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littlemisspascal · 3 years ago

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The Infinity Cube Part 4

Main Pairing: Marcus Pike x Female Reader

Chapter Pairing: Pero x Female Reader

Word Count: 1600+

Series Summary: When you play with a strange cube, you’re transported out of your current reality with your boyfriend Marcus into brand new ones starring alternate versions of your boyfriend who look and act entirely different every time. With each encounter, you start to wonder if you’ll ever make it back to your real universe?

Warnings for the chapter: No beta all mistakes are mine, Language, Blood, Angst, Injuries, Aliens, Spanish in italics, I’m horrible at writing action sequences

Author Note: Thank you everybody for your kind support of this fic! I appreciate every like, comment, and reblog 💝 I’d love to see if you can guess who Reader encounters next 😏 (although my little description isn’t very good lol)

PART 1 / PART 3 / PART 5

You spin in a circle, unable to see anything beyond the thick, pale-gray smoke enveloping you. It’s eerily quiet, tension clinging to your body, making your limbs feel as if they weigh a hundred pounds each, and God what’s that horrific smell? It’s worse than rotten eggs and vomit combined. Like something’s died recently.

Taking a step forward, you nearly trip and fall flat on your face. What the—? You look down, squinting, and notice an arrow embedded in the ground near your boot, its red feather fletching a stark contrast against the rest of your surroundings. Familiarity scratches at the back of your mind, but somehow you don’t think it’s stemming from playing Tomb Raider with Marcus on your PS3.

There’s another arrow to your left. And another one...and another one…Almost as if an army had released a storm of arrows all at once, hoping that they impaled the threat before it reached them. But, you think as you look around, dread churching in your stomach with each new arrow spotted, that would be an awfully big huge army.

A bone-chilling whistle slices through the air, rapidly increasing in shrillness, and it’s the only forewarning you have before a massive, green monster lunges out of the smoke at your head with its jaws gaping wide and claws extended.

You don’t even have the chance to scream, a spear whizzing past your ear right before you’re tackled from behind onto the earth. The creature screams, dying a bloody death as the weapon tears into its weak spot, while you’re painfully squished beneath a familiar weight.

Hands grasp at your shoulders, forcibly rolling you over onto your back, and you’re staring into brown eyes so dark with rage they resemble burning coal. Anyone else in your vulnerable position might have felt scared right now, but no part of you could ever truly be afraid of Pero. Especially when you know without a shadow of a doubt that beneath the jagged scar dissecting his eye, behind the wall of grumpy anger, he has a human heart beating a terrified melody against his ribcage.

“Chica imprudente,” Pero snarls in your face, noses inches apart. He hauls you onto your feet, ignoring your grunt of pain from the rough treatment. “What were you thinking following after me? You could have been killed.”

You press a hand against your side where the cube had imprinted a bruise upon your landing, biting back a wince. “I was thinking,” you say snappishly, “I wasn’t going to just sit up on the Wall while you and William fought for your lives. We’re a team, remember?”

Pero’s mouth goes tight, fingers flexing against your arms.

The back of your neck prickles, sending a jolt of tension down your spine, and you twist yourself out of his arms at the same moment another whistle pierces your ears. Your free hand yanks your dagger out of its sheath on your hip and throws it with precision that came from decades of dedicated practice. The blade sinks into its target with a disgusting squelching sound, and another Tao Tie dies a screaming death.

“C’mon,” you say, reclaiming your weapon, ignoring the gush of green blood dripping from it. “We’ve got to find William.”

(The only William you know works in the FBI’s cafeteria. He’s an older fellow, always greets you with a smile and an extra helping of french fries. If the cube brought him here, you think that would be a hell of a bigger shock than these green space dogs could ever be.)

You stomp past Pero, cube in one hand, dagger in the other, and if there weren’t an alien threat attempting to kill you then you might have smirked at his quietly stunned expression.

“Perhaps I should quit calling you mariquita.” You hear him mutter, a hint of wry amusement and fondness mixed together. “Dragón is a better fit.”

A quiet huff of laughter escapes your lips. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Brown Eyes.”

You find William (not Cafeteria William, but rather a handsome archer dressed in a similar tunic and armor ensemble as Pero) by following the sound of the jangling chain he wrapped around a wounded Tao Tie’s legs. You’re relieved to find the man himself relatively unharmed, only a few strands of hair escaping the messy bun he’d tied. A flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees you, but if the Irishman’s a master at anything it’s adapting to rapidly changing situations. He nods at you, a quick jerk of the chin, and simply says, “Get ready. Others of its kind will try to save it.”

The process of reeling in the captured monster is a slow one despite the brute strength of Commander Lin’s forces turning the wheel with all their might. You, William, and Pero stand with your backs facing each other, weapons ready to use, entirely silent except for your breathing.

“Put the cube away, mariquita,” Pero says lowly. An order, not a suggestion. “You’ll need both hands to fight.”

You hesitate, realizing you could leave right now. One twist of the cube and goodbye aliens. But your fingers don’t even twitch at the thought, glued solidly to the golden metal, and your lapse of focus swiftly turns into a critical mistake.

A haunting, high-pitched whine echoes across the field, the only warning before a Tao Tie launches itself at William. He unleashes two arrows at it, barely a second apart, but the sound doesn’t cease even after the beast falls. You turn, catching sight of Pero throwing his axe at another one, the muscles along his arms rippling beneath the skin.

The Tao Tie’s attacks are relentless—three more appearing after one of their brethren has been struck down—and they surround you like a pack of wolves, gnashing their sharp fangs whenever you make eye contact.

“The fire isn’t holding them back,” William proclaims over the hissing and snarling.

And he’s right. The aliens are leaping through the perimeter of fire without care of the flames eating away at their scaly flanks. If they weren’t being mind-controlled by their precious queen, would they still behave so senselessly? Would they still run straight forward towards death without hesitation?

Pero grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly, a desperation in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and the monsters are so loud and the smoke so blinding you can barely make out the movement of his lips, to understand what he’s telling you. You focus on him, ignoring the chaos, somehow knowing this is a moment you can’t miss, that this is the reason you couldn’t leave it all behind.

I’ll see you in the next life, mi amor.

You don’t see William signaling Commander Lin for help, shooting a bundle of arrows straight up into the sky.

No, you just keep your eyes on Pero, looking at the way the hair on his sweaty forehead has started to curl, and at the faint tremble of his lower lip, imperceptible if not for your closeness. You look at him and you pray with every fiber of your being he’s right.

And then the black powder ignites, blazing heat consuming your sight, sending you flying backwards. You hit the ground hard, sharp copper flooding your mouth as you bite your tongue. Ash, blood, and burning alien remains rain down upon you, overwhelming your senses, and everything hurts and—oh, shit, the cube! Where’s the fucking cube?!

“Mariquita,” Pero cries out, appearing like a classic action hero with blood smeared across his face and clothing torn. He throws himself on the ground beside you, hands hovering above your torso, gaze flickering from one wound to the next. Your condition must be bad, you reckon, to make a man who’s a sword for hire look scared of blood.

“I’m here,” he murmurs, finally resting a hand upon the top of your head, the only place not radiating agony. “No te dejaré.”

“Pero,” you croak, blood dribbling out of the side of your mouth.

He rudely shushes you, but you see the worried pinch between his brows. “Don’t talk. Silencio.”

You make a noise of protest, trying to infuse urgency in your voice. “The cube.” He’s staring straight through you, drowning in his fears, and you lift your broken arm, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, to grab his chin, forcing him to look at you. “Pero, I need the cube.”

His jaw clenches, that anger returning to his gaze to cover his concern, and for a second you think he’ll argue, that he’ll call you reckless again, but he doesn’t. Just like Marcus, Pero hears you and listens, trusting that nobody knows your own needs better than yourself.

He leaves and, impossibly, the pain seems to intensify in his absence. Your vision starts to blur, breaths sounding raspy even to your numb, cotton-filled ears. This is not the ending you ever pictured for yourself on your list of potential deaths. You didn’t even know you had a list, but, yeah, definitely death by exploding black powder is not even in your top fifty.

Apparently your thoughts turn morbid when you’re dying. Good to know.

Something hard is pressed into your hands, followed by Pero’s voice urgently telling you, “Here, mariquita. I found it.”

Found what? You blink your eyes open (when had they closed?) and see the cube, shining bright and golden like a beacon.

I’ll see you in the next life, mi amor, Pero had said.

You grip the bottom segment of the cube, fingers curling around its edges, and your very last thought before leaving that universe is, We deserve a better story than this.

…

“You, my dear little traveler,” a voice with no body says, velvety smooth and brimming with certainty, “are not supposed to be here.”

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Series Taglist: @amillcitygirl @marvelismylife @doin-stuff @giselatropicana @feminist-violinist @dessinemoiunehistoire @oh-javi-oh-papi @danniburgh @starlightmornings @cowboy-turtle

Pero Taglist: @a-skov @pedrosbisch @iamskyereads @banga-sama @disasterhann @coreychick @girlofchaos @chatterbean @reader-without-a-story @quicksilvermad

#pero tovar #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x reader #Marcus Pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #the infinity cube #my fic #my writing #pedro pascal character fanfiction #the great wall fanfiction #pedrostories

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megslovesbooks · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

thanks @messyhairdiaz, @sibylsleaves, @spotsandsocks and @elvensorceress my beloveds!

I wont tag anyone because its officially Thursday here now.

I'm cheating this week because not only is it not Wednesday anymore here, this is also not a wip, I just posted it. But it was a wip this afternoon?? I dunno. lol!

Was feeling crummy today so decided to make Eddie feel even worse, have some Whumptober no. 13 'Hyperthermia' as the latest chapter in my odd little h/c collection.

read on ao3

The thing is, Eddie knows better.

He was a medic in the middle of the desert for Christ's sake. He’s been trained on what to watch for both by the army medical corp and the LAFD, heat stroke is no joke and the last thing he ever wants to do is put a patient or his teammates in danger because he’s been ignoring his own body. He’s more careful than that.

It's just–he hadn’t noticed, truly he hadn’t, or at least he’d just thought it was normal on the job overheating. Nothing he couldn’t solve with a bottle of water or two and a cool shower back at the station. Yes he’s been feeling overly warm today, its August in Los Angeles, its fucking boiling. And sure, his arms have been cramping a little, but he and Buck have also been hanging off this glass and steel building for nearly 45 minutes while they try to secure the window washer’s rig that had gone rogue and smashed into the plate glass windows of the boardroom mid meeting. Rope rescues always put a lot of strain on your arms and he’s not as young as he used to be (something Buck, an infuriating 5 years younger, is so quick to remind him). But now, as his vision blurs out for the second time in as many minutes, Eddie is starting to worry he might be in a little bit of trouble. Right on cue Buck glances over at him and raises an eyebrow.

“Hey.” He says, squinting against the glare of the mid-afternoon sun reflecting off the tinted glass that seems to stretch around them for miles. “You ok? You’re looking really flushed.”

So here’s where Eddie makes his first real mistake. Because he should probably just tell Buck he’s not feeling great, that his stomach has started to roil uncomfortably and he can feel his heart rate picking up. But they’re so close to being finished. The window washer with the broken arm has already been whisked away to the ambulance, the remaining board members trapped between the ruined scaffolding sticking halfway out of their office have been evacuated, and he and Buck only have three or four more points to tie off before the rest of the metal pipe and wooden slats of the rig can be safely removed. Ten minutes–tops–until he’s back on solid ground, or at least solid rooftop. So instead he just tries to make a reassuring face and says,

“I’m fine, just ready to be out of this sun.” He has to stop there and clamp down because his gut is clenching painfully and sour acid is creeping up the back of his throat. He focuses instead on the rig in front of him, trying to get his clumsy fingers to clip the final ropes in place, checking the soundness of the connection while Buck, who is still looking at him with a frown etching itself deeper and deeper between his eyebrows, radios up to tell Bobby they’re almost done.

Just a few more minutes, he tells himself, just a little longer–

“Eddie.” Buck says, and the sharp edge of his tone makes Eddie think maybe it's not the first time he’s said it. “Cap needs a verbal response.” Oh. Right.

“Copy.” He says, keying his radio, “Diaz here, good to go.” God is he ever.

It feels like it takes an age to get back to the top of the building, by the time the top ledge is in sight Eddie knows it's no longer a question of if he’s going to throw up, but when.

It's here he makes his second, and arguably biggest mistake. The top lip of the roof projects out eight or so inches so it takes a bit of effort to pull one’s body out and over the edge. He should wait for help, be sure the extra slack is out of his rope then let the others hoist him up onto steady ground. But he’s starting to feel a little frantic, he really doesn't want to vomit while he’s still hanging off the side of a building, so as soon as he can get hands on the lip of the roof he’s straining to push himself up, feet scrabbling for purchase against the stonework.

Maybe it's all the extra time he’s been putting into the gym lately, maybe it's the sick adrenaline making his heart beat so fast he can barely breath, maybe it's sheer desperation, but somehow he gets himself up on his hands and knees on the edge of the roof. It's wildly against protocol, and he can vaguely hear Bobby yelling at him to stay down, but he can’t do that. Nothing feels real and he can’t quite remember what’s so urgent now, but he knows he has to get up, has to–

He forces himself to his feet, his vision swimming, head spinning so badly he loses all sense of direction. His stomach lurches violently and he doubles over to be sick. Hands are reaching for him and he doesn’t know why, he doesn't want them touching him. He twists away, stumbling back a step and then–

Oddly the fall isn’t much more disorientating than standing still had been, his vision still a spinning blur, his insides lurching with the feeling of wrong wrong wrong, his ears are ringing so badly he can’t hear the cries of the voices around him, it won't be until much later that he even understands what’s happened. The fall is fine. It's the sudden stop at the end that nearly obliterates his consciousness for good. The line pulls taught so fast it takes any breath he has left, pain searing along the lines of his harness. He thinks maybe he swings into the side of the building, that maybe it's the impact that whites out his already spotty vision, but he can’t be sure. It's too much, pain and light and sound and heat, he can’t bear it. He thinks maybe he’s sick again, or maybe he just wishes he could be. For the first time in his life he wishes for unconsciousness but it refuses to come, leaving him trapped in a burning twilight he can’t seem to find his way through.

There are hands on him again, but these are familiar–safe–so he leans in, something like a sob wrenching itself out of him when he hears Buck’s shaky voice right beside his head.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you Eddie, you’re ok.”

It's too much to answer, but he tries to reach for Buck anyway, there’s a thrumming in his bones that tells him no matter what’s happening to him right now, Buck will see him through it.

“Just stay still ok? I’m gonna get us back up, you just let me do the work.”

He has no choice but to comply, going pliant against Buck’s body, his forehead pressed to the rough fabric of Buck’s uniformed shoulder. Hands work to anchor them together then slide up his shoulders and pull him closer still, one hand cradling the back of his head while the other locks around his aching ribs. Then they are moving again, or maybe not–it's hard to tell when he’s still so dizzy–but they must because the next thing he knows he’s on his back on the scorching concrete of the roof and god its so fucking hot. His blood must be boiling in his veins. He doesn't want to be here anymore.

“Hey hey hey.” Buck’s voice in his ear again, frightened. “Stay with me Eddie. Open your eyes.”

“Here.” Someone else says, and suddenly the relentless beat of the sun is blocked. That’s better, it's still bad, but it's better.

“Come on Eddie, open your eyes.”

He couldn’t do it for anyone else, but it's Buck asking, so he pries his eyelids up, blinking tears and dark spots away. He’s still dizzy, but it's better than it was. Buck is there, crouched by his head, face panicked.

“There you are.” Buck says, a shaky smile curving up the corners of his mouth. He shifts and presses a wet cloth to the back of Eddie’s neck and it feels better than anything has ever felt in the history of everything. Someone is cutting his shirt open, Hen he supposes, because Chim is busy sliding an iv into the back of his hand. Rodriguez stands above him, uniform shirt off and held over his head like a tent. Eddie thinks it might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for him. He tries to say so, but the sounds that tumble out of his mouth aren’t even close to words. Buck shoots Hen a frantic look but her attention is locked on the pressure cuff she’s got strapped around Eddie’s left arm.

“Pulse is 173.” Says Chim, and the medic in Eddie’s brain recoils. Too fast, it's too fast and he can’t– “180.” Chim corrects, then meets his eyes “Try to breathe ok Eddie? We’ve got you.”

“Temp is pushing 106.” Hen says, then swears, “His bp is tanking, we’ve got to get off this roof.”

Everything is going white around the edges and Eddie knows that it doesn't matter how much he wants to stay, he’s going under. The thought should scare him, but he’s so tired, feels so bad, that the idea of not feeling that anymore is welcome. He wishes he could reassure Buck though, knows it’s going to scare him. His mouth simply refuses to work, but he does manage to tip his head to the side, pressing his cheek into the curve of Buck’s wrist where he holds the cool cloth in place. Buck’s other hand comes up to cradle his jaw, fingers brushing sweat soaked hair off the side of his temple.

“I’m right here.” He says, so softly that Eddie isn’t sure if he actually hears it or just knows…knows in his deepest self that Buck is always, will always, be there to catch him. It's the thought he takes with him into oblivion.

#911 on fox #911 fic #whumptober 2022 #no.13 #eddie diaz #evan buckley #megs writes #wip wednesday #sorta #just some unedited feels is all #its all fine

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cable-knit-sweater · 2 years ago

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Uhhhh so I'm supposed to be in my idk-what-i'm-doing-here meeting but I was scrolling real quick through Tumblr and saw this post you reblogged... And ughhhh, now I can't stop thinking it's deep Evanstan energy of them both at a mutual friends' wedding and trying to go back to their hotel rooms but one of them is locked out of their room 👀

Oh, what are they to do???? 😏😏😏

PS: I still don't know what I'm doing in this meeting. Why did they invite me???

Love ya! ✨

Hiii lovely 💕💕💕 I absolutely love it when you ignore work to come talk to me 😂😂 I hope that meeting wasn’t too bad and you eventually figured out what it was about lol

And Oh My GOD yes 😍😍😍 I love that idea. I… I love a lot about that idea. Everything, really. I know ideally this idea involves them finally getting it together and Chris fucking Seb’s brains out, but the fluff/cute drunk idiots getting together in the most cheesy way- thing I came up with in the last… 45 min lmao will have to do 😂 (below the cut, possibly full of mistakes bc I didn’t read it before posting lmao, hope you still enjoy)

Love you toooo 💕💕💕

Evanstan, 1.4k, T

“Fuck”, he curses under his breath. He was sure that he put the keycard in his suit jacket pocket, but now he can’t find it. He pats himself down, hoping he can find it in one of his other pockets, but no, it’s really not there. He’s not sure what to do, feels stupid going back down and asking reception for a new one, not too eager at the possibility of running into people again and having to make excuses. He knows he’s being dramatic, they’d probably easily give him a new one. He sighs, resigning himself to the fact that it’s really his only option.

Before he can turn around and walk back to the elevator, he hears footsteps coming up behind him, followed by a deep voice he knows all too well. Fuck. Guess he’s gonna look like an idiot in front of the guy he’s been impossibly, painfully in love with for like, a decade.

“Hey, everything okay?” Chris asks, and his voice sounds a little slurred. He can’t blame him. Sebastian definitely had a couple of drinks too many, with the open bar at Scarlett’s wedding being very generous in their pours. He turns around to look at Chris, whose hair is a little messy, like he’s been running his fingers through it for a while, a couple of the top buttons on his white shirt open and his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks a little flushed too. “You were gone”, Chris continues, “tried to find ya but…”, he gestures, trailing off and scratching the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

Sebastian looks at him, braces himself to be laughed at. “I…I guess I was just getting a little tired, thought it’d be good to get some sleep but…”, he shrugs, “must have lost my keycard somewhere”. He can’t look Chris in the eye, can’t deal with being made fun of, especially not wanting him to see the embarrassed flush of his cheeks.

But when Chris laughs, it doesn’t feel like it’s directed at him. It’s light, airy, the sound of it making Sebastian snap his eyes back up. “Oh man, I don’t think I can even count the amount of times that happened to me.”, he says, before sobering up a little. “Want me to help you look? Or go downstairs to get a new one?”

Sebastian shakes his head. “It’s fine, I don’t think I’ll be able to find it now. Will just…” he sighs deeply, “I’ll just go ask them for a new one I guess”. Chris nods, hums. Sebastian is about to say good night, make his way to the elevator, but when he’s about to open his mouth to talk, no sound comes out. Nothing comes out because… when he looks at Chris, he’s staring at Sebastian’s lips intently, biting his own, pulling his lower lip into his mouth with his teeth. “I..I should-should go get that key, yeah, uhm. Yeah, good night?”, he finally manages to stammer out, but he doesn’t wait for a response, feeling like he’s only embarrassing himself further.

He presses the button to call the elevator, staring up at the numbers, willing them to go down more quickly. He lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding when it dings, the elevator mercifully empty and steps inside. But before the doors close, an arm reaches in and blocks them. He stares up into Chris’s eyes, blue-green and glittering. “You could, you could go get another keycard”, Chris starts off, looking a little nervous. “Or, you could uhm. I don’t mind. If you’d wanna crash with me, figure it out tomorrow?”.

Sebastian thinks his heart is gonna beat out of his chest. He’s not sure he can find his voice, but he sees what he thinks is hope slowly dimming in Chris’s eyes, sees him start to reach back his arm that’s blocking the doors from closing. He quickly steps forward, “yeah, yeah I- I’d love that if you’re sure that’s okay?”. Chris beams back at him. “Yeah. Definitely.”

It’s a little awkward, Chris’s arm still reached out, Sebastian having taken a step forward. It’s like they’re both frozen in place a little, close, too close together, and they’re shaken out of it when the elevator doors ding again trying to close. “Oh, yeah. Right”, Chris says, stepping back, gesturing for Sebastian to follow. When he gets to his room, he puts the keycard in, but he goes to fast, and it doesn’t unlock. He tries again, laughing in frustration when it doesn’t work. He looks back at Sebastian, blushing a little.

“Could you…?”, he asks, and Sebastian nods and takes the card from him, shivering a little when their fingers brush. He gets it on the first try though, opening up the door and gesturing for Chris to go in first. He follows right behind, softly closing the door and turning around to see Chris stumble over to the bed. “You need to borrow anything to wear? To sleep?” Chris ask, and Sebastian shakes his head. He’ll just…he guesses he’ll just sleep in his boxers and undershirt. Fuck.

“I’m just gonna go use the bathroom”, he calls out, needing a little space to get his head together. He splashes some water in his face, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to convince himself that this is not a big deal, that he can handle it. But who is he trying to kid here. He shakes his head at himself, starts taking off his suit. When he’s done in the bathroom and makes his way to the bed, he sees Chris still sitting in the same spot he left him.

“Everything okay?” he tries, still feeling unsure about how to handle this whole situation. When Chris looks up at him, he’s pouting. “The buttons. Ughhh. They’re not- can’t seem to open them”, he mumbles, a frown on his face. Okay. Maybe Chris is more than a little drunk. That’s fine. Maybe that means he won’t remember all of Sebastian’s awkwardness and stupidity in the morning.

He makes his way over. “Need some help?”, he asks and Chris nods at him, so he leans down and helps Chris unbutton his shirt. How they managed to hang on so long in the first place, Sebastian doesn’t know. That shirt is stretched tight. When he gets to the last one and looks up, the look on Chris’s face makes all of the air in his lungs disappear instantly. His lips are wet, a little red from where he’s been biting them. But it’s the look in his eyes that makes Sebastian have some trouble breathing. It’s. He looks hungry.

He doesn’t get much time to think about why, or if he’s maybe mistaking, because a fraction of a second later, Chris is pulling him up, pressing his lips to Sebastian’s. He can taste hints of beer, whiskey, and the traces of a cigarette Chris must have stolen off someone. He closes his eyes, praying for the moment to not come to an end, but as quickly as Chris had moved in, he’s moving away again.

“Fuck. Shit. I. Fuck. Seb, I’m sorry I..”, Chris starts, scrambling back further onto the bed. “I shouldn’t. I’m sorry.” Sebastian takes a step back, giving him some room, studying his face. He’s not sure what to do, what to say. Should he leave? He feels a little heartbroken, thinking Chris must not have realized what he was doing, who he was kissing until it was too late. He turns around, thinking he’ll just get dressed, get a keycard and just figure it all out tomorrow, if Chris even remembers.

But then Chris whispers. “I didn’t want it to happen like that”, he hears him say, and he looks back around at him, in shock. It takes all of his energy to ask it, but he does. “Do you mean like this, because you’re drunk? Or at all?”, he tries, bracing himself for the response once again that night. “Like. Like this”, Chris says, voice still quiet. He shakes his head at himself, sighs deeply. “Wanted to do that for a long time”, he says then, and the sadness in his voice breaks Sebastian’s heart, but what he’s saying…that makes him feel a little like he’s floating.

He can’t stand the hurt, disappointed look on Chris’s face though, so he walks back to the bed, takes Chris’s hand from where he’s nervously tugging at the sheets. “Me too. For a long time”, he whispers back, and if he felt like he was floating before? Seeing the relieved, happy look on Chris’s face after he says that? He’s not sure he’s ever gonna get back onto solid ground.

(Obv they fall asleep wrapped up in each other and have some amazing morning sex when they’re both sober and not feeling too hungover lmao)

#maya answers #evanstan #rpf #goddd this is so long 😂#it got out of hand #i blame Tej 💖💖💖

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missmonsters2 · 3 years ago

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👀 for the Halloween drabbles what about wanda x reader going through a haunted house but r is absolutely TERRIFIED of anything horror and is just latched onto Wanda's arm the whole time and it either leads to a confession or is already established. either works. I'm just starving for spooky fluff 🥴

I hope you enjoy this because your reblogs are always <3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader (Modern AU)

Warnings: Wanda is such an asshole LOL

Count: <1k

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"Wanda, this is an ACTUAL haunted house."

"You don't know that for sure."

You looked over at your girlfriend. The thought of perhaps strangling her would be the only way you were getting out of this.

"When you said haunted house, I assumed you meant the carnival," you sighed.

"You're the one who kept insisting nothing scares you. There's no way I would take you to a simple fake haunted house," Wanda rebutted.

"So, you admit this place is actually haunted," you accused.

Wanda made a motion of zipping her mouth.

"I'm not going in," you shook your head.

"Then you're admitting you ARE scared then," Wanda looked positively gleeful.

"Yes—of death!" You threw your hands up in an exasperated manner. "Which is exactly what will happen to us if we go through this house."

"Scared you might see a real ghost?" Wanda waggled her brows.

"I'm scared of the structural integrity of this house," your voice deadpanned.

"Either we're going through this house or you're admitting you're scared and I win the bet," Wanda sternly said, signaling that she wouldn't be debating the conversation anymore.

God, your girlfriend was so obstinate.

"Fine," you gritted out.

The notion of everything being a mistake becomes more prominent as you walk through the dark and strangely damp house. It was a mistake to get cocky with Wanda while drinking with her the other night.

Why had you insisted you weren't terrified of things like haunted houses or ghosts?

You thought it may be because Wanda looked like such an asshole when she was smug.

You gripped her hand tightly.

"You scared, miláčik?"

You didn't need any light to know Wanda was smirking.

"No, just wouldn't want you to wander off and die if your foot fell through this rotting floor wood," you tried to say casually.

It felt the house was expanding and contracting, a strange breeze flowing through despite no windows being opened or broken.

Why they haven't torn this building down, you'll never know why.

Pitter, pitter, pitter.

"Did you hear that?" You asked Wanda suddenly.

"Hear what?" Wanda said offhandedly as she swung both your hands back and forth.

"The footsteps upstairs!" You hissed.

Wanda hummed. "No? I mean, it's kind of hard to hear anything when you're cutting off the circulation in my hand, miláčik."

"What would that have anything to do with your ears?" You asked in disbelief.

"I'm using all my focus to make sure I'll have fingers after this. They're quite useful to me...and to you," she smirked.

You wanted to tell Wanda she was the worst and that you hated her, but you bit on your tongue as you powered through. You just needed to do a walkthrough upstairs, and it'd be over.

It would be so worth it when it was over.

Wanda's phone buzzed in her pocket as the two of you walked, and she let go of your hand to check and answer the text. You tried to walk closer to her as she dawdled.

You turned your head to look at the walls as you passed. So many portraits of the previous tenants still hung on the wall. There were a lot of family photos as well. You wondered why they hadn't taken these with them.

Or did they not take the photos because they couldn't. Because they died. In this house.

This was so fucking miserable.

"Wanda?" You whispered but turned your head to find her rounding the corner. "Wanda," you called again as you picked up your pace.

You turned the corner and—

"BOO!"

"AHHHhhHHHHH!"

You screeched, your whole body freezing and jolting. You felt your heart pound painfully in your chest as it began to race. Your blood was pounding in your ears.

Wanda burst into a fit of giggles, slapping her hand over her mouth.

"Oh my—I'm so sorry," Wanda's shoulders were shaking with laughter. "But you're totally petrified, miláčik. I'm definitely the winner."

You raised your hand to your chest, taking deep breaths. "You're literally the fucking worst!" You glared at her. "God, I wish you'd fall through the rotting wood."

Wanda dropped her hand, her lips still pressed together as she tried to compose herself. She took a step forward and wrapped her arms around you.

"I'm really sorry," Wanda pressed a kiss to your jaw. You hated that her lips felt extra warm in this cold house. "C'mon. Let's get out of here and I'll make it up to you at home, okay?"

You scrunch your nose, half-curling your lip at her but didn't protest as she took your hand tightly and began to lead you out.

"You're awful." You muttered forlornly as you made it down the steps, just a couple feet away from the door. "You really wanna be on top that bad tonight?"

Wanda chuckled. "I have plans for you, miláčik. None of which can be done when I'm underneath you. Also, I really want to watch more FRIENDS after."

You groaned, thinking about how your girlfriend's toxic trait was watching FRIENDS too many times.

"Whatever," you sighed as you finally exited the house. "At least we're done with this place. It's really weird how they kept all the portraits in the house when the house is so worn down."

Wanda stopped as she looked at you with her brows furrowed and a frown. "What are you talking about? There weren't any photos in the house."

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff x y/n #avengers imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #modern avengers au #Elizabeth olsen x reader #mm: my fics #mm.drabble.wanda

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bokutosworld · 4 years ago

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for the love that i’ve lost | miya atsumu

pairing: miya atsumu x f!reader wc: 1633 words, angst with happy ending (maybe? lol) summary: when the past finally catches up to him, atsumu decides to make long overdue amends.

Atsumu lives life with no regrets. In all his years, he’s been careful with his choices and decisions; no hint of hesitation in his actions as he’s never too fond of the idea of looking back and beating himself up over the chances that he didn’t take.

But with this invitation in one hand and his brother on the phone in the other, he gets an unsettling feeling. The one mistake that he has been running away from all these years has caught on to him. In his palm, his greatest fear has materialized.

“‘Tsumu, are you still there?”

For a minute, the setter was frozen in place, the hand holding the piece of paper was shaking and his eyes frantically reading and reading the contents of the letter. His strong resolve crumbles, the feelings he has locked away in his heart comes crashing in waves and he’s overwhelmed with the bitterness of longing and regrets – the very emotions that he has been concealing for the past years.

Osamu is still talking in the other line, filling the silence that his twin brother left. When he came home from work, the other half of the Miya brothers saw a suspiciously decorated envelope on the mailbox. Ripping it open, he carefully reads the words written in cursive letters and when he processes it, his mind instantly flies to Atsumu.

And with Atsumu's prolonged silence on the phone, he figures that he's looking at the invitation right now.

"—don't have to go, you know that, Atsumu. I can attend in your stead. You're probably busy with training anyway, especially with the exhibition match against Schweiden Adlers happening soon."

"’Samu," Atsumu's voice wavers as he contemplates what he's about to say next. "Did you know? About her engagement?"

He sinks down on the sofa, closing his eyes and remembers the day she texted about the news. "Yeah, she informed me. I'm sorry I didn't relay the news to you."

Atsumu chuckles bitterly, the tight grip he has on the letter slowly crumpling the paper. "You're mean, you know that?"

"Oi, shut up," Osamu raises his voice in his defense. "You're the one who asked me not to tell you any updates about her. I wouldn't have known that she'd send you a letter directly."

A beat passes before he continues his statement. He knows his brother best, and if his intuitions were correct, Atsumu’s currently sulking and wishing for a way to undo his past.

"She still cares for you, ‘Tsumu. She misses her friend.”

---

The setter retires to the comforts of his soft bed, laying on his stomach and groaning loudly on a pillow. He’s still reeling from the aftershock of receiving the news that his ex – the one and only love of his life, his sunshine, his high school sweetheart – is getting married.

Not to mention the cold hard truth that Osamu dropped on him.

“You’re my brother, but I can’t keep taking your side. Atsumu, she was your, our childhood friend first before being your lover. She’s been in our lives for so long, you can’t just cut her off as if you were ripping a band-aid. You immediately left town when the two of you broke up so you can pursue volleyball and you didn’t see how heartbroken she was,” Osamu spat, the words stinging his twin’s feelings more than he intended.

“’Tsumu, you left her to grieve on her own. She made me swear not to tell you but every day, she kept asking me about you and how you were doing in Tokyo. It was like that for years until she met him.” There’s a brief pause before Osamu proceeds to dump the truth on Atsumu. “He healed her and showed her what it’s like to love again. Now, she’s happy. That is what you want, right? For her to be genuinely happy?

Atsumu’s lost count of how many times he’d wished he had never let you go. It’s the only choice that he regrets – one that always keeps him up at night when he’s lying in bed and staring at nothing but the darkness. It’s during those wee hours when a familiar pain creeps in; it’s a pain that brings him back to the moment that he released your hand and walked out of your life. The words this is what’s best for us ringing constantly like a desperate chant, a vain effort to convince himself that he made the right choice. He’d hoped those words would bring some sort of ease in the aftermath of the breakup, but he was royally wrong.

He reaches for his phone on the bedside table, opening his social media and searches for your profile. It’s been a while since he visited your page and when he does, he is greeted by a picture of you and your fiancé, happily smiling in each other’s arms and looking oh so painfully in love. As he continues to explore your page, he has half a mind to press on your contact that he’s saved. He wonders if you’ve changed your number, but it doesn’t take him long to decide as his thumb that was hovering over your name has now pressed the call button.

Closing his eyes in anticipation, he can feel his own heartbeat in drumming in his ears and he almost ends the call but your voice brings him back. “Hello?”

As soon as he hears you on the other line, Atsumu jumps up in surprise and he has to look at his phone to make sure that the call actually went through.

“—mu, is this you? Hello?”

He quickly puts his phone to his ear and clears his throat before saying his greeting. “Hey,” he laughs nervously, fiddling with the loose thread of his blanket. “How are you? I’m sorry, oh my god, did I wake you?”

You chuckle, “No, I haven’t slept yet. I was arranging things for the wedding.”

Silence overtakes the conversation for a moment, and Atsumu is thankful that you can’t see the way his face has fallen, sadness ghosting over his features. “Congratulations, I got the invitation.” He wants to ask why you even bothered to send him one, call you out on how insensitive you were because it felt unfair. Unfair at how it took him years to forget you; but it only took you mere seconds, just one letter and one hello, and you were back to his life again.

“Do you remember that time we sneaked out and spent the evening looking at the stars? The skies were clear and we watched the most beautiful meteor shower,” Atsumu asks, suddenly feeling nostalgic. You reminisce the old times and think how could you forget that memory when it was that special moment that made you realize of your strong affection for the boy?

“Of course, I do,” you confess and Atsumu could hear the faintest of a smile in your words.

“That night, when we saw the shooting stars, do you want to know what I wished for?”

“What?”

“For you to be the one that I’ll spend the rest of my life with.” His sudden confession takes you aback, and you can’t help but feel pained. You feel like crying, your voice is strained when you quietly mutter his name but he continues. “I know it’s too late for regrets, but I really shouldn’t have given up on us like that. Up to this day, I think about what could have happened if I fought for us the way you did. I keep looking back and I miss you.”

“Every day, I wake up and wish that you were in my arms. I get off from practice and hope that you’re waiting for me at home. I’d love to experience all that with you, but here I am,” you hear his voice break. “I realize I never really said sorry for how I left you so suddenly, I hope you can still forgive me.”

“Atsumu, I’ve forgiven you way back.” That’s all the affirmation he needs so he can put to rest his regrets and break free from his haunting past. The two of you settle in a comfortable silence as you wait for him to collect himself, the sounds of his sobs undoubtedly breaking your heart. When he does, he surprises you with his question,

“So this fiancé of yours, does he treat you well?”

You let out a hearty laugh and it elicits a smile from him. “He does, Atsumu. He’s a real gentleman and I know you’d get along.” From there, the phone call proceeds with lighthearted chat, catching up with each other’s lives, telling him the story of how you met your soon-to-be husband and the mood has shifted and it feels like two best friends reconnecting.

There’s a question you were afraid to ask since the start of your conversation, “Will you be able to come to the wedding?”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“It’s your choice. But it’s a special day and I’d want all the special people in my life to be there.” You admit. “You’re still that person to me, Atsumu.” He hates it when his brother was right, but he can’t deny it. He wants to be back in your life, even if it means just staying as a friend.

“Isn’t that too cruel? Inviting your ex to your wedding? Are you sure your fiancé is okay with that,” he teases but he’s already decided that he’d be flying home and staying over at Osamu’s for the weekend of your wedding.

If he can’t be the one waiting for you at the altar, then he thinks he owes it to you and to himself to see you off with a big smile.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #atsumu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuucreations #haikyuu one shot #atsumu scenarios #atsumu angst #haikyuu drabbles #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu fics #hq x reader #hq x you #haikyuu x you #haikyuu!!

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ramzawrites · 4 years ago

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Prince!Eret x Assassin!Reader - One Dance

Pairings: Eret x Reader

Characters included: Eret

Warnings: mention of death, talk of murder, very small mention of alchohol at the beginning

Series: No, a small fast drabble

Summary: You were sent to the local ball in order to get close to the heir Eret only that once you see the perfect chance for you to strike your emotions and feelings think this would be the best time to flare up.

Word count: 2119

Authors Note: I wrote this in the 2nd person which I’m not sure I like but I tried doing it anyway. I have been super busy with college but I wanted to write something for Eret since I love them a lot! Also this is really just a small drabble for fun so don’t expect too much lol

You sighed, taking another sip from you champagne glass. It was more so you fit in with every other snobby looking rich person in this ball room who where either dancing or chatting the world away than to enjoy an alcoholic drink.

Everyone was wearing these garish gowns with even more horrible looking masks. Thinking it would hide their identity and making a fun game out of this. Of course if you knew someone it wasn’t hard to recognize who was standing in front of you but if you didn’t it was apparently a charming game of who is who.

Though you weren’t here to play games. No, you had a job to do.

The good thing about this kind of ball is that it was actually not that hard to stand out. Everyone was wearing glittery, garish dresses and suits that the easiest way to stand out was by wearing something more toned down. All you had to wear was something that showed off the good parts of your body with simple garments.

That’s what you did. The only real choice you made when looking for what to wear was the color. At the end you settled for a simple wine red color. The mask you wore was covering both your eyes while also covering half your face.

There was no way anybody knew you there but it wasn’t about being recognized. The point of this mask was that you remained unknown. The Syndicate who you worked for made sure you were dressed properly for the event and wanted to give you at first a ceramic mask that would cover your whole face but you made the point then that this would probably pull a bit too much attention to yourself. The whole allure of this mask business was that you could see a hint of the real person.

This wasn’t your first job technically but this was your first job doing it alone and while being face to face with your victim. Honestly when it came to assassinations this was a classic and therefore should be treated as such, meaning people were expecting this.

Your goal? Prince Eret. The old king died a few weeks ago and he was about to be crowned the next ruler of the country but there were a lot of people who would love to see otherwise. Surprising? Not really. Especially seeing how the last king was a horrible ruler making sure to make the rich richer and bleeding the common folk dry. As far as people knew Eret wanted to do his best to undo this damage.

You sympathized with him, really, but a job is a job. To that you weren’t a big fan of any kind of government as well. You grew up with the Syndicate and got raised by them. You saw it all from the normal folk starving, getting beaten by the guards for not paying their protection fees all while the rich where eating cake and drinking the most expensive wines. So no, you held no love for this ruling system.

Everything was set. You had poison hidden in your clothes in case you get a chance to put it in his drink, got knives hidden and if worse came to worse you could use your hands. Now, of course to use all these things the damn prince had to appear but as it stood he was nowhere to be seen.

Angry you remembered how you told your mentor that honestly the best way would be for you to sneak in and kill him in his sleep but no this assassination had to be dramatic. To be fair this was the easiest way to get close to him if he would appear that is.

Repressing another angry sigh you decided to get some fresh air at the balcony. Give it five minutes and then return, if he is still not there you had to go back home. Your mentor forbid you to do anything else as it could jeopardize the whole assassination. Better to not attempt a failed murder and just regroup to find the next best opportunity.

It was already dark. The stars were up in the sky next to a full moon. A beautiful night for a sneak mission. Yeah, you were still not over that.

You took a good look over the view from the balcony. Right beneath it was a beautiful garden with all kinds of different flowers and hedges. Placed in such a way that it almost looked like a maze. In the middle was a beautiful fountain placed. Silently splashing in the night. It was then when you noticed someone sitting at the fountain, hunched over. Their back turned to you.

“That damned Prince.” You muttered. Of course you haven’t seen him in the ball room he has been hiding out there. This was perfect! He was alone!

Not trying to show your hurry you walked painfully slow back into the ball room, then out the room and snuck your way out into the garden. Before visiting the palace you had to learn the basic layout of the castle which honestly hammer back in how unnecessary this building was. So many rooms with no real use.

Outside, once you got close enough to the prince, you slowly pulled a dagger out that was hidden on your body. All you had to do was stab him. Either in the throat or heart. Easy enough. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Though as you stepped closer Eret tensed up. Did he hear you? You made sure to be as quiet as possible, there was no way.

“So, I’ve been found.” He spoke and turned around.

As he did you put both your arms behind your back, hiding the dagger in your hands. Trying to put a soft smile on your face to look more friendly “I am sorry, your highness. I saw you from up in the balcony and excuse my manner of speech but you seemed a bit miserable. Who would I be if I didn’t check up on the future ruler.”

Horrible.

Wait, did he roll his eyes?

“Oh, sure. I’m good. You can go back to the ball and enjoy it.”

This really wasn’t what you expected. You thought he would speak in this posh manner as all the others up in the ball room but he seemed almost normal. In fact everything seemed suspiciously normal. He wasn’t sitting up straight, his shoulders slouched, mask askew, clothing splotched by water. This prince was far removed from being what you considered princely.

To your horror you let out a chuckle. Where was your control all of the sudden? The prince eyed you with a curious gaze.

Embarrassed you tried to salvage this situation somehow “Oh, I’m sorry. I just didn’t expect you to be so-“

But Eret interrupted you “So undisciplined? Rude, even?” There was some bite to his words. Someone must have really laid in on him because of his behavior if that is how he reacted.

You shook your head “I would describe you as normal. Not snobbish like the others.”

For some reason he relaxed at that. A smile appeared on his face “Sorry if this offends you but you seem rather normal compared to the others as well if you see me like that.”

“Thank god for that.” You sighed.

The prince chuckled “Well, I’m glad to have met a somewhat kindred spirit then. I’m curious though. Can you tell me your name?”

“Y/N” you answered. Why did you say that? A blush spread on your face. Oh god, you are so screwed, oh no. Any name would have been fine but why did you blurt your real name out?

Eret took off his mask. Now you could see his genuine smile even more clearly “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Ye- Yeah.” You stammered as you tried to mirror his smile. You needed to get out of there, now.

This went downhill way too fast.

Your heart hammered against your chest, you felt rigid while also shaking out of nervousness, your cheeks were red and warm. Honestly you would love to just push your face into the fountain to get out of this shocked state.

The prince looked so genuine under the moonlight. You mentally slapped yourself as you noticed that he was looking pretty handsome under this light.

“Want to sit here with me a bit? From what you described you didn’t seem to be the biggest fan of the ball as well.”

You nodded as you inched towards him and sat down. He returned to look back up at the stars. There were no words exchanged, yet it felt somewhat intimate. At least to you.

Gripping the dagger, still hidden behind your back, you waged your options. Just a stab. Right now. It would be easy. Just stab him!

But your body refused to move. What was all that grueling training for if you couldn’t kill your target? Hell, you have killed people before so why were you now having your troubles? Was it because this time your mentor wasn’t with you? Were you really so incompetent alone?

Then the music changed. You could still hear the music from the garden. It was quiet but still audible. The change of music pulled you back out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath you finally made your decision.

You slowly opened your hand, letting the dagger fall slowly with almost no sound into the water behind you. Something in you stopped you from doing the job, no sense in jeopardizing the whole operation by making a mistake. All you had to do was get out and deal with the consequences then.

Just as you wanted to get up Eret turned to you. A blush on his face as well “I’m not good with this but would you care for a dance?”

He was cute you thought in horror.

“A dance? Out here?”

Eret let out a nervous laugh that send the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy “I mean, would you prefer dancing between the others? Of course if you don’t want to dance I understand. It’s not really something a lot of people like.”

Biting your lip you stood up “One dance. Then I have to go. It is getting late and my family is waiting for me.” Somewhat of a lie. You considered the Syndicate as your family but you weren’t blood related.

Eret’s nervous expression turned into a happy smile. He stood up and took your hand in his. Giving you a little wink as he led you away from the fountain so you both had more room to move in. Your heart couldn’t handle this.

Together the two moved in tandem to the music. Giggling every time both of you made mistakes. Stepping on each other’s toes, almost crashing into one of the hedges or just making up your own dance moves that didn’t fit to the music that was softly playing in the background.

“Would it be rude of me to wish this dance never ended?” Eret asked. His voice soft with an emotion you didn’t dare to accept to be there.

You laughed “No, I too wish this would never end.” It was the truth.

“So tell me your full name or a way to get into contact with you if that is alright with you. I would love to stay in contact.”

That blush would never leave your face, huh.

It took a moment before you answered “I will get into contact with you, that is a promise alright?”

You then moved towards him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and as he sucked in a breath you let go of him. Moving away back inside, leaving the place in a relative hurry, all while Eret was still scrambling and trying to understand what just happened.

He tried to follow but you gave him a warning glare, stopping him in his tracks.

As you moved away from him he softly touched his check, returning back to the fountain. He couldn’t help giggling to himself. Whatever just happened it was the first time in a long while that he truly felt happy. His heart beating rapidly as he put his hands on the side of the fountain. Staring down into the water, as his rush of emotions slowly calmed down again.

It was then as he saw something glinting in the water. Curious what it was he moved closer. Surprised he pushed his hand inside the water to get a dagger out. A small dagger, sharp as can be with a few intricate designs at the hilt.

#mcyt x Y/N #mcyt x reader #mcyt reader insert #mcyt fanfiction #reader insert #dream smp fanfiction #dream smp reader insert #dream smp x Y/N #dsmp reader insert #dsmp fanfiction #dsmp x reader #The Eret #The eret smp #the eret dsmp #eret smp #eret dsmp #ramza writes

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missskzbiased · 4 years ago

Text

I Hate That I’m Afraid to Love You (17)

Genre: Romance, Friendship, Angst, Hurt /Confort , Suggestive, Fluff, College Au, Enemies to Friends to Lovers Au, REALLY Slow burn, Love Square (?)

Pairing: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader X Han X OC

WC: ~ 7,5,K

[Previous] [Chap] [Next]

Masterlist

Warnings (general*): Language, Mentions of (Physical abuse, Death/ Loss of Loved One, Child Abandonment/Neglect, Divorce, Toxic Parents, Cancer, Mental disorder, Anxiety Attack, Alcohol, Food), Suggestiveness

Notes: It’s Hyunjin’s Pov. I got to finish chapter 18 today. Probably gonna try to write some of 19 later. I’m posting earlier just because I’m really tired and I’m afraid I might be too sleepy later LOL

Updates: Tuesdays

////

HYUNJIN’S POV

You were being ridiculous.

You crossed your legs, sighing as you stared at both cups in your hands in wonder. Why would you be sitting on a bench on a Monday morning with two cups of coffee ─ well, actually one cup of black coffee and one of iced Americano ─ if not to wait for someone? It was so painfully obvious that for a second you thought about throwing them away in the trash and acting as if you weren’t a… You didn’t even know how you should be calling yourself now.

You scowled, getting up from the bench and heading to the closest trash bin, settled in assuming your usual fuckboy façade to try to approach Y/N. Why would you act differently now? It wasn’t like you loved her or something… Maybe you were a little bit infatuated by the fact that she could listen and understand you better than anyone else –

See? That kind of awfully awful thought… You should be ashamed.

You kinda were.

“Hey” Yeah… Of course, she would see and talk to you at the exact same moment you were about to throw coffee away for absolutely no reason. You exhaled slowly, closing your eyes to recompose yourself before turning around with a smug smile.

“Hey” You offered back in a husky tone.

“Did you scratch your throat or something?” She asked in confusion, frowning as she stared at your neck “You sound… I don’t know… Kinda different?” She said unsurely, hands trailing to her own throat and massaging it mindlessly.

Great… Exactly the reaction you wanted.

“Oh, no!” You cleared your throat, massaging it as well “I bought these drinks and I drank yours by mistake” You explained, handing her the cup. She narrowed her eyes at you, studying you closely before reaching for it.

“Thanks…” She said warily “What’s the occasion?” She asked, tilting her head, eyes wandering around your face before she sipped the coffee, humming in appreciation “This is really good!” She raised her brows in surprise, shifting her gaze to the cup.

“Well, I stopped by a café to buy some for me on my way here, and… Well, I remembered you have an exam today, right?” You smiled at her, knowing far too well that what you just said was bullshit “I thought you could use some real coffee today” You shrugged.

“I don’t have an exam today…” She frowned, holding the cup with both hands as she thought about it.

You fought back a smile, watching as she scrunched her nose and tried to figure out what was going on; lips slightly projected forward in something close to a pout but not quite. The way she held the cup with both hands made her look smaller than usual, and for some reason, you found it incredibly endearing. There was something soft spreading in your chest, some kind of warmth that made you want to wrap her in your arms and squeeze her but you ignored it.

Y/N wasn’t the cute little type… She would hit you for sure if you tried to do anything similar to this. You were yet to understand how she didn’t just kill you after the fake kiss at the stairs… You were lucky as fuck. She raised her eyes to you in question, making you gulp down. You had those eyes so close to yours… That nose brushing against yours… Those lips…

“You don’t? I must have heard it wrong then” You lied, sipping your drink mindlessly. Or at least, you hoped she thought all of it was natural and unplanned “Well, you like coffee anyway…” You shrugged, glancing at her as you walked together towards the stairs “Consider it a friendship treat” She hummed, nodding in mock acknowledgment.

“Why does it sound like a poor excuse to buy me something?” She laughed, nudging your side “It’s awesome to have two rich friends to pay for my stuff” She joked, taking another gulp of her coffee “I guess this one is pretty good because it doesn’t even feel like grumpy o’clock anymore” You laughed at this, smirking at her.

“Maybe it’s not the coffee but my company” You said suggestively, wiggling your brows at her, making her chuckle, “Or it could be the sugar” You said playfully, grinning when she took the bait.

“Not really, those from the stands are usually really sweet… This one is actually way more bitter than I’m used to” She admitted “But it’s g—“ You didn’t even let her finish.

“Oh? So you’re saying you prefer sweet things?” You could tell she knew you were about to make some silly input just by the way she arched her brow in expectation “If you want some more sugar, I can be your Sugar Daddy, you know?” You joked, fighting back your laughter as she grimaced at you, huffing.

“Really?” She couldn’t help but chuckle “That must have been the worst pick up line you have said in your whole life” She pointed out, grimace dissolving into a playful expression “You’re too young to be my sugar daddy, though” She reminded you, shaking her head in amusement.

“I can be your honey, then” You chortled when she choked on her coffee, pushing your shoulder lightly as she looked at you astonished.

“Oh my God… You’re a compulsive flirter, what the hell!” She whined, wiping her mouth “How can you come and show your face when you’re like this?!” She asked dumbfounded, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Did you look at my face? There is nothing to be ashamed of here” You joked, and she grimaced again in mocking disgust “Come on! You love me just like this” You said in a singsong “You said so yourself” You reminded her, making her snort.

“I do love you just like this” She agreed, offering you a small smile that made your heart flutter for a second “The amount of self-esteem oozing out of your ass is going to be my thesis’ theme, so I have to love it” You rolled your eyes when her small smile dissolved into a mocking one “I may even get a prize… I don’t think someone ever saw something as big as this” She joked, making you snort.

You opened your mouth to retort her but she beat you to it.

“Please… No comments about your dick and your hook-ups” She pleaded, furrowing her brows at you in disgust.

“Hey, I wasn’t going to say something like this!” You protested, even though it did cross your mind “I was going to smoothly change the subject to the book I couldn’t finish reading because I had to save Han’s ass that day” You threw her your best condescending smile, getting a knowing mumble as an answer.

“ I see… So you want the juicy gossip” She mocked, making you roll your eyes “I have the book back if that’s what you want… But the coffee and that not so smooth change of the subject make me think that you want to know more” She smirked.

“Not really” You shrugged, though you really wanted to know, “I just want the book back so I can finally finish it” You lied, and she nodded, clearly not buying your words “I mean it” You tried to emphasize your fake intentions but she just rolled her eyes.

“What do you wanna know?” She asked bluntly, stopping to rummage through her bag before handing you the book “We’re okay now… He needs more time and I’m okay with it” She summarized, zipping her bag close “Everything is fine and I’m late for my classes” She chuckled, hoisting the bag over her shoulder.

“So… He talked to you like an actual human being?” You sneered, and she threw you a look before sighing.

“Yes… He made a good point, to be honest” She giggled, remembering something from their conversation “He was afraid to talk to me about needing more time because he knew I’d go and try to convince him otherwise” She seemed to find it funny “Anyway… He has a lot to deal with right now, and I can wait for him to act normal again” She shrugged.

“I see…” You pursed your lips, patting the book’s cover distractedly “And what about Paris? She told me she kinda confessed to him…” You cleared your throat, trying to change the subject again.

She narrowed her eyes at you, suspicious of your question.

////

The book was good but that wasn’t the only reason for you to be here.

You looked around the library, trying to find an inner excuse to be here apart from returning the book to Y/N, but finding nothing interesting enough. You leaned on the counter, waiting for her to show up as you mindlessly flipped through the pages, clearing your throat to see if you could catch her attention on the back. As much as you felt ridiculous doing things like this, there you were acting like a needy crushing boy…

What goes around comes around.

Would you even imagine that one day you would be trying to catch someone’s attention instead of simply having it on your own terms? No. You wouldn’t. You could just return the book to her tomorrow ─ when you would see her in class anyway ─ but you choose to come to the library on a Thursday afternoon just to do it… Someone should be stopping you from being… A Han or something.

Ugh.

“Oh!” She blurted when she came back to the counter, looking at you with curious eyes “What are you doing here?” She asked interested, suddenly frowning and seeming to think deeply “Shouldn’t you wait like… I don’t know some weeks to break up yet?” She seemed genuinely confused by your presence, and you found it too amusing.

“Can’t I come here to visit a friend?” You teased, arching your brow as you failed to fight back your smile.

“I mean- Well, yeah…” She floundered, clearing her throat “It’s kinda unexpected” She admitted, chuckling “Not even Chan comes to visit me in here and he actually likes to read” She joked, and you leaned on her way, resting your chin on your palm as you smirked at her.

“Well, maybe you should pick me instead” You suggested, looking into her eyes with your best alluring look but the girl seemed to be built to ignore all your charms.

“You wish” She snorted “At least, Chan doesn’t jokingly flirt with me all the time!” She rolled her eyes, bumping your nose playfully before organizing some books on a desk behind her.

“Neither do I” You said sincerely but she laughed dismissively.

Well, you weren’t jokingly flirting with her… She was just too dense.

“Anyway!” You shrugged off, placing the book on the counter with a thud “I’m here to give it back to you” You smiled at her as she glanced over her shoulders “I’ve finished it and I hate to admit it but you were right… It’s really good” And you weren’t just saying it.

“Oh? Better than your drama?” She taunted, grinning mischievously.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself” You grimaced at her, making her giggle “But I was wondering… Do you have any more indications? I may have liked it enough to read some more…” You muttered, and she smiled knowingly at you.

“I always have some good indications!” She chirped “I knew you would like it! We have a section here that is filled with books that might be of your liking… Do you want to check them out?” She asked excitedly, and you had to fight back the urge to coo at her.

She was too cute for her own good.

“Well… Why not?” You shrugged as if you weren’t interested at all “I can help you out with those” You gestured to the books pile behind her “And then you can show me this section… Maybe I’ll find something I like” She smiled at you, picking up the books and placing them on the counter for you to have access to them.

“Sounds great!” She said, studying you from head to toes “And kinda suspicious too…” She narrowed her eyes, a grin plastering on her face “First you buy me coffee and then you help me out with my work? Spill the beans” She said teasingly, and you looked at her with unimpressed eyes.

“If Chan was the one doing it… Would you find it suspicious?” You asked, arching your brow at her “You’ve been saying I’m too flirty and all that… But I’m beginning to think that you like to think I’m flirting with you, Y/N” You smiled condescendingly at her, tilting your head in a silent mockery.

“I didn’t say you were flirting with me now” She pointed out, grimacing at you judgingly “I said you were being suspicious” She reiterated “Maybe you’re the one who likes to think I want you to flirt with me, Hyunjin” She sneered, making you scoff as you looked away.

She was a too attentive piece of shit…

How could she be so perfect?

For Lord’s sake… You were wasted.

////

You were lucky enough to not be soaked to the bones.

You walked into the classroom, fingers running through your wet hair in a slow-motion that wasn’t really intended but also not completely unplanned. You didn’t mean to make it an event but what could you do? You knew what people wanted to see. You stopped in front of the board, fixing your hair as you looked at Y/N, licking the drop of water that reached the corner of your lips.

You lifted your chin just a little bit, half-lidded eyes fixing on your friends as you stretch your neck, letting the drops slid down your throat to your covered collarbone. You could hear some gasps around, and the quiet admiration fueled your ego as you shook your head to get rid of some of the water in it. You licked your lips, biting them before making your way to your seat.

You felt Y/N’s eyes on you, lighting up your smugness.

“Morning” You smirked, tilting your head as you threw her a look, eyebrows millimetrically positioned to give off the confident and sexy vibe you were aiming for “How are you today, ladies?” You asked jokingly, taking off your coat.

“Cold” Y/N answered mindlessly, studying you from head to toes.

You chuckled at her ─ making sure your voice sounded husky enough to enhance your attempt to look desirable ─ dusting off your shirt that was half-way opened. You noticed how she fixed her gaze on your bare chest for a second, though you couldn’t really tell what was going through her mind, and you smirked at her as she did. You opened your mouth, ready to tease her about it. The ‘Like what you see?’ almost slipping from your lips.

“Aren’t you feeling cold like this?” She asked in utter confusion “It’s freezing outside…” She added, tilting her head and looking at you as if you had three heads “Didn’t you see it was going to rain today? Do you need a coat? I can ask Chan to pick up something in my room” She offered, and you had to fight all your instincts not to scowl at her.

I can ask Chan to pick up something in my room… Tsk.

Unbelievable.

You glared at Paris as she snorted, looking at you filled with amusement. You grimaced, pretending to laugh along with her before sulking and sitting down. She pinched her nose’s bridge, trying to concentrate enough to not laugh straight to your face. You were surrounded by great friends… You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief as you buttoned up your shirt.

“What are you talking about, Y/N?” Paris asked playfully “Can’t you see that he’s too hot to be cold?” She mocked you, giving you a teasing look that quickly turned out in a pained one as you stepped on her foot.

“I don’t think that’s how it works” Y/N chuckled, resting her cheek on her palm and leaning forward on her seat to look at both of you.

“Don’t you think he’s hot enough for heating up the room?” She continued her teasing, and you had to breathe deeply not to slap the back of her head.

“You guys are so funny… Ha!Ha!Ha!” You rolled your eyes, huffing.

////

You should thank God for not being a spy.

You couldn’t really say you were doing a good job at hiding your newfound feelings ─ though feelings might be too strong of a word ─ from your friends. It was more than obvious that Chan would find suspicious the fact that you just fucking snapped your head to the mere mention of her name on the phone. So right now ─ as you sat on the couch, back straightened unnaturally ─, his eyes seemed to shoot a hole in your head to search for something in your soul.

“What?” You spat annoyed, trying to cover up for your slip-up with some fed-up manners that were bound to make him go away if you were lucky.

You weren’t.

“What?” He repeated fascinated “I’m the one who should be asking it” He chortled “You almost broke your neck just to pry into my call” He pointed out, brow arching up in suspicion. You pretended not to notice his narrowed eyes and musing; humming before he finally asked it “Hyunjin… Are you into Y/N?” the amusement under his tone was heavy enough to hit you like a brick.

“Please… What is there to like about her?” You scoffed, but Chan didn’t buy it at all. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his back on the counter as he studied you with attentive eyes. You cleared your throat, averting your eyes from him before connecting them again.

“Well… You tell me” He sneered “I wasn’t the one who got hard because she was on my lap” He reminded you; the teasing mixing with contempt as he huffed “I also wasn’t the one who spent weeks fucking random chicks trying to get the idea of fucking her out of my system” You paled at this, the cold sweat getting to your palms.

“I wasn’t trying to –” He interrupted you with a scoff.

“With all due respect… I have known you for years, Hyunjin” He rolled his eyes “You have never once fucked so many girls in a short amount of time like this… And just after you had a boner like a bloody teenager?” He snickered, grimacing at you knowingly “It sounds like someone was trying to prove something to themselves and failed” He tilted his head, challenging you to say otherwise.

“To be fair, I didn’t fail…” You muttered grumpily “It was all good until she talked with me…” You were fully aware that you weren’t making any sense, grumbling like a kid that had just been separated from their toy.

“Care to enlighten me?” He smirked.

Yes, I do! Fuck off…

This is none of your business!

What do you have to do with it? Are you her boyfriend?

“There isn’t much to tell…” You answered instead, shrugging at him “I realized that we have more in common than I thought… And it felt good to be listened to and have someone who understands me…” You cleared your throat “I was pretty much convinced that it was just a thirsty episode after…” You hummed, trying to search for a good word “That week…” You trailed off.

“So you actually fucked her out of your mind” He chuckled, finding it funny the way you tried to be polite about it now.

“Yeah…” You agreed embarrassed “And then she started to go after Han and it got me really mad because… Well, you know” You rolled your eyes “She was trying to make it all better and he was treating her like shit and…” You glanced at him uncertain but as his smirk dissolved into a serious expression, you knew he had understood it “Yeah” You concluded warily.

“It doesn’t answer my question” He pointed out, and you sighed.

Would he be less attentive someday?

“So I kinda pretended to kiss her to throw him off…” You mumbled, and you never saw Chan straightening his back so fast before “But I had my thumb over her lips!” You blurted, eyes widening as he uncrossed his arms.

“You did what?!” He sounded more surprised than mad, brows arched in utter disbelief “And it didn’t cross your mind to tell me this?!” He chortled “Didn’t she punch you or something? She definitely can take you down in a blink of an eye” He mused, looking for any bruises on you.

“She didn’t” You admitted, still finding it strange “I guess I was too hurt and she saw right through me… She knew that there was something wrong and she wanted to listen to me… So we talked it through and…” You played with your hands, glancing at Chan in expectation “Well, I don’t know what else to say” You shrugged.

“Just say you like her” He suggested, chuckling at you.

And that was exactly the thought you were trying to avoid all this time.

What was it to like someone? You had asked yourself thousands of times already. Was it about what you wanted them to see in you? Was it about what you wanted from them? Was it about how you felt when you were with them? Was it about the understanding between each other? Was it about wanting to be with them?

You wanted her to see you as the best one out there.

Although you found this urge silly and embarrassing, you kept acting like a fool every single time you were around her. You thought that trying to make someone like you, acting differently around them, and trying to convince them that you were the best version of yourself… It was definitely liking.

The problem was that as much as you wanted her to notice you and see you under a whole new light, you knew that there was no need to hide anything… She knew the deepest and darkest parts of you and didn’t run away. So, yeah! Maybe you were putting too much effort ─ even if you weren’t planning to do so ─ into impressing her but you knew that it didn’t matter in the end.

She liked you just the way you were.

For you, liking someone meant to be obsessed with things that shouldn’t matter at all. You didn’t expect her to do anything special… You didn’t expect her to say sweet things to you, or take care of you, or run her fingers through your hair… Well, you kinda wanted it but it didn’t really matter. As long as you had her smiling and sharing things with you… As long as she could tease you and laugh with you when you guys stumbled over each other around the campus…

You didn’t want her to go out of her way for you.

You wanted to be on her way.

You couldn’t remember a time when you felt genuinely happy with a girl… You could remember being smug as you walked around with them as if they were your new trophy. You could remember being playful and teasing and thirsty… Well, you could definitely remember being thirsty a lot of times. Yet, you couldn’t remember feeling so… At home? You didn’t even know if you could actually say something like that.

It was like she could understand all of you and still welcome you at the end of her day. It was like she could set you on fire and give you some kind of light and warmth that you didn’t feel for ages. It was like being with her was an adventure and still, you didn’t fear anything when you were beside her.

It was humiliating to feel like this.

And you probably were a hell of a masochist because you loved it.

You had to be stupid to think that all that had come from a simple talk on a Friday afternoon. You knew it was much more than that. It came from years of being disgusted with each other… Hiding and searching for the greatest weakness you could find. It came from being vulnerable enough to open up and redeem yourselves… It came from accepting each other… It came from listening, sharing, teasing, healing…

You scoffed, nodding at Chan as you met his eyes.

“Yeah… Maybe I like her” You agreed, lowering your gaze to the floor.

The problem was that Friday didn’t show you how you liked her… It showed you every single thing you were trying to ignore until now. It showed you how much you have gone through and how much both of you were connected to some extent.

It showed you that liking wasn’t quite the word you were looking for.

////

The first step was to acknowledge your feelings.

Bullshit.

The first step should be you burying your feet into Chan and Paris’ heads so they could stop being so painfully obvious about all of it. Was it just in your head or were they actually working together to humiliate you right now? Maybe they were just too excited… To be fair, you couldn’t understand what was going on inside their heads anymore.

It wasn’t like knowing your friend’s favorite dish was a crime, right?

Apparently, to the two holy detectives that watched every single step of yours, it was the worst of the crimes; worthy of knowing looks and teasing kicks. What a great way to live your life. You deadpanned as you looked at them, arching your brows to see Paris giggling as she retreated her leg and Chan smirking in your way. You let a hint of disgust show on your face as you wandered your eyes between both of them, wondering why ordering Y/N’s favorite dish should be an event now.

So what that you wanted to please her?

“Isn’t that like your favorite dish, Y/N?” Paris decided to play innocent. The way you had to hold back to not kick her under the table ─ just like she had been doing with you every two minutes ─ was worthy of mention on Guinness Books.

“Won’t you go to the kitchen to cook it?” Chan arched his brow playfully, and you closed your eyes to breathe deeply, trying to stay composed. You opened your eyes to stare at him, lips quivering as you held back a grimace and laughed it off sarcastically.

Of course, Y/N laughed about it as well.

So maybe on Saturday ─ when you finally acknowledge your feelings to Chan after he invited her over for lunch ─ you had let it all go to your head and tried to pretend you were a good cooker… But did he need to expose you like that? What a great friend you had! You kinda expected Chan to tease you about your feelings but you also thought it would be something more… Private, to say the least.

So, I made it for you… You had said to her and as soon as those words came out of your mouth, Chan chortled, almost choking on his food, throwing you an amused look.

You meant made the order, right? He laughed, and Y/N giggled along with him, pushing your shoulder.

“Fucking hilarious” You snickered, scrunching your nose “You should drop Med school and try to be a comedian or something… You’re so talented” You added, utterly done with them.

“You make it too easy” Y/N mocked you, grinning as she rested her cheeks on her hands, leaning on the table “No, but seriously now!” She said, grinning dissolving to an attentive frown “Even though roasting Hyunjin is one of my favorites hobbies” You scoffed, rolling your eyes “Paris and I actually wanted to invite you guys to a party” You frowned at her conclusion, tilting your head, intrigued.

“A party?” You decided to make sure, suspicious of it.

“Yeah” Paris intervened, smiling at you “Minho got into a team!” She said excitedly, and you couldn’t help but snort, grimacing at her as if she had just told you the best joke ever.

“So what? We don’t even talk to him” You pointed out, getting a nod from Chan, who also seemed curious about their suggestion “I mean… Congratulations to him! But why would I go to a party because of this?” You questioned, narrowing your eyes at Paris.

“Well… Han—“ You chortled, poking your cheek with your tongue.

“Really?” You sneered “So Han suddenly have the time and the urge to speak to you again?” You rolled your eyes “Unbelievable…” You darted your eyes at both of them, frowning “And both of you are going to go?” You gestured between them, arching your brow.

“And hopefully you and Chan!” Paris chirped, trying to keep the mood at the table “Come on… He was having a hard time figuring everything out and finally, something worked for him!” She pleaded, offering you big doe eyes that didn’t make you flinch a bit “Come on, Hyunjin! Do it for the team!” She forced a smile, and you sighed, shoulders dropping as you did.

“What in the hell makes you think that we would agree to go to his party?” You asked tiredly “You know far too well that I don’t like him… He hates me, he punched me, he hurt Y/N… I don’t have a single reason to talk to him” You enumerated, pulling one finger at a time as you did.

“He’s our friend, Hyunjin” Y/N reminded you “We’ll keep talking and walking with him and if you both keep hating on each other it’ll make everything awkward” You scowled at her “Just saying!” She shrugged “You don’t need to come but Paris and I really want you and Chan to get along with him at some point” You tried to hold her gaze but ended up averting your eyes anyway, tsking.

“Well… I don’t have anything against him” Chan shrugged “I don’t need to go to a party to hang out with him… I hung out with Paris wanting to choke her every once in a while for all this time!” He added, chuckling as she tried to slap his arm.

“Will it hurt you to go to a party, Chan?” Y/N nagged, rolling her eyes and getting a chortle out of all of you “I’m counting on your Daddy vibes to keep Hyunjin under your wing and prevent them from fighting” She pouted, trying to convince him.

Ridiculous and yet cute… What the hell.

“I don’t even go to parties to have fun… Why would I ever go to babysit them?” He grimaced, arching his brow “Moreover… Pouting doesn’t work with me, Sweety” He smirked, patting her hand over the table “You’ll have to try a little bit harder” He sneered, and she kicked him under the table, smiling obnoxiously at him.

“Was that hard enough?” She taunted.

“What about a deal?” Paris interrupted, trying to negotiate “If we convince one of you to go by the end of the day, then both of you will come with us” She smirked, throwing you a smug look that made you scoff, tilting your head.

“Deal” You shook her hand.

There was no way that Chan would agree to go.

////

So you had a party on Saturday.

“How the hell did you convince him?” You whined, looking at Paris in a devasted way as you sauntered through the campus, trying to find a bench to sit down. She chuckled, nudging you and taking a look at your face before grinning mischievously, shrugging her shoulders.

“I have my ways…” She answered mysteriously, making you roll your eyes.

“You’re working together to play matchmaker, aren’t you?” She stuck her lower lip out, tilting her head in a mocking way that said ‘who knows?’ and making you shake your head in disbelief “You’re sly as hell” You whined, getting a chortle from her.

“Come on! You clearly need it!” She insisted “You’re being way too obvious, Hyunjin! Paying attention to her likings? Buying her coffee? Ordering food and pretending to cook it?” She snorted, grimacing at you playfully “Trying to seduce her with a half-opened shirt?” She broke into a fit of giggles, probably picturing the humiliating scene.

“Look, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time” You scowled at her, pouting as you thought about it “If it really was that obvious, she would have said something by now” You pointed out, and Paris snickered, giving you a thumb up in mockery.

“Yeah! Because Han was so subtle and she totally figured him out” She sneered, and you couldn’t bring yourself to disagree. In fact, Y/N was blind to any kind of romantic feelings. You could come with a bouquet and a love letter… She would still find a way to see it as a great gesture of friendship.

You were too naïve for your own good.

“It’ll be so cute to see the two of you dating!” She chirped, eyes twinkling as she clasped her hands together, finally sitting down on a bench. She looked straight at you, waiting for you to say something, but you couldn’t bring yourself to answer her at first.

Dating? Who said anything about dating? You didn’t want to date her… You frowned as you looked at Paris, unsure of what to say to her as you cleared your throat, wondering how you should put it. Yes, you might be in love with her but… Dating? You snorted. A relationship demanded too much from you… Were you ready to attach to someone like this?

You didn’t think so.

“What is it?” She narrowed her eyes at you, suspicious of your behavior “Why do you look like…” She studied you from head to toes before settling her gaze on your face “…This?” She floundered her hand around, gesturing at you with a disgusted frown.

“What do you mean?” You tried to play dumb, sitting down beside her.

“You know far too well what I’m talking about” She accused, eyes narrowing once again “Hyunjin, by any means are you thinking about playing with Y/N as you do to the other girls?” She asked cautiously, searching for any sign on your eyes that confirmed her assumption.

“Never” You reassured her, hand going to squeeze her knee “It’s just… I mean, I don’t think I’m ready to go all in, you know? Yeah, I like her and all this… She’s my dear friend and I may or may not be in…” You gulped down, eyes darting at her as you cleared your throat “…to her” You finished, afraid to speak your real feelings out loud.

“In…To her?” She snorted, looking away for a second before throwing you a look “You’re in love with her, that’s what you are” She rolled her eyes, shaking her head in disbelief “You never did anything like this before, Hyunjin… You’re the type of guy who has people throwing themselves at your feet” She acknowledges, and you shrugged smugly, a playful smirk playing on your lips “Tell me one time you tried so hard to get someone’s attention” She requested, crossing her arms and leaning back on the bench in a silent challenge.

Romantically?

Not even once.

“Exactly” She grimaced, looking at you as if she could read your mind “If you don’t want to date her, why are you trying so damn hard? What is your point?” She asked skeptically, tilting her head as you opened your mouth to answer her.

Just to close it again in wonder.

She was right… Why were you trying to impress her so much if you had no intentions of actually getting into a relationship or something? It was more than obvious that Y/N wouldn’t be the kind to hook up with you and then just go with it… As far as you could tell, she had no experience in love. None. At all. There was no way she was going to just go with the flow and… And what? What were you expecting from all this?

“Hey, Hyunjin” The husky voice got you out of your thoughts, making you realize that someone was standing right in front of you. Not only someone. You remembered her from… Maybe a month ago? You couldn’t even remember last time you got laid “I haven’t heard from you for a while…” She continued; tone still sexy enough to turn your smug façade on “New catch?” She asked, studying Paris for a second, a subtle smirk on her lips.

“We’re just friends” Paris voiced your thoughts before you could, jolting her leg for you to let go of her knee. The girl chuckled, tilting her head as she seemed to eat Paris with her eyes, licking her lips before averting her eyes to you.

“Yeah… I’ve been his friend a couple of times too” She joked, winking at you “If you guys are up to more friends…” She let her sentence hang in the air, shifting her gaze in a suggestive way that made you flustered. Good Lord… She was asking Paris to join your… Oh my God.

“No need!” You blurted out, getting up abruptly “I mean- Do you want to be her friend?” You looked at Paris startled at the thought, getting furrowed brows that answered you right away “We don’t need any more friends, thank you!” You rushed to say, getting a blank stare before she averted her eyes to Paris, landing them on her for a few seconds.

“I see…” She hummed, smiling at both of you mysteriously before throwing a few glances over her shoulder as she walked away.

For some reason, it didn’t settle too well on your stomach.

////

You snorted, rolling your eyes as you smirked at Paris.

“I’m telling you!” She insisted, leaning forwards to slap Minho softly on the knee “The girl just came out of nowhere and suggested a threesome with me!” She laughed, leaning back on the chair as Minho huffed in disbelief.

“There’s no way” He looked at you in awe “I’ve heard your reputation but… I mean- Where can I sign in?” He joked, arching his brows playfully as he chuckled. He crossed his arms, letting his body relax on the chair as he looked at you in amusement, tilting his head as he seemed to ponder something.

It turned out that Minho wasn’t as unbearable as you thought.

“You’re not really my type” You fought back a smile as he scowled, nagging at you as he gestured mindlessly for you to get off of his tail “I guess you have to be born with a pretty face like me” You joked, and he groaned in answer, throwing his head back.

“Is that what you need to get girls now? Have an obnoxious attitude like this?” He scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief as he connected his gaze to you again, trying to hide his smile “You’re not really my type either, baby boy” He scorned, grimacing at you sarcastically.

“Who said he gets all the girls?” Paris teased, looking at you with grinning eyes that twinkled devilishly “A little bird told me that Hyunjin has a crush on someone and I haven’t seen him getting laid recently” You glared at her; lips quivering as you tried to hold back your frown.

“Wait” Y/N slowly raised her eyes from her beer, snapping them at you in surprise “You’re crushing on someone and everybody knows except me?” You paled, clearing your throat as you stared blankly at her, trying to think of an answer.

That’s how blind you are…

It’s not my fault you have such busybody friends!

Yep! Because that’s you.

“Aren’t you too interested in my love life?” You asked instead, trying to maintain a smug façade as you smirked at her, arching your eyebrow questioningly. She narrowed her eyes at you, seeing right through your attempt to change the subject. You hated when she did that… Yet, it was kinda endearing to know that she could figure you out like this.

“I won’t even begin to talk about how you’re always meddling in my life” She raised her hand as if to tell you to stop with your bullshit “You’re a fuckboy and you’re not getting laid! How can I not be curious about this?” She scoffed, making you chortle.

“I see… So you’re interested in my sex life” You corrected yourself, and she rolled her eyes “You can’t just live your sex life through me, sweetheart” You teased, pouting at her as she glared at you, clearly done with your teasing “You should have your own experiences… Actually having some sex instead of trying to stick your nose into my business” You chuckled as she huffed, poking her cheek with her tongue.

“Who said I didn’t?” She arched her brow in a challenge.

“What?” You asked, tilting your head in confusion as she gulped down her beer.

“Who said I didn’t get laid?” She repeated, crossing her arms over her chest as she stared at you “I may not be like you but I had a share of affairs as well” She shrugged nonchalantly, and you could swear your jaw was on the ground by now.

“You’re not a virgin?!” You blurted out in utter surprise hand snapping to your mouth as soon as the question slipped from your lips “Sorry! I didn’t mean to ask that” You rushed to say but she just snorted.

“I always thought you were a virgin” Minho added anyway, sounding surprised as he frowned at you “You’re always working and eating hot dog… When the hell did you have the time to bang?” He asked in wonder, tilting his head “I can’t be the only one who’s not getting some here” He nagged, making you chortle.

“You guys are too naïve” Paris chuckled “Y/N was clearly the cool mysterious kid that had a bunch of people over her feet!” She reasoned, gesturing to Y/N to make her point “It’s obvious that she got laid at some point of her life! Just look at her” She stated matter-of-factly, giving you all a know-it-all look.

“Not really” Y/N chortled “I just got laid because I ended up hooking up with Chan—“ You could have choked to death right at that moment but as soon as you opened your mouth to gasp, Chan’s voice reached your ears, startling you to the point that your choking died on your throat.

“Hey, Sweety!” He called, interrupting her “Can you come over here?” He gestured for her to get closer, and she frowned at him, suspicious of his behavior “I wanna talk to you” He added, making her sigh in surrender.

You watched her making the way to Chan, attentive eyes glued on his figure as you tried to process what she had just said. So Chan and Y/N hooked up in the past? And they had sex?! You were kinda suspicious of them lately… You wouldn’t lie. The sheets all messed up in the morning? His comment on how she was like a beast? The way he inquired you about your feelings on that night? The way he held to the bulge incident? The way he spent over a week at her place?

They had to have something going on…

You clicked your tongue as you thought about it, furrowing your brows as she finally got to his side, being guided ─ and you didn’t fail to notice his hand on the small of her back ─ to somewhere more private. The thing that didn’t make any sense was that Chan was actually trying to help you out to get your feelings out of your chest… Why would he do that if he liked her? But again… Who said anything about liking? They could be just banging.

“Wow” Minho said as soon as she left, looking at you and Paris “So the rumors are true? They’re together?” He arched his brows in awe. As soon as he arched his, you frowned yours, confused by his question. What rumors?

“What are you talking about?” Paris asked, as lost as you.

“Haven’t you guys heard about it? I’ve heard Chan has been visiting her at the library and there are even some rumors talking about how he spent the night at her dorm” He explained, trying to find any signs on both of you that confirmed those rumors “Chan is quite popular, so I guess people just tend to pay attention to it… He also called her sweety right now, didn’t he?” You scoffed, poking your cheek.

“People talk too much” You reassured him “There is no way they’re dating… One of them would tell us” You looked into Minho’s eyes, shrugging “Never heard them fucking either” You added, shifting your gaze to Paris, looking for something that gave them away “So I guess those are just rumors…” You chuckled, trying to act nonchalantly.

You weren’t so sure yourself though.

////

Obviously I had to forget something LOL

Tag List: Guys, If you wish to get notifications to this fanfic, please go here

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jawritter · 4 years ago

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My Rescue Story

Summary: People can be cruel and judgemental, but they don’t get to see the side of him you see.

Warnings: Fluff, just tooth rotting fluff. Maybe the tiniest bit of angst at the beginning. Language, Jensen being the soft little bean that we all love so much. That’s about it.

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Word Count: 1505

A/N: This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! This is just a spur of the moment fic. I figured you guys needed some fluff after I destroyed people with my last one shot, lol. As always people do not copy my work. Feedback is golden! I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist!

***MASTERLIST***

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“STOP!” Jensen said, swatting annoyedly at Jared, who was still trying to touch the small hole in the sleeve of his shirt.

The whole crowd roared with laughter as grumpy Jensen gave Jared the best bitch face he could muster. The one he knew everyone loved. The adorable scowl with the pouty lips and the scrunched up face. The one that made him look like Dean no matter how long his hair was, or how full his beard got.

You giggle along with the rest of the crowd as the panel continued along the lines of much of the same lighthearted, tomfoolery, that they always did. Apparently not everyone found it so funny that Jensen was acting especially grumpy on this panel.

One of the handlers, who probably thought that you would never hear her comment over the laughter of the crowd as Jensen and Jared reenacted some story that Jared was telling, made the comment to an older woman standing next to her.

“God, he’s such an asshole. Always in a damn mood.”

The other woman laughed at her friend. They were obviously talking about Jensen, who was currently giving an over-exaggerated grunt as he pulled himself off of the stage floor. The crowd ate it up. They loved it when Jensen acted like that because it reminded them so much of Dean Winchester. Still, these women didn’t seem all that impressed.

“I know, he’s always bitching on stage about something, or he’s acting like a grandpa while Jared is just trying to have a good time. He’s such a fucking killjoy,” she said, walking off the to the corner of the stage to signal the end of the panel to the boys with her friend following close on her heels.

Rob and the band scurried around the stage, singing the last question song with Jensen as Jared helped a younger-looking fan on stage to ask the final question of the panel.

You weren’t really paying attention at this point. Your mind was still stuck on what the handler and her friend had been saying about Jensen.

Jensen and yourself had not been dating very long, maybe around four months, and this was your first convention to have attended. They were still going, even though the show had ended. Which was impressive all on its own. The fandom was amazing, and everyone you had met so far was great, with the exception of a few.

How could they talk about Jensen that way? It was rude and inconsiderate, but more than that it was belligerently wrong.

Jensen and yourself had a bit of an age gap, roughly ten years, but usually, you didn’t even notice it all that much. He wasn’t an asshole by any means. He’d literally give the shirt off his back if he saw someone who needed it more than he did.

He wasn’t grumpy all the time. Hell, he and Jared had just been trying to shock Rob with one of those handheld, gag gift buzzer things before he got on stage. He usually carried such a light with him. He had a way of making everyone around him smile, and if he knew someone was having a bad day, he’d work especially hard to do so.

He in no way was a “grandpa”.

They didn’t know him. They didn’t know your Jensen. So why would they feel they had the right to talk about him in such a way?

You would never understand why certain people made it their life goal to look down on and talk about people, just because they were miserable; and the more you thought about it the more you felt sorry for those two women. They apparently had such a bleak outlook on things if they were going to take Jensen, who is an actor by trade, ACTING on stage for the crowd so seriously!

That’s not Jensen’s real personality, none of that is. It is all for the entertainment of the people that came to see them. Sure, there was some of his true personality mixed in there as well. There were moments when he’d get emotional, or when they would ask a question that hit home with him.

He was human, just like everyone else. Being human means you're imperfect. Jensen, like everyone else, had his flaws, but “asshole” was not one of them.

“Hey Princess, you ready to go head up to our room?” Jensen’s voice intruded on your inner grumbling as he slipped up behind you, and wrapped his arms around your middle.

As soon as the smell of his cologne surrounded you, your anxiety immediately started to fade away, and you leaned back into him, laying your head on his broad shoulder.

You could feel the stares of the handlers that had just been talking so badly about him, but you ignored them.

“Hey you, you don’t want to go get something to eat first?” you quested him, looking up into his piercing green eyes for a moment before he quickly brushed his lips over your own in what really wasn’t a kiss, but more of just a soft little touch that Jensen seemed to love to do when he thought no one was looking.

“Not really, I just want to go upstairs and cuddle with my girl until I fall asleep,” he mumbled, completely ignoring all other people in the room. You knew the longer you both stood there like that, the more attention you will attract. You were sure there would be pictures later of this, but you didn’t care, and neither did Jensen.

This was the real Jensen. Not some grumpy little smart ass on stage, though like everyone Jensen had his moments they were few and far between.

He was the guy you always dreamed you’d find. So loving, and soft. He craved your affection and you craved his. You’d never get enough of him, of this.

You could tell that he was tired. It had been a long flight the night before with layovers due to weather, and then the time zone difference always was a bitch, plus he’d been working nonstop. If he wanted a little cuddle time, how could you deny him that?

See, a relationship is more than just sex. I mean most everyone loves sex, and sex with Jensen was always absolutely phenomenal and mind-blowing. I mean come on, the man was 42 years old, sure, but he had the body of a damn Greek God; and he knew just how to use it.

It was about the tender little touches. It was about the fact that even though he was tired, he wanted to take a shower with you, just to be closer to you. Just so he could take his time pampering you just a little while. It was in the way he held you so close to him as the water sprayed down over his broad back and shoulders, that you could feel his heartbeat through his well-sculpted chest while his finger traced lightly over the wet skin of your back.

It was in the little kisses, and soft brushes of his lips against yours as you lay in the dark hotel room together, nothing between the two of you but skin. Slow, sweet. No needy hurry to get somewhere. Not all teeth and tongue. It was in the lazy way his lips moved slowly against your own, stealing away your breath as well as your heart.

It was in the way his hands barely moved over your skin while your hands brushed their way through his hair. His fingers played with little patterns that only he could see across the exposed skin of your shoulder. Every little touch made your heart feel like it could fly out of your chest, and flutter around the room.

The way he looked at you. As if you were his everything, his entire world! He could have anyone, but he’d chosen you.

Time like this, just time spent together. That’s what really felt like it drew you closer together. Connecting your very souls. Time falling asleep in each other's arms with his warm breath fanning over across your neck as his breathing became deeper and more even. You let your eyes wander over his freckle dusted skin. His face was soft, and his features relaxed, more relaxed right now than you’d seen him be in at least a week.

This was him, your Jay. The soft, loving, painfully handsome man that had the biggest heart you had ever seen in anyone.

He was your rescue story, and he didn’t even know it. He saved you from yourself. He saved you from the self-loathing, and self-doubt, showing you that you were beautiful. He showed you that you could be strong and that you were special. You probably wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for him.

So let those people think what they wanted too, they didn’t get to see what you saw. Your Jay, your world, your heart. Your rescue story.

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Forever Tags: @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @rain-dance-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #jensen ackles one shot #jensen ackles drabble #jensen x reader #jensen x you #x reader inserts #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fluff #jensen ackles fluff #fluffy jensen #cuddly!jensen #jawritter #dean winchesters #my rescue story

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forevercloudnine · 4 years ago

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batman forever riddlebat ship meme

(This one was inevitable. God, do I love this movie. @heroes-etc gave me questions from this ship meme.)

2. Who is the most insecure and what makes them feel better?

The obvious answer here is Edward because he is... clearly and pathologically insecure in his identity and requiring outside approval. You could argue he gets over this once he adopts his flamboyant supervillain identity, but as soon as he steps out of it to be Edward Nygma again he’s as self-conscious as ever. On some level his Bruce cosplay at the Nygmatech party is probably supposed to be a dig at his former idol, but it’s pretty transparent that he’s paranoid about not measuring up, especially once Bruce actually walks in.

As for what makes him feel better, two obvious high points of his self-esteem right off the bat (lol) are when Bruce is giving him positive attention in his intro scene, and directly afterwards when he’s murdering his boss for ragging on him.

Of course, neither external validation or murder is, like, a permanent solution to insecurity. Obviously. If they ever got together Bruce would probably make him go to therapy, which would be incredibly hypocritical because, as Dr. Meridian points out in this movie, that’s not exactly something Bruce is doing. Although in Bruce’s defense, if you count the novelizations as canon for this continuity, the psychiatrist Alfred hired for him as a child basically wrote him off as a lost cause that was going to inevitably self-destruct at some point in adulthood. So I can see why he’d think therapy isn’t for him.

"Young Bruce may seem quite the stalwart, but there’s still a child beneath that veneer of calm acceptance [...] The day will come when that veneer crumbles, and the boy reacts to the memory of his ordeal. Such matters may be postponed, but not indefinitely. And the longer this one is delayed, the greater the damage will be to his psyche.”

“Still,” Alfred pressed. “How do you think this will all come out? Off the record, if you prefer.”

Another pause. “I am not terribly optimistic,” the stout man admitted. “But I assure you, I will do my best.”

Alternatively, Bruce just lets Edward borrow his clothes and calls it a day. It’s less time consuming than therapy and both the movie and novelization demonstrate how into that Edward is.

He was murmuring to himself, “We’ll probably be dining at Wayne Manor together.” He envisioned Bruce sitting across from him, and began to launch into a narrative [...] “Yes. Yes. A Party in my honor? I should have rented a tuxedo. What?” he couldn’t believe it, “One of yours, Bruce?” He gave it a moment’s thought and then shrugged. “Why not? We are the same size.”

3. Who is the most romantic?

Uh, not Bruce! Batman Forever is the most thoughtfully romantic he gets in the entire series, and even here his only two dates ideas are “whatever Gotham social event my secretary tells me I need a date for” and “coming on to my date in my alternate identity to see if she loves me enough not to cheat on me with Batman.” Also, he vacillates between staunchly refusing to do any flirting at all and dishing out the least romantic pick-up lines possible.

You say “bad writing,” I say “totally in character for a hot rich guy who knows that this is as hard as he has to try to get into someone’s pants.” Bruce might love his partner with the intensity of a thousand dying suns, but he’s still sending Alfred to buy all their Valentine’s Day presents. His idea of a romantic evening for two is finally trusting someone enough to tell them his secret identity. If he’s done that already, or they already figured it out, then his playbook is over. That’s clearly the only romantic fantasy he’s ever allowed himself.

(I was going to say he does this once every movie, but he actually never does this in Batman & Robin specifically because he doesn’t actually care about Julie Madison. She proposes to him and he gets her name wrong while shooting her down. Add that to the “Bruce Wayne isn’t romantic” box.)

The ridiculous amount of magazine cut-outs populating Edward’s apartment indicates that he probably has a very vibrant and extensive set of fantasies involving Bruce, which is hinted at a couple times in the novelization.

Edward would certainly know him when he saw him. He’d spent enough time anticipating the moment, after all [...] Finally he was going to be meeting Bruce Wayne face-to-face, and he had every moment of the encounter scripted [...] He’d rehearsed it to perfection in his mind for weeks upon months.

In the grand scheme of things... in the fabulous, sweeping, intertwining destinies of Bruce Wayne and Edward Nygma, such a slip would not even rate a footnote.

He becomes suddenly and painfully aware that if Bruce Wayne walked away without Edward Nygma by his side, then that would be it. It would be finished. All these weeks, months... indeed, a lifetime of planning... and it was crumbling under him just like that.

Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean his fantasies are all romantic in the traditional sense of the word. This is a man who was charmed by Harvey holding a charity circus hostage with some kind of graffitied missile warhead. Tonally, there’s not even that much of a difference between his crush collages and his riddle death threats.

What’s weirder, using a magazine cutout of someone you hate to make a pop-up card of their face, or using a magazine cutout of someone you love to replace the anatomically correct heart in the cardiovascular system diagram you keep in your apartment/arcade/makeshift laboratory? Probably the former, since it was made with the express purpose of Bruce actually seeing it. Although presumably Edward was planning on taking Bruce to his apartment at some point? And in the novelization, he actually drags Bruce into his cubicle to look at his Wayne Shrine.

He grabbed Bruce’s arms and shouted “No, don’t leave me! I need you!” [...] Bruce was thunderstruck as he was pulled partway into Edward’s office... and then he caught sight of the shrine.

Edwards’s head bobbed eagerly. Now, finally, Bruce would understand the depth of Nygma’s devotion to his idol. He would see how important he was to Nygma.

Notably, the only thing that upsets Bruce about the fact that one of his employees has a serial killer wall dedicated to him at their work station (@heroes-etc: realistically.... IS this the first time this has happened? i doubt it.) is the fact that the shrine includes a picture of him taken directly after his parents’ death, which is obviously a huge trigger for Bruce’s PTSD.

Wayne’s gaze zeroed in on the picture of himself as a young man.

The eyes of Wayne the elder locked with Wayne the younger, and when he slowly turned his scrutiny back to Edward Nygma, Edward could feel the temperature in the cubicle drop to subzero.

Later, once Bruce isn’t being actively reminded of the most traumatizing day of his life, he reflects that he could probably relate to Edward’s specific brand of crazy, and hopes that it’s not too late to try again (it is).

He paused momentarily at Edward Nygma’s cubicle, thinking about the intensity he’d seen in the man’s eyes the other day. Nygma’s ideas might have been a bit odd, but that sort of passion—if properly channeled—could accomplish miracles. That was something Bruce Wayne certainly knew better than anyone else. Perhaps after this fiasco was the time to take Nygma aside under less-pressured circumstances. Start again...

With any other character, I would call bull on their being this unphased by someone being obsessed enough with them to build a stalker shrine, but, like. It’s Batman. He probably has a stalker shrine to Michelle Pfeiffer Catwoman in his cave somewhere. When they start dating, Edward mails the weirdest magazine cutout valentines to his office on the regular, and every time Bruce has to assure his staff that it’s not a ransom letter and it’s just “his boyfriend being romantic.”

9. What is the most embarrassing thing they have done in front of each other?

I mean, by most people’s standards, any one of the things that Edward does in front of Bruce could easily be the most embarrassing thing to happen to them in their lifetime. But for the most part, Edward seems blissfully free of that kind of self-consciousness. He accidentally introduces himself to Bruce as “[extended moaning sound] Bruce Wayne” and shakes it off without even registering his mistake. Even when he feels like Bruce has rejected him and his project, his emotional state is more shocked, saddened, and angry than it is ashamed. He does apologize to Bruce, during the scene where they first meet, for holding on to his hand too long during their handshake. And by “handshake” I mean that Bruce extends his hand to be shaken, and Edward just grabs on and holds it without any motion whatsoever for the entire first half of their conversation. Which might be the only time he ever apologizes in the entire movie. So I’ll say that was his moment of embarrassment.

Bruce only really embarrasses himself in front of Alfred, but Edward does manage to trick Bruce into getting scanned by his mind reading device at the Nygmatech party. Being tricked in general would be pretty awkward for Bruce, since this movie goes out of its way to show the audience how SMART and CLEVER and KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT BRAINWAVES Bruce is at every opportunity. But being tricked into getting your mind read is about a million times more embarrassing than just running into a wall like some kind of Looney Tune. Obviously having access to Bruce’s mind allows Edward to figure out that his former boss/current obsessee is Batman, but also it’s just got to be super weird in there. Bruce is a bizarre man.

12. What first changes when it starts getting serious?

Whether he’s idolizing Bruce or plotting his destruction, Edward is still seeing the subject of his lifelong obsession as a larger than life exaggeration of the real man. Some of that pedestal would probably survive into the beginning of a romantic relationship, but by the time they got serious Edward would have had to recognize that Bruce has both positive and negative traits. He would also have had to grapple with the fact that the man he once assumed would make everything in his life better is a lot of work to be around, especially in this movie’s continuity where the trauma of his family’s death and his guilt over allowing enemies like Joker to die are genuinely affecting Bruce’s day-to-day functionality.

(A lot of things, Chase.)

Edward’s introduction scene demonstrates that he doesn’t see Bruce as having these kinds of problems. His Escapism Wish Fulfillment Device TM is clearly a very personal project for him, since he, you know. Is kind of already living in a Bruce-centric fantasy world.

When he’s pitching it to Bruce, however, he states that he doesn’t think someone like Bruce would ever need to escape reality (which could just be ingratiating flattery, but he barely seems aware of what he’s saying at the time because he’s too busy staring with his mouth open at Bruce putting on glasses).

(Side note: an interjection from @heroes-etc

Anyway, moving on.)

Obviously we know he’s wrong, since Bruce escapes his reality every night by dressing up like a bat and scaring people. Normally that’s just subtext (or me being cynical and creating subtext), but Batman Forever introduced a hot psychiatrist who is constantly poking at Batman for being a power fantasy created by a traumatized mind to cope with intense feelings of helplessness in childhood.

The novelization makes it clear that it’s not the illusion of perfection that Edward is attracted to, however. The picture of Bruce in Crime Alley is what kickstarts Edward’s obsession, not because Bruce seemed flawless but because he seemed to be going through similar pain as Edward (whatever Edward’s pain even IS in this continuity). So I think recognizing Bruce’s issues would be less of a dealbreaker and more of a point of connection, were they to get serious.

He saw, there in Bruce Wayne’s face, an intensity that mirrored his own. An anger, a frustration at the hand that fate had dealt him. There were no tears on Bruce’s face. Instead there was a smoldering intelligence that Edward intuitively sensed was on par with his own.

There was something in Bruce’s eyes, something in that gaze. There was Bruce, in a moment of raw emotion, his parents just having been cruelly taken from him. And there was no self-pity. Just cold, hard anger.

[...] Ed still had the newspaper with him when he was walking home from school. Not that he needed it to read; the contents were safely locked away in his skull, thanks to his photographic memory. But he wanted to clip out the articles and pictures about Bruce Wayne. He found the young man fascinating, as if he had discovered a soulmate of sorts.

For Bruce, on the other hand, getting serious presumably just means attempting to include Edward more and more in the found family he builds in the latter half of the 90’s Batman movies. Alfred approving a love interest is not quite as tantamount in this continuity as it is sometimes (Micheal Gough Alfred is pretty laid back), but Bruce is still spending all of his non-Batman, non-socialite time with his butler. So if Edward wants to hang out with Bruce, he has to either get on Alfred’s good side or prepare for a lot of “romantic quality time” where his boyfriend’s dad is glaring at him from the background.

Dick is less important to get on the good side of, since he and Bruce argue all the time in these movies (apparently one of the proposed scripts for Batman & Robin was Bruce kicking Dick out of the house and making him go to college, where Dick would cope with his dad-related anger by bullying his psychology professor Dr. Crane into becoming a supervillain. I personally feel like I deserved to see that Scarecrow origin). So if Dick doesn’t like Bruce’s new boyfriend, it’s just one more thing for them to be catty to each other about.

Alfred’s niece Barbara Wilson on the other hand (who is adorable as a fusion of Barbara Gordon and Julia Pennyworth, do not @ me) would be absolutely vital for Edward to win over, because her opinion could easily either make or break his standing with her uncle. Also Bruce decided to adopt her within five minutes of meeting her, so he’s obviously fond.

19. Where do they go on their first date?

Edward’s fantasy sequence in the novelization makes it obvious enough that he would really, really like to have dinner at Wayne Manor. Hanging out at someone’s house isn’t really a traditional first date, especially if one of you is a billionaire who could have taken you literally anywhere, but clearly none of that matters to Bruce, because that’s exactly the first date he invites Vicki Vale on in Batman (1989).

It’s pretty painfully awkward (“You want to know the truth? I don’t think I’ve ever been in this room before”) until Bruce gives up on the formality and takes her down to eat the rest of their courses with Alfred in the kitchen.

I feel like his first date with Edward could probably go the same way, with a few major differences. One, Edward would have been super enthused about eating in the fancy dining hall, and Bruce would have only suggested finishing their meal in the kitchen because Edward clearly wanted to see As Much Of The Manor As Possible. Two, when Alfred offers to stop embarrassing Bruce and leave them alone for the end of their date, Edward would have insisted he stay and break out the baby albums. You cannot convince me that Alfred is not a scrapbooker. Actually, does what Edward’s doing count as scrapbooking? Maybe they could compare notes.

#riddlebat #batman forever #edward nygma #riddler #bruce wayne #batman #ship meme #i do not actually recommend reading the novelization because it did chase so dirty i still seethe about it sometimes #but it did make edward pretty fucking gay #now the batman & robin novelization i recommend wholeheartedly #because for some reason bruce has a huge crush on mr. freeze #like literally bruce stalked him for a while in his 20's #and his internal narration is constantly monologueing about how handsome victor is #truly george clooney batman is canon gay

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justanother-unluckysoul · 4 years ago

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Working My Way Back To You 8/11

Killian gets captured. When Emma finally rescues him, he’s traumatized and nearly broken from the torture he endured. Angst and h/c galore as Emma helps him through it.

I tried to go easy on the whumpy side of it since it’s supposed to be for Comfortember, but it’s me so I probably failed lol

I promised you guys some more comfort and here it is! For the prompts “panic attacks” and “exhaustion.” In which our poor pirate has just had a tough session with Archie and finds himself in dire need of some comfort. Thankfully, Emma is close at hand to give it to him. (also chapter count has gone up because these guys need a fluffy epilogue after everything they went through haha)

Unbetad as always so mistakes are all mine.

Tagging @cocohook38 as requested.

Read this chapter on AO3

Working My Way Back To You

Panic Attacks + Exhaustion

Killian gets better. He spends some time on the Jolly Roger, though his fingers still struggle to do much of the finer work on her and Henry picks up the slack with great enthusiasm. He goes out for drinks with David on a Friday night and only imbibes an appropriate amount of liquor, just enough to feel a pleasant buzz and not so much it leaves him hungover in the morning. Killian takes Emma in his arms regularly and kisses her and lets her hold him – though after the disaster of their last attempt, any further enjoyable activities are focused on Emma’s needs, and his trousers stay on until he’s alone in the privacy of the bathroom. But it’s okay. Emma continues to be supportive and gentle and like she promised that night, she doesn’t do anything he’s not comfortable with. Meanwhile, Killian keeps his appointments with Stacy and with Archie. He loves and laughs and lives, and does his best to move forward. But the way to healing is not smooth sailing. Other days every sound still makes him flinch, makes him want to hide away even from Emma. Some nights his terrible dreams have him running to the bathroom to empty his stomach. Sometimes his hand just won’t stop shaking.

-------

It’s a combination of a bad day and Archie poking at his trauma that finally does him in. His sessions with the cricket often leave him feeling drained, but this is something else – a dark, roiling storm of fear and horror throughout his body as his legs carry him onward without conscious thought. He can’t even remember leaving Archie’s office at the end of their appointment, but the overwhelming urge to get away has brought him to the Jolly’s deck and he can’t bloody breathe. He trips on something and slams onto the deck, hard. For a moment it all stops, recognizable wood under his cheek and his hand steadying, grounding. But up, up his mind screams, wild with fear, and he’s helpless to refute it. He should be feeling calmer now, standing on the Jolly like this, and maybe he would if he could get any of the salty air into his lungs or hear her familiar sounds over the roaring in his ears. The need to hide away lest someone sees him in such a frenzied state overwhelms him, driving him below deck to his quarters before his wobbly legs give out once more. This time he doesn’t have enough strength to follow the commands of get up, Hook! And it’s been a long time now since his subconscious has called him by that name. Killian’s losing himself, he’s going to fall right off the damn world, his head is spinning so much and he knows, knows he needs to breathe but he can’t quite get that message through to his ribcage that seems set on squeezing his lungs. He crawls rather pathetically to the nearest vertical surface to lean against. He fights his body’s instinctive desire to curl up and instead focuses on the feel of the solid thing at his back, legs sprawled in front of him, because he needs to breathe and folding in on himself is just going to make it more difficult. Just focus on where you are right now. Breathe. I’m safe. I’m safe. Just breathe. He’s so single-mindedly concentrating on trying to calm himself down that when his phone jingles, he nearly jumps out of his skin. And that sets him right back at where he started, undoing all the efforts he’d put into slowing his breathing and he bites out a strangled curse between ragged breaths, furious at his own weakness. He tugs the phone from his pocket, fingers trembling so bad he nearly drops it, and squints at the screen. Emma.

“Hey, Killian,” Emma’s voice comes through almost immediately once he presses the answer button, “How’d it go today?”

He doesn’t know how she seemed to sense all is not well and called him at this exact time. He hadn’t thought to ask for her help, but now her voice is in his ear, he’s feeling rather desperate for the comfort she could provide. But the words falter on Killian’s lips and since when did they start tingling like that?

“Killian? Are you there?”

“S-swan, I need…”

Help. Killian’s mind is at war, one side screaming that he’s going to die and the other, a quiet bit of rationality saying he’s actually fine, he’s experienced this before and he knows how to deal with it. Just relax, slow your breathing, you’re okay, you’re okay. He knows what he needs to do to bring himself out of it but dammit, it’s been centuries since he’d been felled by one this powerful and so he’s out of practice, okay? (He doesn’t know who he’s trying to justify himself to.)

“What’s wrong? Where are you?”

“Jolly…” he gasps and that’s all the breath he has.

The phone slips out of his hand. His fingers push into his chest, over his racing heart, as he tries futilely to draw a decent breath. It feels like his heart is trying to beat right out of him, an almost painful hammering that echoes in his ears.

“Killian?”

Emma sounds close. Real. No longer tinny through the phone, although the blood rushing through Killian’s head still muffles it. He startles at the sight of her face suddenly appearing in his darkening vision as she kneels beside him, the flinch making his head smack against the wood behind him.

“Hey, easy, you need to calm down, Killian, you need to-”

As if Killian’s not painfully aware of that fact and doing his best to manage such a feat. It shouldn’t be this difficult.

“Can I… can I touch you?” Emma asks, her voice a carefully steady tone, like she’s panicking as much as he is and trying not to.

Speech is beyond him now, but he nods, a tiny motion as his eyes flutter closed. Emma’s hand is on his shoulder at once and her fingers are tugging his fingers away from his chest to hold onto them firmly, a solid counterpoint to the terrible whirling of the world. It only makes him want to pull away a little bit, his scrambled mind briefly unsure if this contact is safe or not, though she asked and he gave permission. And he knows it’s safe. It’s only Emma. Gods, he really needs to calm down.

“Killian. Killian.” A soft mutter of don’t make me slap you, and Killian thinks he should respond to that strange comment. He can’t though, he’s too preoccupied with trying to get air. “I need you to slow it down a bit, okay? Breathe with me. In through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you can do this.”

He’s probably crushing her fingers right now, Killian thinks dazedly. Last time, he’d gripped the charms on his necklace so hard the marks on his hand remained for hours. The time before, he’d twisted his fingers into a rope, pulled it tight enough that it chafed his skin, desperately trying to find something solid to drag him back to reality as the tempest rattled his mind. Huh. Killian hadn’t even thought of those events in probably a century. It’s funny where the mind goes when it thinks you’re about to die.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, Killian.”

Oh, right. Emma’s still here. And he’s still not able to take a decent breath. He lifts his heavy eyelids and she’s so close, and so beautiful, green eyes wide with concern for him and her hair framing her face. He’s not sure at what point he’s ended up laying on his back with his head on her lap, but he’s not complaining.

“There you are,” she’s saying, and he’s earned a wan smile, apparently, “That’s it. It’s going to be okay. Take a nice, slow breath for me, yeah? Can you do that?”

Gods, she’s far more patient with him than he deserves. But his breath is flowing easier, her gentle touch and her calm voice quelling the storm within him. She’s caressing his face and he tries to pull his hand from hers because he’s surely hurt her fingers during his episode, but he’s trembling quite strongly now as he comes out of it and she won’t let him go.

“Ssshh, just relax,” she murmurs, soft and tender, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Just keep breathing, just like that. You’re doing so good, Killian.”

Killian thinks he’ll never get over how much he loves hearing her say his name like this, or any other way, truthfully. After so long being Hook to everyone he met, in both title and deed, the way his true name sounds in her mouth sends a wave of warmth through his whole body. It’s not desire or arousal; no, it’s more akin to the pleasant burn of rum down his throat. And what a miserable pirate he is that his only point of reference for how good things feel is to compare them to rum.

“Good, good,” she praises a bit more, and he revels in it, “Nice and slow, that’s it.”

With the calming of his body comes the calming of his mind, his thoughts sorting themselves into a functional order and-

“Swan, did you threaten to slap me?” Killian asks, going for dramatically offended but his voice is still weak and trembly. He hopes his face expression conveys his teasing.

It must, because Emma laughs then, a slightly unhinged version of it, testament to how shaken she too is, and Killian feels a rush of guilt for scaring her like this.

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t… I saw it in a movie once. It’s supposed to snap you out of it, either that or a kiss. But I don’t know if it would work.”

“A kiss? Well, I’d not make an objection to that method. Perhaps you could even show me right now, just how you intended to kiss me in such a way that I would snap out of it…?”

Slipping back into the easy, flirtatious banter feels good. Normal. Safe. His head rested on Emma’s legs, her hands on his skin, and now the attack has passed he can hear the water lapping against the hull and occasional soft creak-groan of his ship as the ocean moves her gently. But exhaustion seizes him now, abrupt and all-encompassing like every other time, and his head rolls further against Emma’s palm as he lets out a tired sigh.

“Whoa, are you okay?” she asks, startled at his sudden change in demeanour.

“Aye,” Killian says but he can’t quite gather the strength to move, “Tired. S’normal. I just need to sleep it off.”

“Normal? Killian, has this happened before?”

She sounds angry and he slowly tilts his chin up a little so he can see her. She looks angry too but he can’t fathom why.

“Not for a long time, love,” he assures her.

“A long time? Why didn’t you tell me?” she presses, “Weeks? A month?”

He can feel the weariness in his very bones. His eyes are closing against his will.

“Centuries, Emma.”

“Oh,” she whispers after a moment.

Then her hands are holding him a little tighter as she moves them through space in an instant, and the sounds of the harbour are replaced with the soft growling of a heater and what’s probably Henry rummaging around downstairs. He’s back home. He blinks slowly and takes in their bedroom, warm and cosy and Emma’s still holding him.

“Can you stand?” she asks, “The bed’s right here.”

“Aye. Can you-”

She knows what he’s asking before he asks it, carefully helping him to his feet and bracing him through the dizziness at the change of altitude. He collapses facedown onto the bed once his body allows him movement again, fully clothed but he isn’t intending to move again for quite a time.

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” Emma asks.

Killian nods, eyes already shut again.

“Jacket too?”

“Whatever you desire, love,” he mumbles against the pillow.

She snort-laughs, and he allows her to wrangle his limbs through the removal of his jacket and his boots, and then his waistcoat as well and finally his hook. He’s too weary. He feels as though he could sleep for an eternity.

-------

He wakes feeling terrible and it’s dark outside, his mind foggy and his mouth stuffed with cotton. The sensation is so strong that he must work his tongue around his teeth just to be certain there’s actually nothing in there. He probably should have had a drink before passing out. Ah, but it’s too late for that now. He’s just gathering his strength to go in search of water when-

“Killian? Do you want some water?” Henry’s walked into the room holding a bowl of… soup? Potentially. Whatever it is, it smells amazing.

Killian doubts his ability to speak with his mouth as dry as it is, so he just nods, and Henry grabs the cup of water from the bedside table – how had Killian not noticed that? His mind is still a little foggy, it seems. He sits up slowly and gratefully takes the cup that Henry gives him. The water feels wonderful, cool and fresh, and his thirst is only barely slaked once he’s downed all of it.

“Thank you.”

“Are you hungry?” Henry asks, “We made soup. But my grandparents are here for dinner, so… Do you want to come downstairs? Or you can eat up here if you want to.”

The weariness has somehow now morphed into a full-body ache, despite the hours of sleep he’s just had, and he doesn’t think he’ll be very good company in this state. He says the last part of his thoughts to Henry, who nods in understanding and sets the bowl of soup on the bedside table.

“Do you need anything else?”

“No, I’m alright. Thanks, Henry,” Killian says with a grateful smile.

“Ok.”

Henry smiles back before leaving the room. Killian hears him taking the stairs two at a time, and Emma half-heartedly admonishing him for it. The smile doesn’t leave his face as he takes a mouthful of the perfect soup, gently spicy and warming him all the way to his toes. Emma obviously had some help with the cooking tonight – she’s good, but not this good. He must remember to thank Snow White later.

--------

Archie had called her, Emma tells him when she comes up to their bedroom after Snow and David have left. That’s why she’d called Killian when she had, checking to see if he was alright.

“He just wanted to make sure you were okay,” she says, her fingers absently brushing through Killian’s hair as she sat on the bed next to him, “He said you left his office in a hurry and he was a bit worried about you.”

He remembers back in the hospital when he’d woken, disoriented and panicked, and she’d used this same method to calm him, gentle pressure and the tiniest scrape of her nails against his scalp as she worked her fingers through his hair. It had been comforting then and it was comforting now. After his meal, Killian had gathered the strength to ready himself for bed properly, but that small amount of energy is depleted again now. And if Emma’s not careful, he’ll go right back to sleep before this conversation is over, his belly comfortably full and his tired muscles coaxed into relaxation by her affections. He tries to rouse himself a little more. It’s not really working.

“He’s… that was good of him, I suppose,” he says, voice rough with the sleep he so desperately wants more of, “It’s just… My mind got a bit… stormy. It does that from time to time, and I didn’t want anyone to see me in that state.”

He can’t help the hint of loathing in his voice. Now that Killian’s had some time to think on the events of the day, he’s rather mortified that Emma had witnessed his moment of vulnerability. It would have been better if she hadn’t shown up, then it’s likely Killian would have blacked in his quarters and woken sometime later, once his mind had settled. It had happened that way before. And then nobody would have known how pathetic he really is.

“Did you tell him what happened?” he asks, trying to keep his mind on the present.

Emma’s fingers in his hair are helping to anchor him here, though they’ve stopped moving, just settling amongst the dark strands instead.

“Yeah. Was that… was that okay?”

No.

“Aye.” He’s lying through his teeth and Emma can probably tell. “I suppose he should know.”

“He wasn’t really surprised to hear about it, anyway. He said you guys went into some pretty dark topics today.”

Killian’s breath hitches, and his hand curls reflexively into a fist.

“Is that all he said?” he asks carefully, and he looks intently at her for any sign she’s not being honest with her answer.

“Yes. Don’t worry, Killian. I’m not going to hear any details from him, and I wouldn’t ask anyway. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that, you know.”

Of course. He does know, logically, that Archie would never share with anyone what Killian tells him about those two weeks in captivity, not even Emma. And he knows Emma would never ask Archie to do so either. But still, Killian can’t help that little thrum of fear in his heart.

“But if you ever wanted to talk to me about any of it, I’m willing to listen,” Emma says quietly.

Killian’s mind cries yes and gods no in equal parts. The two sides of him wage a brief but intense battle on the other, one wanting to open up to this beautiful woman who cares so deeply about him, but the other part wanting to hide away all the hurt in some dark corner of his soul.

“Perhaps one day,” he compromises, “But it wasn’t… I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, love. It’s bad enough having them in my own.”

“I’m the one that found you in the cellar, remember? I know what they did to you.”

Killian swallows, hard.

“It’s one thing to see the aftermath of that sort of situation, Emma. Quite another to hear the details of how it was done.”

She nods once.

“It’s okay. I get it.”

They don’t talk for a long moment, but the silence is far more tranquil than any sort of awkward. Emma resumes her soothing motions through his hair, fingernails occasionally scratching lightly at his scalp. His hair has got to be sticking up all over the place by this point and he knows it’ll take more than a little combing in the morning to get it tamed again. Killian’s just about to drift off to sleep when Emma finally speaks again.

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m okay,” Killian mutters, his words coming out a little slurred, “But I wouldn’t mind having you under the covers.”

Emma chuckles, her cheeks getting a bit pinker. Oops.

“To sleep, Emma,” Killian specifies quickly, because he’s definitely inadvertently dropped a potential innuendo in having you, but he is bloody exhausted and he really didn’t mean it that way, for once, “But I can have you the other way in the morning, if you like.”

“Sure,” she says with a grin, “Let me get ready for bed and I’ll be right back, okay?”

He loses his fight to stay awake while she’s brushing her teeth and slips into a deep, dreamless slumber. He wakes with the sun, like he so often does, and feeling much improved, with Emma sleeping pressed against his side and her arm across his chest like she’s trying to hold him in place.

to be continued...

#comfortember 2020 #cs ff #cs fic #killian whump #ptsd #panic attacks #hurt/comfort #killian jones #emma swan #captain swan #my fanfics

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forgottenpasta · 5 years ago

Text

Baby, You’re Bad | 01

Summary: A drunken, pre-debut mistake comes back to haunt Yoongi when years later you turn up pregnant from the sperm he donated when he was a broke, underground rapper. idol!au, pregnant!reader.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut

Pairings: Yoongi x Reader, Taehyung x Reader

Word count: 9.5k

Warnings: overuse of the word sperm lol; graphic depiction of artificial insemination; this is an asshole!Yoongi au; Suga when he was Gloss; use of real-life instances for plot purposes; idk some people might not like that.

“Are you ready, Miss___?

No. Yes. No.

Maybe the fertility medication they had you on was making you illogically sentimental, but you felt like bawling your eyes out.

The thin pen-shaped catheter in the doctor’s gloved hands epitomized everything you’d ever wanted. Third time’s the charm, they say. God, you hoped so.

You nodded a little too vigorously. “Yes, please.”

The kind nurse who’d been assigned to you since the beginning of your treatment chuckled from beside the ultrasound machine. If the doctor was amused at your enthusiasm, she didn’t let it show. She bent her head between your stirruped legs.

You were beyond any kind of embarrassment now, no stranger to a doctor tinkering with your vagina to get you pregnant. This was your third IUI. If you could, you’d shout it from the rooftops. If climbing the Everest and planting a flag at the summit that said “I want a fucking child!” got you pregnant, you would. If could just blast off to space—

“This might feel a little uncomfortable.”, the doctor, Kim Yeri, warned, adjusting the speculum wedged down there.

“I know.”

The nurse gave you an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up as she mouthed “Fighting!”. Feebly, you smiled back. In a moment of weakness, you’d spilled all your world woes to her when you’d come for the initial check-up. After two previous failed Intra Uterine Insemination attempts at two different clinics, you had been feeling like the most barren woman on the planet, despite the doctors assuring you that it wasn’t your uterus that was the problem, but “you know sometimes these things just don’t work, it’s all luck and probability.”

Your bank balance wasn’t surviving on luck and probability though, it was suffering. Your money wasted on absolutely nothing, nada, nothing coming out of your vagina in the next nine months except more periods. You’d started to hate the sight of your own blood, associating with it the feeling of disappointment at your empty womb.

You twitched slightly as the catheter entered you, willing yourself to not clench your pelvic muscles as the doctor had instructed.

Ever since you could remember, you had wanted to be a mother. You absolutely adored children, lived for them. Literally. Your job as a children’s fiction writer wasn’t something that just happened, you had decided what you wanted to be during the summer vacation of junior year in high school, when all your aunts would leave you with their children as they went off golfing. That’s when you discovered that you had a special talent with mini people. You could spin intricate, sometimes nonsensical stories that put them in a trance and into a deep sleep in record time. Stories about princesses who turned into pirates, a little mouse’s adventures on other planets, a talking pebble who wanted to be a diamond and so much more. Kids loved you, even days old infants seemed to like being in your presence (their mothers’ words not yours).

But as much as you couldn’t even dream about being anything else, writing children’s stories was hardly as lucrative as being a doctor or a lawyer. You did good enough for yourself but your job couldn’t support repeated attempts at artificially induced pregnancy.

As the catheter breached your cervix, you closed your eyes and relaxed back into the examination chair. This was it. If it didn’t work out this time, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Try the traditional method like everyone else.

Internally, you snorted at the thought. One side effect of wanting your own child in your mid to late twenties, no potential partner ever saw eye to eye with you. Men didn’t want to be saddled down with a child this early. Your own pickiness with partners could also be blamed. You weren’t into men who weren’t good with children. One of your ex-boyfriends once scolded a 11-year-old kid for loitering around his new bike, checking it out. The next day you’d dumped him via text.

Suffice it to say, at twenty-seven you were painfully single and the prospects of a serious relationship in your near future looked as microscopic as the sperm being currently inserted inside you.

Looking down your hospital gown-clad body, you noted the transparent tube pumping “washed” cryopreserved and thawed semen into you. The clinic where you’d went for your first IUI had explained the procedure. The preserved donor sperm was “washed” off any impurities and chemicals to ensure maximum sperm count per mL.

As the cloudy liquid travelled down the tube, you briefly wondered about it’s origins. When you were filling the form for donor specificities, Dr. Kim had presented you with the options of having sperm that could result in potential desired characteristics for your child. Such as a donor with green eyes or dimples or tall height or even a specific race. The whole talk had left a weird taste in your mouth and you had quickly dismissed it, writing only ‘healthy’ on the form. This wasn’t a pre-order and you’d love your child no matter how they turned out.

Now, you let your mind wander off to the unknown person who’s child you would potentially (hopefully) bear. What were they doing right now? What did they look like? Did they have any idea they were likely about to have a biological child out there? You shook your head, anonymous donors sold their semen for money, they probably already had many children out there from women like you or infertile couples. You could never understand how a parent was comfortable knowing there was a child out there who would never know them, but you weren’t about to criticise someone you were directly profiting off of.

“All done.” Dr. Kim smiled as she sat up straight, slowly pulling the tube out of you and placing it on the tray the nurse held out.

“Do you think this might be it?” There was a slight wobble in your words.

Damn hormonal drugs.

Dr. Kim gave you the signature neutral yet evasive and unintentionally condescending smile all doctors seemed to master when their patients asked hopeful questions with no right answers.

“If everything goes well from here on out, I can’t imagine why this shouldn’t be it. You have to take care of yourself and keep us informed about any changes in your body. I’m scheduling a check-up in two weeks. But you can take an at-home pregnancy test before that if you miss your period and feel like you might be pregnant.”, she explained, pulling out the speculum as well.

You stayed put, knowing from previous experience that keeping your pelvis horizontal for a few minutes was recommended after insemination.

“Okay, thank you, Dr. Kim.” You smiled your gratitude at the cheerful nurse too.

“Good luck, Miss __. I’ll see you soon, hopefully with good news.”

Afterward, when you slowly made your way to your car in the clinic’s parking lot, you couldn’t help but caress your stomach. A tender, optimistic gesture. This had to be it. Having a child of your own was everything you’d ever wanted, the dream of being a mother one of the goals you had always been steadfast on. A dream which might finally be coming true.

~•~•~

“What a nightmare.”

Yoongi’s hushed words seemed loud in the silent SUV. A complete contrast to the din and clamour outside. The car was inching at a snail’s pace, wading through a mob of fans gathered outside Charles De Gaulle. After landing, their private jet had taxied close to the VIP exit and they had left feeling like this might be a rare hassle-free entry into another country. But somehow, someone had been tipped about the cars they were leaving in and a horde of fans had greeted them as soon as they merged into the main exit outside the airport.

“Shut up, they’re endearing.”, Taehyung griped, peering out the window when some armys started doing fanchants. “A little cringy, yeah, but cute.”

A loud thud against Yoongi’s side of the car made Taehyung and Hoseok flinch, snapping their gazes towards their hyung. In the push and pull outside, someone had toppled against Yoongi’s car door.

The rapper cursed under his breath, immediately switching to an expression of indifference when phone cameras flashed too close, making him squint. He had thrown his face mask in his handbag and shoved it in the trunk and now he regretted it. The damn car didn’t even have tinted windows. Their jet lagged, irritated faces were going to be headlines in a matter of minutes.

Ahead of them, the SUV Jeongguk, Namjoon, Seokjin and Jimin were in wasn’t faring any better, a swarm of fans surrounding it like bees to honey.

Yoongi turned away from the window so they couldn’t read his mouth. “Cute, my ass. Where the fuck is the airport security? Someone’s gonna get hurt out there.”

As if on cue, three blue cars with the words Gendarmerie and flashing sirens atop haul in on the side road in a queue, the officers jumping out to contain the mob. As the fans start to disperse under harshly shouted commands, one girl pressed her hand to Yoongi’s window, gawking down at him with tears in her eyes, showing no signs of moving.

Yoongi gave her a small smile, reaching up to align his palm with hers through the glass. Cameras flash wildly as he observed the girl hyperventilate. Soon enough the officers clad in dark blue manage to push back the crowd and the cars surge forward. The girl’s hand slipped away from the window and the rapper didn’t look back as he sighed deeply, leaning his head back against the headrest.

Their motorcade sped down the freeway in a line, heading to the Peninsula, Paris.

His phone buzzed once in his pocket, but Yoongi didn’t care to check it, didn’t even open his eyes.

“You shouldn’t nap right now, hyung. You’ll feel more tired when we leave for the magazine shoot as soon as we reach the hotel.”, Hoseok advised, not looking up from his own phone.

“I don’t care. I’ll nap at the shoot too, they can take my photos with my eyes fucking closed. Nobody told them to schedule the shoot as soon we step foot in Paris.”

“Our management did.”, Taehyung supplied helpfully.

Yoongi snorted. “Of course they did. When do they ever let us breathe.”

Their manager in the front seat cleared his throat. “I’ll be sure to relay that to the higher ups.”

“Thanks.”, Yoongi replied dryly.

When they reach their hotel, the SUVs parked in the basement. Their keycards were quickly handed to them as they bypassed the front reception, to the private elevators straight to their rooms. Two master suites with connecting doors, four bedrooms in total. As usual, they Rock Paper Scissor it and Yoongi got to room with Namjoon. And as usual the lucky maknae won, sauntering to his room with a smug grin on his face.

“You have half an hour to freshen up, we have to reach the magazine’s studio at 3 sharp.”, Sejin informed after them.

Namjoon sprawled on the king sized bed when Yoongi called dibs on the shower, shucking his clothes haphazardly and placing his phone on the ornate bedside cabinet.

His mind was blissfully blank when he stepped inside the walk-in shower, the control panel allowing him to set the perfect temperature and pressure. Because this was routine, getting to the hotel just to jet off somewhere else, his mind was on autopilot, his body long since adapted to the requirements of someone always on the move. Although he complained and grouched, he knew he wouldn’t change a thing. Couldn’t. This was what kept them at the top.

He was out of the shower in five minutes, toweling his hair dry as he stepped inside the room naked. Namjoon didn’t even blink at him, they had been living together for the better part of a decade now, they’d seen all there was to see of each other.

The leader stretched out his long limbs languidly, getting up sluggishly to head to the en-suite. “Your phone’s been buzzing.”

Yoongi wrapped the towel around his waist, snatching up his phone to rove a cursory glance over the notifications. He was about to throw his phone atop the bed, dismissing the vague emails, when something stops him short. He peers down at the sender’s address.

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre.

What?

He unlocks his phone, thoroughly confused. This was his personal phone and he only got personal emails on it.

When the email expanded to full screen, he realised something. It wasn’t send to his current email address, but the one he used to use pre-debut, the one he’d made in high school. The one which fell into disuse after they had to change all their contact information due to privacy reasons. He didn’t even remember it syncing up through all his phone changes over the years, he never got notifications from it anymore. And sure enough, the last email of import send to him on this address was from five years ago. The spam folder was full though.

He opened the weird email again, finally deeming to read it. It was succinct, to the point.

Dear donor,

Thank you for your donation dated 2011/03/09. It has been successfully utilised to make our client’s parenthood dreams come true. You are eligible for another donation, please contact us if interested.

Regards

Sperm Bank Office

Ajeevan Fertility & Gyne Centre

**This is an automated message, please do not reply.**

Yoongi’s eyes burned a hole where the phone displayed the date. 2011/03/09. His eighteenth birthday. He took in a shuddering breath.

No no no no no.

Without conscious thought, he plopped down on the bed, his knees going weak. His heart beat spiked to triathlon levels. Putting the phone face down on the table, he rested his elbows on his towel draped thighs, head in his hands.

He had to think. But there was nothing but static in his jumbled brain, which was still trying to catch up to the implications of the email.

They made a mistake. They must have. I refunded the money. I told them I didn’t want it used.

But the date.

“You’re still not dressed. It’s almost time.”

Yoongi almost had a heart attack at Namjoon’s abrupt voice. “Fuck, dude. Why are you sneaking up on me?”

Namjoon’s frowned. He took out a pair of jeans from his bag, pulling them on as he eyed the other rapper. “I’ve been out here for a few minutes. What’s got you so lost?”

Yoongi didn’t answer. He wasn’t lost, he was on the verge of a full blown panic attack at even the minuscule possibility of a stupid teenage mistake coming full circle to end his life as he knows it.

“Hyung.” Namjoon came forward, now genuinely worried, jeans riding low on his shirtless torso. “What is wrong? Are you okay?”

Yoongi had only told one person about the time when he’d hit rock bottom in his life. Namjoon was not him.

“Can you get Jin hyung for me, Namjoon-ah?”, he asked, his words clear and coherent despite the chaos inside his mind.

The leader didn’t question it, just got up to do as asked, plucking out a shirt along the way.

A few minutes later, Jin poked his head inside, immediately entering and closing door at Yoongi’s pensive countenance. He raised a brow at the younger.

Yoongi held out his phone.

Jin took it, seating himself on the bed as well.

A few beats passed.

Jin exploded. “What the hell?! Yoongi?! Is this saying what I think it’s saying?!”

Yoongi ran a tired hand down his face. “ I gave them their money back. Explicitly told them I wanted my sperm thrown in the trash.” The anger which had been slowly simmering, now bubbles to the surface. “What the fuck is this, hyung? I don’t even recognise the name of the clinic. What the fuck did they do with it?”

Jin bit his lip, confused. “What was the name of the place you donated to?”

“I don’t even remember, but it definitely wasn’t that. I should have known they were shady as fuck when they refused to return my sample.”

Jin was surprised. “Yeah, that should have raised several red flags, Yoongi.”

“I was eighteen.”, Yoongi growled. “I was stupid as fuck. Shit, I agreed to donate sperm because my bank balance was riding the negatives, what does that tell you?”

“That you were desperate.”, Jin shrugged.

“Yes but not knowingly-having-a-kid-out-in-the-world desperate!”, Yoongi was freaking out. “I realised I didn’t have the moral consonance to have a kid I didn’t know and have estranged parents I despised at the same time. It was a stupid drunken whim, which I regretted the minute after and it has been one of the most shameful moments of my life since.”

“Wait.”, Jin scowled. “You were drunk when you donated and they let you?”

Yoongi sniffed. “I was tipsy, yeah. I needed liquid courage to go through with it.”

“That isn’t just red flags, Yoongi, thats red blaring fucking sirens. What kinda third rate, illicit place did you donate to?”

There was a knock on the door before Taehyung pushed it open. Behind him, the rest of the members looked ready to leave.

Sejin also came into view, frowning at Yoongi.

“Why aren’t you dressed?”

Jin and Yoongi exchanged a glance. Here goes fucking nothing.

~•~•~

“What a fucking liar.”

Yoongi’s glazed eyes drifted over to his roommate, Jaehyun.

“Who?”

He didn’t particularly want to know, but if he didn’t give Jaehyun some sort of verbal response he would likely keep pestering him about “liars who lied about lying”.

The blonde man took a deep inhale from his cigarette, blowing the smoke towards Yoongi. “That lying rat, Hyungwon. Did you see him strut in here decked head to toe in designer shit I can’t even pronounce the name of.”

Slowly, Yoongi turned around on his barstool, scanning the packed club with lazy eyes. He spotted Hyungwon among a gaggle of scantily clad girls feeling up his biceps.

Yoongi squinted. “Hyungwon? Wasn’t he asking you to set up a gig for him last month?”

“Asking? No, the bastard was begging.”, Jaehyun sneered. “Said he didn’t even have enough for his next meal. Now, look at him. The lying fucker.”

Yoongi chuckled. “Don’t tell me you actually took pity on him.”

“He was pretty fucking convincing.” Jaehyung signaled for two shots, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray atop the bar. “I even introduced him to our underground regulars, told them to give him a chance.”

“Is he any good?”

Jaehyun snorted. “Raps like a bubblegum pop princess.”

Laughing, Yoongi glanced back at the man in question, doing a double-take when he saw Hyungwon making his way towards them. “Ah shit. He’s coming here.”

Jaehyun blanched. “Hide me, quick.”

Too late.

“Hey, guys!”

Hyungwon hopped on the empty stool beside Yoongi, ordering a whiskey on the rocks, before turning towards the two men. “How have you been doing, Jay-T?” He wiggled his eyebrows a little. “And you, Gloss?”

Yoongi threw up in his mouth a little.

Jaehyun groaned. “I told you not to call me that if I’m not on stage.”

Hyungwon grinned.

Yoongi perused his attire. A gaudy jacket with square prints made up of the letter F, leather jeans that didn’t look like it came from a discount store where Yoongi got his from, ugly spiky sneakers with red soles. Although the outfit was hideous, he did seem to appear loaded all of a sudden. Usually, Yoongi wasn’t one to pry, but this bastard made him uncomfortable so he guessed he could return the favour.

“Weren’t you broke last month? Did you rob a bank or something?”

Hyungwon smirked. “Nothing that extreme. I just happened to get lucky overnight.”

“So you won a couple games of poker, then?”, Jaehyun questioned.

“Nah. Not that kind of luck.”

Both Yoongi and Jaehyun stared at him expectantly. The smug fucker just laughed.

“I paid off all my back rent, plus two months advance. Got presents for my three girlfriends and made the first deposit on my Royal Enfield.”

“You wanna rub it in?” Jaehyun scowled, his middle finger saluting him as he picked up his shot and downed it.

“Jaehyun helped set up your first gig.” Yoongi guilt-tripped. Normally he wouldn’t care about some random fucker’s get-rich-quick schemes but these were desperate circumstances. “You owe him.”

The bartender brought Hyungwon’s drink. He paid for it in cash, noticing for the first time that Yoongi was neither drinking nor smoking. “Ah, why don’t you just admit it out loud? You need money. Can’t even afford a drink, can you?”

Yoongi flushed, squirming in his seat.

Hyungwon raised a brow, feigning surprise. “Aren’t you one of the best underground rappers out there? The next big star?”, he snickered. “Dreams not quite panning out?”

“Shut up, loser.”, Jaehyun snapped. “He’s got a big audition coming up in a few months. When he gets in, we’ll see who’s laughing.”

“With what company? SM, YG?”

Jaehyun grit his teeth to stop himself from strangling the man. “Bighit.”

“Never even heard of it.”

Yoongi cut in, not liking the two men talking about him as if he wasn’t there. “Not your concern. Just tell us how you made so much in a month.”

Hyungwon took a small sip of the whiskey, swallowing leisurely. He eyed the two men down as if they didn’t quite hold up to whatever judgments he was imparting in his mind. “It doesn’t matter anyway, you both are a bunch of pussies.

Jaehyun, infamous for his short temper, bristled. “What the fuck did you say, you cumstain?”

Yoongi held his arm, halting him before he stood up.

If they had put up with the asshole for so long, he was going to damn well make sure they got something out of it. Besides, he NEEDED to know how to get some quick cash. Jaehyun wasn’t aware of the extent of Yoongi’s destitution. What little money he made doing odd jobs and occasional gigs went to school fees and rent, whatever was leftover, if anything, went towards his music. Pretty soon even his daily diet of ramen was gonna go out of his budget.

“What do you mean a bunch of pussies? Are you selling your organs or something?”, Yoongi pressed.

Hyungwon snorted. “Close enough.”

Okay. Yoongi wasn’t that desperate. “What the fuck, dude!”

Jaehyun’s eyes went wide and sorrowful. A complete 180 from his ire two minutes ago. “Bro. You don’t have to do that, there are always other options. Selling your body isn’t the answer. Let me set up something for you, spare your kidneys, please—

“Shut up.” Hyungwon scowled. “I’m not selling my internal organs.”

Yoongi was confused. “What are you selling then?”

Hyungwon took an unconcerned sip. “My sperm.”

Yoongi was shocked into silence, while Jaehyun scrunched up his face like he’d just tasted the sourest lemon. “That’s equally as fucked up.”

“It’s not. It’s just cum.”, Hyungwon defended. “I’m getting paid handsomely to cum in a plastic cup. If that’s not the easiest money, I don’t know what is.”

“Yeah and that cum is probably in some middle-aged woman’s oven, baking your fucking babies.”

Hyungwon shrugged, not in the least bit concerned. “They’re not mine. Biologically maybe, but I got nothing to do with them apart from that. I’m not an idiot, I read all the terms and clauses. Legally, I’m not gonna be a father until I fuck a baby into someone.”

Jaehyun shook his head, not convinced. “That’s still fucked up.”

“Whatever.” Hyungwon rolled his eyes, finishing his drink. “As I said, a bunch of fucking pussies.”

Yoongi was in deep thought as he listened to the two argue intently. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing out his opinion, “That’s gonna be on your head forever, always at the back of your mind. That you’ve got kids out there who don’t even know you exist.”

“They’re not my kids.”, Hyungwon reiterated, done with the conversation as he spotted a busty bottle blonde leaning across the bar seductively. “Now if you pussies are done, I gotta go dole out my thousand dollar cum for free tonight. Charity turns me on.”

Jaehyun watched him approach the blonde with a grimace. “What a sleazy asshole.”

“He is.”, Yoongi agreed. “But I hadn’t ever thought you could make so much selling semen.”

“I don’t think the government recognised sperm banks offer so much. He must be going to some back alley place.”

Yoongi hummed. “Must be.”

A month after the encounter with Hyungwon at the club, Yoongi had never felt more downtrodden in his life. If he had sinned in his previous life, karma was working overtime. His pity party had been going on for a week now. Right from when he’d been kicked out of his apartment for nonpayment of three months’ rent, to when he’d turned up at his usual hangout with the underground scene just to find out his upcoming gigs had been given to a new rapper he hadn’t even heard the name of, to his bank calling him for payment of pending bills, to here. In a line with the homeless for some free food at a soup kitchen and shelter.

When he’d left home to chase his dreams, he’d never imagined that the road would be easy. He’d been prepared for ups and downs. But these weren’t just downs, these were never ending canyons that seemed to stretch on forever. He’d long since sold the music equipment he’d bought with his hard earned money to pay for school. With graduation so close, he hadn’t wanted to be expelled on top of being homeless. Jaehyun had offered to pay either his rent or tuition but Yoongi knew the guy was barely hanging on by a thread himself. He couldn’t ask for money from someone who barely had any to spare.

He heaved a sigh when the line finally moved. The woman in front of him, who looked like she’d been on crack for decades, gave him a glare for the impatient noise. He wanted to flip her off. He hadn’t eaten anything since lunch yesterday when the kind acquaintance who’s sofa he’d been crashing on had offered him a sandwich. Moreover, in about half an hour he had an interview with a pizzeria for a delivery guy position. He didn’t wanna pass out in front of his potential employers, his ticket out of homelessness. But if this line didn’t hurry up, he’d have to forego a meal, he didn’t want to be late.

Which was exactly what happened. Twenty minutes and the line barely moved a few feet, the bored volunteers taking their time serving the cold soup and stale bread.

After a few more minutes Yoongi cursed, his old wristwatch told him it was 3:56 pm. If he didn’t hightail it out of there he could kiss the job goodbye.

Fuck it.

Breaking the line, he sprinted out. The pizzeria was just two blocks away, he could make it in time if he ran. He didn’t have the money to catch a taxi anyway. And if he jaywalked a little, he could even have a few minutes to spare to change into the button down in his backpack. It was just a delivery position, but for him everything depended on it. He wanted to make a good impression.

And jaywalked he did. Right into the bumper of a speeding car.

The first few seconds, the lights were knocked out of him. When he came to, he did a mental survey of his body as he lay there on the pavement, a crowd forming around him. He didn’t feel any wetness, no blood then. Not a lot of excruciating pain either. Could it be that his stupidity had been spared or was he in hell already?

The murmurs of the crowd registered. A kind elderly man’s voice spoke somewhere above him. “Young man, are you okay? The ambulance is on its way. We don’t wanna touch you in case anything’s broken.”

Ambulance.

A sudden electricity zinged through his body, and Yoongi sat up, flinching when his shoulder screamed. There’s the pain.

“No ambulance.”, he grit out. He couldn’t have medical bills on top of everything right now.

As he reached up to push back the hair in his eyes, his watch gleamed. 4:09pm.

His shoulders sagged in defeat.

That night he sat with Jaehyun in his former apartment, drinking cheap soju his friend had scrapped together for him somehow. He’d told himself he deserved it after the day he’d had. Hell, the week he’d had. But somewhere inside him was a feeling of self loathing for wasting precious seconds not actively seeking to remedy his situation and stop relying on others.

Jaehyun had picked him up that afternoon when he’d refused any medical help. So now his arm was in a makeshift sling, painkillers and alcohol doing the job doctors were supposed to. He was pretty sure he’d torn a ligament or something. He didn’t know, he slept through all his biology classes.

On top of it all, it was his birthday tomorrow. He was turning 18, a legal adult. Not that it mattered, he’d been on his own since 15. Why did his life feel like it was ending when it had barely just begun?

“What if I do it?”, he hypothesised out of the blue. “Its gonna be quick and I just need to forget afterwards.”

Jaehyun frowned. “What are you talking about, my man?”

“Sperm donation.”

Jaehyun choked on his drink. “Yoongi! No, what the fuck!”

“Why not?”, Yoongi asked, his mind working overtime to justify something he’d never thought he’d need to. It was a given. “Its not like anybody would know. Well apart from you and me.”

“That’s not the point. You wanna have kids so young?”

Yoongi scowled into his glass. “I’m not the one who’s going to be having them.”

“Look, man. I think its just the alcohol talking—

“I’m not drunk.”

“—but I’m not gonna stop you if you think this is the only way out. Just know that you’re gonna regret it later.”

“Later.”, Yoongi muttered softly. “How I wish it’d be later already.”

Later that night, he dialed Hyungwon.

~•~•~

“Jaehyun was right. I regretted it the second the hangover dissipated. That was one of the worst days of my life, not counting the string of shit shows preceding it. I rushed back to the place as soon as I could. I returned the money, I hadn’t even taken it out of the envelope. They said the sample couldn’t be returned to me, but they’ll make sure it was out of the system.”

“Well, they lied.”, Sejin deadpanned, eyes narrowed as if figuring out a thousand ways around this situation already.

The rest of the boys, barring Seokjin, stared at Yoongi in awe. They sat around him on the living room couches, while he stood by the window, gazing at the Parisian skyline.

A far cry from the broken pavement, busted in windows and dilapidated buildings, the landscape of his late teens.

The boys had known the rapper had struggled a lot before joining bighit, but for it to be laid out in so much detail. A new respect for him shone in their eyes.

When Yoongi turned to face them, he was surprised to see no judgment on their faces, but he shouldn’t have been.

“So,”, Jin straightened up, clapping his hands. “Let’s lay this down, shall we? Yoongi donated sperm to a shady place in 2011, but returned the money and demanded it not be used. Since this sperm bank was likely illegal in the first place, they didn’t care to actually go through with his request. Then it somehow ended up in the fertility clinic he got the mail from. Which leads us to now, according to the mail, someone is probably pregnant with Yoongi’s child.”

“No, don’t say that.”, Yoongi shook his head, refusing to come to the obvious conclusion. “Don’t even imply it. I don’t have a kid out there but I do want all traces of my sperm out of any kind of bank.”

Namjoon peered at Yoongi with sympathy. “Hyung, they’re saying you’re eligible for another donation. Your previous sample was used already. According to my guesstimates, there’s 50% chance the woman they put it in, is pregnant.”

“Fuck your guesstimates.”

Jeongguk scratched his head. “But it’s been years since Hyung was 18. How is it getting used just now?”

Sejin answered him, not glancing up from his phone. “Google says preserved sperm can be used for upto 20 years after donation.”

Yoongi cursed.

Jeongguk was still confused, brows scrunched. “How? Won’t the baby be—“

“Don’t say it.”, Yoongi groaned.

“—20 years old then?”

A slap to the back of the youngest’s head sounded. Yoongi didn’t look to see who’d done the public service.

“What are you going to do, hyung?”, Jimin asked worriedly. “You could just let it be. Ignorance is bliss and all.”

Taehyung gasped in outrage. “How can you even suggest such a thing, Jimin? It’s his kid we’re talking about! He could be a parent!”

Yoongi growled. “Don’t say that.”

But Taehyung wasn’t finished with his sermon. “Even if there’s a minuscule chance of this actually being true, it’s his duty to care and provide for his offspring. Even if he or she is unwanted.”

Yoongi gazed at the darkening sky for divine intervention.

“Hold your horses, Taehyung-ah.”, Sejin stood up. “I messaged the magazine studio about a reschedule. The photoshoot will be before the concert tomorrow.”

No one said a word, everyone too preoccupied to be focusing on trifling things like photoshoots.

“As for this problem.”, Sejin continued, giving Yoongi a reassuring look. “Let me handle it. I’ll run a check on the place you mentioned and the fertility clinic. We can’t publicly sue anyone because one, donating to an illegal place would incriminate Yoongi as well and two, we can’t afford to have a word of this get out. But an anonymous tip to the police should do the job.”

“What about...”, Taehyung trailed off, not knowing how to mention the person who might be carrying Yoongi’s child.

“I’ll pull some strings, find out who it is. First, we need to know if they’re pregnant or not. We’ll go from there.”

Yoongi sighed, nodding. He supposed he could only hope and pray now.

~•~•~

“I can’t believe it. All your hopes and prayers came true. I’m so happy for you, noona.”

Taeyong gushed as he arranged his Staedtler coloured pencils on your desk, lining them on the upper edge of his sketch book perfectly. The illustrator was obsessive about having all his stationary in perfectly designated places before drawing.

“It still feels like a dream. When the doctor confirmed it yesterday, I almost passed out.”, you grinned, lovingly flipping through your manuscripts to the scenes you wanted illustrated.

Your friend turned to face you with a pout, his ethereal face glowing from the sunlight streaming through your windows. “You should have taken me with you, noona. I don’t like that you went alone.”

“It’s alright, Ty.”, you addressed him with the nickname he loved so much. On cue, his cheeks flushed adorably. “I was fine, just jittery with excitement.”

Taeyong grinned, mischief in his eyes. His boyish youthfulness struck you and not for the first time you thought about basing a playful character on him. He was a college student, an art major. You hired him because you loved his whimsical sketching style and his watercolour realism. Also, because you didn’t have the money or the patience to get more “professional” artists. From your previous experience, they often turned their noses at any extra input from the author. Taeyong, on the other hand, loved to have you by his side as he set about bringing your characters to life.

Most importantly, you hired him because he was kind of your muse, though you never let him know that. He teased you enough as it is.

“I will let you off the hook if you declare me his or her godfather.”

And you loved to tease him back.

“You’re 19 years old, you’re a kid yourself, Ty.” You giggled as he flew off into an outraged rant.

“Noona, I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not a kid! You’re not that much older than me, I don’t know why you gotta put on motherly airs already. It’s been a day since you found out you’re pregnant. Pump the breaks. And don’t you dare try to experiment your parenting skills on me, I’m warning you—“

The ringing of your phone from your bedside table cut him off. You stretched to reach for it, still guffawing lightly at your friend.

It was an unknown number. You picked it up.

“Hello.”

A man’s voice answered you. “Hello, is this __?”

“Speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Miss.__. I’m Park Beomgyu from Tangent Publications. You might have heard of us. We are a graphic novel and manhwa publishing company, but we’re starting to venture into children’s fiction as well. Your work has caught our attention and we’d like to partner up with you for your next project. That is, if you’re interested.”

You stared wide eyed at Taeyong, who was starting to look worried at your dumbstruck expression.

Work had never come to your doorstep. You’d always had to go chasing for it.

“Miss, are you there?”

“Y-yes! I’m here. And yes, I accept.”

The man chuckled. “Not so fast, Miss. Let’s discuss it first. If you’re free tomorrow morning, can I set up a meeting with our editor at 10 am?”

You spoke before he could properly finish. “Yeah, totally. I’m free. Just let me know the address.”

“I’ll message it. Looking forward to meeting you.”

“Yeah, same here.”, you said lamely as he hung up, your heart beating crazily in your chest.

“Who was it?”, Taeyong questioned, coming to sit beside you.

You launched yourself at him with a squeal.

~•~•~

You weren’t surprised when the address led you to Gangnam’s busiest area, office buildings and corporate suits abound. Though you did feel nervous in your light blue tea-length chequered dress. You didn’t own any suits or even pencil skirts, always feeling a little insecure with figure-hugging attire.

You had done your research last night, having never heard of Tangent Publications before. Sprawled on your couch with your all-time favourite animation, Finding Nemo playing on your tv in the background, you had set up your laptop on a cushion. Not perching it on your stomach like you usually did, paranoid about harmful rays reaching your baby.

You were surprised at the search results. As the man on the phone mentioned, they did only publish manhwas and even webtoons, but these were about idols. Their most widely sold comics being about BTS’ concept storylines.

A little further digging revealed that the company was partially owned by Bighit entertainment and STIC investments, which also had stakes in the entertainment sector.

What mattered to you was that they were successful, which looking at their net profit, they were and they had good editors, which your searches confirmed.

You were feeling extremely lucky and happy that they chose you for their next venture. At the right time too, the first installment in your new series was almost done.

The friendly receptionist greeted you with a smile, immediately telling you the right floor when you gave her your name. You checked your appearance in the elevator mirror, making sure there was no food stuck in your teeth or wrinkle in your dress.

You alighted on the eighth floor, where another lady at the front pointed you to the right door. You knocked at exactly 10 am, feeling satisfied at your timing.

The heavy oak door opened, startling you. You thought someone would call you in.

A tall man in glasses smiled at you, opening the door wide. You stepped in as he introduced himself.

“Good morning,__-ssi. My name is Sejin.”

“Oh, good morning.” Not the editor google mentioned, but of course, there would be others in a big publishing company. “Are you one of the editors?”

Sejin closed the door, motioning you to the seat in front of his desk, answering you only when you both had sat down. “Yeah.”

You smiled. “Thank you so much for offering me this opportunity. I’m so flattered you chose me for your first foray into children’s literature.”

“Your work speaks for you, __-ssi. You’re incredibly talented.”, Sejin praised, leaning forward to set his elbows on the table and interlace his fingers. You interpreted the body language easily, he was all business.

“We’d like to offer you a 5 book deal. A complete series if you will. You can negotiate for more if you feel like 5 won’t be enough. We will leave the story’s concept, art and every other creative decision to you, except of course the editing and research help you’d require. As well as get you the illustrator of your choice.”

“I already have an illustrator, I’d like to retain him.”, you interjected though everything he said left you reeling. Was this a daydream?

Sejin nodded. “No problem. As a starting point, we’d like to offer you 100 million won per book, negotiable down the line and not including sales profits.”

Your jaw dropped. “Is this a prank?” You turned in your chair, looking for cameras. “Am I being pranked? If so, I don’t appreciate it.”

Sejin gave you a calm smile. “No, ma’am. You are not being pranked. You heard me correctly. 100 million won per book, not including profits.”

You laughed. A disbelieving sound. “I’m sorry but either you don’t know how to do business or you’re really sure these books are gonna sell like hot cakes. And although I do think I’m really good at what I do, children’s literature is no fantasy or science fiction. It doesn’t have a fanbase readership to buoy every new installment that comes out. I have learned this the hard way.”

“You didn’t have us before. With the right marketing, anything can sell well.”, he simply replied, dismissing your concerns.

“Okay.”, you took a deep breath, a sudden pressure on your shoulders, something nagging at your brain you were too preoccupied to figure out. “I’d like to see the contract first.”

“Sure.” Sejin produced a thick document from the desk drawer, flipping through it as he casually spoke. “You can take it home, mull it over, take your time coming to a decision. You’re pregnant, so I wouldn’t like to keep you here for long.”

You froze, blood leaving your face.

“What did you say?”, you whispered.

Calmly, Sejin looked up from the papers, briefly glancing behind you before meeting your eyes. He didn’t repeat himself, showing absolutely no reaction.

Goosebumps raised on your arms, your voice fearful as you asked, “How did you know that I’m having a baby?”

“Because it’s mine.”

Jumping out of the chair in fright, you spun around.

A stunningly attractive and familiar face was leaning against the closed door. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

Glancing back at Sejin, who’d stood up as well, you slowly extricated yourself from the tangle of chair legs, moving to the middle of the room to have direct access to the door, but the newcomer was blocking your exit.

Sejin approached him, whispering something you couldn’t hear. The man nodded, not breaking the critical gaze with which he regarded you.

He let Sejin leave, locking the door behind him.

“Is there a reason why I’m alone in a room with you? I will bring this whole building down with my screams if you don’t unlock that door and step away from it right now!”, you threatened.

He rolled his eyes. “The room’s soundproof.”

“You—”, you paused your scathing diatribe before it had even begun, cogs whirring, memory catching up. “You’re Min Yoongi.”

“Congratulations.”

Bewilderment swamped you. What the hell was going on? “What do you want from me?

“Absolutely nothing.” Yoongi ambled towards you with indolent grace, his eyes never leaving your befuddled ones. “You have something of mine, unwillingly given.”

“I have never even met you before. I don’t even like your music.”

Maybe that add-on wasn’t necessary, but you were feeling caged and on the defensive.

Yoongi pursed his lips, his censorious gaze roving up and down your form. “Yeah, we don’t make music for the likes of you.”

You bristled. What the heck did that mean? You didn’t want to ask. “Thanks for sparing me. I still don’t see how I could possibly have anything of yours.”

“You’re pregnant and it’s mine.”

“I’m pregnant, yes, but what’s yours?”

Yoongi scowled. “You’re gonna make me say it, huh?”

“Say what?”

“I’m the father. You’re carrying..”, he seemed reluctant to continue but did, scowl deepening. “..my child.”

You faked a laugh, amused but more concerned for the unhinged man in front of you. “No, I’m not. Maybe you have amnesia or something, this is the first time I’m seeing you in person. Usually, your tetchy self only greets me from magazines and subway ads.”

“Don’t try to sound smart.__. You don’t.”, he parried. “The thing with artificial insemination is that the lonely women who get it, often don’t know who’s baby they’re carrying.”

For the second time, you tensed with trepidation. They had entirely too personal information on you. It didn’t make any sense, none of what he was saying did. “Why do you know that?”

You glared at him when he smirked.

“Ran a background check on you. Single, 27-year-old, children’s fiction writer, who’s been trying for pregnancy at different clinics for a year now. Bank balance is at an all-time low, the previous publisher isn’t picking up any of your new work. A string of failed relationships behind you because of your desire to have a child so early. Most of the time you hang around some college-aged kid who also does artwork for you, apart from that you don’t have many close friends. You stay at—”

“Shut up!”, you fumed, feeling really violated. The nerve of this man. He didn’t look the slightest bit bothered with his words. “You’re a celebrity, aren’t you? Don’t you guys scream privacy at every unsolicited photo, every personal detail revealed to the public? Your hypocrisy is alarming.”

“I will let you know one thing. Guilt is not an emotion I feel. The two situations aren’t even remotely comparable.” He stepped closer, his all-black attire striking against the white of the room. He looked like an irritated bat who’d been disturbed from his hibernation.

“Don’t interrupt me.”, he commanded. “I had to know what type of person my sperm had been,” he coughed, gaze drifting away for a second. “..used on.”

“Your...?”, you trailed off, still not connecting the dots. What he was implying was preposterous, it couldn’t possibly be that.

It was exactly that.

His voice was dispassionate when he explained, his countenance inscrutable, he was a master at masking every emotion. “A sample of my semen which was sent for regular health checkups was misplaced by a lab technician, accidentally labeled for donation to a sperm bank. I got to know about it when your fertility clinic sent me an email.”

You swallowed harshly. “They put it in me?”

Yoongi scrunched his nose. “Unfortunately.”

Did he have to sound so repulsed? You stepped back, only speaking when you’d somewhat processed your predicament.

You gave him a sympathetic frown. Best to go with understanding, you didn’t want a confrontation. It was a delicate situation which, if you wanted to weasel out of, you’d need some tact.

“That is unfortunate. I’m sure you must feel very frustrated. But I signed very hefty paperwork, before going in for treatment. And it said that the donor would have no legal right over the child, unless there’s a mutual agreement. I’m sorry but I have no obligation towards you and this is my child only.”

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to the hand you placed on your belly. He bit the inside of his cheek and you had the sneaking suspicion he didn’t give a flying fuck what your obligations were.

“I’m going to make myself very clear ___. I don’t want your apology. The people responsible for this mess are paying for it, don’t worry. But if you think that I’m gonna roll over politely and let you scamper off with what’s mine, you have another thing coming.”

Your blood boiled and you hurled towards him. He didn’t show any surprise when you poked his hoodie-clad chest angrily.

Fuck tact.

“I didn’t ask for this, you asshole. I’ve been waiting for this moment my entire fucking life and no dickwipe with a huge ego just because he can spit some words is gonna fuck it up for me.”

Yoongi blinked. “You swear too much for a children’s author, no wonder your sales are tanking.”

“Shut the fuck up!” You dug the pointer finger deeper in his chest.

He winced, clasping your wrist. “Okay, is this the right time to tell you that I was gonna suggest an abortion in exchange for the book deal?”

Panic swamped you, anger disappearing for a huge dose of terror. You clutched the fabric covering your tummy, a clawing need to run and protect your baby blanketing you. No one was going to take him or her away from you, not when you’d toiled your last penny and pinned your every hope on this baby.

“Hey.” Suddenly Yoongi crowded you, gently grasping your shoulders. “Hey, breathe please.”

His words made you aware of your lungs screaming for air, short, staccato breaths making you lightheaded.

“Breathe in for me.”, he guided and you obeyed, looking into his worried eyes to ground yourself. “And breathe out. Again. Just like that. You’re alright.”

A hand at your back guided you to the chair you’d previously occupied and you flopped down on it gratefully. Yoongi hunched over you, roving his searching eyes over your face for more signs of panic.

“I was joking. Partially.”, he bit his bottom lip, and strangely you found the action alluring. “I knew someone who worked so hard to reach this point, wouldn’t even entertain the notion.”

You glowered at him, annoyance dimming for surprise when you noted how close he was, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. He didn’t seem to notice it though.

“It’s very highhanded of you to even think about such a thing. No amount of money can replace a life.”

His eyes softened, the first genuine smile from him peeking through. If you didn’t know how much of an asshole he was, you’d think he was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.

“You’d be surprised how many people would disagree.”

“I’m sure you would.”

He nodded, having no problem admitting it. “Can you blame me? I’m at the peak of my career right now, this has all the makings of my fall from grace. Besides, I didn’t want children, ever.”

“Didn’t?”, you questioned his use of past tense.

He shrugged, straightening up and letting you relax a little from his heady presence. “You gotta roll with the punches.”

You hadn’t unclasped your hand from your dress, the fabric covering your stomach wrinkling horribly. “What is that supposed to mean?”

You dreaded it, but what he said wasn’t unexpected.

“I want shared custody.”

Never.

“No.” You brought down the hammer.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“I’m not gonna be an absent father, __”

“That’s alright.”, you threw back, absolutely done with this conversation. “You don’t have to be any kind of father.”

Slowly, so gracefully you didn’t even notice it at first, Yoongi hunched back over you, now impossibly closer. You leaned back as far as possible but you could tell two things, that his cologne was expensive and it smelled delicious as fuck.

“Then who’s gonna be the father?”, he asked quietly. You gulped.

“I- the- I mean no one. Single moms do just fine.” And because he started to move off of you and you were secretly a glutton for punishment, as well as for men who smelled mouth-watering, you added, “My future husband...”

You trailed off at the tick in his jaw.

He raised a brow. “How fucking cute. Too bad your domestic dreams are never coming true,__. What’s mine is mine. No other man is going to be the father of my child. Over my fucking dead body.”

You almost said, “then perish”, but he stood up, grasping your upper arm to help you up as well. He was incredibly gentle with you, a stark contrast to the verbal barbs he inflicted every time he opened his mouth.

For example:

“We’re also going to have to get a DNA test done.”

Before you could implode in his face, he interlocked your fingers with his, tenderly releasing your death grip on your dress. His other hand came up to push a strand of your hair behind your ear and hook your chin up.

You were blindsided. Rage and fluttering heart palpitations a weird combo.

“Don’t lose a fuse over it now. I think you’ve got enough on your mind already. Go home, sleep it off, we’ll talk when you’re feeling more level headed.”

It really shouldn’t have surprised you that he’d turn this into some sort of reverse psychology “I’m only looking out for you” situation, making you the unreasonable one for feeling, very justifiably, enraged at his imperiousness.

But you did really want to sleep it off, your newly changing body demanded you recharge from this draining encounter already. You sagged in his arms, letting him support you.

Yoongi smirked at your body’s compliance and you wanted to slap it off.

“How did you get here? Did you drive?”

You shook your head. “Took the subway, then walked.”

Yoongi peered at the heels on your feet, irritation flaring on his face. “For someone so adamant on having a baby, you’re already putting your health on the line, huh?”

There he fucking goes again.

“It’s none of your business.”, you said curtly.

He raised a challenging brow. “The baby you’re carrying is my business.”

His high handedness knew no bounds.

He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call a driver to take you home.”

“No need.”

“It wasn’t a question.”

You grit your teeth, biting your tongue as he led you to the door. Just a few more seconds in his presence, then TO FREEDOM.

He opened the door.

And three men tumbled inside on top of each other, the momentum making them fall on the floor in a heap.

You winced.

“What the fuck?!”, Yoongi growled, his resting death scowl back with a vengeance. “Were you three fuckheads eavesdropping?”

The men immediately stood up, fixing their clothing. The one at the bottom of the heap winced when the one above him used him as support.

You recognised all of them. His bandmates. Although you weren’t their fan, you were still a little starstruck. The cameras didn’t do their faces justice. You shrunk behind Yoongi, a little intimidated at so much testosterone surrounding you. Prime specimen of the male species too. If you weren’t already pregnant, your ovaries would be tingling with primordial urges.

Then they all spoke at the same time.

“You wouldn’t let us come with you!” Taehyung.

“It’s all Taehyung’s doing hyung, we just wanted to make sure he didn’t get in any trouble.” Jeongguk.

“We?! What the fuck, don’t include me in your schemes. You guys dragged me here!” Jimin.

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose and you prepared for another of his already infamous searing rebukes. You wanted popcorn to watch these three guys get thoroughly chastened.

Taehyung just held up his hand, stopping the elder even before he began. “Calm down, hyung. We’re not here for you.”

Your jaw dropped. He shut Yoongi up with a hand. You wanted to worship at this guy’s shrine.

Then he peered around Yoongi to look at you, giving you a shy smile. “Hello,__. I’m Taehyung.”

Wow, Yoongi and his bandmates were night and day. This guy reminded you of Winnie The Pooh while Yoongi was Cruella de Vil personified.

When you didn’t say anything, Taehyung frowned with worry, turning accusing eyes at Yoongi.

“Hyung, you upset her.”

Yes, he did, Pooh.

Yoongi raised an unconcerned brow. “And? Why the fuck are you here again?”

“Would you stop with the swearing, there’s a child in the room.”, Taehyung reprimanded and your worshipful impulses grew.

Jeongguk scowled.

Jimin nudged him. “Not you, idiot.”

Taehyung came towards you with a placating smile, likely sensing the damage Yoongi had done. “I can drop you home. There’s a really good gelato shop a block from here. If you want we can stop there. Ice cream fixes everything.”

You nodded immediately, letting your guardian angel lead you out of the room with a hand at your back.

You didn’t spare Yoongi’s disbelieving face another look.

A/n: Taehyung will make a more proper appearace in the next chapter. Do let me know what you thougt, feeback keeps me writing.

#bts smut #bts imagines #bts fic #yoongi smut #taehyung smut #yoongi angst #taehyung angst #pregnant reader #young x pregnant reader #taehyung x pregnant reader #sperm donation #baby you're bad #Indian readers did you get the shoutouts?#back from hiatus #writing is a little rusty

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