stretched and feel it filling her.

He let go of her hips, his hand finding hers. “No, my real name…”

“J-James,” she gasped, intertwining their fingers together. “James…please knot me...”

That was it.

Hearing her gasping and moaning his name sent him over the edge, and before he could stop himself, he was exploding inside of her. He snarled, biting her shoulder again as he held her down, his knot locking him in place as he pressed his hips forward.

Amoretta sighed happily at the feeling, relaxing as Bucky’s weight fell onto her. He was panting hard, trying to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” he sighed, kissing the already-healing bite marks on her shoulder. “Sorry ‘bout the bites.”

Amoretta grinned at him as he helped her turn onto her side. “I like your bites.”

“Oh yeah?” He pulled her up against his chest, settling in to wait for his knot to go down once more. “I’ll remember that.”

“Super soldier, remember? Built to withstand you at your roughest.” She snuggled back.

“Guess I’ve got something to thank HYDRA for, after all.” He chuckled, drawing lazy circles on her hip. “You didn’t cum when I was inside you, did you?”

“No, but that’s fine.” She shrugged. “I did before.”

“That’s not enough,” he growled. “If my knot wasn’t so swollen right now, I’d be fucking you until your legs shake.”

“Is that a promise, Sergeant?” She asked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“It is.”

“Well, then…” she held his jaw in her hand, leaning up to whisper in his ear. “I can’t wait for your knot to go down.”

#abo #alpha bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky barnes x reader #alpha bucky #it's been a long long time #omegaverse #a/b/o #avengers x reader #avengers x oc

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

We've all seen fics where Caleb's SO dies and gets resurrected, and we seen Caleb accidentally hurting his SO, but what about Caleb accidentially killing his SO? Maybe Reader got burned by one of his fire attacks? The revival's successful, but damn, the angst.

Angst was requested and angst you shall receive. I hope this is to your liking. 😘

Trigger warning for death and grief themes.

Caleb sits on his knees, head bowed, whispering pleas in Zemnian to the gods, the world, to you, your cold hand encased between his own, occasionally pressing a kiss to it in the hopes you’d just wake up. But you’re not going to wake up. Not in the way you would in the morning when you’ve had a particularly late night and Caleb has to drag you out of bed, you being stubborn or pretending to still be asleep so you maybe could convince him to join you for a little more. Not in the way after you got knocked out in a fight, when you sit up and rub your eyes with a grunt like usual. Nothing within his capabilities will wake you up.

So here Caleb sits, begging for it to be a nightmare, some sick and twisted tricks played on his mind but there’s no denying this is real and this is the truth. You’re dead. You’re dead and it’s his fault. You ended up as collateral damage in his reckless attempt to kill the creature. You got stuck in the crossfire of that. He hadn’t realised you were doing so bad already, you even sent him a wink right before when he asked if you were okay. Why did you? Why didn’t you just tell him you weren’t? Why did you lie? Not lie, omitted the truth.

He knew exactly why you did it but that doesn’t make it any easier. You’d known the other’s weren’t doing great and barely holding on already. You were severely outmatched and couldn’t get away from the creature. Not without it chasing after you and running you in an even more perilous situation. Anything Caleb could do would affect anyone close to the creature. With Yasha having dragged Beau out of the fray you were the only one left to hold it at bay while the clerics worked on patching them up, Fjord and Veth offering them cover. You were the final line of defence. At the end of the day you had to keep the clerics alive.

Caleb took a calculated risk. A fireball to send the creature dropping into the ruined depths of Aeor. He had tried to keep you out of the range but wouldn’t have been able to strike the creature without putting you at risk. The spell worked and the creature got hit with full force. It was your attack right before the fireball struck that had send it stumbling, then with the blast, it lost its footing and stumbled off the edge.

But you too, dropped. and when you did, the creature’s tail lashed out, grabbing onto your body, dragging you with it. The creature had hit the platform below in its fall and the impact had made it release you, saving you from the full drop. Caleb had rushed to the edge, fear, pain, anger and guilt riddling his mind thinking he had truly lost you but there you were, bloodied, bruised, broken and burned. Because of him. All because of him. How could he have been so stupid and reckless. When he brought your body back to the others, he wasn’t quick enough. You’d already faded into the cold embrace of the Raven Queen and the clerics had expended their last resources.

So that leaves Caleb here, sitting at your side a day after you died, body preserved by the graces of Caduceus and the Wildmother. The clerics set up their ritual, working around him and you as the others help where they can. Beau and Veth had tried to console him, tell him it wasn’t his fault and if he hadn’t they might all have been dead right now. He appreciates his friends trying but it’s of no use. He already made up his mind and it’s not going to change anything. You died because of him. He murdered you and how is that any different than his actions in the past? How does that make him any different than the lives he’s taken in the clutches of his former mentor? Is there truly no redemption for him? You’d slap him for even thinking that way.

“Mr. Caleb? Why don’t you try talking to them? Persuasion has worked in the past to coax someone back.” Caduceus places a hand on the wizard’s shoulder but it barely registers. Yet the firbolg knows they did not fall upon deaf ears when the whispers stop for just a moment.

“I-. I do not think they’d want to hear from their murderer.” Speaking the words make them so much more painful. By the looks of it, Beau is ready to unleash in a degrading rant about how wrong Caleb is, breaking him apart only build him back up but she’s held at bay by Yasha. This is not the time and place. Caduceus doesn’t claim to know what Caleb’s going through, nor may he be the brightest mind here but he understands and can empathise.

“I know no matter what I say it won’t change your feelings so instead I will offer you this. You owe it to them to try. Not for what happened here but for the countless times they’ve been there for you, have had your back, and for the unconditional love they’ve given you. You owe them to try.” The wizard looks up over his shoulder to the firbolg, pain in his eyes, and the trails of silent tears that have long since run out. Caduceus is right. He owes it to you to save you and right now it is within his power to try. If he doesn’t, if he fails he’ll have condemned you to this fate. If he succeeds with this part, he’ll be able to look into your eyes again. You may never forgive him but he hopes to see you smile, hear your voice even if just once more.

Caleb nods looking back at you, bringing your limp fingers up to his lips and pressing them against your knuckles. He takes in a deep breath and tries to find the right words as Caduceus steps back. What are the right words? He cannot afford to fuck this up. He cannot afford to fail. He must succeed. He must.

“I know I might be the last person you want to hear right now. I want you to know I’m sorry-“ Caleb’s voice cracks as he feels the eyes of the others on him. He brushes some of your hair away from your forehead, running his thumb across your cheek.

“I don’t-uh. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I can do this. You’re always here for me during difficult times. You’d put your hand on my cheek and tell me ‘If anyone can do it it’s you, Caleb Widogast. You could move mountains if you set your will to it. Now stop being stubborn before I slap some sense in you.’ but now you’re not here to tell me that. You’ve shown me there’s a world beyond the walls I put up, that there is a light at the end of that tunnel, but now I cannot help but feel the world has grown dull, the walls are caving in, and that light is fading.”

“I have no right, no right to ask you this, but I need you to save my world one more time. So please, I beg of you. Do not leave me to brave this world without you.” The weight of his heart heavy on his conscious. Caleb feels a pressure causing a ringing in his ears. He’s so focussed on you, he cannot take his eyes off you. Not even when the others do their part in the ritual. He realises this pressure is coming from the effects of the spell to bring you back. He holds his breath, not daring to take in oxygen if only to savour the moment, hoping it will not pass, that for just a little longer he can hold on to the hope you’re coming back instead of having that hope crushed by a potential failure.

The pressure fades but nothing happens. Nothing changes. It’s silent as everyone waits for something, anything to happen. That moment alone feels like an eternity of suspense. Caleb finds himself whispering prayers and pleas in Zemnian again, your hand clasped between his own as he squeezes his eyes shut tightly to live through the memories of you, preserve them for the rest of his life just in case because he refuses to forget even a single one of them. He’s so consumed in his own mind he doesn’t notice warmth returning to your fingers. He doesn’t notice your chest beginning to rise and fall. Caleb’s pleas continue.

“Would you mind translating that? I think my brain got a bit scrambled.” Caleb freezes and his eyes open. Your eyes are closed but your brow is furrowed. Furrowed in discomfort. Not sleeping and not void of your usual expressions. Colour has returned to your limbs and face and no longer dulled. Caleb falls silent in disbelief, frozen in place and mind blank.

“Caleb?” You speak his name, peaking through one eye to see the wizard in his disheveled state. You sit up, grunting in pain. Apparently being brought back from the dead isn’t kind on your physical form, not even mentioning the exhaustion weighing on your mind. You could sleep for a couple of hours… or days… or weeks… You could do with a break really. All of you could. You nudge Caleb’s head up by his chin allowing your fingers to slide onto his cheek.

“Blink twice if you need me to get Beauregard to slap you back into reality.” You muster a smile as you brush your thumb over his cheekbone. Caleb doesn’t understand how you’re not recoiling in disgust or lashing back in anger. He doesn’t understand how you can look at him with love and kindness.

“I’m so sorry. Please-“ Caleb goes off in a spur of apologies, begging for your forgiveness.

“Caleb, I love you but you really need to stop. This is a problem for another day.”

“You died. I killed you. How can you even look at me like you do?”

“So what? I died. I’m here now. I got better. Now preferably I’d like to not die again, some things are beyond our control. And if you need some kind of reassurance; Veth killed Cad that one time and he doesn’t hate her.” Veth yells a ‘hey’ in defence while you earn a chuckle from the firbolg. You know Caleb isn’t just going to take your word for it and you’re also not going to make anyone buy you’re totally okay with just dying and being brought back to life because you’re not but you also know that you can’t blame Caleb for being a factor in what happened when you yourself were aware of the risks of the situation you were in. You made your own bet and it didn’t pay off but all your friends are still alive and well, Caleb’s still alive and well and that alone makes it worth the risk you took.

“You have no idea how much I love you.” Caleb breathes as he pulls you into his arms with a gentleness as if you’re made of porcelain, or will fade out of existence if he holds on too tightly.

“I think I have a pretty good estimate but we can compare notes later if you’d prefer.” You pull back enough to look at Caleb’s face, brush aside some of the red strands and softly place your lips on his. It’s not a heated kiss but one filled with emotion and a desperation no less. Neither of you thought you’d get to be in each other’s arms again but here you are despite everything. Maybe your work here isn’t done yet. You still got some asses to kick.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #caleb x reader #caleb widogast x reader #critical role #mighty nein

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svchengss · 3 years

Text

two halves | l.mh

PAIRING. mark lee x reader

GENRE. fluff, heavy angst

WARNINGS. major character death, grief

WORD COUNT. 2.4k

SUMMARY. right after his death, mark watches how you cope with the loss

A/N. i saw this one tiktok and it kinda inspired me to write this

// just to let you guys know, reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !! thank you for reading :D

white walls, white room.

mark scrunched his face, his eyelashes slowly fluttering open, the dark brown iris adjusting the size of the pupils due to the brightness of the walls reflected upon it. a soft groan vibrating from his throat, he assessed his surroundings where nobody or nothing else is present. he looked down to inspect his clothing, hoping that it would give him any clue of this room or space he’s in - an all white outfit. this scene looks exactly like the one in the movies where the characters realize they are dead. except this time, he really is.

THE REALIZATION.

the muffled sounds of cries and sobs rang through his eardrums, triggering a reflex to wake up from the state that he thought was a slumber. he is lying on the hospital bed with the light blue clothing piece, faint light illuminating the space where people are huddled up around him. he waved his right hand in the air to let them - who he later remembered as his family members and friends, know that his eyes are already open. nobody moved even the slightest, the atmosphere being very much dead, scent of medicine intoxicating his mind.

then he saw someone who he holds very dear to his heart - you, enter the hospital room, dropping onto her knees as soon as she saw his state of condition. in an instant, he shot up from his lying position and ran over towards the crying you, shoulders shaking and all. bringing his hands to hold you in his embrace, not even a glance spared by you brought a hundred and one questions to him. why didn’t anybody acknowledge him when he woke up? why can’t you feel his touch?

“mark lee. time of death, 10:23 pm,” the tall doctor with glasses rested on the bridge of his nose announced before leaving the room, holding the clipboard close to his chest. mark gauged the monitor screen next to the bed, the line indicating his heartbeat is no longer showing spikes going up and down - instead becoming a flat line, deafening beep present with it. then he sees himself still laying on the white sheets, eyes still closed and no signs of breathing evident. a surge of panic rushed through his veins.

this can’t be real.

mark rushed into the bathroom, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. his body is semi-transparent, the shape of the toilet bowl can be seen through his left shoulder. his body shakes with terror, slapping himself in the cheeks multiple times just to make sure that this whole fiasco is just a nightmare.

oh my god. no, this is real.

mark stood in the back of the crowd, witnessing the funeral of someone and that someone being him. of course, he’s never expected to get the sight of his own service. his mother is standing beside you, her hands rubbing circles onto your back in an attempt to calm your mourning state. you’re still looking ever so pretty, a black chiffon dress on your body with white pearl necklace on your collarbones and your wavy black hair hanging down your shoulders. not that anybody else would notice, it’s someone’s death after all.

“stay strong, y/n. he will always be in our hearts,” the same rhythm of sentence in tones full of pity being directed towards you. mark’s sister enveloped you into a warm hug despite the chilly atmosphere, whispering comforting words into your ears before getting into the family’s car. you’re not going back home, not yet when you still feel reluctant to let him go.

“why did you leave me?” the only coherent words from your hoarse voice can be heard. mark, who is crouching next to you, is holding his tears back. instead, he sends a sorrowful smile - not that you can see him anyway. is there any way to let you know of his presence?

“goodbye, love. i’ll see you tomorrow. i promise,” you dusted the back of your dress from any dirt or debris, leaving a rose on his tombstone. the thing is, he doesn’t want to part from you. and that’s why his figure is seated beside you in the cab. he grazed his thumb on your knuckles, making you feel tingles rushing through. you pushed the slight thought away, you must be tired to be feeling things.

you slowly opened the door to your apartment, you and mark’s to be exact. the whole house is making those memories make their presence in the back of your head again. the kitchen where you two baked cookies for christmas last year. the bedroom where you snuggled upon his chest, not wanting to start your day just yet. the piano where he sang those cheesy songs for you. the living room where you slow danced at 3 in the morning. his favourite mug resting on the countertop, probably will not be used again. this whole situation is too overwhelming for you. you feel weak.

with each day passing by, you didn’t even miss one without a visit to his resting lot. you would tell him stories of how your day went or something that you read which would made him ponder. the words carved on it are already etched onto your brain.

mark lee. a son, a brother and a loving partner.

the clock hanging on the grey wall has it’s arms stretched out to display the time - two in the morning. you can’t sleep just yet, not having any for the past few days even. dark circles are appearing around your eyes, not yet recovered from the puffiness from all the crying. mark’s heart aches everytime he takes upon your state. he feels very guilty, not that death was his choice after all. it’s simply fate, a cycle of life, a destiny that every single creature on this planet will end up with.

you’ve taken the whole month off work, still feeling ever so helpless. in fact, you can’t even remember the last time you’ve stepped out of the apartment, the night before his passing perhaps? you’ve completely shut yourself out from any interactions - deactivating your social media, not accepting any calls. you just need time to heal.

as if you’re being controlled by some type of mastermind, you shoot up on the balls of your feet, pulling away from the couch. those images of you slow dancing with mark, hands in each other’s holds, your chin rested in the crook of his neck and being ever so engrossed in love are coming back more often now. you trudged to the vinyls arranged neatly on the shelf, picking one before placing it on the turntable - frank sinatra, one of his all time favourites.

holding your hands up at about his usual height, you start twirling around. you can almost see the outline of his smile, his features right in front of you. except, he is. he’s been observing your moves the whole night. mirroring your current position, as if you can really see him, it’s a miracle for him. overjoyed actually, he doesn’t realize the salty tears streaming down his cheekbones and so are yours.

“thank you for coming, dear. it’s a pleasure seeing you in what, weeks?” a laugh escaped the woman’s lips. you reciprocated her hug before stepping into the living room. it’s been a long time since you’ve been here, was it in january? mrs. lee had invited you over for a simple dinner, checking up on how you’ve been. you can see that the family is still struggling over his passing, the way his sister’s eyes are not twinkling as usual makes it hard to cover up the lie.

“you see, this was on his high school graduation day. he was very happy that day, doing all sorts of dances and stuff. finally escaping from hell as he said,” she giggled. she’s been displaying all sorts of memoirs to you, photo albums and photographs scattered on the wooden floor. to be honest, you’ve never seen these before. all smiles mark lee, easy to notice among the crowd. not that he’s changed, he’s still that boy now. mark just sat on the couch - his favourite spot, observing the throwback session going on. if he’s still here, his sister for sure is going to tease the hell out of him.

“he told us so much about you, you know? as if everything reminds him of you, that boy is lovestruck. really,” that sudden confession made your tongue dry, unable to find a perfect response. you were really that special to him.

“drive safe honey, you can come over whenever you want. you know you’re always welcome here, right?” mrs. lee handed you the small box filled with some things you’re going to keep. she kissed both of your cheeks, mr. lee standing behind her giving you a small wave. a small smile crept up onto your face before igniting the engine, turning your wheels out of the housing area.

the netflix show is playing on the television, the faint voices of the characters playing in the background. you’re sitting on the floor, flipping through the photo journal you two decorated throughout your one year of relationship. you can see his little scribbles and doodles, often a little dinosaur symbolising your always grumpy personality.

in one photo, a golden birthday hat is nicely placed on your head with him kissing your right cheek. you remember clearly, a surprise party for you last year. in the following ones, they are mostly candid shots - you blowing out the candles while he looks at you full of love, him eating a portion of your dish while you pout your lips. you would say it was the night of your life, spending it with the guy who stole your heart.

the next page of the journal is a shot of mark taking a photo of you in the park. you suppose it was taken by donghyuck? that one picture of you was stuck as his lock screen wallpaper for a while, you remembered getting so embarrassed over it. mark would give you the same excuse every time you questioned him about it, implying that the sight of you would light up his whole day. cheesy really, but that was what remained as memories of the past, tied neatly in your heart.

the rain trickling against your window eventually made you doze off to wonderland, creating the perfect chance for mark to browse through the journal in your hands. carefully lifting it from yours so that you won’t be stirred from your sleep, he settled down in the space beside your sleeping figure. slowly turning the pages, he smiled fondly at each photo holding a thousand moments that can’t be recreated ever again. some of them would make him giggle. he kneeled down slightly to place a soft kiss on your forehead, making you squirm a little due to the faint touch.

“give him a chance. i’m not saying that you should forget mark but it’s been months, you should live up a little,” yerim’s voice sounding concerned from the other end of the line. perhaps she’s right but you just need more time. but how much longer? you’re afraid you yourself have no specific answer for that enquiry.

you’ve been feeling better by now, welcoming people back into your life and carrying out the same daily routine of yours. going to work, buying groceries, going to the drive-thru and whatnot. of course, the void is still obvious - coming back home to an empty atmosphere instead of him waiting for you on the couch, sometimes dozing off, no more weekend cafe runs. but at least you’re trying your best. you bid your goodbyes before tapping the red button, ending the call. plopping the device onto the mattress, you stared at the white ceiling, deep in your own thoughts.

you should give him a chance. live up a little.

yes, you should.

getting hold of the phone and immediately opening the messages app, you searched for jungwoo’s number. he’s been trying to take you out for dinner for a while now. you still remember his exact words, whenever you’re ready he’s always there, waiting for you. you’re not really sure about that particular question but it wouldn't hurt to give it a try, right?

typing in the words ‘okay, sure’ is already a pressure for you but you still proceeded to press the send button. glancing at the clock showing the time, the notification ping redirected your focus onto the screen.

jungwoo: cool, is tomorrow night okay with you? i’ll drive, of course :)

tomorrow night. okay, tomorrow night.

an elegant red gown is wrapping your curves perfectly, a thin necklace with the seashell charm around your neck while your lips is decorated with the dark red tone, highlighting your poise appearance. hearing the doorbell ring, you tidied up the dresser as your eyes landed onto the picture frame holding a photo of you and mark. a sad feeling crept into your heart but you pushed it away, opening the door to reveal jungwoo in a black and white tuxedo.

you would say that the dinner went well, none of his questions or chatters crossing any borderline. he’s just so polite, even you are amused. feeling comfortable with his presence, the small gap in between is eventually closing down since you’ve learned so much about each other during the other few dates. one night completely changed it for you, him offering you a dance at some event he’s bringing you with.

you observed that his moves are slightly similar to mark’s - not completely of course, mark’s is very unique and very…mark-ish. for the first time ever in the recent turn of events, you flashed a genuine smile. one that is not just for show, one that only comes out when you’re truly elated, one that you only manage to give to certain. mark just observed the scene from a distance, admiring how you’ve managed to find the spark of happiness you once lost.

alas, mark saw his other half become full again with another, her eyes twinkling with the same joy but this time, it’s not him in the reflection.

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summerlovingbaby · 3 years

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The Winter Solider Project

“ Get out of my house.” Isaiah snarled. “ And don’t you dare go bother that girl. Not about this nonsense, she doesn’t need any of this. Not right now.” He yelled after them, as he kicked them out of his house in a fit of anger. Once on the street, Bucky looked at his feet preparing for Sam’s much needed fit of anger.

“Sam…” Bucky started.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Isaiah? How could nobody bring him up? I asked you a question, Bucky?” Sam asked, he could feel the anger rising in his face.

“I know.”

“Steve didn’t know about him?”

“He didn’t. I didn’t tell him.”

“So you’re telling me that there was a black Super Soldier decades ago and nobody knew about it? And what girl is he talking about?” Sam yelled. “ Where are you going? I asked you a question?”

“ You can yell at me on the way, we gotta get help?” Bucky said walking to the car.

“So, you did it all right, but it didn’t help with the nightmares.” Dr. Raynor said matter of factly.

“Well, like I said, I didn’t have any.” Bucky said, looking away to avoid the look in her eyes. The subtle look of disappointment and irritation, settled deep in her eyes.

“Look… one day, you’re gonna have to open up and understand that some people really do want to help you and that they can be trusted.” She said finally closing the notebook.. Bucky could finally relax knowing that the notebook was out of sight.

“I trust people.” Bucky lied. For a trained killer, he was a quite the horrible liar.

“Yeah? Give me your phone.” She said holding out an expectant hand. Bucky took the phone out of his pocket, and debated throwing it out of the window. But he didn’t, and handed her, his phone and watched her tap the screen nervously. ”You don’t have ten phone numbers on this thing. Oh, and you’ve been ignoring the texts from Sam. “ She smacked her lips. “ Oh my gosh, you’ve called Y/N 52 times this week, that’s sad.”

Bucky and Sam arrived on a plain looking front porch, with a plain looking motorcycle in the front yard. With a plain looking flower garden and a plain looking doorknob.

“ Where are we?” Sam asked.

Bucky started to respond, but the door swung open before he got the chance to respond. On the other side of the door stood a woman. She had a snarky smile on her face, and her eyes were narrow, her eyebrows furrowed together.

“ What did I miss a therapy appointment?” She asked rather plainly. She had a tall stature, and was planted firmly one her own two feet. Bucky’s eyes darted to the ground before, he looked up at her. With those eyes, she knew those stupid eyes. Those pleading eyes.“ What do you want?” She sighed.

“ I don’t want anything.” He lied. “ I smell cookies. Did you bake cookies?” He asked, brushing past her, and changing the subject. Y/N shook her head no slightly, while sighing. Her mouth pulled into a thin straight line. Then she flashed a very fake smile at Sam, and opened her arms in a welcoming motion. Sam nodded his head slightly then walked through the door.

Sam followed Y/N into the kitchen, surprised to see Bucky sitting on her kitchen counter. Sam quietly sat down at the dining room table. Bucky was rummaging through a container of cookies. And had one halfway out of his mouth.

“ Did you know I was coming?” He asked, through muffled words, a cookie still in his mouth.

“ No, why?”

“ You made me cookies.” Bucky laughed . A small smile fell upon Y/N’s face, but it soon dropped to one of sadness.

“ They are not for you, they are for my neighbor. Look Buck, it’s not that I don’t enjoy your company, but you want something.” Y/N said, opening the fridge for a bottle of water.

“ We need your help.” Sam interjected. “ I’m Sam Wilson, by the way.”

“ Nice to meet you Sam, I don’t know if Bucky told you, but I’m Y/N.” Y/N said, her eyes fell to the floor, as she leaned on her kitchen countertops. Sam smiled and nodded politely.

“ Why does that name sound familiar?” He asked.

“ Probably saw it somewhere on the news, I’m kind of famous.” Y/N said sarcastically. Bucky laughed.

“ Y/N I hate to ask-”

“ Then don’t.” Y/N spoke harshly, before she fled the kitchen.

“ Y/N wait.” Bucky called after her, his eyes fell to the floor. Then he muttered something to himself about being a crappy friend, before he hopped off the kitchen counter to follow her. Sam stayed in the kitchen, still very confused. He had no idea who this woman was, and why they need her help specifically. He was still reeling over the fact that there was a secret black super solider that nobody knew about.

Bucky followed Y/N into the hallway, very surprised to see that she was waiting for her in the hallway. Her tall and tough stature had diminished greatly, he shoulders were haunched over. It was almost as if a strong gust of wind would blow through the hallway and knock her over.

“ 5 minutes.” She started.

“ I know.” Bucky said, he was making direct eye contact with Y/N, with those sad and understanding eyes. Those eyes that were filled with guilt and sadness.

“ 5 minutes, I just wanted 5 minutes of peace. I’ve never had that, I’m never going to get that, am I?”

“ Y/N-”

“ I just wanted the world to stop spinning for a few minutes, so I could just have a break. I keep going from fight after fight after fight... most of them not by my choice. And when I finally get to chose, I’m still fighting. And just for a few moments, it was calm. Nobody wants me to kill anyone, nobody is actively hunting me down, and now you’re dragging me back into a fight because six teenage super soldiers are running rampant?”\

“ You know?”

“ Yes I know, I watch the news.” She snapped. She looked away, her eyes filling with tears, before she blinked them away. “ I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you, I just..”

“ I know. I’m sorry.” He apologized. “ We could just really need help.”

“ You’re gonna go see Zemo, aren’t you?” She asked finally looking at him. She stood taller now, firm on both her feet.

“ Yeah.” He replied.

“ You’re going to break him out of prison?” She asked already knowing what he was going to say.

“ More than likely”

“ Are we going to end up in Madripoor?”

“ Probably”

“ Great.” She concluded while nodding.

They both returned to the kitchen. Sam still sitting at the table waiting expectantly. Looking around at all the oddly decorated kitchen , when he realized. Exactly where he was. He was in Y/N Y/L/N house.

“ Oh my god.” Sam muttered to himself quietly. He remembered reading about her some years ago. She was a agent of HYDRA, just like Bucky. Brainwashed and made to kill. She was taken in the late 60′s. One of the first female Navy SEALs. HYDRA took her when she was not much older than 23. Credited with over 73 kills, 20 of those being high profile targets.

By this time, Y/N and Bucky were standing in the kitchen.

“ Ready?” Bucky asked. Sam nodded in response.

And with that they were out of the door. Y/N was doing a favor for Bucky, Bucky was currently holding a jar of cookies. Sam was still very confused.

“ Crap, I forgot to water my plants.” Y/N mumbled to herself quietly, before she ran back into the house.

“ Her and those succulents.” Bucky smiled to himself quietly.

“ Y/N L/N... were getting help from Y/N L/N. And you didn’t deem it a good idea to tell me.” Sam yelled.

“ Its not like we have much of an option.”

“ We don’t need anymore help , Bucky.”

“ We do. Do you realize what we are up against.”

“ No Bucky. I had no idea. We could get help from Walker.”

“ Not gonna happen Sam, I’m not doing that.”

“ Then what are we doing?” Sam yelled

Despite Y/N being all the way in her house. She did hear Sam and Bucky yelling. She assumed it was about her, and went back to watering her succulents. They were doing good, growing big and strong. Then she heard police sirens outside.

She ran outside to see Bucky in the back of a police car and Sam looking quite angry. She ran up to them to try and diffuse the situation.

“ What the heck is going on here?” She asked the police officer.

“ Are you Y/N L/N?” He asked, not awnsering her question.

“ Who wants to know?” She asked sarcastically.

“ Okay Ms. L/N, you’re under arrest.” He said reaching for Y/N, she backed up, trying not to let her reflexes take over. If they did, she would have body slammed him to the ground.

“ Woah.” Sam said stepping in between the pair. He saw the glassy eyed, and panicked look on her face. “ Lets all calm down.”

“ I wasn’t talking to you sir.” The police officer yelled, pushing him back, and grabbing at Y/N.

“ Why am I being arrested?”

“ You missed a therapy appointment.” He said, grabbing at her again.

“ What? No I didn’t.”

He ended up grabbing at her wrist before twisting her arm behind her back, and slamming her face down into the car. Y/N grunted as her head hit the car. She could hear Sam protesting, and tried to say something but she couldn’t speak, due to the massive gash on the side of her head. And the blood dripping from her nose.

TAGLIST INFO

@austynparksandpizza @footballaddictsblog @goddessgaga

@buckybarnes1991 @jungkookdingdong @tofeartheunknown

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lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

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Trident Tale part 2

Mermaid!Shinsou x reader x Kirishima x reader

Warnings: adult themes (minors DNI)

Author’s note: sorry to those of you who have asked me to put on the tag list! I don’t do tag lists! But if you don’t want to lose this story, you can always bookmark it on AO3.

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

Original image by @maewoahoah

Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

The thing about being hungry is that you can sometimes convince yourself that you’re full. You can sip water, swallow your breath, pop a few mints in—hell, you could even pretend to eat. However, even if you might trick your brain, your stomach will still be empty.

By the time you finally get some real goddamn food in your stomach, it will be aching from being teased.

It feels like this is exactly what Hitoshi Shinsou has done to you. Teased you. He’d mentioned being one of Ryūjin, which you can only assume is something religious or magic. You know he’s a fish, and that he makes people’s skin glow when he touches them, and apparently his lips or his saliva can heal wounds. But he’s not yet given you any real goddamn food.

The jerk has been swimming circles around the pool, commenting on how disgusting it is being stuck with all the trash, and complaining about your poor hospitality, but has not yet told you what the hell he’s doing here.

It’s not like you ever asked for some creature to crash into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool. Maybe some people would be ecstatic over finding an actual merperson, but life isn’t all about singing songs and talking to seagulls. He’s definitely not an Ariel, unless he is in fact looking for a prince. With all his sass, you think he’s much more of an Ursula than a Disney princess. If he is a sea-witch, he refuses to tell you.

It won’t matter much by the time Denki gets here anyways. You had been honest when you said you wouldn’t put it against him to call some news station when he sees Hitoshi. You figure that after some science lab’s helicopters carried your intruder away to run tests on him, the fish-man will be out of your hair and a thing of the past.

Despite the cynicism crawling through your head, the thought actually makes a guilty pit form in the bottom of your stomach. A life is a life, afterall.

“At least tell me why you tried to…to…” Your mouth flattens when you recall Hitoshi leaning into you, his lips a whisper away from yours.

“To?” Hitoshi asks while he observes the wayward bra that blew into the pool with notable repulsion.

“To kiss me!” You bark out, ears warm.

“Oh, that?” He purses his lips, spinning the bra around in the water. Then, he’s contemplative for a moment, as if he’s thinking of an excuse that won’t make you angry. Or will. He seems to get a kick out of frustrating you.

“I suppose I should’ve considered that it’s not a social norm for humans to greet other humans with their lips,” he says with a cocky, probably lying smirk. “My bad.”

“You expect me to believe that mermaids kiss each other to say hello?”

“Not a mermaid.” The fish is all teeth as he regards you. “I’m one of Ryūjin. And I’d like to think that you’d believe anything I tell you, since you seem to know nothing about my people.”

“Because you won’t tell me anything about your people,” you mutter right before the house bell rings. Your heart jumps with a spike of panic. You haven’t thought about what you’re going to say to Denki yet. You begin thinking about science labs again, and that knot in your stomach tightens.

“Okay,” you say in a warning tone, “I’m gonna let Denki in now…”

“Uh-huh.”

“He’s gonna see you…”

“That’s the plan.” Hitoshi lifts a brow. “You’re not worried for me, are you?”

“I just think you should be more worried about yourself,” you say. “Humans aren’t…” There’s a pensive pause when you try to search for the right word. “Humans aren’t good.”

“Would you say that you’re a good human?” He asks.

What a question. You’d like to believe that you are, but you can’t kid yourself. Never one to be very self-sacrificing, you utter your next words with confidence. “Nope.”

“And yet, you haven’t done anything malicious towards me. Nothing, besides that half-assed attempt to kick me away from you, anyways.”

Rolling your eyes to keep your couldn’t-care-less facade up, you left the smirking merman to wade around in the murky pool. There’s not another second to think about what you could possibly say to Denki about your surprise guest, because when you enter the house, you see his face peeking through the side window next to the front door. You could see a drink holder and a Tiki Burger bag in his hand. His smile is bright, while yours is grim.

He pouts, seeing through forced body language, and proceeds to make a funny face. You let out a half-sigh, half-laugh. You might not be a good person, but Denki is. He’s an idiot, but you don’t think he’d ever do anything to harm another creature, mythical or not. This could even be fun to him. Exciting. Something extraordinary happened, and you’d been too scared to react to it appropriately, but Denki would be different.

Your changing emotions grow palpable when you finally reach for the handle.

“Heard you had some thingies that needed twisting,” Denki says as you open the door. He’s wearing his company’s shirt, a brown thing with the PoolPros logo on it, though it’s cut raggedly short to show off his midriff. He’s been particularly confident ever since he’d gotten his navel pierced, and happily showed off the topaz stone that Kirishima had given him. It hangs right above his buckle. It forces onlookers to look at his abs…or maybe his groin. He says it’s lucky, and you haven’t argued with him about it. You would probably call something Kirishima gave you lucky too.

In a flash, you’re grabbing him by his shirt collar and guiding him in and against one of the hall mirrors.

“Something’s happened.” The words immediately spill out, even while you still do not know what you’re going to say. You hope that if the right things tumble out of your mouth, Denki will get the picture.

“Uh…” Denki’s cheeks are red hot, reacting to your close proximity. “Was it a spike in your libido?”

God.

“No, shut up!” You smack his chest and glance down the hall towards the back door. The pool isn’t in your line of vision, but just knowing what lurks there gets your blood pumping. “This is going to sound crazy, but I need you to keep an open mind.”

He bobs his brows. “For you? Always.”

After an exhale, you gather your composure, and tell Denki everything with as much eloquence as you can muster.

“There’s something living in the pool!” You bark out, erratic. “It’s big and it has zero impulse control and it’s rude! It talks! When it touches me, my skin glows. Then it tried to kiss me, Kaminari! And it’s rude!” You add that in again, because you cannot stress it enough. Hitoshi Shinsou is as unrefined as a piece of driftwood, and he had the audacity to make comments on behalf of your decorum. “It won’t tell me what it’s doing here, either. I offered to get it back into the ocean, but it said it wanted something else, but it won’t tell me what, and I don’t know what to do!”

Denki blinks rapidly, like his eyelashes are repelling every word you toss at him. There’s a beat, he swallows, then his lips tilt up into a knowing grin.

“Alright,” he says, “I see you.”

“You do?” Maybe you had to give Denki a little more credit. That hadn’t been your best description of a nightmare scenario.

“Sure do, little lady. This is some kinda belated birthday prank, huh? Thought you could slide one past me when I was least expecting it! I was thinking that maybe you just forgot about it, but now you’ve got something up your sleeve, don’t ya! Well cutie, I might be dumb, but I’m not stupid!”

Striding into the house, Denki places the shakes and burger bag onto Shuzenji’s kitchen counter. Shoulders deflating, you follow him while he fishes a few fries out of the bag. If he doesn’t get it now, he will soon enough.

“What could it be?” He ponders, tossing a fry into his mouth. He nods towards one of the cups and mumbles about a shake for you, then towards the back door. “Couldn’t be a party—it’s too early for a party. And you don’t talk to many people…”

Ignoring the slight burn, you front Denki, and extend your hand out to his. His eyes widen for a moment, he wipes his hand on his pants, and takes yours.

“I need your help, Denki. Seriously.”

“Yeah,” he says, a touch more reformative. “Okay.”

What should’ve been some grand reveal, however, turned out to be anything but.

The pool being clean is the first thing you notice, as absurd as that is. It’s now half-filled, with only sprinkles of algae leftover by some miraculous clean-up. There’s no more silver fish swimming around, and all the trash that had previously taken sanctuary in the pool now lays on a mountainous pile with the bra sitting at its peak. Your guest is no longer in the pool—the very clean pool.

Denki chuckles and says, “well, this doesn’t look bad at all. By how hysterical you were on the phone, I was expecting something much worse. Oh! Hello!”

Your jaw drops as Denki waves at Hitoshi—a very comfortable-looking Hitoshi who lounges on one of the reclining pool chairs, head turned back like he’s sun bathing, one leg crossed over the goddamn other. Legs. Attached to feet—feet that definitely were not there when you’d met him.

Tricky, magic fish-man.

“Oh,” Hitoshi says, carefully considering Denki. “We have company?”

The ‘we’ in his statement doesn’t sit right with you anymore than his appearance does. He stands, and both you and Denki gasp when you see his new outfit in its entirety. It’s all royal blue, fine silks, and sheer fabric that only covers the places that would make Denki blush. Puffy, yet flowing sleeves connect to his now two golden cuffs. A heavy gold necklace hangs around him, and he’s got a light sash thrown around mostly his bare chest. A golden, v-shaped belt holds his deep blue harem pants up.

They are the gaudiest goddamn pajamas you’ve ever seen.

Hitoshi moves like water to face Denki, then firmly grasps him by the forearm, yanking the boy forward so that their lips are mere inches away from each other. Noting that there’s no glowing from their contact, you watch as Hitoshi’s indigo eyes slide from Denki’s lips, to you, and shows off a dubious glint.

“Whoops,” Hitoshi murmurs basically into Denki’s mouth. “I almost forgot that you don’t greet people like this here.” He takes a step away and smirks. “Forgive me. I’m Hitoshi Shinsou. You must be the pool guy.”

“Um, yeah. ‘M Denki Kaminari.” Denki laughs nervously. His cheeks burn red, and he keeps shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Grabbing onto your hand tightly, he starts back towards the house, towing you along, saying, “excuse us, we just have to—uh. Talk.”

In a tick, you’re whisked right back inside, in the land of private conversations.

“It didn’t look like that before, Denki. I swear to god.” You’re insisting as soon as the door is closed.

“It?!” Denki balks, his cheeks turning even more red. “Do you mean the pool or that hunk of a man hanging around your backyard?!”

“Both, I guess, but I wouldn’t call it a man! It had a giant purple tail before you showed up!!”

“That’s very rude, y’know.” Denki peers back at Hitoshi who’s lackadaisically cleaning his fingertips. “What are their pronouns?”

You imagine Hitoshi surrounded by others like him, all either screaming or clicking to communicate with each other in an inhuman language. “I don’t think pronouns matter wherever it’s from!”

“Hmm.” Denki slides the door open and pops his head out. “‘Scuse me, Hitoshi, what are your pronouns?”

Without missing a beat, Hitoshi answers him. “As in titles? You can call me Shinsou, but if you’re so inclined, I’ll allow you to call me lord.”

“Lord, of course.” More nervous laughter as Denki closes the door. “Lord. That’s a kink thing, right? It’s gotta be!”

“It’s not!” You bark, but Denki doesn’t hear you. Instead, he rushes towards one of the hall mirrors and begins fussing over his hair.

“I honestly can’t believe you did this. I mean, you, of all people. You’re braver than I gave you credit for. Coulda given me a heads up, though. I would’ve worn somethin’ nice. Or not come at all. I do feel like I’m intruding.” Denki’s eyes light up. “Unless this is for my birthday and you’re…you want me to join you?”

“You’ve lost me.” You're too busy trying to figure out what you can do to convince Denki that Hitoshi is a mermaid. You’ve considered pushing him back into the pool, but you don’t know if that would change him back to his sea-man state, or just make you look like a jackass.

“This is so weird. I haven’t seen that guy on the island before, and believe me, I know everybody. It must’ve cost a pretty penny to get him here. On top of everything else-“ He clears his throat- “how much is this costing you? Does Shuzenji know what you get up to while she’s away?”

It hits you like a freight train. “Oh, Kaminari…No…”

“The jig is up!” Denki stomps his foot defiantly and points towards the door. “You’re paying that man for sex!”

“God no!” The very idea that you’ve paid Hitoshi to be here, to touch you, flusters the hell out of you. If anything, you’d pay for him to leave. “You’d honestly think I’d hire a prostitute?!”

“Escort is the term they are using nowadays, and no, I wouldn’t think you’d hire an escort until now!” Denki scoffs, then moves his hand through his hair, exasperated. “The thing is, babe, you don’t need to. You’re cute and fun! If you got out every once in a while…”

“Fish!” You yell, cutting him off, because you’re not about to have another conversation about your hermit lifestyle. “He’s a fish, Denki! I didn’t fuck a fish! Nor am I planning to!”

Denki blinks at you. Not like before—not like he’s reflecting your words. This blink is more like a blink one would offer someone who’d been having an otherwise normal conversation, until they started talking about the earth being flat, or homosexuals burning in a lake of fire.

I’m not crazy, you think and will Denki to believe. I’ll prove it.

Before you can give Denki a play-by-play of what happened—properly this time, and not just your rambled recall—the door slides open, and Hitoshi steps in.

“May I enter?” The regal-looking man asks.

At the exact same moment you say, “no,” Denki says, “of course.”

“I was just hoping to find something to eat.” Hitoshi stops in the kitchen, arms crossed and expectant.

“You haven’t fed your hooker?” Denki whispers and it blows your mind that he can say hooker and you can’t say prostitute. “You can have half my burger!”

“Burger,” Hitoshi repeats the unfamiliar word, and looks around, probably wondering what it could be. Denki takes the hint and proceeds to fish his meal out of the bag. Overly familiar with Shuzenji’s kitchen, he finds a knife to cut the sandwich in two, then hands one half to Hitoshi.

Hitoshi frowns.

“I’m sorry, are you a vegetarian?” Denki asks, and you can tell he’s being overly hospitable in a house that is not his. When Hitoshi doesn’t answer him, but doesn’t stop frowning, Denki asks, “do you not eat meat?”

“This is meat?” Asks Hitoshi, shaking the burger in the air. Some mayonnaise-covered lettuce falls to the kitchen floor.

“I have to clean that!” You yip and wet a paper towel. When you’re on your knees, Hitoshi gives you a smirk of indifference.

“What, do you not have hamburgers where you’re from?” Denki asks, and when Hitoshi refuses to answer him again, he says, “the meat is the patty. It’s beef.”

“Beef.” Hitoshi begins dissecting the thing, throwing the bun halves, pickles, tomato, and lettuce all on the floor. You continue to curse at him while he sniffs at the patty. “What animal is this?”

“Beef is cow, dude.” Denki sounds more skeptical now, which you’d be grateful for if you weren’t already on your hands and knees, scrubbing ketchup out of the tile. “Man, throwing food on the floor is rude no matter where you’re from. Babe, you shouldn’t have to clean that up.”

“If I don’t, who will?” You ask, sardonic.

“There’s not really a floor where I’m from,” Hitoshi says once he swallows his first bite. He places the patty back onto the burger wrap, and steps away from his mess. “At least, there’s no floor when it’s meal time. We just let shells and bones float around until they go down to where they’ll eventually break down and decay.”

Denki asks, “where did you say you were from?”

“He’s a fish, Denki.”

“I didn’t.” Hitoshi gets down on his knees with a wetted paper towel of his own. He swipes at the places you’ve missed, then looks at you. “Tell me, would a not-good person clean up a mess that isn't their own?”

“It’s kind of my job,” you retort and stand so Hitoshi can finish cleaning. Instead, he stands with you.

“And what is his job?” Hitoshi nods towards Denki who looks more and more fretful by the second. “I assume he’s here to provide services. If you’re paying him, shouldn’t he be the one to clean for you? Prepare meals for you? Bend to your whims?”

Denki says, “I’ve got a couple jobs, but I’m not a housekeeper, no.”

“No?” Hitoshi gives out a terse laugh and hands the towel off to Denki. “Clean.”

Denki looks to you for an explanation. You’re about to chew Hitoshi out, when he again says, “clean,” but this time, there’s something attached to his voice. Something that is nothing, but also more. It sends goosebumps up your arms and compels Denki to fall to the floor and obey the command.

“Yes, my lord.” When Denki finishes cleaning and throws the rest of the mess in the bin, he looks at Hitoshi, eyes glossy, waiting.

“Fetch me some water,” says Hitoshi, and after another yes, my lord, Denki begins searching for a glass.

“Quit it!” You shout and very nearly grab on to Hitoshi’s arm, stopping only when you remember the glow and the prickles that accompany his touch. Decidedly, you hurry after Denki and grab the glass from his hands and snap your fingers in front of his face.

Denki blinks, and this time it’s not because he doesn’t hear you, and it’s not because you’re spouting crazy nonsense. He blinks, and it’s a revelation.

“Hypnosis!” Denki says the word like eureka! and you want to shake him, because he should be angrier than he seems.

“I’m surprised you understand or even remember that much,” Hitoshi drawls. “You’re more in-tune than you’d like people to believe.”

And I’m Mother Teresa, you think bitterly. The fish is contemptuous as hell, but he doesn’t read people well. To him, you’re good and apparently Denki’s a genius.

“How did you do that?” Denki asks with growing excitement. “When I was a kid, I was really into magic, but could never get any of the tricks right. You didn’t use any triggering noises or images or anything.”

“There is a bit of magic about you,” Hitoshi says like he’s thinking out loud. “Not enough to pull something like what I just did off unless you have the proper tide jewel. But you do have enough power to utilize a tide jewel.”

“Don’t do that again,” you warn, and pour water from the sink into the glass. There’s purified water in the fridge, but Hitoshi hasn’t earned it. “To Kaminari or to me. The difference between a house guest and a home-invader is who does and does not use hypnosis on other guests.”

“I wasn’t aware that hypnosis is a common occurrence in your residence.” Hitoshi reaches for the glass, but you hold it away from him. Casting out a withering look, he says, “I wouldn’t be able to hypnotize him again, even if I wanted to. Not for a while, anyways. Not without my tide jewel.”

“What’s a tide jewel?” Denki asks. “Is that, like, sea glass?”

Eyes flicking from the glass of water, to Denki, then to you, Hitoshi says, “he knows how to ask a question.”

The questions that you ask get ignored! But instead of saying that, you continue to withhold the water, and say, “then answer him.”

Mildly peeved, Hitoshi turns his attention back to Denki. “You say you have a couple of jobs. What would they be?”

“That’s not answering his question,” you mutter.

“I’ll decide whether I should answer him in a moment. Denki, if you will.”

“Oh, well…” The sheepish Denki brings his hand to the back of his neck, blushing slightly. “I’ve got the PoolPros gig, and sometimes I pick shifts up at The Salty Barrel. I sort of got an affinity for making drinks…and cooking…and fixing things, so they like to keep me around.”

Unamused, Hitoshi pries. “Anything else?”

“Sometimes I pick up odd jobs. Fishing and delivery. I guess I’m pretty dependable because of the boat.”

This catches Hitoshi’s attention. “You have a boat?”

“Sure, yeah. It’s nothin’ too special yet. I’ve been working on it, and it’s coming along, but it’s not ready for what it’s truly intended for.”

“Which would be?”

Denki looks at you and winks, making your ears warm. You know exactly why he got the boat.

“Romantic rendezvous.”

“I see,” Hitoshi says pensively. Then, his eyes go sharp when he notices you fiddling with the ties on your shorts. “Are you two mates?”

Denki lifts a conspiratorial brow towards you, before throwing his arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his body. “Sure, yeah—we’re mates!”

You push away from him, and bite, “not those kinds of mates.”

Although nobody disagrees with you, you sense Denki sulking.

“Ah,” Shinsou muses. “You haven’t yet fought for her hand?”

Before you can groan at the idea, Denki laughs quietly, but his laughter quickly grows uproariously as he considers the idea. Soon, he’s gripping his stomach to stop himself from doubling over. You glare at his feet.

“As if there’s another guy to fight for her,” Denki bellows, wiping a tear away from his eye. “Maybe if she ever went out, but for now, the only person I gotta fight for her hand, is her!”

“Oh, I understand,” Shinsou says, eyes on you. “A battle to assert domination.”

Denki hoots loudly at the idea. “Looks like I’m screwed!”

To your growing agitation and embarrassment, Denki continues to laugh. It’s as if you’re not constantly shooting him down. You’re not pitiful. Not helpless. And you think you’d have some game if you put your heart into it. You just have a type, and the pool guy just doesn’t fit the bill, whether he’s handy or not.

There’s no humor to be found in Hitoshi’s eyes, though. He’s glaring at you, like before, only now he’s looking at you more like you’re a piece of meat—like he’s some kind of predator and you’re his newfound prey. You inadvertently step closer to Denki, as if he could be used as some sort of defense shield, then elbow him in the ribs, pretending that you’re not at all intimidated by this fish-turned-man.

“Nobody’s fighting anybody,” you say, keeping eye-contact with Hitoshi. You’ve been told before that the fact that you’re never the first to look away is a little off-putting. Hoping to have the same uncomfortable effect on your guest, you don’t even blink when you say, “I just have my eyes on someone special.”

At the same time Denki stops his laughing, Hitoshi narrows his eyes—not out of malice, but what seems to be curiosity. That’s as far as you’ll go with revealing any more personal information. You might not be physically spoken for, yet, but at least you’re emotionally unavailable. You vaguely wonder if those kinds of ideals are acknowledged by sea people.

“Yeah, Kiri,” Denki says with a roll of his eyes. So much for keeping things personal. “He’s not interested in dating anyone, though. In fact, he’s pretty much married to the ocean.”

“At least there aren’t other girls,” you say, and with a quick glance at Denki, you add, “or boys.”

Denki exaggerates a woeful, hand-over-forehead pose and cries, “at least we have each other!” Then, he places his hand back around your shoulders. Again, you scoot away from him, and this time, you catch Hitoshi’s lips quirk up, just a bit.

“Alright,” Hitoshi says. “I’ve decided.”

“Decided what?” You ask.

“That the two of you are going to help me.”

The fish-man moves to flatten the burger wrap down on the counter like a map, and proceeds to decimate the other half of Denki’s burger. Denki says, “oh that’s fine…I wasn’t that hungry anyways.”

“Help you with what!” You bark, practically starving for details. Despite Hitoshi and all that he’s done, your interest is piqued, and you feel as though you’re finally going to get to the meat of his situation.

Lining a few fries on the paper wrap, Hitoshi finally says, “a few of my worldly possessions have been stolen from me. They’ve been missing for quite a long time now, and I now plan to take them back. Four of the six items happen to be tide jewels. I figure those will be the easiest to locate and extract.”

Denki snaps his finger. “Tide jewels! That’s what we were talking about! What are those?

Dabbing his pinky into some mustard, Hitoshi says, “artistry…” He dips his ring finger into the ketchup and says, “reign…” he tears a piece of lettuce in half and says, “tide…” and finally, he rips some of the patty and says, “soul.”

“Artistry, reign, tide, soul,” Denki repeats, peeking over Hitoshi’s shoulder. “You don’t happen to be a musician, do you? A magician musician!”

“I’m a connoisseur, but not a practitioner.” Hitoshi breathes. “And you’re too close to me.”

“Well, you’re certainly not an artist,” Denki huffs, taking a few steps back. You move in to see what Denki saw.

On the wrap, the French fries have been warped to look like some sort of three-pronged fork. On the left prong, there’s a dab of ketchup, in the center, mustard, and the right has a piece of lettuce sitting on it. Connecting the three prongs is the bit of hamburger meat Hitoshi had ripped.

“Is this supposed to be a fork or a trident?” You ask, then kick yourself, because it’s obviously a trident. Duh. Mermaids. “Is that one of the things that have been stolen? A trident?”

Hitoshi says, “yes. All four of the tide jewels connect to the trident. With them, the trident could very well be one of the most powerful blessed objects on this planet. If it falls into the wrong hands, the results could be catastrophic.”

“Now, hang on,” Denki begins, brows curved into a frown. “What?”

“So good at questions,” you murmur.

“Each tide jewel has its own magical property. The names speak for themselves, but since the two of you are a little slow on the uptake, I’ll explain.” Hitoshi points at each different spot on his fries-trident, explaining what each point represents.

“The yellow jewel is for artistry and skill. Whoever wields it, whether in its natural form or attached to another object, will learn trades quickly, can craft almost anything at a master’s level, and they’ll have a more creative way of thinking.”

“The red jewel is for reign and rule. Whoever wields this can command any audience. Wars have been fought, kingdoms taken, and women stolen by the power of this gem. It’s almost the most violent of the four, but it can also be used to keep peace.”

“The blue jewel is for the tide. They used to be two jewels, one for tide-ebbing, the other for tide-flowing, but they’ve been molded together after another theft mishap. With the power of this jewel, one would be able to control not only the water of the sea, but water itself. This gem can create storms you couldn’t dream of. This is possibly the most dangerous stone if placed into the wrong hands.”

“Sir, that’s a piece of lettuce,” Denki says.

“Your burger didn’t have anything blue,” Hitoshi growls, “nor did it have anything purple, which brings me to the last jewel. This would be the soul jewel. It aids people with wishes, can offer good dreams, and can allow the wielder to see people’s auras, or souls. This jewel has stopped many malevolent unions in the past.”

Finally, Hitoshi turns back to you and Denki. There’s nothing content about his expression now. If anything, he looks grave.

“The fact that the trident is not in my possession has already had a cataclysmic influence on the world you know now. I need it, and the jewels, or else there may be dire consequences.”

Throat dry, palms sweaty, you swallow thickly, and allow yourself a moment to process all that he’s saying. It may be idiotic, but you believe him. Maybe if you hadn’t seen him in the water earlier, things would be different. You’d be more skeptical. But since you’ve already seen one impossible thing today—two if you're counting the fact that Hitoshi grew legs and magically poofed himself an outfit—you don’t think he’s lying.

However, Denki did not see him in the water. Which is why he’s the first to speak.

“Right,” he says, looking down on you. “Sorry, babe, but the marvel universe did it first with Thanos and his gauntlet. If this is supposed to be a scavenger hunt of some kind, can we skip the game, hints and all, and get to the dinner? I expect there’ll be candles and such for nighttime, so maybe you and I can hang out at the beach, sans the mean magician?” Denki looks at Hitoshi. “No offense, buddy. You could join us if you cheer up a bit. I’d never say no to a threesome with two equally attractive people.”

The water in the glass you’re holding begins to shake. It shakes, and then it moves, and then it lifts up into the air, snaking around like a gelatinous worm, and slowly makes its away to Hitoshi’s mouth. Never before have you seen anyone swallow menacingly, and this has changed it.

“I am not your buddy,” Hitoshi hisses between his teeth, “and this is not a game.”

“He just…” Denki begins stuttering. This isn’t something he can chock up to something as mundane as a magic trick. This is pure magic, and you feel less like a giant dork for how you reacted to Hitoshi showing himself to you, with how distraught Denki seems to be.

“I told you,” you say under your breath, “he’s a fish!”

“I am Hitoshi Shinsou. I am one of Ryūjin, and you will not desecrate my name or my people by belittling me or my power.” It hadn’t occurred to you until now that he’s not only speaking to Denki, but to both of you. The thought makes you shift with unease as Hitoshi’s eyes slide from your friend to you. “Not without consequences. I’ve been burdened with this purpose, and the two of you can choose to help me and reap the rewards that follow, or you can return to your miserable lives, loligagging and ogling the things you know you want, but are too lazy to obtain.”

At this moment, Hitoshi Shinsou seems ancient to you. Trepidation crawls up your spine, chilling you to the bone. You regret most of what you’ve said to him, even the things you’d thought he deserved. You have an inkling that if Hitoshi really wanted to harm you, or Denki, he would. Easily.

“Okay, well-“ Denki, again speaks first, thank god. “You didn’t say there would be rewards.”

Maybe don’t thank god yet. But before you can apologize on Denki’s behalf, the air that you hadn’t realized had got heavier, thicker even, lifts, and Hitoshi eases up, lackadaisical smirk back on track.

“You both wish for something,” he says. “If you help me retrieve what’s rightfully mine, I will graciously return the favor by granting your wishes.”

“We do?” Denki asks. It’s wild to you how easily he could jump back into conversation like this, although, when you look closely at him, you can see that he’s trembling faintly. “What do I want?”

“You wish for a boat,” Hitoshi says, “so I will give you a boat.”

“I have a boat.”

“I’ll give you a better boat.” Hitoshi seems to be enjoying himself now, even going so far as to lean on the table, picturing exactly what he’s describing. “A captivating boat that both women and men find irresistible. It will sail smoother and faster than the other vessels out on sea. You will never want or need for an upgrade for it will never wear or tear.”

“A super boat,” Denki muses, beguiled by the idea. It’s your turn to be skeptical now, because you haven’t wished for anything. At least, not aloud for Hitoshi to hear.

“Then, what do I get?” You ask, arms crossed. You can admit that you’re interested in what he might have to say.

“Oh darlin’, that’s easy,” Hitoshi purrs, and moves from the counter over to you. Slowly, like he’s savoring your anticipation. Lifting a finger to your arm, he slides it across your skin, watching as both the glow and the tingles return. You have to hold your breath to yourself from sighing.

“You want to be loved,” he says, “adored even. And not just by anybody. You want to be with your soulmate, isn’t that right. That may be why you came to this island to begin with.”

There’s no way he could’ve known that you’re new to the island. Nobody said anything about it. But he’s not wrong. Though you can’t say he’s right either. You came to the island in hopes to find…yourself. And though you haven’t yet found yourself, you sure as hell found Kirishima. And soulmate has a nice right to it.

“So if we help you find these gems—“

“—tide jewels,” he intervenes.

“Tide jewels-“ you roll your eyes- “then you will give Denki a super boat, and you will unite me with a soulmate?”

“Exactly,” Hitoshi confirms. “Easy peesy, isn’t it?”

“How do we know you’ll uphold your end of the bargain?” Denki asks, finally out of his super boat daydreams.

“I said you were good with questions.” Hitoshi smirks. “You don’t know. You can’t know. But you can either do this with me, and probably get a super boat and a soulmate out of it, or you can not, and get nothing.”

Denki side-eyes you, and you him. You hold each other’s gazes for a brief moment, and you already know how this would play out if you refuse. Denki would convince you to do it. You don’t do anything, he says with his eyes. Might as well hang around and see how this plays out.

“Fine.” Even though your good conscience screams at you to do otherwise, you let up. “We’ll help you.”

“Excellent.” Hitoshi beams, or at least, he beams in a way only someone who was just threatening two other people can beam. “Then we should start our search today. We’ll probably need to go into town and see if there are any supernatural occurrences or old folktales to check out.”

Going out to town is the last thing you’d planned on doing today. Or maybe the second to last thing you planned on doing. You have to ask, because if you don’t, you’ll go batsy.

“We won’t be getting wet, will we?”

Hitoshi scoffs, which isn’t an answer. Maybe you really don’t ask the right questions because when Denki asks, “you said there were six things you need to retrieve. What’s the sixth thing?” Hitoshi winks at you, and grins. And when he grins, your stomach aches.

#bnha x reader #bnha reader insert #reader insert #mha x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #mermaid!shinsou x reader #bnha mermaids #trident tale #tt

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cinnaminsvga · 4 years

Text

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

“Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

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