#When I tell you I fucking burst into tears when the instructor told me I passed hdhdhdbxbx

[hoodieimp]

Completely fuckin forgot to post abt it the day of but

GUESS WHO ✨️FINALLY✨️ GOT THEIR DRIVER'S LICENSE LAST WEEK!!!!!!

#dizzyisms #ONLY TOOK ME FIVE TRIES OVER WHAT. A YEAR AND A HALF #Ironically I was not the one to drive home afterwards bc I was too much of an anxious wreck fhdhdhhdhs #When I tell you I fucking burst into tears when the instructor told me I passed hdhdhdbxbx #mostly bc I was already wound up tighter than a damn spring and fully primed to start crying abt Screwing Up Again #it was a physical shock #but a good one! #at the time of FINALLY posting this. checks calender. a week later #I've gone to the insurance place to get my Actual license validated! now I wait for the Card to get mailed in #(Also Jesus POLEDANCING christ post editor in mobile browser is sending me into a fuxking rabid chimpanzee rage. It is SO BAD) #< leaving that tag in as I post this from desktop so y'all know of my struggles jfksdjfkds

[sillyrabbit81]

The Instructor Part 2

Summary: You and Agent Walker meet again

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 2.4k

Warnings: angst, smut, dubious consent, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering

Masterlist

Part 1 Part 3

The Instructor Part 2

A month came and went.

Then six weeks.

Seven.

Eight.

Then you stopped counting.

You felt used, and grew angry. The submissive part of your nature had been taken advantage of and you swore it wouldn’t happen again. Never again would you allow your desires to be seen by any man, let alone by Agent Walker. You collect your memories of him, gather them into a box, seal it tight and bury it in the darkest corner of your mind. You don’t even bring it out on lonely nights anymore, it hurts too much.

You focus on work and fall into your new routine: wake up, work out, work late, eat take out, sleep, repeat. The days soon melted into one, weekends forgotten as the routine is the same as weekdays. Your work was repetitive and uninspiring. You were a junior Agent after all. You knew to expect a few years of grunt work before anything meaningful. You kept your head down and did what you had to do, hoping your diligence paid off and the higher ups noticed.

Despite your hard work, you were surprised when you were called into your boss’s office for a new assignment. She tells you that an opening came up on a surveillance team in the field focussed on a group of foreign nationals. She told you strictly that there would be no interaction with the group, surveillance only. You agree to the new posting, thankful for the break in monotony and chance to develop your skills.

“Just a moment, here is the lead Agent now.” She says.

You turn as the door opens and Agent Walker strolls in, his clipped yet casual gait doesn’t falter as he notices you. A lump rises in your throat as you see him for the first time in months. You don’t know how to feel, but your body reacts. With a pounding heart and clenching stomach, you keep your features smooth as possible, allowing the smallest hint of a smile to widen your lips. An appropriate response to seeing your old instructor, nothing more, nothing less. His eyes flicker with recognition, his small smile and nod was just as appropriate. He says to your boss, “Is this the addition to the team?”

“Do you two know each other?”

You don’t deny it. You’re not stupid enough to believe your boss doesn’t know every Agent you’ve ever interacted with so you say, “Of course, Agent Walker was one of my instructors at The Farm.” Boldly you continue speaking more for Walker’s benefit than your boss, “But I haven’t seen him in… what is it Agent? Four months?”

“Four and a half,” he replies, with a tilt of the head.

“Four and a half,” you repeat. Like bile rising in your throat, anger fills you and for a moment you know he sees it. Forcing the rising tide of fury down you say, “Well, time flies when you’re having fun.” You bare your teeth at him in what you hope your boss takes as a smile and Walker takes for the ‘fuck you’ it was. Walker narrows his eyes at you then turns his attention to your boss.

You discuss more details of the case and travel arrangements then you are dismissed. Leaving the two of them together you tidy your desk of personal belongings since you didn’t know when or if you would return and go home to prepare.

Once you are through the gates of Langley and no longer under direct video surveillance you start to shake. Seeing him again rocked you to your core you hoped you hadn’t given anything away with your comments. Was it a coincidence that you were promoted and put in his team or had he asked for you? Neither Walker or your boss had given anything away. No time to think about it now, you had packing to do and less than two hours to get to the airbase where you would be sent to DC for the job.

You showered quickly, resisting the urge to release some of the growing tension in your gut. You hadn’t touched yourself in months and you wouldn’t start now.

Trying to push thoughts of Agent Walker from your mind was a futile task. Instead you focussed on keeping your anger raw so you wouldn’t fall under his spell again. You had accepted that he wasn’t coming back. Did he have a knack for that? Only showing himself to you when you had moved on. You wouldn’t let him take you easily this time, this time he would not get satisfaction, not after what he had done. You shake your head, ‘this time’ you say, recognising the lies you tell yourself.

You start to get dressed when you hear a short rap on the door. Fuck, the car had arrived early. You pull a robe on as you answer the door, to let the driver know you’ll be a few more minutes.

Throwing the door wide, you’re greeted by Agent Walker, his face firm, furrowed brows looking you up and down. The collar of his dark woollen coat is pulled up, framing his face drawing your attention to his piercing stare. Frozen for a moment, you can do nothing but return his gaze. You’re a deer in headlights until he sucks his lower lip into his mouth and your body is propelled into action.

You slam the door closed, but he is quicker than you, a huge paw catching it and he forces his way into your apartment. You back away, but he kicks the door closed behind him and advances, with predatorily confident and rapid steps.

He catches your throat and brings you to him. He skin is rough with unshaven hair that is yet to grow soft. His lips are so smooth and warm, that you can’t help but melt into him. You hate him.

When he pulls away, he smiles at you almost sweetly and you can’t help the hand that flies on its own and makes a loud crack as it hits Walkers cheek.

You’re both stunned. Walker tongues his cheek and works his jaw a moment. “I hope you enjoyed that, pet. The first one is free, but the next one will come at a price.” He doesn’t seem angry, in fact his tone suggests amusement, which only fuels your rage.

“Get out,” you say. You try and keep your voice steady, but you know it warbled with fear as you looked into his eyes.

“No,” Walker says. He casually removes his coat folding it neatly and laying it over the back of your dining chair. He removes his scarf, placing it on top of his coat before he unbuttons his dark brown suit jacket and loosens his tie. You watch him, mind fixated on each of his careful movements. As if he were performing burlesque show, each minute act became a piece of seduction.

He sits in another chair and pats his lap, “Come, pet.” He calls to you in his gentle authoritative voice.

Before you can stop yourself, you take a step towards him. But then you notice his smirk, and you shrink away. You can’t speak but you shake your head as you retreat towards your bedroom.

Walker starts to look irritated and his voice gains a hard edge that both terrifies you and thrills you. “Come. Here,” he repeats. “I won’t say it again, pet.”

“Fuck you, Walker,” you spit out, your anger spilling from you, becoming a torrent as you wrestle within yourself.

He peers at you with his contemplating blue eyes. Then he sighs and moves before you can even register his actions. You turn, to run, but he is quicker and stronger. But more than that, his desire to have you is stronger than your desire to run.

His vice like arms trap you as he forces you against the wall, his body pressing into your back. “Why do you fight me, pet?” His voice rumbles into your ear. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Your tears came then, the rejection you felt was no longer able to be contained. That box of memories, buried for months smashes apart and so does your control. “You left me,” you sob. “You used me then left me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, ashamed at how quickly you relented and told him anything. You laugh at yourself, why did you believe even for a second you could hide anything from him? The only man who saw into your very soul.

“I know, pet,” Walker drones, his lips caressing your ear as he does. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know,” you reply.

His hand is in your hair, smoothing the strands away from your face. His tender touch was unexpected but welcome. You feel soft kisses on your eye lids and you slowly stop crying. His tongue comes out, licking at your wet cheeks and you hear his breathing shudder as he laps up your pain.

You open your eyes, he growls as your shining eyes meet his. He plants a foot between your legs forcing them apart while he undoes his belt and pants and you hear them crumple to the floor. His hand tilts your hips back for him while the other pulls aside your underwear as he roughly explores your centre, coating his fingers in your arousal.

You hear a muttered, “Fuck,” as his finger enters you, circling your walls, stretching you before a second enters. “Fuck, pet. Have you touched yourself at all since I fucked you?”

Unsure of what he would think, you reply hesitantly, “No. You said I was yours.”

Walkers features soften as he says, “I knew you were a good girl.” Your whole body bursts into flames and your core clenches around his thick, thrashing fingers as you hear his whispered praise.

With precise and sudden movements, his fingers are withdrawn and his broad, leviathan cock bludgeons into you. Biting down on your lips to supress the cry growing in your throat you savour the feeling of being torn apart. Wasting no time, Walker moves with vicious, aggressive speed, wounding you with his thrusts, ripping apart your defences.

Pulling down your robe, he exposes your chest. His wanton hands knead your breasts as he uses them for leverage, his pounding never stops. You hear his breaths primal and raw as he assaults your neck with his mouth and teeth. He moves his depraved mouth to your shoulders sinking his teeth in deep. The pain feels like a caress when you are this close to the edge.

Walker turns you around, lifts your leg to his hip as he enters you again. His eyes are clinical as he studies your reaction. You feel boneless under his scrutiny and close your eyes again looking away. Walker grips your throat in his hand and uses his long fingers to push your cheek back in his direction.

“Open your eyes, pet,” he orders. “I know you’re close. I want to see your eyes when you call my name.”

The pressure builds deep within your gut as you keep your eyes glued to his. His breath, warm and minty with a hint of gin maybe, tickles at your cheek. You want to kiss him, taste him, feel his tongue invade you and devour you. You silently beg him to and as if hearing your thoughts, he slowly moves his mouth to yours. His eyes stay open as he flicks his tongue over your lips before taking your lower lip between his teeth.

Like a taut elastic, your core grows tighter and your knee gives out as the rush of warmth whips through your body. He lets go of your lip in time for you to shout “August!”

Your body pulses and your tightening muscles strain with contractions until you feel all the tension fall away. Like a rag doll you slump against him. But he isn’t finished with you.

Walker lifts your lulling head with a firm thumb under your chin, He continues his frenzied thrusts with a new vigour having succeeded in his task. He fucks your listless body, you’re too spent to move, and he doesn’t care. With a stuttering final thrust he pushes deep into you, clenching his teeth, whiskered lip raised in a snarl as he growls with his final throes.

He raised his hand to your face, his thumb laying a single burning caress down your tear stained cheek. “Go wash up, I’ll pack for you,” he says before pulling away and doing up his pants.

You shower again, consciously cleaning August’s seed spilling slowly from your ruined core. Each time you think you’re clean, you feel more leaking from you and you wash again. The bathroom door opens and August enters making a show of looking at his watch.

You sigh, and turn the shower off. His eyes inspect your body as he hands you a towel. He makes no effort to leave as he watches you towel off and you awkwardly squeeze past him as you make your way to your bedroom. He has laid an outfit on your bed, complete with underwear and shoes. Your gun is on your bed in its holster with spare clips by its side. You don’t say anything to him and dress in the clothes he chose and slipped your holster onto your belt, pocketing the spare clips.

Walker is waiting at the door with your overnight bag in his hand. You give the apartment a quick look over, making sure everything is turned off and sling your handbag over your shoulder. August opens the door for you, and as you slip past him his arm wraps around your waist and he kisses you.

The deep demanding kiss you wanted earlier was nothing compared to this, his lips were bruising and hard, but his tongue explored your mouth with a soft insistence. Your hands were free and for the first time, you touched him, laying a hesitant hand on his chest, and another on his neck. His skin felt hot under yours and testing his limits you slid your fingers into his hair and were rewarded with a barely audible groan.

Then he pulled his head away with a jerk and without looking at you said, “Go to the car. You’re making us late.”

Disappointed but not surprised you went to the car wondering where this assignment would take the two of you.

Part 3

Tag List

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira

#august walker #august walker x reader #august walker x you #henry cavill #mission impossible fallout #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #Henry Cavill fanfiction

[cuttinqlines]

IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

                             IN THE MIDNIGHT HOUR II

(richard ramirez [ahs 1984] x reader | mainly implied xavier plympton x reader)

trigger warning; drug use, toxic relationships, mentions of abuse, toxic characters, xavier is portrayed as a major piece of shit for the first few installments, glorification of a serial killer, knives, etc.

disclaimer: i do not support the real richard ramirez in any way, shape, or form. this is simply based on the fictional version from ahs 1984. no disrespect is intended in any way. please, feel free to click off of the fic if you don’t enjoy this type of content. any hate will be ignored.

word count: 2,467

a/n: sorry this took so long. im a depressed piece of shit lmao. 

taglist: @kuollut-talven @felicityofbakerstreet @bitchcraft1398 

previous | next

IT HAD ONLY been a few days since your run-in with the self-proclaimed ‘Night Stalker’ yet it felt like years had passed. The memory of the event was constantly running through your mind, seeming to occupy your every thought. It was as if your mind was filled only with visions of dark hair and piercing dark eyes. It had gotten to the point where it was consuming you, distracting you from anything that wasn’t the thought of him. It was impossible to focus. You weren’t exactly sure that you wanted to. The part of you that desperately longed for the dark stranger to reappear and tear you away from your dilapidating life was overtaking you. You had almost wished that you would have given in to his demands that night. Almost. Something had been holding you back that night and something- someone- was still holding you back, tethering you to the place you had grown to despise.

Letting out a sigh, you stared at yourself in front of the bathroom mirror, attempting to shake away the thoughts that continuously plagued you. The ghost of a bruise still showed underneath your eye, barely noticeable with the makeup that you had delicately applied over it. You looked better than you had in the days before, but you still weren’t keen on leaving the confines of the four walls of your bedroom, let alone your apartment. You hadn’t left the house since that night. You were sure everyone thought that you were spiraling- He had probably twisted the story into that narrative. You turned away from the mirror, leaning against the base of the sink. It was time to face the situation at hand. You could already feel the silent judgment of Montana. She had told you so.  “Fuck.”

It shouldn’t have mattered that much to you- what everyone thought. It’s not like they had too much room to judge. They were your friends, sort of, but they didn’t rule you. They weren’t the end all be all. Still, you couldn’t help but feel nervous at the thought of facing them. It had been days of voicemails, knocks on the door, and missed phone calls. You had gone ghost. They wouldn’t have expected anything else, though. It wasn’t unlike you to disappear. You were used to disappointing everyone. 

After a few more minutes of anxiety and deliberation, you laid out a pretty white line, snorted it down, and got ready to head out the door. At the very least, you could show up to aerobics and casually run into everyone. By the time you got there, you were sure you could figure out how to gloss over all of the problems that kept on appearing. 

****

The Aerobics studio hadn’t changed much in your week of absence. The faces of the instructors were still plastered on the walls, yours still included much to your surprise. The chairs strategically placed throughout the lobby were occupied by young adults, laughing at something one of them had said. The ambiance was peaceful and you suddenly wished that you would have shown up for work in the last week. The thought quickly diminished as you thought back to the bruise that had been occupying your face. There was no way you would have shown up with that. You wouldn’t have given him the satisfaction. Stepping up to the front desk, you leaned against the counter lazily. 

“Hi. Do you have any classes with vacant spaces open for today, Janice?” You asked the receptionist a bit awkwardly, looking at the wall behind her as you spoke.

The woman looked up, purposefully making direct eye contact. She looked you up and down, judgement written all over her face.  “Yes. The instructor position for the class you teach at 6:30, (Y/N). If you want to keep your job, I suggest you get prepared for it and go teach it.” 

You couldn’t help but cringe at her tone. The attitude dripped off of it like poison. Truth be told, you had thought that you had already been fired. That is generally what happens after you drop off of the face of the planet for a week. “Right- I’ll just go ahead and get set up to start, then. Thank you.”

“You’re lucky that you showed up today. You’re really pushing it with your delinquent behavior. Shape up or ship out, sweetheart. This is the last time you’re getting exceptions. You’re really lucky that Montana covered your classes for the week. Now, get moving. It’s 6:20. Studio 3.”

Janice hardly gave you time to react, as she stood up and began to push you towards the direction of the studio. Her cold touch caused an unpleasant shiver to shoot through your spine. Your mind instantly drifted to your unwelcome house guest, though the shiver he gave you was not exactly unpleasant- You mentally scolded yourself for obsessing over the ‘Night Stalker’, before practically bursting into the studio. 

It felt as if a million eyes landed on you from the moment you opened the door. The never-ending stares seemed to burn holes into your skin. One pair of eyes, in particular, seemed to stare the deepest. Xavier. You flickered your gaze to meet his, the other people in the room disappearing into a sort of tunnel that consumed the sides of your vision. Your heart caught in your chest. You wanted to tear your eyes away, but there was something stopping you. Something about Xavier always seemed to hold you back. His gaze was pleading, an apology seeming to spill out of it. 

 “(Y/N)! I thought you were going to be out for a while! Xavier said that you were like super sick or something.” Montana’s voice rang out, casually. “So happy you’re here though. Teaching this class has been such a drag.”

At the sound of the young woman’s voice, your head instinctively jerked towards it. You plastered a pained smile onto your face. “Yeah- thanks for covering for me, Montana. I seriously owe you one. Being sick was a major drag. Probably worse than teaching this class of Cyndi Lauper obsessed boys.” 

The blonde let out a laugh. “Well, since you’re back, I’ll let you take this one. And maybe take your man out when you’re done. He’s been such a buzzkill lately.” 

Montana gave you a wink, patting your shoulder affectionately. With a final wave to you and Xavier, she slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall with a flash of blonde hair. Not wanting to waste any more time, or give Xavier the chance to talk to you, you flicked the boom box on and let the sound of Billy Idol’s voice fill the room. 

****

The entirety of the class went by uneventfully. Billy Idol’s soothing tone seemed to temporarily soother your anxiety, making it easier for you to ignore the pained glances that were becoming more and more inescapable. You left the music on as the class drew to a close, turning the volume down to a soft, but audible hum. You didn’t bother to look as everyone made their way to the door. Instead, you moved towards the front of the room, letting yourself face the large windows that looked out towards the city. 

You watched as people leaving the last few classes of the evening walked down the sidewalk, off into the night. Some faces were familiar, regulars that always seemed to be in aerobics class. Other faces, unfamiliar and new. They all seemed so happy, as if their lives were perfect. You wished that you could get a taste of that feeling. You continued to admire the citizens of Los Angeles, lost in your thoughts. Then, in a sudden flash, there was a single face that stuck out in the crowd. Unmistakable dark hair and piercing eyes that could have belonged only to the face that you could never forget. You locked eyes with the man, causing a sinister smile to appear on his face. He moved closer to the building. Your heart skipped a beat. He was headed towards the door. Your eyes were still locked with his, nothing could-

“(Y/N)... Can we talk about what happened the other night? Please… I didn’t mean for it to go so far.” Xavier’s voice hit your ears, soft and pleading. 

You broke away from the ‘Night Stalker’s’ gaze, slowly turning to face the man that you had once felt so strongly for. You leaned against the windows behind you, pressing your nearly bare back against the cool glass. Xavier took a few steps closer, leaving only a few inches between your faces. You couldn’t help but flinch as he reached out to tenderly touch your face. Hurt flashed across his face briefly, but his hand still gently came into contact with your soft skin. You let your eyes flutter closed and sucked in a sharp breath. “I- I can’t do this,” you whispered, hot tears pricking in the inner corner of your eyes. So many different emotions were running through your body. The urge to run away from him had never been so heightened. 

He grazed his thumb gingerly across your jawline, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Please. I just wanted it so badly and I thought that was the only way. And I didn’t want anyone to find out. The way you looked at me when you did- I lost it. I thought you would tell everyone. I thought you would leave me. I’m so sorry.” 

You had yet to respond to him when a cutting voice interrupted the scene unfolding before you. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?” The deep voice questioned, sinister laughter etched into his tone. 

“N-?” You began, eyes flickering open. You met the dark haired man’s eyes, looking directly past Xavier. He was already staring at you intensely, the usual smirk plastered on his face. 

“Richard.” He corrected, moving his eyes from you to the other man in your company. Xavier had moved away from you by this point, looking at Richard with a suspicious glare. Richard simply continued to smirk at him, looking more and more devilish as time passed. “My little angel, didn’t expect to see you so soon. What a pleasant surprise.”

“Okay. Who the fuck are you?” Xavier demanded, his hand wrapping around your forearm in a protective manner. You instinctively recoiled to his touch. You shifted your weight from one foot to another, watching as the two began to go back and forth. 

“I’m the devil’s favorite prodigy. It’s more like ‘who the fuck are you?’” The other man taunted. His eyes locked on the contact point of yours and Xavier’s skin. An unreadable emotion flashed across his face, but was quickly replaced with his usual infuriating smirk. “I’ve decided I’m here to collect her. Truth be told, it wasn’t originally in my master and I’s plan, but it seems like I stumbled in at the perfect time, with you harassing my girl.”

“Your-? (Y/N), are you fucking this guy? We get into one fight and you’re off giving it out to this creep?” The blonde questioned, his tone demanding and incredulous. His voice rose with every word that he spoke. He was red in the face by this point. You could tell by the clench in his jaw and the way his hand tightened around you that he was angry. The smug expression of Richard definitely wasn’t helping his reaction either.

You tried to ignore the fear that had begun to creep into the back of your mind, your mind flashing back to his closed fist accidentally ramming into your face. You looked up at him with your tear stained face. Words were failing you. You didn’t exactly want to say that Richard had broken into your house, pinned you against a wall, and sparked something inside of you that made you feel so many fucked up things. Was it really more fucked up than what you felt about Xavier after everything that he had done? You weren’t so sure any more. Xavier seemed to take your silence and lack of denial as a ‘yes’ to his questions. Disgust took over his face, his hand tossing your arm away as if it had suddenly turned into some sort of cursed object. 

He scoffed at you, shoving you away from his body. “I can’t believe you would do this to me. Maybe you deserved that.” He spat out venomously, angrily gesturing to the hardly hidden  bruise underneath your eye. 

You flinched as his hand raised. Something seemed to click into place for the dark haired man as he watched the two of you, your reaction triggering the darkest part of him. You hardly had time to react further, before Richard was in front of you. His left arm pressed back against your body, gently shoving you behind him. His right hand was adorned with his blade, ready to slash at the man before him. “You did that to her? For your sake, I hope you say no. I’d hate to have to kill you right here. It would really throw a wrench into the master’s plans and we both hate that.”

Your hand reached out slowly, tugging on the edge of this sleeve, beckoning his eyes to meet your eyes. He complied, looking over his shoulder quickly. You shook your head at him, a silent plea for him to drop it. He was already acting psychotic enough to have the police called on him and you were sure that would be the last thing that he wanted. He looked back to Xavier, who was staring at him incredulously. “Get the fuck out of here or die,” The dark haired man spat out.

Xavier gave you a pointed look, before shoving past the both of you and storming out of the studio. You knew he would show up at your apartment later, demanding explanations for the psychotic interaction that just went down. You would figure out a way to avoid that later. For now, your full attention was on Richard. He turned towards you, dark eyes studying the every feature on your face. His hand hovered over the side of your neck, before gently pushing your hair to the side. His fingers softly trailed down the side of your throat, traveling down your chest. Like a phantom, they grazed the length of your body, sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. You softly bit down on your bottom lip, eyes staring straight into his. “You’re mine now, little angel. I’ll kill for you. I’ll die for you. But you have to be mine forever- That’s the catch. Will you sell your soul to the devil?”

“I will.”

#ahs 1984 #ahs fanfiction #ahs x reader #richard ramirez #richard ramirez x reader #night stalker #In The Midnight Hour #american horror 1984 #xavier plympton #xavier x reader

[julemmaes]

drivers license

Nesta Archeron x Cassian modern au

A/N: I didn’t think I would actually ever end this. When the song came out I knew I just had to write something for Nessian, so here it is. I gotta warn you tho, that this has a large backstory and that it’s pure angst.

warnings: abusive relationship, mentions of death, car accident

I’d like to dedicate this to my sweet and kind friend Dani, who can go fuck herself for making me cry while I was translating this and had NO RIGHT to do so. I hope you cry yourself to sleep with this one:)

Also, Sayo, Maizie, this has an open ending, it was the best I could do, sorry

Word count: 8,550

three years, four months and twelve days before

Tomas burst out laughing beside her, "Why on earth would you get a license?" he asked looking at her, "I can take you anywhere, you just call me."

Nesta huffed, putting her hands between her thighs to warm up against the freezing cold, "Because I can't always depend on you, Tommy." she leaned forward into the small cockpit to pick up the bag at her feet, "Plus, if I got my license, you wouldn't have to drive all these extra kilometres every morning and I could go wherever I want when you're not around."

She pulled out her phone, checking the message from her sister Elain warning her that she would be staying at her friend Lucien's house. She shook her head. She couldn't understand how it was possible that they weren't together yet.

Looking up at her boyfriend, she knew she'd said the wrong things when Tomas rolled his eyes, moving his hand from her thigh and bringing it to the steering wheel, "And why would you ever go anywhere without me?"

It was her turn to roll her eyes, "I meant to go to the supermarket or the gym." then, she turned to face him, giving him a reassuring smile. She didn't want him to worry about her. "I don't like going to clubs at night, you know that. I wouldn't go anywhere like that without you, I know you're jealous."

At the time, the words had had positive connotations for Nesta. That overwhelming toxic feature of his character that he had always managed to sell her for something to hold on to like a precious treasure, "I'm jealous of you because you're mine, because I love you and I don't want anyone else to see you the way I do. You are only mine."

Nesta felt herself blush and looked out the window, "I love you, too."

"As you should," he flashed her an amused grin and his hand returned to her thigh, giving it a quick squeeze, "Now can you please drop this insane driving licence idea?"

She nodded, gritting her teeth. She didn't need her own car, she didn't need to move around on her own. Tomas was always available to take her wherever they went.

She relaxed against the seats, humming to the song that was playing from the radio and forced a tight smile on her lips, thanking life for finding a perfect soulmate for her.

If only she had known at that moment how effective his control over her was, she might have saved herself years of shock and pain.

three years and six days before

"Can you take me to Claire's bar before you go with the boys?" she asked wearily between the sheets.

Tomas had gotten up immediately after finishing and was already starting to get dressed. He had done it so quickly that when Nesta shifted her gaze to him, he already had his boxers and trousers on. "I can't." he simply replied, "And don't even think about getting a ride from your friends."

She groaned, pouting a little, "So I should just stay home and do nothing?"

He didn't even look at her as he slipped his shirt on, "I already told you, I don't like it when you ride with Emerie. That girl is a public menace and she can't drive at all."

She let herself fall backwards onto the bed, covering her bare breasts, "She doesn't drive that bad." she muttered.

Tomas scoffed, "But if she hit a pole last week."

Nesta chuckled, turning on her stomach and looking over her shoulder at him. He'd had asked her that morning if he could stop by before going to the bar with the boys, to hang out with her for a bit. They'd ended up in bed pretty much immediately - her family out with kin - and now, not even half an hour after he'd arrived, he was already leaving.

At the beginning of their relationship it had bothered her. The fact that he would go to her house for a quick fuck, during which she hardly ever finished, and then go out with his friends, leaving her at home. After a few months of being together, Nesta thought he was doing it so he wouldn't leave her alone all day. That he was doing it to show her that he could find some time to show her his love.

God how wrong she had been.

"What if I get the girls to come here?" she asked suddenly, when he was ready to leave.

Tomas sighed so loudly that Nesta wondered if he'd been breathless the whole time. When he looked at her, she knew she had angered him. He ran a hand over his face, looking into her eyes, "Why do you have to be like that? I asked you if you could please not go out with anyone tonight and you keep pushing and pushing." he exclaimed exasperated. Nesta immediately felt guilty, "If you care so much about seeing your friends, go out with them, but when they make you do something completely idiotic and stupid, don't come crying to me."

She shook her head, swallowing back tears at the tone of voice he used. He was right, why couldn't she stay home one night if he asked her without making too much fuss? Tomas had the right to ask her something like that and it seemed like she was just looking for an excuse to argue. She apologised, getting up to walk over to him and wrapped her arms around his body, kissing his taut jaw, "I'll stay home."

Tomas pushed her roughly away from him, planting a quick kiss on her cheek and leaving with a simple bye and Nesta was left alone that night. And the next one again and again, until Emerie stopped asking her out and the only times she could, was when Tomas was with her.

two years, nine months and twenty-six days before

Nesta's heart had stopped in her chest the second her father had called her from the emergency room.

Feyre had burst into tears when Elain, who had been beside her during the whole call, had warned her that their parents had been involved in a serious accident and that their mum was now fighting for her life in an operating room. Their dad hadn't gone into details, but he too was crying as he told her that it was something major and that they would have to hurry to get to the hospital.

Nesta hadn't thought two seconds about dialling Tomas' number and what she thought would be a short, hurried call had turned into a fifteen minute argument.

"I already told you I can't come, I'm at the arcade with my friends, call someone else," her boyfriend was telling her in an annoyed tone.

"Please," she breathed, "Please, Tommy, we have to go to the hospital. I don't know who else to call. The buses would take too long." tears flowed undisturbed down her cheeks, but her voice was controlled. She could hear Feyre in the other room crying in despair and Elain trying to calm her down in every way as Nesta tried to find a way to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

If only she hadn't let him talk her out of getting her license.

"Nesta, stop fucking bugging me, I said I can't. And the discussion is over."

She was about to retort that it was his fault, she was about to yell at him that he owed her, that he'd promised her that if she ever needed a ride, he'd be there for her, but the signal of the call ending rumbled through her phone and she screamed in frustration.

She couldn't call Emerie or Claire. She couldn't call anyone.

Tomas had made sure she had no one to call but him. And now Nesta was alone.

She had helped Feyre calm down, updated them on the situation and they had taken three buses, taking over an hour and a half to get to the hospital. And it didn't matter that they ran from each stop to the next. It didn't matter that they had prayed to every god in existence that their mother would be alive when they got there.

Because Adele Archeron was already dead.

two years, nine months and twenty-three days before

"Get out of my house!" cried Nesta, "Get out of my house and don't come back!"

Tomas was fuming with anger, his face flushed and the vein in his neck pulsing, "Nesta you need to calm down. You're not angry with me right now-"

"Yes, I fucking am!" she sobbed, throwing her arms in the air, "It's your fault!"

His gaze darkened, "It's not my fault your mother died," he whispered threateningly.

She shuddered as if he had struck her physically. She blinked, letting some tears fall, before whispering back, "Get out, Tomas, and never show your face again."

He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "And how are you going to do that without me, huh? How are you going to get around? How are you going to survive these days without me, without anyone?" he had moved so close that Nesta could feel his breath on her face, but she didn't pull away. He kept his gaze fixed in hers, "You're alone, can't you see that? You need me."

She held her breath, "I don't need you. I don't need anyone." she said through her teeth, lifting her chin up, "I'm going to get my license and I'll surely know how to take better care of my body than you ever did in our entire relationship."

When she saw that her words had the desired effect in the boy in front of her, who backed away a step and began breathing heavily, crossing his arms over his chest, she kept talking.

"That's what you've always been, a taxi driver and a sexual pastime," she spat at him.

Tomas remained silent, an angry grimace painted on his face. He turned to the door, grabbing the handle and then looked over his shoulder at her, a grin creeping over his face. "Have fun getting your license and dying like your mother."

And then Tomas disappeared and Nesta never saw him again.

one year, seven months and five days before

"Miss, are you okay?"

The driving instructor's hand rested on her shoulder and Nesta's head snapped in the direction of the woman next to her. She must have looked a lot more shocked than she thought because the woman cursed, "Honey, I don't think we should try to drive today."

Nesta wanted to nod, to tell her she was right, to yell that she couldn't do it. She didn't want to, didn't want to. She clenched her hands around the steering wheel, hoping to find a foothold, an anchor, something that would bind her to this world when her vision blurred and she felt her chest tighten.

She tried to breathe, but she couldn't get the air down, couldn't get her lungs to expand, couldn't-

"Girl, I think we'd better get out of the car," the woman murmured. She reached for the keyhole and slipped them out from under the steering wheel, keeping her gaze fixed on Nesta, who was struggling to focus more with each passing second. The instructor opened the door and walked around the car, opening hers, but Nesta couldn't move.

She closed her eyes, forcing her body to swallow oxygen before she passed out. When She did, the sound that came from her throat sounded like the one of an old man on the verge of death. She brought one hand to her chest, the other to her stomach when she felt she was going to be sick.

She unbuckled her seatbelt with some trouble with trembling hands, but as soon as she was free of the snake that was pinning her against the seat, she moved the woman who was now calling for help from other instructors and dropped to the ground on her knees, hurling up the lunch she had eaten a few hours before.

She didn't feel people's hands on her body as they helped her up, nor did she hear her father's voice asking what had happened. She didn't realise she was back home in her bed, didn't realise she had been there for days.

She could only imagine the fear and pain her mother must have felt the moment the car skidded on the ice and her father was no longer in control of the vehicle.

one year, five months and twenty-two days before

Nesta had taken some downers before going for her first drive. This time she had been confident that she would be able to drive for at least half an hour without any problems, that she would drive home in her own car, with her father beside her.

This had not been the case.

For the fourth time she had sat down, buckled her seat belt and done all the checks she had to do before starting, and then panic had taken over her body. It had assailed every fibre of her being and had squeezed her lungs and heart so tightly that Nesta had thought she was dying. She had jumped out of the car when she had felt the vehicle roar beneath her once she had turned the keys in the ignition and vomited again.

She would never be able to get her license.

the day

It had been almost three years since her mother had died. Almost three years since her problems had started, since she had realised what kind of person she was. What kind of person Tomas was.

She had spent the last three years of her life in panic, in pain. Every step she took, every word she said, every look she gave, cost her more than anything else.

Nesta wasn't living. This was not life.

She was convinced that her mother had taken her soul with her when she had left her.

Because Nesta was empty most of the time, drained of all emotion, completely anaesthetised and oblivious to the outside world around her at times. And then there were the moments, lasting seconds or moments or whole minutes of excruciating agony, when Nesta felt it all.

And that all threatened to crush her every time.

Feyre and Elain had somehow managed to overcome it. They had managed to go their separate ways and had left their sister behind, because she had wanted to be left behind.

And if Nesta had been lonely when no one had been able to take her to her dying mother, she had not yet known true solitude. Because when even your own family turned its back on you and left you alone to cry on the road of that path you were supposed to take together while you screamed and no one could hear you, only then would you look up and see Loneliness smiling at you as it held out its hand.

Now, sitting on the floor in one of the aisles of the university library, she was holding her head in her hands and trying not to fall asleep, with little result.

She had not slept that night, like the previous thousand, but unlike the other mornings, she had not been able to take her tablets and during the third lecture of the day she had risked falling asleep on the desk.

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, opening them occasionally when she heard noises, but she must have fallen asleep completely at some point, because when she opened them again, her head was resting on the carpet and a hand was shaking her shoulder.

"Can you hear me?" a deep, concerned voice was asking. Nesta closed her eyes again and the grip on her shoulder tightened, "Can you hear me? Are you alright?" the boy demanded. She moved her lips, but no sound came out, "What an idiotic question, you're obviously not okay."

Nesta rolled onto her back, opening her eyes fully and looking up at the ceiling of the library. What was going on?

"Do you want me to go get someone, do you need me to call an ambulance?" the voice kept asking, sounding more and more concerned with each passing second. Nesta shifted her gaze to the person whose hand was on her shoulder and had started massaging it, applying pressure with its thumb. The movement harder than necessary, as if it was done to keep her awake.

The boy was handsome. Long hair held up in a tousled bun and the faint hint of a beard that hadn't been shaved in days covered the sculpted face of what might have looked like a Greek god. She couldn't reach his eyes that hers slowly closed.

Nesta was so tired.

"Hey, no no, open your eyes, stay awake," he shook her again, harder this time, and she groaned raising her left arm, "Sorry, I just need you to stay awake," he apologised, Nesta could hear the apprehension in his voice.

Why was he worried? He didn't know her.

"Can you tell me your name?"

She opened her mouth, trying to answer, but nothing came out and she looked up at him at that point. His dark eyes, a very common brown, stared at her glowing with emotion, but Nesta couldn't bring herself to care. She was having such a hard time staying awake, she just wanted to sleep, sleep, sleep.

"Alright, you don't have to answer, can you sit up?" he asked her then, after a minute of silence. She shook her head, letting it fall to the side, shifting her gaze to the floor again. He cursed and then removed his hand from Nesta's shoulder. "I'll call the ambulance."

Her eyes snapped to him so fast they sent a rush of pain through her brain. She moved her hand closer to him, resting it on his leg, and the boy snapped his head in her direction at the exact instant she sobbed and panic threatened to take control. She shook her head, taking short, laboured breaths, "No, no."

"Sweetheart I don't know what to do and I can't leave you here," he replied, putting the phone down and taking her hand in his. He glanced left and right, searching for anyone else. He sighed, returning his gaze to her, "If you can say a whole sentence without passing out and getting up I won't call 118. But, for all we both know, you could be having a stroke or a heart attack and we wouldn't know, and I'd rather you didn't die," he chuckled at the end of the monologue.

There was no trace of amusement in that sound though, nothing to suggest he was enjoying this.

Nesta tightened her fingers around his, "My name is Nesta."

She didn't know if she had spoken, maybe she had just thought she had, but the smile that appeared on his lips was answer enough to her doubts, "Nesta." he repeated, offering her a nod of his head, "I like that. My name is Cassian." he added. She didn't answer, but continued to stare at him.

"Can you by any chance tell me how old you are?" he asked after a while, arranging his bent legs underneath him.

Nesta sighed, closing her eyes, "Twenty-two."

Cassian gave her a little nudge with his knee, "Eyes open or I'll call an ambulance."

She obeyed, "How old are you?" she asked in a thin voice, so weak she was startled. She needed to sleep.

"I'll be twenty-four in a few days." he answered quickly, "Now a slightly more complex question, why did you faint?" he asked and the muscles around his mouth seemed to tense.

She shook her head, now much more aware of what was happening. Slowly she was returning to the world of the living. She removed her hand from Cassian's and felt as if he wanted to hold her for a moment, but he let go immediately and she thought she had imagined it. She pulled herself up into a seat, holding her head with her hands.

"I didn't pass out. I think I fell asleep," she replied, massaging her forehead. She grimaced and looked up at him.

The usual expression he'd had up to that point only seemed to grow worse and the worry doubled, "What do you mean you think you fell asleep?" then his brows knitted together and he leaned towards her, speaking in a lower voice, "I'm sorry if this seems a little inappropriate, but do you have a home?"

It took Nesta a while to realise what he was alluding to with those words, but when she did, she nodded, adding a faint, "I don't sleep."

His eyebrows shot up, "You don't sleep." it wasn't a question.

"I don't sleep." she repeated, resting one hand on one of the shelves and pulling herself up.

He nodded, looking up at her from below and pulling himself up in turn shortly after, ready to catch her if she fell to the floor one more time.

Nesta seemed to become aware of the situation they were in and felt her body stiffen suddenly and waited, waited for panic to assail her, for shame to take over. She waited to feel everything and too quickly, but her breathing did not change and her vision did not blur and Nesta thought she was dreaming at last, that she was sleeping so deeply that she could imagine a life where these things did not dominate her life.

When Cassian gave her a small smile, her heart missed a beat, "How are you feeling?"

She nodded and answered without thinking. Because everyone had been asking her the same thing for years. "Good."

He seemed to study her face for a few moments, then offered her an arm, turning to the strangely empty tables that stood in front of the entrance, "How about I buy you a coffee and then maybe take you to one of your friends?" he asked, "I don't want to intrude too much and ask if you want a ride home, but at least they could help you."

Nesta looked at him with a confused expression, "Home?"

The slightly more relieved expression that had begun to make its way onto his face fell away completely, replaced by an apologetic one, "Forgive me, I understood that-"

She quickly blocked him, "I have a home, I'm not homeless," he sighed, "But why would I want to go home?"

He looked at her as a second head had popped up on her shoulder, "Nesta," the way he said her name made her forget for a moment how messed up her life was, "you were sleeping on the floor of the library. You can't stay at the university, you risk accidentally falling asleep and hurting yourself. Are you narcoleptic?" he asked her suddenly.

She opened her eyes wide, linking her arm with his, "No." she whispered.

He chuckled, "Sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything, but it's not every day you find a pretty girl asleep on the floor. And I heard a thud, that's why I thought you fainted. I heard you fall," he glanced at her.

She still looked at him with wide eyes and didn't stop as he bent down to pick up her backpack and put it on his shoulder. Cassian turned another smile to her, "You there? Can you walk?"

She nodded and they spent the next few hours in the university cafeteria and sometimes Cassian would ask her questions that she couldn't answer, but he didn't force her to speak and seemed more than satisfied with the monosyllabic answers she gave him.

When she told him that she didn't know anyone there and that she didn't have a car to get home, he didn't comment on either, but offered to give her a ride and she accepted without hesitation.

And she accepted the next day when she met him after class on her way out of the chemistry building. And the next day when his car pulled up in front of the bus stop where she was waiting. And the next day again and again and again.

And suddenly Nesta was no longer alone.

three months and one day after

Cassian had been staring at her for so long that Nesta was beginning to wonder if he was dead. He sat so still, clutching the sandwich between his fingers as if the wind might have blown it away. She was also starting to feel a little uncomfortable. Not because her friend was staring at her, she was used to that, but because of the way he was doing it.

They had gone out for a walk in the mountains and had reached the top after more than four hours of hiking, but the landscape in front of them had erased any physical pain they had accumulated during the climb. They had sat on rocks at the summit and were now having lunch.

She was staring at the mouth of the Sidra, the point where the sea was darkest, but she couldn't chew with him looking at her as if she would erupt at any moment.

"For God's sake Cassian, what is it?" she asked exasperated at one point, fixing her eyes on him.

He didn't answer, but took a bite of his sandwich, furrowing his brow even more.

Nesta shook her head, urging him to speak. She huffed, pointing to the ravine below them with one hand, "I'll jump if you don't tell me why the fuck you look like a failed stalker."

Cassian chuckled at that, finally looking away and Nesta let go of a breath she didn't know she'd been holding.

"I wanted to ask you something," he began, shifting his eyes to the landscape, "But first you have to promise me you won't jump."

Nesta looked at him sideways, "That depends."

He opened his eyes wide, laughing, "Then no, I won't tell you what I'm thinking about."

She rolled her eyes, huffing, but let it go. She was used to this kind of conversation with Cassian by now.

"Okay, I'll ask," he said suddenly, startling her. Normally he would have laughed at having managed to provoke such an overt reaction in her, but he didn't and it made her worry even more, "But if you don't want to answer you don't have to and we can shut up or change the subject."

"If you put it that way, I'm already telling you I don't want to talk about it," she pointed out.

It was true. Cassian had gotten to know her in such a short time that it had shocked her at first. She still didn't understand why, not fully, but he had stayed and was still there and didn't seem to want to leave anytime soon.

He sighed, completely ignoring her comment, "Why is it that every time we drive it feels like someone is holding a gun to your head? What is it that scares you?" he asked to introduce the topic, "If I'm driving too fast or if it's something I do, you can tell me."

Nesta looked at him. She looked at him and didn't say anything and he understood she wasn't going to answer, not at that moment at least, and they stayed in that spot on the summit for another hour in silence. Where she had time to think, to reason about how important Cassian actually was to her. About how much Cassian had done in such a short time, to bring her back to life.

They had just arrived at the car park, were stamping their feet on the asphalt to remove the excess mud under their shoes, when Nesta looked at the car door and stiffened. She felt his gaze on her body again, but she took a breath and got into the car, sitting down and letting the fear fade, letting the storm inside of her settle.

They were going to face a couple of hours' drive back to the city, more than enough time for her to be able to tell him-

"My mum died. In a car accident." she said in one breath as Cassian took a seat next to her.

His hands stopped around the steering wheel, tightening. He slowly turned to her, nodding slowly, "Yeah, I figured as much. I just didn't know how." she closed and opened her fists, keeping her gaze fixed in front of her. She took a deep breath and Cassian placed a hand on hers, "We don't have to talk about it now. But thank you for telling me, for trusting me."

She bowed her head, "If I don't do this now I might never do it again," she murmured.

"Okay," he indulged her, then intertwined their fingers, "I'll wait for you though, I don't want you to tell me this very second."

Nesta sighed, closing her eyes, "Alright."

"Alright." he repeated.

Twenty minutes passed before she managed to open her mouth again, "You know Tomas?" she asked, despite knowing full well that he had a clear and precise picture and idea of who the boy in question was. They had already talked about him several times.

Cassian just nodded, but Nesta didn't fail to notice that the muscles in his arm twitched.

"You already know how... complicated our relationship was," she murmured.

He scoffed, "Complicated is not the word I would use to describe your relationship." when she shot him a look, he turned red, "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt." he said settling back in his seat, "Please continue."

She straightened her back, "The day my mother died, I called Tomas."

"Of course," he replied, and there was no trace of sarcasm, Nesta noted, because anyone would have called their boyfriend at a similar time. He shifted his gaze to the mirror, slowing the car and moving into the right lane, letting a car that Nesta had noticed had been on his heels for a few minutes pass him. It had stressed her out more than she'd imagined, because once it had passed them, she was just a bit calmer.

"We didn't know how to get to the hospital and my dad couldn't pick us up. I asked him to take me there and he didn't, because he was out with some friends of his," she confessed, furrowing her brow, "I realised that day how much Tomas controlled my life. I realised that I had lost everyone because of him and how now I wouldn't be able to say goodbye to my mother because I didn't have a driving licence and I wouldn't be able to get there in time."

She felt emotion rise in her throat, but nothing like she had felt every time she thought about that day. And maybe it was because she was getting over it, maybe it was because of his hand on her leg moving his fingers to soothe her, she didn't know.

"There were months after Mum died when I couldn't even get into cars," she continued in a weak voice, "I only managed to do it after seven months, because we had to go on holiday and my dad didn't want to leave me home alone. He was afraid I might do something... reckless." she paused as they both assimilated the true meaning of those words and Cassian squeezed her leg, taking a deep breath, "After that trip I managed to ride in the car, not with a few worries, but I did it."

"I'm glad you made it," he told her, keeping his gaze fixed on the road. She looked up at him, smiling faintly and was surprised by that gesture. She didn't think she'd ever be able to talk about her mother without bursting into tears and yet here she was, smiling at her best friend.

"Me too," she said, "you may be less happy to hear this part."

"I'm sure I won't blame you for it, whatever it is," he said softly.

Nesta looked at him and couldn't find any indication that he was lying to her, so she continued, "The last time I saw Tomas, he wished I would die in the car like my mother had, three days after her death."

Cassian's head snapped towards her, his eyes wide and his lips parted slightly. He returned his gaze to the road immediately, seeing how Nesta had begun to shift her gaze from him to the road, but the shock in his features didn't seem to go away, "Please tell me you're joking."

She continued, without giving him an answer, "Since that day, every time I've tried to get behind the wheel, every time I've gone to driving school so I could learn, I've had a panic attack." she said, torturing the inside of her cheek, "A few times I've ended up throwing up everything in my body and I've never been able to do more than start the car. I've never been able to get my license and I have no idea how my sisters put up with it," she concluded.

Cassian remained silent for so long that Nesta began to think the worst. Maybe she had been wrong to tell him, maybe she had gone too far. Her father had told her once, that she tended to say too little or too much, there was no middle ground with her. Maybe she'd shared too much this time and now Cassian thought she was a fool and a coward. After all, it was only a matter of learning how to drive, even stupid people could do it and it certainly didn't take a degree-

"I don't know what you're thinking, but I can hear the gears in your brain moving and I know perfectly well it's not good," he said, squeezing her hand when she tried to pull away. He gave her a sincere look, "I'm sorry, Nesta," he whispered, "For everything you've been through and experienced. For not realising what the problem was sooner." then he grimaced, "I would have avoided doing two or three of the shits I did in the car when we first met, now I understand why you reacted the way you did." he said referring to when during the first few weeks he'd given her a ride home, he'd speeded at red lights or passed other cars on roads where they shouldn't have. "I'm sorry you had to have that asshole next to you. If I could just talk to him..." he trailed off, tensing his jaw. He breathed through his nose, watching her when they finally ended up on a straight bit of road.

His eyes blazed with a rage that Nesta had rarely seen in people, but there was more than that. Sadness, sorrow for the little girl she had been, for what had been taken from her. But not pity, never pity from the boy she had come to know and like, "I'm sorry."

seven months and fifteen days after

"Nesta breathe," Cassian was whispering to her, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her hand, gripping the steering wheel in front of her.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, trying to swallow air. All she could hear was the pounding of her heart about to explode in her chest.

"Yes, sweetheart, you need to breathe," he chuckled. The hand on her shoulder dropped lower, starting to caress her skin there, "Inhale." he whispered, inhaling through his nose, "Exhale," he blew the air out of his mouth. "Now together," he ordered her. When Nesta didn't, but only began to breathe more heavily, Cassian told her to open her eyes.

She opened her eyes wide, watching her boyfriend as he mimicked the air rushing in and out of her lungs with his hand, "Breathe with me," he told her with an encouraging smile. Nesta wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the next time he inhaled, she did so with him. And slowly, after a few minutes of Cassian whispering soft words of comfort and guiding her through the whole process, Nesta was able to regain full control of her body.

"Very good," he finally told her, leaving a kiss on her temple. She looked over the windscreen, "Are you ready? Do you remember everything you need to do?" he asked her, giving her more room to start, but still keeping a hand on her leg. She nodded, not speaking for fear of breaking the bubble she was in.

It had been a couple of months since Cassian had let her drive his car. Or rather, letting her have panic attacks in his car whenever Nesta thought she could make it.

And she had made it, a dozen times now. She never made it more than twenty metres before she'd slammed on the brakes and thrown herself out of the car to vomit, but the last two times she'd managed not to let the panic take her over and she'd managed not to lose control completely.

This time she felt she could do more. Cassian had positioned the car further back than usual in the car park of that abandoned neighborhood to see if she could turn when she got to the far end. She'd gone back and forth three times before, but the idea of having to turn put a different kind of fear into her.

"I got it." she muttered more to herself than to him.

She started the car, stepping on the accelerator and slowly lifting the one on the clutch pedal. The car started forward and Nesta let out a breath, feeling her heart beat in her throat.

"Slowly, like this..." murmured Cassian as they reached the end of the car park, "Now slow down a little and turn the steering wheel to the right, slowly," he explained to her. Nesta did exactly that and the car turned smoothly on the asphalt. She didn't even realise she had arrived on the opposite side of the car park until she had to turn again and again and she did it so many times that Cassian laughed beside her. When she decided she was tired and ready to get out and really breathe, she braked slowly, managing to stop without turning off the car. She turned the keys in the lock and then the car stopped roaring beneath her.

She turned to her boyfriend, a smile going from ear to ear, and whispered, "I did it." a laugh escaped her control.

Cassian did the same, nodding, "You did it!"

They both jumped in, banging their heads against each other's and burst out laughing, but the fun was short-lived as Cassian slid a hand to the back of her head and pulled her against him, kissing her and conveying all the love and pride he was feeling at that moment.

They had swapped places soon after and he had driven her home. Nesta had been about to ask him if he wanted to come in - by now her family was used to seeing him in the house around the clock, being that they'd been together for a couple of months - but his phone had rung.

"Mor?"

At the blonde girl's name, Nesta had felt that tinge of jealousy rise in her stomach.

Cassian had frowned, "Calm down, calm down, I can be there in a moment. Are you at your father's or your mother's?" he had glanced at Nesta letting her know he wasn't going to stop and she had smiled, leaning over to him and leaving a light kiss on his lips.

Mor always called at the most inopportune times and Cassian, no matter where they were or what they were doing, would drop everything, take Nesta home and run to her friend's house to help her with whatever problems she was having.

Before he darted off her street, he had promised her that he would call her that night when he got back home, but Nesta knew that wasn't going to happen. That's why she wasn't disappointed when she waited until midnight for his call and it didn't come, and then one o'clock and two o'clock, until sleep claimed her and she surrendered to it.

ten months, two weeks and eleven days after

"Are you serious?" asked Nesta, letting her hands fall from Cassian's face down her sides.

His silence let her know that yes, he was serious and that yes, he would leave in the middle of... what they were doing.

"Cassian this has to stop, it can't go on like this forever," she murmured, turning to pick up her shirt on the floor. When she turned back around, he was adjusting his crotch with a grimace on his face and Nesta had to call on all her strength not to yell at him.

"Nes, sweetheart," he began, with that hangdog expression he always had whenever they discussed this matter.

She lifted a hand to stop him, fixing her icy eyes in his dark ones, "I don't care to hear yet another excuse." she said through her teeth, tucking her shirt in and covering her naked body, "It's been months, months Cassian, that every time she calls you, for whatever reason, you just grab your shit and go and refuse to give me any real explanations." she hated the way her voice sounded, but she couldn't help it. He had stopped himself from dressing and was watching her carefully. "I understand that Morrigan may have some personal issues, I don't need to know what it is, but why she needs you, every time something happens to her, is something that doesn't sit well with me."

He sighed, running a hand over his face, "I need you to trust me, Nes," he reached out to her, taking a thin hand between his large, warm ones. Hands in which Nesta had found comfort over the past year. His eyes sparkled with love as they settled on her face, "I need you to trust me."

Nesta breathed softly, squinting her eyes, "I do trust you, Cass, but-"

"Then that's enough," he interjected, squeezing her hand. He leaned down to kiss her and she bent her head back, taking in the love she craved every second of her day. When he pulled away it was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over her, "I love you," he whispered.

He left the house without saying goodbye and Nesta was left alone in her room, her head still bent back and the phantom touch of his lips on hers.

one year, four months and eight days after

Their anniversary was just around the corner and Nesta couldn't have been happier.

Or so she pretended to be.

The last three months had been agonising.

Between her and Cassian things were flowing well. She could get into the car and have almost no reaction, and she could certainly now turn the steering wheel left and right and go more than fifty metres in reverse without skidding. Cassian had almost finished his classes and only had a couple of exams left before he could graduate and she was so proud. She had spent Christmas with him and his adoptive family and had had the pleasure of meeting his brothers, who had lived in another country for the last two years and planned to return to Velaris for good after New Year's Eve. She had never seen him so happy as when she had gone with him to the airport to pick up Azriel and Rhysand.

Nesta's only big, fat problem was a certain blonde girl.

Morrigan had managed to become so entrenched in their relationship that she sometimes didn't even realize it anymore. It was like having a daughter who needed attention every four hours or she would die.

Nesta was sorry that the girl was so miserable that she needed someone by her side so often, but it drove her insane that this person had to be her boyfriend. Especially when it affected the relationship and the dynamics between them.

Cassian was sometimes so tired that he would fall asleep in the middle of class and quite often Nesta had joked that she was the one who never slept, hoping to get the truth out of him once and for all, but she had never got anywhere.

However, when Nesta had snapped and he had tried to pin the blame on her, she had sent him away and explicitly told him it was over. Cassian had looked at her with his mouth wide open, had tried to apologise, blaming it on the lack of sleep, exhaustion, but they both knew it was all his fault.

She'd been sick for days on end, terrified that she'd lost yet another person in her life, but on the sixth day Cassian had come to her house and asked if they could go for a ride.

They had been out till four in the morning, laughing in the traffic, shouting the songs. He'd made love to her in that car, which was just a car like any other as much as it meant everything to the two of them. It had been the place where Nesta had learned to trust him, where she had confessed to him her every doubt, her every fear. It had been on those seats where they had first declared their love for each other.

He had sung her a song by John Legend, a song that promised eternal love even through the ups and downs of a relationship. He had promised her that he would stand by her even when no one else would. He had apologised to her for all the times he had run to Mor and promised her that it would never happen again.

If only Nesta hadn't believed him.

one year, four months and twenty-one days after

She opened her eyes the second the mattress moved beneath her, warning her that Cassian had woken up and was getting up. She smiled into the pillow, ready to roll over and pull him back down into the covers with her, but when she saw the time on the alarm clock placed on her nightstand, she found a very bad feeling twisting her gut.

She turned to her boyfriend, watching him as he moved stealthily around the room, picking up his clothes. When their eyes met, Nesta already knew what was going on. Cassian looked at her carefully and made to open his mouth, justifying why she was sneaking out of her house at 3:27am, but Nesta shook her head, bringing the blankets up to her chin and murmuring loudly enough that he could hear her, she said, "Get out and don't come back."

And Cassian did.

one year, six months and one week after

Nesta had woken up that morning with a dry throat. She'd gotten up, washed and dressed, and got into her car, driving out of the Archeron's driveway without so much as a hint of panic. She had driven for hours, dulled by pain and sorrow. When her mother had told her when she was sixteen that heartbreak wasn't easily mended, Nesta hadn't believed her. How was it possible for a person to be so foolishly taken in by someone that they felt so bad when they left you? It was too idiotic a concept for her to comprehend. She would never let someone get so attached to her that she would rip a piece of her heart out when they left.

God how wrong she'd been.

She hadn't seen Cassian in over a month and each day seemed worse than the last.

It was a different pain from the one she'd felt when her mother had died, but no less strong. No less heartbreaking.

She'd gotten her license only a week before and had driven so many hours since she'd had that stupid piece of paper in her hands.

Cassian had known. Cassian had known that she was going to have her driving test that day. He should have known she'd managed to pass it. It couldn't be any other way.

And she had hoped with every ounce of her being that he would text her. That he would call her and tell her how proud he was of her. Because Nesta hadn't cared about other people.

She hadn't cared that her sisters had prepared a dinner in her honour and that her father had almost cried when she announced that she had made it. She hadn't cared that her friends, the old ones she'd managed to regain and the new ones she'd met over the months, had been so happy for her that they'd given her half the gadgets that now hung in her car.

She hadn't cared about anything except what Cassian would think about seeing her driving the car alone, without his hand on her leg.

She'd driven past his house so many times, crying silently.

She'd visited all the places they'd been, that he'd taken her to when she'd been on the verge of breaking down each time.

Cassian had known her like no one else ever had, and that would never change.

Her mother had even told her once that breakups were easier when they happened because people stopped being in love. Nesta hadn't believed that either. Because how could it be less painful when you stopped loving someone, compared to when they wronged you and gave you a reason to leave? How could it be less painful when every little thing the other person did was no longer nice or lovable, but unbearable and irritating?

But Nesta hadn't stopped loving Cassian and never would. She hadn't stopped feeling the butterflies in her stomach fluttering every time he smiled at her when she woke up in the morning. She hadn't stopped loving the way he tied his hair back with whatever was in his hands in that moment. She hadn't stopped loving the way the lines of his tattoos coiled around his arms, his pecs.

She didn't realise she was heading for his house again, but when she found herself in front of it, she didn't carry on as she always did, she turned off the car and got out.

She was looking at the sidewalk, hesitant to take a step forward or get back in the car and run, never to return. To leave Velaris, to leave her mother and her family, to leave the university and rebuild her life in a city that wasn't made of memories and ghosts that haunted her everywhere she went.

Leaving Cassian.

She looked up at the house then, and took a breath. Two. Three.

Breathe with me, he'd told her.

You are not alone.

I love you.

Nesta, you're my soulmate.

One day I'll marry you.

You'll be the mother of my children.

There's no one else for me.

I'm sorry.

I don't know what I would do if you left.

Nesta took another steadying breath and stepped forward.

acotar tag list (if you wanna be removed or added just send me an ask or dm me)

@sjm-things @kris10maas @awesomelena555 @sannelovesreading @queenamydien29 @ireallyshouldsleeprn @messyhairday-me @ncssian @observationanxioustheorist @my-fan-side @booksstorm @maastrash @sayosdreams @thedarkdemigod @courtofjurdan @thewayshedreamed @ladywitchling @nahthanks @archeron-queen @sleeping-and-books @bri-loves-sunflowers @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @queenestarcheron @oop-theregoesgravity @perseusannabeth @simping4bookboisngrls @anne-reads @fantastypenguins @laylaameer01 @thalia-2-rose @darkshadowqueensrule @bookstantrash​

#nessian #nessian modern au #nesta archeron #cassian #drivers license #nessian drivers license #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acotar fic #nessian angst

[abbatoirablaze]

The Birth of Tyler Jensen--Good Girl's Club Drabbles--Maddie

Word Count: 749

Warnings: labor/birthing, contractions, mentions of post birthing body

“Everything is going to be okay!” Jake all but yelled as he began to pace the room. His head was shaking wildly as he tried to calm himself down, “it’ll be okay. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OK-“

“JACOB JEREMY JENSEN SO HELP ME G-AHHHHH!” Maddie had begun to scream at him, but she was cut off by yet another contraction.

“What do you need?” Jake asked, running to his wife’s side. He instantly brushed some of the hair out of her face and imitated the breathing methods from the lamaze class. Maddie looked to her husband with a death glare as the contraction ended, “Wh-what? That’s what the instructor sa-“

“Are you really fucking telling me to breathe?” she hissed, tears streaming down her face as Jake paled, “I’m about to push something the size of a watermelon through something the size of a quarter, Jake!”

“I mean realistically it’s similar to a snake dislocating it’s jaw a-“ Jake began, but instantly shut up seeing his wife’s reaction, “You know…maybe I should just…go sit down.”

“No,” she all but yelled, reaching quicker than he thought possible for his arm, “p-please don’t leave Jake. I’m scared…and your goofy facts are making me freak out about something else entirely.”

“You’re not mad at me?”

“Not really, no,” she said with a shake of her head, worry coating her features once more, “I-just keep talking.”

“If you’re really worried about something you should be worried about how long it’ll take for your vagina to shrink back to it’s regular size!” Jake offered, spewing out the first thing that came to his mind, “it can take up to six weeks to-“

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME, JAKE?”

“Well what do you want me to talk about?”

“NOT MY VAGINA!”

Before Jake could come up with another fact, she was screaming, another contraction rearing up. The grip on Jake’s arm made him drop to his knees, “bab-baby-FUCK HOW ARE YOU SO STRONG?”

“Mr. Jensen,” the OB smiled as she came into the room, hearing Maddison screaming that she wanted an epidural, “nice to see you in your usual spot. Coherent this time so that’s a plus.”

The OB was making a poor joke, at least in Jake’s eyes. There had been two other times where he was on the ground. He’d passed out when he first saw the baby on the machine, and then again whenever they found out it was going to be a boy.

“WHAT ARE YOU, PART GORILLA?” Jake yelled at his wife as she squeezed his wrist even tighter, screaming through the contraction, “MADDIE-FUCK!!!”

The OB went past Jake and lifted the sheet, “Mrs. Jensen, you’re ten centimeters. Are you ready to meet your little boy?”

Maddie was a mess of tears as she looked to Jake. She began shaking her head once more, “I-I can’t do it. Jake-I-“

“You can do it, kiddo,” Jake said reassuringly as he held his wife’s face in his hands, “you can do it, and we’re gonna have our little baby boy. You want to meet Tyler…right? Wanna hold him in your arms?”

“Yeah!” she cried softly, nodding her head. Jake nodded his head as well, leading her through the motions that it was okay. Sweetly, softly telling her that she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and she was about to be the most amazing mother to their child, “I-I’m ready. W-we can do this. We can do this.”

And Jake held her hand through the screams. Coached her on pushing, following the doctor’s lead. And with that final push, the loud cries that burst forth, made a new wave of tears stream down Maddie’s cheeks.

They were happy tears.

Proud tears.

The nurses were quick to clean him up after Jake cut the cord. And he stared lovingly at his wife and their newborn son when they passed him off. She cradled him against her, almost not able to believe that he was in her arms.

“H-he’s perfect,” she whimpered softly, kissing his forehead, “our baby boy…”

Jake saw her yawn as she held him. He praised her, telling her how good a job she did, and how they were their own little family now. Told her to rest as he took his son into his arms. She gave him a wistful look, not wanting to let go of her new reality. But Jake promised that ‘her boys’ would be waiting for her when she opened her eyes again.

#the losers (2010) #the losers fanfiction #soft jake jensen #jake jensen

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [Finale]

Chapter 22 - Chapter 23 [Finale]

➜ Words: 5.1k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

Baking is an art form. It takes more than just having ingredients and following a recipe. It’s the flavour, texture, taste, and the presentation. It’s knowing why when things go wrong and how to fix it. It’s knowing the right kinds of ingredients to pick, how much of each should be combined, what techniques and methods to use. Baking is therapy. Baking is scientific. It is art.   The ingredients are as follows: 

Fresh strawberries

White chocolate sponge cake

Sugar

Butter

Eggs

You place the fresh strawberries into the refrigerator as the stand mixer whips the six large egg whites and two cups of sugar. When it's combined, you place a bowl over a double boiler on the stove and whisk until the mixture is hot. You put it on your stand mixer again until the white chocolate swiss meringue buttercream is stiff. The cubed butter and white chocolate is added shortly after until it's smooth.   Once you’ve got your components prepared, you slice the cooled white chocolate cake into two layers and set the bottom layer on a cake board on the turning cake table. You spread the meringue buttercream evenly with an offset spatula and layer the strawberries.    Afterwards, you put the other chocolate sponge cakes over it and repeat the process.   You finish the white chocolate strawberry swirl cake with white chocolate strawberries on top for decorative purposes and pipe flowers with a twelve inch piping bag.   “It looks fucking incredible.”   Jungkook leans over the counter, peering at the frosted cake you’ve just made.   “It was supposed to be white chocolate raspberry swirl, but I know you like strawberries, so….”   The boy grins, a wide smile that makes his big nose scrunch. “I love it.”   You burst out into giggles. “You haven’t even taken a bite yet!”   Jungkook begins slicing the cake. You’re proud of what you’ve made — but it’s kind of sad at the same time. This is the final product of your portfolio before it's ready for submission. You’re glad it’s over, but it also means your journey here is ending.   It’s November now. And it’s been one whole year since your relationship with Jungkook shifted.    A year ago — when the internship posting went up and you found out he was going to be your partner over the summer. When you were made his exam partner in your fine pastries class. When that Friday night happened and you bursted out crying in the kitchen, and he comforted you to no avail despite it being a cold night where the air bit his skin and turned his cheeks rosy. Where he bought you grape soda for no reason whatsoever other than a poor attempt at trying to make things better.   It seems like it was so long ago, but it’s only been three hundred and sixty days.   It makes you wonder what will happen a year from now or two or ten.   “Not too sweet?”   You watch your boyfriend’s expression carefully. Jeon Jungkook has his brows deeply furrowed with a thoughtful expression like he’s trying to give honest output. His fork is cleaned empty and it lowers to grab another bite.    “It’s perfect.” He melts into a smile. “Maybe you made my sugar tolerance go up.”   “Maybe because I improved.” You loll your head to the side, challenging him. “It’s almost as good as your chocolate-covered strawberry cupcakes, huh?”   Jungkook scoffs lightly. “I wouldn’t go that far, babe, but we can all dream.”   You sulk. “I’ll find out that recipe one day, Jeon. You mark my words and when I do, I’ll profit off of it.”   He laughs, the sound tickling and boyish, causing another smile to rise onto your features. Jungkook digs in, having yet another bite and he lets his teeth rot with the sweetness.    It’s not long before he remembers something, strides away with a hum and returns with a cold tray. “What is it?” you ask curiously as he sets it down and removes the saran wrap.   “It’s truffles. I made it in my art of chocolate class, but it’s an original recipe. Give it a try.”   He pushes the tray towards you and you don’t hesitate to grab a chocolate truffle. You would never, on any planet, deny the opportunity of consuming chocolate, especially when it’s made by Jeon Jungkook. You’ve never said it out loud before, but for some reason he always makes the best.   No grocery brand or chocolatier can beat what he often bakes for you.   So you try not to devour the truffle all in one bite, opting to relish and savour it. You take half of the truffle into your mouth and chew with the same consideration he had for you. And you’re surprised as the deep flavour melts on your palate. “Coffee?”    Your brows furrow and you lick your lips. “Did you put black coffee into it?”   “I was inspired by a memory,” Jungkook says with a soft smile. “What do you think?”   “I love it,” you exhale in awe, finishing the bite and licking your fingers.    It tastes kind of bitter, but it has a sweet note at the end.    It’s bittersweet. But mostly ends up sweet.

Life with Jungkook continues. Lectures and workshops become more hectic the closer the end comes, but in between classes and late nights spent in the kitchens next to ovens, you and Jungkook still find plenty of time with one another. Or at least enough that you still have your dumb debates and have your hour of snuggling — which Jungkook regularly falls asleep during.   The honeymoon phase of your relationship eventually fades away, but luckily it molds into a comfortable pattern that neither of you mind whatsoever. There are still knowing gazes shared across busy rooms, his hand that often comes on your lower back that you find security in, tender kisses shared when the two of you greet each other and bid temporary farewells.    You still love Jungkook very much and you don’t ever find yourself afraid of him leaving you abruptly.    Your relationship becomes normal too, so Yoongi and Taehyung has little to tease you both about. They instead relish in bullying Jimin when he ends up going out with a coworker of his at his new part-time job, much to the shorter man’s dismay.   Hoseok, on the other hand, while no longer in a relationship, finds an interest in teaching and starts to look into what it would take to become an instructor. You’re happy for him and so is Aeri who tells you she’s considering going abroad someday to expand her culinary skills and cook more international cuisine. She keeps herself preoccupied by improving herself and becomes someone worthy of your admiration.   But for the most part, things remain consistent and constant. There’s still bickering over lunchtimes and dinner times across the cafeteria table. Still nights of crashing Yoongi and Hoseok’s apartment and playing games. The five of you also start playing Dungeons and Dragons much to Taehyung’s delight who becomes the dungeon master — and while Yoongi always says he wants to stab himself halfway through every session, you’re sure he enjoys it as much as everyone else does.   The memories made are ones you cherish the most.   And before you know it, graduation has come.   “You look beautiful, dear,” Jungkook’s mom holds back tears as she grasps your hands tightly. “Congratulations.”   “Thank you.”   “Come on, you two!” His dad suddenly calls, holding an old camera up to his chin. “Let’s take some photos to remember the occasion!”   One hand holds your rolled certificate and the other holds your navy gown, you stand in front of the school sign with Jungkook who adjusts his black cap. He drapes his arm over your shoulder and the both of you tilt your heads towards each other and give the biggest grins.   The camera flashes. Again and again.   The corner of your mouth starts moving as your smile twitches. “How many is he taking?”   “Just smile,” Jungkook mutters through his grin as both his parents, his aunt and uncle, Lia and Eunbi, and grandma look on proudly. “He’ll do more if you try to argue.”   “Two more!” His dad shouts, despite taking another five.   His entire family seems so elated that your heart swells with endearment.   “I didn’t know your family would be so happy when you told them we were dating,” you murmur, switching your poses a bit. “You know, your grandma just asked me when we’re getting married.”   “Really?” He glances at you and then scoffs with another smile that’s more genuine. “Be lucky she has half a mind not to start asking when we’re having kids. Unless…...”   “I swear to god, Jungkook, if you get down on your knee in the middle of our graduation with everyone watching, I’m going to kick you in your shin.”   He giggles, nose scrunched, eyes crinkled.    It’s not long before Jungkook’s mother drags over Jimin overbearingly by the hand with Taehyung, Hoseok, and Yoongi for a group photo. There’re so many parents, family members, and phones and cameras being passed around that your plastered smile starts to break on your face. Everyone’s mother and their goddamn cousin’s cousin wants three copies of the same exact picture.   “Oh my god, kill me now,” Yoongi groans but still has that dumb fucking grin on his face. He looks more like a kid showing off his braces or a grandpa who has his dentures stuck.   You think he’s putting on that idiotic grin just to ruin the pictures — even his mom is yelling about it on the sidelines.   “Just a few more,” Jimin whispers with more perseverance than anyone else has.   “Who is even taking our picture, right now?” Hoseok asks, his brows furrowing. “Does anyone even know who that lady is?”   “I think she’s the associate dean’s assistant who’s going to put it on the website.” Taehyung breathes out, his cheeks aching from his smile. “Either that or that’s my cousin’s brother-in-law’s younger sister’s friend.”   “Alright, that’s enough.” Yoongi gives up and walks out of the frame. Everyone starts dispersing before there are protests and they’re rounded up for another pointless photo session.    But after a while, you’re granted some freedom to roam around with Jungkook. There’s still a few more photos taken, ones with Aeri and classmates and teachers, like Miss. Kang, who you always liked.    “I always knew the two of you could be close.” The female teacher has the cheesiest smile and you have to admit, you’re glad she never changed Jungkook’s internship like he wanted. In a way she’s like your matchmaker, but you’ll never say it out loud in case you give her more credit than it’s due. She already seems to know it anyway. “Good luck on your future journeys. You both have great potential.”   Namjoon and Sejeong also show up to congratulate the pair of you as well. And they meet Jungkook’s family who seems to adore the couple straight away, asking plenty of questions of what their shop is like and if their son was in any way helpful.   But while you’d like to stick around to hear all the conversations, it’s nice to take a break from the bustle to just walk on the paths that you used to take all the time with Jungkook.   You don’t know what it’s going to be like when you leave this place.   “Aren’t you kind of sad?” Your hand squeezes Jungkook’s and you turn to look at him.   “Yeah,” he admits. “But I’m also happy we don’t have to submit projects or do exams anymore. I’ll miss the routine. Of being able to hang out with the guys and eat with them all the time. But they’ll still be around and I have you.”   Jungkook’s gaze meets yours. His eyes are tender, soft.   You smile at him. That’s right — this chapter might be ending, but you’ll still have many more with him.   “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name and you turn to see your family waving at a distance. Your mom holds a flower bouquet, most likely for you and your cheeks swell with a smile.   Your arm extended in the air to wave back and your steps quicken with Jungkook’s to meet them.

A lot happens after graduation.   There are many changes and alterations. While you’ll still always be learning until the end of time, you’re no longer an official student and you’re thrown to the hounds called the real world.   But it’s not all that bad.   You get hired back at Kim’s Wedding Cake Company and work with Soohyun who’s returned from maternity leave. Yuna also sometimes joins during the weekends and much to your delight, she tells you that she’s enrolled in the institution as she had wanted. You can only imagine what kind of knowledge she’ll gain and stories she’ll end up having there like you did. But there’s not a lot of time to reminisce when there’s work and a ton to learn, but you find yourself enjoying it more than finding it difficult.   Jungkook, on the other hand, doesn’t return to the company. He instead gets hired at a chocolatier shop not far from where you work. It’s only a ten minute walk down the block; five for each of you when you meet halfway like you frequently do for lunch.   He tells you that he’s learning a lot, on what it takes in the artistry of chocolate, that there’s more meticulousness than what meets the eye. It sounds like an absolute nightmare to you, but he loves it — especially on the days when he smells sweet and there’s some chocolate smeared on his cheeks. And you don’t hate that he often brings you home truffles and caramels to try.   The two of you also move in with each other, sharing an old apartment not far from your workplaces. It’s not much different from how you used to live on campus at different dorms, except now there are bills to be paid and Jungkook steals all the hot water in the shower.   You wonder if this is what it feels like to be an adult.   “Y/N?”   There’s a familiar voice, but one you haven’t heard in ages. A smooth timbre that sounds light and humorous at the corners. You whirl around, regarding the tall man with dark hair, dressed in a dark turtleneck and a black trench coat. His sheepish eyes crinkle in his smile, lips pink and plush.   “Jin?” A grin spreads into your face as well. “Oh my god! How are you? It’s been so long! What are you doing here?”   “I live here, remember,” he reminds in the midst of squeaky giggles. “And I’m good. I’m actually on my way to a meeting. I’m working in management of Toute Pastries and Pâtisseries.”   “Wow, working in commercial bakeries? That’s impressive.”    But you’re not exactly surprised. You knew Seokjin always had it in him and you feel proud that someone you used to know has become so great.   Seokjin laughs. “Not really. It’s kind of less hands-off than I’d like, but what about you?”   “I’m good too. Just heading to my friend’s bakery.” You hitch a thumb over your shoulder. “Today’s the opening. Do you want to come?”   “I’d love to, but the meeting starts in twenty. I saw the sign the other day though. The bakery is that place that was being renovated on Imlingss Avenue, right?”   “Yeah. It’s next to the department store.”   “I’ll swing by when I have some time then.”   “When you have some time?” You eye him playfully and cross your arms. It might be inappropriate to be so sarcastic with an acquaintance, but being with Jungkook has made you more snarky than is probably socially acceptable. “So you’re a hot shot, now, aren’t you?”   Luckily, Jin doesn’t take offence and simply laughs. “I swear I’m not!”   It’s good to see him. You thought you never would again, at least not face-to-face like this. But what you least expected was that your conversations could be so light and natural. It isn’t difficult at all and you don’t find yourself uncomfortable nor holding any resentments. You aren’t sad or angry.   It’s like seeing an old friend again.   “I heard you were with Jungkook,” Jin says with the corner of his mouth quirked. “That’s a surprise.”   “Isn’t it?” Whenever Jungkook used to come up in a conversation, all you ever said to Seokjin was how trash he was. But that was before you really knew anything about him. “But he’s great. An idiot sometimes. But it’s great.”   Jin can see the happiness radiating off your face and it’s infectious. “I’m happy for you, Y/N.”   He says it sincerely, genuinely, and your smile widens. “Thanks.”   The both of you share a little more small talk before you’re on your way. And once farewells are said and done, you don’t look back or peek over your shoulder for another glance at him.    You’re content continuing straight forward.   “Sorry, I’m late.” The door chimes as it slowly shuts after you, the warm furnace heating the air and melting off the coldness of your skin.    “Of course you’d be late.” Yoongi is in his black apron, white shirt rolled up to his elbows and his arms crossed. “We already took the photos, don’t expect that we’ll re-take them.”   “A joy as always, Yoongi.” You smile at him, taking off your jacket and putting it on the coat rack at the corner. Jimin comes to greet you and you sigh softly. “Why’d you ever agree to open a bakery with him, Chim? You must be a saint to deal with his shit all the time.”   “I heard that.”   Jimin laughs. “Trust me, he kept on asking Jungkook when you would come. He’s all bark but no bite,” he whispers but it’s loud enough that Yoongi looks sorely unimpressed.   The shop is cute and spacious. It’s rather modern with square tables and chairs lining the walls. The lights come from the sides of the fancy ceiling, and there’s a counter to check out at with a main glass case where people can choose pastries from. In the corner, there’s also several smaller pastry display cases where patrons can grab trays, tongs and fill up their own plates.    You quickly greet everybody and then move to grab your one prized possession.    “Lemon meringue pie?” Taehyung laughs, watching you put two on your plate.   “You know I just have to.” You smile and sit at one of the tables, luckily having it on the house. Taehyung sits across from you. “Man, you’re so nice to let Yoongi have the entire recipe since it’s yours too.”   He shrugs. “It wasn’t like I had any plans with it in the first place, plus it was Yoongi’s idea to add the secret ingredient.”   “Which is?”   Taehyung grins his infamous boxy smile. “Nice try.”   “I’ll find out one of these days,” you warn. Taehyung handed you the recipe a long time ago but he conveniently omitted the secret ingredient and you haven’t forgiven him since. “And then I’ll be making it for myself every other night instead of giving my pretty penny over to Yoongi and Jimin.”   “Yeah, good luck with that.” He leans back in the comfortable chair. “I’m sure Yoongi will be protecting that from you for the rest of his life. He might be willing to exchange information though if he can get his hands on Jungkook’s chocolate-covered strawberries.”   Taehyung wiggles his brows, but you shake your head with a sigh. “He won’t tell me. I swear he’s holding it above my head so I can never ditch him.”   The man laughs and takes a look around the new shop.   Everyone is here — Hoseok, Jimin, Yoongi, Jungkook, Taehyung, Aeri and you — the entire crew with no one else missing. There are other people as well, sponsors and Yoongi and Jimin’s other acquaintances, but you muse how hard it is these days to gather up like you used to.   Everybody was busy and on their own paths. Doing their own thing. But it’s what made moments like these more precious.   “I would’ve joined them, should’ve,” Taehyung says wistfully with a sigh. “The original plan was actually Jimin, Yoongi, and I.”   “Yeah, but you wouldn’t have been happy.” You take another bite of the pie, chewing in your cheek.   “Yeah, that’s true.”   “Do you regret it? Going back to school?”   “No.” Taehyung smiles gently. “I love learning and I knew after graduation, I wanted to keep learning. I’m not as good at cooking as I am at baking, but it’s still fun and I think I’m getting better. The only issue is Yuna.” The man visibly and dramatically shivers and it elicits laughter from you.   “Does she bother you a lot?”   “Less like bothering and more like she literally pops up wherever I go,” he tells. “Sometimes I’m just minding my own business and then boom, out of nowhere, I turn the corner and she’s there. I’m starting to think she’s like a ghost or like….like…”   “—a witch,” Jungkook finishes and then leans down to plop a kiss at the top of your head. “Hey.”   “Hey.” You smile and he leans down to steal a bite of your pie, but you don’t mind much. “You’ll never guess who I saw earlier.” Curiosity gleams in Jungkook’s eye and you grin, wanting to put him suspense for a little longer. “I’ll tell you about it later, but is everyone grabbing dinner afterwards? I haven’t checked the messages yet.”   “Yeah, we are.”   Soon, Hoseok comes over and introduces his lady-friend that he brought with him as Naul. But you know through advice he’s sought through you a few weeks back that he’s been seeing her and taking it slow.    It’s nice to finally meet someone you’ve heard about, and you find that her calm and collected personality fits into Hoseok’s quite well.   You also meet Jimin’s girlfriend who is sweet and an avid talker about all things deli meats.    At your surprise of how ham supposedly doesn’t taste as good as some other cold cuts, she insists that you and Jungkook need to have a double date with her and Jimin so she can enlighten you on the world of salamis — to which you agree needs to happen. She’s peculiar, but sweet and cute when she’s with Jimin.   “So you’re really going?” you ask after Aeri confirms it. She had told you a month ago that she applied to study abroad and you couldn’t be anything but happy. Especially now that she’s just told you that she’s been accepted, you have nothing but eagerness for her.   “Yeah, I’m a bit nervous, but I’m super excited.”   You pull the girl into a tight embrace. “I’ll miss you, but have fun and stay safe. Stay in touch.”   “Thanks and I will, Y/N.” She giggles against you and pulls apart. “I hear Amsterdam is really nice and my aunt keeps advertising it, so I’m looking forward to it.”   “Apparently, those Dutch men are really something,” you murmur and she laughs. “You know, if I wasn’t in a happily committed relationship and with my dream job, I’d probably ask if I could come with you cause damn, they’re like a tall glass of water. You need to take advantage of that.”   “Who’s a tall glass of water?” Jungkook approaches with a sorely unimpressed expression.   It makes you go tight-lipped and Aeri giggles, slinking away before she’s caught in the crossfire.   While you and Jungkook playfully bicker in the middle of the store and he grabs you in a chokehold and you tickle him — much to the shock of the other patrons who don’t know you — Yoongi looks on behind the counter with a displeased expression.   Except that’s only his natural resting bitch face and not what he thinks internally.   Or at least that’s what Jimin realizes when Yoongi says to him privately— “They’re a pretty good match, huh? Jungkook and Y/N.”   “Yeah.” Jimin smiles, watching the two of you act like children. “They are.”   It’s sad when the opening event eventually ends. The night comes and dinner is soon over too. Everyone ultimately says their farewells, waving before they go off on their own way and you linger just a moment until everyone’s gone. It’s nostalgic to be around them, reminding you of days that seemed simpler and easier, and when you were unaware of these facts.   It’s sad to say goodbye since you don’t know when you’ll see all of them again. At one place. At one time. But at least you have Jungkook with you, so you’re far from being alone.   “Don’t worry,” Jungkook jokes around, “They’ll be back for our wedding.”   “When is that going to happen?” you scoff, looking at him and how his features are illuminated under the lampposts that you pass. You squeeze his hand in yours.    “It’s a surprise,” he answers slyly.   You grin. “And what if I reject you?”   “Then I’ll be a very sad man.”   “And if we don’t work out at all?”   “Then we’ll still be best friends,” Jungkook says and interlaces his fingers with yours. “I’ll always be here for you. Because I’m lame and I think I’ll always be head over heels for you.” He smiles wide, bunny teeth revealed and features soft. “It’s a promise.”   And one you believe in.   Luckily, you and Jungkook never split.   You end up getting married two years later with Aeri as your maid of honour and Taehyung as the best man — the brunette giving you so much anxiety with his spontaneousness that you nearly wish it was Jimin who was the best man instead. But everything ends up without too many hitches or difficulties.   It’s hectic lives that you and Jungkook lead, but ones you love.   Ultimately, the pair of you get a townhouse together halfway between the suburbs and the city. You wind up running Kim’s Wedding Cake Company with Yuna many years down the line after Namjoon and Sejeong step down to retire. And Jungkook achieves his dream of becoming a chocolatier and ends up getting silver in The World Chocolate Masters competition.    The two of you have your first child together one drunken night when you both think it’s a good idea to have sex in your sacred spot — a professional kitchen. It’s the first and last time, swearing you’ll never do it again when you’re both on your hands and knees afterwards, sanitizing the entire area for fear of losing your jobs for the violation of health codes.    But you end up conceiving that night and it’s the first of many kids — rascals with sweet-tooths.   Life with Jungkook is a mundanity you could’ve only dreamed of. And you often count your blessings that you somehow ended with such a cheeky, lovable boy.

[Epilogue]   “And that’s how I met your grandmother.”   There’s a plump toddler sitting on his knee, slobbering as he babbles, and a slightly older girl sitting cross-legged in front of him on the carpet. She’s no more than five years old and blinks up at the old man with matching doe eyes.   “So a stupid man dumped grandma and then you came in and saved her?” she asks in a high-pitched voice.   “Essentially.” The old man nods and takes off his rounded spectacles to place on the small table beside his plush armchair. It’s his special seat for story time, placed under the picture frames of you and Jungkook over the decades, from your graduation to your wedding. “We were friends first and then started to date afterwards, but yes, it’s right to say I did save her.”   “Like a superhero?”   He grins and confirms, “Like a superhero. Now, do you know what the moral of the story is?”   His granddaughter shakes her head. “No. What is it?”   “The way to a person’s heart is through the stomach,” he declares with a smile. “If they like chocolate, you make sure you’re good at making chocolate. You like chocolate, right?”   “I like grandma’s cakes!” she exclaims much to his amusement.   “What nonsense are you telling her?” You’re leaning on the doorframe leading to the kitchen, sighing lightly as you shake your head with your arms crossed.   Your hair is slowly turning gray, but you’re still as attractive — if not even more so. Jungkook always mused how much more beautiful you got the more you learnt and experienced. And he likes the wrinkles around your eyes, even when you don’t. It reminds him of how many times he’s made you laugh over the years.   “Grandma!” Your granddaughter jumps up with a big grin that’s reminiscent of a bunny. She has big doe eyes that seem to sparkle in the afternoon light shedding into the cozy home. “Grandpa was just telling me how you guys met. He said he saved you. Is that true?”   “I saved him, dear.” You pat her head gently. “Without me, your grandpa would be hopeless.”   The older man at his armchair chuckles. “That is true.”   “It’s time for lunch, you three.”   You hold up your grandson and your granddaughter skips towards the kitchen.   Jungkook staggers upwards from his seat with weaker knees and muscles that feel exhausted to the bone. He’s still in rather good shape though for just turning sixty three two months ago. Even when you constantly worry about him, he can still play catch with the kids in the backyard and put them on his back without hurting it much.   When he comes into the kitchen, the two kids are in their seats and busy already digging in. His mug that says ‘Jungkook — World’s Best Chocolatier’ sits at the corner of the fruit place mat you bought at the thrift store. The letters of the mug are worn around the edges, handle chipped at the bottom, but it’s still his favourite.   But Jungkook doesn’t sit down to eat just yet.    He rounds the table and comes to the sink where you’re humming away. He leans his arms on the edge of the counter, standing right behind you and leans in as you turn your head.   Jungkook kisses your cheek. “I love you.”   You smile, the same one he fell in love with all those decades ago when you both were still young students who knew nothing about what was to come. “I love you too.”    Much to Jungkook’s contentment, you lean into him, filling his senses with your scent as you press a soft kiss to his lips. And it’s not bitter whatsoever.   It’s sweet.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook scenario #bts series #bts baking series #bts baking AU #bts baking!AU #jungkook x reader #jungkook reader insert #and with this the entire series is complete #thank you for reading #for those who read every single chapter and every single word I had to offer #I really appreciate following me for such a long journey and I hope it was worth it #:>

[joaquinwhorres]

alone together (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder to watch the person you love dating other people.

REQUEST ››››› 11 +13 with Diego? (11. Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile. 13. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.) 

WORD COUNT ››››› 2,261

WARNINGS ››››› dirty jokes

A/N ››››› This idea popped into my head right as I was going to sleep the other night, and it just kind of poured out. I always feel a bit guilty when I turn love story requests into something a bit angsty, soooo I added some fluffy moments in here as well. And let me just say, I love their dynamic. Also I *slightly* changed 13. 

They've been close since the Academy. Not the Umbrella shit, the police academy--which was, pretty much, more of the same shit. Still had to dress up in a dapper little uniform and take orders from superiors who hardly deserved the title. He spent his childhood training to take down the bad guys and some thirty year old asshole who got his badge five years ago and aced some written test knew better than him? Bullshit.

She was one of the few people who put up with him at the time. Everyone else talked their shit and played the stupid game, as if blowing smoke up the instructors' ass would save them in the field. She was the only one who listened. Who took his tips on how to disarm over the trainers. Who questioned rules that would cost lives. Who put him in his place and drew lines between Number 2 and Diego Hargreeves he didn't know existed. 

So yeah, he's been in love with her for a while.

Which is why, when she calls asking him to come over, he turns off the police scanner, takes off the mask, and gets in his car. 

When she opens the door to her apartment, he can't help the small smile that quirks at the corner of his lips. She's so goddamn beautiful even in her leggings and Synchronicity baseball tee he got her as a joke when she graduated the academy. She had laughed so hard she cried and then serenaded him with "Roxanne". It was the wrong album, but he couldn't have given less of a shit.

She, Sting, and the other two bastards are looking at him expectantly, so he quirks an eyebrow hoping that it turns his smile into more of a smirk. "You gonna let me in, or did you just want to show me your front door?"

She gives a mirthless pity laugh to tell him how not funny he is. "I was hoping you were the pizza guy."

"Sorry to disappoint," he shakes his head, and the smile situation is getting out of control.

"Not sorrier than I am," she says, heaving a long suffering sigh as she steps aside to let him inside. He doesn't even make it past her before she breaks and offers him a smile.

 Diego snorts and turns towards what might as well be his second home. Or first. Hell, he's here more than he's ever in his shitty room at the boxing gym. The TV is on, blankets pooled in a semicircle on the couch, a bottle of wine and half empty glass in front of the spot. Her purse and keys sit on the table, heels kicked off under a chair. Other than that, the place is pristine as usual. 

He doesn't like the way this scene looks. 

"Thought you had a date tonight," he remarks, heading into the kitchen to get himself a wine glass. Behind him, the door clicks shut and her bare feet patter lightly against the floor.

"There was a miscommunication."

It's the way her voice is too light-- each word is carefully chosen. How under the chair's legs one shoe is on its side while the other is still standing. The fact that she's drinking red wine instead of those stupid Whiteclaws.

"He didn't show." Diego turns to her as he says this, watching to see the words reach her. When they do, her eyes shoot down to the ground and she gives a small shake of her head. 

"No." Her voice is soft and her eyes run over the scratch marks on the wooden floor from when she had him rearranging the furniture to make her new coffee table "aesthetically fit". It's threelong seconds before she speaks again. "He uh--meant to meet up with someone else."

Anger shoots through him, burning and vicious and fuck wine as a solution. Diego strides forward, heading to the front door, when she reaches out a hand to stop him. "Don't."

He looks at her and tries to arrange his features into some semblance of innocent concern. "I'm just going to my car to get a bottle of whiskey I keep there." He has to pry his gaze away from hers because the look she's giving him makes his heart feel like it's going to implode. She looks at him as if she sees him. She's the only person who's ever given him that look.

"Diego. Do not go interrupt his date to pick a fight."

"Fuck," he curses under his breath because she sees right through the lie. He turns back to her, mouth open to deny the accusation when her look intensifies. 

"I know you Diego Hargreeves." 

No one has ever told him they love him.

But that sounds pretty damn close. 

She releases his arm because she knows that she's won or maybe she has some misplaced faith in his self-control. "I really appreciate that you want to kill him. Really, really appreciate it. But I don't need you going to jail on assault charges. I need you here, drinking wine and watching TV with me. Unless you actually have that whiskey."

He shakes his head, thankful he doesn't have to respond because the fact that she needs him leaves him just about breathless. 

This time she curses under her breath, a soft damn. "You're such a tease," she comments, heading back to the couch and he goes back to get a wine glass from the cabinet.

“It's only for you, baby,” he calls over his shoulder. 

They’re two bottles of wine deep and it’s only 11 o’clock. She had apparently been joking about the pizza guy, much to Diego’s disappointment. When he voiced as much, her eyes got big and bright, and she grabbed his face in her hands. “Then let’s order a fucking pizza.” 

And then she slapped him, one cheek after the other and went to get her cell phone.

They’re still waiting on the pizza.

But his attention has been less on the grumbling in his stomach and more on the fact that y/n hasn't laughed once in the last forty minutes. She hasn't so much as cracked a smile. Not even when Esther stabs her hand in front of Hank. In fact, since the phone call for pizza she's hardly even said a word, and he can see what she's doing. She's torturing herself. Her attention isn't on Barry, it's on the asshole she left at whatever bar to go on a date with someone who wasn't her.  

"Hey," he says, and she turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. At least she isn't that far down the rabbit hole. That's good. He's been there enough times to know how hard it is to pull yourself out of the cycle. To silence out the memories of voices you shouldn't give two shits about anymore and focus on what's in front of you. "How did Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?"

Her nose wrinkle and brow creases in confusion, and she stares at him like he's clinically insane. "What?" 

"Come on," he gestures, turning towards her so that their knees brush together. "How'd the Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?" 

She seems to catch on then, her face more skeptical than concerned for his sanity. "How?"

"He forgot to wrap his whopper." 

She just shakes her head, turning back to the TV. He wouldn't be Number 2 if he gave up now. "What should you do if you come across an elephant?"

"What?" her voice is flat and unamused, but it's not the same tone she gives him when she's done with his bullshit.

"Apologize and wipe it off." 

She cracks then, her lips fighting against her will to keep a straight face as the corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile. A small burst of air exhales through her nose. It's not a laugh, and it's not a smile, but it's a start.

""What's the difference between 'Oooh!' and 'Aaah!'?"

"Oh no--" 

"About three inches."

She bursts with laughter then, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Her eyes crinkle in the corner, as she looks at him, shaking her head. He's gotten what he wanted, but what's one more joke?

"What goes in hard and dry and comes out wet and soft?" 

She almost chokes on the wine she's sipping to help her stop laughing. "Diego!" 

"Chewing gum. Why, what were you thinking?" 

"Fuck you," she says, pointing a finger at him, but she's laughing, so he starts laughing too. She sets her wine glass back down in front of her and crawls all the way on the couch, shuffling closer to him so she can beat his arm with both of her fists. 

"It's a good joke," he protests, laughing harder as she continues her assault. 

"It's so not a good joke!" she argues back, tears streaming down from her eyes. But they're from laughter rather than what's going on in her head, so he'll take it. His arm is saved from the punching by a knock at the door. Naturally she moves to get up, but he shakes his head, gently pushing her back down into the couch and reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. 

The guy takes in his tactical outfit with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't say anything about it. Diego feels a bit sorry that he took off his knives. Scaring the pizza guy was always mildly entertaining for himself. Instead he passes along the money with a "Thanks man," and returns to Y/N who has settled back into her spot. 

She gives him a warning look and holds up a finger at him again. "No jokes during the pizza." 

"What?" It's his turn to look at her like she's crazy. 

"I'll choke and die, and you don't want that on your conscience--and don't turn that into another joke," she adds quickly, preventing him from using the innuendo before he can even find it in the sentence.

"Fine," he says, sinking into his seat and putting the box of pizza on the coffee table. "No jokes. Just pizza."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him even as she reaches forward to pull out a slice. She doesn't break her gaze until she's swallowed and he bites into his own piece. There's a few moments of quiet between them, but it feels better than it did before the pizza. There's something lighter in the air between them, and he hopes she feels it too. 

"Thank you," she says, suddenly. 

It takes him a second and a quick glance around the apartment to realize that she means the pizza. He scoffs and waves the thanks off. 

"No, Diego, seriously. Thank you. For coming over," she sighs. "I needed this." 

"I'm always here for you," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "You know that. Can't get rid of me even if you tried." 

She offers a small smile, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, wincing as she notices the pizza grease on her finger tips. Diego shouldn't be watching her this closely. He should focus on his pizza like a normal person. But he can't take his eyes off her. How she seems just a bit slower, just a bit quieter today. She runs her fingers over a napkin leaving a trail of yellow grease. "Do you wanna hear something sad?" she asks, her voice small.

"When you say it like that, how could I say no?" It was supposed to be a joke, but his voice is too soft.

She doesn't look at him, instead keeping her eyes fixated on the used napkin. 

"This isn't the first time that's happened. It's not even the first time that's happened this month." 

He wants to kill. He wants to wage a war against the boys on Tinder or Bumble or the force or wherever it is she's finding these assholes. But she needs him here. She told him she needs him.

"They're idiots," he says. "Complete fucking morons." 

"Statistics would suggest otherwise," she shook her head, looking back up at the tv, frozen on a close up of Bill Hader's face. "I mean...guy after guy, I'm always the one getting broken up with or ghosted. Is there something I'm not seeing? Seriously, Diego, is there something wrong with me?" She looks at him then, eyes shining and heartbreaking in the earnestness of the question. 

"There's not a single fucking thing wrong with you," he says quickly wiping his own hands off so he can pull her in close. She wraps her arms around his middle, leaning her forehead into the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath against his skin. Feel her heartbeat. He holds her even tighter.

"I'm going to put that in my bio from now on. Not a single fucking thing wrong with me. Verified by Diego Hargreeves." She gives a single quiet laugh at her own joke, and Diego smiles, running his fingers through her hair. He isn't sure if it's as calming to her as it is to him, but her head feels a bit heavier as she relaxes more into him. 

 “I don’t know. I think I’m just done with this all. Maybe I’ll like being alone," she sighs, wiggling a little bit closer. "With you of course. We can be alone together.”

'Yeah," his smile is bigger now, and he can feel her smiling against him too. “Yeah, we can do that.”

#diego hargreeves x reader #number 2 x reader #tua #tua fic #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves fic #tua imagine #number 2 fic #number 2 imagine #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua fanfiction #diego hargreeves fanfiction

[dmc-tings]

DMC Gang Teaching their s/o how to drive

Dante

Uh, yeah he knows how to drive

But... he's not the best teacher

Usually ends up asleep in the back

Cause he trusts you to figure it out

One day though, damn near changed his life

You smashed into a newspaper stand

The impact woke him from his nap

You were holding on to the steering wheel for dear life

Tears welled up in your eyes and he immediately pulled you into his lap

Kicking the door open, hauling both of you out of Morrison's now wrecked car

Dante was more concerned about you

You still hadn't said anything, just letting tears fall down your face

He checked you over, he was silent as well

Pissed at himself for letting his negligence, almost get you killed

The cops showed up, after a kind soul called them

An ambulance got to the scene and checked the pair of you over

While the paramedics looked you over, Dante called Vergil and Nero

The pair made it to the scene in Nico's van

But it wasn't just the two of them, the whole crew came

Kyrie and Lady rushed to your side, Lady shoving the paramedics and cops away from you

Kyrie got you talking, letting you weep onto her shoulder

Dante got a scolding from Vergil and Trish

Something along the lines of, "How could you be so wreckless." And "You knew that was dangerous, Dante."

He wasn't listening tho, he watched you cry into Kyrie's arms, while Lady rubbed your back comfortingly

Once the scene cleared out, it was just you and the crew

Oh! And a confused and angry Morrison

"How the hell.... Dante, you know your paying for this."

Your half-devil finally made his way to you, for once (and during this whole thing) speechless

His head hung, he didn't need Vergil, Trish or Lady to scold him

He was beating himself up over this

You looked up from Kyrie and Lady, throwing yourself into his arms

Crying out "I'm sorry's" and "I should have been more careful's"

He shushed you, burying his face in your shoulder, "Im sorry. I should have been paying more attention."

He silently cried into your neck

After that day, Dante took more care in paying more attention to your driving

Once you got your license though, he still took naps

Or so you thought

The devil man would only be resting

Peeking at you every so often

Vergil

You stood awkwardly in the archway of your shared bedroom

Vergil giving you a (visibly) shocked look

You wanted him to what?

"Verg? Did you hear me?" You shuffled your feet abit, again

He blinked at you

Dumbfounded, flabbergasted, and down right appalled

"You.. You want me to..."

You looked away, abit ashamed

But to your defense, you could and had always walked everywhere in Red Grave

You really didn't need to drive, unless you went to the beach or somewhere out of town

But.... Vergil didn't know how to drive either, he had spent the last 20 something years in hell

And the last thing he thought he would ever be asked to do or teach was FUCKING DRIVE

He shook his head, not saying anything to you

You bit your lip and looked away from him

You misunderstood his head shaking

Then his face flushed, letting out a grumble

"I dont know how to drive."

And in his defense, he just teleports or opens a portal to where he wants to go

You straightened up, "Wh-what?"

Great, you were back at square one

Vergil gave a small cough, "Why do you need to learn how to drive?"

You looked at your feet, "I just wanted to learn..."

In all honesty, Nero had teased you about being an adult, and not knowing how to drive

It made you feel low

Vergil gave a huff, noticing your hesitation

"Who." He stood up

You looked at him, "Ver-"

"Was it Dante? No... he barely knows how to drive..." his eyes flashed

You grabbed his arm, but it didn't stop him

He slashed open a portal, right into the shop

"Who teased (him/her)." It wasn't a question, a demand for the person who insulted his sweetheart

"Vergil. Please stop..."

Everyone in the shop looked at Nero, who had his headphones in

Vergil let out a growl and pushed you behind him

"Teach them how to drive!" He snarled, slicing the headphones off of his son's head

Nero shot up and got ready to fight back, but stopped when he realized what was happening

"Uh... sure... i-"

"Both of us."

Dante burst onto laughter, realizing what Vergil was getting at

Nero looked at Nico, "uh... can we-"

"Oh hell nah!"

At a loss Nero looked at you and his dad

"Well.... uh... i-"

Vergil scoffed, throwing a few summoned swords at his cackling brother

Then he pulled you close, "Tease them about not knowing how to drive again, and you'll feel my wrath."

He took you back home

After setting you on your feet and giving you a kiss on the forehead, he returned to his reading

"So..."

"You have me. No need to drive."

And that was the end of that

Nero

Nero sat in the van in the driver's seat

You in his lap

You insisted that he sit in the passenger seat

But the part-devil placed you in his lap

Now he was scratching his head

"Nero?" You looked at him with big puppy dog eyes

He looked down at you, "Yeah?"

"Do you know what your do-"

Nero waved his gauntlet clad hand

"Of course, I got this."

He, poorly, started to explain the gears, buttons and switches in front of you

"Aight. So. You got the gear shift, I think it's a stick. And the... uh... windshield wipers. And the lights in front, and the brights..."

'Oof,' you thought, 'I could have just asked Dante... and got just about the same experience.'

You drummed your fingertips on the steering wheel

Finally, tired of your boyfriend droning on, you turned the key and started the van

Nero jumped, then patted you on the head, pointing at the 3 pedals at your guys feet

"Well since your in my lap, I'll work the pedals. Just tell me when to speed up and slow down. Ok?"

You nodded, "Alright! Nice and slow though."

From here, using team work, you and Nero made your way around the block

Slow and steady

Then Nero hit the breaks a bit too hard

You nailing your forehead on the steering wheel

"Shit! Nero!" You leaned back rubbing your sore head

"S-sorry! There was a old lady crossing the street..." he mumbled

Then leaned forward a bit, examining your forehead

He sucked his teeth, "Shiiiiit. That looks bad babe...."

"No shit." You barked

You felt your boyfriend flinch at your tone

After the pain passed you patted him on the arm, that was wrapped around you

"Its ok. Good thing you stopped though." You pointed at the old lady still trying to cross the street

Nero nodded, grunting with agreement

"I... I think thats enough driving for the day."

Nero gave another nod, letting you crawl into the passenger seat

He made way back to the garage/shop

Once parked he looked at you

And you gave him a smile

"Thanks. That was pretty fun!"

Nero gave a small laugh, "I suppose it was, save for you bashing your skull on the wheel."

You huffed, poking out your lip, "Not entirely my fault."

V

(Yes, I include him, cause some people like him. And personally I like his character as well)

You and V were cuddling in the living room of your apartment

You leaned into his chest, watching tv, as he read from his book and gently running a hand through your hair

"V." You spoke lifting your head

He gave an acknowledging hum, looking to you from his book

"Can you teach me how to drive?"

He looked at you, his mind drawing a blank

As Vergil, he never drove, hell they barely walked

"Love, I've never driven.... Ever." He told you gently

You looked forward at his chest, searching your mind, trying to figure out who you could ask to teach you how to drive

V cocked his head at you, wondering what was going through your mind

You looked up, eyes shining, "we could learn together! There's plenty of books on driving!"

V's eyes lit up as well, your excitement fueling his

"Oh? Where to we begin then?"

You both sat up, you grabbing your phone and V sitting up with you

"Well the DMV would be a good start. They can give us all the info to study."

"There's a written test?" V asked, he knew he could pass that

You nodded, not looking up from your phone"Yes. And there is a driving segment as well."

V froze and looked down at you, but seeing you so excited, he didn't want to ruin your fun

Later you both got everything from the DMV

And at V's insistence, the library as well

You both spent weeks reading and learning

Even convincing Nico to let you practice and take the driving part of the test, using her van

Eventually when it was time for the tests, you both where prepared

You passed them with flying colors

Ignoring the dangerous tips Nico gave you

When it was V's turn, he passed the written exam

But hesitated when it was time to get into the van

He stood at the driver's door, hand on it

You walked to his side, gently putting your hand in his

"V? You can do it. Just don't think too hard about it."

He looked at you to speak, but you cut him off, sealing his lips with a kiss

Happy, he climbed in

You sat alone in the DMV, anxious

He came back with the instructor minutes later, beaming proudly

"You were correct, my dear. I didn't overthink."

He pulled you into a hug, after you both got your licenses

#dante devil may cry #vergil devil may cry #nero devil may cry #v devil may cry #lady devil may cry #trish devil may cry #nico devil may cry

[choco-mark]

I know request are closed and I don’t wanna bug you but when reaction request open again can you write how would nct dream (0t7) react to you calling them when your in danger. And can I be 💞 anon? I really adore your writing and I look up to you so much!! I’m not ready to reveal myself just yet. Heehee 🥺💞

hey hey!! requests for small reactions and mlts are currently open, so you’re good sweets! and, yes ofc you can be!!

reaction: nct dream reacting to you calling them when you’re in danger

mark

you call him on your way to the dorms with a shaky voice telling him you think someone’s following you, and your thought is right, someone is

freaks out but tries to calm you down while putting on his shoes and bolting out the door before running back inside and putting on a mask to make sure no one recognizes him, even though you told him it was too dangerous for him to leave

his heart is literally beating out of his chest as he goes running out of the building to the street your on, which is currently dark and empty as he looks for you

you end up going into the convenience store at the end of the street to try and lose the person, but it doesn’t really work because they follow you inside

he eventually finds you wandering around with like a basket of like thirty ramen packets which was ‘in case you needed to smack them’ and he knows his y/n is back

‘i’ll buy a car and i’ll drive you everywhere so you won’t have to walk anymore’

‘baby...you don’t have a license”

renjun

you call him in the middle of a choreography lesson three times in a row even though he tries to ignore it and picks it up to scold you but hears you sobbing

you’re a chemistry major and there was a huge fire in the lab while you were working; in short, you were injured and in the hospital

it wasn’t even that bad of an injury to be honest, thankfully it was only a first degree burn, but it scared the shit out of you and yeah, you scared the shit of renjun too

literally leaves right then and there with only a word to jeno as the instructor is like ‘wot’ but you’re first priority!!!

gets to the hospital all worried and about to explode when he sees you like in tears and kind of just hugs you

tells you to give up chemistry and do something like...safer and you’re like ‘not the time, babe, kinda just got set on fire’ but he’s just worried for you

ends up taking you to practice with him in the end, but y’all are traumatized from the risk of your field of study

jeno

you call him in the middle of his fourth round of some game which causes him not to answer, but he picks up after a second time in case you got mad but your voice is just trembling

instantly leaves the dorm when you say someone’s pounding on your apartment door and it’s like 2am but he goes to you anyway

is trying to calm you down but he himself is worked up from how you sound like you’re about to burst into tears but everytime he talks he makes it a little better with his voice

the person that was pounding on the door stopped after a bit, but then you heard your front door open and you die a little inside

but it’s just jeno, who finds you locked inside of your bathroom, sitting in the tub with the curtains drawn and you’re sobbing when he holds you

you two never really find out who tf that was but jeno keeps trying to get you to move in with him ever since that happened

donghyuck

you call him in the middle of the day while you’re at uni, and you’re pretty traumatized since these two guys had been following you and your friend after lunch and you don’t know what to do

hyuck thinks you’re trying to pull something on him, but he can’t call it fake when he hears one of the guys vulgarly catcall you

goes on a searching spree (in broad daylight, by himself, with no manager) down to where you kept informing him of your whereabouts

he’s more scared than you and your friend combined because he’s basically running back and forth trying to look for his girlfriend and is about to start sobbing

eventually finds the two of you as you’re running into him, and the two guys behind y’all are like ‘whoops gotta go’

hyuck just holds you while you just heavily breathe while your friend looks like she’s about to cry, and a huge weight drops from his shoulders when your arms go around him

‘you scared the hell out of me”

jaemin

you were going with jaemin on the dreamies’ tour and you were in the bathroom when a group of girls come in while you’re washing your hands

not group of girls, more like group of sasaengs that start grabbing onto you like you’re some kind of on sale item and you’re freaking out

it’s actually one of the girls that finds jaemin’s contact in your phone and calls him, and he knows what’s going on from the moment he doesn’t hear your voice, also, sir is literally not that far away trying to enjoy tacky airport food

storms into there with a bunch of staff and his manager with the literal most—you couldn’t even say angry, he was beyond angry, and it was scary as fuck—and gets really worried for you

you didn’t get hurt (thank the kid because jaemin might’ve committed murder if you had), but he just sticks to you the entire rest of the traveling from country to country

‘jaems, you can’t come to the bathroom with me’

‘i can convince people i’m a girl, now let’s go’

chenle

‘lele, i’m scared’

just hearing you say his nickname with the most frightened voice on the planet had him sit up straight in an instant at the dining table

in short, you’re being followed on your way to uni and you have absolutely no clue what to do, and you just shakily call your boyfriend though you don’t want him to come

you send him your location while you’re still walking as fast as you can towards a more public area, but the street is too far away and the person was getting closer

but chenle’s ahead of you, already in a car being driven to the street you were on while he continues talking to you, you swear that the way he sounded so concerned, he was gonna burst into tears

a car comes up next to you on the street and chenle literally yanks you in (the guy probably thought you were being kidnapped), and you watch as the guy looks confused

asks you if you’re okay four times in a row while you say you’re fine but it’s not enough so you give him a kiss to shut him up

‘my personal driver will drive you to school from now on, i don’t want you to walk anymore’

jisung

you call him around 9pm literally in half sobs as you’re just whispering into the phone and he’s so worried from the moment you say his name

you came home to an empty house without your parents, but almost an hour later you realized that there was someone else inside the house that wasn’t your parents

you already called the police, but you were drowning in fear as you slowly said words to jisung while sitting in your locked room, he freaks out when he hears the intruder call out ‘who’s there’

begs his manager to let him go to you, and is kind of on the verge of breaking down but they take him to your house anyway right when the police had already arrived

sees you outside with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as your face is puffed from fear, and he just drowns you in his arms for the longest time

ends up staying over for the night because your parents were out of the country and doesn’t let go of you the entire time, like you can’t even shuffle a little bit away, he’ll pull you right back

he was just so worried for you, poor babe

#💞 anon #soft hours with mina #nct dream #nct #nct reactions #nct dream reactions #jisung #chenle #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #mark lee #mark #lee mark #jaemin #jeno #donghyuck #haechan #haechan fluff #jaemin fluff #nct x reader #nct x you #nct dream x you #nct dream x reader #nct dream fics #nct dream fanfic #nct dream au #nct au

[lu-undy]

Un-alone, Chapter 4

Here it is!

“I’m so happy they let you stay here, at least for the wedding and all.”

“I am absolutely delighted, petite fleur.”

[little flower]

Lucien took Marie’s hand and looked at the ring on their fingers.

“I can hardly believe that I am now married.” He said.

“That’s what I should be saying.” She answered.

“How on Earth could you think that no man would marry you?”

“I’m not the marryin’ type. Just never saw the point of it.”

“Oh…”

“Until now.”

They exchanged a conniving smile and a kiss that of course Marie initiated.

“Lulu?”

“Oui.”

“I love you.”

He blushed.

“So do I, infinitely.”

And now it was raining. Hold on, how could it be raining, they were inside? And why was it so hot?

“Oh merde…”

Lucien woke up, or rather his hot tears woke him up. He looked at the time and it was barely 4 in the morning. He tried to fall back asleep after wiping his face with the back of his hand, but to no avail. So after fighting with himself, he decided to pull himself out of his bed.

He sighed and took a shower just to chase the last bit of hope for sleep away before realising that he hadn’t had anything to eat for more than 24 hours. So he headed out of his room and of his hotel, in search of some food. 

He found barely anything edible so he dragged his feet in a city that he started to hate profoundly until he found himself in a park. He sat on the first free bench he encountered and waited. 

For what? 

He thought that he would wait for the first few cafés to open up to get himself some decent breakfast. But in truth, the more he waited, the less he wanted to move. 

"Hey…" 

Lucien smelled the intrusion before he could hear or see it. It was a beggar. The poor man sat next to the prim one, who was still wearing his black suit. Lucien took a cigarette and lit it.

Ooh, that one was a good one, extra bitter from his fasting. Perfect. It burnt his trachea to the point of pulling the tears out of his eyes. 

"You up early, eh?" 

"I am." The Frenchman said. 

“Somethin’s on your mind?”

Lucien frowned and sucked on his cigarette harder. 

“I just lost my wife.” He coldly said and getting the words out of his mouth was both extremely easy and unbelievably hard. 

“Oh, wow… ‘m sorry…” The beggar removed his worn out hat. He scratched his bushy beard. “Is that why you’re out this early? Ya couldn’t sleep?”

“Oui, exactly.”

“I see. You don’t seem too old though, pal. The missus was young?”

“Younger than me, and infinitely better.”

“Arh… I‘m real sorry, man…”

“Mh.” Lucien sucked on his cigarette more and he realised that it was finished. He took his cigarette case out and offered one to the beggar, whose eyebrows jumped before he accepted. 

“That’s kind of ya.”

Lucien lit both of them and smoked again.

 “The worst part is that I wasn’t there for her.”

“In the end?”

“Non, all along. I barely was at her side, and wasn’t there for her last moments.”

“Why?” The beggar asked, seeing that his improvised bench-friend was now leading the conversation.

“Because I made the wrong choice decades ago. I chose my career over her.”

“So you left her all that time ago? But she’s still your wife?”

“Non, she…” Lucien raised a trembling hand to his brow, while holding his cigarette between his fingers. “She agreed to it.”

“What…?”

“She agreed to it. I was married to the only woman in the world who… putain de merde…”

[fucking hell...]

The beggar’s eyebrows were still up.

“Doesn’t sound like your typical gal, eh… Did she leave anythin’ to you?”

Lucien’s eyes slashed to the beggar’s and he might have shot bullets out of them. Money was a dirty topic and Lucien didn’t want any of Marie’s hard earned dollars.

“Don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean it for the cash! I meant like souvenirs or somethin’.”

Lucien exhaled and looked away.

“Only a letter.”

“Oh… What’s it say?”

Lucien frowned. It wasn’t like him to openly pour his life into the first stranger to come into his life. It was immensely dangerous. What if that man wasn’t a beggar but another, less than friendly spy? 

“She is asking me for two favours.”

“Oh ho, let’s hear it.”

Lucien took the letter out of his pocket and read it again, squinting at the letters to imagine the pen gliding, the ink absorbing into the grainy paper, all of this under her soft hand…

“When I met her, I was a singer.” Lucien started. “She is asking me to continue singing.”

“Oh, that’s sweet, eh. Women are like that...”

“Oui.” Lucien read it all diagonally again. He knew the letter by heart and it bore very little magic anymore, although paradoxically, it was the most precious object in the world. 

“What’s the other thing?”

“We… We had a son.”

“Had?” The older man asked. “Did he also…?”

“Non, he is alive and well.” Lucien folded the letter and put it back in his breast pocket. “She asked me to help him in life with a job. She thinks he is gifted.”

“What d’you work as?” The beggar asked.

“The worst.” Lucien answered.

“Well, a job’s a job, eh? Puts food on the table. Can you get him to work with you, whatever you’re doin’?”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped and he winced.

“Never!” He answered and almost jumped on his seat. “My occupation is a nightmare, a hell that is painfully real. I do not wish for anyone to follow my footsteps, especially him, because in the end, he will surely make the same mistakes as I did. He might choose his work over his own life and lose the only woman who ever understood him.”

“You’re wrong, pal.”

Lucien’s eyebrows jumped and he turned his head to the beggar. He was shaking his head.

“He might like the job, he might even be good at it, do something good with his life. And it’d put his Ma’ to rest too. Look, there aren’t any half-jobs, or bad ones. It’s only bad if you don’t like it. And if the wife’s seen somethin’ in him, then surely there is. Or maybe you don’t agree with her? Don’t you see him like she does?”

“I do not see him, full stop.” Lucien answered. “I do not see him because I was there for him up until his mind could remember me.”

“That’s when ya left?”

Lucien nodded.

“If you don’t mind me sayin’... That’s a hell of a mess you’ve lived through, man. I mean. You get married to a woman and you agree to live separated for decades you say? And you leave her with the kid too? Bit odd, eh?”

The Frenchman held his head in his gloved hands, his cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Besides… About your son, he's already lost his Mum. You're the only thing he has left even though it's tough with you."

Lucien sighed.

"Yeah, a mess of a life you built yourself, I don’t know how you’re gonna get yourself straight after all that.”

Lucien took a deep breath and stood up.

“I will not.”

He left the bench and walked some more. He carefully avoided any and all places that carried some souvenirs until he fell deep in thought. He didn’t see the streets, Boston waking up and going to work. Non, he only saw his black shoes swallowing more and more of the grey pavement, his heels lightly clicking with every step, stabbing his ears.

Cafés were opening thankfully and he entered the first one to cross his path. Lucien went to a table in the corner and sat down, with the window on his right hand.

“Hey there, how can I help?”

“A black coffee please.”

The waitress disappeared and he lit yet another cigarette. He saw in his metallic case that he was eating the cigarettes way faster than in normal circumstances. Marie would have told him off…

His coffee landed in front of him and soon, people started coming and going in the café, bringing some distraction to the grieving man. He had hoped that sitting next to the window would help with that too, but to no avail. 

He did the only thing he could to not let his mind play any more tricks on him and took a sip of the coffee. Ah, hot and bitter. It burnt his tongue and left an awful aftertaste that lingered all the way down to his stomach. 

Lucien frowned and put the cup back on the table before opening the letter again. His mind rolled and rolled. He would do anything for Marie, but would he have liked Jérémy to become a spy too? Surely the boy could do something better than that, better than himself. Yet she said that he was gifted and Lucien knew that she was an admirable judge of character. 

“Mh…” He grumbled and shook his head. 

He didn’t want his son to follow his path. It was way too dangerous, and for what in the end? Nothing. Nothing was worth losing his family and his life over. 

And then Fred's words came to Lucien. 

So that was the plan the Ministry had for his retirement, huh? Turn him into an instructor? Pfff… If he could, he'd burst into the Minister's office and he'd have a word with him! But Lucien was in America, thousands of miles away from the office that now doomed him further.

“What did he have?”

“A black coffee.”

“Bring me the same, yeah?”

“Sure thing!”

A silhouette appeared in front of Lucien.

“I see you haven’t killed anyone yet, eh?”

Lucien frowned and still refused to make eye contact with his American colleague.

“HQ is mad at the damage you did in the gym the other day.” He took his pack of cigarettes and lit one up as the waitress brought him his coffee. “They say they’ll make you pay for repairs.”

“What more do they want? Do I need to bury myself in the ground next to Marie for everyone to leave me in peace?” Lucien answered in a sigh.

Fred fell silent for a moment, looking at people coming and going. He waited for Lucien to drink a bit more to start the conversation again.

“Managed to sleep at all?”

Lucien eventually raised his eyes to his American colleague. The dark circles around his eyes answered for him.

“Thought about what I told you the other day?”

“Oui, and my answer is non. I am quitting. This is it.”

“You might wanna reconsider that, pal.” Fred put the cigarette on his lips and took an envelope out of his coat pocket. He slid it on the table. 

“What is this?”

“Work.”

“For me?” Lucien asked.

“Yup.”

“Fred, I said I am quitting.” Lucien pushed the envelope back to the American.

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell anyone yet. So here’s work.”

The Frenchman frowned and shook his head. 

“Non.”

“Listen, pal, you can resign all you want but they’re gonna receive your letter after they sent you this, so they’ll expect you to do this first. You can then try and ask them to leave without training a newbie, but I doubt they’ll accept. Everyone does that now. The hard days of the war in Europe are over. You and I were trained like no people should be trained, but that’s what makes us so good at what we’re doin’. They want us to pass on the tricks and all to the younger ones.” 

“I could hardly care less. I have nothing left on this Earth to care about.”

“Wouldn’t that exactly make you the best spy?” Fred asked and Lucien stared in his eyes for a long second before averting his gaze. “Open the file.”

Lucien sighed. He hung his menthol cigarette between his lips and pulled the file to himself before opening it. His stare was still slicing through Fred’s.

“I am not doing it out of anything but my own curiosity.”

“I know.”

The envelope yielded and Lucien retrieved the papers and pictures. The French spy read the file diagonally. He knew how mission orders worked all too well. 

“Seems easy enough, doesn’t it?” Fred said, observing his friend discover the mess of a file he had been handed. “And yet, we’re up against the Soviets to find that guy before they do.”

“This might seem easy,” Lucien answered and removed the cigarette from between his lips to tap it against the ashtray. “However, above anything else, this is an American problem.” He put the papers and pictures together and slid them back into the envelope before sliding it back to Fred.

“Yep, you’re right.”

“It doesn't bear any sign of it being given by the French government. We have no input in this.”

“Yep, absolutely.” Fred sucked on his cigarette and blew the smoke away. “But this thing here, it’s been botherin’ me and my friends for far too long.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. How was that any of his problems?

“So here’s the deal. You do this for me, and I’ll pay for the repairs for the gym in your place.”

Lucien burst out laughing.

“You do surprise me, Fred. You should know me better than this.” He scoffed.

“Yep, so let me put this differently…” Fred shifted closer to the table and laced his fingers together. He bent closer to Lucien opposite him. “This is my pay back.”

“What for?” Lucien asked arrogantly.

"You owe me, Frenchie."

"And what for, huh?" Lucien scoffed.

“Mary.”

Lucien’s smile shattered and his brow furrowed. 

“Listen, pal. While you were tourin’ the world and huntin’ Nazis and all, someone here had to look after the missus. More than twenty years I kept an eye on her for you, for nothing more than friendship. Now, I’ve got this case,” Fred pointed at the envelope, half annoyed and three quarters fed up. “The guy’s a goddamn pain in my ass to get, been on him for years and the Soviets might be closer than we are to get him.”

“So you blackmail me because you are desperate?” Lucien hurt him back, clearly signalling that he did not appreciate Fred’s way of doing things. 

Fred frowned and sighed. 

“I blackmail you because I’m stuck and you’re the best spy I know, you fancy ass.”

Lucien shook his head and smirked.

“I am indeed exactly that, without a doubt, you mannerless primate. But Marie is dead and gone. I have nothing left that ties me to this job or this life.”

“You got your son.”

“And?”

“The kid’s homeless and jobless. Good at baseball but absolute shit at school. He’s never gonna be as successful as his dear Papa.” Fred arrogantly answered.

“Do not speak of him.” Lucien looked away and contained his anger but Fred knew his friend all too well, and his reaction there betrayed his emotion. 

“Take him in to help. You’ll spend some quality time and hit all the birds in the world with one stone. You’ll do me a favour and you’ll get him a job and a future, and!” Fred raised a triumphant index finger. “You’ll train a rookie so they’ll be very happy high up. And who knows? The kid might have gotten somethin’ from you after all, eh?”

Lucien frowned. 

“After all that, you can call it quits. Just vanish again, fly back to Paris or the fuckin’ Moon for all I care. You’ll have cleared your slate.”

Lucien sighed in exasperation. 

“I will not involve him.”

“So you’re gonna let him be jobless, homeless and orphaned longer, eh?”

“He is not an orphan.” Lucien’s jaw was tense. 

“It’s all the same. Lives with his auntie now and two little cousins who look up to one bad slice of an example. I don’t want to hurt you further but the kid doesn’t listen, he doesn’t stay home. He spends his life outside and doesn’t have anything to do, he’s practically in a limbo of his own. You and I both know what happens to kids like that. They either finish on our side of the bars or the other.”

Lucien winced at the thought of Jérémy breaking the law, getting caught and sent to jail. What would Marie think…?

“Best thing you can do is just do it. Go through it and get done. You don’t even need to tell him you’re his Dad! And you don’t have to babysit him either, he’s overage now. Can vote, go to college or buy a gun and make his life a livin’ hell and fuck Mary’s efforts up!”

Lucien held the bridge of his nose with two fingers.

“You do as you wish, pal.” 

Fred crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up before he left the café, leaving the envelope on the table. Lucien watched him and waited for the American to be out of sight before cursing in his mother tongue. His fingers slid to his head and he grasped handfuls of his hair, staring at the bottom of his near empty coffee cup. 

#tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #sniperspy #unalone

[magalidragon]

Tiny Dancer | a drabble set in the “It Is What It Is” universe

a/n: For @stilesssolo I said I would do a drabble of smol!Jon in ballet tights. 🤣 Here it is! Also I just threw his moodboard together in like ten min which is why it is trash.  But then again, so am I, just absolute Jonerys trash, lol.

————————

Dany grunted, separating back the heel of her ballet shoe from the fabric, reaching down with her knife and gouging out the shank of the shoe, releasing a triumphant cry when she yanked it out, holding it into the air like a prize. She dropped it to the floor with the rest of the detritus that accumulated when she prepped her shoes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her boyfriend frowning at her, over top of his book, his glasses glinting in the light coming off the fireplace in front of them both. “What?” she asked, chuckling, not stopping her destruction of the shoes.

“Aren’t those things rather expensive?”

“About 200 dragons a pair, yes.”

“And you just…destroy them?”

She folded the shoe backwards and forwards, easily moldable now that the shank was out. Once she had it the way she wanted, she picked up her darning needle and threaded it, beginning to work on the ribbons. She shrugged. “It’s a disposable product at the end of the day, these need to fit me perfectly.” She wiggled her toes out, so he could see the broken nails, bruises, and calluses that covered her small, yet strong, feet. It used to upset her, how she couldn’t wear sandals or get cute pedicures the way all her friends could, but she was proud of her feet. They showed how good at her profession she was, how athletic and strong. They were what kept her going. “Because they protect these, ultimately.”

“I guess I won’t understand.” He set his book aside, crawling onto the floor to sit with her. One of her cats, Drogon, was fussing with an end of her ribbons, batting it back and forth in his paws. Ghost eyed them all and she kept watch on him out of the corner of her other eye, lest he run off with one of her shoes again. He’d taken a liking to them.

Although she’d discovered one day that his chewing on one of the shoes had actually softened the toe box a little. It wasn’t a habit she wanted him to get into though. “You didn’t see your mom doing this?”

Jon laughed. “Yeah, I did, sometimes helped her. She would give me the shoes and have me bang them on the floor with her.”

“That’s actually genius.” Little boys were all about that loud noise and screaming. Lyanna getting a small tiny Jon to beat the shit out of her pointe shoes was actually a nice sight. She pursed her lips up, smacking a kiss to his cheek. “Baby Jon.”

His palm came over, pressing to the very tiny bump on her waist, his face soft and goofy. “Baby Dany.”

Her hand covered his, squeezing lightly. “Baby You and Me,” she said, accepting his kiss. He patted her belly gently and moved, getting to his feet. She glanced down at her bump, which had not deterred her from dancing; if anything she wanted to keep it up, to stay in shape throughout the pregnancy. It had been quite a shock, discovering that after only a year they were expecting, but it was only a matter of time.

The bell at the front of the house, a small cottage they’d located on the outskirts of Winterfell, rang—more like gonged—Ghost released his high-pitched whine, closest thing he could do as a mute. He jumped up and bounded after Jon to the door, while she remained on the floor, stretching out her legs to either side into a semi-splitz and forward bend, figuring maybe she’d prep for a workout later and get some stretching in.

At the front door there was a happy laugh, the sound of bags rustling, and a moment later Jon entered, smiling wide. “Mom came to visit.”

“I actually come bearing gifts.” Lyanna, who wasn’t quite as petite as her, nimbly stepped around the various objects on the floor, and held aloft two gift bags. She glanced at the shoes piled up that Dany had been working on, and chuckled. “Oh, I remember those days. Shoe prep. You know I used to get Jon to…”

“He told me,” she laughed, coming up and reaching for Lyanna. It was still amazing to her that this woman would be her mother-in-law one day, when she idolized her as a small girl. She poked at one of the bags, nudging into the tissue paper. “You didn’t need to bring anything.”

Lyanna patted her belly, which Dany pushed out a bit obnoxiously, since at five months she wasn’t quite as big as she’d expected to be. Doctor said itw as because she was an athlete, she might not pop until the end. “I did so have to bring something for my future grandchild. Also…” A devlish look crossed her face, her gray eyes twinkling. “I found something while cleaning out the house.”

Whatever it was, Jon was wary, his matching gray eyes narrowing. “Oh?”

“Hmm. Be a dear and get me some tea.”

“You don’t need tea, what is it?”

“Jon, get your mother some tea,” Dany chastised. He huffed, storming out of the room, throwing a censuring look over his shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Once he was out of earshot, she whipped around to Lyanna. “Oh gods, what is it? What did you find?”

Lyanna grinned, hand diving into the other bag. She removed a DVD case, smirking. “Had to get this transferred from the recorded copy but it is so worth it.”

One of the things that Dany had wanted desperately to see when she’d begun dating Jon and after learning that his mother had forced him into ballet shoes when he was little, were ballet photos of him. Except, to Lyanna’s enduring disappointment in her son, when he was a teenager, Jon had gone through the house and purged it of any photo of him in ballet clothes, lest his friends or Robb might locate them and humiliate him. Lyanna was still pissed off at him for it.

“Didn’t leave me with one photo!” she raged, when Dany had asked her about it at their first dinner together. Jon hadn’t cared and calmly continued eating, saying it was for the best.

Lyanna hurried to the TV and plugged in what she needed. A moment later, the screen flickered and Dany was greeted with the greatest thing she ahd ever seen in her entire life. Except maybe the sonogram of her child. This was an exceptionally close second.

The footage was homemade, from someone’s old-fashioned camcorder, and from the front row of what she recognized was the main auditorium at the ballet academy. The curtain pulled open, the audience applauded, and then a line of little girls in pale pink leotards, tights, and tutus walked onto the stage, eagerly waving at their parents. They couldn’t be more than five. And then….teh greatest thing ever….Dany yelped, covering her mouth with her hands, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

In both adoration, love, and because she thought she might start laughing nonstop.

A little Jon Snow, dark curls tangled on his head, in a white shirt and gray leotard tights, bringing up the rear of the line. He looked down at the camera and to her amusement, he scowled. Then he reluctantly lifted up his little hand and waved, before focusing his attention on the instructor, who Dany couldn’t see. He snapped to attention immediately and began to follow the program, little feet moving as they ran across the stage, prancing and doing plies and jumping here and there.

“Oh my gods,” she breathed, a hand on her belly and the over stilly over her mouth, watching the tiny Jon on the stage. She kept repeating it, while Lyanna giggled nonstop beside her.

“He’s so adorable! Oh, I forgot how tiny his frown was. Such a grumpy little boy I had.”

”What the bloody seven hells are you watching?!”

Lyanna paused the video, turning to glare at her son. “Your dance recital when you were five. It’s all I have of my only child doing ballet. Give your mother this much, you burned all the other pictures.”

Jon was flushed so red, Dany worried he’d stopped breathing. He closed his eyes. “Where did you find that?”

“The studio actually. I’m sure there’s more I can locate soon enough.” She picked upt he other bag, handing it to Dany, beaming. “And here’s your other gift.”

Dany giggled, almost jumping in place, so full of love and giddiness. She grabbed something soft from inside the bag and tugged it out, bursting into tears. “Fucking hormones,” she complained, wiping her eyes and holding up the little cotton onesie. She sniffed. “Oh Lyanna! It’s so sweet!”

Lyanna wiped at her own tears, hugging her tightly. “Well you’re having a little dancer.”

“A tiny dancer,” Jon read from the onesie, as Dany held it up, placing it over her belly. He chuckled. “Thanks Mom.” He pointed to the television, his image mid-leap in gray tights, intense focus on his small features frozen on the screen. “But not for that.”

“Oh hush and give your mother a kiss. I need to get back to the school.”

Dany couldn’t stop, wiping at her tears and saying thank you to Lyanna, for so many things. The onesie, the video, for producing Jon, even. They managed to get her out of the house, even with the tea Jon had made for her and put into a travel mug, like he knew she wouldn’t be long. He probably was hoping she wouldn’t stay long. He hugged her, wiping at her eyes. “Don’t cry,” he chuckled. “It’s just a silly little gift.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s everything. I just love yo so much.”

He softened, touching his forehead to hers. “I love you too.”

A few days later, at the studio, Dany finished with her workout and went over to the stereo to turn off her music, when the door opened. She glanced over to tell whomever it was she was almost done, when she saw Jon slip in. “Jon!” she exclaimed. He held two cups of coffee in his hand. She grinned, flicking off the music and rushed to him, shoes clomping on the hardwood. “You brought me tea!”

“Herbal, no caffeine.”

She flicked down the coffee collar, his writing scribbled out. <i>Baby might need this more than you.</i> She patted her belly, kissing him. “Yes, baby did need it. Thank you.”

“I have something else.” He shifted, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out an envelope, passing it over to her. “My mom isn’t always right. Contrary to her belief.”

Dany took the envelope, curious. She set the tea on the top of the piano and flicked opent he envelope, pulling out a few old photos, the glossy images spilling forth into her hands. She stared, mouth falling open, at the treasures she now held. “You didn’t destroy them!”

They were of little Jon, just like the video from the recital, only in these ones he was in a studio, very small and holding his mother’s hand, while she wore her ballet leotard and skirt, his little chubby feet and legs in tights. Another holding onto the barre. She beamed, flicking through them. They were bloody adorable. She looked up, pressing them to her heart. He smiled, sheepish. “I guess I subconsciously held onto those because I was going to fall in love with a dancer.”

She giggled. “Maybe you did.” She looked down at them again, shaking her head, still smiling. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” The photos returned to the envelope, she put them carefully into her bag, and bounced back up. “Come on, dance with me.”

Jon smirked. “I don’t dance.”

“You’re having a baby with a dancer. Guess what Jon? You dance.” She giggled. “I’ll hsow you my baby pictures of me in a tutu. I think my mother ingrained me young, just like yours.”

“Funny how that works,” he laughed. He spun her around, tugging her up to his chest, and kissed her softly. “Love you.”

“Love you too.” She took her coffee and together they clinked the lids together, before he spun her back around, dancing lazily around the studio, both of them laughing goofily.

#jonerys #jonerys au #my moodboards #jonerys drabbles

[spicymayo1983]

Hiya. This is part 2. You've graduated from flight school and eager to take your relationship with your now former instructor to the next level.

Warnings, porn with a plot, smut, light domination, graphic descriptions of female receiving oral sex, unprotected sex, not for anyone under 18 because this one is XXX steamy but still soft. Lol.

Chapter 2: The graduate

You were frustrated sexually, and a bit perplexed, at why Poe abruptly called an end to your intimate encounter.

Poe walked you home. When you arrived at your dorm you punched him lightly in the arm and told him with a slight laugh,

"You're terrible, you know that, right?"

"Technically what we did wasn't sex". Poe teased, as he slipped his arm around you. "I had to stop myself before I went further".

"You wanted to go further? Didn't you?" You pressed on, smiling a little.

"Truthfully I wanted to grab you and bend you over my desk". Poe confessed, as an irrestible, rogueish smile appeared on his gorgeous face. "But if we got caught it wouldn't be good for either one of us".

"Then why pursue me, then?" You replied back, your smile getting bigger.

"Because I'm crazy about you". He answered back quickly, his smile fading a little and the look on his face becoming softer, more sincere. "You bring out so many feelings in me, feelings I haven't felt for years".

"Oh Poe". You told him as you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. "I feel the same way too".

The two of you shared a lingering, passionate kiss amongst the dark shadows.

You didn't want to say goodbye to him. But at that moment in time you had to.

When you went upstairs you were surprised to see your roommate, Liz, home so early. Usually she was at her job at the cantina.

"Why are you home so early?" You ask with a nervous laugh.

"I got fired". Liz told you with a deep sigh. "Long story short there was an incident with a wookie, I don't want to talk about it".

"I'm sorry to hear that". You tell her as you give your friend a supportive hug.

"Nah, it's no biggie". She told you with a slight laugh. "Where have you been?"

"I had to stay after class and help Mr. Dameron with something". You told your friend as your face turned slightly pink.

"Uh-huh, I can imagine". Liz teased with a slight laugh. "So when is the wedding?"

"Our relationship isn't like that". You reply defensively, your smile fading. "He's my mentor, and teacher".

"I can see the way he looks at you, he's smitten". Your friend continued, her smile getting bolder. "Good for you, he's Poe fucking Dameron".

Her words make you burst into laughter. You've known each other since you started college and became fast friends.

She was studying X wing repair and you were going to become a pilot.

Like you, she was set to graduate next week. You were hoping that she would stay on D'Qar after graduation.

She was like a sister to you, your best friend in the entire galaxy.

Before you realized it graduation day was here. You had graduated at the top of your class and had been assigned to the black squadron.

After giving your speech you sought out your mother and with tears in her eyes she congratulated you.

Life wasn't easy growing up with a single mother. Your father had died from an illness shortly after you were born.

Your mother worked hard to support you and to make sure that you got an excellent education.

There were days when you didn't have enough food and your clothing was ill fitting and ragged.

The struggles of your childhood only fueled your ambition more.

Poe admired that ambition, and how you climbed out of poverty to the top.

You were a strong woman and he loved that. You could even say that he admired you (even though he likely wouldn't admit it, his flyboy ego wouldn't allow that).

After the ceremony Poe treated you to a special dinner at a nice restaurant.

"You didn't have to do this". You told him with a genuinely embarrassed smile.

"It was my pleasure, y/n". He told you as he gently caressed your hand. "You deserve this, and then some, I'm so proud of you".

Poe looked impossibly handsome in his general's uniform. His curly hair looked neat yet still somehow untamed at the same time. You wanted to lean over and run your fingers through it so badly, just imagining the feel of the soft ringlets made you shudder in delight.

The mere thought of what Poe was going to do to you that night was also conjuring a flurry of X rated thoughts to race through your mind.

After dinner the two of you returned to his quarters, where you would have more privacy.

"I'm no longer your student and you are no longer my teacher". You purr seductively as you unbutton the first few buttons of your shirt.

With only a wicked smile on his perfect face Poe kissed you, slipping you a little tongue to drive you crazy.

He pushed your back against the wall in a gentle yet still forceful manner (to once again remind you who was in charge).

You loved the subtle, light dominance that he asserted over you.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and enjoyed a steamy makeout session. You could feel the warmth, and hardness, of his manhood against your own body.

You were craving him physically as you rubbed yourself against his body. You felt like the lower half of your body was throbbing in anticipation.

Poe could sense this too by the urgency in your movements. You weren't being subtle and it was driving him wild. Essentially you were dry humping him.

"You couldn't be more obvious, babe, your body is telling me what you want". He whispered into your ear. "But I want to eat you out again first, to get you ready for me".

"You just like the taste of my pussy". You whisper back as Poe began to kiss and nibble your neck.

"Oh gods yes". He replied quickly, with absolutely no hesitation. "You are beautiful, and delicious, I could lap you up all night".

Poe carried you into his bedroom, still wrapped around his body.

He gingerly placed you on his bed and began to undress you carefully, almost like he was unwrapping a present.

You were wet and fully aroused, your body was absolutely starving for his cock.

When he removed his own clothes you were struck by how drop dead gorgeous his smooth, tanned body was.

Poe had a fat cock too, that was in perfect proportion to the rest of his body.

Everything about him was lovely. His skin even felt smooth and soft next to yours.

You were amazed by how soft his hands felt as he lovingly explored, massaged and caressed every inch of your body.

You felt like he was worshipping your nude form, the beauty of what was before him had caused the dominant, cocky flyboy to melt away.

It was clear that Poe didn't want to fuck you hard and rough, he wanted slow, soft lovemaking instead.

He wanted to take his time to enjoy you, like a delicious meal he wanted to savor your body.

You felt like you could cum from his touch alone.

As Poe cupped your breasts with his hands he began to suck on each of your hard nipples.

The air was thick with the scent of your nude bodies and hormones. Every gentle caress and tender kiss showed you how much affection this beautiful man truly had for you.

As you reclined on your back Poe gently spread your legs open and as he carefully massaged your outer lips he began to lick your wet inner ones as the tip of his nose rubbed against the head of your engorged clit.

You couldn't control yourself anymore and the moment he penetrated your vagina with his tongue you gushed warm fluid all over him with a low, primal moan.

"I'm so sorry!" You immediately apologized, feeling embarrassed for a moment.

"No, no, don't". Poe told you with a slight laugh. "I want to see if I can make you do that again, only on my cock".

He kneeled between your spread legs and as his strong hands grasped your ankles he carefully penetrated you with his bare cock.

Your body felt filled and stretched to the max by his impressive girth. The skin on skin contact allowed you to feel every vein on his rigid cock.

You frantically rubbed your clit with one hand, causing your already tight muscles to clamp down on Poe.

"Fuck". He moaned as his eyes rolled back into his head a little. "You're strangling me".

Poe began to slowly thrust into you. Your body was tingling and he felt incredible inside of you. Like the rest of him his cock was simply perfect.

"Can I?" Poe asked with a deep groan.

You knew what he was asking. He wanted to cum inside of you.

"Of course". You replied with a moan.

His thick seed filled you to the brim. So much so when he pulled out you began to leak. Poe pulled you close to him and began to kiss and nibble on your neck.

His recovery time was quick. In a half hour he was ready for round 2.

The two of you continued this cycle, foreplay, sex, a brief break, all night long and into the next morning.

The two of you were snuggled intimately into each other's arms in a naked, sweaty heap. Poe had pumped you full of what felt like gallons of his thick cum, it was a good thing you were on reliable birth control.

Sexually you couldn't get enough of each other. Poe was extremely virile, and insatiable.

You finally fell asleep at 7 AM, with the sun shining brightly. It was almost 3 in the afternoon when Poe woke you up with a gentle kiss on the forehead.

You had fallen into a sexually induced coma and had enjoyed a deep, relaxing sleep. Your entire body felt relaxed.

"You're still terrible, Poe Dameron". You teased with a slight laugh as your eyes fluttered open.

"Why is that?" Poe asked with a slight laugh as he caressed your cheek.

"You're terrible for making me feel this good". You replied as you burst into laughter.

End of chapter 2

#poe dameron #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #star wars #poe dameron smut #star wars smut #poe dameron imagine #fanfic smut #fanfiction #fanfic

[bubmyg]

game, set, love - jhs

pairing: hoseok x reader

genre/warnings: tennis!au, enemies to lovers, fluff, angst (w a hopeful ending), some humor because seokjin is in it, grumpy tennis instructor namjoon is here too, mentions of injuries, lots of tennis terminology (sorry)

word count: 13,466

summary: you like to be on the opposing side of the net from jung hoseok so when you drill a forehand volley through his teeth it can be considered kind of an accident or where seokjin just had to go and tear his ACL.

There’s a specific sound associated with that of a good, great, volley, the satisfying thwack of the thin fibers of the ball smacking against the spaces in your strings, rebounding off the surface and ricocheting into the thin space of the alley. It’s easy to imagine catching the angle instead, aiming the ball for the box just on the other side of the net, nearly impossible for the opponent to sprint to even if they catch the way your body angles. 

It’s a more complex shot anyway, the angle and trajectory and the pronation of your wrist just right so the ball doesn’t catch on the frame of your racket and sail out. Cross court is the safer shot. It’s not even cross court, not really, not in the same way a forehand is from your partner. The safe shot is to aim at the other net player, their feet to be exact. 

But Namjoon wouldn’t ever tell you to aim at another player and he definitely wouldn’t encourage your favorite net strategy. 

Imagine every hanging ball at the net is Jung Hoseok’s face. 

“Again,” There was a mechanical whir and the ball machine at the baseline rumbled to life at the hands of Namjoon. He’d emptied another basket of balls into the top, shifting them around with the head of his racket as he waited for the first one to spit back out. “Hit your target areas or I’ll put you on court five and make you do it throughout Seokjin’s session.”

You leaned into a backhand volley, making it spin when it landed. “Noted.”

Another basket of balls and Namjoon was satisfied enough to let you switch sides, nearly tripping into the ball machine cord as he rolled it aside. Your arm had just begun to ache on your third basket, neon yellow littered in a sea around your trainer’s feet, when the door to the courts of the complex slammed shut. 

You were distracted by the wave of Namjoon’s arm as he began to nudge through balls toward your side of the net and the incoming ball caught on the neck of your racket, dribbling sadly down your side of the net. You hit the next one properly for the sake of Namjoon’s knowing glance at you, a single cocked eyebrow letting you know he was still watching even if he’d nearly rolled his ankle on your most recently hit ball. There was a flash of yellow in your peripheral, not a stray ball from one of the courts over the mesh nets that separated them, and you gaped as you lost your stance.

Hoseok was looking directly at you as he shrugged himself out of the massive bag perched over his shoulders, dropping it rather unceremoniously to the bench between courts. He was every shade of yellow, sweatbands, slick t-shirt, the stripe down the sides of his shorts, the laces on his white shoes, the headband peeling back faded blonde hair, like he’d just stepped out of an athletic magazine for pretentious assholes who thought the sport was all about the matching clothes. A smirk twitched at his lips as the clinking of rackets in his bag sent your water jug toppling to the ground. 

Your racket clutched at your torso was the only thing keeping the next ball that fired out from smacking into your chest and you huffed, halfheartedly swinging to catch the next ball on your strings instead of on the handle. 

“If you’re done, go turn it off and start picking up.”

You glared at Namjoon because why the fuck is Hoseok here? but that question didn’t come out, instead a sickly sweet, “Am I done?” as you jerked your racket to hit another sloppy but angry ball onto the other side of the net. 

“You’re done. Pick up.”

You snatched an empty hopper en route to dodge another shot that barreled from the machine without someone on the other side of the net to intercept it. You only managed to collect three balls before you made it to the small black box, flicking it off and silencing the courts into the chatter of the two individuals on your court. A dent was barely made in the sea of balls surrounding the opposite end of the court but you only wanted enough out of the way to make a path for Namjoon and Hoseok, approaching with the half full hopper bouncing against your thigh and your racket tucked underneath your arm. 

“What’s next, coach?” You pointedly dropped the hopper, crouching to snatch up your water jug from where it’d tumbled just in front of Hoseok’s shoe. He nudged it toward you and you resisted the urge to pop the lid and let ice water spill through into his socks. 

“I’m going to have Hoseok take some serves for a little while…”

He had two crooked fingers in parted bangs, brushing them aside the elastic of his headband and he smirked when you quipped, “I meant for me seeing as this is my training session…”

“Relax,” Namjoon glanced between the two of you, “You’ve got twenty minutes to deal with being in the same general proximity. I think you can handle it.”

“Twenty minutes?” One of Hoseok’s dark eyebrows nudged underneath the seam of neon green on his forehead, “Tapping out early? I get it, conditioning has never been your forte—”

“Seokjin’s coming in,” You gritted, “Then we have a joint practice.”

“Ah,” He flicked the hair he’d just fixed, dropping his racket from his chest to properly grip in his hand, “Your better half.”

“Could kick your ass.”

“I don’t accept challenges from doubles players, sorry.”

“Enough.” Namjoon’s fingers brushed yours aside, taking the hopper from you to turn it in nimble fingers, effectively spilling all the balls you’d worked to pick up. When the bouncing had subsided for the most part, he stretched the wire basket back toward you. “I thought I told you to pick up. All balls. Every one you miss is a lap for Seokjin.”

“...as for you—” 

Albeit satisfying, forcing the image of Hoseok to conjure on the surface of the ball hurtling at you over and over and over becomes not only frustrating, but mentally taxing with the bubble of discontent that burst in the pit of your stomach with even the ghosted hint of his stupidly swollen cheeks above tiny little dimples indented into his smirking lips. The real pleasure came when it was the real thing standing on the opposite end of you, way out of range from where your shots were meant to be landing but there, tangible and an easy target if you wanted to face the wrath of Namjoon after welting a bruise on the face of the tennis club’s star singles player. 

Hoseok paused in between serves, as if expecting you to do the very thing your mind craved, shuffling on his feet as the ball bounced from the flick of his wrist to the surface of the court. Namjoon stood opposite of him, serve in his own hand with the stipulation that you had to get it back cross court regardless of it was out or not. No matter how out it was. You’d barely taken three off a low, slicing bounce on the corner of the box when Namjoon was holding up a single finger in your direction, crossing the center line to nudge a hand under Hoseok’s elbow when he raised his arm to serve. 

There was a certain aura about Hoseok that made your blood boil, from the content nod he passed Namjoon, stepping out of his grasp and disrupting his serve routine but making it easily with barely applying the correction. It’d always been that way, skills coming easily to Hoseok that you’d kill or pay or both to acquire in a years time. He’d won a game before you on your first day of tennis camp, a tiny elementary student with the ball perfectly balanced on the end of his racket as he terrorized everyone near him with screams and flailing hands that made others go scrambling after their balls. He’d learned to slice before you, a tiny middle schooler with clunky running shoes on and a sleeve stretched over his elbow that he’d seen his basketball player friends wear, doing the shot to you two seconds later in a practice match that had you stumbling head first into the net in front of thirty thirteen year olds. He’d made the varsity team before you, taking the last unofficial but official spot because he beat you in a third set tiebreaker when you were still adjusting to ankle braces the trainer said you needed to wear and there was never time the rest of the season to challenge him again. 

You’d joined the tennis club first, however, a youth instructor during college until Namjoon had found you taking serves after a group lesson and coaxed you into a pickup match and eventually to try out for the competitive team. As a manager of the club by the time Hoseok’s application came across your desk, you had half the mind to shred it, but your degree and your job position knew better. Hoseok was Namjoon’s friend. Park Jimin had just left a singles spot open on the competitive team.

You decided you could put up with him. If he stayed out of your way. He had since graduation.

But of course he couldn’t. Switching trainers to be with Namjoon. Taking the open locker next to yours when there were, at minimum, seventeen free ones. Wooing your middle school group lessons to the point where they asked for him to teach. 

Standing in on your training sessions just weeks before the first of regional qualifier matches. 

“Are you awake?” Your cheeks burned at Namjoon’s call and you glared at Hoseok just because you knew he’d be laughing. He was. 

“What are you doing?” He continued to scold and you continued to flame, “Back up. And step toward the middle. You aren’t a twelve year old trying to protect your backhand anymore.”

You didn’t move, setting up to take the next serve directly down the line, a fiery ball that bounced lowly just in on the baseline before smacking Hoseok hard on the knee. You twirled your racket as you stood, eyes on your watch and Namjoon’s tight sigh helped with your curt exit. 

“Go. Send Seokjin in.”

“Who let Hoseok spit in your lunch?”

You glared at your doubles partner and he giggled, leaning against the locker next to yours as you began to yank clothes out of it, sweatpants and a hoodie and the dangling fabric of your lanyard with your car and house keys attached. 

“You joke—” You slammed the metal so hard you hoped it reverberated through the walls to the courts, “—but he’s out there. He was out there during half my training. He’ll probably still be out there for yours and for when I get back. Who knew going undefeated two seasons in a row earned ass kissing from your trainer.”

Seokjin quirked an eyebrow as you struggled with a leg of your sweatpants, cupping a gentle hand on your elbow. “Yeah. Who would have ever guessed. We should try it.”

“We’re regional runner up.”

“Runner up…”

“Look, fuck—” 

“I’m aware you hate everyone today, don’t remind me of those who beat us last year,” He held onto your arm until you cinched the drawstrings around your waist, “...look I’m not trying to be an asshole. But when you go home, can you do something for me?”

You glared with the hoodie curled in your fists until Seokjin continued, deadpan, “Crawl into your bed. I know it’s not made because you had an early lesson this morning. Shut your eyes. Then roll over and get up on the other side. Then come back for our joint training.”

If you wouldn’t have got caught in the head of your hoodie, your fuck off would have been entirely more effective. 

Seokjin held up two hands in solace anyway, his bag hiking higher on broad shoulders. “Just saying. I don’t need drilled in the back of the head with your serve. Again.” 

“That’s only happened twice.”

“Four times,” He wiggled four fingers in front of your nose, “All Hoseok induced. It’s the I can’t stand Hoseok serve. Otherwise known as us losing a point immediately.”

“Whatever,” You stretched your lanyard around your neck, smacking his hand that continued to wave in front of your eyes in order to step around him, “I’ll be back.”

“Bring me an iced coffee from McDonald’s?”

“...you don’t want an apple or something?”

“Yeah, apple slices from a happy meal would be amazing—” 

Fresh from your apartment, ankle braces shed in favor of your knee brace, and a happy meal with an iced coffee in hand, you shouldered your way back into the complex. It was silent in the middle of the afternoon, no one aside from the staff, competitive teams, and adult patrons milling around until the children showed up for their evening lessons. 

Rather, it was normally silent. And the lobby area followed the same routine when you settled the brown paper bag onto the front desk, no one at the tiny row of bleachers set in front of the window for viewing, no clinging lockers or running shower heads in the locker room. Instead, through the window, figures rushed by. Back and forth. Up and down. A squinted glance and you registered the neon yellow blur to be Hoseok. Then Namjoon. Then one of the other tennis pros who had been on the far side of the complex. Namjoon again. 

Namjoon catching your attention by means of wide eyes and frantic hands. 

“What?” You didn’t know what you were running for but your slide on sandals weren’t a tripping hazard as you dashed after Namjoon, “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t turn over his shoulder but it was easy to make out his loud it’s Jin when you saw the crumpled heap of your doubles partner, shoulders slumped against the glass viewing window with his knee curled upward to his chest. 

“What? What—” You ran out of your sandals, socked feet sliding into a crouched position, “—what happened?”

Seokjin’s ears were painted in red, not the same color as when members of an opposing team complimented the width of his shoulders on a changeover, but one that traveled upward from the pained purse of his lips, curling around the lids of shut eyes. A soft groan let some tension from his shoulders and he tried to roll them out when his eyes curled open to look at you. 

“Took a fall,” He tried to smile more so for your benefit, “Thought I could get to a corner backhand. Didn’t have you at the net to cover me.”

“What hurts?”

Seokjin blinked, “Darling, it’s my knee.”

Namjoon was back, dangling fabric bandage in hand but Seokjin batted it away immediately. The trainer agreed with the sentiment, arm around Seokjin’s ribs as he fumbled to a crouched position, tugging. “Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”

There was a muted shock that numbed at your stature as you watched your normally bright and bubbly double partner limb feebly at the grace of Namjoon off the court, racket forgotten at the far corner of the court, water bottle and bag untouched and forgotten. Three steps after them to the door and you remembered there was another individual who’d witnessed the incident, too. 

“I’m coming with you.” 

You glared at Hoseok, clammy hand slick on the screen door. “You’re not.”

“I wasn’t asking,” You bristled at his hand coming in contact with the small of your back, coaxing you through the door, “I’m driving. Also not up for debate.”

You didn’t have much energy to be disgruntled, ducking into his sports car without the top on and your first thought was that it’d probably rain because why wouldn’t it. It was a second before he jammed the keys into the ignition, a roar of an engine where you gladly wouldn’t be able to speak to him any longer. 

“Is it bad?”

Hoseok squinted, not bothering to yank expensive sunglasses from the cupholder. Instead of verbally answering, he nodded. 

The next question, quipped, “Did you do it?”

He sighed, wrist limp on the top of the steering wheel and his breath visibly stuttered in his chest. 

“I can’t believe we’ve got to a point where think you need to ask me that.”

“So it’s torn?”

“Absolutely ripped to shreds.”

“And there’s no miracle of science that can heal you in a month?”

“The only miracle that powerful is—”

“Your face, yes, I’m aware,” You touched the back of Seokjin’s hand, IV’s covered in thick plastic bandages, “You couldn’t have just like, fractured it, huh?”

“That’s now how it works and—” He winked, “—I don’t do anything half-assed.”

Your fingers curled a bit tighter between the spaces in his own, letting your smile fall with your chin to your chest and a miniscule shake of your head. Seokjin watched you, steady gaze without falter when you looked at him again, tight lipped and with a shrug. 

“Guess we won’t even have the chance at runner-up this year.”

He shrugged, equally as carefree laced in disappointment as you. There was barely a hesitation from that movement to the part of his lips. 

Seokjin corrected, “I won’t have a chance, no. But you can still play.”

You scoffed, drawing your hand into your lap to pick at a stray piece of skin still clinging to your cuticle. “What, in a singles spot? Not a chance.”

“Surely you can find someone else to play with,” Seokjin’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, “What are some options—”

“You got hurt less than six hours ago and you expect me to have thought about a new partner already?” You glared at him at his smile grew into the dimples in his cheeks, “Well I haven’t, Jin.”

“I would have. I want—”

You held a hand up, the other coming to scrunch your closed eyelids between the stretch of your fingers. “I don’t want to hear about your fantasy doubles partner.”

“Not even if it’s Venus Williams?”

“Fuck, is she an option? I would have traded you out yesterday.”

Seokjin beamed, “Seriously, darling. Ask Namjoon to find you a new partner, if he can. I’ll be the one at the finals waving two crutches around.”

“Can we attach streamers to them?”

“Obviously…”

“Sit.”

Your iced coffee sat first, cubes clicking dully against plastic, a ring of condensation immediately soaking into the chipped round table engulfing the majority of the conference room. The metal folding chair bumped against the wall with the proximity but you managed to squeeze onto the ripped upholstery, fingers trailing upward on the cup to twirl at the straw. 

Namjoon, meanwhile, continued to shuffle stacks of paperwork from within an unbuckled orange binder, registration fees and scribbled rosters and a calendar with a poetic picture of a live tennis ball smacking into an ambiguous line, in no matter the circumstance. A neat pile turned messy when he shuffled the papers again, and finally he settled with three stacks, ends overlapping visibly so you could count the number in each pile. 

“We have two options,” He fingered at the end of a piece of paper that hung over the edge of the table, effectively creasing the dull yellow sheet. 

The ring of condensation expanded into more of a cylinder when you dragged the cup closer, noisely slurping from the straw as Namjoon sighed. “Mhmm?”

“We add an extra singles spot to the roster,” He fished out the piece of paper, pointing to the empty cell at the end of a complicated spreadsheet. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’d just have to place in at least two of the four remaining qualifiers to make it to the regional. I haven’t researched the competition much but that wouldn’t be too much of a far fetched feat. Trying doesn’t hurt either, seeing as the club is currently paying for a spot that’s not being used anyway.”

You pretended to consider it for a moment and even if you wouldn’t admit it, tiniest part of your conscious seriously considered it. Instead, you nodded, straw still balanced in the center of your bottom lip as you hummed for him to continue. 

“The other option is we find you a new partner,” Namjoon’s expression grew considerably greyer, reaching for a different stack of papers this time. His shoulders sagged as he shucked aside the top piece face down, “and of everyone in the club, only three players are currently eligible to take on such a role.”

“And of those three players…”

“One is Park Jimin who I, evidently, have yet to throw paperwork out for. I tried to call him, regardless, and his loyalties lie with his new club. Not that I blame him…”

“The next is Jeon Jeongguk,” Namjoon eyed you through annoyed eyelashes, another paper slapped onto the wobbly table, “...who has preexisting eSports obligations during two of the qualifying matches.”

“Which leaves us with one option—” He peeled the sheet away, nudging it toward you. It messily fluttered but you managed to drag it closer by only wetting the corner with the excess from your cup. A stat sheet with an invoice for lessons scrawled across the bottom, two things among other numbers you passed through in a rush to try to find the name but Namjoon spoke right as your eyes scanned the block printed characters. 

“—Jung Hoseok.”

You slapped the paper down into the puddle created by your drink, drowning his name much to Namjoon’s audible dismay. “That’s fine. It was a good season while it lasted but I think I’ll just wait for Jin and the next circuit to begin. You can turn my Friday lessons back over to me early, if you like, since we won’t need to train any longer—”

Namjoon murmured your name, gentle like the way he pried Hoseok’s stat sheet out of your clutches in order not to tear it in the way the delicate width of it was soaked through with caramel water. 

“You did used to play together, you know. Well, might I add.”

Hoseok was your first true doubles partner, put together by a student coach on your university’s club team who had no idea of your ever growing distaste for the loud, and then, brown headed man, seeing as Hoseok never left your side during practices, was seen walking you home, among a few things. You were good together, good enough to beat surrounding universities, at the very least. Good enough to stay out of each other’s way, lack the communication of normal doubles teams for the most part, win in silence and easy, truly a silent but deadly duo. 

He was never openly cocky, never a keyword as his extreme humbleness seemed to further your not-so-maxed distaste for the man who’d now messily bleached his hair where bits of brown continued to poke out in reverse highlights. At least, not until you ran up against some sizable competition in the finals of the university club tennis championships, his first instinct to insert his vast knowledge in skill in place of your lack of communication while you responded with the same resistance that you always did, except now with a hint of I knew it. 

You lost and Hoseok took his slip up as a confirmation of your horrible impression you not-so-subtly had of him. You took it as a confirmation of what you’d thought all along. 

“There’s a reason we stopped.”

“A good one?”

You fumed, the water beneath your palm evaporating into steam that, quite literally, could be billowing from your ears if your cheeks heated anymore. You tried to stand, push the chair back, but it lodged against the wall and you stumbled on the leg. 

“Good enough for me.”

Namjoon muttered your name again, once soft and again an octave firmer, waiting until you stopped flailing between the rungs of metal to order again, “Sit down.”

“Your already have your answer—”

“Sit down,” He seemed disinterested as he began to carelessly shove papers back into the open flap of the folder but you knew better as he added a quieter but insistent, “Please.”

The back of your knees knocked into the metal ring around the seat of the chair and you sighed upon impact. 

“Can you do one thing for me?”

You blinked and your fingers were back to fiddling with the straw. “Depends.”

“Try,” Namjoon closed the folder once everything was tucked semi safely inside, letting his fingers fold into a neat fist on top, “Just try it. We’ll double training sessions so that you’re ready to play in that exhibition match next weekend. If it’s a disaster, I’ll pull your team. It won’t affect you next season and it won’t affect Hoseok’s singles bracket.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My undying appreciation,” Namjoon took your lack of immediate no as you folding, rising to his feet with the folder tucked to his chest, “and maybe I’ll buy you muffins for your morning sessions.”

“I have another question.”

“No, you can’t use Hoseok as a human volley target just because he’s your new partner—”

“First of all, I haven’t said yes yet—” You leaned back in your chair, water dribbling onto the front of your shirt as you brought the straw to poke between your two front teeth, “—secondly…”

“...have you asked Hoseok?”

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok’s watch clinked against the table when he placed both palms flat, shoulders tensing pre-stand, “Anything else?”

Namjoon was a bit firmer with Hoseok than he had been with you, pinning him to the spot with a glare and even you shivered when he hissed, “Sit down, Hoseok.”

The man in question let the tension sink from his shoulders all the way into his wrists, settling his cheek into one palm instead, ringed hand attached to his watched wrist pattering an off beat tune into the wood. After a second of Namjoon staring at him with a single raised eyebrow, he folded his fingers again, the sound of his jewelry rebounding off the wood making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Let me put it a little clearer—” He glanced at you, serious albeit the comical raise of both eyebrows, “—and I’m not in any way trying to hurt your feelings, but I don’t play doubles. I have the singles championship to worry about.”

“Who said you were going to win that,” You grumbled into the knuckles curled over your mouth.

Hoseok’s lips parted, hand flattening in your direction, “I never said I was going to win—” 

“Listen to me,” Namjoon exchanged a pained glance between the two of you and you could see his hair greying at the roots. 

He turned to you first, “I already know how you feel. I don’t need your input at the moment, not yet.”

Your face heated but you slumped in your chair nonetheless, trying to ignore Hoseok’s stare at the side of your face no matter the expression he had. Especially if that expression was one of sorrow or apology. 

“As for you,” The shrug of Namjoon’s shoulders into his hands he began using to help him speak was exasperated, “I’m not trying to take anything away from your training for the singles championship. If anything, this will help. The extra training sessions. The ability to play high level doubles. Everyone should have to play at this level of doubles at least once, if you ask me.” 

He jerked a thumb in your direction, “Season’s over if you choose not to play. Which is fine. I just think it’d be a waste of that position. A waste of potential grants for the facility. You know, we could use new quick start nets for the kids but—”

Hoseok groaned but there was a hint of laughter to his tone, “Oh, you’re going to guilt me with the children then, huh, Joon?”

“—but, most of all, it’d be a waste of potential,” Namjoon’s admission silenced even the annoyance brewing in the pit of your stomach, “There’s too much potential here to let an entire season’s worth of work go to waste just because of a little bad luck and two stubborn adults.”

There was an uncomfortable shifting between the two of your chairs and Namjoon took that shade of silence to continue, “Today is Saturday. You train every day twice a day with me until next Friday. We go down the street to the exhibition match. You—” Namjoon pointed the end of his pen in Hoseok’s direction, “—kick Park Jimin’s ass in the morning. Then the two of you kick whoever’s ass in the afternoon.”

“If you don’t do well, which I doubt, then we’ll call the whole thing off. Hobi can continue on to be king of the tri-state area in singles tennis and you can have your six to eight year olds back on Friday evenings,” He finished with a sigh, like he’d just rang seven consecutive laps around the perimeter of the complex, “Yes?”

There was a hesitation and it wasn’t a yes but a sure that grumbled past your lips, one that was mirrored by Hoseok when his chin met his shoulder and he spoke to the tattered shag carpet below. 

“That has to be a yes,” Namjoon pointedly glared at you, “From both of you.”

“Sure,” Hoseok waved a dismissive hand under the watchful glower of his longtime friend, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”

You saved the theatrics for glaring at your expression in your mirror. It’d be soft and unsure, just like the murmur that you spoke directly to Namjoon’s awaiting features. 

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

“Again.”

You hadn’t sweat this much since it was a fall temperature, almost winter with the whip of the wind, in an early morning clinic in high school only to be summer, extremely so, by hour two and you hadn’t brought anything else to change into and had to suffer with bulky fabric curled around the entirety of your upper half. 

You grunted into the forehand, force so much your body tumbled forward a full pace to where you’d been before. The ball sailed past Hoseok at the net, landing at a sharp angle where Namjoon sat in wait. 

“Not deep enough,” Another ball was fished from his pocket, prepared to feed to you again, “Again.”

You hadn’t been this sore since you’d forgotten your proper shoes at your apartment and hadn’t had time to go back, taking a hundred serves in low top, completely flat converse that rubbed raw blisters into each pinky toe and made your knees hate you more than ever. 

Your ball landed past the service line this time, past where Namjoon stood next to a full basket of balls. He considered it until it thumped against the back wall, rolling sadly to a stop upon impact. 

Another ball snagged in the nylon of his shorts. 

“Again.”

It was unintentional, a footwork error, the force in which you leaned into the swing of your racket just late enough to have the ball misshit, bad. If there hadn’t been a person in the way, it would have caught in the center of the net, collecting with a few others that had unfortunately met the same fate. But there was a human there, barely crouched like he should be, head hanging low with his racket poised up at his face. 

The ball smacked into Hoseok’s waist, the sound audible and the force of the ball so great it shot off in the opposite trajectory as before. 

Namjoon had barely turned to dig for more balls to fill his pockets, another again lingering on the tip of his tongue when Hoseok straightened. 

“You did that on purpose.”

He was equally covered in sweat, dirty blonde sticking in uneven pleats down the side of his headband and you’d never seen his cheeks so pale and sunken in. His tank top was pasted to the defined planes of his torso, splotches coating his back similarly and it even shone down into the rivets of his bulging calves. 

For once, “I didn’t.” Your racket drooped lazily to your side and you heaved in some much needed air, “I swear I didn’t.”

“See, I know you’re lying,” He dabbed the soaked sweatband on his wrist into his bangs, “That doesn’t just happen. Not to you.”

“But it did. It was an accident,” Your grip tightened on the sweat stained handle of your racket, “You’d know if it was on purpose.”

“Okay,” Hoseok kicked a ball, one of the ones displaced by a former shot of yours that had hit the net, “Do it correctly, then. Get it deep in that corner—”

“I know where it needs to go.”

“Then why haven’t you hit it one time yet? Forget your horrid topspin technique…”

“Who’s the coach here, Hoseok?”

There was a distinct sound of spilling tennis balls, ones from the cart Namjoon had carefully dumped over until each and every one of the hundreds of balls littered around his feet. He spoke coldly, knuckles anemic where he gripped his racket two his chest in two hands, “Don’t look at me. I’m done.”

Hoseok watched after Namjoon while you continued to stare at a droplet of sweat contouring the slope of Hoseok’s nose, your attention only diverting when your trainer paused in the doorway. 

“Come tomorrow with a better attitude or don’t come at all.”

“And pick all of that up before you leave.”

“Are you ready?”

You glanced at your bare feet shoved in some slides, loose sweatpants rolled twice at the hip and stained university hoodie where it draped over your torso underneath your key lanyard. The next glare was directed at Seokjin, propped half on the row of lockers, half on one of his crutches. 

“...to play?” 

Seokjin rolled his eyes, “No. To go watch Hoseok—”

“Why are you in here, by the way?—”

Heart shaped lips bloomed into a drooping tulip, shuffling on one crutch. “Just because you replaced me doesn’t mean I’m not still part of the team.”

“I didn’t willingly replace you—”

“Are you coming or not?”

You resisted the urge to throw your keys directly at the tiny hole in the brace supporting his knee. “Coming where—” 

Seokjin cocked an eyebrow and you smacked him with the wallet part hanging off your keys, letting him work his way through the weased laughter of amusement at himself before he finally shrugged. 

“Don’t know I guess, darling. I’m going to watch Hoseok though, so if you’d like to sit here for another five hours, then be my guest.”

You paused as Seokjin shuffled, retrieving his other crutch and settling it underneath his arm. He was one swing toward the door when you sighed, “Is he playing Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“What color hair does Jimin have?”

“Does it really matter? He has those tight shorts on—”

“Oh fuck off. I’m coming, I’m coming, slow down, you’re faster on those things then with two good knees—”

You navigated into the fairly crowded set of bleachers outside the first court of the outdoor complex, taking a seat on the first row while Seokjin tried to balance his crutches against the fence with muted squeaks of protest. He finally went for flat on the ground by the time the players on the court were nearly halfway through the match with Hoseok in a comfortable lead.

But he didn’t show it, sweat pouring out from underneath the dark blue headband that contained the flattened part of his hair, white sweatbands pressed against his face between each point, groans of effort emitting off the surface of the court every time he had to strain for a corner shot from Jimin. 

He made eye contact with you when he jogged to the fence to retrieve a loose ball, a serve way out by Jimin, tucking it into his pocket with blind eyes as he instead stared you down with parted lips. He nodded, barely, the smallest acknowledgement that shook the sweat stained ends of blonde hair, splattering more to the dark blue patches that made his shirt stick to his torso. 

Seokjin nudged you, “His hair is pink right now, I guess.”

You tried to pretend you weren’t eyeing the peak of Hoseok’s thighs where his shorts rode up on his sticky skin, spluttering, “You think that’s pink?”

“Well it’s not blue.” 

You managed to avert your gaze enough to notice that Seokjin wasn’t lying to get a rile out of you, it was pink, cotton candy in variety and fluffed in waves even if he seemed to be sweating as much if not worse than Hoseok. It was your mouth that betrayed you in the end, ranting, “Blue? Why would it be blue? Blue sucks really. Who would dye their hair blue—”

Seokjin watched the side of your face with a smirk pressed into his dimples and knuckles curled across his lips, “Maybe I should have warned you about Hoseok instead of Jimin—”

“Hey, will it hurt if I punch your scar right now?”

“Probably, why?”

“Good, turn toward me a little bit—”

You grew comfortable in your absent stare at the loop of Hoseok’s shoelaces, one through a whole tightened, repeat. They were a different pair than he’d worn in the morning, white now, with what appeared to be a strip of pastel purple shoved into a sleeve on the side of each shoe. The laces were similar, a soft hue that looked delicate in Hoseok’s nimble fingers, a woven melody that seemed to overlap Namjoon’s droning words in the back of your conscious. 

“Are either of you listening to me?”

Your grip tightened on the straps of your bag as your gaze jerked away from comfort and it was the startled part of your mouth that gave you away before you could even try to lie. 

Namjoon’s palms hit the bench he’d been perched on with renewed fervor, shaking his head as he stalked for the doorway. “I don’t even know why I try. All I ask is that you don’t kill each other out there. Otherwise, I’ll see you afterwards.”

Hoseok grunted as he straightened, joints cracking as he deliberately twisted his spine in time with hiking his foot up higher than necessary to push it off the elevation he’d been tying his shoe. 

“Don’t need him anyway, right?” He teased. 

“Since when do you not have to listen to your coaches?”

The sunshine curved upward into the apples of his cheeks immediately flattened, turning downward even as his chin curtly cocked. 

“I didn’t see you listening to him either, princess,” Hoseok heaved his bag onto his shoulders, smile returned but anything less than inviting as it had been before. 

Your features burned, “That’s not—”

“Whatever.”

You made every excuse possible to debunk that the expression on his face was not one of genuine pain. 

You didn’t stop from the firm shake of hands with each member of the opposing team to the gravel around the trunk of your car where you, rather unceremoniously, dropped your bag from your shoulders to dig around for you keys. You’d just snagged the end of them, buried underneath a couple stray balls and a shock absorber shaped like a broken heart emoji, when scuffing feet passed by you.

You wished you hadn’t look up.

“Don’t look at me,” Namjoon ordered, hands up, palms wide on either side of his shoulders. He paused next to his own car, three down from your own but he didn’t climb inside, fishing out a binder as he took off back the way he came, “Figure it out on your own.”

“In fact, there’s two of you,” Namjoon tripped when he tried to walk backward and talk to you, clutching the binder to his chest as he faltered, “Figure it out with him.” 

But you weren’t in the mood, not after the walking purple highlighter had spent the entire match scolding your technique under his breath and not bothering to communicate strategy with you once, not even when you won the first game on your serve and had them down forty love in the second game. 

It’d gone south from there. Two-six, zero-six. Not in your favor. 

You didn’t stop from the jam of your keys into the ignition, nearly reversing into a truck that was pulling out at the same time, until you navigated into a kind-of-but-not-really parking spot just on the edge of striped lines in the garage beside your building. 

You’d figured it out on your side, not needing to consult Hoseok’s opinion because you’d already come to terms with your season ending while trying to convince Seokjin you couldn’t sneak him out to the nearest Chili’s (it’ll take thirty minutes, no one will even notice I’m gone). You dumped your tennis bag and keys in the foyer, tripping over them with your phone pressed to your nose as you spit out the nasty text message to the bleeding highlighter himself. 

I think you know what I’m going to say. Best of luck for the remainder of the season. 

You left your phone face up on the counter while you disappeared into face melting steam only the rest of the hot water in your building could produce. 

A stress ordered pizza and half the pieces later, you passed by your phone with still dripping hair, droplets smearing onto the screen when you leaned over the device as it lit with a notification.  A top notification of five. Three emails, one from Namjoon and business related which meant he wasn’t going to fire you from your manager position. 

Two texts from Hoseok. 

Thank you. 

Dinner at my place tomorrow? 

Your burp tasted of pepperoni as you clutched the phone to your chest, bouncing onto your couch with a dramatic hop. One leg propped up on the coffee table. A pillow tucked underneath your elbow. 

Disinterested in the recording of a Wednesday night reality show, you tapped with one thumb busy. 

Three bubbles appeared almost immediately and you almost puked in the rush to exit out of the application because, no, you hadn’t turned on read receipts just to send him a text. 

Busy with what? 

You gasped but he couldn’t hear you. Angrily now, with two thumbs I have work at the complex to finish. 

An eye roll emoji in response. Followed by a smiling one but not the one with rosy cheeks. The one that looks slightly uncomfortable but also all-knowing. 

We’re closed on Sundays. 

I do comanage. I have keys. 

...so you’ll be over at five? 

You glared at your phone and, unfortunately, you could picture he triumphant smile filling up the entirety of your screen. The smallest part of your seasoned conscious said there he goes, cocky again. Your fingers worked before that thought fully traveled to the angel on your left shoulder, the devil on your right controlling your joints as you tapped on your phone. 

What’s your address? 

You tossed your phone aside as the next message lit up your phone immediately. The address. You acknowledged the text so you wouldn’t have to get the second notification, pulling your knees to your chest instead. 

There was a second text because of course there was. A heart emoticon, this time with the blushing cheeks. And three tiny hearts. You sighed and you didn’t know why your singular heart fluttered a bit against your ribs. 

Your knuckles had barely tapped against the door for a third time when Hoseok’s sharp voice flit through the sizable gap underneath the door, spilling light into the dim hallway. Shadows danced by the white, small, rounded at the end with little points. 

The points explained the sound of scuffling from within, Hoseok’s cooing explained when the door was pulled open from the inside to him crouched on the floor, palm curved around the breast of a brown and white shitzhu. The dog didn’t bark, but it was clear he wanted to get to you, feet absently swimming underneath him as Hoseok rose with him in toe, eyeing the tongue that curled out of the puppy’s mouth with a tender fondness you’d never seen before. 

“Hi,” Hoseok bounced the dog once in his arms. “Mickey was excited for you to get here.”

Frozen steps brought you through the threshold, fingers reaching gently for the dog. He seemed to melt under your touch, letting you rub behind and up and down his ears. It was unintentional the way you glanced up at Hoseok, through your eyelashes and with a smile tucked into your cheeks. 

You weren’t surprised to see that his wardrobe wasn’t any less when outside of the confining lines of the tennis court. A baggy button up tucked into the waist of tight black jeans, sleeves hanging past his elbows and decked in brightly colored shapes pasted above and below vertical black lines stretched the length of the top. A bright gold watch strapped to his dainty wrist. What appeared to be clip-on matching earrings suffocating his lobes. A thin chain dipping below the first two buttons that were undone. His blonde hair was fluffier when not carefully parted with a sweatband, swept in a flattering bowl across his forehead, more of the brown roots tucked behind his ears. 

Even his smile was different, crawling upward in pretty pink lips the longer you failed to break eye contact with him at the close proximity. 

You broke the trance by speaking way too loud for the door still being open and for that part of your conscious seeming to forget that this man was your mortal enemy. 

“Mickey, huh?”

Hoseok hummed in acknowledgement, wordlessly passing the dog to your arms as he reached around you to tug the door shut. You awed at the tiny creature as he tongued at the apex of your elbow, gently and almost methodical in nature before beaded brown eyes peered up at you. 

“He keeps me company.”

You’d been too busy prodding at the dog’s nose to laugh when his tongue darted out to try to chase your affections to notice that Hoseok had already disappeared into the depths of the apartment. You exchanged a glance with the puppy, bundling him tighter to your chest as you trekked down the hall. 

Hallway was a relative term, just a few feet of walls on either side before the room opened up into a kitchen, living room combination. Something played on the television, muted, but a program you didn’t recognize nonetheless, curved in by a thick black throw rug and a tattered, red leather couch. Dark grey walls paired with a monochromatic interior theme didn’t match the ratty white linoleum peeking out from corners of various colored rugs. 

You were entranced in the most mundane aspects of the apartment, focused on a worn edge of matte black countertop when Hoseok’s gentle voice chided at you. 

“You can put him down, you know.”

The dog hadn’t so much as made a noise in your aimless wandering and when you glanced down, you found his muzzle resting on your forearm, eyes fluttering with soft sighs. You cooed, gently rocking him as though he were a child. “But he’s napping.”

Plates knocked together as Hoseok spread them two across the bar, diligent in his work with cocked eyebrows and the beginnings of a smile. “He’s always napping,” He dove for the pots on the stove, a pronged utensil dipping into the depths before drawing out a stringy clump of pasta. The meal was deposited onto the first plate and he murmured, “Better not bring you around too much, he won’t want to walk anywhere.”

You relented when Mickey woke with a soft yawn, jostled by your conversation and the continued sound of dishes. He skidded across the floor with the softest delighted yip!, disappearing around the corner and you could tell by the way Hoseok chirped and glanced down that he was pestering his owner for attention now instead. 

“I didn’t even ask,” Hoseok continued to plate the dishes, now spreading a sweet smelling sauce to the top, “Is spaghetti alright with you?”

You hummed, elbows knocking into the edge of the counter to peer at his creation. You lessened the severity of your tone in hopes that he would recognize you were kidding, “A gourmet meal…”

“Hey—” The glint in the wrinkles around his eyes let you know he too was kidding and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, “—it’s all I had here on such short notice.”

“You asked me to come. In fact, you didn’t give me much of a chance to say no…”

“I wanted you to be here,” His final dollop of sauce ended up half on the plate, half splattered on the counter, and he slid the clean plate across to you before ducking for a napkin. The mess was cleaned with scrunched features, a sigh falling from parted lips when he balled the paper and missed the trash bin on the very edge. 

You watched Hoseok quietly from your perched position on one of two barstools as he collected his own plate, silverware in hand as he rounded the bar to you. “I think we have some things to talk through—” He tugged the empty chair back with the round of his foot, depositing the cutlery to the surface of the counter as he went, “—don’t you?”

“Without Namjoon?”

He shot you a pointed look, stabbing the end of his fork into the center of his pasta spiral, “Definitely without Namjoon.”

You quietly cut into the ends of the noodles, scooping up a sizeable bite, “Yesterday was clearly a disaster.”

“It wasn’t that bad. The score doesn’t always tell the whole story,” There was a fleck of garlic stuck to the corner of pouted lips when he glanced at you, “A little more practice can fix our chemistry issues.”

“Can it though?” You dumped the pieces of pasta you’d cut back to the plate, gently setting your fork down, “I don’t know that any amount of practice can make us like each other. Or even pretend—”

“Do you dislike me?”

“No,” You answered quickly and earnestly because you didn’t. For the most part. Not really. “I mean...no. No, I don’t.”

Hoseok nodded, quickly at first and then slower, more to himself as he began to stab around the pasta some more. Moving it back and forth, coating the clean parts of the plate in sticky red sauce and then finally he mumbled, “Good...that’s—that’s good to know.”

 “Truthfully, I don’t know why it ever got to this point. Where we can’t even collaborate for a few days on the thing we both love.”

More pointed clicking of metal against glass. A noisy slurp of water from a plastic cup. More scooting and then, “Why can’t we though?”

“You saw how yesterday went. How all our training sessions have gone—”

“Forget about those,” He dropped his fork now too, rotating until his knees almost knocked into yours, “Seriously, forget about them.”

Hoseok inhaled, a deep sigh that had his gaze trailing over your head, “...look, I don’t know what you think about me. I try not to care. But let’s just...for the sake of right now, start over?”

A mental slideshow passed by in front of your eyes as you stared at the genuine plea pasted over Hoseok’s heart shaped features, all the moments your stomach had stirred with a fire and your tongue had lashed out those internal hardships but you suddenly couldn’t find the ignition, the accelerant that made the flames engulf your nerve endings to the very tips of your fingers non existent, smoking like doused with water (or store bought, jar made spaghetti sauce). A mirage, maybe, just like the limp noodle lodged between one of your back molars.

You extended your hand toward the figure across from you. 

“Yeah, let’s start over—” You sucked in a sharp breath, setting your shoulders and the smile that spread to your lips was supposed to be faux but turned out light hearted anyway. You cheered your name, tilting your head toward your wiggling fingers, “—it’s a pleasure to be your doubles partner for an eighth of the season, sir.”

He touched your hand, loose in sliding his fingers across your palm to squeeze, not shake. His voice feathered out of twitching lips just like the stumble of your heart, wholy unsure but willing to try. 

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“No Namjoon?”

Seokjin was off his crutches now but still sporting what appeared to be the world’s largest brace, coated in metal gears that made you joke if he was starting his transition to immortality. He met you in the doorway of the locker room, holding a hand out for your water jug. You handed it over, expecting him to carry it for you as you brushed past but he flicked the lid and took the longest gulp, mashing a piece of ice between his teeth as he handed it back. 

“No,” You popped the lid closed, smacking his bicep with the knowledge he couldn’t catch up to you if you took off running, “No, no Namjoon today. He’s here but not...here. Not trying to coach us yet.”

“Not after what happened last time,” Hoseok was fiddling with the velcro strap of a visor as he exited the opposite door. He sported the same light purple color scheme, something about reversing the bad luck of the exhibition match. 

You’d changed up your outfit, just in case omens were real and the tennis gods hated red. Yellow was your color choice. You weren’t brave enough to match him yet, either. 

He looked up when he secured it, jamming the hat down over his hair, eliminating the signature part that marked his quick dashes across the court. The bright smile stayed as he flanked your small posse, nudging you with the arm covered in two sweatbands and a skin colored arm sleeve. 

“Are you two...like friends now?”

Seokjin’s loud inquiry heated your cheeks but Hoseok just shrugged, still looking at where his elbow had touched your stomach. “Partners, at the very least,” Hoseok provided, “Doubles partners. Ones who work together and don’t try to concuss each other with serves.”

Your mouth parted to deny that I’ve never done that but Seokin quipped, “Oh, she’s tried to do that to you for ages. It was one of her training strategies with me—”

“Where’s your off switch, Mr. Robot.”

“Don’t have one. Anyway, best of luck!”

When there was a sailing lob over Hoseok’s head, you were eager to call out to switch!, worn traction on the soles of your shoes allowing you to slide to catch the shot, lobbing it back cross court while Hoseok lay in wait at the net, seeking out the easy put away shot at the net that would eventually and did eventually come. 

When there was an opportunity to play strategy on his serve, you did, each starting on the left side the second point into the game, allowing Hoseok to serve a hard, down the line ball to the opponent's backhand which, in turn, set you up for a sneaky and easy floater that you crammed in the center of the two players. 

When there was a changeover in the first set, five games to love in your favor, your hand was there for Hoseok’s to smack, a high five he taunted a little bit above your head while you tried to balance your water bottle in one palm and seek out his hand in the other. It earned a smile when you spilled ice water down the front of your top and he had to hand you a hand towel from his bag while the opposing team watched impatiently from their positions.

When there was an opportunity in the second set for the opposing team to get a breakpoint, make it three to four rather than five to two, Namjoon called you over to the fence with only a sliver of the feeling of dread lingering in his posture. He eyed the pair of you as you approached, Hoseok shoved lightly on your arm as you went to plant but instead of an outraged screech from you, it just earned another push and a fit of mingling giggles, ones Namjoon nearly went into cardiac arrest over and he never thought he’d have to tell you and Jung Hoseok to stop laughing at each other so that he could speak. 

There were still moments of tension, moments that made you inhale and dig your fingernails into the grip of your racket but instead of muttering obscenities under your breath and using his head as target practice for your spin serve, you smiled, real and genuine, and you leaned closer to his fiery explanations spoken as a similarly smiley octave, “What was it you wanted me to do?”

They were easy to navigate in the first round of the tournament, take you through the lunch of cold cut sandwiches Seokjin had laid out on a picnic table for you, the second round that drew a little bit closer in score but was still a win (both statistically and morally, especially when Namjoon walked you out to the court with instruction rather than hid in the safety of his car until it seemed like you wouldn’t try to slash Hosoek’s achilles with the frame of your racket). The third round brought more of the past to rear its ugly head, a dark storm cloud that reminded you in rain and miscommunication at the net that you were a human, not a miracle worker. 

But you won, barely, in a tiebreaker that nearly killed your stamina for the championship but the taste to win was so fresh on the roof of your mouth, you grit your teeth to grind it up and swallow it. Second best wasn’t good enough, even if it would qualify you for the regional champions, if you were already qualified. 

But you lost and you had to accept the bitter regurgitation of the victory you could taste, washing it away with your lukewarm water that had melted all the ice cubes onto your tongue throughout your fourth and final match of the day. Except it was just that, a learning experience, bitter but available to all the critiques Namjoon chattered in your ears as you trekked into the parking lot. You didn’t speed away, nearly destroy your ignition with your keys this time, instead leaned against your driver side door while Hoseok coaxed your bag from your shoulders and stuffed it into your trunk with your keys in his hand. 

Namjoon’s fleeting expression at the action was the same when you entered the complex for a training session not nearly a week later, both from Hoseok’s car, your bag slung over one of his shoulders while you held up what appeared to be a strawberry smoothie for him to sip out of. The startled trainer explained the wrong drill four times and resorted to letting you do the wrong thing on the fifth try as he went about collecting barely there balls in a hopper while muttering to himself. 

Thus is why you didn’t think the hotel conseguir was kidding when she handed you two keycards while asking, “Are you checking in for Jung Hoseok as well?”

“Oh, no. Why would I—”

“You’re each listed under this room,” Her grip tightened on the plastic cards when you pinched them, trying to pull them back, “Is that incorrect?”

Someone in the growing line behind you coughed and the quick glance behind you noted that his t-shirt advertised some sort of local tennis tournament. Similarly to the person approaching the desk in the opposite line from you with a spare racket tucked under their arm, one that must have spilled from the half open bag slopped at their ankles. 

“I...no, that’s—”

“That’s how it was booked,” She continued to tug on the cards, freeing them from your grasp to flatten them on the desk in front of you as she began to click around on the monitor, “...and it appears we have no other rooms for the weekend, so—”

“Yes, I’m checking in for Jung Hoseok as well. He’s with me—” She glanced up at you through a stray hair that had escaped from behind her ear and you panicked, “—I didn’t know he booked it under his...other name.”

“Right…” A receipt printed with various pieces of information, one of which blurred the majority of the tennis club’s credit card number, a card held in Namjoon’s name. “Third floor, room forty. Enjoy your stay.”

You called Namjoon in the elevator, ranting at him before the dead spot could end as you stepped off on the third floor. 

“Why’d you book us the same room?”

He yawned into the receiver and you briefly felt bad for waking him from his pre-connecting-flight-nap. Briefly. “Me and you?”

“No dumba—” You stopped yourself to fumble and jam one of the keycards into the slot of room forty, waiting until it clicked over. “—no, Namjoon. Hoseok and I.”

The edge of one of your rackets misplaced inside your bag, catching on the doorframe as you stumbled inside to find the worst part of the singular room. The singular bed.

“You couldn’t even book a room with two full beds?”

“I booked two rooms with one queen bed each.”

“No, you booked one room with a king bed—” You dropped the handle of your suitcase to swat at the towel folded like a swan at the edge of the bed. 

“Well at least it’s a king.”

“Namjoon.” 

“Did you just...ask for another room?”

“They’re booked for the weekend. Kind of a large tennis tournament going on at the attached event center. And some cooking ware convention, but I didn’t take the guy’s brochure…”

“...speaking of which, are you sure you booked yourself a room? Or did you just book the entire club one singular room—” You swatted the swan again to take a seat on the corner, “—because if so, we’re about to get real comfy for the weekend.”

“I’ll call here in a second but if they only mentioned you and Hoseok’s names in the room...then I think it’s just the two of you, love.”

You groaned to which Namjoon sighed, “Just try for me, okay?”

“I just tried to be his doubles partner, not—”

“And look where that got you,” You paused because Namjoon was right. You were a better team than either of you cared to admit. Than you cared to admit to yourself. And all it took was trying, sincerely, applying your passion for the game to the partnership with someone you would no longer regard as you mortal enemy. 

Just your roommate for two days, apparently. 

“...anyway, I need you to call Hoseok and explain what’s going on. That’s a phone call I don’t have time to make.”

“Namjoon—”

“Have a good night!”

You glared at your thumb for it’s seasoned ability to move to Hoseok’s contact but especially the ability to hit call and place it on speaker. 

“Was just about to text you,” He sounded far away, out of breath, and faintly you heard the call of a boarding flight. “Just landed. Meeting my driver to the hotel now.”

“Room three-forty.”

“Do you want me to make a pit stop at a grocery store or something? Get some fruit and waters—wait what?” 

“Room three-forty,” You repeated, glaring at the opposite wall to prevent yourself from calling Hoseok a dumbass out loud until you noticed in your reflection of the flat screen television that you still had your backpack on, “That’s where you’re staying.”

“...okay,” You heard him utter a thank you and then a door shut, “Are we neighbors or something?”

“Mhm, I suppose you could call it that.”

More silence. More muffled directions, and then he sighed, “Did Namjoon book us the same room?”

“Were you in on it?”

“So that’s a yes but, w-what? No, I—” Hoseok laughed and under normal circumstances you’d fume, “—sweetheart, he joked about it in practice like twenty times. He probably joked about it so many times that he did it without thinking.”

You paused and one of the twenty instances flooded back, when Namjoon had entered the complex to you leaned back in your desk chair while Hoseok wrapped new purple grip onto the handle of your racket. 

“Maybe I should just book you the same room for the championships,” His voice had faded as he ducked into his own office, “Wouldn’t that be a treat!”

You’d snatched your racket back from Hoseok not without jamming the end into his stomach playfully. “Maybe you should not do that!”

“Oh,” You switched the phone between your palms as you finally shrugged out of your backpack, letting it sag limply against the neatly stacked pillows, “Oh yeah.”

“So do you want those snacks?”

“If you get something other than fruit.”

“Noted, you want junk food,” You could hear the smile in his voice, “Any other requests?”

You flopped backward onto the mattress, forearm over your eyes and you sighed into the immediate heat that spread across your skin. 

“Yeah, hurry up. I’m lonely.”

“Just one bed too, huh?”

Hoseok rubbed at his eyes, skin coated in a thin sheen underneath the lowlights of the room where he’d just lathered two layers of a fresh smelling skin cream. A loose pajama shirt hung cockeyed over his torso and he fiddled with the top button, not done up in the same way the two below it weren’t either, knee bending to sink into the spot on the mattress across from you. 

“Yeah,” You rolled where you’d already cocooned yourself in the duvet. You pitched your voice to match Namjoon’s, exaggerated and drawn out, “but at least it’s a king.” 

He hesitated in peeling back the sheets, waiting until you glanced curiously at him to soften, “Is this...okay?”

“What?”

“I can sleep on the floor,” The bracelets still attached to his wrist tinkled together as he gestured to the lumps on lumps of white sprawled across the massive bed, “I think there’s enough here to make some decent padding—”

“And give you stiff joints before the first two rounds tomorrow?” You rolled your eyes, patting the space next to you, “Get in here. Namjoon was partially right. This is a massive king bed.”

Hoseok was hesitant in the entrance albeit confident in the way he sprawled, nearly intruding on what you’d deemed “your side” with a vertical pillow that prevented you from seeing his face when he finally settled his cheek to his hand. But you could tell he was facing you from the slide of his foot underneath the sheets and you held your breath that it wouldn’t brush the bend of your knees until something else drew your attention, a hand slapping over the pillow in the middle and gently pushing it down until you could see shower fresh blonde hair and crinkled brown irises. 

“There you are,” His voice trilled at the end of the last syllable and you tucked the blankets tighter to you as if they would shield the sound of your heart in your ears. 

Lamely, muffled by the blankets you nodded, “I’m here!”

His smile shifted to where his fingers drummed against the pillow still placed between you. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, first round shouldn’t be too difficult but either opponent we’d face in the second round will be the real challenge. They’re both from different complexes in the north that are known for being pretty competitive so...I heard Namjoon say you got one of the best draws in your singles bracket though so that’s—”

“Yeah,” Hoseok’s fingers stopped their movements on the pillow, “I mean, like are you...are you actually, you know, ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, still avoiding your gaze and his fingernails went to picking at loose fibers in the pillowcase, “I know you wanted to get back to this spot with Seokjin. And instead it’s with me, so I can understand why you wouldn’t…”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“You know I never…” Hoseok’s wandering eyes stared directly at you now, dark and dilated and shining with the city lights that sheared through the curtains, “I’ve never hated you. I want you to know that.”

“...and I never wanted you to hate me. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not but I will apologize for whatever I’ve done to give you this horrible impression of me.”

You burned with a sickening realization that only grew worse the longer he talked to the sheets. 

“You intrigued me, so I thought, you know, you were an obstacle to conquer, especially when it seemed like you vehemently hated me. And then I realized you did actually not like me, and I wasn’t really sure what to do.”

“Remember the day Seokjin got hurt?”

You didn’t trust your numb chords to vocalize so you swallowed and nodded.

“You asked me if I’d done it. If I’d sabotaged you for virtually no reason,” He blinked, eyes closed for a little longer than necessary and your breath felt heavy in your lungs, “I could live with you thinking I’m a little cocky because sometimes, I am. I’m confident in my abilities and I won’t apologize for that.”

“But for you to think I’d purposely injure your doubles partner, injure someone else so you...what? Couldn’t share the notoriety of winning a championship like I had? I began to, you know, question it.”

“And I thought it was all in my head, that maybe it was just a fit of passion that made you ask me that, and everything would continue per normal. Less than friendly insults. You using the image of my face as serve target practice.” 

“After that first exhibition match is when I kind of knew that it wasn’t in my head, you know,” Hoseok shrugged, sadly again and the last bit of your heart crumbled, “I wanted to fix it. Because I never wanted you to hate me. I’ve always admired you too much for that.”

You shed the pillow barrier to scoot closer, rushing, “I was jealous of you, you know that? I always have been. It’s ridiculous. Sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am. So sorry.”

He laughed and you touched his face to lessen it, scooting another space closer. “I know you were. It’s okay.”

“It’s not though, I shouldn’t have been. I had no reason to be other than my stupid petty personal vendettas,” Your palm fully cupped his cheek, thumbing at the passion induced liquid that had leaked underneath that set of eyelashes, “I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I’m not exactly innocent.”

“No, but I’m not going to play a game of who's the bigger asshole,” You didn’t startle when he touched your hand, holding onto the cling of his gaze, “I’m sorry for this giant misunderstand. I am.”

“A years upon years long misunderstanding.”

You laughed, soft and dry on a tiny cough that racked through your body. “Yeah...that.”

“I’m sorry. Too,” Hoseok’s hand threaded underneath your own, holding up a hopeful pinky and the remaining tears glittered at his irises, “Truce?”

You linked your pinkies, letting him tug you close enough to ghost his lips to your forehead. 

“Truce.”

You woke with his limbs tangled around your torso, lips in your hair telling you to stay asleep as he sleepily shuffled for his suitcase still laying limply at the edge of the bed. But you didn’t listen, you alarm going off after he’d disappeared into the shower with his uniform in hand, bright yellow this time and matching of yours with the team name scrawled across the front. You were happy it said Game, Set, Match Tennis HQ instead of Namjoon’s proposed Namjoon’s Ball Kids. 

(“We’re the same age.” “You’re still my kid.” “No.”) 

“Did I wake you?” He hushed into the room as if you weren’t half dressed with the room light on. 

“I’m coming with you?”

“Why? Our call time for warm up isn’t until at least after one o’clock and—”

“I’m coming to watch you—” You paused with an arm half in a sweatshirt and you pumped it cheesily, “—you know. Cheer you on.”

“Ah,” He fluffed deft fingers into partially damp hair, sweatband twirled around his arm, “My good luck charm?”

You were enough luck for him to finish in plenty of time for you to get a nap in before your first round draw. Enough luck for you to catch dinner with an arriving Seokjin just before your second round match. Enough luck for you to go two and O on the day while Hoseok belted four wins between his two positions. 

Not enough luck for the matching trophy to the one cased in glass at the complex, instead earning Hoseok a third place plaque on the second day that he displayed in the center of your hotel room bed. 

“Would rather win with you, anyway,” He muttered into your ear before the championship, popping out one of your earbuds mid calf stretch. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his lips brushed down your neck as he pulled away into his own stretch, shrugging bulky headphones back across his head. 

Frustration pricked early at your conscious, Hoseok’s quip not under his breath but directly to your face while you sucked down water on a changeover, informing you to fix your grip on the backhands and seal the line on the deuce side of the net. It was the flex of his palm toward the fire in your eyes that quieted you though, the silent assurance that he was just trying to help and he didn’t so much as flinch when you pointed out the forehand player on the opposing team was eating him alive at the net. He just shrugged, holding his racket up for you to click together and agreed. 

“You’re right. I’ll play double back for a game.”

He played double back while you switched to a flat shot on your backhand and you won the game, tying the first set at three-three until you won on your serve from a similar strategy of capitalizing on Hoseok’s quickness at the baseline, giving you the opportunity to charge for putaways. 

It was a communicated strategy that you tweaked between games but otherwise allowed you to sail through the first set with only one more dropped game, six-four, and two games into the second set until your grip started to drift again, sending three backhands in a row sailing out of bounds. 

“C’mon now,” A simple enough encouragement, spoken at a slightly irritated tone that forced Hoseok’s next shot to sail into the center of the net. 

You cut in front of him on the third shot of the next game, ball meeting a similar feat where the net and the ground met and Hoseok threw up his hands in frustration. Namjoon spoke freely now, a single yell from the side that said settle down and although it was meant for both of you, you took it personally and fumbled through two double faults on your next serve opportunity, putting you down two-three. 

“I don’t care if you win or lose, frankly,” Namjoon said when you met him at the fence, “but we will not play a third set.”

Hoseok didn’t wait until Namjoon shuffled away to his spot on the bleachers to chide, “Let me get the next few shots. Stop trying to cheat at the net.”

...which led you to cheat at the net four more times, only two of which were successful. Five-three, Hoseok’s serve, his reluctance of fine, go for it when you’d gone up four-three and a simple nod when you’d tossed him the extra balls for the beginning of his serve for, potentially, the entire match. 

You let him get the fifteen point, then the thirty point. They fumbled his serve on the forty point. 

It was an all or nothing shot up the line, fired at an angle and you knew it was coming from the way your opponent set up with open feet, an audible grunt ringing down the other courts as the ball raced off the strings. It was down the line, a beautiful shot in any other circumstance, and your reflexes forgot your years of training, footwork, drills. 

Instead, you stood up and stuck your racket out. 

The ball caught the corner of your frame, barely brushing the worn and tattered black edges, applying just enough spin to fall in over the net, dying upon impact and winning. 

Six-four, six-three, championship. 

You turned, dropping your racket as you spread your arms and through a loud, unabashed laugh did you call, “I thought you told me to stop going for them?”

A steady pair of arms engulfed your waist, lifting your feet from the ground and you lost count of how many circles you’d actually spun but you tallied at least seven when your heels were planted back to the court and a warm pair of lips pressed between the seam of your own. 

“We won!” You cheered into Hoseok’s face and he just blinked happily, smile permanent, each of you shocked to the previous kiss but not to the next when you threaded tight fingers into the sweat stained blonde, effectively knocking his headband off to where it bounced between the connection of your mouths. 

“Told you I would rather win with you.”

You hummed, kissing his chin, “Saving it for me?”

You shivered with the way he nosed down your cheek, “Always, sweetheart.”

There was an audible pout in Seokjin’s voice even when you weren’t looking at him. 

“What about me?” 

Hoseok chuckled from where he was craned behind you to inspect the trophy, palm rubbing gentle circles into the small of your back. “Don’t worry, buddy. I prefer singles, anyway.”

“...but not when our doubles champion here is single, yeah?” You finally glanced up at Seokjin as he traded a curled fist between you and Hoseok’s stomach. “Yeah? Yeah!?”

“Oh come on. You don’t think the entire audience didn’t see that kiss?”

“Get out of here, Jin.”

“Pinky promise not to ditch me next season.”

“I pinky promise.”

“You have to do the thing.”

You held up a limp pinky just to sate him but he clucked his tongue. “No. The thing.” 

Hoseok’s hand stiffened on your spine as he watched you wet your smallest finger, lathing your tongue over it for good measure before sticking it out for Seokjin. The older man popped his from his cheek, twisting your fingers together before scampering off. Or at least, you thought. 

“Does anyone want to go drinking tonight? My treat!”

“For the record, he’s right,” Hoseok brushed hair off your neck to press soft lips there, “I’d prefer you not be single.”

“Oh, yeah?��� You hugged the trophy to your chest to turn to him, “And what would you prefer I be?”

“Mine.”

Your lips rounded into a perfect circle, one droning syllable leaving as you reached up to pat his cheek, “See, that kind of cocky is attractive.”

“M’not cocky,” There was a pout to Hoseok’s heart shaped mouth but a seriousness behind his statement that made you heat with more than sunburn. 

“You’re not at all,” You turned in the slot of his arm, stretching to peck his jaw. “I would prefer to be yours, too. If it’s any consolation.”

He pretended to think, shadows falling over one side of his face as the sun began to set and reflect off the gold plated award clutched in your arms. 

“Want to try it?” Hoseok grinned finally, dropping his chin to look at you, “Just see how it goes?”

You placed the trophy aside, down on the bottom row of bleacher closest to you to wrap both arms around his neck. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #hoseok imagines #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok scenario #hoseok scenarios #fic: game set love

[wavesmp3]

let’s make a trade: the sun for the stars; platonic jihoon x reader artist!jihoon, nude model!reader (so warning: mentions of nudity) wc. 2.1k

a/n: this fic is just a complete mess of a piece, absolutely no plot and was meant to be part text fic, just mainly a lot of random dialogue that came to me at 2 am tbh, also basically an ‘i’ll give you the sun’ fanfic because i love jandy nelson’s writing a/n 2: really read at your own risk, this isn’t even a fic this is like a half-baked outline at best

— 

Jihoon thinks there’s something profoundly odd with nude art. What’s the purpose of nude drawings and painting and sculptures anyways? He knows of course what he’s been told the purpose is, in fact the instructor is rattling on about the purpose of nude drawings right now. It’s to capture the emotion, the stress, the lines, and the contours that would normally be hidden behind layers and layers of polyester and cotton clothes. It’s to capture beauty; take the fascination humans have with each other and mark them down forever. It’s to showcase the skill of the artist. Of course, today, with the nude model in the center of the classroom, the exercise is meant to bring out the latter purpose. But jihoon thinks there’s something more to drawing someone nude. There’s a vulnerability in it. It’s a vulnerable place for you, the model to be in. Because it’s more than just being naked. It’s subjecting yourself to be picked apart, piece by piece. It’s letting yourself be seen by a million different lenses. It’s letting the artists convey the little things, like the way you sit, or the way your bones come together, or how you have that one vein in your neck and forehead that sticks out a little more than the others. It’s putting on display the birthmark in between your collarbone and shoulder, the tattoo under the curve of your hip and the other one on your wrist. Jihoon knows he’s supposed to draw you as you’re seen, work from the inside out, bone blood then skin. But then why is it that he takes his pencil and sketches your vulnerability. (Portrait: The Naked Model Wearing Vulnerability As Clothes). 

—

“Smoking kills,” Jihoon scowls exiting from the art building a little earlier than normal, “you know that right?” 

You squint up at him. Sitting on the doorstep of the classroom and taking an extra long drag. Just in spite. 

“Yeah,” you mumble, driving the cigarette straight to the earth's core, “I know.” You stomp your foot against the bud, and the entire world shakes a little when you do. You stand up and look at Jihoon. You look angry. You didn’t hold this emotion in between your brows before. Maybe it’s new. Or maybe you’re just good at hiding it. Jihoon isn’t good at that. He wears his emotions on his sleeve and in his knees.

You exhale, rolling your eyes. “Is class over then?” You ask pointing towards the closed double doors. 

He shakes his head. “No, I got kicked out.” 

“For what?” You chuckle, but it comes out like a scoff. 

Jihoon shrugs. “Not completing the assignment.” 

You suck in your bottom lip. “Let’s see it then.” He blinks at you. You nod towards the sketch book he has tucked under his arm. Jihoon mutters a silent ‘oh’ before opening the book and flipping to the page where he drew you. You take it from him wordlessly. 

He supposes he should be scared by this. But he isn’t. It feels more like returning a favor. Because now he’s the one in a vulnerable position. But you take a long time to look at the drawing. You take years to dissect each line and shading. You burn over every inch of paper until the entire book is bursting into flames in your hands. He lets you take your time. You look up at him, something indescribable in your eyes. Something like fear or awe or wonder. You look at him like you would running into an ex-friend. Jihoon feels more than just vulnerable now. He feels like you’ve ripped behind his skin straight to the muscle and bones. (Portrait: A Bundle Of Muscles In The Outline of Person). He feels naked. He wants to feel no more. 

“So—“ 

You shush him immediately. Accidentally silencing the entire world. And after another lifetime of you staring at the one page, the one singular drawing, you’re finally done. 

“It’s really good.” You breathe. Jihoon senses a but. “But it isn’t me.” 

He says it plainly. “It’s a version of you to me.” (Portrait: The Way You See Yourself Looking In A Mirror; The Way He Sees You Looking Out). “Don’t most models leave after the modeling?” 

“I’m waiting for my boyfriend.” You hand him back the sketchbook. “Well, see you around I guess.” You turn back towards the double doors of the art building. And right before you’re swallowed whole by the red brick and air conditioning, you lift up your hand in a silent goodbye without looking back. And you do it in an almost cocky manner as if you know he’s watching you go. In your defense, he is. 

—

The next time he sees you is in the same class later that week. Apparently, nude sketching is a week long lesson. Your pose is a little different this time. Hands covering certain parts, head turned away. Today, the instructor wants them to focus on conveying emotion through the body alone, no face. He does as he’s told. He draws you as you are, as others would see. He draws something that won’t get him kicked out of class. And on the next page, he draws you the way he wants. Something more abstract. Focusing on the strain in your neck and arch in your back. He highlights the insecurities you’ve dropped by your feet and creates a shadow around the confidence you wear around your head. 

 —

[unknown number, 17:12]: hey it’s the nude model [unknown number, 17:12]: lol that’s probably not a normal greeting [unknown number, 17:13]: but anyways, this might be weird but I was kinda wondering if i could see what you drew in class today, you didn’t get kicked out so im curious. [unknown number, 17:15]: oh alos i got your number from mingyu lol hope thats not creepy [unknown number, 17:15]: *also

[jihoon, 22:37]: oh mingyu is your bf, yeah i’ve heard about you [jihoon, 22:38]: i can’t say it’s not creepy but here [jihoon, 22:40]: image.0315

[you, 23:04]: only good things i hope, also i can see why you didn’t get kicked out this time it’s nice [you, 23:04]: but [you, 23:04]: from what i can tell, it doesn’t really seem like your style

[jihoon, 23:54]: image.0316 

[you, 23:57]: yeah that’s more like it

—

The third time he sees you is at the end of the semester party. In truth, Jihoon is partly avoiding you. You text him a lot. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t getting mildly annoying. 

He’s talking to Jeonghan and Soonyoung when a tipsy you and an even tipsier Mingyu make your way over to the couch and fall into the cushions. And something about the way you look at each other as if you’re kissing with your eyes. Something about the way you whisper something in his ear and he laughs. Something about the way he whispers something back, taking your hand in his and playing absentmindedly with your fingers. Makes Jihoon think that the two of you are so caught up with each other. Too focused on swallowing each other whole. That the walls could fall and the sky could come bursting into the room and neither of you would bat an eye. 

(Portrait: You And Mingyu Tearing Down The Walls And The Clouds)

Jihoon’s taking out his sketchbook and a pencil before he realizes it himself. 

—

“Hey let’s play a game,” you say while you and Jihoon are waiting for the movie to start playing in the movie theater. “where we each claim pieces of the universe for ourselves.” 

(Portrait: You And Jihoon Each Holding Half The Universe In Your Palms) 

“Sure.” Jihoon waits a moment, thinking which part of the universe he’d like to claim first. “I call the stars.” 

“Fuck,” you whisper into the popcorn, “I want the stars.” 

“You snooze you loose.” 

“It’s my game.” 

“Okay and?” 

You roll your eyes dramatically. “Anyways I call the sun.”

Jihoon: “Moon.” 

You: “Earth.” 

He takes a sip of his cola. “And everything in it?” 

“No just the planet.” 

“Okay… I call the other planets.” 

“That’s a lot at once but I’ll let it slide as long as I get to have Pluto.” 

Jihoon shakes his head in a laugh. “Plutos barely a planet but yeah, go crazy.”

“Bet. And next…” you tap on your chin in thought, “next I want the asteroid belt.” 

“I want the Hubble Telescope.” 

You squint at him. “You’re weird.” 

“Says the one who just called the asteroid belt.” 

You press a finger to your lips. “The movies about to start.” 

—

[you, 9:23]: btw I call all bodies of water [jihoon, 9:32]: that is such a catch all [you, 9:33]: hey you can have rain [jihoon, 9:33]: bruh [jihoon, 9:33]: fine i’ll take rain but i call mountains too [you, 9:34]: i want flowers [jihoon, 9:34]: i want trees and beyonce [you, 9:35]: no way you can’t call ppl [jihoon, 9:35]: so you can call ALL bodies of water but i can’t call beyonce [you, 9:35]: my game my rules [jihoon, 9:36]: it was worth a try [you, 9:38]: oh i got a good one [you, 9:39]: i call music [jihoon, 9:40]: N O [you, 9:40]: we can stop here for today [jihoon, 9:41]: this game is so biased [jihoon, 9:41]: I WANT MUSICCC!!!!!! [you, 9:41]: whine about it more and i’ll call art too [jihoon, 941]: icallarticallarticallart [you, 9:41]: ur welcome [jihoon, 9:42]: u suck

—

“Hey,” you greet coming into jihoon’s apartment, with a frantic text about needing to escape for a bit. Luckily, you explain so jihoon doesn’t have to ask. “We broke up. Mingyu and I.”

“Oh.” 

You shake your head. “It’s fine though. Really.” (Portrait: You and a Lie Detector Flashing Red)

Jihoon opens and closes his mouth trying to figure out the best way to comfort you without coddling you. He settles for, “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

You inhale sharply. “No. Not really.” You sit on his couch and turn on the tv. After a moment, jihoon joins you. 

And it’s 20 minutes into whatever program you’ve chosen to watch that Jihoon finally knows what to say. “Hey,” he whispers, you turn your head towards him, “you wanted the stars right?” you raise a single eyebrow. “Take them.” 

“Really?” you say suspicious. 

“Yeah,” he nods, then with a smile adds, “but it’s gonna cost you.” you roll your eyes knowingly. “I want the sun.” 

You purse your lips in thought. Then after a minute, agree. And so a trade is made: the sun for the stars. 

—

[a/n: undeveloped bit of dialogue that would have gone somewhere] Reader: Are we about to kiss Jihoon: What ew no Reader: Ew? I mean I agree but ew? That’s harsh Jihoon: don’t make it personal Reader: Okay you know I have a bf right Jihoon: Oh my god I’m not into you Reader: Not even a little bit Jihoon: No Reader: Not even like last two people on earth into me Jihoon: No Reader: Ouch Jihoon: You’re the one who asked Reader: Still hurts to hear

—

[a/n: for context before this reader was supposed to give jihoon music] “Do you know how to play?” you ask, fingers ghosting the keys of the piano in jihoon’s apartment. 

“Of course. Why would I have one if I didn't?”

You shrug. “Play me something.” 

He sits down on the bench and plays a tune he memorized years ago. One that starts happy and shifts key into something almost unrecognizable. Not sad, not angry, but a fireball of emotions. Or at least, that’s how Jihoon’s old teacher described the piece.

“Hey, jihoon,” you say as he holds out on the last note of the song. 

“Yeah”

“I’m glad I gave you music.” 

“Oh,” he says, voice turning mischievous, “me too.” He starts playing a new song. 

“Is that-” you sit up slightly “Is that the Wii theme music?” Jihoon hums along. “I take it back.”

—

#unfinished wip #mine #wip.svt

[roseamongroses]

W.A.L: “Eden and Goliath” (8)

Summary:It wasn’t a matter of whether or not they were worthy.It was a matter of who wanted it more. And now they were firmly on the wrong side of history. A history of unfathomable powers and all-knowing immortals, ancient forests and beasts, and a Stranger who wanted to challenge it all.

Vibes/ Tags:time is irrelevent, homophobia who?, magic and beasts, demigods

Warnings: Imprisonment, Mentions of execution, Blood/ injuries,  Mentions of past Death, repression, cursing,

Characters: Deceit(Eden) Sanders, Remy Sanders, Logan Sanders, Virgil Sanders, Patton Sanders, Roman Sanders, Emile Picani

Ship: Roceit

1) (2)   (3)  (4) (5)

(6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11)

---

Roman pressed his face into Eden’s back, greedy, sleep vaguely escaping him. 

There was talking in the next room.  

He sniffed, annoyed as the voices got louder, most likely an argument, before they stopped all at once. All of which sucked because he didn’t even get a chance to eavesdrop, but Roman couldn’t find it in him to care. Too warm, too tired, not his problem. 

When he resurfaced he grasped the blankets beside him, feeling them empty. 

“Ede...” He blinked, dread washing over him. His eyes snapping wide as he only saw Dot, she stood watching him, her mouth thin, like something made her sick. 

 “Where is he?” Roman demanded, the ground waking with a jolt. 

Dot’s expression got steely as the earth shook,  “Don’t.” She said simply, “Not unless you want this whole mountain falling on your head. Eden’s fine, He’s just starting his training…” she explained, “You however...are with me. Apparently you don’t like the Stranger that much, huh?”

“He’s a council member, of course I don’t like him,” Roman grumbled, wrapping himself in the shawl, “And I certainly don’t like him being alone with Eden.” 

“Understandable...but, the Stranger’s...different, though,” Dot said, “He cares. I’m not sure what he cares about, but he cares.” she waved, her face blossoming  all at once. Her smile was a bit too wide, but not entirely plastic,  “Anyway I’m here to help you.”

“With what?”

“Don’t play coy, Sanders,” She said, serious, “A little birdie told me everything you touch turns to ash. You’re overworking yourself.  If you continue using your magic like that, you’ll end up killing yourself before the curse does.” 

Roman closed his eyes, “I know.”  

He’d long since accepted it.

---

At first glance, the pitt was empty.

 It wasn’t a deep pitt, it’s walls were climbable, not particularly jagged, and it was clearly empty. This assumption can also be applied to the Stranger’s head, seeing as he presented said empty pitt with a flourish, as if it was a death sentence.  

The rules were relatively simple. 

 No attempting to kill it. (What “it” was Eden had no clue.)

 No attempting to escape the pitt before time is up. (Eden was given five hours.)

No more baseless assumptions. (Sure.) 

The Stranger  promised that they would work on conditioning, but now the Stranger needed test drive Eden’s magic to see what type they will be working on. The Stranger apparently had an idea of the type, but he didn’t seem inclined to share. 

So Eden was dropped in an empty pitt, tired, cold, and vaguely pissed off. 

---

Thirty minutes have passed and Eden can confirm that pitt was not in fact empty. It was incredibly not empty and whatever was fucking in it was relentless. 

Every time Eden’s dress had caught the light, the creature was on him, it's hot breath tearing after Eden in a soundless rage. Every time Eden shuddered, the tell-tell crunching of gravell followed. Fun times. 

As if to further emphasis this point, the creature slammed into Eden’s back. Scales rippled down his spine as he stumbled and ate stone. 

Blood filled his mouth, heady. He scrambled up, the haunting sizzle of the creatures acid filled his nose. He assessed the situation. He assessed he was going to fucking die-- 

He inhaled sharply, wiping his mouth. 

Those thoughts won’t help anyone. 

He clearly wasn’t meant to take the hits the entire time. While his scales were okay in regards to protecting his actual skin, after the fifth or so time being slammed into the ground Eden doubts that’s their main use.

 His eyes darted, watching the gravel crunch  as the monster started slinking towards him again. Great, so he just had to figure out their primary use and hope it’s enough to stop this madness. Fantastic. 

This is fine. He needed to think. It isn’t combative, but defensive. The Stranger obviously thinks it would be useful in this situation where the creature mainly uses sight to track prey. 

So Eden didn’t need to worry about covering up his smell or being quiet, he needed to….

Disappear. 

---

 “I hate it,” Roman glared holes into the dirt in front of him, pushing it away.

Dot made a confused-esq chittering sound, peering over his shoulder, “Darling, this is the easiest possible thing you learn,” she said, waving her hand over the dirt--- drooping blooms sprouting and shriveling  all within a moment, “You should’ve learned this as a kid.”

“I wasn’t exactly the smartest.” Roman crossed his arms. He always ended up killing them or taking so long that the instructor or Remus did it for him out of pity. 

Dot looked at him considering, “This doesn’t mean you’re not smart.” she said without hesitation, “You  have a strong amount of persuasion over the earth. Too much, in-fact.” she said, pushing the dirt pile in front of him again, “You need practice.”

“We’ll be here forever,” Roman groaned. 

Dot was unbothered, tapping the pile again, “I still have to make your medicines, so we have time.” she said, her doe eyes making him feel exposed, but willing. 

So Roman tried again.

 And again, and again, and again. 

---

 Eden was cornered. 

 His scales covered every inch of himself, but he couldn’t manage to let himself disappear. No, he knew he could. In fact he was painfully aware of how easily he could make himself disappear. The memory was so strong, it was intrinsic. As if he could feel his mom guiding his hands, telling him how to slip away, how to hold his tongue, how to not get--

It wasn’t anything he’s done before, physically. 

But he knew he could do it. 

He really didn’t want to, it felt like he was crossing a line, accepting--

It was absurd. He could die or worse, the Stranger would drop training all together. Drop him back in that little village. But Eden felt like he was already there. He could feel their stares on him, wanting him to just die already. Swinging their lanterns, screaming their curses, their accusations. His “family” in line to watch the bloodbath, not a prayer on their lips. 

All he could think of was his first memory of his mother begging his “family” to take her in, to treat her like nothing.  As if their scraps were salvation. 

Eden spat the blood from his mouth. 

He spat on the memories, he spat on their scraps. 

He wanted more. 

He needed to focus, the creature was looming over him, saliva stinging his face. The Stranger nowhere in sight. He needed to not fucking die and he certainly didn’t want the Stranger’s pity.  He needed to Disappear, disappear, disappear, dissap--

He looked up, the shadow of the beast retreating to it’s cave. 

Eden looked at himself and saw nothing. 

---

“You seem to be overthinking the technical parts and while they’re necessary, they’re not everything. Your connection with the Goddess is everything and that isn’t a diagram you can replicate,  ”  Dot’s advice echoed, “Try and focus on a memory or an emotion. Anything to make it personal.” 

“I am focusing on a memory,” Roman grumbled, dirt crumpling into ash again. 

“A positive memory, dear.” Dot scolded, “If not that try a positive emotion. You’re sensitive, so the bond is sensitive. It won’t make any sense to be callous---gentle, darling, gentle…” 

-

Roman was coaxing a thin stem to grow, when he heard footsteps and the sharp grumbling of “Put me down-- I can walk myself you--.” in the home. 

He spun around, “Eden!” he beamed, as he ran to meet him. 

Eden resembled every definition of agitated and from the looks of it, he had every right to. His dress was melted at the edges, gouges littering his skin where his scales didn’t, and half of  his hair was hanging in damaged threads as if it had been hastily cut or, rather, burned to ear length. 

“How did it go..?’ Roman asked, not quite sure what to fret over first. 

Eden was on the verge of snarling at this point, “What do you think you--” his sharp face, softened. Eyes lost somewhere past Roman. 

Roman glanced over his shoulder.

Oh.

There was Dot of course, her smug face sliding right into horrified once she got a good look at Eden. And the room… the room was alive in every sense of the word. Petals drifting from the ceiling in a cascade of colors and the struggling plant from earlier was bursting from it’s pot,  petals a wide, ivory dripping with gold.

“Beautiful…” Eden was breathless.

 Some petals drifting into Eden’s hair among the charred pieces and he plucked them up with a smile. It was a small smile. A smile someone gives when they have nothing else to give. A smile someone gives between whispers, or slides into the palm of your hand when no one else was looking. 

It was barely there, but for Roman it meant the world. 

#Roceit #Roman Sanders #Deceit Sanders #sanders sides #ts sides #ts roman #ts deceit #ts roceit #Sanders sides fanfiction #fanfiction #Winners Among the Losing

[katiekitty261]

Extraordinary//Young!Michael Langdon x Fem!Reader

Request- Could you write a young Michael fic where the reader comforts him while he’s learning how to use his powers and her just being so proud of him 24/7 and encouraging him and it’s really fluffy like y’all are THAT couple bc I’m sorry young Michael’s vulnerable ass gets soooo attached to the people he loves and if he can tell you’re genuine? He’s yours for life and that the tea. 

____________________________ 

This is literally the sweetest thing I've ever written. 

Warnings- f l u f f 

Word Count- 2500+ 

“We don’t typically allow women here…” one of the leaders spoke, staring at me uncomfortably.

“Michael refuses to stay unless she is allowed to stay with him…” the instructor who brought me here said.

I stood next to Michael gripping the sleeve of his suit jacket. He smiled at me softly.

“So be it. She can stay, as long as she stays by his side. I don’t trust any of these boys around here…”

“Wonderful. Let me show you guys to your room. Now, because of these… special circumstances, you are staying in a private room. We can’t have the others left alone with a girl. Much too vulnerable.”

I bit my lip, I had to admit I was nervous. When Michael came to my door I was surprised to see him. He was my neighbor, he had always been the quiet and reserved type. I was infatuated with him though, the way his blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, his smile he let slip occasionally.

We became friends quickly, we usually stayed outside together, taking walks or lounging on the porch. He was shy at first, but he blossomed like a rose once he felt comfortable around me.

It made my heart soar, I always knew there was something special about Michael, and it made me happy he felt comfortable around me.

I definitely had a little crush on him. Ok, maybe more than a little crush. But who could blame me? Usually, he came to see me in the evenings, Ms. Mead, who I came to know as his adoptive mother was cautious around me at first. Protective of him. Once she got to know me, and she knew my intentions were genuine she happily let Michael see me.

The night I realized I was in love with Michael, we were watching the sunset. Laying in the grass in my backyard I was on my side facing Michael, he was on his back.

“(Y/N),” he asked turning to face me.

“Mhm?” I said, enjoying the way his hair fell around his face, his hair was one of my favorite features on him.

“Do you… care about me?”

I was taken aback by his question. He was never this forward with me.

“Of course Michael. Why? Do you think I don’t care about you?”

“No it’s not that…” he said softly. He gently raised his hand to my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I could feel my face heat up as his fingers gently grazed my skin.

“Then what is it?”

Michael sat up, facing away from me. I sat up too, placing a hand gently on his shoulder.

“What is it, Michael?” I asked again, I heard him sigh. He was clenching his fists again.

He turned to me and before I knew it he placed his hand on my face and pulled me into a kiss.

I was shocked at first. Michael was kissing me. Like, actually kissing me. He pulled away much quicker than I would’ve liked.

“I-I’m sorry I shouldn’t have done that…” he said awkwardly, his eyes searching my face as I stared at him.

I shook my head and smiled, finding my bravery and kissing him again. This time, I closed my eyes and felt the softness of his velvet lips on mine. He kissed me gently at first, before wholeheartedly embracing me, wrapping his arms around me, I did the same, my fingers laced in his hair, feeling the softness of the waves I had dreamt about running my fingers through. My heart was beating fast in my chest, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything except the feeling of him against me. He held me tightly, kissing me like his life depended on it.

By the time he finally pulled away, the sun had completely set in the sky.

I gently touched my lips, swollen from the intensity of his kiss. He smiled at me broadly. His eyes crinkled at the edges in an endearing way.

“(Y/N),” he said as he took my hands in his. Sitting on his knees In front of me.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

I had never felt as happy as I did then at that moment. I excitedly wrapped my arms around his neck and he fell backward into the grass, with me practically on top of him.

“I love you too Michael… I love you so much…” I could feel tears start to form in my eyes at my confession. I hadn’t realized it until now, but I had been in love with him the entire time I’d known him.

There was always something about Michael Langdon that drew me in. He was like a drug that I never wanted to stop taking. A high I felt every minute we spent together. I could’ve died at this moment and been okay with it.

Michael wrapped himself around me again, holding me tightly to his chest.

“I’m never letting you go (Y/N)...”

_________________

It had been over a week since I had last seen or heard from Michael. It was making me feel increasingly nervous as the days went on. I knocked on his door, but no one answered. I was initially worried he had changed his mind about me, but I brushed that thought off. Michael had a habit of getting himself into trouble, and he would never tell me about it. It worried me, but I wasn’t going to pry in his business.

The most intimate thing I knew that he didn’t really tell me about was his mother's particular religion. I didn’t really care. Who am I to judge? But Michael wasn’t happy when I found out, but he seemed relieved in a way. It didn’t change how I saw him, he was still Michael Langdon to me. The beautiful boy from next door.

And then one day, he showed up.

I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when I opened the front door to see him standing there.

He was wearing a suit, with a satin bow tied around his neck. His hair was styled instead of his usually messy curls. it took my breath away.

Then I noticed the cut on his cheek, healing but still noticeable.

“Michael are you ok?” I asked as I looked up At him with worry, I went to touch his face but he grabbed my hand. He held it in his for a moment.

“I’m the best I’ve ever been.”

I didn’t believe Michael when he told me He was some sort of wizard or something. A warlock, he called himself.

“Trust me.” He said as he took my hand and lead me to the car.

“Where are we going?” I pulled him to a stop. “A school. They’re going to teach me to use my power…” he said like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“I don’t understand Michael. What do you mean?” I was utterly confused at this point.

He smiled at me affectionately as he took my hands in his.

“Look,” he spoke softly, gesturing to the front door. It swung open like a gust of wind had blown it open, and then my bag literally floated out of the door.

“What the fuck,” I said dumbfounded, he waved his hand again, making the bag float it’s way over to our side.

“You’re already packed, let’s go. I’m not leaving without you.” he began to usher me into the car.

I was speechless, my brain trying to find a solution to what Michael just did, but I blanked.

“Trust me (Y/N), you’ll figure it out soon enough.” He slid into the back seat next to me. taking my hand in his, he kissed my forehead. It was comforting. I felt all the anxiety I had built up inside me while he was gone melt away with his touch.

“I trust you…” I said softly, eyeing the man in the front seat driving. He was stoic but seemed friendly enough.

“Don’t worry Ms. (Y/L/N),” he spoke up, “No harm will come to you and Mr. Langdon. He has an extraordinary gift, and we want to help him learn and expand his abilities.”

________

“This will be your room.” He led us into a wide open space, a queen sized bed sat in the middle of the room. Not much else decorated the room except a desk, dresser, and a fireplace that wasn’t lit.

“It’s a little dark,” I said laughing a little. The instructor smiled at me and waved his hand. The fireplace burst into flame. Michael and I both looked at each other, I was more surprised than he was.

“That was cool! Can I try?” Michael said excitedly. I wasn’t used to him being so enthusiastic about something, except maybe breakfast. The Instructor smiled at him and made the same gesture. This time extinguished the flame.

“Concentrate on what you want to happen Michael.” He spoke, Michael let go of my hand and looked at me reassuringly.

Michael stepped away from me, taking a focusing breath, before stretching his hand toward the fireplace, within a second it burst into flame again.

“Impressive-” The instructor started to say, but Michael wasn’t finished. He waved his hand again and the flames turned from their orange hue to a brilliant pink.

‘Wow…” I stared in shock, Michael smiled at me triumphantly.

“You show a lot of promise Michael. I know you will do great here. Dinner for everyone is at 6. Ms. (Y/N), If anyone bothers you please let one of the heads know. They will be punished accordingly.” He said as he left the room, shutting the heavy door behind him.

“Michael I really can’t believe all this… I mean, I knew you were special… but wow.”  I said as a gazed into the flickering pink flames.

Michael smiled at me again, I had never seen him smile so much and it was making my heart happy.

“I’m glad you are with me.” He said softly, I nodded.

I walked up to his side and gently caressed his cheek where the cut was.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” I asked again, he shook his head.

“I’m sure you’ll hear someone say something about it…” He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed, pulling me down next to him.

“It’s ok, you can tell me anything.”

Michael explained to me what happened that day in the grocery store. How the butcher rudely insulted his mother, and how he couldn’t control his anger. He told me, again and again, he didn’t know what he was doing, and it just happened so fast. I should’ve felt shocked, scared even. Michael had admitted that he had killed someone.

I just didn’t.

“He was a dick anyways,” I said, Michael looked up at me and laughed. A tear streaked down his cheek.

He pulled me into a kiss again. I gently wiped his tears away as I kissed him, resting my other hand on his chest as he kissed me, slowly picking up the pace. He bit my bottom lip gently, sending my brain into a frenzy.

We continued to kiss like this for several minutes, I could feel myself losing my grip on reality as his placed soft kisses on my neck, the sensitive skin tingling with his touch. He brought his lips up to my ear, before whispering “I missed you,” In a voice that made me melt.

I was shaking by the time he stopped kissing me, my breathing ragged and my heart pounding. Michael smirked at my appearance.

“No one is allowed to touch you except me.” He said in a serious tone, I nodded.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, you’re the only one I want Michael."  

_______________________________________________________

After a few weeks, Michael was surpassing everyone. Even people who had been here many months more than him. He was becoming a man I greatly admired, his confidence had grown tenfold and his personality showed it. He went from the timid Michael that I knew most of the time to a much more confident, almost cocky Michael. He strode around the school, confidence in every step he took.

It was actually very sexy.

It was becoming increasingly harder for me to keep my hands off him, especially at night when we were alone. Sleeping in the same bed with him was becoming a monumental task of personal willpower.

I wasn’t really experienced in the realm of sex, and I wasn’t sure about Michael. I wasn’t going to make a move on him until he did. He didn’t exactly make it easy for me. The other night he changed in front of me, making sure he watched my eyes as he unbuttoned his shirt agonizingly slow. I could've sworn my nose was bleeding by the end of it. He laughed. That didn’t help either.

I usually followed him to all his classes, per the instructor's rules. Leaving Michaels side wasn’t recommended. I knew why, too. Some of the boys here where downright gross. Everyone that even looked at me wrong got a glare from Michael if they were lucky. The unlucky ones tended to get more than they bargained for.

After more than one incident of boys mysteriously flying across the room and hitting a wall, the others stopped messing around.

One thing I had learned about Michael during our time here, was that he loved to show off. If someone did something, he always made a point to do it better. I was constantly impressed by him.

On the rare occasion that he had trouble, I was always by his side. A soothing touch always brought him peace.

Some of the guys didn’t go after me. Some of them went after Michael. It was entertaining most of the time. Like the time a boy was sitting next to me while Michael was doing something with one of the instructors, he whispered in my ear.

“Damn girl… I can’t believe you get that all to yourself.”

I burst out laughing in the quiet room. Michael quirked an eyebrow at me and smiled to himself. I knew without a doubt he had heard, he always listened to what was going on around me.

“I don’t know either,” I responded honestly.  Michael was definitely a man no one could resist.

Other times, It was a little less entertaining. No one was stupid enough to touch him but they definitely undressed him with their eyes on many occasions. I know Michael noticed too, his eyes would find mine in the room and he’d give me a knowing look.

I was jealous too, everyone here was talented. I wished I had been special too. I was bland if I compared myself to anyone else here. I felt insecure about it. I worried I wasn’t good enough for him. I knew female witches existed, but I had never met one. I didn’t express my thoughts to Michael about myself, but he always made a point to reassure me. He whispered that he loved me every moment he could, left marks on my skin that showed everyone I belonged to him.

“You guys are disgustingly sweet.” One of the boys said one morning during breakfast. I was resting my head on Michael, his arm was wrapped around me protectively.  

“I’ve got to keep what’s mine.” He smiled down at me and placed a quick kiss on my lips.

Multiple groans rang out from the table, and I laughed.

“If you had someone like this you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands off them either,” I said, a few nodded in agreement.

“Live your best life girl.” The same guy from before said, this time making Michael laugh.

It was my favorite sound to hear. I was infatuated, Michael was becoming the person he was always meant to be. I got to be by his side, and for that, I was eternally grateful for.

__________________________ 

I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED THIS!!!!! 

I am actually very proud of this. Let me know if you like a part 2 (just kidding I'm definitely writing a part 2 and that baby is gonna be smut) 

Like, reblog and comment as your heart desires. 

Tags-  

@disa @18394920 @Awkwardly-sophisticated @precious-bands-love

@madhatterweasley @sweatycolorbasketballeggs @frenchzodiacgirl

@moonagecordelia @kuro212 @crybabycth

If it didn’t let me tag you I died inside. (Ask if you want to be tagged for future fics) 

#michael langdon x reader #young!michael Langdon #michael langdon #ahs #ahs apocalypse #cody fern