#like about a month(?) ago i was in class when i suddenly starting losing vision and hearing a

[duchessvultjag]

discovering the concept of migraine service dogs 🤩🤩🤩

googling the cost of service dogs 🤮🤮🤮

[dragonologist-in-the-making]

Paper Rings

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Summary: On his first ride to Hogwarts, James befriended the girl who was obsessed with shiny things. Over their schooling together, their friendship turned into so much more.

A/N: lmao I suck at summaries. Also I’m back sorry for the random hiatus (and sorry that posting will almost definitely not be consistent after this either). I had this idea months ago, inspired by Taylor Swift’s Paper Rings, and I only just got around to writing it asdfghjkl. Still obsessed with James though rip me I just want someone to love me like this.

Warnings: Mentions of eating (briefly), otherwise just a lot of fluff.

Wordcount: 4k (wow)

...

Little James Potter waved goodbye to his parents as the train took off from the platform, nervous about his first journey to the infamous Hogwarts, but excited to discover all the great things his parents had told him for himself. First though: finding a carriage.

Trying not to show his nerves, he wandered along the corridor, peeping into the carriages to see if there was one he could join. For the most part, he found them all too full, too loud to juggle his nerves, or the students too old and intimidating. The days would come where James would rule the corridors of the castle, but the eleven year old boy on the train was just hoping to make a friend he could share this new adventure with.

As fate would have it, he found just that and so much more. In a carriage to herself sat a young girl, his age, her face turned away from him looking out the window. The only thing he could see was a petite sparkling bow, sitting neatly in her (y/h/c) hair.

Without thinking about it, he knocked gently on the compartment door, sliding it open as she turned to look at him inquisitively. Her (y/e/c) eye’s glittered as her lips pulled into a smile, creating a complete sense of comfort for James to ask. “Do you mind if I sit?” She nodded eagerly, gathering up a few books she had dumped on the opposite seat and dropping them into her lap. “I’m James.” He smiled.

“(y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

They sat in a comfortable silence for a short while, listening to the laughs of older students, friends reuniting after a summer apart, and watching the landscape whip by them out the window.

“I like your bow, by the way.” James spoke up, feeling glad he did when an excited smile broke across her face, looking as if he’d told her she’d won the lottery.

“Thank you! I love the way it sparkles.” She said, gently pulling it from her hair and twisting it in the sunlight, showing how rainbows danced in the glitter and were thrown across their compartment. Satisfied, she used it to clip back the hair that was now falling into her face, and their conversation moved on, following each and every thought they were having, becoming fast friends. James didn’t think the journey could get any better until two boys showed up at their door and asked if they could join them, setting everlasting friendships in stone.

As the train pulled up to Hogwarts, any nervousness James had been feeling was gone. Instead, the only thought he had was that he couldn’t be more glad he sat in the compartment of the girl with the sparkling bow.

…

Their first year passed in a blur, and the Marauders spent the majority of it in each other’s company, laughing their days away.

Now, summer had come and gone, and their second year at Hogwarts was in full swing. They walked into their charms class together, laughing about a joke Sirius had made at James’ expense. (y/n) sat next to the curly-haired boy at their desk, as Remus Sirius and Peter sat at the one adjacent to them.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I didn’t make the team last year! No first year has made a house team in like 80 years! I’m telling you though, I’ll make it on this year, and I’ll be the best chaser this school has ever seen.” James protested, huffing as he put his textbook in the middle of the table for him and (y/n) to share. She laughed at him softly, hand patting his shoulder as the other boys got lost in their own conversation.

“I know you will, Jamie. And I’ll be there cheering you on every step of the way.” His cheeks redenned at her words, but luckily their attention was turned away by Professor Flitwick.

“Now students, the charm I’ll be teaching you today is more of a fun one to start off the year than anything you’ll likely need in your everyday lives. As always, I don’t expect you to create chaos by using these charms” – he turned his gaze to a particular group of students at this point who were all busily looking elsewhere – “but simply to enlighten yourselves and to show you what magic can do. So, the charm we’ll be learning today is how to make things glitter.”

James heard an almost inaudible gasp next to him, and he could feel the excitement radiating off (y/n). He chuckled, expecting nothing less; he’d known her for a year now, and if it wasn’t the bow in her hair there was always something shiny on her at any given time.

Flitwick talked about the details of the charm, how it could be applied subtly, only giving a faint sheen, or how it could be made much more obvious. Finally, he gave them the charm and told everyone to repeat after him. “Now, like I said, just because this is a fun charm doesn’t mean it’s an easy one, and I don’t expect you to get it on your first attempt. Just keep repeating the charm and-oh!” He broke off suddenly, just as James’ vision went hazy. Once he’d focused, he saw he was surrounded by a cloud of individual glitter specs floating around them, almost as if they were in their own galaxy. His gaze shifted to its centre, shining most brilliantly of all as her proud and excited smile dazzled him, making him forget entirely they were still in their charms classroom.

“Well done Miss (y/n)!” Flitwick’s voice broke through their bubble, and slowly each star seemed to fade out of existence, until they were back in their regular old classroom, thirty pairs of eyes trained on them. “You certainly felt the spirit of the charm and went above and beyond. 10 points to (y/h). Now, if you could help Mr Potter whilst we all get back to it!”

Chatter burst out the classroom almost immediately, partners working together trying to enchant an object of theirs to take on the glittery effect. Sirius turned to her, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

“Becoming a teachers pet now are we, (y/l/n)?” She rolled her eyes back, waving her wand to produce a cloud of glitter that settled in Sirius’ hair, contrasting sharply against its darkness.

“It’s sparklesSirius, what did you expect? Now c’mon, this is the one lesson I won’t let you not do the work in. Make some glittery greatness and I’ll bake you all some cookies when I next steal James’ cloak to go to the kitchens.” With those words, the three boys turned their entire focus to the task at hand, while James still seemed slightly awestruck next to her. “You alright, J?”

“That was amazing (y/n/n). I had no idea you could do that.”

“Well I guess you can’t know until you try.” She shrugged, picking up her quill and placing it in front of him. “Charm my quill.”

“Why me? You could just do it yourself.” James asked, confused why she didn’t do it herself since she was clearly more than capable. Once again, she shrugged, looking into his eyes as she uttered the words so nonchalantly that would stick with him for years to come.

“Well, Flitwick said you needed to practise. Plus, it’ll mean more to me if every time I look at my quill I know that you’re the reason it’s shining.”

Within a heartbeat, James had uttered the incantation and a subtle shimmer had settled over the feather, imperceptible until it was moved and caught the light. The smile he saw when he looked over at (y/n) made him vow to himself that as long as he was around, she would never have an ordinary quill again.

True to his word, every time she brought out a new quill, he was quick to snatch it from her and place the simple charm on it. It became an unspoken promise between the two of them, and every time James saw that sparkle from the corner of his eye, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

. . .

True to her word, (y/n) was there for all of James’ games, cheering him on from the side of the pitch, always the first to reach him when the game was over. High or low, win or lose, she was always there to remind him that he had played amazingly, and that she was proud of him.

After one such game in their fourth year, Gryffindor narrowly losing to Slytherin, she was at his side so quickly that he would have thought she had apparated if he knew this wasn’t possible. She wrapped her arms around him and held him tightly, feeling the slight shaking of his shoulders. “Oh, James.” She quickly ushered him off the pitch before he attracted eyes, assuring him that Sirius and Remus would collect his things from the changing room and bring them back to his dorm. Once they reached his dorm, she sent him to shower, promising that she would be there for him once he was back.

Sure enough, he came out of the shower in fresh clothes and damp hair, and she was still on his bed, patiently waiting for him. She held her hand out to him, a silent invitation, and as soon as he took it she pulled him to her side and once again enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m so proud of you, Jamie.” She whispered, squeezing him momentarily before drawing back and looking into his glassy eyes.

“Shouldn’t be.” He murmured, avoiding her gaze. “We lost.”

“And yet you scored more goals than anyone else the entire game.” She pointed out, sincerity lacing her voice. “It’s just because the snitch is worth a stupid amount of points, honestly the game has a lot of flaws.” James smiled weakly, they often had these debates about Quidditch and it always ended in some silly way.

“I did hit Malfoy in the head with a Quaffle.” He admitted, and (y/n) could see the weight falling off his shoulders.

“The highlight of all our years.” She laughed, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little box. “I got you something.” She handed it to him, and he pushed it back to her, head shaking, doubt returned.

“No I didn’t do anything to deserve it. Keep it.”

“We already had this argument and I’m not taking no for an answer.” She shoved the box into his hands and folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to open it.

Reluctantly, he pulled the lid off the box to reveal a snitch, the snitch he normally kept on his person at all times, now shining with a slight iridescence. James looked up at her, thankful but a little confused at the present.

“I’ve actually been saving it for when you lose a game. Which has been hard because that’s hardly ever.” She broke off to give him a playful glare along with her words, quickly broken by her soft smile. “I know you play with the snitch when you have a lot on your mind, and when you start to doubt yourself. I wanted to remind you that you’re incredible and you should believe that yourself. So, when you see the snitch and you see it sparkle, you’ll think of me, and you’ll remember how great you are.” He was speechless, and in the silent air, she did what the two of them did best, and started to nervously babble. “Well, that’s assuming you think of me when you see sparkles, and quite frankly after all this time I’d be slightly offended if you didn’t-oof” her rambling stopped when James tackled her into a hug, knocking them both back onto the bed.

“Thank you.” Was all he said, but she could hear the emotion behind each word, everything he was trying to communicate. All she did was hold him tighter.

It was then that Sirius and Remus walked into the dorm, carrying all of James’ equipment from the game, causing James and (y/n) to jump away from each other. Blushes arose on both their faces, not that the other would have noticed, each too busy looking at opposite walls of the dorm. Sirius and Remus exchanged a knowing look, but decided to let it slide, knowing there was an inevitability to it anyway.

…

Once again, (y/n) was boarding the Hogwarts express for another year of school. She knew this year would be a stressful one, with their OWL exams coming up, but she also knew that as long as she had her boys by her side, she would be absolutely fine.

Speaking of her friends, she was currently walking along the train trying to find them. She knew that Lily and Remus were prefects now so they’d be at the front of the train, but she was struggling to find anyone else. Eventually, she found James, sitting in a carriage by himself, absentmindedly watching the view. She chuckled to herself at the situation, the reverse of their meeting all those years ago.

She slid the door open, catching his attention and his ever-so-addictive smile. “Got room for an old pal?” She asked, sitting next to him when he patted the seat, his hand enveloping hers as soon as she had, a silent communication. I missed you.

“I was starting to think you’d gotten cool and forgotten about me.” He joked, nudging her playfully.

“Piss off Potter, I was always cooler than you.” She teased back, glad to see that nothing had changed despite their time apart. It never did, they were always James and (y/n), inseparable no matter how hard anyone tried. “Where is everyone?”

“Lils and Moony are doing prefect duties, and Sirius enlisted Peter’s help to try and sneak into their carriage and get the insider information.” He rolled his eyes light-heartedly, forming air quotes around Sirius’ words as (y/n) laughed, eyes closing in amusement. “What’s that on your eyes?” James suddenly asked, stopping her laughter short as she tried to figure out what he meant.

“Oh!” She remembered. “I went to see Lils in the holidays and she was showing me this glitter eyeliner that muggles wear! Why, do you not like it?” She suddenly felt self-conscious, wondering if it really was too much despite Lily’s reassurances. It was a subtle white, but still, it was glitter on her face.

“The opposite!” James was quick to answer, rushing so much to not hurt her feelings that he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying. “I think you look really beautiful (y/n/n), with or without the makeup. Besides, the glitter brings out your eyes.”

At this point, they were both blushing furiously, and James was still holding her hand, neither of them willing to let go. (y/n) couldn’t help but smile to herself, and remembered to thank Lily for the recommendation the second they were in the dorm together that evening.

…

James climbed the last step into the astronomy tower, seeing (y/n) leaning against the railing already, gazing into the night sky, a blanket and an array of snacks out on the floor behind her.

It was a ritual they’d started who knows when, a chance to wind down and escape the chaos of everyday life, to enjoy each other’s company and to feast away on whatever snacks they had managed to stow away for these evenings. Tonight’s selection looked to consist mostly of cauldron cakes and chocolate frogs, with the occasional sugar quill hidden amongst the rest. “Heavy on the sugar tonight, I see.” He broke the silence teasingly, settling himself so that he was sat at (y/n)’s feet, still able to see the clear night sky above them.

“If I don’t consume my own bodyweight in sugar I think I’ll pass out I’m that exhausted.” She commented back, sinking down next to him. Automatically, his arm wound around her shoulder, pulling her into his side and resting his chin on top of her head. There weren’t words to describe the feeling of pure content as she melted into him, completely at ease.

She reached out and grabbed a chocolate frog, unwrapping it and handing the card to James with a sigh upon seeing it was one already in her collection. She bit into the chocolate, her gaze on the night sky as his was unable to break away from her, the way she settled so peacefully against him.

“The stars sparkle too, you know.” She broke the silence, voice quiet but still holding its signature melodic tone. James finally broke away from looking at her, joining her eyeline and looking at the constellations above them. Even though he wasn’t taking astronomy as a NEWT, spending so much time in the tower with (y/n) as she mapped the sky meant he knew precisely what he was looking at, and traced the constellations with his eyes.

“You know, six years of friendship and I don’t think I ever asked you why you like shiny things so much. I always just accepted it as a part of who you are.” A smile graced her face as she unconsciously twiddled her fingers.

“Don’t laugh.” She warned, and he solemnly shook his head. “I think there’s something so entrancing, so beautiful about them. I think it serves as a reminder that even the most seemingly dull thing,” she picked up another chocolate frog box at this point, waving her wand to create a light sparkle over it, “is wonderfully brilliant if you just remember to look at it in the right way. It’s a lesson we should all carry with us, and I try to remember it whenever I can. Everything is beautiful if you give it a chance.” The sparkles on the box faded in the moonlight, as (y/n) finally looked up at James, only to find him already staring back at her.

Body thinking quicker than brain, seeing her (y/e/c) eyes glimmering up at him, James leant down and pressed his lips to hers. She stifled a gasp, quickly moving her lips back against his as her hand wound gently around the back of his neck. He poured all of his admiration into the kiss, everything he had been feeling for her since he didn’t even know when, feeling his heart soar to be here with her in that moment.

Eventually, they broke away for air, and a breathy laugh fell from (y/n)’s lips, blush rising on her cheeks as she turned her face away. James reached for her hand, interlacing their fingers and gently rubbing circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “I’ve been drawn to you since the day I saw you in that train carriage. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever met, your soul. I didn’t even realise the outside matched until we came back from that summer you spent with Lily. But god, every day since then I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I like you, (y/n/n). I really like you.”

Around them, a shimmering cloud exploded simultaneous to a wide grin spreading across (y/n)’s face. It was their own galaxy, just like all that time ago in the charms lesson, but she was still in the centre, still giddy with excitement. “I like you too, Jamie.” Her smile turned a little sheepish. “And sorry, I think my emotions got a little out of control.” The star-like sparkles slowly dissipated around them until there was nothing left, and this time it was (y/n) who leaned up to James, connecting their lips one more time.

“You taste like chocolate.”

“I’m sure that must be awful for you, Potter”. Nothing had changed, and yet nothing would be the same either.

…

James was sat on the floor of his dorm, textbooks open in front of him, although this late in the day he was struggling to pay any attention to them. What he was focused on instead was his girlfriend, tucked into the alcove of the windowsill, absentmindedly writing away on a piece of parchment.

Her (y/h/c) hair was in plaits down her back, and in the candlelight the silver threads that James had helped her braid in this morning were casting light across the room that shifted with every little shake of her head or shrug of her shoulders.

“You’re staring again, Jamie.” She chastised, although the humour was clear in her voice. He pushed himself up from the floor with an exaggerated groan, making his way over to her and pulling her gently into his chest, pressing a soft kiss into her hair.

“Can’t help it love, you’re an actual angel.” He didn’t see it but he knew she’d be rolling her eyes as she buried her face in his chest to hide the blush that was forming on her cheeks.

“Stop being so cheesy.”

“As if you don’t love it.” She pressed a kiss into his chest, resting her head against him as she went back to her writing. He tried not to pry, but he couldn’t help but catch notice of his name and his interest piqued. “Who are you writing to?”

“Euphemia.” She replied nonchalantly, not pausing her actions as he took a step away, face scrunched in confusion.

“My mother?” she paused at this, looking up at him with false exasperation.

“Do you know many other Euphemias?” She deadpanned. He shrugged, admitting her fair point, moving back to her side where she immediately snuggled back into his warmth.

“How long have you been writing to my mum?” She paused for a second, contemplating.

“Since the start of term I think. She sent an owl, I responded, we haven’t really stopped talking since. Oh, I’m coming over for Christmas by the way, she invited me. Said it wouldn’t be Christmas without the whole family there” (y/n) looked up at him, flashing a mischievous grin, expecting him to whine childishly like he normally would, complaining that he was supposed to ask her. Instead, looking more solemn than she’d seen him in a long time, he crushed her against him, holding her so tightly before he leant down and connected their lips. The kiss was bruising, but it was packed with adoration, and it left (y/n) slightly breathless. He broke away, leaning his forehead against hers as she tried to catch her breath back. “What was that for?”

“I love you. So much. You’re absolutely perfect, and I swear, I can’t wait until the day I can put a ring on that finger and make it official, make you a Potter for real. I promise, it’s going to be the most sparkling, dazzling gem you’ve ever seen. It’ll shine just as brightly as you, and it’ll always remind you that you’re beautiful, in every way, and just how much I love you.” Her hand had come to rest on his cheek, smiling throughout his little speech, parchment cast aside and forgotten about at this point.

“Don’t be silly, James.” She laughed, stroking his cheek with her thumb. “I love shiny things, yes, but I don’t need one to be reminded of how amazing you are, or how much I love you. Hell, you could ask me to marry you with a paper ring and I’d still say yes in a heartbeat. I’m saying yes to you, to a life. You don’t need to win me over with some ridiculously expensive piece of jewellery.” He nodded slightly, pecking her lips before moving back to where he had been sat on the floor.

(y/n) picked her parchment back up, continuing on to the letter she had been writing to Euphemia Potter, unable to help themselves from planning the Christmas festivities despite it being early November.

Deep in concentration, she startled slightly as she noticed movement coming from the corner of her eye. She looked to the side to see her boyfriend once again, although this time he was knelt before her, holding up a piece of parchment that he had hastily fashioned into a ring, coupled with a sheepish smile.

Laughing merrily, she hopped down from the windowsill, pulling him up by his jumper and kissing him passionately as she slid the piece of paper onto her finger, looking forward to the day when they were older, when they could promise this for real, knowing that they had the rest of their lives ahead of them to love each other unconditionally.

When James first stepped on that Hogwarts train, he was hoping to find a friend he could share every moment with for the next seven years. He had found that in her, a best friend, now a lover, for seven years but for so much longer. The girl with the sparkling bow turned out to be his soulmate, and he sent a prayer of thanks to the stars every day.

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part IX

[ previous ]

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 14.3k

Warnings: timeskip, mutual pining, author doesn’t know shit about science subject matter, explicit sexual content, ass play, snowballing, tooth rotting fluff A/N: This is it, y’all. This last part was so much fun to write, I can’t even put it into words. The feedback on this has been incredible, so a big thank you for that, and before anyone asks, I have a handful of spinoff oneshots planned for this series. Enjoy~

- NINE YEARS -

“Hey, don’t forget about the meeting at three.”

 Mike glances up from his computer to find Henning leaning through his office doorway. It’s the first time Mike has looked away from the screen in at least an hour, and he blinks at his colleague several times in an attempt to get rid of the gritty feeling in his eyes.

 “Yeah, thanks,” he nods, rubbing a hand down his face. “Definitely would’ve forgotten about that one.”

 Henning leaves with one rap of his knuckles against the doorframe, and Mike checks his phone to see how much time he has before he has to make his way to the conference room. It’s twenty after two, so he spends a little while longer reading over the journal that had been sent to him, only tearing himself away when his alarm goes off at 2:55. 

 He waves at a few people as he passes, shows the reserved smile he’d mastered upon entering the corporate world, then walks into the large meeting space and sets his little notepad on the mahogany table as he sits down in a plush rolling chair. 

 This meeting has been planned for a few weeks now, a team of researchers contracted by the government to study Lake Sina and everything wrong with it. Its water quality is at an all time low, and it's up to Mike and his team to figure out a way to change that so it can be purified enough to distribute to the public. There are a few large cities close to the lake, all of lower income and all struggling with their water systems. If Sina can get clean enough, it would solve a huge crisis that most people don't even know is taking place. 

 Tomas, Henning, Lynne, and Nanaba are already in the room, and after a few minutes, another group of four walks in, all unfamiliar except…

 Mike’s eyebrows knit together as he stares. He can only see a profile from where he’s sitting, but it’s one he recognizes. The time he spent admiring it, mentally sketching every feature—of course he’d recognize it. Recognize you.

 There is a pounding in his chest that Mike hasn’t felt in years, and his palms are suddenly damp. The collar of his shirt is too tight around his throat, and he reaches up to undo the top two buttons so that he can fucking breathe, but Jesus Christ, he can’t believe it. It feels like a lifetime has passed since he last saw you. 

 He wonders if you’ll have the same reaction when you finally notice him, if you’ll gawk at him or grin or run away. He wouldn’t blame you if you tucked tail. That last conversation—if it could even be called that—is not one of Mike’s fondest memories, and he can’t imagine the toll it took on you, what you must have felt going into your final year of undergrad. 

 “Is there a remote for the projector?” You call out to the table, and your voice sounds exactly the fucking same. It makes Mike want to slam his head into the wood, but before he can, you zero in on him. 

 He watches as your eyes grow, jaw setting, shoulders rising with a deep breath, and oh, you’re panicking. You’re panicking just like he is.

 “Um,” you cough and shake your head, then lean over to speak to one of your people before basically jogging from the room.

 No one seems to think anything of it. Mike has to white-knuckle the arms of his chair to keep himself from getting up and following. There's no reason he should follow, though. The two of you haven’t spoken in almost a decade. He has nothing to share with you, no reason to talk to you on a non-professional level. You don’t know each other anymore, and that’s fine. It’ll be fine. 

 A mousy looking man starts passing out little binders to everyone at the table, then introduces himself as Moblit and the other two in the room as Hange and Abel. 

 "And, the other girl you saw is—"

 "I'm back, I'm here," you announce as you step into the room, closing the door behind you and introducing yourself with a wave. "Did we get the projector working?" 

 "Yes," Abel answers, passing you the remote that Nanaba had procured a few minutes ago. 

 Hange plugs a cable into a laptop and the white screen is lit up with the image of the well known lake, once beautiful, deep blue but now a murky brown. 

 Mike has been preparing for this project for a few months now, going to an off-site lab to look over the samples being sent in or dropped off. He knew there was a research team studying the lake, but… what are the odds that you would be part of that team? 

 He supposes your jobs could overlap just like your classes used to, but you had told him you wanted to go into natural hazards ("You're a natural hazard," he had replied with a snort). Of course, that had been a long time ago, but how had that dream morphed into hydrology? 

 Before the presentation starts, Mike's boss, Keith Shadis slips through the door and takes his seat at the end of the table. You're quick to grab one of the binders and walk it over to him, flashing a smile and never letting your gaze flit to Mike. 

 Hange does most of the talking, going over all of your findings while all of you "braved the wilderness". Moblit and Abel insert a few things here and there, and then Hange clicks to a slide with a graph on it and hands the remote to you. 

 "If you turn to page seventeen in the binders, you can probably get a better look, but this shows how much the level of pollution in Lake Sina has risen in the last year alone. We took samples over…"

 You keep talking, but Mike loses his focus, watching your hands move as you speak, the way you're rocking back on your heels, and how you look anywhere but at him. 

 Even though there's a tiny tremble in your voice, you sound passionate, and why wouldn't you be? Mike is passionate too. About the same god damn thing. 

 With a PhD in environmental science, his specialty is pollutants. It's something he's been interested in since grad school because the earth is beautiful but in an awful state, and Mike wants to fucking change that. He's written journals and articles, worked with leading experts, and it's what he's decided to dedicate himself to, so why is it that this life that he's built for himself is suddenly intermingling with yours? How—

 A hand comes to rest on Mike's and he startles at the touch, jerking his head upward to see Lynne with raised eyebrows. 

 "Mike, I get why you're lost in the pollution sauce, but if you click that pen one more time, I will throw you out of this high-rise."

 He stares at her for a second before chuckling and tossing his pen onto his blank notebook. He hadn't even realized he'd been doing it. It's a little embarrassing, actually. How many people noticed? Did you? 

 The presentation ends with Hange telling everyone that they're happy to be teaming up with the Corporation to work toward a solution and a plan to clean Lake Sina and possibly implement it into larger bodies of water.

 The planning stage of the project will more than likely last for a few months, meaning you'll all be regulars in the office which Mike isn't especially thrilled about, even if you will be sequestered in a little annex and spending a lot of your time in the lab. Mike will still have to see you and work with your team, god, probably have to talk to you. 

 The floor opens up for any questions, but Shadis is the only one who speaks, wanting clarification on some statistic that Mike is going to have to read over later. Once the boss is happy, he stands, then walks behind Mike's chair to slap him on the back and say the last thing Mike wants to hear.

 "This is Dr. Mike Zacharias. All of you should get familiar with him since he'll be heading this project."

 Mike sits up a little straighter and forces a tight-lipped smile that all of his colleagues know is fake. 

 "Happy to be working with you." 

 It isn't a lie. He's been excited about this project for a long time now. He just wasn't expecting such a massive wrench to get thrown right into the middle of it. 

 The four of you start packing up your materials. When Henning tries to hand you his binder, you tell him, "No, those are for you to keep. Just to get a real grasp on what we found out there."

 Mike knows he's staring, swiveling back and forth in his chair, twirling the pen he's picked up again, and he wonders if it would just be easier to rip the bandaid off. Exchange hellos, go over the bare minimum—how long he's been with the company, how long you've been researching. Just enough to appear casual, like you didn't break Mike's fucking heart in college. 

 And, then he thinks about just avoiding you altogether. There's always the chance your issues could come up in conversation, and it's so far in the past now, there's nothing either of you can say to make the other feel better. This can't be about closure. It's just a job. That's all. 

 "Wow, everyone really… cleared outta here."

 Mike's vision unfogs, and he glances around to find that yes, you're the only two left in the conference room. Fantastic. 

 You're wrapping a cord around your elbow then shoving it in a laptop bag, and he can tell you're moving as fast as you can, ready to get the fuck out of there. 

 "Uh, yeah," Mike agrees, pushing himself to his feet and grabbing his notebook to curl in his hands. "Everyone's just ready to get back to work, I guess."

 "Yeah. You can only hold someone's attention with a PowerPoint for so long."

 Mike's mouth is too dry, and it feels like he needs to cough, but he doesn't want to startle you, so he just quietly clears his throat in an entirely ineffective way and tells you, "Good PowerPoint, though."

 You snicker, not loud enough to hear your real laugh, and Mike doesn't know if he's grateful for that or not. 

 "Thanks. Mobs made it."

 Slinging the bag over your shoulder, you finally look up at Mike—really look at him for the first time—and he sees your expression go soft, mouth twitching like you’re caught between smiling and frowning, and Mike is taken back to the first night he met you when he wanted you to shotgun that disgusting beer. 

 You blink at him, open and close your mouth, and Mike is waiting with baited breath for you to say something else, but all you do is hold your hand out for him to take the projector remote from you. 

 "Here."

 He grabs it with two fingers, careful not to brush your hand. Fuck, he wishes his heart would stop beating so hard, it's incredibly uncomfortable. 

 "I feel like I should say something," you murmur, "But I have no idea what, so I'm just gonna tell you I look forward to working with you, Dr. Zacharias."

 He grins. Widely. He doesn't mean to, but he does. It's been so damn long since anyone has said his last name like that. 

 "Do you, though?" He asks. 

 "Do I what?"

 "Look forward to working here."

 "Oh, uh…" You bite your lip, start rocking on your feet again, then shrug. "I guess? I mean… Big project."

 "Very big."

 "It's important to me. I can't say that I was expecting—"

 "Me?" Mike offers with a tilt of his head. 

 He's standing too close. It feels like he is, anyway, so he moves back to lean against the conference table. 

 "Yeah, pretty much," you laugh. "It's been a while."

 Mike wonders if you remember that night as well as he does. No matter how much he's tried to forget it, that image of you with fat years rolling down your face just will not leave him. Do you remember how it felt? Can you remember everything he said to you? 

 Before Mike can respond, you wave a hand. "Anyway, I need to go help set up our little area, so…"

 "Yeah, for sure. I'll be around."

 After powering through the last hour of his day, Mike bolts from the building. He needs to get home. He needs to get a drink in his hand. He needs to unwind and not think of you. 

 He needs to fucking call Erwin. 

 "Hey, bro, what's up?" 

 "Dude," is all Mike says at first. 

 "What?" 

 "You will never fucking guess who's on the team we’re working with on the Sina water project."

 Erwin hums in a sing-song sort of way, then chuckles. "Funny, I got a similar call about an hour ago."

 "You guys still talk?" Mike asks a little too loudly. 

 "Yeah, man. Not every day or anything, but—"

 Mike rolls his eyes. "You're unbelievable." He isn't mad, and Erwin knows this. He's just a little surprised. His friend hasn’t as much as uttered your name in the last ten years. 

 "Yeah, whatever. How'd it go from your perspective?" 

 "It—Wait, what did she say?" 

 "Oh, no no no," Erwin laughs. Mike here's a distant, "Hold that, please!" and figures he's making his way to the elevator to leave work as well. "I am not getting caught up in your bullshit again."

 Pouting, Mike finally turns on his car and pulls out of the parking lot. "Fine. It went… Well? I think? I mean, super awkward, but that isn't surprising."

 "No name-calling or confessions of undying love?" 

 "No, I'm not twenty-two anymore."

 "Could have fooled me," Erwin snorts. 

 "Fuck off. It was a good presentation, but she was nervous, and I couldn't tell if it was from having to speak in front of people or if it was 'cause I was there, and then we talked afterward—nothing important or anything, just, like, an acknowledgement. You know, you're here, I'm here, we have to find a way to co-exist, except neither of us actually said that," Mike has to take a deep breath. He's rambling, he knows, and Erwin is just listening, probably storing it all away to make fun of him about it later. "It was okay. It could've been worse."

 "Could have been better too."

 "What? How—"

 "Could have bent her over the desk and—"

 "Dude!"

 Erwin breaks into that deep laugh Mike is so used to, tells him, "I'm just saying! I know she's still cute. We have each other on Facebook."

 He's right. Too right. You are absolutely still cute, all dressed up in business casual attire, so different from the leggings and hoodies you used to wear. Your face has matured slightly—naturally—and your hair is different but still suits you. Mike has no idea how he's supposed to work with you for the next few months. 

 "I can't deal with you," Mike grumbles. "Why did I even call you?" 

 "Probably because I'm the only one who has an inkling about what you're going through right now," Erwin replies. "Aside from her anyway."

 "Yeah, yeah."

 They chat for a little while longer until Erwin gets to the bar he's apparently meeting some coworkers at, and Mike spends the rest of his drive listening to music too loud as he tries and fails to clear his mind of you. 

 *

 You're pacing. You have been for the last hour. The food you made for yourself went cold some time ago, but you're too busy whining into your phone to notice. 

 "Just—like—what the fuck am I supposed to do? How am I supposed to work with him like this? He's overseeing the whole fucking project! I can't just avoid him!" 

 "Okay, first thing's first," Hitch stops you. "I need you to take a deep breath for me."

 "Hitch—"

 "Breathe!"

 You inhale through your nose then blow out through your mouth, but that's obviously not good enough for Hitch because she demands, "And, again."

 "What are you, my therapist?" 

 "I mean, I usually act like one, so… anyway, while you're calming the fuck down, I'm gonna call for backup. Hold please."

 Dropping yourself onto the hotel couch, you try to relax even though you know it'll be impossible because—

 "You're working with Mike?" Rhi's shrill voice meets your ear, and you have to pull the phone away. 

 "Rhi, you're supposed to help me calm her down, not add to her panic," Hitch reminds her. 

 "Yeah, no, that's not gonna happen," Rhi tells her, and you laugh to yourself. 

 "Agreed."

 "Okay, so tell me what happened. Oh my god, did you cry? Did he cry? What'd Erwin say when you told him? You told him, right?" 

 You've gotten used to Rhi's rapid fire inquiries a long time ago, so you have no problem answering, "We walked in for the big Sina presentation today, and he was just there, and I was freaking out, so Hange had to do most of the work but still made me go over my findings 'cause I understand them better than they do, but anyway. I don't think he was paying attention at fucking all which is cool 'cause I wouldn't have been either, and then we talked for a second afterward, but there were no tears. There was almost vomit 'cause I felt like I needed to throw up, but I kept it together. I think."

 "Okay, and Erwin? What'd he say?" 

 You snicker to yourself. "He made fun of me for a little while and then he told me to talk to Mike once I calmed down just to catch up and then to—this is verbatim, by the way—to possibly have dirty sex in Mike's office."

 Both of your friends howl, Hitch being the first to gather herself enough to giggle, "He fucking would say that, oh my god, I hate him."

 "Same," Rhi drawls. "Okay, but is there the possibility of dirty office sex?"

 "Wha—That's what you're taking away from all that?" You splutter. 

 "Uh, yeah."

 "I'm kinda curious too," Hitch pipes up. 

 You wave your free hand around in confusion and tell them, "I—we—no! We don't even know each other anymore. We said, like, four words to each other today, and it was fucking weird, so no. Pervs."

 "Do you want to, though? Has he aged well?" Hitch asks in a low, sultry voice. 

 You click your tongue and pause, not wanting the first thought that pops into your head to be what comes out of your mouth because yes, holy shit, yes, Mike looks so fucking good. It was one of many reasons you were so tongue-tied in front of him. 

 He's still impossibly tall and broad, but in slacks and a button up. The beard he’s always had is short and rugged and a tad darker than the hair on top of his head that he's let grow out long enough to tie in a bun, and it fits him too well. You thought you were gonna start drooling on his fancy shoes. 

 "He's alright," you play. They see right through you, falling into another long fit of laughter until you admit, "Okay, okay, he's still stupid hot, alright?" 

 "God bless. I'm so happy to hear that. I'm so happy for you."

 "Why would you—"

 "Just promise you'll invite us to the wedding."

 "I think you guys are getting a little ahead of yourselves."

 "Oh my god, we have to call Marie."

 "And, Maddie."

 You shake your head as the other two start going back and forth, talking about you like you're not even there, bringing up college memories, old parties you'd all gone to. 

 "Hey, remember when you hated me?" Rhi questions, and both of you snort. 

 "And, you hated me right back. Stole your man or whatever."

 Hitch mutters a quiet, "Ew, fuck that guy."

 And, Rhi picks up, "Yeah, fuck that all-American, record-breaking pitcher."

 The three of you talk well into the evening, eventually switching to Zoom so that you can all see each other and add Maddie and Marie into the call. You and Hitch break open bottles of wine, but Rhi and Maddie don't drink, "Solidarity with this pregnant bitch," Maddie says, and Marie lifts her glass of water to cheers via internet. 

 Sophomore and junior year of college, you never would have expected to get close to anyone other than Hitch, but through a few shared classes and petty curiosity, all of you ended up seeking solace in one another and came out on the other side as best friends. Hitch was even Maid of Honor in Marie and Nile's wedding. Against all odds, everything turned out pretty wholesome. 

 "I genuinely hope it works out," Hitch says now, words long, lazy, and starting to slur together "Like, even if it's just you and Mike making up and being, like, cool with each other again."

 "Hitch, you're drunk, please go to bed."

 "I am drunk. But, I still mean what I said. I miss when you guys were just best friends."

 "Why?" You question with a head shake. 

 Hitch sighs, "'Cause you were so happy."

 "No, I—"

 "I mean, you were still all… weird and guarded, but that dude made you laugh and smile so much."

 "I daresay I even saw you giddy on a couple of occasions," Marie hums. 

 "Whatever. I just want it to be… not awkward."

 "Then, talk."

 "Mm, pass."

 *

 A light knock on the wall of the impressively large cubicle gets your whole team's attention, all of you glancing up to find Mike standing in the little entryway, hands in his pockets.

 "Hey, just checkin' in. Have you all gotten settled?" 

 "Yes!" Hange is up on their feet. "Great accommodations, and that lab you guys use?" They moan, and you can tell Mike is trying not to laugh because his mouth is twisting to one side like it always does when he tries to appear unaffected by something. However, you know well that it is very hard to remain unaffected by Hange Zoe. 

 "Yeah, we haven't had a lab that shiny in a long time," Moblit chuckles. 

 "Don't you work in government buildings?" Mike frowns. 

 "You ever seen the inside of a post office?" You question, immediately regretting it when those light green eyes land on you. 

 "Uh, yeah?" 

 Smirking through the butterflies, you tell him, "Those are government buildings too."

 "Don't mind her. She's just being a smartass," Abel says.

 Mike is really fighting that smile now. Even pinched to one side, you can see the way his lips are trying to curve upward, and you have to bite yours and look at the floor before you start acting like a god damn school girl. 

 It's nearing the end of the first week at your new location. It hasn't been terrible, and some of the strangeness is beginning to wear off, but it's still jarring to see Mike walk around or hear his voice carrying through his office door. 

 Neither of you have gone out of your way to talk to one another. Anything project related, Hange handles for the most part, and if anything is delegated to you, you try to pass it off to Abel because you're just not ready to be alone in a room with Mike. Your brain and your heart can't take it yet. 

 You can't deny that you're curious, though. You wonder what his life is like now, what his job is like outside of what you've seen (which, admittedly, is not much), what he does in his free time now, who he spends his time with. You couldn't help but notice (you made a point of looking) that there isn't any type of ring on his finger which is pretty fucking surprising since, well, Mike has always been a catch. How has someone not come around and swiped him off the market? Or, does he just not wear a wedding band at work? Or, does he just have a girlfriend and is waiting to take the next step? So many questions you have no business asking.

 Mike hums, rubs at something probably nonexistent on the carpet with the toe of his shoe, and mumbles a little, "Nothin’ I haven't dealt with before," that makes everyone look at him curiously. "With co-workers, you know. Lotta sass in the office."

 You stifle a laugh and stand up. There are a lot of sassy things you could say, but you figure none of them are actually appropriate, especially since Mike is technically your boss now—why is that so hot?—so you just slip out of the cubicle, doing your best to not brush up against Mike. He apparently doesn't care, though, because while he moves to the side, he does the thing that all men do, placing a hand on the small of your back as if to guide you past him, and it makes you burn. 

 "'scuse me," you squeak, relieved to be able to run to the restroom where you can sit in a stall and scream to Hitch through texts. 

 You are dying—mostly because you don't know what you want. Do you want to be friends? Do you want to seduce him? Do you want another nine years away from him? You have no idea. 

 You were sad for a long time after that holiday break. You trudged through your spring courses, took more classes in the Summer, then started all over. Hitch had to physically drag you out of your tiny apartment a few times but never to any parties, thank god. Just to lunch or the library, and eventually, Rhi, Marie, and Maddie came into the picture. Further into the picture, anyway. 

 While they got you laughing again, though, that ache didn't ever fade. Mike's words replayed in your head in a constant loop, day and night for months. I can’t do this anymore. Start fresh. Shouldn’t be hard for you. You were mad at yourself for a long time, for ruining everything and hurting him. If you could have gone back to the start of it all and done things differently, you would have, but you just had to sit with all your mistakes instead. 

 Then, your anger shifted toward him. Because you weren't the only one who messed up. You may have been the first one to, but he did some shitty things too. He's the one who didn't care even after finding out it was Zeke who blocked his number. He's the one who refused to believe that you and Erwin weren't actually a couple. He's the one who brought Rhi to the ranch house with the specific intention of hurting your feelings (and to wet his dick). 

 And, he's the one who didn't want to work things out. 

 You understand his frustration. You broke his heart, after all. But then, he turned around and broke yours too. 

 It was nine years ago, and you've moved on. You've dated people since then. You've fallen in and out of love. Mike wasn't even on your radar until Monday, but now… Now, there's no forgetting him. Old wounds get jabbed every time he peeks around the corner, any time you hear him laugh or see him smile, and when he actually looks at you, fuck, it's like someone is ripping stitches out of your skin.

 It is not a productive work environment. 

 Your team hasn't noticed much other than Moblit asking what has you so tense these days, but no one has made any connections, and you'd like to keep it that way. Hange would have a fucking field day if they found out. 

 There are many meetings to toss around ideas, plans and blueprints that get scrapped. You stumble through presentations, trying not to look directly at anyone as your cheeks heat up and your hands shake. 

 "You've never been nervous about stuff like this," Abel tells you in the conference room one day as everyone else files out. "What's up with you?" 

 "Nothing," you shake your head. "Don't worry about it."

 "Nothing my ass," he grumbles, walking out without you. 

 "You really should try to relax," Mike tells you from where he's still sitting at the table. "No idea why you're so nervous."

 Everyone else is gone which means you're free to squint at him, scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but when you see that he's smirking at you, the words dry up. 

 "Don't play dumb, Zacharias."

 "I'm not playing anything," he tells you. "But, I do need to know how long we're gonna keep up this I don't know you-you don't know me thing."

 "You literally just said—..." Taking a deep breath, you look over your shoulder to, one, form a coherent sentence in your brain, and two, make sure no one is close enough to hear it when you say, "What would you prefer we do? Not like we can just pick up where we left off. Unless, you know, you wanna go back to being incredibly fucking pissed at me for months on end."

 "Man, you really are tense about this," Mike chuckles, and you're torn between slapping him and jumping his bones, so you do neither. Fuck, why'd he have to wear the purple tie today? It looks so good with his complexion and complements his eyes. A few strands of hair have come loose from the bun at the back of his head, and he shakes them out of his face like he used to shake his shaggy bangs, and all you can do is stare and squirm and tell him, "I have to go."

 "Go where?" He asks, standing from his chair. It feels like he towers over you even from across the table. 

 You hold your hands out and gesticulate a little frantically, "I don't know—work? Maybe?"

 He's extremely amused, even laughs as you make your way out the door, then calls, "Whenever you're ready to talk, just let me know! You know where my office is."

 "I don't wanna talk!"

 You really don't. But, you also really do. 

 *

 Mike starts having fun with his new department (you specifically) around the third week. 

 He's never seen you like this before, having to mentally prepare yourself before you walk into any room, like you have to be ready for him. You nibble on your lip and rock on your heels. Your hands shake in meetings when you have to point to pictures or graphs. 

 It’s just so unlike you. He got so used to the surly, uncaring girl in college, never happy to see Mike until you gave him a fair chance (and decided you enjoyed his cock). He expects everything to come out of your mouth to be sarcastic or suggestive, and when it's not, it takes him off guard.  

 Mike is nervous around you too. He can easily admit that. But, his neverending panic really just manifests in the form of nausea and heart palpitations which he thinks is better than trembling and stuttering, but it's still mildly distracting. 

 Every once in a while, he catches a glimpse of that old side of you, though, a mumbled smartass remark or an unimpressed expression, and he has to make a conscious effort to not grin like an idiot because he's still trying to decipher his actual feelings. 

 Is he supposed to act like nothing ever happened, or should he hold a grudge? What seems more natural? What feels more natural? 

 Mike knows the answer to that last question, but he hasn't fully accepted it. 

 "It's kinda cute, actually. Like, I walk into the room and she gets this little doe-eyed expression. Looks like she's about to run away."

 "You're kind of a sadist, you know that?" Erwin says. 

 "I mean, is it so wrong to get a little satisfaction outta this?" 

 "I think so, yeah. You're driving her crazy, dude."

 Mike smacks his lips and rolls his eyes. "Man, how would you know—"

 "'Cause she told me!" Erwin basically shouts like it's obvious. "The words came out of her mouth. Mike is driving me crazy. Just like that."

 Pouting, Mike takes another sip of his beer and lets his eyes travel to the bottom of the TV screen to check the score of the game he isn't watching. 

 "Well, it's not like I can really do anything about it. She'll only be here for a few months."

 "Do you happen to know how long it takes for a stomach ulcer to form?" Erwin asks. 

 Mike frowns. "Uh, no?" 

 "Well, neither do I, but I'm pretty sure it's not very long."

 Both of them laugh. Mike mutters something about Erwin being fucking stupid, and then Erwin sighs and speaks, "I am begging you, dude. Please just get a fucking drink with her or something."

 "We don't mix well with alcohol," Mike snarks. 

 "What's the worst that could happen—you end up in bed again?"

 "Well—"

 "Honestly, both of you could probably benefit from a good fuck, but what do I know? I'm just the guy both of you call for this shit."

 "Alright, I get it. I'll… see if she's up for something," Mike mumbles. 

 "I mean, I wouldn't open with sex, maybe start off with lunch or…"

 "I'm hanging up now."

 Mike doesn't actually know how to ask you, though. You're so fucking skittish around him, and you're obviously worried about people finding out you have a history, so he's gonna have to be strategic about it, maybe plant the seed a few days before or—

 "Hey, listen…" You appear in Mike's office doorway, long cardigan falling to your knees and swishing behind you even after you've stopped moving. "I know it's almost five, but I'm, like, right in the middle of mapping out a new plan, and I don't wanna lose steam, so is it cool if I stay late?" 

 "Yeah, I don't care," Mike answers, tacking on, "S'long as you're okay with being here late with me."

 "Oh, th-that's—" you splutter for a little while, and Mike raises his eyebrows. "That's n-not necessary. You don't have to, like, supervise me or anything."

 "I'm not supervising you," Mike snorts. "I'm trying to finish my piece for a journal."

 "Ah, right, that's… yes." You shoot off a half-hearted finger gun, and Mike wants to hop his desk to get to you. There you are. There are your dumb fucking mannerisms, please, just act like yourself, for the love of god. 

 "Okay, well if you need me, uh, I will probably be on the floor in the annex, so…"

 "We do have chairs, ya' know," Mike smirks. 

 "Yeah, but it's easier to just spread everything out so I can see it."

 "Want a corkboard? You can make it look like you're doing a murder investigation."

 "Hmm, might make it look more official," you muse, making a face of contemplation. 

 Before you can actually say yes, Mike pipes up again. "I don't actually have a corkboard. It was a joke."

 "Yeah, I know," you snicker. "Wouldn't be big enough anyway."

 Too many responses flood Mike's brain at once, causing him to bite his tongue because every last one of them is gross, but you must be able to read it on his face because you point and tell him, "Stop."

 "I didn't say anything!" He laughs. 

 "You don't have to. I know."

 Mike rolls his eyes, "Okay," and looks back to his computer, hoping the screen is high enough to hide his grin as you turn and walk away. 

 The next hour is spent editing the same paragraph over and over with no real motivation because everyone has vacated the floor except for you and Mike, and this could be a good time to talk to you, but he also doesn't want to disrupt your work. Just because he can't focus doesn't mean you can't. You'd only get upset if he distracted you from your work anyway—it's happened before—redirecting your attention from a textbook or study guide to… other things. 

 He goes down a rabbit hole, reminiscing on those occasions, then tweaking them just a little to fit into the current setting, and it's the absolute last thing Mike should be thinking about, but it's Friday, and you're slightly more casual in your flowy cardigan and tight jeans, and all he wants is to get one teeny tiny look at your ass in them because he knows your it’s perfect. He's seen it in leggings and cheeky little boy shorts and lacy thongs, and there is absolutely no way he can go out to talk to you now. 

 Also, he really needs to write at least one paragraph before leaving tonight. It's all about water and waste and pollutants which is the shit Mike knows like the back of his hand. He'd just rather have said hands on something else. 

 "Yeah, this isn't gonna happen," he mutters to himself, taking his hair down to scratch at his scalp. He's better off just going home. 

 Mike packs a few things up before stepping out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Half the lights are off, but the portion over the annex is shining brightly. Mike stares in that direction as he debates telling you he's leaving or bolting without saying anything. 

 It's the thought of you walking out to your car alone that makes his mind up, and Mike saunters to the annex and finds you on hands knees surrounded by several sketches, crumpled notes, and the set of blueprints that Mike is pretty sure got thrown in the recycling on Tuesday. 

 "Where'd you even find those?" 

 You don't look up when you answer, "Recycling comes every Monday."

 "So, you went… dumpster diving?" 

 Lifting your head, you squint up at Mike, tracking him as he squats on the other side of your organized chaos. 

 "Is it dumpster diving if it's all paper?" 

 Mike shrugs. "Dunno. How's it comin'?"

 "I'm comi—It!" You correct a little too loudly. "It's coming! It's coming along just fine."

 "Yeah?" Mike chuckles. "Cute Freudian slip there."

 "It was not—" You grit your teeth, fingers curling on the papers they're resting on, then question, "Did you need something?"

 "Just came by to say I was leaving," Mike tells you. Something catches his eye, though, some of your notes scribbled just big enough for him to read a few of the words from where he is, and he grabs the sheet to look it over more carefully. 

 Irrigation plans, specialized pumps, introducing new life into the lake, specifically filter fish…

 "I was just vomiting ideas out on paper, it's nothing important."

 Mike hums and reads further. Some of it is familiar because Mike has considered some of these himself, but while your engineering thoughts are a little vague, the ideas that lean more toward the biological side of things are pretty interesting, even if they're just sloppy bullet points and arrows. 

 "You wanna vomit on a person instead?" He asks, chuckling at the look you give him. 

 "Ew."

 "Just spitball. Throw it at me."

 "Oh, I'm gonna throw somethin' at you all right."

 Mike slips his bag from his shoulder and sets it down before sitting on the ground, picking up the papers closest to him. 

 "Tell me about the xylem tissue method," he prompts. 

 You don't speak right away, just chew on your lip while staring at the sketches on the ground, but then you nod and sit back on your heels. 

 "So, we know that white pine trees are a natural means of filtering, but there aren't any around here. I know it's more of a long-term plan, but we can't just go with a temporary fix, so I was thinking—"

 Mike listens. To everything. Everything you can think of. He watches too. You rub your hands over your jeans and flick hair from your eyes. You change positions, sitting on one foot while resting your chin on your knee as you think out loud, then move to sit cross-legged only to get up to pace the length of the cubicle, barefoot since your heels were kicked off long ago. 

 He asks questions or makes suggestions here and there, and soon it isn't just you who's brainstorming.

 It's easy. It's what Mike knows, and it's obviously what you know too, and a couple of hours pass before either of you realize it. 

 "Shit, it's almost ten," you state, looking at your phone. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you here so late."

 "It's fine. Wouldn't have stayed if I didn't want to."

 Mike stretches as he stands, twisting to crack his back and rolling his neck. You gather up all the papers, straightening them into a neat pile then putting them in a drawer at the bottom of your desk. 

 You walk out together, still chatting in the elevator and out to the parking lot, and Mike feels good. He feels like… He feels like he did in college. 

 "Please tell me that is not your car," you say, eyeing the boxy, white Mercedes that is, in fact, Mike's. 

 "What of it?" 

 "These fucking Jeeps are so ugly, I cannot believe—"

 "Uh, it's not a Jeep. It's a g-wagon, thank you."

 You roll your eyes. "I liked your Wrangler better."

 "I bet you fuckin' did," he mumbles, too lost in the memory of you riding him in said Wrangler to think about how you might take the comment. 

 "It was easier on the eyes," you explain. 

 "It was a frat boy car."

 "You were a frat boy!" 

 "And, now I'm a professional."

 "Are you, though?" You tease, expression skeptical save for your tiny smirk. 

 "Most of the time."

 The only other vehicle in the lot is a Land Rover, considerably larger than the little hatchback you used to drive but very fitting for someone in your line of work. Mike thinks about mentioning that it's basically the same as his Mercedes, just not as expensive and with rounder edges, but he knows you'll just get indignant and defensive. 

 He walks you over to your car, and you don't question it, just open the passenger side and throw your bag inside. 

 This is your chance, Mike realizes. Just ask. Ask her to go somewhere else and talk about something other than work.

 "Hey, uh, do you wanna grab a drink or something?" He tries, heartbeat picking up once again. His eyes are a little too wide as you regard him carefully, studying him like one of your samples.

 Then, you shake your head. 

 "No, Mike. I don't wanna grab a drink." His stomach opens up, the heat that comes with embarrassment creeping up his neck. 

 "Oh, sorry, I just—"

 "But, there's a breakfast place close to the extended stay they put us up in. I've been wanting to check it out."

 And, like that, his hope is restored. Hope for what, Mike doesn't know, but it's certainly there, blooming in his chest like unkempt wildflowers. 

 "Yeah?" 

 You nod. "Yeah. I'm still not really a morning person, but d'you wanna meet there at, like, ten or so?" 

 "Tomorrow?" 

 "I mean, if that works for you."

 "Yeah!" Mike clears his throat, lowers his voice so that he sounds a little less excited. "I'm usually up and moving by eight."

 "God, why do you hate yourself?" You cringe. 

 "I've always been an early riser."

 "Not from what I remember."

 Mike leans against your rover, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, maybe not when I was kept up into the early morning hours, but usually I was up before everyone else."

 You post up across from him, one hand on your hip, and Mike realizes this is gonna go on for some time. 

 "Kept up? Like you didn't wanna be?"

 He's fine with that. He'll stand out here talking with you until the sun comes up if you'll let him. And, maybe after that too. 

 *

 Breakfast is good. Breakfast is safe. Breakfast is the start of the day and free of alcohol. There is nothing suggestive about breakfast. 

 Except breakfast has become a habit. For the last three Saturdays you’ve sat at the little cafe next to your hotel talking with Mike for at least an hour. You’re kind of getting to know him again, but most of the conversation consists of stupid jokes or blatant deflections. 

 His parents are still doing well, both in their sixties now, but Scout, unfortunately passed away a few years ago. Hearing it makes your eyes burn, and watching Mike’s face fall actually makes you wipe at your own rapidly forming tears. 

 He still keeps in touch with several of his frat brothers—Erwin (obviously), Nile, Gelgar, and some of the younger kids, Jean, Marco, and Connie.

 “Yeah, I’m actually pretty close to Marie now,” you tell him. “And, Maddie, and Rhi.”

 “Rhi?” He looks incredibly surprised.

 “Yeah,” you laugh. “Bonded over the woes of college boys.”

 “Didn’t see that coming.”

 “Neither did I, honestly.”

 Working with him is easier now. The ice has been broken. The boundaries have been set even if they are unspoken. You still do your best not to touch him at all, never stand too close or brush against him in any way, but you’ve loosened up a lot, and your team seems to appreciate it. Unfortunately, they also start to notice the way you light up a little too much whenever you’re around Mike, and naturally, Hange just had to comment on it a few days ago. 

 “You have a crush on the bossman or somethin’?”

 “What? No. We just work well together, I guess.”

 You do not tell Mike about this exchange, in fear of him prying. Well, do you have a crush on the bossman? You’re not ready for that, probably never will be. 

 There are a few breakthroughs in the Sina project. The research team gets extra funding to run more trials, and you start to stay late more often, sometimes in the tower with everyone else and sometimes in the lab. Things are progressing nicely. 

 Eventually, breakfast turns to lunch, lunch turns to dinner, and then you find yourself in Mike’s apartment, sitting at his kitchen table while he cooks.

 “So, we talk every once in a while now, but it’s usually really awkward. Like, I still don’t ever know what to say to him.”

 “Do you find it weird that he reached out in the first place?”

 “Kind of? When I was younger, I always hoped he would, but now that he has, I almost wish he hadn’t. Does that make sense?”

 Mike shrugs as he pours noodles into a strainer over the sink. “I mean, he’s your dad, so yeah, it makes sense. What he did was super shitty, but I figure it’s hard to forget the good times and just abandon all hope.”

 “Yeah. On the bright side, he sends my brother money for commissary, like, every week, so that’s nice.”

 It took a little while, but you’ve let yourself open up to Mike much easier this time around. Whether it’s because you already know you can trust him or because you’ve gotten the closure you needed for so long, you’re not sure. You just know it’s been easy. 

 Unfortunately, with vulnerability comes feelings, and you are having a lot of those. Too many. You’re glad that it’s not debilitating dread and nervousness now, but the overwhelming affection isn’t any less distracting.

 Watching Mike move around his kitchen, though—clad in a t-shirt, faded jeans, and the dish towel thrown over his shoulder, you are painfully reminded of why you got so attached all those years ago. 

 It isn’t fair. You really didn’t want to fall back into this hole. You knew it was a possibility as soon as you saw him at that first meeting, but you were trying to put it off until you had to leave. 

 Because that’s the plan. You come in. You complete the project, get them started on a long-term plan for the lake, then head back to your home facility and wait for another job to be assigned. You can’t just stay here, even if the idea gets a little more tempting every day. 

 You’re just friends, though, just spending time together because it’s familiar. It’s nice being back on the same page, just letting the past stay there.

 “So, it’s been about two months,” Mike starts, and something about his tone makes your stomach drop. “I feel like that’s an appropriate amount of time to wait before finally addressing the elephant in the room.”

 So much for letting the past stay there. 

 Groaning, you rub your hands down your face. “Do we really have to?” Of course he would want to talk about it now that you’re comfortable.

 “I really think we do.”

 “Mike, that was so long ago. I was a dumb fucking kid. What do you need to know other than that?”

 He braces himself on his counter, face serious. “Nothin’ really. I just want you to know that I was a dumb kid too.”

 “Yeah, and we’ve grown since then and gotten over it, right?”

 He lets out a long sigh. “I had gotten over it, but working with you every day has kinda... brought some things back to the surface.”

 Staring at him, you swallow and try to stay calm. You know where he’s coming from, and it’s a little comforting to know that he’s been experiencing at least some of the emotions that you have been, but you don’t know whether or not it’s a good thing. 

 “I get it. I’ve been struggling too, but there’s nothing we can really do about it.”

 You’ve thought about just taking the plunge and sleeping with him again. It would be nice—really fucking nice—but it would only make things worse. 

 “I guess. It’s been cool to hang out again, but…” Mike chews on his lip for a moment before finishing, “We’ve never been good at just hanging out.” 

 The reminder makes your skin prickle with heat, and you shift in your chair, reeling in your thoughts before they run wild. 

 “Yeah. If it would be easier to just not hang out, I’d understand.”

 He turns back to the stove to stir something and turn on the vent then twists back around. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

 “Then, what are you saying?”

 Mike makes a little disgruntled noise, hanging his head like he’s getting frustrated. “I’m saying some days are hard. I tried to keep some distance, but that lasted for about a week, and now you’re here, and even though you’ve changed some, you’re still you, and I’m still me, and… Some days are just hard.”

 Some minutes are hard, you think to yourself. You can be going about your day like someone who isn’t completely fucking smitten, and then you see Mike, and he nods or grins and suddenly all you want is to be alone with him and trace over his lips with yours, feel his hands on you, run your fingers through his long hair. 

 “If I could take those feelings away from you, I would,” you tell him, and it’s apparently the wrong thing to say because he frowns.

 “Do you not feel the same way then?”

 Your reply is almost instantaneous. “Christ, Mike, of course I feel the same! I was in love with you! I didn’t know how to show it back then, but that’s what it was, so yeah, I feel it too, but there’s no point in—in analyzing it or turning it into something—”

 “You were in love?”

 “Dude. Yes. It took me a while to realize it—like, way too long—but yeah. Definitely love. Junior and senior year wouldn’t have sucked so much if it was just lust or infatuation or something.”

 “Sorry.”

 “Don’t be,” you wave him off. “I fucked up. You had every right to be pissed.”

 “I could’ve handled it better,” he mutters.

 You shake your head. “Dumb kids, remember?”

 Mike looks genuinely upset, and you don’t know what to say anymore, so you get up from the kitchen table and walk over to him. You have to physically urge him to turn and face you, but once he does, you wrap your arms around his torso and sigh. He immediately locks his wrists behind your back, resting his chin on your head, and it feels familiar and right and a little bit like home. You can smell the fabric softener that clings to his shirt and the fresh scent of his deodorant, different from what he used to wear, but that doesn’t make it bad.

 “Can we wait for a while longer before we decide to act like dumb kids again?” You ask.

 Mike chuckles above you. “You say that like you’re positive we will.”

 You’re just being realistic, and you tell him as much. The chances of you leaving the city without having sex at least once are slim to none. You figure the two of you will break and indulge in one of those ‘just for old time’s sake’ fucks, but if Mike keeps talking to you like this, admitting feelings and what not, you’re gonna lose it much faster than you’d originally planned. 

 “Yeah.” You feel him nod. “Yeah, we can wait.”

 When he kisses the top of your head, you almost give up then and there. 

 *

 This fucking sucks. Everything sucks. Mike was never one of those people who looked back on college as his glory days, never really had the desire to go back to it, but now he feels like he’s reliving them because he’s back to being twenty-one and obsessed with a girl—being obsessed with you. 

 It wouldn’t be so bad if he didn’t know that you felt it too, but you admitted it, so now the only thing that’s stopping the two of you from exploring that avenue is, what, fear? Again?

 He gets it. He does. You don’t want to fall into something serious only to leave, but it’s possible to navigate relationships like that. Long distance-works. There’s technology for that like phones and video chats and sex toys. Then, there’s always the option of just relocating. It would be drastic, but Mike isn’t against the idea. Arrangements would have to be made, but he could swing it. It’s a little crazy so early on, but...

 He’s not gonna push it, not in a blatant way, but he’s gonna try his damndest to make it harder for you to go. He grows bold enough to start touching you more. A hand on the small of your back as you leave a room together, an arm around your shoulders when you watch TV over dinner, tucking hair behind your ear (“God, that used to be Erwin’s, like, go-to move.”). It’s fucked up because he knows your colleagues are asking about it, that he’s subjecting you to their interrogations, but he can’t help himself. He can’t stop.

 It definitely has an effect on you. You get flustered every time, can’t look at Mike for a while, and he hopes it’s because you’re thinking about other ways he could touch you—has touched you—f you’d just give him the chance.

 He thinks he has the patience to keep it up, wind you up more and more every day until you spin out of control and into his bed. You’re still spending time with him outside of work, still sharing pieces of yourself, and you’re not stopping him from putting his hands on you. so it’s only a matter of time.

 It comes to a head in his apartment after dinner. It’s so simple, something Mike didn’t even do on purpose, but as you’re washing your hands, he comes up behind you and reaches past you for a paper towel. He puts a hand on your hip without thinking, and his chest presses against your back, and then you’re exhaling in one quick huff and squirming to turn around.

 “Okay.”

 “Okay, what?” Mike asks, confused as he takes a step back. 

 “Okay, I’m ready to act like a dumb kid.”

 You don’t even dry your hands, just curl your fingers into his shirt and gaze up at him with dilated pupils, and Mike is elated.

 “Oh, thank god, fuck, thank god.”

 He leans down, and you stand on your tiptoes, and when you meet in the middle and he feels your lips on his for the first time in almost a decade, he groans. 

 You pull him closer, tilt your head further back to give him better access, and Mike cradles it in his hands. He tries not to breathe too heavily, pant like a fucking dog, but he’s been waiting for this since he saw you again. Maybe before that. He thinks on some level he’s been waiting for this since he left you alone in the ranch house, a little voice nagging at him to go back, to fix things, and he just never did. 

 “This is stupid, this is so stupid,” you murmur against him. “Only gonna make things harder.”

 “Just stop thinking about it,” Mike replies, nipping at your bottom lip. He doesn’t want you to think about it because he doesn’t want to think about it otherwise he’ll blurt out everything he’s been stewing on for the last couple weeks, the possibility of a real relationship, of you staying or him going, and that's too much. 

 You both shed clothes on your way to the bedroom, a trail of shirts and pants until you’re naked and laid out for him, and Mike swears he just might cry because you’re so beautiful, just as he remembered with a little more meat on your hips and thighs, a new scar on your calf that he asks about before brushing his lips over it. That leg is already resting on his shoulder, and once he gets situated on his stomach, he throws the other one over himself.

 His mouth starts to water as he gazes at your pussy, so fucking pretty, hole fluttering when he spreads you open. You can’t answer his question about the injury as he lowers his face, pressing the flat of his tongue to the sensitive skin then dipping it inside of you. 

 “Oh, fuck.”

 You taste and smell and feel perfect, and the only thought in his mind is to devour you. He won’t stop until you’re crying, drool leaking from your mouth and your cunt. And, he knows exactly how to get you to that point. 

 Mike flicks over your clit until it grows firm against his tongue then sucks it into his mouth. The noise you make goes straight to his cock, and he starts to rut into the mattress to get some kind of friction. He can already feel precum dripping from his tip, knows you won’t be the only one getting messy tonight, but he doesn’t care. He’s never cared. 

 Mike only pulls away when your thighs start to tremble around his head, and it’s only to mark them with bruises. It reminds him of the last time, when you’d let him fuck you in a fit of desperation. It had been his undoing. He thought of that night for years, and now that he’s able to do it all again, he can’t help but confess, “Fuck, I’ve missed your pussy,” just before he spits on it. 

 Your chest is rising with every little whimper you release as your nails dig into your palms. He’s never been happier to have long arms, able to reach up and massage your tits, stretching his fingers out to span across your chest, thumb on one nipple, pinky on the other, and as he teases both of them, he moans at the fresh slick that coats his tongue. 

 “A finger,” you pant, “Give me a finger, fuck, at least one, please please please—”

 You’ve always been so cute when you babble. Mike can never say no when you talk to him like that, but after assessing and deeming you fit, he slides two fingers into you at once, still sucking your clit.

 You swear loudly, almost in surprise, but that doesn’t stop you from moving your hips, fucking yourself on every digit as your jaw drops open. 

 Mike wants to see your face—has to see it, so he licks up your body, stopping to tongue over your nipples as he goes. He never falters in his thrusting, still knows the exact angle he has to crook his fingers to hit your g-spot. Your back arches, and you plant your feet flat on the mattress to give yourself more leverage, more control. Mike smirks down at you, enjoying your euphoric expression as he grinds his palm against the bundle of nerves that is the key to making you fall apart. 

 “Oh my god—oh, god—fuck, Miche.”

 His breath catches in his throat. God, he hasn’t heard that in too long. He never told you, not that he ever had to, but hearing you call him that drove him crazy, made him fall further in love and lust at the same time, and hearing it now has the same effect.

 “Please,” you whine, then repeat it, spreading your legs to coax him deeper. “Fuck, I need you so bad, s-so bad.”

He’s in the perfect position to rub his cock over your stomach, smearing pre everywhere it touches. From the beginning, Mike has loved leaving traces of himself on you, always felt like he could almost smell it on your skin, like a sigil to ward off others.

 He places a soft kiss at the corner of one closed eye, then on the other, and when you open them to look at him, he sees that they’re filled with tears. 

 It makes him pause, but you keep riding his fingers and beg, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop, m’fine, just—”

 “Why're you crying then?" he grins, leaning down to lick your bottom lip. "Feel good?" 

 You nod, raising to your elbows to force your mouth against his, sliding your tongue inside then whining when Mike pulls away, but it's only to gather the spit in his mouth. When he kisses you again, he makes sure you take it all, pushing saliva past his teeth and onto your palette, and when you swallow, Mike makes a noise of satisfaction. 

 "That's my fuckin' girl."

 That wide, fuck-drunk smile he loves so much spreads across your face as you accept the praise you never would have when you were younger.

 Mike noses just under your ear then asks, "You ready for my cock?" 

 "Always,” you breathe. “Always ready for it."

 "Yeah?" You nod, face scrunching up, and Mike thinks there's a chance that you're—"Gonna come for me first?" 

 Your muscles are starting to tense, hips stuttering, and he can actually feel your pussy spasming around his fingers. 

 "Come on, baby, you can do it. Just—'

 Your eyes roll back as your body pulses. Mike's hand is coated with slick that he can't wait to lick off, and he fucks you with his fingers until you go limp. 

 He cleans his hand then slithers back between your legs to catch everything that's leaking from you. You release a pitiful moan when he traces a circle around your entrance then squeal when he rubs his beard over it. 

 "Jesus fuck!"

 "Sensitive?" He teases before crawling back up to kiss you. 

 Holding himself up with one arm, Mike takes hold of his cock, painfully hard at this point, and parts your wet folds with his tip. He slides it up and down, teasing both you and himself and gasping every time it just barely dips inside of you. 

 "Miche, please."

 "You sound good when you beg," he tells you. You've been doing an awful lot of that tonight. 

 "Good enough to fuck me?" 

 "Mm, maybe," he plays, but he's cut off when you lift yourself just enough to take his cockhead inside of you, squeezing it so that he swears. 

 It completely dismantles any self-control Mike thought he had, and he gives you everything he has in a single thrust that makes you scream his name. 

 "You asked for it," he tells you, starting to pull out. 

 You grip his biceps, shaking your head. "J-just stay still for a—oh god, oh god…"

 Mike doesn't move, lets you adjust while he enjoys the way your cunt clenches around his cock. You're panting, eyebrows knit together, and apologize, "Sorry, give me… a minute. Been a while since I've taken anything this s-size."

 It's juvenile, but Mike's chest still puffs a little when you tell him that, and that feeling only grows when you give him the go ahead to move and he pulls out to see that his cock is already covered in white cream.

 Breathing out a quiet, "Fuck," he slowly pushes back in, mesmerized by the way it creates a thick ring at the base. "So pretty," he mutters, rubbing a thumb over the skin that's stretched around him. "Such a pretty pussy."

 He lets a string of spit drip from his mouth and onto your clit then strokes the swollen bud in circles, the pad of his fingers brushing over the tiny hole that makes you twitch every time. 

 Mike falls into a very slow, deep rhythm, torturing you as he drags his cock over every inch of your satin walls. Tiny gasps are pushed from your throat with every thrust, growing louder when Mike sits back on his heels and pulls your hips up to meet his. It leaves you helpless, only able to claw at the blankets, but your efforts are half-hearted, the press of Mike's cockhead against your g-spot obviously making it hard to do just about anything. 

 "I—I—I—..."

 "You what, baby?" He coos while admiring how big his hands look where they wrap around your waist, holding you mostly still as he drives his cock in and out of you. 

 Your cunt is pulsing again, so tight around him as it drips with slick and cream. The sounds it's making, an obscene balance of suction and squelching, has Mike shaking over you because it's so lewd but so familiar, and god, he has missed this. 

 And, you're right. It's stupid because he's just putting himself in the same place he was in ten years ago, but now he's a grown fucking adult, able to handle himself better, communicate better, fuck you better. 

 Tears leak from the corners of your eyes when he picks up his pace, and he groans when he presses in just a little too far, cockhead nudging against the wall deep inside of you. Your eyelids flutter, toes curling where your feet dangle and shake on either side of Mike. 

 His hips start to snap against yours, his balls swinging every time, and Mike remembers how nice it felt when they'd slap against your clit, the way you'd sing for him, and well…

 "Turn over," he breathes, pulling out and helping as you get to your hands and knees. 

 He takes the time to appreciate the view, letting the weight of his cock settle on your back just to get a visual of how much you take of it, what it might look like deep in your ass and what it would be like to see your stomach bulge from it. 

 Another day.

 Not wasting any more time, Mike sheathes himself inside you once again, spreading your cheeks and spitting on your puckering hole so that he can press against it with a thumb. 

 Your pussy opens up for him, like your body is begging him for more, so Mike fucks you harder, faster, slipping the tip of his finger into your asshole so that you tense up and say his name drunkenly. 

 His heavy balls hit your clit over and over, making you squirm and swear, head hanging back in an invitation, so Mike uses his free hand to grab you by the hair, pulling and glancing at what he can see of your face to make sure he isn't hurting you too much. 

 That grin is back, crooked and shiny with drool you keep having to suck back from your teeth. Mike hasn't felt this good having sex in god knows how long (he knows exactly how long it's been), and he thinks out loud, "Always take my cock so well. Always been able to…"

 "Feels so good, Miche," you cry, "You feel so fucking good, oh my god."

 He takes you like this until you can't hold yourself up anymore, elbows buckling underneath you, and all he does then is fall onto his back and pull you with him, letting you ride him like this and dragging his nails down your spine. It curves under his touch, arching and bowing as you lean forward to plant your hands between his legs and bounce on him. 

 Mike has a perfect view from this angle, huffing at the way your puffy lips open for him, clinging to his cock and dripping gossamer strands. Pressure slowly starts to build in both his gut and his balls, a hot sensation that grows, making him feel full and swollen and fuck, he can't wait to fill you up, can't wait to see you sloppy with his cum again. 

 But, not yet. Not yet. 

 Pushing you until you move off of him, Mike grabs his pillows and shoves you down on them, kissing you again before burying his face between your legs. Your hands are immediately in his hair, and he smiles when you tug at it a little harshly, using the strands as a means to guide Mike right where you want him. Even though he's taking this little break to let himself calm down, he can't help but press his hips to the mattress. He's hot and throbbing and dripping pre, ready but not ready to unload everything inside of you. He doesn't want it to end too soon, wants to savor every second because you're here crying and pleading for him, pushing yourself against his face only to pull back when he sucks on your clit. 

 He's able to fit three fingers inside of you now, keeps licking and fucking you until you whisper a slew of curses and start to warn him, "You're gonna make me—" breaking into a high-pitched moan as you squirt into his mouth and all over his hand. 

 "Fuck yes, again, come on, baby, do that again."

 Mike coaxes another out of you, groaning at the feeling of you dripping down his face and chuckling at the way you shiver and sit up. Your eyes are barely open, head swaying back and forth, but you plant a hand on his chest with the confidence of someone who doesn't look like they're about to pass out, shoving him back until he lays down. 

Straddling him, you sink down on his cock and bite your lip as you rock back and forth for a few seconds. Mike can feel fluid dripping over his pelvis, murmurs, "So messy," while pulling you down for a lazy kiss. 

 He lets you ride him, lets you think you're in control for a while until your legs start to get tired, rhythm becoming slower, and then Mike takes over. He lifts and drops you to his content, hips meeting yours as he fucks up into you. Your own hands cup your tits, pinching your nipples and putting on a show as you bounce up and down. 

 "You're so good," you breathe. "So fucking good to me, god, Miche, right there."

 He's on the brink, so close to his climax, but he holds back, giving it to you just the way you want it until it starts to hurt, and then he grunts, "'m gonna come, baby, I have to. Fuck, please, please, let me—"

 "Yes, yes, wanna feel you…"

 Mike's head sinks further into the pillow as his hips move without any thought on his part. He spills inside of you, hot ropes of cum filling your cunt so that it starts to leak out around him, then shooting even more inside of you. 

 "Jesus fucking—"

 Your muscles clench, squeezing and milking him until Mike starts groaning and twitching from overstimulation. 

 He could die right here and now and be totally fine with it. He really could. But before he can let that happen... 

 Mike urges you back, letting you get situated on your pillows again as he gazes at your stretched pussy and everything dripping out of it. 

 As soon as you stop moving, Mike is working his tongue inside of you. He can taste both himself and you, feel it coat his tongue as he drinks in as much as he can before sliding up to your face and taking your chin so you'll open your mouth. 

 The first drop makes you open wider, sticking your tongue out so that Mike can fill your mouth with his cum and spit, and the fact that you let him is so incredibly arousing, he just might fuck you until he's coming dry. 

 The little pattern is repeated a few times, Mike licking your pussy then spitting everything into your mouth, but he leaves some for lubrication, shoving the last of his cum back inside you when he starts fucking you on his fingers. He keeps you pliant, sucking on your clit so that he can slowly ease his pinky into your ass, and it isn't long before you're letting out breathy little sounds and tensing underneath him. 

 He takes care of you through your orgasm, looking at your face from where he lays. You're so pretty when you come, mouth open, eyebrows high, the picture of ecstasy, and Mike wants to remember it forever. He wants to keep you like this forever. 

 You shudder when he pulls his fingers from you, whine when he slowly laves over your sensitive pussy with his tongue, but after several long licks, Mike crawls back up to lay next to you. 

 "God damn," you laugh. "I had almost forgotten how good you are."

 Mike smirks, kissing your temple and nipping the shell of your ear. "Almost?"

 You nod, a spent smile making your lips curl. "I don't think I could ever fully forget even if I wanted to."

 Humming, he traces fingers over your stomach, now sticky from the mess of precum he had basically slathered you with. 

 "Yeah, we were pretty good for each other when we weren't being stupid," he muses. 

 He should probably step away for a few minutes, hop in the shower and wait for the flood of chemicals in his brain to fall away. 

 "We were, weren't we?" 

 "Mhm."

 Mike dips to press his face into your neck. He just can't stop touching you, can't stop breathing you in. He needs to memorize everything about this—how soft you are underneath him, how you smell like sex and sweat and your perfume, how quiet your voice is when you speak to him. 

 He feels your body rise and fall with a heavy sigh, and he's about to ask if you want to rinse off, but you open your mouth first, thoughtful when you tell him, "I loved you so much, Miche."

 "I know," he replies. Even if he couldn't see it then, he can now. You may not have told him to his face, but if Mike had been just a little smarter back then, he would have realized you were telling him in different ways. "I loved you too."

 He feels you pet his hair, probably a tangled wreck from being pulled. "I, uh…" You swallow hard, and Mike rests his chin on the hand on your chest, your heart beating against his palm a little too fast. 

 "You wanna shower before you say whatever you're about to?" 

 He knows what you're about to tell him. He just wants to make sure you don't regret it when you come back to yourself. "Yeah, probably."

 Both of you leave the bed on unsteady legs, Mike leading you to the shower and setting it to your favored temperature. He stands under the spray with you, taking the brunt of the water while kissing you. You move slowly, tangling your tongue with his, mapping out his body with exploratory hands. 

Mike is the one to break away after several minutes, insisting on soaping you up and dragging his loofah over your skin. He even sinks to his knees, gentle as he cleans your thighs and between them, careful not to get suds anywhere they're not supposed to be. When he’s finished, Mike presses a kiss to your pelvic bone before standing again, grinning when you pull him back to your face. 

 He doesn't have the same, short refractory period he used to otherwise he'd fuck you against the tiled wall, but he's content to stay like this, sucking on your lip and pressing against you. 

 Even after you've been given the chance to get your thoughts in order, you still blink up at Mike, water droplets dotting and falling from your eyelashes as you tell him, "I love you. I still love you. I don't think I can stop."

 He holds your head in his hands, brushes his nose against yours as his chest swells with more emotion than he thinks he can actually handle, and his own confession is easy: "I love you, too." Another soft peck to your lips before he adds, "I think you already knew that, though."

 "Wasn't positive."

 Mike knows there are logistics to consider, but the two of you can work on that later. For now he just wants to finish rinsing off and crawl into bed with you. 

 He should probably change the sheets, though, and find you pajamas, so Mike does exactly that as you traipse back out to the kitchen for some water, wearing absolutely nothing and making him bite his lip. 

 He puts new bedding on the mattress, then digs through his dresser for a t-shirt and boxers. Something catches his eye, printed material that almost makes him laugh out loud. He doesn't know why he still has the shorts, especially since he ruined the shirt a long, long time ago, but he's so glad he does. 

 Pink and covered in palm trees, he can't even fit into them any more, but it's fine. He thinks he knows how he can repurpose them. 

 But first, he needs to call his mom. 

 *

 It's an easy fix, really. Before the Sina project even comes close to wrapping up, Mike finds a place for you in his department, something you hadn't thought possible, but apparently he's kind of a big deal in the field. 

 When he makes you the job offer in the conference room, he's able to keep it professional for a whole three minutes before you agree to the terms, and then he's out of his chair and picking you up to swing around. Just like that, the whole fucking office knows about the two of you. 

 "Ha! You owe me fifty bucks, Moblit!" Hange shouts for everyone to hear, and you shake your head as the quiet man asks if he can Venmo them. 

 "I fucking knew it! I knew there was something going on! God, that's so satisfying. I'm not even mad that you're leaving us."

 "It's been going on for a long time now," you snort. 

 Hange leans against the wall and wriggles their eyebrows, "Yeah, what, like, the whole three months we’ve been here?" 

 "Try ten years," Mike mutters, and the eyes behind Hange's glasses nearly roll out of their head. 

 You and Mike have to sign a few things, contracts and couples disclosures and what not, but you don't mind. 

 The first thing you do is ask for a few days off in order to move, and Mike naturally does the same to help. You live just over three hours away, but are able to recruit some help in the form of your old friends. 

 You let out a shrill scream when you see Erwin step out of his car outside of your apartment complex, all but throw yourself into his arms so that he laughs and squeezes you tight against him. It's been a couple years since you've actually seen him, the distance between you just a little too far, but it's so nice to stare at his stupid face again. 

 Nile is also there with a very pregnant Marie on his arm, and Hitch and Rhi arrive as all the guys are carrying down the first load of packed boxes. 

 "Damn, it has been a long time since we've all been together," you say, looking around at everyone and grinning after you tape up another set of cardboard flaps. 

 "Yeah, kinda weird how we all just get along now," Hitch giggles. 

 "It's almost like we're adults or something," Rhi adds. 

 You pass her the box, but she just groans and passes it to Erwin. 

 Everyone takes turns making trips to Mike's apartment, and the moving effort takes three days in total. You really need to find a way to repay all of them, maybe suggest a nice dinner. 

 "God, why do you own so much shit, babe?" Mike asks after loading the last shelves of a bookcase into his car (that you still hate). 

 "Because everything has sentimental value. Don't judge me."

 "Oh, I'm judging. When'd you get so soft?"

 You roll your eyes and reach past him to close the trunk door. 

 The others are all standing in the parking lot with you, antsy and excited for the two of you, or so you assume. 

 "I really can't thank you guys enough. You've made this so much easier," you tell them. 

 Erwin grins widely and pulls you into a hug, and to your surprise, Hitch slides around you to hold you from behind. It makes you laugh and call them dumb, but when they step back, you're hit with the realization that they weren't just being goofy; they were strategizing, keeping you shielded from Mike who is now kneeling on the asphalt and chewing on his bottom lip. 

 Your eyes grow wide, and you step back only to run straight into Erwin's chest. He puts two, grounding hands on your shoulders, and you can almost feel his smile as Mike reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. 

 A small pink box. 

 A small pink box with pieces of fucking palm trees wrapping around it. 

 "Did you get that fucking upholstered?" You shout, and Mike lets out a giddy laugh, his eyes so narrow from grinning that you can barely see the green. "I don't even wanna open it. I cannot believe—"

 "Good thing you don't have to open it then," he chuckles. “I do.”

 "You are fucking impossible, you know that?" 

 "Yeah," he agrees before prying the ridiculous box apart and revealing a ring that makes you tear up. 

 It isn't huge, but it's far from plain, sparkling stones wrapping around it with a larger, round cut in the middle. It's extremely pretty and very you, and oh, you wanna put it on, you wanna put it on right now. 

 "Don't look too impressed. Mom helped me pick it out, and it’s all ethically sourced, of course," Mike says, and you wipe your eyes while giggling. 

 "Oh my god, she's crying!" Rhi yells. 

 "Shut up, it's because of that atrocious box."

 Mike looks behind you at Erwin. "I knew she'd love it."

 "Yeah, good call, bro."

 "I hate both of you."

 "Still gonna marry me, though, right?" Mike is still grinning, but you can see the barest hint of worry in his eyes, and you can't blame him because this is big. This is commitment. Marriage. He wants you to marry him. 

 And, some will say it’s too quick, that you’ve only been actually dating for a couple of months, but it makes sense because if you’re being honest, you never really fell out of love with Mike. He’s always been nestled deep in your heart.

 "Against my better judgement," you smirk. 

 He stands up quick enough to make himself dizzy, has to brace a hand on his car as he kisses you. 

 "Finally!" Erwin shouts, clapping his hands and being joined by the others. 

 Mike slides the ring from the terrible box, pushes it onto your finger with shaky hands, and when you admire it in the sun, you look at him and nod. "Very nice, Zacharias. Even in the parking lot setting."

 "I just wanted everyone to be here! If we went somewhere fancy, you would've figured it out."

 That's true. Going to some nice restaurant or quaint little park would have definitely tipped you off. 

 "Also, you know once we're married, you will also be Zacharias."

 "Yeah," you nod thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess I will be. Hey," you look at him with raised eyebrows. "Wanna shotgun beers at the wedding?" 

 Mike laughs loudly. "That is how it all started, isn't it?" 

 "Yeah, this stupid frat boy in a Hawaiian shirt came up to me and demanded I shotgun a room temp beer."

 "Sounds like an asshole," Mike chuckles. 

 You shrug as he pulls you into his chest and sigh into his shirt, "He turned out alright, I guess."

[jiminisnotavirgin]

A+

Pairing: professor!taehyung | collegestudent!reader

Genre: smut

Description: A one-on-one video call with your hot, college professor takes a surprising turn.

Words: 3.8k

Warnings: inappropriate student/teacher relations, mutual masturbation, fingering, clit-stimulation, and innapropriate language.

Note: After much anticipation, I hope this is my return to the writing part of the lovely fanfic world. Here’s a little something mischievous and self-indulgent (clearly!). I started writing this when quarantine and remote-learning first began last year and I returned to it earlier this week. Let me know what you think :) I hope you enjoy A+. Love, Phoenix.

Email after email, document after document, the light from Taehyung’s laptop shines bright blue across his features. The hours go by and the sky grows darker but he remains at his desk, only taking small breaks to lighten the strain on his eyes. His chair creaks as he leans back and glances outside the window. Like most nights lately, only the stars keep him company tonight.

His courses shifted to an online-only remote format due to the need for social distancing. Despite the initial confidence he displayed to his boss and colleagues over the change, Taehyung is more unsure than ever. Frustration sneaks its way into his mind like a viper wrapped around its squirming prey. His life has turned into a turbulent sea of e-mails and complaints from upset students. What’s the best way for him to support his students? How can he assure them that their mental health is more important than any essay or assignment they’ll ever complete?

A sudden knock at the door steals his attention. Jungkook, his roommate and best friend, leans against the doorway with crossed arms. “Professor Kim,” he begins with a smirk. “Do you have a minute to speak?”

“What’s up?” asks Taehyung, ignoring his friend’s use of the name his students address him with.

“Did you see Jimin’s text? He invited us over for drinks at his apartment. Are you coming?”

“Can’t,” answers Taehyung. His computer glows in his peripheral vision. “I have—“

“Emails to write, work to do. I get it, you’re a busy man.” Jungkook shrugs. “I thought I’d ask anyway since it’s Saturday night.”

“Maybe next time.” Guilt floods Taehyung’s chest and makes it difficult to look Jungkook directly in the eye. Not only is he a shitty professor but he’s a shitty friend, too.

Jungkook finally steps inside the room, occasionally tinkering with Taehyung’s things until he reaches his desk. “Whatever. I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

“Why?”

“Why?” Jungkook’s already-large doe eyes go wider. “Because all you do is sit at that damn computer all day!”

“I have to teach classes online, what do you expect?”

“It’s not healthy. You barely even leave your room to eat.”

“Who are you, the food police?”

“No, I’m your best friend,” Jungkook answers. “When was the last time you did anything fun? Or normal? You’re twenty-six, Tae, not a hundred and six.”

Taehyung sighs. “I can’t think about any of that right now. Actually, I should get back to my work...”

Jungkook takes the hint and leaves, but not without shooting a glare that makes Taehyung regret his choice of words. He can’t worry about it right now though—not when he has a call planned with you in about two minutes.

He was surprised to see an email from you in his inbox yesterday. You’re one of the students that hasn’t reached out all semester unlike most of the others in his courses. He knows just what kind of student you are: the type who floats through classes quietly but still gets high marks. You’re an older student. You fade into the background by avoiding the attention of your peers but your work stands out, therefore, you do too. He recognizes it because he was that student, too.

Taehyung opens the app for the call, expecting you to pick up after a minute or two but you answer within seconds. “Hello,” he greets you.

You tuck a stand of hair behind your ear and speak but no sound follows the movement of your mouth. He waits but nothing changes.

Taehyung clears his throat. “I think your microphone is off,” he says and types the same words into the chat box at the bottom of his screen.

You squint as you bring your face closer to the monitor. “Can you hear me now?”

He smiles. “Perfect. So, how are you doing? How’s the semester been so far?”

You shrug. “It’s been okay. I’m just trying my best, you know? What about you?”

“Pretty much the same. There’s nothing to do besides read and grade assignments.”

“I wanted to talk to you about the midterm, actually...” your voice fades out and your eyes drift away from the camera. He digs through his memory for what you wrote but his mind comes out empty-handed.

“Let me pull it up on my computer.” He searches through his saved files and documents.

“Oh, you don’t have to do all of that.” You pause for a few seconds. “It’s about my grade.”

“Let’s see... B-plus. Nice work.” When he looks away from your paper, he catches you frowning.

“Could you give me some feedback on it?” you ask.

“I left a few comments on the side,” he answers, eyes still glued to the document. He exits the window and focuses on your face once again. “I wouldn’t worry too much if I were you. You’re a lovely writer.”

“Not good enough if I can only get B-pluses,” you answer with a sigh. Taehyung sits up in his chair, surprised by your shift in tone.

Are you looking for an explanation? A justification for the grades he’s given you? “Most students would be satisfied with a B-plus in an almost graduate level course.”

“With all due respect, sir, I’m not your other students.”

His brows twitches. “Oh?”

“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an arrogant jerk but I’m not used to getting anything lower than an A on my papers. The fact that I’m about to graduate and can’t hack yours is pretty... frustrating.”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t know what to tell you.” What do you want to hear? Can anything he’ll say wipe that glare off your face? It’s interesting to see you lose your cool after all this time.

You refuse to back down from the challenge. In this impromptu staring contest, your brown eyes penetrate his through the computer screen.

Taehyung decides to give in. Slightly. “One thing I will say,” he continues, “is that I’m particularly tough on my best students. If I gave you an A-plus on every essay you handed in, what would you work up to? There’s no doubt about the strength of your writing.”

Your expression changes immediately. “Oh,” is the only word that leaves your lips. The lines of anger decorating your forehead smooth out as your mouth eases into a relieved smile.

It’s in this moment that Taehyung finds himself looking at you. Truly looking at you.

There’s something about the determination in your face as you plead your case, as though nothing else in the world matters more. Your glossy, heart-shaped lips possess a reddish tint that reminds him of cherries, or rubies. Even through the pixels on the computer screen, you retain the same freshness he remembers from a few months ago, if not more now.

All this time on the computer has gone to your head, he thinks to himself. Perhaps there’s still a chance for him to catch up to Jungkook and the others.

A giggle erupts from your side of the call. “So my papers are good? And here I thought I wasn’t good enough for you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you suffer,” he murmurs and runs a hand through the waves in his raven hair. His eyelids flutter closed as he sinks into his chair and stretches his arms. Finally, a meeting he can consider a success; a meeting where the student leaves the call less frustrated than when it began. He prepares to end the call and log off for the night.

Then he hears it.

It’s faint and quiet and quick but he hears it, as if all sounds in the world were turned off and yours was amplified. The sound echoes in his mind as though you were right there beside him: “If only you knew how you make me suffer.”

This progression of thoughts occurs in a matter of seconds. By the time he’s processed your statement, his eyes have been forced open and any chance of relaxation for the rest of the night disappears into thin air.

“What?” he asks, voice betraying the casualness he wishes to exude.

“Oh, nothing.” You blink innocently, long lashes fluttering like a pair of butterfly wings. “I just care about your opinion, Professor Kim, if you can’t tell.”

“Right...” His eyes trail to the messy display of pens and papers spread out across his desk—anything to avoid your gaze. Its intensity has multiplied a thousandfold and threatens to melt him like a popsicle in the sun. He ignores the surge of anxious heat flowing through his veins.

“I mean,” you continue, lips pursed. “Who doesn’t love hearing a little bit of praise every once in a while, right?”

Your statement hangs in the air for what feels like an eternity. His shirt suddenly squeezes his torso. His pants suffocate his thighs. The room feels like a furnace and dizzying all at once, but the tension in the air keeps him in the moment.

“What are you doing?” he finally asks.

All the blood drains from your face and your limbs freeze. You hold your hands up in the air. “I’m sorry, professor. I didn’t mean to—“

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” warns Taehyung. A new fire fuels his gaze. With his thick brows, chiseled face, and beautiful black hair to match, your professor is a flame and you’ve been dying to get burned since you first laid eyes on him.

You pull off your hoodie and toss it onto the ground behind you. With a small tug of your index finger, you adjust the spaghetti straps of your pink tank top, underneath which you wear no bra. Your nipples prick at the thin fabric that stretches with each of your breaths.

“You deserve so much more than a little bit of praise,” he murmurs, erasing any doubts over your advances towards him.

“I do?”

“Mmhmm. Especially since you’ve been such a good girl.”

This man couldn’t possibly be the same one that lectured your class all semester. Something sinful replaces the innocent, awkward mannerisms you’ve grown to know over time. No more does he hesitate with his words or actions. Instead, he leans towards the camera with his shoulders pushed back. You’re greeted by his neck and the tan slope of his chest that hides beneath the loose collar of his button-down. You want nothing more than to rip off his shirt with your bare hands. For now, you can only imagine what lies beneath.

“Good girls deserve rewards,” he says with a swipe of his tongue across his plump bottom lip, snapping you out of your daze.

“What should I do?” you ask and glance at your closed bedroom door. Fortunately, you locked it before the call started. You don’t want any intrusions from your roommate.

“You should wind down and take care of yourself. You’ve been working so hard.” His eyes dart down to your tank top. “Close your eyes and imagine it’s me worshipping your chest.”

Your eyes fall closed as your hands drift to the hem of your top. Your fingertips graze your stomach and stop when your skin begins to slope up into the mounds of your breasts. “What would you do if you were here with me right now?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d make it my mission to kiss every part of you but first, I’d focus on those beautiful breasts of yours. They’d fit in my hands perfectly.”

With your left hand, you grasp one breast and tighten your grip just the slightest bit. The squeeze forces a sigh from your lips and although your eyes are closed, Taehyung struggles to control his own breathing as he watches you begin to unfold. With the other hand, you bring two fingers to your mouth and coat them in saliva only to bring them down to your nipples which harden with each squeeze and stroke.

Taehyung swallows in anticipation. “Just like that. Keep going.”

“Wait, what about you?” you ask, voice raspy and slightly out of breath.

“What about me?”

“I’m not the only one who deserves a reward.”

“Watching you wriggle and writhe in desire is enough for me.”

You cross your arms. “Nope.”

He chuckles. “What do you suggest I do, then?”

“I want you to fuck yourself with your hand and imagine it’s my pussy squeezing the life out of you.”

Your words knock the air out of Taehyung’s lungs but he manages to recover quickly. “You may be a good girl but you’ve got a dirty mouth.”

You smirk. “What are you going to do about it?”

The sound of his metal belt buckle clinks from his end. “Touch yourself right now. Play with your clit and we’ll see if you’ve still got that nasty mouth of yours when you’re begging me to cum.”

You raise your brows. “I fully intend on cumming at least once in your presence tonight, professor, whether I have your permission or not.”

“Call me Taehyung.” He takes a moment to reflect on the current situation versus the dynamic you had only minutes ago. “Why now? Why did you initiate—”

“My grades go above all else. I didn’t want to jeopardize any of that,” you answer. “And I also waited for your sake.”

“My sake? If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were doing this to secure your grades,” he muses.

“Nothing boosts my ego like getting an A-plus based solely off my hard work,” you answer. “Fucking my hot professor is for my own personal pleasure.”

You description makes it sound so typical, just another everyday thing like washing the dishes. Are you using him? Deep inside, the thought of you using him arouses him. He wants to be used by you.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whispers, suddenly absorbed by you and the way you carefully orchestrated this interaction. How long did you think about this moment? Were you afraid of rejection?

“I know. Everyone likes me but I always want what I can’t have.” You wink. “Life’s more fun that way.”

Fun. “Enough talk. Let me see.”

“Yes, of course,” you stutter, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. You don’t mind his demands or commanding tone. In fact, you invite them.

“Slide back,” he instructs you. “I want to see everything.”

You swallow and obey immediately, rising to pull your chair further away from the camera. You take the chance to slip off your sweatpants which leaves you in nothing but your underwear and tank top. Your underwear isn’t fancy but it’s what’s below that he’s interested in.

You lower yourself onto the seat, not bothering to keep your legs pressed together. You spread your knees slowly, as if your legs were a book with pages waiting to be read.

“Good. Open up more and show me how bad you want it,” he says. The smile in his voice urges you on.

Your hand creeps along the stretchy waistband of your underwear. The material works against you, forcing your wrist against your pelvis and the area you so desperately wish to touch. You have to be patient since you seek to milk this moment for as long as possible.

Your middle finger searches for any sign of dampness and you gasp when you find a small pool already built up at your core. When you look back at the monitor to see what he’d like you to do next, you watch as he adjusts himself into a similar position to yours.

“Your turn. Take off your shirt,” you instruct.

He raises his eyebrows. A mischievous smile dawns on his face. “Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“So demanding. That’s what got us here in the first place,” he remarks but proceeds to unbutton his shirt.

“I’m not afraid to go out and get what I want.”

“I know, and I admire you for it,” he says. His shirt begins to crinkle as he unbuttons lower and lower until eventually, the front parts to reveal his chest. His abs are soft and his warm honey skin looks smooth. You wonder what it would it taste like.

As he rolls up his sleeves, you observe every movement of his hands. They’re large. One of the first things you noticed about him when he spoke in class and lead discussions. You always wondered what his hands would look like if they were doing something else entirely... Now, your fantasies have come to life.

You force your jaw closed but he’s already caught you staring. “Like what you see?” he asks through his low lids.

“Oh, please. As if you don’t know you’re attractive as hell.”

A low laugh emerges from the man and you smile. If only you could bottle it up and keep it. When he reaches into his pants, you follow along, taking the slick from your finger up to your clit in one smooth stroke. You hum and bite at your lips to contain your reaction.

He shakes his head. “Don’t hide it. You sound beautiful.”

Your other hand starts to wander as you go to work on your clit. From your head to your chest, you seek something to ground you as your soft bud puffs with pleasure. No longer does it hide, tucked away beneath the crevices of your lips. You grind against it using your hand and a slow swivel of your hips from left to right.

“You’re doing so good. I’m so proud of you,” coos Taehyung. “Your body was made for this. For pleasure.”

The sight of him gripping the base of his cock is almost enough to send you over. A light glaze of sweat builds on your forehead but you make no effort to wipe it. Taehyung wishes to feel the heat of your body on his. It’s probably better than anything he could ever imagine.

Perhaps now more than ever, he longs for the days before the virus took over and broke everyone apart. He misses those times so much he could cry, especially since he took them for granted. At the same time though, he thinks about the effort those close to him have made to keep in contact. Even old friends he hadn’t spoken to in years called to catch up with him. His students have stuck out the most out of anyone. One or two of them don’t even own laptops but they show up to class on time and bring their A-game. He believes he should take a note or two from them.

As he studies you, the way you squirm in delight, and the way your body responds to the ministrations of your hand, a wave of relief washes over him. If it weren’t for these circumstances, he wouldn’t have had this moment with you.

“Taehyung,” you moan, bringing him back.

The sound of you calling his name shoots heat straight to his cock. With the precum glistening at the top, he grabs his cock and works the tip using his thumb. “Fuck. Look at what you do to me,” he groans at the sensitivity.

“Please,” you take in a breath and continue, “t-tell me more.”

If praise is what you want, praise is what you’ll get. “You’re so hardworking in everything that you do. Look at you now. Touching yourself just for me.”

“Yes, yes.” You moan as your fingers settle into the one position that feels like you’ve struck gold.

“How far inside can those fingers go? I bet you can put them in real deep.”

It’s as though your hands were waiting for his approval. You slip inside your clenching, gaping hole using two fingers. They slide in easily but the initial stretch is foreign since it’s been so long.

Taehyung groans and for the first time tonight, you begin to see him lose control. His cool exterior sinks into the pleasure of his hand—and of you—leaving him a sweaty, desirable mess. His hair sticks to his forehead and his stomach clenches with each stroke of his hand. He moves slowly, trying to match the pace of your hand. You pick up speed and allow your body to move against the rhythm of your hand. Your insides feel warm and soft and slippery. You close your eyes and imagine he’s the one fingering you with those gorgeous hands of his.

The rubber band of pleasure in your stomach begins to stretch. The squelch of your pussy grows louder with each passing second.

Taehyung is well-endowed but never did you imagine his dick would expand so much in length and girth. He could spear your pussy in one fell swoop, destroying your insides and anything else that gets in his way.

“Taehyung, I’m close,” you say with a sigh. You barely have the energy to speak.

“Fuck, me too,” he adds. “I’m almost there. Cum with me.”

His hand travels from base to tip and each part of the journey is smoother than the last. He massages each vein and ripple and moves even faster when he catches a glimpse of the uneven quiver of your thighs. Heat churns in his stomach and all he can do is chase it desperately. He needs it like oxygen, to breathe in the sight of you along with the pleasure of his nether regions.

The rubber band snaps. It strikes you in waves, each crash stronger the last. You let the waves overtake you and succumb to the burst of pleasure spreading through your limbs. You pull out your hand and clench around nothing as the sensitivity forces your legs closed.

Just when you thought things were over, Taehyung makes a request: “Taste it.”

You waste no time in taking your fingers to your mouth, gliding your tongue on the pads of your fingertips, and spreading the salty fluid in your mouth. All you can focus on is the heavenly sight of Taehyung coming. Each breath he lets out comes with a moan. You swear you can feel the vibration of his low voice against your own chest. His hair covers his eyes but you know they’re closed in pleasure. He intakes one sharp breath before it finally takes him over.

He can feel nothing but release. Release of stress. Release of work. Release of anything except you. As white spurts of cum squirt from his dick in a messy stream of strings, all you can think about is the beauty of his body.

“This was fun,” you admit with a smile. “I’m glad my attempt didn’t flop.”

“No, that would’ve been a huge mistake on my part.”

As you look down, your eyelashes brush the top of your cheeks and you bite your lip in anticipation. “I know I’m graduating and all, but we should do this again sometime. If you’re interested.”

He rests his elbows on his desk and brings himself closer to the camera. With his hand holding the side of his face, he takes in the sweet sight of you. “Did you enjoy it that much?”

“Oh yes. In fact, unlike some people, I’d give you an A-plus.”

[tomthesoftie]

let them flow

❧ synopsis: after the collapsing of an unhealthy relationship, each side begins to improve and thrive, one for the other, one for themselves. coincidentally, they meet at the same dreaded party that led to the breaking of their relationship. will this unfortunate series of events lead them to opportunity?

❧ pairing: jock!tom x fem!reader

❧ genre: fluff

❧ warnings: mild angst, fluffy-ish ending, exes to friends to lovers, one or two curse words, lil bit of crying, mentions of alcohol

❧ a/n: it’s finally over. thank goodness. this also is so long it can be considered a second part fuck. i know i took a whole month to write this, but i barely have free time to write nowadays and the times i do, i don’t have much inspiration. anyways this came out better than i expected so hope you guys enjoy.

in order to understand this ending, please read this first: her hidden crystal tears 

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In the first month you spent broken up with Tom, you, for once, felt at peace, with no burden of hiding relationships and denying feelings. You had forgotten how free living singly was. Within that month, you were able to reshape your life. Your grades began to improve, and your mental health had phenomenally developed for he better. Your friends had even gone out of their ways to help you with a "glow up."

Tom, on the other hand, had tried to shape him into a better person in hopes of salvaging your crumbling, if you could even call it that, relationship. He worked harder in class, and every time he saw you sitting in the lecture hall, you were surrounded by other classmates, giving him no place to fit in. He also started to distance himself from his old group of friends, looking for a better, influential group.

Tom couldn't help but feel a tug at his heart when he saw you walking with one other friend to class, laughing at something they said. He saw how your under eye-bags turned bright and how you shoulders straightened up after the breakup. It broke his heart to know the negative impact he had on you, which you never complained or spoke out about.

The brunette wanted to improve for you and himself.

How you ended up in a pair of high-waisted, black, denim shorts and a black bandeau with a sheer, cropped, long-sleeved shirt overtop you didn't know. After much begging and bothering, your friend had convinced you to go to the afterparty of the football game. You tried your best to deny their attempts but failed when they baited you with money.

This would be your first time attending a party, for you were always driven home and away from them. You couldn't deny, though, the chills that snaked down your spine at the mention of it.

Stepping into the house, you noticed how similar it looked to a fraternity. People were dancing, pushing their bodies against others and grinding their hips onto drunk partners. Other students were playing beer pong, stripping on tables, or resting on couches with a red, plastic cup in their hands. It smelled terribly of sweat and oversaturated body spray, making you gag on your breath.

"How do so many people like this?" You shouted over the pounding music and loud voices.

"How do you not?" You friend giggled, dragging you through the crowd.

Dodging and pushing people off of you, you gripped your friend's hand tightly, afraid of losing them.

"Where are we going?" You asked, eyes darting all over the place in uncertainty.

"Before we party, we've got to get drinks," they pushed the door of the kitchen open, revealing the alcohol infested space.

Scrambling over to the bulky cooler, they grabbed a can of beer, popping it open and downing it.

Flinching in disgust, you commented, "Don't you want to wash that, first?"

"What d'you mean? It looks perfectly clean to me," they shrugged, throwing you a can.

You clumsily captured the condensated drink, before putting it on the counter behind you, "I don't drink."

They groaned, "Why are you such a doormat? Come on," they nudged your shoulder, "Live a little."

You laughed, "I can "live a little" just fine with water."

"Ugh, fine. I'm guessing you also want to sit in a corner and become a hermit," they spoke, sarcastically.

"Actually," your eyes lit up, "I do."

"You," they pointed at you unsteadily, "annoy me, but since I already brought you along," their finger moved to point at an idle seat in the corner of a calmer room, "There."

You nodded, eyeing the isolated spot with glee. However, before your friend could escape into the crowd, you told them to stay safe and slipped away to occupy said seat. 

Although Tom no longer associated himself with his old group of friends, he couldn’t avoid them forever, as they were his teammates. Also, as the captain of the football team, it was practically an obligation for him to attend the after parties. 

Honestly, ever since you had broken up with Tom, he had developed a small fear of being whisked away by his fangirls and teammates, constantly thinking you were waiting in his car for him. His guilt had piled on top of his conscious, leaving him an insecure wreck.

Nevertheless, he stepped into the filled building, nodding and waving at familiar faces. One face he wasn’t expecting to see sat in the corner of the room was yours. 

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, he murmured to himself, “She’s not there, you idiot.”

“Tom, buddy,” a familiar voice hollered.

Through your peripheral vision, you swore that you saw his chocolate curls, but when you looked up from your phone, he had disappeared. Your eyes began to dart through the crowd of people, looking for the man you supposedly had gotten over.

Quickly realizing your mistake, you shunned yourself for willingly wrapping yourself around his little finger. You returned to scrolling through your phone, distracting yourself with the illuminated screen.

Tom watched as his teammate, and former friend, grabbed at a girl swaying her hips, pushing her ass against his friend’s crotch, into a grind. Suddenly feeling highly uncomfortable where he stood, he moved into the kitchen to grab a drink.

The room let in muffled sounds but ultimately was the quietest room in the building. The white LED lights left the room bright and easy to navigate, albeit the clusters of finished drinks and used cups littered on the counters and in the sink and overflowing out of the trashcan. 

The brunette drifted over to the fridge, locating the fresh water bottles hidden from other partygoers. 

Feeling quenched, you stood up from your seat, unwillingly. You looked for a quick and precise path to the kitchen, though you failed to do so. Deciding to extemporize it, you awkwardly squished your way through the crowd, mumbling “excuse me” and “sorry” periodically. 

Pushing the white-paint clad, wooden door open, you stumbled your way into the room, glaring at the sudden brightness engulfing your vision. 

Hearing the music and sound of people cheering grow louder, Tom turned around to see the oh-so familiar girl he had fallen infatuated with many months ago.

You stood, blinking your eyes as they tried to adapt to the sudden change of lighting. Groaning, your hands began massaging and harassing the poor skin of your eyelids. 

Your unnoticed ex, still stood in front of the fridge with a cool bottle of water in his hand, smiled at your adorable behaviour — widely contrasting your provocative outfit — watching as your cheeks puffed out in frustration. 

Feeling the haze leave your eyes, you looked ahead of you to see a silhouette emerging. Embarrassed, you blushed, looking down at your shoes. 

You felt a cool presence resting beside your cheek, and quickly looked at the item.

Water? You thought, confused.

Eyes trailing up the arm holding the bottle, your met with the sight of your former boyfriend smiling at you.

“Tom,” you breathed.

After avoiding and ignoring the boy for so many weeks, you already had forgotten how sweet he looked with a smile and soft blush grazing his cheeks. Maybe you hadn’t forgotten; you were just rarely, if ever, given the opportunity to admire it.

“Hey,” he responded, shyly rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. 

You glanced at the bottle then back to Tom, silently asking what he was doing with it.

“O-Oh, I just thought you’d want a bottle of water, since you don’t drink, but if you do now, that’s totally cool too,” he rambled nervously, like a little boy talking to his crush on the playground. 

Although you had only broken up with him a bit over a month ago, you couldn’t bring yourself to trust taking the drink from him.

“Thanks, but I can get one myself. I’m sure you wanted to drink that too.” 

You gave him an awkward, tight-lipped smile before walking past him to the fridge. Reaching into the cool container, you pulled out a frosted water bottle. 

The situation was strange. Everything felt so familiar but so different. It didn’t feel right to talk to each other like you knew how they slept in bed at night or how they loved warm cuddles on the couch as they binged shows and movies. 

“Look, Y/N,” Tom spoke up, breaking the tension with a breath, “I know that I was a jerk we were together. I also know that I neglected you. I shouldn’t have cared about what everyone else thought about our relationship. 

“Looking back, I understand why you were so frustrated with me, and you had every right to break up with me. I was a wuss that used protecting you as an excuse to keep you under covers. I reveled in the popularity and attention I got, back then.

“I’m different, now, though. I’m not saying you have to take me back. You don’t even have to consider it. All I want to do, right here, right now, is to apologize to you, so, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all the anguish and sadness I caused. I’m sorry you had to waste your tears on me. I’m so fucking sorry, and if I have the slightest chance to even be your friend again, please let me take it.”

You felt a churning in your core, and tears prickled the corner of your eyes. You didn’t understand where your emotions arose from. You thought that you had moved on from Tom. You thought you had left him behind, left him in the shadows of your life. 

You turned around, hand reaching up to quickly wipe your tears away. That is, until a calloused hand grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t,” the accented voice choked, “It hurts me as much as it does you.”

Your words were caught in your throat. You tried to say something, anything, but nothing but sobs slipped your lips. 

Everything became a blur. You could only feel warmth enveloping you. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, darling,” Tom murmured into your hair. 

After the encounter at the party, you and Tom went on with your life as normal. 

Although, nothing that happened that night could be considered normal. You cried while he held you tightly in his arms. He apologized for his faults and asked for a second chance, as a friend or more. You forgave him and gave him the chance. 

Will you ever want to have the same relationship you had with Tom as before? No.

You and Tom are working on building a better, healthier relationship for the both of you: an open and honest relationship that won’t be hidden from anyone, especially not his “fangirls.” 

“Don’t ever hide your tears again,” Tom whispered into your hair, “Let them flow.” His pointer finger gently lifts your chin, locking his eyes with your tear-filled ones. He brings his thumb to your cheek, wiping away the shining streaks of pain, sadness, desperation. 

“Let them flow because I’ll be here. I’ll be here to wipe them away every and any time.”

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[mosswillow]

Iced Coffee - Dark!Stephen Strange x Reader.

Summary:

You met Stephen Strange your last year of medical school. He was godlike and you were infatuated. You liked him and in return he humiliated you. Years later you were over it; made a career for yourself.

He saw you again, remembered you, wanted you. He was going to show you that he had changed, win you over. You would be his and he would protect you forever, he just had to prove himself.

Series Warnings:

18+ adult content, Dark, Rape/noncon, obsessive behavior, stalking, doctor/medical themes, mild/moderate doctor kink, needles (chapter one, not sex related), violence, abuse, kidnapping, forced marriage, smut, escape attempt, dirty talk (my best attempt at least).

Potential warnings, a non-exhaustive list: Oral, praise kink, mild degradation (Will not include whore or slut)  

You can join the tag list here. 

A/N: Now that I’ve been writing for a few months I’m experimenting with different styles. If you’ve read my other stuff lmk what you think (ask, comment, message, whatever.)

Thank you to the unnamed requester and @couldntbedamned​ for this request. 🖤

By Clicking keep reading you confirm that you are over 18 and understand that this content is mature and potentially triggering. 

CHAPTER 1

Stephen was the most brilliant man you had ever met. School was a joke to him, he easily outperformed everyone no matter the subject. He was confident, lived his life with this air of superiority, and you were obsessed. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of him, sat next to him in class, helped him when he asked. He was nice to you too, he was an asshole almost all the time but when he talked to you it was gentle, respectful.

It was October third when it happened, the date would forever be burned in your memory. He turned to you and asked you the date.

“It’s october third,” you smiled.    

He thanked you and touched his hand to your arm and you felt a spark, you were sure he felt it too.

But he didn’t feel it, you were so very wrong.

You found out just how wrong you were that evening in the worst possible way. It was so unexpected, so hurtful. You walked into the small coffee shop you and your friends frequented and saw them all in the corner, socializing. A stab of pain struck you in the chest; nobody invited you. Maybe you should have backed away, recognized you weren’t wanted but you heard your name. You thought they had seen you, called you over.

They hadn’t seen you though, weren’t talking to you.

They were talking about you.

“Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” you heard Stephen laugh.

You walked behind him, tears welling in your eyes and someone nudged him awkwardly. He looked up and made eye contact with you. A tear fell down your face as you backed away from the group. It was like a nightmare, like looking down and seeing you were naked, but this wasn’t a dream. It was horrifyingly real.

“Pathetic,” you heard him say to the laughing group of people you called friends.

It broke you.

You spent the remainder of your time in school avoiding him and every friend who had been there. You poured yourself into your studies and came out of it stronger than before, like a phoenix being reborn - You were brand new, beautiful, powerful.

You became a doctor and scientist and a damned good one at that. But Stephen was always better. Every conference, every medical magazine, he was there; always at the top. You could never escape him.

Until his accident.

He was suddenly gone, you couldn't believe it. Dr. Stephen Strange, the most accomplished neurosurgeon, lost his hands. The shock wiped through the medical community, a travesty they said. It wasn’t a travesty to you though, It was almost uncomfortable how happy you were at his downfall. It felt so freeing to see the great and mighty Doctor Strange fall so far, for your bully to lose the thing that was most precious to them. He became irrelevant, dropped from magazines and conferences and disappeared without a trace. You were truly content for the first time in your life. You were free.

Stephen flexed his fingers and smiled. It was a long road to recovery but he did it, he was a neurosurgeon again and even better now. He was godlike, able to perform surgeries that he could only dream of before. He wasn’t just going to get his life back, he would flourish, go above and beyond his already impressive list of accomplishments, he would dominate.  

He walked into the conference full of confidence, an arrogant smile plastered on his face. The gasps and stares made him stand even straighter, walk with even more purpose. He always loved being the center of attention, it made him feel superior.

It was his addiction, to be special, better than everyone around him. The craving for greatness was a consequence of his birthright. He needed to be better because he was better. His brain was like a radiant flame, he shined brighter than everyone around him and he knew it.  

“Stephen, good to see you,” a group of colleagues surrounded him, patting him on the back. He felt at home, this was where he belonged.

The auditorium started filling and he followed the group in, sitting in the back and opening his pamphlet. It wasn’t usually his type of lecture to listen to but he had time to kill before his next panel. The speaker, a specialist in infectious disease, worked at New York Hospital where he would start back on Monday. He closed his pamphlet and waited patiently for the presentation to start.

She walked onto the stage and his body tensed as he watched her prepare for her speech. Stephen’s brain was on fire, the attraction to this stranger like nothing he had ever felt. His thoughts turned less than appropriate as he stared at her ass. He saw no panty lines and couldn’t help but imagine what did or did not lie beneath the skirt's thin fabric. She wasn’t a conventionally attractive woman but that made her even more beautiful in his mind. She was perfect for him, a mix of everything he was physically attracted to in one person. Women had thrown themselves at him but he didn’t want any of them, he wanted her.

Then she started speaking and a new wave of attraction washed through him as her intelligence became apparent. Who was this woman? He rarely felt attraction like this, attraction that consumed onto his whole being. He needed to get to know her, needed to touch her, smell her hair, hold her hand. He was obsessed.

He didn’t even realize her presentation had ended until everyone started applauding. Stephen stood and clapped along. He watched her exit the stage and as he walked closer her face suddenly flashed into his memory. He knew her years ago in med school. She liked him, she followed him around like a puppy.

Excitement built as he approached her, but she gave him one look and her face fell into a grimace.

“Stephen Strange,” He held his hand out.

Her reply was cold, “We went to school together,” she spit, ignoring his outstretched hand.

“Yes, we did, didn’t we. I’m very interested in what you’re working on. Maybe we could get together, have dinner?”

“No,” she turned and walked away from him.

“Hey,” He yelled at her, but she kept walking, giving no acknowledgement of his obvious frustration.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, he reached out and grabbed her shoulder pulling her around to face him.

“What is this hostility about?” He asked.

Her body went rigid and she wrenched her shoulder out of his hand, “Poor thing, thinks she has a chance with me,” She said through gritted teeth.

He remembered in that moment what had happened, how he used her for short lived friendships.

“I’m not that person anymore, I’m sorry, let me show you,” be begged.

“You called me pathetic,” She snarled.

“It was so long ago, please.”

She stood up tall and leaned into him. “Pathetic,” she called him before walking away again.

He stood there dazed, never having been discarded so callously. He couldn't leave it like this, he would show her he had changed and she would forgive him. He was determined. He was the great Doctor Strange and he could do anything.

A sob took over your body as you read the little piece of paper. It was over, no more money for research. The conference was your last hope to find funding and you didn’t succeed. You looked at a little blue vial and picked it up. It was a bad idea, you knew it was, but this medicine could help so many people. If you didn’t try it right then you may have never known if it worked or not. You removed your jacket, swabbed your arm and filled a syringe. A tear fell down your cheek as you depressed the plunger.

It immediately started burning, beginning in your arm and flowing throughout your veins until you were screaming in pain. The room spun around and your vision started to blur. You stood and took a few shaky steps before falling to the ground and curling into a ball. Quiet whimpers escaped your lips as you struggled not to pass out from the pain.

A knock rang through your ears and you lifted your head slightly.

“Hey, it’s me,” called a voice from the other side of the door.

Stephen, of course he would show up at the worst moment possible. You were in so much pain and part of you wanted to ask for help but you couldn’t. If anyone found out you could lose your licence and Stephen was someone you were sure would turn you in.

“It’s not a good time,” you yelled.

“I just wanted to apologize for my behavior, I was an asshole but I’ve changed. I really have.”

“Go Away Stephen.”

The doorknob jiggled and you held your breath. You had locked it, you were sure you had.

“Hey, I’m getting worried, open the door,” he demanded.

“I’m sad, ok, lost funding for my research. I don’t want you to see me cry. Happy? If you’ve actually changed you’ll leave!” you put your hand over your mouth to cover a groan, the exhaustion of talking having caused intense pain in your lungs.

“Oh, um, sorry to bother you,” he murmured.

You sighed in relief as the sound of his footsteps disappeared and then hugged your aching body, shivering and crying softly as excruciating pain moved around. It suddenly felt like you had been thrown in a freezer. It Was so cold, why were you so cold?

You shivered and cried on the floor for hours until sleep finally took you, giving a slight respite from the worst day of your life.

Series master list ~ Next Chapter

[alecxaheart]

Someone's Someone | Bang Chan Oneshot (2)

✎ Genre : CEO AU, Soulmate AU, Fluff

✎ Pairings : Bang Chan X Reader

✎ Word Count : 5.5k words

✎ Synopsis : We all just wanna be someone's someone that we can't live without. At this time, Chan was looking for his. And unexpectedly, he was already tied down to someone.

✎ Warnings : Explicit Language

✎ Parts : 1 , 2

" Let's just part ways here, " Saying those words felt a bit disheartening at some point, yet you chose to disregard it.

You walked forwards, while Chan stayed in his position, wearing his coat and fixing his tie. Although, something stopped you. As in you couldn't go forwards as much as you force to. Well when you did force yourself, it only tugged Chan towards you. Turning around, he was already eyeing you. " What was that for?! "

Glaring at the thread, you thought out loud, " Is this string telling me, it can only stretch itself approximately at 7 meters?! "

Twin buildings towered above you two, heavy work's shouting for the both of you. You suddenly feel so small when you found out who this dude was in the company. Either way, you stepped inside the building next to him as if you're supposed to be. You don't have any other choice though unless you wanna be dragged by this buff guy and look like a fool rolling around since the thread is invisible to the public.

" I'm surprised that you don't know who I am, " He stated as you entered the elevator with him. You could tell how much of a fuss this is already when you walked in those doors alongside him.

" Does it really have to be my fault when I only started working here a few months ago, Mr. CEO? " He responded with a chuckle.

" It's Mr. Bang, well, at work. You can call me Chan when we're not. I don't like such formality and bringing work on my rest hours. "

" Oh, so you're that Mr. Bang. The one I hid from last night, " You whispered the last sentence.

" Pardon? " The elevator chimed as you reached your floor, opening its doors swiftly.

" It's.. It's nothing, " You stuttered and hastily stepped out of the elevator while Chan followed. " Why are we on my floor again? Isn't yours like, at the very top floor just to have that stunning view of the world or something? "

" Seems like some fanfiction you got there for me, " He chuckled first while you lowered your head in embarrassment. " But no, my office is at the opposite building, about two or three levels above yours which means it's the middle floor. In addition to that, I have to discuss matters with your boss due to some adjustments that we have over here, " He brought up his thumb to your view, talking about the red string. " Just hand over the documents then wait for me outside by the door, copy? " Chan explained as he stopped in front of a dark oak door, knocking on it three times.

" Adjustments? What- "

" Come in, " The voice on the other side of the door called out. You could've had a short session of hesitations first but this Bang Chan just opens the door widely and gives off such superior vibes that gave you the chills - like he should 'cause he's the CEO, he freaking owns the place. You did wonder why you haven't been fired yet after every informalities you've shown to him. What a great first impression you got there for a Chief Executive Officer, you're never gonna get a promotion to get out of this trashy position.

The surprising entrance of the uninvited and unexpected guest caught your boss off-guard. " Ah! G-Good morning, Mr. Bang! " Ms. Kang frantically stood up and bowed, her phone slipping off of her hands and onto the desk. Looking up, she saw you behind Chan, your hand fidgeting around the strap of your bag while head held down. " And Ms... (Y/N)? " She questioned as she averted her eyes back to Chan.

" Pardon me although I won't be here for long, I'm only handing you the documents like you instructed, Ms. Kang. " You said while handing her the documents. She took a quick scan on it before she gestured you to leave. Following Chan's instructions, you wait by the door as soon as you've shut it. Trying your best to not let curiosity get the best of you and eavesdrop, you distracted yourself by scrolling through your phone and jamming to some Monsta X's songs.

" May I ask what business brought you here to my office? "

" I'd like to compromise. "

It wasn't long that you've thought about getting fired and promotions, not even hours had passed.

Yet here you are, promoted and working as the CEO's assistant on that very day like it's the only choice. Standing on the polished marble floors, opposite side of the building, in his high-class office. It was spacious enough to fit two office desks and a lounge (probably for coffee breaks or small meetings) yet grand-looking with the accent walls and chandelier. The smell of lavender and the nice fluorescent glow it had made it better. Speaking of glow, you suddenly missed Kim Seungmin, the only co-worker friend you got. His bright presence who would constantly bother you from time to time during work hours. You can't really pinpoint whether he is an angel or demon with that fact because most likely you're the one being scolded instead of him. He better be jealous by the time he finds out you're now a CEO's Assistant.

" Ms. Kang got what she wished for in exchange for you getting the 2nd best achievable seat in the company, " Chan continued to elaborate the discussion in the room where it happened as he took a seat, not even bothering to help you fix your new desk if he was a gentleman. Honestly, it's undeniably comfortable being around this man despite you only got acquainted with him this day.

" Seriously? Can't you just promote me with a snap of your fingers? " You whined, arranging all of your things out from the container.

" Maybe if I had the infinity stones, " He first joked and you're not taking it. " Although it's Ms. Kang, there's an exchange for everything with her, " He casually said, looking through his emails with his chin resting on his fist.

" I- " Learn to shut your pesky little mouth, (Y/N). Your own conscience just sealed your mouth from babbling nonsense.

Well, let's think about the bright side. First up, you're promoted, meaning you'll get a way higher pay than before. Second, you're free from Ms. Kang's grasp. Third, Chan seems like a nice and chill boss. If your impression on him will be proven wrong, in any way he couldn't be as worse as Ms. Kang 'cause so far he saved your butt and doesn't mind your attitude.

" Ah, right. You're staying at my house for the meantime, " The book you're trying to place on the top shelf just fell on your head, making you lose your balance and fall to the ground. The loud thump made Chan glance at you, preventing himself from laughing. With your head aching and vision uneven, you tried to process what he said.

" What did you say? " Chan stood up from his chair and made his way towards you.

" I said you're staying at my house until we figure out how to break this thread off, " He answered as he offered a hand for you to take. This simple action made you tense, feeling your face heating up. You gladly took it with weak legs, though you eventually got back to your own feet without his support.

" Yours? Why not mine? I bet it's closer to work than yours. "

" You got a lot of complaints, I hope you know that. "

" No I'm not! Just.. talkative, " You bluffed, pouting. " And fine, your house then. Mine's probably not as presentable as yours anyway. "

This is the red string of fate that kept you two together the whole time, knotted around one another's finger securely. Both of you share the same thoughts while sitting on the couch in the living room of Chan's luxurious penthouse. It did offer extravagant views of Seoul from the top of the apartment, making everything feel so surreal. Could it possibly be malfunctioning? It's supposed to stretch out without limitations as well as it'll be invisible to the naked eye including yours, according to the tales and legends you've heard as a child. Most importantly, how could you break it off?

" Maybe this had to do something with the child, " Chan thought to himself, legs crossed and eyes trained down to the floor. " You cleared our schedule for the week, correct? " He looked towards you, catching your gaze on him.

" Yes, I did. Why? " You couldn't help but be enchanted in his brown eyes. It did look brighter in the sunset than before as the sunlight kissed his face. You wanted to take a closer look at it as to what it may hold within those orbs.

" You know the child back in the train? The one who placed this string of fate around our fingers? " With those words, you were snapped back into reality.

" Child? No? I was asleep, remember? " You looked away and a dog's appearance caught your attention, feeling soft and in 'awe' for it immediately. It had some large brown spots on its white fur, fluffy and has this wavy ears. It looks quite similar to that dog named 'Lady' in "Lady and the Tramp". Noticing that it was really friendly even with strangers, you patted its head lightly as it neared you. Chan witnessed you bond with his partner, smiling. The dog was ecstatic to make new friends with you that it jumped to your lap. Giggling, you ruffled its fur and kissed its forehead. " Seems like you're well loved, baby~ " You cooed, booping its nose.

" She's Berry, by the way. " Chan informed you while watching you play with berry's paws.

" I have to say, she's the cutest, " You flashed a beaming smile at him, eyes forming into crescents. Chan couldn't do anything but smile back, his heart slowly melting at the scene in front of him. You caught the sight of his dimples, which made you think that it's now one of your favorite features he has. If everyday's like this, it'd be such a bliss. Yet you know it'll somehow be just another memory you'll treasure since there will be an end to this.

Back to reality, Chan further tells you the details of the occurrences while you were sleeping. " Ah, right. About the child. If my memory serves me correct, he was blonde headed and had ocean blue-like eyes. He's about 4'6 feet in height and the one who placed this thread around our fingers. When I tried to run after him, he just vanished into thin air. "

" You sure you're not being delusional? " You carefully placed berry down on the couch then made your way to the kitchen.

" Positive. " He replied while petting his companion, who's getting some rest first, before following you. You asked him what his plans were, wrapping your fingers around the refrigerator handle. Opening it, you scanned for available foods due to your stomach being upset in this whole conversation. There's a lot of goods, especially meat. You're assuming that this man eats a lot even when he's on his own. While you were busy with that, Chan thinks of an itinerary for the whole week to get your own lives back. Until, his deep thoughts were interrupted by you.

" How about we eat dinner first so then you can plan properly, hm? You want steak? " You asked, placing the ingredients you need right in front of his view. His eyes just twinkled before you and were already on the raw steak, famished.

" Chris wants steak, please! " Enthusiastically said by Chris, giggling afterwards.

" Steak coming right up just for Chris! " He responded with a small clap, smiling ear to ear. You have to be honest, your first meeting with him is just the worst than any other possible happenings to you two's first meeting. Yet you're satisfied that at least you met him in some way that brought you closer, especially with this string of fate. And today's gonna be a long night for the both of you.

It's very late at night yet your body wouldn't let you rest despite Chan giving you his whole king-sized bed while he sleeps on his divan couch a few meters away, or so you thought he's fast asleep. Although the comforter, mattress, pillows, just the bed as a whole is definitely a 5-star, you can't really sleep easily in someone else's home that you just met. Minutes that felt like hours passed, your eyes were blankly staring at the ceiling. The silence was quite dreadful for you usually at night, which is what you get for watching a fairly ton of horror movies. With a few sessions of hesitations, you decided to break it by calling Chan first. " Psst. Hey Chan. Who designed your house? "

After a short pause, you received a fade sound of shifting and a groan. " A friend of mine. His name's Hyunjin. Why do you ask? " He responded, staring at the same ceiling as you. Arms resting behind his head.

You laid down on your stomach then propped your chin on your hands, facing him. " Is he cute? "

" Seriously, (Y/N)? " He deadpanned. " Also he's already Changbin's anyway so I suggest you stay away unless you want a death wish. "

" Okay, Okay. Chill. I'm just asking, " You rolled your eyes. " I just can't sleep. "

" I already offered you the best bed there is. " Chan looked at your direction and glared.

" It's not that. It's from the fact that I can't fall asleep easily in a stranger's house, that's for sure, " You shifted again in the soft cream cotton bed, letting your body sink. It's like you're laying on a relieving cloud in the heavens.

" We've already passed the stranger level. Let's say we're acquaintances. "

" That doesn't make any such difference especially to my problem but okay. " You pouted.

A long pause surrounded the room, the chills slowly creeping on to your skin. You covered your whole body with the warm comforter, feeling the slumber visiting you little by little. A yawn escaping your lips and eyes getting droopy. Pondering for a second before you let yourself sleep, you took a last glance towards Chan. " Are you cold? " You asked when you saw him without any blankets. He responded with a hum.

" A little bit. But I'll be alright, don't worry, " He yawned, eyes getting heavy as he slowly visited dreamland. " Goodnight, (Y/N). "

However, before you reply, you silently get off the bed when you're sure Chan's too tired to even open his eyes again. Making your way around the room with tippy toes until you found what you needed. You've gone over to his divan couch where he occupies it, placing the blanket you found on top of his and Berry's body, who happen to be sleeping peacefully right next to him. With a weak smile, you finally greeted him back before heading back to the bed and your slumber, " Goodnight Chan, Berry. Sweet dreams. "

Almost afternoon came but none of you decided to rise and shine, except for Berry who's starting to get hungry. It was indeed past her usual breakfast time and she doesn't seem to like the sound of having 'brunch'. So then to get what she needed, she has to be the doggo clock for today.

Berry starts barking the best that she could although it didn't make any much effect, Chan only responded by covering his ears and turning away while you stayed unbothered in your deep sleep. She proceeds to hop back on Chan's couch and licks his face, surely an effective way. He immediately flinched at the wet contact and moved Berry's face away from his, slowly opening his eyes to meet an adorable face smiling at him. " Good morning to you too, " He replied followed with a yawn.

The King Charles Spaniel dog makes her way out of the room after accomplishing step one. While Chan took his time before completely getting out of bed - or rather, couch. With a few stretches and after taking a glance at the time, he made his way out of the room to make breakfast. He glanced towards your sleeping figure. Mumbling a silent, " Thank you. " for what you've done to him in the middle of the night before carefully closing the door behind him.

Before he could even reach the kitchen, a tug from his thumb stopped him in his tracks. Chan forgot that the string of fate only has a length of 7 meters. Sighing, he went back to you and thankfully found you still fast asleep.

Chan sat down on the edge of the bed, your back facing him. Once more, his dark brown eyes gazed upon your sleeping beauty state underneath the sunlight. Once more, he admired this mesmerizing view of you for a good few seconds. He lightly tapped your shoulder, causing you to shift your body to face him while responding with a hum. " Good morning, it's time to rise and shine, " He greeted in his husky morning voice, unknowingly smiling sweetly at you. You replied with a groan, covering your whole body with the comforter. " C'mon, let's go and have breakky. "

" You should've woken me up when breakfast is ready, " You whined, your voice muffled underneath the comforter. Chan chuckled then pulled down the comforter away from your face, " I would've if it wasn't for this string. Now come on. ". You groaned, feeling defeated. Sitting up on the bed, you opened your eyes to meet Chan's face filled with softness and joy. Seeing that first thing in the morning made you smile. It was lovely.

A loud bark from outside of the room interrupted, assuming that Berry's dying of hunger. You instinctively hopped off the bed and hastily made your way to Berry, Chan followed suit. At the kitchen, you both found Berry sitting in front of her food bowl, whimpering. " Oh no, the baby's hungry, " You cooed as you knelt down to pet her. " Chan, you can start making our breakfast, " He followed your instruction, putting on an apron and started preparing you two's breakfast.

" Where's her food, by the way? "

" Are you sure we're gonna find him here? " You questioned, walking a little behind Chan at the same train station yesterday. His strides were big and quite fast which made it difficult for you to keep up at his pace. To the point that your eyes were set on the floor where you have a clear view of you two's feet. You're trying to match his pace but you immediately get worned out and fall behind once more. You guessed it was a CEO thing.

" Well, did you see him in any other places? " You fell silent, continuing to keep up with his pace. The fact that you've been asleep during that time and missed the chance to see who's behind this string of fate hit you. Chan's considered lucky to be awake and witness it.

Chan took a glance behind him to see your reaction, only to find you struggling to match with his settled pace. As soon as he noticed it, he slowed down and matched his pace with yours. Confused, you looked up at him. There were no signs of annoyance or pity on his face, and that made you delighted. What a considerate guy.

It wasn't that long until you both got in the train. The two of you sat down next to each other on a vacant bench and let the train lightly sway you as it starts moving. There was a comfortable silence lingering in the train car as you waited for this child to come into your view. Fortunately, the train's not as crowded as you thought it would be so it would be easier for you to spot the child.

After 3 more stops, you started to get distracted. Your eyes boring onto the view of the opposite window side. Chan kept cautious in his surroundings, still having high hopes of seeing the child's appearance. He didn't realize how much time had already passed and sooner or later, they'll reach the last stop. On the other hand, you slowly began to get drowsy. It's probably because you're sleep deprived for the past few weeks, over-working yourself since that Ms. Kang came into your life. You let your head rest on Chan's shoulder unconsciously which surprised him. With that, Chan first made sure you were comfortable, setting aside the thought of needing to meet the child. He hesitated first, though he did ended up wrapping his arm around you and kept you close to him. Feeling relaxed and secured, you shut your eyes as you slept in his warm embrace.

Chan noticed how much exhausted you are during the time he's been with you. He may not know exactly how tough your previous boss was to you, but it did show a huge impact on you. He thought that you looked so fragile underneath his touch, and he greatly feared the moment you might break. So he made sure to be careful with you. But other than that, he felt the urge - the need or wanting to protect you at that moment. He did questioned why, out of all people, he felt it from and because of you.

Maybe, it's because you looked so exquisite especially under the sunlight. Maybe, it's because he thought you looked adorable and amusing at the same time when you whine or complain. Maybe, it's because you're motherly especially to Berry.

Maybe, he just caught feelings for you. That's why he's questioning " why you? ", it was already love.

Unfortunately for the both of you, you never got to encounter the mysterious child once more. Days have already passed, it has been almost a week. Yet to you and Chan's dismay, no signs of the boy at all. The both of you began to lose hope and just give up. Especially you.

You felt guilty for being the least focused between the two of you, leaving Chan more responsibilities. Find the mystic child and to look out for you. You weren't really in the best shape right now, Chan knew that. You easily got tired, tend to oversleep, and you're hella pale, which you knew well that it isn't so you. " I'm sorry, " You mumbled weakly, your legs crossed and back lean on the couch pillows. Trying to not lay down and sleep more since you did just woke up from a faint.

Hearing this, Chan head over to you then immediately refused. " No, no, no. It's alright, no need to apologize. Just focus on getting better right now, okay? " You replied with a small nod, his warm hands were on yours. That simple touch always made your blood color your cheeks and feel so shy. He went back to the kitchen to continue preparing your dinner as soon as he is satisfied with your answer. In the mean time, Berry made sure to keep you busy and entertained.

While Chan's dicing some pork on a cutting board, he took a glance at the red string wrapped around his thumb. He noticed a small difference to it ever since the first day you both tried to look for the child. It had more of a faint color red, losing its opaqueness. Almost like it's about to vanish which is at some point is a good thing. Though it still has its limitations for length and never broke at your own will. He wondered if you have noticed it as well. What would it be like to be back on your own lives? Chan would be lying if he managed to picture that when he felt disheartened just at the thought of it. He got used to your small complaints, you baby talking and spoiling his dog, needing to be taken care of - when you're unable to do it yourself, even the pocket knife in your bag, that he couldn't imagine you being gone. You did became apart of his life afterall and that left him thinking of making you stay. Chan already figured that he's starting to like you back then on the train, 1st day of hunting down the child.

Which got him pondering. Concluding to a theory that maybe, this string of fate isn't going to vanish. It was only starting to get invisible to your naked eye, just like what you originally thought it would function. But it will always be there no matter what. This string of fate just happens to be more translucent the more you both realize how much you love each other.

Chan tore his gaze away from the string, switching to your pale figure in the living room. Once he knew he could leave the food cooking for a while, he grabbed a glass of water and went back to you. " You like that friend of yours, huh? " You referred to Berry's favorite dog plush. Seeing Chan in your peripheral vision, you locked eyes with him. Beaming him the sweetest smile you could muster which he instantly returned. He offered you the drink and you gladly took it into your hands. Taking a sip, you could feel Chan's eyes burning through your skin. Heat rushes to your face just by that. It's frustrating how you're so easy when he's by your side and only with him. Frequently getting the butterflies, timid, blushy, heart racing, distracted by how ethereal he is, and everything related. And you completely denied your feelings for him.

Chan took a seat beside you, now looking at the pitch black night sky out of his window walls. Those dark brown orbs showed a hint of disappointment. Following his gaze, you figured out the reason. The sky's literally pitch black, starless. As well as the moon being nowhere in sight. The melancholic sight did brought a frown to your face and you couldn't stand it. Looking back at him, you realized that there's no need for you to be crestfallen. In fact, you should be in awe.

It seems like Chan took and held the whole galaxy in his eyes that's why the night sky is empty. His eyes twinkling and shining in the darkness. Many must've envied him for that and it feels so surreal to witness it in by your very own eyes. To have it in front of you. And maybe, just maybe.

You do like Bang Chan.

" Where the hell are you taking me, Chan?! " You quietly panicked as Chan led you to an unfamiliar forest. Just the thought of the crawlies present in places like this made you shudder. " D-Do you really think the child would be brave enough to be here when I am already cowering in fear just looking at this? "

" We're not here for that child, " He chuckled at your state, continuing to walk ahead of you and deeper into the woods. Your wary eyes stayed restless, darting from left to right. " We're here to just relax. " Chan's voice began to echo the farther he is away from you.

You started to get pissed at how he started being inconsiderate and how relaxed he is right now, that's definitely not what you know about him. " What the fuck are you talking about?! So we're just wasting our ti- " The sudden raise of your voice resulted a noise in the forest - sounded like a bird flapping its wings. The sound made you flinch then you picked up your pace to get to him. You tugged onto Chan's jacket which caused him to stop and look back to you. " Chan, please, let's just go home. " You hushly pleaded from behind him, your head hung low in fear and embarrassment.

Sighing, Chan held both of your hands in his. Rubbing circles on it for you to ease up. The both of you still connected by the string of fate, which looks like it's bound to vanish soon. He also noticed how you're short in breath. " Easy, easy. Take deep breaths with me, yeah? " You matched his breathing with yours, eventually loosening up in his warmth like always. You just felt so safe and secure when you're with him. " Let's proceed? I promise you that when we get there, it'll be worth it. " He reassured, never leaving his grip on you.

" Chan.. " You whimpered and Chan instantly hushed you.

" If it makes you feel better, I'll never let go of you, " Oh how you wished that'll last forever. " Sounds good? " You nodded hesitantly.

With that, you let Chan lead you towards his destination. The comfort of his hands wrapped around yours never left on the way just like he promised. It wasn't too long until you saw light at the end of the forest. You could hear faint sounds of waves meeting the seashore and birds singing a melody. The fear you had a while ago slowly washed away as you're nearing the place.

Reaching the light, you witnessed the jaw dropping sight of the beach on the other side of the fence. Like Chan said, it is promising and worth it. He guided you in hopping onto an enormous boulder to get to the other side and you didn't complain, you're too drawn into the beach. In excitement, you went ahead of Chan, letting go of his grasp. Your feet immediately ushering you to the seashore where you could feel the cold water at your toes. As soon as you got here, you felt like you were cleansed. As if the sea took every problem, worries and fears away from you. It was healing and just the thought of it made you smile unknowingly. You never knew you needed this until now, it has been years since the last time you've been this carefree.

On the other hand, Chan's seated at his usual place. Where he could take in the whole view. Now that you were apart of it, everything seemed to set into place for his secret escapade paradise. All felt just right. The way you dance with the waves, moving with the sea, completely letting the rhythm of the water set yourself free. Plus the wind blowing your hair, your face glowing underneath the sun, how blinding your smile was at that moment, he cherished it all. " Perfect with no reasons, " Chan thought out loud as his eyes were trained on you. Unbeknownst to him, it was loud enough for you to hear it clearly.

" Perfect? " You questioned, making your way to his side. His eyes widened, alarmed. Chan looked away without hesitation. The tip of his ears starting to turn red in embarrassment. You sat down next to him, knowing that you'll be bringing some sand in your pockets back home. Noticing his ears, you let out a hearty laugh. " Aww, look at you! "

" I know, I know, " He started, covering his ears. " I'm helpless. "

" Huh? What are you talking about? " You asked while tilting your head to the side in confusion. There was a short pause, only the sound of waves continuously ringing in the area could be heard. As well as the sound of leaves rustling while the wind whispers sweet nothings to it and palm trees swaying from side to side.

" Like- "

" If this is you doubting yourself again, gosh Chan you're not the helpless one between the two of us. " You pointed out with your arms crossed. " You're a CEO of a well known company! Plus, who took care of me? You. Who saved my ass from Ms. Kang? You. Who just comforted me a while ago? You. You are never incapable or weak. If anyone told you otherwise, I- "

" I'm helplessly in love with you is what I meant, (Y/N)! " Chan confessed, now facing you.

Then, the thread in your fingers entirely loosened without any of you knowing.

The two of you locked eyes for a minute. Both surprised by everything, especially you. The wind did whisper something to the two of you, too. Yet it's difficult to figure it out at the moment. Even in broad daylight, his eyes still held the whole galaxy. And you could never let that dim.

" You walked into my life as if you've always lived there, like my heart was a home built just for you, " Chan continued, his hand already searching for yours. Looking down at your now intertwined hands, eyes filled with pure love and adoration. " It fits just like a glo- "

Perfect with no reasons.

Chan was taken by surprise at your sudden answer. You cutted him off, attaching your lips to his. Your free hand finding itself cupping his face. He then passionately responded to the kiss, his arm snaking its way around your waist to keep you close - now that the string of fate is invisible and endless. The kiss resulted you to feel so lightheaded. The softness of his lips brought you to euphoria, everything just felt so right in place. In the end, both of you were left breathless. You couldn't do anything for a few seconds after, keeping your eyes closed with mouth agape of you to try let your mind process what just happened.

You did't need for him to explain or give you anymore reasons why he loves you. The string of fate has always been the answer, reason and explanation to your love. Ever since the beginning, you and Chan are destined to meet regardless of the time, place or circumstances. It may stretch or tangle but nothing could break it and never will. You're one another's someone's someone who you can't live without.

End.

[shuadotcom]

Don’t Leave Me | KSJ

➤ Summary: Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

➤ Pairing: Seokjin x Female!Reader

➤ Rating & Genre: PG-15, angst, fluff (at the end), established relationship au, idolverse

➤ Warnings: A few curse words, mention of a car accident, mention of a coma

➤ Word Count: 1.8k

➤ A/N: This is for the wonderful, lovely, amazing @aroseforyoongi​! Happy birthday, Eva!!! 🎉 I hope you enjoy some angsty husband Jin you magnificent human! ❤️❤️

Nothing was out of the ordinary that morning. It was early spring, so the weather was nice out. The windows were open in the apartment, letting the warm breeze inside. The radio was turned on low on the coffee table as a ballad played. You were sitting on the couch surrounded by schoolwork as you graded papers your class had turned in that week.

Seokjin was curled up next to you, his eyes skimming over a script for a new drama he was going to start filming soon. Days like these were his favorite. He had no interviews to film, no dance routines to learn, and no one to impress except the woman sitting next to him.

"Jinnie, I want coffee." You whined suddenly, pulling Seokjin away from his reading. He raises his eyebrow at the cutesy tone in your voice that told him you wanted something.

"Well, go into the kitchen and make yourself some." 

"We don't have anymore. Wanna walk with me to the cafe down the street and get some?" 

He should've said yes to you. He should've gotten off of the couch, slipped on his shoes, and gone with you. It wasn't that far from your apartment, so it wouldn't have been too much trouble. Yet, he was feeling exceptionally lazy and didn't have the desire to move. So instead, he said no. Even when you pouted and widened your beautiful eyes at him, Seokjin still held onto his unwillingness and denied you.

"It's not that far; you’ll be fine by yourself," he said. Stupid. He had been so stupid. He sent you off with a quick kiss on the lips and a request for you to bring him back a latte. He hadn't even told you that he loved you.

You had always said that Seokjin made you feel safe. That was something that you put in your vows, which you had written yourself. He promised you, when you wed two years ago, that he'd always keep you safe no matter what. He said he would protect you against anything that'd try and hurt you.

Whether it was something small like a scraped knee or something bigger like the death of someone close, Seokjin made sure he was always there to hold your hand and be your shield. He’d done just that throughout your marriage up until that day. You had asked him to do the simplest of things, and he refused.

Seokjin knew something was wrong when almost an hour went by, and you weren’t home. You only lived within ten minutes from the cafe, so the walk shouldn't have taken that long. When he got the call from the hospital, he knew his worrying wasn't for nothing.

A car had blown out a tire and skidded off of the road, careening towards the sidewalk and hitting you on your way home. You’ve been in a coma for a week now, and there are no words to describe how Seokjin feels. He failed you, and this was his fault. He can’t lose you. You’re his reason for being, and if it wasn't for you, he knows he wouldn't be anywhere near as happy.

"Hey, are you going to eat?" Yoongi asks, stopping to check on his friend once again. Seokjin shakes his head, his hand still curled around your limp one. He stares at the book in his other hand, his eyes read the words, but his brain doesn’t process them.

Yoongi sighs before leaving the room. He'll bring Seokjin something anyway. It's what he's been doing the entire time you’ve been in the hospital to make sure the other man didn't pass out from starvation.

With a sigh, Seokjin puts down the book he’s been staring at and looks at the face of his wife. "Hey, honey. The doctors say even though you’re still in a coma, your vitals are looking good. You should be back to nagging me in no time,” he jokes. Seokjin could swear the corner of your mouth twitched just the slightest bit at his words.

"They also say that talking to you will help you wake up. Voices of loved ones are supposed to help stimulate your brain or something. I don't know. I mean, I told them you're already a genius, so there wouldn’t be much I could do. You'll probably wake up on your own without my help at all. You’ve always been the smarter one between the two of us." Seokjin's eyes glance towards the various machines connected to tubes in your arms, and he feels his stomach churn.

"I still can't believe...I can't believe I did this to you." His grip on your hand tightens. "All I had to do was leave the damn house, and I couldn't even do that for you. What kind of selfish bastard does that?" Seokjin's voice cracks, and he takes his bottom lip into his mouth, gnawing on it to hold back tears. "If I could, I would go back. I would go in your place to the cafe, so this wouldn't have happened. You don't deserve to be lying in this hospital bed right now." He lets out a sob then, unable to fight back the tears that began to blur his vision.

“Y/n, I'm sorry. This is all my fault. I'm so, so sorry. I promise I'll be better, and I'll protect you better. I'll get you coffee every day, whether it be from down the street or across town. Hell, I'd fly to France to get you French coffee on a whim if you wanted. I’ll get you whatever you want. I just, I can’t do this without you. You’re my voice of reason. You’re the one who leads me where I need to go in this world. I don’t know where I’d be without you, Y/n. Please, please come back." Seokjin drops his head onto the side of the bed and loses his ability to speak. He’s relieved that Yoongi had shut the door when he left the room so no one can hear him weep into the scratchy hospital sheets.

Eventually, he falls asleep in that position, his hand clutching yours and his head lying on the edge of the bed. Sleep hasn’t been easy on him and tonight is no exception. He stirs throughout the night, images both positive and negative in his head. He dreams of you finally waking up and smiling at him and telling him that you love him. 

He also dreams of you lying in that hospital bed for seven more days, then seven more months, and eventually seven more years. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt something like that. He always wakes up gasping and clutching his head after those dreams, which are more like nightmares.

Seokjin jolts awake at nearly three in the morning after a harrowing dream. The room is dark and quiet, save for the small lights and sounds coming from the medical equipment. Deciding that he needs a drink of water for his scratchy throat, he begrudgingly lets go of your hand and raises himself from the uncomfortable plastic chair he had become one with.

He’s only gone for five minutes, if even that. As soon as he rounds the corner with his bottle of water in hand and sees the pair of nurses flocking towards your room, he doesn’t have to think twice before he’s hauling ass and sprinting down the hallway. 

Seokjin expects the worse in those five seconds it takes him to reach your room. He expects the machine to be displaying a flat line or for you to be having a complication of some sort. Anything could be waiting for him in that room.

The last thing he expects was for you to be awake and looking around. 

He’s frozen in the doorway as he watches the nurses ask you questions and check the machines around you. A doctor lightly pushes past him and does the same thing the nurses did. Eventually, they all file out of the room, decreeing that your vitals all seem well and that they’re happy to see you awake. Even when the two of you are alone and given your privacy, Seokjin still stands frozen at the door.

"So, are you going to just stand there and stare at me without saying hi?" You croak, adjusting your position in bed. Seokjin is next to you in a flash, fluffing the pillow behind your back and helping you get comfortable.

"I'm so sorry," he blurts out. "I am so, so sorry. Before I hug or kiss you or tell you how crazy I have been going, I just want to say that I'm sorry."

Your face frowns in confusion as you look up at him. "Sorry for what?"

"For putting you here! For letting you go by yourself and letting this happen to you! I’ve been trying for the past week to figure out something to say to you when you woke, so you'll forgive me and not think I'm a shit husband. This is my fault, and I'm sorry, and I don't know what else to say." Seokjin waits for you to yell at him or tell him how much his apologies weren't going to work this time. Instead, you roll your eyes at him and sigh.

"Seokjin, please tell me you have not been sitting here wallowing in self-pity this whole time. The fact that you think this is your fault is stupid." Seokjin opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off with a raised hand. "You can't be everywhere with me all of the time. We both lead different lives, and no matter how hard you try, you can't be a superhero. Accidents happen, and that's just the way life is. I love the fact that you want to protect me and all, but what happened is not your fault."

"But I-"

"But nothing."

"Y/n, just-"

"Seokjin. The only thing I want to hear is how much you missed me. I don't want you saying anything bad about yourself, and I don’t want any more apologizes."

"But baby-"

"No buts!" 

The two of you have a brief stare down until Seokjin acts. He leans forward, cradling your face in his hands, and brings his lips to yours. The kiss isn’t intense or too long, but it’s more than enough. It’s enough for him to let you know how much he’s missed you and how much he loves you. It’s soft and light and drawn out and just right. 

In his head, he’s still blaming himself, and he probably will for the foreseeable future, but he keeps it to himself as he celebrates the fact that he gets to kiss his wife again and that you’re okay. He’ll make sure he’s always there to watch over you and kiss you as much as he wants. Whether you like it or not, he’s going to keep you close to him no matter what it takes if it means you’ll be with him forever.

[hiddennerdworld]

When You’re Close to Me w/ Katsuki Bakugou

Warnings: some tears from characters, but still just a bunch of fluff

A/N: I love this song so much. (Go listen to it now). I feel like I didn’t do it justice but whatever. This has been in my drafts forever. Idk how it turned out but here we go. Also ik it’s kinda long, don’t come after me lmao

Are you here with me? Just looking out on the day of another dream

Bakugou just started to stir awake, the sun slowly starting to beam in the window. His blurry vision came to focus on the digital clock next to him that said 5:45 AM. He sighed and flopped his spiky head back onto his pillow. He opened his eyes again slightly as he turned to face his partner next to him. God, he still can’t believe how lucky he is. Every morning he gets a little wave of relief when he sees you by his side. He’s got a little smile on his face as he holds back from just cupping your cheek and pecking you on the forehead to tell you how much he loves you. But he thinks you’re so cute and peaceful when you sleep and knows you need rest otherwise you’ll be a little brat. Instead he wraps his arm around you, closes his eyes, and hopes he falls back asleep as his mind still focuses on you.

Well, you can’t get what you want, but you can get me. So let’s set out to sea.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, baby. I couldn’t get out of it. They needed all the help they could get.” Bakugou pleaded to you while holding your hands in his. It was your 3 year anniversary and he had to cancel your plans for the evening due to a villain attack downtown.

You sniffled and looked towards the ground, limply holding his hands back. “I understand. I knew what this was going to be like, being with a hero. It’s just hard sometimes you know? I miss the days where we would spend all day together. We would go to class together, eat lunch together, visit each other’s dorms whenever we wanted. I miss you, Katsuki.”

He pulled you into a hug where he ran his hand through your hair as you buried your face into his chest. “I know. I miss you so much. Being a hero is amazing, but it’s damn exhausting, especially not having you there with me. I love you, Y/N.” He said softly as he kissed the top of your head and then rested his chin on it.

“I love you too, ‘Suki. We’ll figure things out.”

“Of course, we will. We always do. You and I are a pretty kickass team if I do say so myself.”

“Huh, you really think so?” You looked up to meet his gaze. He just nodded and hummed in reply. “Well, I do too.” You then pulled him into a sweet kiss. Something you guys had done a thousand times, but it still brought butterflies to your stomach every time. You guys remained in each other’s arms for a bit longer, just swaying slightly despite the quiet.

“You know, I may have a way to bring back the old days.” Bakugou said breaking the silence.

You looked up at him. “Oh yea? Do tell, pretty boy.”

“Well..” he cleared his throat and continued in a low tone, “I was thinking maybe we could move in together. Like when we lived in the dorms, but with no Aizawa on our backs. It’s not perfect but at least I’ll get to see my beautiful idiot more often” You thought for a few seconds just staring into space. “Nevermind, it was stu-“.

“It’s perfect.” You kissed him again. “I would love that, babe.”

“Tch- well yea, of course you would it was a great idea.” He said with a shit-eating grin on his face after getting an ego boost from you agreeing with him. You just rolled your eyes back. “I would too, though.”

Cause you are my medicine when you’re close to me. When you’re close to me

Katsuki had no idea where he was. He was lying down on a bed, staring at the stark white ceiling as his vision began to clear. When he finally regained consciousness, he jolted up realizing he didn’t know was was going on. Then, you got up from your chair that was beside him in order to calm him down. He suddenly felt a sharp pain on his side. He winced and quickly put his hand on the wound.

“Oof, honey. I was trying to prevent you from doing that. Are you okay?” You said as you softly rubbed his arm.

He listened and lied back facing toward you this time. In a low, gruff voice he responded, “Yeah, I’m fine. Where the hell are we?”

“We’re in Recovery Girl’s office. After training today you ended up getting pretty beat up and passing out.”

It was all coming back to him. It was him versus Deku. One of their last days at UA and everyone was going all out. The two were moving quickly, jumping around each other trying to dodge and land hits. Eventually they started to wear down, but you know them, they will never stop. So after a while, Midoriya was able to use a little more than 10% of One for All, causing Bakugou to crash into a wall and fall to the ground. It wasn’t over yet though. He stumbled back up while doing his signature yelling. He was setting off explosions to fly up to his opponent and land a huge hit, but midway he just passed out and ended up falling on the concrete.

“Oh, yea I remember now. THAT FUCKING DEKU!! I’M GONNA MAKE HIM PAY!!” He yelled while trying to get out of bed. You then had to get up and set him back down.

“No, no, no. Katsuki, you can’t do anything right now. You need to just relax.” You said softly while pushing him back down by his shoulders.

“But I can’t lose to him! No fucking way!” He was still attempting to get up.

“You have to let it go, Suki.” You sat back down next to him and held his hands in yours. “I understand you wanting to get even, but you can’t right now. You’ve already gone way too far today.” You take a deep breath and continue, “You’ve been worrying me. Recently you’ve exhausted yourself so many times just in training alone. I get we’re close to graduating, but you need to relax, take it easy. Exerting so much energy in an emergency, I understand, but you’re just fighting ‘stupid’ Deku. You’re not going to be doing much hero work if you’re always in the hospital.” You sighed and put your head down, “I’m sorry, Suki. I just hate seeing you hurt.”

He knew what you meant. A couple months ago you were also injured badly and had to stay in the hospital for a few days after fighting a tough villain during your internship. He could barely take it. He couldn’t do anything except be by your side. All he wanted was to see you back to being the badass you usually are.

He sat up and rubbed his thumbs on your knuckles as you continued to hold hands. “Don’t worry about me, dumbass,” he said at almost a whisper, showing how ‘dumbass’ is just his way of saying he loves you. “I can take care of myself just fine…. But as much as I hate to admit it, I know you’re right.” He said with a smug grin which didn’t go away after you hit his shoulder. “Jeez, babe I’m just kidding. Point is you’re right. I can’t just go in ready to kill some people. I need to be smart about it. I need to be able to prove myself.”

“But you already have proven yourself. In more ways than one. You can show how great you are using methods that aren’t beating the shit out of Izuku, you know?”

“But those ways aren’t as fun.” You ended up slapping him on the shoulder again as he almost died laughing.

“Can you just promise me that you won’t end up in the nurses office again?”

“Alright, I’ll try my best.” He pulled you over and gave you a kiss on the forehead, “Thanks for putting up with me. I love you.”

“I love you too, even though you give me migraines.”

And surprisingly Bakugou kept up his promise, saving himself a whole lot of pain and saving yourself a whole lot of stress.

Just looking out for the day when you’re close to me.

The heat was rising as the your second year of UA was coming to a close. For the last half of the year Bakugou was slowly accepting his feelings for you and couldn’t hold back any longer. Somehow he tolerated you more than all the other extras. Hell, he even liked spending time with you and would go out of his way to do so. He didn’t want to spend the summer without you, but he didn’t know how to approach the situation. He couldn’t risk looking soft, but then again he “doesn’t care” what other extras think. It was a position he’d never been in before and he didn’t know how to handle it.

You were in the same boat. You may have had crushes before, but not like this, and definitely not like Bakugou. It didn’t take much to notice that he was somewhat nicer to you. He did schoolwork with you and didn’t smack you upside the head. He started choosing you as his partner more often in training. And never exploded when he got he annoyed with you. Maybe he was just nice to you because you were nice to him? You didn’t want to take things the wrong way and upset him. He was so predictably unpredictable. A literal ticking bomb, but somehow he was a lovable one.

The two of you were becoming unbearable. Your friends had all been planning to get together before summer break anyway, so they decided to do some meddling.

You had just joined the Bakusquad in the common room waiting to have some fun. You and Bakugou were sitting next to each other on the couch while Sero, Kaminari, and Kirishima all were chilling on the floor around the coffee table. Meanwhile, Mina was nowhere to be found.

“Ugh! Where the hell is stupid Pinkie?! I wanna get this shit over with?”

“We love you too, Kacchan.” Kaminari replies and you can head Bakugou growl next to you and you try not to laugh. “I’m sure she’ll be here any sec. She had to grab something for the super special thing she planned.” He said while wiggling his eyebrows and Bakugou just rolled his eyes. Kirishima then kicked Kaminari and whisper-yelled “Dude!” Then he turned back to you guys and said with a nervous smile, “What he means is that Mina wanted this to be the perfect hang out before we have to go back home, so she has some stuff for us.”

“I sure do!” Mina yelled as she burst in the room with her arms up.

“tch- finally” Bakugou mumbled under his breath.

“We just gotta set up and then we can do the super special thing. Sero and Kirishima wanna help me grab some stuff from the kitchen? And then the rest of you can you check to make sure we have enough room in my dorm? Great!” She gave no one time to respond and everyone just got up and followed suit.

“Wait can I use the bathroom first?! I totally gotta take a whiz!” Kaminari whined.

“Yea, just hurry up! I wouldn’t want you to miss anything! Y/N and Bakugou we’ll all meet you up there in a sec!”

Sero, Kirishima, and Mina shuffled into the kitchen while Human Pikachu bolted (lol) to the bathroom. You and Bakugou weren’t as frantic as the others but you still went with it.

When you both arrived you found Mina’s room to be totally clean. “OI, PINKIE YOU’RE RO-!” Bakugou was on the way his way out but then you saw a flash of yellow and the door slamming on Bakugou’s face.

“What the-?” Bakugou tried to turned the handle but it didn’t budge. “I SWEAR IF YOUR PLAN WAS TO PRANK US IM GONNA BURN YOUR DUMBASSES ALL TO HELL!! NOW LET US OUT!!” He banged on the door, still attempting to get out, but all he heard back was some snickers and the sound of something being put in front of the door. The Pomeranian, now angered, was still aimlessly attacking the door until he heard you sigh and flop on the bed.

Sprawled out with your hands covering your face you muttered, “Ugh, I’m sorry.”

Bakugou stopped and turned around to face you being the most confused you’ve ever seen him, “Wait... you knew about this!” He started stomping over.

You quickly sat up anticipating something to happen. “No, no I didn’t. I just.. I think I know what this is about. I think this is all because of something I said to Mina.”

You move your eyes around the room afraid to make contact with the ruby eyes of the man standing above you.

“And what’s that?”

You sigh and fidget with your fingers, “Well, I may as well say it because I don’t think we’ll get out of here otherwise. I like you, Bakugou. I have for a bit now and didn’t know what to do. So I asked Mina, and this is definitely not how I wanted to handle it so I’m sorry and-“ you were interrupted by Bakugou tilting your head up which was staring at the floor while you rambled. He quickly leaned down and pressed his lips against yours. You sat there wide-eyed. Not that it wasn’t good (it was), you were just thinking holy shit, my crush is on my face right now.

“Shit, I’m sorry I should’ve asked first. I just wanted to stop you because you don’t need to apologize. And I’m pretty sure you know this now but I like you too I guess. I don’t find you as annoying as I probably should. I haven’t for a while now.” He now was stood back up with a blush spread across his face and his one hand in this pocket with the other one rubbing the back of his neck. You stand up next to him and place your arms on his shoulders.

You giggle and say, “It’s okay. I enjoyed it. I was just surprised because I didn’t expect it from you. I actually think we should do it again.”

“Really?” He looked up as you nodded in response while biting your lip. You both then leaned in and kissed each other once more. It was definitely not as awkward as the first one. The kiss was sweet and passionate. When Bakugou feels something, he feels it wholeheartedly and it was evident in the way he was kissing you. He treated you as if you were an illusion that could shatter at any moment and he wasn’t going to take any of his time with you for granted.

You were suddenly interrupted by a loud banging on the door, “YOU LOVEBIRDS DONE IN THERE YET?!!! I ACTUALLY WANTED TO DO STUFF TONIGHT!!” Mina yelled through the door.

When you’re close to me

Bakugou woke up again but this time due to you booping his nose. “Good morning, Sunshine.” You whispered as you placed a kiss where had previously booped him. He just groaned and looked over to see the clock reading 8:30 AM. When he looked back your head was on his chest while you held onto him. He smiled a bit and pulled you in closer.

“Can we just stay like this all day, babe?” He said with his cheek pressed on the top of your head.

“Did I hear that correctly? Katsuki Bakugou said he wanted to stay in bed?! I must be dreaming still.”

“Tch, you’re such an idiot.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss onto the top of your head. “I love you though, you know that right?”

“Enough to help me make us some breakfast in bed?” You looked up at him with puppy eyes. He just sighed loudly and started to dramatically get out of bed. You soon followed and caught up to give him a hug as he grabbed stuff from the fridge. “I love you too, ‘Suki.”

[spicysoftsweet]

Sorry anon, I think I don’t understand the meaning of comfort, but I hope you like this...

Leorio x Reader - “Protection.”

The first time you met Leorio, you didn’t like him. 

Nothing he did in particular was wrong or unkind, but your plucky, seven year old self burned with embarrassment when he ran over to you, having noticed you lose your grip on the monkey bars.and crash into the bed of wood chips.

“Are you okay?!” He exclaimed as he examined you, disregarding the fact that he probably wasn’t a day older than you. 

“I’m fine!” You shrieked, ignoring the sting across your knees as you swatted his hands away.

You were always fine; you were tough as nails after all. 

While he ran off to find an adult to come help, you ran the other way into the dusk.

--

The second time you met Leorio, he was equally as mad at you. 

“Do you know how long it took me to convince someone that you were there? Just for you to disappear? You suck!” He accused you, the moment he saw you the next morning at school. 

You tried to ignore him, but earnestly he called out behind you as you filed into your classroom instead.

“Be careful next time!”

You turned around and stuck out your tongue at him before turning into the classroom.

But for a moment, you decided you would make nice the next time you saw him. You had to convince him you were tough, anyway, didn’t you?

--

You met Leorio frequently after that, and over the years, an unlikely friendship grew. Leorio retained that nurturing kindness in him that was at odds with your brash independence from the very moment you met: always ready to take care of your wounds, and you had to admit that despite being impulsive and even more hot-headed than you were at times, he gave wonderful advice.

When he told you he wanted to go to medical school, you weren’t surprised.

“It’s fitting, Mr. Walking First Aid Kit. It helps that you already look like a 40 year old man,” you teased between cheeseburger bites at the fast food joint you loved to frequent after classes. He gave you a look that feigned annoyance, but you knew he liked to feel needed. 

However, when he told you he would have to take the incredibly dangerous Hunter Exam to pay for it, you were surprised.

“You can barely take me in a fight, Leo!” You said, aiming to push on his buttons, but you took pause when he didn’t laugh in response. His eyes were serious behind his tea-shade glasses. 

“You’re serious…”

“Yup,” he said, bringing the straw of his milkshake to his lips. The sound of the straw drawing up air as he finished was oddly loud over the silence now between you.

“But people die during that exam,” you said, in a small voice.

“People die when they don’t get good medical care too,” he replied, almost too curtly.

You set down the rest of your food, now having lost your appetite. Leorio was rarely that serious when he was with you, making this statement all the more grave.

“Will it be soon?” He nodded, and you bit your lip.

“Okay,” you whispered, and the two of you finished your meals in silence.

---

You didn’t see him off to the Hunter Exam, but you called.

“You’re not allowed to die or I’ll beat your corpse,” you warned. He laughed heartily at your threat but you weren’t sure you’d completely meant it as a joke or not.

---

A couple of months passed, and a small part of you wondered if he truly had died.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to call him. Something about the fact that he was always the one to worry about you, you who were incredibly self-sufficient and above feelings. 

But you also didn’t want to admit that you were worried, so you played the role of indifference.

Leorio was just being a shitty friend. Or really, he was just busy. People are allowed to be busy, right? You were busy sometimes. Yeah, that was it. He’d just gotten his Hunter License a while ago, and was just messing with your emotions. That was all.

With that chant running in your head, you put your phone down, and decided to go for a run.

---

As your feet hit the pavement, you let the sounds of classical music fill your ears and clear your mind of the days’ worries. It was odd that someone as stubborn and energetic as you played Mozart at the height of activity, but who was there to judge?

Your neighborhood was small, dark and quiet. It was dusk, and suddenly the pinks and oranges of sun setting reminded you of the first day you’d met, and how much you’d hated that he was the only one to stop and help you.

You hated the idea of weakness so much, even from that young. Weakness, injury and debility was what had taken your family from you after all.

These things were the reason why Leorio was the only person you had really had in your life. Leorio understood more than anyone why you never wanted to depend on someone else. 

As you reflected on this, tears started to fill your eyes as you picked up your pace.

But you depended on him!

Knowing all of that, he had still decided to be the one you could depend on your whole life to this point.

And now he was probably dead, and you wouldn’t even admit to yourself that you were worried about him, and that you needed to know he was okay. 

The tears started to form faster, clouding your vision. The pain in your chest now settling in your chest was something other than overexertion and you were now working harder to draw air into your lungs. 

He’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine.

You don’t need him. He doesn’t need you. When he has time, you’ll see him again and it’ll be like old times.

He’s taken care of your wounds your whole life. He can take care of himself. 

Oh God, why couldn’t you be the one to help him for once, you selfish person?!

You stopped suddenly, almost tripping as you skidded to a halt, and hunched over, suddenly unable to breathe. Your head was spinning and you felt like your heart would escape your ribcage the way it was pounding hard and irregularly.

The next few moments were like agony… until you felt a familiar warm hand on your shoulder.

A small panic at the touch coursed through you, until you turned to see him. Leorio, again, in your time of need.

“___, take deep breaths. You’ll be okay,” he instructed and reassured, lowering you into a seat cross-legged on the sidewalk. Despite being dressed in a full suit, he also sat down promptly across from you, his face deathly serious, as you tried to slow down your breathing. 

You thought you were imagining things.

Of course you’d conjure up his image when you needed help. Maybe you really were dying for real, if you were actually this desperate.

His hand continued to rub circles into your back as your body attempted to pare down its flight-or-fight response. You could hear a small, low hum in his throat, serving to soothe your nerves.

Your imagination wasn’t this good. It really was him.

“Leorio,” your voice wavered slightly, making you wince, but you  

“Mm?” He responded, his palm continuing its steady rhythm.

‘I’m sorry. For always needing your protection. Even from myself,” you croaked out. His hand stopped for a moment and it was quiet.

“Thank you for being my knight in shining armor,” you felt compelled to add. If you were going to be vulnerable, you might as well go all the way.

His arms wrapped around you now that you were calm and steady, and he hesitated just for a moment before giving you a peck on the forehead.

“Always.”

[nyctophilin]

I Was a Fool | I

sweet anon: May I request a forced marriage with Mafia!Changbin, please? Where like he's cold at first, but then they fall in love in the edn? And can there be some smut as well,,, sorry if this is too much lol.

Chapter I, Chapter II, Chapter III

Description: She has been in love with her best friend for as long as she can remember. However, life doesn’t always like to play in your favour. Forced into a marriage she didn’t want to happen she lives her days lonely and unhappy the only thing bringing her joy being the occasional hangouts with her best friend. At some point, her husband starts to get bothered by the said hangouts.

All rights reserved © nyctophilin 2020. Re-posting, copying and translating any of my works is prohibited.

Pairing: Changbin x fem!Reader, Lee Know x fem!Reader

Word count: 3.2k

Genre: Mafia!AU, Forced Marriage!AU, Angst, Fluff, eventual Smut

Warnings: heartbreak, rude Changbin, spelling/grammar mistakes

A/N: Anon, I know Minho is not part of the request but it just felt right to put it in. I felt like I can create more drama if he was there and who doesn’t love drama? I hope you don’t mind.^^ I have so many ideas for this mini series. I’m so excited for it. I hope you all like it. Feedback is very much apreciated. 

      She stretched slowly, the sun bathing her in its rays. Although it was pretty hot outside a breeze will start occasionally making the bottom of her dress fly up ever so slightly and cooling her heated body. They were close to the bank of a river, settled on a soft blanket, a few dished making it impossible for them to be as close as they wanted to be to each other.

      She stole a glance at her best friend who was propping himself on his palms while looking at the few ducks that were populating the river. She has known Minho since her sophomore year of high school. He was a transfer student from another city. At the time his dad had got a new job in her city and they had to move.

      He intimidated her at first. He was quiet when he wasn’t with people from his class that he befriended and he constantly had a resting bitch face on. They actually started talking because of a...let’s call it a cliché accident. She can still remember it so vividly.

      She was walking towards the school’s cafeteria with her friends after their French class. Oh, how much she hated French. Not only was the grammar complicated but they also had an awful teacher. He didn't know how to explain things and he was very demanding.

      “Class, today we will talk about something sophisticated and I expect all of you to already know about it because how dare you not know everything about France?” She heard one of her friends mock the teacher and she giggled lightly. 

      “You did it wrong. You have to add a French accent and more spitting to it. This man went to France once for a week and suddenly he forgot where he is from.” Her other friend rolled her eyes when she remembered the teacher’s antics.

      “Oh come on. You guys are so mean!” She finally spoke just a tiny bit of sarcasm present in her voice.

      “Oh please! You are the one that hates him the most.” Her friend challenged her with a raised eyebrow.

      “Hate is a strong word. I just don’t have the same vision as him on most things.” She felt one of them nudge her in the back with her elbow and she adopted an offended frown. “Stop, I am serious!”  She nudged her back and they started pushing each other. A particularly hard push from one of her friends had her bolting forward and knocking down the person in front of her, falling over them.

      When she lifted her head and noticed who she hit she was up in a second. The second he spent getting up from the floor she was thinking of all sorts of excuses she could say. When he turned towards her she opened her mouth ready to let all her thoughts spill but she was cut off.

      “Are you ok? Did you get hurt?” He placed his hand on her arms crouching down just a bit to inspect her face. His hands were really warm.

      She felt a faint pink dust her cheeks. “I am fine. You don’t have to worry about me. I was the one who made you fall.” She looked into his mesmerizing eyes and gulped as discreetly as she could.

      “I am okay but we can’t allow such a fragile lady like you to get hurt.” A smirk tugged at his lips and made her rosy cheeks to go into a deep red.

      “Hey! I’m not fragile. I still put you down, didn’t I?” The most pleasant laugh she ever heard left his lips and he patted her head lightly.

      “Yeah, sure you did, sweetheart. Be more careful next time!” His hands left her body and he turned on his heels joining his friends again and continuing his way to wherever he had to be.

      After that incident, they started greeting each other on the hallway and making small talk every time they would sit at neighboring tables in the cafeteria becoming good friends eventually. The time she has spent with him was never boring and she ended up having some of her best experiences because of him. However, somewhere in that period of time, she fell for him. And how could she not? He was caring and gentle and funny and always made sure that she was comfortable before dragging her into another one of his crazy adventures.

      She was also aware of his feelings for her. She didn’t know if it was love but she knew he cared for her more than a friend cares for another friend. But none of them ever confessed. Maybe they were waiting for the right moment and maybe they made a mistake by doing that because from now on there were no more right moments.

      “I will be getting married.” Her whisper got lost in the breeze but he still managed to hear her. His head shoot in her direction, watching her side profile with blown pupils. With quick moves, he pushed the food out of the way and stood in front of her. Even though he was on his knees his body was standing tall, her calves trapped between his legs.

      “What do you mean? Please tell me you are talking about that giant stuffed bear in your room.” Minho tried to bring some humour into the situation hoping that any second she will push him, make him fall on the fresh grass and start laughing. His voice was strained when he spoke, however, because these were the first words she said to him since they met twenty minutes ago.

      Y/N bit her lip while avoiding his eyes. That was the hardest thing she ever had to do. Finally looking at his face she felt something tugging at her heart when she remarked his pained expression. “No Minho, I’m not talking about Honey. He’s way too good for me. If he ever decides to marry me I’ll be the luckiest woman alive.” Minho didn't appreciate her joke. If it was true then it was no joking matter.

      “Y/N, please!” She bit the inside of her cheek at his slightly annoyed tone. She knows she shouldn’t joke about this but it’s easier than telling him the truth. She wished there was a better, less painful way than that.

      “I’m getting married, Minho. In a month.” Y/N felt tears stinging at her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

      “With who? Did you have a boyfriend all this time?” The thought of her with someone else left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

      “I don’t know who.” She said under her breath focusing on the abandoned food on the blanket.

      “What do you mean you don’t know who?” She moved her face even further away from him wanting to avoid the conversation as well as she could. His unusually cold hand cupped her face making her watch him in the eyes and bringing her closer to him but still keeping a decent distance between their faces. “What do you mean you don’t know who, Y/N?”

      She felt so intimidated by his demeanour. She knew she owed him an explanation. Actually, no. She didn’t. They were just friends and she can do whatever she wants. But she needed to give it to him for her own sanity. “It’s an arranged marriage. My parents made this deal a long time ago with a rival in business. If I am not in any relationship when he prepares to step down from his position and hand the legacy to his son, I have to marry him. I don’t know why there is such rivalry between flower shops but if that helps my parents from losing the family business I have to do it.” 

      “Y/N, this is crazy. We have to do something. You can’t just marry a complete stranger.” His hands descended from her face to her shoulders, shaking her slowly hoping that maybe they both can wake up from this nightmare if he does.

      Tears pricked in her eyes as she took a deep breath. “If I was in a relationship I wouldn’t have to do it, but I am not. Everything is already decided on and I can’t do anything more about it.”

      Minho collapsed on her legs but didn’t fully let his weight on them. He brought her face close to his only a few centimetres apart. “Yes, we can. Listen Y/N, I…” She placed her hands over his, making him stop in the middle of his sentence.

      “Please, don’t do this to me. Not now. Please!” Tears started pouring down her cheeks as her vision of him became unclear.

      “But…”

      “Please!” She let her head fall into his chest and started crying uncontrollably. He felt his heart break at the sight of her crying and he never thought that his love could hurt her like that. He knew what he was about to do wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair for her. He understood that she can’t do anything anymore but he was selfish. He was too selfish when it came to her.

      “I love you!” 

      Her whimpers became even louder and she wrapped her hands around his torso burying her head more into his chest. He embraced her as well, a hand rubbing up and down her back in a calming way. He was silently crying trying not to disturb her, hoping that maybe, just maybe he is actually dreaming.

      From afar they may have looked like two insane people. Crying on a picnic on such a nice day. But it wasn’t a nice day for them. On that day their hearts have been broken by one another even though they still loved each other.

      Y/N was fidgeting on the wooden chair looking around frantically. Her father placed his rough hand on her delicate one in an attempt to calm her down. She looked him in the eyes and he gave her a smile trying to hide his sorrow from her. She smiled back and finally stopped her moving, realising that nothing is going to change even if she wastes her energy like that.

      Tomorrow was her wedding day and a few days prior they received a phone call from the father of the groom saying that they should meet before the wedding. Originally they weren’t supposed to meet because her soon to be in-laws were busy with the whole stepping down thing. She didn’t know why but she felt relieved that she gets to meet her husband before the ceremony. Even though her father assured her that he is a “young handsome man just right for my baby girl” she needed to see it with her eyes. No one wanted any weird reactions from her in the middle of the ceremony.

      She will finally get married. Is something she has wanted to do since she was young. Being with the one you love forever and absolutely nothing being able to separate you. She always dreamed of completing this one desire of hers. Dressing up in the most beautiful dress she has ever seen and having her hair done beautifully. It was going to be a beach wedding sometime in spring. Everything was going to be perfect and in the end, her loved ones were going to witness the love of her life and her vowing eternal love for one another.

      But she wasn’t getting her beach wedding and she wasn’t marrying the love of her life. She realised some time ago that life can be cruel. You get everything you want and then, all of a sudden it stops. You are left broken and have to live an unfulfilling life just because you can’t die yet.

      She was woken from her slumber by the screeching of her father’s chair. When she looked forward she was met with two masculine forms looking down at her. She hurriedly got up and bowed deeply as an apology for not noticing them sooner.

      “There’s no need for something like that. I can imagine how nervous you must be.” His voice was deep, shaking her from inside out. It was the older male that spoke. His shoulders were really broad and he was fairly tall, his imposing presence giving her a claustrophobic feeling. He had a fake smile plastered on his face and he extended his hands which she shook hurriedly. “I’m Mr Seo but you can start calling me father.” He laughed and she forced a laugh as well, uneasiness settling inside her.

      She looked at the other man from the corner of her eye. He was very well built, his black T-shirt stretching over the muscle of his arms. “I’m Y/N.” She extended her arm and let a smile paint her lips in an attempt to be nice.

      The man rolled his eyes and slapped his hand over her’s, shaking it violently before letting go. “I’m Changbin.” Immediately after, he sat down disinterested in that whole meeting.

      A bored expression was adorning his face. All he could think about was the moment he could go home. His eyes travelled down her body trying to take her figure in. He had seen so much better. She wasn’t crazy beautiful and even though her body was presenting some appetizing curves her shy and reserved demeanour was a big turn off for him. He couldn’t understand why he had to marry her. Did they really have to form a pact with the District 9 Mafia? They were clearly stronger than them so why not just eliminate them.

      He took another look at her. The way she sat, that forced smile, the fear in her eyes. Everything about her annoyed him. Maybe he was influenced by the fact that he had to marry her against his will but she was sparking something inside him. Filling him with rage until he had to stop to breathe in order to calm down.

      “Do you go to college Y/N?” Mr Seo’s question surprised her.

      “I did. I majored in Chemistry. I wanted to become a perfumer.” Excitement overtook her at the mention of her dream job.

      Surprise settled on Mr Seo’s face. “Oh, is that so? How come?” 

      “Well, since we have a flower shop as a family business I grew up around nicely smelling flowers. I thought that maybe we could sell perfume as well. That way people would buy more things when they come by and maybe we would be able to beat you.” She giggled lightly and she had both men in front of her raising their brows.

      “Oh yeah. Your father’s and my rivalry when it comes to our flower shops.” Mr Seo smirked at the other man and he averted his head, too embarrassed to make eye contact.

      On the other end of the table, Changbin was both dumbfounded and angry. Not only was she not aware of her father’s real job but she was also naive enough to believe the flower shop story. He doubts that he and his father looked like they could work in a flower shop. He hated this marriage already.

      The rest of the afternoon went smoothly with her, her father and Mr Seo making conversation. Changbin didn’t say anything unless spoken to and for the entire afternoon, he looked like he would rather be thrown out of a moving train than be there. Y/N tried striking a conversation with him a few times but he would either answer drily or would straight up ignore her so she gave up. 

      When they finally parted ways a few hours later she felt like she could breathe again. She was going to have a long and lonely life if this is how their marriage was going to proceed.

      Y/N looked at the lights coming from the city. Everything looked so small from up there. So small that she could pick them up and do whatever she wanted with them. Wrapping her jacket better around her body she leaned against the hood of the car making herself comfortable.

      “How is he?” Minho was looking at her expectantly.

      “He is okay, I guess.” She let out a sigh turning her head to look at his eyes.

      The older man made a clicking sound with his tongue before tilting his head to one side. “Okay? You guess? What am I supposed to understand from this?” He sounded annoyed.

      “He didn’t really talk. He ignored me for almost the entire period we were there. He did say ‘Good for you.’ when I said that I am a good cook, though. In conclusion, okay, I guess.” She was sick of him honestly. The few hours she spent with him today were enough for a lifetime. He wasn’t okay, he was a complete unmannered pig. But she couldn’t say that to Minho. She couldn't tell him about all the dirty looks he gave her or how many times he rolled his eyes whenever she excitedly spoke about her interests. She knew how he would react and that would only make her fall for him even harder. She needed to get over him.

      Minho felt his blood boil at her words. He gave her up, he respected her wish of not going to her father and fighting for her, only for her to end up with someone like him. Wasn’t life a bitch? He could make her so much happier. They could have a carefree life where the only thing they’ll be thinking about was how much they loved each other. But they won’t. Y/N is Changbin’s and as much as he hates it, if she is fine with it he will respect her decision.

      He wrapped a hand around her shoulders and dragged her closer to him. “Maybe you just got the wrong impression. I’m sure it will be ok.” He said that to her but it was more for him. A reassurance and a reason not to start a fight. He wanted to tell her to go against her father. Tell her to think again. Tell her that he was ready and if she spelt the words he would jump in the car and run away with her. Go to a place where no one could find them and they could live a happy life. But he almost lost her once and he can’t risk that again.

      After their picnic “date” Y/N avoided him for a few days and he thought that he ruined their friendship. But then, thanks to someone that probably loves him, she called him. Told him how scared she was of the whole situation and how she’s trying to stay strong for her family. That night she confessed to him many things that got him worried and he agreed to stay by her side because she needed him. He even agreed to walk her down the aisle. Walk with her on arguably the most important day of her life and then hand her over to someone else.

      “Maybe you are right. I hope you are right.” She closed her eyes and inhaled his scent. The last few moments she can spend with him like that before it becomes wrong. And she is going to enjoy them.

      They sat like that for a good period of time in comfortable silence. None of them wanted to go home afraid of tomorrow. But they did because this was not a teenage rom-com where the protagonists end up together. This was the real world and they had to confront it.

[livesincerely]

alriGht what about jacks dad becuase now im interested 👀

Might I offer you a scene in these trying times? ;)

00000

“Just because I’ve lost control of my life doesn’t mean you have to give up yours,” Davey says.

“You ain’t lost control of your life,” Jack says, which is so incredibly untrue and so thoroughly not the point that Davey could almost scream in frustration. “You barely had a life to lose control of⁠—it got stolen from you months ago.”

“Jackie,” Davey says, determined to stay on track. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. These two weeks have been like something out of a daydream, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for giving me all this. But I can’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked towards for me⁠—that’s not fair to you.”

“Davey,” Jack says, already shaking his head. “I’m not sacrificing anything I can’t live without. I want to be here, with you.”

“You say that now,” Davey counters. “But a few weeks from now? A few months? You’ll regret all the time you wasted worrying about me when you realize what you’ve lost, I know you will, and I can’t risk⁠—” 

Davey cuts himself off, biting his lip. 

He takes a breath, re-centers, then carefully continues with, “So, we should just stop this now, while it’s not too late. We can turn around, head back home, beg forgiveness... and go back to our lives.”

“Is that what you want?” Jack asks quietly.

“It’s what’s best,” Davey says. “We can’t run forever, so we might as well save ourselves the heartache.”

Jack doesn’t respond for a long time⁠—long enough that Davey thinks he’s not going to acknowledge what he said at all. But then he lets out a soft, whispering sigh.

“Do you remember freshman year, when my dad got outta prison?” Jack asks. 

Davey's head whips around to stare at him, eyes wide. But Jack’s hands are perfectly steady on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed out on the sprawling highway before them.

Suddenly uncertain, Davey says, “Of course I do.”

“Then you remember how bad it was, right?” Jack continues, and it’s only the tone of his voice⁠—too perfectly controlled and even⁠—that gives away the depth of his feelings. “How I fell apart, just absolutely raging at everyone and everything, all the time? I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate. I stopped turning in assignments, then stopped going to class altogether, because what was the point? What was the point in anything, in pretending to even try, if they were just gonna give me back to my old man?”

“I remember,” Davey says softly, and he does. 

He remembers it like it was yesterday, the worry and fear that welled up inside him, watching Jack spiral and sink under the weight of it all, how utterly useless he’d felt watching his best friend struggle and suffer. It’d been absolute hell. 

“You held me together, Dave,” Jack says. “I wouldn’t have made it through that year without you.”

“Yes, you would’ve⁠—”

“No, Davey, I’m serious,” Jack insists, and even at this angle Davey can see that his mouth is set, grim and solemn, across his face. “If you hadn’t’a been there, I’m not sure what woulda happened. Because the others… they love me and they tried their best, but you were just… you were fucking incredible. You put up with all my mood swings, kept me from doin’ anything irreversibly stupid⁠—and god knows I considered doin’ all kinds of stupid shit back then, just desperate and panicking⁠. Half the time you knew what I needed even before I did, and when you didn’t you would sit there and listen and help me figure it out, or just keep me company when I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts but also didn’t wanna be around anyone.”

“What, did I not count as someone?” Davey says, and he’s trying for a bit of levity, but the effect is ruined by the rasp in his voice.

Jack looks at him. It’s just a brief meeting of their eyes before he looks back at the road, but it feels weighted, a deliberate contact: like how it feels to have an arm thrown around your waist or a hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades. 

“You ain’t someone,” Jack says, the words ringing with warmth. “You’re more than just someone. You’re Davey.”

Before Davey can come up with any kind of response to this declaration, Jack continues with, “You were there for me. Not ‘cause you had to be, but because I needed my best friend to drag me, limping and sweating and bleeding and crying, through the worst year of my life. Because you loved me enough to make sure I got through it, no matter what. That’s what you told me, remember? That you were gonna get me through the year, even if you had to carry me along on your back?”

Davey nods, helpless to do anything else, his voice trapped somewhere in the back of his throat.

“So the only way I’m wastin’ my time now is if you were wastin’ your time back then,” Jack says, each syllable crisp and concise. “And, well, I wouldn’t blame you for thinkin’ that, but⁠—”

It comes tearing out of him: “You are not a waste of my time⁠—!”

“And you aren’t a waste of mine,” Jack smoothly interjects, and he’s smirking, just a little, because he’s an asshole. “Glad we could agree on that one.”

Davey blinks at the side of Jack’s head, realizing, finally, that he’s been thoughtfully outmaneuvered. For several minutes there’s nothing but blur of open fields on either side of the road, the wide expanse of endless blue sky above them.

“This is different,” Davey says, once he thinks he can manage the words. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better about it, but we both know this is different.”

“Don’t seem so different to me,” Jack says calmly. “Seems like we’re both making sure the other gets taken care of, however that has to happen.”

“It’s different,” Davey insists. “You needed someone to lean on during a rough patch, I’m dragging you across the fucking country. You’re putting your whole life on hold for me.”

“I would argue that I’m the one draggin’ you across the country,” Jack says. “You ain’t exactly puttin’ a gun to my head⁠—”

“Stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal!” Davey shouts, and the outburst takes them both by surprise. “Jack, you have to see that this is⁠— That this isn’t just⁠—”

“David,” Jack says, and there’s a world of feeling in just that one word. “You’re not gonna be able to talk me out of this. Because you were hurting. Because they were crushing you. Because you needed to get away from all of that and someone had to drive the getaway car. Because you needed someone to push you to go and keep you from talking yourself into a life of misery, because that’s what this is, you know? This is you feeling guilty about stealing even a fucking second of your happiness back, and I’m not gonna let them have you again until you can tell me that you actually want to go home, not just that you think you should.”

“You stayed,” Davey whispers. “Back then, with everything… you stayed. I made sure that you stayed.”

“And that’s why I needed you: to anchor me, to keep me steady.” Jack says. “But Dave, if they weighed you down with any more chains, you’d sink right through the ground. It’s different on the surface, yeah, but not at the heart of it. Not where it counts.” 

Jack reaches over and places his hand over Davey’s, giving it a gentle squeeze, then leaves it there—their hands curled together over the console.

“Let me take care of you the way you took care of me, okay?” Jack continues softly, carefully. “Let me be the place where you hide, at least for a little while.”

Davey stares down at their joined hands for what feels like an eternity⁠⁠—until his vision goes blurry and his eyes start to sting⁠—feeling at once horribly guilty and terribly, terribly grateful. 

With a shaky exhale, he squeezes back.

“Okay,” Davey says quietly, because there’s nothing else to be said in the face of all that is Jack Kelly. “At least for a little while.”

00000

[rowanwhitethornisbae]

Faking It Chapter 4

A/N: This Chapter takes place in like an hour which was not my intention when I started but here it is anyway. I really like this one and I think it leads perfectly into the rest of the story. Enjoy! CW: Swearing

Faking It Masterlist

“Get up right now!” Aelin yelled at her cousin, her body hovering above his sleeping form. “Aedion I have a math test first period that I'm going to miss.” 

She grabbed the pillow out from under his head and smacked him with it. Her moron of a cousin just groaned and rolled over, muttering something indecipherable under her breath. 

“Pleaseee Aedion.” Aelin whined, fully aware of how desperate she sounded. Aelin wasn't exactly a natural at math, and really needed to do well on this test if she was even going to pass. 

“Fuck off.” He grumbled, and turned back over in bed. He had spare first period, and didn't need to be at school for another hour and a half. Still, he’d promised her over dinner last night that he’d take her in. Aelin had woken up about ten minutes ago and got ready quickly, fully prepared to be driven by her cousin. 

She called Lysandra’s phone, only for it to go straight to voicemail. Without wasting anymore time, Aelin chugged the remaining half cup of coffee, needing the energy boost, and left the house. She knew Aedion would feel guilty later, but it was too late now for his future apologies to matter. 

Aelin had gotten all of half a block, when she realized that she was still wearing Doc Martens. There was no fucking way she was going to be able to walk the five miles to school in these platforms without dropping dead. Just then, as Aelin fully prepared herself to collapse on the ground and fake an illness, a car pulled up. Aelin recognized the beat black vehicle, and the small dent in the front from days prior. 

Rowan Whitethorn rolled down his window slowly, as if he was still deciding whether or not to drive away. “Want a drive?” 

She looked him up and down, than glanced down the road at the miles stretching out before her. Was getting mocked and condescended to really worth a math grade? Aelin continued to walk down the street in answer. 

Rowan groaned and rolled the car forward, keeping pace with her easily. “Just get in the car.” 

Aelin had heard those words from him before, in an ironically similar situation. Against her own wishes, a memory surfaced. She tried in vain to push it out, but it was no use. 

18 Months prior, Aelin Galathynius had been walking down this same street, a bottle of vodka in hand and her cheeks stained with tears. It had been a month since the car crash that claimed both her parents lives. In all honestly, Aelin was less of a wreck than she would've expected. She knew who she owed that fact too, but Rowan Whitethorn was currently across town at a football game with his friends. He didn't care. No one cared. 

So here she was, drunk and sobbing as she walked unsteadily down this empty suburban road. Every once in a while she’d trip and her momentum would spin her around, sending her back in the same direction she’d come. 

Aelin didn't know how long she'd been walking back and forth for, but it must have been a while. The sunset that had torn the sky into strips of different colours was gone, replaced by the blackness of night and a tiny sliver of a crescent moon. 

The alcohol must've numbed her body because when she looked down, Aelin was shocked to find that her feet were bleeding. She wasn't wearing shoes, and pieces of rock and dirt had scratched away at her skin. Aelin found it so funny that she’s forgotten shoes, that she leaned over and started laughing. Deep, wrenching sounds that had her leaning over her knees for support. When she was done laughing at nothing, Aelin continued her stroll down the road, still ignoring the raw and bloody skin of her feet. If she could handle losing both her parents, she could handle some blisters. 

Thats how Rowan found her. Silent tears rolling down her face, an empty bottle of vodka in her hand, bloody feet, and a terrifyingly empty smirk etched onto her pale face. 

She didn't notice him pull up this time, too consumed by her own grief. She did however, hear his voice. Like an anchor in the sea, she felt the tug deep in her soul. 

“Aelin.” He had said, pain lingering behind his every word. She had found it funny at the time that he was in pain. Both his parents were alive. What he could possible have to be upset about. She only realized it days later, after the breakup that had destroyed what was left of her. 

He had been in pain because he loved her. 

She hadn't answered the man in the car. Just kept on walking blindly down the street, bloody footprints on the stone behind her. 

“Let me help you Aelin.” He paused. “Just get in the car.” 

When she hadn't, he’d pulled up right there in the middle of the road and gotten out. He’d pried the alcohol out of her hands and held her against his chest until she had no tears left to cry. Then, so gently that it snapped something in her chest, he’d picked her up and taken her to his car. She was nearly passed out when they arrived at the hospital. The doctors had patched up her feet, removed a small piece of glass that had gotten in her heel. Rowan had stayed overnight with her, and when she awoke in that hospital bed, hungover and in pain, the sight of him sleeping in a tiny chair beside her bed had begun to heal her. 

“Come on Aelin. You’re going to be late for math class.” He insisted, and she snapped out of the unwelcome memory. His voice conveyed that this was her last chance to accept his offer. 

Finally, she stopped. Although a late slip was better than being ridiculed, another failed math mark was not. She sighed and walked around to the other side of his car. Something like surprise flashed on Rowan’s face, but it was gone in an instant. 

“Thanks.” She said as swung the passenger door shut. 

Rowan simply nodded and pushed down on the gas. They sat in silence for a brief moment and Aelin crossed one leg over the other. 

“So,” Rowan began, clearly trying to break the tension. She supposed it was a good idea if they were going to do this whole fake dating thing. “Are you ready for the test.” 

Math was their only class together, luckily, and the only thing they really had in common. It wasn't a shock to her that Rowan would use that for small talk. 

“Um I studied a lot but I don't really understand any of it.” Aelin shrugged, suddenly wishing she was better at math. “I guess I'll just try my best again.” 

“What’d you get last time you tried your best?” He asked.

Aelin winced. “58 percent” 

Rowan gave her a look without turning his head from the road. “What’s your current average.” 

“I’d rather not.” She started fiddling with her hands. She really, really, did not want to give Rowan another reason to make fun of her. 

“Come on.” He pried further. 

Aelin was fully prepared to lie, so it surprised even her when the truth escaped her lips. “47,″ she paused, “point five.”

Rowan shot her an incredulous look, finally turning his head fully. “How is that even possible, your marks were high eighties in sophomore year.” 

“You tutored me.” She admitted without really thinking. “It made sense when you explained it.” 

She knew it was the wrong thing to say when he stiffened, his fingers tightening on the wheel. A few seconds later, they pulled into the parking lot. 

“We’re here.” He told her, opening the door. 

Aelin waited until Rowan was halfway to the school to say, “I can see that.” 

Groaning, she started making her way to class. Luckily, Aelin didn't see anyone she knew. She used the few extra minutes that Rowan’s drive had saved her to run over formulas in her head. She knew that she’d completely forget how to apply them as soon as she picked up the test, but it didn't hurt to know. 

The classroom was full when she got there, and Aelin took her normal seat at the back. In all the commotion with Rowan, Aelin had completely forgotten that she also had this class with Chaol. Her first with him since the breakup. 

She tried not to look in his direction, a feat that was made impossible when he stood up and walked over to her desk. 

“Hey Aelin.” He said, his hands braced on her desk. She didn't like how short this arrangement made her feel. 

“Chaol.” She said, nodding her head. 

“How are you doing?” He asked. 

Aelin groaned internally and dared a glance over at Rowan. He sat two seats to her left, and was watching her and Chaol with a blank face. Swallowing, Aelin smiled up at her ex-boyfriend. “Fine.” She purposely didn't reciprocate the question. 

“Cool cool.” Chaol chewed on his cheek in a way that had never bothered her before, but she now found infuriating. “I was just wondering if you’re planning on going to Dorian’s party this Friday.” 

Ahhh. So that’s what this torturously awkward conversation was about. She gave him a shallow nod. “I think so. Why?” She added the last word as an afterthought. 

“No reason.” Then he took a long sigh. “I just think it might be awkward if I end up hooking up with someone and you’re there.” 

Aelin’s mouth fell open. That could not have been something he actually just said. She nearly laughed at the absurdity of his comment. “Don’t worry about me.” She said sarcastically. “Hook up with all the girls you want, I know I will.” 

He went slightly pale, but still spoke in a teasing voice. “You’re going to hook up with girls?” 

Aelin couldn't help but laugh and Chaol smiled with relief at her response. Out of the corner of her vision, she noticed Rowan’s eyes darken. Chaol was just about to turn away, when she stopped him. 

“Chaol,” He stiffened slightly, as if expecting her to yell at him. “I have a question about the politics of the football team.” 

He looked confused, but relieved all the same. Chaol leaned on her desk again, bringing their faces uncomfortably close. 

“Would an assistant captain be able to pick someone to try out for the team.” Her voice was quiet enough that she knew Rowan couldn't hear.

“Yeah,” Chaol answered, “If an assistant captain finds someone that they think would be a good fit then they are allowed to set up a tryout without needing permission from the captain.” 

“Thanks.” She said, pulling her pencil case out of her bag in a sign of dismissal. 

Chaol gave her a curt nod, and deciding not to ask further about her questions, went back to his chair. 

Minutes later, the teacher handed out the tests, set the timer and told them to begin. 

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

Rowan could tell Aelin was struggling. It was obvious from the frustrated look in her eyes and the slumped posture of her shoulders. She was chewing on her lip and looked quite honestly on the verge of tears. Rowan knew she wouldn't cry in class, she’d always preferred to wait and suffer alone. But the odds were that Lysandra would find her in the bathroom during lunch, locked inside a stall. 

The thought of her in pain had never really bothered him before. He’d been too consumed in his hatred of Aelin Galathynius to really mind. But now, after she’d thawed through a little bit of the ice he regarded her with, the thought was nearly unbearable. 

Rowan Whitethorn had never cheated on a test in his entire life. There was really no need to when he possessed a natural knack for academics. Shit just made sense to him, it had always been like that. So now, as he ever so slowly reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, his heart was positively racing. 

The teacher was at the front of the class with his head down, grading papers. Still, Rowan felt like the man had to be able to hear the sound of Rowan’s heart beating against his chest. Once he had a solid grip around his phone, he slipped it silently out of his pocket. 

His hands were sweaty, and Rowan silently begged the gods not to let him drop it. He carefully grabbed his test and propped it up as a shield, making it look like he was just reviewing it. Sitting in the back row meant there was no one behind to him to snitch, and he trusted the four people that sat to his right enough. With his phone on silent, Rowan quickly took three pictures of the test pages and sent them to Aelin. 

He lingered for a moment on the chat, their last texts being from 18 months ago.  

Aelin: Im really fucking sorry Rowan. Can we still be friends?

He’d left her on read and five minutes later, she’d text again. 

Aelin: I need you in my life still. 

There were typos in his next message, his eyes too blurry with tears to see straight. 

Rowan: You should've thouht of that first. Don't call me. Don't text me. I fucking hate you Aelin. I nver ever want to speak to you again.

She’d never responded, but true to his word, they hadn't spoken since then. Until three days ago. 

Pushing that from his mind, Rowan hit send on the pictures. Already done with his test, he used this time to watch Aelin. 

Her hair was down, and she kept tucking it behind her ears every few moments. Browa furrowed, she bit on her lower lip in a way that had his hand tightening around his pencil. With his eyes on her, Rowan saw the exact moment that her phone vibrated in her pocket. She looked left and right, and he turned away before she could make eye contact with him, and then turned back to her test. 

She did almost the exact same thing he had, using her test as a shield and pulling out her phone. She clicked a few things and then her mouth fell open. There were too many emotions on he face for him to pick out. Relief, shock, joy, surprise. 

Her head jerked in his direction and this time he was too late to turn away. Their eyes met and the way she looked at him had the rest of the class fading away. His heart rate sped up yet again, and there was nothing between them but wasteful space. He couldn't look away from her if he tried. 

Luckily, she looked away first, making him feel quite foolish. She began to copy his answers down, clearly making sure to get a few wrong as to not get caught. Although it seemed an eternity, it took Aelin all of two minutes to change 90% of her answers and pocket the phone once again. 

Rowan released a long breath and felt himself relax again. They’d actually done it. He felt a strange sense of pride, uncomfortably similar to the way he’d felt when him and Aelin were dating. When they broke into an abandoned beach house to jump off the balcony and into the ocean. 

The bell dismissed them and Rowan jumped up from his desk, eager to get out of class before Aelin tried to talk to him. Still, he should've known that evading Aelin Galathynius was utterly useless. 

He had barely gotten to his locker when she caught up to him. He was pulling books out and didn't look her way.

She leaned on the locker beside his - Lorcan’s - and stared at him. “Why’d you do that?” 

He just kept picking out books. “I don't know what you’re talking about.” 

She snorted and Rowan felt a blush rise on his cheeks. “Don't play dumb with me. Why’d you help me cheat.” 

Rowan was quickly running out of books in his locker. “No thank you?” 

She gave him a soft smile. “Thank you.” 

He just nodded and finally turned to face her, slamming his locker shut with more force than was necessary. 

He was fully prepared to leave when she spoke again. “Shall we go to lunch?” 

For the second time in who knows how long, Aelin Galathynius snapped the last bit of his sanity. He flipped them around, so her back was pressed up against the lockers and he was hovering above her. He braced both arms on each side of her head and brought his face close to hers. He could feel her rapid breathing on his cheek and see the way that gold ring in her eyes swelled with fear. He watched as her nostrils flared as she took in his heaving chest. He considered himself lucky that she didn't turn her head to peek at his shaking hands. 

“Aelin.” He said, his voice laced with venom. It was then that he realized this was the first time he’d spoken her name in nearly a year and a half. For a second, he lost the ability to speak. But then she made the smallest movement as if to escape his hold, and he regained it. 

“I don't want to walk to lunch with you. I don't want to trade answers with you. I don't want to speak to you. I don't even want to look at you. I am doing this for me and only me. We talk when it is completely necessary. Other than that please, just leave me the fuck alone. You are nothing to me and I do not care.” 

She didn't even flinch as he spoke. Almost like she knew exactly what he was going to say. There was no sign of hurt in her eyes, just ice cold emptiness. 

“Why?” She asked. The word was so quiet that he nearly missed it. 

“You cheated on me Aelin.” 

There it was. The truth that neither of them had been willing to discuss. He had loved her so much that he was completely consumed by it. But she’d slept with Chaol anyway. He never understood why and she never bothered to explain. 

She opened her mouth to say something when someone cleared their voice beside them. 

“What's going on?” Lorcan asked, Fenrys beside him with his eyes wide. 

Rowan stepped back from Aelin as if he’d been burned. She didn't move though. She stayed there against the lockers looking up at him with a crestfallen expression on her face. 

“Nothing.” Rowan said harshly, looking right at Aelin. “Nothing’s going on at all.” 

She nodded her head, murmured an apology, and disappeared down the hall. 

He watched her go for a moment and then slammed his head against the locker, trying to drown out the mindless sounds of a high school hallway and fight the growing urge to cry. 

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

TOG Tag List: 

@queen-of-glass

@courtofjurdan

@fictional-horan

@bamchickawowow 

@julemmaes

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato

@chieflemming

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[sondepoch]

1 Day Before Rebellion

All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

The current ruling class is brutal. Draconian. Tyrannical. Every demon who has sat the throne for the past ninety thousand years has brought nothing but hardship to the Devildom—something Diavolo and his father intend to remedy by seizing power as leaders of the Resistance. When Diavolo happens to come across the princess of the Devildom, he’s overjoyed. He sees you as an opportunity, a sign from a higher power that his cause is just; and he plans to use you as a pawn in his Rebellion. But life rarely goes as planned, especially in Hell. And when Diavolo realizes that he’s falling in love with you, things suddenly feel a lot more complicated than they used to be.

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

MASTERLIST

All you can think about is Diavolo.

And the overwhelming stench of blood that lingers in the air.

You swallow thickly and study the arena, gripping the edge of your bench in hopes that the action will soothe the sick feeling in your stomach.

Have the cage fights always been this bloody?

You toy with the question in your mind, struggling to come up with an answer. It's been nearly half a year since you last visited one of these underground rings—you've been using your free time on Diavolo instead, these past few months—and your memories are foggy. The only proper thing you remember is how savagely the Victor had assaulted Diavolo the night you met, and how this season doesn't seem to be any less violent.

"It's okay," You mumble to no one, forcing yourself to heed the words. You have to be calm. Diavolo has enough to worry about without knowing that you're terrified to the core on the benches. "He's going to be okay."

But no matter how many times your mind whispers that your lover will be fine, your heart beats a different rhythm.

"And now, we have the first of our competitors for the fourth round of combat! On one side of the cage, we have the second-place semifinalist from last season's tournament! And on the other side, we have a total newbie, calling themselves the Fists of Purgatory! Let the fight begin!"

You wince as the two fighters start for each other, a shudder running up your spine when the unfamiliar men grab at each other's throats.

There isn't an ounce of restraint in the way their fists swing. These men are making use of sick lack of rules for these underground fights. They have nothing to hold them back, and their fists are flying wild, blood already spilling onto the floor.

They're fighting to kill.

You shiver, gripping the bench tighter.

Diavolo told you not to come. He knew that seeing these fights wouldn't be good for you. That you're already worrying enough about how he'll fare when he inevitably goes against the Victor, and that this will do nothing but further your concerns.

At the time, you whacked him on the head and told him not to be ridiculous. You'd been sneaking out to watch cage fights for years, and the violence had only unnerved you once or twice.

But now?

Every demon who gets injured takes the face of Diavolo. And when the stronger demon in the ring grabs the weaker one by the neck and bashes his head against the wall, it's Diavolo's face you imagine being brutalized.

The very thought makes everything so much worse.

"And we have a winner! In record time of just forty-two seconds, our semifinalist from last year advances to the fifth round! Check back in two hours to find out if our losing demon is truly dead, or if he's simply unconscious. And now, onto the next set of competitors—"

You tune the announcer out, standing abruptly. Diavolo defeated his opponent for this round a long time ago; he won't be fighting for another half hour, at the very least.

But a voice pulls your attention away.

"Where are you going, miss?"

Your eyes dart down to the man sitting next to you, surprised to find him looking up at you in an expression of curiosity. You can't see his face, given that his mask covers everything except his eyes, but you're positive that there's a smile on his face as he speaks.

"A-ah," You mumble, feeling caught off guard. It's rare for people to speak to each other during these fights. Most conversations happen between those who already know each other, and the rest simply wear their masks in silence, guarding their anonymity like it's the only treasure they possess. This may just be the first time someone has spoken to you from within the stands. "I'm sorry, Sir. I didn't mean to disturb your view of the fighters. It's just that I was feeling rather lightheaded, so I was hoping to get some fresh air outside. If you don't mind, might I go past you?"

"I see," The demon responds, looking thoughtful. "I have no qualms with letting you past, miss, but would you entertain the notion of me joining you? These fights have been rather boring, after all, and I also would like a change in scenery."

"Of course, Sir!" You exclaim instantly, your princessly instincts taking over as you accept the man's courteous invitation. You wince a little on the inside, abruptly realizing that this might not have been the best idea, especially given the shadiness of all things and people tied to these underground cage fights—but you're confident in your strength, so if this mysterious man tries anything, you're positive that you'll be able to defend yourself.

"Let us go," The man responds with a twinkle in his eye, extending his arm to you. Without a moment's hesitation, you take it, masking all your inner reservations as the two of you walk in line until you're outdoors.

"Ahh," You whisper the moment you've stepped outside. The cool wind rushes through your body like a tidal wave, and you're overcome with the urge to rip your clay mask off to feel the breeze against your face, but you resist it. "It's much more pleasant out here. Wouldn't you agree, Sir?"

"Indeed. Perhaps we ought to recommend that these cage fights be held outdoors instead. I can never sit through a full night of watching without sneaking out to the balconies at least once."

The man lets out a low chuckle, and you can't help but think that the sound is awfully similar to Diavolo's laugh. Of course, this man is nothing like your lover, his stature built smaller and leaner—but a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you that there are more similarities between them. Perhaps the way they walk or the aura that hovers over them—but something about this man distinctly reminds you of Diavolo.

You study him from the corner of your eye.

Now that the two of you are outside, you can properly see the demon. The moon watches over the two of you, illuminating the green hair that peeks out from behind his mask, curtained just behind a bright patch of turquoise that hangs off one side of his face.

Lovely, you can't help but think.

The boldness of the green reminds you of Diavolo's own fiery reds.

"What brings you to these cage fights, Sir?" You try to start a conversation, breaking the silence of the night.

"Boredom, I suppose. Though on occasion, it is duty that calls." The man muses. "I often tell myself that I come to watch the fighters fight. The tides of the realm are ever-changing, and it's crucial for us commonfolk to know where the power lies in the underground. Other times, I come on the orders of the man I owe fealty to. He enjoys learning about new combat techniques."

"And tonight?" You keep your tone light, almost teasing.

"I'm here to visit a friend and an enemy."

The demon doesn't say anything after that.

"I see," You murmur, bringing a hand to your face, pushing your mask further up so that it doesn't impair your vision. "I hope happiness finds your friend and that vengeance is delivered for your enemy. May the lords of Hell see your wishes true."

"Thank you, miss." The demon takes another step forward, bringing you both so close to the balcony that the loose fabric of your commoner's robe touches it. "And what brings you here? You do not seem the type to view violence for the entertainment of it."

A light laugh leaves your throat at that, awkward at the realization that this man saw how unnerved you were. It's wholly unbefitting of a demon to flinch at the sight of blood—but you couldn't help yourself. The very thought of Diavolo being hurt sends a chill down your spine.

"I'm also here for a friend. In case he gets hurt."

"I see. Do you worry that he will be defeated?"

"Oh no. Not at all. If I'm being perfectly candid, Sir, I'm quite confident that he'll make it to the finals. It's simply that I fear he may get injured in the process. I spent a rather long time healing him before, you see, so I'd rather not have him get hurt again."

"A noble sentiment. You must be a healer, then." The demon's words are even, and you abruptly realize your mistake.

"Y-yes," You mumble instantly, hoping that he won't press on the subject. Only royalty has access to medicines and most healing products; nearly all healers have been driven out of business by your family's laws. If the man asks a single question, you know all too well that your lying skills will be no defense.

You draw your hands into fists as subtly as you can, already preparing to knock him out.

"If I know your profession, I suppose it's only fair that you know mine." You blink as the man skips over your words entirely, not a single word of doubt crossing his lips.

"Which is?" You press, eager to move on from the topic of your own supposed occupation.

"A butler."

You blink.

"A butler?" You ask, trying to confirm what you heard.

"A butler."

You nod your head slowly, forcing yourself to process the words. A butler, you think, squinting at the demon from the corner of your eye. Only the royal palace and the highest-ranking nobles have butlers—nearly all commoners are either too poor or too oppressed to have any—but you're positive you've never seen this man in your life. Namely, you've never seen that patch of teal before, the only distinctive feature you can identify when this demon's face is hidden by his mask.

"I see," You mumble after a long time. "That's quite fascinating, Sir."

"Is it? A butler's duty is hardly anything special. I'm sure that healers are much more interesting. Especially given the condition of the medical markets. It must be quite the journey, obtaining all the materials you need for your work."

"Do you truly think so?" You laugh awkwardly, beginning to sense an edge to the butler's voice. Was it always there? "The underground markets have everything, Sir. Even those which the imperial palace has denied to the commoners."

"I did not know that, miss." The butler looks at you from behind his mask, and suddenly his deep green eyes no longer seem casual. His gaze is dark, as if he's seeing into your very soul. "Despite all my connections, I can't think of a single demon who has received any medical supplies in a millennium. You simply must tell me where you're buying your goods from."

The shrewd, calculating look in the butler's eye sharpens, and now it feels like he's no longer staring into your soul but surveying its contents, analyzing every truth you have hidden away.

It sends a jolt of fear straight to your heart.

"I'm getting rather cold, Sir," You deflect, hoping that your nervousness doesn't seep into your voice. You were confident before that you could defeat this man if the situation called for it, but you're beginning to have doubts now that you can feel how sturdy his grip on your arm is. "Might we go inside?"

"Of course, miss."

Abruptly, the greens of his eyes lose their scrutinous edge and fade into a softer tone.

You instinctively relax.

A voice at the back of your mind whispers that maybe it was all your imagination. Your paranoia at being found out. Your fear for Diavolo infecting all else, causing you to view everyone and everything through a lens of skepticism.

But when you glance at the butler on your right, your eyes glazing over his features once more, you're certain that you didn't imagine that cunning gaze. You may have read too deeply into his words and overanalyzed actions, but that look he gave you was real.

And it was terrifying.

"Oh my," The demon murmurs, though the surprise in his voice sounds fake. "It would appear that we missed quite a few matches."

You blink in surprise, your eyes flying to the far wall where the winners from each block are drawn up. Your eyes widen when you realize that the fifth column is almost completely filled, only the bottom bracket left without a clear winner.

The man at your side pulls you forward, walking you back to your seat, and you squint to make out the figures in the cage below.

Alas, it seems that the two of you are late even for this fight, and it's clear that the battle is over. One demon stands over the other, the standing demon's foot hovering just above the weaker's stomach in a silent threat as to what will happen if surrender isn't swift and immediate.

The demon on top presses his foot down a little further, now touching skin, and his eyes take on an intimidating glint, burning bright with the adrenaline of combat—and then the demon beneath him has raised a hand with four fingers extended in surrender, and the round is complete.

The winner withdraws immediately, stepping back as the crowd rises to their feet with the ringing of bells, everyone elated at the realization that the first night is over.

But then, the demon looks up. Up at the crowd. Up at you. And your eyes widen, because you recognize those eyes.

His mask hides his face well, and his outfit is different than anything you've ever seen. But you know that shade of red too well.

Diavolo.

But as you watch the demon raise his fist, egged on by the cheers of the crowd, a small part of you think that this isn't quite the Diavolo you know. That this man, with such a dark glint in his eyes, is as unfamiliar to you as the butler you met outside.

You shake the thought from your mind, forcing yourself to applaud with the audience as you stand in congratulations and try not to think about the look in Diavolo's eyes.

It must have been your imagination.

Diavolo's training room stinks of sweat, blood, and grime.

The sweat is Diavolo's own—one can hardly participate in a cage fight and not expect a little perspiration.

The blood is of his enemies; not a single one has been able to land a clean hit on him, though their ichor paints his knuckles as a reminder of every punch he's delivered today, every punch you taught him to deliver.

But the grime?

The grime is an entirely different story.

The grime has been in this room from the very start. The grime is a reminder, a filthy, disgraceful reminder of the overwhelming loss Diavolo suffered at the hands of the Victor in the previous season. The grime is a message from those running the cage fights that Diavolo means nothing to them, that they see no potential in him. The grime is an outright insult, not an ounce of subtlety, claiming that he doesn't even have the right to a clean room like his competitors.

In this awful, disgusting room, Diavolo hardly cares about how the towels on the floor are covered in dried blood and sweat.

No, it's the grime that disturbs him.

He clicks his tongue in annoyance, yanking his shirt off and throwing it into a locker, one of the only things in this room that isn't downright filthy. At this point, he just wants to change as fast as possible and wrap you in his arms, showering you in kisses and affection.

Of course, the world never gives Diavolo what he wants.

"There you are."

The demon freezes, his eyes widening. Impossible, he thinks. There's no way…

Diavolo turns around slowly, eyes round in disbelief as he casts a glance behind his shoulder—and sure enough, there stands the demon butler that has been by his side for so many centuries.

"Barbatos," He whispers softly, turning around.

"My lord."

The butler smiles cryptically, but Diavolo knows him well enough to see the quiet happiness that lurks in the greens, pushed far back but still not far enough.

The men stare at each other for a moment, eyes communicating everything that words cannot—and instantly, they understand each other's stories. Barbatos sees the trouble Diavolo has been facing for months on end, the struggle of love and obligation, battling each other eternally in the back of the future prince's mind. Diavolo, in turn, realizes how much his friend seems to have aged over the course of these past months, a soft sympathy settling into his eyes when he considers just how much Barbatos must have been working in preparation for Rebellion, his workload nearly doubled since Diavolo hasn't been there to help him.

The demons stare at each other for a beat longer, eyes searching for anything that might have been missed—and then the moment has passed, the spell broken. Barbatos steps forward, and Diavolo turns around fully.

"It has been too long," The redhead murmurs, leaning back against a wall.

"Indeed. But there is no time to speak, my lord."

"Oh?" Diavolo's lips curve into a frown. A bitterness settles in his heart, the abrupt realization: Ah yes, you fool. What did you expect? Barbatos is here for one reason, and one reason alone.

"Tell me," He grunts with as much politeness as he can muster, continuing to dress. "What is so urgent that you couldn't use magic to speak with me?"

"It is not a matter of magic. I am here to fight you."

"Excuse me?"

Diavolo stares dumbly at the butler, wondering if he misheard the man. But the utterly serious look in Barbatos's eyes leaves no room for confusion, and the demon is positive that he did not misspeak.

"Barbatos, why would you ever want to—"

Diavolo can't even finish his sentence before the demon is attacking him, swift punches being thrown left, right, and center as the redhead scrambles back in defense.

"Barbatos!" He shouts, desperately scrambling around the tiny room as he evades the butler's kicks. "What are you doing?! This is madness!"

But the butler pays him no heed, only continuing to throw a flurry of attacks that Diavolo scrambles to avoid. "I order you!" He tries, eyes wide in alarm. "As your liege lord's son, I order you to stop!" Yet Diavolo has no authority over the teal-haired demon, for the butler works for his father, not him, and it's hardly long before Barbatos has begun to wear the redhead down, the abrupt assault after a long night of nonstop fighting forcing Diavolo's hand.

He grunts in anger as he begins to fight back, no longer dodging Barbatos's kicks but countering them with his own, red eyes narrowing in an odd mix of fury and confusion as he begins returning attacks.

Within minutes, the two are genuinely sparring and giving it their all in the small space, Diavolo panting and shirtless as he throws what little strength he has left at the butler and Barbatos only mildly disheveled as he continues to attack.

Diavolo is practically gasping for air by the time he finally traps Barbatos against a locker, slamming the demon against it with enough force to kill, though the demon of time looks wholly unaffected by the motion. Fighting Barbatos is nothing like fighting you—you, at the very least, have the graciousness to warn Diavolo before you start. And when you punch, there isn't the risk of shattering bone.

Diavolo grabs the butler by the collar and uses what little magic he knows to trap the demon in place, holding him still even as he stumbles back and collapses against the other side of the wall.

"Good," Barbatos blurts, abruptly freeing himself of Diavolo's magic. "That was very well-fought, my lord."

"What?" Diavolo snaps, and this time, he's genuinely irritated. He raises his fists in preparation to fight once more, but the butler waves him away.

"Your father wished for me to come and test the extent of your skills. Indeed, you have improved as much as you claimed to have. I assume that this was not your full strength, given that you've spent the greater majority of the night fighting other demons in cages, but you do indeed have the potential to defeat the Victor."

"You...were testing me?" Diavolo asks suspiciously, eyebrows still furrowed.

"Yes, my lord."

The redhead groans.

"Why couldn't you have just said that, Barbatos?" Diavolo runs a hand through his hair, noting with frustration that it's damp with sweat once more.

"Why, that would have taken all the fun out of it, wouldn't you agree?" The butler smiles his usual cryptic smile. To anyone else, it looks ominous. Cold. Maybe even scary. But Diavolo can see the childlike amusement that curves the butler's lips upward, the man almost giddy with satisfaction after his little stunt.

"Thank you for that," Diavolo blurts sarcastically, reaching for a towel. He tries not to think about the fact that he'll have to wash up all over again.

"You're welcome, my lord. At the same time, however, we do have urgent matters to discuss." Diavolo arches an eyebrow. "The princess."

He sighs.

Whatever illusions he may have harbored about Barbatos's sudden appearance are shattered the moment those words leave the demon's lips. Hearing them from another Resistance member makes the situation feel so much more dire, so much more real.

So much more urgent.

"Say what you need to," Diavolo mumbles, keeping his eyes low.

"I met her."

Diavolo’s eyes narrow.

"Barbatos, do not—"

"I did not do anything to her, my lord. We merely had a conversation. A rather brief one, at that. Do not look at me like that. It was entirely unplanned. I might not have even spoken to her if she didn't appear so nervous during the cage fights."

"She was nervous?" Diavolo interrupts, eyebrows raised. You had assured him time and time again that this wouldn't be a problem, that you wouldn't be uncomfortable with watching him fight.

"She was trembling, my lord."

Diavolo clicks his tongue in aggravation. "I told her it wouldn't be a good idea…"

"No matter. There were no bystanders around us when we spoke, so you do not need to worry for her safety. Though I must say, you were right about her utter inability to lie." A ghost of a smile appears on Barbatos's face. "It was almost enjoyable to watch her attempt to deceive me."

"Quiet, Barbatos," Diavolo warns sharply, though there's no real edge to his voice. He leans back, a soft smile dancing on his lips as his mind fills with pictures of you. "But what did you think of her? You must understand what I mean now, don't you? She's genuinely good, Barbatos. I'm certain that if we introduce her to Father, he'll realize that she's nothing like the family she hails from, and—"

"My lord."

Barbatos shakes his head disapprovingly.

"You are beyond the age of fairy tales. There is no happy ending for this princess, no matter how much you like her."

And with those words, Diavolo completely deflates.

His shoulders drop and he turns around, quietly knowing better than to argue with the butler when he speaks these truths. But when Barbatos sees Diavolo dressing so sullenly, he's reminded not of the future prince he will one day serve but is instead brought to thoughts of the past: a time where he and Diavolo were nothing but casual friends, a time when Diavolo had the luxury to pout like this and do nothing but brood.

"She does—" Barbatos clears his throat uncomfortably, not used to speaking of people in this way. "I did not mean to invalidate your feelings, my lord. She does have a...strange sort of charm. And there is...a certain...kindness, ahem, that one might find in her."

"There is, isn't there?" Diavolo pauses in buttoning his shirt to cast a wistful glance at his friend—and for a moment, Barbatos shudders, because the look that Diavolo wears as he thinks of you is pure love. "She's absolutely amazing in every regard. You can't help but be drawn to her. No matter how you try to fight it. Which is why I truly believe that if we introduce her to Father, we—"

Barbatos cuts Diavolo off abruptly, raising a hand.

The redhead quiets instantly, already prepared for his butler to launch into another lecture about how ridiculous it is that Diavolo is even entertaining these notions in his mind—but then he sees the alarmed look in his butler's eye, and Barbatos drops his voice to a whisper.

"I must leave, my lord." Barbatos sounds panicked, rushed as he mumbles words out while glancing at the door. "But remember, Rebellion is hinged on your success in defeating the Victor. You have it in you, my lord, you simply must be prepared for—"

He's cut off in the middle of his sentence when the sound of a click rings through the room, and then Barbatos has vanished entirely, gone in the blink of an eye such that when the door to Diavolo's room opens, the demon is standing alone.

"Diavolo?" You call gently, somewhat surprised to see him staring at empty space.

The moment Diavolo hears your voice, all thoughts of Barbatos and his warnings go out the window. He grins, kicking a towel away to trap you in a hug that lifts you off your feet for a few seconds as you laugh and press a kiss to the demon's cheek.

"Why are you taking so long?" You pout, buttoning up the remainder of Diavolo's shirt. "Nearly all the other cage fighters have left for the night."

"I'm sorry, darling," Diavolo apologizes, sighing. "I got caught up. I'm ready to head out now, though."

"No worries," You mumble casually, wrapping your arm around Diavolo's as you slip his mask onto his face and open the door, gesturing dramatically with a giggle as the two of you step outside. "But I just wanted to let you know that I'm very proud of you."

"Oh?" Diavolo asks, interlacing his fingers with yours. It's a bit awkward due to the height difference between the two of you, but within moments your arms are swinging at a leisurely pace, one comfortable for you both. "You know, I think you were more scared than proud up on the bleachers."

"I was not!" You defend indignantly. "If—if you saw me shaking, it was with excitement, Diavolo! Not—not fear! I was excited!"

The demon opens his mouth to say something more, to criticize your atrocious attempt at lying or to laugh some more and lay a kiss across your forehead, but he's interrupted when another demon pops up out of seemingly nowhere.

"Ma'am!" The demon shouts, waving a bandaged arm as he's carried away by a stretcher. "Thank you so much again!"

"I am glad to have helped you, Sir," You call back, cheerful. Your mask hides your face, but Diavolo is already aware of the beaming smile you wear based on how bright your eyes shine. "I hope your injuries heal well!"

The demon shouts something back at you, too far for either you or Diavolo to understand, but you respond with a gentle wave, calling "Good luck!" to the man for good measure.

"What was that all about?" Diavolo asks once the two of you have stepped outside. "You helped him?"

"Yeah." You let out a light laugh, almost sheepish. "Right before I went to see you, I saw him on the ground. His arm was injured rather severely, but had some medical ointment with me in case you got injured, so I used it on him. That's why I was late in coming to your room. He must have wanted to thank me, since he was mostly unconscious while I patched him up."

A warm smile crosses Diavolo's face at that, the demon proud to know that his lover has such a selfless heart.

"You really are too good, do you know that?" He squeezes your hand gently, wishing that he could rip his mask off and kiss you here.

"Hush," You mumble. "You would have done the same. It's our obligation to help those who need it."

"Oh?" Diavolo's eyes are filled with teasing mirth. "Are you saying that when you first tended to my wounds, it was out of obligation?"

"Hey!" You pout, swatting Diavolo's arm. "You know it's not like that! I just…"

"You just…?" Diavolo quirks an eyebrow at you, grinning as he pulls you outside the cage fighting arena and onto the street, already heading in the direction of the Temple of the Grim Reaper.

"I just want to help everyone I can." You relax as Diavolo tenses his hold around your fingers, the demon instinctively stiffening the moment those words leave your mouth.

"I do, too," Diavolo mumbles. But he's no longer thinking of you helping that demon, but instead of everything he'll have to do to you in the name of saving the greater good.

"I know, Diavolo." You grin at him, untying your mask as you beam up at him.

For a moment, the soft, understanding light in your eyes makes it seem like you really do know.

But then Diavolo is exhaling sharply, hiding his pained expression behind his mask as he realizes that you don't. That you can't. That Barbatos was right, and your story will end in nothing but misery.

You've never seen so much death.

All around you, there are corpses: bodies lying on the ground, either already lost to the world or drowning in their own blood. But you don't stop to look at them. Your dress is bundled up in your fists as you sprint down the hall, racing to a secret exit that only you know about.

The place that surrounds you seems to be the palace. Seems to be, because you're certain that the real palace isn't this dark. This ominous. This foreboding.

You shudder as a voice calls your name, a weak "princess" escaping the lips of a palace worker you vaguely recognize the voice of. Still, though, you don't stop.

The bodies that you've left behind in your run seem to be pulling you back. The weight of their burden falls on your shoulders as you struggle to take each step, the secret exit to the palace so close but so far away.

You reach a hand out, trying desperately to grab at a corner of the wall. To yank your body forward and pull your way to safety, to a place free of all this bloodshed.

But your fingers only touch air, and you're left struggling to move forward once more.

You fight your way forward, a garbled gasp leaving your lips as you struggle past a room—but you make the mistake of looking inside.

And there you see it.

Him.

Diavolo.

He's sitting in the throne room, though you can't come up with a single reason why he's here. You can only see the vague outline of his body, but you've spent too many hours running your fingers through his hair to miss the distinctive shape that the tresses take.

You halt in your run, your arm abruptly reaching for the man you love.

"Diavolo!" You shout, hoping that he'll come forward. That his silhouette will turn clear. That he'll save you from this dark, violent dream.

You call his name again, the word forcing its way past your lips despite the difficulty it takes to say it, but then it doesn't even matter because you're screaming for him, and you're desperately wondering why he isn't moving. Why his silhouette is so still. Why he does nothing as the outline of his figure watches you drop to your knees.

"Are you dead too?" You ask meekly, dropping to your knees. You glance around you, and even more bodies litter the floor.

But Diavolo is poised as ever: too upright to be dead but too still to be alive.

There's a man behind him. Another distinctly familiar figure, though you can't place where you know him from. You glance up at the two of them, your eyes filled with tears, and you reach an arm forward to crawl your way to the throne—to the darkness that Diavolo seems to emanate.

"Please," You whisper, practically dragging your body forward as you throw yourself at his feet. "Please be alive," You pray, clasping his foot when you're close enough.

And it's only here, when you're this close, that you can look up and see the expression on his face. If you do, you'll see his eyes, the amber eyes you've fallen in love with, and you'll know whether he truly is alive.

So you raise your head.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, you lift your gaze from his feet to his knees. His knees to his chest. His chest to his jaw.

You brace yourself for the worst, your sobs already worsening, and you begin to look higher and higher, just below his eyes and then you've looked up and—

"Darling!"

The shout pulls you from your nightmare, your eyes flying open in alarm.

Diavolo.

You shoot off his chest abruptly, impossibly alert despite having woken from your nap mere seconds ago, and spin around in his arms, cupping his cheeks with both your hands.

"Diavolo?" You mumble, a rush of emotion hitting you all at once. You were crying in your sleep before, but now is when you truly begin to sob, giving the demon no choice as you fling yourself forward and trap him in an embrace so tight he seems to choke. "You're alive," You mumble, still not believing the words. "You're alive. You're alive. You're alive."

If Diavolo didn't know what was troubling you in your sleep before, he's able to piece together the clues from your words. Within seconds, he's got his arms wrapped around you in quiet reassurance.

"Shh," He mumbles into your ear even as you continue to choke over the fact that he's actually here. That it was just a nightmare. That you're not surrounded by death and blood and violence, and that things are okay once more. "It was just a dream, darling," He rocks you in his arms, fingers running through your hair in soothing motions as you struggle to compose yourself. "I'm here. I'm alive. No one hurt me. I'm alive."

Your fingers tremble for a moment as you recall the contents of your dream: that he might be alive, but those palace workers were doubtlessly dead as you crossed them.

A sick feeling settles in your stomach. An overwhelming sense of anxiety, prompted by the inexplicable notion that this wasn't just a dream. That it was something more.

The very thought makes your eyes widen.

It felt like a warning.

"Diavolo," You blurt, leaning back. You force him to look you in the eyes, ignoring the concerned look he shoots you in return. "You can't go back to the cage fighting ring."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"I'm serious! In—in my dream, I didn't know if you were alive or dead! It was—everyone was—there was death in the air, Diavolo! It—"

"Shh," He mumbles, quieting you as he pulls you into another embrace. "Darling, seeing those cage fights must have scared you more than you thought. I'm not going to get hurt. And even if I lose to the Victor, I'm not going to die. Alright?"

"No," You blurt, withdrawing. "Diavolo, you don't understand. My dream—my dream felt real! Like—like it was a sign—I'm being honest! And I know it sounds stupid, but I hardly think it's a coincidence that you were the focus of my dream, and now you're going off to the in the final night of the cage fights."

But the demon shakes his head, the look in his eyes disbelieving even as you try to get him to understand your dream.

"Diavolo, please! Just do this one thing for me! I know that it's a matter of pride, that you want to defeat the man who humiliated you—but I feel like my dream was urging us against this very thing!"

"Darling," Diavolo interrupts softly, touching your cheek. "You know you're a terrible liar, right?"

Your cheeks warm at that, and you feel a slight blow to your pride, but you nod your head. "Fine. I am. But how exactly does this relate?"

Diavolo chuckles, stealing a chaste kiss from your lips. "You're just as terrible at hiding things, love. I know that you've been on edge ever since you saw me fight on the first night of the cage fights." The demon leans back, tracing the outline of your cheek. "This dream is just the manifestation of those nerves. It means nothing. I'll be fine, I promise you."

"You don't know that," You grumble. But in your heart, you do see the merit to Diavolo's words.

It's been three nights now of nonstop fighting. You've already fallen into a schedule. You stay at the palace for breakfast and dinner, pretend to travel to the homes of various nobles for lunch while you visit (and nap with) Diavolo, and spend your nights watching the demon fight his way through the tournament.

But tonight is the fourth night.

And short as the fighting "season" is, none of the past three nights' combat will be able to compare to the brutalities Diavolo encounter tonight.

Every waking moment has been spent in quiet fear for Diavolo; you believe in his skills, but you have no faith in those around him. Cage fighting is a sport of the underground for a reason—the participants are not to be trusted. These past few days, you've been living in constant fear that Diavolo is going to go against a less-than-honorable fighter who will approach him with poison coating his knuckles. Or that he'll face someone concealing a weapon. Or that the no-teeth rule will be "forgotten," and your lover will be publicly mutilated.

You can't even try to pretend that the fear hasn't been messing with your mind.

"I don't think you should come tonight," Diavolo mumbles quietly.

"What?" You snap. You lean back, glaring harshly. "Diavolo, tonight is the single most important night—"

"And it will be the bloodiest. Those remaining are strong, but fierce. I made it to the fourth night when I last fought, and you remember how savagely I was defeated."

"Exactly!" You protest. "Diavolo, you can't possibly expect me to let you go in there alone. The arena is practically a den of wolves!"

"And this year, I'm going to be the strongest wolf of them all." Diavolo holds his gaze firm as he stares at you, his resolve nowhere near cracking. "You and I both know that I have what it takes to defeat the Victor. And even if I don't, I can defend myself better this year."

You stay quiet for a moment.

Internally, your brain is running at top speed. Weighing the pros and cons of letting Diavolo go alone. Trying to gauge the potential risk he might face. Figuring out how likely he is to get injured, and whether those injuries will need immediate treatment or not.

"Please," Diavolo mumbles quietly. "I know it must have been scary for you to have that nightmare, but it was just as awful to have you in my arms and shivering in fear, all without being able to do anything. I don't…If we can avoid that, I want us to do it. At all costs."

"Even at the price of me not being able to celebrate your victory with you?" You mumble quietly, trying to detect the faintest trace of hesitation in Diavolo's eyes.

"Yes." His answer is swift and immediate. "The second I leave the cage, win or lose, I will come here." Diavolo intertwines his fingers with yours and brings your hands to his lips. "And then we can celebrate together."

"You're awfully confident," You laugh lightly, already beginning to forget your dream in lieu of Diavolo's charms.

"Only because you trained me yourself," Diavolo grins cheekily, kissing your hand once more. "And because I already know how beautiful your smile will be when I tell you that I've won."

Convincing you to stay behind was the right decision.

Diavolo fights back the sick feeling that emerges in his stomach every time he glances at the pile of bodies that has been crammed unceremoniously into the corner of the prep room, just beyond the sight of the spectators but practically in perfect lighting for all fighters to see.

Thus far, there have been eight deaths. Three demons are expected to be dead within the hour (though a medical expert said that if they survive this hour, they'll make full recoveries), and two more seem to have lost their pulses but not their souls.

None of this has been at Diavolo's own hand, of course.

It's almost entirely been the work of the Victor.

Diavolo swallows nervously as he remembers snapshots of the fights he's watched. The Victor seems more unhinged this year than the last, and his combat style has been wholly erratic. Where he had some semblance of control in previous seasons, he seemed to care for nothing today as he swung his opponents around, thrusting them throughout the cage and giving them little chance to surrender, even if they wanted to.

Yeah, Diavolo thinks. Definitely a good idea to convince her to stay back.

He shudders, remembering how desperately you had cried his name during your nightmare. How he had shaken your shoulders but had been powerless to wake you. How, even after you awoke, he was hardly able to console you, only pulling you away from your memories of the dream with distractions.

If you were disturbed enough to have nightmares from the things you'd seen before, today's battles would send you to an entirely new realm of night terrors.

Diavolo has to try his hardest to push the memories out of his mind, continuing to change into his shirt. The last one had been ripped during combat—so the runners gave him something else. It barely fits, tight around Diavolo's chest but loose around his midsection, but the demon hardly minds.

After all, there's only one fight left.

He leans his neck from side to side, stretching the stiffness out as he prepares to enter, listening quietly to the growing noise around him. The break that took place right after the last match—held so that all spectators would wrap up any last-minute business to watch the final free of disruptions—finished five minutes ago. Diavolo isn't sure what the holdup is, but he's not going to let the delay shake him from his preparedness.

As such, he's entirely ready when, not four minutes later, he hears his title being announced through a microphone, his name booming through the room as he pulls his mask higher on his face and steps forward.

He enters the cage to the sound of restrained applause.

Diavolo's the underdog, he knows. The people who cheer for him cheer out of politeness, out of courtesy. No one expects the defending Victor to have his title stripped from him. Not when he's held the title for so long. Not when people are so used to seeing him defeat everyone who stands in his path. Not when it's public knowledge that Diavolo was practically obliterated by him last season.

The roars that erupt from the crowds the moment the Victor enters the cage from the other end are a reminder of who the expected winner is. Diavolo can already see the cruel glint in his opponent's eye, the calculated method the demon is planning on using to secure the final win.

But Diavolo has no plans of giving him the chance.

The moment the bell rings and the match has begun, he has already ducked low, prepared for the way the Victor's fist swings forward.

And then there's truly nothing but a flurry of fists, feet, and pain.

Diavolo holds his hands high as he retains his combat stance, never sacrificing his form even when he sees the rare openings in the Victor's movements. He approaches the fight the same way he would approach training with you: minimal offense, maximum defense. His goal is to tire his opponent out before he strikes, twisting the odds ever in his favor.

The Victor seems to have an inexhaustible source of energy, though. And while you were absolutely right when you said that you were stronger than him, the fact is that this demon is bigger than you, and Diavolo has to account for that every time he steps back to avoid a punch.

Curses, the demon thinks the moment he finds himself backed into a corner. His eyes widen momentarily, panic and raw, primal instincts taking over, and Diavolo closes his eyes as he lowers his head, thrusting all his weight into a single punch.

He makes contact.

Everyone's eyes seem to widen at the same time. It's the first decent hit someone has gotten in on the Victor all night. But while Diavolo was confident that he'd eventually be able to begin his offense, he never expected that such a poorly executed attack would make contact.

He could have dodged that easily, Diavolo thinks to himself, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

But then a sudden realization strikes him.

You could have dodged that easily.

But the Victor is too big to evade like you.

And the demon grins. Because if the Victor's defense is weaker than yours, then Diavolo knows he has this fight locked down.

He begins attacking his opponent with renewed purpose, and he can almost feel the shift in the room as the crowd slowly begins to realize just how strong Diavolo truly is.

It only emboldens him.

Within seconds, it looks like he and the Victor are going toe to toe with each other, both men getting in an equal amount of kicks and having to dodge the same number of punches. But Diavolo can feel his competitor's defense crumbling under the nonstop barrage of assaults. It starts with a fingernail just grazing his shoulder, then a stray punch landing on the demon's abdomen, and then Diavolo has managed to deliver a swift kick to the Victor's stomach, sending him flying back.

The Victor jumps back up within seconds, but the damage is already done. The crowd is murmuring now, and tension settles over the room.

But Diavolo can feel the tides of the fight. And they wave in his favor.

"Do you remember the last time we fought?" He hisses, glaring at the Victor even as they continue to spar. "You—" Diavolo grunts, trying to land a kick, though it's deflected by his opponent's arm. "Shattered my ribs—" Diavolo dodges an uppercut. "Bashed my head against the ground—" He throws a punch, and it catches the Victor square in the jaw. "Stood on top of me—" Both men kick. Their legs cross, both deflected. "And when I wanted to surrender," Diavolo practically spit the word, grabbing the Victor's collar and throwing him backward. "You broke my arm so I wouldn't be able to."

Diavolo's gaze darkens as he draws closer to the Victor, making use of the fact that his opponent is now backed against the wall. The roles are reversed as they stand, this time, but Diavolo doesn't make the same mistake as the Victor. He continues to throw punches, refusing to let up even as his competitor fights back, wincing only briefly when the demon lands a hit to his jaw.

Diavolo spits blood onto the ground, wiping his mouth.

Careless, he thinks. I'm getting careless.

But while that thought should stir Diavolo back into action, it only pulls the redhead deeper into his own mind, obsessed with thoughts of strategy and technique.

The Victor sees the moment of distraction.

He lunges forward, making a grab for Diavolo's throat. It's an attempt to tackle him to the ground, to thrust his head against the iron cage and beat him to death.

It's a move that will end the fight, should he succeed.

Diavolo's eyes widen when he realizes his predicament: his utter lack of defense as the Victor all but flies toward him, and for the second time in this fight, he lets his body's autopilot take over, legs moving faster than his mind could ever tell them to.

Diavolo forces his eyes to stay open as his leg swings upward and then clamps down, hitting the Victor straight on the head as the force thrusts the demon to the floor, where Diavolo stands over him.

The opponent's eyes widen instantly, and Diavolo seizes the moment, wasting no time in forcing the Victor to roll over before pressing his foot against the man's throat, standing over him.

It's one of the first moves you taught him.

And he executed it perfectly.

The look in Diavolo's eyes is nothing but menacing as he towers over his competitor, eyes blazing.

All around him, the crowd cheers. Masked watchers stand to get a better view of what is doubtlessly a defining moment of the fight, but no one can hear the words Diavolo speaks to the Victor.

"I will not kill you," The redhead warns sharply. But he continues to balance one foot on the Victor's neck and uses his other foot to step on the demon's stomach, Diavolo using his own body weight to force the Victor to stay on the ground. "I will not give you the privilege of escaping this fight by death."

Diavolo glares at the man beneath him. "Nor will I break a single bone of yours."

Diavolo presses down harder on the demon's neck until he can hear the quiet wheezes of the Victor.

"You will surrender to me now, or you will suffer for hours on end like this until you're ready."

And indeed, Diavolo has that luxury.

The Victor is in an inescapable position, weighed down by an opponent too heavy to throw off, his neck open and vulnerable. Every time his fingers twitch, Diavolo presses down a little harder on his neck, eyes bright with the promise of pain.

“Surrender,” Diavolo demands.

And for the first time, his eyes take on those of a king's.

His words are not spoken as a cage fighter urging another to end this fight. They are a command, spoken so icily that the Victor can sense the unspoken threat that underlines them.

Diavolo watches with unwavering eyes as the Victor braces himself before lifting his left hand, four fingers extended in the telltale symbol of surrender.

The crowd goes wild.

Diavolo can hardly hear the sound of the bell ringing as the audience screams in shock, elation, and confusion as they realize that this season has borne a new Victor, usurping the old. In fact, the redhead can barely hear his competitor's words of shame as the demon hangs his head while the crowd continues to whoop and cheer, and Diavolo abruptly thinks that you must be able to hear this noise from your location on the cliffside.

But then there's another sound.

And this one is coming from inside his head.

My son.

Diavolo flinches on instinct, eyes widening as he gazes around to check if anyone has noticed the magic. They're all too preoccupied with their cheering, though, but it unnerves Diavolo.

Raise your fist, my son. Let them bow to you.

The demon realizes abruptly that his father must be in this room. That his father is here, in this arena, just like Barbatos was, three nights ago. Diavolo's eyes fly everywhere that he can see, searching for the hulking frame of the true leader of the Resistance.

But amid the sea of masks, he finds nothing.

What are you waiting for? Do it now, before their cheers die out.

Diavolo gives up his search for his father, opting instead to heed the demon's demands. He raises a fist, slow and steady, to the sky. It's the mark of a Victor: only the strongest may assume this pose, and all before them must bow in submission as an acknowledgment of their power.

It's an awe-inspiring experience.

Diavolo watches with wary eyes as the (ex) Victor next to him bows first, the demon's head touching the ground. Then the first row of demons in the audience halt their cheering to drop to the floor; then the second; the third; the fourth—until every demon in the room is bowing to Diavolo, head lowered in loyal submission.

All except one.

Diavolo almost lets out a cry of surprise when he sees his father standing directly ahead, in the very midst of all the other spectators.

"My friends," The man announces in that booming voice of his. Everyone stares at him in surprise, confused as to why he isn't bowing. "You may rise."

All heads turn to Diavolo for reassurance, no one willing to withdraw from their bowed positions without explicit assent from their strongest, their protector, their Victor.

Diavolo nods his head quietly, and one by one, they begin to rise.

And then the magic begins.

Diavolo watches as his father takes to the air, robes flying up around him as the room gasps in shock at the use of magic.

"S-Sir!" Someone shouts. "It's—it's forbidden—if the imperial palace sees you using—using—"

Diavolo winces. The palace has driven such fear into the peoples' hearts that they can't even say the word magic.

"The imperial palace is our concern no longer," Diavolo's father responds smoothly once he's in the center of the room, floating to where all may see him. The man reaches behind his head, removing the elegant mask which had covered his face, and another collective gasp goes around the room—for removing one's mask breaks the single most important tradition of cage fighting.

"It is my pleasure to meet you," He announces, arms crossed proudly. "I am the leader of the Resistance, the rebel faction that is seeking to usurp the current crown."

The demon gestures downward.

"And the new Victor you have before you is my son."

Everything else that his father says is textbook. It's the same exact speech that he uses whenever he wants to bring people over to the Resistance. It starts with a list of the imperial palace's wrongdoings, goes on to explain how the oppression of the people has only worsened through the past hundred millennia, includes a few impassioned "We will not stand for this!" statements here and there, but it always ends the same way.

In cheers.

Diavolo's gaze is level when the sound of cries surrounds him once more, every soul in the room raising their own fists at the encouragement of his father, ready to defy the crown.

"It's time for the royal family to answer for their crimes!"

Hurrahs and whoops.

"It's time to restore balance to the Devildom!"

Shouts of agreement.

"It's time to usher in a new royal family—one chosen by the people!!"

Screams of approval.

Diavolo waits until his father is done speaking, used to every thought-out line in this speech. But then, right at the end, where the crowd is supposed to descend into cheers and every soul in the room is supposed to pledge loyalty to the Resistance and to Rebellion, his Father goes off-script.

"And now," The future demon king practically roars, and Diavolo looks up in confusion. Doesn't it end there? "The time has at last come for our Rebellion to venture out of the shadows and into the open!"

What?

"We have prepared for this moment for millennia! With the powers of foresight, power, and magic in our hands, the time has never been better for the people of the Devildom to take back what is rightfully ours!! To take back our rights! Our happiness! Our freedom!"

I've never heard this part before.

"The time is ripe, everything has at last aligned! Our Rebellion is no longer a process in the works, my friends, it can at last begin!"

Wait…

"The thousands of members of the Resistance are loyal to me! Every soul in this room recognizes my son as the strongest! And now, with these forces combined, the power harnessed in my faction and your strength as those who are honor-bound to follow my son, we have everything we need!"

No. This can't be. Father can't do this. Father won't do this.

"Tonight, the moon fell from the sky and closed its eyes to a broken nation! A shadow of its former glory! A miserable Devildom, more pitiful than it ever has been! But tomorrow, when the moon rises in the sky to gaze down at us once more, let it look upon a new world! A Devildom ruled by the good! The people! Us!"

"Father," Diavolo mumbles, numb with shock. But his voice is a whisper next to the roars of approval from all around them.

"Our Rebellion begins tomorrow, and with it, we shall burn everyone in the palace who has ever wronged us!"

Those words throw the crowd over the edge, and Diavolo's father raises his fist in response, the overwhelming support coming in the shape of shouts, whoops, cheers, and applause. The demon fills the room with magic, a forbidden hum that only further frenzies those in this room after it has been banned for so long, and Diavolo nearly shudders under its intensity, for it is more powerful than anything he has ever felt.

Diavolo.

The voice is small, almost quiet. Soft enough that no one else can notice it, but Diavolo looks at his father instantly.

"You didn't tell me Rebellion would come this soon," The demon blurts instantly, still slightly in shock.

Rebellion's arrival was dependent on when we would be able to harness the power of the underground. Timing was a coincidence.

"You knew," Diavolo mumbles, his breath shaky. "You knew I wouldn't fight if I—"

I did what I had to for the greater good.

"No, you lied to me, Father. You lied to me, and you used me, and—"

Go, Diavolo.

The demon blinks up at his father, looking almost stupid in his momentary confusion.

Go to your princess, and spend the four hours you have left in her arms. But do not try to stop the inevitable. You know as well as I do that the wheels of Rebellion have already begun to move—and I will send Barbatos to infiltrate the palace with you at the break of dawn. Say your goodbyes tonight, for it is the final night you shall have.

"Father, this doesn't change the fact that—"

Listen to me, Diavolo. If you do not want to spend your life regretting this, leave now.

"But—"

Go.

Diavolo doesn't wait any longer at that, spinning on his heel as he all but sprints out of the cage. The demon doesn't bother trying to contact anyone, doesn't bother changing out of the clothes that are drenched in sweat and blood, doesn't bother acknowledging anyone who bows to him as he passes.

He has only one goal in mind: to find you.

And to save you.

He transforms into his demon form the second he's outside, blending into the darkness as his wings carry him to your location within minutes. He drops himself in the swamp outside the cliffside so as to not scare you, but he's so desperate that he bursts out of it all the same, sprinting in your direction as you widen your eyes at him.

"Diavolo!" You shout, grinning that beautiful smile that he would appreciate so much more if he hadn't just learned that Rebellion will begin tomorrow. "How did it go?" Your eyebrows furrow the moment you see him. "Why are you running? Darling? You're still in your training clothes, do you know tha—"

Diavolo barrels straight into you, wrapping his arms around your waist as he all but clings to your figure.

"Diavolo?" You ask gently, running a hand through his hair. A wave of sympathy washes through your body, seeping into Diavolo's own. "Don't feel bad. There's always the next season, and—"

"I won."

"Huh?"

"I won," The demon repeats, reluctantly unburying his head from your stomach, leaning back to look you earnestly in the eye. "But we have to get out of here."

"What?" You repeat, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "Diavolo, you're not making any sense."

"Please," The redhead blurts, grabbing your hand. "We have to go. Now. I can explain...later. But we have to get as far away as possible right now, so please—"

"Diavolo," You mumble, pulling him into a serene kiss. Your disposition is nothing but calm and soothing.

Of course, Diavolo thinks bitterly. It's not like she knows that she's going to die tomorrow.

"Tell me what's wrong," You mumble quietly. "Slowly. Take your time."

"I…" Can't.

Diavolo stares at the ground, knowing all too well that if he tells you the truth—that he's part of a Resistance faction that's about to throw a coup tomorrow in an attempt to usurp and kill you alongside your entire family—you're not going to go with him. And if you attempt to head out onto the streets without him, your naive trust in the world will end in nothing but death. Only death, if you're lucky. But Diavolo knows you won't be.

"Please," He pleads dumbly, not knowing what else to say. He tries to come up with a lie. He tries so hard. But for the first time, he comes up with nothing. As if he's already told you so many lies that his brain refuses to supply him with any more, as punishment for his actions from months ago.

"Please, just believe me. We have to go. Right now. You're going to get hurt otherwise."

"Diavolo," You chuckle, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Your demeanor is still light and casual, not understanding the true gravity of the situation. "Whoever threatened you, I'm sure it will be fine. I can handle myself. And even if I can't, I have you to protect me, don't I?"

Diavolo swears his heart breaks a little at that.

"I love you," He mumbles, gripping your arm. The words are fast and clumsy, hardly romantic—but Diavolo fears he may never get to say them to you if he doesn't tell you the words now. He curses his past self for not saying the words earlier. For lying to you, to himself, and to the world in a pathetic attempt to be loyal to a Rebellion he no longer cares about. "I love you so much. And it hurts so much to love you this much—but I will always love you. No matter what. Please, you believe me, right?"

The demon tenses his grip around your arm, his eyes desperate.

"Diavolo," You whisper softly, pulling him into a hug. "I love you too. Just as much, I'm positive. But whatever has you so worked up is going to be fine, alright?" You press a chaste kiss to his lips, letting your lips linger until you can feel the way the tension has melted from Diavolo's muscles.

"If you love me," He mumbles, and Diavolo feels sick for resorting to this, but he doesn't know any other way to convince you. "If you love me, then you'll listen to me. Please. We have to leave right now." A faint light sparks in his eyes. "We can...we can run away together. And get married. And we can have a big house on an island—any island you want, as long as it's uninhabited. I'll—I'll even build you the house. And we can have children—unless you don't want children. And—and we can—we can—we can—"

Diavolo's eyes light up, imagining a future with you where the two of you get to grow old together, happy until the end of your days.

"We can do all that later," You whisper, embracing Diavolo. The demon realizes that he's shaking. "But for now, let's just get you back to normal, alright?"

"No," Diavolo mumbles weakly. "No please, if we wait, it's going to be too late."

And indeed, he means those words not in the context of Rebellion but in the frame of his own mind. Because the moment he begins thinking about the greater good and the fact that running away with you will doubtlessly doom the Devildom, he'll realize that he has to go through with Rebellion, no matter how much he doesn't want to.

"We have to go. Please, if I tell you why, then you won't come. We need to move now—before—before I change my mind and do something stupid—"

"Shh," You mumble, quieting him. "Close your eyes, darling," You mumble, pressing a kiss to Diavolo's lips. "Relax."

You pull your arms around him and he sobs freely into your arms, clinging to your figure like it's a lifeline as he realizes that he failed. That you're not going to run away with him. That the picture of the two of you, old and happy, holding hands on a beautiful island with no one to disturb you, was nothing more than a stupid dream.

The worst part is that he can't even continue his attempt to convince you. Because he knows it's wrong. That Rebellion is what the Devildom needs. And that Diavolo will be a monster for standing in the way of that.

But won't he still be a monster if he kills you?

"I don't want..." To watch you die, Diavolo wants to say, pulling you close so that he can memorize the warmth of your embrace, the shape of your body, the little details he can savor tonight but never again.

"Shhh, close your eyes, darling. Everything's going to be okay." You kiss him. "I promise."

He lets out a sob, clutching your figure in silent apology as he heeds your instructions and savors these moments of peace, for they will be the last. But as he shuts his eyes and tries to focus on the sensation of your arms around him, warm and loving, all he can imagine is the sight of your body in chains beneath him, the whole world watching as he kills you.

MASTERLIST

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | ✔

Word count: 11.1k

Notes: In my original draft of this fic, Diavolo never gives MC his real name. He calls himself "Brutus," tossing her the name of a character he heard Barbatos talk about once, not really knowing the context of it. At that time, the fic title was going to be The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.

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Next Update: 8/13/20

I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

[missorgana]

lucky accidents

pairing: geralt/jaskier

fandom: the witcher (tv)

rating: teen and up

word count: 2408

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Jaskier's dog runs away. He might have to sneak into a random house to get her. Needless to say, it's going to be an interesting night. (modern au, teacher jaskier, single dad geralt)

(a ridiculous meet-cute(slash ugly??) and geraskier being chaotic as a very late birthday present for the queen Sabrina / @poirot my love!!! really really hope you like this fic babeee 💖 and thank you my ride or die Cat / @inafaithforgotten for beta reading for me, saved my ass once more MWAH 💕✨ enjoy!!)

read on ao3

Out of all the ridiculously stupid and awfully humiliating things Jaskier’s done in his life, this has got to take the cake.

Granted it isn’t completely his fault. Promise.

It’s rather Buttercup’s fault, his darling beloved cocker spaniel, who’s decided to pay a visit to a random house’s garden, and house, right in the middle of their perfectly fine 2am walk, thank you very much.

Curse her loveable face. He supposes she gets her curiosity and recklessness from himself, really.

And in the end, what can Jaskier do other than try to find a way in?

It’s taken him three months to get her rid of that habit of eating just about everything dropped on the floor (his local vet probably hates him), so he’d be damned if he’s gonna lose his baby to a stranger.

Maybe he’s way past sleep deprived right now. Maybe he’s had a couple of rums in his coffee. Maybe he has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

But, oh, what a perfect time for an adventure!

Okay, if he was in his right state of mind at this point, he’d probably stopped in his tracks and realised there’s a perfectly sensible way of solving this problem, involving a fucking door bell.

Alas, as mentioned earlier,  embarrassing.

Whether it’s the daunting scenario of disturbing someone’s beauty sleep or the judgement a stranger might lay upon him from having a dog who doesn’t listen to him that scares him the most, Jaskier isn’t really sure.

So, here he is.

It took a little less than an hour for him to decide his plan of action, after about ten minutes of frantic searching, ten minutes of dawning realisation, and the rest a frantic panic staring at the god forsaken house.

Ultimately, Jaskier climbs over what he assumes is the gate to the backyard. Remember, definitely not sober right now.

It’s moments like these that leave him wondering how he ever landed his teaching job, but he  prays  to whatever gods might be up there that this doesn’t end up with him losing it. He’s too fucking passionate about that school and those kids to let it go.

But fuck! He wants his dog back!

Jaskier lands in the backyard, right to his assumption, and well, now that he’s officially trespassing on private property, he can’t really chicken out. 

Luckily, a window is propped open for his convenience. It’s an extremely hot summer night, as the last two weeks proved, so he’s in no way surprised.

And a plastic chair and table-set to jump from, wonderful!

Don’t think about the illegality of all this too much. Jaskier’s trying his best.

At least, he proves that to himself climbing in, surprising himself in how quiet he can be. Even dodging a potted plant on the window sill, he sets his foot on wooden floor, huh, those years of ballet did pay off after all.

And, yes, he took his shoes off beforehand, duh, he’s not an idiot.

But soon enough, well… uh, let’s say that’s as far as Jaskier’s plan went. Now he’s officially  breaking into a home , and he’s standing as if glued in place, staring at the living room that looks stuck in a forgotten century.

Focus!

He ponders on calling her name, or rather, whispering, but Buttercup’s familiar, frantic running footsteps get ahead of him.

“Buttercup!” he whispers, willing his voice as stern as possible for the troublemaker, “Come on, girl!”

Shakes are heard, more padding of feet, and his baby comes running along from what looks like the kitchen. He’s, like, 50% sure, it’s dark and the rum is making the world a little crooked.

Thank heavens she hasn’t broken anything.

And thank heavens he’s in time to shush her before the inevitable bark comes. She looks so clueless, but so happy with her big twinkling eyes, it’s a bit annoying.

She’s in deep,  deep  trouble for this. Can’t get out of this that easy. Nope.

Jaskier’s gonna scold her anyway, but right now, relief washes over him more than anything else. Entry succeeded, goal obtained, now it’s time for his exit.

To be honest, not really something he planned, either. But surely the way in works the other way around too, right?

See, that’s the funny thing, because it’s not his happy pup smashing anything in her spontaneous adventure, no, it’s when he heads back for the window the crash happens. Or, well, he thinks it’s the way for the window, the general direction at least, but Jaskier’s hip meets with a table, and he’s pretty sure a lamp’s involved in the fall.

That really hurt, thanks for asking.

But instead of fleeing the scene even faster, like any sensible person would do, he’s frozen half-standing, half-leaning against the windowsill, as light switches on in a room down the hall, and a voice calls, “Dad?”

Shit . Why is Jaskier drunk doing this? Why is he doing this at all?

Buttercup tilts her head at him and he’s none the wiser. He really does try to move, but then she’s running off  again  and he can’t even get to chase after her before a high pitched scream meets his eardrums.

He’s caught. 

Yep, he’s so caught, because he’s an idiot who didn’t jump out the window when he should, and soon enough he’s being hit over the head with a slipper. Best night ever.

Jaskier becomes a bit of a flailing mess of limbs, attempting to dodge without much success while Buttercup starts barking excitedly somewhere in the other room. He even throws out a couple of “Ow!”s, because, seriously, that slipper hurts, what the fuck?

He can’t exactly blame his attacker, of course. In fact, very much the reaction he’d have himself. Still, he’s rather glad the hits come to a halt when the room is suddenly illuminated, the lamp he pushed over staring at him in offense.

The gruff voice from the hallway surprises him, when it says, “Princess?”

However, he’s a little more than shocked right now, because once Jaskier blinks himself to clear vision, he sees a young girl in front of him he in no way expected to meet today. Tonight. Whatever.

Ciri, one of his students, is clutching a blue slipper, used as a weapon only seconds ago, to her chest while staring at him with teacup wide eyes.

Well, this just got a hell of a lot more embarrassing.

And when Jaskier averts his eyes from the blonde girl, a giant blonde man who he can only assume is Ciri’s father, with arms that he’s pretty sure could snap him in half like a twig, is staring with a similar shocked expression, face twisted to a frown.

Why, oh, why in the name of all that is sacred and good, is the first thought jumping into Jaskier’s mind how he’d let those arms do  all sorts of things  to him.

You absolute goddamn clown. His brain’s too busy scolding him to say anything, but turns out he doesn’t need to since his pup jumps his student happily, because she doesn’t understand the situation at all and just found new friends in her post-midnight scavenger hunt.

He thinks he might’ve hit a new low at this point.

However, Ciri frees him of her father’s scrutinizing eyes for a minute, as she giggles in excitement, and now looks up at Jaskier with such a huge grin her cheeks are bound to hurt, “Mr. Jaskier!”

Okay. Okay, out of all the homes he could’ve possibly intruded in, this definitely isn’t a worse case scenario. Luck, maybe?

Not that he feels particularly lucky looking back at the man watching the scene, looking rather, uh, furious, which is understandable.

“You know this man?” he questions his daughter before Jaskier even gets time to consider his options, and the young girl looks back with an eager nod.

He himself is pretty much frozen in place.

Kind of fearing the brick wall of a man will murder him on the spot if he even moves an inch. Practically already killing him with his eyes only. Embarrassingly enough, he finds that even more attractive. Think with your  head , idiot.

Meanwhile, Ciri’s face is painted with brief confusion, “My music teacher, dad! Didn’t you listen when I told you? Mr. Jaskier’s classes are my favorite.”

The girl seats herself on the floor and scratches Buttercup behind the ears, who seems to finally have used up all her energy for the day.

Ciri maintains her excitement, though, while looking painfully disappointed at her father. The man instantly reacts, it seems, because the glare vanishes into thin air, his stance less volatile, his expression almost… soft? 

That word doesn’t exactly fit the blonde man, but it makes Jaskier feel a lot of ways. Man, is he drunk or just horny at this point?

“Of course I did.” his student’s father tells her, still eyeing him warily while apologising, “That doesn’t explain what your teacher is doing in our house, princess. At night.”

Jaskier wants to fucking die.

He tries to stammer something out, it takes, uh, a while, only landing on, “My dog.”

The blonde man frowns again.

Ciri still has zero judgement in her eyes, God bless her, and he laughs nervously in the attempt to elaborate, “Buttercup here, she, uh, ran away from me. In here. Didn’t wanna wake ya. Sorry.”

And Jaskier shakes his head at himself like it’s second nature. Well, sort of is. If you knew all the stupid shit he accidently gets himself into, you wouldn’t be surprised.

Luckily, his (favorite) student just giggles when Buttercup licks her hand, and her father seems degrees less inclined to call the cops, so that’s good. Ciri even asks him if she can give the pup a treat, and Jaskier can’t exactly say no to that, can he?

Buttercup’s clearly in love with her now, it’s adorable.

Which is why it makes him feel like a bit of an asshole when he clears his throat and tells the duo it’s probably time for him to make his exit. Ciri’s heart might as well have just shattered in pieces in front of him.

But he’s just still pretty terrified of her father’s rather menacing figure. Note to self to not be present at that parent-teacher conference.

The eye candy, though.

Focus  on not getting arrested, Jaskier!

Ultimately, she looks to her dad and stands up hesitantly, her and the pup looking at each other like they’re being torn apart for eternity, and then directs her pleading eyes back to him, “Could I walk her sometime, Mr. Jaskier?  Please ?”

His student drags out the word almost to the point where she loses her breath, and Jaskier can’t help his chuckle. Thankfully, her dad gives him a look of approval.

“Sure thing, kid.”

In return, he gets his second scare of the day when Ciri screeches again, only for a few seconds when she probably remembers it’s the dead of the night, and jumps for a hug. Bless her heart, but he can’t help still feeling utterly embarrassed. 

Jaskier pats her back before she lets go and her father ushers her to her room, and the yell “Goodnight!” is way too endearing, although it was most likely more directed to his pup than himself, fair enough.

Well, then. He finds himself standing around awkwardly, nervously still not moving until said giant of a man crosses his arms and gets Jaskier out of his own head.

“Ah, well, that’ll be my leave then.” he says, looking everywhere else than the person in front of him, scratching his neck.

It’s almost obvious he’s getting a cold shoulder until the deep voice speaks again, “Make sure to use the door this time.”

Yup, he deserves that.

To be honest, Jaskier can’t quite believe he’s… uh, survived this. Better not jinx it, though.

“I, sir, uh,” he starts, holding out a hand for Buttercup to follow along, “I cannot stress how sorry I am for this. Seriously. If you tell my superiors about this, I’ll understand, uhm, I guess I just want to let you know I thoroughly enjoyed teaching your daughter.”

And the blonde is frighteningly silent once more, though he lifts one eyebrow, whatever the hell that means.

At last, a sigh.

“Well, I hope you’ll continue.” are the words coming next, shocking enough, Jaskier almost thinks he’s sound-hallucinating, or something, “Apology accepted. Nobody’s hurt, and Cirilla seems to like you quite a lot.”

He honestly can’t help but smile, in relief more than anything else. Buttercup barks once, and the man glances down. “And your dog, too.”

Is- is that a smile? Jaskier can’t really tell, because it looks oddly out of place with, well, everything else about him. Not that he doesn’t like what he’s seeing.

The not-so-scary-anymore man even opens the door for him, gosh, he does like his men with good manners!

Maybe, possibly, he really needs to sober up. Or eat something, now that he thinks about it.

“Then, adieu!” he offers with a little flourish of his hand, but while the pup’s already running eagerly out into the rose bushes, the blonde man stops him in his tracks with, “I suppose you’d like my number.”

There’s that familiar awkwardness again! Jaskier realises this when all he can do is gape like a moron, but honestly, those might be the most surprising out of this whole evening. That says a lot.

He finds himself stammering, “Uhm, uh, pardon?”

The giant’s already writing it down on a fucking post-it note. “So you don’t have to use the window when Ciri’s going to walk her new friend over there.”

Jaskier blinks, “Ah!” Of course, what else? He’s bordering on a thin line to delusion, truly, “Obviously.”

“Obviously.” he repeats back, and Jaskier pockets the note hilariously quickly himself.

Good, good, don’t humiliate yourself even more now. He guesses he can be thankful he’s just sober enough to not try one of those… horrendous pick-up lines of his. 

Guess the eye candy will be enough.

He gives the blonde a nod at last, taking his final leave after a way too strange night, but not before the man forms that almost-smile,  pretty sure it’s a smile, again (good God, did he just check out his ass, or has Jaskier officially lost it?) and says, “Name’s Geralt, by the way.”

Jaskier nearly chokes on his own breath.

[draco-kasai]

Hero Collaboration Program

Summery: High School Hero Collaboration Program! Helping Sophomore hero students connect with others around the world! Come join us for a two-week-long trip to one of our schools for an amazing once in a lifetime experience with students of Yuuei! Only a lucky 40 students will be selected for this program. They will be split into two groups of 20 and sent to different schools to have completely unique experiences!

A/N: AKA, A very ambitious fanfic I started because even though I have another fanfic in progress my brain decided to give me an idea and I just had to do it. These are all characters I adore and I even did lots of research on them to hopefuly get them down right. I also too many backstories and threw them into a meat grinder to remold them in a way that would make them fit into this universe. 

I love Class 1-A, but like they need to be taken down a peg or two, and I want to see them get their asses handed to them.

Ch. 1 part 3 of 3 Program Sign-Ups  

Chapter 1 pt 1 --> Chapter 1 pt 2  --> -Chapter 2-

“Hola mama.” a teen smiled softly at the woman behind the desk. His brown hair, that almost looked a reddish orange in the light, was a curly mess, almost hiding his two round, striped ears.

The older woman looked away from the computer screen she had been typing at to smile at her son, “Manny, Hola mijito. What brings you to the library? A project?”

“Um, no, not really…” brown eyes glanced over to one of the bookshelves. A girl with shoulder-length blue hair, and red goggles, gave him two thumbs up, a large grin on her lips before she left. Looking back at his mother, Manny spoke, “I, uh, wanted to know if you’d let me sign up for the Hero Collaboration Program!”

His mother tilted her head to the side in confusion, “Hero Collaboration Program?”

“Uh, yeah, It’s this whole program for first year hero students in preparatoria.” Manny began to explain as his mother turned to attend someone who wanted to check out a book, “Basically we go on a two-week-long trip to California, and meet and work with other kids from around the world. We’re going to be working with students from a specific school in Japan. Frida and I want to sign up as a team!”

“That’s very nice and all Manny but… well, why are you asking me?” His mother asked as she waved goodbye to the student.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… It’s just… you don’t usually ask me for permission with aanything since we don't... live together, you usually just go to your father or grandpapi. Never me…” Maria frowned, a hand fiddling with a hoop earring.

Manny let out a soft sigh as he ruffled his hair, “Well, yeah, but papa and -.... He would obviously say ‘yes’ and I wanted your opinion. I mean… I don’t see you as often as it is, and being with dad is great and all, but… you're my mom.”

Maria placed a hand over her heart, face full of concern, “Manny… ” Pausing, she looked around for a moment. Telling her son to wait, she walked off to speak to someone before coming back and grabbing her bag. Taking her son’s hand, she led them out of the library and over to a park. Sitting them both down at a bench, the older woman began to speak, “Now then… Is everything alright, baby?”

Brown eyes widened in surprise at his mother's question, “W - what do you mean?”

Maria let out a soft huff, “Manny, I may not be around often, but I can tell something is bothering you. I don’t think it’s my permission you were worried about.” her son let out a heavy sigh.

"Well… it's just that, ever since I decided to join the hero classes when we started preparatoria things at home have been… tense. Like grandpa has been distant and dad has been doting all over me more. Even training at home isn't even fun anymore! It’s so suffocating to even be home anymore! I’ve had to stay over Frida’s house a few times cause I just can’t take it!"

“The Suarez’s are letting you stay over?”

“Yeah, Mr Emiliano doesn’t really know what’s going on, but I think he has an idea… he’s been trying to be nicer to me...”

“When did this happen?”

“Um… Like a while ago? Uh, sometime in September?”

Maria frowns at this news. The fact that her son doesn’t feel comfortable at home anymore is worrying. Not just that, but he didn’t even come to her when this all started. Biting her lip, she asked, “Why didn’t you come to me sooner?”

Manny lowered his head, avoiding eye contact, “I didn’t want to bother you with my problems. I probably wouldn’t even have told Frida if she hadn’t been there when I announced my intentions for becoming a hero to them.”

His mother’s frown only deepened at this. He should know that he wouldn’t be a bother to her. No, not her son, never her son. She thought they were closer than that. “... Have you spoken to them about it?”

“...No… Whenever I try bringing it up, they just… brush it off or get distracted with something else. Besides, what am I even supposed to say to them?”

His mother bit her lower lip in thought. Her hand wandered up to gently pet her son’s head, eliciting a soft purr from him. She hasn’t been there enough for her son. Leaving her husband was difficult, but leaving Manny had been the hardest part. She would have taken him with her, but not even she was sure if her Mariachi band would do well, and they didn’t either till they finally caught a break. Once things for her had become more secure, she wanted to have Manny travel with her, to see the world, but he was already happy with his father and his best friend. She couldn't take that from him. Seeing him once a month was enough for her.

“Do you want to stay with me for a while?” She blinked in surprise at the sudden question that left her lips. Looking down, she could see the shock in her son’s face. He obviously wasn’t expecting the question either, “I mean… You can stay until you know what to say to your father and grandpa or… if you want, you could… can stay as long as you like.”

Manny stared up at his mother. He remained silent for a moment before he spoke, “Is… is that okay?”

“Of course it is, mijo. I have a spare guest room. You are always welcome. My door is always open for you, no matter what.” Many smiled weakly and hugged his mother.

“Gracias mama.” He mumbled softly into his mother's shoulder. The two sat like that for a while till Maria finally pulled away.

“Now then, let’s go get your things from the house, yeah?” She smiled softly as she whipped the stray tears from her son’s freckled cheeks. With a nod, they both got to their feet and began walking.

“So, did you really want my permission for the program?”

“Yeah, I wanted an unbiased opinion.”

“Well, I think you should go. Consider it a vacation.” She ruffled her son’s hair, “Will your girlfriend be joining you?”

“Yeah! We stopped by her dad’s work during our last recess. He was pretty okay with it. She may not be becoming a cop like the rest of her family, but they’re still pretty proud of her.” Manny grinned, “Frida and I are really excited about this!”

“I’m glad.” Maria found herself grinning as well.

Frida Suarez. Age 16. Seat 4. Student Rank 13. Hero Name: Rockster. Quirk: Quirkless.

Karate, Hand to Hand, parkour

Manuel Pablo Gutierrez O’Brien Equihua Rivera. Age 16. Seat 5. Student Rank 17. Hero Name: El Tigre. Quirk: Tigre

Has striped ears, tail and fangs. Has stripes going down his arms, legs and back just like a Tiger. Roar can temporarily paralyze anyone in range. When angry, his eyes turn green, making him lose control to instincts.

Agile, hand to hand, night vision, sensitive hearing

_______

“Good morning” A slim girl with slick waist long black hair mumbled as she walked into the kitchen.

“Oh, hey honey, you’re just on time. I made pancakes.” A large, buff man with blond hair placed another pancake on a plate.

“Good morning, Violet.” The girl's mother greeted from across the island as she fed the baby.

“Morning guys,” She ruffles her baby brother's hair, “morning Jack Jack.” The toddler let out a fit of giggles as he clapped his hands together.

“Where’s your brother? I don’t want him rushing through breakfast again.” The girl's mother looked around as she spoke. Violet shrugs her shoulders as she sits in her seat on the island and gratefully takes the plate of pancakes her father offered her.

“Probably still in the shower.” She responded, pouring syrup on her breakfast, “Uh, hey mom… did…did you look at that packet I gave you yesterday?”

“Packet?” Her father cocked up an eyebrow as he set down a plate for his son and wife, “What packet?”

“Bob, I talked to you about it last night.” His wife rolled her eyes fondly, cleaning her son's face, she nodded, “I did, I think you should apply.”

“Really?” Violet perked up, food in her mouth.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” Bob set down his own plate and took a seat at the island, “Last night? Oh, you mean the exchange program, right? Yeah, I don’t see why not, sweetie.”

“Ooo! Pancakes!” A younger blond shouted followed by a small gush of wind, the boy suddenly appearing in his seat.

“Dash, no running in the house.” His mother reprimanded, earning a soft sorry.

“Really? I can apply? Yes! Oh my gosh!” Violet cheers, happily wiggling in her seat.

“Apply for what? What did I miss?” drowning his pancakes in syrup, Dash glances at everyone.

“Your sister is going to be applying for a two-week hero program. She’ll be interacting and training with other hero hopefuls from across the country and other places of the world.” His mother explained. Jack Jack squealed from next to her and clapped his hands together.

“Whoa, cooool! You’ve got to tell me how it goes! That sounds awesome! I want to sign up too!” Dash bounces in his seat

“Well, you’ve got to wait till you’re a sophomore in high school since it’s a sophomore only program.” Violet explained as she waved around her fork. Her younger brother pouted at this.

“Don’t worry, Dash, you can apply when you get to 10th grade too.” His father's reassurance made the boy grin, “Now eat up kids, It’s my turn to take you all to school.”

Violet Parr. Age 15. Seat 14. Student Rank 14 Hero Name: Violet. Quirk: Flyrogensis

Can create force fields to protect herself or use in battle. Is able to generate fields to throw or break through solid objects.

Hand to hand, stealth

_____

“Good morning Rudy!” A short, plump woman greeted her son happily, placing down a plate of eggs, home styled fries and wheat toast. On the table across sat a tall, scrawny man already eating happily.

“Good morning kiddo!” he greeted with a wave.

“Morning ma, morning pop.” Rudy smiled, sitting himself down at the table.

“Did you ever make your decision on that program you told us about a few days ago, sweetie?” Millie asked, finally sitting down to enjoy her own breakfast.

“Oh that’s right! That hero thing, right?” His father, Joe, turned his full attention to his son.

“Oh, yeah, actually I did. I decided to go ahead and apply.” Rudy’s green eyes looked away from his parents and picked at his food, “I uh, I still want to become an artist but… I also really like helping people. There’s a bunch of heroes out there that have more than one job and I thought, maybe, I could do that too.”

“Oh baby, of course you can!” Millie placed a hand over her son’s, prompting his eyes to look up to meet hers, “I work as an advice column writer and even do opera, all while keeping the house spotless and putting food on the table! If you want to do more than one thing, go for it.” She gave her son a smile that he graciously returned.

“I’m so proud of you, son!” His father grinned widely, giving him a hair ruffle, “You’re growing up to be such the creative young man! And I'm not just saying that because of the nature of your quirk!”

Rudy laughed as he swatted his father's hand away, “Stop it, pop” The laughter only grew as Joe drew his son closer to give him a noogie.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough now. No messing around at the table.” Millie lectured, a small smile still on her lips. Both father and son broke apart, shooting small apologies.

Rudy Tabootie. Age 16. Seat 18 Student Rank 15. Hero Name: Snap. Quirk: Chalk Art

Anything he draws with chalk becomes real or animated. Somehow he can defy all laws of physics and draw what he needs in the air in 2D, and it becomes 3D. His only limit is his imagination.

Hand to hand

____

“I’m heading out now!” A teenage boy called into his house as he stepped out.

“Wait, Jake, don’t forget Haley!” An older woman called as she walked down the corridor with a small ten-year-old following besides her.

“Awe man, seriously?” Jake frowns, watching his mother help his sister through the straps of her backpack.

“Yes, I have to head out in…now!” His mother’s eyes widened as she looked at her watch. Giving a quick peck on her kid’s foreheads, she ran back inside, “Johnathan, we have to go now!”

“Oh, oh! Now? Oh, shoot! Head for the car, I’ll be right there!” The older man with glasses was quick to tighten his tie and grab his car keys. Rushing past the kids, he gave them both a little hair ruffle before they entered the car and drove off.

“Well, that was somethin.” The siblings looked down the steps to see Jake’s two friends staring off where their parents had gone.

“What’s with the rush?” The male wearing a beanie asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Hi Spud, Hi Trixie. Mom has an early wedding to get too.” Haley explained hopping down the steps' while her brother locked the door, “Dad’s driving her before heading to work.”

“Hey there Haley.” Trixie smiled, the fairy-like wings on her back flapping about happily, “Guess that means we’re dropping you off on our way.”

“Wicked.” Spud grinned as he patted the girl’s head.

“Sup guys,” Jake greeted with a grin as he skipped the last three steps, “We should get moving unless we all want to be late.” He prompted them to start walking.

“Hey Jakey, did you tell your parents about that program you want to enter?” Trixie asked.

“The Hero Collaboration Program, right? Yeah, he asked. I don’t think he’ll get accepted, though. I mean, have you seen his grades? I doubt he’ll be accepted.” Haley waved her hand about dismissively, earning a glare from her brother. Trixie and Spud shared a look.

“Uh, the program isn’t based on grades.” Trixie’s words made the young girl blink in surprise.

“It… it’s not?”

“Nah, It's just an essay where you talk about yourself and an interview.” Spud explained

“Whoa - that’s ridiculous! It’s an exchange student program! It’s supposed to be based on grades! What kind of program doesn’t base anything off of grades!?” Haley tugged at her pigtails as she threw herself into a spiral.

“It’s a Hero program, Haley. We’re supposed to learn more about the hero world while we’re there and make connections with other students. They wouldn't even let us apply unless we were in the hero courses, and you gotta have at least a 2.5 to even get those classes. I’ve got straight B’s and one C. I'm golden if I can write a good enough essay and pass the interviews.” Jake sent his friends a grateful smile.

“That’s ridiculous! A 3.0 or a 4.0 student would benefit from it more! Why are they allowing such low grades in?” Jake rolled his eyes fondly at his younger sister’s ‘good grades are everything’ tirade. He almost cried out in happiness when he spotted her school come into view.

“Alright Haley~ Here’s your school, see you later, bye~!” Jake grinned as he gently pushed his younger sister towards the school doors. The little girl walked into the school, continuing her speech. Jogging back over to his friends, Jake gave them a smile.

“Thanks for helping with Haley, guys.”

“Naaah it’s no prob bro. Your sister is just focused on perfect grades. Wait till she gets older and realizes that that’s not going to help her with real world problems.” Spud nods as they all set down their skateboards.

Trixie pats her friend's shoulder, “Technically, Spud’s right, but we’re also not gonna let your little sister bully you just cause she’s got a 4.0 GPA. Besides, I'm sure you’ll get in, Jakey.”

“Thanks guys.”

“Anytime dude.”

“Alright, that's enough mushy stuff, let's go before the warning bell rings!” Trixie waved her hands about before kicking off, her friends close behind her.

Jake Long. Age 16. Seat 5. Student rank 18. Hero Name: Red Dragon. Quirk: Huolong

Can shapeshift into a dragon. He can also transform any part of his body into his dragon part without completely shape shifting.

Hand to Hand, Karate, parkour

____

A girl with ankle long blond hair skipped down the stairs of her house. Hearing the TV on, she assumes it’s her parents and calls out a greeting, only to pause at the foot of the stairs upon seeing her cousin. “Oh! Hey Finn” She grins, walking over to give him a hug, her hair shrinking down to be a bob cut.

“Hey Fionna.” Fin grins, ruffling his younger cousin’s hair.

“What are you doing here so early?” Fionna asked as she looked around.

“Mom and dad had their anniversary trip today and Jake and Lady’s place is kind of full 'cause of all the kids, so they dropped me off here.” Finn explained, walking with his cousin into the kitchen.

“Oh, that’s cool.” Fionna looked around the kitchen to see her breakfast already prepared and covered with saran wrap. “When did my parents leave?”

“About twenty minutes ago. I would have gone back to sleep, but I figured you might not see me, and I’d end up sleeping all day.” Finn yawned, walking back to the living room.

“Good call.” Fionna giggles as she grabs a fork and walks into the living room with her cousin.

“Hey, Finn, can I ask you something?” Fionna asks once she finishes her food. Her cousin hums in response, “You were, like, a sophomore once, right?”

Finn snorts at the question. Turning to face his cousin, he gives her a soft kick on the thigh with his foot, “Dude, I’m just one year older than you.” Fionna blushes, realizing the ridiculousness of her question.

Giving an awkward laugh, she clears her throat, “Right. Well, … did you apply for the Hero Collaboration Program?” Silence filled the room. Fionna was starting to feel nervous at the blank stare her cousin was giving her. She prepares to speak, only to jump in surprise as Finn bursts into laughter.

“Oh, oh, thank glob! I thought you were going to ask me for advice with Ignis! Yeah, I did though!”

“Whoa-” Fionna could feel her cheeks heat up at that. The image of a good-looking boy with a mohawk made of flames smiling at her made her face look like a tomato, “W - why would I want advice with Ignis?!”

“Are you kidding me? I’ve seen the way you get all flustered around him!” Finn grins, earning him a kick to the side. The force making him fall off the couch eliciting loud laughter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Fionna huffed as she got to her feet and took her dirty dish to the kitchen to wash, “I just wanted your opinion on whether or not I should apply for the program! Jerk…”

With a gasp for breath, Finn rose up to his feet, his smile never faltering, “You’re going to apply?”

“Mmm, I’m thinking about it. I’m not sure, though.” The blond female sighs, dark blue eyes focused on the trickling water from the sink.

“Well, It’s not due till mid-December, right? You’ve got a lot of time to think about it.”

“I knoooow, it’s just that… I want to do it, but I’ve never really gone so far from home, I’m a little scared and nervous.” Fionna sighed, turning off the sink and putting the now clean plate away.

“You can’t think of it like that! Think of it like an adventure!” Finn grins, glancing at the clock and grabbing his backpack and Fionna’s.

“An adventure?” Fionna raises an eyebrow as she grabs her beanie that matches her cousin’s hat, only with bunny ears instead of bear ears.

“Yeah! But you gotta say it like this; AAAADVENTURE!” Finn pumped his fist in the air as he shouted, his other hand handed her her backpack. Fionna giggles.

“Alright, AAADVENTURE!” She shouts, making them both burst into a fit of giggles.

“Yeah, you got it! Whenever I get nervous or scared to go somewhere, I think of it as if I'm going on an adventure! I do the same thing when I’m lost, that way I don’t freak out about it.”

“Well, that explains why you came home with a large smile after being missing almost a whole day when we were eight.” Fionna grumbled as she opened the door.

“Yeah! I was scared, but I kept telling myself that I was on an adventure to find the castle! The castle being home. I even met a hero on the way! Did I tell you about that? It was awesome! She was so cool, it’s what drove me to become a hero!” Finn grins toothily.

Fionna blows her hair out of her face as she closes the door behind them both once outside. “I don’t think I could ever be so optimistic, Finn.” She turns to continue walking, she bumps into her cousin’s back. “Uh… Finn?”

“It’s not that I’m optimistic, it’s just that if I let my fear or nerves get to me, I would never get anything done. We’re studying to be heroes, Fionna, you have to, just, take a leap of faith.” Finn turned to face his cousin, eyes shining with resolve, “I’m not saying it’s bad to feel that way, no, it’s okay to feel nervous or scared or even sad. It’s a normal human emotion, we all feel it. What I am saying though is; don’t let those emotions overpower your mind and let it control you. You have to put yourself out there, even if it hurts you, or you regret it, at least you can say that you tried. You’ll always come out of that stronger and smarter.”

Fiona stared at her cousin in surprise. Reaching out, he gave her shoulder a soft punch, “Sign up for that program. Trust me, it’ll do you some good,” He grins widely, mischief in his eyes, “and ask Ignis out already.”

Fiona let out a gasp in surprise and punched her cousin, “Shut it, you! I thought we were having a moment!”

“Ahahah ouch!” Finn laughed as he rubbed his sore bicep, Fionna marching past him towards school. Finn was quick to follow.

“Hey… Finn…” Fionna spoke softly once the school came into view. Her cousin hummed in response, “Thanks… I never took you to be so inspirational.”

“Eh, I have my moments.” Finn smiles, patting her head

“And Finn?” A brightly smiling Fionna skipped forward to stand in front of her cousin, turning on her heel she beamed up at her taller cousin.

“Yeah?” Finn asked stopping in his tracks.

“You should totally ask out Ignis’s older sister, Lucerna~” her smile morphed into a wicked smirk as she watched Finn’s face slowly turn bright red. With a giggle, she waved at her cousin and ran to her friend group with a wave.

“F- Fionna!” Finn shouted before chasing after her, making her laugh louder.

Fiona Venture. Age 15. Seat 16. Student Rank 19. Hero Name: Bunny. Quirk: Hair manipulation

She can alter, grow out, regenerate, reshape and change the texture of her hair. Has complete control of her hair like another limb.

Hand to hand, sword

____ 

“Hey guys~! Have no fear, B.B is here to brighten your lunch!” A boy with green skin and hair gave a toothy grin, showing off his fangs.

“Oh joy.” A pale girl with short purple hair rolled her eyes fondly as the boy flopped on the lunch table next to her.

“Hey Gar.” Jaime gave a soft smile and half-hearted wave.

“Wh - what the hell kind of energy was that?” Garfield frowned as he opened his lunch box, “That was the most depressing ‘hi’ I’ve ever gotten in my life - and I'm dating Raven! Ah, no offense.”

“I’d be shocked if I even got offended with your antics at this point.” Raven shrugged.

Jaime gave a half-hearted laugh, “Sorry dude, I’ve just been having an, eh, day.” he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, dude, what happened?” Garfield frowns

“My mom is being a worry wart about the program.” Jaime sighed, taking a bite of his lunch, “We also had a pop quiz in Mr. Valencia’s class. I totally fucked that up.”

“Oooo ouch dude. I’m sure you’ll be able to convince your mom to let you sign up. You’ve got plenty of time, too. It’s not due till December.” Garfield attempted to reassure, “Plus, Mr. Valencia like’s watching his students struggle. He’s always got that wicked smirk when he announces pop quizzes.”

Jaime snickers, “Yeah, you’re right. What about you? You gonna sign up?”

“Heck yeah, I am!” Garfield raises a fist in the air, “It sounds awesome!”

“I'm still surprised that your grades are high enough to get into the hero course.” Raven smirks at the jab.

“I’m hurt that you don’t trust my natural smartness skills, mama.” Garfield pouts, his pointed ears drooping for effect.

Raven gestures to him as she stares Jaime dead in the eyes, “Jee, I wonder why.” her plain voice made the boy across from her snort.

Garfield Logan. Age 16. Seat 7. Student Rank 20. Hero name: Beast Boy. Quirk: Shape shifting

He can turn into any animal in the animal kingdom. Has recently discovered he could also become mythical creatures.

Hand to Hand

_____

Shouta Aizawa let out a long, tired and heavy sigh as he went through the biology homework his students had turned in yesterday. He would have gone over them then, but honestly; he didn’t want to. He wasn’t too keen on doing this before his shift either, but he can’t really put it off forever. Even if he wanted to. Finally, finishing the last worksheet, he set it to the side, so he can hand them back out later. Glancing at the clock, he noted that it was almost 7 AM, and he should start heading to the school.

Leaning back on his couch, he rubbed the palm of his hands on his eyes as he let out a soft groan. He sat there for a few minutes, enjoying the silence, before letting out another long sigh and finally standing on his feet to finish getting ready. Once he finished changing, he headed to the kitchen and began preparing some coffee to take with him. The teachers 'dorms' was more like an apartment building complete with a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen and livingroom. The only reason the staff even bother calling it a 'dorm' is to not make the students jealous.

When his drink was finally ready, he took a long swing, unbothered by the scolding liquid, he let out a content sigh before filling up a thermos, grabbing what he needed and heading for the door. Putting on his shoes, makeing sure food was in his cat's bowl and throwing on his scarf, he walked out into the hallway.

“Ah, good morning, Aizawa.” Ken Ishiyama greeted, making his way down the hallway.

“Ishiyama.” Aizawa nodded, locking his door, he walked the same direction as his coworker.

“You needed me to come in during the heroics class today, correct?” Ken pressed the button to the elevator.

“Yeah, Yagi is going to conduct a kind of maze race today. I was hoping you can come in and create the maze as he gives his lecture to the students, maybe sooner if you can.” Aizawa explained as they both stepped into the elevator with a third-year teacher. They all gave one another a quick greeting.

“Hmmm a maze, huh? I’ll have to speak to Yagi about the difficulty he wants the maze to be, but I can make it.” Ken nods, “Once I’m done speaking to him, I’ll work on it during my third period break.”

“I appreciate it.”

“It’s no problem. Though, I kind of wish you guys had asked me yesterday, I could have made it after classes ended.”

“Yeah, sorry. You know how Yagi is. Doesn’t solidify any plans till the last minute. He hadn’t told me about it till 9 PM last night through text.”

“Yikes.” The third-year teacher commented softly.

“You have no idea.” Both teachers responded just as the doors opened to the dorm's common area. The space was filled with a handful of teachers finishing their morning routine before heading for the school. Walking past the counter, Aizawa snagged himself a muffin Lunch Rush made last night for the whole staff during one of his inspirational drives. 

Entering the teachers’ lounge, Shouta practically threw himself on his chair. Finishing off his muffin, tired black eyes turned to the stack of papers on his desk. He almost let out a groan when he read the title. Is it really that time of year already? Usually he participates as a chaperone since he usually expels his class, leaving them under the jurisdiction of another teacher. Unfortunately for him, it seems like he has a class this year. A class full of problem children, great.

“Hey Aizawa! Looks like this year’s one of those few years you’ll have an actual class, huh.” Kan walked over as he skimmed through the papers in his hand.

“Unfortunately.” Aizawa sighed

“Thank the gods” Nemuri sighed as she ran a hand down her face, making Hizashi snort.

“You know, if you wanted my class so bad, I could have expelled them this year.” Aizawa drawls out flatly as he takes a few papers and stands to his feet. This made Hizashi start cackling into his hand, while the raven-haired woman let out a whine.

“Um, what are you talking about?” Yagi asked from his desk.

“Ah, that’s right, I guess this program is still kind of considered new, huh.” Kan mumbled to himself softly.

“Every time Shouta decides to expel his class, they are placed under my care, since I don’t have a homeroom class and am technically considered a substitute teacher.” Nemuri shoots an accusing finger at her friend who pointedly ignored her in favor of going through the papers, “And because of that I’m usually stuck taking his class to California for this stupid program!”

“She’s just mad that they force her to wear a more modest version of her hero costume and speak without foul language when she’s working with the kids.” Aizawa added with an eye roll, “Honestly, I don’t understand why Nedzu doesn’t enforce that here too.”

“Agh, you hurt me, Shouta! What would I even be if not for my amazing, sexy self!”

“More approachable.” The man responded as he drank some of his coffee before turning to Kan, “Alright, I’m ready to go.” Both men made their way to Principal Nedzu’s office.

“I... erm, I actually wanted to know what program you’re all talking about…” Yagi mumbles sheepishly, “Though it’s good to know that the student’s he expels aren’t actually expelled.”

“Nah, they're basically placed on a probationary period for the whole year. I can’t say his methods don’t work, though, lots of those kids learned to work for things they want and not just half assing it.” Nemuri sighed.

“As for the program, it’s a program that Nedzu had finalized during our first year here.” Hizashi informed, “It’s called the Hero Collaboration Program. Basically, around the end of the school year, all first year hero students go to America to train and socialize with other students from across the country and around the world.”

Yagi perked up at this information, “Oh! That sounds like a lot of fun!”

“Even though they censor me, it is.” Nemuri leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, “There are quite a few field trips to museums, training activities, quirk theory classes and plenty of sparring. They even have a big party with live entertainment at the end of it, all along with a closing ceremony.”

“That sounds like a lot…” Yagi spoke in awe

“It is, but they’ve got a bunch of big companies from all over the place supporting them,” Hizashi nods.

“All the other departments have kind of similar field trips.” Higari Maijima piped in as he made his way to the printer, “The second-year support department are going to leave for theirs next week, third year business had one in the beginning of December and the third-year general education will have something a week before finals in March.”

“Ah! It’s good to know the youth of today are getting many more opportunities such as this to further their education.” Yagi grinned, “If only there were programs like that when I was back in high school.”

“Well, lucky for you, Toshinori, you’re going to be a chaperone for my class.” Shouta announced with an eye roll as he and Kan walked over. Once he was closer, he handed him two pages for him to go over. Its unfortunate he can’t choose who will be the chaperone to acompany him. It’s not that he hates Yagi, he’s a nice guy, don’t get him wrong, but the guy is still very new to teaching. He supposes him being a chaperone would be a good experiance for him though. 

“Done with your meeting with Nedzu already?” Hizashi rose a brow

“We just had to go over the usual rules and guidelines.” Kan informed, handing an excited Hizashi two papers, “A few changes have been made, but other than that it’s nothing new.”

Glancing at the time, Shouta almost let out a sigh in relief. He has 33 minutes before classes start. “Well, now that that’s all settled, I’m going to take a cat nap before classes.” He waved to his coworkers before heading over to his desk, where he pulled out his yellow sleeping bag. Making himself comfortable under his desk, he drifted off.

Shouta let out an annoyed grumble as he found himself being dragged out from under his desk. The warning bell hasn’t even rung yet, he’d know if it did. He has a digital clock he keeps under his desk to keep track of time. There are those rare days when he wouldn’t mind waking up or being woken up before the bell. Today, however, is not that day. Especially when he woke up to his best friend yelling at him and dragging him out from under his desk.

Shouta knows he can’t do much to get back at him without looking like a petulant child, so he opted for going completely limp. Make his friend's job just a little harder. And during lunch he may, or may not, throw a bunch of salt on his lunch when he’s not looking. Maybe he’ll even put a small pebble in his shoe just to inconvenience him. Who knows, he’ll decide later.

“Common Shou, class is starting soon!” Hizashi groaned.

Black eyes glanced at the clock under his desk, “The bell doesn’t even ring for another four minutes. There is no reason for you to wake me up and drag me.”

“Well, if you don’t get up, I won’t give you the coffee I made”

“Irrelevant, I can always take it when the bell rings.”

“It’ll be lukewarm by then”

“We have a microwave.”

“Ummm, you want to be in class on time?”

“Gross”

“If you’re not there early to give the announcement you wont be able to teach your students everything you were going to teach them and Toshinori is going to end up being the one to tell them during heroics class.”

Shouta pulled his feet away from Hizashi making him stumble back. Before he could complain, his friend was already on his feet and folding his sleeping bag. Glancing at his friend, he raises an eyebrow, “What are you waiting for?” He spoke coolly as he took the cup of hot coffee he'd made him. Shouta made sure to maintain eye contact as he drank his coffee, “Let’s go, or you’ll be late.”

The moment Shouta had closed the door behind him, he smirked at the scream of mild indignation his friend let out. Walking down the hallway, the older man made sure his steps were slow, he even took the long way there. By the time he made it to the door of his classroom, he waited for the last warning bell to go off. Once it had, he opened the door and stepped inside. The noise was quick to quiet down, and his students were in their seats. Good.

“Good morning class, before we start today’s lesson, I have an announcement.” From his peripheral vision, he could see his students exchange confused looks. Once he had reached his desk, he set down the binder he carried with him and took out the information sheets, “Class representatives.” He waved a stack of paper with a list of things they will need, Yaoyorozu and Iida were on their feet walking towards him immediately. Handing Iida the papers, he went through his binder again to pull out brochure-like guidebooks with the rules and regulations to hand to Yaoyorozu. Both teens eyed the papers, they gave them a curious look as they began to pass them out.

“If you read the information sheet, you’d see that both class 1-A and 1-B will be having a field trip abroad to America as a part of a program. The back of that sheet has -”

“What!? America?!”

“No way! That’s awesome!”

“What’s a ‘sophomore’?”

“It literally says right there on the paper, Denki.”

“I need to brush up on my English!”

“This is so cool!”

Aizawa shot his students a quirk enhanced glare, making them all flinch and fall silent. Once he was sure they wouldn’t speak up again, he closed his eyes. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of a hand, he continued, “As I was saying; The back of that sheet has everything you’d need to pack besides the obvious. As for the brochure, it has the rules and regulations you must all follow. Let me give you a quick rundown of the top 4 rules, pay attention because these are the most important ones. 1. You are not allowed to harm anyone with your quirk outside of training unless used for self-defense. 2. All property damage done outside of training with or without your quirk must be paid for - lucky for you lot the school pays for any damages done. You better not do it, though, it’s a lot of paperwork. 3. Inappropriate behavior will not go unpunished, depending on the offense it may result in program suspension for a few days or even get you sent home and possible suspension or expulsion here at school or the hero course program all together.”

“Whoa, these punishments are kind of brutal…” Kirishima mumbled.

Shouta took a deep breath before he read the last one. From the looks of disbelief from some of his students though, they already read ahead, “And lastly, your hero’s license in America is considered a permit. You are not allowed to engage in any villain fighting unless given special permission from a pro hero. If an emergency does occur, you are to only help civilians to safety. Once a pro hero appears, you must A) give them your name, B) State the situation and C) inform them of your training. If the hero decides it’s best you help tend to the injured, you are to do as you are told. If they allow you to assist them in battle, you must provide back up and not directly engage with the villain yourself unless absolutely necessary. Failure to follow this rule will result in an automatic three-week suspension of your hero license.”

“What?!” Most of his class began to complain.

“What if the hero needs help fighting!?”

“How are we only allowed to provide back up!?”

“Why can’t we engage?!”

“What do you mean ‘absolutely necessary’??”

Activating his quirk again with a glare, everyone fell silent again. This has never been an issue before, but that's because the first years aren't even supposed to have their licenses to begin with. Goddamn it. Letting out a long-annoyed sigh, Shouta began to explain, “Look. To begin with, you lot weren’t even supposed to get your licenses till next year but due to the villain attacks, things were rushed for your own safety. Also, the laws in America are very different from they are here, this applies to many other places as well. Once you are outside Japanese soil and somewhere else, you should have the common decency and common sense to follow their laws and to be respectful. Now, then, what they mean by ‘absolutely necessary’ is if the villain decides to attack you directly, you are free to fight back on the pretense of self-defense. Other than that, your priority is to help civilians out of the danger zone, that way the hero wouldn’t have to worry about them as they fight, and they can’t be used as leverage against them. If you are in a situation where the civilians are all out of danger and no other pros have arrived at the scene to help, you speak to the hero on the scene. If they give you orders allowing you to engage, then you are allowed to go into battle, however, if the pro tells you suddenly to back off, you must back off, like it or not.”

“That’s utter bullshit!” Katsuki Bakugo shouted in anger, “Why the hell should we even follow that rule?! We have our licenses; we should be allowed to engage right away!!”

“As much as I hate to agree with Bakugo, I must. Sensei, why must we do so much?” Tenya Iida asked

“It’s the law. Even if they are going into hero work, the hero licenses are treated like drivers’ licenses. First years are allowed to test for their permit allowing them to enter the scene and their top priority is to evacuate the citizens for the hero. Second years with permits must take a more advanced version of the first exam, and then they are allowed to engage in battle when they see it fit, as long as all the civilians are out of the way. Third years, retake both exams at once, after which they are given a license to become a first responder. In America, they have academy’s where heroes in training take the final steps to becoming pros. Once you finish that, you are given a pro license and are allowed to start an agency, become a hero course teacher, and many other things that I can’t bother going over.”

“Those stupid losers don’t even become pros without an extra year of school. That’s pathetic.” Katsuki smirked cockily, arms crossed over his chest.

“I… Their system sounds quite efficient, though.” Yaoyorozu spoke up softly.

“I mean, yeah, but imagine having to go to an academy just to become a pro even after having finished high school? Agh That must suck!” Mina groaned.

“Alright that’s enough. We’re not here to talk about the differences between here and there. You can do that on your own time. As for now, I want you all to remember that guidebook by memory. I don’t want any mishaps just because you forgot to read it over.” Aizawa went through the binder once more and handed the permission slips to the students in the front seats to pass back, “You all have until the end of January to turn these in. That means you all have three-and-a-half weeks to visit your family and have these signed. If you can’t visit for whatever reason, you have a fax machine in the dorms, use it. Any questions?” Nobody raised their hands, “Good. Start brushing up on your English you will need it, the trip is mid-February, next month. Now, let’s get started with today’s lesson.”

And that is the end of chapter 1! I’ll post chapter 2 whenever I finish it. Hope you guys are intrested in the story thus far! Much thought went into it. :) 

Chapter 1 part 1 --> Chapter 1 part 2

-Chapter 2-