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tyonfs · 2 years

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fight club

❝ i don’t care if she has a pretty face; if this is your first night at fight club, you have to fight.❞

PAIRING ▸ lee jeno x fem!reader

GENRES ▸ smut, fluff, fight club au, rich kid au, college au, strangers to lovers

WARNINGS ▸ profanity, violent themes (fighting), mentions of blood, 7dream are all part of the fight club, ft. best friends karina and sungchan, sneaking around, fingering, strength/size kink, oral (fem. receiving), choking, sex ofc, lowkey corruption kink, also i swear jeno is soft

SUMMARY ▸ after park jisung introduces you to his shady after-school activity, you realize it’s far too dangerous to be involved with the underground fight club in any way. their members are rough around the edges—except for lee jeno, who keeps you coming back for more.

PLAYLIST ▸ atm by j. cole • baby don’t stop by nct u • new axis by nct u • nate growing up by labyrinth

WORD COUNT ▸ 11,914 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ WOOO ITS FINALLY OUT i hope you guys like it and lmk what u think !! ♡ remember when this was supposed to be 5k words LOL + another note and the tag list is at the bottom (sorry i forgot to respond to yall in the comments but i think i got everyone!) and thank you again for all the love :’)

THIS WAS A BAD IDEA.

In fact, this was a terrible idea.

Jisung didn’t seem to think too much of it, but you felt completely out-of-place among the crowd of sweaty males. It wasn’t like you were left in the dark about your best friend’s hobbies, but you didn’t expect to see him beating up a bulkier man in a dingy, low-light warehouse.

It was hard to wrap your head around the shocking realization that Park Jisung was a good fighter. He was soft-spoken and gentle most of the time, so seeing your best friend punching another man with all his might was throwing you off. Jisung didn’t look like much compared to the other man, but he was swift enough to pin the man down and twist his arm at a dangerous angle behind his back.

“Alright, ‘Sung,” someone called when it was clear Jisung’s opponent wasn’t getting up. “I think it’s safe to say he tapped out.”

Another scoffed in response. “Did he say that, Jaemin?”

“He’s practically gone limp, Chenle. Just call it already,” Jaemin responded flatly.

Jisung threw a cautious glance your way. By the wary look on his face, you were almost certain that he was holding back because of you. It was strange to think of Jisung willingly hurting someone, but you couldn’t shake off the look on his face when he was pummeling the other man to the ground.

With a flood of relief, you watched Jisung get off the man and reach out his hand to help him up. The man staggered as Jisung pulled him up, wobbled to regain his stability, and limped back out of the center. A few men patted Jisung on the back as he made his way back to you, a lopsided grin on his face as he sported a fresh cut on his lip.

“Jesus,” you breathed out. “I thought you were joking about the Fight Club thing.”

“Try not to look so nervous,” Jisung said as he grabbed a towel from a bench to dab at the blood staining his lower lip. He attempted to grin a little but cringed when it stretched the cut. “You scream fresh meat.”

“Fresh meat?” you quipped, consciously trying to relax your taut facial muscles.

“It means you’re an easy target,” a low voice called from behind you. Startled, you turned to see a boy sitting on the bench, eyeing you like a predator. “Means you won’t last the night.”

Although it stung, you understood where he was coming from. From the lack of bruises splayed across your body and the perplexed look in your eyes, you were so clearly a newbie. Everyone probably knew it from the second you walked in, but you had no idea it was going to turn out this way.

Sensing the tension, Jisung cut in quickly, “Hey, Jeno. This is my friend, Y/N. She’s, um… new.”

Lee Jeno.

Jisung had told you about him before. He was one of the guys who made a living out of fights like these, always bloodied and bruised up somehow. Other than the so-called Inner Circle that was composed of the best fighters in the club, Jeno wasn’t exactly open to making friends.

Jeno hummed in response, though he didn’t really seem to take Jisung’s words into consideration. “She ready to fight?”

“What?” you spluttered out.

“Jeno, come on,” your friend defended you. “She’s not ready for that.”

“You know the rules. I don’t care if she has a pretty face; if this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.”

Without waiting for a response, Jeno stood up, pushing past the throng of men to get to the front. You turned to Jisung, wide-eyed and wondering what the fuck you had just gotten yourself into. Your best friend only grabbed your shoulders, panic bubbling in his mouth as he stammered out a string of incoherent words.

“I’m—I’m, uh… gonna go talk to him,” Jisung said and let go of you to make his way to the front. “Stay there, Y/N!”

You never would’ve let Jisung drag you into this mess if you knew about that stupid rule. Your eyes darted to the door. There was a chance you could sneak out before anyone took notice. Although you were worried about getting caught, you decided you’d rather take your chances.

You examined the poster plastered on the wall beside you. It was wrinkled and tearing at the edges, but the words were bold and clear:

RULES OF FIGHT CLUB:

You do not talk about Fight Club.

You DO NOT TALK about Fight Club.

Someone yells “stop,” goes limp, taps out, the fight is OVER.

Only two to a fight.

One fight at a time.

No shirts, no shoes.

Fights will go on as long as they have to.

If this is your first night at Fight Club, you have to fight.

Oh, hell no, you thought.

This entire scheme was a death sentence, and you didn’t want to be any part of it.

Thankfully, the crowd was so fixed on some fighter named Mark that you made it to the door without being noticed. The shouts and cries from the ring were so loud that no one would notice the creaky door opening. Freedom was almost in your reach. Just as you were about to grab the handle, though, someone called to you from behind.

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already.”

You turned around to see one of the Inner Circle members smirking at you. He stood tall, confident, and his smolder made his flirty nature quite clear. You whipped around quickly, holding your arm behind you as if you hadn’t been near the exit.

The man continued, “I’m Na Jaemin, and you must be new; that’s a face I wouldn’t forget.”

Your cheeks burned at his comment, but you kept it together. His strategy seemed to be keeping you here as long as possible, but you needed to escape before Jeno offered you up as a punching bag to some brute.

“Y/N,” you introduced, and god, you realized you could never forget his face either. He was absolutely gorgeous with a golden combination of sharp and gentle features. “You don’t mind if I get some air, right?”

Jaemin chuckled and walked closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Then I’ll join you.”

These people were crazy.

“No, I’m good.” You dismissed him with a wave of your hand. “I can go on my own.”

Jaemin studied you with mystified eyes before he raised his voice, seemingly talking to someone behind him, “You’re right, Jeno! This little one was almost a runner.” You looked up at Jaemin with wide eyes, and he laughed at your miserable look. “I’m sorry, angel, but rules are rules; you can’t escape our King.”

Apparently, the King that Jaemin referred to was Lee Jeno. You were sure you recalled Jisung mentioning it before; his infamous nickname was coined because he allegedly had never lost a fight. You felt yourself deflate at the sight of him walking toward you.

This was it. This was how you were going to die tonight.

“Get in the ring,” Jeno ordered. “I’ll be your first fight.”

Jisung jogged over, standing behind Jeno with a horrified look on his face as he looked between you and your terrifying opponent. You felt your heart sinking deep into the pit of your stomach. Not only was Jeno the top dog around here, but just one glare from him made you feel like cowering. Never in your life had you engaged in a fight like this, and this felt like you were skipping several levels of preparation.

Jaemin leaned in close to your ear and whispered, “That’s why following boys who go looking for trouble is a bad idea, angel.” He pulled back and smiled at you. “Do your best out there.”

The crowd electrified with a newfound excitement and started cheering you on to enter the ring. You were sure they were more interested in seeing Lee Jeno beat up a girl, and that pissed you off even more. On that note, you wanted to question why you didn’t get paired with another girl for your first fight. Seeing that there were quite a few female fighters scattered about, you found this match unfair.

You threw Jisung a wary look and stepped into the ring (well, practically shoved into it by the crowd). The bloodthirsty chanting was making you sick. You couldn’t fucking fight, and you were sure that everyone knew that you had zero experience.

“Hey, newbie,” a voice called from the corner of the ring, whom you recognized as Zhong Chenle. “The rules are no shirts or shoes, but, if you want, you can keep your shirt on.”

You already accepted that you were going to lose this match pathetically, so there was no way you would lose your dignity any further by stripping in front of a crowd of men. You nodded at Chenle and slid your shoes off, kicking them off to the side where Jisung was stationed.

Across from you, Jeno didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed his shirt by the nape and pulled it off in one go. His steel gaze was already humiliating enough, but you burned at the sight of his rippling abs and buff muscles on display. His body was absolutely flawless, chiseled to perfection like a Greek god.

You had to snap out of it. He was literally about to kill you.

“Money’s on Jeno,” someone mumbled in the crowd.

You started to hear a chorus of the murmurs, and you knew all of them had no faith in you. Hell, you had no faith in yourself. Jisung was probably betting against you out there, and you couldn’t even blame your best friend. You just prayed that Jeno would knock you out quickly so that the match would be over.

The only fighting experience you had was when your younger brother chased you in your backyard with a baseball bat. You wound up pinning him to the grass, chest puffed up in triumph once you stood up and realized you were victorious. It was a good feeling to win, but that was when you were both skinny, clumsy kids; obviously, you would never hurt him again like that. Now, however, you were face-to-face with a man who could clearly overpower you in an instant.

“Ready,” Chenle announced, looking between you and Jeno to see if you were both focused. He swung his arm down in a swift motion. “Fight!”

At that moment, you understood what Jeno’s nickname stood for. He truly reigned over everyone during his matches, like he knew he was the victor the second he stepped into the ring. Not only was he physically strong, but he was quick and smart about his moves—swift like a cat, cunning like a fox.

In seconds, your back was against the ground, the impact nearly knocking the wind out of your lungs. You felt absolutely pathetic, staring up at him with a dazed look in your eyes. Suddenly, you were filled with unmistakable fear at the thought of Lee Jeno delivering a blow to you.

This spurred you into action, making you jump to your feet and rousing an appreciative chorus of shouts from the crowd. Your agility wasn’t enough, though; Jeno could see through all of your movements.

He was a machine of pure power, and you were no match for someone who could fight dirty. (Jeno hadn’t taken off his rings, you noticed. You were doomed if he landed a hit on you.)

“Come on, King!” Chenle provoked. “Don’t lose your cool just ‘cause she’s a girl.”

Jeno was taunting you with his back-and-forth movements, prowling around you like you were a piece of meat. In that moment, you could sense his hesitancy by the way he was trying to back off.

“Just tap out already,” he goaded, though you could sense some good-nature behind his words, “unless you want to wake up sore and bruised.”

“That’s considerate of you,” you mumbled, “considering Jisung told me you left someone unconscious and bleeding before.”

This time, Jeno didn’t hesitate to lunge at you, and you started to regret your attempt at a jab at him. His strong thighs and hands were pinning you down, but this time you weren’t thinking about how uncomfortable of a position your shoulder bone was in. You were too fixated on how barbaric the look in Jeno’s eyes was.

“Tap out,” he ordered.

“Don’t go soft, Jeno!” Jaemin yelled from the crowd, but it was all white noise to you now.

The crowd jeered when you wriggled out of Jeno’s grip, rolling by twisting your shoulder so that you were a good distance away from your opponent again. However, you felt like a cornered animal in the ring.

One thing about cornered animals, though: they were the most aggressive.

You had never acted out of impulse like this, but when Jeno came near you again, you didn’t even have a moment to process before your fist was connecting with his jaw. Hard. He stumbled back from the unexpected blow and your knuckles were stinging. Your nerves were like cut wire, electrified and buzzing, and all you could do was drink in the roars from the crowd.

That swell of pride from your childhood victory returned, and you were sure it was flashing across your face when you saw Jeno grimacing. That punch was beginner’s luck at most, but you were still shocked that you had managed to do something like that.

Your adrenaline was red and hot. Knuckles raw and tender. Heart like a drum in your rib cage.

“Alright,” Jeno started, irritated. “I’m done playing with you. Tap out or you won’t like this.”

Before you could ask him to clarify, Jeno had tackled you to the ground once more, resulting in you hitting your chin gracelessly on the hard floor. He pushed your head down so forcefully that you were struggling to turn your head and breathe normally. You felt black spotting your vision and your head going fuzzy when Jeno pressed down on a certain spot on the back of your neck, and your struggling frame went limp under him.

“She’s out,” was all he said in that authoritative voice, getting off of you and leaving the ring without another word.

You took a minute to gather your bearings and figure out that the world wasn’t actually supposed to spin. By the time you were okay, Jisung had run over to your side and was helping you up to your feet.

(“Next fight, next fight!” Chenle called impatiently from outside the ring. “Hurry it up.”)

“That was way too cool,” he gushed, looking at you with stars in his eyes. Maybe they were from the dim, flickering lights, but they were too bright for that. “You actually landed a hit on the King!”

You lost, but, strangely enough, you felt somewhat victorious.

You figured you would watch the rest of the fights with Jisung. Plus, considering he was your ride, it was clear you had no other way to get home if he wasn’t leaving.

Honestly, you still didn’t see the appeal of the brutality. Some of them were courteous, exchanging cordial albeit bloody grins as they helped each other up after a fight. Others were more aggressive and heartless, pummeling the other even when they were down and limp. Jaemin had to yell at them to separate, and some even got kicked out because the third rule of Fight Club was “if someone yells ‘stop,’ goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.”

As ruthless as Jaemin and Chenle appeared to be, they kept everyone in line.

When you saw Jeno slinking into the back hallway, you nudged Jisung and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

Your friend was so distracted by the sight of Jaemin fighting someone else that he didn’t bother asking where you were going, so he gave you an offbeat nod instead. You cringed at the sound of the punch Jaemin delivered before slipping away to the hallway Jeno had gone into.

There were a couple of people scattered about, and they were all high as a kite but doing their best to save face by hiding their blunts. You returned an awkward smile as you ventured forward, looking through all the rooms in the warehouse hallway. It was only until you reached the very end when you saw Jeno, inspecting his jaw in a scratched-up mirror.

“Is it bruised?” you asked meekly.

Jeno didn’t seem surprised by your appearance, turning his head for a brief second before settling to catch your reflection in the mirror instead. “Nothing I haven’t experienced before. You didn’t hit me that hard, newbie.” He cocked a brow at you. “How about you? Are you hurt?”

“It hurt in the moment, but then I was fine,” you replied, frowning. “How did you do that?”

“I found one of your pressure points,” he answered. Something about the way he spoke to you was rather distant despite the turn his attitude took. “I don’t like hurting girls, but Mark’s all about inclusivity or some bullshit like that.”

“You don’t like hurting girls,” you echoed, a breath away from some spiteful remark about how he tried tackling you all around that ring.

“Yeah, I don’t like hurting girls.” Jeno finally turned to face you and continued, “Especially pretty girls who know how to punch.”

“I don’t really know how to punch,” you mumbled.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your face burned at his words, but you were completely distracted by the Rolex watch glinting on his wrist. Lee “the King” Jeno wearing an expensive watch might not have been a complete surprise, but you were surprised that the elite, dirty fighter wasn’t so rough around the edges like the others.

“That looks expensive,” you pointed out.

“That’s because it is.” His response was curt, and judging by the scowl on his face, you figured he wasn’t planning on explaining further. Instead, he asked, “You’re Y/N, right? I was surprised that Jisung brought you with him. He’s a good kid, but I thought he came here to fight because he didn’t want his friends knowing about this side of him.”

“Oh,” was all you could say. To be fair, you weren’t aware of this side of Jisung either until you saw his fist sending someone flying to the ground. “You from around here?”

You had no idea why, but you sensed some sexual undertone within such a seemingly innocent question.

“Yeah, um… I actually live a few cities away,” you lied, knowing that he’d expect you back if you said you were from the college town. Earlier, you couldn’t imagine yourself in that ring, but you realized that no matter how exciting it all was, their world was dangerous. “My friend just took me here for the night.”

“Ah.” You wondered if Jeno was disappointed with your answer, but if he was, he sure didn’t show it on his face. “What a shame. You have potential.”

“Oh.” You wondered where he saw ‘potential’ in you—was it the way you went lax under his grip or when you were being thrown around in front of everyone? “Thanks. I think.”

Jeno snickered. “Maybe it’s better you stay well away from this place, though.”

“Why’s that?” you asked.

Jeno’s gaze was hard when he said, “Because pretty girls who come looking for trouble get more than they asked for.” By the time you realized what he was implying, Jeno had walked over to you, towering over your smaller frame when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

It was a surprisingly tame request from someone who was suggesting something so vulgar, but you were afraid this pure question would morph into something more intense. You weren’t the kind of girl to fool around with a stranger like this, so your heart was hammering in your chest at the mere thought.

Yet, it was the realization that you wouldn’t get a chance like this again with someone like Lee Jeno that tempted you further.

“Why?” you asked.

Jeno shrugged. “You’re cute.”

After a moment of pondering, you answered, “Um… as long as it’s just one.”

Jeno just chuckled, and you were momentarily stunned because his eyes looked so kind before he leaned down and pressed his lips against yours gently. You closed your eyes, warmth blooming in your chest as your lips moved together in slow yet purposeful motions. Jeno cupped your cheek as he kissed you with utmost gentleness, and you would have almost asked for more if he didn’t pull away so quickly.

“I should go,” you stuttered out, far too shy to meet his gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. Before you turned to leave, Jeno offered, “If you ever find yourself here again, say you’ve hit Lee Jeno before if someone tries to fuck with you.”

“The King,” you corrected.

“You’re not scared of my name, are you?”

You smiled, sort of touched that he didn’t think you were a complete wimp. “Thanks.”

Lee Jeno was surprisingly gentle in contrast to the beast he became in the ring.

“So you’re telling me this actually happened?” Karina clarified with a frown. “You’re sure you didn’t have some freakish lucid dream?”

You sank back into the seat of the booth you were sitting in. Karina had dragged you to some fancy coffee shop the morning after, declaring that she had to get at least one picture with you (and she didn’t specify the threat that came afterward if you declined). You ended up confessing everything that happened the previous night, detailing Jisung’s odd hobby to your encounter with Lee Jeno. Karina zoned out for half of your story, assuming you were retelling the plot of some cheap movie, and that ended with you retelling it with her undivided attention once you said it was real.

You left out most of the details about Fight Club itself, though, leaving Karina to assume that Jisung was part of some street gang. You felt bad for tainting your best friend’s image, but you were too afraid to find out what would happen if the higher-ups discovered that you leaked the secret.

“I’m very sure,” you told her. “God, Karina, I let him kiss me! Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know,” Karina replied unhelpfully. “Was he cute? Show me a picture.”

“You think I was thinking about taking a picture of him to show you while he was about to beat me up?” you remarked, raising a brow. “But, yes, he was very hot. Like, young Leonardo Dicaprio-level hot.”

“You mean Leonardo da Vinci.”

“That is the Renaissance artist who painted the Mona Lisa, Karina. He is dead.”

“Shit.” Karina gripped the edge of the table, distraught. “No wonder Yeji said I was tweaking out when I told her he was in the Titanic.” She shrugged off the thought. “Anyway, show me his Instagram.”

You shied at her order, protesting, “I didn’t get his Instagram!”

“Oh, please, you don’t need to ask for someone’s Instagram to find their account,” Karina replied with a scoff, “unless you don’t want me to look him up because he’s ugly.”

“He’s not ugly, Karina.”

“Then there’s nothing to be ashamed of!” She pulled out of her phone and angled it so that you could see the screen. “Look, we just have to type L-e-e, and then J-e-n-o—easy money.” You eyed the search results, pointing to the profile picture that looked exactly like the King. Karina tapped on his profile accordingly and you nearly choked when you saw how lavish he was living. “Is this him? Goddamn, Y/N.”

The very first picture was Jeno leaning against a Rolls-Royce, dress shirt fitted perfectly against his broad shoulders and square chest. Every single accessory he wore looked as if it cost thousands of dollars. While Karina ogled at the sight, you were trying to accept that this was the same man with the worn-in tee and jeans you met last night.

“Y/N,” Karina repeated.

“He’s loaded,” you whispered in disbelief.

“Y/N.”

“No wonder he was wearing a Rolex.”

“Y/N.”

“I kissed a rich boy, oh my—”

“Y/N, if I have to say your name one more time to get your attention, I will scream at such an ear-splitting, incomprehensible decibel that the ground will split in half like that scene in Ratatouille with the wooly mammoths,” Karina threatened, and she would’ve sounded menacing if it weren’t for her completely wrong analogy.

“I think you mean Ice Age.”

“Y/N, he’s rich!” Karina shrieked, and you had to hush her so that the two of you didn’t get kicked out or banned for life. “You have to fuck him.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, tossing aside your previous attempts to silence your best friend by raising your voice yourself.

Exasperated, she dropped her phone on the table screen-up and leaned back. “I can’t believe you were talking about his watch when he looks like a Greek god.”

“I can’t believe you’re telling me to fuck someone I just met!”

“But he kissed you,” Karina started, “like, who does that?”

Right on cue, Jung Sungchan slid into the booth next to Karina, nudging her shoulder and nodding at you in tune. “Who kissed you?” he questioned, intrigued.

You groaned and covered your face with your hands. You only wanted to tell Karina about your encounter with Jeno, but you felt like this was going to get out to more and more people. The only person you really didn’t want to tell, though, was Jisung. You had no idea how your friend would react to you mingling with one of the members of the Inner Circle.

You sighed. “No one.”

“Lee Jeno,” Karina answered at the same time as you.

You shot her a pointed look as Sungchan hummed in deep thought. “Why does that name sound familiar?” He frowned and shrugged. “Anyway, good job, Y/N. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you whined. “Sungchan, Karina, don’t tell anyone about this, okay? I just wanna forget it happened.”

“I mean… yeah, of course,” Sungchan agreed.

The two exchanged wary looks, and it was clear their understanding was hidden behind layers of reluctance. You could tell the both of them found it strange that you were so nervous about this whole affair. It wasn’t like you had experienced many crushes, but they both knew you were the type to fawn over someone who showed you the time of day. Now that you were dusting it under the rug, it definitely raised suspicion.

You felt sick to your stomach. You should’ve known better than to kiss and tell.

As if it wasn’t a bad enough idea that you followed Jisung to his shady extracurricular activity the other night, you let Sungchan drag you to a party a week later.

For a party, though, this was awfully formal.

College parties usually consisted of red solo cups and puff bars abandoned on tables and countertops. This one, on the other hand, seemed far more refined. You were glad that you wore something more proper, but even then, your style paled in comparison to the men in suits and women in gowns. Jeno sipped champagne from a flute, all while looking like the very image of exquisiteness.

Sungchan was all about swimming and piña coladas. The last event he took you to was a dayger, where he walked in with a Hawaiian shirt and proceeded to pass out shirtless on one of the rocks. You had to physically drag your friend back to his car and drive home for him.

This scene, however, didn’t suit Sungchan at all. He looked out-of-place even though he was wearing the same clothes as everyone else—it was just that his shoulder pads and sleeve cuffs didn’t fit quite right. You wondered what world he was trying to insert himself into until you saw Greek letters fixed to the wall.

“Engineering frat,” Sungchan answered sheepishly. “They said I could bring a date.”

“Oh.” You stared blankly at the gold-trimmed letters on the wall. “Why didn’t you tell me that to begin with?”

“You would’ve made fun of me.”

“Well, yeah,” you replied matter-of-factly, a scoff following your words. “Who are these people, though? Do they even go to our school?”

“It’s a social event with another school,” Sungchan explained, clearly distracted by something else judging by the way he couldn’t keep eye contact for more than a few seconds.

“So, who’re you trying to impress?” you quipped, trying to follow his line of sight. Your eyes landed on an older college student across the room, talking to a few freshmen with his hands and exaggerated enthusiasm. “Ah, the cult leader.”

“Frat president,” he corrected.

“Same thing.” You received a sharp look from your friend and laughed, nudging his shoulder. “Relax. Why don’t you pour a few glasses and go over and talk to him? His hands are empty and he looks sober.”

Sungchan seemed to pick up on how everyone had a drink in their hand except the president. He returned your grin and poured two glasses of champagne for himself and the frat boy. You were confident Sungchan would be fine; he was a social butterfly when the situation called for it.

“Wish me luck.”

“Break a leg, tiger,” you responded, watching him walk over with a wistful sigh.

Now, though, you had no idea what to do. You allowed your friend, the only one you knew at this party, to abandon you so that he could kiss up to the president. On one hand, you could try socializing with the other frat boys, but you weren’t sure how willing they were to talk to people who weren’t affiliated with their organization. Plus, this wasn’t a social frat, so you had lower expectations for the night.

It was then when a voice called from behind, “Your date really left you behind like that?”

“It’s fine, he’s—oh.”

When you turned to face the person speaking to you, you thought your stomach couldn’t sink any further. You thought you could leave the memory of last week behind for good, but its ghostly reminder stood in front of you in a slim fit suit.

You balked. “What are you doing here? You’re rushing, too?”

“I’m not a rushee.” He chuckled. “I’m already in the frat. I should be asking what you’re doing here.”

You didn’t respond.

“Let me guess,” Lee Jeno purred, “your friend took you here for the night.”

Your cheeks heated up at his recollection. “Okay, so I might not actually live in another city.”

“Figured.” He took a sip of his drink, eyes fixed on you all the while. “Let me pour you a drink.”

“I don’t wanna get drunk,” you said firmly.

“Same.” He tilted his cup so that you could see. “It’s water.” He looked at the kitchen counter with various drinks scattered across. “There’s also soda, if you prefer that.”

You reluctantly agreed to letting him pour you a glass of Sprite. You couldn’t believe you were seeing Lee Jeno like this, looking like the very image of affluence. This was a stark contrast from the intimidating higher-up that was a beast in the ring.

“You’re really different when you’re not fighting, you know?” you told him. Jeno returned a sharp look and nearly hushed you, eyes flitting across the room to make sure no one was eavesdropping. “Um, sorry.”

Jeno’s voice was pitched octaves deeper when he handed you your glass and said, “Let’s talk about this somewhere else.”

Jeno walked past you, heading upstairs and down the hallway that was relatively empty, give or take a few freshmen who were trying their best to sober up before they went back out to socialize. When you realized Jeno was leading you up to his room, heat rushed to your cheeks when you remembered what Karina said about fucking him. You had to dispel all horny thoughts before Jeno caught on.

“Come in,” he said, motioning you to enter once he opened the door. You were transfixed by how normal his room looked—fitted sheets, books categorized on shelves, desk tidy. It was bizarre that this was the same man that beat people up to a bloody pulp. When Jeno noticed your curious stare, he explained, “I stay here to attend college. I don’t actually live in the rooms designated for Inner Circle members.”

You, clueless to how the Inner Circle even worked, just nodded in response. You walked inside and stood awkwardly against the wall. Jeno motioned for you to take a seat, so you sat on the floor, folding your legs under you.

Jeno raised a brow at you. “You can sit on the bed.” When he noticed how you swallowed, he quickly added, “Or at my desk over there.” A smirk crossed his face, sending butterflies straight to your stomach. “Relax. I’m not gonna try anything unless you’re down.”

Unless you’re down. Did that mean you had an option? You felt like you could hardly breathe, let alone speak, so you just acknowledged his words with a weak hum and went to sit at his desk.

“So, why did you wanna talk privately?” you asked, picking at your hangnails.

“Do you remember the first two rules?” Jeno asked, and his tone got darker. “You do not talk about Fight Club.”

“I didn’t—”

“You don’t mention to a soul here that I fight,” Jeno interjected. “That’s my private life. I didn’t think anyone would end up seeing me outside of that warehouse, too.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized and bit your lip. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

The silence was deafening. For a few minutes, you and Jeno just sat in silence right across from each other. He settled on the edge of his bed and looked straight at you, and you were trying to look anywhere but him. You lacked the courage to look the fighter in the eyes. It was like he was Medusa; you knew you’d freeze and be turned to stone once your eyes locked.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Jeno started again. “Actually, I thought it would be better if we didn’t meet again.”

You frowned, slightly offended. “Why?”

“You’re a good girl,” Jeno said, and the way those words rolled off his tongue in that deep, raspy voice were making you feel funny. “Good girls don’t mix in well with the Fight Club.”

You swallowed hard and fought down the urge to rebuke the ‘good girl’ title he bestowed upon you. Instead, you recalled, “I think I was just fine when I punched you, wasn’t I?”

Jeno snorted, and, for a minute, he just stared at you in bemusement. “I don’t want to corrupt you.”

You were careful when you asked, “Why not?”

“I told you; you’re a good girl.”

“I’m not a good girl.”

Minutes ago, you were a fully functioning member of society. Now, you thought you had lost your mind.

Jeno hummed. The look in his eyes was calculative, like he was trying to study your expression while making you feel like you were withering under his gaze. “Maybe that’s why you’re in my room even though you came here with someone else.”

You shook your head quickly. “Sungchan and I are just friends. He likes Karina—my other friend.”

“But you dressed up so pretty,” he murmured with a sigh.

Great. That funny feeling sank right to your core, and a flush of eagerness spread across your chest. By this point, it was clear that Jeno was flirting with you, but you had no idea how to keep this going without completely embarrassing yourself. Through and through, you were far less experienced, so your only hope was that Jeno found your innocence endearing.

Plus, you were pretty bad at flirting.

“Can I get your number?” was Jeno’s straightforward question, as if he didn’t bring you here to ice you out.

“Uh,” was your intelligent response. You blinked a few times before your brain rebooted and got back online. “Number—yeah, here.”

You took his phone that he held out for you, and you put your number in as a new contact. Something felt a little nerve-racking at the thought of Lee Jeno being able to contact you whenever he wanted, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Moreover, it felt rather exciting to know both sides of him—seeing him in two different worlds.

When you looked up at Jeno to hand him back his phone, you were taken aback by how close he was. He was towering over you, and you had to crane your neck to look up at him. You took that as your cue to stand up as well, leaving you even more flustered once you could practically feel his body heat.

“Remember when I asked if I could kiss you?” he asked, voice barely a whisper. He let his fingers skim your collarbone as he brushed your hair off your shoulder. “Can I do that again”—he rubbed a gentle circle along the column of your neck—“right here?”

You stared at him at first, shocked, before he continued, “I don’t fight to hurt people—I hate hurting people. I fight because the adrenaline feels good; I fight because the fake sense of masculinity everyone gets from fighting helps me realize that violence isn’t what being a man is about.”

Your breath hitched, and Jeno leaned in closer so that his lips were brushing against the shell of your ear. “I don’t want to hurt you, but will you let me show you what I mean?”

“Please,” you rasped, your voice coming out a touch more desperate than you intended.

Like the flash of lightning following a booming clap of thunder, Jeno’s mouth swiftly found the flesh of your neck in seconds. His tongue dragged along the bruise splotching your collarbone, adding a couple of his own along the way. He growled against your skin, and even his grip was bruising more onto your hips. You arched up under his mouth, broken whimpers and shallow breaths falling from your lips.

“I left these, didn’t I?” he wondered aloud. “During the fight?” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss over the bruise. “But I’ll make up for that.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” you got out, heavy-lidded eyes attempting to meet his. “I just bruised my chin and shoulder when I fell.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeno mumbled, and it was like the drizzle of rain when he started peppering kisses along your neck in apology. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” you replied, fighting down the mewl that was daring to escape your lips once he started nipping at your sweet spot. “You can just—just make it up to me.”

Jeno pulled away, looking deep into your eyes with the most tender gaze you had ever caught hold of. He cupped your face in your hands and kissed you feverishly. Unlike the kiss from a week ago, this felt like you were on fire. Jeno kindled your flame with each swipe of his tongue, eventually holding you so impossibly close that you couldn’t pull away for air anymore.

You weren’t helping your case, though, with the way you were desperate for more friction, more contact between you two. The back of your legs were hitting his desk, and he seemed to take note of this and pin you against the wall instead. Jeno released his iron grip on your hip to run his hand down to your thigh, and you swore he would’ve left fingerprints on your very skin if he held you any tighter. You nearly gasped when you felt his hand traveling further up your thigh, but your tongue was too busy dancing with Jeno’s.

He was the first to pull away. “Can I touch you there?” he asked, voice heavy and breathless. “Or I can do whatever you want me to do.”

You couldn’t comprehend how someone could be so receptive to your needs, so willing to pleasure you first, and so immediate with asking for your consent. Any woman would have struck gold with Lee Jeno. He was a product of every girl’s sexual fantasies. However, when you simply nodded, Jeno wasn’t willing to go further.

“I need words, baby,” Jeno mumbled against your skin. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath and grabbed hold of his wrist, maintaining eye contact as you slid his hand up your thigh yourself and allowed him to feel how soaked you were through your underwear. Jeno’s breathing got unsteady when he prodded your wet cunt through the fabric.

“I need you right here,” you pleaded. “Can you feel how wet I am?”

“Yeah, I can, doll,” he whispered, dropping to a knee ever-so-slowly. A shiver ran up your spine when he gripped your thighs, reaching under your dress to slide your panties down to your mid-thigh. From there, he grabbed hold of the fabric with his teeth and dragged it down to your ankles, looking up at you with a light smirk gracing his lips. You almost didn’t catch him pocketing your underwear. “Can I taste you?”

You nodded eagerly before realizing that Jeno wasn’t going to take anything for an answer unless it was verbal.

“Yes, please,” you breathed out, sliding your hand into his hair. A little spike of anxiety rose in your chest at the thought of someone seeing you so bare and exposed. “S-sorry, I don’t know what to do right now.”

“You just stand there and let me make you feel good,” Jeno assured, and his gaze softened when he sensed the worry in your eyes. “I know I’m about to eat you out and all, but you’re really beautiful, by the way. If you wanna stop at any time, just let me know.”

Okay, so maybe that made you feel like you were on top of the world.

“Thanks,” you replied softly, trying to ignore the wash of heat across your cheeks. Sheepishly, you added, “You can keep going, if that’s okay.”

Jeno grinned and situated himself between your thighs, his grip on your hips making your head spin, but even more so when he licked a stripe along your dripping slit. You stuttered out a broken moan, trying not to squirm when Jeno attached his lips to your clit and started sucking. You could feel that oh-so-proud smirk of his widening against your cunt with every sharp intake of breath and whimper that came from you.

Your grip on his hair tightened, and Jeno let out a soft groan that sent vibrations up your spine. Despite your attempts to find leverage, you were still a squirming mess, and Jeno had to flex his biceps and pin your hips to the wall firmly.

The feeling was like uncut cocaine. Jeno was too good at what he was doing. You were amazed that he was showing you heaven, all the while wearing a suit. The only thing that was stopping your knees from buckling and falling over altogether was the grip he had on you. Each flick of his tongue was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Then, however, Jeno started aiding your incoming orgasm by using his fingers.

His pointer finger slid into you so smoothly that you hardly noticed it at all, but it was when he stretched you out with another that you couldn’t stop yourself from moaning out loud.

“Quiet, doll. We don’t want people hearing,” he purred when he pulled away, looking up at you with his lips swollen and slick from your arousal. You could have come undone at the very sight. “Is this okay? Too much?”

You shook your head quickly. “G-good—feels good.”

Jeno smirked. “Don’t go dumb on me, baby. I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You let out a small cry when Jeno started sliding his fingers in and out, immediately clasping a hand over your mouth to muffle the sound. Your walls were clenching and unclenching around him, and you were throbbing when he kept flicking his tongue around your swollen ball of nerves. You could hear the distant sound of chatter from the living room below, but it was all white noise when Jeno plunged his tongue back into your sweet cunt.

“God,” he gritted out when he pulled away once more, “you’re so fucking tight ‘round my fingers.”

His words must have been your breaking point because you came undone all over his fingers. The pleasure was blinding, and you were finding it hard to stay upright with how intense your waves of pleasure were. Jeno finger-fucked you throughout your orgasm with that cocky smirk on his face. You felt like you were drowning in a molten sea even as he held you up.

There was nothing on the wall that you could hold onto for leverage, so your fingers wove through Jeno’s hair. You were doubling over when Jeno pulled away from your aching clit and scooped you up effortlessly. You could feel his bulging muscles even when he wasn’t flexing, and god, Lee Jeno had the hottest body you had ever seen. You were never one to obsess over muscles, but Jeno’s muscles were definitely worth drooling over.

Jeno adjusted you so that he had you in a princess carry. Slowly, you started to come down from the clouds as your high subsided. You blinked up at him, trying to be subtle about the way you were holding onto the bulging muscles of his biceps. You had never been so intrigued by someone’s arms, and you wanted to just trace each vein with your fingers.

“Are you gonna fuck me?” you asked mindlessly. Normally, you would cringe at yourself for asking such an abrupt, vulgar question, but you were too dazed from your orgasm to care about formalities.

“I want to, but don’t you have to go back to your date soon?” he questioned, and when you shook your head, Jeno pressed his lips together. “You’re definitely gonna fall asleep.”

“I won’t!” you promised, but you were already feeling sleepy after your first. You weren’t sure how your body would withstand a second.

Jeno stared at you, unsure. “You look so fucked-out, doll.” He laid you on his bed and rested his strong hand on your bare hip, gently rubbing your grooves and curves. “How do you suppose we keep you up?”

You weren’t thinking. You definitely weren’t thinking straight. Right as Jeno said the words, your gaze drifted back to those strong hands of his, admiring how pretty and long his fingers were. You just couldn’t stop thinking about those veins of his.

You were wading in dangerous waters.

With a haze of lust clouding your proper judgment, you took Jeno’s hand—the one grazing your hip—and you placed it just below your neck, watching as his lips parted in surprise. His eyes darkened a little, and your shallow breaths picked up when Jeno slid his hand up a little to press the pads of his fingers into the side of your neck. You couldn’t stop yourself from pressing your thighs together.

“Now you’re awake, huh?” he crooned, leaning in to kiss you once again. Just before his lips met yours, he whispered, “What a dirty girl.”

Your nerves were like cut wire and electricity buzzed through your body. You kissed Jeno back with a sense of urgency, aching for him to touch you again. And he, in return, reciprocated almost immediately. You could tell he loved how small you were under him. The way Jeno placed his arms on either side of you, caging your frame in his own little ring, was enough to distract you because of how much you liked being under him.

Jeno pulled away with a sigh, and you watched as he loosened his tie and undid his pants. It all felt like a show to you. When he tugged his boxers down, his cock sprang free, slapping the underside of his belly. You shuddered at the thought of something so massive being inside of you, but you also wanted him to just completely and utterly wreck you. All you could do was stare dumbly as he slid a condom over his girth.

“Look at what you’re making me do,” he tutted. “The least you can do now is be quiet while I fuck you into this mattress.”

Instead of whimpering (which was what your immediate response would have been to such filthy words), you swallowed your tongue and nodded.

Jeno grabbed the top of your thighs and brought them to his waist. You nearly gasped out, but, thankfully, he was easing his cock inside you instead of ramming himself in. You supposed he wanted to be relatively gentle for your first time together, and then you scolded yourself for assuming there would be a second time.

He was substantially sized, so despite all of Jeno’s foreplay and teasing, tears still sprung to your eyes when he bottomed out inside you. You couldn’t cry out with how tight his hand was over your mouth, so you held onto his shoulders tightly, digging your nails into his back.

“God, you’re so hot,” he growled, thrusts becoming more precise and rhythmic. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Jeno was pounding into you in all the right places, perfecting his strokes as he kept going. You were helpless underneath him, bouncing along with the shaking bed as you tried to keep yourself grounded. He finally removed his hand from your mouth so that he could run his thumb along your lower lip.

“So pretty,” he cooed.

“Faster!” you begged, and Jeno obliged almost immediately, railing you at an almost inhuman speed. You bit down on your lip to keep yourself from crying out loudly, stuttering, “Oh g-god…”

“Cum for me, baby.”

Every thrust was bringing you closer to that euphoric rush, but you just needed that one more push off the edge. When Jeno wrapped his pretty fingers around your neck once again, you felt the heat blooming under your skin start to spread all over, and the pressure building up had released all at once.

Jeno clamped his hand over your mouth once again, this time holding your jaw securely in place. Your cries were muffled as your body arched up underneath his strong figure. Your head went completely fuzzy, and you felt like your sense of spatial perception was slipping from you. Jeno tirelessly fucked you through your orgasm, and you wondered how the hell he had the energy to keep going.

Jeno tucked his face into the crook of your neck when he came, letting out the softest of groans, like he was trying to stay impossibly quiet, before he pulled out of you. You were a panting mess, so you barely registered the aftermath of your orgasm, but you felt your limbs tingling all over.

Despite everything going around you, it felt like your world was just you and Jeno, bodies pressed flush against each other in his bed.

Coherency started to bleed back into you, and you blinked all your surroundings back into existence. You sort of understood now—the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins. Despite how exhausted your body felt, you felt so alive, like every nerve of yours was on fire.

When Jeno collapsed beside you, something strange came over you, and you blurted out, “Teach me how to fight.”

“Huh?”

“I wanna learn how to fight like you,” you said, chest rising and falling as you turned to look at him. He really was so beautiful with his tousled hair and gleaming eyes. “It wasn’t like I was expecting to win, but I wanna try winning after losing pathetically in front of everyone.”

“Don’t do it,” Jeno warned. “I can teach you all you want, but please don’t get in that ring again.”

You shuddered at how serious his tone was, asking, “Why not?”

“Your ego isn’t worth being on the wrong side of the knife, Y/N.”

Your mood simmered, but you didn’t want to back down. “Teach me and let me have one fight with you, and then I won’t ask you ever again.”

Jeno narrowed his eyes for a moment, deep in thought, until he finally gave in with a retired sigh. “Fine, but only one fight.” He still seemed curious as to why you were so adamant on learning how to fight, but he decided not to press further. “We can spar after hours in the warehouse. We’ll just have to make sure no one catches us.”

You agreed, biting back your smile. Lee Jeno had all the time to do anything else he wanted, and he was spending it with you. You knew you had thought it was for the better to stay away from him and the Fight Club, but Jeno made you feel so free.

“By the way,” you started, “do the other Inner Circle members know that you’re rich?”

“Who said I’m rich?”

You scoffed. “It’s pretty obvious. Have you seen your watch? Your clothes? This room?”

Jeno stiffened up. “No, they don’t really know,” he replied, “and I don’t plan on telling them right now.”

“Why not? Aren’t they your friends?”

“Yeah.” Jeno shrugged. “When I go there, I just feel like a normal guy who wants to fight. I know most of them don’t come from backgrounds like mine, so I never want them to feel like I’m on a whole other level.”

You frowned. “You don’t have to hide that from them.”

He laughed, reaching over to cradle your cheek tenderly. “It’s not that big of a deal, really. Coming from a wealthy background doesn’t define me at all, so I don’t mind.” He was rather cute when the corners of his lips pulled up, and his eyes did that thing where they crinkled at the corners. “I just wanna keep a low profile and enjoy my life.”

“Oh,” you replied stupidly, flustered by the affection you were receiving. “W-well, as long as you’re happy.”

You both were silent, just staring into each other’s eyes until Jeno suggested, “You should probably get back downstairs.”

“Shit. You’re right.”

“You might wanna cover up those hickies first, though.”

“Jeno!”

“Where were you all night?” Sungchan asked, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift. The party had ended shortly after your rendezvous with Jeno, and you were glad that you could make it back to Sungchan without looking like a frazzled mess. “I couldn’t find you after I spoke to the president.”

“Oh.” You felt your cheeks burning, and you were glad that it was dark enough so that Sungchan couldn’t see how your expression twisted. You were able to smoothly lie, “I got a little too drunk so I was in the bathroom.”

“Oh shit, are you okay?” he asked, sparing you a glance. “Karina did say you were a lightweight.”

(You made a mental note to interrogate Karina later and find out why she was even telling Sungchan that you were a lightweight. Funny, coming from her, who threw up her dinner in a bush after four shots and proceeded to throw up in her Uber, too.)

“Why didn’t you bring her with you, by the way?” you questioned. “You know, instead of inviting me as your date.”

Sungchan’s jaw went taut. “I needed to buckle down and impress them today. Karina would distract me.”

“Distract you?” You laughed. Your best friends had been pining over each other for the longest time, and you were starting to wonder how either of them hadn’t confessed already. “You should just ask her out already.”

Sungchan sent you a little victory smirk. “What if I told you I was planning to do so?”

You nearly choked on air. “You are?” You practically squealed and fought down the urge to hit his shoulder. (You didn’t want to over-express your enthusiasm while he was driving.) “Finally! I’ve been so exhausted waiting for you two to do something about your tension.”

Sungchan chuckled. “We’ll see how it goes,” your friend said. He nudged your arm with his elbow. “How’s your love life going?”

You nearly yelped when your phone went off, and of course, you received a text notification from Lee Jeno at the perfect time. You didn’t expect him to text you right after you left the frat house, so you were worried you did something wrong.

jeno: you left your panties here btw

you: oh my god im so sorry you: should i ask my friend to turn around?

jeno: nah i’ll keep it

“My love life,” you echoed, eyes still locked on your phone screen in shock as your cheeks burned, “makes no sense.”

The first time Jeno went over to your place was a few weeks later.

An exchange of texts led to you confessing that you were hungry, and since your cooking experience only ranged from ramen or salad. Jeno’s expertise, on the other hand, offered a lot to the table. You had no choice but to invite him over to cook for you.

Over the last few weeks, you both had been meeting up here and there. Sometimes you two were as cordial as friends, sometimes he was diligently teaching you how to fight, and sometimes Jeno was running his hands all over your body and making out with you like nothing else mattered. He was surprisingly an open book when it came to you, which was a stark contrast to your first impression of him.

Jeno’s tongue worked wonders. You swore you had experienced it on every inch of your body already, but each time you both were tangled up in each other brought you closer to what bliss truly was. However, you did like it a little better when you were in his arms as he pressed kisses to the top of your head.

It was suspiciously “very girlfriend-and-boyfriend type behavior,” as Karina told you.

“Pesto or marinara?” he called from the kitchen as you were watching him intently from the kitchen island countertop. His expression morphed into a cocky smirk, and you grew embarrassed when you realized he caught your dreamy stare. Jeno left the water to boil and leaned over the counter, looking right into your eyes. “Distracted, are we?”

Before you could open your mouth to respond, Jeno leaned over and pressed his lips to yours in a chaste kiss. It was over faster than it happened, but you were still left stunned when he pulled away and walked back to the stove.

“Pesto,” you concluded in a small voice.

After that, you and Jeno ate the pasta he made on the kitchen counter. At one point, you sat on the counter itself and let him feed you the pasta. Every giggle that slipped from your lips made you wonder if there were lovesick undercurrents. Jeno’s thumb rubbed soothing circles right above your knee, and you wondered if you two would ever become closer than this unlabelled relationship.

You weren’t particularly worried, but you felt like this you-and-Jeno thing was going to become a thing—one where you would both wind up catching feelings and not be able to stop seeing each other.

It became a thing.

Jeno didn’t do things, and you were both well aware of that, but neither of you could stop it from becoming a thing.

(And maybe—deep, deep down—you wanted it to become something, but you wouldn’t ever want to make a fool out of yourself. Not in front of Jeno.)

Every Friday, when you found yourself at the Fight Club, you ended up slipping away to Jeno’s room where he fucked you like a starved man. Whether it was your face pressed against the wall, legs shaking under you as he split you apart, or whether your legs were around his hips, holding on for dear life as he fucked into you harder and harder, Jeno was merciless. He didn’t stop until tears were streaming down your cheeks and the both of you had left marks on each other—just enough to last until the next week. (He also taught you how to fight if you weren’t too sore, yes.)

Jeno absolutely hated the aftermath. He hated how you limped out of his room, knees wobbling as you made your way back over to Jisung, who was either in the middle of a fight or watching one intently. He hated how Jisung drove you home, stealing away the time that you could’ve spent with him. He hated how he had to wait patiently for seven whole days to see you again.

So, Jeno indulged himself. You could tell so by the way he fucked you like there was no time left in the world. Sometimes, you could hardly contain your moans, so Jeno had to clamp his hand over your mouth until they were muffled and strangled under his hold.

“Eyes on me, doll,” he would growl. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

One particular night, while Jeno was fucking you until you saw stars, he languidly kissed you and mumbled against your lips, “Stay the night.”

You balked. There was no way you could explain to Jisung why you weren’t going home with him, why you were staying at the Fight Club’s warehouse with Lee Jeno. If you and Jeno were going to keep this situationship under wraps, screwing each other was not something you could carelessly be doing.

You went home without him that night. Empty. Alone. Longing.

Jeno was a very caring person, you realized, but you wondered if his affection could be dispensed to anybody—if you just happened to receive it because you were there. If someone else happened to encounter him during your first night at the Fight Club, would he have become involved with them instead?

And it wasn’t solely the sex. Jeno invited you to do things that toed the line of being a couple. He called you over to watch a movie, which resulted in you both cuddling as you watched every single episode of Loki in one sitting; he brought coffee to your place every weekend, and then he proceeded to do his homework on your dining table; and he took you out to expensive dinners and stifled his laughter when you would attempt to pronounce the names of the fancy dishes.

You liked Jeno’s smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. You liked the way his laugh rang in your ears. You liked the way he called your name and made your heart skip a beat.

You liked how he looked at you, not like you were fragile china, but like you were so powerful that he wanted to cherish you. You liked how he made you feel like you were the most beautiful woman ever, especially when he pressed kisses to your forehead and whispered sweet nothings against your skin, as if they’d bury deep into your very bones. You liked how he made a home for you in his arms, holding you close to his chest and stroking your hair until you fell asleep.

You liked Lee Jeno.

You couldn’t pinpoint why your revelation hit at that particular moment, but the sudden realization of your own feelings was overwhelming. This wasn’t something you could consult Jisung about (mostly because you knew he was useless in the field of love), nor could you ask Karina (mostly because she would just joke about it since she was in a secure relationship with Sungchan now), so you realized you needed to face this head-on.

That same night, you didn’t want to feel empty or alone anymore. You wanted to act on your feelings for once.

“Tighten your core muscles, got it?” Jeno instructed, brushing his large hand against your midriff. You always tried to focus on what he was teaching you, but it was painfully difficult when you were both so prone to end up wrapped up in each other at the drop of a hat. “If there’s an opening, you go for the nose, okay?”

“Are you just telling me all this just so you know what to watch out for?” you teased, willing your voice not to sound as breathless as you felt.

Jeno chuckled and kissed your nose gently. “Well, you know I’d never hurt that pretty face of yours.”

You should have been flattered, but, instead, you scrunched up your nose in disapproval. Jeno’s eyes widened, wondering if he did anything wrong. He hadn’t, but you didn’t want him to treat you like a girlfriend when you two weren’t even dating. Moreover, you wanted him to take your fight seriously.

“Promise me that you won’t hold back when I’m ready to fight,” you said, holding up your pinky. “I don’t want you going easy on me just because… yeah.”

“Yeah, I promise,” he said sincerely, linking his pinky with yours. A fond expression crossed his features before he raised a brow. “Because what?”

You didn’t want to say it. You didn’t want the words to fall from your lips. You knew that if you said what the both of you were thinking, everything would completely flip. You were ready for a relationship, but you weren’t sure if Jeno was anticipating this so soon. If you ended up saying something that drove him away, you didn’t know what you’d even do.

Everything would fall apart.

“It’s nothing,” you said, getting back into formation with your elbows out and fists clenched. “Let’s get back to it.”

Jeno didn’t seem to want to brush this off, but he took your words as a challenge instead. A glint flashed in his eyes when he stood across from you, positioned so that he was going to strike. You tried to determine whether to go for his eyes or legs, but it was all over before it even started.

Within seconds, Jeno had tackled you to the ground. You felt as if every limb of your body was pinned to the ground simply by his body weight, and fresh pain radiated along the side of your face when you hit the floor. You struggled to twist your way out of his grip, but you accepted defeat shortly after.

“Tell me what you were gonna say,” he said with a good-natured smile, which was completely off-beat considering he had just bodied you in your two-second sparring match.

“Do I have to?” you complained, to which Jeno nodded. You sighed and hit the back of your head against the floor lightly. “Um, well… I don’t wanna assume but I think we both like each other. Correct me if I’m wrong, though.”

To your surprise, Jeno snickered. For a moment, your stomach dropped, wondering if you were about to get a disappointing reaction, but then he buried his face into the crook of your neck. You noticed that he had a habit of doing that whenever he felt more affectionate with you.

“You’re just realizing this?” he asked, sighing and letting his hot breath fan your neck. He lifted his head to look at you, and you were endeared by how he looked like a puppy that was waiting for a treat. “But wait—you said we both like each other?”

There was still a sliver of uncertainty in Jeno’s eyes when you didn’t respond. It wasn’t that you didn’t reciprocate, but you were so taken aback from his reaction. The fighter swallowed hard, and his breathing was more labored compared to before. Despite the intensity in his eyes, his next words were soft.

“Do you really like me?”

“Yes,” you answered easily, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Yes. Absolutely.”

It took a minute for him to process, and your answer sank in slowly. You could see it in the way his eyes shone brighter upon the realization. For the first time, you saw the most love-struck look wash over Jeno’s face.

He reached up to cup both your cheeks, thumb swiping across your cheek lovingly. “I like you, too,” he murmured. “A lot.”

He signed off his words with a gentle kiss to your lips, and when you wrapped your arms around his neck, you felt like the air around you was crackling with static. Everything else melted away until it was you and Jeno, and you felt like he brought you to another high. This time, though, it was comforting; you felt loved.

Now you knew that Lee Jeno would fight tooth and nail for you if he had to—until his last breath.

EPILOGUE.

The members of the Fight Club roared with excitement. The first time you stepped up to the plate, your eyes were too innocent for the bloodthirsty crowd; this time around, you were focused. The dingy lights in the warehouse had never seemed so bright to you. The ring felt like your own stage, and each step you took made you feel like you owned the floor.

Jisung watched you with awe all over his face, and you wondered if he was the only one who betted on your victory. Of course, you didn't put it past anyone else in the crowd. They hadn’t seen how much you had improved, and the last time they saw you fight was catastrophic.

You vividly recalled Zhong Chenle’s words from your very first time at the Fight Club.

“The rules are no shirts or shoes, but, if you want, you can keep your shirt on.”

At the time, you were too timid to take off your shirt, afraid that onlookers would be more focused on what was underneath. What you didn’t come to realize was that no one—literally no one—cared about how your body looked. Back then, you had already accepted defeat before you stepped into the ring.

Eyes fixed on Jeno, you stripped your shirt off without a second thought.

The corner of your boyfriend’s mouth picked up in a smirk. You could see the excitement in his eyes; it was the same look he wore before he was about to win.

You inhaled sharply, allowing that rush of adrenaline to course through your body. It was addicting—intoxicating. Made you feel alive. Alert.

Once, Jeno asked you if you remembered the first two rules of Fight Club. Now, though, the third rule was running through your head like a mantra.

Someone yells “stop,” goes limp, taps out, the fight is OVER.

You grinned and faced your opponent, waiting for Chenle to signal you both to begin. Jeno had helped you a lot, but this was your chance to prove that all your training had paid off. Apart from your private affairs, you had been training at the Fight Club itself and watching fights with Jisung. You knew that you could properly give it your all, unlike your first fight against Jeno.

And you had no intention of tapping out this time.

“Ready,” Chenle started, and the atmosphere shifted. Your mind was becoming less thought and more feeling, zeroing in on Jeno as Chenle swung his hand down. “Fight!”

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ thank you so much for reading !! big s/o to you if you made it all the way here to the end :’) very hyped bc this is my first jeno fic !!! i’m ngl i wasn’t even halfway done with it yesterday when i said i was gonna be posting it that night LOL that was just my little motivating push for me to finish the fic :’) but it worked so im sorta proud !! <33 i hope you guys liked fight club and look forward to my other upcoming fics! i struggle with writing action sometimes so i hope the fight scenes made sense LOL but much love to y’all ♡

DEDICATION ▸ a special shoutout to fia @jenoentry for pushing me to write this fic !! this one’s for you bbyg aka #1 jeno stan <3 thank you for ur motivation esp when u said, and i quote, “if u don’t write the roughest toughest almost violent smut ever i’m ending this friendship” and then i proceeded to talk about how i’m writing soft jeno ♡ LMFAO ily fia you are my horny muse

TAG LIST ▸ @leeknowsredeyeliner @wownajaemin @geniejunn @huangberryyy @halbae @sehunniepot @jjaeyoonoh @subhyuck @itskkung @irrealitys @lilacboba @moasworld @kkakkdugi @nctevia @byunfirstlady @travelleratheart101 @nctdom @fairysunooo @bekah931215 @jenotation @decembermoonskz @tenderfrailty @so0bercore @luvno @ncttboo @sourguk @jinnieyeolele @kindawack @hugs4sieun @nonnnimous @n0hyuck @hyuckinx @justalonelynctzen @fraechan @jeonnyread @domhyuckie @rbf-aceu @curieouscapt @allie-mcginn @deobitiful @allorysayshi @willfiteforfood @hii-yongseul @pandabunbuns @haychhans @bitchenderyy @hello-kittyy @daegalfangirl @brightestmark @cherrywonie

CAN’T TAG ▸ @otchae @jenostoes @seraphinealana

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 3 years

Text

no kisses needed.

JOHNNY ‘COCO’ CRUZ.

MAYANS MC ┃ USEFUL LINKS

❝ request by @blowmymbackout: reader has a co-worker who just won't take the hint that reader isn't interested and has a bf she tells Coco he picks her up from work confronts the man. Coco is a lil jealous. Co-worker facetimes reader while coco has her in this position (sorry if that didn't make any sense)

❝ words: about 1.2k.

❝ warnings: nsfw, unprotected sex, language, voyeurism (????), coco being a little possessive, mention of bodily fluids.

❝ a / n: as always, don’t forget to comment and reblog if you liked it!

You weren't expecting Coco to pick you up from work today, but you guess he has just done it to see who's the fucker trying to flirt with his girl. The guy is uglier than the back of a fridge, and he feels some comfort in it. But not enough to calm down his jealousy. He —better than anybody— knows that you don't care about a pretty face, you care about a beautiful heart, tho. His insecurities come afloat on your way back home, worrying you because he's more silent than ever, not even getting a response when you whisper in his ear how much you have missed him today after waking up alone.

Coming into your house with his face down, Coco leaves his kutte and both helmets on the coffee table, a second before falling onto your sofa. A leg over it, the other flexed to the floor. Your boyfriend looks at you, thoughtful and very concentrated on the way you have to remove your jacket and walk towards his position. You know exactly what's on his mind and that touches your soul. His demons eat him alive with no mercy. Kneeling a leg between his —placing your phone close to his black helmet—, you lean down with both hands on his chest for balance, landing your lips onto his left ear.

“Can you do something for me?” You hum with such a sweet tone, caressing his cheek with the tip of your nose. And you hear him swallowing slowly. “Fuck me, Coco. I need you so fuckin' much… You can't imagine… Can you do that for me, ah? Can you fuck me so hard I forgot my name but not who I belong to?”

He utters a feral snarl, noticing then that your right hand has made its way to his dick. You grip it over the rough fabric, swinging it with a tortuous pace, fixing your eyes on his. Coco is about to kiss you when you push him down using your left hand.

“I don't want your kisses now”. You whisper accommodating yourself over the delicious rock under his clothes. “I want your dick. I want you to fuck me till I have to beg you to stop”.

How does he manage to roll you down his body? You don't know. But the fact is that, in less than a second, you're lying on your stomach and your boyfriend is removing your sneakers and your jeans. He can't help but lick his lips keenly as he glances at the small spot darkening your panties, the evidence of how wet you are because of him.

“Fuck, ma'...”

Coco rips off the piece of clothing causing you to gasp, while you take off the shirt covering your torso, only leaving the blue bra you're wearing beneath it. He undoes it to throw it to the floor too, sliding an arm under your stomach to make you raise your ass. With his free hand, your boyfriend pulls down his jeans and boxers enough to let his hard cock spring free. He doesn't prepare you. Coco guides his glans to your folds to slam his thick length into your soaked cunt. You moan loud and clear his full name, as he settles his body between your spread legs.

Digging his fingers in your hips, aware that he probably will leave some marks there, he doesn't show any mercy. He hits your guts and your soul once and once with an insane pace that causes you to roll your eyes, nailing your hands on the armrest to find some equilibrium and receive every pound straight to your g-spot without falling over it. Coco is fucking you as hard as you have asked him, blanking your mind and making a mess of your vocals.

And he doesn't stop when your phone starts to ring. The name of your co-worker appearing on the screen. Your boyfriend has the brilliant idea of pulling your hair back by tangling his digits there, bringing his lips to your ear. His other hand grabs your device to put it at the height of your faces, sliding his thumb to answer the video call.

The first thing your partner can see is the pleasure gesture on yours, moaning and screaming Coco's name, not having noticed yet what he is doing until you hear your co-worker calling you.

“Tell him how good I fuck you, ma'”. Your boyfriend demands with such a throaty growl, thrusting his thick and hard length into you, impaling your body against the sofa.

“Shit…” You almost cry. “He fucks me so damn good”.

“That's it… Tell him… Tell him who you belong to”.

You know that he's enjoying it, but you can't answer when your partner hangs up the call. Coco can't help but laugh, tosing your phone to the table, to occupy his hand in a better place. Wrapping it around your throat, your boyfriend forces you to kneel on the cushions, sticking his chest to your back.

“Bet he won't forget”. He grunts into your ear, tilting your head to tuck his tongue within your mouth.

He drinks your pleas, your begs, your gaps, placing your fingers around his wrists, aware that you're not going to last much more because of what has just happened. And he feels it. He feels how your whole anatomy gets tensed with every push to your guts, creating an erotic melody of flesh against flesh. Pulling you down again and gripping your hips, Coco increases the pace of his lungs, giving you more pleasure than you can bear with, still enraged because of that shithead thinking he could have some kind of opportunity with you. You are his. Like your heart, your soul, your thoughts.

“Ah, fuck, baby”. You paint roaring, biting your lips until the metallic taste of blood floods your mouth.

The tickles in your lower belly grow by leaps and bounds, making your heart stop for a brief instant before the orgasm blows out all your senses and the electrical lash roams your back. It takes Coco only two slams more into your soaked pussy to cum inside you, filling you as much as he can press his body against yours. He doesn't feel jealous, nor angry anymore. He simply is too tired after that rough quickly, marking your skin wherever his teeth have reached it.

Loosening his grip bit by bit to pull his wet dick out from you, your boyfriend holds your phone again to take a picture of his warm seed spilling out from your abused lips. A piece of art under his dark eyes. Lying on your back and placing a smooth kiss on top of your head, he shows you the little mess he has done with a proud smile crossing his exhausted mouth.

“Was tha' what you wanted?”

“Uh-huh”. You whisper resting your cheek over your forearms, turning slightly at him. “Did you have fun, Coquito?”

“I always have fun ruining your sweet tight pussy, ma'. I don' even mind if that cabrón wanna come and look the next time”.

GENERAL TAG LIST: @mayans-sauce @peoniarose @destynelseclipsa @band-psycho @myakai13 @petlaufeyson @-im-fantastic- @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals @rocketqueen @rosieposie0624 @ellyseveronica @Jessprins13 @diaryofkali @ravenmoore14 @starrynite7114 @kenbechillin @miahelen @monkeyluver4546 @sheeshgivemeabreak @jadesamhart @rawrlittlepanda-95 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @katsav17 @skits90s @wildsould1221 @littlekittymeow @tenderclio @badame1240 @regalbanshee

MAYANS MC: @multiyfandomgirl40 @countryash345 @skyofficialxx @lovebennycolonmiguelgalindo @bellisperennis0 @chibsytelford @trulysuccubus @purrrrfect @witching-hour @leathercladmenfics @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @gemini0410 @pinguinstudiert @oscars-wifeyyy @meteora-fc @lozaa94 @arveeee @joupym @hanster1998 @missswritings @arana-alpha @lucillewinchester @theocatkov @telfordlowmans

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #johnny coco cruz imagine #johnny coco cruz x reader #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

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skittlebits · 3 years

Text

Safe

Pairing - Natasha Romanoff x Carol Danvers

Words - 1,500

Summary - Natasha gets her first head cold while traveling in space. Carol takes care of her.

Tags - Fluff, Post-Endgame (slight canon-divergence because Nat isn’t dead), mentions of Vormir, mild illness, administering medication, bed sharing

Read on AO3

“I managed to live thirty-nine years on Earth without catching so much as a cold, but I travel to another galaxy one time and I’m down for the count? What the hell, Danvers?”

Natasha sat slumped at the table, her arm propping up her aching head. Several thin swaths of cloth lay crumpled on the table in front of her, sodden with her efforts to stem the flow of mucus from her reddened nose.

Carol stood at the first aid cabinet rummaging through a box of supplies. “You’re talking to a person who has alien blood flowing through her veins. I kind of forgot people even got viruses.”

Natasha tried glaring at Carol but it made her head hurt even more and she winced. “Lucky bitch,” she grumbled.

“Well, I’d take you to Hala and get you hooked up with some alien blood of your own but unfortunately the entire Kree race wants me dead, so,” Carol shrugged. She pulled a canvas bag out of the box and brought it to the table.

“Why can’t I have some of yours then?” Natasha asked, only partly joking. She’d almost be willing to drink a pint of blood right about now if she thought it would ease the pounding pressure in her head. She watched as Carol sat next to her at the table, inspecting the contents of the bag. “I mean, you did go through the trouble to save me on Vormir and all.”

Carol looked up from the bag and shot Natasha a look. “I swear, if you’re about to make fun of me for-“

Natasha straightened up and put a hand up in front of her in a placating gesture, realizing belatedly how flippant that had sounded. “No, I swear, I’m not. I’m sorry, that was rude.” She sighed and winced when the simple act made her eyes water. “I can’t think straight with this sinus pressure and I’m being a bitch and you don’t deserve that.”

Carol looked at her for a moment before returning her attention to the bag.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Natasha swallowed thickly. She still wasn’t used to navigating this relatively new territory.

“I know how lucky I am, Carol. There will never be a day go by where I’m not profoundly grateful for what you did on Vormir…even if you did almost scare me to death, which, granted, I guess I deserved. So, I’m sorry. I promise the next time I ask you to give me alien healing powers I’ll be a lot more tactful and much less whiny and pitiful.”

Natasha breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Carol smile but was quickly taken over with a series of wet sneezes. She felt one of her ears pop and she felt like she was underwater.

She was going to run out of cloth to blow her nose on at this rate.

Carol finally pulled two small containers out of the medical bag - one containing a liquid and one with pills.

“Okay, I think these are your best opinions for relief until we stop somewhere that has whatever passes for cold and flu medication out in this quadrant of the galaxy we’re in.” She shook the bottle with the pills. “These are anti-inflammatory meds, and this,” she held up the vial of clear liquid, “is a painkiller of some sort.” She looked at the label for a moment and hummed. “Yeah, you definitely won’t feel the pressure in your head on this stuff. We might want to just do a half dose of this one.”

Natasha closed her eyes and sighed. She hated taking any sort of medication. Normally she could put mind over matter but her face felt like it was about to explode and it hurt just to focus her eyes. And maybe it was okay to indulge. She wasn’t in a battle somewhere, she was safe on Carol’s spacecraft.

“Okay, I’ll take both,” she finally decided. Carol handed her the bottle of pills so she could grab a syringe from the bag.

“Want me to give you this one or do you want to do it yourself?” Carol asked, holding up the syringe and vial for Natasha’s inspection.

Natasha fumbled with the pill bottle as she struggled to get the lid off. Her muscles ached with the simple effort. “I think I’m going to need you to do it, Nurse Carol,” she admitted quietly. She swallowed two of the pills and chased them down with the tea she had been nursing.

Carol grinned and got to work on setting up the syringe. “Is Nurse Carol also going to be carrying you to bed so you can rest?” she teased, tugging the shoulder of Natasha’s shirt down to expose her upper arm. Natasha raised her shoulder to help expose enough skin for Carol to get to the muscle. She winced at the injection.

“Is Nurse Carol going to tell another living soul if she does?”

Carol capped the syringe and put the medicines back into the bag. “Of course not, I’m not stupid.”

Natasha smiled even though it made her face hurt. “Then yes please.”

Carol put the bag back into the first aid cabinet and pulled out a small stack of triangle bandages. She placed them on the table near the pile of crumpled, sodden cloth. “We’re on these now for your nose. All the smaller ones have been used up. I’ll cut them into quarters while you rest. When we stop for medicine I’ll look into better options to keep on board,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “I know it’s been almost three months but I still…it’s still so new, having someone with me in a space I’ve spent so long alone in.”

Natasha turned on her stool so she was facing Carol and gave her a tender look. “Hey, this is still new to me as well, so I understand,” she assured her.

Natasha’s eyes welled up suddenly and Carol stepped forward in concern but Natasha looked away and put up a hand to stop Carol from coming any nearer. A moment passed before Natasha was overcome with another sneezing fit and Carol relaxed.

“Sorry, I felt it coming on and didn’t want to sneeze in your face,” Natasha said, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. She reached back toward the table to grab a couple of the drier cloths from the table before lifting her arms to make a grabby hand gesture at Carol. “Please take me to bed before the drugs kick in and I get any more pathetic than I already am,” she begged, tiredly.

Carol laughed and easily scooped Natasha up into her arms. “You’re not pathetic, you’re adorable,” she said, walking past the bathroom and the spare bunk room to the main personal quarters on the ship. She carefully deposited Natasha on the sleeping platform and moved toward the end of the platform to begin unlacing her boots while Natasha arranged the pillows in a pile to help ease the pressure in her head.. Once her boots were off Carol arranged the blankets around Natasha until she was tucked in comfortably.

“M’not adorable,” Natasha grumbled, her eyelids drooping as she watched Carol smiling softly at her.

“You totally are.”

Natasha groaned weakly, “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Carol grinned. “Want me to hold you?”

Natasha nodded her head against the pillows. “Yes please.”

Carol climbed onto the platform beside Natasha and opened her arms. Natasha turned toward her immediately and buried her face in Carol’s chest, her hand resting above her heart. Carol shoved the pillows behind her to keep them both propped up a bit before wrapping her arms around Natasha.

“Better?”

“Mm, I love how you’re always so warm.”

Carol gently ran her fingers through red tresses, soothing. “I’m glad you think I’m hot,” she teased.

“That too,” Natasha murmured, snuggling further into Carol, “M’glad I fell in love with you. Lots of perks.”

Carol fought off a dopey grin and held Natasha a little tighter. “I’m glad you fell in love with me too, otherwise throwing myself off that cliff to get the soul stone wouldn’t have worked and then it just would have been super awkward after.”

Natasha sniffled as she smiled into the soft fabric of Carol’s shirt. “I almost broke my hand slapping you afterward, you idiot. I can’t believe that actually worked though. I guess it was kind of romantic.”

Carol craned her head down to look at Natasha, indignant. “Kind of? Only kind of romantic?”

Natasha hummed dreamily. The painkiller had started to kick in. “You scared the hell out of me, and Clint and that creepy red guy were there.” Carol scoffed. “But you know what I think is really romantic?” Natasha asked softly.

“What’s that, love” Carol asked, running her fingers through Natasha’s hair once more.

“You make m’feel safe… I n’er had tha..before you.”

Carol smiled and kissed the top of Natasha’s head.

“I love you, Tash. Sweet dreams.”

#carolnat #natasha x carol #carolnat fic #natasha romanoff #carol danvers #fluff fic

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

The Assistant / Chapter Thirty, “Close Calls”

All chapters can be found here!

Inspiration tag for the story!

I recently completed a character survey from Becky’s POV that you should check out!

Warning! This story contains mentions of: cancer, vomiting, chemotherapy process, and brief mentions of blood.

Sneaky peeeeeeeek!

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. The paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

But I can’t, and I don’t try to put the feelings into words. I sit there and cry inside of my car until I can’t anymore. And until I find enough strength to sit up and leave, knowing that I won’t call him back.

Snowflakes flutter in front of my eyes, painting the world white. Cars zoom past on the streets down below, the size of my fingernail. Yeah, it sure looks like the first of February out there, the thought sounds inside of me. The festivities of Christmas are long over as a new year has begun. Thinking of what comes next leads to a disorganized mess behind my eyes. I try to rid my thoughts of it with a hard blink, but instead it brings something else forth.

February 1st.

It’s Harry’s birthday today.

He’s 29. Shit.

Flipping my phone over in my lap, my thumbs get working fast. But once that empty conversation is in front of my eyes, I stall. Before I chicken out, words appear on the screen quickly.

I read them over and wonder how they sound. Or, more like, how they would sound to him. Do they sound too personal? Do they not sound personal enough? Or am I worrying too much and it’ll just blend into all of the other birthday texts he’s sure to receive?

“I think if you stare at that thing any harder your eyes are gonna pop out of your skull, Ree.”

I raise my head to find the voice who said that. My dad. He smiles tiredly at me a few steps away. I laugh, realizing he’s right.

“What’s got your attention so peaked anyways?” he asks. His eyes framed with exhaustion stay for only a second. They return to the Arsenal football match playing on the telly.

“Um, just trying to write a text to somebody. But I don’t know if it’s good enough.”

“Don’t think about it so much, sweetie. I mean it, you’re probably thinking too hard about it,” he comments, scratching at the blue wool hat covering his head.

Sometimes I still expect to see the IV tubing dangling from his skinny arm. Like all of the other times at the beginning. Patches of faded red cover the insides of his arms from them now. You wouldn’t notice their small marks, but I know they’re there. The seconds of relief from their absence is whisked away when he tugs at his shirt. The moving of the material reveals the tubing leading to the port in his chest. The one I forget has been there for months when his shirt covers it.

“Yeah, you’re right,” I tell him, and go ahead and hit Send.

Hi. I’ve been thinking of you. I hope you’re doing alright. Just remembered it was your birthday. Wow 29, huh? Damn you really are getting old, you geezer. You better hurry and claim your senior discount now. No, but really I hope you’re having a good day, Harry. Enjoy your day. Have some drinks and do something for yourself, something you enjoy. I hope 29 is a fantastic year for you. Hopefully you’re not as run down yet as Chandler is.

I tap Send again, watching the clip from F.R.I.E.N.D.S go with the text marked by a heart. A smile pulls up my cheeks, thinking of the scene.

The three guys are sitting on the sofa in Central Perk and Chandler talks about not being 21 anymore. He’s 29 now and just wants to relax and go to bed at his bedtime, according to him.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” my dad comments, bringing my eyes back to him. A small smile pinches his sallow cheeks. I nod, thinking of those words, but in a different way. If only that could be said about everything.

Setting my phone down, I try to watch the match with him. I’m glad it’s taking his mind off of the poison coursing through his veins. But I’m distracted by the anxious excitement of waiting to hear a ding from my phone.

Point after point is scored and it doesn’t come. And I try not to be disappointed, but I think I’m getting rather good at being disappointed lately.

The last words of a Katy Perry song trickle from the speakers as I put the car in park. A soft glow pours out the living room window, waiting for me.

6:13 pm, the digital clock reads.

I let my head fall back to the head rest. The events of today and their emotions flood my thoughts. As well as the things I still need to do tonight. Bring in the groceries. Put them away. Make dinner, even though he’ll eat 5 bites that he’ll throw up. Sweep and mop the kitchen. Disinfect surfaces. Find time to vacuum when he isn’t sleeping. Change his bedsheets. Do la-

Brrrrrrrrrrring!

The incessant words forming inside of my head cease. Looking over to the passenger seat, my phone buzzes face down. I pick up and answer it without looking.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Becks,” a refreshing voice answers. It almost removes the heavy words inside of me, but not quite.

“Hi, Harry. How was your birthday?” I answer, peering down at my lap.

“It was pretty fantastic, thank you. ‘m sorry I didn’ get t’ yer text yestaday. Tha’s why ‘m callin’, an’ ‘cause I got yer gift. I love it, it was so nice o’ you! I don’ have this Fleetwood record yet, so thank ya very much. ‘s in incredible condition, too! Hope ya didn’ have t’ pay too much. I know how pricey original records can be,” his syrupy voice utters with extra sugar today. It fills me with comfort, but he also picked the worst time to call. Although, maybe it would help to get out of my head for a few minutes. If I can.

“Yeah, you’re welcome. I’m glad you liked it. I uh, wasn’t sure if you had it or not,” I reply slowly, unsure of what to say. I find it hard trying to pick out words from my head as so many others are whirring around. Playing with the zipper on my coat, I wait for his reply.

“I can’ wait t’ listen t’ it. There’s not a scratch on it, ‘s unbelievable. I got sum drinks with sum mates last night afta work, so tha’s why I forgot t’ text back. Had lots o’ fun tho’, an’ ate sum good food,” he narrates for me in an animated voice.

I nod at his words, wishing that would suffice. But I have to talk, even though yesterday I would’ve jumped at the chance to hear his voice. Well, I still would today. Just minus the jumping part.

“Good,” is all I say, amidst the lump building in my throat. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to breathe. But it doesn’t help, it never does. “I’m glad you had a good time,” I somehow manage. Cursing myself, I know he heard my voice crack at the end. Because so did I.

“Becks-.”

“I’m glad you had a good birthday with friends. It did sound fun. Um I’m sorry, but can I call you back? I was just going to run into a shop quick,” I cut him off, the lie knitting together fast.

“Ya sure, an’ thanks. ‘ll talk t’ ya later, Becks. Drive safe,” he replies, something amiss in his voice. But I can’t listen any further than that, or else the guilt will make the tears come sooner.

“Thanks, Harry. I will, and happy birthday,” I finish, not giving him a chance to reply before I hang up.

Because the tears already arrived at my last word. And he sounded so happy, and I couldn’t ruin it. Over the course of the few texts we’ve sent back and forth in the last month, it was the happiest he’s sounded. And I didn’t want to share my dark cloud, and reveal that I’m in the lowest of my lows. Another side of me selfishly wanted him to notice, almost begged him to. And that part is disappointed that he didn’t, but the other part knows that I can’t expect that. Or at least it tries to.

It’s going to take everything inside of me. To lift my head from the steering wheel and walk back into that house. And to do yesterday and the day before, all over again. Dole out the meds and write them down. Clean up the vomit. Cook the meals. Clean and clean. Endure watching the pain and suffering I can’t do a damned thing about. And on top of it all, try to deal with my own pain and suffering. Not to forget, the schoolwork.

I want to tell him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to put into words that I’m breaking more and more every day. Or the paradox of being happy and sad that I’m here with my dad for his next round of chemotherapy. And I sure as hell don’t know how to put into words to Harry that his one in a million hugs could fix everything, if only for a little bit.

“Hey, Becky. Could you do me a favor, love?”

The pictures of puppies I was looking at suddenly feels illegal. Closing my laptop, I look up and find Sophie standing in front of me. I still think for a split second that she’s the mom from The Princess Diaries when I look at her, even after a year of working here.

“Y-yeah yeah. What do you need, Sophie?” I ask, trying to sit up straight, for once.

“Could you run this down to the post room for me, please? I need it sent out today, and I have a video conference in a minute. I’d wait on it, but I know they pickup the post in about 20. I won’t make it since my video conference is an hour long,” she says, her lips lined in scarlet grimacing. She tugs at the end of her corkscrew brown curls, a nervous habit of hers. “I hate to be one of those bosses that makes you do stupid stuff, but-.”

“Don’t mention it, Soph. A little walk would be nice, anyways,” I insist, taking the large white envelope from her. She thanks me with a smile and a handful of ‘thank yous’ before leaving.

Standing up, I feel my joints wake back up with a few cracks. I smooth down my maroon blouse over my black dress pants. A shiver tickles my spine, and I decide to slide on my zip up black Columbia. The last thing I do before leaving is to grab my steel water bottle to fill up.

“Be right back,” I let the girls know at the front desk. They nod with a smile before resuming their hushed conversation.

My pointed flats hardly make a noise on the tiled floor. It’s hard to look for a noise with the wind whipping around the snow outside. Just looking out the windows lining the hallway makes me feel cold, colder than it should be in March. And regret choosing these shoes this morning. I reach a corner and take a left, thinking back to when I first started and always got lost. I pass a handful of people on my way, familiar and not, and we exchange smiles or nods. I pass the doors for Human Resources, and wave at a friend. A gruff bailiff passes without either, but he was a little too scary looking to make eye contact with anyways.

I reach another corner, knowing the post room is only two turns away now. I take a right, but a few steps in, I hear voices. And laughing. My feet stop at the sound, and I turn around. The large doors to Courtroom 5 are down the hallway behind me. A clump of people stand across them talking, leaning against the wall under a clock. One of the laughs stands out to me from the others, like a musician can recognize a note. I can only see the backs of heads of those facing away from me. They shield the others from my view. My head goes from side to side with dismissal as I turn back around. But I don’t get very far, because I hear something they say.

A name.

It’s like it takes control of my limbs, and again I’m spinning around. I make it just in time to watch a figure break away from the group. Smiling and shaking hands, a laugh tickling their lips. And walk over to the drinking fountain. It’s Rose, one of the lawyers from Harry’s firm. Hmm, I think silently before walking away for real this time.

I soon find another water fountain and I decide to fill up. Luckily almost all of the ones I come across here have the nifty water bottle attachment. It was always a pain any place I’d go trying to fill it up directly from the spout. With the thick envelope under my arm, I screw the cap back on. Slipping my finger through the little handle at the top, I take off. But once again, I don’t get very far. Because this time I almost run into somebody.

“Sorry,” I automatically say before even taking a look at the person. But I don’t need to look when their voice tells me what I’m looking for.

“‘s alr- Wait, ‘s that you, Becks? Well hi, love,” Harry coos, his words catching.

“What, I don’t get an ‘it’s alright’ just because I’m not a stranger?” I joke, looking into his brilliant green eyes.

The skin around his eyes crinkles as amusement paints his face. Nodding, his growing curls dance a little on his head. “Yeah, I guess ‘s alright ya almost plowed me ova,” he jokes, his straight white teeth showing behind his happy lips.

Scratching at the back of his neck, his navy blazer pulls to the side. I see more of the cream button down underneath decorated with small navy polka dots.

“Hey, I could say the same thing about you,” I argue, trying to calm the happiness budding on my lips. But my control doesn’t last very long.

Harry replies with a breathy laugh, dropping his hand. “Oh hush, you. Now, what’re ya doin’ here, love? I hope yer not here fer a hearing,” he asks, swinging the leather messenger bag to his side. Probably heavy from his files and laptop, from the look of its bulging seams.

“I uh, work here,” I tell him slowly, my words escaping me. My fingers wrap around and lift the sleek card resting on my chest.

His moss green eyes fall to the lanyard hanging around my neck holding the access card bearing my face and name. I receive my answer when his expressive eyebrows shoot to the sky in surprise. “Here? Really, doin’ wha’?” he questions.

“Um, I do some clerk stuff back in admin,” I reply, watching his expression relax into a content smile.

“Tha’s great, Becks. That’ll look really good on yer resume when ya graduate. Good fer you, ‘m proud o’ you, darlin’,” he comments, patting my arm. I hardly know what to say with everything jumping around in my head all of a sudden. The arm pat. The beaming pride coating his features. The part where he said he’s proud of me, for the second time now. Okay, chill out, Becky. You can’t lose it, not yet. “An’ ya like it here? Are ya learnin’ more ‘bout law?”

“Yeah, I really like it. I work with a small group of people, and we get along really well. I mean there’s always that one coworker you don’t like, but what can you do?” I try to laugh, but I’m afraid it sounds fake. It’s okay though, because his laugh covers the doubt I hear in mine. And the nerves. “And I am learning, too. My boss is really great and I think she uses me being in law school to her advantage. It’s a match made in heaven, I guess.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear that. ‘m happy t’ hear well, that yer happy,” Harry tells me with a smile framing his words. But when I look at it a second too long, I see the sadness in it. Suddenly, I regret my words, and how they sounded like he wasn’t a good boss. Or that I didn’t like it at his firm. But he doesn’t let me get too far into my thoughts, luckily. “How’s yer dad doin’? I haven’t heard from ya lately, but I undastand yer prolly real busy.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” I apologize, looking away with warming cheeks. But his automatic ‘’s okay’ and squeeze to my arm makes me look back at him. “Things have been pretty crazy with classes and being there for my dad. He started chemo again the beginning of last month, since they didn’t get all of the tumor, like they hoped they would. But I guess most people still do it to ensure it’s gone, or something like that. I can’t remember.”

“Stop, ‘s okay,” he says firmly, his eyebrows raising a tick. “How’s he handlin’ tha chemo? ‘ve heard that stuff’s pretty shitty.”

“Yeah, it is. It makes him really sick. It’s hard because sometimes he has to wait to do an infusion of it, because some levels of his are too low. Or they want him to be at a certain weight, even though the chemo makes him lose weight,” I explain, the words coming out effortlessly. “It’s hard to see him like this, and to still be a student and an employee during all of it. But my professors and boss have been really understanding and lenient.”

I bite back the tears, hoping they won’t fall without my permission. But one breaks loose from the gate as I stare at the floor. My flats are separated from his brown leather chelsea boots. Then after a blink they no longer are. I don’t make the decision to look up, but it’s made for me when I feel his thumb wiping the tear away. Peering into his gleaming green eyes always seems to make time stop. A warm smile places dimples in his cheeks, and does something to me. Like it always does.

“‘s okay. I can’t imagine how hard ‘s been fer ya, Becks. Why didn’ ya ring me? I woulda listened,” Harry asks me, his hand regretfully belonging to himself again. But there isn’t annoyance or anger in his voice. There’s emotions from the other side of the spectrum heard there. Like regret and sadness, and others I can’t fathom right this second.

“I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Plus, I hate to be a Debbie Downer,” I confess, admiring the length of his dark eyelashes when they tickle his skin.

“Yer notta Debbie Downa, Becks, whateva tha bloody hell that ‘s,” he insists. A hint of his giggle meets my ears when I look at him weird due to that revelation. “Ya can call me anytime, ‘kay? Whether ‘s happy or sad, ‘d wanna hear ‘bout it.”

I nod at his words, savoring the sound of his voice. And what it said. His minty breath strokes my cheek as he’s close enough to touch. The words get lost in my throat as his familiar smell wafts over me, catching me off guard. “Thank you,” I mumble thoughtfully, seeing his head move in answer.

“What’re ya takin’ this semesta fer yer LLB tha’s so tough? I mean, I know all tha courses can be, but ‘m curious. Ya must be onto tha heavier courses by now, ‘s that right?”

“Well, I’m still catching up to where I should be as a kind of sophomore. Because they changed the degree around since I’ve been gone, so that’s kinda why I took Crim later than usual. But right now I’m taking Banking Law, Family Law, and Environmental Law,” I answer, watching my words register with him. He nods at certain parts, his brow knitted together as he pays attention to me, like there’s nobody else in the entire room.

“Ugh, those don’ sound any fun. I rememba takin’ those, or what were tha equivalent t’ ‘em when I was in uni. They’re tha ratha borin’ ones, an’ Family’s sad, too,” he comments, a look of disgust playing with his features. It’s amusing, but I get away with not letting it show on my face. Reaching to scratch his chin, I notice the stubble there. And the pops of color on his fingernails. Both fitting, I must say.

“Yeah they’re super boring. I’m surprised you even remember them, seeing as you’re 29 and everything,” I joke, earning a well deserved eye roll from him. But he can’t get rid of the grin showing on his raspberry lips. “Hey, I like your nails. It looks like you did a pretty good job, better than I could even,” I laugh and it grows harder when he holds them out for me to see. A wine red and turquoise blue decorate his fingers. But what gets me is that he puckers his lips, modeling like Zoolander.

“Thanks,” Harry titters, looking down at them. “Me little niece picked out tha colors an’ helped me paint ‘em tha otha night. But I think they’re growin’ on me. Already chippin’ tho they are, whatta shame.”

You let your niece paint your nails?

Wait, you’re an uncle?

Okay, the thought of you with tiny children is not helping things.

“You sound like a fun uncle.”

“Ya, I hope so. Harper says I am anyways, which ‘s quite tha compliment. Also, stop callin’ me old. 29 isn’t old,” Harry whines, sticking his bottom lip out at me.

“Oh stop it, you baby,” I giggle, and soon his joins mine. For a couple of seconds, we’re just looking at each other laughing and things couldn’t be better. But I’ve learned that good things can never last, and soon enough we’re interrupted by a voice.

“Harry, are you coming?” Rose says from across the hallway, a ‘hello’ to me following. The sweet sound coming from his lips soon fades as he looks over to her and nods. Pushing his sleeve back to look at his watch, he clucks his tongue.

“‘m afraid I can’ talk any longa, Becks. ‘m sorry. Rose an’ I are workin’ togetha onna case. It starts in half an hour, an’ we gotta go ova sum things befo’ it all starts,” he explains regretfully. I nod, acknowledging his words. And try as I might, I can’t get rid of the disappointment growing heavy in my gut.

“Yeah o-of course, don’t let me keep you. Good luck, Harry, knock ‘em dead,” I wish him with a small, but sad, smile.

A hint of one inches up his cheeks before he says, “Yer not keepin’ me, I dunno why ya always say that. I enjoy talkin’ t’ ya. ‘s nice t’ catch up again,” Harry tells me. As if in slow motion, I watch him take another step closer to me with outstretched arms. I follow suit and soon find myself in one of his hugs. “Ya ring me if ya need anythin’, ya hear me? Even just t’ talk. Maybe we could get coffee or tacos sumtime.”

The moment in his arms doesn’t last long enough, although I’m sure any amount of time wouldn’t be enough for me. Soon, I’m leaving the safety of his arms and again, I’m alone. “Of course. Thanks, Harry.”

“Welcome. Tell yer dad an’ Robbie ‘m thinkin’ of ‘em,” Harry rasps, and I just nod. “An’ take care, Becks. Good luck in yer courses, I know ya’ll do well.”

Happiness seeps through the sudden sadness with his kindness, and I muster a smile. And another thank you.

“Have a good day, love,” is the last thing he says, before he turns to walk towards Rose who waits for him.

“You too,” I mumble, watching him walk away.

Bittersweetness lines my thoughts, wondering if the sadness is worth getting to see him. And that hug. God, that fucking hug. They do fix everything that’s wrong, if only for a couple of seconds. It makes me wonder how much happier I’d be if I could have one of those every day, as a respite from the chaos of life. But that would only be in the case of if I was his-.

Yeah, I’m not going there again, I tell myself. And with that, I finally continue my journey to the post room, unsure of how I’ll be able to top that.

For the rest of day.

Week.

Maybe even, month.

The butter melts on my tongue and next the pillowy bread does too. I close my eyes and smile at the taste. Like home. Opening them again, my eyes flit over the half dozen crock pots and several other plates. Frowning, I can’t stop thinking about the meatballs, the macaroni and cheese, the sugar cookie fruit pizza, and the homemade bread.

But with a longing sigh, I walk away and leave the break room. Excited coworkers of mine pass me on the way to the food. My desk eyes me from across the room, but I ignore it. Soon, I find myself in the hallway. Twenty minutes left of my break after scarfing down the monthly potluck meal. It only gets better each month, and makes me wish it was weekly. The last bite of airy bread passes my lips. I wipe my hands on the napkin and toss it in a bin. The new storm delivers snow outside of the hallway-long windows. Although they’re frosted from the chill, I can still just make out the falling flakes.

My thoughts of snow are whisked away by the shuffling of feet. And hurried voices. It takes me a moment to figure out where I’ve gone off too. Soon, I realize I’m back by Courtroom 5. And that the people are bustling inside the doors to sit in the gallery. And watch. The sleeve of my zip up glides over my watch, revealing the time to be one o’clock. Quickly, thoughts come together like puzzle pieces in my head.

My break is over at 1:30.

It’s Friday, so it’s not like I really have anything important to do when I get back.

Sophie has been bothering me for ages to go and learn from the teachers I have just down the hall.

So she won’t mind.

And the only teacher that I can think I want to learn from is in there right now.

About to argue a case that appears to be available to the public.

I don’t remember telling my feet to move, but suddenly I’m behind an older man. And the scene in front of me changes drastically. It fills me with nervous excitement at the sight of the judicial panel, the jury box, and the witness stand. But I don’t have time to gawk, because the chatter around me is quieting down. I quickly find a seat towards the back of the seating in the gallery.

Silence follows the clanging of the doors shutting. Within a few seconds, everybody rises when the judge enters. But the rest of the room - the jury made up of all kinds of faces, the bailiff, court reporter etc. - melt away when I see that head of curly hair. I’d know it was him if we were in a crowd of people, but any doubt I had from afar is washed away when he speaks.

Harry and Rose take turns delivering their opening statement. They’re defending their client, the plaintiff, who from the sounds of it, was harassed by the defendant. It kills me to watch the opening statements unfold, even if all I can see is the back of the girl’s head. The hush over the courtroom is chilling, and goosebumps grow on my arms at the sound of Harry’s tone. His professional voice that I’ve yet to really hear before. Because although I worked for him, I was only his assistant. I never got to tag along to trials, or hear much about them. Yes, I did some of the dirty work for them, but I only saw the outside. I heard about how good or bad it was going, and then was dealt with the good news or bad news of the verdict. No more than that.

It’s awe inspiring to witness him arguing the case firsthand. The way he uses his hands to speak, or the times when his voice does all the speaking he needs to. His eloquent choice of words drills the emotion home, and is accented by the expression on his face. It’s often neutral, but at times, I watch him struggle to hide the effects of the words playing on his face. I find myself having a hard time doing the same when he returns to sit next to the plaintiff, patting her on the back during difficult moments. Unbeknownst to me, the defending lawyer may have been practicing for two years or twenty. But their skill wanes next to Harry’s, even though he’s been practicing for less than ten years. I can’t stand to watch the discrepancies and weaknesses in his arguments. Luckily, my break is over and I don’t care to waste my time watching Mr. Bow Tie over here.

I quietly leave a few minutes into his opening statement, hoping one day I can evoke as much emotion as Harry with my words. And hide from my face all of the ones that I’m feeling inside. Walking back to my department, a smile curls the edges of my lips. But then it falls, because I realize the mistake I made.

I just fell a little bit harder. Again.

“I’m gonna bring the dishes down,” I mumble, watching him nod at me.

The wooden steps creak with my weight as I juggle the tray of barely touched food. A bowl of chicken noodle soup. A piece of toast. And apple slices with peanut butter.

Options, options, options.

The plastic tray hits the counter with a hard slap, and an accentuated huff. I bend down and grab tupperware from the drawers. As I pour the soup into a container, the slam of a door upstairs makes me jump. My thoughts fly to the soup spilled all over the counter, but they stop when I hear another noise. Besides the tv in the living room, it’s the only other one I hear. It pulls my feet out of the kitchen and through the living room until I’m at the stairs. I take the steps two at a time until I’m at the top. The terrible sound carries down the hallway, leading me to the bathroom door.

I nervously rap my knuckles against the door.

“I’m fine,” my dad says from the other side, coughing.

“Dad, they said if it gets bad-.”

“It’s not bad yet,” he interrupts. There’s a pause when he blows his nose. “Please, Ree, I just want to be home. I hate having to go there.”

“I know, dad,” I reply, sighing when I hear him start to vomit again.

Walking away, I give him privacy. And my ears a break from one of my newest least favorite sounds. My fingers drift to my back pocket, sure of their actions before I am. Exhaling, I take a seat on one of the stairs.

It rings and it rings.

“Come on, pick up,” I mutter, bouncing my leg.

Kneading my temple, I listen to it continue to ring. And ring. Finally, it stops. But I’m not greeted by the sound I want to hear. Instead I hear their voicemail, making me groan. I listen to the old recording I’ve heard time and time again, but this time I just want it to go away. So I can hear the instructions, and that final beep.

“Hey, it’s me. J-just call me back when you get this, please,” I say quickly, the words running from my lips. Alongside the tears.

Dropping my phone onto my lap face down, my head falls in my hands. Noises surround me. Those of everyday life bustling around me. The sound of the laundry machine whirring downstairs. The hum of the tv. And the ones I try to ignore coming from the door behind me. The sound of the crying. And the vomiting.

I can’t keep my hands still. They go to rake through my hair. To cover my face. To play with my fingers. To make fists. I even try to sit on them, and it doesn’t help. And I can’t stop bouncing my legs, as my nerves jitter from the thoughts.

The worries.

The uncertainty.

It feels like an hour before I hear my twinkling ringtone. But when I see the time on my phone, it’s only been eleven minutes. I barely take the time to look at who’s calling before I answer it.

Clearing my throat, I say a shaky ‘hello.’

“Hey, I got yer message. ‘m sorry I didn’ answer, I was inna late meetin’, but I can talk now. ‘s everythin’ okay, Becks? Ya don’ sound so good, love,” he inquires. His caramely voice is the first comfort I’ve felt all day. My respite from this mayhem.

“No, I’’ll um, let you go. I don’t want to interrupt your meeting. I can call later,” I insist, guilt weaving its way into my words.

“No, yer okay, Becks. I stepped out. It wasn’t anythin’ important, anyways. I can have Myles tell me later. Now, wha’s goin’ on?” he tells me, but it doesn’t revoke all of the guilt consuming me. I grimace at the pain from my chapped lips when they smash together, salty tears flowing over their cracks. “Becks, talk t’ me, please. Yer not a botha, not ever. Please tell me wha’s wrong.”

“Harry,” I begin, not capable of any other words. Because that one has been constant in my head for the last twenty minutes. Ever since it started. It’s the one I’ve been holding in, and not been able to say, until now.

“‘m here, Becks,” he says. Never did I think three words could be so comforting. And at the same time, hurt so much. Because they’re true, and then they’re not. I want them to be true so badly I feel it in my veins.

“M-my dad . . . he won’t stop throwing up and I don’t know what to do. He had chemo yesterday, b-but it went fine. And then we had dinner tonight, and he hardly had three bites, before he got sick. It’s been like that all day,” I confess, leaning against the staircase railing. Letting it hold me there, because nobody else can. Because I can’t do it for myself anymore. “This happens sometimes with the chemo, b-but . . . . . it was getting better recently. I think I should bring him in like they said, but that means staying the night in the hospital. Again. I’m just so tired, Harry, I want all of this to be over already. I want him to be okay, and I want to feel what it’s like to be okay again.” I can’t get out another word, because the tears consume them. And the anxiety. And the exhaustion. My head falls to my knees and the hand cupping my mouth slides away.

“I think ya should bring ‘im in, Becks. ‘Specially if they said so. Don’ want ‘im t’ get dehydrated, that certainly won’ help things,” Harry murmurs, his voice quiet and controlled. “I know ya don’ wanna be there ‘gain, ‘specially twice in tha last two days. But he needs their help . . ‘s there anybody who can come an’ be with you? Maybe that aunt o’ yers who was at tha hospital that night? Robbie, or Skye? But I s’pose they’re 3 hours away in London . . . ,” Harry sighs, his words trailing off into the air. For some reason I nod, glad to hear that my reasoning for not wanting to ask them to come is valid.

“Yeah, it’s just me here. That’s how it’s been. Robbie and I switch off . . . But my dad doesn’t want me to bring him in, he hates going there. Being poked by them and everything. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day,” I cry, the tears soaking the knees of my ripped jeans.

“Ya hafta bring ‘im in, Becks. What if ‘s sumthin’ else, like tha stomach flu or sumthin’ worse? He needs t’ be able t’ eat an’ drink in order t’ get betta,” he urges, and finally I decide to listen.

Nodding at his words and the truth they hold, my lips part, “I know, you’re right. I-I’ll bring him in. T-thanks, Harry, for answering your phone.”

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, I sit up slowly. “Course, Becks. ‘m sorry I was a li’l busy when ya first rang . . . Um drive safe, ‘kay? Maybe bring yer laptop t’ do schoolwork or even jus’ t’ watch Netflix. Sumthin’ t’ distract yerself - a book, or headphones fer music.” His suggestions meet my ears, but they go through one and out the other. They’re not the kind of distraction I want, I think selfishly, but the kind I want, I can’t have. Because it’s you.

“Yeah, I’ll bring something. Thanks, Harry. Have a good night,” I say in almost a whisper, exhaustion stealing my words.

“Yer welcome, Becks. Lemme know what happens, ‘kay?”

I mutter an ‘mmmmhmm’ before hanging up, and trudging up the stairs. Listening for the sound again is hard, because I don’t know what I want to hear. Part of me doesn’t want to hear the vomiting, but the other part oddly does. Because if it stopped then he’ll try to convince me that we don’t have to go in. But I hope it hasn’t, because there’s something at the back of my head telling me we have to. Making me think we need to, because something’s wrong. And I know that if he’s stopped, he’ll tell me that there’s no reason to go in.

My gray striped socks stop on the hardwood floor in front of the door. I knock before I can convince myself to wait. “Dad?”

No answer.

“Dad, I’m bringing you to the hospital. Something’s not right, I just know it. You need to be looked at, and they can help,” I plead from the other side of the slab of wood. A sigh meets my ears and the shuffling of a body.

“Okay,” he relents. I push the door open and am met with his tear-stained face.

Trying to ignore the smell I’m by now used to, I wet a washcloth at the sink. Returning to his side, I bend down and wipe his face with it. And then his mouth. Tossing it in the laundry bin, I wash my hands. Watching him as I do so, his frail figure is slumped against the closed toilet. Embarrassment blanketing him like a sheet.

“It’ll be okay,” I try to tell him. But as I watch his barely there nod, I’m not sure if I believe it either. “Let’s get you downstairs to the car,” I say, drying my hands.

It takes us awhile, to stand up together. To get down the stairs, one step at a time. To slip on his coat. To grab my things. And to drive to the hospital as he threw up into a bucket beside me. But we got there, and the worst part still awaits us.

It pains me to leave his side, but I can’t handle watching them stick him with needles. Or the blood. Not after everything that’s happened in the last 7 months. Combing my hair out of my eyes, I begin my walk down the hallway. Yet another one.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” I respond to the voice I could pick out of a crowd. I try to prepare my words, but I’m not sure what to say. I’m so tired. “I’m at the hospital with dad. Everything is okay. But he hasn’t been able to keep anything down all day, he’s been throwing up off and on. And after dinner, it got worse. They’re taking some blood now to run it for labs. I’ll let you know what I hear.”

“Shitttt,” Robbie replies, holding out the last syllable. Just like our dad. “Fuck, I’m sorry, Ree. I’m surprised he let you take him in, but thanks for doing that. Yeah, I guess all you can do is wait until they have the tests back. Hopefully you two can go home soon,” he says quietly in a tone the polar opposite of the one he answered with.

I echo his words with a ‘me too’ before there’s nothing else to be said. And I let him go. I call Skye too to tell her, and because I can’t go back yet. I just need some time. She talks my ear off, but I’m grateful for it. She tells me about work, her newest boyfriend, the weather, and a show we’re watching together.

After I finally get away from her jabber mouth, almost half an hour has passed. I find my way back to his room in the Emergency wing. As I walk in, he shoots a tired smile at me. One I can barely make out amongst the dark room.

“Early bedtime?” I ask, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He nods, barely able to keep his eyes open.

“Yeah. They did all their tests, and said it would take a little while, so fluids, anti-nausea meds, and naptime it is.”

“Good,” I respond, wrapping my fingers around his. Squeezing them, his dusty lips offer a laugh. Or the closest thing to one. He tries to squeeze back, but I barely feel it. It’s nothing compared to when he’d nearly break my fingers giving my hand a squeeze. Somehow his hands look older than the rest of him as I look. His skin wrinkles among his bulging veins, liver spots, and freckles.

“You should too, baby girl,” he replies, surprising me. My eyes return to his face where he’s opened his eyes to look at me. “You look exhausted too. Get some sleep, I know it’s been a lot taking care of me for this long.”

“Dad,” I begin, an argument forming in my voice. But I don’t get any further than that.

“You know it’s true, and you’ve been doing a fantastic job. Don’t let yourself think any different,” he insists, the area above his eyes raising. But it doesn’t have the same effect with his dark eyebrows absent from his expression. A whimper escapes my lips as tears obscure my vision. Lifting our joined hands, he brushes the back of his hand over my cheek. “Come here, my baby.”

It confuses me when his clean scent doesn’t surround me. But it’s there in a hint when I bury my face into his neck. His right arm pulls me against him, and I cry into him. It’s one of the only times I can remember doing this since this all started. I want to stay strong in front of him, but sometimes it’s too hard. I feel a warmth on my forehead, and my lips break into a smile at his trademark forehead kiss. “Get some sleep, sweetie. They’ll wake us with the results if they need to,” he tells me. I nod into him, feeling him scooch over for me to lay more comfortably beside him.

My words are taken away with a whooshing sound just as a ding meets my ears. A bubble appears at the top of my phone screen. With widening eyes, I hold down the bottom button for volume on the side of my phone. Peeking across the room, I exhale watching his chest lift and fall with every breath, his snoring greeting the air. My attention returns to the dings coming from my phone. I read the first one.

Me - a few minutes ago

Tests came back positive for some type of bacterial infection in his digestive tract. Starting antibiotics now. Keeping him overnight and until further notice for observation because infections can be scary with weak immune systems like his.

Harry

thx for the update. glad 2 hear it isnt anything 2 serious. its a good thing u brought him in when u did becks. thinking of u and him.

Thanks so much, Harry. I’m glad I did too. Looks like I’m sleeping on the couch again, yay!

Harry

get some zzzz’s love. might be a long nite. dont forget 2 eat.

Goodnight

My eyes don’t want to believe the clock when the growling of my stomach wakes me. Shuffling into the hallway rubbing my eyes, I swear under my breath.

“No fucking way it’s only 11 o’clock. Why can’t it be 8 am or something?” I groan, trudging down the quiet halls of the oncology wing. But I’m glad for the quiet compared to the craziness of the E.R. earlier.

Dropping my hand, I’m welcomed once again by the stinging fluorescent lights. And the packaged foods waiting for me behind the glass. Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, I scan the many choices. Hmmm, salted nut roll for once, hostess cakes, sour patch kids, hard pretzels, jelly beans, or Cheez-Its? I wonder to myself, blinking the sleep from my eyes.

Another ding meets my ears. But when I lift my phone to my face, there isn’t a new text popping up on my screen. There are some, but they’re from an hour ago or longer. Weird, I think, staring at the screen and reading the words.

There’s a cough as somebody clears their throat. “We’ve gotta stop meetin’ like dis,” they almost laugh, making me turn my head without a choice.

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wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 95

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle get on with living their lives, paps be damned. But of course, the internet has its own ideas when it saw the two coffee cups, and of course, that statement regarding Tom and Bond.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

Danielle was checking her phone since she heard it go off while she and Tom were collecting Mac. She had texted the kennels the night before on seeing Tom so ill to ask them if it was alright to leave the dog for another night, they, of course, obliged and as soon as the coffee and pastries were finished, the pair decided to collect him. She read the text from Nacelle a second time, trying to see the logic behind it.

“Something important?” Tom came into her peripheral vision as he sat into the passenger seat.

“Nope, but funny as hell.” She showed him the photo that was on the screen of him with the two coffees.

“That asshole was outside the coffee shop this morning, what are they saying now?”

“Well, it is all over the internet.”

“What is?” He asked worriedly.

“Sure, this is the confirmation the world needed.” She giggled.

“What are you on about Elle?” He looked at her worriedly.

“Proof you and Taylor are still together,” His brow rose immediately. “The little ‘Hiddleswift’ fanatics are all over the internet violently arguing that this is unequivocal proof you are still together.”

“It’s a picture of me with coffee?” Tom stated, concerned at the severe lack of explanation.

“No, there are pictures of you running to the café, then with you walking back with not one, but two coffees,” Danielle explained. “Oh, and why did you not tell me I am to be a stepmom?”

“I am sorry, what?”

“Apparently that is why she has not been seen since the break-up, you’re to be a dad, congrats.” Tom looked at her appalled. “Relax, she did a show a few weeks ago, there was no bump.” Danielle laughed. “If she was pregnant, you would know about it.”

“But…”

“Tom, be reasonable, she is twenty-seven, unmarried and already getting too old to hold this fresh-faced teen songstress look, a baby would be career suicide for her now. Relax, this is the same people who are saying she is sitting in this car beside you today, that you are with her, and we both know you’re not.” She smiled.

Tom nodded. “Sorry, I am just a bit off today.” He then shook his head, “My brain is playing tricks on me.”

“You have not seen her since the end of August, it would have come to you before now.”

“I have not…no, it’s longer.”

“Right well, calm yourself. It’s just silly people trying to enrich their lives with speculation because they are looking for something interesting.”

“That’s a polite way to put it. Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Tom, if you were away for hours on end a day, not answering the phone and no explanation, then coming back, smelling of other women and not interested in me, I would have to worry, but you are always contactable, if you’re not, you tell me beforehand and you are not the sort to do something that slimy. I know you are not off fucking someone else and I know that you are not with her, so I don’t care. Let them have their speculation, so long as they are not physically affecting my life, I don’t care. Even after they learn about us, they will still write their stories with you with other real or made-up women and they will comment on things, but I don’t care. It’s not reality. Reality is what we have, we have our friends and family and we are not bothered.” She shrugged.

Tom paid attention to her smile and her genuine expression. “You really have been spending time dealing with this and preparing for it, haven’t you?”

“I have. I am not happy, knowing that some weirdo will annoy me when I am walking Mac, but they will get bored, we will be just like Sophie and Ben, just two people minding our own business, no one knows what they are doing from one week to the next, we’ll be the next ones to be like that.”

“We will,” Tom kissed her hand. “And I understand. Going for the coffee this morning and for that guy to be there, it is annoying, but it is not forever. They will get their fresh blood and the two of us will be too boring and normal for them.”

“I am never boring, excuse you.” Danielle nudged his side. Tom was about to give her a kiss when Mac stuck his head on his shoulder. “I think someone has decided we need to start driving.”

Tom laughed, looking at the dog who was giving him large puppy-eyes. “I think he has.” He turned and rubbed Mac’s head. “Blame her buddy, she’s in the driving seat.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Danielle sighed, turning on the engine.

Three days and three public outings later, Tom and Danielle had not been spotted, which suited them. They did not hide but were also careful not to bring too much attention to themselves. They were after bringing Mac to the park, Tom jogging with the dog while Danielle cycled nearby, finally using the bike Tom had procured for her. When they met again at the end of it, Tom smiled and watched as she loaded the bike onto the car. “I forgot to ask,” She turned to look at him. “The situation with your…” He indicated to her arm.

“Nothing since, no cramps, bleeding, anything.” She smiled. “I guess it was just the changeover.”

“So, are we safe to…” he grinned wickedly.

“Yes.”

“For the record, you are not showering alone today.”

“Thanks for the warning, though, since you are back to yourself after your illness, I hadn’t planned to anyway.”

“Using me for my body.” He jested.

“So, have you seen them while I was away?” Tom asked as he stirred the pot on the stove.

“No, I haven’t really had time with work, but I was talking to Sophie, she was saying how tired and hectic things have been, I would not doubt her, two in nappies, that’s terrifying.”

“I was born not much over a year after Sarah.”

“I know, your poor Mam.”

“So, not close together then?”

“I am not going to say anything because I will jinx myself.”

Tom laughed in return. He was about to say something more when the doorbell rang. “There’s Luke now.”

“I’ll stay in here so and bring some tea in for you both,” Danielle stated before going to the laundry room.

Tom ran to the front door and opened it for his friend. “Good afternoon.”

“Hello Tom.”

It was notable while he was in the turmoil of the time with Taylor that Luke seldom smiled when he saw Tom, he almost looked fearful, but he grinned widely as he walked into the actor’s home, something that made Tom smile. “Well, what is the gist of things?”

“Well the tour went down well, as we knew it would, and the film, as you are aware, is being well received.”

“So, dare I ask, what is the reason for the afternoon visit?”

“There is a terrible little rumour going around that you are being turned down for the Bond role as you are ‘too smug’.”

Tom frowned for a moment. “But no one has discussed the role with me in months.”

“I am aware, you are aware, the studio is aware, the general public, however, is not, and they are going with whatever story filled their fancy. And some are continuing with the farcical idea that you are some egomaniac with narcissistic tendencies that considers himself a shoe-in for the role.”

“Let them think it, it means nothing.”

“Agreed.” Luke smiled. “Speaking of people’s opinions, how is Danielle?”

“She is fine, she is in the kitchen making some tea.” A moment later, Danielle walked in. “Speak of the devil.”

“Use my Earthly name, you fool.” She hissed. “Honestly, some mortals, they think they can declare your presence to everyone.”

Even Luke had to chuckle at her jestful comment. “He talks too much.”

“No one has suffered with him as you have Luke, you deserve a sainthood.”

Again, Luke laughed. “I was speaking to Tom regarding a rumour that he was declined the role for Bond for being too smug.”

For a moment, Danielle thought he was joking, but when she realised that it was genuine, she laughed. “Well, true fans will know that’s bullshit and the Fairweather’s will not be convinced otherwise regardless. We can’t please everybody, fuck ‘em.”

Tom smiled at Danielle’s immediate dismissal of such comments. “Exactly, then Luke was asking how you are and you walked in.”

“I am okay thank you, I hope you are well. I’m going to walk out now to let you two talk over whatever else needs to be discussed.” A moment later Mac stuck his head in the door. “Get out you lout.” She ordered, but Mac looked at Luke for a moment. “You met him already, he’s not a dog person, so bugger off and leave him alone.”

Mac gave the PR man a judgmental look and left the room with his master. “Her dog just gave me a stink-eye.”

“Elle is the person who raised him, I would not doubt it.”

“You must be happy to finally have a dog, you complained too many times before that you didn’t have one.”

“It’s great, honestly, I love it, he loves jogging and Danielle insists on being the one to clean after him, so I get all the benefits.”

“What happens when she isn’t here?”

“I look after everything. We use kennels when we’re both away.”

“It is very all very domestic,” Luke noted. “And you have never looked happier.”

“I am, I…” Tom beamed. “Life is incredible these days, busy, sometimes even difficult, but incredible.”

“Good, I am glad to hear it,” Luke answered. “I am frightened to ask, but have you heard anything from…?”

“Why on Earth would I contact Taylor?”

“I never stated you contacting her, I mean in general.”

“No, I have not heard of her or from her, thankfully. I have seen online that there is speculation that she is in the UK and that she and I are supposedly still dating according to some, in fact, Danielle informed me the other day that apparently, I am the father of Taylor’s imaginary unborn child in some people’s books.”

“I have seen that particular gem a few times as to why she is not in the spotlight, yes.” Luke nodded.

“There was something though.” Luke looked at Tom with concern as Tom’s tone became somewhat angry. “A friend of hers, Lena Durham.”

“I know of her.”

“Danielle went to the US last week for a job interview. She passed all the primary tests, they were very interested in her…her experience was seen as a downside, considering the lack of it, but what she had done, her references, as well as her extra work was something that they were willing to work with. Elle really was hoping for it.”

“What happened?”

“She was the assistant director, she apparently just looked at Danielle with a sneer and said no. No reason, nothing, and that was it.” Tom’s anger mounted as he spoke. “It cost Danielle a considerable amount of money to go to New Orleans and she didn’t even…” he inhaled deeply. “Because of me.”

“Why, did you go and smear Durham?”

“No.”

“Did you in any way make it that she would do that?”

“Because of everything with Taylor…”

“Tom, it is clear from the way Danielle was looking at you not fifteen minutes ago, that if she really wanted this job, she is not holding you responsible for the actions that led to her not getting it,” Luke stated bluntly. “Yes, you having dated Taylor and the subsequent break-up meant that when her friend was in a position of power over Danielle, she abused it, I am not denying that. But you did not actively bring this on Danielle, and if I am entirely honest, I believe that she dodged a bullet. I have heard it from sources unrelated to all of this that though talented, she is, as the saying goes, a grade A bitch. Danielle does not need such aggravation in her life and can you imagine if she had gotten it, considering. If Durham had decided to insist she get it and work the set, could you imagine what she could do to Danielle?”

“She could have made her life a misery.” Tom realised.

“At the very least, she could have ruined Danielle’s love of her job, she could have made everything she has worked for be for nothing, she would have run back to Suffolk, or even Ireland and the hell away from the career she has worked so hard for.”

Tom looked at him for a moment. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“Thank you, Luke.”

“anytime.” Luke smiled back at him. “I am glad to help. Don’t let it piss you off, Danielle isn’t.”

“She got a job with Branagh as a result.”

“Where?”

“Here, France and Ireland, some war film.”

“Doesn’t he have one coming out this year on that topic?”

“No, Christopher Nolan directs it, he is only an actor. He wanted to do some sort of story that is effectively the air battle over the Channel and the bombing of London.”

“How is that related to Ireland?”

“Apparently they got bombed once in Belfast, then Dublin was bombed for helping Belfast, according to Elle, plus they have financial incentives to film there and some beach they use that acts as a D-Day beach in most films and documentary remakes,” Tom explained.

“So, she lost one job and got another as a result, how?”

“She is working with this man in the US with regards a flaw she found while studying, something to do with stunt wiring I think, and he has her as a consultant as a result, so they are communicating a lot and she had mentioned the job in the US before to him, but she must have said something about not getting it and then he offered her that, saying he was too busy, but that he recommended her to Branagh.”

“And she got it?”

“Apparently she has first refusal, she and I are meeting Branagh next week.”

“You’re going?”

“More for a catch-up, plus, she asked because I think she is nervous.” Luke made an odd facial expression. “What?”

“If it gets out, some people are going to accuse her of using you to get her the job.”

“But she has it already. She had it before Branagh knew she was my girlfriend.”

“Because of course, that matters to gossips.” Luke scoffed. Tom said nothing for a moment, it was true, they would think it regardless. “This is a time to consider her idea to not care about appeasing others.”

“I know, but I don’t want her to feel resentful for that,” Tom stated.

“Tom, she is big enough to look after herself, I have seen her do it. If she asked you, she has considered it and has dismissed it.” Luke explained.

“I hate you and your job some days, it can really put a dampener on things.”

“I know, I really hate having to see the sceptical side of everything, I really wish there were times I could just smile and not have to. I hate having to think the worst.” Luke admitted.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 95 #tom hiddleston #Tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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the-progress-bar · 5 years

Text

You Wore Out a Path Recap

I haven’t written something this long in … well, I don’t want to check.

The Inception

I don’t remember where the idea for this came from, specifically. I wrote the beginning of the first chapter for Camp NaNoWriMo, along with a whole slew of other FE:A material. It turns out that I’m extremely bad at writing linear narratives, given the absolute mess and if you say goodbye is to straighten out and more casually in the boy across the hall.

Chapter One

The fairy tale was written first actually. I filled in around its scene breaks with Robin being in a Bad Mental State™ as a way to carry this. weird, meandering fairy tale. Also, there’s a much more comedic story in the works that involves Grima and Robin again and I wanted to do something more serious on that vein at the same time.

He strikes to the south east. For some reason, Donnel didn’t stay in the armed forces as Robin hoped but went back home for good.

Donnel! I love Donnel for the sheer comedy of some country boy latching onto the Shepherds, which is otherwise comprised of nobles, and him being able to take on a whole battlefield by himself, leaving the rest in the dust. But he doesn’t stay in Ylisstol and Robin and I are forever sad over that lost potential.

Thunder crumbles around the spirit. They press a stone into the prince’s hand and sighs.

Here’s an instance where it’s clear that I didn’t outline the first chapter at all nor was I thinking about how the pieces fit if I expanded the story. This stone was supposed to do your normal fairy tale shenaniganry with like. Blessings and shielding and magical properties. Then I completely lost that vein and only left the part in where spirit!Robin basically gives Chrom, the prince, their heart. Good job, me. This constantly bothers me, but I also don’t have the motivation to rewrite this bit.

He freezes at Frederick’s stare.

I sincerely love Frederick for reasons that are spoilers for a giant FE:A fic I have in the works, but he’s also so, so fun to wind up.

Chapter Two

So, now I had to actually sit down and outline how this story went. Just a bunch of sentences jotted down, but enough to make me realize how bizarre the geography in this game is. Like, what even is going on with the story’s timeline? Do you know how long it takes to move an army over a continent, when its fastest mode of transportation are horses? I never get how they’re able to run from Plegia over to Mount Prism, then back to the opposite side of the continent and onto Grima’s back. Did Grima just wait for Chrom and co. to arrive? Like, they’re extra enough, but Nintendo, come on.

Let me just say, the FE:A world map has been a permanent fixture in my browser for months and I’m glad to see it gone.

Chrom sinks onto the bed and stares at the coat in his hands.

It’s been almost a decade.

The reason it took Chrom so long to appear among the character tags is because he wasn’t supposed to appear. Not until the last scene. Somehow he snuck into the open and close of the rest of the chapters and I didn’t kick him out.

“I died, Frederick,” Robin snaps. “Please leave it alone.”

Rereading the earlier chapters, I’m a bit surprised myself about how bitchy and defeated (?) Robin is. Being possessed by Grima sucks, and so does slowly turning into a dragon-human thing, but wow boi. Normally my characters are more on the “body slam our problems into submission” side of the spectrum. It all works out eventually, but for a while I had to deal with the nasty problem that apparently only the female characters have any of their shit together.

“Blood magic is a sorry inheritance,” his mother said sadly, thumbs rubbing at the brand on his hand.

I hope you all love Modron as much as me, because I love her and aggressively ignore how Nintendo did her dirty by including her as a key character in a whole bunch of fics coming down the pipeline. Though in this particular fic, her presence snuck in while I wasn’t watching, but not enough to recreate the Chrom situation.

The fisherman knocks on the wooden door of his younger brother’s stone house.

I planned on putting a fairy tale of my own creation into every chapter, with each linked in a tangentially narrative way to Robin’s family. Obviously that didn’t happen. This tale was supposed to be involving Robin and two Morgan’s. That plan derailed immediately.

Chapter Three

Robin’s daughter greets Chrom in Chon’sin’s silks and lacquer, the twists of dark purple contrasting her currently golden hair.

I keep making Say’ri a lesbian. That point doesn’t come up in this story, because Chrom wasn’t supposed to take over so much, but Morgan and Say’ri are together by this point, even if that gets muddled a bit by their weird work relation. I’m just saying, like father, like daughter.

And yes, Morgan dyes her hair. This is more established in the remix I wrote out of boredom of yet another chapter of Robin and Frederick yelling at each other in the snow.

“It’s a wonder your wayward mother never tried fleeing the continent all together,” Grima says.

At this point, I just accepted that I had no control over character barging in because they felt like it. Grima kept the story interesting at least, or else this whole plot would have been the slowest, most boring road trip ever.

At the cost of bloating this chapter and shoving out some other content I initially wanted to cover.

Due to Ferox’s waveringly official stance of neutrality, we spent a few years moving back and forth here.

[Cackling laughter]

Lon’qu and Olivia drop unannounced into the unoccupied seats at the table while Frederick and Robin waited for their dinners.

This scene is … weird. A slight mess. Originally, Lon’qu and Olivia had the same level of screen time as Donnel and Nowi did in the first chapter. But I already had the outline sectioned off into five chapters and writing even more scenes on boats was not a good usage of my time. Presumably, the khans got word that Robin and Frederick were back and heading to Valm and since Lon’qu and Olivia were already in the area with the same destination, they decided to do a favor and sent a message ahead.

What are the Ferox kids doing in Valm? Spying Something, wasn’t important.

A hazy memory of before. Sumia stumbles into Robin’s shoulder, the two of them laughing, drunk on wine and mirth.

In my drafts, there’s half of the fairy tale that was supposed to go in this chapter. Sumia drunkenly tells an equally sloshed Robin the story as they stumble around in the castle. It’s a more standard tale paralleling Modron hiding her children from the Grimleal and made much more sense than whatever was happening in the last chapter. Unfortunately, I cut it out because certain parties used up too many words when they weren’t even supposed to appear.

Chapter Four

Chapter four and five were supposed to come out back to back because I assumed I’d have time to write over the holiday break. As we all know now, that didn’t happen, like so many of my plans.

More importantly though, at this point I realized that Robin needed to start getting his shit together, fast.

A beat from Grima’s many wings carried them on the hot winds blowing off the fires below, covering several hours march in a fraction of the time.

This passage from the bad timeline is one of those sections I wrote nearly immediately since it just clicked. (The other significant passage is the final scene.) Honestly though, I was starting to have a hard time not repeating the same imagery and words over and over again. My grasp of English and vocabulary has never been anything to write home about, first language notwithstanding, and I literally had to pull out the thesaurus a few times in the later sections so I wouldn’t keep writing “scream” but completely forgot what other words existed. Linguistics amazes me, but it is so not my department.

Is it anger? Is it despair? Is it exhaustion, ascending to the Exalt’s throne alone, …

How to Tell I Wrote a Section by Hand Rather Than on My Computer: when the sentences get long and on this roll of phrase after phrase after phrase, that’s me with a pen. This whole section from Chrom was handwritten on my then-new iPad to test out some software.

By this point, I accepted that Chrom was just going to Be There and started working on his scenes to also try ramping up the tension in the fic by going backwards in his history to when the grief gets rawer and rawer. you wore out a path isn’t primarily about grief or depression, but some of those beats snuck in?

Chrom is a Mess™ at this point.

They dream feverishly.

What the fuck was this section.

“How am I supposed to keep this army and your father alive if you won’t tell me what happens? You’re one of our greatest sources of information and you refuse to share with anyone. Stop hiding.”

I hate! This dumb trope! Of not sharing info when traveling back in time! What’s the point of time traveling with the express purpose of changing history and then not! Changing history!

I have strong feelings.

By private captain, Robin means pirates. They must find pirates to board with.

This was entirely for my own amusement. There’s no other reason. Another key sign that my characters are getting a handle on their lives is that the writing starts getting snarkier.

Chapter Five

If by some future machination, the count increases to three out of three, he’s going to wholesale stop trusting magical mountains.

Case in point about the snark.

The master revived, the blood burning, the sacrifice slain, the master revived, the lORD, the FelL DRAGON, death, glory, the gOD and its vessel, returned, returned.

It turns out, messing with AO3’s formatting to have some font fun is a pain in the ass involving work skin shenanigans. The picture work skin already failed to do its job, I wasn’t going to wrestle with another skin just for this sentence. How it’s supposed to look:

A good two-third of this chapter just all came at once, in a sudden dash of productive writing. The muses are fickle that way.

Back on the point about how I Did Not Outline, there were a few items I wanted to reappear through the narrative. Elements from the fairy tales come back in this fight, for example. Another point I decided in the fourth chapter when writing the opening scene are the cathedrals.

(Disclaimer: I’m not religious and thus don’t know the full symbolic significance in cathedrals. What I know can be distilled into: You Thought New York Construction Was Slow? and Very Pretty Because Very Important and Yes, The Organ is Behind You and Very Loud. Not a lot.)

“Why do you fight for Chrom?”

Robin getting interrogated on this point keeps coming up in my fics, but the scenes are always fantastic short bursts that are good at breaking up a section that’s been running too long.

Suddenly, Robin is quite literally on fire.

I already drew the picture. The boy’s on fire. There was a good explanation when I first thought this up, but then when it came time to writing the scene, I forgot why, and my outline didn’t have any notes. Bonds? Naga’s flame? Dramatically dissolving Grima’s marks from Robin’s body? All of the above?

“One last tale for the road,” Modron says to her son, …

Modron’s name. I’ve seen people taking cues from Morgan and going with Morgana, but I’m a contrary soul that always resists whatever fandom decides is a good idea. This works out well half the time.

Morgan and Morgana led my brain to the Arthurian legends, and I decided to see what some of those character’s mothers were called. Went to Wikipedia, clicked a bunch off links radiating from Morgan le Fay and somehow landed on Modron? She’s interesting. Nor did I know about the DnD Bill Cipher thing.

Normally, though, I would not have started with a Welsh name. Some of the name choices for Plegian characters have vaguely Middle East origins (which is a completely different discussion about real world politics in that casting decision) and I would have started there.

I’m not a linguist though. Or someone that knows about naming conventions. So.

Now he stands grounded and as well rooted as the Mila Tree, the fire traded for a calm glow and Robin’s so grateful.

And this line here, this line here, is the sole reason I humored Chrom kicking his way into the story. This final scene was one of the first things I wrote after deciding to expand past the first chapter.

Look at these two dumb boys growing up.

In Conclusion

[staring at my file archives]

Have I ever actually finished a multi-chapter fic before?

#long post #i am #wordy #you wore out a path #I like it when people do these these notes/director cuts #so i'm gonna too #fire emblem awakening

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kazosa · 6 years

Text

Professor Telford Part 3

Summary: A former student of Professor Telford, you never forgot the sexy instructor as you went into your adult life. Now, several years later, you are going back to college to get your masters degree, and your favorite professor is once again igniting your most hidden fantasies.

Professor Filip Telford x Reader

Words: 2252

Tags: @sam-samcro @yourcroweater @laur-n-peace @soamagicreality @samperv @chrystalcaper @emilygegendiewelt @ilikechocolatemilkh @isayweallgetdrunk @i-am-lady-anarchy @buckyscrystalqueen @fanfreak07 (if I missed any requests for tags, sorry! Please comment to add!)

CATCH UP HERE

A/N: please excuse my lack of content, but this chapter has a little bit of the goodies. So youngins, no one under 18 for this part

Every place on your body where he’d touched you was tingling like he was still touching you. You could feel him lingering on your skin. Taking deep, calming breaths, you drove home thinking of your sexy professor, remembering every second of your encounter.

“Filip,” you whispered, a smile creeping onto your face as you said his name. You liked the way it sounded coming from your mouth.

Tomorrow afternoon couldn’t arrive fast enough. Mentally, you began planning your outfit for when Filip would pick you up. Once home, you got everything ready and you couldn’t stop smiling.

Your work day typically ended at 5, which would give you time to change out of your work clothes and into the jeans and shoes you’d brought. The blouse you wore to work would be just fine for “tutoring.”

The last meeting you’d had to attend ran late and you had to quickly get your work finished so you could get ready. Rather than mess with your hair, you left it up, just in case he took you somewhere outside, or if you got too hot.

When you finished and looked at your watch, you had ten minutes left to spare. You grabbed your bag and made your way out of the building and out to your car.

As you walked out to the parking lot, you noticed a sleek, sporty car parked next to yours. A rush of excitement coursed through your body when you saw him. There was no mistaking who the man was leaning against the sleek car, it was Professor Filip Telford. The silver in his hair shone in the setting sun. His eyes, hidden by his dark sunglasses, showed no sign of recognition as you approached. A plaid button-down shirt peeked out of the collar and cuffs of the sweater that covered it, his hands resting on the hood of the car. His long legs stretched out before him, clad in dark jeans, ankles crossed, showing off his faded gray boots. He looked good. He looked really good. It made you smile that he had wanted to look good for you, too.

Coming to a stop near him, the sun lit you both from the side. Though you couldn’t really see his eyes, you could feel them give you the once over as you had him. You could tell that he’d shaved for you and you could smell his aftershave. His face broke into what you took as a half-grin of approval, it was more than you’d ever seen him do in class.

“Do I get points for being early, lass?” he asked, clearly being cheeky.

“Hmm… It’s an easy way to get on my good side,” you admitted. “I like your car.”

He pushed off from his spot on the hood to open the door for you to get in.

“Thanks,” he said, letting you get in.

Once he was settled, your curiosity got the better of you.

“You have all the bells and whistles I see,” you said, trying to be discreet.

You could see his eyes briefly land on you before focusing on starting the car and leaving your work parking lot.

“I’m part owner of a business downtown. It does well, and so do I,” he said simply. He easily navigated his way out of the lot and the business park. Soon you were heading in the direction of the downtown area.

“I didn’t mean to imply anything, I was just surprised to see you driving such a nice car. The rest of the professors all have ten-year-old Volvos,” you told him, leaning on the center console.

He made a dismissive sound. Pulling onto a main thoroughfare, he surprised you with his next move. His fingertips grazed the skin near your wrist as his fingers made their way to your palm, taking your hand in his. Too shocked to speak, all you could do was stare it his hand eclipsing yours as your fingers closed around his hand in response. The next few moments passed in a comfortable haze for you until you realized he was slowing down and needed his hand back.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“Takin’ ye to the business I own with my brothers,” he said.

“Your brothers? I didn’t know you had brothers here,” you said.

Filip grinned slightly, just barely making his dimples show, as he turned into a restaurant.

“Well, they’re not brothers by blood. They became my brothers when I moved here,” he pulled the car into a parking space near the door and killed the engine.

The two of you got out of the car and headed inside the building. As soon as Filip opened and held the door for you, you were greeted with the most wonderful smells. The atmosphere felt intimate with the dim lighting, plush furnishings, and soft music playing. At the hostess station was a pretty blonde woman who greeted you both with an attractive smile.

“Chibs!” the woman came around from the podium to give Filip a quick hug.

“Lylah, this is (Y|N),” he introduced you. “Lylah has been working here since we opened this place, oh, what is it now…”

“Almost ten years now,” she said. “It’s nice to meet you. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you back to your table.”

The two of you had barely gotten situated in the small corner booth when several people came by the table to introduce themselves. You were doing your best to remember their names, but after a Tig, a Happy, and a Montez, you lost track of who was who. Giving Filip carte blanche, up for almost anything, you were excited to see what he picked for you. Putting on his glasses to look at the menu, he didn’t take them off once he’d placed his order with George, your waiter.

Filip was sitting impossibly close to you in the small booth, often feeling his leg resting on yours. It was all so intimate. The small lamp on your table almost the only light that touched the space. Spending your time together eating and talking about anything and everything. He told you how he got the nickname Lylah had used, and about how he’d come to the states and met his brothers. The time passed quickly and before you knew it, it was getting close to closing time for the restaurant.

You’d been worried that maybe you wouldn’t like Filip and your lust for the man would be ruined by a shitty personality, but you’d been pleasantly surprised by him all night. He liked a lot of the same things as you and was surprisingly quick witted with a unique take on things.

“I’d better get ye back to yer car, lass,” he said with a tone of regret.

You’d had plenty of wine with dinner and were feeling most of it.

“Are you really gonna hold to that bullshit about not crossing the line?” you asked bluntly.

He lent you a hand to help you out of the booth. After sitting so long, and a healthy dose of wine, your legs were like rubber and you stumbled into him.

Giggling to yourself, you were not as quiet as you thought you were, “Sexy, Scottish god.”

“What was tha’?” he asked, holding you up.

“Sexy. Scottish. God.” You said firmly, hoping you had your voice under control.

He chuckled, “Ah well, you’re quite beautiful yerself.” He put his arm around your waist and led you out of the restaurant and out to his car. You briefly registered that Lylah had left for the night.

The cool air outside had shot right through you and sent you shocking clarity through your wine fog. Filip had taken your hand, but you felt that was all of the play you were going to get for the night from him. You hated the thought of going home without any of the relief of the lust you had for the man. He was actually serious about keeping things professional between the two of you and it was incredibly frustrating.

The drive back to your car was slower than it had been on the way to the restaurant. He’d cracked the windows on the car so he could smoke as he drove you. The cool air was refreshing, occasionally lifting your hair, and you could feel the effects of the wine wearing off. Both of you feeling a little tired and talked out, the drive was quiet except for a few spurts of conversation here and there.

“I had a nice time tonight,” you said as you got close to the business park.

“Me, too,” he said quietly.

You hadn’t missed all of the looks he’d given you over the night. You knew he was interested, there was no mistaking that. You’d just hoped for more than hand holding and “accidental” touches.

“Are ye okay to get home?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned. He hadn’t taken off his glasses, and you found it oddly endearing that he needed them at night.

He pulled into the lot and next to your car. Sitting a moment, you thought about how you felt.

“I wouldn’t hate it if you followed me home,” you said, surprisingly clear.

He gave you a wry grin, “Aye luv, but just because I took ye ta dinner, don’t think I’ll be putting out on our first date. Me ma would have me hide.”

The effects of the wine not completely gone, you pushed up your boobs, “Maybe I do, though? Yeah, I think I might make an exception.”

He let out a loud breath and sat back in his seat.

“Jaysus Christ, lass. I want ye, make no mistake, but I’ll no be losing my job o’er ye, either,” it seemed to physically pain him to say that. He got out of the car and made his way to your side to help you out.

Once out of the car, his hand went to your hip as he pushed the door closed, his body so close to yours. He took half a step forward, forcing you back against the door of his car. One leg pressed between yours, giving you a little relief of the throb that had begun. His hip dug into you as the length of his body pressed into you with his car holding you up under the pressure of him. The hand on your hip moved to the waist band of your jeans, undid the button, slipping down inside.

The curve of the car arched your back for you, and your breaths were shallow as his mouth hovered over yours. His hand slipped lower and lower in your pants seeking out the hot wetness that he was creating. Half of his body pinned you against the car as his fingers found what they were looking for. He stifled your moan by covering your mouth with his own. His tongue entered your mouth as his fingers slipped inside your wet folds finding your pussy ready for him. Your chest was heaving with what little he was doing to you. Unable to get your hand on his hard cock that you could feel pressing into you, all you could do was grab his ass encouraging him to keep going.

Mere inches from your face, his dark eyes looked into yours daring you to look away. Staying focused on him, his hand diving into you, his palm rubbing your clit with each motion was sending you closer and closer to your release. His breath was hot on your face, he was enjoying this as much as you were. Feeling your walls tighten on his fingers, “Cum for me,” the words came out more as a breath than anything as his mouth came down on yours, sending you to a shudder of release on him.

Slowly withdrawing from you, he brought his hand to his mouth and licked away the remaining wetness from his fingers while you watched. Finally, able to reach him, you palmed the front of his pants. Surprising you, his hands went to yours, stilling them.

“Not this time, luv,” his tone regretful. “This is not how I imagined things between us.”

He’d imagined things? Making you wonder what kinds of things he thought about while you weren’t around. Did he think about taking you on his office desk, because you definitely had. Feeling the felt of the top rub on your belly and tits as he fucked you from behind…You would have done almost anything he wanted, you were sure of it.

“You’d better get goin’,” he said. “Now that I’ve had a taste of ye,” he said, “it won’t be the last.”

The thought of his mouth on you sent another rush of aching desire to course through your body, you wanted more. Before he’d stopped you, you’d gotten an idea of what he was keeping hidden away from you and you couldn’t wait to feel him inside you.

Unwilling to leave him without one more try, “You sure you don’t want to come home with me?”

His hand snaked up under your shirt, finding the round, fullness of your breasts. His big hand squeezed one, then the other as his lips found yours again.

“(Y|N), I want to see you again, every Friday, like this,” he said, standing up, trying to calm down.

If this was what you got for the next three weeks, you would take all the lessons you needed.

“Next week, will you teach me what you like?” you asked.

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. He would teach her anything she wanted.

PART 4

#professor telford x reader #chibs telford #filip telford #chibs x reader #filip telford x reader #sons of anarchy AU #reader insert #fan fiction

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 6 years

Text

Picking a Side

Rating: Teens and Up

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Drinking, Clone Angst, Rex trying to get Cody to escape order 66 with him

Characters: CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody, ARC-5555 | Fives (mentioned)

Additional Tags: a lot of dialogue, Rex can’t just spill the whole deal because he’s afraid everyone could be a spy, Cody is an honorable soldier, morality divergences, why is this story so sad

The first shades of a shy purple paint the horizon, entering the round-edged square windows of the 99 bar in Coruscant. The place is closed already, at 5:00 am, but a name like Rex’s could get the place just for himself for a couple of hours, so the owner had just left the bar keys with the captain and asked him to close the place when he was done. Rex holds his half-full glass to his eye level, slowly swirling it. The ice cubes clink softly against the glass and the bar door swings open. Rex takes a sip. The raw, burning sensation covers his tongue and he feels like he’s swallowing fire down his throat. It kind of wakes him up from his daze a little, which is good.

“Lock it.” He says out loud, and the men who’d just walked in locks the door to then walk between the tables with chairs piled on them towards Rex; on top of his table there are two bottles and his helmet with jaig eyes painted on it.

“So you really weren’t kidding” the other man says, and his voice sounds a lot like Rex’s, but it’s perhaps a little deeper “Why meet me here? Why not at the barraks? Why not literally anywhere else?”

Rex is back to looking at his drink, placed over the table and held between his fingers.

“Safer. Away from cameras and spies and stars know what else.” he pauses “Sit down, will ya?”

The man looks at Rex for a few instants, then he sinks into the chair across from him as Rex takes another sip, swallowing hard. Damn, the ice did nothing to water down this shit. Still scorches his throat on the way down. Rex places the glass back on the table and lifts up his eyes to the clone sitting across of him. He wears a commander armor with details painted in orange, and he places his helmet next to Rex’s. The two visors stare back at their users, Rex’s jaig-eyed helmet marked by the many tally marks he’d scratched on it and Cody’s black visor almost entirely covered by the orange piece over it. The other clone, Cody, rubs his temple marked by scars, one of them running over his cheekbone as Rex downs his drink at once.

“It’s still being required for all of us to wear our armors outside here in Coruscant.” Cody, says with a sigh “After all that mess…”

“’Elek.”

The agreement in Mando’ didn’t get Cody’s particular attention. The brothers all would slip some Mando’ in the middle of their Basic as they’d speak betweent themselves. They were raised on both languages, but Mando’ had always felt nicer on their tongues. Mellow and easier to speak. Cody looks up to Rex’s face.

“D’you bring me all the way here to talk about what happened? Are you finally gonna open up?”

Rex runs his finger on the rim of his glass. There was something to Rex, he wasn’t a man that would show himself in words, but in gestures. Each pause, each wordless moment said more to him than a ten-minute conversation would. Right now he thinks. Ponders. Wonders what he can say and how much of it he could say. Then…

“There’s something messed up going on, Cody. Something big, something…”

He trails off, still running his finger over the rim of his empty glass. Cody knits his brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Cody doesn’t answer at first; he analyzes. Rex’s small gnawing at his lower lip, the way he increases his pressure around the glass in his hands. Something is eating the 501st Captain from the inside, he can tell, and it’s kriffing weird. Rex doesn’t let whatever’s troubling him show on the outside, ever. Cody was closed off himself too, sure, but Rex… He seemed to be always in peace with himself, despite whatever this war tossed on him. He walked out of goddamn Umbara with his squared shoulders and eyes straight ahead. Whatever is happening now, it has to be bad.

“Sure, Rex. Anything.”

Rex raises his gaze to Cody’s. The purple-ish light of the early morning is reflected on his bloodshot eyes, and for the way Rex is slightly swaying, Cody can guess he’d been drinking a lot. He confirms that when he actually looks at the two bottles next to him, one empty and the other halfway done.

“Do you trust me?”

Cody knits his brows to then snort softly.

“‘course I do, Rex. All those years and you even ask?” Rex nods a few times and Cody sighs “Is this about Fives? I really wish you’d talk to someone about what—“

“This is not about him.” Rex cuts him off abruptly in a harsh tone “I don’t... This is not about him.”

Rex hasn’t said Fives’ name ever since he died. When they cremated his body and destroyed his armor, something done to all dead clones whose bodies the Republic could retrieve, he kept his hand guard. Until then, Cody hadn’t noticed the symbolism. Right hand man. That’s what Fives was to Rex, and despite Jesse’s recent promotion to ARC trooper and his excellent work so far, Rex feels that the spot is still empty. No one could ever replace Fives’ advice, his intelligence and strategic way of thinking, his concern for his brothers, his undying bravery.

Cody sighed again.

“Rex, you asked if I trusted you, now it’s time for me to ask if you trust me.”

“Trust.” Rex pauses, frowning “Trusting has become complicated these days, Cody”.

“What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Cody sees Rex’s hands still holding his glass so hard he doesn’t know how it hasn’t cracked yet.

“I’m sorry for asking again but this is about Fives, isn’t it?”

Rex turns his eyes away from Cody for a moment.

“No.” he hesitates “A little. I…” he inhales deeply “If I were to tell you something… Something about our enemies, something horrifying, would you believe me?”

Cody tenses up, squaring his shoulders.

“I prob’ly would, vod. I don’t think there’s anything about these seppies that would surprise me anymore.”

Rex looks to the locked door as if someone could walk in. The brighter shades of blood red replace the former purplish ones painting the sky in the horizon out of the window by their table.

“I think there’s someone trying to control us.” Rex says, and he hesitates at every word as if he regrets saying each one of them as soon as they leave his lips “All the clones, all of our brothers.”

Cody frowns. He sees the tension in Rex’s face and scratches his chin.

“Who would this someone be? Do you have a lead?”

Rex’s eyes dart back and forth for a moment.

“I don’t know. Someone from the inside.”

“One of us?” Cody snarls “I wouldn’t doubt you, not after Slick.”

“No. Not a clone.” Rex presses his lips together “Someone at a much higher position than any of us.”

“Higher than a commander? Do you mean one of the Republican high commands?”

“Yes.”

Cody tilts his head, tensing up.

“Well, do you have proof?”

Rex blows out a heavy sigh and opens his mouth two times, hesitating before finally saying in a quiet voice:

“I have what… What Fives told me before he died.”

Cody rolls his eyes to then rub his temple, his voice sounding aggressively tired.

“Ah, for the love of—” he slouched on his seat, sighing “Fives was sick, Rex, and so was Tup. They had this virus… and it affected their minds, the Kaminoans doctors said it so, we all read the report. They started seeing enemies everywhere, you see what happened to Tup did to General Tiplar. You can’t trust something that Fives said when he was… Well, in that state.”

Rex narrows his eyes, his tone suddenly very sharp.

“I can trust anything he says. He was the wisest man under my command. He saved my life more times than I can count, he…”

“Was insane, Rex.” Cody says dryly “After he got infected, he was insane. You can’t compare the soldier that devised brilliant strategies in Umbara to the madman that you met in tha warehouse with general Skywalker.”

The glass between Rex’s hands finally cracks in sharp glass splinters that cut through Rex’s gloves. He crushes the larger pieces of glass with his fists and the blood drips from his now soaked gloves on the steel table.

“He knew what he was saying.” he snarls “I trust him, I’ve always trusted him ever since he joined the 501st I knew there was something special about him. I trust him, Cody, and now I’m asking you to trust me.”

Cody put his tongue between his teeth, glancing away from Rex for a moment.

“Why are you so worried?”

Rex opens his bloody hands, pushing the glass shards off the edge of the table with his forearm and shakes his head.

“Havent you heard it when I said that there’s people wanting to control us?”

Cody nodded:

“Let’s say I believe whatever Fives said. Aren’t we under their control already? We are born from their tubes in Kamino, we are bred to fight and die for them, we are of property of the Republic.” Cody absently runs a finger over his scars “I don’t understand what’s your point.”

Rex frowned, running a hand over his head; his blond hair became reddened where his hand touched it.

“What… What if it’s someone form the inside who wants us to turn against our own people? I… I don’t know, turn us to the Separatists’ side? Maybe… Maybe even use us to attack the Senate, or the Jedi?...”

Cody interrupts him with a gesture.

“This doesn’t make any sense.” he says flatly “We have to trust our superiors, Rex, we have a code to honor. If a soldier doesn’t trust his generals, his higher ranks, then what’s left of him?”

“I trusted Kell.” “It cost me my men, and yours. I hope you haven’t forgot about Waxer, because I sure as kriff haven’t forgotten about Hardcase.”

The fist that Cody suddenly bang against the table makes the bottles on it clink, but Rex doesn’t even flinch. Cody’s voice is low and stained with anger.

“I haven’t. I’m not talking about blindly following orders, but I…” Cody clenches his teeth “Damn, Rex, this is complicated.”

Rex nods, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back away from the table.

“Ret. It demands us to think for ourselves, and it’s time we start doing that.”

With his fist still on the table, Cody leans in looking Rex in his eyes with a stern expression on his features.

“Look. If there’s something you wanna tell me, just do it now.”

Rex runs his hand over his head and just continues to rub it over, as if he’d be looking for a wound on his skull. He lowers his eyes and his voice drops to no more than a murmur.

“I… There’s something I need to tell you, but I have to know you are 100% with me. I wanna trust my brothers now, Cody. I don’t think I can trust anyone else. Not the Republic,” Cody’s eyes went wide at that “Not even the Jedi, not after what they did to commander Tano.”

Cody squints at Rex, hesitating.

“What do you mean?”

Rex lowers his hand to the back of his neck and then places it over his chin.

“I wanna go off the grid. Away from the Republic’s reach, away from our quarters. I want to… I want to make sure I get to the bottom of it and not end up like Fives.”

Cody’s confused expression turned to a tired, controlled anger.

“Fives was resisting arrest.”

“He found something--”

“He was clinically insane!”

Rex bares his teeth.

“I trust him!” he snaps, supporting himself on his hands placed on the table and getting up from his seat; his breathing is rapid and his face is red, veins popping up where his neck is visible under his blacks, meeting his tensed up jaw. “And if he says something is threatening my brothers, I will turn against whatever this is, and I don’t care if it’s the Republic or even the Jedi, I will protect them!”

Cody gets up too, looking wide-eyed at Rex as he runs a hand over his mouth and chin.

“You care more about your brothers than about your mission?...” he asks, raw anger dripping from his words “Than the Republic?!”

“Yeah.” Rex says as he stares at Cody’s eyes without blinking “You can write that down.” Cody walks to the table’s side but Rex blocks his way “They’re not only my brothers, Cody. They’re yours too.”

There’s scorn in Cody’s voice now too, but it doesn’t overshadow his anger.

“Your imaginary threat doesn’t scare me as much as your paranoia. You should get tested for the virus.”

Rex snarls, pushing him by the chest.

“Why do you have to be like this?! Why can’t you, for once, see that this republic is rotten to the core?! We are slaves, Cody! Bred, born and killed in slavery, and you--”

Cody is taken aback by Rex’s push and licks his lips. The punch he drives to Rex’s face comes so fast the Captain can’t avoid it. He staggers and grunts, feeling the coppery taste of blood in his mouth. Cody grabs him by the neck of his chest piece, pulling Rex closer to him and whispering close to his ear:

“In the name of our friendship… In the name of all we’ve seen… Of all we’ve lived so far…” his breathing is ragged and he swallows hard “I’ll pretend I haven’t heard thess words of high treason. Don’t tell me a single thing about your plans, because when they ask me where the hell has Captain Rex disappeared to, I don’t wanna know anything about this, and I don’t wanna have to lie, and if you really go through with this you better not get caught.”

Rex doesn’t answer. He’s looking at Cody’s helmet placed next to his. He’s remembering each mission they’ve worked together with their generals, the balanced Kenobi and the eager Skywalker, all the bombings and sieges and different planets they’ve been to. It feels like a goddamn lifetime. Cody doesn’t sound only angry, he sounds disgusted:

“Ni'duraa. I think what you’re doing is dishonorable. Shameful. But if you think it’s the right thing to do, Captain, go ahead. Just make sure that when the time comes, what happened with Fox and Fives doesn’t end up happening between me and you.”

He pushes Rex away, and the Captain looks at him wide-eyed. Rex looks devastated, and he half-whispers Cody’s name before he says:

“If you only tried to listen—”

Cody reaches for his helmet to then push Rex off his way with his shoulder.

“I am a soldier of the Republic, Rex. It’s who I am. Whatever you’re looking for, I hope it works for you.” he walks to the door, unlocking it.

“Ret'urcye mhi, vod.” Rex says between clenched teeth with his back still turned to Cody, his fists clenched by his sides.

The mandalorian farewell meant a wish to see the other again. Cody knows that, but he doesn’t know if Rex means he wishes to see him once again or if he wishes Cody to be the one to kill him, should it happen. Not even Rex is sure of what it really meant, and as the reddened skies turn to bright orange, the commander of the 212th pulls the door violently to then leave the bar.

#drinking/#violence/#angst #clone bois #my fics #sw #tcw #blood m/#captain rex #commander cody #arc trooper fives #long post/#hm i do gotta remember to post this on ao3 later #i'll probably forget #bc my life is a mess #but writing this distracted me from the mess so #yay

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shesthelastjedi · 7 years

Text

War

Prompt 12: Eric Coulter

“You want a fight. I’ll bring a war.”

Notes:

Y/N- your name

H/C- Hair color

E/C- eye color

Tagging: @imnotafraid4 @wynterrobin @buried-in-books

Honestly all of you guys who reblog and like my posts make my day! I think I’ve fallen in love with creating Eric in a different mindset than just being a straight-up asshole. I feel like he would be the kind of person to be a hardass to everyone and sometimes to the reader, but in private he would be the type to drop the asshole persona.

She was tired and moody, this morning mother nature had decided to pay her a visit and a damn initiate decided to challenge her once again. It seemed that the initiates this year were brave and cocky. For some unforeseen reason, they thought she was an easier target. Yet, time and time again she had proved them wrong, but they still came back for more. She leaned against the wall tiredly, when she saw that the hallway was empty. She stood up straighter when she heard heavy footsteps, coming from behind her.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing. We have a meeting in five and you have me walking around the whole fucking compound looking for you,” She heard Eric’s snide voice from behind her. “Hurry your ass up!”

She rolled her eyes, stifling a yawn wishing that she had decided to deny the leadership role like Four had done. “I didn’t ask you to.” She fell into step beside him, accidentally brushing his shoulder. She felt the urge to yawn again, but she didn’t want to hear Eric’s nagging voice.

“Y/N!” She stopped turning to look at the black-haired male. “Where are you off- Eric..” She turned back to Eric only to see a pissed off look on his face. Being the asshole that he was Eric stood behind her, glaring down at her black haired friend. “I was just wondering if you can reschedule your tattoo appointment for tomorrow evening.”

“Shit, I totally forgot about my appointment. But yeah, tomorrow at seven?” She asked while he nodded. “Okay it’s a date, I really have to go.” She rushed out feeling Eric’s angry gaze on the back of her head. She didn’t notice her friend’s surprised face, because she turned back to Eric grasping his meaty arm pulling him towards the meeting room.

Y/N yawned again while Eric gazed at her. She was one of the few people that he tolerated, and he didn’t want to admit to himself that it bothered him when she said it’s a date. Sure, she was attractive, even more so since she always stood up and never took his shit seriously. But he had never realized how much he was attracted to her.

“How is the training with the initiates going,” Eric brought his attention back to Max while he eyed both her and himself.

“They are courageous, yet cocky. They seem to think that they are better than Four, even as we knock them down time and time again. It’s taking some time to break them, but it’s not impossible and we are only a week behind schedule,” She spoke clenching her fists tightly.

“I have no doubt that you and Four will break them. How are the strategist coming into play,” Max wrote something in his tablet.

Eric watched her E/C eyes light up, while he listened to her absentmindedly. He watched the way her hands moved excitedly as she described her strategies. He wanted to reach forward and brush away the few strands of her H/C hair that fell from her loose bun.

“Eric?” He blinked a few times, before turning to look at Max. “What’s your input?”

He knew he fucked up, he hadn’t heard a word she said, because he was too busy paying attention to her and not what she was saying. “She’s good with strategy. I don’t anything wrong with it.”

Her eyes shot over to him in surprise, before nodding stiffly in thanks. “Alright. Everyone’s dismissed.”

Eric waited for everyone to clear out before he pulled her aside. “Tell me about your strategy again. I wasn’t paying attention.”

She pulled her arm away from him. “So basically you were just spouting bullshit about me being good with strategy. Figures. You know what Eric, I’m not really into explaining it again so you can ask me again tomorrow. Goodnight.” She turned away from him, before flipping him off over her shoulder. He watched her go, noticing the sway of her hip. Eric clenched his fists when he felt the urge to run his hands over her ass.

“I swear Four if they keep testing me I’m going to put them in the infirmary,” Eric listened in on Y/N and Four’s conversation. “Cara asked me to chill out this year with the initiates, you know how she is.”

“Actually I don’t because I’m not the one that used to put initiates in the infirmary,” Four gave her a small grin, before turning his attention back to the initiates. “Maybe that’s what this bunch needs, even when you keep kicking their asses they don’t seem like they’ll respect you, regardless if you're a leader.”

Eric moved closer to the pair, brushing against Y/N. He smirked when he saw her shiver slightly. “What do you think?” She looked up at him, it was one of the things he learned to like about her. She always asked him, no matter if she was pissed off at him or he was pissed off at her.

“It would be interesting. Pick the one who always gives you shit,” He shrugged. “Initiates get your asses around the mat.” He gestured for her to take control.

She grinned up at him, before looking at each of the initiates. She stopped at a blond-haired kid, who was smirking at her. “Blake... Since you won the last three against your competitors you will choose who you want to fight next.” Blake grinned at her before his eyes skimmed lazily over her form.

“You. I wanna fight you.” Eric’s eyes widened slightly at the balls on this kid. Y/N at first glance looked weak, but Eric and Four learned the hard way that she was anything but weak. She had the ability to see every weakness and use it against her opponent. What she lacked in strength she made up for it with her agility and stamina.

She smiled sweetly at the kid, “Alright.” Eric coughed out a laugh. The kid had fallen right into her plan. She took off her boots, going to stand in the middle observing her opponent. “Coulter! Mind telling the rules.”

“The first one to get knocked out loses or we can go with first blood,” Eric leaned against the mat, eyeing her. “Up to you..”

“I love first blood, but I think I’ll go with the first option. Four you’re on standby” She smiled down at him before her body relaxed. “At your call Coulter.”

He felt a surge of pride flow through him, “Fight!”

Eric watched as she lazily eyed the kid. Blake rushed at her, at which she turned slamming her foot into his face. Eric grinned seeing the blood gushing out of his nose. “C’mon, you wanted a fight. You got me all excited.” She taunted him, only to grin when she saw him charging at her. She ducked under him, propelling herself up onto his back jabbing her hand into his neck. “You give?”

“No,” Blake choked out, trying to get her off of his back. She rolled her eyes, using her body weight bringing them down before she tossed him across the mat. “I want a fight!”

Blake got up wiping the blood from his face. Y/N smirked, “You want a fight. I’ll bring a war.” She charged at him, kicking his legs out from underneath him before she grasped both of his arms. “You challenge me and my authority daily. I’ve been trying to mellow out but you fuckers keep pushing me towards the edge.” Blake whimpered below her when she pulled his arms tighter. “So, the next one to disobey me and challenge me again will end up with two dislocated shoulders.” Y/N grasped Blake's right arm dislocating his shoulder. She cut off Blake's scream with a single punch to his face. Eric grinned at her when she turned glaring down at the rest of the initiates, “Do you weaklings understand that?”

Eric watched in amusement when they all nodded dumbly at her. “Great, you’re all dismissed.” They moved around her, eyeing her wearily. “Eric mind handing me my boots?” He grasped her boots scooting while she scooted towards the edge. She grinned at Four while he rested his hand on her shoulder. “You taking him to the infirmary?” The stiff nodded, hauling the kid up.

“You did good Y/N,” Eric set his hand on her thigh. “It’s hot watching you kick people’s asses.” He ran his hand down to her leg. “Do you want to get a drink with me?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, “What are you playing at?”

Eric sighed leaning against the mat, he wasn’t good at this. Usually, he would ask and the girls would agree without hesitation. “You’ve been on my mind and I decided to act on it. So is it a yes or no?”

She shrugged pulling on her boots. “Sure, but I have my tattoo appointment in fifteen unless you want to come with me then we can get a drink?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks, Derek,” Eric watched her smile at the dark-haired male. The guy eyed Eric back, before smiling down at Y/N. “I’ll talk to you later.” She glanced up at Eric, before turning to leave the small shop. “So, uhm-”

Eric put his arm around her shoulder leading her towards his compartment. “I figured we could have some privacy.” He opened the door for her while she stepped inside. “Sorry about the mess.”

“Mess right,” She joked looking around the cleanroom. “If this your idea of a mess, I’d hate to see when you would call something filthy.” She glanced at the few shirts that were tossed into the chair. She looked back at him, frowning slightly when she noticed how uptight he was. He moved away from the door, heading towards his small fridge, pulling out a few beers. He opened her’s before handing it to her.

Eric leaned against the counter, “I’m not used to the whole talking ordeal.” He downed the beer trying to ease the nerves that he felt.

She shrugged understanding. “You have any cards,” she asked moving to sit on the counter next to him. He nodded grabbing the pack, tossing them at her. “Alright, let’s make this interesting. I win, I get whatever I want from you and if you win then you can choose whatever you want from me. Deal?”

He grinned back, pulling up a stool. Regardless of whatever game they played, he knew that she would most likely win, no matter if he used to be from Erudite. She was extremely good at strategies.

“I win,” Eric grinned at her setting his cards down. “So I get anything I want from you?”

She shuffled the cards again, “Those were the terms. Anything you want.”

He grasped the cards from her, moving to stand in between her legs. Eric put his hand on her cheek, pulling her closer so their lips almost met. “I want a massage.”

Y/N laughed, bumping her head against his. “Deal.”

He moved back while she jumped down from the counter gesturing for him to lead the way. He led her into his neat bedroom, before pulling off his shirt. “Focus on my shoulders,” Eric mumbled before laying down. He heard her laugh again before he felt the bed dip and weight settle on his lower back.

She dug her fingers into his muscles and he had to bite his sheets to keep himself from groaning out in pleasure. Her hands were surprisingly soft with small callouses here and there, but he loved how cool they were against his skin. He turned holding her so that she was still straddling him. She tensed slightly before raising an eyebrow at him.

Y/N raised herself up slightly, reaching towards his shoulders again. He closed his eyes when her fingers massaged his tense muscles. A shiver ran through his body when she ran her hands over his pecs. He found his hands gripping her waist tightly before he flipped them so she was lying beneath him. “This is not a massage Eric,” She grinned up at him, while he grinned back.

Eric leaned down, capturing her plump lips into a searing kiss. She whimpered slightly as he bit her lip, causing her to arch into him, while he ran his hands up her legs. He pulled back smirking down at her, “Stay with me tonight.”

Y/N bit her lip, he leaned down to kiss her again. She hoped that she wouldn’t have a nightmare tonight before she was distracted by Eric’s skillful lips.

Y/N woke up, trying to remember where the hell she was. She moved to sit up, but a beefy pale arm held her down. She froze slightly when she trailed her eyes up, seeing Eric’s face sleeping soundly beside her. She moved soundlessly trying her hardest not to wake him up, once she was out of his bed, she grabbed all of her clothes throwing them all on before dashing out of his compartment.

Y/N was late. She sprinted to her compartment showering quickly before throwing on her workout clothes. She wrapped her hair into a bun, before sprinting to the training rooms only to see Four already stretching, maybe she wasn’t that late. She jogged over to Four, sitting beside him beginning her own stretches.

“You’re late.” Four grimaced while he held a hand down to her. He stared at her neck, rolling his eyes grinning slightly. “Now I know why.”

Her fingers probed her neck slightly, remembering Eric had left a mark from last night. Deep down she was embarrassed, but she shrugged grinning cockily at Four. “So we can skip the morning run?”

“Nope, let’s go,” Four pushed her slightly before she huffed dropping the cocky grin.

She started jogging falling into step beside Four, with her legs protesting at the extra exercise. “Four I’m going to kill you,” She huffed pushing past her jelly filled legs. She stopped leaning against the column, “Give me a second.”

Four smirked while she flipped him off. “C’mon, we can skip today. It seems you’ve already gotten way more exercise than usual.”

Y/N was sharpening the knives when the door banged open and a pissed off Eric stormed it. She went back to sharpening the knives before the angry man leaned on the table beside her, she could feel the anger vibrating off of him in waves.

“Spit it out, get it over with,” She murmured not satisfied with the sharpness of the tool. He grabbed the knife from her hands flinging it at the wood, glaring down at her. “Impressive shot, but a little to the left and-”

“You left. Why,” Eric growled out through clenched teeth, staring (more like glaring) down at her.

“I had to get my morning workout in. Then I had to prepare for the initiates. I didn’t have the luxury to sleep in,” Y/N shrugged, grabbing another knife to sharpen.

“You’re a leader… you can choose. You’re a coward Y/N, you left because you were scared.” Eric hissed moving away from her, clenching his fists.

She rolled her eyes. “Totally, I’m a coward for doing my job. I’m not scared if I was then I wouldn’t have gone to your compartment.” She grasped his arm, pulling him towards her. “If I was a coward, I would’ve covered up your marks you dumbass.”

Eric grasped her chin, looking at her neck. He brushed his fingers against the marks, grinning slightly. He grabbed the knife she held throwing it back to the wood. “You’re right, I just wanted to see your reaction.”

“Asshole. So, what are we? Fuck friends,” Y/N smirked pulling her face away from his hands.

“If that’s what you want,” Eric rested his hands on her hips, before he trailed his fingers down her legs, wrapping her legs around him so she was pressed against him.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Y/N shrugged wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “So is where we also see other peo-”

He growled slightly, squeezing her thighs and burying his face into her neck. “I don’t share.”

“Neither do I,” She laughed when he brushed his lips against her sweet spot.

*Four months later*

“Stay,” Eric wrapped his arms around her, he had been asking her for months now yet she always refused. “Y/N c’mon let’s just sleep.”

“Eric, c’mon let go.” She weakly fought against him.

“Why don’t you want to stay? Fuck Y/N,” Eric let her go, sitting up watching her pull her clothes on. She sighed sitting back on the bed, while he moved closer kissing her shoulder. “What are you so nervous about? Are you embarrassed?” He moved back, while everything started to fall into place.

“Why the hell would I be embarrassed? Who gives a fuck what other people think?” She hissed laying back down on the bed.

“Then what the fuck is up with you.” Eric scowled at the ceiling.

She put her arm over her eyes, biting her lip. “I have nightmares Eric. I didn’t want you to see my weakness. That’s why I’ve been avoiding staying over.”

Eric moved so that he was laying on his side looking at her. He grasped her waist pulling her into him. He held her tightly, breathing in her scent. The possessive side of him, grinned at the fact that she smelled of him. “You don’t have to be ashamed of things that aren’t in your control.” She sighed softly, burrowing closer to him.

One thing he loved more than anything was moments like these, where it was just him and her. In his room he was able to be somewhat vulnerable around her, but they still kept their professionalism. Eric wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but she was one of his fears. He often feared that she would find someone better, nicer and more open than he was. To others it may have been a pansy weakness but to him it was something he never wanted to come true. She had managed to worm her way into his heart and he wasn’t going to lose her. Eric kissed her hair, holding her tightly.

“What are we Eric,” He heard her mumble out while she intertwined her legs with his. “This feels like so much more than fuck friends.”

“I’m all yours if you’re all mine,” Eric smirked running his fingers along her exposed flesh. She looked up at him, grinning slightly before moving so that she was straddling him.

#eric coulter x reader #eric coulter #eric coulter imagine #eric divergent #eric divergent imagine #divergent imagine #divergent x reader #Divergent #eric x oc #eric x reader

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wwesmutdonedirtcheap · 7 years

Text

My Boyfriend's Back

Sheamus finds out an old ex is stalking you and comes up with a plan to get rid of him by pretending to be your new boyfriend, but he takes it a little too seriously. requested by @sarahmatthews7

Tag Lists are a pain in the ass. Sorry guys, it’s still a work in progress. Any tips would be great on how to get them to link when there are so many of you to tag.

“Great,” I huffed, tossing my cell phone back into my purse after giving it a quick glance.

“What’s the matter?” Seth took another sip of his beer with a raised eyebrow.

A bunch of us had went out for drinks after work. I felt like the whole world was staring at me. Seth, Sheamus, Becky, Cesaro and Charlotte were all boring holes through me with their questioning eyes.

“It’s, it’s nothing,” I lied, biting on my lip nervously “Nothing.”

“Ya want anotha?” Sheamus held up my empty martini glass and I nodded.

He left to go to the bar and I leaned back in my seat with a sigh.

“Ok, spill,” Charlotte leaned in closer “What’s going on? You’ve been distracted all night.”

“It’s Drew,” I groaned, fishing my phone back out of my purse.

Cesaro and Seth were wrapped up in conversation. Becky leaned in from the other side of me and shook her head.

“The bloke just won’t let up, will he?” she squared her jaw tightly.

I held up the screen so they both could read the latest in a long line of messages.

I wish you’d give me another chance. Now that I’m back, I think we’d really have a shot.

“After the way he treated you,” Charlotte rolled her eyes “He’s fucking dreaming.”

“Cheatin’ is a deal breaka,” Becky lifted her beer to her lips “No excuses.”

Drew Mcintyre and I had dated several years back. He had eventually cheated on me and I ended things. Shortly after, he left the company and went to TNA. I had did my best to forget him and all contact between us had ceased. I had a brief relationship with Dolph Ziggler, which ended in another cheating episode. After that, I had swore off relationships for a while.

I didn’t want back with Drew. I didn’t want to even see him. I knew our paths would eventually cross but for now, I could avoid him. I had yet to respond to a single of his texts.

“Keep ignoring him,” Charlotte insisted “He’ll get the message.”

“Who will get tha message?” Sheamus walked up to us and his brow creased.

“No one,” Becky tried to cover but she was terrible at it “Just some arsehole.”

“Who?” Sheamus handed over my glass.

Sheamus hadn’t really been in my life when Drew was around but he did know we had a relationship. He was super protective of me for some weird reason, although we had become pretty good friends. I did a ton of interviews with him and we always had a blast when we got to work together.

“I’m gonna go get another,” Charlotte stood and Becky quickly followed.

Seth and Cesaro were still in deep conversation about coffee of all things.

Sheamus took Becky’s seat and propped his cheek on his fist, staring me down.

“What’s goin’ on wit’ ya?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” I insisted, dropping the phone back in my purse.

“Who’s botherin’ ya?”

“You’re not gonna let up, are you?” I sighed, staring him in his intent eyes.

“Nope,” he shook his head, downing a long sip of his Guiness.

“Drew,” I finally spoke, even saying his name bothered me “He’s been texting me…He wants to start dating.”

“Is he bloody insane?”

“I guess,” I laughed lightly “I don’t know…I don’t want to see him. I want him to just leave me alone.”

“I’ll have a talk wit him,” Sheamus’ face grew even more serious.

“No!” I yelped, causing the guys to stop their conversation and stare at me.

I jumped up, tugging Sheamus with me to a corner near the table.

“You need to just stay out of this, ok?” I folded my arms across my chest “I can handle him.”

“Ya shouldn’t have to. That son ova bitch should know betta than to even look at ya after what he did to ya.”

“I’ll be fine,” I lied “I promise.”

Two weeks later, my phone was filled with texts similar to the one he had sent that night. Although, he was getting more desperate.

I had a sit down interview scheduled with Finn and was walking down the hallway to meet him, when I heard the voice I had tried to forget.

“Yer phone broken?”

I stood still, my heart beating extra hard in my chest. I closed my eyes and turned on my high heels to face him.

“No,” I shook my head “I just don’t feel like talking to you.”

“Is that a fact?” Drew moved closer, his hair hanging around his shoulders.

He was dressed in a button up and slacks, clearly not in the building to compete in any shape or form. He must have had a meeting.

“Shouldn’t you be in Florida?” I snipped.

“Off week,” he reached me “Thought I’d take a break….I was hopin’ I’d see ya ‘ere.”

“Well, you’ve seen me,” I turned to go and his strong hand grabbed my arm.

Not hard but stern.

“Drew,” I sighed, turning back to him.

“Ma name still sounds good comin’ from yer lips.”

“What do you want?”

“Ya look good.”

He eyed me in my green dress and quickly slid his tongue across his lips. It caused me to shiver uncomfortably.

“Thanks,” I managed to get out.

“Come on,” he squeezed my arm “One date wit me?”

“No,” I answered more angrily “You lost your chance a long time ago, Drew.”

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere?”

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard Sheamus’ voice behind me. I felt his hand reach out and push Drew’s hand away from my arm. Drew narrowed his eyes and I could see an angry fire ignite in them. Sheamus moved by my side and slowly pushed me behind him.

“Ya touch ma’ girl like that again mate and I’ll rip ya apar’.”

“Yer girl?” Drew laughed, his hand gliding across his chin “Ya mean ta tell me you’re datin’ him?”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt my throat tremble but then the words flowed out.

“Yes, he’s twice the man you ever were.”

“Is that a fact?” Drew smirked “We’ll see abou’ that, baby.”

“Ya call her that again,” Sheamus pushed himself forward where they were practically nose to nose.

“You’ll what?” Drew laughed “You’ll knock me out? Get suspended?”

“If I have ta do that,” Sheamus’ fists clenched at his sides “Then I’ll do it for her.”

“I’ll be seein’ ya,” Drew looked around him before backing up and heading down the hall in the opposite direction.

Sheamus turned to me and reached for my arm.

“He hurt ya, love?”

“No,” I sighed.

Then before I knew what I was doing, I reached out and wrapped my arms around Sheamus’ torso. I felt his hand go to the top of my head, his fingers sliding into my hair.

I finally pulled away, embarrassed and awkward.

“I’m sorry,” I laughed shyly “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right,” he smiled “We’re a couple anyway.”

“About that,” I sighed “You do realize that we’ll have to keep that up in front of him.”

“I don’t have a problem wit that,” he winked at me supportively “If you don’t?”

“No,” I grinned at him “It’s kinda nice having you as my protector…And fake boyfriend.”

He laughed, a deep one that shook his chest.

“Ya got an interview ta get to, right?”

“Shit!” I squealed in realization “I forgot all about Finn!”

“I’ll wait and walk ya out tonight,” he called after me as I raced toward the room.

“Thanks!” I shouted over my shoulder.

Over the next few weeks, Sheamus became a bigger fixture in my life than he was before, as my friend. He held my hand a lot, his fingers sliding over my knuckles…Almost lovingly?

Drew spent a lot of time on the road with us. I knew it wouldn’t long before he got moved up from NXT permanently.

One night, a bunch of us got on one of the private jets to fly to our next stop. I sat next to Sheamus of course and before long I found myself willingly nuzzling into his side.

He lifted his arm and allowed me closer. It seemed to natural, so comfortable. His fingers slid up and down my bared arm.

“Is it weird that I like this?” I whispered as I listened to his heart beat against my ear.

“No,” he answered, but that was all he said.

Everything with Drew came to a head on the night of his official debut on Raw.

I was standing backstage, my nose stuck in a pile of interview cards when I felt a hand on my shoulder. My immediate instinct was that it was Sheamus and I turned around with a smile on my face.

“I love dat face,” Drew met me “Yer smile was always ma favorite.”

“Drew,” I groaned “Please, just stop.”

“Why? Cause ya got some boyfriend now? Ya think that mattas ta me?”

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” I shook my head angrily “It never bothered you that you were my boyfriend when you were fucking other women.”

“Do we have ta bring that up?” he growled “I’m a changed man now. I’m ready for tha commitment that ya wanted.”

“I already have that commitment,” I stared him down “With Sheamus. He takes care of me. He treats me like I matter to him. He values me, he honors me, he doesn’t hurt me. Ever.”

“Ya in love wit him, then?” Drew’s face grew angrier with each passing second.

I mulled his question over in my mind. Was I developing real feelings for Sheamus? We had been spending so much time together…And I liked it. Everything I said about him was true. He was caring, he was protective, he took care of me just like a boyfriend would. Just like someone who loved me would.

“I don’t know,” I shook my head “All I know is I care more about him than I ever did about you.”

“You lil…” he stepped closer to me and his hand gripped my arm again.

Before I knew what was happening, Sheamus’ arm swung passed me and his fist connected to Drew’s jaw. He then proceeded to do it again, causing Drew to topple to the floor.

“Sheamus!” Cesaro shouted, running in and trying his best to get a grip on his big shoulders to pull him off Drew.

“You screwed yaself ova now!” Drew shouted, as Cesaro lifted Sheamus up “Just wait til everybody backstage knows what ya done.”

“Ya just wait til they hear what you were about ta do!” Sheamus answered him, trying to break free from Cesaro.

Cesaro was smaller but his grip was pretty lethal.

Drew wiped the blood off his lower lip and stumbled away down the hall, cursing the entire time.

“Yer not worth it!” he shouted back over his shoulder at me “Ya always were a stuck up lil bitch!”

Sheamus tried to break free again but that time, I stepped in front.

“Let him go,” I whispered “Please?”

He stopped struggling and Cesaro reluctantly let him go.

“You ok, now?” he scanned Sheamus’ face.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Cesaro nodded.

“I saw what happened, he goes to anybody I’ll tell them,” he assured us.

“Thank you,” I smiled at him, as he walked away.

“Ya all right?” Sheamus gripped my face in his hands.

I stared at him for a moment. His concerned face, his strong hands on my cheekbones, his body heat so incredibly close to mine.

I did feel something for him. I probably always had and it only intensified over the last three weeks.

I leaned up and kissed him, my lips crashing against his unprepared ones. He quickly wrapped his arms around my waist and breathed in a sharp intake of air. His tongue collided against mine and I moaned into his mouth.

“Thank you,” I whispered when I pulled away.

“Yer welcome,” he grinned, his hands sliding up my back.

He pulled me close again and kissed me even harder.

We started to date. Both of us admitting our feelings had grown over time.

He took me to dinners, museums and silly things like put-put golf, which I always won, even though I think most of the time he let me. We went to the beach when we were in California. We went snowmobiling in Colorado.

We spent two months together, just getting to know each other better and having a good time.

Then one night, after a Raw show in Atlanta, he asked me to his room.

My heart was pounding as he walked with me hand in hand. I knew this was it. I wanted it, desperately. I wanted to please him though, and I was afraid I would disappoint him.

The minute we were inside, he picked me up by my waist and kissed me, his mouth eagerly devouring mine.

“I love tha way ya taste,” he groaned when our lips parted and I giggled.

“How do I taste?”

“Like bloody heaven,” he smiled, carrying me toward the bed.

He sat me down and slid his shirt over his head. I reached up, my hands running down his warm skin. He tilted my chin up to look at him.

“You want this, love?”

I nodded and stood up. I lifted my shirt over my head, with his help and he growled deep inside his chest.

I dropped my eyes shyly, my hair falling into them and the strap of my bra sliding absently down my shoulder.

“Why aren’t ya lookin’ at me?” he whispered.

“I, I don’t know,” I shook my head, finally making eye contact.

His hand traced down my arm and across the top of my breasts, before his mouth dived at my throat. His lips kissed slowly up the skin and his tongue darted out to slide against the goosebumps that had formed.

“Yer a beautiful woman,” he hummed against my ear “And there’s no one else I’d rather be wit.”

“And you won’t hurt me?” I ran my fingers through his hair.

He pulled away, appearing shocked at the question.

“Neva,” he responded and I believed him “Truth is, I’m startin’ to love ya.”

“Me too,” I answered meekly “I think I’m in love with you, Sheamus.”

He cupped my face again and kissed me lightly.

“That makes two of us,” he whispered against my mouth.

The next few minutes were a slow burn of removing clothes.

First my bra and his warm mouth taking time to explore each curve that became exposed. I fisted his hair in my hand and moaned at the feeling of his searing tongue on me.

I unbuckled his belt and his pants dropped to the floor. My hand wrapped around his hard on and I sighed at how big he was underneath his boxers.

He toyed with my panties before he slid his big fingers inside the fabric and traced against my clit softly. His eyes closed as he felt me and I felt a surge of excitement.

Finally, he slid them off my hips and I did the same with his own. I sat down slowly and he wedged himself between my legs. His large body pinning me to the bed, his hand going into my hair and tugging it lightly. He groaned as his dick brushed against me and I arched my back in response.

His hand slid up and down my thigh before he hooked my leg around his waist.

I tilted my head back with a heavy sigh as he finally entered me. His mouth went to my exposed throat and he sucked a straight line along it. I knew he was giving me time to adjust to him and I was grateful.

Finally, he gripped my thigh again and pushed in even harder, starting to rock in and out.

I traced my nails down his back and he groaned, his mouth meeting mine. I brought my hands to his face, holding it tightly as each kiss deepened.

“I do love ya,” he broke away, his forehead pressing against mine.

I smiled, as he started thrusting harder, and pressed my mouth to his exposed neck. I bit into the skin and I felt him grin. His hand came behind my head to hold it and his thrusts got more rapid. I felt myself start to tighten around him and I yelped out.

“Mm,” he laughed “I like da sound of dat.”

I giggled, as he pounded harder into me.

Finally, I felt myself start to ripple around him.

“Sheamus,” I moaned against his shoulder, his hand still holding the back of my head.

A few second later, he groaned and released inside of me. Once our breathing had slowed, he lowered my head gently to the bed.

Still inside of me, he pressed his face to mine.

“Can I be ya real boyfriend now?”

We both laughed, as he rolled over and pulled me closer.

tagging @wwefangirl69 & @balorclubbabe because they specifically asked for this one.

#sheamus x reader #sheamus imagine #sheamus smut #wwe smut fan fiction #wwe imagine

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youre-on-a-starship · 7 years

Text

Part 1

Summary: Two weeks after waking up with no recollection of the people and ship around you, you take your future in your hands and try to piece together your past and the events that lead up to you losing your memory of the last five years. This means finally meeting Scotty, the man you just learned is your husband.

Word Count: 1,138

Author’s Note: This is my first series that I’m posting on here! Please let me know what you think, I really love getting feedback.

Table of Contents Here

Scotty looked up at exactly the wrong moment. Jim made a joke and the whole table burst into laughter, including you. Your beautiful eyes crinkled up and your unapologetic smile bared your gleaming teeth. You simply shone.

Scotty couldn’t even bring himself to laugh when you laid your hand on Jim’s arm, steadying yourself as you calmed. Scotty’s heart clenched painfully.

And then there was Jim, that bastard, not that it was his fault, leaning in and laughing with you, tickled to make you smile so beautifully.

Scotty mumbled an excuse and stood, dropping his napkin on his tray and leaving the table at a steady stumble, trying to navigate through the pounding of blood in his ears.

The hallway rang with silence as the mess hall doors closed behind him. Scotty looked up and down the hall, completely lost. He's walked every single hall of this wonderful ship with you on his arm and now… what's a man to do without you? How could he possibly move on and find some semblance of peace when you were in there laughing like that with Kirk of all people? Captain Fucking Perfect Hair with all his goodman charm and warmth…

“Scotty?”

He turned around to find that Uhura had followed him out.

“I’m sorry,” he started, wiping at his face, just now realizing that he was crying.

“Don't be,” Uhura reached out and touched his elbow. “Come on.”

She gently pulled Scotty down the hall away from the mess.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she asked.

“No,” Scotty’s voice cracked and he raised a hand to his face to hide the tears that overflowed. ‘“‘S jus’... she used tae look a’ me li’ tha’.”

“I know,” Uhura said, wrapping an arm around Scotty’s shoulder and rubbing his arm.

“I though’ I was ready to see her again, but she's… she's moving righ’ on…”

“Have you talked to her yet?” Uhura urged.

“Wha’ am I supposed ta say? I dinna want her to feel obligated to come back to me -”

“No, but Scotty, if you don't even put your hat in the ring she’ll never know,” Uhura said. “You have to talk to her. Especially before Kirk does something.”

“I really didn’t think he would…” Scotty sniffed. “I mean, he knows, of course…”

“He doesn't want to do anything about it,” Uhura said. “He told me. He's just trying to make her feel at ease. But she's starting to flirt and I'm afraid that if you don't do something you’re going to lose your second shot.”

Scotty slowed to a stop for a moment, burying the heels of his hands into his eye sockets.

“I don’ know wha’ I'm more upset about,” he mumbled. “Her going after Kirk now or… or the fact that I didn’ get a chance to say goodbye.”

“Do you want her back?” Uhura asked.

“I go’ her a’ a good time,” Scotty said, dropping his hands. “I was still young enough to put on a good show of it. But I'm not wha’ I was when we met… she wouldn’t want me now, no’ when she's no reason to look past me anymore.”

“Come on,” Uhura punched his arm lightly. “You've been doing that ‘old man’ song and dance too much lately. Give yourself some credit. Y/N fell in love with you for who you are, all of you, not just how you look. Not because of how old or young you were or are. If you love her, fight for her.”

“Aye,” Scotty sniffed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck nervously. “I do love her still, I jus’ don’ wanna scare her away.”

As Uhura opened her mouth to respond, you stepped into view at the end of the hall. You stopped in your tracks when you saw Scotty’s red-rimmed eyes and blotchy face.

“Sorry -” you started, taking a step back.

“Shit,” Scotty hissed, taking off in the other direction.

You looked at Uhura and bit your lip as the engineer disappeared around the corner. When Uhura met your eyes, you knew it wasn’t the two of them that had a problem. Everyone was looking at you like this, with pity and unease on their faces.

“Have I done something?” you asked quietly. It wouldn’t be the first time this week you’d upset someone. Wouldn’t be first time today.

“No,” Uhura said, reaching for your hand.

“It’s something I forgot, isn’t it?” you winced, letting her lead you back the way you came.

“Do you like Jim?” Uhura asked.

“Am I not supposed to?”

“What ever happened or didn’t happen before now shouldn’t matter,” Uhura reassured you. “You have the right to do what makes you feel happy and safe right now.”

“What’s this about? And why is Scotty upset? It is Scotty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Nyota nodded, biting her lips.

“Were he and I…?” you trailed off.

Uhura looked at the floor.

“He seems a little old for me…” you mused, a wave of panic running through you at the pained look on Uhura’s face. “But age isn’t everything, right?”

“Have you talked to him since you woke up?”

“Scotty? No,” you admitted, furrowing your brow. “I sort of thought he was avoiding me.”

“Ugh, I promised I wouldn’t do this,” Uhura grumbled, pinching her nose before stopping you in the middle of the hallway. “If you can try to… listen, a lot changed for all of us when this happened.”

“I know,” you nodded, feeling that sinking guilt in your gut come crawling back.

“It’s not your fault, and we’re all here for you right now,” Uhura reassured you, taking your arms in her hands. “But… if you can be patient with him - he’s not the best at opening up when he’s got his mind set - you need to try talking to him.”

You licked your lips.

“How involved were we, Nyota?”

Uhura groaned as if this knowledge was physically hurting her.

“And what’s he got his mind set on? I need something to go on if I’m going to just start talking to this guy…”

“He…” Uhura sighed. “He doesn’t want to make you feel obligated to do anything. You’re getting a fresh start right now, and he doesn’t want to push you anywhere you don’t want to go.”

“So we were together, then?” you asked.

“Y/N… it’s… you were married. Are married, technically.”

Your arms went numb and your jaw clenched. Married.

“You need to go talk to him,” Nyota urged.

“I need to go…” you mumbled. “Meet him, I suppose…” You fisted a hand in your hair. “What’s he even like? I need something to go on…”

“Right now?” Nyota asked with a sad look in her eye. “Pretty broken.”

“Because I was talking with Kirk?”

Nyota nodded.

“Where’s his room?”

Thank you so much for reading! Please let me know what you think. As this is a series, I am open to starting a tag list as well, so please let me know you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

#Scotty x reader #montgomery scott #The Part That Counts

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years

Text

❛ JUST ONE NIGHT ❜

Part II.

with Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz.

Warnings: a little angst.

Word count: about 900

Chapter Index.

Aurora says: this writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @xxrouxx

Masterlist.

“COCO! COCO, ARE YOU THERE?”

Angel hits the door with his fist, while Gilly calls him by the bell. Creeper is using his phone, hearing the tone inside the house. It's been two days since you left, and he hasn't appeared in the clubhouse. Tired of waiting for an answer, Tranq pulls them all apart, kicking the doorknob and making some pieces of wood fall on air to the floor. What they find, shocked them. The house is a complete mess. Glasses, paintings, furniture (...), everything destroyed. Empty beers spread all around the floor of the living room and a tipsy Coco lying on the sofa. The smells of cigs, alcohol and dirt are concentrated on the environment, provoking them sickness.

Ezekiel takes the first step to open all the windows, walking carefully to not fall into all the trash. Angel leans towards his friend, standing him up between growls, being helped by Creeper. Bishop have a quick look before trying to call you again, like the last two days without having an answer, more than from your voicemail.

“I think it's pretty clear what's happening here”. Riz says, resting a shoulder against the main door.

“I don't know, brother, but that girl is the only good thing he has. So we have to find her”. El Presidente replies, turning at him, keeping his gloves inside the kutte pocket.

“I feel that this shit is our fault”. Taza adds, pulling back his hair.

In the meantime, Gilly and Angel are trying to undress a sleepy Coco, to tuck him into the shower filled with cold water. When it soaks his body, the mexican starts to shake, wanting to free himself between screams and tears. He looks like shit, feels like shit. But help is the last thing he wants.

“C'mon, man. Take the fucking bath while we clean your house”. Angel says, clicking his tongue.

“Fuckin' leave me die”. He sobs, sitting down with some difficulties because of the alcohol in his blood.

Gilly rolls his eyes, palming the other's back to step out from the bathroom and closing the door behind them. Coming back to the living room, Ezekiel is already picking up all the empty bottles, while Creeper places as he can the chairs and the tables. Tranq is cleaning the kitchen with Riz and Bishop is trying to locate your friends and your coworkers at the tattoo studio. But nothing. It's like the earth just swallowed you.

When Coco finally steps out from the bath wearing clean clothes and wet hair staining the floor, normality has come back to the house. The oldest Reyes offers him a cigs and a lighter, letting him fall down again on the sofa. The crew is waiting for some kind of explanation, but their brother doesn't look to have the strength to face reality. Brushing his hair to the back of his head, the mexican takes a deep drag to exhale it by his nose.

“Man, we're gonna find her, okay?” Angel sits over the auxiliary table, placing a hand on his nap trying to call his attention.

He denies moving his chin, about to again.

“She left me 'cause she deserves somethen' better than a trash like me, carnal”. He mumbles with a broken tone of voice, bowing his head.

“The kid loves you, man. Maybe she just needed some time alone”.

“I fuckin' abandoned her for two fuckin' months”. He replies enraged, feeling the tears running down his skin. “I fuckin' forgive our fers' anniversary and… shit… she was two fuckin' hours waitin' fo' me sitting in a fuckin' restaurant. She doesn' deserves tha' shit, brother. (Y/N) deserves a good man, who treats her rai'”.

“Hey, listen”. Bishop squats close to him, snapping two fingers in front of his eyes. “We are going to find the kid, you hear me? You did a lot of shit for the club the last two months, that's reality. And you are going to take a break. To travel with her. To rest. And to show her what you really feel and what you really want”.

Coco doesn't reply, having another smoke and trying to nod, rubbing his eyes with the back of his free hand. He knows pretty well he fucked up everything between both, and finding it out when you are already gone, hurts double. A month ago, when he was understanding that maybe he was pushing you away, he talked with his brothers about proposing to you because he couldn't imagine a single day of his life without you. And he wanted to do it celebrating your first anniversary. But he forgot it. He forgot it drinking at Vicki's house, after a long week at the other side of the border covering Galindo's cartel.

“Call Marcus. Tell him her name and let's see if that boy Miguel has, that controls the databases, can find anything. An address, a postal code… Whatever”. Bishop turns to Taza, narrowing Coco's knee trying to comfort him.

✨ Tag list:

@starrynite7114 @chibsytelford @dazzledamazon @mara-mpou @sammskellington @gemini0410 @1-800-imagines @briana-mishell24 @sassymox @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada @samcrobae @jade770 @witchy-wish @rebel-without-cause-x @xx--day-dreamer--xx @spiced-reads @tita127 @ifoundmyhappythought @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @angelxshiba @destynelseclipsa @sheeshgivemeabreak @abbiesthings @knowles-morgan @lady-pswrld @minnicelli @marquelapage @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @jadesamhart @mycupoffanfiction @claytoncardenasbabymama @thesandbeneathmytoes @phoenixhalliwell @thewarriorprincessxo @sugary-x-sweet @multiyfandomgirl40 @imanerdychubbyqueen @iambabyharry @firebenderwolf @itsanofrommesir @noz4a2 @peaches007 @edonaspanca @cyka1312

If you want to be tagged, send me a message!

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #johnny coco cruz x reader #johnny coco cruz imagine #coco cruz imagine #coco cruz x reader #coco cruz

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lovehobs · 7 years

Text

if you like it (put a ring on it)

“Why are you so jittery, Jungkook? It’s almost as if you’d lost the engagement ring you were supposed to propose to Jimin with tonight or something.”

“... Wait, oh my god.”

Pairing: jikook/kookmin

AU: established relationship, proposal AU

Tags: really fluffy gdi, jungkook messes up (like always), attempt at humor

Word Count: 2332

you can find it here on ao3!!

Today was the day.

Jungkook fidgeted with his shirt sleeve, running his thumb over the button as he bit the inside of his cheek. Even the clattering of the dishes that came from the door that led to the kitchen couldn’t bring him out of his reverie. It was cool in the restaurant, but he was sweating buckets by now, occasionally having to bring up the back of his hand to wipe his forehead messily. Their dinner date was supposed to start one minute and twenty-eight seconds ago; Jimin wasn’t here. Park Jimin, the man Jungkook was supposed to fucking propose to, wasn’t here to see his boyfriend stammer and shake nervously in his seat.

“Where are you, where are you,” he hissed, running a hand through his hair (the hair which had taken a full half an hour to style, but now it was just a bird’s nest on top of his head.) Jimin was late for a date for possibly the first time in the four years they had been together. His boyfriend’s attendance was always impeccable-- Jungkook was usually the one to run into the room ten minutes late, apologizing profusely and kissing Jimin’s pout away.

Something salty blossomed in his mouth; it was blood from Jungkook’s tattered inner cheek.

When Jimin finally appeared, it was four minutes after six. He smoothed out the front of his shirt as he plopped into the velvet seat in front of his date. “Oh gosh, Kookie, I’m so sorry. I forgot my wallet at work and I couldn’t just leave it there for someone to steal, you know?” He leaned in. “That Taehyung kid in the cubicle next to mine has always looked kinda suspicious. I hope you didn’t mind, babe.”

Jungkook shrugged it off. It wasn’t like he was planning on bursting into tears if Jimin hadn’t appeared in the next few seconds anyways, haha. “It’s… It’s fine, hyung. I’m okay.” The full-lipped smile that his boyfriend gave him next was enough to make him forget all about Jimin’s lateness.

“I’m glad, I was seriously worried about you. I got my wallet, though. But really, Jungkook, you went all out tonight. Five-star restaurant? You dressing up all fancy in that dress suit and those black pants? Is there something going on that I don’t know about? I’m used to brunch dates at that lamb skewer stand around the corner. Maybe it was closed today or something?”

“No, no, I just wanted to… make tonight special… no reason.”

He didn’t look convinced, but seemingly shrugged it off anyways. “You could have atleast told me what to wear. I’m stuck with this scraggly old shirt.” He turned his attention to the menu on the table in front of him. “Man, this looks good… this better not be too expensive though, or I’m literally gonna kick your ass. We’re not rich yet, kid.”

It always amazed Jungkook at how fast Jimin could change subjects, at how fast his face could light up and his mood could change. It was one of the many things that made Jungkook fall in love with him, the boy with the raven hair and the shimmering chocolate eyes and the beautiful smile. He cupped his chin in his hands and rested his elbows on the table and just watched, watched Jimin’s ringed finger trail over the laminated page. His Park Jimin. His boyfriend. And then his future husband, if all went well.

When the waitress had arrived to their table, set with a blinding smile, Jungkook was still staring. Get yourself together, what’s up with you today, Jimin had giggled, snapping his fingers. Jimin ordered lobster while Jungkook went for clam chowder. He didn’t necessarily enjoy clam chowder, but it wasn’t like he was going to eat much anyways. (“Jungkook, why’d you order that? You hate seafood.” “Um, I guess tastes change? Don’t worry about it, hyung.”)

The rest of the night went by with relatively no casualties, except for, you know. Jimin knocking over a glass of water and having to deal with the angry-ass waiter rapping his fingers on the table. Jungkook taking a cautious bite of his food and choking on it before spitting it into a napkin in the presence of at least ten people. Jimin volunteering to do the heimlich maneuver, and Jungkook denying his assistance while he coughed into his chowder. No life-threatening casualties, at least; and then it was time for Jungkook to hide the ring in Jimin’s meal, like he had seen in thousands of cheesy k-dramas and romance novels (don’t tell his boyfriend he still has those books-- he’d literally die of embarrassment.)

“Hey, uh, hyung?” Jimin’s head snapped up, fork paused halfway to his mouth. “Can you, like, get me a napkin? I think there’s some clam chowder on the table and I wanna clean it up before the waiter comes back.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “You have a napkin right in front of you, Kookie--” but Jungkook pushed him away anyways, saying some bullshit like the napkin was already used (even though it obviously was clean.) Once the brown-haired boy was out of the picture, Jungkook shoved his hand into his pocket and fished around for the ring.

“C’mon, where is it,” he breathed, watching Jimin head up to a passing waitress out of the corner of his eye. He had no more than a minute to get the ring, lean over, slide it into the prongs of Jimin’s fork, and return back to sitting in his seat to pretend like nothing had happened. But-- he couldn’t feel the cold metal of his ring. It wasn’t in the deep crevices of his right pant pocket, nor his left; it wasn’t even in the one in his shirt, which was his last resort.

Cue excessive trembling and a whole lot of cursing. It wasn’t there-- the ring wasn’t there, the ring he had spent two months saving up for, the ring he bought because the jem reminded him of how Jimin’s eyes sparkled whenever he laughed-- it wasn’t there, and now Jimin was heading back to their table with five napkins clutched in between his fingers, and it was just too late.

“Here are the-- Jungkook, are you okay?” But he was already up out of his seat, hands clenched into fists and eyes slightly wet and legs shaking. He mumbled something about having to pee and then pushed past his boyfriend, ignoring his pleas and heading straight towards the double doors with the words MEN stamped on it.

Jungkook had barely made it inside the bathroom before he collapsed against a wall, near the sinks. It took great effort to guide his feet to take him to the nearest stall, where he closed the door with a bang and sat on the cover of the toilet seat. This couldn’t be happening; he’d planned so much, and everything seemed so perfect, and now it was all ruined… why couldn’t he have checked for the ring before Jimin had arrived? Why did he have to mess everything up?

He took a few deep breaths before he took out his phone, punching in digits and putting it against his ear.

“Jungkook! Hey! How’s the date going? Have you popped the question yet?”

“N-no, hyung… hyung, I--I need to--”

“Why are you so jittery, Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice was full of amusement. “It’s almost as if you’d lost the engagement ring you were supposed to propose to Jimin with tonight or something.” Silence. “Wait, Jungkook, you… you didn’t really, right?”

The boy sighed, and he felt the air between them immediately tense up. “... Wait, oh my god,” was all that came from the other line.

“You were supposed to--to set everything up, Hoseok-hyung! How could you mess something up like this?” Jungkook tightened the grip on his phone. “You were the one that put together my outfit, and I specifically… I told you to put the ring in. I-- I called you multiple times, hyung! Now everything’s just ruined and I won’t be able to propose and Jimin’s going to hate me, and we’ll break up and it’s gonna be all your fucking fault!”

“I swear I put the ring in your pocket, Jungkook-- shit, did you take the wrong outfit? You took the clothes on the chair, right?”

Jungkook stilled, eyes wide, and lowered his tone when he heard the bathroom doors swing open and someone’s feet patter across the tile. “...What?”

“Jungkook! Are you in here?” It was Jimin, and Jungkook ended the call with a trembling finger. What was he doing here? Oh god, maybe he’d figured it all out. Maybe he knows how big of a mess-up Jungkook is, how big of a fucking loser his boyfriend is for accidentally taking the wrong damn suit.

He heard the stall doors slam open and the sound get nearer and nearer to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to get up and lock his own door. Jungkook waited until the footsteps stopped in front of him, and he could see black vans peeking out from underneath the metal barrier.

It swung open, and there was Jimin, in all his glory, the corners of his pretty pink lips turned down in a frown. It was enough to make a tear trail down Jungkook’s cheek.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Jimin was just too kind as he wrapped his arms around his boyfriend’s still figure, all warm and fuzzy, and it was enough to make Jungkook’s heart plummet. His petite hands were running through Jungkook’s black locks, like Jungkook hadn’t just made the biggest mess-up in all of history. “Tell me what’s wrong, Kookie. Why are you crying? Don’t cry, baby, don’t cry.”

“Jimin hyung, I--” he brought up the courage to say it then and there. To tell him how horrible of a boyfriend he was. If Jimin broke up with him, then fine. As long as Jimin was happy, Jungkook would be, too. “I was going to propose to you tonight. Over dinner.”

Jimin pulled away, arms going slack. His eyes were saucers. “Jungkook,” he whispered, but Jungkook couldn’t look at him in the eyes.

“I was going to, but I was dumb and I didn’t bring the ring. Hyung, I didn’t bring the damn ring! I’m so sorry, I ruined everything, didn’t I? I took the wrong clothes and the ring’s in the other one and I chose that ring just because it reminded me of your beautiful eyes, but now it doesn’t matter anymore, doesn’t it? You’re gonna break up with me and I totally understand, hyung. Go ahead, lay it on me. I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

There was uncomfortable silence, where Jimin just stared at Jungkook and Jungkook stared at Jimin-- and this was it, Jungkook thought solemnly, an end of an era, and he’s gonna miss Jimin. He’s gonna miss their cuddle sessions and their shared kisses and Jimin’s cute little button nose, and waking up to the smell of freshly-made waffles and getting a handful of flour in his face after jokingly insulting Jimin’s cooking (even though Jimin made the best damn waffles in the whole wide world.) Or their weekend shopping sprees, when Jungkook would make his boyfriend try out millions of oversized sweaters and coo at how the sleeves went past his fingertips. And Jimin, Jimin, Jimin. He loved him so much-- he would never move on. Jimin was his every breath, his sun and his moon, the only source of his pure, unadulterated happiness.

And then Jimin flicked him on the forehead. And, wow, did it hurt.

“You big fucking idiot,” he sighed exasperatedly, as Jungkook rubbed his bruise, and were Jimin’s eyes wet? “You goddamn overreacting asshole. You made me think something seriously bad happened to you. I’m never going to forgive you, Jeon Jungkook.”

What? Jungkook thought, furrowing his eyebrows. “What?” Jungkook said.

“You seriously think I care so much about a ring, Jungkook? How shallow do you think I am? I don’t care if you threw a brick through our window back home that had a sticky note with the words ‘Marry Me’ written on it in pink glittery ink. I would still say yes, a million times yes, because I love you. You spent so much money on making a reservation at this restaurant, which I was late to, and put so much effort into planning everything and making sure that my night was absolutely perfect. Even you almost dying over your clam chowder couldn’t have made me less happy about tonight. Fuck you, Jeon Jungkook, really, honestly, and I hope you find a dead spider under your pillow when you sleep tonight for making me freak out over you so much. God, I love you so damn much, I want to spend every living second with you and only you.”

Jungkook stared, gaping. Jimin’s eyes were really shimmering, as if someone had taken all the stars in the night sky and gave them to him, and he was smiling. He was smiling so hard it wouldn’t be surprising if his jaw fell off. “Jimin hyung… are--are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

His boyfriend chuckled, shaking his head. “Yes, Kook. Let’s get married.”

Then he pulled Jungkook up from his seat on the toilet cover and kissed him, really kissed him, hands clutching his cheeks and eyes closed. It wasn’t open mouthed, and they’d kissed so many times before that moment; but right then and there, Jungkook knew that this was the kiss he would remember for many lifetimes. It wasn’t fireworks exploding or anything, but it was Park Jimin, and to Jungkook, that was all he really needed.

When they parted, Jungkook looked at his fiancé sheepishly. “I proposed to you in the bathroom of a five-star restaurant.”

Jimin doubled over in laughter, punching Jungkook’s shoulder lightly. “And whose fault is that, huh?”

“Mine,” he admitted easily, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

What a great story to tell the kids.

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