#already done and ready to print??' first of all every day is a struggle i am NOT as well put together as you all seem to think

[mihai-florescu]

E4E (enstarrie for enstarrie)

[80s4life]

God Help Me*

Word Count: 2,306

Status: Not Requested!

Fandom: Orange Is The New Black

A/N: Just watched some more of oitnb and felt that Joe was an underrated character. So, here's something dirty for the dirty dog!

Relationship: Joe Caputo x Female Reader

Summary: (Based loosely on S3:E7 (”Tongue-Tied”) where the new recruits for security are supposed to be getting the 40 hours of training, but denied by the new employers. Specifically, when Bayley makes his mistake with the pepper spray incident, Caputo is outraged, in the need of a break. Luckily, you know how to ease his tension.

Warnings: language, age-gap pairing, against laws, forbidden, smut, retardation name calling (once, not me though, a line from the show!)

Taglist: @intersellars-the-networks-of-eve @snapessecretdiary

Masterlist Orange Is The New Black Masterlist

{gif is not mine, credits to @thompsonconnors}

"What the fuck was that?" Joe Caputo asks, confused and struggling to keep up with the messes every corner he turns. "You assess the situation and you respond with the appropriate level of force! And you never, ever, ever discharge your weapon unless it's absolutely necessary!" he continues, not done just yet. "And if you do, and that weapon happens to be pepper spray, you better damn well make sure you're upwind!"

Bayley, the new recruit, alongside Donaldson, a long-term member of this prison, look down, ashamed of themselves. Blinking their eyes every so often, the pain in their eyes searing with the combination of the regret in how they got in this position in the first place and the stinging pepper spray.

Motioning towards Bayley, Caputo continues with his mantra, "You are a trigger-happy knucklehead who just got out of diapers," now turning his attention to Donaldson, "But you, how could you let this happen?" he finishes, exasperated.

Donaldson, finding some courage, fires back, "Sir, with all due respect, I'm not a nanny." He may have screwed up, but he is not putting his life on the line for an idiot.

"No! You are an officer with 20 plus years' experience, and your job was to impart some wisdom on fucking Baby Huey over here!" Caputo spits, motioning towards Bayley once more.

"Well, this is what happens when you put untrained officers in gen pop," Donaldson says once more, although very quickly and almost fearfully. As if he were a child talking back to his parents.

"You don't think I know that? I fucking know that!" Caputo says once more, placing a hand over his head, letting out a tired sigh as he walks back behind his desk. "Bayley, I should be firing your ass," he motion towards the young man with two pointed fingers.

"I know," is all he manages meekly.

"But, it's your first day, so I'm gonna chalk this up to mental retardation. If you so much as look at an inmate wrong in the next week, you're out of here!" Caputo motions with a "whoosh." Now looking Bayley up and down in disbelief, he catches the small paper taped to his chest as well, "Take that stupid fucking name tag off."

As the men nod once more, he finishes with, "Now go! Get your asses down to medical and get an eyewash. And read the stupid fucking manuals!" he grunts, shaking the book in question and slamming it on his desk as the officers leave.

Throwing himself into his chair, he almost considers kicking and flailing around like a child in order to let off steam, but he is quickly denied the chance as you knock and burst through his office within a second.

“Sir.”

“What is it now?” he asks quietly, a hand holding his head up by his chin, fingers covering his now closed eyes.

“Well- uhm- well...” you continue, quite nervous as you don’t know where his hostility had come from, you being unsure whether it was your doing or not. It was uncharted waters you weren’t sure on stepping into or not.

“What. Is. It!?” he yells now, eyes wide open, hands clutching the ends of his armrests. Making you yelp and jump a bit, taking a few steps back into the doorway.

Seeing this reaction, he sighs once more, taking in your wide eyes and slightly tense posture, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s been a long day, okay?”

“I-I understand sir.”

“How many times have I told you to call me Joe, or Caputo if that’s what floats your boat?” he says, an attempt to coax you out of your startled state.

“I’m sorry s- Caputo. I only wanted to tell you that I bought ya’ something. A little gift, I guess.” you say, a blush tinting your cheeks.

“What? You didn’t have to get me anything!” He smiles now, relieving you, and bringing a smile to your own features at his now somewhat upbeat mood.

“Well, ya’ know...I remember you telling me about a band of yours, right?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he smirks, looking back at fond memories and the new ones with his new band.

“Well, since your style of music was rock, and I just so happened to be in the area of a new music store, I found some goodies there!” Pulling a seat in front of his desk, you grab the wrapped presents from the waistband of your belt, having hidden it behind your back in attempt to completely surprise him.

He smiles at your childish antics, lightly taking the wrapped good from your small, delicate hands. Unwrapping the smallest one, he finds a box underneath the covers. Opening it, his smile grows bigger as his eyes meet a black guitar pick, a skull etched into it and painted white. 

His eyes meet yours for a second, a fondness there, looking back down once more as he admires it. “I love it,” he says after a second.

“That’s not all!” you say, excited now as he already likes one of the things you’ve picked out for him, pulling out a medium-sized present next. You take this sudden change of attitude as a sign, wanting to hopefully ease the stresses the guards and staff have been taking, especially Joe.

Taking it from your hands once more, your hands make contact, the blush on your face intensifying a little more. Unwrapping the present, he finds a black bandanna, his band name printed onto it, matching the guitar pick. He giggles at this, tying it around his head for your view.

You laugh as well as you go to hand him the biggest and last of the presents, his eyes lighting up once he finds what it is. “Nu-uh! You didn’t! This must’ve cost a fortune!” he almost yells now, a genuine leather guitar strap in his grip as he jumps up from his seat.

“No, actually they gave me a little discount on it. It took a lot of searching to get the one you’ve been specifically looking for, but the guy said I was cute- anyway! I just thought you needed these since work has been beating your ass,” you say, smirking lightly.

“You didn’t need to do this,” he says, settling back into his seat as he grasps your hands lightly, still star-struck as he looks at the strap still in his hand.

The gesture was innocent, but as time goes on, you blush a deep red, him still not letting go of your hands. Noticing this, he goes to pull away, clearing his throat, standing, and straightening out his suit. There, you notice a slight tent in his pants, igniting a flame in your belly. 

“Well, thank you Miss Y/L/N, these were very nice...”

“Anytime...” you say slyly, dragging on your words as you stand as well, not bothering to fix your pants as it sticks tightly to your ass and thighs. 

He looks down, gulping as he takes in your curves he usually tries to ignore, clearing his throat once more as his eyes meet yours. Only now did he realize the close proximity between the two of you, you intending to lean in and fix his tie. As you do so, he grabs your hand, pulling it away, “Don’t tempt me. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Oh, I’m pretty damn sure I do,” you say as you pull him down to your height by the tie, pulling at the base of his neck, kissing him now. 

Breaking apart for a moment, you make your way around the desk, perching yourself atop it as you pull him between your legs, kissing him once more. Tongues fighting for dominance, you tease him, sucking on it, and nibbling on his lips. He growls, the tent now very evident in his pants, the tightness an annoying constriction.

He pulls away once more, going to lock his office door, having placed a ‘On a lunch break’ sign above his name. Making his way back over to you, his lips attach to yours once more, moving to remove your weaponry belt. You do the same, unbuttoning the top of his dress shirt, moving to leave kisses, bites and hickeys. 

Continuing your attack, you move your hand to his belt, working quickly as he unbuttons your shirt, exposing your constricted, perky breasts. He grunts once more, adding to your eagerness as you finally get his belt out of the loops. Now both full of impatience, you unleash his cock, him doing the same for your breasts and pants. Completely removing everything from your being, leaving your half-unbuttoned shirt.

Not wasting time, he starts to work your clit, moisturizing ever bit of you as he collects it and moves his finger in all the most special parts, lubricating your core with ease. You grip his cock, teasing it as you run your finger along the slit at the top, precum already oozing. Looking him in the eyes, you notice his golden browns now a dark chocolate eyes, admiration sparkling them as he looks back at you. 

You moan as he enters a finger into your core, soon adding another as you loosen yourself for him. Finally, when he deems you ready, he reaches into one of the desk drawers, pulling out a condom. Motioning to him, he hands it over, letting you take over and do the honors. He simply places both arms on either side of your form, caging you in his embrace, smirking down at you.

Finally, once the condom was rolled onto his member, he goes to line himself up to your entrance, tip placed right at the beginning, not crossing the threshold just yet. “Are you sure?” is all he asks, wanting consent.

Knowing that this is wrong, you contemplate your options. You have already thought of the many ways he could take you, having been attracted to the older man for many years. Looking him in the eyes, you nod, “I’ve wanted this for too fucking long.”

With this new reassurance, he thrusts deeply, not giving you a chance to adjust just yet, pushing in and not stopping until he’s bottomed out. Taking a breath, you relish in the familiar sting of being stretched out, leaning back on your elbows for a minute. When you’re finally ready, you grab onto his shoulders, nodding once again. 

He starts slow, not wanting to hurt you, but, as you bite his pulse point, he jumps, taking the hint. Pounding into you mercilessly now, you moan and scream loudly, meeting his thrusts with the same momentum and speed, wanting this just as much as he does.

Instead, wanting to hold onto this feeling for as long as you can manage, you busy yourself with admiring and teasing the man before you. Specifically when he switches positions slightly, hitting your g-spot, your hands find their way into the tiny tufts of hair remaining on his balding scalp. Tugging lightly, he groans, pounding harder.

“Fuck!” you choke out, “I’m gonna cum! Joe! I’m gonna cum!”

“Just hold on a bit more, I’m almost there!”

Using his hands, he moves one to your clit, rubbing hard circles, intensifying the pleasure. You moan, the pleasure almost too much for you, settling for leaning your head on his chest. The chest hair tickles your nose, making you giggle between whimpers, kissing him there every so often.

With all your strength, you try to maintain your composure, the knot in your stomach begging for release. But, as you feel his dick twitch, the veins touching every inch of your walls deliciously, you couldn’t hold on any longer, milking his cock. With the sudden tightness and feeling of warmth bursting against him, he continues to thrust just a few seconds more, riding you through your orgasm as he meets his. 

As he slowly comes down from his high, he sighs peacefully, placing his head underneath yours and in the crevice of your neck. You kiss the top of his head as you take his weight, leaning back on your hands, one wrapped around his neck. After a moment, as he now goes soft within your being, he pulls out, disposing the condom.

Smiling, the two of you joke and throw clothes at each other as you get changed again. “So what are we now, Joe?”

“Well, it’d be fucked up to say nothing after mind-blowing-sex, now wouldn’t it?”

“I guess...So does that mean we’re together?”

“Do you want to? I would’a thought a young girl like you would want someone who can keep up with ya’?”

“I mean yeah...but they aren’t you, Joe. I want you,” you say honestly.

“Shit...” he mutters, smiling now, “This is the best thing that’s happened to me all day.”

“Is that a ‘yeah’?”

“Hell yeah it is!” he says happily, “Now how about round 2?”

“You’re on Old Man,” you say giggling, hopping into his lap on his desk, kissing him once more.

However your giggling and kisses get cut short with a knock on the door. You sigh, getting off of him not and making sure your clothes are straightened out.

“I guess not...” you say defeated.

“Well...Not right now,” Joe answers, going to the door, giving a sly wink as he opens it. 

Work is only temporary, you know this. You’ll get all the time you need with him tonight.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Tattoo

Jiang Cheng decides to get his first tattoo the night he resolves to move out.

There has been a huge fight—yet again—where his father was more concerned with talking about Wei Wuxian, who wasn’t even part of this fight, and where his mother listed every single inadequacy Jiang Cheng apparently had.

And it’s enough.

He’s tired of feeling like shit in his own home and he’s tired of being made to feel like shit and he wants a change.

Which is going to start with him getting a tattoo.

His parents hate tattoos—one of the few things they can agree upon—and Jiang Cheng feels a little thrill going down his back just thinking about getting one.

But soon thinking about it turns into actively imagining, then into planning, and all of a sudden he finds himself in front of a tattoo studio.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t go in that first day; he simply can’t bring himself to. But then he spends another evening in the icy company of his parents, who are no longer speaking to him in the misguided attempt to make him apologize and Jiang Cheng decides that this is it.

He’ll get that tattoo and then he’ll get out of here.

Jiang Cheng goes back to the tattoo studio the next day, and this time he also enters. It’s not at all what he expected to look like, but he scolds himself for even thinking that. Clearly his parents and all their prejudices are way too prevalent in his life if he expected dirty corners and suspicious people everywhere.

What he sees are clean counters, tasteful pics of tattoos and not much else.

Until the most beautiful human being Jiang Cheng has ever seen steps out of a room.

“Hi, there,” the man says and Jiang Cheng does not swoon on the spot. “Do you have an appointment?”

Jiang Cheng slightly shakes his head to clear it and then he squares up.

“No, I don’t. I’d like to make one, though.”

“Alright. Sit for a moment,” the man says, pointing at a couch and then vanishing again.

Jiang Cheng does sit down, unbearably nervous now that he made that very first step and he wrings his hands in his lap. He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t even notice when the guy comes back.

“First time?” the guy asks as he puts a glass of water down in front of Jiang Cheng, who nods and gratefully takes the glass to take a sip.

“Yeah. That obvious?” he asks with a small smile and the guy shrugs.

“You get an eye for it, after a while. Nie Mingjue,” he then introduces himself and Jiang Cheng puts the glass back down so that he doesn’t notice how much his hands shake.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Alright, Jiang Cheng, what do you want?” Nie Mingjue asks, a sketchbook making an appearance and Jiang Cheng swallows heavily.

“Just something small,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Something I can hide away.”

At that Nie Mingjue pauses.

“I don’t make tattoos that have to be hidden away,” he cautiously says, already closing the sketchbook again.

“Yeah, well, I’m not asking for your opinion here,” Jiang Cheng snaps back before he clenches his jaw and scrubs a hand over his face. “I apologize,” he tacks on, much  more quietly, as he gets up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue says, sighing himself. “That was unprofessional of me. I just think—this is art, you know. Something you chose for yourself, something you should be proud of. That’s just usually how this goes. But if it’s private, then that’s perfectly fine. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

Jiang Cheng slowly sinks back down into the couch at those words and Nie Mingjue opens his sketchbook again.

“Alright,” he slowly says. “I want three little dog paw prints on my hip.”

He didn’t give this too much thought, honestly, but it feels right. It’s been years since he had to give his dogs away for Wei Wuxian’s sake and while he’s not mad at Wei Wuxian for that, he does resent his parents for it.

They were just puppies. There was a chance for Wei Wuxian to get acquainted with dogs that didn’t mean him harm. They could have given them to someone close by, so that Jiang Cheng could have gone there to see them every now and then.

But they didn’t do any of these things and just took the only friends away from Jiang Cheng he had at that time.

He is still resentful about that.

“Like this?” Nie Mingjue asks and shows him the sketch he quickly did.

It’s really just those three paw prints, nothing fancy about it, and Jiang Cheng thinks it’s perfect.

“Yes,” he breathes out and he can’t wait for them to be on his skin.

“This will be quick and I have time now, if you want,” Nie Mingjue offers him and that makes Jiang Cheng freeze.

He did not expect this to happen so soon, but after a moment he finds that it’s the only thing he wants.

“Yes,” he decisively says and Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

Jiang Cheng did not need to know that he has dimples.

“Good,” he nods, before he falls into what Jiang Cheng suspects to be the customary first client talk.

Jiang Cheng does his best to listen and nod at the right moments, but he is distracted by Nie Mingjue and the way he talks and moves and sounds.

In the end Nie Mingjue still seems to be satisfied, because he leads Jiang Cheng towards one of the back rooms where he asks him to take his pants off.

Jiang Cheng freezes again because he did not quite make that connection yet, but of course he’d have to at least take of his pants for this. He sheds them quickly, not looking at Nie Mingjue and reminding himself that he must see this several times a day and that surely Jiang Cheng is nothing special.

He barely realizes that his hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?” Nie Mingjue lowly asks him, clearly picking up on Jiang Cheng’s nerves and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to answer him.

In the end, the truth comes spilling out.

“No,” he admits. “My parents are going to disown me for this, should they ever find out. I mean they are going to disown me either way once I move out, but—yeah,” he finishes awkwardly once he realizes that he’s rambling because Nie Mingjue absolutely did not sign up to hear about Jiang Cheng’s fucked up life.

“Are you safe at home?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng catches him quickly checking him over as if he’s looking for bruises.

“Physically yes,” Jiang Cheng gives back as his eyes start to burn. “Emotionally not so much,” he adds in a whisper, admitting to this for the first time out loud, and he sways into Nie Mingjue when he clasps his shoulder.

“But you’re taking steps,” he says and it’s not a question.

“I’m taking steps,” Jiang Cheng agrees and finally gets on the cot, ready to get this first rebellious step done.

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly still worried, but also satisfied and when he starts the tattoo gun they don’t talk much more.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng is struggling. He feels isolated and lonely and like his parents scathing silence is going to suffocate him one of these days, even after he moved out, and there’s only one thing Jiang Cheng can think of doing.

He finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s tattoo studio.

“Back so soon,” Nie Mingjue greets him with and Jiang Cheng realizes that it has only been three months since he got the paw prints.

It feels like so much longer, with everything that happened.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng awkwardly says and sinks down in the couch again. “I want something bigger.”

“Something you can’t hide,” Nie Mingjue replies, even as he sits down with his sketchbook. “How is that situation going?”

“I moved out. I’m not talking to my parents. But—” he trails off, unsure if he should really just unload all of his bullshit on this stranger.

“But there’s a lot of shit to unlearn and figure out for yourself, especially if this has been going on for a while,” Nie Mingjue says with an understanding nod and when Jiang Cheng stares at him, Nie Mingjue shrugs awkwardly.

“My brother has an interest in psychology and he loves using me as his sounding board. It only got worse when he took up some classes at university.”

“Ah, I see,” Jiang Cheng says and then sighs. “I’m deciding if it’s worth going to see someone,” he then admits lowly and cringes immediately afterwards. “I’m sorry, this is not what I’m here for and it’s absolutely not your job to listen to me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many people see this as a therapy session,” Nie Mingjue gives back, and while Jiang Cheng would usually recoil at that, it doesn’t sound judging.

“But I’m here for this,” Jiang Cheng says and puts a slip of paper on the table.

He’s by no means an artist, but he has always enjoyed doodling and he’s perfectly capable of designing his own tattoo, especially when he gives it more than just a few days thought.

“That is bigger,” Nie Mingjue says with a raised eyebrow as he picks the paper up. “Much more difficult to hide.”

“No more hiding,” Jiang Cheng resolutely says. “I want it to curl around my arm, the head on the back of my hand.”

“Really big then. From shoulder to hand?”

“Yes.”

“Mh,” Nie Mingjue hums as he starts to sketch something.

When he turns the sketchbook to Jiang Cheng it’s still the snake and nothing fundamentally has changed, but it still looks better than the basic design Jiang Cheng came up with.

He itches with the need to get this on his arm.

“Yes,” he breathes out, reaching out to brush his hand over the sketch. “Please.”

“You’ll need an appointment for this one,” Nie Mingjue says as he gets up to schedule Jiang Cheng in.

It takes Nie Mingjue three sessions to get the snake done and Jiang Cheng loves it more than he thought possible.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng takes his time for the third tattoo. He takes his time to get used to living alone, takes his time to figure out if he really wants to go for a business degree and most importantly, he takes his time to get back together with his siblings.

They didn’t quite fall out when Jiang Cheng moved out, but he kept his distance for a while and now he doesn’t.

Now he welcomes them into his home and his new life and he sits Wei Wuxian down to have a real talk; one where he doesn’t allow Wei Wuxian to laugh everything away—either his own pain or Jiang Cheng’s—and afterwards they feel like family again.

Jiang Cheng briefly debates if he wants to do the same with his parents, but he finds that he couldn’t care less.

He can barely think about them without getting angry or nauseous or both and he figures it’s not worth it. Not now and maybe not ever.

So instead of wasting more thoughts on that Jiang Cheng finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s studio.

“It does get quite addicting, doesn’t it?” Nie Mingjue asks him with a smirk when Jiang Cheng steps inside and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“Especially when you finally figure your life out for yourself,” he gives back and he has to admit that for the first time he’s not nervous as he sits down on the couch.

He knows what he wants and he knows what to expect.

It leaves him time to appreciate Nie Mingjue, though, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach flutter.

There are tattoos on Nie Mingjue as well; making their way down his arms and one peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Jiang Cheng finds that he wants to see all of them.

“Okay, hit me,” Nie Mingjue says as he sits down as well and Jiang Cheng gives him his sketch.

Three lotus pods for him and his siblings. Jiang Cheng does only have good memories of them picking lotus seeds, and especially of Jiang Yanli’s soup.

“Next you’re going to learn how to tattoo yourself and then I’ll be out of a job,” Nie Mingjue grumbles as he takes the sketch and Jiang Cheng smiles with pride.

He did put an awful lot of work into this.

“I want it on my calf,” he tells Nie Mingjue who nods.

“Easy enough, but you need an appointment.”

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng shrugs and his eyes drop to Nie Mingjue’s hands, which are still holding his sketch.

Honestly, Jiang Cheng did not expect his heart to beat faster at that, or the thought that Nie Mingjue will put his hands on Jiang Cheng’s skin soon enough but he’s not going to stop it either.

The pods don’t take much time at all once the appointment comes around, and soon enough Jiang Cheng is stepping out on the street with one tattoo more.

It feels like he’s reclaiming bits and pieces of himself with every tattoo that he gets and he honestly doesn’t want it to stop.

It’s only a little bit because he wants to continue seeing Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

“You’re going to be a regular soon,” Nie Mingjue says with a smile when Jiang Cheng steps into the by now so familiar studio yet again and he frowns, affronted.

“It’s my fourth time. How much more do I have to come by to be considered a regular?”

“Well, the true regulars drop by just to say hello, too,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly trying for nonchalant but Jiang Cheng sees the tension in his shoulders.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but he still sits down on the couch. “But today I’m here for an appointment.”

“Do I even need to bring my sketchbook?” Nie Mingjue asks, clearly remembering that there was nothing for him to do the last time Jiang Cheng came by but Jiang Cheng nods.

“I just have an idea. I need you to draw it.”

“Oh, alright,” Nie Mingjue says, and is quick to retrieve the book before he sits down. “What do you want?”

“I want water, or waves, under my collarbone,” Jiang Cheng says and points at the spot.

It hasn’t been that long since he started to swim again, but he already knows that it will be a big part of his life from now on.

Jiang Cheng used to love it, until his parents made it into a competition between him and Wei Wuxian and pressured him to do better and better. Jiang Cheng stopped after one too many silver medals and he never picked it up again, too afraid of falling back into old habits, of feeling like shit for doing something just for fun, no matter how much he loved it.

But he picked swimming up again, and it turns out he’s still good and he still loves it. Even more now that he can just do it for fun and challenge himself if he feels like it.

And he wants a tattoo for it as well. It’s another piece of himself he reclaimed after all.

“Like so?” Nie Mingjue asks, showing Jiang Cheng the rough sketch.

It’s a little bit too stylized for Jiang Cheng’s taste and he tells Nie Mingjue so, who turns the page and starts again.

When he shows Jiang Cheng the new sketch, it looks more realistic and it’s exactly what Jiang Cheng wants.

“Yes,” he breathes out and smiles.

That one feels just as right as his other tattoos had.

“Water, huh?” Nie Mingjue asks, quite awkwardly Jiang Cheng thinks but he smiles at Nie Mingjue.

“I recently re-found my love for swimming,” he tells him. “It helps that my parents are not yelling at me to win a gold medal.”

“Did you use to? Win gold medals?”

“No. My brother did though, which both my parents used to rub in, in very different way. I stopped because they made me dread going into the water but now that I’m just doing it for fun,” he awkwardly trails off. “I still love it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng is surprised when Nie Mingjue squeezes his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you do look better. Definitely happier than the first time you came in.”

It makes Jiang Cheng flush, because he didn’t know that it had been that bad or that Nie Mingjue had been paying attention to him.

“I am. Better. Still on the way with a lot of things, but definitely better,” Jiang Cheng gives back and he tries very hard not to think about the fact that he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his future or if he wants to get a dog, despite Wei Wuxian’s fear, or if he’ll ever be man enough to ask Nie Mingjue out on a date.

But slow steps. First he gets this tattoo and then he can think about what comes after.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng never gave much thought to his sexuality beyond the fact that it wouldn’t matter who he brings home; his parents were surely going to hate them, just because it was Jiang Cheng who introduced them.

He had looked at a few boys during school, but his mother had made it very clear that Jiang Cheng was going to get married to a business woman of her choosing, producing heirs for the company as soon as he could, and Jiang Cheng didn’t think much beyond that except ‘Fuck no’.

But now he has time to re-evaluate his sexuality and while he would probably label himself as bisexual at the moment he’s very definitely Nie Mingjue-sexual.

Not that he’s ever going to mention that to the man himself.

He’s standing in front of the tattoo studio yet again, even though he doesn’t have plans for a new tattoo yet. But Nie Mingjue had said regulars came by whenever, and Jiang Cheng wants to have that connection with Nie Mingjue.

He just can’t bring himself to make the first step.

So instead of going in, he walks up and down on the other side of the studio, berating himself that he just can’t bring himself to do it, but just as he is about to turn around and go home, Nie Mingjue steps out and walks straight up to him.

“Nervous?” Nie Mingjue asks with a teasing smile and Jiang Cheng deflates.

“I’m not quite sure how to make friends,” he admits and then wishes the ground would swallow him, because Nie Mingjue never said anything about being friends and it’s not quite what Jiang Cheng wants anyway.

“Usually you start talking to them,” Nie Mingjue says and steers Jiang Cheng towards a coffee shop.

“About what?” Jiang Cheng helplessly asks but he allows Nie Mingjue to lead the way.

“How was your day?” Nie Mingjue starts and Jiang Cheng finds that talking to Nie Mingjue over a cup of coffee is one of the easiest things he has done.

They start to do it weekly.

~*~*~

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue warmly greets him when Jiang Cheng steps into the studio again but he frowns when Jiang Cheng sits down on the couch. “You didn’t say anything about a new tattoo.”

It almost sounds accusing and Jiang Cheng helplessly shrugs.

“I woke up with the burning need to get one, so here I am.”

“Ah, a true addict,” Nie Mingjue says with a shake of his head, but he does get his sketchbook and sits down with him. “What’s it gonna be this time?”

Jiang Cheng takes a moment to gather his thoughts, letting his eyes wander over the tattoos on Nie Mingjue’s arms and he wonders if he can ever bring himself to ask to see them up close. To learn the story behind them.

“I want a lotus flower in the middle of my back,” Jiang Cheng finally says and it’s just because he still has his eyes on Nie Mingjue’s arms that he sees him jerk at his words.

“Between your shoulder blades?” Nie Mingjue asks to clarify and Jiang Cheng nods, finally looking up.

“Yes. And I want it in colour, too.”

It is the family crest and Jiang Cheng was torn about that for a long time, but it’s still his family and it’s still such a big part of himself that he needs to reclaim. Especially since his father does still want him as the head of the company and Jiang Cheng decided to do it.

“Oh, dear gods,” Nie Mingjue mumbles and Jiang Cheng frowns, torn out of his thoughts.

“Something wrong with that?” he wants to know but Nie Mingjue is quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all,” he says, busying himself with his pencil.

They fall into an uneasy silence and Jiang Cheng wonders what he did wrong to make Nie Mingjue respond like this, but before he can come up with a plausible explanation, Nie Mingjue gives him the sketchbook.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. “It’s gorgeous.”

He didn’t dare imagine the design too much, because he wanted Nie Mingjue to create it, but Jiang Cheng did not imagine this.

“Yeah?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng frowns when he hears his voice crack.

“Yes! When can we do it?” he asks, suddenly eager to get it done as quickly as possible.

“I have time today, if you’re really sure,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng practically beams at him, which clearly is answer enough.

“Alright, get ready then,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod of his head towards the same back room they always use and Jiang Cheng eagerly makes his way over there.

He’s just taking off his shirt when he hears Nie Mingjue come back in, mostly because he hears the muttered “Fuck”.

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng asks, turning around, his shirt still around his arms. “Is something wrong?”

“Wanyin, you can’t do that to me,” Nie Mingjue breathes out, his eyes trailing over first his tattoos that Nie Mingjue himself put there and then towards his shoulders and back.

“Do what?” Jiang Cheng asks, honestly confused, but there’s something in Nie Mingjue’s gaze that makes him go hot all over.

“You can’t let me mark you up all the time and then not go on a date with me,” Nie Mingjue says, finally meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes and it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to smile at him.

But once he starts, he can’t stop.

“Well, you’d have to ask for me to say yes,” he tells Nie Mingjue, finally taking his shirt off. “Why now, though?”

“Now,” Nie Mingjue huffs out and steps close, dropping a quick kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head, catching him completely off guard with that. “As if I didn’t want to ask you since that first time you came into my studio.”

Jiang Cheng can’t hide his blush, he’s sure of that, but when Nie Mingjue’s gaze goes soft, he finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Okay, but why now?” he asks again, though he couldn’t be happier despite the fact that Nie Mingjue still didn’t ask him out.

“You look happier, more grounded,” Nie Mingjue tells him. “And honestly, I’m only human. There’s only so much self-control I have, especially if you’ll allow me to mark up that masterpiece of a back.”

“I swim a lot,” Jiang Cheng says, smug as anything, because Nie Mingjue looks like he could bench press Jiang Cheng if he really wanted to and to hear that he likes how Jiang Cheng looks, that’s quite the ego boost.

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, though he sounds strangled. “Go on a date with me, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue then says, and Jiang Cheng likes the fact that it’s not even really a question.

“Weekly dates are not enough for you?” he teases Nie Mingjue, absolutely delighted by how this is going and he enjoys seeing Nie Mingjue flounder for a bit.

“You owe me at least twelve kisses then,” Nie Mingjue finally says, sounding absolutely indignant and Jiang Cheng chuckles.

“You only want one kiss per date? That’s quite disappointing, really,” Jiang Cheng says with a smile and Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“We’re working our way up, once it’s officially a date and not just coffee. But you can owe me all the kisses you want.”

“I think I like that,” Jiang Cheng happily says and leans in to get started on repaying his debt right that instant.

It leaves Jiang Cheng breathless when they part and he’s strangely relieved to see that Nie Mingjue is not doing that much better himself.

“Your hand will be steady enough for this, right?” Jiang Cheng can’t help but to ask, because he wants that tattoo now and he would be disappointed if Nie Mingjue said no.

“I’m a professional,” Nie Mingjue huffs out, even as he gently cups Jiang Cheng’s cheek in his hand. “I managed to keep a steady hand all the other times, too, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Jiang Cheng gives back and nuzzles into the hand.

They lose themselves a little bit in each other for a while, but eventually Nie Mingjue does get to prove that he has a steady hand, despite the circumstances.

Once the lotus flower on Jiang Cheng’s back is done, they go on their first official dinner date.

~*~*~

On their one year anniversary, Jiang Cheng gets Nie Mingjue to tattoo a green band around his right arm and Nie Mingjue manages to make it look like it’s shining from the inside.

Jiang Cheng catches Nie Mingjue wiping away a tear once he’s done and he would tease him for it, but since Jiang Cheng cried when Nie Mingjue revealed that the frog over his heart was for Jiang Cheng, he fears he has no leg to stand on.

Paw Prints Snake, expect imagine this spanning down the whole arm Lotus Pods Water, under Jiang Cheng's collarbone Lotus Flower, except it's in the middle of Jiang Cheng's back Green Band, there's no real pic for this, but imagine this ring as a tattoo around Jiang Cheng's forearm, because Mingjue's name is made up out of the characters for 'bright, shining' and 'jade ring' if google didn't lie to me

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[noaltbruh]

I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

[yslkook]

red card - on the defensive (1)

pairing: jungkook x reader (soccer captain jjk) summary: you and jungkook run in the same circles, and yet after three years, he struggles to get your time of day. you think he’s cocky and he’s going to change your mind. word count: 5.1k warnings: cursing, alcohol/drinking (lots of it), suggestive content a/n: this story is for @cutechim​, it went down in the DM’s and came to life. this is my entry into the blond jk foray!! enjoy<3

red card masterlist

“What should we drink?” Hana shouts over the music to you in the crowd.

“Uh… let’s do jagerbombs,” You shout back, even though you’re both relatively close to each other at the bar. You peer behind you at the group of people you’ve congregated with this afternoon, counting a total of four. 

“Can I have… eight jagerbombs?” You request of the bartender, who raises his eyebrow at you.

“Why am I not surprised,” He says with a roll of his eyes, “You’re all gonna run me dry of my jager.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it happened,” You mutter. And you’re right- it’s happened at least twice over this summer, when you and your friends made a weekly appearance to this bar. The bartender knows you and Hana by your faces at this point and you’ve jokingly asked why your usual order of jagerbombs or tequila shots aren’t ready upon arrival.

These weekly occurrences were sponsored by your job at a law firm near your university. And by sponsored, you mean that your bank account takes a minor hit on a weekly basis. Since university had let out, you’d made yourself available for as many hours as possible- after all, you needed a way to fund these days and nights out.

While juggling a summer class three days a week for three hours each day.

But you weren’t completely financially irresponsible- you drew the line… eventually. Certainly not after eight jagerbombs though (you’d stopped questioning how you could easily drop that much money on alcohol these days). At least it's summer happy hour and you’re not paying full price.

Besides, you and your friends rotate rounds. Hana will get the next one, and then one of the guys, and so on and so forth. You’d gotten two extra specially for you and Hana, but nobody needed to know that.

You love these summer days, when it’s nothing but you and your friends enjoying the breeze and the vibes of a fun afternoon (that inevitably leads to a night of more recklessness). Nothing can take the tipsy grin off of your face or the arm looped around your best friend’s shoulders, except-

Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook.  You don’t mind Jimin as much (mostly because of Hana, who’s been harboring a not so secret crush that is definitely bordering more on love than a simple crush on him for who knew how long). But still, when all three of them are together, you make your disdain very known and obvious. At least you think you do.

Some of the star players from your university’s soccer team, and the captain himself, Jeon Jungkook. They walk into the crowded, noisy bar as if they own the place and you can already see heads turning. You roll your eyes and tell Hana to get it together when she starts giggling and waving at Jimin.

Your eyes seem to meet the back of your skull when all three of them saunter over towards you and your friends. It’s not that you have anything against them per se, it’s that you find them as a unit quite annoying and you know of their reputations. Or, you think you know of their reputations. Maybe you’re a little judgmental. But who cares, it’s not any of their business.

Most of your perhaps misplaced vitriol is reserved for Jungkook himself and the few interactions that you’ve had over the last almost four years of being in university together. You’ve had a few general ed classes with him freshman year, but after that most of your interactions were solely at parties and any excuse to celebrate. You had mutual friends (somehow) so it was inevitable that you saw him as much as you did.

Every fiber of him annoyed you- he was cocky and arrogant… Everything you intensely disliked in a person. Hana told you that you were being mean and judgmental (not as nicely), but if it meant not dealing with this boy who got a rise out of you for no reason, then it didn’t matter. Of course, he doesn’t take up space in your mind very often. Only when you have the misfortune of running into him.

You didn’t know him, and truly, you didn’t care to. You’ll remain civil though, only if he doesn’t annoy you. Which you doubt will happen.

Jungkook can sense your iciness towards him and his friends from half a mile away, from across the bar. And the bar itself is pretty big, with an outdoor area and an outdoor dance floor, and two bars inside with tables and booths and a dance floor. Despite the space of the bar, it’s crowded with college students, young professionals, and even older corporate workers who look like they work relatively close to the bar. He knows you and your friends come here often, and if that was why he had suggested to Jimin and Tae that they also come here then that was his business.

He swallows (not nervously). You look so pretty when you laugh, he thinks. He thinks you look pretty all the time, though. He lets his eyes wander to your tight black crop top shirt with cherries printed on it and your high waisted denim shorts. Jungkook’s throat goes a little dry when his gaze reaches your thighs, but he keeps it together somehow. He doesn’t know how, considering how nice that outfit makes your tits look.

“Hey Cherries,” Jungkook says smoothly, “Flattered you got this for me.” And he plucks the jagerbomb that you paid for for yourself and downs it in less than three seconds. 

Your jaw drops. The audacity of this boy.

“First of all,” You narrow your eyes, “Who the fuck is a ‘Cherries’. And second of all, I know you didn’t just drink the drink that I paid for. Right in front of my fuckin’ face.”

“That’s a funny way of asking me to buy you a drink, Cherries,” Jungkook grins, and gazes at your chest for a second too long. You roll your eyes and swat his arm.

“I’m not asking. I’m telling you. I’ll have a tequila shot, pretty boy,” You smirk at him and he smirks right back at you.

“I like a girl who knows what she wants,” Jungkook attempts, only for you to scoff.

“Congratulations,” You say flatly, “You’re lucky I’m not subjecting you to getting me two tequila shots for having to hear that line.”

“You don’t like my lines?” He’s pouty and his eyes are wide, mischief sparkling in them. You dare to think that he’s cute. Apparently all of the boys had dyed their hair blond this summer before the soccer season began and you must admit that it suits him. His hair falls over his forehead effortlessly, small hoops dangling from his ears as he smiles at you.

“Does anyone? Do your groupies?”

“Maybe I’m a little rusty…”

“Oh, I doubt that, Jungkook.”

“Well, you notice whether I have groupies or not, so maybe I’m not so rusty, Cherries,” Jungkook winks at you and you’re tempted to toss your drink at him. But that’s a precious waste of alcohol and perhaps you’re a little dramatic.

You only groan and accept the tequila shot, quickly licking your hand to place salt on and taking a wedge of lime.

“Ready?” Jungkook asks after doing the same.

“How lucky for me, that I get to do shots with our star quarterback,” You say flatly.

“That’s football, Cherries. I play soccer.”

“And I don’t care. Now, take this shot with me.”

As the afternoon blends into evening, you witness betrayal in front of your very eyes in the form of Hana inviting Jimin and his friends with you to the next bar. The ultimate betrayal.

But really, you’ve heard about those soccer boys. At least you think you have. Perhaps you know everything. Perhaps you know nothing at all.

And so the three boys follow you to the next bar as the night goes on. Nearly everyone was at least tipsy by this point, as you had all done a handful of shots following the boys’ arrival at the first bar.

You find yourself thinking that they’re not so bad, when they make you and your friends laugh easily and when being around them feels… fun. 

It’s easy to blame on the alcohol and the darkness of the crowded bar. It seems like everyone is out and about, the streets filled with college students and young professionals looking to unwind and let off some steam.

You love the feeling of the music pumping through your veins, along with the swirl of alcohol. You’re not ashamed of enjoying a drink (or several) and having a good time.

Even if it almost always results in you crossing the line and being hungover the next day.

“Wanna do shots,” You suggest to your circle of friends, eyes landing on Jungkook without you meaning to. Maybe it’s a hidden challenge and he raises his eyebrows.

“Again?” Jungkook says incredulously.

“Don’t be surprised,” Jimin mutters under his breath to Jungkook, “She’s kinda crazy.”

“I’ll take that as a yes… six shots then?” You say cheerily, ignoring Jungkook’s groan. You vaguely recall that Taehyung doesn’t really drink. How considerate of you.

Hana’s arm is slung around your shoulders, a bright (drunken) smile on her face as you pass shots behind you.

The following week, on your usual day of happy hour drinking, Hana presents you with a proposition that has you gasping and gagging, nearly writhing on the floor.

“No, for your information, I do not want to pregame at the soccer house. Thanks for asking, try again later,” You say definitively, pouring Hana a drink.

“Jimin invited us! I wanna see him,” Hana complains and pouts at you, “He said they got good alcohol for the pregame-”

“Jimin invited you, because you both like each other or whatever,” You roll your eyes, “I’m content to drink here alone-”

“We both know you’ll fall asleep if I leave you alone,” Hana says flatly, “Besides, Jungkook asked if you were coming.”

“And what do I care if Jungkook asked if I was coming?” You scoff, taking a long swig of the strong drink in your red solo cup. You cringe.

“He specifically asked if Cherries was coming,” Hana says with a near maniacal grin, “Pretend all you want that you don’t like that shit. Now go wear that top with cherries on it that makes your tits look nice. Quit being difficult.”

In the end, you end up walking the four blocks to the soccer house and you wear the baby pink long sleeved crop top with cherries on it and denim shorts, much to your chagrin (and to Hana’s delight). You’ve only been here a handful of times (maybe two or three) as a freshman for parties and hadn’t been back since.

Everyone knew the soccer house was the place to party to get shitfaced. Usually, the sophomore and junior year soccer players lived in the house while senior year players moved off campus.

You don’t know who currently lives at the house, but Hana quickly fills you in. Apparently Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook lived together off campus (because of course they did).

The soccer house has been part of the campus lore for years. Allegedly, all of the craziest, most reckless things happened at the soccer house and all of the best parties were there. You and Hana never felt that way freshman and sophomore year, instead opting to party hop at the frat houses rather than the sports houses.

How the tables have turned.

“You made it!” Jimin exclaims, outstretching his arms for a hug from you. Which you (awkwardly) return. You need more alcohol to be here, you think.

“Yeah, only ‘cause Hana told me you guys got the good shit,” You say flatly. Taehyung passes a cup of something and you eye it suspiciously but ultimately take a swig of it.

“Pretty good, Tae,” You say, raising your cup to him.

“Oh, I didn’t make that. I’m only the messenger,” Taehyung shrugs with a sly grin, “Jungkook over there did.”

You turn your head, only to find Jungkook staring back at you, lips upturned in a playful grin. It makes you roll your eyes, as most of his antics do.

“Hey, Cherries,” Jungkook greets, standing next to you after a few long strides, “It only took Jimin asking you once to come here, huh? I should be offended, considering how many times I’ve asked you-”

“And when have you ever asked me to party here, Jungkook?”

He only gives you a small smile, almost shy, and it’s a stark contrast from the generally cocky aura that hangs around him. “You just don’t remember.”

You frown a little, wondering what that means. But he gives you another broad smile quickly, shaking you from your reverie. Jungkook leaves you to your devices, being pulled away by some of the younger soccer guys that you hardly recognize. Freshmen? Sophomores, maybe? They look at Jungkook and the older guys with a playful sort of reverence- it’s clear that the team is close even off of the field. 

You briefly wonder what that’s like- having a group of friends like that. Hana’s always been the nicer, more outgoing one out of you both. She’s always made friends easily, with her sweet and genuine smiles. And then there’s you- you struggle to open up to others, always greeting anyone with the sting of sarcasm and holding people at arm’s length.

Sometimes, very rarely, you wonder how you and Hana mesh well together. When she could have a big group of great friends, you used to wonder if you hold her back somehow. It was stupid, and the first time you voiced your insecurity to Hana, she had smacked you upside the head and told you that you were stuck with her.

But still. You can’t help but feel burdensome sometimes. Maybe like you’re too much. Maybe not enough.

Hana pulls you out of your thoughts easily, an arm around your shoulder as she pulls you into conversation with Jimin and a few other girls. 

You down about half the cup of whatever concoction Jungkook whipped up for you and tried to immerse yourself in conversation. There’s a new girl here that you don’t recognize, Sunmi. She’s a transfer and the last thing you want is for her to feel left out. So you make sure to include her in the conversation and ask her questions, too.

Jungkook is not surprised that you don’t remember how many times he’s asked you to come party at the soccer house. Granted, it’s only been a handful of times over the last three years and change. It’s not like you were a stranger- he’s known you through a few mutual classes through the years, and through Jimin, too. After all, Jimin and your best friend have had this weird on and off, together but not together thing going on since the summer before sophomore year.

Maybe one of these days, they’ll get it together. Jungkook loves Hana for Jimin and vice versa- he’s never seen either smile as much as they do around each other. If only they would just admit how much they like (love) each other and put everyone around them out of their misery.

Jungkook thinks it’s a little romantic. Being so in love with someone that labels aren’t needed. There’s something poetic about that.

But Jungkook doesn’t know why you act like you don’t know him at all. You always greet him with a near frown or a roll of your shining eyes.

He doesn’t understand but he pays it no mind, instead turning his focus to the pretty woman eyeing him from the other side of the bar with her friends.

(She’s not you, but it doesn’t matter. Jungkook pushes you to the back of his mind, instead choosing to focus on the velvet heat of the woman in his bed later that night.)

With your shift at the law firm starting at 9 AM the following morning, you decide to remain relatively sober for the night (you enjoy a good time, but you try to draw the line when you can. Though there have been times when you’ve gone to work hungover or possibly even still intoxicated. It happens every so often. You’ve never claimed to be the paradigm of a working college student.)

But also, you don’t really feel like being out tonight to begin with. You do enjoy nights like this, but you also enjoy your quiet time. And it seems like this is one of those nights.

At least someone’s having fun, you think dryly, your eyes glossing over Jimin and Hana. You do think they’d be a great match- if only either of them would make it official. This dance that they’ve been doing for years frustrates you and Hana knows it. You’ve voiced it to her many times but she always says it’s not the right time.

It makes you roll your eyes. You briefly wondered if you should host an intervention and scold Jimin for taking too long- after all, if they kept playing games like this then who’s to say one of them wouldn’t move on? But it seems like they both always gravitate to each other no matter what.

He rotates around her axis and she rotates around his. It’s sweet but Jimin still puts a sour taste in your mouth for a reason that you can’t verbalize into words.

Maybe it’s the company he keeps. 

The music is loud in your ears as you dance with your group of friends, two of them in an impromptu dance off that you inevitably get dragged into. You sling your arm around Sunmi and nudge hips with her, getting her to come out of her shell a little bit and dance with her on the dance floor. She sings to the same songs as you do and gives you a bright, happy smile that you can’t help but return.

You buy a round of beers for your friends before the first yawn comes, not even at 1 AM. Hana looks at you quizzically.

You keep checking your phone for the time. Which in itself is pretty out of character for you. But you just need a recharge before the next outing…..

But you suck it up, not wanting to leave Sunmi by herself. You fight through your yawns and nurse your beer, twirling and swirling around with Sunmi.

And then you start to get hungry. Damn, you could go for some tacos right now.

“Hey,” Sunmi shouts over the music, “Wanna get food?”

“Wow, you read my mind,” You grin and chug your beer quickly. You and Sunmi both settle on the bar across the street (with the best tacos). You turn to find your friends and let them know that you’re heading across the street. Jimin and Hana both nod eagerly, Taehyung does, too.

You debate if you should ask Jungkook if he wants food- after all, it looks like he’s busy with a girl currently sending him sultry heart eyes. 

“Hey, we’re going to get food. Wanna come?” You ask, “You, too.” You look at the pretty girl who looks familiar. She probably attends the same university as you and your friends. 

Jungkook’s ears perk up at the mention of food, even with the girl currently standing in between his legs. She looks wary for a minute and before you can reassure her, Jungkook speaks up.

“Sure. I could go for some tacos,” Jungkook says, “Let’s get some tacos, Nari.”

“Are you sure, I mean I don’t want to impose. We can catch up later, Kook,” Nari says unsurely.

Jungkook will admit, this feels weird for a reason that he can’t place. The girl he’s trying to hook up with for the night getting tacos with the girl he might have a slight crush on. 

Weird. But still, there’s no harm in just having tacos.

“Trust me, you’re not imposing, Nari. I barely even like this guy,” You joke, “I’m just a big proponent of tacos and tacos should never be eaten alone. Tell your friends too, if they wanna come.”

“Hey!” 

You ignore Jungkook to reassure Nari and give her a bright smile. Nari looks at you, and then Jungkook before nodding slowly and returning your smile.

Jungkook walks Nari out with a hand at the small of her back, something you don’t miss as you chat away with Nari about anything and everything.

You even shoot Jungkook a wink when Nari isn’t looking. He groans internally- how poetic. His current crush giving him the approval of his hook up for the night (Nari knew what the deal was).

How incredibly awkward. Jungkook is capable of many things, always adapting to situations. But this is a new one and when Jimin and Taehyung catch his eye at the taco shop, they both give him a derisive smile.

Jungkook can only groan internally and eat his tacos.

Today’s Wednesday night is uneventful- Hana is with Jimin for the evening and they are likely going out with some friends. You had opted out, as you had an early shift at the law firm tomorrow morning. You’ve gone out the night before early shifts and early classes and more than half the time, you regret it the next day.

Does it mean you’ll stop those habits any time soon? Stay tuned.

But today, you just feel tired from a particularly long, difficult morning of class and your half shift that you worked until five PM. You hadn’t felt like cooking dinner (you had taken leftovers to work for lunch) and by the time you finished your homework for your natural language processing class, it was past 9 PM and your stomach was rumbling loudly.

You’ve been craving noodles, dumplings and chicken. So you place an order at the nearby restaurant by your apartment and order some extra for Hana for later or for tomorrow.

It’s only a fifteen minute walk from your apartment to the shop, and you plug your headphones in to begin your walk.

You sway on the heels of your feet as you wait for your food, saying hello to the couple who owns the small restaurant. They know you by face, from how many times you’ve been here. Your favorite comfort food (besides homemade food made by your parents) exists here. Your favorite aromas exist here and even just the smell of noodles and chicken has your tummy rumbling.

“I thought you would’ve been out,” A voice comes from your right side, “It’s the week before classes start.”

You turn your head at the voice, heart startling a bit. What in the world is Jungkook doing at your secret but not so secret restaurant?

“I could say the same for you,” You remark with a raise of your eyebrow, “I heard Jimin and Tae went out.”

You vaguely wonder if he’s still hooking up with Nari but decide it’s not your business to ask.

“Ah, well… I have work tomorrow,” Jungkook shrugs.

“Me too, they want me in at 7:30 tomorrow,” You complain, “What do I look like? A cog in the wheel that is capitalism?”

“Don’t we all?” Jungkook snorts.

“I didn’t realize you were working this summer, too. Thought you were just doing whatever soccer captains do,” You mutter, picking up your order off of the countertop.

“And what do soccer captains do, Cherries?”

“I dunno. Score touchdowns or whatever,” You shrug and laugh at the pained expression on Jungkook’s face, “And stop calling me that, Jungkook.”

“Whatever, Cherries. I’ve been working at this architecture firm as an intern. Figured it would help with post grad.”

“Oh wow, I didn’t know that was your major…”

“You definitely did, I’m pretty sure I’ve told you.”

“When-” You shake your head, not wanting to argue with him, “That’s cool. I’m working at a law firm, it’s about a fifteen minute bus ride from my apartment.”

“You wanna study law? Makes sense, because you always wanna argue with me-”

“No, I don’t really know if I want to go to grad school,” You trail off, “Hey! I don’t always argue with you!”

“You’re arguing now,” He says smugly, crossing his hands across his broad chest that you definitely do not ogle at.

“Whatever, Jungkook,” You roll your eyes, “You here for classes or anything?”

“Nah, not this summer. Just work and soccer,” Jungkook replies, “Gives me lots of time for other things.” The man has the audacity to wink at you and give you a big, bunny grin. You pretend like your stomach doesn’t flutter.

You roll your eyes, again. 

“How about you, Cherries? Any classes?”

“Yeah, I’m taking this natural language processing class three times a week for three hours each day-”

“Wait, you’re a comp sci major?” He asks incredulously, “Why are you working at a law firm then?”

“I’m working half as IT support and half as the intern,” You reply with a shrug, “It pays well and it’s pretty easy. Half of the IT support comes in the form of telling the lawyers to restart their computers for software updates. It’s so funny, you should see their amazed faces when all it takes is a fuckin’ restart. Makes a girl feel smart as hell.”

“Smart and pretty, huh?” Jungkook says with a crooked grin, “Where you been all my life, Cherries?”

“Shut up,” You say flatly, levelling him with a glare that only makes him smirk even wider at you.

“Cute,” He breathes with so much conviction that it almost makes you flustered. You clutch your bag of food a little tighter to ground yourself. 

“Me telling you to shut up is cute?” You raise both your eyebrows, eager to shield him from the heat in your cheeks.

“Among many other things, Cherries.”

“Share with the class then…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Shut up, and why do you like calling me cherries so much,” You complain, lips jutted out in a pout, “I only wore that top once and now look. You’re referring to me as a delectable, juicy fruit. I mean I don’t blame you-”

“Cherries are my favorite,” Jungkook says, dark eyes swirling with stars. He unnerves you with his raw honesty and sincerity and he lets the implication of his words hang in between you both, your eyes wide by his statement. 

“Well, your taste is questionable because mangoes are very obviously superior-”

You both share a laugh and you’re pleasantly surprised by how the silence that comfortably falls isn’t awkward when you deflect. His name is called shortly after, breaking his intense stare. 

You let out a huff, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

“Hey, I’ll drive you home,” Jungkook says, pushing the door open for you to exit the shop.

“You have a car on campus?” You say, unable to hold back the awe in your voice, “That’s awesome. And uh, no, I mean, you really don’t have to, it’s only a fifteen minute walk-”

“It’s a two minute ride,” Jungkook says, “But I mean, if you’re not comfortable, I get it-”

“No, it’s not that,” You say honestly, “I just don’t want to inconvenience you-”

“You’re not, it’s a two minute ride. Now get in,” Jungkook says reassuringly, opening the passenger side door for you. He puts his own bags of food in the backseat before getting into the driver’s side.

You’ve never really been alone with Jungkook, but for some reason it doesn’t feel that strange. It’s easy to keep conversation (really, it’s banter) flowing with him- as if you’ve been friends for the entirety of the last few years of college. As if you hadn’t spent nearly every waking moment thinking of him a certain way.

He’s easy to talk to. It unnerves you, but you roll with it.

“You should come to a practice one of these days,” Jungkook murmurs. You raise an eyebrow. Why would he ask you to come to one of his soccer practices when you had only just started an acquaintance-ship? Isn’t that crossing some sort of friendship line that you both hadn’t approached yet.

It’s months later when you realize that everything Jungkook does and says is because of his kind, golden heart. He’s such a genuine person, sincerity always dripping from his warm, brown eyes. Everything he does, he does with love.

“Thanks for driving me home, Jungkook,” You murmur with a small smile. It makes his heart sputter in his chest and he easily returns it. “Text me when you get home?”

“If you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask. Cherries,” Jungkook says smugly and you gasp, affronted. “Text me when you get inside your place.”

“That’s not- I didn’t-” You stammer, sighing, “I already have your number, stupid.”

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” You mutter, cheeks blazing as you hurry to get out of his car. Which coincidentally smells just like him. “Goodnight, Jungkook.”

“‘Night, Cherry.”

You roll your eyes but give him a small wave and a smile before entering your building. 

cherries: I’m inside. Drive safe jungkook: you worried about me? cherries: no im worried about your nice car jungkook: uh huh… gonna leave now, text you when i get home? cherries: 👍🏾

It’s about three minutes later (you barely even have time to wash your hands and change into pajamas) before your phone lights up again.

jungkook: im home cherries: me too jungkook: wow you’re funny cherries: pretty and smart too, according to you jungkook: well i wasnt lying 😍 cherries: Uh huhhhhh

You put your phone to the side to put some of the food on your plate, your stomach still rumbling. You turn on the anime you’re currently watching and get cozy on the couch with a glass of wine.

And in the middle of your late dinner, your wine and your show, your phone lights up with texts from Jungkook. It surprises you that he holds the conversation even when you had given him such a dull response. Isn’t he tired of texting you by now?

He keeps you company through your dinner and you barely are even paying attention to the anime you’re watching, only giggling to yourself over Jungkook’s silly texts-

cherries: you’re so distracting, couldnt even finish this episode of fruits basket jungkook: cute cherries: i cant tell u if its cute, i barely watched it bc of you jungkook: no i meant u. Ur cute

Five seconds go by. Then ten. Your face is heated- you’re glad he can’t see you. Maybe you’ll reciprocate someday. But today is not that day.

cherries: shut up

tags: @kookdbean

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Idk about you but that trope where a giant gets angry and accidentally scares a tiny and feels bad abt it afterwards makes me go absolutely feral,,

So, originally, I was planning for this scene to be in a future chapter of This Is Nothing Like The Disney Star Wars Trilogy, but I could never really think of a full story arc around it, even though I still really really really love this idea. In any case, if I happen to brainstorm a better plot and find a way to squeeze this in I might edit it into the main story, otherwise enjoy some classic Giant Catboi and Twink Solider fearplay >:3c

--

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was!?”

As expected, the little one did not respond to his rhetorical question, though his tone certainly helped snap it out of its previous stupor as it released its death grip on his shirt in favor of squirming as soon as the bedroom door slid shut behind him. His aggravation at the situation was clear as day even without the usual language and cultural barrier that impeded any sort of deeper relationship Edix tried to form with the human. Red ears were still folded back against his curls and his shoulders tense, the stiff posture traveling down to his hands were they gripped the earthling to his chest perhaps just a touch more tightly than usual, not that it prevented it from trying to push and wriggle itself out of his overprotective hold.

Fuck no, he wasn’t ready to let it go yet, not when flecks of blood were still smeared against his knuckles as a result of an impromptu rescue mission. The satisfying snap of cartilage under his fist after one good sucker punch to Talan’s smug face still echoed in his mind, blood gushing from the surely broken nose while the biologist stumbled backwards into the shelves. Edix wondered if he would be reprimanded for that by the directors later, or if Talan would be too proud to report the ass kicking, maybe even taking the lesson to heart to not fuck with his things in the future. And yes, that included trying to vivisect his sweet little pet.

How was I supposed to know the stray belonged to you? He had asked with sarcastic innocence, as if the human in question hadn’t been seen with Edix a thousand times before, and wasn’t drenched in his scent, and didn’t have his ID code printed on the back of its little suit, Maybe if you weren’t such a wuss and actually put it on a shorter leash-

Asshole. He was lucky Edix’s only goal at the moment was to get the little one off the table and back to the appropriate sector rather than rip Talan to shreds with his own tools. A taste of his own medicine, perhaps. Still, he admittedly did have a point about the human, what with how much it would run off and get lost and damn near killed. He simply couldn’t figure out what was so terrible about staying in his company that the little one would risk injury and mutilation in a foreign environment as opposed to the safety and comfort he so desperately tried to provide for it. They might have had a bit of a rocky start, sure, but stars above that was far in the past now. There’s nothing either of them can do to change the facts so why not accept things as they are and make some type of effort to be happy in this new life? By all accounts, Edix was a great owner!

And yet, the little one still fought him every step of the way. Even now, having just saved it from a fate of having its tiny organs sliced while it was wide awake, it made it known it did not want to be near him anymore. It might have been clinging to him the entire walk back to the bedroom, but it must have remembered it was supposed to be oblivious to the notion of genuine love and safety because now it started to stutter out little squeaks on top of struggling. Normally, Edix adored any and all of the sounds it made, especially when it was directly trying to talk to him which only served to give him the mental image of a pup mindlessly babbling before they managed their first few words. This time, however, it only worsened his irritation.

“Stop.” He ordered, which the human somewhat complied with, though it probably had more to do with his harsher tone and the fact that he was already lowering his hand towards the bed to set it down. As soon as it was free of his hold, it scrambled back, looking at him with those wide brown eyes that were full of so much fear it made him sick. Why did it have to be so afraid of him? What could he have possibly done that even now, almost a cycle later, it was still overtly wary of his intentions. All he ever did was care for it. Feed it, pet it, cuddle it, protect it, and still nothing was good enough!

With a tired sigh, he rubbed his hand down his face and resisted the urge to tug at his hair. “I just don’t understand,” he pleaded, begging some cosmic being out there to suddenly grant the little one the power to understand what he was saying, “what can I possibly do to prove to you that I’m not going to hurt you? I’m trying to keep you alive and it’s like...I don’t know, you resent me for that or something!”

The sweet thing looked more confused at his words than anything, but he could tell his body language and voice were making it uneasy. The human was used to soft words and purrs and slow movements, rarely any agitation in his being. After a beat of silence marked by an intense stare down, Edix gave up on hoping the earthling would miraculously explain itself and open up to sharing its thoughts on the matter. He reached for it and it instinctively back up, flinching when a growl rumbled in his throat in response.

“Stop running,” it was a fruitless endeavor, but like hell if he wouldn’t stop trying. That was how new pups learned how to understand a language anyways, wasn’t it? To repeat certain words over and over until they got the idea? Maybe that’s all he needed to do here, maybe by now it already knew the Venandi words for no, stop, be good, and so on. He reached for it again and it did the same thing as last time, always sure to stay just out of the most convenient reach. Not that it mattered how much it inched away seeing how it was trapped on the bed with Edix directly in front of it, but it was the principal of the matter.

And it was then that something inside him snapped. Something primal as a result of dealing with an unruly pup far too long for his nerves to handle at this moment. He wasn’t even aware of his actions, belatedly realizing how he pounced on the bed in a flash, the human scrambling to get away but only having enough time to turn around before being roughly pinned on its stomach against the mattress. His teeth were bared and pressed tightly against its back, fangs scraping against the layers of its clothes to no doubt bruise the tender flesh underneath, though thankfully they didn’t break the skin. A loud growl reverberated though its entire body, shaking it to its core.

“Enough.” He hissed against its back, keeping his teeth pressed into its skinny frame for a moment longer before pulling away. The second he did, his glare softened, all the anger he felt gone in an instant as soon as he saw the sight underneath him.

The poor thing was absolutely petrified.

It was probably the worst it’s ever been scared, arguably. Not even the first time they met, when it had so gracefully tumbled down that hill and landed face first in front of him, compared to the level of fear that radiated off it. A split-second thought had Edix wondering if he had legitimately scared it to death. Soon enough, though, he was able to pick up the minute tremors that shook through it, almost like an aftershock of the warning that it felt more than heard. It was pale, baby face devoid of color not unlike that time before when it had been sick with fever. But its eyes...those sweet little doe eyes he loved so much were wide and wet with a sheen of tears that refused to fall, locked in a blank stare straight ahead towards the wall and refusing to look at him.

A small, choked hiccup made its body twitch every couple of breaths, but it refused to open its mouth to allow any of these sniffles to turn into cries. Shit, it refused to move at all, too terrified of Edix’s threat display that if it did anything he didn’t like there would be dire consequences to pay. He supposed it worked exactly as intended, in that case. It was still, it was quiet, it was technically obeying him after he just forced it to behave via alternative punishment. That didn’t change the fact that he felt absolutely, terribly, extremely awful about what he just did.

It was just a pup, as he always said, regardless of what Ylva would tell him about human adolescence and such. It didn’t know any better, it had never been raised in these situations before and needed much longer than a measly cycle to unlearn all of its prey behaviors it needed to survive on its home planet. Besides, it wasn’t that it didn’t fully know that it was perfectly safe with Edix, it was smart enough to know he was at the very least the safest option when presented with any other Venandi. Edix had been upset, and it knew he was upset, so of course it would want to avoid a potentially hostile predator before-

--before it snatched the little one in its teeth.

Fuck, fuck, he was an idiot. Maybe he wasn’t as cut out for this as he thought, not like Ylva who was the very essence of motherhood. No. Now wasn’t the time for self doubts and pity, not when the human was in such a state. Slowly, hands cupped around its shaking form, mindful to make sure his fingers were in its view so it wouldn’t be any more startled when he lifted it up, not that he was completely sure it was actually seeing anything in front of it. The little one hardly reacted to the movement, laying limp when he pressed it against his chest and moved to sit up against the headboard of the bed in a similar fashion to what he had done the first night the poor thing was on the ship.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s okay,” he whispered to it, rubbing his thumb along the curve of its back just how it liked whenever it dozed, “you’re okay, we’re fine, it’s okay to cry. I’m sorry I scared you, I’m so sorry.”

Normally in these types of instances, he’d be purring and shushing the little sweetheart until he was able to get it down for a nap, but he had little confidence that any other types of chest vibrations would have its usual effect of making the human drowsy currently. When it finally started blinking again, the tears that had welled up ran freely down its cheeks, quickly biting down on its wobbling lip to prevent any sobs from escaping and get it in trouble for misbehaving. He softly clicked his tongue at it and cooed, anything to put it at ease with a softer demeanor. “I know, honey, I know. I won’t ever do that again, I promise."

Well, if nothing else, at least the little one’s apprehension of him wasn’t unfounded anymore, much to his dismay.

[nestasgalpal]

The ball is in his court

Fixing ACOSF Part 8

Masterlist | AO3

Summary:  Cassian knows Nesta is supposed to dance with Eris and lure him into a stronger alliance with the Night Court. He knows he's been forbidden from getting close to her during the whole event. He knows she loves to dance. He knows he wants to be the one swinging with her.

A/N: angst because Cassian got very little character development in the book for someone who had that much family drama to deal with. It's not that big of a change as other chapters, but I thought it made sense to add this here with how these three acted in the ball.

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Cassian stood firmly on his feet as he made Mor spin once again. The House was playing music for them, and in some strange way, he felt it getting annoyed at how many times he had demanded to go- "Again". The waltz had just finished, and he was already positioning himself to start all over.

"Cass, you already know the moves, you've been dancing these for centuries" she laughed it off "I honestly don't think you need any more practice for tomorrow."

"Again" he insisted.

With a sigh, his friend went back to first position, seven feet away from him. The sound the House played for them was more like a trumpet with a shoe stuck in it than the beautiful harmonies they had been practicing with.

"Please, I want to make sure I get it right before we leave for the ball" Cassian gave her his best pout face, which made Mor roll her eyes.

"You are not going to dance with her, Cass. You got clear instructions from Rhys about that. I don't even know why I'm helping you with this, we both heard you are not allowed near her." The House probably felt like Mor was doing a good enough job at remprimanding him for his stubbornnes, because the melody of the waltz started playing again, and they moved to the sound of it. "Gods, you two are already making this way harder than it needs to be with your non-stop fucking" Cassian laughed, but Mor was not in the mood for joking, "This is serious. I heard Rhys complain about how long it took to hide your scent on her." With their palms in the air almost touching, they turned and gave two steps back "Behave." she reminded him of what his role was tomorrow night, and how important it was that he didn't ruin Nesta's mission by approaching her at all.

Cassian smiled again. "I'll try my best".

"Cassian" her tone made clear that she was not amused by the idea of what he may do with with all this dance practice.

"I know, I know. I'll be a good General Commander and stand by my High Lord's side the entire night, while she dances with Eris Vanserra" the lightness with which he spoke did very little to hide the feelings behind it. The jealousy.

Mor let him guide the dance, shadows in her eyes. Their imminent visit to Hewn City must be disturbing her, specially knowing both his father and Eris would be there. The stress of the negotiations with Vallahan was wearing her down as well.

"Why do you insist on going after her?" The sudden dryness she spoke with took him by surprise, and so did the question itself. Nesta and whatever the nature of his relationship with her was, wasn't a topic they ever talked about. For the last couple of years, they avoided the subject, pretending it didn't exist. That's why it felt so odd how mad she seemed to be now without any previous warning that the matter was present in her thoughts at all. That it could disturb her so much, was the most unexpected part of it.

It rubbed him the wrong way, but Cassian kept on moving, the smile in his eyes not fading one bit as he looked into hers to answer.

"Jealous that I'm spending my time with her and not you lately?"

The blonde's gaze pierced through him with a cold disdain he hadn't prepared himself for either. "Not at all. Unlike you, I understand what an order is." Ouch. "I don't blame you for following Rhys' command and babysitting her when he asked you to. She's your job, I guess."

"She is not a job"

"Cassian" His friend hardly ever called his full name. This was now the second time in a matter of minutes.

The conversation was taking a turn he didn't like as a sense of danger that made him on guard sat between them. But it was his best friend talking, his sister, so he ignored his instincts and kept moving to the rhythm. He tried to be graceful and move with precision, imagining it was Nesta's pale hand in his.

"I'm serious. You really need to come back from this recess sooner or later. Better if you choose the former, considering you have a job to do, a role to play as the rest of us do. Her included." The dance required him to spin her twice, an artificial pause in her speech as she twirled on his arms "I'm sure it was fun, but Feyre already revoked the order, so it's time you move on and take things seriously again. You have no idea how bad the treaty with Vallahan is going. We must prepare for the worse, have the armies ready".

"You think being here with her is some kind of vacation?"

The flow of her practiced movements didn't disappear for a second as she dissed Nesta, which was unsettling. Apparently, it came natural to her and putting these thoughts into words required no effort. For how long had Mor been thinking this way about his stay in the House of Wind?

"You sure smell like you are having a good time". Mor gave a step forward to the beat of the orchestra. Cassian didn't follow her movement, their bodies colliding.

It was now making him truly angry. Not just her usual dismiss of Nesta, which he had grown accustomed to, but the little care she was showing for him. He hadn't been working less on Illyria for the past months, his duty with Nesta being piled up on top of his previous responsibilities, and in addition to his new assignments as courtier to cover up her absence. He was working his ass off.

Countless, sleepless nights trying to come up with new ideas to help Nesta weren't something he had told her about, but she certainly knew about the exhaustion they put him through. The fighting, the struggle. Having to finally face how lost she was and stop pretending he had nothing to do with it had been a wake up call. Trying to put the pieces together, a painfully slow process they were still working on. They were achieving it bit by bit... and together, he wanted to think. It had been anything but a vacation.

His biggest regret, however, was printed all over her words, truth slipping through the cracks in the lie he had crafted for himself so long ago. That's why Mor's words hit him like a punch in the guts, because he had actually treated Nesta as a job in the beginning, and Nesta probably had thought the same thing -if she didn't still feel about it like that. A job. Cassian flinched. An order given to him to follow, and not his own decision to sought her and be there for her after the war.

"This is not time off for me, and, again, she is not a job."

Mor wasn't listening, "You need to be honest with yourself, Cass. You need to come to terms with whatever it is your cock feels for that female, and move on."

"You did not just say that" Cassian was speechless.

Knowing what she knows.

Cassian put distance between them and scanned the room looking for a chair, needing to sit down. There was one left alone by the wall where they had pushed it to have more space for their dancing. He sat before he felt his blood drop to his feet, his head uncomfortably light as his sight became dizzy.

Mor hadn't just said that. She would never cross him like that. Denial took over, his trustful self convincing him he just needed a moment to focus. Once he felt better, he would realize her words were only a friend worrying, not an attack on him. She was helping. Mor was always there for him when he needed a friend. She was only trying to give him some advice.

Then why did it hurt so much to hear those twisted truths from her mouth?

"Oh, come on!" she was saying behind him. Mor's words were distant and distorted, as if he were underwater. It took him a moment to understand and process them. "You saw what she became after the war just as clearly as I did. You did nothing about it, just like I did. And we were okay with that, we have our own life, Cass, and she doesn't fit in it. There is another war waiting for us in the corner that threatens to break this moment of happness we've built. For our future, you need to come back to be who you are, the Cassian I know. I miss him."

Once again, the plain truth. He had drifted away like everyone else. They had all decided that space was what she needed, and when that didn't work, it was once again them deciding what to do with the pieces that were left. He had agreed to every plan, convincing himself they knew what they were doing and they knew her better than she did. That they had any right to pick a path for her, the biggest lie of them all.

And now Mor's words were shattering the wall of self-inflicted fabrications he had slowly built while Nesta faded away from his reach. He took in his friend's words, their meaning. What she thought, and some of his friends -family- shared.

It made his heart skip a bit to realize that Nesta probably saw it like that too to this day. He had already accepted his mistakes to himself, he knew before the blonde said it what he had done wrong. Yet Cassian hadn't thought about how his actions were read from the outside. Nobody had called him out on his bullshit. Nobody had interfered -wasn't that what friends were supposed to do? So there it was, the reason why none of them had ever tried to help him smooth things between them: they didn't want him to. Stupidly and blindly trusting his friends would have the respect for him he had proven to have for them, he assumed they were just as blind as he was. Apparently, they weren't, and they had purposefully left her to rot.

Up until now, Cassian hadn't entertained the thought that she most likely didn't let him in because she also considered his presence there a task for him to handle, even if they had grown to be... friends.

That was it -a dead end for them.

No matter how hard he insisted on being there for Nesta now, he had already failed her too many times, and she simply wouldn't allow him to get closer a second time. Not the way he wanted to, at least.

His pulse was in his ears. Or maybe he was hearing again the dreadful noises the house played for them before.

Oh, Nesta.

Had she agreed to the plan because she didn't really care for him watching? Did Nesta not care because she simply didn't want to be anything else than friends in the end? Did she even trust him enough to call what they had a friendship?

A glass of red wine appeared on the table next to him and was it was in his hand a second later. Cassian swallowed its content in one sip. It was refilled instantly. Realization hit him right then and there, that he might be in time to save her, yet too late for what he wanted from her. And his ass would be the only one to blame for that. His cowardice. And how could he hope for a second chance from someone who didn't grant one to herself?

A movement in his field of vision took him out of his trance. Mor, who was carefully approaching him, gave a jump back when he got up from his chair, letting it fall back. The loud noise scared her too.

Those damned reports. He should have never agreed to that stupid idea. Nor to the plan they had for tomorrow night. Yes, she had agreed to it, but maybe if he had asked her not to... No, she would have still done it, convinced it was the only way she would not be seen as a coward.

Who gives a fuck about how anyone sees her. She certainly didn't use to. And he used to love that about her.

But now she clearly did, and was ready to do anything to change how he and his friends saw her. Even seducing Eris Vanserra right in front of him.

"Why can't you just leave her alone?" he asked, defeated at the thought that Nesta was indeed going to allow him to be by her side, but probably where he was right now was the closer he would ever get to tearing down her walls.

Mor looked back at him, marking the way his arms hung by his sides, the picture of a defeated male. She showed no compassion.

"Because I can't forget what she did to Feyre. I still remember the night she told us her story, what she went through. I see her grow every day and I'm reminded of who broke her in the first place. I can't let that slide like nothing." Cassian opened his mouth to say something, not knowing what exactly. He closed it again as Mor lifted a finger to stop whatever words he would have come up with from escaping his mouth. She was angry, "She let her 14 year old sister go wonder the woods next to the Wall all alone. Feyre was a child, Cassian. A kid who had to risk her life on a daily basis because your lover didn't want splinters in her fingernails."

Cassian sighed, tired of a conversation that kept circling back to the same point over and over again. He knew what Nesta's choices had meant to Feyre, but he had seen her regret as well, and what those same choices had done to her. Cassian had seen and heard the forgiveness coming from Feyre herself, her actions a window to what his High Lady needed: to move on. They had talked about it, his friend had opened up to him and she was obviously determined to have her sister back at any cost. And so was him. He was determined to help his friend and at the same time assist Nesta with whatever it was she needed... once she came to terms with what it was.

He had taken her to the old cabin they used to live in and had stand by her side as she scanned the place, finding only bad memories of the person she used to be. She wanted to move on as well. So if the two people involved wanted the same thing, why did their friends keep getting in the way using a wound that was already healing as an excuse.

"But you can forgive Elain?"

"Elain has at least tried to be one of us, Nesta has done nothing since she arrived but be against us."

Cassian laughed at that, a bitter, joyless laugh. "Elain is trying to be our friend, while Nesta doesn't like us. Is that it?" He chuckled again. "Are you telling me that the only reason you pick on her is that she doesn't want to be your friend and you can't just accept that? I thought it was her actions to Feyre in the past, but yes, this makes way more sense now." This time it was him stopping her from talking back, "I can see a pattern there. Isn't that the same reason you don't trust Lucien no matter how hard he works to help us? That he has his own life beyond us?" The volume of his voice went in crescendo as his anger rose to meet hers, "You can't be seriously expecting me to leave her because of a petty fight that only exists in your head."

"It's not just me, Cass. It's all of us. No one likes her, no one wants her around, and we are not having our days ruined every time she shows up so you can fuck her. You are not like this, you are not selfish like that." The indignation simmering in her brown eyes didn't make her an inch scarier to him, the childish reasons for it almost making him consider the argument over, hadn't him been so heated himself. "I want my friend back. And so does Rhys, who can't look at her -or Lucien, for that matter, without being reminded of what his mate went through before he found her."

Cassian snapped.

His siphons glowed scarlet red, goosebumps in his arms from the contained adrenaline rushing through his veins. He screamed at her in anger for the first time in... for the first time in as long as he could remember.

"Don't you dare try to make me feel like I'm a bad friend to Feyre to justify your bigotry. Don't you dare try to convince me that I'm the one hurting others, so I stay in my place while you do whatever the fuck you want and then blame the problems that surface on me. Don't you fucking dare play the victim of this when it's none of your business."

There had been genuine happiness in Feyre's eyes the night Nesta and her decided to give themselves one last chance.

Now Mor was reducing Feyre to nothing but an excuse for her own grudges. She was trying to yield her past suffering as a weapon against her sister, which would make Feyre just as furious as he was. She would never use the damage she experienced to hurt someone she loved, and that was the kind of friend he wanted in his life giving him advice. That was the kind of friend Cassian needed.

He had taken Nesta to the mountains and listened to her cry. He had heard from her mouth how she felt.

Worthless.

She had felt like she didn't deserve to be alive.

And apparently, Mor agreed.

It couldn't be wrong to have sympathy for her. It couldn't be wrong to want her. And he did want her. Cassian wanted everything with her. Was he a bad friend to Feyre for that? How, when his friend wanted the same thing?

"She saved my life twice. She was ready to die with me instead of running away. Does that mean nothing to you?" Above all, what broke Cassian's trust in her wasn't simply her disapproval of Nesta. Rather than that, what Cassian wasn't sure he could forgive was how little care she showed for him. "If you don't like her, that's fine. I don't care, and I can promise you she doesn't either. But don't you dare use Feyre or me as an excuse for it."

"I won't apologize for caring. I won't apologize for protecting my High Lady and my best friend, and the life you really want and deserve".

"At what point exactly did you decide Feyre's happiness was above Nesta's life? Was it after you met her, or had you already ranked your priorities the night Feyre told us about her sisters? Oh, sorry, our priorities, since apparently you know what I want better than I do." Cassian wasn't sure if he would have stopped his ranting right there if he had seen any regret coming from Mor, and he never got to find out. His friend's face was a mask of faked boredom as he spoke. "From all people, I would expect you guys to know what it's like to be perceived by outsiders in a way that's different from who you are as a measure of protection. You simply fail to understand that, for her, we've been the bad guys she has to be wary of since day one. And the reason is precisely that we made our minds clear about her in that fucking dinner party and refused to change it independently of what she did to be better".

He would know about it.

A blank expression was painted on her face. "You need to chill."

"Leave." he ordered. It was no up for discussion. Cassian couldn't even look at her right now. He was fuming and didn't want to say things he would later regret. As he opened the glass doors for Mor, he knew he would, unless one of them left.

"Are you seriously going to let a stupid fight about her get between us?"

It was the way she said her. Like she had said it a hundred times before, like others had pronounced as well, including him not so long ago.

Cassian turned to face the blonde, a special kind of anger glimmering in his eyes.

"Me?!" he screamed. Mor gave instinctively a step back, "Am I going to let it get between us!? You are the one who brought her up, Mor. You are the one who has a problem, and I'm the one pretending you don't trash her at every chance you get, so we can still be friends. I'm not the one letting an argument get between us, for the only thing I've been doing over five hundred years is make everything easier for you. And now, I'm done." Her eyes went wide.

But Cassian was now beyond turning. He had tried to leave and make her go to avoid exactly what was about to happen, "Are you seriously going to let a stupid sister fight only you care about at this point get between me and my happiness? You really despise her so much you would take the chance of being happy with Nesta away from me only to make her miserable?" he spat.

Cassian took a step forward and Mor gave another one back at the same time, recoiling. There was fear in her face as he made his way to her, a kind of fear he had never seen on her features whilst looking at him. "Just look at me in the eye and answer this question, Mor, and I promise there won't be more fights between us for better or worse: Would you rather have me unsatisfied for the rest of my days than have me happy, if that requires her being blissful as well? "

Her silence was too long. It was too damn long.

Cassian spread his wings, the glimmer of his siphons mirroring his anger, and went for the glass doors.

"I only want to protect you." Mor cried behind him. Cassian walked fast, but she was at his heels when he reached the banister, begging him to stop and listen.

One single tear run down her beautiful face. If any other person had made her shed a tear, he would be the first one going after them to make them suffer unimaginable pain. Mor was his best friend, had always been. Cassian thought there was nobody in the world he wouldn't at least beat up for making her sad the way she looked now. But he heard her whimper, saw the hurt, and realized it was too little compared to what she had inflicted on him. On Nesta.

She had gone too far. And at the same time, she was giving him too little.

He turned to face her, needing to make sure he wasn't making a mistake. A part of him refused to believe this was actually happening, wanted to trust in that, once he met her eyes again, he would see regret in her pupils. The hope he had learned from her ages ago making him give her one last look before he aimed for the sky.

Of course, Mor was too stubborn to show any kind of surrender. Too proud to be regretful.

"I am a 500 year old warrior. She is a 25 year old female whose family she can't talk to without pushing them away. And you think I'm the one who needs protection because she is mean to those she doesn't like."

It was not a question. Cassian wanted Mor to hear what her case sound like to him. Before he left, Cassian wanted her to know this was not going to be a short argument and they wouldn't be having lunch together next week. It was a breaking point in their friendship, and he was going to stand on this hill as long as it took, unmoving no matter how many jibes she trowed at him or how many tears wetted her face.

Mor cried in silence, and only because the winter breeze was cooling him down, he didn't get angrier at her for that, at himself, and at the world. Why did they always find a way to make things harder than they should be?

"Wait, please, don't go." The sound of his wings spreading again almost prevented him from hearing her whimper as she said, "I can still teach you one last dance," she murmured. Cassian listened carefully, she didn't dare moving, monitoring his position as if he were a wild animal and she was a rabbit trying to be discrete to not become his prey "There is one gavotte they are likely to play. She is so good at it, you would think she's known the moves for decades and not days."

A temtative hand reached for his arm and stayed there. He had never seen Mor stutter, especially when it came to him. Cassian had always been her best friend, the one who never got mad at her and she could count on. Now she was unsure if he was leaving for the day, or if he was flying away from her for Cauldron knows how long. She didn't tighten her grip on him when he didn't push her away, it remained light and unsure. "I think you already know it, but we can practice that one a couple of times. Just in case you get a chance to dance with her. You'll look great by her side... like it's meant to be".

Cassian noticed his cheeks were wet as well. His gaze burned so fiercely Mor couldn't hold his stare. With anger still painted all over his features, Cassian nodded and followed her inside again.

Mor didn't say a bad word about her for the rest of the evening, and even if he couldn't know where she went afterwards to rant about it, he appreciated her silence.

---

A couple of minutes after her orgasm, Nesta's legs were still shaking. Cassian drove his hand up and down her thighs, feeling her soft skin with the excuse of a massage to help her muscles relax.

He needed to calm down as well -it had been a particularly long day. Nesta had been happy to follow him into his room after dinner, feeling something was off. He had to restrain himself from telling her when she asked about it. First, because he didn't want her to know he was taking dance lessons with Mor. She would know the reason behind it in a second, and he didn't feel like exposing himself like that for a second time that day.

He also couldn't tell her about the argument that hours later still kept his head bussy. He didn't want her to know how frivolously she had been discussed, what both Mor and him had said about her in the same living room where their kisses after dinner had started.

Nesta's breathing was steady, tranquil. His cock was still inside her. He needed to feel her touch. She wasn't in conditions to leave his room even if he came out of her, but Cassian didn't want to give her a chance to get rid of him just yet. He needed her presence there a little longer.

Nesta's fingers tangled themselves in his hair, pressing his head to the crook of her neck. He kissed the soft skin and felt her pulse beat fast against his lips. The path of wet kisses he planted all the way up to the spot behind her ear made her moan.

Cassian felt his blood rushing back to his cock.

With his hands, he cupped her breasts. A sigh escaped her swollen lips, his own closing around a hard nipple. Cassian marked with kisses and playful bites his way down her abdomen to the apex of her thighs. Nesta's let a loud moan escape when his tongue hit with precision her bundle of nerves, drawing circles around it. Teasing her. Making her wetter if that was even possible.

Unaffected by Nesta's pleas, he enjoyed playing with her, his mouth exploring her folds as if wanting to drink her in. Cassian couldn't hear anything, the sinful sounds she let out a song his blood echoed, roaring in his ears. Her hand found his head, her hips clashing against him as she tried to ride his face. Oh, he loved it when she did that, so desperate to have him closer, for his touch to never leave her.

It was his lust what determined every movement his body made, convincing Casian he could reach heaven just by climbing up her hips. Cassian didn't stop until he felt her thighs clench the sides of his head. The hand that held him fixed between her legs became a fist in his hair, encouraging him to keep going, keep licking and keep playing with her most sensitive spot until his tongue took her over the edge one more time.

Yet he hadn't had enough of her. He needed more and more, and after each time they slept together, the urge to have her again grew stronger, as Cassian became more impatient for the next time. Nesta felt the same way, by how her hands found his wings by reaching behind his shoulders and aroused him again. A grin spread through her face when he let his lover play with him in whatever way she pleased. Whatever she wanted from him, Cassian would give.

He climaxed one more time all over her breasts, before he finally renounced to her body. He was content resting by her side, their legs tangled under the sheets.

It was now a matter of time before Nesta left his room.

Cassian's legs tangled with hers. Nesta moved idly against him, making herself comfortable. Their bodies fitted together like pieces from a jigsaw puzzle, their breaths the only sound in the room. He could tell she was cold as he once again found himself caressing her arms, pale like porcelain under the moonlight that came through the window. Cassian pulled the sheets to cover them and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Nesta had her walls down. She looked so peaceful curled up against him.

"You don't like us, do you?" even if he whispered the words, they were loud in the silence of the room.

Nesta was fighting to focus her sight, just as tired as he was. "What do you mean?" Oh Cauldron. That raspy voice of hers after sex. Too much moaning for her own good. And he hadn't even enjoyed her throat that night. He had to picture terrible things in his head so his cock would behave and not react to her "that was really great sex" voice.

"My friends and I. The Inner Circle as a whole, you could say." His hand rested in the small of Nesta's back, drawing lazy circles.

She maneuvered to get rid of his touch, sitting up on the bed. The absence of her body against him was painfully obvious. Cassian laid on his back, fighting the impulse to sit up as well. He moved his hands to his nape with faked laziness, as if the question was simple small talk. Yeah... the small talk they never had after sex. Not weird or suspicious at all.

Good job, you idiot. She's not coming to your room in weeks. He cursed himself.

He couldn't withdraw now, it was too late. Nesta's gaze was feline. On guard.

"I don't think I dislike any of you more than you dislike me."

"Hey, I don't dislike you!" he ignored the cautiosness on her tone. He would pretend everything was okay and pray Nesta somehow went with it, "I would say, in fact, that I am very fond of you. And so is Az, for what's worth."

She smiled, a cold grin that didn't seem to fit with the rest of her face, still flushed, eyes glassy and tired. "Then you don't have to worry about it." He said nothing, only kept looking at her. He had learned that, if he waited long enough, she would go on. It could be only to insult him and then leave... but she would go on.

---

Nesta sighed. Where was he going with this? What was she even supposed to respond? No, she didn't like half of them... that if she counted the ones she barely tolerated. But she could sit in the same table as them and be civil. She was even working for them, so why he would bring that up two minutes after he came all over her, was beyond Nesta.

"I thought you didn't care what your friends thought of this" she pointed between the two of them, her gesture just as calculatedly casual as his had been.

A wet washcloth appeared on his nightstand. Nesta mentally thanked the house for her timing. If she was forced to have this conversation, she would rather be clean for it. Nesta rubbed it on her chest, Cassian's gaze following and fixing on her breasts. She cleared her throat, urging him to answer.

"And I don't. I was just curious if you did."

Nesta sigh.

"You've snapped at me before for calling one of you an asshole, Cassian. Do you really expect me to go on a detailed answer on how much I value them and their opinions?" Cassian tightened his jaw, but didn't answer. He waited for her to go on, knowing his silence was pressure enough for her to give in and talk.

If she said she didn't mind what they thought of her, she would be lying. But if she told him she did care, she would be lying as well. It wasn't that simple, a "yes" or a "no".

Nesta cared and worried about their opinions, not because she valued their judgement, but because she was still afraid she didn't have enough power in that Court to face their truth with hers. She had her own thoughts about them, but they didn't have the weight on Cassian one word from any of his friends had.

Nobody ever asked her what she thought of them, because it didn't really matter. Yet everyone expected Nesta to take into consideration what they wanted -who they expected her to be. They had crossed the line in the most disgusting ways to make sure she did the right changes to fit into the mold they had created for her. And Cassian had been a part of it.

Now, from all people, Cassian was asking.

"Don't mention them when we are in bed if you want to see me here again." that was the little bargain power she was sure she had over him. The territory she could claim for herself.

Once again, it took Cassian some time to come up with his own words. Nesta's brain was going a thousand thoughts per minute, reading his face, his body, trying to anticipate where he was going to strike next. He had chosen to bring this up right after sex, when she was slower with her wit. Prick.

When Nesta thought he simply wouldn't answer, Cassian finally sat on the mattress, shoulders down, his body apparently relaxed, his muscles tense and wings tucked in "I know this is just sex, and that's enough for me. I'll take it." As he mouthed the words, Nesta came out of the mist that clouded her thoughts, ready to cover up any crack on her armor. "I just want to know if my friends have anything to do with you not wanting... more."

For that, the answer was yes. She did worry what they thought of Cassian and her being... close, only because she wasn't sure what Cassian would do if they didn't approve of them together.

Nesta didn't care, but she worried what it would mean for her if they asked him to leave. Nesta was sure she meant enough to Cassian for him to put on some resistance. But when push came to shove, if they ever asked him to choose, she doubted Cassian would put her before them.

And she wasn't ready to be broken like that.

There was one thing about Cassian she admired above anything else he had and was, and that was his loyalty. Absolutely unmoving. She saw first-hand how this male loved, so ardently, so unwavering. If Cassian was asked to choose and chose his friends, she wouldn't blame him, she would understand. She had seen him put his life on the line for them without thinking, the act natural to him.

It was knowing that Cassian wasn't the obedient dog others had claimed him to be what would be devastating for her. To be so sure that he didn't feel the need to follow his High Lord to the end of the world.

If he chose them, duty wouldn't be the reason. Cassian would do it because he literally loved them more.

It was precisely that what made her so afraid to let him in. To not know if whatever he wanted from her would ever mean to him as much as the bonds he already had. If there was a chance for him to value it even above those. Because she wouldn't take less.

Nesta couldn't tell him she didn't care what they thought, for it would be a lie. And she couldn't tell him about her reasons either without bearing her heart more than she was ready for. And every time she reminded him -or herself- that it was just sex, she remembered why she refused to give him anything else.

So yes, Nesta cared about what they thought only because she feared them in a way Cassian wouldn't understand. He had defended them against her in the past like he didn't know that side of them existed at all.

Unable to answer, Nesta nodded.

Cassian took in her gesture. At his silence, Nesta practically launched herself out of Cassian's bed, aiming for the door and grabbing her nightgown on her way.

He was there before she could grip the knob. His hand slammed the door to make sure she couldn't open it. Nesta turned on her heels to face him, angry at how aggressive his gesture was. At the audacity to behave like this after she gave him the answer he had asked for, only because he hadn't liked it.

She was trapped between his body and the wooden door, her face an inch apart from his naked chest. Because they were still naked. He banged his head against the door and closed his eyes.

"You know I would give my life for you. In a heartbeat. Without hesitation." Nesta could feel her mouth dry. She couldn't believe he was making a scene about this, considering what her mission the next day. What had happened that afternoon before she came back from the Library to shake him like this? "You know that, right?" Cassian insisted.

She nodded one more time, her forehead brushing his shoulder.

"I know you have good reasons to want them far away from you, Nes, but they are part of my life. My family. When I ask myself what I want in my future, I know I want them in it. We've been through so much together that I really can't picture my life without them at this point. To be honest, I don't want to picture it either."

Nesta's throat burned and so did her eyes, lined with tears. She wasn't ready to listen to this coming from his lips.

"But I want you too, and I don't even know if you think that's possible or if I'm making a fool of myself by trying to go after you."

She was glad Cassian had his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the mess she became as his words hit her. Nesta closed them as well, so the tears didn't come out. "We have a mission tomorrow, Cassian. I need to get some sleep and be well rested."

He didn't move.

"Let's not jeopardy the mission for a question you already know the answer for".

In a matter of hours she was going to be dancing with Eris in Hewn City trying to lure him into an alliance with his beloved friends because they had asked that from her. And she had agreed because the future of the frail political situation they were in depended on it. She needed to focus her mind back on that. She told herself that by doing so, she would forget about his confrontation, and by some miracle he wouldn't bring it up again after that.

"Why did you even accept to help with that plan, Nesta?" Cassian asked again, an angry whisper in her ear.

Because it's worse to stay in my room while you are there with them and wonder if you would vanish away once again if I don't follow all of you wherever you go.

The low light of the lamp threw shadows on Cassian's hazel eyes when he opened them to look straight into hers. They were so beautiful. He stretched his arm to cup her hand, but Nesta hid it in her lap before he could.

His arm hung there for a moment, as if not knowing what to do with it.

Don't worry, Cassian, I'm choosing this for myself. I'll do it. I want to do it.

And in return, she only asked him to keep things casual.

Nesta knew it was unfair to him. She was giving him no choice. It was selfish. But no one expected anything better from her anyway. She was self-absorbed, everyone knew that. It seemed to be her defining characteristic in their eyes from the beginning. No need to change that now. The only thing Nesta was willing to replace was her relationship with herself, with who she was. The only goal in her mind was to be as ready to fight for her life as she was to give it for others. Only then, she would be able to share her heart the way she wanted to. And if he was still around when that happened, she would gladly give him a piece. Just not yet.

It would take time, but he had promised to stay no matter how long it took. He had sworn.

Her voice was too close to cracking. "You should go get some rest as well. Don't think too much about this, Cassian. It's just sex, remember?"

"Just sex" he agreed.

Nesta moved her hands up and carefully placed them on his chest to push him away. He obediently gave a step back, freeing her. She went straight for the door knob and opened it. Nesta exited as fast as she could to turn her back on him before he saw the effect his damned questions had had on her.

"And I have no intention of changing that for my own reasons. Your friends have nothing to do with it."

It's you, she thought.

"So many things are happening to me at the same time," she said instead, "that...I don't even know how to deal with them and not have a breakdown every five minutes. I need you to be the one thing in my life that is easy. Please." there was no point in hiding her weeping anymore. "And I don't need anyone to die for me. I would hate that, actually. I want someone who is going to stay alive and by my side all the way. And that's why you need to let go." Nesta wasn't sure whose heartbeat she was hearing, but it was thundering at an alarming pace.

"I understand" he said. His voice was not her lover's caring tone, nor her friend's easy-going voice. He was putting distance between them, making it impersonal. She didn't blame him, as she did the same thing and closed the door behind her.

She went straight to her room and asked the House to warm up the cold space.

There were no dreams for her that night.

---

On the same room one floor above, Cassian stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to find sleep.

The sun came up before he got to close his eyes, still thinking about what Nesta had asked from him. What his High Lord had asked from him aligning with her request as well. What Mor thought of it all. The ball and Eris being the one to spend the entire night with Nesta Archeron.

He had a job to do, a character to play he knew too well to mess it up even if he had gotten no rest, so that part didn't worry him one bit.

Only when he finally got up with the first rays of sunshine, Cassian came to terms with what he would do that night and how far was he willing to go. If what he wanted for himself was worth risking all the good things he already had, both with his friends and with her.

Maybe it was time to stop being a coward who adapted to the group's needs. Maybe it was time he gave the first step. Or perhaps he would do better waiting, not rushing things and allowing people to come to him whenever they were ready. No. The person he had in mind the entire night and kept him from resting would never go to him, pride and uncertainty preventing her from taking risks with him. Yet one step too far could mean three steps back, and then none of it would be worth it.

Mor was right, he was not being his old self as he took a cold shower, put on his leathers, and flew to the River House to put Rhys' plan for tonight into motion. Cassian was not being the illyrian Commander they had always known when he stepped into Hewn City armed to his teeth and ready to improvise and do absolutely everything his heart asked him to do.

[sheabuttahwrites]

Don’t get comfortable In love. People fall out. Sometimes People lie. With malice or none. Stay on your toes anyway. Speak your mind. Take nothing at face value. Ever. Even if it’s right in your face. Always read the fine print. Because People lie. And they’re good at it. So Don’t get comfortable.

Fine Print [Yahya Abdul-Mateen II x Black Plus Size OC]

Short Story Genre: Romance-Drama Warnings: 18+, Explicit Language, Sexual Content image|x|

Shea Buttah Bakery Masterlist

Cleaning day used to come once a week for me, usually on Sundays, but now it was just about every day. Especially with an eleven month old one-woman wrecking crew in the house. Anything there was to be grabbed and pulled down, it was pulled. Anything there was to be picked up and tossed around, it was tossed. Even with all of the babyproofing we had done, she still found some way to make a mess. It was impressive to say the least. She was also crawling all over the place and pulling herself up onto everything within her short reach. So I had to make sure to keep every surface properly sanitized for her busy little body. I think it was safe to say that my baby girl would be walking any day now. Maybe even before her first birthday. I couldn't wait. My excitement to see those chubby little legs carry her around was immeasurable. 

I had just put my Raya down for a nap and I was heading to the next task: straightening up my and the hubby’s bedroom. Today was my weekly deep cleaning day. So far, I’d knocked out the foyer, kitchen, family room, and nursery. The bathrooms were the only other areas remaining on my list. I’d have to get to the rest of the house another time. I wasn't even done with today’s batch and I was already beat. Thankfully, Isaiah was in the kitchen making us a late lunch. I just hoped he wasn’t erasing all of my hard work. 

“Big Stunna!” I heard him call from up front. Which only meant one thing; his best friend, Yahya, was on the phone. “Where you at now, boy?”

I laughed to myself, pulling the fitted sheet from one corner of the bed, so grateful that Raya wasn't a light sleeper. Otherwise, I would've been all over his head. I was walking around to the last stubborn pocket when he stepped into the room with me. 

“Hey, babe. Yah’s off tour,” he announced, wearing a huge smile and holding his phone toward me. I shared in his joy. It had been a long two months since we’d seen him, and I knew he was on the way. “He wanted to holla at you real quick.”

I excitedly took the phone from his hand, so ready to speak. “Superstar!”

“Aye, baby.” The drum of his heavy, silky smooth voice instantly warmed every inch of my skin, testing my strength. I kept my composure, but my heart definitely fluttered. In that moment, I had never been so thankful for my inability to visibly blush. 

“What’s up?”

“Rain, I’m coming home.” 

“How was everything? I bet it was so amazing, huh? You know what, we’ll talk about all that when you get here. You are coming soon, right?”

He had been on the road with H.E.R., Masego, Giveon, and Ari Lennox for the past four months capturing some of the most beautiful pictures and video for them. 

“I’ll be there tomorrow.”

I lit up hearing the news. I mean, I was damn near fluorescent. I wasn't expecting him to say twenty-four hours. “He’s coming tomorrow, babe. I can't wait to see you.”

“I’m not leaving again without you.” 

Shock widened my eyes slightly as a massive lump sprung into my throat, trapping my air for a second. Unable to catch it once it was on the move again, I huffed noisily from my mouth, but thought to disguise it as a laugh. “Just make sure you call us as soon as you get here.”

I carried on smiling with my husband, obviously struggling to keep up a facade that didn't at all match what was being said to me. I just prayed nothing too telling was creeping through in my features. My heart was racing. Zay was standing so close and I didn't need him to hear a single word of our exchange. His grin hadn't fallen, but that still wasn't enough to put my nerves completely at ease. What in the world would possess Yahya to talk this way when he knew I wasn't alone? His initial greeting had thrown me, but I assumed that maybe he’d slipped or something. This was uncharted territory for me. I wasn't quite sure how I would navigate the rest of this conversation, but I knew I had to be quick on my feet. Ruthlessness was his chosen portion today.

“Aight. Casey’s picking me up from the airport, I’m going to her spot to change and drop my bags, then we all meeting up to eat.”

“Ok. We’ll see you tomorrow then.” 

“You heard what I said, right?”

“Yeah,” was all I could come up with. So much for being quick on my feet.  

“I need you here to experience this shit with me. I’ve tried every single thing in my power, from the largest to the most insignificant, that I thought would help me at least start to let you go. Nothing worked. I’m tapped, baby. I don't know what else to do.”

I diverted my eyes to the floor, shook. I could feel myself nearing a point where I would no longer be able to uphold this charade. So my only choice was to bow out right now before it all came crashing down. “Well, I don't wanna hold you up. I’m sure you probably have to pack and everything. Plus I need to get these sheets into the washer. Let’s finish catching up tomorrow.” 

“Before you go, listen to me, Rain… I don't wanna keep doing this. I can’t keep doing this.”

( ch. 1 )

-taglist-

[darkmulti]

Having twins with y!jk so you run away because he wasn’t stable enough to be a dad, but he gets angry and forced u to come back.

-> sorry for any mistakes

⚠️: HEAVY YANDERE BEHAVIOUR, NON CON-ISH

-> uhh, this is kinda dark. Don’t proceed if you’re not comfortable and I definitely do not condone this kind of behaviour. This is all FICTIONAL!

When you were having pregnancy symptoms, you started re-thinking all your life choices

If you hadn’t gone to that bar on that night, maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation

You ended up getting kidnapped by a drug lord, psychopath who’s obsessed with you

He never let you out of his sight

Even if he was on a mission, he had cameras installed to watch you

The man even forced you to marry him because he liked the idea of calling you his wife

no one besides him was allowed to talk to you

You were going insane talking to yourself

anytime you talk to him, it would end up with you under him crying his name

You’ve been “with” him for 3 years now

You’ve been married to him for 2 years

The first year was hell

He didn’t allow you to leave the basement and “forgot” to feed you often

He fucked you every night for hours without stopping

He had so much anger stored up in him and it was taken out on you

You were absolutely terrified of him

He did not communicate well

He had rough sex with you anytime you pissed him off or if he was angry in general

Jungkook was cold and strict

He was so used to getting what he wants, he didn’t know how to get you other than forcing you

The pain would increase everytime so, you ended up submitting yourself out of fear

Jungkook would degrade you and make you feel worthless which was hurting you a lot

However, it did get a little better after submitting yourself

He let you out of the basement

You got meals everyday and you were allowed to wander the house

You share a room and bathroom with him like any other couple

After submitting, he wanted to get married and you had no choice but to agree

If you didn’t agree, he’d probably torture you for the rest of your life

After agreeing, he planned a huge wedding and paid for everything

It was a big day for both of you

Of course Jungkook had to go over the top

Other than family (on Jungkook’s side) mafias, politicians, world leaders, CEOs were all attending the wedding

After the wedding he took you on a beautiful honeymoon

That time of your life was the best

He was gentle and sweet

It was like he turned into a new person

But it soon ended when you both returned from the honeymoon

It was back to being a living sex doll for him

You needed to tell Jungkook that you have no more pills but he left early in the morning

You got up and had a pretty normal day until he came home

When he arrived, you got up to hug him, but he pushed you to the floor and yelled at you

“FUCK! THIS IS ALL YOUR FUCKING FAULT!”

You didn’t know what he was talking about but you apologized anyways just in case

“I’m sorry! P- Please, I- I don’t know what I did b-but I’m r-really sorry!” You said, sobbing

He pulled you up and slammed your face against the wall before pulling down your skirt and panties

He rammed in without lub, earning a struggled scream from you

He dominated you completely

You were shaking in fear

Your legs went numb and you collapsed on the floor

He left you there on the floor and went upstairs

If you told him now, he would definitely be angry with you

A couple days later, you were having pregnancy symptoms so you put two and two together

You kept your pregnancy a secret for as long as you could

Luckily, Jungkook was going out of the country due to a heist he planned

Since he was leaving, he added extra security to make sure you won’t runaway during that time

Jungkook was extremely stressed about the hesit so the last thing he needed was you running away from him

But you of course took this as your chance to leave as well

You booked a bus ticket on Jungkook’s computer and printed the ticket out

You took all the cash you could find and left

You manage to fool his security somehow and escape to the bus stop

You couldn’t go to the police either because they had some kind of alliance

You knew Jungkook would be right on your ass after you escaped because of all the security cameras he has

Plus he could look at the computer and printer history to see where your bus was going

But you had a couple hours head start

somehow with the couple hundred dollars you had, you manage to escape from him until your two sons were born

You moved cities about three times until you were 8 months pregnant

While you were pregnant you worked three jobs to save as much as you could

Then you opened a bank account with your children’s name, not your own or else Jungkook could track you down

You put all your earnings into that bank account and depended on it for survival

You were living in a small, cheap apartment with your two sons

You went on maternity leave so your jobs were still paying you a little bit

You only went out when necessary

It seemed impossible

You had absolutely nothing but your boys kept you going

You wouldn’t eat for days because you were afraid of spending too much

You wanted to go to the food bank to get some food but it’s a hassle to get the kids ready and take them on the bus

It was hard and dangerous so you’d rather not eat until it was necessary

You thought to yourself that you may have it hard now, but at least you’re away from Jungkook

Well that all came crashing down when he broke in your apartment at midnight with his men

You were petrified

You grabbed your kids and hid them in the closet

They were crying but you quickly hushed them and covered them with your clothes before going at to Jungkook and begging for forgiveness

He was angry of course

He was about to slap you but he heard a child’s cry which made him stop

Jungkook raised his eyebrow before pushing you out of the way and going towards the crying

You quickly get in front of the closet and beg him not to hurt his own children

“Get out of my way! You’ve already done enough! What are you hiding from me?!”

He opened your closet door only to see the boys crying

Jungkook noticed how they looked exactly like him

“So this is why you left? I was a dad this whole time.”

“I’m s-sorry. I thought you’d hurt me or the kids.”

“SO YOU DECIDED TO LEAVE ME WITH MY KIDS?!” He yelled, making the kids cry harder along with you

“I-I’m sorry! I-I didn’t kn-know what to do.” You sobbed

“Jungkook you can hurt me all you want, but don’t hurt our kids, p-please. I did everything for them. D-don’t hurt them please.”

“Take the kids in the car. I have to talk to her.”

His men took them away and you both were left

You were still hesitant about your kids leaving without you, but you couldn’t do anything

You started to breathe normally and spoke

“Jungkook please. I regret everything. I’m sorry. It was hard for me to make the decision but I really thought you were going to hurt our kids. Please don’t hurt them. Please. I’ll do anything. You can kill me if you’d like but please promise me that you’ll t-take care of them.”

He closed the room door and walks towards you

You knew exactly where this was going

And you submitted yourself again

His men took your kids back to his place while he fucked you non-stop

Jungkook had never been this rough with you

You were so hungry and feeling a thick cock thrusting in your empty stomach hurt so badly

But the entire time you were thinking about your kids

You’re doing this for them

It’s okay if you get hurt as long as they are safe

You were slowing losing yourself

Your body was low on energy

Jungkook was completely dominating you

He pinned you down and fucked your empty stomach for as long as he could

He kept telling you that he’s going to take your kids away from you and put them up for adoption so you started to cry harder

“Jungkook please! Don’t do that please! You can use me h-however you want, b-but don’t... don’t t-take them away from me.”

Jungkook was only scaring you

He wanted to keep his sons as well but seeing you so hurt turned him on

He fucked you until the sun came up then pulled out and collapsed on top of you

“This is just the beginning of your punishment. Just wait until we get home.”

[bqstqnbruin]

F is for Friends - part 3

Whoops I'm in class rn but I just finished part 3 so here it is! I think this is the longest part so far, but not much longer than the others, so have fun.

But yeah, ignore typos, I might fix them eventually, but knowing me, I'll miss them so call em out if you feel like it.

Read the other parts here: Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 4

________________________

“I don’t get why it has to be him, though,” Keelan whines on the other end of the phone. You did the stupid thing and reminded him that Nolan and some of his teammates were visiting your classroom to do a lab with your honors kids today, and he reacted exactly how you expected him to while you were driving in that morning.

“Because Anderson is an ass and Nolan volunteered.”

“Ok, but why Nolan?” he asks, saying his name like it was cursed

“Because when I called Tom Holland he said he was busy.”

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles.

“No, I don’t.” Yes, you did, but you weren’t about to tell him that.

“Why couldn’t you have invited Fran and Lindsey?”

You sigh, pulling into your parking space outside the school, Javier already waiting for you by the door. “Because they had to be prominent and I don’t think anyone needs the two of them trying to do an experiment. Now, I have to go, Nolan and the guys will be here after lunch, I’m already fucking nervous because of Anderson. I love you, goodbye,” you tell him, hanging up before he can get another word in.

“Are you ready?” Javier asks, handing you the cup of coffee he had picked up for you, waiting outside by his car like he did every morning.

“I almost threw up, like, five times getting ready this morning and Keelan is being an ass about this,” you huff, struggling to swipe your ID to get into the building. “Why isn’t this working?”

He takes the ID out of your hand, flipping it around in his fingers before swiping it himself. “Holding it the right way might help.”

You take it from him, clearly annoyed. “If this is any indication as to how the rest of the day is going to go I’m quitting and looking for another job at 3 pm.”

“So you’re not going to be dramatic today, I see,” Javier jokes, earning a glare from him as the two of you walk up to your classroom, greeting students as you passed by them in the halls. “Hey, listen. You’re a great teacher,” your friend assures you once you unlock your classroom door. “You’re going to be fine. If you need me, I have my free period during your first class they’re here, and I think Charlie has a free period during your second if you still need someone to run interference when Anderson is there.”

“Thanks,” you tell him, turning into your classroom to get ready for the day. Your phone was buzzing with texts, some angry from Keelan about what he was now referring to as ‘the neighbor situation,’ and one from Nolan asking you to confirm yet again where they were supposed to go.

“Are you buying lunch today?” Javier comes back into your room with his own to stash in the fridge that was in the back corner of your class. It wasn’t yours, nor was it for food technically, but that didn’t stop you and Javier from stashing your lunches in there instead of walking down to the teacher's lounge on the other side of the school.

You sit there for a minute, trying to remember if you even grabbed it when you were heading out the door that morning. Between Keelan busting your ass about Nolan, thinking of the lesson the lab that you were doing that afternoon, and just the general morning antics of getting out the door on time, you left your lunch bag on your kitchen counter. “Is there still a box of cereal in there?” you ask him when he opens the fridge.

“Yeah.”

“That’s my lunch then,” you say, keeping it in there so it wouldn’t be exposed to chemicals or attract any sort of rodent or vermin that you had no desire in dealing with. You knew today was going to be hell, and you weren’t even prepared for the college prep kids you were going to see during the second and third periods. You do your best to scramble and get everything you needed, thankful for the first time that you were giving them a test that you could grade during lunch and last period (and honestly, at home since that’s where most grading took place) instead of having to worry about teaching them when your mind was occupied by your honors lesson that day.

By the time your college prep kids were done with their tests, you were trying to mentally prepare for the lab, only to freak yourself out. Your computer dings, right before the bell rings, a message from Anderson saying that he would be stopping by during the second period to observe since ‘it was his job to make sure you were doing well as your superior.’ God, you hated him. The bell for lunch rings, your students filing out of your room as you grab the mug you kept on your desk and poured as much cereal into it as you could.

Javier comes back into your room, grabbing his lunch and plopping himself down at the table, eating his lunch as the two of you fell into conversation as you always did. Not even five minutes in, your classroom phone rings right as you hit print for the instructions you wrote up for the boys.

“Y/L/N’s room,” you answer, the school’s secretary telling you that the guys were in the office waiting for you. “Oh, wow, ok, I’ll be right down.” You hang up, throwing your hair into a bun, and grab your mug of cereal. “I’m getting the guys, do you want to come with me or wait here until we come back?”

Javier comes with you, both of you practically running through the halls out of panic that your students would bombard whoever Nolan brought with him. You were munching away at the cereal as you open the door to the main office, seeing Nolan and two of the other guys in their Flyers jerseys, all of them looking awkward with their hands in their pockets, unsure of what else to do. “Hey, guys!” you greet them, Nolan the first to turn around. Fuck him for looking good and making your heart skip a beat. It’s not fair, is it? “Uh, this is Javier, one of the other chem teachers,” you introduce him once you collect yourself, trying not to focus all your attention on Nolan.

This was at most a crush. Just a crush on the boy who lived next door to you. Who was also hot and sweet. Just a crush that you shouldn’t even be thinking about at school to begin with, so who cares? Having a crush on a boy does not mean that you loved him or that you loved Keelan any less. Oskar and Travis introduce themselves to you and Javier, the five of you walking back to your classroom while you continue to eat the cereal, suddenly very conscious of how weird it looked.

“No Kev?” you ask Nolan, the two of you lagging behind the other three guys while they talk.

Nolan shrugs, feeling nervous to even be with you in the school hallway. Every single thing he’s thought about you in the last how many days started flooding back to him, something was telling him that besides the fact that he shouldn’t be thinking them at all, he shouldn’t be thinking of them in your school. “He said he didn’t sleep well last night so he was going to stay at our place.”

“Hey, Y/N, what are we doing today?” Oskar asks, pulling your attention away from Nolan once you get back to your classroom.

“The kids are going to be designing a lab where they have to use the ideas of limiting and excess reactant to get the desired product.”

“What does that mean?” Travis asks, Javier sitting back and watching everything happen.

“So you’re not always going to have a perfect ratio of chemicals, nor are all reactions going to go to completion where everything reacts with everything,” you start to explain. “Think of it this way: you guys have your roster of however many players, yeah? You need three forwards, and two bluelines out on the ice in a normal five-on-five. Say every line is locked in; it can’t be changed, you can’t move people around, you can’t have people playing with different players outside of their line, it’s always the same five people. If you have nine forwards and 8 defensemen, how many line combinations can you have?”

“Three,” Nolan answers you.

“Why?”

“Because you have enough defense for four lines, but only three lines when you’re looking at forwards.”

“Right,” you say, not noticing the looks that Oskar and Travis were giving Nolan, “so your forwards in this case, are going to be like your limiting reactant, your blueliners are your excess because you would have two of them leftover.”

“And what are the kids going to do?” Oskar asks you.

“I’m going to give them a desired product, tell them how much of it they want to make, and they’re going to have to figure out how much of each reactant they’re going to need to make that.”

“And they can do that?” Travis asks.

“Knowing Y/N, they can,” Nolan mumbles, his cheeks turning red.

Before you can respond, the bell rings indicating the end of lunch. “Well, alright then.”

The boys and Javier lean against the back counter, your students coming into your classroom as you tried to down the rest of your cereal that you forgot about while you were talking to the boys. You knew that you wouldn’t be able to eat during the lab given the chemicals, but you definitely had to eat something.

“Ms. Y/L/N, who are they?” Spencer asks.

You hold up your finger for him to wait a minute, some of your students knowing who they are, one of your girls going absolutely feral in the corner opposite from where they were standing. The bell rings for you finally start class, getting your 24 students to quiet down as they wondered what the guys were doing. “We have guests today!” you tell them in your cheeriest teacher voice. You were genuinely excited for them to be there, but now that they actually were in the same room as your students, your nerves were threatening to take over. “From the Philadelphia Flyers, we have Oskar Lindblom, Travis Konecny, and Nolan Patrick to do our lab with us today! And for this period we also have Mr. Emillion, and later Mr. Fitzgerald later, so we’re going to have a lot of adults in our room.”

You start explaining your agenda for the day with your kids, knowing that some of them were focusing on the boys more than they were on you. You get into your lesson anyway, starting with your review questions. “If you have a reactant that remains after the reaction, is that the excess or the limiting reactant?”

“Excess,” Nolan mumbles under his breath as one of your students says the same thing. You ask another question, Nolan answering again, Travis and Oskar looking between him and each other.

“So, since when do you know so much about chemistry?” Travis leans over to Nolan while you’re explaining the directions to your students.

“I don’t. Y/N already explained it to me.”

“Let me rephrase it: since when do you care about chemistry?” Nolan just shrugs, pretending like he didn’t know what Travis was getting on about. “Oh, come on. Kevin told us about you liking her. At least be less obvious about it if you aren’t going to ask her out.”

Nolan takes in a deep breath, “We’re not doing this now.”

The students go off to do their thing, trying to brainstorm the procedure when you go up to the guys. Javier was already walking around and listening to the students chatter about their ideas. “So, you guys can guide them through everything, don’t outright tell them any of the steps they’re supposed to have written down. Follow what Javier and I are doing, I guess,” you tell them, having to force yourself to look at Oskar and Travis instead of just Nolan. They nod and start walking around, clearly confused.

This was going to end very poorly and you knew it. Especially with Anderson coming in. You watch the four guys walk around, the three hockey players clueless as the students try to figure out how they can interact with them. You realize the copies you made for them were still sitting in the printer tray in the other room, running to get them before anyone noticed you were gone. You were so scatter-brained by everything today, adding to the general anxiety you felt going into the lesson.

You start walking around, listening to the students and guiding them as they needed you to, thankful that they were actually getting the procedure they needed without much difficulty. “Alright, it looks like most of you have the procedure down,” you say to your class, walking around and hovering over your student's shoulders. “Make sure that before you start, either Mr. E or myself have to sign off on it, then our guys from the Flyers can help you with the lab. Sound good?”

Your students all agree, calling you and Javier over to read through their procedures so they can start. You were getting more nervous over the threat of the bell ringing soon and knowing that Javier had to go and teach his class, leaving you alone with the boys when Anderson came in to observe, too. You were running around, trying to scan through the procedures to make sure they were right so they could start working after the bell rang.

The bell sounds, your students starting to get chaotic, “Alright guys, you can take a break now or once you get your reaction heating, but not both. It’s up to you but you get five minutes either way.”

Some of your groups leave to go hang out in the hallway while their other friends move to their next class, some of your students get right to work with their lab goggles to start mixing. You were just waiting for Anderson to come in so he could rip you to shreds for whatever he felt like today.

“Hey,” Nolan says, taking you out of your trance. “You’re doing fine.”

“This experiment has to go well with the three of you,” you tell him, watching Oskar and Travis trying to help some of your students. Trying was the keyword there, but the students looked like they were having fun teaching the guys what to do.

“You’re an awesome teacher, it’s going to go well. Look at them. They know exactly what they’re doing and you barely had to tell them. That’s a great teacher,” you hear him say. You give him an unsure look. “Come on, would I lie to you?”

You shrug, a smile on your face. You could feel the heat rush to your cheeks as he scoffs when you tell him, “I don’t know.”

“Miss Y/L/N! Nice to see you!” you hear that voice calling you when the bell rings, all of your students filtering back in and getting right to work, knowing that Nolan heard you start mumbling under your breath as soon as Anderson appeared in your doorway.

“Hi, Mr. Fitzgerald,” you say, fake sweetness dripping in your voice when Anderson comes right up to you. “Class, say hi to Mr. Fitz!” you call him the nickname you knew he hated.

He looks around your room, trying to see who you brought. The fake smile he had plastered on his face drops when he sees the three guys. “You know the Flyers?”

You tried your hardest to hide the obvious smile on your own face, seeing the anger build inside him knowing that you had someone more impressive to work with your students. You shrug, “Yeah. Nolan here is my neighbor,” you introduce him, Nolan offering up an awkward wave, “I mean, they aren’t the president of a school in a university, but I think the students are having fun.”

“So what are the students doing?” Anderson asks, his face red with jealousy that you brought the boys.

Nolan walks away, as you start to explain that your students are going to make zinc chloride from an anhydrous copper chloride and solid zinc solution. He had no idea what it meant, but he knew that it was a silver piece of metal with a blue solid that you dissolve in water and it’s supposed to create a milky-looking liquid.

He starts walking through the class, listening to your students as they do the experiment, even though he still had no idea what they were talking about. One of your students was sitting in the corner, watching everything happen around him but not participating. “Hey, bud,” Nolan approaches him. “How’s it going?”

The student just nods, not taking his eyes off his paper while his partner does the rest of the work.

“I’m Nolan,” he says, sitting down next to the child. He watches the other student continue to mix the solution to get it to react. “So you let that sit now, right?”

“Yep.”

You and Anderson stand and watch the students, Anderson saying something about how the experiment was going, but you weren’t listening to him at all. You were making sure your students were doing what they needed to, working on the additional practice problems they had while the solution was sitting, seeing them get out the hot plates and set them up for when they would need them later, interacting with each other.

“Anderson,” you say, cutting him off once you see Nolan in the back corner, “look.”

He follows your gaze to Darren, your student who normally didn’t say a word, talking with Nolan and explaining everything to him. Nolan had a huge smile on his face that mirrored Darren’s and his partner Sydney’s. “I’ve never seen him talk with someone before,” Anderson says, dumbfounded. You knew Darren had been assigned to your class because Anderson wanted to see you work with ‘an unworkable student’ as you had overheard him telling Javier at the end of last school year. Darren was laughing with Nolan and Sydney, doing the work and actually helping his partner more than just doing the work on paper and passing it over to Syd like he normally did.

You both stand there, watching the three of them interact. You had a huge smile on your face, feeling the heat rush to your cheeks when Nolan looks away from the students and smiles at you, Darren holding up the beaker with their pale blue solution in it to show you. You give them a thumbs up, turning to Anderson and boasting, “I think they’re doing well.”

Anderson mumbles something under his breath, probably for the better since you had a feeling it was something about you as a general person.

You scan the room again, watching Travis and Oskar interact with the students, still not really sure what they were doing, but they all had smiles on their faces, so you couldn’t complain. You leave Anderson, walking around the room, making sure your students were doing ok. One of the groups asks you a question about the review worksheet they were doing, leaning against the table to help them. You listen to them talk through the problem, seeing Nolan staring at you out of the corner of your eye. Why couldn’t you focus on your students when he was right there?

You look up at the clock when you finish with that group of students. “Alright, y’all,” you get their attention, “Eyes on me for a minute. We have ten more minutes before the bell rings, which means we need to be cleaned up by then so you guys can get to your next class. You can leave the mixtures on the hot plates if they aren’t done heating and I will watch them. What I want one person to do right now is get a paper town and write you and your partner’s names on it and put it on the back counter for them to cool and we can mass them tomorrow, ok?” Your students agree and start scurrying around the room to do what you told them.

You move out of the way, going back to Anderson. “I’m impressed,” he says, a hint of genuine shock in his voice.

“Oh, really?”

Before he can answer, you hear something drop, the distinct sound of glass shattering on the floor. “No one move!” you say, all of your students halting as you try to figure out who dropped what.

Your student Nina waves you over as you rush to get your dustpan and brush, Anderson rushing over to help you clean up. “Are you alright?” you ask her.

“I cut my hand a little,” she lets out, showing you the scratch on her finger.

Anderson cleans up the glass, the rest of your students careful not to break anything else. You knew something had to go wrong. The day was going to perfect for something to not ruin it. “Let’s clean you up.” You help Nina wash her hand, making sure none of the chemicals got on her as you search for a bandage. “Was that the beaker with the zinc chloride?” She nods, you see a tear threatening to roll down her cheeks, knowing that she just ruined the product they had spent the entire period making and heating. Nolan watches you comfort her, feeling his heart flutter at the sight of you bandaging up your student. He pictured himself coming home after a game he got a fight in, you being there and helping him clean up a little more.

“Dude,” Travis whispers, scaring Nolan out of his fantasy. “You’re drooling.”

He waves him off while he watches you comfort your student who had started crying. “Hey, Neen,” you coo, a smile on your face, “It’s ok. Accidents happen. Remember I told you I was a lab assistant when I was in college? I can’t even count how many things I broke during one semester, let alone the entire time I was in the lab. We worked on the motto: if you break things that means you’re working hard. The harder you work, the more you break.”

“But we have to redo it,” she lets out.

You give her a nod, scrunching your face up. “Yeah. But if you get it started I can watch it heat. Do you have a class next period?” She nods. “Alright, hey Spencer?” you call over Nina’s partner, “Come here for a sec? Do you have a class next period?”

“Yeah. But I have a free period first period tomorrow. I can come in then.”

“Ok, here’s what we’re going to do,” you start, “Tomorrow, Spencer is going to come start the experiment, then Nina, do you have a free period at all?”

“Second period.”

“Perfect! Spencer will get it started, Nina will finish it, and if it’s not completely dry by class, I’ll give you an extra day to do the calculations. Sound good?”

They both nod, the bell ringing as you tell your students goodbye. That had to be the most stressful double period of your life, thanks to all the men who had to be in your room with you, the fourth of them now standing there staring at you.

“Not bad, Y/L/N,” Anderson says. “Only one thing broke. That’s gotta be a new record for you.”

He leaves before you could protest, your mouth hanging open even though you weren’t sure how you could even rebuttal his statement. You look at the three guys, Nolan looking significantly more upset than he probably needed to be. “That’s the first time something’s broken in three months.”

“He really is an ass,” Nolan says, grabbing a seat at one of the tables.

“I told you.”

“So, uh,” Travis starts, looking between you and Nolan. “Do you have another class or anything?”

“Nope. I have my last period free, but I have to go to the library in case any chem students need tutoring. You guys are free to go. I really can’t thank you guys enough. I’m not sure what I could ever do to make it up to you, but anything. This was huge,” you gush, really meaning it. The students loved it, and other than the one beaker breaking and Nina’s slight break down as a result, it went really well. You had done the lab in the past where the students had to redo the lab three times before it even worked, this time, you only saw one group redo it one time.

“Yeah, Nolan can probably think of something,” you thought you heard Oskar mumble, Nolan glaring at him. “We should get going, then.”

“Actually, Y/N, do you mind if I get a ride home with you?” Nolan asks as you gather your things to head down to the library. “You know, so they don’t have to go out of their way to drive me home?”

Travis’s mouth hangs open, a stupid grin on his face as he nudges Oskar, both of them looking at you as you’re clearly caught off guard. “Uh, yeah sure, we just have to go to the library, like I said. Are you sure you want to stay? I won’t leave for another hour and a half.”

“Yeah, I do,” he tells you, his cheeks bright red.

“Ok, um, you guys go back to the main office and sign out, I’ll just call down and tell them you’re staying?”

Travis and Oskar leave after bickering over something with Nolan that was out of earshot for you. Why would he want to stay? He had mentioned that Travis didn’t live that far away, so the ‘going out of their way’ argument seemed invalid.

You shake it off, leading Nolan down to the library. “You did a great job with Darren, by the way.”

He shrugs, taking the seat across from you at the empty table you found. Students were walking around, you hopeful that none of them would need help from you. “He’s a good kid.”

“I’m so excited to tell his mom about today,” you say, typing away on your computer. You look up, reading Nolan’s confused expression. “Getting Darren to talk in the class has yet to be successful for me. His mom asked me at the beginning of the year to tell her whenever he has a good day. I’ve never seen him talk that much and genuinely enjoy it.”

“Do you email all the parents when their kids have a good day?”

You shake your head, “I try to. High school kids, because they’re teenagers, don’t always get the praise and excitement from adult figures in their lives because they’re in that period of ‘you’re still a child and are treated as such but are expected to act like an adult.’. Even if it’s something small like they were participating a lot more than normal like in Darren’s case. It makes them more motivated and willing to learn if they know you recognize when they do something good.”

“Really?”

You force yourself not to make eye contact with him, knowing that you would see him blushing as he always was and that would, in turn, make you do the same. “Come on,” you say, pretending to watch out for kids who could be coming for tutoring, “don’t you remember when you were in school getting excited over the simple act of a sticker on a test you got a good grade on? I remember my senior year we were sitting in our world language class and everyone got an A on the test our teacher gave, and we all started begging for stickers because she had given them the last three years we had her. She was so annoyed with us, but every test after that, no matter what grade we got, a sticker was always on the test. It’s little, but it’s fun.”

“Teaching is a lot more than I thought it was,” you hear him say. Honestly, he wasn’t really paying attention to the words coming out of your mouth; he just loved that you were talking about something you so clearly loved.

You laugh, “Yeah. It can be a lot. You haven’t seen my college prep classes. Honors is a little easier because the students are slightly more independent in terms of their work, but my CP kids just have more needs for them to learn the same material.”

“What?”

“It’s the ‘lower level, but the difference is it just takes longer for those kids to learn the same information. So what we did today, I’ll probably do in a month or so with CP, and I would give them the procedure, either straight up or have them fill in the blanks depending on the child and the group.”

“Depending on their group?”

“Yeah. Each lesson has to meet the needs of every child, which means modifying and accommodating it based on if they have an IEP, a 504, which falls under special education plans, or if their parents request it or the student themself requests it but it’s not written. Like, I wouldn't interact with you the same way I would interact with Fran, or Maddy, or Keelan," or elaborate, swallowing hard at the mention of your boyfriend's name. " You interact with people based on how you need to interact with them and what their needs are. Kids aren’t one size fits all, so why should their education be?”

You kept talking but he stopped listening, hating himself for the realization that he came to while you talked about teaching, a soft smile covering your face while you continue to look around for students instead of looking at him: whatever feelings he had for you were more than just a crush, Kevin and Travis sadly being correct. He wasn’t in love with you, but he wanted, needed to be more than just your friend.

But you were still with Keelan.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the day, you and Nolan going back to your classroom until you were contractually allowed to leave. “So what are you doing tonight?” Nolan asks you. He wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but he didn’t want his day with you to end once you pulled into the parking space outside your apartments.

You shrug, looking around your desk for the tests that you had given your CP kids that morning. “Grading these,” you tell him, holding them up before stuffing them into your bag. He opens his mouth, about to say something when you get cut off by the sound of your phone. “Oh, it’s Keelan!” you squeal, Nolan’s entire body deflating at the sound of your boyfriend’s name. “Hey, you’re on speaker, I’m here with Nolan.”

He lets out a sigh before giving you a monotonous, “Hey, guys.”

“What’s up?”

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks you, Nolan’s heart dropping, knowing where this was going.

“I was just telling Nolan that I was going to grade the tests for my CP kids, why?”

“Can that wait until tomorrow, do you think?”

Running through your schedule in your head, you tell him, “Yeah, they’re not expecting them back for a week anyway.”

“Let’s go out tonight.”

Nolan could feel himself getting sick listening to this conversation, for no other reason than he wanted to be the one with you tonight. But he knew he couldn’t as he watched the smile on your face grow. “Where?”

“I want to take you somewhere nice, you know, treat my girl how she deserves to be treated. We haven’t had a date night in a while and I miss you.”

“What time do you want to go?” you ask him, your heart racing. It wasn’t racing in excitement to be with Keelan, but because you were suddenly incredibly aware of Nolan being right there as you were being asked out by the guy you were sure you loved.

“I’ll pick you up at five?”

“Sounds great. I’ll see you then.”

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hesitate, looking at Nolan who was no longer making eye contact with you. “Love you, too, Keel,” you force yourself to get out. You hang up, looking at the clock to see that it was thankfully time for the two of you to leave and go home, giving you around an hour to get ready by the time you got home and got as much ready as you could for school tomorrow. “We’re free to leave now, if you want,” you offer him, packing up your bag for the day.

He just nods, waiting for you at the door as you walk out to the car, driving home in silence, only a mumble goodbye as the two of you get out of your car and go inside.

Five pm rolls around, Keelan getting out of his car to greet you as you go running up to him. Nolan watches you from his window, knowing he was being a creep, but he couldn’t help it. You looked perfect in the dress and heels you had on, your hair and makeup done to make you look more beautiful than he had ever seen. He watched you run into Keelan’s arms, Keelan lifting you off the group as the two of you kissed, Nolan green with envy as he watched him get the door for you for the two of you to drive off to the night he wished he was experiencing with you.

[rinstudiesthings]

Creating a Routine When You Don't Have Any Daily Structure

So I know that when I have appointments or classes to hold me accountable, I create a daily/weekly routine in order to help myself get everything done. It works every time and I get things done. However, the moment I don't have classes anymore, when I don't have to do anything.... I don't do anything. I can't get anything done unless I'm told I have to.

This has endlessly frustrated me, because I want to be able to accomplish something on my own terms. I also run out of energy (or "spoons") easily since I have to work around adhd, chronic pain, and other issues.

So what's the solution? How do you become productive on your own terms when you're stuck with executive function issues and addicted to short term satisfaction?

A routine.

I used to hate them, because I could never actually stick to them. I found them boring and a waste of time. But there's a way to do it right.

A Five Step Process to Creating a Proper Routine

1. Sit down and plan it out.

With this, get a piece of paper and a pen or create a document on the computer you can print out. (I know handwriting hurts a lot with carpal tunnel/arthritis). Firstly, we need to be realistic with how much you can get done in a day. How many things can you do comfortably without pushing yourself too hard. Remember, you're doing this during a rest period, meaning you don't want to burn out. If that means it's 5 things such as wake up, shower, dress, cook/eat, and one other thing you want to do, then plan for that. For me, I already know I have enough energy in the day to do all of my daily hygiene and needs and have energy to do more things. So this is my outline:

A. Get ready

B. Write at least one sentence in novel

C. Spend one hour studying target language

D. Clean room

E. Spend time reading/knitting

F. Allow time to meditate or journal mood

And that's my goals for a regular rest day.

2. Prioritize every daily goal

You may end up with other things you have to do during a rest day. That doesn't mean you push yourself to do all of those goals on top of whatever else you have to do. It means that you have to let something else fall by the wayside for a day.

Pick and choose what you find crucial to do in a day, and what you're okay with allowing to skip during a busy day. Then, list it by priority. For me, it looks like this:

A. Get ready

B. Clean room

C. Spend time reading/knitting

D. Allow time to meditate or journal mood

E. Spend one hour studying target language

F. Write at least one sentence in novel

I know that if I was busy during a portion of the day, I'm going to want to prioritize tasks that help center and relax me rather than mentally and physically draining ones. I also care about cleanliness and feeling ready to face the day, so the first two are non-negotiable to me.

3. Organize yourself accordingly

What I mean by this, is that you have to execute this correctly to push yourself to actually do it. This means putting that list somewhere you will struggle to ignore it, and if you have adhd like me, I recommend changing it's position once a week, or it will begin to fade into the background and you will forget about it.

This also means organizing supplies for any hobby or task you will be tackling. I recommend keeping these supplies in a nice stack, pile, or box/jar (that's see through) if you have adhd or somewhere easily accessible if you have chronic pain. For me, I keep trays in the area where that task usually takes place so I can see it, and it doesn't physically drain me to get it.

Lastly, this means recognizing what is getting in your way. What is your biggest time waster? For me, it's a mix of tiktok, ao3, and YouTube. But they all have one thing in common. The internet, and my phone/laptop. I open my phone every morning and waste an hour on tiktok because I wake up in pain and freezing. I open my laptop at lunch and waste time watching YouTube while eating, and before I know it, it's 6 pm! You have to identify what wastes your time and how you are going to minimize that issue. In fact, this was so hard for me that my next step is about how to help combat this.

4. Set reminders/alarms

Setting a phone alarm might seem counter productive to staying off of your phone, but it actually really helps. As someone with adhd, I struggle to stop and start doing tasks. I have to start a new task at the right time (ex. 2:00, 3:15, 4:30) usually at 15 minute or half hour intervals and if I miss it, I procrastinate until the next "correct" interval. This is DUMB but I can't stop my brain from thinking this way so I have to accommodate for that.

So, here's what I do.

Let's say my plan is to stop being on the computer at 2:00 pm everyday. This is realistic for me since I wake up at 10:00 and eat around 12:30. I will then set an alarm for 1:50 pm, because that will warn me that in 10 minutes, I have to change tasks, so I can prepare myself for it. I set another alarm for 1:57, just to help myself stay reminded and give myself time to properly wrap up whatever I was doing online. Set my last alarm for 2:00 pm and make sure to close the laptop as soon as I hear the alarm, before dismissing it.

I'm now free to change mindsets to whatever priority I have next on my list, so I make sure to clean my area, and set up for the next task, such as language learning.

These alarms can be really helpful to help you keep track of time, it forces you to ground yourself in the present moment and make sure you can't lose track of time. However, I understand that people with sensory processing issues may not like a harsh alarm sound, or anything loud.

The alarm can be a pleasant sound that will get your attention as well. I like birds chirping or Chopin as an alarm sound.

5. Be forgiving

You won't immediately make this work. You won't just magically wake up and perfect this routine and become super productive. This is a guideline to help make it easier to begin.

There are plenty of other tips and tricks to help focus and get things done, but this is to help create a Routine. This will work best if you wake up and go to bed at relatively the same time everyday. Which for people with adhd, that can be difficult. If you want more tips on sleep and adhd let me know, or send me an ask.

Don't be angry and give up if it doesn't go perfectly. Just keep trying. Don't expect perfection, expect mediocrity. Mediocrity is fine, or really, great in a routine. It's supposed to be a little flexible, you're supposed to fuck it up sometimes. A guideline doesn't understand exactly how you feel that day, how tired you are, or how stressed you are. Be nice to yourself and just give it a try!

Good luck!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 7

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series; fingering.

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Notes:

Will King Steve ever show up?! Haha, we’re getting there, I promise.

I love you all, I thank you for your patience and feedback as always! Please don’t shy away in the comments, reblogs, etc.

After your midnight run-in with Barnes, you hid under your covers but didn’t sleep much. The morning rose behind the curtains as you groaned and mulled over another day of royal hell. You dragged yourself out of bed on your own that day. You dressed after grumbling over the selection of pastels and print then waited for your keeper.

You could probably march right out of the palace and not be noticed, you thought. Last night, he hadn’t even heard you enter the pool room. You cringed at the recollection and pushed your legs together as you felt a tickle between them. You stood sharply and teetered on your feet. 

You marched to the door and pulled it open, intent on sneaking out in your bare feet without the annoying and unsteady click of heels. If your mother could outrun Astrania for two decades, you could probably put up a good chase.

You were stopped by the figure awaiting you on the other side. Barnes was just as surprised as you as his hand was still outstretched as if to turn the handle. He blinked and his lips curved in amusement as he looked you over. You scowled, caught before you could run, and crossed your arms.

“You’ve forgotten your shoes,” he looked down.

You huffed and turned back. You stomped to the closet and wrenched it open. You blindly pulled out a pair of white heels. He followed you and kept you from closing the closet. He bent and reached past you to reveal a pair of nude pumps.

“The white… doesn’t go,” he switched the ivory for the beige. “Are you so impatient to start the day?”

You were silent as you sat on the edge of the bed and held back a whine as you shoved your already tortured feet into the shoes. You stood and flitted past him for the door.

“Eager for it be over with,” you swept through the door.

His chuckle stoked your chagrin as he caught up to you. He walked beside you as you retraced the usual path to the dining hall where he would sit and chide you for holding your fork wrong.

“Oh yeah? And how did you sleep?” He smoothed the lapels of his jacket, “Or maybe you were kept awake… by some wandering thoughts?”

You stopped short and turned on your heel to face him. He calmly met you as he came to a smooth halt and he smirked at you. His dark hair was combed neatly but still appeared soft and his thick beard was, as ever, trimmed and clean. He watched you with an unsettling confidence. His eyes ventured further down and you smacked his shoulder.

“And what happens if I tell your king what you did last night? What you tried to do?” You challenged.

He shrugged and fixed the top of your dress as the frill that ran along the neckline folded oddly.

“You think he would be bothered?” His hand slipped down your chest and you shoved him away. He caught your hand and held it firmly. “First, you do not strike a noble.” He remanded, “Like it or not, I have my own title, your highness. Second, I have done nothing more than the duty I’ve been handed. The king wants me to present him with a fit wife and your vow includes a lot more than dining room etiquette.”

“I assure you, I have more than enough experience to guide me in those matters,” you struggled with him as you twisted in his grasp. “Let go of me, Barnes.”

“My lord,” he corrected as his grip tightened, “That is how you must address me.” He released you at last. “Not Barnes, definitely not James.” He sniffed. We have only a few more days and I have little confidence that you will retain much of our work, so if anything, you might appease the king in other avenues.”

“And you would what? Show me how to f--”

“Language!” He cut you off as he grabbed your arm and spun you suddenly. He tapped your ass harshly. “You push too far, your highness.”

“You,” you tried to elbow him but he kept your arm in place as he tugged you down the staircase. “You push too far… my lord.” You descended if only to keep from falling on your face. 

“Because I must,” he sneered and for a moment, you were proud of how you had irritated him. “Because you insist on making it so… difficult.” The pause revealed his urge to swear himself. You wanted to laugh but his hold on you had you more inclined to slap him.

“Get off,” you wiggled free as you got to the bottom of the stairs, “Lord Barnes,” you spat with spite, “You want me to be proper, you want me to act as a queen would, then you should treat me like one and listen to me.”

His blue eyes gleamed as he watched you. You shook your head and waved him off as you strode ahead of him. He followed with even steps. You refused to look back at him or slow your pace. Just a few more days, but for what end? For what would be a man just as bad, if not worse.

“You’re not queen yet,” he admonished from behind, “But… not so far as you were.”

👑

Another ridiculous dance lesson, this time without Priscilla tapping your calves with her stick, and you were ready to kick your heels off. Barnes, however, had other ideas. He ushered you from the grand hall and back up the stairs. You knew where he was taking you before you even turned the first corner. The hall of mirrors was your personal nightmare. Your flaws reflected back at you from every angle.

You stopped before the door and, with his arm still hooked in yours, you drew him back.

“Not another fitting,” you pleaded as you untangled yourself from him, “I can’t--”

“You better get used to it, your highness. All of this isn’t for nothing. This will be your life. Fittings, dancing, events… your wedding is a footnote to the list of expectations.” He pushed open the left door. “For every season, you will need a new wardrobe, and as time goes, you might need second fittings.”

“Jesus,” you sighed.

“Your highness,” he reproached curtly. “You must learn to withhold your gripes. Whenever you feel you must bemoan your unhappiness, you might instead smile and count to ten. It works well for my nephew and he is much younger than you.”

“I…” you grimaced, “How dare you--” You searched for words but all you could think was “asshole”, so instead you clamped your lips shut and stormed through the doors.

“There,” he entered behind you, “Much better but you must remember to smile.”

He poked your cheek as he came up beside you and you shook him away. You squinted as you looked to the middle of the airy hall. The mirrors reflected the lights in your peripherals as you took in the scene. A bench had been dragged out and a folding screen was only six feet away, erected beside another rack of clothing. The garments, however, were scant and made your lip curl.

“What is this?” You snarled.

“Well, we have your wardrobe sorted, your attire for your engagement, and of course, the wedding dress,” he passed you and turned as he walked along the bench, “We only need to worry about the wedding night.”

“Oh, no,” you laughed dryly, “No, no, no. I don’t think--”

“Do you think? Ever?” He scoffed. “Now, I will give you a choice. Humour your stubbornness for this one instant. You can choose whichever piece you want and try it on or I can choose and put it on you myself.” He unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it back as he put a hand on his belt, “So?”

You stared at him. Your eyes strayed to the rack of laces, satins, and silks. Your gaze was drawn back as his fingers twitched and you nodded. Slowly, you crossed the hall and swept by the end of the bench. He turned and sat, you glanced over your shoulder from the corner of your eye as you approached the hangers.

You flicked through the selection and found none of it preferable. Whatever you picked would offer little coverage and you expected, little defense to the king’s whims. You tapped your toe and grabbed a hanger without looking. You felt the heat of Barnes’ gaze as you moved behind the screen.

You paused and closed your eyes. You took a breath. Your nerves swirled amid the anger boiling in your chest. You sighed and lifted your lashes. You held up the lingerie and turned it in disgust. Something blue…

The pale blue lace was stretched between slender boning along the structured bodice. You set the set down on the small stool and stepped out of your heels. You rubbed the soles of your feet as you delayed. You wanted to moan as your thumb grazed the tender arch.

“Do you require assistance, your highness?” Barnes taunted from the other side.

“I could just check the sizing and--”

“Would rather the second option?” He called back. “I do like the pink one.” You let out a disgusted ‘ugh’ and strained to unzip your dress. “Two minutes,” he warned.

You slipped out of the pink, frilly dress and shivered as you stripped off your underwear. The panties, made of delicate lace, barely covered your ass as you stepped into them. Your cheeks peeked out the bottom as the top tickled low on your pelvis. The bodice met the upper hem of the bottoms and the cups barely covered your tits, finely embroidered flowers just big enough to conceal your nipples beneath the lace.

“I can’t--” you stood and looked down at yourself, “I can’t-- Barnes, it fits but I can’t…” You were suddenly very self-conscious. You didn’t want him to see you, or anyone else for that matter. “Can I just--”

“Well,” he startled you as he came up and peeked around the screen. You tried to cover yourself but it was of little use, “It does fit.”

“Hey,” you turned away from him and grabbed your dress.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Very nice.”

His hand closed around your arm and he drew you back. He wrestled the dress from your hand and tossed it over your shoulder. He dragged you away from the screen and turned you ahead of him. He placed his hands on your shoulders as he walked you to one of the many mirrored walls.

“Look,” he ordered, “Look at yourself.”

You blinked and raised your eyes. You made yourself focus and bit down as you faced your reflection. Your flesh was on fire as you took in the revealing lace and your exposed skin. You gulped and your gaze met Barnes’ in the mirror. His tongue glided over his bottom lip as his hands slid down your sides.

“You’ve convinced me. The blue is… nice,” he slithered as he gripped your hips. He pressed against you and rocked his hips. His arousal was obvious through his trousers. 

“What-- Hey,” you grabbed his wrists, “That’s enough.”

“His majesty doesn’t like a woman who acts shy,” his hot breath grazed your scalp.

“I don’t care what he likes. You either,” you wrenched his hands away and spun to face him. “I tried it on. We’re done.”

You shoved him but as your hands met his shoulders, he caught your wrists. His eyes were dark and dangerous as they clung to you and he marched you backwards. You stumbled, afraid you would trip, and were steadied only as your back met the cold glass of the mirror. He pushed your hands against the wall on either side of your head and leaned in. His nose met yours as he loomed over you.

“Now, don’t go making a mess,” he raised your hands up above you and held them together. 

His right hand fell to stroke your cheek as he stared you down. He played with the strap of the bodice and slid his fingers beneath as he tugged it past your shoulder. You trembled as your hands throbbed from his tight grip and you squirmed against the mirror.

“Barnes,” you warned as boldly as you could but your voice wavered tellingly. “Get off!”

“You don’t want to ruin this,” his fingers danced over your breast and along your stomach. “Not yet.”

“Let go,” you begged as he fumbled with the lace along your pelvis. 

He turned his hand and pressed two fingers down your vee. He pushed along the crotch of your panties as he forced his foot between yours. He hummed as he crushed the lace against your cunt and both felt the slickness seeping through it.

“Your highness,” he rubbed your clit and you hissed in surprise. “What did I say about making a mess?”

You could only squeak as he swirled his fingers. You turned your head away from him and closed your eyes. Your thighs closed around his hand but did not deter him. He kept his hand snug against you as he curled his fingers and teased you through the lace.

He released your hand and grabbed your chin. He turned your head as his large hand framed your face. His hot breath washed over you.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded and you whimpered. He repeated himself, his tone so deep, so dark, that you obeyed without thinking. You bit your lip as his fingers kept on. “Don’t hold back. You can’t. Not with him.” He rested his forehead against yours. “You have to let the king hear you.”

“B--” your words fizzled to a moan.

“Like that.” He goaded, “Or the king will do worse. If you do not show your pleasure, he won’t care for it.” Barnes fingers sped up and you writhed between him and the wall. “He’ll use you like he has so many, or you can make him want you, like he has never before.” Your mewls grew louder as he played with your bud. “Just like that,” he growled, “Listen to you.”

You spasmed as your climax rose at once. You braced the glass as your body tensed around his hand and you quaked through the ripples of ecstasy. You gasped and gulped for air as your nerves bounced off each other and your blood pulsed hotly in your veins. 

Barnes stilled his fingers and his other hand slid down to your throat. He tutted as he stood straight and kept you against the mirrored wall. He dragged his fingertips up the lacy panties and hooked them beneath the top. 

“We’ll have to choose another,” he tore the panties down your thighs and dropped his hand from your neck. 

He rolled the lace to your feet and tugged until you stepped out of them. You leaned against the glass senselessly as he stood and folded the panties. He felt the wet fabric before tucking them into his chest pocket and buttoning his jacket. He cleared his throat and winked at you.

“Try the pink one,” he said before he strode back to the bench, “The king likes pink.”

You pushed away from the glass and covered your vee with your hands, dazed but humiliated. Only two more days. Could you make it through?

[spencerscoven]

— idle hands

about ; Spencer looks back on to the months before at the events that pulled him under, all of them starting and ending with you.

gif by sarahmichellesgellar

WARNINGS: unedited— fem!reader unsub, unsub!spencer, handjobs, smut, mentions of drugs&addiction, mentions of depression, mentions of torture, mentions of death

“Is it really so hard to believe I wanted to do it?”

A small smile played on Spencer’s features, his eyes on Hotch’s, unmoving. His eyes were bright honey, within them holding something that had been foreign to him for much too long. Happiness. Euphoria.

He sat in the same seat as you once did, letting himself soak up the aura of the interrogation room. The metal jingle of his handcuffs paired with the rough floors that were once waxed allowed him to be brought back to half a year ago, to a Wednesday in September, where the sun rose south on the horizon in Quantico, where nothing would be the same again. 

Spencer’s brought back to the day he first met you, the memory so vivid he could stick his tongue out and imagine he tasted your perfume in the air. It only takes a little longer before he’s also taken back to the moments before, when he leaned against the hallway walls of the BAU with an unsettled stomach and weak knees.

“I just can’t.” Spencer had said. Begged, even.

“You can’t? Or you won’t?” Spencer knew it wasn’t a question, no matter how Hotch had phrased it. He shook his head obediently, heart heavy and guts threatening to spill onto the brown leather of his shoes. It was even worse with every step, his fingers feeble on the cool handle of the door. And he hated himself for knowing where he’d go after, the image of a small seringe behind his lids each time he blinked.

The temperature inside was only cooler, making the claminess of his hands more evident, his jaw clenched. He inspected over you for as long as he could before it turned into staring, observing just who you were in the flesh. The woman behind the profile.

Soft hair.

Established at work.

Calm.

Smart.

Perfectly hidden in everyone’s good graces, leaving you out of suspicion.

He examined you so long that he was able to see you do the same to him, gazing up and down, the corner of your lips turned up. Twenty four men within the last eight months— erratic at first, until the murders gained a special flair, your signature. The photos sat infront of you already, their tongues cut skillfully out of their mouths as you paid the snapshots no attention.

“This one,” You pointed to the photo to the farthest left, your nose scrunched up in slight disgust, “To me he looks very proud, doesn’t he? I’m sure somebody wanted to shut him up.”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, watching the game you were getting at, moving your chess piece three spaces over and looking him in the eye, daring him to join.

“Is that what you wanted? To shut him up?”

“Couldn’t say. I only read about it in the papers,” You retracted his accusation as if you’d been looking forword to the chase, crossing your legs and watching as his eyes followed them. “I read that he was a man with wandering hands, and much too many secrets. Maybe he deserved it.”

He watched you lean forward, embracing the space of the table as you placed your elbows upon it, holding your chin in the palm of your hand. You were the exact opposite of what uncomfortable was. You were eager. Excited.

“Do you agree that he deserved it?”

“I couldn’t possibly agree with you.” Spencer appealed.

Your painted nails motioned him to come closer, his jaw going slack at what was a demand, not a request. His body acted first, the scent of you nearly lifting him off the floors as it hit him. It made him sick as if he was on a rocking boat— shipwrecked. And to feel something felt good.

“I mean, there’s really no proof of who the killer is anyway.” You sighed, collecting your things without much regard for the bloody mess of the images below you.

Spencer glanced at the two way glass to the left as if he could see the figures behind it watching him crumble, letting you go because you were right in all the ways that were wrong. He’d hear about another thing he had done wrong as soon as he exited the doors.

You dismantled the space between the two of you, stopping close to look into the bronze gold of his irises, holding his energy alongside yours. Spencer tried to justify the way he didn’t step back— the soft soul of your breath against his ear just barely.

“I just wanted to see you up close...” You lead off without finishing, implying you wanted his name.

“Doctor.” He tutted, his arms held defensively by his side as if it would get him out of this newly dug hole that already contained multiple sprouting seeds inside of it.

“Doctor, you seem unsettled...” You let out a little hum at the title, nodding as you swiped your hand on the shoulder of his jacket. It was your only excuse to touch him. “Some people do bad things for all the right reasons, and sometimes, they do far too well at it.”

You struggled at your last statement, as if you were passing it onto him to consider. He couldn’t help himself from looking over his shoulder, watching the sway of your hips fade into the distance, leaving the door open only to reveal the figure of the black haired man, as if he was ready to stop what everyone else could see happening.

Hotch watched from the open door as Spencer stepped closer to the table, eyes burning through the print that you once referenced to before he took it between his thumbs, tearing it apart.

In the beginning of October, he let himself come to true terms. Sure, his team acted like they cared. They never ratted him out in fear he would lose his job— in fact, they never even uttered the words of it out loud, instead preferring looks of empathy. And as time went on, their empathy switched to looks of pity that soon became dehumanizing as they pressed and prodded at him like a cell below a microscope.

So he told them what they had already known when he was finally able to come to terms with it himself, droplets falling to the floor from his eyes as he quietly announced “I’m an addict”. And he listened as they said completely nothing, looking up to only see them watch anything in the room but him, averting their eyes to something that was somehow more important than what he had to confess.

And it dawned on him that very moment that they didn’t care when they only spoke to accept his apology for the sudden slip of the tongue. To them, he ceased to exist beyond the ways his brain benefited them.

Spencer realized they didn’t care to talk about the trackmarks that riddled his arm, or the noise of the glass vials that they heard from his pockets. He was becoming increasingly uncaring and disorganized, becoming less and less sterile each time he pumped his viens and chased his impending doom in the form of a sweet high. They just wanted to go to sleep at night without guilt sitting on their chests.

They wanted him to suffer in the shadows, swaying against the side of the bathroom stall as he rolled up his sleeves. They wanted to get off scot free and go on with their lives if they were to ever find him slumped against the cold floors, barely conscious.

It made Spencer’s skin crawl.

During an evening in mid October his fingers shook on the bottom half of his old cellphone, eagerly inching towards the final number— the one that had been burned into the front of his head right from the manila folder.

187...The one he promised he wouldn’t call.

187-654...The one that smelt like vanilla graced with casablanca lillies, and something else he just could not sniff out.

187-654-337... Was it so bad that he thought of you in a way he wasn’t supposed to?

“Hello?”

Spencer’s breath hitched against the receiver, keeping his voice in his chest while he nuzzled against his phone, taking you in as if you were right beside him.

“It’s you, isn’t it, Spencer?”

He worried his lips at your tone, patience and humility just waiting for him to speak up. Spencer counted the seconds over as several minutes passed, your tolerance never wearing down.

“Why do you know that?” Spencer asked, running his slim fingers through his head of hair at the sound of his first name, one he had never given you. Was he that fucking obvious to you?

“You were easy to find, I googled you. You’re quite remarkable, aren’t you? Besides, I’ve been expecting this call,” You admitted.

He could hear you shuffling around the room, discarding something metal and turning on the pipe, washing your hands clean. He could see your image now, phone held between your cheek and shoulder, hair falling infront of your eyes as you rinsed. He wondered what you were ridding your hands of, or if it even mattered now that he had crossed this line.

“You’ve been expecting me?”

“It’s a pity you didn’t call sooner, Spencer... I’ve been thinking about the things we could discuss. Is that what you want? To talk?”

He swallowed around the lump in his throat to stop himself from reciting his uttermost single thought: You’re no good for me.

“Yeah, I’d like to talk.”

He’d forgotten what it felt like when someone listened.

On the ripe night of December 31, he sat upon your couch, his elbows on his knees as he covered his face in shame. Hours before he stumbled onto your porch, rambling about you and him, him and you. You’d only chuckled at it, calling him admirable and sickingly sweet. His pulse began to beat harder as you told him that he reminded you of your mother, a woman who stood pure and good. He didn’t have the heart to just let you blindly say so, spoiling the image of her. Not when he wouldn’t do that to his own mother, either.

After the new person he’d become the past year, he wasn’t so sure he was deserving of such a thing. He played with the band of his watch, nothing that in just two more hours it’d be the new year. He couldn’t stop himself from spilling his truth, the one he had implied to you for months.

“What did you used to take?”

“Dilaudad, when it was available. But Morphine mostly,” Spencer’s voice was no louder than a whisper, “It was easier to get.”

He sat without saying much else, digging his fingernails into the palm of his hand, expecting you to dismiss him like so many others had before.

“How long has it been?”

“A few months.” Spencer pierced his lips, ignoring the look you gave him that implied you knew, like he did, that he wasn’t ready to admit exactly just how long he had been at it.

“Did they care?” You asked, your body leaning closer into him, waiting for a reply that never came from his mouth. You paid attention to the slight tremble of his body and the glossiness of his eyes.

He never told you the specifics about himself, and you wondered if it was because he kept you at arm’s length or because he truly thought there wasn’t anything to tell. But sometimes he’d talk about them; a woman called Emily, and one by the name of Garcia. You already knew who Hotch was from the moments he tried to shake a confession out of you before. You had assumed they were the only ones he had because he never said much else. His silence only pinged as an answer.

“Spencer, you deserve better, you do.” Your hands glided along his jaw, tilting his head to look at you. With the pads of your thumb you wiped the few tears that cascaded down his cheeks, his eyes shut tight in protest. “I care. Did you ever know that?”

Spencer stood with limp arms, his head nodding as he brought his cheek closer to your hand and laid a gentle kiss on your finger, dropping his whole world into yours.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why would you need to apologize, Spencer?”

You didn’t look at him through a lense that demonized him, reducing him to just another case who had let his addiction eat his life up from the inside out. He knew that to you he was someone like he had never been before. He was just himself, not an obstacle. And you were unreal, ready and willing to protect him.

“Can I touch you?” Spencer croaked, looking down at you with wide eyes. You didn’t answer verbally, instead opting to bring his face closer to yours, steering his lips into a kiss. It became clear as to who was in control as he submitted, hands delicately wavering above your hips without the permission to do much else.

You threw your thighs over his, straddling his hips and beginning to grind slowly, only to see that he was already showcasing a hard bludge in his pinstripe trousers. At the speed of it you pondered on the thought that he hadn’t been touched in a long time— or ever.

“Yes, you can touch me.” You assured him, a ginger grin appearing in response to his nervous eyes and hands that grasped your tits above your shirt, so eager to touch. “I meant what I said. If they can’t help give you what you need, what can they do for you?”

You palmed Spencer through his pants, admiring the little sounds that poured out of his mouth, each a bit louder than the one before. The button of his pants came off easy enough, allowing his cock to spring out, the rosy tip already leaking and sensitive. His hips jerked up to your touch, breath caught up against your neck. Your hand worked between the two of you, traveling up and down his dick repeatedly. At the perfect pace, your thumb ran across the tip, coaxing swears from his mouth as you brought your lips back to his.

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Spencer. You don’t always have to stand so strong...”

Spencer’s hips moved underneath you to meet your hands, his orgasm coating your hands as he continued to whine well after he had cum, a sound that ensured the happy death of you. Through hooded eyes, he taped you licking his finishes off the back of your hand and your fingers, a keen look of contentment placed upon your face.

“You’re not alone anymore, are you?”

Spencer nodded ‘no’, embarking on how you resembled Eris, spirit dripping of discord and nasty twists, yet headstrong enough to hold the both of you up. It was an infatuation; a dangerous one.

He rubbed circles into your thigh, the after effects of his orgasm making his head hazy, head stuck in the clouds. His long fingers inched closer to the waistband of your jeans, face confused when you gently directed them away.

“I just want to please you,” he mewled, pout evident.

“You already have.”

Spencer nodded, following your lead to drop it, a long sigh drawn out his peachy lips. His head tilted, almost as a puppy’s would, an epiphany settling in. His eyes became earnest, unable to tiptoe around the dark reality surrounding the two of you. To him it didn’t matter anyway, not anymore.

“You killed those men, didn’t you?”

“Who’s to say?” You raised your eyebrows, feigning innocence like a code, meant for Spencer to see right through.

“Right,” His shoulders dropped, body no longer tense. “My team... they’re wondering if you’re worth all the trouble.”

“Am I?”

Spencer’s lips rose north, resembling something that he hadn’t done for months. You watched, a bit hypnotized, lips swollen and skin sensitive to the touch.

“You are.”

When it became March, it was too late.

“The victim is male, mid 50s, his identity yet to be verified,”

Hotch watched the scene infront of him eerily silent.

“Body has several struggle adhesions, the tongue was severed from the mouth, as well as both hands. They’ve yet to be found— I’d say the body is about five days old.”

He’d last seen Spencer six days ago after he entered the passenger side of the familiar black car, windows just a bit tinted as he saw his torso reach across the center console, kissing who had been in the driver’s seat. He hadn’t asked where he planned to go.

Idle hands ; the devil’s workshop. Nothing good came from hurt.

masterlist

[cuddlepilefics]

Migraine

Fandom: GOT7

Sickie: Mark

Caregiver: Jackson & Jinyoung

Prompt: @sicktember

No one’s POV.:

Being the quietest member certainly had its perks, Mark realized when he woke up feeling off. He didn’t know what exactly was wrong, so he didn’t want to worry his friends. Throughout breakfast, the oldest had been quiet but nobody thought much of it, as he was always quiet. What Mark didn’t know was that his roommate had noticed. Jackson knew the older very well, as you do after living together for years. He could tell his hyung wasn’t feeling himself, though he couldn’t tell exactly what was wrong or what had given it away. It was more like a gut-feeling, that something wasn’t right. Jackson was relieved that they’d spend the entire day at the studio because he couldn’t imagine Mark would be up for dancing today. They’d have a lot of recording to do, which wasn’t too stressful and consisted mainly of revising lyrics and waiting for their turn to record. Maybe the oldest could take a nap until he had to record and would be fine with just a little more rest. Going back to their room to get ready to head out, Jackson got only more worried. It was his hyung’s clothing choice that stuck out to Jackson like a red flag. Mark had that extremely old and washed-out hoodie, which he had brought from the US when he first came to Korea to train. By now, it was far from fashionable and served more as a comfort item, which the rapper usually wore when he didn’t feel well or was home-sick. Him putting it on now, confirmed the younger’s suspicions.

“Hyung, are you feeling alright?”, Jackson asked, barely stopping the older from leaving their shared room. Mark turned around and looked at him confused, muttering: “Sure, why?” – "You’re wearing that hoodie. You always wear it when you don’t feel good”, Jackson pointed out. Glancing down his outfit, the oldest realized that his dongsaeng was right. He just hadn’t expected anyone to pick up on it. Shrugging, he replied: “I feel a bit off, maybe didn’t sleep enough.” Jackson nodded, not fully buying it but following his hyung to the living room anyway. They waited for everyone else to finish up and then headed out together. During their drive to the studio, Mark started to question himself. Jackson’s comment had sparked his worry. He hadn’t put on that hoodie deliberately, it had just happened on top of already feeling weird. What was going on with him? Being so deep in thought, he didn’t even notice how they pulled up in front of the company building. “Are you coming, hyung?”, Jaebeom’s voice startled him from his thoughts and Mark nodded quickly, wincing when the fast movement caused his head to ache. He quickly climbed out of the vehicle, stumbling a bit before he was able to get his footing. Watching him stumble, Jackson linked their arms and walked him up to their studio. The older couldn’t help but be flustered. He felt fine, right? He didn’t need help to walk.

Jackson was the first one to record with Jaebeom as the producer, so Mark sat with the rest of the members, revising his lyrics and warming up his voice. The headache he had gotten from nodding his head to fast earlier was still lingering, so he decided his voice was warmed up enough and quietly sat there, reading over his lyrics. Or rather, pretending to read over his lyrics as they were blurring together in front of his eyes. The rapper winced, massaging his temples. Maybe that was why he had been feeling off. He carefully reached for his water bottle and took a few sips before going back to revising. The headache only increased the longer he looked at the small-print, so he closed his eyes for a few seconds, quickly opening them again as he felt the room spinning. It took Mark a while to put the pieces together. Every now and again, he suffered from migraines and this felt like the beginning of one. The odd feeling this morning, the ache from moving too fast and the dizziness. It all made sense now. From this point on, Mark knew it would only get worse as the day progressed but what could he do about it? They had deadlines for their new album and he didn’t want to hold them back. He had to record now because they had a too tight schedule to postpone his recording. Anxiously glancing towards the recording booth, the rapper made up his mind. As soon as Jackson would be done, he’d convince the others to let him record next. He should get it over with as soon as possible before getting too useless and miserable later.

Mark tried to speak up when Jackson exited the recording booth but for some reason, he felt frozen in his spot. Jinyoung went in to record next as the oldest sat motionlessly in his seat. “You okay?”, Jackson mouthed, sitting down next to him and nudging his shoulder to get his attention. The older nodded before realizing his mistake and scrunching his face up in pain at the movement. Jackson obviously didn’t believe him after that, pulling out his phone to text Mark that he looked awful and was acting far from okay. Knowing he couldn’t look at his bright phone screen, Mark leaned closer to his dongsaeng and whispered barely audible: “’m developing a migraine.” He could see shock and understanding flash across the younger’s face within a split second before Jackson replied as quietly: “How bad is it yet and when did it start?” – “Started when I got out of the car and it’s not too bad yet. My head hurts but it’s bearable and my stomach’s starting to churn a bit”, Mark answered truthfully, aware that the younger would immediately assume the worst if he didn’t. "Do you want some water and do you have your medicine with you?”, Jackson worried. Closing his eyes, the oldest hummed: “Already had lots of water, my meds are at home.” He knew that he was supposed to take his medication with him for situations like this but somehow, he had forgotten and didn’t find the energy to scold himself for it now. He kept his eyes closed, as Jackson wordlessly started to massage his neck, helping him to relax.

When Jinyoung exited the recording booth, Jackson was quick to speak up, announcing that Mark was going next. He had taken care of the older on similar occasions before and was well aware that his hyung would only be getting worse from, especially without his migraine medication. Mark shot him a grateful smile before forcing himself up from the couch. He swayed dangerously for a moment before making his way into the recording booth on wobbly legs. His vision blurred as the rapper stood behind the mic. Just standing on his own two feet had made the pain a lot worse, the pounding being all Mark could focus on. He knew he couldn’t put anymore pressure on his head if he didn’t want it to explode but reached for the headphones anyway. His hands shook as he put them on painfully slow. He had torn them off again in barely half the time he had needed to put them on, crying in pain as he fell to his knees. His head spun and his stomach churned. At first, he didn’t even notice the hand on his back, which later turned out to belong to Jackson, who had barged into the booth the second Mark had cried out. He had kept a closer eye on his hyung ever since he admitted to suffering from another migraine.

The members felt helpless as their oldest cried in pain on the floor of the recording booth. Jackson held him, soothingly rubbing his back, but was unable to provide enough comfort. By the way Mark clutched his head, they knew he had a migraine, having witnessed it a couple of times over the course of their career, so Jinyoung turned off the lights and quietly approached the pair with a bottle of water. “Hyung, do you think you can stomach some water?”, he asked carefully. The older replied tensely: “I-I need to be sick.” Quickly scooping him up, Jackson tried to get to the bathroom as fast as possible without jostling his sick hyung too much. Mark had already turned a few shades paler by the time they made it there and relied on the younger’s support to keep himself upright in front of the toilet. His stomach lurched, causing him to pitch forward, and he was grateful for Jackson’s strong arm steadying him. The younger couldn’t help but feel his heart break at his hyung’s pained groans in between the heaves. It didn’t help that Mark had barely eaten anything during breakfast, so after all the water was out, he struggled to bring anything up. He was surprised his head was still in one piece as it felt like exploding over and over again from the strain. After what felt like an eternity, the heaves slowly tapered and Mark weakly slumped back against Jackson’s chest, who tightened his hold on the older. The younger gently brushed his hyung’s sweaty hair out of his eyes before reaching for some toilet paper to clean him up.

“Are you ready to go home now?”, Jackson asked quietly. He only knew that Mark was still awake because his face was contorted in pain. Tearing up, the older whimpered: “I-I can’t go home. We have deadlines.” – “Hyung, you won’t be able to record like this anyway. You look like a corpse and I’m afraid you might become one if you don’t rest soon”, Jackson retorted, “I finished already, I can take you home. Doesn’t your bed sound really tempting, right now?” – “It does”, Mark had to admit hoarsely. Still shaky on his legs, he allowed his dongsaeng to pull him to his feet and onto his back. Trying to keep his steps light, Jackson carried him back to the studio, so they could inform the others about leaving. “I’ll come with you, I’m done already too”, Jinyoung announced, collecting their belongings while Jaebeom called them a driver. Mark kept his eyes closed through all of it, reminding himself that gritting his teeth would only make the pain worse. Suddenly there was a gently hand on his head, stroking his hair, and he heard Jaebeom’s voice close to his ear. “Get some rest and don’t worry about our deadlines, I’ll reschedule the recording for you”, the leader hummed softly. Mark replied with a sleepy: “Thanks.” Then he felt Jackson move and Jinyoung instructed: “Keep your eyes closed, we’re almost outside and it’s rather sunny.” It wasn’t like Mark had any motivation to open his eyes anyway, so he let his dongsaeng’s take him to the car. Jinyoung got in first and helped Mark find his seat too. While he buckled the oldest’s seatbelt, Jackson got in on the other side, buckling himself up too before adjusting the air conditioning.

They spent the ride in silence with Mark resting on Jinyoung’s shoulder and Jackson holding his hand for emotional support. The older was so out of it that he didn’t pay any attention to the other two distributing tasks as they pulled up in front of their dorm building. Jinyoung unbuckled their seatbelts before going ahead to the dorm to let the other two in and Jackson helped the dizzy Mark out of the vehicle and onto his back again. They made their way to the dorm much slower than their dongsaeng, who took off Mark’s shoes while Jackson struggled out of his. He then carried the oldest straight to their room and lowered him on his bed. “Shorts or sweatpants?”, he hummed, opening his hyung’s closet. Peeling himself out of his jeans, Mark muttered: “Shorts please.” He changed with some difficulties before laying down and pulling his pillow over his head. While Jackson closed the blinds, Jinyoung came in with a bucket, some water and his hyung’s migraine medication. “Hyung, can you sit up for a moment? I’ve got your meds”, the vocalist whispered, gently removing the pillow. Before even trying to sit up, the older warned: “I-I might need to be sick again.” – “That’s okay, I brought a bucket but try to keep the pills in as long as possible”, Jinyoung assured, helping his hyung to sit up. Mark downed the pills with only a few small sips of water, afraid they’d come right back up. Jackson had ventured into the kitchen and collected two icepacks, while his dongsaeng helped Mark get under the blanket properly. “Wait”, he hummed lowly, returning to their room, “Lay your head on my lap.” Sitting down against the wall close to the headboard, Jackson settled the older’s head on his thigh and gently slipped one icepack under his neck before placing the other on his forehead. “Alright, you can go to sleep now, hyung”, the younger rapper smiled, playing with Mark’s hair. Jinyoung sat down on Jackson’s bed, whispering: “I hope you feel better when you wake up.”

[grumpyhedgehogs]

Liftoff

Summary: An alternate Infinite Darkness in which Shen Mei chooses a different person to partner with, Claire takes a more active role, and Leon turns to the dark side (only for a little while).Or: What if Jason had gotten to Leon with his 'fear into terror' speech, and Shen Mei had teamed up with Claire to put a stop to them both?

Notes: Canon typical violence, guns, explosions, threats. Spoilers for Infinite Darkness. (Help I’ve only loved Cleon for a day and I’m already writing angst fic for them!)

AO3

~

T-minus 30 Seconds

The first time Leon pointed a gun at her, fear flooded Claire. She’d barely heard his command until it was too late; her nervous system was going haywire, lighting up like a Christmas tree. He had shouted for her to duck and Claire had and Leon had pulled the trigger and saved her life. It’s been the same way the whole time they’ve known each other since; she gets into trouble and Leon tells her to get to safety and she listens or sometimes she doesn’t and sometimes it’s the other way around and she saves Leon instead, but in the end they both survive. That’s how they work. That’s how Claire thought they would always work.

This time, staring down the barrel of a gun with Leon S. Kennedy at the other end of it, Claire isn’t so sure they’ll both get out of this.

~

T-Minus 72 Hours

Witnessing a dead body is something Claire hates she’s gotten used to. Chris always gets that pinched, wan look on his face when she talks about what sights Raccoon City had to offer her, but she can’t help what happened any more than he can. The dead walked and Claire witnessed and then the whole thing went to hell in a handbasket all thanks to the U.S. government. If they had it their way, Penamstan is going to go the same way.

Claire resists the urge to tear down the papers swimming before her eyes. Instead she groans and rips her glasses off her nose, pinching her forehead. Her eyes throb but she knows she won’t find any sleep soon. The answers are here, have been staring her in the face for days or weeks, and she still can’t see them. “There has to be something I’m missing…”

A thump on the stairway outside has her spine snapping straight, ice flowing in her veins. Hurriedly, she snatches a lamp from the bedside table and yanks the cord out of the wall. She just has enough time to slip behind the door and ready herself before it opens with a quiet creak. The person on the other side is light-footed and sure, moves with the grace of years of training. They’re smaller than Claire thought they would be, just a slip of a shadow in the dark of her motel room. They are alone.

Claire lets out a grunt as she knocks the door closed with her elbow and brings the lamp down as hard as she can. The ceramic cracks and splinters from the force of her blow, but even though the body goes down with Claire on top of it, whoever it is still struggles. A fist catches against her shoulder and even though Claire manages to catch the other fist in her own hand before it connects, she wishes she had any of her firepower from Raccoon City with her now. The person beneath her bucks and twists, wiry muscle instead of the bulk Claire is used to fighting against. They slip their wrist from her hold before she can let out more than a cry of frustration, and a punch to the solar plexus doesn’t seem to slow them down for but a moment.

The darkness whirls in front of her eyes as Claire is flipped onto her back. Her head knocks harshly against the bureau in the room, stars erupting in her vision. Claire gasps, gags on the sudden nausea, and kicks out. Her foot connects with something boney, but it’s a glancing blow at best. Claire has survived too much to die in some shitty Washington motel room.

Long hair brushes Claire’s cheek as the person leans down; dark eyes glitter in the low light above her. “I don't want to hurt you,” the stranger says, and Claire laughs in her face.

“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that before,” she spits.

“You are Claire Redfield.”

“Yeah, no shit!”

“You are investigating the Mad Dogs and their involvement in Penamstan. You know there was an outbreak there.”

That brings Claire up short. Her lungs burn and her breath is coming too fast, but the knock to her head doesn’t smart enough to make her believe she’s got a concussion. Hell, her ears aren’t even ringing. “So what? You gonna kill me for what I know? What I’m getting close to?”

“Claire Redfield, you know nothing.” The stranger raises her head and suddenly her weight lifts off of Claire. Claire struggles not to gasp in a huge breath of air, feeling like a beetle stuck on it’s back. The woman holds her hand out in offering. “Not yet. But I would like to tell you what really happened in Penamstan. I would like to tell the whole world.”

This could easily be a trick--but then, she could easily have killed Claire here in the lonely darkness without leading her on a wild goose chase first. Claire accepts her help and hauls herself to her feet. She straightens her jacket, brushes her fingers over her forehead, and is pleased when she finds no blood there. “I can help you with that, then.”

The other woman is not much smaller than she is, long black hair pulled into a sensible ponytail and leather jacket zipped all the way to the base of her throat. “My name is Shen Mei. My brother was in Penamstan when the outbreak happened; he was--”

“Turned,” Claire supplies, ash in her mouth.

Shen Mei nods, solemn and stony. “I thought one of the Mad Dogs--Jason--was helping me, but he is not. He wants to expose the use of bioweapons but he will get people killed to do it. And he has recruited an agent onto his side that I am afraid of. If we do not move quickly they will harm others so the truth can get out.”

“And cause mass hysteria as a result,” Clare finishes. “Then you can tell me the rest of what’s happened as we move. Let’s go.”

~

T-minus 68 Hours

Shen Mei is quiet, practical, and deadly with a knife. Just as she predicts, agents come after them. Shen Mei needs no help in fighting them off.

“You can’t--!”

The blood spills from the soldier’s throat as he twists, gasping, in Shen Mei’s hands. Claire lunges, trying to get her hands on his neck, trying to staunch the blood, but Shen Mei uses her shoulder to shove Claire back, shielding the dying man from her sight. “They will kill us before we can get to the chip in my grandfather’s safe.” Shen Mei hisses. “They will kill us for even suspecting what was done to those people, to my brother. They know now that I am a rogue agent, and they will come after me. You need to keep your hair and prints away from the crime scene so they do not come after you, too.”

Claire stares at the man’s eyes, glassy and empty, and breathes shallowly. She thanks whatever is out there that it isn’t Leon’s body cooling on the pavement at Shen Mei’s feet. Could she have stopped her if Leon were the one under the knife?

But Leon wouldn’t have tried to kill her in the first place. Claire breathes in, breathes out. Shen Mei sheathes her knife and beckons. “Our plane is on the tarmac. We don’t have much time.”

Claire leaves three dead agents behind her. She tries not to look back.

~

T-Minus 41 Hours

Shen Mei pockets the chip her grandfather passes her. Behind the sheer curtains, a heart monitor beeps steadily. Shen Mei’s grandfather motions Claire forward. The curtain pulls back and Claire tries not to gasp as she recognizes the grey flesh, the growths, the slow blood leaking through the sheets.

“My grandson.” he tells her quietly. “I used up my savings to help him. I failed--”

Even as Claire raises a hand to place on the old man’s shoulder, Shen Mei and the other man in the room stiffen. The doors slam open, rattling on their hinges as Claire whips around, eyes wide and hand going to the gun Shen Mei lent her. But she’d know those blue eyes anywhere, and they have always been safe for her. Claire doesn’t draw on Leon.

She doesn’t, but Shen Mei does. Leon’s gun is trained on her, dead center between her eyes, and Claire’s brain stalls. Why would Leon shoot Shen Mei? She’s good, she’s one of them. She needs protection just like Leon and Claire did during Raccoon City.

The other man tries to rush forward, but Leon growls at him and he subsides, eyes flicking between Shen Mei and her grandfather, looking for instructions that won’t come. Claire almost wants to shoo him out. This is no place for young blood.

“Leon!” She doesn’t wait until his eyes light on her, but pushes forward, placing herself squarely in front of Shen Mei. She might not be the one with army training, but she knows this man. She’s the one who can get him to see sense, not Shen Mei. She sees his face go a little slack in surprise as she raises her hand and curls it around the gun barrel, not bothering to push it away since he’d do it himself in a second. “Don’t shoot!”

“Claire.” Leon sounds like he’s grinding his teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Helping, like always.” She rolls her eyes, tries to lighten her tone. It doesn’t work. His feet shift a little, but he plants himself again. He hasn’t lowered the gun. Something quivers in alarm at the back of Claire’s mind, but she ignores it. “Shen Mei is going to expose the outbreak in Penamstan I told you about, but we’ve got to move fast, because this Mad Dog agent, Jason, he’s--”

“Coming after Shen Mei for the chip. He’s going to expose the bioweapons for good,” Leon finishes. “I know.”

Her mouth feels cottony, her head stuffed with too much input to make sense of it. Leon is still and steady as a stone in the middle of a rushing river. His gun presses against her collarbone, the metal cool and frightening against her skin. His hair is lank and damp with sweat like he hasn’t had time to stop and rest for days and his eyes look wild in his face. Claire doesn’t--can’t--understand. Faintly, she tries, “Leon?”

Leon lets a gust of air out of his mouth, an explosive sigh, and he jerks his gun out of Claire’s face. Before she can even breathe out her relief (how could she have thought he’d do it? She chastised herself. It’s Leon.), he moves. His fingers curl, unforgiving, into the lapel of her jacket and jerk her forward. Surprised and off-kilter, Claire stumbles to Leon’s side. Anger and no small amount of worry at his aggression and strangeness course through her; Claire slaps at his hand but Leon refuses to let her go. It doesn’t take a genius to tell he’s moving her out of the way, moving her behind him, putting himself between her and Shen Mei--

“I told you she’s not the issue--”

“Yes,” Leon snaps, near snarling, his face so animalistic Claire doesn’t recognize him, “she is. I told you not to do anything stupid.”

Claire opens her mouth, about to retort hotly, and shuts it when the ground rolls beneath their feet. Shen Mei lets out a cry and her grandfather throws himself bodily onto what used to be his grandson. Beside her, close enough that Claire can feel his breath (when had he dragged her so close?), Leon curses.

“Damn it Jason, I said I needed more time.”

The house collapses down around their heads.

~

T-Minus 37 Hours

Shen Mei finds her in the wreckage. “You are lucky,” she says as she pulls Claire to her feet.

Claire knows she isn’t. She knows that because Leon had thrown them both behind one of the tables in the bedroom as the fires started. She knows that Leon had hauled her as far as he could from the blast, even as Claire ripped her throat to shreds screaming for Shen Mei and her family. His grip had been bruising. He hadn’t responded to her at all. He’d covered her as much as he could with his own body when the tremors took their legs out from under them. She thinks perhaps she remembers the feeling of weightlessness that comes with being carried in someone’s arms.

“Where’s Leon?”

“Gone,” Shen Mei tells her, grim. “We have to act quickly; he’s got the chip. He’ll bring it to Jason and set the world on fire if we don’t stop them.”

Every cell in Claire’s body screams at the wrongness of her statement; she wants to spit and rage and cry that Leon wouldn’t do this, that he’d never hurt people just to expose bioweapons, that he wouldn’t do this to her--but she just woke up alone after her world caved in. Leon left her here.

Leon left. If Claire wants answers from him, she’s going to have to follow after him--it’s almost just like old times.

~

T-Minus 5 Minutes

“The control room,” Shen Mei shouts as they run. Jason stands on one of the catwalks, Wilson struggling fruitlessly in his hold. A dark corner of Claire thinks about waiting until he’s dead before stopping Jason.

“I’m on it!” She answers instead, hopping one of the railings and hauling ass to the small booth Shen Mei had pointed out.

But when she bursts through the doors, Claire realizes she’s too late. Leon stands in front of the control panel, his back to her; Claire knows his eyes are on the dying man above him, on the bioweapon threatening to end the lives of innocent people for the sake of the greater good just like in Raccoon City. In his left hand, there’s a glint of light as the chip catches on the low fluorescents in the room. He flips the chip almost carelessly between his fingers.

“Leon.”

“Claire.”

Even now, with her heart in her mouth, Claire can’t stand to believe it. She moves forward, until she’s standing across from him, so close she can smell the dust and smoke on his jacket. He smells like the rubble of Shen Mei’s home.

“Listen, I don’t know what your game plan is, but we don’t have much time.” She says quickly, trying to outrun the alarm bells ringing in her ears. “I couldn’t tell Shen Mei what you were doing because you didn’t tell me, but she’ll understand once we stop Jason together. We can talk to her and she’ll forgive you--”

“I don’t want to be forgiven,” Leon says, calm as the moment before the storm hits, “and I don’t want to stop Jason.”

He turns then, and the gun’s metal is warm now when it presses into her skin. “And you won’t either,” Leon finishes. His eyes are still too wide, the white showing all around the iris and his pupils tight and small. He looks like a cornered animal, like a dog about to snap its jaws at her. Claire forgets how to breathe.

“What are you doing?”

“We have to finish this, Claire. We have to put a stop to it all.”

“By killing innocent people?” She spots it the moment he balks; it’s so small no one else would see it. A tremble in his fingers, a stiffening of his mouth where it settles in his face. Claire’s world is spinning, the fundamentals are changing, the foundations are rending, but some things stay the same. Even as Leon rips apart all she knew of him, he’s still the same. “Leon, this isn’t you. I don’t know what happened, but I know you wouldn’t want to hurt people even if it meant stopping bioweapon productions for good. We fought for more than this.”

“When will it end?" He snaps. Claire tries not to flinch. He’s never been sharper with her, never been so manic and wild. “When do we stop fighting, Claire?”

“When we finish it,” She answers. Behind him, acid begins to flood the production floor. How long do they have until it reaches the level she can see Shen Mei scaling up? How long until Wilson’s skull gives under the pressure? How long until Jason grows tired of toying with them?

Leon shakes his head and the barrel of his gun shakes with him. He wavers, and Claire's confidence in Leon wavers with him. “Don’t you see? This will finish it.”

“If you think that, you really have gone insane.” Claire shakes her head, and, slow as she can, reaches up, a mirror of just yesterday. This time, she cups his hand in hers, fingers overlapping on the butt of the pistol. “Leon, if you let Jason do this, it will only be the beginning.”

“Everyone will know, just like you wanted.”

“Everyone will be dead,” Claire replies, letting her tone get as harsh and abrasive as it wants to be. “God, Leon, what the fuck happened to you? This isn't the person I know. This isn’t my friend.”

His lip curls and the barrel grows steady again. Claire doesn’t recognize the man threatening her anymore. “Maybe this is who I’ve always been and you’ve just been too blind to see it.”

“If that’s the case, you might as well shoot me now,” Claire argues, feeling her own lips pull back from her teeth. “Because I’d rather be dead than know I love someone who could do this.”

The world stops spinning on its axis. Claire fights the urge to run, to hide, to bite her lip and drop Leon’s gaze because she hadn’t exactly known what would come out of her mouth when she opened it. Too late now, though. Go big or go home, that’s what Chris always told her.

Leon moves before she can register it.

~

T-Minus 30 Seconds

The gun clatters against the metal as it lands on the floor, bouncing once, twice, three times. It slides away from their feet and rests by the door, harmless.

Kissing Leon is not at all like Claire would have imagined it. She’d learned to shut that idea out of her mind quickly; she’s not blind and she’s not stupid and she has better things to do than pine after a man who will never give her the time of day. Still, in the glimpses of fantasy she’d allowed herself, she’d seen candlelight and romantic music. She’d seen herself brushing his hair out of his eyes and him smiling that goofy, wide grin of his. She’d seen softness.

Kissing Leon is like pressing on a bruise to test its tenderness. It makes something sweet and painful twist in her chest when he presses close as he can. Her hand does slide into his hair but she twits it into knots around her fingers instead of smoothing it out like she wants to. His hand does dip into the small of her back like they’re about to dance together, but he’s balled it into a fist in the leather of her jacket. His mouth is hot and devouring, but he takes and takes and takes and gives nothing in return, leaving Claire gasping for air and feeling something closer to despair than she’d like.

His breath is warm and wet when he pants against her mouth. “Everyone could know without you releasing the chip,” Leon says, quiet in the middle of destroying her world. She’s in the eye of the storm and it is so very lonely. “You’d be safe.”

“I don’t want to be safe,” Claire tells him, achingly slow, feeling as if her heart is being ripped out of her piece by piece.

He doesn't fight when she laces their fingers together, just pulls her closer. His heart beats a tattoo against her ribs. “I can’t protect you if you’re the one who breaks the story.” Leon's voice strains, cracks, breaks. Perhaps she’s not the only one feeling desperate.

Claire shakes her head. “I only ever wanted to help. If you won’t let me, then I’ll do it myself.” Slipping from his grasp, she palms the chip she took from the nerveless fingers of his left hand. With her other hand, she brings Shen Mei’s gun up and clocks Leon across the jaw as hard as she can with the butt of it. Surprised, he stumbles, slumping across the control panel. She hurries to shove him away and, praying her glances at the platform names over Leon’s shoulder during their conversation were enough, begins pressing buttons rapidly.

Shen Mei screams as the platform under her feet falls away. Jason’s center of gravity is lower than hers, and he’s heavier; even his claws and strength and agility and determination cannot save him. As Claire swings another platform around to catch Shen Mei, a faint groan rips through the air behind her.

It’s time to go. (If she stays for when he wakes, Claire isn’t sure she’ll survive. Her heart’s too weak for that.)

Shen Mei slumps on the platform Claire slid under her to stop her fall. She has to collect the agent and flee before anyone finds them down here. Claire hits one last sequence which will give her a path to Shen Mei and the exit, holsters her gun, and doesn't look down as she steps over Leon.

“Claire…”

It feels like her bones are all broken, or have been replaced with shards of glass. It feels like her muscles are being rent from her flesh one at a time. It feels like she’s being dragged beneath the waves of the ocean and the light of her only salvation is retreating, retreating, retreating, so far away. Claire turns her head, just enough to catch the glint of his eye in the corner of hers. She can’t look at him, not now. She might stay if she does.

“When you’re ready to make it right,” Claire says, ignoring how her voice quivers and her mouth twists. “Then we’ll talk.”

~

After Launch

Leon brings one last drink to his lips. He ignores the looming and the badgering. He ignores the yelling and insults. He ignores the way his companion slams his fists into the wooden tabletop and rattles the bottles in front of him. Instead, he thinks about the pounding of Claire’s heart against his own. He thinks about pointing a gun at her. He thinks about her sharp eyes and the way her mouth had twisted in disgust. He thinks about how there wasn’t fear in her face but anger, hot and terrible and poisonous. He drinks until the drink is gone.

“Are you ready to make it right?” Chris demands.

Leon thinks of Claire--of the way she turned from him there at the very end of it all. At the end of the world she left. But that isn't fair: he’d left her first. Leon stands.

“Let’s get started.”

[winterscaptain]

emergency.

Aaron Hotchner x Reader

a/n: credit for this awesome idea goes to snow (@agenthotchner original post linked here)! 

warnings: there’s some description of a decent-sized cut across the palm of the hand and the treatment of said cut in an emergency room, as well as some swearing rating/word count: t / 2096

AO3 | Masterlist | Requests Open!

+++

“Really, I’m alright,” you assured your (very well-meaning) neighbor. She was dead-set on getting you checked in at the emergency room, even though you insisted you could stitch yourself up at home. You brought your medical packet with you – including all the intake forms, copies of your credentials, and your emergency contact information. Your go bag was at your side, packed and ready with three days’ worth of clothes.

Your neighbor stayed with you until she was sure you wouldn’t bolt, leaving you as soon as someone called you to the back.

Another Tuesday night, another kitchen accident. You’d sliced your hand open while cutting an avocado for a late-night snack. Fortunately, it was your non-dominant hand. Unfortunately, your neighbor caught you as you scuttled to your car for your first aid kit.

So here you were, sitting on the edge of a bed in one of the private emergency rooms while a nurse flushed the wound and prepared it for stitches.

+++

“Hotchner.” Aaron sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Am I speaking to Aaron Hotchner?”

“Yes. May I ask who’s calling?”

As he listened to the emergency room admin tell him about your incident, he threw on a pair of jeans and a black v-neck from the drawer. He called Jessica as soon as the nurse finished relaying the address to the ER closest to your home. Jess was in the neighborhood, coming from a girl’s night with friends, thank God.

With a kiss to his sister-in-law’s cheek and an earnest “Thank you,” he was in the car and on the way.

+++

There was some kind of commotion right outside your door, but you were busy watching the nurse as she applied local anesthetic to your hand and wrist. The bleeding had slowed enough for the nurse to maintain it with a few swipes every minute or so, and you could see the extent of the damage.

You’re a fucking moron, you know that?

You rolled your eyes at yourself and was only a little startled when the door flew open.

“Hotch?”

He checked in with the nurse, who smiled and nodded at him over your hand. Suddenly, he was sitting right next to you, looking over your intake paperwork. “They called me. I got here as fast as I could.”

Shit. “God, I’m so sorry. I forget you’re the first on my emergency contact list.” You bit your lip. “I really should make it Emily or Penelope or someone who doesn’t have kids.” You said it more to yourself than him.

To your surprise, he laughed. “No, it’s okay. Jess was in town, and Jack is still sleeping. I’m glad I can be here for you.”

+++

When they pulled out the suturing material, you paled and blindly reached for Hotch’s hand. Instead of just taking it, he tucked your head into his chest, holding you there with one hand while he rubbed soothing circles on the back of your free hand with his thumb.

You probably looked silly, tucked into your friend’s chest while your arm was fully extended to your side, under a blindingly bright light. You couldn’t feel the stitches, but it still squicked you out.

Hotch’s voice rumbled through you as he spoke close to your ear. “You’re okay. Breathe with me.”

“Hotch...” It came out as a bit of a panicked whine as you heard the doctor shuffle some tools around.

“Aaron.” He squeezed your hand. “Aaron’s just fine. It’ll be over soon. Just a little while longer.”

You took a few shaky breaths in time with his, but your hand was still a vice grip around his. He smelled really good. You knew that already, having sat next to him on the plane more than once, but it was different without the professional boundaries.

And without the suit.

“You’re doing great. Squeeze as hard as you can and keep breathing with me.” His voice was gentle and constant. It was sufficiently distracting.

Oh, right. He’s coached someone through literal childbirth before.

God, you’re such a baby.

“I’m sorry I’m such a baby.”

He laughed, taking care not to jostle you. “We’re all babies over something.”

“You’re not a baby over anything.” It came out as a grouchy gripe, your humor not strong enough to get past the tightness of your jaw.

After a moment, he shrugged around you. “Spiders. I hate them.”

You lifted your head, keeping your arm steady. The hand holding you to him dropped to your waist, where his protective grip kept you centered. “Really?”

Brown eyes smiled down at you. “Really. Jack takes after his mother and thinks it’s hilarious. ”

A shaky smile crossed your face, and you heard the telltale rasp of ripping gauze.

“All done,” the nurse said. “You’re good to go. Change the dressings daily and take care not to rip the stitches. They will dissolve on their own in about a week.”

+++

“Hotch, I can really manage on my own.”

“You have your go bag, and I know for a fact you’ll rip the stitches in your haste to grab something on your way out the door tomorrow morning.”

You couldn’t argue with him there. He pulled into his driveway and helped you out of the car.

When you were safely inside with Jessica headed home, you took your pain meds while Aaron locked his gun away.

“Oh shit,” you said, checking your bag. “I don’t have my gun. It’s in my safe at home.”

“You can use my second. I know you prefer the Glock 26, but my 17 is about the same weight in the trigger.” He handed you a mug of tea and plopped down on the couch. “I can have Anderson grab yours during the day tomorrow if we get called out on a case.”

“Thanks.” The gesture didn’t go unnoticed – offering his second gun was like offering his right arm. You settled down beside him, tucking your feet under you. “I can make up the couch, so you can head to bed. I’ve kept you up long enough.”

“You know where the linens are?” He asked, one eyebrow aloft.

“I have built many a fort with Jack, and I pay enough attention to get around.” At his dubious glance, you continued. “Second hall closet, third shelf. Blankets, sheets, and an extra pillow.” You smiled at him over your mug.

“You know...” he swallowed and seemed to struggle with his words. “You don’t have to make up the couch if you’d be more comfortable in my room.”

“Trying to get me in bed, Hotchner?”

He floundered for a moment, and you laughed softly.

“I’m kidding.” You set your mug on the coffee table and brushed his hair back with your good hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll take you up on it.”

“I definitely don’t mind.” He leaned into your touch like a cat.

He’s adorable.

“Thank you for staying with me tonight.” Your hand fell to his jaw, where your thumb brushed back and forth on his cheekbone.

Careful, don’t want to cut your other hand on that.

His eyes closed as you took more of his weight into your hand. “Of course.” He turned his head and kissed your palm.

Your heart jumped into your throat. He gently picked up your injured hand in his and pressed a kiss to your gauze covered knuckles. That particular act didn’t do anything to lower your heart rate. He released your hands, soft and gentle, and led the way down the hallway toward his room.

Jack’s door was open, and you saw his little sleeping form by the glow of his nightlight, curled in a ball. You wondered if the Hotchner boys slept the same way.

You’ll find out soon enough, won’t you?

Jesus.

“You can borrow one of my shirts,” Hotch said, closing the door quietly behind you, “since yours is...” He gestured to your t-shirt, and you note the blood down the front of it.

“Damn. I liked this one.”

Hotch smiled with one side of his mouth. “I’ll soak it overnight. We’ll probably be able to save it.” He turned and shuffled through his drawer, pulling out what looked to be a worn-in FBI Academy shirt and some flannel pajama pants. “These should cinch enough for you.”

You took them from him with your good hand. “Thanks, Aaron.”

His hands lingered over yours under the soft fabric. “Bathroom’s through that door – take your time. There are extra toothbrushes in the cabinet to the left of the sink. Make yourself at home.”

You settled into the en suite bathroom as he padded down the hall. You changed quickly, brushed your teeth (twice), and draped your bloodied shirt and pants on the edge of the sink.

Hotch was pulling back the covers and checking his email when you walked back out. He looked up and smiled at you.

When he brushed past you to soak your clothes in the sink, your heart caught in your throat again.

You slipped into bed, your back to the bathroom door. You closed your eyes and tried in vain to fall asleep before he returned.

You failed.

The lights in the room went out, leaving the blue cast of moonlight in front of your eyelids. You felt the bed dip as Hotch tucked in beside you.

“You’re terrible at pretending to sleep,” he whispered.

You could tell he was close to you, but when you opened your eyes you saw how close. His face was peaceful in the dark, his mouth and brow relaxed (for once).

“I wasn’t pretending.”

“Mhmm. Sure.”

You rolled your eyes and shut them again, insistent this time. “I’m ignoring you, Hotch.”

“Oh, so it’s Hotch now?”

“It is when it's nearly two in the morning and we have to leave for work in six hours,” you grumbled.

He chuckled, and his minty breath fanned over your face. You could feel him sober, and you opened your eyes. His face was pensive, and you were caught off guard by how open and expressive he was at home. You could read everything on his face as if it was printed out and handed to you.

“I don’t-“ he stopped, and his mouth pressed into a thin line for a moment. “I know we’re both adults who can share a bed without anything going on.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, doing your best to hide your amusement.

“What I mean is, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or –“

You pressed a finger to his lips. “Aaron, shh.” You let your smile shine through for a moment. “I’m here because I want to be, and I’m next to you because I want to be, okay?”

He nodded, still watching you carefully. You removed your finger from his mouth, ignoring the thrill it sent through you.

Adults. Adults who can share a bed without anything going on.

You rolled over and got comfortable, smooshing the pillow underneath your head. With your good hand, you reached behind you and searched until you found Aaron’s shirt.

“C’mere.”

He huffed a laugh and curled up behind you, snug from shoulders to calves. His arm hovered over your waist for a moment. You squished it to you, lacing your fingers with his over your belly.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

He hummed and tucked his face into your shoulder. “Anytime.”

“If you want...” you trailed off, your bravery evaporating when you actually processed what was about to come out of your mouth.

“If I want...” he echoed. You could hear the smile.

“You could – You could kiss me if you wanted to.”

Well, there it was.

You felt lips press to the soft fabric over your shoulder, trailing up to the sensitive skin near the collar.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he said, and you suddenly felt fully and pleasantly warm.

When you turned your head, he was waiting for you. Yes, the angle was awkward and it was dark, but maybe laughing into each other’s mouths wasn’t as embarrassing as it seemed.

He kissed you once, twice, three times. There was a sweetness, a chasteness about it. You’d both waited a long time, and it wasn’t like you didn’t want to jump his bones, but now was decidedly not the time.

You turned back around and pressed back against him as to not miss out on a single millimeter of contact.

Your sleep took you quickly, and you nearly forgot about the nine stitches in your palm.

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