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flipping-the-coin · 2 years ago

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[Inquisitorial Report: Subject - Head Archivist Orion Pax]

[Authorization Level: Prime]

[Listed Authorizations: Optimus Prime]

[Assigned Inquisitor: Jazz]

[Three deca-cycles into assignment]

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Listen, OP. We need to talk. Is there any particular reason why I wasn’t briefed that there's a whole other inquisitor here? She does her job pretty well for the most part, didn’t notice her at all till she climbed out of the slaggin’ wall and started cleaning up the hab!!! I don’t know what’s going on in the new training methods that Smokescreen is running, but I am pretty fragging sure that the person you’re spying on is NOT supposed to know you exist. Megatron definitely knows she’s here. Seems like he’s fond of her. I saw him leaving out a slagging snack for her before he escorted Orion to the Archives! What the actual frag, my mech? WHY WASN’T I TOLD SHE WAS HERE?! Now that that’s out of the way: onto Orion. I can’t get my servos on his medical records, they’re sealed up tighter than a stripped screw on your oil pan, but he takes some medications every cycle, one is some kind of sedative, that he takes before recharge (probably to help with nightmares, if I am guessing correctly. He’s had two since I’ve been watching so far, and they seemed pretty severe), and the others are mainly used for field suppression and anxiety. His field is… I dunno how to describe it…. It’s messed up, OP. Something happened to him cuz his field is different than I remember. When he’s out in public, it’s like he doesn’t even have one. He was always a bit reserved in expressing himself, but now it’s like he doesn’t have a field at all. But when it’s just him and Megatron in their hab, sometimes Megatron encourages him to let his field out and… Primus, OP it’s like slamming into a wall at mach 2 how thick his field is. I’ve only felt it a couple of times, It’s overwhelming, so I tend to stay back from the vents as much as I can when he’s emitting, and rely on my cams and audio. I hope you don’t mind.

It doesn’t seem to bother Megatron at all, though. In fact, he seems to enjoy it. But he was always a little weird, so I’m not really shocked he’d find comfort in something that feels so… smothering? (That’s probably not the right glyph, but I’m going with it.) He dotes on Orion Pax even more than he did before the war, and I gotta admit that it's a little humorous to see Lord Megatron dutifully preparing fuel every morning like some kinda housewife on those old Earth sitcoms.

Anyway, Orion is well cared for. Megatron attends to him dutifully, and Orion happily returns that favor to his Conjunx. As strangely as they present on the outside, their relationship dynamic seems quite healthy, if not a bit codependent. They touch each other a lot more now than they did before the war. I haven’t seen them go through any form of serious disagreement, and the minor one they did have was discussed and rectified (Megatron was frustrated with Orion for not putting the lid back on the rust sticks.)

Orion is odd, and his habits reflect that. I’ve watched him pick up more rocks than I can count on his treks to and from the Archives, and chemical analysis shows they are just… rocks. Sometimes they are in strange shapes, but usually just… rocks. He is very fond of crystals, though as far as I know, he only has two he cares for personally; a small potted one he keeps in his hab, and another, more rare aquamarine cluster that he keeps in his office at the Archives. I’ve heard him singing to that one, a couple of times now. Seems it's very important to him.

He rarely brings his work home. Seems he tries to keep work and home life separate as much as he can, though he does discuss things from work with Megatron at length some cycles, especially if he has to deal with the Council in any fashion. If I can be blunt… Orion Pax is not fond of most of the Council, and when I say ‘not fond’ I really mean ‘he fragging hates them.’ Seems there's been issues with Council Members intentionally goading him into emotional responses.

On a typical work Cycle, Megatron comes online before Orion, and busies himself preparing their fuels. Orion usually comes online just before the fuels are ready, and Megatron sometimes brings it to him in berth. Sometimes Orion wanders out to the table and they refuel together there. Megatron helps him prepare for work. Once at work, Orion tends to finish his official duties relatively quickly. He spends at least two joor a cycle assisting and mentoring his apprentice, Red Alert. The two seem to get along well enough, but there’s some strain there I haven’t quite worked out yet. They both are anxious things around each other, but their working relationship seems warm and friendly. He spends his fuel break on comms with his Conjunx. Afterwards, he spends most of his time, ah… poking around in data he’s probably not authorized to be poking around in. Mostly military records from the war and things in the Decepticon Archives. Before the end of his shift, he spends a joor or so helping the archivists tidy up and organize everything before he goes home.

If Megatron doesn’t pick him up from work and escort him home, he meets him at the door. Regardless, they spend a great amount of time being lovey-dovey with each other once the door closes, talking about how much they missed each other, which can last for quite some time if they kiss their way to berth… or the sofa… or a wall. Once they finish with that, they tend to relax together, usually wrapped up in each other in some fashion until one of them, usually Megatron, goes to prepare fuel.

After they fuel, they either retire to berth or settle to watch something on the holoscreen. Unexpectedly, Orion seems to prefer watching horror, suspense and thrillers. I expected him to be a ‘romcom’ sort of mech. Go figure.

Their berth-time habits are a bit much, honestly. Megatron almost always has some new poem to recite for Orion. Most of the time they’re about how much he loves Orion, how beautiful he finds him to be or ah… what he wants to do to him, if you catch my drift. Sometimes they fool around for a while after that, but once they settle in berth, they’re always as close to each other as possible. Sometimes, Orion will read aloud while they are snuggled up together. He reads a very slowly, but that seems to help Megatron fall into recharge. Sometimes Megatron reads to Orion, though, there’s really no way to tell how it will end up.

On the cycles he’s off duty, both he and Megatron recharge later than normal. Orion seems to enjoy doting on Megatron on his off cycles, especially in the earlier joors. He’ll prepare fuel for the two of them to share in berth. Their behavior during this period of the cycle can only be described as playfully silly. After fueling, they flirt with each other in the strangest way I’ve ever seen. It starts with playful nudges and jabs and ends with them grabbing and tickling at each other until Orion inevitably ends up subdued, either beneath Megatron’s weight or by being trapped in an embrace. There’s plenty of laughter from both parties during the whole exchange.

After that, once they’ve cool off from their game, Orion leads Megatron to the washrack where they thoroughly groom each other. I honestly am not joking when I say those two can’t keep their servos off each other. They will find any excuse to touch each other. Anyway, after grooming they tend to break apart for a while.

Orion works on his pet project of translating what little Kaoni literature survived the war for a few joor, sometimes asking Megatron for assistance in his glyph usage. He takes his work very seriously, though I highly doubt the Council will allow his translations to be integrated into the Archives as he wants. Megatron usually interrupts him at some point, with pleas for attention or reminders not to work too hard, usually with a snack in servo.

Evenings depend on whether Orion has a social call or not. I didn’t actually realize he had any friends, considering his reputation, but it seems First Aid and his gardener, ‘Melody’ (who I am 99.9% sure is the SPY I WASN’T BRIEFED ABOUT on HER off cycles) are fond of him, and come over for energon and goodies on some of Orion’s off cycles. Sometimes they gossip and sometimes they discuss literature. Orion Pax has no clue that his gardener lives inside his walls…

When he doesn’t have guests, he spends his evenings engaging in his various hobbies. He’s very fond of the crystals in his garden and will sometimes help the gardener tend to them. (all things considered, it seems this gardener is his closest friend. I wonder if she feels as weird about spying on him as I do?) He also really enjoys calligraphy and often transcribes Megatron’s poetry in the most exquisite of glyphs. He was good at calligraphy before the war too, you know? Though he didn’t practice it as much back then. I’m glad to see he’s still getting joy from it. The crystal thing is new, though, I never saw him do anything like that before the war. When it’s time to refuel, they have a brief conversation that essentially boils down to whether or not they can bear to part from each other’s company, which decides if they order fuel for delivery or not.

It also seems like both he and Megatron enjoy the human inspired ‘jigsaw puzzle’ as well. Some evenings they work on one together while watching something on the holocreen or chatting. They have quite the collection, and always new ones seem to pop up. I think Megatron orders them as a surprise because Orion is always excited to see it. They only work on these together. (They work on these during the work cycle evenings as well, sorry OP I forgot to mention that. It’s just so common to see that it slipped right through my processor until I was specifically thinking about Orion’s hobbies.)

As for his general interests, I’d say his number one interest is his Conjunx, if I’m to be honest. Megatron is the single most important thing to Orion Pax. I haven’t even been here that long, and I can see that plainly. If something can be done with Megatron, he will do it with Megatron. He chooses Megatron over all of his other interests and hobbies EVERY TIME. He has joked with Megatron several times that it is to ‘make up for lost time.’ He knows more about Megatron than probably anyone else in the entire universe including Megatron himself. In fact, Megatron often has to encourage or remind Orion to pursue his other interests.

Other than that, he has a pretty wide range of things he’s interested in. He’s deeply invested in Kaon: the language and culture, as well as preserving what’s left of it. He has twice now brought up the topic of wishing to live in Kaon like they had originally planned to, before the war. Also, he enjoys crystals and their tending, calligraphy, poetry, holofilms, jigsaw puzzles, and politics (he has OPINIONS, let me TELL YOU). He spends a good deal of time reading about a variety of topics, such as history, mythology, poetry, romance, etymology, cyber-geology, crystals and their assorted sciences, mineralogy, medicine, politics, pro-Decepticon and Neutral works, graffiti and street art, erotica, memoirs, mystery, cyber-biology, and self-help.

He has some less prevalent, superficial interests as well. I’ve either heard him mention an interest in these topics or heard him give some factoid that only someone with some level of interest would know. I admit, some of these come from my pre-war history with him, (considering the ah…. Extremely wide scope you’ve given me, I think it’s relevant): theology, earth plants, drawing, hymns??? I dunno how else to describe it… Ancient songs, gladiator subculture, sparklings and their care, semiology, symbology, linguistics, justice, psychology, ethics, fuel preparation recipes, turbofoxes, warframe maintenance and first aid, archival sciences, relics, decryption, urban exploration, and dance.

That’s about all I got for ya OP. I wasn’t lying when i said he’s a pretty boring mech. He has a few quirks about his romantic life, but other than that, he’s kinda a nerd. Just like he was before the war. He’s just… more clingy and has medical problems now. As with the last one, I’ve enclosed a journal entry. Same as last time, I have no idea when he wrote this. Honestly, I just picked one at random.

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I had an appointment with Ratchet this cycle that once again did not go very well. I truly am trying my hardest to understand what he wants from me. It seems no matter how I answer his questions, he is displeased by my words. I fear for him. His hatred of Megatronus and his disgust with me seem to be mixing with his grief for Optimus Prime, driving him mad.

Megatronus has repeatedly pleaded on my behalf for another doctor to take my case, but Ratchet insists that I am too volatile and dangerous to be seen by anyone else, which… honestly, may be true. I cannot always control myself, especially when I feel backed into a corner or feel Megatronus is being threatened. When I fear for his safety… I cannot control what I do anymore. I am so terrified of losing him that I can’t control myself.

Before the war, it was the opposite. Megatronus protected me from dangers, and I had little reason to believe I had the power to protect him from much of anything. He was so righteous and strong… almost like a deity in my optics. Though I never worshiped my champion in a traditional manner, I nonetheless found myself deeply devoted to him and his cause.

His touch has always been different from the touch of any other to me, even before I realized that I wished to belong to him. The first time he touched me was merely a servo upon my shoulder as he greeted me and welcomed me to Kaon. I cannot even recall what he spoke to me considering the nearly explosive reaction my spark had to that simple touch.

Of course, I had no frame of reference for what affection or love felt like, so all I really understood was that I liked it when he touched me. His touches were always patient and gentle, a stark opposite to whenever Alpha Trion would touch me, with little concern for my comfort and completely lacking in any sort of tenderness. I was accustomed to my comfort being disregarded by those around me, but Megatronus cared.

I think he must have sensed it, somehow; how repressed and unhappy I was. I had buried so much of myself in my attempts to please my Sire that I barely had any personality when we initially met. Yet he enjoyed my company regardless and urged me to pursue what I wanted, instead of what was expected of me. I had no way of knowing, in the beginning, that I would ultimately realize that he was what my spark wished for above all else.

There are so many moments I should have realized it… I can still recall how eagerly my spark pulsed with excitement and trust the first time he settled between my thighs… the way his field wrapped around me like a promise as he teased me to ecstasy with digits and glossa… I was so deeply in love with him, yet so oblivious of my own emotions. How foolish I was to not see it for what it was.

I am no fool, however. I know exactly who my lover was and is. I knew that he made a living via extinguishing sparks. I knew that he was known for his brutality in the arena. I witnessed more than enough of his gladiatorial matches to know the violence he was capable of. If I am honest… I think part of his allure is that violence, that he never has turned upon myself. To be loved so dearly by one who is known for their violence, to draw out the gentle in one that most see as a monster… to be touched so lovingly by servos still stained with the energon of his foes… I cannot even begin to describe how that feels.

I knew he would start a war the moment I came online strapped to that table in the tunnels. I could feel him trying to cover up his panic to soothe me as he tried to rescue me from my inevitable fate, and I know that he continues to view it as his greatest failure that he did not reach me in time. My champion started his war far sooner and with far more brutality than he wished to because THEY TOOK ME FROM HIM. He still dreams of that cycle I was taken… and how he felt my agony and terror.

Some cycles I ponder what would have happened if he had reached me in time. Would the war have continued if I had been allowed to stand at his side the way I wanted to? I do not know, but I do know that he never would have lost himself to madness. I know that Cybertron never would have been rendered uninhabitable. I know that our war would not have reached the stars had I been at my lover’s side.

We had promised each other eternity and were ripped apart after only a vorn. He grieved for me, and I felt every bit of his anguish. I was there when he spiraled into brutality. I was powerless as I felt his spark grow colder and colder as his rage took hold of him. Our separation was painful for Megatronus. Both physically and mentally. To have our bond severed so forcefully wounded his very spark. So very few seem to understand that ache as we do.

I begged to be allowed to comfort him. I understand that many believe comfort is the last thing Megatronus deserves, but it would have stopped his rampages. If only he knew I still lived. He would have at least had hope. Instead, he saw a new Prime, wearing his deceased Conjunx’s frame and speaking in his voice like an unholy abomination. Optimus Prime spoke lies about willingly accepting the Matrix, of duty, and freedom, spoke as if he were me, when my love could see and feel so clearly that he was NOT. How could they not expect Megatronus’ wrath?

I know that many hold contempt for me for continuing to stand at his side, but how can they expect anything else? He was the ONLY ONE who saw through Optimus’ lies. He was the only one who fought to FREE me, though he was under the impression I was gone. He still wished for my frame to be laid to rest properly, not to be desecrated by the Council’s puppet Prime. He fought for me… How can they not understand that? He was the only one…

He and I have tasted each other's sparks in the most intimate and forbidden of ways. We have been a united being in both spark and frame. Megatronus did nothing during the war that I did not predict and try to stop. I could feel him spiraling deeper into madness the longer the war dragged on, and along with that, his moral standards fell away. I am not proud of the things my lover has done. There are many things I wish I could have stopped. There are memories of him that are terrifying, disgusting even, especially after he began his dark energon consumption. He forgot who he was, just as I had forgotten who I was before I knew him. There were so many times I thought I had lost him for good…

But then Unicron awoke, and I got the chance to live again. I saw that my Champion was still there, merely buried under millennia of grief and war. And he still loved me as deeply as I loved him. He feared that I would not love what he had become… but to me, he will always be my Champion, for I understand him as none other does, and he likewise is the only one who truly knows me. I know his spark as clearly as I know my own, and I cannot condemn him for his actions while spark-broken. He fought for me just as hard as I fought to get back to him, if not more so. His actions were simply much more visible, and affected far more than necessary.

I am told I am selfish for not allowing the citizens of Cybertron the execution they feel they deserve, but has not Megatronus already perished at the servos of my own sparkling for his crimes? Was he not tormented by the Unmaker before an act of divine intervention brought his spark back to life? Is he not still bearing the weight of his crimes by being restricted more than any other citizen of Cybertron? Megatronus has already been and is currently being punished for his crimes. He wears the frame to prove it.

I don’t care what they say about him, I know his spark. I know he speaks true when he says he wants nothing more than peace and freedom for all Cybertronians. I am proud to be his Conjunx, not ashamed, as so many insist that I should be. He is one choice I will never feel shame for and one I will never regret choosing. I promised him eternity, and I meant that.

[Report Received: Visibility Status - Seen]

#two sides to a coin au #transformers prime au #two sides supplemental writing #maccadam #two sides supplemental inquisitorial report #transformers prime #megaop #orion pax #two sides supplemental Jazz #megop #orion x megatronus #tfp orion pax #megatron

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fllagellant · 1 year ago

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For the ask game: desire, midnight, and skin for all your Tavs and Durges that you want to answer for. :)))

Ohhh thank you for this .. the flood gate Opens

Be wary of the read more this is a Long One

Desire: What's one thing your OC wants more than anything in the world? Are they open with that desire? Why or why not? What would they do to fulfill it?

Giilvas has a lot of desires , but there’ s one that he has to fulfill before he can chase any other wants wholeheartedly and with no distractions . He has to get revenge . He has to get even . He knows his family will never rest until he succeeds . While he does make mention to having something important he has to do after the Absolute crisis . He doesn’ t name what , but it is easy to guess since his Whole History is public knowledge . He takes a few years to prepare , both physically and to make final amends with things he can’ t change anymore .

Zerxes desires safety the most . For both him and his sister . While they are both estranged from the family , Zerxes knows that that does not mean they are safe from the family . They are the runaway children . He’ s extremely quiet about this , knowing that the wrong person overhearing or mentioning it in the wrong place would put his sister and himself in danger . He hints at it , vaguely and talking himself in circles . He’ s trying to track down his sister , before anyone else can , and he’ s prepared to go to the ends of the worlds to hide away from the family .

Seoras wants to go home . He just wants to be home . His life was never supposed to go this way . But what can he even do ? He talks about his family , the farm , his well loved loom and how he would spin the wool to threads . But what can he do ? The Absolute will get there before he can . Even if he raced to try and find his way home , he’ d never win . But he talks about it . He always talks about it . And he misses it all so dearly .

Danior confuses his want to be free for a want to pass . He’ s kept alive by … something . Something that’ s slowly taking his face . Something that seems to have done all this before . Something that chose to put him in a sort of … stasis . For as long as it wished . Releasing him now because it must . He has to undergo this new challenge . He thinks he wants to pass , to be with the rest of Netheril , but he just wants to be his own man again . He tried to keep quiet about this . It’ s concerning , he knows , and he doesn’ t think to push his luck . He has no idea how to go about freeing himself , however .

Lucian wants control . He wants to feel like he has some sort of weight , some sort of meaning . He needs to be known , to leave whatever impression he can . He needs to feel like he’ s the one choosing to do what he’ s doing , and no one or nothing else is influencing him to do their biddings . He knows , with his pact , that this is a far off dream . He acts like he has everything he could ever want , but he’ s hoping that miracles are real , and something miraculous with happen and let him walk free .

Omen wants peace . Peace for people , peace for his companions , peace for himself . He just wants everything to be simple and at rest . He says this often , just hoping for good . He wears it on his sleeve , his oath always on proud display . But how can he manage it ? He seems to walk a line , constantly contradicting his own self . How can he want peace when another part of him begs for horrors ? How can he bring peace when his hands ache for carnage ? Which part of him is … him ? Which desires are more true ?

Midnight: What keeps your OC up at night? Do they have nightmares? Fears? Anxieties? What do they do in the small hours of the morning when they should be sleeping?

Giilvas deals with bouts of paranoia and those quiet hours freak him the Fuck Out . Too quiet and too exposed , he feels like he’ s waiting to be caught . He struggles with being able to rest in the first place , so if he finds himself awake and alone , pretty much guaranteed that he’ s not going to rest the rest of the night . He does have nightmares , usually after forcing himself to rest while scared out of his skin . Giilvas waking up screaming remembering his actions have consequences . If he’ s doubling down and choosing to stay awake , he’ s gonna stalk the camp perimeter . Be the beast

Zerxes has a fun routine . When the moon is highest , he’ ll go through his own last rites again . Rereading them and making sure nothing has changed . If he decides that everything is in order , then he’ ll sit and watch the sky , waiting for sleep to claim him . If anything has to be changed , he’ ll rewrite the entire thing . He cannot fathom leaving anything up to chance , and now ? He knows he’ s always a foot in the grave . He makes sure to offer a prayer for his sister , every night .

Seoras has chronic nightmares . He’ s had them since he was a child , and it’ s part of the reason why he’ s so verse in medicines ( if he can brew the blessed Tea that Knocks you out and Keeps you from Dreaming he can get some rest ) but he can’ t exactly get half of the needed medicinal plants when they just .. don’ t grow in the area . He tries as hard as he can to sleep easy and to not . Wake others up with the nightmare . He usually wakes up super early and he goes to calm down in the water by camp . Dunking his face in to try and chase away the fears .

Danior . Does not sleep . Or rest . Um . Ahhh the benefits of being a plaything for some Being . He tries to rest so his body isn’ t torn to shreds after like . A week . He sits by the water or under a tree and tries to calm his mind . If he can’ t , he will modify and improve his armour , sharpen his sword , see what sort of long range ammo he can manage to craft for the next day . At least the camp always has someone on watch . Usually , they do wake up to fresh kill for morning breakfast , since Danior has nothing better to do . It , also , helps get rid of the building nerves of knowing what is waiting for him the next dawn .

Lucian tries to either commune with his Patron or tries to think of new ways to win his life back . Either way , he ends up mad and tired and just . Collapsing into bed , on the verge of tears from just how upset he is . He makes sure no one can ever see him since it is a serious moment of vulnerability . Rarely , he practices the flute to keep himself a bit more grounded and to try and self soothe . When he does sleep , he doesn’ t seem to dream . It’ s like blinking , but he swears he used to dream as a boy . He wonders why he doesn’ t anymore , maybe the pact , maybe something shifted , but he doesn’ t know .

Omen has some of the heaviest eye bags in faerun . He’ s scared to sleep , in case his dreams are one’s trying to coax him into violence . He keeps himself awake by rereading his tenants and mending everyone’ s amour , trying to keep his mind and hands busy enough to keep his from drifting . He’ s also just terrified of the future for himself and the people around him . He’ s worried they’ re doomed , and that they’ ll never return home . Running on thirty minutes and pure fear every damn day ..

Skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

Giilvas is comfortable enough in his own skin , when it comes down to it . He isn’ t comfortable in a lot of the shapes and stories people want him to fit , but as himself ? Sure . He’ s fine . When he has to sit down and face himself , who he actually is , he doesn’ t find himself wanting . But he knows he’ s not perfect . When so many stories and songs seem to narrow him down to ‘ perfect saviour ‘ , it’ s far too easy for any mistake to eat him alive , even if he knows better . He can be cruel . He can be cruel and he knows how to charm people to betray them later . His temper can run thin and he tries to find ways to keep people at arms length . He knows the worst version of himself well , considering that it’ s sometimes the only thing keeping him grounded to being alive .

Zerxes carries a cold weight of shame in his chest . He feels like he’ s done too little , yet he’ s also managed to do far too much bad . His skin tells too much about him , like a book with the cover ripped off , but he’ s desperate to keep secrets . He’ s a hypocrite , he’ s masks as a selfless man , but he’ s convinced that if anyone saw beyond his skin , then they’ ll find someone small and pathetic . Unable to keep one person safe , running himself ragged over his own mistakes . He tries not to think about it . About the person he might actually be , if enough layers are peeled back . Not like anyone will know about that part of him , right ?

Seoras feels like he takes up too much space . He feels clunky in his skin . He carries a rather heavy survivors guilt . When a disease took his family’ s farm , and other families in the trading guild his family was a part of , he learned he was immune . There’ s no proof , but he has convinced himself that he was the person that brought the sickness to the people . He had to watch one of the farmhands , a man he was close to , succumb to the illness . And he was the only person who could take care of him . It felt like he had done this . He brought the sickness and he didn’ t care well enough to get rid of it . But it doesn’ t matter how many times he repeats the events , he can’ t find what he did wrong . He worries he’ ll cause the same event to happen again , and he’ ll still fall short at the worst time .

Danior has a disconnect from himself . He’ s already seen the fact the Being is taking bits of his own appearance and merging it with its own , for whatever purpose that might serve , so he’ s tying to keep himself from panicking about that . Best way is to force the disconnect from the self . His skin isn’ t his . But he still thinks about Netheril . And he thinks about what he should have done . What he could have done . Was there anything he could do ? Was he destined to watch and be unable to fall with them ? He’ ll never get the answer to any of this questions . He wonders what will happen when the Being leaves him , after taking whatever pieces of him that it enjoys . He pretends it doesn’ t scare him .

Lucian’ s penchant for body modification is to try and feel like he had some sort of control over his self . His comfort in his skin ebbs and flows , sometimes he feels perfectly fine , other times he wants to peel away the top layers and hope his real self is underneath . He knows his body isn’ t fully his , his Patron owns him via the Pact . He regrets a lot . And he lives with the failures and mistakes that brought him to this point in his life . It hangs heavy around his neck . He wonders was sort of life he should have had , and he wonders if he might feel alive if he had made the secret, correct choices . He believes in fake it till you make it , however , so if he pretends for long enough , if he tells himself enough times that he is happy and that this is him , then it will be so . It had to be so .

Omen was answered here for this question !

#bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #bg3 dark urge #giilvas #zerxes #seoras #danior #lucian #omen #long post #ALL 6 OF EM YIPPIE !!!!

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ladylannisterxo · 3 years ago

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Kiss Me Deadly

Pairings; Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Words; 9.4k (wowza!)

Warnings; S M U T (18+ only), unhealthy coping mechanisms, protected and unprotected sex (yes there are two smut scenes!), semi-public sex, fingering, oral (f! and m!receiving), marking, light face slapping (only once, a blink and you'll miss it moment), teasing, praise kink, flirting, a single drug deal, smoking, angst, fluff, love confessions, angst with a happy ending, reader had a past relationship with Billy, reader is kind of mean (on occasion), somewhat follows canon storyline (yeahhh, I think that's everything lmao!)

Summary; On your good days, you can manage to navigate life without thinking of Billy at all. Sometimes he only springs up in your mind once or twice but it's never long enough to throw you off course. But on your bad days... well, that's what led you here into the arms of Eddie Munson, a boy you're determined not to like but one who is eager to burrow under your skin and never let you go.

A/N; Ahhhh I'm so excited about this one! I've been tossing this idea around in my head for about a week and I just HAD to write it - Eddie has taken over my entire life so here we are, with 9k words (my longest fic ever) of just Eddie goodness!

{ masterlist }

It started off simple enough and it’s not as if any of this was planned. No way. Eddie Munson, the local menace to society, was your dealer. That’s all, case closed. And it’s not as if you wanted to become a druggy overnight or anything, but after the events of Starcourt, you were beginning to feel less and less like yourself and more like an alien trapped inside of a body you no longer understood.

Starcourt had been… a disaster, and that’s putting it mildly. Sometimes in the deepest, darkest corners of your mind, you can still see the flashing lights of the fireworks and, always of course, the overwhelming guttural screams Billy had let out in his attempt to fight off the Mind Flayer. Billy was never supposed to be a part of this. Billy was never supposed to die. On your good days, you can manage to navigate life without thinking of Billy at all. Sometimes he only springs up in your mind once or twice but it’s never long enough to throw you off course. But, on your bad days… well, that’s what led you here.

After Starcourt had fallen, after all of the funerals, Hawkins did its best to return to a state of normalcy. How everyone around you was able to casually move on as if this wasn’t the biggest hit this town had ever taken was beyond you. It ended up being one big cover up: a mall fire. Something about a corroded gas line that ended up setting the place ablaze. How quaint. But if anyone in this town had half a mind to really think about it, how does a brand new shopping mall already have a corroded gas line? Short answer, it doesn’t. It wouldn’t.

It was after the cover up story and after everyone started to move on that you stopped feeling so sad all the time, stopped grieving so much. Instead, all of those emotions morphed into one that seemed to sit in the pit of your stomach day in and day out: anger. And not just any type of anger, the type that is white hot, unbridled rage. It’s all consuming and when you really start to feel it, it takes over every nerve ending in your body and makes your brain check out.

You needed to take the edge off, you needed to sleep without having an abundance of nightmares all the goddamn time. And that’s what brought you to Eddie Munson. You had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that Eddie sold drugs on the side. You didn’t really know Eddie all that well, having never really spoken to him, but you knew of him. You knew he was repeating senior year for the third time which was absolutely baffling to say the least but you also knew that while he talked a lot of shit about parties, he was always at them. Every single one, or well, all of the ones you had been to anyway over the years. He would always operate as a wallflower, lurking in the shadows, selling his supply to the overeager teens of the town—really just being a productive member of society, no doubt. It was truly something, how the well to do teens of this town had branded Eddie the label “freak” and yet when they needed to get blitzed out of their minds, he was their guy! What a bunch of bullshit.

You had never partaken in the drug scene, never wanted to stray off course. You were a good student, more than good, if you were being totally honest. And it’s not as if your grades were slipping or anything, you just couldn’t focus anymore, your mind constantly drifting back to that night. You couldn’t take it anymore and that’s how you had originally found yourself staring down Eddie Munson as you engaged in your first ever drug deal. What a classy gal you are.

“I can give you a half ounce for uh… twenty. That work for you?”

“Sure?”

You had no idea what you were doing and now it was blatantly obvious. You hadn’t expected him to go all business-like on you when he popped open the lid of the container he carried around with him. Your eyes dart around the wooded area, fingers drumming lightly on the picnic table.

“First time, huh?”

It’s not unkind, more curious. Your eyes flick up to find him already staring at you—big, brown eyes searching yours, seemingly trying to figure you out. Why you of all people would be contacting him for a shady drug deal. You start to feel small under his weighted stare, a feeling that automatically sparks the anger inside of you.

“Thought you were a drug dealer, not a narc,” you snap, “what’s it matter to you?”

His eyes blow wide for a brief moment and then an easy smile forms on his lips. He turns his attention back to the assortment of drugs in front of him and starts pulling your “order” together.

“It doesn’t,” he responds after a moment, “just making sure you’re, ya know, good.”

“I’m fine.”

He smiles again. “Sure.”

And then he’s holding his hand out, eyes focused intently on you, waiting. Right. He’s not going to give you the goods without getting his payment first. Smart. Still baffling how he’s repeating senior year for the third time but common sense and book sense are two entirely different things. You rifle around in your bag for a moment before pulling out a crisp twenty dollar bill and placing it into his awaiting hand. He places your payment into his container and then drops what you came here for directly in front of you on your Chemistry textbook.

“Thanks,” you mumble, pulling yourself to your feet and shoving your “order” into the bottom of your bag.

“My pleasure.” He grins. Why does he keep smiling? “So, hey, random question, but do you play D&D?”

Your hands still as you turn back to face him. “Huh?”

“D&D? You know, Dungeons & Dragons.”

“I know what it is.”

“Right. So, I’m asking, do you play?”

What the fuck? You squint your eyes at him because surely, he’s fucking with you. This was just supposed to be a drug deal, where you exchange payment for goods and then carry on with your fucked up life. But here he is, Eddie fucking Munson, staring back at you with another one of his stupid smiles with, what appears to be, the patience of a fucking saint.

“I- I don’t- What?” Smooth.

He shakes his head with a chuckle, his brown waves bouncing slightly. “Look, you just, you seem like you could use a break and for me, well, D&D has always provided a stellar means of escapism.”

“I don’t know how to play,” you say flatly, willing the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“I could teach you,” he offers in return, “I’ve been told I’m quite good.”

You arch an eyebrow. “Uh huh and why would you want to be oh so kind and teach me the ways of D&D?”

“Like I said, you look like you could use a break.” He smiles again, you narrow your eyes. “And, yeah okay, we could use another player.”

You scoff but in spite of yourself, a hint of a smile finds its way onto your face. This is the most normal conversation you’ve had in months and it feels… good. So good. You’re not sure how to explain it but for all of Eddie’s wild antics and boisterous personality, he makes you feel calm, grounded.

“Okay, sure, why the fuck not?” You nod. “And you can… teach me? That’s not going to be difficult?”

“Not at all.” He shakes his head. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not going to be an overnight thing but I’m the Dungeon Master so if anyone can truly teach you, it’ll be me.”

He winks and you’re biting back a grin. This is so not how you thought this day was going to go.

“I’m sorry,” you laugh; can’t help it. “Dungeon Master?”

“Yeah, it’s the game organizer,” he explains confidently, “the one who creates the campaign and the… what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing! It’s just,” you pause, tilting your head to the side, granting him a sly smile, “I mean, you realize how it sounds, right? Dungeon Master?” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to let him in on the joke. “Come on, Dungeon Master! It makes you sound like a sex fiend!”

He snorts. Dropping his head, his chin rests against his chest as a laugh ripples through his entire body. Then he’s covering his face with his hands and he almost looks… embarrassed? No way, Eddie doesn’t get embarrassed. Does he? But his laughter subsides and he meets your gaze again, a shimmer still present in his eyes and a forever smile on his face.

“Sex fiend, huh?” He winks. “Not the worst thing I’ve ever been called.”

“Okay and we’re done here.”

He laughs again and you’re pretty sure that he’s just laughing at you at this point. His eyes remain focused on you as you finish packing up your things and sling your bag over your shoulder.

“So, let me know if you ever need to take the edge off again,” he says simply, gathering his own things, “and I’m free tomorrow for D&D if you’re still… interested?”

You give him a thumbs up because that’s apparently something that you do now and instead of waiting for a response or, God forbid, another awkward moment, you start walking back towards campus. You can feel his eyes on you, burning right through to your soul but you don’t dare turn around because if you have to see him smile at you one more time, you might shatter into a million pieces.

That was three months ago and your “not so relationship” relationship with Eddie became surprisingly easy after that. He continued to hook you up with weed whenever things became a little too difficult to manage; you never took anything stronger, you didn’t trust yourself enough to give up complete control. He also kept his word and taught you the ins and outs of D&D. You’re no expert but you’re decent enough to keep up with the longtime players of the Hellfire Club, a club which you now find yourself a part of. You have the shirt and everything.

And Eddie was easy, uncomplicated. You liked Eddie. You liked Eddie a lot. You found out he played guitar in a band; a band which you still haven’t seen play yet but you keep telling him you’ll come to a gig one day. He’s also surprisingly funny, always doing the absolute most to make you laugh, and he’s smart too, smarter than he gives himself credit for. He just lacks… dedication? Determination? Confidence? All of the above.

Oh and then there’s the sex. That came later, about a month after the initial drug deal. Sex with Eddie was also another thing you did not plan for but it came so naturally. But there were rules… or well, you had rules and Eddie abided by them. He had to or else he wouldn’t be getting his dick wet. And they weren’t unreasonable, not to you anyway, and there were only three.

Rule Number One: No one could know. And it’s not because you were embarrassed about being seen with him, that didn’t matter to you. You spoke to him when you passed him in the halls, you sat with him at lunch, you wore the fucking Hellfire Club shirt that let everyone else know who you spent your time with. That’s not what this rule is for. You didn’t want anyone to know that you were fucking Eddie, rather regularly, because you didn’t want anyone to slap a label onto your relationship. Because it’s not a relationship, not at all. It’s just two people engaging in casual consensual sex because it feels good and it helps take the edge off. It means nothing and you can stop at any time. Besides, if you were being completely honest with yourself… you wanted one thing that was just yours, a thing you could keep away from the prying eyes of Hawkins because if no one knew about it, it could never be ruined.

Rule Number Two: No kissing. This also includes no marking, which is a sub point to Rule Number One because a mark would alert everyone to something happening. You were fine with fucking Eddie; you were good with blowing him and having him finger you and eat you out at the same time. These were all things that you were perfectly content with. Because it’s meaningless but kissing? No way. Kissing is intimate, kissing is a risk, kissing opens the door to feelings and… no, fuck that. Eddie had thought this rule was a bit too much so to compromise, you allow him to kiss any part of your body, just not your lips. Halfway happy.

And then there’s the final rule. Rule Number Three: No talking. Now, this seems a little excessive, you’re aware of that. But this doesn’t include shooting the breeze or talking about D&D or music or whatever. This is specifically for those deeper topics like why sometimes you need to buy weed from him every day of the week or why it looks like you didn’t sleep well the night before or what exactly happened at Starcourt that fateful July night. No, there is no room for that type of talk because all it does is piss you off. The one thing you found that you liked the most about Eddie is that he doesn’t pry and maybe it’s because he really doesn’t give a shit one way or the other but you both learned the hard way what happens when he asks if you’re feeling okay. You had snapped at him hard one afternoon after a routine hookup and he recoiled from you like he had been burned. Now this rule exists and everyone is much happier for it. Right? Right.

The school day had been dragging and it was only noon. You sometimes prefer to spend your lunch period in the library studying or getting caught up on work but Hellfire Club is meeting later this evening and Eddie likes to brief everyone ahead of time. So, here you are, sitting alone at a lunch table waiting for everyone else as you go ahead and complete your Physics homework. You’re currently trying to figure out how the back of the textbook is claiming the problem you’re working on should result in an entirely different answer then the one you’re getting when you feel a presence behind you. You see a Newsweek magazine drift down in front of your field of vision and his mouth is right at your ear.

“The devil has come to America,” he says ominously.

He drops himself down on the bench next to you, straddling the seat and facing you. He brings the magazine up in front of his face and scans the article dramatically. You drop your pencil with a sigh and grant him your undivided attention because surely, this is going to be good.

“Dungeons & Dragons. At first regarded as a harmless game of make believe now has both parents and psychologists concerned.” He reads off in an overly exaggerated tone. “Studies have linked violent behavior to the game saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even… murder!”

He slaps the magazine down on the table with a flourish, granting you a manic grin. You breathe a laugh, pulling the magazine closer to scan the rest of the article.

“Sodomy, huh?” You inquire, eyes trained on the magazine.

Eddie barks a laugh. “Apparently.”

“Hm. Interesting.”

You can feel his eyes on you as he leans in closer, trying to gauge even the subtlest of actions.

“I’m sorry, am I learning something about you right now?”

“What do you mean?” You ask innocently, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Sodomy includes oral and let’s be honest, we are no stranger to that.”

“Sure but it also includes anal so again, am I learning something about you right now?”

“I dunno.” You shrug and it’s not an answer but he’ll figure it out later… one day… eventually. “But I’m pretty sure the devil has been here the whole time and even if he is just now making his way to America, riding in on the back of a fantasy game just seems illogical. But hey, what do I know?”

He rests his head in the palm of his hand, listening to you run off at the mouth over something as inconsequential as a bullshit article about the dangers of D&D. He feels a warmth bloom in his chest but he ignores it, he always ignores it—he has to. Instead, he opts to stare at you with a whimsical smile etched on his face. His eyes travel down to your notebook full of equations he can’t make heads or tails of.

“What are you working on?”

“Physics,” you reply easily, picking up your pencil and resuming your work.

“I didn’t know you were taking Physics,” he mumbles, leaning in closer to watch you work.

“Yep, AP.”

“Oh, little miss advanced placement, huh?” He purrs, breath tickling your ear. “Too bad this isn’t multiple choice. You could pick D, all of the above for everything.”

You snort. “Mmm, is that what you do? Pick D on all of your quizzes and tests?”

“Well actually,” he states, taking on an overly posh accent, “I’ll have you know that the general rule of thumb is that if you don’t know something, always pick C. Which… now that I’m thinking about it, that’s probably where I keep going wrong.”

“Oh that’s where you keep going wrong,” you say, dropping your pencil and turning to him with a smile. “And here I thought it was because you didn’t study and didn’t try.”

Eddie scans your face as a mischievous glint forms in his eyes. “So D then, all of the above.”

You shake your head with an eye roll. “You’re insufferable.”

You turn back to your work and a companionable silence falls over the two of you. He watches you for a few moments more before pulling out a pen and doodling in the margins of your notebook. You let him, finding the notion that you’ll eventually be turning this work in and your teacher will also have to gaze at these doodles endlessly entertaining.

“You have really pretty handwriting,” he murmurs offhandedly after a moment.

Your heart twists in your chest and you hate it. You don’t hate it because he said it, you hate it because you actually don’t hate it. Not even a little bit.

“I need something from you,” you blurt out, trying desperately to skip over how his stupid compliment made you feel.

“Alright,” he nods, still drawing his doodles, “is this a weed kind of something or… another kind of something?”

“I dunno,” you breathe, “skip fourth and find out.”

Eddie’s eyes snap up to meet yours and he can instantly tell from your weighted stare and shallow breathing that this isn’t the “weed kind of something”. He smirks.

“How am I supposed to graduate if I keep skipping all my classes?” He’s messing with you, he likes to do that from time to time. He doesn’t really care though, he’ll skip every class if you ask him to. “Where do you want to meet? The woods—”

“—Your van. Parking lot. Fourth period.” You lean in a little closer, breath fanning over his face. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

His eyes flick down to your lips and then back up. He doesn’t go for it, he knows better. Going against your rules always ends up with him getting burned. He lets out a shaky breath and opens his mouth to respond when Gareth drops his bag down on the table with a loud thump. You and Eddie immediately spring apart as the others file in to sit with you. You bite your lip, turning back to your work and he knows the rest of this conversation will have to wait until he gets you alone during fourth period.

The remainder of lunch passes by fairly quickly. Eddie briefs everyone on what to expect at Hellfire later and you admittedly only focus a little bit as you really are trying to get this Physics work out of the way. Especially since Hellfire always runs longer than planned, especially because you’ll be skipping fourth period. You squeeze your thighs together in anticipation.

Third period English feels like it lasts an eternity and while normally you’re invested in the novel of the week, you can’t help but find yourself staring at the clock, willing the minutes to tick by quicker than they are. When the bell sounds, you’re immediately out of your seat and booking it to the exit that leads to the parking lot. You hope Eddie is already there waiting, you don’t like arriving before he does. It offers too much risk for someone to see you lingering around his van.

You slow your pace when you finally get outside, trying to act casual as you meander slyly on over to where his van is parked. You spin in a slow circle to see if anyone is paying any attention to you and once you deem yourself completely anonymous, you thump your fist against the back door of his van: two steady knocks, a beat, and then four more in quick succession. You came up with the secret knock after the one time he took his precious time in letting you in and someone almost saw you. Just another sub point to Rule Number One, that’s all.

One of the doors opens just wide enough for you to squeeze through and then he’s reaching out a hand to pull you up and inside. Once the door is shut and locked and you do a quick perimeter check to definitely make sure no one is getting nosy, your hands immediately fly to the buckle of his belt, unbuckling it and whipping the belt through the loops of his jeans so fast, it makes a cracking sound in the stillness of the van.

“Someone’s eager,” he laughs, “not that I’m complaining but I’d be interested to know what it was I said at lunch to warrant you being all over me like this.”

“Why?”

“So I can do it again, obviously.”

“Shut up,” you huff with an eye roll, “take your clothes off.”

He does, starting with his shirt. He pulls it up and over his head, exposing the inky black of his tattoos against his pale skin to you. When he catches you staring, he smirks and then he’s kicking off his Reeboks and sliding himself out of his jeans and boxers in one swift motion. He’s on full display and you’re still very much clothed. His cock stands at full attention, red and leaking, ready to be touched and sucked and fucked.

“Good thing I’m not self-conscious,” he admits, eyeing your still fully clothed form.

“I want you to do it,” you state matter-of-factly and then, “please.”

He walks on his knees over to you; it’s awkward but no one here is laughing. It’s all heated stares and crackling sexual tension. His hands run softly up your stomach to cup your breasts and then back down around your waist to squeeze the swell of your ass. The action pushes you flush up against his warm skin and his nose bumps against your own. He’s too close so you turn your head before he gets the wrong idea and he latches his lips onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder and suckles at your skin.

You moan softly at the sensation, hands resting on his biceps. “No marks,” you warn.

Eddie lets go with a sigh and then his fingers are teasing the hem of your shirt before he rips it up and over your head in one swift motion. His hand splays against your back in search of the clasp to your bra and you breathe a soft laugh after a moment of intense fumbling.

“Front clasp, Eds.”

He looks down and finds the damn thing sitting pretty between the swell of your breasts and his breath hitches. “Even better,” he groans.

He pops the clasp open and pulls the bra off your shoulders and down your arms, flinging it to the discarded pile of clothes already accumulating. His attention is back on your breasts in an instant, cupping them in his hands and teasing your nipples between his fingers until they’re hardened peaks. You drop your head back with a sigh and he licks a stripe from the base of your neck up to your jaw. It sends a shiver cascading down your spine.

“Can you help me out with your shoes at least?”

You drop rather awkwardly down onto your ass and pull at the laces of your Converse, tugging them both off and tossing them over to where his Reeboks lay. You lean back, keeping yourself propped up on your elbows and he takes the initiative to unfasten the button of your jeans and pull them and your panties down and off your legs.

Your hand reaches out on instinct, teasing your fingers along his shaft. He twitches at your touch. Eddie leans over you then, hovering just a breath away from you and before you can turn your head away from him again, he presses a delicate kiss to your cheek and then moves his lips to your jaw and then further down your neck. He stops for a moment at your breasts, lavishing them with his hands and tongue, taking each nipple into his mouth and drawing out the most wanton moans from you. As sinful as you sound, it’s like heaven to him. He trails wet kisses down your belly and then he’s finally, finally where you want him most.

His breath is hot against your pussy and his nose brushes ever so lightly against your clit. You bite down on your lip, keeping yourself still as you wait for him to make his fucking move. You’re just about to chastise him, tell him to take a goddamn picture, it’ll last longer, when he flattens his tongue against your entrance and licks all the way up to your clit.

“Oh,” you breathe, letting your arms buckle out from underneath you to lay flat on your back.

After fucking in his van started becoming a regular occurrence, Eddie took it upon himself to make it a bit more comfortable for the two of you. There are now a couple of blankets for you to lay on and a few pillows because why not? The more comfy it is, the better. He likes to refer to his ride now as the “Shaggin’ Wagon” as a joke which he finds hilarious. You didn’t at first but each time he uses the term, he waggles his eyebrows and gives you a mischievous grin and you can’t help but laugh with him. Eddie is a total loser sometimes but you like it.

His tongue circles around your clit for a moment, loving the whiny sounds you grace him with. Then he’s latching on with his lips and sucking fervently against the sensitive bundle of nerves and your back arches at the feeling. Your hands immediately fly to twist your fingers in his hair but also to keep his him right fucking there. A single finger prods at your entrance and in one fluid motion, he’s buried knuckle deep inside of you, the cool metal of his rings flush against your ass.

“Fuck, Eds,” you moan, “right there.”

His finger slips in and out of you at a steady pace, lips still stimulating your clit. Your fingers twist tighter in his hair, impending orgasm right on the horizon. He slips his digit from you, wraps both hands around your thighs, and buries his face completely in your cunt, his tongue pushing inside to get you just where you so desperately want to be. You roll your hips, feeling his tongue push in deeper, and then with an elongated moan, you’re cumming on his tongue and he’s lapping at your dripping pussy, taking everything you give him.

With a shuddering gasp, you push at his head to keep him from overstimulating you because this is far from over. His mouth is slick with your arousal and he wipes his fingers across his mouth, gathering up your wetness and licking them clean.

“Have I ever told you how fucking good you taste?” He asks, finger in his mouth and mirth ever present in his eyes.

“Today? No.”

“Well let me remind you,” he whispers, crawling back up your body and bumping his nose against yours. “You taste so goddamn divine, sweetheart, it’s too bad you can’t taste it for yourself.”

“Don’t start, Eddie,” you caution.

“Okay, okay,” he relents, “do you want to keep going?”

You spread your legs wider around him, reaching down to take his cock in hand. Hips rolling forward, you brush the tip of his cock against your entrance.

“What do you think?”

“Fuck,” he breathes, “okay, let me get a condom.”

Eddie pulls away from you then, fumbling for his discarded jeans. He reaches into his back pocket for his wallet and then he’s pulling a foil packet from its confines. Tearing it open with expert precision, he rolls the condom onto his length and then he’s back, hovering over you once again. He grasps one of your legs, hand gripping the underside of your knee, and pushes it up towards your face, effectively spreading you open for him. He lines himself up at your entrance, teasing his cock through your folds a few times.

“Ready?” He asks, voice like gravel.

“Yes,” you whisper, anticipation like ice water in your veins.

He slips into you, torturously slow, inch by aching inch. Your hands run up his torso, landing on his chest and digging your nails into his supple skin. He hisses at the contact, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth and then he’s bottomed out, hips flush against your own.

“Don’t hold back,” you tell him, “give me everything you got.”

“I always do.”

Then he’s gingerly pulling back out and his eyes flit to yours—the last possible second for either of you to put a stop to this dancing between the two of you—and then he’s snapping his hips and setting a brutal, mind-numbing pace. You moan like a whore, you always do when Eddie fucks you. Your nails rake down his chest leaving scratches behind in their wake; Eddie doesn’t mind, he never has. He doesn’t care if you mark him, he likes the reminder that he fucked you so hard and so good that your first instinct was to scratch his skin all to hell.

“This is what you wanted,” he grunts, “what you needed, isn’t it?”

You nod, biting down sharply on your bottom lip. He hikes the leg he’s holding higher, changing the angle and you wrap your other leg around his waist, keeping him close to fuck you faster, harder, deeper.

“Nuh uh,” he reprimands, slapping his hand lightly against your cheek and then pulling your lip from between your teeth, “you know I like it when you tell me how good this feels for you.”

You scoff. “God, you love to be praised, don’t you? Have to be told just how much of a good boy you are.”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth and you match his steely glare with one of your own. And then he’s smiling one of those wicked smiles he usually reserves for D&D when he surprises everyone with a hellacious plot twist. He shifts his position, pulling himself onto his knees and then he’s grabbing both of your legs and pushing them as far forward as he can, practically bending you in half. Your feet brush against the roof of the van and with one last smug grin, he resumes fucking you with such ferocity that it punches the air from your lungs.

“Oh fuck! Eddie- I- oh my God.”

Your breathless, brain completely frazzled and you can feel him everywhere, like he’s digging himself a permanent home underneath your skin. Your hands grapple against his chest, searching for purchase as his hips snap against yours brutally. He’s still got that wicked gleam in his eye and you know he’s got you right where he wants you. The head of his cock slams against your sweet spot over and over again and it has you screaming as pleasure courses through your body.

“Goddamn, sweetheart,” he laughs, shoving two of his fingers into your mouth, “you really gotta shut the fuck up. Don’t want people to hear what a whore you’re being for the freak, do you?”

You moan around his fingers, sucking on them in the same way you'd suck his cock and the mental image has him groaning as his eyes flutter closed. Victory swims through your veins at being able to unravel him so quickly. You slap his hand away, his eyes reopening to gaze back down at you. The wicked, smug gleam is gone and all that’s left is pure desire. The way Eddie looks at you sometimes stills your heart in your chest because why would he want to? You’re an absolute fucking mess most days. You haven’t been something worth wanting in a long time… but here he is, looking at you as if you hung the fucking moon.

You grin, shoving those thoughts from your mind. “Thought that’s what you wanted. Thought you wanted to hear me scream for you as you pummeled my cunt with your huge cock.”

Eddie lets go of your legs, allowing you to wrap them around his waist and then he’s covering you with his body, one hand pressed to the floor and the other tangled in your hair. His nose brushes against your cheek, breath hot against your ear.

“You say such nice things to me, sweetheart, and nice girls get what they want,” he whispers against your heated skin, “so why don’t you be a good girl and cum for me, yeah?”

You whimper in response, his hips rocking into you at such a steady pace that it makes you want to burst. Your orgasm bubbles up inside of you, twisting tightly in your belly and you roll your hips against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, letting him take you higher and higher and higher until it feels like you’re floating above your body.

“Come on, Eds, make me cum.”

He untangles his fingers from your hair and brings them down to rub quick and firm circles onto your clit and with one last loud and elongated moan, you’re cumming on his cock.

“That’s a good girl,” he murmurs, fucking you through your high and chasing his own release. “Shit, you’re so good for me, you know that?”

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you rake your nails down his back, keeping his body flush against your own. He thrusts one, two, three more times and with a choked moan, he finds his own release. The two of you remain in this position for a few moments, catching your breath and relishing in the post-orgasmic bliss hanging in the air. Gently, Eddie pulls himself up and out of you and then he removes the condom, tying it off and tossing it toward the back door to be disposed of later. He lays down next to you, head propped up in his hand while the other rests on your stomach.

“What are you thinking about?” He inquiries softly.

You shake your head, eyes trained on the roof.

“Hey,” he whispers, fingers dancing along your skin, “are you feeling okay?”

With a huff, you sit up and immediately grab for your clothes, pulling them back on as quickly as possible. Eddie sits up as well, eyeing you warily as he reaches for his own clothes. He’s not entirely sure what it is he’s done but he’s positive he’s gone against one of your rules. It’s not as if he meant to, he was simply concerned and like hell is he going to believe that being concerned for the wellbeing of someone else, someone as special as you, is going to be considered a character flaw.

“Can you stop for a second?” He asks gently.

You’ve already managed to pull all of your clothes back on. Pushing your hair wildly out of your face, you begin the task of lacing your Converse back up so you can get the hell out of here. It feels like you’re suffocating, like the fucking van is on fire.

“I don’t know why you keep doing this,” you mumble.

“Doing what?” He slips his shirt back on and then he’s leaning back against the side of the van, trying to keep as much space between him and you as he possibly can.

“Ruining things,” you snap, “you always fucking do this, Eddie!”

“Sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that!”

His eyes grow wide at the seething tone of your voice. You’ve finally slipped on your Converse and you snap your head over to stare him down. If he could get further from you, he would. The anger is rolling off of you in waves and it’s unbelievably stifling in this confined space. How did everyone go so wrong so fast?

“I have three rules, Eddie, and you agreed to those three rules, did you not?” You don’t wait for him to respond. “So I don’t understand why the fuck you keep going against them and why the fuck you’re always so goddamned surprised when it pisses me off!”

“Jesus Christ, is this all because I asked if you were okay?!”

“I don’t want you to ask me if I’m okay! I don’t need you to ask me! I am fine! I have been fine this whole time and I will continue to be fine. Okay?”

He shifts his eyes away from you, staring out the front windshield, muscle in his jaw jumping with tension. “That was a convincing lie the first few times you said it but it sounds a lot like bullshit now.”

“You don’t fucking know me,” you hiss.

“How can I? You won’t let me!” He turns his eyes back on you and he looks wounded, like you’ve ripped his heart out and crushed it right in front of him. “Your rules are bullshit! And the only reason they even exist is because you’re too afraid to let someone, let me, know you!”

You scoff, a bitter sound that runs over his skin like sandpaper. “We’re done.”

You shove the back door open and step out into the parking lot, inhaling copious amounts of fresh air to help settle your nerves. Eddie’s presence looms behind you like a shadow, like he’s the predator and you’re the prey. You start walking back to campus, refusing to look back his way. All you want is to go grab your things from your locker and get the fuck out of here, forget that you ever wasted a single goddamn second on Eddie Munson. The van door slams loudly.

“Are you still coming to Hellfire tonight?”

The question catches you off guard, stops you right in your tracks. Is he fucking serious? You slowly turn back to find him leaning against the side of his van, lighting a cigarette. Seemingly not a care in the world.

“What?”

“Are you… still coming… to Hellfire… tonight?”

He enunciates his question like a fucking asshole and it makes your blood boil. He’s not even looking at you, too preoccupied with his stupid cigarette. Coward.

“That’s what you’re concerned with?”

“Well,” he begins, taking a long drag of his cigarette, “since I’m not allowed to ask you about anything else, I figured falling back on D&D would be a safe option.”

You want to scream but it comes out as a humorless laugh. “Yeah, Eddie, I’ll still be there. Just because I’m no longer fucking you doesn’t mean I’m gonna fuck your campaign.”

“Jesus Christ,” he scoffs, tossing his cigarette to the ground and jumping into the driver’s seat of his van.

He doesn’t pay you a second glance as he peels out of the parking lot, leaving you behind in a cloud of dust. The wind gets knocked out of you fairly quickly after that and you’re not sure what exactly it is you’re feeling. It’s definitely not anger although you’re used to anger, you prefer anger. No, what you’re feeling is an emotion you haven’t felt in a very long time. Pain. It scorches through your veins like fire and you want to dig your nails into your skin and rip it out over how badly it burns.

But you can’t be feeling pain or sadness. Not about this. Not about Eddie. You haven’t felt pain like this since Billy died and you went numb fairly fast after his funeral because you cried so much. You weren’t sure if you’d ever be capable of feeling that level of pain again. But it’s not like Eddie died or anything; you’ll see him later and he’ll remind you all over again just how annoying he is when he cracks his jokes or captivates you with his enticing storytelling or looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

You sigh. Fuck.

The next few hours slip by in a blur and before you know it, you’re back at campus, halfway through another round of Eddie’s campaign. He barely glanced up at you when you had walked in, choosing to focus on getting everything set up. He didn’t even speak to you. It didn’t feel right; you usually showed up early anyway and you and Eddie would shoot the breeze and tease each other and laugh until everyone else arrived. But not tonight; instead, it was like a vice had twisted itself around the room and sucked all the air from it.

For as much as he ignored you when you first arrived, once the game got going, it was as if he had never been bothered about anything ever in his life. He was the same Eddie that he’s always been—eyes alight as he waits for the perfect opportunity to spring the next great plot twist on the group, a dazzling smile etched onto his face because he’s right where he needs to be, in his element. It makes your stomach twist and your brain go fuzzy. You want the game to be over.

And then it is and everyone’s clearing out in high spirits because tonight was a good run. Then it’s just you and Eddie left in the room and that vice from earlier is circling the room again.

“You were good tonight,” he says offhandedly, not looking at you, “you barely need help anymore.”

“Thanks,” you say, “I had a good teacher.”

An awkward silence falls over the room and you’re not sure what to do. Should you leave? Should you stay and help clean up? Should you say something? Should he be the one to say something? You remember all too well what long silences with Billy meant and usually you only needed to give him some time and he’d come around but Eddie isn’t Billy and you’re not really sure where to go from here. It frustrates you to no end and you want to cry but you also don’t because God forbid Eddie see you cry. The thought is unbearable. When you look back at Eddie, he’s already looking at you and his expression is unreadable.

“I’d ask if you’re feeling alright but,” he stops, sighs, “I really don’t want to fight with you again.”

“No, it’s- it’s okay. You were right.”

He nods. “I’m really not trying to be an asshole here but right about what exactly?”

“Everything,” you say, voice catching, “I’m not fine, Eddie. I haven’t been fine in a long time.”

He crosses the room in three long strides and suddenly you’re enveloped in a hug and it feels warm and nice and like home that a sob immediately erupts from you and then you’re clutching onto him like he’s the only thing keeping your feet on the ground.

“Shh shh shh,” he whispers against your hair, kissing your temple, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry I screamed at you today,” you cry, pulling back to look at him, “that wasn’t cool.”

Eddie chuckles, looking at you like you could never do any wrong and you hate it. Hate that he’s so understanding, hate that he just gets it, hate that he’ll never ask you to be anything other than what you are. But what you hate most is that you don’t hate it, not even a little bit, not even at all.

“Come here, let’s sit down,” he says, pulling you over to the table and then you’re both perched on the side of it, turned towards each other, knees brushing and hands interwoven together.

“Look,” he says softly, “I shouldn’t have come at you like I did today—”

“No, Eddie, you—”

“No, listen, okay?” He searches your eyes, waiting to see if you’ll cut him off again. “Your rules are kinda intense sometimes… but I get it. What you went through, what you lost, I- I can’t even begin to imagine what it has been like for you. The pain I know that you felt, the pain I know you still feel. Sweetheart, I know it sometimes looks like I’m not paying attention but I am and I see the look in your eyes, you know what I’m talking about, when you disappear inside your own head.”

You nod, nibbling on your bottom lip. “It’s usually about that night, the night that Billy died. I think about it more often than I’d like, going over what happened and all of the ‘what ifs’. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he implores, “you loved him. I know that you did and I know that a part of you still does. There’s a part of you that always will and I never want to be the one to take that away from you. But I think that you’re scared—scared to let someone in, scared to love again, scared that you’ll end up losing it all again. And I- I really need you to know that I care about you so much, sweetheart, I mean, I- I’m so fucking in love with you and I think what scares you the most is the fact that you might love me too.”

You breathe a shaky sigh, a single tear falling from your eye which he brushes away instantly with a touch so gentle, it has you coming apart at the seams.

“I’m a mess, Eddie,” you say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And to your surprise, he laughs, a full laugh that takes over his entire body. He stretches his arms out wide before you. “And what do you think I am? Perfectly put together?”

In spite of yourself, you smile; the kind of smile that lights up your whole face and makes his body grow warm at the sight.

“There she is,” he whispers, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Eds?”

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“I do… love you, that is,” you whisper, trepidation flooding your body. “And I still get scared sometimes but I- I want to try to not be… with you, if you’re… okay with that?”

“More than.” He smiles. “Let’s be scared together, yeah?”

“And no more rules.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Are you sure you want that?”

“Yes,” you state resolutely, “I want to talk about anything and everything, I think it might help. And I want people to know about us, I don’t want to hide you away like some shameful secret cause I’m not ashamed. I want everyone to know that I’m yours and you’re mine and… and I want you to kiss me. All the time. Every chance you get.”

Eddie doesn’t waste a second. He immediately cups your face in his hands and brings his lips to yours and it’s everything you imagined it would be. He tastes like cigarettes and Mountain Dew and it’s gross but it’s him so you love it. You tease your tongue along his bottom lip and he eagerly opens his mouth for you to slip your tongue inside, kissing him deeper.

Your hands slip under the hem of his Hellfire shirt and you run your fingers along his bare torso, his abdomen tightening at your feather light touch. He chuckles lightly against your lips and lo and behold, Eddie’s ticklish and it makes you feel giddy that you’ve discovered something brand new about him.

You pull back suddenly, eyes blown wide and lips swollen. “I want you, all of you. The right way.”

His gaze darts around the room before landing back on you. “Here?”

“Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.”

“Then yeah, Eds, right here.”

He pulls himself back up to stand between your open legs and caresses his fingers up your thighs before making quick work of pulling your Hellfire shirt up and over your head. His eyes land on the front clasp of your bra and he eagerly unfastens it and pulls it from your body.

“Look at you,” you tease, pecking your lips against his jaw, “finding the clasp the first time around.”

“Hush.”

“Your turn,” you say and then you’re just as eagerly ripping his shirt up and over his head, exposing his ink splattered porcelain skin to you. “I just want to put my mouth everywhere.”

“What’s stopping you?”

You purse your lips in contemplation, tilting your head to look over towards his “throne”; the seat that is his and his alone, where he sits before you all like a king and commands the room. It sends a thrill straight to your core.

“Go have a seat,” you whisper, pushing him towards the chair. “But take your pants off first.”

He does, stripping himself of his Reeboks, jeans, and boxers and then he’s dropped himself down in this “throne”, manspreading for your pleasure. He looks like art come to life, bathed in the soft white glow of the overhead light, alabaster skin on complete display for your eyes and your eyes alone. You bite your lip and then slip off your Converse and shimmy your own jeans and panties down your legs. You cross over to him, hips swaying seductively, eagerly soaking up the look of absolute want that he sends you. Then you drop to your knees before him, eyes aligned with his hardened cock.

“Oh,” he breathes, “so this is what we’re doing.”

“No, this is what we’re starting with. Only fair after the two mind blowing orgasms you gave me earlier.”

“I aim to please, sweetheart.”

“And please you do,” you say sweetly, batting your eyes up at him, “now, let me take care of you.”

Before he has a chance to respond, you grasp his cock and lick a firm stripe from the base to the tip. He groans low in his throat, head dropping back against the chair and eyes screwing shut.

“Oh fuck me,” he whispers, “that’s good.”

You swirl your tongue around the head, lapping at the precum pooling and then you’re taking him fully into your mouth, sliding all the way down until your nose brushes against his pubic hair. You take a minute to adjust to the feeling of him in your throat and his thighs are tense underneath your fingertips. You hum once and his entire body spasms.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chants, “you’re so goddamn good to me.”

You hum again in appreciation and he groans. You glide slowly back up, tongue flat against the underside of his cock and then you flick your eyes up to meet his. Eddie’s staring back at you, mouth slightly agape, and eyes full of lust. No, not lust… this is love. Pure and true adoration. You grasp the base of his cock and begin bobbing your head at a steady pace, eyes remaining fixated on him. You may have admitted that you love him but it doesn’t mean you still can’t thoroughly enjoy just how quickly he falls apart for you.

There is spit dribbling from your lips and his fingers are tangled in your hair, keeping you somewhat in place as he shifts his hips to fuck your mouth. You hum around him again, letting the vibration course throughout his body and then he’s pulling you off his cock with a gasp.

“Okay, okay,” he grunts, breath shuddering, “I don’t want to cum yet so…”

“Got it.” You bite back a smile and then pull yourself up to straddle his lap. “Is this okay?”

“C-condom?”

“No, I want to feel you,” you blurt and then softer, eyes locking with his, “make me yours, Eds.”

“Shit,” he murmurs, pushing your hair back out of your face, “alright, sweetheart.”

You smile, melding your lips with his once more. Lining him up at your entrance, you bring yourself down, taking his cock fully in one fluid motion. You both moan into the kiss. One of his arms wraps around your waist while the other splays fingers across your upper back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands are resting atop his shoulders, using them as leverage to lift yourself up and drop back down, setting a steady pace.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” he mumbles against your skin, lips trailing down your neck to your chest.

He tweaks your nipples between his fingers before he pulls one into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hardened peak. Your nails dig harshly into his shoulders, his name tumbling from your lips like a prayer. You throw your head back, a loud moan escaping your lips as you bounce fervently on his cock, bringing yourself closer and closer to your impending orgasm.

Eddie pulls off your nipple with a soft groan, hand coming up to brush against your cheek and tilt your head back down to meet his gaze. “I’m so close, sweetheart, tell me you are too.”

You nod, brushing his damp hair out of his face and resting your forehead against his. “Kiss me when you cum, Eds, please.”

“Fuck,” he groans, a choked sound that gets lodged in his throat. “Anything for you.”

You roll your hips faster, taking him deeper and you’re alternating between moaning like an absolute whore and chanting his name like it’s the only word you remember. His eyes remain locked on your face, letting you take control as you bring the two of you to release.

“Eddie, I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, “kiss me, please kiss me.”

He surges forward, capturing your lips with his own and you’re teetering on the precipice. With one last hard thrust of his hips, you’re freefalling straight into the waves of bliss and Eddie cums shortly after with a groan so broken and loud, his warmth spreading through you. You continue to roll your hips, working you both through your high and then you’re opening your eyes to find him already gazing at you longingly.

You remain like that for a moment, basking in each other’s presence and then you’re both erupting into a fit of giggles because this feels right. You don’t feel like you need to hide from him anymore, like you could stay here in this moment with him forever and everything would be okay.

“I love you, Eddie,” you say so matter-of-factly that it makes your heart soar.

He blinks, a trademark Eddie smile pulling at his lips. The kind of smile that lights up a room and makes your heart skip a beat and breath stutter in your chest.

“I love you too. God, I love you so much, sweetheart.”

He kisses you again… and again… and again. You’re not sure what tomorrow holds or the day after that or the day after that and you definitely don’t know when the world is going to implode on itself again but at this moment, you’re not particularly concerned. Because you have Eddie and he has you and you’re not afraid anymore.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #writing by 's'

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ptergwen · 4 years ago

Text

smoke and mirrors

⇢ richkid!tom x richkid!reader ⇠

w/c: 4.1k

warnings: swearing, drinking, light angst, and implied smut

summary: because of your mother’s insistence on a pristine family image and tom’s messy one, you deny your true feelings for him

a/n: ok ok ok the pics of tom in monaco really made me think and i had to get everything out of my system so here we are! thank you and enjoy x

your living room is engulfed by a hushed chatter that comes from far too many guests. half the people, you hardly know. it’s overcrowded, superficial, and the last place you want to be. it’s one of your mother’s get-togethers, as she likes to call them. these things are always far from the casual affairs they sound like.

weeks go into planning, caterers and decorators making themselves at home in yours. the family’s image is everything to your mom, so being a good hostess is her top priority. ironically, she’s more concerned with throwing her gatherings than raising you. so much for family, huh?

the only reason you agreed to make an appearance tonight is that tom might do the same. he’s a really good friend, someone you’ve been able to count on through all the mess that is your lives. you met in high school, when he moved from london to the states. his dad was offered a job promotion he couldn’t pass up. plus, tom and his brothers would be receiving a stellar private education here in america.

it was a win for everyone, especially you. the freckle faced boy who got lost on his way to english class became your closest confidant. tom’s company is such a sweet escape. he’s not interested in opera or the stock market like most people you meet are. he sneaks you out to go on walks at dawn and does shots with you until you can’t stand straight.

as you two continue to grow together, revelations about yourselves have come to light. what you want beyond your inheritances, who you want beyond friendship. you figured out the second part on a faithful night recently. tom showed up to your place with a bottle of tequila. after you drank it down through lots of lime chasers and giggles, he kissed you. you didn’t kiss back.

your heart said to go for it, but your mind pulled you back in. you were so shocked and overcome with new feelings, you froze up. that, and you’d infuriate your mother. although she cares about tom a great deal, she loathes his public figure. he’s always getting papped in places and with people he shouldn’t be. the two of you together would just destroy her.

you still want to please your mom at the end of the day, no matter how deep under your skin she gets.

tom immediately apologized and tried play it off as him being drunk. you grew up with him, became part of each other’s families, which means you know him well enough to know he was lying. he meant every second his lips were on yours.

what you need to do now is something you’ve meant to for a while. the only problem is that you’re stuck at your mother’s party, and tom hasn’t shown up yet.

“y/n, darling,” your mom calls for your attention. she’s dragged you into a conversation with some bloggers, but you haven’t spoken a word. “why don’t you tell us about your trip to spain last summer?” she plasters on her award winning grin and squeezes your shoulder. it’s time to play along.

“oh, it was beautiful,” you halfheartedly reply, more to the bloggers than her. they nod in clear interest. one jots down notes. “we went for a few weeks and visited a bunch of different cities. i’d love to go back sometime.” the typical press formatted answer earns your mom’s approval. you’re off the hook. your eyes start to wander around the room, hoping to set on tom.

“we?” the woman taking notes asks. must everyone pry? “my friend and i,” you shortly reply. you’re standing up on your tiptoes to see over the crowd. you’d think six inch heels would do the trick. “i’m actually looking for him right now, so if you’ll excuse me,” you offer a polite smile and silently pray they won’t ask who. unfortunately, your wishes don’t come true.

the other blogger, a short and stubborn man, speaks up. “just a friend you say? come on, tell us. who’s the lucky fella?” he inquires. your mother raises a firm eyebrow, signaling for you not to.

tom has a reputation for his reckless behavior. it’s your mom’s worst nightmare when the media associates your names under most circumstances. you’re representing her, so she does whatever she can to control how you’re seen. you’re constantly in the papers, being a young socialite and all. it sucks.

“he’d like to stay out of the tabloids, sorry,” you cover for tom, on your mom’s behalf. “i should really go. it was nice meeting you.” the bloggers don’t bother to hide their disappointment as you shake their hands. your mother rubs your back in approval. “thank you for doing that. we’ll talk later,” she speaks lowly. “bye, mom!” you practically make a run for it.

weaving through the sea of people, you end up by the main entrance. it’s hard not to get lost even though it’s your house. the place is packed with girls just a couple years older than you, wearing pearls around their necks. men’s strong colognes flow through the air. you’re in a form fitting red slip dress and louboutins yourself.

smoke and mirrors is what they call it. you show the pretty parts to distract from your ugly ones.

harrison suddenly comes waltzing in with a lady on either of his arms. you’d expect nothing less. he’s tom’s best friend besides you, considering the failed kiss attempt didn’t change that. their parents worked at the london branch of the same company. they each came to the states and met you. you happily introduced them to your world, helping to make it theirs as well.

“haz!” you meet him at the front door. he’s smirking while he leads the women inside. “fancy seeing you here, isn’t it?” he jokes. “very funny. i died laughing,” you deadpan, curiously eyeing harrison’s plus two. they merely giggle. “listen, have you seen tom anywhere? if he’s coming.” you’re fighting back a frown. “why wouldn’t he be?” harrison questions in a more serious tone this time.

“long story. you have guests to entertain, so i won’t get into it now,” you decide and manage a small smile instead. he perks up. “right. i’ll let you know if i see him?” nodding, you give him a wave goodbye. “enjoy yourself.” “you too, love. cheers!” the girls lean into him, harrison wiggling his eyebrows at you. he’s ridiculous.

hours pass by without word of tom. it isn’t like him to miss an event, especially if you’re in attendance. you despise these exhausting nights, and he’s supposed to be your rock during them. he should have his arm draped around your shoulders, whispering silly remarks to you while you hide out somewhere. you miss him more than you thought possible.

you’re just about to give up when you spot nikki ushering her husband inside. behind them follows tom, clad in a grey checkered suit with his locks perfectly tousled. he’s here. you waited the whole night, and he finally came.

tom kisses his mom on the cheek before strutting over to the drink table, not without a few reporters hassling him. they’re probably looking for another holland scandal to break. he declines their requests for comments on this and opinions on that, instead pulling up a chair next to harrison. the two exchange hugs and fix themselves glasses of champagne, you watching their encounter.

harrison fills tom in on the drama he’s missed tonight while they sip their drinks. tom keeps forcing smiles that don’t reach his eyes. he’s fiddling with his fingers, leg bouncing up and down steadily. those are the telltale signs he needs saving. however awkward it may be, you’re going to have to break your silence. it was bound to happen eventually.

“mate, i’m telling you. she fit her entire first right up her-“ “boys,” you cut into harrison’s story, greeting him and tom. his face tints deep pink upon your arrival. “don’t let me stop you. finish your charming anecdote,” you encourage him and subtly glance over at tom. he’s biting back a grin as he sets his elbows on the table.

“not with a lady present. let’s just… pretend you didn’t hear that,” harrison chuckles nervously and hops to his feet. “i’m gonna leave you two to chat.” humming, you move to take his chair. tom sucks in a breath. “what happened to the girls you brought?” you wonder. “they left. said they got bored,” harrison admits, tom stifling laughter. he elbows his friend for that.

“oh, fuck off. i’ll see you later,” he mopes, flicking your arm for good measure. tom salutes him and grabs his nearly empty champagne. “so long, bruv.”

it’s just you and tom now, seated side by side, silently so. he has no intentions of speaking first. he’s too embarrassed, and you don’t blame him. this is on you. you clear your throat before starting the conversation.

“can i top you off?” you tap the bottom of his glass with a tiny smile. tom shakes his head. “i’m alright, thanks.” he finishes the last sip and sets it down, turning to face you. your smile has vanished. “wasn’t sure you were gonna make it. i’m glad you did,” you change the subject. as if he’s considering the sincerity behind your words, tom furrows his eyebrows.

“mum wanted us to. she dragged me and dad straight off the golf course,” he explains and clasps his hands in his lap. his fingers interlock with each other. you fight off the urge to replace them with yours. “we would’ve been here sooner, but the paps are camped outside.” the hint of a smile forms on his lips, at last. “guess it’s not often you get the town’s finest under one roof.”

“you think i’m one of the town’s finest?” you tease, resting your chin in your palm. something flashes behind tom’s eyes. he looks right into yours, scooting closer. “absolutely. you’re the most eligible bachelorette in this whole building.” you allow a toothy grin to spread across your face. “tommy, stop it. you’re too nice to me.”

the nickname is music to his ears. tom looks you up and down, licking his lips simultaneously. “no, seriously. you look gorgeous,” he muses, you pushing at his chest. he exhales a breathy laugh, and you giggle yourself. “red’s definitely your color.” “reverse card. you wear it way better than i do,” you insist. your fingers tug at the collar of his suit. “too bad you didn’t match me.”

you’re relieved you two can talk like you usually do, light flirting and good vibes. it might not be so hard to put the kiss behind you. well, you can’t go on pretending it didn’t happen. you have to at least discuss the fiasco. tom should know why you didn’t reciprocate, then you can take it from there. whether he still has feelings for you, assuming he ever did, will depend on how that turns out.

“not to ruin the fun, but we still have to talk,” you murmur, tom’s body stiffening across from yours. he’s not sure he’s ready to discuss that. “can it wait? we’re at a party,” tom reminds you, running a hand through his styled locks. “yeah, my mother’s. don’t tell me you’re having a good time,” you playfully chastise him. he simply shrugs. “hardly. you’re the best part.”

you ignore the butterflies roaming about your body.

“you won’t mind a quick convo, then. it is with me,” you attempt to persuade him and place a hand on his knee. tom coughs a bit too loudly, the contact surprising him. “you know what? i think i’ll take you up on that drink first,” he decides with a mustered up smile. “coming right up.” you pat his leg before taking his glass. he chews on his lower lip while you poor the bubbling liquid. that was certainly… odd.

you slide tom his champagne back with an exaggerated wink. tom scoffs at this. “mm, thanks. care to join me?” he brings the alcohol to his lips, eyes never leaving yours. your mother specifically said no drinking tonight, since the press would be here. screw your mother, though. “please. could you hand me a glass?” you eagerly grab the champagne bottle. tom searches for an empty cup next to him.

you two are unspoken drinking buddies at this point.

“here you are, darling,” tom drawls, holding out the glass for you. every time he calls you that, you completely melt. “thanks, tommy,” you purr in response. you’re finally pouring your own drink when someone taps you on the shoulder, and hard. you look behind you to find your mother standing with her hands on her hips, less than thrilled. speak of the devil.

“hello, mother. can i help you?” you make sure to ask rudely. she responds with a smile that’s obviously fake. if tom weren’t here, you’d be getting scolded. “yes, my darling. those bloggers from earlier were hoping you’d finish your interview.” your mom shakes your shoulder in a motherly way. you squint up at her. “didn’t they leave hours ago-“ “they’re back,” she sharply informs you.

she’s lying, and you have a hunch as to why.

frowning, you hold tom’s hand in both of yours. “sorry, this won’t take long. why don’t you go find tuwaine?” you suggest instead. “he’s around here somewhere.” tom gives you an understanding nod and laces your fingers together, even if it’s only for a moment. “must be chatting up some producers or whatnot. i’ll see if i can help.” he’s such an incredible friend to everyone. he deserves the same from you.

“thomas, so lovely to see you,” your mom interrupts. tom stands up, kissing both her cheeks out of courtesy. “you, too. what a wonderful party. thank you for having us.” despite what the rest of the world believes, his manners are impeccable. “of course. give nikki my best, will you?” your mom puts her hands on his shoulders. he grins at her. “definitely. take care, mrs. y/l/n.” “always a pleasure,” she states, nudging you to come along with her.

you shoot tom one last apologetic look as your mother pulls you along and towards the crowd.

tom is no idiot. he’s well aware how she really feels about him.

when a swarm of guests is surrounding you, your mom lets go. you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest. “why would you do that? i haven’t seen tom in days.” she sighs without a care. “isn’t it time you branch out? expand your social circle?” her manicured fingers ruffle your hair. you push away her touch. “i’m social enough. we were in the middle of something really important.”

you begin to walk away, but your mother takes your arm. “whatever you’re about to do, it’s a mistake. he’ll make a fool of you,” she practically spits. yanking your arm from her grasp, you laugh bitterly. “of me, or of the family name? look around, mom.” you gesture to the spot beside her where your dad should be. “as far as i’m concerned, i have no family except tom. i’m gonna go check on him.”

you’re gone before your mom can stop you. she simply stands there, utterly mortified by what you said.

you run around the house to find tom, stumbling in your heels and not giving a fuck. you’d truly meant the part about him being your family. all the holland’s, honestly. they’re the most genuine and caring souls, and you don’t want to lose the one you’re closest to because of your mother’s delusions.

tom is in a circle with harrison and tuwaine, the three of them chuckling amongst themselves. you’d hate to bug him, but this can’t wait anymore.

“uh, tom?” you mumble his name, appearing behind him. he steps away with another quiet laugh. “hey, y/n/n. that was quick, hm?” your face gives away your distress. his whole demeanor shifting, tom reaches for your hands. “what is it, love? is something the matter?” “just… come with me,” you croak out.

you manage to smile at harrison and tuwaine, dropping one of tom’s hands so you can lead him upstairs. they each return the smile and share curious looks.

following behind you, tom keeps your hand tight in his own. he’d thought you were going to grill him about the kiss that barely happened. it seems like this is a much more pressing matter. his outburst of emotions can be discussed another time. now, it’s time to deal with yours.

you drag tom into the first room on the second floor, which is your dad’s study. he’s away on business this weekend, so he luckily couldn’t make the party. tom sits down in the office chair. you sit up on the desk, in front of him. your lip quivers the second his worried features come into view.

“y/n/n, what’s going on? why are we in here?” tom wonders, his tone soft. your heart clenches. “i- i wanted us to have some privacy when i told you this,” you sniffle out and blink back the tears forming. you’re sort of shaken from the conversation with your mother, and mostly because you have no idea how tom will react to your confession.

his hands come to stay on your thighs, right below your dress. they feel warm against your bare skin.

“tell me what? i’m listening, yeah?” tom gazes up at you with so much love. “lay it all out for me.” god, he’s fucking amazing. if only you knew where to start. “do you, um…” you trail off, letting your tears subside and words settle. “do you remember when your family made your big debut in town?”

a grin replaces tom’s frown, painting his beautiful face. “how could i forget? you made it quite memorable.” he traces circles on your thigh and elicits a giggle from you. “i spilled a whole thing of soda on your white fucking button down,” you recount with a lighthearted sigh. “right before your dad was supposed to introduce you to everyone, too.”

tom presses his tongue into his cheek to hold back another grin. “took ages to get it out. dad went mad when i didn’t show.” he cocks his head to the side, you leaning back on your hands. “you held me hostage in the laundry room so you could do that bloody stain stick.” your mouth drops open in mock offense. “i had to clean up my mess! i wasn’t gonna let the world meet you covered in pepsi.”

that was one of your earliest memories together. the holland’s threw a party and invited everyone who was willing to attend. they had been hoping to properly introduce themselves to the town, and this was their way of doing so. although yours and tom’s friendship was fairly new, you spent all night together because you had experience with such events.

tom’s dad was making a speech to thank the guests for coming. you and him listened from the snack table, until his name was called. he rushed to go up there while you were pouring yourself a drink. he’d bumped into you, and the bottle ended up all over him. you snuck tom right off to his laundry room.

you’d felt terrible as he stood there shirtless and blushing, you aggressively swiping his button down with a stain stick.

“why do you bring that up?” tom questions and continues circling your skin. you purse your lips. “i dunno. it was the last party i actually enjoyed,” you admit, putting your hand over his that rests on your thigh. “like to reminisce when i’m suffering through one of my mother’s.” his eyes shift to where your hands are laced. “i see,” he affirms. “so, is that… all you wanted to talk about?” “not even close,” you laugh out.

a burst of courage coursing through your body, you say it. “when you kissed me the other night-“ “i won’t do it again,” tom cuts in, trying to avoid the rejection he thinks you’ll give him. “it was a mistake, and i’m so sorry. our friendship is more important than my feelings.” you seem excited to hear that, though it’s not for the reason tom expects. “you do have feelings for me?”

he’d forgotten about his i was drunk excuse.

“um, yeah. i do,” he admits, cheeks rosy and lip caught in his teeth. “but, i’ll learn to put them aside, if that’s what’s best.” “no, no. it isn’t,” you dismiss him and put your free hand on his chest. “i love you, tom. that’s what i was really trying to tell you.” your words bring an instant grin to his face. he chuckles in disbelief, standing from the chair.

“fuck, thank god. that’s all i’ve ever wanted to hear.” he’s between your legs now, his hands moving up to your hips. you’re beaming at him as your arms snake around his neck. a burning question comes to tom’s mind. “hang on. why didn’t you kiss me back, then?” he almost whispers, thumb brushing over your hipbone. “this is gonna sound weird, but… my mom,” you reluctantly let out.

“you’re gonna have to elaborate,” tom prompts you and raises an eyebrow. you can’t hold back your eye roll. “she’s never been a fan of the person you are in the media.” his lips form a line. “i gathered.” your fingers tangle in his curls at the nape of his neck reassuringly. “i was subconsciously scared i would be letting her down in some way, if we were together.”

tom allows your hands to work their way up to his scalp. he exhales contentedly as you play with his ever so soft hair. “i understand, she’s intimidating. what’s changed that brilliant mind of yours about coming clean?” your nose scrunches up when he pokes one of your temples. “oh, yeah. i yelled at her earlier ‘cuz she stole me away from you.” his face lights up. “sexy.” “shut up,” you groan. “someone had to tell her off.”

“good thing it got to be you,” tom agrees with a squeeze at your hip. “‘m proud of you, y/n/n. it’s not easy, standing up to mummy dearest.” you tug on his hair. “like you’d know. nikki is a saint.” “that’s what she’ll have you believe,” he says under his breath, you gasping. his lips turn up in a smirk. “on that note… i love you, too.”

“would’ve been embarrassing if you didn’t say it back,” you acknowledge with a cheesy smile. tom dips his head down to rest his forehead against yours. “yeah, yeah. save the attitude for your mum.” your legs easily wrap around his waist, tom’s breath hot as it hits your face. “let’s give that kiss another go,” you mewl. he doesn’t hesitate to reply. “with pleasure.”

tom’s lips land on yours, you kissing back right away. he smiles into it as your lips gently move together. “about fucking time,” he grumbles, your hands situating in his chocolate curls once again. he’s savoring every second you touch him, kiss him, love him. the taste of your mouth is one he’s craved for longer than you could imagine.

it doesn’t take long for things to heat up, you messing with tom’s hair and tom rubbing your hips. you lay back on the desk as his tongue enters your mouth. holding you by your waist, tom hovers over you. his tongue tangles with yours in a deep kiss. between that and his fingers beginning to massage your thigh, you’re done for. you’re ready to take this a step further by the time he’s kissing down your neck.

“tommy?” you grab onto his shoulders, your head back. his lips detach from your skin with a grin. “yeah, love? ‘s everything okay?” he coos, pressing a final kiss to your collarbone. “more than.” you tilt his chin up to peck his lips. “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom, would you? just thinking ahead.” he laughs breathlessly, reaching into his suit pocket.

“conveniently enough, i do. not sure your dad would like me fucking you on his desk, though.” tom sets his hand on your leg that’s still hooked around his waist. “my room’s always available. carry me?” you make grabby hands and bat your lashes. he hoists you up by your waist, not lifting you just yet. “that would break the news of us, no? your mum’s gonna go apeshit.” he keeps his arms around you, chuckling.

“let her. besides, i know a couple of bloggers that would love to announce our status update.” you peck tom’s lips, grinning as you do. you’re suddenly in the air and being picked up by tom. the surprise of it makes you squeal, clutching onto his broad shoulders instinctively. he gives you the look of adoration that’s reserved for you only.

“we’ll go pop a few bottles with everyone, then we’re celebrating on our own.”

#tom holland #richkid!tom #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fic #tom holland fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you

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cinnaminsvga · 5 years ago

Text

Hug-o-gram | Yoongi

→ summary:

“This is probably the dumbest idea you’ve ever had,” Yoongi hisses, but it’s kind of hard for Seokjin to take him seriously when he’s wearing a cardboard sign around his neck that says ‘Huggie Wuggie Machine!’ in bubble font.

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

{or alternatively: Seokjin is a terrible wingman. He also runs a profitable business by sending hugs to people’s crushes for a fee. Mix them together and you have a recipe for Min Yoongi’s worst nightmare.}

→ genre: college!au, hugging booth!au, fluff, humor → warnings: yoongi is so smitten that he’s a walking disaster, so much shy!yoongi to the point where you’ll want to scream, seokjin just tryna get his homie some y/n love coochie bro ;o; → words: 13.3K → a/n: another commission by the lovely @jincherie because she’s epic like that!! she literally just told me to write whatever the hell i wanted and well... yoobie got me Good... anyway here’s more yoongi fluff bc apparently i’m a fluff writer now and sometimes i just want my boy to be happy... appa yip yip

Kim Seokjin makes a lot of good decisions. He also makes plenty of bad ones, but he likes to think the score is lying heavily towards the positives. Min Yoongi will be the first one to quickly disagree, but Seokjin doesn’t let it get to him. He doesn’t make it his business to listen to opinions that don’t immediately align with his, anyway; he likes to call it “selective hearing.” Yoongi calls it stupidity. Either way, the point still stands: Seokjin knows a good idea when he sees one. Case in point:

“This automatic popcorn machine is absolutely divine,” Seokjin moans, his mouth agape as he waits for the Mister Popcorn Robot to bestow him with another morsel of goodness.

“Yeah,” is Yoongi’s verbose reply. He also has his mouth agape, his prone body lying side by side with his roommate of four years in their small living room. Their roomba (another one of Seokjin’s good ideas) cleans all around them, its steady whirring serving as their only source of background music. “Lowkey though, I think our position isn’t quite… as optimized as it could be.”

“What do you mean?” Seokjin asks, as he drapes his leg over Yoongi’s. His movement jostles the surrounding popcorn halo around them, as most of the food had missed their mouths by a couple of centimeters. At this point, the roomba has probably eaten more of the popcorn than the two of them combined.

“Nothing,” Yoongi shrugs, or whatever might be the lying down equivalent of a shrug. Some of the popcorn on his chest falls down, only to be quickly devoured by roomba-chi. Yoongi stares at the ceiling, tracing shapes out of the cracks that Seokjin had accidentally made when he tried using a pogo stick indoors. He points up, catching Seokjin’s attention. “Hey, hyung. Doesn’t that look a bit like Y/N?”

Seokjin squints. “You mean the mysterious brown stain near the lights? I think the toilet from the elderly couple upstairs might have leaked that.”

“No, you dipshit. The squiggly curve over there. It reminds me of her smile.” Yoongi says. There’s a stupid dopey grin on his face and Seokjin wants nothing more than to wipe it off.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Seokjin groans, turning over to envelop Yoongi in a sweaty half-armed hug. The buttery residue on his arms and stomach leaves something to be desired, but Yoongi doesn’t scoot away. He only continues to sigh dreamily, staring mindlessly at the image of you that only his lovelorn brain can imagine.

Seokjin slaps Yoongi in the face. “Dude, get a fucking grip,” he grouses, giving Yoongi a serious look. The younger doesn’t break out of his trance, further irritating him. “Will you stop pining in front of my popcorn? It’s seriously making roomba-chi lose her appetite!”

To his credit, roomba-chi did seem to be slowing down, though that could also be because it had overloaded with popcorn and was seconds away from exploding. Wouldn’t be the first time, but Seokjin always managed to find a way to save roomba-chi from imminent death. She was like a daughter to him.

“Hyung, you know I can’t. I just… God, I really like her, you know?”

“That’s the third time you said that within the last hour. Believe me, I know.” Seokjin groans, shoving Yoongi away. He sits up, reaching over to the popcorn machine and switching it off. He grabs a fistful of fallen popcorn from the ground and shoves it inside Yoongi’s mouth. “There. That should shut you up.”

“Aw weawwy wike hew, hwung.”

“And yet, you still haven’t done anything after four years,” Seokjin tuts, finally standing up. He stretches his limbs, his joints creaking youthfully. He grabs his phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it from the butteriness of his fingers. The clock reads 4:32 PM, which means–

“Yoongi, it’s time for me to head to work. You want to come with me today?” Seokjin asks, though he knows what answer he’s going to get. You see, Seokjin’s new booming business is another one of his fantastic ideas, but it is a little... inventive. Sure, Yoongi had scoffed when he had originally suggested the idea, but Seokjin knew that it was going to be a money-maker. Sure, it had taken a few years for the business to really take off, but once it finally did…

Enter Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service! Students from his university are able to send anonymous payments directly to him, with little notes attached for their crushes. Each love letter delivery comes with a hug from Seokjin himself, delivered straight to the person without them ever knowing who the hug came from. It was ingenious! It was lucrative! But most of all…

It allowed Seokjin to cause drama and have an excuse for it! Nothing could have been more perfect for a man like him.

“No thanks,” Yoongi snorts, rolling over to face him. He watches from the floor as Seokjin changes into a butter-less shirt, which also happens to have his own face printed on the front and back. His trusty cardboard sign that reads “I’m Gonna Glomp Ya!” also joins his attire for the afternoon, a long piece of string tied to its edges so that he can wear it around his neck. Throwing on a pair of white sneakers with the tags still attached, Seokjin is ready to tackle today’s list of would-be hug-ees.

“How do I look?” Seokjin asks, combing his hair with his fingers. It leaves an oily sheen, which he somehow makes it work.

“Ugly,” Yoongi says, like a liar.

“It’s okay, I understand. I can speak tsundere, so you don’t need to explain,” Seokjin snickers, nearly getting hit with a TV remote by Yoongi. He opens his phone again, swiping to his e-mail to see his list of hug deliveries for the day.

Seokjin gets around 10 requests a day, with around half of them coming from regular clients. He’s especially fond of this boy who has been sending hugs to his TA named Namjoon for almost a month now. He has no idea why this kid has so much disposable income, though seeing the blush on Namjoon’s face everyday makes Seokjin think that he would spend every last penny for him too. Namjoon had begged Seokjin for his secret admirer’s identity, but snitchin’ isn’t a part of his service, unfortunately.

As much as Seokjin wants to know who is crushing on who, his little business wouldn’t work as well as it did if anonymity wasn’t included in his package deal. It allows people to thirst in public without facing the repercussions, like getting a knee to the groin or a slap to the face. Not that Seokjin has ever been at the receiving end of that; everyone loves him! Like, have you seen him? He must have saved a civilization in the past with how devastatingly beautiful his forehead is.

“Why am I suddenly filled with the relentless urge to deck you right now?” Yoongi says, getting up to change into clean clothes as well. His black t-shirt unfortunately does not have Seokjin’s face on it, but that can quickly be amended if the elder of the two decides to follow his every intrusive whim.

Seokjin laughs, completely unaware of the murderous capabilities of his friend. Due to his smaller body size, his percentage of evil is unusually concentrated. “Maybe it’s because you know that I’m into pain pla–” but Seokjin’s retort suddenly grinds to a halt. He chokes mid-sentence, coughing wildly as he pounds his chest with a balled-up fist. When Yoongi looks up at him, he finds his hyung staring slack-jawed at his phone, seemingly flabbergasted by what he finds on his screen.

“What’s the matter? Accidentally sent a dick pic to your prof again?” Yoongi snorts.

“That was one time! And no, it’s…” Seokjin trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. He shifts his gaze from his phone to Yoongi, a drop of sweat quickly forming on the back of his neck. Yoongi raises a brow, silently urging him to continue.

Instead of replying, Seokjin hands him his phone. Yoongi finds a copy of one of Seokjin’s newest hug requests, only having just received it five minutes ago. As he scrolls down, he finds that this secret admirer is a new client, but that isn’t what made Seokjin stop in his tracks. Instead, it’s the recipient of the hug that catches his attention–

“Y/N has a secret admirer?” Yoongi says, voice cracking at the end. He clears his throat, trying his best to school his face into something less… jealous. He swivels away from Seokjin, forcing himself to breathe slowly through his nose. He convinces himself that he is the very epitome of calmness.

“You okay there, Yoongi? You look like you’re about to vomit,” Seokjin says, immediately breaking his inner peace. Yoongi groans loudly, shucking the phone over his shoulder, uncaring of where it lands. Seokjin, with his superhuman and God-given reflexes… doesn’t catch it. But he did dive to the floor like a seasoned Olympian, and his ass cushioned his phone so he supposes that’s a win.

Back to the matter at hand––

“I am fine,” Yoongi says, as he continues to not be fine.

From the floor, Seokjin shoots him a disbelieving look. He lies down more comfortably, propping his head on his elbows. Screw his hug-o-gram appointments for now; nothing brings him more joy than seeing Yoongi absolutely losing it. “Really? So you wouldn’t mind if I marched up to Y/N right now and give her the warmest, coziest, most tender hug of her fucking life?”

“Y… Yes,” Yoongi squeaks, neck glowing a furious red. He has his fists clenched (adorably) by his sides, head bowed as he faces the wall of their apartment. Seokjin’s brain makes the unhelpful comparison of Yoongi with that cat meme who says “no talk me angy” in Impact font.

Seokjin grins, his wickedness from within coiling and yearning to burst from his seams. This is it! Maybe if he pushes a little more, then maybe Yoongi will stop pining like a pathetic loser! Also, it didn’t hurt that he got to push Yoongi’s buttons while he’s at it, but hey! Not all heroes go to heaven or whatever.

He grabs his phone from his ass, scrolling back to the e-mail. “So… You wouldn’t mind if I walk up to Y/N right now and tell her ‘Hey! I’ve had an embarrassingly long crush on you and when I heard about this hugging service… I couldn’t miss the chance to shoot my shot! If you’re single and ready to #mingle, then please meet me at the Corner Cafe at 2 PM tomorrow.’” Seokjin sing-songs, snickering loudly when he sees the absolute pain etched onto Yoongi’s face.

There is a pause, and Seokjin waits as Yoongi uses his tiny kitty brain to think of what to do. He can only imagine what’s going inside his head, but he has a guess. Yoongi could either: 1) finally admit his feelings for you and come clean before Seokjin has to deliver your hug, or 2) do something stupid and counterproductive.

It comes as no surprise when Yoongi goes with option number––

“Hyung, let me come with you to work today,” Yoongi decides, walking over Seokjin’s prone body to their shoe rack. He slides into a pair of sneakers, his harried movements unusual for his customary lethargicness. He grabs a coat from its hanger, stomping his feet to get Seokjin to move faster. “C’mon! We have hugs to deliver.”

“Woah woah woah! Slow down there, Simpimus Prime.” Seokjin gets back up to his feet, skipping over to him. An absolutely feral grin is stretched upon his face. “Am I hearing what you’re saying? Are you offering… to deliver hugs with yours truly? Are you finally going to take up my offer to be an employee at Kim Seokjin’s Hug-o-gram Service?”

“Of course not,” Yoongi scoffs, but his shifting eyes betray him. He fidgets in place, refusing to return Seokjin’s eager gaze. “I just… wanted to go out for once. Yeah.”

“Yoongi.”

“What?”

“You haven’t left this apartment other than to go to class in over a month. You never go out. You’re an indoor cat!”

“I’m not a fucking cat,” Yoongi hisses, like a cat. “And of course I go out! There was that one time I went outside to pick up our food delivery last week.”

Judging from Seokjin’s unimpressed stare, Yoongi’s excuse doesn’t cut it. Yoongi flaps his arms around, defeated. “Okay, fine! I rarely go out! Screw me and the bounteous crapload of assignments I have due! It’s not my fault I don’t have the time to socialize and have fun. What do you want from me?”

What Seokjin wants is to push a confession out of Yoongi, not because he needs the confirmation, but mostly because he just wants to annoy Yoongi and say “I told you so!” He’s also pretty cute when he’s all blushy and tsundere whenever he talks about you. Should he film him and sell the footage on eboys.bb? He’s certain that goth boy over here would make a pretty penny.

“You like krabby patties, don’t you Squidward?”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Yoongi sniffs, nose upturned. He opens the door, not looking behind him to see Seokjin’s triumphant expression. “C’mon. Y/N’s last class of the day ends in a few minutes and we might catch her before she leaves the Science Building.”

Seokjin snorts. He is quick to slip his own coat on and he follows soon after. He locks their door shut, hopping over to Yoongi and matching his shorter-legged pace. “Yeah. Because you totally just know her schedule at the top of your head. You know, like a normal person.”

Yoongi ignores him. He trudges on, each step filled with determination as they make their way to Seokjin’s beat-up truck. Seokjin skips alongside him, observing the younger boy and placing bets inside his mind. The drive to campus isn’t that long as it only takes around 10 minutes to get there, but Seokjin guesses that Yoongi’s defenses will begin to chip away only 3 minutes into the drive.

He’ll start to realize the gravity of the situation, the cogs in his smooth and slushy excuse of a brain slowly comprehend what he’s about to witness. He’ll first think about how 1) he’s going to see you and that never helps his poor dainty grandpa heart and 2) he’s going to see you hugging Seokjin as he reads to you the short love confession from your anonymous Romeo. Seokjin bets that after 8 minutes, Yoongi will start to break out into a sweat, leaving gross perspiration marks on his good car seat leather.

After exactly 7 minutes and 34 seconds (Seokjin was keeping track of the time on his dashboard), Yoongi’s face turns an unflattering shade of green. “Dude. I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Yoongi had originally offered to drive the two of them to campus, but Seokjin had the good foresight to refuse. Had Yoongi been the one on the wheel, he would’ve brought them back home in an instant due to nerves. So instead, Seokjin speeds up, ignoring Yoongi’s soft whimpers of defeat.

“Too bad, but there is no turning back now. I have six deliveries today and I am not putting my livelihood on the line just because your balls have magically shrunk in size,” Seokjin snickers. He glances at Yoongi from the corner of his eye and feels the slightest touch of pity for the pathetic fool beside him. “But if it really makes you want to shit yourself from anxiety, we could save Y/N for last. Though, on second thought… That could also prolong your misery, which I will always be up for.”

“God, shut up,” Yoongi groans, slamming his head on the dashboard. Seokjin continues undeterred as he pulls into the campus parking lot, waiting for his friend to make up his damn mind for once in his life. He supposes that he is being a little harsh on Yoongi, but there are only so many sad love songs he can listen to without going completely insane.

Aren’t you tired of being nice? The demon on his shoulder cajoles, shoving the corpse of his angel counterpart somewhere down a ditch. Don’t you just want to go apeshit?

And who is Seokjin to deny his impulsive needs anyway?

“No, let’s… just get this over with,” Yoongi decides, head still smushed against his dashboard. He doesn’t make any move to get out of the car, not even when Seokjin shuts off the engine and makes a show of “leaving” Yoongi behind.

“Okay, lover boy. You have ten seconds to get your butt into high gear before I’m leaving you behind. And you should know that I’m not above playing dirty and giving Y/N the sweetest fucking hug of her life that will make her forget anyone else exists in this world, so you better start moving before I–”

Like lightning, Yoongi scrambles out of the car faster than if it had caught on fire (and Seokjin’s car has exploded before and Yoongi certainly did not seem as bothered to escape than he does right now.) He nearly trips over himself in his haste, getting caught by the car door and nearly receiving a concrete facial to boot. He straightens up with as much dignity as he can muster (which he doesn’t have very much of, if at all.) Seokjin is kind enough not to mention anything, but the shit-eating grin on his face is enough to make Yoongi bristle.

They exit the parking lot, looking to the world like the sun and moon had turned human for the day. Min Yoongi, with his all-black attire and gaunt appearance, is heavily juxtaposed with the man who appears to have been vomited on by a rainbow. They walk side-by-side together, accustomed to the stares that often come their way when they go out in public.

“I just can’t believe we’re doing this,” Yoongi moans for the umpteenth time, his movements stilted like a robot. His footsteps look heavily disjointed like his knees were beginning to rust. His arms swing like a pendulum, adding to the unnaturalness of his motions. Basically, he looks like a fucking idiot.

“Who are you calling an idiot?” Yoongi snaps. Seokjin startles a bit, realizing belatedly that he’d said that out loud. Not that he cares. Yoongi continues, “I’m not the one wearing a fucking cardboard sign that looks like a toddler made it with macaroni and glitter!”

“Hey, Taehyung told me it looked good,” Seokjin sniffs, fingering the macaroni pieces dejectedly. “I don’t need to hear an opinion from a Music major.”

“Shut up, Business major. No one likes you fucking snakes,” Yoongi retorts, crossing his arms. “Your definition of fun is going on LinkedIn and using Excel sheets.”

Distracted by their own quarrel, neither of them notice the sound of the large clock in the middle of campus that chimes every hour, signaling that it was already 5 PM. A few minutes later, hoards of students begin to leave university for the day, the walkways beginning to fill with people as they head home. Amidst the chattering and bustling of everyone trying to get out of the crowd, it is hard to notice that you are also one of the hundreds of people finishing your last class of the day.

But Yoongi notices, as he always does. Call it Y/N intuition, or whatever. “There,” Yoongi points you out over dozens of heads. Seokjin can hardly spot you, but he trusts Yoongi’s weird Y/N-dar to find you without fail. People have begun to notice the two of them, most of whom were whispering excitedly when they notice that Seokjin is in his work attire.

“Oh my god, someone’s getting a hug-o-gram! I wonder who…”

“Have you ever ordered one? I got one for my current girlfriend last month and that’s how we got together.”

“I’ve always wanted to send one, but the prices are insane! Fuck them business students and their capitalist ways.”

“Screw sending a hug to someone else! I wanna order a hug for me. Kim Seokjin is a hot piece of ass.”

(Yoongi swears the last comment had sounded eerily like Seokjin himself, but the older boy’s mouth hadn’t moved in the last minute.)

“Alright, Yoongi. Here’s the plan,” Seokjin leans closer to Yoongi, stage whispering into his ear. Everyone within a six-foot radius is eagerly eavesdropping, not even bothering to pretend that they aren’t. It’s common knowledge that Seokjin basks in their attention, anyway. Yoongi rolls his eyes, urging him to get it over with.

“Y/N is over there, right? Well, I have to send a hug to this guy named Mark Lee too, who just so happens to be over there,” Seokjin points behind them, in the opposite direction of where Y/N was heading, “so here’s my proposition. You go over to Y/N and deliver the hug for me, while I go catch up to Mark so that we can kill one bird with two stones!”

“Excuse me?” Yoongi wheezes, pushing Seokjin away from him. His eyes bug out. “Are you insane? I am not doing that. And the phrase is ‘killing two birds with one stone,’ you fucking idiot.”

“Same shit, Shakespeare! Who cares about numbers!” Seokjin exclaims, exasperated. “Listen, would you rather you hug Mark and I hug Y/N?”

“I would much rather prefer that I stick my whole fist up your anus,” Yoongi seethes.

“Interesting proposition, but maybe for a later time,” Seokjin says, not missing a beat. “Listen, dude. The longer we prolong this little bitchfest you have going on, the farther away Y/N is gonna get. You know I will stop at nothing to deliver her hug anyway, so would you rather you miss your chance right now when I am so magnanimously offering you a shot at getting closer to your crush?”

Even though Yoongi feels like his insides were slowly turning into mashed potatoes, he knows that he had already made a decision long before they left the house. Seokjin is right; this is a good opportunity for him, whether he is willing to admit it out loud. Perhaps it is just because it is Seokjin of all people who is egging him on that preprogrammed him into thinking that this was a bad idea. In all seriousness, it was just a hug, nothing fancy. It isn’t like Yoongi was going to have to kiss you––

(His heart contracts and Yoongi wonders if he’s having a stroke. The thought of your soft lips connecting with his is enough to cause the wind to knock out of his chest. God, Yoongi is so screwed.)

“Why must I always feel as though I am a snail and God is personally salting me,” Yoongi groans, stepping away from Seokjin and heading your way. Behind him, Seokjin hollers in what he assumes is friendly support, but it only further antagonizes Yoongi. The absolute buffoon waves enthusiastically from behind him, a beaming grin almost ready to split his face in two. Yoongi flips him off without looking back.

God fucking dammit. The closer that Yoongi is to approaching you, the stronger the urge to just evaporate like ice cream on hot concrete becomes. He can feel himself perspiring from every corner of his body and he just hopes that his black attire will do well to mask the slimy creature that he is underneath his clothing.

This is all Seokjin’s fault, Yoongi reminds himself. If he hadn’t started this stupid hugging service in the first place, then no one would have ordered a hug for you in the first place. Then Yoongi wouldn’t have to be in this stupid predicament either!

But you could’ve ordered a hug for her if you wanted to, says the annoying part of his brain – the same part that’s always been a little bit too hopeful for Yoongi’s liking. The whispers continue, And she wouldn’t even know it would be you! But more importantly…

“Seokjin wouldn’t know either,” Yoongi huffs irritably because he knows it’s true. The biggest thing stopping him from ever making a move on you, other than his debilitating fear of rejection and heartbreak, is the fact that he’d rather explode into spores than for Seokjin to find out that he’d used his “genius” business idea to get the girl of his dreams.

He’s afraid that one day, Seokjin would magically develop telepathic powers (a fear that Yoongi feels that the majority of the human population should also share) and find out that Yoongi doesn’t actually think his hug-o-gram service is dumb. It’s actually really cute, and Yoongi hates to admit that the success rate of his service is nearly perfect in terms of getting couples together.

But Yoongi is a strong (read: stubborn) man; he’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin the satisfaction of seeing his business work out for his seemingly hopeless case. Which brings him to the present–

You’re standing by the entrance of the Sciences building. You are dressed nicely as always; Yoongi doesn’t think he’s ever seen you in anything remotely slobby, not even a pair of sweats like any regular uni student. You always look a little bit business proper: the epitome of someone who should be on the student council.

You’re speaking to someone, a younger male student by the looks of it. The hairs on Yoongi’s neck stand at attention and, God forbid, did he just fucking growl? Did he make that sound? By the looks of the students carefully navigating their way around him, Yoongi surmises that he did make that sound. Geez, is he some sort of animal? Is he going to turn into those feral stan accounts on Twitter that salivate over their K-pop boys like it’s their job? He hopes not.

But what if that’s the kid who sent the hug–

Yoongi shuts up his brain before he can let it finish. No, he can’t let himself go down that path. It’ll only cause him to self-combust right then and there, and he isn’t exactly keen on letting you see his entrails anytime soon. That would be the least cool thing to do, he decides. And so, with his brain turned off, he walks over to you, arms swinging robotically by his sides as he forces himself closer.

“Oh thank you so much, Y/N! You’ve been a real help to our club, you know?” The boy (Yoongi can’t believe they’re letting toddlers into university these days!) says, his eyes glittering with an ambition that still hasn’t been killed by the all-consuming dread that comes with university.

You laugh lightly, the sound causing butterflies to flutter excitedly in Yoongi’s chest. “No worries, Soobin. I’m glad I could be of help. If the editorial board needs any more help, don’t be shy to shoot me a message, alright?”

Soobin nods enthusiastically, his head bobbing up and down so quickly that Yoongi was afraid his neck would snap. “No worries, Y/N! Have a good rest of your week!” He waves a cheery goodbye, springing away with his numerous anime keychains on his backpack jingling softly in his wake.

“What a cute kid,” you sigh. You look incredibly fond, and Yoongi hates the bitter coil swimming in the pit of his stomach. That feeling soon fizzles out when you finally turn to face Yoongi. Your eyebrows shoot up, but your expression quickly morphs into one of pleasant surprise. Yoongi’s heart stops for just a moment, feet turning cold. “Yoongi! Oh my goodness, it’s been a hot minute since I’ve seen you! How’s it going?”

Let’s play a game, shall we? How many of Yoongi’s nervous ticks can you spot within the next five minutes? Think of this as the easiest game of Where’s Waldo ever!

“Hnng,” Yoongi stammers, his hand immediately going to scratch the back of his neck. His cheeks pinken, pupils shaking in every different direction as they try to focus on anything but you. It always feels like he’s standing way too close to the sun when he’s around you, hardly able to keep his gaze focused on you. He chooses to stare resolutely at your chin, but even your fucking chin was impossibly cute.

Seriously? Yoongi is a walking shitshow! His inner voice comes back, but this time it sounds uncannily like his roommate. Come on, buddy. Just say hi… You know, like a normal person. “H… Hey, Y/N.”

Success count: 1 point for the Yogurt Machine!

Even though Yoongi felt like he was living his worst nightmare, you still looked every bit like his favorite daydream. You are all smiles, seemingly unperturbed by Yoongi’s slow, embarrassing demise. “It’s so good to see you! Midterms haven’t been too hard on you, I hope?”

“I’ve been better,” he says. Better now that you’re here, he leaves unsaid. God, can you imagine if he said that out loud?

Your mouth drops open, soft cherry blossoms blooming across your cheeks. “Um, what did you say?” you squeak, embarrassed. But certainly not as embarrassed as the boy in front of you.

Yoongi stops breathing. He did not say that aloud, had he? Judging by the awkward silence stretching between the two of you, the signs are pointing to: yes. Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygo–– “Er, what I mean to say is,” Yoongi stutters through his sentence, his entire body flushing fire engine red like it’s nobody’s business. He must look like Satan’s spanked ass right now. “I… I’m here to deliver a hug!”

Confusion quickly replaces the shock on your face. You tilt your head, brows scrunching up cutely. “A hug?” you ask.

“R-right,” Yoongi says, waving his arms around because he has nothing else better to do. He gestures vaguely in the opposite direction, where Seokjin had left to find his other clients. “I’m, uhh… Helping my roommate. Have you heard of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram service?”

“Oh, yeah!” You hop excitedly in place, looking to all the world like the cutest thing in the universe. Yoongi thinks you should be classified as a public hazard, what with how you’re somehow able to give him diabetes just from standing next to him. “I totally heard about that! I’ve always wanted to send a hug, but I’ve always been a little shy.”

That piques Yoongi’s interest immediately. You wanted to send a hug? But to who? He unconsciously clenches his jaw, and he can feel a vein pop up near his neck. He forces himself to smile, but he knows it probably looks more like a grimace. “Oh really? That’s… I didn’t know you had a crush on somebody.”

Yoongi is too busy wallowing in his own self-pity puddle that he misses the way you gaze shyly up at him through your eyelashes, your hands clasped behind your back. “Y-yea… I don’t really go around telling it to just anybody,” you shrug as nonchalantly as you can. You clear your throat. “So, are you here to deliver a hug or something?”

Nothing gets past you, huh? Yoongi swallows thickly as he twiddles his thumbs. He still can’t bear to look at you head-on, afraid that his emotions would be too obvious if he did. (Who is he kidding… He knows he’s fucking obvious, and yet you never seem to get the picture!) “Yea, I am. I’m here to deliver one to you, actually.”

He doesn’t get to see your reaction, but he does notice the way your entire body stiffens. His mind immediately starts to run a minute, trying to guess why you’d suddenly gone stock still.

Did you know who your secret admirer was already? Or perhaps, were you just thoroughly shocked to receive one at all? That can’t be it… You’re the campus sweetheart! Surely it’s much weirder that it has taken eons for you to get your first hug… Or perhaps, are you so disgusted by the thought of him delivering the hug? Oh my god, what if you didn’t want him to hug you? Shit, this entire thing is a terrible idea! How did Seokjin ever convince him to do this stupid shit and get his heartbroken in the process? He swears he’s going to shove ten firecrackers up his ass the next time he sees him––

“Um, Yoongi?” You’re staring worriedly at him, your hand semi-raised as if you were about to wave in front of him. Did you say something? He must look like a fucking prick to you! He shakes his head, trying desperately to get his mind back into his body. Why must he be cursed with inner monologue disease? What is he, some sort of shoujo manga male protagonist?

“Sorry about that. I’ve been a little spacey these days,” he laughs, but even he can hear the panic laced in his voice. He sounds just on the edge of being hysterical. “Ahaha… What were you saying?”

“I was just… shocked?” You giggle softly, making Yoongi cry internally. You smirk, mischief glittering in your eyes. “I just never imagined you’d be the type to… I don’t know…”

“Willingly hug people for the sake of capitalism? I feel you,” Yoongi snorts, forgetting for a moment who he’s talking to. “Believe me, I’d rather drop dead than allow Seokjin to use me for his stupid business venture.”

“Then why are you delivering a hug to me now?” you ask, still smiling.

“Hnng,” Yoongi’s tongue feels like it’s grown two sizes all of a sudden. He wheezes, choking on his own spit as he’s caught off guard by your question. “W-well, I––”

“Just being a good friend, I’m guessing?” You’re full-on giggling now, barely trying to hide your mirth behind your hands. Yoongi understands now; you’re teasing him. He hates how amused you are by his awkwardness, but he loves the way your entire expression lights up, like you’re enjoying yourself by being with him.

��Let’s go with that,” Yoongi mumbles, scratching the back of his neck in embarrassment. He has his head bowed, hoping that his unruly fringe can finally come in handy and hide the disastrous blush encompassing his face. “Right… I’ll just, umm…”

“Am I getting my hug today, or am I gonna have to take a rain check?” You laugh, slapping his shoulder in an attempt to help him shake off the awkward tension. It has the opposite intended effect, as Yoongi’s breath hitches imperceptibly at your proximity. You had taken a step closer, and Yoongi could smell the sweet perfume you always seemed to be wearing. Please don’t pop a boner right now. That would be super fucking creepy.

“You’re…” Yoongi hesitates, arms uselessly immobile by his sides. He doesn’t know if he can even get them to move at this point, as he has lost all motor skills the moment you had focused all your attention on him. It’s a miracle that his heart remembers to beat every so often. “I’m just… I’m just gonna go for it, okay?”

You nod, hands tucked neatly behind your back. “No need to be scared, Yoongi. I don’t bite,” you joke.

God, if you only knew about the dreams I’ve had of you. Yoongi hopes to all the deities from up above that he had not said that aloud, but you don’t seem to be disgusted, so he can only assume that his traitorous brain had disconnected with his mouth for the time being.

He shuffles closer to you, the warmth of your body closing in as he makes the grueling effort to lift his arms up to gently wrap themselves around you, but before he can even fully hug you––

You’re quick to reciprocate. With a small laugh, you wrap your own arms around his torso, nuzzling into his chest with more force than Yoongi was expecting. He lets out a soft wheeze, mouth dropping open when he is assaulted by the smell of your fruity shampoo. His hands hover awkwardly above you, still unsure of where it’s okay to touch you without weirding you out.

You tilt your face up, eyes crinkling cutely by the sheer force of your grin. Both of your faces are only centimeters away from each other, and Yoongi could probably count your eyelashes if he so desired. His breathing stills as he becomes positively mesmerized by the beautiful sight in front of him. He doesn’t even hear the sound of phone camera shutters around him, as he is much too deeply focused on nothing but you, you, you.

“Hey, don’t half-ass your hug! Gimme a good ol’ bear hug!” you whine, nudging his elbows gently to get them to move. Snapped out of his reverie, Yoongi mechanically does as you say, his head completely empty of thoughts. He wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders, his wrist knocking slightly against the back of your head until you’re back to snuggling deep into his chest.

“Your laundry detergent smells nice,” you say, slightly muffled by his shirt. Yoongi lets out a breathy laugh, mostly out of disbelief more than anything. He can’t even begin to process anything right now; he feels like he’s reverted back into a single-celled organism.

“Thanks?” Yoongi squeaks, but you don’t seem to mind his awkward attempts at being a Normal Person™️. You crane your neck upwards so that you’re looking him directly in the eye. There’s a twinkle of mischief there, like you’re enjoying Yoongi’s flushed face a little too much. He honestly feels like he’s seconds away from exploding into tiny bite-sized pieces, and he fears that if you snuggle deeper into his chest, he might just do exactly that.

“So… Are we just supposed to hug for another ten minutes, or am I allowed to let go?”

Yoongi doesn’t even realize how long it’s been. You could’ve been hugging him for ten hours and he wouldn’t have known. Yoongi jerks away from you, nearly vaulting himself across campus by how quickly he lets you go. Thankfully, you don’t appear offended––you were more amused than anything. Yoongi has no idea how red he is right now; he feels like he could be blowing steam out of his ears, astounding anatomists everywhere by his peculiar talent.

“I just have to–” Yoongi pats his back pockets for his phone, clumsily pulling it out and looking for his text messages, “–read this message from your, um, secret admirer and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Great.” You nod at him enthusiastically. “Whenever you’re ready, Yoonie.”

Yoongi’s breath hitches right then, caught off guard by the nickname. Only you ever called him that, and it never fails to make Yoongi’s insides feel like molten lava every time you say it. “I… Yeah, here goes,” Yoongi mutters, trying his best to remember how to speak.

He recites the message with as much enthusiasm as he can manage, which is to say, not very much. He could probably read the phonebook with more zeal, but it’s hard to give it his all when the words feel like acid in his throat. He’s unconsciously clenching his jaw as he speaks, looking like a constipated gorilla. “...so, if you’re single and ready to #mingle, then––” Yoongi stops mid-sentence, staring resolutely at his phone screen with a grimace.

You blink confusedly. “Then?”

“Then nothing,” Yoongi finishes, pocketing his phone without an inch of remorse. “I don’t know what was up with that message, but somehow the letter got cut short. Sorry about that.”

“Huh, strange.” You shrug your shoulders, not bothering to question him.

Yoongi fist bumps himself mentally, though other people might disagree and say that he doesn’t deserve any type of congratulations, to which Yoongi says a big “fuck you!” to those imaginary haters. In the wise words of Kim Seokjin himself, “not everyone is worthy to receive your fucks, so it’s time to stop giving them.” (Kim, 2020)

“Well, that was fun! Thanks for delivering the hug to me, Yoonie,” you pinch Yoongi’s cheek, giggling when they turn even redder. “I’ll see you around, I guess? Don’t let those midterms kill ya!” You wave cheerily at him, walking past him and heading towards the bus stops. Yoongi stands frozen in place, the events of the last few minutes finally catching up to him and frying his brain beyond repair.

Oh my god, he fucking hugged you! Like, a good and genuine hug! You felt so warm and so soft and you smelled really good and it was more than he could ever imagine and just––

Yoongi’s brain is trying (and failing) to desperately parse the delayed barrage of information as it comes, but it’s hard for the little hamster running circles in his head when it has never had to run a day in its life. Yoongi’s body feels like it’s overheating even though the weather is nearing the start of winter, but that’s all thanks to you and the devastating effect you have on him.

In short, Yoongi machine has broken, and any sort of maintenance is going to be hard to come by at the moment.

Yoongi could have been standing in front of the Science building for an entire year and he wouldn’t have budged until a tornado in the form of Kim Seokjin arrived to knock him out of his brain dead state. Whistling lowly, the elder stops in front of the rigid mass of meat, an eyebrow quirked in exasperation. “Dude, nice rigor mortis cosplay. Like, yes girl, give us nothing!” he exclaims, slapping Yoongi back to consciousness.

Yoongi blinks rapidly, dazed like he’s woken up from a dream. “What? What’s happening?” he replies dumbly.

Seokjin rolls his eyes. “Yoongi. Did you finish delivering Y/N’s hug or what? I finished all my deliveries in the same time you had with Y/N, so I better hope to God you aren’t planning on applying to be an employee of mine, because you certainly have a long way to go before––”

“I hugged her,” Yoongi interrupts, eyes going glassy once more. His mouth is agape, and Seokjin can see a pool of saliva forming, ready to runneth over. He could see the rusted gears turning inside his dongsaeng’s head. “Oh my god, hyung. I fucking hugged her.”

“Yeah, and I hugged Taehyung Kim and felt his gigantic dick press into my stomach. You aren’t special,” Seokjin snorts, clasping Yoongi by the bicep. He drags him away, leading them to their parked car. “C’mon, Dampé. I’m tired and I wanna eat popcorn again.”

As they walk back to the parking lot, the campus roads are a lot less populated now that most students have gone home. Yoongi only then realizes how late it truly is and he vaguely wonders how long he had been stuck standing there before Seokjin had come to drag him back home. The sun has begun its daily descent, filling the courtyard with a warm glow and causing their shadows to grow longer as they trudge quietly to their car.

The campus is quiet enough that both of them hear the quiet buzz of Seokjin’s phone, despite him putting it on silent mode before he had gone on his hugging deliveries. He stops mid-step, causing Yoongi to bump his nose into his wide back. He yelps, shoving Seokjin forward in irritation.

“Why’d you fucking stop, you asshole?” Yoongi whines, his normal annoying personality resurfacing now that he’s begun to recover from your hug. He peers over Seokjin’s behemoth shoulders, squinting at his phone screen. “What? Another hug delivery?”

“Yeah. I’ll do it tomorrow since I think she’s gone home for the day,” Seokjin says, his tone sounding slightly too delighted for comfort. “In fact, I know she’s gone home already.”

Yoongi stills, changing his focus onto the elder’s expression. He looks… too eager to receive a simple hug-o-gram request. A shiver shoots through Yoongi’s spine when he realizes how nefariously bastardous Seokjin’s smile has grown, the tips of his smirk curling upwards like a villain from a classic Disney animation.

“What?” Yoongi glares acidly at Seokjin, but the elder is unaffected. In fact, he seems to grow more pleased the more aggravated Yoongi becomes. “Spit it out! What’s got your prostate tickled?”

“Oh, nothing,” Seokjin singsongs, shoving his phone down the front of his pants, exactly where he knows Yoongi would never touch. “Just got an interesting new regular customer, is all.”

“A new regular?” Yoongi’s pitch heightens, the hairs on the back of his neck bristling in alarm (like a cat.) “Is it… Another request for… You know who?”

“I wasn’t aware Voldemort went to our university,” Seokjin teases, thoroughly enjoying Yoongi’s distress. “Though, if you’re talking about Y/N, then the answer is not not not no.”

“Two double negatives.” Anyone could hear the audible soft rattling of his two brain cells exerting themselves as Yoongi deciphers his answer. “That means…”

Yoongi stares pointedly at Seokjin’s crotch, where the outline of his phone is glaringly obvious. “Show me,” Yoongi growls, not making a move to actually touch Seokjin’s nether regions.

Seokjin shrugs his shoulders. “No one’s stopping you from taking my phone though?”

“Hyung!”

“Buy me bubble tea first, then we’ll talk.”

“Fine,” Yoongi acquiesces, folding his arms in annoyance. “Just tell me. Is it really the same guy who requested the hug for Y/N today as well?”

Seokjin fiddles around for his phone, digging deeper when it nearly drops down the leg of his pants. When he pulls it out and swipes to his e-mails, he confirms Yoongi’s fear. “Yep. And it seems like he saw you deliver the hug today. Says that he’d prefer that I deliver the hug next time,” Seokjin smirks, enjoying the deep-set frown on Yoongi’s face.

When Seokjin takes a closer look at the order, however, he notices something a little off. “Hold on a sec,” he scrolls to the receipt, scowling when he sees the incorrect amount. “Well, you might be in luck, Yoongi-chi. Looks like loverboy sent the wrong payment. He’s a few dollars short.”

“What?” Yoongi says, for what feels like the tenth time in this entire fic. He grabs Seokjin’s phone, no longer repulsed by where it had been only a few minutes prior. Like Seokjin said, the customer had given the wrong amount, much to both their confusion.

“That’s weird, considering he just ordered a hug today,” Seokjin murmurs, shaking his head. “Oh well. Happens to the best of us. Guess I’ll just have to refund the poor sap.”

“Wait,” Yoongi presses the phone to his chest, preventing Seokjin from taking it. His hyung raises a brow.

“What is it?”

“What if I just… pay you the remaining amount? Then I can also deliver the hug to her and, uhh...” Yoongi mumbles the remaining part, but Seokjin has trained his ears to catch every whisper and mutter for moments just like this. He wouldn’t be where he is today if he didn’t perfect his eavesdropping skills to a spy’s degree. That’s right––Seokjin is a sloppy and nosey bitch and he’s not afraid to admit it!

“Oh? Do my ears deceive me?” Seokjin guffaws, pinching Yoongi’s cheeks for good measure. He hisses in response, but Seokjin isn’t afraid of some little kitten. Seokjin is a bigger bitch with a meaner bite. “Is my little Yoongi Woongi seriously offering to deliver another hug to Miss Y/N? How magnanimous of you.”

Yoongi stares at him, stunned for a moment. A few seconds pass before he shakes his head, faux disdain coloring his expression. “That’s right,” Yoongi huffs, detaching himself from Seokjin’s meaty claws. He keeps his gaze averted, like the big stupid tsundere that he is. “I’m doing this out of the goodness of my heart! I care about your profits, and I want to make your workload a little lighter! Isn’t that what you want?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” Seokjin snickers, poking Yoongi in the tit. He swivels away, skipping merrily away to their parked car. “I’m expecting that cash in my Paypal by the time I get to the car, or else the deal is off. Make it snappy, loverboy!”

Yoongi had never transferred cash to someone so quickly in his life.

(Yes, not even when the food court on campus was doing a BOGO promo for churros. That’s the extent of how whipped his ass is, period.)

x x x x x

“Like, even worse than when we DIY’d your car into a convertible by sawing the top off?” Seokjin asks, genuinely curious.

“Worse,” Yoongi admits, trying his best to stay out of your line of sight. His cheeks redden, matching the gaudy pink kitten ears he was forced into wearing.

“Listen, I’m seriously not forcing you to do this,” Seokjin starts, even though he’s giving his utmost effort to further embarrass Yoongi by handing out flyers about Hug-o-gram’s newest employee. “Please, take one!” he cajoles, offering a flyer to a gaggle of giggling freshmen. “Make sure to reserve a hug within the week! Yoongi-chi over here is on his way to becoming employee of the month if he gets ten requests by Friday!” They all point and whisper at Yoongi, and he swears he hears one of them wolf whistle in admiration.

“That’s what makes this entire thing terrible. I’m doing this on my own volition, and I absolutely abhor myself for it,” Yoongi moans, grabbing Seokjin’s stack of flyers and smacking himself in the head with them. It probably would’ve hurt more when Seokjin still had a full-stack, but people had swarmed them the moment they entered the heart of the campus, everyone curious to see Yoongi in his interesting attire.

Seokjin might have been famous for creating the Hug-o-gram Service, but Yoongi was famous for hating the business idea, so it’s easy to understand why everyone was interested. (For good reason, he thinks darkly to himself.)

“Damn, Yoongi-chi. Looks like you’re trending on the campus Reddit page,” Seokjin laughs, wheezing even harder when Yoongi points him with a murderous glare. “What? Like you said, this was all your idea.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask to wear… whatever this is!” Yoongi whines, tugging on the string around his neck. The cardboard sign had been ready and prepared the moment they arrived home the other day, arousing Yoongi’s suspicions on Seokjin’s actual involvement in his current predicament. Those suspicions are put in the backburner for now, however, as Yoongi actually feels like he might die of embarrassment instead of the packets of MSG coursing through his veins from the ten ramen packs he ate this morning. Maybe both will kill him, if he’s lucky.

“Well, I would love to lend you my uniform, but I haven’t gotten a t-shirt printed with your face on it yet, so you’ll have to deal with the kitten ears and cardboard sign for now,” Seokjin says, patting him on the back. “Or, would you rather I have you wear a shirt with my face on it? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I’d rather swallow a Tide pod, thanks,” Yoongi says through gritted teeth. “C’mon, let’s move. We’ve been standing in the middle of campus like street clowns for long enough. We need to find Y/N because her class is about to end.”

“Street clowns, huh? I guess you are only missing the make-up to complete the look, especially since you seem adamant to keep honking your way through that sickening crush of yours.” Seokjin nearly catches a punch to the head, but his superior reaction time saves him from Yoongi’s sorely lacking physicality. He snatches Yoongi by the hand, dragging them towards your lecture hall. “C’mon, clown! Let’s honk this bread!”

As the two of them get closer to where you are, Yoongi’s heartbeat begins to accelerate. He wonders idly if he should see a doctor after all this, hoping that he hadn’t actually contracted heart disease due to all this stress. Lord forbid that he meet his end before he even gets to ask you out or something!

Even though he’s already hugged you once (and it was, by far, the most euphoric experience of his sad, miserable life), he still finds himself getting clammy hands at the thought of seeing you again. Nevermind the fact that he looked like a walking circus with his get-up… No, Yoongi refuses to think about it anymore, lest his last remaining brain wrinkle irreversibly smoothens.

The campus clock rings loudly, signaling the end of another block of classes. Students rush out of the buildings, with you being one of the first ones out for a change. When Yoongi spots your head of hair among the crowd, he doesn’t immediately notice what you’re wearing at first. In fact, it’s Seokjin who stops in his tracks for a moment, surprised by how you look.

“Woah, Y/N! Looking good,” Seokjin greets, rushing past Yoongi to envelop you in a hug. (A platonic hug, Yoongi reminds himself. Because unlike Yoongi, Seokjin is a normal human being who can give hugs to anyone he wants because he’s… fucking Seokjin! Lucky bastard that he is.)

“Woah!” You laugh, surprised by the sudden hug. You pat him on the back giddily, allowing him to swing you around a little. “What’s this all about? Am I getting a hug-o-gram again?”

“Yes, you are. But not from me,” Seokjin detaches himself from you, scooting away to point at Yoongi. When Seokjin moves away, Yoongi finally understands why his hyung had said you looked good. No, that was an understatement––you looked [redacted].

(For the sake of the author’s fragile ash-coated heart, she has chosen to redact Yoongi’s exact words to protect herself from slamming her head against a keyboard from how cheesy this fic is becoming. Let’s just say the word starts with a B and ends with an L. Make of that as you will.)

You must have come out of an interview or presentation of sorts because you were dressed more nicely than you usually do, which is a pretty big deal considering how put together you always looked. Your hair is styled nicely, obviously given much more care and effort than your regular appearance. You’re wearing a cute little black dress, long enough to be professional but short enough to give Yoongi breathing problems.

If Yoongi’s brain had a playlist, it would be nothing but the sound of him going HNNNNNNNNNG on repeat.

“Oh geez.” Yoongi curses lowly, smiling through the pain. This is fine, he thinks, even though it is clearly not fine. Yoongi has always been a terrible liar.

“Yoongi?” You sound incredulous, though that’s honestly a win in Yoongi’s book considering everything. You didn’t look disgusted, so that’s great. “You look…” You stop yourself, covering your mouth to hide your grin but your amusement is palpable. At least he made you laugh, he supposes.

“Like a fucking idiot? You said it,” Yoongi snorts, arms crossed defiantly. He’s trying to look intimidating, but with his cheeks puffed up and these abominable kitten ears on his head, he looks more like a grumpy cat throwing a tantrum. He juts a thumb at Seokjin, “Thank this himbo for the outfit. I definitely would have chosen something more… inconspicuous.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” You quip, still trying to mask your giggles. On the other hand, Seokjin was wheezing like a hyena, his phone pulled out and presumably filming Yoongi to add to his cringe compilation.

“Exactly what I said!” Seokjin says through his laughter, tears of mirth streaming down his face. He walks back to Yoongi, pushing him forward until he’s face to face with you. “Go on, then! We haven’t got all day!”

“I’m assuming you’re officially part of Seokjin’s hug-o-gram business now?” you ask, opening your arms wide to accept his hug. Like the beta male that he is, Yoongi has to be the one to follow in your footsteps, meekly coming closer to wrap you in an embrace.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Yoongi mutters, tucking his chin onto your shoulder. He feels you vibrate with laughter, bringing a small smile on his own face. He likes making you laugh, always has.

With the cardboard sign serving as a barrier between the two of you, he isn’t as fearful of you feeling the erratic beat of his heart, though it wouldn’t be hard to guess if you looked at him. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy your hug rather than just panic through the entire ordeal like yesterday.

Soon enough, you’re detaching yourself from him, still standing close. Your arm is just a hair’s breadth away, and if not for Seokjin enthusiastically videotaping this entire experience, Yoongi might have closed in for another hug if he could manage.

“It’s always nice to get a hug from someone you like, huh?” You say, cheeks tinted a rosy color. The true meaning of your words flies over Yoongi’s head, as his feeble mind chooses to focus on your comment a little differently.

“I––Of course I like you! We’re friends, aren’t we?” Yoongi laughs nervously, unaware that he’s slowly digging himself into a ditch. To the side, Seokjin audibly slaps a hand to his face, body shivering with secondhand embarrassment from being blasted by the full force of how idiotic his friend actually is.

Yoongi sees you deflate a little, further confusing him. “Yeah, you’re right I guess…” You sigh, taking a step backward dejectedly. Yoongi flounders a little, unsure how he managed to fuck up in just a few seconds when you had just hugged him like your life depended on it.

Choosing now to interfere before the going gets rough, Seokjin steps in between and slings an arm around both of you. Yoongi groans under the weight of his arm, glaring when he notices that Seokjin had done it on purpose, but only to him. You don’t look too bothered by his rude gesture, albeit you were more befuddled than before.

“Hey, Y/N! I don’t know if you’ve ever ordered a hug-o-gram before, but I’m doing a special this week! Now that Yoongi-chi has so kindly joined the team,” Seokjin gives him a pointed look, to which the black-haired music major sticks his tongue out petulantly, “we’re doing a little promotion for first-time customers! Would you be interested in ordering one?”

Your eyes widen, looking like a deer caught in headlights. “M-me? Ordering a hug-o-gram? Well, I…” you hesitate, sending a small glance at Yoongi before looking away in embarrassment. “I would like to, but I don’t know if it’ll be well received, you see…”

Seokjin grumbles, silently cursing the stupid shithead who caused his own demise in the first place. The worst part is that he had no idea that he totally just friendzoned you! YOU! Someone who was literally leagues ahead of him. He sincerely has no idea what you see in this bumbling idiot, but everyone with a brain knows that you have been crushing on him for as long as he’s been crushing on you, so perhaps you’re a little bit of an idiot yourself for liking him back.

Being friends with the two of you makes him feel like he’s constantly wearing a sloppy wet diaper, and he hates it. He wants to wipe his ass as soon as possible!

Seokjin shoves Yoongi away roughly, ignoring his indignant squawks as he pulls you aside. He takes you by the hand, taking you a few steps away from Yoongi, far enough that he can whisper into your ear without the other boy hearing.

Yoongi fumes from the sidelines, trying to keep his emotions in check even though he’s bursting at the seams with jealousy. Not for the first time, Yoongi irritably realizes that he does act like a cat, especially in moments like this. He might make fun of Seokjin for being an attention whore, but Yoongi is the same, if only at a smaller scale. He just wants you to look at him, as selfish as that sounds.

Can someone give him a break? He’s been holding in his crush for four years now… Imagine having to take a massive shit after drinking two gallons of milk while being lactose intolerant, except every time you line up for the washroom, the line gets increasingly long no matter how long you wait. That is the extent of his suffering, he tells himself. So please, excuse his dramatics for this one instance.

(Seokjin’s Note: This fucking jackass is SO stupid. If he only knew how easy it is to ask you out, he would know that his emotional constipation could be solved if he just fucking ASKED where the next washroom is. He could have relieved himself ages ago, but NO! And he calls me the idiot! Me! The utter betrayal! I’m never agreeing to become the second lead to a rom-com ever again!)

When Seokjin finishes whispering in your ears, you appear amused by what he had said. Yoongi sweats when you turn to face him, grinning slyly at him. “Is that so…” you wonder aloud. Yoongi feels like the world has shifted on its axis somewhat, though he still doesn’t know exactly how. He has a hunch that he’s going to find out soon enough.

“Would I ever lie to you?” Seokjin laughs that annoying laugh of his, slapping his thigh in the process. He straightens up almost immediately, his expression turning deadpan in an instant. “Send me the details by tonight, and I’ll make sure to deliver it, okay?”

“Promise?” You ask, holding a pinky up towards him. Yoongi might have let out a high pitched sob when he sees the gesture, wanting nothing more than to cup your hands in his. God, if he already nearly died from hugging you, who is to say Yoongi won’t immediately disintegrate if you were ever to hold his hand?

“Promise,” Seokjin replies, linking his pinky with yours. He doesn’t forget to point a shit-eating grin at Yoongi, for good measure.

You pull away, looking happier than you did moments prior. You were absolutely glowing, filling Yoongi with a warmth that only you ever knew how to provide. He wants to make you smile like that all the time, wants nothing more than for you to live beside him, filling his walls with the sound of your tinkling laughter. You wave cheerily at the both of them, stepping away to head home. “I guess I’ll see you, then? I’ll make sure to e-mail you my request, Seokjin!” you say, winking teasingly. “Bye to you too, Yoongi! Thanks for the hug!”

Yoongi watches as you walk further and further away as the usual melancholy that follows whenever you leave soon takes its place in his soul. It might be his imagination, but Yoongi thinks the cat ears on his head might have started to droop to match his mood.

The only way he knows how to replace the sadness, however, is by redirecting those emotions on an unsuspecting victim. Lucky for him, a willing volunteer is already within punching distance.

“Ow! Stop punching me, you gremlin!” Seokjin whines, blocking Yoongi’s series of punches like a pro. He might as well put ‘professional punching bag’ on his resume at this point. “I’m trying to help you, you useless beta male!”

“How is this helping! You made me wear cat ears and whispered blasphemies into Y/N’s ears! Now she’s going to order a hug-o-gram for her crush and it’ll be the end of my chances with her! How could you!”

“I was not whispering blasphemies, you twittering tit! I was giving her advice,” Seokjin sniffs, annoyed. “Don’t say I never help you, by the way. I’ve been trying to help you for years now.”

Yoongi hits him with a steely glare. “Really? So replacing all my clothes in my closet with clown attire is your version of help? I had to wear those stupid clown shoes for a week before you told me where you hid my clothes, jackass!”

“I was only trying to help you physically express yourself! You’re already a clown on paper, might as well help you achieve your final form!” Seokjin huffs, infuriatingly haughty. “Listen, believe me. I only told Y/N something that everyone already knows anyway, so just shut your trap and let Daddy handle the rest. You’re not going to lose her, I promise.”

“Please never refer to yourself as Daddy ever again,” Yoongi seethes, stalking off towards their car. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

“No talk, Yoobie angy…” Seokjin snickers to himself, following Yoongi with a spring in his step. This bastard is going to grovel at his feet by tomorrow evening, he’s sure of it. If he doesn’t, then Seokjin will bite his own dick in half––that’s how sure he is of his plan! (Not that biting his dick in half will do anything to his length; he’d still be left with eight inches, let’s be real.) All in good time.

x x x x x

Seokjin gets an e-mail the next morning, much earlier than any sane person would choose to be awake at. He groans lowly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he tries to read the contents of the letter. When he’s satisfied by what he has read, he forwards the e-mail to Yoongi before allowing sleep to take him once more.

Sleep evades him, however, when the sound of Yoongi’s big feet pounds noisily outside his bedroom. He hits his knee loudly against the coffee table, causing their beloved popcorn machine to tumble to the floor, but that is of little consequence to Yoongi right now. No, he needs to get into Seokjin’s room right now and scream––

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Yoongi hollers, slamming Seokjin’s door open. The hinges creak, desperately hanging on despite the impact. Yoongi proceeds to slam a fist upon Seokjin’s ass, who barely flinches due to the fatness of his ass cushioning most of the damage. He blinks blearily at Yoongi, but the smirk on his face is clear as day.

“Came to claim your hug so early in the morning? Well, I usually don’t entertain clients until after I’ve taken a shower, but for you… I’ll make an exception,” he yawns, peeling back his blanket and patting the empty spot on his bed. “Come on in, Yoobie Boobie… Let’s hug like it’s the last day on earth.”

Seokjin fails to realize that once he removed his blanket, he had inadvertently left himself vulnerable. Yoongi slams the heel of his foot against Seokjin’s groin, causing him to shriek bloody murder at 7 AM. He wonders, amidst his pain, whether this might be the last straw and that their landlord will finally kick them out after years of their stupid shenanigans.

“WHAT DID THAT E-MAIL MEAN? IF IT’S WHAT I THINK IT IS…” Yoongi threatens, but it’s as empty as Seokjin’s butthole. They both know the implications of that e-mail, even a toddler can put two and two together and make sense out of it. Anonymous e-mail or not, Seokjin wouldn’t just forward any hug-o-gram request to Yoongi, unless…

What did the e-mail say? It goes something like:

Dear Mr. Kim,

Thank you for offering your special promotion for new time customers of your Hug-o-gram Service! I’ve always been a quiet fan of your business idea, but I’ve always been a little shy to submit a request of my own. Thank you so much for giving me the little push that I needed to send my first (and hopefully last) hug.

I’d like to send a hug to Mr. Min Yoongi from the Music Department. I understand that he has recently been appointed an employee at your business, but seeing as how it’d be difficult for him to hug himself (while not entirely impossible), I’d like to request that you be the one to send the hug to him.

I don’t really have a message for him, per se… I’m still a little shy, even though you already told me that there is no reason to be. I want to believe what you said was true, so I’m pushing my fear aside and putting my fate into your hands. So, to Mr. Min Yoongi… “When I told you it was nice to hug someone you like, I don’t think you understood what I meant. A hug, after all, is a two-way street. They’re often served the best when it is reciprocated, if you catch my drift. :)”

Peace! :3

Regards,

[Redacted] [Redacted]

“Have your brain synapses finished connecting? Because if even this flies over your head, I’m sorry to say buddy but… You might have smooth brain syndrome,” Seokjin pipes up. He observes Yoongi’s brow crumpling, the first signal of his impending mental breakdown. If Seokjin remembers correctly, the next signal should be when––

Yoongi drops down to his knees, his phone clattering to the floor as he stares absently at the ceiling. Seokjin cringes, worried for the state of his friend’s frail kneecaps. The poor sap has bad heart health already; surely, it isn’t too early to get him a life alert button?

Seokjin scooches over his bed, dangling half his body over the edge to appraise his friend. “So. What do you plan to do now?”

For a moment, Yoongi remains silent. Eventually, he shuffles closer to him, perching his hands around Seokjin. The business student raises a brow, confused, until Yoongi pushes Seokjin back onto the middle of the bed so that he can cram himself beside Seokjin on his small double bed. He huffs amusedly, allowing the smaller boy to snuggle into his chest, though he still refuses to wrap his arms around him. Close enough, Seokjin snorts.

“I need your help, hyung.” Yoongi’s voice is small, shy. It’s so uncharacteristic of him that Seokjin immediately softens. They might act like toddlers together the majority of the time, but Seokjin truly does care about Yoongi more than anything. During early mornings like this, when the sun’s soft rays are filtering through his sheer curtains and filling the room with a gentle warmth, it’s nice to cuddle up with one another and enjoy the silence. In fact, Seokjin would never admit it to Yoongi, but he got the idea for his Hug-o-gram service from Yoongi himself, back when the younger boy would be more prone to sneaking into his bed during his bouts of loneliness and homesickness.

Above all else, Yoongi is just a boy with a lot of love to give, so who is Seokjin to say no to his pleas for help?

“You know I always got your back, Yoongi-chi. Whenever you’re ready, we can do whatever you want. Ask and you’ll receive,” he replies, caressing his soft black tresses. Yoongi hums, smiling softly into his chest.

“Thanks, dude. For being… you know.”

Seokjin’s heart pangs a little, but he ignores it. Instead, he continues combing through his hair, humming gently. “I know.”

x x x x x

It’s been a few days since you sent the e-mail to Seokjin and you haven’t heard back from him. You aren’t sure if he sends confirmation e-mails to his clients as you’d never asked for a hug-o-gram before, nor did you know anyone who has. You are forced to continue on with your days like normal, trying to ignore the unsettling anxiety from creeping up your throat and spewing all over the sidewalk.

If Seokjin hadn’t been lying to you, then there shouldn’t be anything to worry about. You’ve been harboring this crush on Yoongi for years now, and you never thought in your life that it would ever be reciprocated. He always seemed a little bit detached, a little too cool for you. Never mind the fact that he always seemed so jittery around you, like it was hard to talk to you or something!

Your answer comes on the last day of the week, after an especially rough day at class. Your back is bent, having finished a grueling four hour lab period where you did nothing but stand and stare at your reaction vessel spinning without any signal of change. You are just a little bit hangry from all the stress piling up on your plate, especially since you hadn’t eaten a decent meal since breakfast at 8 AM.

In short, life isn’t going as smoothly as you’d hoped for your senior year, but you can’t let the blues get to you too soon. After all, there are leftover chicken wings in your fridge with your name on it, and nothing beats your meat more than greasy poultry to end a terrible week.

You’re only inches away from sliding your keycard to open your shared dorm room when the door opens without prompting. You flinch backward, yelping loudly when your roommate Park Jimin grins slyly from the doorway––never a good sign, if you knew anything.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Jimin says, leaning casually against the door like he hadn’t just scared the living shit out of you. He takes one glance at your disheveled hair and lightly sweaty clothes before grimacing in disgust. “Girl, I can’t let you meet the love your life while you’re looking like that. Come on, we have a few minutes before he arrives. Let’s get you freshened up.”

“I’m sorry?” You squeak, allowing your roommate to manhandle you into your own home. He pushes you into your room, depositing you roughly onto your unmade bed. You try to make eye contact with him, but he’s too busy raiding your closet to pay you much attention. “Excuse me? What did you say just now?”

“No time, princess! Your Prince Charming is on the way, and I’ve been ordered by Seokjin to prepare you for this life-changing moment, so get your ass into gear and change into this!” He shoves a clean pair of jeans and a nicer-looking blouse at you before proceeding to grab your hairbrush and comb your tresses with the gentleness of a mother tigress. You shriek when the brush gets tangled in an especially stubborn knot, but Jimin is relentless. He nearly tears your hair by the roots, ignoring your pained whines.

“Will you fucking stop! I have literally no idea why you’re acting like a psycho all of a sudden–” You shout when Jimin begins to undress you, having to kick him in the chest to get him away from completely eradicating your remaining traces of dignity. “Okay, fine! I’ll dress myself! Just get out of my room and fucking stay away!”

Jimin looks at you dubiously for a split second, before eventually acquiescing. “You have two minutes to get changed. You wouldn’t want to keep him waiting, do you?” he says, smirking knowingly. He better dread the day that you finally wipe that annoying twinkle in his eye; it’s been a long time coming.

Left alone to your own devices, you do as Jimin says even though you’re still wildly confused by everything. To think you had been so excited to feast on your chicken wings, and instead, you went through a decade’s worth of torture within the last few minutes. Patting your hands on the butt of your jeans, you meekly take a step out of your bedroom, where Jimin is already tapping his foot impatiently by the door.

He motions for you to hurry up. “Let’s go! Seokjin says they’re rounding up the corner. Hold on,” he steps closer to you, raising your arm up to take a shameless sniff of your pits. “Sorry, had to make a pit stop. You can never be too sure,” he shrugs, disregarding your squawks of indignation.

“I smell fine! Now what are we–” Your sentence is cut short as Jimin all but carries you to the elevator, your shrieks of terror causing one or two of your neighbors to peek their heads out of their doors. When they see it’s just the two of you, they simply shrug their shoulders, returning to their lives like it was normal to see Jimin carry you in a fireman’s hold.

He doesn’t put you down until you reach the lobby of your dorm complex, barely out of breath despite having held you the entire way down. Stupid buff baby, you groan internally to yourself, straightening down your clothes in a desperate attempt to look decent. “Okay, we’re here. Who am I supposed to be meeting?”

In lieu of an answer, Jimin points wordlessly outside your building. A black car is parked on the other side of the road, and you can barely see a familiar head of hair poking out from the driver’s seat. “Seokjin? What the…” you trail off, before your eyes finally land on their target.

Yoongi stands outside the glass doorway, not dressed in his usual all-black attire. He’s wearing an outrageously cute pink shirt today, matching the color of his natural flush. He always looks effortlessly good, with his hair a little windswept in that boyishly cute way. Your mouth goes a little dry when you realize he’s wearing his famous leather jacket, the one that always got the girls and boys swooning when he walked past in them. You hated how whipped for him you were, not wanting to be like the weird kids in his secret fan club, but who can blame you? He’s just so…

You rip open the door, nearly tripping and falling over the short steps leading to the entrance. You grind to a halt in front of him and you’re acutely aware of how rabid you must look. Your chest is pounding, like your heart is begging you to step closer, just like when you had hugged him all those days ago. God, you were going to kill Park Jimin for this.

“Yoongi? What are you…” You take one look at him before your gaze drops to his hands folded carefully behind his back. It doesn’t hide the fact that there is an obvious bouquet of flowers behind him, though. Your face lights on fire when you notice they were your favorite flowers too.

“I’m here to deliver a hug?” Yoongi says it like he’s unsure of himself, but there’s a little coyness laced in his tone. His cheeks are painted a soft pink, and not for the first time, they remind you of freshly baked bread pulled out from the oven. Soft enough to kiss, you wonder idly to yourself.

“I mean… I did order a hug a few days ago, but I do recall not ordering one for myself?” you laugh a little hysterically, your breath cutting short when Yoongi grins softly in response. “I… Who is this hug from?”

Yoongi takes a glance back towards Seokjin. “Hey, boss. Am I allowed to reveal who the secret admirers are, or will that get me fired?”

Seokjin, despite being a few meters away, laughs loud enough for the whole street to hear. “Well, Yoongi-chi. Something tells me your resignation letter was coming in the mail eventually. Who cares about the rules at this point?”

“He’s right,” you quip, pulling Yoongi’s attention back. You’re smiling wide now, your hopes and dreams skyrocketing in your chest and blooming a garden in your heart. “Who cares, right?”

“Right,” Yoongi agrees, taking the last two steps he needs to get closer to you. He drops the bouquet somewhere behind you before finally, finally, embracing you once more. He kisses you gently on the forehead, the contact short and sweet.

You feel like you’re dying, but it’s all good because Yoongi looks just as embarrassed as you. But none of it matters, not when both your happiness is palpable in the air.

“Y/N…”

“Yes?”

“This hug-o-gram is from me to you. Will you go out with me?”

You’ve always been a firm believer that actions speak louder than words. So when you lean in to plant your first kiss of many many more, he knows your answer well enough.

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pan-fangirl-345 · 4 years ago

Text

Not All Are Bad

Summary: Dabi, formerly known as Touya Todoroki, was arrested. While being interrogated, he spills everything that his father did to him and his siblings until the day he disappeared from their lives. Now, not only are you and Shouto in danger of losing your pups, your friends are too. It's up to you and Shouto to prove that not all Pro Heroes are abusive parents and spouses.

TW: Enji Todoroki's A+ parenting (heavy 600 ton sarcasm), abuse, swearing, referenced child abuse, abusive relationships (not anyone from Class 1-A), nosy reporters, A/B/O dynamics (I don't think that's a warning, but I'm adding it anyway.), mentions of sex but not actual smut because this is a SFW blog, mentions of pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy. If I forgot anything, or anyone wants me to add something, please let me know! Slide into my DM's or leave a comment. I would hate to make anyone uncomfortable and I will change it as soon as I see the notification!

A/N: This just popped into my head today, so I figured I would write it out! Also, a little run down of how my A/B/O scenarios work is under the cut with the rest of the story in case these kinds of things make anyone uncomfortable!

Quick run-down (if you don't care skip past all of the italics and find the bold words and the space where the story starts):

Alphas: An alpha is someone who's alignment makes them a lot more domineering in certain situations. They tend to be natural leaders and don't appreciate being questioned by someone they perceive as lower ranking than them. They release strong pheromones that allow them a certain level of control over the other alignments, usually omegas, but there are omegan protection laws that keep alphas from using this to their advantage in unsavory ways.

They get ruts twice a year, which means that they just get really possessive of their mates and anyone they consider family. This is expressed in different ways, from your typical A/B/O scenario when they get really h*rny, to simply scenting their mates and family more than usual. They tend to take their ruts off from work, because the chemical imbalance in their brains can sometimes make them go feral.

*When an alpha goes feral they will attack anyone they perceive as a threat to them or their families. They can sometimes go after their mates or even their pups if they think their pups are hurting their mate. It rarely happens among families, but there are extenuating circumstances. Common signs include an excessive amount of growling, snarling, howling, snapping etc. Sometimes, depending on how strong an alpha's alignment, their eyes will flash a deep crimson. (Think Kurapika from Hunter X Hunter)

*When an alpha offers to share their rut with an omega or beta, it is either a related family members (or found family, someone they feel no sexual attraction to), or someone they have been courting with. It's a big deal when an alpha requests that someone they're courting spend their rut with them. It shows that the alpha is ready to commit to a more serious kind of relationship.

*These are the alignments most likely to impregnate an omega or a beta. Rarely are alpha x alpha relationships able to conceive and bring a pup to full term. (For the sake of ease, it's the usual nine to ten months.)

Betas: These tend to be your more neutral alignments. They can smell pheromones, but they tend to have less of a reaction to the other alignments. They tend to keep the peace among packs, simply because they are less likely to become swayed by pheromones. They can snarl and growl like alphas, but they also purr like omegas, they are kind of in the middle of the spectrum.

*They don't have ruts or heats, but they aren't sterile either. They can impregnate an omega or even another beta with little issue, though they have a harder time impregnating alphas. They also have a hard time bringing a pup to term. It's uncommon, but it does happen.

Omegas: Now, most A/B/O scenarios I have read make omegas seem weak and taken advantage of. Not mine. An omega can just as easily sway an alpha with their pheromones as an alpha could with an omega. There are certain things that are just courtesy when in public, and there are laws about using one's pheromones to one's advantage. Omegas also tend to have more of the maternal instincts, but that's not the entirety of their character.

*They are the most likely alignment to get pregnant, and they are the least likely to impregnate another alignment.

When omegas get their heats, it shows mostly the same way as when an alpha goes into a rut, but sometimes they also become a lot more affectionate with younger members of their family since their maternal instincts are on a high, and they tend to become more clingy to people they see as protectors, for lack of a better word, usually their alpha friends or parents, depending on the age. Alphas tend to get possessive, while omegas become more clingy and touch-starved.

Please note: Sex and gender have nothing to do with one's alignment. One's alignment is simply something that happens by chance and rarely makes one less worthy of something than another.

Children are called 'pups' but they are still referred to as kids and children etc.

Children start presenting from as early as nine to as late as eighteen, and it's different for every child. The alignments all have different symptoms.

Alphas become easily irritated, possessive, sometimes they become destructive or even go feral when they present. They also tend to run a fever, and their eyes sometimes turn crimson, even if they don't go completely feral. Female alphas don't get their periods. They just get the rut.

Betas just tend to have their scents change. Pups smell a certain way, but when one presents, the scent changes. They also tend to be more in tuned with their packs' feelings.

Omegas become touch-starved, clingy, and sometimes more emotion. They tend to get cramps and muscle aches. Think about a girl on her period, minus the blood. Female omegas don't get periods or bleed during their heats, and neither do male omegas.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Touya, Reizo, come on guys, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up!" you called, laughing as your pups practically climbed over each other to get into the hallway from their room, Reizo with his sweater on backwards and Touya almost falling on his face trying to get his pants up over his knees and his very colorful Pro Hero Shouto boxers.

"Moooommmaaa!" Reizo whined, blue eyes shining brightly as he fixed his sweater. "Touya pushed me!"

"Reizo bit me!" Touya argued, face flushing redder than his hair.

"Come on boys, come here," you cooed, crouching down and gesturing them over. "Do you love me?"

"Of course!" they cried.

"Do you love Daddy?"

"Yes!"

"So you guys must love each other right?"

They glanced at each other, frowning, but flushed, telling you everything you needed to know.

"We're family," you told them, keeping your arm firmly around each of their waists, despite Touya being almost as tall as you. "And that means that no matter how much you fight, or how much you irritate the snot out of each other, at the end of the day, you love each other. Right?"

"Yeah," they muttered, albeit a little reluctantly.

"Okay then," you said, ruffling their hair softly. "And remember, no matter what happens, your father and I will do whatever we have to to protect you and your cousins."

They nodded.

"Alright, now Daddy has the car running downstairs, so we need to get going!" you said, ushering your boys out the door, making sure to lock the door behind you.

"No one forgot anything?" Shouto asked, climbing out of the car to make sure that the boys were strapped into the car properly. "Everyone has jackets?"

"Yup!"

"You have your keys, phone, wallet?" Shouto asked you, opening the door for you.

"Of course," you replied, buckling up, letting Shouto know that he could shut the door.

"Alright, well, we have to get going anyway," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before he moved to close your door.

"Momma, Dad, why do we have to do an interview?" Touya asked, frowning.

He was your oldest boy, thirteen and a spitting image of his uncle, who he was named after, save for a white streak in his hair that covered his left eye, that he inherited from Shouto.

His quirk was a fire type quirk, and it relied on his emotions. His flames changed color based on how he felt, and when his emotions got out of control, so did his flames. Unlike what Enji had done with Touya, you and Shouto had taught your son to understand and channel his feelings so that he didn't harm himself or anyone else by accident. He was extremely in tune with his feelings, and his communication skills were through the roof, despite his age.

He was also intelligent, already having skipped two grades, and he was much more mature than most kids his age.

You supposed that with both of his parents being Pro Heroes, along with most of your found family, that he had heard and had to deal with things that other kids hadn't been exposed to. Not to mention that he had started taking care of Reizo more and more while you and Shouto were gone, despite both of you trying to make sure that one of you was always home with them.

Reizo was named after his grandmother, and he was ten, with white curls with (Y/H/C) undertones, and heterochromic eyes. One was gray, the other was the same shade of (Y/E/C) as your eyes. No one knew where the curls came from, but you were assuming it was from your side of the family, since most of the photos you had seen of Shouto's side of the family made it clear that it wasn't from him. Reizo's quirk was also some sort of mutation quirk. He was able to manipulate light at will, it didn't matter what kind.

One night, after you had woken up from a nightmare, you had checked in to make sure that both of your pups were safe and found Reizo sitting up in bed with a small ball of light in his hands. He had turned four a few months before, and while the doctors had assured you that he had a quirk, he had yet to manifest it physically.

Shouto had assured you, and vice versa, that it didn't matter if your pups were quirkless, you would love them regardless.

Reizo, even at four, had known that you were upset, so he had put on a little light show for you, and had managed to keep permanent star charts all around his room as he got older. He had memorized so many constellations and their stories that it made your head spin.

You and Shouto couldn't have been prouder of your boys, but that didn't mean that you subjected them to the media the way some heroes did with their kids.

In fact, you had tried to keep your kids as far away from reporters as you could, but you had also coached them on how to deal with them as they got older.

Touya, a recently presented alpha, had become much more protective of you and Reizo when reporters tried to stop you in the streets for questions.

Touya had never been violent, and you had been so proud of him when he had hung a reporter with his own tongue after they had gotten under Touya's skin with personal questions they had no right asking a thirteen-year-old.

"Because some things have been happening with your uncle Touya recently, and people are nervous. We're hoping that this makes them feel safer," you explained, turning in your seat to look at your boys.

Shouto's grip on the wheel tightened enough that it made a small noise, and you reached over, touching his thigh lightly.

"Hey," you whispered, turning back around, "it'll all be okay, we haven't done anything wrong. They have no reason to take the boys from us."

"I know, but he screwed everything up, not just for us, but for our friends too."

"Wait, what?" you asked.

"Bakugou called me to tell me that every hero with pups is going to be getting investigated, just to be sure. He and Kirishima might lose Kazuki and Eichiro," Shouto murmured.

"Fuck," you muttered, quietly enough that you knew your sons wouldn't hear you.

"Bakugou isn't exactly thrilled, but he's too afraid to do anything about it like he normally would."

"I can imagine," you replied. "But it's fine. No one from our class is going to lose their kids. We all love our pups, and we love everyone else's."

Shouto nodded, and you could tell that he was really trying to believe you.

"Hey," you murmured. "We're gonna be okay. Me and the boys and you. We're all gonna be okay."

He nodded again, and his grip on the wheel relaxed a little bit.

Interviews like this always made Shouto edgy, but he was extra concerned about this one and what was at stake.

He hated putting the boys in the spotlight, he hated even taking them to a news station, but he knew that you all had to do this if you wanted to stay together.

"I love you," he murmured, taking your left hand, kissing your hand lightly.

"I love you too Sho," you told him, smiling at him softly.

"Ready to walk through hell?" he asked as he pulled up to the building.

"With you by my side?" you inquired. "Always."

Shouto, as always, climbed out first, drawing a cheering crowd, and opened your door for you.

Then you each grabbed a boy.

Touya moved to stand dutifully by his father, and they both moved to your side.

You had your hand wrapped tightly in Reizo's, who was on your left. Touya, on Reizo's left, had an arm around his brother's shoulders protectively, and Shouto stood at the other end of your little line, glancing at you and his boys every few seconds.

Cameras flashed, and there were fans there to show their support to you and Shouto. Some of them held signs, other had merch.

Touya copied his father, his eyes steadfastly forward unless he was checking on you or Reizo, and his head held high with a confidence you knew wasn't entirely faked.

Reizo, on the other hand, was glancing nervously back and forth as you made you way inside.

"Momma, I don't like it out here," he said.

"I know baby," you murmured, barely pausing as you scooped him up into your arms, hiding his face in your shoulder.

Reizo was small, even for ten years old, and you could easily carry him in one arm while the other rested on Touya's shoulder, a comforting gesture.

Reporters shouted questions, fans screamed for some attention, and some people just watched, stone faced and blank.

Touya opened the door for you, and you ruffled his hair affectionately while Shouto kept a protective hand on the small of your back.

Shouto, who had been the first of you to meet the hosts, lead your family through the building, waving away assistance with enough politeness that no one got offended, but got the point across that he didn't need their help.

"Momma," Reizo murmured sleepily.

"Yeah baby?"

"Are Touya and I going to be taken from you and Daddy?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it baby," you whispered, trying to control the pheromones that were leaking around your scent reduction patches.

You had been straight with Touya about what was going on, he didn't appreciate being treated like a child, but you had sugar-coated the explanation you had given Reizo. He still understood, but it was terms he could understand.

"I love you Momma," Reizo said, clinging to the back of your shirt.

"I love you too baby," you told him, kissing his forehead lightly.

You and Shouto had declined the list of questions the station had sent you, and your PR managers had already 'leaked' it to the media that you and your family were winging this.

You had told the boys to answer the questions honestly, unless they didn't want to answer a question that made them uncomfortable.

You and Shouto had had a long conversation with the boys about this kind of thing, about personal information protection when being questioned, tone of voice, all of it, but at the end of the day, you knew that someone would find a way to twist everything.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur before you entered onto the stage, Reizo still in your arms.

Shouto and Touya were on either side of you, and you suddenly felt as if you had two bodyguards.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Todoroki. Mr. Todoroki, Mini Todorokis," Nariko, one of the hosts, said.

Shouto nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders absentmindedly.

"Nice to see you again too, Ms. Tanaka. I apologize for my husband, his second cup of coffee hasn't really settled in yet," you snarked, nudging your husband playfully.

"Dad doesn't function properly until nine in the morning," Touya added, flashing one of those dazzling smirks that would have people bowing to his every wish in a few years.

"My own son," Shouto muttered, making you laugh.

"It seems like your youngest takes after his father," Tatsuya, the other host, offered.

"Reizo does like his sleep," you agreed, rubbing your son's back soothingly.

"He's been spending too much time with his Uncle Katsuki," Shouto muttered, and you chuckled.

"Hey, when we were in school, you and Katsuki were the only ones that went to be bed before ten," you reminded him, wrinkling your nose in a teasing way.

Shouto opened and closed his mouth a few times before he pouted, tugging, very lightly, on a stray piece of hair that fell into your face.

"So, Touya- is it alright if we call you that?- what's it like? Having both parents be Pros?" Nariko asked.

"I don't mind if you call me Touya," your son said, looking surprisingly relaxed. "You guys don't ask the weird questions that some other reporters do. But, to answer your question, it's been . . . interesting, for sure."

"How so?"

"Well, for once thing, it's always stressful seeing them fighting on TV, no matter if it's a small time attention seeker or a high profile criminal. Dad has been my role model since I was little, even more so since I presented as an alpha. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a Momma's boy," Touya said, sending you a fond look. "So I want to make sure Momma's safe."

People in the audience cooed, and you let out a small purr, ruffling your son's hair.

"What do you have to say to that Mom?" Tatsuya inquired.

"Both Shouto and I already know that Touya is a Momma's boy," you informed them. "Both boys are, though recently Reizo has been spending more time with his father."

Reizo shifted in your lap, slowly peeling his eyes open, glancing around.

He rubbed his eyes as they asked Touya a few more questions, before he crawled from your lap into Shouto's.

Shouto waited for him to get settled before moving to make sure Reizo was secure in his position.

"So, Mrs. Todoroki-"

"Please, call me (Y/F/N)," you interrupted. "We've been doing this since I was in high school."

"Fair enough," Nariko said, smiling at you. "(Y/F/N), what's it like for you? Being a mother and Pro?"

"The separation anxiety in the beginning almost made me quit," you joked, waiting for the laughter to die down before continuing. "But seriously, being a mother is stressful enough, but I was rising through the ranks, so was Shouto. We both knew that our jobs were dangerous, and we made sure that we talked it through thoroughly before we even got together. When I found out I was pregnant, we both took a few days off to talk about things. We both agreed that I was going to take myself out of the field, stick to desk work, that kind of thing, and then we argued on baby names."

"Speaking of baby names," Tatsuya said, making sure you were done before continuing, "you named your son Touya. Care to explain the name choice, given everything that's happened?"

You and Shouto glanced at each other, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was leaving this one to you. He wouldn't be able to get through it if he answered.

"Until recently, we didn't know that Dabi of the League of Villains was Touya Todoroki. Shouto and the rest of his family thought that he was dead. I don't know the full story, since Enji didn't like me to begin with, and Shouto doesn't talk about him much. Shouto was separated from his siblings because of his father."

You tried to reign in all the angry pheromones leaking out, but it was hard. You had never really liked Enji Todoroki, in the uniform or out of it, and hearing about the abuse over the years from Shouto and his siblings had lowered your opinion even more.

"Anyway, when we started talking about names, Shouto brought Touya up. He said, 'I want there to be one Touya Todoroki that gets to see all the good the world has to offer'. Once he told me that, I couldn't say no, besides, I wanted there to be one Touya Todoroki that saw what love was supposed to be."

You took Shouto's hand, interlacing your fingers, and your son took your other hand.

"You got what you wanted," your son told you, voice cracking with emotions.

"So, Touya, do you think that your parents are a good example of love?" Nariko asked.

"Without a doubt," Touya replied, almost instantaneously.

"You answered that very quickly," Nariko told him, eyes wide.

"For those who don't know, my quirk reacts with my emotions," Touya said, setting his hand on fire, the flames a bright gold. "The flames change color based on my emotions. From the first day that my quirk appeared, neither of my parents have ever lost their patience with me. They have both taken the time to communicate with me. They taught me that showing emotions isn't a bad thing, it's something that makes us human.

"My parents have never raised their voices at us, me or Reizo. Even when we probably deserved it, they've never yelled at us out of anger or frustration. Never. They've never laid a hand on us either. I've never seen Dad's eyes change color even a little bit when talking with me, my brother, or my mother. He's gotten mad at a few people who can't take a hint, but he's never been violent around the house. He's never yelled at Momma, and Momma's never yelled at him either. Not in the time I can remember. Dad taught me how to be a good alpha. I said earlier he was a like a role model to me.

"I watched the way he treated Momma and followed his example. Now I know how to treat my future mate, and how to make things work. My parents are a good example of a healthy relationship, love, acceptance, parenthood, and a bunch of other things. They taught me and Reizo that communication is the key to everything. If only it was the key to cooking, because I think that's the only thing neither of them can do."

The audience had been cooing at your sons little speech, then laughed at his unexpected joke.

Tears stung your eyes and Touya seemed to panic a little bit.

"Sorry Momma, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"I know honey," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm just happy."

He sank into your hug, arms tight around your waist.

Shouto rubbed a hand down your back soothingly, and you pulled away, wiping your eyes.

"So, Mr. Todoroki, you've been very quiet," Tatsuya said. "Why are you letting your wife and son answer everything."

"If there's one thing I've learned in the fifteen years that we've been together," Shouto said, "it's that my wife has a way with words that I lack. Luckily, both our sons have inherited that from her. Besides, I like hearing her and my children talk. I like hearing their voice much more than I like hearing mine."

"And you said you didn't have a way with words," you teased, and Shouto chuckled.

Reizo rubbed at his eyes, glanced around, and crawled over your lap to get to Touya, who let his little brother tuck himself into his side, yawning.

"Finally awake baby?" you asked, turning your attention to your youngest son.

"Yeah," he murmured, stretching before he settled down again. "'M not used to being up this early on a weekend."

"We know," Touya teased, patting his brother on the head.

"Rude Touya!" Reizo whined.

"Boys," you chirped, "save the bickering for when we get home okay? Let these people do their jobs."

"Sorry Momma," they both muttered.

You smiled at them, and Shouto shook his head with a small smile.

"Are they always like this?" Nariko asked, trying to hide a giggle behind her hand.

"Pretty much," you admitted, smiling brightly. "But they are our sons, it's to be expected that they get a little snarky."

"We certainly were," Shouto muttered.

"To say the least," you agreed. "God, high school was rough. We were such problem children, I don't know how Aizawa dealt with us, or any of our other teachers for that matter."

"Speaking of your U.A. days, Touya, you're in class 1-A currently, aren't you?"

"Yes, I recently got my acceptance letter," he confirmed. "I can't wait! I already met some of my other classmates already, since they're cousins of sorts, but it's gonna be great to see where Momma and Dad went when they were my age."

"And you were accepted through recommendations, but you took the public entrance exams didn't you?"

"Yeah," Touya said, nodding. "I wanted to show everyone that just because I was accepted through recommendations didn't mean that I didn't have the power to back it up, or that I thought I was better than anyone else. I wanted to prove that it was through my power that I got in."

Shouto's eyes shined at the words his son used, and you took his hand, remembering the words that Izuku had told him at your first Sports Festival together.

"That's my boy," Shouto murmured, leaning across your lap to ruffle his son's hair.

Touya grinned, fixing his hair.

"Reizo, do you want to be a hero?" Tatsuya asked him.

"No, I want to be a natural disaster first responder."

"Why don't you want to be hero?" Nariko inquired.

"Because I don't want to steal my brother's spotlight," Reizo teased, cutting a playful glare at his brother. "Besides, they're heroes too, they just aren't Pros. Most civil servants are heroes, they just don't have the same title. Momma and Daddy taught me that!"

Reizo beamed at you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him, wrinkling your nose at him, which he did back at you.

"(Y/F/N), Mr. Todoroki, do either of you have anything to say to the people who are questioning whether Pro Heroes can be effective parents?"

"I can't speak for all Pro Heroes," you said, your voice going colder. "But I can confidently, without hesitation, tell you that the entirety of my graduating class- those that have kids- are better parents than most of our grandparents were. None of them would ever hit their child. And yes, we're all training our kids to use their quirks, but it's to teach them control, and we aren't training them for battle. Our children are not soldiers. And I think some people need to be reminded that while heroes are capable of handling situations that others are not because of our training, we're still human.

"Every time we leave our kids, every time we go out, we know that we might not make it back home. I worry about my kids whenever I leave for patrols. Every time I come across a strong opponent, I worry about whether my kids are safe, whether Shouto is safe, whether I'm going to make it back home. And to those that are specifically questioning Shouto's ability to be a parent, I'm disappointed in you. For those that are more than willing to let him walk in harm's way to risk his life for them, but doubt his parenting skills, well, ask any alpha from our class and they will tell you that I was not an easy omega to get to know.

"As an omega that was almost deemed unbreedable, unmateable, for me to let Shouto anywhere near me should be proof enough, not to mention the fact that we have two amazing pups. Not every hero is Enji Todoroki. Not every hero is thinking only of themselves or their image. The reason we're heroes is to help the world. We're not looking for fame and glory. We're looking to keep the world safer for our mates and our pups. We're heroes, but we're human, we're parents. I'm disappointed in every person that ever praised Enji Todoroki for his parenting skills, I'm disappointed in everyone that was fooled by his 'hero' persona. He may have had a license, but when it came down to it, he was no hero, not in any of the ways that mattered."

You leaned back against the couch, tearing your eyes away from the camera, leaning against Shouto's side.

"I have to agree with my wife on this," Shouto said. "My father set the bar pretty low when it came to what being a functional parents as a hero looks like, but our class is setting the bar high. None of our friends have pups that are terrified of when they walk through the door after patrols. None of our nieces and nephews have ever hated their parents with serious intent. Every member of our class, which we all know is still referred to as 1-A, adores their children. Even Katsuki does, and when we were in high school all he cared about was being number one. He took time off from work to raise his pups, and if that doesn't speak volumes, I don't know what does. When we get home, Touya and Reizo always jump to their feet and hug us.

"Katsuki's kids are the same way with him and Eijirou. The number of times (Y/F/N) and I have been knocked over when we get home from patrols is insane, honestly. Denki and Hitoshi's kids are just like Denki, always smiling. We've made mistakes of course- what parent doesn't?- but that doesn't make us bad parents. My father was a bad parent, most of the time he was a bad person, and I made it my mission to not be like him in anyway. I think I did pretty well."

You took Shouto's hand, squeezing it.

"Our class is one big family," you murmured, "and every time the kids are with us or any of our former classmates, they always smile. Like Shouto said, we've made mistakes, and we'll probably make more. We're human, it's what we do, but we're trying our best to be good parents. Our boys know that we just want what's best for them, that we support them no matter what. We taught our kids that it's alright to be afraid of things, but we also taught them that we shouldn't be something they feared. Class 1-A wanted to be the kind of parents where instead of them thinking 'Oh shit, I can't tell Mom or Dad' we wanted them to think 'I'm in trouble, I need to call Mom and Dad'."

"It sounds like you did a very good job," Tatsuya said.

"He's right!" Touya and Reizo chirped.

"You all agreed to wing this interview. We personally watched your PR agents tear up the copy of questions we were going to ask you, though (Y/F/N)'s went further and dissolved hers in water, so you had nothing to prepare yourselves with. Why would you do that?" Nariko asked.

"Momma and Dad are great parents," Touya began. "We knew that any questions you asked us would have only good answers. They get frustrated with us, they get mad, but they handle it well, they never take it out on us. Twist our words however you want, but at the end of the day, that's my final answer. I wouldn't want anyone else to raise me."

"Same," Reizo said. "And anyone that thinks Momma and Daddy are bad at what they do needs to get their eyes checked."

"Reizo," you chided.

"Sorry Momma, but it's true," Touya agreed.

"My boys," you murmured, pulling them both closer, resisting the urge to cry.

"There you have it folks," Nariko said. "I don't think there are any other questions we need to ask."

"None," Tatsuya agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few days later, the interview was on TV, and you couldn't resist the urge to watch it.

You were home by yourself for now. Shouto was out on patrol, Touya was at the dorms getting settled in, and Reizo was at a friend's house for the night.

It was clear how much your boys adored you, and it was clear that neither boy was frightened at all of you or Shouto.

Katsuki had called, practically in tears, though whether that was from the sappiness of you and your family or the kind things you had said, you weren't sure.

Most heroes had been cleared of any suspicion, they had started in the higher ranks and worked their way down, so you and the rest of your class had been cleared already.

After you had all learned that you were cleared, kids had been dropped at grandparents' and other trusted family and friends so the adults could celebrate.

It had been nice to see everyone, and there had been a lot of tears (Izuku and Katsuki were the worst, though you had been close to them), but there had also been a lot more laughter and drunken shenanigans that you would never tell your kids about.

Your ranking, along with Shouto's had shot through the roof after that interview, and you and your husband had both gotten tons of fanmail apologizing for ever doubting, and other that said they had never doubted at all and that they were glad that you were cleared.

Shouto had been so relieved when the investigations had been dropped, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"I told you," you had told him one night, and he stumbled across the interview on twitter, along with someone's breakdown of it.

You were lying in bed together, his arm wrapped around your waist as you laid on his chest.

"I know," he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

"You will never be like your father, and you will always be my hero, same with the boys."

"Speaking of the boys," Shouto began, cheeks tinted a little pink.

"Oh no," you teased, pushing yourself up to see his face.

"I . . . I want to have another pup," he admitted. "I want to try for a girl this time."

"Upset that both of our boys are almost as devoted to me as you are?" you asked playfully, moving to sit in Shouto's lap as you both readjusted.

"No, I love that our boys love you as much as they do, but they are Momma's boys," he said. "I want a Daddy's girl."

You couldn't help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss him.

"Let's ask the boys in the morning," you suggested. "Then we can try for a girl."

Shouto beamed at you, and you shook your head at him, kissing him again.

"Dork," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I would've asked sooner, but with the investigations going on, I didn't think it was the right time."

"You're right, it wouldn't have been, but we would've worked it out. We always do."

Shouto nodded, burying his face in your neck.

"I love you Shouto," you told him.

"I love you too (Y/F/N)."

#shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #shouto x reader #shoto x reader #fluff #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: endeavor

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kayecorral · 4 years ago

Text

Freight Car

Chapter One of the Brown Book Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence, PTSD (!), swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Summary: Nine years ago, The Winter Soldier murdered your friend in front of you. Nine years later, Bucky Barnes shows up at your door with the hope of making amends.

⭑⭑⭑

⭑⭑

⭑

You wake up on the floor again.

In the crossfade between dreaming to waking, the hardwood is concrete against your cheek. The sweat in your hair is the slick of blood. You fade in and out, and awareness comes back slowly. A siren descends, moving closer and closer, then recedes into the quiet. You don’t know if you imagined it.

You do know that your alarm isn’t blaring. Your ringtone isn’t sounding. The birds chattering and chirping at your window are real. The steady knocking of your heart against your ribs is real. Maybe that’s enough.

You open your eyes. A sliver of light from the parted curtains cuts across the floor. Above it, dust dances in the still air. All is calm. If you had woken up in your bed, this would be a good morning.

But you didn’t wake up in your bed. So, you peel yourself off the floor and half-walk, half-limp to the bathroom. As you cross the threshold and flick on the light, a face flashes before you. Before your mind can work to discern its features, you slam the door shut and flip the switch. You cry in the dark.

⭑⭑⭑

You call into work again.

You’re tempted to stay where you are—curled in on yourself under the covers—but Dr. Kaplan’s gentle voice prods from inside your skull. “Trauma changes over time,” it says. “You have to face it as it comes. You’ll feel worse if you put off dealing with it.”

She picks up on the second ring. Judging by the sound of clinking silverware, she’s on her lunch break. You promise to keep this impromptu session short.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. That’s why it hit me so hard, I think.” You begin. Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t know why. The nightmare is so distant now — just bits of feeling. Your brain is scrubbing away the memory like a mounted defense.

You’re quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dr. Kaplan just waits. She doesn’t pose a question or make a suggestion: in other words, she doesn’t offer an out. She never does. At first, her silence and seemingly unending patience unnerved you. You would later understand the value of having the space to organize your thoughts before speaking them.

“I thought I was doing better,” you eventually say. “But now, it’s like I’m back where I started.”

“You are not back where you started,” she says. “We haven’t talked about your night terrors in months when we used to talk about them every session. That’s incredible progress. You should be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You hold the phone away so she can’t hear the tears in your voice. “But what does it mean? ”

“Well,” she pauses. “Have you been thinking about Jean lately?”

“Kind of,” you start to say, then remember Dr. Kaplan’s rule about specifics. “I’ve probably thought about her… twice in the past week. Marie, she, uh, she sent me a Facebook request.”

“Did you accept it?” She asks, with just a hint of amusement.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” Dr. Kaplan asks. She knows the answer, of course. You haven’t spoken to Marie since the funeral nearly a decade ago. You know she resents you. You saw it in the tightness of her smiles and the way her eyes turned to stone as you stood before Jean’s casket. You’re alive and her sister isn’t. You understand that. What you don’t understand is why she would reach out to you after so many years.

“I’m afraid of what she’ll say,” you admit.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Kaplan says. You shift on the couch. “She knows that. Maybe she’s been thinking about Jean, too.”

“Yeah,” you respond simply. Your head is light from dehydration, and you should probably take a nap at some point.

“I’d recommend you take easy today…”

“But?”

“But next week, I’d like to hear about your Facebook convo.”

You smile. The tears have dried on your face.

⭑⭑⭑

Snippets of dialogue filter through your thoughts. A woman is talking about a missing child, and a detective is asking the “who, what, where”s. It’s an episode you’ve already seen, but it makes for good background noise: the dramatic stings, the fast-talking, the screech of tires as the driver peels off. You don’t know why you gravitate towards crime shows. It might be a bit morbid, but until now, you’ve never thought to mention it to Dr. Kaplan.

You’re almost done with the cake batter. It’s looking a little watery, though. You really should have followed the recipe instead of improvising.

You reach for the flour bag on the counter, and just as you raise it to the mixing bowl, someone knocks at your door. You jolt and the bag slips from your hands. You narrowly dodge as it plummets to the ground. It lands with a thump and now, your feet and pants and floor are covered in a film of white powder.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

There’s another knock, a bit louder this time.

“Give me — give me just a minute!” You call out, voice frayed.

You step over your mess and towards the door. You notice how slick your hand is on the doorknob, so you wipe your hands on your pants and try again. You forget your ritual of checking and re-checking the peephole. You unlock the door, already anxious at the idea of keeping anyone waiting.

When you finally swing the door open, a tall, dark-haired white guy is staring at the carpeted hallway floor. He’s not looking at you, but you feel exposed in your flimsy tank top and flour-splattered pajama pants.

Meanwhile, his look is carefully nondescript: a leather jacket, a dark shirt, and jeans. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks like someone who doesn’t want to be seen, but here he is, standing at your door.

Maybe he’s just a neighbor on a reluctant mission to convince you to turn your volume down. Maybe he’s a dealer at the wrong address. Maybe he —

Your stomach drops. The shadows had been obscuring his face, but now that he’s tilting his chin up to look at you… the broadness of his forehead, the color of his hair, his height, all these things pull together. They pull tighter and tighter around your heart, and you realize that you’ve seen this man before. You’ve seen him a thousand times.

Your hand flies up to your neck. Fear hits like a punch to your gut. He looks normal — so normal that you could convince yourself that it’s not him. It’s not him.

But now, his eyes — a startling shade of blue— meet yours. Cold washes over you as every sensation in your body amplifies. You feel small and weak. Your vision starts trembling at the edges. You can’t move — not even to release your breath.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. His voice sounds so different from the one in your memories. It’s not as coarse and low, it’s gentler and higher-pitched. “I just wanna talk.”

“Talk.” The word escapes you, but you hadn’t meant to speak. Hearing your own voice makes this real.

He clears his throat. “My name is James Barnes, and I’m no longer The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier. You suppose it doesn’t matter now what that means. If these are your last moments, you’re not going to spend them deciphering code. Instead, you think of your life and all the things you’ve done and all that you haven’t done. In the span of moments, you try to make peace with your death.

“If you’re going to kill me...” you can’t keep your voice from shaking, “do it.”

His eyes widen. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m — ”

“Hydra wants to know what I know. Is that it?” Your mind reels with the new theory.

His eyebrows tick up. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he says with a measured tone. “Not really.”

You don’t know how to respond to that divulgence. You don’t even know if you can trust it.

“I’m here because you,” he adds your name — your real name, “are part of my efforts to make amends.”

Your thoughts catch on how he knows your name. It’s a small thing, really. He knows where you live, after all.

“I know you’re confused, and I know you have questions.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “And if you’re not, ah...” he glances from your face to your body, as if he were just now noticing your state of dress, “comfortable talking here, we can talk somewhere public. I guess what I’m asking is: can I buy you lunch or, uh, dinner? ”

You consider, seriously, that this man may be clinically insane. You have no other rational explanation for his showing up at your door on a Thursday afternoon, let alone his proposition. But you allow yourself to imagine it: you and him, sitting across a table with Jean’s ghost between and behind you. Your stomach turns at the thought.

“You murdered my friend,” you say slowly, “right in front of me.”

He nods. A pained look crosses his face, and that expression spurs your anger. It hadn’t occurred to you earlier that you should call the police. This man is a murderer, and he’s walking free.

“You shouldn’t even be here — you should be in a prison somewhere!” You choke out as your throat tightens with impending tears.

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her!” He says forcefully. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I — ”

“But you did kill her!” You can’t hold them back anymore, and now, you’re crying in front of the man who killed Jean. Humiliation heats your cheeks.

“You did kill her,” you repeat quietly. You turn your watery gaze away.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says.

In your peripheral, you watch him step closer. When you flinch, he bobs back.

You should step back, shut the door, and call the police. Not that a slab of wood could stop him if he wanted to get to you. You’ve seen his silver arm. You’ve felt the grip of its fingers at the base of your neck. But, maybe you could manage a dial ‘9-1-1’ before —

“Look, I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he interrupts your line of thought and, against your will, you look at him again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I do want to offer you answers. Maybe it can…” He waves his hand as he searches for what he thinks are the right words. “Maybe it can give you some closure. And then, you’ll never see me again.”

You consider the furrow of his eyebrows. Over the years, you’ve tried reconstructing his face from its missing half. Now that you have the full picture, it makes perfect sense: the upper edges of the mask aligned with the cut of his cheekbones, the thin bridge really did conform to his nose, and the wideness of his jaw was merely accentuated. But his features are such a striking contrast to the severity of that mask and that metal arm. He looks so much leaner than you remember. He looks like a man, not a machine.

“Stay here,” you say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods and his brow softens. You shut the door and press your forehead against it.

After a few beats, you rest your hand on the base of your neck and suck in a few deep breaths. It’s a calming technique Dr. Kaplan taught you. But without meaning to, you flex your fingers. Just as your heart was beginning to slow, you’re pulled into the memory of him raising you by the throat. You gasp for air.

That man is behind this door. That man is behind this door.

You race around the couch to snatch your phone off the coffee table. You unlock it with shaking hands and now, your thumb hovers over the number pad.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you press ‘9’.

It’s true. You do want answers. You want to know why he killed her. You want to know about Hydra and his role in it. You want to know why he left you alive.

So you’ll get your answers, then call the cops.

You pull on some real pants and cover up with a sweatshirt. But at the door, you hesitate to step out again. If you’ve imagined that whole encounter, if it was some vivid manifestation of your survivor’s guilt, then you wouldn’t have to go.

You press your ear against the door, and, as if your doubts had broadcasted through the wood, he coughs. You sigh and grab the doorknob. Your hand isn’t sweaty this time.

At the sound of the hinges creaking, his gaze snaps to you. You meet his eyes without meaning to. There’s no recognizable emotion in them. The creases in his forehead and the furrow in his brow are gone. Now, his face gives nothing away.

“There’s a place about two blocks from here,” you say simply.

He nods and looks to you as if for direction. If he were anyone else, you would start heading for the elevator without further ado, but the thought of Jean’s killer trailing behind you makes your stomach flip.

“I’d prefer you walk ahead,” you utter. His eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives no other visible reaction.

“Alright,” he says.

He moves down the hallway, and you follow. Your eyes stay trained on his back. Aside from your occasional direction, it’s a silent walk.

⭑⭑⭑

Sully’s is a dive, but it’s always busy, and this evening is no exception. The people who frequent this place are the kind of people who get loud after a few drinks and don’t give two shits about you unless you’re bleeding out on the floor. That’s perfect. God forbid anyone overhears your questions about murder and secret organizations.

“You want anything?” He asks after you choose a corner booth and tuck in. His casual tone bothers you, but he keeps his distance, at the very least.

“No,” you deadpan.

He nods and starts for the bar. A few people graze him as he passes, and it’s so crowded that you’ve already lost sight of him.

You place your phone face-up on the sticky, varnished wood table. Absentmindedly, you nudge the pedal base with your foot. You try to hone in on any particular voice, but all you hear is a buzz of conversation. It’s a comfort. It means that you’re not alone and he can’t hurt you here.

“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but…” Fuck. Your knee knocks on the bottom of the table. His voice is so sudden at your side.

He places a water glass in front of you, and you stop yourself before you can say “thanks”. He drops into the chair in front of you, a beer bottle tucked between his gloved palms. Gloves. He’s wearing gloves. You hadn’t noticed until now.

There’s an awkward pause. He watches you intently. Your stomach is churning, but you steadily meet his gaze. You have so many questions. Some of the things he’s said don’t make sense. One thing, in particular, though, is nagging at you.

“Back there, you said you didn’t have a choice,” you say dubiously, “what did you mean?”

He takes a drag of beer and sets the bottle down carefully before he speaks. “They brainwashed me.” He replies bluntly. “Hydra, I mean.”

Brainwashing? It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Aliens exist, as do superheroes and Norse gods and Mad Titans. What was once science-fiction is now very real and devastating.

He gives you a few beats to process, then continues. “For seventy years, I operated as The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. Seventy years?”

��I just turned 106 in March,” he says with a sardonic smile.

“How is that possible?”

“I was on ice.” He sighs. “They only took me out when they needed me.”

“And Hydra… what happened to them?”

His jaw tightens. It’s the most reaction you’ve gotten so far. “They used to have this saying: cut off one head, two more take its place… Maybe they’ll come back, but right now, they’re gone.”

“So they aren’t after me,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

“If Hydra wanted you out of the way, they wouldn’t’ve sent me.” He grimaces, even as his voice mocks a shrug.

You get it now: you’re not a threat, and you never were.

“But I was a loose end, wasn’t I? Why didn’t you kill me?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he finishes off his bottle and shifts his gaze to the table.

After a minute or two, you consider moving on, but something about his expression, both vacant and pensive, implores you to wait. In the interim, you glance from the people knocking shoulders at the bar to the couple in front of you.

“It was that look on your face,” he says, and you find his gaze is fixed on you again. “It was rage. And grief. And that-that grief almost overtook everything else, but I saw it.” He leans towards you, his eyebrows knitting close. “That part of you that… that part of you that wanted me to kill you, too.”

He glances at his hand on the table and releases a shaky breath. “I understood that,” he says. “I know what it’s like.”

Like a clenched fist releasing, the tightness in your chest eases. You understand something else, now, too. This is meant to be an exchange. He wants answers as much as you do, no matter how much pain they carry.

“Do you wanna know what I saw? On your face?” You ask after a few beats. He hesitantly nods. “Nothing. There was nothing,” you say. “You didn’t even look human. It was like you were an animal. And you were looking at me like I was prey.”

You look away. The intensity of his eyes threatens to pull you into that memory. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

“I’m so sorry,” you hear him say.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you say quietly, chancing a glance up.

His face twists into something like shame. If he were a different person, you might try to comfort him. But he’s not a different person. He’s a stranger wearing the face that’s haunted you for nine years.

“So why now?”

“Well, I was…” He mimics a snap with his right hand. “And after that, I… started going to therapy.”

He pulls a small, brown book from his jacket pocket. “My, uh, shrink told me to make a list of people I’ve wronged,” he says as he flips it open to a page in the middle and places it in front of you. “You’re one of the last.”

You find your name third-to-bottom. The ones above are crossed through. He glances from your face to your fingers as they trace his careful scrawl.

“You don’t let people look at this, do you?” You ask.

He half-smiles and shakes his head.

“So why are you letting me?”

“I, uh,” he flexes his hand. “I don’t know. I just… thought I owed it to you.”

You briefly consider asking about the other names, but he doesn’t owe you those. He owes you answers about the life he can’t return. Just as another question bubbles up your throat, a ringtone sounds. You glance at your phone’s black screen, then back to his furrowed brow. He reaches into his back pocket to fish out a flip phone. A flip phone. You haven’t seen one in years.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks up from the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says as he squeezes out of the booth. He disappears as quickly as before.

⭑⭑⭑

You finally take a sip of water. The sweat of the glass bleeds onto your fingertips, so you wipe your hand off on your pant leg before touching your phone. 6:15, it says, which means you've been sitting on this hard, plastic seat for over forty minutes. He's been gone for about ten of them.

Before you can seriously consider just leaving, his form comes into view.

"I've gotta go, but..." He says as he pulls the brown book out of his pocket again. When he opens it, he tears a small piece from the page corner, then scribbles something with a pen.

He places the piece of paper next to the perspiration ring on the table. Stealing one last glance at you, he turns and leaves for the third and final time.

On it is a phone number and a name:

Bucky

#tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the birdman and the winter warrior #brown book

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cblgblog · 4 years ago

Note

Sorry I’m advance but one of my other favorite accounts just reblogged a Tony scene and people are talking about Civil War and how it made them Stan Tony, and how when they watch that movie they hate team cap👀 Then someone was all about how he was sleep deprived and how much pressure he was under and couldn’t understand how people didn’t like Tony because. Someone literally said that when someone says they don’t like Tony in Civil War they say “did you watch the same movie as me.” I’m baffled. Oddly enough someone else said, “he just wants to help everyone.” Sorry for the rant but I think people forget about what the accords are and what it would mean for people. Side note, I hope you’re having a great day/night 😀

No sorry needed!

I feel you man, I do. Honestly, I’ve unfollowed people based on similar posts when I was in especially Done moods, so.

Look on the one hand, the movie would’ve been a narrative failure if everyone was in favor of one side or the other, right? The whole point of the damn thing—besides giving the Mouse overlords more money—was to spark discussion, debate. Which, yeah, we’ll call that the tame description for what actually happened. But just, the thing was meant to split the fanbase so in that regard…winning? Thanks, I guess?

Film is also very obviously subjective, different strokes for different folks, so yeah, ten people can watch a movie and none of them are gonna see the exact same film. Let’s try to remember that this is, in theory anyway, a good thing. I just read a professional film review yesterday where I had the same reaction. What film were you watching, dude? Incidentally his reviewing partner said the same thing.

So honestly, no, they weren’t watching the same film as you or I or anyone else, because everyone brings their own biases and experiences and knowledge and interests into a thing, and that’s always going to flavor how it’s viewed. Again, let’s try to remember that this is good. In theory. Heavy on the theory.

That out of the way? Let’s get into Tony specifically so his uber stans can find this and scream at me on anon as though I just shot RDJ with a nuke.

Oh yeah, he was stressed. Oh, he was sleep deprived. Yeah, I’ve heard that. And that it’s Pepper’s fault, if she hadn’t left the poor baby, if she was there to rein him in, he’d be fine dammit, leave the baby alone!

Here’s the thing. You know who gets a pass on their shit behavior when they’re upset or tired? Actual babies. Actual babies and toddlers, and children, up to a point. Because they actually cannot always help themselves. Their bodies and brains are different, they have not learned better.

When you’re a 50-year-old man who’s supposedly the world’s bestest superhero, who wants, wants to be in charge of protecting the whole world? You need a little more self-control than that. The sleep deprived excuse works if you snap at someone before you’ve had your coffee, not for this. Roseanne Barr didn’t get to blame Ambien for her racism, Tony doesn’t get to handwave CW away because oops, I was tired.

Really? You’re a superhero, dude. Most of your teammates are tired too, that’s part of the gig. If you crash and burn this badly without your afternoon nap, fucking hang up the armor and go back to your billionaire playboy lifestyle.

Speaking of that, sure, right. It’s Pepper’s fault because she left him. Put aside the argument on whether that was justified or not (cough, it was and she should’ve stayed away even though they are adorable together). It’s not Pepper’s job to keep Tony sane. It’s not any partner’s job to do that for anyone. If she wants out, she has a right to that, without Tony going off the rails and blaming it on her. Seriously, he says part of the reason he backed the Accords was to “split the difference” with Pepper.

Dude. You were an asshole and you lost your girl. You destroyed all your suits, turned an emotional and mental corner in IM 3…and then relapsed 4 minutes later I guess because Whedon. Either way, Tony admits himself that he does not want to stop. So instead of doing that, or finding another partner who can accept that, you back an unjust international law that pits you against your team, your supposed friends? Go to therapy, have a pint of ice cream, cry into your pillow, send her more of those strawberries you sent her in IM 2 that she’s allergic to. You don’t go trying to change international law in ways that could ultimately affect millions of people because your girl left you.

Honestly—and thank God they didn’t do this but—the only way the Pepper excuse works in excusing his behavior in any way is if she’d died. Or been severely injured like Happy in IM 3. Still wouldn’t be okay, but, like Quill messing up their chance to stop Thanos because Gamora died, it would’ve been more understandable. Understandable, not excusable, and the way the MCU treats their women as manpain fodder, we’re probably legit lucky we didn’t get this.

As for him wanting to help everyone. He does in fact want that, I think. The problem is that his need to feel like he’s doing that is stronger than his rational mind, or his want to actually help in a constructive way.

Tony is too smart. He’s dumb as hell in many instances, mostly involving people and relationships, but he’s also too smart, and he’s been told for too long that he’s smart, and he’s bought into it. Ultron. Suit of armor around the world, protects the world, no more alien threats. It’s a simple concept on paper that fails in execution. So there are people with dangerous powers. Okay, we’ll make a set of laws to keep them from being dangerous, problem solved. But again, it isn’t.

Tony is not used to problems he cannot solve. He’s a genius, right? He can fix anything. He should be able to fix anything. That’s how he feels. But not everything is zeros and ones and circuits, things that can be fixed mechanically like his armors can. The people he wants to protect are not built that way. But he needs to feel like he’s doing something, because he’s terrified of what happens to the world if he doesn’t. So he creates these simple solutions to complex problems. The suit of armor, the Accords. They sound good in theory, but the problems they’re trying to solve are bigger than they are. And Tony, way back in IM 1, he sat back for years, clueless that his weapons were being used for bad things. He says it to Cap in CW. When he found out what his weapons were being used for, he went in and stopped it. Whether or not he should’ve known that already is a separate issue here. The point here is that when he found out, too late or not, he went in and did something about it.

Tony needs to do something about it. Again, go back to Cap in AoU, Tony’s nightmare sequence. Steve asks Tony why he didn’t save them. Tony’s ultimate nightmare is that he sits back and does nothing, and his inaction causes everyone to die. Which is where you get Ultron. Something he came up with because of what he saw in space in Avengers 1, then doubled down on in AoU. It’s where you get the Accords. Oops, he caused someone to die, he killed Charles Spencer. Must do something about that right now so it doesn’t happen again, and he won’t have to feel this guilt. He should be collaborating with others to come up with solutions (no Bruce in AoU doesn’t count because Bruce was dumb there), or at the very least, taking more time to think through the repercussions of the things he puts out there. But he doesn’t, because he’s got his savior complex that tells him that he alone can and must fix this, and because he’s too dumb to realize how not-smart he is in certain areas.

“We need to be put in check. Whatever form that takes, I’m game.”

Isn’t that what he says in CW, or something very close to it? Whatever form that takes. That’s the issue, right there, whatever form that takes. Realistically, yes, there should be laws regarding people with powers, the same way there are special laws pertaining to people who carry guns, or people who are licensed to fly planes. You have a thing/can do a thing that not everyone else does, so there are regulations pertaining to that thing. Laws change with the times, they always have. Some new technology comes up, eventually there will be laws that regulate it. As there should be, honestly. The issue with the Accords, Steve’s issue with the Accords, was not the basic idea. He says as much. He says that it could work, but there would have to be safeguards. Safeguards that are not in the Accords that Tony wants him to sign.

It's not a matter of oh, fuck the law, there should be no law governing these people, they’re above it. The problem is that the law as it’s presented here is unjust. There’s what, a month between Lagos and Ross coming by to tell them about the Accords? A month is not enough time to properly analyze such a big issue, Especially when you’re reacting out of fear, which is what happened with Lagos. People died because of an Enhanced person, an Avenger, in this case. Lawmakers don’t want that to happen again, they especially don’t want the political shit storm that comes with it. Damn, we look like we were asleep at the switch here, not having anything to throw at this problem earlier. Quick, let’s throw together this thing so no one can say we’re not addressing the problem.

Patriot Act of 2001, anyone? 9/11 happened, the public were rightfully terrified, the US said oh man, these are unprecedented circumstances, we’ve never had this before. Don’t worry though, we’re on this, we’re protecting you. The reality being that that bill simply gave the government too much power, most of it being used against people who were not actually threats, and it’s debatable, to say the very least, whether or not that law helped more than it hurt.

No law is perfect. No law ever will be. It’s not possible. We still have to strive for perfection though, have to aim there so that the laws we get are as close to fair as possible. Tony’s a big deal. If not for his “whatever form that takes” attitude, he might’ve been able to use his influence to pressure lawmakers into coming up with a fairer bill. Hey, I’m me, the public loves me, I will endorse this bill publicly and work on getting the rest of the team to sign, but you need to change this and this and this first, or no deal. Instead, he took the easy way out, the quickest, easiest way for him to feel like he’s atoned for his sins without actually doing anything. Whatever form that takes.

Tony’s not wrong because he backs the creation of a law that addresses these things. He’s wrong because he says himself that he does not care what that law does, specifically, so long as it exists. He’s wrong because he violates said law upteen times during the movie, while preaching to team Cap about what assholes they are for not backing it. He’s wrong because he cares more about feeling as though he’s tackled a problem than he does about taking the time to make sure that the thing he’s proposing is actually a good idea. He’s wrong because of what he does with Bucky, though that’s honestly a separate issue, for the purposes of this discussion.

Anyway, that was longer than I ever wanted it to be. Damn. Next time you see a comment about CW being the reason people stan Tony, just remember there are other people out there who stopped stanning Tony because of that movie. Everyone’s entitled to see a piece of media however they see it, and although the Tony stans are often the loudest, there are plenty of like-minded people out there who share your take on events. Block who you need to, unfollow who you need to, blacklist what you need to, and don’t let them get you down.

Hang in there, and have an awesome day :)

#pro steve rogers #pro team cap #anti tony stark #anti tony stans #anti iron man #anti team iron man

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nightshade-minho · 4 years ago

Text

MOONSTORM [ iii ]

You know that feeling when you know you’ve made a terrible mistake?

Yes. That feeling.

It’s a feeling that never really goes away. You had to learn that the hard way.

Irrevocable actions, stupid mistakes. You were heart-wrenchingly familiar with all of it.

To err was human apparently. You...weren’t human, though.

It seems like being superhuman was insignificant, after all. At the end of the day, nothing mattered. None of your powers did.

Despite it all, you still lost him.

warnings: depressing shit (it gets better though dw) mentions of death, violence, sexual content, future smut

wc: 2.8k

moonstorm masterlist

It felt like the world had lost all color.

It had happened so many months ago, and yet it still felt like it happened just yesterday. The memories of stumbling out of his lair, covered in his blood and your tears, still fresh in your mind.

The image of his face, betrayed and yet so calm as he uttered those last words to you...it haunted you constantly.

You found yourself looking at the moon every night, dreaming about what could have been. The nightmares endlessly plagued your sleep as well, causing you to fear even your own bed.

No...even after Hyunjin's effects on you wore off, your own brain took on the responsibility of torturing you by conjuring up more heartbreaking dreams. Dreams which made you long for something you knew you’d lost forever- never to be yours again.

You never truly realized how much you’d gotten used to having him around. Life was so glaringly empty and meaningless without him. It was a complicated relationship…and yet it still left a giant hole in you. An all-encompassing despair that threatened to swallow you up.

With him gone, it just didn’t feel right to be a superhero anymore. How could you be the strong role model for everyone in the city to rely on when you knew just how weak you’d become? Even when the newspapers were covered with your heroics, even as the mayor addressed the city and expressed his desire to give you a medal for stopping yet another supervillain from roaming the streets- you stubbornly refused to don that costume ever again.

You stayed hidden through it all. You just couldn’t bring yourself to go out in public anymore. Your vigilante costume lay forgotten in the back of your closet- crumpled and sad.

It just...felt wrong. At the moment you felt nothing but pathetic. You didn’t have time to waste saving a snotty kitten stuck on a tree or stop a petty criminal from robbing a bank- all you were fit to do was eat ice cream straight from the can, and watch a soulless movie. The same routine, day in and day out. You hadn’t left your apartment in nearly a month, not even to buy groceries. Every second was spent wrapped up in blankets, pondering what you’d done.

Was that selfish of you? Probably. You were discovering new flaws by the second.

Sighing, you sat up a little, your ass almost numb from how long you’d spent lying down. Glancing up, you saw your father’s portrait looking down at you. You swallowed and slowly stood up from your bed, groaning to yourself. Why did he suddenly seem so disappointed?

Maybe a little bit of fresh air is what you needed, considering you were starting to believe the paintings were changing expressions. After all, you had work to do anyway- might as well take advantage of the nearby café’s free WiFi.

***

Here at last.

You sat down in the corner of the café, so tired you could barely move a muscle. But you had to get a move on with your life- the recovery should have happened by now.

And yet here you were, months later. Nothing seemed to be able to fill the hole he left behind, and even now you wished you could go back home as soon as possible.

Had it...had it been a mistake?

Of course it had. Your misery was evidence, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could convince yourself that you’d done it for the good of the city.

The truth was... Hwang Hyunjin scared you.

He made you feel things, made you want to be someone else entirely. Every ounce of rigidity and austerity you’d imposed in yourself disappeared every time you were with him. He made you want to give everything up- give up all the responsibilities and burdens you carried on your shoulders to be with him. To be like him- free.

It wasn’t Hyunjin who was a threat to the city. No, not directly.

It was you- or rather the lack of you.

This city needed you to survive, and if Hyunjin managed to change you...it surely wouldn’t have lasted long without your help. Hyunjin had never really been the city’s biggest threat- there were far worse villains and it was them who you really fought against.

He was more of just an inconvenience, someone you had to deal with from time to time. And then he’d struck that deal- after which the nature of your relationship had turned into something entirely different.

Every time he acted up, it was usually just a ploy to get your attention. And attention was exactly what he got. You’d reinforced his behavior like an idiot.

You told yourself it was a chore, but it wasn’t all that convincing. You’d loved spending those nights in his bed, loved the way he was an expert at making you come undone with his body and his words.

It really had seemed like a good idea at the time. The right thing to do. However, it was quickly starting to seem like anything but.

You sighed as your mind tried its best not to travel back all those months. Dipping a teabag into the liquid, you mindlessly observed the customers in the cafe. Many of them were young, teenagers who were heading out before class.

You sighed as you recalled your own high school days, the times Hyunjin and you had hung out in a cafe much like this one.

“You don’t have to help me with this project, you know.”

“Ah, shush. It’s our final year. I’m not going to leave you alone.” He smiled as he flipped through his books, taking a sip of his coffee occasionally.

“You act like you’re not sticking to me like white on rice the rest of the year.” You roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself.

“Don’t get snippy with me, missy.” He smirked, still thumbing the pages nonchalantly. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

“You- I- what?” You wouldn’t admit it, but the thought caused a fluttering sensation in more than one place. It was a little bit of a shock, considering the two of you had done nothing more than make out and flirt, until now.

“Chill. I’m kidding.” He shook his head, looking up at you. “Unless…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Stop it! I’m supposed to be working right now.” You whined, swatting him with a rolled up paper.

“I don’t care.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Hm...do you know what I’m thinking of right now, Y/n?”

“W-what?”

“Thinking about how easy it would be to slip my fingers under your skirt and play with that pretty pussy of yours. I’m pretty sure it’s soaked your underwear through by now.”

Fuck.

Your cheeks flushed as you stared at your plate. You couldn’t find it in yourself to respond properly- his mere words had already turned you to a mess.

“S-shut up.” You mumbled, reading out formulas aloud as you tried to divert your attention from it. Hyunjin let out a teasing chuckle at your lame attempt to change the topic, shaking his head as he stared at his book again, unaware you were looking over your own at him, pressing your thighs together subtly.

God, he was so...so annoying.

You snapped out of it, sighing as you looked around at the much less crowded cafe. Had it always looked so dull? So lifeless?

The thought of him was hurtful- it felt like a dull knife, screwing itself into you. Reminding you what you’d done.

You’d killed the love of your life.

And now? There was no way to bring him back.

***

“Murder is never something a superhero should resort to. A good hero always stays true to themselves- they only kill if it’s absolutely necessary.”

A cough.

“But of course...villains are exempt from that rule. Killing one villain’s life could save countless others.”

Hm. You weren’t exactly sure if your father was right. Although you were just a child, you still had some knowledge of morality.

Was he? Killing just...seemed wrong. You didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it, no matter how evil the person was.

“Surely there are other ways to neutralize someone evil, Father?”

He narrowed his eyes at you, before shaking his head coldly. “Untrue.”

“The truth is, some lives are expendable, my dear Y/n…” Another cough, before he cleared his throat and fixed his gaze back on you.

“You must always look for the greater good.”

***

You still remembered the day you first met Hyunjin.

He was 13, and you were just a little younger. Your families were good comrades and allies, so your eventual meeting had already been planned.

The two of you were in the living room with everyone else as they talked to each other, mingling and chattering like adults usually did. Hyunjin and you made an unanimous decision to sneak out to the rooftop, and get to know each other better.

“So...our parents are allies now, hm? This means we’re going to see each other a lot more.”

“Of course we are! We’re both prodigies, like my dad and your mom...we inherited their powers, so they’re obviously going to want to cultivate those.”

“You speak pretty fancy for a 12 year old.”

“Hey, so do you! Besides, we’re gifted, aren’t we?”

“Hm.” He sighed, swinging his legs and inhaling. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke up again.

“Do you actually like having these powers?”

“Oh? Well, yeah...I do...my father tells me stories of his days as a superhero. I want to help people, just like him.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’d much rather live a normal life. Get a normal job, find someone to love, and have a normal marriage in a normal town.”

You pressed your lips together. “To each their own, I guess. Personally, I just want to get rid of all the evil in the world and make my father proud.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Evil…” He tapped his chin. “How does one even know the difference between good and evil?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean? I’m pretty sure it would be obvious in every situation.”

“I disagree. The distinction is blurry. No one knows for sure, and definitely not at first glance.” He sighed. “I would know.”

You brought your knees to your chest as you observed the city below. “Well, I guess you’re right…” you paused, your heart feeling a little heavy for some reason.

“Do you know?”

“The line between good and evil is thin, Y/n. I can’t say I know for sure. But do you know what will always help you remember?”

“What?”

“Your heart.” He said softly, glancing at you and offering you a small smile.

“Just do whatever feels right...trust yourself.”

***

You sighed and shut your laptop.

Home. You needed to go home, cause your heart ached too much. You definitely weren’t ready to go back to work yet. You hadn’t done anything productive today really, just drink coffee and reflect on your actions. Regretting....regretting it all.

It’d been wrong. The wrong choice, the wrong decision.

You knew that, now. There could have been another way. You shouldn’t have rushed into it like that...how could you?

You felt a surge of hatred towards yourself engulf you. It was all your fault, this pain you were feeling. You didn’t have anyone to direct this immense anger towards except yourself. You realized this little fact in horror, your heart clenching as you wished things could have been different.

Finishing off your coffee, you placed a few bills on the table as you left the café, heading home. Ready to burrow under the blankets again, wallow in your self pity and pain. There wasn’t much else to do except succumb to acceptance.

You made your way down the street, humming the saddest song you knew under your breath.

All of a sudden, you felt eyes burning into your back. Your own eyes widening slightly, you turned around quickly-

But there was no one there.

Weird. Sighing, you decided to go back to going over your plans for tonight in your mind.

Maybe watch a movie in hopes of triggering some sort of emotion in you...or maybe take a bath, light some candles and listen to depressing music- shit.

It happened again. Someone was following you- you could feel it. Uncomfortable, your breathing slowly started getting heavier as you tried to formulate some kind of plan in your head-

The next thing that happened was so sudden you barely registered it for a second.

Your hand was gripped, so tightly you felt it would bruise. Aggressive, shocking and swift as lightning- it took several seconds before you realized someone was trying to kidnap you.

“Stop! Leave me alone!”

Struggling against the person holding you, you caught a glimpse of the masked man and decided to scream, hoping to gain some attention from somebody, anybody. There was no way this was happening, not right now. Your day had already been bad enough, why was the universe so intent on rubbing salt in your wounds?!

The urge to fight had never been stronger. Yet there was no strength left in your body. You couldn’t fight back against this man- he was taller than you and somehow even matched you in strength. Unless you exposed your powers, there was no way you would get yourself out of this predicament. Somehow you managed to smack him with your arm weakly, making him hiss.

“Let me go, please!”

The coffee cup fell out of your hand, brown liquid spilling all over the ground as you were pulled into the dark alley so quickly, no one would notice. Your eyes darted about in panic, trying to work out a possible escape route when the masked man caged you in, his arms on either side of you.

A horrible sense of déjà vu enveloped you. It’s all you can do to not scream, trying to keep yourself calm so that you could escape.

It’s ok, breathe in...and concentrate.

The heat within you started to crackle, your palms beginning to burn up gradually.

Your eyes blinked as you decided to try and take a good look at the person holding you. Their head was covered with a black mask, their finger held over their mouth as they ran their eyes over your distressed expression.

Inhale. Exhale.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You hissed, staying still and pretending to give up the struggle. “Unhand me now, or you’ll regret it, trust me-“

“Shh! Y/n, please…” He shushed you, his voice shaky.

You stopped in your tracks.

Huh?

That voice…

“I’ll explain... but first we need to get out of here, fuck-” He looked from side to side quickly, scanning his surroundings.

Shit. Why does that voice sound so familiar?

“Who- who are you?!” You managed to get out, the heat fading away as deep, panicked confusion took over you instead.

There was a small sigh as your assailant stood up a little straighter, groaning. And then, his fingers deftly pulled the mask off, clutching it in his hands tightly.

Golden locks spilled out, a handsome visage coming into view. Plump lips and beautiful eyes, looking oh so familiar.

No.

It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. What the fuck, what the fuck, what the actual fuck was going on?

It’s him.

But it can’t be.

How? It’s not possible-

You’re definitely losing your mind.

The man’s breathing got quicker as he watched your expression morph from fear into one of pure, electric shock.

“I know you’re shocked, Y/n, but please listen to-“

Your chest started heaving, quickly rising and falling as your heart pounded against your rib cage.

This...could not be happening. What was this? Was this a nightmare? Yet another sick, twisted dream? He couldn’t be standing right in front of you...it was impossible. No. No no no no no no no.

It was all too overwhelming, and your brain and body seemed to agree on that. Your mind swam, your thoughts all over the place as you felt yourself sway on your feet.

“This- I-“ You stumbled over your words, tears slipping past quickly as you tried to form words to express what you felt.

Pain. Searing pain, taking over, spreading from head to toe.

Your breathing slowed as the world suddenly went black, Hyunjin’s shouts in the background fading away...until there was nothing but silence.

Pure, unadulterated silence.

#hyunjin smut #hyunjin angst #skz smut #skz angst #hwang hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #stray kids angst #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagines

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wrenhyperfixates · 5 years ago

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Kissing Your Worries Away

Pairing: Loki x reader Summary: A bad dream interrupts your sleep, but Loki steps in to save you from your demons. Warnings: a tiny bit angsty, I suppose, and some depressive/anxious thoughts A/N: Hello my lovely nonny! This was such fun to write, thank you for requesting it. Hope you enjoy :)

Tag List: @lucywrites02 @frostedgiant @lunarmoon8 @twhiddlestonsstuff @lokistan

Disclaimer: Gif not mine

It was odd, Loki thought, the differences between dating on Asgard and Midgard. Most of the things done on Earth would have been considered improper, and sometimes even scandalous where he came from. Now, he didn’t really do much dating back on his home planet, and it would have been referred to as courting, anyway. In any case, he knew quite a bit about it, having desired companionship through his long, lonely years. And then along came you, nothing but a mere mortal who somehow meant so much more than that to him. You’d enchanted him with your kind smile, loving attitude, and perfect personality. That’s how he perceived you, anyway; it was like you two were soulmates.

Of course, Loki had not made the first move. Then again, maybe you didn’t really either. He had been too scornful in the beginning to realize what was right in front of him was exactly what he was looking for. Even with his rather callous attitude, you’d persisted and broken down his walls. A friendship, strong as the branches of Yggdrasil, was forged between you two. That, however, made Loki too fearful to ask you out, for if you had rejected him, he’d have lost you entirely. Little did he know, you’d been going through the same thoughts in your head. It wasn’t until one night of reading on the couch when you had kissed each other—it was still unclear to both of you who had actually initiated it, so you decided to call it a mutual action—that you were able to move past your uncertainties. As for who had officially asked who out, it was once again unclear, though Loki insisted it was you.

“My apologies,” he’d said after you’d kissed. “I should not have done that.”

“Loki,” you’d replied, shaking your head. “That’s what I wanted to do, too. And, I wouldn’t mind doing it in public, either, you know.”

“Well then, we shall do just that.”

For the next week after, the Avengers had to endure longing yet excited glances and gentle touches between you two. Loki wasn’t much for PDA, unless of course he was feeling particularly jealous, but he didn’t mind the small gestures. The rest of the team simultaneously found it adorable and sickeningly sweet. Not to mention how odd it seemed once they remembered how the trickster god used to be. Regardless, Loki was excited to take you out for a date. You’d gone to a nice restaurant in the city, and you’d both thoroughly enjoyed yourselves. For the second date, though, you insisted on just having a casual, quiet night in. And that is how Loki found himself knocking on the door to your quarters in a tee shirt and sweatpants, though nothing too baggy as he never was a fan of that style for himself.

“Loki!” you greeted with a bright smile. “I’ve got the movie all ready to go, and the snacks all laid out, so I’m ready to start whenever you are.”

“I do believe there is one other thing we must do first,” he said, walking into the room.

You crinkled your nose and tried to figure out what he meant, asking, “What’s that?”

“This,” he answered, pulling you in for a kiss.

By the time you broke away, you were both a little out of breath, and Loki couldn’t help but chuckle at how adorable you looked. Not only that, but you were incredibly beautiful, too. He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, unable to fight the urge.

“Alright, I think I am ready to begin now,” he informed you as he pulled away again, knowing that if he did not stop now, he’d keep going all night.

You nodded along, still a little flustered from the intimate moment. Hand in hand, you and your raven haired prince walked over to the couch and settled in under the blankets. Even though you’d begun already tucked under one of his arms, you got increasingly close to him during the film, snuggling closer and closer as the minutes ticked by. Eventually, you fell asleep against him, the slackening of your arms around him immediately alerting him. The movie was not yet over, and he wondered if he should go or stay until the end. He decided that if you were to wake up, you might be disappointed that he left, so he remained where he was. Besides that dilemma, he wasn’t really sure how to react to the fact you trusted him enough to sleep in his presence. It was, in his opinion, the ultimate show of trust to allow yourself to be so vulnerable around someone. Even in all your time as friends, you’d never done anything like this before.

Before long, your arms were tightening around him again, and he expected to see your eyes flutter open at any second. They didn’t though. In fact, you were whimpering a little, softly at first, but then louder. Before he could react to that, your body began to shake and the whines grew louder still.

“Darling,” he whispered. “What is it? Are you feeling well?”

You did not respond, and after a minute of befuddlement, he realized you were still asleep. Not only that, you were having a nightmare. He flashed back to the countless nights when he’d woken up in a state much like yours, and how each time he’d wished for someone to comfort him. Well, he was here for you now.

“Do not fret, my love, I am here. I will protect you,” he said, though softly enough to not wake you up, but rather just penetrate your dreams. “Nothing can happen to you so long as you are in my arms.”

Carefully maneuvering your bodies, he brought you to a laying position. Facing you, he smoothed out the crinkles of your forehead with a kiss. Arms wrapped around you, he rubbed your back and alternated between humming and speaking reassurances. Even when your body finally relaxed, he didn’t stop. Rather, he peppered even more little kisses on your face until a smile overtook your features. He pulled the blanket tightly around you, and placing one last kiss to your head, got ready to go to sleep, too.

“Loki,” you whispered, still half asleep, just as his eyes began to slip shut. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, darling,” he said back, drifting off into a dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki’s eyes snapped open. It was still dark out, but he knew something had awoken him. He quickly wracked his brain, trying to figure out if not the light, then what? That’s when your small whimpers registered in his brain again. How he had wished he wouldn’t need to disturb your rest, but it was obvious that you needed to talk about whatever it was that was bothering you. Before the dream could get too bad, he said your name and rubbed your back until you awoke.

“Is the movie over?” you asked in a groggy voice, feeling very disoriented.

“Yes, it has been for a while. The issue here, though, is that you were having a nightmare. The second one of the night, I might add. Will you tell me what is wrong? Please? I only wish to help.”

“I know.”

You didn’t say anything else, and Loki didn’t press, lest he drive you away or further upset you. He just kept tracing circles on your back until you were ready to continue.

“I just, I don’t know, feel so insecure sometimes. Like I’m just not enough, no matter what I do. And that whenever I get close to someone like this, it doesn’t matter because they’re just going to leave me anyway. God, it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud.”

“It does not. Do not discredit your emotions like that,” Loki scolded. “It is perfectly valid to feel insecure, but you must tell me so I can reassure you that I will never, ever leave you for anything in the nine realms or beyond. You mean too much to me for me to leave, darling. I love you.”

You hugged him closer, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Naturally, those words didn’t chase all your doubts away. After all, that is all they were: words. And from the God of Lies, no less. Still, though, you trusted Loki in your heart, and it helped a great deal.

“Thank you, Loki. I hope you know I feel the same way about you,” you said into his skin.

“I believe it with all my heart, darling.”

Then he placed one final lingering kiss to your lips for the night before you both went back to sleep in each other’s arms, feeling much lighter than you had in a long time.

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youwontlikethisblog · 4 years ago

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Brutas! La Policia!

I've read a few analysis on this episode before so while watching it again I was mindful to pay attention to certain details, for example; Armando's facial movements and the way he spoke while also paying attention to Marcela's behavior throughout the episodes that take place for that night (I think there's two or three.)

Now to start this off Armando is already at the drag party. He calls Marcela up and explains he'll be at the apartment. Now Marcela's reaction reminded me a lot of how abusers behave in public. They smile, they laugh, they're kind, loving, understanding, and most of all the perfect S.O so when you complain about it absolutely no one believes you because "they're so perfect" she often giggles when conversing with him, instead of yelling like she normally would she lets things slide.

Now up to this point of the series we've seen a pretty...dysfunctional relationship but they have their ups more than their downs. We know Armando is a cheating whore and that Marcela is aware of this but lets it slide even though she yells at him all the time. However Marcela is often seen more loving towards Armando, the only time they truly have heated arguments that aren't related to Armando cheating, they're related towards Betty and her role in the company and his life. See up to this point(Before Marcela came back from New York) we as viewers have seen Armando be annoyed at his fiancé but she was still his number one girl, meaning that yeah he could have his side pieces but at the end of the day (As he said himself) she was the woman he wanted to be with, was it for the sake of his parents or just for the company, whatever it may be he wanted to be with her. By little things like asking Betty to stay in meetings, to asking her to sit beside him during meetings Marcela's behavior begins to change. I noticed that when she came back from NY and entered his office, he went and stood next to Betty and looked at her and then Marcela, smiled and commented on her new look (Something that I find interesting and I'll comment on that when I get to that ep) he then went and kissed her, now I know it could have been interpreted that he was feeling guilty over the conversation he was having with Mario and Betty (the company getting seized by Terra Moda) which could be true but I find it interesting that in that moment they didn't show him staring at Mario and then Betty or vise versa but instead he stood next to Betty and glanced at her for a moment.

Why do I bring this up when it happened days before the Drag Party? Because it speaks on the shift that they begin to have in their relationship. Often we see Armando as the main instigator and I won't sit here and justify that man's actions. He was a serial cheater, a whore if you will, and had no regards for anyone's feelings, even his own, though his egoism made him think so highly of himself, showed that he was truly an insecure person(I could write down a post dedicated entirety of this character personality because the writing, the directing, and the acting added so much dimension to a character I'd otherwise find repulsive with no grain of redemption.) However; when you look at this dysfunctional and complex romantic relationship between Marcela and Armando you begin to see why the relationship is so terrible and it isn't soley based on his cheating.

Again, Marcela is playing this act of being an understanding and easy going girlfriend in front of Patricia Fernandez, the model, she lets Armando's erratic behavior slide and even behaves when he hangs up on her, instead of calling him multiple times and yelling at him. When her bestie Patty tries to instigate her, her sister Beatriz tries to calm her by saying 'Maybe something did happen and we're not leaving this apartment 'til he shows up' but this entire time we see a compose and calm Marcela, something we all know is not like her. Now, she had spoken to Armando before that scene, where she told him she could go get him and for a brief moment Armando agrees, seeming a bit reluctant at first but he agrees to receive her help, then Daniel and Beatriz show up and he finds out and decided he no longer wants her help.

Who does he call?

Betty.

Betty agrees to go get him on his terms, whereas Marcela said she was taking her siblings with her, or otherwise they'd stay in his apartment(he didn't want them there in the first place). Even when they find him and Betty freaks out, she doesn't judge him. Instead she tells him that she understands not to ask questions and that his secret was safe with her, even though she doesn't get what's going on. Had Marcela reacted the same way?

I want to mention this now, before when Armando had to go to the gay bar to apologize to Hugo he said he felt like he had lost a part of himself, he felt vulnerable (Something we know that dude doesn't ever do) and Marcela's go to, instead of listening to him or truly paying attention to him was simply saying she was going to remind him that he was a man and bam seggsy time.

Now back to this episode, Betty goes to pick him up, he explains what happened, Betty asked one question and once he answered her back the conversation regarding that is let go of. They then go to Eco Moda, cops show up, Betty laughs once the cops leave and Armando, after his hellish night, finally laughs at the situation. In a night he himself calls hell, Betty helps bring some sort of comfort and brightness to it.

Later at her house Armando hears Don Hermes express himself regarding the way he treats Betty(Now lets scratch the tape here and rewind just a few scenes before; Armando seemed annoyed at being in Betty's home, once she left the room we see him roll his eyes once he sees where he is, which shows just how stuck up that foo' is and he could catch these hands.) and cut to the scene of Armando leaving her house in Don Hermes's clothes and he asks her if he was truly awful. Now the interesting part of this is that first he asked if he mistreats her, to which she answers back no, he looks truly sadden and disturbed with the idea when asking that that he could be mistreating her. He then mentions that her dad has a bad impression of the company, then he proceeds to say that he had a bad impression of him, indicating that he cares about his image and the way her dad thinks of him. Betty tells him that he doesn't need to worry and that her dad won't beat him up, to ignore him and he then asks her "Is it really that awful to work for us? Is it a nightmare to work for me?" once more showing us, unlike before, that he isn't soley preoccupied with the company, but he actually cares about what Betty thinks of him and the way he treats her as he later says that he'll work on yelling less at her. This entire time Betty is a trooper, as always, she listens to him, tries to reassure him, doesn't judge, and helps him deal with what ever it is he's dealing with.

This leads to Armando showing up to the apartment, Marcela goes to greet him and then takes notice to what he's wearing and instantly a judge-y look falls upon her face.

You can tell by his body language that he feels embarrassed, warned out and frustrated but Marcela goes to the room instead of paying attention to his body language and his reaction she goes to question him. To add to this she is instantly irritated at him and in the room goes to tell him "Do you have any idea how much embarrassment you've made me go through? in front of everyone?" tell me that doesn't sound abusive, I'll wait.

She then goes to name everyone in the apartment and that he knew exactly who was there, how could he be so selfish as to go to his own apartment, dressed in clothes he borrowed from his assistant's dad because he had to go settle a bet he made so Hugo wouldn't quite the company, therefore hurt the company they all love? How dare he do that to her? Marcela goes to tell him "You better think of something good to tell me!" and his facial expression the entire time is dead. He looks done but when he speaks to her, as he has his back to her, his voice sounds kind, though his facial expression looks dead. He replied "Nothing my love... I dressed up in drag" she doesn't believe him and he tells her the whole truth. He even admits that his biggest mistake that night was not being honest with her from the get go and she goes to sniff him, then shoves him away from her.

This is where Marcela shows her true colors. In the eyes of the public she is the poor girlfriend who forgives her cheating boyfriend who is always yelling but behind close doors with just Armando she is emotionally abusive to him.

People often justify her behavior because Armando is a cheater, there fore hey no harm no foul. However no matter what his actions are she is emotionally abusive towards him. In this instance the problem wasn't him cheating or running off. He was truthful to her about his whereabouts and took responsibility for his mistakes but Marcela's behavior is still wrong. She makes his embarrassment about her, daring to insinuate that he's selfish in that instant for causing her to look bad in front of her guest. Not once thinking about how he could have felt, she's supposed to be the one that is in love in the relationship. She's supposed to be the one that picks up on the cues and cares about him because he's supposed to be the jerk who is selfish at all times and disregards her and thinks of her as just an object to screw at night, right?

Remember how I mentioned the night Armando went to the gay bar?

In this breakdown of this scene I want you to remember that incident.

Marcela, in a loving voice asks him "I don't understand why you couldn't tell me something so dumb?" she is using emotional manipulation here because in the bedroom her tone hadn't been that. It had been angry. What she truly wants is for Armando to confess some wrong doing, something to give her an excuse to act out. However Armando is honest with her once more and tells her that to him that wasn't dumb but had been an entreat(in Spanish the word used "Suplicio" interprets that it had been a deep inner begging for it to end, osea, it had been suffering.) Marcela seems truly concentrated and caring to what he is saying. She does after all care for him. He is being communicative and opening his feelings up to her, something he didn't do with Betty and this is where once again Marcela makes it about herself.

I'm not saying she didn't have a right to but if your S.O is opening up their feelings about something that just happened to them and how deeply it affected them, going as far as to say "you have to understand me" and then you say "and you had to go to someone else?" this turns to focus away from the person who is being vulnerable and turns it towards you, what would you call that? Trying to find fault in someone's feelings and invalidating them by dismissing them and making their reaction a personal attack against you and your relationship is abusive one way or another. She wasn't looking to comfort him, she wasn't looking to show she was truly the one he could count on. She was trying to justify her actions, trying to justify that she has a right to behave and react the way she does because he lied and didn't call her so she could aid him. His body language then proceeds to shift from being the one that was being vulnerable to then having to defend himself.

She warns really, though it reads as she is asking him, to not involve Betty in his personal life. That Betty is only supposed to be part of the company's time. He sits standoff-ish, a nervous tick of him that I've noticed is that he often bites his thumb nail when feeling nervous(duh) he then stands up and stares at her for a brief second before letting out a sigh and hugging her and agreeing.

Have you ever had a conversation with someone that just makes you feel so emotionally frustrated that instead of talking it out you just sigh and agree with them? You set aside your own experience and emotions because you're just tired of having to defend your feelings? So you bend their way in hopes it ends the discussion?

Yeah Armando feels that deeply.

This isn't the last of these scenes. Often their dynamic of a dysfunctional relationship, toxic relationship if you will, is seen more focused when Armando is yelling at her or cheating on her. The subtle ways Marcela is abusive is often seen as a "Poor Morch she is just trying to be in his life" you don't try and be in someone's life by making it all about you, invalidating their experiences, not taking no when they say they're not in the mood(often even before Betty and him got involved when he'd say no to her she'd kiss him and wouldn't stop until he finally gave in.) and then threatening that you'll destroy them if they leave you.

Once again the acting, the directing, and the writing itself tell us a very hard telling truth. In relationships, often when they are toxic on both ends, it isn't always one person who is the instigator. Often they shift. One moment someone is being reactive to the abuse, the next the other is being abusive. However this sets the domino effect we later see with Armando and Marcela always at each other's throats, especially the day of the new collection launch, when Armando finds out about Betty's platonic love.

You can compare both of these relationships and their S.O. While in one the S.O is always making it all about themselves, the other is allowing the other to be the main focus(Betty deserved better than the beginning steps of her romance with Armando(once again I can go off on this character and their behavior in great detail lol)). Armando was never the main focus or really any focus of his relationship with Marcela. It was always about her and his parents. While with Betty, even in this episode, we see them both dealing with it. In the company and now for the first time in a setting outside of the company, Armando isn't facing something on his own or going through the motions of something for the sake of everyone but he is very much present.

I really don't know if any of this makes any sense. I think it plays out the dynamic of the relationship and what's to come of it very well. It also highlights Marcela's toxic behavior and abuse as well and why Armando seemed so unhappy by the point that he accepted to romance Betty.

To add to this; This is all just days or weeks apart from the day the plan to make Betty fall in love with him to secure the company is created. The change between Marcela and Armando has been slow but it comes to an exploding halt by then.

Marcela's behavior is abusive. You cannot look at it any other way but that. She is possessive, jealous, emotionally manipulative, sexually manipulative, and over all views Armando as an object that belongs to her. When he bends her way her love is unconditional and she's happy. The correct term is that she is in the honeymoon stages. If your S.O is so afraid of making any mistake due to your reaction; IT'S ABUSE. You're an abusive person. She isn't physically abusive or sexually abusive towards him but she is verbally and emotionally abusive towards him.

We often see him have a tone that is kind and loving while his entire body and facial expression shows the contrary. It shows a man afraid to speak his mind.

Yes he yells at her, he cheats on her, and he isn't the greatest boyfriend. He tells her that he'll do her the favor of marrying her, that he'll end their relationship if she tells his parents the true state of the company. He manipulates her, he is a gran manipulator. He isn't the best but what makes him different from Marcela? That he takes accountability for it. He feels an immense guilt for lying to her and cheating, not only sexually on her with Betty, but emotionally and mentally. He carries that load while Marcela not once has ever show guilt, remorse, or accountability for her abuse.

While one shows to have some form of redemption the other still believes and tries to justify their behavior. Often she is looking for things to be upset about regarding Armando. As if she just needs one small reason to throw every mistake in his face, to yell, to manipulate, and to be over-all a possessive, controlling, abusive girlfriend.

Now this doesn't mean Armando is innocent. There is a reason why their relationship is toxic because they're both abusive towards each other but I noticed that often times, when the subject isn't infidelities', Armando's abusive tendencies come from a reaction rather than the instigator. He is an instigator at times(he cheats for god's sake) but Armando's abuse is manipulation and gas lighting, which are bad too. Those are the moments he is the instigator, when he is being manipulative, gaslighting, or cheating, the rest are reactionary abusive tendencies towards Marcela, who feeds the cycle of toxicity because due to Armando's cheating and gaslighting she's a possessive control freak and the cycle feeds itself. They are both bad people, they are both at fault of the dysfunction in their relationship and they are both abusive towards each other. I think it's important to note why it is that Armando even began to have feelings for Betty as he himself said that their relationship was harmonic whereas what he had with Marcela was anything but that.

Now I'm not saying Armando is the victime here. He is both the victimizer and the victime as well as Marcela.

Once I collect my thoughts to better express and breakdown scenes where Armando is the instigator in the abuse in his relationship with Marcela I'll make a post for it and I'll definitely make one about his abuse in his relationship with Betty.

But let me just say this, I don't hate Marcela. I actually like her, outside of her relationship with Armando and how vile and abusive she has been towards Betty from the get go, she shows to care about her employee's her siblings, and is companionate towards others but I've seen one too many people always act like she was only a victim and never did any wrong. Her character is meant to be realistic which means she is no saint and neither are any of the characters in this novela.

'Til next time.

#marcela valencia #armando mendoza #don armando #armando ysblf #yo soy betty la fea

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