#which left no room for a fun class like art

[devildomwriter]

They Discover You Doodling Them in Your Notebook | Brothers x Reader

2k+ words | no warnings | GN! Reader

Lucifer

You sketched in your notepad as you listened to the teacher drone on about a subject you had little interest in. Every once in a while you’d glance over at Lucifer and it didn’t go unnoticed. At first, he suspected you might be looking over to make sure he didn’t catch you doodling and slacking off again but he left it be for now as Mammon was the bigger issue to deal with in class.

The teacher glared at you from the blackboard and tossed a piece of chalk your way. As a demon Lucifer knew the throw would be too hard and quickly intercepted it, glaring at the teacher and tossing it back hard enough the chalkboard broke.

Everyone in the class was paying attention now and mumbling amongst themselves.

“Silence,” Lucifer shushed them.

“We aren’t the ones making a big scene,” Asmodeus complained but was silenced with a single look from his eldest brother.

You were blushing at the commotion you accidentally started and tried covering your notebook but Lucifer quickly confiscated it to see what had your devoted attention.

He was momentarily surprised before he smirked and handed the notebook back to you which you’d covered in sketches of him.

“This isn’t art class, ___, please pay attention,” he said but to his brothers and you it was obvious he was delighted by what he’d seen.

After RAD ended he called you into his office and requested you draw some more, that way he could ensure he was the only thing on your mind as you spent time together that evening.

Mammon

Mammon was filling you in on his latest get-rich-quick scheme and to pay attention you began to doodle absentmindedly. You found it easier to pay attention when you weren’t being forced to and he knew this so he wasn’t offended by your doodling.

“Right, so if we pretend it’s some kind of charity—“ you cut him off and brushed a piece of his hair behind his ear. He blushed and jumped back.

“Yo! W-what was that for, huh?”

You went back to doodling and he huffed and walked behind you to see what you were sketching but you quickly bent over the notebook to hide it from view.

“Hey, c’mon!” Mammon griped and tried reaching for the notebook but he couldn’t do so without prodding you in your chest and the touch sent his hand flying back in embarrassment.

“Shit, sorry! I didn’t mean to… seriously though what are you drawing?”

“Can you keep telling me the plan? I’ll show you after?” You encouraged so he puffed and gave in. He stood back in front of his projector and changed slides. He’s thoroughly prepared this scheme unlike some of his others. It was definitely illegal and Lucifer would stop him before he started but it was fun to listen to him so energetic and happy.

As promised when he finished, and he made sure to do so quickly, you showed him your notebook and he clutched it, blushing and looking away.

“D-damn, yer pretty good at this ___. Y’know I can model for you anytime right?”

“Would you consider nude modeling?”

“Would I—huh!?” He yelped but paused and hid most of his face with your notebook. “If-if it’s you…then yeah…I wouldn’t mind,” he stuttered and you smiled and nodded.

“Let’s get started right away!”

“Huh!?”

Leviathan

“LET’S GOOOOO” Leviathan cheered as he focused on his PC. He’d invited you to his room to cheer him on as he tried the newest level of his racing game.

He turned the steering wheel he’d hooked up frantically as the difficulty increased.

“Water,” he requested so you set your notebook aside and handed him his water, he sipped some through a straw before pulling back. “Thanks!”

You weren’t just a cheerleader, you made it your mission to make sure he stayed hydrated and didn’t get too lost in his game.

You didn’t find the game particularly interesting though so you began doodling him, anime-style, in your notebook.

He didn’t mind much, as long as you were there supporting him. He knew it wasn’t like he could have your attention 24/7 as much as he wanted it.

“Come on, almost there!” He muttered through grit teeth as he hyper-focused.

You drew his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel and made sure to capture the serious look in his eyes as he stared at the screen.

Leviathan quickly glanced at your notebook to see what you were drawing this time and the surprise sent him reeling so much so that he knocked his steering wheel off the desk and fell from his chair, immediately losing the game.

You jumped up in surprise and rushed over to help him up and comfort him but before you could he snatched up the notebook and you put together what’d happened.

“Oh—um!”

“Th-th-this is GREAT!” He cheered, his demon form popping out and his tail wagging in excitement as he hid his blushed face. “Y-you’re really drawing m-me? Are you sure you want to waste paper like that!?”

You shook your head and lightly slipped his cheeks as you cupped his face which startled him, “these are my most important pages in this notebook,” you said seriously and his blush turned into a deep red engulfing his body as he tried processing his happiness.

All he managed to stutter in response was “W-wow…”

Satan

You sat across from Satan on his couch as he read his latest book involving a detective and his cat sidekick.

Your heart fluttered whenever you saw the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile. Occasionally he’d prod your knee to make sure he had your attention and read aloud a passage to you he thought was cute or funny and you’d giggle in response whether you felt the same or not.

You continued to doodle in your notebook, trying to quickly capture the smiles across from you. His face was so expressive as he read and he’d know if you pulled out your D.D.D. so the best you could do was quickly sketch it down and occasionally a doodle cat sitting on his head. You thought he’d appreciate it whether he saw the notebook or not.

You nudged Satan and motioned to your cup so he knew you’d be right back.

After you left he eyed your notebook and quickly flipped it open, tossing aside his book. He blushed and stared at the drawings. He was enamored with the cartoon cats but for once the cats weren’t the most important part, it was the fact you drew him. He noticed the pencil lines indicated you were sketching quickly, and they appeared darker around his mouth. He realized you were trying to capture his smiles and he made his heart flutter.

You nearly dropped your water in surprise when you found him flipping through your art. He was so entranced he didn’t even notice you walk in. Now you finally had a chance and before he could react you quickly pulled out your D.D.D. and snapped a picture.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus had insisted you keep him company that morning as his makeup was going to take longer than usual and he’d be bored. As the nice person you occasionally were, you got up early, and in an effort to keep yourself awake, you doodled in your RAD notebook but quickly ran out of ideas.

As you listened to Asmodeus explain his routine in detail and why it helped accentuate the beauty that was already there, you decided he’d be the perfect model and began sketching him.

You made attempt after attempt but true to his word it was nearly impossible to cloture his beauty so you decided a more cartoonish manner would be fitting so you weren’t pressuring yourself for detailed perfection.

At some point through the routine, Asmodeus noticed you weren’t paying attention to him and stuck out his lower lip in a pout. You didn’t notice until you glanced back up to continue your sketch.

“Oops, sorry Asmo. I’m paying attention, I promise.”

“Really hon? Because it doesn’t look like it? How can you possibly nit be enamored by me right now? I’m so beautiful what could possibly have your attention? Hm?”

You blushed but decided to prove yourself and handed him the notebook. His eyes lit up, practically sparkling.

“Oh myyyyyy!”

He gave you a soy grin after flipping through more and you had a feeling you knew what he’d ask. “Forget the makeup! Let me model for you! I want you to draw me au natural!”

Beelzebub

You sat on the bench in the RAD Fangol field as Beelzebub practiced with his rowdier teammates. Occasionally you’d look up to see he’d accidentally sent someone flying. He looked so guilty until they got up and reassured him they were fine.

Your D.D.D. battery was low and you didn’t want to seem entirely disinterested in the sport you didn’t understand well so you took out your notebook to try and take notes but they were cluttered and nonsensical so your mind wandered to doodling.

First, you doodled Beelzebub’s jersey number. Then stick figures of some of the poses he did. But eventually, you began trying harder to actually draw him. They weren’t professional by any means but you enjoyed trying to capture his overwhelming cheery presence.

You were so absorbed in your notebook that one of Beel’s teammates pointed out to him how studious you were and he knew that wasn’t the case so he jogged over to see what you were doing.

You noticed him when he was a few steps away and quickly shut your notebook and put it aside. You handed him his water bottle thinking it was what he wanted and bent over to get a towel for his sweat.

“___ what are you writing?” He asked you. You blushed and hid the notebook in your bag but upon seeing your flustered face, Beelzebub decided he had to know and reached for your notebook.

“Wait, it’s kinda embarrassing!” You protested but he took it out anyway as you didn’t feel like wrestling his sweaty arm away.

He found the page you were on and blushed, “o-oh,” he said silently as his eyes skimmed the page. His smile widened at all the doddoes and he thought the stick fugues were funny so handed it back to you.

“These are good! Let me show you some more cool moves you can draw,” he beamed and ran back out to the field to play.

Belphegor

Belphegor was drooling on his desk next to you and no one was waking him up because Beelzebub was eating and Lucifer was trying to get Asmo away from his mirror and Levi off the D.D.D. Meanwhile, the teacher tried hard to ignore it all and continue the lesson.

Poking Belphegor didn’t work and with no one to talk to you were bored and the arithmetic lesson tired you and made you feel like you really were in hell.

With nothing else to do and no worthwhile notes to take you started sketching the snoring demon beside you. Whenever he looked like his snore would be too loud, you covered his mouth to better hide him from Lucifer.

The bell rang but you stayed behind in class and promised to meet the brothers at the cafeteria in a minute. Knowing they’d be interested in sketches you lied and told them you were only taking math notes.

Many minutes passed and a somewhat realistic drawing of Belphegor filled the page of your notebook. You held it out to admire your work when it was taken by a half-awake Belphegor.

He looked at the page and smiled cheekily. “Wow, ___, that’s really good.” He complimented as he yawned and sat up.

“Where is everyone?” He looked around.

“The cafeteria.”

“Oh good, so it’s just us…how about you nap with me instead of sketching? I promise you can do that later at home.”

[cheriladycl01]

My boyfriend the Bad Guy- Oscar Piastri x Teacher! Reader

Plot: Oscar surprises you in a class that you’re covering for on a day before a race weekend.

“Okay guys so Mrs Copani won’t be here for the rest of term, but that means I get to teach you guys all about … the rainforest!” You exclaim to the young children in your class. You were currently covering for a school in your district whose teacher went on maternity leave, it was your first job as a teacher rather than a teaching assistant because you were so young.

“Now, this project will be very fun! We’re going to do lots of arts and crafts and at the end of term Headmaster Kelvin has organised a trip” you tell them excitedly and they all start chatting!

“We’re going to a rainforest!” One of them exclaims.

“My mum says they’re a long way from us!” Another chips in.

“Are we going far for this trip?” Another asks a little confused.

“Okay okay settle down! Now you’ll learn that Chloe is right and that there aren’t any rainforests near us. The closest one would be Africa, and I can’t take you guys all the way there … but in the UK we have a place where they have these biome pods called the Eden Project so we’re going to take you there” you explain and they all nod.

“Okay so let’s start on some facts about the rainforest. Does anyone know anything about the rainforest that they can tell me!” You ask.

“It rains a lot!” Dylan shouts and you nod.

“That’s right! It’s helps that its in the name right? But rainforests have a lot of warm humid rain all year round. 79-394 inches. High for comparison is about the height of a tree!” You exclaim and gaze round seeing the fascinated look on all the kids faces.

That was your favourite part of teaching!

“And when you look at a rainforest … like this one” you say getting up a picture of one of the interactive whiteboard. “What do you see!” You ask looking around the classroom.

“Lots or Green” AJ shouts and everyone agrees.

“Mmmmm that’s very true. And what is all that greenery, some of you might have them in your garden at home! We have some in the gardens here and Miss Y/L/N has a few on her classroom windowsill” you offer helpfully, a girl raises her hand.

“Gabby?”

“Plants Miss!” She squeals and you nod with a smile on your face.

“Very good! Now the rainforest is very important as even though only 10% of earth is made up of rainforests … it has the most plants and animals there which helps us” you smile.

“Why miss?” Connor calls out and you smile.

“The trees around us, even the ones here release something out of them that go into our atmosphere and it turn it helps us breath. That’s why trees are so important and it’s why when we use paper, we always ….” You pause waiting for them to finish your common phrase.

“Recycle it” they all giggle and you nod.

“That’s right!” You smile at them all.

“Okay now when you all have a cold what does you mum and dad give you to make you feel all better?” You ask walking around the room.

“Matt” you say seeing the boys hand raised.

“Medicine!” He cries out in joy.

“Lots of those medicines come from the rainforest, that’s why it’s important we preserve it!” You teach them, you could never be to young to teach about protecting the planet.

“What’s preserve?” One of them asks with their head cocked to the side.

“Hmmmm that’s a difficult word to describe. Okay so let’s pretend you guys are … the Avengers” you grin and they all gasp happily.

“I wanna be Captain America”

“I’ll be Thor”

“I want to be Black Panther”

“I’m Kate Bishop”

“Okay okay you can all be whoever you want! But you guys need to protect the environment from all the bad people out there!” You grin, knowing this was all just a bit of fun but still educating them on what’s important.

“Who are the bad people” one of them asks, just before a knock is heard on the classroom door. You look to the left seeing Oscar there watching you with a soft smile on his face. You hop up from your desk walking over to the door.

“Here is one of the villains you have to defeat” you say as you open the door to your boyfriend.

“He’s a bad guy!” One of the girls ask, and you know you’ve just potentially started her obsession with always crushing on the villains in future movies and books she watch.

“But Miss that’s your boyfriend” they all giggle at this and you grin too, Oscar just standing there confused as to why you’re now all of a sudden calling him a bad guy.

“Mmmm and why am I a bad guy?” He asks looking at you with his polite cat smile.

“Who knows what Oscar does for a living, do any of you like Cars?” You ask and they all gasp.

“Miss miss I know I know!” Ollie cries out.

“Yeah?” You asked.

“He drives race cars!” He says on his knees rocking back and forth.

“He does! And he travels all over the world to do it, meaning he doesn’t help the environment, he does the opposite!” You say knowing just how astronomically high your boyfriends carbon footprint was.

The kids then all started to ask Oscar questions about racing, many of them being Lightening McQueen related.

Eventually it was the end of the school day, Oscar kindly helped you pack up the classroom before leading you out to the car park where his McLaren was parked.

“Thank you for coming to get me baby” you smile and he takes your hand guiding it to the gearstick so he can keep a hold of you while he’s there.

“You’re welcome! How was your first fall day teaching them on your own?” He smiles rubbing his thumb along your hand.

“It was really good, we’re starting a rainforest project and so we’re going to make loads of charts for the board I created and at the end of term we’ve got a trip organised!” You explain and he can’t help but grin at how excited you seem.

“Woah, that’s really cool! Do you still think that you’ll be able to come this weekend?” He asks knowing that where you taught Monday to Thursday you had the perfect opportunity to spend GP weekends with him.

“Of course I am baby, I have my flight booked for Thursday night, I’ll get there Friday Morning” you admit and he smiles bringing your hand up of the gearstick and in front of him mouth. He kisses it lightly.

“So where are we going, this isn’t the way home” you ask once you notice your on a different main road.

“Somewhere Lando showed me, I wanted to take you there. I think you’ll really like it” he explains and you nod.

Eventually you come up to a little park, he takes a rucksack from the boot, taking your hand and walking through the afternoon sun with you to the edge of a large pond, that had a wooden bridge going over the middle of it.

“Wow this is gorgeous” you exclaim looking at the surroundings before taking some pictures. You get one of yours and Oscars feet and then a selfie of you guys with the lake in the background.

“I love this, it’s so peaceful” you breathe out a relaxing breath. You and Oscar walk and talk, both having a busy schedule ment that moments like these you could yap to each others hearts content.

He eventually started to lay out a blanket, it was getting a little cooler as the sun got lower and lower in the spring afternoon.

“I brought some wine, and some cheese and grapes. I know you’ve been wanting to go out for a while with the girls but you haven’t had time… so I brought girls night too you” he smiles sheepishly hating how busy both your lives were individually and with each other. You saw your friends maybe once a month at best, you were very lucky they were so understanding.

“I love you Osc” you say leaning into him, kissing his cheek, a blush forming across his nose.

“I love you too baby” he smiles.

You both sit on the blanket leaning into one another while continuing your previous conversation, and sharing chaste kisses every now and then, tasting the rich one on each others lips.

Intimate and personal time like this with Oscar would always be your favourite.

y/user

Liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

y/user: Oscar surprised me on my first day today and took me out afterwards on a date :) How sweet can he get!

View all comments

oscarpiastri: Love you ❤️

-> y/user: I love you more 🥺🌸❤️

ybff: omg you guys are so cute! Seeing you when?

-> y/user: soon for sure! After class coffee? Mrs Copani has gone for maternity leave so I’ll have this post for a while!

user: Billy raves about his new teacher in class today! Thank you for making it engaging!

-> user: I agree Madison came home with the biggest smile on her face today! Thank you Mrs Y/L/N

Instagram Story Caption:

First day on the job 🌸 Miss Y/L/N

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[lalunanymph]

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟏: 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: misogyny, talks of ageism, unrequited love, dubious cheating, gaslighting, mentions of a/nal, e/xplicit smut, mentions of w/eed, mentions of a/lcohol, substance a/buse, toxic family dynamics, class differences, sukuna is anti-noveau riche, sukuna is a walking red flag, jin itadori supremacy, hiromi and nanami duke it out in court, exposition, mentions of a m/urder, negligence, court cases, MDNI

masterlist | playlist

Treading the world of marriage as a woman past her prime in a judgemental upper class society was a dance that left you exhausted and skittish; wishing you could put an end to its haunting melody. 

As you were ticking fast past the rotten age of twenty-seven, your family’s empire hung by a thread as nervous investors and stakeholders started to ask the golden question: When will your only daughter get married, Jiro? 

Suitors knocked on your door, only to be turned away by your snobbish mother and your equally weak-kneed father who tried to appease her. None of them good enough for you; handsome enough for you or rich enough to grow your family’s vaults. 

That was until Itadori Jin reached out to your family with an offer your father could not refuse.

His older twin brother, Itadori Sukuna, has just been released from an investigation and needed a bride to save the family name. 

They wanted to paint him in a good light to the press: partying bad boy turned a charming, married man who was now working towards building a family with another girl of his standing.

And, that was when you came into the picture.

The first time you saw Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was a moment you would never forget.

The tattoos swirling around his face should’ve given you pause; made you backtrack on the idea of marriage to the Itadori house the second it left your father’s lips—especially when it came to a man like him.

In his neatly pressed white button-down which strained over his (admittedly) impressive pecs, and pair of expensive Bottega slacks, he would’ve been the picture of sophisticated upper class if it weren’t for the tribal lines on his face and arms—the sight almost making you high tail it out of the cafe you were both seated in.

It was the first time you were meeting him without your parents to chaperone. Bodyguards stood by the doors, stationed close by in case the press got too nosy. 

With this being the first time you were talking to him without your mother lingering in the background, you were free to eye him up and down, unsure of what to make of the disdain setting his mouth into a hard line.

He was different from the men you had encountered before. Tall in an imposing way and with his shock of pink hair, you could spot him from a mile away in the middle of a crowded room. Sukuna carried himself with an air of princely cruelty, often staring down the line of his nose; astride the white stead of his borned privilege and high position in society. 

But, the one thing that stood out were his eyes.

The warmest brown dissolved into a shade of vermillion which shone blood-red under different lights.

You couldn’t quite keep your eyes off them or stare at them for too long, and you sensed rather than knew how much he enjoyed your discomfort. 

He swivels his coffee, spilling some down the pristine white cup. Somewhere behind him, a guard stifles a yawn.

“So… what do you like to do for fun?”

You sit up straighter, practiced to perfection with your reply. “I love watching horse races, Itadori-san. On some days, I prefer pottery and painting. I’ve always wanted to open my own art gallery.”

He glances at his nails, looking almost bored. “And why didn’t you open your own gallery?”

It’s a cordial question at best, but you bristle as if he had just mocked your interests.

“I… don’t have the time,” you mutter meekly. 

He looks up at you, and you think he might finally unleash the scathing remark he’s been holding back for the last few minutes.

“What does a prissy girl like you know about not having time? I thought you thrived on wasting your life away with hot pilates classes and private-jetting to islands?”

You bite back your fuming reply, masking your discomfort with a bright smile. “Itadori-san, you judge me so harshly. I only attend one hot pilates class per week.”

What you hoped was a light-hearted reply dissolves into a sour note when he sighs and sits back, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look, sweetheart. I know this can’t be easy on you, too, but you don’t know what’s at stake here.” Sukuna leans forward, invading your space with the spicy sweetness of his cologne. “I have a reputation to change and you have daddy’s money to keep. We’re both each other’s salvation from the shit our family put us through so I need you to work with me here.”

You frown, unsure of what he was trying to get at. “But, I am trying to work with you. I’m here on this date, aren’t I?” 

“You gotta look decent,” he doesn’t beat around the bush. Gesturing to your modest midi floral dress and neutral beige Mary Janes, the look of disgust on his face breaks something in your chest. “You’re dressed like a goddamn Mormon college girl. For someone very rich, you sure don’t have taste.”

Offended, you stared at him, unable to fathom what he had just said—how he had just insulted you unprompted and in broad daylight.

But, Sukuna doesn't give you time to revel in his words. He grabs a cigarette from his pocket, ignores your wrinkling nose as he smokes openly in this establishment. The waiters don’t dare to cross him, pretending the smell of tobacco doesn’t faze them.

You, however, were finding it harder to mask your disgust. For the sake of your mother’s excitement at finding you a suitable match, you tried to tame down the anger frothing in your veins, slapping on a sweet, yet sardonic smile.

“And what is your definition of ‘taste’, Itadori-san?”

He peers at you over the veil of smoke, taking his time to piece together his reply. “Plunging necklines. Satin. Bows. Thinner heels. I need a mature woman by my side, not some plain old maid playing dress up as a prepubescent girl.”

His words stung, and you leaned back, suddenly feeling too small. The cafe lights felt like a pair of microscopic lenses studying your every move, highlighting your discomfort and sudden unease. Your skin flashed hot and cold, the anger cresting and ebbing. Whenever you were upset, you didn’t lash out or cry, preferring to fall silent until the storm passed.

Despite a tiny voice in the back of your mind telling you it would be useless to try, you attempted another shot at winning his validation; hoping Sukuna would bestow it unto you readily and without mockery.

“Then, why don’t you come and shop with me? I’m sure a man of your taste would help my image.”

He stares at you for a long moment, unblinking. You’re reminded of a snake—its tongue scenting the air to determine whether to strike, unlidded eyes locking onto its target. 

Sukuna thaws, tapping off the excess ash onto the floor. You try not to cringe at how the poor waiters would have to sweep all of that up once he had left.

“Fine. I’ll help,” he says like it's the biggest feat in his life to perform. “But, on one condition.”

Eager, you nod, not wanting to turn him off or jeopardize a moment with such a handsome man who wouldn’t look twice at you if it weren’t for your last name.

“We push the wedding back by a month.”

Flashback: One week ago

Tensions were running high in the courtroom.

Rows of judges and the impassive jury hollows out in shades of gray, fading into the white buzz of his mind as Sukuna glances at his brother’s ashen face. Outside, the hungry press waits, sharks roaming in deathly waters waiting for the first drop of blood.

Itadori Jin clenches his pen in his white-knuckled grip. Their defense attorney, Hiromi Higuruma leans close to him, whispering something under his breath. 

Sukuna can’t hear him from his vantage point on the testimonial seat, but he can venture a guess when his younger twin nods, pushing his glasses up the sweaty bridge of his nose.

“Higuruma-san, please take the floor,” the judge intones, allowing for their docketed defense to play out. 

The ruthless, cold lawyer clears his throat, and stands. 

He turns to face the jury, those soulless eyes sparking with a passion Sukuna has never seen before in all his twenty eight years of knowing the old lawyer.

“Your honor—Judge Itachi. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. How many of us have often mistaken goodwill for evil? We don’t bite the hand that feeds us and yet, we have every right to question when something isn’t as sanctimonious as it seems.” He turns his dark gaze to the rows of people.

“Itadori Sukuna has devoted half of his life to the bolstering of young athletes. Football is one of his biggest passions and he often pays meticulous attention to the facilities that nurture the talent of our future sportsmen. The sole person to be blamed for the murder of young Masamichi Ryota isn’t the man sitting on that podium—it’s to be found in the coach who pushed him beyond his capabilities and forced him to play even with a ruptured spleen—”

“Objection, your honor.” Nanami Kento, an unctuous piece of shit in a neatly-pressed suit who thrives on taking cases pro-bono to bolster his spotless reputation, stands. He adjusts his tie, looking at the plaintiff’s family—the coach’s great mustache trembling as he holds back his anger. 

“The post-mortem report submitted shows that Coach Tanaka has explicitly asked for a leave of rest for the star player. But, the rejection letter—traced from Itadori Sukuna’s hand, I might add—explicitly denied that request on grounds of the millions of yen he has betted on that poor boy’s success.”

The crowd moves, a great sea snake whispering, scales rustling. Unsure of whether to attack or stand down.

“Your Honor, that is a stretch,” Hiromi drones. “The young man was known to have a history of smoking and a regrettable habit of shooting ecstasy. A fact, we found out later on, that was unearthed in the same autopsy reports you had just shared, Nanami-san.” 

This time, the two attorneys stare each other down. 

Sukuna fights back a smirk at the blonde man’s narrowed eyes. Beside him, Tanaka, the coach, hangs his head.

“While his death is very regrettable and a horror to his family and loved ones, Masamichi was not known for reigning in his… impulses. He has a weak will and a fondness for abusing substances.”

“Objection,” Nanami raised his voice. “Defaming the deceased’s name is a violation of—”

“Order, order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel, shaking his jowls as he glares down from the stand. The room quietens. Nanami takes a deep breath while Hiromi glances at his watch. 

“Nanami-san, the Defamation Act 2013 does not apply to this situation as Masamichi is not a minor. A lawyer of your caliber should know this.” Nodding towards Higuruma, he says, “Continue.”

This time, Sukuna can’t help the chuckle slipping from his mouth. 

Hearing him, Jin shakes his head with a glare, hazel eyes drilling Now’s not the time, asshole deep into his skull. 

Higuruma, having heard his slip, also narrows his eyes.

Nanami uses this moment to pounce on Sukuna’s perceived indifference.

“He openly mocks the death of one of Japan’s brightest football stars, and yet, we’re supposed to believe in his goodwill? If you were to speak of my client’s dead prodigy, you should take into account what kind of man Itadori Sukuna truly is.”

Commanding the floor, the sharply-dressed blonde man takes center stage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen. Judge and jury. Itadori Sukuna hails from an affluent family, but do not let that distract you from how he uses his position in society to silence those lower than him.” Looking straight into Sukuna’s eye with that infuriating, righteous stare these bootlickers always had, Kento seethes. 

“He is a drug-addled playboy who spends his time exploiting young talent for his own gain. These young men under his program are little more than betting fodder for him and his other rich friends. Wouldn’t you say that is correct? How many times have we seen him in the news because of his drunk folly? If he were an actor, we would’ve banned him from screens, and yet, because of his standing in society, we commend him for exploiting our sporting talents—and ultimately, playing in the negligence to cause someone’s death.”

Higuruma bristles, not expecting his opponent to pull out his client’s reputation and smear it across the courtroom floors.

“You claim defamation is uncouth, and yet, you’re doing the same thing to my client, Nanami-san—”

“Order,” Judge Itachi bangs his gavel again, this time looking irritated at how this case had turned.

Sukuna suddenly catches sight of a woman from across the room. She’s glaring at him with unabashed hatred, her dark eyes swollen and red-rimmed, lower lip wobbling. Beside her, the man he assumes is her husband wears a stony mask, his gaze locked on the floor, completely still except for the rapid rising and falling of his erratic breaths.

They were both clad in a dress, shirt and slacks that looked like they belonged to the 90s—neat and clean, but shabby in a way that only these lower class scum could pull off if the dress code given to them was business casual. 

These must be Ryota’s good-for-nothing power hungry parents who threw him into the harsh pits of Japanese football in hopes of improving their standing in society. How plain and old they look. Sukuna fights back the urge to sneer at them, keeping his expression neutral.

It’s like Jin’s voice is in his ear: Do not misbehave. Do not give them more reason to already hate you. Remember—Jin’s infuriatingly kind eyes were unflinching and serious. They’ve just lost their son. Have some compassion and remorse.

“Attorneys, return to your seat. The jury has already made their decision and I, for one, can vouch for it.”

Sukuna feels his palms going clammy, and suddenly, the idea of investing in sports from Ino’s advice was making his stomach turn.

I’m going to kill that bastard once I’m out of here.

Removing the slip of paper from the white envelope of justice, Judge Itachi clears his throat.

Higuruma sits back down, his viper-like eyes locked on the judge’s face. Trying to predict the outcome.

“The court today has deemed the case Itadori v Japan’s Football League a negligence in duty of care concerning Masamichi Ryota’s untimely death.”

No one is breathing, all attention on the judge with his pockmarked face. 

Sukuna is fixated on Jin, whose head is bowed, eyes closed. If this blew up in their faces, a case like this would cause Itadori Enterprises to suffer a major investor fallout.

And once again, the blame of their family’s bad fortune would be on him. 

Sukuna swears the last time he was this nervous, he was waiting for Este’s pregnancy test results to come back negative.

It was one time, ‘Kuna! She had tears in her eyes, the stupid white stick clenched in her hand. Can you lay off of me and take responsibility for once in your goddamn life?

He should call her after this—apologize to her. God knows it would be his last fuck before he has to spend half of his life behind bars for the death of some schmuck kid whose name he had already forgotten.

Judge Itachi speaks again, knocking him out of his reverie.

“Therefore, the jury and I have come to the conclusion. In the case of Itadori Itadori-san, we find him—”

The clock ticks. Every lung is constricted—jury, attorneys, a few press members who had managed to bribe their way in. Sukuna recognizes them with their obnoxious yellow press tags; thinks how many of these leeches would get a raise once they broke the scoop on him.

Oh, the irony, he muses. His downfall being their salvation to fighting back against the rising cost of living.

“—not guilty.”

…

Sukuna is unsure if he’s heard it right.

Not guilty. 

Not guilty. 

Not guilty.

He doesn’t react immediately, blinking slowly like a fish caught out of water. The oldest son of Itadori Wasuke tries to meet his twin’s eye, but Jin is as shocked as he was, frozen with his laser-sharp focus trailed on the stand—trying to digest this turn of events.

Higuruma is the one who finally breaks the ice, standing and bowing to Judge Itachi. On cue, the rest of the room follows suit, getting to their feet and showing the retreating judge their begrudging respect.

Sukuna bows jerkily, unused to such a humble gesture he had almost forgotten how to do it.

In front of him, the brat’s mother starts to bawl, her husband’s arms coming to wrap around her as they both shuffle out of the courtroom, looking older and grayer than when they had entered.

Sukuna doesn’t have much time to force a lick of sympathy for them, not when this farce of a trial was over and he was late for Ino’s party.

He hops down the stand, ambling easily to his younger brother who was whispering in low tones with their lawyer. A few feet away, Nanami Kento reassures the coach and his family, painting a picture of trying to achieve righteous justice for that good name—a feat Sukuna knew he would never achieve.

After all, the Itadori empire wasn’t built on rainbows on sunshine but pure, hard grit. And a little bit of blood and here and there to get what they want.

Jin looks up, frowns. “Let’s catch the sedan and have a smoke. You and I have a lot to discuss about.”

The way he said it made Sukuna feel like a kid again, about to be chastised for peeing the bed or killing off the pet goldfish.

Higuruma packed up his briefcase of documents, and a pack of bodyguards stationed around the different points of the courtroom swarmed to the middle, shielding the two brothers and their lawyers the second the doors opened and the press descended on them. 

Flashing lights went off in a wave of clicks, the vultures with their cameras snapping his humiliation at every angle for their publications; boldly throwing their questions at him without fear now that the great Itadori “Ryomen” Sukuna was knocked down a peg or two. 

Itadori-san, can you comment about Masamichi-san’s death at length? 

One woman with a silver bob shoved a mic in his face. The guard on his right quickly elbowed her out of the way, throwing his arm up to hide Sukuna’s visage from the bug-like chittering click of these press leeches and their expensive cameras.

Itadori-san, this news must come as a shock. What does this mean for the future of Itadori Enterprise?

Will this affect any future mergers, particularly a rumor circulating about a potential collaboration with Nara Corp? 

Itadori-san, do you ever regret investing in football?

A few sport reporters were also seen trying to push their way through the crowd, recorders in hand to glean some golden nuggets for their pathetic column.

Itadori-san, what does your verdict mean for the future of the Japan Football League?

Itadori-san, did you know that Masamichi-san was about to prepare for his university entrance exams? How does his death make you feel?

“No comment,” Higuruma intones, taking Jin and Sukuna both by the elbow to steer them towards their waiting car like they were teenagers again; back when he had to bring the twins straight into Wasuke’s study to discuss their future inheritance.

A fresh-faced rookie Sukuna had never seen before stumbles in front of their entourage, and he’s mortified to see a pink lipstick print on the front of the intern’s tag.

Royale News' first appearance in such a serious case.

“Itadori-san, you’re already approaching the ripe age of thirty," the dim-wit says. “Do you have your eye on a woman who can domesticate you? Can you ever be tamed?”

Amidst the overlapping voices and chaos, that question sticks to Sukuna like sweat on skin during an unbearable summer heat, unsettling him until he sinks into the sedan with Jin beside him and Higuruma on the opposite seat. 

The door closes shut, bodyguards standing in front of the heavily tinted side windows to keep the press from clamoring after them.

Once the chaos was left behind on the freeway in a cloud of smoke and ashes, did Jin lean forward to raise the privacy screen. With the driver unable to hear them, his younger twin reaches for his packet of Montecristos, lighting three of them up and passing one to each man.

Higuruma accepts his offer with a nod, while Sukuna grabs the nicotine-laced vice from him with a ferocity that takes his brother aback. He inhales deeply, exhaling rings of smoke which fogs up the car, tasting cherries, cedarwood, tobacco and his freedom. 

“Easy, ‘Kuna,” Jin mumbles tersely. Sukuna resists the urge to flip him off.

Instead, he drags his gaze to the lawyer smoking quietly in front of him, smiling sleazily in triumph. “You did a good job, Higuruma. If I were you, I’d ask for a raise.”

The Itadori scion expects his brother to join in the jest meekly, like he always does. Not glare at him with pure vitriol in his eyes, the kind Sukuna had never seen Jin harbor for him.

“You scumbag,” Jin mutters hotly. His brother half expects him to throw a curse word or two with how riled up he was. “You were supposed to dump this stupid hobby. I gave you the money to start a foundation for good press. Not throw it all into some useless human betting ring. Are you an imbecile?”

That was a new insult. Jin rarely ever threw him a good verbal uppercut, and Sukuna must’ve really fucked up to earn this side of his younger twin brother.

He plasters on a sleazy smile, giving his otouto a once over. 

“Well, aren’t you a fucking ray of sunshine? You should be glad Higuruma managed to avert the crisis and get me out of it. Or, are you going to piss in these blessings?”

“I would rather you didn’t embroil yourself in such a shit show in the first place.”

Jin sighs, sags into the seat and massages his temple. “One day, Sukuna, you’re going to give me a heart attack and you’ll have to take over oto-san’s company. Then, you will know true responsibility. True suffering.”

Sukuna hums, staring outside at the scenery flying by.

“Neither the company nor its investors would last a day with me at the helm. So, for your sake and mine, I’m going to ask the doctor to keep the life support machine going even if you’re hanging onto your last breath, dear brother.”

“Good luck with that,” Jin refutes with a slight snarl. “I would explicitly mention it in my will to refute your efforts at reviving me.”

“Then, I will rebuke your will.”

“You can’t because I actually have a son to execute it.”

“Yuuji is two. He can’t even hold a pencil.”

Any insult towards his beloved son would never be tolerated by the famed Itadori family man. Jin puffs out his chest, about to berate his older brother, when Higuruma stops them both with a sigh.

“If only your parents could see the both of you now. How disappointed they would be in you, Sukuna.”

Hiromi sucks in a deep breath of the sweet cigar, turning his head and exhaling lightly out of politeness for smoking in his employer’s car. 

Despite his hulking muscles and blase attitude, Sukuna can’t help but glower in petulance at any mention of Wasuke and Kasumi’s disappointment in him. Growing up as the black sheep has casted a permanent cloud over him—his best efforts were seen as second tier in comparison with his perfect, golden brother. And Sukuna resents any mention of it.

Their family lawyer continues on, as if he hadn’t made two of them heel to an uneasy stop.

“At your age, you should be taking over Jin’s part. But, your brother is too nice. He took up the burden so you could do what, exactly? Party every night? Sleep with models? Get involved in scandals?”

Hiromi sighs, and Sukuna turns his glare outside the window, unwilling to take such a personal beat down. 

“Your mother had hoped you would snap out of your selfish streak. She even thought you would settle down and give her some grandchildren by the time you turned twenty five. But, you had to be pictured… fucking… the mayor’s daughter during a gala. How crude.”

“Stop talking down to me like you’re even at my level, Higuruma.” Sukuna snaps and something in his tone catches the other two men off guard. “You think just because we employ you in our good graces, you have the fucking right—”

“What Hiromi is trying to say is this,” Jin interjects before this could escalate into a full fist fight. “Both of us have come up with the best way for our family to get past this scandal.”

Sukuna has heard this a thousand times before. The Itadori pockets were bottomless when it came to preserving their good name.

“How?” He sneers, dismissive and mildly insulted that the two of them had made a decision for him without his input. “Don’t tell me you’re going to flush out more money to keep the press quiet. We can’t keep using the same strategy over and over again.”

In answer, Hiromi and Jin share a look. Sukuna suddenly feels like the car seat he’s on is about to be pulled from under him.

Wilted ash drips from the tip of his neglected cigar. He tenses, darts his vermillion eyes between his two conspirators and wardens.

“Hiromi and I have come up with a better idea,” Jin begins his pitches like he always does—with a little smile and a sniffle. “The idea is—”

“Marriage,” Hiromi intones, taking one brother aback and the other on a guilt trip. 

Jin grimaces. Sukuna stumbles with the words stuttering out like a reckless oil spill.

So, the only thing he could spout was, “M-marriage?! What kind of trickery is this? Jin—” He looks to his otouto, hoping against hope his ears are just fucked up and he didn’t actually hear Hiromi saying the tragic, forbidden ‘M’ word.

“—this has to be a mistake.”

“No, it’s not,” Hiromi steps in to cover Jin’s ass, placing himself at the front to take the bullets of rage that would no doubt rain down on him once the whole plan was laid bare to the older, hot-headed twin. 

“We believe that with your souring reputation and increasing questions surrounding your perpetual bachelorhood, settling down with someone would be in the interest of the family business. And of course, your inheritance.”

Hiromi makes sure to dangle the most effective carrot in front of him; that sadistic bastard.

Sukuna seethes—confusion, anger, disappointment and fear coalescing to overtake his first instinct to run. Numbing him with his inaction of thoughts and body. 

Hiromi lifts his heavy-bagged eyes, pinning him right to the spot. The knife slices deeper, cutting him from the inside out; hammering in this decision he absolutely had no say in unless he would want to kiss his lavish lifestyle goodbye.

“We need to get you married off by the end of the year.” A death sentence knells right into his chest; Hiromi digs the pain deeper. 

“In fact, the sooner, the better.” 

Sukuna remembers the very first time he had seen you in your wedding dress. 

It was a chance encounter as he passed by a Morinaga boutique in downtown Shibuya; his brother having orchestrated the entire meeting so Sukuna would catch a glance of his future bride trying on her custom-made dress.

With her head bowed, and shoulders bare under the light, the older Itadori twin thought her figure was appeasing and pleasing to the eyes. That is, until she turned around with her naked face and he had to physically stop himself from recoiling.

“Is that her?” he demands, unwilling to believe Jin would sell him out like this. Shades of disgust lines his tone, and he tries not to put his stupid twin in a headlock and break his neck.

Jin notices his reluctance and makes a face. “She’s unlike the girls you whore yourself out to, that’s for sure.”

The more he looks at you, the more Sukuna is starting to think this was a mistake.

“She’s so… boring. Vanilla. Are you sure this is what you think is best for me?”

Since their father passed on and the business went to his younger twin, Sukuna was often painted in their society and by the media as the irresponsible Itadori—the audacious older brother, the partier.

The playboy.

Often having a gaggle of girls at his mercy, he was not exempted from warming beautiful model’s beds, and having flings with other trust fund babes—bad habits his younger brother was desperately trying to get him to shrug off to take on more of the family business mantle. 

“You’re almost thirty, ‘Kuna. It’s time to act like it.” 

Jin sighs, removes his glasses. The action reminds him so much of their father that Sukuna pauses for a second, blinking away the mirage of that senile, old man.

Sukuna hadn’t noticed just how old his younger brother had gotten.

Dressed in a sleek trench coat costing four times more than a McDonald workers’ monthly salary, Itadori Jin was quiet and unassuming, yet only his twin brother knew that still waters ran the deepest.

An inch shorter than him and with a kid from his old, dead wife, Itadori Jin was the antithesis of Sukuna’s recklessness. Where the older twin was all hulking machismo and a massive ego, his brother was soft-spoken and with a sharp mind that was always one step ahead of his, bringing their father’s company back from the brink of bankruptcy and launching it into international waters from his sheer will. 

Sukuna respects the guy, and as much as he wants to rile Jin up and pop a vein on his younger brother’s temple, he tempers down his sarcasm, preferring to roll his eyes.

“Whatever. So, her daddy wants the merger money and you want me to settle down with some ugly chick?”

Jin winces, wishing his brother wasn’t being this curt and lewd. 

“Her father wants an heir. And he wants 40% of our shares. That’s a whole different game.”

“He can’t have those.” Sukuna was irresponsible as they came, but even he understood the basic math of divesting half of your company’s assets to a party other than your stipulated stakeholders. “The Nara family already holds 22% of our board and the Ikina’s are up close with 15%. If those vultures take 40, how’re we gonna break even in the next quarter? We’ll be bleeding red if we give into their whims.”

In answer, the corners of his brother’s mouth twitches. “I see you’ve been doing your homework. Impressive.”

They both have stopped in their tracks, standing a little ways on the sidewalk where prying ears couldn’t hear their discussion.

Jin suddenly turns serious. “L/N-san has struck gold with new fintech models. We need to curry his favor if he wants to reduce the patent price for us to move on with Project Armstrong. I hope you understand the gravity of this situation.”

Usually, Sukuna prefers not talking business with his brother in such broad daylight without a drink in hand. But, seeing as how Jin has left him no choice, he relents to this impromptu exchange, feeling more and more like some wild stock being sold in a farm the longer he speaks to his brother. 

“And she’s nicknamed the Wisteria Woman because her entire family latches onto fame and power like leeches,” he bristles, catching Jin by surprise. 

See? Even a useless ass like him could bother with basic research. And the rumors were nastier than he imagined.

“I already don’t like the sound of that—of her.”

The younger Itadori cocks his head. “Then, I think you should be honest with her if that is how you feel. That this is a business arrangement and nothing else.”

Sukuna flicks a cigarette from his leather coat’s pocket, sticking it between his teeth.

“Say I agree to this plan. What’s in it for me?”

Without a beat of hesitation, Jin replies: 

“110% of the profit.”

Sukuna nearly spits out his stick. 

The amount yawns before him, looming zeros and zeros staring him in the face. 

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Jin teases, though there’s tension crinkling in the corner of his eyes.

Switching gears, Sukuna turns mellow; even slaps on a smile. “I see. Interesting.”

“So. Are you on board with this?” 

In the distance, he sees your silhouette exiting the bridal shop, bags in hand with your maids or girlfriends following behind. The sunlight does little to bring any depth to your expression or features, but he appreciates that you look semi-decent from his vantage point.

“Fine,” he says, clicking open his vintage Dupont to light the tip of his cigarette. “Count me in.”

He supposes that even with such an embarrassing family background that will drag the Itadori name through the mud, the high stakes more than made up for such a lackluster wife.

His favorite whore sighs right into his shoulder, the smell of his cum, sweat and her expensive perfume strong on her skin.

After ejaculating right onto her tits and smearing it everywhere down her belly, Sukuna was exhausted and in a need for something stronger than nicotine. Rolling over, he picks up a joint Ino had passed to him as congratulations for making it out of that nasty as fuck trial, lighting it up and inhaling with a tremendous sigh.

Este’s lips are right on his shoulder, kissing a path from his deltoid to collarbone. Sukuna wraps a hand in her soft, brown hair, holding her firmly in place as he makes a move like he was about to kiss her; her lips parting and smoke pouring into her waiting mouth, her hitched inhale pulling a cruel smile across his own lips. 

She turns her face away, eyes watering and fighting back a coughing fit. “Asshole.”

“An invitation for anal? Gladly, baby.” He turns her onto her belly, peals of laughter muffled by the pillow, strong arms holding her down as he positions her on her hands and knees, joint stuck in between his teeth.

Este turns her face to the side, catching his eye. Mascara smudges around her eyes, her red lipstick feathering at the corners of her impishly smiling mouth.

“What’re you doing, ‘Kuna?” 

“Y’know what I’m doing,” he murmurs, cock stirring at her wiggling hips and devilish grin.

“Are you really going to take my ass?” 

He sucks in another inhale of the joint, feeling the high slowly unlocking his muscles and turning his brain fuzzy. “Scared? Afraid daddy might find out his daughter is going around offering her virgin hole to any rich man who’s on the marriage market?” 

Condescension drips in poisonous tendrils, and she bristles. “Fuck you, ‘Kuna.”

In one swift motion, he’s sheathed inside of her, feeling her walls choke down on his cock. His head tosses back, sweat glistening off the tribal tattoos on his chest, hips drawing back and snapping forward in languid thrusts. 

The moon shines strong. Cheap Southern alcohol pumps in his blood, his sweat soaks through her skin and hair, damp skin illuminated by the ember tip of his joint. 

“Isn’t that what I’m already doing to you?” He drawls, and her body starts to shake. 

“We still—mhm—h-haven’t talked about your m-marriage…” 

Her voice fades; cracks on the reality of him no longer sharing a bed with her.

Jesus. Does everyone know about this? 

Sukuna doesn’t do anything to comfort her, except for slipping a hand between her legs to rub soft circles on her clit as a flimsy apology.

She keens, white-knuckled grip fisting the soft blankets. Her mediterranean mix shows under the weak light, tan skin stretching over defined back muscles, dark roots growing past the brown dye job she gets done once every two weeks.

In another life, Sukuna thinks he could’ve been in love with her.

Este screams his name as she shatters around him. Sukuna tosses the half-smoked joint back on the side table, not caring if it would catch on something and burn her room down. He’d just fuck her through the flames until she asphyxiates and succumbs to both the lack of oxygen and her orgasm.

She clings onto him, a second layer of skin he wants nothing to do with. 

Sukuna pushes her away not so gently, grabbing his joint and snuffing it out with the heel of his palm. 

“I gotta go,” he mumbles, reaching for his shirt, pants. She watches as he dresses, still dazed and starry-eyed from her release.

“Are you going back to her? To Y/N?” 

Sukuna crinkles his nose, as if the mention of your name was enough to make him lose his appetite. “Don’t be stupid. No. I’m going back to my place for a shower and a nightcap. I’ll see you around.”

Tossing her a nonchalant wave, Sukuna leaves Este’s sheets, knowing that in a few more days, he would be back here again.

That’s the thing he likes about Este Nara—she’s easy. Not just to get in bed, but to get away from. She doesn’t bitch or moan about him being distant and aloof. She takes his cruelty without much flinching, seeing the dangerous man lurking under his tattoos and barely thinking anything of it. 

If she even had half a brain to think.

He revs the engine of his Ducati Superleggera, hightails it past her condominium with his helmet buckled haphazardly around his neck; not slowing down, wishing he could leave his problems in the dust being kicked up by his tires.

“What do you mean he’s trying to push the marriage to a month later?” your mother seethes over her coffee, glaring at you.

You shrink from her anger, pushing around a soggy banana with your fork tines. “It’s what he told me,” you argue back weakly. “What was I going to say?”

“What about actually standing up for yourself and doing what is best for our agreement?” 

She arches a perfectly groomed brow, waiting for you to respond. You cast a despairing look to your father who picks up his glass of bourbon, sipping on it while he listlessly scrolls through his iPad. 

“Listen to your mother, my little light.”

“I did,” you tried again, willing them both to understand. Bunching your fists over your lap, you take a deep breath, hoping they would listen. “I did everything you asked me to: not interrupt him. Let him talk. Laugh at his jokes. Everything,” you emphasize. “And yet he asked me to consider pushing the marriage back by a few weeks. What else could I say?”

You reiterate your question, growing hotter in the cheeks. Finally understanding why some people could have a heart attack in the middle of dinner when the entire situation was spun around to paint you as a villain when you had tried your best to be as cooperative as you could. 

A grimace stretches across her plastic-filled cheeks. People often said your mother could win a beauty pageant on her worst days; rising above other beautiful women with her wit, charm and charisma. Of course, she was also the daughter of a department store king, so the money graciously ‘donated’ to these glittery showcases put her many steps forward compared to other contestants.

“I don’t know where I went wrong in raising you,” she sighs, dramatic as always. “Jiro, please. Can you speak to Itadori Jin-san and tell him what our daughter told us? There is no way his brother can resist this offer.”

Offer. Like you were a cow to be traded in the market.

“Lia, I told you, Itadori Jin-san has no control over Itadori-san. That’s his nii-san. It would be a perversion of authority if he forces Sukana-san’s hand in any way.”

Her expression sours. “Well, isn’t there some way we can orchestrate a reunion, perhaps? A dinner or getaway to officially welcome them to the family?” 

You blanch at the idea of seeing Sukuna again, stewing in your mortification and humiliation when he had already made it clear how distasteful he finds you.

You’re about to say you don’t mind going with Sukuna’s timeline when he sets his glass down with a pensive look on his face.

Ten years older than your mother and with a brilliant mind born from the best business school in Tokyo, your father was not a man to be played with; his word was law, and that was how he spearheaded the tech scene at the tender age of twenty-five with nothing but a dream and his gritty determination. 

Knowing he had to prove himself to your grandfather—your mother’s father, on his capabilities to build a home and a better life for a woman who already had everything—made you wonder how he did it.

From nobody to somebody. It’s why no matter how he treated you, he would always have your respect.

“A getaway?” Jiro murmurs, an idea darkening his thoughts. “That could be interesting. Very interesting indeed. I’ll make some plans and we’ll play it by ear.”

He went back to scrolling, ignoring his smugly beaming wife.

Pacified that she had gotten what she wanted, your mother turns nurturing once more, cooing and touching your shoulder.

“We should get you a spa treatment and a light makeover before Itadori-san sees you. Do you have something to wear in mind?” 

As if you were a doll whose only purpose was to be dressed up, this was the reality you were living in for the past twenty-seven years of your life. If Itadori-san didn’t want to marry you fast enough and get you out of your childhood home, you were sure a swift bullet to the head would be the best alternative.

Plastering on a smile, you ponder for a second on your choice. 

“I want to try something new,” you decide. A furrow appears in her brow. 

“What do you mean by new, my dear?” 

“Something Itadori-san would like,” you try to curry her approval, feeling lighter and happier when her solemn face breaks into a knowing smile. 

“He says he loves dresses with satin and plunging necklines. Thinner heels. I think Okuta-san would understand.”

Referring to your personal stylist, your mother nods her approval.

“That’s perfect. I’ll get her to do some digging on some of Itadori-san’s past girlfriends and see what they wore.”

Unruffled by how audacious that statement was, you were truly reminded that this marriage was a cruelty of convenience when her smile deepens.

“I’m proud of you for taking this step, my dear,” your mother’s voice warms, though the implications of them make you freeze. 

“You’re finally proving your worth to the L/N family.”

a.n. OKAY WE'RE SO BACK. ive deleted the first chapter due to low interaction and decided to give this series a second chance by starting with y/n's pov !! this series will rely heavily on feedback and reblogs (my adhd ass cant work on something if i and other people dont care for it) or else it'll be scraped and we keep things moving (i sincerely hope u loved this <3)

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Stay ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : You wanted a healthy normal relationship, he hated commitment and told you he would never change. Yet you two are drawn to each other like a moth to a flame, craving for the others warmth.

Pairing : BadBoy! Seonghwa x Fem! Reader

Word count : 10K

Genre : Angst, Comfort, Happy end, Romance,

Smut(y)

Warnings ➵ Drinking, Toxic realationship,

Friends with benefits, SA (not

from Seonghwa), Blood

a/n : Inspired by Ateez Stay cover bcs omg Seonghwa in that cover-

Also please be aware that the realationship in this story is mostly very toxic and only to be seen as a work of fictional art, I don't condone behavior like that in any way!

This is not supposed to represent Seonghwa in any way or form, it's a simple work of fiction!

You swore to yourself you would never get into something with no strings attached. Romance and a healthy relationship were what you were looking for from early on, did that ever work out till now? Not really. Most relationships end before they even start, them cheating or ghosting you. Now that was the reason you told yourself you would never fall for Park Seonghwa, not like apparently everyone else. He was known for breaking hearts left and right and not being up for commitment. Despite his good looks, that scared you off, keeping your distance from him.

Now how did you end up getting to know him despite telling yourself to stay away from him? It all started with this one project in your history class.

Your best friend Yunho was sitting beside you, telling you about his weekend and how he visited this fun amusement park with his family. Listening to him till a sudden bang disrupted your conversation. In steps Park Seonghwa, followed by Choi San and Kim Hongjoong. Those three were rather known to be up to no good mostly, along with a few others like Wooyoung or Jongho. Clad in mostly black and blue clothes, a lot of leather, and Seonghwas neck adorned by a velvety chocker. He even wore some makeup, his black hair put up into a half bun, noticing even a few hickeys on his neck, probably from one of his playthings. Rolling your eyes before averting your attention to Yunho again, chatting till the professor walks in, Mingi stumbling in out of breath before he closes the door, the tall boy taking the seat beside you now.

The lesson was going rather smoothly, the troublemakers at the back only keeping to themselves this time and not bothering the rest of the class. Ears peaking up now as your professor announces a partner project, where he for once assigned the partners, making you wish to get anyone but one of those three.

"Mingi and Yunho." Both boys high-fived, before sending you an apologetic look, your name was yet to be called, same for Seonghwa and you two were one of the last people left. "Y/N and Seonghwa." Your pen slipped from your hand landing on the desk, that man can't be serious right? Looking over to Mingi and then Yunho, both not meeting your gaze, knowing full well you want to switch with them. Screw them for real. No more focused on the lesson, you were thinking of ways to get out of this project, not even noticing how your two friends already stood up and were now watching a certain black-haired man walk over to you.

"Here is my number, write me for the project~" Shriking together as you hear a whisper in your right ear, a hand putting a piece of paper in your hand and disappearing before you could even turn around to scold him for coming this close to you. Out of them all it had to be Seonghwa, you could've maybe even worked with San or Hongjoong but him? A groan leaves your lips as you get up from your seat, following the duo out of the room and to your next class.

And so your relationship with Seonghwa started, you messaged him and made out a meeting point for the project. Which was the library, for now, not wanting to invite him to your place or go to his dorm.

The dreaded day came and you were sitting in the library only problem, was you were alone. Seonghwa was already half an hour late, you already started working but grew more and more irritated the more time ticked by. Almost an hour late he finally shows up, sunglasses perched on his nose as he took a seat beside you. "You're almost an hour late, listen I also don't want to do this, but I will not be doing this alone." Looking at him now finally, you notice how his form looked somewhat sunken together and he still wore the glasses despite being inside. "Are you fucking hungover?!" Groaning at your loud voice now, he holds your stare. "Even if, I'm here and you've got no place to complain." Rolling your eyes, you start to pack your stuff together again, not going to put up with this. You would just have to ask your professor for a different partner, this was ridiculous.

"Are you really being such a bitch right now?" Standing up to follow you, was he seriously coming late and then having the audacity to call you names? "Excuse me?! You were the one to be this late and even hungover now you have the audacity to call me a bitch?! Fuck you!" Slamming the door in his face now you make your way to the gates of the school, stomping your way through the path. Not daring to even look back after you just slammed the door in his face, he would probably just get going and leave you to finish the project all on your own. "Wait up! My god, you're so difficult!" Feeling your eye start to twitch irritated, yet you didn't halt and proceeded to walk. That is until a hand on your wrist suddenly stops you.

"Okay sorry for calling you a bitch, I'm just not in a good mood. Let's meet up tomorrow? I'll be sober for real, I'll even treat you to a meal." Looking at the black-haired man in front of you skeptical now, was he really offering to treat you a dinner while working? With a short hesitation you in the end agreed, telling him your address so he could pick you up, he insisted on picking you up.

With that, your ways part and this was the first real encounter you had with Park Seonghwa. Opening the door for him into your life in a little gap.

The evening was spent preparing some stuff for the project the next day, despite Seonghwa wanting to work on this, you decided to at least start some stuff. Not knowing if you can trust his words of picking you up to work on this tomorrow.

The next day is quick to follow, you get dressed in something flowy and thin because the summer heat is unbearable any other way. Makeup was applied and while you were packing your bag for the study session, your phone started to ring, showing Seonghwas's name. Astonished that he actually showed up, he probably knows you would ask for another partner if he didn't and he needed the good grade, knowing you are a good enough student to help him with achieving this.

The moment you stepped outside your eyes bulged, you knew he drives a motorcycle but you never thought he'd pick you up like this - on top of that you never drove on a motorcycle before. "Ready to go?" Looking up at him now as you stand before him, looking over to the side of the motorcycle before a helmet was held into your view - his helmet. "Don't you need one too?" Laughing a bit at the slightly concerned tone of your voice, Seonghwa assures you that it's fine and the drive a short one. Still a bit unsure you put the helmet on and get behind him, holding onto the sides of the motorcycle making him raise his eyebrows. "Put your feet there and your arms around me, this ain't some cute little slow bicycle, don't want you falling off." Without a second thought, Seonghwa grabs your arms placing them around his waist, your red cheeks being hidden by the helmet. Never in your life had a manhandled you like this. Rough and firm, yet a certain softness to not bruise you. Gripping onto him tightly he takes off.

The drive truly was not that long as he said, it took you maybe 10 minutes to be in front of a little diner. Getting off before you, Seonghwa then holds his hand out to help you off, which you accept before giving the helmet back to him. Following him inside now, he leads you two to a booth next to a window, sitting down opposite of you. "Let's eat first and then work on this stupid project." Nodding in agreement, you still felt a bit uncomfortable talking around him. "You're not really talkative huh?" Sending a smirk your way, you avert your eyes down to the menu. He was right, he intimidated you, even though you would never admit that out loud to him. "I don't really talk to other people than my close friends." This was the closest agreement you would give him, making him hum in acknowledgment.

After giving your orders, the waitress hits on Seonghwa and he reciprocates it, which by the way made you wanna puke, you two finally started to work on your school project because the food would take a while to get to you. Lost in the text now, you don't even notice how Seonghwa often looks up to you, mustering your face. Only catching his eyes for a second when your food arrives, a little break from working on the project while you eat. It was quiet for a while, the only sounds being your cutlery against the plate and the occasional picking up and setting down your glass again.

So after finishing you two got back to work, it actually surprised you how well Seonghwa was working along, had you thought he would let you do the whole work and then get a good grade. The conversations between the two of you also getting easier while the time ticks by. Seonghwa is different in private than he is in school and different from the vibe he gives off. He normally looks so stern and intimidating, yet when you two are alone right now he is rather calm, works well, and doesn't look as rough as he normally does. "Caught your eye darling?" You didn't even notice that you had started staring at Seonghwa, looking down quickly when you started to blush, only hearing a chuckle leave his lips.

"Cat got your tongue now?" You acted as if you didn't hear him, eyes set on the paper before you, that was until you felt Seonghwas foot push against your leg, not hard or anything but a little bump to get your attention and by the way you shrieked together surprised, he got his attention and reaction. The teasing continued while you two worked on the project that day, till you finally closed your book, finished for the day, face ablaze.

"Let's get going, the waitress is eye fucking me and she ain't my type at all." Grabbing his bag now, as he leads you out of the diner and back to his motorcycle. Handing his helmet over to you again, you put it on your head before sitting down behind him again, this time holding onto his waist from the start. "Good girl, you're learning~" Avoiding his gaze now as he glances at you, holding on tight to him as he takes off. The drive back felt even shorter than to the diner, stopping before your building, Seonghwa waits for you to step down and for you to hand his helmet back. "Text me when you wanna meet up next for the project, just give me a heads up early enough so I'm not hungover." You knew he was joking right now from the way he talked, he probably didn't drink every day, and yesterday was probably just a bad day. "Sure, thank you for picking me up and inviting me to a meal." A nod was sent your way before he put his helmet on and drove off. This was a really interesting event.

In your apartment again, you write Yunho and Mingi about how your first study session with Seonghwa went, and them immediately freaking out at how he tried to flirt with you. Rolling your eyes, as you tell then he was simply joking and teasing you probably.

Going about your night routine, before laying down, thinking about the day. Planning to write Seonghwa in two days when it's Friday, maybe to meet up on Saturday or Sunday for the next session.

The days went by quickly and you found yourself writing to Seonghwa, it didn't even take him long to reply either. Agreeing to meet up on Saturday, asking to meet up at your or his place this time. Thinking for a second, you ask for his address, being too uncomfortable to invite him to your place still.

So now you were finding yourself in front of a door, written on it was the number 206, the one Seonghwa sent you. Taking a deep breath, before ringing the doorbell, it took a few seconds, but Seonghwa opened the door for you. "Hello princess, glad you found it here." After the first meet up you were a bit more used to his pet names, entering his apartment now after he opened the door more, taking your shoes off. Glancing around the apartment, it was a bit smaller than yours and more chaotic, with clothes hanging over the couch, the coffee table full of different trinkets, and a pack of cigarettes lying open. Followed him over to the couch, sitting down beside him after he patted the space beside him. "Let's get this going, we don't get forever for this project." Nodding in agreement, you pull the papers you were last working on out, laying them on the table he had cleared right now. Only the cigarettes and ashtray remained on the table.

"Bothers you if I smoke?" Shaking your head yes now, Seonghwa raises his eyebrow. "Sorry I hate the smell, makes me sick to my stomach." Chuckling for a second, Seonghwa puts the pack away again.

"So how you wanna do this? Poster? Or PowerPoint? I could make a PowerPoint." Thinking for a second, a PowerPoint would probably be the best idea. "Sure sounds like a plan, I'll prepare the papers then, so we hand in both." Seonghwa nods before it goes quiet again between the two of you, the silence this time a lot less uncomfortable than before.

"I need a break!" Seonghwa groans as he stretches his arms above his head, noticing how his shirt rides up a bit and exposes his abs. Why did he have to be built this fine? "What you say 'bout take out? I can order." Grabbing his phone to scroll through a few services you agree, ending with both of you ordering Sushi. Now that you were taking a break from writing and working, you felt how sore your hand and fingers felt, like to wiggle them a bit to relieve the pain. "Do you smoke?" Looking over to Seonghwa now, cigarette dangling between his cherry red lips, making you wonder if he uses lip tints. "Not really, tried it once, hated it, my friend smokes from time to time though." Humming as a response, he takes a drag of his cigarette, fingers holding onto the little stick as he blows out the smoke. Just now you notice the chipped blue nail polish, the silver rings adorning his fingers, and the bracelets around his wrists.

"Do you want anything to drink while we wait?" Thinking for a second, before you ask him if he has any lemon soda, chuckling while he gets up to get one from his fridge. Coming back to sit beside you, handing you the lemon soda while he opens a can of beer. It amazed you how it was the middle of the day and he was still able to drink beer. A small conversation was held between the two of you, mostly about school and grades until the food delivery interrupted you two. The food was consumed in silence again, sitting cross-legged beside each other, your knee touching his. As soon as you two finished Seonghwa threw the containers away, sitting down beside you, who had started working yet again. Though unlike you, Seonghwa remained still beside you, watching you closely and how you worked. After a while you finally feel his eyes on you, looking over at him with a questioning look.

"Tell me.. I've been wondering the whole time, have you ever made out with someone?" You really thought your eyes would fall out of the sockets by how wide they got after he asked this. Out of nowhere too? Where was this coming from? Stammering now to find an answer, it's embarrassing to admit to someone like Seonghwa that at your age you never even kissed someone. All of a sudden the whole room and your body felt as if it was on fire. "I uhm.. I-" Smirking at the way you try to form a coherent answer, he already got his answer - no you never made out with someone. "Wanna try it?" Not believing your ears, you just stare at him, Seonghwa holding your gaze the whole time, his face being so intimidating and serious about his offer.. Was this even an offer?

"I mean.. Y-Yes someday.." Your eyes were glued on your hands now, which were playing with the trim of your shirt, not being able to look into his face. "I mean like right now, wanna try? Wanna know how it feels like?" You could feel him scoot closer to you, his body heat closer to you now, as he leaned his arm behind you on the couch, trapping you a little bit, between him and the couch. "I.. I'm not sure.." Feeling his fingers softly graze your chin as he turns your face to him, his eyes cast downward to your lips, making you gulp. "Say no or I will kiss you right now." The look on his face was telling you he was serious and despite that, you just looked at him, not telling him no. Your heart thrumming heavy in your chest, being able to feel it in your throat too. Even though you're aware of his reputation, you're way too curious to kiss him, make out even, but didn't curiosity kill the cat in the end?

Before you knew it his lips were on yours, soft and slow at first. His lips were warm against yours, he tasted a bit like smoke, but not too bad actually. Reciprocating the kiss, your body was still tense from being kissed by the Park Seonghwa, on top you were unsure about your inexperience. Seonghwas hands find your waist as he with ease tugs on you and places you on his lap. One arm stays around your waist now as the other slowly glides up, grazing your chest for a split second before settling on softly holding the side of your neck, his hand big enough for his thumb to slightly rub over your jawline. The kiss was turning more intense, your own hands gliding up his chest and coming to rest on his shoulders, slightly gripping the black shirt he was wearing.

A sudden gasp left your lips when you felt his tongue glide over your lip, him taking the chance to deepen the kiss. What surprised you even more, was a warm little ball pushing against your tongue now and then, you didn't even know that he had a tongue piercing. Pulling away for a bit now to let you catch your breath, his arms pushing you closer against him as he starts to trail kisses down your neck and onto your shoulder, pulling the fabric of your top down the shoulder a bit. "S-Seonghwa.." Gasping softly when you felt him suck on your collarbone, this prone to leave a mark for sure.

"We barely made out and you look this fucked out? Now I really wanna know what you look like after getting your brain fucked out." Eyes growing wide as he says these filthy words, you also can't deny that they have an effect on you, your core slowly growing wet. "But let's call it a day for now before I make you pass out." Letting you climb off his lap now, his lips pulled into a smirk. Just now you notice the smudged color on his lips, so he wears lipstick and not tint? Wiping a finger over your own now, checking your finger and being met with the same color on Seonghwas lips. "Here let me wipe it off." Grabbing your chin again, he turns your face to him as he softly wipes away the red lipstick with a tissue. Thanking him quietly, as you gather your things together. It was already quite late so you should probably head back now. "I'll drive you back." Surprised by that offer, you still take it, more convenient than taking the train for half an hour and possibly encountering creepy people.

The rest of the evening wasn't really special, he dropped you off, telling you to write him for the next session, making you wonder if he meant the school work or something else, before taking off after you went inside your building. And this was the first intimate moment you had with Park Seonghwa.

The next few sessions went rather normal, he did occasionally flirt with you, but nothing too much.

The due date was also a bit away and you two were almost finished, that's why you two decided to not study this Saturday. Great for you, did your girl friends invite you out to the club and you agreed. Get ready in a cute short dress, a belt, some matching accessories, and high heels, which will most likely kill you later in the night. Being picked up by your friends, you all arrive at the club and get inside.

It was full, like any Saturday night, the red and blue flashing lights made you squint your eyes for a second, getting them to adjust. People were mushed together on the dance floor, most booths were full already, luckily your friend knew some of the girls in one of them, making you guys join them. Shots were ordered, and some cocktails were drunk. It was a fun evening, spending some time on the dance floor, till you feel hands grab your hips from behind. About to punch the person grabbing you, stop when you notice that it's Seonghwa. "Such a skimpy dress, trying to drive me crazy?" Looking around frantically now, your friends were all caught up with something or someone else, to even notice Seonghwa being behind you. "Didn't know you would be here." Avoiding his gaze, you feel his body and hands move to grab your wrist softly and pull you outside of the club. Letting go of your hand for a second, he pulls out the pack of cigarettes, lighting it up before blowing the smoke out, not caring about how you recently told him how feel about people smoking around you.

"So babe~ How about we catch up on that wish of mine?" His fingers hook around your belt as he pulls you flush against him. Eyes darting around frantically now, no one seems to notice with whom you're standing this close with right now. "No ones here and the ones that are, are either too drunk or don't care and just wanna smoke." His face was beside yours now, as he whispered into your ear, before softly nibbling on the shell of it. Shrieking together at this, making Seonghwa chuckle and snake his arm fully around your waist keeping you flush against himself. "So you want to or not?" Too embarrassed to talk and again out of curiosity you nod. After the short yet intense make-out session with Seonghwa, you couldn't stop thinking about him and how you want him to ravish you.

"Good let's go then, hope your friends won't miss you." Pulling you along now, he makes his way over to the parking lot and his motorcycle. "Here put this on, it's too cold to drive in a short dress like that." Shrugging off his jacket now, he hands it over to you. It was a large black leather jacket, with safety pins on it for decoration, it was huge on you but felt oddly comfortable and calming. Used to it by now, you get on behind Seonghwa and hold on tight to him so you won't fall off before he takes off to his apartment.

Upon arriving there he kicks his shoes off, before grabbing you by the waist and pushing you against the closed door now. "Last chance to back out baby, tell me do you want this?" It surprised you how much he takes value in consent, after answering him with a yes that you want this, his lips are on yours. This kiss was much more heated than the last one you shared, full of lust and emotions. Seonghwas hands were running over your body, over your thighs pushing the trim of your dress up before moving up again to threaten his fingers into your hair.

Pulling on your legs now, he pulls you up onto his hips as he starts to carry you to assuming his room. Before you knew it, your body hit a soft mattress as Seonghwa stood above you, pulling his shirt over his head, gawking at his well-built body now. Of course, you assumed he was well off, but this well? This man looked like a statue, so flawless and perfect. Moving above you again, he starts to kiss you again, as your own hands start to glide over his collarbones to his shoulders and into his hair.

And so Seonghwa gave you a night of pure pleasure and you knew, if you didn't get out soon, you'd be addicted to the pleasure, his touch, and Park Seonghwa himself. If it didn't already happen and was too late for you to escape his grip.

Sunlight was tickling your face softly, as your hand moved to try and shield you from the sun, groaning as it was no use, before turning around. Bumping into something, or rather someone, your eyes grow wide as the last night comes back to you. You slept with Park Seonghwa. Looking at the man before you now, he looked so soft asleep, moving your hand you softly push a strand of hair out of his eyes. Looking down at your body, you were wearing what you assumed was one of Seonghwas's shirts, it was huge and he probably helped you put it on in the after-bliss of last night.

Getting up carefully now, you walk to the door and out of the room to try and find the bathroom. Coming to a halt in the kitchen, when Kim Hongjoong stood before you in his sleepwear. They lived together?! Before you could turn around, he greeted you, making you shy away slightly, a quiet morning before rushing to the bathroom, hearing the man chuckle after you left. This was entirely crazy, you had slept with Seonghwa, Hongjoong knew that now, and your friends probably worried about where you went last night. Finishing your business you quietly exit the bathroom again, hoping to dash for Seonghwa's room, but the man who was sleeping a few minutes ago stood in the kitchen with Hongjoong now. His hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, no shirt on, and the hickeys you left on him on full display.

"And I thought you took off without saying goodbye~" Were his words to you when he noticed you standing in the door frame, his hand moving to softly pull you against him, his head leaning onto yours slightly. "Hongjoong made breakfast, let's eat." This was all so strange, sitting with those two at the kitchen table now and eating eggs with bacon for breakfast.

The morning continued rather calmly, you got ready to leave, and Seonghwa dropped you off at your apartment, where you immediately went to charge your phone which was empty. Upon opening your messenger, you see that probably Seonghwa sent your group chat a message to not worry and that you went home, you would scold him for going on your phone without permission, but also glad he told your friends you were safe.

Using the rest of the weekend to study for your upcoming exam, it was now Monday which meant you and Seonghwa would meet up again for the project. This time it would be at your apartment because Hongjoong had an important online meeting and needed the apartment to be quiet.

For you it was still a bit awkward to sit beside Seonghwa again after what happened just merely two days ago, he however seemed calm and normal as ever, except for the sly glances your way every now and then. "The project is due this Friday, right? You think another session should be enough to finish this?" Thinking for a second, before confirming his question, you two were almost finished, just a few touches here and there. So with no complications, Friday came around and you two-handed in your project, the teacher was seemingly surprised with how well you two worked together.

"So tomorrow a few friends of mine throw a little get-together, do you wanna come around too?" Seonghwa was pulling his bag onto his shoulder now, as he watched you with sharp eyes. Surprised at his invite, you thought he would probably not ever talk to you again as soon as you two-handed the project in. "Oh? Sure, just send me the address!" Agreeing, but after finishing he immediately declines, telling you he would pick you up like always, before leaving the room.

Mingi and Yunho who witnessed the whole conversation pulled you to them, bombarding you with questions about what that was supposed to mean and since when you and Seonghwa were this close, so with a little hesitation you told them everything that happened. Yunho was shocked, to say the least, but supported you, Mingi was terrified and worried for you.

The next evening came around rather quickly, you were getting dressed for the little party Seonghwa invited you to, waiting for him to message you that he was there, while you were still touching up your makeup. Upon receiving a message from him, you make your way downstairs and greet Seonghwa smiling. "Someone seems to be in a happy mood huh~" Pulling you closer, he softly nuzzles his nose against your cheek, pressing a kiss afterward before putting the helmet on you and helping you on. "You know the deal, hold on tightly princess, don't want you falling off~" And with that, the two of you took off.

Arriving at the party, Seonghwa guides you inside the house, it was rather big, and he told you it was one of his friend's parents house, who were away for a few weeks. It was packed full of people, inside and outside. Normally any party you go to isn't this crowded, Seonghwa noticed your discomfort and took your hand in his, guiding you outside to the bar. His hand wandering to your waist now as he waits for your drinks to be ready, while you take in your surroundings. There were a lot of faces you knew from university, but also a lot of strangers, which made you quite uncomfortable and glad that Seonghwa was by your side.

"Hwa! Didn't know you were here already!" Approaching him now was a well-dressed man, followed by Choi San. "Wooyoung! Sorry it's a bit full, I wasn't really able to say hello yet." Turning to the two men now, watching them from behind Seonghwa a bit. Both their eyes fell onto you and the interlocked hands, sending Seonghwa a smirk. After a short conversation the two leave again and Seonghwa turns around to you, apologizing for taking so long. Telling him it's fine, he grabs the two drinks and leads you to one of the little garden benches, sitting down with you and placing your glass in your hand, before leaning back and taking a sip of his own. "Enjoying yourself so far?" His dark eyes were fixated on you. The eyeshadow he was wearing complimented his eyes, he chose a dark red this time with a black, cherry lip tint. His usual leather jacket, a ripped shirt underneath, and ripped jeans where net stockings could be seen through the cuts. "It's a bit fuller than what I'm used to, but it's fine." Being honest with Seonghwa makes him raise an eyebrow, offering for you two to leave if it's too much for you, declining with a shake of your head. You didn't want to ruin the night for him.

After a while of talking, Seonghwas's hand wanders to your naked thigh, softly caressing it while talking to you, Hongjoong joins the two of you, greeting you. Glad the two were talking now, allowing you to calm down and rest a little bit. Seonghwas hand still on your thigh, you softly lean your head on his shoulders with your eyes closed, his scent of vanilla and spice coming to you.

Looking up again when you heard a lighter going off, watching Hongjoong light a cigarette before wanting to pass it to Seonghwa, who declined. "You stopped?" Raising an eyebrow at his friend now. "Only when the little princess is around~" Your eyes widen a little bit as your cheeks blush, before hiding your face in his shoulder again, making the two men chuckle.

The night continued on, Seonghwa getting you two a new drink every now and then, at some point both of you visibly tipsy. Whispering in his ear softly, brave enough to let your hand glide through his hair, to his nape, and down his spine, making him breathe out shakily. "You know, there are some guest rooms upstairs~" His face was nuzzled in your neck, placing soft kisses on your throat, sucking a few times to leave a little red spot. Even in this state, you knew you shouldn't, the first time was one time too much, and the danger of getting addicted to Seonghwa was too big. Yet you're drawn to him. Pulling him into a kiss by the collar, his hands landing on your hips. "Let's go then~" You didn't have to say more as Seonghwa already stood up, taking your hand in his and guiding you into the house and up the stairs. Searching for a free guest room, he leads you in and pushes you onto the bed after making sure the door is locked.

"So pretty and all for me~" Hovering above you now, he sits up a bit to take his jacket and shirt off, before leaning back down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. His tongue swipes along your lips and you allow him immediate entrance. His hands were running wild all over your body, pushing the short dress up, exposing your bottom and soon your chest. Moaning his name softly when his hand came in contact with your breasts. "Yes moan for me, let them know who makes you feel this good~" Whispering those words into your ear now.

And with that, Seonghwa gave you yet another night of pure bliss, waking up next to him the next morning, this time staying out beside him. Admiring his soft features that finally relaxed when asleep, not like over the days when he looked sharp and dangerous, intimidating even. Running your fingers softly through his hair, to his eyebrow which has a slit shaved into it, to his nose, over his cheeks noticing his long eyelashes, and down to his lips. "Having fun baby?" Just now noticing Seonghwa was staring at you, you retreate your hand apologizing to him. "It's fine, you looked cute all concentrated on me~" Pressing a peck on your cheek before getting up and getting dressed, still bare from last night. You were only in Seonghwas's ripped shirt, he probably put it on you after last nights events.

"Get dressed, I wanna go grab some breakfast together~" Leaving the room for a second, before coming back in a new shirt and putting his leather jacket on. Putting this dress on and Seonghwa's shirt over it, so it won't be too revealing before following him outside and down. "Wooyoung if you don't shut up, my brain is killing me and your voice isn't helping." Could be heard from downstairs, you assumed it to be Jongho from the few times you heard him talk. "How much did you even drink to be so hungover? You the heavy weight of us.." Hongjoong spoke this time, following Seonghwa into the living room shily now, slightly hiding behind him. Jongho was lying on the couch with a pillow over his eyes, San still passed out on the other one, while Hongjoong and Wooyoung sat at the bar. "Ah, good morning you two!" Hongjoong greets you with a smirk, knowing exactly what had occurred last night.

After a short chat, Seonghwa announces that you two will be leaving now to go grab some food, saying goodbye to the four men before leading you outside to his motorcycle. The drive to the diner was rather short, he led you inside and into the booth you also worked in the first time. This time he sits down beside you though instead of the opposite. It didn't take long for someone to take your orders and disappear again, making Seonghwa turn his body fully to you, hand resting on your knee. "Are you free this weekend? There is this new movie I'd like to watch." Was he asking you out on a date right now? No, he wouldn't right? "Like a.. date?" Looking questioning at him now, he chuckles lowly. "If you want it to be a date, babe, sure~" His hand found its place on your nape now, caressing and softly playing with your hair.

The food soon came and you two had a nice breakfast, Seonghwa bringing you home. And even sooner Saturday arrived, having you stand in front of your mirror wondering if your outfit is too much or not enough. This would be your first ever real date, so you were rather nervous.

Again Seonghwa picked you up, mustering you from top to bottom before smirking at you. "You look gorgeous, all for me~?" Grabbing your waist as he pulls you against himself, pushing your hair behind your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your lips. "It's not too much?" Your question made him chuckle, telling you how beautiful you look and that it wasn't too much. Arriving at the cinema, Seonghwa softly holds your hand as he leads you over to the ticket counter and then to the food stall, getting you two drinks and popcorn.

Finding the right room you two enter and sit down on your designated seats, there were a few people already, probably to be fuller in a while since it's a movie newly airing. "What shall we do after the movie?" Seonghwa was leaning his body over to you, his arm around your shoulder. "I don't know, maybe go to a cafe? Or we could just hang out at your or my place!" At that his ears peak up, he wasn't at your place yet and was rather excited to visit it. Agreeing with that immediately, the lights dimming now as he stays leaning onto you and watches the movie. Sometimes through the movie, your head starts to lean on his shoulder softly, enjoying the moment.

Sadly the movie and moments are over too soon and quickly you find yourself in front of your apartment. Opening the door and letting Seonghwa in first, he starts looking around immediately making you a bit self-conscious. It was of course clean, maybe a few things here and there, but it was still entirely different from his place. "It's so adorable." Looking around, before stopping in front of your picture wall. There were many different pictures from baby pictures to family photos and Polaroids with friends. A lot of them of Mingi, Yunho and yourself. "That's Mingi and Yunho right?" Pointing at the two men, you're surprised he actually knows their names. "Yeosang is friends with them, he wasn't at the party last time though, so you probably don't know him, he's at another school." That did surprise you, not knowing those two were friends with someone close to Seonghwa. "Though there is definitely missing something.." Looking confused over to him, before scanning the wall. Nothing was missing correct? Did he take something? "..A picture of us~" Whispering those words in your ear now as his arms move around your waist, pressing himself against you. "As soon as I have a picture of us, I'll hang it up!" Smiling brightly at him, you don't know what you're doing to Seonghwa.

The evening continues on with you two playing on your Switch, and cooking something together before watching a show together. He was lying on your chest softly, his arms holding you while focused on the television. It felt nice to be held like this.

Saying goodbye to him with a soft kiss, closing your door, and leaning against it with a big smile. Was this finally the time? Is someone serious with you?

Those thoughts should soon be destroyed though, arriving at the school in a really good mood, you walk over to Yunho and Mingi, greeting them with a big smile. Telling them hushed what happened and how happy you are, they were, of course, happy for you, yet skeptical about how serious Seonghwa is with you. Some glances were exchanged between you and Seonghwa in the class, this not going unnoticed by his friends.

"You're not really serious with her are you?" That voice was Jonghos, halting your movement of packing your things together after the class, listening closely now. "Huh? Of course not, you know I'm not up for commitment." That was Seonghwas voice now, feeling your heart drop. After all that happened, especially last weekend he says this? Was he only leading you on? Yunho who overheard everything too, tried to softly lay his hand on your shoulder, but before he was able to you darted out of the room, not able to hold the tears back for much longer. Yunho was furious, glancing over to Seonghwa who also watched you leave, his gaze meeting Yunhos now. "Asshole." Was all he muttered, before grabbing his bag and leaving the room, leaving behind a confused Mingi who just woke up from his class nap, looking around confused.

Hiding in your favorite spot to do so, under the stairs on one of the more empty sides of the university. Knees pulled up all to your chest, face buried in your knees. Of course, he wasn't serious, it was Park Seonghwa. Did you really think you were special? Your sobs were silenced now when you heard footsteps, hoping the person would leave, but soon black combat boots came into view and soon that handsome face you didn't want to see leans down to look under the stairs. "There you are, princess.." Turning your body away from him now, not trusting your voice to tell him to fuck off.

"Hey I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that.." He was sitting behind you now, his arms softly around your waist as he hugged you softly. "I'll change, for you, so please stay, don't leave me.." His face was pressed against your shoulder as he pulled you flush against him, your back pressed to his chest.

It took a while for you to calm down again, Seonghwa held you through it all, softly patting your head and kissing your hair. After a while you finally turned around, rubbing your eyes as you looked up to see Seonghwa staring at you. "I'm so sorry, I made you cry how can I make it up to you?" Warm fingers softly touching you your cheeks and brushing away the tears. "A dinner would be nice.." A soft pout was visible on your lips which made Seonghwa chuckle, pressing his lips to your forehead now. "Of course, how about you come over today and I'll cook for us? Hm? Hongjoong has work tonight." Agreeing to this, Seonghwa pulls you out from under the stairs and brings you to your next class. Saying goodbye to him before entering.

Yunho immediately rushes over to you worried, having you assure him that you're fine, sitting down beside him, touched by how worried he is for you. The day went by rather quickly, grabbing your bag and meeting up with Seonghwa in the parking lot soon.

"So what do you wanna eat?" Looking at you now as you two arrive in Seonghwas apartment. "Tteokbokki? Or we could make fried chicken!" Looking at him now, he nods getting everything out for both. The cooking process went on rather calmly, you were mostly sitting on the counter, watching Seonghwa cook, exchanging small kisses and hugs here and there. At some point you even put his hair up in a ponytail, smiling at him fondly. Soon the food was finished and you two enjoyed the self-made meal, not having one thought about the things that happened earlier.

"Do you want to stay the night?" Looking up at Seonghwa now, you two were cuddled up on the couch, some movie playing in the background. "I have nothing here to sleep over.." You would love to accept, but you neither have sleepwear nor your hygiene products. "You can wear something of mine and I still have unused toothbrushes." Pondering over his offer a bit, before nodding and accepting.

So the evening went on, you two continuing to watch the movie, before getting ready for bed. Finding yourself in the bathroom alone, looking into the mirror, Seonghwas shirt hanging loosely off of your frame. Brushing your teeth before joining Seonghwa in his room. He was already ready for bed, lying down with a book in his hands, glancing up at you when he heard you enter the room. Laying down beside Seonghwa now, your arm moving around his waist as your head comes to rest on his chest, resulting in Seonghwa laying down his book. "So cuddly~ Are you tired?" Nodding as an answer, your eyes dropping closed, listening to him breathe softly, his chest raising, while his arms go around you. Feeling him press a kiss onto the crown of your head. Not even realizing when you fell asleep.

The next morning your back was turned to Seonghwa, his arms holding onto you tightly, his face nuzzled in your neck. Smiling softly when you looked over to his sleeping face, softly running your hand through his hair and pressing a kiss to his cheek, feeling him slowly stir awake. "Morning~" His voice was raspy and deep this morning making you giggle, watching his sleep drowsy self cuddle closer to you. "We have to get up, school is starting soon." Making him groan softly, shaking his head as he hides his face more in your neck, turning you onto your back to lay on you.

So with Seonghwa not wanting to get up, you two stayed put cuddling and skipping the first lesson of school, arriving for the next class then. Walking into the class you walk over to Mingi, sending Seonghwa a soft smile before sitting down. "You skipped school? With Seonghwa?" Whispering over to you shocked now, you look to the side a bit before nodding, this was the first time you actually did anything like that.

The day then goes on, meeting up with Yunho for lunch and then going to class together then.

"By the way, a new club opened this weekend and maybe we could go? It's been a while since we went." Yunho suggests to the two of you, looking at Mingi before nodding with a smile. It's truly been a while since you three went out together, so you were rather hyped. Telling Seonghwa later that day that you're busy on Saturday with Mingi and Yunho, but that you two could meet up on Sunday which he agreed on. The rest of the week goes by rather quickly, with some time spent with Seonghwa, and one evening with Mingi, and now you're finding yourself beside Yunho in his car, Mingi in the back.

Arriving at the club, a lot of people were already near it, the music from inside was loud and the lights peaking through the door whenever someone went inside. Exiting the car together, the three of you enter the club, thick air hitting your face from how many people are there. Following your friends over to the bar, ordering a drink for now, and looking around, it was full, it was amazing to you how there could even be more people inside still. Your eye notices the orange hair of Hongjoong in a booth, was Seonghwa here too? But before you could look around for him, Mingi dragged you to the dance floor, Yunho watching you two with a smile.

The evening went on, enjoying yourself with Mingi on the dance floor, even Yunho joining you two from time to time, before sitting down at the bar again to drink something with your two boys. Not being able to help yourself but look around the room for Seonghwa again, eyes meeting the ones of San for a second, which go wide from the shock that you're there, before they lock onto Seonghwa, your heart dropping in your chest. On his lap was some girl, sucking his face off, his hands all over her. Without a second thought, you stand up and rush out of the door, Mingi and Yunho are in the bathroom right now, walking off to the side outside a bit, before you lean over and empty your stomach in a bin. Suddenly feeling someone holding your hair back, not being able to glance at them as your stomach decides to empty out all the expensive alcohol.

"It's okay, you're fine.." The deep voice calmed you down a bit, a soft hand rubbing over your back. Standing up again finally, a bit wobbly on your feet, San softly holding your arm as he leads you over to a bench, sitting down beside you. "Do you want some water?" Shaking your head no, your eyes staring down at your feet now, why was this happening? After all that happened, you really thought this could be something serious, that Seonghwa felt something for you. But apparently, you were nothing more than a plaything for him. "He's an idiot, he's drunk out of his head.. He drank too much after seeing you with Yunho today.. It's not an excuse but, I believe he truly likes you.." San was such a nice person, trying to calm you down, holding your hair, and now trying to explain the situation to you. Tears were pricking at your eyes now, a soft sob leaving your lips, before your tears could even escape, San pulled you onto his shoulder for you to cry. "It's okay, you're safe, cry as much as you need." Sans's hand was softly rubbing up and down your back, as he leaned back and stared up into the starry night sky.

After a good half an hour, Yunho and Mingi join you outside, Yunho squatting down in front of you, his hands softly resting on your knees. "Hey beautiful, Hongjoong told me what happened, wanna go home?" Your eyes cast down again, looking at Yunhos hands, noticing the blood on his knuckles, but not questioning anything about it as you nod. You wanted nothing more than to get home and cry into your pillow, which would probably still smell like Seonghwa after the last time he slept over.

Yunho softly helped you up, thanking San for his help who just nodded, also noticed the blood on his knuckles, as he watched you leave with Yunho and Mingi. Before he could join his group inside again after watching you drive off, his friends came outside, Seonghwa leaning onto Hongjoong, an ice pack held against his jaw. "Good job, you fucked up with the only girl that felt something for you other than wanting to fuck you, seriously get a grin Hwa, I'm disappointed." San was someone who hated when people played with others' feelings like that, that's also why he immediately rushed after you when you went outside, the reason he stayed with you, and the reason he now walks in the other direction of his friends.

Yunho and Mingi just dropped you off at your place, telling them to go home and that you would be fine, watching them drive off before going into your apartment. Closing the door behind you, as you slide down the door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. Legs pulled up to your chest as you hid your face in your knees, the position and situation oh so familiar. Your body does not even have enough energy anymore to stand up and move to your bed or even couch, resulting in you falling asleep on the floor and waking up with a headache and back pain the next day.

Look around a bit as you sit up, rubbing over your eyes as you slowly stand up, walking over to your kitchen to grab a glass of water before sitting down on your couch, the events of last night resurfacing again making tears well up again in your eyes. This all felt so surreal, Seonghwa acted so sweet and loving once and act like an asshole the next. The day went on with you crying, eating ice cream, crying, and watching a comfort movie. Till your phone lights up, one of your girlfriends messaging you, Soyeon telling you that Yunho told her what had happened. She was one of the closest female friends you had and Yunho probably thought you just needed some female support right now, not being mad at him for telling her.

You want to answer her, but the next moment a knock at the door makes you look up. Walking over to open, seeing Soyeon and Yuqi together, bags in their hands as they hug you tightly. "You know fuck that guy, we'll doll you up and go out. No disgusting club, but this high-end lounge!" Soyeon pushes you into the bathroom, telling you to take a shower. Sighing a bit, despite not being in the mood, you appreciate it and do as they tell you. Coming out again they sit you down on your couch, getting started on your makeup, hair, and nails, turning you prettier than you felt in a while.

So soon you found yourself in Soyeons car, on the way to that longue they were talking about, short yet modern dress on your body, your hair and makeup done beautifully. Inside you three get shown to a booth, sitting down as you scan through the menu of drinks, ordering your favorite beverage. The evening goes by smoothly, you are enjoying yourself, even getting up to dance with one of the girls now and then. It was an entirely different setting than the club last night and you had to admit you enjoyed this so much more. It was more comfortable and enjoyable.

That was until you decided to go up to the bar to get another drink, Soyeon and Yuqi were on the dancefloor right now. When you suddenly feel someone lay a hand on your waist, turn around to push the hand away. "Excuse me, could you please not touch me?" The man in front of you was dressed rather well, but oh damn was he ugly. "Oh come on babe, don't be like that~ I could show you some good time hm? Can even pay you~" He grabbed your waist now, pulling you against himself which made you so disgusted, this didn't feel like when Seonghwa did it, Seonghwa was soft yet dominant, this man was simply a pervert and disgusting. "Let go! Leave me alone!" Trying to push the man away, you looked around behind the counter but the bartender was nowhere to be seen until you felt the man let you crash into the bar before falling to the floor.

"Listen when my girl tells you to leave her alone." Before you could even look at the man beside you he spoke up, Seonghwas voice echoing through the longue, the man stood up again ready to punch Seonghwa back, who quickly pushed you behind him and landed another hit on the man's face. Landing a kick to his chin when he was on the floor, before turning to you, grabbing your hand, and dragging you to the exit. And even further outside, Seonghwa didn't let go and pulled you even further away from the longue.

"Seonghwa you're hurting me! Let go!" Trying to pull your wrist away, trying to stop him. He finally stops making you almost crush into his back. "What's gotten into you?! First, you say we aren't serious, then you screw around with some bitch yesterday and now you beat someone up and pull me away?! Explain it!" He wasn't looking at you, probably trying to find his words. By now the makeup Yuqi so carefully put onto you was being washed off by your tears. Tears of confusion, anger, and sadness. "I have no way to excuse The first thing I know this is that, I saw you and Yunho so close yesterday. I got drunk and wasn't thinking straight, then I saw this asshole touch you right now. I'm sorry.." Seonghwa finally turned to you, meeting your eyes, hesitatingly reaching out to wipe the tears away, scared you would pull away and leave him for good. Your eyes move to his hand, grabbing it softly and analyzing it, seeing the second time in two days that someone's knuckles bleed.

"Why do you have to be so confusing? I.. I though we could be something more, something serious.." Your fingers softly rub over the back of his hand, looking up at him now, eyes blurry from tears, seeing the bruise on his jaw and just a little bit you thank Yunho and think Seonghwa deserves it. "I'm not used to commitment, I never had a serious relationship and.. I. scared, I know I'm not good enough but.. please give me one last chance." Tears were building up in his eyes now and you're pretty sure, you're the first one to see Seonghwa cry. Your hand reaches up to his face softly, brushing the tears away. "One last chance, if you screw over again I'll leave.." His eyes widen, probably not thinking you would give him one last chance, nodding now as sobs leave his lips, his arm reaching out to you and pulling you against him as he cries his heart out, same as you, tears running freely. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..I love you.." You two simply hold each other tightly under the night sky.

"Wooyoung shut up!" Hongjoong put down the popcorn on the table as he scolded the young man, who just points his tongue at him, making the older one wonder if he was an adult or a child. "He won't change, we just gotta accept that." Mingi laughs as he settles down beside San and Yeosang, grabbing a handful of candy from the bowl on Sans's lap. "And that's why we love him." You giggle, making Seonghwa let out a gasp. "I thought you only loved me!" Looking over at your boyfriend now, as Yunho stands behind him and laughs. "She loves all of us, gets used to it." Running away to the couch to Mingi before Seonghwa could hit him for his words.

"He's right but. I love you the most~" Pulling him down for a soft kiss, hearing some gagging noise of San and Wooyoung from the couch. After sitting down with Seonghwa, Hongjoong turns to the two of you. "By the way, it's your third anniversary soon isn't it? Have you two planned something?" Looking over to Seonghwa now, you two haven't talked about any plans yet, but he just smirked at you. "Maybe I booked us a two-week trip to Paris~" Looking at him shocked now, he didn't right? Seonghwa did earn enough now after university with his job to do this, but you didn't think he actually would. "You didn't right?" He just smiled at you, as you threw your arms around him and planted kisses all over his face, telling him how excited you are to go there together. Not knowing the small velvet box sitting on his nightstand was also ready to be taken there.

[little-forest-goblin]

Wait….what?

Teacher!Five x Teacher!reader

Synopsis: What happens when a grumpy stern history teacher meets the new sunshine teacher?

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Five was grumpy you could say the least. Always annoyed and always on the students ass’s about their school work and their grades. You never saw him without a cup of coffee and without a suit. He taught an advanced history class and most left and went to there normal history within about 2 weeks of being there. He was not offended since he decided if they cant handle it then its best they go. Thats not exactly said with malice or mockingly just staright facts. Kinda like if you cant handle the heat get out of the kitchen. Well he was having a normal day sitting at his desk drinking his cup of coffee and walking around the classroom monitoring his students as they did their assignment. All was quiet and peaceful till you walked into his life. Litterally. You came to his classroom with a big smile adjusting your cat eye glasses and shirt “Hello, sir! if you didn’t know i’m new here and i decided to come introduce myself!” When five looked at you he swore his bones turned to jello and his cheeks heated in a tinge of pink and his heart went faster. He looked at you in awe for a second till he cleared his throat and in a stoic almost disinterested voice he spoke “Yes im aware of you. Im assuming you are Mrs L/N? The new art teacher?” Now normally he wouldnt give two damns about art but if this what would come with the art, a woman he could only dream of? hell he would fake an interest just for you. You smiled “Yes and you must be Mr Hargreeves! Oh how lovely it is to see you, Mr.” He chuckled nervously but pulled himself together enough to look like that grumpy annoyingly professional man “Yes it’s a pleasure” he tried to act casual. From that day forward he tried to hide his absolutely racing heart and the damned pink tinge on his cheeks. He couldn’t help but notice how sweet you were. He would never admit it but he would purposely walk past your art room to just catch a glimpse of you. Whenever you could catch him you would always tell him a good morning which would make him internally scream which was hidden behind a mask of stoicism and grumpiness.

On a normal Monday five had entered the teacher break room to get his daily cup of coffee only to find you already there pouring a little too much creamer for his liking into the cup. he quirked a brow and went to the machine and poured himself a cup of black coffee. “You oughta slow down there. Have some coffee with your creamer.” five had said without even looking up at her and focusing on his cup. you looked at him and smiled and put the creamer back in the employee fridge “There is coffee in it! i just dont like the bitterness of just coffee. Makes me feel like my tongue wants to shrivel into my body.” Five snorted a little at that and laughing a little. You went a little wide eyed “I’ve never heard you laugh before.” you looked at him with this sort of curious and wondrous look like a child inspecting a butterfly for the first time. Five went red in the cheeks and looked to you “Wh-what? I-“ he was gonna get a little defensive since he thought you might be poking fun but you interrupted “I like it.” you said as you never broke contact and sipped your cup and then smiled at him. He was taken aback at first but then he had a small smile on his face. You and him ended up talking for a long time until you guys almost ran late to get to your classrooms. From then on you and him would always end up finding some sort of excuse to be around each other and talk. His students tried to poke fun and joke with him about it but usually it was met with a glare which immediately would trigger a fight or flight response the usual response being flight.

Besides from getting a hard time from the students the teachers around them rooted for there unfolding story. They watched from the sidelines and listened in hoping that one day the word would be out that they were dating. Lets just say group chats would be filled with the gossip about ‘Oh look at how they look at each other’ or ‘She brought him cookies today for him to try and he looked like he wanted to carry her to a courthouse right then’. Her and five’s relationship was something people were waiting and watching.

Somewhere in near the end of the year you and his relationship was very close now. Talking to each other and laughing together. Five seemed to loosen up a bit though still the stoic strict man he was, he did let some things slide more now. Today was the last week of school he entered the teachers break room only to find you there. He smiled as he saw you had your overly sweet coffee creamer coffee and a donut from the donut boxes the principal provided for them. He came on over to the pot near you “I see your having a ball with your coffee and donut.” you smiled and chuckled and sipped your coffee “Yeah you should get one. the principal provided them to celebrate our good work throughout the year.” you said while smiling at him. he chuckled and set the pot back down “I think i am okay. Sweets in the morning will only upset my stomach.” he sipped his cup . You chuckled and nodded “That is understandable but one piece wont hurt you will it?” she said looking him in the eyes. Five felt his cheeks heat up at the eye contact and suddenly his mind was all flustered and foggy. God he could lose himself in you if you let him. You were so beautiful and he might as well be helplessly in love fool though he tried to stay focused it never did last long when near you. He snapped himself out of his daze and cleared his throat “Y-Yeah. One piece shouldn’t hurt.” he mentally kicked himself for stuttering. You smiled and you took a chunk of your donut and you don’t know why or what came over you but you brought it to his lips to feed him instead of, oh i don’t know, handing it to him like a normal person. You just couldn’t help it. It was not an unknown fact that he was handsome and getting to know him this past school year has been eye opening to who he truly is behind that mask of stoicism and grumpiness. Five was a little nervous but he didn’t oppose like on autopilot he took the piece between his teeth and lips and ate it. He couldn’t help but look at your flustered pink tinged cheeks and your beautiful eyes that held so much life in them. His own cheeks heated and his head felt like it was on cloud nine. Before he could even think properly he blurted out “I think i’m in love with you.” Your own eyes widened along with his own. Your heart raced and he about wanted to rip up the floorboards and crawl underneath and bury himself alive. You were shocked “Wait…what?” you had to hear him say it again. One more time. just once more. he immediately said “N-nothing!” and started hurriedly walking out. You followed behind “No, no what did you say!” he had such a red blush you woulda thought he had been sunburned “Nothing absolutely nothing go away!” you and him both walked past a group of gossipy teachers. “You just said you love me!” you yelled to him following behind him “No no i didn’t you’re delusional!” he cried out to you. The teachers had stopped their conversation and listened in on yours and giggled. One of the teachers Maggie smiled softly “Young love. What a wondrous thing.” another teacher chuckled and he said “Yeah in no time we will see them together.” another teacher sipped her coffee and said “Besides that y’all owe me 5 bucks each. I told you he would confess first.” the others groaned and reluctantly handed there 5 bucks.

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Hey guys! i hope you all liked this story! i hope y’all have a good day and i will see you in the next one! ❤️

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Gonna Be Alone [part 1]

Summary: A collection of small moments that lead to falling in love with your roommate. This is a Modern Day!AU.

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~1.5k

Author's Note: I've been writing two horribly depressing stories simultaneously for a while now and I needed a break from the angst. I hope that you all enjoy this.

Warnings for the entire series: language, drug & alcohol use, pining, fluff, possible angst, and possible sexual content. Plus, me attempting to be a comedian.

Masterlist | Playlist

She said, "he's kind of messy in every aspect of his life, but he's fun to be around!" Then, she very positively followed that up with, "I think you two would really get along!"

You met Helaena in college, and to be honest, you really didn't know her that well. She was a friend of a friend who had been in a few of the same classes as you, went to the same bars, and had a similar taste in art and music. She'd like every selfie, or ask to borrow a book you posted about, but you had never really hung out alone together.

So when your phone started ringing on a Friday night, after you were already three margaritas deep and swimming in queso dip at your cousin's birthday party, and it was Helaena Targaryen's name flashing across the screen, you were admittedly concerned; though, you'd always known her to be a pretty sincere person, so you took her word for it when she said that you should let her older brother move into the empty, second bedroom of your apartment. It might have been the tequila, or the fact that you were just that desperate, but you immediately agreed to her proposition without question.

You had been trying to rent the room out for months when it became impossible to afford the luxury of living alone, but every person that was interested happened to fall through for one reason or another. You had even offered a discounted rate (as the bedroom was smaller than yours and there was only one bathroom and it was a Jack-and-Jill), but you still couldn't find a good fit.

Enter Aegon Targaryen.

Suddenly, a guy whom you could only describe as 'that has to be Helaena's brother', was knocking on your door a week later. There was beat up Wrangler sitting on the curb behind him filled to the roof with cardboard boxes, and a tiny U-Haul hitched to the bumper with what little bit of furniture he had. He looked at you, blinked a few times and said, "I'm Aegon." You introduced yourself and he nodded; there were no pleasantries, no hand shakes or smiles. He just walked into your apartment, looked around, and then started moving his things in.

It was mid-July, so obviously there were better things you could be doing with your time than helping a complete stranger move his things into your home during a drought and a heat wave. Yet, you slid on your sandals and got to work after you had started to feel bad that you were sitting pretty in the air conditioning while your new roommate struggled alone in the humidity.

It didn't take long until the only thing left was his mattress. You weren't even sure how he got that monstrosity stuffed into the tiny trailer in the first place. It was ridiculously bulky and much heavier than it needed to be, but he swore that it was the most comfortable mattress you'd ever lay on in your life- a fact that you would just have to take his word for. You struggled, a lot, but put on a brave face as Aegon did most of the heavy lifting in the back and you navigated up front.

As you were coming up the porch steps with your sunglasses sliding off of your face as you dripped with sweat, and your arms tired from hours of heavy lifting (saving the heaviest for last, which was a terrible idea), you ended up missing the stoop completely and landing on your ankle awkwardly. You played it off until you had gotten the mattress onto his bed frame, and then silently cried about it in your now shared bathroom; quietly cursing the economy for forcing this situation upon you. Later that night as you were sitting on the couch, with your swollen ankle elevated on a couple of throw pillows, your new roommate tosses a bag of frozen peas in your lap and continues into his room with a bowl of cereal for dinner.

"Thanks," you called after him but only heard the sound of his bedroom door closing in reply.

Over the next few weeks you observed quite a bit about Aegon Targaryen. You knew which spoon was his favorite, how he preferred his tea, that he washed his hair with tea tree shampoo, and enjoyed mint chocolate chip ice cream. He cut the crust off of his sandwiches when he ate them at home, but when he packed his lunch he left them on. He could drink an entire box of wine by himself, but he typically stopped after two glasses, and he always asked if you wanted him to pour you one. He talked to his siblings a lot, but never his parents, and he really enjoyed watching dog videos on his phone while sitting on the couch as you tried to watch your show.

And when he laughed, he belly laughed, and you couldn't help but smile softly to yourself when he did.

Despite how taciturn he may have been, he was still good company, even if you were just sitting on opposite ends of the sofa doing your own thing. He always thanked you when you would leave leftovers in the fridge with a sticky note that had his name on it, and you started making sure that you made enough for two. When he came home late on the weekends, he tried his absolute hardest to do so quietly, but with those hardwood floors, it was almost impossible. He'd wake you up every single time, but you would never say anything. It was hardly an inconvenience after the many nights you'd fall asleep to the sound of him softly strumming his guitar in the next room.

And yet, you just couldn't help but wait for the other shoe to drop. Because it had to, right? Surely this would be a nightmare; God finally sending a punishment for your sins and giving him the face of a literal angel for shits and giggles. You weren't entirely convinced he wasn't Karma-In-Disguise, as the only other option was just too good to be true. It just couldn’t be that you agreed to live with someone you had previously never met simply because someone that you really didn’t know said you should and by some miracle it actually worked out? 

Absolutely not.

You were not that lucky. 

One morning you woke to find Aegon in the kitchen, standing at the counter, making himself a cup of tea. He had already brewed a pot of coffee for you and there was a box of assorted pastries sitting on the table, one of which he was holding between his teeth as he poured a splash of milk into his cup. He turned to you, leaning against the counter and took a bite out of his scone.

"What's this?" You quirked an eyebrow as you studied the scene.

"A 'thank you', I s'pose," he shrugged, voice deep with residual exhaustion. He scratched at the short stubble on his chin, almost nervously, "It's been like a month since I moved in ‘ere, and, to be honest, I wasn't really expectin’ you to let me stay longer than a week."

You laughed softly and took a few steps deeper into the kitchen, taking note of how comfortable the space was with his presence in it. You couldn't ignore the way your pulse quickened at the sight of him in this light; the way the soft, morning sun bounced off of his blonde hair like a halo. He stayed right where he was as you moved around him; his tired, blue eyes following as you grabbed your favorite mug and a spoon from the drawer.

"To be honest, I wasn't expecting you to want to stay," you mentioned as you stood next to him and added two scoops of sugar to your cup. Your eyes flickered up to meet his stare, which was so blue you might as well have been looking up at the sky itself. "We're basically strangers."

"I wouldn't say that," he shrugged, lips curling into a small smirk, and you had to stop looking at him before you spilled coffee all over yourself.

"Oh? What are we then?" You asked, feeling your cheeks warming slightly as you averted your gaze.

"Not strangers," you could hear the smirk in his tone; his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he took another bite of his pastry and pushed himself off the counter. "Besides," he added, taking a few steps towards the living room before glancing back at you. "A stranger wouldn't know your favorite bakery."

You laughed softly through your nose, realizing that your new roommate had just confessed to eavesdropping on your late-night FaceTime calls with your best friend. Not that he really had a choice—the walls were paper-thin, after all. Just two days ago, you’d mentioned how badly you were craving a chocolate croissant, but how they always seemed to sell out before you could get one. Now, as you flipped open the top of the cardboard box, your stomach sank. A sudden jolt of realization shot through you, followed by a nauseating wave of panic. 

There they were. 

Four chocolate croissants, neatly packed and staring back at you.

“Fuck.”

[tinytennisskirt]

Small Victories

Summary: based on a request, Stanford tennis player! reader and Art strike up a new friendship as they're both pretty lonely at Stanford. It's platonic and fun, but reader is taken out of the tennis season after a serious injury ruins her leg. Recovery is hard, but Art is there the entire way insisting you get back to tennis- and as you slowly heal, he slowly falls harder and harder. It becomes undeniable that you two belong together when you finally get back on the court and win your first game post-injury... when things left unsaid can't stay unsaid.

Warning: mentions of broken bones and blood. Mention of sex. Kissing. A little angst, and a tiny bit of miscommunication if you squint. Slowburn friends to lovers. A good amount of fluff and fun. 13k words- brace yourselves.

It was your first day at Stanford after spending your first night in your dorm room. You had some free time so you’d been spending it unboxing and putting away more of your clothes and things. You covered the ugly boring walls with simple patchwork tapestry, and carefully hung your star-shaped string lights. You set up your computer at the provided desk, moving it to the corner where it was level with the table you’d set up your microwave and kettle on. You made the bed, organized your rackets, and you would have never been this clean if you were at home, but you were a little too bored and you were racking up the nerve to go and speak to people. Meeting new people. 

It’s not like you were socially inept at all, but the anticipation was killer. Being so far away from everyone you knew, having this pressure to make friends here or being around wouldn’t be all that worthwhile. Yes, you loved tennis. Yes, you were so glad to be at Stanford. But could you enjoy it without any friends? No. When you decided your room was done, you logged onto your computer to look over the campus website to see if maybe there were any events tonight. 

You found a few as you scrolled. They had a painting class led by an instructor, not your thing. They had an acapella group info night, which could be fun, but you couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket. You scrolled down to the sports section. Football team info night, lacrosse recruitment, and you saw it, perfectly dated for today at eight, a tennis mixer for all tennis students in the far corner garden on campus, just a ten-minute walk. You shut your computer off and immediately started going through your clothes.

You ended up in your favourite jeans and a light purple tank top, pairing it with some casual Converse you’d had for two years, a nice belt, some pretty earrings, and the most dainty necklace you had. You did your makeup in the mirror, getting your eyeliner right in one try which was an absolute wonder, and finished everything off with a pairing of blotted lipstick and lip balm. You looked over everything in the mirror, fixing the curl of your hair just a bit before you packed the simple things into a small bag and headed out the door. 

The garden was cute, it was a little corner boxed in with hedges, full of picnic tables and lawn chairs. You looked up and down the edges lined with pretty pink, orange, yellow, and purple flowers. The 90s music from a radio in the corner was fairly loud, but more dull than the conversation between who you assumed were your peers. A wave of excitement hit as you looked up and around these people, not exactly watching as you stepped backward, foot hitting the side of someone else’s and tripping just slightly in the same direction. Thank god you caught your balance, because without it you might have ended up on the person behind you’s lap. 

“You okay?” He asked, hands up, ready to catch if he needed. You turned, fixing yourself, trying to hide your embarrassment. This was an amazing start, you thought to yourself, chuckling nervously. His eyes were soft and genuine, and he was asking. 

“Oh, yeah, just not looking where I was walking,” You smiled. “I’m so sorry.” 

He smiled back, “No, you’re good, don’t worry about it. I sit with my feet too far out anyway.” He said, getting up out of the chair he was sitting in with his drink. You noted just how nice his voice sounded, you’d never heard anyone with his tone. “My name is Art… Donaldson.” He extended his free hand to you and you were a little surprised but glad. 

“Y/N,” You answered, unable to control the grin that came from meeting someone already, even if you nearly tripped into him. You eyed him up and down a moment. He was taller than you, thin, with blonde curls and a big smile. Bigger than one you would have gotten from anyone else you spoke to if you had ended up speaking to anyone else that night. “You’re in the tennis program?” You asked. 

“Yeah,” He grinned. “And you too, I assume.” 

“Mhm,” You nodded back. “First year. Nervous.” You admit, feeling like maybe he’d get it. And he did, no doubt. 

Art ruffled his hair, “Oh yeah. I’m on residency, so it’s not much different from my previous school, but I don’t know anyone, so it’s a little weird. I had to check the campus website for anything to do to get out and meet people.” He spoke a lot with his hands, you noted along with the fact you had done the exact same thing. He was also just speaking to speak, you noticed as you nodded along, smiling. He was nervous too. “Are you on residency?” He asked, ending his little spiel. You’d let him talk just to hear him talk, finding his voice unique and a little bit pretty. And he was nice. 

“I am, I spent the whole day organizing and decorating my room,” You chuckled, stepping aside to grab yourself a can of iced tea, and cracking it open. Art watched as you did, studying the dainty rings on your fingers, the way the one strand of hair fell in your face when you tripped and you hadn’t yet thought to move it. “Things are a lot harder to do without a staple gun.” You told him.

He sipped his own drink, “Mmm, right? Took me seven attempts to hang up my poster today with that stupid blue clay stuff.” 

“Oh, that stuff is nasty.” He liked how you crinkled your nose. “I bought this glue-brand double-sided tape. It’s a game-changer, but so sticky.” And the embarrassment from nearly tripping eased away as the conversation enhanced itself. He was sweet and funny and kind and truly seemed like he was hearing what you said. Art was truthfully just glad he found anyone to talk to after Patrick left last night and as the conversation moved over the regular small talk, he found he didn’t really want to talk to anyone else. 

The night went on and people were leaving now and then, but you and Art sat on the bench in the very corner of the corner garden unphased, just talking about your histories with tennis. Soon you knew all of his best victories and he knew yours and he also knew you liked music more than most things, tennis included, him making mental note of what songs to listen to when he went back to his dorm room. He felt a lot less alone in Patrick’s absence than he’d expected and you were so interesting. He also knew you were a big fan of iced coffee, had a lucky tennis racket, and had a love for star-shaped things. Just as you knew his best game was his doubles at the Junior US Open with his best friend who you’d heard a lot about now, just as you heard about his past at Mark Rebatello’s Tennis Academy, how his favourite thing to do in tennis is serve, and his favourite post-game meal is chicken wings. Your conversation naturally covered all the simple things and when the night truly had to come to an end, he gladly walked you back to your dorm. 

“It’s been really nice meeting you,” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as you approached your door. Part of him knew he could probably tell you everything and anything about himself and you’d listen and that’s what he liked about you. “Glad someone spoke to me.” 

“Well, I tripped, so we’re just lucky, I suppose.”

He twisted his mouth to the side, “I guess so, but who’s to say I didn’t do it on purpose?” He questioned with a teasing smile. 

You laughed quietly, “It’s been nice meeting you too. I’ll see you around the court?” 

“Probably,” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets as you leaned against the door. “I look forward to it.” A grin slowly crept up his face, unable to hide itself. He was not in a particular lack, but gaining you was something he wouldn’t regret and he knew it. “I’ll see you around.” 

You couldn’t help but grin right back- his smile was so wide it was hard to ignore. “Goodnight, Art.” 

“Goodnight, Y/N.” 

You saw him again the next day, more than enthused to see a familiar face around. You had your hair up in a ponytail, sporting a white skort and black tank top and he was in blue gym shorts and a sports t-shirt that was just a tad lighter than his shorts. 

“Hey you,” You smiled as you approached. He turned, more than happy to see you as well. 

“Hey,” he replied, setting his things down on the nearest bench. You beamed, doing the same. “How are you?” 

“I’m good, how are you?” You asked, hopping up and starting to stretch. He had his hands shoved in his pockets. “Co-op doubles today, you want to be my partner?” He asked. You were nodding yes before he even finished the sentence. 

It was that day that Art realized just how good you were at tennis and how distracting it was playing doubles when all he wanted to do was watch you play. It was almost hypnotizing to see you do your thing and he was honestly a little proud he’d made your acquaintance before you demolished the other team so he wouldn’t have had to look like a suck up approaching you afterward. 

You jumped and high fived him when you two won the scrimmage and Art knew he picked the perfect tennis partner for sure. As for you, he impressed you vastly past your expectations. He was amazing at serving so no wonder it was his favourite. 

“That was crazy,” Art huffed, breathing out. “That was amazing.” 

“Your serves are crazy,” you gushed, turning to him. “You’re amazing, that was amazing that serve at the end completely threw them.” 

Art shook his head, “As if you didn’t completely end the game with that last swing, that was incredible.” He gestured openly, then let his arms fall to his sides. “You want to go again?” 

Technically you were supposed to switch partners, but Art just didn’t want to take that chance. He had you as a partner and he would have to swap it out? No thanks. 

Your smile turned itself into a smirk, you had other thoughts. “Maybe after.” You said and jogged over to the boy you’d just gone up against and asked him to play with you and Art knew what you were doing. You wanted to play against him. 

It turned out to be a problem because now Art had a full view of how you played and it really was hypnotic. You obviously had a well-learned method for every swing and situation and you knew exactly what was in your section and what was in your partner’s. Art was grinning, watching you play and honestly hardly paying much attention to the fact that he himself was in the game. He missed a few balls just because he was watching your swing. You were good, you were really good, and that fact being distracting was not very useful to a scrimmage. 

When the game ended and you had a bit of a water break, you jogged over, “What was that?” You laughed. 

Art shrugged, chuckling. “You’re really good.” He took a long drink from his water bottle, knowing the reason he gave you wasn’t very detailed but it was honest. 

You and Art were partners for most co-op doubles that week, hanging out almost every day after or before. You two were fast friends- him enjoying how passionate you were when you talked and shared the things you liked and the way you went about tennis, you enjoying having a great partner for scrimmages and the things he talked about. Having a familiar face around all the time was the ease you needed to fully get yourself situated at Stanford. It was fun to have someone that you wanted to see every day who happened to want to see you just the same. You two were friends quicker than anyone you’d ever known, like something just clicked and fit into place- he was fun and a little bit wild when he wasn’t shy, and he loved music just as much as you did, it turned out, which was surprising. 

You’d sit in his car for hours just talking with music in the background. “Okay, so McDonalds fries versus Arby’s.” You said, picking through the McDonald’s fries you two bought on the way back to campus. Art put the car in park and you were leaned against the car door, sitting facing him. “Don’t say Arby’s, I’m begging you.” 

He smiled and shrugged a little sheepishly, “They’re thicker.” He reasoned. 

“Uh-huh, I see how it is,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. He hid his face in his hands. “McDonald's are so classic.” 

He raised his head, “True-“ he spoke with too many in his mouth and you smiled. “- But Arby’s are curly. Which means more.” 

“Okay so you’re settled on the fact that it’s more food,” you laughed, popping a small one in your mouth. “Here I was going off of taste.” 

“You can’t go off taste alone because quality is so important,” he said, gesturing with his hands. “McDonalds fries are good but the quality is shit.” 

“You’re right but you can ignore that-“ 

“I have to ignore that while you ignore thicket and curlier?” He laughed. “No-“ he couldn’t get through his words laughing, “We are done here.” 

“What-“ you laughed. “No, come on.” 

He gestured wide, hand on your upper arm, sliding down to rest on your forearm, “You’ve just proven you can’t debate, it’s pointless-“ he couldn’t stop laughing, and from that point on neither could you. It was contagious and spread throughout the car like the air conditioning that circulated. It was good laughter, sweet, and unending because whenever one of you tried to stop, even looking at the other would cause you both to burst out laughing again. It was a cycle that made your ribs ache, your heart beat harder in your chest and your breath impossible to catch. The laughter only ended when you were both in too much pain to continue. 

Art rubbed his eyes, leaning against the car's center console, catching his breath. He missed Patrick but not so much when you were around. He was glad he had you and that was one of the only thoughts in his head as he looked at you, catching your breath as well. Your smile was gorgeous was the afterthought but there was no afterthought to that thought itself, just that you were and it was. You moved your hair from your face and he thought again about the fry conversation and he nearly laughed again, but he tried hard not to.

The truth was Art did have thoughts like that often. You saw him every day, you were funny and talented, and Art loved how much you cared about everyone around you. How could he not, even for a moment, think more of you than what you two were? But he didn’t notice how often he had those thoughts because they were forgotten so easily, buried under something subconsciously. 

You looked back at him, the atmosphere shifting once again. Art watched you glance at the time, “I have to get to bed, I’m so sorry,” He loved how you apologized for nothing. He’d tried to correct it at first but it was just something you couldn’t help. “I have that game tomorrow, the one I’ve been talking about, are you coming?” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it,” he grinned, pulling the car back into drive to bring you closer to your residency building so you wouldn’t have to walk. “Starts at ten?” 

“I have to be there at ten, game at eleven.” You nodded. 

“Sounds good,” He nodded back, a slight smile pulling at his lip. “I’ll see you there.”

“I guess you will. Or might. I need you there in case I need to make a run for it, I’m terrified to play that Roxy girl, she’s supposed to be so hardcore.” You pressed your hands to your face. “Thank you for hanging out, for a moment I forgot just how scared I am of tomorrow.” Your smile turned to a grin and Art’s followed. He was unable to control his smile around you. 

He shook his head, “You’ll be great. You’ll kick her ass.” 

“She’s Russian,” you replied. “She’s going to do more than kick mine.” 

Art shook his head again, “No. Can’t think that way or else she will for sure. You kick hers, no other way.”

You took a deep breath, grin dulling back to a simple smile. “Thank you. I’ll need all the luck I can get though,” You opened his car door to get out. 

“Okay, well, good luck if I don’t see you before the game, leprechauns, four-leaf clovers, break a leg, etcetera.” 

You laughed and after saying goodnight, your laugh still echoed around his head. It did so until he went to sleep that night. But he didn’t think anything of it, there was no reason to. 

The game the next day really did terrify you. This girl you were up against was hardcore, you spent the morning watching her games trying to figure her out but all you got was that she stepped twice before swinging left, no matter what as well as she was an amazing player. She had long sleek blonde hair that she tied up in a braided ponytail and icy eyes that seemed to stare into your soul when you saw her tennis poster. You wondered if her eyes followed you around as you got dressed into your pink skort and lilac purple tank top combo. Looking nice on the court helped a lot with your confidence.

You tied your hair up in two French braids to keep it away from your face and tried to take deep breaths as you grabbed your things and headed over to the Stanford court. It was a busy day, apparently, as a small crowd of people were waiting to get into the benches and you walked by them and into the building where you met your coach. 

“You ready?” She asked and you really wanted to say no, the nerves getting to your stomach. The first big game of the season meant something. This is the beginning of what you were working for. Part of you was so ready for this all to begin, other casual games with small audiences were easy, but there was a Russian girl out there ready to demolish you. You took another deep breath. 

“Yeah.” And you took your things to the court and unzipped your bag that you’d packed in a haste this morning out of pure nerves and no real rush to see that somehow, in some extreme mishap, that your lucky racket wasn’t there. You turned to your coach, who knew that when you laid all your rackets out on the sidelines that you were missing the lucky one. 

And Art in the stands looked over, knowing the exact same thing. He turned to Patrick, who was visiting as of this morning, “She doesn’t have her purple racket.” He said as if Patrick knew what that meant. Art had spent the morning filling Patrick in on who you were and Patrick listened with a knowing smirk, but didn’t say anything about what he truly thought. “Patrick, she can’t play this without her lucky racket.” He urged as if it made a difference. The game was set to start in five minutes. 

“Lucky racket?” Patrick understood. When he was younger he himself had the same thing, he knew the sentiment and the effect it could have on a game. That’s why Art, knowing Patrick, knew you were the same way.

“Fuck,” Art said, looking around to see if there was a clear path out of the bleachers, but there wasn’t. He looked back at you, talking to your coach with your hand over your mouth. He got up and stepped over a few people but was stopped by an usher. 

“Game is starting in five-“ the burly man said. 

“I know, I need to get out,” he urged. 

“Sit. Down. Please.” The usher replied. 

Art shook his head, “No, you don’t understand, this is vital to the game about to be played, that’s my friend out there-“ 

“Sir, if you leave before the first half, you won’t be getting back in.” He said. And that was that. Art couldn’t even make a run for it because this usher would make sure he couldn’t get the racket back to you. 

“Fuck,” Art muttered, having to sit back next to Patrick knowing this wouldn’t be good. It put him on edge from the stands he couldn’t imagine the anxiety you were feeling if it was already bad and you didn’t have your racket. He rubbed his face, looking at Patrick, who knew exactly what you were feeling even not knowing you yet. “This is bad.” 

You had to use your practice racket. Which was fine if you were anyone else, it worked just the same, but the feeling of confidence was hard to attain. You hit the court as the announcer called out you were to serve. You took what felt like the deepest breath, filling your lungs as you faced your blindingly blonde opponent. You let the breath go slowly, trying to convince yourself that this was fine. And you served. 

The rally was good, you both had each other moving, but she was up in points within the first ten minutes. You weren’t doing badly, you were just behind. Art and Patrick were watching from the stands at how intense things were, Art worried the entire time. 

You caught up and surpassed her points around the middle, but soon enough she bounced right back surpassing you again. You were getting increasingly more scared that this was exactly what you expected from a game without the purple racket. You took a deep breath and hit the ball as hard as you could upon serve, it going awkwardly sideways and immediately out. You tried not to swear too loudly. Art and Patrick did it for you in unison, Patrick was just as invested as Art. 

When they called the halfway point, you were below her points-wise. Art couldn’t pay less attention to the way you walked off the court with your hand to your head because he was running, or trying to, through the sea of people who were going for washroom breaks and getting food from the stands outside. He tried to push through but more people kept coming and the stress of it alone had his heart beating. That was nothing on the beat of his heart as he finally pushed through and he started sprinting across the campus grounds trying to get to your residency as fast as he could. 

He didn’t think he’d ever run so fast in his life but this was the only way he knew how to help. This was how you would save your game. He ran through the residency doors and up the stairs to the second floor and grabbed your key from behind the fire alarm trigger, unlocking your door. He knew you wouldn’t mind after this- he looked around seeing the racket leaning in the corner and he grabbed it, locking your door again and jumping the stairs, sprinting back. 

It took a lot longer than he thought. He tried a shortcut that was stupidly a dead end and he checked his watch before launching back into his sprint and he had two minutes before you were back on. He was so fucked. This time he just about shoved people as he returned to the crowd. 

He could hear the game resume and people did hurry to get back to their seats which helped a little- Art was still pushing to make it back to you, to get the racket to you before the second half truly started. He knew if he just got it out there onto the court you could switch it out between serves and that would be good enough and he was nearly through the crowd, cheers in his ears, people whooping and yelling, getting into the game and all of a sudden it was a simultaneous gasp. Art was confused for about a split second before he heard the scream in the silence of a crowd that held their breath. 

Art pushed through the crowd and the sight he saw when he laid eyes on you on the ground was something reminiscent of some horror movie. The detail was too much but visible to him, from far away, was bone. And you were screaming, it was you. 

He bolted over but not before the others did, surrounding you immediately locking him out and he looked over as your tennis partner ran to the edge of the court to vomit. The crowd was mumbling but other than that it was silence versus screams and cries and it was you. Art hated that it was you. 

He couldn’t do anything, he wasn’t any help, 911 was already called and you were crying and screaming, and thank god the huddle shielded the crowd from the blood that pooled on the court. 

Art did the only thing he knew to do and that was collect your things. It didn’t matter what it looked like he was doing, he packed up your rackets and your water bottle, numbing himself to the situation so he could at least do this for you as your screams rang out in the crowd of people still seeming to hold their breaths. He couldn’t get to you if he tried. Sirens in the distance meant it was time to get the fuck out of the way and he moved over as the paramedics worked quickly to tend to you to get you on the ambulance, doing what they could to stop the bleeding. 

Art ran faster than he did to get your racket, even with your rackets on him. It was a good thing Patrick had gotten himself out of the crowd, meeting Art at the fence doors to get him to his car. He’d only known you a month or two, but you were still a person he cared a lot about and he knew your entire family was miles and miles away. You’d be alone in this and knowing you, and talking to you every day, he knew you were afraid of doctors and hated hospitals more than anything. He couldn’t let it be something you had to brave alone.  He threw your rackets in the trunk as Patrick got into the passenger seat and Art tossed him the keys to start the car before he got into the driver's seat. 

“Fuck, this is so bad,” Art said, pulling away a little faster than he should have. “This is so bad.” 

He ended up waiting ten hours at the hospital. You needed surgery to fix your leg and nobody in your family could make it over in ten hours. It would take a flight to get to you. Patrick stayed about four hours with Art, trying to keep him occupied so he didn’t lose his mind in the waiting room, but Art wasn’t very talkative, just worried. You had easily become one of his best friends. 

He ate hospital food and he slept in his chair against the wall. The nurses knew he was there for you and came to update him until one of the nurses told him to come back the next morning because by then you’d probably be stable and awake properly without the pain meds keeping you asleep. He hated that, he slept in his car.

Patrick came back the next morning, tapping on Art’s window at close to 11:30 in the morning. Art woke with a bit of a start, his hair messed up, his clothes from the days before still on. Patrick held up a bag from Art’s dorm room where he’d stay. You wouldn’t think Patrick to think of something like it, but he brought Art a change of clothes which he took gratefully and changed into in the hospital bathroom before going back up to see you. 

Patrick gladly waited in the hallway when he went in. You were awake but you were staring blankly at a wall- it didn’t seem like you even realized he had entered. You’d gotten used to not minding the nurses and doctors that came in and out. Art approached slowly out of understanding and observed how hard you crying so silently. He thought he saw a tear but as he observed, it was a steady stream.

“Hey…” he said quietly. 

You turned your head at the sound of his voice and Art swore when you met his eyes he had never seen eyes sadder than yours. It shook him a little to see pain so obvious in someone’s eyes. “Art-“ you sobbed, putting your head in your hands, unable to say anything else. He rushed forward, dropping his backpack at your bedside to give some sense of comfort. He didn’t know what to do, so he crouched next to you and his hands rested on your forearm, careful not to touch the bruising no doubt from the fall. He didn’t say anything else for a long while and neither did you, you just cried as Art crouched next to you, his hands gently grazing over your skin where they could. Soft, back and forth, just delicately. 

It was the first act anyone had ever taken to make you feel okay, truly okay. You’d been intimidated and overwhelmed by the hospital lights, the sterile metals, and sounds and processes. 

It was also the first true act of many that was something closer than what it should have been for you and Art. It was just you and him in that hospital room, empty aside from the machines, drips, a bed, and chairs, but the silence was so full that it occupied every corner that wasn’t already taken. 

You did eventually speak, but that silence was so needed. It was a conversation about what had happened and you explained it all and how it felt, but Art informed you that you were ahead of her in points before it happened. He didn’t tell you he didn’t see it happen- he didn’t tell you anything about where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. 

Art slept in the corner chair later that night when you slept. Patrick eventually left after waiting for so long. When you needed your privacy Art got his meals from downstairs, heading back to the dorm and coming back the next morning every day for two weeks. He came by whenever he could to see you, the conversation was good and kept you distracted. You talked about everything and nothing just to pass the time in your lonely, empty room. Art brought you your iPod and a few other things from your dorm to keep you occupied when he wasn’t there.

Art was the greatest comfort until your parents finally got on a plane and flew out to see you, urging to somehow get you home but you didn’t want to go. You couldn’t anyway, and you were so glad. Your mom was surprised by the flowers you’d received from the Russian girl from the big game, who did come to visit you and was surprisingly very sweet, unlike her teeth-bared photo from her Facebook. But other than that, Art visited almost every day right after your parents did. They stayed at a nearby hotel as you were in the hospital recovering. 

Patrick stayed nearby for Art who was fine, other than a little busy most days when he went to visit. Today Patrick came in with Art. 

“Hey,” you grinned, sitting up just a bit when the two boys came in with McDonald’s. “Oh my god, you didn’t.” 

“But we did,” Art said, kicking your tray over to your bed and putting the food down on it. “Patrick’s idea actually, which I hate- but he wanted to get Arby’s and I told him no.” 

You smiled at him slyly, knowingly, but your attention turned to Patrick. “Hey! I’ve heard so much about you, this is crazy. I heard you were at the game.”

He grinned and you noted the dimple he had when he smiled. It was nice. “Yeah. Aside from the whole bone-out-the-leg thing, you were pretty good. I’ve heard a lot about you too.”

“Well, yeah,” you nodded, gesturing to your leg. You were fun, Patrick knew Art liked you but it was finally coming to be something clear in his mind as to why. You had high spirits. But both boys had no idea how hard you sobbed the moment they left. “Thank you for bringing me food, hospital soup and chicken are somehow both dry.” You said, opening the bag. 

Art looked at Patrick for some sort of approval which he got with a look Patrick exchanged. “You’re welcome,” Art spun on his heel. He looked at the way your hair fell over your face as you peeked in, how pretty it looked the way it curved inward to frame your face. The hospital had hindered your will to do your makeup but you still somehow looked just as gorgeous, if not more. His fleeting thought lingered this time as he gathered the right words to say. “So how is your leg feeling today?” 

“Fucked,” you replied, handing the boys their fries and burgers. “Hurts like hell and I’m still on the super strong stuff.” 

“Well you couldn’t tell,” Patrick said, pulling up a chair. 

“I think if I asked, they’d give me the good stuff.” You nodded. “But it makes me so tired, it’s awful.” You bit into your burger. 

Art pulled a chair closer to you and sat in it, “So all this was just for some drugs, hm?” He teased. “And attention.” 

“Oh yeah,” You agreed with a laugh between bites. Patrick chuckled and Art grinned, “All I had to do was fuck up my knee, have a surgery and a half, and ruin my tennis career.” Both boy’s smiles fell almost immediately, watching your tongue press to your cheek. The silence was loud, but you just continued eating. Art opened his mouth to speak but nothing came to mind. It could be true, you could very well never play tennis again, or with proper rehabilitation, you could be back to playing eventually. He didn’t know, he didn’t know what to say. You sighed, your voice monotone, “It’s fine. Most people who can’t play anymore start coaching. I just have to get better at teaching it.” 

“No, you can’t just say you’re going to coach, you still have so much work to do. You could get back into it when you get better,” Art said, hating how willing you were to succumb to just… teaching. “You’re only starting.” 

“True,” Patrick said, agreeing. “Would be badass if you got back on the court.” 

You twisted your mouth to the side, not finding it very easy to even speak on the topic, even if you brought it up yourself. You didn’t want to cry, not right now, you usually waited until you knew Art was down the hall so you had a minute to cry before the nurses came to check on you. “I don’t know…” 

Art looked at you with an expression that bordered on unkind- not toward you, but toward what you were saying. He’d played tennis with you- you were amazing and to not even believe that it could even get better was almost disgusting to him. You had so much potential, so much talent, “You do know.” He insisted. “There’s no way you want this to be career-ending, so don’t let it.”  

Patrick, despite the seriousness of the situation, smiled watching Art all passionate about something. It had been a while since he’d seen Art so riled up about something even if it didn’t affect him directly. Patrick smiled because he was seeing something he knew Art himself didn’t see. He leaned against his hand propped up by the arm of the chair. And you knew Art was right, but not enough to see past the cast on your leg, not enough to see past the months of rehab, not enough to see the court again. As much as you wanted it, it wasn’t in the foreseeable future, so you let it feel impossible. 

Your parents went back home a month or so in with the promise of returning, but it was getting expensive to stay, so they’d go return to their jobs. It was back to being Art and now recently, Patrick, whom you’d grown to be quite fond of. He brought out a side to Art that was not funnier, per se, but broadened his means to be. Patrick sometimes came to see you when Art had class so he wasn’t just sitting around Art’s dorm. Art would swing by after to join the card games and be told to be quiet by the nurses. It always ended up with you laughing so hard your ribs hurt more than your knee, even for a second. It was the only pain that was welcome in the hospital room. 

It was evening and you were sitting on your hospital bed, just thinking over everything. It wasn’t rare for you to cry at random periods throughout the day, it was a little too normal, if you were honest. All of this was so hard- continuing school from a hospital room because of all the risks was awful. But tomorrow you’d be seeing a physical therapist and that would decide if you were ready for rehabilitation. You wiped your eyes from the tears that fell just thinking about whether or not you’d be fit to walk on your leg again, which would determine if you could run if you could play. 

That’s when Art knocked on the door. He poked his head, looking around, but ultimately looking at you. You had the lamps that your parents had purchased for the room to be less overwhelmingly white in the top right and bottom left corners of the room, making for dim, comfortable lighting. Art swore he forgot how to greet you when his eyes met your tear-filled ones. The way your eyelashes looked when wet was almost hypnotizing, something that wiped all of the words from his vocabulary and out of sight almost completely. “Um-” He cleared his throat, “Hi,” He started, a weird pit in his throat. “You okay?” 

“Not sure,” You confessed, wiping your tears off your cheeks. He had seen you cry too many times now, it was getting a little embarrassing. “How are you?” Art smiled just a little at the fact you asked while crying. He hated to answer that question when you were upset. 

He pulled up his regular chair, but oddly it didn’t feel close enough. The feeling of it had been creeping up with every one of his visits, every time you were alone. But it got pushed aside. “I’m fine. Class was boring and tennis sucks without you, as usual.” He said, taking a seat. “The girl I’m paired with keeps hitting on me between rounds.” 

You wiped more tears away, smiling just a little though your stomach felt just a little odd at the mention, “Really?” 

“It’s bad.” He laughed, “She twirls her hair and everything.” 

“And that didn’t immediately work on you?” You fake-gasped. Art was just glad you were smiling. “You didn’t get married on the spot?” 

He chuckled, looking at his hands, “I don’t think it’s so easy. I don’t think I even know her name.” 

“You don’t know Melanie?” 

“Is that her name?” 

“No idea,” You laughed, really laughed, and it was a gorgeous sound. “In case you didn’t notice, I’m mostly bedridden and confined to this room.” 

He covered his face, rubbing his eyes, “That’s enough.” He groaned through a laugh, leaning against his hand, just looking at you. 

“I say it’s hardly anything, imagine how fun I could be if I wasn’t broken,” You huffed. “But Melanie, whatever her name is, she’s like… she’s really pretty.” You noted. ‘Melanie’ had all your opposite features, it should be noted. She was pretty just the same, but she was your opposite. 

“Mmm, not my type,” Art replied, scooting his chair just a little closer to the edge of your bed. 

“So you have a type? What, Kat Zimmerman-like?” 

Art groaned again, “I can’t believe Patrick told you that, that’s insane that you’d bring that up right now, I hate that.” He stressed the important syllables and covered his face again. You giggled, unable to keep it in. “No, not Kat Zimmerman, jesus christ.” 

“So then what’s your type?” You asked, just curious. You weren’t sure what drove you to curiosity but you didn’t question it. 

He shook his head, “I don’t think I have one. I know who I’m not into though and she’s exactly that.” Art said. Once again, to be noticed, the opposite of you was not his type. “She’s nice but we don’t talk much aside from when she compliments my playing and my hair and my arms and… all that.” 

You felt a little twinge. It was so awful to be on the inside while life went on outside, you thought to yourself. That was only half the twinge and the only half of the twinge you could understand. The other half was something close to jealousy that went completely unnoticed, but not unfelt. “She does that?” You struggled to sound genuine and that was the only thing you questioned about any of it. 

“Yeah, I hate it. What about you? You have a type?” 

You thought for a second, “I’m the same, I think. I know sports guys… jocks- are not it.” And Art nodded. Something about it felt weird to hear. He qualified as a sports guy, right? He tried to shrug it off, but he internalized it.

The night went on and you talked about things you hadn’t before and it was all romantic context. Past relationships, elementary school crushes. It was something that was needed out in the open and it made for an occupying conversation though it was a little hard to get through when there were constant little fleeting thoughts in Art’s mind that were thoughts about how jealous he was of these boys who had gotten to kiss you, touch you, and have your romantic attention. However, the thoughts were so fleeting they flew by without being read or registered, but they were there even unnoticed. You were his best friend and nothing more and that was that. 

When the doctors okayed you for rehabilitation you were so overjoyed you cried again. It was okay this time, it felt good to cry. All of these months in pain could be undone if you could just get into this and succeed. There was no guarantee it would work, there wouldn’t be at any point a guarantee and you knew that it would be a long, frustrating process, but it felt like it would be worth it. You remembered what Art told you about not wanting that career path to end and not letting this be the end of anything. This injury, in the long run, would not be able to take you from what you loved. Ever. Because you wouldn’t let it. You called to tell Art and you could hear Patrick whoop and cheer in the background. And you had your first session in your hospital room later that week and the now-wilting flowers Art and Patrick had brought you was amazing for motivation. 

Your healing journey was up and down as expected but no matter if you could finish your session or not, Art came by to tell you how great you were doing and Patrick to reassure you that you were a badass. You even let them stay for a session and the physiotherapist told them to ‘shut up’ because they were cheering for you the second you started. You just laughed. 

Patrick, for amusement, liked to sit back when you and Art were talking. He was no master, he was not a very scientific guy but your body language when engaging with each other was crazy obvious. You’d always sit super close no matter what, you leaned toward each other when you laughed, your eye contact was completely loaded with unsaid words and when you spoke it was 89% flirting. Patrick understood Art- you were gorgeous and you were strong and that itself was hot. You were funny and took jabs but you were honestly one of the most caring people Patrick had ever met. So yeah, he understood why Art liked you so much. 

You got better every day, easing onto your crutches at this point, able to somewhat move on your own. Patrick visited that day and he had his intentions. “You heard about that girl who won’t stop hitting on Art between games?” He chuckled, dealing the cards for crazy eights. He watched for your reaction. 

You pressed your tongue to your cheek, “Mmm, he mentioned.” You said, picking up your cards. “She’s still at it?” 

“Worse,” Patrick said. “Asked him out yesterday.” 

You looked up at Patrick with telling eyes and Patrick could have gone off of that alone, but he didn’t yet. He noticed your hands bending the edge of a card as you thought it over. The idea of him and that girl was something you could easily envision. He’d been her partner for over a year now and he had to know her name, they had to have been talking for her to just ask him out. Your jealousy was a fleeting thought that did burn close to the surface. “What did he say?” 

“He said he’d think about it,” Patrick said, eyeing your response to that one. It wasn’t true, Art had turned her down at least twice now. The girl was pretty, but oddly persistent.

“Hm,” You nodded, putting down three cards right off the bat. “He said she wasn’t his type.” 

Patrick shrugged, playing his card, “He’s pretty diverse I think. Me personally-” He placed a hand on his chest, “- Dark hair, dark eyes. I’m not limiting myself to it, but I think I have a type.” 

“That’s very you, I feel,” You said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Are you an ass guy too?” 

“Oh yeah,” He grinned a wide grin. You just smiled and shook your head at him. “What about you? You have a type?” He asked, trying not to make it obvious he was playing wingman here. 

You picked up a card, “I don’t think so. Maybe tall, not too much muscle but not like bone-breaking thin.” You said. “And a good amount of hair. I can’t imagine being with someone with a buzzcut. I don’t know, I don’t think much about who I could want, more of what I don’t want.” 

Patrick pretended like that body criteria wasn’t exactly Art. He smiled just a little, “And what’s that?” 

“Okay, easy. No mommy issues,” You put down another card, “No weird patchy facial hair, nobody who doesn’t know the difference between too, two, and to, and no guys in sports.” 

Patrick leaned in just a bit. “No guys in sports? You don’t date guys who play sports?” He clarified, a little bit of hope slipping out the window for his wingman act. All of everything could be wrong, could be pointless. 

You shook your head, “I say that but I mean football, mostly. Jocks. I had a bad experience with two different football players. Broke my little heart,” You chuckled. “I’ve ruled out jocks.” 

“But you’d date a guy in t-” he almost said tennis. He wouldn’t have been a good wingman to give away something like that. “You’d date a guy who plays something else?” 

“If he’s normal about it,” You nodded. “I can’t be outloved by a sport. My ex, I swear he’d fuck a football if it had a hole.” You placed down two more cards, “Last card.” 

The game finished with your win and Patrick was fairly satisfied with his work, though he intended to ask you a few more things and was cut short from his recon when Art swung in the room with a can of iced tea for you and Coca-Cola for him and Patrick. “How are you?” You asked him, taking the iced tea gratefully. 

“I’m good, you?” Art sat at the end of your bed by your feet, putting a hand on your shin (on your good leg) just casually. Patrick noticed it, but it didn’t seem to phase you. He’d seen it the other day when you rested your head on Art’s shoulder, he’d seen it when Art moved your hair over your ear as you were reading a magazine they’d brought. It was painful how obvious this was- he didn’t have to ask anything else. He almost laughed out loud as he thought about it. He made a mental note to talk to Art about it. 

He went back to the dorm early that day, leaving just you and Art. “Hm,” You hummed, pulling your hair to one side. Art snapped out of the trance he was in, hoping you hadn’t noticed that he was staring. It was something about the way you looked in purple, it was like it made your skin glow. That and your eyelashes as they fluttered when you looked around the room, that and the way your lower lip rested between your teeth as you checked over your textbook quickly making sure you were done with your schoolwork for the day. Art blinked all the thoughts away, but they clung on to your square-necklined purple t-shirt. Something about the way you looked in purple. 

Art rubbed the back of his neck, taking his eyes off of you, but looking back a moment later. Your lip between your teeth had his full attention, his own lips parting just a little at the sight. And then there was your hair draping over your face now and Art wanted so badly to move it like he had before. At this thought, as it crossed his mind it stopped dead centre in his brain. Like a shift, but a shift from his own burying and blatant ignorance of any feelings to being completely in the know. You were here, and you were perfect and you weren’t even doing anything, and Art knew he liked you as more than a friend at that very moment. 

But that was the issue. He was supposed to be your friend. 

And that troubled him the next week or so. He was fine seeing you, being one of your close friends wasn’t an act, it was true to him with the addition that maybe he liked you but he always told himself ‘just a little bit’, he liked you a little. If it was full blown then it would be a crisis and the truth was that it was absolutely and completely full blown and there was nothing he could say to himself that would change that. He thought about you when he wasn’t with you, when he woke up, and when he went to bed. He thought about you when he saw something you liked, he thought about you in every spare moment he could get. It was so bad he couldn’t even tell Patrick- as if Patrick didn’t know and constantly teased him about it. 

You were getting better and better and it was a surprising recovery, doctors said. Your mobility was far ahead of schedule and set to stay that way. Any setbacks from this point would be minor and you were making progress almost miraculously. And you were so glad to hear it every time they’d say it. Your parents came back around the day you took a real step alone and you wouldn’t forget your mom’s shriek of complete happiness. Your knee would work again. 

Just Art brought you flowers that day, not him and Patrick. 

But things stayed the same. You could leave and come back in for therapy and you were more than glad to be out of the hospital, though you’d gotten a bit used to it. Everything was falling into place, Art was there pretty much every step -literal and physical- of the way. He was amazing support and made things feel so much easier. When Patrick came around it was fun to have two people who’d add into the motivation. You got better and better and soon enough you swore you could walk just fine aside from your slight limp. That day you walked across the room when Art turned his back, he was surprised, to say the least.

When you could go out with a wheelchair and crutch the boys took you to the court. It was your first time on it since the incident. Your eyes fell on the spot where it happened. Patrick followed your eyes, grimacing just a bit. You’d forgotten Art didn’t see it- you still had no idea where he’d gone at the halfway point of the game. “I can almost feel it,” You said, a look of disgust on your face. “I think the gasp from the crowd was the worst part.” 

“It was loud,” Patrick said.

Art looked at where they were looking. “But you almost have full use of your knee again. Who knows, you could be back out here in a few months.” He shrugged. You turned on your crutch, away from the spot, and looked at Art. “Okay, don’t give me that look, you know you just need to try.” 

“I know,” You nodded slowly. “I just don’t know to what extent. I don’t think I could follow through with Stanford.” 

“Why not?” 

“It’s so top-notch,” You answered. Patrick kicked around on the court, grabbing one of Art’s balls and rackets and dribbling it around. “The people here are here for a reason and it’s to go pro.” 

Art stepped closer to you, “But you don’t think that’s you?” 

“Not anymore,” You replied, meeting his eyes. “Recovery is amazing but the risk is so high… I’m not even sure I can run yet, let alone sprint and lean side to side on this leg. I want to, I wanted to, but going pro after something like this just doesn’t happen. If I can play again at all, it won’t be good.” You explained. Art nodded through, listening with eyes that held sympathy and a little speck of sadness. “It’s okay, I just… It’s going to take me forever to get over it.” 

He shook his head, “You still don’t need to get over it yet. There’s still so much t-”

“I know. I just can’t see it ever happening.” You said. Art pressed his lips into a straight line and he spun on his heel. Comfort wasn’t what you needed- it was a racket. Art lunged and snatched up the one Patrick was toying with and handed it to you. “What?” 

Patrick caught on quickly. “Hit the ball.” Art said. “In any form.” 

“Art…” You shook your head. 

Patrick threw it anyway and even with the crutch, you instinctively stuck out your racket the way you knew how and hit the ball back to him, your aim still on point. “That was good! What the fuck,” Patrick chuckled. Even he couldn’t hit the ball with that much precision. Art laughed, clapping once- and you had your mouth a little open at the tennis reflexes that hadn’t gone anywhere after all this time. You looked at both of them in minor shock and awe and Art just smiled. He wouldn’t let you give up. He couldn’t. You spent the rest of the evening hitting balls where you stood, feeling a lot better about things. 

Recovery continued, but so did tennis. In your spare time you were on the court, practicing your serves, hitting the ball, everything to do with arms and eventually when the therapist had you on the treadmill walking, jogging, he cleared you to do it with supervision. That was one of the biggest things you’d heard in a while. Art was out in the hall when you’d heard it and you left the doctor mid-sentence just to go tell him, Art surprised at the speed which you approached him at, being used to you only ever walking. “I can jog!” You said, enthusiasm and passion in your eyes and the familiar fire he knew from when you would play tennis with him. 

Your soft hands grabbed his forearms in excitement and Art was a little bit more than aware of it, but the news was amazing. “That’s amazing, that’s crazy, you can jog?” 

“I can jog!” You squealed a little as your mom who was in the room with you swung her head into the hallway. 

“When he said could he didn’t mean away from him, Y/N, get back in here please!” She called, but she wasn’t pulling the full mom card, she was smiling ear to ear just as you were. “And hi Art.” She said, waving to him. Being your main visitors meant they were acquainted. Art went to coffee with your parents while you were in therapy the week prior, he wondered if they had mentioned it. He hadn’t. Art just waved back. 

Soon it was you, Patrick, and Art on the court and your crutches were propped against the bench. You were still a little slow but you’d gotten good at playing where you stood, relying on reach alone and it was quite impressive. You worked on side-stepping instead of lunging and leaning and it helped a lot with having to move around when you needed. It was a lot of laughter but also took a lot of practice and focus to get right. Sometimes you could go for a while, other times not so long, but the rehab had done wonders. This time when you said you were done, Art served the ball and you did lunge for it- both boys afraid, cringing as they watched you rush and lean forward in what seemed like slow motion. But you hit the ball and it flew right at Patrick’s chest and came back into standing position like it was nothing. 

“Oh my god,” You gasped. “I’m so sorry.” Patrick put a hand to his chest but both boys looked at you in wonderment, eyes wide, mouths a little open. To tell the truth they both thought you were done for again as you lunged but you were fine, no complaints, no second thoughts- but a second gasp. You realized the move you’d pulled and the second you realized, both boys started blurting out praise and pride and disbelief and you joined in on it. That was tennis. You’d done everything a tennis player needed to do and it was completed with the simplest lunge. Small victories every day. 

Art was more than proud. Seeing you back on the court was amazing. He’d take you there alone most days when Patrick didn’t feel like it. This particular day you were both a bit disracted, but the reason why was something you both couldn’t place. Art gave up before you today and you both stood by the edge of the bleachers against the metal bar.

You took a sip of your water, “Are we going back out or are we done?” You asked. Art set down his bottle just past you, reaching around. He looked at you and for the moment he had nothing else in his mind but you. Not tennis, not anything, you. 

“You’re incredible, you know that?” He said. You smiled immediately, leaning more against the bar next to you. But it just so happened to be closer to him. And you didn’t mind it, it wasn’t anything new but it was definitely close. Very close. You were close and you were smiling at what he said. He blinked a few times, observing your eyelashes, “Your recovery… I mean. It’s a miracle you’re back here.”

You nodded, that perfect smile on your face. You knew how close you were to him, but you didn’t think much of it. You were more focused on his words. Art was always sweet, you enjoyed that about him. “I’d probably be sitting somewhere with a book on how to coach tennis if you didn’t push me this far. You, you are incredible. I am just grateful.” 

He laughed, “Me? I might have pushed but you snapped the bone in your leg but you’re out here on the court again because you’ve been at it everyday.” He said, sincerity coating every one of his words. “It’s all you.” 

“It’s not all me-”

“With help and support, yes. But if you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be. You want this, getting here to this point was all you.” He swayed just a little closer, not even on his own account just because being close felt right. He wanted you to feel that it was the truth. You looked up at him and he could see his words meant something as your eyes reflected him in the golden light of the early evening. He’d never seen just how gorgeous your eyes are in this light… And you were thinking the very same thing as your lower lip found itself between your teeth.

You and Art shared a thought before stepping back and it was the reminder that you were best friends. Just friends. Good friends. And nothing more. It was the first time it had crossed your mind, but the hundredth time on Art’s. Neither of you would risk it. 

The practice continued carefully. You had rest days. You’d been lunging on both legs at this point and your game was coming back around. You were off at a meeting with the Stanford tennis coach about returning properly in the fall, having the meeting so that you could make some exceptions. Art and Patrick sat in his dorm room, Art upside down on his bed, feet up on the wall, and Patrick in Art’s computer chair, spinning. The conversation had been about what to have for lunch when Patrick sparked something else up. “Are we meeting Y/N after her meeting?” He asked. 

Art tilted his head back, “Not sure. I could call her when it’s over if you want. Why?” 

“What do you mean why?” Patrick said, throwing the hacky sack he was fiddling with at Art’s head, hitting him in the face and chuckling. Art sat up, whipping the bean bag right back at him. “Oh come on-” He groaned. “I know you want to see her.” 

“I saw her earlier,” Art deflected, recognizing Patrick’s tone. 

“Yeah and?” 

“So you want to see her?” 

“Sure.” Patrick shrugged. Art shrugged back, pulling on a sweater, whenever Patrick was over, he turned the AC in the room way up. Wasn’t relevant, but the silence while Art was putting on his sweater was near unbearable. Art had the sweater half over his head when Patrick stuck his leg out and kicked him over. “I know you like her!” 

“Huh?” Art said, sitting up and fixing the sweater. Patrick pushed him right back over. 

“You like her! Y/N!” He said. He couldn’t take it anymore, the obviousness, how clear it was that you two liked each other. It was getting to be sickening. “I know you, I know you like her and you can’t tell me you don’t because I’ve waited this long for you to-” he shoved Art over again when Art came back up laughing- Patrick couldn’t help but laugh too, “-tell me!” 

There was no purpose in a lie. “Yeah, I guess so,” Art admit, bracing himself to be shoved again and instead, punching Patrick right in the stomach as revenge. Patrick sat back in his chair in pain. “But Patrick, she’s my best friend. And your friend. It’s tricky.” 

“I don’t think it’s that tricky, I mean, she likes you too and it’s obvious,” Patrick said through his stomach pain. 

Art laughed again, “She does not. I’m not her type. We’re just friends.” 

“You are entirely her type, her criteria is tall and normal build and that’s exactly you!” He gestured widely to Art. 

“She did not say that to me when I asked. She told me she doesn’t date guys in sports.” 

“She has two football exes, of course she doesn’t date jocks.” 

“She said sports.” 

“She meant jocks.” Patrick straightened out. “She likes you, Art. She pretty much admit it to me, you can’t tell me otherwise.” 

Art just blinked. Patrick wasn’t right- there was no way. He’d had it in his head that he wasn’t even thought of when it came to anything like that with you. But Patrick was usually right, no matter how much Art hated it. “No, she’s-” he groaned, putting his head in his hands and bending to put his head between his knees. “She’s one of my best friends this would fuck everything up.” 

Patrick shook his head, “It would be fine, you-”

Art groaned again, “And I tell her I like her and then what?” He brought his head up again. “She thinks I’ve just been here to fuck her? To get on her good side, to be with her through this just to get to her? I only started liking her, really liking her after the incident but I have no way to prove that! What would she think if all of a sudden I tell her and she actually doesn’t feel the way I do? This is so bad, Patrick.” 

Patrick just laughed at him, but Art was now able to think about these things aloud. So he was loud. “I promise you she likes you. She’s flirting with you all the time, she’s touchy, she cares a lot about you- more than me, I can attest. She wants you. And as for the injury part- Art, it’s been over a fucking year. She’s not going to think you’re playing the long game.” Art just sighed, but Patrick shoved him over again. “Don’t be a pussy!” 

“I’m not a-” he rolled his eyes and shoved Patrick right back, “-pussy. I just- she’s gorgeous and she’s friendly and she’s kind and caring and amazing and I don’t want to risk losing that just because I have some fucking ninth grade crush on her, you know?” 

He nodded back, “But it’s not. I’ve seen you with your ninth grade crush and you were a lot more horny about it. You like her. She likes you. I don’t care if you tell her now, but I don’t want you thinking she doesn’t want you too. She does, it’s painfully obvious. And I’ll admit she’s hot as fuck, so I’d hate to see you miss the opportunity!” Patrick explained, hands wildly gesturing. “Plus the tension is fucking awful to be around, I don’t know how you do it.” 

Neither did he. With it out in the air Art might have gushed a bit about you. Patrick had never seen him this way- he had so much to say about you and he ended up not calling you, just talking about you for what felt like forever to Patrick. But he didn’t mind. 

You continued to get better and better and it was amazing. You felt amazing about your progress. You got up in the morning and your knee only hurt if you hit it off something. And that was normal for most people, so you took pride in it. You hurried over to Art’s dorm in a tank top and shorts, your hair in two braids. It was early morning, you knew that, but you knocked on the door anyway. Art, woken, opened the door and squinted in the light from the hall. He was gorgeous, you thought. His hair wild and messy from bed and his shirt hiked up a little too high from sleep, leaving his waist and mid-line exposed. “Hey.” He said, opening the door for you to come in, fixing his shirt. 

“Hi,” you said, trying not to grin too wide. You couldn’t wait, you couldn’t. “I got cleared for a real game!” You squealed and you covered your mouth. You’d only found out late last night so you decided to wait until morning, but it really couldn’t wait. Art took a deep breath in but before he could say anything you were talking again. “It’s a small game. It’s local, it’s a tiny game but it’s a real one and it’s singles. I thought you’d want to know!”

“I- I do want to know, that’s amazing, oh my god!” He was almost as excited as you without the squealing and bouncing around. You were cute when you were excited. “A game is a game, it’s incredible, it’s- you- I-” He stopped himself. The excitement nearly got the best of him. But you were grinning ear to ear over tennis and that was all he cared about. “When is the game?” 

“It’s next Sunday,” You giggled. “You’ll come?” 

“Is that a question?” 

“Well, yeah,” You said, your hands on his forearms like they usually were when you were passionate. Almost like you were scared the passion would sweep you away if you didn’t hold onto something. He loved it. 

“No, I’ll be there. And on the sidelines if you let me.” 

“You’re absolutely not sitting in the stands again.” You said, chuckling. He grinned. 

And when the day of the game rolled around, your mother braided your hair in two french braids for you. She had ironed your entire outfit, even your socks. It was her nerves. But the most nervous one in the room at all times was you. You couldn’t eat, you had a hard time falling asleep, but you got up in the morning refreshed and heart pounding at the impending game. It meant a lot of action but you’d worked for this. It was a small local game at a local court with a few bleachers. It was hardly anything, you reminded yourself. This was your second chance just beginning. You slipped on your dark purple skort and your purple tank top and you made sure you had your lucky racket this time. 

Your mom drove you to the court much earlier than needed because you were so on edge and you sat in the hall between changerooms under the bleachers, just doing your breathing to maintain yourself. You were more than glad when Patrick and Art showed up. They didn’t ask if you were ready, they knew it. They just asked where you wanted to go for lunch after the game and debated over if a hot dog counted as a sandwich until your Stanford coach walked in. 

“You’re ready?” She asked, grin on her face. You blinked. 

“What are you…” This was a local game, not Stanford. You looked at Art and Patrick who were bad at hiding their smiles. 

Your coach nodded, “You’ve got this one.” She said. “Now hop to it, they’re waiting.” You looked back at Art and Patrick and they ushered you toward the door. It sounded a bit like a badly-engineered fan at first, going down the hall. Your stomach was already in knots. 

They came completely undone as your coach opened the door and the roar of the crowd was near-deafening. You blinked in the daylight, half-shocked by how loud it was before you realized that it was the sound of people. And as your eyes adjusted, you realized that the tennis court bleachers were absolutely packed full of people and they were loud, cheering. It was a local game, you expected families of the players but no, there must have been hundreds of people in the stands. On the side with no stands there were people lining the fences and you could see people beyond people. You turned, taking it all in as they were calling your name, calling your praise. You covered your mouth seeing your peers from Stanford in the front row, including the girl who had been hitting on Art. You recognized all of them and more. 

You looked at Art and Patrick who were behind you, unable to control their grins at this point and elbowing each other just a bit. Art was only looking at you. You felt so overwhelmed with gratitude, it rose in your stomach like the drop of a rollercoaster. “How did this- How- there’s so many,” You managed to say. 

Patrick beamed, dimples on display, “They’re here for you, if you couldn’t tell.” 

Art tugged one of your braids. “Patrick and I might have… posted about it on facebook. But it wasn’t an invite, just the general information of what had happened and that this was your first real game, so technically it was all you.” He smirked, but it couldn’t stay a smirk, just a really big smile. It matched yours. 

“It was not me,” You sighed exasperated, but more than happy. Scared. But happy. 

“If you didn’t want to be here, you wouldn’t be,” He repeated to you. His thumb grazed your cheek when he let go of your braid. You wanted to hug him, you wanted to jump for joy and scream your head off at how amazing this all was. But you got called to serve. 

The screams didn’t die down for any part of the game. You served and the game began and the girl across from you did not feel bad for you and that was clear. She was harsh and hardcore and violent with her swings but you hit almost all of them right back at her at a force and accuracy she couldn’t handle. Art and Patrick on the sidelines were into the game, cheering, calling out remarks on your moves. The moves they’d helped you get back. You were more than grateful with every point you scored. The crowd cheered for both you and your opponent but it was your name you heard screamed out in the crowd. 

It got a bit intense at times, you fell behind for a while but came back, then went back down again, then came back up. The halfway point you spent thanking your best friends profusely while they urged you to rest and have water. You got back on the court after that, swinging, hitting, forehand, backhand, pulling a few moves that required the use of the leg you’d broken and though the crowd held their breath, they were more than impressed. Patrick watched Art stop cheering and clapping for a second, noting the way he was so honed in on you, Patrick was sure a bomb could go off behind Art and he wouldn’t notice. Art was proud, that was what he felt. Proud to know you, proud to be your friend, proud to feel the way he did about you because he knew that you were amazing and resilient and so fucking strong. He had never met anyone like you. 

You locked eyes with him before your opponent served and he swore he felt something shift, really shift. When this game ended he had to tell you how he felt. He couldn’t go without it, he had to tell you. 

The last quarter got increasingly more intense. You fell once at a move that required the leg you’d broken. The crowd gasped and Art lunged to help you up but you did it yourself. And you got right back up. The fall hurt, but no more than it would have a regular person. That was something that drove your confidence way up. You couldn’t even hear the score anymore. You just knew that you were there and you were playing and you couldn’t have been happier, even if you lost. But the buzzer went off and the game was done and it was almost like you went deaf. The cheers stopped, though they really didn’t, in fact they roared louder than ever before and the crowd launched itself into standing, their hands over their heads, mouths open wide absolutely wild. 

You knew you’d won. But it wasn’t that important. You had one thought- find Art. 

And he wasn’t hard to find. He was there on the sidelines or rather one of the many people who surrounded you when you won. Your other friends, your parents, your coach, Patrick, the staff of the game, and apparently a few nurses who came to see their patient play. But it was Art you reached for. You grabbed his forearms, bracing yourself, your eyebrows furrowing, “I won?” You questioned over the noise, over the hands that congratulated you. 

 Art, biggest grin on his face, “You won.” He answered. And he didn’t have a second to himself before you reached up, cupping his face and kissing him hard. There was nothing else to do in the presence of the win but kiss him. And he kissed you back just as hard. It felt like all the noise and all of the world was sucked away for a moment when his hands fell on your waist, pulling you closer. 

It was a small game with big victories. 

The kiss only lasted a few seconds but it was strong, and the feeling of him lingered on your lips when you parted. Nobody was surprised that you kissed. Not your mom, not the nurses, they’d known. You looked at Art and tried not to smile but it was over the second he grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back as Patrick came in for a crushing hug. 

“That was fucking incredible!” He told you. Your cheeks began to hurt from smiling as you hugged everyone over your win. Thing eventually died down after a while, people happily funnelling out, congratulating you. But at the end of things it was just you and Art. Patrick had headed out to bring the car around. 

You twisted your mouth to the side, “I can’t believe how many people turned up.” You sighed, content. 

“You have that pull.” Art shrugged. “You are probably my biggest tennis inspiration now.”

“Mhm? You want to be me when you grow up?” You teased, stepping closer. Art smirked, but once again he couldn’t maintain it, he just smiled down at you. “I’m your biggest inspiration…”

He wasn’t afraid to put his arms around your waist. “Maybe, maybe not. But you are amazing. And so fucking good at tennis, I’m scared for your real comeback.” He said. You laughed and it was gorgeous. The front part of your braid fell out and around your face. “You’re going to kick my ass.” 

Your smile was brighter than the mid-day sun. “You bet.” 

Your heart fluttered when he tucked your hair behind your ear again. You both heard the car horn as Patrick beeped from outside the court. “Can I kiss you?” Art asked, pushing your hair behind your ear. You nodded. And this time it was his hand on your jaw, his lips pressing against yours with all of his feeling. It was a kiss untouched by the rush of adrenaline and it was sweet. And it was slow. His lips grazing over yours between kisses, his breath minty from the gum he had just spit out two minutes ago. He held you close and the kiss was full of words yet to be said. You both couldn’t ignore anything anymore. It had been a long time coming. Patrick honked again, but it took you another second before you both pulled away with small smiles. Your hands gently holding his forearms, bracing yourself. 

[weasleykisses]

You’re So Pretty I (Remus Lupin x Reader)

(GIF not mine)

A/N: Remus and you very clearly like each other, however, hes convinced you have a crush on a mutual best friend. Friend-to-lovers, fem!oblivious!reader, jealous!Remus, mutual pining

Loosely influenced by the song “ur so pretty” by Wasia Project.

word count: 3.9k

________

“Going on another study date, Y/N?” Marlene asked as she watched her dorm mate gather up her books and a couple scrolls into her bag. Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t lie to yourself. You aren’t just going to study.”

“As a matter of fact, I am going to just study.”

The blonde haired girl wasn’t the only one that pestered Y/N about her crush. Despite never admitting to it directly, her friends ganged up on her and joked about it fairly often. “You won’t learn anything from drooling over Lupin the whole time,” Marlene laughed.

“I do not drool over Remus. He’s just a good study partner.”

“Whatever you say.”

She finished packing her bag and making sure her uniform was straight. Her hands slid down her skirt to smooth it out and through her hair as she looked into the standing mirror. Wanting to look presentable did not mean she was trying to impress him. Definitely not. She just didn’t want to look unkempt, is all.

When she was confident she didn’t look like she just rolled out of bed, she turned to leave her dorm and head to the library. She waved to Marlene who made a heart shape with her hands jokingly. After so long, she’d gotten used to the teasing though, just dismissing her with a ‘tsk’.

She left the common room without another confrontation by one of her friends, walking leisurely to the library where her transfiguration textbook waited. She was never the best in transfiguration, or charms, or defense against the dark arts; truthfully she wasn’t very good at anything most people would would consider important. Her saving grace was care for magical creatures.

Sometimes she felt herself grow so embarrassed by her lack of skill, but Remus never made fun of her for it. He helped her fix the issue, and she was grateful to him for that. He was probably the only reason she passed her classes the past few years.

Kids bustled around the halls and the stairways as she walked through the castle. The sound of her feet clicking on the marble floors kept her occupied as she walked through the familiar walkways. She listened in on some conversations as she passed by, eavesdropping when she shouldn’t.

The only other thing on her mind was her study partner, who she found herself growing awfully attached to over their years at Hogwarts. Now that they were in their seventh year, she occasionally felt herself completely consumed by her crush on him, which she quickly tried to correct by thinking of something else.

It wasn’t that she wanted to smother down her crush on the boy, she just didn’t want it to take over her life. It would never happen, and the inevitable rejection would destroy her. It was normal for her to not get her hopes up, terrified of being disappointed in the end.

Sometimes, she just wanted to forget about him and fancy someone actually obtainable. Someone like the hoard of boys that confessed to her over the years, bringing her flowers and candy and sweet love notes. Only she didn’t like them and couldn’t bring herself to pretend. Her friends asked why she never accepted any of the propositions, to which she would just say she was waiting for someone specific.

Eventually some of her friends figured out who she liked. At first it was Lily, and then the rest of the girls followed suit after seeing her interact with the tall boy enough times. She suspected that Sirius knew as well, knowing how perceptive he was. He would send her some suggestive looks now and again when Remus wasn’t looking, which she just ignored for the most part.

Still, no matter how hard she fought it, she fell deeper and deeper into her infatuation with Remus Lupin. She thought he was the most handsome, smart, kind boy she’d ever met. He was just perfect in her eyes. He could do no wrong.

And so, she found herself drowning in her feelings for the boy. Honestly, it was difficult to keep afloat. To be around him and pretend she just wanted to be a friend. To pretend she didn’t want to cuddle him when they sat on the couch together. To pretend she didn’t want to kiss him every time he smiled her way.

Before entering the library, she took a deep breath and smoothed down her hair once more. Confident in her ability to socialize with him without completely falling apart, she pushed open the heavy wood door and into the large room filled with whispering voices and floating textbooks.

Remus sat in their normal spot towards the corner where not a lot of people crowded around. It was quieter, and he preferred that. For Y/N, she was just happy to get more one on one time with him. The other marauders wouldn’t step foot in the library so she didn’t worry about them. Lily maintained her distance when she was studying. She wanted to give the pair some “private time”, as she had said once when teasing her friend.

“Hey, Rem,” she quietly greeted him, giving him a small wave. He peered up from the novel he was reading, giving her a warm smile back. It was adorable. Everything he did was adorable, really.

She took a seat beside him, setting her bag to the side. She pulled out her transfiguration textbook. He was particularly good in this subject, so this would be easier than something like Charms.

“How are you?” He asked.

“I’m fine. How was your day?”

“It was okay. The guys are planning a new prank for tomorrow so they’ve been pestering me about that,” he told her, and she nodded. He loved their pranks secretly, not wanting to come across as immature. Not to mention, James could be a little overwhelming. Especially when he spent the nights with Sirius planning, keeping the other two boys awake.

She grinned brightly. “Oh really? What are they gonna do?” She loved pranks, as long as they weren’t directed towards her. They were an escape from the strictness of the school, not to mention a relief when certain Slytherin were involved.

“Stink bombs in the Slytherin locker room. Nothing fancy.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“I suppose.”

Her eyes trailed down the book that was sitting in his lap now. To get a better look, she leaned closer to him and tried to read the upside text. “What are you reading today?” It was normal that they exchanged books after reading it, that way they could discuss the novels together once they were both done.

“Shakespeare.”

Her eyes widened and she urged him on, “What play?”

“Midsummer’s Night Dream.”

“That’s my favorite! I'm so glad you’re reading it,” she told him happily, clapping her hands together from excitement. As a muggle born witch, she loved when her friends experienced a bit of her world. Shakespeare was just a taste. He’d read a couple other muggle books before, but mainly it was novels by famous wizards and witches.

He smiled, tucking the book into his own bag. “I know. That’s why I picked it.”

“You remembered! I’m excited to talk to you about it when you’re done.” He had to look away from her face. She was so beautiful when she got excited, it made him want to swoop in and give her a thousand little kisses. Of course, he wasn’t insane, so he wasn’t going to do that. He was always looking at her, catching glimpses of her captivating smile and her sparkling eyes. When she looked away, he peered over at her and just watched, regardless of where they were. In class, while studying, in the common rooms. He couldn’t help but stare.

It wasn’t a coincidence he picked her favorite play. He wanted to see her get all giddy because of their two person book club. Anything to see her happy. It seemed he had successfully achieved that, too.

“So what did you need help with?”

“Well, I’m not quite sure. I’m doing well in all my classes right now. Probably because of you, but still,” she told him. Honestly, she never really wanted to study, it was just her way of hanging out with Remus for a while. “Do you want to do something else other than sit in here?” Y/N asked, a bit nervous he might say no.

He leaned on his elbow, cheek pressed to his palm. “Depends. What do you have in mind?” He asked, even though he knew he’d say yes to basically anything she could ask. She could ask him to join her in the broom closet for a snog and he would agree.

She thought for a moment, tapping a finger on her lips as she pondered what they could do. There wasn’t anything she desperately needed done, and it wasn’t close to dinner yet.

“Do you want to come with me to feed the nifflers and diricawls?” It was the only class she excelled in. Hagrid allowed her to come and visit the animals as often as she wished, knowing her to be quite talented at the subject. It was rare to be so compatible with the beasts, but she’d done it.

He wasn’t the biggest fan of the class, and had not taken it for a couple years. Still, he was willing to do just about anything for her. “Let’s go then.” He nodded, gathering up his belongings and tucking them down into his bag. She did the same with her textbook which she never actually opened anyway.

He took her bag from her without her asking. He always carried her books if they were walking somewhere together. She figured it was just him being polite. James would do the same, bragging about his impressive strength. She was grateful though, and walked beside him with her hands in her cardigan pockets.

As they turned the corner, entering the main corridor, she caught the eye of a familiar face, one that Remus thought was busy with Quidditch practice for the time being. “Sirius!” she called, waving over at him with a newfound grin on her face, teeth showing and eyes bright. He looked up from Mary and Alice, who also waved in the pair’s direction.

“Fancy seeing you here, Angel,” he hummed, but opened his arms as he usually did for a hug. She threw herself into his arms and he squeezed her tight, maybe even too tight in Remus’ opinion. She pulled back, peering up at him before nodding to the other two Gryffindor girls.

“Hi, Mary, Alice,” she hummed sweetly. They happily greeted their friend with warm smiles.

Remus almost felt himself move past his surge of jealousy, if he hadn’t seen Sirius rest the palm of his hand on her lower back when he stepped to the side to face the rest of the group. He never understood why the two of them were so close, and why Sirius practically hung off her shoulder when the two were together. The two were just best friends, from all he could tell, but it sure felt like more. Sirius wasn’t known for settling for one girl, he preferred to leave his options open. Surely, he didn’t have a crush on her.

Remus could only hope.

“Moony, where are you two off to?” Mary asked. While Remus looked at the brunette, answering her question, he missed the look that Alice sent Y/N. She raised her brows, her eyes flicking between the pair. Y/N felt her cheeks heat up at the notion that her and Remus were hanging out as anything other than friends. The girls loved to taunt her, probably because they consistently got a rise out of her.

“The creature pens outside,” he replied, gloomier than he wanted to sound. “I thought you guys had practice today?”

Sirius shrugged, “It was postponed for an hour. Something about the weather. I thought you two normally studied on Thursday afternoons.”

“I’ve been doing well enough in my classes that I figured I deserved a well earned break,” she told the three of her quidditch-playing friends.

“Well, I guess we should leave you to it, right, ladies?” the raven-haired boy asked. Bidding the two study partners a goodbye before trailing off with Alice and Mary in tow. Y/N waved while Remus just watched with a defeated look on his face. He always felt defeated when seeing Sirius and Y/N together.

For the rest of the trek out to the animal pens, they walked beside each other silently, just navigating the halls in thought. She could only think about how close he stood beside her, and how attractive it was that he carried her bag for her. A dazed smile was left on her lips and she stared at her feet to avoid him seeing how happy he made her. She was such a lovestruck fool. It was obvious.

It was cold outside but not quite snowy yet. She cuddled into her thick cardigan, wondering if he was cold in just his sweater and uniform shirt. The leaves had fallen from all the trees, crinkling under their footsteps. The sky was white, indicating a storm was brewing, potentially snow considering it was December. A few other students hung out in the courtyard, playing games with each other or sitting by the gardens talking. Not a single person was hanging around the animal pens.

She stopped when they neared the small building beside the care for magical creatures classroom. The diricawls and nifflers were inside this time of year so she pushed open the door to the shelter. Inside, they were met with a dozen or so diricawls walking around on some freshly laid hay.

She turned to Remus and grinned, pointing to a diricawl with three black spots on its head. “This one is my favorite. His name is Cookie. Isn’t he just the cutest?” She asked.

He shut the door behind them so none of the creatures escaped. “You named him Cookie?”

“Yeah, because he’s so sweet.”

She walked over to the food barrel and scooped out two handfuls of food. She tossed onto the ground beside the animals, but kept a few pieces in her hand. With her free hand she urged Remus to come closer.

He did as she asked. “Here, you can feed Cookie this time,” she told him, handing him the pieces of kibble. It was exciting to share her passions with him. He was happy she just included him in the first place. He wanted her to invite him into all aspects of her life. What classes she liked, her favorite books, favorite songs, her favorite holiday, and favorite food. It was like a collection he wanted so badly to complete. To complete her and all her quirks.

He took the kibble from her hand. “How do I feed him?” He asked.

“Didn’t you pay any attention in class?” She joked, but patted his shoulder nonetheless. “By hand, if you want. He doesn’t bite,” she laughed. He knelt down closer to the creature and extended his hand, looking to her for guidance. She gave him a very enthusiastic thumbs up. Soon enough, the little bird was taking food from his palm and munching on his snack.

When he was finished and stood back up, she couldn’t help herself but hug him from the side, pressing her face to his arm. “Y/N?” His heart was skipping a beat. He patted her on the head gently, feeling a bit too awkward to hug her back. Even if he loved her being pressed so close to him, he couldn’t function when the real thing happened.

She answered with so much glee in her voice, “I’m just so happy you came with me. No one ever comes with me to feed these little guys. Always too busy with quidditch or hanging out in the common rooms.”

“It’s no big deal. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy too.”

Her stomach was doing somersaults and her heart raced at his kind words. She took a step back and straightened herself out again. “Thanks, Rem. You’re such a sweetheart.”

If his face wasn’t red already, it certainly was now. She looked like an angel standing there, the diricawls gathered at her legs like her own little army of birds. He loved the way her Gryffindor cardigan swallowed her up. He loved the way some stray hairs fell into her face as she glanced down at the ground. He thought it was adorable how she fiddled with her fingers when she was nervous.

It was admirable how she treated the animals, the things she loved. Even if she wasn’t the smartest book-wise, she was friendly and kind, to animals and humans alike.

Most importantly, there wasn’t any judgment from her when she found he was a werewolf. She caught the boys carrying him up the common room stairs one day in the early hours of the morning, and from then on she doted on him. She gathered ingredients from her furry or scaly companions, persistent in making healing potions for him, different creams and salves for his wounds. She worked long hours in the Potions room with Slughorn’s permission, desperate to make something that would ease his suffering.

She’d come up to their dorm after the full moon and take care of him each time, cleaning his wounds and doing the best she could with her limited knowledge of healing spells. Over time, she got better, nearly perfecting her spell casting, all for him.

That was when he started to fall for her. No one had ever cared for him like she did. As Sirius liked to call her, Y/N truly was an angel, he was sure of it. Sirius might have meant it as a joke, but Remus came to find the nickname truer than any other. True like he was Moony and their friend was Padfoot.

She pointed over to a few cages to their right, where the nifflers lived. The cage was decorated with shiny things, silver necklaces and some gold coins, probably the result of a thieving niffler.

“Do you want to feed the nifflers now?”

“Anything you want, love.”

———

While James was chasing after Lily Evans, and Sirius was busy romancing Marlene McKinnon, Y/N sat back on the couch beside Remus Lupin. Peter sat on the floor by her feet, resting his head against the sofa cushions. She’d grabbed three cups and a pot of hot tea for her and her couple of friends as they watched the flickering of the fire before them.

While the more outgoing of the friend group were always off doing something, this left just the quieter three hanging around amongst themselves. It was peaceful. Remus read his book silently while Y/N and Peter talked about the newest gossip from that day. Peter was great to talk to. He always listened intently, and could discuss basically anything she could think of. She supposed he was just happy that the cooler marauders let him hang around.

She took a sip of her drink and sighed, the warmth of a nice cup of tea soothing her otherwise freezing cold frame. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped herself up. It was nearing Christmas, which meant many things.

It meant that she would have to sit outside in the freezing cold during every quidditch match. It meant going to Hogsmeade every weekend and filling up on butterbeer and goodies from Honeydukes. It meant spending more time huddled up on the couch with her friends sitting around the fire, laughing all night long.

She drifted off into her own thoughts for a moment, completely missing the question that Peter had just asked. She felt a tap on her knee and blinked away that dazed look in her eye.

“What was that, Peter?”

“I asked, do you have any plans for Hogsmeade this weekend?” he said once again. She tapped the side of her teacup in thought. She originally planned on staying inside over the weekend to finish up some homework due the next week, but she couldn’t resist the urge to go out and visit the little town, get some candy, and drink in the Three Broomsticks. She couldn’t miss out on a fun outing with friends.

Y/N shook her head ‘no’.

“Wanna come with?”

“Of course.”

She stirred her cup of tea, her eyes scanning the room. “Any specific plans you all have this weekend? Zonko’s, Honeydukes, Spintwich’s?” she asked. Usually they followed some sort of routine. Visit the Three Broomsticks for drinks, head to Honeydukes to stock up on sweets for the rest of the week, and either stop at Zonko’s for the newest gadget or Spintwich’s so James could see if there were any upgrades for his broom.

Her personal favorite was Brood and Peck. Sometimes they had special creatures that you could only find in the forbidden forest. She was still waiting for a unicorn, but in the meantime there were always mooncalves, nifflers, and diricawls to play with. She also liked spending her time in the bookstore too.

Not that she wanted books, she just liked going there with Remus so she could watch him out of the corner of her eye. He furrowed his brows as he scanned the books for one that he was interested in. She would pretend to do the same thing, but really she just went for him. To watch him get excited by a new book that was just released, or half priced older novels he’d been meaning to buy, books they would read together. Seeing him happy made her feel soft inside, and that’s all that mattered to her.

“Well, I heard that Lily and the rest of the girls are going to Honeydukes around noon and I plan to be there,” James said confidently. He was obsessed with that girl, but Y/N couldn’t judge. She was just as obsessed with Remus as James was with Lily. She was infatuated, and had been for years.

“Speaking of which, why aren’t you going with the rest of the girls, Y/N?” Peter asked the girl sitting beside him.

Originally, she declined going to Hogsmeade that weekend altogether. She was far too preoccupied with her schoolwork to even think about taking the day off to fool around, but she couldn’t say no to spending the day with Remus. She had to say yes to the boys, on the off chance she might get some quality time with the boy she fancied.

She shrugged, “They offered, but had to say no. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to finish my potions essay in time. Gladly, I got it done this morning, so I should be fine to go with you guys.” She wasn’t exactly lying, but she certainly wasn’t telling the entire truth. She wasn’t doing well in her Herbology class either…

Remus found himself tense up at the mention of Hogsmeade. He always found himself nervous when she was around, and somehow, they always ended up singled out by the group when they went places. It was always Sirius and James goofing off with Peter following closely after, leaving Remus standing in the dust with Y/N at his side. He was never prepared and felt like he made a fool of himself every time just trying to strike up conversation. He could be so terribly awkward.

He just hoped that on the day of the actual visit to Hogsmeade, he would be normal. That all his friends would stick together instead of separating and leaving him to be his embarrassing self in front of the girl he so desperately fancied.

Part Two out.

[fandomlurker333]

A lot of people are screaming throuple and just writing the porn (which I get! It’s fun!). But reading them come is not enough for me. lol Toxicity is hot until it’s just damaging and sad for everyone. I want real happiness for these three weirdos.

The end of the film was meant to be the very beginning of something. Just the spark of an idea of them coming back to one another. But the real work starts after. 

And I think it would probably be a step-by-step thing. 

I can see Patrick and Art working to draw closer, with that strong foundation of their childhoods to build off of. Obviously having to resolve the hurt that so much time and distance caused them, and both being willing to forgive. But it’s clear at the end of the film that the door is open for that. They grew up together. There’s a real root of knowing that I think could carry them through the toughest parts early on. Their relationship evolving feels possible.

And Tashi and Art’s marriage would find some breathing room and maybe even some renewed delight for having Patrick present and loving on them both. Kinda seeing each other again through his eyes type thing. Remembering they’re more than who they have been to each other for over a decade (both operating in one mode to survive, never quite enough for each other -- not totally fulfilled and not appreciated in their fullness).

I don’t think Patrick and Tashi would be having sex at this point, but I can see like….tennis dates where they bicker. Just them all learning how to be in each other’s space for extended periods of time and enjoy it.

And maybe Art wouldn’t resent Tashi so much for not being able to give him everything (so much has been taken from her — she just doesn’t have all that much left. She’s been doing her best.) and maybe Tashi would feel more at peace seeing them play each other and knowing Art is really loving tennis, not just playing for her. Connecting with them both in that space and finding joy in tennis again, so it’s not just routine and pain and loss for her.

With that healing happening concurrently (with therapists as support, of course), I think they’d get far. And then once those relationships are more secure, once Art and Tashi learn how they relate to each other when he isn’t winning for her (which would be something new. They don’t know what that looks like yet!) then Patrick and Tashi, having learned way more about themselves in relationship and how to communicate, might start working on their side of the triangle lol. 

I could see them all exploring and working out the intimacy over time — not just sex, but intimacy -- what do they each need and how do they need it? And kink too, the various ways they each want/need to give or receive so they all feel truly satisfied.

And of course they’ll be partners co-parenting. All of them.

I can see Tashi finally grieving her injury, the life she lost, and rediscovering her love of tennis, not to win, but for the joy of being on the court. Her sobs the first time she plays again and it’s not competitively, just a little volley, but it’s like she’s finally alive again. Reminding herself she’s a leader in tennis the space still, that she can build success in that world even without Art’s career, but maybe it looks different. I see a healed Tashi learning to enjoy teaching kids. Taking on more protege. And letting Art and Patrick come help at her tennis camps. 

Art retiring like he said he wanted, running the foundation as Tashi steps back. Realizing that he’s actually pretty good at this business thing and going back to school for a Master’s in nonprofit leadership. Meeting new people. Making friends (that aren’t Patrick). Getting invited to a pottery class and seeing he loves to work with his hands. Playing tennis with Patrick on the weekends.

And my heart for stay-at-home dad Patrick. Who always forgets to change over the laundry and leaves his keys everywhere and puts the babies' shoes on the wrong feet. But my god he loves those kids so goddamn much. Patrick learning to cook for the family and getting really good at it like he does anything he hyper-focuses on. Patrick finally having a home with the two people he loves most and figuring out how to create some routine and stability for himself within that container.

The love in that home. Ugh. I think it’s possible! I think they can do it! It just takes work. 

[espinosaurusrexex]

Happy Little Accidents

Veteran!BuckyBarnes x Female!ArtTeacher!Reader

summary: In a world after the war, Bucky tries to get pieces of his old self back by joining an art class. He meets you and instantly falls head over heels. Now he just has to work up the courage to ask you out.

a/n: wrote most of this on my lunch break after finally feeling the creativity spark again. I hope you all get a cozy fall feeling.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: adapting to life after war, frustration, a little angst, love-dazed Bucky, just so much fluff and wholesomeness 💕

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ

↑ the face of a man too whipped to listen - this is the Bucky vibe today

Steve Rogers was an artist. A lot of people knew about it. Hell, the Smithsonian even had a gallery full of sketches from a notebook of Steve’s he had lost back in ‘45. But Steve never needed people to recognize his work. Just like he never needed all the fame that came with his shield or all the honors he got for doing what he thought normal human decency implied - stopping bullies.

But what not many people knew was that Steve loved his art so much, he even held little sketch workshops in the camps on the western front. He drew each member of the howling commandos with impeccable accuracy. He loved drawing portraits and he loved to help.

Which was why, sooner or later, Bucky had been talked into trying his first sketches back in the day as well. Back when he was still left-handed, back when he found joy in little things such as drawing with his best friend. Back when he was not who he was now.

Yeah, he was bitter about it...

Bucky wasn’t too shabby of an artist per se. He was rather quick with his sketches always able to find the right spot for his next line and even though they weren’t perfect, one could always see what his pictures were meant to present.

Yes, they were crooked and not nearly as good as Steve’s but he had fun with it. Sketching had been an escape for his soul while bombs were exploding only miles away from his camp. It had reminded him of his best friend when they were apart, and most importantly, it taught him patience.

God, so much patience. 

Bucky had never been good with it. Always fast, always right away. But the amount of times Steve made him erase carefully constructed lines and shapes had him feel scolded like a kid.

Later, he was grateful for it.

Now? He hated just touching a pencil. Every time he was reminded of his recovery, of months of frustration and anger, of grief and sadness. All because he’d lost his arm, and with it, all that had brought him joy in life.

When he had to learn to write with his right hand, he screamed at the papers before him, the crooked and shaky lines mocking him with vigor.

You’ll never be the same, they said, You’ll never have true joy back.

He felt like a child. Unable to do the most mundane of tasks, whilst fully aware of what had to be done to get it right.

But he missed it. The way drawing would clear his mind and the ease he felt when thinking of nothing but the next step in the process.

So after a particularly frustrating session with his therapist, Bucky had walked through a gallery on his way home. Beautiful pieces, each more impressive than the next hung on bright white walls until he reached a small corner with sketches and photographs. They weren’t less good than the rest, but other than the huge paintings, they seemed approachable - and they reminded him of times far gone.

“Hello, would you be interested in signing up for a sketching class?” An angelic voice had asked after holding a leaflet into his line of sight. And when he followed the hand up to your face, his breath hitched in his throat.

“I- I don’t think I’d be any good…” he had said with a pitiful smile as his left arm raised next to his head, the sleek silver of his hand shining in the showroom light.

“Oh don’t be silly. Everyone can be an artist.”

And that was all it took.

Now he was here. Sitting in a room with about eight other people, listening to you talk. Though Bucky didn’t pay much attention to your words. He was distracted by the way your lips curved when you spoke, and how your hands looked in the light when you flailed them in the air. He wanted to draw you, only you. But he knew he could never do you justice. And that frustrated him a little.

His first task was easy. A series of connected squiggles and shapes. The second was harder - finding and highlighting familiar motives in his work. But when he tried to connect his shapes, his hand began to tremble and the line on his paper got dented, he huffed in surrender.

A look to the front to you talking with another woman and he was getting off his chair.

This was useless. He should have never come here. 

But when he moved to gather his things, your voice stopped him once again. 

“Oh that’s interesting,” you said with a tilted head, your eyes following the little dent in his drawing. 

“Yeah, I messed it up.” He shook his head and added a careful, much more quiet ‘I always do”.

“You see, it’s only a mistake if you make it one.” You turned to him and smiled and his heart began racing now that all your attention was on him. Bucky looked around to see if anyone noticed, but the other participants were all focused on their work. “I’m not going to tell you that this line isn’t supposed to be the way it is. You alone can decide that.”

You stepped closer as he eyed his paper again. “So, Bucky,” holy crap you remembered his name. And it sounded so good coming from your lips. “Are you gonna make it a mistake or not?”

❁ ❁ ❁

That was a month ago. And Bucky had come to your class every Sunday night since then. But now his crush had only intensified. 

Every time you stepped behind him to watch him work, his hand began to sweat. Every time you gave him a suggestion, his eyes were so drawn to your lips, he barely heard what you were saying. Just yesterday this had caused him to get into a particularly awkward situation. He hadn’t listened, of course - those stupid mesmerizing lips of yours were at fault for it. And when Bucky finally came back from his daydream of imagining what they would feel like on his lips, he knocked over a jar of water as he noticed you had moved next to him. And to make matters even worse, you had caught him talking to himself as he cleaned up the mess. 

Bucky was beyond embarrassed. He wasn’t normally that clumsy, all his moves were calculated. No limb out of control, but when you were around, he seemed to have lost that trait of his - which was actually kind of nice... 

He was in deep. And he didn’t know how to handle it. 

He was contemplating never going back to your class. He would probably end up ruining somebody’s work and - besides - it wasn’t like he could ever work up the courage to ask you out. It was just all too scary. 

“Bucky, is that you?” Bucky froze as he studied the coffee menu above the barista. He was going to order black anyway. But the voice that called out his name almost made him want to pretend he was still studying the sign.

“Bucky.” Your voice came closer and when you were standing next to him, he finally looked at you. And there you were, with a bright smile and a scarf shielding you from the cool fall breeze outside. 

“Oh, hey.” He paused, treading, not knowing what to do with his hands or pretty much any part of his body. At least, in your workshop, he had something to do. “...hey.”

“It’s nice to see you, how’s your homework going?” You rubbed your hands together to warm them and at the sight of your delicate fingers, he felt his cheeks heating up when he imagined holding them. 

“It’s... well, it’s going...” He sighed and watched his feet as they shuffled on the tiled floor. “It’s not going well if I’m being honest.” And with a shy smile, he rubbed the back of his neck, watching as you nodded in understanding. 

“I know it sounds stupid, but sometimes it really helps to just get started without thinking about it too much.”

He chuckled. That was exactly his problem. Because every time he wanted to start, he wondered what you would think about it. And then his thoughts drifted to you entirely and how your neck would bend when you watched him draw over his shoulder, or how your fingers swayed over his artwork to point out the parts you were talking about. God, he loved when you did that. 

“-only if you want, of course.” Your nose crinkled when Bucky’s mind brought him back to the coffee shop again. You were staring at him expectantly, your smile growing nervous with every second he took to register that you had just asked him a question.

Bucky had no idea what you had just said. He had been too lost in his daydream yet again and now he made you look stupid in the middle of this coffee shop. There wasn’t much time to decide what his response would be, but under no circumstance did he want to admit just how scattered he was around you. So without thinking, he just nodded with a tight-lipped smile and willed his knees to stay strong when your eyes brightened.

“Awesome! When are you free?” Free? Did you just ask him out and he hadn’t even paid attention?

“Uh, Sunday?” Bucky stammered as his heart began to pound in his chest. This has got to be a prank. 

You laughed, and Bucky got weak in the knees. “Sunday is workshop, silly.”

Stupid, stupid, Bucky. “Right, uh... Friday then.” The rapid beat in his chest took his breath away.

“Okay, great. Here give me your phone so I can give you my number.”

“You’re–“ Bucky choked as his hands scrambled to fish his phone out of his pocket. “Yes, yeah sure, cool.” Cool? Oh god. 

You took it from him, entered your contact with a little paintbrush emoji, called yourself, and handed it back to his sweaty hand. 

“I’ll text you my address.” You stepped forward to pay and retrieve your coffee, gifting the barista a smile that made him blush - apparently, you were a regular because Bucky did not remember you ordering - but then again - he didn’t really pay attention apparently. “Oh, and bring your art supplies!” 

And then you were out the door, letting crisp air into the cozy coffee shop, and Bucky standing dazed and confused as to what had just happened. 

❁ ❁ ❁

Bucky stared at his phone for the fifth time now, making sure he was in front of the right door before ringing the bell. He was nervous, to say the least. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was on a date, not to mention the last time he felt this nervous about being on one. He was a strong believer in facts but you asking him out had to be a sign from the universe. One he would only get once and he could not screw it up. 

His hands smoothed over his black button-up one last time before adjusting his leather jacket again. Then he rang the bell and not even a minute later, you greeted him with a warm smile and urged him to give you his jacket to hang up. 

“I just made tea, do you want some?” Bucky followed you to the kitchen where the faint but homey scent of pumpkin spice filled the air. He watches as you scrambled to find your oven its and then retrieve something delicious smelling from the oven. “Cookies?” 

“I’m good with tea for now.” He chuckled in awe at how nice your home felt. Once he could tear his eyes away from you, he peered over the kitchen island into your living room, where many different artworks and photographs were displayed on the walls. Every pillow on your sofa had a different color and the blankets sprawled on it and the chair were too inviting for him not to picture the both of you cuddled up beneath them. 

“Alright then, suit yourself. But just know these are my specialty.” You snatched one from the tray before almost dropping it again. “Ouch, hot.”

Bucky felt drawn to the room. With all its warm light and fall-scented candles, hints of read books and discarded crocheting, with a crackling fireplace and soft carpeting. He also felt awfully intimate at the glimpse he got into your life by being here, but he had already declared this place his favorite in his mind. 

“Are you ready?” Bucky turned to you and watched as you padded your hands on your jeans, leaving faint flour prints on the dark denim.

“Ready for what?” He smiled again, he seemed to be unable to stop around you. But he was just so happy to be here, to be close to you, and to finally spend more time with you.

You chuckled and set two cups of tea on the table. “For your sketches. That’s the whole reason you came here for, remember?”

You settled on the ground and padded the sofa for Bucky. But he could just stand there and stare at you while trying to ignore the lump that began to build in his throat. He clenched the bag with his art supplies in his hand and watched as the soft material wrinkled in his grasp.

Of, course. He took a breath. How could he have been so naive? Then stepped towards the sofa. The whole thing had been a mistake. And finally sat down with a heavy smile. 

The sadness was filling him so fast, it threatened to spill right out of him, but Bucky wouldn’t let this little  big  dent in the road be shown in front of you. Instead, he focused on your hands when they pulled his sketch pad from his bag. And your eager smile when you flipped through his failed attempts on the paper. 

The whole atmosphere was wearing a thin layer of sorrow all of a sudden, and Bucky felt his heartache when you leaned over to him to point out the parts you liked the most. Your perfume seemed just that much sweeter as if it were mocking him all of a sudden. 

He didn’t listen. He just watched you with the same longing he’s had ever since he met you. Back to square one. Back to the distance he had with you before he foolishly thought you had asked him out. Except now he’d lost all the confidence left in him to take the next step. 

Bucky let the evening wash over him. Trying to concentrate on your tips and examples, tasting the tea you had offered to him with the sweetest smile. And before he knew it, he was standing in front of your apartment building again - with a box of those pumpkin cookies in hand and a heart that felt heavier than the bricks he was staring at. 

He sighed and began his walk back home.

❁ ❁ ❁

On Sunday he decided that he wouldn’t give up. Bucky didn't know what changed his mind. He just knew that he couldn’t stop thinking about you and him on that incredibly comfortable sofa of yours and the scent of your cedar and cinnamon candle which seemed to linger on his skin for days after his visit. He wanted to play the sketching games he had half-heartedly endured last time and he wanted to become a better artist. 

Bucky had left your cookie box at home as an excuse to meet up with you again. And even though he was sweating ferociously when he approached you after class, you had agreed to meet with him again. 

He’d left the gallery with a bright smile that evening. Excited for the next time he’d see you again and eager with daydreams on the subway home.

You and Bucky met up every week. Every time, spending a little longer not just drawing and it filled his heart with warmth and happiness. You shared laughter, and, in Bucky’s eyes, a growing connection with every passing meeting. 

He learned about your dreams and aspirations and told you about his past, his interests, and his most treasured fantasies.

As weeks turned into months, Bucky found himself drawn to you in more ways than the warmth radiating from your smile he’d noticed the first day he met you, or your talent of calmly helping him in every way possible. He admired your passion for art, your kindness, and your enchanting presence. The fear and the shyness that had gripped him at first, slowly faded away - replaced by a sense of comfort when he was with you. 

And soon he realized that there was nothing he didn’t love about you. This was how he got the courage to, on one calm evening spent on your sofa, between the colorful pillows he had been thinking about falling asleep on for weeks, place his hand in yours and intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I got something for you,” he whispered between dialogues of the Halloween movie playing on TV, watching as your eyes aimed up at him with curiosity. 

With reluctance, he peeled himself out of the warm blanket you shared and trudged to the sketchbook hidden in his bag. The initial idea had been dipped in silly confidence. But it was too late to back out now. He’d already told you about it. 

So despite his nervous heartbeat, Bucky came back to the sofa and handed you the book. 

“Open it,” he nudged when you carefully inspected the black leather binding, unaware of the confession hidden beneath. 

And when you did, he felt he could read every expression on your face like a poem. 

The book was filled with sketches of you. The first pages were scattered in hasty pencil drawings, misplaced lines, and unintentional dents. Then followed the section in which he had tried to pay attention to detail. The curve of your nose or the arch of your fingers when they pointed at his artwork. He could see them now, hovering over the sketches himself, and when you turned to the last page of the section, he could see the striking resemblance between them. And so did you. On the next turn, you revealed the latest portraits he’d added to the book - finally confident enough to attempt doing what he saw you as justice, to finally look past his mistakes - or happy little accidents as you called them - and just try it. 

Bucky had discovered that your weekly sketch sessions had done him good. And that you had secretly given him back what he had mourned after for so long.

“I couldn’t keep my eyes off you from the moment we met.” He whispered still, too afraid to break the moment you’d just created. “Thought it was time for me to tell you.”

Your eyes were glassy when you tore them from the pages in your hand, a shaky laugh escaping your lips when Bucky beamed down at you. “You did all of this for me-”

“Because of you,” he corrected and wiped a lonely tear from your cheek. “I never thought I could get the joy of drawing back until you showed me how.”

Bucky leaned in closer until your noses touched. “How to be less critical of myself.” He closed his eyes and let his hand linger on your skin. “And how to welcome a mistake by making it an accident-” 

And before he could finish that sentence, he felt your lips press to his and your warm hands wrap around his neck to pull him into your body. Bucky shivered in excitement, letting his hands trail down your back and falling into the soft cushions of your sofa while he pressed you to his chest protectively.

He sighed into the kiss, feeling his heart burn with excitement. 

Fascinating, how fast a mistake can turn into a happy little accident. 

I love you Bob Ross <3

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[fawnprincessblog]

𝒜𝓃𝓰𝓮𝓁'𝓈 𝒹𝓮𝓋𝓮𝓁𝓸𝓅𝓂𝓮𝓃𝓉 𝒹𝒾𝒶𝓇𝓎.

(part 1: 'the praise and some coffee') type: slow burn, fluff (tom kaulitz 2015 × fem reader)

includes : teacher × student, childish annoying immature school girl who's name is Angel (you), teacher tom, wannabe teacher's pet, age gap. tom is 25, angel is 17. plot : angel, a young, childish and innocent honour student was shunned by her schoolmates due to her being a teacher's pet, but none of that mattered whenever she ran into her favorite teacher, Tom, that she so deeply admired, who she swears on her life she will serve until the day she dies. despite being favourited by many other teachers, tom does not favour her due to her clingy behaviour. she may be smart but her hormones play a huge part in her schooling life as well.

bambi's note! : hello sweeties :3 i don't really wanna explain much but i think you guys will be sick of hearing the same lame excuse to why i disappear quite frequently. writer block makes me want to suicide sometimes, i've been trying my hardest to write, this took me months to finally put tgt. crazy that it's short too. i have drafts from last year in my docs. im also an art student, so it makes it hard to tackle both things rn. anyway, have fun reading part one of 'Angel's development diary ' :3

“Everyone now turn to page 74,” Tom instructs, his voice sharp and echoing across the classroom. The whole room was silent, only he could be heard. Nobody would disrespect a man like him, for he was rather strict, and serious, his only intention being to get his point across and educate his students. That’s what the majority saw in him. 

Well, except for one person. That was Angel. The honour student of her class.

Angel saw what other people did not care about. Despite being the very sophisticated and refined teacher everyone knew, to her he was so much more. Tom was a young, 25 year-old Maths teacher. She admired that strong body structure of his, and the way his face features all fit together. The way his hair was always worn in a messy bun, a few strands poking out the front, had just added to his good looks. He wasn’t over-dressed, like those wannabe scientists-looking teachers in her physics classes; he was rather usually seen in t-shirts. On special occasions, she got to see him in a suit. 

He wasn’t the kind to play around. He expected all his students to pass his class with flying colours, not one left behind. In fact, all teachers wished the same. In such a popular and very high-class school, of course every single student had to be well-behaved and supremely knowledgeable.

The school Angel went to was one with a high standard of academic and extracurricular achievements. It has a strong emphasis on academics and often has a highly selective acceptance rate, which makes it difficult to get in. She was quite lucky. The campus has beautiful architecture, state-of-the-art facilities, and ample resources for students' academic and personal development. The faculty members are very well-educated and experienced in their respective fields, and the school often has a high student-teacher ratio. The students are often from wealthy families with a strong academic focus, and the school often boasts a high graduation rate. 

Coming from such a school that was great and had put Angel’s reputation in great hands meant no mistakes were to be made at all. She had to maintain her good grades. And one thing is for sure: she couldn’t possibly keep having dirty thoughts about her teacher. 

“Hey, you,” Tom called out, snapping his fingers twice. “Angel?” 

She snapped out of her trance almost immediately, a little startled by his tone. “Oh—yes?” she responds, heat evidently rising in her cheeks the moment he had called out her name. Oh, when he said her name, it only served to heighten her arousal. His voice was so strong and firm, it made her squirm in her seat like a damn worm. All those dirty thoughts wouldn’t go away. 

“Are you gonna pay attention? Or is daydreaming the only thing you like to do?” Tom asked, folding his muscular arms across his chest, staring right into her soul. He had this scary glare that usually put most students in fear, but to her, it was attractive. His dominant demeanour when teaching a lesson made her imagine all these horrendous things, like how he was in bed. 

“N-No—! Um, I was listening,” Angel responds, clearing her throat. She shifted a little in her seat, tugging at the hem of her red plaid skirt. She was wet. So uncomfortably wet and aroused, she would’ve probably left a stain on the chair if she had gotten up.

“I hope so,” Tom grunted, turning back to the chalkboard to continue writing those endless amounts of Math sums. It was overwhelming to look at; all of the numbers bunched together, the dusty residue of the chalk making it even worse. It was a lot to take in, however that was just how it was. 

His teaching continued, his voice loud and clear. Angel diligently started writing down her notes, trying to keep up with his pace. Being such a good student, she had become fond of his teachings, and she was expected to have one of the highest marks among the rest, even if everyone else was already good. 

An honour student. That’s what she was. Supposedly, she was the teacher’s pet. 

She did well, joined every possible club and involved herself in every school event, making sure she was obtaining high merit points that boosted her reputation in her school. Angel was simply a good little girl that most teachers did like, but the other students, and for some reason, Tom, did not like her. They found her exasperating. 

The bell rings. Class is over, and Tom is preparing a stack of worksheets to hand out to the class on the way out. “Alright class, tomorrow I wanna see all your worksheets full of numbers. All correct and no mistakes. I believe I’ve taught you all enough on this topic, so I expect perfect answers,” he announces. “You can pack up and leave now.” 

“Sir!” Angel calls out, rising from her seat abruptly, making everyone else pause from their packing up. Majority rolled their eyes. “You forgot to take attendance. Usually you take attendance every morning before class but since you forgot the checklist you said you would—”

“Right, right, okay,” Tom interrupts, an exasperated sigh followed right after. Clearly, he was pissed. Angel was quite aware that he disliked her try-hard behaviour, in fact, she was aware everyone did. Of course as an honour student she was made to please the teachers with good grades and behaviour, but the other students knew clearly she acted the most clingy around Tom. She saw past his strict demeanour and she acted like a child around him. Always trying to point out the simplest things, always reminding him about his meetings, always trying to get him his coffee, always trying to help him out at any damn chance she got— Angel was desperate and needy for his love. She was willing to make him love her. She wanted to be his favourite student. 

He notwithstanding, saw her as a confounded girl who was beating a dead horse. A try-hard, annoying, clingy little bitch that stuck to him like a damn tick. It irritated him when she acted like his little servant. 

But Angel liked it. She didn’t care. 

“Since you wanna help so much, get the checklist for me,” Tom tells her rather bluntly, clicking a pen in his hand as he speaks. Angel’s ears perk up at his request. “What? Really?” she asks, eyes full of joy. That annoying excited voice—it made his ears bleed.

“Go get it, it's in my office,” Tom says. “And hurry. Your classmates wanna leave class.” 

“Consider it done, sir!” she enthused, immediately dashing towards the door and running straight to his office. Like a little slave, she did everything for him.

Recess time. One of the times where Angel would bother her favourite teacher the most. Even if she was trying to be helpful, she usually came off as a nuisance. He was an earnest and disciplined man, always keeping up with his set schedule. During break he’d grab coffee in the teacher’s lounge, discuss some things with his colleagues, or he’d take the coffee straight to his office so he can finish up paperwork. However he wasn’t the only one who kept to his schedule…

“Hi sir,” she greeted excitedly, grinning like an idiot. She blocked him, not allowing him to continue walking through the school hallway, which was empty since everyone else was at the cafeteria. “Where will you be taking yourself to today? Do you need help with anything?

He lets out a breath, trying his hardest to not let her irritate him right now. Angel being around him was something he couldn’t possibly avoid. It was an everyday thing now. “No,” he said simply. He then looked around. “Do I look like I need help?” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. Angel could tell, but she couldn’t be bothered. 

“You may not be holding anything that I could help you carry, but there’s other things I can help with,” Angel says. “Like, your coffee. Do you want me to get your coffee?” She was just so damn innocent  acting like a maid trying to please him with every chance she got. She really acted like life was all unicorns and rainbows, like she had not a single issue in the world.

“For the last time, I can get it myself. You’ve been asking this everyday now,” Tom sighs. “Shouldn’t you be eating? It’s recess. Go eat.”

“I already have,” Angel replies with that annoying giggle right after, making him clench his jaw. She was insufferable. That giggle was ingrained into his mind. He could recognise it from a mile away. 

“Okay, good. Now if you don’t mind, you can just mov—”

“One sachet of the coffee mix, two teaspoons of sugar and some milk to top it off,” she interrupted, making him raise an eyebrow. “You use the blue mug. Always the blue mug,” she added.

“You know my coffee?” he asked, a little disturbed by her knowledge on how he liked his coffee. His eyes narrowed to slits, peering at her.

“Yep,” she replies, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. To him, she was a complete stalker at this point. “You have about 12 minutes to go to the teacher’s lounge and get your coffee, and return back to your office to finish marking off the recent test you gave us before you have to rush to the meeting you have with Mr.Harrison about the new changes we’re making to the school’s mural art.” 

“What?” he said, almost wanting to laugh in disbelief. That was way too many words for him to comprehend. “You know my schedule?” 

“Well I memorised it,” she shrugged. “Tuesday’s and Fridays you stay in your office during break. All the other days you’re eating at the teacher’s lounge.

What the hell, he thought, looking at her with the most perplexed look he’s ever plastered onto his perfect face. “What are you doing, stalking me? My schedule is printed on paper and left in the drawer of my desk—”

“It’s also printed in my mind,” she joked, pointing a finger to her temple. 

He looks at her, bewildered. Completely uneasy. He didn’t like this. He knew she always had this weird thing for him, but he didn’t think she was this peculiar, knowing his schedule and all. Tom was taken aback by her behaviour, but he remained unruffled for now. It wasn’t too surprising, since she had been doing this for a while; asking him if she could get his coffee, but he had always declined. In the past, she had been randomly reminding him about his meetings, or anything he planned to do on that day, which he also found annoying, but today she really surprised him, wording out his entire plan for today.  

He cleared his throat. “Well, I know my own schedule, I don’t need you to tell me,” he says.

“I know. You’re very smart. But, I figured you’d like help,” she says, grinning. 

He had to get rid of her. This damn pest of a student. “I don’t. Not right now. So, If you don’t mind, Angel, please move aside so I can go.” He tries to walk past her, but she stubbornly blocks him again. 

“C’mon, I’m sure you need someone to get your coffee,” Angel insisted, looking at him with those set of pathetic eyes, ones that he insanely hated to look at. She was small, pretty, and sweet, but she was tiring. He didn’t like her. “Angel…” he sighed, wanting to snap at her, but he held back; he may be strict, but there was no reason to be shouting at a student who just wanted to help so badly, right? “...Fine. Get my coffee, bring it to my office. Now.” he finally relented, looking down at her rather annoyed that he had forced himself to give in. Oh, she really had her ways. 

“Yes, sir!” Angel exclaims, smiling widely, and she dashed off, disappearing immediately. Tom folded his arms, watching the pesky little girl run off to get his coffee like a slave. She obeyed him so much, wanting to do anything just for his attention. He chuckled a little, he couldn’t help himself.

“One coffee,” she says, placing the blue ceramic mug onto his desk slowly, as if she were a waitress. Tom had been busy on his computer, going over some emails while waiting. She had returned rather quickly. Tom flashed her a faint smile, and he took the cup, taking a small sip. She had got it right. It tasted exactly like how he wanted. 

Wait for the praise, wait for the praise, Angel thought in her mind, eagerly looking at him for a positive reaction with big, innocent eyes. 

“It’s exactly how I like it, Angel,” Tom finally says, looking up at her. He noticed her small hands fidgeting with the hem of her school skirt. “Good job,” he finally praised, his voice low and soothing. 

Angel’s cheeks immediately flushed pink. Everytime he gave her praise, her arousal hit her like a brick. She couldn’t contain herself. She could already feel herself soaking her panties. “N-No problem, sir…” Angel says, her lips slowly curling into a nervous grin. She squeezed her thighs together a little, trying to contain herself. 

“You may go now,” he says. 

“Y-Yes,” she nods, bowing a little as a sign of respect. She then left.

Tom did not know the effect he had on this girl. If only he could ease that ache.

[distant--shadow]

The witch and the widow chapters 1-4 author’s notes

Ok, so first off I feel I gotta preface this by saying I am absolutely not a history buff. Kinda the opposite of one really. I was one of less than 10% of the kids in my year of 300 or so that didn’t take history at GCSEs, mostly caus a subject taught and based around names and dates etc is the definition of something not suited for my type of brain, also I hugely lost interest in it caus we moved past the fun trebuchet eras and all that real fast and it became of slog of me falling asleep in lessons caus I had a teacher whose method was putting on movies and shutting the blinds (I’d always fall asleep and he was later jailed for being a p*edophile, so that’s a thing.) Anyway, all that to say I’m not good at this shit, but as ive gotten older I have taken a bigger interest in queer history in particular, and that often if not always links into other areas such as fashion, women’s rights, religion,the arts, class, and race etc. (I’m still not good at names and dates though!)

They are outfitted and arsenalled - the stones of the wall - in a manner to rival any army; tapestries of red and gold perhaps once brandished on battlefield as banners promenading around death now retired and indoor-still-air-still as taxidermy giving colour between all of the shades of metal, burnished and polished and in some cases rusting, some still purposefully left blood-stained, swords and pikes and maces arranged in wallpaper patterns as though flowers or fans, sword-sheath beams spreading from chest-plate armour suns.

Let’s start with something easy and recent. The Baron’s armoury was inspired by a few castles I’ve visited, these rooms are always so bizarre to me. I don’t know if this is at all of the time/how they were decorated or a more recent thing, but either way it’s pretty wild but I do love the visual and metaphor of it. In this one castle I found out from talking about the carpentry to an attendant that the decorative ceiling work around the chandelier above the dining room table actually hid a trapdoor - and there was other hidden doorways for passages and to secret rooms in this castle, that’s not that unusual - but this particular trapdoor was to allow for the chandeliers to be switched out. Why? Caus they had them in multiple colours of glass, and the lady of the castle liked the chandelier to co-ordinate with her dress if they were having guests round. Aint that such a flex? Definitely some food for future thought.

Aight. Clothing. So anyone that chats fic/au to me or is in my server has probably heard me yell to go watch Kaz Rowe’s videos many times. As I’ve said this fic aint meant to be historically accurate but it does kinda straddle histories, one of which being our own; so women wearing trousers and the like at this time would still be a crime, and draw a lot of attention . Imogen in men’s clothing genuinely isn’t meant to be much of a gender thing but a thing of practicality, and she has mostly lived in the countryside or in the outskirts, so she does not get into the trouble she would should she go into the towns and cities (another reason to keep away past the potential noise, but this Imogen will happily don a dress or skirts if she needs to, she’s just usually working – and maybe it’s a bonus that dressing as a man acts as a sort of flagging for any women who might be interested lol.)

I guess here I should mention how I think this version of Imogen's powers and how they’ve manifested (along with everyone else being unaware of them) will have somewhat changed her disposition and personality, it is a lot more aligned with later campaign Imogen who has more confidence and empowerment, she hasn’t been ostracised for her abilities or particularly bombarded by them, think more like when she has her circlet on, she chooses to listen in (mostly), although of course she has still heard many terrible things (and her life has still been pretty brutal but that’s to be written still).

(it’ll be really fun in this regard getting to explore and explain this version of Laudna, but early days for giving much away on that yet!)

Her skirts are full and structured and plumed by many layers of petticoats that hide the movement of her feet across the wildflower lawn, causing her to appear to be drifting like the bees do from petal to petal, pollen dusting her pleats though ghostly her skin in contrast to the fine fabrics that she dresses for the part, black in mourning, still, bodice tight and sleeve leg of mutton, an ornate decorative layer of black lace laying over each yard of textured textile like spider webs on porcelain patterns, her husband's tableware collecting dust in the kitchen cupboard.

real impractical for how tending towards practical the Lady dares to be, hands on, too busy for errant hairs in piano key ivory and ebony windswept and loose from the high bun she pins in place with a cameo broach, a memento mori engraved in silver and inlayed with ruby eyes and tied with red ribbons. Her skin also proudly displays the age and perhaps trauma that her hair does, lines from laughter and furrowed brows and the feet of the crows that cry from the top of the chimney pots

A little note as to say that Laudna’s appearance is heavily influenced by Victorian mourning wear, with some of the clothes cuts altered to be a little bit more regency and earlier in places. (her  attire is a little outdated, further suggesting her distancing from society and fashion)

A couple of days ago Imogen happened upon a bird with an injured wing, crying helplessly and rolling in circles, feathers taking flight away from the bird that could not, settling around it as it panicked itself bald-

The bird could not live without the use of its wing, and it didn’t, whether that was by Prosciutto or a fox, only its feathers were left in a pile.

Imogen had gathered them into an empty burlap sack; taken them to one of the maids downstairs to clean, repurpose them for filling pillows.

Here’s a silly little easter egg for my p(r)oof reader. Last time he visited we was enjoying a cinnamon roll from the local bakery by the city river (as you do) and a cyclist hit a seagull. It was real distressing, the seagull was distressed too. A handfull of middle aged women stood around it not wanting or knowing how to intervene as its wing was twisted at a crazy angle and it flapped about in a pile of its own feathers, there’s still bird flu about so it is wise to not touch wild birds, and as bleak as it is I was saying to freshy that a wild bird who’s wings broken like that is gonna die, and probably slowly and painfully. Some man came along and lifted up the bird to take the bird off the path and laid it to rest behind an old bridge building, I think he must have mercy killed it too as the bird was already dead when we walked past 10 or so minutes later after finishing our cinnamon roll and giving a cautious glance. So there’s a nice happy memory thrown in there for him.

what appears to be driftwood breaches the surface, then another point, then another

the water belches

Ceviche scares, whinnying as he rears onto his back legs, the Lady leaning forward and clinging to his harness. Imogen stands in her stirrups, leaning across the gap over to the black stallion, grasping his reins and cooing

“All good, boy, all good-”

What had appeared to be driftwood lands on the surface with a slap, looking like the carcass of an old boat left to rot in the muddy bed of a dock, timber ribcaged and leathered skin cladding.

A femur surfaces, followed by a jaw.

Second easter egg for the p(r)oof is a quick one (I’m such a considerate writer, I know.) On a train ride to a loch we went to for a day out there is a stop that is on another lake/body of water, and right by the train tracks (which are at water height) there are 4 or 5 old ships stuck in the mud, most of them just the frames/structures of the old boats, mostly wood and some bits of metal, but they’re pretty big boats! It really looks like whale carcasses. I’ve always wanted to get of there and check it out, and we were gonna stop by on the way back but my health being what it is was giving me some grief that day so we missed 2 trains and then soon the daylight, so hopefully next time buddy.

There’s alotta meat and gore talk and Imogen being a vegetarian without the label for such is just another way of me playing round with all of her complex feelings about what the Lady might be doing, her feelings towards Angharad butchering and nourishing the women with these communal stews and all of that. I’ve been vegetarian myself for 20 years now, and it was all triggered by an existential crisis in my mid teens (still a huge fan of leather and blood though) – Imogen greatly cares about animals, struggles with the thought of anything being slaughtered, she is in some ways more empathetic than most because she knows those she does on so much more of a personal level, really feels how someone is reacting to a situation they are in, but also because of this she knows humans are often corrupt and vile and she is spared such thoughts from animals, only knows their instincts and the love and comfort and service they bring – and yet she will obsess over the Lady’s (potential) tooling on that saddlework leather that’s really fucking brutal if she thinks about it one way and beautiful if she thinks about it another hmmm what if everything’s not black and white.

Oh, and the stew is a homage to @picturesofthegoneworlds’ pre-campaign fic Intertwined which I am lucky enough to co-parent and her writing is hugely influential on mine.

There’s a few things being bread crumb trailed here that I can’t explain in the author notes yet, but I’m looking forward to when I can. One small detail I will give away is just a silly thing about the chapter headings. They are something of significance from within the chapter, given in its ‘proper’ name – maybe someone gets access to some books to do research at some point?

anyways, thanks @astoriacolumnstaircase for enabling me. will do another post like this for future chapters if folks find it interesting.

[artssslut2]

Unexpected: Part Five

Stanford!Art x Pregnant!Reader

Summary: You and Art find out the gender of your baby… and some other news.

You were 20 weeks pregnant now with your best friend Art Donaldsons baby, well now he was your boyfriend. Things were going well, you loved living at his families beach house, it really wasn’t so bad. After Art was done with tennis for the day and you were off work you would spend your evenings at the beach relaxing. Art was loving all your hormones because they usually made you want to fuck him three times a day. He was exhausted from it but didn’t mind. It felt like you were teenagers again, you’d sneak off from friends or do it in public. Everything was fitting into place now that you and Art had faced your feelings for each other. He would remind you one hindered times a day of how much he loved you. You and Art were waiting for the baby to kick, impatiently. Art wanted to be surprised with the gender he thought it would be fun. You agreed but now had second thoughts.

You laid in bed at night with your boyfriends head laying on your chest like a puppy and his hand over your little bump. A show played mindlessly in the background, you could feel art drifting to sleep. You couldn’t hold back your anxiety anymore you had to talk to him,

“Art?” You said quietly, Art shot his head up right away being pulled from his light slumber

“Yeah, what is it babe, do you need something?” He asked his eyes still closed. You giggled to yourself and brought a hand up to brush his curls away from his face

“No no, I just… I don’t think we should wait to find out the gender.” You said quickly trying to be cool about it but failing. Art didn’t say anything he just fluttered his eyes open. You held your breath, you thought he was going to be heartbroken over it for some reason

“Okay.” Is all he replied casually

“W-What are you sure?” You hesitated surprised at his response,

“If that’s what you want babe. Let’s find out tomorrow… is that it?” He said yawning, you chuckled at his response with relief.

“Yeah that’s all.” You smiled guiding his head back to your chest. You continued petting his hair and scratching his bare back. You smiled to yourself in contentment. You thought about how you once stuffed all feelings down for your best friend and couldn’t imagine this ever working out. Now here you were in bed together on a random Tuesday with a baby on the way. It almost made you tear up but that was just hormones.

You woke up to an empty bed, Art had left for his training. Over the summer you were packing in as many online classes as you could so you could hopefully graduate early. Whenever you could you would pick up CNA shifts wherever they were needed.

You walked into the kitchen to get something to eat before starting your classes for the day. You spotted a small note on the fridge.

“Sunny’s Bakery is delivering a cake at 2 with the gender inside. Love you. Order breakfast and put it on my card” it was arts slightly sloppy handwriting with a little heart at the bottom. You couldn’t hold back the hormone tears falling down your face at the thought of Art doing all that at the last minute for you. Now you were full on crying because you missed your boyfriend, which was silly of course. You had never been the clingy type but pregnancy you was a whole different you. You wanted to be inside Arts skin, if he would even leave the room and not tell you where he was going you would feel so sad. Art loved that you were acting more clingy because he is naturally clingy all the time.

You had worked through your latest mood swing and got ready for the day then got to work on your classes. You were so excited, you could hardly wait. Art finally got home a little after three, the cake sat on the kitchen counter untouched.

“Baby let’s do it right now!” You squealed jumping into his arms. Art laughed and set his bag down and grabbed you.

“Okay let me just shower quickly.” He told you, still all sweaty from practice. You frowned

“Artttt, I can’t wait anymore” you pouted looking at him with big eyes, Art kissed your forehead quickly then pulled away

“I’ll be five minutes. Promise.” Art told you while he went to the bathroom. You groaned out loud and flopped onto the couch.

Sure enough Art had been in the bathroom longer than five minutes, you got up to see where he was. You jiggled the bathroom door handle but it was locked

“Art? What’s taking so long…. And why is the door locked?” You shouted over the running water. He never locked the door in case you wanted to join him.

“Sorry babe I’ll be out in two seconds!” He said frantically. That was weird you thought but you let it go. Little did you know that art was trying to wrap a present for you but wasn’t doing too well because this was the first present he’s ever wrapped.

Finally Art was finished in the bathroom and came out into the kitchen with his hair still slightly damp. He kissed you and you could smell his minty soap and shampoo.

“Ready?” He smiled, he already knew the answer, you nodded eagerly and art chuckled. You got two glasses out, you and Art were both going to press down into the cake with them and lift them up to see if it was pink or blue inside. It was a sweet little intimate moment because you weren’t a fan of big parties.

“What do you think it is?” You asked him,

“I think it’s a girl.” He answered unsure of himself,

“Why?” You asked, you also thought it was but weren’t sure why,

“I don’t know I guess I’ve just kind of pictured a little girl running around. But either one is gonna be perfect.” He told you putting a hand on your stomach.

“Me too.” You said putting a hand over his.

“Let’s do this then” he said getting impatient, you both grabbed a glass

“Okay now don’t look, we will go on three” you instructed pushing his face in the opposite direction of the cake. He had a huge smile on his face the whole time. You looked at him for a minute, with love In your eyes and thought to yourself how much you loved him.

“1…2…3!” You counted together. You looked into each others eyes while you pushed into the cake.

“Okay now look” you giggled, you both looked and saw the color

“Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” You yelled with. Very shocked look on your face, you looked at Art who was in total shock.

“Y/N! I can’t believe it!” He said with tears in his eyes, he pulled you into him and his face buried in your shoulder as you squealed with excitement, you couldn’t believe it either.

“We’re having a girl art! A daughter.” You cried holding his face to yours, art had tears streaming down his face, “baby are you okay?” You giggled kissing his tears,

“Of course, I just- I’m-… I’ve never been this happy. I can’t believe that we’re having a baby. A baby girl” he cried while smiling, tears fell on your face too

“I know baby me too. I wouldn’t change a thing.” Saying this meant a lot to him because sometimes art wondered if you would rather have things the old way.

“I love you so much y/n y/l/n” he kissed your forehead then he bent down and kissed your belly. “You too little girl” he whispered then he stood up and pulled something out of his back pocket. “I got you something” he said handing you a small wrapped box. You opened you mouth in surprise. You smiled at him then opened it eagerly. You pulled a Tiffany’s jewelry box out then opened it. It was a necklace a gold necklace with a diamond heart. You gasped seeing it, it looked incredibly expensive but of course you didn’t care about that. “Art.” You spoke in a gasp, he was smiling from ear to ear

“Take it out” he smiled, you carefully lifted it up and saw something engraved on the back, you looked and saw “♾️ & beyond” in tiny print. It was a reference to you and Arts favorite movie as kids, Toy Story. Tears prickled your eyes again and you looked up and him,

“I just wanted to thank you for giving me the best gift in the world” he told you “But I’ll be thanking you for the rest of my life.” You were full on crying now,

“Art you can’t do this to me when I’m so hormonal” you sobbed into his chest and he laughed, stroking your hair. He took the necklace from you and put it on you. You kissed him with passion. You and Arts hands fell to your bump.

“We’re gonna have a little girl” you told him smiling. He looked over to the empty cake box with the label on it “Sunny’s Bakery”

“You know… Sunny is kind of a cute name” he smirked

“No way.” You laughed, as you shook your head then Arts phone rang. It was his coach so he stepped out to answer. You licked frosting off your finger and thought about the name Sunny. Maybe it was kind of cute you thought to yourself.

Art came back into the room but didn’t look thrilled, he had a weird look on his face.

“Whats wrong, what did he say” you asked walking over to him. Art paused and took a breath,

“He said I’m going on tour next month.” Both of your faces dropped.

[ivy-elle]

Carry The Moon / Part 3

Xiangli Yao x Reader

Summary: From first meetings to searching your voice in every room, how very intriguing you’ve become to him.

As a spirited adventurer, you’re used to a life of action and impulse, having little interest left for the world of data and deduction. But when you stumble upon a rare mineral, you find yourself drawn to the unexpected warm soul that resides within the logic-stricken researcher Xiangli Yao. And as your practical instincts clash with his world of science, sparks fly in more ways than one.

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2 ~~~ Part 3

When Xiangli Yao enters the Academy this morning, his eyes instinctively search for your presence. Perhaps he’ll catch a glimpse of you in the archives or hear the trace of your voice echoing somewhere in the hallways.

He has noticed your reluctance towards the art of science, and perhaps even the Academy as such. And yet, he finds it – you - amusing, in a way it’s impossible for him to deny. Your presence, along with your effortless humour has brought a refreshing change to his usual structured days and the rigid atmosphere of the Academy.

With one last subtle glance around the Academy’s halls – gathered with people who aren’t you – a certain strange sense of disappointment settles over him, and thus his day goes on in its usual rhythm.

---

Your sole reason for returning to the Academy is to ask Xiangli Yao about the data logs he sent you yesterday morning.

But the moment you reach the archives in the late afternoon, you stop dead in your tracks as you notice the stuffed crowd of people. And up there on the pedestal? None other than Xiangli Yao himself.

Wait, he’s a teacher? Or professor. Or whatever else his fancy title is.

You haven’t been aware. Then again, with his rank and brainpower, it’d be a waste not to have him teach other smarties.

And it’s quiet. Like seriously dead quiet for a class. You can hear the sound of your shoes scuffing the polished floor, that’s how hard everyone is clinging to his every word.

Great.

With no way out that wouldn’t cause a fuss, you’re stuck here for the rest of the lecture. At least you’ve found refuge in the farthest corner of the room, where you can at least breathe normally.

Then your eyes settle on Yao. And as much as you’ve made fun of the zombie-like scholars around you, your words come back to bite your ass the second you start listening to him. It isn’t… it’s not quite what he’s teaching – something about auto-mechanics, or whatever. But it is more the way he is drawing you in. Drawing every one in. An older guy next to you is fervently writing along in his little notebook, not daring to miss a word that leaves Yao’s mouth.

Damn it, he’s good. For a science guy.

He manages to pull the crowd into his world, making it seem like he genuinely cares about the publicum. Which, knowing what you’ve learned about him so far, he most likely does.

Xiangli Yao is standing next to the blackboard, gesturing to a few sketches to emphasize his explanations. “Many times, in your careers, you will find yourself at a dead-end, caught between what seems possible and what feels just beyond reach.”

He circles a particular sketch and crosses out another one. “It is inevitable to face the limits of your knowledge, and research won’t always bring you forward.”

His gaze sweeps across the room, ensuring he makes eye contact with as many students as possible. Then his eyes find a familiar face among the crowd of listeners.

Your eyes meet and you could’ve sworn his expression softens for a second.

“But sometimes,” he continues still holding your gaze, “you will only bypass that blockage with enough dedication, courage and of course a little bit of madness.”

An amused smirk tugs at your lips, knowing full well the subtle nod in his words was directed at you.

Once the lesson has ended, quite the crowd of students immediately gathers around him and starts swarming him with questions and requests for further explanations.

You remain standing a little stand-off-fish-like in your little corner, waiting for him to handle his affairs. Heavens, you hate that feeling of being crammed into a room, even if ‘s a whole-ass lecture hall.

“Unauthorised personnel are not permitted to attend or observe lessons.”

Too caught up in your thoughts, it takes you a minute to realize the man is addressing you. You blink, turning to him. “Hm?”

“These lessons could contain sensitive information or discussions, not yet approved for public dissemination. Please remain outside.”

You take a step back, eyes falling to the name card pinned on his chest that reads Shiyan. But it’s the monocle and his air superiority that outs him as a clearly pompous ass.

There you go. A true member of the Academy. You’ve already started to get worried that Xiangli Yao is messing up your statistics with his unforeseen kindness and all.

You drag your gaze back up to Shiyan’s eyes, which are fixed on you with thinly veiled contempt.

You lift your chin slightly, meeting his stare. “I’m here on commission. Do you want my pass?” You don’t exactly have a pass – just that commission from Mortefi a few days ago. But that should do its job if you use the right words.

But Shiyan, too, is persistent. “I’m sorry, but I must still ask you to wait outside until authorized personnel will retrieve you. This room is not for the common folk.”

Common folk, my ass. What is this? You huff at his arrogance. “This is basically a library. I’m not here to steal your precious knowledge.”

“Mortefi will not be pleased to have a-“

But whatever subtle insult he is about to throw at you next, the words get stuck in his throat.

“Shiyan,” Xiangli Yao’s voice is gentle, but firm. “Thank you for your concern, but y/n is authorized to be here. They are my partner in a project we’re conducting.”

You look towards Yao, grateful for his interference, otherwise this might have ended up slightly awkward. His eyes find their way to you for a moment, before focusing back on his colleague.

Shiyanhesitates, clearly reluctant to have you stroll around his holy Academy halls, but in the end, he complies with a stiff incline of his head. “Please, next time, ensure your guests wait outside the lecture hall, Mr. Xiangli.”

Yao nods in return, and Shiyan finally leaves.

Tipping your head back against the wall, you regard Yao with a blissful expression “Alright, partner. Are you free of duty now?”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, making some dimples appear as he turns to you. “Yes. I’m all yours now.”

“Oh, I’m afraid, you shouldn’t say those things, pretty boy.”

---

“Speaking of,” you exclaim a little while later, turning around and leaning back against the counter in his workshop. “I noticed some discrepancies in your notes to what I saw at the Sea of Flames.”

Xiangli Yao leans forward in his seat. “Discrepancies? Of what sort?”

“In your reports, you’ve mentioned the blue kind of Ardores Lapis. But when I went back yesterday morning, I found crystals in different colours. Similar structure, but definitely not the same. I could be wrong of course, and it might be a different species altogether. But… does that ring any bells?”

“A new species?” Yao’s brows furrow in thought. “Huh, I haven’t come across that specific aspect in any of my research. If that's true and there are variations of the crystal…”

His expression shifts into one you’ve become familiar with over these past days. Zoning out, mentally connecting dots, running through the endless data the man has stored in that brain of his. Clearly, the revelation of anomalies has left him quite intrigued.

You let him pounder for a bit, your gaze idly wandering across his workshop. The high ceilings, with lamps hanging low, cast the room with a bluish glow. It should feel stifling, but somehow, you’re rather hit with an unexpected wave of calmness instead.

“Could I ask you for yet another favour?”

You turn to meet his eyes. “Damn, you’re about to be the main contributor to this week’s salary,” you joke. Sort of… “Shoot, prof.”

“Would you allow me to join you on yet another trip to the Sea of Flames?”

You can’t help but raise a sceptical eyebrow. “Um… sure. But as you’ve noted, it’s not exactly an all-sunshine and rainbow place. There are a lot of TDs gathering there.”

“Are you questioning my combat abilities?” He tilts his head and smiles, and the way his eyes look at you makes your heart skip a beat. “I appreciate your concern, but I can assure you, my skills as a resonator and fighter won’t weigh you down. I promise. Besides, I'd like to test out the new update I added to my mecha arm in the field.”

Your gaze flickers to his prosthetic arm, noticing the resonator insignia there for the first time. A true wonder of the stars.

“Very well. But if I have to save your ass, I’m doubling my fee.”

“Deal.”

Being more of a lone wolf, you’re not exactly used to having someone join you on missions - let alone in a fight. And a part of you dreads to be responsible not just for your own life, but also for the life of the damn protégée science guy with eyes deeper than the universe.

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs are so appreciated

Part 1 ~~~ Part 2 ~~~ Part 3 ~~~ (Next Part coming soon)

[dirtytransmasc]

Spider and Tuk being the bestest siblings ever and spider being the mvp big brother we all know he is hc's (modern + adopted spi au addition):

Before he could drive he would wait at Tuk's bus stop to get her off the bus. He insisted on doing it to "ease the workload on his parents" (since with Jake and Neytiri's work schedule, Tuk would have to go to an afterschool program and someone would have to pick her up) which it does, but it was really cause he liked to have the quality time with Tuk.

On their walk home he would ask her about school. He asks about what she did, if she brought anything home she wanted to show him (normally stuff from art class), if she did anything special or fun, that sort of stuff. He also stays up to date on her school gossip and makes sure no one's bothering his baby sis.

They hold hands the whole walk home, and more often than not he ends up carrying her or her bag for her.

Once he gets his license he picks her up from school and fills the 45 minute-ish time she would have normally spent on the bus and walking home at the park or getting ice cream or something else of the like.

When they get home he makes sure to look at anything she brought home. All the cool stuff first; art, school work she's proud of, a pretty pebble, or the occasional half wilted flower from the recess field. He makes sure to give all the praise and compliments possible, especially to the art and school work, cause he's supporting those skills early. Then he makes sure he gets all the homework, permission slips, things like that.

When his siblings ask why he does it, he says, "Who's gonna ask her to see what she drew during recess? Who's gonna ask if she did anything fun with her best friend? Who's gonna make sure she's not left out of the loop? We're a busy family, I don't want her getting left out just cause she's little, I'll ask, I like doing it anyway" he knows his family's busy, he knows Tuk tends to fall to the background cause she's the youngest, and that Jake and Neytiri are busy trying to keep them all afloat, so he takes care of Tuk.

He helps her with her homework and never raises his voice or gets frustrated. He sits next to her and they figure it out together.

He's always proud of her, even for the little things, so he's always giving her hugs and kissing her hair and other classic big brother things.

More often than not, Spider puts Tuk to bed. Either Jake and Neytiri give up trying to tame the "cranky banshee" (what Spider call her when she's tired) of a child and call Spider in, or she asks for him. He'll lay down next to her and pull her close and tell her stories until she gets sleepy and cuddled into him. Only then does he pull out the "put'em to sleep" combo, as he calls it; he hum to her (he hums "a la nanita na", like his mama used to hum to him, fight me) while rubbing her back with one hand and plays with her braids with the other. She's out like a light in a few minutes every time.

He often refers to her as a little banshee whenever she's being feisty or especially energetic.

There was an almost 2 month streak where Tuk would only sleep if Spider stayed in her room for the night or if she was in Spider's bed (which she preferred cause it was bigger and cozier). Spider didn't mind so he gave in almost immediately. Best sleep he got in years, even with the bony knees and elbows poking him.

Spider will sacrifice himself when she gets sick, opting to be the one to go comfort her, knowing he'll be sick soon after. He has spent many nights holding her on the bathroom floor and wiping snotty noses. (he always gets it and gets it *worse* but it's worth it for his baby sis)

Tuk always does he best to take care of him after. She'll sit in bed with him and pet his hair or bring him snacks/water. When she was little, she'd bring out all her Doc McStuffin's toys (cause she'd love Doc McStuffin's, again, fight me) and try and 'make him better'

Spider has the strongest cuteness aggression ever for Tuk, like, he wants to squish her and bite her and squeeze her and shake her, with all of the love in the world. He satiates himself by snatching her, flopping on the floor, and bear hugging her as tight as he can, with his legs too, and just rolling back and forth till she's giggling so hard she can't breathe.

He is deeply invested in multiple children's shows because of how often he watches them with her. (His favorite is Wild Kratts, Paw Patrol, and Ninja Turtles)

(this one next one is so random but Spi and Tuk have pastina lover vibes, again, I dare you to fight me on this)

Spider spent time in the system and fending for himself, meaning he picked up a lot of easy recipes, one of which, was pastina with butter, broth, and cheese. He passed this on to Tuk, who has now decided this is the best snack ever and asks him to make it all the time.

Spider works out, just so he can carry her around forever and ever.

He always make sure that he and his older little siblings always give time to Tuk and involve her in their play.

They go on day trips after he gets his license, sometimes just the two of them, other times with all the Sully kids. They go to museums and science centers and such. He again holds her hand most of the time, or makes sure that she doesn't get lost while playing.

Worries over her constantly.

They trade art all the time. He'll make her a knew piece of jewelry and she'll give him a new painting to keep in his room.

He has a picture of her in his wallet.

He takes so many photos of her, he's like a facebook mom. Lo'ak makes fun of him.

He's teaching her how to skateboard, cause she thinks he's the coolest ever cause he knows how to skateboard. He got her a pretty skateboard and hot pink gear (in which he went overboard in buying considering her basically bought her a hot pink suit of armor) and helped her decorate it. He also makes sure she's not picked on when they go to the skate park.

He kisses every boo boo.

He makes and (never ever breaks) lots of pinky promises.

they have a special handshake.

When the Sully's go out anywhere, you can tell when Tuk wants to go home, because she'll be in Spi's arms, cause he'd never turn down an opportunity to hold his baby sister.

They match hair beads. Spi will always have at least one that matches with hers at all times, and Tuk will have one of his on the braid behind her ear so she can fiddle with it.

Tuk always double and triple checks that Spider has his inhaler (he doesn't know how she remembers better than he can)

She wears his shirts to bed a lot. They're big and soft and who could blame her?

should I do more of these (maybe one for each sibling?)

[mayasaurusss]

being brought into lottie’s intentional community as a dance teacher to give her acolytes expressive arts therapy but noticing she never participates in the classes…so you get her alone and try to convince her to let go and dance with you

"Why do you never attend my dance classes?"

A gasp leaves Lottie and she puts a hand on her heart after you almost give her a heart attack. Lottie feels her blod run cold at your words, the shame of begin found out running through her veins, "I...uhm".

Months passed since you've been hired at Lottie's wellness centre. She had emailed you late at night, having seen your announcment online for your dance course. "Everyone needs to loose up a bit here" she wrote, "and I am sure this would be a great opportuinty for you too". Lottie had offered a great deal to you, paying you more than the course ever could and gave you a roof to sleep under. The lessons had started with the coming of spring and many had attended them. The first time the room in which you taught was overcrowded with people and you had to ask Lottie permission to teach outside. The dances ranged from quick to slow, from energetic to calm.

Many had loved your approach to teaching and came to attend your lessons regularly, hoping to blow off some steam or aimed to occupy their minds with joy. But not Lottie.

You adore Lottie. She's nice, calm, lovley and funny and you always love to spend time with her. But as the months grew colder so did her affection towards you. No matter how many times you asked, Lottie never came to your lessons. "It will be fun!" you say, but she quickly denies with the most unreasonables of excuses, "N-No I need to go buy heliotrope paint. For uhm, painting the crates...".

It's obvious that Lottie is avoiding you. You don't know why, you don't know how, but you sure as hell will find out.

You approached her at the end of the day. She had just ended one of her seminars and you had finished teaching hours ago. The room is dark except for a single light that shines down on where Lottie is gathering her things before heading out.

"So, why don't you?" Lottie gets increasly more uncomfortable as you repeat yourself, a thin tear of sweat falling from her temple. "Uh, I, you know I have been so busy recently...".

"Bullshit!" you shout at her, making her ears hurt and reel back, "I know you aren't! 'I need to go buy heliotrope paint for painting the crates' my ass! Those things have been left to rot for months now and just as I ask you to join my classess, you've suddenly got interested in them?!".

What you don't know is that for the last months, Lottie's been falling in love with you. It wasn't like that at first. She simply saw you as an employer, as a coworker, as a person and now as someone she falled deeply in love with. Her feelings were small at first, as they usually are. A little nod here, a small smile there and a little ache in her heart, as if it was pierced by a spine.

Then that wound got bigger: as the smiles and looks grew so did that warm feeling in her heart, so much that it pained her. When Lottie understood where her feelings came from, she got scared. She hadn't allowed herself to truly feel anything ever since she got back and to do so now would be childish. So she hides it.

She doesn't look at you, she doesn't talk to you, both in fear that wound of hers gets bigger and to see the hurt in your eyes. That is until you personally confront her.

"So, Lottie? Has the cat eaten your tongue?" that accusatory tone of yours only serves to make her blood run colder and colder. "Or do you simply not like me?" she can feel how hurt you are and an instinct inside her screams to confort you, to held you in her arms, to kis-.

"No, no! I swear it's not what it looks like" she begs for you to listen to her, for you to just let her-. "Then what is the problem, Lottie?" she can't find the right words, can't find the stenght to be thrutful to herself and you. So she lies, "I..." "I can't dance" she knows that the words come out wrong, a hint in her voice suggests that she's lying.

"What?" both you and her know that the conversation you're about to have is fake, built on her lie, but you let her speak. "I can't dance and I am embarassed to do so" she looks away from you so she can't see the doubt in your eyes. Lottie is about to walk away when you give your hand to hers.

"Take my hand" she looks at your palm for a moment, before asking, "W-What?" it's like her brain can't understand what's happening.

You try to send the message by moving your hand in front of her eyes, then sigh and taking it yourself. "Just...just shut up and take it" Lottie moves and now you grip at both her hands. Despite her towering over you, she's putty in your hands.

"So just follow my example, alright?" it takes Lottie a moment to understand what you mean, but once she feels you move she copies you, unsure of how to.

"One foot in front of the other" she is clumsy, hands shivering and feet twitching, the emotion of begin so close to you getting to her heart. "Alright, you're doing good" you try to reassure her but Lottie is lost in that world of hers, the one where nothing is real and it is still with her. She tries to remember what her therapist once said: 'You have to br-'

'There is nothing else besides you' your voice calls from the end of the room, people surrounding and listening to you. 'There is just you and your human emotions. Let go of anything that scares and worries you' for a moment Lottie's eyes look into yours and it's just the two of you alone. 'Be yourself'.

Something moves in Lottie's heart and all the worry and fear is washed away. Now she's the one leading the dance, strong but fair hands guiding you through the space. There is only you and her, dancing to a silent waltz in an empty room. The dance gets more heated by the minute, everything moves and sings and suddenly, it all stops.

Lottie arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your hand in hers. During the dance your bodies moved closer and closer, until you can feel her breath on your lips. "Lottie, I..." she interrupts you abruptly, harsh brown eyes staring into yours, "I lied".

"Y-you do seem to know how to dance after all..." but your joke doesn't reach her ears, "I think... I didn't want you to know". Words don't come out easy and a small feeling of panic rises in her heart, but she remembers your words 'Be yourself'.

"I think I am in love with you" you smile gently at her, enough to make everything else fade, "I know".