#anyways. our last weekend without a competition is this very weekend

[talkorsomething]

Too [insert adjective here] for guard ...................

Well, it's only half related.

We "hit a pothole", "had a slipup", whatever you want to call it — sunday. Aka: for the sake of my sanity we are not labeling it a relapse but good god does it feel as though I have invited the demons back in.

I know why, but I don't really know why. Because, I mean... I never have, to begin with. So: when I decided i was doing it sunday, i accepted it. "Let it happen", as someone would probably say to me. It's not...

I've been thinking about it for a while now. It's like anything - it comes and goes, a few times a year, and no matter what, I always ignore it.

Except, maybe there's something I'm not paying attention to? Or, ignoring, is the better word for it?

Of course it would be the one thing I have happening in my life.

November, I was burnt out for unrelated reasons. It was a lot to take in. That made sense. Now? ... why now?

There's not really any pressure on me. Yes, I have to do things, yes, it will be noticed if they're bad, but ...... it's not important. We don't spend time on it. I'm coming back next year, but it might be at the cost of ... all of this. I think it's progress. I haven't touched my guitar in any serious capacity in over a year. I think it's progress.

I don't take compliments well. I can't tell if that's why I don't get them, but I'm not being corrected much either. Only when I drift too far from what the work is supposed to be, only after weeks of it going, I can only assume, unnoticed. I keep getting stuck.

...push it back down.

Telling me I'm doing good isn't telling me what I know I have to be getting wrong. I could take it, at the cost of... all of this. I'm anticipating, and I know it can come. This is not where I was when I started.

It's been said, I haven't been told, that not starting it means you're more of a burden, by making the other person have to do it first. I know that. I do. And still it doesn't help. I'm not drowning. It wasn't an accident, but it wasn't planned, either. I don't know you.

I don't know you.

I'm not a good person. I'm not a nice person. Every week I tell myself this is really it, and every week I come back, and ... what? Forget I ever said anything? Forget we're not friends?

Well, we're not, huh? Nobody is, with me. What you see I swear you misunderstand. You don't ask. If you do, well, I can't answer. We're at an impasse.

It's not even my fault we didn't make it. I shouldn't feel like this over nothing. I don't do anything. You will, correctly, not let me do anything, because potential doesn't matter if you can't back it up. If you won't back it up. I let things happen to me.

I don't even feel better. And, actually, ironically, i think i know what would let me feel better. If I can't be upset with anyone else, at least I can be with myself.

... but, well, not even that. Your heart in my hands, but I mean it diegetically. And metaphorically. I hate putting myself out there, I hate having to actually perform, and yet every time, no matter what, I do it. I'm fine. I only cared at the start, and even then not very.

I don't feel anything. Not a lot, anyways. I don't let it happen. I can't. I don't know what it'll mean if I start being honest with myself.

...

I've pulled myself out of this before. A few times, now. Different circumstances, but I've done it all the same. Seasonal depression notwithstanding.

I'm only here because I did things I was scared to. And still, I'm the same. No progress made. The only way out is to do it again but I feel like I can't. I can't.

Will someone just let me say that?

Will someone just fucking help for once?

#sh tw #(implied - i know i didnt actually say it in the post but yes i did c** myself sunday) #100% секретный дневник левы НЕ ЧИТАЙ #im cursed with being a bit too self aware so #i think its compounded by my nepotism hire ... not letting me do my nepotism hire things #(for legal reasons i cannot say) #and then to add to that not letting me do anything I probably COULD actually do given slightly more instruction (at guard) #its just ... im a very angry person actually . except right now thats because im not EATING RIGHT EITHER #BECAUSE ALL OF MY PROBLEMS ARE COMBINING INTO ONE BIG INTERCONNECTED PROBLEM #back to my point. #guard instructors decided that for my first year i will not do anything cool because i'm not able to learn in about 2 seconds flat #[read: get very upset very quickly when i get things wrong and then . cant do them because im trying not to have a breakdown over] #[something REALLY STUPID like NOT BEING ABLE TO DO A SIMPLE TURN WHILE MOVING WITH THE FLAG] #so like okay. i get it okay. i'm not good at this. could you at least TELL ME i suck so i can feel justified about feeling bad about it. #could you just fucking tell me this isn't a guard where you can show up with no experience. could you do me a real solid and tell me that. #i dont know maybe the real sign it wasnt for me was when i was seriously considering not turning up for the second 'audition' #really i just hate how much he yells at us. not even at ME because i do so little there is no room to fuck it up. just at everyone else . #it doesn't motivate me to come back but i NEED 'friends' so bad and i love performing so now i just get anxious enough that i cant eat .. #.. before going to rehearsal. which is stupid. because i've done it a million times before. #...... #i'm just.... everyone says he isn't actually that bad. & he used to be worse. so it really is just me. #it's just me being oversensitive. because i've never had any REAL experience in ... just about anything #so; yes. it IS on me how I feel and obviously how I react. and I keep pushing it down because it's stupid; really; to still feel this way. #anyways. our last weekend without a competition is this very weekend #so you'll never guess who's having a REALLY FUCKING HARD TIME trying to practice #i'm like this close to going to bed early and without having done the dance warmup for the third day in a row. #лёва there is no TIME why are you STILL NOT PRACTICING for the love of god get it together #(oh also when i say 'friends' in quotes it is because i desparately want to believe we're friends but they dont even talk to me really) #(and because im not even IN most of the show theres not much to bond over. literally like i have everything down Decent enough (apparently) #so theres not even any 'i will help u with this toss' team bonding. no shared moment of we are all out of breath because i DONT DO ANYTHING

[mayajadewrites]

Suguru Geto x Reader: Never Say Never

Hi!! Geto is my favorite JJK character, so I knew I had to create a fanfic for him since I rarely see any! This is geto x reader, but I will be using first person instead of saying "you" constantly. This series will have smut.

This is a modern Suguru Geto AU!

Summary: Reader and Geto have been basically raised together. They've been enemies, frenemies, friends, and now roommates. Has there been a connection all this time that both of them have ignored? What are they willing to do to prove this connection wrong?

ao3 link

Suguru Geto has been my sworn enemy since I was in diapers. We were born about 2 months apart, and our families never let us forget. His parents and mine are very close, like close enough for us to spend holidays together.

Suguru has always been a source of not only competition, but annoyance. He was always making fun of me or pushing me down the slide when our parents weren't looking. While he has gotten older, that doesn't mean he's matured. We fight every day, some say like a married couple. I would not want to be caught dead in a marriage with Suguru Geto.

Now, in our final year of college, I can say that Suguru has grown A BIT. We still hang out constantly, but we also have other friends that balance us out. Gojo, Shoko, and Nanami.

The 5 of us rent out a house together so we can stay near campus and have cheap rent. This also meant complete chaos almost every weekend, courtesy of Satoru Gojo.

"Knock, knock." Geto burst my door open, without actually knocking.

"You know you're supposed to knock on the door before you enter, not say it." I lift my eyes from my book. "What is it?"

"What book are you reading?" Suguru leaned against my doorframe, his tall stature taking up most of the space.

"Suguru I swear, what the hell do you want?"

"I just came in here to say..... you're late to your last class. By like, 30 minutes."

I grabbed my phone and gasped, glaring at Suguru. "You waited until NOW to tell me?!"

"I didn't know it was my responsibility to get you to class on time."

"You knew I was reading, and when I read -"

"You get immersed into the world within the words. I know." Suguru shook his head. "It's one day. I'm sure your professor will be fine with it."

"Who am I? Gojo? I can't sweet talk my way out of things. Speaking of, where is that white haired rodent?"

"I think he's hosting a woman in his room."

The house was mapped out with my room and Geto's room on the first floor, while Gojo, Nanami, and Shoko have their rooms upstairs.

I'm used to sharing almost everything with Suguru, so a bathroom was nothing. The only thing that sucked was hearing girls moans from his room when he decided to bring them home from a night out.

"I'll send my professor an email saying I felt sick. Next time, please get me out of my reading trance if I'm late."

"You got it." Suguru winked, turning on his heel and walking out of my room.

🧦☕🧸🧺🪵

"Shoko, do we have to go out?" I whine, brushing my hair.

"It's Gojo's birthday. We have to. He's gonna drag us out against our will anyways."

I scoff, finishing the curls in my hair. Gojo always goes all out for his birthdays, obviously this year is no different. He reserved a table at a club with his favorite bottles. As his roommates, we're obligated to go.

I ran my fingers over my black ribbed midi dress, accentuating my every curve.

"Your ass looks fat as hell." Shoko smiled, smacking it lightly. "Someones trying to bring a guy home tonight."

"If I bring anyone home, it'll be when no one is here. I hear enough from Suguru and Satoru." I tie my heels up my shins, kicking them up to show Shoko. "The only man in this house that's respectful is Nanami."

"Kento keeps to himself, that's why. He doesn't like hookups, he wants a wife."

"Smart man." I finish my look with my favorite pair of gold earrings, twirling my body. "How do I look?"

"Like any man is gonna want a piece of you." Shoko smiled, flattening her dress. She's sporting a tight, short, green dress with chunky heels.

"Ladiessssssssss." Satoru sang. "It's time to go. The Gojo train is exiting the building."

"Coming!" I grab Shoko's hand and leave my room. The boys are gathered in the living room, Satoru obviously looking the most... well, Satoru. Nanami is wearing a grey suit with a patterned tie, his undercut freshly done. Suguru is wearing a plain black suit with his hair tied up in a bun, but a couple of pieces of hair are in his face.

"Damn." Gojo whistled at Shoko and I. "You ladies clean up real nice."

"Tone it down birthday boy." I roll my eyes, grabbing my purse from the counter. "This happens once a year, so we do this for you."

"I'm eternally grateful." Gojo bowed, his glasses at the bridge of his nose, exposing his piercing blue eyes.

I couldn't help but notice Suguru's eyes glued on me. He's a man of few words, but his body tells a whole story. His eyes followed every curve, mesmerized by the movement.

I'm blaming it on the fact that I never wear dresses like this.

"You ladies do look beautiful." Nanami said, pressing his hands to our shoulders.

"Thank you, Kento." I look to Suguru, who looks like he's fresh out of words for the day.

Nanami ordered the Uber, so it was outside as we all were ready. The Uber was on the same type of time we were - playing club music and lifting our spirits more.

Suguru and I were in the back, per usual. Satoru always wanted to have the front seat, Nanami and Shoko got car sick, so we were stuck with the worst seats.

"Hey," Suguru looked at me with his chocolate colored eyes. "I didn't want to say this in front of Gojo, but you look beautiful."

"Are pigs flying? Is hell freezing over?" I look around, acting like the world is falling.

"That's the last time I compliment you." Geto shook his head, glancing at the window.

We hit a pot hole and my body flys into Suguru's, my tits pressed against his chest.

"Sorry!" The driver said with a toothy smile. "They need to fix these roads."

"Of course you don't have your seatbelt on." Suguru rolled his eyes, but didn't push me off of him.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were the seatbelt police." I pulled the seatbelt over my chest. "Won't happen again, sir." I salute, while Geto sucks his teeth.

🧦☕🧸🧺🪵

The club's music is blaring, so much so that I can barely hear a word anyone is saying. Gojo knows everybody, so he's mingling and celebrating his birthday his favorite way - by having other people celebrate him.

I'm sipping on my rum and pineapple, swaying my hips to the music next to Shoko. Geto and Nanami are close by, observing the crowd. Both of them are quiet and like to enjoy the environment since their social batteries are always running low.

"Come on boys, let's dance!" Shoko grabbed Nanami and Geto's hands, bringing them to the dance floor. "You too!" Shoko called my name.

Against my will, I followed Shoko. I'm not the best dancer but I'm not standing by myself at Gojo's table.

Shoko loves to dance, so she's in her element. Nanami dances like an old man - but it's cute at the same time.

Geto sticks by your side, not sure of what to do. He usually follows what Gojo does, since everything Gojo does is 100x more embarrassing than anything he could do.

I start to move my hips to the rhythm of the music when I feel a pair of hands on my waist. The hands are strong and come with a strong fragrance of cologne.

"That dress looks delicious on you." The man whispered in your ear. "My name is Toji."

I told him my name, taking in his features. He's rather muscular with long black hair that covers some of his face.

I put my hand on the back of his neck, pulling him toward me gently. "Do you always grab random women?" I say in his ear.

"Only the ones that look like you." Toji whispered in my ear, earning a smile from me.

I could feel Suguru's eyes burning a hole into my skin.

#geto suguru #jjk suguru #suguru #getou suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #suguru geto smut #gojo satoru #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #nanami kento #jjk nanami #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #toji fushiguro

[alexbkrieger13]

Full artcle

I couldn't hold back my tears.

I don't know if it's age, but I seem to get more emotional in these situations.

It's difficult to put into words what I felt when I jumped onto the ice at the Verdun Auditorium on January 13 for our team's home opener.

The crowd was incredible, but it was more than just the ovation that put me in this state. This emotion represented years of effort. I dreamed of this moment for a long time and, finally, we were there.

When I saw great women like Caroline Ouellette, France St-Louis, Kim St-Pierre and Danielle Goyette arrive on the ice, I got chills. I was so happy that people recognized them and gave them the ovation they deserve. Without them, I would not have had the same career.

I'll be honest. At one point, I feared this moment would never come. It took longer than expected. Yes, there were these showcases , weekends where matches were organized in different cities, but it had nothing to do with a real professional league.

JI remember the first time I came to see the installations in Verdun with Danièle Sauvageau. There was almost nothing done. We had our work boots and construction helmets. She had a vision which she explained to me in detail. But I really had a hard time imagining it.

Marie-Philip Poulin greets the crowd after a Montreal team match.

PHOTO: LPHF MONTREAL/ARIANNE BERGERON

Our fans are the best. Friends who play on other teams told me that. It's not a crowd like any other in Montreal. She is noisy. She is invested. It's important to me to give back to people who are on the move. I am now more comfortable in this role. It’s the experience that comes in, you have to believe.

Before a live interview on Radio-Canada during an intermission at the Verdun Auditorium, a boy called me to offer me a treat. He threw one at me and I caught it in midair with my mouth. I started my interview anyway, with a smile on my face and my mouth full. It's part of my identity, my personality. Interaction with young people is really important to me.

The enthusiasm for our league is very real. I feel it. I hear it too. In Ottawa, I got booed when I went for a penalty shot. Being booed at home, in Canada, I admit that it's a first! It's weird, but it doesn't bother me. After all, that's what we wanted: a competitive league, rivalries and fans who identify with their city.

After a game in Minnesota, we went for a beer. Fathers came to see us to tell us how excited they were to see professional women's hockey. I saw how happy they were for us. It was in Minnesota, we are the team from Montreal and, despite everything, we attract attention.

This anecdote made me realize how our situation has nothing to do with what we experienced in the past. The enthusiasm is there and I have the impression that it is not just the effect of novelty. It will last and it's truly magical.

OHe talks to me a lot about this match last January 20, against Toronto . In fact, I'm mostly told about this goal scored with 17 seconds left in the third period and that we lost by one goal. Honestly, I don't know what happened. I had a blackout . It's rare that I take the puck and try to get to the goal on my own. I saw an opening. It was not premeditated. I was the first surprise when I scored.

Then, I was sent to shootouts four times by my coach. I obviously wasn't ready for that. It took me a little by surprise. It's not my favorite rule, but I'll get used to it.

I was burned out after that match. It's a lot of adaptation. LPHF games, Canada-US Rivalry Series, travel. We're not used to having such a big workload. You have to prepare well, but also make sure you recover well. That's the beauty of this league. It allows me to continue to surpass myself, to learn new things.

Marie-Philip Poulin

PHOTO: LPHF MONTREAL/ARIANNE BERGERON

I like hockey. I love that. And what I prefer is when the score is close. I like it when you have to give a little more, when you have to empty the tank. When it really counts, that's when I'm at my best. It turns me on.

My parents always told me: You practice like you play. It always stuck in my mind. I don't take anything for granted. I am aware of the pressure, but I have learned to manage it over the years. I don't forget that it's a team sport. I'm lucky to have been able to achieve some of these great moments, but I know I'm not alone in this.

I won Olympic medals, but I also lost world championships. I even wondered if I was capable of winning one. The 2018 Olympics were arguably the most difficult time of my career. I was practically hiding. I didn't want to see anyone. I thought I had disappointed the whole world by failing to bring home the gold medal.

I also learned not to read everything, to leave certain comments aside. Hockey is such a difficult sport. You can do the same thing every game, but the rebound won't go your way, it won't work or the opposing goalie will be on fire. I keep in mind that if you give your maximum in every match, it will happen.

People expect me to score goals, but that's not all I am. I take a lot of pride in blocking shots, in raising sticks in defensive withdrawal. I can still improve my defensive game. To win championships, you have to count, but the little details in the defensive zone will make the difference.

Marie-Philip Poulin and Laura Stacey celebrate a goal together on January 2, against Ottawa

PHOTO: LPHF MONTREAL/ARIANNE BERGERON

Even though she has been on the national team for a long time and is one of the best players in the world, Laura Stacey is less known to Quebec fans. Why her, they then asked themselves?

I knew full well that Danièle Sauvageau had not chosen her because she is my fiancée. Laura, she's an incredible player. A real power forward who has remarkable discipline.

She chose to move to another province. She is learning the language and doesn't hesitate to try to do bits of interviews in French. It's not easy, but she embraces her new reality.

I'm proud of her. I am proud to see her doing promotions for the media in French. I'm proud that people are discovering her personality, the player she is and that Montrealers are falling in love with her because she really deserves it.

OI often ask myself why I continue.

I don't have to play hockey. I do it because I love it. I feel the best on the ice.

I have the Olympic gold medals, the World Championship gold medals. Now I want to win an LPHF title in Montreal, at home.

Having a positive impact on the next generation has become my priority. To see the little girls in the stands, with stars in their eyes, it's worth more than championships, it's worth more than medals.

Eventually, I want to start a family. It would be in my next projects. We love kids, so this is really important to us.

For the moment, it's still hockey first and foremost.

Marie-Philip Poulin has fun during off-ice training

PHOTO: LPHF MONTREAL/ARIANNE BERGERONStart of widget. Skip widget?

Comments collected by Christine Roger

Header photo by LPHF Montréal/Arianne Bergeron

#this is so sweet #marie philip poulin #laura stacey #pwhl #pwhl montreal #woho #womens hockey #hockey #hockey article

[roxannepolice]

This could be a seperate one shot to dismiss for being too long? But I really, really wanted the Master to do something... well, beneficial to others, not exactly selfless... so I ended up throwing in Cthulhu on Premiere League finals (bless John Simm and his love for Manchester United)

London's streets were oddly empty, even for the standards of Premier League's finals (Manchester United vs. Liverpool FC). The Tesco cashier hardly looking up from their phone while checking him out was a bit odd, but well. Maybe the match was really good, the Doctor thought, walking happily towards Temple-Nobles' house. It was good for humans to transfer their needs of competition and presitge on something as fundamentally harmless as sport, he supposed. Watching people turning everything into art was always a pleasure. Maybe the Doctor would even sit down in front of the telly for the last few minutes. He didn't really care much for football, but quality game was quality game. He wondered if Donna, Rose and Sylvia were watching, too, if it was that good. Shaun and the Master were watching anyway, that was sure.

Things between the Doctor and the Master were... good, these past few months since Donna's birthday. Him developing an interest for something as non-hostile as football was just the tip of the iceberg. The not talking treatment the Doctor was getting at first was definitely gone, the two of them became Rose's sculptures primary reviewers, and maybe they weren't holding hands while out shopping, but shopping together they did. And neither of them ever acknowledged it, but each time they needed to sleep, the other would surreptitiously crawl into the other's bed, only to continue not ackowledging it in the morning. On one memorable occasion, which involved Shaun heading out for a "boys and boys-presenting only" weekend trip, Donna crawled in between them, too, and woke up very much not eaten or otherwise injured.

So yes, things were good.

- So, what's the result? - the Doctor asked cheerfully no one in particular as he entered the house. No one, in particular or general, answered.

- That intense? - he spoke again, this time to Shaun, expected, and Rose and Sylvia, unexpected, glued to the TV screen. They all shushed him, without so much as a glance. The Doctor frowned and turned to the screen as well.

- And now, after the ad break, we return to what the Internet has already dubbed the Lovecraft Finals - the speaker stated from the BBC studio. The Doctor frowned even harder. - To remind all our respected viewers, during the Premier League final match between Manchester United and Liverpool FC, a giant antropomorphic octopus appeared on the pitch and ate one of assitant referees-

- What?!!! - the Doctor exclaimed, and was again shushed by Temple-Nobles.

- - leaving the referee Evelyn Bhait to try an get the situation under control.

The speaker and his studio was replaced by a video of a giant, if somewhat transluscent, antropomorphic octopus emerging in the middle of the football pitch, and picking up one of linesmen and shoving them into its tentacled mouth. A loud shriek was followed by a whole stadium of camera flashes. The creature then garbled out some noises that could only be described as "something between bubbles and a tsunami" and stretched its hands - and wings - to the sky.

- Why isn't anyone doing anything?!!!! - the Doctor exclaimed, getting Shaun and Rose to groan in irritation and move closer to the telly, but at least Sylvia was as outspoken as ever.

- They are doing something, you know! - the old woman chastised him. - Security even tried to evacuate the stadium, but no one in the audience would move until the match is over. Can't say I blame them, this looks like an obvious trick by Liverpool*, better to watch until the end. Also, the referee tried to show that thing a red card, except she can't until she knows its name... And of course, they need to find another assistant referee... And time for my Finish Line is in just seven minutes!

*At 67th minute, when the creature appeared, Liverpool was loosing 2:3.

- WHAT?! - the Doctor exclaimed even louder. This was usually the point where he would give some well-meaning in a long run criticism of human nature, but he had a strange feeling this had less to do with human nature than British culture.

- Breaking news! - the speaker announced - With UNIT technology, it was possible to translate what the AO - you get it, AO? - he winked - has said!

The screen was filled with unmoving spikes on top and a moving dot on the bottom.

- I am Cthulhu, the Great One - a robotic voice followed the dot - and I have been summoned by your excitement and frustration! I shall now feast upon them until I become whole again and end the reign of human on the planet that is rightfully mine and my bretheren's!

The speaker reappeared on the screen.

- With that terrific news, I now connect you to Jill, our pitch correspondent! - the screen got divided between the studio speaker and a live correspondent.

- Thank you, James! - the correspondent, Jill, stated - Yes, this is terrific news, indeed, as now referee Bhait can finally show Cthuhlu its due red card, and there she isssss, whistling at the creature with a red card!

The screen was now showing a dark skinned athletic woman jogging with a whistle in her mouth and a red card in her hand. A bar reading "Cthulhu" now appeared at the bottom, with a red square soon following.

- But what is that?!!!!! - Jill shouted. - The AO, great name, James, seems unbothered and is nowhere near leaving the pitch! In fact - AAAA! - it's picking up referee Bhait and bringing her close to its mouth!...

- WON'T ANYBODY DO ANYTHING?!!!! - the Doctor yelled and looked around for the TARDIS. She wasn't there in the garden. - Where's my TARDIS? - he followed with a note of panic in his voice. And then he realised something else. - Where's Donna?! WHERE'S THE MASTER?!!!!

Rose only shushed him again and pointed to the screen while placing a crisp in her mouth. A thrumming noise was barely audible.

- But the day's surprises are not over yet, James! What is that, a police box?! - Jill exclaimed as the TARDIS materialized on the pitch of London Stadium. The door flung open. - Another two unwarranted people enter the pitch! It's a... a redhead in a bathrobe! And mud mask! And a short, round faced man in Manchester colours and a hoodie! - Jill continued, while the Doctor wailed to no one's notice. - They are carrying megaphones! And the redhead has some kind of... remote control? Can't tell from here, play the sounds from the pitch, James!

The correspondent's too calm, all things considered, commentary was replaced first by the shouts of the audience, frantic whistling of the referee, and bubbling noises of Cthulhu, and then by a voice which could only belong to the Master.

- Hey, you there, squid face! Cooee! - the Time Lord (in Rose's handmade bunny slippers) was shouting through the megaphone, taking Cthulu's attention away from the terrified referee in its grasp. - Yes, down here, you giant waste of emotional energy! Listen here. I am the Master, and I. want. to. finish. watching. my. Premier League. finals!

- And I am Donna Noble! - Donna's voice yelled through the other megaphone. - And I don't give a damn about football, but my mom wants to watch her favourite quiz show and you're disrupting BBC's schedule!

The AO let out a series of bubbling noises.

- Yeah, yeah, I get it! Admire, if anything! But pick some other time! Winter Olympics, they're boring as *BEEP* - BBC's vulgarities muting mechanism was apparently working well.

Another series of bubbling noises.

- Oh yeah?! Well - the Master produced a corresponding series of bubbling noises, which was fortunate for all the audience, but unfortunate for the Doctor who did not cover his ears in time to avoid the TARDIS translating what the Time Lord said. Suffice to say, it involved Cthulhu's mother.

Cthulhu roared, and for a moment it lost all of its transluscence as it shoved towards Donna and the Master.

- Now, Donna! - the Master yelled and Donna directed the "remote control" towards the eldritch creature. In a moment, it shrunk until it was slightly smaller than the ball beside it. The stadium roared as the two humanoid figures embraced each other like football players after a goal. The Doctor let out a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

- Oh my Lord in heavens, did you see that, Jill?!!! - James yelled from the studio, which erupted in its own share of joyful roars.

- Yes, I did see that, James! Cthulhu has been turned into a pet squid! - Jill answered as, at the corner of the screen, Donna picked the creature up into a fishbowl. The Master was doing a triumphant jog around the pitch, ending in an equally triumphant fall on his knees, arms spread wide, while cameras were flashing. Jill and, apparently, the cameraperson, ran towards Donna before she could reach the TARDIS. - Ms? Hey, ms! - the correpondent shouted. - Could you tell us a bit about what just happened?

- What? Oh, yes - Donna placed the aquarium carefully on the grass and turned to the stabilized camera. - Is my hair alright? - she turned to the correpondent, apparently not caring for the dry greenish brown mud on her face.

- Yes, it looks great! But what just happened?!

- Well, the Ma- I mean my friend's friend Harry, was watching the match with my husband, Shaun - hello, dear! - she waved to the camera and Shaun waved back, laughing - were watching the match. I never cared much for football myself, but, boys will be boys as they say, but suddenly they both started yelling, that is yelling louder than usual, so I come into the living room, and there's this giant squid on the pitch, talking about how she's going to feast on people's emotions, but the Ma- Harry won't have it, Manchester was winning, thank you very much - Shaun is for Liverpool, by the way - and so he drags me to the TA- the disappearing police box over there, because he can't fly it, you see, the Do- my friend John biolocked it against him, and says "get us over there!" and see, my mom wanted to watch the Finish Line at the usual hour, so of course I agreed, won't let some stupid football match change her schedule! and he keeps talking about the stupid Sensorite ruining his fun and picks up the tissue compresor and two megaphones, and I'm like "but I know of Sensorites, they're very peaceful!" and he goes "and Time Lords are very not into football, yet here we are" - Donna's imitation of the Master would have to be kept hidden away from him for all eternity - and I say, "so Cthulhu, he's like a renegade Sensorite?" and he's like "she's like a renegade Sensorite, yes", so I go, "she?", and he says "yes, she, what, do you also think she was talking in only one modality?", and I say nothing, so he scoffs and goes "these things feed on emotions, so no wonder she got attracted to a Premier League final match, what with all the remote ways to watch it you now have, but she's still technically dead, so she first needs to suck in all that excitement to become corporal, so the plan is, we piss her off just enough for her to become tangible and blast her with the good old tissue compressor and voila, a pet eldrich squid! You handle the compressor, BUT DON'T BREAK IT, I know how to piss off Sensorites better than you", and I say "hang on, but doesn't that thing kill things?", and he goes "much as it would please me to put you in the moral dilemma of choosing between the whole of your species and an eldritch squid from another planet, ms Noble-", he's a right bastard, make no mistake, "- I'm afraid not. She's not exactly alive, waits dreaming or whatever, so my baby will only make her very, very small, but still as alive as the emotion goo can keep you alive. Then just put her in a teleempathy-proof fishbowl" - here he produced one - "and Rose will have a pokemon she won't even have to feed!", hello, Rose, you're getting a pet! - Donna picked up the aquarium with a rather angry but very much alive Cthlulhu, the Now-Not-Exactly-Great One, and Rose waved back, and whistled with her fingers.

The Doctor didn't even want to guess what his face was doing. Probably something similar to Jill's, but for different reasons.

- Uuuuhhhh, ok, right, thank you, ms Noble, that explains everything, but what is this?! - the correspondent turned to something she was more familiar with. - The referee is showing a yellow card to the Master! He took off his shirt, so it seems right, but he's not happy about it!

The screen was now showing a, indeed, shirtless Master arguing with the referee while she tried to calm him down. A bar at the bottom now read "Harold Ansox", followed by a yellow square. The Time Lord was very much not having it, but Donna ran over and tried to deescalate the situation, just like a fellow club member calming another down. The Master added some muted yells and obscene gestures, but allowed himself to be dragged to the TARDIS by Donna. By the end he was even making friendlier gestures at the audience. Once the two of them, along with Cthulhu the Pet Squid, were on board, the ship dematerialized.

- Well, that sure was exciting! - James was saying with somewhat unusual excitement in the BBC studio. - But what is that? Referee Bhait is ending the match!!! A rematch will be due soon, but for now the match is over! The members of both teams are exstatic! Hugging one another, club or no club! This, ladies, gentlemen, and variations thereof, is what football is about! Competition, but with respect and love! I think we should almost thank Cthulhu for reminding us of this! Take it over, Alex!

- Yes, a lovely picture - a disinterested voice droned. - We thank all the viewers of BBC for being with us on this fantastic occasion. But now, for some competition completely void of respect and love - The Finish Line! After the ad break, of course.

Sylvia clapped her hands in joy at the news her favourite quiz show would start on schedule, after all, while in the garden the TARDIS materialized. Donna was first to appear in the door, but was carefully carrying a fishbowl with a renegade Sensorite inside, so she got pushed aside by the Master.

- Oi, watch it! - she shouted, while Cthulhu clutched onto small rocks for last bits of her dignity.

- Oi, watch it yourself! - the Master shouted back and strolled quickly to the telly. - And what the fuck is that? - he asked at the sight of a man explaining why the tampons he uses are better than others.

- The ad break! - Sylvia informed cheerfully. - I really must thank you, I can't stand it when The Finish Line is off schedule! - the old woman turned to the screen and turned off her hearing aid, just in case.

The Doctor ran over to Donna once she put down Cthulhu, the Great One, and hugged her tight.

- Are you alright? - he asked while the Master was raging at the telly and threatening referee Bhait with being eaten for dinner.

- Yeah, yeah, I'm fine - she answered, and didn't even have the good sense to sound relieved. She pulled away from him and smiled brightly. - Guess you had a point, he makes a good show if nothing else.

The unnamed Time Lord in question stormed by them, still shouting that he's going back and eating that damn referee, can share with Cthulhu if she really wants, but so help him Rassilon, Manchester was winning, and Donna snorted.

- Better go after him, you know.

The Doctor swallowed, nodded, and followed the other Time Lord into the TARDIS.

- I don't give a fuck about your biolocks! - the Master was yelling at the console, still in the Manchester United hoodie and bunny slippers. - You are taking me back there or I'll turn you into a paradox machine again!

The TARDIS remained unmoved by the Master's threats while the Doctor closed the door and crossed the ramp towards the console at a steady but brisk pace. He grabbed the Master's arm firmly.

- Well, guess what- what, no I was just threatening her, you know I even can't do any of- that Master was cut off as the Doctor pressed him hard to his chest, burying his face in the other's shoulder. Centuries of pain, years of bliss, and now this. He never felt happier in his long, long life.

- I'm also not actually going to eat that stupid referee, just scare her a bit-

- I love you - the Doctor said, just loud enough to sound firm. The Master tried to jerk away.

- OK, that's too much, I will just bribe her if that's what you want-

- Stop it. I love you.

The Master went still. Unnaturally still. His arms were stiff along his body. The Doctor didn't care. He hugged him tighter.

- No, you don't.

- Yes, I do.

- Liar.

- Not now.

- Take it back - the Master almost wailed and succeeded in pushing himself away from the Doctor enough to look at his face. The other Time Lord allowed it, but still held him firm. There was something resembling fear in the Master's face.

- I won't. I never will - the Doctor cupped the Master's face gently, while his other hand remained steadfast on his waist.

- You're only saying this because I did something nice! - the younger - much, much younger - Time Lord squeeked.

- Yes, but no - the Doctor smiled, brushing his thumb again the salt-and-pepper goatee. - Yes, it is hard for me to say. But I mean always. I love you - he repeated, lowering his hand to now hold the back of the Master's head. There were tears in both of the Time Lords' eyes, but only one would ever admit to them. - I love you, truly and deeply. Now and always. Over whatever you've done or will do - the Doctor swallowed, as a flash of ruined Gallifrey appeared in his mind - I love you.

The Master swallowed.

- I'm not saying it back - he spat, his voice defiant despite the wetness.

- You don't have to.

- I hate you - the Master spat again, though it sounded like he meant the opposite. Or not the opposite. Just the negation. The same force in the other direction.

- I know - the Doctor murmured and gently pressed against the back of his best enemy's head.

The foreheads met first and they both gasped softly. Connecting in thoughts was one thing. They had to do it for exams with all sorts of people who had little interesting to share. Connecting in feelings, quite another.

Their lips touched in a stupid, romanticized remnant of mammal parents passing chewed food into their offsprings' mouths. The Master's hands became flexible enough to touch the Doctor's back, unsure at first, but then grabbing like onto a lifebuoy. The kiss oscilated between passionate and gentle, angry and loving, playful and dead serious, and neither of them wanted to end it.

The lighting in the console room became warmer. The jukebox turned on of its own accord.

I tried to find her cause I can't resist her I never knew just how much I missed her Sorrow, sorrow...

- Oooh, damn that stupid ship of yours!!! - the Master groaned, but didn't really pull away.

The Doctor only laughed, and again pressed his temple to the other Time Lord's. The Master did not pull away. Not for the life of him, this or any other.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #thoschei #doctor x master #best enemies #saxteen #fourteenth doctor #simm!master #love how the whole saxteen circus decided *tesco* #tensimm #old men tensimm #saxteen retirement au

[justaredheadf1fan]

What could've been and never was in Monte Carlo

Hey there!

So I've been checking out Quali results at work with one of my colleagues, who's also a fan, and we were watching when there weren't any clients around us 🤪

Quali - Saturday

Just a few minutes into Q1 Checo decided it was a good time go just crash for the fun of it. Very nicely done, my friend. One out, one to go. Another flying car in the same day, how about that. There goes another Red Flag. Might as well have an interesting GP all along?

Carlos bothering Sharl almost at the end of Q1. Meh. Some quick surprises like Yuki on P1. Oh, good times ending quickly. Lewis at the edge of the abyss, saved by the bell basically.

Let's see Q2. Can't remember now who dropped on this one.

Seriously, is Lewis truly struggling that much? OMG and he's starting his lap right at the time limit for Q2... I know he made it through but I might kill him anyway. This guy loves giving people heart attacks.

Yuki is killing it today, he's right there in Q3, baby!! So if the rumors about Marko giving Nyck an ultimatum are true, honestly this isn't looking good for him this time either. He's achieved nothing so far this season. So much promise last year... I know the AT is a tractor, but I don't know how much he'll last.

Alonso and Carlos at the top... No, please. I hate to see this 🤣 The Alpines are doing a fantastic job this weekend, it's looking nice for them. HAHAHA ESTIE BESTIE P1! WHAT IS GOING ON TODAY?

Sharl trying to get his well-deserved pole, AND HE DOES IT!!!!! But shit happens and Alonso gets back up there. Grandpa, stop it now. And there comes... that person, with the illegal car. Obviously. Oh, what a surprise.

Race - Sunday

So, I've actually watched the full race with a bowl of popcorn just lying there on my bed and just tried to "enjoy" it on its own, without commenting on everything through here at the same time I was actually watching it happen. I have to say, although I haven't really enjoyed it, I've found myself more relaxed while watching, just enjoying the peace after a good day at work.

In all honesty, I've seen a tiny bit of the race at work with one of my coworkers because she's also a fan, and we watched the chaos unfold after it started raining.

There's just been a few things worth commenting on, from my perspective, since the race has pretty much been a bore:

Estie Bestie P3. Seriously, the Alpines have worked very, very well during the whole ass weekend, but Esteban today was on top of the world. He made a train(wreck) and ended up keeping his original position. Well deserved, if you ask me. He's done nothing wrong and earned his spot.

Lewis P4 after the disappearance of the "no-sidepod" concept on the W14, sounds promising, plus he's done a great job as he tends to do, but I'm still not confident.

Carlos and Checo did everything wrong today. We could definitely add George to this mix, but I don't even want to wast energy on this topic.

I don't see it as a surprise that Fraudstappen won. I mean, illegal car aside (?), what else did anyone expect? Excitement? Surprises? Right now F1 is synonym to this person winning it all without even trying or, God forbid, making an effort or fighting for his spot, like at all. Is that really what's left of the exciting sport Formula 1 used to be? Because at least Lewis, Sebastian, Fernando, Kimi, Rosberg... They all had a competition, even though Mercedes were far more superior by far in most occasions, they had to work for it still, so... Where's the actual work or so called "brilliance"?

Anyway, next week's Barcelona. The time finally came around and I'll be going on Thursday and I'm hoping with all of my heart that it doesn't rain. Not because of the race, it would make it that much more interesting, but the parking lot... It's all dirt, if it rains, that's gonna be the worst, so I'm hoping for a mundane thing like sun and dryness to go on the whole weekend, for our sake 🤣

Peace out!

#3f1 #formula 1 #mercedes amg f1 #scuderia ferrari #aston martin racing #haas f1 team #mclaren f1 racing #alfa romeo racing #alpine f1 team #scuderia alpha tauri #williams racing #sir lewis hamilton #george russell #charles leclerc #carlos saint jr #lance stroll #fernando alonso #kevin magnussen #nico hülkenberg #oscar piastri #lando norris #zhou guanyu #valtteri bottas #esteban ocon #pierre gasly #yuki tsunoda #nyck de vries #alex albon #logan sargeant #monaco gp

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #621

Top Ten Things I’d Like from the Next Civilization Game

So I think I’ve concluded my reminiscing for the time being, and now I can start just plucking ideas for lists from the ether instead. Back to business as usual, fun-fans!

This is a list that I’ve been planning to do for a little while, pushing it back from a pre-Christmas slot to, well, now. And yet somehow it’s become rather more timely and prescient thanks to our good friends at Microsoft.

So, Sid Meier’s Civilization VI has got to be one of my favourite games of all time. I say “got to” because it’s quite possible I’ve played it more than anything else in the world; certainly more than any game in the last twenty years. Maybe, just maybe, I spent more time with Lemmings 2: The Tribes or Duke Nukem 3D or Command & Conquer: Red Alert; but, y’know what, probably not. Between the Steam and Xbox releases I reckon I’ve clocked up close to two thousand hours playing this damn game, and I agree that’s slightly worrisome. As such – and because I’ve played, to a greater or lesser extent, every Civ game that came before as well as quite a few spin-offs or reinterpretations of the format – I’ve got quite a lot of ideas and opinions about what works well, what works less so, and what I’d like to see from a brand new Civ title.

Considering Civ VI came out in 2017, and they’ve released about two dozen expansions for it since then, I do think we’re getting very close to an announcement of Civ VII. If I had to put money on it I’d say the game will actually be announced this year for a 2025 (or very early 2026) release. As such, I did want to get ahead of the curve, so to speak, by doing this list; the things I really want out of a new Civ. I’ve tried to be quietly realistic, here, by suggesting new features or tweaks or gameplay modes, rather than reinventing the wheel (literally or figuratively) and wishing for something that wasn’t really a Civ game.

And like I say, all this is rather timely, because we’ve recently been given an extended look at Ara: History Untold, the Civ­-inspired 4X game from Microsoft that’s coming to PC later this year (and, I imagine, Xbox consoles next year). As a huge Civ fan, I’m really intrigued by new takes on the classic formula; what a brand new game can do that wouldn’t really be possible in Civ without breaking what people love about the formula. Here we see civilisations growing and evolving on what appears to be a dynamic, living world, coping with the natural world. We’re promised a bit more dynamism; they’re calling it an “alternate history” game, so I hope that means you can develop steam-powered rockets like some kind of steampunk Tony Stark, but I imagine it won’t go quite that far. All the same, it’s interesting to see what new wrinkles they’re going to explore within a relatively similar framework. I do worry, however, that however good it is I’ll just bounce off it, like I did with the broadly similar Humankind recently, just because it’s not quite enough like Civ.

Anyway, with one eye on the competition, here, then, are my Top Ten things I’d like to see them do in the next proper Civ title. Your turn!

Better interface: generally speaking I think Civ VI is about as user-friendly as the series has been – although I do miss a little bit the days when it ran in a window. However, it can still be fiddly to keep track of everything. I think refining the controls around people also using keyboard commands or even a touch screen would be great; let us use arrow keys to navigate, make shortcuts more accessible, use contrasting colours the menus, and make it play well with a controller, too. I’m going to extend this to making sure that every bit of info you’re presented with – each turn’s new events – can be easily zoomed to and dealt with, more options automated and commands stacked.

Better diplomacy: the different leaders are always a highlight in Civ and their design and animation in Civ VI is terrific. But dealing with them is a complicated, often arbitrary muddle. Streamline this whole interface; make it very clear who’s who, what’s on the table, and what you want in return. Allow the creation of different types of alliance; I want to get dragged into a war because I’m friends with Nigeria, or something! Maybe create different dialogue options or “stances” you can adopt; I used to like the way you could force a war by constantly threatening or demanding things from other leaders.

Better religion: religion is quite a big topic in Civ games. I like the way it divorces any aspect of religion from the name or symbol of the faith; and also how your national identity can become attached to that religion. But it’s not very nuanced, and it makes less sense in the later stages of the game. Perhaps they should dispense with real-world religious references altogether, and have you begin the game by choosing to worship different pagan deities, with some kind of associated benefit? You want your cities to grow, so you worship a fertility god; you want to churn out troops so you worship a god of war. You could choose to become monotheistic, and eventually have no religion. Certainly it’d make more sense than having opposing clerics going to war in the year 2050.

More control over Great People and Great Works: the method for generating Great People organically – the more scientific buildings you build the more points you get towards a Great Scientist – makes sense. But I think they should give you more control; perhaps generating a Great Person is sort of like a project you undertake. Or perhaps their bonuses are less random; maybe they can all do certain tasks, like furthering research or aiding construction or spreading culture. The same with the Great Works, where it all just feels so random; you get points for having a museum with matching works of art, but it’s pot luck, and excavating archaeological sites is even worse. I’d love it if you could commission specific works, and trade them more readily; it’d be great if you became known for classical music or pottery or – yes – movies and TV, because I think they should allow that too.

False flags: because the penalties for starting a war can be so great, there should be more options for trying to be sneaky about it. You should be able to bribe or hire third parties – barbarians? City states? Rival civs? – to go to war on your behalf. You should be able to have small-scale defensive skirmishes without a full-blown war. But most of all I think you should be able, with a spy, to create a false pretext for war. This could be an attack on an ally’s territory or even – easier but costlier – an attack on your own civilization. This would allow you to wage war without reputational harm… unless your deception is discovered.

Individual social policies: I’ve already said how religion could be more nuanced, and so could the social or political aspects. At the moment you select individual forms of government that have associated benefits or negatives, but I think you should be able to structure your civilisation more intricately. For instance, you could dictate that you had no death penalty, or that your citizens had the right to bear arms, or you had free religion or you wouldn’t burn fossil fuel or… you get the picture. This way you build up your own form of government that reflects your idealised nation.

Sci-fi endgame: for years – decades, really – one of the big bugbears of Civ has been how the game eventually ossifies into just managing what you’ve got. Once all the exploration is out of the way there’s not much to do. So how about allowing you to construct underwater cities? Or build space stations? Basically, add about another hundred years’ worth of advancements so the end of the game feels like there’s still exploration and construction to do. And maybe give us more fantastical units, like space fighters or something.

Improve transport networks: one thing that I think is unnecessarily complicated in Civ VI is how you create transport networks and trade routes. I don’t mind you needing units to build them, but I think you should just be able to select two points and have them construct a route in between. Quite often you’re sending out traders just to build a road; I say separate the trading and the route-building. Having “shipping lanes” that can be intercepted by hostile forces is quite a nice touch; but maybe they can be generated by trading directly with other civilisations? Also, once you build airports I think you should be able to fly to other airports – including in other civs – with massive ease, making trade simpler and quicker (but worse for the environment!).

More options for districts: one big thing I hope they don’t do away with is having districts separate from cities. Not only does it look cool as you get this sort of urban sprawl, but it allows you to micromanage these separate areas. I think they should expand on this. Cultural districts should allow for the creation of “cultural assets” like works of art; scientific districts could instigate specific research projects. Perhaps different districts in different cities could specialise? Military districts have the option of defending your territory and bombarding enemies; I also think airports could be equipped with anti-aircraft defences, and seaports with the ability to bombard approaching vessels. Basically, go deep on districts and give us lots of cool options.

Tweak barbarians and city states: barbarians have always been one of the most game-y elements of Civ, and one that gets increasingly problematic. The imperial undertones of the game are made worse by having these little camps still popping up late in the game, sending forth red-hued baddies to harass you. I’m not keen on turning them into entire city states like you can in Civ VI; but maybe that’s because I’m not keen on city states in general. Large independent cities that can give good bonuses if befriended, I tend to find they just get in the way. Maybe part of the game could be trying to entice them to join your empire? Maybe a peaceful resolution to barbarians could be to get them to disband voluntarily? Or allow them to live as independent units – or even an independent city – within your borders? I’d love to see little tweaks like this, rather than still have raging baddies or massive cities stopping you getting access to resources.

#top ten #games #gaming #civ #civilization #humankind #ara history untold #xbox #pc #steam #firaxis

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver - 48

Hello,

another chapter for you all... this is a fluffy one too. Two of east members receive great news... Rowan is back for his weekend and in the last part of the chapter, the two go indoor climbing.

So a bit of background for those who have never done rock climbing. They try two different techniques Bouldering and then lead. Bouldering it's fun but I always sucked. Watch THIS video. Now, this is the type of bouldering for competitions where you have problems to solve. The man in the video is Adam Ondra. he is a champion and a god. In a gym, you might just have a wall full of grips and you move along it. But it's low level. you do need an harness.

The second technique is called LEAD watch the video for an idea. This is at heights. you will need a harness and a rope. It's so much more fun and you have to figure out a way to get there.

TOP ROPE is the one taught to beginners. The one in the video is a very small wall and the woman just climbs without clipping in the rope. I used to climb in much higher walls and on rocks too and I had a course of hooks. Someone experience would go before me and lay the course and the hooks. I just had to clip the rope in them.

Sorry for the long explanation but it's not easy to explain and I had to look up a lot of words since I had learned rock climbing in Italy and my English vocabulary on the subject was limited.

Anyway, Aelin and Rowan have a lot of fun...

Enjoy the fluff!

MASTERLIST // CH.47

Three weeks had passed and slowly March had made its appearance and with it, the hope of spring.

It was morning at east station and Aelin was in the common room while the team was on the apparatus floor doing drills. For once she had decided to do paperwork in the big airy room and have the voices of her team as a background. The days were getting longer and brighter and she was in a good mood.

The postie came into the station and handed her some mail, including two envelopes bearing the symbol of the TFD in a corner. She knew those letters. She had received one herself many moons ago. The rest of the mail got dumped on the table with little ceremony and Aelin ran outside with the important stuff. The day was gorgeous and the drills were happening outside on the apron.

She approached the team waving the two letters in the air “I have mail.”

At the beginning they ignored her but then Manon noted the two envelopes and dropped her hose “Cap?”

“They just arrived, right this minutes.”

Manon and Brullo had their lieutenant exam at the beginning of February, but for some obscure reason it always took the TFD a lifetime to send out the results.

“Manon,” Aelin handed the first to the woman “and Brullo.”

That was an emotional moment. She had been terrified when her letter came through. Had started thinking about every possible mistake she had made.

“Come on guys, open them,” shouted Nox as the excitement spread through the team too.

Manon took a deep breath and carefully opened the envelop. Then slowly pulled out the letter.

“This is so scary.”

Aelin thought that the letter was probably more scared at being stared like that by Manon “I have faith in both of you.”

The woman finally opened it and her form went still and for a moment Aelin feared for a rejection. Then something as rare as a heatwave in Orynth happened. Manon smiled. A big beautiful smile broke on her face and Aelin realised that the woman was stunning with a smile on her lips.

“Shall I start calling young lieutenant Blackbeak?”

The woman nodded energetically and the team exploded. Even Brullo forgot his letter for a second and joined in.

But Aelin didn’t and turned to him “your turn now.”

The man went through the same level of fear but in the end opened it and when he erupted in a “hell yeah” they all knew he had made it too.

Aelin was so very proud of both.

“All of you, shush,” she shouted over the voices “As captain it’s my deepest joy to welcome our two new lieutenants. You both deserve this greatly and I am sure you will make this station proud. This is a very happy day for east station.”

“Pub tonight? We are off at five.”

The team cheered and started to organise the night “cap, you coming with Rowan?”

“I don’t have his ETA yet. You guys go and I will join you later.”

It was Friday and Rowan was due back. After the storm and the exam they didn’t have any more obstacles preventing him to get home and they had slipped in a routine quickly. But that night he had texted her saying that the school had scheduled a seminar and the lecture was going to finish a bit later than usual. She looked at her phone and then went back celebrating with her team. Paperwork completely forgotten.

*

Later on that evening, Aelin was home, lounging on the sofa and reading a book. She reached a good part when the main door opened. The book fell on the floor as she raised her head, and when a head of silver peaked in she jumped off the sofa and ran into his arms.

Rowan picked her up while she grabbed to him like an octopus.

“Did someone miss me?”

Aelin nodded eagerly and then looked up at him, his eyes shining with mirth, and kissed him.

Both were smiling so much that the kiss became awkward “I missed you too, menace.”

Rowan abandoned his bag aside and walked to the sofa with his girlfriend still attached to him.

They made out heavily for a good fifteen minutes, until Rowan pulled back to catch a breath. He kissed her nose gently and pulled her to his chest, her head in the crook of his neck “this week felt endless. Like a perpetual Tuesday.”

“But now it’s Friday and you are here.”

Rowan wiggled out of the embrace “is it okay if I take a shower? I am tired of a block of shower with eleven other people showering at the same time in the cubicles.”

“Are you okay with just one extra person in there with you?”

“If that person is you…” he kissed her again, but Aelin stood quickly “come on, sexy.”

After a week of separation, the shower had been long but neither had commented on it and now Aelin was sitting on the bed in her towel while Rowan unpacked, still in his towel too.

“Do you feel like going out tonight?” She asked “Manon and Brullo passed their lieutenant test and the guys are going out to celebrate.”

“We are going. I am not tired. I have been in class all day.”

Aelin smiled relaxed. She needed the night out but was afraid to ask him in case he was tired but accepted only to make her happy.

Then she moved to the closet and grabbed a bag and gave it to him “I have presents.”

“It’s not my birthday.”

“The day in Ilium? We ended up in a shopping centre and I had fun.”

He smiled and sat on the bed taking the bag.

Aelin kneeled behind him, leaning on his shoulders and her chin on his head.

He took out the hoodie and noticed it was a deep green and soft.

“I wore it a few days so it smells like me.”

Rowan brought it to his nose and inhaled the scent of lemon verbena “I love it.”

Then he took out the deep blue polo shirt.

“It’s an experiment. I want to see how you look in blue. I have a feeling it will go well with your silver hair.

Rowan listened and tried it on and Aelin looked at him inspecting the image in front of her.

“It’s… okay. Not as good as green.”

He leaned forward and kissed her “I love this too.”

Then he grabbed the third item and Aelin started giggling hysterically.

It was a pack of black boxer briefs. Rowan could not understand why she laughed. But as he turned he realised why. On the butt side they had rather interesting messages.

“They are fun.”

Rowan shook his head “you are a menace.” Then grabbed the pair reading kiss my ass and wore it.

“Come,” he stood dragging her up too “what time are they all meeting?”

“Seven.”

“Good.” His hands went to her hips and pulled her closer “I am having a nice burger with fries tonight.

Aelin kissed him. No matter that he had sent her over the edge three times in the shower. She craved more of him. But also wanted to go out with her team. Reluctantly she pulled back “let’s get ready.”

“Good idea.”

Aelin had worn a cozy blu sweater, jeans and trainers. Rowan a grey t-shirt, jeans and his green hoodie and trainers too. Even in such simple clothes he was stunning.

“Fen is coming too.”

Rowan smiled “good.” He was keen on seeing firefighter Fenrys and see the changes Aelin had told him about.

They arrived at the pub twenty minutes later and the site was busy since it was Friday night, but the team had booked off a section of the pub for them with a few tables.

“Captains!” Shouted Brullo happily as he saw them enter the pub and welcomed them.

“Congratulations, man” said Rowan with a pat on his back. Behind him saw Manon and did the same for the woman. He was positive she was not a hugger.

“Come you both, we got booze and this place has the best beer in Orynth.”

Rowan took a pint of dark ale and spotted Fenrys in the distance. The man had an arm around Ansel’s shoulder and smiled. He had never seen him that happy.

He took a step forward until he was in front of the couple. Ansel kissed his cheek and left assuming the two needed privacy.

Ro—” Fen started to apologise but Rowan stopped him.

“No more apologies, guilt or accusations. I am not mad at you. Maybe I was on the first day, but when I took the new job I realised it had been a blessing,” a deep sigh left him, and sat on the edge of the table at his side “if you hadn’t screwed up I was probably months away to either resign or mess up so badly they had to kick me out.” He looked at his ex lieutenant “crazy as it might sound, I got what I wanted in the end.”

Fen enveloped him in a bear hug “Thank you,” the words whispered softly and Rowan had a feeling that his last barrier to heal fully had finally fallen. Since the accident they never had the chance to properly speak and he knew from Connall that Fen felt guilty.

“How’s ptsd kicking your arse?”

“Some days a lot, others I do the kicking, but my therapist is helping. I always go once a week and never miss an appointment. The TFD knows and going is part of the deal I made with chief Dorian.” He explained “Ansel is helping a lot too and at night the nightmares have diminished. But fire academy is the greatest help of all.”

Rowan laughed taking a sip of his beer “Aelin always gives me an account of your exploits. She says you are good.”

“Rowan, the job is amazing.”

He loved to hear the deep happiness in the young man’s voice. He seemed like a brand new person.

“And the booze?”

He proudly lifted his glass of iced tea “nothing. I am not messing this up.”

“I am so very happy for you. Really.”

“I spoke to Gav a while ago. I had to apologise to him. The man has always been like a father to me and I let him down. But I told him what I was going through and he understood.”

Rowan nodded. He was aware the two had a chat and that Gavriel had forgiven the young man.

“How is he adjusting to being a captain and Aedion’s father?”

Rowan chuckled “he hates being captain, but I know from Aelin that he and Aedion are getting used to each other and is going really well.”

“Good.” Fen looked at his ex captain who was staring at Aelin in the crowd.

“How are you two adjusting to Rifthold?”

“We are approaching the halfway through mark,” he smiled at her talking happily with her team “being able to at least see her two days and a half a week is better than nothing. The school has given me a jet to fly home the weekend. Deployment you can’t.” He sighed “it’s tough. But three more months and I am back with her for good. I miss her, Fen.” Then he remembered the gossip from Aelin “and what about you and Ansel?”

Fen smiled “we are exclusive. No more sleeping around. But this is all for us now. I like her but that’s all the commitment for now.”

Rowan laughed “If Lorcan managed to have a steady woman… I am sure you and Ansel will figure it out too.”

“I like her,” said Fen softly.

“Good.”

“Now stop talking to me and go back to your woman.”

Rowan reached Aelin and with one arm he pulled her closer to his chest “I talked to Fen.”

“I saw you,” Aelin looked up at him and with her hand brushed his hair.

“We are good.”

Aelin kissed his jaw “I am proud of you.”

“So guys, how does it feel to be lieutenants?” Asked Rowan to the two newly promoted.

“Awesome,” replied Manon.

“Important,” added Brullo and the team burst out laughing.

“Welcome to a part of my world,” continued Aelin, leaning deeper into Rowan, while his arm held her tight at her waist. His chin perched on her head.

“Manon probably has all her schedules laminated and ready,” joked Ren.

“And I approve of those.”

In that instant Luca and Borte joined the group “sorry guy we are late. My car broke down so we had to go to Borte’s place and get hers.”

The whole team had their eyes on them and Aelin could already see Lys preparing bets about them. Aelin just smiled. She liked the idea of the two if it ever come into being.

“Did we miss a lot?” Asked Luca while getting a beer for him and Borte.

“My beer is amazing,” A soft whisper against Aelin’s ear.

“It’s my favourite. It’s dark and it has herbs in it. I love it so much.”

“Now the next celebration is Borte finally becoming a fully fledged smoke eater,” added Wes.

“She has a month left. Start training her.”

“Cap,” Ansel called her “when Borte becomes a full firefighter, what happens?”

Aelin sighed “I hope they will let me keep her and get us a new candidate. But unfortunately for now Dorian hasn’t mentioned anything yet.”

Ansel hugged the young woman “can we keep her?”

“I will do my best, Ansel.” Aelin reassured her.

Rowan told her that he was going to get an iced tea and some food for them and Aelin asked him a coke. She knew a beer was his limit, especially if he was driving.

“So captain, have you been flying anything fascinating?” Nox question placed him in the spotlight and she knew he was loving being on the sidelines and just hold her in silence.

“The other day I got to fly a resupply plane.”his eyes found Lorcan, Aedion and Fen, knowing that they would recognise the type “they are bulky and chunky. Not aerodynamic at all. They are handy in combat zones but a pain to fly.” He explained, “but this one is a prototype of a new model coming out and I had to figure out some of the kinks. Or at least try. I was with a senior test pilot.”

“Our elite boy is flying big assed planes.” The comment had come from Lorcan who had remained silent and at Elide’s side until that moment.

Rowan gave him a middle finger and Aelin knew it was their way to say I love you.

Elide had confessed her that Lorcan had been pretty stressed recently. His boss was pressuring him to find two new team members for his squadron but no one was ever good enough. She knew it was because he missed Rowan even if he’d never admit it to a living soul.

“I flew in enough of them as a passenger…” was the comment from Aedion “or rather, cargo.”

“What do you mean,” was Borte’s question.

“The army would use them to move troops too. Damn uncomfortable things.”

Rowan chuckled “I’ll ask R&D to add comfy chairs.”

“Fen, why don’t you tell us all of your achievements at the academy?” Interrupted Aelin to shift the focus. She did not want to risk the topic to wander through topics connected with the military. She knew it was still a tough topic for Rowan and Fen and Aedion. Although he had been away from the army for now seven years was never very keen on retelling some stories. So, before the mood got ruined it was best to turn the attention on Fenrys who loved retelling his exploits at the academy.

Rowan’s arm tightened against her waist and she knew it was his silent way to say thank you.

“So we were inside the warehouse and the fire was raging. Fucking rolling and close to flashing too. One of the guys decides to be stupid and takes a line to kill the fire. I see too late that there is a sneaky electric cable hiding and the water is going directly toward it. So I start running and rugby tackled the guy before the explosion hits him. It was epic. We rolled away like in the movies.”

Aelin laughed remembering that day. It had been her simulation.

“Who put the cable? That was cheeky,” asked Elide nursing her beer.

Aelin lifted her hand “imagine the collapse of a a building with a fire too. Cables pops out of the wall. You have to look everywhere. Situation awareness is key. Noticing the cable is what stands between you walking out alive or you walking out in a stretcher or worse in a bodybag.”

“She is right,” added Aedion “The kids are good but are not ready yet. They focus on one thing: the fire.”

Manon jumped in “Those of us who trained with chief O’Neill remember his drill were he would set the warehouse on fire and create ten dangers. We had to do a walkthrough and find them all.”

“I aced it,” said Aelin smugly.

“I got nine,was Manon’s reply.

“I am going to use it very soon.”

Aedion smirked “are you sure this class is ready? They still seem a bit behind.”

Aedion was right. A part from a few good people, it had been a class who struggled a lot and was a bit behind schedule with the curriculum and she was worried. They had a month and a half left.

“I know. But I can’t coddle them forever. We have six weeks left to teach them all we can.”

“Wouldn’t it help to extend the program?” This time the question had come from Rowan from behind her.

Aelin sighed “I am discussing this with chief O’ Neill if we can extend to sixteen weeks. An extra month might help.”

“They just don’t pay attention.” Fenrys’ voice came from his corner “They claim they want to be firefighters with every fibre of their soul but then don’t pay attention or listen or show any interest.” He complained and Aedion nodded.

“None of my classmate, apart from Sam and Lily, came to the two brilliant seminars on dangerous materials ran by hazmat. They were fascinating.”

Aelin was aware and had been extremely disappointed. The next day in class she had repeated once more the importance of attending such lectures. She had been so grateful to Alex for taking time off from work and set those up for her.

“Can you fail them?” Asked Rowan gently.

Aelin shook her head “they will finish the course and then take the final exam. If they fail they have to redo the academy but have to wait six months.”

“What about if you fail and you are out forever?” Aelin loved Lorcan’s suggestion.

“I love his idea,” said Aedion with approval.

“On a cheerier note…” started Ansel “Manon are you going to turn the firehouse into camp Blackbeak?”

Manon laughed. A deep genuine laugh of amusement. Something that even her colleagues rarely saw.

The woman turned her head and looked at Aedion “he taught me well,” and an evil grin then spread on her face.

“We are doomed,” joked Ren.

“I am glad I am on engine,” continued Nox but his joy was short lived.

Brullo snorted loudly “if you think you are safe, you have a surprise coming.”

Aelin laughed so hard that some coke went up her nose “I have nothing left to teach you, my minions.”

The team laughed and Aelin rejoiced in that sound. It had been a long year for the station and the last accident with Asterin and Ress had affected them all deeply. They all had needed that night out. To relax and let go of some of the tension that they all had been feeling. Seeing her team happy made her feel calmer. They were all fine. They had come out of the darkness once more.

Rowan seemed to sense her train of thoughts and she felt his lips kiss her head with affection. Gods, he must be bored. She was grateful he came with her, but the night had turned into firefighter night and she really hoped he had at least minimally enjoyed himself.

The evening eventually died down and the group started to say their farewells.

Rowan took Aelin’s hand and together they walked back to the car.

Once sat down she sighed content. She had a great night.

Rowan kissed her cheek and started the car. He seemed content too.

“Ro, did we bore you to death tonight?”

He looked at her “why?”

“The conversation it was nothing but firefighter stuff.”

His hand caressed her thigh “I loved it. I had a lot of fun. It was fascinating hearing your stories. Learning about the academy.”

She stared at him and could see that her boyfriend had a giant smile in his face “but it was a lot.”

“Aelin, I love hearing about your job and I love your team.”

Aelin hummed happily at his happy tone.

“Lorcan seems to have accepted that Fen will not screw up this time.”

“About time,” said Aelin relieved “it’s as if he is just waiting for him to fail and look at me and say I told you so.”

“Well, you can do the telling.”

She beamed and sat back down against the seat “are you sure you had fun? I feel bad because I feel like I should have been spending it with you.”

Rowan parked the car on the side of the street and turned to her, lifting her chin with his finger “we did spend time together. It was a lovely night and I mean it. We have all of tomorrow for us. You needed this, Aelin.”

She leaned forward and hugged him tight “did I ever tell you you are the best boyfriend?”

Rowan smiled as he started driving once more “Tell me again while we go home, fireheart.”

*

Rowan woke up early as usual the next morning and sat on the side of the bed. Slowly he gathered his briefs and t-shirt and got dressed and went to the kitchen to start preparing breakfast. Aelin would probably start to wake up as soon as she felt the lack of his body at her side. He gave her one last look before disappearing. She was rolled in the blankets like a human burrito and he had to fight her for the covers. Her blonde hair was splayed across the two pillows and her face serene in her slumber. She was beautiful. He smiled and started to prepare coffee then walked to the fridge and wandered if Aelin was in the mood for French toast or pancakes. Then he opted for the latter.

While he cooked he scrolled through his phone for some ideas on what to do on their day off.

He wanted to do something fun with her so he had just started browsing for activities. Aelin loved to be active and it was always fun to plan their time together.

He was ready to flip the first pancake when a set of hand slid around his waist “morning,” he said softly. Aelin moved to the front and fished for a sweet kiss “pancakes, you read my mind.”

He kissed her head “sit. This is just the first one.”

Aelin hummed happily and took a seat on the bench at the table.

“So, fancy doing something fun?”

Aelin’s face lit up with curiosity.

“I have two ideas but one might still be a bit too cold since it’s outdoors, so we might leave it for later on in the year.” He explained, while preparing another pancake “what about indoor rock climbing?”

His girlfriend almost jumped in excitement. It was always a joy see her this happy.

“Yes, I am in. Let’s do it.” She paused “but I have never done it.”

Rowan smiled “me neither,” he confessed “however, I had a feeling you might like this idea so I went ahead and got us a teacher for the whole morning.”

“You are perfect,” whispered Aelin tackling the first pancake he had given her.

-

An hour later they arrived at the gym and Aelin was almost bouncing. She had loved his idea. Rowan has also told her option two of going to the adventure park just outside Orynth in the northern part of the town but had agreed that, yes, it was still too cold.

So now she was in the female changing rooms wearing a pair of shorts and a TFD t-shirt. She met Rowan outside the changing room area and he took her hand to go and find their instructor.

They entered the gym and Aelin was amazed. The walls were huge and from them there were people hanging and climbing. Her excitement grew a few notches.

They went to the reception and explained that they had hired an instructor. Two minutes later a woman with dark hair tied in a tight pony tail joined them.

“Whitethorn?”

They nodded.

“I am Halley and I am your instructor for today.”

Aelin was officially bouncing then saw the woman looking at her.

“TFD?” She asked and Aelin nodded.

“Which station?”

“East. I am the captain there.”

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise “you are Aedion’s cousin.”

“Yes.” An hesitant reply left Aelin.

“I work with him at south. He is my captain.”

And then it clicked. Aedion had told her about one of his firefighters being a climber.

The two chatted for a moment then Halley decided to start the lesson. She went through with them some basic safety rules and Aelin approved.

“For starters we’ll try with something called bouldering.” They walked to a low wall with a thick mat in front of it. She had a look at the other people using it and realised that it was a low level climbing with no need for harness. They would just fall on the mat. That seemed like fun.

“Bouldering is a very technical discipline, but for now we’ll use it to warm up and get familiar with the grips and some movements.”

Aelin was seriously dying to try.

A section was closed off and at the side it has a sign saying private class so no one would disturb them.

Halley moved closer to the boulder and her hands grabbed two grips at her shoulder level, then her feet landed on tho lower ones and pulled her body flush to the wall with ease “the idea, once you have the initial grip is to start to move sideways while always holding a grip with your hands and your feet on one. She demonstrated them what to do and Aelin was amazed by the ease. Her movements were fluid and sure.

She jumped off “want to try?”

Aelin started jumping like a kid “me! Me!”

Rowan laughed at her excitement.

“First of all you need to change shoes. Trainers don’t do.” And gave them a pair of climbing shoes. They looked tiny. “They are meant to be tight. During competition we used them even of a size or two smaller. It helps with the feel of your toes on the grip.”

They wore the shoes and Rowan groaned “it hurts.”

“First time is a bit a process of adaptation.”

Once ready Aelin planted herself in front of the wall with determination clear in her stance. She stood feet apart and hands on her hips and stared at the wall as if to study it. Rowan looked at her and studied her stance. He loved her fierceness. Even for something like this she would put her fiery disposition in it. It was beautiful.

He watched Aelin grab two grips and then position her feet too. He saw the muscles in her arms shift and until that moment he had never truly realised that Aelin had muscular arms. It did not surprise him considering her job. He was positive she was probably fitter than him. He was not ashamed to admit that he was turned on.

“OK Aelin, you are doing well. Now extend the right arm and try and grab the green grip near the yellow. It’s a bit bigger.”

Rowan followed her movement as she just swiftly gained a bit more advance and reached another grip.

“Ok, now you can lift your right leg and talon on the purple grip. That will give you enough strength on your arms to push you up and grab the blue grip just above your head.”

In a powerful move Aelin did as was told and her right talon landed on the correct grip and with a strong pull on her arms she gathered enough momentum to reach her target.

She lasted five more minutes before her fingers slipped and landed on the mat with a loud curse.

“That was really good for a first time.” Then Halley turned to Rowan “come on big boy, show us what you have got.”

Rowan covered his hands in chalk and stopped in front of the wall, a deep frown on his face and Aelin knew he was studying hard.

“He is tall. It’s not fair.”

Halley laughed “In bouldering is not always a positive. Sometimes being tall might make it harder to keep your body epicentre as close to the wall as possible.”

Rowan finally moved and Halley was right. Where Aelin, in her starting position she was nice against to the wall with her barycentre in a safe position, Rowan had his legs slightly bent, making his bum point out throwing his centre off. As soon as he started to move he fell.

Halley joined him and at his side she showed him an option that was suitable for his height.

Rowan made little progress but fell a few times more and decided he was not good with boulders.

Aelin tried again and was determined to complete the path and reach the other end so she tried and tried until she arrived at the final grip and jumped off with a loud cheer and jumped in Rowan’s arms.

“You are a talented one. You have eye for it.”

After that they moved to the vertical walls and like for the boulders there was one reserved for them. Rowan had kept an eye in the other climbers and had a feeling this was more in his chords and was looking forward to try.

“Welcome to a vertical wall.” Halley pointed at the one in front of them “this is a beginner’s one. It has larger grips and it’s only four meters tall. So a very short distance to climb but it’s good for the basics.”

From a basket she grabbed two harnesses “wear these.”

Aelin wore her with the skill of someone who could do it with her eyes closed. Rowan got tangled a few times and she found him cute.

“You will be climbing with a technique we call top rope. Meaning that the rope will be already on and you just have to climb,” she explained “I will be your anchor and give you rope and slow your fall if you slip.” She harnessed up and a guy walked at her side “this is Jordan. He will be my anchor as I will go up as lead and lay the rope for you guys.”

They watched as she stared to climb and were again amazed. She reached the top with no effort and hooked the rope at the final carabiner and then climbed down. Aelin smiled. That at least she could do. She had climbed down from buildings on plenty of occasions, pointing her feet at the wall and just let het slid down while walking on the wall.

“Who’s first?”

Rowan offered this time. He let Halley tie a rope to his harness “So, every time you reach a carabiner, you grab the rope with two fingers and click it in, make sure it snaps shut.”

Rowan nodded and rolled his shoulders.

Aelin watched her boyfriend get ready and then start replicating some of the moves Halley had done. Steadily he made a progress and Aelin was impressed. He was good. Rowan reached the half way mark point of the course and paused to rest his arms and cover his hands in chalk from the sachet Halley had attached to his harness. Slowly he made his progress moving from one grip to the other. A loud roar reached them when his hand slammed on the sticker reading Top. Aelin cheered loudly.

“Well done, Rowan. I am impressed.”

He sat down and Halley pulled him down and as soon as his feet touched the ground Aelin hugged him hard.

Aelin’s first try didn’t go so well but at her second try she managed to make it to the top. They practiced a few more and Halley showed them a few more things and Rowan even tried going lead under Halley’s watchful eye and again made it to the top.

At the end of the class they gathered at the bottom of the wall “this has been amazing,” said Rowan with a super smile.

“Totally,” agreed Aelin “do you do classes? As in weekly?”

Halley nodded “when I am not on shift. I have small groups of five. I am starting a new beginner’s session soon. Fancy joining?”

Aelin nodded “if I am off shift I will gladly come. I love this. It might also come handy at work.”

Halley laughed “Aedion sends me automatically if there is a climbing rescue.”

They chatted a bit longer and Rowan confessed he might join some classes if they happened the weekend. He had loved the vertical climb part.

“Are you hungry?” He asked as they approached the changing room.

“Whitethorn, the fact the you even have to ask me that question, astounds me.”

Rowan laughed “get changed. I’ll take you to a tacos paradise.”

Aelin grinned “you know me so well.”

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @courtofjurdan @whimsicallyreading @themoonthestarsthesuriel @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity @acreativelydifferentlove @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98 @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water

#rowanwhitethorn #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #aelin galythinius #throne of glass series #fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #fluff #rowaelin fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction #the girl who leapt through time

[booksofkingdomsandcourts]

Nessian Modern AU: Proposal

A “sequel” to the drabble here that I posted for Nessian Week. As always, what started as a drabble spawned a full-length oneshot. Anyway, writing Nessian was a joy and I look forward to writing more for them in the future. Enjoy!

Warning: Gets a little NSFW near the end because, you know. Them.

           Cassian could feel the little velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket. Were his hands shaking? He was sure they were shaking. Oh god, what if he dropped it? It probably wouldn’t go anywhere, they were pretty far from the edge of the balcony, but it would certainly be embarrassing.

           His smart watch buzzed and he looked down at it to see a text from Azriel that said Dude, you’re practically sweating through your suit. Chill the fuck out. Cassian looked up and glared over the table at him. Azriel made a little “calm down” motion with his hands, and Cassian was so wired that if they’d been sitting closer he would have decked him. Luckily, Nesta was engrossed in a conversation with Emerie and Mor and wasn’t paying attention. The way everyone kept glancing at Cassian he was sure that she would have noticed something was going on by now, but she seemed unaware.

           Of course, the party was already all about her, she just hadn’t seemed to realize that they were (hopefully) going to be celebrating more than one thing. When she had gotten accepted into law school Cassian had promised her a celebration for the ages, knowing it could double as the perfect chance to pop the question. He had tried to keep it on the down-low, but his brothers had seen right through him. As soon as he had said, “So I’m thinking about planning a trip to Vegas to celebrate Nesta getting into law school. I just want to do something really special for her, you know?” they had turned to him with matching grins and said,

           “Oh yeah? Just a casual trip to one of the most spectacular cities in the country?”

           “Any special shopping you need to do first?”

           Cassian had swung at them while they dodged and laughed. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them to know, it was just that he worried that someone would let something slip to Nesta and ruin the surprise. But then he realized there was no keeping everyone from knowing, because he had to ask Feyre and Elain for their blessing (they gave it readily, with squeals and big hugs), and then he had to ask Emerie and Gwyn to help him find out about rings. Now he sat with what he hoped was the perfect ring in his pocket, showy but classy, with two black diamonds set on either side of a shining two carat white diamond. Shiny and noticeable but…tastefully so, he hoped. That was what Emerie and Gwyn had reported, and really, he should have guessed that, because Nesta liked to be noticed, but only in a way where she was respected, or at least revered.

Now they sat on a private balcony for a dinner service Rhys had helped Cassian book overlooking the Vegas strip, lights and fountains glittering around them, the noise of the strip a pleasant background hum. They had all the usual suspects—Azriel, Rhys and Feyre, Mor and Amren and Varian, Elain and Lucien, and of course, Gwyn and Emerie. Everyone Cassian thought Nesta would want to be here, and the usual plus ones that had to be invited either way. He knew Nesta wouldn’t want a true Jumbotron-style public proposal, but surely this was okay, right? Just their friends? He didn’t think she’d want no one to see it, and yet—

           “Hey,” she said, putting her hand on his knee. He started, almost jumping out of his skin. She laughed. “What, did I startle you, sitting here exactly where I’ve been the whole time? Where are those judo reflexes now?”

           They all had a nice buzz going, though they were refraining from getting really messy until after dinner. Nesta was maybe the most openly happy Cassian had ever seen her, smiling and laughing and shining in a way that he had never seen before. He knew she was really proud to finally be going to law school after all this time. He could only hope that after this dinner her good mood would be doubled, not dampened.

           “Anyway,” Nesta continued, scooting her chair closer to his and sliding her hand dangerously up his thigh. “Could I steal you for a minute after dessert?”

           She looked fucking stunning tonight. Not that she didn’t always, but in that little black dress with her perfect tits tastefully on display, her lithe legs in those heels, and her hair swept up and away from her neck, Cassian might have asked to marry her even if she wasn’t his girlfriend. The only thing keeping his libido in check were his nerves, and if she said yes, it wasn’t going to be much of a competition between the two anymore. But until then….

           Cassian put his arm around her shoulders, trying to act natural. “I think we’re going to have cocktails then head out and hit the Strip again.”

           Nesta raised an eyebrow at him. “Yes. So it’ll be a while before we’re back in our room for the night. I was thinking we could just take a minute.” She moved her fingers on his leg again and with her other hand tilted his head to hers for a kiss. “You look so fucking good in that suit baby,” she whispered against his mouth.

           God, he couldn’t wait to marry her. He lost himself for a second, drinking in the feeling of her lips on his, her warm hand against his thigh. She had to say yes. She had to, or Cassian wouldn’t know what to do with himself.

           “Get a room!” Lucien called from the other side of the balcony. Cassian heard Elain chide him.

           Nesta pulled away and whipped back, “You are here on courtesy invite only, asshole.”

           “Nesta!” Elain complained.

           If there was anything that would put a damper on Cassian’s marriage plans it was that if he married Nesta and Lucien married Elain, he’d be stuck with the little shithead for the rest of his life. Then Cassian looked at Nesta, already laughing with Emerie again, her hand still resting on his leg, and knew that he couldn’t even pretend. Nothing could cause him to hesitate.

           That had to include his nerves. Now that they were finishing with dessert, the servers would be waiting for his speech before bringing out the cocktails and champagne. If he waited too much longer, Nesta would begin to wonder what the holdup was. Fuck his nerves. The last thing he was going to let keep him from marrying Nesta was himself.

           So Cassian stood, taking Nesta’s hand and standing her up. Her face brightened, and she gave him a look through her eyelashes. Then it turned to confusion as he started leading her out onto the balcony, in front of everyone.

           “Um, I was thinking we’d go inside,” she whispered to him, but he could hear the question in her playful tone. What the hell are you doing?

           What he came here to do.

“Everyone?” he said, just loud enough to beat the ambient noise of Vegas below them. They all turned to him from their scattered little tables, and he hoped Nesta wouldn’t read into the eagerness on their faces. Here it was: the main event.

           He didn’t let go of Nesta’s hand as he continued, “I want to thank you all so much for coming this weekend to celebrate the most incredible woman any of us have ever been blessed to have in their presence, soon to be the best attorney this nation has ever seen.”

           Everyone clapped as Nesta rolled her eyes and said, “Cassian, stop.” But she was smiling.

           He didn’t stop, but instead continued, “It has been such an honor to get to be the one by her side through all she has accomplished these past few years. ‘Now Cassian,’ you might be thinking, ‘surely some of that can be attributed to her incredible fitness coach.’ And you would be right,” he said, and as everyone laughed good-naturedly, he heard Nesta mutter, “Nevermind I fucking hate you.” He wasn’t facing her, but he could practically hear her rolling her eyes.

           “But in all seriousness, Nesta is the most amazing woman I have ever met. If you all could see her behind the scenes, how hard she works, how much she cares about her family and her friends,” Cassian paused to take Nesta’s other hand, turning her to face him. There were a hundred specific little things he could list, but knowing how easily she was embarrassed, he would leave it at that until they were alone. “I think you’d be pretty in love with her too.”

           There were a couple of “aw”s from the crowd, and Cassian was pretty sure Lucien’s was genuine. Nesta was blushing, but Cassian was glad to see she was still smiling. “Cassian, how drunk are you?" she laughed.

           “Just enough to fight my nerves,” he replied honestly.

           Her smile froze, and a crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What are you nervous about?”

           He gave her a grin that he was sure looked nervous as hell. “Would you be mad if I told you I might have had an additional motive for planning this trip?”

           He watched as her face changed, putting the clues together just as Cassian sank down onto one knee. She pulled her hands out of his, putting them both over her mouth as Cassian fished the little box out of the inside of his jacket and popped it open. He looked up into her eyes, wide as saucers now, and said, “Nesta Archeron. You are the strongest, sexiest, most capable, most remarkable woman I have ever been fortunate enough to cross the path of. I love everything about you, and I love everything about us. Marry me, Ness. I think we both know this is forever—let’s make it official.”

           She made a slight keening sound. Her face had turned very red, and Cassian could see that she was trembling. But at his question she started nodding frantically, and she choked out a, “Yes. Yes, yes.”

           Their little audience erupted into cheers as Cassian slid the ring onto her finger and stood. Before he could even kiss her, she pulled herself against him with crushing force, burying her face in his shoulder. He could feel her shuddering as she pulled in big, heaving breaths. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. Then, after a moment without her breaths settling, Cassian said, “Hey, are you okay?”

           “Yes,” Nesta said, pulling away just enough to talk. Her face was red and streaked with heavy tears. Her breaths were still labored, and Cassian suddenly realized she was genuinely hyperventilating. “Yes, I just, oh god, I can’t—” The words came out choppy as she tried to catch her breath, still crying. She buried herself back in his chest and he realized she was trying to hide her hysterics.

           “Okay, okay,” Cassian said quietly, hoping to calm her down before she made herself light headed and passed out. “Let’s step inside, okay? Are you okay to move?”

           She nodded, gasping. He gently put his hand on her waist and guided her past the tables. The rest of the party watched with concern, but he mouthed we’ll be right back as he led Nesta inside.

           The space inside was mostly just a hall to the balcony, so Cassian pulled Nesta aside to the little alcove by the bathrooms so they would be hidden from the big glass windows. As soon as they were out of sight he pulled her back close to him.

           “Just tell me this is happy crying,” he said.

           “It is,” Nesta said thickly with a choked laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

           “I’m sorry,” he said, slowly stroking his fingers down her back to calm her. “If I had known this would be your reaction, I would have planned something private for you.”

           “No! It was perfect,” she said. “Everything was perfect. I—I didn’t know I’d react like this.” She was still sniffling. “I’ve never really imagined my own engagement. I—I never thought I’d love someone this much. That someone would love me this much.”

           “I love you that much and more,” Cassian said, meaning it with everything he had. “I would marry you tonight if you wanted. We’re in Vegas—pick any venue and we can make it official.”

           She laughed. Her throat still sounded thick but her breathing had returned to normal. “Oh no. We’re having the most grandiose wedding anyone has ever seen. If I’m getting married, everyone is going to know. And I want a ten thousand dollar dress.”

           “Deal,” Cassian said without hesitation. Nesta’s heels already brought her much closer to Cassian’s face than usual, but she still had to press herself up an extra inch on her toes to kiss him. Cassian leaned down obligingly, and now feeling the warmth of her body, the cold press of her ring against his jaw as she cupped his face, sent heat settling at the front of his pelvis.

           “Now what would you say if I told you to drop your panties,” he growled against her mouth.

           She smirked. “I’d say I would.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tipped her head to whisper in his ear, “But I’d have to be wearing some.”

           Cassian groaned, sliding his hands up under the hem of her dress and indeed finding only bare skin. “Fuck, Ness.”

“I was hoping you’d get handsy and find out during dinner,” she said. “But you had other things on your mind, apparently.”

“From now on I promise to always put my hands up your skirt at dinner to check if you’re commando,” Cassian said.

“At every dinner,” Nesta said, kissing him again. “For the rest of our lives. That better be in your wedding vows.”

“For the rest of our lives,” he repeated.

“For the rest of our lives,” she echoed again. Then she kissed him again, passionately, slipping her tongue over his lips.

He pulled his hands out from her dress and opened the door to the bathroom beside them. “Get in,” he commanded, voice a tight snarl. Nesta took her time, sending him a sultry look through ruined makeup as she swayed her hips and made her way into the single-person room. Cassian followed, locking the door. She stayed with her back to him, watching in the mirror as he slid his suit jacket off and hung it on the hook on the door. She licked her bottom lip as he rolled his sleeves up just a little, to try and make sure he wouldn’t soil them. He met her eyes in the mirror, and he read her intention in the look on her face. She leaned forward and braced herself on the sink.

           “Alright then,” he chuckled, undoing his belt and unfastening his pants to slide them down just over his rapidly hardening cock. He shoved the hem of her dress up to expose her bare ass and said, “Better make sure you’ve got a good grip on that sink, sweetheart. You’re going to need it.”

*~*~*

           Cassian made his way back out onto the balcony, put back together on the outside but with his head still swimming with the look on Nesta’s face in the mirror as she finished around him. Evidently someone had made the wise call to start cocktail hour without waiting for them, and the laughter he heard around him sounded a lot louder and messier than it had when he’d left. Gwyn and Emerie quickly departed for inside, makeup bags in hand, to help clean Nesta up for the rest of the night. Cassian was swarmed with congratulations, and he ordered a scotch on the rocks to keep him busy while he waited for his fiancée to reemerge.

           When Nesta reentered the party she was almost knocked to the ground by her sisters, and she begged them not to make her cry again. Rhys motioned to a server who brought out a bottle of champagne Rhysand had specially reserved for Nesta and Cassian (Cassian didn’t even want to know how much it cost), and Nesta popped the cork to raucous applause. Elain slapped them both with Just Engaged! sashes to wear for the rest of the night, and through it all, there was never a moment that Nesta and Cassian didn’t have some form of physical contact, be it holding hands or hips against each other or an arm around the shoulder. Cassian caught the way Nesta kept looking at her ring, tilting her hand to make it glitter in the lights. Then she would look at him, and she would smile, and as they headed out the Strip to celebrate, Cassian felt happier than he ever had in his entire life.

#nessian #nessian fanfic #nesta archeron #cassian #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf #my writing

[chronic-claire-universe]

Hey! Congrats on reaching 500, you deserve it ♡

I'd really like to take part in your milestone event so here I am, heh. I would like a tokyo revengers and jjk/haikyuu ( I can't decide the second tbh you can pick just something?) match up if possible. But you can also just ignore this ask if It's too much! Kisses anyway.

Uhm where do I start?

I'm an ENTP and bi with a preference for fictional man ( like everyone here)

I'm super pale with dark red and white hair mostly in two pigtail braids. I have a stick and poke tattoo from a friend on my leg(a moon). I mostly wear black and red and have a little Jewellery addiction - especially rings. I kid you not I own over 100 but I tend to gift them to random people at parties when I wear too much and get bored of them.

I'm blunt, sarcastic and come off as mean sometimes, but I actually just can't shut up and do/say what I want. I'm also very competitive and chaotic and for being a huge flirt. I'm a little dramatic and get bored easily. I start many things but lose interest fast ( people and activities ). Overall I'm pretty chill with everything and go with the flow. Most of the time I'm very outgoing and can start conversations/arguments with everyone. I can get super awkward with affection so my love language are mostly acts of service and gifts. I love bad puns and jokes, dark and dirty ones specifically. My humor is broken if I'm honest.

The things I love are Horror stories, Philosophy, the iliad ( old stories and epics in general ), cats, coffee and late night adventures.

Poppy it's time to prepare your ice cream and I'm really happy about it!!! First before matching you up, I have to say something, I had real fun reading your request and during these days I was impatient to arrive here and write it, also I think I'm in love with you after your appereance description 💜

Warnings: Smut, Pegging, Video, Male Sub, Sex Toys, Overstimulation, Minors DNI.

Tokyo Revengers: Hajime Kokonoi

I have to be frank in here, I thought of Ran hearing your description, not only for the braids but also for your personality, but I think that you would be a disaster couple together cause you're way too similar, so here I am matchin you with our favourite sugar daddy Koko!

Why do I choose him? Well he enjoys sarcathisc people and also your strong personality. Koko knows that you're a strong girl who doesn't need protection and that's why he loves you!

You find yourself bored easily but Koko has a remedy for it, your dates with him don't consist only in fancy restaurant but most of the time, last minute holiday on the other part of the world!

When you go on holiday you love to go around and discover the meaning of new places, I canon you being in New York in the top of Empire State Building while you explain the history of the art-deco building and Koko opens up a champagne and makes a toast for the view in front of you!

This sounds big right? But don't worry, you're not going to the other side of the world every weekend, infact most of the time you and Koko enjoy the warm of your house.

During your domestic dates he comes back with the takeaway of your favourite italian restaurant and you decide the wine to drink.

Despite dinner, I canon you cuddling the persian cat he gifted you, who stays calm in his/your lap.

You have the habit to play poker, do you bet? Of course! Money? Nah too boring, you enjoy betting sex, in particular ways.

He tried to let you win but the first time he did it, you got so angry that you didn't talk with him and got to bed alone, he had to pray for an hour before forgiving him, you're not a baby that he must protect!

Going back to the sex bet, most of time it involves domineering kinks, from both him and you.

You peg him, you overstimulated him with his personal vibrator, he did the same with you, but most of all you recorded your intercourse.

Both of you have a nude album of the other, but you also did a professional one together, everyone in Bonten knows about it!

Talking about Bonten, you never go to their hideout but the guys know you and respect you, during the poker nights it happened that they were invited.

In the beginning they tease you, most Sanzu and Haitani bros, in the end they respect you, to the point that Ran became one of your closest friend and always keep you updated about Koko's conditions.

The relationship with Koko sounds sophisticate but genuine, strong and powerful. Keep it tight cause most of the people don't understand each other like you do!

Haikyuu: Suguru Daishou

Please bear with me, it seems that I picture you with guys that have snake eyes 😂 but there is a reason: snake eyes remember me of people with a sassy and asshole attitude!

You and Daishou professionaly tease people together! You love joking about them to the point to result mean, but this is something that your friends can go through.

You love outdates especially to arcade where you challenge and most of the time you win! This annoy Suguru to hell that most of the time bring you shouting at home and throwing you to bed, he fucks the hell out of you.

No Suguru doesn't want you to be in charge, sex for him is important to establish who is the male in the couple, and you don't care about it cause this leave you completely satisfied.

Sex isn't everything in your relationship, you enjoy a lot going out to dinner with friends, you even became buddy with Kuroo and this annoys Suguru as fuck, but respecting Nekoma's captain he doesn't complain too much about it

When you stay at home you definitely watch horror movies, but most of the time he's really annoyed by it, he just does it cause he loves you.

You also play board games, but being this a bit calmer than arcade ends up with you just laughing and eating snack until you can't keep your eyes open and you both lay on the couc/bed with him spooning you.

Daishou is competitive, loosing a match brings him lot of frustration. It's canon that he really struggle facing this problem, but seeing you helping him and just doing simple things like welcoming him with a hug and preparing his favourite dinner helps him recover.

Acts of service mean: training with him, cooking for him. The time he lost against Nekoma he came back hom without saying a word, there beside his computer there was a dvd you prepared.

"Watch me" you written on it, and here he was tears flowing from his eyes. It was a compilation of all the points he score in the year and compliments from schoolmates and teammates but also others friends.

He watches it everytime he feels down and this is enough to help him improving his mood.

You're a meanie couple but when something happens, you're always there for the other and that's what makes you fantastic together!

Poppy I finished, I really hope that you like this cause I had lot of fun writing it, kisses 💜

#tokyo revengers #hajime kokonoi #kokonoi smut #kokonoi x reader #tokyo rev x reader #haikyuu #suguru daishou #geto suguru x reader #suguru daisho smut #suguru daisho x reader #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #tokyo revengers smut

[maranello]

RACE: Turkish Grand Prix 2021

In light of post-race reactions, I must say I am personally surprised by the amount of vitriol directed at Ferrari when it has been, largely, a positive weekend that did not, in fact, feature legitimate fuck-ups from the team (there has been way worse) and the drivers did extremely well on their parts. So, I am going to take a look at our race in Turkey with a sledgehammer of some reason. 

Disclaimers: These are my opinions and my opinions alone, I am not necessarily qualified to be the best judge, and I am a Ferrari fan and Charles Leclerc supporter so obviously I am not speaking without bias. However, more importantly, I plan on speaking with reason.

CHARLES LECLERC: P4

"Overall it was a positive race. We were very competitive, especially in the first stint and the car felt good. We went long on the first set of Inters and once the rest of the field had stopped for the new set, we found ourselves to be quite a bit faster on the used ones. But after just a few laps, the other drivers started to clear the graining they were struggling with and found a lot of performance, so we knew we would have to stop too. We were a little out of step with the others on my stop that happened late in the race so we never got over the graining phase and couldn’t fight back. It’s a shame that we lost out on a podium finish, but the performance was there which is a positive."

Despite a lost podium, Charles’ performance was still superlative, both in qualifying and in the race. Although he had struggled in Q1 and Q2 of qualifying, he put in a super lap at the end of Q3 to put himself in fourth fastest (starting P3). His race performance was extremely impressive as well, especially when you consider the fact that he was on a low downforce set-up that was optimized for a dry race which we had been expecting. His pace in the first stint was incredible, as he was keeping up with the Mercedes and Red Bull without any trouble, and at times, he was even quicker. It was also really impressive how active he was in communicating with his engineer throughout the race and coming up with the strategy, even if it hadn’t paid off for a win.

CARLOS SAINZ: P8

"This was one of my best races, and probably my strongest with Ferrari! That first stint in those tricky conditions was very intense but good fun. I overtook at different parts of the track and using all kinds of lines, so I really enjoyed myself. It was a pity we had a problem during the stop, because the pit stop itself was fast, but we need to analyse why it took so long to release the car. Instead of coming out behind Ocon I would have come out closer to Lando, and during the last ten laps I was one of the fastest on track, so I feel we could have finished the race further up. Anyway, these things can happen and I definitely have a lot of positives to take from today. I am starting to have a lot of fun with the car and to understand it better and better, so I look forward to the upcoming races and to keep building momentum."

Carlos did a super job in the race, coming up to P8 after starting from the back of the grid. He had the perfect setup for the conditions and had to deal with less problems regarding graining. Despite the slow pit stop and losing some time after being stuck behind Ocon’s Alpine, he was able to bring his tyres into the optimal window and showed very strong pace after getting past the Alpine. I think his only mistake was making a bit of contact with Vettel when he was doing an overtake. He got his first (and well-deserved) Driver of the Day for his performance in the race.

PIT STOPS

Charles’ pit stop was 3.10 seconds and Carlos’ was 8.12 seconds in the Turkish Grand Prix. The really unfortunate thing about Carlos’ pit stop is that it was due to a signaling issue and not because of the pit crew. As Mattia Binotto tells AMuS: 

“The wheel change itself was done in the normal time. But then the manual release that turns the light green was not registered by the system. That caused the delay. We have to investigate why that was the case.”

They’ll need to figure out what exactly caused the system to fail and make sure it doesn’t happen again. The pit stops themselves were done within normal times, but I think they could do better. They had been clocking in under 3 seconds in previous races, and while 3 seconds is not too bad, it is not quick enough. I would like to see them regularly putting in pit stops that are under 3 seconds and not have to worry about the team fucking up pit stops. I honestly think they have improved on the reliability of their pit stops this season already, but still.... We can always try to do better. (And we have to be, well, near perfect on all fronts if we want to be fighting for titles and win.) 

COMMUNICATION

A lot of shit has been thrown at Ferrari for their radio communication during this race. Most of it, I find unreasonable, especially when it is based on the small snippet shown on the main feed that does not illustrate the full picture of what they were telling Charles. 

Charles: If we stay...at this pace...what are we looking at in terms of position? Xavi (his race engineer): If you can keep Bottas behind...P1.

I believe most of the reactions to this was borne out of the knee-jerk reaction to shit on/meme Ferrari as per the internet trend is and just taking the commentary’s word at face value when they called it “useless.” But this team radio was one delayed snippet taken out of context from a long string of communication over their strategic options. They were updating him consistently as the race evolved with the information he needed and asked for. You can listen to their full discussion on strategy here and judge for yourself.

I don’t think this piece of radio was that bad, taken in terms of the whole discussion. The gap was about 8 seconds at lap 39 out of 58. Charles was confident he could keep up 34.5 before he locked up and flat spotted his tyre, Bottas at this point was doing 34.0 with new inters under graining. Xavi’s response essentially meant that they believed that at this pace, they could go to the end but Bottas had the pace to catch up with him near the end and Charles would have to defend from him to keep P1. And Xavi did give a few scenarios before and after that piece of radio we heard on the main feed. When I heard the message during the race, I also thought it was a motivational one. 

The communication as a whole, as well, I don’t think it is anywhere near as bad as people are making it out to be. I think they could still improve on it, for sure, to be more precise in understanding what they are asking/need to know from each other, and be more aptly responsive to some of Charles’ more direct/easier questions (smooth out the communication along the pit wall so they can pass on information quicker?). However, I personally don’t think it’s completely fair to say that they are making Charles do all the work of guiding the information they are looking at and coming up with the strategy himself, to be honest. I think the pit wall likely would have had that information already and was thinking with it, but Charles wanted to know too. Mostly, I just find myself very impressed with how Charles is managing to do all that while he’s driving at insanely high speeds and is an active participant in their strategy during a weird race condition. To smooth out the process, they perhaps can agree beforehand on exactly what Charles wants to know during the race next time. 

English also isn’t the first language of presumably most people on the Ferrari pit wall and not for Charles either, so I find that their task of communicating on the radio to be even more difficult under the stressful conditions of a race. This is something I honestly find quite frustrating, that they are restricted by an informal rule to speak in English on the radio when it is not the most effective way of communicating for them. I think Ferrari’s communication could be a lot smoother if they could just speak in Italian, but they can’t, and they’ll just have to figure out how they can communicate in English more efficiently.

It’s worth a reminder that we can interpret the team radio all we want, but as long as the communication is clear to them (Charles himself and his engineers at the pit wall), that’s what actually counts. This is what Charles said about the communications in his post-race comments: 

“In Russia, I think the communication was not great, but this time the communication was very good. I had a clear picture of the race, and we did the right choice, or what we thought was the right choice at the time.”

Charles clearly thought his communication with his engineer was effective enough for him throughout this race to make informed decisions on strategy. It is encouraging to hear that the communication has improved from race to race. It means that they did sit down after Sochi and really learn from their mistakes. It means that they can continue to improve their communication. With that, let’s move on to strategy. 

STRATEGY

I think the biggest problem with Ferrari’s strategy team (and this has been its main problem for a very long time) is that Ferrari is not very good at thinking on its feet and being decisive in uncertain situations. This race is one of those cases. I actually think that they didn’t do too badly in terms of adapting as the race evolved, but the way they communicated with Charles in terms of presenting strategies as choices rather than being decisive is something I’d criticize. For example, they did actually discuss the “ideal window” for pitting with new Inters after the cars that had pitted for new Inters picked up the pace after getting past the graining stage. Xavi had suggested that Charles should stop to pit and push in the last 12 laps, but Charles postponed the decision. The situation would quickly turn in the next two laps as Charles loses ground to Bottas, struggling with the rear because of the low downforce dry setup and going long in Turn 14. 

Although they were efficient in coming up with recovery options to pit for new Inters and were able to cover Hamilton for P4, the fact remains that they had information from Carlos on pitting for new Inters and knew that graining would be a problem for a few laps, but they didn’t insist on pitting Charles when they identified that he should pit and then push for 12 laps. It’s one thing to strike a balance between driver input and the pit wall to get the right strategy, but I think Ferrari needs to be more firm when the situation calls for it. This was also kind of the problem with Sochi last time. I think they tend to overestimate Charles’ a little when he says he can stay out because he has gotten quite good at tyre management and always shows such strong pace until the tyres just don’t hold up, and by the time he is losing pace, it is a touch too late and they can only salvage what they can. That’s something Ferrari really needs to account for when they are coming up with their strategies. 

However, the decision to gamble on not pitting for new Inters when Charles was in the lead is not something I take issue with. If Charles was in a title fight, this is a call that I think would deserve to be reprimanded. But since he isn’t, taking a gamble to win that did not pay off in the end isn’t something I find to be that reproachable, if at all. It’s fair to disagree with the decision they took, but to write it off as a strategy fuck-up is unreasonable. Ultimately, this is a strategic decision that Charles and the team made together after they went through all the scenarios and information available to them, knowing that they risked losing the podium. In a difficult situation to judge when the track isn’t drying but isn’t getting worse, there are other teams who did a lot worse with their strategic decisions (clearly, Mercedes also thought for a time that they could stay out until the end of the race), and I think it was a positive thing that Ferrari were willing to try something different and capitalise on being in a position they did not expect to find themselves in. When the no-stop strategy had proven to be unfeasible after Charles made 3-4 mistakes and locked up twice, allowing Bottas to gain a lot of ground, they did a good job of changing their strategy quickly to cover Hamilton instead and managed to salvage a nonetheless strong P4 finish. 

Strategy-wise, I just think this is one of those cases where it was simply a gamble that did not pay off, rather than a true, bona fide fuck-up on an indefensible scale. Ferrari had sound reasoning for making the initial decision to try to have Charles go to the end without pitting, and its goals and priorities this season allows for it to take that gamble instead of playing it safe for a P3. Of course it is personally disappointing for Charles to lose out on a podium, but it wasn’t a bad thing to try something different for an opportunistic win. Charles himself said that although it was a shame to lose the podium, he doesn’t regret anything. So, we learn from this and we move. On the scale of everything, it is better that Ferrari is gambling now and learning what works and what doesn’t, rather than when they are in contention for the championship.

THE BIGGER PICTURE

It’s really important not to lose sight of the bigger picture, and by that, I don’t mean just this season’s “fight” with McLaren for P3 in the Constructors’ Championship. I mean Ferrari’s trajectory as a whole, going into 2022 and beyond. When you consider the implications of how Ferrari has been throughout this weekend, I find myself feeling very, very good about things. 

Ferrari has closed the gap to McLaren in the Constructors’ Championship down to 7.5 points, after Charles and Carlos hauled in a good 16 points in this race. Binotto has told AMuS, 

“I'll say it quite clearly. Third place in the championship is our goal. It teaches the team to work under the pressure of a clearly defined goal.” 

Mind you, the Ferrari we have now is making a habit of not promising more than they can deliver. Just a few races ago, when the gap to McLaren was massive, Binotto was saying that they are focusing on next year. The fact that he is now again pointing out P3 in Constructors’ as a defined goal is a sign that Ferrari sees it as a very tangible goal they can and will deliver, especially with how well PU4 is working. The Ferrari was one of the fastest cars on track at certain points of this race. Charles was easily keeping pace with the Red Bulls and Mercedes throughout his first stint despite being in a suboptimal set-up. True, Binotto, Mekies, and Charles have all said that PU4 is “not a game changer” and that it is only giving them a “small advantage,” but… when Carlos was asked about his new PU, he told Sky Italia: “There is something. We don’t want to talk about that, but there is something.” Which is. something. Overall, though, I just think that the new PU has been very promising thus far, and as it is testing out quite a few components Ferrari plans on using for its 2022 car...even more so!

There are also a lot of little things about this weekend that I find to be quite positive. Once again, I want to highlight that Ferrari had a brilliant qualifying, having Carlos push out Daniel Ricciardo from Q2 and then sending him out to give Charles a perfectly-timed tow to ensure he gets into Q1. That’s some teamwork right there, and a Ferrari on the offensive rather than on the back foot. The fact that Ferrari apologized to Carlos on the radio for the slow pit stop, which Carlos took with no bitterness, is also so good to see. Ferrari has historically never been good about admitting its own mistakes, and to see them being comfortable with that on the radio with their drivers implies to me that the working atmosphere in Ferrari is pretty positive. And also how their communication has improved from Sochi to Istanbul... As I said earlier, that’s a good indication that the team is genuinely looking at their mistakes with a clear and analytical head, learning from them and doing so in a short time. Charles always tries to improve where he can, and he said he would work on communicating with the team post-Sochi— it’s one of his greatest qualities to work to improve even when he did very little wrong himself, and to see Ferrari improve with him makes me really happy. 

And most of all, that they were willing to gamble to win rather than be satisfied with a P3. That’s a team that is motivated and is hungry to do more than just well. That’s a team that perhaps! has more up their sleeves than they are showing right now. That’s a team with momentum, and from what I can see, there is an upwards trajectory. It won’t be a smooth path, it doesn’t mean they won’t make mistakes along the way, but I think the direction is looking quite good.  

Our disappointment in the results are a cause for hope. It is an indication that the bar is higher, that our and Ferrari’s expectations are higher. P4 used to be a great result to us, both in qualifying and in a race, at the beginning of the season, and the fact that it isn’t anymore is a sign of how far we have come in the season. Now, there are six races left, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited. 

#okay. #this took so long I'm not sure if I even agree with myself anymore. #f1 #ferrari debrief room #discussion & analysis #turkish gp 2021 #scuderia ferrari #info #charles leclerc #carlos sainz jr #fio.essay #I actually don't know what I am saying anymore help #POINT IS #it wasn't that bad #that's it.

[everlarkficexchange]

Clubbing 101

Written by @alliswell21

Prompt 144: She has a night of fun before the start of the semester. She meets this guy, they hit it off that they sleep together. But when she shows up to her class the next day, she sees the guy again. But he’s her professor and he’s way older than she originally thought. #olderPeeta [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Rating: Explicit. NSFW. 

Tags and Warnings: Canon Divergence; College!AU; Age gap, older man/younger woman; The opposite to slow burn? Smut; Unprotected sex; technically impaired consent since alcohol, but their both into each other while sober too 🤷🏻‍♀️; Ethical dilemmas; Teacher/Student relationship (sort of); One Shot, with an ambiguous open ending? Almost 10K words. Unbetaed. 

Notes: Thank you to the moderators once more for putting up with us, procrastinating writers. You gals are saints! Thank you to @animekpopxx for her amazing prompts that never fail to snag my attention and give me the best ideas ever! You rock! I projected this story to be a smutty short thing, but it sprouted words and a background out of nowhere and I had to forced myself to stop adding to it, to get back to my other submissions waiting in my docs. Hopefully, it’s a good read for the ones who take the chance with it. 

Thank you all! 

KPKPKPKPKP

It starts with a harmless ranting. 

“I’m not outgoing, or fun. I’m not even ‘cool’… hell, I don’t care what my sister says, I’m too old for this place!” I tell the handsome, bearded, guy sitting in the barstool next to me, “She’s a med student, you know, but she insists that partying is part of the college experience, especially when one’s career is so demanding… plus, is the last weekend of summer break, which apparently means you’re contractually obligated to party extra hard,” I roll my eyes, “I never saw the appeal personally, but I let her drag me out here so I can keep an eye on her. Is not like I’m gonna let her piss away her future for a night of clubbing,” I scoff, taking a long pull of my beer.

The guy chuckles, but I’m not done just yet. 

I slam down my bottle and continue listing my grievances, “The thing that grinds my gears, is that she begged for a ‘girls’ night out’, and instead of drinking with me and people watch, she goes off with the first fucker that asks her to dance! I mean… did it ever occur to her, I may want to dance with her on OUR girls’ night out?!” I scowl and gulp another mouthful of beer, “then, to add insult to injury, thirty minutes later I get a text from her, saying to go on home without her ‘cause she found a ride, followed by that cursed eggplant emoji, like I needed an illustration of what kind of ride she’s getting,” I mock gag, rearranging the strap of my tiny purse across my chest. 

 “I guess she’s young, and beautiful, and does work very hard, but if you invite me to go clubbing with you, don’t abandon me within the first 15 minutes of arriving!”

My companion winces before sipping his drink, and smiling ruefully, “That’s harsh… sorry you’re having a shitty night,”

“Meh… little sisters, right?!” I shrug. 

The guy smiles crookedly at me, and I find myself enjoying his smile, “I wouldn’t know about that. I’m the baby of three brothers, and the only thing I got away with was learning how to wrestle and spring awesome comebacks on the fly… the brutes kept me on my toes,” he chuckles. 

“Three boys? Sounds chaotic. Your poor mother!” 

“Yeah… life’s chaotic.” He averts his eyes for a second, his smile goes away. I’m afraid I’ve said something wrong, but he suddenly looks back at me, and confesses, “I’m not into clubbing either.” His eyes sparkle, despite the awful, dim, blue lights bathing the place. 

I smile, “Look at us wallflowers, bonding over drinks and sibling shenanigans,” we clink our drinks together and sip. I’m chatty and relaxed, so unlike myself; I guess the two beers I’ve had are starting to get to me. “I’m Katniss, by the way.”

“That’s pretty,” he says, shyly; makes my chest warm up. “Nice to meet you, Katniss. I’m Peeta.”

I arch my eyebrows, “Peter?” I repeat, because I’m pretty sure I miss-heard him over the obnoxiously loud music. 

The guy shakes his head, “Pee-ta… like the bread?” He chuckles. Then adds, “Family name. Everyone on my dad’s side are bakers.” 

I snort-laugh, “Punny!” I say, taking another sip. Yup, beer’s getting to me, I’m not this cleverly funny. “My dad was into survivalism and botany… I’m named after a plant also known as Duck Potato, so I win the weird name competition!” 

“Hey, it’s something else to bond over,”

“Cheers to that!” We clink our drinks again, and partake in our booze. 

He orders another whiskey neat when he’s out… sounds both snooty and distinguished at the same time. Goes well with his put together image, though: nicely trimmed beard, nicely combed hair, nice polo shirt with what I believe is a tiny loaf of bread embroidered on the chest, and dark-wash jeans… I think. It’s hard to tell under the black lights of the club. 

He offers to get me another drink, and I order an appletini.

“J.D. from Scrubs always drank one,” I explain, swirling the coctel in my hand, “I’ve always been curious to try, but didn’t wanna spend my own money experimenting on a drink I could potentially hate.” 

“Makes sense,” Peeta says, “So… what’s the verdict?” 

“Is pretty good, actually. But I think I’ll stick with my Miller Light,” 

Peeta nods, “I honestly don’t enjoy alcohol that much.”

I giggle. “Then, what brings you to this fine establishment tonight, sir, if you’re not much for clubbing, or drinking?” I watch him out of the corner of my eye. 

I like that when he smiles, his eyes crinkle in the corners.

“I lost a bet against a colleague.”

“Oh,” I’m suddenly self conscious and a little uncomfortable. I give the guy a scrutinizing look, and ask suspiciously, “what was the punishment exactly?” 

The man rolls his eyes. “I have to spend one whole hour in the club, without criticizing anything, like the bitter old man I am,” he grins, “My friend’s words. Not mine!” He raises both hands, claiming innocence. 

I laugh at the face he pulls, “Well, you’ve just defaulted on that punishment,”

“How so?” He beams. 

“With the look in your face! It spoke volumes!” 

“Am I that transparent?” 

“You read like a preschooler’s board book, pal!” 

We both laugh, I drink my beer, and he throws back his whiskey neat. 

“So…” he makes a show of looking at his watch, “I still have 33 minutes to kill before I’m allowed to run out of this place… I know I’m not a Med student, co-Ed, sister of yours, but… would you, um, like to dance with me?” He sounds adorably hopeful. 

I glance at the man sideways, toying with my bottle. 

He smirks, mischievously, “I promise, spirits make me more coordinated on the dance floor. I become this amazing dancer when I have a couple of drinks on… or so my brain believes. I probably look like an idiot, but I’m too goofy to know the difference. You’re welcome to be the judge it for yourself,”

I take my sweet time finishing the last dregs of my beer, and wrinkle my nose, “You sure you wanna dance to this shit, kids call music nowadays?” I smirk, pointing a finger up, motioning wide circles into the ether. 

Peeta gives a full belly laugh.

I really do like his laugh! 

“Isn’t it our only choice?” He ventures. 

Not if you follow me home, my thirsty brain supplies; my lips on the other hand, just let through a hint of a smile, because I’m buzzed, but not drunk enough to proposition a total stranger. I’ve never been one to sleep around anyway.

“Okay,” I say, too enthused. “As long as we both agree that this isn’t music,”

“Oh no, this just barely passes as noise!” Peeta agrees readily. 

He guides me to the packed dance floor, and we start moving to the booming, deafening tunes playing overhead. 

I’m not sure if one could call this dancing. Everywhere I look people are writhing against each other, like a pack of zombies without grace or rhyme. 

I’m not sure Peeta will get an accurate assessment of his dancing skills, compared to what I’m seeing, he’ll probably look like a professional; plus, it’s too dark and busy in here to really appreciate anything, really, but after a few minutes of just shifting in place, robotically, I snatch two bottle beers from a waitress walking by, offering one to my partner, hoping that’s enough to get us loosen up. The waitress stares at me until I rummage on my crossbody mini purse and toss a crumple ten on her tray. 

The liquid boost works. Before I know it, I’m grinding my hips against his. Peeta’s just the right height for his thigh to fit between my legs and brush against my front. I get tired of undulating my arms in the air, so I drop them around his shoulders, and feel just how firm and broad he is under my touch. 

Our chests are tightly pressed together, and I’m at the right angle to just stare at his plush-looking lips. I turn around before I do something brash, like kiss him in the mouth. Peeta doesn’t question it, he just places his hands on my hips, and starts moving to the music’s beat. 

I bring the beer to my lips, but the bottle’s empty… oops! It doesn’t matter, I’m having the time of my life! 

Peeta’s swaying guides me. I basically drape my back over his front, and bump my ass into his groin. I feel the hint of a bulge there, and press my rear into it  again, just to confirm if I felt what I hope I felt. 

Peeta’s fingers tighten on my hip, emboldening me to keep going until I’m practically twerking into him, and his slight bulge morphs into a full blown hard-on. 

I twist in his arms to face him, my lust idled brain barely thinking rationally, “Are your 33 minutes done yet?” I yell into his ear, so he can hear me over the noise. 

He doesn’t even look at his watch, “To hell with time! I‘ll stay here all night, if you want me to,” He answers loudly. 

“Come on, then!” I push off his chest, and snatch up his hand before he can reply. 

Leaving the dance floor is surprisingly easily, considering the crowd bouncing in place together. 

I make no conscious plan on where we’re going; I’m arguably familiar with the layout of this place from my many visits since Prim turned 21; I’m only mildly surprised when we navigate across the club, all the way to the restrooms. It’s like my clit is making all the decisions tonight… good for it! 

There’s a line of disgruntled women waiting to get inside the Ladies Room, but the Men’s Room is available, and Peeta lets me guide him into it, like one of those pull toys children have. 

“It stinks in here,” I comment blandly, but make a beeline for the last stall with a door. 

There’s one guy at the urinal, but he doesn’t even look up from his pants, so I just shrug it off and yank Peeta into the stall with me. 

The space is tight, but once inside the stall, I push Peeta into the door, and attack his mouth. 

He makes a startled noise at the back of his throat, but his hands and arms immediately press me into his body more fully. My own hands trek down to his belt, where I fiddle with the buckle until it’s undone, and I can access his pants’ button and fly. 

He hisses when my fingers graze his warm erection, and bucks into my knuckles. I’m in the process of sticking my hand inside his boxers, when Peeta growls, sucking my lower lip into his mouth, and letting it go with a wet pop.

“Switch places,” he pants against my mouth, and hoists me up, until my back hits the door and his hands grab my hips possessively, jutting my pelvis forward, “I’m hungry, would you mind if I eat you out?” 

“Okay,” I gasp.

Thank you for forcing me to wear your tiny, clubbing dress, Prim! 

“You’ll allow it?” He asks, incredulous, rubbing circles on my hips with his thumbs. 

“Yes… I’ll allow it!”

His smile is sexy, his stare is hypnotic. Damned my drunken ass! I can’t believe I’m willing to do this in a smelly bathroom stall!

Peeta sits on the toilet and licks his lips while staring up at me. His hands disappear under the stretchy material of my skirt, bumping my purse out of his way. He skims his fingers under the elastic of my panties, and I bite my lip, nodding eagerly.

Slowly, Peeta slides my underwear down my legs, the tips of his fingers follow, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced!

Once he brings my panties to my knees, his hands rush back up my thighs, pushing the flimsy skirt around my waist. My underwear drops to my ankles on their own. 

Peeta’s level eye with my crotch, and I squirm restlessly. “Beautiful… absolutely soaked,” he whispers in a daze, he inhales pulling me closer, “You smell divine!” He descends, nose first, into the thatch of dark curls between my thighs, making me moan. He ruts his face against me, and suddenly drops to his knees, grabbing my calf to pull my leg up. 

But the movement gets prevented by my stupid underwear, tangled in my ankles. Without missing a beat, I toe my panties off, so Peeta can maneuver my body however he wants. 

He drapes my leg over his shoulder, opening me up to his ravenous mouth. He grunts, burying his face into my core, and finally, FINALLY, his tongue swipes between my folds.

“Fuck!” I squeak. 

My hands fly to tangle into his soft, perfectly coiffed hair. I nearly smother him, holding his face to my pussy, but he’s doing wicked things to me with his tongue: lapping, sucking, and nipping at my labia; drawing number eight figures around my clit with the tip of his tongue, to then sinking it deep inside my core. I can’t stop bucking into his mouth over and over.

When was the last time I was given head? Fuck if I know! Darius probably, he was decent, but didn’t do it often. And Thom was so boring at it, I actually preferred he didn’t do it. But this guy is amazing! A real expert in the matter! 

“I’m so close! Please… I’m so close,” I wail like a cat in heat, writhing against the door. 

Peeta looks up, and despite the horrendous lighting in the room, I realize he’s got the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen… too bad I can’t hold his gaze too long, because he starts rubbing my clit with his thumb, while fucking my hole with his tongue, and is all I can do not shout and scalp him in my delirium.

He doesn’t stop drinking my juices while I convulse above him. On the contrary, he retrieves his thumb, but keeps his mouth busy, lapping away all the slick I give him.

It’s too much.

I tug on his hair to pull him off of my sensitive privates. 

Peeta takes one last lick with the flat of his tongue and looks up at me, smiling wolfishly, “Was that good?” His beard’s dripping with me, he wipes some of it off on his sleeve. 

I snort, unsexy and definitely rude. “You made me cum so hard I saw stars… yeah, it was good. Better than good, really!” I smile down at him, and try to pull him off from the floor. 

All the gel holding his curls in place is gone now, rubbed off on my palms. His hair is sticking up on the top and towards the back of his head. I reach up to try and smooth it back, “I’m sorry, I seem to have made a mess of your hair,” I giggle. It’s adorable, but I feel bad that I ruined it. 

“You can mess my hair any time you want, Katniss.” He says, almost shyly, he places his hands on my waist, over the bunched up dress. 

It’s a big turn on to me, how his words are so flirty, but he delivers them so sweetly and awed. Is unexpected and endearing… which is odd, because I don’t usually find people endearing at all!

We both chuckle. 

He licks his lips, and I feel heat pool in my lower belly again. 

“Come’ere!” I wrap my hand around his nape, and pull his lips to mine. 

He responds immediately, licking the seam of my mouth. I suck on his tongue when he slides it against mine. 

He moans. 

“Fuck me, Peeta,” I rasp into the kiss, palming his dick through his jeans. 

He groans, “Are you sure?” He barely holds back another groan when I squeeze his clothed erection.

“Cock. In me. Now!” I command through gritted teeth, trying to pull his cock out of his pants with one hand, while taking his hand, and splaying it on my boob. 

“Okay… shit… this is… surreal! This has never happened to me before!” He kneads my tit, gently.

I’m not sure I was supposed to hear that, so I pretend I didn’t and turn, facing the door to wiggle my ass, in an attempt to convince him. 

Peeta makes a noise in his throat, quickly followed by the sound of shifting clothes, and a metallic thump from his belt buckle hitting the toilet. 

I whine when Peeta’s warm, heavy cock caressed my bare ass cheek. “Please don’t tease me,” I beg.

“Fuck, Katniss… do you really want this?”

“Yes, Peeta… put your cock inside my cunt, and fuck me all the way to next week! Now!” 

His warm body cocoons mine, “Anything you want, sweetheart,” he whispers into my ear, and I feel the blunt head of his cock parting my folds, coating himself with my natural lubricants.

He finds my entrance, pushing inside just the tip. He gasps, “Fuck!” One big hand wraps around my hip to keep me steady, bracing his other arm on the door, above my head. 

“Peeta… Please!” I wiggle my ass, making him sink another inch deep. 

“Hold still,” He hisses, “I’m trying to hold back… not ramming in too roughly… embarrassing myself, cumming too fast,” His hot breath warms my nape. “You feel like heaven!” He growls, tightening his hold on me. 

I’m torn, wishing he’d drill into me without mercy already, while another part of me is grateful he’s trying to stay under control… I don’t know which I want more… 

When was the last time I had sex? 

As if reading my thoughts, Peeta shares haltingly, “It’s been such a long time for me. I want it to last, but I’m

Not sure if I can,” 

I don’t have time to second guess myself, because Peeta’s moving, and he’s massive! 

“Don’t hold back!” I bleat, “I want it rough… I want it fast!” I gasp, clenching down on him. I paw at the door for purchase, trying not to face-plant on the cold, hard surface, while Peeta’s fat prick stretches me to the brink of pain! I can’t stay put for him any longer; I buck into him.

“I said to hold still!” He slaps my ass, hard. It stings, but it’s a welcomed feeling. 

I moan and melt, finally relaxing enough for him to penetrate me all the way to the hilt. He stays there a moment, breathing harshly into my neck, squeezing my hip on and off. 

“You’re so tight. So warm. So wet, Katniss.” He nuzzles my ear, “I’m gonna move now, I apologize beforehand in case this ends too soon for you…” He drags himself slowly out of me, just to plunge right back in with a swift, hard thrust. 

I squeak; he grunts.. 

Peeta holds me by the waist,  “You’re so pretty and sexy, Katniss. I can’t decide if you’re real, or the most vivid wet dream I’ve ever had…” he’s fucking me like a jackrabbit in rut.

I’m speechless, vaguely wondering if I didn’t dream him instead?

His cock head hits a spot deep inside me I’ve never reached before. I start babbling nonsense— mostly praising his cock and his strength— I don’t really know what I’m saying, but he seems to be enjoying it thoroughly by the increase in his speed and the volume of his grunts. 

I’m joisted up and down his shaft like a rag doll; I wish I’d thought of hanging my stupid little purse somewhere before we started, because now it’s bumping on my thighs, distracting me from the great ducking I’m getting; it’s no matter… I can feel my orgasm building in my belly.

“I’m gonna cum, sweetheart… I want you to cum too,” He nibbles on my earlobe. 

“Yes, Peeta! Please make me cum, I’m so close!”

One of his hands slides around my waist to play with my clit, while his other tweaks my nipples over my dress and bra. That, added to the sensation of my g-spot being prodded repeatedly, sends me spinning over the edge.

I must’ve screamed or something, because he clamps his hand over my mouth, and then he’s grunting, digging his forehead between my shoulder blades, and pulling me back against his unyielding body. 

“Fuck…” he gasps and shivers behind me. I feel his dick pulsing, his rhythm faltering, and then he goes still. 

Peeta sags a little, wedging his shoulder into the door to keep from falling. I’m surprised he still has the strength to hold me up too; I have to be dead weight at this point, since my legs feel like overcooked noodles and my arms gave out a minute ago.

We both try to catch our breaths, too spent and weak for much more, at least for a few minutes.

Peeta stirs. “Are you okay?” He breathes out, ruffling the loose wisps of my hair with his breath. 

I chuckle, leaning my sweaty temple on the cool door. “I can’t feel my toes… which is excellent!”

“Good,” he sighs. 

Three heart beats later, he straightens up and pulls out of me. An indecent amount of spend flows down my legs as soon as his cock dislodges from my pussy, but Peeta shoves something soft between my thighs quickly, before I have time to freak out about the mess.

I look down mildly curious, staring at an embroidery of a tiny loaf of bread. Vaguely, I wonder if that’s his uniform? He said he was a baker, right? At least he’s named after bread or something. I giggle. “Is this your shirt?” I ask, widening my stance to gracelessly wipe myself clean. 

“Yeah,” 

“Thank you,” I say, dazedly, turning sideways to smile at him gratefully. 

He’s wearing a simple, white, cotton t-shirt when I return the polo to him, now spoiled with cum and slick. I’m caught off guard by how broad shoulder he is, and by how nice he smells… cinnamon and sweat. Weird combination, but pleasant. I wonder if he baked any bread today? 

“Um… would you… would you like to put these back on?” He asks awkwardly, leaning down to pick up my discarded panties from besides the foot of the toilet bowl.

I wrinkle my nose, “Not really,” I mumble. “Who knows when was the last time that floor got cleaned. Gross.” 

Peeta smiles and shakes his head, “Here,” he grabs his polo, covered in our juices, and wraps my underwear in it. “Now it’s hidden.”

My body is finally catching up with the advanced hour, the beers and the two amazing orgasms. I’m starting to feel sore everywhere, and my eyelids are getting heavy. “Wow… think I’m officially all partied out,” I chuckle weakly.

“Ditto,” Peeta agrees, his smile is shy. “So… there’s this little dinner about two blocks from here,” he starts, eyes downcast; the space seems to shrink around us, now that the frenzy of our physical activities is done with. “Would you like to grab a pancake or som—“

My phone rings, startling us both into silence. I frown, but scramble to find it in my purse, to check who could be calling me… apparently at 2 a.m.!

My frown deepens. Prim’s smiling face flashes on the screen. She was supposed to be getting some herself! “It’s my sister,” I whisper, tamping down my rising panic. I don’t ask if it’s okay to answer, I just do it. “Prim?” 

“Where the hell are you?!” I have to pull the phone off, or risk eardrum rupture by my sister’s screeching. “I’ve been texting and calling you! I’ve been worried sick!”

I scowl at the wall, confused and little annoyed, “Prim… Prim, are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me to come get you somewhere?” I try to ask.

“What?! No. I’m home! But you aren’t, and I’ve been scared shitless trying to find you!”

I give Peeta an apologetic grimace, and blindly feel around for the lock to get out of the stall. “Um… why are you home so early? Last time I heard from you, you were getting a ride,” I’m trying to sound unaffected; It’s all I can think to say in my mortification.

“Never mind that! Why aren’t you home already? I thought you had to work in the morning and then go to sch—” 

While Prim rages at me, I place a hand on the phone and turn to Peeta, still in the stall, awkwardly facing the wall, I assume to grant me some privacy. I’m sure he can hear my sister’s frantic chastisement from where he’s standing. “I’m sorry… you’d think I was a teenager instead of a grown ass adult,” I roll my eyes.

Peeta waves me off good naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for keeping you so late,”

I’m about to say something else, but Prim yells loudly, something about calling the police and checking the hospitals for me, which truly prompts a reaction from me, “Calm down! I’m still at the club, exactly where you left me!” I cover the phone with my palm again, and turn to him. “I’m… I’m gonna go? Before she threatens to send the marines in,” I try to joke, but our situation takes all the levity out of it, and my attempt dies off, lamely. 

Peeta nods, smiling softly; somehow I can tell it’s not genuine. 

“Little sisters, right?” I offer halfheartedly, twisting my lips. 

“Can I… walk you out at least?” He asks quietly; Prim hasn’t stopped nagging this whole time. 

“I… it’s not necessary, but thank you…” 

Peeta nods again, looking disappointed. 

I don’t get to tell him a proper goodbye, because two dude-bros come in the bathroom, letting the noise from the club filter in; one of the idiots elbows the other, and both start making some lewd comments about me, but Peeta steps in, eyes wild with anger, and tells the guys to knock it off. Prim hears the whole thing of course, and goes nuts herself asking what’s going on?

Peeta looks at me, and motions his head towards the door. 

Message received, I step outside the bathroom and book it out of the club, “I’ll be home in a bit. I’m gonna call and Uber,”

“Call me as soon as you’re in it!” Prim demands.

“Fine! Now stop nagging me, will you?!”

I don’t realize I never looked back at Peeta to wave my goodbyes until I’m in the car, heading home. Regret truly is a bitch. I can’t help feeling like I just lost something important, but I have no idea what it is. 

>>—————> * <————<<

It’s been a very long Monday. I’m mainly running on caffeine at the moment, and can’t wait to get home and pass out in my fluffy bed, to see if I can catch up on last nights lost hours of sleep. 

I enter my last class of the day and find a seat in the middle of the third row. I pull my laptop, a writing pad and my mechanical pencil out of my bag, and watch as my classmates start filtering in one by one, greeting each other and finding their places, lazily. 

I’m the oldest student in this class, which is not surprising. I’ve only just come back from my extended— 5 year— sabbatical; and did it only after I was completely sure I could handle my workload and the financial strain of both me and Prim going to college at the same time, without giving myself an early grave. 

It’s been hard, but I’m glad I came back to finish my schooling, I only need a handful of credits to graduate, which is great!

I check my watch. We still have a few minutes to kill before class starts. The professor— Dr. Mellark, according to the copy of my schedule— is not here yet, so I pull up the banking app on my phone to give it another glance. The balance is still the same as the last two times I’ve seen it, but it doesn’t hurt to be extra careful when one is on a tight budget. I scheduled payments for the power, gas and rent to go out in the next few days, and I want to make sure there’s enough money in the bank to cover them. We’re looking fine for the month, financially speaking. 

The door to the classroom swishes open, and I start signing off my app.

“Good afternoon ladies and germs; I’m doctor Mellark, and provided you’re in this room for an English class, I’ll like to welcome you to the amazing world of Classic Literature!” Says a deep, male voice I find oddly familiar. “By the way, don’t any of you dare to disagree with me on the awesomeness of classic lit… I’m a doctor, I know what I’m talking about… unless you ask me about medicine, then please be free to disregard everything I say, because I’m not ‘that’ kind of doctor!” 

A murmure of little chuckles fills the room; even I smile, silencing my phone and putting it away, before looking up at the professor.

I choke on a strangled gasp when I finally set eyes on the man I assume is the teacher, dumping a worn, leather, messenger bag on the desk near the podium. He’s the last person I would’ve expected to have as a professor.  

Oblivious to my predicament, Doctor Mellark— or as I know him: Peeta!— keeps introducing himself. 

“I’ve been teaching this course for 14th years, but I’m always pleasantly surprised to hear the different points of views my students bring to our discussions on the classics we study, which in a nutshell, is the beauty of this class.” He pulls a ream of paper out of his bag, and gives it to a student in the front, “Please take a syllabus, and pass the rest to the next person, and so on… thank you!” 

My face is burning. I think I’m gonna faint. 

“But enough about me,” his voice booms, making my whole body shiver. “I don’t normally do roll calls or care about attendance, as long as you’re not missing assignments, and are here during discussions, so this is the first and last time I’ll be reading this list,” he rises a piece of paper above his head, I surmise has the students names on it, and he instructs, before reading, “I’ll call your names, and you’ll introduce yourself, briefly, that way we can all get acquainted with each other, yes?” 

Ugh! 

He can scratch my name off that list right now! We’re more than acquainted with each other.

Bile rises to my throat. An intrusive, bitter thought pesters me: how many of his students has he gotten ‘that’ familiar with? 

But the thought dies off quickly. An even worse, more worrisome thought springs front and center in my mind: Did we use protection?!

Panic rises in my chest, a nervous queasiness settles in my belly; a distant memory of warm goo sliding down my legs comes to mind… Oh shit! 

Oh shit, oh shit! We didn’t use a freaking condom? Who does that?! 

Oh shit! 

Would a Plan B still be effective right now? It’s been less than 24 hours… 

Peeta’s reading names. People stand from their seats and talk about themselves. I haven’t heard one word they’ve said, but I’ve been watching how some of the female students bat their eyelashes and speak all breathily, smiling coyly at him… Peeta seems oblivious to the flirting, but I still feel a cocktail of unpleasant feelings in the pit of my stomach. 

I realize, I’m jealous!

My ass is frozen in my sit, I’m not even breathing. I don’t think Peeta’s seen me yet, but… what will he do or say once my name comes up? I send a quick prayer to heaven, he won’t recognize me since I look nothing like I did last night at the club, with my hair down and my face all made-up. Right now and plain ol’ me… the rub is gonna be my name. Darn my dad and his awful naming whims! 

Soon enough, he reads a name that makes him stutter, “Kat…Katniss? Everdeen?” He does a double take, “Katniss Everdeen…” his eyes are the size of saucers when he scans the lecture hall, swiftly. When he finds me, he looks back down at his paper, and says the name out loud again, unsure, “Katniss Everdeen?” Like he doesn’t believe what he’s reading. 

I stand up woodenly, my voice cracks a little, “I’m—I’m Katniss Everdeen… hi!” 

I’m about to drop back into my chair, but Peeta kinda mumbles, “You know, Arrowhead, or Katniss is a water plant? The root is edible… like a swamp potato?”

There are quiet little giggles all over the place. 

Peeta clears his throat, his eyes flit away; his face’s blank of emotion, but his cheeks seem pinker than a second earlier, “I just read that online, believe it or not. Interesting facts about local flora, people. Reading is knowledge, but so is learning from one another… what can you tell us about yourself, Miss Everdeen, besides that you have a very unique first name?”

“I…” I harrumph, avoiding eye contact with Peeta at all costs, “I’m a part time student. Majoring in Botany. I took this class to fulfill my last English credits requirement for graduation. I do love books and classic literature, in particular.” 

“Thank you… Miss Everdeen,” he rasps. 

I sit down, clumsily, hoping this horrible, horrible moment is just a nightmare and that I’ll wake up any second now, drooling on my desk, with indentations of my notepad on my cheek, because anything would be less embarrassing than what I’m going through at this point.

Mercifully, Peeta calls a different name, and then another, and then another. I don’t look up from my notepad once.

Peeta for his part, sounds stiff and monotonous— or so I’d like to think— no more jokes or clever sayings. Maybe he’s not as affected as I am about this ordeal, and I’m just making it a bigger deal than it really is? Maybe he does have experience sleeping with students— I mean, it’s not unheard off, right?— Not that either of us had any idea we were engaging in a teacher-student affair last night… 

Although, calling it an affair is generous; it was a measly one night stand. A chance encounter. Two people letting off steam before a busy week ahead. 

I’m getting increasingly angry with all this thinking… and the class seems to drag on. It feels like an eternity, and my mind keeps churning up all kinds of questions: Why would he not say he was a teacher at this particular college? Did he lie about being a baker? Is his name even Peeta? 

I scoffed at the thought.

To my horror, I hear him ask, “Anything to say, Miss Everdeen?” 

Looking up at him requires a great deal of bravery and self admonishment, but I do my best and face him— he’s wearing glasses now, which makes my belly tightened for inexplicable reasons— “No, Doctor Mellark, nothing of consequence anyway,” I retort as venemosly as possible, without alerting anyone else there’s something weird going on between me and the professor. 

Peeta grimaces slightly. Then looks away, “Very well, as I was saying, we will start with the basics: The Iliad and Moby Dick, since those are High school level works, I expect your reports to be sufficiently well researched, and your personal ideas on the text somewhat fleshed out. It doesn’t have to be in-depth. I’m just looking to determine everyone’s style and needs for the semester ahead…” he continues his spiel, and I feel free to go back to my stewing and my musings. 

Before I know it, Peeta’s dismissing the class, wishing everyone a good rest of their evening. 

I jump into action, packing my stuff with my head bowed, but then I hear him again.

“Miss Everdeen, a private word, please?” It’s much too quiet to have been said from his podium. I still startled when I look up and find him standing right against the first row of desks, directly in front of me. 

His face is not quite stern, but he’s definitely less smiley than when we met. 

I force down a gasp, because under the better lighting of the lecture hall, and close up, I can see a plethora of details I missed at the club; like the arresting blue of his eyes, the slight reddish of his neatly trimmed beard, peppered with silver whiskers all over, while his perfectly combed hair is almost all silver on the temples, and ashy blonde on the top. His shoulders are even broader than I remember. 

He’s overall stockier than I originally thought, and just a smidge shorter, which is fine, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever met, and I wouldn’t mind climbing him like a tree—

I shake my head off the intrusive, lecheros thoughts. I’m literally lusting after my teacher, for goodness sakes! This is beyond a silly schoolgirl crush!

Peeta arches one dark blonde eyebrow at me, expectantly. 

I nod curtly, because my tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth, and gesture for him to lead the way.

I shove my laptop into my bag, and hastily shoulder the straps, hugging my writing pad to my chest, following my professor like a chastened little girl. 

My stupid eyes find his ass, and I blink twice, at the exquisite sight in front of me. I groan internally. 

He grabs his own bag, takes off his spectacles and slides them into his shirt pocket. 

How old is this man?! He said he’s been teaching this class for 14 years, when do professors start their teaching careers? How did I never see him before now roaming campus? Is his age the reason he ate pussy like a master? 

I shake my head, cursing my horny brain. 

Peeta opens a door I have no idea how we came across, and then stands aside, gesturing for me to go in first. 

I duck my head and step into a warmly decorated office, with a small desk and two chairs in the middle of the room. Bookshelves full of tomes line the office. A handful of pictures and framed diplomas hang from the only available wall space in the room, but I don’t get to study them before he catches my undivided attention. 

“Let me start by apologizing,” Peeta stars, closing the door behind himself, “I assure you, it wasn’t my intention to cause you any stress, or embarrassment out there.” He pauses, “Would you like to sit?” He offers, wincing. He doesn’t wait and steps around me, to pace on the other side of his desk, “I… um, never been in this position before,” he scowls, “I’m not sure what assurances I can offer at the moment, except, that I will start the process to recuse myself from this class immediately, to not interfere with your academic—“

“Recuse yourself?” I cut him off, “what do you mean?” 

Peeta squirms a little, and sits down heavily on his chair. My bag slides off my shoulder, and I just dump it in the empty chair I was offered a moment ago. 

“Well, Miss Everdeen, it’s the right thing to do, given our circumstances. We’ve breached the appropriate boundaries of our pupil and teacher positions, and staying in the same class together will put you at a disadvantage… is a power imbalance situation, that calls for action.”

“Can you stop calling me ‘Miss Everdeen’? It’s weird…”

“I’m just trying to maintain an acceptable level of decorum between us,” he says sheepishly. 

“That ship has already sailed,” I say tiredly.

“Perhaps, but it’s my responsibility to still try,” he rubs his forehead. “Anyway, I’ll call my department and see what is next. Stepping down myself is the only fair solution I see so far… it would be terribly unfair to ask you to switch classes. Simply disrespectful, but we both can agree this uncomfortable situation needs to be nipped in the bud, for both our sakes, Miss Everdeen.”

“This is bullshit!” I snap, “What happened in that club, isn’t that terrible of a problem! What we really need to do is stop acting so stiffly and guilty. By the way, you sound like a walking thesaurus!” I accuse, looking him in the eyes for the first time since he called my name at the lecture hall. “Stop it!” 

Peeta inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Miss Everdeen, our actions last night may have been honest, and even innocent in nature, but they still carry consequences… unexpected ones, especially in light of the facts. And the facts are, that it would be unethical for me to remain in a position of authority over you. In any case… if you feel the need to report me to the school administration, for… harassment or inappropriate behavior or anything else, I won’t dispute any claims. I promise to distance myself from you and give you space so you can continue with your education without interference, in a safe environment.”

I grunt, “I’m not going to report you, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Sure, I thought you were a baker… I mean your story about your name, and that little loaf of bread embroidered into your shirt, I thought it was your uniform,” I shrug one shoulder. 

“Sorry about that… I never meant to mislead you,” he says bashful. 

I ignore him, “Either way, I was the one pulling you into that bathroom. I threw myself at you. I begged you to do things to me, and you just granted me my wishes…” like a sexy gentleman, “The sex is on me. I’m 26 years old, I’m not some bumbling teenager who hasn’t learned to take responsibility for her actions, so, please… stop trying to shield me, or protect me, or whatever it is you’re doing,” my arms flap around in frustration. I finally push my bag off the chair, and sink into it. “Look, Peeta—“

“Professor…” he corrects, frowning a little.

I roll my eyes, if he knew he’s just making it sound kinkier than it already is, he wouldn’t be so adamant about the freaking titles. 

“Fine… Doctor Mellark,” I enunciate, pettily. “I specifically chose your class as my last English elective for two reasons. One: it’s exactly the amount of credits I need to graduate at the end of the semester. And two: it fits my schedule to a T, which is important, since I do have a full time job when I’m not a college student. So, I’m sure we can both be adults about this unfortunate situation, and simply forge on. There’s no need for you to recuse from teaching this class, and I have absolutely no intention of switching. We both can wear our big people britches, and pretend last night was a… what did you call it?” I wave my hands, as if the answer will materialize from thin air, “A vivid wet dream? And leave it at that!”

Peeta glares at me, looking aggravated for the first time since I met him. “It’ll be unethical to continue like everything is normal, Miss Everdeen.” Peeta argues, stubbornly. 

“Nobody has to know about last night,” I say, exasperated, then a horrifying thought flashes in my mind, “Unless you bragged about it already!”

“No!” He straightens in his chair, looking offended, “I would never do something so vile,” He looks indignant, “plus, the fact still remains that something did happen last night, and I know about it! I can’t, in good faith, be your teacher.”

“Are you planning on showing me favoritism because you know what my pussy tastes like, Peeta?” I deadpan, “Or are you gonna blackmail me into doing it again?” 

“Stop calling me Peeta!” He growls through his teeth, his very thick fingers clenching into fists on his armrests. 

I blink at his reaction owlishly, realizing I’m truly pushing it this time. 

“I’ve always prided myself on keeping my nose clean. Being a decent man and tutor. Never in 17 years of teaching have I slept with a co-ed, let alone a student in my own class.” He breathes deeply, then pins me to my chair, with those arresting blue eyes of his, burning with controlled anger, “I would never extort you or anyone for sexual favors, Katniss. While I don’t really want to lose my tenure or face other disciplinary actions from the school authorities, the one thing I truly don’t want to damage are my personal standards, and my self image.

“Katniss, I’m already biased when it comes to you. Being your professor won’t be exactly fair to anyone. I’m not saying I would give you A’s willy-nilly, nor that I would grade your papers any differently than I’d do your peers or that I’d be less critical of your work,” 

“That’s reassuring,” I roll my eyes. “You’re telling me that if I bring you a shit essay, you might not be persuaded to let me redo it?” 

He sighs, “I don’t know…” he scratches the back of his neck, “I’ll most likely hover over your desk a disproportionate amount of time compared to your classmates. There’s also a chance I’ll call on your name more often than the rest of them?”

“I still don’t hear one unscrupulous, wrong reason, why you can’t do your job, and teach this class.”

We sit there, staring at each other, at an impasse. 

“Why are you so set on keeping me in that room, Miss Everdeen?” He asks, softly. 

Finally, I relent, relaxing my tense shoulders, and exhaling tiredly. I raise my hands in defeat. “I don’t know, Peeta. Because I want to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect me. But… recuse yourself if you have to. I still believe you’re a better man than your urges.” 

Peeta relaxes in his chair too, “Thank you, Katniss.You didn’t have to say that, specially because you don’t know me. It still means a lot.”

I chew the inside of my lip, calculating stuff in my head. “You’re right, I don’t know you, but I consider myself an okay judge of character.” He opened this door, it’s time for me to walk through it, “Can I ask you some stuff?” I ask innocently.

Peeta arches his eyebrows. “Shoot,” he says. 

“How old are you?” 

“45. I’m sorry. I knew you were young last night… I just didn’t quite grasp just how young,” his eyes shift downwards, sheepish and uncomfortable. 

“I’m an adult. I’ve been the head of my family for years. At this point, age is irrelevant for me.” I state, dismissively.

“What about your family?” He asks, tilting his head sideways.

It takes me a minute to answer. I cross my arms over my stomach, and exhale, “It’s been only Primrose and I for five years now. My mother had cancer. My father passed when I was eleven.” I rock in my chair, slightly, “That’s why my sister was being such a clingy bitch last night. She can’t bear to lose anyone else. Neither can I for that matter.”

Peeta leans forward on his desk. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Katniss.”

I sit back, feeling like a huge weight just got lifted off my shoulders. “It’s okay, really. I’m back in school, about to finish my last semester, Prim is doing great in university, the only debt we have right now is Prim’s car and my Target card… we are actually okay,” I smile, meekly at him. 

“That’s… that’s good, Katniss. Admirable, really.”

“Peeta?” I start cautiously, “Would you really remove yourself from the class because of me?” 

He looks me right in the eye, sincerity emanating fro his eyes. “Absolutely. Without hesitation. As soon as you leave, I’ll email my Head of Department, explaining my situation. Don’t worry, I won’t mention any names or details—“

I shake my head, vehemently. 

Peeta squints, studying me cautiously, measuring me. 

“Please… stay with me…” 

Something in my tone catches his attention, and he eyes me curiously. “I’ve already told you why I can’t,” he says, almost soothingly. 

I stand up. Go around my chair, and drop back down into it. I start shaking my leg nervously. “I had this feeling in my gut since last night. Like I lost something precious, I just couldn’t put a finger on it… I still can’t, to be honest. All I know, in my loins, is that I can’t let you step down from your position, and I sure as hell won’t walk away on you without figuring out what this…” I wiggle my fingers, pointing to the mouth of my stomach, “feeling is about.”

He stares at me. 

I stand up again, and this time I just pace, to the wall with the pictures, and stare at a bunch of faces, too similar to Peeta’s not to be related to him somehow. 

“I know I’m not making sense, but I just needed to say that.”

He watches me for a long beat, weighing his options no doubt, before answering, “I can’t be your teacher, Katniss…” he sighs, and rubs his forehead, “because I’m afraid seeing you every week, without being able to touch you will be absolute torture.”

“Really?” I bite my lip, giving him an open once over, not feeling one iota self conscious about. “How come?” 

Peeta huffs, avoiding my eyes. “I’d be wondering what your breasts look like the whole time.” He confesses, flatly. “I didn’t get a chance to see them last night, and it kept me awake an indecent amount of time.” He twists his lips, “I’m gonna be pinning the whole semester, whether you’re in the classroom or not, craving the taste of your juices in my tongue, and worse of all, I’ll probably embarrass myself, giving me involuntary hard on’s just fantasizing about you.”

I practically prowl towards him. “You poor thing,” I coo, pouting. “Would you go home to masturbate on the soiled pair of panties I left behind on that dirty, bathroom floor?” I ask… more like, purr, really. 

Peeta chuffs out an incredulous laugh, covering his face with both hands. He grunts, “Aw, fuck! That sounds so… it’s probably exactly what could happen. I’d try to stay professional in the classroom, but in the privacy of my home…” he chuckles weakly, shaking his head.

“What kind of fantasies are we entertaining here?” I ask, invested, and sit on the corner of his desk. 

Peeta thins out his mouth, “Katniss… that’s a slippery slope you’re trying to climb,” he warns.

“Humor me?” I cajole. 

He takes a stuttering breath. “I’ll bring you into this office, same way I did today, except I’ll rip your clothes off, throw you on the desk and take you hard and fast. From behind.” 

I can’t stop a small sound at the back of my throat, nor the need to rub my thighs together. 

I clear my throat, “I expect you’d want to fuck me on every surface in this office?”

Peeta pulls on the collar of his shirt, his face turning crimson, “And probably the lecture hall as well,” he adds conversationally. 

I nod, scooting closer to where he sits. “I’m curious too you know. I didn’t get to see ‘any’ part of you naked. But my muscles still are deliciously sore from last night. A girl has to wonder… just how big a dick has to be to cause so much wreckage?” 

It doesn’t take much effort at all to work him up. Peeta’s pants are tented in what looks like the most uncomfortable erection ever; he shifts in his chair to try and hide the effect my words have on him, yet, his hands remain folded on his lap, white knuckled with the effort of keeping himself in check. He’s really committed not to touch me while I’m still his student, but he rasps a question, full of concern. 

“Did I hurt you?” His eyes search me, earnestly. “I’m sorry I was too rough, really,”

My heart gives a little somersault. “No, Peeta. You were pure perfection. I loved how you handled me.”

His lips twitch, and I’m amazed at how expressive his face is, even partially hidden under his near facial hair. “You said you were hungry last night before you got on your knees…” I murmur, “I think, next time I’ll return the favor,”

“Next time?”

I slide closer to him, but we both keep our hands to ourselves.

I lick my lips, resisting the urge to drop on my knees between his legs and gobble up his cock. I didn’t lie about wanting to see him in all his naked glory, but I can show the same level of restraint he does; I respect him for trying to keep a moral and ethical compass.

I smirk at him, slyly. “Are you sure you wanna abandon your post as my professor, now that my education is on the balance? We can wait a handful of months, Doctor Mellark… I promise not to tease you,” With that, I mean, I promise not to aggravate what could potentially be the worst case of blue balls in the history of slow burns.

Peeta hisses a mirthless chuckle, “You’re too much of a temptation, even if you don’t actively try teasing me, Katniss,”

I start playing with the end of my braided, dark hair. “You know what I’m most really looking forward to, from when I’m no longer your student?” I pose, shyly, “Going to that dinner you mentioned last night.” I shrug one shoulder. “I’ll let you buy me a stack of pancakes to celebrate my graduation. I’ll probably introduce you to my sister, Primrose… and we’d go from there… if you wanted to…”

Peeta smiles, disarmingly. “I’d love that too, Miss Everdeen.” He says quietly.

I let go of my braid, and hug myself, “Stay in the class?” I practically beg one last time. “We can do it, I know we can. We can have a platonic, completely innocent teacher-student relationship until I’m done with college,”

Peeta shakes his head. “We’ll see after I talk to my head of department. Who knows, maybe all the schedules are already locked in place, and I have no other choice but to stay put. There’s no guarantee a replacement is available for me.”

“We’ll make it work!” I say enthusiastically. 

“Maybe…” he sighs, not entirely convinced. 

I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Time is running out, I gotta get to the pharmacy before my window of opportunity closes. 

“Hey, Peeta… um, invasive, weird question?” 

I wait for him to nod.

“Have you by any chance, have gotten a vasectomy at any point?” 

“Mmm no, never had. Why?”

Aw shit! 

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Hopefully no reason.” I say quickly, too nonchalant for my own good, and he catches on it, I can see the gears turning in his brain, “Okay,” I make a big show of yawning and stretching my arms, “I have to run some errands before going home and crashing for the night.”

Peeta cringes, “Are you… okay? Really, okay? You said you were sore?” His eyes rove over my face full of concern. 

“I’m fine,” I smile, “nothing a long soaking in Epsom salts can’t cure.”

“Okay,” he says, unsure. “I don’t want to overstep any worse than I already have, but… I’ve been anxious, wondering if you were alright, if you got home fine to your sister since you left the club. Which, obviously you did… but, I wanted to kick myself for not asking your number, just to be able to check on you… and this is frown upon, a d completely unethical, but—“

“I’ll email you,” I say quickly. “Nothing explicit. But I’ll let you know I’m home and okay.” I’ve spoken to people in code before, this shouldn’t be a problem, and really, sending my professor an email with a time stamp and some innocuous question about the syllabus doesn’t have to be nefarious at all. 

“Alright… Just let me know if there’s anything wrong, okay? I swear this won’t become a routine thing or anything, just this time, to give me peace of mind, and because it is late… and well, yesterday…”

“It’s fine, professor. I don’t mind. And… everything will work out,” I say shouldering my bag and pocketing my phone, “everything will work out, even if my Plan B doesn’t,” I smile and scurry out the door, before the puzzlement in his face has time to settle. 

After all, a semester is only 15 weeks long, give or take… that’s plenty of time to figure things out. 

#alliswell21 #animekpopxx #prompt 144 #Springtime Edition 2021 #submission

[imagines-r-s]

sticking it

chapter 9 

a/n: idk why this chapter took so long, but here it is. for reference - in gymnastics, US Championships are the last meet before Olympic Trials, they’re a two day competition. any feedback is welcome. i’m kinda upset that this series (or at least this part) is almost done, but there is more to come with this series i promise. also had to repost bc it wasn’t showing up in the tags 

taglist: @butgilinsky @barbienoturbby @sunsetholland @lovenhlboys @sortagaysortahigh @hockey-racing-fubol @oopsiedoopsie23 @iwantahockeyhimbo @dreamsndior @itsurgirlgracie @heartshapedkissxs @lwstuff @handwrittenheroes

warnings: uh, i don’t think there’s anything, but if i miss something just let me know (the jamie mentioned is jamie oleksiak, not j b*nn)

sticking it masterlist

wc: 5.8

(not my gif)

“Are you sure that you have everything?” Joel asked for the twentieth time in the past hour, “we can run back to yours if you need anything else”

“I feel like you’re just trying to get me to stay with you longer,” you said, skeptically.

“Is it working?”

“No, Bee, I have to leave at some point,”  you said, putting another bag of yours in his car,”I won’t be gone long.”

“Yeah, but you’ll be closer to the Stars and that has me worried,” he said, causing you to chuckle. 

“You worried about Seggy? Or Roope? Or Big Rig? Or Mi-”

“Okay, I get it.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, I love you and only you, shawty. Besides, I can only tolerate Texas weather for so long,” you said, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek.

“I love you, too, shawty,” he paused,”Wait,- that was rude.”

After packing the last of your bags into the car, you made your way to the airport to meet Marcus and Michelle. Once you arrived at the airport, Joel parked the car before the two of you headed into the airport. The four of you caught up for a while before Marcus suggested giving you and Joel time to say goodbye. 

“Is this how it feels when me and the guys leave for the road?” Joel asked, softly. 

“Yeah,” you said, smiling sadly. 

“Well, good thing I’m the one on the road all the time, I mean, I don’t like leaving you, but when I’m leaving it’s a different feeling, you know.”

“Well glad it makes you happy, buddy.”

“Did you just buddy me?” Joel asked, incredulously. 

“Did I?” you asked, laughing as Joel gasped in shock.

“Wow, I see how it is. I’ll remember that.”

“Go ahead, babe. Remember it however you want,” you paused when you saw the sad look on his face, reaching to hold his face in your hands, “hey, I’m only a text away, I might not be right here, but I will answer as soon as I can and we’ll facetime as much as you want these next few days.”

Joel nodded before looking up and seeing Marcus and Michelle headed your way, “we hate to cut this short, but we have to get going pretty soon.”

“I know I asked, but do you really have to go?”

“Yeah, Bee, I really have to go.”

“You better kick ass out there or else you’re just leaving for nothing,” he said, jokingly, “but honestly, I wish you the best of luck - I know you don’t need it, but I’ll say it anyway. Make sure to tell Nicole I said good luck and please make sure to wipe that smug look off Kathryn's face. Okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” you said, wrapping your arms around him as he pressed kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, but if you don’t go, the only thing you’ll be missing is your flight.”

“Wow, Bee, you are so funny.” 

“Well, one of us has to be the funny one in the relationship. Your mom jokes only get you so far far in life, babe,” he said, causing you to elbow him in the stomach. 

“I’m leaving now. I love you and I will text you when I land,” you leaned up for a quick goodbye kiss before grabbing your carry-on bag and heading to your gate. You avoided looking back, knowing that if you did, both of you wouldn’t let the other leave. 

“I think you chose a good one,” Marcus said once the three of you had sat down. 

“What?” you asked, shocked. 

“Joel. He seems like a good guy. He clearly cares about you and I can see that you care a lot about him, too. He clearly makes you happy,” Marcus added. 

Heat rushed up your face, to which you simply looked out the window, “yeah, he’s a good guy.”

“A cute one, too,” Michelle interrupted. 

“Yes, that too. But Michelle, you better lay off,” the three of you laughed as the flight attendants started to announce the safety procedures for your flight. The three of you did your own thing the rest of the flight: Marcus planning out how podium training would go, Michelle analyzing your routines, and you sleeping.

“Alright, so as soon as we land, we get luggage and go to our hotel. There is a small media event tomorrow morning before podium training, then podium training, then probably some more media. You will have the rest of the night to do whatever, I know you’ll probably go see your Dallas friends and that’s fine, just make it back in time. Then, Friday is the first day of competition, Saturday is the second day, then we have some free time Sunday,” Marcus read off to you, even with you half asleep. 

“Sounds lovely,” you grumbled. 

…..

“So, y/n, with your injury being a top priority, how different have practices been since you are still somewhat in recovery?” one of the journalists asked. You had stayed prepared for a multitude of questions having to do with your injury, so this question had an easy response.

“I would say, it’s definitely a totally new experience. I’ve had to tailor my focus to other aspects of this sport since the start of my recovery, whether that be drills, more conditioning, or changing up my routines. My team and I definitely have figured out what things work and what doesn’t and we continue to learn as I continue training,” you answered, swiftly. 

“Now obviously, you were the highest scorer in most of your competitions, even before your injury, how has competition changed for you? And what has inspired you to train harder?” another journalist asked. 

“I have to say, competition is slightly more nerve-wracking than before. I mean getting injured at a major competition definitely changes perspective for all aspects of it. I feel that I have to be more cautious when performing, whereas before I would just go with the motions. Something that’s inspired me has been that my competitors have continued training, I have a fair amount of competition - all of which are excellent athletes - which has helped motivate me a lot, but I also have an amazing support system back home who have made sure to give me that extra motivation when I need it,” you smiled. 

“Now, having to deal with that support system at home, who and how have they influenced your decisions of your journey through recovery?” which was the first question that made you smile. 

“Well first, a huge shoutout to my family, especially my cousin, Kevin. Without his support, I wouldn’t have ever tried to get back in the gym, he’s been there this whole time and I couldn’t be more grateful. Um, my coaches were so supportive of my comeback; my physical trainor, Adrian, who told me all the doctors were wrong and gave me the reality checks I needed; the whole Philadelphia Flyers roster and their families cheered me on the whole time, especially my boyfriend, Joel Farabee. My friends, my teammates, all of them pushed me where I needed to be,” you said, gratefully. 

“Thank you for your time, y/n. We wish you the best of luck this weekend,” the main announcer said to you before you went off to podium training. 

Marcus and Michelle had both told you only to warm up simplified versions of your routine, so that you could bring shock factor when you were actually performing. You had upgraded almost all of your tumbling back to where it was before injury, but no one needed to know that besides you and those in your gym. Podium training had gone very well, better than you had anticipated, so you were looking forward to how championships would go. 

As you packed up your gym bag and grabbed your phone, you saw all the messages you had from the Flyers group chat you had somehow found your way to. 

Bee: did you guys see that too?

Tiki Bar: if we are talking about the same thing, i think we did.

Patti Lapone: did she actually say nice things about us?

Kev: i really think the texas heat is getting to her already

G: she’s probably just feeling under the weather about competition, otherwise we might want to check if she is okay

Scotty: i think i misheard or i got hit in the head and didn’t realize it

Frosty: hell has frozen over

Bee: haha. frost. frozen. get it

Tiki Bar: beezer. 

G: i’ll make you do laps if you make another frost joke

Laughing at the texts in the group chat in reaction to your interview, you simply typed up a simple response: this is what i get when i’m nice, now you know why i’m not like this all the time. 

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to do any media after podium training, so you were able to leave whenever you wanted to. After checking with Marcus and Michelle, you made sure it was alright that you went off to go see Tyler and the rest of the guys. Assuming that they would be at practice, after changing out of your leo, you took the drive to the Stars practice facility.

Having come to Fort Worth so much for gymnastics and Dallas for a few hockey games, you had run into some of the Stars roster on multiple occasions. By the third time you had ran into them, and this time ran into was a very literal statement, you had exchanged social medias and most of the roster kept an eye out for any updates in your gymnastics career. During your recovery, the whole team constantly asked for updates about how you were and how gymnastics was going. 

Once you parked, you quietly made your way inside - not wanting to interrupt the practice. There were a few officials walking around, but most either paid you no mind or recognized you from times before you had been here. Walking towards the rink, your eyes settled on the boys doing laps for the last part of practice. It wasn’t until most of the guys were only talking and about to get off the ice that they noticed you. 

Tyler was the first to notice you, smiling and waving towards you, which caused most of the team to follow where he was looking and notice you. As the team headed to the locker room to change, you simply waited on one of the benches for them.

“I feel like you only came all this way to see my dogs,” Tyler said, making his way towards you. 

“No, I would never do such a thing, I obviously came here to say hi to you,” you stood up to give him a hug. 

“Mhm, whatever you say. Didn’t you have podium training today? How’d it go?”

“Well, it went pretty well actually. I did a few of my dismounts, but kept most of my landings safe just to be careful. But other than that everything went well.”

“As long as you kick ass tomorrow, I’m fine,” he said, honestly, “do you have anything else to do for the rest of the day or did you just come to say hi?”

“Well, I have no plans for the rest of the day, but I don’t want to intrude on any team plans.”

“You know you would never be intruding on anything with us, even if you are dating a Flyer,” Jamie O said from behind you. 

“God, Jamie, what the fuck? Where’d you come from?”

“Your mom’s house,” he said, earning a fist bump from Tyler. 

“I can’t even be upset, that was a good one,” you smiled as Jamie hugged you,”and don’t bring Joel into this.”

“My condolences.”

“Condolences? No one died?” you questioned.

“You are dating someone that plays for the Flyers,” Tyler said. 

“Damn, that’s harsh,” you replied. 

“Anyways, moving on. Me and a few other guys were coming over to mine for lunch and to hangout, if you want to come you are welcome to,” Tyler said to which you simply nodded. 

“Is that who I think it is?” another familiar voice rang out, causing you to whip your head around to see Roope and Jake heading your way. 

“Well, if you thought it was me, then you would be correct, my friend,” you retaliated. 

“I’m surprised they let you in here, considering you are dating a Flyer,” Otter said, jokingly. 

“Quit bringing the fact that I’m dating Bee into the conversation.”

“At least Nicole is in the safe zone,” Roope said, causing your eyes to widen, “y/n. What was that?”

“What was what?” you questioned as Roope simply narrowed his eyes.

“You did the thing.”

“What are you talking about, bestie?” 

“Oh, you have a habit of your face changing when you know something that will ruin the whole perspective or something or if you know a secret that will change the entire story. Very entertaining and concerning that you didn’t know,” Tyler added. 

“Um, well, didn’t expect to be psychoanalyzed by a bunch of hockey players today, but here we are.”

“Ok, I think we should head to mine and then, we can continue psychoanalyzing you,” Tyler suggested to which you all agreed. Roope, who had gotten a ride from Tyler in the morning, immediately hopped into your car as soon as you unlocked it. 

“What’s up with Nicole?” he asked as soon as you started driving. 

“What happened to hello? How are you?” you joked. 

“Listen, I’m asking now because I don’t want to talk about this with the guys there. But what did you mean?” he said, causing you to take a deep breath. It wasn’t like Roope and Nicole were ever together, but it was always an unspoken fling of sorts, that they never made official. 

“Look,-”

“Please, just tell me what’s happening,” he pleaded.

“Nicole and Nolan are sort of together,” you rushed out, causing a moment of silence to break out. You didn’t know what to expect as a reaction, considering they weren’t official and hadn’t really talked since the last time you and her were in Texas.

“Is she happy?” 

“Yeah, she’s happy.”

“Okay, that’s all I care about,” he said simply, which made your heart almost break for one of your closest friends. 

…..

Being able to spend time with some of your close friends that you hadn’t seen in a while was just what you needed to destress about championships. Maybe an intense game of uno with five of the most competitive people was exactly what some might call a destressor, but here you were. 

Tyler threw down his cards as he stood up dramatically, “no, because there is no way that a.) she already has an uno and that b.) all of you used your draw two cards against me.”

“Don’t be upset, Ty, that’s just how the game of uno is sometimes,” you replied, hiding a laugh. 

“Oh, shut up. I think you guys cheated,” Tyler accused. 

“I think you just don’t know how to play uno,” Jamie mumbled.

“Oh, yeah, real funny. I think you all teamed up against me and Jake dealt that way on purpose.”

“And we all think, you just can’t accept a loss in uno,” Roope added. 

“Fine, let’s settle this like men,” Tyler grabbed all the cards, attempting to shuffle them before accepting he couldn’t shuffle and handing them over to you to shuffle, “I’m watching you.”

“Oh, wow, so scared,” quickly shuffling them, doing a little bit more than usual to get Tyler off your case, you handed them back to him, “there you go.”

Another final round of uno, which ended up with you and Roope head to head as far as who would win, while Tyler had ended up with at least 15 cards to which Jamie was the first to speak up, “I think we should end here before someone gets hurt.”

“No, no, we’re fine. It’s fine. y/n, take your turn,” he said, eyes narrowing as he watched from beside you. Even if it was your last card, you dropped the draw 4, which made Tyler draw more cards. 

“Damn, that sucks,” you said, hiding a laugh. 

“What was that, y/n?” Tyler said.

“I said, damn, that sucks,” you repeated, watching Tyler closely as he stood up quickly once again, before practically chasing you. “Tyler, it’s just uno. Stop chasing me.”

“Oh, wow, ‘damn, that sucks’” Tyler mocked. 

As the other three watched, Jamie just grabbed the bowl of popcorn as they watched their friends running around chasing each other. “I see why we don’t play uno much,” Jake said. 

“Yep. Exactly. But no one listened when I advised against it,” Jamie said, taking a drink of his beer. 

“Tyler, watch yourself,” you said, as he stood on the opposite side of the couch. He started running one way, as you ran the other to avoid him, but he quickly sidestepped and caught up to you. Practically throwing you over his shoulder, he made his way out to the pool, “Tyler, let’s not do anything crazy here.”

“Oh, you mean like hold a draw four card until the end of the game,” Tyler said, as he tossed you into the deep end of his pool. 

“Children. Literal children,” Roope said, shaking his head, going to grab you a towel. 

Rising up from the water and quickly moving the hair out of your face, you swam over to where Tyler was, “hey, can you help me out?”

“Nah, I’m not falling for that one,” he stated. 

“Seriously, I won’t do anything right now, I promise,” you said, as you saw him reach his arm out to which you quickly grabbed and stood out of the pool. Walking towards Roope, who had grabbed you a towel, you turned back around to see Tyler still walking near the pool. Using this to your advantage, you ran and pushed Tyler into the pool. “Sorry, bestie,” you said, running to get the towel from Roope and running back in the house. 

After getting changed into one of Tyler’s extra shirts he had lying around, you were just hanging out with the guys when a familiar contact flashed on the screen to FaceTime, Jake who was right next to you immediately noticed, “ooh, better go talk to your man, y/n.”

“Shut the literal fuck up,” you called back, standing up to go the kitchen for privacy. Answering, you noticed that Joel was at Nolan and Kevin’s apartment, “were you that lonely without me, babe?”

“No, well maybe, but I’m helping them set up for the watch party tomorrow,” Joel said, taking a seat at their kitchen island, “how’d podium training go?”

“It went really well actually, I didn’t work the 3.5 just so that way I have something over their heads, you know. But other than that, it was all good. How are things at home?”

“Well, I mean no one is dead, which is always good. Um, debated getting a dog, my mom called, I told her about you. Uh, already told you about the watch party. I don’t think anything else interesting happened,” he said, shrugging as if he hadn’t just mentioned bringing you up to his mom. 

“Wait, you told your mom about me?”

“Well, she does follow me on Instagram, so after seeing the post she texted me asking and then she asked while we were on the phone. She wished you good luck, by the way. She’s  also visiting here with my dad in a few weeks and I’d really love it if you would meet them,” he said, shyly.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, of course,” you rushed out, hoping you didn’t sound as nervous as you were. 

“That sounded very unsure.”

“No, it’s fine. I just have never been at the spot in a relationship where I meet the parents, I’m just nervous. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Babe, my mom already loves you, she was getting on my case about not telling her, but she already thinks very highly of you and I definitely hyped you up a little bit. You have nothing to worry about,” he reassured you, which made you smile. 

“Hey, y/n/n,” Kevin yelled. 

“Hey, Kev.”

“You were very nice in your interview today, it had all of us worried,” Kevin said, which caused you to roll your eyes in response. 

“Hey, I can be nice sometimes.”

“On very rare occasions, yes,” Joel added. 

“Whatever.” As you talked a little while longer with the guys, eventually Roope and Tyler had come in to say hi to everyone as well, which had you dying laughing as both of them gave the ‘you hurt her, we fly to Philly and hurt you’ talk that almost everyone had given him. 

Telling Joel you would call him back whenever you made it back to your hotel, you stayed with the guys for another couple of hours before heading back to your hotel. Nicole had spent most of the day after podium training resting and had met you in the hotel lobby when you got back.  

“So,- “ she didn’t even have to finish her sentence before you knew what she was saying. 

“Roope is doing good, he said he hopes things are going well,” you said, watching as a small smile crept up her face. 

“Well, good to know. Did you know KD is also staying at this hotel?”

“Well, considering this is the host hotel and most competitors are here, I am not all that shocked.”

“Yeah, but you probably didn’t know she’s legit a few rooms away from us, did ya?”

“No, guess not,” you said, “how’d you find that one out?”

“Well, let me set the scene for you. I go to get ice and then I hear her talking with, uh, whatever her name is, Callie or Carly, it starts with a C. Anyways, they were talking about you and me and how our skills have been less than recently and all this stuff about you not catching up to where you were - which I found so fucking funny because who has won gold at the past few meets? Not her. Anyways, all is fair in the sport of gymnastics, but I’m just excited to see her reaction to you doing the 3.5.”

“Damn, no pressure there, Nic.”

“Okay, but the thing is, you have the skill,” Nicole said, as you got into the elevator. “You have it down. It’s all up here, in your cranium,” she said, pointing to your head. 

“Alright, let’s just go to bed now,” you said, slowly removing her hand and opening the door to your hotel room. 

…..

“Hello everyone and welcome to Day One of the 2021 US Gymnastics Championships. We are very excited to see how today’s competition goes as this competition will decide who makes it onto the National Team and who will qualify for Olympic Trials,” Joel heard the announcer say as he made his way to sit with everyone in the living room. 

“Did you talk to her this morning?” Claude asked from beside him. 

“Yeah, usual pre-comp anxieties. Nolan talked to her and Nicole to give the usual pep talk and then we talked for a while on their way to the arena,” Joel answered, looking back to the TV to see you prepping for bars, “she said podium training went well, but Kathryn was talking shit, so all I know is she better kick her ass.”

“You know she will, it happens everytime. She gets in her head and still does amazing, just a casual Tuesday,” Scott added. 

“It’s not Tuesday?” Travis questioned.

“Yes, I know,” Scott said, confusing everyone. 

“Alright, moving on,” Joel reiterated. 

“And starting on bars, we have y/n y/l/n. Now if you remember, less than a year ago, y/n was injured at another competition doing a beam dismount that she might be competing in today’s competition. She is definitely one to watch as she has a reputation of scoring high in these meets, before and after her return. Her teammate, Nicole Carter, will be following up.”

Joel watched as you stepped away from the chalk box to start your routine, he watched intently as you jumped from the springboard to reach the high bar. He watched intently as you went through your routine. Release skills. Giants. Pirouettes. More release skills. More giants. Dismount. Stuck landing. 

“A great start to Day 1 for y/n, who seems pretty proud of how that routine went,” the announcer said, “rotation two will be beam, where we might see that 3.5 twist, which is currently in the process of being named by Kathryn Davis, who was the first to compete it at a major competition. Now the question everyone is wondering is will we see this skill from y/n today?”

“She’s doing it. Fucking dumbass,” Joel grumbled at the announcer. 

“Damn, Beezer, tell them how you really feel,” Travis replied, as everyone else laughed at Joel’s behavior before watching Nicole compete. Nicole’s routine ended with a stuck landing, the camera following her as she made her way off the platform and hugged you before the two of you did your secret handshake.

Knowing the next event was beam, Joel waited as other competitors did their routines as you were warming up. He knew this moment would make or break how the rest of the meet went and with this only being your second event, it needed to go well. 

Everyone watched anxiously as you saluted the judges, shaking your hands out before you reached to mount the beam. You took a deep breath before actually starting your routine. Starting the beginning choreography, you kept your movements sharp and clean. All the skills in your routine were sharp - doing this so if the dismount didn’t go well, it hopefully wouldn’t affect your score too much. 

Joel had memorized your routines, knowing you were approaching your dismount, he saw your movements become slightly hesitant. Watching as you did a quick pivot on the beam to prep for the dismount, he watched you take a deep breath. 

“C’mon, babe. You got it,” he said, and by whatever power was listening he watched your lips twitch up to a smile as you started your dismount. Going for the round-off and starting the twists, you did the three and a half twists, opening up to find your landing, and stuck your dismount. Joel’s smile grew even more when he saw how happy you were with your routine.

The rest of Day 1 of Championships went well for both you and Nicole; the two of you ending in the first and place spot in all around, with Kathryn following close behind. After the competition, both of you had your media conferences before you made your way back to the hotel. As both of you checked your phone, you saw the multiple notifications from various social medias.

“Dude, did you see what Ryanne posted?” Nicole asked, a look on her face that you couldn’t easily recognize. 

“No, hold on,” you opened Instagram to see she had tagged you in multiple posts on her instagram story: starting off with a picture of all the guys wearing a jersey with your and Nicole’s name on it, a picture of all the guys watching warms ups intently, a video of Joel and Travis debating the name of a skill from Nicole’s routine (Travis was right), a video of Joel watching you do your beam routine and cheering you on right as you go for your dismount, and then a video of everyone cheering as you and Nicole as they announced the end of day 1.

…..

After falling asleep with Joel on FaceTime, you woke up to your 6am alarm to get ready for Day 2 of championship, Joel - who had told you he would wake up with you - was still sound asleep. Getting you and Nicole an apple from the lobby, you talked to a few of your competitors and a few fans before heading back to yours and Nicole’s room. 

“Wake up, bitch, it’s Day 2 of Championships,” you said, jumping to lay next to Nicole on her bed.

“Leave me to die here, I don’t want to go. USAG can suck a homeless man’s dick,” she mumbled into the pillow. 

“That’s truly something, wait til the media teams hear about that one,” you joked, only to get a glare sent your way. 

“You know what? You can suck on one, too,” she responded, pulling the blanket over her head. 

“Well at least, there's less competition,” to which she quickly peaked out of the blanket.

“Oh, you wish. We’re neck and neck this time, so we’ll see who gets bragging rights.”

“Well if you don’t get out of bed, then we’ll never know,” you said, to which she only sent a glare your way. 

“Do we really have to get up and compete today? Do you think we could petition to reschedule?”

“I mean, I’m sure if we talked to people, we’d get a lot of signatures, but I don’t think it would go over well,” you said, grabbing your garment bag that held your leo for today, “I’m going to go get ready because I know if we end up talking to Joel and Nolan first, we won’t be ready in time.”

After you got ready, both you and Nicole got your pep talk from Nolan and Bee. On the way to the arena, both of you got a bunch of good luck messages - not just from your friends and family, but also from teammates and even some from most of the Stars roster. You had a feeling in your gut that today would be a good day. 

….. 

“Alright folks, Day 2 of Championships have been off to a great start and are about to come to a close. With Nicole Carter in first with a 57.605 All-Around score and Kathryn Davis in second with a 57.1, Cassie Riley in third with a 56.2, it comes down to the final rotations. y/n y/l/n is one of the last to go on floor today, who will need a score of at least a 13.5 to get first,” the announcer said. 

“And compared to her average score, this will be easily attainable. If she scores at least a 14.5, she’ll be first overall for both days of competition. She already has a for sure spot at Trials, even when you don’t consider scores. As long as she is able to hit all elements of this routine, she’ll be fine,” another announcer said. 

“Ok, you’re good, you just have to hit this routine and there’s no doubt you’ll make it to where you want to be. Deep breaths, Twinkle Toes,” Marcus said. 

Walking up the platform to get up to the floor, you took your spot at the edge of the floor, ready to salute the judge, and get the last meet of championships out of the way. After anxiously waiting, the judge finally saluted. Entering the floor with a determined walk, you took your spot waiting for the familiar sound of your floor music to ring out.

That familiar feeling of doing the sport you loved, once again, rushed through your veins. Block everything out and complete the routine, that’s all you had to do. Going to your starting pose, the music started. Going through the familiar motions of your routine, you stuck your first tumbling pass. Then came the leaps and jump sequence and all that was in between, with the additional three tumbling passes. 

You didn’t give yourself a chance to overthink about your routine, you knew that it wouldn’t benefit you in any way, but as you stepped off the floor you knew that you did what you could. As soon as you made it back to where Marcus and Nicole were sitting, you waited to see what your score was. 

Joel and everyone watching at home watched as you sat down to see what your score was. He had this dopey grin gracing his features from the amount of pride he felt in that moment. He didn’t care what your score was, he knew you had put whatever you could out on the mat. He listened to Travis for a moment until the announcer started up again for scores and awards, “and y/n y/l/n pulled through with the score that she needed, a 14.9 on floor. She placed first in All-Around, Carter following right behind, and Davis in third. If all goes this well at trials, I’d say we have a lot of good representation for the Olympic Games.”

…..

After the meet and countless amount of interviews both you and Nicole were extremely worn out and had both passed out on the flight back. As you and Nicole stepped out of the terminal, you were met with the familiar faces of your friends and family. You smiled as you saw Bee for the first time in a few days and despite how tired you were, you couldn’t stop yourself from running to him. 

He immediately caught you and did the cliche spin (the one you swore you would never do) before pulling you into a regular hug, “I’m so proud of you, babe. You have no idea.”

“Thank you. I surprisingly missed you,” you joked, laughing harder when Joel pulled you away slightly to catch a glimpse of your face. 

“Wow, aren’t I glad I was blessed with such a nice girlfriend? It’s crazy.”

“Absolutely insane.”

“Preposterous.”

“Can the two of you shut the fuck up?” Kevin asked, coming over to give you a hug, “you did good out there, y/n/n. You also kept all your bones intact, I’m proud.”

“Shut the fuck up, Kev.”

“Okay, aside from you getting onto Kev and Bee, I missed you, too,” Karly said from beside Travis. 

“I kinda did, too. You did amazing though, y/n/n. I’m proud,” Travis said. 

“Thank you, thank you. All in a hard day's work,” you said, shrugging. 

“Dude, you might want to go back to Beezer, he looks like a lost puppy watching you talk to us,” Travis pointed out, nodding in Joel’s direction who smiled when you caught his eye. 

“Yeah, not a shocking development,” you said, before walking back in Joel’s direction, “hey, Bee.”

“Hey, honey,” he said, wrapping his arms around you again, “you ready to go home?”

“Yeah, of course,” you leaned up to kiss his cheek. 

“Ew, guys. Get a room,” Kevin called out, fake gagging. 

#joel farabee #joel farabee x reader #joel farabee imagines #joel farabee x gymnast!reader #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey imagines

[curly-bangtan]

Heatwave Drabble #9: sweet night (M)

[Heatwave // Godless // Heatwave Drabbles] <- must read first!

Pairing: Taehyung x reader

Summary: After a series of miscommunications and immaturity that lead to a rip through both your friendship and ambiguous relationship, this last turn of events could be the deciding factor of whether or not you’ve lost each other from your lives forever.

Genre: angst, smut, fwb au, roommate au, f2l

Warnings: SO much angst and feels, slight slow burner and a lot of build up, unprotected sex, hot tub, oral (m&f), food play, crying, i don’t want to give too much away eeee

Word count: 23.8k a monster i know ;-;

A/N: The end is finally here!! It’s late but trust me when I say I worked all day on this and did not do an ounce of revision today because I wanted to get this done. I’ve been writing this series, and this ending in particular, for so long and have been so nervous about getting this perfect. So please enjoy~

(quite a few ppl also couldn’t be tagged from the taglist and it’s 3am so i honestly dk how to fix it ;-;)

.

You used to think heartbreak was for the weak, after all you can only hurt as much as you let yourself be hurt. So... maybe you are weak. Because that ever-constricting ache in your chest has not diminished even a bit since that day you left him.

Four weeks. Not a word to each other.

It’s a hollowing feeling - someone you’ve had in your life every day for the past few years, a constant companion, suddenly completely absent in a blink of an eye. You don’t think you could put it into words even if you tried how this affected you. Life feels so foreign, your personality dulls.

The anger you felt for him dissipated quicker than you’d anticipated, but the anger at yourself only grew. No matter how you look at it now, you can only see it as being your fault.

But the decision to part ways was for the best, you have to keep reminding yourself. You shouldn’t be around each other anymore.

Whenever you see him around campus, you spin around and speed off the other way, hoping that he doesn’t see you too. Okay, you are weak, okay. But your heart twists at the sign of him, not just squeezes but twists into thorned knots. It’s the sort of pain that takes from you, makes you a different person unrecognisable to yourself.

You had moved in with Lotta. When she asked you what happened, all you had said was that you two had a massive fight and fell out. She knew better than to prod further from the telltale signs that you were close to tears from a simple question: the trembling throat, pursed lips, uncharacteristically quiet voice. And you were grateful because you knew you couldn’t afford to be asked about him without breaking.

The bed feels awfully cold in the nights of early February. And every night, you stare at his name on the screen of your phone, contemplating. One tap and you can hear his voice. One tap and your longing could be absolved. You always almost give in to this overpowering urge itching within your fingers. But you wouldn’t even know what to say to him.

Hi. How are you. I miss you like crazy and I think about you everyday but I know we should keep our distance but I’m just so sorry for everything.

You liked to think that maybe this break is just temporary, you both need space from each other because the toxicity built up so quickly that neither of you could think or breathe. But the longer time is spent away from him, the more you convince yourself that it wasn’t meant to be. It was never going to work; you knew this from the start but had been too optimistic.

And the mistakes you both made… You can’t forget them and the scars you’ve left on each other; you don’t think he’d be able to forgive you, not any time soon anyway.

You wonder if he’s doing the same, if he too is agonising over every wrong step he took to lead you two to this state, or if he’s cursing you for destroying everything. For his sake, you hope he’s moving on. Because that, for some reason, feels so much better than knowing that he’s crying over you.

The strange thing is that you had been the one to break things off. The look of lostness in his red-rimmed eyes laced with an unmissable reluctance will always be an enigma to you. Because he was furious, distraught. So why was he shocked by your ending? How was he not done with you?

That day you left, he wordlessly stood next to you as you packed your things. When you handed him his grey hoodie, the one you had gradually claimed as your own under mutual tacit agreement over your months together, it had truly felt like the end.

“Are... Are you sure? I don’t mind if you keep it.” He had said, voice raw from the arguing but also the tears he was fighting back.

You couldn’t look at him, you knew you would fall apart if you did. “I think it’s best if you take it back.” Why did he want you to keep it anyway?

Something was missing in both your voices when you spoke to each other, reflective of the heart-shaped void you had carved into the other. Everytime you think back to that moment, you want to kick yourself. You could have at least kept the hoodie - that way you could at least have a piece of him to cling onto in your lonely desperate nights.

Because now you have nothing. Nothing of his in your life, no reminder at all that he ever existed with you except the memories embedded so deeply in your heart that it hurts.

No one ever mentions him to you; you think they got the hint from Lotta not to. He’s a ghost.

Haunting you with his heartbroken eyes that shattered at the sight of Jimin. You’ll never forget that.

Sometimes, you’ll just be having dinner with her, and you’ll be crushed with this suffocating wave of missing him. It knocks the breath out of you. Because you can momentarily forget that it’s over, and mistaken Lotta as him. So when you look up and realise that it isn’t him, he’s not here, it’s as if someone is digging their nails into your scabbing wound and releasing the blood of your heartache once more.

And Lotta would look up and ask you, “What? Is the rice overcooked?” And you would want to cry because he would always overcook the rice.

And sometimes, you would just want to blurt it all out to her, right then and there. Tell her everything that had happened with you and him, because - god - keeping it inside is exhausting. But the words get trapped at your throat, unable to be enunciated. Which is just your forte, isn’t it? Not being able to say how you feel...

You are a competitive person, that has never been a secret. You are used to winning at everything you wish to win at, it is in your nature.

So losing Taehyung has been the biggest loss of your life. It had been a gamble from the start, whether it would work or not. There were so many signs pointing in the direction of yes, this is going to work, you love each other so much. Because still to this day, you believe that you are soulmates, and you were one step, three words, away from a happy ending. But then, caught up in this game you played, you hadn’t realised that he had been yours from the very start if you had only just accepted him. And that was your downfall: your failure to see his love for you in the form of his actions, rather than the words of validation you were seeking.

And thus, you had lost your lover, your best friend, your other half, completely of your own doing.

The realisation haunts you every night.

.

It’s Galentine’s Day. In this household, you don’t say the V word.

Lotta has booked a weekend trip to celebrate your mutual [forever alone] relationship status. Some strawberry farm in the countryside for friends to pick berries and make jam and bond over their mutual loneliness. Apparently that’s a thing nowadays.

It would have excited you before, a trip like this. The idea sounds much like a sweet attempt from her to cheer you up, (you haven’t been trying to hide how down you’ve been), so as much as you wanted to just wallow on this shitty holiday, you agreed to go with her.

And to be honest, this might be exactly what you need. A weekend away with your best friend away from the city could heal you. Best friend? Should you call her that? You’re not sure because that title has always referred to someone else previously, someone you shouldn’t be thinking about.

To your credit, you’ve been doing better. You think about him less and less each day; you stopped crying after the first week. You’ve always been a progressor with astounding growth. It’s not to say that you’re doing fine - that would be a reach - because small things such as a cup of hot chocolate would still remind you of him and the string of memories that come with it. But you think your heart is finally slowly starting to stitch itself back together.

Galentine’s weekend just so happened to fall on the weekend of Lotta’s Geophysics trip to Barcelona, as inconvenient as it is. But, rather than letting this disrupt her plans, Lotta had been adamant about going.

“My flight lands at 7am. That’s two hours before we are supposed to meet and depart from the coach station. That’s plenty of time.” She had waved away your concern when this topic of discussion came up last week.

“You never know with flight timings. We could just blow it off and have just as nice of a weekend at home watching movies.” Strawberry picking sounds great for the soul, but so does Netflix and ice cream. “We could have a Saw marathon like we’ve been wanting to.”

“Saw marathon on Valentine’s day?” Lotta scoffed at your suggestion

You blinked. “What’s wrong with that? We love scary films, it’s our thing.”

“It doesn’t matter, I’ve already paid for the trip and it’s non-refundable.”

“I’ll subsidise the cost, there’s no point forcing this trip if it won’t work with your schedule. You haven’t even let me pay you back for my half of the trip yet.” Lotta is like that with money, overly generous when completely unasked for. If you don’t mention paying her back, she would never have asked you to.

“It’s my treat to you, shut up. Just trust me, Y/N, I’ll make it to the coach on time, I always make it on time.” She shook you by the shoulders. “We’ll make our separate ways to the meeting point Saturday morning and everything else will go smoothly. There’s no reason to cancel the trip. Plus, V day is on Sunday, so do you really want to see all those shitty ass rom-com Netflix suggestions or would you rather be enjoying the great outdoors? Trust, we need a break in the countryside. It’s going to be an amazing weekend, you’ll thank me later.”

Right now, as you make a final check through your lightly-packed bag before you leave the house, you find yourself agreeing. You do need the fresh naturally strawberry-scented air to expel all these negativity from you. You want to feel yourself again, be happy and loud and excitable.

Collecting for your trip ticket that Lotta had left on your desk before she went to Barcelona, you decide right now that: yes, this will be an amazing weekend. Law of attraction and power of manifestation. Lotta’s flight will be punctual and you will make some fond memories together.

You’ll be okay.

You arrive at the meeting spot twenty minutes early because you are known to be prone to tardiness. The tour guide welcomes you keenly. He is a young, twenty-something you reckon, tall man, graced with dimples and honey skin. You think you would find him attractive in different circumstances, but you haven’t gotten to the stage of feeling attraction for anyone else yet.

“Your ticket with the barcode, miss?” His smile is charming, you guess. It’s more an observation than an enticing quality. You hand it over to him wordlessly and watch him scan the creased piece of paper. “Great, that’s perfect. And your partner?”

“Partner?” You frown, but realise what he means. This is a Galentine’s programme, of course he expects you not to be alone. “Oh, she should be coming, we came separately because she’s just getting off a flight right now.”

“Oh! That’s very sweet of her to rush back to spend this weekend with you.” The endearment in his smile heightens.

“Yeah… She’s the best.” There’s no particular reason for your awkwardness. You’ve always been a social butterfly, yet lately, you’re keeping more to yourself, avoiding unnecessary conversations because your mind is always too preoccupied.

“I am Jae, by the way, and I’ll be your guide for the weekend. I hope you have a wonderful time with us this Valentine's day. Hop on board.” Giving him a polite nod, you climb onto the empty bus, noting the swirly hearts beside the large red words ‘STRAWBERRY LOVE’ on the side of the big white vehicle. Kind of tacky, but the idea of this programme is kind of cute so you guess it’s suiting. After assessing row after row, you plop down at a window seat you deem worthy and settle your bag on the seat beside you, head leaning on the glass as you await your partner.

Dear partner, please don’t be late, you text her.

Soon, other participants of this trip start arriving, filing a crooked queue in front of the tour guide to register. You don’t pay much attention to them except to examine for Lotta’s face. The coach is set to leave at 9:00 on the dot in order to arrive at the farm at noon, it is now 8:56 and Lotta is still not here. You don’t want to lose faith in manifestation magic, but worry is settling in. If it comes down to it, you will beg Jae to wait for you. With your texts unread, you decide to phone her.

Come on… Just let this one weekend go smoothly for you.

Nervously playing with the ends of your hair, you exhale in relief when she picks up. “Oh thank god, Lotta. Where are you? The coach is leaving in like two minutes. You’ve landed right? I’m not sure if I can convince the people to wait for you that long but worse comes to worse, I could ask for the address of the farm and you can commute there yourself. ” A silence replies after your slur of panicked words. “Hello? Dude, hurry.”

“Wait, so he’s not there yet?” She asks hesitantly.

“Who? The tour guide? No, he’s here. Where are you?” Just then you hear a thunder of running footsteps. Expectantly, you look out the bus window for your friend’s arrival, only to find…

“Wait, Lotta… What the fuck did you do?” Something drops in your stomach.

“Look Y/N, don’t be mad. This is for your own good, you need this.” You can practically hear her stealthy smile through the phone.

An icy chill strikes down your spine. You simply cannot believe what you are seeing out the window. She-

“Lotta…”

“Trust me, okay? You have been so fucking depressed the past month. You need to fix this problem, please. I hate seeing you like this, so if not for yourself, then do it for me.” There’s some guilt in her tone, you’ll give her that. But you are in a state of utter disbelief, borderline shell-shocked, the groves of your brain tangled in itself.

“Lotta, where are you? Are you even fucking coming?” Absolute mortification fills your chest to the brim at your gradual realisation of her ploy.

This can’t be happening.

“I promise, this is all for your own good. Please have a great weekend. I love you. Bye!” And with that she hangs up, leaving you wide-eyed, jaw-dropped, staring out the window...

At a panting, slightly sweat-beaded Taehyung handing his crumpled ticket to Jae.

“Made it just in time, mate.” You can just about make out Jae’s words from the shape of his mouth as he greets Taehyung and proceeds to recite his ‘I’m your tour guide for the trip’ speech. Taehyung nods interestedly, reciprocating with that sheepish smile of his as he scratches the back of his bedhead.

What did your best friend do? Did she just… set you up…? As you hear his loud unmissable steps stomping up onto the coach, you know you’re doomed. It’s over for you. You might as well fling yourself off a cliff.

Looking around the bus, you realise that it of course is completely full except for the seat beside you.

The power of manifestation is fucking bullshit. You’re stuck with this bad luck for the rest of your life.

And this weekend, you’re going to die.

You see him as a blur at the start of the aisleway, a mere figure in swatches of peach and brown and black. You hear pounding, a booming pulse in your ear.

It’s Taehyung. Taehyung. Your, but also not your, Taehyung.

Each step he takes approaching the only available seat he sees, you shrink lower in yours and keep your eyes pressed shut, but for what reason you’re not entirely sure. There’s no hiding now.

Your confrontation is inevitable, a few steps away. Then he finally sees you.

“Y-Y/N?”

Your heart soars to your throat at the sound of his voice as everything around you vanishes. This can’t be real.

Slowly, you turn up to face him. When your eyes meet, it’s like someone has driven a sharp object into your chest and twisted. His face is exactly how you remember, but also not quite. His big brown eyes are wide with surprise in a pitiful expression of bewilderment. His sleep rumpled hair, grown out to almost cover his eyes, yet still very much permed in the style you loved. His lips are jutting out, slightly parted in confusion at your unexpected presence that reminds you of how it felt to kiss him.

And the look of disgust that you had expected - absent.

You want to throw your arms around him. There is always a warmth emitting from Taehyung - the kind of warmth you feel when you enter your house on a snow ridden day and the gust of heat accompanied by the smell of home simply swallows you like a wave. But there is also something different, unfamiliar almost, about him. He is rougher round the edges, hints of facial hair dotted below his nose, dressed in slacks that he only usually wore strictly as pyjamas and never to go outside in.

As your eyes fall to the rest of him, you notice his fists tighten around the straps of his backpack, the balls of his knuckles whitening.

“Taehyung-” Saying his name feels like a release. A rush of satisfaction at the way the syllables roll off your tongue so naturally, then a flood of emotion that comes with all the memories his name invokes.

Then you’re at a loss for words again. You are so utterly unprepared for this situation because you didn’t think you would meet him again so soon, not until you’ve moved on. You’re not ready to face him.

What do you say? How are you meant to act around him?

He looks equally as lost, though you read him easily. There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes, the same that you’re sure you had. But it dissolves much quicker with him, almost into relief and content as if he’s glad to see you.

You know from the slight downward angle his brows are pointing that he has definitely missed you. Perhaps in a completely different way from you missing him, but he’s missed you.

“If I could just have everybody's attention!” Jae’s voice booms from the speaker, startling every passenger. “Young man over there, please be seated.” You quickly snatch your bag into your lap to let Taehyung sit next to you. The seats aren’t the most spacious; despite pressing your side against the window as much as you can, Taehyung’s shoulder comes brushing past yours as he settles into his own seat. Your heart flutters. “As all our participants are now present, our ride will begin immediately. The duration of the ride will be three hours, but a pitstop will be made at around halfway for a quick snack or toilet break. Please ensure all seatbelts are fastened during the entirety of our journey...” He drones on.

Three hours, you bristle. Everything is happening all at once and your mind can’t catch up. You’re going to be stuck on this coach for three hours next to Taehyung. No, worse. You’re stuck with Taehyung for this whole weekend in a strawberry farm.

Glancing over, his lips are pressed into a thin line, no doubt with the same chaotic thoughts racing through his mind. There isn’t much leg room, and though his thighs are purposely clamped together to avoid touching you, you know he can’t keep them clamped this tightly for three hours without cramping. Your legs are going to touch at some point.

God, why are you even losing your mind over something so juvenile? You’ve been reduced to a pre-teen girl so easily flustered by the thought of touching thighs amidst this turn of events.

Everything is gonna be okay, you tell yourself. This is gonna be fine. You don’t have to speak to each other. Just put in your earphones and fall asleep against the window.

But you have so many questions, for Lotta, for Taehyung. Did she plan this? How did she know that he’d be here? Hell, did he know you’d be here? No, there’s no way. The shock on his face was genuine.

He stares ahead, though visibly extremely puzzled. You suppress the urge to glance over at him every second to check that it’s really him.

“Thank you everyone for joining us so promptly. As you already know, I am Jae and I will be the guide to your trip to our beautiful strawberry farm over this Valentine’s weekend.” You pause. Right, this is a Valentine’s weekend trip, you had momentarily forgotten. And you’re stuck with Taehyung here. Two days, two nights. You’re not sure if you could withstand his presence for that long. Will you ignore each other for the entirety of this trip? You would be fine with that, and in all honesty, you think you might prefer it over speaking to him because that would only sprinkle salt on your wound.

A sharp pain in your palm reminds you that you’ve been gripping onto the programme leaflet that was handed to you. You smooth out the creases of the paper and flip it open to skim through what you have to tackle ahead of you.

Day 1: Go strawberry picking with your partner at our scenic farm in the lovely spring weather while the sun is out. A heavenly spa awaits you afterwards to wind down and indulge together. For an amorous evening, go stargazing under our cloudless skies...

Alarm bells start ringing immediately, from the cursive font of the strangely-worded phrases, to the shades of reds and pinks of the background. You skim further down the page, the kernel of anxiety growing exponentially at your throat.

Day 2: Make delicious strawberry jam and learn our signature recipe for a splendid strawberry tart. When dusk falls, enjoy a romantic candlelit dinner with your partner amidst the symphonies of our string quartet.

Fuck. Wait, what the fuck.

You flip back to the front page.

Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend

Strawberry… Love…

“What the fucking shit?” You can’t help but cry out loud. Lotta- She-

The passengers of the bus all turn to shoot you at look of concern at your outburst, Taehyung included. His eyes dart around the features of your face to search for an answer. “What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong… What’s wrong…? What isn’t wrong at this point?

You feel defeated, absolutely fucking defeated that you don’t even have it in your to be shocked or angry. There is no way you can ignore him for the whole weekend when the programme of your trip - a couple’s Valentine’s trip - obligates you to spend time with him. The thought of making stupid little strawberry tarts with Taehyung… Your blood can’t even boil, you’re just fucking speechless.

Lotta, that conniving genius that is your best friend. How did she manage to pull this all off? Galentine’s trip your fucking ass. She tricked you into a romantic holiday with Taehyung, fucking hell...

But that means - she knows. The mortification hammers into your stomach. There’s no reason for her to do this other than for the purpose of getting you two to make up. Lotta fucking knew about you and Taehyung.

How? For how long? And why does she think that this will benefit you in any way? You and Taehyung are over and you were slowly (fine, excruciatingly slowly) moving on. Until now.

Letting out a huff of your frustration, you turn to look at Taehyung, properly look him in the eye for the first time. You can’t stop your chest from constricting. He regards you with that confused expression of his, eyes holding your glare but barely just, bashful from your sudden undivided attention channeled towards him. “I need to know what you’re doing here first.” It comes out harsher than you mean for it to, but it stems from your desperation to stay inert while your emotional sanity is precariously threatened right now.

“Me? I… Well, Lotta told me that she had a ticket for this weekend-trip to a strawberry farm type thing that she couldn’t go to anymore, so she asked if I wanted to go in her place because she knows that I like strawberries.” He furrows his brows. “Okay, that sounds really stupid out loud but I swear I didn’t know that you were gonna be here.” He throws his hands up, nothing but honesty flooding his chocolate eyes.

But of course, Taehyung doesn’t lie, you are sure from the times you’ve witnessed him not being able to muster up an excuse to get rid of an annoying relative on the phone. What’s more convincing of his truth is that he would not be the most difficult person to fall victim to Lotta’s scheme - drizzle in mentions of food and he is completely your pawn. You almost feel bad for this unsuspecting fool; he still has no idea.

But Lotta, that sly bitch… You are going to wrangle her when you get back.

“Taehyung… She lied to you.” You sigh, watching his features slowly contort in deeper confusion.

“Wait what? So we’re not going to a strawberry farm?” He sits up in alarm, looking around the bus as if that would grant him any insight whatsoever. You almost laugh at his naivety because as much as you want to uphold your cold exterior, something about him, his ever present innocent boyishness maybe, never fails to penetrate through to you.

“No, that’s not what I meant. She lied to me too; she told me that this would be a girl’s trip because we’re both single and bitter for Valentine’s. Get it? It was just a setup. For you and me.”  As the clockwork finally turns as he processes your words, a visibly distressed grimace forms. “Look at the programme, Taehyung, it freaking says: Strawberry Love: The Perfect Couple’s Romantic Getaway Valentine’s Weekend!”

As those words resonate from your mouth and the realisation finally dawns on him, dread settles itself in the pit of your stomach, cold, dry and coarse. Saying it aloud somehow finalises it - this is actually happening, you’re going to have to spend this weekend with the one person you’d least like to be stranded with right now.

“Lotta… But why would she…?” Deep red roses effloresce across the apples of his cheeks, and you feel yourself unconsciously mirroring his reaction as your mind flashes back to the planned activities of this tour. You’ll be made to pick berries and bake pastries together. And the romantic candlelit dinner… You can’t even finish that thought. Because even now, you find your eyes roaming every inch of his face, trying to memorise his details because it’s been so long.

This isn’t healthy for your heart. You were on a path of recovery, a path of forgetting him and forgiving yourself, and now you’ve been flung back to square one.

The bus jolts. His leg lightly knocks into yours and both your attentions momentarily divert to the touch, glaring at where the thick grey material of his joggers meets the thin cotton of your trousers. A long second passes before Taehyung lifts it away from you.

“I don’t know why she’d do this. All I told her was that we had a massive falling out.” You mutter. Except you do know, you know her very well. This was no mistake, but the result of careful planning. She knew exactly what she was doing.

“So maybe she’s trying to get us to reconcile?”

As soon as those words come out, you both seem to freeze in your spots, blinking in bewilderment at the slightest mention of the elephant in the room. It might be wishful thinking but you hear a sliver of hope in his question, and you think he hears how it came out too.

Reconcile.

Could the two of you reconcile after everything you put each other through in your last few days together? The thought tears you apart emotionally. Of course you want to reconcile, of course you want to be with him. But haven’t you proven enough that what you had didn’t work? Afterall, everything you had together came crumbling down at the smallest hitch in your path. What is there to reconcile but a dysfunctional relationship?

And how could either of you forget the torment you endured? The noises of Taehyung with another woman through the thin walls, your betrayal of his heart when you mistakenly slept with Jimin.

Reconciliation doesn’t seem possible in the foreseeable future.

“N-not reconcile in that way, I mean, like, for us to make up.” Taehyung stammers, hand waving about in his nervous state. “I mean- no, not make up, but like… make… peace. Yeah, make peace. Sorry.” He winces timorously at his spectacular fumble of words. It’s surprising how nervous and timid he is acting. He should be brutish to you, savage and hostile. But he isn’t.

“Yeah, I got what you mean… Don’t worry.” You can’t stop the corners of your lips from turning up, just a fraction. “But yeah, I think she wants us to make peace.” You conveniently do not bring up how you’re certain that she knows about your history and that this holiday she booked for you and Taehyung is most definitely for the purpose of reconciliation in that way.

“Right.” His bottom lip pinched between his teeth in a manner that makes it feel as though it’s a sight you shouldn’t be looking at, Taehyung’s attention shifts down to avoid your eye. Though, there’s a clear glimmer of expectation as he asks, “So… do you want to talk it out?”

The bus bounces, violently this time, as it drives over what must be a pebble. It rattles your thoughts so physically that you have to grip onto your trousers for support.

This is the deciding moment. Now is when you can choose how you go about this which will determine the rest of your weekend together.

Do you want to talk it out?

The painful memory of the last time you had tried to “talk it out” rakes its claws down your back. All the yelling, the hurtful accusations hurled both ways, the reluctance to accept blame… It haunts you so much so that your voices still ring in your mind, echoes embedding the misery you had both felt and inflicted deep in your bones.

The three stages of your fight painted clairvoyantly in your mind.

One: The Hurting Each Other.

You fuck guys without learning their names.

Two: The Guilt-Tripping.

I didn’t sleep with her. I couldn’t even kiss her for more than a minute on her bed because it felt so wrong it made me fucking sick. I stayed on her couch and thought about you all fucking night. Happy?

Three: The Falling Apart

I… I thought it was clear how I felt…

Always replaying in a loop.

“I’m not sure what there is to talk out.” You say, hating how callous you sound but knowing that it’s a necessary evil to convey your intent. That was in the past. Taehyung is your past. Talking about it would only drag you back into that perpetual cycle and there’s not much left in you to afford that. You look out the window at the open plains of grassland to avoid the hurt you know he can’t hide on his face. “I think it’s better if we keep our distance as much as possible and not make it difficult for ourselves.”

“Okay.” You hear him reply, but only a quiet mumble. From the faint reflection of the window, you see him tighten his jaw and fit his Airpods into his ears. The monster that is your guilt and bitterness sinking its fangs into your throat.

It’s better this way.

And so the bus continues to speed off to the countryside, driving you further and further from civilization and your chance of escape from this doomed weekend with the boy you’re trying to stop loving.

.

You wake up to someone gently shaking your shoulders. “Miss…” You jolt upright.

The first thing that elucidates in your sleep-fogged vision is your tour guide’s kind face smiling down at you. The second, when you come to your senses, is that you are leaning against Taehyung’s frame, his shoulders much harder than you remember them to be. The boy himself is fast asleep beside you, arm loosely linked with yours because you know he has a habit of holding things in his sleep. You hastily pull away.

“We’ve arrived, Miss.” Jae says politely, that humoured glow in his pupils eliciting a bashful blush from you.

“Oh right.” You look around to find the coach empty except for the three of you. “That’s embarrassing, I’m sorry.” The last thing you remember was the angry texts you spammed Lotta with before the songs in your playlist all blurred into one.

“No worries. Forgive me, I’m still learning names.” The heat of the sun is seeping through the glass of the windowpane, licking tenderly at your skin to rouse you awake. “I’ve tried to wake your partner, but it seems...”

“I’m Y/N. And don’t worry, he’s impossible to wake up.” You pause. There is a chance for you to rectify his misconception that you and Taehyung are a couple, except it would probably require some explaining or white-lying and now is not a great time if you’re holding up the whole group. “I’ll do it.”

Despite the conversation being had right over him, Taehyung shows no sign of his slumber being disturbed. His head is tipped back, mouth hanging open with a small dribble of drool beading at the corner of his mouth. Still the same deep-sleeping idiot.

“Oi.” You nudge his ribcage, scaring Jae with your coarseness. “Wake up, Taehyung.”

Nothing but heavy breathing.

“Dude, we’re here.” You grab his face between your harsh fingers and begin shaking vigorously.

Not even a stir. You remember how you used to like to joke that Taehyung could sleep through a burglary, and just to prove your point, you woke up in the middle of the night one time and screamed at the top of your lungs. He did not even move a toe.

“Uh-” There is a hint of worry in Jae’s face; perhaps he thinks that Taehyung has a health condition.

“It’s okay, I’ve got the trick.” This time, you pinch his nose with considerable force and clamp your palm over his mouth, ignoring the smoothness of his skin under your touch and the feeling of his lips skimming your palm. You glance up to find Jae’s eyes almost bulging out of their sockets, swaying uneasily at your method to wake him. “Don’t worry, it works every time.”

But true to your word, in a few seconds, Taehyung is sputtering for breath, eyes flying open in befuddlement, scrambling to sit up. You let go of his nose and smile at your tour guide only to find him petrified.

“What?” In disarray, Taehyung wipes at the corner of his mouth and pats his hair back down from its messy temperment. His heavy body no longer slumped against yours, you feel a weight lifted off your chest, though the fact that you had fallen asleep on each other plays at your mind, lingering to taunt you.

“We’ve arrived.” Jae winces.

You stare at the patterned seats of the coach, trying not to pay attention to Taehyung’s embarrassed apology and explanation on what a deep sleeper he is. You’re not going to think about Taehyung and sleeping. Mindlessly, you trail behind the banter men off the vehicle. You’re not going to think about how good it feels to sleep beside him.

The sun greeting you when you step foot onto ground instantly refreshes your mood, banishing away those thoughts that were slipping through the cracks. There’s something so healing about the air of the countryside, fresh and unpolluted and full of the pleasant crisp scent that one would associate with green and yellow. Staring back at you is a seemingly endless field of bushes dotted with red, the sweet berry smell already perfusing into your nose.

You ignore the crunch of gravel sounding from Taehyung’s steps not far from you and proceed to join the waiting crowd, their phones out to capture the stunning scenery.

As everyone gathers, it’s difficult to concentrate on Jae’s briefing of the weekend planned ahead, starting with an introduction to the farm which you frankly do not care to learn about. You try not to glance over at Taehyung at the corner of your eye, at how his hair is still sticking out awkwardly in the back, his eyes slightly swollen from sleep. You try not to notice his hesitancy, standing a distance from you despite everyone else standing in their couples.

It’s like a buzzing in the back of your mind, a constant tug at your consciousness, not allowing you to relax as much as you want to in this serene environment. You want to stop thinking about him but you can’t.

“In February, the weather is set to be nice and warm during the day and slightly chilly in the evenings, so I do hope that you have packed sufficiently as stated in the email. Now, if you look to your left...” Jae’s monologue drones on like white noise, because all you can focus on is not focusing on Taehyung.

Lotta has not replied to your hounding messages with anything of use, no answers to your plethora of questions. Just relax. Stop making such a big deal out of it, grow up and make up with him because you clearly aren’t over him. You wanted to tell her that things are not that simple, she doesn’t know how badly you both fucked up. Yet, you know her response would only be some pretentiously worded reply full of the condescending wisdom it always contains when she’s telling you off.

You’ll admit it, as stubborn as you are, Lotta’s advice is right 9 times out of 10. She was right when she said you shouldn’t have gone with Taehyung to Mykonos within two weeks of knowing him because he could have been a killer or psychopath. She was right when she pointed out that you act like Taehyung annoys the living shit out of you but you secretly care deeply for him.

But she’s definitely not right this time, you are adamant about it. It would be a miracle if you and Taehyung could even be friends within the next six months, let alone… And if anything were to happen, setting you two up on a romantic holiday together is certainly the wrong way to go about it. It feels so inorganic, like you’re forced to spend time with each other.

Out of habit, you steal a glance at him. It’s not a surprise to find him not paying an ounce of attention to Jae either. Taehyung is staring off into the strawberry field, face angled away from you such that the sunlight is hitting his skin in all the right places to glaze a golden aura over him.

It’s strange to see such a permanent sadness in his eyes, a melancholic nostalgia. You hate yourself - you did this to him, you broke him. Does he hate you? Resent you? You think you’d rather he did.

Soon, the group of you are whisked away down a pebbly path to a rustic looking hotel beside the farm where you will all stay in. It’s not the old run-down type of rustic, but more the luxurious kind that very evidently serves an aesthetic purpose. And that’s when you begin to notice, this “farm” is not really a farm at all, but more a boujee farm-themed resort. This trip could certainly not have been cheap. As much as you are here against your will, you can’t help but feel immense gratitude to Lotta for her willingness to spend such money on you.

You are stopped at a grand lobby, the style of which resembling a small piazza of Southern Italy - warm neutral-toned Roman concrete walls with a green flourish of vines and bushes. It’s absolutely stunning, a surreal setting that you only see in movies. It’s impossible not to feel the air of romance circulating this architecture. You glance over to find him, stood an awkwardly respectful distance away from you, gaping around at the interior of the building in awe. He is a sucker for art, especially architecture. You almost wish you were friends again only to hear him gush about the beauty of this place.

When Jae begins to hand out room keys, it suddenly occurs to you, perhaps the worst aspect of your predicament this weekend - you are sharing a room with Taehyung.

You are sharing a…

Heart sinking, you look over again to see if the same thought has dawned on him. It has. His eyes are fixed on Jae in an eerily blank way, his jaw tense, a single bead of sweat trickling down the side of his forehead which you will excuse as the heat.

When Jae approaches you, Taehyung automatically joins your side in a dazed worry. Eye contact made was brief, not enough for you two to communicate whether or not you tell Jae that this was all a mistake and you would much rather be apart.

“Here you go, Y/N.” Your guide flashes you that charming grin of his as he waves your keycards before you. Instinctively, you receive it in your palm. “You guys have got the deluxe suite - wonderful choice.”

“We-” You begin, but he doesn’t seem to take notice. You’re starting to notice that he perhaps likes the sound of his own voice a bit too much.

“As I said, strawberry-picking will start at half past so that gives you a bit of time to drop off your luggage and freshen up after the long ride.” He continues. This will probably be the only chance you get to tell him that you and Taehyung aren’t a couple before it becomes too late, and you’re going to miss this opportunity because of another one of his monologues. The desperate itch in your chest grows an uncomfortable size. “Please meet here at the reception on time. And as for your luggage - oh, I see you two are lightly-packed. Low maintenance, my favourite type of people. In that case, your room is on the ground floor, if you follow that lovely couple down that corridor over there.”

And just like that, he smiles, retracts his extended arm pointing towards the direction of your room and turns to guide another couple.

“Wai-” You call after him weakly, but he has once again launched into the same speech he’d recited to you to a new audience.

And there goes your chance of rectifying this weekend.

You stand there for a good minute, mind trying to piece together how, just how, you will manage to survive this weekend. Taehyung is quiet beside you, equally as baffled at what to do.

“Should we head to our room then…” He mutters after too long a moment of unmoving stature. “I kinda want to change into some lighter clothes and we don’t have that long.”

You nod without looking at him. Because you can’t stand looking at his face right now, the face that you’ll be stuck with for these two days, the face that you love.

Silence between you now grows more familiar as you walk wordlessly to your room, the round corner of the plastic keycard digging hard into your palm. It’s painfully awkward. Your echoing steps provide the only stable rhythm against the storm between you.

Beep. The door opens at your will with a swipe of the card.

You weren’t prepared for what exactly the deluxe room entails. Its size could easily be a tiny studio apartment: a small seating area consisting of a pearly white sofa and a glass coffee table so delicately built that you would not trust yourself near; a mini-kitchen on the left side of the room accompanied by a generously stocked beverage bar; a king-sized bed in the far right wine-red in colour and excessively buried in frivolous cushions. But the belle of the ball is really the glass panelled-wall at the back of the room that you face as you enter, spanning from ceiling to floor, opening up to the patio hand-plucked out of your dreams. Rose bushes, circular beige woven garden daybed, and not to mention the hot tub.

You are completely in awe. Your mind instantly flashes to Mykonos. This luxury is the furthest from a farm experience whatsoever. It really explains how every couple on this trip looks like the child of a wealthy politician with their finely manicured hands and sickly cologne.

“Woah.” An octave deeper than usual, Taehyung expresses his wonder as he surveys the extravagance that is your room. “This… How much must this have cost?”

“I have no idea.” You whisper, still in your state of near speechlessness while your feet take you to the glass wall.

This is a place of romantic films, a place for honeymoons. Everything is in a rose-gold tint, glistening almost mockingly under the soft February sun. Why are you here? You almost hear the slabs of sandstone ask.

Behind you, you hear him huff out the marvel that he is submerged in. His backpack slides off his shoulder, swung carelessly towards the loveseat. And plop he goes, starfished onto the bed.

Then the fear returns, reclaims its usual residence in your throat. As you pry your eyes away from the opulence of the veranda to look at Taehyung, his head lifts up at the same moment. The short-lived mist that clouded over your reality finally disperses.

You blink again at his sprawled out limbs. He blinks back.

It is as if a switch has flipped, the speed at which he jumps back onto his two feet, fright jarring his mouth agape. “I’llsleeponthesofa.” The slur of his words are unintelligible to your ears, but his display of alarm is almost comical, threatening a smile from the corners of your lips at the hysteria of your situation despite the same alarm you are experiencing.

“What?”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa.” His voice is firmer the second time he says it, tilting his chin up as if to reassure you of his confidence.

“It’s okay, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” You sigh because you know how much Taehyung is bursting to sleep in a king-sized bed. It was his first time in Mykonos, and you had not heard the end of how it was the best sleep he’s had in his lifetime. So imagine him now.

He bristles, a genuine look of offence fleets. “Of course not, I can’t allow that.”

“Why not?” Your tone with him is foreign, lacking the playfulness it once had - just an aloof callousness.

“‘Coz! I’m not gonna let you take the couch while I sleep on this massive bed.” He gestures at the couch for emphasis, letting his arm dangle afterwards. He is less different with you than you are with him, you note.

“You just answered my question with the very statement I was questioning you on.” You cross your arms and lean against the glass, allowing the warmth to bask through your shirt.

Taehyung frowns and mirrors your action, the muscle of his bicep flexing more than usual from the agitation in his motion. “‘Coz you’re a light sleeper. Just stop being stubborn and take the bed.”

You’re not quite sure why, of all things, ‘you’re a light sleeper’ is what moves you. The consideration he still holds for you inhibits any protest you wish to sound.

He cares about you, he clearly still does. Just like how you would willingly give up the bed for him.

God, you don’t want to fucking be here. You wish it didn’t have to be so painful, every single little interaction between you just reminding you again and again of how much you loved and hurt each other.

Taehyung takes your silence as compliance and begins to unpack, ruffling through his bag for a change of cooler clothes with his shoulders tense in discomfort. You know what the mature person in you should say: we can just share the bed. But you can’t think of a single reason why that would be a good idea.

With this Valentine’s trip completely planned for you two, it feels like the universe presenting you with an undeniable temptation. Everything around you is telling you to just get back with him, to give in to your inhibitions and fall back into him. You’ve got the champagne in the cooler, hot tub in the patio, rose petalled bed all laid out in front of you at your disposal. An inner voice chanting make up, make up, make up. Because what’s stopping you?

What’s stopping you is that look on his face when he saw Jimin fixing the back of his shoe beside you as you were walking him out. What’s stopping you is the sound of another girl moaning his name right down the hall from you.

So maybe some could see it as strength for resisting the yearning, for being able to put up a front and speak to him so indifferently. But you see it as weakness, because you still cannot move on.

.

Despite the sun blazing down your back, the cool gust of spring weather eases what otherwise would have been scorching heat. Never would you anticipate that you would be spending this weekend sifting through strawberry bushes to find large red ripe summer fruit, yet here you are. You don’t even think it’s strawberry season.

You’ve never been a country girl, but the dirt feels strangely comforting under your nails. Well, comforting is perhaps not the best word to describe your state of mind right now. As much tranquility as this farm is bringing you, with Taehyung always no more than two metres away from you, you don’t think you could ever relax.

In black sports shorts, plucking his own berries on the other side of the same very row of bushes, sweat trickling along the veins of his neck… Of course your attention is scattered.

Not to mention, you keep catching his shifting eyes. You thought you ought to say something, but what exactly? The awkwardness is prominent as it is.

A heavy exhale. You find a particularly large berry, leaves curling upwards to indicate its ripeness as the strawberry expert (yes, strawberry expert) had taught you. Pluck. And off it goes into your basket.

This is definitely therapeutic. You imagine every strawberry to be your feelings for Taehyung. This one over here shall symbolise his musky scent that you fall asleep to. Pluck. This one, his stupidly attractive perm, so long that even you would tell him to trim it because it’s covering his eyes. Pluck. His eyes… Especially when he’s confused as he makes that wide-eyed puppy dog face, which is very often. Pluck.

You glance up, you can’t help it.

And he’s already looking at you. Caught red-handed, literally red-handed because his hands are somehow stained with strawberry juice. Instantly he whips his head back down at his basket that is rested by his crouching knees, though there is not much in there for him to look at.

“Stop making this weirder than it already is.” He almost jumps when you speak, clearly not expecting any sort of interaction from your end.

Slowly, he glances back up at you, dark wavy fringe swaying from the slow tilt of his head. “I- Sorry, I wasn’t- Um, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There’s something quite breathtaking about Taehyung under the sun, the way the rays reflect off his honey-tan skin to give an effulgent finish like a marble statue of some Ancient Roman God worshipped by priests and maidens. The coat of sweat gathered at his cupid’s bow could possibly be your undoing.

You love him, despite all the strawberries symbolic of his traits that you were picking.

And you hate yourself for that. You don’t want to feel like this anymore. You’re so sick of this heavily-hearted feeling of being dragged down by your emotions all the fucking time. You want to be able to look at him and feel nothing, look at him and not be intruded by the echoes of that night.

It makes you sick, the thought of him inside someone else. Physically sick to the core.

“Well, you are. So stop looking at me.” You state coldly. You just want to forget everything and let go of him, but his presence is not letting you do so. If being a bitch is what it takes, you’ll gladly be a bitch

“No, you have dirt on your face.”

Embarrassment slams into you like a wave, wielding you to shut your eyes and take a deep breath of humiliation. It’s instant karma for being a bitch. “Oh.” You say, carelessly wiping all over your cheeks with the back of your wrist, more with the intention of hiding the rush of blood to your face than to actually clean. You keep your eyes trained on a tiny pale berry in the bush, hoping that he’ll look away from you.

But he doesn’t. “You’re smearing it.” You look up to find his lips drawn in a tight line in attempt to hide his amusement. Everything is just working out wonderfully for you, isn’t it? Yet before your mind can process it, he rises from his crouch and leans over the short bushes.

When his thumb meets your cheek, it almost sears you. As his eyes are focused on the dirt on your face he’s brushing away, yours are locked on his gaze - gentle, warm, familiar. The collar of his shirt droops low, exposing his chiseled collar bones, protruding so enticingly as if for the sole purpose to catch your attention and remind you that it was one of your favourite places to bury your nose in.

Taehyung’s touch is heartbreakingly gentle; the rest of his fingers come under the side of your jaw for support, though only fleetingly. The whole exchange is brief, the dirt brushed away as swiftly as your relationship had crumpled.

You feel it in your nose first, that overwhelming wave of sadness, and then behind your eyes. You want to cry. You want to cry as he pulls away, as he realises that he has unconsciously acted out of familiarity, as a shyness reaches his eyes when he meets your glare.

It was only a mindless sweep of his thumb on your face, yet its impact is explosive under your skin, reminiscent of a time when such a touch had different implications, elicited a different response.

You quickly blink it away - the tears, but not the heartache. That wretched feeling in your throat does not permit you to thank him, so you just stare at each other, the world around you a mere blur of blues and greens. You watch his chest rise as he sucks in for air, wondering if the same memories are now visiting, no, haunting, him.

You can’t do this because you’re not strong enough. For you whole act of indifference in front of him, your constant resisting against the urge to fall back into him, you’re still not strong enough.

But to your surprise, or perhaps even gratitude, he’s the one who picks up his basket and paces away without another word. You watch the back of his calves, the slosh of his overgrown hair, as he walks away.

.

You stare out the glass door at the patio. It’s dark, you can scarcely see a thing with the lights outside switched off. It acts as a perfect canvas for your imagination, for scenes of your past together to materialise before you.

It’s not been a full day yet, and you already feel so drained. This is impossible. You want to call Lotta to pick you up, but upon deeper consideration, you don’t think you have the heart to. This must have cost her a considerable amount of money to book. She had the full intention that this will bring you and Taehyung back together, yet it is doing everything but. You don’t want to imagine her disappointment when you return in streams of tears.

After the session of strawberry-picking, your baskets were handed over for your fruits to be washed and prepared for your baking class tomorrow. Following that is your free time, when you are left to your own devices, at liberty to roam around the farm, dine at their organic restaurant by the hotel. Taehyung had taken Jae’s recommendation of visiting the spa; you opted to stroll (sulk) about, as far away from him as possible.

It’s unhealthy, this continuous bombardment of thoughts of him. Your month’s worth of progress has reduced to ashes.

Maybe you don’t even actually have feelings for him anymore. It could purely be a deception of the closeness you’ve developed for each other that you mistaken for love. You had spent almost every single day of the past two and a half years together, under the same roof, sharing a bed towards the last few months. It’s the safety and intimacy that your brain associates him with that forbids you from moving on.

Maybe you’re actually over him romantically. But the wanting, the missing him as your best friend still lingers.

The door to your room opens abruptly. Hair damp, Taehyung strolls inside in a white bathrobe and slippers, his clothes bunched up under his arm. Tiny beads of moisture dot the sparse view of his chest you have.

“Oh, you’re here.” He says, his step faltering at your clearly unanticipated presence. Or perhaps the sight of you, staring out into the dark, completely alone in this room is just awfully strange. “I thought you’d be eating at this time.” Eyes dropping to the ground as the door shuts behind him, his movements are clearly timid and weary, an rare expression on Taehyung.

“Not that hungry.” You mutter. “How was…” You ask out of habit, but immediately catch yourself. Quick eye contact before you both look away like docile animals. It’s too late for you to take back the question now anyway. “How was the spa?” And to make it appear that you don’t really care and was just asking out of courtesy, you turn back around to face out to the patio.

Completely unnecessary and petty move, whatever.

Except you see his reflection on the glass from the illuminated room all too well. Visibly easing that you’ve looked away, he plops his clothes down at the end of the bed and trails into the bathroom to fetch a towel for his hair. “Was really nice, they give good massages. You should give it a go at some point.”

“Okay.” He gives his head a good shake before drying with the towel. It feels creepy that he doesn’t know you are watching his reflection, so your eyes drop to your feet. You wonder if his masseuse was female. Not that it matters at all.

“What time are we meant to meet them for stargazing again?” He is speaking a lot - well, relatively. It saddens you that his usual tone of endearment when he would speak to you is now missing. It’s like speaking to a stranger, but worse, a stranger who takes a stab at your heart after every word.

“At 9, so that’s in…” You raise your wrist to find your watch absent from where it usually sits on your wrist. Right, you had removed it before strawberry-picking so it doesn’t get dirty and left it on the coffee table. Just as you turn around to retrieve it, you are met with Taehyung slipping his robe off. Your eyes widen.

The fluffy material glides down his shoulders like he’s made of gold, revealing the sculpture of his upper body that you scarcely recognise because he never used to be this toned. You thank any higher power there is that he is wearing his boxers, but they do nothing to conceal the faintest V at his hips and the bulk of his thighs. He isn’t bursting with muscle, but body definitely more well-defined than you remember.

“Have you been working out?” It just slips out. You wish, as the heat floods to dizzy your mind, that you had the capability of holding your tongue for once in your life.

Taehyung hesitates, Adam’s apple bobbing at his jugular. That shy awkwardness returns when your eyes meet. “Yeah. I mean a little, here and there…” Self-consciously, he brings his arm across his chest to rub at his bicep, but the gesture only flexes the muscle he has gained.

Your knees feel slightly weak. It’s the lack of dinner, you tell yourself. It’s not just your knees that feel weak though, your heart is thumping haphazardly into arrhythmia.

“But you hate exercise.” The stability in your voice surprises you.

“Yeah I did, but Seojoon said it’d help me take my mind off… things.” Lip between his teeth, Taehyung searches around for a top. Sheepishness in the form of a soft pink tint on his round cheeks turns you soft.

‘Things’, meaning you.

When you realise you’ve been staring, you immediately look down, fingers fiddling with each other like you’re some virgin freshly exposed to the spectacle of the male body. You’re anything but yourself, and so is he. Taehyung exercising? You almost scoff.

“You don’t have to… You’ve seen me naked, you know.” Taehyung mumbles, finally locating the sweatshirt he intends to wear. When you hear him pull it over himself, you sag in relief, the immense weight that his starkness strangely bestowed on you finally alleviated.

“Yeah, but it’s different now.” Now that we’re not together anymore. Not that we were ever together.

You know he feels it too, the sting of those words. The hurt in his eyes fill you with a sort of bitter self-resentment that you cannot wrap your head around. Stop looking at me like that. Stop making me feel like a bitch. Just stop hurting me.

“Yeah, it is.” But for some reason, it stings even more when he says it. His agreement should be a triumph, yet it feels more like the acknowledgement of the broken bridges between you.

When it comes from your mouth, it’s you convincing yourself more than anything. When it comes from his, it sounds like the truth.

.

Of the many things that are slowly killing Taehyung this weekend, the painfully awkward silence is among the most unbearable. It’s the loud kind of silence that he hates where there is clearly so much to say to each other yet none of it is coming out. There’s a vast ocean between you, roaring waves engulfing any sort of message he wishes to communicate.

This has to be one of the strangest experiences of his life - being set up by your friend on a couple’s trip to a resort disguised as a strawberry farm for Valentine’s day with you - and he has experienced a lot of weird shit in his life.

To be honest, he hasn’t been doing so great the past few weeks.

All the anger and bitterness had taken two days to melt away into miserable wretchedness. Two days, that’s all it took for him to not be angry with you anymore because there was one person he was angrier at - himself.

Because Taehyung was quick to realise that losing you is miles, miles, worse than what you had done to him. It was a sudden sort of realisation, the kind that hits you in the middle of doing something. What had he done?

The way he yelled at you, the things he said. His chest always sinks at the rememberance.

You didn’t know it was Jimin, you truly didn’t. But he exploded on you nonetheless, impermeable to your explanation. That wasn’t him. That raging bellowing man wasn’t him. If only he had just calmed down and talked it through with you, maybe he wouldn’t have been sleeping alone in your bed that your scent still clung on to.

And when he thinks about how you had heard him with that girl from the club, the bar, wherever his inebriated state took him that he doesn’t even remember…

Taehyung regrets everything.

How you got to this point was so extremely stupid. He should have just confessed to you, simple and easy, no complications needed. You are a commitment-phobe, he always knew he’d have to be the one to say it first. So why didn’t he? What the fuck was holding him back?

All he had to say was to not go on that date with Junho. That’s all you wanted. Why why why didn’t he just say how he felt?

Taehyung never knew himself to be a crier before this. He had shed a tear or two when he found out about Ryujin’s cheating and his friends’ betrayal; that was a stab in the back that left him gutted from the inside. Yet still, he got by, he survived because he found you. And he had naively thought, I managed to bear through this so nothing can really be worse than this now can it?

It can, and it did.

Once it starts, it won’t stop. The tears. A great tempest swallowing him whole and dragging him under until all he could hear was his own pounding heart. It is always before bed, when he would have the time to himself to truly think and reflect. But sometimes it comes during the day as well. He will be doing something as mundane as washing his hair in the shower, and he would suddenly break down because you had left him your shampoo that you would always get annoyed at him for using.

The house just feels empty. The absence of your voice, your warmth, your lips pressed on his neck every morning before his eyes even fully opened. Gone.

Yet, every corner is etched with the memories you share, your ghost lingering by the sofa that you adore whenever he’s watching TV, or curled up beside him every night in bed. It’s impossible to forget you.

Even as Seojoon moved in to fill your vacated room and help with the rent, the place was cold. It will never be the same because nothing could ever replace you. Everything he had and cherished - swept away just like that by none other than his own mistakes.

Yes, you had hurt him a lot. At the time, that pain felt insurmountable, like the worst thing you could ever do to him. But ultimately, upon the endless nights of thinking, he has realised that what hurt him the most was not you, but losing you. Not Jimin, not Junho, but how what could have been between you two fell apart so quickly by the poor choices you both made.

“Now if you look up to your left, you might be able to see one of our February constellations, the Pictor.” Jae announces, voice full of an enthusiasm that Taehyung could only envy as he guides the tour group towards the centre of a large plain field behind the hotel where you will all be stargazing. It is a lovely, breezy, cloudless night. You are several paces ahead of Taehyung, keenly reading the constellation manual leaflet lit up by your phone; he knows just how much of an astronomy geek you are. “It consists of four stars, as shown on your Star Guide, that are actually very dim and usually not easily spotted. The name Pictor means the Painter’s easel.”

Taehyung stops. Despite the darkness, he sees your shoulders tense too.

The easel you had gifted him on his birthday sits in his closet, stowed away from being a constant reminder of how much you loved him and how much he should have held on. It just sits there, collecting dust, untouched since the day you left.

The halt in Jae’s walking indicates your arrival to the intended location. “Here we are. Let’s settle down, love birds. I’ll set up this gorgeous telescope for anyone who wants to explore the sky in greater focus which I highly recommend.”

Spreading across the field, the group unrolls the picnic blankets you’ve all been given, dropping down to rest atop the covered grass.

No time is wasted from everyone else to snuggle up to their boyfriends, girlfriends, husbands, wives. The atmosphere is sickly, even for Taehyung. The couples around him have done little to hide their affection for each other since the beginning of the trip. It is a romantic vacation after all, but is it really so necessary to display your love so publicly?

You stand static and poker-faced on the other side of the mat, clear signs of reluctance to participate plastered all over you.

Taehyung has never stargazed before, let alone in this context. The stiffness in your movement as you sink down onto your knees and lie down in discomfort makes him wince. He realises now that neither of you have a choice but to put away any ill feelings and lay beside each other.

As he gets down next to you, his head nearly tumbles out his chest at the sudden proximity that he has grown so unused to. In the dark, your scent washes up to him like a timid tide lapping at the shore, hair swaying off your shoulders as you get onto your back. The size of the mat does not permit him elsewhere other than immediately beside you, no more than five inches from touching shoulders. Five inches from touching.

Truthbetold, Taehyung feels himself going insane. It started from the moment he saw you on the bus, your wide eyes, parted lips, so pretty despite the look of terror you wore. He didn’t think he would have the chance to see you any time soon. He hadn’t truly comprehended the magnitude at which he missed you until he saw you again.

And he has been spiralling since. Every gesture making his senses scream in agony, the desire to just talk to you mangling at him. He misses you like crazy. Not necessarily in that way, but just your presence, your funny comments, your feign annoyance when he annoys you. He misses the companionship.

You are both on your back now, the blanket feeling either slightly damp or too cold for comfort. The star-speckled sky hanging above you both is endless, a panoramic painting from east to west. You stare at the sky like it’s your lover, so Taehyung does the same. Astronomy doesn’t interest him as much as the meaning and purpose behind the act of stargazing. The people he’s with and the memories he makes.

Wordless, you stare at the sky, ignorant to his presence. The soft hum of everyone else’s whispers accentuates that frustrating silence between you. Taehyung is so fucking tired of the silence because he’s bursting with things to say to you, to ask you.

“Are we just not going to speak?”

His question startles you for you almost, almost, turn to look at him. The slight angling of your head before you catch yourself does not go unmissed by him.

“What do you want to speak about?” Taehyung hates the coldness in your voice. The unfeeling sounds so real. Why are you being this way? Do you seriously want nothing to do with him? That possibility scares him above all else.

Someone giggles a few yards from you two. On this large grassland, the couples are dispersed in their own little bubble of sweet affection, but not enough for his ears to not pick up these little sounds that send courses of envy through his vessel.

“What do you think?” The four weeks you spent apart were four weeks of lamenting over all the things he should have said, and all that he shouldn’t. And Taehyung’s is done with regretting unspoken words. He just wants to get everything out in the open, out of his system, so he can move on.

“I mean-”

“Look, Y/N. This is stupid, the whole ignoring each other thing. Don’t you just want to say your piece and get that weight off your chest?” In the distance, crickets chirp faintly. The discomfort shuddering in the five-inch area between your shoulders is screaming volumes. Taehyung doesn’t turn away from the sky for the fear of the expression he would see you wear.

He expects a note of irritation in your voice, for you to start arguing with him which he truthfully doesn’t mind because that is at least progress. But instead he gets a quiet defeat. “I don’t want to reopen wounds that are already ripping open, Taehyung.”

It wrenches his soul, truly. He doesn’t recognise you when you speak anymore, both with the things you say, and the way you say it. “Talking will help it heal.” Because that’s both your final goals here - to heal, to be cured of the ailment that is heartbreak.

“How exactly is it going to change anything?”

“I don’t know. We’ve had time to calm down and think and I think we should have some closure so we end on a good note.”

It’s funny now, how Taehyung is the one pleading to speak to you when he should be the one who’s angry at you because you were the one to commit the last and biggest fault. He doesn’t see it like that though, that’s all in the past. To be friends with you again, that’s all he wishes for, he doesn’t care about anything else at this point.

“So this is about amicability to you? You want to end on good terms.” Neither of you still dare to look at the other, eyes locked on the stars but somewhere distant.

“Well, yeah. Do you not?” He asks. He hadn’t expected you to be this uneasy, he thought you would have liked the idea of peace amongst you. “Everything towards the end happened so quickly, wouldn’t you like some closure?

“I would rather take my time and heal in my own way. To be honest, I don’t have anything to say to you about that topic except that I’m sorry, but I’m sure you’re sick of hearing that. It’s pointless.”

You’re coping with this differently, Taehyung understands. But it doesn’t take much effort to be pleasant towards each other, to smile and greet each other like normal people instead of scrambling away from every eye contact. How do you suppose you’d be able to move on like that?

“So not even friends right now?” He tries one last time. A soft breeze washes over you, wafting your scent towards him.

“No, I don’t want to be friends right now.”

Your bluntness stings. Taehyung finally gives in and turns to face you. Your striking profile greets him, your eyes still stubbornly glued to the sky. Your unwillingness to budge or compromise even a little bit is frustrating.

“We were best friends for the past two and a half years. More than best friends, we were literally two peas in a pod; we lived together, ate together, studied together, slept together. And now we don’t even talk. You’re okay with losing that? You’re telling me that I’m the only one who misses it more than anything else?” His angry whisper sounds ridiculous as he tries to keep his volume down, conscious of the setting he’s in.

But then he sees you blink, hard. Then blink again. Your pursed lip trembles. Another two consecutive blinks. When you look at him, your eyes are so glassy that they reflect the entirety of the galaxy above. “How am I supposed to be your friend right now when I can’t even look at you without feeling this great pang of sadness every time?” Taehyung immediately wishes he hadn’t pushed you.

“I… just would rather have you in my life as a friend than not have you at all.” His voice softens to a tone more apologetic. He is the reason for the tears you’re holding back right now and he despises it.

“I would rather not have you in my life at all while I slowly get over you than have you as just a friend because my heart can’t take this constant torture. I just want to be over you but I can’t do that if I have to pretend to be okay around you. And I just don’t get it Taehyung. How are you so willing to be friends again? After what I did, how could you look at me and not hate me?”

Taehyung frowns at you because he doesn’t see how you can’t understand it’s not about that anymore. It’s not about the blame, the who did what to who. He doesn’t care anymore but the fact that you do is alarming. You still can’t let it go.

“Okay, so is this about you not forgiving yourself?” He prods, and watches the brief flash of confusion on your face.

“I-” You’re quick to dispute but stop. Because it’s the truth.

A long silence ensures. You stare at the collar of his sweatshirt, zoned out. Taehyung knows you’re in deep contemplation, you know his points have strong grounds. There is no reason for hostility or callousness between you because it would only hurt each other more.

“Look,” He takes a deep breath. “I just think that it’s unhealthy for you to act like this. You’re burying and burying what you’re feeling without actually facing it. Trying to be friends is a good first step in accepting that we’re not together anymore; being cold to each other isn’t. Think about it.”

Another long pause. He watches you blink, watches your chest rise and fall at every breath.

“I understand your point, I know my coping mechanism isn’t healthy but it’s all that I know right now. We’re different, we’re hurting differently and healing differently. I’m sorry for acting out on you when it’s myself who I want to punish. But I seriously don’t have the strength to be your friend right now, I wish I did but I really don’t. Just give me time.” The fact that you’re not arguing with him says a lot; you have both matured from this experience. It’s sad that this is what it took for you to do so.

“Okay. I respect that.” Taehyung says. “I’m sorry for pushing this onto you, it’s selfish of me, sorry. I just… I don’t know, I guess I’m pathetic. You were my best friend and I want to salvage it as much as I can. I just miss you, that’s all.”

You don’t say anything, but Taehyung is okay with that. Because he knows you miss him too, you miss the friendship, the having each other to lean on.

The difference between you and him is that you can’t compartmentalise your lingering feelings for him and put that aside right now, whereas he can. You need to rid those feelings before you can be his friend, and he’s okay with that.

He stares at Pictor, it’s four weak stars that dim beside much brighter constellations yet somehow call to him. And he almost smiles.

.

You stare at your own reflection in the mirror.

That conversation with Taehyung resonates with you more than you’d care to let on. You let every single word he said sink in, your inner turmoil contemplating the points he made. Because he definitely has a point.

What resonates with you most is the word closure.

He’s right, everything between you ended so quickly that there was no time to process and accept it until it was already over. Maybe that’s why you’re finding it so hard to let go. If you were to be friends again, you could at least normalise his presence and gradually move past this.

Twisting the faucet on, you splash some water on your face to clear this dilemma from your head. And after wiping yourself dry, you exit the bathroom into your room with a great sigh.

Taehyung is wearing the grey hoodie - that’s the first thing you notice. As in the grey hoodie you would always claim as your own because of how soft its material is. The grey hoodie that you regret giving back to him. The grey hoodie that he would always wear when you guys gamed at midnight and it would always end with you on his lap, his locks tangled in your fingers while his mouth explored yours.

You take it back, fuck being friends, you’re back to square one.

He glances up in the dark, eyes surveying your silhouette from head to toe as he places a pillow on one end of the couch. Ever since that conversation, there’s the most subtle difference in his permanent expression - his lips look inclined to smile, his eyes hold an understanding for you that makes you feel vulnerable.

And, god, it makes you want to try. He deserves it, to have his best friend back in his life even if that best friend is you, the person he trusted the most in the world only to turn around and impale him in the chest with those stupid decisions of yours.

The omnipresence of your awkwardness hasn’t faltered though. “Taehyung, I said I would take the couch.” You protest, though you’re starting to see that it’s futile. You may be the more stubborn one between the pair, but there are certain things that Taehyung would never back down from.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen, Y/N.” The corner of his lip turns up properly now, like he’s silently snickering at a joke he thought of. “That’s just - not gonna happen.”

“What’s so funny?” Switching the bathroom lights off behind you, you ask. You hadn’t packed well for this trip, you are only in a flimsy camisole and a pair of sweats, the cold air coaxes goosebumps on your skin. His gaze follows you as you draw the curtains shut over the glass wall, leaving only a strip of moonlight streaming in.

“Nothing.” Taehyung places both hands on the top of his head, an action that causes his hoodie to slightly ride up his torso. You fix your eyes on the floor as you approach him and the sofa. “It’s just funny how you think I’d ever let you sleep on the couch while I sleep on the bed.”

There is a dead end down this path you’re going, neither of you would let the other win. So you simply ignore him and situate yourself on the couch, stretching your legs to span it wholly. “Good night.” Fixing the pillow he had placed, you shut your eyes.

“What, no.” You can hear the smile wipe off his face, almost making you chuckle out loud. “Y/N, get up.” Hastily he hovers over you. But when you show no sign of acknowledgement, he shuffles away. A moment later, you feel a great gust of air, then the softest silkiest duvet landing over you.

Your eyes fly open. And there Taehyung stands with his arms crossed smugly. “If you take the couch, you also take the covers.”

“No! You’ll be cold.”

“You’ll be cold. You’re not wearing enough.”

You give up. “Oh, for god’s sake, Taehyung. Fine. Let’s both sleep on the bed, okay?” His entire expression dilates. He doesn’t even blink as you get off the couch and cross your arms back at him. “Problem solved.”

Taking his wrist in one hand, dragging the plush duvet in the other, you walk to the bed and sit him down. No noise of protest emits from him, so you go back to retrieve the pillow from the couch in a huff.

“Are you sure?” His voice is suddenly timid, unsure. And he’s right to be so, because you’re quaking on the inside as well at the prospect of sleeping beside him.

It’s not going to be good for your heart, you know that definitely. But like he said, you need to face this. If you touch a paper cut enough times, it stops hurting. “It’s just sleeping, it’s no big deal.” You lie. “You want to be friends right? Well let’s start with this. Let’s stop being stupid and childish.” You can’t look him in the eye as you rearrange the bedding back to its original state before Taehyung messed it up.

His reply merely a quiet yeah… before you both hesitantly crawl under the covers and tuck in. Heat flushes to your face as you do so because the action feels so familiar, yet everything about it is different.

Absolute silence. Backs facing each other. An arm's length or two between you but it feels like more. You don’t even shut your eyes because why pretend that you’ll fall asleep?

Your own palpitation is so vigorous that it’s audible. The thoughts whizzing around in your head are unstoppable, a persistent prodding at your skull. His scent is strong, that sweet honey musk that used to seduce you to sleep now the very thing that’s keeping you up.

It must be, what, ten? twenty minutes? of just laying there as you ponder your future with Taehyung, if you want a future at all. He’s right, you miss his friendship above all else. As much as you love Lotta, there is an intangible quality missing between you, that extra spark that existed between Taehyung which boosted your dynamic up to an incomparable level. You understood each other without having to speak, care about each other more than yourselves - that love was almost familial. Losing that has been too much.

Then you hear Taehyung shift onto his back. “Y/N?” Your heart skips a beat.

“Yeah?” You answer after a pause, mind racing through all the possibilities of what he could say. You hate this permanent uncertainty of what he’s thinking.

Silence follows for a short while, the endless possibility of what he’s going to say flooding your mind. Then, “You know how I can’t sleep without holding something?”

You stop breathing.

Because you see very clearly where this is going, and it’s down a road that you don’t know if you can withstand.

He can’t sleep without holding you. Holding you.

You take a deep breath and clamp down on your lip, grateful that your back is facing him so he can’t see the pathetic weakness on your face. Can you do this?

Can you do this without wanting to cry? Can you do this without succumbing to your momentary desire to just turn around and kiss him because you won’t be able to think straight with his arms around you? You’re really not sure.

“Yes…?”

“Can I…” Something rustles the covers, perhaps his arm, or maybe he’s inching closer. In the pitch black night, every movement feels amplified, more impactful. “You know…”

“Can you what?” You’re not being difficult, you’re giving him the chance to take back on this request. To just say nevermind and turn back around. Because you’re not equipped for his touch; you don’t want it, you don’t want the pain that comes with it.

Another pause. Take the chance, please. But his deep hesitant voice sounds in the dark, “Can I hold you please?”

You shut your eyes. That feeling in your nose again, that rush. Hold it in, don’t cry, stupid emotional bitch, don’t cry. What’s there to cry about? You wonder if this torment will end, and you wonder if you could ever stop feeling this much for him.

“I swear I’m not trying anything, I genuinely can’t sleep.” His voice has a way of penetrating deep into your bones, begging you even if it’s not his intention to.

You could say no, right? Just say no.

But that isn’t facing it, that isn’t overcoming your heartbreak. If your goal of this trip is to come out of this weekend completely devoid of feelings for him, then you need to let him stop affecting you.

“Okay. Please don’t make it weird.” You whisper, not daring to move a muscle.

Taehyung sags in relief, the bed dipping with his weight. “I won’t, I promise.” The sound of him shuffling closer to you constricts your throat. You close your eyes, awaiting the warmth of his front to meet your back, counting down in your head for that dreaded moment to come. “Come closer.” He murmurs.

When his hand fits around your waist, you know it’s an act of unconscious habit rather than intent. Slowly, he drags you into the enclosure of his chest, his scent and heat enshrouding you until you are completely engulfed by him.

He exhales, the fingertips of his breath caressing your hair ever so gently.

Every fibre in your body is tensing, eyes firmly shut and toes curled inwards. His hand feels enormous on your waist, holding you the only way he has ever known how to. With a unique type of affection that is so pure and devoted, yet also with a hint of protectiveness and possession.

Taehyung lets go of your waist only to encircle his arms around you entirely, his legs curling up under yours until you’re both cocooned together.

“You okay?” The back of your neck feels tender, sensual even, from the tickling heat of his breath. You’re too keenly aware of how close your heads are positioned, of the searing sensations that his hands are causing.

No, you’re not okay. Your skin has been lit on fire. Memories that you’ve long since tried to bury are surging back at full force, slamming into you one after the other. He’s too close, he’s everywhere. There is no distance separating you right now, yet you still feel miles away from him; you can’t comprehend his intentions nor decipher his thoughts. The fit of the crook of your back into his chest is perfect, a heartbreaking kind of perfect. This feels so so familiar. This is exactly what you had yearned and dreamt for every night for the past month - to be in his arms again. So why does it hurt even more than being alone?

Instead, you nod, “Mmm, yeah.”

A compulsion is yanking at you to lean back into him.

Taehyung exhales again and rests his cheek on the back of your shoulder where he always used to perch. If you were naked right now, he would be speckling this shoulder with soft dainty petal kisses. You hate that there is still a part of you, and mind you a very significant part, that wants it.

Your hands are inches away from touching each other; just one lift of your wrist and your fingers can clasp. The urge indunates you.

It would be so easy right now to just succumb - let your hand crawl into his because you know he would hold it, turn around and start kissing up his jaw until your tongues are tangled. You think it’s purely physical, these impulses, at least that’s what you want them to be. You just miss the intimacy, that’s all. But then why does it feel like you’ve swallowed a kaleidoscope of butterflies? Except their wings are made of glass, and everytime they flutter, you feel the shards scratch along your insides. There is desire laced in the pain. You don’t know which one is worse.

What baffles you the most is how he is alright with this, how he initiated this. He said he wants to at least be your friend, but this surely feels like a breach of friendship to anyone. Holding each other in bed is not being friends. But then again, you both have always had a warped perception of what friends should be doing.

You don’t understand how it’s so different for him. How the areas where you are touching, even if separated by layers of clothes, doesn’t tear through his sanity. If he doesn’t feel the same crack in his heart, then what does he feel?

With every heavy breath he takes, you take a silent one, eyes shut and praying to be swept away by the sleep that you don’t believe will reach you. You haven’t slept well since that night. Taehyung, on the other hand, you know is instantly sound asleep. It never used to take him more than five minutes as long as you were in his clutch.

But then, maybe there is a soothing essence in his presence with his overwhelming pleasant scent and rhythmic breathing, or maybe you’ve just exhausted your body with constant overthinking, a hazy fog drifts over your consciousness. You’re so tired, physically and mentally drained... And Taehyung feels so warm and snug around you...

The last thought you have before you drift off into reverie is that you feel his fingers slide between yours, holding not firmly but with intent. And you don’t know if it was you or him who moved it so.

You wake up from the damp heat gathered in all your crevices, the thin coat of sweat mildly irritating your skin. You are facing the glass door to the patio, and though the curtains conceal much of the windows, strips of sunlight topple past the cracks and unfurl into your room.

Taehyung’s arm is around you. Still.

After these years of living together, you know everything about Taehyung like that back of your hand. You can tell whether he’s awake or not from his breathing. And he’s most definitely asleep, though only lightly.

You look down and examine your position. In the course of the night, his forearm has travelled progressively higher until it is just about cradling your breasts. One of his legs is thrown over yours, entrapping you in his embrace. In his tangle of limbs, you slowly try to twist onto your back while prying him off.

He stirs, pulls you in tighter.

Which lands your rear in the unfortunate position of right atop his crotch. His crotch that is very much awake and way too excited.

Lethargy immediately expelled, your eyes open wide.

Morning wood is a usual occurrence for Taehyung, especially after a night of merciless teasing, but randomly a lot of the times. You shouldn’t be as surprised as you are, nor aroused. He has mentioned before how uncomfortable it can be, a blaring hard presence, a sore tension waking him up in an unforgiving manner. Which means that he can precariously wake any second n-

“Mmmm.” Voice an octave deeper than its norm, he hums, announcing his returning consciousness.

Taehyung’s morning wood and morning voice. You are being tested right now.

Your concupiscence has been gradually building up in the last few weeks from the lack of any sexual activity save for your own fingers and toys. It’s human nature, and completely goes against your will - but you feel the old friend that goes by the name lust stirring at the pit of your stomach.

At your proximity, the tip of his member digs deep between your cheeks, prodding at your entrance incontestably. Your whole body stiffens as the slowly waking Taehyung nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck habitually, arm tensing around you. Ever so slowly, you look back to steal a glance. His wildly curly hair falls over his forehead gracefully, lashes fanned out from his closed lids. He’s too beautiful for his own good.

Your core dampens and you quickly turn back around.

Fuck, please, no. You can’t be thinking about him like that. It’s so wrong. But his erection burrowed between your ass is banishing any clarity or sense from your head.

But God, you fucking miss this.

You’re going mad from deprivation. The dry spell of the past month had been voluntary, on the basis that you knew it wasn’t a healthy coping mechanism because you would only picture Taehyung over the faces of those nameless men. And because you knew no one knows you as well as he does, thus no one will succeed in satisfying you as well as him. Your sex drive was non-existent right after the break-up; sex simply didn’t cross your mind once while you were nursing your broken heart. And then it came ebbing back, though faintly and infrequently, you regained your libido and would find yourself fantasising on some lonesome nights.

But now, the situation at hand is that: you’ve allowed Taehyung to cuddle you in his sleep and you’ve consequently woken up to his undeniably hard cock poking between your legs. And he is seconds away from fully waking up as well.

So what now?

“Taehyung.” You say firmly, pushing his arm away from your breasts. It’s best if you call him out for it now rather than let it hang awkwardly in the air unsaid.

“Hmmmm..?” He rumbles sleepily. You don’t have to turn around to be able to envision his face, eyes slowly blinking open but reluctant as ever, true to his deep sleeper title.

“Taehyung.” This time you nudge back gently for emphasis. What it achieves is additional friction. Your whole lower half achse to grind back onto him, to slide over his hardened cock, to reach back and pump it in your hands.

Fuck.

You can’t.

You could, so easily, but you shouldn’t. You and Taehyung are completely over in every sense of your relationship. You can’t let this moment of weakness strip away all your efforts in moving on.

“Wha…” He mumbles, finally peeling his arm off you to stretch out. A loud yawn ensues. You take the opportunity of his loosened hold around you to twist back and pin him with a glare, hoping that your thirst is masked.

“You’re hard.”

Eyes still puffy, he stops mid-stretch at those two words. And looks down.

Did he… not notice? Or did he, in his morning hazy, momentarily get the situation confused and forget that you weren’t together?

Taehyung scrambles away from you so abruptly that he almost falls off the bed. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t- It just- I can’t control it, Y/N, you know I can’t.” His stammering is followed by his jerky movements to readjust his bulge as discreetly as one can allow in such situation. The detonation of terror on his face exacerbates your embarrassment. Because you simply don’t know what to do with yourself - with your core tingling in arousal simultaneously as your brow twitches in annoyance. When your vexed eyes meet his, you see another wave of panic crash onto him.

How did you get in this situation in the first place? If only you had just slept on the couch last night…

“Yeah, I know, stop reacting like that. Don’t make it weirder than it already is.” You berate, yanking the covers with all your strength over your shoulder and roll away from him. The distance is more for your own good. You can’t be near him right now, you can’t think about his fucking cock slipping into you.

You want to fuck. You want to fuck Taehy-

Stop that fucking thought.

“I’m sorry.” His morning voice, oh god. Burying your face into the pillow does little against the fluid pooling in your panties.

“Can you go to the toilet and… fix yourself.” When the words leave your mouth, the imagery of him fixing himself flashes before your eyes. And something pulses violently down there. Fucking fuck.

“Um, okay, sorry.” You try to not peek at him as he gets up from the bed, slightly limping as he makes his way to the toilet. But you succumb nonetheless.

His cheeks are scarlet, veins bulging on the side of his forehead, and you’re not sure if it’s from his embarrassment or the discomfort of the boner. Your eyes drop from his profile because his morning face has always been one of your weaknesses, except unfortunately for you, your eyes land on his bulge.

Another pulse down there.

You hate yourself. You feel dirty for even thinking about him like that because it’s so wrong. But then again, he’s probably thinking about you like that as well, hence the raging erection.

When the bathroom door shuts behind him, you let out a sigh. You don’t know how long you can keep hold of your sanity for like this. You’re swimming in a sea of confusing emotions: the constant melancholy you have of missing him and missing the way things were before you had fucked it up; the desperation to move on and understand that he was only a chapter of your life that is now closed; the bitter resentment that you have for yourself as a consequence of not being able to do so; and now the inescapable desire aching between your thighs because of how inherent these memories are of how he would fuck you until you cry like nobody else could.

What doesn’t help is the hint of a slow pumping rhythm from the toilet, and Taehyung’s ragged breathing.

Fuck.

You don’t want to think about how he’s jerking off on the other side of the wall right now, gripping his cock as he leans against the sink, head thrown back. But that’s exactly what you’re thinking about.

Is he thinking of you as he’s doing it? You’re not sure if you want him to, because while you wish he wouldn’t, you also hope that this lust you feel is reciprocated still, that you’re not the only one going crazy with arousal.

Your hand almost trails down to your core when his pace quickens, but his sharp inhale strikes at your inner righteousness. You stop, sit up and rush out to the patio for some fresh air.

Happy Valentine’s Sunday indeed.

.

The dough feels sticky in your hand despite the layers of flour you’ve doused your fingertips in. Baking has never been your forte, you simply don’t have the patience or precision for such a crafty hobby. You glance over to check on Taehyung’s progress at the other half of the counter.

He has the easy job. Of course, when it came to allocating roles between the pair of you in this baking session, the jam-making landed on him because there’s no way he would succeed in making the strawberry tart.

You can’t help but smile at the way his lips are puckered and brows drawn in concentration as he chops the berries as finely as he could. But the way the top half of his hair is pulled back into a little sprout of a ponytail… You gulp.

Neither of you have spoken a word of this morning’s awkward event; it had been a tacit agreement not to as soon as you made eye contact when he stepped out of the bathroom. It has set a lewd tone for the rest of your day. At every blank moment where your mind isn’t preoccupied, especially when you’re doing something as frivolous and kneading dough, your thoughts would wander to the memories of his warm rigid-

You stop yourself. You’re in public and he’s chopping strawberries right next to you.

You’ve noticed how, every time you’d have those sinful thoughts, your mood would lighten a little. The pang in your heart that used to always plague you would profoundly diminish. Of all things, of course sex is what eases your sadness the most, that’s just so characterisitic of you isn’t it?

“Is everything going well?” One of the baking assistants comes over to your counter for the seventh time now (yes you’re counting). She is a petite, rather pretty, pleasant looking girl. And you have not failed to notice how every time she checks up on you two, her attention is always solely on Taehyung. Here you are struggling with your asscheek of dough yet she only cares to ask how Taehyung, the strawberry chopper, fares?

“Yup.” Taehyung spares her a brief glance before dumping the diced pieces of fruit into the saucepan.

“Would you like some more flour?” You almost scoff out loud. You’re the one working with flour over here! Why is she asking him?

“No, thanks.” He doesn’t look up this time.

The assistant smiles to herself as if he’d said something particularly sweet to her. Until her eyes land on you. “Uh- What about you, ma’am?”

“All.” You land a punch on the buttery dough, death glare and all. “Good.” Another punch. Eyes not once wavering. She has the brains to scramble away.

You don’t have the right to assert this sort of possessiveness over Taehyung. But it’s the principle. This is a couple’s romantic holiday; she must be under the presumption that you and Taehyung are together, so how does she still dare to ogle over him like that?

“She’s flirting with you.” You rumble when she’s out of earshot.

Taehyung looks up at you from stirring his jam mixture, his lips still slightly pouted from his focus. “What? Who?”

“That baking assistant who came over just now.” You grit, trying to suppress this irrational vexation.

“Oh. Really?” Clueless, he scans across the room. “Was that the blonde or the brunette one?”

It’s a relief how truly oblivious he is that you don’t bother answering his question. It’s also completely unlike him. Since when did Kim Taehyung not notice when a girl takes interest in him? How fascinating must those strawberries be to capture his undivided attention like that?

“Would you like some flour?” You mimic, batting your lashes at him.

A wide grin spreads across his cheeks. To be honest, you don’t know what prompted you to display such friendliness to him all of a sudden. Perhaps what happened this morning, or even the fact that you slept on the same bed last night, breached one of the walls towering between you. It’s progress.

“You’ve got flour on your face.”

Fuck, again? You need to stop handling stuff like dirt and flour because they keep ending up on your face. “Ugh.” You huff, trying to let the embarrassment brush off. “Where?”

From the mischievous smirk that his grin morphed into, you should’ve known. Before you could suspect, Taehyung dabs one of his fingers into a small pile of flour and smears it down your cheek. “There.”

“You-!” You gasp, your own finger already caked in flour flying for a counter attack at his face.

But his reflexes are fast as he catches your wrist in lightning speed and tugs you towards him, his other hand simultaneously slathering another streak of white down the bridge of your nose. You tumble into him, foolish grin on your face as you twist your wrist out of his grip and manage to smear your floury thumb onto his chin.

Taehyung catches you before you could trip over your feet, smiling so wide for the first time this weekend that you can’t help but giggle. His grip on your waist feels warm. You’re close enough that you have to crane your neck to see him, close enough to see the individual hairs of his brows.

Yes, something has definitely shifted since last night.

The desire is a flame, devouring all your other senses until all you can focus on is his touch, his molten chocolate eyes, his tongue swiping out to wet his lips. You just want to…

Kiss him.

You admit it, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

Ignition in his eyes, he stares at your lips too, smile slowly faltering. The hammering of your spastic heart cancels out all other noise in the room; you don’t see anything else except him. He doesn’t move, and neither do you. That lustful monster in your mind screams, Damn the consequences. Just kiss. Fuck being friends and fuck being strangers. Kiss him.

“Alright, lovebirds over there. These pastries won’t make themselves. Let’s get cracking!” Both of you jump and the sound of the head chef calling.

A bucket of ice cold water showers over you, extinguishing that prosperous flame. And reality materialises once again around you.

Not just the physical reality, but the reality of your situation as well - you can’t, you shouldn’t be acting like this around each other. There’s being friends, and then there’s this. The line is fine, it has always been.

It’s difficult to separate the weeds of these conglomerated emotions. You miss each other, want to kiss each other. You want the hurting to end, he wants to be friends. Your break up had been too messy for either of you to have a clear vision of what you need to do to overcome this.

Except maybe there is a cure-all solution to this.

You return to your ball of dough as Taehyung goes back to stirring his boiling jam. Yet your attention is now scattered, because a seed of an idea, most probably a very bad one, has been sown in your head.

.

It is most definitely a reckless idea, one that has the potential of going very south.

You bring it up during dinner, the supposed “romantic candlelit dinner with a string quartet” which neither of you are remotely dressed well enough for. “Taehyung, you know how you talked about closure and all that yesterday?”

Taehyung pauses, forkful of tenderloin steak stopped in midair. “Yeah..?” The hope in his voice is infused with an uncertain hesitation.

“I think we should have sex. One last time. For closure.”

The violin strikes a particularly high pitch in the background. Taehyung doesn’t move a hair for at least a good ten seconds before he blinks at you. This was definitely not what he’d anticipated from you, you can tell. But well, of course it isn’t. The idea surprised yourself.

“What? I think I heard something else, say that again?”

Oh boy. “No, you heard it right. I said I think we should sleep together for closure.” You sound unsteady to your own ears. “Release all this pent up sexual frustration we have for each other one last time and then be done with this. You said you want to be friends, right? I actually think it’s going to work for me, I’ll be able to move on afterwards, I’m almost certain.”

Frowning, Taehyung puts his fork down. “Really…? You want to have sex?”

“Yes.” You’re not even going to be shy about it at this point. You weren’t sure how this scene was going to play out but you’d envisioned it to go much smoother than this. “Do you want to?”

“I mean…” Colour of wine stains his cheeks. “Yeah… But are you sure? You were just saying last night how you can’t look at me without hurting. Do you understand why this is confusing for me?”

“I know it sounds contradictory and counterproductive, but-” You halt when you realise that there is no but. You don’t know how to verbalise the explanation that convinced you in your head. “Look at it as break up sex. It’s a common thing because it works. Like you said, we ended so quickly, in a blink of an eye. Just see this as the closing chapter of our relationship. If you don’t want to do it, just say it. I just had to throw it out there.”

Worry drips down your throat when his blank expression remains unchanged - worry that you’ve made a fatally wrong move to make things irreparably awkward now, if he so wishes not to follow through with your suggestion.

But then he nods, ponderously and maybe not entirely convinced, but you’ll take it. “I think you have a point… The thing about closure and ending this better than we did the first time round.”

“So… You’re down.”

“Down.”

So, the rest of dinner flies by with the two of you wolfing down your meal as hastily as you can. The entire time, your mind is buzzing with a strange sort of excitement for you are confident that this is necessary in accelerating your process of recovery.

You and Taehyung started with sex, so naturally, you should end with sex.

If you are eating cookies from a jar and that jar is suddenly taken away from you, you would be overcome with a surge of anger and unjust. You will always remember that awful person who took it from you. But if you are told that the jar will be taken away and the cookie in your hand is the last one you can ever have, you will cherish this last cookie and take your time eating it. It would taste different from all the other cookies you’ve had in the past - better, sweeter, because you know that it’s the last one.

Taehyung is quiet, indecipherable as you stroll back to the room. You understand his doubt, you really do. Because a night ago, if he’d have offered you the same suggestion, you would’ve thought he’s insane. But after the incident this morning, and the sparse flirtation throughout the day, there is a clear indication of unresolved sexual tension on both ends.

End this once and for all with a bang.

“Are you really up for it, Taehyung?” You check one last time, swiping the keycard at the door. “If you’re not comfortable, then we shouldn’t.”

When you look back as you push open the door, you catch his eyes, filled with purpose and trust. “No, you’re right. We need the closure.”

As the door closes behind you after you enter, it feels final - your fate is sealed, this is happening. You both stop in the middle of the room, facing each other. Shoulders tense and fists clenched. The bed has been made from this morning, a strawberry gift basket sitting on the coffee table in the corner of your eye.

Your breath feels shaky.

“So…”

“So…”

His throat is trembling too.

You break into a smile at how pathetic you’ve both become around each other, and once you do, Taehyung observably loosens up. “What are we being so nervous for?”

He smiles too, and takes a step towards you. “I don’t know.”

Bittersweet. It’s the best way to describe how you feel right now. Because this is it.

“Do you want to get in the hot tub? It feels like a waste if we don’t use it before we go. It’s our last night here.” The buzzing beneath your skin grows as you ask, and a spark lights up in his eyes at your idea.

“Say no more.” He presses a kiss on your forehead. It’s utterly out of the blue and fleeting, but enough to make your heart leap, both from the bewilderment and the knowledge that this will be one of your last acts of affection.

Taehyung walks past you towards the glass door, peeling off his shirt in the meantime to reveal the new tone of muscle on his back that he’s acquired in the past month. “I’m going to get some alcohol.” You maunder.

Your fingers are shaking as you rummage through the wine cooled for the drink you best see suitable. A strawberry champagne catches your eye. How fitting.

You can’t explain how jittery you feel as you completely strip off your clothes. This is the last time with Taehyung. The profound significance, the pressure, the emotions, tide after tide hitting you.

Two glasses of champagne in your hand, you inhale sharply, and let it all out.

This is it. This is the conclusive ending you asked for.

Warm water bubbling up to his chest, you find him seated in the hot tub awaiting you. The boxers discarded by the side implies that it was a last minute decision of his to go completely naked. And when he notices your nude form strutting out to the patio to join him, he sucks in. The way his eyes rake down your body then back up to your face sends flutters to you core, but also a nostalgic pang.

Eye contact does not break for a second as you climb into the hot tub and sit yourself adjacent to him. The chilly evening breeze with the heated effervescing water provides the perfect ambient temperature. Taehyung accepts the champagne you hand him, finger brushing over yours in a way that could only be intentional. He’s savouring every touch.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” You toast. The lump in your throat almost doesn’t permit the words to be said.

“To Mykonos, to the heatwave, to us and our last time.” He repeats after you. Clink. And down the drink goes.

A sigh, from both of you. The champagne is bittersweet, too. And you feel that surge behind your nose again, the sting behind your eyes.

“Isn’t it funny how the universe plays out?” Taehyung says, gaze falling to your lips, then your neck, then collar. He slides closer to you. “The first time we kissed was in water, the Mediterranean Sea. And now, the last time will be in water too.”

You don’t say anything for you need a moment to collect the tears. Then you place your glass on the edge of the tub and waddle through the water until you are perched on his lap. He receives you like you’re made of glass, gentle hands coming around your bare back to pull you down onto him. You brush away his dark untamed curls from his face, appreciating the thickness of his hair between your fingers because you don’t think you’ll get to touch it again. His hands trail low to the small of your back; you feel yourself brush up against his member, already hard and poised.

You want to tell him that you love him, that you will always always love him. But you know you would break if you say it.

So you just lean down to kiss him.

People like to describe their kisses like electricity, fire, a bolt of lightning striking down their spine. But for you, it really isn’t like that at all. When your lips meet, it feels like your first sip of cocoa on the first day of winter warm but not hot enough to burn, feels as though you’re interlocking fingers in a crowd of busy bodies and his thumb brushes over yours to tell you it’s okay, I’m right here and I won’t let go.

And you both pull away at the same time, a string of saliva between your mouths.

Because you both feel it, and it’s too much.

But this is the last time, you remind yourselves. Last time.

So your lips fall back onto him, fuelled by a passion you’ve never felt before. His mouth is velvet, fitting over yours so perfectly that it hurts. His hand finds your face, wet from being submerged, and he holds you more tenderly than he would an infant. Your chest is imploding from every ragged breath you take between hot kisses and you just let it.

Arousal pulling at your strings, your hand snakes down his front, dips into the water and wraps around his cock. “Ah…” Taehyung groans into your mouth. Your touch swipes across his tip. “Fuck, baby.”

Baby.

That is your undoing.

His teeth find your breasts, taking your nipple and teasing it until you’re whimpering in need. The roughness of his tongue tingles your sensitive bud so much that your eyes roll back and your vision is black and dotted with stars. The water providing you with a newfound ease, you pump him relentlessly, sitting up so you can slide his tip over your clit and along your folds. Because neither of you can wait, you’re cutting to the chase. Anything else can wait until subsequent rounds.

Every time his head brushes past your clit, a convulsion shoots up you. Your thighs quiver around him as he digs his fingers into the flesh of your ass. And when you inch by inch sink down onto his cock, the euphoric stretch in your walls numbs all other sensation.

You have missed this so much. It’s been so long.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Taehyung’s voice is shaky, breath hitched.

“It’s ‘coz I haven’t…”

You don’t have to finish the sentence for him to understand and reply, “Me neither.”

The boost of reassurance and confidence that it grants you makes you roll your hips over his. From the absence of sex the past month, your cunt has grown unaccustomed to his size. Your entire core aches, but in the best way you could ask for. The water sloshes as you gain a steady rhythm. You have to bite down onto his ear to stop the volume at which you want to cry out because you remember that you are outdoors.

Taehyung’s face burrows into your neck, panting hard, but thrusting harder. You think back to every single one of your times together, from beginning to now. Your arms encircle tighter around him as you kiss the shell of his ear.

The initial pain in your walls is beginning to trickle away, leaving in its wake the claws of pleasure running up and down your body. Taehyung’s cock performs wonders on you that no one else can - it’s just a fact that you have to accept now. Nothing will compare.

Yet you can come to terms with it. You can gladly accept that Taehyung will be the best thing you’ll ever have.

But then you feel the dampness. At first, you mistaken it as droplets of water splattering onto you so you ignore it. And amidst you bouncing onto him, you don’t notice how Taehyung’s shoulders are shuddering.

You stop.

And feel the streaks of his tears running down your neck from where his face is pressed onto.

You can’t describe the shattering in your heart when you look down to find him crying into you. You can’t speak, can’t move, can’t even cry back at him.

It leaves you in wreckages, how he’s holding you close to him still, clinging on despite your how you’ve stopped, muffled sobs cracking out of this throat.

It takes a while for you to regain your voice, but his tears are still ceaseless. “Taehyung…”

When he looks up, you’re struck with another ammunition of distraught. The redness of his eyes, the sad distortion of his beautiful features, the endless endless tears...

“Y/N, I can’t. I really can’t.” His voice is hoarse, as if he’s been screaming silently.

“I-I’m sorry, you should’ve said. I’m so sorry I didn’t realise.” You’re stupefied from the horrendous sight of a completely broken Taehyung underneath you. You immediately climb off him.

“I-” He sniffs. “I love you so fucking much. I love you more than I love myself and I can only ever love you more each day.” You feel it again, the surge in your nose, the sting behind your eyes. You’re choked up, speechless, resenting yourself for putting him through this. You want to bury your head in the water and cry until you pass out. 

“Y/N, I didn’t ever want to lose you because I know I would lose myself. But then I lost you. And I lost myself.” His sobs strangle you by the throat.

“Taehyung, I’m sorry. About everything I’ve done. It’s all my fault and I will always hate myself for hurting you so much.” A single tear rolls down your face, you can’t hold it in anymore. Then a second, third. At the unstoppable oceans pouring from his eyes, you feel destroyed.

“I don’t even care about that! I’m not hurt by Junho or Jimin, I don’t care. Having to wake up every day knowing that you’re not beside me has been the most painful thing I’ve had to deal with. You are my home, Y/N. I don’t want to live in a life that you’re not a part of. I just can’t live without you and I can’t stand it. I can’t- I can’t...”

“Then don’t.”

Confusion draws his browns into a frown. “What?” His face is still warped in pain. You can’t stand it anymore either.

“Then don’t live without me.”

Your teeth dig into your lip to stop your own bawling.

All this conflict back and forth has taken such a toll on you and what for? At the end of the day, one unwavering fact stands true and untested: you love each other no matte what. So why should you let mistakes of the past keep you apart?

“What?” He says again, though understanding starts to seep through.

“I love you, Taehyung. I can’t not love you. I’m not myself if I don’t. So let’s stop this bullshit. I can’t live without you and you can’t live without me. So then let’s not leave each other again.”

You stare at each other, on this cool February night, warm water gurgling up to your collars, the cloudless night sky flaunting it’s collection of stars. And you promise to stay by each other for as long as you live.

“Okay.” That’s all Taehyung can muster.

“I’m yours, Taehyung. My heart is completely yours forever.” His violent flow of tears subside into gentle trickles.

“Okay.” He stands up in the tub, and you mirror his action. Water weeps off your skin, inviting the cold to infiltrate.

Nothing more needs to be said. Your mouths find each other the way they always do, the crashing of your lips, scraping of your teeth. A new tear rolls off Taehyung’s face and onto your fused lips, but it’s different this time. They’re tears of insuppressable joy, knowing that the taste of your tongue is entirely his, the porcelain of your skin is entirely his. You’re shivering from the temperature of the night, but you don’t feel the cold.

His hands come behind your thighs and lift you up to his face level, wrapping your legs around your torso the way he did in Mykonos. With careful steps, he carries you back into the room, past the bed, that poor couch that was collateral damage to your mutual pining, and sets you down onto the bathroom countertop.

When he finally breaks away from the kiss and takes in your beauty under the bright light of the room, there is no less than absolute adoration in his eyes. Never anything less. “I love you and I’m yours.”

Taehyung wraps the only massive white towel he can find around your wet naked body, disregarding the cold attacking his own. You frown at him, hooking him between your legs so you can fling the towel over his shoulders as well.

“I love you and I’m yours.” You say back, blotting his body dry. It’s such a simple statement, yet the meaning it holds for the two of you is so heavy. They’re the very words that you have never found the strength to say to each other, until now.

“Say that again.” You melt under his smile, not a single trace of worry to be found in your brain.

“I love you. And I’m yours.”

You twist your neck back to follow his glare at reflection in the mirror of your huddled bodies under the towel. Cheeks pushed up from glee, heads leaning against each other, and just like that - all your heartache vanishes without a trace.

“Mine?” Taehyung pecks your brow, still smiling.

“Yours.” Legs clamping around him tighter, you turn to face him. “And how are you this hard again already?” His cock’s ability to stay erect is astounding, truly.

“Don’t you know? You could breathe and my cock would be hard.” Laughter erupts both your chests and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Allowing the towel to drop around you, your hand slips between your bodies to clutch onto his length. Responsiveness ripples through his toned abdomen. “I want to suck…” You nuzzle your nose to his, your breaths amalgamating.

Taehyung sighs into your mouth. “But I want to-” Your grip tightens around him as you drag out a pump, eyes wide with feign innocence. “Okay, what the fuck, that’s not fair.”

“You’ll get to do whatever you want to me after.” You trail your mouth along his jaw.

“F-Fine.”

He lets you slide off the marble counter with the skin of his neck pinched between your teeth. When he realises that you’re marking him in clouds of purple, his head falls back and gives himself up as your canvas. You understand the appeal of hickeys now. For you two, it’s an agreement, a promise, an exchange of trust. You continue down his front, teeth grazing his nipples, lower and lower, kissing along the protrusion of his pelvic bone. Until you arrive at his cock.

“Do you remember the whole ice cube thing during the heatwave?” You run your finger up his length, over his oozing slit. The heatwave feels like an eon ago, but also like just yesterday.

Stiffening, Taehyung looks down. “Yes…”

“How about I pay you back for that one?” You take his shut eyes and sparse nod as compliance because you know he’s not capable of words right now.

You dash away to collect a glass of ice from the drink cooler, but on your way find something even better. Something you’ve always wanted to try.

Taehyung is slowly touching himself when you return, mildly surprised by the second item you brought back with you. “Whipped cream? Isn’t that from the gift basket?”

“You up for it?” A smirk stretches.

“Very up and very hard.” He lets go of his member and watches you drop to your knees.

To moisten him first, you slowly lap circles around his head, applying considerable pressure and letting the tip of your tongue tease at his sensitive opening. You look up when he moans, and takes his girth into your mouth, sliding his cock further and further down your throat until he pokes the back. Then you pull up with a pop, echoing within the walls of the bathroom.

You take two ice cubes from the glass, one placed between your lips, and the other to massage over your clit. The icy sensation strikes a numbing sensation into your core when it touches your bud of nerves. The cube in your mouth, you begin to trace slowly from the base of his shaft all the way up.

A string of profanities leaves Taehyung at the temperature, and seeds a satisfaction between your legs.

The ice is melting quickly from the heat of your mouth so you waste no time to guide it down to his scrotum resting on your palm. “Fuck.” He whines, his whole length twitching.

When this cube dissolves into nothing but a puddle of your tongue, you take another, ruthlessly educing those curses from him. His tip is the most sensitive part of him, so that’s where you focus on, smearing the edges of the cube around the curve of his head. His thighs tense in euphoric spasms.

The whipped cream comes next. With a few shakes of the canister, you hold his cock pointed towards yourself and view the spiral of white untainted cream unfold onto his head.

“Ah!” Taehyung yelps.

“You good?” You glance up to check that he still has a rein on his sanity.

“It just scared me.” You chuckle and place a kiss on his shaft.

“You should be scared.”

Eyes lock on his, you watch him watch you vulgarly smear the cream all over his cock with your lips. Its sweetness oozes into your mouth and sinks into your tongue. “Mmm.” You hum at the pleasant taste. Then you start to suck, the cream providing you with a lubrication that your spit has never been able to replicate. His cock glides into your mouth with such little resistance that you gag around him.

“Oh fuck, that feels so good.” He can’t look away from you, your hollowed out cheeks and large eyes as you bob your head deeper and deeper. Ribald wet sloppy noises squeaking from your mouth. “Uh fuck.”

Taehyung’s fingers entangle in your hair, guiding your motion in and out. The cream swirls in your mouth, the taste prompting you to suck harder until your mouth adheres like a second skin to his cock. He’s soon panting, even as you come up for air and to spray more cream on him.

“Yeah, keep going. Can I come in your mouth?” His eyes are almost screwed shut, but still open to keep watching. The rise and fall of his chest, and the bulging vein down the side of his cock - he’s close.

You keep sucking, relishing in the taste of the cream, the ease at which his tip glides along your throat, your own fluid dripping from your cunt.

“Fuc- Ah!” Gripping your hair tight, he thrusts hard into you as he cums, ribbons of his own cream mixing in your mouth. Taehyung’s dick pulses violently at the shaft. You watch his jaw fall open, brows pinch together, as the liquid dribbles down your throat.

You pull his length out of you with a great gasp and swallow all the remnants. “Shit. How was that?” Out of breath, you wipe the mess around your mouth with the dropped towel.

“Give me a second to recover from that, baby.” Arms on the countertop to support him, Taehyung lets his head droop back so far that his hair touches his elbows. You wet the towel at the sink and clean his slowly limping member. “Fuck that was…”

When his eyes open again, there is a fury that you know to be afraid of. He hauls you up onto your two feet and latch onto your lips, not caring about the filthy things they’ve just done to him.

“I need to be inside you.” He grumbles. “Give me five, ten minutes and I'll be ready again.”

“Hmm.” Arms sliding around his neck, you let him walk you onto the bed, hovering over you while his hands fondle your breasts that have become lonely. The insides of your thighs are slick with your arousal - that doesn’t go unnoticed.

Scissoring your folds open with his long digits, this thumb finds your clit, bulging and throbbing with desire. The vibrations coursing into you as he starts to rub compels you to arch back. You are really just a plaything when under his touch, as malleable as dough.

“Taehyung!” And for some reason, you calling out his name flips an animalistic switch in him.

With your neck fully exposed, he ceases the opportunity to nibble all over your unmarred skin, leaving angry blotches in return of your marks on him. This thumb is working quickly, the pressure at your clit superimposing second by second.

“Wait.” He lifts his head up abruptly, though fingers still going. “Do you want to sit on my face?”

Your heart jolts in excitement at the mere mention of it. “Didn’t even have to ask.” It has always been something you’ve wanted to try but never gotten around to.

Swapping positions, Taehyung reclines onto his back while you situate your knees on either side of his face. His hands grip onto your waist, guiding your descent onto his thrill-teeming face.

An incredible shock of pleasure fires up your spine when he takes your clit between his lips and sucks. This position grants him an unobstructed access to your pussy, no awkward angle, no cramping neck. So the assail he commences is totally, and unfortunately for your lucidity, merciless. His hands grapple onto your freely hanging breasts, rolling your nipples between fingertips.

Crying aloud from the ecstatic twisting sensation, you feel your eyes water. It’s almost too much, the mind warping accumulation of tension in your cunt. “Like that, Taehyung.”

One of his hands leaves your breast only to insert his digits into your dripping slit. Your thighs are aching, close to giving way; you don’t think you can withstand this tremendous stimulation.

His tongue doesn’t stop and neither do his fingers. Breathing through his nose heavily, he continues to coil your core into loops and loops of hypertension

You’re so close, so close.

And you’re there.

The pulsing waves of your orgasm sweep you away. You don’t even hear your own moans, just the roaring of your blood in your ears. Your whole body writhes above Taehyung, but your muscles don’t permit you to move off him while so ransacked by this high.

It last long, nearing half a minute before your senses come back to you.

And finally, you sag and topple over, trusting Taehyung to catch you and roll you onto your back.

“What the fuck.” You pant, low frequency pulsations still resonating down your legs, in awe of how he never fails to tip you over the edge. And the striking difference between the male and female orgasm is that, unlike Taehyung, you immediately want more when you’re done. “Taehyung, please, I need you to fuck me.”

His reply startles you. “No.” You open your eyes and find him regarding you with such reverence that only confuses you more.

“No?”

Cupping your face in his palm as he props himself on his elbow over you, Taehyung leans down and kisses your nose. Then your mouth. “Y/N.” Your temple. “I want to.” Your ear. “Make love to you.”

He paints a constellation of wet kisses all over you.

“How does that sound, baby?”

You immediately pull him back onto your own lips, a desperate craving as you kiss him back hard. “I love you.” You really do. It’s the one thing you’re the most certain about in this world.

“Ahhh.” Readjusting over you yet still keeping the close distance between your faces, he takes his cock in his hand and pumps. “You know you do to me when you say those words?” He kisses you again, so softly that his lips feel like rose petals. As he lines his tips along your entrance, you shut your eyes and prepare for it.

“I love you.” You repeat. And he sinks in.

It feels different, so entirely different from the previous time tonight. There is not an ounce of concern, of doubt, of hesitancy. You feel safe underneath him, secure.

His tender moans unravelling into songs of vulnerability. “I love you, too.” He whispers into your ear, and you understand what he means by how much these three words have an effect because them alone are almost enough to capsize you again.

His thrust, though lacking its usual roughness, does not lack in anything else. Every time he plummets into you, his mouth finds yours. Your hands are interlocked, pinned down onto the pillow. The surprising intimacy of that act overflowing to the brim. And you swear you could see heaven right then and there.

You feel nothing but love and devotion throughout.

He makes love to you over and over again this night, Valentine’s night. And despite your usual preferences, the sensations between your legs, in your chest, in your mind, are unrivaled.

Transcendental.

When it’s all over, when you’re nothing more than sweaty skin, damp hair, and hearts full of love for each other, you spend your time taking in each other’s details. His unblemished complexion. The beauty mark under the lashes of his right eye. The perfect shape of his cupid's bow that doesn’t seem humanly possible. Everything.

“What we had didn’t work, but we’re not going to repeat those mistakes again, I won’t hurt you again, I promise.” You whisper softly as you caress his cheek. “It’s all or nothing. And you have all of me.”

The glaze over his sincere eyes hasn’t left yet, though you don’t suppose your eyes are completely dry either.

You continue, “Seeing you break down like that today was… the hardest thing for me to witness. So much worse that our stupid pointless fights, and the nights where I would cry myself to sleep. And I can’t apologise enough for causing you that much pain.”

Taehyung’s eyes trailing down bashfully, and you almost worry that he’d cry again.. “I… I can’t believe the day finally came where I cried during sex…” You let out a round of laughter at what he chooses to dwell on.

“I love you so much that it makes me sick. I’m honestly disgusted and mortified by myself.” You snicker in his hair.

“Look, what about me? I love you so much that I cried during sex. Not even just a tear either. Full on sobs. I think I’m the bigger loser here.” The fact that he can joke about the situation reassures you that he’s over it. The mood once again lightens.

“All this just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants during a heatwave.”

He pulls you closer into his rumbling chest, laughing to himself as he toys with your earlobe between his teeth.

You fall asleep in each other’s arms, for the first time as each other’s lovers. And for the rest of the nights that come after.

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A/N: Alexa, play ‘Fuck it I love you’ by Lana Del Rey.

Thank you everyone for the incredible love and support you’ve unfailingly shown Heatwave. As my first fic, I am of course so very attached to these characters and ending this series is such a bittersweet feeling. It’s been such a lovely journey to write this couple and although I don’t plan on writing anything for them in the next few months, I won’t close off that possibility completely.

Love you!

- Kristy

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27/04/20

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[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

No, It's Definitely Funny

Prompt: Can I request a second part to "Let's Call It Funny" where Bucky, Sam, Steve, and Peter unite forces to confuse and concern all the other avengers (with at least one instance where two or all of them respond to something by pretending to jump off a building?) Love you! -Auggie

Does it count as being back on my bullshit if I never left?

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: none, unless you need a warning for gen z humor

Pairings: it's still found family hours

Word Count: 2259

Peter’s gonna be honest, he may or may not have some competition for the funniest person in the Tower right now.

Because let’s look at the list here:

Traumatized? Everybody and their private jet’s worth of vintage and designer baggage needs therapy.

Queer? If you think Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, or Sam Wilson is straight, you need to tell them everything they’ve ever done to make you think they’re straight so they can stop doing it immediately.

Superhero? Yeah, okay, shush, now you’re being stupid.

Neurodivergent? Have you seen the way these men behave? Definitely the model of Perfectly Normal Person™, what on earth are you talking about, absolutely 100% Normal™.

The only things he’s still got going for him that the others don’t are high-schooler and trans. That’s not a lot when it comes to the fact that hey, two of them are from the Great Depression—let’s be honest, they’re the OGs when it comes to fatalistic humor—and they’ve all got years of practice.

Sure, Peter’s got some trauma-given raw talent, but it’s not refined by years and years of throwing yourself off of buildings and out of planes to avoid having conversations about your emotions.

The day Aunt Nat dropped all of SHIELD’s files on the Internet and Peter found out that Steve yeeted himself out of a plane—without a parachute!—to avoid Nat’s prodding about getting a date was the best day of his fucking life.

“Don’t you go stealing my moves there, kid,” Steve had scolded playfully, winking over the rim of his mug.

“Try and stop me, I dare you.”

“And this is why,” Tony had sighed, looking every bit his 79 years—“Hey!”—as he watches this interaction go down, “you have a parachute built into your suit.”

“I’ll just wear my old one, don’t worry about it.”

“That heinous thing that’s just a cut-up old hoodie and goggles? Peter, no, that thing is being held together with safety pins and hope!”

“I mean, me too, so it’s fine.”

“Peter!”

“Also, like, it’s the one I almost got crushed to death in, so it’s got the emotional trauma seasoning already.”

“Wait—“ Bucky had sat up— “you almost got crushed to death by a building? Sheesh, kid, you’re really flirting with the reaper, huh.”

“It wasn’t so bad, I had training from the years and years of carrying the weight of my sins crawling on my back.”

“At least ask Death for his number next time, he’s not returning my calls.”

“Sergeant, I swear to God—“

“Actually, Death uses they/them pronouns, I asked when I met them last weekend.”

“What the fuck did you do last weekend?”

“Really? Oh cool, well, can you get their number for me? We had a date back in ’45 that they missed.”

“Yeah, sure, no problem.”

“Tony, why are you screaming? Not keeping dates is a very serious matter.”

“Trust me, I speak from experience, Tony, it’s not a good habit to get into.”

“You should respect your elders and not scream while we’re talking to you, mister.”

“All of you shut the fuck up.”

See? On one hand, it’s great to have more partners in this venture of making Tony’s hair turn grey—he’s that age, it’s bound to happen any time soon now— “One more crack about my age, kid, I swear.” — but on the other hand, Peter is seriously losing his massive lead on funniest person in the Tower.

The other thing he’s worried about is Sam’s ability to make it so the others can’t actually worry about him.

Because—listen, Sam Wilson is a fucking national treasure and all you fuckers better acknowledge that. It’s no secret that the Captains take turns going out with the shield, all of them answer to ‘Captain America’ because that’s what they are, but no one—and Peter will never say this under threat of death because he does not need any more of the Steve Rogers’ Puppy Dog Eyes™, thank you very much—no one does it better than Sam.

And that means that Sam fucking Wilson can turn a fatalistic, self-deprecating joke into a motivational speech that doesn’t feel disingenuous or cliché at all and everyone is too busy processing the philosophical revelations they’re having to scold him for his, frankly, outstanding sense of humor.

It’s not fair and Peter can’t do it.

He tried. Once.

Didn’t go very well.

No, he’s not gonna talk about it, let’s just move on.

Sam has offered to catch him a couple of times when he gets himself a little too deep into the Mamma Spider™ or Iron Dad™ trap of feeeelings, and he gratefully scoots out of the way when Sam sits down next to him and just makes another joke.

Sam is also a fantastic role model for the brand of ‘I’m going to the store and only have twenty bucks, stop asking for your will to live back’ jokes.

“Hey, Pete!”

“Yeah?”

“Let’s go, bodega run.”

“Can we pick up some hopes and dreams, too, all of those got scribbled out in fat red Sharpie yesterday.”

“I said bodega run, not Court of Miracles run.”

“But Sam~”

“Listen, kid, if you manage to find your hopes and dreams in this bodega, keep an eye out for your childhood innocence, that might be on the next shelf over.”

“Deal.”

“Do you two need some more therapy appointments?”

“Only got fifteen bucks, man.”

“I’m literally a billionaire!”

Peter eagerly studies under this pinnacle of humor and keeps his worries to himself.

Because if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, and Peter’s sense of humor is wonderful, but he is a tad intimidated by the amount of variety the others have got going for them.

“You’re a fucking terror, Spider-ling, that’s what you are.”

“Not true! I was ‘a pleasure to have in class.’”

“Oh, is that why you’re taking ‘Little Shit’ lessons from Barnes and Rogers?”

“And Sam! Don’t forget Captain Wilson, he is an invaluable part of this team. I’m surprised at your ignorance.”

“Pete—no, that’s not—“

“I’m ashamed for you, Mr. Stark.”

“Listen here you little shit—“

Anyway…

Steve and Bucky have a habit of telling these like, really awful jokes that have Peter in stitches for half an hour. It’s not fair and he doesn’t get why they’re so funny because they aren’t, and yet here he is, laughing anyway.

It’s probably some combination of Steve’s perfected innocent face that he wears when he has to do interviews and Bucky’s habit of not giving a single solitary fuck. But they’re able to make the worst jokes with completely serious expressions and it’s not fair.

“Hey, can you guys come help me with something?”

“Sure, Peter,” Steve says instantly, bounding over with his 95-year-old Golden Retriever energy as Bucky trails behind him like a cat that’s sitting in your lap because he wants to, not because he likes you or anything, “what’s up?”

“I have a history project on WWII due tomorrow and I haven’t started it yet.”

Bucky snorts, taking a swig of coffee and sitting down on the floor. Which, same. “You got your eulogy planned?”

“Drafted, sighed, notarized, but Aunt May said no so I gotta do this.”

“Well, if Aunt May says no then I guess that’s that.”

Tony, from far away in another part of the Tower, has a sickening feeling that May Parker has once again proven that she is the most powerful parent and there’s nothing he can do about it.

“I, um,” Peter mumbles, fidgeting with his pen, “I want to be respectful of your boundaries, and if you don’t want to talk about anything then—“

Because it’s one thing for someone to make jokes about their trauma and another for someone else to go poking and prodding at it.

“Hey,” Steve interrupts softly, nudging him with his knee, “first off, thank you for saying that and we appreciate your respect, but we got you. You worry about enough, sweetheart, let us take care of ourselves.”

Peter gives him a look.

“When it comes to this,” Steve amends, having the decency to look a little sheepish, “we’ll take care of ourselves.”

Bucky scoffs. “Uh-huh.”

“We will, Buck.”

“My therapist will be real happy to hear that.” He looks up at Peter and winks. “Besides, what good is our trauma if we don’t pin it up and display it for good grades?”

Peter huffs, the joke undercut a little by the way Bucky knocks his foot against Peter’s and Steve’s arm stretches over the couch behind him.

Peter has to resist the urge to lean his head onto Steve’s shoulder, because then Steve’s hand will come up and ruffle his hair and Peter’s eyes will droop slowly closed as he loses himself in the warmth and safety of Steve’s embrace and then Steve will lean down to press a kiss to his temple and—

Right. Homework.

“What’s it on specifically,” Bucky asks, clearly spotting the temptation on Peter’s end, “home front? Overseas? Time period?”

“Uh, it’s an analysis of total war.”

“Like, how much of the country was devoted to the war effort?”

“Yeah, basically. It’s talking about how the Nazi War Machine made their war total and how that extends to a lot of other countries, but also about the reasons why the war was fought—“

They delve into a conversation about total war, Peter pointing out how Italy’s motivation for territory keeps it from being a total war on their part, Bucky speaking to how the different dynamics worked in various countries and the fallout, Steve bringing up how much of the home front was devoted to bringing attention to the war being fought overseas. Then, of course, as is inevitable, they devolve into storytelling.

Peter’s notebook—with notes! He did his job!—is set aside as he gives in to the need to let Steve cuddle him on the couch. Come on, the man is warm and big and gives good hugs, how is he supposed to not? Bucky sprawls out on the floor, leaning back on his hands as he smiles fondly.

“You know,” he remarks casually, “I fought a Nazi in my pajamas once.”

Peter blinks sleepily. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, though how he got in my pajamas, I have no idea.”

Peter snorts. Then he giggles. Then he’s collapsing into Steve’s side, positively sobbing with laughter.

It’s not funny.

It’s really not that funny.

But here he is, fucking dying, and he doesn’t even have the wherewithal to welcome the sweet embrace of oblivion.

“Okay, note to self,” Bucky murmurs when he’s calmed down a little, wiping away tears, “sleepy spider likes corny jokes.”

“Just don’t break our baby spider, Buck, Momma Spider would kill you in cold blood.”

“Listen, if Natasha Romanoff kills me, don’t prosecute. That’s on me.”

Peter can’t do corny jokes. He really can’t. He just sounds like he’s a recording so old it’s unintelligible and it’s bad. He has a reputation to maintain here!

However, there is one sense of humor that Peter is very eager to learn and adopt, and hey, it might actually be Iron Dad™ Approved!

It’s a rookie mistake, asking Bucky Barnes for a hand, but in his defense, Peter was left unsupervised and was distracted.

“Hey, Bucky, can you give me a hand?”

“Sure thing, Peter.”

Something nudges his arm and he looks down. It’s Bucky’s metal arm, bumping up against his elbow.

It’s a cheap joke. It’s bad. It does not deserve Peter’s laughter.

He snorts anyway.

“That’s on me,” he says after a second, “you know what, that’s my fault.”

“What, is this not what you meant?”

“No, no, you’re fine.” Peter scruffs a hand through his hair. He looks down at the prosthetic again. “Well, that’s disarming.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “You gotta hand it to me, though, it’s a good joke.”

Oh, it’s on.

“No, no, of course, I understand. You really can’t let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers.”

Steve chokes on his next sip of coffee. “Stop making the kid shoulder the burden of making puns with you.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Don’t palm this off on someone else, Steve, you’re as bad as he is.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” Peter shrugs. “You just gotta knuckle-down and find the right one.”

“Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to reach for puns?” Bucky hefts his arm.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say a lot.”

“Jeez, Pete, good one.”

“What, are you not finding them humerus?”

Sam’s gone, Steve shortly after. Bucky just grins proudly at him.

Then there’s a massive thunk from behind them. Peter turns around to see Tony slamming his forehead into the counter.

“You are all going to kill me,” he mutters, glaring up at them, “all three of you.”

“Oh, come on, Mr. Stark, Captain Barnes would never hurt you.”

Tony raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“After all,” Peter grins, gesturing to Bucky who is doing a very good innocent face—he must’ve been taking notes from Steve— “look at him, he’s completely armless.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker—“

Okay, so maybe it’s not Iron Dad™ Approved.

Oh, well.

#dragonbabbles #marvel #the longest running con in the mcu is people thinking steve isnt an extra hoe #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #peter parker #tony stark #steve rogers #sam wilson #bucky barnes #fic

[miss-tc-nova]

Fools on the Dancefloor - Xehanort x Eraqus

So this was my first fic for the Checkmate zine before I settled on the piece that I did actually end up making. I hope you enjoy because I definitely enjoyed writing it. 

Music Inspiration: Slow Dance cover by Ashestoashes

~~~~~

               “Yo, Fleetfoot!”

               When the pillow—his textbook—flies from beneath him, there’s a heavy THUNK and the boy in white jolts upright in shock. He finally comprehends the pair off to the side and gives his friends a cheesy smile.

               “Hey guys. What’s up?” he greets, rubbing at the spot his head met the table.

               Bragi snickers, but Vor is a little more serious. “You know Master Odin still expects you to know the stuff you sleep through.”

               That goofy grin replies, “I haven’t flunked out yet.”

               “You’ll be close if you keep drooling on your book.” Bragi’s upper lip curls back and he’s no longer keen on holding the text. “Gross! How can you catch up when you can’t even read the material anymore?”

               “It’s a talent.”

               “Whatever,” Bragi scoffs. Little Vor giggles behind her fist while the unimpressed boy throws his arms behind his head and leans his chair back on two legs.

               “Are you guys ready for the banquet this weekend?” the girl asks.

               “Not really,” Eraqus grumbles.

               Bragi groans along with him. “Man, don’t we already do enough to celebrate the Scala founders? We already got the festival, the show, and the lantern thing. We really gotta add a bunch of dumb speeches and some hokey pokey? Why are we even going again?”

               “Because Master Odin wants us there representing the future of keyblade wielders,” Vor sighs. “But I have to agree, it’s a little overkill on the celebrating.”

               “Some representation we’ll be when only Fleetfoot has fancy feet,” the red-head huffs. “The rest of us’ll be out there steppin’ on toes and Xehanort will probably be flat on his face.”

               Eraqus tilts his head. “You don’t think he can dance?”

               “Era, not everyone has your prestigious upbringing,” Vor reminds firmly. “It’s a miracle the rest of us have some basic understanding of formal dancing, but Xehanort came from a world completely different than ours. And from the sounds of it, he wasn’t exactly popular there.”

               The thought interests Eraqus; finding something Xehanort can’t do is pretty rare. “Yeah, but Xehanort learns pretty quick. We’ve spent most of our lives learning to use a keyblade but he caught up in less than a year.”

               “That’s true,” Bragi agrees. “It’d probably take him less than an hour to master the waltz or somethin’.”

               A hand slams down on the table, startling the boys enough that Bragi topples backwards. “That’s it! Eraqus, you should do a dance class,” Vor says excitedly.

               “D-Dance class?” Eraqus stammers. Even Bragi, once he’s shoved himself off the floor, gives her a skeptical look.

               “Yeah. Even if you try to help Xe, he’s not gonna accept it if he’s the only one. So what if we all went? Besides, I know I’m a little rusty.”

               Granite eyes look to Bragi who shrugs. “I got the gist of it, but my folks never made me learn so I guess I’m in.”

               Teaching Xehanort to dance—now that’s something Eraqus might enjoy. At first, his relation with the new-comer was adversarial, but as their competitions became more and more ridiculous, something stronger grew between them. There’s still a rivalry, but Eraqus began to notice a magnetism drawing him to his friend—a desire to be in his presence as often as possible. Outside that presence, he felt like he was lost in a fog. He spent his life navigating only what was right in front of him, but when Xehanort came into the picture, that smog rolled out and everything seemed clear. The pressure that comes with prestige fades, that outcast feeling he couldn’t shake slips away, and the jubilant act he used to put on becomes real—he’s truly happy when Xehanort is around.

               Dragging him from his contemplations is the creaking door; in steps the very person that has no issue overriding Era’s thoughts.

               “You guys do know class ended like thirty minutes ago, right?” he states, shifting the box under his arm.

               Bragi rights his toppled chair. “Yeah, but we decided to hassle Sleepfoot here.”

               “Guess what!” Vor shouts, hopping closer to Xe. “Eraqus is gonna teach us all to dance!”

               Well, he hadn’t actually accepted yet, but he can only meet that inquisitive glance with a fool’s smile.

               “You guys have fun with that.” The dismissal is so easy it pricks at Era’s ego.

               “So then you don’t mind looking like a clown at the banquet?” Bragi says with his signature smarmy grin. Silver eyes narrow at the offender. “Unless you can actually dance—in which case, show me wha’chu got.”

               Before Xehanort can retort, Vor tugs at his haori. “Come on! We’re all doing it. We’re supposed to be representing our school—we can’t be stumbling around.”

               Once again, he looks to Eraqus as if he’ll get an answer but Era’s being dragged into this just as much as he is.

               “Ugh. Fine.”

               “Great! We’ll do it tomorrow night after dinner!” the girl announces. “Bragi, come with me! We gotta find the others!”

               “Alright, alright.” There’s a clear difference in the enthusiasm and energy, but the two scurry off.

               “Those two are up to something,” Xehanort murmurs, watching the door close.

               “You think so?”

               “Yeah…” The suspicion fades when the youth in black turns back to Eraqus. There’s something soft there that churns at Eraqus’s stomach. “Anyway, chess?” he offers, holding up the box.

               “Oh, right!”

               The boys settle into their window seat, basking in the sunlight and pushing pieces across the board. Eraqus’s game isn’t up to par—his mind distracted with tomorrow’s endeavor. It’s fleeting, but there’s also the thought of Xehanort looking down at him, smiling, slow dancing. There goes any productivity he had any hope of having today.

~~~~~

               Class seems like an eternity and Eraqus can’t even nap through it this time. There’s a strange excitement concerning his dance class bubbling in his brain. He has a habit of half-assing things that involve effort—usually just getting by—but he’d actually spent time last night rehearsing what’s been drilled into his head since he was little. Even his daily chess game with Xehanort can barely distract him from his impatience, earning him a lecture from the boy who won’t accept an easy win—let alone two days in a row.

               Eraqus has never been early in his life for anything, he was even born a week late, but today is different; today, Eraqus scarfs down dinner like a starving man and rushes back to the classroom lugging a record player he’d borrowed from the Master. His heart is only just starting to slow when the door opens.

               “I told you guys he’d be here,” Vor says loudly.

               Urd smirks. “Now if he could just be on time to class.”

               Eraqus laughs. “I had to get the record player running.”

               “Oh my gods, he’s even prepared,” she gasps. “Did Hermod hit you too hard in class today?”

               Not thrilled with the subject, Hermod urges, “Alright, stop teasing him. The banquet is tomorrow so let’s get started.”

               The shortest classmate hurries forward. “Psst, Xe’s been grumbling about this all day, so you gotta give him lots of encouragement,” she whispers louder than necessary.

               “Okay?” Era agrees questionably. Standing straight, he notices how awkward Xehanort looks just being here, not even meeting anyone’s gaze. “Um, okay. Everyone partner up.”

               Vor hops beside Bragi while Urd nudges Hermod with an elbow; that leaves Xehanort—the person who needs the most help—without a partner.

               Eraqus glances around. “Wait, where’s Baldr?”

               “Said he already had plans to hang out with his sister,” Bragi answers.

               “Oh…” Well this un-evened the odds, granted they were already playing with some strange odds with four boys to two girls without the dance teacher, but at least even numbers made it possible to practice in pairs.

               “Guess I’ll just sit this one out,” Xehanort says, not at all irritated with the situation.

               Eraqus glances to Bragi and Vor who wave him on enthusiastically. While he may have been a bit enamored at the thought of dancing with Xehanort, he figured it would be in fleeting moments of demonstration, not being partnered for the whole thing.

               “Uh, no. It’s okay…I’ll be your partner.”

               The pair gives him thumbs up but Xehanort looks less amused. “Seriously?”

               The teacher shakes the doubt from his head. “Yeah.” He motions for Xehanort to approach. “Come on. I’ll do the girl’s part.”

               Cautiously, the boy in black comes closer. Trying to conceal his nerves, the expert props up his partner’s arms in the correct position and slides in to take the girl’s stance. As soon as Eraqus’s hand meets Xehanort’s bare arm, the latter recoils.

               “Nope! No! Uh uh! I’m out!” Xehanort blurts out, attempting to flee the situation.

               “Ah! Wait!” Eraqus snags a fistful of black fabric. “Come on. You didn’t even get to the first step. It’s really not that hard.”

               “I think I’d rather just make a fool of myself.”

               “You’d…rather be made fun of than dance with me?”

               The response comes harshly. “That’s not what I said!”

               The fabric creaks in Eraqus’s grasp while he lets his eyes plead for him. Somehow, in spite of Xehanort’s stubbornness, it works and the reluctant boy turns back with a sigh.

               Surprisingly, the class moves forward quite smoothly. Having done this before, the others require only some refinement on their moves while Xehanort is quick to catch on as always. The muscles in Eraqus’s face begin to ache from his uncontainable grin. Even as he’s correcting minor mistakes, his thoughts are teeming with the moments he’s got Xehanort’s hands on him and the static that buzzes across his skin where contact is made

               Currently, Eraqus is in the middle of teaching the pairs how to dip.

               “The girls should have most of their weight on the outside foot but the guys should still be holding them up somewhat.” Just as Eraqus begins to lean back, he remembers something. “And the guys should never—”

               The end of that sentence was ‘lean over their partner’ which is exactly what Xehanort does. This shift in weight unbalances the boys and down they go. Air promptly evacuates Era’s lungs as he’s squished between the floor and his partner.

               “Are you okay?” Hot breath ghosts across Eraqus’s nose.

               “Yeah,” he chuckles softly, the embers of a fire starting between his shoulder blades. Those silver eyes are so pretty up close, easily mesmerizing Eraqus.

               Xehanort helps the boy back to his feet, but as he does, there’s a disturbance that tugs the teacher’s attention to the far side of the room.

               “Shhh!” Vor hisses. She and Bragi are in the middle of harassing the other two, ushering the unwitting pair towards the door.

               “Hey!” Eraqus exclaims, starting for their friends. “What are you guys—”

               His steps halt when the grasp on his hand doesn’t release. With caution, he looks back at his fingers, still linked with Xehanort’s. His eyes trail up the opposite arm to the boy’s face, who refuses to make eye contact. Still, there’s the faintest dust of pink across his nose.

               “Show me that one again,” he murmurs.

               It doesn’t matter that Hermod and Urd are protesting or that Bragi and Vor are shushing them; absolutely nothing in this moment could tear Eraqus’s attention away from Xehanort. Without a word, he resets his stance, nudging Xehanort to take the lead.

               It’s a little strange to be playing the girl’s part in such a formal dance—having been unwillingly taught to be a leader his whole life—but Eraqus ignores discipline. The lesson forsaken, he lets his body react to the signals Xehanort gives while his mind soaks in this little bit of bliss.

               Having long forgotten their lesson, the pair slow dances for some time before Xehanort speaks with a crooked grin, “I told you they were up to something?”

               Eraqus laughs in response. “Do you think we should tell them we’re already dating?”

               “Nah, this is more entertaining. Besides, they deserve a little suffering for trying to meddle. Bunch of conniving foxes, all of them.”

               “Us too?”

               “Especially you.”

               “Me?”

               A spark shining in silver eyes expresses that adoration Eraqus used to confuse for less amorous feelings. Knowing what he does now, that look makes him feel so light.

               “Hiding all your talent behind that clown mask.” Xehanort’s words hold insult on the surface, but beneath them, in that husky tone, is that admiration. “The skill, smarts, wit…all on top of just how damn gorgeous you are.”

               Heat surges into Era’s ears. Afraid of turning into a real clown, he let’s his gaze fall to their feet. However, at the insistence of the hand at his back, the gap between them closes. His brain stutters briefly before the calm washes over him. The warmth against his cheek, the steady heartbeat against his ear—Eraqus soaks in this incredible comfort.

               While the music floats through the air, the boys continue to softly sway. This would never fly at the banquet; they’re expected to be polite gentlemen and dance with all the girls—that and Eraqus’s parents would never condone this. He’s supposed to be a proper heir who will continue the family line. Xehanort though, he makes it so easy to forget those responsibilities. Besides, they’re perfectly alone right now, no prying eyes, no forbidding parents; the only thing Eraqus has to do right now is enjoy the moment.  

               “It’s getting late,” Eraqus murmurs, noting the moon lighting their tranquility. “I didn’t even get to teach you Scala’s traditional dance.”

               “Now you decide to be responsible?” the other teases. “Why dance at the banquet tomorrow when we can dance here all night long?”

               That brings a flutter to Era’s heart and, from the sounds of it, Xe’s too. “You know the Master is still gonna expect us to be there.”

               “So what?”

               This boy could make every one of Eraqus’s fake smiles real, all with very little effort. “For once I won’t be the biggest fool in the room, not when you don’t even know the basic step of the Choros Lucis.”

               “Oh you’re still a fool; you just happen to be a fool with fancy feet.”

               “I guess that’ll make us just a couple of fools on the dancefloor, huh?”

               “Sure, but probably not because of the dancing.”

               Confused, Eraqus lifts his head. His question dies on his lips, sentenced by a simple kiss that awakens an avarice in the boy. His hands leave their positions, snagging silver hair and preventing any escape Xehanort may have considered. This is everything he’s ever wanted; his whole life, he’s been starved for this unconditional affection. It swells so strongly in his chest he might burst—with a scream, with tears, he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he’s in love.

               For a while, the taller boy indulges him, but does eventually manage to break away, smirking at the resulting pout.

               “That’s why we’re fools.”

#eraqus #xehanort #young xehanort #young eraqus #xehaqus

[marriedmormon]

Tami

Posted April 2021

Sorry for not posting the last few months. COVID is still killing any opportunities to have fun. Still stuck at home. Still not out playing the field. I have had a few chats on FB that in time may lead to something but as of right now still just using my right hand.  Here is a fun little story about Tami.  There was one week about 6 years ago that really stands out. My wife and kids were out of town for the week. I had a football away trip planned, and I took the opportunity to be a little man slut.  I slept with 5 different women in 7 nights. Kasey, Alyssa, Monica, Mindy, and Tami. I have introduced you to all these women except for Tami (see other post). If it wasn’t for Tami’s looks, I’m pretty sure I never would have slept with her. She was stunning to the eyes but to the ears she was quite annoying. Tami was the definition of MILF. She was knocked up at an early age (15) and by the time we met she had 4 kids, all of which were nearly adults. She also had a 20-year-old daughter who would have been an amazing fuck but never got a chance. Needless to say, this woman was in her late 30’s, had a little bit of a “mommy makeover” work done, and had been divorced about 2 years when we met. Tami was also Mormon but in no ways actively practicing. In fact, after her divorce she really went the opposite direction. The story of how we met is kind of unreal and happened a few months earlier. At the time I was working for the same company where I met Elise and Monica at. There was a third girl there that I was pursuing (a lot more than 3 actually but…), and we were at a company party. I was spending a lot of time talking with this target of mine which apparently went noticed. Tami and I were briefly introduced while in casual conversation, but she could tell my shenanigans. Tami was literally on a date with someone from my work (someone I didn’t know). Anyway, long story short she asked a few people there who I was and one girl she asked knew me and had assumptions that I was game. Later that night I got a Facebook friend request from Tami and she started immediately with the chats. She asked me if I was a swinger or if I was just trying to fuck that girl I was talking to all night. I honestly felt like it was possibly a spy or setup that maybe my wife was behind, so I carefully probed and responded. Not tipping my hat at all as to what I was about. I honestly was really hoping that she was for real and not a sting setup by someone. Tami was always taking the lead and trying to get me to do or say things that were naughty. Even though I had reservations about this woman, I really REALLY wanted to take it to the next level. This went on for weeks and (for some reason I can’t remember) she was talking about how the pool at her condo was closing down that weekend for the season and I felt comfortable enough to ask her for a pic in the swimsuit she was in. I got dozens of pics. All very sexy. Very seductive. I got brave enough to say things like “I want to see what’s underneath that suit”. My subtle, yet conservative comments were all that it took for her to escalate the conversations. Once in, I couldn’t stop, nor could she. We started sexting and skyping all the time. I even mentioned my upcoming football road trip and that the family was doing a different trip the same time. She totally took the opportunity to schedule her kids to be with their dad the same time and had a date for me to come over. When I got there, she opened her door in this tight tank top and some PJ shorts that were just asking to come off. For some reason we didn’t start right away but started talking. She wanted to know about my trip and somehow, I let it slip that I fucked Mindy just the night before. She loved the fact that I was this man slut player and told me about her latest fuck(s). Almost like a competition. She told me that she was a “well fucked woman” and wanted to prove to me that she would please me. In my mind, I had to please her better than her other conquests. I grabbed her and threw her on her kitchen counter and slid my fingers under her PJ shorts. Our little verbal foreplay had made her soaking wet and as soon as my fingers touched her pussy, I knew I had to feel it with my dick. As I started taking off her top and she jumped off the counter and started leading me upstairs. Playfully, she was moving faster than I was but I managed to grab her shorts on the stairs and I pulled them down. I climb over her naked body on the stairs, reaching around feeling her shaved pussy with one hand and groping her fake tits with my other. She couldn’t move with my weigh on her but she said “Are you going to fuck me?” I pulled down my pants and went in her from behind. She was so wet that my dick just glided in. It felt so good but I tend to not last very long going doggie so I flipped her over so I could see her full naked body. I watched my dick slide in and out of her pussy as she kept telling me to fuck her hard. Of course, the stairs got uncomfortable quickly and I needed to pause because it was my goal to make her cum first. So I suggested we move to her bed. We got to the bed and she kept telling me to fuck her hard. It was like one of those porn stars you think are told to keep saying things that people don’t normally say. I finally moved her body to the edge of the bed as I stood on the side. I was able to use my arms to pull her toward me with each thrust, fucking her as hard and deep as I could. She kept screaming “DEEPER! HARDER!” until finally she said “FUCK! I’M CUMMING!” She held her breath until her face turned nearly purple and let out the best vocal orgasm I have heard. I made it this far without cumming myself, but I was close. I moved my hands to the bottom of her thighs and pushed her legs up to her chest and just pounded as fast as I could. This little adjustment made her pussy so tight and the angle to me felt like I was going even deeper. As I was about to cum, I took her example and decided to hold my breath as I came. I didn’t turn purple, but it felt AMAZING (so much so that I do this nearly every time now). For about 3 months, Tami and I fucked several times when we could. Because she was single, she fucked a lot more than I did and she kept with the competition and would tell me about all of them. It got a little annoying and frustrating that I couldn’t get there as often as I could. She even talked about setting up a group fuck that I couldn’t break away to join. I think she finally got bored of waiting for me and stopped texting. We are still FB friends and she is in a relationship, but I still think she is fucking every man she can. The pics I have of Tami are somehow missing. I have them on an old phone or flash drive somewhere, but I don’t know where. I guess you will just have to picture a short haired blonde with fake boobs, perfect hips, and a shaved pussy.   

#marriedmormondtf #marriedmormon #tumblrfirstward #nsfwmormon #naughtymormon #naughtylds #naughtymormonconfessions #affair #mormonpussy #mormonsexstories #mormonsexstory #mormon #mormonaffair #cheating #cheatingmormon #truestory #true stroy