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salemwritesxx · 3 years

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𝓽𝓱𝓻𝓮𝓮 𝔂𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓼.

𝔹 𝕒 𝕜 𝕦 𝕘 𝕠 𝕦 𝕂 𝕒 𝕥 𝕤 𝕦 𝕜 𝕚

⇴ male reader [24, pro-hero, alpha, quirk: ice-phoenix] ⇴ all characters are depicted as [18]+

↳ summary: Bakugou and [Your.name] were dating, about to get married. Though one morning, everything that was dear to [Your.name] was brutally ripped away when he found a letter from his fiancé. Katsuki was gone, no traces left behind. And now, after three years [Your.name] was suddenly confronted with the reason when he meets his ex-fiancé again in a small town in Hokkaido.

↣ rating: mature ↣ warnings: abo universe, male pregnancy, bonding (biting for the bond mark to appear), drama / angst that turns into a happy end though; angst ending version read here.

AN: This was inspired by @amgjiks ’ request they sent in a few months ago! posting this story under your original request feels kinda “wrong” since I’d be ignoring half of what you requested basically so imma keep the original for when inspiration kicks in, in the future :)

part 2.

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Walking along the streets, you didn’t have a destination in mind. Just walking around and letting fresh air clear your fogged up brain. You had been overthinking – again. It was one of those days were you couldn’t help but think back to three years ago. Tomorrow three years ago would have been the date were you and Katsuki would have said “Yes”, but alas… it all came differently.

Running your hand through your hair, you sighed deeply.

“I need to stop thinking about this. It’s been so long! Like this, I will never be able to forget him.”

But how were you supposed to forget the love of your life? Especially when it all came so quickly and out of nowhere? One day everything was fine, the next, he was gone. And as much as you tried to find him, despite him stating in the letter you shouldn’t try, it was all in vain anyways. It’s as if Bakugou Katsuki had never existed. Even his parents, that were always very much in love with you as their son-in-law, completely ignored you and cut you off.

It was such a deep cut, even time wasn’t able to heal anything. The last three years were rough. Sleepless nights were a normal thing by now. And while media praised you for working so hard on your hero career, you just pushed yourself like that so you wouldn’t need to think about the past. Because when you were working, it all just faded away.

However, after collapsing one day, the agency forced you to take time off and so you landed in Hokkaido. Far away from the bustling streets of Tokyo, your gloomy small apartment and your work place. With nothing to do, you found yourself overthinking day and night. If you just could ask him one question.

Why?

Putting on his scent-blocking collar, Bakugou suddenly felt a little tugging on his t-shirt, hence he looked down. [Eye.color], big eyes stared at him and the toothy smile immediately had him smiling as well.

“Are you ready to go outside, Hiroto?”, he asked his son who looked so much like you, reminding him every day what he had done.

“MH! Can I bring Popo?”, Hiroto’s big eyes sparkled a little, making it very difficult for Katsuki to say no, hence he nodded a little.

Watching his son, it only took a few moments before he came back with his stuffed animal, it was a phoenix. Rather, it was your merchandise. It… was complicated.

“Ready to go?”

“Yeess!”

And so, Katsuki locked the door behind him, leaving to go for a walk around the block and a quick park visit.

Leaning against a bridge, you stared down, still pondering. If you had just acted differently, maybe you could have saved your relationship. Whatever it was you had done, it pushed him away from you and it was eating you inside to not know what the reason was.

You didn’t know how many hours you had been wandering around town, trying to stop thinking, but as always, you only thought harder the less you had to do. Hence why you decided to go back to the inn you were staying at.

After hours outside, Hiroto was tired, his plushy Popo hugged tightly against his chest as he silently walked besides Bakugou along the streets. One more time, Katsuki tried to pick his son up, “Hiro? Want me to carry you home? Aren’t you tired?”

“NHN!”, he shook his head, “Daddy is never tired when he fights the bad guys! So I am also not tired.”

Hiroto was stubborn as he kept walking besides Bakugou who was just sighing a little. It was his own fault, but he couldn’t lie to his son. Without even thinking about it, Katsuki talked about you whenever you were on TV. He didn’t know why he just couldn’t keep quiet about you being Hiroto’s father. So now, whenever you were on TV, Bakugou had to lie and say you were in another country fighting the bad guys, even though you were still in Tokyo, mere 4 hours away with the train. But Katsuki couldn’t come back. Not after he had hurt you so much. It was his decision to raise Hiroto alone. You deserved to be successful, it had been your dream. Kids just weren’t a thing you had planned for, at least not with 21.

Being caught up in his own thoughts, Bakugou didn’t see you on the other side of the street. Neither did you see him. Both of you staring ahead, thinking back to three years ago, what had been and what it could have become. However, something connected you both. You never had a chance to bond with him, was it a tradition in your alpha family to bond during the wedding night, but your connection was different. Said connection was looking up and across the street.

Hiroto just looked around tiredly when he saw someone. Someone he had seen on TV multiple times. The little boy didn’t know how many times he had wanted Katsuki to show him YouTube videos of you fighting.

“HAAAHHH!? DADDY!?”, a piercing cry came from the little one, shaking you and Katsuki awake. The latter immediately grabbing Hiroto, but.. it was too late.

“HIRO?!”, he yelled, though his son ran across the streets.

You, on the other hand, were so incredibly confused. There he was, standing literally on the other side and then there was a little child, running towards you and calling for you. Was this the “Why?” you had searched for, for so long? You couldn’t think about it when your legs moved on their own to get the kid out of a potential dangerous situation.

It was a blessing that the small town didn’t have much traffic, hence why you could easily run towards him, scoop him up and get back to the safe sidewalks in mere seconds. You didn’t want to imagine what could have happened in a busy city like Tokyo.

Then you stood there, awkwardly holding Hiroto who was crying and sobbing into your t-shirt while Katsuki’s own emotions were all over the place. The Omega had never imagined the possible chance of meeting you again. After three years, all he had built up from scratch to have a comfortable life far, far away from you, as to not disturb your career, it all broke apart.

However, Bakugou wasn’t the only one hearing something shattering, your own heart dropped into your stomach. The already broken pieces shattering more when you saw the pure horror displayed on his face. This was not how you imagined meeting him again. He hated you. You were certain of that. Whatever you had done to him, he never wanted to see you again. It all was so clear to you now it almost brought you to tears then and there.

Your inner Alpha was strongly urging you to just grab him, Katsuki was your Omega, even if you never had a chance to mark him, that’s just how it was. He was yours. But…

Slowly pushing your son away you put him into Bakugou’s arms. There were no words said, the only thing disturbing the silence was Hiroto’s sobbing. Especially when you loosened his tight grip on your t-shirt, he started squirming and screaming, trying to grab onto you more. He had seen you on TV so many times and now you were right in front of him. Yet, Hiroto had to watch when you turned around and left him behind.

You had so many questions rushing through your head, but at the same time, you couldn’t bring yourself to utter them out loud. Not after seeing Bakugou’s expression. This was never supposed to happen. Even if your heart yearned for answers, especially regarding his son… your son?

Without thinking about it, Katsuki put Hiroto down to let him run after you once again. It was such an impulse thing to do, he truly didn’t know why he had done it. Though after three years, why should he hide anymore when you had seen everything now? Also… after so long, he might have not been able to ignore his heart’s desire and yearning any longer.

It was so incredibly hard to ignore Hiroto’s crying and just walk away as if it had never happened, but for the sake of Katsuki’s happiness, you chose to go. However, a sudden tug made you stop. Looking down you saw ice around your ankles. It was weak and thin, easily breakable really. Hiroto’s? When you turned around, he had already clutched your leg tightly. Why?

When you looked back up, Bakugou also stood in front of you, his ruby eyes shimmering a little.

“Do you … want to talk?”, he finally asked, his voice breaking at the end though as he tried his hardest not to cry. What was he doing? It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in like three weeks, it had been YEARS since he left without any other word. Why would you even want to have anything to do with him or Hiroto?

“Yes!”, you said and it truly caught the Omega off-guard. After everything he put you through… If he was in your position he probably would have been so angry and furious, but you just seemed exhausted and tired.

But finally, you would be getting some answers.

All night long, you couldn’t sleep. After you had calmed down Hiroto enough, Bakugou gave you a little piece of paper with his address on it. “I work until 7. So we can talk without any disturbance.”, he said when he gave you the information. It was probably for the best. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen when your feelings would overcome you out in a café. [Your.hero.name] seen screaming in Hokkaido – you could see the news all over the internet already. So, it was probably for the best to meet him at home.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t nervous. How had your ex-fiancé been living his life the past three years? It was all exciting and scary at the same time to find out those things.

When you knocked on his door, your inner Alpha was impatiently pacing up and down. It was as nervous as you. But when the door opened and Katsuki stood there, you were sure for the first time in the last 12 hours, that it wasn’t a dream. Walking inside was heaven and hell at the same time. Everything smelled like him. The Omega’s scent was so familiar, but another one was mixed in – probably Hiroto’s.

“A friend of mine is looking after Hiroto tonight so he won’t be dragged into this.”, he said, nervously fumbling with his scent-blocking collar.

It was weird wearing it at home, but for you and himself, he had to wear it. His Omega had been going in circles ever since he met you again yesterday. It wanted to be taken and to be honest, Bakugou was also close to surrender to you. But it wasn’t that easy. You probably had so many questions.

“Oh… Yeah that’s for the best. Katsuki.”, you suddenly stopped in the middle of the hallways.

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I can't wait, but you need to tell me now. Hiroto, he… called me Daddy and he has an ice quirk… so I am not wrong to assume that he is… our son?”

Katsuki could vividly feel your emotions, the Omega was shuddering, his throat dry and hands sweatier than usual.

“Yeah…”, was all he could choke out.

“Oh.. my God.”, you just mumbled to yourself. Hearing it out loud was like another punch in your stomach.

“Did you… leave me when you were pregnant?”, was your next question, still standing in the middle of the hallway.

However, Katsuki couldn’t even blame you. There were so many questions left unanswered.

“We were too young…”, his ruby eyes were shimmering again with tears, but he tried his best to keep them at bay.

“Too young?”, you were speechless for a moment, before looking back, “Why didn’t you tell me?! Why did you just… leave? Why… did you do everything yourself?!”

Now you were finally angry. After so long, you just couldn’t understand why he would leave you without saying anything. It could have all come differently if Katsuki would have just been honest!

“You had your career?! A baby didn’t just… fucking fit into our lifestyle! What else could I have done?!”, Bakugou yelled back. He knew it would come to this.

“SO?! You also had your career, we were both working hard to become well-known heroes so that’s not a fucking excuse. What else?? You seriously ask me?!”, you gestured wildly.

“You wouldn’t have wanted to raise a child, it was too soon!”

“It was NOT your right to decide that for me!”, you yelled, your voice breaking as tears welled up.

Bakugou once again being a little taken aback. His heart was racing and his tears so close to falling.

“You could have asked me, we could have worked it out.”, the first tears successfully fought their way out as they rolled over your cheeks.

“I loved you SO MUCH. If it was possible I would have literally brought you the stars from the sky. I would have done anything. And you? You just leave. Without anything but a letter telling me you cannot marry me. Do you have the slightest idea how I felt?”, your voice was shaking and breaking here and there, but it was freeing to finally let it all out.

“I thought it was for the best. I didn’t know what to do.“, Bakugou’s voice was so uncharacteristically weak and small.

“You didn’t know?? Did you never trust me, Katsuki? Was I just- such a horrible Alpha to you? Did you think I’d force you to an abortion? Was I not good enough to be a father?!”, you asked trying so hard not to scream, but all these pent up feelings, it all just gushed out without any sort of valve to stop yourself.

“That’s not it! I knew you wouldn’t do that, I just-“

“WHAT? Please tell me why! Why?! Why was I not worthy to be your mate? Why did you refuse to tell me and just leave?! Why did you chose raising OUR baby alone, I-“

“I DON’T KNOW, OKAY?! I don’t know! It was a fucking stupid decision out of nowhere!”, he finally screamed back, tears cascading down his face.

“Don’t you think I have regretted it? Do you think I LIKE being a single parent?! I know I fucked up. I know I threw it all away because I panicked, okay?! I just panicked and before I knew it I was on the train.”, Katsuki sobbed, desperately wiping away his tears.

“We were so fucking young! We had planned to marry, we were talking about saving up for the future to build a house, to have a family in like 10 years or more. But… But I just messed up! I forgot to take my medication before going into Heat, it was my fault I got pregnant- I… I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. Throw everything we planned out the window because I was too fucking stupid to remember.”, his voice broke horribly, being squeaky from time to time as Bakugou’s guilt just overflowed.

The Omega was shaking and instinctively, you and your inner Alpha wanted to protect him. Hence why you wiped away your tears and took a deep breath to calm yourself.

“I know I messed up. Fuck.”, he cried and yet laughed at himself. Hands buried in his hair, Bakugou just wanted to cease to exist in that moment. He had done so many things wrong in his life. The only good thing that had ever happened was meeting you and falling in love with you and even that he destroyed.

He was gasping for air due to talking nonstop while gesturing with his hands wildly. And then, you just hugged him. Your Alpha scent surrounding him and soothing him. Your arms strong and warm, just perfect to melt into them and let everything loose. Oh, how he had missed that.

“I just… wish you had given me a choice. I wish you would have trusted me more. I would have done anything for you and our baby. It would have been hard, I know, but I am sure we would have been able to make it work.”, you quietly said while soothingly caressing his back and letting a quiet, calming purr erupt from your throat. A sign how close you truly were as you would never purr for anyone else than Bakugou.

“I’m sorry.”, Bakugou sobbed and clawed at your clothes, “I love you and I missed you and.. it was so hard alone, but I know I don’t have any fucking right to complain about it because it’s all my fault and I hurt you so much and-“

You hugged him a little tighter.

“I regret everything, I… I… can you forgive me? Can you give me a second chance? I know I don’t deserve it. I know…”

Had you ever seen him so weak before? No. And it truly tugged on your heart strings. There is nothing you wanted more. Get back together. Be happy again. But-

“Katsuki… have you ever thought of coming back to me? Like, if I had never shown up, if I had never found out… wouldn’t you keep on living without me just fine? Don’t you think this is your guilty conscious speaking? You don’t want me. You don’t need me.”

That was the last thing you said before you pulled back from him at last. Bakugou was quite speechless, just staring at you, red, swollen eyes and a tear-stained face made it hard to just go. But it was for the better. Even if he had regretted it, he was never pushed so far as to come back to you. Like that, maybe it was for the best.

Though before you could turn away, he grabbed your hand.

“Katsuki…”

“I wanted… during the pregnancy, after Hiroto was born and every time I saw you on TV, I was so close to leaving all of this. But at that point, I was too fucking scared. I had no right to go back… There are so many letters I’ve written and never sent. [Your.name], I… I literally have a suitcase ready to go. I’ve been waiting for some sort of sign or I don’t know and now? You’re here. Right here in front of me. I know it’s foolish and I’m stupid and have no fucking right to demand this from you, but please… Let me come back. Please forgive me. Please… be Hiroto’s father.”

He had never in his life begged. His superiority complex definitely wouldn’t allow for any of that, but right now was different. He realized the hurt he had caused. How wrong he was. Bakugou had regretted running away in the first week of living in Hokkaido. He always told himself it was “the right thing”. So maybe it was pathetic that he came crawling back, but if there was a slight chance you would take him back, he just had to take it.

You just sighed. Your heart was confused. While your heart screamed yes over and over again, your brain was telling you no. What if it was just a spur of the moment thing? What if he would leave you again when things would get tough?

But then, you looked down and onto his hand. The gold engagement ring you had gotten him around four years ago was still on his ring finger.

“You still… wear it?”, you asked as you reached for the hand that gripped your wrist tightly. His hands were shaking still – you have never seen him like that.

“It’s the only thing that kept me connected to you…”

“Katsuki…”

Reaching out, you cupped his face with your big hand, the Omega instinctively leaning against it. It was okay. Even if you were to get hurt again. Even if you forgave too quickly. Everything was okay now as you leaned in to connect your lips.

Holding onto you immediately, Bakugou’s fingers clawed at your t-shirt not wanting to let go ever again. Your lips melting together, emotions overwhelming you both as you pressed him into the wall. One hand reaching up to his collar. It took mere seconds for it to snap open. Then it fell to the floor, unleashing all of Bakugou’s Omega scent.

It being overwhelming was quite the understatement. Your knees were weak and legs shaking. You couldn’t resist the urge to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

“Oh my God…”, you moaned as you slowly slid down onto the ground with him, Katsuki just whimpering as he hugged your body as close as possible.

He would never let go again – never!

With your teeth gracing along his neck, your sweaty bodies collided over and over again. Bakugou only able to sob as he held on to your hands tightly, nails digging into your skin and almost drawing blood.

You were hovering above him, hearing his cries and sobs. The sweet scent from his neck being so irresistible. You just wanted to bite. Mark him. It had been a tradition in your household to do so on your wedding night, but…

“Do it…”, you suddenly heard.

Bakugou could barely choke it out, ruby eyes filled with tears of pleasure as he whispered one more time, “Do it… It’s overdue…”

And then, without thinking twice about it anymore, you grabbed him tightly while your teeth sank into his skin.

A marvelous burning pain rushing through his body almost made Katsuki pass out. The sweet torture of being bonded to his mate was almost too much. That was all he had longed for, for so long. He didn’t know why you would take such a coward like him back, but he was so grateful and plain… happy.

Once you opened your eyes the next morning, it all felt like a dream. Especially when you reached to your side and it was empty.

Sitting up abruptly, you looked around – definitely not your room. So what happened last night was not a dream. However…

Without putting anything on, your heart was beating so fast when you rushed outside the bedroom door. Flashbacks to three years ago were haunting your mind.

“Katsuki?”, you tore open the next door, prepared to just see another letter on one of the tables.

Though it, thankfully, wasn’t the case. There he was, standing in the kitchen, your flannel from yesterday the only thing covering his body while he was talking to someone on the phone. Unintentionally, tears had formed in your eyes, but now, you just sighed shakily and wiped over your eyes quickly.

Bakugou, who had turned around once he heard you calling for him, certainly had his heart sinking in the pit of his stomach.

That was his fault.

“Okay… okay, thank you.”, then he ended the call and turned to you, “Sorry, it was about Hiro. Akitoshi will bring him over before lunch.”

“Ah? Mh, okay.”

“Hey…”, putting his phone onto the table, he walked towards you. The Omega’s strong arms wrapped around your waist as he cuddled against your chest.

“I am not running away again. I promise.”, Katsuki barely whispered.

Hugging him tightly with your hand buried in his hair, you just quietly sighed and then kissed his forehead before leaning your head against his.

“I know. I just need some time.”, you also said quietly and Bakugou understood.

Hence why he reached out to cup your face, smiling softly.

“I love you.”

A small smile also flitted across your lips. Your hands cupping his own as you leaned down to kiss him.

“I love you, too.”

Walking back into the bedroom, Bakugou soon lost the flannel again as he slipped into bed, snuggling against you; legs tangled and naked bodies melting together. Unintentionally your hand had slipped down to his belly. That’s when you felt uneven skin and a scar underneath your fingertips. Yesterday, you were caught up in all your pent up emotions too much, so you didn’t notice.

It was his C-Section scar.

“Katsuki?”

“Hm?”

“Tell me about Hiroto.”

Subconsciously, his lips curved into a smile. That you wanted to know more about your son melted his heart but also made him feel more guilty. If only he could turn back time.

“Yeah.”, and then, he started talking and you just listened to the soothing voice of your Omega.

There were three years to catch up on, but due to Katsuki telling your son about you all the time, at least it was easier for Hiroto. With how he was clinging to you yesterday, it was obvious he loved you even though he had never met you in person. And you wanted to be there for him at last. You had only met him yesterday for a brief moment but your heart was already filled with so much love that you wanted to give to him.

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@salemwritesxx || do not repost, edit, modify or translate my works

⇻ salem.talks: I’d love to know what y’all thought of this story? :) once again I took inspiration from the request and I am pretty happy with the outcome!

#salemswriting.#bakugou katsuki #bakugou x male reader #bakugou x reader #bottom bakugou #bnha x male reader #bnha x reader #abo #mpreg #omega bakugou #bakugou

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asterlark · 3 years

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ok. samwell college of music au. i wrote all four years let's go babey

eric bittle is this lovely southern tenor (sounds kinda like mitch grassi or ben j pierce) who posts covers (& sometimes originals, but always with neutral or no pronouns because he can't post anything that says he or him ☹) on his youtube channel and has major stage fright but is very talented; he also plays ukulele

he got into samwell college of music on a voice scholarship and his dad doesn’t exactly approve but eric was never the 6′2″ masculine football player he wanted anyway so why not go for his dreams

he auditions for the very competitive samwell men’s contemporary chorus (there’s like 20 choirs; chamber choir, jazz choir, a cappella groups (lax bros do a cappella), combined choirs, etc- smcc does contemporary pop/rock music) and while he’s very very nervous and shaky as he auditions, directors hall & murray see a lot of potential in him (with major grumbling from student director jack)

(the rest of this ridiculously long au under the cut)

the group is small, for a chorus, because the point of the group is not a wall of sound but a focus on all of the very talented guys’ voices coming together in these gorgeous harmonies and basically they’re like one of the best choruses on campus and all the male singers want in

so there’s jack zimmermann, who of course eric knows because everyone knows who he is, he’s the son of bob and alicia zimmermann, both incredibly talented and famous musicians, and basically those genes were in his favor because he’s mega fucking talented

(jack was supposed to sign a recording contract to be in a band with his best friend kent parson when he was 17 but something happened between them and the pressure was too much and jack overdosed on something- there’s so many rumors no one knows what’s real- and kent signed solo in LA & went on to win grammys for his albums about a mysterious ex and jack disappeared for a few years to be a counselor at a music camp and reappears at samwell, knocking everyone’s socks off again like he’d never left, except with a renewed vigor and intenseness that freaks everyone out)

jack is a contemporary writing & production major, freaky talented and sings like a modern day frank sinatra, and he plays like 20 instruments and can read music like breathing air and writes songs like if he stopped he’d die; his music is folksy and mournful and he plays all the instruments on his tracks himself- guitar, piano, strings, drums- it sounds like a full band but nope. just jack. he’s intense

“we all get nicknames in this choir,” justin informs eric on his first day, “we’re those kinda guys.” so he’s bitty, which he finds vaguely offensive (bc he’s not that short!) but still cute, & the rest of the group is introduced to him:

“shitty” knight (voice like colyer) is a musical education major and an enigma of a singer with this awesome, earthy, raspy voice that’s really interesting to listen to and a very.... unique style & look; he writes cheesy but shockingly good raps about social justice topics and he will sing-lecture you if you’ve said something offensive (he also plays banjo)

justin “ransom” oluransi is a music business & management major with an angelic voice you can’t help but listen to; he’s sultry and has an incredible range and does runs like nobody’s business (with a voice like daniel caesar or leslie odom jr UGH)

adam “holster” birkholtz is a voice performance major, wants to be on broadway and it’s all he ever goddamn talks about basically, he’s a belter and has a lot of charisma and starpower and he’ll charm the pants off of you within one note; can also play piano and irritates everyone constantly because his regular volume is like a level 11 (voice like the frontman of my brothers and i combined w/ x ambassadors lead singer)

larissa “lardo” duan is at the local art institute because performing arts is not her jam and she’d much rather paint; she’s a barista at annie’s and supervises open mic nights and keeps the annoying choir dudes from driving away all her patrons

“i’m not even in your dumbass choir,” she says when the group gave her her nickname. holster just told her that she was an honorary member and then started sing-shouting a song at her about how good she is

bitty’s first year is hard because he’s talented and he works hard but he shies away when anyone asks him to sing outside the group and like, he can sing to a camera by himself but being on a stage with everyone looking at you and the sole responsibility of the song on your shoulders is terrifying and no thanks

jack does not. understand this. he’s been performing practically since he came out of the womb and he doesn’t really get performance nerves (what he gets is anxiety about how he did after he gets off stage that follows him home and makes it so he can’t sleep) - so he bothers bitty about it constantly like “you just need practice, you just have to sing by yourself a lot and then you’ll get over it” which like.... that’s true but it’s also hella scary and bitty’s like “no thanks!!!!”

but jack’s annoying and intense so he makes bitty do open mic with him every saturday night and it’s going okay and bitty loves his choir and loves his school and these new friends he’s making and he finally feels comfortable enough to come out to them during his second term

then during their spring choral showcase at the end of his freshman year bitty has a solo and he’s worked really hard on it and he’s feeling good- okay he’s completely freaked out but he’s trying to feel good- but when he gets up on stage there’s so many people and the stage lights are so hot on his face and he flips out a little and maybe he passes out from anxiety and stress right on stage and it’s terrible and he’s so embarrassed and ashamed that he ruined their set at the showcase

of course jack blames himself because “we shouldn’t have given you a solo before you were ready, i misjudged it, i’m sorry” - and they all feel kinda bad bc holy fuck they didn’t know his stage fright was that bad like they didn’t know someone could pass out just by being anxious to sing

he practices all the time over the summer and goes to his local open mic at jack’s insistence and it actually helps a lot because instead of a sea of strangers judging him it’s a bunch of people he knows and they’re all smiling at him and when he finishes his song they cheer for him and it boosts his self-confidence a lot

his sophomore year they have three new members- chris ”chowder” chow (voice like ieuan), an excitable music education major with impressive rapping skills, derek "nursey" nurse (frank ocean or leon bridges type), a songwriting major who can also play violin and guitar, and will ”dex” poindexter (like tom west), a production & engineering major who tried out with chowder bc he needed moral support and didn't expect to get in but impressed the directors with his voice

the year’s going pretty good, bitty’s still pretty scared of singing alone but more confident now and the open mic nights with jack haven’t stopped, so he’s getting better. and one night they’re hanging out at annie’s after closing waiting for lardo to be done so they can walk her home, and bitty suggests that jack sing with him one of these nights, and jack says he doesn’t know any of bitty’s songs and bitty says they can write one together half jokingly but then jack is like “yes.” with that Intense Look

SO they get together a couple days later in jack’s room at the house they all live in together (bitty moved in at the beginning of the year after previous smcc member john johnson called him- how’d he get his number?- and told him he could take his room if he wanted), jack with his guitar and bitty with his ukulele, and it’s a little awkward until bitty says jack should play him one of his songs

and, okay, he doesn’t really know what to expect because the only music jack ever released to the public was that one single he did with kent parson when they were 17 so bitty doesn’t even know if he has anything to play him, but he does- he starts playing these soft, sad notes on the guitar and opens his mouth and sings about being lonely and scared and unsure, about false starts and shaky ground and not knowing where you stand with someone, about expectations and lying awake at night and wishing so hard you were someone else, and bitty watches him sing and just kind of... realizes he’s head over heels for this boy and internally Freaks Out a little

he tries to put that aside and they start to write this song, at first it’s weird because jack’s like “all your songs are love songs i can’t really relate to happy love songs” and bitty’s like “listen... i’ve never even had a boyfriend i just write a bunch of sappy love stuff because it’s not about me it’s about whoever’s listening to it, they’re gonna project their own experiences on my music anyway so it doesn’t matter if it’s my real life or not” and jack’s like “alright while fake af that’s smart and i respect you” (what bitty doesn't say is that he writes about what he really wants which is to fall in love & be in a happy relationship)

they say they’re just gonna write this kinda vague sad song but they both secretly write lines about their actual lives so it ends up being really personal and real and raw for the both of them

they sing the song at open mic that saturday and the crowd at annie’s is never that big but they’ve never got a standing ovation here before, and some girl shouts “MAKE AN ALBUM” (it may or may not be lardo) and they both blush furiously and bitty’s like “... that was really nice, jack” and jack’s like “... yeah it was good good job you’re really getting some confidence out there nice work” (bitty: “THAT’S NOT WHAT I MEANT AAAAH”)

around this time jack’s really thinking about what he’s gonna do when he’s done at samwell, talking with his parents and his agent and looking into different record companies and deciding if he wants to sign with anyone or possibly start his own company- the head of a small company called falcon records in rhode island has been talking to him a lot, and jack talks to bitty about how he thinks it’d be nice to start small, and the record exec georgia and the producer marty had both been really nice and welcoming, and bitty’s so happy for him but also just... sad that he won’t be around jack every day after he graduates

THEN at a haus party celebrating their win of a local choral competition, who shows up but none other than pop star kent parson to Ruin The Fun

bitty sees the way jack pales when kent walks in, notices them disappear upstairs together and feels a little sick worrying about jack but chalks it up to the highly alcoholic concoction shitty and lardo had cooked up but nonetheless decides he’s sick of the party and goes up to his room and hears.... a little too much

and YIKES he’s standing right there and kent parson, pop star, two-time grammy winner, is looking a little rumpled and staring right at him and he puts his hat on and clears his throat and snaps at jack- “hey. well. call me if you reconsider. but good luck with rhode island. ...i’m sure that’ll make your parents proud.” and jack’s shaking, and bitty doesn’t know what to do but jack goes back into his room and bitty’s just kind of standing there like What The Fuck

so.... he kind of stews over winter break but tries not to think about it too much and he and jack text a bit and jack tells him to practice and bitty’s like “oh, you” and jack’s like “im serious” and bitty’s like “>:( it’s christmas”

spring semester starts and they're doing well in competitions and they go to semifinals and then finals for a prestigious collegiate choir competition and the pressure is mounting but they all are so optimistic and really feel like they're on the same page and bitty’s confidence is better than ever and then.... they don't win

jack especially takes it very hard, but then he also has signing to worry about, which everyone helps him with and he decides to sign with falcon records and start work on an album after graduation

speaking of graduation, shitty and jack graduate and it's hard for them but harder for bitty who feels like he's losing jack in a way, he knows how intense jack gets when he's making music and it doesn't feel like he'll have any time for bitty anymore so when they say goodbye bitty goes back to the haus and listens to his and jack's song and just cries

but, like in canon, dadbob has words of wisdom to impart and jack has an "oh" moment and races across campus to kiss bitty

they get together and the next few months are spent with jack working nonstop on his album (which tbh, he'd had many of the songs written already so it's mostly recording and producing) and texting bitty constantly and coming to visit him and playing him demos of all the songs

jack also asks bitty if they can record the song they wrote together & have it as a bonus track on his album & bitty says of course, so when jack visits they set up an impromptu studio and record vocals in the guest bedroom and this deeply personal song they wrote before they were ever together means so much more to them now

and bitty is so happy but so scared and sad too because jack is playing him these songs telling him "they're all for you bits, & a lot of them are about you" and he just doesn't know how he's going to keep all this love inside even though it feels like jack's career is at stake

he tries to shove it down and stay strong though, especially since he's now an upperclassman and they're taking on new members- connor "whiskey" whisk (voice like finneas or the male singer in valley), a music business/ management major who seems to hate bitty's guts and tony "tango" tangredi (like chaz cardigan), a jazz composition major who astounds everybody with his endless questions but also his ridiculously impressive composition skills & naturally perfect pitch (he can also play saxophone??)

i want ford in this au so fuck it she is a composition major with dreams to write scores for musicals and she stars training as a barista at annie's (aka training to corral the smcc)

the pressure of it all proves to be a lot and bitty and jack have their hi, honey moment where bitty's like i can't be this deep in the closet!!! and so they tell the smcc and also jack's label that they're together and that eases things a bit

jack's album comes out to much critical acclaim and shouting in the groupchat ("#1 ON ITUNES BRAHHHHH!!!!!!!!") and several months later, when smcc has already been eliminated from choral competition in an earlier round, jack is nominated for SEVERAL grammys including best album, song of the year, and best new artist

when the time comes he takes his parents and bitty on the red carpet which, everyone keeps being like "who are you here with jack?" and he's like "my family and my good friend :)" and yes it is awkward

jack wins... all three awards. it's the comeback everyone is stoked to see and when his third win is announced, he and bitty are so elated that they kiss before he goes to accept the award

his speech is basically just "um... wow. thank you. i just kissed my boyfriend on live tv. this is amazing and i'm so humbled. i'd like to thank my boyfriend and georgia and marty and my parents and my friends and my boyfriend"

obviously the press has a FIELD DAY with this but bitty & jack are honestly vibing and so happy that it doesn't matter untiiiillll bitty's mom calls and he has to tell her "mama i'm gay and i'm going on tour with jack this summer okloveyoubye"

the last few months of bitty's junior year pass quickly and he's voted student director which is a huge honor considering how much he struggled with stage fright and confidence & how he'll now be stepping into ransom & holster's shoes

r&h and lardo all graduate (the smcc basically crashes the art school graduation and all scream when lardo gets her diploma lmao), which is a bittersweet occasion and they all do a bit of tearing up

that summer bitty goes on tour across the u.s. & canada with jack and his touring band (snowy is a bassist, tater is a drummer and poots does backing guitar, he also brings nursey to play violin on a few songs) as well as georgia who's there to manage logistics

and tour is so fun & chaotic with many bi and rainbow flags in the audience that end up thrown on stage and draped around jack's neck and they spend so many nights in the bus drinking and laughing and fooling around on the guitars and bitty's uke and exploring new cities bitty has never been to before and it's the freest bitty has felt in a long time

summer ends though, and jack leaves for the uk/europe leg of the tour, and with the new school year brings a few new members- river "bully" bullard (voice like gregory alan isakov), a music therapy major who draws his own cover art for his songs, lukas "louis" landmann (like jr jr), an electronic production and design major with a penchant for EDM, and johnathan "hops" hopper (like keiynan lonsdale), a film scoring major who wants to write music for movies and video games

bitty meets and befriends some of the other student directors- shruti, sd of the women’s contemporary chorus; sharon, sd of the chamber choir; and edgar, sd of jazz ensemble (even chad l., sd of the all-male a cappella group)

senior year passes similarly to the comic; coach visits and sees one of bitty’s competitions, jack comes to madison for christmas, smcc does well in competition and goes to regionals etc

however… bitty keeps putting off and putting off gathering the songs for his senior recital

he has a hard time doing that because he’s so focused on the group and making sure they’re performing well and as they advance in competition, everything else starts to fall away

eventually the rest of the smcc has to lock away his uke and change his youtube password and FORCE him to choose songs for it and start preparing because he cannot graduate without doing this recital and doing well on it

he chooses (of course) a beyonce song, a few of his own songs, an ellie goulding song, and an adele song

with all that his breath hitches and his hands shake before he goes on stage, he does really well and his voice instructor prof atley tears up a little in the audience as does his mom

meanwhile smcc goes to semifinals, then finals, of the national collegiate choral competition they participate in

and i imagine bitty faces somewhat less homophobia in this au because i mean, he’s in the performing arts, but i think it’s still there and he also faces a good amount of classism from richer students and performers who think they’re better because they had the resources and money to be performing professionally from a very young age, and he has been practicing via filming himself on a shitty camcorder and posting it to youtube

but they still get there! and the national finals are fucking HUGE and a big deal and a little overwhelming

bitty’s stage fright is Present because this is the biggest stage and the biggest stakes he's ever had and he has a big solo in one of their songs so if he fucks up, he fucks up a national championship for his whole group and school

luckily though, when he steps on the stage with his best friends and sees his boyfriend and family and smcc alums in the audience and they perform their first song, a high-energy pop medley that always gets the crowd going, everything seems to melt away and it's just him living in this moment and singing his heart out

when it gets to the next song and his solo, he forgets to be nervous and belts it out, getting screams of approval from the audience when he finishes

(dex and nursey do have a duet together that they had to practice for many long nights in the practice rooms alone but that's neither here nor there)

their time on stage seems to last both hours and no time at all and then they're done, the crowd gives them a standing ovation and it's at least 30% r&h & shitty's hooting and hollering and jack's enthusiastic clapping that makes bitty & the others beam with pride

then it's just waiting, giddy and nervous beyond belief in their green room, for the judging to be over

after what feels like forever they're back on stage, arms linked together waiting and hoping for their name to be called and it is, they win and it feels like years have built up to this moment, and bitty tears up because years ago when he was fainting from anxiety at having to perform in front of people he never could've imagined that he'd do this, that he'd be the student director that led them to a championship

they get the trophy and a ridiculous amount of flowers from their loved ones and they all are just in giddy disbelief that this is happening, they're national champs!!! they are the best choir boys in the nation!!

they come home and the rest of the school year passes by so quickly that it's very suddenly graduation and bitty can't believe his college career at samwell is over 😢

(he and ollie and wicky take pictures together, o&w talk about how excited they are to devote full time attention to their band & wedding planning and bitty's just like wait you're gay??)

bitty got plenty of offers from record companies but he likes his freedom of creativity and he has a built in fanbase from doing youtube all these years so he decides to make an album independently (jack helps him produce & master it 🥰)

when bitty's album comes out about a year later, full of bops about being gay and in love and having struggled but come out the other side more confident than ever, it doesn't get any grammy nominations- and he didn't expect or need that.

what it does do is it resonates. it makes the rounds in youtube and queer internet circles; people his age reach out to him saying this is the music they wish they had as a kid and kids reach out to him saying he's a role model and they're so glad to have his music to listen to. his album is written about as an underrated gem that shines with queer brilliance and is sure to start a party when it comes on.

his parents may not fully understand the road he's chosen for himself but they're still so proud and promote the album as hard as any of his loyal fans (especially the one country-inspired song on the album that he wrote and dedicated to them).

and jack, jack who saw this album from its infancy to its release date, who took the film photo that ended up being the album cover, who worked with bitty to make sure his vision was realized exactly how he wanted it to be, is proud beyond words.

jack starts using his semi-abandoned twitter again to tweet "stream [album name]" every day and bitty retweets them sometimes, with just a "this boy. ❤"

and they're happy. they're good. they have come so far and they are reaping the rewards of all the hard work they put in to make the music that they truly love.

the end :)

#check please #omgcp #samwell college of music au #mine #my writing #eric bittle #jack zimmermann #omgcp fic #check please fic #zimbits #uhh idk what else to tag #this fucking thing is like 4.1k words i'm-#i hope you enjoy it (and reblog it!) bc i've been working on this for literal years #i know i'll never actually write it as a longform fic so here's a bullet pt fic instead #pls let me know your thoughts i have so many things to say about this au

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j-j-ehlby-writes · 3 years

Text

Almost (c.e.)

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Word Count: ~5.9k

Summary: You and Chris were set up on a blind date by your mutual friends. Sparks flew, but you never heard from him again. Two years later, you come face-to-face with him once more for their friends wedding.

Warnings: Some angst, swearing, not much else

A/N: This is a mixture of the movie “Life as We Know It” (mmm Daddy Josh Duhamel 🤤), a dating experience I had, and one scene from One Tree Hill. Enjoy.

My Masterlist

Two years ago…

My heart is pounding all the way to my ears. My hands are shaking under the table. My knee bounces uncontrollably as I wait.

I knew this was a bad idea. Why did I let her convince me to do this?

“You haven’t had a boyfriend for as long as I’ve known you.” My best friend so pointedly mentioned when we were out to lunch last week.

“What’s wrong with that?” I counter.

“I’ve known you for three and a half years.” She deadpans. Even without looking at her, I know she has her eyebrow raised at me and her lips are pursed.

“Your point?” I know she thinks my serious lack of companionship these past few years is wearing on me, but it’s been quite the opposite. Not being attached is freeing. I can do what I want when I want; I don’t have anyone to answer to. If I want to sleep until 3 on a Saturday, I’m going to do it. If I don’t want to socialize with anyone, I won’t. If I want to take a spontaneous road trip, I’m going to do it. My life is my own and that’s how I like it.

“I want my best friend to have someone to experience life with.”

My shoulders dropped, sighing in defeat. There was no way I was getting out of this conversation.

“I want you to be as happy as I am.” I see the love in her eyes as her mind goes to her boyfriend and their new relationship. They’ve only been together for a few months, but I know that this is it for her. She’s a smitten kitten and he is equally as infatuated with her. They’re sickeningly cute. “Which is why I think you need to meet one of his friends-”

“Lemme stop you right there,” I interrupt her, “I hate blind dates.”

“You’ve never been on one.”

“And there’s a reason for that.” She rolled her eyes at me. “They’re cliché, they’re awkward for both parties, and they never amount to anything, thus being a total waste of time.”

She sighed, “Ever the skeptic.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

“Regardless,” she continues, “I think you’ll really like this guy. He’s already expressed interest in you.”

Like that makes everything better. “Great so now I have to live up to his impossible expectations of me when I know absolutely nothing about him.” As if the idea of a blind date wasn’t bad enough, now it’s only a semi-blind date. There’s no doubt in my mind that she has hyped me up impossibly high, that’s what a best friend is for. However, when your confidence level is next to none and already skeptical of the pending meeting, there’s no way he’ll like who I am in reality.

“I can tell you anything you want to know about him.” She is bargaining with me. She really wants me to meet this guy. She wouldn’t be trying this hard if she didn’t believe we would hit it off.

“Well is he nice?” This was the only real question I had. If he isn’t kind then there’s really no future.

“Incredibly!” She continues to tell me of the many things he has done for a charity he started a few years ago and slowly but surely she was starting to convince me. If he was that generous then he has to have a good heart and therefore is a good man.

How bad could it be?

I check my phone, glancing at the time. Great, he’s late. That can’t be a good start.

Numerous reasons why popped into my head.

Reason one: he saw me and bolted.

Reason two: he got into an accident on the way here and he could be in the hospital.

Reason three: he changed his mind and decided to stand me up.

More and more played through my head as I sipped my drink.

By the time I was on my second drink, I was convinced he wasn’t showing up. I knew this was a ridiculous idea. I knew I shouldn’t have done this. I never should have listened to her.

I chugged the rest of my drink followed by some water before standing up to leave some cash. I was slightly humiliated for actually thinking this would be any different than all of my expectations.

My shoulder rammed into another as I turned to leave.

“Oh my, God, I’m so sorry!” A hand steadied me, gently grabbing the shoulder he ran into. “Are you okay?”

“My already small ego is a little bruised, but I think I’ll live.” I looked up to meet my assaulter’s eyes and immediately I froze.

Holy shit, it’s Chris Evans.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at me, his concern was directed towards me. In all of his charming, ray of sunshine, bearded glory, he was here.

“I’m so sorry that I’m late. Traffic was insane over the bridge. I would have called but I don’t have your number.” He half-smirked but not in a cocky way. I’d seen him do it in interviews before. He could have come up with a lame excuse, but somehow I knew he was telling the truth.

“No, it’s okay. I understand completely.”

He sighed in relief, his gorgeous and perfect smile taking over his features. He looked down at the table and it disappeared. “Were you leaving?”

“Uh,” I stammered, “I was because I thought I was being stood up.”

“I feel awful. Please let me make it up to you. Let’s sit down, have a nice dinner, and get to know each other.”

I hesitate, now even more nervous than I was before.

As if sensing my hesitation, he decided to sweeten the pot a bit to persuade me, “We can even get dessert.”

I chuckle at his attempt. That’ll do it though. I sit back down with him following suit, finally starting our date.

We talked about everything. Anything and everything. No topic was off limits. Hours went by but it felt like minutes. We didn’t even know how long we’d been there until our waiter came to tell us that the restaurant was closed. We left and walked around the city until the night sky was giving way to the morning. He accompanied me back to my car, gave me the best hug I’ve ever received and a kiss on the cheek, promising we’ll get together again soon, and opening and closing my car door for me. I drove away with the biggest smile on my face and literal butterflies in my stomach. That was the best date I’d ever been on.

When I made it back to my apartment with the early morning rays peeking through my shades, I had a text message waiting for me from him. Just a simple good night, he had had an amazing time, and he couldn’t wait to see me again.

I fell asleep, hopeful. Hopeful that I would see him again, that this could maybe go somewhere. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but it was hard not to. I hadn’t felt this way in an exceptionally long time. I haven’t been on this good of a date in equally as long. I can’t wait to see him again…

Present day...

I finally pull into the parking lot after an hour stuck in traffic. My 12-hour day at work today has taken a lot out of me. I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. Thankfully though, my 2-week-long vacation starts tomorrow. After that, I have fourteen days of no working, no getting up at the ass crack of dawn to be able to drive in miserable traffic, no dealing with difficult or boring co-workers. Just fourteen days of rest and relaxation, after the wedding of course.

My best friend and her fiancé are getting married on Saturday. I’ve watched them go through all of their highs and lows throughout the last few years and when he came to me telling me he planned on proposing, I couldn’t have been happier for them. He even asked me to secretly photograph the moment for her. She was more than surprised about everything.

Now their wedding is here and everyone couldn’t be more excited to celebrate them.

Tomorrow is their rehearsal dinner. The wedding party and their plus ones are all invited.

I walk into my apartment, immediately relieving myself from the confines of my shoes. A heavenly scent registers to me and I’m carried all the way to the kitchen. I see my sexy boyfriend standing at the stove with his back towards me.

“Hey babe,” he calls without turning around.

I hum, happily making my way towards him. I wrap my arms around his waist, placing a kiss on his back. “What is that unbelievable smell?”

He chuckles, vibrating through his chest. “Your favorite, of course.”

I hum again, “You spoil me, baby.”

He chuckles again, turning in my arms. His handsome face finally came into view. His gorgeous brown eyes look into mine as I get lost in his. For the past year, I’ve been the happiest I’ve been in a while. Since the day I met him, it was like everything fell into place. He’s sweet, ambitious, funny, kindhearted, passionate, and just overall the best man I had ever met. He makes me so happy…

Oh who am I kidding? He’s perfect. He is everything I ever wanted. If I made a list of all of the qualities I wanted in a husband, he would check off every single box.

But the feelings I have had for him over the last year are nothing compared to what I had in one night for him. I find myself wishing his eyes were bright blue instead of dark brown. I wish his arms were around me instead of the ones around me right now. The butterflies from that night have stayed dormant ever since.

I don’t know what happened after that night. I honestly thought we had a good time that night. Conversations flowed seamlessly. We made each other laugh so hard we had tears running down our faces. The physical connection was there- at first he had his arm around my shoulders as we walked around town, but as time went on he slowly moved lower around my waist, eventually intertwining our hands together until we arrived back at our cars. He even said that he wanted to see me again.

But I never heard from him again after that one text message. No call, no text, not even a message from my friend’s boyfriend. Nothing. I was disappointed beyond belief. I didn’t think he was that guy: the type to ditch someone without any explanation or goodbye. I thought I understood him to be a gentleman. Everything I had read about him pointed to him being one of the purest humans in the world. This was the opposite of all of that.

From that day on, I’ve loathed him. He gave me the perfect evening and then cut me off cold turkey from anything further. I have a three strike rule. His first: he was late. His second: he tricked me into liking him. His third: he lied to me. Three strikes and he’s out.

I have tried not to look back since. It’s not without its difficulties though since he’s literally everywhere. On magazine covers, in commercials, movie trailers, streaming services- he’s there. Why did he have to be such a successful actor? If he weren’t, it would make for forgetting him that much easier.

No closure. No answers. Nothing.

The rehearsal dinner went smoothly the next night which hopefully was foreshadowing for the big day itself.

A majority of us were standing around about to start when the doors loudly being opened drew everyone’s attention away from our milling about. A man stood in the middle of the doorway then strode in like he owned the place. The closer he got, the more the details of his face came into focus.

No. Freaking. Way.

I look toward my best friend. She looked like she wasn’t shocked he was late, but she knew he was coming. I creep up behind her and clear my throat. Instantly she cringed.

“Did you forget to tell me something?” I whisper to her.

She sends me an apologetic smile, “Well, I actually put off telling you ‘cause I didn’t know how you would react and then I meant to tell you last night but with the whole ‘I’m getting married in two days’ buzz took over and now the rehearsal is here-”

“Just please tell me I’m not walking in with him.” I beg.

She chuckles nervously before she escaped to go greet him with her fiancé.

I turn to her sister who is also one of my closest friends. “Did you know he was going to be a groomsman?”

The guilt written in her face tells me everything I need to know. “She made me promise not to tell you.”

I groan, “The loyalty level around here is staggeringly low.”

I head over to where my boyfriend is standing and take comfort in his arms before I have to deal with the man who broke my heart.

“Are you okay?” He asks a little confused by my actions.

I nod, “Just tired from last night.” He chuckles at the mention of the night before, squeezing me into his chest.

“Alright everyone! Time to get started.” The wedding coordinator beckons us all to the back entrance of the barn standing next to our corresponding wedding party member. I stand right in front of the Maid of Honor and Best Man. I kept my eyes forward focusing on anything but the guy who took his place next to me.

“It’s good to see you,” He murmurs to me over the instructions of the coordinator.

I scoff and roll my eyes. He has the nerve to say that to me after two years of silence. I imagined a million times what it would be like to see him again. I’d imagined a lot of screaming with possible hitting. Or I thought about the ever-effective, old fashioned silent treatment. He doesn’t deserve to know that our one night out together effected me so much and I’ve carried a rather large torch for him ever since. At the very moment, it will be the latter, but there’s no telling what tonight and tomorrow will bring.

“Now ladies, rest- don’t grab- your hand near the crook of his arm. Men, keep your arm at that angle with an open hand resting on your stomach- no fist. And don’t forget to smile- this is a happy day!” As quickly as he showed up, the coordinator was on to the bride and her father before either of us could register he was there.

I begrudgingly did as I was instructed, “resting” my hand on his bare forearm, holding a stand-in bouquet for the occasion in my other hand.

“Are you not going to talk to me?” He speaks again but I ignore him once more.

Thankfully that was when it was our turn to walk down the aisle. For the rest of the rehearsal, he didn’t get a chance to say anything else. As soon as we were done, I go straight for my boyfriend. I figured there’s no way he would approach me if I were with another man.

We all head to the restaurant afterwards to celebrate the last night before our friends begin their lives together as husband and wife. I keep my distance from Chris, always sticking close with my boyfriend.

The one moment I was alone was when I went to the bathroom. I thought for the few minutes I wouldn’t be in danger.

However I was wrong.

As soon as I step out an arm shot out in front of me. A very pale muscular arm.

“Are you seriously going to ignore me for the next two days?”

I duck under his arm fully planning on continuing what I set out to do.

“Y/N,” he grabs my arm, “will you please talk to me? What did I do to make you so mad at me?”

I whip around hopefully sending daggers his way. “Are you serious right now?”

“She finally speaks!” He exclaims.

“Because I cannot believe what I’m hearing. Like, I don’t think I heard you right.” All of the feelings I’ve been burying for two years were making their way up to the surface and I don’t think I can stop them. “We had a fantastic night. It was literally the best night of my life, it was the most comfortable with a guy that I had ever been. You made me laugh, you gave me butterflies, you helped me feel for the first time in years.” I try to swallow down the lump that was forming in my throat. “You told me you wanted to see me again. You made me excited for the future for once in my life… and then you took it away.”

With every second that passed, his expression got closer and closer to utter defeat: his shoulders slumped, his grip on my arm loosened, his jaw slowly unclenched, his eyebrows furrowed.

“You were late,” I hold up one finger, “You tricked me,” two fingers,” “You lied to me.” Three fingers were up and in front of his face for emphasis. “Three strikes and you’re out.”

I back away from him, having nothing more I wanted to say. As soon as I turned the corner, I felt liberated… for about five seconds. When that passed, devastation hit. For the last two years, I’ve held out hope- I tried not to- but I did, that maybe someday something could happen between us. That maybe, just maybe, we could pick up where we left off that night.

Now that the moment of confrontation has come and gone, I feel all the hope fade away. All of those possibilities I pictured have left the building. Being with him is no longer an option. I have my boyfriend who makes me happy, who gives me everything I could possibly want.

The rest of the night went on without another incident. Chris kept his distance. However, I could feel his eyes on me for every second that passed as we sat at the table. It was a relief when we finally left and could retreat back to our hotel rooms for the night. The bride and I got to stay in a suite that we’ll all be getting ready in in the morning. They wanted to uphold the “not seeing each other the night before the wedding,” even though they’ve lived with each other for a year and a half now.

On the wedding day, everything went according to plan. Everyone was on time to hair and make-up, pictures went flawlessly, the weather cooperated with everything, Chris didn’t attempt to talk to me at all- it was a perfect day to watch two people who love each other commit to the other for the rest of their lives.

But then came the reception. That’s when I knew apparently all bets would be off. The ceremony was over. Niceties would wear off as more and more alcohol is consumed. I was not looking forward to it.

We make our ridiculous entrances and take our seats at the head table. We eat then speeches were made. Lots of laughs were had as the Best Man dished on stories he had with the groom growing up, a few tears were shed at her sister’s after recounting the moment the bride knew he was the man of her dreams- overall I’d say they were a success.

Again, I felt his eyes on me, burning holes in the side of my head from the other side of the groom for the entire dining portion of the evening. I kept myself from glancing in his direction, instead focusing on the conversations with the bride’s sister next to me and my boyfriend who is across the way- anything not to meet his eyes.

Finally the DJ announces it was time for all to convene on the dancefloor after the specialty dances. I immediately see my boyfriend start to stand, knowing he’d been ready for this all night. I’d been looking forward to dancing with him all night as well, I even removed my shoes in anticipation. As I stand up, a hand is held out in front of me. I knew whose hand it was. I remember staring at it as he would rub his lips on our date. The strength of it as it intertwined with mine as we walked down the streets of our town, the safeness I felt as he squeezed it if he detected I was getting anxious around a group of people and I needed the reassurance. I knew that hand well, unfortunately.

“Dance with me?” He nearly whispers in my ear. I didn’t realize he was that close until I could feel said whisper on my neck. I contain the shiver that runs down my spine at how husky his voice is. God I’ve missed that…

No! I will not be enchanted by him again. He does not deserve me.

I exhale the breath I was holding, it comes out a lot harsher than I expected. “No, thank you.” I turn away from him, but his hand gently grabs my arm stopping me from going any further.

He whispers again, “He’s not good enough for you,” before walking away.

I’m frozen in place. I glare at his retreating back as he makes his way over to the bar. My mouth hangs open in disbelief. How dare he… How fucking dare he assume anything about me or my relationship. He doesn’t know anything about what our relationship is like. My boyfriend treats me so well, spoils me even though I know I don’t deserve it. He listens to me, he cares about me, and he makes me laugh until I cry- he’s everything I’ve wanted in a man. Chris is the one who had his chance and subsequently blew it. He has no right to judge or even comment on my relationship when he knows absolutely nothing about it.

I hurriedly make my way to my awaiting boyfriend and pull him onto the crowded dancefloor. “You okay?” He asks me, “Did he say something to upset you?”

“Nothing worth repeating.” All I wanted to do was forget about him and his irrelevant feelings towards my relationship…

…Except I couldn’t. His words rattled me. Does he see something I don’t? He told me on our date that he’s an excellent judge of character so he wouldn’t say something like that unless he got a bad feeling, right? Either that or he said it just to get under my skin and force me to talk to him. No matter the reason I hate him for it because my pride won’t let it stand.

I spot him leaning against the bar, staring directly at the two of us over the rim of his glass. His perfect eyebrow quirks up at the eye contact, that sets my blood to boiling. He thinks he’s so smug. I wish I could just slap that stupid hidden smirk right off his perfect face…

Following a few dances, I mutter something about him going to dance with the bride to my boyfriend before exiting the dancefloor. I rush out of the barn, away from the crowd needing some air from his suffocating gaze. I find a little lit area that’s perfect for pictures. There are rectangular hay bales set together as a makeshift U-shaped bench with some low watt bulbs strung up above between two poles. It would be serene if I weren’t already on edge.

After taking a few deep breaths, I finally feel like I can speak without yelling. “You had no right.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know he followed me out here. It’s exactly what I wanted him to do, just like it was his intention to get under my skin. As much as I wished to avoid this conversation it seems that we can’t go on without it. We may tear each other apart in the process, but this is my chance for closure. This is my only opportunity to get the answers I’ve been needing to move on for the past two years. Two years of wondering what went wrong after the most perfect date I’ve ever been on with an equally perfect man has been eating at my heart and mind. I hated always wondering “what if” or “what would I be doing right now if I were with him” especially when I started dating my boyfriend. I had no answers as to why those questions could not be. I thought with time I’d stop asking them, thinking I’d never see the man again. He’s a big movie star, why would he wonder about a woman he went on one date with?

As I expected, his deep baritone voice comes behind me, but his words do little to ease my nerves. In fact they set them off even more so than before. “I’m sorry.”

I scoff at his half-hearted apology, knowing he doesn’t mean it at all. “Oh bite me, Christopher.” I turn around to face him. God he looks even better out here. The subtle gold glow from the lights are complimenting his skin tone, they make his baby blues shine which just frustrates me more.

“Please, Y/N,-” He takes a step closer to me, but I won’t have that.

“No,” I take a step back keeping the needed distance between us for fear I may strangle him. “I don’t want to hear any of your bullshit excuses. You had no right to pass judgment on a relationship that you know absolutely nothing about.”

He slips his hands into the pockets of his dress pants. “Oh, I’ve seen enough.”

“Really?” I jut my hip out, resting my hand on it. “In the two days you’ve been here, you think you’ve got us all figured out?”

“Yes,” he answers with conviction.

My shaking hands clench into fists, trying my damnedest not to lose control. I entangle them into my hair as best as I can without ruining the work the hairstylist did this morning before running them down my face. He has some nerve.

“We had one night. One night! One nearly perfect night together and suddenly that makes you an expert on what is good for me?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘an expert’-”

“I wouldn’t say anything!” I interrupt, “I never heard from you again. Now after two years, you come in here acting like you know anything about me or my relationship? Who do you think you are?”

“A man who made a mistake!” He snaps.

There was a long pause. I never expected to hear that from him. All these years I wanted to think the worst of him for leaving me hanging like that. He got my hopes up, thinking we may have a future together only for them to come crashing back down to Earth when he never contacted me again. I wondered and wondered if maybe I read the signals wrong. Maybe I took his flirting as more than it was. Maybe the small gestures like his arm around my shoulders, on the small of my back, or the hand holding were only him being friendly. I wracked my brain going over every single detail of the night to try and pinpoint a reason for him not to have called me afterwards. I found nothing, which was equally as frustrating.

“Alright, I made a mistake.” He moves to sit on one of the hay bales. He rests his elbows on his knees and buries his head in his hands, letting out a huge sigh. “God I wanted everything with you.”

Once again, I’m frozen by his words. He what? But that doesn’t make sense. His words and his actions don’t line up- how could that be?

He removes his hands from his face, staring at the grass. “After that night, I wanted it all. I wanted to settle down, get the house with a white picket fence in the suburbs, carry you through the threshold after our wedding day, bring our children home from the hospital, watch them grow until we’re old and gray. I wanted everything.”

My heart aches. All of that was exactly what I wanted, especially with him. I could feel the tears building behind my eyes, my heart breaking mourning the loss of what we could have had by now if he had only said something.

I also find my anger growing as well. If he felt all of that, why did he not contact me again? Why did he give me hope that our night out together could have been the start of something good and then taken it away just as quickly?

“But?” There had to be a “but” coming after his statement. Clearly something stopped him from pursuing the possibility of “us,” destroying any future we could have had.

He sighs, “but…” he finally looks up at me with more emotion in his eyes than I was expecting. There was contemplation, confusion, honesty, agony…

I look away. In an instant I knew what he was about to say. It makes complete sense. He was at the height of his career, shooting movie after movie all around the world for a majority of the year. How would he have had time to have a relationship mixed in with that? He couldn’t.

“Your career was more important,” I interject, “I get it. I do.” I couldn’t fault him for choosing work over someone he just met, no matter how much he claims to have liked me right off the bat. He was going to be busy. We probably wouldn’t have had a lot of time to see each other. It’s not like I could give up my career to follow him. Besides even if I could have, he wouldn’t want that. He said so himself. He wanted someone who was independent; who could do their own thing and not be enveloped in his crazy life.

He stands up and steps closer to me, “no, that wasn’t it. I promise you that wasn’t it.”

There’s that word. Promise. He promised we’d see each other again soon after our night together. But he broke that.

“Then what was it?” My voice cracks at the end. I can feel my reserves slipping the more he speaks. I didn’t realize how much I missed his voice until now. I haven’t seen any of the movies he’s been in the last few years. I have him and his hashtag blocked on all social media platforms so I don’t see anything of his on any of my timelines. My other friends think I don’t like him (only my best friend and her now husband know about our date). To hear it again brings back all of the good memories we made together in that short night and all of the emotions I’ve been holding back since. “I have been wracking my brain for years wondering what went wrong after that.”

“I got scared,” he finally admits the truth. “I got scared of how much I liked you and how much I wanted to protect you.”

“From what?”

“From me,” he casts his gaze down at his hands as he fidgets with them, “and my life. I didn’t want to subject you to the chaos that is my life. I know what my fans would do to you if we were in a relationship, I was trying to protect you from all of the ugly that being with me comes with.”

So that’s what he was afraid of? He was afraid our relationship would inevitably end exactly like his last one? His “fans” were horrible to her. They sent death threats to her and her family members, always commenting negatively on her social media pages all because she was dating him. I remember reading about it right after it happened. I knew that side of his fandom was toxic. But did I care? No. Did I think I couldn’t handle it? I honestly don’t know, but would I have been willing to deal with it for him? Yes. I would have given up anything to be with him. That’s precisely why he did what he did. He didn’t want me giving anything up for him because he knows I’d be giving up any semblance of privacy I had if I were in a public relationship with him.

If I had known these were the reasons why he ghosted me, I would have been broken hearted but I would have understood. Hell, I probably would have fallen more in love with him if I knew that, not fallen in loathe.

He continues, “I thought that if I never contacted you again, you could move on”- he clears his throat-“and find someone better than me who could give you the normal life you deserve. Which as much as I wish I couldn’t, I see that you have…” he pauses as if deciding whether he should keep speaking. When I don’t stop him, he does, “But I can’t help feeling like that could have been me.”

My slightly shaky hands cover his fidgeting ones. His hand moves until he’s intertwining our fingers together, palms touching. They fit perfectly together as if they were each other’s missing puzzle piece. His thumbs stroke mine sending warmth down my arms all the way down to my toes. The sparks I felt back then return with full force. He leans down, pressing his forehead against mine. My heart is beating out of my chest, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t feel it in some way.

I feel my heart break in my chest. My lip quivers and the tears threaten to make themselves known. My only saving grace is the fact that he can’t see my face. I may lose it completely if he did.

His breath is coming out equally as shaky between us, he squeezes my hands as if he doesn’t want me to let go. Believe me, I don’t want to. I bring one of our interlocked hands up to my lips. I kiss the back of his hand because I can’t kiss him where I want to. I pull back just enough to see his beautiful baby blues that could have any woman in the world swoon. They were terribly bloodshot right now but that only made them more tragically breathtaking. I tear one of my hands out of his and bring it to his cheek. He leans into it, a tear drops into the crevices between the contact.

The barely above whisper that came out was all I could muster without having a total breakdown because he’s right. It could have been him. We could have been something great. We could have built a life together. We could have had it all. And it broke my heart into a million pieces knowing all of this could have been avoided if life had handed both of us different lives.

“It almost was.”

~*~

Taglist: @the-marvel-wars @elusive-beauty @drakesfiance @im-a-slut-for-an-accent @fantasy-is-my-reality @princess-evans-addict

#almost #Chris Evans #christopher robert evans #christopher evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans drabble #chris evans oneshot #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #jj ehlby writes

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captainrogers-ass · 3 years

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Leather & Spice - Zemo x Reader One-Shot

Summary: You could never say no to a mission when it was Sam Wilson calling, yet cooperating with a convicted mass murderer hadn’t exactly been what you were expecting. Wounding, maiming, killing; those were all in your job description. Acting as Helmut Zemo’s lover was not.

Word Count: 4900

Pairings: Zemo x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic), Bucky x Reader (platonic)

A/N: Ok so I know I’ve been super inactive and I know this isn’t strictly Chris Evans related but I’m currently obsessed with TFATWS; more specifically a certain mass murderer. I’ve substituted Serbian for Sokovian, although Zemo talks to Bucky in Russian. As always, any and all feedback is much appreciated. I hope you enjoy!!! Let me know if you want a part 2!!!

The call had been tense, brief, and widely lacking in any important information, and yet you had still gone anyway.

No matter how many times the Avengers had screwed you over you couldn’t help yourself when Sam Wilson called. Your resistance was futile. He was too charming to say no to, and you were pretty sure he was perfectly well aware of that.

The private jet had been a nice surprise in all honesty. Sam had seemingly always had a knack for finding the seediest alleyway or dingiest motel room to meet up in whenever he called for your help, so you couldn’t help but smile at the change in scenery. Your boots clicked loudly on the tarmac below as you approached the plane, your hand pausing as it connected with the railing of the stair car, a small smile escaping onto your lips as you tried to contain your unusual excitement.

A butler with greying hair and aged skin greeted you at the entrance to the plane. He was dressed in a neat, black suit and smiled at you kindly upon your arrival, his arms already extended as he motioned towards your luggage.

“Oh, thank you,” you said with a smile as you handed over your bag.

The cabin was lovely; spacious, lavish and filled with two grown men who were currently too enthralled in their escalating argument to take any notice of your arrival.

Bucky and Sam were sitting next to each other; Bucky slumped over within his seat with his arms folded across his chest, Sam perched at the edge of his own seat, his hands raised passionately before him as he berated Bucky in a tone that was clearly trying to stay relatively calm but was miserably failing. You cleared your throat as a small smile escaped onto your lips; these two hadn’t changed one bit.

Sam’s eyes met yours first.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, immediately rising from his seat and striding the few steps towards you, engulfing you in a hug. “I wasn’t sure, you’d come. I haven’t seen you in so long!”

You laughed as you managed to extract yourself from Sam’s embrace.

“You know I can never say no to you, Sam,” you chuckled.

“It’s because I’m too handsome, right?”

“Sure.”

You turned your attention to Bucky who was now standing just slightly back from Sam, their argument apparently forgotten as Bucky smiled kindly towards you.

“Hey there stranger,” you said as you gave Bucky a brief hug.

“And here I was thinking I was the most antisocial person I knew,” he retorted.

“I haven’t been avoiding you two, I promise. I’ve just been busy.”

“Yeah,” Sam said. “With whatever it is you do.”

You laughed but didn’t answer his implied question.

“This jet is a nice touch. How in the hell did you afford this?” you questioned.

The atmosphere changed immediately, the smile on your features faltering slightly as you felt the tension rise around you. Bucky turned his eyes to the floor, his figure hunching over slightly so that he looked far smaller than he usually appeared. Sam averted his gaze as well, instead turning to look at something past your shoulder.

“It’s mine actually. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Having worked in secret services your entire life you found yourself quite shocked at having failed to notice the third man on board. There was no doubt that this man hadn’t been in the main cabin upon your arrival, but having failed to recognise his presence until he spoke was an unusual oversight on your part; especially since he was standing quite close to you.

As you turned around you registered three things before your eyes landed upon him. Firstly, his accent was unusual, captivating and alluring, not one that you could outright recognise on an initial introduction alone. Secondly, his cologne was extraordinarily enticing; a dark, spicy smell that washed over you and filled your senses all at once so that you couldn’t help but inhale deeply to try and get another whiff of it. And thirdly, his presence was remarkable. Even before you looked upon him you could tell that this was a man of wealth; his tone, his posture, his cologne, his everything, oozed sophistication.

And then your eyes met his.

“I’m Helm-”

Before he could finish you grabbed the hand he had been in the process of outstretching for a handshake, twisted it behind his back before shoving him up against the wall of the plane with quite possibly a tad more force than was strictly necessary. A grunt escaped his lips as you did so, but whether it was from pain or surprise you couldn’t tell.

“Y/N!” Bucky and Sam yelled in unison.

“Would someone care to explain to me why there is a convicted criminal on board this plane.” Your voice came out far calmer than you were expecting.

“Well it is my pla-”

“Shut up,” you, Bucky and Sam all said in unison.

You pushed his contorted arm higher and a flicker of pain crossed his features for just a second, yet he remained silent. His face was pressed against the wall, your body weight holding him in place, and yet his eyes were trained on you, a piercing blend of hazel and gold that sent a shiver down your spine. He wasn’t resisting at all—which was surprising considering he could probably overpower you with his military history—and he no longer made any obvious outward indication that he was in pain even though the placement of his arm would suggest otherwise.

“We need him, Y/N,” Sam finally spoke up.

You struggled to pull your gaze from his, lingering for what felt like years.

“And his life-long prison sentence just happened to be up, I suppose?” you replied.

You couldn’t quite tell, but the subtle vibrations coming from Zemo made you think that he was laughing.

“Well, Bucky was the one who actually broke him ou-” Sam began.

“Oh yeah blame it on me,” Bucky exclaimed.

“Were you not the one who broke him out?”

“You know we needed him I was just the-”

“Ok, ok, boys,” you interrupted. “I really don’t care whose fault it is. What’s done is done. But will someone please explain why the hell we need a mass murderer’s help?”

“Well, there’s this new terrorist organisation called the Flagsmashers,” Sam began.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Zemo interrupted. You pushed him up against the wall harder but he continued on unfazed. “But I feel like this story is going to take a while so is there any possibility that I can have the function of my arm back, please?”

There was that accent again, so unusual and yet so smooth that it took you a few seconds to actually register what the man was saying. You glared at him for several seconds but eventually loosened your grip.

Immediately turning around, Zemo brought his hand up to rub at the arm that had been angled uncomfortably behind his back, his gaze never leaving yours. Your eyes travelled down his figure, taking in the luxurious coat draped around his shoulders, the well-tailored purple turtleneck underneath that shaped his frame well, and the expensive-looking black gloves that clung to his fingers. When your eyes returned to his a smile was peeking through onto his lips.

“As I was saying before, I’m Helmut Zemo.” You noticed that he didn’t extend his hand a second time for a handshake. “But I take it you already knew that…Y/N, is it?”

You didn’t answer, simply continuing to stare at him through slitted eyelids.

“I would say it is a pleasure to meet you,” he began again, making his way over to a small bar cart as he poured himself a drink. “But it was actually a surprisingly painful introduction.”

Extending a gloved hand towards you Zemo offered you a glass of the brown liquid. With some hesitation you accepted, your eyes never leaving his as your hand brushed over his gloved one.

Tearing your gaze from his you made your way to the seat in front of where Sam and Bucky had been previously sitting. Taking a sip from your drink you motioned for the two men to reclaim their seats.

“So, tell me about these Flagsmashers.”

“If we have to do something about this, I’m the only one that looks like a pimp,” Sam commented, looking down to admire the colourfully decorated suit he was wearing.

The four of you were currently walking across an empty bridge, the lights of the bustling city burning bright in the distance.

“Only an American would assume a fashion-forward black man looks like a pimp. You look exactly like the man you’re supposed to be playing; a sophisticated, charming, African rake named Conrad Mack, aka the Smiling Tiger,” Zemo replied, passing his phone to Sam, a photo lighting up the screen.

“He even has a bad nickname. Hell, he does look like me though.”

You walked closer to Sam, leaning over his shoulder to get a look at the picture. You laughed slightly to yourself.

“You sure you don’t have some alter ego you’re not telling us about?” you questioned.

“Ha, ha,” Sam responded dryly.

“So then who am I supposed to be?” you asked Zemo. “Some stunningly beautiful millionaire who also happens to look exactly like me, I presume?”

The sarcasm was obvious in your tone and yet you were still surprised at the small laugh that left Zemo’s lips. It was deep, dark, and didn’t last very long, but it was charming. You turned away from him and looped your arm through Sam’s instead, pretending to need assistance with walking from the six-inch heels Zemo had you wear.

The dress he had presented to you on the plane was surprisingly stunning. It was black and fell just above your ankles, a large slit running up the left side of the fabric and a cowling neckline that accentuated your figure perfectly. The back was low, the straps criss-crossing across your shoulders doing little to provide any solace from the evenings cold wind.

“In a sense I suppose that is correct,” Zemo responded. “You will be playing the role of my date.”

Your head whipped around to stare at him.

“Excuse me?”

Bucky and Sam tried in vain to hide their snickers. You punched Sam lightly in the arm.

“The Smiling Tiger, the Winter Soldier and I all have reputations that we can rely on here in Madripoor. Nobody knows who you are Y/N and that makes you the most valuable person here. By limiting you to just my date people will begin to underestimate you which makes you a valuable asset if things begin to go South.”

His words made sense and yet you refused to admit it.

“He’s not wrong, Y/N,” Sam whispered to you.

“I think if Bucky can pretend to be the Winter Soldier,” Zemo continued. “Then you will be perfectly capable of pretending to be my date.”

“No, I think Y/N still got the short straw here,” Bucky said, causing you and Sam to begin to snicker as a scowl appeared on Zemo’s face.

A black car began to approach you on the bridge, pulling up beside you. Just before you could open the door a gloved hand enclosed around the handle.

“Allow me, draga.”

He opened the door and motioned for you to enter. You met his gaze, raising an eyebrow up at him.

“I’m not your date just yet.”

“A lady should always be treated with respect whether she is one’s date or not.”

You hadn’t been expecting a response, yet he had provided one so quickly and with such sincerity in his voice that you couldn’t help but furrow your eyebrows at him. Your gaze lingered upon his for several seconds before he provided you with a curt nod.

You entered the car without another word, Zemo following in behind you so that you were now sandwiched between him and Sam with Bucky sitting quite comfortably in the front seat.

The drive into town was mostly quiet. You enjoyed looking out the window at the bright city, mesmerised by all the neon signs and blinding lights. The streets were riddled with guns; hidden in holsters on people’s hips, tucked into the backs of pants, or simply waved around nonchalantly. You checked the holster attached to your thigh for good measure.

Glancing into the rear-view mirror you could have sworn that you had met Zemo’s gaze for a split second, but with a blink of your eyes his head was now directed out the window, his gaze fixated on the passing buildings. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, but returned your gaze to the window once more without a word.

The streets were crawling with criminals when you reached the bar. Guns were being waved around as if they were a fashion accessory and blatant felonies were being conducted out in the open with no attempt to conceal anything.

Zemo exited the car first, and as you scooted across the seat to make your own exit you found that familiar gloved hand was already extended towards you. Looking up, your eyes met his, taking his hand without a word. You were now in character and you were going to play the role as best you could.

You didn’t let go of Zemo’s hand as he helped you from the car. Instead, after waiting for him to close the door behind you, you looped your arm through his as you had done to Sam only minutes previously, this time leaning into him much more closely than you had done with your friend.

If Zemo was surprised at your gentle touch he did not show it. Instead he flexed his arm to bring you slightly closer before leading you, Bucky and Sam into the bar. As soon as you had exited the car it seemed as if the whole street had their eyes on you. Your heart fluttered nervously in your chest, but your features remained neutral even as your eyes roamed freely around your surroundings.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you whispered to Zemo. “But I think you should’ve given me something a bit more revealing to wear. This dress is beautiful, but I look so out of place.”

Zemo turned to you with a smile on his face.

“Any woman on my arm will always be dressed in the finest of silks. It would be far more suspicious if I made you wear a more revealing dress, trust me.”

His voice was low as he spoke to you, his gaze fixated on you as he smiled cheekily.

Your heart fluttered nervously once more.

The bar was loud, hot and filled with half-drunk people rubbing their private parts against each other. The popular neon lights trickled in to the establishment, casting contrasting shadows of yellow and red across the space.

A bartender greeted you as you approached the bar, his face stoic and void of emotion.

“Hello gentlemen,” he nodded towards Sam. “Wasn’t expecting you, Smiling Tiger.”

Zemo answered for him.

“His plans changed. We have business to do with Selby.”

The bartender turned to Sam.

“The usual?”

Sam nodded.

When the bartender returned with a snake and began to gut it right in front of you you couldn’t help the small smile that crept up onto your face when you realised what was happening.

“Ah,” Zemo began, “Smiling Tiger, your favourite.”

His tone was slightly mocking and it nearly caused you to burst out laughing right there, but you managed to retain your composure. Sam turned with a resentful look on his face to see you and Zemo trying to hide the smiles that were creeping on to your faces.

“I love these,” Sam said as he raised the glass to you.

You leaned your head on to Zemo’s shoulder in an attempt to hide your snickers. Sam clinked his glass against Zemo’s, and after some hesitation, downed the shot in one.

The smile was wiped from your face as you felt a presence approach you from behind, struggling against the instinct to reach for your weapon. Zemo felt you still beside him and immediately turned to meet the approaching man, placing you slightly behind him.

“I got word from on high,” the man said. “You ain’t welcome here.”

Zemo’s voice sounded nonchalant as he responded.

“I have no business with the Power Broker, but if he insists he can either come and talk to me,” Zemo looked behind him to where Bucky was standing.

“New haircut?” the man said to Bucky with a scoff.

Zemo’s voice was deep and demanding, grasping the man’s attention once more, “Or bring Selby for a chat.”

The man left but now your senses were on high alert as Zemo turned back to talk to Bucky. Your eyes scoured the room, noticing several men beginning to approach you. Slowly your hand began to travel down to your gun.

“Not yet, dušica.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky just as one of the approaching men placed his hand upon Zemo’s shoulder. “Zimniy soldat. Ataka.”

Without hesitating Bucky grabbed the arm of the man who had touched Zemo, bending it painfully backwards. You watched on with bated breath, worried for your friend as he reverted back to what he once was, not because he wasn’t able to handle the fight—he wasn’t even breaking a sweat as he took on three guys at once—but because of what this little act might have on all the progress he had made.

Your gaze flickered to Zemo for a split second to find that he was smiling.

“It didn’t take long for him to fall back into form,” he whispered to you.

Ever since this trip had begun you had slowly started to become desensitised to the fact that you were in the presence of a mass murderer, often forgetting at times that the man before you had caused so much pain and suffering. But now it hit you all at once, causing you to become quite repulsed by the presence beside you.

Wanting to remove yourself from his side but knowing that you couldn’t you instead leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“If you smile again from Bucky’s pain, I’ll punch your teeth in so that when I burn you to death they won’t be able to use your dental records to identify your body.”

To say that Zemo was surprised at your comment was an understatement as he whipped his head around to look at you, his mask of composure forgotten for a split second as his eyes met yours. He didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told you that he had not been expecting such a response. His gaze fell to the floor and you thought, just for a second, that maybe he was about to apologise, but when his eyes came back to look at you his mouth remained closed.

He noticed the change in your attitude immediately. Whilst you did not disentangle your arm from his, you now distanced yourself as far as you could from his side, your touch no longer the comfortable presence he had begun to enjoy, now cold and impersonal.

The sounds of guns being cocked brought your attention back to the room.

“Stay in character or the whole bar turns on us,” Zemo quickly whispered to Bucky. “Otlichnaya rabota, soldat,” he said louder.

Everyone in the bar paused as Bucky let go of the man he had been in the process of choking.

“Selby will see you now,” the bartender interrupted.

A small sigh of relief escaped from your lips.

The back room was poorly lit and smelt of alcohol and cigarettes, the wall to your left illuminated by small televisions that displayed the security camera footage from all over the bar.

Selby—a middle aged, menacing looking woman with short, platinum blonde hair—was sitting upon one of the luxurious couches, dressed in an ill-fitting suit with a loosely tied tie hanging around her neck.

“You should know, Baron,” she began, tapping her hand against the head of the couch. “People don’t just come into my bar and make demands.”

“Not a demand,” Zemo responded. “An offer.”

Zemo took a seat on the couch opposite to Selby’s, his hand in yours as he motioned for you to sit next to him. You paused for just a second before perching yourself so that you were instead sitting in his lap. As much as you didn’t want to be in this position, when you went undercover you did it well. Zemo’s face showed no hint of surprise, but his hands fumbled for a split second, unsure of where to place them before he rested one on your waist and one on your thigh, quite high up so that he was basically at your knee. The gesture didn’t go unnoticed and you found yourself quite surprised at his willingness to respect your boundaries.

Selby raised an eyebrow at you.

“A lot has changed since you were last here,” she said, her gaze now fixated on you. It made you feel uncomfortable, but you didn’t show it as you leaned back into Zemo’s touch. “By the way, I thought you were rotting away in a German prison. How did you escape?”

Zemo’s gloved hand began rubbing circles on your knee, your skin exposed from the slit in the dress. You were pretty sure he wasn’t aware he was doing it, but you weren’t altogether against the touch.

“People like us always find a way, don’t we?” he responded. “I’m sure you’ve already figured out what I’m here for.”

“What’s the offer.”

“Tell us what you know about the super-soldier serum, and I give you him.” Zemo’s gaze turned to Bucky who remained stoic and impassive in the corner of the room. “Along with the code words to control him, of course.”

“Now that’s the Zemo I remember. I’m glad I decided not to kill you immediately.” She paused as she considered the offer. “You were right to seek me out. The super-soldier serum is here in Madripoor. Dr. Wilfred Nagel is the man you wanna thank…or condemn, depending on what side of this you’re on.”

“Is Nagel still in Madripoor?” Zemo questioned.

“Oh, the breadcrumbs you can have for free, but the bakery is gonna cost you, Baron.” Selby’s gaze shifted to Bucky before it returned to land on you. “Who is this beautiful creature you’ve got with you?”

You felt Zemo stiffen beneath you.

“Ah,” he began, his voice somehow having grown deeper. “This one isn’t part of the deal. She’s mine.”

There was an intensity to the way he said mine. It was subtle, but it was there, and Selby noticed it as she quirked an eyebrow up at him.

“Are you sure about that, Baron?” she responded with a laugh. “These young creatures get so restless. Are you sure she’s not bored with you already?”

Zemo’s hand was now gripping your thigh a lot lower than where it had previously been and a lot harder; not so roughly that it hurt, but hard enough for you to realise that he was unsure of how to proceed. You turned your gaze to Selby who licked her lips as your eyes met hers, before turning your attention back to Zemo. He looked up towards you, a confused look flashing across his eyes as he tried to figure out what you were about to do. Having made your decision—and before you had enough time to really question what you were about to do—you leaned down towards the Baron and collided your lips with his.

Zemo hesitated at first, his lips unresponsive against yours for a split second before he returned the gesture. His hands came up to tangle themselves in your hair, your own hands gripping the base of his scalp. You slipped your tongue into his mouth and turned slightly so that Selby had a clear view.

You made sure the kiss was dirty and ferocious, and it left both of you breathless as you pulled away from him.

You turned to Selby with a smirk on your face, wiping some saliva from the corner of your mouth with the pad of your thumb as you maintained eye-contact with her.

“Not quite yet,” you said.

A viscous smile spread across her face but before Selby could respond Sam’s phone began to ring, and everything went downhill pretty quickly from there.

When the sniper shot came through the window you didn’t have time to be surprised, immediately leaping to your feet, gun already in hand. Before Selby’s henchmen had even had time to react you had already shot a bullet into two of their chests, Bucky taking out the third man in the room.

“We have a real problem now, so leave your weapons and follow my lead,” Zemo said, quickly making his way back down to the bar with you, Sam and Bucky close behind, your gun back in its concealed holster.

Descending the stairs quickly, Bucky leaned back with a smirk on his face.

"Told you you got the short straw."

Punching him in the arm to try to get him to shut up you quickly realised your mistake as you brought your hand to your chest, pain flaring in your knuckles at having collided with the vibranium. A short laugh escaped from Bucky's lips.

"Focus," Zemo called from the front of the group.

You made your way back on to the street quickly, following Zemo as he hastily walked in a direction that you hoped would get you off the main strip. Looking around you as you walked you kept noticing people getting notifications on their phones and a bad feeling began to grow in your stomach.

A round of bullets were shot towards you, the proximity of the bang causing your ears to ring painfully. All four of you ducked immediately as you scrambled away quickly. Bucky and Sam ran forwards and Zemo, grabbing your hand swiftly, veered off into a small alley way, his hand never leaving yours as he ran. The sound of several footsteps followed close behind you, but before you could reach for your gun Zemo crowded you into a small alcove.

“What are you doing? They’ll see us here,” you angrily whispered. Your hand began to reach for your gun once more but Zemo stopped you.

“There’s too many of them,” he said quickly, peeking out from behind the alcove to spy on the approaching men.

“We’re sitting ducks here. I can probably get a few shots out if-”

All at once Zemo whipped back around and placed his index finger upon your lips to stop you from speaking.

“I’m truly sorry for this.”

For the second time that night Helmut Zemo’s lips were now upon yours, kissing you far more softly than you had kissed him before. His body was crowding yours against the wall of the alley way, his broad form easily shielding you. The footsteps got closer and closer, all the while you kept kissing the Baron. This time there was no tongue, just gentle lips upon yours as he kissed you tenderly and slowly.

That cologne you had first smelt that morning engulfed your senses now so that it was all you could smell. Your hands came up to grip at the fur collar of his coat, pulling him closer by the furred lapel, and you couldn’t help but marvel at the softness of it.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you registered the approaching footsteps; how close they came to you before they past right by, the group of men not giving you a second glance as one shouted orders to the rest in a language you couldn't be bothered to recognise.

At some point Zemo's tongue ended up in your mouth, or maybe it was your tongue in his. Either way you couldn't recall who had initiated it, and couldn't quite find the effort to care. One of his hands came up to cup your cheek whilst the other became entangled within your hair, pulling at your roots slightly so that you moaned at the feeling.

You moaned.

Pushing the baron away from you you immediately put as much distance as you could between the two of you. His lips were red and swollen and you were quite sure yours looked the same, both panting slightly as the cold air illuminated your breaths.

You could feel your cheeks begin to redden immediately, and swiftly turned away from him to hide your embarrassment.

You could still hear the men who had been following you, their footsteps far quieter now as they continued down the alley.

“I think they’re gone,” you finally said, having allowed the awkward silence to grow palpable between you.

“Yes…yes I think you’re right,” he responded, not meeting your gaze.

The sound of footsteps coming down the alley filled your ears once more, and this time you didn’t hesitate as you pulled your gun from its holster.

“Woah, easy there tiger, it’s just us,” Sam said, his hands held upwards in a sign of surrender.

You let out a sigh as you saw them and immediately felt Zemo’s gaze fall upon you.

#zemo x reader #helmut zemo #baron helmut zemo #daniel brühl #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #MCU

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

more of ghost!dream! what can i say, i love this au a lot. here are the previous parts [1] and [2] if you want to read them first - this picks up right after last time, again :D

tws: death, grief (as per usual for this au), very briefly mentioned torture/abuse (what quacktiy’s been doing in pandora), prison arc/pandora’s vault, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms (c!sam is still very emotionally repressed, go figure)

Maybe he should’ve carried the kid; it probably would’ve been quicker, at least. Fran sidled up to him, tossing her head easily as she brushed against his leg. When he looked down, she seemed to be staring at him judgmentally.

“What?”

She barked sharply, prompting a sleepy mumble from the kid trailing behind them, and Sam rubbed at the bridge of his nose with a heavy sigh. Arguing with a dog now, really? You really are losing it.

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed again, cutting himself off before he said something he regretted. The words were colder than he intended as it was, making the kid flinch from the corner of his eye, and something in him stirred uncomfortably at the sight, far more familiar than he wanted to admit. Fran’s eyes were dark as she kept staring at him, feet padding softly against the grass as she nudged against him again.

What do you want me to do?

She held his gaze for a second longer before turning around, tail flicking to the side as she made her way to the shimmering image of the kid following them. Figure it out.

He huffed, making a small hissing sound through his teeth, ignoring the way his cheeks heated in embarrassment. He knew he was...cold, to say the least, had gotten used to everyone’s strange looks and shuffles away from him quickly enough. The prison left no room for vulnerability, not when every mechanism, every ounce of power in the prison, every person on the server was left in his hands, not when he was the only one standing in between the greatest danger that they had ever known and the peace that they had fought tooth and nail for. He’d learned how to lock every part of himself in a maze of redstone and blackstone and obsidian, learned how to hide away under layers of netherite and a metal mask. And- perhaps, at first, he’d flinched away from the slight fear in Puffy’s eyes, the hesitance in Tommy’s voice, the way that Ponk-

He swallowed, moving faster. He wasn’t going to think about him right now.

He was cold. He’d been cold as the Warden and he was cold, now, because he’d been the Warden for so long that he’d forgotten how to be anything else, because the walls that he’d thrown up between the part of him that lived under the sun and never wore more than a gold chestplate and the part of him that knew nothing but an endless checkerboard of grey and black had cracked over the days and weeks and months spent pacing, restless, around the same black box, from every piercing word Quackity spoke, from the bone-deep exhaustion that he could never shake. Fran barked again, behind him, and the kid giggled softly, the sound bright and weightless and warm; the weight of the mask on his face suddenly felt oppressive, and his hand came to brush against the polished edges. What did his voice sound like, warm? Did he even remember?

“Sammy!” He stumbled to a stop, the voice in his ears still unfamiliar in its familiarity, adrenaline making his heart flutter, “Slow down! You’re goin’ too fast!”

He stopped, not realizing he was holding his breath until he felt something- someone, right, knock into the back of his legs. He turned himself around carefully, finding the kid staring up at him with big, drooping eyes.

“M’tired,” he mumbled, leaning forward to put more of his weight on Sam, stumbling slightly when Sam drew backwards. “We’re almos’ there, right?”

“...yeah,” Sam looked away, pointedly looking over his shoulder to avoid having to meet the kid’s gaze, eyes finding the stone face of the mountain that he’d made into his home. “Just a few more minutes.”

“‘Kay,” he stepped back, arms coming down to his sides from where they’d been wrapped around Sam’s waist, and the weight that had suddenly settled over his ribcage eased off as well, finally letting him breathe. He began to turn back forwards so they could continue their walk and finally actually get inside the base when he felt something tug at his hoodie sleeve.

He watched, with something a little like a mix of muted horror and fascination as Dream grabbed his hand, carefully threading his fingers one by one in between Sam’s own until his hand was loosely clasped around the ghost’s, beaming at his accomplishment as he squeezed his hand firmly. It was something he’d done before, with Bad’s never-ending insistence that they stay together for safety at the slightest sight of danger and Sam usually relegated to wrangle the younger kids as one of the older and more “responsible” in the group, and the familiar weight of Dream’s hand in his own had him choking on memories he’d half-forgotten.

“Sammy?”

Even as a ghost, his grip was tight; there would be no way for Sam to ease his hand away without alerting him of his intentions. He swallowed around the thickness in his throat, feeling Fran walk up to his other side and circle around his legs.

“Let’s go.” His voice was rough, though the mask probably distorted it too much for it to be too noticeable. He pressed his shoulders back, let his right hand hang as a dead weight as the ghost swung it back and forth, humming idly as he did so.

“We’re almost there,” he said, looking forward towards his mountain, its western face shining golden by the setting sun, and didn’t know if he was talking to the ghost by his side or himself.

---

Thankfully, the actual process of getting into his base ended up being much simpler than the walk back to it. The sight of the various redstone mechanisms - hoeing the dirt and having a door appear from nowhere, especially - had the kid thoroughly perked up from where he’d been half-asleep by Sam’s side, and he’d fired off question after question as they made their way inside. The excitement was an easy distraction and he latched onto it with maybe a little too much enthusiasm, giving off-hand explanations as he dug through his chests for wool and wood.

The ghost, just as he’d always been, was an endless fountain of curiosity, following eagerly to look at his automatic potion brewer and sugarcane farm and furnace set-up, face scrunching in confusion when Sam tried explaining any of the redstone but watching intently anyway. Fran, seemingly exhausted from the walk - which, admittedly, had ended up being much longer than any of them expected - had almost immediately padded off to her room to sleep, leaving Sam alone with an all-too excitable ghost and far too many questions that weren’t going to get answers any time soon.

As the kid finally took a second away from running around to watch, fascinated, as the minecart in Sam’s furnaces dutifully circled back and forth with a few stacks of cobble that he’d thrown in there to smelt as a demonstration, he let himself step away, dragging a hand across his face with a low hiss of distress. He hadn’t thought of the possibility of Dream coming back as a ghost, honestly, had hardly thought about the future at all beyond the need for Quackity and himself to keep their mouths shut. It was an oversight, in hindsight, and he was lucky that he was the one to stumble on the kid instead of virtually anyone else on the server, but now-

Sam turned, watched as the kid rocked back and forth while watching the minecart make another round around the track. What was he supposed to do, now?

He would have to keep Dream here, obviously. All of the work that he and Big Q had put in to keep their actions secret could be blown with one careless pair of eyes on the newest phantom of the server; it’s not like they were particularly hard dots to connect. Speaking of Q, Sam felt the same uneasy prickle of something crawling up his spine, and he shook his head to clear it. It would probably be best if his business partner didn’t learn about this...complication, either, or at least not until he had a little more figured out. So it was left to Sam, in the end, to figure out what happened to the kid and to watch over him, as it always did; prime, there must’ve been someone out there laughing at the irony, making sure that he’d never be able to escape the seeming never-ending task of watching the same person.

It was fine. It would be- easier, this time, as long as he stayed far away from the rest of the Greater SMP. It’s not like anyone would notice anything different, considering how much time he’d been spending in the prison for the last few months, and at least his charge would be more willing to stay in one place than last time. All he had to do was keep them sufficiently out of the others’ prying eyes, at least until he and Quackity figured out a suitable explanation for the prisoner’s death to give to the others. Until then, his job was the same as it had been for months; of course, there were differences, but at its essence, did they really matter? Dead or alive, black walls or grey, he was still the Warden and Dream his...responsibility.

It would be fine. The ghost didn’t even remember anyone else; keeping him in one place would be easy. He’d been the Warden of Pandora’s Vault for months, what was a little time watching over a kid? An amnesiac ghost at that, naïve and far too trusting - it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Right?

---

They ended up converting George’s abandoned room into a bedroom, of sorts, for the ghost. He’d been fascinated with the door going inside, had played with it for a couple minutes before his earlier exhaustion caught up to him and he’d settled on top of the bed, watching as Sam hastily brushed off dust and made the room semi-presentable. It was largely empty; he’d added some initial furnishings when he first built it, but George never really officially moved in, ended up caught up with one thing or another until everything went down on the Sixteenth, and everything since then had been so thoroughly chaotic on both ends that he really hadn’t bothered checking in on either Sapnap or George, leaving both of their rooms to do little more than collect dust. He ran his fingers over the blue-green planks, regret washing over him suddenly like a bucket of cold water thrown over his head. When had all of them grown apart? When did their home become this?

His hands slammed a little too hard on the next bookshelf he came too, eliciting a sharp gasp from the ghost behind him. He whirled around, winced at the sight of the kid cringing, a hand clasped firmly over his ear, and forced the tenseness out of his shoulders with a heavy sigh. The tiredness, it seemed, did more than make the ghost a little quieter and less excitable than the kid in his memories. Sam moved to the next bookshelf, running a damp cloth over the top edge; there was a newfound skittishness to him, an unfamiliar tendency to jump at loud noises and sudden movements. He’d always been cautious, masked even in Sam’s earliest memories, but there had always been a boldness that simply...didn’t exist anymore.

“I’ll leave you to it, alright?” He looked back, watching as the ghost ducked under the pink covers - he hadn’t been able to find anything other than a couple blocks of pink wool in his chest from who knows how long ago - and moving towards the door.

“G’dnigh’, Sammy.”

His voice was soft and sweet, and the cold feeling from before was back, a block of ice nestled in his chest that he couldn’t get out.

“...goodnight, Dream.”

#long post #ghost!dream au #tw torture #tw abuse #tw unhealthy relationship #tw death #tw grief #pandora's vault #prison arc #tw unhealthy coping mechanism #my writing :D #my asks !!

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13uswntimagines · 3 years

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Always Have a Place (Preath x Teen!Reader)

Request: learning to love part 2 with reader being super attached to Chris and Tobin then someone coments about it and reader starts to feel insecure about it again and Tobin and Chris has to reassure her again

You pulled the blankets tighter around you, padding through the chilly apartment towards the sound of your mama’s voice. The cold Manchester weather wasn’t quite agreeing with you, and paired with the holidays, you had been a bit on edge for the past few days.

You never understood what the big fuss around Christmas was (as you had never been visited by Santa when you were younger), and Christmas Trees kinda freaked you out (Forster father number 3 had sent one through a window on your first Christmas with them). Though Christen and Tobin tried to show you some holiday traditions, you just didn’t understand why making cookies and drinking hot chocolate were supposed to put the world in a more giving mood.

You rounded the corner, glancing to the left where Christen was sitting on the couch, and Right where Tobin was talking at the dining room table. You thought it was strange they never did video calls from the same room, but if it made them happy then who were you to judge.

You sighed, deciding that Christen looked more cuddly, and began shuffling in her direction. She glanced over the top of her laptop at you, opening her arms to invite you in as she took in your tired form.

“Hmm, you’re warm,” You mumbled, wigging into the woman to find your favorite spot. Christen giggled, wrapping her arm around you and pulling you closer, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. The two of you had grown close (almost as close as you and Tobin) in the past few months, and while you and Tobin bonded over art, you had become her cuddle buddy. Plus with the bad feelings the holidays always dredged up, you had been a bit more clingy than usual (not that her or Tobin were complaining) and her calming figure had put you at ease.

“I’m glad baby, just a few more minutes and then we can all go to bed alright?” Christen asked softly, running a comforting hand through your hair.

“You don’t have to rush, I’m comfy now,” You mumbled, allowing your mom’s scent to relax you. Now that she was here to ward off your nightmares, you were finding it difficult to stay awake.

“Awe, is our favorite designer in training tired?” Megan jested from the screen, and you stuck your tongue out at her.

“In training? My design sold out in less than a day,” you grumbled. You had been honored to work with your Ma on the popsicle capsule and were super excited that your work had done well. It was nice to know your art was appreciated, even if it wasn’t the typical portraits you did.

Megan laughed, nodding in concession, glad you had warmed up to her. You were making amazing strides with not only the women that had become your moms but with the team as a whole.

“The time change is a little much for us all I think,” Tobin said, glancing over at the two loves of her life from the kitchen table. God, you had come so far, had grown so comfortable coming to them when you weren’t feeling alright.

“We all know the truth, that kid is just super attached to you, and probably can’t even sleep by herself,” Kling laughed, not noticing how you flinched slightly. You didn’t know Kling as well as you knew Megan or any of the other members of the USWNT and you weren’t quite sure how to take her teasing.

“I can attest that Y/n is pretty cuddly. I don’t know how you detach her to train sometimes,” Pino shrugged and your eyebrows furrowed. Did Pino think you were too clingy too? Did she think you were holding your mom’s back? If they couldn’t train, they couldn’t be the best. They wouldn’t want you anymore if you were hindering them.

You twisted slightly uncomfortable, pulling away from Christen’s comforting embrace.

“I’m gonna go back to bed,” You mumbled, tucking your Batman blanket tighter around you.

“You sure babe?” Christen asked, brushing a strand of hair away from your eyes.

“Hmm,” You hummed, shuffling off to go and cuddle Roary. Hopefully, he could keep your nightmares away (not missing Tobin’s “Nice going, Kling,”).

****

You woke with a start, sitting bolt upright and clutching your blanket tightly to your chest. You gulped down the bile that rose in your throat. You ran your hand across your forehead, pushing the sweaty strands of hair from your clammy skin.

You blinked at the red number of the clock, the little 2 mocking you. It was the 4th time this week. Every part of you longed to go find the comfort your Mom and Mama always offered when you had a nightmare. But you couldn’t bring yourself to disturb them. Kling was right, how the hell were they supposed to play well with you bothering them every time you had a little scary dream. You were 14, not 4.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and smoothing your thumb over both of your closed eyes in an effort to chase away the images that plagued your sleep. You were never going to get back to sleep now.

You leaned over and grabbed your trusty drawing pad, before quietly tiptoeing out of the room, and down the hall. You paused as you passed the slightly ajar door to your moms’ room. They never complained about your frequent visits to their bed or pushed you to tell them which ghost from your past had made you end up there.

You shook your head, taking a second to convince yourself that not going to them was going to benefit you in the end. If you stopped bothering them, being so clingy, they wouldn’t get tired of you. They wouldn’t get rid of you.

You continued down the hallway, bypassing the kitchen in favor of turning into the living room. You stared out the bay windows, wishing for a minute that you were back in Portland. That you had the balcony to stand on and collect your racing thoughts, and the cool night air to ground you back in reality. Alas, you were here in the UK instead.

You sighed again, curling up on the little window seat, staring listlessly at the drizzly night sky, and flipping mindlessly through the pages of your sketchbook.

You settled on a blank page, mindlessly tapping your pencil on the paper. Your thoughts wandered, taking in the skyline as though it would tell you what to draw, how to set your mind at ease. The movement of your reflection in the window caught your attention, and suddenly you knew exactly what to draw. How to get your brain to stop obsessing over them leaving you.

****

Tobin sighed as she entered the living room. It was the 5th time this week she had walked into the same sight of you slumped against the living room window, your pencil paused over your coveted sketchbook, which was balanced precariously on your knee.

“She’s out here Chris,” Tobin called quietly down the hallway. How they had gone to waking up with you almost always cuddled between them (or on the foot of their bed) to you virtually pulling away entirely they weren’t sure. It hurt to see the brick wall around your heart rebuilding itself in front of their eyes.

Christen padded up next to her, wrapping her arms around Tobin's waist and resting her head on her shoulder. “Again?” She asked, the sadness evident in her tone. They thought they had gotten over the hurdle of convincing you to come to them for help, plus she was starting to miss her cuddle buddy.

“Hm, we need to get to the bottom of this,” Tobin mumbled, leaning back into her wife. It wasn’t healthy for you to be awake all night, even if you were processing your emotions through art, if for you to be pushing them away. They tried not to push you too hard, tried to let you come to them, but you clearly weren’t. They were going to need to intervene soon.

“I’ll make the coffee, if you want to wake little miss up,” Christen murmured into her neck, placing a soft kiss before heading off towards the kitchen.

You may have been her cuddle buddy, but you always had an easier time opening up to Tobin. Her chill demeanor set you at ease.

Tobin nodded making her way over to you, making a mental note to put an extra blanket on the window seat in case this was going to continue.

She crouched in front of you, carefully maneuvering the dangling sketchbook out of your hand, barely glancing at the still open page as she set it on the coffee table, and placing a gentle hand on your knee.

“Hey kiddo, it’s time to wake up,” she said softly, rubbing your leg to rouse you.

“Hm, what time is it,” You asked, pushing your forehead against the cool glass and blinking sleepily at the woman.

“Just after 8. What time did you come out here?” She questioned softly.

You shrugged, yawning loudly. “Like 1:30. I couldn’t go back to sleep after my dream so I decided to come out here for a bit,” You lazily gestured towards your sketchbook “thought I could work through it and I guess I fell asleep,”

“Why didn’t you wake Me or Mom up, we would have hung out with you until you could get back to sleep,” The woman pressed, cupping your face and running her thumb over your cheek, brushing the dark circles that had grown more prominent under your eyes. You leaned into her touch, allowing it to ease your fears for the moment.

“Didn’t wanna bother you. Your both starting today,” you said.

Tobin squinted at you, her head tilting to the side. You were more important to them than any starting position, they thought you knew that. It was a piece to the puss me that was this change in your behavior, but she couldn’t seem to put her finger on the rest. She couldn’t quite see how it fit.

“You could never be a bother to us babe, we love you and want to help you. And you’re our priority, never worry about soccer when it comes to stuff like this. If one of us has to sit out, it’s no biggie,” She said, looking you in the eye, repeating the words that had become their mantra to you.

You hummed noncommittally, abruptly pulling yourself out of her grasp, looking away from her piercing gaze. That was too close, and you didn’t want her to make a promise you knew she wouldn’t keep. It would hurt less later if you didn’t believe her.

“Is mom making pancakes?”

*****

Christen was worried. Very worried. She hadn’t meant to go snooping, but the sketch on the page of your open notebook had caught her attention, and once she started she couldn’t stop.

It was a striking image. The drawing of the view from their apartment was nice, but what really caught her eye was the reflection of you in the glass. There was something about your expression that tore at her very soul.

You drew what you felt, and if you had this much disparity, then something was very wrong.

“Have you seen this,” She asked her wife breathlessly. Tobin glanced at the page, nodding once. It had been the same sketch 4 days in a row, the only thing that changes were the expression. The eyes growing emptier, the shadows getting bigger. She bit her lip.

“We have to let her come to us, babe. All we can do is try to be there for her,”

And try to be there for you they had. They increased their touches (trying not to feel hurt when you pulled away), Tobin scheduled extra time for the two of you to work on the capsule together. Hell, Christen even started leaving hot chocolate in the window seat for you. But nothing seemed to be working. You were slowly slipping away and neither of them knew why.

Christen sighed, glancing back at the sketch, so beautifully haunting. “I just want her to let me help,”

“She will, you just have to let her sort through whatever it is first,”

*****

Your moms were on their feet mere seconds after your first shriek, racing across the hall and into your room, searching for the threat. They released a breath they didn’t know they were holding when they saw you alone in your bed until another strangled cry left your lips.

“No, I’ll be good, please don’t leave,”

That was all it took for them to jump into action, Tobin flipping on your bedside light, and Christen crawling into bed beside you.

“Hey baby, wake up, it’s just a bad dream,” your mom said, wrapping you up in her arms and rubbing your back to rouse you from sleep.

“Mom?” You asked disoriented, trying to fight the gentle hands keeping you from accidentally hurting yourself.

“Shh, I’m here, you’re ok,” Christen said, pulling you into her lap. You buried your face in her neck, gripping her nightshirt so tightly the cotton was straining in your grasp.

You sobbed into her neck, your tears making the skin sticky. “Don’t leave me please,” You begged, the words garbled by tears and your adamant refusal to pull away from your favorite hiding spot. Christen shushed you, rubbing your back with one hand and cradling your head with the other, sharing a worried glance with Tobin over your head. The other woman stood next to your bed, her hands opening and closing, shifting foot to foot unsure how to help you.

“Never baby. We’re not going anywhere,” Christen soothed, gesturing for Tobin to take your other side. She did, hugging you from behind to let you know that she was there too.

They held you as you cried, whispering sweet nothings over your unintelligible whimpering.

“I’m sorry I’m too clingy. That you can’t practice as much as you used too,”

“No baby, we don’t feel that way at all. We love you, and we want to be here for you,”

“But Kling and Pino-“ You protested, only to be cut off by Tobin solemnly shaking her head. “Were joking, they didn’t mean anything by it. They’re both glad that you are opening up to them,”

You stared at her in disbelief (and Tobin made a mental note to murder her friends for being assholes. They needed to learn that even though you felt comfortable, your fears and insecurities were not something to be picked on, even with the best intentions).

“And so are we. We’re glad and honored that you’ve opened up to us, and let us see your goofy side, and your amazing art,” She added, brushing a wild curl from in front of your eyes.

“Really?”

“Absolutely. We love how cuddly you are- it makes up for the 13 years we didn’t get with you,” Christen said, squeezing you tighter just to prove her point. It had taken you a long time to let them in, and though it was still a work in progress, they were honored you trusted them. That you had let them in further than anyone before.

“Will you stay?” You asked in a small voice, almost afraid of the answer.

“Always,” Your moms answered together. Tobin pulled back the covers, allowing Christen to maneuver the two of you inside before joining you. You sighed, reveling in their safety. Here, wedged between the women, you knew you would always have a place.

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #preath x reader #preath imagine

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thusspoketrish · 3 years

Text

Play Pretend (Part 1/5)

TRIGGER WARNING (PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS. PLEASE READ THE TAGS): Depression. Suicide Attempt. Suicidal Ideation. PTSD. Poor Coping Mechanism.

Harry Potter & Astoria Greengrass; Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter; Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy; Astoria Greengrass/Others; Draco Malfoy/Others; Harry Potter/Others

Content: Friendship. Forced Marriage Arrangement. Unrequited Love. Falling Out of Love. Falling in Love. Betrayal. Friendships. Breakups. Mental Health Issues. Apathy. Flatmates. Acceptance. Positive Thinking. Therapy.

SUMMARY: Fate boasts a strange sense of humour when a severely depressed Harry finds himself convincing a drunk Astoria Greengrass off the ledge of Waterloo Bridge at three in the morning. The events that follow after are an exercise in strength as Harry finds himself relearning how to cope, forgive, and love alongside the blossoming of new friendships.

Thank you to @starlitsilvereyes for the beta!

====================

At approximately 2:07 AM, Harry Potter shoves his arms through his black wool coat before wrapping his Gryffindor scarf tightly around his neck. He shoves on the misshapen scarlet mittens Hermione knitted for him several years ago, realising he could summon a better pair as she’s improved greatly since Hogwarts, but finding that these reminded him of a better time.

Finally, he shoves his wand up his sleeve before wrenching the door open and taking the steps down from Grimmauld two at a time, the door slamming shut behind him with a finality. As he breathes in and out sharply, white puffs curling outward from his chapped lips, Harry looks skyward. The moon is heavy and hangs low tonight, full and beautiful as swirls of snow begin to gently fall. It’s dark, and beautiful, and it hurts to look at.

Harry had spent the entire day cleaning Grimmauld from top to bottom. Not that this mattered as Harry has found that no matter how much he cleaned or remodelled the house, he was incapable of penetrating its doom-and-gloom atmosphere. But he had cleaned to the best of his ability, and had arranged all his necessary documents across his office table several hours ago. He carefully placed each note facing upward, the individual names of all his friends in his spidery scrawl. He had even left notes behind for the Dursley’s, though, not imparting a single kind word, as seen in his other letters. He had left the Gringotts keys of the Potter Vault behind in Ron and Hermione’s name and endowed a small trust to any future children they may have. He had left the deed and keys to Grimmauld and the Black vault to Teddy and Andromeda.

Harry doesn’t think he left any stone unturned.

He had been planning this for months. Had made the nearly 40-minute walk from Clerkenwell to Waterloo Bridge nearly every night for the last three weeks, simply staring out at the water, yearning. It would take nothing, he thought, to sit on the ledge, cast a simple spell to increase his weight, and fling himself over the edge. And at three in the morning, it wouldn’t be hard to do this uninterrupted.

A numb sort of blankness overcomes him as he rolls his shoulders and makes his way through the quiet roads, onto the high street where the slow crawl of busses and cars creep past. Harry’s vision is a tunnel of black and white images flickering in and out of focus as he sets himself on autopilot. He could do this route with his eyes closed.

It’s not that Harry thinks he deserves to die. He’s simply come to the conclusion that he wants to.

He’s tired, much too tired from the debilitating numbness that’s crippled his entire existence. He’s remained frozen in time since dying and coming back to life in the Forbidden Forest. The experience has left him immobile, like a statue, weathered by the storm called time but never feeling the effects of it no matter how long he holds his breath, patiently waiting for something to come along and happen. He was waiting for the spark of life to feed his blood as it had during the war, and nothing, no reason or rhyme, has been able to replace it. He had quit the Aurors, had isolated himself from the pitying expressions of friends and family, and had shrunken himself on the outside to reflect what he felt on the inside—absolutely nothing. He was nothing, a lingering afterthought in his own mind, something ugly and broken with a piece of its soul missing. He couldn’t stand to live with that knowledge any longer.

It was no one’s fault, not directly. Harry’s never been whole, not as a child curled up and forgotten in the cupboard under the stairs; not as a child, shaped into a sacrificial soldier, not as a twenty-three year old man, alone, shrouded in the dark cloak of night, ready to end his life.

The black and purple swirls of fog and clouds paint a pretty backdrop for the breathtaking view of the Thames, the London Eye, and Parliament from Harry’s position on the bridge. It’s the only time his vision shifts to full-colour, when he’s standing on the bridge, hands gripping the cold railing as he peers over, his glasses sliding slowly down his nose. He uses a mittened finger to push them back up, a hollow laugh escaping him as he reaches deep down inside of himself to search for a feeling, anything. He wishes for even a fissure of panic as he places both hands on the railing again, wondering if 100kg added to his feet would successfully prevent his ability to kick back up to the surface.

A harsh wind whips by, and with it carrying a whimper. Harry turns, his gaze sharpening, harping on an elongated figure further down the bridge perched on the railing.

He turns back to the water, staring out at the inky black waves. He shouldn’t care.

The whimper turns into full on sobbing.

He shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

Then, there’s a horrible scream of anguish that pierces the quiet, the sound full of devastation. He blinks several times, pushing his glasses up again. He may not have the ability to care for his own well-being anymore but he still...he still seems to care about others.

With a sigh, Harry walks to the centre of the bridge, noticing a lone figure down the road walking towards them before abruptly stopping and turning away from them.

Harry ignores them, and instead approaches the person perched on the railing. He can see that the person is wearing a black, long-sleeved ballgown, tiny sparkling beads of emerald green, gold, red, and silver shimmering in the moonlight, taking the shape of exploding fireworks across her bodice along the back of the dress. It’s beautiful, and Harry gasps when the woman turns to face him.

He’s seen this woman before, has seen her pretty pale face at the Slytherin table at Hogwarts. Her long black hair whips across her flushed face, mascara-tinged tears sliding down her cheeks. Her red lipstick is smeared across her lips and down her chin, piercing blue eyes unfocussed as she sways side-to-side.

“What do you want?” the woman asks miserably, her voice slurring, intoxicated. Harry steps closer to her, as if she’s a wild animal ready to leap away from him. The woman’s lips turn down into a terrible wound of a frown, misshapen by the smeared lipstick. “Did he send you?” she cries.

“No,” Harry says, not knowing who she’s talking about as he slowly approaches her. “Why don’t you come down?” he asks, extending an opened hand.

The woman’s gaze twists from Harry back out to the dark depths of the Thames. Harry inches closer.

Another whimper escapes her. “He doesn’t love me,” she cries, her body shaking as she weeps.

“There are people out here who love you,” Harry says, wincing. How many times has Ron and Hermione said this very thing to him over the last year?

“But not him!” she shouts, her shoulders trembling, the harsh winds whip her hair. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve even given him all of me, all my love, all my hopes and my bloody dreams, and nothing. Nothing I do makes him look at me…at me...as if,” the woman breaks off, a trembling cry escaping her before she shouts, “Why...why not me?”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Harry says, his voice carrying on the winds, tone firm. A small spark of indignation is felt in his chest. This woman, this woman is suffering, and it’s fuelling a knife-sharp sensation alongside his slow-beating heart. He wants to touch her, see if he can pull her grief into him, see if it’ll help him feel his own, for once.

The woman tilts her head back, a wail escaping her. “I don’t deserve him! I can’t help him, I can’t even bloody keep him. I’m useless.”

“Stop it, don’t put yourself down like this. He doesn’t deserve you...you’re stronger than this pain, this numbness you’re experiencing, and you know it. You know you can do so much better than him, that your life and your hopes and dreams outweighs whatever the fuck you think he sees when he looks at you. You don’t need anything from him, not when you’re this strong,” Harry says, shaking his head. He doesn’t know where these words are coming from, they feel foreign to his own ears. A part of him wonders if he wished someone would say this to him. “What’s your name?”

The woman draws in a shaky breath before she answers in a tiny, strained voice, “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass.”

Harry nods, now remembering her, remembering where he’s seen her name lately. “Come, Astoria. You have so much to offer the world. You’re strong, but sometimes even the strongest among us have bad days, but that doesn’t make us worthless,” Harry says, the feeling in his chest swelling, lighting him on fire from the inside. Harry gasps. “You’re worth fighting for, you’re...let me...let me fight for you, Astoria, until you can fight for yourself. Please...please, take my hand. You don’t have to do this...you don’t have to do this alone.” He’s now beside her.

A wicked wind whips past them again, the snow falling now coming down in thick, fluffy sheets. Astoria huffs out another sob before she turns around, her hand stretching out.

Harry clasps it, pulling her forward. She wraps her arms around his neck, digging her face into this layered scarf, clinging to him like a lifeline. They both sink to the ground as she weeps. The cold stings the trail of tears on Harry’s own cheeks.

She smells like the cold, along with lingering scent of bergamot orange and rosewood. He knows it's a combination of scents he'll never forget as he cradles her against his chest before quickly opening his coat to wrap around her shivering form.

All the while, feeling more alive than he has since the day he died.

#HP fanfiction #Harry Potter #Astoria Greengrass #drarry #Astoria x Harry #Astoria x draco #Draco Malfoy #trigger warnings #please read the warnings #series #will update #1/5

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ivy-loves-chocolate · 3 years

Note

'Ello! Same user here! I was wondering if you could make a part 2 to the story of my last request, one where the reader is confronted by her ex-friends at an event and Albert goes off on them how far she's coming compared to them along the reader getting the last laugh before Albert gets rid of the ex for good, if you don't mind!

Ofc I don’t mind. Sweet revenge is coming up next 😈. Anyways, i hope you’ll enjoy!

You are not alone Part 2 (Wesker x F!Reader)

•Link to Part 1

Warnings: none.

Wesker received an invitation to an event. The host was a man who introduced him to Miss Gionne and if it wasn’t for this big favour, Wesker wouldn’t go. In fact, he thought about getting some time off from his work since he felt overwhelmed with the incredible amount of tasks he needed to complete in order to finish Uroborus project. If this succeeded, it would be his biggest achievement in life, not to mention a reminder that he broke free from his chains and escaped his abuser. However, every brilliant mind needs a break from the activities to avoid burnout.

He talked with his lover about the party and she was excited to go with him. It would be the first time when they exposed their relationship publicly so she was nervous because Wesker is not an ordinary man, in contrary, his name is well known and people tremble when they hear it. Her image also impacted his.

“What’s wrong? Don’t you want to go?” Wesker noticed she was lost in her own thought.

“Yeah, but, I don’t think I fit. I’m not from your world. I’m just a normal virologist who graduated a normal college.”

Wesker remained silent for a second then he bursted out in laugh.

“Dear, you’re perfect the way you are. I don’t care about these social constructs, and if someone has something to say about your appearance I’ll make sure it will be the last thing they say.” He put his big thumb to his neck and drew a line. “Come on get dressed.” Before leaving the room he stoped in the doorframe and smirked. “I won’t tolerate delays.”

That being said, she had little time to prepare. These aristocrats must a lot of money to throw parties like this out of the blue. Fortunately she found a black gown without sleeves with an open back and trail which fit her body well, but it missed something. She kept searching until she found a golden snake accessory that can be wear on her back. It was beautiful and it would cover her whole exposed back. She remembered her ex saying that she doesn’t have a proper sense of style to wear that accessory but she got it anyway. Tonight she’s going to wear it and she’s going to be confident in her own skin.

The penthouse looked really expensive even if it was very crowded and you could barely see any furniture. However, when they arrive, with all the music and noise that was, everyone noticed them and they didn’t put any effort to hide the fact that they were starring at you. Their eyes were piercing your soul, unveiling any secret and details about you, stomping in into your life and violating your space. They were eating you alive.

The party followed its natural course after that. She recognised a few big names there, but they couldn’t compare to Albert. The only man who wore sunglasses indoor was the main star of the night, not like he didn’t enjoy it. He didn’t let go of her hand the whole night, a sign of him being proud to have such a woman beside him and probably he fell her being nervous. He introduced her to everyone he met and only spoke good words about her, how she help him a lot in his research and how fast she proved her worth to the company. The conversations were short as many people wanted to talk with him. She wondered how could he possibly memorise so many faces and names.

There was a group of people however who refused to take their eyes from you, which seemed pretty familiar to you for a reason. Then it hit her, they were a part form her life she tried to forget, that’s why she didn’t recognise them. She turned her head to Albert and like he was reading minds he glanced at the group. He researched her past life and those people look like the ones from the files. Her ex group of friends were in the same field as her, of course they would be there. He leaned to her ear.

“You’ve come far since then.” And placed a kiss on her forehead. He then placed a hand on her back and lead her to the other group of people introducing her in the same manner.

Of course her ex friends were of problematic nature. They followed her, undecided whether to start a conversation or not. She changed so much it was unbelievable.

Wesker went to talk in private with a woman. She seemed in her late 50s and she wear a simple white cocktail dress. The older woman gave her a warm smile before grabbing Wesker’s arm and leaving to talk. As soon as she was alone the problematic group decided to act. Shyly, one of her ex friends tapped her shoulder.

“Y/N?”

She turned around to meet their gaze. They remained the same and now she was able to see how much she truly evolved.

They engaged in an awfully long and boring dialogue in which they discussed about their lives. After they move on to compliment her dress, all of them asking about the snake from her back. She was right, none of them stepped higher from where she left them, nor in their career or mentally.

“How’s the new job? It is more profitable than the previous one? Who’s that man you’re with, do you know him?” They were so comfortable asking those questions like they were still friends, but the only difference is that now she sees strangers, strangers who are trying to enter her private life. She responded monosyllabically

One of them introduced the topic they’ve all been wanting so much.

“Have you spoke with, you know?”

“No, he tried to contact me but I never answered back.” She stated coldly.

“We’re sorry we didn’t believe you.” Said another voice from the group. “We’re realised lately how bad he was. He seemed so sweet it was hard for us to see the truth. Hope we can keep in contact.”

She couldn’t believe it how easily they approached her after all that happened. How they blamed her for being too sensitive, calling her names and ignored her whenever she needed support. She was trying so hard to hold her tears, not because she was sad, but angry. When she felt like she couldn’t take it anymore she felt a hand caressing her back.

“Is there any problem?”

The group was greeted by a tall man who didn’t seem to be in a mood for talking.

“N-no we were just...”

“I suggest you should get used to the idea of being rejected or else things will get ugly” he lowered his glasses on the bridge of his nose, revealing his bright red eyes. The group ran away in fear and got lost in the crowd.

After a while the people started to leave and the place was more clear. What was probably once a decent place to live turned into a mess, with broken glasses laying on the floor, flipped alcohol bottles and confetti. Wesker grabbed her hand and guided her outside saying he needs some air.

“Thanks for helping me out there. It was satisfying seeing them running away in fear.”

“I told you I’ll be there for you. I won’t let anyone stain your pride.”

“Cheers” they both clinked their champagne glasses.

Wesker put the glass aside and searched something in his coat’s jacket.

“I know you for a while now” he said as he seemed to find what he was searching for. “And I reached the conclusion that you’re everything I was looking for in a partner. You’re reliable, understanding and you don’t want me for my status like these idiots, you want me for who I am. You’re able to see behind these materialistic gains.”

He removed his sunglasses and now he was watching her with his amber eyes. He dropped on his knees while pulling the case of an engagement ring. When he opened the case she saw a gold ring with three stones, one big in the middle with two small beside it. It was the most beautiful ring she ever seen. The stones seemed to be pink diamonds.

“Will you marry me?”

Without hesitation she said yes. Wesker raised on his feet and they both engaged into a kiss. Her new start looks promising.

#Albert Wesker #albert wesker x reader #resident evil

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mermaidsneedwater · 4 years

Text

you see his baby photos

photographs for this post are here

⇒ jaebeom

“Jaebeom will kill me if he knows we’re doing this.”

“Doing what?”

You and Jaebeom’s mom whipped around from the couch to see him standing in the doorway.

“Uh, nothing!” You panicked. “Just trying to decide what we should eat for dinner.”

Not believing you, Jaebeom walked to the couch to see his childhood photographs sprawled out over the coffee table and couch.

“Eomma!” He groaned.

“Don’t be mad at your mom!” you said, “I begged her to let me see them.”

Grumbling, he sat next to you on the couch as he looked through the photos on the page in your lap.

“Whatever, you were going to find them eventually.” He shrugged.

Taking that as his blessing to continue, Jaebeom’s mom showed you a photo of him as a chubby baby, sitting happily on a swing.

You were unable to contain your delight as your mouth formed into an o, “Jae you were the cutest baby ever! I just want to gobble you up.”

“Yeah, he was.” His mom remarked fondly.

“Was?” Jaebeom asked slightly irritated.

“Not so much anymore with those awful piercings.” His mother disapproved, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Shocked, Jaebeom placed a hand over his heart. “So mean. I took it out for you.”

“And you look so handsome now without it.” His mother remarked, not looking up from the photo she was looking at. “Don’t you think Y/N?”

Blushing, you placed your hand on his cheek, “I think he looks handsome all the time.”

⇒ mark

You held the photograph of Mark and compared it to his face. You bit your lip, not wanting to say what you thought.

“What? You look like you want to say something.” Mark said, noticing your reaction.

Exhaling, you answered. “Yes, but don’t get mad.”

“I won’t now tell me.” Mark insisted.

He sat on his knees by the box of his memorabilia, interested in hearing what you had to say.

“Did you ever watch this cartoon, Crayon Shin-Chan?”

“Maybe? I think I used to watch it on Saturday mornings.”

“You look exactly like the main character, Shin-Chan, in this picture,” you said holding up the photo of mark as a baby.

Mark looked at you blankly.

“Okay let me show you.” You said.

You googled a picture of the character and held up your phone and the photograph side by side.

Inspecting the two, Mark rolled his eyes. “I don’t see it.”

“You look identical!” You exclaimed.

Shaking his head, he kept sorting photographs, “nope. I don’t look anything like him.”

“How do you not see it!” You said. “If you were a cartoon you would literally be Shin-Chan.”

“Babe, that would be like if I told you that you look like Spongebob.”

“Hey! That’s not even a remotely fair comparison.”

“Exactly. Which is why I’m saying I don’t look like him.”

“Fine, agree to disagree.” You said, “even though I’m clearly right.”

Mark looked at you, but couldn’t help but laugh at your comment as you both kept sorting through photos.

⇒ jackson

Jackson was no help when it came to these kind of things.

His mom had texted you, I sent you some of Jackson’s baby photos. Let me know which ones you think are cute and I’ll get them framed.

Simple enough right? Not quite.

The afternoon had stretched into the evening as you and Jackson reminisced and discovered the pictures.

“You were so energetic.” You commented, holding the photograph of baby Jackson between your fingers. He stood smiling in a victory pose “I wonder...”

“What?” He asked, curious at your thought.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends as kids?”

“Ha! Absolutely not.” Jackson replied instantly.

“What? Why?” You frowned.

“Princess let me tell you something. Back then? You were so out of my league.” Jackson explained. “I would’ve never had a chance of being friends, much less your boyfriend.”

“That’s not true.” You protested. “I was pretty shy, you would’ve thought that I couldn’t speak.”

Shaking his head Jackson took the photograph from you and set it down on the table.

“Well then why don’t you tell me what you think.” You said, interested in hearing his theory.

“Gladly. We would’ve been classmates, I would’ve definitely had a crush on you, but being the immature person I was, I would’ve teased you incessantly. You would get so annoyed with me, but would eventually come to realize it was my stupid ways. I would eventually get the courage to ask you out, but you would let me down easy.” Jackson mapped out.

“You make me sound so unattainable.” You pouted. “I’ll tell you what I think. We would’ve been friends, you were class clown so everyone would’ve been friends with you. I would’ve had a huge crush on you, but I never would’ve said anything because I was so shy. Eventually, we’d graduate never being more than friends.”

Soaking up your story in silence, Jackson finally remarked. “I’m so glad we didn’t know each other as kids.”

⇒ jinyoung

“Oh my god.” You covered your mouth to muffle your laughter. “Jinyoung what is this?!”

You pointed and flipped through his baby photo album that contained not one, but three pages of Jinyoung sulking at various places.

“I knew this was a bad idea,” Jinyoung grumbled sitting back on the couch.

On this uneventful afternoon, you’d decided to do some cleaning in your apartment, only to discover a box of photo albums Jinyoung’s parents had sent over to your apartment many months ago. Unfortunately for Jinyoung that meant more reminiscing over his baby photos and less cleaning.

“You were such a sulky baby!” You exclaimed. “Oh gosh, this one is the best.”

His ears perked up as he leaned forward to look at the photo you were pointing at.

In the photograph Jinyoung stood pouting, his large ears pointing outwards as he stood straight. He seemed to be dressed in a turquoise crocheted tank top.

“I was probably annoyed with something very reasonable!” Jinyoung attempted to defend.

Looking at him with an eyebrow raised, he held his hands up in defeat. “Fine. I was upset because my mom wouldn’t stop taking pictures of me. But don’t you think you have any photos throwing fit?”

“I definitely do, but not to the varying extent that you do,” you replied.

Narrowing his eyes at you, he spoke “alright, I think I’ve seen enough of my embarrassing pictures for the day.”

“Hey, at least you grew into your ears,” you giggled, poking his side.

He turned to give you the same sulking look as the photograph. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Turning to look at him, you continued flipping through the book, “I love you too,”

You leaned to kiss both of his ears “especially your ears” you then leaned in to peck his lips, resting your forehead against his “and your face when you’re sulking.”

⇒ youngjae

You sifted through the photographs of Youngjae past on your coffee table.

JYP had asked Youngjae to send in a baby photo of himself as a special photo card option for their next comeback.

Stressed and overwhelmed by the pressures of idol life, Youngjae had delayed this task by weeks.

As you cooked dinner, you glanced at Youngjae’s phone to see a message.

You need to send in your baby photo ASAP.

You finished cooking and headed to your albums. There were too many choices. Flipping through the albums you narrowed your choices down to three photos. Laying them out on the coffee table, you folded your hands on your lap contemplating.

Lost in thought, you didn’t even realize Youngjae had awoken from his nap until he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hey,” Youngjae said, his voice still groggy. “What are you doing?”

“You’ve been putting off sending your baby photo so I thought I’d help you out.” You informed him.

“Thank you darling.” He kissed your cheek before sitting down next you.

“Any thoughts on which one to send?” You turned to him. “I narrowed it down to three. I know which one I think you should send in, but it should be your choice.”

Scanning the photos in front of him, Youngjae finally spoke, “let’s point to our choice at the same time.”

“1”

“2”

“3” you said at that same time.

Looking to where your fingers pointed you smiled.

“I guess it’s settled then.” Youngjae laughed.

The photo you’d both picked had been one of Youngjae and his father. He was holding his son as Youngjae drank from a bottle.

“I love this photo, you look just like your dad.” You told him. “The resemblance is uncanny.”

⇒ bambam

“You look so innocent.” You showed Bambam the photograph. “What happened to you?”

Bambam looked up from his phone to see his baby photo on your phone.

“Hey! How did you get that?” He said.

“Your sister sent it to me.” You replied nonchalantly. “She sent some real gems.”

“Since when are you and Baby texting about me?” Bambam asked, curious.

“Maybe a month?” You said, thinking back to the first time she texted.

“A month!” Bambam exclaimed. “Oh god.”

“Oh god is right. I can see why you’re a performer now, you’re a natural.” You told him.

Leaning his back on the couch, he sat up thinking about your earlier comment.

“What did you mean I was so innocent.” He pouted folding his shoulder. “I’m still squeaky clean.”

“Oh please, the Bambam I know now is literally the guy who texted me last week after work that he wanted me on the bed and ready for his big–“

“Okay! I get it.” Bambam interrupted.

“See? Not so innocent.” You said. You held up his baby photo “This baby on the other hand, total angel.”

⇒ yugyeom

“Y/N don’t look at that.” Yugyeom said.

Ignoring his warning you continued flipping through his childhood album. You looked up to see your man child of a boyfriend towering over you and pouting.

“These are so embarrassing, please don’t.” He pleaded with you.

“You were so cute!” You countered. “Please let me see them. I think you were adorable.”

Giving in, he sat next to you on the couch. “Fine. But I’m going to go through them too.”

You both sat on the couch, placing the album between you.

“Are you wearing roller skates in this?” You pointed to baby Yugyeom’s feet. “I wanna hear the story behind this.”

“Oh man, that was before I cut my head.” Yugyeom reminisced.

“What?!” You said, shocked that he had been in so much danger.

“Yeah. My dad had taken me and my brother out to rollerskate. I was so stubborn as a kid, I refused to wear a helmet.” Yugyeom recounted to you. “Things were fine until I tripped on my skate and ended up hitting my head on a rock. There was blood everywhere”

“That must’ve been scary.” You said, leaning on his shoulder.

“I think my dad was more freaked out that me. Luckily I only needed two stitches.” He rested his head against yours. “I still have the scar.”

You leaned back as Yugyeom pulled his hair out of his face. Lifting it up, he revealed a scar going into his forehead.

Reaching out, you gingerly touched it. Pressing a kiss to your index and middle finger you placed it on the scar.

“How come I never noticed this scar before?” You wondered aloud. “It makes you look sexy.”

Scoffing, Yugyeom released the hair he was holding. “I was such an idiot. Hopefully our kids don’t turn out as dumb as me.”

Your eyes widened slightly at his words. Hopefully our kids don’t turn out as dumb as me. He was thinking about that?

Taking in your reaction, he lightly coughed, “I mean you know, in the future. The very far future.”

You smiled, kissing his cheek. “I hope they can dance like you. It would be a shame if they got my two left feet!”

return to masterlist

#got7 #yugyeom #jinyoung #jaebeom #bambam #mark #Jackson #youngjae #got7 reaction #got7 reactions #got7 imagines #got7 masterlist #ahgase #igot7 #mnw works

188 notes · View notes

eutaerpe · 4 years

Text

the escapades (m)

pairing — jimin x reader

genre/warnings— smut (oral, fingering, orgasm denial) & college!au, fratboy!jimin, brief e2l, brief ewb, acr universe

summary — the one where there’s a lot of unresolved sexual tension, until there isn’t.

notes — 8.3k words of the happiness before the storm i couldn’t write. i realised halfway through this there’s a slight plotwise change in comparison to what i wrote in acr so. yeah. sorry. kudos to you if you find it lol

The first time it happens, you’re pretending to be someone you’re not.

You’re sitting near the end of the table, crossing your legs and playing with the hem of your dress, your lips twisted into a frown. The real reason lying behind the simple decision of having a single, almost infinite table of guests doesn’t, in the slightest, cross your mind; why your idiotic brother would see this as a delightful idea really is above you, but you suppose the valuable genes in the family runs all in your DNA.

You’re playing with the table decorations while waiting for the guests to come, and it’s so fucking boring you regret telling Seulgi no, babe, what the fuck - you even shook your head and decided to sound extra mad at the idea - I won’t sneak in weed.

Too bad for you, she had answered, a cute pout on her lips, I’ll give you an hour before you’re bored out of your mind.

The truth hangs above your head, with a sheepish grin: you just needed ten minutes to be absolutely, drastically bored.

In hindsight, sneaking in weed wouldn’t have been the worst idea: your mother is talking to the in laws, gesticulating excitedly at the idea of kids right after marriage. What the fuck, you text Seulgi, at home trying to get out of bed, my brother has been married for an hour and there’s already baby talk going on at the table.

Seulgi

[12.49]

With the baby talk comes the dick talk

You

[12.49]

Oh no the dick talk

Seulgi

[12.50]

man how can you survive your relatives talking about nonexistent boyfriends without my weed, damn???

You

[12.50]

option a: I’ll tell them I’m dating you

Seulgi

[12.50]

we kissed ONE time

You

[12.50]

option b: I’ll tell them I’m in a relationship with Jeon jungkook

Seulgi

[12.50]

bitch we both know you’re not in a relationship with the hottest guy on campus. he has dimples and long hair and piercings. my sources can even confirm he has a big dick. what do U Have

You

[12.51]

i was talking about my vibrator but go off lmao

anyway I’ve had that D ;)

Seulgi

[12.51]

you’re officially cancelled

when did this happen? I can’t believe you’re telling me over text!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.51]

last semester!!!!! why do you think I’ve named my vib after him!!!!!!

Seulgi

[12.52]

because you’re lusting after him like the rest of us mortals!!!!!!!!!!

You

[12.52]

I’ve upgraded since then. I’ve leveled up. I’ve seen things People Can’t Even Imagine

Seulgi

[12.52]

just say he got u off and go

You

[12.52]

anyway option c: I scare them away by saying controversial things. Id est: I don’t believe in love. I am choosing my partner solely judging their abilities to finger me under a table when people are around. I am secretly lusting after my brother’s wife. I am trying to get impregnated like in The Sims 2 aka I am waiting for that alien dick.

Seulgi

[12.52]

hate to break it to you babe but that’s literally who you are

You

[12.52]

I literally compliment joohyun’s boobs once and this is the treatment I get

Seulgi

[12.52]

are we not gonna talk about your alien dick kink

You

[12.52]

no kink shaming in this house lady

option d: I listen to their complaints and run

Seulgi

[12.53]

option dick

man sorry I meant option d

You

[12.53]

you didn’t

Seulgi

[12.54]

ur right I didn’t

Option e, also known as I’ll entertain the other guests so I don’t have to talk to you, presents itself in the form of one very hot, very ripped young man sporting the most expensive shirt in the room. You’re only human when you admit to yourself, mental sigh, that he ticked all the let’s get y/n horny requirements in less than fifteen seconds.

You can’t believe Joohyun has kept him hidden for so long from you. Such betrayal ends when your brother, Kim fucking Seokjin, hugs him tight and brushes with utter affection the nape of his neck, gracing him with a warm smile and a heartfelt laugh.

You can’t believe Seokjin has kept him hidden for so long from you.

Well. Scratch that. You can.

Suddenly, the ticked requirements disappear and a giant neon sentence with a very cheap background music impose themselves in your head. WHAT A TURN OFF! they read, the neon red words mocking you; you steal a glance at your brother’s acquaintance one more time - one last time - before slipping your phone in your hands and dedicating yourself one more time at your Instagram feed, scrolling through the most recent pics.

(You stumble upon an extremely rare Jungkook selfie, and you hate to admit you spend the following thirty seconds admiring him before tapping twice on the quality content you’ve signed up for when you joined the social)

You suppose that, even though your brother’s friends with fuckboy tendencies are signed off your let’s get to know each other better ;) list, it doesn’t mean the same goes for them.

So, when the dark-haired young man with a jawline sharper than Seulgi’s retorts after her third beer sits next to you, you reckon you shouldn’t be that surprised.

He acts all casual, you notice while discreetly looking at him; he’s busy taking off his jacket and flexing his muscles, all of this while pretending not to notice you, and you find it immensely cute.

Ah, fuckboys.

“Fuck,” he rasps, lips twisted in a crooked smile, “I didn’t think it would be this hot today.”

“Yeah, sorry, the heat is on me.”

He chuckles in disbelief at your words, eyes turning into crescents.

“Right, there’s always the girl stealing the bride’s spotlight at weddings.”

“Oh! That’s me,” you nod enthusiastically, “That’s one hundred percent me.”

“Groom or bride?” He asks, pointing at the couple with his chin.

“What do you think?”

He looks at you funny, pressing his back on the seat, pondering in silence. Cute.

“Bride. One of Bae’s sorority sisters, maybe? You seem too young to be her age, though.”

“Damn,” you exhale, crossing your arms under your chest, “I can’t believe you got it all wrong. The expectations were low, but I’m still disappointed.”

He ducks his head, still smiling. “Then it’s the groom. How do you know Seokjin?”

Your eyes twinkle with excitement at your next words, but honestly, who can blame you? You’re having fun with this lost, cute chick.

“What’s your take, officer?”

He erupts into a laugh, and you drink in his handsome features; fuck you, Seokjin, for being friends with fuckboys only.

“Alright,” he punches the bridge of his nose, scanning the room, which is slowly filling with other guests. “I’m his friend, and I know all of his friends, which can only mean one thing: option a, you’re one of his ex-girlfriends; option b, you’re one of his secret hook-ups; option c, you’re an old friend from high school.”

“Oooh,” you beam, unrealistically intrigued, “You really suck at guessing, don’t you?”

He laughs, passing a hand through his dark locks, messing his perfectly styled hair. “Ok, fair. Which one was the closest, then?”

“Option d, of course.” You nod, relaxing your features into a sheepish grin, “I’m his much more beautiful and smarter sister.”

You exam his face, now twisting into some sort of what the fuck, such betrayal look, and you take in, for the last time – really the last, this time – his attractive, sculptured face, his full lips, the smoothness of his skin. It’s awful and unfair knowing you two won’t cross paths ever again in your lives, but at least you had some fun messing with him before things could worsen.

“I’ll be sitting in the middle of the table, with my family, if you want to avoid me.”

You wink at him for good measure, and you swear to god he blushes.

Half a wine bottle and two flutes of prosecco down, you realise you underestimated your resident fuckboy.

It happens when you’re grabbing your napkin and channelling your dreamy, happy looks towards the newlyweds, dancing in the middle of the room, their eyes gravitating only towards the love of their lives.

You sigh, pouting for the smallest of fractions, when you feel someone sitting at your side.

“You know,” Fuckboy begins, and you picture him licking his lips as he pauses, “Now I get why he never told us anything more than: I’m not an only child.”

“I know,” you exhale, turning to face him, “Seokwon is the real catch of our family. We’re really protective of him.”

“He’s married. With kids.”

“I was there when the twins opened their eyes, thank you.”

“We thought you were either a small kid or a forty years old woman.”

“Wait,” you tilt your head, “How did you know about us then? And who’s we?”

“We dug into his stuff and he caved in, admitting he had a brother and a sister.” Fuckboy looks at you, eyes dark but reflecting the dim lights of the function room, “Us. The frat guys.”

“Right, the fuckboys.”

He looks taken aback by your statement, bewildered, and you take advantage of his reaction to stand up and head away from him. It’s his words that stop you from doing so, though.

“You don’t know us—”

“—except I do know your pledges and your brothers.”

“But you don’t know me.”

“Maybe,” you shrug, “I prefer to steer away from my brother’s friends, though.”

“Right,” he says, tightening his lips in a hard line, almost hurt, “So, who am I to interfere with your judgmental thinking?” He clicks his tongue, then, a resolute exhale slipping past his lips, smothered by his own tingling despair.

The words hurt.

You don’t know what exactly pinched your senses hard, if the tone or the wallowing sadness swimming in his expression, but, as he stands up and leaves, you’re left facing the cold, hard truth.

The words hurt, you hurt, and you feel guilty.

You say nothing, glancing in the direction of the first alcoholic beverage around, and you fill yourself a glass.

Had it been someone else – had it been another sentence, another less sickening scenario, you would’ve felt proud, righteous. You’re, instead, on the other side of the feelings spectrum, all filled with crippling guilt and a nauseous, pervasive feeling you can’t quite name and pin down.

The guests are dancing around you, moving hand in hand to the rhythm of the pop love song now playing; the ballroom is packed when you let your impulsive side make a choice, eyes following the guy’s composed figure. You can drastically feel the sweat, and the heat the people are radiating, when you stand up and move towards him, the only smiling boy passing his glass from a hand to the other.

You’re close enough to tap his wrist and brush your fingers, which you do; it elicits a gasp from him, all soft, not scathing around the edges yet able to bite you, anyway. It’s the guilt, you remind yourself, looking for a sign of some sort of inclination to accept your apologies between the crease of his brows and tight jaw, and everywhere in between.

It’s sickening—this boy didn’t exist four fucking hours ago. It didn’t even cross your wildest dreams, someone like him. His shape – his silhouette – has left a print in your mind, and no matter how hard you try focusing on something else, someone else, your mind keeps going back to the shape itself.

But you’re a coward, so, while he lets you intertwine your fingers, you admit, voice loud: “I wanna dance.”

He handles you properly, kindly, before pushing you in the crowd and brushing your hips with his hands, all rings and jewellery adorning them.

He blinks twice, biting the insides of his mouth, but he manages,

“Who says I wanna dance?”

Which is a bit stupid, or hypocritic if you might, because he’s swaying you to the rhythm of a ballad the pop love song turned into. You break into the smallest of smiles.

“I want to apologize.”

He scoffs. “I don’t know you,” he says, funnily enough, “But that seems almost unlikely, coming from you.”

“Yeah, you got me there, officer. I was, uhm,” you stare blatantly at his neck, and you suppress the desire to stroke your fingers’ pads on his soft skin, “I was out of line. I’m sorry. You were right, I don’t know you. I do know your frat brothers, my own brother, but that doesn’t mean I know you.”

He hums, moving for a small fraction of instants his thumbs on your hips and it’s enough for your breath to catch into your own throat. He nods, which could mean anything, from I accept your apology to go fuck yourself, this is bullshit. You prefer the former option, if you’re being honest, which is the answer you settle for in your head, hazed and absolutely hazed and madly hazed because of his small physical contact.

To put this into the simplest terms, Seulgi’s words, you don’t like this.

“I like dancing,” his eyes tower you and gaze at the other people dancing; you wonder if he’s thinking about them, who they are to you, what role they played in Seokjin’s life, if they’ll show up to your wedding, too. These thoughts popped into your mind unannounced, before, at the table, before the not-really-fuckboy sat next to you and made you feel guilty. Such absurdity; yet here you are, in his arms. Oh god, what would Seulgi think of you if she saw you?

“Good to know, I’m awful at shoulder-hips coordination.”

“Shoulder-hips coordination?” he inquiries, lips parted.

“Uh, body rolls?”

“Oh,” he chuckles, “I see, you mean classy grinding.”

“I don’t do classy grinding, sorry,” you retort, head tilted to a side.

His smile his amused. “Too bad, shoulder-hips coordination is a nice trait to exhibit sometimes.”

“I prefer hips coordination. Well, hips rotation.”

“Hips rotation?”

“Riding? Is the term somehow unfamiliar to you?”

He flushes, biting back a grin and fixing his gaze somewhere in the crowd. How cute.

“Not at all, it’s nice to meet a hips rotation enthusiast here, though.”

“Statistics say at least a member in each family is a riding enthusiast, did you know?”

“Shit, talk dirty to me,” he licks his lips, pointing at Jin with his chin, “Didn’t peg him for a rider, though. Not at all.”

“I’m starting to think you’re not a STEM major, are you? You’re lacking basic intuition, my friend.”

“Is this your attempt of discovering my major?” – he eyes you, a flick of amusement burning in his orbs – “You’re not very smooth, you know?”

“I have my moments.”

He snorts, placing both hands on the small of your back. You’re at height level with the base of his neck, and it’s fun how your mind betrays you in such moments, providing mental images of your nose brushing against his skin, and you nuzzling in the crook of his neck. Such taunting, invasive pictures. Fuck off, you reprimand your own mind, fuck off.

“I’m Jimin.”

“Jimin,” you taste the name on your tongue, hitting the back of your front teeth. “Jin never talked about you. I’m Y/N.”

“Jin never talked about you either.”

“Of course he never did, I’m prettier than he is.”

His little dimples make an appearance. “You know, you could really steal the bride’s spotlight.”

“That was my ultimate goal all along, even though I prefer the dark side.”

“I,” he licks his lips, and you don’t know why you’re following the gesture, “I meant to say you’re beautiful.”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, eyebrows raising, “Are you a charmer?”

“I mean,” he begins, sheepish smile on display, “I never kiss and tell.”

“Touching.” He smirks. “How sweet of you.”

“You know what else is sweet?”

“Please,” you beg, meeting his eyes, “Don’t say my pussy.”

“Please,” he repeats, same mocking tone, “The possibilities are endless. Your mouth,” he scoots closer, words whispered on the shell of your ear, “Your mouth around my dick,” he almost nibbles your ear, “Your mouth screaming my name.”

“My pussy,” you add, trying not to lose your mind.

“I would never call sweet something I’ve not tasted.”

He raises a brow.

“Are you offering? You’re not very smooth, you know?”

He ignores the last question, tightening his grip. “In the middle of your brother’s wedding? Seokjin’s wedding? I’m not a dick, even though you sitting on my face would be a sight to see.”

“Right?” your voice doesn’t falter for a second, “That’s what I always say”

“Nice to see how we’ve got much in common. But I was thinking of something else, actually—” His face is once again inches away from yours, ear to mouth, hot breath fanning over you bare neck. “I wanna finger you.”

Oh.

“Under the table. Right behind you. Wanna make you whimper.”

It’s almost like being tongue-tied, fumbling for words, body flushing, but you gather somewhere the strength to form an actual sentence, which makes him smirk devilishly.

“I can be very quiet.”

He pokes his tongue into his cheek. “Bet you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut.”

“When I win,” you say, lying your words on an unrealistically high vote of confidence, even for yourself, “What do I get?”

He licks his lips, slow, savouring the moment. “You get to ride my face.”

“Not your dick?”

“I’m not a fuckboy, baby.”

A comeback of some kind is already on your tongue, but – there’s a kiss somewhere in the following seconds, all wet and tingling and perhaps filled with too many lip bites, but he can’t really blame you when you’ve been brushing your thighs together for the past minute, heat pooling down your belly. It’s enough for you to silently pledge for more, and for him to tease, because he takes a step back, smirk in place and lips reddened, and guides you towards his seat at the end of the table with a hand on the small of your back.

Downhill begins as soon as you sit down, legs barely parted, a minimum space not fitting for his plans, apparently, because the crease between Jimin’s eyebrows grows when he nudges them apart with his hand, the cold metal of his rings cooling down your flushed state. You want to gasp at the sudden intrusion, but the sound is swallowed entirely by his hot mouth on yours, distracting once again, incredibly soft and alluring. This kiss is slow, this time, like he’s taking his time tasting you and learning about the hums he draws out of you, the shyness of your previously biting tongue, and how fast you get lost in the kiss itself. You press a chaste kiss on his mouth, before creaking a space between you.

“I’m starting to think you’re all bark and no bite”

He doesn’t answer, but stares into your eyes with his hooded gaze, and he manages to sneak a hand furtively under your dress not breaking the contact. His skin is warm, but you’re warmer, and his destination is even hotter. He cocks his head, fingers brushing against the soaked, sticking material you used to call panties up until fifteen minutes ago, and he must notice—his eyes grow wider, his jaw tightens and his hand gains courage.

Fuck. This should be embarrassing, getting worked up over dirty innuendos and a kiss or two, but you’re instead feeling flushed and more. More sensitive. More open to the idea of him ruining you, even though that’s not what he’s offering. Or— is he?

The question lies unanswered when his digits rub with a sparkled intensity over both your clothed sex and your inner thighs. It’s a continuous, mellifluous melody, his fingers dancing between the two until he settles on your panties only, and that’s when you almost let out a soft moan; you don’t, he raises his brow, challenging, but you don’t, and instead glance around to notice if someone has his eyes on the both of you, sitting in the furthest region of the fucking smart, endless table.

He raises the stake, flushed: Jimin pushes your panties on one side, petting with his index your exposed self, and you suck in a breath. He continues to do so, face still, closing the distance between you two.

You don’t question the sudden kiss, instead you angle your face and close your eyes and let him press his lips on you. This feels like being drunk, or high, stretching underneath a sky dripping with stars. You cup his face with your hands, his lips so terribly soft and inviting, the smallest of smiles meeting your own chapped and curved upwards lips.

It’s when you’re merely inches away from him that he thumbs at your clit, sensitive and tingling, circling with utmost peace and no speed whatsoever. You pout at little, you realize, which makes him melt either cause of your cute frown -oh, how the tables have turned- or simply because he’s the devil himself, pressing a finger against your entrance and delving it into your heat.

“Cute,” he purrs, kissing you, “Is this okay?”

The crude, hot, nerve-wracking fingering has begun, which makes you, quickly enough, putty in his hands and ablaze with ardour for this man whose rasping voice could kill you.

“Yeah,” you breathe on his mouth, eyelids drooping closed, “Yeah, all good.”

You hum to yourself as he starts pressing kisses on your jaw and your neck, a trail of treacherous flames lighting up your skin, and you have the audacity to sigh under his ministrations, a tiny, strained sound not quite a mewl.

If he hears, he doesn’t show it. You’re biting your own lip when he enters a second finger, filling your searing emptiness.

“Want three?” he asks, voice husky and as desperate as you are under his touch. He adds it when you nod, the squelch louder than before, and you moan, rocking your hips against his fingers.

“Shh, baby,” he coos, placing his other hand on your hips, slowing your movements, “Be a good girl.”

He fucks you deep, fast, fingers clashing against the silky dress you’re wearing and sweat sparkling on his forehead. He swallows another moans of yours, sucking your bottom lip and tugging it between his teeth. You’re close. You’re so close, and it’s only been a couple minutes. You can’t hear anything that isn’t your wet pussy clenching around his fingers, his rhythm ruthless and burning.

“Too bad you’re not coming on my fingers, today,” he says before kissing your neck and emptying your dripping pussy, then proceeding to taste and lick his own fingers in his mouth. He lets them out with a small pop, and it’s the most terrifying sight you’ve ever had in front of your almost watering eyes. “I’m sorry I won the bet, though, your pussy is the sweetest I’ve ever tasted.”

That’s the high and dry story of how you first met Jimin.

The second time it happens, it’s under completely different circumstances, and, substantially, against your every predictions, it really happens. It takes place, like a once in a lifetime event: there’s an orgasm involved, not due to the very charming and never disappointing Jeon jungkook the robotic version, and instead it involves a rather attractive asshole with a persistent smirk plastered on his face.

Except it’s a lot more complicated than what it sounds, and most of it is Seulgi’s fault.

Your roommate had pouted all evening, because that’s what semi adults do when they’re denied a companion for the night.

“I just wanna get wasted. It’s been one hell of a month, and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

“I can suggest you a vibrator and a bottle of vodka. Do you settle for that, your honor?”

“The more you talk like this,” all self-absorbed and assertive and cautiously, like when talking to a kid, she begins, hands in her long, mahogany hair, “the more I just wanna push you up against the wall.”

“Sounds to me you just wanna get laid.”

“Maybe I do,” she huffs, hands on her hips, the light of your abat-jour highlighting her golden skin. “Maybe I don’t. What I know is that I wanna get wasted. Come with me, pretty please?”

“Look,” you raise your eyes from the book you’ve been holding, stretching a leg onto the unmade bed of yours, “I just wanna get this fucking paper done. I need,” you grip the phone on the bed table, checking for the white, large numbers on your lock screen, “an hour. An hour and half to edit it and I’m all yours.”

“This paper is due on Thursday, though.”

“Yeah, but I have a reputation to uphold in the family. Have to be the most beautiful and successful.”

“You’re full of shit,” are her last words, muttered with a smile as she grabs her jacket.

“Hey,” you call, stretching your neck towards her, “I don’t care if it’s two am and you’re already wasted. Call me and I’ll come to you with a whole bottle of vodka to make it up to you. Hell, I’ll even kiss you goodnight.”

“I don’t wanna make out with you, you freak.”

“You didn’t say that last time, baby!”

Seulgi

[2.13]

wassup bitch

make out with meeeeeeeeeeeeee

[location shared]

com n get me littl nuggrt

Not Sober Seulgi is probably the worst Seulgi you have ever dealt with. You let out a sigh, eyeing the frat dorm all lit up and vibrating to the trashy trap music the insiders are jamming to.

Of course, when it comes to Not Sober Seulgi, there’s boys involved. Frat boys involved. At first, you don’t pay attention to the details, the signs, surrounding you like blinding traffic lights signalling stop stop stop, all red and striking. The thought doesn’t cross your mind, the dots connecting in some hidden part of your brain not making your insides short circuit—instead you’re knocking on the door, then banging on the very wooden entrance until a face shows up; the dorm is dimly lit, and the face is partially lightened by a soft, hued red and, that, too, Future You pinpoints, should have been a sign.

It’s useless, anyway, because you hear the insider talk and you’re burning instantly, like after touching a steaming, hot cup of coffee, except that bitter coffee is still good coffee. Smug Jimin plus bitter you isn’t really sweet, nor a match made in heaven. It’s chaotic, a caustic explosion, and you both know it, judging from the sharp smile he offers you, after blinking lazily at your figure.

“This is a mixer party only,” his soothing voice welcomes you, “Do you have an invite?”

You press your tongue on your teeth, mouth carefully closed.

“Yeah, from Hell, I’ve come to take a fallen angel.”

“Sorry to break it to you, oh-kind-lady, but we didn’t give any invite to poor, damned souls.”

“Too bad I don’t give a fuck about your policies, then,” you move towards the small space between the door and Jimin’s body, but he interferes, placing himself right between the two. “Look, I don’t give a single fuck about this party.”

“Yeah, it sure looks like it.”

You roll your eyes. “My friend is here. She’s most certainly not sober and I’ve come to pick her up. That’s it. Do you think I want to be here, among these drunk, perverted jocks?”

He turns around, stretching his neck, his eyes darting through the crowd, inhibited by alcohol, smelling like cheap beer and weed. The moment his eyes bore into yours, though, it’s terrifying; it’s a rustled reminder of Seokjin’s wedding Jimin, and you don’t like it. You loathe it. You dread it.

“Maybe only some of us.”

He tips his head, lips curving into a timid, small smile, and you tear your gaze from his lips in a heartbeat.

“Yeah, keep dreaming of it. I just want my friend back.” You point your chin towards the amalgam of drunk party animals, “I’ll leave you to your immensely interesting activities, then.”

“What if,” he begins, “You don’t. Or—even better scenario, you leave with me.”

“Best case scenario, I leave with my friend. You stay here.”

“What’s the worst-case scenario, then?”

You cock a brow at him, crossing your arms on your chest. “I leave with my friend, you stay here. Sometime before me leaving, you’re punched. Or kicked. I don’t know. There’s a high chance I’ll throw a drink on you.”

“That implies you’ll be here long enough to grab a drink, doesn’t it? And you don’t have to ruin my shirt to get me naked, babe. Just ask nicely.”

You huff, and you’re mildly tempted to shove him against a wall. Or ruin him. Not in the funny way. More like the high and dry way, the one he knows so well. “I changed my mind, I’ll kick you.”

“Ask nicely?” His teasing tone makes your cheeks flush, and you hope the shitplace with subdued lightening can cover it. His expression shifts into an arrogant one, full smirk and little dimples out, so your cute guess is that he can see. He sees his effect on you, albeit completely unwanted and full of hatred from your side, and he enjoys it. Actually lulls in it, letting out a small laugh which, in turn, makes his eyes turn into crescents, all warm and cute—all things he’s not. All things you know he’s not.

“Ask nicely,” you repeat, rolling the words on your tongue, “Okay, babe. Let’s do this, babe. What do you want from me, babe?”

“Has it ever crossed your mind that maybe the answer is you?”

“Yes, actually,” you sigh, fingers brushing his neck, face comically close to his perfect, chiselled one, “That’s exactly what I thought when you stopped fingering me.”

“Right,” Jimin has the audacity to smile, craning his neck as if to close the distance between you in order to meet you for a kiss, “I’m a man of word, thought. You should be impressed.”

“I’m pretty sure the only thing that’s impressed is your face under the orgasm denial definition. Google it, babe, I guarantee you the meaning comes with your name and a brilliant review of one star.”

“Unlike you.” He licks his lips, eyes on your pretty pink ones, smeared with venom, “You’re not coming.” He explains, to further ignite your rage.

“And whose fault is that, babe?”

Jimin nuzzles into your neck, cupping your other cheek with his rough palm, and his thumb stills on your throat, right where your breath is stuck. He adds pressure on it, lips fondling your burning skin, his usual smirk plastered on them.

“Let me make it up to you.”

“You’re not fucking me,” you spit back, mouth now millimetres away from his, gently inviting you to kiss it, and cherish it, and biting it until you’re satisfied with the hot result.

“I’ll eat you out? Until you come.” He hums. “You’ll come.”

His voice is a mere strangled sound, wanting and dripping with need, and you snap out of it with a small smile.

“Nice offer,” your smile is wicked as you scrape his nape with a feathery touch, the slow movement rousing a flutter in your lower belly. “But get in line, babe.”

His shell-shocked face is the last thing you see before you fulfil the let’s rescue Seulgi! party.

(“Why do you smell like softener?” Seulgi sniffs you, arms looped loosely around your neck, eyes completely shut down. It’s a nice sight, all things considered. You’re no angel, no saint, no perfect person, but you’re a nice friend, and that’s probably the most Seokjin trait you recognize in yourself. It’s your shared apartment, and it’s past 3 am and you’re the one good friend who keeps her promises. “It’s strawberry vodka, you heathen.”)

The line turns out to be a real line, queue line, let’s get this coffee line, which, well. How can one word it, how can one phrase it fully catching the irony of it all, the distinctive je ne sais quoi of life without—

“Nice to see you here.”

It’s the perfect set for a rom-com, you notice, taking in the warm scenery around you. What else can one dream of, right? The campus coffee shop, the campus hot not-really-but-also-kinda fuckboy Jimin, partial jock to give him credit, full time attractive idiot with a tendency for orgasm denial. Really.

“What are the chances?” You exhale, voice devoid of emotions. For the sake of your parents’ integrity, you suppose, because they raised no impolite woman, of course, you turn around to face the angel-like human being, black hair partially covering his forehead, little dimples on full display. That’s—that is lack of integrity, or indecency or au-fucking-dacity. It might as well be a mix of the above-mentioned possibilities, all fitting and nurturing you because he’s gorgeous. He’s handsome. Jimin’s the most attractive human being you’ve ever seen in your life, and it’s not fair.

(Beside the fact that you’ve lived with Kim Seokjin, for fuck’s sake)

He pokes his own cheek, and you bask into the otherworldly scenario that takes place right in front of your caffeine deprived eyes. It’s a sight for sore, soft eyes, and it’s the end of the world as you know it, because it’s morning, too early to properly function like a normal human being, but there he is. There he is, Jimin, channelling his inner boyfriend material aura, oozing off boyfriend smell, nice, fresh, aftershave smell, rocking a stupid sweater and the messiest black mop of hair.

It’s honestly a tragedy, and you won’t stand for it. You will make a move—

“You’re squinting your eyes, like, real tight. Are you alright?”

Just ogling you, your drowsy mind offers, the fucking cheater.

“Yeah,” you reply, swallowing a lump in your dry throat, “Just need coffee. A latte. Anything.”

You move forward in the queue, and as you blink you realize it’s your turn, until it’s not anymore. Jimin carefully and gently moves you out of the way, brushing with the softest touch your side.

“A latte and an iced americano, please.”

The sweetened order for two turns into a hushed thank you, a tipped smile, a flutter of you heart. It’s drinks still half full, his curious gaze darting on your lips, your defences down. It’s unfair, because in a hot second all this pent-up tension shifts into a light, chaste kiss, your back pressed against the coffee shop’s restroom; your chest heaves under his tantalizing make-out session with your neck, followed by his frantic lips pressing on yours, his tongue licking lazily into your mouth, a gasp easing its way out of your warm and eager mouth. It’s a hot-blooded supercut, each frame announced by a starving moan, a content sigh, and, before you realise it, you’re on your bed, Jimin hovering on top of you.

It’s Saturday morning, you hum to yourself, fingers sliding into his hair, all’s in check. There’s a warm body slumped on yours, his tongue swerving on your lower lip and his hips shyly bucking between your open legs. Your panties are drenched, you can feel his hard on through the jeans and, really, all’s in check.

He nudges your nose with his. “Lemme eat you out.”

The answer lies sitting on the tip of your tongue, right next to an obnoxious remark that you hope will rile him up enough for him to rip your underwear, which you definitely won’t complain about. However, the words don’t come out, they slur in your craving mouth the second he gets up and shoves you toward the end of your unmade bed, spreading your naked legs open with his calloused palms.

“Nice skirt,” he comments, voice a rasp, eyeing the drenched, lilac underwear, skirt at this point gone up to cover your stomach. “I just want…”

He shuffles closer, enough for you to feel his hot breath on your core, and that’s when Jimin pulls the panties on a side, teasing you with little licks to your entrance. You’re responsive, too eager for anything to quench your thirst that you sigh happily at the barest of actions, gripping strands of his hair. Jimin chuckles, engulfing the throbbing clit in his mouth in one go and drawing desperate moans out of your cute, devilish mouth.

“Fuckboy move,” you emit, voice cracking at the pressure of his warm mouth, “Oh, oh. Fuck…”

He replies flattening his tongue on your core, then licking and lapping against your dripping folds. Jimin positively glows at the cries you let out, face slobbering with your arousal while driving you insane, fucking with his tongue like his life depended on it. It’s almost a spiritual experience, a crescendo of wails and sobs, his face drown in your pussy and his tongue paying reverence to your approaching orgasm. He can feel it in the way you writhe, in his hand splaying over your stomach, keeping you still while he eats you religiously, forehead beaded with sweat.

You come with a trembling hand in his hair, the other flicking your bare nipple, back slightly arched and a lewd mewl; Jimin takes in the way your body trembles, your breath all staggered because of him, and the sight alone is enough for him to cum in his pants with a grunt, completely untouched.

The second time it happens is, coincidentally, the first time Jimin knows there’s no turning back from this.

Complicated is a big word when it comes to relationship, you reckon, emitting something akin to a gasp, truly soap operas worthy material, but, for the first time in your life, you decide to name it this way.

Being with Jimin is… complicated, for starters. Especially because you’re not with Jimin, in the strict, relationship-wise meaning. He knows your favourite colour (“Why the fuck you only own purple underwear?” “It’s lilac, dick, watch your mouth.” “Watch your own mouth, babe. You’re the one on your knees.”), your favourite food (“But you like having your mouth stuffed with my cock, honey.” You sigh, blushing. “First of all, I’m talking about real food. That amazing steak kind of food—“

“I’ll show you real meat, babe.”

“Gross. Gross. How can I cancel the last five seconds of my life?”

“Come here, Jared, nineteen,” he half smiles, tilting his head, “I’ll get us fries.”), your favourite movie (“We can’t get each other off every time your ugly paper cap fits—oh,” you suck in a breath, Jimin flicking his tongue on your turgid nipple, “oh, god, don’t stop.”), your best friend’s name (“I condone you dicking her so good she sometimes cries, you know, I just don’t when I’m in the room next to hers and all I can hear is my best friend trying to formulate a single coherent word but failing because you’re pounding her mercilessly into the mattress.” Jimin chuckles, grabbing his jacket before holding the doorknob. “She begged, Seulgi.”)—so what? It’s not like you sat down and decided not to ask each other dumb questions, so that you could find out in the funny, kinky way. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even decide on anything, didn’t even talk about talking, because the relationship related shit didn’t even cross your mind.

It’s even quite fucking hard for it to cross it, because half the time you’re together you’re either both naked – except for the time he pleaded for the tartan mini to stay – or stuffing your mouth with food—because, if there’s something you’ve learned after one too many hook-ups with him is that this kind of sex requires strength. Like, actual, physical strength, if we’re not talking about the this test is draining me please fuck me until I can’t walk sex. Which, yeah, 10/10 would recommend. That was the day Seulgi decided to invest in ear plugs while muttering capitalism, here I come.

You also came.

Funnily enough, guess who also came. Not in the funny, kinky way. Think about the grossest thing, imagine the beyond the bounds of possibility, sprinkle it with Jimin earnestly shoving his dick down your throat, stir it with a poor Taehyung brushing his teeth next to the both of you, a step away from the shower, and serve it on the most expensive plate in the kitchen, a recipe not approved by Kim Seokjin.

Yeah, you mentally roll your eyes, licking your lips clean, at eye-level with your sorta enemy with benefits’ pretty dick: the married brother of yours, former fratboy, taller than your current will to live.

In hindsight, maybe it is Seokjin’s fault. Once you’re married, you’re supposed to be committed to the cause, and sometimes, an angry little crumb in you finds the audacity to speak, the cause is made up of your four walls: ergo home, ergo your married life, miles away from the absurdity that once filled his university days. You’re being hypocritical, you realize, skin wet, body trembling. In the simplest, most hedonistic terms, you’re done with the chaos in this fraternity and just wished that hooking up was easier. It’s more than a stolen orgasm, a random spur of pleasure and free de-stresser; it’s also something not quite like art but just as peculiar. Sex with Jimin is more than nice, more than a fast rummage of clothes on the floor and panties teared, or condoms stuffed in every single pocket of his jacket.

It should also be noticed that it’s been one hell of a stressful week, okay, which means that it’s one of those times you seek for naked intimacy, in its least literal meaning. You’re looking for something sure, something silent, something earnest. Jimin gives you that in the simplest of forms, in the easiest of ways. It’s not fair for your brother to come unannounced and burst into the house with his adorable laugh and love for his own brothers. Way to ruin the moment, bro.

Jimin blinks attentively when Taehyung laughs, clapping his hands all happy and following the elder’s voice outside the bathroom.

“I’m getting you my clothes.”

“Wait, what?”

His lips part just enough for his tongue to wet them, and your eyes follow in silence the gesture.

“I mean,” he starts, grabbing a towel, “You either come out with me from this bathroom or you don’t.”

He’s concise, yet harsh, words uttered with those soft lips yet are just as hot as a slap in your face. He’s telling the truth, but you soon find out you don’t really like it.

There’s something abrupt and severe in those chosen words, so well picked out because they’re not meant to hurt, but at the same time they’re so worrying. So terrible, practically as hard as a punch in your guts.

You either come out of the bathroom with him — you had been blowing minutes before, hadn’t you? Quite the intimacy, huh? — or you don’t. You stay behind. Different rooms, a whole door to separate you while he’s out with the people he cares about.

Seems legit, but. It’s unfair. You know Jimin isn’t choosing for you, but it’s obvious he’s inclined towards an option between the two, and you’re terrified to discover whether it’s his own desire pushing or what he thinks you want.

You, instead, push the thought aside when you nod, taking the towel from his hands and covering your body from this terrific half hook-up.

Because that’s what it is—that’s what you are.

It dawns upon you like a cold breeze hitting your face in full December, suddenly, and that’s when you realize winter is near. In your mind, this hooking up scenario seemed nicer. Sounded softer, a cute bubble moving slowly in the air.

But now—well, now the bubble has burst, and it feels wrong, and this unexpected wrong doesn’t feel right in your chest, and that’s the story of how you leave the house escaping from his window, in his clothes, with vision blurred by hot, stupid, idiotic tears.

Seulgi is the first one to notice, and, obviously, the first one to speak.

“Something’s been bothering you,” she says, head tilted in a way that’s supposed to be emphatic and worried but comes off as stiff and terrified. “Care to share?”

It’s just a wholesome amount of terrifying stuff, isn’t it? First the shower incident, now Seulgi’s ways not working around you anymore. What’s next? Avoiding Jimin for a whole week? Blocking his number? Losing the smart and beautiful title to your obnoxious brother?

You wouldn’t be surprised, really. Shit like this always happens at the same fucking time.

“It’s nothing. A stressful couple days, maybe? Or maybe I’m getting sick. There’s a guy always coughing during Physics. Maybe it’s his fault, who knows.”

Seulgi unlocks her phone, an unreadable gaze studying you. She gives up a second later, though, her weak maybe reaching your ears when you’ve already looked down on your book.

One simply cannot be annoyed because of a half hook up. Christ. You deserve better than that. You have some dignity left, tainted by everything that’s not Jimin and his harsh, stupid words.

So, your mind offers, while you squint your eyes, I suppose there’s nothing else you could do about it.

Nothing else besides acknowledging it and moving on.

Sounds like a plan. A fireproof plan, an escape plan, something detailed and precise. Planned to work out smoothly; planned to be executed without pain or mistakes.

It’s seven sharp when he knocks, takeout in his left hand, eyes bulging because it’s fucking freezing outside.

“It’s fucking freezing, what the fuck.” He says out loud, indeed. What he receives as an answer is the sound of your tongue clicking, the biggest amount of interest you’ve shown towards him the whole week. He would finally exhale, weren’t it for the fact that this is still pretty traumatic, because if there’s something he’s learned while orbiting around you, is that you’re constantly awake and aware of your surroundings. Your body language says that you pay attention to him, or Seulgi, or whoever you’re talking to. You follow the guy with your eyes, and you listen and nod in all the right places during a conversation, and you search for his dark gaze when he’s fucking you in the dimly lit bedroom, the bed creaking under your sweaty sex making. He’s not admitting it, he never will, and he’ll pretty much deny this to everyone who will ask but: there’s something hot about it. Something burning with the way your body reacts to him, when your eyes follow his actions, while your voice falters when he fucks you right, and it somehow pushes him to the edge every time. It’s the equivalent of Jungkook getting a boner in the gym while catching girls and boys drooling at him, except he’s talking about you and your crazy moans, your magic aura.

And yes, okay, fucking blame him, the realization alone made him jerk off in his room like a teen, twice, yesterday. That’s a fact. That’s barely a fact, alright? This is a truth; a statement soon forgot by the knowers. Obviously.

You look spent, he thinks, if he had to choose a word, dared by some arrogant deity to define the current mess you were. He glances at your barely done ponytail, at the tiredness written all over your face. He takes in your baggy sweater, your quiet beauty, knowing this is gonna be one of those nights you take a step back.

He doesn’t say anything though, instead he brushes the hair on your forehead, not even making contact with your skin.

You grab the bag from his hands, shivering instantly and hoping he doesn’t read the signs. They’re—they’re there, you know, you’re collecting them slowly, one after another, grabbing one and looking cautiously for the following one, hoping it’s not there. Hoping it doesn’t exist.

You exhale a sigh, disguising it as cough, a noise, something distracting Jimin from his silent staring, which is, funnily enough, loud and cacophonic.

“Hungry,” you state, the single word weighting more because of the soft pout on your lips. Jimin hates that he knows what it means, that it’s gonna be just the two of you this time, no chill whatsoever, no bodies touching and melting against each-other. He’s not complaining, what the fuck, he’s not an idiot. He’s not even mad, he’s just—accepting, on a level. This is the point of no return, he guesses, following you on the couch and admiring the laptop’s screen reflected on your face.

He doesn’t say anything when you search for Brooklyn 99 on Netflix, because he’d say everything, otherwise. He’d mumble something along the lines of this feels real, we could do this all the time, or, worst of all: I like this. I like you.

So, in order: he tugs at your sleeves and scoots you closer to him, and you say absolutely nothing at the gesture. He’s ecstatic on the inside, partially terrified, mostly delusional. He pretends he’s something more when you lean on him, the slightest pressure of your head on his shoulder. He cares zero fucks about the show when he’s breathing your scent in and feels how warm you are and shuts his eyelids down when he pictures you adoring him. Liking him. Liking him a whole lot more—

He’s fucked, he realises, hours later, when you doze off and he has to carry you to bed, something you claim of loathing, which—what on earth. It’s an unfathomable absurdity, that’s what it is.

“You can stay.”

His voice falters. “What?”

You cough, eyes closed as you speak sinful words: “The night, I mean. It’s fucking freezing outside.”

His lips form a small o, and it’s hot all of a sudden. “Alright,” he manages, staring at you on your bed, hands fidgety and heartbeat accelerated for some reason, “Make space for me. Hey, fucker. I’m serious. Let me in.”

You do.

(to be continued. ily)

#BTS jimin #bts #bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts scenario #bts smut #bts social media au #bts imagine #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin #jimin smut #jimin bts #jimin x reader

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the-what-now · 3 years

Text

Andromedatober #1

Day 1-Alone

(Day 2- Memories)

(Day 3- Chase)

(Day 4- June)

“Why the long face, Captain?”

Calderon doesn’t need to look to recognize the sharp voice of the Tilaari princess, though the way it’s begun to soften in his presence lately isn’t lost on him. Jaeta leans against the bridge railing beside him and tilts her head to peer into his eyes, dark lips twisting upward into that familiar sly smirk. “I thought you’d be happier after that last supply run.”

He instinctively turns away from her piercing stare, offering only a humorless smile in return. “I am happy. This is my happy face.”

“It should be, considering we walked away from that deal with twice the money left over than we thought we would.” When he doesn’t respond, she tsks disapprovingly, “Look, no one’s ever accused me of being a natural empath, but even I can tell something’s bothering you. Are you going to tell me what it is, or do I need to stand here making you uncomfortable until you do?”

The captain is silent for a moment longer, before letting a slow, even breath out through his nose. Even when she’s needling him incessantly like she so often does, some part of him just can’t seem to push her away. Not anymore. “I didn’t need your help,” he says finally, his voice low and tense. Even not looking at her directly, he can practically hear her rolling her eyes.

“No, you didn’t. But you saw how that Arcnos was trying to rip us off, I was just stepping in to--”

“Rip me off, not us. The deals we make as a crew are for me to worry about. I’m the captain, and it’s my job. Just like yours is to be our navigator. Nothing else.” The words come out harsher than he meant them to, but he means them all the same. He finally meets Jaeta’s gaze, her pale eyes narrowed in skepticism.

“I was only trying to help. You know, make myself useful somewhere other than navigating. Or is that against your rules now too? I do have a hard time keeping up sometimes.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“So, what then? You thought I was going to screw it up for you? You really still have that little faith in me, after all this time?”

“No, I--”

“Or some bullshit pride thing? Worried the crew will think their captain is weak if he doesn’t keep the uppity princess in her place?”

“No.” He finally snaps. A frustrated sigh escapes him before he can stop it, and he glares into the void outside as he tries to find the words. “It’s not that. It’s not any of that. I’m...not mad at you. I just...don’t want you to feel responsible for things like that. Don’t want anyone on this crew to, not when it should be my problem.” The uncomfortable heat rising in his cheeks only worsens when he sees her expression soften at that, though he can’t say why.

“Is that what this is about?” Jaeta asks quietly. He doesn’t answer, but she’s known him long enough to recognize when she’s right. She sighs, brushing her long emerald braid over her shoulder thoughtfully before moving in close to him. “Calderon, listen. I won’t pretend to understand everything you’ve been through. I’m not that naive. But I do know something about feeling like it’s you against the rest of the world. I mean, do you know how many times I’ve been called a bitch for speaking my mind, by my own siblings no less? Never to my face, of course, but they made no secret of it.” She lets out a bitter breath of a laugh, more pain in it than she meant there to be. Cal winces at the sound.

“Jaeta, I--”

“It’s fine,” she presses on, “looking back, I can’t say I blamed them. But that’s not what it felt like at the time. I convinced myself that I didn’t need them, that they just weren’t worth my time if they couldn’t handle what I had to say. Even if they were family.”

Cal watches the princess carefully, unsure of what to say. It’s rare that he’s ever known this willful woman to show regret for her actions, but it’s written all over her face now, clear as day. And just as quickly as it came, it’s gone again, a fierce determination in its place. “I don’t want to be like that anymore. Not here. I may have lost my chance with that family, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try again with this one.”

He blinks in surprise. Family. He’d never thought to use that word to describe the Andromeda Six, but somehow it doesn’t feel wrong. Jaeta gives a low laugh at that, sliding her fingers forward slowly, almost hesitantly, to take his hand in hers. “We’re a team, Calderon. All of us. This doesn’t all have to fall on your shoulders. We’re here for you. I’m here for you, if you want me.” There’s a pleasant warmth in her skin as that familiar glow blooms green on her face. “You don't have to be alone.”

Something in Cal feels as though it’s been suddenly lifted away, and he can’t help leaning in to rest his forehead against hers. “Thank you,” is all he can manage to say for a long moment, and then, “I do. Want you here.”

“Good. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried,” she chuckles. She seems to ponder something, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, “I’m sorry I interfered before. You’re right, you were handling it just fine yourself. But would it be so bad if you accepted help every now and then?”

He smiles dryly at her. “No promises, but I’ll try. In return, maybe you could give me more of a heads up before steamrolling my business deals.”

“No promises.”

He gives a real laugh at that, sliding his hands around her waist to pull her close. “I do enjoy seeing that side of you, you know,” he admits, “the one that knows what it wants and isn’t afraid to take it.”

“And here I thought it just got on your nerves,” she teases, returning his embrace, “But really, would we be here now if I hadn’t?” Cal reaches up and taps her chin thoughtfully, before tilting her face up to pull her into a long, lingering kiss.

“I guess you’ll never know, stowaway.”

#andromedatober #andromeda six #a6 #calderon lynch

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prentissinred · 3 years

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Already Gone pt.2

Special shoutout to @eprcntiss for the nudge to write a part two ☺️

Rated T Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss Word Count: 2k AO3

Part One: Already Gone

Part Two: Love Me Better

Aaron closed the door to the study behind him, pretending he didn't hear that final choked sob. He blinked his own tears back; they had no place on what was supposed to be the second happiest day of his life.

She was leaving.

Some twisted part of him was almost glad. That he no longer had to walk into work and feel like his heart was being slowly carved out of his chest every time she looked at him, every time she got into her own car to return to a home that wasn't theirs. It was unfair to the point of cruelty, having to face the future he had been planning for years, ripped away in the course of an evening...only to return months later, just out of his reach.

He had grieved her, as surely as if she had died on that operating table. Grieved the sight of the diamond he had picked out on her left hand. Grieved the house they'd been eyeing, the one with enough rooms for all the plans they’d made and a yard big enough for the dog they had promised to Jack. Grieved every night of fevered touches under the covers and every night they had been too exhausted to do anything except curl against the warmth of the other.

She had eventually returned, like a phantom coming back to him. Relieved though he was that she was finally safe, there wasn't a moment where he saw her and was not reminded of every deception, every moment she had chosen to tell him that she was fine instead of the truth. Running became the only healthy outlet for the pain. And a few weeks later, it led him to a funny, kind brunette who had him smiling for the first time in over a year.

Beth. He shook himself out of the internal crisis he was having against the wall of Dave's living room. He had to find her, hold her, remind himself why he'd asked her to marry him and why it had felt so right just yesterday. Remind himself of everything good about them. Because she was good — exceedingly so. Because she was not frustrating and complicated and closed-off and asking the worst kinds of questions at the worst possible time. He jogged up the stairs to the master bedroom where she was getting ready with her mother.

“You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” Dave’s voice came up behind him.

He gave his friend a wane smile. "I think we can dispense with the superstitions."

"Say what you will, but I said the same thing at my first, and look how well that turned out." Aaron could only chuckle dryly in response.

Dave clapped his arm. “Nervous?”

"A little." He hadn't been. In fact, he’d been filled with certainty at the start of the evening. He tried not to think too much about why that had changed. I loved you. I love you.

"I saw Emily left.” Dave’s voice was pointedly relaxed.

"Oh?"

"Tonight can't have been easy for her." I love you.

"I suppose."

"Mmm. Anyway, I think Beth's just about ready." Dave placed a guiding hand on his shoulder. "We should head down, get this show on the road." Aaron let himself be led down the stairs, glancing back just once at the door that hid his soon-to-be wife from view.

He stood underneath the decorated archway, next to his beaming son, and faced his team, all looking at him with encouraging smiles. He tried to return them, despite the knot that was steadily growing in his stomach. The music started, a lilting, romantic track, as the crowd turned to face the house. Beth emerged, lovely in her strapless gown, carrying a simple bouquet of white roses, walking towards him on her mother's arm.

And maybe it would have been different if he had spoken to her upstairs. Or if he had never walked into Dave's study in the first place. But as Beth took her first step onto the aisle, Aaron knew with an absolute, terrifying clarity that he couldn’t go through with this. That this moment he had been picturing for so long was missing a woman who was currently making plans to leave the country.

Before he could talk himself over to the side of propriety, he walked up the aisle. The music cut off abruptly, and there was a ripple of whispers from his guests. By the time he reached her, pieces of his heart chipped away at the sight of her confused face. He held her hand in both of his and pleaded, "I need to talk to you."

She listened to his insufficient explanation, the tears welling her eyes the only reflection of the hurt he was causing her. He told her that she was beautiful and wonderful and he did love her and she had made him so happy and yesterday there hadn't been a doubt in his mind when he asked her to be his wife. She let him ramble for a while, eventually shutting him up with a cupped hand to his face. Lips pressed lightly against his cheek, then in a voice infinitely kinder than he deserved, she let him go. "I hope you get her back."

And that was it. He stood there, watching her head back up the stairs, and silently wished her every happiness with someone worthy of her.

With a deep breath and a brush over his face to clear any lingering tears, he exited the house with renewed determination to find a huddled group of guests. The only outlier was Beth's mother, who stared at him in consternation before following her daughter into the house without another word to him. At the movement, his team turned towards him, a mixture of confusion and shock on their faces — or, in the case of Dave, an enigmatic smile.

"JJ," Aaron called out.

She approached him, frown lines etched into her forehead and brows. "Aaron, what's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I need your help, please. The address to Emily's new apartment."

Understanding smoothed her features and she gave him a wide grin as she entered the address into his phone. "Oh, and would you mind watching Jack for a little while?"

"Even better, why don't Jack and Henry have a sleepover tonight? What do you say, boys?" JJ presented her plans animatedly to the two boys who had appeared by their feet. Aaron bent down to tell his son that he would explain everything tomorrow, but his words fell on already distracted ears. He thanked her and made his way to his car, the eyes of his friends on his back reminding him that this was his last chance to bring her home.

Her apartment was tucked away in a nondescript brick mid-rise. A far cry from the lush DC duplex he had spent countless nights in. She opened the door on his second knock. Dressed down in shorts and a loose shirt that hung off her shoulder, makeup-free with her curled hair pulled up into a ponytail. She looked as beautiful as she had a few hours ago. Every impassioned word he had rehearsed on his way over landed dead on his tongue, and instead, his first words to her were a brusque, "Can I come in?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn't reply, pressing past her into an apartment he had never entered before. Sparse, only the bare essentials, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Nothing more than a passing stop, a sign that she had never really come back to them.

"You told me you love me. Was that the truth?" He stood in the center of her small living room, arms crossed over his chest, his tone more biting than he had planned.

She gaped at him, ignoring the question. "Seriously, Aaron, what the fuck are you doing here?"

He forged on, pacing small steps next to the couch, glancing up at her every few seconds. "It destroyed me, you know. Seeing your credentials open in your desk because you had run. Sitting by your fucking hospital bed because I was too late to save you. Listening to you tell me that you didn’t want to marry me. Everything we had talked about, all the plans we had, just...gone."

“Aaron. I told you, I had to." Her voice broke, but her eyes stayed dry. Aaron wondered if the two of them had shed enough tears over the other to last a lifetime. "I had to—“

“Protect me. I know. But, god, Em." He gestured between them. "We’re supposed to be a team. We work through everything, even the ugly stuff, together. You were supposed to trust that I would be there for you. Not run away, and nearly get yourself killed in the process.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It is exactly that simple.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp and resolute. “It isn’t. It was my fight. My past, my mistakes. If you, any of you, had gotten hurt because of that, I could have never lived with myself. You can't tell me you don't understand that."

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to cede this particular battle. Maddening, stubborn woman.

“Fine. I accept.”

“What?”

"I accept that you did what you had to do. That you thought you had to handle it alone. I accept why you left then." He stepped closer to her and she unconsciously took a step back, nearly flush with her front door. "But why are you leaving now?"

"This again..." she sighed wearily. "Aaron, I told you. I can't stay here anymore."

"And why is that?"

He watched her nostrils flare in indignation. "Fuck, because I can't! I can't pretend anymore, I won't do it. I came back expecting my life to go back to normal. Except it isn't normal. It isn’t even my life anymore. I'm like a fucking spectator, watching everyone move on while I can’t. "

The implication — accusation — was clear, and the guilt struck hard and low in his gut. Her only mistake was thinking that he had ever really moved on.

"I'm sorry," his voice shifted to quiet contriteness. "I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me. It hurt too much to be around you. And you seemed...okay. So I convinced myself you were."

She said nothing for a while, her arms wrapping around her middle defensively. "It's okay. It wasn't your job to take care of me. You've already done more—"

"Emily, why don't you get it?" The frustration pierced through once more, coming out more desperate than anything else.

"Get what?!" she rose to his pitch.

"You're supposed to depend on me. We’re supposed to depend on each other. I know you're strong, you're so fucking strong sweetheart, but I get to take care of you sometimes too. Fuck, how are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together if you can’t trust me enough to do that?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and her entire body, even the air around them, shifted. “Spend the rest of our lives together?”

“Of course. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

She glared at him. “It really wasn't."

“Oh. My apologies.” He stepped closer to her. “Consider this your notice then.”

He caught the way her lips turned up for a split second before she remembered herself, wanting to hold onto her heated temper for a little longer. “Where’s Beth?”

“At home, I suspect.”

“I already told Easter I’d take the job.” Her voice was just a whisper now, devoid of almost all conviction.

“What, like 2 hours ago? Call him back, Emily.”

He was looming over her, barely an inch of space between them, their eyes locked onto each other. It was a different kind of battle, the kind where victory only came when neither side backed down.

Finally — “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I'll call him back."

There wasn't an adequate word to describe the relief he felt at those five words. Every inch of him ached to touch her, but he held onto his patience for a few more seconds, bending his head towards her and whispering, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Her eyes were closed in anticipation. "What question?" she breathed.

"Were you telling me the truth? When you said you love me?"

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I was." And she pushed up on her toes and closed the gap between them.

It felt like coming home. There were still discussions to be had and arguments to be fought as they re-learned and re-trusted. But, for now, the familiar taste of her warmed every particle in his body until he was practically vibrating with want. It was desperate and urgent, their lips and teeth and tongues clashing and biting and invading. His hands roamed the entirety of her, a need to ensure that she was really here this time. She clung to him just as tightly, pressing into him until he could feel her heart hammering away in her chest.

When they pulled apart, both gasping for the air that had escaped their lungs, he touched his forehead to hers. "In case this wasn't obvious either...I’ve never stopped loving you."

#Already Gone #Hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #it was physically impossible not to give these two a happy ending

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steamlore · 3 years

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HighFleet - Shipbuilding Guide

Learn how to build ships that have better performance and higher cost-efficiency than built-ins!

HighFleet Shipbuilding

(Initially created August 5th 2021 for game version 1.1)Building effective ships in Highfleet can be extremely frustrating to new players; but is a very rewarding task. Player ships can significantly out-class built-ins in terms of cost-performance and efficiency. This guide is oriented towards players who are not cheating or have not racked up a giant score for new game mode. While the guide can help players who don’t care about fuel expense or cost efficiency, these items are an important consideration in the guide.

Ship Editor Basics:

Hopefully someday Konstantine will explain this ingame... I've had to tell dozens of players how to place multiple parts without going back to the parts menu every step... -You can hold shift whilst placing parts (left click) to retain that piece on your cursor, so that you can place another immediately. -You can create a disconnected segment of a ship, band-box select it, then right click lift the entire piece. You can place/rotate the entire piece… including shift-placement for very fast construction.

Fig.1

Fig.2 Incidentally, I discovered a placement bug with the antenna... -If your editor seems to have locked up, drag select your main hull (the piece of ship containing the Bridge) and right click to attach to your cursor. Place it somewhere empty and your game should be responsive again. This is assuming you are building a sane ship under 200k of cost, ofc...

Highfleet Ship Design Theory

Hybrids suck. Do not build hybrids. Some may find this controversial, but this seems really obvious, and quite a few other players agree with me on this. TacticalShips (that are designed to duke it out in ship vs ship combat) and Strategic/Support/Auxiliary ships should be built very differently.(Other than AAW pickets, but they are a special case and the angles your opponents will start from in Air Defense Mode are far more limited than in Ship vs Ship) Reasoning? -In ship vs ship combat, you get to pick which ships on your team get to appear. Thus, unless you screw up badly, there is no reason for your tanker, missile carrier or sensor ship to ever have to get shot at by cannons. -Tactical ships want to minimize cross-section, to minimize probability of getting hit and mass required for a given armor thickness. Lots of fuel tanks *greatly* increases cross section, mass, and engine count required to achieve a given design speed, making them inferior in combat. -(Good) Tactical ships should use mostly gimballed engines to have maneuverability in combat. This means they are less fuel efficient for a given mass of ship and design speed. -Electronics (Search Radar, ELINT, FCS Radar, IRST, and Jammer) do not function behind armor. They have reduced function through structure too, so don’t get too fancy with structural cages. -Support ships want to use as many static engines as possible, to maximize their fuel efficiency (as well as cruise speed for a given budget). It is my experience that a fleet of optimized tactical ships and optimized support craft is both deadlier/more durable in combat and more fuel efficient than a fleet of hybrids.

Fundamentals of Tactical Ship Design

Ships need to consider how they will fight, what class of targets they will be optimized against, and how they will protect themselves. Players must also consider their own limitations; saying “speed is overpowered and the best defense” might be true, but most players are not 11 Honor Lightning Pilots and therefore should probably not try to fight cruiser fleets in an ultralight. Similarly, if your aim is bad, pick weapon systems with faster reloading speeds and larger magazine sizes, and maybe pack more missiles.Thrusters should be placed towards the extremities of a tactical ship, for example, the corners on a boxy design. Thrusters high up above the center of mass of a ship generally improves stability, placing them below center of mass decreases stability. Increased stability makes landing easier, while decreased stability allows for doing backflips and other tricks while dodging. As stated earlier, tactical ships want to be as compact as possible for a given amount of capability (generally measured by speed/weapons/defense), this makes you harder to hit and easier/cheaper to protect with passive defenses. Unless you are the greatest pilot of all time, you will find yourself getting hit eventually. Losing your bridge = dead ship; losing the ammo usually results in an explosion that (depending on amount of ammo and size of ship) may instantly kill it, and having fuel tanks get hit may cause fires. Obviously getting hit in power, engines or weapons is bad and will lead to a decrease in the ability of your ship to fight, but they are less instantly fatal than an ammo explosion. Therefore, you want to protect your ammo and bridge as much as possible, then fuel and generators. Generators and crew compartments also have more hitpoints than fuel or ammo, which makes them a decent way to protect your explodey bits. While losing the bridge is an instant kill on that ship, it’s fairly durable and less prone to sudden death than ammo. Thus on small ships you protect the ammo even more than the bridge; i.e. hide ammo from expected direction of fire behind the bridge. For ships with relatively few and light weapons, it is possible to spread out your ammo so that some of it exploding does not cause a chain reaction. For ships with lots of heavy weapons, that becomes impractical and the ideal is to centralize your ammunition and bury it as deep as possible behind other components.

Fig2b, examples of what -not- to do. TLDR cram components as close to each other as possible, make ship smol as possible for same number of stuff. Put thrusters near the edges/corners for better turning. Put critical components behind less important parts to die as slowly as possible, the order of importance is Ammo & Bridge > Fuel > Generators > Everything else

Basic Design Challenge

Alright, put the above information into practice. Go build a simple ship with following (additional, make sure you incorporate the lessons learned so far) specifications: - Cheap as possible - 4x AK-100 - Solid top armor - Line of 2x1 Reinforced structure on each side - Thrust-Weight Ratio at least 3 - 2 static thrusters - No fuel tanks or ammo directly exposed - Range at least 750km You should have something that looks like this:

Fig.3 Ugly, and poorly optimized, but that can be fixed! This is a cheap and basic frigate sized bottom-fighter, one of the more powerful archetypes in Highfleet. Even with this crappy hull you can probably (with decent aiming/dodging) clear Difficulty 3/Small Tester with negligible internal damage… But your ship is nowhere near it’s potential. Heck, it can’t even land! How to improve this? Well, get ready to read alot of words and stare at lots of pictures… First we’ll overview the parts that go into tactical ships before we swing around to advanced design methods…

Turrets

There is no such thing as best weapon, only best weapon for a given situation for a given player. Thus players will have to decide what weapons to fit to what design. n 2A37 AK-725 AK-100 D-80 MK-1 MK-2 MK-6 A-220 Cal 37mm 57mm 100mm 130mm 180mm 180mm 180mm 220mmR Mag 50 14 4 4 1 2 6 6 RoF (burst length) 2000 (1.51) 350 (2.4) 400 (0.6) 240 (1) N/A 180 (0.66) 180 (2) 120 (3) Reload (per second) 20 (2.5) 10 (1.4) 7 (0.57) 10 (0.4) 6 (0.16) 10 (0.2) 7 (0.85) 20 (0.3) Turret Speed Normal Normal Normal Normal Slow Slow Very Slow Normal $$$ 3000 1500 2000 4000 4000 6000 24000 4000 Size 1 1 1 1 1 1 4 1 Ammo Req 1 1 1 1 2 4 8 4 Power Req 0.7 0.7 1 1 1.8 2.4 6 3 Crew Req 6 6 6 6 12 24 50 5 In terms of damage per shot (and anti-armor performance when using non-AP munitions), the weapons efficiency is: 37mm *Rocket launchers are very effective when they connect, but their rocket rounds start out slow, then accelerate, requiring a different lead reflex compared to firing guns. Their rockets are also easier to shoot down/dodge than cannon shells. 2A37 With good aim, the CIWS can be extremely potent against lightly protected opponents with it’s 2000 RPM and 50 round magazine. However, it takes 20 (!) seconds to reload it’s magazine, meaning once the readied rounds are depleted, holding down the trigger only fires 2.5 shots per second! Therefore if your aim is bad, it is recommended you open fire only when you have maneuvered into point blank range. (The 2A37 also my recommended weapon of choice for Air Defense ships and a good secondary battery for larger tactical ships to shoot down incoming shells and missiles) Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary AK-725 Commonly regarded as a mediocre weapon, the 57mm lacks the stopping power of 100mm+ weapons, or the ability of the 37mm to saturate the local airspace. However, it is the cheapest gun mount, and actually fairly strong in large numbers (8+) due to it’s large magazine size (14) and great reload rate (10 seconds, or 1.4 rounds per second), extremely friendly for gunners without a disciplined trigger finger. Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary AK-100 On paper, the AK-100 is inferior to the D-80; both have the same magazine size and logistical footprint but the other is higher caliber and does more damage, right? Yet the AK-100 is a fan favorite, while the D-80 is not. For one, the AK-100 fills it’s 4 round magazine in 7 seconds, while the D-80 needs 10. Next, AK-100 has a fire rate of of 400 RPM compared to the D-80’s 240, meaning a shot-cluster from the AK-100 is almost twice as tight as that from the D-80. Faster magazine filling speed and higher ROF also make it decent in point defense, when using Proximity shells. And of course, it is half the price of the D-80… Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary, Proximity, Armor Piercing D-80 For all the advantages of the AK-100, the D-80 offers non-trivially more burst damage up front and better anti-armor performance, as well as a larger proximity shell that has a bigger splash area. If you are a very good marksman and can reliably hit a ship zooming around while flying fast yourself, the D-80 will simply kill the opponent faster on the same logistical footprint. Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary, Proximity, Armor Piercing, Laser Guided MK-1 The first thing you’ll notice when using Big Guns is the reduced turret speed. It just rotates slower than other weapons, making it worse at high speed close range combat. It also requires more power and crew than the standard guns. Unpopular with most players due to it’s single-shot nature. Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary, Proximity, Armor Piercing, Laser Guided MK-2 Quite potent against enemy cruisers with Armor Piercing Ammunition, the MK-2 does cost the same amount as 3 AK-100s and uses more than twice the crew of 3 AK-100s, and uses almost the same power as 3 AK-100s… While there are arguments for not mounting the weight of 3x AK100, the 180mm guns are simply less flexible when not fighting heavy ships. There is some debate whether players should use 4x MK2 or 1x MK6… it depends on your aiming skills. If you are very confident of your marksmanship then 4x MK2 can be superior. Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary, Proximity, Armor Piercing, Laser Guided MK-6 At the cost of a decent frigate before you even factor in logistical footprint, the MK-6 has a higher cost than it’s paper stats show; 8x Ammo requires another 4MW in power and 40 crew to operate… and those crew quarters require power too… and the power generators require more crew. Altogether a MK-6 costs about 30,000 Gold and adds over 2000 tons of mass to a ship. This is before you consider how many more engines (and fuel and crew and power and armor to protect the huge volume!) it takes to keep the same design speed with that extra mass! To top it off, the MK-6 has the same rotational speed issues as the MK-1 and 2, but worse. Opening fire also causes white flashes and shakes to appear on your screen, making aiming more difficult. That being said, with good aim and proper ammunition selection you can obliterate an enemy cruiser in a few salvos. Extremely destructive armament, suitable for use on capital ships to fight other capital ships. Ammo Types: HE, Incendiary, Proximity, Armor Piercing, Laser Guided A-220 The only ship-based rocket launcher in game, the A-220 offers excellent burst firepower on a relatively low logistical footprint. However, due to difficulty of leading targets, increased ease of dodging and vulnerability of your attack to point-defense, it’s fairly unpopular with players. Ammo Types: I don’t actually know all the ammo types you can fit to Rocket Launchers. TLDR: Big guns only cost efficient vs big ships (unless you are Simo Hayha II). AK-100 generally adequate vs everything and can change ammo to be better at whatever it’s facing. Use A-220 if you are a hipster.

Landing Gear Design & Propulsion Selection

Landing Gear

Landing gear (“Legs”) require at least 2 parts for good articulation. They don’t have names as of 1.1, so I will arbitrarily label them:

Fig.4a Types A, B, C, D from left to right n Type A Type B Type C Type D $$$ 400 200 100 50 Power Req 0.4 MW 0.2 MW 0.1 MW 0.07 MW (*) Mass 238t 80t 18t 3t *Estimate When piloting a very light ship (say, under 750t) and with good control, you can just use skids to land. But generally most ships should use landing gear, tactical ships to gain an edge in repair speed, strategic missile/aircraft carriers for faster reloading of expended missiles/replacement of destroyed aircraft. I even put legs on my tankers and spyships; ships without the ability to land just don’t make sense in this world. However, especially on smaller ships, you want the lightest possible legs to avoid excessive thrust/power wastage. For brevity’s sake I’ll just show the types of legs I find appropriate for a given tonnage of ship, though if you are very gentle (zero horizontal motion, less than 9km/h touchdown) with landing you can make do with legs that aren’t quite up to par to save mass/power.

Fig.4b Ultralight

Fig.4c “Corvette Legs” 1x Type C + 1x Type D, suitable for ships up to ~2000t mass

Fig.4d “Frigate Legs” 2x Type C, suitable for ships up to ~4000t mass

Fig.4e 1x Type B + 1x Type C, suitable for ships up to 8000t

Fig.4f 2x Type B, suitable for ships up to 12000t

Fig.4g 1x Type A + Type B, suitable for ships up to 16000t

Fig.4h 2x Type A, suitable for ships up to 20000t For ships that are heavier you can use more than 1 pair of legs to compensate, or just land *very* gently.

Propulsion

The RD series are significantly more fuel efficient but require Large Hull sections. Due to their sheer mass of Large Hull sections it becomes inefficient to build small ships with RD series engines, and very expensive to build fast ships (even if large) with them. Faster, smaller ships will use D-30, NK-25 and D-30S engines for propulsion. Larger, slower ships should use the RD-59 and RD-51. As stated before, tactical ships will want to use mostly gimballed engines and support ships should use mostly static engines. While it is possible to propel a large ship with small engines, the large ship will have extreme fuel consumption for its mass and design speed, not recommended when fuel is one of your biggest expenses in the campaign. TLDR: Use small engines for small ships, strongly consider switching to big engines around 6000t of ship.

Defenses

Reinforced Hull Reinforced hull has the same hitpoint total as an armor block, but at one-fifth of the weight. It’s not perfect, though, because it doesn’t have the damage resistance of armor; you can see this when interlaced armor/reinforced structure triangles get hit by a missile; the structure triangles go deep red or die immediately, whilst the armor triangles (that didn’t fall off from the missing structure) go pink/light red.They Read the full article

#HighFleet

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yandearest · 4 years

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May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 1: The Reaping

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from, your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular, highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4 champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer, and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 4.6K

Warnings - [in later chapters] major character death, graphic depictions of violence, swearing, obsession, dubcon-smut (smut will be marked so reading is optional), gore, unrealistically beautiful oc because I’m a sucker for that shitty trope and want to live vicariously through my writing (sue me)

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

What little shred of hope for survival you may have had, after hearing your name announced from the reaping, was immediately squashed minutes later by two simple words. “I volunteer”.

Volunteers from District 4 were not uncommon. There was a not-so-secret training complex the capitol turned a blind eye to, in a warehouse near the docks. During your time in school you knew of several kids who trained before and after classes. At the age of twelve some of them dropped out all together, with the sole purpose of training every waking second of the day so they could volunteer at eighteen. There was no need for an education if your only purpose in life was to compete in a death match that offered a lifetime of rewards to the winner.

After the misfortune of having your name drawn you looked around, silently begging for one of the girls to come up and replace you, only for no takers. But when Kim Namjoon eagerly announced his intentions of volunteering (the reaped twelve-year-old boy on stage immediately bursting into grateful tears and rushing back to his mother in the square) it was easy to understand why no one had stepped up this year. Back when you had attended school, before dropping out to assist your father on his fishing boat after your mother died, Namjoon had been in some of your classes –although he very rarely showed up. He was immensely popular with everyone; in part because of his handsome physique and model like dimples, partially because of his superior intelligence, but mostly because it was well known he was by far the leader from all the kids in training.

You had never attended a training session (more fool you for thinking you would never be unlucky enough to have your name drawn, and banking on one of the girls who did train to take your place if you did) but the center near the wharf was close to where your family’s boat — that functioned as both a fishing ship and your house — was docked. During the many occasions you had walked past, you sometimes stopped to peer through a crack in the doorway and watch. A majority of the times you had seen Namjoon inside amongst the group of around twenty regulars; working out with weights, sparring with an array of weapons, or climbing the rope attached to the ceiling that was surely 30 feet high with nothing but cement to drop back down to. The years of work had turned the dimpled twelve-year-old you once shared a math class with into a lethal killing machine. And now you were going to be stuck in an arena with you as one of his targets.

You stood frozen as Namjoon strode up on stage, a grin on his face, waving to the camera before shaking the hand of the capitol’s representative — a pastel blue haired woman by the name of Periwinkle Eveweather. You could tell Periwinkle much preferred Namjoon to you from the twinkle in her eye at how well he was playing up to the camera. There would be no need for her to have to force him to act like being slaughtered like an animal was an honor, like she would for you. The next moments passed far too quickly in a blur, being lead off stage to bid farewell to your families. As you sobbed in your father’s arms, an only child saying your last goodbye, Namjoon was getting a pat on the back from his older sister, a previous volunteer and victor. Shortly after you were ushered on board to the train where you now sat, Namjoon at your side and your mentor sitting across the table.

A small part of your brain found it difficult to take Finnick Odair as a mentor seriously given he was younger than you. But your rational side was quick to silence that judgment with a reminder that exact dismissal of his age was a major contributing factor to his win three years ago. The feeling of despair ate away at your insides as Finnick took an immediate liking to Namjoon. You couldn’t blame him for it, Namjoon was by far the more likely of the two of you to survive, so it only made sense for him to put more attention on the candidate with the best chance, but it still made you feel awful none the less.

“And what about you YN?”

You jumped feeling Namjoon’s hand tapping your leg softly under the table, his head wordlessly nodding in Finnick’s direction without making any eye contact to you. You had become so distracted by the mug of tea in a decorative porcelain cup in your hands, you failed to recognize your mentor’s piercing sea green eyes were now focused on you.

“Sorry, what about my what?” you mumbled dumbly, feeling incredibly insecure at Finnick’s sigh.

“Your skills, what do you bring to the games?”

Well that explained why you had tuned out, there was no need for you to listen to Namjoon describing all the potential ways he was going to kill you within a week or so. And there were a hell of a lot of ways.

“I don’t know really, I’m not someone who’s trained like Namjoon,” you paused to think, pretending not to notice Namjoon’s smug smirk in the corner of your peripheral vision as Finnick frowned slightly.

“Neither was I, and that caused a lot of the careers to underestimate me,” Finnick replied, shooting Namjoon a pointed look which caused his smirk to disappear. You tried not to smile at that, settling instead for relaxing slightly into your seat.

“I can fish, so depending on the arena I can potentially find food, but more importantly I know my way around with a knife,” you declared, feeling a little more confident. The hopeless despair was still overwhelming but the least you could do for yourself, and your father, was to go out with honor.

“Very good,” Finnick nodded “don’t underestimate your face either.”

“My face?” You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “How am I supposed to kill anyone with that?”

Finnick sighed, leaning further back into the lounge he was occupying on his own, pinching the bridge of his nose on his handsome face in exasperation.

“Both of you listen, this is potentially more important than all of those little training sessions or fishing catches the both of you have ever made combined. You’re clearly genetically blessed to continue District 4’s reputation of having the most beautiful tributes, you in particular” He paused to lazily point in your direction. “If you actually want to win the games, you want the people of the capitol to adore you. And they’re a city of shallow cunts,” another pause to shoot a charming smile in Periwinkle’s direction “no offense”.

“Offense taken!” Periwinkle gasped indignantly but Finnick was already speaking over her without a care.

“And as shallow cunts what these people love, more than anything in their pathetic little vapid lives, is beauty. You,” a point to Namjoon, “have been training your whole life for this and will have a body to represent that. Show it off. They love flair, they love confidence, they love a show. Flex those biceps for them, they’ll go mad. Flash your abs and they’ll fall in love. And work those dimples, cause these suckers sure worked for me, got me a trident,” Finnick grinned to show off his smile and twin indents on each corner of his mouth, Namjoon mirrored the gesture and you felt your heart clench at how easily he seemed to turn on his charm. Tall, well built and handsome, he was just as gorgeous as Finnick. Too bad he was very likely about to be the literal death of you.

“And you,” Finnick turned his attention to your direction and you felt Namjoon’s eyes burning into you from the side “you’ll be the prettiest thing they’ve seen in years, possibly in the history of the games”

Your face flushed at the comment, even though you knew it wasn’t intended as a compliment. There was no point in sweet little lies to butter you up and the fact of the matter was you knew you had an aesthetically pleasing face. Your facial features were in perfect balance, skin clear, thick hair that fell to the middle of your back and eyes that you had been told sparkled like stars in the night.

“They’ll love that shit,” his finger lazily circled around pointing to your cheeks that were flushed in embarrassment at his candid assessment of your appearance.

“These people are so used to artificial, that something so beautiful and pure will be coveted like the fattest diamond they could possibly hang from their necks. You ever fucked a guy, sweetheart?”

“Excuse me?” you balked at the invasive question, earning a sharp laugh out of Namjoon, a scandalized shriek from Periwinkle, and an eye roll from Finnick.

“I’ll take that for a yes and don’t worry I’m not interested. The capitol thrives on corruption, greed, and a need to claim rare treasures for their own. Put an innocent little dove like you, with a face like yours, in front of them and they’ll go insane. Act right at the parade and in your interviews and you’ll have sponsors gifting you everything you could ever need in that arena”.

You sat wide eyed not even knowing how to respond. You didn’t bother with arguing over the status of your supposed virginity because whether it was true or not didn’t actually matter, it was all about the perception. If getting dolled up and fluttering your eyelashes could potentially result in a knife being dropped from the sky in the arena, you could suck it up and give these disgusting people what they wanted.

The train ride to the capitol took just under three days in total. During that time Finnick and Namjoon spent a lot of time together, which you weren’t surprised with in the least. It was only natural to favor the tribute with the better odds, as much as Finnick’s little speech on the first day tried to make you think you could have a chance. Finnick still made some time for you though, which was mostly spent on guiding you how to attract sponsors. You spent a majority of the time in your room, a lot of it crying, most of it sleeping, and some of it playing around with technologies you had never had access to before in your life. The only time you really saw Namjoon was during breakfast and dinner where you ate together with Finnick to discuss district strategy. You weren’t surprised at all by Namjoon’s plan to join the career pack, but you were slightly surprised when he spoke of you as a part of that plan. You were a little annoyed he didn’t even think to ask your opinion, but logically speaking it’s not like you had any option. It was either join them or make yourself an easy target. Plus, any alliance with Namjoon reduced your need to have kill any other tributes personally. The only thing now was to hope districts 1 and 2 were as receptive to the idea as you were.

When you arrived at the capitol you were immediately ushered into a clinic that was like a fusion between a spa and a hospital. You were stripped, examined, and assessed by a doctor before being dressed in a paper thin hospital gown. After a painful injection (“that’s your tracker dear, so the capitol can monitor you in the arena”) you were passed over to the beauty department who scrubbed, exfoliated, waxed, showered, moisturized, treated, conditioned and polished your entire body from head to toe. But at the end when you were standing before a mirror, you could see the results were worth it.

As Finnick had stated, you were already beautiful to start with, but it was like taking an uncut gem and polishing the stone to make it shine. Your hair was a couple of inches shorter with all the damage from years of saltwater being trimmed off. A treatment of conditioners you couldn’t care to remember had tamed your thick locks into smooth waves that had been layered to frame your face and flow prettily down your back. Whatever impurities that existed on your skin before had been entirely lasered away, and your whole complexion was now soft and glowing. Your eyebrows had been plucked into identical manicured arches and some sort of needled gun had permanently filled them in. A gel had been applied to your lips to boost their plumpness, without overly inflating them or drastically changing their shape, giving your mouth a cherubic quality. Staring at your reflection you raised a perfectly manicured finger to poke at your cheek, feeling the new silky smoothness beneath your fingertip, watching as your mirror image copied the action. It was surreal. You recognized the person in front of you as yourself, all of your features were still the same, but just somehow perfected?

You mostly ignored the gushing of your newly assigned stylist team — a set of triplets named Ruby, Garnet and Quartz — as they picked out garments, stretched measuring tape across and around your body and argued over what colors would bring out your eyes the best. They were sweet and well meaning with their compliments, but the growing nerves over being prepped for the chariot parade in a few hours made you unreceptive.

The concept they eventually decided on for your fishing district was ‘Rulers of the Sea’ and you were dressed in a Grecian inspired gown. The iridescent blue and green material, that sparkled like the sun reflecting off the ocean, was clasped at the top of your left shoulder with a silver broach in the shape of a starfish. Intricate embroidery was patterned around around the waist where the fabric was cinched tightly to create an overly enhanced hourglass silhouette. The bottom half flowed to your sandal clad feet and seemed to sway with the slightest of moments, a split on the right ran to the middle part of your thigh. Your eyes were a smoky combination of the colors from your dress, lashes coated in extensions and a layer of mascara to give you a seductive yet doe eyed appearance. There was a strange dichotomy in your styling where they were attempting to preserve your ‘natural’ and ‘innocent’ traits whilst simultaneously taking full advantage of the fact you were eighteen in order to market sex appeal.

Your favorite part (that you hated to admit even liking given the circumstance you were even in) was your hair. A section from each side had been pulled away and pinned at the back in a princess style, with numerous tiny clips of glowing sea shells and starfish holding it in place. Glittery extensions had been clipped in tastefully creating an appearance as if your hair was literally shining. This was then finished off by an ornate tiara placed on the top of your head.

By the time you were finished your stylists were practically in tears, fawning over you and calling you’re their greatest masterpiece. They mistook your eyes watering as pride in their work and not disgust at their pride in dressing a cow off before sending it to the slaughterhouse.

“No dear, you can’t cry and ruin all that make up we just spent so much time perfecting” Ruby chided, dabbing at your eyes with a tissue as Quartz and Garnet guided you out the door and into the small vehicle which was about to take you from the clinic to the parade. You didn’t dignify her with a response, merely grabbing the tissue from her hand as you were forced into the car. As soon as you were inside the car sped off, arriving at the destination very shortly after. From behind your tinted windows you could see horses being lead to empty chariots and your first sight of the other tributes, the people you were either going to have to kill or be killed by.

When the car stopped, Finnick was the one to open your door and offer you a hand to get out, which you accepted. As you stood up he appraisingly ran his eyes over all the details of your make-over, before nodding his approval.

“They did well,” he stated and you nodded your head in passive agreement as he dropped your hand to press his to the small of your back and guide you towards your chariot. Namjoon was already there, dressed in his own Grecian toga of the same fabric with a crown on the top of his newly styled hair. Sensing your arrival, he turned to look at you. Namjoon’s eyes widened comically before quickly composing his features almost as instantly as he had reacted. “Very well,” Finnick whispered, and you allowed an amused puff of air out.

“Your chariot awaits my dear,” Finnick said with a mock bow as he nudged you towards Namjoon, who extended his arm for you to hold on to. Not sure what else to do, you placed your hand delicately on his forearm, his other hand then coming to rest over the top. For a brief moment as Namjoon guided you both into the chariot, you could almost imagine you were a princess being taken to a ball by a handsome prince, but any such delusions were ruined by what Namjoon whispered next.

“It’s such a shame there can only be one winner, you really look good by my side.”

Your jaw clenched and you moved to rip your hand off his arm but his grip over yours instantly tightened with a laugh, as if expecting that exact reaction.

“Calm down princess, I don’t plan on killing your pretty little face for a while yet.”

You looked up at him like he was insane as the chariot began to move forward. He thought your reaction was from fear he was going to kill you now? And not that he perceived your life as only having value from being pretty enough for him? You were furious and about to rip into him before you heard the approaching roar of the crowd ahead at the end of the tunnel. Namjoon was oblivious to your rage, a perfectly poised smile, flexing his dimples that Finnick would be proud of, already painted on his face. You paused, for all you knew that could be an attempt to psych you out before facing the crowds, potentially losing you sponsor opportunities. Turning away from Namjoon, you took a deep breath to try and compose yourself. You plastered the docile soft-smiled wide eyed expression on your face that you had practiced with Finnick on the train, as your carriage emerged form the tunnel and onto the road lined with screaming spectators.

The entire parade was a blur of flashing lights, fireworks, thunderous cheering and echoes from the microphone that distorted whatever message the president greeted you with. By the time your chariot returned to the tunnel your mind was entirely blank but with the satisfied nod from Finnick as he waited to welcome you both back, you knew you had done well.

“If District 2 is anything to go by then you’ve won yourself a lot of admirers tonight” Finnick practically sang as he helped you down. Confused by his words you turned around looking for the other district to see the duo from two, the carriage over from yours. Dressed in gladiator styled garments, that was common from them every year, the girl was fiddling with a ruby dagger (you hoped was just a prop) whilst the boy was staring straight at you. ‘Boy’ was the wrong word to describe him, as he definitely had to have been the same age as you, if anything he looked slightly more mature than the legal age to even be here. He was tall, though not as tall as Namjoon, and lithe. Beneath a decorative breastplate you could see his sun kissed golden skin adorned with the toned definition of his pectoral and abdominal muscles. His face was incredibly handsome, by far the most handsome of any of the male tributes. Rich copper hair had been styled to frame his aristocratic features; a high bridged pointed nose, high cheekbones, sharp jawline and rich dark chocolate brown eyes that were intently focused on you.

“Speaking to other tributes before training is technically not allowed, but it’s enforced the same way as your training centers are, so not at all. You’ve got five minutes until those cars arrive to take you to the living quarters, go talk to the careers and work out an alliance,” You broke the eye contact to look at Finnick as he spoke, clearly having witnessed your little interaction.

Namjoon took the lead, confidently stepping off the carriage with a winning smile and striding towards the pair from two. With a sigh you hitched up the long material of your dress and followed behind him. You could still feel the male’s eyes burning into your skull as you looked across to notice the pair from District 1 also making their way over — their own mentor likely having given them the same advice as your own.

“I’m Namjoon and this is YN,” you weren’t particularly pleased by Namjoon deciding to speak on your behalf, but chose to roll your eyes behind him rather than interrupting. “We’re interested in continuing a long standing tradition of successful career pack alliances. I assume from you joining us over here, that you are as well.”

“I would typically say that to assume only makes an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’, but in this instance you are correct,” the other male from District 1 spoke. You tried to stifle a laugh, but the warning glare Namjoon shot you from the corner of his eye told you that it wasn’t successful. You merely smiled back and blinked innocently with a shrug.

“My name’s Yoongi, and an alliance would be in all of our best interests.” He was shorter than Namjoon and District 2, only an inch or two taller than yourself, but somehow still just as intimidating. His pale skin was contrasted by pitch black hair and sharp coal like eyes that were openly assessing the group of you.

“Krystal,” his district mate offered by means of introduction, and you wondered if the two were siblings. She shared his light complexion, dark eyes and her sleek midnight hair was dead straight down past her waist. Both were dressed in black, their outfits embodying the luxury their district was known for; Yoongi in a tailored suit with subtle embroidery detail, Krystal in an elegant fitted gown made of the same fabric, both topped off with luxurious fur capes draped over their shoulders.

“I’m Athena and he’s Hoseok,” the girl from two spoke. She appeared to be the same height as Yoongi but you noticed a heel on her sandals giving her an extra few inches. You couldn’t bring yourself to look across to Hoseok, knowing his gaze still hadn’t broken since staring at you from the carriage.

“Is that real?” you asked, gesturing towards the dagger Athena had been playing with before that was now held limply in her right hand.

“Why don’t we find out,” she replied with a smirk, instantly flipping the dagger in her hands to point the tip between your eyes.

“Athena!” Hoseok hissed dangerously, slapping the dagger from her hands and cause it to fall onto the ground below. The lack of metallic ‘clang’ revealing it as fake.

“Calm down, it was a joke!” Athena snapped back, reaching down to pick it back up, whilst shaking her head in annoyance. Before you could assure her it was fine, Hoseok stepped forward to present you with his own version of the prop. Reaching out he grabbed your wrist to place the ‘dagger’ in your hand.

“See, the material is just a type of fiber that gives the illusion of metal, but is really not hard at all.” Gently he ran the blade along your palm, and true to his word there was no edge at all. But the image still looked real and seeing a blade dancing across your skin, knowing someone was going to try to kill you with a real one very soon, made you feel ill. Sensing your discomfort from the trembling hand, Hoseok immediately pocketed the knife, but still maintained his hold on your wrist.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you, angel,” he spoke softly and you frantically looked to the others to see if they could hear him. Namjoon who was the closest merely looked amused, Athena was showing Yoongi the fake dagger, whilst Krystal had her eyebrow raised in your direction.

“I hope not,” you awkwardly tried to joke, pulling your wrist slightly to subtly try and break the hold, but he only tightened his grip forcing you to look up and back into his eyes again. His gaze from a distance had already been intense but up close it was heart stopping. There was a passion in his eyes you had never seen before in your life and it was solely focused entirely on you. It was frightening, you couldn’t imagine what you had possibly done to warrant being on the receiving end of something so intense. You tilted your head down and away from the others, humiliated over being so easily intimidated. If an attractive man holding your wrist and making eye contact with you was all it took to fluster you, you may as well just sign your own death certificate now.

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, dropping your wrist to place his finger on your chin and raise your head back upwards, though you kept your eyes lowered, staring at his jawline to avoid direct eye contact again.

“I’m promise I won’t hurt you, love. Not now, not ever.”

You were about to ask him how he could possibly say something like that given you were about to become direct competitors in a battle to the death, when a sharp whistle stole your attention. Snapping your head to the side you saw Finnick jerk his head, indicating for you and Namjoon to return. You exhaled in relief, grateful for the reprieve.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Namjoon said to the group, moving next to you and causing Hoseok to pull his hand away. You nodded to show your agreement with Namjoon whilst making eye contact with the other three you barely had a chance to speak to. You hoped they didn’t think that you were somehow forming something just with Hoseok based on his actions. You were going to need all the help you possibly could get if you wanted a chance to survive.

“Tomorrow,” Krystal agreed, making proper eye contact with you for the first time. She was smaller in height than you, thinner too, but somehow carried a cold and intimidating aura. You offered her a polite smile in return and a nod, relieved when she nodded back, before you returned to Finnick with Namjoon.

“How did it go? Looked pretty good” Finnick asked just as the capitol vehicle pulled up to take you to the tribute quarters.

“It seems our little dove here won’t just have the capitol for an admirer,” Namjoon smirked, getting into the car.

“So I saw,” Finnick muttered as a reply to Namjoon’s back, then turned to face you.

“Don’t let him psych you out,” he said, stepping aside so you could follow Namjoon into the vehicle.

You glanced at Namjoon before turning back to see Hoseok standing by his car but staring directly at you again. His eyes were still radiating the same intense passion from moments ago, you had no idea what to make of it.

“Who?” you whispered back to Finnick, ducking your head as you stepped inside. Finnick moved to shut the door.

“Both of them”

This is basically an introductory chapter to gauge reception. Future updates should be longer. I have the whole fic plotted and the outline itself is 5.9K words and this chapter was only based on the first paragraph. The next update will focus on the training sessions/interview with Caesar and the update after should be the one where they actually enter the arena.

Feedback is much loved, but please avoid asking for updates. I don’t have a schedule but I do have crippling depression so I write when the motivation hits lol

#yandere hoseok #yandere bts #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #yandere bts fic #hunger games au #hoseok fic #hoseok au #hoseok x you #yandere jung hoseok #yandere #dark jhope #dark bts #dark bts au

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sserpente · 4 years

Text

As a deposit | Part (1/2)

Synopsis: “Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

With a start, he looked up. You frowned. He would never invite a whore to his home, now would he? He cared too much about his reputation. But to your utter shock and surprise, he suddenly glanced at you. “My daughter is still untouched.”

A/N: Finally! I realised 2000 words in that this will need a Part II at some point but for now… please enjoy my first Geralt of Rivia Imagine! I hope I managed to capture his character, I love how pensive he always seems. Have fun reading and—if you haven’t seen “The Witcher” already, please do so now! Find the Spanish version of this story translated by @along-the-lines-of-space here!

Words: 2537 Warnings: mentions of prostitution and violence, bad parenting

The rumours had been true. He was here. You had heard so many stories about him—terrifying yet breath-taking stories. His appearance… Geralt of Rivia had been described to you as a tall and intimidating man. Some even said he had horns, and claws instead of hands. No one had ever compared him to a Greek God. He was… stunning.

Long blond, no… white hair, muscles which surely could make you feel safe in his embrace, an angular jawline, dark eyebrows… and a pair of piercing, yellow eyes. You gulped. They had not been entirely wrong though. He did look intimidating.

Taking a deep and shaky breath, you gathered all of your courage and stepped closer. He was tending to his horse, a beautiful brown stud. You gaped at it in awe, your sweaty fingers clutching at your cheap dress.

“I’m sorry… are you… you are… you are Geralt, of Rivia.” He peered at you from the corner of his eye.

“I am.” A shiver went through you. His voice was dark, low… menacing.

“I need your help. Please.”

“I don’t have time, I’m just passing through.” He grumbled, eyebrows slightly raised as he fiddled around with one of the battered leather saddlebags, turning his back to you.

“No, wait, please!” Your eyes caught sight of the tavern in front of him. “I’ll buy you a drink!” Vigorously, you rummaged through the pockets of your dress. The old widow living across the bridge at the other end of the forest had given you a coin for helping her digging over her garden for the upcoming season this morning. It would be just enough for one pint of ale.

Geralt’s mouth twisted, a sigh making him halt. For a brief moment, he seemed to contemplate his next words.

“Fine,” he eventually growled. He headed straight towards the tavern, expecting you to follow him without looking back.

“My father is devastated. If he loses any more men, he will have to close the mine. They…” You swallowed. “…keep finding new corpses every day. One night he came home drenched in blood, traumatised… whatever monster is in there, it’s savage and it’s bloodthirsty.” You shivered only thinking about the horrors unfolding inside the mine. And of course, there was a fear residing deep within you that eventually, it would grow tired of the cave and slaughter the entire village… but that was not why you had asked Geralt of Rivia for his help.

Your father was a cruel man who despised you deeply for your mere existence. Unlike his other daughter, your half-sister, you were not of his blood—and when your mother died, it had been her last wish for him to care for you as much as he would care for his own flesh and blood. You had long been of age now—and he had already threatened to sell you off to the nearest brothel if he truly had to close down the mine.

“So you want me to kill the monster in the mine.” Geralt concluded, his big hands playing with the bulbous jug. You nodded sheepishly.

“Please… I’ll take you to my father’s. He can tell you a lot more about it than I can.” Licking his lips, his gaze drifted away for a moment, almost as if the entire situation displeased him. It was a moment you wished to look inside his head to find out what it really was he was thinking. When his captivating yellow eyes met yours again, your heart jumped involuntarily.

“Take me to your father then.” With one last big sip, he emptied his ale. Upon his question of why you had not gotten anything to drink for yourself, you had simply claimed you were not thirsty.

“Father? Father, I’m back! Father—“

He stepped in sight mere seconds after, eyeing the Witcher behind you suspiciously. Hideous man, Geralt thought. Full of spite, hatred, self-righteousness and selfishness. Nothing like… you.

“Have you lost your mind now?” He snapped. “Bringing strange men into my home?!” Geralt crossed his arms before his broad chest behind you, observing your father with a scrutinising gaze—like no movement would escape him.

“No! Father, this is—“ You were cut off by a sharp slap on your cheek, your head forced aside as a stinging and burning pain spread on the left half of your face. You gasped. But it was not the first time he cuffed you for your alleged disobedience.

“F-Father, it’s not what you think. This is…”

“Geralt of Rivia,” he interrupted you with a powerful voice—it seemed to echo through the entire room, shrinking it down to make him look like a giant. “Your daughter begged me to help you with your monster. In the mines.”

Your father’s watery eyes widened.

“You? You’re the… Witcher?” He swallowed, pausing for a moment. With a start, his entire demeanour changed, a feigned politeness and hospitality supporting a fake and eerie smile. “I’ve heard tales about you… songs… Come on in then… you must have had a long journey. I have food and drinks.”

Geralt replied nothing as he followed your father into the kitchen were your half-sister was already waiting, at the served table. It was dinner time already. Bread, meat and cheese had been spread on it, along with some beer from the brewery whose owner your father had befriended, inviting you to sit down and dig in.

Your half-sister’s eyes widened when she spotted Geralt enter, hands folded in her lap intimidated.

“Please sit. Eat with me—I’ll tell you all about my misery.” The Witcher hesitated but sat down at the table regardless. You joined him only reluctantly. Suddenly, you wanted to be as far away from this awkward and stifling situation as possible. Had it been a good idea after all, to ask such a dangerous man for help?

“So tell me, Geralt. Are all those tales about you true?” Your father began, pouring himself some beer and biting into a piece of meat. The crunchy sound made you shiver rather than your mouth water.

“Some of them are… others are not.” He responded dryly. One piece of meat was all he took to eat.

“I hope you’re the man for the job then.”

He hummed. “If the payment is right.”

“How much?”

“Three-hundred.”

Your father snorted. “A proud price for someone who remains a mystery even with his feet under my table. But be that as it might. My daughter already told you that ugly monster made itself comfortable in my mine. I keep losing my men. You’ll get the money as soon as we can start harvesting coal again. Should be a few days at most.” He suggested carelessly.

“I can’t wait that long,” Geralt grumbled fast, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He clearly felt as uncomfortable in this house as you did. “You either pay me when the job is done or you find yourself another Witcher. Good luck with that.” He concluded, a hint of sarcasm playing in his dark voice.

He clearly didn’t like your father—and you could not blame him. He was a despicable man. Mutely, you kept listening to the tense conversation, hope drifting away from you with every word spoken.

“Come now, don’t be like that. There must be something else I can appease you with. How about an alternative? A deposit? Be a guest in my house. You’ll get your own room, your own bed and as much beer and ale as you like. Beef, chicken, pork… I can get you everything. You must have appetites like any other man.” Geralt remained silent, making your father clench his fists. “What about a woman?”

No… You had brought the White Wolf to your father to save yourself from prostitution, not run straight towards it and receive it with open arms.

“Do we have a deal?” Geralt gave your father a dark look.

He couldn’t possibly agree to this. You had heard so much about him but… but you knew he respected women and their strength, didn’t he? He wouldn’t…

“Fine. Three days.” Your heart skipped a beat.

Your father didn’t have a spare room. Instead, he had offered Geralt yours—since you would be sharing a bed with him tonight anyway. You had been shivering ever since, excused yourself from the table and given in to your tears and terror in the small bathroom in the house.

You did not want to lose your virginity to a man you could barely trust, regardless of how attractive he was. Should you run? Where to? Your father knew the whole village. If he didn’t catch you and brought you back… then wat if the brothel owner did? And if you stayed… who said your father wouldn’t just keep selling your body to strange men after Geralt had left for good anyways?

You considered the alternative—homeless, cold, starving, begging and hiding from the man who was supposed to protect and raise you.

With your heart in your mouth, you entered your bedroom about an hour later, when the voices in the kitchen had finally ceased. Would he be upset if you slept in your dress? Naked skin against naked skin… it felt too intimate. You wanted—if you were going to do this—preserve at least some sort of dignity and privacy, some sort of distance from him.

Geralt was already in your room. He had taken off his black shirt, leaving him naked from the waist up. You blinked, unable to stop yourself from admiring the many muscles and scars on his body, along with that fascinating silver necklace—the Witcher necklace.

Your eyes met—yet he did not say a word.

You were not ready to do this… With a shaky breath aiming keep yourself from fainting, you climbed in bed, fingers clutching at the soft bed sheets. Then, having closed your eyes for a moment to gather your remaining strength, you nodded at him.

Geralt approached the bed so slowly you tensed up, swallowing thickly; when the mattress sank, so did your pounding heart.

He did not look like someone who would be gentle in bed… or would he? Still trembling, you reached for your skirts. It was only then Geralt finally spoke again and much to your surprise, his voice had grown… mellow.

“No. Stop.” Taken aback you froze, looking up at him insecurely.

“I don’t rape women.” He explained seriously. “And you’re not doing this of your own free will.” He was perceptive—incredibly so, probably had to be as a Witcher. Most men would not have cared, even if they had noticed.

Geralt lied down when you responded nothing, only gazed down sadly at your hands in your lap as relief crushed over your body like a tidal wave. He didn’t want to ravish you tonight…

His body felt so warm next to yours, made you feel so secure. Just as if, with Geralt by your side, you were actually safe. Protected.

“My father… he’ll think we, um…” You paused.

“Don’t worry about him. I’m leaving town tomorrow.”

“W-what?” Your heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean? You… you won’t help us?”

“No,” he growled quietly.

“But… I thought… is it because my father can’t pay you? Please, he will. He might not be a very decent man but he never breaks his promises.” If anything to uphold his reputation. “He will pay you.”

“It’s not that. The monster your father described to me is not a monster.” You frowned. “It speaks, it’s intelligent. It lives in the mines and your father and his men are carving out the entire cave for coal. He’s defending his territory.”

“But he’s still killing people! Innocent people! What if he gets angry, what if he leaves the mine and wreaks havoc in our village?”

Geralt sighed, his bare chest heaving as he turned in bed to face the ceiling. He closed his eyes for a moment.

“Geralt, please… at least… at least go talk to it… he… whatever it is. You must have dealt with… creatures like this before. Please…”

You were shivering again—not just from the usual chilliness in this room, but also from the growing fear returning to your body, clawing at your guts. Finally, the Witcher opened his yellow eyes again, his forehead decorating an almost disturbed frown.

“Why are you so keen on helping your father? He obviously treats you like shit.” He spat. You flinched.

“He’s… he’s not my real father. He is… was my mother’s new husband, before she passed. My half-sister is his only child.”

“Then why are you helping him? Are you afraid you’ll continue to live in poverty?” You snorted. If only that was the case.

“No. He… last week he suggested to sell me off to a brothel for a ‘nice sum’ to make up for his growing losses with the mine. He knows the bordello owner, he’d… he’d be very interested in having me.”

Geralt breathed in audibly. Your eyes locked.

“And now he offered you to me.” He concluded. You nodded sadly, your trembling intensifying. With a shaky breath, you buried yourself under your covers. Geralt was right. Your situation was pretty hopeless. Swallowing, you turned your back to him, biting back the stinging tears forming in your eyes.

Your shaking did not cease—not until you suddenly felt his strong arms around you, his muscly chest pressing against your back. His bare skin on yours seemed to be singeing yours wherever it made contact with your body.

“Thank you…” You whispered, another wave of security and comfort washing over you, making you tired. If he wasn’t going to help you… you would at least accept his offer to keep you warm for the night.

And then the last thing racing through your mind before you fell asleep was that maybe—just maybe, having Geralt of Rivia take your innocence might not have been so bad after all.

When you woke up the next morning, Geralt was gone. Blinking right into the rising sun fighting its way through your curtains, you sat up, looking around your sparsely decorated room without expecting to find him.

Your sister was staring at you curiously by the time you entered the kitchen. When did not respond to her gaze, she beamed at you.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“How was it? I heard it hurts the first time. How did it feel? Did you bleed? He’s a Witcher, I doubt he was very gentle with you.” You remained silent. Before she could urge you on to reply to her, your father joined you at the breakfast table.

“Where is Geralt?” You asked instead, even though you feared you already knew the answer. Surely that was why his response caught you off guard.

“Well, where do you think?” He snorted. “He left for the mines before sunrise. Slaying that fucking monster killing my men.”

A/N: Cliffhanger. I know. No, I’m not sorry. *giggles* I hope you enjoyed that! Let me know what you think! Part II can be found here!

Also, check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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