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inkykeiji · 4 years

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you be the match, i will be your fuse

fluffy anon said: dabi coming home after an absolutely horrid day at work and just needing to be absolutely BABIED by reader (i’m talking cuddling in bed, taking a bath with him and washing his hair then getting out just rubbing his back as he sleeps with his head on your chest)

genre: angst + fluff, laced with just a hint of smut (like two sentences)

notes: aaaah happy birthday dabi!!! this has absolutely nothing to do with your birthday but eeee ily | title cred: sure thing by miguel

warnings: 18+, implied/mentioned death of a child, one instance of implied past physical abuse, self-destructive behaviour + coping mechanisms, co-dependent toxic relationship

words: 3.5k

It’s thundering the day it happens, ferocious growls that rumble through your apartment—a tiny, quaint space you share with Dabi, full of faulty appliances and cracked linoleum—rolling, fluffy grey clouds blanketing the entire sky, swollen with restrained rain droplets as a storm brews within them. Little fingers idly toy with the yellowed pages of your worn pulp fiction novel, flipping through them and bending corners as your eyes search the angry sky, chewing on your cheek.

Dabi should’ve been home by now. It’s not like him to be late without calling, without letting his babygirl know what’s going on—he knows the way you worry, the way you overthink yourself into a frenzy, the way you’re so clingy and needy, teases you about it incessantly and tells you he thinks it’s cute—and a deep sense of dread takes root in the pit of your stomach, dark and bitter and unfurling, quickly spreading throughout the cavity of your chest.

His phone must be off—no, it’s never off, he doesn’t do that anymore, not since you stumbled into his life—his phone must be dead, your repeated calls growing increasingly frequent and urgent every time you’re greeted with the drone of his automatic voicemail.

Something’s wrong, horribly so.

It’s evident the moment he arrives home, scratched brass doorknob slamming against the wall, deepening the crater its left from past incidents of a similar manner.

It infects the air around him, hanging heavy and thick, its dense presence nearly suffocating. His shoulders slump under the pressure, the weight of whatever he’s carrying practically crushing, as he drags his crimson splattered boots through the front door, soles scraping against the cheap hardwood, bringing the putrid scent of charred flesh with him—his or someone else’s, you don’t know.

You swear you can almost see it, this—this thing, this aura, enveloping him in its haughty embrace as his chest heaves under a deep, controlled breath, pausing in the foyer as the door shuts behind him.

Bare feet pad against the floor, your legs moving without your explicit permission, drawn towards him in an almost instinctual manner, the desire to care for, to comfort, burning as it bubbles up in your chest, mixing with that intense sense of trepidation and invading your veins.

He permits you to wrap your arms around his torso as you nuzzle against him, body going rigid for a moment, still and stiff as marble, before he exhales again, melting into your embrace.

Several questions race through your mind at such a speed that they crash and clash together, becoming nothing more than incoherent jumbled lettering, tiny fingers curling in the fabric of his clothing as you try to pull him closer, nonsensical babbling spilling from your lips. A vacant ghost of a chuckle leaves his lips, nothing more than a simple huff of breath, and he squeezes you closer.

“Bad day?” the words are mumbled against his dirty t-shirt, what was once a pristine white now tarnished with ash and blood. You don’t get a response—you don’t expect one.

He doesn’t talk much, not on days like this.

He doesn’t need to.

Bad days—really bad, terrible, awful days such as this one—are surprisingly rare with Dabi. Sure, he’s had the typical ‘bad’ day before, where someone pisses him off, or he gets into a fight with his superior, but those bad days usually require railing you into your creaky, springy king-sized mattress until you’ve forgotten everything but his name and he’s fucked all of the anger and hatred out of his body.

They are not like this one. No, on days such as this, on days where he’s killed someone he deems to be innocent, someone who—like him—is a victim of heroism, he’s quiet, distant, unpredictable, bordering on unhinged, and you’ve learned to tread with extreme discretion.

But you don’t push, either, resolving to communicate through gentle touches, soft fingertips that run along his tense, broad shoulders and press into the hard coiled muscles, tender fingers that thread through inky tufts of hair, sapphire eyes closing as he hums and leans into the motion like a cat.

It’s only for a second, though, just a moment of weakness before he’s breaking out of your embrace, pushing past you and clearing his throat, glass door to the balcony sliding shut a moment later.

You don’t follow. You know better than that now, a phantom sting in your cheek serving as a reminder, the resounding sharp sound of glass shattering as it’s hurled at the floor slicing through your mind with such viciousness it makes you wince.

Instead, you sit. And you wait. Like you’re supposed to, like a good little girl, a book clutched between your quivering hands, unblinking eyes staring at the words on the page, nothing but incomprehensible symbols—lines and lines of black ink in meaningless shapes—as scorching sapphire loops through your mind.

Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl, give him space, let him come to you. Be a good girl. Give him space. Let him come to you.

It’s standard procedure, really.

And eventually, he does, comes back inside with an empty bottle of whiskey clutched in a hand, along with a crumpled package of cigarettes. You don’t know how long it’s been, muscles sore and joints aching from sitting in the same position for so long, eyes dry from staring at the same page, barely moving, barely breathing. His hand is bleeding, knuckles bruised and gleaming with sticky scarlet that’s still fresh and flowing, but it could be worse. It has been worse.

The harsh clink of the bottle against the kitchen counter makes you flinch, and he sighs, heavy and full of derision, eyes flicking up to glare at your side profile.

“I can hear you thinking,”

“You’re filthy, baby,” the words tumble past your lips, uncontrollable, involuntary, almost reflexive in your response, eyes snapping to his face and voice whiny, voice pleading. “Take a bath with me,”

And you can see it—can see it in the dark cobalt of his irises, what he needs, the very thing he’s fighting himself on, the very thing he’s fighting so hard against. Always so stubborn, so reluctant, so cautious.

Because, fuck, he used to be able to resist it, this pathetic ache for comfort—something that’s only managed to grow in your presence, that’s shifted and morphed from a dull smoldering to a raging fire, an insatiable longing for your fingers in his hair and your breath on his skin and your voice against his ear—a skill he’d been constructing, developing, perfecting, since he was thirteen years old. A skill you succeeded in shattering in the matter of a few measly months.

Because you—you’re different. And he hates it sometimes, he swears to the good Lord he does, but hating it doesn’t make it any less true. You break him down, you make him weak, you make him want, and the longer he spends around you, the more he finds that he doesn’t fucking care. And that’s irritating, that’s exciting, that’s terrifying, that’s new.

Fury blisters his chest, his lungs, his throat as he holds your stare, jaw clenching twice. But you don’t falter, not like the rest of them, not like anyone else—everyone else. You never falter, always so eager to see the good in him, a snort leaving his nose at the thought. The good in him. Is there any good left in him? Was there ever any good in him in the first place? Are you the good in him, now? Does he care?

And he’s not sure he’ll ever understand it, but he’s beginning to realize that, maybe, he doesn’t have to.

Maybe, it doesn’t matter. Maybe, it’s okay, if you love him, if he loves you.

Maybe.

It’s too much, and he can feel frustration stinging his eyes, long delicate eyelashes fluttering as he quickly blinks it away. Spears, sharp and cold, splinter your chest at the sight, but you know if you begin crying too, you’ll lose him. You know that if you begin showing what he considers weakness, he’ll pull away, even though this is what he so clearly needs most.

So you steel yourself, swallowing hard against the pain collecting in your throat, will the tears away and force your body to stay calm, approaching him slowly as if he’s some sort of feral animal prone to lashing out.

Apprehension is clear in his azure eyes, head tilting a little as they narrow, regarding you with skepticism, with suspicion.

It’s bold, and dangerous, and—as far as Dabi’s concerned—fucking stupid, but you don’t care, determined to prove to him that you aren’t going anywhere regardless of how many tantrums he throws, no matter how many times he hurts you in his anguish. It’s almost desperate, really, this sheer need to prove to him that you aren’t scared of him, that irrespective of how soft he seems to think you are, you are strong, even if it’s in ways he could never understand, that you can be strong for him, when he needs it, that he can borrow some of your strength, if he needs to.

And that—that’s why he loves you. It hits him hard, as this realization always does, kicks him in the chest and knocks the breath out of him every time, and he’s not sure he’ll ever get used to it.

A tiny hand hangs in the air between the two of you, Dabi regarding the offer with a wary hesitance. Wiggling fingers attempt to entice him, earning a tiny smirk—a massive victory—as sapphire flits up to gaze at you through thick lashes, an eyebrow raised.

You match his expression, quirking an eyebrow of your own and nodding at your hand, speaking a moment later.

“Let me in, baby,” the words are barely above a whisper, but they’re so raw, filled with so much unadulterated love it hurts, pure and real and everything he’s never had before. “Let me help,”

And, God, it’s fucking overwhelming, how badly he wishes to give in to this unfamiliar compassion, how desperately he desires your affection, despite the malicious voice echoing off the walls of his skull, berating him for being so pathetic, so weak, so vulnerable.

But the urge to accept, to seek out consolation in you, wins, just as it always does, that nasty voice reverberating in his mind silenced the very instant his skin touches yours.

You let him make the last move, allow him to make that final decision entirely on his own accord, to grasp your hand in his, warm and rough, and pull you towards him, crushing you against his chest as he buries his face in your hair, eyes squeezed shut against that annoying burn of tears, chest stuttered with a hitched breath, air that gets caught in his throat as he chokes on the words he wants to say.

But he doesn’t need to say them. You already know.

“Come,” you murmur to him, fingers threading through the tufts of hair at the nape of his neck. “Let’s take a bath,”

✰ ✰ ✰

The bathwater stings your skin, just a hint too hot to be comfortable, but you say nothing as you settle onto his lap in the cramped little tub, encompassed by frothy bubbles, dainty scent of orange citrus tickling your nose.

Heated fingertips press into your hips as he finds comfort the only way he knows how to, in your precious little whimpers and broken moans of his name as he bounces you on his cock, so vigorously you’re positive you can feel him in your tummy, the pads of his fingers searing his prints into your skin.

It’s heady, it’s intoxicating, it’s addicting, heightened emotions both pleasant and unpleasant swirling together with the symphony of your cries and his grunts as the water you’re submerged in begins to bubble and boil, to crack and pop, sudsy liquid sloshing over the side of the tiny tub as he forces you to ride him, faster and faster and faster until you’re whining and convulsing around him, and he’s filling you with thick cum, cock throbbing aggressively as he spurts load after load into you.

After, as he leans back against the cold tile, residual droplets sizzling into steam as his heated skin touches them. Gentle fingers card between his hair, water cascading through onyx strands as it pours over his head from a worn plastic cup—a faded Darth Vader staring back at you as you rhythmically repeat your actions until the tresses stick to his forehead and cheeks, drenched and shining in the low light of the washroom.

Heavy lids obscure the most brilliant sapphire from you as shampoo is massaged into his scalp, slow and unhurried and thorough, every stroke, every comb through inky clumps easing the turmoil in his mind bit by bit, calming the storm that’s been raging inside of him for hours now. Deep hums rumble in his chest as your fingers continue their ministrations, your eyes trained on your motions. And you can feel it, the tension dissipating from his body with each circle of foam rubbed into his soft hair, shoulders finally beginning to relax as he subconsciously nuzzles into your touch, following it, longing for it, aching for more.

He shifts then, after you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair, manhandling you into a position between his thighs, bare chest pressed tightly against your back. You work hard to keep your body from tensing, forcing your breathing to stay even, to stay calm as you brace yourself for what’s coming next.

“He was eleven,” he says after several long moments of silence, voice low and trembling, hoarse and heavy with remorse. “This time.”

This time. That’s the third innocent civilian—innocent by his standards, at least—this month.

That’s the first time it’s ever been a child.

You don’t turn around to look at him, not yet—he isn’t finished—simply opting to lace your fingers through his and bring your joined hands to your lips, kissing each wounded knuckle, crude staples catching in the dim warm light of the tiny bathroom.

You want to tell him it wasn’t his fault, even though it was. You want to tell him anything that’ll make him feel better, that’ll absolve the guilt so evidently gnawing away at his insides, even though you know there’s nothing you can say.

“What are—I don’t even—” his voice breaks and you feel his chest stutter against your back, feel him exhale harshly, breath cool on your damp shoulder, feel him swallow thickly as he tries again. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, as much as he would never admit it, you know he needs release this from the confines of his mind—you know you’re the only person who can offer him such an outlet. “Why the fuck were there kids there in the first place? Huh? They shouldn’t—They shouldn’t have been there,”

Orphans are everywhere in this city, you murmur, lips moving against his rough skin. He knows. Orphans of heroes. He knows.

“I’m gonna kill Shigaraki, I swear to Christ. Sending us to a—a fucking place infested with fucking ch-children,” his fingers curl around yours, hand beginning to shake as it clutches you like a lifeline, like that guilt will devour him from the inside out, like he’ll disintegrate into nothingness, if he doesn’t. “I bet you he fucking knew—nah, I-I’m positive he did. Asshole only cares about himself, though. Doesn’t matter that—that the cause we’re supposed to be fighting for affects these stupid kids,”

You’re right, love.

The words leave your lips in a gentle breath, leaning your head back against his collarbone and staring up at him. Cobalt eyes stay trained on the cracked tile wall, jaw methodically clenching as his molars grind together, an attempt to quell the trembling of his chin, exhaling hard harsh breaths through flared nostrils.

“Whatever,” he huffs, voice still wavering and not nearly as self-assured as he wishes. “Th-That brat shouldn’t have been there in the first place,”

He shouldn’t have, you agree, finally squirming in his grasp, turning to face him, to straddle his hips again in the tight space of the tub. And he welcomes your affections readily this time, arms encircling your waist as he holds you tightly to him, blunt nails digging purple-tinged crescents into your flesh as he shoves his face against your neck, finally allowing those emotions he’s been fighting to leak from his eyes and absorb into your skin.

Little palms rub soothing circles into his back as he shudders against you, allowing him to empty his soul onto you as soft lips press chaste kisses to his damp hair, waiting until there’s nothing left, until his eyes are drained, azure glassy and bloodshot, nose twitching and red.

And after he’s done, when he finally pulls back, scrubbing aggressively at his nose as tiny sniffles hitch in his chest, gentle fingers begin to lather soap into his skin, washing away the dirt and grime and blood from the day. Fingertips carefully trace along the metal sutures decorating his body with immeasurable adoration, you whispering all of the things he so desperately needs to hear that he’d never dare to ask for, complimented by the tender touches that cleanse his soul with their unconditional love.

He’s bigger than you are, but that doesn’t stop you from trying to wrap him in a fluffy white towel, using another in an attempt to dry his hair as your hands move in shaggy motions, heart soaring in your chest when you pull a soft laugh from his lips, wet and wobbly and croaky, but a laugh nonetheless.

A mutual silence, gentle and comforting and stuffed full of an immense love, a special kind of love, a love words do not exist to explain, swathes your bodies as he allows you to dress him, pulling a ratty old band tee over his head and a pair of plaid PJ pants up his legs.

“You always look so cute in my clothes,” he rasps from his spot perched on the edge of the bed, glowing crystal eyes watching as you pull one of his t-shirts over your naked body.

A genuine bubble of laughter erupts from your throat as you climb into bed with him, immediately allowing him to latch onto you, to pull you towards him, to hold you close like his own personal plushie.

“Sleep,” you murmur as the two of you settle into a comfortable position, limbs tangled together, his head resting on your chest, fingers threading through his hair and then tracing down his neck, his back. “And then I’ll make you ramen,”

“The spicy kind?”

“Of course,”

I love you.

“Extra spicy?”

Laughing again, you feel his lips curve into a smile against your skin, grip around your torso tightening. “Extra spicy. Now, rest,”

More than anything else.

“With the little fish cakes?”

“Your favourite little fish cakes,”

More than words could ever tell you.

“And the pork belly?”

“And the pork belly,” you feel his chest rise with an inhale, hastily adding, “And those little cream puffs you love so much, from that dingy convenience store downstairs, for dessert. Now sleep, baby,”

He laughs, even though his vision is blurring, even though it comes out more strangled than anything else, because he doesn’t want to cry again, because his chest stings and aches and swells and warms, full of inexplicable emotions, feels like it’s going to fucking burst as it chokes and reinvigorates him all at once, and—God, he loves you, he loves you, he loves you.

Because even though he’s terrified beyond belief, he’s willing to try—just for you, only for you—as he continually realizes with each passing day that he isn’t sure what the fuck he’d do without you, now. Because you’re too entangled up in his life, too deeply embedded in his very soul, for him to ever remove you, now. Because as petrifying and unfamiliar as it is, he doesn’t want to, now.

Because even though he’s broken, irrevocably so, and you can’t fix him, won’t fix him, you’ll still stay, to hold those pieces so gently, so tenderly in your hands, you’ll still protect those fragments and keep them from shattering further, you’ll still give them the affection and devotion they need, the affection and devotion they deserve. Because you love every part of him, even the bad ones, even the shards with jagged edges that cut into the soft flesh of your palms every time you caress them.

Because you accept him wholeheartedly, flaws and all, and that’s—he’s never experienced anything like that before, this unlimited, unreserved, unquestioning love. And although he doesn’t know how to say this, isn’t sure he’ll ever be able to find the right words to communicate it, he’s beginning to learn that unfamiliar doesn’t always mean bad; that sometimes, it’s okay—it’s good—to be vulnerable. He’s beginning to learn that with you, in the warmth of your shitty little apartment, with the stove that only has two functioning burners and the fridge that’s perpetually too cold, he can be, without judgement, without fear, without trepidation.

Because you are his only salvation, and he wouldn’t trade this for the goddamn world.

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #dabi #todoroki touya #dabi fluff #dabi angst #aaaah this HURT #anyway big big big thank yous to mister for helping me come up with what we think dabi's favourite food would be #HAPPY BIRTHDAY DABIIIIIII

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years

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Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {16}**

Chris Evans x Reader Series

Warning: Cursing, Angst, Fluff, SMUT, NSFW, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 8.6k

Note: Okay, so this is no longer a mini-series, we’re at a full-fledged series. Recommended listening toward the end of this chapter is Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish.

I hope you guys enjoy this. If you enjoyed this LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: Q1 | Q2 | Q3 | Q4 | Q5 | Q6 | Q7 | Q8 | Q9 | Q10 | Q11 | Q12 | Q13 | Q14 | Q15 |

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Day 55-

What was left to do, but leave? Yeah, there was a pandemic raging in the world right now, and everything including said world was going to shit, but that didn’t mean that you couldn’t go this thing alone. You were born alone, have lived pretty much alone, and had no problem going through this nightmare alone. You didn’t need to be here. With the decision made, you wiped your tears, stood up, straightened your back, and walked to the bedroom with your head held high.

Once in the room, you began packing what you’d unpacked mere weeks ago. You began calmly, keeping your jaw clenched so you wouldn’t shed any more tears. After you’d gotten one dresser emptied, you looked up into the mirror and saw nickel-sized marks across your skin. Slowly you followed the trail that began on your stomach and went along your ribs over one breast. The trail didn’t stop; it went along your collar you disappeared behind your quickly frizzing hair. Just like that, you remembered his lips on your skin. You remembered him kissing you, licking you, nibbling you, tasting your skin until you felt as if you would leap out of your skin.

You flared your nose. It was always a mechanism you used to keep your tears at bay. It had been a long time since you had to use it. It felt as if you’d forgotten how because after almost a minute, you still felt close to tipping over the edge, and what was below you, was not something you wanted to be a part of. You gripped the edge of the furniture and squeezed.

“Come on, come on, come on. Work!”

You waited a few seconds, but still, the tears kept coming.

“Work, damn it!”

Nothing. The sting in your eyes only intensified.

“Fucking work!”

Your shout was loud, and it boomed off the walls for several seconds. When the echo faded, your tears streamed down your cheeks.

“Fuck,” you whispered, now using both your hands to hold onto the dresser. You took several deep breaths trying to practice the meditating breaths you learned. Groaning, you quickly realized that this wasn’t going to work either.

You walked out of the bedroom toward the bar area and filled a glass with the first bottle you took up. You didn’t care what it was, and you also didn’t care that it wasn’t exactly after five. It was drinking time somewhere—right? You knocked back the entire glass and hissed as the burn took over. Your belly filled with the fire you knew would come, and you welcomed it. You hoped it would dull everything else you were feeling.

You were so bent out of shape that you couldn’t even place any of your other feelings except anger. Your anger overshadowed everything. At the thought of your anger, you had thoughts about everything you’d felt over the last thirty-two hours.

“You’re all I want to see, Y/N,”

His voice echoed around you. It sounded like he was actually in the room with you. Bracing your hands on the bar, you closed your eyes and got sucked back into last night.

You could feel everything again like it was happening right now. It felt like his body was pressed against yours, like his hands were on your breasts, like his mouth was between your legs.

“Fuck!”

You poured another glass full and gulped it down, but even the burn down your throat was not enough to dull the lingering pleasure you still felt. He was in you.

“You look so fucking gorgeous with my dick in your mouth, Y/N.”

You groaned, and you could actually feel his dick in your mouth. There had to be something wrong with you. No dick was this good, you thought. No dick could have you all fucked up like this.

Biting your bottom lip, you sighed.

“You’re perfect, so perfect. I don’t deserve you.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to blot out his voice.

“I’ve imagined this moment for so long.”

You wanted to find him and kick him in the balls. A few weeks ago, you couldn’t imagine the thought of anything like what had happened in the last few hours ever happening. Now you were standing here with a drink in your hand, his voice in your head, and your desire for him writhing in you like an overriding virus.

“This dick ain’t nothing to laugh at.”

You slid the glass away and took the bottle up and brought it to your head instead. After two gulps, you felt it beginning to fade, felt him beginning to fade—almost.

“As you wish.”

His voice echoed this time, and with each echo, it faded until it was quiet, at least for a moment.

“I have you. I will always have you.”

Pushing through, you did your best to pull yourself together. When you got back to the bedroom, you finished packing, not wanting to waste any more time. The alcohol worked to slow your actions, but you were determined to get the hell out of there. The knock at the door startled you. You stood there as if you expected them to be able to hear you moving inside. The knock came again, then a voice.

“Y/N?”

You sighed, hearing Scott’s voice. The relief that flooded you quickly dissipated when you thought about telling him you were leaving. What reason would you give him? He knocked a third time, and that was when you grabbed your robe and wrapped yourself in it as you walked to the door.

“Y/N!”

When you opened it, Scott had his arms held open. “What the hell? Are you okay? You didn’t come to dinner last night or breakfast this morning. You’ve been MIA.”

“I know. I wasn’t feeling well. I just wanted to lay low in case it was ya’ know.”

“COVID? How would you have gotten it? You’re being paranoid,” Scott filled in.

“Yeah, you’re right. I just wasn’t feeling well.”

“You need some food. Come on, mom just put dinner out. I was sent to get you.”

“Uh, no. Scott I just--,” you began before he cut you off.

“No. No more excuses. You gotta eat. Let’s go.” He was walking away before you even responded.

“No, Scott--.”

“Let’s go now, or I’ll tell mom you’re refusing her cooking because you think her food is disgusting.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Really?”

“Really. You know I’ll do it.” With that, he was gone.

You dropped your head back and groaned before going back inside to get dressed. You knew he would do some bullshit like that. The last thing in the world you wanted was to hurt Lisa. You spent the next ten minutes putting yourself together enough both on the outside and the inside that no one would suspect anything. It was harder than it should have been.

By the time you got to the house and walked into the dining room, you saw everyone sitting around the table. They all lit up when they saw you. The closer you got, you forced yourself to smile until you saw him. Chris was sitting at the table with his fingers steepled under his chin and elbows on the table. His eyes were glued to you. Quickly you looked away and shrugged him off.

“Are you all right? Scott said you haven’t been feeling well,” Lisa mentioned as she approached you with arms open.

“Yeah. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”

“Oh honey, of course, we worry,” Lisa said in her motherly voice as she pressed the back of her hand to your forehead. The action made you smile.

“You’re not warm. Maybe my lasagna will fix you right up. come.” She led you to your seat beside Scott and three seats away from Chris.

“You look exhausted,” Carly said.

“Yeah—I haven’t been getting much sleep,” you began as you took up your fork. Hearing how it could have been interpreted, you quickly fixed it. “Work! I mean, it’s because of work.”

They nodded but looked as if they didn’t need the extra explanation. Sighing, you began to eat your food in silence. They spoke around you, but you didn’t listen, you were lost in your own thoughts as you tried to formulate a plan on how to best leave without causing a ruckus. You couldn’t leave in the middle of the night because that would have been wrong, and you needed someone to drive you back to Boston. When you thought of that, you let out a huff.

“Y/N,” Shanna began. You looked to her friendly inquisitive face. “You okay?”

Pasting a smile on, you nodded. “I’m good. I’m sorry, just thinking of my to-do list. Since this pandemic work has really picked up, you’d think it would slow down but nope.”

You were good at thinking on your feet. It was a quality you had to have to succeed in your career and your life. Shanna nodded and went back to eating, as did you. You could feel Chris’s eyes on you, tempting you to look at him. Using all your will, you refused and kept your eyes planted downward to your plate. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

After an uncomfortable dinner, you sat through a few minutes of talk and calm all the while staying as far from Chris as possible. The funny thing to you was that with him staying away from you, no one was suspicious. He was carrying on as usual. Everyone else had remained the same. It was just you and him who had changed. You’d elevated, gone to a whole different plane of existence. That is what it felt like in that forest bubble--until it popped.

You couldn’t get over what he’d said.

“You’ve fucked a lot of guys!”

Thinking about it again, you wanted to leap across the room and go wolverine on his ass. How dare he? When you looked over to him, you found his eyes planted right on you. They were beautiful, no doubt, but they were also the eyes of an asshole. You rolled yours, stood, and walked away toward the kitchen. Once inside, you walked around the island three times using the movement to get your rising anger under control.

When the door opened, you turned to see Scott.

“You’ve been weird all night. Talk to me.”

You studied him trying to decide if you could tell him you’d had sex with his brother. You remembered what Chris had said that he’d made a promise to him. If you revealed it now you would start problems, problems you didn’t want to start.

“I’m fine, Scott, tired but fine.”

He studied you for a full minute before he nodded.

“Okay. Go get some sleep; I’ll make an excuse for you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Go through the front.”

You walked to him, gave him a quick hug, and did as he said. Before you walked out the door, you grabbed Scott’s car keys from the key hook on the wall that housed everyone’s keys. You’d convinced yourself he wouldn’t mind, and he’d understand. Once you were outside, you took a few deep breaths and moaned from the scent of the salty air. You were tempted to go for one last walk on the beach, but you had a feeling if you did that, you wouldn’t leave. Walking around the house the long way, you looked over the bank to the tall grass and beach down below. There was nothing quite like the beach at night. You stopped at the fork in your path. One way led to the beach and another night here with all that had happened, and the other led to the guesthouse where your bags were waiting. You must have stood there for ten minutes before you walked back to the guesthouse.

Once inside, you gathered the rest of your things and waited until you knew everyone would be asleep. An hour passed with you sitting in the living room with your feet on the wooden coffee table, just staring at a lit candle. As the flame danced, your thoughts flitted from topic to topic. You began with going over every detail of the date, every word spoken, facial expression, body gesture, none of it escaped your focus now. Moving on, you went to every sensation, from scent, taste, and sound when both of you decided that you were going to cross that line. It wasn’t an unconscious choice. It was one both of you willingly made. Those thoughts brought you to everything leading up to you feeling him move inside of you. Again, not one detail missed you.

You’d learned long ago that though something was unpleasant to think about, you had to acknowledge it in order to move on. You’d acknowledged everything that had made you the way you were and dealt with it. You’d found a way to use it as fuel, that was until last night. Something shifted; something changed your outlook; something made you feel.

“It was him, you idiot!”

You quickly sat up and groaned out, digging your hands in your hair. It was full-on puff now, long gone were your tame curls and coils. Thanks to your willingness to be carefree and adventurous, your hair was paying the price. You vowed to yourself that once you got back to your apartment, you’d treat yourself to a whole wash day routine. With that thought, you remembered his words.

“I’m willing to learn.”

You kissed your teeth and stood. You were tired of waiting. Taking up your bags and balancing them as well as you could, you opened the door and stopped in your tracks. There was Chris with his hand raised, ready to knock.

“Son of a bitch!”

His eyes dropped to the bags in your hands, and he took a step to you. Quickly, you backed away, dropping a bag in the process. Chris took a step to you, and you took another back.

“Y/N,” he began.

“Shut the fuck up and get out. Go away.”

He didn’t listen. He took another step inside the guesthouse. Even when you made every attempt to get away from him, he didn’t get the hint. Finally, you dropped your bags and walked as far from him as possible.

“Y/N, let me explain, please.”

“Explain? Fuck you!”

Your shout was louder than it should have been. Realizing it, you clenched your jaws, trying to keep the rage from pouring over.

“Y/N, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said. It slipped out,” Chris frantically said as he closed the space between you.

Thanks to the wall behind you, you had nowhere to go. Pushing him back only sent him a few inches from you. It was enough of a distance for you to move out of the confined space you were in, but you weren’t quick enough that Chris wasn’t able to wrap his hand around your wrist to pull you back to him.

“I’m sorry.”

You did it before you thought it. Swinging your hand out, it connected with his cheek in a loud slap. He looked shocked, but he didn’t look angry. You wanted to make him angry so that he could feel some of yours. You slapped him again and again. On the fourth swing , Chris caught your wrist. The clench in his jaw was tight.

“I deserve that,” he grumbled.

“Why do you deserve it? Because you called me a fucking whore!?”

“I didn’t mean to, I swear. I promise, Y/N.”

You pulled away from him, roughly nearly losing your balance in the process. “Fuck you and your promises Chris! They mean shit—you mean shit.”

“You don’t mean that. Come on. What more can I say to prove to you that I didn’t mean it?”

“Nothing. I’m done. I’m leaving.”

You hurried to your bags and began gathering them. Before you got half of them, Chris was on you, forcing you to drop them yet again.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t leave. It’s not safe for you out there.”

“I’d rather take my chances out there than in here with a man like you!”

He looked hurt by that one, and you were glad for it. “Y/N, come on--,” he began.

“Come on? Chris, there is nothing you could say to me.”

You grabbed your bags again and threw open the door.

“I can’t let you leave, Y/N. I can’t just let you walk out of here.”

“Why?!”

“Because of how I feel about you!”

That had you freezing in your tracks. As the words sank in for you, you turned to him.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N. I’m sorry for what I said. It was a stupid thing to say, one I didn’t even think about. I was angry, and I just said it. I didn’t mean it,” Chris blurted out, trying to keep his voice low.

“Some part of you must mean it, some part of you must have felt this way. You must think I’m some whore who fucks every dick she comes across. That must be it right, Chris! I fuck everyone right, Andre, Marcus, Wayne, Charles, hell even you. Congratulations!”

You made it past him and out to the pool, but he still didn’t give up. Chris got in front of you, but you didn’t stop.

“Move!”

“No. Come on, Y/N. You know you felt it last night. You know you felt it this morning and this afternoon. You felt it.”

“I felt nothing!”

“Bullshit! I was there. I was right there with you. I was on top of you staring in your eyes, and I saw it. I felt it when I was inside of you. You’re lying, and we both know it.”

Ignoring the words coming from his mouth, you pushed past him and made your way around the house.

“You’ve been inside of a lot of women. You probably don’t know what you feel anymore.”

“Jeez, come on. Yes, I’ve slept with a lot of women, and I should never have even thought to say those words to you. That’s it though, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry, really, I am.”

“You’re sorry. How many women have you said those words to? Two, ten, fifteen?”

“None of them are important to me. You do, Y/N. You do.”

“Bullshit! I’ve never mattered to you.”

That was when he pulled you back to him. As you collided with his body, your bags fell to the floor again.

“You’re the only person who has mattered to me in the last three years. You are the only woman that I care about that is not in my family! You, Y/N! I don’t understand how you can’t see it. How is it still this hard for you to get it? You matter to me, you always have mattered. I think about you all the time. I worry about you more than I worry about anyone else. I dream about you, and in my dream, it’s always you and me. I respect you so much, it’s incredible to think we’ve barely spoken in these years, but I know so much about you. I respect you so much, even though you’ve hated me all these years. Y/N, I value you. I’m sorry for how I behaved. I’m sorry that I said those words.” The emotion in his voice was clear to hear.

You stood there, frozen. The look in his eyes said he meant them. His eyes said he felt them and was pleading with you to feel them too—hear them too. There was a war inside of you that was waging so fierce that you couldn’t think straight. Part of you wanted to still leave while the other part—a part that was growing in size wanted to stay with him.

“Please stay, Y/N. Please. Let me make this right. Let me fix this. Let me prove to you that you matter to me, let me show you that this means everything to me.”

Chris cupped your skull and pressed his forehead to yours. His skin was hot; you were sure it was always this hot.

“Please—I don’t want to let you go—not again.”

“Fuck,” you whispered.

“Please.”

You had no voice to respond; all you could do was nod. Chris released a loud sigh that told you he’d been drinking. He pressed his lips to your forehead, then pulled back. You watched him pick up your bags then look back to you. He was asking a question. Can I? Chris reached his hand to touch your cheek and slid his thumb across it. When he brought his hand away, you saw it was wet. You were crying.

Chris took your hand and led you back along the path you’d just walked, back to the guesthouse you were so ready to leave. As Chris led you back around the pool, you stared at his hand entwined with yours and sighed. It felt right. You just hoped that by giving in to this “right” wouldn’t turn everything wrong.

Once you reached the guesthouse, Chris placed your bags in the living room, turned to you, and cupped your cheeks. “Give me thirty minutes, and I’ll come right back for you. can you do that?”

You studied his eyes, peering deeply into them, trying to read him thoroughly. You bit your bottom lip when you saw that you wouldn’t see anything different than what he wanted you to see. You knew he had secrets. You nodded, giving him his answer. Chris then kissed your forehead again and walked out of the guestroom, leaving you alone once again.

You don’t know how long you stood in the doorway, but you stood there all the same, just staring out into the darkness. When one of your legs fell asleep, you closed the door and walked to the couch. Once before the candle, you’d just blown out you lit it again, sat, and watched it. As you stared in the flame, you tried to stave off the feeling that you were being weak and ignore the thoughts that still told you to leave that you’d be better off.

Everything from his past indicated that he would end up hurting you. He’d been one way with every woman in his life before. What was so different about you? Why would he be any different with you? Hell, he probably had the power to absolutely wreck you. Your mental freak out quickly took over making you jump to your feet. After pacing the living room for what felt like seconds, you heard the knock at your door. You didn’t open it right away. You just stared at the door. He probably could have opened it himself, but he didn’t.

Walking toward it, you stopped with your hand on the knob and took a few breaths. When you opened it, Chris was standing there patiently with one hand behind his back. The two of you stared at each other for several moments before he revealed his hand, showing you a bouquet of picked flowers. You scoffed and shook your head. His mother was going to kill him. You took the flowers that were completely different than the ones he’d given you the other night. While those were bright thanks to the yellow sunflowers, these were also bright but in a different way. The mix of red and white tulips complimented each other but also looked as if they didn’t belong together. Regardless, they were beautiful.

Chris held his hand out to you and waited for you to decide to take it. When almost fifteen seconds passed before you took it, he didn’t sigh or huff and puff, he remained calm and accommodating. When you put your hand in his, you watched his fingers wrap around your hand. He then raised it to his lips and kissed it once then twice. Once his lips touched your hand, your skin tingled, and from there, it never stopped.

Chris slowly led you out of the guesthouse and allowed you to close the door behind you before he continued to lead the way to wherever he was taking you. When he cut away from the house to the steps that led to the beach, you guessed what he had planned. He took his time leading you down the steps carefully to ensure your safety was paramount. When you stepped onto the sand, Chris looked back to you as if asking if he could or should keep going. When you didn’t object, he continued to walk you down the beach toward the shore.

Once there, you saw a fire lit path along the beach leading to the warm glow of a fire in the distance. It stopped you in your tracks.

“You okay?”

Were you okay? You knew if you went over there and saw what he’d done, you’d probably forgive the bullshit he said earlier. You didn’t know if you wanted to forgive him. You wanted to make him suffer for as long as possible. You were also curious about just how he thought he could make things right. Releasing a huff of breath, you nodded. Chris continued the walk down the shore toward his destination. When you reached the lit path, you just stared at the small flames that looked to be medium-sized tealight candles. It was beautiful.

The closer you got, the more you could see, and the more you saw, the more the butterflies in your belly fluttered. When you’d stopped walking, you were standing in front of a large blanket with two cushioned pillows placed on them along with a large wooden butcher block trey. On the block was a decanter of amber looking liquid, a few containers that were covered, glasses, and a gift box. Across the blanket were scattered rose petals, and before the blanket was a hot roaring fire.

“Sit down,” Chris advised. You kicked off your slippers and walked across the blanket to find a good spot.

As you sat on the cushion, you looked up at Chris and watched him as he took his seat across from you. His shirt showed his St. Christopher medal between both his tattoos on his chest. The sight of those tattoos made you bite your bottom lip. You remembered touching that chest, feeling his skin, and the muscles as it danced underneath your hand. You remembered just what it felt like—what he looked like above you with that medal hanging down dangling in front of you.

“You haven’t said a word since we were outside the house. What’re you thinking?”

You took a deep breath as you toyed with the petals of the flowers you still held. “Your mother is going to kill you when she realizes these are gone, and you are the culprit.”

Chris snorted and shrugged. “I’ll laugh in the face of danger.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He was an idiot. His mother would beat his ass red.

“You’re such a liar, you know she’ll beat you down.”

Chris nodded. “Yeah, maybe, but it would have been worth it.”

Your eyes met and remained on each other. In the firelight, they looked darker but sexy nonetheless. The man didn’t even have to work for pussy, he probably just said shit like that. Scoffing, you put the flowers to the side.

“They’re beautiful. I love them.”

“I’m glad. Do you know the meaning of tulips?”

“Do you?”

“My mom made sure I knew. Sometimes I’d sit with her and plant in the garden when I was a kid. She’d tell me about every flower she planted. She’d tell me what they meant, how to care for them. It was a whole process,” Chris explained.

“Oh yeah? What’d you learn?”

Chris reached for the decanter, opened it, and poured the brown-tinted liquid into both glasses. Once they were half-filled, he held one out to you. Your fingers grazed as you took the glass from him, and they lingered together.

“She told me that tulips were special. They were originally cultivated in the Ottoman Empire, which is now Turkey and brought to Holland. Even though everyone thinks that is where they are initially from. There once was a time when they were one of the most coveted flowers. It’s not hard to see. Mom told me that tulips usually symbolized the beginning of spring. They usually spout then and stay throughout and sometimes through summer.”

Chris paused for a moment as if he were gathering his thoughts, then continued.

“Her words, It’s like a reminder of what spring symbolizes renewal, rebirth, peace, joy, and happiness. White tulips say I’m sorry. They are a symbol used to beg for forgiveness, a way to say I was a stupid asshole, and I deserve every minute of agony you want to make me feel, I was a jackass who made a huge mistake, a jackass who just showed you how much I don’t deserve a woman like you. They mean I respect you more than I’ve ever respected any woman I’ve been with it’s fucked up but true. The cream-colored one in there means something much more.”

You gulped the liquid and hissed at the burn. He was saying all the right things.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

Staring in his eyes, you almost felt as if you were being hypnotized, or put under a spell. You knew he meant the words. Looking down at the glass, you cleared your throat.

“What do the red ones mean?”

You watched him as you took another gulp of the Whiskey. You liked the brown sugar undertones and the slightly smoky flavor that filled your mouth.

“The red ones--,” Chris began before he emptied his glass and stared into the open fire.

Instead of speaking, he reached for two thin long wooden skewers and handed you one. After you took it, he opened the containers on the wooden trey revealing jumbo marshmallows, graham crackers, Hershey's milk chocolate squares, cookies n’ mint chocolate, and recces peanut butter cups. Just like that, you knew where this was going.

“S’mores still your favorite thing in the world?”

You couldn’t hold back the smile that spread across your face. Not many people knew it, but they were. You looked at him and sucked your bottom lip into your mouth.

“Of course they are,” Chris filled in as he brought the bowl with the marshmallows to you for you to pick one. You did and plopped it onto the end of your skewer. You were excited. You hadn’t made s’mores in forever, which meant you hadn’t had one in just as long.

You shimmied closer to the fire and stuck your skewer into the flames and watched as the outside of the marshmallow began to change.

“How do you know so much about me?”

“I pay attention.”

You watched his hand holding the skewer and followed the trail along his exposed skin to his bicep. That was where your eyes and train of thought stopped.

“Why did you pay attention to me?”

“How could I not? You’re eye-catching—impossible to miss. I paid attention because you mattered to me. You still do.”

Again your eyes lingered, and suddenly, the respectable space between you felt like too much.

“I didn’t mean to piss you off,” Chris finished.

You looked into the fire and sighed. “You hurt me,” you whispered. You didn’t think it was audible, but when you saw him place his skewer down on the wooden table and move next to you sitting with his legs open, so you and the cushion you sat on were between them you knew he’d heard you loud and clear.

“Y/N,” Chris began in such a soft voice you had no other choice but to look at him. When you did, he took your skewer and put it beside his. Then he led you down to the blanket to replicate the way he sat before you.

“I never meant to hurt you. I never want to hurt you—not you.”

“You did.”

“I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am. I didn’t want to hurt you, and it tears me up that I did. I won’t do it again. I swear—I promise.”

You looked down. You hated promises. People who made them always broke them. Chris brought your face back to his.

“I mean it, Y/N. I've never been big on promises, hell I’ve never made a promise for the simple fact that I knew I’d break it and I never care enough to make an effort to keep them. I promise you right here, right now. I will never hurt you again.”

Staring into his eyes, you looked for any hint of a lie, any hint of the bullshit he might have been spewing. After nearly a minute, you saw none. Was he telling the truth, you wondered. To lighten the mood, you changed the subject.

“No matter how much you think you know about me, you don’t know this. I’ve only slept with six guys, not including you. six that’s it.”

Chris nodded. “I don’t care; really, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do. I don’t know why you do, but you do.”

“I may have been living my life doing whatever I wanted while you were doing the same, but I wanted you the whole time. If it makes sense, I never allowed any of them to get to this level,” Chris confessed.

“What level?”

“The level where a connection could be felt. I’ve felt this connection since the day we met, and today it’s stronger than it has ever been. I’ve never wanted them the way I want you.”

“My body,” you began.

“—I don’t give a shit about your body. This has never been about me getting in your panties.”

“Then what is it about Chris?

“What is it about for you?”

You hadn’t expected him to throw this back to you. Your shock was evident. You didn’t want to confess a damn thing to him.

“You have to trust me, Y/N.”

“I don’t have to trust you. I don’t have to do anything,” you blurted out. Chris nodded and looked down at the blanket.

“You want to. I can see it in your eyes. I can see it when I touch you. I can see it every time we’re close like this. Y/N, you want to trust me. You can.”

You searched his eyes. He was right. For some reason, you wanted to trust him. For some reason, a very, very small voice inside of you said you should.

“I trust you, Y/N,” Chris said on a whisper as he brought his face closer to yours. He didn’t kiss you, just hovered his face close to yours.

“That night, the next morning, this—none of this has ever been about sex for me. I could never do that to you. You deserve so much more than that.”

Long moments passed, and the silence stretched. All the two of you did was gaze into each other’s eyes. Each of you searching for something in the other, each of you trying to find the courage to take the necessary step. Each of you trying to think of the right thing to say or do. Neither of you finding anything you were searching for. Neither of you being able to be the first to leap. You lowered your head and tried to slow your racing heart.

“I forgive you.”

“You do? Why?”

You snorted and looked back up at him. “So, I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just I know you, and nothing is easy with you.”

Your smile spread across your face. “So this was easy? An hour ago, I was ready to drive off and leave your pale ass in the darkness like a nightlight,” you reminded. Chris smiled and shook his head.

“Wow, you went there.”

“I did. I said what I meant, and I meant what I said,” you teased. The smile on his face was an affectionate one. The warmness you felt was not because of the roaring fire before you. It was from something else, and he was the root of it.

“I forgive you because I’ve known you for three years, and I know you can be a dick and say some asshole things. You’ve apologized and did all this—I believe you’re sorry.”

“I am, really really sorry,” Chris added as he lifted your chin, so you were looking in his eyes again. “I mean it.”

You searched his eyes again and tried to listen to the side of you that was the minority telling you to believe him and trust him. You nodded. The moment stretched with the two of you gazing into each other’s eyes as the fire danced. You did not miss the intimacy of the moment. When Chris slowly moved into you, you allowed him to press his lips to yours. He didn’t move to deepen it, though; he just kept your lips together. The proximity of his body, coupled with the intimacy and the atmosphere, had your heart racing.

You opened your eyes and watched him. After a few seconds, Chris opened his eyes and stared into yours, and that only intensified the connection you felt between you. Chris deepened the kiss, and you quickly got lost in it before you pulled away.

“Just so we’re clear, I’ve only slept with--,” you began before Chris put his finger over your lips, stopping your words.

“I don’t need to know. it’s not important.”

“Yes, you do, and it is. I’ve only slept with seven guys, including you. I’ve dated, yes, but most of them have never gotten that deep.”

“I really wasn’t trying to insinuate that you slept around, Y/N. I know you like to party and have a good time and enjoy having men make asses out of themselves for your entertainment, but I never once thought you were sleeping around.”

You didn’t know if you believe him, but you nodded.

“I’m not a big of a man whore as you guys like to think,” Chris began. You gave him a “boy don’t even start” look to which he snorted.

“I’m being serious. Yes, there have been a few, but I’m not in three digits.”

You reared back, giving him a disgusted look.

“Three digits Chris!” He laughed, slapping his hand across his chest. You were not in the mood.

“Don’t play with me, Chris!”

“Not three digits, I promise. Seventeen.”

It was a higher number than yours, but it wasn’t as high as you’d expected. You thought he had no self-control, and everything with legs and brunette hair had gotten it.

“Lower than you thought, huh.” You snorted and shook your head.

“See, I’m not as bad as you, Scott, and the other like to make me out to be.”

“Fine, Chris, you’re not a big of a man-whore as I thought. Happy?”

He smiled and shrugged. “I’m appeased—minimally.”

You laughed again, throwing your head back. When you brought it back, he was watching you.

“I’d ask for a do-over if I had known this was possible.”

He said it so low you almost missed it.

“You mean that much to me, Y/N.”

You pulled his head to yours and softly kissed him, focusing on everything the kiss made you feel—tenderness, warmth, fireworks. The man could kiss. Chris pulled away from you before it got out of hand.

“Behave, I brought you here for this, not my body,” he teased before he took up the sticks.

You sat there, holding your marshmallow into the fire in comfortable silence. Every now and then, Chris would nudge your shoulder with his only to have you nudge him right back, which had the two of you looking at each other to kiss some more before going back to your marshmallows.

After a few minutes, you’d burned ten marshmallows from neither of you being able to focus on the task at hand. When you both finally had one marshmallow roasted to perfection, you each made your s’more. Chris used the cookies n’ mint squares while you used the peanut butter and milk chocolate ones. When you bit into your s’more, you moaned when you found caramel in the mix too. For the next fifteen minutes or so, the two of you roasted marshmallows and made smores to your heart’s content. It was perfect.

When the graham crackers were gone, things got messy with you roasting marshmallows to put chocolate chunks on top of the marshmallow to eat. It didn’t take long for Chris to smear marshmallow on your exposed shoulder, and it took him even less time to lick it off. That began the cycle of him putting melted marshmallow on your skin to lick and suck off while you dripped melting chocolate on him to return the favor.

When the sweets and wine were finished, you laid cuddled on the blanket, watching the stars listening to the crack of the fire and the crash of the waves.

“I want to stay here forever,” Chris whispered.

“Forever?”

He looked down at you as you met his eyes. You didn’t recognize the look on his face.

“Forever,” he repeated.

“Forever is a long time.”

He didn’t look phased, or even like he would change his mind.

“You promise?”

It took some time, but you nodded your response. Chris rolled onto you and kissed you in the way that made you forget everything. Your hands found the hem of his shirt and raised it until you’d pulled it off of him. Your fingers danced across the muscles in his back until they’d reached his pants. Chris continued to kiss you as if he had a point to make, a point that you needed to understand. The urgency in his kiss increased, and that urgency sparked your own hidden one. Your desire unfurled in your belly and raced through you.

Bringing your hands around to the buckle of his pants, you quickly undid them and pulled them lower on his hips. Chris didn’t seem as if he were in any hurry, though, so he remained hovered over you while kissing you dumb. Your eyes met, and every wall you’d built suddenly collapsed from just the look in his eyes.

“I’m scared of you,” Chris whispered.

He had to be kidding, you thought. He was scared of you? You had no idea what to say to that. Thankfully he didn’t seem as if he wanted you to respond.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N.” Chris pressed his forehead to yours and further nudged the war within you.

You could feel his need pressing onto your core, and that was igniting a need within you that you weren’t sure you could contain. The slight shake you felt from his body screamed of how vulnerable he was at this moment. Your body wanted him, and for the first time, you faced the fact that your heart wanted the same thing.

“Then don’t.”

He kissed you once, twice, and third before backed away from you sitting on his haunches. You sat up and kissed him.

“I always fuck up. I don’t want to fuck this up.”

You touched his cheek and caressed it.

“I don’t want to lose—this,” Chris finished.

You kissed him again only this time you let your feelings shine through. You allowed your fear, your desire, your attraction, your intrigue and something you worried was a lot more than affection. Chris moaned and held you closer to his body and kissed you back with just as much hunger and need as you kissed him. You lifted your shirt off and met his eyes again. Chris pulled his pants down, then stood to take them off. The reprieve gave you time to undo your shorts. Chris met you halfway and finished the rest. As he pulled them off of your legs, he kissed your shin before he pressed his body back to yours to claim your lips once more.

Rolling on top of him, you straddled his body. Kissing him was easy, thanks to his sitting position. His hands spread across your back, making you feel small and delicate. When his lips dipped to your neck to nip and suck the skin there, you threw your head back. The action gave him new freedom to clap his lips around your nipple. As you hugged his head to your chest, you rocked against him, which sent Chris’s hands down to cup your thonged ass.

After licking and teasing one nipple, he moved to the next to nibble and bite, giving you the best of both worlds—his tenderness and his aggressiveness. You dug your hands into his hair and pulled it, bringing his eyes to yours. He looked open and completely transparent.

“Do you want me, Chris?”

“All I want is you, Y/N.” He crashed his lips to yours and flipped you onto your back while he spread your arms out on the blanket while entwining his fingers with yours. You believed him, and you tried not to be scared of it.

Chris moved his lips across your skin and down your body until he’d pulled off your underwear and buried his face between your legs with them draped over his shoulders. You loudly gasped out, angling your head back to gaze at the star-filled sky. The way he rolled his tongue and sucked your skin had you barreling toward your release. With the sound of the waves crashing with the warmth of the fire and the beauty of the stars over you, it was easy to press this to memory.

In a matter of a few short minutes, you’d trapped Chris's head between your thighs as you came with him, not letting up, not even a little. You didn’t even realize it, but you’d screamed out before you could stop yourself.

“Fuuuuck, Chris!”

As if that was what he wanted to hear, he came up to you. When you attempted to kiss him, he jerked back, smirking. Every attempt you made, he slipped away with a smile that spoke of playfulness. On the fifth attempt, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him there so your lips could claim his. Both of you moaned and battled for control. Yours was a fake battle. You didn't mind not being in control right now.

You rolled onto him and sat on his throbbing hardness as he groaned from the contact. His lips were glued to you once again as if he needed them for survival. Neither of you seemed in a hurry to move forward, you both just kissed and teased each other with licks, nibbles, caresses, and cuddles until you both nearly lost your minds. When the rocking of your hips became too much, Chris held your hips steadying you.

“I don’t have a condom,” he whispered.

Usually, those words would have been like a douse of ice-cold water and an automatic repellant. In this situation with him tonight, somehow, they weren’t.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it putting one in my pocket. Tonight wasn’t supposed to get here. I’m--,” Chris rambled before you kissed him again.

He did all of this on the beach and hadn’t expected sex. He did this from his heart for you. It was a sweet admission. Pressing your forehead to his, you tried to catch your breath. “It’s—okay.”

Chris reared back to look into your eyes. He didn’t look confused; he looked cautious. “It’s okay?”

That was when your nerves picked up. Was it?

“Is it?”

Chris opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You began to worry that you’d said the wrong thing, and now he was freaked out. Why weren’t you freaked out? You literally just gave him permission to go raw. Did you? You couldn’t believe those words came out of your mouth when you’d been religious every single time.

“It’s—okay with me,” Chris slowly said. He sounded shocked at the words he said.

“Is it? Are you sure?”

He pulled you closer as if you’d somehow drifted too far from him. “Me? Are you sure?”

Staring into his ocean-like eyes, you nodded. You were sure.

The two of you remained still for a few moments as if allowing the intent to marinate.

“I’ve never--,” Chris began.

“Me neither,” you quickly followed.

His smile was so sweet you couldn’t help but smile with him.

“I trust you,” Chris finished.

You felt as if you should have said the words back, but still, something held you back from actually voicing what your head was clearly telling you that you felt. Instead of speaking, you nodded. He kissed you again and softly caressed your back. Everywhere he touched felt as if he left a trail of fire in his wake. The man was as intoxicating as the flames behind you. Getting lost in his kisses once again, you began rocking against him but only managed a few rolls before your arousal peaked.

Raising onto your knees, you angled yourself over his need. His eyes bored into you, and it looked as if he were holding his breath. Slowly you slid down his length. Every inch had you shaking as he sank his fingertips into your skin.

“Shit,” You whispered just before he filled you completely.

For a few seconds, neither of you moved, you just allowed the sensations to wash over you and cement what you both just did. Chris peppered kisses across your collar as he held you close to him. It was Chris who moved your body against him, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Both of you groaned loudly, and you were the one to move next. Slowly you rocked against him, gradually picking up your speed. Chris rolled his head back as he leaned to watch you move. He felt good, too good.

You raised onto your knees and began bouncing on him.

“Jesus Chris!” He held your hips and took over, slamming you down onto his cock.

With every connection, you gasped louder and louder. Soon it was Chris controlling your movements, using your body to bring you both to completion. You knew you weren’t going to last long. When you gripped his shoulders, you stood on your tiptoes and took control back. That was when Chris’s moans became louder, and the intensity in his eyes picked up.

“Yes, yes, yes! Oh god baby, I’m gonna come,” Chris warned.

“Me too,” you whined. Chris planted his hands on the blanket and rose his hips up to meet you as you came down.

“Oh, fuck!”

You both only lasted four more strokes before you were coming together. Chris pulled you down with him back to the blanket to wrap you in his massive arms. Both of you rode the wave of your shared release, not caring if anyone walked onto the beach to catch you. The moment was too perfect to think about reality.

After a full ten minutes, Chris was the one to roll onto you to smile down at you.

“Are you okay?”

You nodded before he kissed you. “Are you?”

Chris shook his head. “I want you.”

You snorted and shook your head. “Who knew you were so insatiable, Evans.”

You could feel him hardening again inside you.

“When it comes to you—damn right, I am.”

Chris rocked into you, reawakening your desire for him. The man was going to be the death of you. Death by dick, it was a thing, it had to be.

For the next few hours, the two of you did what two naked bodies did best. Position after position, the man kept going and going and going. You weren’t complaining; you were surprised. He was pushing forty and was able to serve up quality dick back to back to back. In your coital insanity bubble, the two of you thought it was a good idea to dip into the ocean, and that turned into ocean sex. You were checking off so many firsts with him in one night you didn’t know if there would be much else to do for the rest of this quarantine.

The only reason you stopped when you saw the first hints of navy and grey in the sky was because the fire had died, and the air was nippy. You watched Chris gather the items in his full naked glory. The darkness still hid him from you for the most part, but the view was still the best view. You were delirious, so delirious that after he hid everything in the tall grasses to come back for later, he scooped you into his arms and carried you back to the guest house with the darkness as your cover.

Once inside, the two of you took a shower together that was filled with lavender-scented bubbles, giggles, kisses, and cuddles. That was when Chris co-washed your hair for you taking his time to do it properly. By the time the two of you climbed into the bed, the sky was turning a beautiful shade of pink.

You’d think it was sleep both of you did, but sleep was the farthest thing from either of your minds.

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

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

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

Tag List:

@chaneajoyyy @sonjashuterbugjohnson @kikimiyazaki @bellaamor88 @toniilaney @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety @ajspencer1892 @ashanti-notthesinger @90sinspiredgirl @titty-teetee @evemej @areubeingserved @theskullgoddess @caramara3 @champagnesugamama @minton131 @pananegra @scoop93535 @try-n-pronounce-it @momobaby227 @alyxkbrl @dumbchick @behindthesehazeleyes27 @blackmissfrizzle @chris-butt @nervousninjatheorist @dangerouslovefanfic @give-me-a-million-dollars-pls @thinkxlovexloud @swinchestersgirl @angrybirdcr @d1ff3r3nt-b34uty-official @twinx007 @a-dizzle777 @ab-baybay @patzammit @kreolemami@aysha1447@cutewylie @disaster-rose @wondersofdreaming @lo-cheu @livinglifeformemyselfandi @magdelen69 @snowpiercer21 @renfrewscorner @thevelvetseries @mery-be @hakunalive4eva @anandalambert @youurkryptonite @mizcaptainphoenix @bobbdylann @emilykjh @littlepreciousangel @ssaarroonn @thummbelina @sweetlittlegingy @art-estrange @torntaltos @rynabarnesrogers @rororo06 @anotherblackfangirl @bernie-k @theonewithherheadintheclouds @hista-girl @coldmuffinbanditshoe @jennmurawski13 @deathstroke-terminated-deez-guts @mrsbarnes- rogers @maxcullen @shadyskit @someone-really-bored @thejemersoninferno @itsallyscorner @cristinagronk16 @shakemeupthanks-blog @acciolove724 @straightforwardly @zsuzstyina @acevansss @evansgirl7@almosttherebutnot @periodtcevans @deadlymistress24 @sunkissedebony97 @turn-thy-paige @amelatonin @nerdybitchpudding @amennariee @est1887 @likesfairytales @maverickabull @productofchina @jd-now-jq @winchwm @thotti3par7on @vintageembrace @jesseswartzwelder @pivictorious @anat2507 @euh-say-what-now @raveviolet @rdjparker @actorinfluence @sadishdelray @041802 @ljstraightnochaser @priya212 @winterboobear11 @awaywithtime @evermcfearless @tashawar @dwights-new-plague @renfrewscorner @euphoric05 @baby-iyania @marvelatthis30 @kailyndavillier @thelilbutifulthings @problackasfwilson @brownskinafro @miss-jackson500 @thejeneralvicinity @siempremamita @theladybiers @ibe-erynn @literaturefeen @richonne4life @ani808 @scifi-fantasist @mizzzpink @creolemami @disconectedswift @i-lie-here-charmed @bamakakechick @captainchrisstan @dragonballluver @martinafigoli @spxcecxramxl @letsdothemonstermash @queenwinchester27 @chrisevansfanfic @doublesidedscoobysnacks @sophiealiice @mirmirmur @redhairedfeistynerd @nico-diangelo-grey @imaslutforcaptainamerica @ibe-erynn @amazonian-strap-queen @wintermoons @tenaciousperfectionunknown @shining---h somethin @cookinggurl43 @shar74nett @live-laugh-love-ki @deadpixie22 @jasmindaughteroftheworld @letsdothemonstermash @almosttherebutnot @munteanhore @blackgurlkillinit @madixii @jillanaholland @melanicia @chuckbass-love @smediumsmeatbae @jovanaprime @onetwo3000 @tashawar @rainbowkisses31 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @partypoison-00 @guardian-tn @timotheessoleil @rynabarnesrogers-reading @kemkem101 @jd-now-jq @blackmissfrizzle @sohalia01 @badkittybang @queenoftheworldisdead @reveviolet @madixii @southerngracela @myakai13 @likesfairytales @cessamjrmr @fanfictionaffair @sullyosully @naturalthrone22 @kittykatlow @beccacupcakesxo @littlepreciousangel@queenshikongo3 @simply-heaven @chezdricks @euh-say-what-now @mangos4u @toni9 @offrostandstarlight @jillanaholland @dragonballluver @ukmkhan @cltex84 @petty-bitch-akira @almosttherebutnot @imaslutforcaptainamerica @tstark-94 @littleheavensangel2 @peggyslegion @xoxloaveasre @lickmymelaninn

***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.***

#quarantine: a love story fic #Q16 #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic

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likesomekindofcheese · 4 years

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside! (Ben Hardy x fem! Reader Oneshot)

Summary: You are excited to be with your new boyfriend, Ben, for Christmas in a cabin. But a sudden snowstorm means it’s just you two alone without your families. You use the time to get to know each other a little bit better...

Warnings: brief smut-ish scene (nothing super graphic but right on the line), language, mentions of sex, swearing, mentions of families, reader being insecure, Christmas, but otherwise full of fluff

Word Count: 3K

Hello there @asphalt-cocktail. It’s I! Your puppy Secret Santa!!! I hope you enjoy it! This is for @thosequeenboys and @warriorteam1924‘s Get Down, Give Joy Event. Thank you guys for organizing something so fun that brought creativity and light in this especially dark year!

“Y/N! Your bag’s ready?! Blimey-snow’s pouring down!”

Looking down at the Dungeon’s Master Guide peeking out of your bag, you stuffed it before he walked out of the cabin and could see. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. No, not Ben. Not your new boyfriend. Your new, perfect boyfriend. You thought you could sneak a peek when he was gone to plan a campaign with some friends. But he couldn’t no. No.

Looking out, the snow falling lightly down onto your hat, you shrugged, pretending to admire it while still holding your bags.

“It’s just so pretty…and…uh, I was thinking, we could make some hot chocolate! It’s in the big blue carrier…” you improvised, pointing to the blue bag still in the car.

He gave you a biting smile and went to retrieve it. Taking in a deep breath, you stepped inside, your hands getting used to the warmth again.

Besides, you were supposed to be focused on just Ben and your family. That was what the cabin was for. A cabin that had everything: a location in the snow-inclined woods, two floors, a fireplace, and a few basics.

But as Ben opened the blue bag and excitedly got the canister, you realized at least one basic had already gone dry.

“What do you mean we’re out of hot chocolate?” Ben questioned.

You let out a little laugh at the slight pout as he tapped the container and saw two measly tablespoons of chocolate powder. You went to him and wrapped your arms around.

“We’ll get more at the store,” you promised.

He sighed in deep, accepting the feeling of your arms. Limbs stiff from travel, the stretch felt divine.

“Besides, we need to go to that grocery. I don’t know what people will bring but we need all of the basics for the family…when they get here…”

You saw lots of your decorations from home were pre-moved there into big, blue bins. Everything was set. What was missing was the people. The one element that could make or break a holiday.

“Hmm…we should get started. It’s a sad sight to come into a place that’s not decorated…” Ben suggested.

The twinkly ornaments jingled as you unwrapped them from their plastic Looking at the great green fir in the main room in the corner from the fireplace, you wrapped the tin on a bauble around a branch.

The box seemed to have every ornament in the world. It was full of tinsel that was even longer than Ben was tall. You wrapped it around together like a woman dressing in a crinoline skirt. In an hour, golden and red baubles blossomed like fruit on the greenery. Placing them on, they felt so fragile that it moved you with the tenderness Ben’s hands had when he held them. It made you chew on the inside of your lip a bit to watch him fondle them and wrap them on gently. Reminding you of every time he used them otherwise…

Which was why you could not mess up your first Christmas as a couple.

“Do you know where on Earth the topper is?” he asked.

Looking around, you noticed a little star that seemed to be the topper. It had a bottom that looked like it could latch securely to the top bit of a tree. But there was a big black button right near it.

“Huh.”

Creeping down to a plug, you put it in and pressed the button in curiosity.

At once, the star began to radiate disco lights and twirled around in a circle in a mechanical ‘whhhrrrrr” as it blasted a funky “We wish you a merry Christmas.”

Ben jumped in surprise and cursed.

“Oh my gosh…all these fancy decorations and…and this…it’s just so corny, oh my gosh!” you guffawed, wiping away a tear from laughing.

Ben found himself laughing a little too, taking it in his own hands to watch it.

“Phew okay…but let’s get it on…” he said, orderly as ever.

“Can I put it on top of the tree this time! Please!” you begged, along with fake puppy eyes.

“Alright, give it a go…” he offered.

As you stepped on a chair to reach it, you waved your arm up to get it, but you couldn’t quite reach it. Even with your arms stretched high as it could go. It was still a good deal taller than you.

“Argh!”

“You’re the one who wanted to put it on the tree!” he teased, his cheeks turning pink from the sight of you.

“Could you help me!” you asked with a slight pout.

“Of course!”

He wrapped his large arms around your waist and hoisted you up. He grunted a little bit and you felt him walk back and forth to try to keep his footing. When he was secure you kept trying to reach the topper up, but somehow you kept missing it and giggling when you did.

“Just! Put! It! On!” Ben huffed.

Finally, you reached the top and got it on. Using an extension, it was plugged in and the gaudy little top could do its magical swirl again.

Ben placed an arm around your shoulder as you watched the tree in completion.

“It’s…it’s beautiful…” he admitted.

At once your phone rang in your pocket. You ran over to pick it up and recognized the voices of your family.

They explained it plainly, but it was still sad.

“Wha…what is it? “ Ben asked, his eyes softening at the worry on your face.

“Ben…there’s going to be a huge blizzard…they already got it and…they’re stuck home. They can’t join us out of safety.”

You both sighed and he gave you a hug.

“There…it’s alright, we can make it work. The two of us…” Ben assured, patting your back. Your chest hurt with disappointment, but his hugs were always so nice and soft.

“We’ll have to wait until new years to see them…and I was so excited…”

“We can make it work. I mean-it’s a cabin in the snow, Y/N. Could be worse…”

Both of you rushed to the store. People were already there trying to get what they could before the storm could get there. Ben insisted going to the liquor store to get what drinks were available. Though among some favorite ales and beers of his, he got two bottles of champagne.

“Huh…why the bubbly?” you asked, leaning forward in your cart to see the silver wrapper around the green bottles.

Ben was very much a lad’s lad. Into rugby, soccer, sports, and pubs. Enjoying nights with the boys. It never struck you he liked drinking something a bit…feminine.

“It’s a tradition. My family drinks champagne on Christmas morning. And I’d…I’d like to drink with you on Christmas morning with you, Y/N,” he offered. You noticed his green eyes darted to the floor in a fit of bashfulness.

“I’d love that!” you assured.

“I mean…since it’s Christmas on our own…might as well make the most of it…” he reasoned with a shrug.

Once you both got home, you promptly began stuffing the groceries into the fridge. Nothing fancy. Just what you could grab and what ingredients you could see to make any special dishes. It was a holiday after all.

Let him know I can cook, I’m a good girlfriend. I’m a cool girlfriend. And a cool girlfriend cooks for her man…

Ben then grabbed you and began to kiss you passionately. Your hands ran up to his hair. His own went down to your butt.

“Jonesy!”

“We’re alone without the folks…” he teased. “We can do whatever you want…and I couldn’t leave you in that sweater all day…”

“Wait a minute….” You suggested, glancing over.

He stopped. His breathing desperate as his nostrils huffed.

“We have the entire place to ourselves…let’s use every inch of it…”

Walking over to the fireplace, you flipped open the switch. There was the sound of a fwoooom and a crackling noise. Looking over the fireplace was lit up in an orange blossom over the “wood.”

Ben grabbed a few blankets for the cold and tossed them to the ground. Soon, you both were making out passionately. Feeling the deep heat on one side, he stared at you to ask. You gave a clear nod and voiced out a breathy, “yes.”

His hands got inside your sweater and pulled it off of you in a heartbeat. You had changed into your prettiest, fanciest bra and underwear in case this would happen. And Ben approved. But they didn’t stay on you for long. He then laid you down, before removing his own clothes. You watched the orange glow of his skin. How beautiful and intimate to see his body reflected in this way and how the firelight reflected off of your own as well before desperately peeling off the last of what you wore and throwing in over the couch.

You let your anxieties soothe as you focused on the pure bliss of union and togetherness with only the fire to witness it

Little did you know that Christmas on your own meant spending time together. You were used to having Ben sleep by you. You were used to him hugging on your from behind as you stirred up some soup for lunch. Yet you both had plenty of time alone. Here in a cabin as snow blanketed to your thighs, there was precious few alone times you could get.

But what you were slow to realize that this was a bit more complicated when it came to presents. And his wasn’t ready yet.

“Ey-Y/N, where is…“

You let out half a scream and half a yelp of “no!” Ben’s golden head ducked back to behind the door as he let out a curse. You charged for the door.

“Hey, no peeking!” you insisted, before shutting the door.

“Oh! Sorry! My-my phone. Y/N! I just need it for a sec!” he begged.

“You honestly forgot it!” you replied in disbelief. You grabbed a blanket from the bed and draped it over the bed.

“Yeah it’s…it’s the band…gotta check the band! Joe’s been chatting all morning!” he insisted.

Looking over you saw that his phone was on the desk next to your messy bed with pajamas and shower towels strewn all over it. Walking over a few shoes on the carpet, you reached over and got it and handed it back.

“Just knock next time, okay sweetheart?” you ask.

“If it means you call me sweetheart again, I just might!” Ben added with another wink that made your face heat up.

Turning around with a sigh, you removed the clumsily tossed blanket. There was a long line of yarn you had been working on for a while. Knitting and knitting, albeit with joy, every change you got. Even when your fingers became sore and a little calloused. You prayed you could get it done in time. Turning the television on, you flipped to the opening of White Christmas and clicked away on your needles in a fury. It was good to have noise and maybe minor visuals. As the Haynes sisters twirled their mammoth fans in their blue dresses, you peeked at the red pile on your lap. You hoped it was a good enough present for your Adonis of a boyfriend.

Would he like it? Maybe he would like a bottle of an alcoholic drink. A watch. Something sophisticated and masculine.

But now it was too late. With a little huff you clicked away. Taking out your pink measuring tape you saw it was now the right length. Now it was time to darn off and add another prayer on top of that.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christmas morning you wake up because of the thin white line of daylight creeping across your room in a thin line. Everything else is darkness. Ben and you had cuddled all night and you woke up tangled up in his arms. Clothes were half strewn from the more intimate activities you had the other night. Smiling at the memory, you watch him slowly until he shows signs of waking. Rather than spend morning in an excited, sleep deprived haze, both of you grin and wake up with the feeling of being well-rested, yet still slow and relaxed.

You brush his hair out of his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, lovie….” He yawns.

“Merry Christmas to you too Ben…” you coo back, enjoying how warm he always feels.

Both of you stay in bed under blankets for a bit. When you shift to look out the window, you see fluffy snow gently falling down.

“I can’t wait….to…”

“To what….” You ask. Open gifts?

“I…I think we could both drink some champagne…”

“Oh my gosh- you found it! On Vinyl?” you ask, holding wide LP in your arms.

In the background, your music shuffle changed to a tinkling rendition of The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

“I know I…I searched everywhere, but I found it!” Ben boasted. He swirled his champagne in his tiny glass, taking careful sips.

“But Y/N, you’ve opened my present…and there’s only one left …” he said, eyeing the red box with a plump, shiny ribbon on top.

“Ben, here it’s for you…” Nervously gulping down your champagne in one go, you force your eyes to watch.

He looks at the package with a lightness in the corner of his smile. He is still in his light blue robe. With his tousled hair and puffy lips, he could never seem so soft and perfect to you. It might be the last image before he leaves you for some Victoria’s Secret model, you muse.

You feel yourself wince as he starts to rip open the paper. He then opens the box, eyes amazed at the red pile of yarn before him.

“Oh-Y/N! This is…this is amazing!”

The pulse inside you raced and you breathed a little deeper.

“Oh- It’s warm! Where’d you get it, Y/N…I may have to shop there…” he said, as he tried it around his own neck. The smile on his face was genuine.

“I…I made it, Ben…” you voiced out.

“What? How? You make things?!”

“I knit, Ben…” you confessed.

“Oh! You knit!”

“Yes…yes I do…”

There was a pause. He wove his large fingers across the stitches.

“Y/N, that’s amazing!” he said happily.

“Wha-really!” you replied, blinking.

“Yeah!”

He took your hands in his and hugged you tight.

“You don’t think…you don’t think I’m too…too nerdy…old-school, you mean?” you ask, still blinking in your surprise.

“No! Not at all my darling!” he said, giving you a big smooch.

When you video called your parents and his to wish a Merry Christmas, he forgot to take off the scarf. He wore that scarf on your wintry, Christmas walk. Even when you settled down to eat dinner it still lingered around his neck, draping down. It grazed candy wrappers as you both had your fill of sweets, and even when you watched every special on television together.

The credits of Elf rolled by as the clock struck ten at night. Ben looked down at you as you laid your head on his chest.

“So, Y/N…is there anything you’d like to do…it’s Christmas night…and then we got that whole week before new years and the family coming over…that’s a whole week. And they’ll be ‘ere in what, four days?!”

Biting a part of your lip, you stared at the fireplace and began mumbling.

“Yes…I’d really like to…oh gah, I don’t know…”

“What?”

“Ben, can I be honest with you. Really honest? You already know about the knitting…”

“What is it?” he asked, stroking the top of your head.

“Let me show you…”

Reluctantly getting up, you ran upstairs and then returned with your Dungeon Guide.

“Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons…it’s my…my other hobby…” you confessed.

“I haven’t!?” Ben replied.

“What do you think? Of me now?

“Nothin’ different.” He said with a shrug. He reached over to get a snowman sugar cookie on the platter before you and bit off the head.

“You don’t think I’m…I’m too…” you babbled, head whipping around as you tried to search for the word

“I’m not too much of a nerd for you?”

“Y/N, I play video games. Passionately. That’s perfectly nerdy! And why should that bother me!”

“Well we…we’ve been dating for three months and…I really wanted to impress you. Badly,” you shrugged.

“Well…I have to tell you… yu impressed me the minute I saw you.”

Grinning, you opened the book to try to explain as much as you could. To your surprise he knew a few basic things. It made making his character easier.

“We will need a few other people, but we can try it with just ourselves…” you offered. Maybe one of your own campaign friends would volunteer.

He leaned toward you with a playful smile.

“Internet isn’t bad here. I know of some nerdy blokes in need of something to do tomorrow night…”

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The next day, without shame you brought out your projects and knitted on them as Ben enjoyed his games. But every hour you wrote notes for tonight and developed Ben’s characters and helped them build their own. Anticipation fluttering in your chest for the next few hours to arrive as you listed names, races, and abilities.

It was a lovely night. You saw the snow as it drifted down by the light. It still looked puffy and like it fell out of the great dark expanse on the sky to be illuminated and then pile on the ground.

Grinning, you cupped the two cups of fresh hot chocolate and watched it for a minute. Just to savor the moment. Listening right outside the door, you bit your togue to hold back your laughter before you joined the boys again and begin the session.

Now you were truly yourself with Ben. And that was the greatest gift of all.

Taking in a deep breath, you read from the guide over the faces on the laptop screen. Seeing them light up as well as they awoke in their area and began their fantasy journey decided by markers and dice.

Now you didn’t have to hide yourself from them either. And the cute blonde next to you seemed especially happy.

“You come across a monster resembling a dog….” you narrated.

“Can I roll to pet it?” a voice on the laptop screen asked.

“Joe, No!”

Taglist: @queenlover05 @ewannmcgregor @rhapsodyrecs @gwiilymslee @cherry--coke @queenismyprimejive @itsametaphorgwil @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @isitstraightvodka @asphalt-cocktail @coincidence-ithinknots-blog @rogermeddow @chriisxvans

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rouiyan · 4 years

Text

𝘕𝘐𝘎𝘏𝘛𝘚 𝘓𝘐𝘒𝘌 𝘛𝘏𝘌𝘚𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘥𝘩 ]

⧏ part of the before i met you collective ⧐

synopsis: you hate donghyuck’s stupid, stupid temper and also his stupid, stupidly sincere apologies. and just when you think you can seamlessly quote every word to come from his jabbering mouth, he does the unthinkable.

✧ idol!lee donghyuck x (fem.) college student!reader ✧ established relationship au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, and then some Fluff ✧ word count : 3.4k ✧ disclaimers : minor swearing, like a three-worded phrase referring to sex

✧ author’s note — i was really invested in this at first and wrote the first three thousand words in one day but i lost motivation and finally finished it a week after haha.

“baby, i think we should talk about something.”

donghyuck’s eyes peered quizzically down at yours, a slim anxiety shadowing his irises. “it’s nothing to worry about but…” he huffed a silent breath, a small smile easing across his features before gesturing for you to continue. his hair is mussed and his glasses are perched upon the bridge of his nose, a sight that you will always welcome with open arms. “well, after you come back from your tour, it’s gonna be our-“

“-second anniversary, i know, princess.” his face now donned a smirk akin to that of an angel’s. “yeah,” you breathed, taken aback a bit by your boyfriend’s straightforwardness, “it's just… i’m a bit tight on money right now so i was thinking we could do, like, thoughtful gifts? instead of something more expensive.” donghyuck’s eyes dimmed the slightest at the reason behind your suggestion, “if you’re ever tight on money, i could always lend you some, you know?”

shuffling around the bed and positioning yourself so that you were on eye level with the boy, a chuckle seeped within your sigh, “that's ridiculous, hyuck. why would i borrow money from you to buy you a gift? then you’d just be buying yourself a gift.” laughing dryly along with him you settled down to bring the conversation back to the point, “i was thinking that when you come back, i could cook you up a big dinner of all your favorites. it’s been awhile since i last cooked for you. and i guess that could be my gift.”

“of course, baby, i’d love that,” his eyes bore into yours with so much love that it felt almost undeserving to be the one receiving it. he's always been one to give and forget to receive. shaking the thought that donghyuck’s love could ever be burdensome, you held his hands in yours, relief written in your expression. “and i’ll,” he continued with a playful lilt to his voice, “just have to find something that’s equally as heartfelt as a home- cooked meal.”

it’s nights like these that set your heart to peace, when he lets you be the big spoon for once and when his soft snores reverberate throughout your body, making you think of him and only him. your hand cards through his locks rhythmically and you wish for nothing to ever change the way he looks at you or the way your heart pulls for him.

your heartbeat is erratic, thumping wildly in your ears, as donghyuck’s yells resound through the phone. he’s not mad at you, per se, be he’s definitely mad at you. tears prickle at the edge of your eyes as you think, for the fifth time in the past hour, just how unfair he was being.

“y/n, look, i’m not asking much of you. just don’t bother me while i’m working.” you huff breaths because frankly, you find his attitude increasingly hard to deal with. he’s been on tour with nct 127 for almost three weeks now, and he’s decided, for whatever reason, that now was the perfect time to blow out his stresses upon you. it’s getting harder to suppress the oncoming hyperventilation so while he rambles about how inconvenient and how inconsiderate you’re proving to be, you hang up.

sitting down, you almost can feel your heart shrivel up like a dried fruit and you long to sink further into the sheets. the vibrations of your phone, lighting up again and again with his contact name, hyuck <3, make you feel even worse than it should. you pick up the call after his seventh try and without even letting him realize, you begin your pent up rant.

“lee donghyuck, for the love of god, can you put aside your inflated ego for just one second and realize how much of a dick you’re being? i checked the fucking time before i called you, you’re not working, you’re at your hotel, it’s eleven at night over there. i’m fed up with you taking out all your shit on me. i’m your girlfriend, not your punching bag, jesus christ.”

you stop to catch your breath when you realize the tears have unleashed themselves and are now running freely along the crevices of your face. you feel a sob bubbling up your throat and you willingly let it out, your phone dropping within the abyss of the bed. it’s sad, the way your body ricochets with ripples of wilting emotion, echoing the feelings that have waited too long and have expanded twofold in even the tiniest moments of weakness. clutching your chest, you crawl to where your phone landed, motions lacking energy and will.

before you can reach your phone, a soft, “y/n,” fills the empty void of the room. it’s hard to hear but the second it fills your ears, your heart constricts in a way it never has before whenever donghyuck calls your name. your eyes are blurry and your head is suddenly so heavy, you doubt you’ll ever be able to lift it again. it takes you three tries before you successfully thumb the button to hang up.

it’s nights like these that set your heart on fire; the type of fire that burns and kills. the empty room, the empty apartment, engulfs your body as if it were a mere speck of dust, invisible to the naked eye. you feel tiny in ways that are so not cute and it’s that very thought that pierces your mind to the edge of exhaustion, your emotional escapade coming to an end.

with everything in consideration, donghyuck thinks he’s prepared, or as prepared as he could be, standing outside your apartment, waiting for you to open up. his heart is loud in his chest, almost begging for his attention, but he ignores the sensation and takes a deep breath.

among all his hopes and dreams, he wishes the most to see you again. it’s not like he didn’t think he deserved it but the silent treatment had really taken a toll on him. and with the constant pang in his chest alerting him of his failures, he’s reminded that you’re feeling the same, if not double at the cost of his actions. so if you decide not to open up, despite him knowing deep down that you will, he understands.

donghyuck’s feet tap nervously on the ground, itching for him to do something, anything. to knock until his knuckles bleed or ram into the door with full force, he’s sure that would relieve the urges. his body aches to be in the same room as yours, the weeks apart tearing him inside out. he unlocks his phone, to pass the seconds or just to look at the last text he’d sent you three hours ago, still read and unreplied. i just landed. i’ll be at your place by 7.

he sighs, a deep and earthy tone to his voice, covered in the frustration and stresses that have been tensing his shoulders for the past two weeks, waiting for this day to come. he pockets his phone and rings the buzzer one more time before his hand drops limply down his side, now drumming a rapid beat upon his jeans.

as the door before him swings open, he feels anything but ready. instead, he feels shy and embarrassed to show up at your door front. the many words he’d rehearsed over and over again on his flight back had escaped his memory altogether. you’re donned in a large tee that he recognizes as his, so large on you that he can’t see what shorts you’re wearing underneath or if you’re even wearing shorts. your hair is messy and unkempt, framing your face in a way that only he would think is cute. donghyuck suddenly feels overdressed in his jeans and an environmental awareness graphic tee that you had gifted him a while back, a black blazer carefully thrown over but then again, he only came here looking like this because it’s your second anniversary. he bites down on his lips as he realizes that instead, you may be feeling underdressed.

the eye contact he holds is broken as you step aside to let him in and he notes the way your arms are folded over your middle indicating one of two things. either you really do feel underdressed or it’s a sign that you don’t want him touching you. he decides to play it safe and steps through the threshold of your apartment, walking right past you. he does, though, catch the brief look of expectancy followed by disappointment that creases your brows and he takes a subconscious step back as he tries to decide if he should go for the usual hug and kiss anyways. he immediately backtracks when he sees that the timing has already passed for a greeting, inwardly wincing at his awkwardness.

slipping his shoes off as you lock the door, donghyuck enters the living room beside you, eyes scanning the room that’s lit by only a singular standing lamp and the pinky orange hues of the sunset falling through your sheer curtains. he can smell food in the air, something on the stove or in the oven, and he takes a swerve to the kitchen, the table set aside brimming with an abundance side dishes and all his favorite meats, grilled to perfection. he also sees even more of the same food on the counter, packaged in stacks of tupperware, with the labels ‘127’ and ‘dream’ written on pastel post-its. of course, he thinks, even when your mad, you’re still as considerate as humanly possible.

he’s shifting on his weight, unsure of what to say or do to show you that he feels entirely undeserving of your kindness despite being undoubtedly upset at him. donghyuck wants to facepalm himself because you beat him to it.

“have you eaten yet?” your voice is light but laced with a solemness he wishes he could wash away. he watches as you clench and unclench the material of his shirt, an emotionally grounding mechanism of yours he’s noticed every time you're on the verge of breaking down. he clears his voice before answering, “no, let’s eat.”

he turns to sit at the table when he realizes that there’s only one serving of food on the table. one bowl of rice, one cup of water, cold without ice like he likes it, and enough side dishes for just one person. he knows you’re not petty enough to make him watch you eat all his favorite foods but he’s even more saddened by the fact that it’ll be the other way around. you don’t want to eat with him.

“are you not eating?” he questions, though he knows the answer. donghyuck is sure that all his past ancestors are frowning upon him. it’s only right that his eyes dim when you give him a shake of your head, taking steps to sit at the seat across from where he was to be seated. following suit, he sits down whilst asking, “why not?”

“i’m not hungry, that’s all.”

“oh, i see.”

a thick silence follows and it feels almost suffocating for donghyuck to sit in. he wishes more than anything now to have the courage to tell you what he needs to say. the words are lodged too far down in his throat so he settles for a, “how have you been?” between consuming mouthfuls of rice and glancing up at you as he chews. he feels he can quite literally see the cogs turning in your head to figure out what to say and he thinks he also knows the answer you will conclude to. an, “i’ve been better,” confirms his thoughts, his years upon years experiences proving to be top notch. “how about you?” he hesitates before speaking and starts with a, “me too, been better,” but you knew that look like the back of your hand. he had something else to say.

the frown that sits upon your lips irritates donghyuck, having been his job to chase it away, so he hurries to finish his food, almost choking and deepening your frown. he inhales every last grain of rice, piece of meat, speck of crumb, and ounce of water before setting down the chopsticks, tummy full and mindset prepped, for real this time.

truth be told, it’s not everyday that you and him get into fights but he’s always the one that’s petty enough to start them, hence his adequate knowledge on what to say after, how to say it, when to say it. “y/n,” he starts and makes sure to give a pause to make sure your attention is all his; more or less you feel as if you already know his next words, slightly annoyed that your second anniversary will go down in history as just another of his many apologies. worst part was, you could never bring yourself to doubt his true intentions, no matter what he did.

“i’m not going to lie, i was annoyed at you for calling. i was frustrated and stressed from the workload but among all that i was also selfish, and inconsiderate. and yes, i was the biggest dick to the bestest girlfriend.” if anyone was to give the most sincere of apologies, you knew it was to be donghyuck. he had so many love languages, and people would usually interpret this as his touchy nature, but you knew more than anyone that his words seemed too poetic and too perfectly curated to be deemed inferior to his touches.

donghyuck, himself, likes to think that all he knows about love is from you. he doesn’t just like to think but he knows, amongst the millions of other things he knows regarding his girlfriend, that you will be the only girl ever to make him want so much. you drag out his desires by a tenfold and equally bring out the best in him. it’s a fact he keeps to himself but ever so persistently, that you are the one that keeps him going, day and night. he’s never been much of a romanticist, but trust when he says that his love for you was slow and gradual in the most beautiful way. like honey and molasses dripping at a crawling pace only to sweeten up the surfaces it graces. his love for you ages like fine wine and savors like a setting sun against a backdrop of stars. you will never need a man more than you need donghyuck, and donghyuck, you.

with all above considered, heaving and placed in the most carefully constructed sentences, he almost bulldozes through the next speech he’s prepared, checking off the bullet points in his head as he’d goes. he’s a stuttering and leg-bouncing mess from the sheer nervousness of how to get this to play out exactly as it does in his head.

biting his lips, he dives in, “y/n, i know you. i really do. i’ve known you for almost a decade and i’ve spent most of that decade trying my best to get to know you, chasing after you until you saw me the way i saw you. the last two years have shown me that all the time i spent being hung up on you was beyond worth it. jeno told me i needed to move on because you’d never see me as more than a friend, renjun gave me a list of girls he thought would match with my personality better, and my managers honestly hated you. but for some reason, i never gave a fuck. and i think it’s because that i’ve always known that we were going to end up together somehow. but actually dating you, i think i’ve known, since exactly two years ago from today, that you were the one.”

your breath hitches, oh how wrong you were thinking you knew exactly what he was to say. you feel lightheaded and spontaneous at the same time, like a sickness birthed from sheer joy. it’s as if you could feel the blood coursing through your veins, suddenly hyper-aware of your surroundings, of him. your suspicions are there and your eyes start to widen in panic and doubt in place of your immediate happiness. donghyuck senses this and clears his throat to finish his long winded confession.

“we’re still young, baby, we have no need to rush into this. but i was thinking of what to give you for a two year anniversary that’s meaningful and conveys exactly how much i love you. the fight made it really clear for me though,” he tucks his hand into the inner pocket of his blazer and withdraws a simple tiffany blue box. “i was in new york, for just a night, but i was passing by the store and it just clicked. this-“ he opens the cased ring box to reveal a simple silver band, with the letters of his initials engraved along the inside, ”is a promise ring, from me to you. i promise you, that i will be the one to marry you. trust in me when i say that there is nothing else that comes to mind when i think of my future. my future is you, y/n, nothing can change that. not a petty fight, or my job and your education, or the media even. it’s me and you, baby, till the end of time.”

his eyes are shining with tears that mimic the ones spilling from your own tear ducts. a small laugh ruptured at the back of your throat at how he ended his little speech with such a cheesy line but you barely have time to recollect yourself before donghyuck takes the box in his hands and removes the ring from its hold. he slips your right hand into his with ease and tugs it closer to slide the ring onto your ring finger because, “we’re not actually engaged, more like pre-engaged.” his heart has such a close hold on yours as he reaches into his suit pocket again, your eyes widening at the prospect of yet another surprise.

it’s another ring, the same fashion as the one on your finger except with your initials carved into the inner ring. at this point you can’t understand why donghyuck has such a nervous look on his face, you’d say yes to almost anything he asks of you in this state. “i would also like to know… if you would make the same promise to me.” you don’t even bother saying yes, just taking the ring into your own fingers and slotting it onto the ring finger on his right hand. his face flushes almost instantly at your bold actions, even if he was the one that practically proposed to you today.

it takes everything in you to suppress the smile that’s already washing over your face, worried you’ll ruin the moment by looking too gleeful. the man across from you looks about the same except he’s failing miserably at keeping the joy from lining his features, maybe on purpose. donghyuck may or may not be completely head over heels for you, now over the moon that the two of you were back on good terms. his chest is light and his head is a little sluggish, only thinking of you and you-related things, like he’s been drugged by … by your love. his head is reeling at the tight smile that is a dead giveaway to what you’re not expressing and the way your eyes glance down every two second at the ring on your finger. he takes a glance at it as well and his heart swells infinitely because he knows that there is one on his own finger as well. the internal dialogue that you’re having with him is clear as day. your eyes are sparkling as if to say ‘i love you,’ your toes are tapping lightly on his sock-clad ones as if to say ‘i love you,’ and he’s noticed that your position hasn’t changed in the last ten minutes despite your usually fidgety disposition; that itself, donghyuck reads as a giant ‘i fucking love you.’

needless to say, it’s nights like these that sear your heart with ecstasy every living, breathing moment. donghyuck doesn’t voice any opposition when you pull him to bed right after, not even bothering to place the dishes in the sink. naked in bed, his love for you is the closest thing he knows to home and your love for him, the same. you suppose that you may have been viewing the world through rose-tinted glasses that night, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to the day the love of your life gets down on one knee to fulfill his promise, the very same day you were to say yes to fulfill yours.

#nct #nct fics #nct haechan #nct donghyuck #nct donghyuck fics #nct haechan fics #rouiyan fics #rouiyan writes

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ythankucaptainmccoy · 5 years

Text

Commander Cody x Reader (First Kiss)

Commander Cody imagine from none other than the fabulous @gabrielewolffe: Imagine sharing your first kiss with Cody. I do not own Star Wars or any characters. WARNING: Panic attack, mentions of near death and pure fluff.

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Commander Cody was in the middle of a meeting with his General while you stood off to the side. You were an intelligence officer that had been hand picked by General Kenobi. You were mesmerized by the way Cody straightened to attention when Kenobi called his name. “Cody what have you found about the adversary we are after?”, Kenobi asked. “I believe that’s a question for our intelligence officer General”, Cody replied nodding to you. You froze a little before Kenobi beckoned you towards the holotable. “Well, I… I did some research on this sepratist spy, and they are giving their information straight to count Dooku. I believe if we can track this individual that we can catch up to Dooku. Then that’s where you and Commander Cody come in to take him into custody”, you explained.

“Do we know where this spy is now”, Cody asked as you watched his lips move. They seemed like they would be warm, and soft, but those were guesses. “Yes I have a spy of our own in their ranks and they have put a tracker on their ship. So wherever that tracker shows up is where our person of interest will be”, you confidently replied. “We also have a time and co-ordinance on where the sepratist spy will be meeting Count Dooku. The only problem is we will have to take a small ship because of the asteroid belt around the Planet”, you sighed. “Alright Cody I want you to gather Waxer and Boil for this mission, and I would like our intelligence officer to join us”, Kenobi stated. “Yes sir General”, Cody saluted. You watched him as he walked out watching his thighs and ass as he left.

“(Y/N) are you okay you seem flushed?”, Kenobi questioned. “Yes, I’m fine I just need to… get my things for this mission”, you responded flustered. “Mmm yes that you should”, he hummed. You briskly made your way out of the room and towards your quarters to get your things you would need. Packing the essentials was easy and you made your way to the hanger to the small craft that you would be taking. The pilot along with Waxer and Boil greeted you as you put your things in a small compartment. It didn’t take long for General Kenobi and Commander Cody to join the crew. “Alright we need to go over contingency plans in case something goes wrong. Cody I’ll leave that to you”, Kenobi insisted. “Okay in the event that we are compromised, and it's a trap we will take the escape pods to the nearest planet. This planet is mostly covered in water so be prepared to float a while until rescue arrives”, Cody lectured.

Once the instructions were clear, the shuttle launched into space. You were nervous, and something felt off. You haven't received any more intel from the Republic spy, and that was highly unusual. He always checked in on time, and you started to pace. “Nervous (Y/N)?” Boil jokes. “No. Something feels off I haven’t received any more transmissions from our spy”, you stressed. “So maybe they decided to relax on the last planet, or maybe they got scared and took off”, Boil explained. “No it's not like…”, you never got to finish your statement when your comm lit up. You quickly opened the comm, and a low raspy voice started to speak, “I believe you have had a spy following me around. You know that's not nice since I have been working so hard to gather the information for Count Dooku, but I wish you have a quick end officer (Y/N) is it. Dooku will be pleased to see you when you arrive.”. The comm went dead and that’s when it hit, and you had to think quickly. You sprinted to the front of the craft, and when you burst through the sliding door Kenobi sensed your fear.

“IT'S A TRAP”, you yelled as the craft came out of hyperspace. The looming shadow of a giant ship awaited your destruction. “Hurry take us into the asteroid field!” General Kenobi shouted. The pilot was trying their best, but with the fire from the hulking ship behind it was a lucky shot that disabled your ship. The blast knocked you off your feet and crashed into Cody. He fell too with you landing on top of him, and him letting out a grunt. “We need to get to the escape pods. It's our only chance!”Kenobi shouted over the creaking of the ship. The pilot was incapacitated, and Cody quickly helped you up and picked up his brother. Once to one of the escape pods Boil and Waxer helped get the pilot settled in as Kenobi took the controls. Cody was helping secure Waxer and Boil when Kenobi cursed about the controls not working.

You knew that the release mechanism for the pod needed to be flipped manually. Jumping out of the escape pod you pried the paneling off to get to the lever. “(Y/N) what the heck are you doing?!”, Cody screamed. “I need to get you all off this ship, and the release lever is stuck”, you cried back, but Cody couldn’t hear you. Warning lights were flashing all over the ship as you finally got the lever to budge causing the hatch to close. Cody rushed to the door pounding on it and screaming your name. “OFFICER (Y/N) OPEN THIS DOOR! YOU'LL DIE!”, Cody yelled louder than he ever had before. You shook your head and mouthed ‘I'm sorry’ as you hit the eject button. Cody sagged against the door as the pod made its escape. Waxer and Boil looked at each other, and went back to Cody. “We have to help her”, Waxer announced. “There is nothing we can do for her she made her choice so that we could escape”, Kenobi said.

The ship was engulfed in flames as it went through the planet's atmosphere. You ran to the cockpit to try and steer, but it was no use. When you looked up you realized that you were about to land in the vast ocean of the planet. You braced for impact, and when you hit the whole ship lurched forward. You hit your head on the console, and almost blacked out. The ship surfaced again and to your relief seemed to float somewhat nicely. Then there was an ominous creaking noise. That's when you decided to check the rest of the ship, and that's how you discovered the small break in the hull that was letting water in. Your comm was beeping so you opened your channel. “Officer (Y/N) are you alright?!”, Cody’s frantic voice came over the comm. “Yes I think so, but the ship crashed in the ocean. There is a leak in the hull and its filling faster by the minute.

There was a pause, and you knew that there probably was no chance of you surviving this. “Look I know that I am more than likely going to die, but I want you to tell my family that I died serving the Republic”, you relayed as tears started to form in your eyes. “Listen to me you are not going to die, the Republic fleet has been notified they are on their way. We are going to get you out of there”, Cody tried to comfort you. “Don’t lie to yourself Cody the ship is sinking, and the fleet won’t make it in time. I made my decision to save you, and I can die knowing that you will live”, you sobbed. “(Y/N) we are not leaving this planet without you”, he growled. The water was up to your waist now and rising steadily. “Cody there is something I want you to know”, you gasped as the water was now reaching just below your breasts.

“(Y/N) tell me when we get back to the ship”, he tried to soothe. He could hear the panic in your voice as the water rose higher. “Cody I lo…” she said as the water reached the ceiling covering her head. At that moment a rescue ship landed to pick up the survivors. Kenobi could sense your struggle and urged the men to load up. Your life force was fading as the ship made it to your location. As soon as the door opened Cody could see the ship slowly sinking below the surface and dove in. He swam to the cockpit to the cracked screen, and kicked at it till it gave way. He swam towards the back where he saw your body floating in what was the alleyway.

If it weren’t for you being in danger he would have almost called the scene he was seeing beautiful. Wrapping his arm around you he pulled you through the ship, and to the surface. Waxer tossed down a line, and once Cody grabbed hold they started to pull you both to the rescue ship. Once aboard Cody put his ear to your chest to listen. “She doesn’t have a heartbeat”, he stated as he started CPR. He kept trying waiting for you to breathe, but nothing seemed to be happening. Finally you coughed, and water came bubbling out of your mouth. You reached out and Cody grabbed your face with both his hands. “Easy (Y/N) your safe. We got you.”, he kept repeating as he kissed your forehead.

Once back on the ship you were taken to the medical bay. You were released hours later, and started to walk towards your quarters. When you walked into your quarters Cody was sitting at your table clutching a cup of caff. “(Y/N) I thought we lost you”, he told you as he stood. “I’m going to be fine thanks to you”, you smiled, “I heard of the daring rescue as you dove into the watery depths without hesitation to save me as Kenobi put it”. He smiled at that, and then looked at you all serious again. “You were trying to tell me something before the water engulfed you. What was it?”he requested. “I… well I thought… I was going to die, and well I…. I love you”, you blurted out.

Cody watched you for any deception, but when he found none he softened. “Truth be told I love you too. I just never thought you would be interested in a clone Commander”, he confessed. He walked up to you and cupped the back of your head with one hand while the other rested at your waist. His breath fanning over your face and your doe eyes looked up at him. He slowly leaned down, and oh stars this was it. You had never kissed someone before and your heart rate shot through the roof. He closed his eyes as his lips met yours. At first it was stiff and a little awkward, but it all melted when he pressed a little harder and nipped at your lower lip. You kissed him back, but before it could go any further General Kenobi walked in. Cody and you jumped apart you going red and Cody trying to act as if he hadn’t just been caught kissing the intelligence officer.

“Well Commander I didn’t realize the officer needed another round of CPR”, General Kenobi teased. “General I can explain I was just… just”, Cody floundered. “Just what Cody?”, Kenobi's grin grew wider. “He was showing me how he saved me”, you claimed. “Oh I’m sure”, Kenobi responded, “I can see you’re busy so I will go over the debriefing tomorrow”. With that the general promptly left. Cody looked at you and you dissolved into laughter. “Showing you how I saved you”, he chuckled. “You know for being my first kiss I rather enjoyed it”, you admitted as he made his way back into your arms. The kisses turned from slow to passionate, and rough until Cody pulled back.

“If we keep kissing like this I don’t think I could stop the events that happen next, and I would rather take you on proper dates before we take that step”, he said panting. “Alright I’ll make a deal with you. Stay with me tonight just to sleep and I will go on a date with you when we get leave”, you offered. He seemed to weigh the options then gave you a short kiss. “Fine it’s a deal paperwork can wait until tomorrow”, he answered. Once he stripped of his armor he got in first, and you cuddled in on his left side. You traced his scar with your finger and he hummed almost asleep. You pecked his lips once more and whispered goodnight. He responded in turn and pulled you tightly against him as you both fell asleep.

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Woohoo so it took me forever to think of a scenario, and this one just popped into my head. Hope you all like it. I am thinking about writing a scenario where the reader is really turned on by Cody’s thighs and he tells them to ride his thigh until they cum, but we will see. Thank you @gabrielewolffe for the imagine!

#212th attack battalion #commander cody x reader #first kiss #commander cody #star wars clone wars #clone trooper #clone commander #waxer and boil

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idleheart · 4 years

Text

I Never Liked You

notes: excuse me, i’m new in town and it gets worse!! so have some ren pre-relationship angst-fluff bc this rabbit hole has claimed me. rating: we’re starting out at the very most mature. it’s extremely tame but there are some, ahem, compromising positions. pairing: ren jinguji / reader word count: 2,173

He wants long love letters, but he doesn’t think you love him.

Ren’s mind wanders between the hardwood floor of your apartment and the softness of your chest. Even there, somewhere safe with your weight above him, he isn’t sure. You lean forward, all body and bossy in tone. You take up his wrists, thin but not delicate and you push them against the edge of the carpet.

Skin on his has never felt like this, completely absent of any sort of spark or light. But if you were to release him, he knows he’d stay in the same place. He’d wait for you to hold him down again, numbly aware that to be in your arms is better than the alternative.

It’s real for him, at least. This lacks the day-glo warmth of televised love, loved scraped down and condensed to a few easy words. He’s usually so good with words. But you are so close, hovering above him like an angel.

So close, you’re so close. Just a little closer---

“I win again,” you give a laugh, a sweet-sounding laugh before he’s let go. There’s nowhere further to fall, but Ren feels the ground give out under him all the same. You pop up, your hair falling around your shoulders. Triumph is in your smile. You have no idea how he feels, surely.

He rights his expression before you can get a good look at him. He’s in mourning for a moment, all wrapped up in the arch of your grin and missing your pleasant weight.

“I just wanted to see you smile,” he retorts, “you’re cute when you win.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was for your benefit,” you tease, leaning into the melodramatic lie he easily weaves.

But you don’t lean into him. You give him space, retreating from the familiar press of bodies. You shift, leaning all your weight on your right knee and moving until the heat of your thighs against his are just a memory.

You sit in a heap on the floor next to him, still laughing under your breath.

“Good fight,” you congratulate him. You hold out your hand, offering it the way a gracious victor should always offer peace.

After some hesitation, a question of if he truly wants to damn himself a second time, Ren takes it. It’s the wrong choice, it has to be. There is no spark, just as before, but the rightness of touching you is clear.

Why do anything else, he wonders as he sits up. His hair falls in his eyes and you’re drawn to him almost out of instinct.

“May I?” you ask, gesturing to the side of his beautiful face. He smiles, nods as casually as he can manage and tries not to flinch when your fingers brush his cheek.

You ask near-every time before laying a hand on him. You find ways to make his stomach sink and cheeks burn. But for all his years of experience doing the same, having the direction suddenly changed is odd. The drop of his heart from his ribcage borders on unpleasant.

Ren looks at you, really looks as best he can without alerting that something’s wrong. What do you see when you stare back? Undoubtedly a pretty face, with eyes beautiful enough to fall into. But would you? Have you? Fallen, that is. Once, he thought he could tell for certain. Now, it isn’t so.

“Your hands are cold,” he exclaims, if only so you’ll stop touching somewhere that nearly aches for this kind of unexpected intimacy. Even if it’s difficult, too near to what he’s always wanted, he doesn’t want to upset you by brushing it off.

So he takes your hand back in his, his palm swallowing yours. You give his fingers a gentle squeeze, looking worried all of a sudden.

“Wait, really?” you start. You put your other hand to your cheek, feeling your temperature. “I think I’m a little warm, actually.”

There’s a beat, before you see the smile curling up at the corner of his mouth. With a huff, you tug your hand from Ren’s.

“You’re such a liar, I wasn’t even a little bit cold,” you snap, but there’s no bite in your voice. His smile only grows wider, more than happy to return to playful banter. It’s his area of expertise.

“Today just isn’t your day, you keep letting your guard down,” he replies. There’s a sing-song quality to his voice, he doesn’t want to consider whether it’ll work to mask the fresh lie.

“You just wanted to hold my hand,” you mutter, “even after I won, fair and square.”

“You didn’t win honourably,” he retorts, making your eyes snap to him. The fire Ren sees is so warm, closer to what he’s used to from women and yet still markedly different. Hot passion is one thing, he knows it well.

But the way you look, bubbling on the edge of annoyance and put-out is something else entirely. He’s too afraid to name it love, to hope that you might want this forever. He does, he thinks, as he pictures what will happen when this half-argument half-joke is resolved.

The two of you will sit on your couch, channel surfing and retelling old stories from childhood. You’ll surprise him by laughing at his jokes, or leaning over to ask about how the trip to the mechanic went. You remember these things, the things that are the most precious to him. But still, he is in no rush to call it loving acts.

Love is splendid, but it grows cold too soon.

“I did so!” you exclaim. He tuts, shaking his head.

“You disarmed me with your beauty, that’s hardly fair,” he replies. You clearly dislike his tone, it makes you cock your head to the side.

He fails to notice the way you stiffen up, Ren’s admittedly distracted by your hair falling over your bare neck. You’re even beautiful when annoyed with him. In your own uncomplicated way, you’ve made any sort of reaction to his antics an event.

He’s keen to chase that next exasperated sigh or bright smile. But perhaps he’s underestimated your mood this evening.

You turn to him, twisting just slightly to stare. Sat on the ground, you can look directly at him without the hindrance of any height differences. It’s never unnerving to see you confident, it makes his heart flutter.

“You think you’re really tough, huh?” you ask, reaching out and poking him in the chest. It’s a sharp contrast to the feel of your hand in his hair, but no attention you give could go unappreciated.

“Hey, now, don’t put words in my mouth. I just said—” he starts, a grin creeping onto his face to betray him. He meant what he said, to an extent. Though he’s not ready to admit that more than just your pretty face caught him off-guard.

If it was only that, he might’ve stood a chance.

“If you want to fight again, I’ll fight,” you continue, ignoring his futile attempts to diffuse your ire. It isn’t real, he knows, he’s seen you angry and this is far from it. “You’re already on your back, that’s not much of a challenge.”

You straighten up. Despite the offense taken, there’s still that soft hint of mirth in your eyes as you shift closer to him.

“No I’m n—” he starts. You’re looking for a rematch, obviously, and Ren relaxes when you reach out. Your hands find his shoulders this time, giving a gentle shove that knocks him back because he allows it.

Love is stupid, really. He never thought that lying down could be an admission, not in the way that he’s interpreted it. But he goes down easy, falling with a soft thud and a surprised exhale. His eyes widen, playing along with your act.

“Not fair again! I just got distracted a second time,” he insists. But what he doesn’t anticipate is how genuinely fast you are.

With premeditated grace, you’re back on top of him. With ease, he’s compromised. You��re likely expecting him to put up at least the pretense of a fight, but it doesn’t come. His mouth hangs open in genuine shock. The reappearance of your comfortable heat and weight is like a physical blow, one that blindsides him bad enough to send his thoughts racing.

Racing, but scattered. He can’t stutter out anything else, not even an excuse as to why he just lies there. You lean over him, amused but seemingly unsurprised. He expects you to stop at a certain point, but you shift and push yourself onto your knees.

Your face is so close to his. It’s almost close enough. Your hair smells good, like the lilac bush that blooms in an untidily outside your bedroom window. Ren wants to brush away--- something. He isn’t sure. Nothing obstructs his view of you, but he wants to touch you all the same. If only so he can quiet his racing heart.

He thinks you’re going to kiss him. You’re near enough to do it, he rationalizes. But you turn your head at the last second, just before your lips can brush his. You press your mouth instead to the shell of his ear. Your chest is to his chest. Can you hear it, too? His pulse is working overtime.

A part of him hopes so. He braces himself.

“So close your eyes, love,” you whisper. The end of your sentence melts into a giggle. “I can’t distract you if you can’t see me.”

“Yes you can,” he returns. Ren’s eyes stay open because there’s no point in pretending you’re right. It isn’t the look of you, it’s everything else.

“You’re such a flirt!” you exclaim, the disbelief in your voice is shattering. But you don’t sit up, not yet. You seem to like seeing him squirm, laid out beneath you with his ribcage cracked open. He knows he’s lacking in dignity when he lets you look at him without restraint.

You still don’t look annoyed any more. No, you stare at him with something else in your eyes. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say you knew exactly what you did to him. But that isn’t quite accurate.

If Ren didn’t know you at all, he’d say that your heated gaze holds a similar uncertainty. With a love that won’t be willingly admitted.

And then you blink, you smirk at him. He’s still got his eyes open, looking stricken but playful. The tension’s receded, your return to this most-favoured spot is no longer something that can be read into. You both retreat to ignorance, happy to write off the exchange as merely awkward. The shame that turns Ren’s cheeks a bit pink is rooted in inaction, not the abundance of it.

He should say something, he realizes. When is he ever at a loss for words? He should say something now.

But when he clears his throat, makes ready to volley a compliment about how he could get used to this--- you’re already gone.

Like before, you ease off him. Maybe you’re embarrassed as well, nervous because you could have and indeed wanted to kiss him. But you failed. Ren doesn’t know which is worse, his regret or your own.

Unlike before, you lie down next to him. The hardwood presses against your shoulder blades, his arm is dangerously close to yours. He hopes he didn’t imagine your shuddering inhale before you move a little nearer. Near enough to put your skin on his.

The rightness returns, even if he feels like something has definitely changed. Hopefully for the better, but he can’t be sure just yet.

“Don’t let me win next time,” you say, “it’s only fun when we both care.”

“It’s just a game,” Ren finally finds his voice, though it sounds half-caught in his throat.

“Not to me!” you exclaim, giving over to a half-joking tone. Any serious connection is to be ignored, for the comfort of both. “This is very serious, I never lose a fight. And not just because I’m pretty!”

“Like I said, you’re not just distractingly beautiful,” Ren admits, willing to budge on that issue if only to hide another. “You’re too fast for me.”

But he means to say you’re perfect. Perfect in every way. Your eyes, your body, your wit and your charms work together to make him helpless.

You don’t catch that, though. You’re not looking at him any more. You’ve not pulled away, but you’ve turned your head to look at the ceiling.

“I’m glad we’re friends, Ren,” you start, “I doubt any of the other guys would let me get away with half the stuff you do.”

“Cut yourself some slack, you’re not so bad. Maybe I like you,” he replies. Ren can’t bring himself to look away from the ceiling either.

It’s the biggest lie yet, perhaps. He loves you, and the use of softer words won’t change that. He has never, ever been able to do anything less.

#utapri #uta no prince sama #ren jinguji #jinguji ren #ren jinguji x reader #jinguji ren x reader #i did actually edit this one bc i wanted to make a good first impression ksjdhf

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bubmyg · 5 years

Text

game, set, love - jhs

pairing: hoseok x reader

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

word count: 13,466

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re done. Pick up.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Could kick your ass.”

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

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

“...as for you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go. Send Seokjin in.”

“Who let Hoseok spit in your lunch?”

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

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

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

“We’re regional runner up.”

“Runner up…”

“Look, fuck—”

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

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

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

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

“That’s only happened twice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What hurts?”

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

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

There was a muted shock that numbed at your stature as you watched your normally bright and bubbly double partner limb feebly at the grace of Namjoon off the court, racket forgotten at the far corner of the court, water bottle and bag untouched and forgotten. Three steps after them to the door and you remembered there was another individual who’d witnessed the incident, too.

“I’m coming with you.”

You glared at Hoseok, clammy hand slick on the screen door. “You’re not.”

“I wasn’t asking,” You bristled at his hand coming in contact with the small of your back, coaxing you through the door, “I’m driving. Also not up for debate.”

You didn’t have much energy to be disgruntled, ducking into his sports car without the top on and your first thought was that it’d probably rain because why wouldn’t it. It was a second before he jammed the keys into the ignition, a roar of an engine where you gladly wouldn’t be able to speak to him any longer.

“Is it bad?”

Hoseok squinted, not bothering to yank expensive sunglasses from the cupholder. Instead of verbally answering, he nodded.

The next question, quipped, “Did you do it?”

He sighed, wrist limp on the top of the steering wheel and his breath visibly stuttered in his chest.

“I can’t believe we’ve got to a point where think you need to ask me that.”

“So it’s torn?”

“Absolutely ripped to shreds.”

“And there’s no miracle of science that can heal you in a month?”

“The only miracle that powerful is—”

“Your face, yes, I’m aware,” You touched the back of Seokjin’s hand, IV’s covered in thick plastic bandages, “You couldn’t have just like, fractured it, huh?”

“That’s now how it works and—” He winked, “—I don’t do anything half-assed.”

Your fingers curled a bit tighter between the spaces in his own, letting your smile fall with your chin to your chest and a miniscule shake of your head. Seokjin watched you, steady gaze without falter when you looked at him again, tight lipped and with a shrug.

“Guess we won’t even have the chance at runner-up this year.”

He shrugged, equally as carefree laced in disappointment as you. There was barely a hesitation from that movement to the part of his lips.

Seokjin corrected, “I won’t have a chance, no. But you can still play.”

You scoffed, drawing your hand into your lap to pick at a stray piece of skin still clinging to your cuticle. “What, in a singles spot? Not a chance.”

“Surely you can find someone else to play with,” Seokjin’s eyebrows met in the middle of his forehead, “What are some options—”

“You got hurt less than six hours ago and you expect me to have thought about a new partner already?” You glared at him at his smile grew into the dimples in his cheeks, “Well I haven’t, Jin.”

“I would have. I want—”

You held a hand up, the other coming to scrunch your closed eyelids between the stretch of your fingers. “I don’t want to hear about your fantasy doubles partner.”

“Not even if it’s Venus Williams?”

“Fuck, is she an option? I would have traded you out yesterday.”

Seokjin beamed, “Seriously, darling. Ask Namjoon to find you a new partner, if he can. I’ll be the one at the finals waving two crutches around.”

“Can we attach streamers to them?”

“Obviously…”

“Sit.”

Your iced coffee sat first, cubes clicking dully against plastic, a ring of condensation immediately soaking into the chipped round table engulfing the majority of the conference room. The metal folding chair bumped against the wall with the proximity but you managed to squeeze onto the ripped upholstery, fingers trailing upward on the cup to twirl at the straw.

Namjoon, meanwhile, continued to shuffle stacks of paperwork from within an unbuckled orange binder, registration fees and scribbled rosters and a calendar with a poetic picture of a live tennis ball smacking into an ambiguous line, in no matter the circumstance. A neat pile turned messy when he shuffled the papers again, and finally he settled with three stacks, ends overlapping visibly so you could count the number in each pile.

“We have two options,” He fingered at the end of a piece of paper that hung over the edge of the table, effectively creasing the dull yellow sheet.

The ring of condensation expanded into more of a cylinder when you dragged the cup closer, noisely slurping from the straw as Namjoon sighed. “Mhmm?”

“We add an extra singles spot to the roster,” He fished out the piece of paper, pointing to the empty cell at the end of a complicated spreadsheet. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble. You’d just have to place in at least two of the four remaining qualifiers to make it to the regional. I haven’t researched the competition much but that wouldn’t be too much of a far fetched feat. Trying doesn’t hurt either, seeing as the club is currently paying for a spot that’s not being used anyway.”

You pretended to consider it for a moment and even if you wouldn’t admit it, tiniest part of your conscious seriously considered it. Instead, you nodded, straw still balanced in the center of your bottom lip as you hummed for him to continue.

“The other option is we find you a new partner,” Namjoon’s expression grew considerably greyer, reaching for a different stack of papers this time. His shoulders sagged as he shucked aside the top piece face down, “and of everyone in the club, only three players are currently eligible to take on such a role.”

“And of those three players…”

“One is Park Jimin who I, evidently, have yet to throw paperwork out for. I tried to call him, regardless, and his loyalties lie with his new club. Not that I blame him…”

“The next is Jeon Jeongguk,” Namjoon eyed you through annoyed eyelashes, another paper slapped onto the wobbly table, “...who has preexisting eSports obligations during two of the qualifying matches.”

“Which leaves us with one option—” He peeled the sheet away, nudging it toward you. It messily fluttered but you managed to drag it closer by only wetting the corner with the excess from your cup. A stat sheet with an invoice for lessons scrawled across the bottom, two things among other numbers you passed through in a rush to try to find the name but Namjoon spoke right as your eyes scanned the block printed characters.

“—Jung Hoseok.”

You slapped the paper down into the puddle created by your drink, drowning his name much to Namjoon’s audible dismay. “That’s fine. It was a good season while it lasted but I think I’ll just wait for Jin and the next circuit to begin. You can turn my Friday lessons back over to me early, if you like, since we won’t need to train any longer—”

Namjoon murmured your name, gentle like the way he pried Hoseok’s stat sheet out of your clutches in order not to tear it in the way the delicate width of it was soaked through with caramel water.

“You did used to play together, you know. Well, might I add.”

Hoseok was your first true doubles partner, put together by a student coach on your university’s club team who had no idea of your ever growing distaste for the loud, and then, brown headed man, seeing as Hoseok never left your side during practices, was seen walking you home, among a few things. You were good together, good enough to beat surrounding universities, at the very least. Good enough to stay out of each other’s way, lack the communication of normal doubles teams for the most part, win in silence and easy, truly a silent but deadly duo.

He was never openly cocky, never a keyword as his extreme humbleness seemed to further your not-so-maxed distaste for the man who’d now messily bleached his hair where bits of brown continued to poke out in reverse highlights. At least, not until you ran up against some sizable competition in the finals of the university club tennis championships, his first instinct to insert his vast knowledge in skill in place of your lack of communication while you responded with the same resistance that you always did, except now with a hint of I knew it.

You lost and Hoseok took his slip up as a confirmation of your horrible impression you not-so-subtly had of him. You took it as a confirmation of what you’d thought all along.

“There’s a reason we stopped.”

“A good one?”

You fumed, the water beneath your palm evaporating into steam that, quite literally, could be billowing from your ears if your cheeks heated anymore. You tried to stand, push the chair back, but it lodged against the wall and you stumbled on the leg.

“Good enough for me.”

Namjoon muttered your name again, once soft and again an octave firmer, waiting until you stopped flailing between the rungs of metal to order again, “Sit down.”

“Your already have your answer—”

“Sit down,” He seemed disinterested as he began to carelessly shove papers back into the open flap of the folder but you knew better as he added a quieter but insistent, “Please.”

The back of your knees knocked into the metal ring around the seat of the chair and you sighed upon impact.

“Can you do one thing for me?”

You blinked and your fingers were back to fiddling with the straw. “Depends.”

“Try,” Namjoon closed the folder once everything was tucked semi safely inside, letting his fingers fold into a neat fist on top, “Just try it. We’ll double training sessions so that you’re ready to play in that exhibition match next weekend. If it’s a disaster, I’ll pull your team. It won’t affect you next season and it won’t affect Hoseok’s singles bracket.”

“What do I get in return?”

“My undying appreciation,” Namjoon took your lack of immediate no as you folding, rising to his feet with the folder tucked to his chest, “and maybe I’ll buy you muffins for your morning sessions.”

“I have another question.”

“No, you can’t use Hoseok as a human volley target just because he’s your new partner—”

“First of all, I haven’t said yes yet—” You leaned back in your chair, water dribbling onto the front of your shirt as you brought the straw to poke between your two front teeth, “—secondly…”

“...have you asked Hoseok?”

“Absolutely not,” Hoseok’s watch clinked against the table when he placed both palms flat, shoulders tensing pre-stand, “Anything else?”

Namjoon was a bit firmer with Hoseok than he had been with you, pinning him to the spot with a glare and even you shivered when he hissed, “Sit down, Hoseok.”

The man in question let the tension sink from his shoulders all the way into his wrists, settling his cheek into one palm instead, ringed hand attached to his watched wrist pattering an off beat tune into the wood. After a second of Namjoon staring at him with a single raised eyebrow, he folded his fingers again, the sound of his jewelry rebounding off the wood making your eyes roll back in your head.

“Let me put it a little clearer—” He glanced at you, serious albeit the comical raise of both eyebrows, “—and I’m not in any way trying to hurt your feelings, but I don’t play doubles. I have the singles championship to worry about.”

“Who said you were going to win that,” You grumbled into the knuckles curled over your mouth.

Hoseok’s lips parted, hand flattening in your direction, “I never said I was going to win—”

“Listen to me,” Namjoon exchanged a pained glance between the two of you and you could see his hair greying at the roots.

He turned to you first, “I already know how you feel. I don’t need your input at the moment, not yet.”

Your face heated but you slumped in your chair nonetheless, trying to ignore Hoseok’s stare at the side of your face no matter the expression he had. Especially if that expression was one of sorrow or apology.

“As for you,” The shrug of Namjoon’s shoulders into his hands he began using to help him speak was exasperated, “I’m not trying to take anything away from your training for the singles championship. If anything, this will help. The extra training sessions. The ability to play high level doubles. Everyone should have to play at this level of doubles at least once, if you ask me.”

He jerked a thumb in your direction, “Season’s over if you choose not to play. Which is fine. I just think it’d be a waste of that position. A waste of potential grants for the facility. You know, we could use new quick start nets for the kids but—”

Hoseok groaned but there was a hint of laughter to his tone, “Oh, you’re going to guilt me with the children then, huh, Joon?”

“—but, most of all, it’d be a waste of potential,” Namjoon’s admission silenced even the annoyance brewing in the pit of your stomach, “There’s too much potential here to let an entire season’s worth of work go to waste just because of a little bad luck and two stubborn adults.”

There was an uncomfortable shifting between the two of your chairs and Namjoon took that shade of silence to continue, “Today is Saturday. You train every day twice a day with me until next Friday. We go down the street to the exhibition match. You—” Namjoon pointed the end of his pen in Hoseok’s direction, “—kick Park Jimin’s ass in the morning. Then the two of you kick whoever’s ass in the afternoon.”

“If you don’t do well, which I doubt, then we’ll call the whole thing off. Hobi can continue on to be king of the tri-state area in singles tennis and you can have your six to eight year olds back on Friday evenings,” He finished with a sigh, like he’d just rang seven consecutive laps around the perimeter of the complex, “Yes?”

There was a hesitation and it wasn’t a yes but a sure that grumbled past your lips, one that was mirrored by Hoseok when his chin met his shoulder and he spoke to the tattered shag carpet below.

“That has to be a yes,” Namjoon pointedly glared at you, “From both of you.”

“Sure,” Hoseok waved a dismissive hand under the watchful glower of his longtime friend, “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it.”

You saved the theatrics for glaring at your expression in your mirror. It’d be soft and unsure, just like the murmur that you spoke directly to Namjoon’s awaiting features.

“Yes. Let’s do it.”

“Again.”

You hadn’t sweat this much since it was a fall temperature, almost winter with the whip of the wind, in an early morning clinic in high school only to be summer, extremely so, by hour two and you hadn’t brought anything else to change into and had to suffer with bulky fabric curled around the entirety of your upper half.

You grunted into the forehand, force so much your body tumbled forward a full pace to where you’d been before. The ball sailed past Hoseok at the net, landing at a sharp angle where Namjoon sat in wait.

“Not deep enough,” Another ball was fished from his pocket, prepared to feed to you again, “Again.”

You hadn’t been this sore since you’d forgotten your proper shoes at your apartment and hadn’t had time to go back, taking a hundred serves in low top, completely flat converse that rubbed raw blisters into each pinky toe and made your knees hate you more than ever.

Your ball landed past the service line this time, past where Namjoon stood next to a full basket of balls. He considered it until it thumped against the back wall, rolling sadly to a stop upon impact.

Another ball snagged in the nylon of his shorts.

“Again.”

It was unintentional, a footwork error, the force in which you leaned into the swing of your racket just late enough to have the ball misshit, bad. If there hadn’t been a person in the way, it would have caught in the center of the net, collecting with a few others that had unfortunately met the same fate. But there was a human there, barely crouched like he should be, head hanging low with his racket poised up at his face.

The ball smacked into Hoseok’s waist, the sound audible and the force of the ball so great it shot off in the opposite trajectory as before.

Namjoon had barely turned to dig for more balls to fill his pockets, another again lingering on the tip of his tongue when Hoseok straightened.

“You did that on purpose.”

He was equally covered in sweat, dirty blonde sticking in uneven pleats down the side of his headband and you’d never seen his cheeks so pale and sunken in. His tank top was pasted to the defined planes of his torso, splotches coating his back similarly and it even shone down into the rivets of his bulging calves.

For once, “I didn’t.” Your racket drooped lazily to your side and you heaved in some much needed air, “I swear I didn’t.”

“See, I know you’re lying,” He dabbed the soaked sweatband on his wrist into his bangs, “That doesn’t just happen. Not to you.”

“But it did. It was an accident,” Your grip tightened on the sweat stained handle of your racket, “You’d know if it was on purpose.”

“Okay,” Hoseok kicked a ball, one of the ones displaced by a former shot of yours that had hit the net, “Do it correctly, then. Get it deep in that corner—”

“I know where it needs to go.”

“Then why haven’t you hit it one time yet? Forget your horrid topspin technique…”

“Who’s the coach here, Hoseok?”

There was a distinct sound of spilling tennis balls, ones from the cart Namjoon had carefully dumped over until each and every one of the hundreds of balls littered around his feet. He spoke coldly, knuckles anemic where he gripped his racket two his chest in two hands, “Don’t look at me. I’m done.”

Hoseok watched after Namjoon while you continued to stare at a droplet of sweat contouring the slope of Hoseok’s nose, your attention only diverting when your trainer paused in the doorway.

“Come tomorrow with a better attitude or don’t come at all.”

“And pick all of that up before you leave.”

“Are you ready?”

You glanced at your bare feet shoved in some slides, loose sweatpants rolled twice at the hip and stained university hoodie where it draped over your torso underneath your key lanyard. The next glare was directed at Seokjin, propped half on the row of lockers, half on one of his crutches.

“...to play?”

Seokjin rolled his eyes, “No. To go watch Hoseok—”

“Why are you in here, by the way?—”

Heart shaped lips bloomed into a drooping tulip, shuffling on one crutch. “Just because you replaced me doesn’t mean I’m not still part of the team.”

“I didn’t willingly replace you—”

“Are you coming or not?”

You resisted the urge to throw your keys directly at the tiny hole in the brace supporting his knee. “Coming where—”

Seokjin cocked an eyebrow and you smacked him with the wallet part hanging off your keys, letting him work his way through the weased laughter of amusement at himself before he finally shrugged.

“Don’t know I guess, darling. I’m going to watch Hoseok though, so if you’d like to sit here for another five hours, then be my guest.”

You paused as Seokjin shuffled, retrieving his other crutch and settling it underneath his arm. He was one swing toward the door when you sighed, “Is he playing Jimin?”

“Yes.”

“What color hair does Jimin have?”

“Does it really matter? He has those tight shorts on—”

“Oh fuck off. I’m coming, I’m coming, slow down, you’re faster on those things then with two good knees—”

You navigated into the fairly crowded set of bleachers outside the first court of the outdoor complex, taking a seat on the first row while Seokjin tried to balance his crutches against the fence with muted squeaks of protest. He finally went for flat on the ground by the time the players on the court were nearly halfway through the match with Hoseok in a comfortable lead.

But he didn’t show it, sweat pouring out from underneath the dark blue headband that contained the flattened part of his hair, white sweatbands pressed against his face between each point, groans of effort emitting off the surface of the court every time he had to strain for a corner shot from Jimin.

He made eye contact with you when he jogged to the fence to retrieve a loose ball, a serve way out by Jimin, tucking it into his pocket with blind eyes as he instead stared you down with parted lips. He nodded, barely, the smallest acknowledgement that shook the sweat stained ends of blonde hair, splattering more to the dark blue patches that made his shirt stick to his torso.

Seokjin nudged you, “His hair is pink right now, I guess.”

You tried to pretend you weren’t eyeing the peak of Hoseok’s thighs where his shorts rode up on his sticky skin, spluttering, “You think that’s pink?”

“Well it’s not blue.”

You managed to avert your gaze enough to notice that Seokjin wasn’t lying to get a rile out of you, it was pink, cotton candy in variety and fluffed in waves even if he seemed to be sweating as much if not worse than Hoseok. It was your mouth that betrayed you in the end, ranting, “Blue? Why would it be blue? Blue sucks really. Who would dye their hair blue—”

Seokjin watched the side of your face with a smirk pressed into his dimples and knuckles curled across his lips, “Maybe I should have warned you about Hoseok instead of Jimin—”

“Hey, will it hurt if I punch your scar right now?”

“Probably, why?”

“Good, turn toward me a little bit—”

You grew comfortable in your absent stare at the loop of Hoseok’s shoelaces, one through a whole tightened, repeat. They were a different pair than he’d worn in the morning, white now, with what appeared to be a strip of pastel purple shoved into a sleeve on the side of each shoe. The laces were similar, a soft hue that looked delicate in Hoseok’s nimble fingers, a woven melody that seemed to overlap Namjoon’s droning words in the back of your conscious.

“Are either of you listening to me?”

Your grip tightened on the straps of your bag as your gaze jerked away from comfort and it was the startled part of your mouth that gave you away before you could even try to lie.

Namjoon’s palms hit the bench he’d been perched on with renewed fervor, shaking his head as he stalked for the doorway. “I don’t even know why I try. All I ask is that you don’t kill each other out there. Otherwise, I’ll see you afterwards.”

Hoseok grunted as he straightened, joints cracking as he deliberately twisted his spine in time with hiking his foot up higher than necessary to push it off the elevation he’d been tying his shoe.

“Don’t need him anyway, right?” He teased.

“Since when do you not have to listen to your coaches?”

The sunshine curved upward into the apples of his cheeks immediately flattened, turning downward even as his chin curtly cocked.

“I didn’t see you listening to him either, princess,” Hoseok heaved his bag onto his shoulders, smile returned but anything less than inviting as it had been before.

Your features burned, “That’s not—”

“Whatever.”

You made every excuse possible to debunk that the expression on his face was not one of genuine pain.

You didn’t stop from the firm shake of hands with each member of the opposing team to the gravel around the trunk of your car where you, rather unceremoniously, dropped your bag from your shoulders to dig around for you keys. You’d just snagged the end of them, buried underneath a couple stray balls and a shock absorber shaped like a broken heart emoji, when scuffing feet passed by you.

You wished you hadn’t look up.

“Don’t look at me,” Namjoon ordered, hands up, palms wide on either side of his shoulders. He paused next to his own car, three down from your own but he didn’t climb inside, fishing out a binder as he took off back the way he came, “Figure it out on your own.”

“In fact, there’s two of you,” Namjoon tripped when he tried to walk backward and talk to you, clutching the binder to his chest as he faltered, “Figure it out with him.”

But you weren’t in the mood, not after the walking purple highlighter had spent the entire match scolding your technique under his breath and not bothering to communicate strategy with you once, not even when you won the first game on your serve and had them down forty love in the second game.

It’d gone south from there. Two-six, zero-six. Not in your favor.

You didn’t stop from the jam of your keys into the ignition, nearly reversing into a truck that was pulling out at the same time, until you navigated into a kind-of-but-not-really parking spot just on the edge of striped lines in the garage beside your building.

You’d figured it out on your side, not needing to consult Hoseok’s opinion because you’d already come to terms with your season ending while trying to convince Seokjin you couldn’t sneak him out to the nearest Chili’s (it’ll take thirty minutes, no one will even notice I’m gone). You dumped your tennis bag and keys in the foyer, tripping over them with your phone pressed to your nose as you spit out the nasty text message to the bleeding highlighter himself.

I think you know what I’m going to say. Best of luck for the remainder of the season.

You left your phone face up on the counter while you disappeared into face melting steam only the rest of the hot water in your building could produce.

A stress ordered pizza and half the pieces later, you passed by your phone with still dripping hair, droplets smearing onto the screen when you leaned over the device as it lit with a notification. A top notification of five. Three emails, one from Namjoon and business related which meant he wasn’t going to fire you from your manager position.

Two texts from Hoseok.

Thank you.

Dinner at my place tomorrow?

Your burp tasted of pepperoni as you clutched the phone to your chest, bouncing onto your couch with a dramatic hop. One leg propped up on the coffee table. A pillow tucked underneath your elbow.

Disinterested in the recording of a Wednesday night reality show, you tapped with one thumb busy.

Three bubbles appeared almost immediately and you almost puked in the rush to exit out of the application because, no, you hadn’t turned on read receipts just to send him a text.

Busy with what?

You gasped but he couldn’t hear you. Angrily now, with two thumbs I have work at the complex to finish.

An eye roll emoji in response. Followed by a smiling one but not the one with rosy cheeks. The one that looks slightly uncomfortable but also all-knowing.

We’re closed on Sundays.

I do comanage. I have keys.

...so you’ll be over at five?

You glared at your phone and, unfortunately, you could picture he triumphant smile filling up the entirety of your screen. The smallest part of your seasoned conscious said there he goes, cocky again. Your fingers worked before that thought fully traveled to the angel on your left shoulder, the devil on your right controlling your joints as you tapped on your phone.

What’s your address?

You tossed your phone aside as the next message lit up your phone immediately. The address. You acknowledged the text so you wouldn’t have to get the second notification, pulling your knees to your chest instead.

There was a second text because of course there was. A heart emoticon, this time with the blushing cheeks. And three tiny hearts. You sighed and you didn’t know why your singular heart fluttered a bit against your ribs.

Your knuckles had barely tapped against the door for a third time when Hoseok’s sharp voice flit through the sizable gap underneath the door, spilling light into the dim hallway. Shadows danced by the white, small, rounded at the end with little points.

The points explained the sound of scuffling from within, Hoseok’s cooing explained when the door was pulled open from the inside to him crouched on the floor, palm curved around the breast of a brown and white shitzhu. The dog didn’t bark, but it was clear he wanted to get to you, feet absently swimming underneath him as Hoseok rose with him in toe, eyeing the tongue that curled out of the puppy’s mouth with a tender fondness you’d never seen before.

“Hi,” Hoseok bounced the dog once in his arms. “Mickey was excited for you to get here.”

Frozen steps brought you through the threshold, fingers reaching gently for the dog. He seemed to melt under your touch, letting you rub behind and up and down his ears. It was unintentional the way you glanced up at Hoseok, through your eyelashes and with a smile tucked into your cheeks.

You weren’t surprised to see that his wardrobe wasn’t any less when outside of the confining lines of the tennis court. A baggy button up tucked into the waist of tight black jeans, sleeves hanging past his elbows and decked in brightly colored shapes pasted above and below vertical black lines stretched the length of the top. A bright gold watch strapped to his dainty wrist. What appeared to be clip-on matching earrings suffocating his lobes. A thin chain dipping below the first two buttons that were undone. His blonde hair was fluffier when not carefully parted with a sweatband, swept in a flattering bowl across his forehead, more of the brown roots tucked behind his ears.

Even his smile was different, crawling upward in pretty pink lips the longer you failed to break eye contact with him at the close proximity.

You broke the trance by speaking way too loud for the door still being open and for that part of your conscious seeming to forget that this man was your mortal enemy.

“Mickey, huh?”

Hoseok hummed in acknowledgement, wordlessly passing the dog to your arms as he reached around you to tug the door shut. You awed at the tiny creature as he tongued at the apex of your elbow, gently and almost methodical in nature before beaded brown eyes peered up at you.

“He keeps me company.”

You’d been too busy prodding at the dog’s nose to laugh when his tongue darted out to try to chase your affections to notice that Hoseok had already disappeared into the depths of the apartment. You exchanged a glance with the puppy, bundling him tighter to your chest as you trekked down the hall.

Hallway was a relative term, just a few feet of walls on either side before the room opened up into a kitchen, living room combination. Something played on the television, muted, but a program you didn’t recognize nonetheless, curved in by a thick black throw rug and a tattered, red leather couch. Dark grey walls paired with a monochromatic interior theme didn’t match the ratty white linoleum peeking out from corners of various colored rugs.

You were entranced in the most mundane aspects of the apartment, focused on a worn edge of matte black countertop when Hoseok’s gentle voice chided at you.

“You can put him down, you know.”

The dog hadn’t so much as made a noise in your aimless wandering and when you glanced down, you found his muzzle resting on your forearm, eyes fluttering with soft sighs. You cooed, gently rocking him as though he were a child. “But he’s napping.”

Plates knocked together as Hoseok spread them two across the bar, diligent in his work with cocked eyebrows and the beginnings of a smile. “He’s always napping,” He dove for the pots on the stove, a pronged utensil dipping into the depths before drawing out a stringy clump of pasta. The meal was deposited onto the first plate and he murmured, “Better not bring you around too much, he won’t want to walk anywhere.”

You relented when Mickey woke with a soft yawn, jostled by your conversation and the continued sound of dishes. He skidded across the floor with the softest delighted yip!, disappearing around the corner and you could tell by the way Hoseok chirped and glanced down that he was pestering his owner for attention now instead.

“I didn’t even ask,” Hoseok continued to plate the dishes, now spreading a sweet smelling sauce to the top, “Is spaghetti alright with you?”

You hummed, elbows knocking into the edge of the counter to peer at his creation. You lessened the severity of your tone in hopes that he would recognize you were kidding, “A gourmet meal…”

“Hey—” The glint in the wrinkles around his eyes let you know he too was kidding and the tension in your shoulders relaxed, “—it’s all I had here on such short notice.”

“You asked me to come. In fact, you didn’t give me much of a chance to say no…”

“I wanted you to be here,” His final dollop of sauce ended up half on the plate, half splattered on the counter, and he slid the clean plate across to you before ducking for a napkin. The mess was cleaned with scrunched features, a sigh falling from parted lips when he balled the paper and missed the trash bin on the very edge.

You watched Hoseok quietly from your perched position on one of two barstools as he collected his own plate, silverware in hand as he rounded the bar to you. “I think we have some things to talk through—” He tugged the empty chair back with the round of his foot, depositing the cutlery to the surface of the counter as he went, “—don’t you?”

“Without Namjoon?”

He shot you a pointed look, stabbing the end of his fork into the center of his pasta spiral, “Definitely without Namjoon.”

You quietly cut into the ends of the noodles, scooping up a sizeable bite, “Yesterday was clearly a disaster.”

“It wasn’t that bad. The score doesn’t always tell the whole story,” There was a fleck of garlic stuck to the corner of pouted lips when he glanced at you, “A little more practice can fix our chemistry issues.”

“Can it though?” You dumped the pieces of pasta you’d cut back to the plate, gently setting your fork down, “I don’t know that any amount of practice can make us like each other. Or even pretend—”

“Do you dislike me?”

“No,” You answered quickly and earnestly because you didn’t. For the most part. Not really. “I mean...no. No, I don’t.”

Hoseok nodded, quickly at first and then slower, more to himself as he began to stab around the pasta some more. Moving it back and forth, coating the clean parts of the plate in sticky red sauce and then finally he mumbled, “Good...that’s—that’s good to know.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know why it ever got to this point. Where we can’t even collaborate for a few days on the thing we both love.”

More pointed clicking of metal against glass. A noisy slurp of water from a plastic cup. More scooting and then, “Why can’t we though?”

“You saw how yesterday went. How all our training sessions have gone—”

“Forget about those,” He dropped his fork now too, rotating until his knees almost knocked into yours, “Seriously, forget about them.”

Hoseok inhaled, a deep sigh that had his gaze trailing over your head, “...look, I don’t know what you think about me. I try not to care. But let’s just...for the sake of right now, start over?”

A mental slideshow passed by in front of your eyes as you stared at the genuine plea pasted over Hoseok’s heart shaped features, all the moments your stomach had stirred with a fire and your tongue had lashed out those internal hardships but you suddenly couldn’t find the ignition, the accelerant that made the flames engulf your nerve endings to the very tips of your fingers non existent, smoking like doused with water (or store bought, jar made spaghetti sauce). A mirage, maybe, just like the limp noodle lodged between one of your back molars.

You extended your hand toward the figure across from you.

“Yeah, let’s start over—” You sucked in a sharp breath, setting your shoulders and the smile that spread to your lips was supposed to be faux but turned out light hearted anyway. You cheered your name, tilting your head toward your wiggling fingers, “—it’s a pleasure to be your doubles partner for an eighth of the season, sir.”

He touched your hand, loose in sliding his fingers across your palm to squeeze, not shake. His voice feathered out of twitching lips just like the stumble of your heart, wholy unsure but willing to try.

“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.”

“No Namjoon?”

Seokjin was off his crutches now but still sporting what appeared to be the world’s largest brace, coated in metal gears that made you joke if he was starting his transition to immortality. He met you in the doorway of the locker room, holding a hand out for your water jug. You handed it over, expecting him to carry it for you as you brushed past but he flicked the lid and took the longest gulp, mashing a piece of ice between his teeth as he handed it back.

“No,” You popped the lid closed, smacking his bicep with the knowledge he couldn’t catch up to you if you took off running, “No, no Namjoon today. He’s here but not...here. Not trying to coach us yet.”

“Not after what happened last time,” Hoseok was fiddling with the velcro strap of a visor as he exited the opposite door. He sported the same light purple color scheme, something about reversing the bad luck of the exhibition match.

You’d changed up your outfit, just in case omens were real and the tennis gods hated red. Yellow was your color choice. You weren’t brave enough to match him yet, either.

He looked up when he secured it, jamming the hat down over his hair, eliminating the signature part that marked his quick dashes across the court. The bright smile stayed as he flanked your small posse, nudging you with the arm covered in two sweatbands and a skin colored arm sleeve.

“Are you two...like friends now?”

Seokjin’s loud inquiry heated your cheeks but Hoseok just shrugged, still looking at where his elbow had touched your stomach. “Partners, at the very least,” Hoseok provided, “Doubles partners. Ones who work together and don’t try to concuss each other with serves.”

Your mouth parted to deny that I’ve never done that but Seokin quipped, “Oh, she’s tried to do that to you for ages. It was one of her training strategies with me—”

“Where’s your off switch, Mr. Robot.”

“Don’t have one. Anyway, best of luck!”

When there was a sailing lob over Hoseok’s head, you were eager to call out to switch!, worn traction on the soles of your shoes allowing you to slide to catch the shot, lobbing it back cross court while Hoseok lay in wait at the net, seeking out the easy put away shot at the net that would eventually and did eventually come.

When there was an opportunity to play strategy on his serve, you did, each starting on the left side the second point into the game, allowing Hoseok to serve a hard, down the line ball to the opponent's backhand which, in turn, set you up for a sneaky and easy floater that you crammed in the center of the two players.

When there was a changeover in the first set, five games to love in your favor, your hand was there for Hoseok’s to smack, a high five he taunted a little bit above your head while you tried to balance your water bottle in one palm and seek out his hand in the other. It earned a smile when you spilled ice water down the front of your top and he had to hand you a hand towel from his bag while the opposing team watched impatiently from their positions.

When there was an opportunity in the second set for the opposing team to get a breakpoint, make it three to four rather than five to two, Namjoon called you over to the fence with only a sliver of the feeling of dread lingering in his posture. He eyed the pair of you as you approached, Hoseok shoved lightly on your arm as you went to plant but instead of an outraged screech from you, it just earned another push and a fit of mingling giggles, ones Namjoon nearly went into cardiac arrest over and he never thought he’d have to tell you and Jung Hoseok to stop laughing at each other so that he could speak.

There were still moments of tension, moments that made you inhale and dig your fingernails into the grip of your racket but instead of muttering obscenities under your breath and using his head as target practice for your spin serve, you smiled, real and genuine, and you leaned closer to his fiery explanations spoken as a similarly smiley octave, “What was it you wanted me to do?”

They were easy to navigate in the first round of the tournament, take you through the lunch of cold cut sandwiches Seokjin had laid out on a picnic table for you, the second round that drew a little bit closer in score but was still a win (both statistically and morally, especially when Namjoon walked you out to the court with instruction rather than hid in the safety of his car until it seemed like you wouldn’t try to slash Hosoek’s achilles with the frame of your racket). The third round brought more of the past to rear its ugly head, a dark storm cloud that reminded you in rain and miscommunication at the net that you were a human, not a miracle worker.

But you won, barely, in a tiebreaker that nearly killed your stamina for the championship but the taste to win was so fresh on the roof of your mouth, you grit your teeth to grind it up and swallow it. Second best wasn’t good enough, even if it would qualify you for the regional champions, if you were already qualified.

But you lost and you had to accept the bitter regurgitation of the victory you could taste, washing it away with your lukewarm water that had melted all the ice cubes onto your tongue throughout your fourth and final match of the day. Except it was just that, a learning experience, bitter but available to all the critiques Namjoon chattered in your ears as you trekked into the parking lot. You didn’t speed away, nearly destroy your ignition with your keys this time, instead leaned against your driver side door while Hoseok coaxed your bag from your shoulders and stuffed it into your trunk with your keys in his hand.

Namjoon’s fleeting expression at the action was the same when you entered the complex for a training session not nearly a week later, both from Hoseok’s car, your bag slung over one of his shoulders while you held up what appeared to be a strawberry smoothie for him to sip out of. The startled trainer explained the wrong drill four times and resorted to letting you do the wrong thing on the fifth try as he went about collecting barely there balls in a hopper while muttering to himself.

Thus is why you didn’t think the hotel conseguir was kidding when she handed you two keycards while asking, “Are you checking in for Jung Hoseok as well?”

“Oh, no. Why would I—”

“You’re each listed under this room,” Her grip tightened on the plastic cards when you pinched them, trying to pull them back, “Is that incorrect?”

Someone in the growing line behind you coughed and the quick glance behind you noted that his t-shirt advertised some sort of local tennis tournament. Similarly to the person approaching the desk in the opposite line from you with a spare racket tucked under their arm, one that must have spilled from the half open bag slopped at their ankles.

“I...no, that’s—”

“That’s how it was booked,” She continued to tug on the cards, freeing them from your grasp to flatten them on the desk in front of you as she began to click around on the monitor, “...and it appears we have no other rooms for the weekend, so—”

“Yes, I’m checking in for Jung Hoseok as well. He’s with me—” She glanced up at you through a stray hair that had escaped from behind her ear and you panicked, “—I didn’t know he booked it under his...other name.”

“Right…” A receipt printed with various pieces of information, one of which blurred the majority of the tennis club’s credit card number, a card held in Namjoon’s name. “Third floor, room forty. Enjoy your stay.”

You called Namjoon in the elevator, ranting at him before the dead spot could end as you stepped off on the third floor.

“Why’d you book us the same room?”

He yawned into the receiver and you briefly felt bad for waking him from his pre-connecting-flight-nap. Briefly. “Me and you?”

“No dumba—” You stopped yourself to fumble and jam one of the keycards into the slot of room forty, waiting until it clicked over. “—no, Namjoon. Hoseok and I.”

The edge of one of your rackets misplaced inside your bag, catching on the doorframe as you stumbled inside to find the worst part of the singular room. The singular bed.

“You couldn’t even book a room with two full beds?”

“I booked two rooms with one queen bed each.”

“No, you booked one room with a king bed—” You dropped the handle of your suitcase to swat at the towel folded like a swan at the edge of the bed.

“Well at least it’s a king.”

“Namjoon.”

“Did you just...ask for another room?”

“They’re booked for the weekend. Kind of a large tennis tournament going on at the attached event center. And some cooking ware convention, but I didn’t take the guy’s brochure…”

“...speaking of which, are you sure you booked yourself a room? Or did you just book the entire club one singular room—” You swatted the swan again to take a seat on the corner, “—because if so, we’re about to get real comfy for the weekend.”

“I’ll call here in a second but if they only mentioned you and Hoseok’s names in the room...then I think it’s just the two of you, love.”

You groaned to which Namjoon sighed, “Just try for me, okay?”

“I just tried to be his doubles partner, not—”

“And look where that got you,” You paused because Namjoon was right. You were a better team than either of you cared to admit. Than you cared to admit to yourself. And all it took was trying, sincerely, applying your passion for the game to the partnership with someone you would no longer regard as you mortal enemy.

Just your roommate for two days, apparently.

“...anyway, I need you to call Hoseok and explain what’s going on. That’s a phone call I don’t have time to make.”

“Namjoon—”

“Have a good night!”

You glared at your thumb for it’s seasoned ability to move to Hoseok’s contact but especially the ability to hit call and place it on speaker.

“Was just about to text you,” He sounded far away, out of breath, and faintly you heard the call of a boarding flight. “Just landed. Meeting my driver to the hotel now.”

“Room three-forty.”

“Do you want me to make a pit stop at a grocery store or something? Get some fruit and waters—wait what?”

“Room three-forty,” You repeated, glaring at the opposite wall to prevent yourself from calling Hoseok a dumbass out loud until you noticed in your reflection of the flat screen television that you still had your backpack on, “That’s where you’re staying.”

“...okay,” You heard him utter a thank you and then a door shut, “Are we neighbors or something?”

“Mhm, I suppose you could call it that.”

More silence. More muffled directions, and then he sighed, “Did Namjoon book us the same room?”

“Were you in on it?”

“So that’s a yes but, w-what? No, I—” Hoseok laughed and under normal circumstances you’d fume, “—sweetheart, he joked about it in practice like twenty times. He probably joked about it so many times that he did it without thinking.”

You paused and one of the twenty instances flooded back, when Namjoon had entered the complex to you leaned back in your desk chair while Hoseok wrapped new purple grip onto the handle of your racket.

“Maybe I should just book you the same room for the championships,” His voice had faded as he ducked into his own office, “Wouldn’t that be a treat!”

You’d snatched your racket back from Hoseok not without jamming the end into his stomach playfully. “Maybe you should not do that!”

“Oh,” You switched the phone between your palms as you finally shrugged out of your backpack, letting it sag limply against the neatly stacked pillows, “Oh yeah.”

“So do you want those snacks?”

“If you get something other than fruit.”

“Noted, you want junk food,” You could hear the smile in his voice, “Any other requests?”

You flopped backward onto the mattress, forearm over your eyes and you sighed into the immediate heat that spread across your skin.

“Yeah, hurry up. I’m lonely.”

“Just one bed too, huh?”

Hoseok rubbed at his eyes, skin coated in a thin sheen underneath the lowlights of the room where he’d just lathered two layers of a fresh smelling skin cream. A loose pajama shirt hung cockeyed over his torso and he fiddled with the top button, not done up in the same way the two below it weren’t either, knee bending to sink into the spot on the mattress across from you.

“Yeah,” You rolled where you’d already cocooned yourself in the duvet. You pitched your voice to match Namjoon’s, exaggerated and drawn out, “but at least it’s a king.”

He hesitated in peeling back the sheets, waiting until you glanced curiously at him to soften, “Is this...okay?”

“What?”

“I can sleep on the floor,” The bracelets still attached to his wrist tinkled together as he gestured to the lumps on lumps of white sprawled across the massive bed, “I think there’s enough here to make some decent padding—”

“And give you stiff joints before the first two rounds tomorrow?” You rolled your eyes, patting the space next to you, “Get in here. Namjoon was partially right. This is a massive king bed.”

Hoseok was hesitant in the entrance albeit confident in the way he sprawled, nearly intruding on what you’d deemed “your side” with a vertical pillow that prevented you from seeing his face when he finally settled his cheek to his hand. But you could tell he was facing you from the slide of his foot underneath the sheets and you held your breath that it wouldn’t brush the bend of your knees until something else drew your attention, a hand slapping over the pillow in the middle and gently pushing it down until you could see shower fresh blonde hair and crinkled brown irises.

“There you are,” His voice trilled at the end of the last syllable and you tucked the blankets tighter to you as if they would shield the sound of your heart in your ears.

Lamely, muffled by the blankets you nodded, “I’m here!”

His smile shifted to where his fingers drummed against the pillow still placed between you. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, first round shouldn’t be too difficult but either opponent we’d face in the second round will be the real challenge. They’re both from different complexes in the north that are known for being pretty competitive so...I heard Namjoon say you got one of the best draws in your singles bracket though so that’s—”

“Yeah,” Hoseok’s fingers stopped their movements on the pillow, “I mean, like are you...are you actually, you know, ready?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged, still avoiding your gaze and his fingernails went to picking at loose fibers in the pillowcase, “I know you wanted to get back to this spot with Seokjin. And instead it’s with me, so I can understand why you wouldn’t…”

“Where is all this coming from?”

“You know I never…” Hoseok’s wandering eyes stared directly at you now, dark and dilated and shining with the city lights that sheared through the curtains, “I’ve never hated you. I want you to know that.”

“...and I never wanted you to hate me. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not but I will apologize for whatever I’ve done to give you this horrible impression of me.”

You burned with a sickening realization that only grew worse the longer he talked to the sheets.

“You intrigued me, so I thought, you know, you were an obstacle to conquer, especially when it seemed like you vehemently hated me. And then I realized you did actually not like me, and I wasn’t really sure what to do.”

“Remember the day Seokjin got hurt?”

You didn’t trust your numb chords to vocalize so you swallowed and nodded.

“You asked me if I’d done it. If I’d sabotaged you for virtually no reason,” He blinked, eyes closed for a little longer than necessary and your breath felt heavy in your lungs, “I could live with you thinking I’m a little cocky because sometimes, I am. I’m confident in my abilities and I won’t apologize for that.”

“But for you to think I’d purposely injure your doubles partner, injure someone else so you...what? Couldn’t share the notoriety of winning a championship like I had? I began to, you know, question it.”

“And I thought it was all in my head, that maybe it was just a fit of passion that made you ask me that, and everything would continue per normal. Less than friendly insults. You using the image of my face as serve target practice.”

“After that first exhibition match is when I kind of knew that it wasn’t in my head, you know,” Hoseok shrugged, sadly again and the last bit of your heart crumbled, “I wanted to fix it. Because I never wanted you to hate me. I’ve always admired you too much for that.”

You shed the pillow barrier to scoot closer, rushing, “I was jealous of you, you know that? I always have been. It’s ridiculous. Sorry doesn’t cut it, but I am. So sorry.”

He laughed and you touched his face to lessen it, scooting another space closer. “I know you were. It’s okay.”

“It’s not though, I shouldn’t have been. I had no reason to be other than my stupid petty personal vendettas,” Your palm fully cupped his cheek, thumbing at the passion induced liquid that had leaked underneath that set of eyelashes, “I’ve been an asshole to you.”

“I’m not exactly innocent.”

“No, but I’m not going to play a game of who's the bigger asshole,” You didn’t startle when he touched your hand, holding onto the cling of his gaze, “I’m sorry for this giant misunderstand. I am.”

“A years upon years long misunderstanding.”

You laughed, soft and dry on a tiny cough that racked through your body. “Yeah...that.”

“I’m sorry. Too,” Hoseok’s hand threaded underneath your own, holding up a hopeful pinky and the remaining tears glittered at his irises, “Truce?”

You linked your pinkies, letting him tug you close enough to ghost his lips to your forehead.

“Truce.”

You woke with his limbs tangled around your torso, lips in your hair telling you to stay asleep as he sleepily shuffled for his suitcase still laying limply at the edge of the bed. But you didn’t listen, you alarm going off after he’d disappeared into the shower with his uniform in hand, bright yellow this time and matching of yours with the team name scrawled across the front. You were happy it said Game, Set, Match Tennis HQ instead of Namjoon’s proposed Namjoon’s Ball Kids.

(“We’re the same age.” “You’re still my kid.” “No.”)

“Did I wake you?” He hushed into the room as if you weren’t half dressed with the room light on.

“I’m coming with you?”

“Why? Our call time for warm up isn’t until at least after one o’clock and—”

“I’m coming to watch you—” You paused with an arm half in a sweatshirt and you pumped it cheesily, “—you know. Cheer you on.”

“Ah,” He fluffed deft fingers into partially damp hair, sweatband twirled around his arm, “My good luck charm?”

You were enough luck for him to finish in plenty of time for you to get a nap in before your first round draw. Enough luck for you to catch dinner with an arriving Seokjin just before your second round match. Enough luck for you to go two and O on the day while Hoseok belted four wins between his two positions.

Not enough luck for the matching trophy to the one cased in glass at the complex, instead earning Hoseok a third place plaque on the second day that he displayed in the center of your hotel room bed.

“Would rather win with you, anyway,” He muttered into your ear before the championship, popping out one of your earbuds mid calf stretch. You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his lips brushed down your neck as he pulled away into his own stretch, shrugging bulky headphones back across his head.

Frustration pricked early at your conscious, Hoseok’s quip not under his breath but directly to your face while you sucked down water on a changeover, informing you to fix your grip on the backhands and seal the line on the deuce side of the net. It was the flex of his palm toward the fire in your eyes that quieted you though, the silent assurance that he was just trying to help and he didn’t so much as flinch when you pointed out the forehand player on the opposing team was eating him alive at the net. He just shrugged, holding his racket up for you to click together and agreed.

“You’re right. I’ll play double back for a game.”

He played double back while you switched to a flat shot on your backhand and you won the game, tying the first set at three-three until you won on your serve from a similar strategy of capitalizing on Hoseok’s quickness at the baseline, giving you the opportunity to charge for putaways.

It was a communicated strategy that you tweaked between games but otherwise allowed you to sail through the first set with only one more dropped game, six-four, and two games into the second set until your grip started to drift again, sending three backhands in a row sailing out of bounds.

“C’mon now,” A simple enough encouragement, spoken at a slightly irritated tone that forced Hoseok’s next shot to sail into the center of the net.

You cut in front of him on the third shot of the next game, ball meeting a similar feat where the net and the ground met and Hoseok threw up his hands in frustration. Namjoon spoke freely now, a single yell from the side that said settle down and although it was meant for both of you, you took it personally and fumbled through two double faults on your next serve opportunity, putting you down two-three.

“I don’t care if you win or lose, frankly,” Namjoon said when you met him at the fence, “but we will not play a third set.”

Hoseok didn’t wait until Namjoon shuffled away to his spot on the bleachers to chide, “Let me get the next few shots. Stop trying to cheat at the net.”

...which led you to cheat at the net four more times, only two of which were successful. Five-three, Hoseok’s serve, his reluctance of fine, go for it when you’d gone up four-three and a simple nod when you’d tossed him the extra balls for the beginning of his serve for, potentially, the entire match.

You let him get the fifteen point, then the thirty point. They fumbled his serve on the forty point.

It was an all or nothing shot up the line, fired at an angle and you knew it was coming from the way your opponent set up with open feet, an audible grunt ringing down the other courts as the ball raced off the strings. It was down the line, a beautiful shot in any other circumstance, and your reflexes forgot your years of training, footwork, drills.

Instead, you stood up and stuck your racket out.

The ball caught the corner of your frame, barely brushing the worn and tattered black edges, applying just enough spin to fall in over the net, dying upon impact and winning.

Six-four, six-three, championship.

You turned, dropping your racket as you spread your arms and through a loud, unabashed laugh did you call, “I thought you told me to stop going for them?”

A steady pair of arms engulfed your waist, lifting your feet from the ground and you lost count of how many circles you’d actually spun but you tallied at least seven when your heels were planted back to the court and a warm pair of lips pressed between the seam of your own.

“We won!” You cheered into Hoseok’s face and he just blinked happily, smile permanent, each of you shocked to the previous kiss but not to the next when you threaded tight fingers into the sweat stained blonde, effectively knocking his headband off to where it bounced between the connection of your mouths.

“Told you I would rather win with you.”

You hummed, kissing his chin, “Saving it for me?”

You shivered with the way he nosed down your cheek, “Always, sweetheart.”

There was an audible pout in Seokjin’s voice even when you weren’t looking at him.

“What about me?”

Hoseok chuckled from where he was craned behind you to inspect the trophy, palm rubbing gentle circles into the small of your back. “Don’t worry, buddy. I prefer singles, anyway.”

“...but not when our doubles champion here is single, yeah?” You finally glanced up at Seokjin as he traded a curled fist between you and Hoseok’s stomach. “Yeah? Yeah!?”

“Oh come on. You don’t think the entire audience didn’t see that kiss?”

“Get out of here, Jin.”

“Pinky promise not to ditch me next season.”

“I pinky promise.”

“You have to do the thing.”

You held up a limp pinky just to sate him but he clucked his tongue. “No. The thing.”

Hoseok’s hand stiffened on your spine as he watched you wet your smallest finger, lathing your tongue over it for good measure before sticking it out for Seokjin. The older man popped his from his cheek, twisting your fingers together before scampering off. Or at least, you thought.

“Does anyone want to go drinking tonight? My treat!”

“For the record, he’s right,” Hoseok brushed hair off your neck to press soft lips there, “I’d prefer you not be single.”

“Oh, yeah?” You hugged the trophy to your chest to turn to him, “And what would you prefer I be?”

“Mine.”

Your lips rounded into a perfect circle, one droning syllable leaving as you reached up to pat his cheek, “See, that kind of cocky is attractive.”

“M’not cocky,” There was a pout to Hoseok’s heart shaped mouth but a seriousness behind his statement that made you heat with more than sunburn.

“You’re not at all,” You turned in the slot of his arm, stretching to peck his jaw. “I would prefer to be yours, too. If it’s any consolation.”

He pretended to think, shadows falling over one side of his face as the sun began to set and reflect off the gold plated award clutched in your arms.

“Want to try it?” Hoseok grinned finally, dropping his chin to look at you, “Just see how it goes?”

You placed the trophy aside, down on the bottom row of bleacher closest to you to wrap both arms around his neck. “Yeah, let’s try it.”

#bts reactions #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts x reader #hoseok imagines #hoseok x reader #hoseok fluff #bts fluff #hoseok imagine #hoseok scenario #hoseok scenarios #fic: game set love

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itissadbutitsmy-life · 5 years

Text

the funniest jokes in bfdi

flower’s announcer crusher that she just. has, and everyone else just uses it too

trying to put out a fire by holding ice cube’s recovery center over the fire so she just falls into it endlessly

every single one of yellow face’s products, including but not limited to

fork attractant, for when you need a fork but don’t have the cutlery on hand

headphones you cannot change the volume on or remove

money slips, you just write an amount on them, and it counts as legal tender

“thats a pentagon!” “yeah! like if you took my name and added ‘Tagon’!“

in like episode 2 when they all run away from something and a second later flower casually power-walks away from it instead of running

when balloony deflated and a while later cloudy flies over and goes “i cannot believe it! this is a dead body!!”

“he’s not dead, he just needs a little help thats all! (starts reinflating him too fast) but i agree, he is a hindrance when he is deflate- ohh noooo”

hollow jawbreakers that sound can come into but can’t go out of

when they stuck loser in a jawbreaker they inverted it, so they can hear him talk to himself but he cant hear anything around him

no one seems to know that thats why they can hear him

one time they all ended up in space. because of budget cuts.

actually every time budget cuts lead to something that seems way cooler than their previous stuff, like sparkly purple lasers instead of a mechanical arm to eliminate people with

the consistently bad cake at stake prizes. one time it was just a block of ice cut into six pieces. one time it was dirty shovels.

the magical die of judgement

when freesmart drove across the ocean in their van and they managed it by holding their breath and each time one of them died they just recovered them and threw their corpse out the back

golf ball messing up naming her team by saying things like “we need to be another name” and ending up on teams called Another Name and A Better Name Than That

one team was formed entirely around learning to not kill people. pillow overhears them say “youre against killing?” and goes “:D did someone say killing??”

tennis ball admonishing rocky for not knowing how to write: “no arms is no excuse”

they had to find a needle in a haystack and needle just turned herself in, successfully

when they started using a board with the points written on it on flaps of paper instead of a computer screen, but due to budget cuts, it could only display two digits per contestant, so anyone who went over 100 started immediately dropping to the bottom of the rankings

when ice cube was sleeping at the cake of stake podiums and got shot up into the air at like 3000 mph

2763

when the eliminated contestants tried to escape the loser chamber and they just rolled it off into the ocean

theyre saved because the sun rises and picks them up out of the ocean

also apparently the chamber opens for like five minutes a day for sunlight, but instead of just climbing out during that time, which they seem to be capable of doing, they do a much more convoluted thing

they were sick of four so they got rid of him by multiplying him with donut, and it worked

ruby has some really weirdly specific ideas of beauty and coaches flower

the line delivery of “killing a bubble is as easy as one, two, th(pop)” “i just learned two things about bubble: she can be su i c i d a l and she’s S O D U M B she CANT even count to T H R E E!”

a few episodes later bubble angrily shows them she CAN count to three if she lives long enough to do so, and pencil and match are both like :O :O

bubbles first line in season four is her rapidly counting to ten before getting popped

the way each team breaks their jawbreakers

8 ball just goes “MNYAH” and bites it in half

"okay black hole, do the thing”

leafy tries to use woody’s tongue to lick it open even though rocky and balloony were doing just fine using acid

iance just going ‘bwehbwehbweh’ all licking the same one

team ice cube was doing a mix of bwebwhbehbbwehbw and loudly drilling it open with naily

when four loved so hard he shot eraser off over the horizon

when they’re discussing team names in season one and theyre all talking over each other so you cant hear what theyre saying, except match, who grabs a megaphone and screams “SMOKY HOT FIERY BUNS”

when needle made a cake and put so much yeast in it that it breached earth’s atmosphere and astronomers apparently began classing earth as part of a three planet system (”consisting of the earth, the moon, and something called ‘needles cake’”)

“it’s ice cube! and she’s shrinking?” “she’s falling”

saying “(x character)! wake up!!” when it’s unclear (to the audience) why a character looks silly or apparently isnt responding

blocky’s sleeping pose is him with his eyes wide open, sporting a big goofy grin and hugging his legs

david’s sleeping pose is him with X eyes

one time the contest was to fill a tank with water from crying, and golf ball immediately ordered tennis ball to cry. he couldn’t do it on command, so golf ball tried, and cried her first ever tear, just... her first one

when the prize was fortune cookies, the fortunes were bracelety’s notes about how much she loves ice cube

“four, where’d you get these fortunes again?” “dumpster!”

“lightning always forgets to fly, so he had to be the fake”

when they were flying paper planes and stapy accidentally stapled his teammates into theirs, and he just hovered next to it while he was talking to them before they all started to plummet

the entire scene where liy tries to use ice cube to force teardrop to talk

“i’ll hold teardrops jaw open and you wiggle her vocal chords”

“i hate you” “yeah i hate her too!” “no. i hate you.”

“ice cube will only stop when she WANTS to stop!” “i want to stop”

“YOU SAID YOU WOULD HELP ME! YOU SAID YOU WERE COOL!” “so r r y (starts wiggling)”

“ICE CUBE! I AM APPALLED!!!!!”

ice cube gets bitten and starts screaming while bracelety is yelling “YEAH ICE CUBE! I CANT HEAR YOU, LOUDER!!”

apparently everyone who hates golf ball gets physically sick when they get near her (or at least, ruby does and snowball did once he knew she was there)

blocky got eaten by a monster in episode two but it turned out the monster missed him by a bit so he was fine

taco’s teammates thought she was dead forever and wrote eulogies for her, and once they found out she was alive lollipop threw hers away, but saw kept hers because in her eyes they’re still valid!!

when things started to get dramatic in the s1 finale, and leafy called announcer on the phone and he was in a ball pit

loser’s trapped in a jawbreaker and the only thing with him is donut’s diary. the next time you see him he’s reading it furiously and it’s filled with color-coded sticky notes

pillow decided if you wave your arms it means all your “care spirit” is getting sucked out your arms and sent into space (”a true indicator that person doesn’t give a fluff”)

remote got hacked and her FIRST INSTINCT is to send the hackers a bomb

“if theres an announcer recovery center now, that means we can kill the announcer as much as we want and he’ll still come back to give us dream island!”

they ask black hole to push them in their swing and he says he can’t push, but he can pull like there’s no tomorrow

“no i can literally warp space time so that there will be no tomorrow” “yeah,h don’t do that.”

when they have a tiebreaker announcer pulls out a silk tie and goes “first team to break this tie wins”

the second time, almost before he finished speaking, snowball just reached over and ripped it in half effortlessly

“proves you don’t need frills to make a feast for the eyes!” “more like taco doesn’t need to be dead to be deceased in my eyes!!!”

they had a race where everyone on each team had their legs tied together (like a three-legged race, but with like six people on a team)

pen’s team was doing fine but he wasn’t, so they just dragged him along behind

snowball tied his team into a ball and dragged them himself, to predictable results, and wouldn’t stop until he got to the finish line even though it took him until after the sun went down

he failed, actually, and him and his team plummeted down a ravine when he passed out

“the opposite of dream island! night...nightmare moon!!”

donut stuck his arms through a one way camera to the moon (it transmits matter as well as light), and to fix the fact that his arms were on the moon and his body was on earth, he pushed the entire earth through the camera

the moon is smushed up against the earth now. it has not been resolved yet

“gelatin and firey tied their legs together and fell off” “ya, seems like the kind of thing they would do”

pencil got caught by a monster and couldnt get away, so they had to kill her so they could recover her somewhere else, and they let her pick how they did it, which lead to everyone just sawing her in half while she grinned ear to ear. she was singing too. iconic

but first, match, her best friend, started waggling a big butcher’s knife around at her going “hoohoo hoeheehee im killing pencil loookat me” and pencil said “match put your butterknife away, you have to ACTUALLY kill me”

and when they were sawing her in half bubble had the BIGGEST, most BLISSFUL grin, with her eyes half closed like a happy cat

bell asks for help making people stop climbing her string, and snowball assures her he can do it, but he’ll have to climb her string to get to them

then like twenty people followed him up

when writing utensil characters use themselves to write with

sometimes they have tiny versions of themselves (sans limbs), but sometimes they just like, pull their caps off and write with their heads

(the same scream noise they use every time a group of people screams) “HONESTLY! (grabs a new can of fork repellent from hammerspace) are you guys going to scream like that EVERY time i use up a can?”

dodecadangit

OH THANKS AN OCTADECILLION, MATCH

they were basically playing hot potato where if you look at someone who was glowing you’d catch the glow, and most teams ended up just chilling with their eyes closed, but golf ball yelled “EVERYONE GET ON MY ROCKET” and she and her team just left earth entirely

this did not stop them from catching the glow

someone’s like “the communicator dish still works” and book goes “oh,” dips a chip into the communicator dish and splashes dip everywhere, “THATS what this is?”

the, like, five minute long end-credits scene of ice cube falling off a cliff eternally

pencil tells ruby which button to press and she keeps getting it wrong, partly because NEW BUTTONS KEEP APPEARING

the poison antidote that has the side effect of making the recipient eat one other contestant

pencil coaching her teammates on how to jump higher

“MMR? I love measles, mumps, and rubella!”

“golf ball knows how to do, like, everything!” (cut to golf ball) “i don’t know how to do, like, anything”

basketball invited 8 ball to be on her team cuz they’re both balls, then 8 ball said “sure, and let’s adopt these three” in reference to three other ball characters

loser said when he was younger he used to play with a toy that was apparently only just invented an hour ago, and everyone, like 60 characters, immediately disowned him and started a turf war over the situation

“black hole, you’re strong! open this jar for me!”

(as the world is literally ending) “FLOWER! WHATAVE YOU DONE??” “i got this jar open!!!”

whenever a host dies or is otherwise put out of commission and the contestants just keep trucking along until they remember no one can get the prize if the host isn’t around to give it to them

that time announcer used like ten negatives in a sentence

the way announcer says “wow!” with more emotion than anything else he says? idk if it’s intentional, or even a joke, but it’s the best thing

(slow mo) “i want to cry now, i really do”

“and i cry acid”

ruby died of sadness and book made it big by selling her remains

when they say some line that’s just regular words in a slightly unique way, and then the line gets repeated throughout the series

announcer accidentally-on-purpose got everyone killed, except david (who’s immune to bugs), and he had a david cloner, so he just went ahead and replaced everyone with davids in costumes

halfway through cake at stake, the original contestants show up unexpectedly and explain that they “faked their deaths! obviously.”

“ive decided to not cancel bfdi!” “aw, seriously?”

the noises david and dora make when they do things, like clattering, or sprouting leaves

bubble and match pretending to be trees

“NO BUBBLE! TREES DONT SAY THAT!” “OH, RIGHT! FSSHHHHHH! FWWWSHH!!!!”

when nickel and coiny get close together bad things happen

“how’s the tree-climbing going?” “it’s okay, but it’d be easier if you helped. (swoop) okay, just got to the top”

“yes! I am the first one up the tree!” “that’s NOT true, I was here FIRST”

i guess we’ll just have to use this trebuchet tennis ball built before he died

“wha! yhad this the HWOLE TIME, I DIDN EVEN HAVE TO CLIMB THE TREE?” “physical exertion builds character :)”

when everyone’s begging four to bring back their dead teammates, especially saw, who lost her entire team, and four is like okay I’ll bring back one (1) person, and saw very reverently starts to ask him for her dead team leader, but grassy says “tennis ball!” and four listens to him instead, and everyone immediately starts nagging four again to bring back more important people

leafy, about to melt ice cube down for metal scrap: “ice cube, come on down! you can be my alloy!”

they met a new character and they’re like “who is that?” and pie’s like “I dunno, try squishing it”

“theres another one? whoa! it totally has a different texture from the first one!”

8 ball beginning every single statement with things like “although I don’t have a favorite number...”

“I do this!” (grabs pin and turns her, screaming, into a squiggly pile of lines) “pretty cool, dontcha think?”

“can,,,, you bring her back?” “no” (five seconds later) “HEY CHECK THIS OUT! (brings back pin)”

pen high fived black hole and his arm spaghettified

“what are you doing?” “im going to die!” “hi needle! he’s not going to die.”

iance was trying to dig their way up out of the ground but they couldnt because golf ball kept blocking them from the surface

“maybe theyre trying to communicate with me?” “yeah they’re telling you to stop”

“they raise a very convincing argument. BUT IT’S NOT ENOUGH!” “OH what a pain!!”

she accurately guessed the fact that there was a group of people underground running from some lava who “clearly value avoiding [golf ball] more than their own safety”

“ohhhh so THIS is golf balls idea of fun!” “(sigh)... yep”

they looked through a camera and couldn’t see donut (the zoom wasn’t adjusted) and marker went “donut’s a vampire too?”

too???

“meh, I’ve still got other evidence”

one time the eliminated contestants got to vote who to eliminate and snowball was like “ice cube, cuz it’s really hot in the TLC and I can’t be the only one cooling it off”

like four other people were like “oh man he’s right” and did the same thing

“wouldn’t it be cool if the last word of the last episode was the same as the first word of the first episode?” “yeah :)”

“take. a deep breath. you know. A DEEP FRIED BREATH”

at the end of the episode he shows up with some boiling oil and is like “LIKE THIS! ONE, (sizzling and screaming noises)” “COINY NO”

leafy was about to throw a knife at them but watched this happen offscreen with horror and then left them alone

david’s human, and that’s just weird

“im still mad you killed bubble” “youre one to talk, you were about to impale TWO WHOLE teams” “yeah, but bubble’s life? is special”

pen’s like “okay we three need to stick together while we’re picking teams!” but then eraser hears some other team has free food, so he runs off and pen very flatly goes “okay, we lost eraser.”

“well let’s not pick pen, he’s still two hundred bigintillion dollars in debt” which is mostly hilarious without the first three seasons of context, but even with context it’s hilarious. he looks so shamefaced when they say it too. i love pen

once someone finally picks him he IMMEDIATELY perks up and takes charge

the hphprcc went into self destruct mode and everyone started frantically trying to figure out what to do, and book’s like “okay it’ll either just disappear without a trace, or blow up and kill us all, 50/50 chance” and then of course, it exploded, and ruby started screaming, and then book was like “ruby, stop hallucinating! see? it just disappeared, without a trace!”

“YOuuOURE HalLUCINAATING!!” “DON’T do that!! it is K-R-E-P!”

pin tried to knock everyone off the eiffel tower by shaking it and book was like “who does she think she’s kidding? it’s the eiffel tower we won’t fall off”

“name ONE! name ONE friend you haven’t gotten extremely angry at!” “thats not fair,! there isnt even any of them!”

8ball was saying the opposite of everything golf ball was saying, up to and including calling the members of their team, a better name that that, “worse namers”

“is this because i killed you last episode?” “what?? no, i dont care about that!”

“life is CHEAP! get me a BANANA!!!”

flower bit off half of announcer’s head and he couldn’t make the K sound anymore

“have this -ashew” “bless you”

“no i said -ashew. -ashew. -ashew. -ashew.” “wow you must be allergic to something”

“maybe announcer’s allergic to this cashew? here bubble, you can have it!”

pencil won the staring contest because david’s allergic to sunrises

freesmart was making video diaries during the three year hiatus, but apparently did absolutely no editing or even rewatching of the videos, because they found out three years too late that ruby left the lens cap on every time she used the camera

when four played the cake at stake song in the classroom he played it on a low-quality portable tv instead of cutting to a fullscreen video

“iknowafasterway!” “NORUBYYOULLDIE!”

pin said she didnt want to halve the votes she got because she hadnt done anything that would make people want to vote for her, and it immediately cut to a series of old scenes of her throwing people under the metaphorical bus

literally nothing is funnier than “i mean, i havent done anything to make people vote for me” (cut to flashback) “there’s too much weight on this sinking ship!!! we need to throw someone OVERBOARD!!!!”

one team got stuck doing their nine-piece puzzle for a MONTH because all the pieces were the same dark brown color

the pieces were upside down

a month

“the finish line! it’s only twenty or so yards away!”

two people talking and using the word “needy” twice and pausing to throw their hands up protectively and go “HNnnnynGH”

“why do i have filling, but also a hole?” - donuts diary

in 5b theyre talking to some npcs and theyre like “well dont hurt us, because we just got finished being punished in lego brick’s dungeon” and the npcs were like “oh yeah he does that. he’s a great guy, but he does that.”

also in 5b when book met lego brick the FIRST thing she asked is if he’s “safe to look at” which,???

they did a trivia contest and multiple questions were in complete gibberish

presumably this is an actual language in canon since like three other people answered correctly, also in gibberish, but still

“you’ve got this, bubble, you’re great at mental contests” “question one: ooba grooba, grooba shmooba?” “HUH?”

“but tennis ball -- oh... tennis ball....--”

team naming, especially in season four

“we’re not ALL in the alliance!” “well, if you take ‘the all’ out of the alliance, you get...”

“and what is your name?” (everyone says their own actual names at once)

ice cube is not on team ice cube

Death Prevention And Creating Trust

“let’s be called The Losers!” “awww! you didn’t have to”

wheel ooze a hole bunch. WOAH bunch!

“but then it sounds like youre saying free-DUMB!” “and we are so like totally not dumb!”

when the losers decided to use iance’s idea to win the swing contest and it was styled like an overenthusiastic science video

“WHOA!!! iance just had a RADICAL idea!!!”

“TREASON! TREASON! TREASON!” “im in what?”

“seriously why are so many people drowning? it’s not even quicksand, or anything” - announcer, responding to five people drowning in a basket of bread

they were whispering with “susuusus” noises and cloudy whispered “zuzuzuzzuz”

the spaceship with the sign that says “this spaceship runs on big squishy contestants” or whatever and after the credits it slowly flips over to say “this spaceship runs on VOTERS”

“stop shooting at me!” “no way! i got these cannonballs on sale and IM GONNA GET MY MONEYS WORTH!!!”

eggy and cake’s argument over who has a deeper spiritual connection with loser

“my connection is so strong that when i crack, i bleed loser’s COLOR”

playing catch with a star they plucked out of the big dipper, and leafy’s horror over it

adding “ey” to people’s names (personal favorites are announcery, fourty-four, flowey, treey, and belly)

blueberries are EXPLOSIVE, including the ones inside pie, so sometimes she just explodes

“but over a year ago, four said you dont need frills to make a feast for the eyes, so that means hes okay with trash!”

the anti-advertisements advertisement!

four ate a whole team and they just sort of stood around inside him sticking their arms out his mouth and laughing hysterically

“again! again again again !!!!”

“we could be leaving!” “yeah, but when’s the last time you saw remote this happy? this is good for her!”

book, three episodes into season 3: hey, what is it we’re even battling for?

(iconic voice): dwream island,??

when they had a beauty contest and firey speaker box and flower speaker box just immediately chose firey and flower to be the winners without a second’s hesitation

“book! come help us catch a criminal!” “no thanks, im good!”

donut tried to punish people for getting the wrong answers when he was hosting, but it turns out a recording of four screeching doesn’t work... quite as well as the real deal

four zapping gelatin

ok ok ok this is insanely long but please add more if u have any favorites i missed

#honorable mention is 'pen island all caps no spaces'#its so stupid and i lose it every single time #and the reanimated 1a and 1b map when leafy icy and coiny were on their boat and inexplicably dressed as pirates #its the CUTEST Thing and i think about it a lot #bfdi #long post #o

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jksmoongf · 5 years

Text

Kissing Fire [pt. 8]

Pairing: Jungkook x reader x girlfriend (oc) Genre: cheater!AU, angst, smut Wordcount: 8.1k Warning: smut, lies, heartbreak and more lies and maybe fluff if you squint

Summary: It always feels like there is only one person in the world to love. And then you find somebody else.

a/n: I don’t condone cheating on your s.o., so please don’t read if you have a problem with this! (also I’m not saying this is something Jungkook would actually do!) Warning chapter 8: none ??? (it’s an angsty mess, profanities if you squint)

Breathing heavily Jimin’s eyes darted to the youngest member in the mirrored wall of the dance studio; every time he looked at him the betrayal he felt made him sick to his stomach. How could he have been so wrong about Jungkook? He had always treated him like his own flesh and blood; he had been there for him when he needed a shoulder to cry on but now his face was barely recognizable; almost like his eyes were trying to blur out the pain that was omnipresent in his heart every time he looked at his little brother. He felt exhausted, unable to focus on anything, his dance moves were mechanical like his limbs automatically just repeated the moves from memory. He desperately needed sleep but every time he closed his eyes, his brain started to go into overdrive, not allowing him to rest until he passed out from exhaustion - only to relive the moment he had found out over and over again. It had been two days and his patience was wearing thin, running on three hours of sleep. “That’s it for today.” Sungdeuk clapped his hands and turned the stereo off. “All of you should keep practicing!” He addressed the group but his eyes were focused on Jimin, wanting to spare him from the exposure in front of the others when agony was painted all over his face but at this point, he didn’t care. He had no energy left to apologize for his lack of commitment in the past few days. The other members sat down on the floor and chairs, trying to calm down from going over the choreography over and over again. Jimin’s legs felt wobbly as he made his way over to the fridge to grab a bottle of water, hoping that the cold liquid would refresh his senses and pull him out of this slump. The thought of drinking his sorrows away once he got home creeping up on him yet again, in hopes of passing out and finally getting the rest his body was longing for.

“Jimin-ah, get me one too please.” Jin groaned, lying down flat on his back; arms and legs stretched out in all directions like a starfish. His heartfelt heavy like a ton of bricks, weighing down his entire body as he sluggishly made his way over to his hyung - it felt like he was just robotically dragging his legs from place to place. After handing the oldest his water; he walked back to one of the chairs, desperately needing to give his legs a break when his eyes caught a glimpse of Jungkook’s phone; he was tapping on a picture he had just been sent. Sharply Jimin sucked in a breath through his teeth, anger igniting in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Jungkook and y/n were secretly hooking up; she still had the audacity to send him lewd pictures. Immediately recognizing the slowly fading bruises on her bare ass from the video he so desperately tried to erase from his memory. From the little wiggle of his ears, Jimin knew the youngest was smiling as he zoomed in and out of the picture to take in every inch of her naked body. “Jungkookie, why are you smiling? Let me see.” Taehyung scooted over to the younger one, trying to get a glimpse of the screen but Jungkook quickly locked it, shoving the phone into his pocket. “Oh nothing, it was just a meme Yugyeom posted into the group chat.” A loud thump echoed from the studio walls when Jimin’s water bottle hit the ground; he spun around storming out of the room; anger and hurt giving him enough energy to make his way to the break room at the end of the hallway. The door handle loudly crashed against the wall, making Ha-na look up from her laptop. “What the-“ “I can’t take it anymore.” Jimin’s voice was shaking as he pushed his hair from his forehead while pacing up and down between the small tables and chairs. “I changed my mind, I want us to talk to Jungkook.” Ha-na’s pupils were blown wide as she hastily closed her laptop, work not being her main priority anymore. “Why now? What made you change your mind?” “Because I just saw that y/n sends him nudes and I can’t stand it. It makes me so angry that they think they can get away with it.” His hands balled into fists; his whole body shaking in anger from the shameless display of treacherous behavior he had just witnessed. “Do you want to do it now? Because I’m so ready!” Ha-na got up, locking eyes with the boy across the table, he slowly nodded his head. “Phone.” She demanded, holding out her hand. “What are you doing?” He asked, handing her his phone with no hesitation. “Shooting a text to the little traitor letting him know we need to talk.” Fingers trembling with the excitement of the imminent confrontation as she typed out the message. [Jungkookie - 4:34pm] We need to talk! Right now! “Do you think he’ll come?” He wondered, his eyes glued to the chat on his phone when the three dots in the small speech bubble made him screech. “And if he doesn’t I’ll drag his ass here myself.” She scoffed, watching as the little dots disappeared again. * Jungkook was hiding in the bathroom, after reading his older brothers texts over and over, a bad feeling started to spread in his chest. Those weren’t the casual texts they would send each other; this sounded troublesome and it scared him shitless. Perspiration gathering on his forehead, hands feeling clammy as he tried to wipe them on his sweatpants. His phone vibrated in his hand, an instant smile tugging on his lips when he saw her name, even now that he was scared of what Jimin wanted to talk about; nothing could outweigh the happiness he felt when he saw her name flash across the display. [y/n - 4:51pm] Sorry, I can’t talk right now. I had to sneak to the kitchen to text you back. Do you know what he wants? [Jungkook - 4:51pm] It’s okay, baby. No, I don’t //: do you think he knows? [y/n - 4:52 pm] I hope not. There’s no way he knows! We have been careful. Let me know how it went, okay? I love you, Kookie <3 Don’t worry, everything will be okay!

[Jungkook - 4:53 pm] I will! I love you too baby For a brief moment he buried his face in his hands before leaving the bathroom; almost running into Yoongi who was walking to his studio. “Yah Jungkook-ah, watch where you’re going.” He playfully scolded him; forcing a nervous chuckle from the younger boy as he bowed repeatedly. “I’m sorry, hyung!” Jungkook watched the dark-haired boy turn around the corner; if Yoongi wasn’t mad at him that probably meant that Jimin was just messing with him. If he really screwed up, then all of his older brothers would know but his heart was still hammering against his ribcage as he opened to door to the break room where Jimin had told him to come. He was startled in his movements, when he saw Ha-na leaning against a table, her eyes now piercing his skull as he stood in the doorway. Jimin was pacing up and down the room, nervously fiddling with his phone. “Close the door!” Ha-na commanded before pointing to a chair that looked like they had put it there just for him. His obedient side kicked in and he did as he was told, slowly walking to take his seat; brain too numb to even realize what was going on. Nervousness was taking over his entire body, he could feel the sweat gathering in his hairline again, slowly streaming down the sides of his face. Ha-na’s gaze lingered on the boy who looked so tiny in his big sweater, his dark doe eyes wide and filled with questions and confusion. She despised the innocent look on his face with his mouth open in a slight o-shape; was he just trying to fool them into believing he didn’t do anything wrong, that he didn’t cheat on his girlfriend for months and months without feeling an ounce of guilt? “Do you want me to do it?” She asked Jimin, who had finally taken his position next to her, he simply nodded, his hands were shaking so he shoved them into the pockets of his jeans. “Fine, I’ll go ahead then."

Jungkook gulped down the big lump that was threatening to close up his throat. They looked so big and intimidating towering over him like hawks ready to attack their prey. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck and followed the curve of his spine as his fingers dug into the soft material of his sweater. Ha-na cleared her throat, momentarily closing her eyes while taking a deep breath. “We know what you’re doing with y/n.” Jungkook’s body froze, his brain was petrified from fear while his heart was beating so fast he was sure he was gonna have an aneurysm in a matter of seconds. “What?” He croaked, mouth as dry as the desert. He was mortified, hoping that he just didn’t understand her right. “You heard me!” He shook his head, eyes wide in panic as he tried to come up with a lie, anything that would get him out of this situation. “We’re not…” He began but Ha-na interrupted him right away. “Oh fuck me. Stop lying! Jimin…” She pointed to his brother, who had been quiet, just staring at his feet with a pained expression painted on his face. “And I have seen it! I saw you making out with her in the kitchen and Jimin saw your little video.” “No no no..” He mumbled to himself, hands flying to cover his ears from hearing any more of his secret from her lips. His pupils were moving unusually fast as he tried to get a grip of what was happening; the scenario he had feared the most was threatening to make his heart stop. “You got it wrong…we are not..” “Cut the bullshit!” Ha-na snapped. “You’re hooking up with her, stop denying it.” Jungkook sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, trying to stop it from trembling. This was all too much; he wanted to run away and hide somewhere where they wouldn’t find him. When his fight or flight senses kicked in and he jumped to his feet, ready to make a break for the door and run to find the only arms that would give him the comfort that he needed. “Sit down! You’re not going anywhere!” Jimin’s voice was sharp, cutting through him like a knife, his body responding involuntarily obliging the older one’s words. Ha-na pulled out a chair, sitting directly across from him. She tried to look him in the eyes but he just stared at his hands, his right leg bopping up and down quickly. His bangs were sticking to his forehead; she knew he was scared and some small part of her felt bad for the young boy sitting across from her but he had to learn that his actions had consequences. Jimin shifted in his spot; the silence was almost too much to bear, making him even more nervous than he already was - maybe this was the moment that would change the whole dynamic of the group. Jungkook definitely wasn’t the 16-year-old innocent boy anymore that needed to be babied; maybe they all had been too lenient with him. Their utmost admiration for him painting a false picture of the boy in front of him. “Jungkook…” Ha-na began, her voice sounded like it was very far away. His ears were deafening from the pressure in his head while his thoughts were just a jumbled mess, fighting to get the upper hand as he looked for a way to deflect the situation. “Hey…” His older brother nudged him with his foot, snapping him out of his trance. “You know what you two are doing is wrong, right?” She tried a simple approach, seeing as Jungkook was still in panic mode, looking like a deer that was about to get hit by a car at full speed. He nodded, his fingers picking at the fuzz on his cheek as his sleeve slipped down his arm a little, revealing the black leather bracelet Jimin had talked about the other night which she now saw for the first time. “Then why are you doing it?” His voice cracked as he attempted to speak. “I-I-…we…” “Are you just sleeping with her or what?” He shook his head. “No, I love her and she loves me…” Ha-na’s mouth fell open at the sudden confession; although she had been aware that it must have been more than the occasional sex, the actual words twisted her stomach into knots. “What? Since when?” “Ever since I saw her for the first time.” “You have been in love with y/n for like five years?” Jimin asked in disbelief; everything he thought he knew had been wrong, remembering the only time y/n had visited the dorms a few months before their debut in 2013. “No, when Taehyung brought her over after she moved here…” His voice was so small and fragile, on the verge of breaking at any given second. “We locked eyes and I just-…I didn’t know what it was but I just felt something and then I heard this beeping and I just knew she was my soulmate…”

“Don’t give me that anime soulmate crap! You cannot know someone is your soulmate because you heard a noise.” Ha-na groaned. “That’s not how it works, especially when it was probably just the fucking microwave. That’s not a sign from the universe to cheat on your girlfriend, Kook!” Jungkook swallowed hard, not knowing how he should explain himself or his feelings - they would never understand that he just knew she was the one. That looking into her eyes, made him feel something he had never felt before. “I know and I did try to fight it and not act on it but it got harder and harder every day because she started coming over a lot.” “You never really spoke to her that much, I know that because she asked Tae if you didn’t like her.” Ha-na’s index finger was tapping her chin as she combed back through her memories. “What did he say? Did he suspect anything?” Ha-na shook her head looking at Jimin. “He reassured her that Jungkook would just need time to warm up to her. Tae still has no idea what they are doing behind his - all of our backs.” “It’ll break his heart when he finds out…” Jimin trailed off but so did Jungkook’s thoughts. Y/n had been worried that he did not like her all those months ago? He knew now that she had sensed the same spark he felt when their eyes met but his conscience had tried so hard not to cave in; he had been strong for a while but eventually he gave in to temptation. Maybe he had been too busy fighting a war with his inner demons to notice that she had liked him too until that one night that set everything in motion... He had snatched his favorite spot on the big sofa, between Jin and Hoseok, where he could steal glances at her without anyone noticing. He would never be able to understand how anyone could look so effortlessly beautiful in just leggings and a t-shirt but she did and it made it hard for him to take his eyes off her but whenever she moved her head he looked away; afraid she would be able to see in eyes how he felt. “I’m going to make us more popcorn.” Her voice was so sweet; all he wanted was to listen to her forever. “Can you bring some jellies too?” Taehyung mumbled while handing her the empty popcorn bowl. “Sure.” She ruffled his hair, making his stomach churn - Taehyung posed no threat, he was in love with Ha-na but Jungkook would have given everything he owned for her to show him the same affection she showed her best friend. Watching her walk to the kitchen; he finally focused on the movie but he had no idea what happened when he had paid no attention to it for the last fifteen minutes. “Why’s he doing that?” He leaned over to Jin, hoping his eldest brother would fill in the gaps of the plot he was missing. “He is just looking for clues to find out what’s happening to his daughter.” Jin didn’t even look at him, eyes quickly scanning the subtitles on the tv to not miss a thing. Jungkook pursed his lips, sinking back into the cushions with a groan. He could feel himself getting bored; it was torture to know she was here but he wasn’t able to look at her when all he was allowed to do was stare at her face for the remainder of his days. “What’s taking y/n so long?” Taehyung sat up, peeking over the couch towards the kitchen. “I’ll go check, I wanted to get some water anyway.” He jumped at the opportunity to be in the same room with her, although he never managed to muster up the courage to actually speak to her when they were alone. Too scared that his heart might betray him and force him to just confess that she was all he could think about. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, Jungkook couldn’t help but smile; she was on her tiptoes trying to reach the bag of Tae’s favorite jelly candy on the top shelf of the cupboard while the popcorn maker was heating up. His eyes darted to the small exposed part of her back where her shirt had ridden up from stretching her arm making his tongue run along the inside of his cheek. Her skin looked so soft, the urge to just run his hands over it stirred up in his chest. Sucking in his breath as a tingling feeling shot down his core, making his dick twitch excitedly in the confinements of his sweatpants. “Do you need help, noona?” He asked, trying to sound casual as he walked up behind her. “Oh, Kookie! Yes, please. I can’t reach the candy.” She didn’t back away when he leaned closer to grab the plastic bag. Still, on her toes, he felt his semi-hard dick press against her butt. He wanted to curse himself; now she would think he was a pervert shamelessly pressing his member against her. Preparing himself mentally for her to turn around and slap him, he closed his eyes waiting for the inevitable blow that never came. She didn’t move, she was holding still - her perfume clouding his senses; making him feel light-headed. He wasn’t sure if he imagined it or if she actually leaned back against him, her body so close to his that he didn’t dare to move even an inch. Yet a little voice was screaming in his head to just rub up against her, getting the friction he wanted so badly.

“Jungkook-ah the jellies.” She sounded flustered as her hands held on tightly to the shelf, turning her knuckles white from the pressure. “Oh yes, sorry.” He shakily exhaled, his fingers fished the small bag off the shelf when she turned around, still trapped between his body and cupboard. Both of their cheeks tinted in a pinkish hue, his eyes followed hers as they rested on the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. The uncomfortable silence drowned everything out as he watched her lick her lips, eyes still fixated on his crotch when suddenly the loud plopping of the popcorn maker made them move away from each other. He didn’t know what to say to her or if he should say anything at all; embarrassment flooding his mind that he wasn’t able to control himself. “I’ll go give Taehyung his jellies.” “Jungkook, hey.” Jimin waved his hand in front of his face. “Are you even listening?” Startled by the sudden movements of his brother, he flinched. “Sorry…” “When did it all start?” His older brother repeated the question, but he had a difficult time focusing, every memory in his head started to blur and fade away as he tried to remember anything that had happened. He didn’t want to tell them what he did with y/n or when. Guilt and shame crashing down on him for committing the ultimate betrayal towards the girl that loved him with her whole heart and that he had stopped loving months ago. “I-…when we had our last concert.” “What? When? I was there, I didn’t see anything.” Jimin wrecked his brain but the memory of that night was hazy; blaming the amount alcohol he had consumed that night. “Nobody saw…it was just me and her…” “When? At the Arena? We were all there…” Jungkook took a deep breath, closing his eyes to prepare himself. He didn't want them to know but he knew they wouldn’t stop prodding him with questions until they got answers from him. “It was when we went to that restaurant to celebrate..” He trailed off, clutching the hem of his sweatshirt tightly between his fingers. “Where? When I got there you were nowhere to be found…” Ha-na’s mouth fell open when the realization set in that the two of them must have wandered off somewhere to be alone. “It’s a long story...” “By all means go ahead, we have all the time in the world.” The girl crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in the chair. Jungkook was tired but the high of performing was still fueling his body. It had been their last show of the tour in Seoul and he had exhausted himself; wanting to give the fans a night they would never forget. Y/n was sitting next to him at the table in the restaurant the staff had rented to celebrate the end of a successful tour, but she was not paying much attention to him to his dismay. She kept talking to Taehyung who sat across from her; telling him how amazing he had been on stage. Jungkook felt jealousy gnawing at his heart, a part of him had put even more effort into every single dance move, into every single note he sang to impress her but she didn’t acknowledge it. Her eyes only set on her best friend, showering him in praise and compliments. What would he have to do to get her attention - to get just one compliment? “Are you not going to drink?” Taehyung asked as the restaurant staff was serving beers and other various alcoholic drinks. “No, I have that job interview for that restaurant tomorrow. I can’t fuck it up, my brother is getting mad that I still don’t have a job.” At that moment he decided he wasn’t going to drink either, although he really wanted to as a reward for finishing the tour healthily and successfully but he also wanted to remember every moment he spent with her. Although the prospect of alcohol lending him some confidence was enticing, he just couldn’t risk making a wrong move. Ever since the incident in the kitchen three weeks ago, he had noticed small changes in her behavior. He had been so scared to even look at her in the beginning, scared that she would think he was disgusting but things had been different. One afternoon, she had watched them practice and he could have sworn that her eyes had been glued to him - eating him up, she had watched his every move - clapping loudly after he finished practicing his solo stage. Every time she walked past him, she would find a way to slightly brush against him, whether it was their arms or their hands touching. He was craving her attention and each day that passed without getting any felt like a day not worth remembering; but just one smile from her could turn his whole day upside down, setting the abundance of butterflies in motion in his stomach. “Hey, can you pass the Kimchi?” Namjoon muttered while stuffing some meat into his mouth. In unison, they both moved their hands to the small bowl to hand it to the leader; her soft fingers brushed against his, making them both pull away hastily, almost knocking over their glasses. Jungkook felt his ears getting hot as he let out a nervous chuckle, her eyes glued to her plate to avoid looking at him or anyone for that matter. “What’s with you two?” Taehyung grabbed the bowl, handing it over to the other side of the table. “Nothing.” He mumbled, and honestly, there was nothing - nothing worth mentioning that he could add to the list in his mind of all the small touches and smiles. A part of him was still unsure whether he was just wanting to believe that all those things were happening on purpose or if he just wanted it so badly that his mind tricked him into believing they were real. But there was no denying that there was something between them that was like an ominous cloud hovering above their heads ever since that one night. Maybe he was imagining it, but whenever they were close to each other, there was an electricity in the air that no one else could sense.

Everyone was laughing and chatting loudly, enjoying the relaxed atmosphere in the room, telling tour stories and already throwing around ideas for the next one, wanting to make it even bigger and better. From the corner of his eyes, he watched her put the chopsticks down and reach for her cola lifting it to her lips; he loved her lips, they always looked so smooth and plump - perfect to steal a kiss or two. “You were really good tonight.” She said quietly, turning her head ever so slightly in his direction. His heartbeat started to pick up; if he was a puppy he would be wagging his tail like crazy at her words. “You think? Thank you.” He beamed, bowing his head a little, warmth spreading through his body as he finally was rewarded with the compliment he had longed to hear. “Yes, you know how to move your body really well.” Letting out a staggered breath, he didn’t know how to answer. Was she just complimenting his dancing or was there a hidden meaning behind her words? Adjusting her body to face him a little more; Jungkook bit down on his tongue. The mounds of her breasts peeking out of the white skintight dress, evoking the urge in him to just bury his face between them. He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Thank you, I just enjoy dancing a lot.” “Hmm, I can tell.” Her finger traced the rim of her glass as she pressed her thigh against his, mentally adding this small gesture to his list. It had been an hour of him watching her across the room after the members had decided to thank the staff for their hard work and making dreams come true over the past weeks and months. Everyone was deep in conversation, downing alcohol and laughing loudly when he spotted her putting on her denim jacket. Without thinking, he quickly made his way over to her; he couldn’t let her leave just yet, it was too early - he had not spent enough time with her. “You’re not leaving, are you?” He inquired, setting down his glass on the table. “Oh no, I just wanted to get some fresh air.” “I’ll go with you.” He grabbed his jacket and followed her outside, no one noticing that they were leaving. “Do you want to walk for a bit?” He nodded, walking closely behind her as she stretched her arms out. “I love being outside this late, it’s so quiet and peaceful but it such a shame that you can’t see the stars in Seoul.” “I know, but it was the same back home…not that I remember it that much.” She turned around under a streetlight, eyeing him carefully; giving him the time to admire her features, how the smile that was playing on her lips reached her eyes first and how she so effortlessly brushed a strand of hair from her face. “Don’t you miss being with your family?” “I do but I also have a family here which makes it a lot easier but I got really homesick in the beginning.” She nodded, finally letting him catch up with her. “I noticed that all of you are really close and I’m so glad you’re taking care of each other and I’m so thankful that you’re looking after Taehyung for me.” He hummed in agreement. “Yeah, it’s great. They’re all really like brothers to me.” For a split second the backs of their hands brushed against each other. “I’m sure Tae is happy that you’re here, it’s like a piece from home, you know?” She chuckled, taking a few steps to get ahead of him again, then turning around, walking backward to look at him. “Did you hear him say it? Because he said that to me the other day.” Huffing under his breath, he tilted his head a little. “No, it’s just how I feel when I’m around y-“ His last words were drowned out by two guys yelling at them to stop from across the street, making y/n direct her attention to them as they crossed the road; both reeking of booze and smoke when they were getting closer. “What are you doing out here by yourself?” The shorter one slurred, clearly intoxicated judging by the almost empty Soju bottle in his hand. “I’m not by myself.” Both of the men eyed him from head to toe before bursting into laughter. “You’re with that big baby?” She didn’t respond, shying away from them to get some space between them. “Come get a drink with us! We’ll show you a good time.” The taller one, whose hair was styled similarly to Jimin’s, wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Jealousy pumping through his veins as the two men tried forcing her to walk with them. “No, thank you.” Crudely she pushed his arm away, ducking her head to get away from them. “Oh, so you’d rather be with the softy over there?” He sneered, shooting Jungkook a withering look that got his blood boiling. Sure, he maybe he didn’t look that manly in his big grey sweater but he could pack a punch or two if he had to. “Come on, we would be willing to share you!” The sly grin on the guy's face made something snap inside him; he grabbed her hand, pulling her closer to him. “Back off, she’s with me.” Waiting for one of them to make a snide remark or to come at him; he eyed their every move. “Hyung, is the little mommy’s boy trying to fight us?” Jungkook’s free hand was balled into a fist, his nails digging into the palm of his hand. “Ah, some sluts are just not worth it. Let’s go!” They turned to leave, snickering disparagingly. He took a step forward while she desperately tried pulling him back but he was too strong to even notice her attempt. “Kook, no.” She whispered, her fingers tightening around his hand.

“Say that again, I dare you!” His voice was deeper than before, no one would insult her like that when he was around. “So, you really want to fight?” The shorter one turned around, crooking an eyebrow at Jungkook. Her other hand clutched the back of his jacket as he tried to take another step. “Kook-ah, no! Please.” She whined, pulling him back with much more force than before. “Listen to your girlfriend.” A breath got caught in his throat…g-girlfriend- if only she was. Jungkook’s chest was rising and falling quickly as he watched the men leave in the opposite direction. His arm was shaking when he stretched his hand; not able to fully grasp that he had been willing to fight two drunk guys for her. Unsure if he would have been able to actually go through with it if he had to; play fighting with his brothers was different from actually hitting a stranger. When she let go of his jacket it was like he came back to his senses; he bit down on the inside of his cheek. Holding her hand felt amazing; the way their fingers laced together so perfectly seemed like a match made in heaven. A nervous feeling stretched out in his chest, sweat beginning to form underneath his bangs, his hands getting clammy - now that they were alone again she would let go of his hand soon. They watched as the men entered some bar further down the street, just to make sure they weren’t going to bother them anymore. “Thank you so much, you didn’t have to stand up for me.” She smiled up at him and it was like all the anger and jealousy that had consumed him evaporated into thin air instantly. The smile on her face disappeared, her lips were slightly agape as she stared into his eyes; Jungkook felt like he was drowning in them and he didn’t care, hoping that this moment would last forever. She didn’t let go of his hand when she got on her toes, her face getting closer every time he blinked when suddenly her soft, warm lips pressed on his. He couldn’t even close his eyes to fully enjoy the feeling of his insides dancing happily when she pulled away again. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have, I know you have a girlfr-“ She stuttered, cheeks burning red and without warning, he let go of her hand to cup her face reconnecting their lips. “You kissed her back? Are you fucking serious?” Ha-na whisper yelled when the youngest finished his recollection of their first kiss, hanging his head in shame, nodding ever so slightly. “I know it was stupid but I was so happy that she liked me that I just threw caution to the wind. It was my only chance and I couldn’t pass it up.” “You have a girlfriend, you should’ve passed it up.” “Jungkook-ah, what happened then?” Jimin asked cautiously, as he sat down on the table. “We just started sneaking off to kiss whenever she was over.” Ha-na groaned. “Why didn’t you wait until you broke up with Yina?” Jungkook nervously tapped his fingers on his knee. “I don’t know, I was scared. I liked y/n so much and it’s so hard for me to say no to her. I didn’t want to hurt Yina and I knew she would be mad if I started seeing someone else right away like I just replaced her.” “And you thought that sleeping with another girl behind her back for months and falling in love with her wouldn’t be much worse than just breaking up with her right when it happened?” He gulped down the big lump in his throat, knowing that she was right but he couldn’t explain his thought process back then; he had never been good at explaining his feelings. He never wanted to hurt anyone, always wanting please the people around him. And he thought that maybe if he waited just long enough, Yina would break up with him or it would get easier, but it never did. “Listen, love is weird and falling in love with y/n is okay but you shouldn’t have strung Yina along for as long as you have.” His older brother eyed him carefully as he began pinching the denim of his jeans in between his index finger and thumb. “I know that.” He snapped, looking at both of them with wide eyes that were burning from holding back tears. “It’s disgusting and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to look at you the same. You’re doing the worst thing you could possibly do to Yina and you seem perfectly fine with it. Why is that? Don’t you have one ounce of decency in your body, Jungkook? You used to love her, you owe her to be honest with her and not fuck her over like that! Do you know how humiliating it must be for her? You’re fucking another girl behind her back and now we know before her. You’re just a sad little boy who has no conscience whatsoever.” “Ha-na, calm down.” Jimin rested his hand on her shoulder but she just shrugged it off. “No! He deserves to know what a shitty person he is for cheating and lying. Don’t protect him! Don’t baby him! He made that decision all on his own. He decided it would be okay if he got his dick wet somewhere else for months!” Jungkook wanted to run away; he couldn’t stand being in this room any longer. He didn’t want to listen to them list all of his mistakes and that he was a terrible person; he knew that. He had known it ever since it all started but the longer he waited the harder it had gotten. “Don’t you ever think about how bad it must be for y/n as well? You say you love her but if you did, you wouldn’t hide her.” His heart contracted painfully in his chest, getting flashbacks from the night where she had cried so much that he wasn’t her boyfriend. Quickly he wiped away the tears that were spilling from his eyes. “Oh, now he feels bad when it’s about y/n.” Ha-na rolled her eyes. “You’re playing both of them! You have to make up your goddamn mind and man up!” “Don’t you think I’ve been trying to do that? I know, I fucked up! I’m not stupid but it’s so hard and scary.” His voice was firm in the beginning but slowly got quieter until it broke, not caring about the tears rolling down his face. “I know, I’m hurting both of them but every time I try to break up with Yina…I just can’t.” His lips were trembling when he felt Jimin’s hand on his knee trying to comfort him. “I don’t want to hurt her, I don’t want to make her cry.” He blubbered, as crystalline tears dropped onto his sweater. “You are hurting her, even more, the longer you wait!” “I know! It’s twisted but she was my first girlfriend and ending it like that…I just can’t.” Ha-na slapped her hands on her thighs before getting up. “I don’t fucking care! If you don’t break up with her by Saturday, I’m going to tell her what you’re doing!” With his pupils blown wide, he stared at the girl in front of him, sternness painted on her face as she pushed her dark bangs from her face. “Please don’t! Ha-na, I’m begging you, don’t do that.” He hid his face in his hands, choked sobs escaping his mouth. She scoffed under her breath. “She’s already suspecting something’s up with you anyway!” “What?” Panic laced his voice when he looked up, he thought, he had been good at hiding his slowly disintegrating feelings for her. “Yes, she told me you’ve been cold and distant. Jungkook, it’s only a matter of time until she finds out anyway and for your sake, you have to be the one to tell her! Don’t make it worse than it already is! Be the boyfriend she deserves one last time and break up with her because if you don’t, I swear, I’m going to tell her! I can’t stand cheaters and I’m not going to sit back and watch you cause her more pain than you already have!” Slumping back in his chair, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. He knew she was right, he owed Yina that much; she had been his first for everything and he had to be the one to tell her, not Ha-na, not Jimin - it was his responsibility. There was no way around it, he would have to break her heart even if he didn’t want to. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll be here for you, Kookie! I know you can do it. I know you will do the right thing.” His older brother’s voice was soft, his hand giving his knee a light squeeze for encouragement. The clicking of Ha-na’s tongue made both boys look at her. “You have two days, Jungkook! Don’t forget! I don’t want any excuses!” The dark-haired boy nodded, wiping his face with the sleeve of his sweater. “I-I’ll do it. I promise.” “Don’t you dare do it over text! Be a man and look her in the eyes.” It felt like his trachea was tied in knots making it hard to breathe. How was he going to be a man when he felt like a puppy that had been kicked to the curb? His phone vibrated and he instantly pulled it from his pocket. “It’s y/n.” He whispered, looking at the picture of her on the display. “Are her whore of Babylon senses tingling?” “Ha-na, come on. Don’t be mean.” Jimin muttered, earning a sarcastic laugh from her. “You were the one who was upset that she sent him nudes.” Jungkook looked at Jimin, his face was contorted in a shocked grimace. “I know but I didn’t know how much he loved her then.” He gestured towards his little brother. “I don’t condone it but I think he knows he fucked up.” “Oh, shut up! She’s just as bad of a person as he is! She knew he had a girlfriend, yet she still made a move on him. They’re both disgusting liars.” Without thinking Jungkook jumped to his feet. “Don’t talk about y/n like that! I love her, she’s my whole world! You can yell at me all you want, but don’t be mean to her!” “Unbelievable! You two deserve each other.” Ha-na scrambled to get her laptop and headed for the door. “Break up with Yina!” For a little while, the two boys sat across each other without saying a word, both emptily staring at the floor. “You really love her, huh?” Jimin inquired, breaking the suffocating silence. Jungkook sighed. “Yes, I know I shouldn’t but it just happened. It is like I can’t function without her, she just understands me and always has my back.” He licked his lips, before sucking in a deep breath. “I know she’s hurting too because of me and I just want to make her happy.” “You’re not a bad person, despite what Ha-na said. We all make mistakes and this is just a really big one but it’s not too late to do the right thing.” “Please don’t tell the others, I don’t want them to hate me.” “I won’t, just do what Ha-na said, please.” Jimin got up to ruffle his hair. “It’s gonna suck but you have a good heart, Jungkook-ah. I know you have it in you to go through with it.” “I promise, I will.” He mumbled, watching as his older brother left the room and a staff member entered, making him get up immediately as his phone vibrated in his hand again. Sprinting out into the hallway when her name flashed on the screen. “Kookie.” She sounded worried when he lifted the phone to his ear. Simply hearing her voice relaxed him, for the past hour he had been so tense that it made him feel nauseous. “Hey.” He breathed, looking up and down the hallway to check if he was alone. “I don’t have much time, my break is almost over. How did it go? Is everything okay?” For a second, he considered not telling her, not wanting to worry her even more. “Jimin and Ha-na know about us.” Her gasp sent shivers down his spine. “What? How? Oh my god, no. We were so careful.” Her panicked tone made him feel even sicker than he already was; a small reminder of what he had to do. “Don’t worry, they won’t tell anyone.” A lie; she wouldn’t be able to get through her shift if he told her the truth. * Yina readjusted her bag on her shoulder, trying to keep it from sliding down her arm as she was carrying the paper bag with the cookies down to the dance studio. She was well aware of the fact that her boyfriend didn’t like it when she showed up announced but the freshly baked cookies from the little French bakery left her no choice. Ha-na was right, this was just a rough patch in their relationship and surely, Jungkook would come around. Maybe she just had to work a little harder to show him that she cared. She passed by Yoongi’s studio, her ears picking up a muted beat through the closed door; making her feel better knowing that they were actually here and she wouldn’t have to waste those cookies on her coworkers. As she turned the corner, she instantly spotted Jungkook a little further down the hallway, he was on the phone pacing up and down. Normally, she would just walk up to him and wait for him to end the call but something inside her made her stop when he spoke in a hushed voice, hiding behind the protruding part of the wall that separated the ladies from the men's bathroom. “You really don’t have to worry!” He sounded nervous. “Everything’s okay.” She leaned against the wall, careful not to make any noise that would give away that she was there. But his next words made the blood in her veins freeze, a tight feeling spreading in her chest. “Okay, call me after work. I miss you too, baby.” Her eyes were tearing up as her free hand flew to her mouth, pressing harshly against her lips to stop the sob that was threatening to force its way out of her. Like a statue, she stood there, blinking furiously to hinder the tears from spilling; Jungkook’s warm laugh felt like a punch to her stomach, making her feel like she was about to throw up. “Stop it! Go back to work.” Until now, she had never even considered that this was the reason why it had felt like he had been slipping through her fingers, no matter how hard she tried to hold onto him. “I love you too, noona.” Jungkook, her Jungkook, was cheating on her; the boy who had won her heart by storm, the boy who was always so sweet and considerate, the one she loved with all her heart, was telling another girl that he loved her.

Her manicured nails dug into her skin, trying to shift the pain she felt to a physical one that she could bear because her heart was breaking; feeling like that with every breath she took a part of it chipped away that could never be replaced. She had to get out, she couldn’t stand being here, she wanted to run as far away as possible until she couldn’t feel her legs anymore. As she walked back towards Yoongi’s studio, she heard footsteps behind her. “Yina! Hey!” She stood still, closing her eyes making tears drip down her cheeks. Quickly she wiped them away; she had to be strong, she wasn’t going to break down, not now and she put on her best fake smile before turning around. Jungkook was walking towards her, shoving his phone into his pocket. “What are you doing here?” For the first time in months, he didn’t sound like he was unhappy to see her. “I just brought you cookies. I didn’t want to bother you, so I was just going to leave them by your studio door.” “That’s very sweet of you, thank you.” He smiled, showing just a hint of his bunny teeth as he leaned in closer, pressing his lips to her cheek. It took everything from her not to push him away; the lips that once made her fly had lost their wings.

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yyrz · 5 years

Text

it’s in the water, baby

note: this is my piece for the @bnha-wlw-exchange! my pair was @mina1717 and her list had tsuchako as her number one ship, so ofc i had to go with them!! this is a tsuchako avatar au (also ft. momokendou and implied todoiimido) that’s purely fluff.

love them girls

ao3 link!!

monday.

“Do you know what you’re going to tell Izuku-chan?”

A hand touched the edge of her shoulder, a little tap to let her know that there was someone behind her. Ochako wasn’t a jumpy person by any sense of the word, but the slight graze on bare skin caused her to let go of the flowers in her arms. Everything fell, a myriad of pinks and yellows coming into contact with the ground while some were surreptitiously swept by the sudden breeze (likely caused by her).

Tsuyu looked as impeccable as always when Ochako turned around, though the bright blush that marred Tsuyu’s cheeks told Ochako of her embarrassment.

Laughter bubbled out of Ochako at the sight. She gestured to the flowers scattered around them and, with a flick of her wrists, commanded the air to push the flowers into one pile by her feet. Airbending her surroundings to order was always a nice skill to have. Ochako made sure to do that for most of her chores.

“Sorry about that Ochako-chan,” Tsuyu apologized, picking out a lone flower that had found its way to Ochako’s hair. “Also, you missed one.”

Ochako laughed again, much more pronounced than her first. Tsuyu always had that special way of bringing out Ochako’s smile, plastering it for the world to see. Even as an accident, she could always count on Tsuyu to make her laugh.

“No worries Tsuyu-chan,” Ochako replied, taking that small flower from Tsuyu’s hands and examining it. It had a fading pink color, with a petal missing. “I haven’t thought of what to say to him. Besides, he’s a bit busy right now.”

They both turned their heads towards Izuku, who was in the middle of learning a thing or two about earthbending from Tenya. The look of pure concentration on Izuku’s face, coupled with the mechanical way he was swinging his arms, was all it took for Ochako to start giggling again. Even Tsuyu cracked a small smile at the sight, noting the invigorated friend-turned-teacher beside Izuku, who watched the Avatar fondly.

“You should say something. Izuku-chan’s planning to leave for the Earth Kingdom in a fortnight.” Tsuyu leaned over Ochako’s shoulder (Ochako’s brain was trying to process how close Tsuyu was now), only to pluck something from her sleeves. “There was another one.”

Certainly, after that display, Ochako would be flushed red and stuttering. And she probably already was, or at least her brain currently was, because the silence that stretched between them was far too long to be considered normal.

Tsuyu was the picture of nonchalance, holding out the small flower for Ochako to take.

Someone let out a strangled cough from behind them, and at once, whatever spell that enveloped Ochako and Tsuyu broke into two.

Itsuka stood by the threshold of her summer home, staring at the two girls with a mischievous grin lightening her face. Beside her was Momo, who was much more amicable in her expression, though Ochako noticed how her face was flushed red.

She wondered why, and from what? Was Momo sick?

Before she could voice out her concern, a shout from the house called for all of them to come inside. Specifically her, Tsuyu, Izuku, Tenya, Itsuka and Momo.

“You don’t need to shout!” Itsuka bellowed back, earning herself a tap on the cheek from her companion, hushing her.

Momo turned back to Ochako and Tsuyu, who watched the exchange curiously. “We came out to call you. It’s dinner time.” Momo said as a way of explanation. When that was said and done, she took Itsuka’s hand into hers and entered the house again, leaving Ochako and Tsuyu to stare at their retreating backs.

Ochako stole a glance beside her; Tsuyu was still watching the two as they turned to a corner. She was wringing her hands together; like she wanted to do something but was second-guessing herself. The flower had long fallen to the ground now, but Ochako didn’t care about that.

She’d been having particularly specific thoughts lately; wanting to hold Tsuyu’s hands, running her thumbs against Tsuyu’s palms— wondering how the calluses of her knuckles felt.

They’ve never felt as intrusive before. It was only until she’d seen Momo and Itsuka casually holding each other close that they've started to occupy every moment she spent with Tsuyu.

///

Dinner in the Kendou household was a noisy affair. The large group that scattered around the room never ceased in their chattering. To Ochako, everything was background noise when her brain wouldn’t stop thinking about Tsuyu’s hands.

Her eyes wandered around and saw her friends mingling with each other.

Itsuka sat beside Momo, head lowered to hide beneath the girl’s braided hair. Momo was whispering something, from the subtle way her lips moved.

Prince Shouto was teasing Izuku while Tenya moved to defend the smaller man’s honor.

Ochako couldn’t ask for a more peaceful night.

Now, if only she would stop overthinking.

Tsuyu nudged her ribs when Momo placed a cup on the table, having zoned out from whatever story was being told. Ochako looked up to see the prince narrating to the table.

He was talking about that one time when Prince Natsuo took a fire ferret home after his trip from the Earth Kingdom and let it loose in the Fire Lord’s chamber. The fire ferret survived the ordeal, but the Fire Lord found himself under the ridicule of his younger siblings for the next few months.

“Who would’ve thought Touya-nii could shout that loud and that high?” Prince Shouto said, as the table erupted with laughter. Everyone began to share their own stories then, except Ochako, who remained eerily silent.

“You okay Ochako-chan?” Tsuyu asked, watching her stare at the untouched cup of tea in front of her.

Ochako gave Tsuyu a half-hearted nod. Leave it to Tsuyu to notice her sulking. She lifted the cup to her mouth and tasted the sweetened tea on her tongue, just the way she liked it. Requesting more than one dollop of honey made it better, in her opinion.

Once her tea was all gone, Ochako excused herself to go to the bathroom, leaving behind a contemplative Tsuyu, who watched her until the door closed.

///

The smell of tea wafted through the air when Ochako entered the sitting room after the ordeal that was dinnertime. Everyone was stuffed to the brim with delicious food, courtesy of their host, who was now sitting cross-legged by the fireplace. Itsuka was laughing loudly, slapping her thighs in an effort not to do the same to Momo. Meanwhile, Momo was giggling, a hand covering her mouth as she allowed herself to enjoy the moment.

Itsuka wasn’t as flamboyant in showing her roots, unlike Momo and Shouto, who carried their family legacies on their shoulders. They held themselves up to a standard, and it was hard to let go of tradition and etiquette.

Maybe that was why Momo was so, so smitten with Itsuka.

Belatedly, Ochako remembered Momo’s face from earlier. She wasn’t sick at all. A giggle almost spilled from her lips.

“Hey, Ochako?” Izuku’s voice halted her thoughts to a standstill.

Avatar Izuku smiled at her. Trepidation was present on the lines crossing his features, but he still sat on the floor with her. Ochako had taken her place by the edge of the room, so there was room enough for the both of them, plus the pile of flowers she’d picked earlier.

She was weaving them into crowns, a habit left over from a time when she still lived with her parents, all the way down at the Southern Air Temple.

“You alright Izuku-kun? Need anything?” She asked, hands still tangled within the inch of flowers she’d already strung together.

Izuku sighed, picking up a bunch of flowers left on the floor. His hands were scarred, long gone stitches still visible beneath the skin of his palms. When he glanced beside him, he saw Ochako looking at him curiously, like she was waiting for him to say what he needed to say.

“You probably heard from Tsuyu, but I’m planning on going to the Earth Kingdom in a few days, and, well, I was wondering if you’re still willing to come with us?”

He started to make crowns with the flowers in his hands as he spoke. Ochako had taught him how, after he asked her once during their trip to Ember Island. In and out the stems went, and Ochako watched him, for a moment, as he worked.

She didn’t answer him. Not yet, at least. She kept on her task, letting Izuku get to a quarter of his crown done. When she’d finally made one, a complete flower crown with the pink and yellow Ixora plants she’d gathered earlier, Ochako finally stopped.

She didn’t need to think twice about it. This was what she’d been talking to Tsuyu about for the last few days, after all.

“Of course! Why wouldn’t I want to go with you?” She answered, noticing the way Izuku brows furrowed. “You don’t want me to? Or,” the grin that settled across her mouth grew tenfold, and the way her eyes flitted across the room, resting on Tenya and Shouto, made Izuku shift in his seat, “you just wanted to keep Tenya-kun and Shouto-kun to yourself eh?”

Ochako watched as Izuku’s cheeks turned beet red. She couldn’t help but let out a guffaw, hands falling to her sides. The finished flower crown fell to her lap, and she let it sit there while Izuku tried getting his bearings back.

“Ochako!” Izuku almost launched himself towards Ochako, but didn’t, because it was at that precise moment that Shouto decided to sit with the two of them.

Ochako laughed again. Izuku couldn’t even fathom what his life was now, and the prince watched as the avatar choked on air. The look of concern that flashed across Shouto’s face vanished the moment he glimpsed at Ochako.

“I’m going to get a drink. D’you want anything Izuku-kun? Shouto-kun?” She asked. Just so that she’d have a reason to leave them alone; because as much as she’d like to stay, Shouto was too shy to ever show emotion when she was around and Izuku was slowly getting a conniption from the way she was wiggling her eyebrows at his direction.

Izuku continued to choke on nothing. Shouto murmured a quiet “no.”.

Ochako didn’t need to ask twice. She rose from her position, holding the crown she’d made, and made a beeline for the kitchen.

///

Tsuyu watched Ochako drag herself into the kitchen, flower crown in hand, heaving herself towards the sink with all the grace of a dying cat.

“You couldn’t tell him.” Tsuyu didn’t need to ask.

“Nah. I chickened out.”

“That’s fair.”

Both were silent as Ochako held out the crown she had. Tsuyu looked at it curiously, staring at the four-petaled flowers weaved together to form a beautiful wreath. Then again, anything Ochako made was beautiful in Tsuyu’s eyes.

“For you.” Ochako grinned. She made a gesture as though asking permission to put the crown on Tsuyu’s head. Tsuyu let her, bowing so that Ochako could do it.

The crown fit perfectly on Tsuyu’s head, nestled nicely on her hair. Tsuyu blinked and smiled. Her teeth showed and her cheeks hurt because of how big she was smiling.

“Thank you, Ochako-chan.” She gingerly touched the crown, making sure not to accidentally crush it. Tsuyu didn’t want all of Ochako’s hard work to go to waste.

///

Ochako watched Tsuyu prod at the crown, delicately, carefully. Even with her large hands, Tsuyu had a semblance of grace that Ochako often associated with royalty.

In the crevices of her head, far from public scrutiny, Ochako thought of holding Tsuyu’s hands again.

tuesday.

When the sun rose the next day, Ochako knew she had to talk to Izuku. She lifted herself from her bed, shielding her eyes as light filtered into her room. She glanced around, noting that most of the items in her room belonged to Itsuka. Everything she owned could fit in a knapsack, but with how they traveled, a knapsack was all they could carry.

Itsuka was so good to let them borrow her things. Momo too, if she thought about it. Ochako had long since allowed them to pamper her when they wanted to, though she made sure to pay them back when she could.

She never did, but not for lack of trying.

Laughter seeped beneath the cracks of the bedroom door. Early mornings were a routine in the Kendou household, though it was mostly because of Izuku and his training regimen. The Fire Nation blood in Shouto rose with the sun too and often, they would be seen training together, doing katas under the early morning light.

Sometimes, Tenya would join them. Ochako would see them when she found herself awake at those ungodly hours, peering through the windows.

Once, they even offered her to join in. Ochako quickly declined them, running out before they could persuade her. She didn’t want to intrude on their time, and besides that, she was never going to wake up as early and be as energetic as they were.

She could hear someone outside her door, feet padding along the wooden hallway. Not even a second passed when she heard a voice. “Are you awake, Ochako?”

“Yeah. Door’s open, just let yourself in!” She said, moving to the edge of her bed.

In came Momo, who closed the door with a quiet click. She was already so well put-together even in that early morning, with the way her hair was coiled into her usual ponytail and how she’d donned her traveling clothes. Ochako belatedly remembered that she was the Yaoyorozu heiress, so she had to be presentable at all times.

“You going somewhere, Momo-chan?” Ochako asked, standing up to stretch. The joints in her back cracked nicely. She let out a satisfied groan.

“Oh yes. Itsuka and I are going to the market place to buy some supplies.”

“Isn’t it too early for that?”

Momo was shaking her head. “Ochako-chan… it’s noon.”

“Oh.”

A giggle escaped Momo. “Well! I just wanted to ask you if you needed anything in particular? I’m asking now so we won’t have to make another trip. Goodness knows how long we can stay here, after all.”

Ochako grinned, walking towards the closet where she kept her clothes. She plucked one out and stared at the fabric. It was faded in places and thinner in some.

“Maybe a new traveling coat?” Ochako asked, turning to toss her old coat towards Momo. She caught it and rubbed her fingers against the thinner spots.

“A new traveling coat then.” Momo agreed, placing the old one on Ochako’s bed. “We’ll be back before dinner, I hope. It’s Tsuyu-chan’s turn to cook so it shouldn’t be a problem if we’re a bit later than expected.”

She took another look around the room, nodding to herself. Ochako watched Momo’s gaze swept her surroundings before it settled back at her. “You should help her later. She’d appreciate it, you know.”

Ochako was silent as Momo closed the door behind her. The way she said that, and then the way she left with a mischievous grin reminiscent of Itsuka’s own, worried Ochako.

///

It was quiet around the house when Ochako finally left her room. Everyone (and by that, she meant Izuku, Shouto, Tenya, and Tsuyu) had converged by the sitting room, talking amongst themselves.

Ochako’s appearance by the entrance caused everyone in the room to look up, greeting her in different ways. Izuku’s was an energetic ‘good morning’, Tenya’s was a booming ‘good afternoon’, Shouto’s was a curt nod and Tsuyu kept quiet.

That was because, instead of greeting Ochako, she stood up and made a beeline towards the girl, pulling her before she could even take a step inside.

“Kitchen. You haven’t eaten yet.” Tsuyu simply said.

The kitchen was empty when they arrived. Tsuyu motioned to the plate on the table and it took all of three seconds for Ochako to realize that, yes, she was hungry, and not because of the way her stomach had loudly grumbled as the faint smell of cooked salmon hit her nose.

A fierce red dusted her cheeks as Tsuyu chuckled. “This is why you should wake up earlier Ochako. You missed both breakfast and lunch.”

Ochako’s cheeks puffed with feigned annoyance. “Hey! It’s not my fault I was sleepy!”

Tsuyu laughed as Ochako settled on the wooden chair, removing the plastic wrap that kept her late lunch clean. The smell of food intensified as she took a whiff of cooked salmon and fried rice, and her stomach protested from the lack of food entering her system. She sent a sheepish grin towards Tsuyu, who couldn’t help but giggle, urging her to eat.

“Thanks for the meal!”

The food was halfway gone when Ochako glanced at Tsuyu, who’d taken to brewing tea for the both of them. Steam rose from the kettle, and just as Ochako swallowed the last bite of her rice and salmon, Tsuyu poured out their drinks into two small cups. Before she could even ask of it, Tsuyu had also taken a jar of honey from the cupboard.

“Momo-chan said something about them probably getting home late,” Ochako said as she spooned honey into her tea, “she also said you were going to cook dinner later?”

Tsuyu hummed, taking a sip of her tea. It hadn’t cooled in the slightest, but waterbending scorching hot tea was a technique she’d long since mastered. Just knowing that people’s jaw hit the floor when she’d take a sip of the newly brewed drink sent her on a metaphorical high.

Was that a bit mean? She thought it was.

“Yes, I’m going to make curry for later unless you want something else?”

“Curry’s fine! I could even help you if you want?”

“It’d be nice. Izuku-chan was supposed to but he’s going out with Shouto-chan later.” Tsuyu smiled, and Ochako’s brain melted at the sight. Her thoughts spiraled from what Tsuyu had said about Izuku and Shouto. Any other day, she’d have pounced on the information and gossiped with Tsuyu (and Momo and Itsuka if they were there). But, right now, she was distracted by the way Tsuyu’s face lit up.

Absently, she reached for her cup, only to retract her hand with a loud yelp.

Her cup had spilled, and scalding tea cascaded across the table and drenched her fingers.

With no time lost, Tsuyu bent both the water from the pouch that hung by her waist and the spilled tea. The tea was dumped back into the cup, sat upright once more, while clean water covered Ochako’s hand.

Ochako was red in the face, both at her embarrassing display of airheadedness and the fact that Tsuyu’s hand was touching hers, albeit with a sheen of liquid separating the two. It glowed bright and blinding for a few minutes before it was gone again.

Her hand felt better already. She felt better already. Well, everything except for her heart, which was probably trying to fly out of her ribcage.

Once the water was back in Tsuyu’s pouch, she turned a sharp eye towards Ochako. “You should be careful Ochako,” Tsuyu chastised, “you were lucky I was here to heal that.”

“Yeah, sorry about that Tsuyu-chan,” Ochako bit her lip. “I was just, uh, there was something on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“O-Oh! No, I don’t, I mean, it’s nothing!”

With only the vaguest sense of disappointment, Tsuyu relented, dropping the topic altogether. The slight grimace on her lips told Ochako that she should be truthful and yet, she didn’t say anything else.

How do you tell your friend you want to hold her hand and then, possibly, if she’d allow it, that you’d like to kiss her too?

wednesday.

Ochako sat beside Izuku, cheeks puffed in an almost comical fashion. She tucked her legs beneath her body and crossed her arms. Her breath came out in short, shallow puffs like she’d been running a marathon outside the blistering Fire Nation heat.

Now, why she’d do that, Izuku didn’t know.

The Avatar, bless him, continued to read the scroll unfurled on his lap, blocking out the aura Ochako was continuously sending out in waves. He came to appreciate the intense focus needed for meditation at times like what was unfolding in front of him, especially when the topic felt heavy that it had Ochako ‘I will never shut up about your crush on Shouto and Tenya until you tell them’ Uraraka as quiet as a tamed lion-cat.

Minutes passed before Ochako seemed to have calmed down. Izuku rolled the scroll, neatly tying a piece of string around it, before placing it on the table.

It was as if she’d been waiting for that exact moment because Ochako uncrossed her arms and flailed towards Izuku.

“I’m sorry Izuku-kun,” her voice was loud, “I don’t think I can come with you after all!”

“Does it have anything to do with Tsuyu?” Izuku took the scroll out of range from Ochako’s swatting hands. Better to keep it out of harm’s way.

The silence that stretched between them and the abrupt end to Ochako’s movements confirmed Izuku’s question.

He watched her. The airbender in him watched as she heaved a heavy sigh, decompressing her thoughts into the breathing techniques taught to them by the monks of the Eastern Air Temple.

Without waiting for her answer, Izuku stood up to gather two cups left out for him. The teapot he’d been given to use was still warm to the touch. Izuku poured for both of them, then headed back to sit beside Ochako and handed her one of the cups.

“How do you do it?” She murmured, accepting the cup he held out. Their fingers brushed and all Izuku could think about was how it would have been easier had he felt that familiar jolt of electricity for Ochako instead of their two other friends. Maybe Ochako was thinking of the same thing, eyes drawn to her hands.

“Do what?”

“You know, spend time with Shouto-kun and Tenya-kun and not get an aneurysm.”

Izuku laughed. It was deep and full of mirth. At any other time, he’d stutter and weave through his words with an embarrassing flourish. “I get what you mean. I don’t know how I can function when I’m with them. But I have to tell you, my brain dies when it’s only the three of us together.”

That made her giggle, mouth haphazardly covered by a bandaged hand. If Izuku noticed it (actually, Ochako would eat a sock if he didn’t), he said nothing. Ochako busied herself with imagining how Izuku would flail around and mutter incessantly, going on and on about Shouto and Tenya’s bending styles or whatever thought came to him.

“Hm, it’s like, I do want to spend more time with her, but—”

“But you’re not sure because you want to go with her even though you already promised me you’d stick by me until the end of my training?” Ochako nodded.

“Yeah, that.” Awkward laughter filled the air. She was scratching the back of her head, like admitting it was something embarrassing.

“You’re not coming with us then?” Izuku asked though he knew what the answer was.

Ochako looked at the table again, head low. “Yeah. I, well, that’s what I wanted to tell you before. Maybe, I was planning on going with Tsuyu-chan to the Northern Water Tribe. She asked me if I wanted to come with her, and, well, I want to go with her.”

“Well, if that’s what you want, then you should!” At that, Izuku gave her one of his brightest smiles, something sincere and heartfelt supporting his expression. “You should do what your heart tells you, and besides, I have Tenya and Shouto with me! Plus Momo and Itsuka too.”

Ochako finally looked up, watching as Izuku took her hand into his. They were warm, likely his firebending at work. Or maybe it was just him and the way he brought her his brand of optimism. “It’s not like we won’t see each other! Maybe after the Earth Kingdom, I can drop by the Water Tribes.”

He offered her a wide grin, one that she returned in full.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to turn back on my promise,” Izuku gave her a pointed look. “Okay, it’s fine, it’s fine!”

Her heart swelled with relief.

///

They both shared a conspiratory smile. Ochako was glad to have cleared that up with Izuku.

Now, it was time to tell Tsuyu.

thursday.

Tsuyu sat on the grass, legs tucked beneath her as she weaved through the piles of flowers resting by her knees. Half-finished crowns littered the ground, a variety of pinks and yellows decorating her surroundings. She knew she was making a mess of things, discarding those that looked deformed and starting over with a new batch.

It was only because Tsuyu wanted to make the perfect crown to give to Ochako.

Preferably, something that didn’t fall apart, or something that didn’t look so grotesque compared to the ones Ochako made on a whim.

Like the one sitting on her desk drawer back in her room. The one Ochako made yesterday when she was still thinking of what to say to Izuku. Even though it wasn’t really for Tsuyu, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d been gifted.

So there she was, attempting to make flower crowns while everyone had done their chores. Ochako was with Izuku and Tenya, so it was highly unlikely for her to find Tsuyu fiddling with the flowers. Shouto had slept that afternoon, and Itsuka and Momo were nowhere to be found.

She thought it was the perfect time to make crowns. She hadn’t realized that a person crept along the edges of her vision until a shadow shielded her from the midday sun. Looking up, Tsuyu found herself face-to-face with the lady of the house, grinning at her as though she stumbled across a secret worth sharing.

Itsuka’s hair, held up by her typical side-ponytail, swung at Tsuyu’s face. She looked at Tsuyu’s form and, then, at the unfinished flower crowns that were scattered across the grass. Her eyes twinkled with mirth, but before she could say anything, Momo appeared from out of nowhere to pull her back.

Tsuyu was thankful.

That feeling was short-lived when she noticed how Momo’s expression mirrored that of Itsuka’s. It rose with an equal amount of teasing at the helm, just at the sight of all the flowers littering their surroundings. Tsuyu’s brows narrowed as Momo let out a giggle, sitting next to her while Itsuka continued to hover over them.

“Do you need any help Tsuyu-chan?” Momo asked, gesturing to the flowers around them. Yes, they were a mess, and yes, Tsuyu probably needed help. Badly, if they took into account the progress she was currently making.

Which was to say, none at all.

“I know who those are for~” Itsuka sang, nudging Tsuyu as the other girl took a seat on her other side. She was sandwiched between the two taller girls, who sported the same facial expression that spelled nothing but trouble.

“Itsuka please, Tsuyu-chan looks like she needs help.” Momo picked up one of the flower crowns resting near her shin, turning it over like one of her art pieces. With the smallest of grins, she then said, “although we both can tell that these are all for Ochako-chan.”

Tsuyu’s heart wanted to jump out of her ribcage, or possibly melt and fuse with the blood rushing to her reddening cheeks. The teasing lilt in Momo’s tone betrayed her true intentions, and Tsuyu could do nothing but allow the slaughter to commence.

“Aw, you don’t have to be shy Tsuyu!”

The way Momo was looking at Itsuka despite the loudness of her voice, that soft expression that she had, had made Tsuyu abruptly ask, “who confessed first?”

“Huh?” Momo said as Itsuka replied, “it was Momo.”

A beat passed them. Tsuyu’s expectant gaze switched between the two girls.

Momo’s face flushed a deep shade of red (likely from embarrassment), as she bellowed a sharp, “Itsuka!”, earning herself a slap on the shoulder from the other female, who had been laughing mercilessly.

“But Tsuyu, just go for it. We know what you want to do, and if things go south, we’ll be there.”

“Not to say it’ll go as badly as you’re imagining it because it certainly won’t,” Momo piped up, rubbing the shoulder that had an unfortunate run-in with Itsuka’s hand.

“Now, didn’t you want help with your flower crowns?”

///

Tsuyu’s hair fanned underneath her head, laying on the ground as if it were her bed. A whole hour had passed. Her fingers were itchy from all the flowers she’d ruined. Momo and Itsuka had long since left her to go to their rooms, leaving her to wallow in her apparent distress.

A lone flower crown sat in her lap. Only one had managed to be presentable from the numerous others she’d been weaving the past few hours.

Momo wanted to stay, but Itsuka dragged her away. Tsuyu was grateful, even as Itsuka left with a noticeably childish grin. She hadn’t asked to take their time, even though she dearly needed it.

Grass tickled her cheek. She’d been lying there for god knows how long now, watching the sky slowly turn from blue to red.

“Tsuyu!”

Tsuyu sat upright so suddenly, she felt like she gave herself vertigo. The world spun for a second, and her focus wavered as Ochako came to view, clutching bags on both her hands. Behind Ochako, Tenya and Izuku appeared, waving at her. Izuku took the bags from Ochako and the two men headed into the house as Ochako skipped towards Tsuyu.

She looked like she had something to say.

It was only a second later when Tsuyu realized what was surrounding her.

The gleeful look that Ochako sported grew at the sight of the flowers. Tsuyu would’ve died there and then had she been given the chance to, but then, she wouldn’t have seen the way Ochako’s smile slid past all of those flowers to rest on her.

“I talked to Izuku-kun again,” Ochako started, thumbing the petals of the nearest crown she could reach. She sat at arm's length in front of Tsuyu. The crown she had in her hand wasn’t the best but Ochako held it all the same. “I told him this time what I wanted to tell him, and he wasn’t mad at all!”

“He wouldn’t be mad at you.” Tsuyu supplied. She was smiling, glad that Ochako had finally gotten to say what she wanted to tell Izuku.

“I thought he would,” Ochako mumbled, “but I guess I was wrong.”

The silence between them was somewhat comfortable, despite the apprehension that Tsuyu felt crawling over the tips of her fingers. Above and around them, the sky was slowly turning dark and the air colder than she thought. They were going to catch a cold if Tsuyu didn’t act now.

Tsuyu held out the crown she’d made, without thinking about it any further. Ochako had been eyeing it for the past few minutes, smile widening when Tsuyu finally pushed through her anxiety to hand it over. It was the best she created out of the bunch, though it was still incomparable to the flower crown Ochako made.

Ochako didn’t take it with her hands. Instead, she lowered her head like Tsuyu had done before, allowing it to be placed on top of her hair. It was smaller than her head with how it fit, but all the same, Ochako looked like she was happy enough, from the grin that erupted from her lips.

Before Tsuyu could even say a word, Ochako’s body came crashing onto her, and they both fell on the ground. The grass tickled Tsuyu’s face, as did Ochako’s brown hair, strands failing to shield the pink hue her cheeks have taken.

“I want to go with you,” Ochako whispered, resting her forehead on Tsuyu’s own, “back to your home.”

And then, without missing a beat, Ochako said, “I like you, Tsuyu-chan.”

Beneath Ochako’s weight, staring into her eyes, Tsuyu felt her pulse spike. This would be the most inappropriate time for Tsuyu to self-combust, but she willed herself not to. She felt like the earth would swallow her whole, and if she were an earthbender, she might’ve willed it so.

Ochako was looking at her, expectant and unassuming of her inner plight. Tsuyu couldn’t keep silent for long, but she was because no words can explain the amount of throbbing her heart was doing from hearing Ochako say that. As the seconds passed, the triumphant grin on Ochako’s lips lessened, as though taking that silence as an indicator for Tsuyu’s answer. Tsuyu could see the gradual shift in Ochako’s form, from confidence and assurance to a hint of despair.

It was now or never.

Tsuyu held the sides of Ochako’s face, feeling the heat from her blush permeating through her skin. Ochako blinked slowly, and Tsuyu could see each eyelash from their proximity. She could also see the way Ochako was holding in her words because she knew Tsuyu wanted to say something.

“I like you too, Ochako-chan.”

And then, Tsuyu lifted herself, a little bit, touching Ochako’s lips with her own. It was short, it was clumsy, and Tsuyu had no other experience except in her dreams where she held hands with Ochako and kissed her silly underneath what she always imagined as the night sky, with a blanket full of stars covering up her mistakes.

Ochako’s lips were wet while hers was chapped and dry, and she was sure her way of kissing was bad.

But it didn’t matter, because the breath that Ochako let go once their lips touched, her mouth quirking into a triumphant grin, thinking finally, was all that mattered. Both to Tsuyu and Ochako, who gazed at each other with newfound promise.

friday.

Ochako’s lips brushed against Tsuyu’s lips, and her hands found Tsuyu’s hands. She squeezed tightly; like Tsuyu would vanish in a puff of smoke if she ever let go.

Tsuyu squeezed back and Ochako realized this was real. She couldn’t help the smile that sprang uninhibited on Tsuyu’s lips.

saturday. and sunday. and monday. and beyond.

It wasn’t until they sat beside each other, surrounded by flower crowns weaved and molded between the two of them, that Ochako realized just why she’d been so obsessed with holding Tsuyu’s hands.

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the-resurrection-3d · 5 years

Text

So anyway I edited my fic masterlist to procrastinate. This is only the Eddsworld portion, divided up by ship. The very end has my multi-ship collections, so if you want ficlets of X ship, check those. Includes nsfw links. I’ll keep this post updated!

Gen

melty future - it’s hard out here for a lost time traveler and a bunch of mutant freaks | rated T | 1.5k | Tags - 3-sentence fic collection, found family

tasteless - tom takes a demon to Denny’s | rated T | 2.3k | tags - fantasy / CB AU, underage drinking, brief eye horror, arson

thank god I’m pretty (in bits and pieces) - when Matt is fourteen, his aunt tells him the world is going to end. | “finished”, 6k | Tags - misgendering, gender fantasy AU, minor character death

we buffer, we suffer - edd and Tord try and write a reader-insert fanfic about their favorite OC, Clownius Thundercock | rated M | 1.2k | tags - cock slapping, tentacles, rescue, breast fucking, bukkake, characters writing fanfiction

sunshine sparkle - matt wonders what it would be like, living someplace other than a gremlins’ den | rated T | .6k | tags - background polyworld, matt gets irl cyberbullied

went for the kiss and got the bite - tord and Matt spend the last hours of Christmas together, and maybe set a guy on fire in the process. | rated T | 1.2k | tags - implied drug use, zombie AU

TomTord

bezoar -“Fine, whatever, but if he pukes on me I’m putting all your heads on pikes.” Instead of his giant robot, Tord gets the flu, and Tom tries to get even | rated T | 1.2k | Tags - sick fic, canon divergent, post The End, vomiting | FFN mirror | Wattpad mirror

Dumb / I stole my dad’s fic and made it tomtord because I like giving him a stroke - fuck you, dad you suck | rated M | .3k

Only God Forgives - what a lovely, useful idiot | rated E | 1.2k | Tags – A/B/O, Cervix Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Hurt/Comfort, Angst

orange | rated M | .5k | tags – gentle sex, fluff, cockwarming

EddTord

and everything you say gives me a real bad feeling – five times Edd lost Tord and the one time he found him again. (tonight, I am pleased to announce a comedy in six parts) | wip, 7.5k | Tags – canon divergence, high school AU, zombeh AU, creatures and monsters AU, green leader AU, post-canon, alternate timelines, pining, one-sided relationship, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending | FFN mirror

crush - “i’m gonna get Matt to burn that,” Edd says...Tord runs his fingers gently over Garfield’s face, the white thought bubble asking, Why me?, before he simply says, “You wouldn’t. You think my pain is too funny.” | rated E | 1.7k | tags - omegaverse, cannibalism, vaginal sex, weird biology, metafic, mild gore

peter pan syndrome- edd asks, what do you want to be when you grow up? it sounds better than so where the fuck have you been? and I dreamt an even uglier version of you made me eat lead. | rated T | 1.3k | tags - minimalism, drugs mention, sexual humor, morning after, reminiscing | FFN mirror, Wattpad mirror

nobody - he didn’t buy that old cloning machine for nothing | rated E | 1.5k | tags - exhibitionism, referenced TomMatt, oral sex, fingering, over-stimulation

show me your blood - "see, we have all worked very hard to put value down on paper, and I am not going to dishonor our efforts by never stealing from another man.I said yes to the world and I have never been told no since.” | rated T | 7.3k | tags - established relationship, time travel, green leader au, hurt no comfort

The Pinnacle of Romance – “I just wanted to have a romantic evening” | rated M | Tags – gun kink/play, power play, roughhousing, reunions, porn with feelings | FFN mirror

werewolf heart - this is the part Green Leader finds easy | rated G | .6k | tags - implied brainwashing, noncon kissing

MattTord

interlude to a guiltless exile - matt looks into those haunting eyes – silver pools without white, only large cuts of black. Shark’s eyes. Looking for too long makes Matt feel like when he’s dreaming and the tide’s pulling the earth out from under his feet. “How long can you survive out of water?” | rated T | 1.5k | tags - mermaid AU, fluff and hurt/comfort

TomMatt

mortals sipping nectar at five cents a glass - tom needs help relaxing, and Matt is happy to indulge him... | rated M | 1.1k | tags - experimental style, implied alcoholism, massages, fluff, angst with a happy ending, non-graphic smut, background polyworld | Wattpad mirror

EddTomTord

survivors - “the premise is that this doctor gets stranded on an island and eventually has to start cutting off his own legs and stuff for food” | rated T | .5k | Tags – sexual humor, zombeh AU, references to drugs, references to cannibalism, pov second person

EddMattTomTord

always said I'd be famous (guess that I lied) - sssh, it's okay baby, he soothes, petting Tom's hair; I have a dick big enough for all of us. Matt snorts, hides his grin behind his hand. Tord inspects his nails. Before Tom can chip in (holding onto him tight enough so he can't move his arm back for a good gut punch), Edd snaps at Matt, Just read the damn story. | rated T | 1.1k | tags - pillow and blanket forts, reading aloud, mild sexual content, fluff without plot

birthday cake - "you ungrateful —" Matt goes in for the side of Edd's stomach, the kill zone. "It's my birthday and I'm not only giving you head but a piece of modern. art.—" a few quick cuts of his hand to frame his face "—to commemorate the occasion." | rated M | .9k | tags - oral sex, foursome - m/m/m/m, shyness, hand jobs

[insert neutral milk hotel quote] - matt gets fucked ; a direct sequel to ‘stupid fucking bullshit’ | rated E | 2.8k | tags - gangbang, oral sex, metafiction, monster tom, bottom matt, dirty talk, subdrop, over-stimulation, trans male character

Paultryck

but I am home - maybe in this story the wolf doesn’t have to die | rated M | wip, 2k | Tags - subdrop, aftercare, nightmares, hurt/comfort, implied pet play, self harm mention, rape mention, red riding hood AU, bookstore AU

damnatio memoriae - shakespeare was wrong; most of us are not players. | rated T | 1.2k | tags - one-sided attraction, army life, public execution, first person pov

daze - "and then they fucked." - William Shakespeare | rated E | .3k | tags - vaginal fingering, multiple orgasms, porn without plot, triple drabble

our love gorges - while Red Leader and his unlucky human friend negotiate over dinner, Paul and Patryck are left to their own devices | Paultryck, background PaulTordtryck | finished, 10.4k | Tags – fantasy AU, bdsm, scratching, comfort sex, dom/sub, aftercare, mild blood, burnplay, blow jobs, outdoor sex, unhealthy coping mechanisms, suicidal thoughts, body horror, control issues, praise kink, consensual but not safe or sane, dead dove: do not eat

soft boy hours - let’s be young for a while | rated M | 1.6k | Tags - massage, frottage, fluff and smut, foreplay, post-canon | FFN mirror

PaulTord

the ren and stimpy show - on today’s episode: Tord has very strange fantasies | rated T | 1k | Tags - domestic fluff, post-canon, sexual humor, minimalism | FFN mirror

lain with holy wars - do you want kids? | rated T | .6k | tags - post-canon, implied child abuse / domestic violence, fluff, light angst

Paul/Everyone

some fuckin stupid bullshit just read the tags and get off my balls - I reach into hat labeled “story ideas.” It says, “Everyone gangbangs Paul.” Again? Hat falls and spills. They all say, “Everyone gangbangs Paul.” | PaulEdd, Paultryck, PaulTord, TordPauPat, PaulTom, PaulMatt, MattTom | rated E | 2.5k | Tags - gangbang, ruined orgasm, anal sex, blow jobs, handjobs, creampie, bondage, dom/sub undertones

Tordtryck

A.T. Field - “show me where you wanna be touched.” It’s disgusting | Tordtryck, background Paultryck | rated E | 1.3k | Tags - vaginal fingering, angst, implied character death, implied traitor AU, unhealthy relationships, consensual but not safe or sane

TordPauPat

a real crowd pleaser - there are a lot of advantages to fucking your boss. | rated E | 1.3k | Tags - threesome- M/M/M, blow jobs, dom/sub, bondage, orgasm denial

presented without context - who’s going to tell their fuckbuddy they probably caused their parents’ divorce as they’re getting blown? Never mind, Tord would. | rated E | 1.5k | Tags - threesome, praise kink, spitroasting, dom/sub

violence – you’ve made this place unbecoming. Do I have to stay? | rated G | .6k | Tags – sharing a bed, cuddling and snuggling, hurt/comfort, minimalism fluff | FFN mirror

Multi-Ship

clowns, all of you clowns - You fall asleep with his arm clutched to your chest. Various eddsworld ficlets/scraps from the last year | EddTord, TomTord, EddTom, Paultryck, TordPaultryck, Tordtryck | wip, 9.3k | Tags - high school AU, zombies AU, fantasy AU, hurt/comfort, humor, fluff. First chapter is the table of contents. | FFN mirror for chapter 18 [TomTord], FFN mirror for chapter 24 [EddTord], FFN mirror of chapter 20 [Gen, Rejects]

warped tour - dreamwidth doesn’t have any Eddsworld presence so I’ve declared the 3-Sentence Fic-A-Thon free real estate. First prompt: Tordtryck, there was a hidden message in their miserable Christmas presents | Tordtryck, MattTom, Edd & Matt & Tom & Tord, Tomatoredd & Scribble Tom | finished, 1k | Tags - 3 Sentence Fiction, college AU, bookstore AU, sexual humor, angst and humor, post-apocalypse, zombies | FFN mirror of Rejects parts

#eddsworld #tomtord #eddtord #paultryck #polyworld #and a host of others #long post #fanfic #eddsweenie

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vesperffs · 6 years

Text

✖ ┇ ❝ WREN’S STORY ~

* ♡ ˙ ˖ / sam claflin + cismale + him/he. — did you know vee’s real name is wren vesper? oh yeah, they are a twenty nine year old astronomist known as the waggish that has been in town for one week. this asexual scorpio can be jovial + obsequious, as well as caustic+ indecisive. i hear their soulmark is a wave on the rib cage, and their two soulmates look like lindsay morgan & any 25+ female fc. belly laughter after crying, pressed flowers, starry nights and warm blankets. penned by: zee. twenty one. they/them. est.

so ... ehem yes i made another muse don’t LOOK at me okay anyways he is a fluff ball of good and if you wanna plot drop a fat LIKE AND SUBSCRIBE DOWN BELOW and i will send you an im seeking friendship. short summary to those who do not wanna read, wren is a big baby who was raised by his father and learned about the stars and followed a meteor he was researching to this little ole’ town yay!!! he has no friends and loves birds yay!!!

SCRATCHING THE SURFACE

“ The universe grows exponentially around us, with each glance away from the burning stars, it changes and gives us energy to believe in M O R E . ”

The problem with Wren Vesper wasn’t what he was, but what was holding him back. Connections. Sacrifice. That one person he’d throw the world away to preserve; It had always been him taking on the rest. Until his mother was second child in and Wren’s mother decided, whoops, made a bad decision here, and took his bags in the middle of the night with his baby sister to flee the scene - Leaving him behind.

DIGGING DEEPER

It was not until a few years of his mother mysteriously self-imploding that all his problems began bubbling back to the surface with no cover, and it got worse as the days progressed on. Everything had smooth edges and empty thoughts at first, Wren barely worried for his mother’s being gone. He was five years old, and very independent, so when his father (Benjamin Vesper) began boxing away toys and packing the car up, the young Wren was filled with excitement of where they were going. His dad had stated America, and began teaching him about the world ever since.

Growing up in America was not always the best, however. Upon his father becoming an astronomy teacher and his own lessons being brushed off on little Wren, Ben decided teaching his son the basics at home would suit them best. Settling in a quiet town in Oregon, the boys set off camping and learning about the earth around them, as the resources they lived around were filled with nature and trees and clear skies. With his favorite telescope and star maps in hand, Wren would prance outside barefoot with his father and document the constellations and create stories of the stars. It was peaceful, but secluded, and Wren couldn’t help but slightly resent his father for that. Even more, the curse of rejection his mother nursed within the little boy at a prime time of development. He made friends, though, with neighbors and specifically a young boy named Yona who taught him how to start fires and make jokes ( especially the risque kind ). When Wren came home spouting f-bombs and dick jokes, his dad couldn’t help but laugh - and made him sit at home and write an essay whilst the Perseids rained across the night sky.

When he got older, Wren (now going by Vee) applied and easily got into the college of his choice, and studied astronomy for four years. After graduation, he visited his father to tell him he was travelling, going to track a certain meteor’s path in the sky for his own research. Benjamin gave him his mother’s current address, a hug, and a canteen of soup as his star boy got into his jeep and took off into the night. After debating on visiting the woman that embedded abandonment issues into his head, or continue his ventures with the universe. And that is how Wren Vesper ended up in Jericho, a small town that felt built for him.

A LITTLE BIT OF BANTER , INNIT ?

seeks approval more often than others, demonstrated by a really pushy affection and elatedness towards friends or even enemies. he refuses to let things go, because they could just as easily walk away if they wanted

wren and yona were like a tag team duo, but when wren decided to go to college rather than hop the states with yona, they had a massive falling out where wren let yona beat the SHITE out of him before he stormed off

wren only likes being called vee because the only thing he remembers of his mom is that nickname she gave him

he loves birds, cookies, the nightsky, ulternate universes, astrology, the ocean, his dad, tame impala, foreign films, making people laugh, and walking around barefoot

he paints, but not well, kind of just smearing color to define his emotions as a coping mechanism - he keeps them in a closet

he wears glasses because he is absolutely blind as all hell, but sometimes bares the courage to stick contacts in his eyes ( though he is squeamish )

he gave up on the comet to explore the cosmic energy in the town, as clearly something was drawing people to each other, and began research on the charming properties of his new home

kind of a history nerd and currently works at a museum for extra cash flow

#✖ ┇ ❝ crimson chaos ( about )#✖ ┇ ❝ plug walk ( ooc musings )#so here be my bb boi wren #i'm still working on some stuff so this is more a rough draft till i figure out his personality a bit more uwus #jericho.intro

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tea2go · 7 years

Text

Thankful (Dwalin x reader)

Summary: When your husband is once again victim of a prank it is your duty to help him out.

Note: This is a small spin-off of my Fili x Reader Story Familiar Faces, if you haven’t already, check it out here. This has gotten too long and sentimental. Certainly wasn’t intended. I apologise for those that have been waiting.

Words: 2717

Warnings: A bit sentimental, fluff, mentions of death, nudity

tag list: @red608 @perseny-blog @sweeticedtea

Thankful (Dwalin x Reader)

From the moment you heard the loud stomping sound of steps outside your front door you guessed something had happened. The moment you heard the heavy oaken door be opened and closed with such a force that made your wedding portrait fall from the mantelpiece of the fireplace in the sitting room of your shared home, you knew your husband was upset.

Usually his behaviour would have made anyone seated rise by now, but you barely shifted in the big armchair positioned in front of the comfortably crackling fire. His temper never meant threat to you, you had known him long enough to be absolutely confident to say he would never harm you or anyone (without a reason that is), his loud manner simply being the way he expressed himself, thus you only looked up from the axes Ukhlat and Umraz - whose names you had carved into the blades in runes yourself as a courting gift a long time ago and which had become his favourites ever since- you had been polishing,when you heard him enter the room.

You did not know what you expected to see when you looked at Dwalin, you were used to see him covered in mud or even blood occasionally, which by far did not frighten you as much as it should be anymore, but you definitely weren’t expecting… this.

What was standing there certainly resembled him in frame and size, but not in colour. His entire form was veiled by something white, and as you placed down the axes and got up to get a better look, you saw that his skin, beard and clothes were coated completely as if he had gotten into a heavy snowstorm. However, apart from the fact that there hadn’t been one recently, the substance was too powdery and dry to be snow.

Regardless of what it was, the way it made Dwalin look and hold himself, the way his face twisted in a weird mixture of anger and the unpleasantness of being thoroughly coated was so comical, you tried hard to fight back the laughter slowly rising from your stomach.

“Go ahead, lass”, He muttered behind gritted teeth. “Laugh.”

On cue your tightly sealed lips curled, then split up, your face crinkling with laughter he couldn’t even blame you for.

Although Dwalin Fundinson was noone to be laughed at, at least not if it was not intended by him, your voice, the way your shoulders shook with amusement, could not upset or humiliate him the slightest, no, it actually managed to make a tight-lipped smile appear on his own face as well, while he watched you. It took you a while to catch your breath and stifle the last few laughs behind your hand, tears hiding in the corner of your eyes.

“Amrâlimê, what happened?” You managed to ask, silent snorts still erupting here and there as you walked up to him in a few quick steps, raising your hands to carefully push some of the white powder out of his face. You had a rough idea that it involved two young princes, but you needed to hear the entire story from him.

“Fili and Kili”, He confirmed your suspicion, “Those little bastards have gone too far this time.” Since this was what he had said million times before, you didn’t take him too seriously, but nevertheless urged him to continue.

He told you about how he had been inspecting the weapons in the armory - out of duty, not pleasure of course - when he somehow launched some mechanism when he took one of the heavy axes you , and obviously the prankster as well, knew he was so very fond of. Next thing he knew was that he was covered in flour, a heavy bucket on his head. Apparently he had still been able to perceive someone, who he insisted must have been the princes, hurrying of, thus he took chase after them, but unfortunately - or rather fortunate for them as he kept illustrating the various intended punishments- did not manage to get his hands on them. You found the story very delightful, but knew you had better think of a way to calm your beloved down, or at least distract him so he wouldn’t be too hard on the youngsters.

“If you plan to keep stomping into our new home the way you did just now, in the future, then I suggest we find another way to display our wedding portrait or might just get rid of it completely.” You told him with a fake stern expression, gesturing to the framed paper, lying face down on the elaborately embroidered carpet, your brother in law had given you on the day the picture had been drawn.

Appearing somewhat bashful at your comment, Dwalin made a movement to walk over and pick it up, but before he had even taken a step you stopped him, placing a hand on his flour dusted chest. “What do you think you are doing? Look what you’ve done to the entry already”, you scolded, pointing at the patches of flour he had left on the stone floor on his way into the room.” Dare stain my rug and I promise you, Dwalin, Son of Fundin, Fili and Kili won’t be the only ones in trouble!”

You locked eyes with him, staring him down a moment until your mock angry facade broke, you smiled, “You are aware that you have to clean up the mess you made yourself” a low rumbling sigh escaped his lips. He crossed his massive forearms in front of his chest , then looking down on you with a curious twinkle in his eyes, he smirked.

“Stop pretending to be angry, givashel”, he mumbled, leaning down to give you a kiss. This way he of course intended to transfer some of the white powder onto you as well, but was surprised by your quick reaction, ducking away, then shoving him towards the bathroom. “This applies to me as well!”, you laughed “No kisses until you’re cleaned up! ….Don’t give me that look. I’ll draw you a bath, alright? Go ahead and get undressed, I’ll be there in a minute!” “Ye are the death on me, woman!” , uttered he, but your offer seemed to convince him for he left for the bathroom with a way too smug expression for your opinion, that made you shake your head in amusement.

When he had left, you walked over and bend to pick up the picture from the floor. It showed you and Dwalin, both much younger than you were now, on your wedding day. He had his arm tightly around your waist, you being smaller than him, but perfectly fitting against his frame, as he looked at you with such a tender gaze, it appeared somewhat out of place in contrast to his ruff form. Given his age, the Dwalin in the picture was a bit less wide and more muscular than the one that had just left the room, but the eyes…his eyes definitely were still the same. The you in the picture naturally didn’t look the same anymore as well, you couldn’t recall if there had been a time in your life you had felt more beautiful than on your wedding day, which wasn’t just the pretty gown’s doing. At once all the fond memories of the day came back to you, your families, the food, the good music and most importantly him standing there in front of you vowing to love and protect you, flashing in front of your inward eye. A smile grazed your lips when you carefully placed the portrait back onto the mantelpiece.

When you heard your name be called from the bathroom you quickly fetched a set of small bottles of bathing solutions, before you joined your husband. He was undressed to his breeches, everything else discarded on a pile in the corner, leaning over the big tub starting the water, when you entered the room.

“Thought ye wouldn’t come" He teasingly muttered the moment he turned around and noticed you standing there. His upper body was bare,but from his neck upwards and his forearms that hadn’t been protected by clothes before, he was still covered in white, the two areas separated by a curiously clear edge.

“I waited an entire year for you to return and you complain about a few minutes?” Although it was teasing the notion of it felt bitter on your tongue, which he noticed,but remained silent. But it didn’t do to dwell on things,he was here with you now and that was all that mattered, thus you placed the bottles on the nearest counter, then stepped up to him, taking his right hand. It was bigger than yours, so much stronger and more calloused from all the heavy weapons he wielded that one had trouble believing how tender and soft they were able to treat you.

Lovingly you pressed a kiss to his knuckles, looking up to see him staring at you with a soft expression. He returned your love by squeezing your hand because he took your threat from before not to stain your clothes seriously.

In comfortable silence you helped him remove the last bit of clothing, then let him over to the tub that had meanwhile been filled almost halfway with water. He exhaled a deep rumbling sound when he sank into the hot water that felt heavenly on his strained body.

Silently you took one of the bottles and poured some of its content into the running water. Sure enough bubbles formed and the room slowly filled with the calming fragrance of lavender.

In order to strip off the first layers of flour you had him submerge below the water line, coming to stand behind him at the head of the tub when arose again.

You let your hands run over his calloused shoulders, pressing down firmly before letting them linger over especially deep scars on his massive shoulder plates.

Being a warrior, Dwalin had always been marked, his skin a map of valleys cut into his flesh by the numeral battles he had fought and won. It had never bothered you much, on the contrary, you always used to compare it to carved wood for the carvings had formed him also, and even though the other had always mockingly raised his eyebrow in return, you knew he approved of the comparison, seeing the thin lines on his body not only as trophies of his victories, but as memorial of those he had left behind. Beside the usual playful boasting about it, you had never really discussed the matter much, except for the one time right after the battle of Moria. You had both still been younger then, his hair and your lips still fuller, when the mountain of a man had crumbled down in your arms and wept. You had held him in silence then, listening to his words as you soothingly ran your fingers over his head that you had held cradled against your neck. This had also been the night he had finally asked what you had been waiting for since the day he had first set step into your father’s smithy, it was the night he had confessed his love and asked to court you. It might have been the ale that had finally made his stronghold collapse back then or the way you had comforted him in a way no one else could, but neither of you had cared, in fact you were thankful for it as it had not only sealed your tender feelings for one another, but also brought you onto an entirely different level of intimacy. It had also been the night you had first made love, vulnerable, raw love to the sound of thunder roaring outside the window.

His heavy hand suddenly on top of your fingers brought you back from your thoughts and you found his eyes as you tore yours from the gash on his back. The face that had been tensed in anger only minutes before seemed relaxed, but there was love and worry in his gaze questioning why you were so absent minded. The corners of your lips tugged upwards in response, gifting him with his oh so beloved smile of yours that never failed to make the old gruff warrior feel giddy,like a foolish young dwarf again. For now this feeling seemed to satisfy him because he turned around again, sinking a bit deeper into the tub. Neither of you pried the other for information as you trusted to confide in one another when needed and beside that mostly sharing your feelings nonverbally. This occasional quiet intimacy mixed with the boldness you shared in feasts and stories was the beauty of your relationship both of you were more than grateful for.

You got back to your task of cleaning your beloved by taking the washing cloth from the rim of the tub, infusing it with your favourite bathing oil before gently running it over his upper body, starting at his wide chest, making sure to clean the fur-like hair that grew there, completely. Over his collar bones you reached his tight neck, receiving a comfortable hum as the hot cloth rested there. Ever since you could remember this was the place he was most prone to be tense due to his physical occupation, thus you discarded the cloth for now to give him some release. The firm penetration of his neck as you skillfully worked on the knots with your hands, drew low delighted growls of your name from his lips that made you giggle in response. Once you found all of the knots in his neck somewhat released your hands wandered to his shoulder plates again, stopping at the especially deep and still very unfamiliar scar that had made you stop only moments prior. You knew where it came from, the battle almost a year ago they now called The Battle of The Five Armies, that many had paid with their life for, but yet all of the company had miraculously survived.

You knew the line of Durin had only escaped death by chance, some claimed they had in fact been dead already, but Dwalin had yet to talk about it with you. You knew how much he blamed himself that he hadn’t been able to prevent their harm, you knew how hard he was on himself for being so much less injured, so whole especially in contrast to his king, his best friend he had vowed to protect with his life, but you did not share these emotions the slightest. Although you knew you could not challenge the deep devotion and connection Dwalin felt for Thorin you couldn’t help but be joyful about the outcome for you would give ten Thorin Oakenshields for the life of your beloved which you weren’t even ashamed for. But everyone was alive and you thanked the gods that they had brought Dwalin back to you in a physical state so much more whole than his cousin’s, his mental state you could work on.

You then placed a loving kiss on the scar you had been eyeing, thinking of what had brought you into the current situation in the first place, the way he had stomped into your home covered in flour, fuming about Fili and Kili’s prank. And you were thankful. Thankful that after everything that had happened to them there was still some normality returning. Thankful that the two brothers were still there to prank people but most of all thankful that Dwalin was still there to get angry over being their target. You laughed softly thinking about the silly face he had made.

“What are ye laughing about?”

“I was just thinking…. let’s be glad that the lads are still here to prank you”, you shared your thoughts and he once again turned to look at you, his expression blank.

“I am”, you continued softly.” But mostly because you are still here to be pranked.”

You smiled, your eyes getting a bit watery. The corners of Dwalin’s mouth curved upwards as he softly cupped your neck with his big wet hand, drawing you in for a kiss. “Aye, lass, so am I”

I hope you enjoyed it! Pls comment your impressions/share if you did!

#dwalin x reader #dwalin fundinson #the hobbit #hobbit x reader #dwalin/reader #fluff #baths #feelings #so cheesy #domestic #mytrash #fanfiction #this sucks

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robronsecretvalentine · 7 years

Photo

In daylights? In sunsets? In midnights? In cups of coffee? In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife? Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes How do you measure a year in the life? How about love?

For @robert-sugden-trash, from your secret valentine 💕 Robert’s POV. Pure fluff.

( Warnings: alcohol, grief, mentions of vomiting, references to Gordon and Aaron’s self-harm. )

A Year in Dates

New Year’s Eve

It started as a New Year’s resolution for them both.

Aaron had insisted that seeing in the New Year with their families in the Woolpack was perfectly acceptable, despite Robert’s protests that they spend enough time there, and that it was hardly a special way to celebrate their first New Year as proper, official husbands.

Aaron had countered that a posh bar and stiff suits weren’t his idea of a good time.

So they came to a slightly tipsy compromise.

12 monthly date nights for the year ahead. They would take it in turn to plan a date activity they enjoy, and the other would have to join in regardless of how they felt about it.

“It will be fun!” Robert had assured a more sceptical Aaron. “We should be having dates at more than just your mum’s pub.”

“Fine” Aaron had agreed reluctantly. “But I get to go first.”

January

“Aaron!” Robert calls out as he enters the Mill, shrugging off his wet coat and abandoning his sodden shoes by the door. His shoulders are tight with stress and he has a banging headache from a long day at work, but he’s determined to enjoy himself tonight.

It’s the first of their new date nights, and Robert has absolutely no idea what Aaron has planned. He can hear Aaron’s footsteps in the bedroom above, as he tosses his keys onto the coffee table, beside a stack of DVDs and a share packet of popcorn.

“Oh hey, I thought I heard your car.” Aaron calls down from the top of the stairs he’s ambling down. He doesn’t immediately look up, engrossed in something on his phone.

“Uhm Aaron…” Robert begins

“Yeah?” Aaron replies absentmindedly, before looking up at his husband.

“Did you forget about date night?” Robert asks, unable to keep a hint of petulance out of his voice.

“No, why would you say that?”

Instead of answering Robert just gestures vaguely to Aaron’s body, or rather his clothes. Old cosy tracksuit bottoms and a thick, faded jumper.

Aaron slumps down on the sofa, and apparently takes pity on his bewildered husband.

“You said I could choose whatever I wanted to do… and this is what I wanted to do. The weather is awful, and Liv and Gerry are both out, so I thought we could have a cosy night in… just the two of us.”

Aaron scoots along the sofa and pats the cushion beside him, for Robert to join him

“I put some logs on the fire and I was just about to order us a pizza… but if you really want to go out, I could…”

“No. That’s… that actually that sounds perfect.” Robert says, dropping his tired head sideways onto Aaron’s shoulder.

And it really is just what they needed, a night cuddled up under a blanket in front of the fire, gorging on the greasiest pizza they could order.

Even if Aaron does force him to watch the entire Die Hard series from start to finish.

February

Robert is secretly glad that Aaron wanted to organise the first date night, because it means that February is in his control. More specifically, Valentine’s Day.

Whilst he had enjoyed Aaron’s movie night, he couldn’t deny that he would use any opportunity he could to get Aaron into a suit. He’s only human after all.

It was definitely worth it, Robert decides, as he watches Aaron across the table, his face illuminated by flickering candles in the middle of the table. His brow is furrowed adorably as he attempts to decipher the overly-fancy menu, written partially in Spanish. His crisp, sharp blue suit gorgeous on him, even as he tugs slightly at his tie every now and then, irritated by the unusual restriction around his neck.

“Hey.” Robert says softly, reaching his hand across the table to link his fingers with Aaron, preventing him fidgeting with his tie further.

“Stop fussing so much. You look amazing.” Robert tells him, running his thumb over the back of Aaron’s rough knuckles.

“Sorry, this is just…” Aaron trails of, shrugging.

“…out of your comfort zone.” Robert finishes. “Yeah, I know, but wasn’t that the point, to try new things?”

“I just…” Aaron pauses, blows out a harsh breath, his eyes on the dark grain of the polished wood table. Robert waits, knows how important it is for Aaron to articulate his feelings, something both of their therapists are always reminding them.

“I guess it just still feels weird sometimes, even now, that we can do this.” His eyes fall on a young couple arriving at the next table. Robert follows his gaze, and they watch as the well-dressed man with an expensive rolex on his wrist pulls out a chair for his date, a curvy brunette woman in a figure-hugging red dress.

“For the longest time I didn’t think we would ever get to be this, you know? I never thought I would be the person you took out to swanky restaurants on Valentine’s Day.” Aaron says quietly, his eyes still watching the couple as their waiter pops the cork on their champagne. The woman holds her glass between her manicured fingers the same way that Chrissie used to.

Robert lifts Aaron’s hand up off the table and presses his lips against the smooth metal band on his third finger, which successfully yanks Aaron back into their little bubble.

“You are my date, my husband… and I just want you to have the best of everything, you know?” Robert tells him.

“Yeah, I know.” Aaron says, his eyes a bit watery but his smile genuine as he leans back in his chair, his posture a bit more relaxed now.

“In that case, I’ll have the most expensive beer on the menu.”

And the most expensive beer he gets.

March

Robert knew that Aaron was going to make him pay for forcing him into a suit on Valentine’s Day, especially when Aaron started being abnormally secretive about his post as their March date approached, but he couldn’t have foreseen this.

This being an open-air race track in the middle of the Yorkshire countryside. There’s a rumble of engines as people zip around the track in go-karts that almost drowns out the voice of the safety instructor in front of them who is handing out helmets. Aaron is practically bouncing in anticipation beside him already.

“I can’t believe you chose this as your date choice.” Robert mutters as they make their way over to the karts.

“This is all about trying new things together, remember?” Aaron teases, doing a dreadful impression of his husband’s voice, and he can’t argue with that. “What’s the matter, scared you won’t keep up old man?” he adds with a raised eyebrow.

“Right, you’re on now!” Robert retorts, jamming on his helmet and climbing in, determined to beat his husband now.

And he decides that if he does lose, he can always blame it on getting slightly distracted by the sight of Aaron bending over in his racing overalls to inspect the mechanics before he climbs into the kart beside him.

April

“So this is where you disappear to on your lunch breaks, eh?” Aaron asks as he picks up his mug, blowing slightly across the surface of the hot tea, before taking a tentative sip.

“When I’m already in town for meetings and stuff, yeah. What do you think?” Robert asks, curious.

He watches Aaron glance around the vintage looking coffee shop they’re in, taking in the artfully distressed furniture, the baristas with their man-buns, and the little area at the back of the shop selling vinyl records.

“It’s all a bit… hipster. But they do make a decent brew.” Aaron concedes, taking another sip.

“It’s always really quiet and laid-back in here, that’s why I like coming in between meetings.” Robert explains, and Aaron nods.

“What you got there?” he asks, nodding his head toward the paper bag that Robert had been carrying when he returned with their drinks.

Robert puts his coffee down to retrieve the bag, pulling a battered looking vinyl record from inside.

“I know you like your dodgy pop music, but I didn’t realise you were such an Abba fan?” Aaron teases.

“It was Mum’s favourite.” Robert replies, not quite able to keep the emotion from his voice when he says it. He waves off Aaron’s attempt to apologise.

“I guess I’ve just been thinking about her a lot lately… it was her birthday last week you know?”

“No, I didn’t.” Aaron says quietly, reaching over the rickety table to squeeze Robert’s knee comfortingly. “You should have said something.”

Robert just shrugs, not entirely sure why he didn’t if he’s being honest with himself. They’re both quiet for a long moment before Aaron speaks.

“Why don’t we grab her some flowers from that shop down the road, we could drop them off at the graveyard on the way home, brighten it up a bit… if you want?”

Robert feels the lump rising in his throat as it all becomes too much - the quaint coffee shop, the memory of bright flowers in a vase, and the Abba record. They all remind him so much of Sarah that it’s almost like he can feel her presence beside them.

In the end he just nods, grateful that Aaron understands.

May

“The cinema?”

“No.”

“A restaurant?”

“Nope.”

“Come on, just tell me where we’re going.”

“No point.”

“Why not?” Robert whines, his patience running out now. Aaron had been very tight-lipped about where they were going ever since they had gotten in the car. For the first half an hour Robert had been content just to sit in the passenger seat, his shirt sleeves rolled up and the summer breeze through the window ruffling his blonde hair as Aaron drives round a series of country roads, and areas of woodland.

“Because we’re here.” Aaron replies, pulling the car to the side of the road and bringing it to a stop.

“In the middle of nowhere?” Robert asks, as Aaron unclicks his seat-belt and gets out, turning back to Robert and ducking back down to reply.

“There’s a pint at the end.” He teases, which successfully gets Robert out of the car at least.

Aaron’s plan is a walk through the woodland, which Robert surprises himself by enjoying. As they walk hand-in-hand, Aaron explains that it’s one of the places he used to come to run when he needed to get further away from the village. Robert knows without Aaron saying it that he’s talking about when Gordon was around, and he couldn’t feel more glad or proud, watching Aaron amble through the place he used to push himself to the brink, relaxed and happy and at peace with himself in a way he never has been before.

Aaron was telling the truth about the pint, it turned out. The woodland path ended at a river side pub, the rickety picnic benches on the grass the perfect spot for a cold drink before they wandered back to the car.

June

The heat is searing overhead, the suns rays already causing the back of Robert’s neck to prickle with the beginnings of a pink burn, matching the little splotch of red on Aaron’s nose beneath his ray-bans.

They’ve already gorged themselves on the picnic they brought with them to the cricket field and are both on their second chilled beers as they lounge on the picnic blanket. Liv and Gerry have somehow managed to invite themselves on what was supposed to be a private picnic, the two of them yelling and cackling as they run around near the trees with a football, but both Robert and Aaron are too relaxed to care

“This was a good idea.” Aaron says as he props himself up on his elbows, his bare abs flexing as he pushes his sunglasses up into his hair.

Robert turns the corner on the page of the book he’s reading, before closing it and wriggling his legs where they cross under Aaron’s.

“You’re not complaining about one of my date ideas? You feeling ok?” Robert teases, not able to resist shuffling up the blanket so that he can lean down and peck Aaron on the lips.

“Shut up.” Aaron mumbles against his lips when he leans back in for a second kiss.

Robert isn’t sure how long they sit exchanging soft kisses, the heat too much for either of them to do much else. But they both feel it when they get an abrupt distraction, in the form of two buckets of freezing cold water being dumped over their heads, a shock against their sun-warm skin.

Robert and Aaron don’t need to look far to find the culprits, as Liv and Gerry sprint for the trees, two empty ice buckets in hand.

As Robert reaches for his discarded t-shirt to dry his wet face, Aaron is already reaching into their picnic basket, and pulling out a large, litre bottle of water and tearing off in pursuit of their attackers.

Robert decides he’s rather just sit back and watch them all chase each other instead.

July

Robert makes it to July before he seriously starts regretting his stupid date idea.

He’s attempting to fight his way through a crowd of sweaty, smelly people, who are all bogged down in ankle-deep mud in the dark, in a pair of wellies that he ordinarily wouldn’t be seen dead in.

All because Aaron decided that for their July date, he’s going to drag Robert to a music festival, of all things.

It wouldn’t be as bad, if it weren’t for the fact that Aaron was loving every second of it, tugging Robert forwards by his hand as they dodge flailing elbows and stray plastic cups full of beer that fly through the air periodically. According to Aaron, it wasn’t enough to stand back and watch from a safe distance, you had to get near the front to get the real ‘festival experience’.

Robert has to bite his tongue to keep himself from saying that he would rather have the ‘watching the highlights on tv’ experience from the comfort of their living room. After all, he only had himself to blame for letting Aaron plan half of their dates.

Robert almost runs into the back of Aaron when his husband decides that they have apparently reached an adequate spot, between an extremely drunk-looking hen party and two people with their tongues down each other’s throats.

He’s tired, drenched, and he can feel a headache building from the alcohol he’d drunk earlier in the day. But the look on Aaron’s face when the band come onstage, his broad grin, and the reflection of the purple strobe lights in his eyes, makes it all worth it. He even feels charitable enough to give Aaron a piggy-back so that he can record his favourite song on his phone over the heads of people in front of them.

And the dirty smile on his face when he leans over to shout into Robert’s ear about how he’s going to make it worth his while once they get back to the tent?

Well, maybe festivals aren’t all bad.

August

“I’m just saying, I’ve seen better drawings in Kyle’s school bag.”

“Aaron!” Robert hisses.

“It’s true, I mean – what the hell is that supposed to be, a blob?” Aaron asks, gesturing to the expensive piece of modern art hanging from the wall.

Robert has to resist the urge to facepalm, as he mentally gives up on trying to educate his husband on the values of a sophisticated art gallery.

“Why don’t we go get some ice cream from that place over the road.” He suggests, trying to ignore the scowls the gallery attendant is throwing their way for talking too loudly.

The weekend city break had been Robert’s pick, but even he knew that the art gallery had been pushing it. Aaron managed about half an hour in confused silence, before he couldn’t hold back on his own special brand of art critique.

The ice cream shop is more of a success. They settle at a small table out front, the air muggy even with the sun hiding behind the clouds, and Aaron makes friends with the owner’s old dog, a scruffy mongrel that wanders around the guests, begging for ice cream. Robert tries not to cringe as Aaron shares half of his vanilla ice cream with the dog and tries to convince Robert that they should get one of their own.

One thing they do agree on is the hotel though. Aaron had happily overlooked the obvious expense of the place the second that Robert informed him that it had a rooftop bar. The view across the city as night falls is stunning that evening, the two of them leaning on the ledge with glasses of vodka and coke in hand. Free from responsibilities for a short time they both get pretty drunk that night, stumbling and giggling back to their room in the early hours of the morning, before collapsing on the bed and falling asleep not long after.

But neither of them minded. After all they had a late check-out, breakfast from room service, and a very large bed to make use of when morning arrived.

September

At times like this, it’s easy for Robert to imagine Aaron as a child. He’s got his hood up and his jeans rolled up to his knees as he splashes in the shallow water on the beach, tossing balls up onto the beach for Poppy, their new puppy, to chase. Robert isn’t sure whose enthusiasm is more infectious.

The sun is out, but the weather has started to turn slightly autumnal, a fierce wind whipping in with the tide.

It’s the first time Robert has visited this particular beach, although he’s heard Aaron and Chas talk about it many times before, knows it’s an important place for his husband and is quietly grateful that Aaron is willing to share that with him.

He perches on a rock, sifting through the gravelly sand at his feet until Aaron returns, along with the dog, who bounds up onto him and sprays him with cold salty water and slobber. Luckily she still has energy to burn, so she dashes off up the beach after a couple of seagulls, leaving her tired owners to sit together on the rock.

The sun is already going down, casting the beach in a deceptively warm-looking glow, as they watch Poppy try, and fail, to catch a bird.

“I found you something.” Robert says. He pulls the little fossil from his pocket and drops it into Aaron’s hand. “For your collection”. He adds.

Aaron’s whole face goes soft at that, like he can’t believe that Robert has remembered something so seemingly small and insignificant.

“Thanks.” He says, sounding a little breathless. He leans over to kiss Robert’s cheek, apparently at a loss for words.

The moment is broken when Aaron spots Poppy attempting to eat a string of seaweed and jumps after her, chasing her down the beach as she refuses to give away her new find.

Robert’s not sure who is more of a child in that moment, his dog or his husband?

October

Sometimes Robert thinks that marriage has done wonders for Aaron’s patience, as he meanders around various bookshops and libraries, trying his best not to look bored as Robert hunts through piles of books and comics at the local literary festival.

“What time did you say that lecture was?” Aaron asks, pulling Robert’s attention from a special hardback edition of a book that he already owns two copies of.

“Not ‘til four.” Robert responds.

“Do you wanna go get a bite to eat after this then? We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Yeah sure, just give me five more minutes.”

Aaron is flicking through his twitter feed on his phone outside by the time Robert exits the shop, with another heavy, bulging bag.

“Where do you fancy eating?” Aaron asks.

“You choose. I’m not hungry.” Robert replies, before turning to face his husband’s concerned expression.

“Are you sure you’re well enough to be out. That stomach bug you’ve had the last few days was really nasty. I still think you should be resting.”

“I’m fine.” Robert reassures him, already walking in the direction of Aaron’s favourite burger place.

Fine turns out to be a bit of an overstatement though, because as soon as Robert enters the restaurant and smells the food, he ends up rushing to the toilet and being violently ill, which effectively puts an end to their date as Aaron insists on taking him home, so he can rest in bed.

Robert is groggy when he awakes hours later, the sun low in the sky through their bedroom window. But he can’t miss the bag on the bed next to him, with a note on it in Aaron’s scruffy handwriting.

Gone to pick Liv up from the airport.

Hope this makes you feel better!

Robert has to rub his eyes to convince himself he’s not imagining the book he pulls from the bag. It’s the latest novel in a series by the author who had been leading the lecture he’d now missed.

And not just any copy, a signed one. There, inside the front cover, in an unfamiliar looping script reads a note:

You have a very dedicated husband.

Hoping you recover soon!

Followed by the author’s signature.

Aaron had not only gone back to the festival, but had stayed for the signing after the lecture, to get Robert a precious signed copy while he slept off his illness.

It takes Robert five minutes of staring at his phone, trying to work out what he wants to say, before he settles for three little words.

I love you.

November

Robert’s not entirely sure why anyone would choose to hold a party in an empty warehouse. The walls are grubby, the neon tubes overly bright, and the pounding bass of the music is amplified by the echoing building.

Aaron had found out about the club night from a Facebook friend, and had decided that after a couple of chilled out dates, they needed something more outgoing. Robert is just happy that it’s not in a muddy field this time.

He’s not quite as happy, however, with the barman who keeps flirting with his oblivious husband over the bar and eyeing up his arse every time he turns back to talk to Robert. So after a couple of drinks, Robert decides to take matters into his own hands and pulls Aaron up in to the crowds to dance.

“What’s the point of coming somewhere like this if you’re not gonna dance?” Robert shouts over the loud beat when Aaron shakes his head.

“I don’t dance!” Aaron shouts back.

“Just stand with me then.” Robert says into Aaron’s ear, pulling his body close. Judging by the affectionate look on Aaron’s face under the lights, he gets the reference.

They both loosen up with more drinks in their systems, so much so that Aaron’s hands start wandering a little as they dance closer. Well, grinding might be a better way of describing it.

And maybe Robert does feel a bit smug when he’s able to throw a cheeky wink at the leering barman when Aaron drags him out of the party and towards an early taxi, both of them eager to get home.

December

The air is frigid as they wander through the maze of stalls and lights that are brightening the dark square. Robert’s breath rises in clouds as he attempts to navigate the buggy between groups of people to get to where Aaron is loitering by the food stand.

“We only had dinner an hour ago! Do you really need to eat again?” He asks as he comes up behind Aaron, who’s guiltily scoffing a hot dog. “Honestly, I leave you alone for 5 minutes…”

“Sorry… you want some?” Aaron offers the remaining half of his food.

“No thanks.” Robert says, but he’s interrupted by Seb lifting his hands up and shouting

“Me! Me!” the little boy calls up to Aaron from his seat in the buggy, which makes the man grin.

“No Seb. You’ve already had sweets, that’s enough for today.” Robert tells him, causing his son’s bottom lip to wobble dangerously.

“Hey hey!” Aaron says, quick to intervene to prevent a full-blown tantrum. “Why don’t we go to that games stall and try and win you a stuffed reindeer eh? What do you reckon?”

Robert mouths thank you as Aaron lifts the little lad up onto his hip.

It takes Aaron nearly forty minutes and all the cash in his wallet to win the giant reindeer toy by throwing tennis balls at a set of cans on the wall, but he does it to see the overjoyed look on Seb’s face. Robert rewards them with hot chocolate before they head back to the car, Seb falling asleep almost as soon as he’s in his car seat, exhausted from their day out.

“We should do this again next year” Aaron says absentmindedly as he settles into the passenger seat.

“The Christmas market?” Robert asks as he pulls the car out of the car park.

“No… well yeah. But I meant the monthly dates things… I’ve actually kinda enjoyed it.” He admits.

“Yeah I’d like that too.”

Warnings: alcohol, grief, mentions of vomiting, references to Gordon and Aaron’s self-harm.

#robert-sugden-trash #robron #robron secret valentine #robronsecretvalentine #alcolhol #grief #mentions of vomiting #references to Gordon and Aaron's self harm #self harm #fanfiction #moodboard

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