#this was actually planned for later but with the new chapters coming out i figured WHY NOT | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chimcess · 4 months

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Waterlog || pjm (1)

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Other tags: Olympic Swimmer!Jimin, Ex Olympic Swimmer! Reader, Swim Coach!Reader Genre: Strangers to Friends to Lovers!AU, Coach!AU, Swimming!AU, Age Gap!AU, HEAVY Angst, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, fluff, eventual smut, I'm so soft for these two it's crazy. Word Count: 17.4k+ Synopsis: After a car accident ends her athletic career, Y/N has slowly started rebuilding her life again as a high school swim coach. That’s until she gets a request from an old friend and finds herself back in the spotlight as the new coach of Olympic swimmer, Park Jimin. Warnings: discussions of significant death (does not happen in story), talks of a bad car accident, talks of drunk driving (please drinking responsibly), more than likely wrong swimming terms and poor understanding of how the Olympics actually works (I did so much research, pls be nice to me lol), strong language, lots of mental health discussions, reader has mommy and daddy issues, Older reader, Jimin is a complete sweetie, the tamest chapter of them all A/N: Well, well, well, look who came back. I first wrote Waterlog back in 2021, and while I enjoy the premise, I hate the finished product. I wanted to go back and edit/fix what I originally had, but when I tried it became so different, I was better off rewriting the entire thing. I hope you guys like this mini-series. If you would like to read the original go to my blog archive. Thank you for reading!

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Staring at the pool, I managed to calm myself with relative ease. Jin had been right, physical therapy had made things easier. The water glistened prettily in the lights, and I waited with bated breath for my trainer to come in.

Emery was a sweet guy, pretty with a lip ring and tattoos, but with a surprising amount of shyness it was laughable. His softness was offset by his powerful muscles, and I enjoyed his never-ending sense of humor. Unlike Dr.Maddox, Emery treated me like I was a normal person. Not an Olympian who almost lost her leg in an accident, or the woman whose fiancé died. I was just Y/N, and it was a relief to be around him.

Running my fingers along the scars on my leg, I mindlessly drew patterns around them in the silence. It was not normal for Emery to take this long, but his assistant had said he was running behind due to another patient, so I was unbothered. I had planned my entire day around this, so I was in no rush.

Finally, the door swung open revealing a disheveled Emery. Breathing heavier than usual, he rolled his eyes at me in frustration before saying his pleasantries. Whoever it had been had gotten him worked up.

“Rough morning?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

With an annoyed sigh, he nodded.

“I shouldn’t say this, but I hope that woman never comes back here.”

I laughed, “We all have that someone. Don’t feel too bad.”

Shaking his head, I could tell it took restraint on his part not to rant and rave about the woman who had left. Emery and I were more friendly than most. I had been seeing him for over two years now, but we still kept a semblance of a professional relationship. Especially Emery.

“How’s the kids?” He asked, making small talk as we started getting ready for a swim.

I was the coach of a high school swim team in town, something I talked about quite a bit, and Emery always liked hearing about. He was a great water polo player but chose to go into physical therapy while he was in college. After seeing one of his friends get injured and how much physical therapy had helped him, Emery decided to change his major. Four years later, he says he could never see himself doing anything else.

“They’re doing well,” I said honestly. “We got a couple of freshmen on the team, but they’re doing a lot better than I thought they would.”

Emery hummed, offering me assistance getting into the pool. While walking had been mostly figured out, the obvious limp aside, I still had some trouble with getting in-and-out of things. Even my bathtub had to be switched out since I was unable to step over it. I still used the medical chair while in there, too.

The water was cool against my skin, and I felt instantly relieved. The dull aches and pains left as soon as I got into the water. Swimming to my usual spot, I waited patiently for Emery to join me.

“That’s great to hear,” He smiled.

Going to the edge of the pool, Emery grabbed a set of barbells and handed them to me. Taking them, the two of us went over the workout plan for the day. Pulling himself up on the pool’s edge, Emery picked up his stopwatch and told me to begin.

Getting on the interstate, I sang along to the radio as I made my way to Hoseok’s. The two of us had been friends since high school, our mutual love for swimming making it impossible to keep apart, and only growing with time. He was one of my biggest support systems after the accident. Both of us had retired years ago now, but I remembered our days as Olympians fondly. Those were the best years of my life.

A small group of our friends were getting together at his house to watch the summer Olympics this afternoon. The women’s swimming finals were happening today, and I knew two of the girls competing. Turning on my blinker, I quickly got off the interstate.

Pressing around my car’s radio screen, I went to my contacts and pressed Andy’s number. She was off today and in charge of getting everything together. Hoseok had tried to do it himself, but always seemed to forget who should do what and ended up buying everything himself. She picked up after the fourth ring.

“What’s up, sugar?” Andy greeted, her voice soft and light. Her Memphis accent was thick and brought a smile to my face. Everyone had made jokes about her being southern when we first met. “Don’t tell me you’re missing Nationals.”

I shook my head even though she could not see me.

“I’m on my way,” I replied. “What should I pick up? I completely forgot.”

Andy sighed, “You’re just as bad as Jin.”

Seokjin was Andy’s husband. The two of them had been together whenever they moved to Colorado, married before I ever met them, and became quick friends with Hoseok when they moved to the Springs. That was how I had met them. Whenever their daughter Dani was born, Andy had asked me to be her Godmother and I sobbed in her lap. They were my closest friends next to Hoseok. Jin was indeed very forgetful, though, and the jibe made me chuckle.

“Cut me some slack,” I argued. “I’ve been working out for two hours straight.”

I could hear the smile in her voice, “Just get some pizza or something. We’re picking up some wings and Hobi’s in charge of the drinks. Minho and Tilly are bringing… something. I don’t even know anymore.”

Fully laughing now, I saw a Little Ceasars up ahead and got into the correct lane. Minho and Matilda were loose cannons when it came to our parties. While sweet, and fiercely loyal, I found myself wondering why I hung out with them at times. We were night and day personality wise, but I loved them dearly. Minho would probably bring some Korean side dishes from home, and Matilda would pick up a few packs of ramen from the store. Andy was stressing over nothing again. I hoped she was getting proper rest on her days off.

“I’m at Little Caesars,” I told her, parking my car. “I’m going to get the basics. How many things of Crazy Bread should I get?”

She thought for a second before replying.

“Five?” She was definitely unsure about her answer.

It was hard to gauge just how hungry everyone would be, and Jin was a bottomless pit.

“Sounds good,” I said instead, already thinking about getting more.

“Drive safe. See you in a bit.”

“See you, Andy,” I unplugged my phone from the charger.

Pressing it to my ear, I pressed my start button and turned it off. I climbed out of my car and started walking to the store.

“Love you,” She sing-songed playfully.

“Love you, too,” I replied. Opening the door, a worker greeted me with a smile. “I’m about to order.”

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I gave the worker an awkward smile before telling him my order. I ended up getting seven bags instead of five. Just in case. Dani really liked the stuff and Jin could smash an entire bag by himself. While I waited for the cheese pizza to come out of the oven, my phone started ringing.

“Hello?” I answered, unable to check the caller ID while the cashier shoved the crazy bread into my arms.

“I heard from a little bird that you’re thinking about competing again.”

I grinned and thanked the cashier as she handed me my other pizza.

“Hello to you, too, Frank,” I replied. “And your little birdie wouldn’t happen to be Hoseok, would it?”

Frank and Sarah Boone had become a part of my life after the accident. They ran a local support group to help those affected by drunk drivers to get connected with resources and therapy. The two had lost their son when he decided to drive home drunk from a party and used the group as their own coping mechanism. They were wonderful people and owned their own joint coffee shop and bookstore in Denver.

“Won’t say names,” He chuckled, “But it might have come from a certain part-timer. So, is it true?”

I placed the boxes in the passenger seat and rounded my car. This was not a conversation I was expecting to happen today. I had brought up the idea to Hoseok since the Olympics were coming up next year, but I was not committed to it. I was enjoying my new job coaching and did not think I was in any condition for competition. When he brought up the Paralympics I laughed. Those competitors were in better shape than I was, and I doubted I would qualify. I was disabled but my disability did not (as far as I knew) carry over into the pool.

“I was just talking shit, Frank,” Backing out of the parking space, I put in Hoseok’s address and started to drive. Switching over to my car’s phone, I put my phone down and looked at the road. “You know I’m happy with my life right now.”

He made a grunting noise that told me he did not really believe me. No one did. All of them were sure I was miserable about my career ending far before its time, and while that may be true, I felt more loss about the life I was supposed to have than winning medals. I missed Namjoon more than any medal. Frank and Sarah understood that.

“I know that,” He cleared his throat, and I could hear the congestion. Frank had come down with a nasty case of walking pneumonia two weeks ago and was still recovering. “Just got a little excited is all. It would be nice to see you putting yourself back out there.”

It would be nice to see myself back in the pool, I could admit that. I had dreams of it at times. Being a competitor was a part of who I was. From the first time my dad took me to my swim classes when I was six all the way until I claimed my eighth Olympic medal, everyone had said there was nothing I hated more than losing. I was fiery, free-spirited, and kept my eyes on the prize. It was the thing Namjoon loved about me the most. That made me frown.

“I left a champ,” I forced a laugh. “Need to save some gold for the rest of them.”

Hiding behind humor was a pastime.

Frank laughed, oblivious to the hollowness in my tone. “Heard they have a new guy taking your place.”

That made me snort, “He’s not taking my spot. Totally different competitions, my friend.”

“Winning gold like you, that’s for damn sure.”

It must be Jimin Park. The kid turned up on the scene a year after my accident. He was a very, very talented swimmer. Fast as a bullet with the best butterflies I had ever seen, Park was a force to be reckoned with in the men’s league. It was a joy to watch him swim and this year would be his first Olympics. Hoseok and I were very excited to watch him.

“If you’re talking about Park,” I chuckled. “He’s far from new. He’s been competing for a few years now. First Olympics, though.”

“He’s young, ain’t he?”

I nodded, “23, I think.”

Truthfully, I did not know how old he was. I remember the buzz around how young he was when he first broke out on the scene. He was eighteen when he took home gold all season before a family emergency took him out of the Olympics last minute. No one knew what really happened, but his team had said his brother was in an accident, tragically losing his life, and Jimin was prioritizing his family. He’s competed every year since and with the Olympics next year, I was certain Park would be there. He deserved it.

I was parked in front of the house now and from the cars outside, I was the last person to arrive. Frank and I talked for a few moments. It was cute how much he had learned about swimming so we could be buddies. Sarah was the only person who recognized my face when I first started going to the meetings and her husband was determined to get me to open after weeks of sitting in bitter silence in the back.

We hung up after I promised I would make it to the meeting next Thursday. Frank was not happy about me skipping the past two weeks, but understood I was taking some time to myself. My boys were going to compete this year, I had fought tooth and nail for that funding, and the extra hours at school were exhausting. Jeremy and Evan showed promise, but they knew how to drive me up the wall with all of their simple mistakes.

As I suspected, the party was in full swing. Matilda and Minho were laughing loudly on the sofa, Hoseok sporting a beer in the recliner next to them, and Dani practicing her gymnastics in the middle of it all. I could hear the commentators talking animatedly about the girls, who they believed would come out on top and highlights from the night before, but I never really paid them any mind.

“Pizza’s here!” Minho boomed, practically running to greet me.

I laughed, handing over the boxes, “Need help carrying the rest in.”

Matilda offered, happily taking my car keys and leaving the house. Minho had disappeared into the kitchen. Dani spared me enough attention for a smile and wave before launching into excited pleas for me to watch her new moves.

“Super cool, babe,” I smiled sweetly after her handstand. Dani was not particularly good at gymnastics. She started later than the other girls, rarely did anything she was actively afraid of, and hated her coach. Andy was already looking for a better gym, but I just thought she should start pointing her in another direction. Dani loved dancing and she would be a wonderful ballerina or figure skater if given the proper training. The Kim’s, however, seemed fine watching her deal with gymnastics and cheerleading. “You’re getting better.”

Dani beamed, “Daddy said the same thing.”

Flipping the right way around, her hair coming out of its messily tied bun and falling down past her shoulders. Brown, loose waves made her look so much younger than her eight years, her small stature only selling the illusion even more. Her skin was smooth, and she always looked as though she had been playing outside in the sun, a constant tinge of pink beneath her sandy skin. Her features favored her father, large eyes, long face, and plush, pillow-like lips, but after meeting Andy’s parents, I could see her grandmother hidden within the mischievous glint in her eyes and too small ears.

“Your dad’s a smart guy,” I joked.

She continued to babble away as I made myself more comfortable, kicking off my shoes and tossing my hat onto the small buffet table that sat above the shoe rack. Matilda came back inside, her arms filled with bags of bread, and I took two from the pile. With a thankful, thin-lipped grin, she also complimented Dani’s moves before disappearing around the corner in the direction of the kitchen.

“Dani,” Hoseok seemed to have finally grown tired of hearing the girl talk. I would imagine this was all he had been hearing since he arrived. “Do you want to color with me?”

The little girl clapped happily, her eyes bright and shining, before abandoning her mat to gather a few coloring books and her massive hoard of crayons. Hoseok looked at me then, a sly smile on his face before winking. I chuckled and shook my head. He always did that to make her shut up.

I left the living room before Dani came back. I loved her dearly, but I could admit she talked too much. It was a good thing for a kid her age to be so social but that did not mean I wanted to hear her every waking thought. Andrea and Seokjin were the only parents in our little group, and I imagined it would stay that way for a while. Even if my dreams of children were still alive, I did not have anybody I wanted to take on that responsibility with.

Minho was eating the pizza, as expected, while Matilda had already claimed her own bag of Crazy Bread. Andy and Jin were snuggled up at their dining table, his arms securing her to his chest, and she curled into him. I loved watching them together. I had grown up in a house with two people who hated one another, barely kept up a facade of civility before my mother skipped down to be with her new boyfriend in Florida leaving my dad and I behind in Pennsylvania. We made it work but things were never the same after that. It made me happy to know little Dani would feel the love radiating in her home as she grew up. I had never seen two people so enamored with one another in my life- not even Namjoon and I.

“How was therapy?” Minho asked after we exchanged pleasantries. “Hoseok said you were talking about competing next season.”

I laughed in disbelief. That man did not know how to keep his mouth shut. I said the same thing I told Frank over the phone, and he scoffed. Minho never truly laughed, if I was honest. It was always a snicker, scoff, or chuckle. He was a man of little words and even fewer outbursts of joy, and I found his versions of those things just as reserved as the rest of him. He was the most expressive when he smiled, but those were just as rare as a genuine laugh. Dani managed to squeeze more out of him than anybody else.

“Stop meddling!” Andy scolded the other man from her spot in Seokjin’s lap.

“Never,” My friend replied, amusement clear in his voice.

“Never!” Dani echoed, voice louder than Hoseok’s. She was giggling happily alongside him, and I rolled my eyes. He was her favorite. “Never!” She repeated again, pleased when Hoseok laughed. “Never!”

“That’s enough,” Jin’s voice was even and smooth.

Dani did not shout again but we could all hear her and Hoseok attempting to cover up their laughter. Andy smiled fondly. Their little friendship had warmed her heart. After Dani, Andrea had been diagnosed with cervical cancer. It had come back six times before her doctor said she needed to get a hysterectomy. She grieved the children they would never have, the large family she dreamed of stolen from her, but once Dani was old enough to walk, she had been glued to Hoseok’s hip.

Hoseok for all he spoke about never wanting children, he adored Dani. His family was small, he and his sister the only children, but they were extremely close. She lived in New York City as a fashion designer and got married last year, and I always had the feeling Hoseok felt lonely without her. Dani was a welcome break from routine and made him feel special. It was sweet but I hoped my friend would find someone to share his life with someday.

“It’s starting,” Hoseok announced.

It was a great day for the U.S. Opal Simmons was one to look out for. She was the oldest woman on the team, a shocking 24, but she could out swim a vast majority of them. Her freestyles were amazing, earning her a gold with Japan just a few points behind. I was hopeful she would be able to come out on top in her distance swim. While not the fastest in the pool, the girl knew how to pace herself. The cameras cut to the shot of one of her coaches smiling triumphantly at the performance.

He was a good friend of mine, Oswald Bunch. He had been heavily involved with the Olympics for years now, promoted to one of the lead coaches back in 2020, but I remembered when he was still competing. A few years older than me, Ozzie was known for his backstrokes and long-distance swimming, and we bonded whenever we got the chance to meet in London back in 2012.

That was my first Olympics. I was a fresh-faced 20-year-old on a mission. My team at the time was stoked to have me around and I was excited to be there. I had built up a solid reputation over the course of two years, winning seven medals my first adult-competitive season, and the high was incredible. Back then, I was always the one to beat at the breaststroke and therefore, the medleys were in my favor as well. I walked away with 4 golds that year, and again in 2016. The accident happened a year later, but I left the competitive world with 8 gold Olympic medals and 19 world champion gold medals. Katie Ledecky held the record now, but for a time, I was the most decorated female swimmer in history. I was excited when I was finally passed up, happy for the younger woman.

Ozzie was the man, but sadly never got out of Michael Phelp’s shadow. It was not his fault. That man was insane in the water and would become the most decorated Olympian ever. Bunch was a great swimmer, but I did not know a single person who could compare to Phelps. Hoseok, maybe, but he only had 12 gold medals. Phelps had 23.

“Simmons looks great out there,” Hoseok praised, a large smile on his face.

“Her butterflies could use a little work,” I murmured back, already seeing how I could fix it with some extra exercises. “It’s slowing down her freestyle. What else is she scheduled for?”

“I think she’s doing the 200-meter freestyles and the medley relay,” He replied, taking a sip of his beer. “Bunch is banking on her pacing.”

“She won’t win those,” I was positive. “She’s just going to get tired. Breaststrokes are obviously not her thing.”

He laughed, “You’re the breaststroke queen, Y/N. No one's as good as yours.”

I shrugged, “Ledecky is a great swimmer.”

“Never said she wasn’t,” He sipped. “Her freestyles are killer. Girls could never beat you in breaststroke or a medley. You’re untouchable there.”

It made me smile despite myself. Hoseok was right, those were my competitions. Even if Katie had surpassed my record for most gold medals ever, I still had more Olympic medals than she did, and they were in completely different events. I could have kept my title had the accident never happened. I would have. Even if we were friendly, Ledecky would have been my competition, and I would have fought hard to keep the record.

“What’s Jimin doing this year?” Matilda asked as the women’s scores were posted. Opal would be a strong contender. “Anyone know?”

I nodded, “I haven’t watched every competition, but he’s sticking to what he does best. Didn’t he swim the 200 yesterday?”

“Yeah,” Hoseok replied. “He’s skipping out today and doing his individual tomorrow. Swimming back-to-back after that. Kid’s a fucking animal in the water.”

I couldn't agree more. As I stared at Opal’s smiling face, her pale blonde hair and bright blue eyes, I wished I had been able to watch Jimin instead. She was cold and impassive even with a large, perfectly white grin that took up most of her face. In fact, I found her quite boring outside of the water. No flair or features that set her apart. Just a tall, well-built blonde with a nice smile. Ozzie would have to work hard to make her memorable.

“Simmons did well,” I yawned. “It’s getting late, though, and I have work in the morning.”

The goodbyes were quick, and Dani made me promise to take her roller skating soon. There was a girl at school making fun of her and she wanted her “super cool” and “famous” aunt to tell them off. We all laughed, and I told her we could go this weekend after gymnastics practice.

My drive home was uneventful. It was already dark out, something that bothered me more than I would ever admit out loud, and I never turned on the radio. I preferred to drive in absolute silence, eyes and ears glued to the road. I had only started talking on the phone recently.

I was much worse after the accident. I refused to get inside of a car for weeks and if I did, I was a mess. No one was allowed to be a distracted driver either. No radio, no phone, no conversations. Nothing. Jin had been the default chauffeur during that time and put up with my anxiety better than the others.

It was close to a year before I tried to sit in the front seat again. Another five before I got behind the wheel. For hours I would sit in the garage with my hands on the steering wheel staring off into the distance. I was still in a wheelchair for most of my daily activities and a very obvious limp made me too self-conscious to be seen. Isolating was easy. Keeping the others away was more difficult.

My drives started with me just backing out of the driveway. I went around the block a few weeks later, hands shaking and Andy trying her best to soothe me in the passenger seat. I did not drive past the Whole Foods two minutes away from my house until after the second year. Things were easier after I ditched the wheelchair and got more open to the idea of therapy.

Moving out of Denver was the best decision I ever made, the Springs were easier to drive in and the traffic was not as awful. Andrea and Jin bought in Black Forest once I was settled in Briargate, so loneliness was never an option.

Matilda almost moved in after the housewarming party Andy threw for me. She said it was far too big for one person and the neighborhood was to die for. I laughed her off at the time not really wanting to admit how nice it sounded.

Nestled in Fairfax, my house was a beautiful piece of architecture. The striking brick and wood front exterior provided a warm welcome, with teal trimmings bringing a fresh feeling to the otherwise plain color scheme. With five bedrooms and four bathrooms, I dreamed of the day I was able to fill them all. A dream that I hoped would come before I hit 35.

Pulling up to the house, I waved to Chika next door. The old woman raised her hand, still nursing a large mug of what I assumed to be tea and smiled. They were lovely people and we often helped one another out whenever we could. Chika liked to bring over food if she cooked and I paid my landscapers to keep with their lawn.

“Late night?” Chika called out from her front porch.

“Went to a friend’s house,” I replied.

“Good,” She meant it. “Glad to see you getting out of the house.”

I smiled but was not sure how well she could see my face in the dark.

“Yeah. Night, Chika.”

“Night, Y/N.”

I showered quickly and sipped on a cup of chamomile tea before heading off to bed. After taking my night medications, one to force myself to sleep while the other blocked the never-ending nightmares, I climbed into bed. I was able to play a single game of solitaire before they both kicked in. I fell asleep with the sound of gentle rain humming in the background.

“Let’s go, guys!” I yelled, blowing my whistle.

The twelve boys waited, their small talk coming to an abrupt end. We had just finished warming up and I allowed all of them a short water break. I was a huge advocate for rest periods. No one needed to pull a muscle or fatigue early due to over working. I had a 2800-yard routine prepared, 800 of those done during our warm-ups, and the rest divided between our main set and cooldowns.

Jordan, our captain, was smiling happily. He was such an excited kid, and his positivity was contagious. While some of the boys were disappointed when I first chose him to replace our old captain after his graduation, I was sure his spirit would do everyone some good. It did not take long for the others to come around and he was beloved.

“Alright, so we have a 1600 main set. In between each of our reps, we will be doing a switch out of easy breast and backstrokes. Clear?”

“Crystal!” They all replied in unison.

“Alright. That's what I like to hear,” Flipping through my clipboard was more for show than anything. I used to rely on it heavily when I first started teaching since brain damage messed with my short-term memory, but I had been doing this long enough to know what was happening. Now it was just a way for me to write notes about their performances. “We’re starting with a 4x100 with 15-second rest; the first 25 butterfly. 3x100 with 10-second rest; again, first 25 butterfly. Following?”

No questions were asked, and a few guys voiced they were good for me to keep going.

“Good. Then we have a 2x100 with 5-second rest. First 25?”

“Butterfly,” Jordan replied.

“Thank you, Abbot. Okay, and we’re finishing up with 8x50 freestyle. Fast and easy.”

All twelve of them began to prepare to take their mark. One by one they stood on their blocks and waited for me to make the call. I admired them all for a moment. You could see the difference in each one of them. Those who were confident stood tall, their shoulders squared, and head held high. Newcomers were still figuring out their place on the team but were eager to prove themselves. Two of them would be leaving us this year, Gabriel and Marcus, and neither one of them were continuing to swim after graduation. It was a sad thought, but I was happy with how they carried themselves. They had both come a long way.

“Take your mark,” My voice echoed. Each boy got into their starting position as I watched them like a hawk. One of the freshmen, Phineas, needed major work on his form. I would talk to Jordan about it. Grabbing hold of my stopwatch, I took a deep breath. “Go!”

Marcus was the first in, like always, and I ignored him. I knew he was fully capable of taking care of himself. Phineas was the weakest link in my chain right now. He was struggling, his arms growing tired and his speed nonexistent. The other freshmen, Tobias, or as the guys called him, Twig, was not much better. He had more strength, but I chopped that up to his size. I would need to really start working some more beginner drills to get them in shape. Jordan and Gabriel would be more than happy to give up a Saturday or two to help out.

Marcus was the first one finished and I marked his time. Still a tenth of a second faster than Jordan. After Jordan came Gabriel and then Joseph and Anthony. I was disappointed in Jett’s time, but I would invite him to the weekend practices with the others. He needed some foot and hip exercises. Twig came in before Phineas, but every other boy was already out of the water by the time they made it back. Phineas was visibly upset, and I made a note to pull him to the side after practice to cheer him up.

Practices typically lasted two hours and the boys swam hard. Phineas did, in fact, perk up after I told him I was noticing tons of improvements in his performance. Twig just seemed happy he was not the worst guy in the water. After talking it out with Jordan, we decided on a good weekend time for extra practices, and I stayed behind to print off a poster and signup sheets for the rest of the boys. I had a feeling almost everyone except Marcus would show. He had a part-time job now and his weekends were full.

Sitting in my office, I poured over my observations and timecards. With a team this large I should have an extra set of hands to help with timing. I sent an email to the principal asking about helpers and got back to the nitty gritty.

All of them could work on something. Phineas might have needed the most work, Twig not far behind him, but my most seasoned swimmers had room for improvement. Jett was still struggling with maximizing propulsion, Anthony and Milo needed to get better water balance, and Gabriel’s pull could be better. Even my best swimmers, Jordan and Marcus, could use a bit of refinement in technique. It was nitpicking but they were too talented to give up on their potential.

It was close to nine when my phone began to ring. I knew it could not be any of my usual calls. Andy was working nights this week and Jin was fast asleep at home with Dani. Minho was in bed by eight, Matilda would never bother me this late, and Hoseok hated phone calls. Checking the caller ID, I was shocked to see Ozzie’s name.

“Hello?” I answered tentatively, afraid he might have called me by accident.

“Otter,” Ozzie greeted me happily. He seemed so delighted that I answered, I smiled even though I hated the nickname. “How’s life going?”

I chuckled, “Rockin’ and rollin’. Saw your girl last night. Looks great, Oz.”

“Appreciate it,” He was so dismissive of it I became interested. This was not a catch-up phone call or else he might have hooked onto the bait. My stomach twisted in anticipation. If it was not for pleasantries, then it was for work and that was something to be excited about. “Still teaching high school?”

“Mhm,” I fiddled with my pencil, papers forgotten. “My boys team is strong. I only have three girls that signed up so we’re just training during P.E. and hoping some more join.”

We chatted a bit more about the team. The longer it went on the more knots I had. Oswald was fishing for something, and I wanted to figure out what. After telling him about Phineas, I asked what the random call was about.

“Always cutting to the chase,” He joked.

I did not laugh.

“Alright, you caught me,” Ozzie sighed. “Look, the Olympic team is looking for another assistant coach and your name came up a few times.”

My mouth went dry. I had heard about Tiara Marsh leaving to focus on her family. She had a baby and stepped down a few months after coming back from maternity leave. I respected the decision and messaged her my congratulations. Ozzie had taken the lead coach position three years ago with Todd Packer as his partner. The other assistant, Drew Jones, was a sweet girl from what I heard and working with her would be a dream.

Still, it was an impossible task. Trying to imagine myself on the sidelines, coaching the next big names in sporting history with a massive squad behind me made my stomach queasy. I doubt any of them respected me. My leg was ruined, my career burned out just as quickly as it started, and I never had the chance to reach my peak. Now I am a 30-year-old washed up recluse. Just thinking about the media frenzy made my breathing get a little heavier.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Oz,” I murmured.

“I told them you wouldn’t go for it,” He replied, unsurprised. “They’re going to approach Storm Kline instead.”

“Oh,” Now I was confused. “Why’d you bring it up then?”

“Because I got to thinking,” I braced myself. Ozzie was known for his big, bright, dumb, impulsive ideas. “I knew the Olympics would be asking too much of you. Cameras and interviews are the last thing you want after the fucking circus you went through last time.”

That was an understatement. Circus did not even begin to describe the absolute hell the media put me through after the accident. So many speculations and insensitive remarks managed to ruin any peace I could have gotten during that time.

While I was in a coma, no one knowing if I would ever wake up again, the news thought it wise to harass my friends and family. My old coach, Victor Stanley, was assaulted whenever he left the hospital. When news got out that Namjoon was pulled off life support, his mother and father were so sick and tired of people parked outside their house they packed up and moved away before I even woke up. I wanted nothing to do with the media after that.

“It’s a little different but I think you’d be a great fit for the job,” Ozzie continued. “One of my boys, Jimin Park, is in need of a personal coach. His mom is sick and he’s wanting to stay in Michigan for as long as he can before coming out to the Springs to start training for Paris.

“I almost called Jung, but I don’t think the two of them would get along well enough for this to work. You’re the only person I know I can trust with him, and from what I’m hearing, you’re one hell of a coach already.”

This was somehow even more nerve wracking than the assistant position. I had never trained one-on-one before, at least, not long term. I was sure I could do it, but a high schooler was very different from an Olympic athlete relying on me to keep him in shape for the season.

“What happened to Hamilton?” I asked, still unable to wrap my head around the situation. “I thought he was Park’s personal trainer.”

“He was but the two fell out when Jimin decided to stay in Michigan. You know how Matt is.”

That I did. Matthew Hamilton was a massive asshole, and that was putting it lightly. He was one of the best trainers around and got results which was why he still had a job despite his rotten attitude. I had the misfortune of running into him quite a few times over the years and my distaste only grew with each passing. I could imagine that conversation not going over particularly well.

“But what about my team?” I asked, staring at my desk. All of my plans and strategies were mapped out and I was ready to put them to use. My boys were counting on me and leaving them felt wrong. “I don’t want to leave them high and dry, Oz.”

“Ask Hoseok to cover for you,” I rolled my eyes at his blase attitude.

“This is my team.”

“And this is Jimin Park.”

I hated that I understood where he was coming from. Most of my boys would never go off to swim professionally and their skill set was not on par with anyone out right now. They were not committed to the strict regime that would take and I did not get paid well enough to justify the extra hours. Jimin, however, would pay me extremely well and I would get that experience under my belt. I might even learn a few new things to add to my own drills.

“Give me a few days to think about it,” I finally conceded. “And set up a phone call, or meeting, or something with the kid. Need to make sure we’re on the same page before we waste one another’s time.”

Ozzie laughed, “I think you’ll get along just fine, but sure. I think he’d appreciate the gesture.”

Nothing of much importance was said after that. We hung up with promises of talking soon and then I was alone once more. My office was still just as messy and swamped with paperwork as it had been before, but it all looked different. It felt like I was already gone, and a deep homesickness settled in my chest. I stared at the papers in front of me and sighed before shooting a text to Hoseok.

As I expected, everyone had told me to jump at the opportunity. Hoseok even said if I didn’t, I would be the biggest idiot he had ever met. Matilda asked if she could come (I told her no), and Dani just seemed bummed that we could not hang out anymore. Andy and Jin were the most supportive of the situation while Minho the most cautious. He was worried about the media catching wind of something and causing a frenzy. After Matila pointed out how old news I was, I felt a little less afraid of that possibility even if it was a hit to my ego.

Ozzie seemed pumped when I told him I was open to the idea if Jimin and I seemed to mesh well. I was firm in my decision to talk to him before making any concrete plans, and from what Ozzie told me, my future student was extremely receptive to the idea. I also learned that Opal was jealous of her fellow Olympian, but I tried not to let that puff up my chest.

That was why I was sitting in my home office, hair nicely styled and a light layer of makeup on waiting for Jimin to join our Zoom call. I wore blue since Ozzie said it was his favorite color, but the material was slowly driving me insane. While the color was nice, deep blue and sparkled whenever the light hit it, it was scratchy and irritated the skin around my chest and shoulders. I almost got up to change but a small icon with the letters ‘JP’ in the center popped up before I could.

“Hello?” A soft voice called out.

“Hey,” I replied with an awkward wave. “Can you see me?”

“Yeah, can you see me?”

I shook my head, “Just your icon.”

Cursing under his breath, Jimin apologized for the tech issues. I adored how nice he was to listen to. It was unique, gentle and raspy, but also feminine in its softness. There was no bass or hardness, every sound and syllable light and airy with self-depreciating laughter after every insult he threw at himself. Apparently, Jimin was not great with technology and always had a difficult time with cyber meetings.

“This is fine with me,” I tried to reassure him. “I don’t need to see your face to talk.”

“No,” He agreed, “But it’s a little awkward for you to have your camera on and mine’s off.”

I could hear him clicking around. “I’ll turn mine off, too, if that helps.”

He shut that down immediately and continued clicking and typing. After a few more minutes, he found his problem. Then the icon was gone and there he was.

His face was round, his cheeks plump, and chin soft. The first thing I noticed about him was his lips. They were rounded and plump like a baby duck with a soft, heart shaped cupid’s bow that led up a small, button nose. Everything about his face was soft except his eyes which were almond shaped and flicked outwards like a cat’s. His hair was pitch black and parted down the middle, framing his face and making his pale skin look like snow. When he caught a glimpse of himself in the camera a large smile took over his face and I felt the wind get knocked out of me.

“Can you see me?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yeah, I think we’re in the clear.”

Neither one of us knew what to say for a moment. He swirled around in his chair in search of his water bottle. He stood up, excusing himself for a moment. He was also wearing a blue shirt, a pair of black pants, and seemed just as nervous as I did. He left the room while I sat and thought about him.

There was one word to describe Jimin: pretty. His soft lines and tiny waist made him look so much smaller than I had imagined him. All of the years seeing him on the tv did nothing to compare to watching him walk around a little room in his home. Without a cap and goggles, Jimin was angelic, and I felt uneasy. How was I supposed to work with someone I found this attractive?

“Sorry,” He was back now, a large Yeti cup in hand. “I should’ve made sure I had this already.”

“No worries. I’m not in any rush.”

He sat back down, and I finally noticed the large oval necklace he was wearing. I did not know what it could mean to him, but I had seen him with it a few times at events. It was simple and silver, no gem in the center of the pendant, and sat directly over his heart. He took a sip from his cup, snapping me back to action.

“How’s your mother doing?” I asked. “Ozzie told me she wasn’t well.”

His expression saddened me, and I hated that I brought it up. I knew how much I did not enjoy talking about Namjoon’s death, and while his mother was still alive, she was not well. Unfortunately, I could not take the question back.

“I’m not sure how much you know,” He started, leaning back in the leather computer chair. “She has melanoma and isn’t doing chemotherapy anymore. I’m staying in Michigan so I can spend as much time with her as possible.”

My heart ached for him and his family. Cancer had a reputation for ripping families apart and I could only imagine how this was affecting the young swimmer. My own grief was long and drawn out, guilt and shame hanging over my head for years before I was finally able to let it go, but the death itself was swift. Joon was dead and buried before I woke up from the coma, but I could recall every detail of that hospital room when Victor told me what happened. I hated to think about watching the life slip from him, knowing he would die, and knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do about it.

“I understand. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

I knew it was inadequate, but I did not know this man well enough to say my thoughts out loud. Maybe later, after a few weeks of training together, I could get the courage to let him know I would be there if he needed someone to talk to. I knew all about navigating grief and I would happily help him stay motivated through this horrible, tragic time. Jimin stayed quiet so I took it upon myself to get the ball rolling again.

“I know you’re going through a difficult time right now, and I just want you to know that I get it and I see you. If we work together, I will make sure your mental health comes first. Whatever you need, whatever your family needs, will always come before getting in the pool.

“You were working with Hamilton before this, and whatever happened between you two- I don’t know, that’s none of my business, but I can promise you I will try my best to make sure our professional relationship doesn’t reach that point. Just tell me what’s up and I’ll make it work.”

Jimin smiled a small, sad smile that paled in comparison to that blinding show of teeth earlier. My eyes could not help their roaming and I felt guilty. There was a chance we would be working together, and I could not feel this way about him if that time came. I could only hope that if we did decide to move forward with this arrangement, any affections I could have for him would get buried. I would have to talk to Hoseok about this.

“I have to take her to appointments once a week,” He replied, voice small and eyes staring at something off camera. “She’s not getting her chemo anymore but still goes to see her doctor often to manage symptoms as best she can. She also has a dance class every Sunday morning and I will be going with her.”

I nodded, “I can live with that. As long as you’re still putting in work you can take your mom anywhere.”

He took a deep breath and finally looked at the camera again. The vulnerability I found there took me off guard. Jimin must be someone who wears their emotions on their sleeve, and I would have to learn to nurture that. Namjoon always told me I needed to work on being more sensitive to others, a skill I had yet to master.

“Matt didn’t like how much time I spent out of the pool. I understand where he’s coming from but I’m hoping we can come up with a training schedule that works well for the both of us. I feel bad enough pulling you away from your life, and I don’t want my personal shit to bleed into what you’re going through.”

It was a kind gesture, one I appreciated, but he needed to get over it. I told him in so many words that I was happy to help him.

“Trust me,” I said. “If I didn’t want to do this then we wouldn’t be talking.”

Jimin seemed to like my bluntness and I was fond of his over-analytical anxiety. The way he fidgeted reminded me of Namjoon, his forward and direct confrontation of his emotions and needs so strikingly similar it made it nearly impossible for me to dislike him. I don’t think a person alive could dislike this man.

“I can be in Ann Arbor next week,” Jimin had gone on another rant about inconveniencing me and I shut it down. “Everything here is already squared away. We can discuss it more later, how does that sound?”

He smiled wearily, his nerves causing him to squirm in his seat.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, Y/N.”

I hoped my expression looked as sincere as I felt, “I’ll take care of you, kiddo.”

Pulling a face, Jimin laughed heartily. Triumphant, I smiled brazenly, his laughter contagious. I made a note to pull out a few age jokes now and then if it meant making him smile like that.

“I’m an adult man, I’ll have you know,” He was still laughing.

“Could’ve fooled me,” I teased.

“We’re going to get along just fine,” He seemed more confident than ever, and it warmed my heart. “Let me know when you’re expected to get here. Do you have my number?”

We exchanged our contact details. After days of talking over email, I finally found a smiley face emoji in my notifications, a Michigan area code attached. Saving his number, I replied with the old woman emoji earning myself another laugh.

“Talk to you later, Park.”

“See you, coach.”

I left the meeting, my chest much lighter after talking to him. He was a sweet man and not half bad to look at. I was a few years older but not disgustingly so, and he was more than available from the sound of things. Realizing the direction my thoughts were going in, I stood up from the chair to start writing out some drills and scheduling prototypes. Before I could get out of the door, however, my phone vibrated in my hand.

Jimin: 👶

I did not respond until I had my flight booked.

Me: I’m flying in on Tuesday. Know a good place to stay?

He replied a few minutes later.

Jimin: Do you need a lot of space?

Me: Not really

Jimin: One of my neighbors has their mother-in-law suite for rent. I could probably cut you a good deal with them.

I smiled. He really was a sweetheart.

Me: Thank you. And no deals. I can pay for myself.

Jimin: My mother would be very upset if I didn’t at least try.

Jimin: I was raised to respect the elderly.

I laughed out loud, thoroughly amused. I had a feeling he was testing the waters after I poked fun at him earlier. Jimin was probably used to the stick stuck up Hamilton’s ass. He was in for a treat. At the pool I was cool and collected but I could cut up with the best of them.

Me: Sorry, couldn’t hear you over the sound of my hip breaking

I was practically giddy with excitement waiting for his response. It had been such a long time since someone joked around with me like this. Hoseok tried but he was awful at taking a joke, so I stopped poking the bear. It was refreshing and all too familiar.

Jimin: I’ll get you one of those life alerts just in case.

Was he flirting with me? Did I care? Shrugging, I went along with it. I would remain strictly professional while we worked together, but if things developed after that I would let them. Happily. I barely knew this guy, but I remember this feeling. It was the first time since Joon’s death that it showed itself to me and I wanted to hold onto it.

First work then play, I told myself.

Who knows? This little bit of infatuation could fade just as quickly as it came, and I would leave Ann Arbor with a new friend instead. Might even be able to score a steady job with the kid if things worked out. My life in Colorado would remain untouched, my friends happily accepting a new kid in the group when he came to visit, and my house just as bare and empty as it always had been. The years continuing to pass me by.

I tried not to think about why that thought made me want to cry.

“I told you I’m fine,” I sighed into the phone, waiting at the baggage claim for my things. “You’re in rare form today.”

Andrea laughed, the sound slightly hysterical and I winced. That was the wrong thing to say, but she was driving me insane. I had traveled around the world multiple times, and she was acting like Michigan was going to kill me.

“Well excuse me for worrying,” Andy bit back, her tone clipped and harsh.

“I’m sorry,” I heaved one of my bags off the conveyor belt. “I know you’re just looking out for me, but I promise you I’m fine Andrea. You’ll be my first phone call if that changes.”

The other bag finally popped up and I quickly snatched it. Slinging the large duffle bag over my shoulder, I adjusted it until it rested comfortably on my shoulders. Lifting the handlebar off my large suitcase, I drug it behind me while I followed the signs for the exit. Jimin said he arranged for someone to pick me up but did not specify who. He was busy with a few interviews this morning and could not get me himself. He had been very disappointed about it.

“I know I’m nagging,” Andy groaned. “Scratch that. I’m acting like a total helicopter parent.”

I laughed, “Your husband had been even worse. The man tried to book me a charter flight because he was worried about my leg in an airport. What the fuck does that even mean?”

Everyone had been super happy for me, especially my team. Those boys almost cried when I told them who I was helping out and Jordan begged me to bring him back something autographed. None of them seemed as familiar with my own background but I was fine with that. All of them took to Hoseok rather well, except for Marcus who made me swear to come back before school let out. I did not tell them I was planning to make monthly trips to give Jimin some space with his mom. I was sure that surprise would go over very, very well.

Despite his indifference when I was first talking about the job, Seokjin became an overprotective dad as soon as I made him aware my flights were booked. He was quick to cancel them and put in a few calls of his own. Jin was an operations manager for Delta airlines and knew plenty of pilots. He was able to get me a plane to land in Willow Run out in Ypsilanti, but I quickly intervened and told him a normal flight was perfect. I rebooked my tickets and flew into Detroit Metro at 10 am.

Andy snorted, “He means well.”

It was snowing in Michigan, and I was finally hit with the realization that I would be seeing far more of it here than I ever did back in Colorado. It was only mid-September, so it was still light and melted away quickly. I would have to ask Jimin if it stayed this calm into December, but I had a feeling things would pick up by late November.

It was a very cold morning in Detroit, and I was excited to get into a heated car. Getting off the phone with Andy, I quickly sent Jimin a quick text message letting him know I was outside and looking for my ride. A loud honk made my jump, almost dropping my phone in the process.

Pulled up at the curb was a navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. I could tell from its body that it was an older model, and it was a convertible. Sitting behind the wheel was a little old lady, a pair of gardening gloves on her hands and a pair of large, hexagon sunglasses taking up most of her face. Her face was familiar, and it hit me. Sitting behind that wheel was Jimin’s mother.

She smiled at me and waved, beckoning me closer to the little car. I forced myself to smile back. My nerves made it feel damn near impossible, but I managed. Opening the door, I did not know where to put my things. The backseat was so small.

“There’s a lever on that side that’ll push it up. You should be able to get everything to fit if you try hard enough.”

Fumbling around, I finally found the little handle and pulled up. The seat lurched forward, folding in on itself, and I clumsily shoved my suitcase into the backseat. It smelled like stale cigarettes and fake pine, but when you had a car this old it usually had history. I was excited to pick up my new car from the dealership. My Porsche already had a difficult time driving around Colorado and I did not think it would survive the heavy winters in Michigan, so I decided to leave it home and get an Altima. I had the money and could easily get rid of it. Tilly had been talking about needing an upgrade.

Finally managing to get both bags into the backseat, I put the seat back and got into the car. Closing the door, I sighed in content. The heaters were at full blast and pointed directly at my cold face. Buckling my seatbelt, I leaned back and tried to relax after the long day of flying. Jimin’s mother pulled off the curb.

“It’s cold out there,” She laughed, her voice just as sickeningly sweet as her son’s. “Glad you were able to make it okay.”

I nodded, “I’m surprised to see it snowing so early. We don’t usually get anything until closer to Thanksgiving.”

“Colorado, right?” I could hear a faint accent and I remembered that Jimin was first-generation Korean American. Both of his parents moved to the states before he and his brother were born. Media outlets loved talking about it, but I was not sure how much he enjoyed discussing his personal life. While he came off as a sweet and mild-mannered man, he kept his personal life private. “I’ve heard it’s very pretty.”

“It is. Too expensive, but very, very pretty.”

Then she was fiddling around with the radio, and I finally cracked a genuine smile. I was not sure how much work had been done on her car, but I was positive the sound system had been completely redone. A brand-new radio, complete with a touch screen and Bluetooth, lit up at the touch of her fingers. A man’s voice serenaded us through the updated speakers, and I was in awe at how beautiful it sounded. I assumed he was speaking Korean and Jimin’s mother sang along fluently.

“What’s your name again?” She asked once the song was over. Another, more upbeat song started, and she increased the volume. “Jimin told me but I’m horrible with that sort of thing. I’m Na-Yeon, but Audrey works if it’s easier for you.”

I pulled a face, “Audrey?”

“It’s my American name. It’s easier for people to pronounce and more convenient. All of us have one. Jimin’s is Christian.”

It was odd to think about. A name that was mine but not mine. Christian did not suit Jimin, but I could imagine growing up with a name that other people made fun of would be difficult. Maybe even impossible. Still, I did not feel comfortable calling the woman Audrey. She did not seem to particularly care for the name and I did not want to alienate myself from their circle for convenience's sake.

Namjoon’s mother had been similar to Na-Yeon, always afraid her culture and customs would make me uncomfortable or burdened, but I managed to calm her fears and reassure her after years of showing up to Chuseok with a smile on my face and food in my hands.

“I like Na-Yeon,” I finally replied, voice small. “It’s nice. I’m Y/N.”

“I like Y/N,” She echoed back to me, making me grin. “It’s nice.”

It was a long drive filled with K-pop, ballads, and sporadic conversation. Na-Yeon was very funny. She sang along to every song, dancing as she went, and calling on me to sing alone. Of course, I could not speak Korean very well and hummed the melodies instead, but it appeased her. When she did speak to me it was to ask me questions about myself.

“You’re that swimmer, aren’t you?” She asked, sparing me a look once we stopped at a redlight. “The one everyone’s trying to beat.”

I shook my head, “At one time, sure, but not anymore. I’m retired.”

Squinting her eyes at me, Na-Yeon pursed her lips.

“We used to watch you. Haru called you a mermaid.”

That was not too much of a shock. Jimin was swimming at that time. While I am a few years older than him, he would have been in middle school when I went to my first Olympics. He had told me he joined the swim team the year before. He said that watching Michael Phelps win 6 gold medals changed his life forever, and I could not help but agree with him. I had a huge amount of respect for my fellow Olympian and wished him well in his retirement. What shocked me the most was the mention of Jimin’s little brother. The dead brother.

“That’s sweet,” I did not know what to say. “I felt like a mermaid back then. I’m not that good anymore but I still like to swim sometimes.”

“You were in an accident,” It was not a question. “We saw it all over the news. Couldn’t believe all of those people harassing your family like that. So sorry for your loss.”

It was strange to talk about it again. I appreciated her keeping it vague. I had gone through a tremendous amount of change and growth since then, but it was nice to hear someone else validate how crazy the media frenzy was. I would not wish it upon anyone, and I was happy her family was allowed to grieve in peace. Neither Namjoon’s nor my own were allowed that luxury.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I’m sorry about Haru. I can’t imagine what your family went through.”

She smiled sadly, “I think you can.”

We did not talk much after that. The music still played, Na-Yeon still sang, and I still hummed, but we did not ask any more questions. Neither one of us wanted to bring up those hurt feelings. It was not until we turned down a long, empty road that I realized I had yet to ask her about her cancer.

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.

“As good as I can,” She breathed. “My boys are both worriers so don’t take anything they say to heart. Bunch of hypochondriacs.”

And even though I laughed along with her, I knew that she was lying. They were not overreacting. She was sick, refusing treatments, and letting herself die. Anyone would be worried about her. Na-Yeon must dislike being taken care of. Well, I thought she would need to get used to it. I loved spoiling others.

“Eloise and the kids must be here,” She muttered to herself, pulling to a short driveway.

I did not know who Eloise was, but I would soon find that out. There were two cars parked out front. One was a simple, black Tahoe with a brightly colored steering wheel cover. The other was another vintage model. Painted a pretty light, muted green the truck was in pristine condition. It was an old Ford, the branding written across the tailgate, and a spare tire was bolted to the side. I asked Na-Yeon about it and she smiled happily.

“It’s Jimin’s,” I felt my heart rate increase. “He must’ve gotten back. Pretty thing, huh?”

I nodded, not really paying attention to the truck anymore. I was about to meet Jimin for the first time and my nerves were taking over. I knew how much his looks affected me over video chat and I was afraid I would not be able to control my facial expressions in person. I was resolute not to act on whatever attraction I may have felt toward him. My professionalism would not allow it. It did not mean, however, that I wanted to discuss it with Jimin at any point. It would make him uncomfortable and affect our working environment.

“Keep your bags in the car,” Na-Yeon told me. “Jimin’s going to take you over to meet the Andersons this afternoon.”

Walking up to the house, I was first struck by two things. The main one being the impressive teal it was painted and the other the loud talking and laughter coming from inside. It was odd. Thinking about my own parents I knew we had never been so happy. Mom had left when I was so young that I could hardly remember her, but I could recall the screaming and shouting. Dad was quiet after she left, spent most of his time locked away in the garage watching sports channels and leaving me to my own devices.

When I started swimming it helped for a time, but when I was old enough to leave, we spoke two or three times a year. After he met Danielle, his new wife, he stopped reaching out altogether. The accident had spooked him enough to warrant holiday and birthday calls for a time, but when he had another baby those slowly faded away. My half-sister and I had never met, Danielle did not like acknowledging that my dad had a child with another woman, and it seemed as though my dad was fine with how things turned out. I dealt with it.

The laughing echoed through the house, and I could hear loud foot-steps pitter pattering on the tile floors. The house smelled heavily of kimchi and lemons making my heart ache. Joon and I used to keep the windows open for days after his mother came over to make kimchi with him. We would squat on the floor for hours, laughing and talking. I missed those days more than I realized and I smiled involuntarily. For the first time in years, it felt like coming home.

“Sorry about the smell,” Na-Yeon whispered to me.

I shook my head and took my shoes off. “I love kimchi.”

She smiled brightly, her shoulders immediately relaxing. I was glad I had spent so much time with Namjoon and his family. Na-Yeon was someone who wanted to make others feel more comfortable even if it put her own peace at risk, but I would never ask her to change her routine for me. I loved learning about other people and her little house brought me more happiness than I thought possible.

“Sounds like we have company!”

A short, stocky man came into the living room. He was wearing a white polo shirt and khaki shorts; his hair was very short with silver streaks starting to take over the once very black strands. Catching sight of me he smiled.

“You must be Y/N,” The man said. “I’m James.”

His accent was much thicker than Na-Yeon’s and he introduced himself in his English name. He seemed much happier about it than his wife did, and I decided to go along with it. If he wanted me to call him James, then I would.

“Nice to meet you,” I replied, giving him a small bow.

His smile got even bigger somehow, and he returned the gesture. Na-Yeon chuckled beside me and started to speak to her husband in Korean. I picked up a few words and deduced that he was supposed to make sure I was going to get a nice lunch, and she wanted to know if he had taken care of it. He nodded and told her he had.

“Hungry?” James asked, Na-Yeon already disappearing into the house.

“Yes,” I quickly followed behind him.

“I made jjigae,” He frowned. “I can’t say it in English. Sorry.”

The house was small and warmly lit. Cream tile flooring, exposed wood beams, and white walls. Whatever loud conversation they had been having before I got here had died down, but the footsteps did not. I could hear children giggling somewhere in the little home and my curiosity peaked. I did not think they were Na-Yeon and James’s.

“I want to say it’s soup,” I kept my voice down not wanting to make him feel awkward. “Or stew, but I don’t think it matters that much.”

“What’s the difference?” James asked, just as amused as his wife at my vague knowledge of Korean words. “Soup and stew the same, no?”

I shrugged, “I have no clue. I’m a miserable cook.”

That made James laugh. We passed all of the rooms in the house, the kitchen, living room, and dining room all in the back of the house. As we passed the second room to the left, James said it had been Haru’s photography studio before he passed away, but they ended up converting it once Eloise gave birth. He did not say it out loud, but I had gathered the kids running around had been their youngest son’s. I did not know how old Haru had been when he died, but it was far too young to be having children. I was 31 and still felt ill equipped for the job.

It was a small kitchen with very simple and plain colors. The countertops were obviously laminate, but someone had taken the time to stick on a marble patterning to make it look nicer. Black appliances clashed with the chestnut cabinets. The tiles were no longer cream but hideous black and white checker printed that clashed heavily against the olive-green backsplash. While the rest of the house seemed to go through renovations at some point, I had a feeling the kitchen remained largely untouched.

Sitting at a small table on the other side of the room were Na-Yeon, Jimin, and a young woman. She was a cute girl, long brown hair and blue eyes, a large number of freckles across her cheeks. Her outfit was very modest, a pair of flowy cream pants and an equally flowy olive shirt. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon that matched her pants, and taking a closer look at her, she wore no makeup. A classic girl next door.

“Come sit,” Na-Yeon waved me over, her voice showing no room for argument. “Hyun-Soo is in charge of lunch.”

I was only briefly confused, the name completely unfamiliar, but by the time I sat down I was sure she was talking about James. It made sense for her to call him by his Korean name, and since I had shown no qualms about using their proper names, she saw no need to bring them up herself.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Jimin’s sweet voice reached me, and I smiled at the sound. “I hope getting here wasn’t too bad.”

He reached out to me, and I happily took his hand in my own. The skin was soft, perfectly smooth, and warm. It was over far too quickly but my displeasure was easily hidden. Andrea always complained about my poker face and how difficult it was to get past it. She said it was too good and thus refused to ever play poker with me again.

“It was nice,” I meant it. Na-Yeon was wonderful company.

“Hope the concert was nice.”

That made me and Eloise laugh. Na-Yeon smacked Jimin’s arm playfully, unable to keep the smile off her face, and the two began to bicker. Having them in the same room highlighted the differences I hadn't noticed before. Jimin’s nose was closer to his father’s, his eyes, too, and both of them had a slight lisp. Na-Yeon’s teeth were perfectly white and straight while one of Jimin’s front teeth was slightly chipped. Jimin had a dimple; his mother had none. Their English soon turned to digs in Korean and I could no longer follow. A few words here and there but nothing substantial. James joined them.

“Hi,” Eloise shyly greeted me, obviously used to being left out of conversations.

“Hey,” I replied lamely. “Eloise?”

She nodded, “Cam and Harper are playing but you’ll meet them in a bit.”

I nodded along and cemented the names into memory. It would look bad if I forgot them and kids had an ability to remember the worst things about a person. I did not want them to dislike me this quickly. Their giggles and feet were still going, and I suspected they had their own rooms on top of the little playroom in the hall.

“What do you do for work?” I asked Eloise, hoping my attempts at small talk were going over well. The other three were still chatting and I stopped paying attention long enough to be completely lost. Their dialect was different from Namjoon’s family, and I gave up entirely once they switched in and out of it with ease.

“I’m taking over Audrey’s restaurant,” Eloise, it seemed, preferred to use their American names. I wondered if she called Jimin ‘Christian.’ I really did not like the name for him. Not at all. “We used to be co-owners but she’s preparing for…” Eloise’s eyebrows scrunched together as she struggled to come up with a way to voice her thoughts, “her next steps. You know what I mean?”

I nodded. It was so easy to forget why I was really here when Na-Yeon was so full of life. She laughed and joked easily, sang off-key in the car without a care in the world, and called the shots at home. I had hardly noticed any sickness, but I knew better. I already figured out she hated being cared for and our trip in the car could have taken a lot of her. More than I realized.

Wanting to change the subject, I asked about the kids. Eloise was more than happy to talk about her little ones. Cameron and Harper were twins, names that she had originally been very against but when she lost Tony (Haru preferred his American name, Anthony, and all of his closest friends called him Tony), her opinions changed. Harper was the bigger, older baby, while her brother needed to stay in the NICU for a few days after birth due to his weight. They were joined at the hip and rarely seen without the other, something Eloise was happy about given she was usually too busy to spend as much time with them as she would have liked.

“How old are they?” I asked.

“Almost 4.”

Jimin was 19 then. I shuddered to think about how old Haru was, or Eloise for that matter when they became parents. When I was their age, I had been at the top of my game, though not what I would call my prime. If I had gotten pregnant my career would not have been over, but meeting Joon never would have happened. That was a travesty regardless of how things turned out. Trying to picture a life without him touching it made me physically ill and so I pushed any of those thoughts away.

Cam and Harper came out of their room when dinner was ready. They were both very cute, loud, and dressed identically. Harper’s hair was braided down her back while Cam’s was in a bowl cut, and I laughed every time the little girl made a big show about her sparkly red shoes.

James made a very spicy fish stew. It was delicious, so salty and hot, but I needed multiple glasses of water as I ate. He used red snapper adding a sweet, nutty flavor to the otherwise savory dish and I loved the zucchini. Like many Korean meals there was an array of side dishes surrounding the large pot of stew. Tonight was braised potatoes, steamed eggplant, a radish salad, and, of course, kimchi. A small bowl of rice was given to all of us to eat the stew with and the rice cooker was filled if any of us wanted more.

The Parks were a lovely family. Jimin was quiet and did not talk to me much but his mother more than made up for his silence. After getting all of the details about my coaching job she moved on to my life back in Colorado. We talked about my friends and what they were like, my house, and even my neighbors. Na-Yeon seemed particularly interested in Hoseok since Jimin had been such a fan of his growing up.

“You need to get her over to Calvin and Violet’s,” James told his son, scraping up the last bit of the soup out of his bowl. “They’re expecting her soon.”

Jimin looked at me, eyebrow raised, “Are you ready?”

I nodded, “We can leave whenever you’re done.”

He smiled and went back to eating his meal. Eloise left before I did, Cam was tired and Harper was bored without her playmate, so she decided it was time they went home. Cam liked an afternoon nap still, but his sister could run all day if you let her. Harper gave me a big bear hug before she left, something Na-Yeon said she did to everyone, and held her brother’s hand on their way out.

Na-Yeon eventually got up from the table, James followed after her, leaving Jimin and I alone. I did not know what to say, if he wanted me to say anything at all. He had hardly spoken to me since I arrived, and it left me feeling out of place. I was here for him, and he wanted nothing to do with me. He kept eating, the spice unfazed him, and getting bowl after bowl of rice.

Watching him walk around I was struck by how short he was. Most male swimmers were huge, well over 6 feet, and broadly built. Not Jimin. He could not be any taller than 5’9” with a thin, tiny waist. I could see defined muscles hidden underneath his white t-shirt, but nothing spectacular. Even his body was soft and elegant, moving gracefully and quietly, and absolutely none of it would give away that he was a world-class athlete. As if he could feel my eyes following him, Jimin’s eyes snapped to meet my own.

“Sorry,” He pulled his spoon from his mouth. “I’m sure you’d like to leave and here I am gorging myself.”

I stopped him before he could stand, “No, no. I’m fine. I was just thinking about your workout routine.”

The lie felt heavy on my tongue, but I could hear how natural it sounded. He sat back down and took another bite of his food. His workout regime was standard for most swimmers. Pull-ups, bench, squat, lunge, power cleans, power cleans to overhead press. After that he was in the pool for a few hours before going about his day. He usually added in another swim at the end of the day, but he had recently given it up to have dinner with his family.

“What are you doing for your core?” I asked.

“I stick to pull ups, crunches, thrusts, and back extensions.”

I nodded, frowning, gears in my head turning. I have always believed the core was the most important part of swimming. Arms as well, but I have seen many overwork those muscles and lose from weak turns. Hoseok used to joke about my performance and how I only won because of my turns. I would make sure he would be able to see a little bit of me in Jimin’s swimming. There was a reason I won gold.

“You don’t look very impressed.”

I chuckled, “Just thinking. You need more variety than that.”

“Gym snob, are we?” His mouth stretched into a playful smirk, and I could not help but smile back. “You must be an animal in there.”

“I don’t work out like I used to,” I admitted, averting my eyes. “Most of my exercises are yoga and running now. I swim twice a week.”

I was hoping to get back in the pool more often, but I was not sure I was ready for the disappointment that would follow. My sessions with Emery were simple, exercise-focused, and had little to no expectations behind them. They were there to help me gain strength and confidence in myself. Saturdays were spent with Hoseok doing laps around the pool and shooting the shit. It was just enough to get your heart pumping but never went past that.

Failing was daunting. I could not remember a time before swimming consumed my life. My dad always said I was afraid of the water; it was the biggest reason he placed me in lessons. He did not have the time (nor patience) to teach me himself, and after I saw younger children getting into the pool I was determined to act like a “big girl.” I was only three at the time, so the memory was lost to time, but I went every week after that. It gave my dad a break and I had friends for the first time. I learned later that mom had left for a few months and dad was drinking again, but at the time all I knew was that I liked swimming, and I was good at it.

It was frightening to believe that all of the time, energy, and hard work went to waste. 30 seconds. That was all it took to destroy my life. 30 seconds and all of my joy, love, and happiness was gone. My career, my health, and my Joon. I hated the man who hit us. Hated the way his family cried for me. For him. For Joon. Squeeze my hands into fists, I was glad they were hidden underneath the table. Getting in the water and realizing it was truly over would only make that hatred worsen, and my therapist told me I needed to let go of my anger.

“Violet and Calvin are excited to meet you,” I did not know if Jimin could see something in his face, perhaps my eyes, but he changed the subject. The look on his face made me feel exposed. “We should get going.”

No one was around when I left so I did not get to say goodbye, but Jimin yelled that we were leaving. We did not get a response and I wondered if his mother had actually gone to do laundry or take a nap. She looked tired when she left the table. Jimin told me to get into the truck and laughed when I said I could grab my own bags.

“Your hip might give out, granny.”

Off guard, a strange, loud noise came out of my mouth. He had yet to start up our playful banter and my heart soared. Jimin was a very cheeky man, his tongue sharp, and with a quick snapback time, he was difficult to take down. Our text exchanges were always brief and about work, but he managed to squeeze in at least one teasing comment about my age. He said calling him ‘kiddo’ is what started the whole thing.

“Just get in the truck,” He sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes.

Huffing, I went across the lawn and got into the unlocked truck on the curb. The interior was just as refurbished as the exterior. The bench was covered in a dark green vinyl, and I could tell the rubber carpet mats were new. It smelled much better in Jimin’s truck. Less like cigarettes and more like the cologne he wore. It was floral, powdery, but with a subtle spice that made it bitter-sweet. It had a nice scent. It suited a man like Jimin whose own spice was buried underneath his pretty visage.

Watching him jog across the yard, I suppressed a sigh. It was easier to ignore how pretty he was when we were around other people. Now it felt impossible. His clothes stuck to him like a second skin, the black leather pants (which I had only just noticed were leather) making his thighs bulge and accentuating his backside. He was gorgeous and I felt sorry that I would have to keep it to myself. Jimin deserved to be told things like that, but it was not my place to do so. Not as a coach, trainer, or otherwise.

He tossed my things into the cab of the truck as if they weighed nothing. Arms lifted; his shirt rose revealing a delicious patch of skin. Watching him in the rearview mirror, I swallowed audibly. A thin, almost nonexistent patch of hair touched his belly button. Forcing myself to look away, I took a few deep breaths.

This trip was going to be long. Very, very long.

The drive down the road was quiet. Jimin’s radio was out, and he needed to replace it, so music was not an option, and he did not seem to want to fill the space between us. Neither did I. My growing bashfulness around him was distracting and strange. I had always been surrounded by attractive men, all of my friends back home were very good looking, but none affected me in the same way Jimin had. Perhaps it was due to my relationship with Namjoon that made all of the other men pale in comparison, but I could never know for sure. Either way, it was incredibly frustrating.

We drove for less than ten minutes. Calvin and Violet were the elderly couple renting out the small house in their backyard. Jimin had spoken to them for me, and they were all too willing to help me out. Violet nearly cried when I told her I was going to pay all of my rent up front, and actually did when I told her that I would help her fix up some things around the house while I was in town. The Andersons seemed like lovely people, and I was happy to know them.

Pulling up to the house I smiled. It was exactly how I imagined it would be. The Anderson house was a simple, All-American home with a front porch. The window trimming was black, house white, and a beautiful garden wrapped around the front at either side. The roof and front door were the same color green as Jimin’s truck, and it helped the otherwise unnoteworthy home feel more inviting. Sitting on the porch swing was Violet, her silver hair braided down her shoulder.

“Before we get out,” Jimin mumbled, waving at Violet through my window. The old woman waved back, a large smile on her face making her look twenty years younger. “The Andersons are great people, but Calvin’s starting to forget stuff. Violet won’t admit it but it’s getting hard on her to deal with him. He can become very angry so keep an ear out. Last time he had an episode, Violet called my dad crying. She’s not handling it well.”

I frowned, my heart hurting, “Sure thing. I’ll let you know if anything happens.”

“Thanks.”

He was out of the car a few seconds later, voice so sweet and bubbly you would have never guessed what we had been talking about. Staring after him, my eyes squinted. I would have to keep my eye on him. Jimin was a great actor.

Getting out of the truck, I took out my bags and slung my duffle on my back. Jimin was quick to take my suitcase away once he caught me in the corner of his eye. Violet seemed positively giddy about it and made a few inappropriate comments about Jimin needing to settle down.

“I’m just saying,” She laughed when Jimin scoffed, face flushing the prettiest shade of pink. “You’re going to make a young woman very happy. Might as well get started.”

It was strange to think about my trainee seeing someone. He had made it very clear in his interviews over the years that his dating life was on hold until he was finished swimming. He did not want the added distraction and his family life was far too chaotic for him to focus on someone. This did not seem to deter Violet and her comments about his love life, or lack thereof, continued until we got inside of the house.

“Well,” Violet acknowledged me for the first time since I arrived, “This is the main house. It’s not much but it’ll work. Christian, take her stuff out back.”

I cringed. It really did not suit Jimin at all, but he seemed completely unfazed. Violet used his names interchangeably, sometimes calling him Jimin and other times Christian, but his English name rolled off her tongue more often than not. I wondered why she even bothered calling him Jimin at all. He did not seem to care either way.

Looking around the little house, I was pleasantly surprised by how clean it all was. The floors were carpeted and the walls a bright white, family photos hung up alongside landscape paintings. During my two-hour phone call with Violet, the woman talked my ear off, she bragged about Calvin’s art. I had to admit they were all very beautiful and I wanted to know where he had found all of the slices of heaven he captured. I hoped the places themselves were more colorful than he depicted. The muted washes of color made them blend in with the rest of the boring house even with how nice they were.

The furniture was just as boring as the house itself. All of it was cream or beige, nothing of importance really stuck out to me, and I was disappointed. All I could figure out about the couple was one was an artist and they had children and grandchildren they loved displaying. Even the smell of the house lacked character. No air freshener, no food, and no perfumes. Nothing to give away that people actually lived here. The Anderson home was a foil to the Park’s in every way.

“Come on out back,” Violet was already across the house, standing in front of a door beside the kitchen. “This is the utility room. You can do your laundry here.”

Following behind her, I felt even more depressed looking at her kitchen. It was nice, new appliances and a pretty coffee station on the corner closest to the utility room door, but it was bland. All white cabinets, white marble countertops, and stainless steel everything. Even the curtains hanging around the windows above the sink were dreadfully plain.

The utility room, like everything else, was plain. The washer and dryer were white, the floor concrete, and the shelving barebones. The detergent was the most colorful thing I saw since arriving. Somehow even this room smelled like absolutely nothing. Directly across from the door we entered was the backdoor and Violet told me where they would hide a key for me to be able to get inside.

“Ready to see it?” She asked, smiling politely.

I nodded, “Thanks again for renting it out to me.”

She chuckled, “No thanks needed. You were paying, that was enough for me to say yes.”

The back porch was tiny, just barely big enough for the both of us to stand on. There was a small vegetable garden along the side of the house, but it was empty. Noticing my wandering eyes, Violet told me all about the turnips and gourds she had been planting this season. She had watermelon and tomatoes in the summer, but they were long gone. The rest of the yard was taken up by my home for the next few months.

It was small, but that was to be expected. What disappointed me, though I should have not been very surprised, was how white it was. The windows were a dark gray, a small porch was set up with enough room for one of those hanging egg chairs, and two built-in planters. They were empty and Violet told me I was welcome to give gardening a chance if I was interested. She was planning on growing some flowers eventually, but she was not sure what she wanted.

The front door was open, Jimin already inside, and Violet and I went in. There was a small entryway, two doors leading to rooms I would explore later, and a small shoe rack. I took mine off and put them up. Violet watched me and took hers off as well.

“Audrey told me I should put one in here,” I was learning that Violet enjoyed meaningless small talk. “Glad I did. Don’t think Christian took his shoes off, though.”

I shrugged, “No biggie. I was going to clean up around here anyway.”

The house opened up to my right and I was happy with the space. I had a fully functional kitchen and enough space for my coffee cabinet along the wall. The living room would be able to fit a small loveseat, television, and coffee table. It was white and plain, but I was very happy with the floors. Whoever picked out the dark vinyl flooring must have had me in mind. I would go crazy if this place was as sterile as the Andersons’.

“I put your stuff in your room.”

Turning I grinned at Jimin. It was sweet of him to help me out. I was going to pick up my car tomorrow morning and he had volunteered to drive me. We would be starting our training next week so I could have some time to settle in. All of my furniture was arriving either tomorrow or the day after and my hands would be full. I was counting on Jimin and his friends to help me unpack. His manager was going to make himself known as well, but would not be staying for long. Apparently, according to Jimin, Sejin was not one to get his hands dirty.

“Thank you.”

“I’ll let you get settled in,” Violet was already scratching to leave, and I wondered why. She had been very hospitable over the phone. “You’re welcome to join us for dinner. Calvin is going to bring the air mattress out here tonight, so you have someplace to sleep.”

With a kiss on Jimin’s cheek, Violet slipped on her flats and left. Alone with Jimin again, I found it hard to speak. We were much better over text. Looking just as lost as I was, Jimin scratched the back of his neck and looked down.

“My, uh, my mom offered you her couch if you want it,” He stuttered, his face turning red. “Or, uh, um, you can take the spare room at my place,” He let out a huge gust of wind. “It’s a bit of a drive but I do have the space.”

Flustered, I quickly declined, “Thanks but I’ll be fine here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jimin shook his head, the redness spreading down his neck. “For sure. Totally.”

The air was awkward now and I could not figure out how to fix it. Jimin was the one always breaking the ice between us, and now that he was acting like this I was stranded at sea. Even when he warned me he was more reserved in person I had not expected this. He was so quiet and skittish. How was I supposed to work with him if I could not get the courage to speak?

“Thanks for the offer,” I cleared my throat. “Are you staying for dinner?”

He shook his head, “I promised Jungkook we’d go out tonight. Any other time I’d say yes.”

I asked my disappointment. The thought of spending time with Violet and Calvin alone made me deeply uncomfortable. Their house felt like a hospital room and her weird behavior was unsettling. I could only hope Calvin was nicer but from what Jimin said he was a ticking time bomb. It would be nice to have someone act as a buffer.

“Why was she acting so strangely?” I asked, hoping Jimin had picked up on it as well. “It was like a totally different person.”

He frowned, “I think she’s just on edge since Calvin went to the doctor’s today. Their daughter took him, and she hasn’t heard anything. She’s a sweet woman, don’t worry.”

Now I felt like an asshole.

“That’s understandable,” I murmured. “Do you think she’ll be upset if I order food for all of us? If she’s stressed out, I don’t want her feeling like she has to cook for me.”

Jimin smiled, “She would appreciate it. I’ll go talk to her, how does that sound?”

I nodded, grateful. “That would be nice. The house gives me the creeps.”

That made him laugh, “What? Why?”

I shrugged, giggling with him.

“Feels like a funeral home or something. I hate the minimalist aesthetic.”

Jimin bit his lip, “You’d probably hate my place, too, then.”

I chuckled. It was easy to imagine Jimin inside of a huge modern house, dark wood and barely anything in it. He was a single man, busy, and spent so much time at his parent’s house it did not matter what he had inside of his own place. Not wanting to make him self conscious, I bit my tongue.

“I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

He cocked his head to the side, and I laughed.

“Fine,” I conceded. “I would probably dislike it, but I don’t think it looks like a white padded cell.”

I may have been exaggerating a bit, but it was not that far off from how the Anderson home looked to me. I hoped by asking me to help fix up a few things, Violet meant giving the house a much-needed makeover. If I was lucky, I might be able to convince her to get a few throw pillows to break up the monotony.

“Jeez,” Jimin laughed. “Harsh critic.”

“Well, is it?” I joked, glad to have found our footing again.

“No,” He shook his head in thought. “It’s mostly gray and black, but still just as empty. Probably emptier, honestly. I don’t have as many pictures as Violet does.”

Smirking, he snapped his fingers, “My trophy room is pretty colorful. I have a lot of pictures and shit in there.”

That made me smile. I was not bringing any of my memorabilia here, but it was nice to hear him sound so proud of himself. I kept most of my competition stuff in my basement, a large China cabinet displaying all of my awards. My favorite had to be the small, cheaply made trophy sat at the very top. It was beside my Olympic medals, worn and dull beside the beautiful necklaces, but I loved it all the same.

It was the first trophy I ever won. I was seven and my dad convinced me to sign up for a swimming competition my swim class was hosting. He promised to come. I practiced a lot preparing for it and made use of the new above ground pool my dad had bought. I won the race. My own joy and happiness made me forget that he never showed up until it was time to go home. I had to wait with my coach for two hours, and by the end of it she felt so bad for me she took me out for ice cream. Dad never apologized, I don’t even think he acknowledged that I won at all, and I never tried to bring it up again. Still, I loved that stupid thing. It was the reason I wanted to compete. That little pocket of happiness between winning and realizing that no one cared was precious to me and I held onto it.

“I need to get going,” Jimin sighed, reaching into his back pocket and snapping me out of my thoughts. “Jungkook’s blowing up my phone. Just got broken up with and needs a drinking buddy.”

I sucked in air through my teeth, “Well, your services are needed. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Jimin smiled at me, “See you tomorrow, yeah?”

I nodded, “See you.”

He lingered in the entryway for a moment more before shaking out of whatever trance he had been in. Slipping his converse back on, Jimin waved at me before walking outside. His face was buried in his phone, so he never saw me wave back. He shut the door, the sound echoing in the empty house, and I was once again left alone.

Violet came out a few minutes later to discuss take out until we finally landed on pizza. She never said thank you, but her offer to give the tip since I was paying was more than enough. Then later when a few of my boxes came in early she happily carried them to me. She even helped me put everything away. When Calvin came home, she led me back inside and said with so much affection it made my heart melt.

"Calvin, this is Y/N. Sweetest woman I ever did meet. Bought us dinner."

Calvin reminded me of Namjoon in a way. His soft eyes and gentle voice. He took my hand when I introduced myself, his hands cold and soft. Wrinkles and sunspots went up the length of his arms.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," He said.

"Likewise," I replied.

We ate in silence, the three of us watching Jeopardy on the sofa. Even though I had been nervous about eating inside, Calvin's presence warmed the place up. Once a prison now felt like a poorly decorated home. A home filled with love.

As I watched them together, Calvin reaching out for Violet's hand and her giving it to him without question, I felt myself getting choked up. There had been a time I had that. Joon would be on the floor, book in his lap, while my hands were in his hair as I studied my training tapes.

I left early that night. I blew up the mattress, the house quiet, before sending out a few texts to my friends to let them know I was getting on alright. After that, I put on nature sounds to help me drift off to sleep. I had not felt this lonely in a very long time.

Taglist: @ownthesunshine @screamertannie @lovelytaes-blog @pernesianparapio

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dreamwritesimagines · 3 months

Text

The Eye of the Hurricane [11] - Arrogance

A.N: Here’s the new chapter my loves! ❤️ Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: Engagement period is supposed to be romantic.

Word Count: 3300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, death, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, drinking. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

For the next couple of days, you barely had any time for yourself. It wasn’t as if you were naive enough to believe planning a wedding would be relaxing, but this?

This was something else.

“Can I just let you handle the whole thing?” you asked your wedding planner on the phone, leaning back on your seat while you kept your eyes on the people in the café and she let out a laugh.

“I mean don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your trust in me,” she said. “But you still need to choose among the things I send you, otherwise it’ll be like it's my wedding.”

“I don’t know, you strike me as a person who has good taste,” you said. “I might not be completely opposed to that idea.”

“Thanks but I already planned and had my wedding.”

“Right!” you said, snapping your fingers. “You said you were married to a professor, right?”

“Mm hm.”

“Was there like an open floor for discussions on your wedding?”

“Nah, more like an open bar,” she said. “And don’t try to distract me, my assistant sent you like one hundred emails.”

“I know, I know…” you muttered. “At least I decided on the place.”

“Yeah one down, ninety-nine to go,” she said. “Barnes weekend residence. We’re going there tomorrow right?”

“Yeah at 2 o’clock, it’s already on my calendar.”

“Great,” she said. “Answer my emails by then, please?”

“I will, talk to you later!” you said as you saw Ethan walk into the café and you waved at him after hanging up.

“Hey!” he said, coming to hug you when you stood up from your seat. “It’s been a while!”

“Hey yourself,” you said and pulled back from the hug to smile at him, then sat down when he did. “Yeah, sorry about that. I’ve been busy.”

“So I figured,” he said after ordering a coffee to the waiter who approached your table to take his order and you sat up straighter.

“How about you?” you said. “How is everything at the company?”

“Also pretty chaotic,” he said with a small smile. “I’ve been working overtime, a lot.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah!” he said. “Yeah it’s just…it’s a really big company that wants things done in a certain way.”

“Do you want me to send someone around so that they can talk to your boss?”

His eyes widened.

“I—you—” he stammered. “I’m— I’m honored but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head. “If they’re giving you a hard time, it’s only fair if they have a hard time as well.”

He stared at you as the waiter put the cup of coffee in front of him, and then he cleared his throat.

“I’ll never get used to your lifestyle I think.”

“That’s a good thing,” you said with a small smile. “Please don’t.”

“So how about you?” he asked. “What have you been up to?”

You blinked a couple of times, nervousness churning your stomach before you took a sip of your coffee.

“That’s actually why I asked you here,” you muttered. “And I—I know it’s going to sound a bit rushed, but um…”

He pulled his brows together, his whole attention on you.

“What is it?” he asked and you swallowed thickly, then tried to smile.

“I’m getting married.”

He gawked at you for a couple of seconds in complete silence as if he wasn’t sure if he had heard you right while you just sat there, nibbling on your lip.

“You…you what?” he asked when he could pull himself together and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Getting married,” you said. “In a month, actually.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in a relationship—”

“I wasn’t,” you cut him off and a look of realization dawned on his face, making him pull back slightly.

“This is what we talked about all those years ago, isn’t it?” he asked. “Back at college. I asked you numerous times and you said no but in your world—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted him again. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You can say no,” he insisted and you sipped your coffee, reminding yourself to not let anything show on your face.

“What makes you think I want to say no?”

“You want to get married?” he asked with a dry laugh. “And to whom, if you don’t mind me ask?”

“Bucky Barnes.”

Ethan blinked a couple of times.

“…Bucky Barnes as in the guy you hate?”

“Things change,” you said calmly and he scoffed.

“Do they?” he asked. “So it’s a love marriage? Nothing to do with your family business?”

“To repeat, you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Your world—”

“Ethan, I don’t mean to be rude,” you said through your teeth. “But if you genuinely believe that you know anything about my world, you’re fooling yourself.”

He pressed his lips together, then took a deep breath and pushed his chair back, your bodyguards sitting up straighter as if on cue but you held up a hand, gesturing at them to sit still. Ethan looked between you and the bodyguards, then let out a somber chuckle and put some cash on the table.

“For the coffee,” he said and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Ethan…”

“If they’re forcing you to do this—”

“Nobody is forcing me,” you told him, looking him in the eye and he nodded his head slowly.

“Then I guess congratulations on the wedding,” he said with a sad smile. “I’m not going to pretend I know anything about your world Y/N, I’m just…I’m just wondering what happened to the girl who told me she’d only marry for love, that’s all.”

With that, he walked out of the café and you gritted your teeth, then pressed your palms on your eyes, slouching in your chair.

“I killed her I guess,” you muttered to yourself and lowered your hands. “Occupational hazard and all.”

As you knocked on the door to Becca’s apartment, you could swear your head was about to explode from the headache pounding in your temples. You heaved a sigh and rubbed at your eyes, then heard the footsteps before the door opened.

“Oh hi Y/N!” Leila said. “It's great to see you, I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Sorry to bother you,” you said, offering her a smile. “Is this a bad time?”

“Not at all, come in!”

“Is Becca here?”

“Yeah!” she said as she stepped aside so that you could go in. “We were just watching—um, are you okay?”

“Not exactly,” you grumbled and made your way to the living room to see Becca sitting on the couch with the remote in her hand.

“Hey, I didn’t know—” she started but stopped talking when you flung yourself on the other couch across from hers, letting out a groan. You could hear Leila entering the living room as well and you raised your head from the pillow with a sigh.

“Do either of you have a painkiller?”

“Oh yeah, let me get it for you,” Leila said and rushed to the kitchen while you pulled yourself up into a sitting position, then hugged a pillow over your stomach.

“What’s going on?” Becca asked and you huffed out.

“Terrible day. Do you want to go out for drinks?”

“I’d love to but I have plans,” she said apologetically. “I’ll go out in like an hour.”

“What plans?”

“Uh…therapy,” she answered as Leila came back to the living room holding a glass of water and a pill.

“Thank you so much,” you said as you took them from her and she smiled at you, then went to sit beside Becca after you swallowed the pill and put the glass on the small coffee table.

“So?” Becca said. “What happened? Is it Bucky?”

“For once, nope.”

“Congratulations on the engagement by the way!” Leila said. “To be honest, I could kind of tell something was there even when you two kept arguing that night.”

You raised your brows and stole a look at Becca who shrugged her shoulders subtly. It wasn’t that you thought she would say anything to anyone about the real reason why you and Bucky were getting married, but she had fallen so head over heels in love with Leila that it took you by surprise that she hadn’t told her either.

But on a second thought, you knew you shouldn’t have been surprised. Not only would you trust Becca with your life, but Becca was also raised with the same rules as you and Bucky were, and secrets were almost sacred in your world.

“Thanks,” you said with a small smile. “It’s a bit rushed but when you know you know.”

“That’s so true,” Leila said, holding Becca’s hand and a cute blush spread over Becca’s cheeks, making you smile despite the headache.

“So it’s not Bucky then?” Becca asked and you massaged your temples.

“Ethan.”

“Oh I liked Ethan—” Leila started, but stopped when she saw the look on your face. “Or you know, I could also hate him if we hate him now, I don’t mind.”

“No no,” you said. “He’s sweet but um…I told him the news about the wedding and he understandably did not like it.”

“You two weren’t together though?”

“Eh, there was still something,” Becca said. “He likes you, a lot.”

“He thinks I’m being forced into this,” you said and Becca shot you a smile.

“As if anyone could force you into marrying my brother.”

“I mean it’s not the nineteenth century,” Leila pointed out and Becca let out a laugh.

“So, how heartbroken was he?”

“I wouldn’t say he was heartbroken,” you muttered. “Just angry I guess. And I get it, I haven’t been completely honest with him—” You were cut off when your phone started vibrating and you took a look at the screen, then pushed yourself off the couch.

“I’ll be right back,” you said and walked to Becca’s bedroom, then took the phone to your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Hey beautiful,” Bucky’s voice reached you and you sat down on Becca’s bed, fully aware that you were pouting your lips.

“Hey.”

“How’s your day going?”

“Meh,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “What is it?”

“I just called to let you know we have a dinner reservation tonight,” he said. “I’ll pick you up from the hotel around 8?”

You made a face. “Why?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t like your presence any more than you like mine,” you stated. “And it’ll be harder for me to ignore you in a restaurant if it’s just the two of us having dinner.”

“I mean, you do realize you don’t have to ignore me—”

“I know I don’t have to, it’s more of a hobby,” you said. “So? Why are you taking me out to dinner?”

“Because if we want people to believe it’s a love marriage rather than what it actually is, we need to be seen outside as a couple,” he said and you heaved a sigh, then ran a hand over your face.

“Right.”

“So then—”

“Yeah you can pick me up at 8,” you said and he paused for a second.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You sound a bit…”

“Yeah I’m fine,” you said in a rush. “It’s just you know, this whole marriage thing—I’m fine. I’m great.”

“Very convincing,” he deadpanned and you scoffed a laugh.

“Just pick a nice restaurant, will you?” you asked and hung up before he could retort, then huffed out and got up from the bed to walk back to the living room to see Leila walking to the kitchen.

“So Becca has stuff to do but I figured we could drink and watch trash TV if you’d like?” she asked as soon as she saw you. “I can make mimosas.”

You blinked a couple of times and nodded fervently.

“That’d be great!” you said and she gave you a happy smile, then entered the kitchen. You smiled to yourself, then flung yourself next to Becca.

“I’ve changed my mind,” you said and Becca tilted her head.

“About what?”

“About what I said earlier,” you said. “You totally should propose and marry her, she’s amazing.”

Even you had to admit, the restaurants in Bucky’s territory were better than the ones in your father’s territory.

It was rather annoying but considering your house with him would of course be in his territory, at least you already knew you would get good food whenever you two went out for dinner. Bucky’s palm was warm on the small of your back and if it were any other time you would have slipped out of his grasp but you let him guide you to the restaurant.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s an honor,” A man greeted you two by the entrance. “Your table is ready, please follow me.”

You looked around the luxurious interior as you and Bucky made your way to your table, and a waiter pulled your chair for you to sit down. You took a quick look at the menu before ordering and Bucky just asked for his usual, and you watched the waiter walk away with the man.

“I don’t think I’ve been here before,” you told Bucky. “When did it open?”

“Around a year ago,” he said. “I like it here, it’s…private, mostly.”

You hummed while the waiter filled your glass with wine and you took a sip, enjoying the nice taste.

“So my dad called while I was getting ready,” you said. “Apparently he will talk to Stark sometime this week.”

“I have a pretty good guess about how that will go,” Bucky muttered and you bit inside your cheek.

“You think Stark will make things difficult?”

“I mean he’s not going to like it because two families uniting means a tremendous power in the city,” Bucky stated. “Let’s see how he reacts and plan accordingly.”

“Might have to sweettalk him,” you said. “Gift him a shipment or two. And Romanoff?”

“I’m meeting her tomorrow,” he said. “Steve will be there too, they’re old friends. Any stupid comments from Ian lately?”

“Nope. By the way I was going to ask you but I forgot—that night, when you and Ian were talking,” you said. “What did he tell you?”

Bucky scoffed before taking a sip of his wine.

“He was saying that you wanted to be an active player in the business,” he said with a small smile. “Just in case I didn’t know.”

You rolled your eyes. “Idiot.”

“But I don’t think he suspects anything.”

“No, he thinks the same as my dad,” you said with a dry laugh. “I get married and pop out a few babies and become a fucking Stepford Wife.”

Bucky shot you a grin, then his head shot up.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said and took out a small velvet box out of his pocket, then put it on the table. You arched a brow.

“Is that the ring?”

“Yeah.”

“Nah you can take it back,” you said after sipping your wine. “I’ll go and check some jewelers tomorrow and get something pretty, they can send you the bill.”

He pulled his brows together. “You didn’t even look at it.”

“I don’t need to, I’ve seen the women you dated,” you pointed out. “Something tells me they didn’t educate you well about jewelry so there’s no need for—”

You stopped talking when he reached out to open the small box for you and your eyes fell upon the ring, the rest of your sentence getting stuck in your throat. The pear-shaped diamond on the delicate rose gold band was so pretty that for a couple of seconds you could only stare at it while it glimmered under the dim light of the restaurant, almost hypnotizing you before you remembered to pull yourself together.

It was definitely to your taste, as if…

“Becca helped you,” you managed to say as you reached out to take it into your hand and he nodded.

“Mm hm. Today.”

“Well played.”

Bucky gave you a proud smile, his piercing blue gaze almost too hot on your skin and you slipped the ring onto your finger, then held up your hand so that you could look at it better.

“It’s pretty,” you said. “I’m keeping it in the divorce by the way.”

He clutched as his chest. “Don’t be so romantic Charm, I’m going to get emotional.”

That made a laugh spill from your lips while the waiter brought your food, and you thanked him while Bucky leaned forward on his elbows as if he wasn’t even aware of anything else but you.

“Can I ask you something?”

“No.”

“How did you use to imagine it?”

You looked at him. “Imagine what?”

“Your engagement period, your wedding, you name it,” he said and you hummed, then leaned back.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe we can make the wedding the way you pictured it,” he said and you scoffed a laugh.

“I doubt it,” you said. “When I pictured my wedding, I always pictured myself in love. There was this fairytale wedding, gorgeous wedding gown, we’d go to Paris for the honeymoon and he’d be reciting poetry about how much he was in love with me in bed.”

Bucky blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat.

“I’m not good with poetry.”

“Never thought you were,” you said. “Eh, maybe my second marriage will go the way I pictured it.”

That caused a shadow to cross his eyes but he recovered fast, sipping his drink.

“How about you?” you asked. “How did you use to imagine your second marriage?”

He tilted his head. “What happened to my first marriage?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you said, pointing at him with your fork. “Funny story. You knocked her up and you guys decided to keep it because you got emotional and it would be your first heir, so you two ended up getting married in a rush and named that baby your actual heir.”

An amused smile curled his lips. “Interesting. Go on.”

“But after the baby, that marriage turned into one full of resentment and then you decided it was a good idea to fuck your secretary.”

“So I live in a porn scenario?” he asked and you nodded.

“Pretty much. Then your wife left you, took away all your things—”

“I don’t have a prenup?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

“Impossible.”

“You don’t exactly have a prenup with me.”

He winked at you. “Maybe I trust you.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” you retorted, making him chuckle. “But yeah, your first wife divorced you. Sorry you had to find out this way.”

“It was good while it lasted, I’m sure.”

“Wouldn’t be so sure, she hates you,” you said airily. “Rightfully, that is. Then you meet your second wife who definitely deserves better than you, but by some miracle she stays with you.”

“Thanks a lot, she sounds amazing.”

“Right?” you said. “There you go. Your two marriages.”

“Very creative,” he pointed out. “Do I recite poetry to her in this scenario?”

“Yes but you also have performance problems so romance makes up for it, in a way,” you stated and he smirked.

“You seem to put a lot of thought into my performance, pillow princess.”

Your jaw dropped as you gasped. “Wh—how dare—you don’t even—”

“Please,” he said. “You dream of a guy reciting poetry to you on your honeymoon.”

You could feel your cheeks burning as you glared daggers at him.

“Shut up,” you grumbled, making him smirk.

“That being said, you have nothing to worry about my performance.”

You rolled your eyes at him while you chewed on your bite, then swallowed it.

“See Bucky, this is exactly why when I divorce you, I’m keeping the ring and the weekend house,” you pointed at him with your fork, coaxing a chuckle out of him. “You’re too arrogant for your own good.”

Chapter 12

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #mob!bucky barnes #mob! bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia bucky barnes #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia bucky x reader #mafia!bucky #mob bucky barnes #mob bucky #mob boss!bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob boss bucky barnes #mob!au #mob au

345 notes · View notes

zapreportsblog · 7 months

Text

❝HUSBAND❞

✭ PAIRING : Edward Cullen x Reader

✭ FANDOM : Twilight

✭ SUMMARY : When Edward proposed to Bella he expected her to accept after all they were mates? Right? Wrong! Bella rejected edwards proposal breaking his undead heart in the process, not being able to withstand the aftermath Edward leaves home; only to return 2 years later but this time he’s married?!

✭ AUTHORS NOTE : I already know there is a story on here called the same story with the same cover (on quotev at least) mines had been edited to a clearer form, (again on quotev) that was my old account, (marveluserlovesmarbel again on quotev was my old and very first account) one of my first actually. If I can remember the login information from it I’d log back in and post my stories from their over here but for now enjoy the remake of said story :)

✭ QUOTEV VERSION

✭ HUSBAND MASTERLIST

✭ CHAPTER TWO : A Surprise Homecoming

Inside the Cullen home, a sense of curiosity and anticipation hung in the air. The family gathered at the entrance, drawn by Alice's sudden vision and the excitement radiating from her. Her golden eyes sparkled as she clapped her hands together.

"I just had a vision," Alice announced, "Edward is coming back, and he should be arriving any minute now."

Everyone exchanged glances, surprised and eager to see Edward again. Moments later, the sound of an approaching car could be heard, and they watched as Edward pulled into the driveway. As he stepped out of the car, they were taken aback by the presence of a woman in the passenger seat. Edward opened her door, and they exited the vehicle, both smiling warmly at the Cullen family.

Edward greeted his siblings with hugs and was bombarded with questions about his trip. Carlisle suggested they continue the conversation inside, and they all moved into the house.

Once inside, Edward introduced the woman beside him. "Everyone, this is (Y/n). We got married."

The room fell into stunned silence. Carlisle was the first to break it, his face a mixture of surprise and happiness. "Edward, this is wonderful news, but since when did you get married?"

Edward explained, "We got married a year ago."

Alice gasped, fake outrage coloring her tone. "And you didn't let me plan your wedding? Unacceptable!"

Laughter rippled through the room as they realized Alice was teasing. Edward smiled, "Honestly, after Bella, I didn't expect to find love again."

Esme stepped forward, her motherly warmth enveloping them. "Well, I'm happy you did, son." She turned to (Y/n) and asked, "Now, how did you two come to be?"

(Y/n) laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I tried to kill him."

Bewildered looks crossed the faces of the Cullen family. Jasper scoffed and nodded. "That explains it."

”I’m sorry what?!”

”What can I say, it’s in my blood to hunt creatures like Edward,” (y/n) says with a laugh.

“Hunt? Are you a hunter?” Esme asked with slight hesitation.

”Yeah. My last name was Winchester but i guess it’s now (Y/n) Winchester Cullen, decided to keep my last name you know.”

Jasper can’t help but scoff, “Figures.”

Everyone was still puzzled, and Jasper elaborated, "The Winchesters are a hot-blooded family of hunters."

Edward added, "We're also mates."

Rosalie, never one to hide her feelings about Bella, couldn't help but ask, "Wait, aren't you and Bella mates?"

Edward explained, "When I met Bella, it was her blood that called out to me. She was my blood singer, which is why I felt such a strong connection to her. I deluded myself into thinking I loved her for her. But when I met (Y/n), I instantly felt the mate bond."

The family began to understand, and the room filled with smiles and warm welcomes for (Y/n). It was a surprising turn of events, and everyone felt a sense of joy and acceptance as they welcomed Edward and his new love back into their immortal lives.

┉

As the Cullen family settled into their cozy living room, the girls - Alice, Esme, Rosalie, and (Y/n) - conspired to have some girl talk out on the balcony. They silently made their way outside, leaving the boys to their own devices.

On the balcony, a sense of camaraderie and curiosity enveloped the girls. Esme leaned against the railing, looking at (Y/n) with a warm smile. "So, (Y/n), how did you find out that Edward was a vampire?"

(Y/n) leaned against the balcony and looked out at the starry night sky. "He did a good job hiding it at first, but after a few weeks, I noticed something unusual. One day, he reached out for something, and his hand caught the sunlight, causing it to sparkle like diamonds. I couldn't ignore that."

Rosalie's eyebrows arched in interest. "And what did you do next?"

(Y/n) chuckled. "I did what any person would do in this situation—I did some research. I found out about the myth of vampires sparkling in the sunlight, and it all started to make sense."

Esme nodded, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "You were pretty observant."

(Y/n) shrugged. "I guess I've always had a knack for details."

Rosalie, intrigued by the prospect of conversation, leaned in closer. "Have you encountered more of our kind?"

(Y/n) thought for a moment before responding. "I've hunted vampires, but they're of different vampiric natures. Some of them don't sparkle, instead, they burn in the sunlight. Others have special jewelry that allows them to go into the sunlight without a problem."

Alice leaned forward, her golden eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Tell us more about the supernatural creatures you've encountered."

(Y/n) began to share stories of her encounters with various supernatural beings, including werewolves, shape-shifters, and even ancient mythical creatures. The girls listened with rapt attention, enjoying the opportunity to learn about (Y/n)'s adventurous life.

Back in the living room, the boys decided to go on a hunt, giving the girls some privacy. Edward proposed the idea, and Emmett, Carlisle, and Jasper readily agreed. With their departure, the girls had their opportunity to get to know (y/n) better.

In the heart of the dark woods, the Cullen brothers and father continued their hunt. Jasper, after a moment of contemplation, decided to address the questions that had been gnawing at him. He turned to Edward and said, "You look well."

Edward chuckled, his voice a wry whisper. "What's with the small talk, Jasper? You know I can hear your thoughts going a million miles a minute."

Jasper sighed, his concern evident. "Why a hunter, Edward? I know she's your mate, but you could've pulled away."

Edward's eyes, glinting like polished onyx in the moonlight, met Jasper's. "You know I wouldn't have been able to pull away if I felt the pull."

Jasper persisted, his voice tinged with worry. "She's a hunter, Edward. She's dangerous."

Edward countered, "And I'm a vampire. I can be dangerous too."

Emmett, who had been silently listening, finally chimed in. "I mean, they both can kill each other at the end of the day. Can't we move on from this topic?"

Jasper was unrelenting. "No, he's putting us all in danger. Aside from her being the very thing that kills us, she's also a human."

Edward's brow furrowed, and he asked, "What's your problem, Jasper?"

Jasper's voice grew more serious. "Listen, you've never faced a Winchester before. I have. Trust me, you don't want to cross their path."

Before the argument could escalate any further, Carlisle intervened. "Gentlemen, I suggest we drop this argument for now. I see something." He pointed toward a deer approaching through the trees, reminding them of the primary purpose of their venture. The brothers refocused their attention on the hunt, leaving their concerns and debates for another time.

The Cullen brothers and father, fresh from their successful hunt, made their way back to the house. Emmett carried the lifeless deer, a triumph in his strong arms. As they approached the house, their senses picked up the unmistakable scent of a familiar visitor. Bella Swan had arrived, her red beat-up pickup truck parked near the house.

Bella hesitated by the truck, her posture awkward and uncertain. She called out to Edward, "Hey, Edward. It's been a while."

Edward's face remained a mask of emotionless grace, but he kindly greeted her with a simple, "Hello, Bella."

Bella continued, "I didn't believe Charlie when he said he saw you passing through Forks. He said he saw you with someone. I take it you've brought a friend?"

Before Edward could answer, (Y/n) appeared, coming outside with a warm smile to greet him and the others. She rushed into Edward's arms, showering him with affectionate kisses on the face.

"My love," (Y/n) said, her voice filled with both relief and happiness. "You've been gone for so long, I got worried."

Edward's stoic facade softened as he held (Y/n) close, returning her affection with a warm embrace. Bella watched their reunion with a mix of emotions, perhaps sensing that the connection between Edward and (Y/n) was deeper and more profound than she had ever experienced with him.

420 notes · View notes

h0rnyauth0r · 10 months

Text

being stuck in a power outage with ghost, who you don’t get along with <3

i'm sorry to take months between content :( i hope everyone's doing well! i missed writing so much!

word count: 2.8k

warnings: reaader w/ vagina, use of good girl, cumming inside, unprotected sex, and other smut-typical moments

you can admit when you’re wrong to basically anybody, really. like right now, you know it’s a bad idea to sneak off during a briefing about the mission you’re going to be going on, but listening to ghost for any longer will have you ripping your hair out and screaming.

you hate that man with a passion, with the utmost sincerity of your being. he pushes you more than the others, he constantly ridicules your movements, and he always compares you to everyone else. just the other day you were ordered to run two extra miles for ‘misbehaving’ by talking with soap about holiday plans.

you’d say he has plans to get you to the point of dropping 141 and moving on, but you know that won’t happen. you’ve grown to love the team, even if he may ruin things. his targeting of you hasn’t reached a point where it’s putting you or others into danger, so as far as you’re concerned you’ll be staying.

it’s a rainy day today, clouds shifting across the sky slowly with a dark and gloomy grey making the world around you seem so sad. you love the rain. the distant thunder cracking down as it begins approaching the base. you’re not sure if the storm might interrupt the plans for later, seeing as it may impact flying out.

you shrug the thought off as you enter one of the side rooms, often used for private meetings and for you, reading. the doors here often use a pin code or a keycard to get into for security reasons, which makes things easier despite the dependence on technology.

you want to read a new book that gaz gifted you, saying that he highly recommended it to you after reading it himself. you never thought he’d be into romance novels, but here you are reading a book thats cover displays a withering rose and mentions a scandalous plotline between a ceo of a company and his newest intern.

you take a seat on one of the many chairs and finally open the cover, reading the first few notes and getting started on the first chapter. the writing is decent, and you find yourself enjoying this tacky plotline more than you anticipated.

time passes, and it’s probably been around ten minutes before you hear the sound of the door unlocking followed by heavy footsteps. you know you’ve just fucked yourself over when you hear a deep sigh. it’s ghost.

“figured you’d be here. why did you skip my briefing? it’s important information.” his voice is stern, angry.

you roll your eyes at his reaction and tone. “i can easily just get the info from price, he has the folders. besides, i already know what we’re doing and i’m already packed for leaving.”

the footsteps get closer and his arms reach around your front, snatching the book from your hands and slamming it shut. “if you had actually come to the meeting like any sensible person, you’d know our mission is postponed due to the storms.” he snaps, watching the way you angrily turn around and face him.

you glare at him, “just because it’s been canceled doesn’t mean you can interrupt my reading, lieutenant.”

now he’s rolling his eyes at you, arms crossing with your book still in his hand. “i don’t give a shit about your reading. you can’t disregard the rules here and think you’ll just get away with things because you’re close with price. at this point, i’m not letting you go on the mission. you can stay here since you like it so much.” his voice sounds like a father scolding his child, and you grow angry at the mention of not being allowed to go on the mission anymore.

“you know i can just talk to price and get this settled myself, simon. i will go where i want. now get out and leave me alone if you’re done treating me like a child.”

he slams the book down onto the table in the room and clenches his fists, turning to the door and getting a keycard out to unlock it.

that’s when the whooshing sound loudly interrupts any movements, lights going out and power ultimately failing. you almost immediately groan out, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. the only bit of light is from the crease of the door, and you can practically feel the anger radiating off of ghost.

“uh, the gen should kick on right?” your voice breaks the silence, feeling awkward about even speaking to the man right now.

“it would’ve already. must not have petrol left.” he says, and you can barely make out him taking a seat in one of the chairs in the room.

it’s nearly impossible to see, and the odds of this happening were so slim that you’re now regretting going into this room in the first place. you should’ve gone back to your bunk, but now you’re trapped here with the lieutenant and you don’t know when things will be back.

a loud pounding on the door startles you, and you hear soap’s voice scream at the door. “gaz is getting some petrol now! we were out of supply, the shipment was running late!” he screams, and you wince at how loud he’s being.

“thanks, soap! hopefully he’s back soon.” you say loudly, sinking onto the floor and sitting with your back against the door.

“should be a half hour.” ghost grumbles, and you nod at his words before flushing when you realize he can’t see you nod.

for a few minutes, neither of you say anything. you want to say something, maybe even apologize for your behavior. you know it was wrong of you to skip out on the briefing, and he’s never going to be nice to you if you continue acting out.

“hey, i’m sorry.” you say quietly.

“huh?”

“i’m sorry. for missing the briefing. it was a bad idea. i know it’s not a good look to skip out on those, so i just wanted to apologize. just because we don’t get along doesn’t mean i can fuck with our team’s organization.”

you hear him breathe in deeply, probably contemplating the words to say in the moment. you feel a little nervous with his silence, almost finding yourself feeling worried about him.

he speaks up though, “i understand why you did it. i’m hard on you, more than the others. it’s because you’re stronger and i know you can handle yourself.”

his words make you feel happy, and you actually find yourself smiling because of something he said for the first time ever. you never would’ve thought that this man sees your strength and resilience.

“thank you. can i ask you something?”

“shoot.”

“why do you punish me for talking with soap, or any others for that matter, but not them too?”

he doesn’t reply, and you don’t exactly expect him to. the quiet is mildly overwhelming and has you worried that the small step forward with the older man may have already regressed.

you hear him stand up, though, and take a seat beside you in front of the electric door. the proximity makes you anxious, but his voice is what makes it less intense.

“admittedly, i don’t like seeing others talk with you like that.” his words hold weight in your head, your neck cranking downwards to process. you’re stuck taking in what he said, contemplating what exactly it means.

jealousy? you want it to be true, in the most selfish way. maybe he sees others as a obstacle to you. but you’re certain it’s actually because they may be distracting you from your potential.

“do you think they’re distracting me or something? because they aren’t.”

he lets out a puff of air, which you could assume is the closest you’ll get to hearing his laugh. curiosity, and more importantly, embarrassment, have you growing flustered with that reaction.

“what?” you ask.

he sighs. “i know they’re not distracting you, love.”

your face grows hot, a state of deep embarrassment combining with confusion. his hand reaches out and touches your arm, and you look in his direction with anticipation at what he’s up to.

“i was jealous, since i wanted you to talk to me instead.”

you unintentionally gulp, swallowing harshly and nodding even though you’re in the dark with him. his hand slowly moves up your arm and ends up caressing your face, thumb rubbing over your cheek as you suck in a breath.

“w-why?” you ask.

“can’t you tell why? i thought you were observant.” his voice is closer, right in your ear and you find yourself shivering. a pool of desire is bubbling up in your abdomen, thighs instinctively rubbing together for any tension.

you never would’ve thought that ghost had any interest in you with the way he’s treated you, but you can very much tell now. his very touch is sending sparks through your body and you can’t help but hope he’s willing to fuck you into these cold floors right now.

“i-”

“shh.” he puts his hand over your mouth and your eyes roll back pathetically. if he can have such an impact on you with just words, you can only imagine how good he would be in other areas.

your teeth dig harshly into your bottom lip when his other hand begins reaching for your thigh, kneading into the skin as it moves up and closer to your clothed pussy. he begins massaging the skin there and you whimper desperately.

your panties grow more and more soaked with every passing second and you find yourself staring deeply into his eyes through the darkness. you can see the look in them and it speaks volumes. he knows that you’re completely turned on by him and he’s smug about that fact.

his hand digs into your face and it kind of hurts, but you’re more overcome with the feeling of his other hand pushing at your pants to care about anything else. “you want me?” he asks, voice gruff and lustful.

his hand moves from your face.

“yes.” you whisper breathlessly, willing to do anything at the moment for him.

“good.”

both of his hands tug at your pants, fiddling with the belt and eventually lifting your body up to take them off. your panties stay on, but he fingers at the fabric to rub at your folds.

“do me a favor, yeah? lean against the table for me.” he says, slapping down on your ass as you jump and do what he says. you lean against it like he said, purposefully sticking your ass out so he has more room to work with.

“good girl.” he whispers in your ear, hand pushing your panties aside as his index and middle fingers start circling your clit. you whimper out at the feeling, craving more but allowing him to help prep you for whatever might come.

his fingers are ruthless with their movements, circling and then diving into your wet hole. they curl over and over again before going back out to tease you more. and it isn’t long before you feel your panties soak and you’re practically panting from the amount of pleasure he’s given you.

you can feel yourself getting closer to cumming on his fingers, thrusting your hips back to feel more. “please, more.” you whimper out, and he actually chuckles at your begging.

“more of this?” he asks, pushing three fingers into your hole and curling them to hit that soft spongy spot inside. you cry out when he does that, thighs shaking and knees nearly giving out.

“yes!” you say, feeling like you’re about to teeter off of the edge and absolutely falling apart when his other hand starts to play with your clit again.

you don’t even know what words or sounds come out of your mouth with the force it hits you, his hands coaxing you through it with several chants of ‘good girl’ being whispered into your ear.

his fingers pull out once you’ve come down from your high, a wet sound making you particularly embarrassed with how soaked you are for him. you can hear him taking his belt off behind you and you’re more than eager to feel his dick in you now than you were before.

“you ready?” he asks, and you can hear him using your wetness to coat his cock before he’s lining it up against you and rubbing the tip against your folds.

“fuck, yes.” you mumble to him, eyes rolling back and nails digging into the table harshly as he pushes into you. the tip is so thick that it hurts at first, but once you’re used to it you think you might cum again just from the sensation of him filling your cunt.

“holy shit.” you moan out the words once he’s balls deep, the pressure against your insides feeling so fucking good. you lean down more into the table, and his hands grip your hips tightly as he prepares to move.

and when he does move, you’re breathless. you’ve never been with someone so big who actually knows what they’re doing, and the feeling alone sends you absolutely reeling and wanting this to never end.

“please, go harder.” you say softly, moaning when he listens to your words earnestly.

the table creaks loudly as his pace picks up more, hips hitting your ass hard as he fucks into you with more and more force. he decides to grab around the front of you and pull your back into him, an angle that has you moaning louder than you want to admit.

you can only hope that nobody hears you, but with the slapping sounds of his hips crashing into you and your noises it’s obvious that something is happening in this room right now.

“need to be quiet for me, can you do that?” he asks you, and you shake your head while whimpering out a ‘no’.

his hand grabs your face again, covering your lips and leaving your nose out so you can breathe. he decides to really start pushing it after this, thrusting harder and faster than you thought he could go.

you feel like you’re going to cum again soon. “‘m close.” you whimper against his hand, feeling his free hand reach down and start working your clit like it’s nothing.

you throw your head back when his hand is practically vibrating against you, cumming on his cock and moaning so loudly that the hand over your mouth clamps down harder to muffle your noises.

you can hear his breathing picking up too, small grunts and groans coming out as his own orgasm starts to approach. you’re still clenching on him from cumming so hard, and it sends him into a spiral.

the table you’re against starts moving from the force of his thrusts as he groans out and cums in you, fingers digging into your skin as his hips stutter and slow down.

you feel so very full- from his dick and his cum at the same time, the feeling of cum dripping out and down your thighs making you shiver a little bit. he pulls out of you and you collapse against the table, breathing heavily.

“thank you.” you whisper, catching your breath as you fix your panties, pull your pants up, and allow your panties to become drenched in both of your fluids.

“it’s nothing.” is all he says, fixing himself accordingly.

you can hear a whirring before the lights slowly turn on, flickering for a moment before powering on completely. you look at him as soon as the lights are on, seeing his usual balaclava covering his face.

he’s looking right back at you, and no words need to be spoken when you get a good look at him. you start walking towards him and right as your hands are getting ready to lift his balaclava up, the door whirs open and soap is standing there.

you know you’re very close to him and immediately feel hot, backing away and looking to soap. “oh, hey.”

he looks between the two of you, a small smirk forming on his face. “it’s about time!” he exclaims.

“soap, don’t.” ghost says, shaking his head and looking to you. his hand reaches out and grabs onto yours and you find yourself gaping at the sight.

he leads you out of that room and down the halls towards the living quarters, eyes never losing that glimmer of lust towards you as you get down to his room.

“you’re gonna have to stay quiet or soap will complain, the walls are thin over here.” is all he says before you enter the room together.

neither of you get much sleep that night, and both receive an earful from soap and a few others come morning.

taglist: @wwwurmomdotcom @kovieky @chibijusstuff @clove-shitposts

send me a dm or ask if you want to be added/removed from my taglist!! tysm for reading <3

#call of duty smut #cod #female reader #x reader #call of duty #cod smut #smut #ghost smut #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost

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dancingtotuyo · 2 months

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9. the fear of what's to come

Woman | Joel Miller x Female Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel navigate life changing news.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (13/14 years). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy symptoms, mentions of potential pregnancy complications including but not limited to miscarriage and stillbirth, single reference to a fetus being a child (not intended in a pro life way), angst, grief, complicated feelings surrounding pregnancy.

Notes: A huge thanks to my amazing beta readers and friends @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin & @janaispunk

If you have not checked out Before, I would encourage you to do so for more backstory on our dear reader!

Words: 3088

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

You know three weeks after your missed period what is happening. It’s not hard to figure out. It’s just like last time. Menopause crosses your mind briefly, but the symptoms don’t line up. You’re sensitive to the same foods, nausea rolls in and out like the ocean tides throughout the day. The insatiable craving for a tomato sandwich cements it two days later. Tears run down your cheeks as you quickly finish off the sandwich and prepare another.

You don’t get excited. You don’t make plans, and most importantly, you don’t tell Joel. You’re 45. Joel is in his late 50s. You know the statistics, the pre-end-of-the-world ones. You can’t imagine they’ve improved.

Instead, you just hope that when it happens, nothing goes wrong. There’s no DNC, no pills to make sure everything passes properly or ensure no infection sets in. You’ve aided many women through this, many much younger than yourself. Some make it just fine, others have complications with nothing but prayer, poultices, and 20-year-old antibiotics to help. You’re not sure what actually does it when the women make it through. Some of them you've buried. Their faces flicker through your mind. You cannot be one of them. You cannot leave Carter without either of his parents in this world.

You tell Maria. You tell her everything she needs to know. What to do step by step when it happens. Since Adam’s injury, Dr. Pooley refuses to practice anything more than simple first aid. You’re both certain it’s dementia. You spend most mornings listening to him talk through different lectures he attended. On the mornings his brain won’t cooperate, you sip tea together. He’s writing down what he remembers, but you have to fact-check it. He’s already taught you most of it anyway.

“You have to tell Joel,” Maria says when you tell her.

You refuse. You won’t do it. You won’t bring him into this. You have this silent agreement that you’re partners in this world, but he still lives in the house across the street with Ellie. There’s never been discussions about moving in together or anything past that. You don’t call him your boyfriend. He doesn’t call you his girlfriend. Making those commitments, those plans, it will hurt too much when the world takes him away.

Carter calls him “Daddy.” It makes Joel smile every time. He’s accepted that commitment. It makes you smile too, but there’s still a little ache in your heart each time. Carter knows about Gabe. You tell him stories all the time. If you ask him, he says he has two daddies. One here and one in heaven.

But you won’t tell Joel about this child. He’s lost one. He doesn’t need to lose another.

Maria fights you on it. She looks at her son pointing out that she was 2 years older than you are now when he was born healthy. You don’t remind her she almost died, but she sees it in your eyes. You still have nightmares about that night.

You’re firm. You’re not going to tell Joel. Neither will she, and she damn sure won’t tell Tommy either.

You wait for the cramps and the blood, but they never come. You hit the 3-month mark, your 2nd trimester at the beginning of October. You don’t cry in the bathroom. You square your shoulders. Second-trimester miscarriages happen. Stillbirths happen, but hope gathers in the depths of your soul, growing with each day. You push it away with logic and reasoning.

Two sides of you war against each other. You can’t bring another life into this world. At one point you were okay with it. You felt safe here, and while you still do, it doesn’t feel okay anymore. The world still digs its ugly claws into this community. Yet, the hopes you used to hold in your mind, the ones you had with Gabe, and the ones you had before the outbreak still linger. In a perfect, uncomplicated world, this is what you would choose.

You hide the sickness from Joel with relative ease. He’s often awake and out of bed before you for patrol shifts, early morning chores, or waking up with Carter so you can sleep in.

You deliver the Crosby twins a week later without complications. Melissa is only a couple of years younger than you, but at your age, you know how crucial those few years are. When you finally reach your front porch, you sit in the darkness of Wyoming and finally let the tears fall because fate seems to be telling you that this is happening, or just sending you another person to lose. The realization hits you like a freight train. Time is up. You have to tell Joel.

You crack open the door to Carter’s bedroom. He’s sound asleep and it relieves you to know he's here. You’re less on edge when he’s close, and It means Joel picked him up from Maria and Tommy’s. It means Joel is in your bed.

Sure enough, he’s there when you creep in. He sleeps on his side curled up over your pillow. You roll your eyes. Yes, it's endearing, but it’s also a pain in the ass to get your pillow back.

The bathroom light is blinding at first, but your eyes slowly adjust as you turn on the shower and steam fills the space. Goosebumps spread across your skin as you undress, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. You’ve noticed the subtle changes in your body over these past couple of months, but they’re becoming more noticeable. Your breasts have grown, they’re so sensitive, and your sports bra pulls at the seams. Joel commented on it last week. You joked you were packing on extra weight for winter acting like it was nothing.

Your favorite pair of jeans no longer fit. You’ve mostly stuck to leggings since. You’re starting to clock the subtle changes in your body. They’re happening faster than with your last pregnancy. The past week, you’ve shut Joel down sexually, scared he would catch on despite your sex drive skyrocketing. It’s been difficult.

The shower washes away everything: the sweat and grime of the day, your tears, the tension in your muscles. You stand under the water until it runs cold, slipping on Joel’s worn soft t-shirt.

Your pillow is back on your side of the bed, Joel still on his side. A smile creeps onto your face. He keeps his eyes closed, but you know he’s awake. You don’t say anything as you slide into bed, but your anxiety spikes, your heart fluttering in your chest. You have to tell him.

You’re staring at the ceiling when he breaks the silence. “What happened?”

You suck in a breath. He thinks something went wrong tonight. He’s probably preparing to dig a grave. “Nothing, mom and babies are fine.”

“So it was twins?”

“Yeah.” You had suspected as much, but the ultrasound machine doesn’t work, try as you might to get it operational. You hadn’t been able to find a second heartbeat with the Doppler.

“So what’s buggin you?” His drawl is deeper, soaked with sleep.

He scoots a little closer, hot breath tickling your ear. You can’t move. You should look him in the eye when you tell him, but you can’t. The words are at the back of your throat surging forward toward your lips. The anxiety in your chest feels like a herd of buffalo stomping across the countryside. You squeeze your eyes shut to try and stop it.

“Sweetheart?” His hand reaches toward you, eyes trained on your profile as concern laces his brow.

“I’m pregnant.”

His hand stops over your arm. You feel its warmth so close, and then it goes away. You dare to look at him. You expect him to get out of bed and bolt. You don’t know why. He’s only shown you otherwise the entirety of your relationship, but this is more than either of you signed up for. Instead, you watch as it sinks in. He connects the dots, all the symptoms and signs that were right in front of his face, his subconscious absorbing them, but refusing to put it all together.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

You look back toward the ceiling, tears slipping from your eyes.

His hand covers your abdomen, forehead pressing against your temple. He starts to feel the changes to your body for what they are. You shudder.

“How long have you known?”

There’s not a trace of judgment or fear in his voice, but it does little to assure you. You’re scared. It doesn’t matter what Joel says or does, the fear is overwhelming.

“Beginning of August.”

“Shit, baby.” He pulls you into him, cradling your head against his chest. “You didn’t have to carry this alone.”

“I didn’t think it would last.” After months of holding the tears back, you finally let them out, a mix of relief and fear. “I didn’t- I didn’t want you to-”

You can’t finish it. You can’t say it out loud, but Joel knows what you’re trying to say. You didn’t want him to lose another child, and it wrecks him. His grip on you is crushing, but it soothes your shaking frame. Just as you come down, his sobs greet your ear because he’s scared too. Every single fear and anxiety that has come over you the past months, he feels too. Maria’s labor and delivery flash through his mind. If that happens to you, who’s going to save you?

You reach up to cradle his face. He presses into your neck. Your skin is sticky and salty again, but you don’t even think about it as the man you love and can’t tell cries in your arms. You’re unable to return his soothing squeeze, but you lay there to provide any comfort you can. The two of you fall asleep tangled in each other.

You feel Joel’s fingers dancing across your abdomen before you’re fully conscious. There’s no rhyme or reason to his movements. His other hand brushes over your temple and through your hair. Every once in a while you feel his breath and lips across your neck, up and down your arm, over your collarbone. It feels like he’s memorizing you, fear present in all of his movements even now.

You finally open your eyes. His movements still as you look at him. There are tears in his eyes as his head falls forward, resting against yours. “I’m scared.”

“Me too.” You reach out, nails raking across his arm.

He shudders under your touch. “I wish you told me sooner.”

You bit your lips. “I’m sorry.”

He lets out a deep sigh, kissing your forehead. His hand drifts to your abdomen again. You watch his eyes, so expressive filled with fear and anxiety and maybe a little bit of awe and guilt?

“I should’ve been more careful.”

You press your head to his, inhaling softly. “We.”

Joel’s fingers scrape along your jaw, his beard rough against your chin. “I like being a we.”

“Me too.”

Silence settles between the two of you. The wind knocks against the window, but it’s warm next to Joel. His arm snakes around you, tugging you closer to him.

“I suppose you’ve told Maria?”

You can’t hide the guilty smile on your lips. “If it makes a difference, she told me I needed to tell you right away. Pretty sure she was gonna tell you herself if I didn’t do it soon.” You mess with the collar of his shirt.

“How long do we have?”

“Figure it’ll be May. If we get that far.” You say. Joel nods and something clenches around your heart, a need to protect him, warn him of the danger. “You know there’s a lot of risks. No guarantee…”

“One day at a time.” He kisses your cheek but you see all the fear he’s pushing away plastered to his face like a movie poster.

Joel asks you how you are, but other than that, you don’t talk about it. You feel like a weight has lifted off your shoulders but there’s an anvil hanging above your head, waiting to drop at a moment’s notice.

You’ve outgrown your last pair of jeans. When you manage to trade with someone, they give you a look, like they know what’s going on inside your body.

You take more naps, sometimes at the clinic, sometimes on the couch. You’re constantly tired. Maria brings dinner to the house every few days. She never asked, but you don’t complain.

One evening you open your eyes to find Ellie staring down at you, worry etched in her features. It startles you at first.

“You’ve been sleeping a lot lately,” She says.

“You’ve noticed?” You pull yourself into a seated position. It feels like someone shoved a bunch of cotton into your mouth. You reach for the now room-temperature water on your end table.

“You only take naps when you’re sick or depressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her. She crosses her arms as if to say she knows you’re neither right now. “What’s going on?”

You finish off the water. Despite its temperature, it helps. “I’m fine.” You reach out, placing a hand on her shoulder, but it does nothing. At 17 years old, Ellie is turning into a woman before your very eyes. At times, you’re convinced any semblance of childhood has been replaced with adulthood, but there are other times you still see the slivers of the girl you met two and a half years ago. Right now, she’s the one sitting in front of you.

“Bullshit. What’s going on? You and Joel have been acting weird.”

Had things really been that different in the past couple of weeks? You open your mouth to speak, unsure of what to say. You and Joel hadn’t talked about telling anyone, which seemed silly. You can’t hide this forever.

The door opens and Carter bursts in with Joel on his heels. A smile instantly finds your lips.

“Mommy! Look!” He holds up a package of seemingly new Crayola crayons.

Your eyes widen with exaggeration. “Wow, buddy. That’s awesome.”

“John Lacy found a bunch of them on patrol. They handed them out today,” Joel smiles. “Grabbed you some colored pencils.” He hands a set of non-crayola pencils to Ellie.

“Thanks.” She smiles but is still distracted by her worry over you.

Carter crawls up beside you, eagerly pulling out the surprisingly intact crayons one by one. Joel leans over to kiss your cheek and tousles Ellie’s hair. She makes a face of displeasure but doesn’t fight him on it.

“You two look like you were talkin about somethin serious.”

“I was trying to figure out why the two of you have been acting weird,” Ellie says.

Joel’s drops to unreadable. He looks at you and you shrug in response. “We have to tell them eventually.”

Worry makes its home on Ellie’s face. “So something is wrong with you.with you.”

“Nothing is wrong with me.” You sigh deeply. You run your fingers over Carter’s head, kissing it.

“You’re sure acting like there is,” She says impatiently.

“Ellie,” Joel reprimands, traces of his asshole voice laced into it.

Ellie bites her lip. It looks like she might be fighting off tears as she looks directly at you. “I’m worried about you.”

You force a smile, leaning forward. Your forearms rest on your knees. One would think it would get easier to say each time. Instead, it’s like picking at a scab that’s not healed. You’re forcing yourself to say something, your brain isn’t ready to accept. “I’m pregnant.”

Ellie sits up straighter, her eyes widen with shock. “Oh wow…”

You wonder if the pictures fill her mind too. She saw Maria the night Elias was born. She saw the blood that covered you. Joel’s fingers brush over your shoulder, squeezing it lightly before they run over the back of your neck. You lean against him. “I’m sorry we worried you. We’re still getting used to the idea,” You say.

She nods and then her arms around your neck. She basically knocks you backward with the force of it. “I’m glad you’re not dying.”

You squeeze her tightly, a faint lilt of humor in your voice. “Me too.”

Then her voice drops to a whisper right at your ear. “You’ll be okay. I know you will.”

Your head rests on Joel’s bare chest that night. The full moon sends light drifting through your window, casting the room in a cool glow. You play absentmindedly with the hair on his chest. His heart beats under your ear. The room is otherwise silent.

“I told Tommy today.”

You nod.

“He wanted to know why I was so quiet. Told him I was always quiet.”

That pulls a smile across your lips. “Surprised he shut up long enough to notice.”

Joel chuckles. His arm around you tightens. His lips find your forehead. “I know we’re not ready to think too much about it.”

“Don’t think it’s something we can really ignore.” You nuzzle further into him.

“Baby steps.” He kisses your nose this time.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Baby steps? Really?” You flip onto your stomach while you still can.

He chuckles. “Poor word choice.”

You kiss his bicep and then his shoulder. He looks at you like your entire world and your stomach erupts in butterflies and twists in knots all at the same time. You still won’t let him say it, but you feel it every time he looks at you like that.

You rest your chin on his shoulder. “What are these steps you had in mind?”

His thumb traces over your jaw and cheek. “Don’t bolt on me, okay?”

“I think it’s a little late for that.”

He chuckles and then inhales deeply. “I think we should probably share a house. I figured you’d prefer to stay here, but it’s up to you.” He searches your eyes for any signs of panic or signs that you might shut down but finds nothing. In fact, you’re so calm that it’s hard to read.

“It would be nice to have you officially living here,” you say. It feels right to say, to think about. “And Ellie if she wants.”

“That was easier than I’d thought it would be.”

“You pretty much live here as is.” You turn on your side, nuzzling back into him. “I’ll miss your fireplace though.”

Joel smiles. “Guess I'll just have to keep you warm instead.”

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #hbo tlou #woman (joel miller)#woman (joel’s version)#woman #pedro stories #pedrostories #ppcu fanfiction #ppcu #pedro pascal characters

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mayajadewrites · 6 days

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Could've Been You: Aizawa x Fem!Reader x Hawks

summary: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy. Nothing could go wrong... right? relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader warnings: some chapters will be NSFW, they will have a warning on them in bold. not many descriptions of reader, other than she's midsize.

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SMUT hehe (protected sex, handjob)

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny

CHAPTER EIGHT

You woke up in your own bed the next morning. Your pussy was sore from the feast Shouta Aizawa had last night, the skin must be raw.

You stand up to stretch your limbs and feel a headache creep into your body. A groan leaves your lips as you walk to the mirror in your living room.

You examine your body - more specifically your neck and chest.

Purple marks everywhere.

This man wanted to mark you. "What a jackass." You roll your eyes and pad to the bathroom, but not before you pass the vase of roses on your table.

Keigo.

It's wrong that you're doing this. It's wrong that you're sleeping with Keigo while doing... things with Shouta.

To play devil's advocate - you're single. You can date however many men you want.

You pile the concealer on your skin, making sure in every lighting you cannot see past the makeup.

You trained class 1A in the field today, letting them develop strategies that they could possibly use to defeat a villain that had your quirk.

Your arms were crossed over your chest when a familiar tall, muscular figure dressed in black walks into the field. His hair is in a messy ponytail again, his grey scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.

He nonchalantly stood next to you with his hands in his pockets as he watched the kids, his kids, work together to form a strategy.

"Good morning." Aizawa said flatly as his eyes followed the class.

You stay silent as you observe the children working together, taking mental note of who is taking the lead.

"Didn't know I took away your ability to speak."

"I didn't know you were incapable of not making me look like I fell down the stairs for 3 years straight." You didn't turn your head to look at him. He half smiled as his eyes wandered over your figure.

"Looks fine to me."

"That's because I have 5 concealer bottles worth of product on me."

"You need this?" He pointed to his scarf.

"Yeah. To choke you with." You rolled your eyes.

"We'll do that later, Princess." Aizawa's voice was low, so low only you could hear it.

You scoff and walk a few steps towards the kids. "Okay, that's enough for today." You clap your hands. "Next week you'll be going up against me and Mr. Aizawa. So study and form a plan in your respective groups."

Shouta looked at you with a surprised smirk on his face. "You're including me in your class plans?"

"Might as well make yourself useful." You turned on your heel to walk out of the field. Aizawa watched your curvy body as you walked away from him, your ass slightly jiggling in your skirt. He bit his lower lip as he watched, thinking about last night.

Hoping you remembered every moment of it.

And you do.

Every. Single. Second.

___________________________

The rest of the week flew by as you continued your class. You're finally getting the hang of your teaching rhythm. You kept up with Keigo, but your feelings for Shouta have been weighing heavy on your mind.

Would it be wrong if you paid more attention to Shouta? You didn't want to lose Keigo, actually, you still wanted to explore your romantic relationship with him.

But you also really wanted to fuck Aizawa.

He didn't need to know what you're doing, right? After all - he's not your boyfriend.

Neither is Aizawa.

Friday came soon enough and it was time for Keigo to come over. Part of you wished it was Shouta coming over.

"Hello, beautiful." Keigo said as you opened the door. He greeted you with a soft kiss, which felt so different from Shouta's lips. Keigo liked when you took the lead, which made you feel powerful. Made you feel like he needed you.

"Hi." You smile against his lips and lead him into your room. He's carrying a small duffle bag filled with everything he needs for a stay over.

"How was your week baby bird?" He dropped his bag and wrapped his arms around your body, twirling you around.

You giggled as he lifted you off your feet. "Good actually. I don't think the kids hate me." You kissed his cheek, your warm lips leaving a ghost mark on his skin. "How was yours?"

"It was fine." He shrugged and kicked his shoes off and pushed you gently against the counter. "I've been looking forward to this." His hands roamed to the fat of your ass, squeezing it gently with his large hand.

"Looking forward to groping me?" You teased.

"Mhm." Keigo nods as he goes in for another kiss. You press your lips to his and allow his tongue to enter your mouth.

He feels so different than Shouta.

Thankfully your hickies have faded, so touching won't be a problem tonight.

You deepen the kiss as his hands find your waist, picking you up and placing you on the counter so you're above him now.

You looked down at his honey glazed eyes, with the hair to match. He's so cute. Your index finger glides along the side of his face to his chin, making him close his eyes.

"I don't know what you do to me." His voice was so smooth. He leaned his face against your hand, feeling your touch. His eyes fluttered open to you.

He was yearning for you.

"Kei." You smile, feeling the heat between your legs intensify. He pressed his hand on your plush thigh, spreading your legs to let him in. You oblige by crashing your lips into his.

Keigo took one of his hands and trailed it down your chest, your soft stomach, to your aching core. He could feel your wetness through the fabric. He smiled as his tongue dove into your mouth, his fingers rubbing circles on your heat.

You cradle the back of his head with your hand as you push your tits against him, the sensation causing him to moan. He turned his attention to them, your perfect, plump, fat tits. He lowered himself to your chest and knead them with his large hands as he threw his head back.

"Fuck." Was all he could get out as he buried his face in your tits. He kissed, bit, sucked, and licked the entirety of them. You pressed your palm against the back of his head, hoping that he kept going.

He took your nipple in his mouth, sucking on it roughly as he slipped his fingers into your leggings. His fingers are long but slim, nothing like Shouta's.

"You like these?" You pressed your arms around your tits, making them look even bigger than they already are. You wanted, no needed Keigo to talk more.

Tell you you're doing a good job.

Tell you that he wants this.

"Of course I do." His lips moved against your sweaty skin. "They're a work of art, baby bird."

You dragged your fingertips along his chest to find the button on his jeans. You could feel his erection pressed against the fabric of his jeans as you slid your hand inside of his pants. You wrapped your dainty hand around his length, teasing your thumb on the slit of his tip.

His heart was beating so fast it could've been a sign of a heart attack.

Your hands do something to him. He loves how you take care of your body, specifically your hands. Your skin is so soft and your nails are always done - manicured and perfect.

"Fuckkkkkk." He moaned as he pulled down his pants, letting his cock free. Your hand was still wrapped around him, pumping slowly as you stared into his eyes. You watched his eyes roll back as you pleasured him with only your hand.

"Do you have rubbers?" He could just barely open his eyes as his cock twitched in your hand. "I don't want to come on your hand."

You had this man ready to unravel and you're still (mostly) fully clothed.

"Yes." You hop off the counter and pull your tank top back over your tits before you pad into your room, pulling out the same box of condoms that you used before when you fucked Keigo for the first time.

Keigo grabbed your face when you walked back into the room, his tongue exploring your mouth roughly. His kisses are frenzied, like the world is about to end and the last thing he wants to remember is your lips.

You break away from the kiss and kneel down on the floor, tearing the condom wrapper. You slowly slide the rubber onto his length, watching his face in amusement.

He could not get enough of your hands on him.

You pull your pants down, wiggling your hips as you get them past your ass. You smirked when you notice Keigo is watching your body move, if his erection got any harder he might cut someone.

"You want this, baby?" You lean back against the counter and watch him through your lidded eyes.

He nods quickly. "Y-Yes."

"Have you been a good boy?" You voice was low, seductive even. You knew you held the power here and you loved it.

"Yes I've been a good boy. Please." Keigo whimpers.

"My sweet bird, hm?" Your hands hovered over his beautiful wings, your touch almost like fire. He winced at your touch, but not in a bad way. In a way where he needed you right here, right now.

You turn around and press your palms to the counter - your ass on full display. You spread your legs for him, waiting.

He pressed one palm to the small of your back as he aligned himself with your entrance. Inch by inch he pushed his length into your wet, warm pussy.

He almost bottomed out right there.

The sound of his thrusts against the fat of your ass filled the room as he picked up his pace. He grabbed your hips as he slammed into you, his strokes rougher than you remember.

You don't like doggy style all that much, only because you like looking at your partner. Watching their face as they experience pleasure.

Your pussy tightened around his length as he hit your sweet spot just right. Keigo dragged his fingers up your back to your tits, taking one of them in his hands and squeezing roughly. He used is thumb and index finger to play with your nipple as his thrusts became sloppy.

"I'm close, baby bird." His words came out as messy as his thrusts.

The words caused your pussy to clench around him, both of you reaching your highs. With one last thrust Keigo pulled out of you, his breath staggered.

Your body is sticky from the sweat and you need to shower.

"Want to shower with me?" You hold out your hand for Keigo.

"What kind of idiot would say no to that?" He takes your hand and follows you into your bathroom.

Keigo lathered you with soap and you made sure his the water wasn't too hot for his wings. He planted kisses on your face as he cleaned you, whispering compliments in your ear.

"You are beautiful in every lighting." He kissed your earlobe as he ran the washcloth down your arms.

"So are you." You gently poured water from your hands onto his wings. "You're gonna have to teach me how you take care of these things."

"I have a whole routine." He smiled proudly.

When you both washed off the sex you just had, you were exhausted. You climbed into bed, hawks quickly after you.

You fell asleep with Keigo's arms wrapped around you, his nose buried in your neck. He left kisses on your skin as he drifted into his own slumber.

When you woke up, he was gone.

No note. He didn't wake you up.

His stuff was gone.

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gremlingottoosilly · 8 months

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Cabin in the woods (yan!slasher!Konig x fem!Reader x yan!slasher!Horangi) part 3

Little birdie got caught. Konig is simply too excited to let you go. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 AO3

TW for the chapter: Light blood and gore, dead bodies, mentions of drugs, spanking, kidnapping

— Those fucking bastards killed Karen! Don’t you care?!

Shouting at your friends was never your forte, but you expected that it would come out at some point in your unwilling journey, You never knew it would because of the psycho killers on the loose, wanting nothing more but to make a nice set of decorations from your bones and eat your liver.

You try to scream some senses into Chad’s tough skull but, just like his name suggests, this is a useless endeavor and you would be far better off running for your life, abandoning your friends, and hoping that killers would be satisfied without your sacrifice. But, you’re too nice. But, you have a bleeding heart and a death wish – and you feel guilty over not feeling guilty that Karen is dead. This is a new, overwhelming feeling for you, the one that almost revamps your whole essence. There are changes occurring, and you would rather die than acknowledge those changes.

— Listen to me, goddamnit! We’re all going to die!

You must be looking horrible – mouth covered in blood like you just ate a bunch of raw meat, smelling of dirt and fresh guts, hands shaking and your face resembling the horror mixed with anger – even Marty is surprised to see the resident mouse behave like this. God, even you are surprised to see just how horrified you look, screaming at them in the hope of saving at least someone.

Marty drops a hand over your shoulders, pulling you to the side. You try to resist, but his clanky figure is surprisingly grippy and strong – you are being pulled to the nearest tree branches, just out of the range of the group. You spend the previous few hours trying to find them and yell some senses into their heads – and the only thing that they advised is that you should stop drinking for today and that stealing pills from Marty’s stash isn’t very nice even if he kinda doesn’t care where his junk goes. Still, you are fucking trembling.

Marty pushes you to the tree, whispering in your ear – you feel his hot, deranged breath on the side of your face, making you wince. Even compared to the killer’s smell of sweat and blood, they still were nicer to be around than Stale-Beer-And-Cheap-Weed-Breath Marty.

— Hey. Heeeeey, doll, what was happening back there?

— Karen is…

— Nah-nah-nah, this is where you should shut up, yeah? Karen isn’t dead. I mean, I’m glad you think she is, it means my prank is fucking awesome.

Prank? Her fucking head was chopped off and then tossed over to the nearest creek when the shorter killer decided that he wants you to perform a blowjob on his knife, making sure that you are licking all the blood away. You don’t think that there are ways to fake this – and if there are, then your friends and their hired goons are no better than actual killer psychos anyway and you’d still want out.

— I saw her!

— Sure you did, hon. Listen, I’m really glad you were the first to notice and everything, but keep it down for now, yeah? I have this sick mask and I was actually planning to prank the group later at night, but if you found it first…

— Prank?! There are two actual killers on the loose, this is the worst time to do pranks! — God, you’re annoying. This is why I fucking asked Jenny not to invite you. There are no killers, alright? Karen agreed to partake in the prank, so she is hiding somewhere in the forest until I’d pull out that sick knife and fucking scare everyone shitless. You were probably hallucinating from booze.

— I saw her severed head!

— Sure you did. Listen – you can help me, yeah? Just rile everyone up a little, then you will come back and say that…hmmmm…that Marty was taken! Everyone panicking, screaming, crying, and then I show up with this big-ass knife and…

You never heard the last of his amazing, perfect, simply brilliant idea – because before he could finish it, his head was impaled with…oh, no. No-no-no, you can’t do this anymore, not so soon after Karen is dead, not when you are still shaking and can barely think straight not when you are far away from others because Marty fucking led you to another secured place just to get his stupid head impaled with a fucking crossbow bolt – something that you only saw in video games or historical dramas.

This was completely silent – the quiet music of the bolt flying through the air, a small grunt that escaped Marty’s lips before he fell to the ground beneath your feet. You didn’t even manage to see from what direction this thing came from, too disoriented to observe the world around you properly. You feel the adrenaline running up again, probably breaking the record for you in the whole year – you jump from the body on the ground, tears dwelling in your eyes. You can’t do it, you can’t do it, you won’t do it, you were never a fighter, the freeze-fight-flight instinct always coming up to curling down in a small ball and sucking on your thumb.

Some people are simply not built for survival – this is a natural order, something that Darwin was talking about. Soft, weak humans are meant to die, meant to be the food for stronger predators, for monsters dwelling in the shadows. Some creatures are never meant to exist – fleshy cute creatures, the ones that melt at the slightest touch, someone like you – when your first answer to a threat is to roll on your back and show your belly to a mountain lion, you just knew that evolution never meant for you to live past the crib. And yet, civilisation allowed you to survive. To thrive even, before you were put in this fucking forest.

You run before everything else can kick in – at least some of your instincts are working properly, adrenaline running through your veins as you are leaving Marty behind, not even bothering to check if he is still breathing or not. The man was never thinking with his head – not the upper one anyway – but you doubt that he would survive a bolt shot perfectly between his eyes, separating his brain in two perfect halves. Like a fucking apple.

You ran

‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‎ ‎ and you ran ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ ‏‏‎ ‎ ‎ and you ran some more

And you ran right into his chest.

Wall of muscles, no less – you aren’t even sure if this is a human’s body, too sturdy and hard and perfect to belong to something less of a Roman statue. You feel tears running down your face, panic not even bothering to settle in – you know you would be dead in the next few moments, brain tragically easy saying goodbye to being intact. A pathetic sob escapes your throat as you are caught for the second time in this night – lady luck might be smiling upon you the first time, but you doubt you can be her favorite for long.

— I thought the rule of escaping was to run away from danger.

This is the tall killer – low voice, secured by the mask, making it almost unrecognizable. You shake as a big, glowed hand goes on your back, laying there heavily. Even more pathetic sounds are produced from your lips, and you are almost ready to beg him for a quick, painless death – his hand is big enough to cover your head and you don’t want to think of the implications that he might crush your skull with just his fingers.

König listens to your sobs, doing nothing but keeping a firm hand on your back, securing you in place. You sob and whine and tremble in his hold – and he was never more hard in his life. What an adorable, pathetic little creature you are. Helpless in his hold – even squirrels can fight, scratching and biting. You were sobbing in his hold like the perfect kleine prey you are, and he could almost pretend this was a hug.

— Tshhh, Hase, don’t cry. I won’t be able to let you go if you’d proceed with those sweet noises, ja?

His revelation only makes you squirm more. You finally try to get out of his bear-like hug – only to realize that all of your little movements and struggles fit perfectly with the enormous, pulsating bulge in his pants that can probably be considered a murder weapon on its own and shouldn’t be concealed since this is an obvious threat to…ah, on second thought, running around from a serial killer who has his monstrous dick hanging out would be worse. Much, much worse.

— Let me go!

You squirm one of your hands, punching his chest. Feels like punching a marble statue – the only thing you are hurting is your own hands. You try to resolve to a different form, jerking up your knee to land a blow on his crotch.

He fucking moans.

— Never knew you were such a fighter, Schatz. But I warned you, aren’t I?

You don’t understand what he is talking about before he suddenly lifts you in his hands, dropping you on his shoulder like a bag of potatoes. You are crying, trying to get away, [unching him with your legs and your hands, all the adrenaline in your veins working solely for the purpose of inflicting as much pain on this enormous figure as possible.

You tug on this weird hood he is wearing – if you are going to die, at least you would die exhausting all possible options, not feeling like you gave up without a fight. This is still a journey of self-respect and deep insight searches for the mysteriously hidden backbone of your body – maybe, yoga classes would be more effective and less dangerous but, unfortunately, you’re not a rich white housewife in her thirties, so not like you have money for a guru who would spend hours trying to convince your ovaries to stop dying on the inside.

— Let!

You punch him on the back, a multitude of well-served punches right into his back. He laughs, spreading his shoulders, cocking his chest forward like you were giving him a massage. With a groan, you made a very deliberate punch right in the middle of his back – and he moans from satisfaction, probably releasing some pent-up tension that he got from killing grandmas and destroying hotels.

— Me!

You tried to kick him in the chest, your legs working overtime as you cosplayed a rabid rabbit – only for him to laugh even more, his arm securing you holstered across his shoulder like your punches meant nothing. They probably didn’t – he is literally still holding a fucking crossbow in his other hand, managing to secure it on his side while moving towards…you only assume it to be a murder cabin because of course those freaks would have a murder cabin, why the hell not – probably with some cool classy furniture made out of bones.

— Go! You finally manage to secure hold on the edge of his hood, yanking it upwards in hopes of actually revealing who the fuck is he – a dirty businessman who doesn’t like those damn kids and their dog to ruin his plans for burning down the forest to create a shopping mall? A nice old man who showed you the road when you were lost, but he is actually on a spree to get revenge on all young people for killing his pet chicken in 1997? One of those creepy guys at the corner store who was weirdly obsessive over you, talked like a serial killer, and was constantly and also came in pair with the guy whose height and manner perfectly resembled a pair of killers that are after you now?

Probably the grandpa.

You yank the mask up and…

Ah.

Of course, he is wearing a freaking balaclava. The only thing that you managed to see were his eyes – blue, icy, pretty, filled with anger as he pulled the hood down, concealing his features again, without you even managing to take a closer look. You gulp loudly, preparing to die.

He smacks your ass with a power that would be enough to break a bone – your only saving grace is that the flesh of your butt provided some cushion, instead leaving a nasty bruise and inability to sit for at least a few days. That is if you would even survive long enough to have problems sitting on your backside. You won’t have such problems if you’re dead, right?

— Quiet, Schatz. I already breaking the rule for taking you too early.

— Br…breaking a rule? Do you have a freaking hunting pact?

— I promised Tiger that we’d let you roam around a little. Make things interesting.

Ah, yes, because letting you go the first time was such a brilliant idea on their behalf. The only reasons you didn’t go straight to the police is because A) You don’t speak rural Austrian German, B) Your phone can’t connect to anything, and C) You don’t even know in what part of the forest you are. Also because you’re scared that the police are going to turn out treacherous people, just like in horror movies, and that it would fucking destroy your trust.

— I can roam around. I can roam around just fucking perfect, ass…

Another loud smack on your ass makes you feel like a misbehaving kitten. He grips your ass through your jeans and you whimper a little bit, starting to cry again as his hand goes straight for the bottom, gripping your cunt through the tough layer of denim. You thank every god you know for making you wear ugly, but protective and thick jeans. Every time his hand goes to cup your most intimate parts, the fabric of your jeans protects it – you don’t even feel too violated when he pushes his fingers even more, desperately trying to get a reaction out of you.

— Language, Hase. Don’t make me discipline you, ja? — Fuck you! — Very gut then. That’s what you will do very soon.

Oh, but the rough material grinding over your delicate, thin panties and the sensitivity of your cunt really makes you feel…something. You won’t want to admit it, he smells like blood and sweat(still better than Marty, but you shut down that thought before it was born because fuck the new abortion laws), and he spanks your ass only to grope your pussy right after – and he also has masterful fingers that are working at the hem of your jeans, making the fabric press even more against the sensitive skin and…

You try to think of something – anything.

Dead bodies, dead bodies, a lot of dead bodies, and there are some dead puppies too and everything is gross and smelly and…ah, it’s not working.

König touches your lower parts with a wide grin under his hood – you’re fucking perfect, a nice addition to their house. You bite when he needs a little fight and you shut up when he touches you – perfect birdie, adorable birdie, Horangi will probably be bitching about spoiling the fun since you’d be stuck with them without a proper chase like he wanted, but the tiger would come around once he’d emptied himself on your warm body just once.

You squirm under his touch, moan and cry and tremble and he can’t stop imagining you in millions of different positions. Stuck in the basement of their house, on your knees like a good girl you are, maybe with some branding or a collar – it’s more of a Horangi’s thing, even though König hopes he won’t have to break you too much until you’d call him daddy – pushing you to their shared bed, making sure that you’re nice and stuck in some open positions, allowing them to take you without much repercussions.

— Let me go.

— Nein.

— Please?

— I like your begging, Spatz.

— It means you’d let me go?

— Nein. You will tell your little friends, and then you will run to the police, ruining our fun. You are not going anywhere.

— But, um…your culprit will be mad, no?

As cunning as you can, you’re trying to seal the seeds of destruction among them. You’re trying your damn best not to act too charming or too fake, just so he won’t fall in love with you for real and would try murder-suicide you, but also with enough charisma checks so you’d actually convince him.

But, it’s not really working – maybe, you aren’t as good at spreading havoc as you thought you were.

— He’d live. We would get to hold you in your house, little one. It’s enough to make him understand my reasons.

It’s definitely enough to make you want to puke. He is fast, not even bothering to check on the body of your friend as he goes past it – he just marks it with something that resembles a piece of torn fabric and pushes some leaves and sticks on the body, probably signalling to his friend to come and get rid of the body – and then he changed your position a little bit, securing a hand on your ass he goes deeper into the forest.

You’re trying to remember the location, maybe counting the trees and every bush that seems like a good mark – but you, a city girl raised on a cocktail of Google Maps and a constant internet connection, have already grown tired of trying to remember everything. Every tree is the fucking same, every turn feels like the one before and, at some point, you were sure that he is actually going in circles to make you understand the location even less. Your blurry vision obstructs the goal even more – you cried so much, it feels like your very eyes gave out. With a sigh of defeat, you metaphorically roll over to your back and present your belly to the predators.

After a hike that felt like hours, but was probably like 10 minutes long – this guy has long legs and the determination of a dog dragging a really cool stick home and, before you know it, you’re standing in front of a…house. Nice house. Expensive house, a big house, something less of a mansion, but more of a shed that you thought he was going to live in because he is literally a serial killer.

Even serial killers made good property investments in the respective years – and you were too busy with useless stuff, like learning how to walk or trying not to choke yourself on a piece of carrot.

— Welcome home, Schatz.

He gently lets you down from his shoulder, allowing you to take a closer look at your surroundings. Normal living room – literally nothing weird. Maybe a bit too much hunting trophies, maybe a lot of guns lying around, some overly manly decorations, and very questionable art pieces but if you’d see that house advertised on the property website, you wouldn’t even consider it too weird. You were expecting…something. Blood on the walls, furniture made out of human flesh and skin, a devilish feast for imps and every like them…

You saw nothing as König punched the back of your head, putting you to sleep.

You fucking hate forest trips.

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seraphinitegames · 2 months

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The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 22/March/2024

So, I decided where Chapter One is going to end! It should leave people very excited for what’s to come in the rest of the book (and later demo releases), hehe! ;D

I think it does give a very good clue at what might be the source of the problem for the love interests and the MC throughout Book Four, too…

It’s gonna get exciting, guys! :D

Knowing where the demo is going to leave off, I also started looking back at the character creator. After actually playing through what I had a while back, I realized I really wasn’t so keen on what I do normally, and it really needs streamlining.

And I think (hopefully!) I have a plan for how to do that now.

I will try to see if I can get some screenshots or a video of it and post it up so you can get a hint of what it looks like after my redo so far, if my internet ever wants to play ball again!

With only one option per page being possible, I need to make sure people can get through the character creator as fast as possible so they can get playing! And I think putting in big descriptions of what each choice is or means is where some of the flow is coming from. Definitely need to scrap those.

Also realised what I was doing wrong in the previous ‘character creator’ screens for the personality/skill stats and why they weren’t high enough when you picked that they were, in fact, the highest! So, I’ve fixed that for this one, and I will do it for the other books when I can get the time to go back to my spruce up of the previous books too.

Obviously when Book Four releases people will be able to import their character—and I also had a thought on that as well!

With the villain romance being an option, I figure as a player I might already have a character I’ve played through past books with that would work, but I might already be on a romance path (the villain romance only being available on the non-romance ‘friend’ route) so can’t pursue the villain’s storyline.

So I’m thinking of adding in an option where you can modify an imported character with a few choices (such as romance choice). The game will play out as though the character has always had the new options though, so I need to make sure that’s clear. But it’s definitely something I think could work as an option for those that wanted it.

It was definitely a more code-focused week this week, which makes my brain a bit mushy, lol! So I’m very excited to dive back into writing, as well as get the first demo section ready to be sent to the editor and readers…the first time people apart from me will actually see the start of Book Four, hehe!

Hope you all have an incredible weekend! We'll be offline as usual, so I'll update you all again next week! <3

#the wayhaven chronicles #interactive fiction #romance #vampires #personal #update #hosted games #choice of games #choicescript #creative writing

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taexual · 9 months

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sleepwalking ● 2 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, SLOW BURN

words: 6.7k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 2 ► they say i got no purpose, they say i got no cause, but i’m loved by all my people, i’m the leader of the lost

Tipsy Jungkook was usually known for his wit, maybe his charm, but never great ideas. Hence his plan to win the bet early—and he was certain he would win—as he knocked on the door of your hotel room at eleven-thirty that same night.

The long flight was already far behind him, but it wasn’t behind you as you opened the door of your pitch-dark room only several minutes later. He thought he got the wrong room until he saw you, squinting at the violent light coming in from the hall.

“Jungkook?” you mumbled, too disoriented to understand the pointlessness of your own question. His knock had woken you up from what was supposed to be a ten-second rest of your eyes. “I thought we’d agreed on a text.”

“We did,” he said, suddenly very aware of how difficult it was to choose words now that he was actually standing in front of you. “But I figured I’d report to you live. So, that’s why I’m here.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. Your words felt heavy, your mouth too tired to voice them. “Well, uh—thanks. You should—”

You were already in the process of closing the door of your room, but he grabbed it, startling you. His gaze was cast low, however, and he did not notice the widening of your eyes.

“I was thinking—what if you came down for a drink?” his question was quick as he fought a battle against his sober mind that was catching up to him.

Eventually, he looked up at you. Your eyebrows were rising, then fell quickly as you tried to play your surprise off. It was this look on your face that—finally—gave him a pause.

It caught up—the sober part of him—and he blinked, fully grasping what he was doing and regretting it immediately. He hadn’t really thought he’d come up here, ask you out, and you’d jump at the chance. He knew you wouldn’t. But he supposed that, maybe, against nearly all odds of the years between you, he still had a glimmer of hope that you’d agree, after all.

“How much have you had to drink?” you countered—and whatever hope he’d had dimmed completely.

You wouldn’t have said no to a drink under normal circumstances, but these particular ones were hardly normal. Not to mention, they involved Jungkook’s so-called friends, and you’d have sooner shrivelled from thirst than considered drinking with them.

You assumed Jungkook knew that.

“Barely anything,” he told you truthfully enough. There was, of course, the matter of his brain being clouded, but he figured alcohol had little to do with it. Looking at you more closely, he took in your dishevelled hair and droopy eyes and bit his lip before asking, “did I wake you?”

“No,” you lied, but for a good cause—the protection of your dignity. “Are you feeling alright? Your eye is twitching.”

Looking down again and bringing his fingers over his eyes, he groaned under his breath. This was jetlag. It threw him off his game.

Turning his head sideways to hide his flustered face, Jungkook attempted to get himself together in under a second—and failed, of course. If anything, he only became more aware of your suspicious gaze as he rubbed his eyes continuously.

Fucking Sid and Jude. He’d clearly acted too big-headed in front of them, and now he was outside of your room, having whatever the hell this awkward silence was with you, and his fucking eye was twitching.

He loathed this.

“I’m great,” he said without looking up at you. New plan, new plan, new plan. “Going to bed now. Night.”

He turned so abruptly, it took you a moment to realise that he meant he was going to go to bed right this second.

“Do you want water or—?” you called after him, voice faltering as you lost confidence in your phrasing. Water felt a lot like suggesting turning the device off and on again when it began to malfunction.

You watched Jungkook’s back as he hurried down the hall, shaking his head. He threw one hand up – as a gesture of refusal? Gratitude? Goodbye? You weren’t sure – before disappearing inside of his room down the hall, only daring to peek at you over his shoulder before turning away again.

There were several thoughts in his head, all of them far less eloquent than the one before, full of words starting with “F”. He realised that he couldn’t possibly just ask you out. That was outrageous; you’d knock him unconscious and kick him off the band.

Leaning against the door of his hotel room, he decided he’d have to find an excuse. Some sort of an occasion. Something laid-back, yet serious—something he could present as casual to you, but meaningful to his friends.

His eyes lit up at once. He realised he might have something, hidden in the back of his personal email, long forgotten due to the clashing of schedules. But if he made it work…

He’d have to try, he decided. This might be the only way to get you alone.

Back in the hall, you closed your own door, retreating to your room. You chose to blame the nerves on this barely two-minute-long conversation that had to be one of the weirdest ones the two of you have exchanged over the years.

He was anxious about the tour – it made sense.

You decided that, if this persisted, you’d talk to him the next time you saw him—preferably not in the middle of the night in an empty hotel hallway.

The next time you saw Jungkook was at the restaurant downstairs. It was early in the morning and the staff of the hotel was only preparing the buffet. Everywhere you looked, people were either yawning or dozing off in the eating area.

“Morning,” you announced yourself by the buffet table where the crew and the band were choosing what to put on their plates and chatting with the hotel staff in hopes of some warm cinnamon buns. “Did everyone sleep okay?”

“I left my melatonin spray,” Yoongi mumbled, appearing next to you. His eyes were redder than the shirt he was wearing. “So, no.”

Concerned, you pointed your index finger at him. “You’re coming back to the hotel after the rehearsal for a nap.

He nodded. But before you could add anything else, his slightly shapeless form glided away towards orange juice, putting an end to this exchange. He did that sometimes. He didn’t realise that his perception of the flow of conversation—namely, that it ended—could have differed from the other person’s; didn't realise that they might still have something to say.

With Yoongi gone, you looked over at Hoseok and Taehyung. “What about you? Did you get enough sleep?”

“I’m perfect,” Hoseok said. He’d rather sell both of his arms and a leg than ever admit that something was wrong with him, so you looked at him especially long as he spoke, “can’t wait to get this going. First show tonight!”

His excitement seemed genuine, so you met this palm with yours in a high-five and turned to Taehyung. He’d been standing next to you, chewing something, even though his plate was still empty.

“I’m fine, too,” he said, catching your eye. “I did try to order room service at four in the morning, but they weren’t very—well, it’s my bad in any case. I just wanted a sandwich.”

Your face was compassionate as you patted him on the arm. “Wait until we’re on the bus. We’ll all be cooking ramen at midnight.”

He smiled back wryly. “I’m looking forward to it now, but I know it’ll get old very quickly.”

You were about to agree when you felt someone’s hands on your shoulders. Flinching lightly, you turned your head until you caught sight of Jungkook’s profile.

“If anyone’s wondering,” he said, “I slept fine, too.”

“I was getting to you,” you replied, managing to get yourself out of his grip—graciously enough—so you could face him instead. “Your head’s alright?”

“It’s perfect,” he replied, beaming. “Keep telling you I know how to drink.”

You squinted your eyes, but chose not to question the last conversation you’ve had – he seemed normal enough now.

“Okay. Have a good meal, guys,” you redirected your attention back to the rest of the band—and the staff around them. “We’re leaving in forty-five.”

Most of them nodded—some grunted, too, expressing displeasure at the tight schedule—and you were finally able to grab a plate for yourself.

Jungkook, oddly enough, stayed by your side.

“Try these,” he said before you could ask him why he’d lingered. He picked up two strawberries with a fork and dropped them on your plate. “They’re so much sweeter than what we have back home.”

You looked down at the strawberries like he’d plucked them straight from an alternative universe where this gesture—dropping them on your plate for you to try—was normal.

“I don’t really eat fruit for breakfast,” you mumbled under your breath, the words—like this whole situation—inappropriate somehow.

“You should,” he replied. “They’re good for you. And the strawberries go well with a croissant. Chocolate? Your favourite.”

You stood there, barely blinking, as you watched him fetch a chocolate croissant—your favourite—for you.

He smiled proudly as he did this and even seemed surprised when you asked, “did Sid and Jude drug you last night?”

“Why would they?” Jungkook countered, but did not wait for your response as he pulled you away from the buffet table by tugging on your forearm softly. “Let’s get a seat.”

“Okay, hold on,” you took a step backwards, away from his touch. “What is going on? Are you buttering me up, because you’re going to tell me you’re addicted to meth?”

“What?” he stopped, too, looking at you with as much confusion as you were looking at him with. “Of course not.”

“Are you leaving the band?” you guessed next.

“Hell no.”

“Are you—”

“I am literally walking to get us seats at a table, so we can have breakfast,” he said. “Or, actually, trying to do that. Since you’ve stopped and won’t move.”

Still suspicious, you eyed him for half a minute longer, and then forced yourself to keep walking. He nodded, relieved, and followed your step towards the table.

He sat down next to you, which took Namjoon—one of the producers on tour with you—completely off-guard, because he was the one who usually sat with you when Rated Riot were touring. Out of everyone here, Namjoon was one of the few people—the other ones being Yoongi, the de-facto leader of Rated Riot, and Seokjin, the stage manager—that you could count on to keep everyone in check, so the two of you had a lot to talk about over breakfast.

But this morning was already starting off weird.

Hesitating for a second, Namjoon looked around and sat down on Jungkook’s other side, shooting you a confused look over the band member’s shoulder.

Jungkook didn’t notice, momentarily preoccupied by the waffle on his plate. You shrugged briefly in response to Namjoon and ripped off a piece of your croissant, scattering crumbs everywhere on your plate and the table.

You didn’t feel very hungry, to begin with—the anxiety of the band going on their first European Tour was really showing its’ full face today—but Jungkook acting unusual only made you more unsettled.

“Jungkook,” Namjoon spoke up—bless him—as he, like you, avoided actually eating anything that was on his plate, but kept playing with the stems of his strawberries. “Nervous about tonight?”

“Not more than usual,” Jungkook replied, his tone nonchalant even though you could feel the restless bouncing of his leg against yours under the table. “I know we’ve got a great crew here. We’ll be fine. Right?”

He looked at you as he said this last part—an innocent, expectant smile on his face. But there was a conspicuous glint of mischief in his eye. You couldn’t tell if he was up to something, or just nervous.

“Right,” you said, chewing the piece of the croissant you’ve broken off. It didn’t taste like anything.

“First show’s a sold-out, so that’s a good start of the tour,” Namjoon continued. “Can’t wait to see you guys on stage.”

“Can’t wait to be on it,” Jungkook echoed, his voice empty somehow, until he turned to you. “You’ll be at the soundcheck, right?”

He was watching you again—truthfully, he never even looked at Namjoon; when he spoke to him, he looked down at his plate and only peered at the producer through his peripherals—and you shifted in your seat awkwardly.

“Of course,” you said. “It’s my job.”

“Right,” Jungkook said. “Of course.”

You glanced at Namjoon, your eyebrows furrowed slightly. He looked back at you with an almost identical expression.

“Guys,” was the next thing you heard, followed by a very agitated slam of a plate against your table. Alarmed, you looked up to see Seokjin next to you. “The owner of the venue only speaks Czech. I called, but I could not get any information from him whatsoever. I even tried negotiating in German.”

You lifted your eyebrows, but Namjoon beat you to the most important question at hand, “you speak German?”

Seokjin sat down with a defeated sigh. “I don’t. But I’m desperate. I know how to say hello, I thought it’d break the ice.”

Jungkook watched the exchange in silence, curious. He wasn’t usually present at these backstage meetings where you discussed the logistics of the tour; it all distracted him from his plan.

“I’ll try to talk to him,” you said, wiping your hands on your legs to lose the crumbs. “What do you need to know?”

“Well, everything,” Seokjin replied. “I’m going over there right after breakfast to fix the place for the soundcheck while the guys rehearse, and I don’t even know how many loudspeakers the place has.”

You nodded as you got your phone out of your pocket and considered your next course of action. It was a crisis you expected before you came here—language translation had always been a problem in foreign countries, especially in venues that had terrible internet connection—so you checked your schedule and decided on the simplest way to solve this: teamwork.

“Let’s both go over there,” you said. “We’ll figure out a way to communicate face-to-face.”

Seokjin was mid-nod when Jungkook extended a hand, making everyone freeze.

“Hold on,” he spoke in a rush, “I thought you were coming with me.”

There was offence in his words. You felt Seokjin glance at you and did not need to turn your head to know that the look on his face was questioning—did you have plans with Jungkook this morning?

“I’ll be at the soundcheck,” you spoke slowly. “You hardly need me at the rehearsal, too.”

“I—well I do need you, as a matter of fact,” Jungkook said. Then, responding to the surprise of everyone at the table (Seokjin was actually grinning), he added, “at, uh—at the rehearsal, I mean.”

There was a warmth under your skin that felt prickly and uncomfortable.

“You’ll deal,” you said simply enough and took another bite of your croissant—properly this time, because you had to get going soon.

“And what if I forget the lyrics?” he pushed. “Who is going to yell at me if you’re not there?”

“Yoongi,” you replied, your mouth full, “he’ my befft—” you paused to swallow, “my best replacement.”

Jungkook huffed in exaggerated disappointment, but he dropped the topic, allowing you to finish your breakfast in peace. Instead, he handed you a napkin to help with the chocolate on the corners of your lips, all without a comment.

Another minute later, he watched you and Seokjin leave together. And, with you gone, he realised that he did feel nervous.

One part of the reason why he was by your side this morning was because of the bet, that was true. But the bigger part was because of what he’d said to you – he really did want you there at the rehearsal and at the soundcheck.

Tonight was the first show of the band’s European tour. Your presence made the wait for the concert feel less massive and easier to grasp.

The bet had distracted him, too, and it gave him a reason to talk to you. But now that it was him and Namjoon left at the table, he had to find a way to bite, chew, and swallow, despite his stomach turning inside out.

Namjoon was talking about Prague to him, reading about previous bands that performed at Malá Sportovní Hala before moving on to bigger venues the next time they toured Europe—and all of that only made Jungkook bounce his leg harder.

He decided he couldn’t eat anymore as soon as he finished another waffle. With no one else distracting him from the upcoming concert, he needed to do something himself.

“Excuse me,” he said to Namjoon, who looked up in time to see him stand up with his plate and walk away. The producer thought Jungkook had looked pale, and concluded—like you had last night—that the weirdness of this morning was prompted by anxiety.

Jungkook was someone who had a captivating, effortless stage presence. Someone who put on a show until he collapsed, until he had to be dragged backstage because his legs no longer worked. Or until he climbed on the railing of the balcony and the owners of the venue, witnessing this in horror, went to fetch you, pulling on your sleeve and asking you to put a stop to this, threatening legal measures.

Jungkook performed like every night was his last. But there was so much that went into it: rehearsals, soundchecks, warm-ups, herbal throat remedies, and, most of all, anxiety. He was aware of all the what-ifs—what if my voice cracks, what if I forget the lyrics, what if my in-ear monitor lags—and they all weighed on him.

He worried. He said he didn’t, he laughed and jumped around—and all of his energy was mistaken for excitement, not stress. But he jumped because he couldn’t not jump, his whole body was tingling.

Therefore, wanting to do something else—something that would give him a reason to still feel excited even if he messed up the band’s performance tonight—Jungkook sat down on an armchair in the hotel lobby and pulled his phone out.

It was time to carry out the plan he’d come up with last night in order to win the bet; this would give him something else to focus on.

The plan was this: Kihyun, one of Jungkook’s old friends from university—and, coincidentally, the fiancé of your friend from university, Chloé—was getting married in Paris in a few days. Initially, you and Jungkook both said you couldn’t make it to the wedding because the date coincided with Rated Riot’s tour. But now this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

He'd checked his schedule beforehand, so he knew that the band had a day off right on the day of the wedding. He struggled to calculate travel time, but he figured Poland wasn’t that far from France—you could make it there and back in time for Rated Riot’s next show.

However, this was very last-minute—and he had already sent the pair a wedding gift—so he wasn’t very hopeful as he dialled Kihyun’s phone number. That being said, Jungkook knew he could be persuasive—when he wasn’t drunk and you weren’t standing in front of him in the doorway of your hotel room, that is.

But as it turned out, he didn’t even need to use his charms.

As soon as Kihyun picked up the call, he joked, “Jungkook! Change your mind about the wedding?”

And, after Jungkook admitted that he had, in fact, changed his mind, that he was in Europe, and, actually, he was thinking of bringing you as his date—Kihyun was more than happy to extend you both an invite.

Worriedly, Jungkook asked if Chloé wouldn’t mind, but Kihyun assured him—assured him!—that, if anything, Chloé would be excited. She was, apparently, hoping to see you again at her wedding and felt bummed when you said you couldn’t make it.

That was enough for Jungkook, but ever-polite Kihyun continued: the fact that you and Jungkook managed to find time in your busy schedule to see them on their special day—Jungkook cringed here, guilt creeping in—meant a lot to them both.

And so, easily enough, the plan swung into motion. Ending the call, Jungkook exhaled in relief as though he’d already invited you—and you’d said yes.

He did want to see his old friends again. And he did, really, want to take you with him—so perhaps he wouldn’t even go to hell for this. And if he would, then perhaps it’d be worth it.

After all, everything fell into place so effortlessly, it seemed like this was meant to be. And now he could go to the rehearsal, do the soundcheck, perform at the show, meet his fans, and win the bet—in this particular order.

You and Seokjin got everything settled faster than you’d expected—the owner of the venue didn’t speak any languages that the two of you spoke, but he seemed to be fluent in pointing-at-yelling, which, coincidentally, Seokjin also excelled at, so it all worked out. You still had some free time left, so you returned to the hotel before the soundcheck.

But as soon as you entered your hotel room, you felt an unsettling sense of guilt somewhere in the pit of your stomach.

What if Jungkook really needed you at the rehearsal? Not because he, clearly, had some sort of ulterior motives—covering up the fact that Sid and Jude recruited him into a cult?—but because he was genuinely nervous or unsure of himself.

It made sense—all the members of the band could have felt this way; tonight was the first show of the tour, after all. It could be that this was the only way Jungkook knew how to approach you, too prideful to ask for help directly. Perhaps you should have taken him more seriously.

Sighing, you turned around and left your room as soon as you came in.

But your journey back to the venue wasn’t smooth – security had changed shifts and there was an unfortunate mishap: you and Seokjin had gotten your credentials mixed up. Somehow, Seokjin managed to enter with your pass, but you, for some reason, couldn’t enter with his.

Half an hour later, you were finally allowed inside and found the band members about ten minutes before soundcheck was supposed to begin.

They were in the hallway leading to the stage, ready to go out—some of them were doing stretches against the wall, others were browsing on their phones while balancing water bottles on their knees.

“Hey,” you approached them from the empty stage while doing a head count to make sure all four of them were here. “How was the rehearsal?”

“The rehearsal? It was fine,” Taehyung was the one closest to you and he was the one who replied. He appeared a little thrown off by your question. You realised you’d never had to ask before—if something went wrong, they usually told you right away. Otherwise, you assumed everything was okay. “Nothing unusual. Why?”

“No reason, just curious,” you replied, hoping your voice sounded neutral enough. “Looking for reasons to worry, I guess.”

“Ah. Well, here comes the usual reason.”

He nodded his head at something behind you and you turned around to see Jungkook cross the stage towards you, dragging a mic stand after him.

“You’re finally here,” he said, stopping by the exit from the stage. “We missed you at the rehearsal.”

Taehyung was picking his bass up from where he’d rested it against the wall when he stopped, suddenly, and lifted his head. “Uh, did we? No offence.”

The question was for Jungkook—who awarded the older boy with a glare—but the last part was for you.

“None—uh, none taken,” you said, then turned to Jungkook. “I was told the rehearsal was fine.”

“Oh, sure,” he replied, “but you know me. I adapt to hardships very well.”

You looked back at Taehyung. “What hardships?”

“I honestly have no idea,” he said. Your gazes ping-ponged back to Jungkook again, almost accusing.

“I mean the hardship of being by ourselves,” Jungkook said in a frustrated voice. As if this was obvious and he felt stupid having to explain this to you. “Unmanaged.”

You raised your eyebrows. “With all this staff with you, you’re hardly ever unmanaged.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there.”

“Okay, honestly, did you need me there?” you asked, directing the question at Taehyung, because you were more comfortable with his responses. They were less cryptic.

Feeling a bit like a third-wheel after the back-and-forth between the two of you, Taehyung looked at you, then at Jungkook, then back at you again.

“No,” he said finally. Then, nodding at Jungkook, he added, “I think he’s doing the job of giving you reasons to worry about.”

Jungkook didn’t open his mouth in time to cut in, and you spoke up first.

“He always is,” you said to the older boy. When you looked at Jungkook, he was already watching you with a face so dramatically displeased that it was clearly an act.

So, he seemed to be doing well, then.

“Get back to work,” you said with a gentle smile—Jungkook needed that smile even if he put up a front. “I’ll be with the sound operators if you really need me.”

The soundcheck and the VIP Meet & Greet afterwards, unsurprisingly, went by without either member of the band needing your assistance, so you were able to have a coffee-and-ice-cream break with Jimin, the lead sound technician on tour. It wasn’t really a break, because Jimin had to be present for the soundcheck, but things were going well, so when he mumbled how nice it’d be to have some ice cream right now, you left to get it.

This wasn’t Rated Riot’s first time doing this, of course – and they may have acted like they had fallen off an alien spaceship sometimes, but, at the end of the day, they were professionals.

You were too busy yourself before the show, so you barely got to exchange more than a few words of good luck with the band. But as soon as the opening act – a rookie band with a fitting title of Poison Tongue, considering how much they cursed in their songs – finished their performance and Seokjin’s team prepared the stage for Rated Riot, you made sure to find a spot on the side of the stage.

It took some effort, too – you tried not to block anyone by the barricade, but also not get in the way of photographers, coursing right by the stage. Especially Maggie, another one of your friends on tour, and easily the boldest photographer here—she wasn’t above hanging off the second-floor balcony to get the perfect shot.

But you couldn’t find her now. Fortunately, when you found a spot by the stage, Luna—Taehyung’s girlfriend—joined you there, so, at least, you weren’t by yourself.

For once, the two of you were able to actually enjoy the concert. Normally, you kept interrupting Luna’s videos as you had to scold Jungkook’s friends for chatting up people who came to watch the show. Tonight, thankfully, Sid and Jude weren’t here – they were picking up Minjun, another one of Jungkook’s friends, at the airport. You hoped they’d get lost on their way back, settle down in Prague, and never bother you again. Poor people of Prague, of course, but maybe they’d be the ones who finally taught them a lesson.

You’ve seen Rated Riot perform countless times at this point: at restaurants, company events, nightclubs, and, eventually, concert venues – but there was nothing about their performances that could have ever made you feel bored.

You filmed them on your phone as Hoseok nearly broke the platform on which he played the drums—with wild screaming in the background—as Taehyung fired water guns at the audience—the screams turned thundering—as Yoongi performed his solo guitar part on his knees—the screaming was ear-splitting—as Jungkook returned for the encore shirtless, his tattooed skin glistening with sweat, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning—the screams were deafening.

The audience sang along to every song, there was never a quiet moment in the concert hall. Objectively, you knew that around 3,000 people had come, but the ringing in your ears made the audience feel twice, even three times as big.

The support was overwhelming, and all of it came in response to the unstoppable energy on stage. Two songs in, Jungkook had already climbed and jumped off the largest loudspeaker on stage. By the fifth song, Taehyung stage-dived right during his bass solo.

By the end of the show, the members were drenched in sweat, barely able to breathe as they tossed their guitar picks, the drumsticks, and the towels into the audience, and took their final bows—promising, of course, a quick return, and hoping, silently, that this promise would come true.

This was Night One of Rated Riot’s first European Tour – and you felt giddy as you already waited for the next night.

The band went to change into something more comfortable backstage, and then headed back out to meet some fans who’d lingered behind, buying merchandise and hoping that the members of Rated Riot would come out to meet them—and they did, always.

You worried, a little, about what you’d have to do with the gifts—the plush toys and, most importantly, the letters—that the fans gave them. The thought of throwing them out or, simply, not taking them, had never crossed any of your minds, even though that was what the label suggested.

This was another thing that you had to fight with Jett Records about. You knew that the band actually read the letters, especially when they were tired or lacked inspiration. That’s when the words from their fans became their source of motivation. Their purpose.

They were doing this because they loved it. But when they got tired, they kept doing it for them.

And, because of this, you figured you might end up having to rent out a separate bus for gifts alone, once you’d toured enough countries.

This thought was supported by Rated Riot returning with hands full of mementoes from fans. You took them and, while everyone gathered for traditional shots of gin & tonic backstage, you went outside with some of the crew to load the equipment—and the gifts—into the buses.

You had a six-hour drive from Prague to Krakow ahead of you, but, when you returned to the venue, the whole band was jumping around the room. You knew they wouldn’t sleep one bit tonight.

Hence your lack of surprise when, several hours later, when you were already on the bus, you went to find Jungkook, and he was sitting in his bunk, scrolling on his phone.

You were hoping he’d be awake, so you could speak to him. You couldn’t risk there being something deeper about his weird behaviour earlier today, even if he did give an outstanding performance on stage.

“Hey. You’re up,” you said, pointing out the obvious, because it was a good enough conversation starter.

Jungkook lifted his head.

“Yeah.” He put his phone down and patted the bunk next to him. “You can’t sleep either?”

You nodded, taking the invitation and sitting down next to him. “I have something I want to ask you.”

He was surprised. Really, he should have been the one saying this to you; he hadn’t had a chance to ask you to Kihyun’s wedding yet.

“Go ahead,” he said calmly enough.

“Are you really okay?” you asked, choosing not to beat around the bush, because it was three in the morning—not the time for that. “You’ve been acting weird the whole day.”

He looked away, not having expected this, evidently. “Oh.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” you explained, “but then I couldn’t help myself. It’s my responsibility to know if there’s something wrong with any of you, so I felt like I had to ask.”

Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned backwards until the back of his head touched the wall of the bus. “I’m fine. Just—adjusting, I guess. This is new. Europe.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, bending your knee under yourself as you got more comfortable on his bunk. “It’s new for all of us.”

“Yeah. So, maybe, I guess, I’m worried,” he said clumsily.

Even though this wasn’t why he’d acted weird—and, really, he was appalled that you found his behaviour “weird”; he truly was off his game—it was the truth. He did feel anxious. So much so, that a part of him appreciated Sid—not for suggesting the bet, per se. But for giving him something else to focus his mind on.

“Well, about what?” you asked. “Maybe talking it out would help.”

He looked at you, but then moved his gaze towards the bunk opposite his—empty right now because Hoseok was at the front of the bus, taking pictures through the window and, probably, chatting up the French bus driver.

“About not being good enough,” Jungkook said after a minute, his words coming in the form of a deep sigh. “This is Europe, it’s a different audience for us. I mean—realistically, I know it’s not. If people are buying tickets to our shows, they probably know us. They like our music. But still. Most of them have only ever seen our performances online. Hearing someone sing in a YouTube video is so much different from hearing it live.”

You merely nodded, not wanting to interrupt, because, although he’d paused, it didn’t sound like he’d finished.

“So, now I’m thinking all these things, like…” he continued, “I don’t know. Not living up to their expectations,” you saw him swallow before he kept talking, “what if these people have been listening to Rated Riot since we started? From the very beginning, you know? And now they hear us live, and they think I’m doing a half-assed job. And they’re disappointed—they’ve waited to see us for so long and we didn’t deliver. I didn’t deliver. I don’t want that. I want them to remember this night, not just because we may be their favourite band, but because they’ve truly had a good time. You know?”

He needed reassurance—and asked for it repeatedly—so you nodded again, more eagerly.

To be fair, this wasn’t the first time that the two of you were talking about this. Years before he joined Rated Riot—before you broke up—you’d had multiple conversations about the one genuine fear that Jungkook had: disappointing others.

“But you are showing them a good time,” you said. You scooted backwards and leaned against the sideboard adjacent to him; it seemed like you were going to stay here a while. “I’ve watched you play tonight. You guys were brilliant.”

“Thanks,” he said, sounding noncommittal. “I know the guys are always—they don’t fuck around. They come and they tear that stage up to shreds.”

“So do you,” you reminded him.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“I know this isn’t insecurity speaking,” you said, “because we both know you’re great—”

Snorting, he interjected, “that part’s true.”

“—so, you’re worried you’re not doing enough. Not giving enough,” you concluded. “But do you feel like you’re holding back?”

He considered this for a moment. “No. I feel like I cough up my lungs and my heart, and toss them right into the crowd after the show. I couldn’t get off stage if I didn’t feel that way.”

“And it shows,” you said, softer now, as you watched the spark return to his eyes. Memories of the concert played back in his mind. “Performing is in your blood. It’s always been.”

“Right,” he said. “So, I should have nothing to worry about, then?”

He had a sardonic smile on his face, and he was, essentially, asking you if he should have stopped complaining. This wasn’t at all what you were trying to say.

“No, you have every right to still feel worried,” you said. “What I mean is, don’t forget that you know what you’re doing. You know it well. Fortunately for you, you were born to do this. I know it sounds like a nice thing to say to someone, but you know I wouldn’t be saying this if I didn’t mean it.”

He looked down. “I know.”

Then, hesitating for a moment, he pulled his lower lip in and brought his teeth over his lip ring. He added, “thank you.”

“I’m here to listen if you need me to,” you said. “And to remind you that people see your effort. They appreciate it. You guys are doing well.”

“We’re doing well,” he repeated—and did it while inhaling, like a mantra. Then, exhaling again, he joked awkwardly, “in any case, I can always fake it ‘til I make it, right?”

You shook your head, disagreeing immediately. “You’re the most genuine you’ve ever been when you’re performing. You guys have got nothing to fake.”

Coming from anyone else, he would have called this nonsense—he was a performer, so how would anyone know what was genuine for him? But you would. You were the one person who knew.

Slowly, a small smile crept onto his face as he asked, “yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echoed, feeling your own lips stretch into a smile. You added, “you’re my favourite band.”

He snickered and rolled his eyes. “You’re our manager, you have to say that.”

“Very true,” you did not argue, “but again, I’m saying that because I mean it.”

He gave you a look—not necessarily doubting your words, but having a hard time wrapping his head around your serious tone. He’d always assumed that the only reason why you paid any attention to his band, was because you had no other choice.

“You’d still listen to Rated Riot if you weren’t working with us?” he asked—a question long overdue, but he supposed he’d never really cared that much about this before. All that he cared about was that you were around.

“I’d even come to your shows,” you said.

He laughed, amazed for some reason. This was what you should have said to him from the very beginning; there were no signs of prior anxiety left on his face now.

“Wow. Okay,” he said in uncertain delight—as if he feared he’d misunderstood this and got excited about nothing. “Thank you.”

Calmer now that you’ve made him smile, you reached out to pat his knee amicably. He felt goosebumps on the skin of his arms and crossed them over his chest immediately.

“Don’t forget that, okay?” you said. “Part of the reason why so many people love you—why you have this opportunity to perform in Europe in the first place—is because you give away so much of yourself on stage. And, actually, I don’t think this is something you can control. It comes naturally to you.”

Jungkook watched you as you spoke, an almost forgotten warmth spreading in his chest. It’s been so long—so impossibly long—since he’d felt it. He wasn’t sure if he was even aware how much he’d missed it.

“Thank you,” he said once more—breathless this time. Wistful.

You nodded and asked, “you feeling better?”

“Definitely,” he replied, but it was hard for him to tell if this was true. He felt less anxious, yes. But now he felt confused.

He hadn’t expected this conversation, even though, reasonably, he should have—your work ethic required you to be reliable and trustworthy, to take care of those around you. And that was what you were doing.

But this conversation didn’t feel official. It didn’t feel like you were doing your job. It felt friendly and familiar.

And exciting, his rapid heartbeat whispered.

Yes. It felt exciting, too.

“Good,” you spoke, scooting back towards the edge of his bunk. “Now go to sleep.”

He snorted; your return to the role of his manager did not let him bask in nostalgia much.

“Alright,” he said, crawling to fluff the one remaining pillow in his bunk. “You’re the boss.”

“And stop acting fucking weird!” you added as you stood up. He laughed at the sudden outburst. “Nearly made me call a therapist for you.”

“Why would I need a therapist when I have you?” he teased. The brightness on his face was so honest, so infectious, that you had to look away to hide your own smile.

“Because they do not pay me enough for this,” you retorted.

Clutching his chest in mock-offence, he asked in a sorrowful voice, “am I nothing but a client to you?”

You picked up a pillow that had fallen off his bunk and tossed it at him.

“You’re my favourite clients,” you replied. He caught the pillow before it hit his face and grinned—despite knowing that Rated Riot were your only clients at the time.

“You’re my favourite manager,” he returned. This, finally, got a laugh out of you as you walked back to your own bunk.

Left alone, Jungkook didn’t even realise that this could, technically, count towards winning the bet. He didn't even remember the wedding at first; your questions, your reassuring tone, you had distracted him from bringing it up.

But he felt calm. He knew that he could afford to worry about this later. For now, he was busy replaying your conversation—and the part of it where you laughed—in his head.

chapter title credits: palaye royale, “king of the damned”

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts angst #jungkook rockstar au #bts fluff #bts rockstar au #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic

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wandas-lunchbox · 4 months

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so sick of you (chapter 3)

series summary: you and natasha have ended your relationship due to her cheating on you. it's been 5 years now. what happens when you bump into her at a bar on your birthday?

warnings: some swearing, but otherwise none

a/n: omg guys i’m acc so sorry this took 2 whole years to write. we’re gonna pretend that never happened…. you may end up having to wait another 5 years for the next chapter

finally i was on the plane. it felt like it took forever. it was an overnight flight which was good because i could finally get some sleep. wanda like the rich ass she is got us business class so we were pretty comfortable throughout the plane journey.

a couple hours had past and we were still mid air, wanda and i were sat next to eachother and in the chair next to me was a fairly pretty woman. ok i lied she was gorgeous. her hair was brunette with waves, she wore these black rimmed glasses and her lips looked so beautiful. i dont know why i noticed her lips but i guess i just did.

oh well.

i decided to get up and strech my legs for a bit, i felt some cramps in my legs so i needed to walk. wanda was snoring next to me while when harry met sally was playing in the background. i took a photo of her for evidence later. i walk up and head to the bathroom. it was occupied.

i stood there for a good whole 5 minutes till i heard faint moans coming from the bathroom. what the fuck. why are people having sex in an airplane bathroom, thats the most disgusting thing ever. they needed to hurry up bc a girls got to piss.

the beautiful brunette girl walks up to me, or well i guess to the bathroom. i admire her face.

“are people seriously having sex in an airplane bathroom”

i laugh and continue to look at her.

“honestly, like i understand doing it in your seat but the bathroom? seriously? thats the dirtiest place on the whole plane,” i said

“she laughs, are you headed to italy or is it a stop before another flight?” she asks

“yeah i’m going to italy, a friend actually planned this as a birthday trip, what about you?”

“oh, i live in italy, sorry let me rephrase i am italian and i used to live there, just visiting some family” she says

“oh nice, you’ll have to tell me some of the great places to go”

“of course!” she smiles at me

suddenly the bathroom door opens and a lady and a man walk out. both of them fixing their hair snd their clothes.

“after you,” the brunette says

“wait, i never ended up getting your name”

“we still have a whole 2 hours left of this flight, don’t worry you’ll figure it out” she laughs

i lock the door and began to do my buiness. i look at myself and i think i’ve seen death. my hair was a mess, and eye bags darker than ever.

i fixed it as a quick as possible before returning to my seat.

i smile at the girl before she goes in. when i sit at my seat i slap wanda a couple times trying to tell her what happened just now. she just slaps me back harder and starts snoring.

this girl could cause an avalanche with her snoring.

suddenly the girl returns to her seat and we continue to converse as if nothing had stopped us before.

we spoke as if we had known eachother forever. maybe we did?

the flight started to come to an end but our conversation definitely didn’t.

“you got a number or something?”

“yeah here let me type it for you.

i type in my number and write “your plain gf ;)” misspelling plane.

she laughs and points it out. “guess you’re a basic girlfriend then”

i look at her confused, only for her to show me i misspelled plane. i laugh and blush akwardly.

when the plane lands it takes forever for me to wake up wanda. this bitch just wouldn’t wake up.

after what felt like 3 trillion years, i get her up and we start to get ready to leave the plane.

we were in italy…

a/n: omg finally chapter 3 is out

lmk if you want to be added to the taglist making a new one

new year new me 😜

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yumeka-sxf · 6 months

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Today's new chapter was so intriguing 👀

First off, nice to see the Authens again. Guess we're sure now that Endo will make them reoccurring characters! Yor's embarrassment about being called "Mom" ("okaa-san" in the JP version) was really cute.

They managed to translate this joke very well; in the JP version, the word "ebento"(event) makes Sigmund think of "obento"(lunchbox). Using the word "function" for "luncheon" was clever!

But the main highlight of this chapter for me was seeing the ever enigmatic Melinda again after so long!

She's a really a tough one to figure out, and this chapter only brought up more questions than answers. She seems extremely nice here, being very forgiving of Millie despite her harsh accusations against her husband. She also mentions that she'd be very resentful if anything were to happen to her family...which is kind of contrasting to her thoughts about Damian from the end of the bus hijacking arc.

I also loved the scene of Yor sticking up for Millie. Her expression was so blank yet so deep at the same time. It actually reminded me of Anya's expression when she punched Damian - in both cases, their blank expression doesn't match their action, but it makes sense because they're still unsure of how to act and what emotion to portray in many seemingly "normal" situations. Anger and annoyance aren't feelings that come naturally to them.

In Yor's case here, having to defend someone against such accusations isn't something she's had much experience doing (at least not for someone who isn't family), and at the same time she can't just outright kill the hostile party like she would on an assassination mission. So despite being in such an awkward situation, especially for someone like her who struggles with social interactions, she managed to remain remarkably calm. As usual, Yor gets easily flustered when it comes to her own feelings, but if she sees someone else being threatened, her capabilities shoot up to maximum! That unpredictable expression should be feared from both her and Twilight!

We also learn that Yor lost her parents in the war, which is something I always suspected. Her words in the below panel reminded me a lot of the thoughts she had during the end of the cruise arc. As I've mentioned before, despite her naivety about many things, she understands the tragedies that go on in the world, especially in terms of war - that it's not just soldiers who suffer, but the children and everyone else left behind. It makes sense that someone who understands that kind of loss and hardship has such outpouring empathy to others the way Yor does...

...which is actually contrasting to the way Millie deals with her loss, by lashing out at others. It's said that those who have suffered can become either very sympathetic or very resentful. It was interesting to see that subtle contrast between Yor and Millie here.

Speaking of Millie, it was nice to see her get some redemption and backstory. Like Camilla, I still don't think this makes up for all the mean things she's said to Yor before, but it's something!

Good to see McMahon again after so long. Don't think he's made an appearance since the cruise arc 👀

As usual, it's hard to say if this chapter is leading to a new arc or not. I'm sure things mentioned here, especially about Melinda, will come back later, but who knows if it will be right away or several chapters from now. I know we were all expecting something relating to Anya's backstory based on the previous short mission, but I still think there's a chance that what happened here could tie into that. We'll see! We're close to chapter 100 so I wonder if Endo is planning something special for that 🤔

#spy family #spy x family #sxf #spyxfamily #yor forger #sxf manga #sxf manga spoilers #sxf spoilers #melinda desmond

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marvel-ous-m · 1 year

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Eddie Munson’s Guide for How to Adopt a Jock in Four Easy Steps (5/5)

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four

AO3 Link

A.N.: I’m actually kind of emotional posting this! It’s the first multi-chapter fic I’ve uploaded for ST and y’all have been so lovely this week. I hope you enjoy this 2,776 word ending (damn) to this fic that I’ve SO enjoyed writing and sharing.

I want to give a very special shoutout to my best friend @lamoabss for being my beta for this chapter and also just being an all-around wonderful person. Please give them a follow, they’re so insanely talented and we’re planning to do some collabs over the summer!

Okay, onto the last chapter!

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The first part of Step Three is easy enough- with all of Hellfire onboard, Eddie just needs to figure out the basics of Steve Harrington: likes, dislikes, allergies, school schedule, etc. All the things that high school students share with each other in the cafeteria over lunch or between class periods. So, Eddie makes like glue and sticks to Steve’s side. For the classes they share, Eddie moves to sit in the desk next to Steve- which is, sadly, pretty easy- no one is keen to sit next to the fallen king, probably out of some dumbass fear that they would catch whatever social pariah-ness that Steve had suddenly taken on. They trade notes during the classes that Steve zones out during- which, Eddie makes a mental note, are English and Math. (The other class they share together is Chemistry, and Steve can barely take his focus from whatever their science teacher is talking about to say ‘hi’ to Eddie when he comes into class five minutes late, which he does on a fairly regular basis. Eddie also files that information away for later).

By some unexplainable miracle, for the classes that Eddie doesn’t share with Steve, some member of Hellfire can fill in that space. Jeff takes Spanish 2 with Steve, Gareth has woodshop, and Grant has art and P.E.. Eddie employs them to run reconnaissance as they work together to make sure that Steve never has to sit alone in a class, and they begin to compile information through their various efforts.

Steve can draw pretty well, but he only uses pens to sketch. He loves art class and sits at the front to see the board better, so he probably needs glasses. He talked to the P.E. teacher last week and now all he does during class is sit in her office and file papers, I think she’s making him sit out for a few weeks because she thinks he has a concussion. Based on his behavior, he probably does. -Grant.

Steve hates woodshop. He sits in the back of the class and doesn’t pay attention, and if the professor catches him and makes him actually do work, he gets this look in his eye and panics a little. He does this thing with his right hand where he clenches it a couple times until he can breathe better. He won’t go near a hammer. I don’t really understand it. -Gareth.

Steve sucks at Spanish. He said something to me the other day about the letters not making sense. With the way he squints at his paper and the way he writes… I’m going out on a limb here, but he might be dyslexic? -Jeff.

Steve doesn’t pay attention in Math but he has an A, so he’s actually freakishly good with numbers. He doesn’t pay attention in English for the opposite reason, I think Jeff’s onto something. He loves Chemistry but he doesn’t have the best grade in that class. I think he pays attention because he wants to do a better job. He’s well rested on Monday and Friday morning, but Tuesday, Wednesday, and especially Thursday he looks like he’s about to fall over all day. I catch him nodding off in Math those days, and, maybe coincidentally, his shoes are really muddy on the mornings when he comes in tired. -Eddie.

With the new information, the boys get to work. Gareth makes himself Steve’s woodshop partner, doing the majority of the building and letting Steve relax for the most part, having him only do whatever wood staining that needs to be done. Grant shares some of his sketches with Steve in class to try and make him more confident about his art skills, which works surprisingly well. Grant also brings up his dyscalculia seamlessly over lunch one day and answers whatever questions Steve has. Jeff gives Steve his Spanish notes and asks to study together on Thursday nights. Steve turns him down- apparently Thursday nights he actually babysits Dustin so that Dustin’s mom, Claudia, can go to a Bingo thing with her friends, but Steve offers up Fridays after class in the library, which becomes a new tradition for them.

Eddie can’t offer much in the way of English notes (why read Shakespeare when there are hundreds of Sci-Fi and Fantasy books out in the world?) but he does make time to talk with Steve about English during lunch on Tuesdays. They go to the library instead of sitting in the cafeteria with the rest of Hellfire, and they work their way through whatever assigned reading their teacher gives them. Steve’s pretty tired, but not as tired as he is on Wednesdays or Thursdays, so it works, and they both find themselves actually understanding the subject matter for once. As for math- well, Eddie has Steve answer whatever questions he has rather than the other way around, but that seems to help Steve’s confidence about his math skills- which really are quite impressive. Eddie also finds himself as Steve’s lab partner for every Chem project. It’s a little bit chaotic- turns out that Steve understands Chemistry to a certain extent, but prefers to mess around more than actually learn something- which, yeah, dangerous, but also fun… very fun. (Eddie especially likes to play with the Bunsen burner- call him a pyromaniac- but his antics always pull a laugh from Steve, a bright sound that makes Eddie’s heart sing, so he keeps at it despite many, many reprimands from their Chem teacher).

The winter months turn to Spring, and Steve begins to bloom at the same pace as the flowers and trees around town. He contributes to conversations at lunch, plans to hang out with the guys when he has spare time, attends their band practices and cheers them on- hell, by March he even agrees to play a character in Eddie’s newest campaign. Eddie makes him a Paladin, which he claims fits Steve the best out of everything he could think of. Steve loves the character and picks up on what it’s like to actually play the game rather than strategize pretty quickly- unsurprisingly, Steve loves it.

The Hellfire boys seem to take Steve’s blooming personality in stride- Jeff goes over to Steve’s to bake chocolate chip cookies one-on-one, which they bring to the next campaign. He and Grant bond over art, swapping sketches and gifting each other art supplies. Every time Steve receives something, his eyes get this look- and every time that Eddie witnesses it, he’s reminded of why they brought Steve into their small-but-mighty crew, and is extremely grateful that Steve is acclimating so well. Steve and Gareth are fast friends, which takes all of them by surprise. Apparently, Steve gave Gareth some hairstyling tips, and that was that.

Steve’s personality isn’t the only thing that’s changing come Spring. Eddie finds himself staring at Steve’s mouth much more frequently. In fact, he can count a number of times where he could swear that Steve was doing the same to him. They laugh at each other's jokes more frequently, share stolen moments by Steve’s locker in between classes where they speak in hushed voices about whatever comes to mind. It’s… nothing that Eddie’s ever experienced before. At the same time, Eddie can’t imagine life without these moments with Steve, and while Jeff’s cautionary words are still at the forefront of his mind, he can feel himself falling harder, and it’s slowly reaching a worrisome point-of-no-return.

Time flies, and in the blink of an eye, it’s June. Steve passes all of his classes with the help of Hellfire, Eddie fails English and P.E. again (which he unfortunately expected- another year in this hell doesn’t sound all that appealing, but he figures that he can at least hang out with the guys for another year, and with Jeff in Senior English maybe he’ll actually pass). The four of them attend Steve’s graduation, where they meet some of the middle schoolers that Steve had spoken so highly about over the last few months. They all sit together and cheer as loud as they can when Steve walks across the stage and gets his diploma, even earning a few hushed whispers from surrounding parents to sit down and be quiet. Steve’s parents were nowhere to be found, but when everyone caught up with Steve after the ceremony to congratulate him, it was clear that he didn’t mind- in that moment, he had everyone that he cared about surrounding him.

Hellfire presented Steve with a club T-Shirt as a graduation gift, which he took with a wide smile on his face and that same look in his eye. Eddie took a moment to mentally pat himself on the back- Step Three: Get Steve Fully Integrated Into Hellfire, complete. (Yeah, he fell harder for Steve, but he kept that to himself and got Steve through the rest of the school year while also giving him a new group of friends- and, theoretically, Steve was none the wiser about Eddie’s feelings. All in all- not bad, Munson. Not bad.)

The kids had to leave pretty quickly after congratulating Steve- something about getting Dustin packed for summer camp and Claudia having been the one to drive all of them to graduation- but not without Dustin and his friends making Eddie promise to let them into Hellfire when September came around, while simultaneously gawking about him letting someone like Steve into the group. (Their bright personalities and excitement about Hellfire helped Eddie feel a bit more optimistic about the year ahead- who knew, maybe ‘86 would be his year).

Once the crowd dispersed, the rest of the boys of Hellfire also going their separate ways to get a start on summer plans, Eddie invited Steve over to the trailer to share a joint and spend the night. Wayne was pulling a 24 hour shift, and Eddie figured Steve needed an opportunity to let loose before starting work at the new ice cream shop, a job Steve was dreading. (Although, Eddie was secretly pretty excited about Steve’s new job, given the embarrassing uniform that Steve had described).

Steve took Eddie up on his offer, which is how they ended up splayed next to each other on Eddie’s bed, legs tangled together and giggling through the soft haze that came with working through some of Eddie’s stash. One thing led to another, and, at Steve’s quiet, embarrassed request, they tried out ‘shotgunning’, which turned into a very heated makeout session.

The development was entirely unexpected, but, as was later revealed during a conversation at sunrise, mutually very welcomed. So maybe Step Three wasn’t entirely completed in accordance with Jeff’s warning, but whatever. This was good- actually, scratch that, this was perfect. Best-of-all-possible-scenarios, win-win situation. They started dating- keeping it secret, only sharing it with the other members of Hellfire, and then only because Jeff clocked it within three minutes of one of their summer D&D sessions starting. They were all very supportive (save for a warning glare from Jeff that Eddie was on the receiving end of), and for about a month, Steve was the happiest that Eddie had ever seen. And yeah, Eddie was the happiest he’d been in a long time, too. Sue him, Steve was a great boyfriend- and was fucking perfect in the bedroom. (12/10 stars, give the man an award, kinda perfect. And that sailor suit? Goddamn…) Eddie didn’t know how he got so lucky, but he was going to do everything in his power to keep this gift from the universe in prime condition.

June turned to July, and Eddie’s understanding of the world as he knew it completely changed come Independence Day. Eddie was woken up by a phone call in the middle of the night from Steve, who, sounding beyond exhausted, asked for a ride home for him and his coworker Robin. Eddie arrived at the scene and was shocked by the sheer magnitude of what he had unknowingly stumbled upon. There were at least five times as many emergency response vehicles than Hawkins had, the newly-constructed mall was actively burning to the ground, there was a huge crowd outside a long yellow barrier of police tape, and a few faces Eddie recognized beyond the police tape: specifically Steve’s middle schoolers, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, and-

There was Steve, holding a blanket around his shoulders, sitting in the back of an ambulance next to his coworker Robin, who Eddie knew from theater, band, and the handful of times he came in to visit Steve at work. Eddie ducked under the police tape without much fanfare and made his way over to the ambulance, pulling Steve into a hug the second he was within arms length.

They left pretty soon after that, Steve quietly explaining that he had told Robin about their relationship after vomiting their brains out in the movie theater bathroom. Which- Eddie wasn’t really sure how to unpack all of that, but that wasn’t exactly important at the moment. He drove Steve and Robin to Steve’s house, and, at their request, Eddie laid in Steve’s parent’s California King bed with the two of them. After a few hours of all of them trying to sleep but coming up unsuccessful, Steve finally started speaking. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, and an explanation of the hidden dark side of Hawkins came spewing out.

It was dawn by the time Steve finished recounting everything, and Eddie believed him without question. He trusts Steve intrinsically, he knows Steve would never lie about something like this- something so life-altering and burdensome. Besides, Steve’s story matched events that Eddie could place: Will going ‘missing’, followed by Barbara Holland, then Will magically re-appearing around the same time that Steve had his falling out with Hagan and came back to school with a beat-up face from Jonathan Byers. Steve walking the tracks with Dustin as he’d explained all those months ago in November took on a new meaning- they were searching for a monster from an alternate dimension that Dustin had accidentally let loose. The clenching motion Steve made and his aversion to woodshop suddenly made sense, too. In the middle of recounting the events of early November 1984, Steve left his parents room and returned with a wooden bat filled with nails that fit perfectly in Steve’s hand- he explained with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks that it kept him grounded, that he couldn’t sleep without it- that sometimes, when he was anxious, he felt himself reaching for the thing- but if he was relaxed, the idea of holding something even vaguely similar made him sick to his stomach.

Steve then moved on to describe the sleepless nights, how he made himself patrol Hawkins from sundown to sunup on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights, often trudging through the forest with his bat, ready to kill the next ‘big bad’ that came from the dimension existing under their feet.

Robin contributed what she could when Steve reached the events at Starcourt. After hours of talking in hushed whispers under the covers of Mr. and Mrs. Harrington’s bed, the three of them passed out, too exhausted to keep their eyes open.

The next few weeks were hard, but the three of them got through the nightmares together. Before Eddie knew it, the school year was starting, Robin and Steve were inseparable, working together at Family Video (because the two could barely spend a minute apart), and July 4th, 1985 felt like a distant thing.

As the months passed, Eddie and Steve’s relationship only became stronger, and in March of 1986, when Eddie watches Chrissy Cunningham be killed by seemingly supernatural forces, he knows who to call.

With a proactive start on things, they kill Vecna on the first try. No one dies- really, the worst that happens is a couple of scratches here and there. They live.

They love.

One day far in the future, as Eddie watches his husband play with their daughter, he thinks back to that November day in 1984, and sends a quiet thank you to his younger self. That Eddie in the library may have had no idea the long-lasting effects that his plan would’ve had on his life, but Eddie couldn’t be more thankful. Steve was nothing like the ‘lost sheep’ Eddie had initially assessed him to be- he had grown so much, found himself, accepted himself. He was Steve. Eddie’s Steve. He was his own, beautiful, intelligent, kind, sometimes-awkward (yet adorably so), person.

Secret, Unplanned Step Four: Make Steve Harrington Fall in Love with Me (While I Fall Irresistibly in Love With Him), complete.

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Tag List: @ellietheasexylibrarian @cuips-not-cute @melodymeddler @i-have-three-feelings @sc00ps-ahoy @singmeyoursimpsong @patchworkgargoyle @spectrum-spectre @devondespresso @thesuninyaface @obsessivlyme @angeldreamsoffanfic @carlyv @nburkhardt @inspirationorinsanity @rebelspykatie @my2amgaythoughts @lavenderagenda @just-a-tiny-void @mamafaithful @breadboi66 @beholdingloser @randomfandomcontent @oftirnanog @yellowdevilkitten @steves-strapcollection @keep-er-steddie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @bisexualdisastersworld @jinxjinn @copingmechanizm @blackpanzy @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @evix-syne666 @crisisinverted17 @satan-is-obsessed @shrimply-a-menace @anaibis @trashcanniballecter @thoughtfulbreadpolice @awholedamnmesstbh @chaoticvictorianspirit @jcmadgirl @satan-is-obsessed @tommyvelvet @sleepdeprivedflower @fruitmix @carvingsnowdogs @annabanannabeth @rhyswritesreadsandcries @a-little-unsteddie @goodolefashionedloverboi @escapingthereality @aellafreya @lololol-1234

#stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #my writing #1984 steddie meeting au my beloved #steddie fic #pre s4 #pre s4 meeting #s2 rewrite #steve harrington needs a hug #hurt/comfort

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bonny-kookoo · 6 months

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Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 19

Everything tries to get in between him and his goal.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Brat Tamer!Jungkook, kinda himbo!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, mentions of smut but SFW chapter, he's such a scatterbrain part 3537

Length: 1.1k Words

Callob with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

A/N: no I did not forget that I didn't post

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Alright, regroup. There’s not that much time left until you both have to pack again and make your way back home- and he still hasn’t managed to pop the question.

So today, he’s got a new plan: A nice picnic at a nearby park, all romantic, making use of the good weather forecast. He’s been up way earlier than usual to make some snacks and sandwiches, pack some wine in the rented car, just to wake you up later after he’s made sure he placed the little box inside his pocket as well, so he can have it on himself when he’s ready to make that step.

Walking onto the bedroom where you’re watching him with one eye cracked open, he can’t help but laugh a little as he crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Why’re you up already?” You slur sleepily, while he playfully lets his weight press down on you for a moment. “Come back to bed..” You demand weakly, turning a little to pull him close to you.

“No can do baby.” He grins. “Have something planned for us today.” He tells you, before he leans up again and pecks your lips once more. “And that requires you to get up and dressed. Up up!” He teases, smacking your butt beneath the blankets before he escapes your wrath by running out the bedroom to let you get ready.

This time he’ll get it right.

He’s busy setting everything up while you roam through the bag with the food with wonder, when he hears something odd from close by- something he can’t help but notice, especially when you ask him about it too. “It almost sounds like something whimpering?” You ask, confused and mildly concerned- and Jungkook agrees with that feeling.

You both get up to walk towards the sound to investigate it, finding nothing at first- until the sound becomes louder, and Jungkook finds the source of it between two thick branches of a bush in the park.

It’s a dog- a small one, back legs strapped into a little wheelchair, which got stuck in the branches, causing him to stay fixated in an odd position, helplessly struggling to get back out of his unfortunate situation. “Oh no, buddy-” Jungkook instantly coos, carefully bending down to figure out a way to get the poor dog out.

And once he does, the little canine is eager to show his gratitude by happily jumping up with his front legs, yapping with no agression at Jungkook who can’t help but be affected by the cuteness of the admittedly a little scruffy looking little guy.

“He’s so cute!” You beam at the little dog, squatting down to pet the disabled pup who happily receives the attention you give him. “You’re such a good boy!” You can’t help but tell the little guy, and Jungkook feels his heart swell at the sight of the small thing wagging his tail wildly.

“Oh, there he is!” A woman calls, the small dog running towards her with his wheels.

“He got stuck in the branches there.” Jungkook explains. “So we helped him out. Is he your dog?” He wonders, and the woman shrugs.

“Kind of? I’m fostering him for the moment, he’s actually up for adoption.” She explains, and at that, your head turns a little. “He’s from a hoarder situation. His back legs are paralyzed from an accident but he actually gets around just fine! In the house he doesn’t need the wheelchair at all- I just put some socks over his legs so he doesn’t rub them open. But he’s just as quick for breakfast lunch and dinner as the rest.” She jokes, making Jungkook and you laugh as you watch the little dog look around the park.

“How old is he?” You wonder, and she sighs.

“About five? Maybe six? It’s hard to tell, really.” She admits. “And I know he looks a bit scruffy but I promise he’s a sweetheart.” She sighs.

“Oh no, he’s super cute!” You argue, happily petting the little dog who’s tongue seems to be a bit disoriented as he lets you pet him all you want. “And so handsome, yes you are!” You tell the dog who’s got neither an idea about what you’re telling him, nor does he seem to care.

“No really, I agree. He’s totally cute.” Jungkook says.

“I’m glad at least someone says it.” The woman laughs relieved. “He doesn’t have good chances for adoption since he’s disabled and you know, his eyes are a bit cloudy already and all that.” She huffs. “If you want I can give you my contact info and we could maybe stay in touch?” She hopefully asks, and Jungkook looks over to you. “Bowser seems to have fallen for your girlfriend already.” She laughs, and Jungkook’s eyes widen.

The dog’s name is bowser.

“I totally fell for him too!” You laugh, chasing the little guy around, careful as to not make the wheelchair tip over. “I mean, we’re not from the area though.” You admit, but the lady shakes her head.

“No problem!” She offers. “It’s a process anyways. Someone’s going to visit you first, check if everything’s alright, and then we’ll talk about the adoption and all that- if you’re interested, that is.” She shrugs, already sharing her phone number with Jungkook who didn’t even notice pulling out his phone.

And after saying goodbye to both the dog and the lady, he can’t help himself as you both sit back on the blanket he’d set out earlier.

“Bowser!” Jungkook whines. “His name was bowser babe, that’s the cutest shit ever! Like a sign!” He says, and you laugh.

“He was really cute. But.. Do you think we’re really ready for a dog?” You ask a little worried, making him shrug.

“I mean, I work from home, mostly. So I’d always be around.” He says. “And you kind of hinted at wanting a pet this year too?” He asks, and you nod.

“I just.. Didn’t know if you wanted that with me.” You mumble a little. “It’s kind of like getting a kid, you know? A big responsibility and all that. Makes a relationship turn really serious.” You say, and at that, Jungkook leans closer to hold your hands.

“Baby, I’ve been taking this relationship seriously from the very start.” He offers. “I always will. And I want to take that step with you, if you’re up for it.” He grins, leaning forward to peck your lips.

And you can’t help but smile as well, throughout the entire way home-

The whole situation making him almost forget that he just fucked up another try to pop the question, only realizing it when he’s in bed with you already, making him angrily run his hands over his face in the darkness of the bedroom.

Why the hell does the world seem to play against him every fucking time?!

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagines #jungkook imagines #bts jeon jungkook imagine

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kujousgf · 4 months

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II. DARK LEGION. mdni. 18+. series masterlist

pairings: wanda maximoff + mutant!reader

summary: you and wanda talk... kind of

warnings: slight violence

wc: 1.8k~

< previous chapter | next chapter >

It’s a stupid question, Wanda knows that. Of course you know about the prophecy, why else would you be here? There is no way that you just happened to show up out of nowhere without knowing. You nod, and you’re happy your hands are occupied in your pockets to stop them from twitching or fidgeting, you haven’t had this many eyes on you in, well, a while. “Agatha spoke to me about it briefly,” you pause for a second, “but I’m not entirely familiar with what it seems to be talking about.”

You hope Wanda understands what you mean when you say that without having to say it explicitly. You’re familiar with who Chthon is, but what you don’t know is what exactly the Darkhold means by Wanda being ‘born from Chthon’ and simply because of the nature of the God, you’re not sure she would be willing to discuss it so openly and in front of everyone. You’d been thinking about it for a combined few hours now, trying to figure out what exactly is meant by the word ‘born’. You were actually largely confused by the fact that this prophecy was in the Darkhold at all. That, however, was something you could think about later.

Agatha cuts in before Wanda can speak and effectively seals both of your fates, “Wanda, dear, why don’t you take our Hunter to the library? You two can discuss the prophecy while the rest of us come up with a plan. Maybe some of Tony’s gadgets can help track down Lilith.” She smiles after she’s done and you both know you can’t say no because it wasn’t really a question. You should just leave, really, go back to that middle of nowhere town and forget all of this even happened, but you still can’t shake that nagging feeling in the back of your head. The one that tells you this is something you have to do whether you want to or not.

It’s quiet as the two of you walk to the library, the only sound being your footsteps on the floor and the occasional bird chirping outside when you walk past an open window. It’s not an entirely awkward silence, it’s just that neither of you are particularly willing to start a conversation. You’re focused too much on trying to remember exactly where the library is just in case it becomes useful in the future, and Wanda’s trying not to focus on the way her heart speeds up when you're near.

In order to ignore the way your own heart seems to be beating out of your chest, something that hasn’t happened in a long long time, you attempt to make small talk. “What,” you pause for just a second, trying to figure out which question you want to ask, “did Tony mean when he said ‘new’ loverboy? And what’s so funny about me not being a boy?” It comes out a little awkwardly, not used to talking with people lately. And, admittedly, you realize you sound a little childish asking this particular question and something tugs at the nerves in your forearms when you do. It gives you a feeling you’d rather not think about.

Wanda merely glances at you, “I don’t believe that has anything to do with the prophecy, does it?”

You inwardly wince. Wrong question to ask, then. Your people skills clearly need work, but Wanda is also clearly guarded and doesn’t seem to want you around. She’d sounded unhappy, but cordial at best when she greeted you merely ten minutes ago. You can’t blame her, though, you’re not that happy to be here either. However, you can be cordial, too. There’s no need to act familiar with her, because even if it feels like you are, you’re not. “Of course, my apologies. That was rude of me to ask.. I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped.”

It really is none of your business what Wanda’s past relationships were or if she had any at all, you’re not sure why that was one of the first questions you asked, it wouldn’t usually be. What you do know is that the pulling in your nerves has shifted to a pulling at your veins that spreads through your body and you’re certain that it has nothing to do with Wanda now. You try not to let it show, but something outside of the compound is beckoning you towards it, calling for every essence of your being.

Your head snaps to the side and quicker than Wanda can even open her mouth to ask why you’ve stopped walking, your dagger is unsheathed and lodged into the chest of some… thing, pinning it against the wall and watching as the holes where its eyes would be glow green before they go dim and the creature turns to ash with a shrill screech. You’re not sure what it is and neither is Wanda, but the pulling in your veins has stopped and you feel the tension leave your body.

“What was that?” Wanda’s eyes have widened slightly as she looks between you and the pile of ash on the ground. “I…” you’re hesitant to say it, not wanting to face the facts, “believe it was sent by my mother.” You re-sheath the knife when you’re sure that was the only one. Wanda hadn’t even noticed you had it, otherwise she might have been more hesitant than she already was to go to the library alone with you. Even though she has no reason to suspect you’ll hurt her. In fact, part of her knows that you would never.

“What a—” Wanda thinks of what to say, not wanting to say anything to offend you, but knowing a thing or two about bad ‘parents,’ “nice welcome present.” She settles with, and you actually laugh a little. It’s quiet and it’s mixed with a bit of disbelief, but it’s a laugh and Wanda almost doesn’t hate the way it makes her feel warm inside. “Yeah, it almost makes up for the missed birthdays.”

The rest of the walk to the library is quiet and uneventful. Since there was only the one creature in the hallway and you couldn’t sense any more, the two of you decided you’d just tell Agatha after she was done whatever it was she was doing and perhaps she could tell you what it was. It wasn’t quite so tense with you and Wanda now, a little joke goes a long way, but neither of you attempted to make any small talk afterwards. You don’t feel the apprehension radiating off of Wanda anymore and she doesn’t feel the need to run away radiating off of you.

The library is nice if not a little dusty, as if the Avengers don’t make use of it nearly as much as they should. If you had a library like this you would be in it all the time. The bookshelves are a deep brown color and you run your fingertip across the length of one of the smaller shelves. Real wood. The room itself is huge and the walls are lined with bookshelves. There’s space in the center of the room with a large wooden table and a few chairs, but the rest of the space is filled with rows of bookshelves. You wonder just how many topics are covered in all of these books and if any of them have anything to do with what’s going on right now.

Your fingertips graze the spines of a couple of books as you make your way to the table, stopping to peer around the room. Wanda doesn’t speak, just observes as you take in the compound’s library. She had been enamored with it when she first moved into the compound and it seems to have the same effect on you. She’s noticed that the older books are the ones that catch your eye and for reasons she’s largely ignoring, files that detail away for later.

You reach into your back pocket and grab the envelope, taking it out and setting it on the table without really looking. It slides a little when it hits the wood before stopping. You don’t speak at first and neither does Wanda, waiting for you to figure out what you want to do, watching the wheels turn in your head as you look up at the ceiling. You take a breath before you look at the witch. There’s not exactly any point in keeping secrets, you decide.

“You know, I wasn’t going to come. When Agatha sent me that letter,” you gesture to the wrinkled envelope on the table, “I was fully prepared to ignore it. After all, it’s not exactly custom to agree to help someone you haven’t seen or spoken to in fifteen years, but there was something nagging me in the back of my mind, telling me I had to at least figure out what it was she wanted. But now that I’m here… I don’t think that’s what it was at all.”

Wanda’s breath catches because she knows what you’re going to say next and she doesn’t know if she wants you to or not. She feels it, too, the pull in her chest, and it’s like she can almost see the energy that connects you to her and her to you. She doesn’t entirely hate your presence anymore and it’s scary. It’s scary because it’s only been about 30 minutes and she can’t tell if these are her own feelings or if she just thinks she’s feeling this way because she’s supposed to. It’s scary because no one had ever made her feel anything more than indifference in less than a week. Up until she’d met you, hell, up until ten minutes ago, she had sworn to herself that she wouldn’t want anything to do with you, but now that you’re here she doesn’t know if she can ignore that pull. It’s almost infuriating. It was something she was going to ignore until you brought it up, but now that you have—

“I still don’t really know what I’m supposed to be doing here, but,” your voice pulls Wanda back to the present and she knows she has to stop you before you continue. “Don’t… please,” it’s a plea because she knows once you say those words there’s no taking them back, once the universe knows, there’s no taking it back, “I know, but it hasn’t even been a day and I,” her next words make bile rise up in her throat, “I have Vision.”

#alice's series !#alice's fics !#wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x you #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine

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howlinchickhowl · 5 days

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Ristretto - mini update

Hey! So, uh. I've been working on the next chapter of Ristretto for a good long while now. I'm finding it challenging because it's a lot of spice and that's one of the things I find hardest to write well. The next chapter, May, the lusty month of may, is planned as basically a five + 1 of fucking, and I have completed one section! So I have decided what I am doing for this chapter is mini updates by section here on tumblr, and then whenever I have all the sections complete I will update on ao3. In all honesty I just feel like I need the boost of actually posting something right now.

If you remember this fic and want to read the updates separately as they come, great! If you would rather wait and read them all in one go as one whole chapter, also great!

If you have no idea what Ristretto is, it's my coffeeshop AU I have been writing forever and a day and you can read from the beginning here.

And now without further ado!

Chapter 9(a) - rated E

May

By the time Ian closes the store, Mickey has taken to the break room for a nap, and Ian completes all of his nightly cleaning duties to the sounds of him snoring deep and rhythmic. When he’s done Ian shakes him awake and is treated to a full ten minutes of Mickey yawning and squinting like a sleepy baby while they gather their shit and lock up. They walk to the L and it seems to dawn on Mickey just when they’re getting on the train that he doesn’t actually know what Ian has planned, or where they’re going.

He gripes when Ian refuses to tell him, makes a few guesses but doesn’t get anywhere close. When they get to their stop he looks confused, wary, like maybe Ian’s playing some sort of trick on him. But he follows all the same.

They get off at 47th and cut back across the 90 towards the maze of streets they both sort of call home. Ian leads them through Fuller Park, past the train depot, and the little league field.

“I peed on first base here once.” Mickey tells him, with a childish sort of pride, hooking his fingers into the chain-link fence and stopping to stare out at the spot in question.

“Why?” Ian stops beside him, watching his face as he looks, remembers. Mickey shrugs, like he doesn’t know why, but there is a faraway look in his eyes that suggests that this is not really the case.

“Bet you were a little terror.” Ian jokes, bumping Mickey’s shoulder with his own.

“I was a Milkovich.” Mickey smiles, licks his teeth, kind of feral, and pushes off from the fence. “We got far to go?” He asks, and Ian shakes his head no, pushing off as well and steering them across the little patch of green adjacent to the field so they can hang a right onto Normal.

A couple of blocks and a couple of turns later and they’re there. A road of empty homes, a tiny ghost town in the middle of the night. It’s eerie, actually, Ian thinks as they walk. They reach their destination, two doors down from Lip’s new place, a little square box of a home with faded gray walls, an overgrown front yard, and, crucially, a shitty back door with a broken lock.

Ian leads them through the little wilderness of the yard around to the back, jiggles the handle a little in the way that he has figured out gives him the quickest access, and ushers Mickey inside.

The electricity is out but Ian is prepared, he reaches over to the counter and flips on the camping lantern he had set there for this exact purpose. It’s not bright but it gives off just enough light for Mickey to see the selection of snacks Ian has set out next to the sink, the array of candles he has prepared on most of the other surfaces, ready to light, and through the open door into the next room where he has set up a little nest for them.

Mickey’s back is to him and he hasn’t spoken yet, and it’s making Ian kind of nervous. Was this a weird thing to do? Was it too much? Maybe he should have talked to him about it before? The seconds tick by and neither of them speaks and Ian’s heart starts to pound like that time he and Lip had boosted a car and ended up in front of a cop car at a red light, holding their breaths and hoping like hell that the car hadn’t been reported stolen yet.

Sucking in a deep breath he moves past Mickey and starts to light the candles, just to give himself something to do.

“It’s not much, I don’t know, I thought…”

He trails off, holds his lighter to the wick of a dusty teddy bear shaped candle Debbie had been throwing away and chances a glance at Mickey, nervous, but unable to stop himself from trying to figure out what he’s thinking.

Mickey’s eyes roam around the room, taking in the sight as the newly lit candles cast warm flickering shadows over his impassive face. They land at last on Ian’s, reflections of the flames dancing against the black of his pupils.

“It’s private.” Ian shrugs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow, drags his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment and nods.

“Private, huh?” He asks, stepping closer so their bodies brush against each other. Ian reaches around past him to light another candle, no noise but their breathing and the soft swish of his sleeve against Mickey’s.

He lights the candle, and the one next to it, placing them gently back in place on the counter, and when he turns his head towards Mickey he is right there. Their faces are inches apart, so close he could count the individual freckles on Mickey’s eyelids, could extend his tongue and lick the tip of his nose.

Their eyes lock onto each other’s and his breath is suddenly coming in shallow little huffs that blow the stray hairs hanging over Mickey’s forehead up.

“Tell me Gallagher,” Mickey’s voice is hushed, a low rumble of a thing that gets Ian’s nerves tingling as Mickey squares up to him, getting his body even closer and laying assured hands on Ian’s belt buckle. “What do we need somewhere private for?”

His eyebrows tick up again, suggestive, knowing, and his fingers find stronger purchase on Ian’s belt, the backs of his first knuckles brushing the sensitive skin of Ian’s stomach while his thumbs trace the outline of the buckle. Ian sucks in a sharp breath, Mickey draws in his own, long and slow and he waits.

Ian moves first, slamming his face into Mickey’s with enough force to push him back into the counter and latching his lips onto Mickey’s with almost desperate fervor, and after that it’s pointless trying to say who is kissing or grabbing or undressing whom.

Tongues and lips and teeth all slide and catch and drag, Ian pulls Mickey’s jacket down his shoulders, Mickey gets Ian’s pants open and shoved down over the swell of his ass. They move as one frenzied unit, pulling and grabbing and pushing and shoving, until Ian’s pants are around his ankles and they are tripping and stumbling and laughing into each other’s mouths trying to stay upright.

Mickey grabs a fistful of Ian’s shirt and yanks it up in an entirely ineffective attempt to get it off him, growling when he is unsuccessful.

“Fuckin’, take your fuckin’ shirt off asshole.’ Mickey yanks again and Ian pulls away just enough to get his shirt over his head, tossing it blindly and praying it doesn’t land on a lit candle and start a fire. He should be more careful, he knows, but he can’t focus on anything but Mickey right now, Mickey who is looking him up and down and licking his lips like Ian is a big juicy steak he’s looking to devour.

“Fuck, yeah.” Mickey breathes, getting both his hands on Ian’s traps and sliding them, firmly, down over his chest until just his fingertips are brushing over Ian’s abs. He rests there, and the muscles in Ian’s stomach jerk under his touch.

“This is the most of you I’ve seen all at once.” Mickey tells him, breathless, giddy, running his eyes up over Ian’s chest and shoulders and then down to where his hands are resting, plucking gently at the elastic waistband of his underwear, index finger rubbing idly over the little thatch of coarse red hairs that line it.

Ian leans in to drop a kiss on his open mouth, slack and wet and eager against Ian’s own. He moves over to leave kisses against his cheek, his jaw, nosing up behind his ear into his hairline and breathing in the scent of his skin, intoxicating and so intense just there that Ian can hardly bear it.

“You want to see more?” He asks, pushing the flat of his tongue against the skin of Mickey’s neck and dragging, slowly, as Mickey shivers against him.

“Wanna see it all.” Mickey’s voice catches as Ian flicks at his earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and he shoves his whole hands down into Ian’s shorts, palms flattening over his hips and fingers digging into the flesh of his ass in retaliation. The movement pulls them right in close, and Ian’s cock ends up shoved right up along the length of Mickey’s where’s it’s hard in his jeans.

It’s like a whole series of flashbulbs go off in Ian’s brain, one after the other. Flash. Flash. Flash. His whole brain lighting up with the contact, a full-body shudder running through him, forcing his breath right out of his chest in short little vocal puffs that he can’t contain. He shoves his forehead into Mickey’s shoulder and breathes there, letting the soft, musty scent of Mickey’s skin soothe him until he has a better hold of himself.

Mickey’s fingers twitch, urgent, and it is that impatience helps Ian focus, helps him find it in himself to drag his mouth up Mickey’s neck, take his earlobe between his teeth in a sharp tug and then whisper.

“Take them off then.”

That’s all the permission Mickey needs, he shoves Ian’s shorts down and the two of them are off again, hands and tongues and lips everywhere at once. Ian gets distracted running his hands all over Mickey’s back and shoulders and waist, feeling the warmth of his skin seeping into his palms and getting lost in the sensation so much that he barely notices Mickey huffing and puffing about having to take off his own pants, since Ian isn’t gonna do it for him.

They laugh together when he can’t get enough room to open his fly button. Ian leans his hips back to make some space and gets with the program enough to help Mickey get his jeans and underwear down until there is a matching pool of fabric restricting his ankles as much as Ian’s. And then they laugh again.

“Should probably take our shoes off.” Ian murmurs, pressing kisses to Mickey’s lips, pressing the whole length of his body along the whole length of Mickey’s and trying not to hyperventilate at how good it feels to feel him.

“Later.” Mickey grunts, shoving his hand between them and grabbing hold of Ian, firm in the way he’s come to learn that Ian likes best. He slides his tongue sloppily into Ian’s mouth in time with his thumb rubbing over the head and it’s almost enough to make Ian’s knees buckle.

“Mickey.” He tries to say, muffled against Mickey’s lips, hindered by his seeking tongue and his clever little hand starting to stroke.

“Mickey!” He succeeds this time, firmly, grabbing whole handfuls of Mickey’s ass and pulling him tight to Ian’s body, trapping his hand between them and halting his movement with a grunt. Mickey’s answering huff is petulant and it’s pure instinct that has Ian pulling him in even harder, letting his fingers pull at Mickey’s ass-cheeks so that they part, exposing him to the open air, letting him feel it until his panting breaths turn vocal and he stops trying to move.

Mickey’s eyes catch on his, they’re dark with want, pupils blown wide enough that Ian can barely make out the blue in them. Up to now their encounters have been marked with both an overwhelming intensity of desire and a level of humor Ian never knew could be a part of sex. Sex has never really been fun in this way, before. Fun in the way where you get your rocks off and it feels really fucking good and someone thinks you’re hot and that feels amazing or you’re super high or out of your head and everything you do is fun. But fun like this, stupid fun where you’re held captive by your pants and your lover won’t let you do anything about it kind of fun, that’s a new thing. That’s a Mickey thing. It’s the best thing Ian’s ever had.

But now it feels like they are teetering on the edge of something else, something new. Not wholly new to Ian, he’s dangled his feet in these waters a couple of times before, and the heat in Mickey’s eyes suggests that it’s not his first dip in this particular pool either, but new for them, together, and just the thought that they might be on the same page, compatible in this as well, it’s a whole new thrill.

“I had a plan.” He tells Mickey, low and serious, letting his thumb rub over the swell of one ass cheek, feeling the fuzz of the surprisingly light colored hairs that grow there. “Got a mattress all set up in the next room, comfy pillows, soft sheets.”

“Not a fuckin’ princess Gallagher.” Mickey grumbles, and Ian clenches his fingers harder, pulling his cheeks further apart. He can’t see, but from the sharp grunt that Mickey lets out he can tell the tension is starting to stretch his hole open ever so slightly.

“No.” He says, easing up just a little. “Just thought you might appreciate getting fucked without getting carpet burn on your ass.”

Mickey’s mouth turns up in a smile that is somehow equal parts flirty, filthy, and sweet, and his tongue flicks out over his lips slow, tantalizing.

“Awful thoughtful of you.” He tilts his head up into the space below Ian’s chin and Ian shivers as the flat of his warm, wet, tongue slides over the underside of his jaw.

“Yeah, I’m nice like that.” His focus is split, the sharp spikes of Mickey’s stubble following the path of his tongue like tiny electric shocks against the sensitive skin of his throat, but he manages to loosen his grip and slide the fingers on his right hand all the way into Mickey’s crack and stroke them up and down a couple of times, fingertips catching gently against his rim as they move.

“Hmm.” Mickey sucks in a slow breath, and Ian can feel all the muscles in his ass twitch, uncontrollably. He likes that. “Other ways too.”

“You think I’m nice?” Mickey’s teeth join the party, scraping over the hinge in Ian’s jaw, adding a new sensation to the wet and sharp in a way that makes Ian’s knees threaten to give out. Ian rewards him by allowing the tip of his middle finger to sink in, breeching the tight circle of muscle just enough that it clenches around him. Just enough that he can now officially say he’s been inside Mickey Milkovich.

A soft vocal puff of breath blows out against Ian’s neck, wet with saliva and just a little itchy where Mickey’s been working it over with his lips and tongue and teeth.

“What’s that?” Ian inclines his head, pushing their temples together. He pushes his finger a little deeper and then pulls it back almost immediately, Mickey’s body moving with him, unconsciously trying to keep him in. Mickey grunts. Ian pushes at his cheek with his nose, lays soft kisses on his cheek, against the corner of his lips. “Say you think I’m nice, Mick.”

He gets at Mickey’s lips, hot and wet, slides his own over them, breathes a hot breath into his mouth, swallows the breath that Mickey gives him back. He lets his finger push back in, as far as it will easily go.

“Mickey.”

Mickey kisses him, one sweaty hand coming up to grip at his shoulder and the other grabbing him at the hip. He kisses him dirty, lips and tongue dragging hot over Ian’s own, slow and wet and it’s so fucking hot Ian makes a sound he’s never heard outside of porn, like a grunt and a moan had a filthy high-pitched baby and it gets Mickey grinning against his mouth until he’s basically kissing teeth.

“Nice guy, huh?” His lips pluck at Ian’s again, nose bashing nose as he draws his head back so their eyes can meet. “That what you think you are?”

“What else?” Ian shrugs, drawing his finger, still resting just inside of Mickey’s ass, in tight little circles, just the tip really, swirling around, feeling his walls, the heat, the jolt of Mickey’s muscles as they pulse at the contact. He could just stay there forever, just rubbing at him, feeling him, but at the same time he’s desperate to get a rhythm going, add more fingers, taste him, get something else inside him, he wants everything all at once and it’s like he’s just feeling too many things, he can’t take it.

He buries his face in Mickey’s neck and clenches his hands, one holding steadfastly to Mickey’s ass-cheek, one spread so that he can keep his finger inside, but still clenching against the sheer strength of what he’s feeling.

It’s a lot, he thinks, as Mickey gasps against his ear, he must be pulling at him pretty hard, dragging him from the inside. He tries to relax, tries to think about releasing his muscles and slowing his breathing, think about things that calm him down. Soft music, going for a run, the sound of Mickey’s voice lately.

“Mick.” He about manages to grind out against the flushed pink skin of Mickey’s shoulder. “What else?”

“What, if you ain’t nice?” Mickey’s voice is soft, kind of high right there against the shell of his ear, soft lips mouthing at his earlobe as small warm hands run up and down his sides in slow, firm strokes. It must be clear to Mickey that Ian is on the brink of falling the fuck to pieces. He manages a juddery kind of nod, face still buried in Mickey’s skin, hands still fighting to tense, and he feels Mickey’s chest rise and fall in a deep breath, feels him relax his body against Ian’s.

The kisses that follow are gentle, soothing, along his hairline, down his forehead, over his cheeks and jaw, and punctuated with that sweet, husky voice, not quite whispering, but not quite talking aloud either, talking him down with each pointed breath.

“Well you’re really fuckin’ hot. So there’s that.” Kiss. “Funny. When you’re not trying to make a dumb pun joke.” Kiss. “Strong.” Kiss. “I like that you’re strong.”

He can feel it working, feel himself settling back into his skin, his heart slowing back to a regular (if aroused) rate. He manages to press a kiss into the ball of Mickey’s shoulder and is rewarded with a questioning “hmm?”

He gulps in a breath and focuses on relaxing his hands, soothing his thumb over Mickey’s almost certainly bruised ass-cheek, retracting his finger in a long, slow, slide that has Mickey’s breaths coming in short sharp vocalisations, almost giggles, like the sensation is more than his body can bear.

He drags his face up to Mickey’s for a kiss, and as he melts into that mouth it’s like he’s fully back inside his body again. He can feel every place where his skin is sticking to Mickey’s, pulling in little painful drags as they move against each other. He is aware once more, of Mickey’s dick, resting, a little twitchily, beside his own, pressed between them both and dribbling into his pubic hair. Ian enjoys how wet he gets, can’t help but reach between them to feel along the sticky length of him and give a couple of short tugs, coating his fingers in pre-come and sucking in the little huffy breaths that Mickey puffs out as he does.

“What else?” He asks, dragging his hand back around and sliding his finger back inside, crooking his knuckle to stretch out the rim a little before diving properly in.

“Fuck.” Mickey breathes against him, and Ian swallows it, his words, his breath, the intoxicating smell of him swirling inside Ian’s mouth and resting against his palate.

“What else?”

“Jesus Christ you uh.” Ian licks at his lips as he is trying to form the thoughts, a little more sensation, wants to see if he can get Mickey to shake out of his skin just the way Ian almost just had. “You kiss good.”

He licks him again, closes his lips over Mickeys in a reward of a kiss, rubbing at his rim with the tip of his ring finger, testing the waters to see if they’re there yet. Mickey’s moan is loud, fills Ian’s mouth with its neediness as he throws his arms around Ian’s shoulders and presses himself as close to Ian’s body as he can get. Second finger it is. On the next draw back, he pushes two in. Mickey’s whole body shudders against him.

“Mickey.” He loves the feel of Mickey’s entire weight hanging off him, pressed against him, clinging to him like he’s a life-raft and Mickey’s adrift at sea. “What else.”

Mickey whines, and it is such a sweet sound. Ian buries his fingers as far as they will go and swallows the noises his lover makes.

“Christ, Ian, I don’t know, if I say you’re nice will you stick your fuckin’ dick in me?”

If he’d thought laughter would break the horny spell he’s under, he would have been wrong. He’s so turned on he’s not quite sure what to do any more. He’s laughing straight into Mickey’s mouth and buzzing with desire and fighting the instinctual thrust of his hips all at the same time, so many sensations warring for attention he hardly knows how he’s still standing up, except that Mickey’s body is supporting his as much as Ian’s own is supporting Mickey’s. And God does he want to stick his dick in Mickey, more than anything he thinks he’s ever wanted. There’s only one thing stopping him.

He pulls his mouth from Mickey’s and unceremoniously drags his fingers out of his ass, grabbing a cheek in both hands and squeezing.

“Not without lube.”

Mickey rolls his eyes, leaning back in, but Ian stops him short with a hard smack and pushes him away.

It’s only when he makes for the little nest he’s set up in the next room that he remembers his pants are still around his ankles and he’s still wearing his boots. It’s Mickey’s turn to laugh as he very narrowly escapes tripping over his own feet.

“Shut up and get your shit off.” Is all Ian says, working on freeing his feet and admiring the lines of Mickey’s body as he hops about pulling his own boots off and shaking his legs out of his pants until at last he’s standing in nothing but his socks, a mile and a half of pale skin lit only by the soft glow of the candles and making Ian’s breath catch in his throat.

He has to kiss him again. His pants have barely hit the floor and he’s got Mickey gripped by the hips and is smashing their lips together even as Mickey’s shit-eating grin gives way to open-mouthed laughter.

He keeps kissing him as he uses his body to move them through to where he has stashed the lube, keeps kissing him as he backs him toward the mattress he has topped with piles of blankets and pillows gathered from every corner of the Gallagher household (and washed on a super high heat to remove any trace of Frank that might have been lingering), keeps kissing him, though not with a whole lot of finesse as he lowers them both down horizontal and reaches blindly around the side of the mattress for his little kit of supplies, and Mickey just keeps kissing him back.

Back when Mickey had first come around the Tamp and Grind, refusing to order his drink the way he wanted and barely looking Ian in the eyes some days, he would never have imagined, in a million years, that Mickey loved kissing as much as he does. But he really fucking does. He’s almost always the first one to lean in, and never the first one to pull away, he leads with his lips, a total kiss slut, and Ian loves it, loves that he is maybe the only person to know it. He kisses him and kisses him and gets hold of the lube and kisses him and vows that he will never deny Mickey a kiss when he wants it. He deserves all the kisses.

Although maybe he needs to take a breath, his thoughts are getting a little loopy.

He gets the lube on his fingers and fumbles around beneath them, sliding two straight back in to Mickey’s hole without much pre-amble and smiles when Mickey gasps beneath him.

“Yeah?” He asks, not really pulling his face back from Mickey’s, their mouths still connected though not quite in a kiss.

“Fuckin’ warn a guy” Mickey murmurs, lipping at Ian’s bottom lip a little, not quite a kiss, not anything really but some contact.

“How’s this for a warning?” He brings his ring finger into play, running it along Mickey’s rim to position it in the sort of ridge formed by his other two fingers and pushing, just a little, before pulling back again.

Mickey sucks in a deep breath, blowing it back out warm over Ian’s mouth as the finger slides in next to the others. There are so many sensations, warm breath on his face, soft hairs against his cheek threatening to tickle, sticky skin pulling against his own wherever they move, and the sucking heat surrounding his fingers, Ian revels in in, how completely physically consumed he is by this man, how absolutely lost he is to anything outside of his body and Mickey’s body right now.

He twists his fingers and pulls out a little before pushing back in, trying to give him a little stretch on every move, he grins at Mickey, thinking about why he needs the stretch, and Mickey’s returning grin is filthy and harsh.

“You gonna fuck me Gallagher?” He grunts as Ian makes his two main fingers into a scissor inside of him.

“Uh-huh.” Another kiss, another thrust, and now Mickey’s hand is worming in between them to grab at Ian’s dick, firm and sure in a way that makes Ian jolt.

“Think you got what it takes?” He starts up a stroke, nice and light, not letting his hand catch where Ian is sticky from pre-come, and Ian gives him a couple of thrusts in time with his fingers and fuck it feels really fucking good.

“Fuckin’ know I do. You’re desperate for it.”

Mickey licks his grinning lips, thumbing at the head of Ian’s dick.

“That right?” He squeezes a little, and Ian jerks.

“Fuckin’ greedy for it, you think you can take it?” He needs a condom, where did he leave them? He knows it was close by. He throws his arm out over their heads, feeling blindly as he sucks on Mickey’s lips. He comes up triumphant, waving it between their faces with a grin which Mickey returns, eyebrow cocking up toward his hairline.

“Only one way to find out man.” Mickey says, and all at once they are moving together, getting the packet open, getting Ian suited up and ready, and then both of their hands are there, covering him together, guiding him together, until he is finally sinking into the sucking heat of Mickey’s body and the both of them stop breathing for a minute as he slides all the way in.

It’s like time stops still. Like the whole world shrinks down to just him and Mickey and the points of contact between them, the heat that surrounds his cock and the light hairs tickling his elbow where it is bracketing Mickey’s arm, the short bursts of air that are passing between them as they kind of gape open-mouthed at each other, adjusting, feeling.

He thinks he could stay there like that forever, just locked inside Mickey for the rest of time, and be perfectly content with his lot in life. Mickey, though, he senses, is about to get restless.

He opens his mouth, no doubt to give Ian some patented Milkovich sass, so Ian takes his moment, right before Mickey speaks, and strikes, pulling out almost all the way in one swift movement, before grinding his way back in, pushing even further when he bottoms out so that Mickey’s hips tilt up off the mattress and a short grunt comes punching out of Mickey’s mouth.

He seems to like that move, so Ian goes with it, adjusting his weight so that he is able to grab hold of a seductively thick thigh in each hand and push upwards, holding Mickey’s weight so he can pull out again and grind back in, using every ounce of muscle control he’s worked so hard for to tilt his hips at just the right angle and push himself forward at just the right pace to get Mickey’s knees to twitch and his thighs to clench around him.

He goes at it like that for as long as he can, sweating and gasping and rolling his hips, rewarded for each thrust with a soft breathy ‘uhn’ from Mickey and the occasional half-hearted bite to his jaw or his ear or, at one point, his nose, though he does wonder if that was just bad aim. He doesn’t know how long he manages, maybe a minute, maybe less, before he starts to get that tight feeling in the base of his spine and his toes start to tingle and clench. His movements grow less smooth, less sure, jerking forcefully instead of gliding with purpose and he hopes he’s done enough to get Mickey there as well because this is apparently going to be a short performance.

‘Mick,’ he manages to gasp, eyes zeroing in for a second on a sweaty lock of hair that’s dangling out of place, ‘Mick, I’m—’, the force of his breaths blows the hair away again and Mickey’s face, flushed and glistening with sweat, comes back into focus.

‘Yeah, yeah.’ Mickey says, hushed and dark and right there with him, thank fuck. Glassy eyes lock onto Ian’s for just a second before Mickey’s reaching down between them to get a hold of his own cock and the sensation forces them closed, head tipping back, hips jolting upward with a force that nearly knocks Ian sideways. He pulls back, bringing Mickey with him so that he’s resting back on his knees, Mickey splayed basically in his lap. He does his best to grip Mickey’s hips despite the sweat and his waning co-ordination, juddering through the last thirty seconds of thrusts as Mickey urgently strips his cock, bringing himself to the edge and throwing himself off it seconds after Ian shudders and jolts and grinds to a seizing halt. He empties into the condom with great heaving groans, laughing as Mickey’s face twists up in bemusement at the noises he makes. A whole body shiver runs all the way through him and he leans into it, shaking his shoulders and head like a dog, spraying sweat everywhere and arching his back into a stretch.

It’s only when Mickey grunts and gives him a half-hearted kick against his right side that he realizes all of this movement is probably a bit much for the man he’s still inside of thirty seconds after he’s blown his load.

‘Fuck.’ He breathes, running his hands over Mickey’s hips in a way that he hopes is at least a little soothing. ‘Sorry.’

Mickey’s whole body seems to go limp, legs flopping down, head tipping back onto the mattress as his breathing slows. There is a small bruise starting to come through just beneath his clavicle, a dark blue just beginning to bloom, and Ian is struck with the overwhelming urge to taste it.

He tips forward, softening cock slipping out with the movement and earning another grunt out of Mickey, whose hands are covering his face now but who adjusts his body to the shifting weight of Ian leaning down over him. He brings his arms down around Ian to run light fingers over his back as Ian mouths gently at the darkening mark. They catch their breaths with soft touches and light kisses, Ian can hear the slowing thud of Mickey’s heart beneath his skin and he tries to match his own against it, breathing slow into his chest, contemplating what it might feel like if they were to somehow become one single being.

Mickey’s fingers in his hair tug him back to reality, and his brain suddenly starts whirring in a different direction, one that plants the seed of worry as he goes back over the last half hour, cataloguing everything he could have done different, better.

“Sorry.” He says again, propping his chin up on Mickey’s chest so he can look up at him. “That was—I can do better than that.”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand between them before planting it back in his hair.

“Nah,” He says, twisting a damp curl just starting to form around his middle finger, “you’re a fucking stud Gallagher.”

It’s dumb, and it pulls a groaning laugh out of Ian, but it’s enough to quiet his doubting mind and he buries his face in between Mickey’s pecs as the both of them give in to a few giggles.

“I can do better, though.” He says eventually, “I got a bit overwhelmed but usually I don’t just lose my shit like that.”

Mickey pulls at his hair, forcing him to look back up and meet Mickey’s eyes, cool and sharp, assessing Ian as they look him over.

“Alright,” He says at length, dropping his head back and giving Ian a couple of gentle pats on the shoulder, “well give me a minute to get the feeling back in my legs and you can prove it to me.”

...

part b coming soon??

#fic #my fic #gallavich #ian x mickey #gallavich fic #ristretto #wip #about ristretto #update

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